#I had barely heard of it untim yesterday

[reigenkills]

MISSION FROM GOD TO FILL THIS TAG, GOD BLESS. THIS IS A SERIES NOW I GUESS

PART ONE | PART TWO (YOU ARE HERE) | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | 7 | 8

also this is on ao3 for easier archival

The nice thing about being entrapped into such an outlandish job such as capturing Death is that your clients hadn't paid you beforehand. They barely thought about reimbursement for your exploitation, really. They were more smug about the fact that they had leverage on you and eagerly sicced you on the personification of death.

But, while you went penniless from the encounter, you had no binding contract, magical or otherwise, which means that now that you have no obligation to do anything for them, you can sail halfway across the ocean with them none the wiser.

Duloc used to be one of the biggest kingdoms this side of the hemisphere. Ever since its ruler's untimely demise, however (eaten by a dragon, or so the rumors say), the resulting power vacuum had thrown the whole place into chaos with lesser aristocracy staking claims here and there, lobbying assassinations at each other while everyone else tried to stay out of the way.

But it's been years since Lord Farquaad took the slip n' slide down a giant lizard's throat. The kingdom has mostly stabilized, with sovereign villages here and there, while the fighting mostly took place on aristocratic lands. And where there's a semi-safe village and a shitton of espionage, there's an open job market for people like you.

You find yourself the cheapest inn available, ditch your usual all-black attire for locally-made clothes (a lot harder to track where you're from when your stuff's locally sourced - you are not getting compromised by a shirt tag), and start hitting the seediest bars you can find. In a land with this much unrest, there's plenty.

Predictably, you're not the only mercenary on the hunt for a job. Duloc's mostly merc country now, and the barmaid helpfully tells you where to frequent and who to talk to. There are even formal guilds here, though until you get a better feel for the land and the political climate, you think you'll go solo.

Your first few weeks aren't too bad. There's jobs from big wigs and commoners alike - from farmers needing wolves chased off their property to jealous lovers with too much money putting a hit on some poor schmuck. The most challenging thing you have to do is going to the mountains to bring a pair of brothers home after their camping trip goes awry, and their worried family puts a job out to find them when they don't come home. Turns out they got scared by some deer and ran deeper into the woods, getting lost in the process.

It's nothing you're not used to. At least no one's given you an assassination job, but you're new to town. Everyone's still getting a feel for your presence too - par for the course.

Three months into your stay in Poisonapple, Duloc, a hysterical parent barges into your new favorite bar, already drunk out of his mind and begging people to help him. Muffet, the barmaid, winces and mutters, "He's still at it?"

"He's done this before?" you ask.

"He was here yesterday," she says. "Poor Elrick's gotten tangled up with some rich family up north. I heard they got him tricked into pricking his finger on a cursed spindle."

"Oooh." You suck in a breath through your teeth. "True love's kiss not work out?"

"If his love even knows what's happened to him." Muffet shakes her head. "His father's been asking people to find some way to undo it, but - " She looks around, then leans closer as she whispers. "You ask me, I think Elrick's love's been locked away in some tall tower to keep 'er away from trouble. Weeks' worth of journey and the boy'll be bones by the time anyone comes back."

"Royal types do tend to do that, don't they?" you mutter. "Thought that solution fell out of popularity after Fairy Godmother herself kicked the bubble."

"Eh, where there's a vacancy in the market, there's a thousand other people waiting to fill it," Muffet says. "Competitors just had to take over the niche."

"Yikes." You knock back your drink, turning around in your seat to watch the poor old man plead, hands wringing as he begs for someone, anyone, to save his son.

You'd give it a shot, but like Muffet said, intel gathering would take days alone. The human body isn't designed to be unconscious with no food or water for that long. You don't even know how long Elrick's been knocked out, how long he has left.

"Can't they get someone else to do a counterspell?" you ask Muffet. "Like Sleeping Beauty?"

"Fae are hard to find around these parts. Witches too. Lord Farquaad chased everyone magical off the land a few years ago and very few have decided to come back since. The constant fighting between them aristocrats ain't helping."

"Yeah," you say. "Guess it'd be easier to find a witch and buy time than getting that true love's kiss, though."

Elrick's father suddenly turns to you. You freeze, and watch in horror as the man begins to stumble towards you.

"You - you know how to help my son?" he asks. "Please - "

"Uhhhh." You turn to Muffet, who wipes down the counter and dutifully keeps her gaze away, minding her own business. You're all for minding your own business, encourage it in fact, but come on. Traitor.

"Please," the old man says. "He's only sixteen - "

Fuck. Of course he is. Or course it has to be some young fucking kid.

"I don't really know, I was just…throwing ideas out," you say, tugging on the collar of your shirt. "See what stuck."

"B-but you're a witch, aren't you?" The old man eyes the red of your cloak, a new piece you'd gotten to replace your older one. While people in Duloc dressed much more colorfully than from your old town, the colors you now don make it so easy to identify you. 

People know what your look like because they've been keeping an eye on you. You have a red cloak. You have two guns holstered on your belt at all times. You have a spellbook you carry in a satchel everywhere.

"I'm not very good at it," you admit.

"At least try."

"I could make it worse. I don't know how to use magic," you say. "Is it really worth the risk?"

The old man pauses, his brows furrowing, before he nods. "Anything," he says. "I just need someone to help."

"Look," you say. "Messing around with magic I barely know is a recipe for disaster. If I mess up, I'm not just gonna be trying to break a curse, I'm gonna have to drag your son back from the jaws of death. Does that sound any better?"

"Then just drag him back, witch," the old man insists. "Rally against death if you have to."

Your eye twitches. This is why you hate talking to people. This is why all your work is through written correspondence and why you talk sparsely. People always forget to suggest and go straight for commands. Where are the manners?

You turn around, mouth clamped shut, tapping a nail against the grain of the counter while the old man shouts behind you. A few people later come to drag him out.

You ask Muffet for another drink with the biggest glass she has. She gives you a raised eyebrow as she slides one twice the size of your forearm at you.

Whatever. You need to get a little reckless, burn off some energy. It's fine. Just as long as the person you're now supposed to rally against doesn't show -

"That could have gone better."

Son of a bitch.

You slam the glass onto the counter a little harder than you should. In the corner of your eye, Death flashes a smile.

"What can I do for you this evening, señor?" you ask, fingers twitching. 

"What was your last command? Rally against Death?" He turns and leans am elbow on the counter, resting his face on one paw. "How are you gonna do that, peque?"

"I am trying - " your hands itch. " - not to."

"Can you actually fight your curse?" he asks.

You resist the urge to bang your head against the counter. As much as you're trying to control yourself, he's not making it easy when every word that comes out of his mouth makes you want to maul him.

He snickers. Your nails scratch against the grain of the counter as you turn back to him.

"Oh? Something's happening." Death leans over, hunching down to your height so you're nearly nose-to-snout, red eyes tracking every twitch and tic of your face. "What are you gonna do, peque? Bite me?"

You bite him.

"Son of a bitch!"

In your defense, he'd suggested it, and he was the one who got the brilliant idea of sticking his nose within biting range. You get a mouthful of freezing fur and snout, and then he's pulling you off of him like a leech. You snarl, grabbing fistfuls of silver fur to hold on, but he's much stronger - and he pulls you off with a comical pop!

He punts you across the room. You tuck your knees in and roll, landing on your hands and feet. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Mierda!"

You spit out the fur in your mouth - it tastes like ice chips for whatever reason. What the hell. "Hey, you asked for it. Gift of obedience, remember?"

You stand and watch him actually pause and consider it, before he glares, remembering he'd phrased it as a question and not a command. He reaches up to rub his snout.

"You're lucky you've got a while to go." He glances over your head. "Otherwise, I'd make you regret that."

"Hey, I was told to rally against Death. Can't hold that against me, can you?" One of your hands is already itching towards your gun. You look to your hip in distaste, your fingers twitching again.

"Don't."

Despite how annoying he is, you visibly sag with relief, sighing as the uncomfortable urge to just maim disappears. Your hand drops. You straighten and smooth out your cloak.

"That's way better," you mutter.

When you turn back to Death, he has his head tilted, his now-lopsided hood revealing the end of an ear. That's actually kinda cute, if he was, you know, not built like a brick shithouse and has rows of needles in his mouth.

"What?" you ask.

"I could just tell you never to attack me again," he says. Your hackles raise. "But that'd be less funny."

You raise an eyebrow. "What am I, entertainment TV?"

He snickers.

"Asshole."

"Brat."

You sneer, before marching back to the counter to drop a few pieces of silver onto it. You have no idea where Muffet's gone. Out back for a smoke break, probably, since you were the only customer left by the time Death showed up.

"Might wanna keep away from these parts, old man. Some of the folk up north are getting restless and desperate," you say. "My previous clients weren't the first people to think about chaining Death. There's always people who want more power."

"I know, peque. I've been here longer than you," he says with a chuckle. "You keep your eye on not getting turned into a dance monkey again."

You turn and flip him off. He laughs, and the candles in the room flicker, bathing everything in darkness for a second.

When the lights steady, he's gone.

[darling-i-read-it]

Temple of the Forbidden Eye

Indiana Jones x reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: bugs, skeletons, lava, danger, running lol, insinuations to smut

Author’s Note: This is, in fact, the plot to the disneyland ride. I’ve been on it so many times, when I was trying to think of an Indiana plot to do I literally just wrote the ride. And i love this. 

Summary: You and Indiana are tasked with going to look into a Temple.  

Song: Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Forbidden Eye by John Williams 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

Sallah stood in front of you, frantically opening up a tattered map. He ushered it over to you and you looked down at it, breathing in the hot 80 degree air. He pointed at the picture of the Temple, looking up at your face as he did so.

“That is where you need to go.” You pursed your lips.

“You’ve spoken to Indiana about this?” 

“He is already on his way. He is in a hotel, awaiting my call for your answer,” he explained. You looked up at the blue sky and took a deep breath. You told yourself you wouldn’t get caught up in anything like this again. Going to India, trying to find this Temple of the Forbidden Eye. Working with Indiana Jones again. “You should go. He will need help, it is dangerous.” 

You looked at Sallah hard and you saw him realize that you were going to go. A small smile creeped onto his face and he nodded quickly, slapping your shoulder happily.

“I will call him.” He started to walk away and you sighed loudly, shaking your head. You raised your hand to him. 

“Sallah wait.” He turned back around to see you. You shut your eyes tightly and opened them again, allowing yourself to realize what you were about to do. It was dangerous. “Tell him to book me a room.” 

====

You stepped into the hotel. It was even hotter in India than it had been back where you were. The hotel offered no solace. You were pretty sure it was more humid in it than outside where at least there was some wind. You held your suitcase tight and approached the desk.

“Hello I’m Y/N-”

“Indiana reservation?” the front desk manager asked. His accent was thick which was understandable. You were the tourist after all. 

“Yes,” you told him, nodding. He smiled sweetly and handed you a key. He gestured to the right of him where there were some stairs leading up to the rooms. 

“Room 341.” You nodded and gave him a smile in return before walking up to the room. 

It was nicer than you expected but you didn’t expect to be spending much time here. Once you spoke to Indiana the two of you would be out and going to see the Temple. But first, some rest. If you could get it in this heat.

You put your bags down and looked out the window at the small town outside. You were about to sit down on the bed and get changed when the door opened. You quickly turned around and saw Indiana there, a smile on his face. 

“You made it.” You rolled your eyes.

“Against my better wishes, yes.” 

“Sallah told me he could convince you. Although I heard you didn’t need much convincing,” he teased. You rolled your eyes and he sat down on the bed so you stayed standing. 

“So this Temple... anything I should know before getting into it?” you asked. He raised an eyebrow. His temple was sweating but he didn’t seem to be affected much by the heat.

“They say it’s a chamber of destiny. A fountain of youth, riches, all that regular stuff,” he explained. You nodded, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall. 

“It’s always the greedy stuff that gets people flocking.”

“You say that like you speak from experience.” You rolled your eyes.

“I am nearly as experienced as you.” He stood up and walked over to where you were standing, getting a little to close. You made no attempt to move. “Are you disagreeing with me?” 

“No. You’re right. It is the greed.” You rolled your eyes. 

“If we’re going to do this you need to forget about what happened last time. It was a one time thing and we’re better off moving forward as partners,” you told him evenly. Your face was hard and your eyes were giving nothing away. He admired that. 

“Whatever you want,” he said but it sounded like he didn’t mean it. 

“Indiana I’m serious.”

“So am I. Be ready by tomorrow morning at 8, I got us a car to take us as far as it can. If you need me, you know where I’ll be.” He walked away and you nodded slowly watching as the door closed behind him. 

You shook your head and smiled. 

======

You were ready to go before he was so you waited in the hallway for him to come out. The ride was short before you reached the spot where you had to walk. That was surprisingly short as well and you were at the Temple in no time. 

People were lining up out front. They praid, left presents, and some even cried to the Temple for help. You and Indiana had to step over these people and they paid you nearly no mind as you approached the doorway. 

“Here,” Indiana said gruffly. You looked over at him and he handed you a hat.

“Not my style but thank you.” 

“Put it over your eyes when we get to the eye of the idol. Unless you would like to die an untimely death,” he said. You looked down the menacing hallway of the Temple and tried not to show your fear. It was always easier when Indiana was around to pretend you were braver than you actually were. 

You took the hat and put it on your head.

“It’s going to fall off.” 

“I got one fitted to your head.” He started to walk inside. “It’s not going to fall off.” ====

Once you got past the first hallway, it did not get any better. The pathway got narrower and colder. You were lucky that Indiana lit a torch to illuminate the small path. 

He suddenly stopped in front of you, putting his arm against your chest. In other circumstances you probably would have made a quip about that but you didn’t. You were both in danger now and the only person who could save you if you messed up was Indiana. You weren’t about to question him now. 

“Look at the tiles.” 

Your eyes went down in front of him. There were regular tiles and then ones with diamonds on them. They were few and far between but that didn’t matter. They were still there. 

“I take it we shouldn’t walk on those.” 

“I think it wouldn’t be advisable.” 

“Then we probably should also not pull on that rope,” you muttered. He looked further in front of him where you were looking and noticed a pile of rocks in the distance, tied together with some rope. He nodded.

“Not a bad idea.” 

You pushed forward, stepping only where he stepped. You barely even touched the walls. 

“What you were saying yesterday-” he started.

“Right now is not the time,” you grumbled, eyes glued to your steps. His face was on the ground as well as he held up the torch. 

“We may die.”

“You cannot use that line more than once. We lived last time,” you muttered. He chuckled and bit and turned to you, causing you to hit his chest because you weren’t paying attention. “Indiana-”

“I liked last time. We worked well together.” You shook your head and grabbed the torch out of his hand.

“I will lead.” He shook his head and took a step back which caused you to stumble backwards a bit. That was when you realized that the door behind you was shutting. You turned quickly and then noticed the spikes above you. There were skulls attached to some, a couple heads that had barely decomposed. 

He grabbed your arm before you could say anything and dragged you out of the small room into a bigger clearing. You looked up and there it was. Surrounded by green neon light, the huge face of the idol. 

“Hat down!” he screamed and grabbed your arm before running. You followed his lead, hoping that he hadn’t looked in the eyes. You held your hat down with the other hand, unfortunately dropping the torch and leaving it behind. 

Slowly you came to a stop. You felt hot and you could hear bubbling. Indiana pulled your hat up and you rubbed your eyes to gain focus back. Before you was a bubbling chasm of lava. At the other side was a menacing face in stone. 

“You still going to lead?!” Indiana asked and you got your bearings together before grabbing his arm and running in to your left. Your lungs were burning but the adrenaline was pumping. 

“What is that?!” you asked and he put his arm in front of you as he looked up at the skeletons hanging from the wall. The room was lit with torches, a tall rock ceiling above your heads. You grabbed his arm tightly. “The people who looked into the eyes of the idol,” he said seriously. You hardened your face and started to run again, jogging this time as you searched for a way out. There was no coming back this way. 

“Damn the search for the truth. We have to get out of here,” you told him stiffly. He didn’t react even as you heard thousands of bugs crawling above your head. You held his hand tightly and ignored the urge to stop. 

“Y/N…” he said carefully and you shook your head. You looked at the bridge across the chasm of lava and shook your head more violently this time. You backed up. There was no way. It didn’t look like anyone had crossed it in centuries. It wouldn’t hold the two of you up, he couldn’t. “We have to cross it.” 

“Oh yeah?! And fall in?! Be my guest Indiana but I chose to live another day.” He turned to face you and it was the first time you had looked him straight in the face since before you started running. Your breath was heaving and so was his. There was a cut across his face, likely from bumping into a jagged rock when the two of you were all but blindfolded. Sweat poured down his forehead and his expression was hard. 

You looked almost the same. Sweating, cut up, breathing hard. 

“You gonna climb your way over sweetheart? Huh?” You didn’t answer him. You just breathed. “I didn’t think so.” 

Then before you could even think of an answer, he was running across the bridge. You waited for a moment, looked behind you and then cursed under your breath as you ran forward across the bridge. Indiana reached the other side and just as you started to reach it the bridge creaked and caved underneath you. The plank you were standing on broke under your foot and you fell, foot lodged in between planks. The bridge split. You erupted in screams. You grabbed onto the planks, wrapping your arms around them as Indiana looked down at you, hanging from the edge. He reached his hand down and you took it, using every ounce of strength you had to get your foot unstuck. 

He pulled and finally you climbed over the top. He wrapped his arms around you to hold you steady and finally was able to gauge what else was on the other side of the chasm. 

And it was crawling with snakes. 

Indiana stumbled back and you caught him before he fell into the lava. 

“Henry Jones I swear to God if you leave me-” His face was riddled with fear and he started to run to the left, away from the snakes. “Henry!” There was a door on the other side of the snakes and he was climbing up to try and find another way. You shook your head and carefully but quickly crossed the snake pit. You held your breath until you were back on regular ground.

You looked up and Indiana was gone. He must have found another way. You just hoped that he would be able to get out of here. You were not coming back in. Well if he didn’t make it out before you, you might think about it. 

The doorway opened up to a smaller room but it was still huge. The cave was littered with skulls, illuminated with lit red candles. You took a deep breath.

“I take it this is not a place I want to be,” you whispered to yourself. Bats flew above your head which ushered you along to the next room, through a large cave opening. You were just running from room to room, hoping to find something that would lead you out. 

That was when you saw the walking skeletons. You stopped in your tracks and looked at them, on the left and right of you. There was a narrow opening between the two groups and you made a split second decision. You put your hat down over your eyes and ran. 

You could feel the air of them shooting things at you. Their wordless attacks were terrifying. All you could hear was air and their bones moving against each other. You gasped and finally hit a spot where you didn’t feel any air anymore. You moved the hat up and turned around quickly. 

Nothing. 

You looked forward again at the darkness and your breath started to pick up. It was then that Indiana hung down on the rope. You looked up at him and he was yelling but you almost couldn’t hear him as the boulder started to come down.

He reached his hand down and you grabbed it just in time for him to pull you up onto the rope, the boulder moving beneath the two of you with a loud crash. You hoped it took out the skeletons. 

You held onto him, feet dangling and muscles screaming. He held onto you as best he could, although he was keeping himself up as well.

As the boulder crashed you saw daylight from the place it had been stuck. You grunted from the effort of keeping yourself up. 

“Look,” you whispered. He followed your gaze and you dropped yourself back down to the ground. He did so as well and followed you as you ran to the light.

You emerged in the jungle, the sun against your skin. You wanted to kiss the ground, bathe in the sun, never go in another Temple again. 

“I didn’t see any riches,” you said, coughing. He chuckled, lying on the ground of exhaustion. You got on your knees and breathed in the fresh air. 

“Can’t say I did either.” He looked over at you, hat on the ground above his head. “But we didn’t do too bad. For tourists.” You laughed dryly. You laid down next to him and looked up through the trees at the sky. You were sweating and the wind was welcome. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. He looked over at you and you felt his stare. You waited a second and then turned to kiss him. You leaned against your elbow as you did so, the hat falling off your head. “I thought you said it wouldn’t fall off,” you whispered. He took a breath in from his nose and laughed. 

======

Sallah was waiting for you at the hotel. He had flown all the way up to hear about your findings. He was sitting on your bed when the two of you walked in, still covered in dirt and sweat, in desperate need of a shower. 

“We’re kind of busy,” you muttered, barely recognizing his presence.

“What did you find?!” he asked, standing up. Indiana looked him in the eye.

“We’ll talk after a shower,” Indiana said tiredly. You opened the bathroom door and gave Sallah a dismissive wave. 

“I take it the two of you will want to work again soon?” he asked, ignoring your dismissive signals. 

“Stay out of trouble will ya?” Indiana said before following you into the bathroom. 

Sallah smiled but he also noted the lack of treasures in your hands. Disappointing. Perhaps you got the fountain of youth.

[kindahoping4forever]

Yes, Sir // Ashton Irwin

This is definitely the fastest turnaround I’ve ever had for a piece of writing 🤡. Yesterday @spicycal​ sent me a TikTok of Ashton reacting to being called “sir” and as you can imagine, the inspo machine started turning for a lot of us. Pretty quickly, I jokingly pitched a premise to @pxrxmoore @cashtonasfuck and @feliznavidaddycal that served as a sequel to the fic I had just posted, You Were Digging Plants, I Dug You. The more I thought about it though, the more I liked the idea so I ran with it and here we are. Thank you to @cal-puddies for as always, reassuring me I was on the right track and to the anons who excitedly messaged me in anticipation for it. (And to @rebelwith0utacause for implying my writing was worth losing sleep over.)

Warnings: Boyfriend!Ash, Gardening!Ash, Home Repair!Ash, Dom!Ash (we love a multi-faceted man), references to bondage and cumplay, brief degrading language, sex in a public place, unprotected sex in an established relationship

Word Count: 3750

Masterlist // Taglist // Ko-Fi

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

————-

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were proud of what you’ve done,” Ashton accuses you with a smirk.

You drop your jaw in mock offense. “What I’ve done?! Ohhhhh, that’s right, that was my other boyfriend’s dick I was bouncing on that day. I’m sorry, baby, you’re correct. This was entirely my fault,” you offer with pouted lips, opening your arms for a cuddle.

“You were a woman possessed and your frenzied demon sex destroyed my relaxation zone,” he teases, pulling you in to first bite and then kiss your pout.

It had been a week since your spontaneous romp had ended in the untimely demise of Ash’s beloved hammock. He hadn’t let you hear the end of it since it happened and now the two of you were finally back outside, assessing the damage.

“I think I have a fabric patch kit in the garage but the framing is definitely fucked,” he mutters, picking over the pieces. “Gonna need new hooks… new spreader bar…”

“Been talking about getting one of those anyways,” you joke with a twinkle in your eye.

He gives you a look and shakes his head. “Jesus, already with you?”

You giggle and raise your arms in surrender. “I’m sorry, Ash, I honestly hate that I’m that girl but the manly man ‘lemme get my tools out and work with my hands’ act just does things for me.”

“Are you sure you want to go with me to get the supplies or are you gonna spontaneously combust right when we walk in the hardware store?” He teases, standing behind you and snaking his arms around your waist. “And you’re not that girl, you’re my girl.”

“Nice save,” you comment dryly and wiggle away from him; he chuckles warmly and you both walk back to the house.

While you’re getting ready to go, Ashton gets caught up taking notes on the hammock repair videos he’s found on YouTube so you end up heading out later than either of you intended. The home improvement store isn’t far but it’s LA so there’s still traffic and the car ride has a slightly tense air because of it.

You can tell how irritated he is by the way he’s relentlessly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as you sit in the standstill traffic. You reach out and take his hand, both to calm him and to stop the noise. He looks at you appreciatively and gestures at the line of cars in front of him with his other hand. “40 minutes to go five fuckin’ miles,” he grumbles. “There’s no way this is getting done today, the sun’s gonna be goin’ down before we even leave the goddamn store.”

You kiss the back of his hand that’s tightly squeezing yours. “I told you, I’ll help you with everything tomorrow,” you remind him reassuringly. “It’s not a big deal, just relax, baby.”

“You know what would help me relax?” He turns to you with a smirk. “If I could go home and lay in a fuckin’ hammock.”

You finally arrive at your destination and enter the store. After his YouTube deep dive, Ash decided he should install wooden posts to hang the hammock on since your sexcapade uprooted the metal stand’s legs straight out of the ground. He heads over to visit the lumber department and you decide to browse through the garden center, thinking that if you pick out some new seeds for him, it might put a smile on his face.

Ash returns to you less than 10 minutes later, looking more agitated than ever. You raise your eyebrows to him as a silent question and he huffs, “They just happened to have sold out of what I need. Gotta order it, won’t be here until next week.”

You give him a sympathetic frown and rub his back. “I’m sorry I broke your oasis center or whatever you called it earlier,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

He cracks a smile and starts browsing the seed packs in front of you. “I called it my relaxation zone and I’m sure I’ll forgive you someday.”

You two linger in the garden section, pointing out vegetables that could be helpful to have on hand and having a mild disagreement over which flowers would look best growing next to his sunflowers. 

“My phone is dying and I need it for my shopping list, baby, can you Google and see if we can plant marigolds right now?” He asks, turning a packet of seeds over in his hands.

You pull your phone out of your back pocket, happy to see that he’s calmed down and is interested in making the most of this trip. You chirp emphatically, “Yes, sir.”

Ashton hears your response and lets out a sharp, raspy exhale that you’ve never quite heard before and he immediately tries to disguise it as a cough. You glance over at him curiously but he appears to be intensely examining the package he’s holding so you move on.

“Depends on what type but these ones you can plant through the summer, so we’re good,” you inform him, pointing to the seeds he’s holding.

“Cool,” he breezes and tosses them into your shopping cart. “What about... basil?”

“Yes, sir,” you say again, fingers adeptly typing. You hear a similar noise come from him, though he deals with it much better this second time. You’re sure this wasn’t coincidental this time and you peer at him over your phone to see his jaw clenching in a way you’re very familiar with. Interesting.

“I’m just seeing ‘warm weather’... maybe just get one pack to try?” You suggest, eyeing him, trying to figure out if what you suspect is going on is really going on.

He shrugs, “Couldn’t hurt.” He flings the packet into the cart and moves down the aisle.

Ashton tosses out a few more things for you to look up and while you’re happy to help, you’re also glad for the opportunity to test the theory you now have. You vary your affirmations to him and as you suspect, “Yes, sir” is the only one that seems to get a reaction out of him.

The garden center is located outside and the afternoon sun is just starting to hit the area you’re shopping in. You notice Ash has begun to sweat and if you weren’t in a mood before, you absolutely are now, so you decide to rile him a bit more.  

“That sun is brutal!” You start, dramatically fanning yourself. “You’re lookin’ a little warm too, handsome… unless there’s another reason why you’d be sweating.”

He looks at you incredulously and you stare back innocently, eyes wide and shining; he stares you down as he briskly takes off his black button down shirt, leaving him in a white tank. 

“Are you good or does the sight of any bare flesh in the presence of gardening paraphernalia have you needing to excuse yourself?” He fires back, whipping his shirt into the basket pointedly, glare challenging you to push your luck.

You smile sweetly and answer, “Oh, I’m feeling just fine. But thank you… sir.”

Mischievous grin on your face, you start to make your way to the end of the aisle, scooting your body between him and the shopping cart. Sure, you could’ve gone around the other side but that wouldn’t have given you the opportunity to graze your ass against his crotch to confirm - yep - he’s losing the battle he’s fighting with his cock and he is definitely harder than he wants to be right now.

As you pass by, his large hand grabs your wrist and wraps around it tightly. “Watch it,” is all he says but the low tone he uses mixed with the feeling of his hot breath on your neck has your head spinning.

You lay off your teasing for a while but if you’re being honest, you both seem to enjoy the charged air lingering between the two of you now. Ashton grabs your waist to move you out of his way so that he can look at a display and his fingers dig into your skin just a little too hard, causing you to gasp sharply. You stop to read a tag on the bottom shelf and just happen to catch his gaze as you lick your lips, on your knees in front of him; you hear him curse under his breath as he turns away, adjusting himself.

The cat and mouse game continues and judging by the hiss you get out of him the third time you “accidentally” bump his crotch, you’ve pushed it as far as you can; you know you’re probably in for a long night when you get home but maybe that’s what he needs to take his mind off of how frustrated he is with this project. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. It’s also quite fun.

You leave the garden section, cart full of various treasures, and start to head for the checkout. “Wait, baby,” Ashton calls out and you stop. “I wanna get a couple of the things I need for the hammock so when I come back for the wood I can just pop in and out of here.” 

He directs you to an area towards the back of the store; you follow him and wheel the cart down an aisle that’s filled with boxes of metal hooks and chains. He sees your eyes taking in the aisle and he makes a face at you. “Whatever obnoxiously horny crack you’re about to make, just do it now so you can help me look for what I need,” he says in faux exasperation, making a “come on” gesture with his hand.

You laugh genuinely, “I don’t have anything to say!” You walk down the aisle and peer into a few of the boxes on the shelves. “I do wonder if we might get a better price on some of these things at one of the other types of stores we frequent,” you say under your breath.

He ignores your remark and starts consulting the notes on his phone. He scans the selection of items and finds the types of hooks he needs, throwing them into your basket. He furrows his brow, unable to find the next thing on his list. 

“What are you looking for, babe? Let me help,” you ask, eager to speed things up.

“We need this,” He states, standing next to you to show you a picture of chains on his phone. 

You examine the photo and quip suggestively, “Yeah we do.”

He lands a light swat on your ass and you squeak. “Your jokes are gonna seem a lot less funny if you keep it up,” he warns quietly in your ear.

You look around and see that this section of the store is more or less deserted. Feeling emboldened by this discovery, you reach to palm him over his jeans. “Yes, sir,” you nonchalantly reply.

The words have barely left your mouth and his hand is already back around your wrist and dragging you to follow him down the aisle. Your logical mind says you should protest that his shirt, your sweater and all your intended purchases are being left in the cart unattended but the decidedly less rational section of your brain, the part that just told you to grab your boyfriend’s dick in the middle of a home improvement store, kind of wants to see where this goes.

You get your answer seconds later when he pulls you into a bathroom tucked away next to the employee break room; it’s small, only a couple of sinks and stalls, and looks infrequently used. Which is probably for the best because Ash does not appear to have any interest in taking you into a stall, at least not just yet.

He presses you up against the door, kissing you deeply with a bruising intensity. He pulls away and you gasp. “You’ve been acting up all day, sweetheart, you can’t be surprised we’ve ended up here.” His hand, large enough to reach across your entire face, grips your chin and turns you to look at him. “Is this what you’ve been aiming for, is this what you hoped would happen?”

His tone is harsh and his words threatening but his eyes glimmer with mischief, desire and excitement. You’re sure the look in your eyes matches his when you unflinchingly answer with a confident, “Yes. Sir.”

He smiles widely and leans in, kissing, nipping and sucking harshly at your neck. You groan against him, involuntarily, and then quickly wonder how thin this bathroom’s walls are and you start trying to recall if you saw anybody in the break room next door.

Ashton pulls back to admire his work on your neck and sees your concerned expression. His face softens for a minute and he asks you, “You remember your word, baby?”

You flash him a brief tender smile, appreciating how attentive he is, that he would pick up on even your briefest moment of apprehension. You nod enthusiastically and then your smile turns devilish as you think to once again answer, “Yes, sir.”

He hooks his fingers in your waistband and yanks you from the door, spinning you around and then pressing your chest into it. You hold your breath and brace yourself for the spank you’re certain is coming but it never does. You’re not sure if you’re disappointed but the way your core is throbbing hints that you probably are.

Instead of smacking your ass, Ash is rutting up against it, breath heavy against your neck, giving you goosebumps. “Feel this, baby? You knew what you were doing out there, you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Gave you my cock this morning and you’re still begging for it, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and wiggle against him, enjoying the feeling of his hard bulge pressing into you. “Yes, sir.”

Before you even realize he’s pulled away, that hard smack you’d been waiting for comes down on your ass and you cry out in surprise.

"That’s for being smart.” He presses his body roughly up against yours again and shoves his hand down your shorts, dragging his fingers through your folds, humming at the wetness he discovers there. “We’re on a fuckin’ shopping trip and you’re this wet for me? Even more desperate than I thought… and believe me, you were already very desperate in my mind.”

Ashton yanks his hand out of your shorts and pulls you away from the door, unceremoniously pushing you towards the sink counter. “Off,” he commands, gesturing to your bottoms. There’s not a lock on the bathroom door so he drags the metal trash can in front of the door, wedging it somewhat under the handle. “We already know you clearly can’t keep quiet, can’t have anyone barging in here to see who’s demeaning themself in the bathroom,” he taunts. “That’s only for me to see.”

You and Ash used to play like this all the time when you first got together but lately you’d gotten so caught up in your bubble of domestic bliss, it had fallen by the wayside. Things weren’t boring or unadventurous by any means but it’d been a minute since your last risky public romp or use of any degradation. Combining the two, plus the thrill of jumping back in after so long? Heavenly.

You hop up on the counter in your panties, shedding your tank top and spreading your legs, inviting him closer. “Yes, sir,” you tease with a sultry smile. “I’m your slut, no one else’s.”

He walks over and settles between your legs, kissing you hungrily as he unzips his pants and takes his cock out. “That’s right,” he growls. “Love hearing you say that… In fact, think I want you to see that too.” 

He grabs you down off your perch and spins you to face the mirror lining the sink, your hands fly out to brace yourself as he presses you up against the counter, kicking your legs apart. He makes quick work of tugging your panties down your legs and then reaching over to jerk the cups of your bra down. You watch your reflection as he exposes more of your body to himself and now to you; you don’t even process your nakedness, your only thought is of how blown your pupils look.

Ashton lines himself up and pushes his cock inside you and begins thrusting roughly. You were undoubtedly turned on but the stretch is still a lot and you find yourself gasping and white-knuckling the counter at the sensation. 

He sees your eyes start to close and he yanks your hair to get your attention. “I said I want you to see what a slut you are,” he breathes, already struggling to control himself. “Want you to see what I see, want you to see what everyone is gonna see if that door stop doesn’t hold up and someone comes in here and finds me giving you what you’ve been needing so badly.”

You whimper quietly at his words, at the thought of being caught. “Yes, sir… I love seeing how I look with your cock inside me…” You pant, “I already look so fucked out and we’ve barely started… I just wanted it so much.”

He slaps your ass again and the already loud smack sounds even louder given your setting. “We’re only at this fucking store today because we had to solve a problem created by your greedy little pussy and now that we’re here? You can’t even act right for a couple hours, got me hard looking at fucking flowers, now I’m having to bend you over in a fucking bathroom? How embarrassing,” he rasps at you through gritted teeth.

You love when he’s like this, you feel like you could almost cum from his words alone; you know it’s risking setting him off but you reach down and start rubbing your clit, you can’t help it. Ash immediately notices and laughs darkly. “Aww, baby, that time already? Go ahead and make yourself cum, sugar, the faster that needy pussy gets satisfied, the faster I can get on with my fucking day… until you’re back to begging me for it when we get home, of course.”

You’re aggressively meeting his thrusts now, throwing yourself back on him with pleasure being your only concern. You’d love to respond to his teasing with some sass of your own, rile him up some more but he’s hitting inside you just right and the only thing you can think to do is moan.

Seconds after you let out a particularly long moan, you notice voices can faintly be heard on the other side of the door, a pair of employees walking through the hallway. You catch Ashton’s gaze in the mirror and you can see the question in his eyes, letting you decide if you want to stop; you surprise yourself with how little you care and you stare at his reflection as you bounce yourself against him and rub your clit faster.

An amused smile paints his face and he whispers, “Starting to think you might want everyone to know what a slut you are for me. Is that what you want, baby?” His fingers dig into your skin as he drives his hips relentlessly into yours.

To keep from crying out, you bite your lip hard enough you’re almost sure you’re breaking the skin. You manage to gasp out, “Yes, sir,” before your orgasm completely takes your breath away.

The combination of you cumming around him and your breathless use of that phrase finally does Ash in and he thrusts into you only a few more times before his cock starts pumping you full of cum. Those voices outside the door are still somewhat present and you watch his reflection as he tries not to make a sound, fascinated by the way his jaw almost seems to be clenching in time with the pulsing of your pussy.

You both stand at the sink, catching your breath for a good minute, reality slowly starting to fade back in. You close your eyes and open them again, giggling once your mind finally starts to process the sight of yourself tits out, bottomless and bent over a bathroom sink in a hardware store.

Ashton smiles at the sound of your laughter and pulls out of you, hurriedly reaching for a handful of paper towels to help you clean up before things get too messy.

You accept his help and wryly ask, “You’re not gonna do the whole ‘no, put your panties back on, want you to feel my cum dripping out of you until we get home’ thing?”

He looks at you with amusement in his eyes and replies, “Gross, babe, we still have to go through checkout and everything. Jesus.”

You snort and pull him into you, kissing him sweetly before you both start the process of making yourselves and the bathroom look like nothing happened. 

You manage to exit both the bathroom and the store without anyone catching on; you notice he’s in a much lighter mood and much more affectionate and touchy than he was earlier. You like it.

There’s traffic on the drive home but it doesn’t seem to bother either one of you; you’re excitedly chatting about the purchases you made and trying to decide what to order for dinner.

There’s a lull in the conversation and you can’t fight the urge to comment, “So… you definitely can’t tease me anymore for getting turned on by home improvement because I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna be able to visit that store without getting just a little bit hard now.”

The giggle Ash lets out fills the car and it’s the best sound you’ve heard all day. “I think whatever sex demon possessed you last week got to me,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “I literally had to stop myself from eating my cum out of you. That’s how far gone I was.”

You playfully jab his side. “I can’t even get you to do that at home and you’re trying to do it in a public bathroom? And we call me the slut in this relationship.”

He laughs again and squeezes your thigh affectionately. “Well… we have fun, don’t we?”

You place your hand on top of his, turn to him and grin. “Yes, sir.”

—-

My tag list is breaking my posts atm so apologies if you get tagged more than once/don’t get tagged at all while I figure out what the problem is!

—-

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Hallelujah - Clouis OneShot

Hey y’all! I’ve decided to repost all my works onto Tumblr for those of you who might not have heard of them or just prefer reading on this site. I will be shooting to post one per day starting today. I hope you enjoy. (Also, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3)

Description:  After having a nightmare, Clem finds Louis alone in the music room, and he shares something personal with her.

Wordcount: 3029

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Clementine jerked awake, covered in a pool of her own sweat. She’d been having nightmares again after what happened. This nightmare, however, did not concern the McCarrol Ranch, but Marlon’s untimely death, and the person who’d pulled the trigger. Ten days were certainly not enough to forget what AJ had done. She looked around and took in her surroundings. All the little trinkets she’d collected decorated the room, and gave it her own little touch. She looked at the deer skull on top of the door and grinned. It looks awesome, she thought to herself.

Fortunately for them, the rest of the kids had let her and AJ stay, at least until after the raider attack, which didn’t seem to be coming any time soon. It certainly had everyone on edge.

She scrubbed the grogginess from her eyes and lifted herself from the less-than-comfortable bed. She took a sad glimpse at the sleeping form of AJ. He’d been getting stronger, but still not strong enough. He’d never been shot before, and she had hoped that had stayed the case for a while longer. On their makeshift nightstand stood the wildflowers she’d found on that bench, though now their purple color had faded somewhat into grey.

“I’ll have to water them or AJ’ll have my head when he recovers,” she said to herself, frowning at the thought. If he ever recovers, that is.

“No, stop it Clementine,” she scolded, “He’s gonna be fine.”

She didn’t know how long she’d been talking to herself, but she estimated it had been around three years. Was she going crazy? No, she just needed someone other than AJ to talk to, that was all. She decided that she wasn’t helping anybody by standing around, so with a swift motion she grabbed her trusty hat and made her way to the courtyard.

Looking around, she couldn’t find a soul, which was strange. Maybe it’s earlier than I thought, she reasoned. The sun was barely scraping the roof of the school and yesterday really had been an exhausting day. Clearing the debris from around the school had not been an easy task, so everyone had volunteered to help in one way or another.

On a hunch, she turned around and walked into the admin building. Walking around the place seemed odd, like she didn’t really belong there. Of course, that much was true. She and AJ were merely outsiders to this place, guarded so strongly for close to nine years. And now it was preparing for a war with a group of raiders who were ready to take kids for their own battle up north.

Before Clem could delve further into her own thoughts, a soft, sweet sound caught her attention and she stood still, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. She rotated slowly on the spot, until she realized there was only one place that sound could be coming from. Sighing, Clem walked down the hallway and opened the door to the music room, which was ajar.

Inside, she saw the hunched figure of Louis sitting on the piano stool, playing a soft melody that seemed to envelop the entire room as he played it. Clementine leaned on the doorframe for a moment, admiring Louis’s music. After a few minutes, Louis stopped abruptly and stiffened. Clem took a step forward and let out a breath,

“Hi, Louis,” she greeted lamely, hoping against hope that she hadn’t been the reason he stopped playing.

For a moment, Louis didn’t stir. He sat on the stool, perfectly still, looking at the keys with a sunken look in his eyes. The girl was about to talk again when he turned around and smiled at her. A real, genuine smile. It was the first one she’d seen him wear since that fateful night ten days ago. A silent, grieving Louis was much sourer than a happy, gleeful one, Clem gathered.

“Oh hey there, Princess,” he said with a wink in her direction, causing her eyes to roll and the beginnings smile to form on her lips.

“I hate it when you call me that,” she warned, trying as hard as she could to fight off the urge to keep smiling. She moved closer and sat on a small chair beside the piano stool, facing Louis.

“Yet here you are,” he rebuked, turning his attention back to the piano and pressing a couple of keys with no real pattern to it.

Silence fell between them once again as Louis started playing the beautiful song again. It filled Clementine with a joy and serenity that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It was as though, while that song was playing, everything that was going on outside came to a standstill. Time stopped for the two of them, and the only thing in the world was this room.

Then, to both Clem and Louis’s surprise, he started singing. It was a beautiful sound, Clementine decided, and the words seemed to roll off his tongue so elegantly, as though he’d sung that a thousand times over. She had the overwhelming urge to close her eyes, almost as if that would bring the lyrics closer to her heart.

“I’ve heard there was a secret chord

That David played and it pleased the lord,

But you don’t really care for music do you?

It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth

The minor fall, the major lift

The baffled king composing,

Hallelujah.”

Although Clem was clearly enthralled by the words being sung by Louis, the boy stopped singing and glanced at her, careful to keep playing the tune. She was so beautiful when she didn’t know she was being watched, Louis thought. The way her curly brown hair rolled over her face from behind her hat; the way her lips curled upwards as the muscles on her face relaxed and became accustomed to the music. There was really only one word to describe her, Louis gathered: breathtaking.

After a few moments of not hearing any singing over the piano, Clementine opened her eyes and eyed Louis quizzically. He was staring at her with a smile on his face. What was he looking at? Did she have something on her face?

“Why did you stop?” was all she could say when she realized the song probably had more than just the one verse.

Louis thought hard about the next words he said, before settling for, “would you like me to teach you? I am the best piano teacher in the world, currently,” he finished with a cheeky grin.

At the request, Clem’s golden eyes lit up with a sparkle that Louis figured had been lost long ago. He didn’t know why he knew this, but her demeanor around other people suggested she hadn’t had such a fun time growing up. Well, who had, anyway?

“You could do that?” her words cut through his thoughts and Louis put on his signature smile back on.

“Of course,” he assured her, “c’mere.”

Nodding, Clem sat beside Louis on the piano stool and set her small hands hovering over the keys. She eyed the piano with hesitancy, as if it was about to come to life and eat them both. Louis swiftly took her hands in his and moved her fingers to be over the C key, the E key and the G key.

“You know, for a walker killing machine you have the softest hands,” he commented before finishing the final touches to her hand placement. Clem couldn’t help but blush at his comment, though the reason for it was a mystery to her. Why was she embarrassed about that of all things?

“Uh, thanks?” she said uncertainly, her eyes darting from her mentor to her right hand forming the C chord on the piano.

“You’re very welcome,” he said, still smiling that devilish smile that seemed to light up the room more than the sun streaming from the high windows. “Now, you’ve got the placement down. Just press those three at the same time,” he instructed, pointing at her right hand.

She did as he said, and smiled at the sound that she had created. It wasn’t anything special, obviously, but it amazed her nonetheless. After trying a few times and perfecting that chord, they moved onto the other two. It took less than half an hour to learn the rest of the sequence, by which time Louis was ecstatic.

“You’re a damn natural, Clem,” he kept saying whenever she managed to string all four chords together. “Now it’s starting to sound more like it,” he encouraged, which made Clem smile.

She didn’t know what it was about him, but at that moment, she felt safe. Thoughts of the impending raider attack were pushed from her mind completely, and the horrors she had experienced lately were greatly diminished while they were in each other’s presence.

Louis felt his face hurting from smiling so much, and wondered how it was that he could be this way after what had happened barely ten days ago. Of course, he knew that already. He was with Clem. There wasn’t much to it, and he knew the reason he seemed to forget the world when they shared time together.

While Clem kept playing the four chords over and over, Louis cleared his throat and started singing again, this time starting with the second verse.

“Your faith was strong but you needed proof,

You saw her bathing on the roof

Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.

She tied you to the kitchen chair

She broke your throne, she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah.”

Clementine must have zoned out somewhere during that verse, because before she realized she had closed her eyes and kept on playing from memory.

“Look at me, Louis!” she called enthusiastically, careful to keep her eyes closed as her fingers gracefully moved from a C chord to an Am chord.

“That’s great, Clem, I knew you were a natural,” he exclaimed. Only he wasn’t looking at her hands, but at her. The way her face lit up when she realized she could play with her eyes closed could have illuminated the courtyard, had it been night. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and she was laughing.

A genuine Clementine laugh was not something Louis got to experience often, so he soaked it in while it lasted. After a few seconds of hearing no more feedback, Clem opened her eyes and glanced at Louis. The question that had been forming in her mind finally made its way to her lips.

“Louis?”

“Hm?” he questioned, turning to the girl sitting beside him.

“Why were you here today?”

Boy, was that a question. Louis’s featured contorted into a frown and he looked away for a moment. It was no use hiding it from her; she had a way with faces, he knew.

“I wanted to tickle the ivories once more before the raiders come knocking,” he said nonchalantly, but frowned when Clem’s concerned parent look locked onto him. Sighing, he looked down at his hands.

“I just… wanted to play that song again. It’s been a minute,” he confessed, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

As she stopped playing, Clem placed a tender hand on his forearm and looked up into his chocolate eyes. Those damn, beautiful eyes. What’s wrong with you, Clementine? Be there for him, she chastised herself.

“How long has it been?” she asked him softly, turning on the stool to face him fully.

“Last time I played it, it was on Marlon’s fifteenth birthday,” he told her, looking away again, fighting tears that threatened to break surface with his eyes.

“Oh,” was all Clem could muster when he shared that information. She knew Louis hadn’t been himself lately, and that was entirely because of the lack of one very important person. Marlon had been his best friend, his brother, and Clem and AJ had taken that away from him as quickly as two days after they’d saved them.

“Yeah,” he replied lamely, looking into her eyes with a sad smile on his face.

Before she realized, Clem opened her arms and embraced the boy in the most motherly hug she could muster. She cursed herself for being so awkward, but Louis actually leaned into the hug, wrapping his long arms around her and sniffing softly. They stayed like that for a few minutes before breaking apart and straightening themselves.

Louis was the first to recover from the wave of emotions that overtook both of them after that rather personal exchange. “Thank you, Clementine. I know I’ve been a dick lately, and I’m sorry. Haven’t really been the amazing companion I usually am. I just needed some time, you know?”

Clem shook her head and smiled at the boy, “you have nothing to apologize for. You had every right to be mad. I would have been, too,” she confessed, knitting her brows together in concern for Louis.

A soft chuckle left Louis’s lips, and Clem thought she was making progress. He raised his head until they were face to face and at that moment Louis realized something. He would have to stop sitting on his ass, and start acting. The past was gone, and he had to think of the future. With a long sigh, Louis straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat.

“Um, Clem?” he said softly. Such a smooth talker; damn it Louis, he cursed himself.

Her golden eyes scanned his hard features slowly before settling on his eyes. She looked deep in thought as well, though what thoughts troubled that beautiful mind of hers, Louis didn’t know. She nodded for him to continue and he did.

“Okay, I’m gonna get serious for a moment,” he began, nodding along as he said the words he’d rehearsed over and over in his head.

Clem’s eyes opened wide and she quickly placed the back of her hand on his forehead. “Oh my god, Louis, are you feeling okay? Should I get Ruby?” she mocked him, making a sizzling sound as she removed her hand.

“Ha ha, hilarious,” he laughed, rolling his eyes. “I thought I was the jokester here.”

“I know, I am too,” she reminded him, though she could sense he was actually being serious when he didn’t laugh at that. “Right, sorry. Continue.”

“I’ve been battling with myself for the last two weeks, and it hasn’t really been easy,” he started, fumbling over his own words and frowning at his awkwardness. Clem encouraged him with a smile and he sighed.

“Okay, I’m just gonna say it. I like you, Clem. As in, like-like you,” he explained, topping it all with a cheeky smile that contrasted with Clementine’s shocked expression.

The following seconds were a blur of emotions in Clem’s head. The first of which was astonishment. Louis likes me? Likes me, likes me? she kept thinking. She started grasping at the pieces of the puzzle and understanding took over her features. It all made sense now.

The senseless flirtations at every possible opportunity; Louis’s insistence that she come with them on hunting trips, even though they weren’t really speaking at all; his stupid query about her ever having had a boyfriend. Louis really liked her.

She racked her brains for something to say back to that, and came up empty. The truth was that she liked him too. As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she had grown quite fond of Louis in the past two weeks. Not only that but, even if Louis hadn’t told her, she knew he’d been the one to help AJ up after Marlon pushed him onto the ground. That had been the first time someone other than Clementine came up behind AJ and came out uninjured. She realized then that AJ must have really looked up to him to trust him the way he would trust Clem.

She couldn’t really lie, either; she did think he was cute. From the moment they met, that fact had been in the back of her mind almost constantly, but now it flew right past her eyes in front of her and screamed at her to go forward. Louis’s voice cut through her thoughts like a knife.

“Oh no, I’ve made it awkward,” Louis exclaimed, “whelp, gonna go throw myself into the river and never come back,” he started to get up but was yanked back down by Clem, who took a moment to look into his chocolate brown eyes before doing something she’d never done before.

She kissed him.

It was a sweet kiss, filled with the underlying feelings they were both feeling as they embraced. She felt as though she was sitting on a cloud, and she never wanted to come down. She couldn’t actually describe the feeling, though. It just fit.

As they broke apart, both panting from the intensity of the situation they now found themselves in, Louis searched her features for any indication that that was real. He thought he might be imagining things, but he could have sworn she was grinning with her eyes closed. She kissed me? was his only thought.

“I like-like you too, Louis,” she finally said, breathless. Even after that kiss, Louis was still baffled that those words had come out of her beautiful mouth. He took a second to savor the moment before saying,

“Wait, so when you said you had feelings for someone back at that game, you meant me?”

Blushing, Clem pursed her lips and looked away. “Yes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Holy shit, it’s me!” he exclaimed, eyes wide as plates as he took in this new-found information.

Another kiss from Clementine shut him up for good. They embraced tenderly sitting as close to each other as the rickety piano stool would allow them. After a good few minutes, Clem broke apart from him and glanced at him quizzically.

“By the way, what was that song called?” she asked, the twinkle in her eye making her even more beautiful. As if that was possible, thought Louis with a grin.

“Hallelujah,” he said, embracing her again.

[something-tofightfor]

His Favorite Place (Drabble #11)

Pairing: King Caspian x Reader

Word Count: 1830

Rating: PG-13? 

Author’s Note: This is the first time I’ve ever written for Caspian, and it’s very different than anything I’ve written before... so if it’s off, I apologize. @its-my-little-dumpster-fire - enjoy!

Caspian was many things: brave, strong, smart, quick to take action when the situation called for it. He was well liked by his people, revered for his capabilities when it came to talking to other leaders, befriending other lords and ladies. Caspian’s experience had come from only a few short years worth of time, after being thrust into a life that he wasn’t prepared for - fighting for the crown and the throne and control of Narnia with barely any time to think. He was grateful for the relative peace that had come to the land, because it gave him time to grow and learn more, to rely on his advisers and the rest of his Court. 

 Caspian was many things, but one of the things that he was not was willing to compromise on his own feelings. Since taking the throne back from his uncle, Caspian had been dealing with the rumors of his relationships, of the need for him to choose a bride and settle down, to produce heirs for Narnia in the case of his untimely demise. Mostly, the people of Narnia wanted to celebrate - first a wedding and then the birth of a child - but in Caspian’s mind, there was plenty of time for both. He enjoyed being out on the sea on the Dawn Treader, enjoyed spending time riding through the countryside, enjoyed being by himself, and from what he knew of marriage and children, these things would need to stop if (when) this came to be. 

 “I haven’t slept a full night in months,” Odril, one of his closest advisers whined to Caspian after a council meeting. “And it’s not because my wife is taking care of me, it’s because our son hasn’t stopped crying.” With a grimace, Caspian had shaken his head, thanking his lucky stars that he wasn’t in the same situation. Another friend, Mesnan, had complained to Caspian about his wife’s changes in behavior after their wedding. 

 “Caspian,” he groaned, putting his face in his hands. “You wouldn’t believe the things I have to put up with now that she’s living in my home. She expects me to clean up after myself, and she limits the amount of ale I drink.” Caspian had snickered, one hand rising to cover his mouth though it could do nothing to hide the amusement in his eyes. “You laugh, Cas, but just wait. You’ll see what I mean.” But Caspian was almost sure that his marriage - whenever it happened - would be much different than Mesnan’s and even Odril’s, simply because he was King. 

 Queen Susan’s presence in his life had been pleasant, but all too short. Though he’d enjoyed her company and felt a spark when he spoke to her - and an even bigger one during their only kiss, he knew that being with her long term wasn’t going to work. The fact that she wasn’t truly from Narnia was one hurdle to overcome, but the other? Her brothers would have disapproved of the union, simply because Peter and Edmund were wary of Caspian in a way that he couldn’t put his finger on. Certainly, when he’d met High King Peter for the first time, Caspian had been nothing but a teenager, barely old enough to stand up for himself and Peter had already ruled Narnia for years. 

 Certainly, it was a strange situation for all of them, but Lucy had been overly friendly and supportive of Caspian and Susan, despite the age difference, and even though Edmund had been wary, he hadn’t been outright frosty in the way that Peter had been at first. But the Pevensies had traveled back to England, and when Aslan had called them back to Narnia, only Lucy and Edmund had shown up again, along with their cousin. Lucy hinted that Susan had moved on, and truthfully, so had Caspian, though not in the same way. He’d always compare the women he met to Susan, but being nearly twenty five, Caspian knew that the feelings he’d had for the girl nearly a decade prior were no more than a simple teenage infatuation. But, he thought to himself, I won’t marry for anything less than love. Narnia deserves a King and Queen that love each other, not a marriage of convenience. 

 And so, Caspian often retreated to the castle’s library when he was not needed, losing himself in the books that were stacked to the ceiling, hair falling over his eyes as he pored over the content between each cover. He loved to learn, loved to pass the time in solitude and looked forward to the long hours he spent seated on the benches in the library, until Nilsea or Tumlea brought him a meal or reminded him that it was late, that he had a meeting the following day. In Caspian’s mind, being educated was the most important thing that a King could be, and despite the fact that he got experience by doing things, Caspian recognized the value of understanding history, too. Secluding himself in the library also kept him away from the expectations of his council, away from the requests that he start thinking of settling down, that he agree to meet with more potential wives.

 Stomach growling, Caspian stood up and turned, leaving a large book on giants open on the table, his mind racing as he moved toward the kitchen. They have so much history, and yet they’re so uncommon near this area. He shook his head, pulling the heavy door to the library open and was shocked to see a young woman standing on the other side of it, her arms full of books. “Oh, excuse me!” She gasped and stepped to the side, dipping her head forward as she curtsied, averting her gaze to the floor. “I apologize, my King.” 

 Caspian simply stared for long moments before shaking his head and reaching out. Her voice, the accent...“Please, give me some of those books, and don’t worry about the formality, this isn’t the time.” The girl took a breath, still looking away, even as she offloaded some of the books into Caspian’s waiting arms. “Is that enough? I can take more if you need.” She shook her head quickly, and Caspian turned away, heading back into the library. “Where would you like me to put these?” 

 “Just on the table, your Majesty.” Caspian grinned as he heard the flustered tone in her voice and he set the books down, stacking them neatly. “Thank you so much.” She shook her head still not meeting his eyes and set her own books down, piling them up. “They were much heavier than I thought they would be.” Caspian watched her silently, one arm behind his back and the other hanging at his side. She’s new, I’ve never seen her here before. 

 “What’s your name?” The question slipped from his lips before Caspian could stop it, and the girl finally looked up at him, eyes wide. Caspian took a small step closer, eyes locked on hers and sucked in a breath in surprise. “Your eyes are the color of the sky over the Silver Sea, just before Aslan’s Country.” He spoke again, the words not even sounding like his own. “I’ve never seen anything like them.” He shook his head, but she remained silent, still looking at him. “Please, tell me your name.” She cleared her throat, whispering a response and Caspian’s smile grew. “I’ve never heard that name before.” He licked his lips, taking a deep breath. “Do you… are you employed here in Cair Paravel?” 

 “Yes, your Majesty.” She nodded, raising a hand to gesture to the library. “I’m the new library custodian.” Oh. So I’ll see her a lot. “I just arrived yesterday, and was given a day to adjust to the palace before beginning my work. I speak six different languages, and so it was thought that I could best use my education here.” With each word, her voice grew stronger and Caspian fought to keep his gaze on her face, not wanting to make her uncomfortable by looking at her body - thought it was all he wanted to do. What is happening?  

 “I spend a lot of time in here.” He spoke clearly, giving a small nod. “That table over there?” He turned and pointed, saying her name again. “That’s one of my favorite spots in Cair Paravel.” When he turned to look back, Caspian was happy to see that she was smiling, the very tip of her tongue visible through her teeth. 

 “Is it, your M-”

 “Please, if you’re going to be working here and we’re going to see each other so often, call me Caspian.” Why am I looking forward to seeing her often? She shook her head back and forth twice almost violently, lips parting and her eyes going wide again. 

 “I couldn’t, that’s not proper, it -”

 “I can order you to do so, if it would make it easier for you.” Who are you and why are you being so bold, Caspian? She relaxed, and Caspian stepped forward, one eyebrow raised. “Everyone is so formal with me all of the time, and I come here to get away from it. If I hear you say ‘excuse me, your Majesty,’ or ‘pardon me, my King’ every time you walk by, it’s going to make me have to choose another favorite spot. Caspian within the walls of this room will do just fine.” There was a pause and then she laughed, the sound as clear as a bell and the loudest one he’d heard inside of the library in all his years. It’s a beautiful laugh. 

 “I think I can manage that, Caspian.” He sucked in a breath and his own eyes widened as he heard her say his name for the first time - easily, with no pause. “Thank you for the opportunity.” What? “To come here, to live and work in the palace, to learn more from your people than would be possible in the Southern lands.” I had nothing to do with it. “I know that you don’t choose your own custodians, that you have people do so, but I never imagined that I’d even meet you.” She pressed her lips together, wiping her hands against the front of her skirt, and Caspian looked down for the first time, attention pulled by the movement. “You were leaving, though. I apologize for interrupting. Thank you for the help with my books.” Another smile, and she bowed her head for a moment, closing her eyes. 

 “Yes.” He cleared his throat, nodding his head. “Yes, I was on my way out for lunch.” Caspian smiled, his eyes back on her face. “Perhaps I’ll see you when I return?” Before she could respond, he continued. You’re the king, you can be bold if you want to. “You can tell me about your journey to Cair Paravel.” She nodded once, and Caspian stepped away toward the door, pausing with one hand on the frame. He turned, saying her name once more, and when she raised her eyes to look at him, he continued. “I look forward to it.” 

 She gifted him with another smile, tilting her head to the side. “I do as well, Caspian.”

---

[i-heart-danchou]

Again

So this is for the eruriweek day 7 Timeloop!  This one is deeeeeefinitely going to end up a multi chapter fic.  So it’s a bit of a cliffhanger here, but I don’t want to rush this one. 

--- The final battle, the last showdown, humanity’s best chance to take back Maria and save themselves from untimely extinction.  Levi stuck as close to Erwin as he could.  Erwin grounded him, gave him strength and clarity, made it easier for him to fight.  The armored titan showed himself, the colossal titan showed himself, the beast titan showed himself.  The survey corps was fractured, terrified, almost certain to die… all Levi could hear were screams and splintering stones, all he could taste was blood and fear in the air.  They were fucked, and Erwin, for one brief moment faltered.  

The details weren’t important.  In the end Erwin stood tall and lead the greatest charge in recorded history— he was brave, he fell, he bled to death on a roof and Levi stayed with him because there was no other choice.  

He could barely sleep that night.  A fractured, shard of a man haunted by his choices and his memories.  Huddled up in the corner of Erwin’s room, avoiding the bed, avoiding anything that smelled or felt like the commander, Levi shut his eyes.

**

Levi grumbled to himself as the sunlight broke through the windows and onto his face.  Erwin was dead, he was in no fucking mood to face the day at this point.

“Mm… morning, Levi.”  

Levi shot up in the bed at that, recoiling from the impossible voice.  No.  His eyes were as wide as they’d ever been, staring in disbelief at Erwin fucking Smith lying in the bed next to him.  “Erwin??”  He managed, pulling the blanket back to get a better look at him.  “No.  No it’s not possible.”

Erwin looked quite confused at this point, and offered a wary smile to his partner.  “What isn’t?”

“You— you died yesterday.  The beast titan killed you, it—“  He put his hand on Erwin’s heart.  It was beating, his skin was warm… what the hell…?

“Beast titan?  Levi did you have a bad dream?”

“Shit.  No. …maybe.  What day is it?”

“We’re going to take back Wall Maria today.”  Erwin informed him, obviously a little concerned.  “We can talk about this later.”

Levi watched Erwin get dressed and rubbed the back of his head.  A dream?  How could it have been a dream if… it all seemed so fucking real.  Erwin had been torn apart, he’d bled to death in front of him, he’d made peace with his demons but… maybe not?

Levi decided to ignore the dream as much as he could and followed Erwin down to breakfast.  But… everything was playing out just as it had the day before— their meal was the same, there was the same chip in his glass, Connie made the same stupid joke… was it real?  Had this all happened already?

Levi had always trusted Erwin’s intelligence over his own, but certainly stranger things had happened than…. than what, replaying out the same day again?  The day of Erwin’s death?

He reached over and tugged at Erwin’s sleeve.  

“Erwin.  We should abort the plan.  It’s all going to be fucked up, it won’t work.”

Erwin gave him an incredulous look and shook his head.  “We can’t give up now, Levi.  We’ve worked so hard, we’ve come so close.   Why are you saying this now?”

Levi was panicking.  There was no way Erwin was going to believe him… what, that he had lived this day already?  Seen Erwin die?  It was so absurd, Erwin would never believe him in a million years.  

“Because you’re a fucking wounded soldier and you’ve got no place on the battlefield.  You can’t go, Erwin.  We can’t lose you, it’s too fucked up.”

Erwin looked tired.  “Levi… we’ve been over this.  I have to be there when we find the truth out.  Please don’t take this from me.”

The image of Erwin on the crate came unbidden to Levi’s mind… his last moments of desperation, how miserable he was, how he rode out to his death without ever having achieved his dreams.  “You’ll never get to see the basement if you’re dead, Erwin.  Please.  Please.  I’ve never fucking asked you for anything before Erwin, I’ve always done whatever you needed.  Please.”

Levi imagined that he looked fucking desperate, certainly Erwin was looking at him with something disgustingly close to pity in his eyes.  

“I…” Erwin ran a hand through his hair.  “Levi I…”   He sighed.  “This isn’t like you.”

“I know.  But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need this.  I need you to fucking live.”

~

Levi was reasonably confident he would be able to achieve the same outcome that Erwin had.  He knew what was going to happen, he knew how fucked they were going to be, and he knew that at the end of the day they captured the colossal titan, reclaimed wall Maria, and solved the mysteries of the world.  

Everything played out the same way it had the day before… Reiner fought Eren, the Beast titan trapped them… it was okay, Levi knew what to do.  

“You guys have to charge at the beast titan.”  He explained to the new recruits.  “Just ride at him.  I’ll kill it while it’s distracted.”

But Levi didn’t have Erwin’s charisma, and it wasn’t long before cracks started to show in the new recruit’s resolve.  They weren’t inspired, enthralled, or brave in this moment.  They didn’t believe that their deaths had meaning.  One broke away from formation, then another, then another.  They scattered as the stones came down around them, and screamed as they were torn to shreds anyway.  

The beast titan saw him before he got the chance to attack, and easily crushed him with a stone from about 400 yards away.  Levi’s last thoughts were of Erwin, and how disappointed he would be.

**

He woke up with a gasp and stared at his hands.  No blood.  No pain, he was whole and… he turned to the side, Erwin was nestled up beside him and sleeping peacefully.  Erwin was safe.  What the fuck.  What the actual fuck.  

He hugged Erwin awake and buried his face in Erwin’s neck.  “I hate you.”  He grumbled.  

“Mm.  Love you too, Levi.”  Erwin said sleepily.  “What’s the matter?”

They were in the same outfits, the same bed, the fucking clouds were in the same position… it was that last day again, again!

Fuck.  What the fuck was happening.  “Nothing.  Everything is great.”  

He was unusually quiet as they ate breakfast together, and perhaps Erwin attributed it to nerves.  Why was this happening?  Why did he keep having to relive this horrible day?  Was… was it because he’d made the wrong choice?  Was there a perfect ending to be had?

He subconsciously put his hand to his chest, where he was hiding the precious box and syringe.  Maybe… maybe he should give Erwin the injection after all.  

Erwin’s titan would be magnificent, a sight to behold, an incredible fucking force.  He’d surely, surely be able to save humanity then but… Levi had let Erwin die for a reason, dammit.  He didn’t want Erwin to be a monster.  He deserved better.  

“Erwin?”  He said eventually.  “If… it comes down to it, and I have to use this injection on you, what would you think?”

“If I’m badly wounded, and we have a titan shifter incapacitated, then of course I would accept that responsibility Levi.  Don’t worry about that.”

“But would you… hate it?”

Erwin seemed surprised at the question.  “It would be an adjustment, I suppose.  I could do a lot of good for humanity.”

“That’s a political answer.”  Levi said brusquely.  “I want to know what you really feel.”

“I… I’m not sure.”  Erwin looked tired.  “Whatever happens, Levi, I don’t want you to hesitate.”

~

 It wasn’t long before Erwin was sprawled out before him once more, bleeding out on the rooftop.  Eren went through the motions once more; he and Mikasa fought him for the injection, are soundly defeated, and Levi stood above Erwin with the needle in his hand.  It was a shame about Armin but... saving Armin hadn’t worked.

“I’m sorry, Erwin.”  He said quietly, rolling up his sleeve for a second time.  “I have to get this right.”

Erwin tried to wrench his arm away, but Levi was ready for him this time.  Levi kept himself steady when the needle pierced Erwin’s skin, but flinched when he heard a soft little voice coming from his commander.   
 “Don’t…”

“I’m sorry.”  Levi repeated, pushing the plunger down as fast as he could.  Erwin’s body seized up as the serum ran through him, his wound bleeding fresh as his body contracted.  His titan was… repulsive.  All of the simple titans were, but somehow this bastard version of Erwin was the worst of all of them.  His eyes were stupid and bulging, his gut hanging over his flattened groin, his hair a messy nest that would have made Erwin sick.  There was nothing of Erwin in this creature, none of the intelligence or beauty that made him so admirable.  Levi felt nauseated.

The titan’s body jiggled as it stumbled across the ground, grasping blindly and trying to take Bertholt into his mouth.  Levi couldn’t tear his eyes away as Erwin’s teeth bore into the child’s skull, and sped towards him as soon as the transformation began anew.

Erwin was… he was whole, he was breathing, he was golden and beautiful and he had two arms and…. fuck!  Levi nearly collapsed running to him, cradling him in his arms and whispering in his ear that it was going to be okay.

“I’ve got you.”  He whispered.  “I’ve got you.  You’re safe, Erwin.  We can see the basement now.”

“No.”  Eren’s voice was cold and distant.  “You can’t.”  

Levi seldom let his guard down, but he could hardly be blamed for allowing his jubilation at Erwin being alive and whole from distracting him for a moment.  There was a sickening squelching sound and he looked down at his shirt.  The distal tip of Eren’s blade was sticking out of his chest, and his blood was soaking his uniform.

“Fuck.”

** Levi's eyes shot open and he clutched at his chest.  He was whole.  Erwin was with him.  Fuck, fuck, not again.  (and here’s a link if you wanna look at it on ao3 or whatever <3  https://archiveofourown.org/works/20453777/chapters/48529133 )

[multi-fandom-writer]

the boy with the colors - 1

Masterlist

word count: 1.4k warnings: a little bit of angst, but nothing too terrible

The bright white light shone through your window, illuminating your dark room. The alarm clock across the room read 5:03, two minutes before you actually had to get up. The only reason you couldn’t stand summer: the early sunrises. Sure, you still couldn’t see the bright oranges, yellows, and pinks of the sunrise (or so that’s what you heard from your friends that had found their soulmates), but the light was still bright enough to wake you up from your sleep.

You took your time rolling out of bed, and walking to your closet to get dressed. Today was your first day working for Marvel as a production assistant. As excited as you were, you were at least twice as nervous. Obviously, you were good enough to work for Marvel, but you didn’t want to screw it up, especially with your wardrobe. You had always wanted to work on a film set, specifically as a costume designer. Everybody knew that to be a costume designer, you had to be able to see in color. You couldn’t design costumes if you could only see in black and white. Unfortunately enough for you, you hadn’t met your soulmate yet, so the world was still dull and colorless. Your closet was as it always is, full of dull greys, a few blacks, and almost no whites. You quickly threw on an outfit and got ready for the exciting day. Grabbing two pieces of toast, you left your house, and arrived on the film lot at exactly 5:53.

You had spoken to your boss on the phone the night before, so you already knew what your job would be for the day: babysitting Tom Holland. Of course you’d heard of the shenanigans Tom had gotten up to on film sets, who hasn’t? Knowing what the young actor had gotten into in the past you weren’t surprised when your boss told you that you were going to be his wrangler on set. You were, however, surprised when Tom opened the door to his trailer in nothing but a pair of sweatpants.

His curls were flat against his forehead, meaning he must have just showered. Sitting on the couch behind Tom was none other than Harrison Osterfield, who at least had a shirt on. The ring on Harrison’s finger glistened, brighter than the light grey you were used to. The light must have hit it just right, you figured. “You must be Y/n,” Tom spoke, welcoming you into the trailer. You nodded with a small smile and watched as Tom grabbed a shirt from the couch and slid it over his head. “Not very talkative?” He asked with a chuckle.

You let a smile slip onto your lips as you answered, “No, I’m just not a morning person. I’ll be happier around 9-ish.” You felt your voice shaking, but you sounded confident, nonetheless.

You heard Harrison chuckle at your answer. He looked up from his phone and said, “Well, you’re a fun person to be around.” The boy’s smile was highly contagious. You could have sworn there was a small glimmer of something in his eye, but it disappeared as quickly as it showed itself.

“Oh, thanks,” you answered, feeling the blush rise to your cheeks. You turned back to Tom as you spoke again, “We need to get going so you’re not late.” You spoke with the same tone in your voice that you would use with a child. Not expecting that tactic to work, you could barely hide the shock on your face when Tom actually responded well to it.

“Oh, alright,” Tom responded perkily, running a hand through his barely wet hair. He looked at you with the widest and goofiest smile on his face, a look of pride that could, in fact, adorn a child. The two boys were mostly talkative between themselves, realizing that you weren’t joking about not being a morning person. You could still hear tidbits of their conversation on the way to set, which you mostly ignored. One piece in particular stuck out to you, though. Harrison’s voice was unusually soft as he said, “I swear there was a glint of something in her hair, Tom. She’s gotta be the one, mte.” You strained to hear Tom’s reply, but it was lost in the wind. Upon reaching the set, the three of you were whisked away to start Tom’s morning routine. Almost immediately, Harrison was out the door with Tom’s coffee order of the day.

This left an awkward silence between you and Tom, both of you unsure how to communicate with the other. That was, until Tom broke the silence, “I think you might be Haz’s soulmate.” The words were barely audible, but they were there. Tom had said them and you had heard them and nothing could be taken back now. The shock on your face was not as well masked as you hoped it would be. What made Thomas Stanley Holland such an expert on soulmates anyway? Tom noticed your face in a matter of seconds, though. “I mean, obviously it’s ridiculous, and it’s probably one of the fans we met yesterday or a girl from last night at th-” His sentence cut off, mid-word. He knew he shouldn’t finish the sentence. If you really were Harrison’s soulmate, Tom couldn’t break your heart by finishing the sentence.

You knew though. You knew by the way the sentence stopped. You knew what word was supposed to fill the hanging silence: Strip club. Everyone knew about the negative connotation that strip clubs held. They were for the dirty, cheating, and unfaithful scum, the ones that didn’t care for their soulmates. They were also for the people that somehow didn’t have a soulmate. Whether it be from an untimely death or a screwup of the universe, some were unfortunate enough to never know the world they were missing out on. Either way, ending up at a strip club was not good for your reputation. Strip clubs were the place for the hurting and the unholy alike. Most weren’t even hidden. There were a special few though that were reserved for people who needed their reputations protected. Those special few were located underground, in undisclosed locations. It was almost as if someone painted a giant X over the door to warn passersby to stay away. In reality, strip clubs were nothing special. But the universe condemned them the moment it added the twist of soulmates into the mix of everyday life.

“Why were you there?” you ask, just above a whisper. You could feel your heart shattering. It’s not that you had feelings for Harrison, but the two boys had a good reputation. You couldn’t imagine either of them going to a strip club, not to mention taking part in the activities that go on in the clubs.

Tom stared at you in the mirror for at least two minutes. It was like he was trying to look into your soul. In reality, he was deciding whether or not to trust you. “We had to go pick up a buddy. He was a little too drunk for his own good.” Tom answered as his face softened. The look in his eyes told it all: he wasn’t lying. He wasn’t acting. He genuinely didn’t want to go to the club last night. His friend needed him though, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t there to help. You only nodded in response, seeing the pain in Tom’s eyes from his experience.

“Do me a favor?” Tom’s voice was monotone, he was still trying to recover from speaking of his late night adventure.

“Yeah, what do you need?” you asked, voice returning to normal. You were trying to get this conversation back to a more upbeat note before Harrison got back.

“Don’t tell him about this little talk, please,” the boy paused, seemingly unsure of his words. “He’d never forgive me,” he finally spoke, with a hollow chuckle.

As if on cue, the door opened with Harrison standing in the doorway, a steaming coffee in hand. The tall boy was smiling as he handed Tom the coffee. “So, what were you two talking about?” he asked innocently enough.

Tom was quick to answer his best mate, “Oh, nothing too important. I was just telling Y/n what a lovely color her hair is and how nicely it compliments her eyes.” Tom was smirking at your speechless expression as he took a sip of his drink. So that’s what made Thomas Stanley Holland such an expert on soulmates.

tagging: @stuckonspidey @mrs-hollandstan

[lightneverfades]

Emerge (Frostiron AU ficlet) / Post-Avengers End Game

Warning: Major Spoilers for Avengers: End Game! Do NOT read further if you haven’t watched the movie yet! 

Summary: What if...

Summary: ... when Tony dies in his timeline, he wakes up in an alternate reality of himself where he had just defeated Loki and his Chitauri army in 2012? In the process, he realizes that he has another chance with the god he thought he lost five years ago? What will he do, knowing his choices may alter a fixed timeline that will ultimately save or bring about Loki’s untimely demise? 

Note: This fic was inspired by The OA (if you haven’t watched it, I won’t spoil the premise here! Just watch, it’s a brilliant show!)! Not too sure if I’ll continue this, considering I have a limited amount of time these days, but I had to write down this muse after it occurred to me yesterday. You can tell I’m still a little in denial, haha! Anyways, hope you like it!

P.S. - Since Tony was in a long relationship with Loki, he isn’t with Pepper and therefore Morgan, unfortunately, doesn’t exist in this fic. Was very tempted to put them in here, but I just want Tony to be with Loki in this one, lol.

Music: Genesis and The Other Side by Ruelle

X

“ They say the end is the beginning. Well, that’s exactly what happened.

I was given another lifetime, a different timeline. Another chance… to save him.

To save Loki. From himself. From death.

From Thanos.”

X

Tony gasped as he felt the breath he had lost only moment ago rush back into him again, like a jolt of lightning bursting through his body, within his lungs, forcing him awake and bringing him back from the depths of darkness. He opened his eyes, the world a white blur of light.

Was he… dead? 

But then Tony can feel the wind on his face, taste ash on his tongue. His vision started to focus and he was staring up at… blue skies? His body wasn’t numb… broken… unlike his last moments with his team, watching over him with tears in their eyes. The power he had felt when he held those stones and snapped his fingers. It had torn him apart…

Where am I…? Tony thought with confusion. He blinked a little more, his eyes starting to focus on familiar faces that looked down at him. Steve. Thor. Banner…? But they looked different… younger. Less wrought by time.

He tried to speak, but his throat burned with the effort, feeling as if he had inhaled fire. And now his body can actually feel pain, an indication that he was very much alive. Actually, it ached like hell, as if he had just fallen from a great height.

Wait.

“Year…?” Tony managed to rasp out, and Steve’s face, so young and full of relief now, furrowed a little in confusion.

“It’s 2012. Tony, we gotta get you to the medic. You just barely got out alive.”

2012! Tony’s eyes widened in shock. What happened? Why was he alive? He was dead, or he thought he was. How could he possibly be alive?

And then it occurred to him.

That final wish that crossed his mind before the final task.

Tony had wanted to destroy Thanos and his army… That had been his main goal for stealing those stones from Thanos, before history was close to repeating itself. Doctor Strange’s single glance indicating that this was the only possible solution for everyone’s survival made it clear. 

But more than anything, Tony had hoped he would be with Loki after he was dead. His Loki... 

The god he lost in the war to the mad Titan.

Tony could still remember the day vividly when Thor told him how his brother had died, knowing full well that Tony had been Loki’s lover. Well, the whole team knew. They’ve known for years since Loki actually saved the Avengers numerous times (from Ultron, or from himself, really) and tolerated his presence after they found out the truth about why Loki had come to wreak havoc on Earth. Of course, Loki hadn’t really informed the team that he was in Midgard to atone for his crimes (although Tony was the only one he knew). 

“My brother… Loki… He is dead.”

He hadn’t been able to sleep well since that day. Those five years since Thanos had won had been absolute torture. No matter how many years passed, he couldn’t move on. The what if’s and missed moments came to haunt him, reminding him of a life that he could have had with Loki. It isolated him. 

In a way, Tony understood how Clint felt when his whole family had been turned to dust. 

When Tony had held that gauntlet, that final chance at making Thanos pay for what he had done, he did it with fury coursing through him. His sorrow of Loki’s death, the lost moments he could never get back with the god, brewed as a maelstrom of emotion within him. He knew that if he did the deed, he would die. But knowing that had almost given him a sense of peace in a way. 

What was the point of living if he didn’t have anyone left to care for? He had no family except the team, which he cared for deeply. They were the ones he had to keep alive, and if that meant his impending death was going to end all suffering and undo all the hurt that Thanos had caused, then he would gladly do it. The satisfaction of seeing Thanos die by his hand had been enough for him to finally pass on in peace. That, and the hope that he’d be able to see Loki again.

And now here he was… alive and back in 2012, where it all began. 

Loki, also alive and well, oblivious of the impending future.

But why 2012?

/

“Stark, I love you… No one else.”

“You and me both, Lokes.”

/

“Tony… Tony! Are you okay?”

Tony felt himself being shaken awake again, and he realized he was falling asleep a little. His body felt so exhausted suddenly as if this new state he was in and the knowledge of the future he had was sapping him of energy.

He nodded groggily. Tony felt Steve wrapping an arm around his chest so that he was standing supported by the Captain. He wasn’t really focused as much as he blindly followed out of the rubble of New York City. He heard the blaring sound of the ambulance and the smoke that rose from the destruction that the Chitauri, and inevitably the Avengers, had caused.

“We’re getting you some help, alright? The medics will be here, and we’ll take care of Loki. You get some rest—“

As soon as Tony heard the god’s name, he struggled, “No! I have to come with you. I’m fine, really. See!”

Tony tore away from Steve, to prove he could stand on his own. He managed, barely, willing himself not to fall. Steve looked at him with concern, a small frown emerging and Thor raised his eyebrow a little as well. But then the thunder god wrapped his arm around Tony’s shoulder, stabilizing the man’s wavering footing with an encouraging laugh.

“The Man of Iron wants to see this through to the end! Let us go then, I will take you!” Thor boomed, eager to help. Tony couldn’t help but smile; it’s been a while since he’s seen Thor so stable and happy, unlike the one he knew in his future. The thought of seeing Thor lose everything, of knowing what was going to pass, pained him.

“Thor, wait- Tony, I get it, you want to be the one to see Loki get put away in chains. But I don’t think now’s the right time-,” Steven started but Tony shook his head, determined to get his way.

“I need-“ Tony paused, catching his breath, “-this.”

Steve looked at Tony for a while, studying him, before finally nodding. “Alright. But then you’re getting checked out by a doctor.”

Tony let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Cap.”

He got a nod as Tony felt Thor wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him upward. Then they were rushing through the air. It was exhilarating, the same way he always felt when he was defying gravity in his Iron Man suit. It always made him invincible, even when he knew he wasn’t. Tony saw his old Stark tower closing in. Loki is in that building now... The thought of seeing Loki alive made his heart beat faster in his chest.

Thor landed them abruptly on top of the Stark tower balcony. Tony wavered, and the thunder god caught him quickly.

“Come. Our angry, green friend has caught my brother.” 

Tony nodded, and he hoped the god didn’t catch onto any of his nervousness now. I can’t mess with the time. Who knows what will happen if I do? I might be altering my past as well. Or… am I actually here now, hiding in the background? Is Scott here too, with Cap? 

The thought of seeing his team members, the ones that actually know his past, warmed his heart a little, but at the same time, he wasn’t too sure if he could bear seeing not just Steve and Scott but himself. He had an inkling he was here now, which was ironic considering he was now from the future.

Mess with time, and it messes back at you, Tony thought warily as he stepped into his old living room. He saw a large, green shape - Banner, no Hulk… that was fast, he’d been downstairs only a minute or two ago - hovering over an unconscious body on the ground.

Loki… Tony saw the shape of the mischief god and he felt his body shiver and his heart skip a beat, his throat feeling drier than it already was. He wanted to tear away from Thor’s supportive arm, pound his fists into Loki and shake him awake. More than ever, he wanted - like he had wanted when he first went through the time heist to get the infinity stone - to embrace Loki. Of course, he would kick the god’s ass for leaving him, of course, but the pain of those five years would mend quickly, knowing he had Loki back. But he couldn’t… not yet anyway. Not when he knew he would draw too much attention here.

“Puny god,” Hulk grumbled, glaring at the unconscious god and continued to grunt with a growl on the tip of his tongue. There was a sound from the elevator area, and Tony saw how quickly Steve and the rest of his team came up to capture Loki and stabilize the situation. 

Nat… Tony thought softly to himself as he saw Natasha come towards him with Loki’s scepter. She looked just as young and beautiful as he had seen her before their last moments at the time machine. He caught her sharp gaze and hoped he wasn’t giving anything away that made him look suspicious. But then again… they probably wouldn’t suspect he was a future self trapped in his former body, reliving the past. If anything, Nat would probably laugh. 

“You’re looking a little pale. Maybe you should sit this one out,” Natasha remarks, narrowing her eyes as she glanced over Tony’s appearance. 

“No, no, I’m fine.” 

Natasha didn’t say a word after, although her stare lingered longer than Tony would have liked. Of course, she senses something amiss… Tony thought, feeling a small sense of pride for Natasha. She turned her back on him now, her attention focusing primarily on the unconscious Loki. 

Probably distracted by the fact that she was holding a weapon that could cause chaos in the wrong hands, Tony thought as he watched the weapon glow ominously, still exuding power. It was a powerful tool of deadly persuasion, which Tony knew only too well from Loki. 

Tony walked closer, and he saw the god of mischief. He was cut and bruised, knocked out cold by a rather strong blow brought on by the Hulk. In spite of all this, Tony couldn’t help but notice how peaceful Loki looked. 

It reminded him of the face he used to watch after they had made love and the god had fallen asleep beside him. They used to embrace underneath the sheets, willing themselves to forget the pain and darkness that kept coming their way. Of course, we took them on like every other day… 

No matter what happened in their lives, those stolen moments had been one of the best memories of his life. 

That was until Thanos took Loki away from him. 

Tony saw Loki stir, shards of glass and pieces of rubble falling off of his armor. Then he saw the god’s eyes open slowly. He had to suppress a hitched breath at the sight of them. What once had been overtaken by an icy cold blue were gone, the lush emerald hue of Loki’s original eye color taking over again. They looked upwards at them, at him, and Tony felt his insides twist in a knot as he saw Loki’s face contort in confusion, anger and then amusement - a defence Tony knew Loki used to his advantage every time something went wrong.

“If it’s all the same to you… I’ll have that drink now,” Loki drawled and this time, the god looked at Tony with a small smile, as if he were sharing an inner joke. Which he was, although Tony was the only one who knew.

“Not gonna happen,” Clint snaps viciously as he took out a suitcase, which Tony knew carried the chains given by Thor to prevent Loki from escaping. Of course, that was theoretical, since Loki had later confided in Tony a few years later that if he had wanted to escape, he could have easily done so, but instead, the god had gone along with the charade of playing the captive…

/

“Huh… Why? You just said you could’ve taken them off. Why did you let us take you away like that?” Tony asked, genuinely curious now as he handed Loki a glass of whiskey. They were sitting a good length away from each other, but close enough to hear each other speaking. The room was lit by a single light on the other end of the living room slash bar (cause really, it was the best of both worlds). 

The god raised his eyebrows, looked at the brown liquid for a moment and Tony could see the god was contemplating whether or not he should he drink it. 

Maybe he thinks I poisoned it, Tony thought with an inner chuckle. 

“I do owe you that drink, don’t I?”

Loki shrugged, and then he brought the glass to his lips and sipped cautiously. 

Tony laughed then, even though they weren’t still exactly friends. 

He was only letting Loki stay a little to recuperate that day, esp. after the god had come to save the Avengers from his own creation, Ultron. Vision had been the hero that day, sure, but without Loki’s help, millions more of Sokovia’s citizens would have died. It had been so unexpected, considering Thor had told the Avengers that Loki had died in battle in their own world. No one still knew how he ‘survived’, or if he was dead at all.

“Boredom, perhaps?” Loki answered with a question mark added on the end, a mischievous grin spreading on his lips. Tony raised his eyebrows in response. 

“I thought you had a reputation for being the God of Lies, Reindeer Games,” Tony responded back, clearly seeing through Loki’s facade.

“Mmm, it seems you see right through me, Stark.”

Tony felt Loki set the glass down on the nearby table, walking a little closer towards him. As soon as he took those first steps, Tony was already up and calling on his suit. But in reality, he didn’t really need to. Loki wasn’t smiling or looking anything like his devilish self; if anything, he just looked genuinely sombre.

“Then perhaps… it is guilt.”

The repulsor hand Tony had raised in Loki’s direction as a warning quickly lowered then. Maybe he had judged Loki way too quickly? Looking at Loki’s expression now, something clicked.

“You never wanted to attack New York, did you? It was the scepter that made you do it, wasn’t it?” 

Loki didn’t reply, but his eyes told a story and Tony could tell he was right. 

“Why didn’t you tell your brother? Thor told me you didn’t protest when they locked you up.” 

Tony almost expected the god to snap at him or attack him then and avert his attention away from that question. Maybe in Loki’s shoes, he might’ve if he didn’t want to explain himself. Tony couldn’t quite tell if Loki was going to continue this conversation, but for the first time he saw something in the god that he recognized, and it was weariness. He could see the god’s eyes filled with a sense of sorrow that even he probably hadn’t felt in his lifetime. 

“I deserved to be shut away. My time with the mad Titan has shown me many horrors, and he wrought that misery and pain using me as his vessel.” 

Loki took the glass of whiskey again, and this time he drank it all up. 

“But you couldn’t have controlled it. Barton couldn’t. Anyone that gets near that thing… it distorts everyone’s mentality for the worst,” Tony heard himself saying, and he wondered - not for the first time- why he was feeling sorry for the god or felt the urge to protect him. Maybe he knew a little something about betrayal in the acutest form. Maybe… reading that file about Loki, hearing Thor’s further conversation about the Odinson family history made him a little soft for the god that stood before him now.

Loki chuckled, and it was bitter now, “There are no excuses, no consolations, for what I have done in the Titan’s name. After my fall, I killed thousands. I wanted, more than ever, to quench my thirst for power and blood was what I needed, regardless whose it may be. The death of your people meant nothing if I could eliminate Thanos’s enemies and execute his plans for genocide. That is how much I had fallen!”

“That wasn’t you, he was controlling you, right? With that scepter of yours-“ 

“No, it was me!” Loki snarled now, and Tony could see anger burn in those green eyes, hatred fuming at the edges. “The scepter does make you do its bidding, yes. But all of the devastation I caused was from me. Nothing else!” 

Tony watched as Loki tried to calm himself, and he could see the god’s hands were trembling from the effort. “Why are you back then?”

“I…” Loki faltered, hesitation clear in his voice, “I wish to atone. I wish… to join your team.” 

Tony’s eyes widened a little. “Join the Avengers?” 

“Yes, that is what I said, did I not?” Loki spoke and there was an inkling of amusement in the god’s eyes. Tony can see himself reflected in them. 

He probably looked stunned. He really hadn’t expected that. 

But then again he was Loki’s brother.

“Huh.” 

“I have surprised you.”

“I’m thinking you were aiming for that effect,” Tony responded back. 

Loki smiled and the mischief in his expression was evident. “Oh yes, I was…” 

For the first time, a genuine laugh escaped Tony. In that moment, he felt a certain companionship for the god, the jaded history of their meeting diluted and become replaced with a better memory. That and, oh, the fact that he could tease Loki with ideas of a silly heroes’ costume.

/

We’ll have that moment soon, Tony thinks, but he knows it’s not as quick as he would have liked. After all, it was in 2015 that he finally got a chance to understand Loki and really connect with him. History needed to repeat itself in order for him to be with the Loki he fell in love with… but time was a cruel mistress.

“Get up!” Thor orders and he forces Loki to his feet, taking the overly sized bronze shackles and clamping them over Loki’s wrists. The god winces a little as the mechanism of the Asgardian chains wrap around his wrists tightly, the gears moving of its own accord. Tony couldn’t help but turn away at that; not being able to do anything and seeing Loki in pain hurt like hell. 

Natasha had the scepter trained on Loki as a warning, and Tony shied away from the glow. He had been fortunate enough to be absolutely unaffected by the stone before, but Tony didn’t want to take any chances, now that he was here.

Which made Tony wonder… if he was here, then where was his 2012 self? Was he… gone? Had he erased that other self from existence forever? Did this mean he was going to have to live through his own past again?

Is that so bad? A small part of him spoke softly. Tony really didn’t know what was better.

“Let’s get him out of here,” Tony heard Steve speaking in the background.

He turned as he heard the elevator doors open again and he saw S.H.I.E.L.D agents - no, HYDRA - come up. The soldiers followed the agent in the front line, who held a long suitcase, without question. Tony felt the same distaste as when he’d learned about HYDRA’s existence. He really wanted, more than anything, to tell his team here and now that these men were enemies, that those weren’t really allies of S.H.I.E.L.D. But of course, he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep everything balanced.

I’d mess up everything, Tony thought with frustration as he watched Natasha give the scepter to the agent with the suitcase. Cap… he needs those stones to defeat Thanos. It has to be this way…

He watched, a bystander of time, as the HYDRA team left with the large suitcase holding Loki’s scepter. Tony’s hands had balled into fists. 

“Tony, you hold the Tesseract,” Steve spoke as he handed Tony a suitcase. Tony nodded, although he wondered why the Captain was asking him to hold onto the Tesseract, knowing how Tony wasn���t in the best shape. But then he didn’t really question it. His future self had everything planned out to take it away from him - it’d be better if he was holding it, then Steve, since his next plan involved a little electrocution. 

Not a fun thought… Tony mused at the thought as he remembered that moment when he saw himself writhing in pain on the floor near the reception desk. Nope, not fun at all.

“I’ll go ahead to secure the premises and make sure there isn’t any other threats we’ve missed,” Steve announced.

Oh boy, need to stall him… 

“Wait, Captain, you gotta come with us. Loki’s still uh, dangerous fugitive and we need all eyes that we can get,” Tony started, trying to stir Steve away from the door that led to the stairs. 

“No can do, Stark. I’ll see you soon.”

Tony followed the rest of the team as Thor dragged Loki away and into the elevator, where he too stepped inside. He purposefully stayed a few inches away from the god, forcing himself not to look in Loki’s direction. Tony was a little amused when Hulk had a bit of a tantrum for not being allowed into the elevator, but other than that, his heart couldn’t stop beating so hard. It was ridiculous just how lovesick he felt as if he were some character from a romcom. But then maybe that was what love did to you. 

The ride down was filled with silence, especially after the muzzle was put on Loki. And yet, in spite f the silence, Tony could feel a tension in the air. The team was clearly still on alert. There was another thing where he could feel that particular someone watching him from the other side of the elevator. Tony ignored the intense stare as much as possible.

What was he going to do now though? Was he going to have to let the sequence of events take hold? Tony knew he messed up the first time when he and Scott went after the stone. That plan hadn’t really worked, and he had ended up going back in time to his father’s timeline… Should he let all of that unfold? Or did he have a choice? Could he make it easier for his former self?

Or more importantly…

Could he change time so Loki lived?

Tony could still feel a presence staring at him, and he couldn’t bear to ignore it anymore. He turned to look. 

Loki was watching him, silently observing him from the corner of his eye. But it was enough to see that the god was intrigued by something, which Tony tried desperately to hide. He tried to keep his composure as much as possible, yet this time he couldn’t stop looking into Loki’s eyes. 

And then he heard it. 

Why is your heart beating so fast, Anthony Stark?

Loki’s voice slid through his mind like a serpent, nestling comfortably. Tony felt his body shiver at the magical contact. He wanted to embrace it, but another part of him was panicking. Shit, shit, shit.

Blasphemy does not suit you. But I commend you for winning this time, mortal. I do believe you and I are not so different when it comes to our morals, Loki’s silky voice spoke. So tell me… what are you hiding? 

I’m not hiding anything!

I could easily break you apart, here and now, right in front of your comrades. You avoid my glance, your heart rate speeds up when you see me. You are afraid. If I were to take a guess, I daresay you may very well be in love, but that is close to impossible, all things considered. 

Of course not, Tony thought quickly, maybe a bit too fast. He heard the elevator chime and saw the floor was close to stopping. He eyed the numbers, descending excruciatingly slow. Meanwhile, he could hear Loki’s amused chuckle.

Mmm, you are not a very good liar.

Tony felt Loki’s presence subside, and he let out a breath of relief. He broke his eye contact with Loki when Thor pushed his brother out of the elevator, and into the large hallway.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Clint stated as they stepped out of the elevator. Tony was in front, with Clint, Thor and Natasha training all their weapons on Loki. Even from the corner of his eye, Tony can feel the god watching him, can almost imagine the trademark grin spreading on the god’s lips.

He turned a fraction and saw a man wearing the suit of special forces near the reception desk, lingering a little too long for a normal soldier. Yup, that was him.

Tony saw the HYDRA team again now, and this time it was Alexander Pierce himself and his merry gang.

Great, just what I needed… Tony thought distastefully but he smiled brightly on the outside, showing off his pearly whites. He hoped the son of a bitch wouldn’t notice the disgust in his eyes. 

“May I ask you where you’re going?” Pierce spoke. 

“A bit of lunch and then Asgard. I’m sorry, you are?” Thor questioned.

Tony went through his script, or at least he improvised, pretty stealthily. He was probably a pretty good actor, all things considered. Maybe he should have gone into the Hollywood business. Oh, that would have made Loki laugh… Tony thought for a split second before he focused on reenacting his past. After all, Scott was probably going to zap him any minute now. In nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two… one.

The shock was to be expected, but Tony felt the jolt of pain all the same. It knocked him off his feet, shook him apart. It wasn’t as bad as his last moments when his whole body was scorched from the effects of the stone, sure, but it still hurt. A lot. 

“Stark?” Pierce’s voice echoed ever so faintly as Tony let go of the grip on his suitcase. He forced himself to look before he fell, saw the suitcase slide over to the his other self, that waited for the case to come into his hands. Ingenious as it was, Tony almost wanted to hate that other guy who let his past self go through this pain. And yet, a part of him was also a little relieved.

Everything is going as it should be…

Like I said, Stark. You are a very terrible liar, a familiar voice pierced through his haze of pain and before Tony could even think to reply, he knew he had made his first mistake: letting Loki in.

Through the surprised cries, most likely created from the commotion the Hulk had made after bursting through the long stairwell, Tony felt a hand on his shoulder. The pain immediately dissipated. He gasped and blinked, expecting to see Thor’s face. Instead, he was staring into the face of the mischief god, who smiled broadly, the muzzle now gone. 

“Loki! No!” Tony heard Thor’s angry roar and he flinched, feeling his exhausted body being hoisted up. He thought he could hear a crackle of thunder, but he knew he was probably acting as Loki’s human shield now. From the corner of his eye, he could see a blue glow and realized that Loki was now free of the Asgardian chains as well, the other hand gripping the Tesseract tightly.

“Goodbye, brother,” Loki nonchalantly.

Wait, I can’t! Tony thought, but it was too late. The whole room disappeared before his eyes, and he was now standing in a dark room of some sort. Loki let him go as soon as they were away from the past he knew. 

“Oh no,” Tony heard himself whisper. He tried to get up, but the effects of the shock he’d gotten still rendered him a little weak on the knees. And second, he couldn’t see a thing except for the glow of the Tesseract in Loki’s hand. 

He heard a snap and the lights came on, revealing a luxury suite of some kind. The designs were the same as Earth though, thankfully enough.

“I do need to thank you, Man of Iron. Without your help, I really wouldn’t have seen quite the error of my ways. You didn’t think a mere muzzle and some chains could hold my magic, now, did you?” Loki drawled and smiled, the glimmer of mischief evident in his eyes.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. Loki, we have to go back! You’re not supposed to-“ Tony started, trying to get up. It was a painstaking process - he should have anticipated this.

“No doubt it wasn’t quite what you planned… Yet it is what it is, no?” Loki spoke, and Tony watched as the god squeezed the Tesseract cube in his grip. It splintered and broke until finally, the sound of glass breaking sounded. Tony had to close his eyes for a moment before he saw Loki with the stone, the blue Space stone floating in Loki’s palm. 

“What are you doing?”

Fear crept up in Tony now, and he knew it wasn’t for him now. It was for Loki. Of course, the fear of messing with the timeline was there, but more than anything, he wanted to keep the god safe from himself. 

“Loki, whatever you’re planning, don’t do it. You’re better than this.”

“And how do you know this, Stark?” Loki snaps back at Tony, and this time he realizes that he’d once again judged Loki wrong. He thought he had seen glee in those eyes, but it was an illusion. Behind the grand facade, the god’s smile was a desperate attempt to hide his despair.

I know you’re hurting. That pain isn’t going to go away. You won’t be able to get over it anytime soon. But don’t run away from it. That stone isn’t going to save you.

“Why are you acting so wise, all of a sudden?” The god snarled. “A moment ago, you were happy to see me fall, like the rest of your silly group. I am the villain in this story, am I not? I will be called the monster that devastated your short. Pathetic. Lives!”

Loki struck out and Tony, without his suit, was hit full with the power of Loki’s magic. He felt his body bang into the wall, making a good dent of it. The glass around them broke a little, and he saw that he was still in New York. Loki hadn’t travelled far, and of all places, the god had decided to get a room with a good view. Figures. 

He got up as fast as he could, but it still wasn’t fast enough. One minute, he was dragging himself up, leaning heavily on the wall behind him, and the next he was pressed right into it, Loki’s free hand (the one not holding the stone) pushing his aching back to the wall.

“You’re not a monster.”

“Such conviction. And yet you know nothing!” Loki hissed, eyes filled with anger. Tony flinched as he felt the energy of the stone permeating from it. Somehow though, seeing it so close again, Tony wasn’t afraid. This time, the threat of death seemed almost pointless, considering he had died once before.

“I’ll prove it,” Tony said, staring up at Loki with determination.

“You canno- NO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? DON’T!” 

Tony had reached out his free hand quickly to grasp the floating Space Stone, knowing full well that touching it will most likely kill him. Again. But his life wasn’t as important now. He’d lived all the lives he was meant to. Getting this second chance… he needed to use it not just for himself, but for the god he loved. 

Tony was pushed aside so quickly, he hadn’t even noticed until he was on the ground, his hand still intact. Loki, on the other hand, looked as flustered as ever.

He smiled up at Loki with a knowing grin, “See?”

“You fool! The stone would have destroyed you!” 

“Mmm, I was counting on it.”

Loki looked at Tony in disbelief. “Why would you be so reckless? How could you stake your life on a petty gamble such as this?”

Think of the timeline… Tony thought then, and he felt all the agony of loneliness, self-loathing and sadness he had felt the past five years come back to haunt him now. Seeing Loki now, alive and breathing, was a gift. But the future was a curse, something he wished he could change from the bottom of his heart. Was there no other way? Could he not trick time into letting Loki live?

A gamble, eh? Maybe I’ll have to take that chance. 

“For you, I’d do anything,” Tony spoke, his voice coming off softly. He could see the anger and disbelief dissipate, replaced with confusion.

“Why!? What are you hiding, Stark?” Loki demanded.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Tony said with a small smirk. “I’m from the future.”

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

The Red Brute

Part One of Two Raphael and Reader

It had been a year since you had befriended four mutant turtles. A year since you found them scavenging the junk yard for parts for their genius brother while you were dropping off your destroyed bike for parts. A year since your first look into those golden orbs of raw emotion. A year since your life had been changed forever.

You hadn’t fallen in love him right away; actually it was quiet the opposite. For the first few months the big red brute named Raphael barely paid you any mind. When you would come down with a few fresh pies for the guys all you’d get was a deep grunt and a nod before her took four slices and went up to pound on his practice dummy or lift his weights. He was such a Debbie downer back then, a stick in the mud. You tried not to worry about it but what the fuck was his problem? At least you had his three wonderful brothers who were beyond attentive and eager to bond.

It wasn’t until that fateful day when something changed in him, in you….the day you almost died.

You could remember it like it was yesterday, it was a warm summer evening and you had snuck up on the roof of your apartment building and were sitting on the edge of the building taking in the sights and sounds of New York. The guys were out on patrol so you were planning on having a relaxing evening at home. Maybe a movie and a giant bowl of buttery popcorn would be in order.

The breeze on the roof was amazing lowering your sweltering body heat to a tolerable temperature. The A/C in your apartment had been on the fritz and the repair man couldn’t come to fix it until the next day. So you knew sleep would be a hard thing to obtain tonight. Maybe you should slip down to the lair for a cooler venue. It was tempting but you didn’t know when the guys would be back and you didn’t like being down there alone with Splinter. You loved that giant rat but he wasn’t the most entertaining host. He had tried to teach you meditation several times but you couldn’t seem to focus enough to bring you to the next plain. And you didn’t feel like another lesson tonight.

The normal honks of car horns and low humming of A/C units floated above the city streets to your ears. Even a few random yelled obscenities from the building next to you send a smile of amusement across your face. A soft buzzing in your back pocket alerted you to your phone and you slipped the thin phone from your pocket taping the screen to see a text from your mother.

“Don’t forget to bring a loaf of bread for lasagna on Saturday.” She reminded you. Hitting reply you reassured her you wouldn’t forget and closed the screen down but before you could put it in your back pocket again a sound pulled you from your current thoughts. Shouting and loud pops reverberated across the rooftops echoing in the open space and it seemed to be getting louder.

“What the hell is that?” you mumbled out loud getting to your feet being careful not to fall forward to your untimely death. Now the ruckus was thundering closer and you started to recognize the voices.

Donnie? It couldn’t be. Finally on the roof and off the ledge you turned around to see four large mutant turtle silhouettes hurtling towards you with several bodies on their heels. From what you could tell they had no idea you were on the next building. What the hell was going on?

Then you heard the pops again but they weren’t pops anymore, more like gun shots! Little flashes of light came from the mob close behind your friends and the unmistakable zing of a bullet came inches from your face.

“Fuck!”

Diving to the ground you avoided another bullet to your abdomen and watched all four of the turtles hurtle over the edge of the far building landing on yours. Their shells scraped on the rough surface of the roof as they rolled to their feet and readied themselves against the battle to come.

Should you say something? Should you let them know you were up there? Would it distract them?  Before you could decide about 20 bodies collided with the four mutants and a brawl ensued.

“Mikey watch your back!” Leo yelled blocking an attack to the youngest carapace.

You found yourself enthralled with the sight of it all. You had seen them practice but never in a full blown battle. This was nothing compared to what you had seen below the streets. Their bodies moved with such precision and power, watching their muscles flex beneath the green pebbled skin. Their attacks and blocks executed with finesse. If this wasn’t a dire moment for them it would have been breathtaking. They were magnificent, but you knew that already.  

Then your eyes found Raphael, the giant powerhouse roared lunging forward tackling three of the strange man dressed in black to the roof. His massive arms pulsed with each punch he delivered sending each one of those men into the bliss of unconsciousness. As he got to his feet your eyes met and his golden orbs dilated in shock. The emotion that flashed over his usual irritated face was strange something you had never seen him express before. Fear? Was he actually scared? For what, scared for you?

His eyes moved to Leo who was too busy with his own handful of attackers to notice their friend huddled behind a cooling unit. Then his golden eyes shifted to Donnie and found he too was preoccupied along with Mikey who was currently struggling to keep his feet planted on the roof. As four set of arms were trying to push him from the safety of the roof down to the street several floors below. When his gaze returned to you, you motioned for him to help his little brother and sunk back behind the unit trying your best to keep hidden. The door to the building below was currently blocked with the shell of Leonardo who was trying his best to stay alive so you decided to stay put.

It was so loud and scary and you wanted to look to make sure your friends were alright but the preservation of your life kept you hidden away.

A loud shriek of Mikey made you jump and finally look over the cooling unit. That was a bad idea, just as your head rose into view one of the men attacking your friends caught sight of you and lunged forward toppling you over slamming your head on to the hard surface of the roof.  Stars dancing in your vision and you suddenly felt queasy. His arms yanked you up and held you to him and that’s when you felt the cold sharp tip of blade press to the hollow of your throat. Dragging you from behind the large block of metal he brought you into view to the rest of the turtles.

“Freaks!” he screamed gaining their attention.

Now they were all aware of your presence and you felt like an idiot and a burden. All fighting from them stopped and they stared wide eyed waiting for the demand. Your hands moved to the man’s arm and gripped tightly trying to pry the sharp tip from your skin. His feet continued to pull you to the edge of the building and you could feel the wind begin to ruffle your hair as your reached the precarious edge.

“Drop your weapons freaks and come quietly, or else this pretty little lady becomes street pizza.”

Leo immediately held his hands up his katana raised in surrender. “Please don’t hurt her.” He pleaded ready to lay his weapons down. His blue eyes on you filled with apprehension.

Mikey had already tossed his nunchakus to the ground holding his hands in the air stepping closer to his leader in blue.

“Don’t.” you mouthed to Leo shaking your head. You wouldn’t be the reason for their downfall. Why did you have to be up here of all nights?

“Listen little miss but these freaks belong to the shredder and they’re going back to where they belong whether they like it or not.” The man hissed into your ear pressing the tip further into your neck just breaking the skin.

You sucked in a short gulp of air at the pain and looked back at your friends finding the red brutes gaze. It was intense as he stared at you his sai clenched in his hands. Fear was still prominent in his features and it was puzzling. He wouldn’t give you the time of day but now faced with your demise he was suddenly distraught at the thought of loosing you.

“I said drop them!” your capture screamed in your ear making you winch.

Your adrenaline was pumping through your veins now and you weren’t going down without a fight. You weren’t trained nor were you very strong but god help those men if they thought you would lie down and let them take your friends without any kind of fight. That fucking knife be damned you leaned to the hand holding the knife and sunk your teeth into his flesh and sent the heal of your shoe down on his toes.

He screamed in pain and lost his footing tumbling backwards taking you with him. Before you could do anything you came very aware of the situation as it spiraled out of control. The man knees connected with the roofs ledge and he went over dragging you down after him. The last thing you saw before you hurtled backwards was all four of the turtles rushing forward arms outstretched screaming your name all seeming to be going in slow motion.

The starry sky came into view and then you were upside down falling. You let out a yelp of panic and started to grab wildly at anything and everything. With a sudden jerk and a searing pain your fingers found purchase halting your descent but it ripped your arm out of its socket and slammed your ankle against the unforgiving metal of the rusted fire escape. The scream that erupted from your mouth echoed over several building reaching the turtles as they finally got to the edge. The sear panic in their eyes faded to relief seeing you hanging from a fire escape ladder, for the moment safe from danger.

With what strength you had in your uninjured arm you pulled yourself onto the fire escape clutching your screaming arm. “Finish them off and come get me!” you screamed waving them off. Leo, Donnie and Mikey gave you thumbs up and returned to the task at hand. The red brute on the other hand moved last eyeing you carefully his golden gaze lingering on you for a few moments longer before disappearing after his brothers.

After they had finished off the assholes that had attacked them it was Raphael who insisted on climbing down to retrieve you. His large arms gently cradled you against him making his way back up to his brothers, your injured arm rested in your lap while the other clung to him. Your fingers dug slightly into the dense muscles of his neck and your head settled in the crook of his neck. This was the first time you had gotten close to Raph and you took in his scent. It was musky with an unknown spice and leather; it made you squeeze your thighs together getting a little hot in his embrace.  

Donnie was ready to put your arm back in its socket once you two reached the roof. You could feel the reluctance from the red brute as Donnie ushered him to release you.

“You ready?” his deep but soft voice rumbled only to you.

You nodded your head and let him set your trembling legs on the roof once again bracing your weight on his thick arm. Weirdly enough you didn’t want him to let you go, he was warm and smelled so nice, but the throbbing pain in your arm reminded you it needed to be fixed.

You blushed when his arm relinquished its hold but slide slowly from your body staying connected as long as he could his fingers bushing the small of your back before all contact was lost. With a twist, pull and a howling scream for you, your arm was back to where it was supposed to be.

“What were you doing up here?” Leo finally asked curtly now the danger had passed.

“Leo, this is my building. I come up here often to watch the city.”

A sheepish look overcame the leader and he backed down, “Oh that’s right.”

Donnie turned you around looking for any other wounds and examined your hand extensively before turning to his eldest brother. “She should come home with us tonight just in case they come back.”

Leo nodded in agreement and before you could protest you were back in Raphael’s arms and on your way to the lair.  Your fingers tapped on his plastron and he made eye contact.

“I can walk you know?”

“Yeah I know….I …..this is faster.” Raphael grumbled unwilling to let you down.

You had spent the night in the lair on the couch and when you woke up in the middle of the night to pee you had found the red brute sleeping on the recliner a few feet from you. As quietly as you could you watched the gargantuan turtle sleep, his scared lips parted slightly releasing calm rhythmic breaths with his slumber.  Your eyes wandered over him taking in each scar and bulging muscle memorizing his impressive form.

That night something inside of you had stirred for him and from what you could tell it had in him as well. You couldn’t get the look on his face when you fell, out of your mind. Each of the turtles looked terrified when you went over but there was something else behind those golden eyes. Something more that you wanted to experience. His rough exterior and standoffish attitude hid something and you planned to find out.

As you made your way to the bathroom you let your hand ghost over his arm and did a double take when he moaned adjusting in his sleep and your name escaped his lips.

Part Two

[aleapoffaithfiction]

X.

This is not a coincidence 
And far more than a lucky chance 
But what is that was always meant 
Is our ribbon in the sky for our love, love 
- Stevie Wonder

Am I a pessimist?

History has shown that it is quite laughable that Americans celebrate Thanksgiving and yet every year, we flood the grocery stores spending hundreds of dollars to prepare a meal for a large number of people who we most likely won’t see or communicate with until the very next year when they’ve come to freeload from our dining room table all over again for the same ol’ holiday. It’s all in “thanks” though, right?

I think Thanksgiving is more of a performance for my mother than it is a time for thankfulness and bonding. It often feels like the event of the month for the neighborhood and she seems to hypothetically leave the door open for anyone to either drop by to have a couple of words with her or sit down to have a plate of the feast made by the hands of she, my sister, and myself. It’s also a day for her to head into her closet to pull out pieces of her more expensive attire that she likely purchased with my Nordstrom credit card. Today, when the apron came off, she only claimed to be freshening up, but upon exiting her bedroom she was donning a Roland Mouret dress and Christian Louboutin “Piagelle” pumps. I found myself scratching my head in confusion at the manner in which the pale orange material skimmed over her frame like a second skin. Though subtle, the seams were angular in their waist-defining approach. I hadn’t seen her wear anything that formfitting since the last date night she and my father enjoyed before his untimely death. The pearl set she paired with it was typical. She swears every woman should have a set of them though the world has certainly moved on to strictly gem stones. Thankfully, she didn’t put together a clutch bag or purse because I probably would have screamed in mental agony at how ridiculous she would have looked. Like a woman competing for a pageant, she’s been working the rooms filled with people all throughout the house for clout that she doesn’t need in the slightest.

“You still hiding in this corner?” I didn’t have to look up to know it was Kyle. Every year he flies up here from Miami to spend the holiday with Preston and my sister, so he ends spending the holiday right here in Brooklyn at my mom’s like the rest of us. Initially, I thought they’d pushed Kyle in my direction because we’re not that far apart in age and could probably relate on some things, but over these past two years I now know it’s because yet again Celeste thinks that she’s found someone who can be a good match for me. She does her most fucked up rendition of cupid whenever she comes across a man who she’d be interested in herself if she weren’t married and then she pushes him in my direction. I fell for her bullshit with Shamel but it will never happen again. Also, her husband’s brother? That’s entirely too close for comfort.

“It’s my preferred place to be when I’m not feeling the atmosphere.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Merlot.” I’ve been babysitting this glass of wine for over an hour now. My tongue is yearning for a Don Julio Paloma. If I don’t get home too late tonight, I’m absolutely going to fix one for myself while I watch whatever movie that’s OnDemand that I missed out on while it was in the theaters.

“I think Preston has some Barcardi in there. You want some?”

“No, I’m okay with this.” I only made the decision to indulge as a literal painkiller. I needed something to relax my body after having mostly been on my feet since early yesterday morning when I was rushed out of my bed to go and pick up a few last-minute items from Walmart.

I had no choice but to leave Odell tangled in top sheet and blanket as I quietly readied myself and put together an overnight bag for the following day. I thought I’d at least be able to make him breakfast but her demanding phone calls did not cease until I was actually at the store. As of now, my feet are viciously aching and I barely have enough energy to move my mouth to speak to everyone, let alone walk around. I’ve been wanting to go to sleep since I ate and I’m mentally cursing myself out for choosing to wear these boots, though they’re one of my most comfortable pairs.

“I think it’s cool that you all host this every year. My family always went to my grandmother’s for holidays. We never hosted anything at the house because my folks were never into that.” Neither am I. Maybe that’ll change when I have my own family, but as of right now, I’d rather keep my home as the safe haven that it is.

“Yeah, we’ve been doing it as far back as my memory goes. I feel like my father set the precedent. He was a people person and chose to have an open-door policy within the neighborhood. It used to be the one trait about him that drove my mother insane, but somehow, she adjusted to it and opened herself up to understanding why he chose to be that way. If people needed anything, they knew they could come here and we’d help out somehow. I guess you can say that our blessings were fruitful so that we’d be able to share them with others.” Though he’s no longer with us, I’ve kept his gems about being about the community embedded into my conscious. I donate to women’s shelters, the Boys and Girls Clubs, afterschool programs within the inner-city schools, and I’m working on creating recreational weekend sports camps for this up and coming summer.

“You look a lot like him.”

“Yeah, my looks definitely lean in his direction.”

“Great looks, by the way.” With a faint chuckle, my shoulders slouched in an adjustment for the slight aches in my back. Living alone has its perks and not having to constantly stand in front of a hot stove every day is one of them. The last time I stood on my feet for hours cooking was last year, this time. I’m just not used to it.

“Thanks, Kyle.”

“So, what’s it like being on ESPN? I know that it was always a dream of yours and it’s cool as hell to see you sitting up there. I feel like often times when we look at public figures on television, it almost seems like jobs like that are so far out of our reach and yet look at you. It’s impressive.”

“It’s great. It still feels surreal and then it has its pressure and stressfulness too. It’s a job in every single sense and I think a lot of people don’t think about it that way. A lot of people look at the glitz and glamor of it, but there’s so much that goes into our panel being able to sit there and entertain people every morning with our sports knowledge and banter.”

“I believe you. I know there’ll be a lot of work to put in for it, but is the goal to have your own show?”

“I don’t know. I’ve thought about it and sometimes it sounds ideal and other times I feel like I want to do something more. I don’t know if I want to spend the rest of my life on television but I probably wouldn’t mind it either depending up on the circumstances. I’m trying to figure that out. I know I want to create my own sports platform or possibly be in collaboration with another black creative or many of them to create something for us and by us. I can try and get our people in the door at ESPN but that final say isn’t mine, you know? And that fucks with me.” It still makes me chuckle when people call Scott the “token white” on our panel but it makes perfect sense in all of the wrong ways. His overdone sarcasm and constant need to play the devil’s advocate doesn’t negate his talent but could they have added a black journalist in his place? Would they have is the real question? I can’t call it.

“I feel you. I feel the same way. In tech, there aren’t many of us. I spend a lot of time going to speak at historically black colleges to persuade students to bring their talents to the field. You’d be surprised how a lot of the internal parts or software programming for some of our favorite gadgets are created from ideas young talented blacks have either sold or got swept under the table over due to fucked up contracts. I’m doing my best to change that reality, because I’m not slaving for anybody and none of us shouldn’t have to.”

“Cheers to that.” As our glasses clinked, I nodded in appreciation. Kyle and I always have great conversations and if Celeste weren’t so pressed for me to romantically pursue him, I think we’d be great friends. He’s progressive in all the right ways.

“Pictures please! You know I do a Facebook photo album every year. Stand up Sarai.” She came out of nowhere like a bat out of hell. I hadn’t even heard her Jimmy Choos clacking against the floor. I’m now finally realizing that both she and mommy have the same curls in their hair. What a kiss ass. I’ve been rocking a hat since guests began to arrive. After having sweated out my hair in the kitchen, I couldn’t be bothered with slaving in the bathroom with a flat iron trying to fix the pity. This slicked back ponytail will have to be until Anna fixes me up tomorrow.

“I’m not standing up.”

“Don’t be a sour grape.”

“My feet hurt. You can take one or two with me sitting right here.” Though she prepared her phone for the photos, it didn’t happen without her childishly rolling her eyes and stomping one heel clad foot. Kyle allowed it to be a solo moment by standing up and stepping away from the warm mantle of the fireplace. Even with the bit of makeup I put on to mask the exhaustion, I know I’m not in a picture worthy state but I’ll compromise for the sake of not having to hear her go on an attention seeking rant.

“Can you at least smile?”

“This is not a photo shoot. Take the pictures and send them to me when you finish. You’re not going to have me looking crazy online.” She took them, but without flash, and that within itself left me weary of her intentions. I’m slumming it in my joggers and this little off the shoulder top I randomly found on a clearance rack at Wet Seal. It damn near looks like I dressed myself in pure darkness but I’m making it work enough for myself alone. I wasn’t wearing pearls either way.

“I sent them. They’re cute.”

Surprisingly, they are. Daddy swears both Celeste and I get our photographic nature from our mother. He had a thing for constantly either videotaping or snapping pictures of us around the house or during family outings. Keepsakes of that kind have always been a tradition on his side of the family and he felt compelled to instill that in our household so that the future generations could use it all to piece together our family’s tree and history.

Everything we have is idly collecting sheets of dust in the lower cabinets of the entertainment center in the living and that’s where they’ll remain until someone has the courage to pull them out for what is sure to be the most draining emotional rollercoaster that any of us needs right now. I’m still trying to figure out how to navigate my memories of him, so I’d rather not clog it with better detailing about our days. I don’t know when I’ll get to the point of complete acceptance with a clear conscious but I’m with dealing it. For now, that’s enough.

I felt like a booty call gone wrong when you just got up and left like that. I woke up like, oh wow…

Heat flushed through my face as a fit of giggles erupted from my core at his nonsense. Not only did I text him and let him know that I left, but I wrote down the security code for the security system so he’d be able to lock the door whenever he planned to leave out.

How did you feel like a booty call when I left you in my bed? It’s not like I walked out of a hotel room on you. No one leaves booty calls in their own beds. If anything, I treated you like a booty call that I plan on calling again.

I considered waking him up, but the serene expression on his sleeping face halted my actions. The side of his face was meshed into the plush pillow on my side of the bed once he readjusted his position and though he reached for me, my absence didn’t wake him.

Oh, so that’s all I’m good for?

I despise how he has the capability of making me blush with his silly little banter and presence alone. It’s a naturalness that I’ve never experience at any of point of my life thus far and comprehending it seems undoable. My grandmother used to say that sometimes we don’t need to think but instead just feel but that is by far the most perplexing statement I’ve ever heard. All I know how to do is think, especially over these last couple of years.

Don’t be offended. At least I like it.

Like it? Lately I’ve been questioning if that’s enough to describe it. Liking it would be simple and this is anything but simple. I can do simple and blow it out of my way, but this? It’s a fucking enigma.

Happy Thanksgiving gorgeous. I’m rocking the boot today. Everyone is loving it.

Unexpectedly, an impromptu picture of himself standing in front of the grandeur double doors of his home followed his message. Per his usual, he was in loud textures that only he can get away with and hilariously covered in winter attire above the waist and summer attire below it. He wouldn’t be himself without having the crimson Supreme crossbody bag around him to perfectly match the boot. Oh, and how can I forget the phone case? Everything about his style would reek of hypebeast if it were anyone else and yet for him, it’s as uniquely expressive as his personality can be.

Handsome.

And that he is. It’s throttling.

Thank you, baby. Send me something.

The prickling in my dampening skin worsened my posture. I’ve never sent racy photographs to any man and yet the thought of sending a few to him is doing more to me than I understand, though that’s not what he’s requesting. Shamel would request them from me quite often and I’d deny him every time because the thought of laying back somewhere and spreading my thighs for a photograph of something that I barely wanted to give to him was unwarranted. On birthdays and holidays, I’d get pieces of lingerie that were satisfying to his eyes rather than well thought out gifts with aspects of my taste involved in the selection process and all of it was left in a box on the side of the street when I moved. I didn’t even deem it worthy enough to be sent out to the shelters and Goodwill's that I donate plenty of my things to.

I couldn’t bother with putting on anything special because I’m in no mood for that, so don’t judge me.

I bit the bullet by sending one of the pictures taken by the ever-nagging Celeste. Now that I’m looking at it, I know damn well I could have put on a pair of jeans with this flannel shirt.

You’re the epitome of beauty in every sense.

Not even the sudden presence of Quinton’s frame walking past me could put a damper on the gut-wrenching fluttering uncontrollably multiplying throughout every bit of me as I read his words over a few times. Does he know what he’s doing to me? Has he called my bluff? Am I exposed?

Even with a bad hair day?

I’m not completely aware of all of the details of his dating history but I’ve seen the women he has been rumored to have dated and much like anything would expect, they’re picture perfect. I don’t fit into the mold of those ideal body types who have all of their curves in the right places with a perfect set of perky boobs and an ass that is sure to make any man look back twice. I don’t even understand my shape enough to be able to describe it but I do my best to work with what I have.

Once upon a time, I thought about ridding myself of my breast insecurities by having a fat transfer done to plump them up without having to have implants inserted. Shamel didn’t make the situation any better by agreeing that I’d go from average to a dime piece if I did so. He even offered to pay for it if the insurance wouldn’t. When he and I split, I finally had the time to really sit down and consider if it was something that I desired to do for myself and it was then that I let the idea of it go. I am who I am. Laying on a surgeons table was never going to fix the issues within my mental space.

What bad hair day? I don’t see a single hair out of place. Am I still seeing you tonight? I miss you. I know it sounds weird for me to say that because we were just together, but I really do.

Not only am I physically drained and in need of my bed, but I also have to work tomorrow. I considered making this weekend a four-day weekend for myself last week but it slipped my mind to request the day off.

It doesn’t sound weird. I miss you too. I’m so tired though. You don’t want sleepy company, do you? I just want to lay in the bed.

I’m purposefully sitting on this bricked fireplace, because it’s uncomfortable and keeping me from dozing off somewhere.

Well, my bed is waiting for you to come and go to sleep in it. I don’t mind sleepy company at all. Come on.

I’m still very convinced that the universe is somehow trolling my life for whatever reason. Where did this man come from? When my prayers go beyond my loved ones and I began my requests to the man above for myself, I only pray for peace. This isn’t peace. It’s disruptive, confusing, and yet so damn earth shattering.

I’ll let you know when I’m on my way. I have work tomorrow, so I have to head to my house to grab some things so that I’ll be able to properly ready myself in the morning.

Hopefully, it’s not too late.

Sounds good. See you in a bit. Oh, and bring me some red velvet cake.

It took an additional twenty minutes of me idly sitting there to muster up the strength to move. Upon observing the room, Quinton walked past me twice without a word spoken and though it didn’t trouble me, I can’t say that I’m not shocked about his chosen tension and immaturity. I thought we’d be better than that because as he said, we have a history, and it goes beyond a date that didn’t turn out the way he wanted it to.

You win some, you lose some. Despite everything said between the two of us that night, I haven’t held any of it against his character and I probably never will because I honestly do believe that he’s a good guy with a good heart. I just think he’s lost track of who he is beyond the political career and until he figures that out, he will continue to make superficial decisions for his life all for the sake of upholding a specific public image.

“You coming to eat again?” Though everything else remain perfectly in place, mommy finally removed the heels and comfortably leaned against the kitchen’s island in a pair of Nike slippers she took out of my closet about two months ago.

“No. I can’t eat another bite. I’m just going to take some dessert with me for right now and then I’ll come over tomorrow after work for anything else I have a taste for.” I’m going to bring Beckham some red velvet cake, pineapple upside-down rum cake, and a bit of banana pudding. That should more than satisfy his sweet tooth. I handled all of the desserts this year. Next year, I’ll be damned if Celeste doesn’t help me.

“You look tired. I told you if you’d get into that kitchen of yours more often, you’d be used to this.”

“Cooking for a neighborhood of people? Not really.”

“Cooking for your family.”

“I cooked with my family, which counts for something. I don’t have a family of my own and I’m not sure if or when that’s going to happen for me, so I haven’t cared to train myself. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. The fact is, I actually do know how to cook, so I’ll be fine either way.”

“You could have a family of your own but you choose to avoid it.” If I’m avoiding anything, it’s where this conversation is about to go.

“With Quinton? Yeah, I’m sure that makes sense to you but it never will for me and I don’t appreciate you inserting yourself into that situation. I’m perfectly capable of choosing who I will and will not involve myself with romantically. I don’t need any lobs or assists from you.”

“If you’re so capable of choosing, why haven’t you chosen anyone? Why is he not worthy of a proper chance? You didn’t even try.”

“There was nothing to try. I’m not interested. I get it, though. It looks like it makes sense since we come from the same background, have success stories while coming out of the same neighborhood, and his mother and yourself can relate in ways that are both painful and triumphant, but it’s not going to work for me.” Quinton and I look good on paper. We’re ideal in the general sense, but anything beyond that? We’re a disaster waiting to happen.

“So, what is? You live in that huge home of yours all alone and you want to do that for the rest of your life? I worry that you’ll actually do that. Companionship is a good thing, Sarai. Having someone around to balance out life with you is healthy. Celeste has her own life and though I am your mother, you need more than just my shoulder to lean on whenever you take a break from that overly done independent woman rampage, you’re on.” Rampage? If anyone’s on a rampage, it’s her. She’s on a rampage for me to be barefoot and pregnant while being subservient to someone not even worth my troubles.

“Whatever I do will be my decision and I’ll have to live with that, not you. You’re so adamant about all of this, but you don’t even know half of the shit I went through with Shamel. So, excuse me for not being as enthusiastic about settling down as you need me to be. As I said before, I don’t know if or when it’ll happen, but I’ll be okay either way. Sometimes I wonder if the only time you’ll be proud of me is when I put on a big fluffy white dress and vow my life over to someone, because you certainly don’t show it when it comes to anything else that I do.”

“Oh, nonsense. Don’t do that Sarai. You know that I’m proud of you.”

“Well, you have a poor way of showing it. Excuse me.”

I had to put the banana pudding in a small plastic to go bowl because I didn’t want it to touch the pieces of cake I had on the plate. I don’t know about him, but occasionally I can be super anal when certain food touches one another. It throws the taste off.

“It’s late and since the crowd in here has died down, I’m going to head home. I have to work in the morning. I’ll be over here tomorrow.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’m sure.” I’m not cooking anything, so leftovers it is. I’m definitely coming.

“Well, give me a hug and kiss before you go.” I fulfilled her request immediately. I would have done so whether she asked or not. No matter what we disagree about, she is my mother. I don’t allow our indifference to steer me from that reality. I have one parent now and I’m going to nurture that as best as I can for as long as I’m granted to. I’d rather not live with any regrets.

“Drive safely and let us know when you get home.”

“Will do.”

People being slumped inside of the comfort of their homes or someone else’s seemed to keep the traffic down. I avoided the tolls by taking the FDR drive and Harlem River drive to Hudson Terrance in Fort Lee. Even Exit 73 was clear and I always tend to hit a bit of a slowdown whenever I’m coming from that direction.

The sight of my bed enticed me like no other as I lazily put together all that I needed to make the morning go as smoothly as possible while I drag and dread having to make that commute to Bristol. I’m going to need the most potently caffeinated cup of coffee while driving myself up there and I’ll probably need another for the commute back. That aside, having no plans for the weekend is absolutely official. I intend to sleep until my body can’t take it anymore.

On my way.

The anticipation to be within his presence battled the fatigue like the fiercest gladiator and that yearning carried me back out of the door and into my car. Even if I attempted to pass out, the guilt of standing him up would have kept me wide awake and staring up at my ceiling. I’m not even sure what to call Beckham but he’s my…something.

Taylor’s my person in the same manner that Meredith Grey is to Christina Yang. Is Beckham, McDreamy? Are our souls tying within that manner? It’s terrifying to think about and even more distressing to know that in some manner, it feels that way.

With Eris and Khan idly walking around the entry driveway to his home, there he sat awaiting my presence. It was the sight of the headlights that alert him to stand to his feet and I barely had the car in park before he was standing alongside the driver’s side of it.

“Glad you made it safely.” As the seatbelt slid back into its proper position, he leaned in and I instantly pressed my lips into the warmth of his for the kiss we both seemed to have been anticipating.

“You didn’t have to wait out here in the cold. I could have rung the bell.”

“It’s nothing. It’s not that bad out here anyway.” It was his strength that pulled me out of the seat and I was thankful for it because I know I would have sat there for much longer than necessary. The Chanel bag he gifted to me was all I had to carry inside, because he handled the rest.

The chattering coming from the kitchen and the low music was to be expected but with it nearing almost midnight, it was clear that whatever crowd he had in the house before had already gone home.

“That’s momma, Jazzy, and Kordell in there. They knew you were coming. You cool with saying hey?”

“Of course. I can’t just come in here and not speak.”

“You’re tired.”

“Tired, but not rude.”

There’s something about being in the house with his family that unnerved me. It’s not their presence but instead the circumstances for why I’m here. Family tends to be perceptive and how would his feel knowing that I’m likely going to lay alongside him in his bed tonight as I rest? It’ll be no marital bed.

Despite our ages, it doesn’t prevent people from side eying or negativity whispering about whatever it is they’re frowning down upon. Heather and I mutually admire one another and I’d hate for her to no longer feel the same way about me or believe that I’m a poor influence for her daughter.

“Sarai! You made it. Happy Thanksgiving.” Her long arms pulled me in for the bear hugs that she always gives. They’re comforting and reassuring; maternal and yet friendly all at once.

“Happy Thanksgiving. How are you?”

“I’m so good. Look Jazzy. Meet Sarai. Sarai this is O’s little sister Jasmine and his little brother Kordell. Sonny’s sleeping.”  In some ways, the both of them resemble him, especially Kordell. He’s literally the milk chocolate version of his older brother. In just my short moments of observing him, they also have similar mannerisms in the way they shift and squint their eyes.

“Wait, so this is your girl? This is the one? She be on TV with Kobe.”

“Kordell, shut up. It’s nice to meet you, Sarai. My brother speaks very highly of you.”

“You do too. Don’t try to water down the fangirling you be doing.” Beckham needed to put them on blast in order to save himself from the playful embarrassment they were attempting to inflict on him. I was once just as annoying to Celeste whenever she’d bring company over to the house. Even though we didn’t share a room, I’d deliberately invade her privacy just to be an annoying ass.

“I am a fan.” There was pride in her tone.

“I appreciate it Jazzy. Thank you.”

“How was your Thanksgiving? Did you spend it with family?” In her usual behavior whenever I’m here, Eris circled my feet and I leaned over to give her the attention she craved.

“It was nice. I spent it in Brooklyn with my mom, sister, and brother-in-law. Some family stopped by and a whole bunch of neighborhood friends. My mom likes to do it big for Thanksgiving, so it was busy.”

“It sounds like a good time though.”

“It was. It turned out nicely.” People kept the peace. I suppose that’s nice enough. I’ve been at family functions when shit has gone left and arguments happened.

“That’s good. Are you hungry? We have plenty.”

“I’m stuffed, but I love leftovers, so tomorrow sounds like a plan.” I could raid his fridge and my mothers. Either way, I can’t lose.

“You’re welcome to whatever you like. We were just getting ready to start…” Before she could finish the statement about the UNO game they were soon to begin, her impatient son cut her off.

“She’s tired. She has to get up for work in the morning.”

“If you wanted her all to yourself, all you had to do was say so.” What his siblings didn’t accomplish, she had. The rosiness flushing throughout his face tickled me into an uncontrollable laughter, that eventually both his mother and sister joined in on.

“She really does have to get up for work in the morning.”

“I do, but I can play a round of UNO. It’s no big deal.”

“You can play tomorrow. You need to sleep.” He held his hand out for me as if I were a stubborn child. If I weren’t so tired, I would have given him a run for his money at one of my all-time favorite card games. I know he hates losing.

“Well, goodnight.” I waved before latching my hand onto his own. Can this get anymore awkward? I should have just told him to come over to my place. Next time, I will.

“Goodnight.” It was all in unison with their attention completely locked into to whatever they assume is going on between one of the most important people to them and myself. I’m not sure what he’s told them but they’re well aware that we’re beyond just being friendly. At this point, even the dimmest person could pick up on it.

“I put extra towels, wash clothes, and a toothbrush in the bathroom for you. I’m not sure if you brought your own soap, but I took some Dove body wash from out of the bathroom my momma uses whenever she’s in town and staying here. I’ll plug your phone up and sit it on the nightstand for you.”

As soon as I removed my coat, he grabbed it and walked off to hang it on the outskirts of his closet. I’d been in his bedroom before but I didn’t necessarily observe every detail about it, but it’s very telling of the demanding career that he leads. Though a master suite in size, it’s fairly simple in décor and yet exudes the masculinity that I expect. Given that he’s highly detailed and puts plenty of thought into the attire that covers his body, I’m surprised that he hasn’t hired an interior design team to come in and turn the entire house into something out of an art gallery.

“I know you’re not hungry, but do you want anything to drink?” While I rummaged through my bag, I could hear the paws of the doors pattering against the wooden floors as they made their way into his personal space.

“No, I’m okay. I do need something to sleep in though. My sleepy ass forgot to pack that.” I don’t even remember attempting to find pajamas. I was so preoccupied with finding the perfect dress to wear on air and after that, decorating for Christmas. There’s always a mixture of dread and excitement about that. That’s one of the downsides of living alone. I have to spend days putting everything up on my own and it’s not easy.

“I got you. Hold on.” Yet again, he headed in the direction of his closet. At home? I only sleep in actual pajamas if I have company. Other than that, I’m usually in bed in damn near nothing. It’s comfortable and less of a hassle.

“Okay, here’s a shirt.” I knew it would be something Giants related. I’m sure that he has thousands of team related shirts that he hasn’t worn.

“What kind of shorts do you want? The cotton Nike ones are soft and light. Or do you want sweats? You want socks too?”

“The shirt is fine. That’s all I need.” Everything else will eventually end up on the floor if I put them on.

“Okay.”

I didn’t have to ask for privacy. As soon as he placed the shirt on the bed, I was left alone with the dogs once he walked out and closed the door behind himself. He’d given me more than enough time to change, brush my teeth, and even get settled into the coziness of his California king bed. The plushness of his ice grey down comforter was coaxing me into the perfect relaxation for slumber and yet I couldn’t refrain from rocking my hips, snapping my fingers, and mumbling along to Stevie Wonder’s “Higher Ground”. It wasn’t loud at all, but the volume was up just enough for me to be able to make out the song. Stevie’s soulfulness has always been a part of the extensive musical collection in my mother’s living room. His sounds were our Saturday morning clean up music during my childhood and that tradition followed me all the way to my own home.

“You’re an old soul too?” His amusement didn’t go unnoticed upon his reentry.

“I don’t have much of a choice but to be that. I get it from the two who made me.” I wonder if he allows the dogs on the bed. If it were my bed, I’d allow it. They’re so lovable, even in their massive size and intimidating demeanors.

“Stevie’s only on because my momma’s here. This is a Future household.” He could barely contain his own laughter. Future?

“Oh, how enjoying it is to listen to the misogynistic raps of Hip-Hop’s walking sperm bank.” Why do women fuck Future? I need a 60 Minutes episode about that.

“He’s just misunderstood.”

“I will kick you out of your own room. Misunderstood? He’s a demon.” Though I couldn’t see him, I could hear his laughter loud and clear. I can’t front, I can and will hit the dance floor to some of those infectious trap records created by the Atlanta native but the antics of his personal life are atrocious. No, but seriously, why do women subject themselves to him? Is the dick that lethal?

“A demon huh?” I couldn’t respond. The muscles in my throat contracted into a tightness that forced my frame back against the pillows as my lips fell agape at the sight of his tattoo covered skin. His chiseled abs aside, there’s something about the manner in which the ink is etched into his golden skin that is worthy of being displayed in the Louvre. Every bit of it tells a story that I want to run my fingers over and know thoroughly from start to finish. I want to plant kisses on the areas that are representative of past pain and marvel over those that are picturesque versions of his triumph.

“That’s exactly what he is.” I wasn’t as edgy as I am now when he was in my bed and yet as he joins me in his own, I nearly want to run to the opposite side of the room. As he did that night, he stretched out his arm to invite me into his space and I slid over to the middle of the bed to meet his warmth. With one press of a button near the bed, the lights were off, setting the complete mood for the few hours of sleep that I’m going to get.

“Am I forcing you to go to bed early? You’re a night owl.”

“I’m only a night owl because having surgery ruined my sleep schedule. When you don’t have much else to do, you tend to occupy your time with crap that’ll keep you up. Video games were it for me.”

“I miss being a night owl. Nowadays, I struggle staying up past ten. This is why I hope the show moves to New York. We’re currently in on and off negotiations about that. We’re also tossing around the idea of doing a few weeks in the Los Angeles during the summers with a live audience just to change the scenery of the show. Hopefully it goes through.”

“That would be great. You’d be closer to home and L.A. is always a nice change of scenery. I’m sure Kobe would love that too.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely the one who’s advocating for that idea.”

“And we’d be together in either city, because the timing would permit it. That’s perfect, actually.” He does spend his off seasons in the West, so I can see why he made note of that.

“It could be perfect. Fingers crossed; it works out.”

Our limbs were like magnets as they intertwined at different points and he’d idly plant a kiss on my forehead seemingly every ten to fifteen seconds.

I wouldn’t consider either one of us worthy of musical recording contracts and yet as the medley of Stevie’s “Ribbon in the Sky” faintly played below us, hums from the both of us drowned out his vocal delivery. The depth and rasp of his lulled me beyond what his warmth and the comfort was already doing. It inflicted a tranquil sense of drowning that I welcomed and yet the manner in which is large palm lightly grazed over the heated skin of my inner thigh ignited a ravenous blaze for him. The seat of my flimsy barely there panties dampened with every thrashing throb of my center. I haven’t been touched in so long, I’m afraid to know if I just unraveled from a gesture so simple.

A dewiness flushed over my skin as my heart thumped against my chest in a quickened rage. The pressure ignited that natural yearning that any woman should have when lying next to the man of her affection and I have no way of being able to reach over to my own nightstand, open the draw, and grab the blackened vibrating device to handle this myself. I had to move over for the sake of my sanity and most of all, to lessen the possibility of humiliation. His now resting body didn’t allow the distance to last as long as I needed it to.

Yet again, his hand met the inside of my thigh and drew me into his side as I once was before. The aroma of his intoxicating fragrance slithered up my nose as I was locked into place with his arm, which coaxed me to whimper at such an endearing torture.

God, help me.

The scenic sunrise was my company in the shower after hitting the snooze button twice to extend the comfort that I didn’t want to lose. With a lack of regard for time, I prolonged my minutes in his state-of-the-art shower just as much. It’s the first time in a long time that I’m sorrowfully dreading stepping onto that set to do what I love to do.

“Good morning.” I attempted to be quiet but I must have not done a good enough job. As his frame towered behind me, he trailed kisses up my back, ahead of the zipper that he was pulling up from the back of my maroon pencil style dress. At home, I unraveled a wire hanger and turned it into my own personal hooked zipper closer. I prefer this. The feel of his lips pressing against my skin and the aura of his being surrounding me supersedes that any day.

“Good morning.”

Although I’ll be doing my make-up routine in my dressing room, I still moisturized my face and applied a decent amount of lip gloss to my lips as while he stood at the sink brushing his teeth. I’m not even sure if concealer will be able to do much hiding of my exhaustion today. My eyes are literally burning because they’re open and I have a budding headache just waiting to worsen as soon as I walk out of the door.

“I’m going downstairs to let the dogs outside.”

“Okay.”

I chose comfort for the commute with my favorite black Nike slippers and carried my Jimmy Choo pumps in the dust bag I keep them protected in. I didn’t bother switching purses, although the Chanel one is no match to this dress. No one’s going to see it and right now, I don’t give a shit.

While sitting on the bed, I texted Chad to take pictures of the agenda and send it over so that I can glance over it once I hit traffic, because there’s no doubt that maybe forty minutes into the commute, I will. If I can get a head start on reading over it, our briefing will be a few minutes and I’ll be able to take somewhat of a cat nap before we’re on air. If I’m not mistaken, Isaiah Thomas is coming by to speak with us today about how he’s adjusting to life in Cleveland. Boston’s decision to trade him was one hell of a shocker to the public and a blow that he took extremely personally after not only dedicating all of his loyalty to the team, but even continuing to do so after the loss of his sister. So, no matter how worn out I am, I certainly want to be alert to ask him a few of my own burning questions.

Yet again, I did my best to remain quiet as I maneuvered through the second floor of the house and descended down the staircase to the first. No one else was awake with the exception of us and the dogs, who were all highly alert and within close proximity to me.

“I thought you’d come down sooner.” He was in the silver reflective goose coat that he greeted me in last night and I’m even more in love with it now. If I can’t find it to buy on my own, I’m going to plead with him for his because he’s probably never going to wear it again. I have some Maison Martin Margiela boots that would be perfect with it.

“I’m dragging. What’s that?”

“Your breakfast.” In one hand is what appears to be some kind of a green thick smoothie and in the other is a bag with God knows what in it. He hates coffee and the way it makes him feel, so the smoothie makes sense.

“Thank you, babe.”

“Uhm. You coming back here when you get off?” With every inch we moved closer to the door, his four-legged protectors were right along with us.

“After I drop by my mom’s.”

“Okay.”

The awaiting SUV completely caught me off guard because I hadn’t requested a driver. Should I have? Absolutely, because I don’t feel like driving, but did I? Nope. I didn’t do a lot of things that I should have done this week. This is why I need to spend my weekend in the bed.

“You called?”

“You’re tired.”

His simple explanation made more sense than anything that I can think of.

“While you’re at work, think about coming to Louisiana with me.” He held my things while I slid into the backseat. Louisiana?

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“No.”

“What’s in Louisiana?”

“Home.” I already knew the answer and yet I asked.

“I’ll consider it.”

“That’s all I ask. Gimmie them lips.” There was no hesitation. If anything, it was lingering and nearly enough to make me truant on ESPN.

“I’ll be watching.”

“Thank you. See you later.” I snuck another taste of his lips for a good day and closed the door on my own.

I prepared to nearly gag at the green concoction he blended together for me, but ended up pleasantly surprised at its appeasing taste. Though it was kale, the medley of pineapple, mango, and banana served as a balance. Inside of the bag? Chobani yogurt, crackers, and Sargento string cheese. He remembered my odd choices for a favorite snack. I never remember to put together any of that stuff the night before or right before I’m leaving out for work. I don’t even need to stop for a crappy sandwich at Dunkin Donuts now. I owe him, because this is perfect.

“Any requests for the radio ma’am or should I turn the Bluetooth on?”

“Bluetooth, please.”

I let my Stevie Wonder playlist on Apple Music do its thing. “Signed, Sealed, Delivered” instantly began my usual solo backseat party. Usually it happens on a Friday as I’m on my way home from work, but on this particular Friday, I’ll be partying both ways.

Louisiana sounds like a nice trip.

[treatian]

The Dark One Chronicles:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 2:  An Assessment of the Sexes

Their tavern was just as sad as the rest of their pitiful little town. There was nothing special or unique about it. It was exactly the same as every other tavern he'd been in since he'd become this creature. Which was how he knew it would be the perfect place to meet a stranger who claimed the Dark One had need of him. The dark and dampness of the business at least gave him some bit of comfort as he strolled over to a private table farthest from the door and sat down. Vultures. All barmaids were vultures, and they were on him as though he'd only just died yesterday.

"Sir, what can I…"

He removed the cloak from his head, and instantly she choked on her words, eyes rounding at the sight of him.

"What…what can I get you?" she asked in a much softer tone.

"Ah…nothing for me, Dearies, but my company, if he arrives, will have some of your strongest ale!" he pronounced. Alcohol wasn't good for much, but a loose-lipped meeting was certainly better for him. Besides, he'd only be throwing away his money if he got something for himself. He'd noticed since losing Bae that alcohol had little effect on him in this form.

"Are…are you sure?" the barmaid asked, suddenly getting the courage to offer a small smile and tilt her hip in his direction. It reminded him of Ava, the woman who had once tried to seduce him so he'd make her his "queen". "Is there anything else I can help you with." It sounded like something Ava too. But he was quite sure that he didn't need what the wench was offering — filthy town.

"Quite."

She left with only a single glance thrown back at him over her shoulder. Women. He understood entirely why half of them shrank away from him in fear, but he was clueless as to why the other half eyeballed him like he was a roast turkey, and they were starving. He hadn't a single interest in what they were after. Not at the moment, at least. Not until he got back to Baelfire, then perhaps some of those old desires might be permitted to come to the surface again. Although, after a year of searching for his answer, he was positive that getting to Baelfire also meant surrendering his power; that meant gaining a limp. He couldn't be sure that women would continue to look at him this way when he was no longer the Dark One, weak and nearly as pitiful as this tavern.

Many people came and went as he sat there in that tavern contemplating the mind of the "fairer sex", but he knew the second the man he was looking for came in. Timidly he looked around, and when his eyes finally fell on him in the back, he noted the swallow that made his throat bob up and down. As he got closer, he smelled distinctly of fear, just like so many did when they came into contact with him for the first time and weren't prepared for the sight of him.

"It really is you," he stated with wide eyes as he sat down at the table. "The Dark One, in the flesh. Or…whatever that is."

He managed to restrain himself from rolling his eyes only by keeping them cast down at the table and avoiding Smee's gaze. He'd been looking for him so long, that was the best he'd come up with? He had a hard time believing this man had anything he could ever want when he approached him with stupidity like that.

"You've gone to a lot of trouble to meet me. You better hope I agree it's worth my time."

"I've heard you'd been looking for something. And, as luck would have it, I'm a man who trades some hard to find objects."

Perhaps he'd been wrong about the man. He'd spoken quickly just now, but it didn't have the same cadence that fear had. It had the tone of necessity. He'd spoken to move things along. And better yet, as the woman from the bar brought a stein of ale toward their table, William Smee got suddenly silent. A quick glance told him Smee was eyeing her with suspicion and unwilling to talk in front of her. Perhaps he'd underestimated him. It seemed the man knew how to hold his tongue around others. At last, someone with a brain. That was a lifesaving skill in his line of work.

"Like a bean?" he muttered, once the woman moved away. He'd whispered it really drawing his head closer to his own and cupping his hand around his mouth to block the sound from even potentially getting out into the crowd. "A magic bean that can transport you between worlds."

He had his attention before out of curiosity, but now he possessed it out of necessity. The Dark One was an experienced deal maker. He'd been doing it since long before even his own parents had been born and he knew that sometimes offers were false and even worse, sometimes they were traps. That he should be summoned to a strange woman's hut and told of this man's need to meet him, and that he had the one thing in the world he needed more than anything, was suspicious all on his own. The phrase "too good to be true," came to mind. He couldn't seem too interested.

"I've been told, they no longer exist in this land," he pointed out.

Smee leaned forward, his eyes wide. "Not in this land, no," he admitted. "But the ships that dock here often return from far off lands with treasures they don't always understand."

"And yet, you do?" he mocked. This man with a red floppy hat…he understood what they didn't? It was difficult to believe, and yet here he was. It was for Bae. Anything else and he would have left already. But if there was hope he could get him a bean that could take him the Baelfire, what choice did he have but to stay and listen?

"It's my job. As is knowing the rumors of who might pay the highest price for said treasures."

Rumors indeed…he'd been incredibly careful not to let many know what he'd been searching for. The fact that this stranger knew what he wanted most of all without any familiarity with him was disturbing. He'd have to find the source of these…rumors. If they were true, of course…

"And what rumors could they be?"

"That you were once a great coward, but that you became the Dark One to overcome that and protect the, uh, son who you lost, despite all-"

He had to summon his magic and use it to limit the air getting into his lungs to stop him from talking. A fool's brain buried beneath a wise talker. He should have known. William Smee must have had some kind of familiarity with his former village. That must be where the rumors he'd heard had come from because he could think of no where else he'd get information like that. He'd have to do something about that. And about…this.

"It's not nice to spread rumors!" he snapped loudly, so the entire bar could hear him, just in case a single person had heard him. Best to stick to business! "The bean – where is it?"

"I don't have it," he rasped out, with his own hand around his neck as if it could help him in some way. If he'd just lied to him, there was nothing that could help him. "But I can get it, I swear!"

He was begging. But he'd also said the magic words. And so with that, he relinquished his hold on Smee's throat and sat back, trying to look just as disinterested as he had when they'd first started. All the while, inside, he was nearly leaping for joy. He had a lead on a bean, an assurance they did exist! Forget the curse he'd been worried about finding; he was about to prove that Blue Bitch wrong and join his son!

"You haven't heard my price," Smee commented after the coughing fit he'd barely noticed had passed.

Price. What was that word to him anymore? He'd heard every other rumor about him, had he not heard the one about gold?

"I spin straw into gold. Price shouldn't be a problem."

"I don't want money," he insisted quickly. "I want eternal life."

He let out a loud, obnoxious laugh that he hoped passed along the message of just how ridiculous his request was. Smee knew what he wanted, he'd give him that, but he didn't want it enough. He wasn't desperate for it, and that made him no threat to his blade, only his comfort. There was no spell for eternal life, not one that wasn't a curse at least. There was a spell to keep an individual young, which could go on a lifetime, but it needed to be repeated and reset constantly. That would require keeping Smee in his life forever, and if he got the bean and he left, he wouldn't be able to fulfill the deal. But there was something else, something close to his request that a man like Smee might accept.

"Only the Dark One has life eternal. So, you want more, son. What I can do…what about youth? Spin the clock back till you're a little boy again?"

He could see his mind working behind his eyes. It was reassuring. If he was considering the bargain, then he'd been right. He wanted eternal life for the novelty of it, not out of necessity. He had nothing to fear of him.

"Close enough. Deal!" he agreed just a bit too eagerly. He wasn't desperate enough for eternal life, but he was betting that he would be desperate not to meet an untimely fate. A little motivation for getting that bean couldn't hurt.

"But remember – you fail to deliver, I spin the clock forward, and turn you into dust."

He understood. He could see it in his eyes, and in the way he pulled his hat on and rose from the table to get to work. "Thank you. Thank you!"

He was gone quickly. He liked that. His assessment of William Smee was that he wasn't exactly the brightest burning candle he'd ever met, but he seemed to be a savvy enough businessman and he had managed to get the butter blossoms for the old lady. Probably he was good at his trade and little else. But he knew better than to get his hopes up. After all he'd had more than a few leads on magic beans since Bae had gone away, and each and every one had failed. He knew better now than to count his chickens before they hatched, or in this case, count the beans before they were sitting in his hand.

"You sure you don't want anything?" the barmaid questioned, coming up to him but staying a safe distance away.

He'd been about to vanish, to simply leave her staring at his empty chair when he heard a voice that rang out in his ear and grabbed his attention. It was a familiar voice. Someone he recognized but couldn't place until-

He glanced over in the direction of the sound, and the glance became a shocked stare. Black clothes, earring, elaborate beard…he recognized that voice, and now he knew why. It was because the last he'd heard that voice he'd been quaking so hard in his boots he hadn't been able to move and watched helplessly as he stole away his wife. Killian Jones. The pirate who'd taken Milah.

He watched now as he walked into the bar without fear of conviction like so many pirates in this town did after they'd paid the lawmen. "Where's my beer?!" he questioned with a joyful smile on his face. A joyful smile…a joyful smile like the one he had stolen from Baelfire when he'd taken his mother. If he'd never taken Milah…

"You know, I suddenly find myself quite thirsty," he explained to the barmaid, who happily set one of her mugs of ale before him and marched off to take care of the new guests. Rage simmered beneath his skin and he allowed it. Let them drink. Let them gorge themselves on food and drink. His thirst was much more murderous. It would only be satisfied by blood. For Baelfire.

For Milah.

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Lavender Blue

Summary: After Kyle Garza’s untimely death, Petra comes to the police station to offer her condolences.

Rating: T -  Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Graphic depictions of murder and mentions of suicide. Reader discretion is advised.

Words: 1392

Notes: Here I am again. Perhaps this will indeed turn out to be a weekily thing. For now, however, enjoy!

As soon as the sun came up following the premature death of Kyle Garza, Petra walks into the police station holding a bouquet of wild flowers, wearing a royal blue dress and an unfinished jet necklace, calm and collected as she always is.

The first person she meets is Officer Shaw, whom she greets with sensible graveness.

“Good morning, officer.” She says, with a toothless smile. “Would you mind telling me where Imogen Wescott is?”

“Good morning, Petra.” The man frowns in confusion. “May I ask why do you want to speak with Ms Wescott?”

“Oh, we met yesterday, before the party… I heard her friend had suffered an accident on the radio, I thought it would be appreciated if I came and show my sympathy.” She motions for the flowers she carried. “I suppose a little comfort food would be nicer, but I have no access to an oven.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture anyways.” He smiles, kindly. “Ms Wescott is just finishing her deposition. You’re welcome to wait.”

She smiles widely at him, plucks a small branch of lavender out of her bouquet and leaves at his desk. “Thanks, Parker.”

Then, Petra walks over to the bench by the chief’s door and waits. Not for long, though, as Imogen soon emerges from the room, a blanket covering her shoulders and ruined party dress.

Her hair was ragged, and her eyes were so bloodshot, it seemed she cried the entire night.

Petra stands up and says, “Oh, Imogen!” Followed by a tight hug. The brunette girl hides her face on her shoulders and sobs softly. “I’m sorry.”

A long moment later she pulls away, smiling a little through her tears. “Thank you, Petra. I really needed that.”

“It’s alright, Imogen. Here, I brought you some flowers.” The blonde handed the bouquet. “How are you faring?”

Imogen looks down at the floor, hands knotted on the hem of her dress. “I just… I don’t understand how this could have happened. They are saying it was suicide! Or that he fell down because he was drunk! Kyle was the brightest person I know, and he drunk two, three beers tops!”

“You never know what really inhabits the hearts of people, I suppose.” Petra says and leads Imogen to a seat, placing the girl’s hands on her lap. “I don’t know in what you believe in, but I believe there is something grander than ourselves, that there is a realm beyond our own. I believe Kyle found peace.”

The girl’s lips quiver and hugs her friend once again. “Thank you, Petra.”

Before any of them could talk any longer, they hear an angry voice coming from the desk at the entrance of the station.

“What do you mean the chief will not see me?!” An angry, bearded man shouts at Parker.

The police officer tried to calm him by saying, “Easy, Ned. The chief is not trying to avoid you. He’s just busy with the inquiry. How ‘bout I make you an appointment for after lunch?”

Ned scoffs. “Right, so he can reschedule it five times and then cancel on me again? I’m sick of being jerked around! It’s all happening again and not one of you idiots is doing anything!”

“Hey!” Petra shouts back. “A little respect, please. These people just lost someone dear to them.”

Suddenly, a cool voice of a woman ripples through the small station. “I think that is quite enough. I’ll thank you if you stop upsetting my daughter. She’s been through enough for one day.”

Petra glances at Imogen, who seems to curl in on herself, staring down at the toes of her shoes. She stays on that position until the woman beckons her daughter, who meekly nods and follows.

Before she leaves, however, Imogen turns back and says, “Thanks, Petra. I�� Good-bye.”

After the Wescotts leave, Ned soon follows, and Parker walks closer to the out-of-towner.

“I’m sorry if you got caught on the middle of that.” The policeman said. “You alright?”

“I’m okay, I’ll just need more incense than I expected.” She said, looking dirty at the door. “It’s not only the dead who need clarity and tranquillity in this town.”

Parker chuckles, beside himself. “Ned is a good man, he just isn’t taking the death of his wife very well. As for the Wescotts… Astrid is a realtor, and Vincent is some big-shot lawyer.”

The blonde cartomancer seemed to want to say something, but a flash of emotion passes through her face and she reconsiders.

“Parker,” She leans into his desk, her skirt going up two or three fingers, “Do you know what lavender blooms stand for?”

“No.” He responds, confounded by the direction she took their conversation.

“The name literally means ‘to cleanse’ in Latin. Both on a bodily sense and on a more spiritual meaning. Curiously enough, some people also believe it indicates a sign to remain silent, to bury their knowledge deep inside their souls.” She comments, off-handedly. “Yet, those two things often seem so at odds with each other, don’t you think? Can you truly be pure if you know something that could save someone, and yet you keep silent? That you can do something, and yet you do nothing?

“In any case,” She continues after a moment of silence. “Perhaps I should go back to my camping site. I’m setting up shop today.”

Finding it to be a much more palatable subject for him, he asks, “Oh, and what do you sell?”

She smiles and shows him the gem she wore on her neck. “All sorts of things, creams, ointments, herbs, mementos from faraway lands and my artisanship. I polish the stones on my jewellery myself.”

“May I see it?” He asks, and she nods, unfastening the necklace. “It is very beautiful.”

“Thanks.” She grins, bashful, and puts the necklace back. “Well, I should be going. Thank you, Parker.”

She starts to leave, but the man places a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, wait. I’m getting off soon, would you like a ride?”

“Oh, no.” She dismissed the idea. “I drove here. I wouldn’t mind if you stopped by my stand later today.”

“I would like that.” He smiles back.

“Then I’ll see you later.” She waves and leaves the station.

Late that night, Ned was eating day-old pizza, drinking from a can of beer and staring at his crime board.

It was what he did every night ever since his wife dead body washed ashore years ago.

What was unusual in that particular night, however, was the sound of a knocking on his front door. No one, aside from the pizza deliveryman, came to his house in months, much less nearing midnight.

Rightfully frightened, he picked up his shotgun and shouts: “Go away!”

The knock persisted, in spite of Ned’s demand.

“I said to go away!” He shouts once more, and the knocking seemed to stop, the silence reigned supreme once more at the house.

He, then, lowers his guard, but still did not let go of his weapon.

Then, suddenly, a bang was heard and the door was knocked off its hinges. On the step, only a dark figure stood.

“Good evening, Edward Mallory.” They said, emotionlessly. “You have something that belongs to me.”

“You!” He shouts. “Leave! Leave now, or else I’ll shoot!”

They chuckle in derision. A glint shines on their eye and Ned is thrown across the room by a bodiless force.

“I said, you have something of mine.” They say, their rage barely contained, seeping into their voice. “Where is it?”

His voice was constrained by the energy. “I… I… don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“I…!” They seemed angry, but then they look on his wrist. “Oh, there it is. My charm bracelet.”

They take the magical object away.

“If only you did not get on the way…” They lamented, coldly. “Perhaps then you would not have to die.”

They take a dagger from their bag and impale him with it. His eyes widen, feeling the coldness of death taking over his body.

When Ned passes, the force keeping him stuck to the wall fades, and his corpse slides to the floor. The intruder takes off the dagger from his insides, clean it with the hem of their clothes and places it back on the bag.

With that, they leave, no one ever even noticing their presence on the run-down house.

[renaroo]

Surrender (1/27)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, PTSD, Psychological Manipulation, Dubious Nonconsent, Sexual Content Pairings: WashingtonxFelix, WashingtonxTucker Rating: M Synopsis: [Canon Divergence] In a world where Wash, Donut, Sarge, and Lopez end up with the New Republic, and Felix and Locus’ strategy to manipulate Chorus takes major adjustments. And Felix isn’t above exploiting a new found weakness.

A/N: Well. This is going to be.... something different, that’s for sure lol. Okay, so this is going to be much darker than a lot of my other fics, I’d say probably all of my fics, and it’s been something I’ve put off fully fleshing out and writing for ages now, but thanks to some encouragement from good friends, I’m about to bring some unwarranted filth to this fandom again. I am sorry but also not at all sorry.

I cannot stress enough PLEASE LOOK AT MY TAGS AND WARNINGS IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE. This is not going to be a pleasant fic once we dig into things, and it’s going to touch on or fully dive into all of the elements mentioned in the warnings. I do not want accidentally trigger people so please take some self care if any of the situations mentioned bother you. 

There will be explicit sexual scenes in the future.

And a special thanks to @goodluckdetective, @secretlystephaniebrown, @powerfulpomegranate, @a-taller-tale, and @littlefists for the encouragement/bullying to actually write this fic :P

A Subtle Change

"No one shoots my men but me!” Sarge roared from his position. 

The canyon they had been holed up in for the past several weeks was overflowing with members of the Federal Army that this Felix guy had been warning them about and quite frankly, it was difficult to not think of them as less enemy combatants and more canon fodder considering how unbelievably well their fortifications were holding up.

Well. All things considering since CeeCee had gone and mutinied on them with Dos-point-oh. 

All those considerations that were certainly no fault of Sarge’s own, of course, they were doing incredibly well prior to Donut being hit with the recursive blast of some sort of grenade. Which simply would not do! It wouldn’t do at all for anyone to be responsible for the untimely demise of Red Team that wasn’t either by Sarge’s own hands or by that of the hands of their forever immortalized enemies, no matter what Agent Washington tried to trick them into believing, the dastardly devils of Blue Team!

“Do you hear me? No one’s allowed to take out my men unless they want to take out me! So bring it, you cowardly, well organized, unthinking, white demon spawn!” Sarge continued to howl, getting up on top of his cover so as to make sure that the enemy had to look him in the eye as he slaughtered them wholesale!

“Sarge! What are you doing!?” Agent Washington snapped from below, yelling over his own return fire.

“Making sure the enemy retreats in the face of my boldness!” Sarge answered firmly. He then glanced up only to be dismayed by the lack of white retreat.  “Double damn! I told you that we should have made time for warpaint! It’d be working if you’d only listened to me, Agent Washington!”

“We didn’t have time for anything thanks to your fucking robot mutiny!” Wash snarled. “Now get down before you get yourself shot!”

“Ha!” Sarge called out eagerly. “One afternoon without that dirty Blue armor and you’re already talking insubordination like a true Red, Agent Washington. I knew that yellow stripes are a part of our dubious code. I went to Space Woodstock, after all!”

“Shut up and get some cover!” Washington snapped again.

Sarge made a few shots from the hip, feeling only emboldened by their position. His chest swelled with pride. “Looks like we’ve got this under control—“

He heard the crack of the sound barrier before he could feel it.

The sound was so loud and so sudden, it built the pressure around his head to the point that even with a helmet firmly on, Sarge’s ears painfully popped.

By the time the force of the hit was catching up with him and Sarge realized that his chest had been hit hard enough by the blast that it had knocked him to the grass, Sarge was utterly winded. His lungs were so empty that his chest was painful and as stunned as he was, he couldn’t manage to even gasp for air.

His vision doubled — nay, tripled — before him, and Sarge was left with his limbs flailed to his sides as he laid on the ground. It was a good day to die except even as the sky above him spun and blurred and tripled until nothing was quite making sense anymore, he could somehow still hear Simmons screeching at him.

“Sarge! Get up! I can’t…. Someone help! I can’t pick him up on my…”

The ringing kicked up a few notches and something or someone changed Sarge’s position because his scenery changed entirely, dazing and confusing him even more than he already was.

“Get the wounded!” a voice Sarge could not even begin to recognize managed to break through the surreality he was experiencing.

Everything was waited and heavy, he wasn’t sure how the bruiser managed to get Sarge over his shoulder and take off at the speed he was, but he could see he wasn’t alone.

Two other figures in tan and green were lifting Donut’s limp and charred form between them, heading in the same direction.

They passed Grif and his stupid useless Future Cubes.

“Grrrffff,” Sarge attempted to scold, unable to hear what stupid things Grif was screaming as he threw the cubes at the ever increasing enemy. “Grrrrff.”

The orange figure was disappearing more and more, only to reemerge.

It wasn’t Grif, though. It was the other orange that he hated. The not-Freelancer who helped end their quiet peacefulness in the canyon. That Felix fella. That…

He had Agent Washington hanging over one of his shoulders, half limping with him forward, half dragging. Washington’s head hung low, his helmet cracked.

“Are you getting to the cave?” Tucker’s voice burst through the ringing, he was racing up with his sword out. A fact that should have let itself open to more than a few jokes but Sarge could feel his spinning head slowing again. It was too much to take in.

“Yeah, get on in there, we’re gonna have to close up the cave to make an escape now,” Felix ordered. “I mean that like twenty minutes ago yesterday now. So come on—“

“Yeah, I hear you. Tell me who’s still not in the cave!” Tucker demanded angrily. “I’m not fucking around, Felix, tell me who’s—“

“Grrrifff,” Sarge coughed out, getting Tucker and Felix’s attention simultaneously.

“Right, which also means Simmons,” Tucker concluded, correctly. “Do you have Caboose yet?”

“We have Agent Washington,” Felix answered, like it was remotely the same thing.

“Okay, great, then give us a few minutes and I’ll get the others, too!” Tucker claimed, turning to leave when Felix roughly grabbed his wrist and yanked him hard enough to nearly send him dipping backwards.

“We don’t have minutes, you insufferable—“ Felix tried to hiss out only for Tucker to free himself and race toward the fight. “Fucking idiot!”

Sarge chuckled, despite how much it hurt. He had a begrudging respect for the thin mint. Leaving no men behind. That was almost Red Team worthy—

“Set the charges,” Felix ordered. “We’re getting out of here with who we’ve got.”

The words were unimaginable, catching Sarge not only off guard but they were so… wrong. The only thing he could muster out was a solid “No.”

The word was apparently enough as Felix looked around before focusing on Sarge. He tilted his head and leaned forward. “You’ll thank me later, Old Timer,” he declared before reaching forward and then—

Everything went black.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Washington wasn’t sure how, but he was reliving his greatest nightmare. Flat on his back, chin tilted back, head throbbing like his skull had been cracked open and splintered into a thousand pieces, a monitor beeping quietly nearby but not quiet enough.

Vision came to him in fish bowl lens flashes. A face he never knew, then another, then both. Muffled words, medical in nature. The sort of interest in his body and less his person that could leave even the boldest of men with a chill down their spines. Most of the time it was only a light, glaring into him, making him feel empty and bare to its insight.

What wasn’t a flash of vision fading in and out of his surroundings was overwhelming numbness. Darkness.

Things were not well. Things were not what they were supposed to be.

It was years beyond Freelancer, months since the nightmares, weeks since the nightmares returned with an altogether different ship crashing and an altogether different team being failed by his same hands.

So why was he surrounded by doctors in masks and hospital machinery again? Was anything in between the two dreadful memories real?

They had to be. They were. Tucker and Caboose. They were real. They were his team. He was a Blue and—

Sarge had been shot. They were in a canyon. Donut? Was he even alive? There had been a firefight.

They were winning. They were losing.

Washington was behind cover. But he couldn’t see Locus, and Locus was the one he was supposed to keep his eye on most and then…

Then his cover didn’t cover much anymore.

He was dead, surely, but rather than that reality he was faced instead with a gulping breath of air as his eyes snapped open. Someone was touching his throat. His throat was bare. He wasn’t in his armor or his under armor mesh. He was exposed and the hand was at his throat and he had to make it stop—

“He’s awake!” the woman’s voice called just before Washington grabbed her hand at the wrist and rung it back, twisting her forearm painfully until she let out a shriek. “HELP! ORDERLIES! PLEASE!”

His head was still painfully throbbing and he knew what calling for orderlies meant, he knew more than almost anyone else by that point in his fairly unjust life. Wash gritted his teeth and held tighter to her wrist. “What were you doing to me!?” he demanded.

“No need for orderlies, ma’am! Double-Oh Donut’s on the job!”

Before Washington could even process who the comment was coming from, two arms looped themselves under his armpits from behind and hoisted him back, nearly flattening Wash’s own back out against a broad chest. Almost immediately, Washington began to thrash without letting the doctor’s arm go.

“Let go of me!” Wash ordered. “Let-Let…” he struggled less, looking over his shoulder and being met by a very familiar, though looking particularly empathetic, look. “Donut?”

“That’s right, Washington. You’re with friends,” another sly voice said before a hand closed around Washington’s own. “So how about you let go of the nice doctor here without breaking any arms today, huh?”

Washington looked back toward the voice and saw Felix, in full armor, standing by him. Then he looked to the doctor’s look of sheer terror and pain, a disturbing flip in his stomach giving a measured response. “I… I am so sorry,” he said, releasing the doctor’s hand. “I…”

“You… were in shock, and had a violent reaction,” the doctor tried to explain, rubbing her reddened wrist while taking an extra step away from them. “It’s underst—“

“What the nice doctor means is that it’s totally understandable that you’d have a reaction like that,” Felix cut in. “I mean, look at your record.”

Wash stiffened again which prompted Donut to hold onto him tighter. “What record?”

“All of you with Project Freelancer. None of you have exactly had it easy, have you?” Felix remarked almost gently.

There was nothing Washington could think to say to that, fortunately, Donut was still holding on for dear life.

“You’re telling us!” Donut responded with a bit of a huff. “Heck, I was even supposed to be on shore leave!”

Felix’s gaze stayed locked on Wash’s despite the fact that it was Donut talking. Something about it was… unnerving. “Huh,” he said. “You look younger than I thought you would.”

The comment took Wash aback so much he physically came to a stop, which apparently had been the sort of reaction Donut was waiting for as he finally released Wash’s arms. “Excuse me?” Wash asked, still dumbfounded.

“Just a compliment, you look younger than you sound, crazy of a compliment as it seems,” Felix continued lightly with a shrug.

“Is it a compliment?” Wash asked sharply which then caused Donut to move toward him until Wash held up his hands and stopped Donut by his chest. “I’m fine. I’m not… going to wig out. I’m just…”

“Disoriented and greeted by someone who tends to be a bit too flagrant with his language,” a stern voice offered. A woman walked through, armor a military tan with bright, light blue accents. Her helmet was at her hip as she walked through, showing a distinct military haircut and eyes that were sharp enough to remind Washington of an old drill sergeant. “I apologize for Felix. When he was hired we were not aware that a mouth was coming with it.”

“Aw, Kimball,” he snorted with too much familiarity, though surprisingly the woman didn’t seem to mind even though her looks would say otherwise.

Washington could feel the beginnings of a headache already working on him so he shook his head once and waved his hands. “Okay, I need to know who you people are, what you did to me, and most importantly of all, where the hell my men are,” he ordered with as much ferocity as he could manage. “Because believe it or not, this is about as compliant as I am without any of that information, and my patience is already wearing thin.”

Donut tilted his head. “Jesus christ, Wash,” he muttered before growing overly excited. “That was amazing. You should give speeches like that more often!”

“Donut,” Wash hissed.

“You have a right to all that information, Agent Washington, and more,” Kimball addressed him, genuinely surprising the former Freelancer. “After all, we’ve all read the stories about you, seen the reports. We know that all of you have worked tirelessly to bring war criminals to justice and to bring yourselves to the honors you currently have earned. Yet you would, of course, know nothing of us.”

“You’re right,” Wash said impatiently. “We don’t know anything about you but the briefest of descriptions your paid mercenary gave us when he found us.”

Felix, leaned back against the wall behind Kimball, shrugged. “I’m not hearing a whole lot of thank yous going around for that, by the by,” he said smoothly.

“You want a thank you?” Wash snapped.

“Felix,” Kimball said thickly without even looking in his direction.

“Shutting up,” he replied.

With her attention fully back on Washington, Kimball took a breath and stepped forward, closing the gap between her and Washington. “My name is Vanessa Kimball. I am the general of the New Republic Army of Chorus. We are a small fraction fighting a large enemy, attempting to save our people and their freedoms from the former oppressive regime that would have seen us starve and die of disease after the UNSC forgot our colony. It has been a long and bloody war between the two fractions, and only hope has been fueling my soldiers throughout this all. And hope, as you can imagine, has been hard to find. But I believe in hope, and I believe that things happen with reason. Which is why, when Felix came across you and your men, I knew we needed you — we all needed you — to give my soldiers something to believe in again.”

Beside Washington, Donut wrung his hands, taking a deep breath. “Aw,” he said. “I’ve never been someone’s only hope — well, I’ve been someone’s only hoe but this is definitely the first time I’ve been an only hope—“

Washington was significantly less moved. “General, I can respect that you are an authority here, and I can respect that your conflict is heartfelt and well fought for,” he said, using every bit of patience he could to not let his anger accent every word. “But you are not our authority, and if you were, well, we don’t deal well with most authority figures. I’m not anyone’s beacon of hope, I’m just a leader of my men. And you still haven’t answered where they are.”

Donut leaned back. “Snap.”

“Damn, balls of steel,” Felix snorted again. “Even I don’t talk back to you like that.”

“Not now, Felix,” Kimball said, her eyes still locked on Washington’s. Her lips pursed in a way that told Wash everything he needed to know. Her hesitation spoke volumes.

“No,” Wash said darkly. “Where are they?”

“Your Sergeant is a room over, he cracked a few ribs and the doctors have him on bedrest for now,” Kimball answered.

“And… he’s staying in bed?” Donut asked, finally sounding half as skeptical as Washington felt at the moment.

“There is also… some sort of robotic unit that some of my men brought with them from the canyon you all escaped,” Kimball continued. “We don’t have many engineers to spare so one of our lieutenants who was a four-year battle robotics winner is handling it for now.”

“I hope that’s Lopez the First and not Dos Point-Oh,” Donut stage whispered.

Washington ignored Donut’s interjection for a moment, waiting for Kimball to continue with listing off their compatriots. When her lips pursed again, the fire already lit in Washington’s chest grew monstrously.

“Where is everyone else? Where the hell are my men?” he demanded.

“I wasn’t at the scene, I only have the reports,” Kimball answered reluctantly. “But from what we can tell, Privates Michael Caboose, Richard Simmons, Dexter Grif, and Private First Class Lavernius Tucker, did not make it to the caverns in time to follow the escape route—“

“No,” Wash said lowly.

“—and so did not make it to the rendezvous point prepared for the rescue mission,” Kimball continued/

“No,” Wash said louder.

“It is our current intelligence that they are captured by the enemy but alive,” Kimball quickly responded.

The heaviest of silences fell between all of them in the room.

It was terse and angry, though Washington suspected that a decent amount of the anger was purely from him at that time. And loathe as he was to be predictable, he concentrated it squarely on the only authority to be found in the room.

Surprisingly, even for Wash, though, he was not the first one to shatter the silence.

“That’s terrible,” Donut announced, a bit of a waver in his voice. “Like… That’s bad. I’d personally be ashamed if I scored anything less than fifty percent. You’re at… what?” he glanced momentarily at Washington as if somehow Wash was supposed to be following along with his logic, let alone computing for it. He then turned back to the general and mercenary. “You’re like at twenty-five percent! The only percentile lower than that that I claim is the proud-and-out eight-to-ten. Which is totally not the same thing and is way cooler.”

Washington’s mind was racing to process what he had just been told, and for the first time since… well, since he could remember at all, he was grateful to have Donut at his back. Figuratively speaking.

“Please, we understand your frustration, but as long as our objectives align, I believe we should try to work on our problems together,” Kimball pressed.

“No. You don’t understand our frustrations. And, frankly, you can’t. No one can,” Wash snapped, sending a deathly silence over the others in the room. “You say the others are alive. That’s what we needed to hear.”

With the ease of an expert, Washington pulled himself free of drips and monitoring equipment and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He anticipated the wooziness but pressed past it. Everyone seemed to flinch at the action but, at least in Washington’s mind, it was smooth as silk.

“Come on, Donut,” he ordered. “We’re getting Lopez and Sarge.”

“Alright!” Donut responded cheerfully enough. There was still a note of concern in his voice, but it was something Washington was ignoring.

His people were out there. His people were in danger. And there was something about all of it that left him unsettled and angrier than usual.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Felix called out after Wash, arms folded unimpressed across his chest.

“As long as the others are alive? I don’t care,” Wash answered without so much as looking in their direction.

Instead, he and Donut left right out the door.

Felix wasn’t sure if he was feeling more impressed or more enraged at the former Freelancer as he walked right out the door and nearly ruined everything he was working toward.

He made a mental note to determine which it was once he was away from Kimball and able to more freely be himself. Until then, he had an image to protect.

So he looked at Kimball in a somewhat charming fashion, gingerly tilted his shoulders in a shrug, and eased a quick, “Well, that certainly could have gone worse.”

The general was not having it, though she bought into the persona as well as usual. “I can’t see how,” she said icily. “You fucked up, Felix. You fucked up big time.”

Tersely, Felix reminded himself of his role, of his play. Still, he allowed himself to square his jaw and bite back on his molars before letting out a tight, “I know.”

“You’re not getting your full payment,” she reminded him, assessing that to somehow be punishment enough.

“I know,” he repeated, his temper flaring just beneath the surface.

“And I expect you to somehow make this right,” she warned him. “You heard what he said. They are invested as long as their friends are still alive. Of course they are, who couldn’t be? That means, we can still do something. We can still offer them help in return.”

“Believe me, Vanessa,” Felix breathed out calmly, the cool satisfaction of a plan forming in his mind, “I know what to do. And I’ll be keeping an eye out for our Agent Washington especially.”

[geekprincess26]

The Snow: Chapter 12

Summary: Sansa Stark thought she was well rid of Jon Snow. Then an untimely blizzard reunited them. Now Sansa wants out, and Jon just wants to explain.

Previous chapters: on my blog starting here | on AO3 here

Later that afternoon, as the sun completed its descent behind the hill next to the flat, Jon emerged from his room to find Sansa retrieving a box of pasta noodles from his pantry.  She jumped half out of her skin, and he apologized at once.  

“No, it’s fine,” she said when she had caught her breath.  “I should be the one apologizing anyway.  It’s your kitchen, and I’m messing it up.”  She tilted her head toward the stove, and Jon smiled.

“You should be messing it up if you’re hungry,” he said, and gestured to the pasta box.  “Did you want me to – ?”

Sansa shook her head.  “It’s one of my special dishes, after all,” she said, and Jon smiled again.  Sansa had left the lion’s share of the cooking to him when they’d lived together, since her own culinary repertoire consisted of about three or four recipes.  One of those was pasta with salt, pepper, and Parmesan cheese, which even Jon had to admit was a better comfort food than most of what Sansa terms his gourmet cooking.

Jon retrieved a pot from one of the lower cabinets and handed it to her.  Sansa dropped it into the sink and began running the faucet.  Her cheeks had gone pink by the time she turned to face him.

“By the way,” she said, “I talked to Myranda today – my agent – and she mentioned that the girl playing Sophia from Wolves R Us dropped her role.”

“Oh.”  It took a few moments for Sansa’s comment to register.  Jon had performed the voice of Ghost the direwolf from a new animated feature based on an old fairy tale.  It centered around a family with four children who discovered an orphaned litter of mythological creatures called direwolves, which were twice as large as normal wolves and ten times as fierce except with their owners.  Each wolf formed a telepathic bond with one of the children, and Jon’s friend Wylla Manderly, the director, had asked him to perform the role of the eldest direwolf, a red-eyed albino named Ghost.  The actress set to play Sophia, the second eldest child, had quit the project abruptly the prior week after recording less than half of her part.

“Yeah, she did,” he said, and Sansa nodded slowly.  She looked nervous.

“Well, Myranda’s been contacted by Wylla Manderly, and they want me to read the lines for Sophia,” she said.  “I’d just be reading with the crew for the audition, and even if I get the part I wouldn’t have to read in the same room as you, even if they do rereads with your part.  But I told her I’d let you know anyway.”

Jon stared at her.  Sansa had been known to take the roundabout way to a point, but this time he could not see one.

“What do you mean?” he asked finally.  “I mean – you don’t need to ask me for anything.  Unless Wylla put me in charge of casting without my knowing it.”  He raised an eyebrow and leaned back toward the counter.  “Which I doubt.”

“Well, no.”  Sansa opened the pasta box.  “But she didn’t – well, she wanted to make sure we were OK working on the same project, even if we weren’t going to be in the same room.  I didn’t tell her I’m here or anything,” she added hastily.  “And anyway, you were in on it first, so – ”

Jon shook his head, nonplussed.  “That doesn’t mean that they can’t pick whoever else they want,” he replied.  “If they like you for it, they should have you.  Who cares what I think?”

The words left his mouth more sharply than Jon had intended.  Sansa’s flush deepened, and he sighed.

“Look,” he said, “what I mean is if you want to take it, then take it.  I don’t mind.”  He held out one hand palm-up.  “Here.”  He nodded toward the pasta box, which Sansa was holding upside-down in midair after having emptied its contents into the pot.  She reddened a little more and handed it to him.  

“I mean it,” Jon said, willing his voice to soften.  Sansa’s answering look was almost shy – that was one he hadn’t seen in over a decade – but she nodded.

“Thanks,” she said softly, and reached toward the stove-side crock of utensils to retrieve a wooden spoon.  Jon reached into the cupboard directly above him and handed her a jar of salt, and Sansa thanked him again.

“Have you worked with Wylla before?” he found himself asking.  Sansa shook her head.

“No,” she said.  “I’ve heard good things, though.  She loves ad libs, from what I’ve been told.”

Jon grinned.  “You could say that,” he said.  Wylla sometimes gave the actors versions of the film’s scenes that were twice as long as the cuts she planned to include and paired them with intentionally vague direction just to get as many possible interpretations and improvisations as she could.  Jon, who had known Wylla for some time, had not been entirely surprised, but her methods had mildly annoyed a couple of the other actors at first until they’d gotten used to it.  Sansa, however, would have fit right in with those of his colleagues who had used the extended scenes as a chance to improvise silly monologues about life on Mars and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Jon spent the next few minutes sharing anecdotes of his time on set with Wylla, which induced more giggles from Sansa.  Only after she had drained the pasta and cut part of a stick of butter into the pan to melt did she stop short.

“Oh,” she said suddenly.  The smile left her face at once.  “I forgot to ask you earlier, when we were eating – I can go to the store while I’m in town tomorrow, just to get some food and other things for here.  Since, you know, I’ve used them.”  She shrugged again.  Jon shook his head.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said.  “I always get those things delivered, anyway.”

Sansa still looked worried, and another thought occurred to Jon.  “Wait, you’re going to be in town anyway?  Did the police ask you to come back?”

Sansa shook her head.  “No,” she said quietly.  Her shoulders slumped.  “The officer I talked to yesterday said they didn’t have any more questions.  They just had to talk to me again after the accident because it’s standard procedure for anyone who’s witnessed a death.”

Jon gaped at her.  “Witnessed – wait, you saw the woman – I thought you said she was dead when you got there?”

“She was.”  Sansa’s shoulders slumped farther down.  “She had a heart attack behind the wheel.  That was what started everything.  They think she died of it right away.  I only saw her afterward, when I pulled over to see what had happened and found her dead on her seat.”  She turned to the sink and picked up the strainer full of freshly drained pasta, but made no move to transfer it to the pot.  “They said that her name was Sarah Mordane, and she had five grandchildren.”

She upended the strainer over the pot.  Jon drew back to avoid the drops of boiling water that splattered out of it.  When Sansa turned around to set down the strainer, the unshed tears in her eyes glittered icy blue in the rays of the stove light.  

“Sorry,” they murmured at the same time.  Sansa closed her mouth at once and hung her head.  Jon ran a hand across his.

“Jesus, Sansa, I didn’t – I’m sorry.”  That sounded pathetic.  “I’m so sorry.”  Still pathetic.  Sansa shrugged.  She must have agreed with him.

“It wasn’t any of your doing,” she said, and turned back to the pot.  “Don’t blame yourself, Jon.”

Jon shook his head, even though he knew she could not see it.  “It’s not that,” he replied.  “It’s just that nobody should have to – you shouldn’t have to go through it at all in the first place.  Let alone twice.”

Sansa shrugged again.  “At least I got out alive,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady.  “And don’t worry, I’ll be talking to my therapist as soon as I get back home.”

“No, that’s not what I – but if it helps,” Jon began, but found nothing else to say except, “I’m still sorry, Sansa, I’m so, so sorry.”  He wanted to reach out and wipe away a few of her tears himself.  He wanted to hold her and rub her back and keep telling her how sorry he was.  However, the rigid way with which Sansa was holding her shoulders told him she would welcome none of it, and so he stood rooted to the spot.

“Anyway,” Sansa said after a few minutes, “I – I can still call up whatever shop you use to order the food and everything, or go online if that’s what you want.”  She retrieved a plate from the drying rack and dished some of the noodles onto it.  Her hands shook when she reached for the salt and pepper shakers, though, and she ended up dropping both.  Jon grabbed them both off the floor and held out the one with the salt.

“Here, I’ll grind it,” he said.  “Just tell me when.”

He repeated the process with the pepper, and then with the Parmesan cheese he always kept in the refrigerator, a habit left over from when Sansa mixed it with her pasta during their marriage.  Sansa thanked him quietly.

“So about the food,” she said, “I really should – ”  

Jon waved it away.  “No,” he replied firmly.  “Don’t worry about it, Sansa.  I mean that.”  He set one hand gently on her shoulder.  She jumped back, startled, and Jon held both hands up palm forward.

“Sorry,” he said.  Sansa shrugged.

“If you change your mind – ” she began.  Jon shook his head.

“I won’t,” he assured her.  Sansa nodded and turned to trudge out of the kitchen.

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

Jon did not see Sansa again until half-past eight the following morning.  She entered the kitchen to find him cleaning up the dishes he’d used making the oatmeal cinnamon muffins that sat cooling on a wire rack on the countertop.

“Morning,” he greeted her, and reached into the cabinet for another coffee mug.  “Coffee?”

Sansa nodded.  She murmured a quiet thank-you when Jon handed her the full mug, but she looked nervous, and her eyes darted about before settling on him.

“I contacted Pod Payne while you were sick,” she said.  “He put me in touch with a lady who did legal consulting on one of my projects from a few years back.”  She took a sip of coffee.  Jon’s eyebrows rose.  Sansa never drank her coffee black.  Now she was drinking it black and barely even flinching.

“Her name’s Jeyne Westerling,” Sansa continued, “and she’s a barrister in Leeds.  She knows a lot about the Solicitors Regulation Authority.”  Seeing Jon’s confused look, she added, “The agency that handles a lot of professional misconduct complaints against lawyers.”  

That did not clear up much of Jon’s confusion, but he nodded anyway.

“So I sent her an e-mail yesterday,” Sansa continued, “and she responded today.  She told me how to – ”  She took another gulp of coffee, set down her mug, and rubbed one hand around the other.  Jon’s frown deepened.  It deepened again when she did not say anything further.

“She told you how to what?”  Jon asked gently.  Sansa blinked, shook her head, and looked back up at him.

“To file a misconduct complaint against Jeyne Poole,” she said.  The words spilled out so suddenly that it took Jon a few moments to string them together.

“For what?” he asked.

“For threatening you,” Sansa replied at once, as though the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.  “You know, when she told you she’d have you arrested after you found me in the park.”  She twisted her hands around again.  “Even besides that, she was lying because it would have been a false charge and she knew it.  So I want her to be professionally disciplined.”

Jon merely stared at her.  He supposed she was right, although he’d never have thought of such an action himself; after the divorce had been finalized, he’d been far too eager to forget Sansa’s lawyer had ever existed.  But if Sansa was telling him about it now, she probably needed –

“The thing is,” Sansa continued, “Jeyne – I mean, Jeyne Westerling – told me I’d really only have a chance at it if you participated – you know, we’d both have to write statements for the complaint, because I didn’t witness what she said to you.  So if it was just me bringing the complaint, they’d probably reject it.”  

Exactly.

“So,” Sansa went on, “Jeyne said if you were willing to see her with me, she could talk to us both, although she’d understand if you wanted to talk to her through your own lawyer, since it was a divorce case between the two of us.”  She bit her lip.  “I told her I’d talk it over with you and get back to her.”

“My own lawyer – what?  Why?  We wouldn’t be going to court, would we?”  He’d never had to go to court, not even for the divorce, and the hell with all of it if he’d start now.

“Well, not really,” Sansa replied, her voice lower.  “But we might have to talk to the review panel if there’s a hearing and tell them everything that happened.  It wouldn’t be for a while, though; Jeyne said the review process can take six months or more.”

Jon stared at her, incredulous.  “And you’d do all that?” he exclaimed.  Sansa nodded.  Her face was paler than it had been when she’d gotten back to the apartment the prior morning.

“What she did to you – ”  She shook her head.  “It isn’t right, and I know how rich that sounds coming from me, but I can’t – I’d never have asked her to do it, and I didn’t want her to do it.  I don’t want her to get by with it.”  She took a deep breath.  “You shouldn’t have had to go through that, especially not with everything else going on.”

“You mean everything else that you did ask her to do,” Jon reminded her more sharply than he’d intended.  “That makes the whole complaint sound rich, Sansa, not just you.”  

Sansa’s shoulders slumped.  “I know,” she said, “but Jeyne said if you went along with it, we could still have a good case because the point is that she went to an unethical distance in representing me.”  She bit her lip again.  “Especially if I can say I didn’t get a divorce because you were hurting me or robbing me or committing a crime.”

“And what?  You’ll tell them you got a divorce for infidelity instead?  You realize that doesn’t sound a hell of a lot better, right?”  Jon’s voice got louder with every word.  “So the whole bloody review board will get our dirty laundry, is that it?”

“No!”  Sansa leaned forward to brace her hands on the snack bar.  “They don’t have to hear that part of it; Jeyne just said it would help if they knew I didn’t divorce you for a criminal reason.  And even if you’d – cheating isn’t a crime, anyway.”  Her voice began to tremble.  “But I can tell them you didn’t cheat, if you want, and that the divorce was entirely my fault.  It’s the least I can do, anyway, because it is the truth – ”

“Oh, Christ almighty.”  Jon speared his hand through his hair so hard it ripped the rubber band half out.  “Ow!”  Sansa flinched and backed away from the counter as Jon reached back to massage his head.  The stricken look she wore reminded him all too well of the screaming match they’d had the night before he’d gotten sick, when he’d screamed at her and she’d apologized so many times for hurting him.  Jon swallowed the retort screaming on the tip of his tongue, clenched his eyes shut, and sighed.

“Is that what this is about?” he said once he thought he’d gotten a bit more control of his voice.  “Going out at all bloody hours to avoid bothering me?  Going to the store and getting that Alys Karstark to fix Gram’s vase and filing this complaint and all that?  You want to stack one thing on top of another till you can make up for things?  Stop feeling guilty?  Make the last three years never happen?  Make the last week never happen?  Jesus.”  He shook his head.  It felt heavy.  So did his arm when he reached up to rub his forehead with the heel of one hand.  “Did anyone ever tell you things don’t work that bloody way?  Ever?  Or are you just going to keep sitting there and banging your head against the wall to try and make things better?”

He almost choked over the last word.  At this rate, she’d tear them both apart if she thought what they’d undergone over the past week could make anything that had happened since he’d signed up to do that film with Ygritte North better.  Sansa flinched again.

“No,” she finally responded.  “I’m not stupid enough to think I could ever make up for what I did.  I couldn’t make up for a millionth of it if I spent the rest of my life trying.”  She took a deep breath and let it out in a shaky huff before she continued.  “That doesn’t mean I won’t take the chance to right a little bit of the consequences if I can.  You were right.  Jeyne never would have done what she did to you if it hadn’t been for me.  So if I can right even that little bit, and that’s all I ever get the chance to do, I’ll do it.  I’ll do it every time.  Anything I can.  I don’t care what it is.” One tear rolled down her cheek, then another.

Jon sank his elbows onto the snack bar, buried his forehead into his hands, and blew a long, harsh breath through his clenched teeth.  He heard Sansa’s shaky gasps across from him.  Part of him wanted to reach out and hold her.  Part of him rejoiced that she might just understand some of the three years’ hell she’d put him through.  Part of him wondered if she was actually trying to match him hell for hell.

“Fuck’s sake, Sansa,” he ground out.  “Do you want to kill yourself at doing this stuff?  I bloody get that you feel bad, but bloody hell.”  He exhaled again, but that only made his breathing more ragged.  

“You could have frozen three yards from the door out there the other night,” he continued, and gestured back toward the kitchen’s glass doors.  “You could have broken your back trying to shove me around in my bed with that fucking tarp.  And last night, you could have been been mugged – worse – God – you could have been grabbed and – ”

His voice shook harder.  When he tried to talk over the shaking, it came out as an ugly rasp.  “Did you ever think you were making it worse?  Did you ever think what I’d think – the person you’re trying to make this shit up to – if anything ever, ever, happened to you, I couldn’t – I’d go – I’d never be able to handle it – I couldn’t breathe – I’d never get – Jesus Christ, Sansa.”  Unable to look at her, he turned and leaned heavily into the counter next to the sink.

“I’m sorry.”  Sansa’s voice was shaking worse than his.  “You’re right.  Nothing I do will make up for any of it.  The last few days – I wasn’t trying to make it worse, then, I was only trying to do whatever I could not to make it worse for you.  And I know I made it worse, because as much as you hated it when I was gone, I hated when you were sick, and whether or not you believe it, if anything had happened to you, I couldn’t have – I just couldn’t think – and I didn’t mean to make you feel like that, ever.”  Her words gave way to sobs, and it was several minutes before Jon could force himself to turn and see her reaching up to swipe the tears off her cheeks with the sleeves of her sweater.  A wordless murmur arose from his throat, but Sansa did not notice it.  

“And I’m not trying to do anything so I can stop feeling guilty,” she whispered before Jon could say anything else.  “I’ll always feel guilty, but that’s not on you.  It’s never been on you.  It’s on me.  And I’m not just guilty, I’m sorry, Jon.  I’m – ashamed and horrid and sorry.”  Her face crumpled.  “Sorry,” she gasped, and clapped her hand over her mouth before she turned and fled the room.

Jon stared after her into the dark, empty hall.  He stared into it long after the sounds of running water and Sansa’s shuffling feet had stopped.  He wanted to yell at her to stop beating herself over the head.  He wanted to yell at her to stop beating him over the head.  He wanted to sit down with her and hold her and anchor them both to the floor so their heads would quit spinning and the whiplash would just stop.

When he finally mustered the energy to trudge back to his bedroom, he slapped the left-click key on his computer mouse, turned off his music, collapsed onto his bed, and cried.

[radiant-flutterbun]

The Adventures of Mason and Evan

(Warning: Brief mention of suicide)

Previously: Mason and Evan escaped their world which was being destroyed by demons and entered Sornieth where they were turned into dragons.

One hundred years.

One hundred years Mason had been dead. And with those one hundred years came one hundred missed opportunities. His relationship with his boyfriend was cut short. His friends all had to move on after his passing, and find others who would fill the void he left them.

For one hundred years Mason drifted in the Underworld as a ghost. His only friend was the mortal turned god, Evan Fear.

Now both Mason and Evan were mortal again, but they were human no longer.

Being a dragon was going to take some getting used to by both of them.

Mason was struggling more so than Evan. For Evan is main struggling was learning to walk in the new body. But for Mason he had to learn how to be alive again.

He felt like an infant. He struggled to walk, his tongue could’nt wrap around the strange new dragon language, and he had to be reminded to eat or drink.

Evan looked out for him, just like he did for the last one hundred years.

“Hey Mace, did you eat yet today?” He would ask every once and awhile.

Mason shook his head, slightly jealous how Evan’s Godspeak allowed him to learn every language. There was no struggle of communication for him.

“Alright to the kitchen we go!” He trotted on ahead. Learning to walk in his new body came easier to him than it did for Mason.

Mason tried to trot after his friend, but he tripped over his own feet and landed face first onto the stone flooring.

“Careful, kid!” The clan leader, Nike had to stumble back to avoid stepping on him. Mason appreciated the blind mirror’s kindness toward him and Evan and for giving them a place to stay, but it annoyed him that she insisted on calling him a ‘kid’.

He was an adult. He died at the age of twenty and lived on a hundred years more as a ghost. He figured he was older than all of the dragons in the clan if the hundred years were counted.

“Oh! Mace! Sorry I forgot you’re still getting the hang of walking,” Evan came back “Do you need help?”

“I’m fine,” the words came out awkwardly, as Mason got to his feet. Evan walked next to him as he carefully put one foot in front of the other.

The kitchen was filled with delicious aromas of all times. The main cook, Firespitter was always there cooking up something. He made the best meals for dragons of all kinds.

The mirror cook smiles as he saw Mason and Evan enter.

“Nice timing! I just cooked up some salmon I think you’d like,” He pushed the plate toward Evan and he licked his lips.

“Alright! Thanks dude!”

“And for you,” Firespitter turned to Mason “I got a vegetarian dish.”

“Thanks,” As a skydancer Mason could eat insects too, but the dragons here realized soon enough that their alien friends weren't too comfortable eating the creepy crawlies. It was a good thing none of them were faes.

Immediately after eating his meal, Mason felt better. It was amazing how much of a difference a full belly made when it came to his mood.

“So you wanna go over to Lakra’s for speech therapy?” Evan asked when he was done licking his plate.

Mason shrugged. He didn’t want to go, but it was also a pain not being able to speak fluently. It was almost ironic. As a human he could speak two languages fluently, which was one more than most of his friends could. And with English and Spanish being the two most common languages where he lived very rarely was he unable to join in a conversation.

Now he could barely say more than a word at a time. He was getting better admittedly, but not soon enough.

Practise will only make it easier He reminded himself. I figure it would be best to see Lakra now.

***

Weeks pass and Mason could walk perfectly again. Flying was a different story, but he wasn’t going to think about that just yet. He was learning more and more Draconion everyday and was quickly grasping the language. He wasn’t fluent yet, but could get by.

And as he got better at speaking, he started to want to learn other things as well.

“Hey, Evan?” he was sitting with his friend outside at night next to the cliff. Mason loved the sound of the waves crashing below. Evan looked up at him, his feathered crest rising in interest.

“I kinda want to do art again.”

Evan grinned “That’s awesome Mace!”

“Yeah… I… I just figured it would be a good idea. Now that I’m alive and all.”

“Are you going to make the comic you always wanted to create?”

Mason nodded “Except… I’m probably going to have to completely re-learn how to draw now.”

“We can sign you up for some art lessons with Flare. I’ve heard she’s a good teacher.”

“Yeah me too. Except Muerto is also being taught by her. I don’t want to make things awkward.”

“That’s a good point.”

“Maybe I should what until I’m a little more comfortable being a dragon before I start…”

“Nah you should just go for! This is what you’ve wanted for over a hundred years now.”

“I know… It’s just… Feels a little weird. When I was alive the first time I wanted so badly to create, but when I needed my creativity the most it dried up and died inside of me. I thought dying would fix that. But it still didn’t come back no matter how much i wanted it to. I spent my life wishing I was dead and I spent my death wishing I was alive. Now I’m alive again and I want to stay this way. But what if I still can’t create? What if it’s gone forever? What if the window of opportunity I had to create my comic is gone now? What if the story I wanted to tell falls onto deaf ears?”

“I don’t know what to tell you man, except you should try. And if you think this is a story worth telling then I’m sure others will too.”

Mason smiled “Thanks dude.”

“No problem. Like I’ve said before. I’m here for you.”

***

Art is hard. Mason decided after a few weeks of learning under Flare.

He never thought art was easy but learning from scratch when he knew he could draw decently before was more frustrating than he could imagine.

He wanted to draw his characters again, but all that came out was scribbles. Holding pencils and other utensils was so foreign now.

And if frustrating himself wasn’t bad enough, Muerto sometimes went to the lessons as well, which created an uncomfortable silence between the two of them.

Too much had happened between them in the past that there was no mending the wounds that both of them caused each other. When Mason died Muerto struck a deal with him. He would spare Mason’s Soul from Eternal Punishment and let his ghost live in the Underworld Palace as long as he promised not to interfere with god business.

It was a fair deal considering Muerto was breaking the most important Law of the Underworld.

Mason’s thoughts were deep in the waters of the nasty things he had done to Muerto. He felt a mixture of anger and guilt toward the young god. On one hand Muerto gave him a nasty Curse that was a contributor to his untimely death, but on the other Mason captured Muerto and tortured him.

There was no way Mason could have known that the God of Death was a misguided child. He thought Muerto was playing tricks, that he was only pretending to be a scared little boy.

It’s what the voice feeding him lies told him.

“Sooo…” a green and brown mirror piped up during one of Muerto and Mason’s silence during one art lesson “How’s everyone doing today?” Frankenstein was an odd dragon. From what Mason understood she was an undead creature, and she once almost killed Muerto. She had a hunger that could only be controlled by a powerful spell cast on her by a tundra named Hecate. When that tundra was attacked her spell had broke on Frankenstein and she tried to eat Bubonic and then Muerto. Hecate recast her spell and so far Frankenstein hadn’t gone on any violent rampages.

Apparently she and Muerto made up not too long ago and now considered themselves friends. Franken liked to join Muerto as he painted. It was relaxing for them both.

“I’ve been fine. How about you Franky?” Muerto answered.

“I’ve been great! My sweet Windy sent me the most adorable letter yesterday!”

“That’s great!”

“Oh and Sig and Mori both say hi to you and the clan.”

“Write back and say I say hi too. Oh that reminds me, have you heard what Shamhna has been up to lately?”

“No! What?”

“She moved from Clan Stjerneklart and founded her own clan in the Viridian Labyrinth!”

“Really? That’s incredible!”

They talked like old friends. It was jarring to hear how happy Muerto was when he spoke to her. Was it really possible for the usually distrustful kid to really forgive and even befriend someone who once tried to kill him? Could it be possible that maybe one day he and Mason could be friend too?

Mason shook his head. Being friends with Muerto was a ridiculous idea. It would never happen. There was too much bad blood.

“So Mason, I heard you’re a writer?” Mason’s antennae twitched when Frankenstein turned to him.

“Oh yeah well… Comic artist and writer actually.”

“Oh wow that’s cool! What’s your comic going to be about?”

“Uh… Well it’s going to be a sci fi.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a genre that takes place in the future.”

“Oh cool!”

“And it has like high tech stuff like robots.”

“Sounds like something a Lightning dragon would be into!”

“Oh uh I’m sorry what’s a Lightning dragon?”

“It’s an Element type! Like you’re a Water dragon. There’s eleven different Elements. I’m Plague, Muerto is Ice and Flare is Water like you too! You can tell by a dragon’s eye color. It usually indicates where a dragon was born, but there are exceptions. And with each Element types comes stereotypes. Lightning dragons are known for being into tech stuff.”

“Ah ok cool! Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem!” Frankenstein smiled and then turned to Muerto, showing him her painting.

“That looks amazing!” He smiled. The whole time Frankenstein spoke to Mason he just stared at his canvas.

***

“It’s weird, Evan,” Mason said to his friend one day after his lessons.

“A lot of things are weird, Mace. You’re gonna have to elaborate.”

“It’s weird how happy Muerto is in this clan. I’ve never seen him smile so much in the Underworld than he does he. And he talks so freely to the dragons here. He always frowns when he sees me though, not that I blame him.”

“Yeah. He really does seem more carefree here. Probably because he doesn’t have a job here. He’s not a god or a king. He’s just a kid. I’m kinda feeling the same way. Being a god was cool and all, but it’s nice to be a teen again.”

“... It’s nice to be alive again. Feeling the grass under my feet and the sun on my back… it’s a sensation I never knew I would miss.”

Evan frowned “My nerves are still are wacky. Sometimes I can feel stuff, but other times I can’t. I stepped on some glass earlier and it shred up my foot. I was walking around bleeding everywhere and I didn’t even know it.”

Mason winced “Ouch. Are you going to be ok?”

“Yeah I’ll be fine. It’ll heal.”

“Just… try to take care of yourself, ok?”

Evan grinned and nudged Mason “I said I’ll be fine dude! It’s cool!”

“Alright, well see you around.”

Mason stretched his legs and wandered around the clan’s territory, his mind wrapped in his long lost story.

[elvesofnoldor]

i do have to say maglor as a character is weirdly inspiring for fanfic/ fan comic ideas cause i literally have, like, three versions of who or what he becomes after supposedly throwing the simarli into the sea and wander the shores for centuries to come 

version one: the ghost bound to the shore 

(in this version, maglor has faded from grief so much that he essentially became a living ghost. His own guilt over the bad deeds he has committed and allowed, effect of unfulfilled oath aka “everlasting darkness” and doom/curse of Mandos that came with it trapped him on the shore and a state between life and death. it is implied that his dead brothers did not go to the halls of mandos and were drawn to the last living member of the dead house. ) 

Despite his complicated feelings toward his surrogate father figure, Maglor, he looked for him. And towards the end of second age, Elrond actually found him by the exact spot where he has supposedly thrown the simarli gem into the sea, and Elrond pleaded with him to come back and fight on the behalf of his kins to redeem himself of the crimes he committed. “cleanse your soul of guilt so that you may come home”, Elrond said. Maglor responded with a sad smile and said that it would not be possible. He said that whatever he does, he would not be able to wipe the blood from his hands; he said that he is damned and that eternal exile is the fate of his lot. Elrond didn’t understand him for he has not heard the cursed spoken by Mandos himself, and in much frustration, he left Maglor by the shore. 

Then third age came and war of the ring passed, and Elrond knew it was time to go home. He has seen too much, and lost too much, his heart was weary and he only wanted to bring his family home. So he made another effort to search for Maglor, only to find him by the exact spot where he left him ages ago. This time, it was maglor’s singing that led Elrond to him in a seaside cave where maglor made a small home out of. He lit a fire inside the makeshift fireplace, yet the air remains cold and stale inside the cave. Elrond pleaded with him again--this time he pleaded maglor to come home with him to the west. Yet again, maglor said no to his request. “My brothers are here, this is home for me now.” Maglor said. But Elrond is at the end of his patience and he would not have the cryptic response for an answer, so he dragged Maglor by the sleeve in an attempt to get him to come with. Frightened, maglor cried out, “I told you--i CAN’T leave!” then elrond suddenly understood why maglor refused to leave the shores all these centuries, why he always found him in the same spot on the same shore, and why the air is cold and stale inside the cave he “lives” in. Then the fire went out and Maglor tearfully said his goodbye--the final goodbye--to the child that was not his. When Elrond, in great sorrow, finally mastered the strength to turn around and walk out of there, he swears that he saw, at the corner of his eyes, the six other sons of feanor--with blood streaming down their faces--standing in a circle around the poor maglor. 

version two: the legend, the “mad witch”, basically inspired by a post i reblogged yesterday

(basically the same idea as above, except that maglor is almost definitely dead--by drowning or completely faded from grief--and has become “as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after” according to the doom of mandos. In this version, elrond never found maglor in his search and this version is supposed to highlight how maglor came to love the twins--to make up for being responsible for their abandonment in the first place, and to take care of their family, even if they are just distant relatives. It was out of his desire to take care of his family and also out of his guilt over what he has done, this should not be rocket science lol. I shouldn’t think it’d be too hard to use your brain cells and understand maglor’s motivation instead of downright demonizing him and think it makes no sense that maglor loved the twins lol like can some of you not understand basic texts?) 

The remote towns near the shore all know of an urban legend. Fathers and mothers warned against their children--especially the twins with dark hair--to be wary of the mad witch that led away from their parents. legend has it that a ghost of a tall and slender woman with long raven dark hair haunts the shores in white frayed robe, carrying nothing with her but a lute. She sings in a strange tongue nobody recognizes, and with her beautiful yet sorrowful songs, she is capable of bewitching the hearts of children. They say the mad witch has either killed her own two children or has unintentionally led them to meet their untimely deaths, and after she drowned himself, her spirit is doomed to wander the shores in grief, desperate for her children to be back to her side. Some says they once saw the mad witch by the sea or by rivers and ponds near the sea, and flee at her terrifying and desperate cries as she tries to wash the blood on her hands that she can not wash away. Every once a while, the mad witch would come near the nearest seaside town. There, with her fair songs and even fairer voice, she’d lure to her side a pair of young twins with raven dark hair as black as hers. She would then disappear to raise the children as her own until they come of age, and by then the grown children would, without fail, miraculously re-appear at their parents’ doorsteps--unharmed and healthy yet they can only speak a strange dead tongue which no one knows the origin of, possessing knowledge they should not know of and old tales long forgotten by most and unheard of to mankind. When they were re-taught the modern tongue of men, the now grown children would claim they have no memories of where they have been--saved the sounds of a gentle voice and the many sweet songs it sings. 

Men’s Imagination weaved a haunting tale of the mad witch, but nothing about the tale came close to the truth behind it all. While the mad witch is neither witch or woman, the ghost is real and has indeed perished on the very shores it wandered. The name Macalaurë--as the ghost was once called--belonged to an elven prince from a time long gone, he was once known as the greatest singer among the clan of noldor elves. Like his kind, he once bodied the light of the two trees. However, that light died within him a long time ago and his heart was sick and broken by the oath long before he perished. Gentle he may be in spirit, he was not strong-will enough to defy the desire of his brothers, and he was just as lost as all of them. In desperation to fulfill their dreadful oath and avoid the consequences in the breaking of the oath, they have damned all of their souls. Three kinslayings, with the last one being the worst of it all, and Macalaurë had a hand in all of them. He closed his heart to his would be victims and shut out his guilt to do what he thought must be done. Some’d call it cowardice, some’d call weakness, either way his soul is stained and his heart made wary. In the last kinslaying, Macalaurë found two children--a pair of twin from the house of fingolfin, abandoned by their mother. There was blood, so much blood on his armour, his clothes, even in his hair. He watched his brother cut down unarmed elves one by one and worst of all--he helped him. Maedhros was filled with rage as he committed the crime while Macalaurë simply lied to himself as he always does. “It has to be done, they asked for it, we have to fulfill the oath and they should have been smarter than to refuse us that” Macalaurë thought to himself, “they killed our brothers and called upon our oath, so death they shall have to accept.” When both of them came to their senses again--when he came to his senses again--Macalaurë saw two of their kins shivering in fear at the sight of them. Macalaurë thought to himself, no more, no more blood, no more senseless tragedies, and he took them in. 

At first they were leverages, bargaining chips, defences against rightful anger from gil-galad. Then they...become his children. Was it because they reminded him so much of the twin brothers he lost? Was it because the guilt of being responsible for their abandonment eat him from the inside? Or was it out of desire to make up for even a fraction of his crimes? Was it the children woke the part of him that longed to be someone’s parent, someone’s guardian? Or maybe it was all of them at once? Either way, the elven prince with a sick heart raised them and loved them--and he still does, and that much he was sure of. There was so much blood and he could not wash them away, and part of him thought maybe in loving the children--he could. Even in death, as he was trapped in a purgatory where time itself bleeds into each other and the past becomes the present and the future at once, he still believed that raising the twins can wash away his sins and regrets. So he repeated the act of redemption, over and over again, even when the twins he raised are never the twins he raised he loved and raised thousands of years ago--it did not matter to him. 

Stories are always simpler than the truth, and perhaps it was better that the men of seaside towns know of the ghost...simply as the mad witch who mourned for her lost children. 

version three, the happier version: The wandering Bard. only partially inspired by the post i reblogged yesterday

(maglor is alive and relatively well, he’s forsaken his identity and lives as a bard that moves from taverns in one seaside town to taverns in another. in this one, he evaded elrond’s searches for he could not face him at rivendell. this version emphasizes on maglor’s role as a poet and storyteller. in this version, he has written the manuscript he’d later title Silmarillion and he’d given that manuscript to Sam when he encounter the hobbit after he could not find Elrond at a now abandon rivendell ) 

Later on in the ages of middle earth, the drunks of tavern would speak of a strange young bard with raven dark hair and a pair of eyes darker than the blackest night. Like all bards, he sings of past deeds of kings and princes, lords and ladies; different than other bards, this one sings of events so distant in the past that they become barely believable. He sings of the tragic fates of kings and princes of elven king, and a land in which fae-like beings live among Gods, as well as two mighty trees that shine before there was even sun and moon. “Tall tales of fairies,” the loud mouth patrons’d say, “you make them up just for a laugh, lad, anybody can tell!” The young bard only laughs at the accusation and offers no defence. Sometimes he would amusingly rebut that he is no lad, and when the patrons asks of his age, he’d smile and simply say that he is “old enough.”. The young bard is embodiment of walking contradictions--he is both mischievous and cheerful, yet wistful and weary; his eyes are the windows to a bottomless storm, at the same time, they are the colour of gentle cool summer nights. some says that he is an old soul wearing the face of a youth, little did they know, they weren’t so much further from the truth. 

However, only the ones that threaten his well being would be able to see his true identity--the face of an elven prince who has killed in too many battle and a taste of the wrath of elvenkind. Bandits often gamble at the tables and the clever bard’d always manage to win the rounds and takes their coins--even when they are sure that the game is rigged to their favours. So the crude men would ask for their money back, thinking that he was but an unarmed lone traveller who would fall to their knees and gave them all that they are owned and more. They were wrong, of course, when the bard struck a chord on his lute and sent them flying, when he moved like a snake on the ground and evaded their clumsy attacks with ease and used their weapons against them. Dead man tell no tales, or those who can hear what they’d say would be terrify of the strange young bard. But if you hear it from the bard, he’d only say that it’s regrettable business--he shed too much blood and he wishes that he could stop doing so. 

The bard fathered no children, and took no wives, but he has taken sindar lovers of many kind through his life. After all, his voice isn’t the only thing that is fair about him. Some were women--mostly those that tend to him at the taverns and steal shy glances at him as he sings his songs, and most were men--mostly rangers and sellswords that pass through the towns for a gig or two. Men were short-lived beings whose hearts are filled with yearn for violent and filthy delights, yet ironically, their simplicity let them forgive him in ways his kins can never do. There once was a sellsword with hairy chest and tanned muscles, who killed men for a living and once helped him to dispatch a gang of bandits. When he told him about his true identity--under the guise of “lie”, of course--the man only laughed, “kinslaying was your greatest crime? if that was the case, I have killed my kins for a living and i don’t see the big deal in that.” The bard does not how to respond to someone who could not even understand his sins, and their ignorance is a bliss and relief to him at the same time. it was not hard to captivate the hearts of men with his beauty, but it was hard when he has to say no to those who wanted more from him than one or few nights of passion. The same sellsword has accompanied him for a while, and when he asked why the man has taken such interest in him, the sellsword simply said that he wish to protect him. Maglor is no wise prince but even he could tell that the man wanted to be with him, that the man has fallen in love. “you life is too finite to waste on someone like me,” Maglor had told him. “your life isn’t?” The man threw the statement back at him and it ached Maglor that he could not tell him the truth.