#I have to admit that when I idly wondered last year if I get to play some game coming out this year before shit hits the fan

[lehdenlaulu]

Americans on Threads being like "Hey non-Americans, how do you feel about the US now? You still love us right?? 🥺"

Girl, your dickhead-in-chief all but threatened to nuke Denmark because they refused to just hand Greenland over to him. How do you think we Europeans in particular feel?

[pinkaditty]

Who's Passing NNN? Tokyo Debunker Pt 7

GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!1

a/n: hey wow i need 2 go 2 bed like. two hours ago. anyways! have this. i hope you enjoy this because it took me a while 2 write it... i got writer's block and wasn't reinspired until i had a lightbulb moment 4 Towa porn. i'll be posting that immediately after posting this. quick disclaimer that i write these under the assumption the tokyo debunker boys are at least 18 years old. they appear to be present at a university considering there are professors and a chancellor. not to mention the boys drink, smoke, gamble, and refer to themselves as adults.

summary: FINAL part of the "Who's Passing NNN?" Tokyo Debunker series. please enjoy!

cw: one pathetic man and one impassive man jerking off. MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!!!! never proofread as per usual <3

Frostheim || Vagastrom || Jabberwock || Sinostra || Hotarubi || Obscuary || Mortkranken

(Towa porn 2 be posted... keep an eye out)

Mortkranken:

Yuri Isami: Pass

Of course he passes, but he doesn’t think it’s worth celebrating. He does this all the time anyway, as he barely has time to do anything out of the ordinary when his entire life centers around research (which I think low-key determines his self-worth but we’ll get into that later). He gets boners but hardly deals with them unless he miraculously finds some time to, as he hates doing it while he’s bathing anyhow.

He twirls his pen around his thumb five times. He’s bouncing his right leg. He’s carefully staring at the paper before him. He’s taking steady breaths, he’s blinking repeatedly, he’s rapping his knuckles against his desk. Nothing is working. A faint blush dusts his cheeks and his groin still twitches indignantly. Clearly, this boner had no intention of leaving him soon. He groans in frustration, throwing his pen onto the desk in front of him and burying his face in his hands. Come on. All he had to do was focus, just for a few minutes. Just for a few minutes! He was so ridiculously close to making a breakthrough, he assumed, in relation to your curse. It was a start. All he had to do was use his stigma, just for a moment. But he couldn’t focus well enough. Instead, his focus was unfortunately redirected to his half-hard cock every time he felt a twitch. It was unusually persistent today, growing even as he presses down on it harshly, resisting the moan that threatens to slip past his lips. He crumples forward into the desk, one hand still pressing into his persistent boner, the other acting as a cushion for his forehead. 

He had to admit, it had been a while since he’d last got off… He lets that thought trail off, feeling his blush grow a deeper shade of pink. Before he can really think about it, he begins to gently palm himself, letting out a pleased sigh before suddenly jumping up and frantically whipping his head back and forth, checking to see if anyone was nearby. 

Thankfully, there wasn’t. It was dark in the lab, the only lights being at his desk, the bathrooms, and the stairs. He sighs with relief, about to melt back into palming himself, before he stops cold. No, he can’t do this out in the open! Who knows what sort of particles would infect his perfectly sterile space if he dared to do such a thing here? His eyes flick towards the bathrooms. He’s out of his chair in a second, stiffly making his way to the light above them. He idly wonders when he’d made the decision to do this, but it hardly stopped him. He’s slipped through the doors and picked a stall in a matter of seconds, already hurriedly leaning against the walls of one and harshly palming himself through his jeans again. He hums in pleasure, the building urgency reducing to a content thrum instead. 

He almost gets carried away, palming himself through his pants, before the urgency kicks in again and he hurriedly pulls his dick out, leaning his head against the stall door. He strokes quickly, partially in hopes to get it over with quickly, and partially simply from how euphoric it feels to touch himself after so long. He doesn’t last long, his face soon contorting into one of pleasure, his eyes rolling back and his jaw clenched tight. A pathetic whine springs from him as he spills himself on the bathroom floor, careful to point his cock away from him to avoid any of his own cum splattering on him. 

He pants, his head spinning as he surveys the mess. His legs wobble beneath him, and he grips the stall door to keep himself upright. This would take some cleaning. 

Jiro Kirisaki: Pass

He hardly has time to shower because of Yuri. If you think he’s got time to jack off, think again. Not to mention he just doesn’t seem the type to do it for any reason besides necessity. I do believe he has a high libido, but I think he sees it as frivolous, if anything. He jacks off to relieve himself and that’s it.

He’s done trying. 

He was in the middle of packing materials to perform the mandatory health checks on the ghoul students. Normally, he’d be perfectly focused on his task. He would meticulously organize the tools just as Yuri showed him, ensure he had the appropriate medications and treatments for the corresponding ghouls, and be on his way. Today, however, he could hardly bring himself to focus on organizing the tools. He had done that so often at this point that it should be muscle memory, but all that practice had done nothing for him today. The tools were scattered in the bag. He hadn’t even realized he’d been simply tossing them in until one ot them bounced off the bag, clattering onto the nearby table. He sighs, groaning inwardly, his face remaining impassive. This was going to be a headache. 

He peered into the bag, his tired eyes sweeping over the jumbled mess of tools. He frowns, sifting through it, deciding internally whether he wanted to clean this all up and get going, or if he wanted to stay behind a while longer. He glanced at his watch. Technically, he had a few minutes before he needed to get going… Just this once couldn’t hurt. 

He stands, finding his way to the nearest bathroom. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long. He had work to do, and Yuri would get upset if he wasn’t on time. He slumps his way into an empty bathroom, finding a stall and locking it behind him. He closed his eyes, pursing his lips in a pensive expression. This was probably going to be a pain, but he had to if he wanted to be able to focus. He had to if he wanted to get this over with. He groans inwardly again and slowly reaches down his body, unbuckling his belt and slipping a hand into his pants, gently stroking his stiffened cock. Just one sroke sent a shiver up his spine, and he sucked in a breath, determined to keep quiet. 

Bracing himself against the stall, he presses one hand over his mouth and begins stroking himself rather harshly with the other. He had no time to waste. Almost immediately, he feels his legs begin to buckle under him, the pleasure shooting down his legs. Small whimpers and light groans slip past his lips as he continues, going as fast as he can. He bites his hand to keep himself quieter, and continues stroking, gently thumbing at the head as he does. A groan sounds from his throat, and he almost feels the need to give up on keeping quiet. He curses, keeping up the fast pace, feeling his arm begin to burn as he does. He thrusts his hips forward into his hand to speed up the process, his body trembling as he feels his orgasm rapidly approaching. 

And all at once, he bursts, his seed splattering into the stall wall. He pants, surveying his mess, letting his head spin for only a moment before he had to get back to work. He leans against the door, panting, biting his lip as his cock twitched again.

a/n: RIPS SHIRT OFFFFFF IT'S FINALLY DONE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! anyways i hope you all enjoy this. my beloved brain slop. i actually do not think i did a good job so idk i hope its good.

usual note that i adore likes, comments, and reblogs!!!!!! please please please tell me how much u enjoyed <3 i like 2 know bc it motivates me.

[ninyard]

last but most certainly not least. pt 3 of the bonus chapters (TKM)

Aaron's chapter (once again going to be putting like. the whole thing here.)

One of these days Aaron would love to know what about that mouthy liar had people bending over backwards for him [...] He could waste his time being angry, or he could go the tried-and-true Minyard route of infuriating everyone else around him.

i love how much he despises neil fr. and the Minyard route???? i love that

"Hey, Bee," Aaron said.

why did this like. give me such nathaniel neil vibes. hes so cunty for this im obsessed

Andrew looked relaxed where he was tucked into the corner of the couch, one knee hugged loosely to his chest, but Aaron wasn't fooled. They were twins: there was too much of them in each other despite all the years they'd spent apart.

one) andrew is so cosy <333 two) ouch. THERE WAS TOO MUCH OF THEM IN EACH OTHER DESPITE ALL THE YEARS THEY'D SPENT APART????? literally screaming into a pillow at this one

"Did you know Andrew's fucking Neil?" [...] Andrew cut in with a flat, "I'm not." Andrew wouldn't waste his breath lying when Aaron was right here to argue with him, but Aaron knew his accusation wasn't far off the mark. [...] That Andrew hadn't sealed the deal yet was the least important detail, but Aaron was willing to be an ass about it.

I love that andrew is banking on the technicality that like. no he's not. they haven't. and aaron saying andrew hadn't "sealed the deal" has me SCREAMING. thats so funny

"Go slash some tires, or whatever it is you do for fun."

HES SO FUNNYYY

"You made him a priority," Aaron said. "[...] but for the record, I think he's an insufferable asshole. [...] Exy this, Exy that, get a fucking hobby. Oh, but i guess he did?" He sent a pointed look at Andrew.

GET A FUCKING HOBBY. aaron minyard i'd die for you.

"You know, I asked him about you. I asked him if he was taking advantage of you. He tried to punch me out." "You bring out that urge in people," Andrew said.

i'm so glad that we know now that andrew knows about this interaction. like i wonder how he felt hearing that.

"Betsy and I were talking about Monday." [...] Andrew hadn't called her "Betsy" in over a year. He'd never seen Andrew so hard on a back foot, and it was as terrifying as it was thrilling. [...] Andrew didn't want to talk about Neil with Dobson because once he broached that subject he either had to lie to all of them or admit Neil was more important that he wanted him to be.

throwing up, literally no words just throwing up

"I like Neil's promise ring, by the way."

AARONNNNN. HIS PROMISE RING. PLEASE. and also the "Matching set, very cute." why is he so funny

Andrew's smile was all ice, and he wielded honesty like a knife. "They're not decorative, you ignorant little shit. Someone like you wouldn't understand the importance of hiding scars." [...] Aaron would have to figure it out later, but not now. Andrew was trying to pull him off track and [...] he'd never find his way back if he followed it to whatever ugly truth Andrew was hiding. He forced Andrew words aside to haunt him later

this just made me wonder if there's every going to be a moment where aaron figures out what this means. like. my stomach feels sick thinking about it just him having this moment where it clicks and makes sense and he realises what andrew's hiding and will they ever be able to have that conversation?????

"It bother you your pet project is queer?"

AARON

"I'm not always okay with what he is, but these days it's less that he's gay it's that he's [...] weaponized it. It took him so long to come to terms with it that now he lashes out first, pushing as hard as he can to figure out who's safe and who isn't."

nicky baby :(( why does this make me so sad

"I don't care that you're gay, and I don't care that you picked the literal most irritating person on the planet to fall for. I care that you're being a hypocrite."

Aaron Minyard #1 neil josten hater.

Andrew was picking idly at his jeans: an agitated tic that had mostly disappeared once his medicine was out of his system. [...] Maybe he needed a few more moments to come to terms with their easy acceptance. [...] Finding out how important he was to Andrew was an ongoing, eye-opening experience. Finding out just how important Dobson was, that Andrew wouldn't risk her unfavourable opinion by telling her the truth about his sexuality, was equally fascinating. [...] She truly mattered to Andrew when so few people did anymore.

once again andrew :((( my boy :((( why am i crying

"I love Katelyn. I love her more than anything. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, but I am trying so goddamned hard to wait until graduation because you asked me to. So why aren't you doing the same?" "You have abysmal taste in girls," Andrew told him.

KATEAARON YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS TO MEEE

"Neurosurgeon, right?" [...] He and [his mother] had been watching a medical drama with dinner while Andrew hovered silent and distant in the doorway, and Aaron had foolishly said, I want to do that. His mother laughed him out of the room for daring to think he could make anything of himself."

one) andrew talking about aaron to bee two) andrew being the only person who remembered or knew he wanted to be a neurosurgeon three) his mom laughing at him :(( for daring the think he could make anything of himself???? what the fuck and also andrew signing to the team for aaron's sake to get him through college to follow his dreams??? sobbing

"I'm trying, okay? I'm trying. Years too late, I know, but you refused me first. I begged you to come home with me. You can't blame me for not trusting you." "I am capable of multitasking," Andrew said. Aaron heard what he didn't say: I blame us both.

SDHFGAOLFGAJRDHGJDF

"She's just another tiny skirt here to use him up and distract him from what he wants."

ANDREW

"My hands are full with too many idiots," Andrew said. "When she shows her true colors, I will not have the energy to put him together again."

one) liar. i know you'd go to the ends of the earth again and again and again for him. two) TOO MANY IDIOTS

"You can't be brothers while you are each other's jailors."

:D screaming

"Says the man dating a mafioso." "I'm not dating him," Andrew said, with a hint of impatience. Aaron saw right through him, and it was enough to make him smile as he turned his gaze out the window. "Liar."

sobbing. they love each other so much and Andrew is such a liar and i can't deal with them. they kill me

[the-authoress-writes]

Until Every One Comes Home

Synopsis: Duke Mitchell finally comes home.

Warnings: Family member death, grief, funeral planning, funerals, slight cursing.

Author’s Note: I meant to post this for Veterans Day—obviously, I wasn’t able to, but hey, better late than never.

Are there going to be military inaccuracies in this story?

Absolutely.

Am I still posting this?

Absolutely.

I dedicate this story to all those who served their country, especially to those who made the ultimate sacrifice, and to those who have yet to come home.

Early morning sunshine shone through a small kitchen window, upon a certain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, though it wasn’t a patch on the affection warming the very marrow of his bones.

Earlier, he’d come down the stairs, toweling his hair dry from his shower, to see the front door of his half of his and Bradley’s duplex open, admitting a goose-patterned fleece blanket-draped Bradley.

“Morning, Dad,” he yawned, using the free hand not clutching his blanket to scratch his curls, causing his blanket hood to fall off his head. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Joining me, huh?” Mav ducked his head, trying and failing to keep back his touched smile.

Ever since they reconciled, Bradley had been making sure to eat and spend time with him whenever he could, and when they purchased the duplex together last year, some part of Mav wondered if the time they spent together would decrease, less absence making the heart grow less fond, and all that, but if anything, it increased—in fact, Bradley spent more time in Mav’s half than he did in his own half.

That Bradley made sure to spend time with him was something he’d never fail to cherish.

“Yeah, isn’t visiting the aged a corporal act of mercy?” the younger man smirked.

Despite the memory of the immediately-thrown AARP letter he got in the mail yesterday saying otherwise, he shot back, “I’ll show you aged, just you wait until hops today.

And are pancakes good enough for you, Baby Goose?”

“Say less, Dad,” Bradley replied, striding to the kitchen, and Mav followed, throwing his arm around his boy’s shoulder.

So, there he was, stirring his homemade pancake mix in front of the stove, waiting for the pan to heat up, while beside him, a more-alert Bradley leaned back against the counter, watching the coffee he prepared brew in the maker.

Mav quietly took in the scene, basking in all the warmth from inside and out, before smiling and laughing quietly.

“What?”

He looked across at his boy, “Nothing—all this just reminded me of something.

I’d come back from deployment, and you’d always ask me to be the one to make breakfast; you’d sit on the counter, calling yourself my “‘sistant”.”

Bradley chuckled, “Yeah, actually—you’d pick me up and set me on the counter next to you.”

“Can’t do that anymore,” Mav laughed, as he poured the pancake mix into the pan.

“Don’t you dare, Dad.

And I don’t think the counter would be able to handle it, for another thing.

You, maybe, me, no.”

Though it was a fact that Bradley had nearly six inches and at least fifteen pounds on him, he protested on principle. “Calling me ancient, and now short?

Getting the shots in early, huh, kiddo?”

“You were the one who said short, not me, and I called you aged, not ancient—I could call you venerable if it makes you feel any better,” Bradley smiled.

Mav was helpless to stop his chuckle. “Call me a classic, then we have an agreement.

Now be my ‘sistant and hand me a spatula, will you?”

Later, while washing the dishes, Mav noticed Bradley intently filling out a form at the table. “What you up to, Roo?”

“Uh,” Bradley shifted, idly twirling his pen, “it’s a form to volunteer for honor guard if any deceased Navy personnel come through North Island.”

“Oh.” A sad smile touched Mav’s face. “What made you want to do that?”

“I…” his son scratched the back of his neck, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said about your father, and then my father… I, I don’t know—I just, someone should be there for them, you know?

Those who come home.”

He had told Bradley the story of his father while they were growing back together, learning how to be father and son again, but he never expected this kind of reaction to that story. “That’s great,” he nodded.

Bradley ducked his head almost bashfully before looking up, a gravity in his eyes. “They still haven’t found Duke yet, have they?”

Mav inhaled and exhaled evenly while drying his hands on a dish towel. “No.

Not yet.

Maybe one day, though.

I’m just happy that he’s no longer called a traitor,” he nodded, remembering the day Viper and the other members of VF-51 had managed to get the record set straight, Duke having been posthumously promoted to Commander and awarded the Navy Cross.

“He’ll come home too one day, Dad, I’m sure of it,” his boy confidently said.

“That would be nice,” Mav said wistfully. “Anyway, any special requirements for volunteering?”

“Nah, just gotta keep my uniforms close at hand, probably will have to buy a set for base, just in case, but nothing else, really.”

“That’s wonderful that you’re doing this.

I’m even prouder of you, Bradley.”

Bradley’s mouth twisted, and he sniffled a little bit, “Thanks, Dad.

Love you.”

“Love you more, Baby Goose.”

Mav didn’t think much more of this, other than when Bradley would come down for breakfast or in the middle of the day in uniform, or when he spotted Bradley come out of the locker rooms in them.

They would just exchange grave nods, the older aviator immediately understanding what was going on.

And then, very early one day, even by navy standards, Mav woke up, not sure what had roused him.

A moment later, his phone dinged with a message; a grope around the nightstand later showed that the message was from Bradley.

“Hey Dad, got an early arrival.

I’ll see you on base.

❤️🐓”

He smiled, admiring how dedicated Bradley was to his honor guard duties, sending off a “❤️” of his own.

Just as he was about to doze off, his phone rang again, this time with a call, the tornado siren ringtone indicating that it was Cyclone.

The thought of ignoring the call flitted through his mind, but he thought better of it, not wanting to risk his posting as a TOPGUN instructor and CO of VFA-223, the “Black Cloaks”, consisting of everyone selected for the uranium mission detachment training.

“Mitchell,” he spoke into the phone.

“Maverick.

You’re required on base ASAP.”

The words were familiar, but the tone was new: it was… almost gentle?

“Sir?”

“Be here by 0630.

Wear your blues, Captain.”

And with that, the line went dead.

He’d be lying if he said that dread wasn’t making boulders sink in his stomach as he buttoned the jacket of his blues, tucked his cover under his arm, and grabbed the keys to his infrequently-used Jeep, given the dress blues.

Eventually, he arrived on base at 0625, and the dread in him increased tenfold when he spotted Cyclone and Warlock standing outside NAWDC Headquarters, in their own blues.

He exhaled bracingly before he picked up his cover, and placed it on his head as he stepped out of the car.

Given the seeming gravity of the situation, Mav deemed it prudent to stand to attention and snap off a smart salute, once he was within four steps of the admirals. “Sirs.”

“At ease,” Cyclone nodded. “With me, Captain.”

It took a while longer than it would have for him to realize the three of them were heading towards the hangars.

Cyclone stopped them inside the hangar where Mav sometimes had classes, and just stood there, watching the runways, facing the longer one, being used as runway 36 today.

In a few moments, a C-5M became visible, landed on 36, and turned onto the apron, halting there.

From another building, preceded by a vehicle, twelve dress blue-clad officers in two single file lines stepped solemnly onto the apron.

Even at a distance, he rationally knew Bradley was one of those officers, but was still perplexed as to why he was here.

“With me, Captain,” Cyclone repeated, and they walked to the honor guard.

As they got closer, Mav saw that Bradley was indeed one of the honor guard, the head of the line closest to him, in fact, and the emotion on his boy’s face was puzzling, but he didn’t have much time to make sense of Bradley’s expression, because three things happened at the same time.

One, he realized that the other eleven members of the honor guard were all the members of his squadron—his kids—every single one of them was here.

Two, he realized too late that he was in a position of precedence over Cyclone and Warlock, in their line perpendicular to the honor guard.

Three, a flag-draped casket was carried out of the C-5, preceded by an officer in dress blues, a Lieutenant Commander, by the sleeve braid.

The Lieutenant Commander stopped in front of the trio of Mav, Cyclone, and Warlock, and saluted.

The three of them returned it, and in a shocking turn of events, the Lieutenant Commander addressed Mav first. “Captain Mitchell.”

“Commander,” he said, managing to keep most of the confusion out of his tone.

“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Navy, and a grateful nation, it is my honor to return the remains of Commander Andrew “Duke” Mitchell to his family, and to the soil of the nation he died for.”

Mav felt his eyes widen, and his knees weakened in shock, but before he could hit the ground, he felt two pairs of hands supporting his body.

A glance up showed that it was Cyclone on his left, Bradley on his right.

“See, Dad?” Bradley tearfully murmured, “I told you he’d come home.”

“That’s him?

He’s home?” he asked imploringly, his grip on his boy’s arm tightening.

“Yeah, that’s your father, Dad.”

He took a few calming breaths, then nodded determinedly. “Let me up.”

The Vice Admiral and his son lifted him to his feet, and he stood to his full height, facing the Lieutenant Commander. “Thank you,” he murmured.

With a solemn nod, the Lieutenant Commander stepped aside, allowing Duke’s casket to pass between the honor guard, Bradley calling the squadron to attention as they all saluted.

The casket was carefully loaded onto the waiting vehicle on the tarmac, Mav magnetically drawn to the flag-draped casket.

He placed a hand on the sun-warmed fabric, head bowed between his shoulders. “Welcome home, Dad.”

He struggled to keep his composure, but the reality of the situation was hitting him hard, and against his not-insignificant will, a sob escaped his lips, and he swept his cover off his head to rest his forehead against the casket, tears falling onto the red and white stripes like a benediction.

How many years had he dreamt of this, hoped for this, prayed for this?

Now, it was no longer a dream, a hope, or a prayer—his father was here, home.

And that just made the tears come all the harder, silent, trembling sobs now wracking his frame, as Mav gave his father the loving embrace he’d been saving for over fifty years, the bill of his cover in his opposite hand hollowly ringing against the metal of the casket, like a bell finally tolling half a century late.

What could have been an eternity or seconds later, he felt himself tugged into Bradley’s strong embrace, hearing, more than seeing, the squadron close ranks around him, shielding his renewed grief from any prying eyes.

The next thing he knew, he and Bradley were seated in Cyclone’s office, the Vice Admiral talking about the funeral arrangements. “Your father will be buried with full honors, regardless of where, with provision for a flyover, location and weather permitting.

However, should you like him to be interred at Fort Rosecrans, all expenses will be paid by the Navy, up to and including re-interment of your mother in an adjacent plot.”

“Oh,” Mav breathed.

Fort Rosecrans was where everyone special to him was buried.

Goose.

Carole.

Ice.

It also meant that he’d be able to visit his mom and dad a lot more than if he had his father buried next to his mom in his hometown. “I’d like that—both of them together again.”

Cyclone nodded gravely. “I’ll start making the arrangements.

There’ll be some paperwork you’ll have to sign for the exhumation of your mother, among other things, but I’ll do my best to take care of as much as I can, make things easier.” Cyclone paused. “My condolences, Maverick.

He’s home now.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You and Lieutenant Bradshaw are dismissed for the day, as is your squadron.

Go home.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Mindless, and still in shock over the whole thing, Bradley guided him out of the office and back to the parking lot, where he helped Mav into the Bronco.

The drive back home barely registered in his mind, and eventually, Mav found himself on his couch, in his usual white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with red and black-striped fluffy socks (gifted by Jake), practically burrito-wrapped in Bradley’s goose-patterned fleece blanket, a hot bowl of spaghetti in his lap, Bradley himself next to him.

“Eat up, Dad, come on,” the younger man gently encouraged.

“How?”

“Uh, fork to mouth is how most people do it,” his son chuckled.

“No—I mean—my dad?”

“Oh.” Bradley swallowed, continuing, “well, the Commander in charge of organizing the honor guards asked me why I volunteered, and I said that my godfather’s dad had gotten shot down during Vietnam, and that they never found him.

He asked me for your dad’s name, said he’d look into it.

I was hoping for good news, but even I never expected this.

They found him on the side of a mountain.

It seemed painless, by the way, according to the report, based on what they could see on the remains.”

He nodded, grateful for small mercies, idly twirling the noodles onto his fork.

A gentle silence fell on them both, punctuated by the clinking of Bradley’s fork against his bowl, and his chewing.

Mav eventually wormed his hand out of his burrito, to rest it on his boy’s arm. “I can’t thank you enough, Baby Goose,” he breathed, voice breaking on the last word.

Bradley froze and slowly turned to face him, brown eyes shining, “Don’t thank me, Dad.

It’s the least I could do; after all, you brought me home—it was only right I bring someone home for you.”

Tears welled in his eyes again. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“Come here, Dad.”

It didn’t take much convincing for Mav to lean into the offered hug, tears he didn’t know he still had in him spilling over.

“I’m sorry I’m such a fucking mess,” he sniffled, however long after.

“You’re not a mess, Dad,” Bradley spoke into his hair, “you’re grieving your dad.”

“He died decades ago,” he protested.

“And he’s only come home now.

It’s not like you had time to process Duke’s death properly, Dad.

You had to take care of your mom, then you had to survive shitty foster home after shitty foster home, then you had to survive NROTC, then you had to survive flight school, and then—”

“I think I get the point, Brads,” he smiled through his tears.

“My point is, this is normal; don’t beat yourself up for feeling… feelings.

Lord knows you don’t deserve anything else to feel bad about.”

Incomprehensibly, his heart swelled with even more love for this kid, his son in everything but name and blood. “You know I love you so much, right, sweetheart?”

He felt Bradley’s smile on the crown of his head. “Mm-hmm—you only tell me a million times every day, Dad.”

“Only a million, huh?

That’s a horribly low number; I feel like that’s something I should say more—remind me, will you?”

“Ugh, fine.”

The warmth in his son’s tone was a clear contradiction of the seemingly-exasperated reply.

Swiping a hand over his puffy eyes, Mav glanced down at the now-cool bowl of spaghetti. “You worked hard on this pasta and I’m not even eating it yet,” he guiltily muttered.

“No problem, I’ll just stick it in the microwave for a minute.

And it’s jar sauce, Dad, it’s not like it’s your Nonna’s nine-hour marinara.”

“It’s made with love, so it’ll taste just as good.”

“Say that again when you tell me there’s not enough basil, okay?” Bradley chuckled, easily taking Mav’s bowl to the kitchen to heat it up again.

(There wasn’t enough basil in the sauce, but he didn’t mention it.)

As the days progressed, despite all of Cyclone’s help, planning his parents’ funeral was still a to-do—there were so many things to be decided; what date, what time, what caskets, what kind of rails for the caskets, what flowers, what photo (or hell, photos?) to display at the funeral, what chaplain, and most importantly—for Bradley, at least—who would be invited.

“Dad, come on, you got to invite the Flyboys and the Squadron.”

Mav sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time; Bradley had been pushing this for the better part of a day. “Brads, no, I don’t want to be a bother or a nuisance, okay?

I don’t want them to feel like they have to take time to go to the funeral of people they don’t even know.

For God’s sake, Baby Goose, even you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, I’d never force you.”

Bradley indignantly opened his mouth, closed and opened it repeatedly, before taking a deep breath. “You’re crazier than I thought if you think I won’t be there for your parents’ funeral, Dad.

I’m going, and that’s final.

Please tell me you’re inviting someone though?”

“Your Grandpa Viper, he deserves to say goodbye to his wingman.”

“Anyone else?” His son practically begged.

“Penny, because she’d probably throw me overboard the next chance she gets if I don’t, and she can even bring Amelia if she wants.

See?

I’m inviting people, Baby Goose.”

“Dad—”

“Bradley,” he evenly replied, a stern edge in his voice.

After a brief staredown, the younger man’s petulant sigh could probably be heard on the other side of the country. “Let it be known that I highly object to this, Dad.”

“Objection noted, kiddo,” Mav smiled weakly, reaching out to pat Bradley on the arm before changing the subject. “I like these for the flower arrangements—what do you think?”

Mav stared at himself in the mirror; today was his dad and mom’s funeral.

He carefully looked over his medals, making sure the order was correct—he still berated himself for, in his grief, screwing the order up for Ice’s funeral—only noticing the mistake when he took the jacket off that night.

Confirming that his Global War on Terrorism Service Medal was in the fifth row where it belonged, he stared at himself, wondering if his father would be proud of him.

It was pointless dwelling on what ifs and could have beens.

But, the fact remained that he was the only 86er still in the service who didn’t have at least one star.

From everything he knew, he and his father were so alike, even down to the way they flew, so maybe his father would also loathe the idea of stars taking him out of the skies.

A gentle knock snapped Mav out of his thoughts.

Bradley stood just outside his room, also in his blues. “You ready?”

“Yeah, just… thinking.”

“That seems dangerous, coming from you, Dad,” Bradley grinned.

“Well, I am dangerous,” Mav smirked in reply, quickly sobering.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, just… I’m a Captain,” he admitted.

“Yyyeah… you are, Dad.”

Mav sighed, “I—I’m the only 86er still in the service who isn’t flag rank, that—that’s the point.”

Bradley stared at him, the pieces snapping into place, and he approached, raising a hand to Mav’s shoulder. “I don’t know exactly what your dad was like.

I can’t.

But I know that he went down saving the lives of his squadron.

And I think… that he’d be so proud of how you always make sure everyone comes home.

I know I am.

I am proud of you, Dad.”

Tears, love, and old guilt welled up. “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring your—”

“Stop.

It’s not your fault, and it never was, no matter what stupid shit I said before.

It was an accident.

I don’t blame you, and my father never would.

Now, let’s get off this guilt trip, and get your dad and mom some rest, huh, Dad?”

“Okay.”

Bradley nodded, pulling him into a brief hug. “Alright.

Get your cover, and I’ll grab mine, then we can hit the road.”

The fact that Mav knew the route they would take by heart, able to tell even with his eyes closed, just when Bradley would take a turn, was a little bit depressing, and he prayed that this would be the last time for a very long while that he would have to go to a funeral, most especially a military funeral.

Even his first of those was one too many, he bitterly thought, glancing towards the section where Goose was, as they entered the gate of Fort Rosecrans.

Despite his somber thoughts, he was grateful that it was a beautiful day, with perfect weather for a flight, as he got out of the Bronco to approach the minuscule group of people standing behind the hearses containing his parents’ caskets.

Giving solemn nods of their own, Cyclone and Warlock waved off the salute he and Bradley were about to snap off, allowing them to instead turn to Viper who was with his granddaughter, Erin.

“Mike,” Mav warmly greeted the man who was like a second father to him.

“Kiddo,” the venerable aviator rasped, creaking forward to embrace Mav.

“Thank you for coming.”

“I’d have to be six feet under to miss this, Pete.

But even then, I’d find a way.”

His former CO had gasped in shock when he called the man several days ago to tell him his wingman had been found. “They found Duke?”

“They did.

He’s going to be buried at Rosecrans with my mom.

I’d like you to be there.”

“I’ll be there, no matter what I have to do to get there.”

“Hi, Uncle Pete,” Erin greeted, bringing him back to the present.

“Hey there, Diamondback,” he replied, using the nickname he’d given her years ago, moving to hug her too, mindful not to knock her cover off, the young woman having worn her Air Force blues for the occasion. “Thanks for coming.”

“We know how much this means to you, Uncle Pete, we wouldn’t miss it; and someone had to make sure Grandpa wouldn’t do something stupid to get here, or at least help him if he did.”

Mav laughed, smile only widening when Viper humorously interjected, “Quit talking about me like I’m not here, will ya?” as his still-sharp gaze landed on Bradley. “Bradley Bradshaw—it’s been much too long since I last saw you.

I remember when you were a little booger of a kid; now look at you.

Your old man would be proud.

Rooster, right?

With the 87 'Warriors?” Viper knowingly asked.

Bradley proudly nodded, “223 Black Cloaks now, under Mav, but, yes, sir.”

The retired admiral smiled as if Bradley had passed a test. “Quit it with the sir, son, but you let me know if Pete gives you any trouble, huh, Rooster?

Not too old to whoop this kid’s ass in a hop.”

“Quit talking about me like I’m not here, will ya?” Mav grinned, throwing the venerable aviator’s words back at him. “Excuse me,” he continued, spotting Penny and Amelia making their way to them, the latter striding forward and aggressively hugging him.

“I’m glad your dad came home, Mav.”

He leaned down, returning the hug. “So am I, sweetheart.”

She pulled back, looking back towards Penny. “I’ll let you talk to Mom.”

“Okay.”

After he gave Amelia a final pat, she strode off, declaring, “Hey, Chicken!”

Mav snorted, catching sight of his son’s expression at the moniker, but then his attention was drawn by Penny’s soft, “Pete.”

They had been taking it slow ever since the Uranium Mission, but seeing her never failed to make something in his chest flip flop. “Pen.

Thank you for coming, you and Amelia.”

“Of course.

Why wouldn’t we be here?” she murmured, placing her palm against his cheek.

He leaned into the contact, and her eyes softened even more. “You’re looking at me like that again.”

“Like what?” he smiled.

“Like I’ve hung the stars or something.”

His smile widened, “Only look I’ve got for you.”

She blinked, stepping closer to wrap her arms around him and gently kiss him.

Mav gladly leaned into the embrace, a sigh escaping his lips when she drew back. “Stay with me?”

“Didn’t have any other plans.”

A moment later, Mav decided to get the proceedings started.

Led by the honor guard and the hearses, they began the solemn walk towards the plots where his parents would be buried, Penny tightly grasping his right hand.

Eventually, he distantly saw the wreaths of flowers, the chairs, the twin holes the caskets would be lowered into, the easels with the photos of his parents, and Mav felt his breath hitch with emotion—reality was striking him more intensely than any G’s he’d ever pulled.

He clenched his jaw, willing the emotion back, and just as he felt like it was beginning to turn into a losing battle, he felt someone take his heretofore free left hand.

A glance in that direction showed Viper had replaced Bradley at his left, the older man sending him an understanding look, similar emotion shimmering in his own eyes, the two of them sharing a fortifying nod.

A further glance back showed his boy walking behind him and Viper, strong and steady, a sad smile on his lips, love and blade-sharp understanding in his eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, they arrived at the plots, and had just settled into their seats, when Mav started in surprise; a large hand had clasped his shoulder and a familiar voice whispered into his ear, “What do you think you’re doing, starting without us, Shortstack?”

Mav turned in shock, seeing Slider right behind him, with all of VFA-223, Hondo, Hollywood and Wolfman, Chipper, Cougar, and Merlin approaching, one and all in dress blues.

Here, more familiar faces started to arrive—the Darkstar team, a couple of his fellow TOPGUN instructors, various NAWDC personnel, and then various North Island staff.

Mav couldn’t believe it—at the end, there had to be at least thirty people assembled around the gravesite.

Dots immediately connected. “Why are all these people here?

How did they know?” Mav whispered to Bradley.

“Well, word gets around, Dad—and it’s not like North Island’s that big,” Bradley nonchalantly replied.

He hissed, “Bradley Peter Bradshaw.”

The younger man squirmed in his seat, sheepishly muttering, “The squad and I might have… facilitated certain ears hearing about this.”

“Brads—why—I told you—”

“Dad,” Bradley reached out, “People care about you—the Flyboys wanted to be here for you. Despite what that nasty voice in your head tells you, and like, ninety percent of the brass hating you, a lot of people like you and want to be here for you.

Everyone here clearly wants to be here for you.”

Slider huffed, “You’re not a nuisance, Mav.

You’re family.

The real nuisance was you not calling to tell us all, but good thing the Baby Goose went behind your back.”

Mav rose from his seat, “Sli, I’m sor—”

Slider gently tugged him into a tight embrace. “It’s ok, just promise you’ll remember what brothers are for next time, huh?

Not a lot of us left, we gotta stick together,” he said, referencing the loss of Sundown not long after Ice’s passing—a harsh blow to the Flyboys. “Don’t listen to that voice in your head anymore, Mav.”

Wordless, he nodded. “Thank you.” Mav lifted his head to see his brothers, Hondo, and his squadron surrounding him, not a trace of anger in their faces. “All of you.”

Warm smiles and reassuring murmurs came from them all, and Slider patted him on the back. “Let’s get to work, Shortstack.”

“Okay.”

The ceremony proceeded according to plan, and eventually, it was time for Viper and him to hammer their wings into his father’s casket, but to his shock, before anything could happen, Omaha and Halo rose instead, unpinning their wings of gold as they went.

They hammered their wings into the dark wood of his father’s casket, then saluted.

Next to stand was Yale and Harvard, then Fritz and Coyote.

(Thump)

(Thump)

Two by two, his squadron went up and hammered their wings into his father’s casket, then saluted.

Payback and Fanboy.

(Thump)

Phoenix and Bob.

(Thump)

Bradley and Jake.

(Thump)

As Bradley circled back to his seat, Mav caught his eye, a shocked and wondering expression on his face. “I know we’re not your dad’s squadron, but hopefully we’re good enough,” he softly said in response to the unasked question.

Tears were already tracing Mav’s cheeks at seeing his squadron give his father this honor, but it didn’t stop there.

He was just about to tearfully thank Bradley when his attention was drawn by Slider and Chipper striding forward as they too, unpinned their wings.

(Thump)

Then Wood and Wolf stepped forward.

(Thump)

Cougar and Merlin.

(Thump)

One and all, his brothers hammered their wings into the casket, tightly grasping his shoulder in affection as they moved back to their places at his wing while he struggled to maintain his bearing, his heart swelling with love for this family who’d chosen him.

When no one else stepped forward, it was here, that Viper rose and drew a battered pair of wings from his jacket pocket, steps slow but even as he approached the casket, now covered in gold wings.

He gazed at the wings, a small, proud smile on his lined face, then with a gentle nod, he lifted his hand to place his own wings on the casket.

The sound of his fist hammering the wings in resounded through the air, the elderly man snapping to attention to salute his late wingman one last time.

When Viper turned, Mav rose for his turn, gently setting down the neatly folded flag in his chair.

It was this part he hated the most in all the military funerals he’d gone to, even more than the flag presentation, because it made everything feel so definite, the proverbial final nail in the coffin.

But this time, it felt almost like a relief—for once, his hands didn’t tremble as he unpinned his wings, and as his fist struck the metal into wood with the rush of wind and roar of F-18s overhead, Mav felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders; with his final salute to his father, he felt one of the oldest wounds in his soul beginning to heal.

The next thing he knew, the funeral was over, and he was standing before his parents’ graves.

Everyone was filtering back to the road, but he was seemingly frozen to the spot, staring down into the freshly dug earth.

He felt like he was waiting for something, the expectation in the air so thick he could almost taste it, but Mav didn’t know what it was.

Unbidden, the words “Talk to me, Dad, Mom,” slipped from his lips, barely audible even to his own ears.

Just then, a rushing sea wind blew through the cemetery grounds, and in the distance, he could see two birds dancing in the currents of air, soaring upwards into the sky, gradually disappearing in the distance.

The wind abruptly gentled, and though his cover had stayed on during the flyover and through the rushing burst of wind, it suddenly flew off his head.

He turned to follow its path, finding it already in Bradley’s grasp, who had a hand held out towards him, Penny, his brothers, Hondo, and his squadron—his kids, all standing behind his boy, who had a careful, expectant expression on his face.

“Hey Dad, let’s go home?” Bradley called out.

Mav cast a final glance into the distance that the two birds had disappeared into, a profound peace now in his heart.

He stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Bradley.

“Let’s go home, Baby Goose.”

He did not look back.

The title is taken from the USO motto.

The Navy Cross is the second-highest military decoration given by the US Navy, second only to the Medal of Honor.

Mav’s maroon Jeep can be seen in a corner of the hangar during the first hangar scene.

NAWDC: Naval Aviation Warfare Development Command, under whose umbrella TOPGUN belongs.

The C-5M is a US Air Force aircraft, but the Air Force is tasked with bringing home repatriated remains, no matter what branch of service the deceased is from.

The speech given by the Lieutenant Commander to Mav is an adaptation of what is said at a military funeral, when the flag is presented to the next of kin.

I made use of my Italian heritage!Mav headcanon here, which I am quite fond of.

The order of Mav’s medals at Ice’s funeral was incorrect, and even though I didn’t have to mention it, I found a way to explain it!

I’m quite pleased with myself for that one…

VFA-87, the “Golden Warriors”, based in NAS Oceana, VA, is Bradley’s squadron in TG:M, as seen by the patch on his flight suit.

The procedures detailed for the funeral are a rough approximation of the protocol for burials at Arlington National Cemetery.

Clarence Gilyard Jr, who played Marcus “Sundown” Williams in Top Gun (1986), passed away on November 23, 2022 from an undisclosed protracted illness.

Technically, hammering wings tridents into the casket is a SEAL tradition, but 1), this is a thing in canon, 2), it’s supposedly spreading to the other warfare qualifications, and I don’t know, I think Duke deserves it after the Navy crapped all over his reputation.

Bonus: They had a potluck at the duplex later, because Bradley thought ahead and had the Daggers bring food to his/Mav’s place.

Taglist

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[romanitas]

friends, pals, countrymen, etc - here we are nearly ten years later with the final installment of my percabeth spy au. still kind of shocked after all this time i managed to finish it, but thanks for coming along for the ride! <3

here it is on ao3 ! this one's for you, spy au anons. -

Annabeth goes to the stupid aquarium. 

It takes her over a week to decide to use the tickets, if only as a favor to Sally. It takes her another few days of backtracking through old notes, determined to make sure she goes on one of the days Percy isn’t volunteering. She logics herself into it by determining it’ll be a conclusion - she’ll create the real ending for herself where she started it all first. One more visit, because she honestly doesn’t know if she’ll be able to hit up this particular aquarium ever again. She can say goodbye and create her own bookend. 

She wears her owl earrings, matched with a pair of leggings, with pockets, and a long tunic with an old jean jacket split open at one elbow. She doesn’t get to dress down much, with most of her wardrobe often carefully calculated for the task at hand. Today her only task is to look at some fucking fish and maybe get a strawberry milkshake from the overpriced cafeteria. She doesn’t even brush her hair. She thinks about inviting someone to come along, given she has two tickets, but she’s struck with the notion that she wouldn’t even know who to task. 

Reyna? Ridiculous. She’d get called out immediately for it being a bad idea. She almost texts Frank, but decides she needs to do this by herself. Maybe there’s a family she can pass off the other ticket to and that can be her good deed of the day. Sally would approve. 

She arrives at the lunch rush, slipping into the jellyfish quarter while most of the families are scurrying off to eat. She likes to say she thinks long and hard about her life, but mostly she allows herself to be distracted by the way they light up against the dark tanks. They float aimlessly and Annabeth wonders what the sensation is like as she watches them swim idly around, to be so weightless and mindless. 

She walks through the shark tunnel, dodging around running children. She spends a moment studying the arch of the tunnel itself, smiling to herself before she realizes. Maybe there’s a world out there where she did go the architecture route instead of espionage recruitment out of college. She doesn’t want to think about that, not when there are fish to observe. There are so many fish. Too many fish. If she’s honest with herself, they start to blur together after a while, and only the brightly colored ones stand out. 

Part of her hates to admit it, but she starts to feel calmer. Steadier. Like when she walks out of this place, she’ll be Annabeth Chase again and ready to stop moping like a goddamn idiot. 

She probably shouldn’t have saved the penguins for last. 

There are babies now, and Annabeth finds herself smiling at them in the tank. They don’t look too young, but she can’t tell how far from infancy they are at this point. She’s no expert. She just has wikipedia. She tries to remember what she’s read or learned about them, and even though she’d rather not think of the source, she’s not sure she’ll ever forget the facts. 

She’s watching one of the babies slowly and carefully slide into the water when she hears him. 

“Annabeth?”

Her entire body freezes, and she wants to disappear, maybe into one of the artificial icebergs. She looks sideways in the glass and finds the warped reflection of Percy Jackson staring at her from the left. Unfortunately for her desire to submerge, the glass is only transparent for eyes and not bodies. She takes a deep breath without moving her chest and slowly, carefully turns around, looking into his face for the first time in weeks. 

He looks tired. 

Percy stares at her, befuddled, but he’s made the first move by calling out to her. She hadn’t seen him. He could have just walked away and left her ignorant to his existence, but he hadn’t. And maybe it’s just his ADHD, but she selfishly thinks maybe he made the choice to get her attention - which means she has no choice of her own but to acknowledge him in return. 

She swallows. And then she gestures stupidly at the baby penguin behind her. “Did you know baby penguins have to be at least four months old before they can swim? It’s their feathers. They aren’t waterproof at birth.” 

He continues staring at her, and she has to fight the urge to literally run away. “I do know. I’m pretty sure I told you that.”

Shit, he did, didn’t he? She had pre-gamed enough penguin facts to steer their first conversation, but anything and everything she learned since came from his wealth of aquatic knowledge. “Oh. Yes. I just - there are babies now.” 

“Born just over four months ago,” he says, and his tone is the faintest bit teasing.

“Hatched by the males,” she adds on, without thinking. Like his attention to her architectural rants, she seems to have absorbed far too much about penguins, because she could keep going, and it’s only force of will that she doesn’t. 

His mouth quirks, almost a smile. She doesn’t know what to do with that. She wasn’t sure she’d get to see him smile again, stuck with the image of only his anger as a final parting gift. 

“Did you put a tracker on me?”

Annabeth doesn’t know what to do with that either, and she sputters. It’s ungraceful. Unprofessional. And she feels ashamed, despite the way his tone still sounds like a joke. “No - Percy, no, that’s - ”

He grimaces. “Sorry. It was a joke. I’m trying to not be awkward. It’s not working.”

She would very much like the earth to swallow her up. 

“I wouldn’t,” she insists, finally. Like she needs him to know that. 

He pauses. “Jason?”

Annabeth wrinkles her nose. She hates this turn of conversation, but she wants to let him steer it this time. “There were never any trackers.” 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, pivoting away on his own. 

“I’m visiting the penguins,” she says, with only sincerity. He studies her, like he’s trying to gauge how truthful it is. She fidgets, then adds on, “You weren’t supposed to be here.” 

He actually looks shyly taken aback. “I changed my days at the station. I thought it might be…” Safer, is the word he wants to use, she knows it, but instead he lets it hang in the air. “So I had to switch my day here too.”

Annabeth thinks she really should have accounted for that, because Percy can be obtuse but he’s not stupid. It was probably one of the first things he would have done, and she feels stupid for not considering it in her own plans. 

“Your mom gave me the tickets,” is what she says next in lieu of anything else. That’s part of why she’s here, duty to a simple kindness from Sally Jackson. 

Percy’s expression becomes puzzled. “You saw my mom?” 

Oh. That surprises her too. She assumed Sally would have passed it along. She nods. She does not say anything about her own conversation with his mother, because that means he really is here by pure happenstance, and she doesn’t know what to make of that. Everything about her interactions with Percy Jackson from the start has been pure calculation, and right now she feels like she is flying on the seat of her pants. There’s no end game, no goal, just spontaneity. 

Maybe she should lean into that instead. 

“She bought me a coffee.” 

“That… sounds like her.” He pauses. “I didn’t tell her anything. About - you know, your job stuff. All she knows is we broke up.”

He says it like it’s such a normal occurrence. They broke up, like a real couple does. They broke up, they’re no longer together, and not because she shot a man in front of him and lied about her entire existence. “She was probably too nice to me,” she admits. 

Percy looks up and studies her again, and she swallows nervously, both under his expression and the way he doesn’t refute her comment about his mom. “What did she tell you?”

There is a part of her that feels like she shouldn’t go there, but the other, louder, part of her doesn’t want to lie to him ever again. “She - she said you were miserable.”

His shoulders deflate. “Well. She’s not wrong.”

Annabeth stares at him. 

“Look,” he starts, running a hand through his hair. It makes the dark strands stick up in multiple directions, and she needs to clamp down on the urge to fix it for him like she used to. “I was really mad. Part of me still is. But… it was real to me, you know? I can’t just erase what I feel. I’m still working through it.” 

Her expression falls, her shoulders heavy too. “For what it’s worth,” she starts, not sure it’s worth much of anything, “I’ve been miserable too.” 

Percy’s face scrunches up. “Even though it was fake?”

She bites her lip. “I might have met you under false pretenses. But I wasn’t lying to you, when I told you it wasn’t fake to me anymore. I spent so much time with you that I found myself wishing more than anything else it was real. I promise. If you believe one thing I say, believe me now when I promise that I’m never going to lie to you again.” 

He looks up at her, green eyes scrutinizing her like she’s under a microscope. Instead of trying to hide or put up a front, Annabeth simply lets the unhappiness hang on her like a shroud. Her bag is falling off her shoulder, the dark circles almost feel physical beneath her eyes, and her hair is a borderline rat's nest. She was always very carefully put together in front of him, even when she was trying to appear casual. Nothing about her right now is pre-planned for Percy. In some ways, she’s glad for it. 

He just watches her, and his frown deepens. She bites her lip and resists the urge to look away at the penguins. 

“Okay,” he says, after a too long silence, and she stares at him like he spoke in Greek. “I believe you.”

Her jaw drops, but she smoothly closes it. Her voice is quiet, anxious, startled and hopeful all at once, and she can’t seem to compartmentalize any of it. “You do?”

Percy purses his lips, like he can’t believe what he’s saying either. “I’ve never seen you like this,” he says, gesturing, and Annabeth’s face goes red at her dishevelment. “It feels like I’m looking at the real Annabeth, you know?”

She barks out a laugh, then covers her mouth. “Sorry, that wasn’t - I’m just not really fit for polite company. Fish notwithstanding.” 

“Yeah,” he says, and he grins a little. “I think that’s why I believe you.” 

Annabeth swallows anxiously and blinks back a sudden onslaught of tears. “I’m sorry, Percy. I know it was my job, but you’re so… good. At some point, it started to feel like I wasn’t pretending. I realized I really, really liked being around you. Being your friend, being with you. You didn’t deserve me lying to you, regardless of how it started.”

The last time she apologized, they were arguing. Now he just looks at her. “Thank you,” he says. It’s not quite forgiveness, it’s not an ‘it’s okay’ or the standard follow up etiquette of apologies, but it’s better, she thinks, because it feels genuine. Like he is accepting the truth of it, that she is sorry, and the fact that he believes it settles in her in an odd way. 

“Are you still… you know. Uh, working?” 

She nearly laughs at his word choice. “I’m on break. And I’m not - I was pulled from the Jupiter Industries stuff. So I’m not… working.” 

“So you’re literally just here at the aquarium for fun?” 

She hesitates, though she doesn’t know why. “Yes. And, well, you know - Sally gave me the tickets. I felt like I should use them, after our conversation.” She pauses. “I think she’s worried about you.”

Percy runs a hand through his hair again. She knows he hates stressing his mother. She knows so many things about him that she can’t seem to put down. “She always worries too much. Can I ask what else she said to you?”

It’s phrased in a way that she could turn him down, but Annabeth has promised herself as well as him that she’s in the running to be honest. 

“She asked me if I wanted to fix things with you. I told her I didn’t know if I could.” It’s not all she asked. Annabeth just doesn’t know how to bring the other part up, or if she even should.

Percy frowns. “Do you… actually want to fix things?” 

Annabeth draws in a quiet breath. “I miss you,” she admits, and his face twists with surprise and what could be relief, but maybe she’s projecting. “But I wasn’t lying when I told her I didn’t know if I could. I hurt you. It’s not up to me to forgive myself for it, no matter how much I miss you.”

His frown deepens, but he doesn’t look unhappy - more like thoughtful. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me,” he mumbles. 

“I don’t think she wanted to interfere too much,” she offers quietly. “There’s one more thing.”

Percy looks up at her. 

Annabeth swallows again, but this time she’s pushing down her pride. “She asked me if I loved you.”

He looks at her carefully. “What did you tell her?”

She keeps his gaze. “I said I did.” She curls in on herself a little. “I do.”

Something in Percy Jackson deflates, but not in a way that suggests loss. It’s like he’s stopped carrying a heavy box. His shoulders sink, even if his face looks as confused as it does lighter. “It’s like everything in me wants to believe it. And I think I do,” he starts. 

Annabeth’s stomach flutters. 

“It’s crazy. Like, it’s so crazy to me that you still love me, because everything about it is so… wrong? No, not wrong - but we started wrong. We started wrong, but everything I felt was still so real. The bad and the good. I was really scared at that restaurant, for the obvious reasons - but I think I was scared about what it meant for us too.” Percy puffs out a breath of air, and his eyebrows crinkle. “I don’t have a good sense of self-preservation.”

Annabeth can barely breathe. She holds herself back from reaching for his arm. “Do you think… we could start over, and do it right?”

Percy studies her again, wary but curious. “What, like a do-over?”

“I guess. A re-meet.”

“A real meet-cute?”

She cracks a small smile. “I mean, I did run into you randomly in the aquarium.”

“Happenstance fishes.”

“We’re by the penguins,” she corrects, automatically. “Happenstance birds.”

Percy cracks his own smile, dimple pinching his cheek. “Did you know the babies don’t swim until they’re four months old?”

Annabeth’s smile widens. “You know, someone might have told me that already,” she starts. “But I could use a refresher.” 

“I’m still on shift,” he says, a little awkwardly. “But I’ll be done in about two hours.”

It takes a few moments for what he offers to sink in. It doesn’t seem fair or right to her at all that Percy Jackson is here before her, yet again in front of the stupid penguins, willingly telling her when he’s finished - offering to spend more time with her. But it’s better this time. There’s no frustration on her part, no trying to drag it out of him - he’s offering because he’s also offering her a chance, and Annabeth knows she is going to take it, regardless of how much she deserves it. She’s going to work to deserve it. Neither of them were forced to be here. She isn’t coercing him into a date. She’s letting him lead it. 

And he’s still choosing to see her. 

“I still have to visit some octopi,” she says, nerves alight, “But I could meet you back here in two hours…?” 

Percy’s silence is scary, but Annabeth gives him the time. It’s a final shot for him to back out if he wants to, and she won’t even blame him if he changes his mind even now. But he’s Percy. And somehow, she isn’t surprised by his answer. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

Annabeth is going to cry all over again. She holds out her hand instead, and even though he gives her a confused look, Percy takes it. She shakes it, relishing the feeling of his palm against hers, the warmth spreading through her fingers as he squeezes it. She thought she’d never get to experience his touch again. 

“Hi,” she starts, feeling silly, but allowing herself to run with it. No more thinking or calculating, she’s just going with this strange flow. “I’m Annabeth Chase.”

He laughs, his own smile edging on silly too. “Percy Jackson. Hey.”

“Do you work here?” she asks, trying not to smile and failing completely. 

He shakes his head. “I just volunteer. I’m a firefighter.”

“You got some kind of affinity for water?”

He breaks into a grin that’s almost a laugh. “I’ve always liked the ocean.” He pauses then, hesitation slipping into his face. “What about you?” 

She studies his face, the kindness and the anger and everything in between flashing through her head. She’s already memorized it, but she can still bask in it anew. She doesn’t really know where she’s going from here, least of all with Percy, but she once again opts for honesty, even if nothing comes of it. “I’m thinking I might get into architecture.”

Percy looks surprised. “Sounds like a big change.”

Annabeth pulls her hand away, straightens her shoulders. “Sometimes a person comes along and gives you a whole new perspective on things.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll see. I’m working on it. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” 

“I think,” he says, hesitating, “You should do what makes you happy.” 

She laughs. “Again,” she says, quieter this time, “I’m working on it.” 

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re kind of hyper-competent.”

“Only kind of?” 

Percy snorts. “I just mean, you’ll probably figure it out.” 

She looks at him in wonder, that he could still stand there and offer a kindness to her after everything. It doesn’t surprise her, if she really thinks about it. She fell in love with him for a reason, after all. For a lot of reasons.

“I want you to know me,” she says suddenly, which goes against every single part of her existence as a spy, but Percy has already broken through all of those rules. She wants to be known, by him specifically, which is wildly scary and completely against all manner of protocol, but she is no longer lying to him. She promised. She promised and she wants to open up everything about herself that she’s kept quiet for him to witness. 

Percy’s mouth opens and closes like a nearby fish. “I know you like owls. That wasn’t fake.”

She blinks, and he gestures at her earrings. She touches one instinctively. “They’re my favorite. So is strawberry, and I do really love Gaudí, and I’m starting to really like penguins too.” 

“The penguins are pretty cool,” he says with a very small smile. 

A quiet settles over them after that, but Annabeth finds it’s not uncomfortable. There is going to be some awkwardness, but the thing about it right now is it doesn’t feel scary. All the scariest parts are behind her, and right now she is only looking at the new possibility of Percy Jackson in her life, in whatever capacity he allows. She’ll take any of it. He gets to set the pace this time, and she’s more than willing to allow it. 

“Thank you,” she says, finally. “For giving me another chance.” 

His grin is haphazard, lopsided, and maybe a little self-deprecating. “When I saw you standing there, there was a part of me that wanted to keep walking - but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Maybe it makes me a little stupid. I really want to know you too. I want to keep knowing you.”  

“I’ve been stupid too,” she says with a shrug. “So we’re off to a great start.” 

“A start,” he says, huffing a laugh. “Not many people get to do that twice.” 

“No,” she agrees. “I thought I was coming here for an ending.”

Percy blinks at her. “I don’t really know what’ll happen, Annabeth.”

“That’s okay,” she says, breathing in deeply and relishing the way the air fills her lungs. She doesn’t know either. But that’s better than finality. “We can work on that too.”

His eyes flicker with a softness she knows she still doesn’t deserve, but she relishes in that too. “So… I guess I’ll see you again in about two hours?” He pauses. “We can get smoothies.”

“I like the Strawberry Whirl.” 

He pauses again. “I knew that had to be true.”

Annabeth laughs, and Percy beams, and she thinks somehow, some way, they’re going to be… okay. It might take time. She doesn’t know what it’s going to look like, fully expects a lot of difficult bridges, but it feels like a real chance she hadn’t expected. They could be friends. They could end up more. They could go absolutely nowhere and fall apart much more naturally, more smoothly, without blood and bullets - but she’s going to try very hard to avoid that. She’s going to be herself, and maybe that’ll be good enough for him to stick around. It’s the only way she’s going to enable the mere chance of it. 

As far as she’s concerned, anything involving Percy from now on is always going to be real. 

[ssweeterthanfiction]

teenage dream.

content warning: ANGST billy dunne/the six x fem “traitor” pop-star reader

The lights were dimmed. You could hear the excited cheers come from the crowd.

You were being touched up by your hair and makeup team, they made sure that not a single hair was out of place. When they were done, you adjusted your ear piece, smoothed out your skirt, and nervously played with your hands as you waited for your cue. You were having a good show, but for some reason, you felt….nervous. You always felt a little nervous performing, but tonight you felt it even more.

Something felt different. You felt like something— or someone was in the crowd for you, waiting, watching.

You shook your head, brushing the feeling aside.

“You’re on” you hear a stagehand say.

Smoothing out your skirt one last time, you step out onto the stage. A soft purple glow fills the arena as you walked out. You smile and wave to the crowd, blowing a few kisses out as you sit at your piano.

“Are we having fun yet?” you say into the microphone. You’re met with a loud roar of cheers and applause which makes you smile. “Good…good” you say, idly playing a few notes on the piano.

“So…this next song, I wrote with my younger self in mind…” you say softly into the microphone, “Now she…was full of hope and energy…but she was also…had insecurities, she was afraid she wasn’t good enough and that she was just good for her age. She was afraid to grow up, because she thought that nobody would want her around anymore.”

You pause for a moment, “For a long time, she couldn’t picture a future. But…she’s come a long way from then. I think she’d be proud of how far we’ve come.” you say, smiling as the crowd cheers. “So to anyone who’s afraid…this is for you.”

As you started playing, the empty screen behind you flickered to life, pulling the audience’s attention as a series of home videos started playing.

You fought back tears as you sang. Memories of the past flooded your mind.

"Will I spend all the rest of my years wishing I could go back?"

Messing around with Warren and Graham during rehearsals in the garage.

Talking with Karen about life during late night studio sessions.

Eddie teaching you how to play the bass.

And Billy....

Having every first with him. Your first crush, your date, your first kiss. All with the boy that you grew up next door neighbors with, with the boy that introduced you to music, with the boy that you've liked since you were 12.

"Got your whole life ahead of you, you're only 19...But I fear that they already got all the best parts of me... And I'm sorry that I couldn't always be your teenage dream.."

You wondered what they were doing right now. You wondered if they were messing around in the studio. You wondered if they were having pizza and beers. "Of course they are," you thought, it was a Friday night afterall, that was their time to unwind.

You wondered if Karen and Graham were still denying their feelings for eachother. You wondered if Warren still told those ridiculous stories that made everyone laugh so hard they cried, You wondered if Eddie still tried to hide the fact that he loves the chaos of the band.

You wondered if Billy was taking care of himself.

You wondered if they wondered about you.

"They all say that it gets better, it gets better the more you grow. Yeah, they all say that it gets better, it gets better, but what if I don't? Oh, they all say that it gets better, it gets better the more you grow"

Unbeknownst to you, the band wasn’t in the studio tonight. They weren't eating pizza and drinking beers.

They were here.

Sitting quietly near the back of the arena, watching as you poured your heart out on stage.

Karen had bought the tickets last minute. When she told the band, they weren't keen on going, but they changed their minds fairly quickly.

None of them wanted to admit that they wanted to desperately see you perform on stage again. Even if it wasn't with them.

Their eyes were glued to the stage and the screen. Watching as old clips from your old camcorder played.

"I can't believe she has all these old tapes.." Karen says in a quiet tone.

"I didn't even know she filmed this much stuff" Graham murmurs.

"I can...that camera was practically glued to her hand" Eddie says, crossing his arms across his chest.

They all kept watching the screen, clips of their rehearsals, their hangouts, of them backstage, of them preparing for photoshoots and interviews.

"She’s still her, you know," Warren says softly, his gaze fixed on you. "No matter what, that’s still our girl up there."

Everyone nodded and let out a soft hum of agreement. Everyone, except Billy.

He had been quiet the whole time, his jaw clenched, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. He was trying not to breakdown. But the way you sang, the way that your emotions could be heard through your voice, it made it so hard for him.

Your voice got more powerful, more emotional. You played your piano with more urgency, as if you were letting your anger and sadness out.

"Yeah, they all say that it gets better, it gets better, but what if I don't?"

Your playing went back to a softer sound, and then everything went dark. Everything but the screen.

When the band saw what was playing, it felt like a stab to the heart.

It was a clip of you all seeing your names up on the marquee of Whiskey a Go Go.

It showed as you all excitedly walked down the street, Warren and Graham bolting the moment they could make out what the sign said.

"Guys slow down!" you say as you and the others run towards them.

"Look at that! That's us!" Warren shouts happily, pointing at the sign.

You all laugh and talk over each other. Suddenly, Billy grabs the camera from your hand.

"Billy- Billy! What are you doing?" you say as you laugh.

"You're always filming us...now it's your turn to be in front of it!" he says as he points the camera towards you.

You laugh and playfully swat the camera away as you cover your face.

"So, come on. Tell the camera what's next for us" he says laughing behind the camera.

You smile widely and laugh, "First...Whiskey a Go Go. Next a world tour and then...a grammy!"

The tape then faded, your laughter still ringing through the speakers.

The crowd erupted into applause.

You were now crying, not full out, but tears did fall from your eyes. You took out your ear pieces and stood in shock as you heard the volume of how loudly the crowd was cheering for you.

You wiped at your tears, laughing softly into the microphone. "Wow," you say, your voice breaking a little "You guys are amazing..." You stood back for a moment, just to take everything in.

As the lights shifted, your eyes instinctively scanned the seats, smiling as you saw all your fans cheering. For a brief moment, you thought you saw familiar faces near the back.

The lights shifted again, and the faces became indistinct shadows, leaving you wondering if your imagination had gotten the better of you.

But deep down, you had a feeling that those familiar faces were in fact real.

A/N: "traitor" popstar reader, you will always be my favorite.

[mermaidchan05]

Vesuvia Weekly: "I missed this"

Started thinking about the moments where an apprentice's lost memory sparks. About the moment when they start thinking of home. And how their LI's might react.

So have some more OC bullet-point headcanons!

Meleia & Asra

“I missed this,” said Meleia as she and Asra stood on the beaches of Vesuvia, watching the sun set. 

Asra thought nothing of it at first. 

After all, they had visited the beach and the docks multiple times by then. 

The shoreline had always been one of Meleia’s favorite spots. 

But the more they chatted idly about the wonderful view, the more Meleia began to bring up sights that decidedly weren’t from Vesuvia. 

Caverns that she and Asra had never explored. 

A cliffside that Meleia apparently remembered clearly, but Asra had never seen. 

And constellations that simply weren’t visible from their viewpoint. 

Asra tries to deny it in the beginning. 

Maybe it was a dream. Or something that Asra had seen, once, but since forgotten. Or even something from the Magical Realms. 

But the evidence keeps piling up.

And the only true conclusion just collapses on top of Asra. 

Meleia’s talking about the place she was born. 

A place she had never told him about before. 

It takes a while for Asra to admit that out loud. He’s almost worried about the consequences. 

But she doesn’t seem to have a headache. 

And though neither of them truly know where any of these landmarks might be, it’s still a huge clue. 

It feels like a miracle. A second chance. 

Maybe their next bout of traveling will happen sooner than Asra originally planned...

Damian & Julian

“Gods, I’ve missed this,” Damian laughed after a wonderful night of playing music together. 

A normal statement. Until Damian mentions a specific song. 

It was a song that Julian had never heard before. 

That didn’t stop him from joining in on his vielle, of course. Julian was always pretty good at going with the flow when it came to music. 

But once the performance was over, someone offhandedly complimented them for including a Nopalin folk song. 

And Julian’s mind starts whirling. 

The memories that he had given up during his own deal with the Hanged Man had returned to him, but that didn’t mean his memory itself was perfect. 

He knew a lot about Damian’s time as his doctor apprentice. 

But not every single detail. 

Had Damian ever mentioned anything about Nopal? 

And can he risk asking about it, with Damian’s condition? 

The thought drives him to the brink of madness until Damian finally asks him why he’s being so quiet. 

And then the dam breaks. 

Thankfully, despite Julian’s panic after dumping all that on Damian, Damian does not immediately collapse into a headache-induced catatonic state. 

But he does start asking around the market to see if there’s anything else around the city that originates from Nopal. 

Anything to try to spark more memories. 

Or, failing that, grant Damian another hint of nostalgia.  

Nadia & Chimalus

“I’ve missed this,” said Chimalus, just after building an enormous snowman outside the Winter Palace. 

Nadia looked at them, startled. 

As far as either of them knew, Chimalus had lived in Vesuvia for their entire life. And Vesuvia wasn’t known for the heaviest snows. Not without magic involved.  

But Chimalus spoke as though they had built enormous snow creations for many years in a row. 

The nostalgia in their tone was impossible to miss. 

The moment they get back to the palace proper, Nadia is on a mission.

She’s brought out all of the maps that she can find that showcase any remotely snowy areas. 

She doesn’t want to trigger Chimalus’ memory-wipe-induced headaches, but she does drop subtle hints every now and then, trying to find a more specific location. 

Eventually, her barrage of hints is too much for Chimalus to remain oblivious. 

So Chimalus joins the mission. 

The two of them do a lot of research, hoping for anything that might spark another memory.

It takes time. And some other unrelated incidents. But at last, they find a certain city near a certain mountain. 

Nadia has the trip to Galbrada planned within a week.  

[chaenniz]

bad idea! - 5. on a tuesday??

you walked into your chemistry class tired and sort of fed up.

no, scratch that. you were very fed up.

as much as you loved your friends, they wouldn’t get off your case about last night’s joint practice with the cheer team. more specifically, the weird tension between you and chaewon yesterday.

you settled down into your seat, taking out the required supplies for the class out of your bag.

you look around your grade 12 chemistry class. it was a fairly small class, which wasn’t surprising because a lot of people tended to drop chemistry after grade 11, stating that it was too hard.

you continued looking around until your eyes settled onto a certain cheerleader settled down a few desks ahead of you.

it was chaewon. you had to admit, she was a very pretty person, probably the prettiest in the school. and you would have liked to be her friend if she wasn’t so stuck up.

you get rid of your thoughts quickly however, remembering how earlier today hyein wouldn’t stop teasing you for how you admittedly found the bane of your existence “annoyingly pretty.”

the teacher walked into class, and people turned their attention to her. you didn’t blame them, mrs. park was a very scary teacher indeed.

"settle down class, i’ve assigned your partners for the upcoming project," the teacher said, scanning the room with a stern eye. "i expect you all to work together and submit your projects on time. no excuses."

you groaned inwardly as the chemistry teacher announced the partner assignments for their upcoming project.

you knew it was coming, but you had still been hoping against hope that you wouldn't get paired up with the world’s greatest pain in the ass, kim chaewon.

you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your heart racing as the teacher drew closer to your desk. the remaining amount of partners left had you alarmed. hell, you might get paired with chaewon.

you tried to prepare herself for the worst, but you still gasped in surprise when the teacher finally spoke your name.

"y/n, you'll be working with chaewon for this project," the teacher said, her voice firm and unyielding.

you felt your stomach drop as chaewon turned to look at you, her eyes with a burning fire in them. of course, you should’ve known your bad luck would do this to you.

they had been enemies since sophomore year, a possible friendship that turned sour ever since their botched shared project.

they had never gotten along, and you knew that working with chaewon was going to be a disaster.

as the class ended and everyone filed out, you and chaewon stayed behind, avoiding each other's gaze.

you both knew that you’d have to start working on the project soon together, but neither of them wanted to make the first move.

finally, chaewon spoke up. "well, I guess we're stuck working together," she said, her tone laced with a mix of annoyance and amusement. “don’t fuck this one up like you did last time we worked together.”

you grit your teeth, trying to hide your frustration. "let's just get this over with," you said picking up your bag.

you gesture chaewon to hand over her phone, which she reluctantly does, eyeing you suspiciously.

rolling your eyes, you put in your number into chaewon’s phone.

“there,” you sigh out, “just text me when you want to this work on this stupid project, not tonight though because i’m busy.”

you give chaewon her pink melody sanrio decorated phone back, not failing to give her a final glare before you walk out of the room.

chaewon on the other hand, just stood in the room idly, wondering what she had done in her precious life to get you as a project partner again.

that’s one way to give your number

masterlist | next | previous

taglist!

@awkwardtoafault @yourforeverrynn @cwpiqwon @urfriendlylocalidiot @skisk1 @chaersly @chaewonluvsme @myothegreat @kyaitosz @kvnii @slowlyturninggay291 @craftymasterlistcomicsprune @cine-cult @babycubchae @neuftaeng @c1ar4 @wmnrhot @limbforalimb @xuimhao @bzeus28 @xzaylie @spritin @hyukasverse @sserajeans @abbiestearsricochet

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

Half-Life | Chapter Three

There was something to be said about loneliness, though: at least it was predictable.

Pairing: Plaga!Leon S. Kennedy/F!Chubby!Paranormal Investigator!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Mutual Pining, Angst, Sexual Tension, Blood, Body Horror

Notes: It's been a minute since I last posted, but this chapter was a doozy to write! Second longest chapter I've ever churned out, which is insane to me lol. Anyway, I hope you guys like this installment! I was blushing and squealing and kicking my feet while writing it lmao. Leon makes me so sad, but these interactions between him and Bunny (the reader) are SO CUTE. I'd love it if you guys told me your favorite lines or parts in general in the comments! Feedback is what helps keep me motivated!

Masterlist | Previous | Next

--------------------

It had been a full day since you left, and Leon loathed to admit just how miserable he felt.

He had spent the rest of the prior afternoon with Wolfie hunting for small game, the crow barely able to satiate his hunger.

He always liked the hunt, as he allowed himself to be in the moment, focused solely on his senses and cutting off the tide of emotions that threatened to pull him under.

The distraction didn’t last long, however.

He had killed a couple squirrels and another crow, hoping for something a little more substantial, when he came across a rabbit—a plump one with brown fur—and the reminder of you and the note you left stopped him mid-strike, the animal easily able to escape his normally deadly grasp.

He cut his losses after that, deciding he didn’t want to hunt anymore. He split his meager spoils with Wolfie as he always did, and paced his house until nightfall, his thoughts rampant and his mood sour. 

He tried to sleep it off but tossed and turned instead (though that wasn’t exactly an irregular occurrence for him). 

And now here he was, sitting in his boat in the middle of the lake and spearing any fish that dared to skim the surface of the water, using his tail and those four spidery appendages he had re-released from their place on his spine specifically for the task.

He didn’t like to keep them out for the sake of his own humanity, but the skin of his back rippled and ached when they were confined for too long.

Ten years and he was still uncomfortable in his own body.

He hated it.

He had a growing pile of fish sitting in a bucket before him, reveling in the fact that at least he’d be eating well for the day, briefly pausing his surveillance of the water to snack on one of the scaly creatures.

He wondered what you must be up to right now. Probably already halfway across the globe, bound for home. He wanted to ask you how you’d go about keeping the public from bothering him, but he had been so preoccupied with getting to know you, he had forgotten.

He questioned idly whether or not you would keep to your word, but he supposed it was out of his hands now.

And, for some reason, he trusted you.

It was laughable, almost, how quickly he gave in the moment you didn’t budge from his scare tactics. He had become so inherently suspicious since the events that transpired in Raccoon City, as well as what occurred right here in this village a decade prior, so it shocked him how easily you blew right through his mental defenses.

To be fair to himself—which he often wasn’t—you had caught him so utterly off guard, he had no precedence to follow. No one else had gone that completely against common sense when faced with his monstrous form, and he simply couldn’t wrap his head around it. Besides, he was so starved for social interaction, he couldn’t stop himself from leaping at the opportunity to relish it.

He wanted the whole ordeal to be enough to pull him through to his plotted end, but he thought it was deeply unfair that he only craved more. More conversation. More attention. More affection.

It would have been easier if you had just run.

There was something to be said about loneliness, though: at least it was predictable. At least it was safe.

His inner ramblings were suddenly cut short when he heard a strange sound from the distance. There were footsteps again, but something else he couldn’t quite place—something that rumbled.

His first thought was a vehicle and panic immediately set in, causing him to paddle back to land as quickly as possible.

He wondered if you had broken your part of the deal and alerted others to his presence. Maybe he had been wrong to trust you, after all.

He cursed himself under his breath.

He made it back to shore, the footsteps and that strange sound coming to a halt somewhere too close for comfort. It was in the direction of his house, where he had left Wolfie to dutifully await his return.

If anything happened to his dog, he wasn’t sure what he’d do, praying to a god he no longer believed in that whoever trespassed wasn’t here to cause harm.

He bolted through the woods, dodging between the trees with practiced ease until he was skidding to a halt in the brush beside his home.

The sight that greeted him baffled him to his core.

There, just at his front door, was Wolfie, tail wagging happily as he sat on his haunches. But what really caught his eye was a figure standing above the dog, reaching out to feed him what looked like a treat from their hand.

And, when they turned to face Leon’s direction, the sound of him bounding through the forest catching their attention, he realized the person on his doorstep…

Was you.

“Leon!” you called jovially as he revealed himself from the tree line. “I was wondering where you were!” 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he questioned, his tone harsher than he meant it.

You didn’t seem phased, however, as you replied, “I figured I was due for a vacation. Decided to stay in the country for another week.”

“Doesn’t exactly explain why you came back here, though.”

“Well, I told you I wanted to explore the area more, didn’t I? But don’t worry, I didn’t come empty-handed.” You stepped aside and swept your arm behind you, revealing a large metal wagon stacked with all sorts of items. 

So that was the strange noise he heard.

“This wasn’t in our agreement,” he stated, sounding more annoyed than he actually felt. If anything, he was glad you came back. But he worried about what exactly it would entail if you did stay with him. He then added, conjuring up as much disdain as possible to make a point, “You should leave me alone.”

You raised a brow at him, skeptical. “I don’t think you mean that, Leon.”

“Oh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I?” He stood to his full height like he had the moment you first met, narrowing his bloodred eyes while he tilted slightly forward, as if setting up to lunge.

You seemed fed up with his clearly empty threats as you stepped up to him, hands placed on your supple hips in defiance. “Because you’re lonely and I’m the only person you’ve met in the past decade that didn’t run away screaming at the sight of you.”

He scoffed. “Oh, so you’re bothering me again out of the goodness of your own heart, then?”

“Maybe…” You glanced at your feet for a moment as you found the words to say, “And it’s also possible I came back because I find you interesting. This could be mutually beneficial, you know.”

“Interesting?” he repeated dubiously. He felt a pang of disappointment as he looked down at you. “Am I really just some specimen for you to study? Is that what this is to you?”

Your eyes widened at his accusation, throwing your hands up in the air. “Oh my god, of course not! Sure, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fascinated by your… quirks… but that’s not the only reason I came back.”

“You mean to use me as a field guide for your little hiking trip?” 

“Well, that too. But still not it.”

“Then why?” 

You seemed almost embarrassed as you looked away from him, finally admitting, “I like you as a person, Leon. I enjoyed spending time with you and thought you might have felt the same. I… I’m sorry if I overstepped. I can leave if that's what you want.”

Leon was stunned by your words, unable to do more than gawk at you as you awaited his response. 

Realizing you might not get one, you nodded, crestfallen. “Right, yeah. This was a bad idea. I’ll just—I’ll just get out of your hair, then.”

You turned to grab the wagon and make your exit when Leon wrapped his claws gingerly around your arm, stopping you in your tracks. You gazed back at him, searching his face for an answer.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to say,” he told you honestly. Leon almost always had a cheesy one-liner or a snarky quip at the ready, but not for the first time since meeting you, he was speechless.

What could he even tell you, though? That he was thinking about you since you left? That he found himself missing you after only knowing you a day? You must already find him pathetic as is. He didn’t want to exacerbate it.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you responded, a sad smile alighting your pretty face. The thought that he caused it made his stomach twist in a knot. “I was being presumptuous. I shouldn’t have bothered you again.”

You tried to pull away once more but he wouldn’t release his hold, feeling incredibly stupid with how badly he was handling this. “No, it’s fine. I want…” He swallowed, then, unable to meet your eye as he adjusted what was about to leave his mouth, “I don’t mind if you stay a little while longer.”

Your gaze softened as you looked at him, gripping his wrist and squeezing it affectionately. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Yes.” He stared down at your small hand wrapped around him, the warmth emanating from it distracting in a way he found both disarming and comforting. His eyes trailed up your arm to your face, glad to find the once dejected expression had been replaced with a gentle sort of contentment.

You were anything but predictable, and this situation was far from safe, but Leon had to admit… meeting you was the best thing that had happened to him in a long, long time.

Wolfie brushed up against your leg, probably looking for another treat, and the spell was broken. The two of you quickly pulled apart, chuckling awkwardly.

Leon forced himself to look away from you again—not wanting to linger for too long—when his gaze fell upon the wagon once more, curiosity piqued. “So, what exactly’s in there?” 

“Oh, right!” you exclaimed, a grin on your face as you began pulling things out of the small vehicle. “I come bearing gifts!”

With gusto, you listed off the items as you grabbed them, “Brought groceries for me, though I wouldn’t mind sharing, of course! And some water, too, cos I don’t exactly trust drinking from the area. Not too keen on getting a parasite.” You paused after that, eyes wide in realization. “No offense!”

He laughed loudly, shaking his head. “None taken, I promise.”

“Right, moving on,” you continued, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. “I also got myself an air mattress so you can keep your bed and I don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“Not exactly sure how any of those things are gifts if they’re for you.”

“Hold on, Leon, I’m getting there,” you admonished light-heartedly. “The gifts are next.” 

You then pulled out a dog bed with an array of chew toys and bags of treats set inside, as well as a box of various books. “Some things for Wolfie, as every good boy deserves, and since you told me you don’t have anything to read, I grabbed a bunch of random stuff from the local bookstore. Don’t be too harsh on what I picked, though, cos I had no idea what you’d be interested in.”

Leon wondered if he would ever get used to your kindness toward him. To not only provide nice things for his aging pet but to bring him something to read after off-handedly mentioning he was short on entertainment.

A memory tugged at the edges of his mind, one he thought he buried a long time ago.

It was in the days following his parents’ deaths, forced out of his home and prepped to be sent into foster care. He had been taken to the police station so he would no longer be faced with the carnage in the house he grew up in, no one willing to bring him back before the bodies and subsequent viscera they left behind were cleaned up.

Finally, the social worker assigned to his case took him to the house to retrieve his belongings. It was painful—even to his young mind—to see his home spotless like nothing happened there. But the images of blood spattering the floors and walls were imprinted in his brain.

Eventually, he’d learn to repress them.

The social worker helped him as he collected his things, throwing them haphazardly into suitcases and bags found around the house before lugging them into the trunk of her car. He had thought he gathered everything, about to climb into the backseat, when he remembered his favorite storybook—the one his mother would read to him every night before bed. The one she read to him before she was taken from him.

He ran back into the house as fast as his little legs could carry him, tearing apart everything in his path to find the one thing he had that still connected him to the family he lost. 

“It was here! I swear it was here!” he cried as the woman shuffled after him, her eyes sad as she watched him collapse on the living room floor.

“Do you know where you last saw it, Leon?” she asked gently, kneeling beside him.

He pointed with a shaking finger to the dining table nearby, his parents having been slain in that very room.

“Oh, sweetheart…” she whispered, realizing that it was likely ruined by the blood that had drenched it only a few nights prior. “I think they had to… throw it away.”

Leon broke down at that, curling in on himself and sobbing so hard he thought he might throw up his guts right there on the hardwood floor. The woman did the only thing she could think of and carefully tugged him into her arms.

“I’m so sorry,” was all she offered, knowing there was nothing she could say that would help or change the way this child’s life would be eternally fractured. “I’m so sorry.” 

Eventually, he cried all the tears he had left, and the woman led him to the car once more. He watched through the window with dull eyes as the neighborhood faded into the distance.

That was the last time he ever stepped foot inside his childhood home. 

Then, after his parents' funeral, he was about to be taken to his new foster family, frightened and unable to find the silver lining in any of it. The social worker, though, did the kindest thing anyone had done for him in that dark time. 

Just as he was about to get out of her car and trudge up to the unfamiliar house he’d be residing in—not knowing how long he would even be staying there until he’d likely be shipped off to another family—she handed him a gift, telling him to open it when he got inside and settled down.

He did just that, having to take a while to sit in his new bedroom and stare at the four walls, trying to adjust to his surroundings and be brave like his parents would have wanted. 

He finally picked up the gift, tearing the wrapping paper off with tiny, careful hands and opening the box revealed beneath.

What was inside brought tears to his eyes, and he pulled the item to his chest so hard, the edges dug into the skin there, even through his shirt.

It was his favorite book.

Sure, it wasn’t the same one, its predecessor stained by sticky fingers and the pages ripped and crinkled from years of use, but it was still his. 

The police officer that saved his life the night his parents were killed might have led him to join the force when he grew up, but that simple kindness of gifting him a cherished item he thought he lost forever was what pulled him through in those early days of grief and uncertainty of the future.

He couldn’t believe he had even forgotten, his heart clenching as he realized that book, which sat on his shelf in his apartment back in the States, was probably long gone now that everyone thought he was dead.

Once upon a time, he had hoped he could pass on that little book to his own child when he finally managed to settle down.

What a pipe dream that was. 

Well, maybe it could bring another kid joy if it wasn’t just thrown out altogether by his landlord. It wasn’t like he had anyone to give his things to, after all.

Perhaps Claire had the chance to go through them and send everything to a shelter. He could wish. 

He supposed there was no use thinking about it now, though.

It was ten years too late.

“Leon?” you asked him, pulling him from his thoughts with your soft voice. “Did you hear me?”

He exhaled, sporting a sheepish expression. “Sorry, I was just thinking. Say it again?”

“I was telling you about the fuel I brought.”

“Fuel?”

“For the generator! I figured we could get it up and running. That is, if you’re okay with it. I even got extra lightbulbs in case some of them don’t work.”

Leon shook his head and chuckled, taken aback by how much thought you put into your return. “What did your ride have to say about all of this?”

“Nothing, cos I rented a car for the week. Wanted to make sure I had a way to get back into town whenever I needed. You know, in case I missed anything.”

“Missed anything?” he asked, incredulous. “By the looks of it, you brought everything but the kitchen sink.”

“One can never be too prepared!” you defended earnestly.

He fought a wide grin but ultimately lost to his amusement. “I guess that’s true.”

After you finished showing him everything you brought, the two of you got down to business. You managed to get the old generator up and working, replacing a few of the lightbulbs that had gone out. After that, Leon went back to the edge of the lake to retrieve his bounty of fish while you remained behind to put things away.

When he returned, he found you finishing your task by placing the books you bought onto the shelf next to the dining table, slotting the last one into position as he approached. The two of you stood there, eyes roaming over the different titles nearly in unison.

It was a random array of classics, modern fiction of different genres, and nonfiction that consisted of how-to guides, memoirs, historical biographies, and science books. You really seemed to choose a little of everything, and he appreciated it.  

He caught you smiling in his peripherals, turning to face you as you pulled out a novel with a black, shiny cover. You looked up at him with a teasing glint in your irises before saying, “Ever read this classic? I picked it out just for you.”

He grabbed the book from your hands and stared at the title. “Twilight? Can’t say I’ve heard of it.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head as you pulled the book back from his grasp, looking at the inside of the cover. “That’s right, you’ve been here since before this was even published.”

“That mean I was missing out?” he questioned jokingly.

You had a wicked expression on your face as you replied, “Oh, you were. It’s practically a modern Jane Austen if you can believe it. A love story of epic proportions.” You squinted at him for a second before biting your lip and adding, “You might even relate a bit to the love interest.”

“What, is he a monster, too?” 

“Vampire, so close enough.”

“What kind of vampire are we talking about here? Nosferatu? Dracula? How human does this guy look?” 

“Pretty human, I’m afraid. But he sparkles in the sun, so that’s kind of inconvenient.”

Leon scoffed. “Poor him.”

You laughed and he basked in the sound of it. “Poor him, indeed. Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll read some of it to you before bed.”

He raised a brow at that, ignoring how that made his stomach flip at the thought. “You gonna tuck me in while you’re at it? Get me a warm glass of milk?” 

You rolled your eyes as you slid the book back into its place on the shelf. “Only if you’re a good boy.”

His mouth went dry at your words, unexpectedly affected by them and unable to reply.

Seeing how he froze, you cleared your throat and rushed to change the subject, “Anyway, I wanted to ask you how bathing works here. I didn’t see a tub in the house anywhere.”

Leon shook his head to clear his thoughts before responding, “Yeah, I’ve been doing that in the lake, actually.”

“Hm, it’s a little too cold for me to do that. I guess I can live off of rag baths or something.”

“There are some in the area, like big wash basins. I can bring one in here for you, put it in the side room there. We can just dump the water out the window or something when you’re done. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold or feel gross while you’re here.”

“That would be amazing,” you said, leaning over and running your hand down his bicep. He was forced to suppress the shiver the action caused as you continued, “Thank you for being willing to go through the trouble.” 

Against his better judgment, he gripped your shoulder lightly. “It’s the least I could do after all this.” To make his point, he gestured around the house with his free hand, referring to the electric light filling the room, the stocked fridge and pantries, and the books that now lined the once-empty shelves. 

“You deserve it, Leon. I wish I could do more for you if I’m honest.” A faint pink tinged your cheeks as you looked away from him. 

He felt his heart stutter in his chest at that, wishing he could pull you into his arms but knowing that was far too forward. 

“Anyway, I’ll start making dinner if you want a taste. I know you got your fish to eat, but you might like a homemade meal after so long without one.” 

“Yeah, that sounds… nice. I’ll go get a tub for you, I guess.”

You smiled at him brightly and he begrudgingly let you go to do as he said he would, thinking about you the whole time he was out.

After about half an hour, he returned, having found and scrubbed clean a dirty metal bathtub he found in one of the village houses, along with an old rug. While you set the table, he placed the piece of fabric on the ground beside the far window in the side room and then put the tub on top of it, hoping it would serve you well.

The two of you ate dinner, and although he found it delicious, he couldn’t help but prefer his fresh meat to the meal you had cooked. 

You had noticed his avoidance of the vegetables on his plate and laughed about it, asking him if he was really that picky. He was quick to inform you that he could eat plants, but he didn’t like them or need them to live.

“Ah, a true carnivore,” you had said, nodding as if you understood. As if that were normal. 

He would probably never get you. But he wanted to, for whatever reason. 

After dinner was finished, you cleaned the dishes and pulled out that book you had mentioned earlier, looking positively maniacal as you plopped onto the loveseat by the fireplace. Leon sat on his stool, leaning back against the dining table as he awaited your performance.

He realized very quickly why you were so giddy to read it to him.

It was awful, and you seemed to find subjecting him to it hilarious.

He told you as much after you finished the first chapter and you giggled. “I’m sorry, but this book came out when I was a teenager and it had me in a chokehold at the time. It’s funny now, but you can somewhat blame this series for pushing along my obsession with the occult.”

He hadn’t given much thought to the age gap between you, but he realized suddenly that it was at least a decade. You were a grown woman and he wasn’t aging, but that didn’t stop him from questioning it a little. Just another reason he shouldn’t entertain this pull to you he seemed to have. 

However, that couldn’t stop the next few words from coming out of his mouth, the casual flirtation as natural as breathing, “So you’ve always had a thing for monsters, then? Here I thought I was special.”

“You are special,” you assured him, making heat rise to his face. “Insomuch that you’re the first and only monster I’ve come across. Besides, I don’t think Mothman would be so quick to invite me over for dinner.”

“He’s missing out, then,” Leon mused, forcing himself to calm down and not read into what you were saying. “You’re an entertaining guest.”

The two of you chatted and joked all evening, much like the last time you had visited, before you decided it was time for bed. You took turns brushing your teeth in the kitchen sink—Leon grateful that you brought him a new toothbrush and paste to use—and then you carried your duffle bag to the adjoining room to change into your pajamas. 

He grabbed some of your things to go upstairs with him, switching to sleepwear himself before unfolding your air mattress on the floor by the window.

The glass was still broken from when Ada had shot through it a decade ago, and although Leon had cleaned the shards off the ground so that he wouldn’t get them stuck in his feet, he never bothered to patch the hole. Watching you enter the room and shiver as the breeze blew in, he decided tomorrow he would cover it, just to keep you comfortable. 

You laughed when Wolfie barked at the small mechanical air pump loudly whirring as it began to fill the bed, and Leon smiled as you kneeled next to the canine and petted him to alleviate his distress. You patted the dog bed you placed beside Leon’s footboard, cooing as he curled up on it immediately.

Leon could get used to this, you being here. And that was a dangerous thought. You were only back a day—only planned to stay a week—and already he was settling into whatever new normal came with being around you.

He needed to put some distance between you expeditiously if he wanted to keep what was left of his sanity.

As you finished inflating the mattress and placing the bedding you brought for it, you turned to face him and saw the frown and furrowed brows that marred his features.

“Leon, you okay over there?” 

He shifted his gaze to you again, schooling his expression and inwardly admonishing himself for not controlling it in the first place. He supposed he was out of practice, though he was never really good at hiding his emotions, anyway.

“M’fine. Just… tired.” It was close enough to the truth. He had barely slept the night before and he knew there were bags under his eyes as you took in his face thoughtfully.

“Hope I didn’t keep you up too late,” you apologized, biting your lip and looking almost timid.

Fuck, you were cute.

Unfair.

“Course not. Even if you did, I think it was worth it,” he assuaged, running his clawed hand through his hair. “Not like I have a job to do or anything. Plus side to being a cryptid is that you don’t exactly have to follow a schedule.” 

You giggled, visibly relaxing, and shuffled under the covers of your bed. “Well, thank you for letting me stay again. I’m having a good time and I hope you are, too.”

“No problem,” he replied, thinking that perhaps he should be thanking you for the company you were providing him. He refrained. “And I am. It’s been… nice.” That was the understatement of the century, he knew, but it was all he was willing to express.

“Good,” you said before you rubbed your face into your pillow, a loud yawn echoing in the room. “Night, Leon.”

“Night.”

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed awake after that, listening to you snoring softly across the room in a way he found almost endearing, his head foggy with exhaustion and the sheer disbelief that you were here at all.

The things you did to him, you’d never know.

Then finally, he closed his eyes.

+++

You awoke slowly to the sound of someone calling your name, rubbing your eyes and sitting up on your inflatable bed.

You yawned as you peered over, Leon crouched on the floor by his footboard, running his fingers through Wolfie’s fur.

“I see you learned your lesson about how to wake me up,” you teased, voice slightly hoarse from sleep.

He shook his head, smiling. “What can I say? I’ve always been a quick study.”

You offered an upward tug of your lips before you lifted your arms above your head, stretching out until a soft squeak left your mouth against your will. 

You heard Leon chuckle beside you and you gave him a faux glare as you ripped the blankets off your legs. “What’s so funny, Mr. Kennedy?”

He stood up and only needed to take one long step to be next to your bed, towering over you, before he bent down and offered his hand. “Nothing at all, little rabbit.”

You scoffed but allowed him to easily pull you to your feet. “Is that my official nickname now?”

“‘Fraid so. It suits you a little too well.” His eyes were on you for a moment before they drifted to your still-joined hands. He ran his finger over the ring you were wearing; the one he had given you. “I thought you were joking when you said I was proposing to you,” he mused.

“I was,” you huffed indignantly. “When I pawned off the other stuff you gave me, I decided I wanted to keep this one because it looked cool. And… it reminded me of my time here.”

“And you just so happened to put it on your ring finger?”

“Don’t you get any ideas. It just fits that one best.”

He grinned down at you mischievously before releasing your hand from his grip. “If you say so.” 

“Anyway, now that we’re up…” You sidestepped him to open the bedroom door, trying not to let him see the way his teasing got you all flustered. “I’d like you to take me on a tour today. After breakfast, of course.”

He sighed with exaggerated annoyance. “If I have to.”

You nodded before bounding out of the room and down the stairs, calling back, “You do!”

You were quick to enter the side room, peeling off your pajamas and pulling out your clothes for the day. You eyed the top you had bought the morning before on a whim, considering how it flattered your form and showed a decent amount of your cleavage, but thought better of it. These little flirtations you shared with Leon likely didn’t mean anything, and you loathed to appear desperate. You’d save it for another day, you decided.

You finished changing, then dealt with your unruly hair before brushing your teeth and washing your face. 

Leon joined you shortly after in the kitchen, also donning a new outfit, though the worn fabric and the awkward way it hung off of him made you want to get his measurements just so you could spoil him with a new wardrobe. You worried about going through with it, though, afraid it would come across as rude or even creepy to ask. 

Like the top you deliberated wearing, you decided to save that conversation for another day. You had a week, after all. 

“You making anything for breakfast?” he questioned, leaning casually in the archway, his long arms crossed in front of his chest. You found it both funny how human it was and… strangely attractive.

You averted your gaze. “Just gonna eat cereal. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t expect you to be my personal chef, you know.” He pulled one of the fish he caught the day prior from where you had stacked them in the bottom of the fridge. “Plenty happy with what I got.” 

You scrunched your nose at the smell of the scaly creature as he released it from its ziplock bag. “Eat whatever you want, Leon, but you better scrub your mouth after that. Can’t have you reeking of fish while we’re out all day.”

He offered a lazy salute before taking a large bite. “Yes, ma’am.”

You grinned and prepared your own breakfast, your stomach already growling.  

After eating, and after Leon dutifully brushed his teeth and tongue with added vigor at your behest, he pulled out an old map to aid in your little adventure. You noted the handwritten scrawls across the page, naming each location in the area. You weren’t sure what building you were in, so you trailed your finger from the hunter’s lodge to where you assumed Leon’s house sat.

“We’re here, I’m guessing?” you asked him, pointing at what was titled “the chief’s manor” on the old, yellowed paper.

He nodded, seeming impressed. “Didn’t expect you to figure it out so quick.”

“Well, I use maps on my investigations, you know. A lot of places with cryptid sightings have shit service, so I can’t rely on my GPS. You eventually figure things out after getting lost in the woods a couple times.”

He chuckled at that. “So, where do you want to go?” 

You stared thoughtfully at the map for a few moments, thinking about where you’d like to start. “How about we explore the right side of the area first since we’re already here? Then we could do the left side tomorrow.”

“You’re the boss,” Leon said, shrugging.

“Damn right,” you replied with a smile.

You then got to work filling your backpack with water bottles and a sandwich for later. You even added a baggie full of lunch meat for Leon.

Once out of the door, the two of you (and Wolfie, of course) began your little journey. There was a cool breeze that swept across the path ahead, but the sun was high and warmed your skin. You even pulled out your ballcap and placed it on Leon’s head to keep the light out of his sensitive eyes, which he rolled at your demand, but didn’t protest. 

You traveled down to the abandoned factory and what the map called “the valley”. The factory didn’t hold much of your interest after a quick sweep, but the valley was like a playground to you, the area just a bunch of wooden platforms and bridges set into the surrounding cliffs with a couple of small, empty buildings.

Leon didn’t have much to say about any of it, grumbling about how the area was one he usually avoided, but you caught him smiling softly at your excitement. You were glad for it because you knew most people found your unbridled joy more annoying than endearing.

After that, you circled back, passing Leon’s house and heading to the village in order to reach the church.

As you were perusing the gravestones in the front, enamored by just how old some of them were, you spoke to Leon about something that had been on your mind, “So, the day we met, you told me that I reminded you of someone. Can I ask who?”

He let out a puff of laughter at your nosiness. “Her name's Claire. We survived Raccoon City together.”

“She become an agent, like you? Or was she the person you were protecting when you were forced to join?”

“Neither. She took off pretty much as soon as she could to find her brother. The person I was protecting was this girl named Sherry. She had antibodies against one of the viruses in the city, and they were threatening to experiment on her if I didn’t do their bidding,” he explained, his expression hardening at the memory.

“Jesus,” you muttered. “Your friend ever find her brother?”

“Yeah, at least that side of things worked out.” 

“So… what happened after? Y’know, before you came to the village,” you questioned.

“I’m not sure what you mean. I worked as an agent for six years. Then this. Not much else to say about it.”

You bit your lip, deliberating how to go about asking him what you wanted to know, deciding to be straightforward instead of coy. You had never been good at subtlety, anyway. “I meant you and Claire. Were you guys a thing?” 

“Ah.” He chuckled lightly. “No, we weren’t. She’s great, don’t get me wrong, but we were just friends. Kept in touch until, well… you know.”

“Right.” You found yourself to be strangely relieved that there was nothing between them, but you admonished yourself for even caring. You were only here for a week, after all. No use getting attached, especially after only a couple of days.

He was thoughtful for a moment before he added, “I wonder about them all the time. How they’re doing. A lot can happen in ten years.”

“I don’t know about your friends, but I can at least update you on Ashley, if you’d like?” you offered. 

“Is she okay?” he questioned, going stiff. He seemed to always expect the worst and that broke your heart a little.

“Yes, she’s perfectly fine,” you assured him, glad to see him visibly relax at your words. “In fact, she’s more than fine.”

He tilted his head, “That so?”

“She’s a member of Congress now. Kind of following in her dad’s footsteps, I guess. She’s pretty popular among the younger crowd, always fighting for the underdog. They started calling her a saint after she founded an organization to help people who’ve gone through kidnapping, hostage situations, and things like that. A real inspiration.” 

Leon smiled wistfully. “I’m happy to hear that. I always knew she had it in her, to be her own hero.”

“You know, she’s made several public statements about what happened here. Obviously, there were parts heavily doctored, but still.” You paused a moment, playing with the hem of your shirt. “She talked a lot about you, too. How you saved her. Like you were a modern-day Hercules or something.”

He scoffed, seeming almost diffident. “I was just doing my job. And she saved both herself and me plenty of times. She should give herself more credit.”

“So humble,” you teased, snaking your arm through his, having to strain your neck just to look up at him. “You really are a catch.”   

He rolled his eyes and pulled away from you, “And you think you’re funny.”

“I am funny,” you corrected with a grin, trying not to feel hurt by the way he distanced himself.

He shook his head. “Well, c’mon then, miss comedian. Let’s get a move on.”

The two of you continued your expedition, walking into the nearby church. You raved over the large building and its architecture, awed by the massive stained glass window that painted you, Leon, and Wolfie in a kaleidoscope of light.

Even in this form, you couldn’t deny that Leon looked pretty washed in the rainbow hues. You raked your eyes over him before meeting his gaze and you froze, worried you had been caught ogling him. He turned his head quickly, though, and seemed almost embarrassed. As if he were the one that was caught. 

You realized that he had been staring at you, too, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the thought.   

You moved on to the quarry, finding a massive skeleton that made your jaw drop to the ground. Leon explained that it was called El Gigante, a troll-like monster that he had slain himself. He laughed as he patted Wolfie’s head, adding that the dog had aided in the fight, not to give himself too much credit. 

After getting your fill of the fascinating creature, you eventually pushed forward, reaching the edge of the lake and deciding to sit on the dock together to eat your lunch. You pried your shoes off, dipping your sweaty feet into the water, cringing at how cold it felt against your skin. 

You chatted idly as you ate, Leon feeding pieces of the deli meat you brought to Wolfie as he devoured his own. You smiled at the sight before gazing back out at the lapping waves, the rhythmic sounds of them hitting the dock almost mesmerizing.

“You should take me on the lake at some point,” you mused, pulling your legs up so that your feet could dry out.

“Sure, that can be arranged. It’s nice out on the water. Peaceful.” He pulled your ball cap further over his forehead. “I like to go fishing a lot these days, just so I can sit out there and shut everything out.”

“I’m not one for fishing,” you admitted, knocking your shoulder gently into his. “But the rest sounds great.”

“It’s a date, then.” You both froze at his phrasing and he was quick to amend, “That was a joke.”

You were disappointed to hear him take it back but smiled up at him regardless. “Joke or not, that sounds good to me.” 

You lazed about for a while after that in silence before you pulled your socks and shoes back on, mentioning the fish farm to Leon. He told you about how it was infested with algae and vipers and smelled terrible. You made a face, not exactly keen on wading through stinky snake water, opting to call it a day and head back for his house.

You had just reached the wooded path heading for Leon’s abode when both he and Wolfie stopped dead in their tracks. Not noticing their halted movement, you took a step forward and Leon threw his arm in front of you, barring you from walking any further.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned in a hushed tone, seeing Leon’s severe expression and Wolfie’s raised hackles. 

“Bear,” was all he offered.

You were about to say something when a loud rustle was heard from the tree line just ahead of you. You swallowed as a giant bear sauntered onto the path, uncomfortably close to where you stood.

Looking at the massive creature, it was suddenly apparent what Leon meant when he said you’d been lucky up to this point, never facing a predator beyond a fox or large bird in your investigations. You didn’t realize just how big they were in person. 

Instead of moseying on like you had hoped, it began to walk toward your group. Panic set in when Wolfie growled and snapped his jaw, the bear seeming to take offense, huffing irritably and edging even closer.

“Down, boy,” Leon commanded the dog, who immediately backed away. Leon stepped in front of you slowly, whispering, “Don’t move.”

You nodded at him and he gave one in return before facing the dangerous animal again. He stood to his full height and splayed out his appendages, hoping they would deter it from further approaching. But the damn thing didn’t back off, letting out a roar and lifting itself up on its hind legs, somehow even taller than Leon.

You had heard male brown bears could grow up to eight feet in height and weigh half a ton, though you had never thought about what that meant in real life. It was terrifying. 

Suddenly, you felt something touch your waist. You let out a small gasp as you looked down, finding that Leon’s tail was coiling around you. It tightened and yanked you towards him, and you tried to avoid the sharp barbed end of it as it slid across your middle.  

His tail was forgotten, though, when Leon raised his claws, bared his fangs, and growled. The sound was deep and loud and so inhuman it sent a bolt of fear through your whole body. A fear that even the gargantuan bear before you, ready to maul you to death, didn’t elicit.

The noise had apparently even rattled the predator itself, which took a few steps back and dropped forward onto its front legs once more. Leon growled again, this one quieter and more guttural, but no less frightening.

The bear just huffed before trotting off into the forest.

Leon exhaled in relief, relaxing his position. “We’re good to go if we hurry,” he said without looking at you. 

“Um, Leon? Can’t exactly hurry when I’m trapped like this.”

He turned his head sharply, his red eyes widening when he noticed his tail had completely encircled your torso, squeezing you tightly as the tip flicked precariously close to your face.

“Fuck,” he said, slowly and carefully unfurling the appendage from your body. “I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t even realize I did that. Are you okay? I didn’t catch you with the barb, did I?” 

You let out a breath as soon as you were free. “I’m fine, it didn’t get me.” 

“Good, cos there’s venom in it. Depending on where it stings you and how deep, it might paralyze you for a while.” 

You stared up at him with a horrified expression. “Seriously? How long is ‘a while’?”

“I normally use it when I’m hunting bigger prey, like deer, so I don’t exactly sit around and wait for it to wear off before going for the kill. But I have used it on predators in self-defense, and they were up and at ‘em in about an hour.”

“Have you ever stung yourself by accident?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t work on me. Immune to it, I guess. Still hurt like a bitch, though.”

You eyed his tail warily. “And you really didn’t know you grabbed me with it?”

“I didn’t,” he said, sighing glumly. “Guess it was just… instinctual.”

“Well… thank you. For protecting me, I mean.” You couldn’t deny that the whole ordeal scared you, but you were still grateful. And Leon was still Leon, as far as you could glean.

“Of course, it’s my—” he cut himself off and let out a soft chuckle. “I almost said ‘it’s my job’. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“I suppose if I’ve roped you into showing me around the place, it kind of is your job,” you joked.

He smiled and you finally relaxed, the warmth of it—even despite his sharp teeth—was enough to make you feel safe again.

He cleared his throat awkwardly before looking at the tree line where the bear had disappeared, his tone serious as he said, “We should really head home in case he comes back.”

“Right, of course,” you replied, reaching out to hold onto his arm once more. You were pleased when he allowed it, guiding you to the safety of his house, Wolfie happily trailing behind.

You might have been frightened, but you couldn’t deny the exhilaration that coursed through your veins.

You wondered what the rest of the week would have in store.

+++

Leon awoke much the same way as he had the day before: to the sound of your deep breaths and even heartbeats caressing his ears from across the room.

He didn’t stir, only stared up at the ceiling of his canopy bed, thinking about yesterday’s events. 

It started out as a good day, which he realized he came to expect in your company, but he knew something shifted after the bear incident. 

You spoke to him as if nothing changed, but the way you looked at him—or more accurately, the way you refused to look at him—was distinctly off. He figured you were just rattled by the whole thing, but he had shown you a side to him he hoped he would never have to. The part that was truly monstrous.

And the way he had wrapped his tail around you? How it seemed to move of its own accord? The cursed thing often flicked about without him directly using it, but he believed he generally had full control of the appendage. Apparently not.

That realization alone was enough to concern him, but the fact it involved you mortified him beyond belief. He was shocked you didn’t decide to pack up and leave the moment the two of you returned to the house.

Instead, you made dinner like the night before, and while you cooked, Leon had duct-taped an old towel over the hole in the upstairs window to have something to do and to give you space. 

You had then called him down for the meal, Leon choosing to eat all of what you cooked despite his preference for fresh meat and little else, in part hoping it would come across as some sort of olive branch. You seemed surprised by it but didn’t make a comment like you might normally.

He also caught you staring at his tail, and he had his guesses of what you might be thinking.

He assured you what happened earlier wouldn’t happen again, and you told him it was no big deal and that you weren’t worried. He didn’t believe you, though he had no choice but to let it go and pretend the fact he scared you didn’t make his stomach twist in knots. 

After clearing the table, you mentioned wanting to take a bath, and Leon was quick to start the process of boiling the water for you, telling you to relax and read a book. As a compromise, you began reading aloud more of that ridiculous vampire romance novel you bought for him as a joke. Although the story wasn’t exactly his cup of tea, he was happy to hear your little performance just for him, entertained by the voices you gave each of the characters.

You had just ended a chapter—number four or five, he couldn’t recall—when he finished filling the tub with hot water. You obviously had to wait a few minutes for it to cool down enough to get into, but once you were ready, you ducked into the side room.

Leon, still wanting to talk to you and not knowing what else to do, sat against the wall on the opposite side, Wolfie curling up in his lap as you chatted back and forth. 

He could hear the quiet splashing as you moved and cleaned yourself out of his sight, and started to imagine what you looked like under your clothes. How your soaked hair dripped water onto your shoulders and ran in rivulets down your body; how your wet skin would feel under his hands.

He physically recoiled from his wandering thoughts, smacking the back of his head against the wall and letting out a hiss of pain.

“You okay over there?” you questioned, voice light and teasing, though still concerned for his well-being. 

God, you were too good for him. 

“M’fine,” he grumbled in reply, dropping his face into his hands, urging himself to get a grip.

Eventually, you emerged from the room in your pajamas, wringing your hair out with a towel. As you strolled past him to brush your teeth in the kitchen, he was struck by the aroma of the soap you used.

Lavender and vanilla.

The smell was enough to make his mouth water, trailing after you as if possessed. He loomed over you, wanting nothing more than to bury his face into the crook of your neck and inhale.

You turned to face him quizically after rinsing your mouth, and he took a sharp breath to pull himself out of whatever trance he was in, removing himself from your personal space.

What the hell was wrong with him? 

In all the years it took to get used to what he became, he had never been compelled by anything except hunger. He hated that fact, and it troubled him, but whatever this was? It felt far more dangerous.

At least the hunger was predictable.

The two of you had gone to bed without further incident, but he had tossed and turned for hours after, unable to banish the thoughts of you swirling in his head, especially with your sleeping body mere feet away.

To hear you, to smell you, to practically feel the heat emanating from your skin across the room… it felt like torture. Would he be able to survive several more days of this?

He finally sat up in bed the following morning, feeling restless despite not getting much sleep. He called out your name as he grazed his eyes over you.

You were laying on your side, facing away from him, a mess of hair the only thing he could make out from the pile of blankets you were wrapped up in. 

He called your name again, a bit louder, and you finally stirred, rolling over to look at him with bleary eyes.

“Morning, Leon,” you sighed out, rubbing the sleep from your lashes.

“Mornin’,” was his gruff reply, dragging his fingers through his hair. “You still determined to go exploring today? Even after what happened with the bear?” 

You grinned lazily, turning to face him and propping yourself up on your elbow. “Of course I am. You think a lil run-in with the local wildlife will deter me? Clearly, you haven’t been paying attention.” 

He could argue he’d been paying too much attention, but he’d never say it aloud.

You continued, “Besides, I have a big, strong man to protect me.”

He scoffed, shifting his face away from you so you couldn’t see the blush spreading there. “Oh, yeah? Who’s that?” 

You rolled your eyes before slowly dragging yourself out of bed and sauntering over to him, crossing your arms. “You, silly. Now hurry up and get dressed. We got a big day ahead of us.” 

Before he could protest, you were out the door.

He blew air through his teeth and shook his head, begrudgingly getting to his feet. He looked down at Wolfie, who wagged his tail but didn’t move to leave his cushy dog bed. “Women, am I right?”

He quickly got dressed, cursing the fact he didn’t own a single thing that fit him. He wasn’t sure why he cared, as if a change of clothes would make you interested in a monster.

Your flirtations admittedly affected him, but he wasn’t going to kid himself into thinking you’d ever be attracted to him like this. And for your safety, it would be better if you weren’t. You were strange, sure, but you were still human. Human and fragile, he had to be reminded.

Pulling himself together, determined to keep his distance and stop flirting with you, he made his way down the stairs to face you once more.

As he turned the corner, however, the sight that greeted him made him stop in his tracks.

You had just finished changing, walking out of the side room when you saw him and smiled, doing a little twirl with the outfit you were wearing. “You like it? I bought this shirt just the other day.”

He couldn’t prevent the way his eyes raked over your form, taking in the fashionable boots, tight jeans, and puffy-sleeved baby doll top that sat low and tight across your chest. You had even done your makeup and styled your hair in a high ponytail, front pieces of it dangling to frame your face.

It hadn’t even been five minutes and you were already testing his resolve.

Unfair. 

“Well?” you prodded when he only stood in silence.

He cleared his throat and nodded, trying to act cool. “You look… nice. Not sure how comfortable it’ll be to hike around in all day, but you do you.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing past him and into the kitchen. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

The rest of the morning was spent eating breakfast and setting up for the next trip, though there was a heavy tension Leon was suddenly aware of. It had always been there between the two of you, but it had been a slow, simmering thing. Something manageable.

Now, though? It felt like the pot might overboil.

He had to stop himself from staring at you multiple times, trying desperately to be the gentleman his mother raised him to be. He didn’t want you to think he was a pervert on top of being a literal monster. He had to have some principles to hold on to, after all.  

It’s not like you knew how deeply you were affecting him, anyway. And if he could help it, you never would.

The day’s journey was a bit strenuous, having a lot more ground to cover than the one prior. He decided it was best that Wolfie remain behind, the dog cozied up on his little bed as you were leaving.

Once you exited the house, Leon kept his eyes peeled for that bear again, or any other potential danger, not wanting a repeat of yesterday’s events. Still, he couldn’t help but smile softly at the way you approached every new area with such awe and excitement. It was strange to see someone find such joy in a location he’d deemed his own personal hell. It almost made him appreciate the place, to see it through your eyes. 

Almost.

The two of you visited the farm and the lakeside settlement, returning to the gate of the villa to eat your lunch at the table inside. 

After you finished your meal, you bit your lip the way you always did when you were deep in thought. The action drove him a little crazy, but he ignored it.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“Do you think we’ll have time to explore the castle today?”

He sat back in his seat to consider it, glancing out the nearby window. “Well, we’re making good time. Still got a few hours of daylight. If you don’t dawdle too much on the way there, we probably could.” 

You beamed at him, an excited squeal leaving your mouth. “Fuck yeah! I’ve never been to real a castle before!”

He couldn’t deny the self-satisfaction he felt at the idea of providing you with so many new experiences. If there was anything he was sure of, it was that you’d never forget your time here, and that would be a good enough turnout for him.

He smiled in return. “Well, let’s get to changing that.”

Leon had been through the area many times over the years, clearing the paths that had been obstructed when he was chased around it a decade ago. It was still a difficult trek, especially for a human, and the two of you had to stop occasionally so that you could catch your breath and drink some water. 

He didn’t mind it one bit, finding himself observing the sun glinting off your sweat-slick skin. Your makeup was holding up surprisingly well, though the loose strands of hair you had pulled from your ponytail were beginning to stick slightly to your face. His eyes drifted to your chest, watching it rise and fall with your every breath.

“Okay, we’re good to keep going,” you told him, thankfully unaware of his gaze, which he quickly turned forward.

Eventually, you made it to the rickety old bridge that led to the burnt-down slaughterhouse. Leon had repaired it as best he could in the early days of his transformation, wanting an easy way to get around the area. He found he could jump over the ravine with his new superhuman abilities, but it was still a precarious leap.

He went to stroll across the wooden planks, held together by rope, when he noticed you hadn’t moved to follow.

He raised a confused brow at you. “Well, c’mon.”

You swallowed as you approached the bridge, nervously stepping onto it. Your knees buckled when you looked down and saw how high up you were. He easily caught you, and you held on tightly to his arm for balance. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mused. “Little miss thrillseeker is scared of heights?”

“Not… usually. More scared of how rickety this thing is than anything,” you grumbled. 

Your grip on him was bruising, but he didn’t mind. “We crossed another one just earlier and you seemed fine.”

“Well, this one isn’t nearly as sturdy, is it?” you snapped, letting out a shaky exhale as you tried to take another step.

He looked thoughtfully at you for a moment, deciding to take a risk by sweeping you off your feet and holding you up in his arms.

“Leon!” you yelped, wrapping your hands around his neck fearfully. “What the hell?!”

He chuckled lightly as you peeked over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, bunny, I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

You pivoted to face him with wide eyes, your face reddening. “Aren’t I too heavy for this?” you questioned nervously.

He scoffed. “I could pick up a car, easy. This is nothing.” 

“I more so meant the bridge. Wouldn’t want to break it with both our weights combined, right?”

He shook his head. “Do you trust me?”

You stared at him for a few moments but eventually nodded timidly. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then trust,” he began, taking a step forward, “that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“Okay,” you squeaked, holding onto him tighter. You buried your face into the crook of his neck so you wouldn’t have to see the way the creaking bridge swayed with every movement.

He carefully worked his way across without concern, enjoying the feeling of you in his arms. You were delightfully warm as you pressed against him, and the feeling of your breath sweeping over his throat forced him to suppress a shiver.

Regretfully, he made it to the other side, setting you down on solid ground once more. “See? Not so bad.”

You seemed flustered, likely because of your nerves concerning the old bridge, taking a moment to adjust your clothes and hair that were rumpled slightly by the ordeal. “I guess not.”

The two of you began the brief hike to the castle after that, Leon feeling the absence of your body heat so intensely, it was worrying. Whatever this was between you, it was getting out of hand, and Leon was apparently unable to keep his distance.

He had never been particularly good at saying what he wanted, but that never stopped him from seeking it out as if he were a damn homing missile. His interactions with Ada in the past were proof of that. He would have followed her anywhere if he were able. If she had let him.

He banished thoughts of her from his mind, an easier task after a decade of doing it over and over again. His thoughts of you, however, were a different beast altogether. 

He figured, though—he hoped—that once you left, he’d learn to push away his feelings for you, too. At least he had practice.

He was pulled from his introspection when he heard you practically scream in excitement as you came around the bend in the path, the massive, sprawling castle revealed to you.

“Oh my god! Just look at it! It’s huge! And the structure? Friggin’ impressive!” you gushed as the two of you approached the gate.

He grinned down at you and could almost see the stars in your eyes. “Wait 'til you see the inside.”

Your joy was nearly infectious as you explored the area, dragging him around from place to place and only letting him lead when you needed directions. He didn’t mind it, happy to trail after you as you oohed and aahed at damn near everything you saw.

He watched as you admired the flowers in the courtyard, the blooms unruly due to years of neglect, not yet killed by the autumn chill. Once you had turned your back on the bed of red carnations, he couldn’t fight the urge to pluck one from the dirt.

He strolled up behind you as you cooed over the bluebells, offering it to you when you faced him again. “For you.”

You looked surprised at first, but your expression melted into a sweet smile. “Thank you, Leon.”

Before you could reach out to take it, he bent forward and gently tucked it behind your ear, standing upright to get a full view. “Suits you.” 

You seemed almost bashful for a moment, looking away. Trying to fluster you was rapidly becoming his favorite pastime.

Quickly as it had come, your almost shy demeanor disappeared, a twinkle forming in your eye as you plucked a stem of the bluebells and stuck it into Leon’s back pocket. “There, now we’re even.”

He chuckled at the action, finding your reciprocity charming, and the two of continued your journey onward.

You eventually entered the grand hall, and when you finished appreciating the opulence of the marble walls alone, you began to take in the decor.

“You said you like the artwork in the castle, right?” you questioned, pointing at a large landscape painting in front of you.

Leon nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind putting most of these up at my place.”

“Well… no one’s stopping you,” you goaded, grinning at him slyly. “I think this one would look perfect in the dining room, don’t you agree?”

He laughed, running his hand over the back of his neck as he considered it. “I don’t know, it’d be a hassle to bring them all the way to the house.”

“Sure,” you admitted, crossing your arms. “But don’t you think it’d be worth it to spruce up the place? Make it a bit more… homey? Besides, we could just take them out of the frames and roll them up. Make our own. It could be a fun little DIY project, and it’s not like you aren’t swimming in lumber.”

“Fine, I’m convinced.” He sighed, admitting you had a point. “You’d make a decent car salesman, you know that?”

You scrunched your nose at the thought, helping Leon remove the heavy frame from the wall, although he didn’t need it. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” 

Leon smirked, allowing you to gently pull out the canvas, rolling it up. “Just an observation.”

You clicked your tongue in faux offense, continuing the task at hand. 

The two of you collected six different paintings, which Leon was now stuck with holding for the rest of the trip. It was a nuisance, but at least having something in his grip prevented him from acting on his impulse to reach out and touch you. 

Finally, you came across the library, and he knew you could spend an eternity going through the seemingly endless amount of books that lined the shelves as soon as you entered. You were about to make yourself comfortable and start reading to your heart’s content, but Leon had to remind you of your limited time. 

“But this place is a gold mine!” you told him with a pout, the expression so damn cute, it tested his already crumbling resolve. 

“Look, there’re still places to visit, and you have a few more days. We can always come back if you want,” he proposed.

You sighed exaggeratedly but gave in as he thought you would. “Fine, but you can’t stop me from taking some of these,” you informed him, shoving several books into your bag.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Afterward, he led you into the ballroom, and the way you gazed around in amazement at the sheer size of it made him chuckle. 

“Imagine the parties in this place…” you mused. You dropped your backpack on the ground suddenly, marching to the center of the floor. “You know how to waltz, Leon?”

“Can’t say I do, unless you count slow-dancing at prom. Even then, I’m probably a little rusty.”

“Well, set down those paintings and get over here, mister. I’m gonna teach you how to dance like a prince,” you demanded earnestly.

“Seriously?”

“Please..?” You gave him your best puppy dog eyes, and despite his reluctance, he found it difficult to say no to you.

He gave out a long-suffering sigh, placing the paintings against the wall and meeting you where you stood. “If I step on your toes, you only have yourself to blame, bunny.”

You smiled up at him. “A risk I’m willing to take.”

Slowly and carefully, you put his hands into their proper positions; one in your own and the other resting against your waist. You coached him on how to move, and he followed your lead at first, stiff and awkward in his motions. Within a few minutes, though, he quickly picked up the rhythm and you allowed him to take charge, giggling as he spun you around the room.

“You’re a natural,” you complimented, rubbing your thumb against his shoulder where your hand was placed. He found himself doing the same to your side and was enthralled with the shiver that ran through your body, proof that maybe he had even the slightest effect on you.

“What can I say—” he started.

“You’re a quick study?” you teased, echoing his earlier words.

“No, actually,” he corrected, pulling you a little closer. “I was going to say, ‘I have a great teacher’.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure you were.”

After a few more blissful minutes, Leon begrudgingly slowed to a halt and released you from his grasp. “Well, we better get a move on. It’s our last stop for today.”

You went to grab your backpack but he prevented you, telling you to leave it as you’d be coming back through, anyway. You nodded, following him to the final destination.

You laughed with pure glee when he brought you into the throne room, immediately bounding towards the massive, gilded seat. You took your time studying it, running your fingers over the intricate carvings along the sides before pressing down on the red cushion to test its comfiness.

“Well, go on. Sit,” he encouraged, crossing his arms over his chest.

You beamed at him before putting your attention back on the chair, turning and gracefully perching on top of it.

“Look at you, practically made to be royalty,” Leon told you as he approached.

He was joking, but there was truth in it. Seeing you sit on the ornate piece of furniture with one leg crossed over the other and your arms draped upon the sides of it was truly a sight to behold. He didn’t know you could appear so regal, even if it was for pretend. 

“Made for it?” You hummed thoughtfully before saying, “Perhaps I just inherited the throne, the only remaining family of the recently deceased king.”

“Mm, and what would that make me, your Highness?” he questioned, tilting his head. He stood before you now, and he would’ve been remiss not to notice the playful gleam in your eye as you raked your gaze over him. 

“You can be my loyal knight,” you told him, nodding your head. “There are those that transpire against me in this very court, sir. I would need someone diligent and strong to watch for my usurpers, after all.” 

“A knight, huh?” Leon mused, coming up beside you and tracing a clawed finger along the back of the chair. “Not the fierce dragon holding the fair maiden hostage while she waits for someone brave or stupid enough to come looking for her?” He kneeled beside you, then, resting his elbows on the arm of the throne, his chin pressed on top of his folded hands. “No one’s managed to get past me yet. Sorry to tell you, princess.”

You shifted in the chair to face him, fingers splayed out on either side of his arms. “Even better… we could be Beauty and the Beast. A lonesome prince cursed to a monstrous form until he finds true love. And, of course, I’m only here to trade my life for my father’s, who had been terribly rude to sneak into your home unannounced. He’s a bit of an eccentric, you must know, but he’s a good man. And I’m eventually charmed by your uncouth mannerisms and prickly personality.” 

“Uncouth and prickly? Ouch,” Leon chuckled. “Well, how does it end, then? Does true love turn me back into a human? That would be nice.”

“If we’re following the original tale, sure. But I have it on high authority that Beauty might have been more disappointed by the transformation than relieved.”

Leon raised his brows at that. “Disappointed the Beast turned back into a prince?” 

“I’m sure she didn’t complain, of course. He was handsome, after all, and still the man she fell in love with, but… Beauty loved the Beast in part due to his monstrous form, not in spite of it.”

“Beauty sounds like a freak,” Leon quipped, though your words made something of a home inside of his chest, curled up and warm. “I bet you think The Little Mermaid should have kept her tail, don’t you?” 

You bit your lip as you mulled it over, and he struggled not to stare at how the soft flesh gave under the pressure of your teeth, his eyes jumping back to meet yours almost guiltily as you finally replied, “Although I think the story would have been infinitely more interesting if she had, there’s something to be said about sacrifice in the name of love. It was a little unfair, though.”

“Unfair?”

“Well, why did she have to sacrifice everything for the prince? She gave up who she was on a fundamental level just to be with him. And what did he give up? He was still a prince. He was still handsome and rich. And then he got a beautiful girl so desperate to be with him, she’d trade her family, her friends, parts of her own body, her voice—just to get a chance with him. Feels a little unbalanced, doesn’t it?”

You were closer now, and he realized you both had shifted toward each other, like gravity itself had a hand in it. His tongue ran along the back of his teeth as he studied you and that smile dimpling your cheeks. 

If it were gravity, you must have been the sun, then.

“I guess I never thought of it that way,” he responded. “What other wise inferences do you have for me, princess?”

You giggled and the sound might be imprinted in his brain forever. “Oh, so many, it’ll make your head spin.” 

“Guess I have a lot to learn,” he replied, grinning. 

“Definitely, but I think the biggest lesson here is that it's all a matter of… perspective.” 

“I can’t believe anyone would want to overthrow you with smarts like that, your Highness. Sounds like you’d be a great ruler.”

“And that’s precisely why they seek to steal my crown, dear sir. An intelligent woman is a dangerous one,” there was a teasing lilt in your voice that made him suck in a harsh breath, your expression so open and light juxtaposed with the intensity of your eyes trained solely on him. 

A silence stretched on between you as you simply stared at each other, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest—could hear your own do the same, though he wouldn’t dare hope it meant what he wanted it to.

You made him feel human.

But then he saw his own reflection in your eyes, and the sight of his sharp teeth was the reminder he needed that he wasn’t human, and he never would be again.

He supposed his curse couldn’t be broken.

And so he pulled away.

“We should get back to the house. It’s a long walk,” he told you, looking at the floor instead of you, afraid he might do something rash if he met your gaze for a moment longer. 

You let out a shaky breath, blinking as if you were pulled from a daze, and stood. “Yeah, right. Of course.”

You grabbed your pack from the floor in the ballroom and he took the rolls of paintings leaning against the wall, the two of you rushing to leave the old castle behind. 

And, with the awkward quiet that settled between you as you journeyed back to his home, both of you unable to meet the other’s eye…

It was a long walk, indeed.

--------------------

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[acourtofthought]

I'm saw a Reddit post where the person ships E/riel but does not ship Gwynriel because Gwyn deserves to be someone's first pick and it would cheapen things if Az fell in love with her while getting over Elain.

Someone is entitled to feel that way, of course. But I can't help wondering how someone who posts this as their reasoning can't see how they're shooting themselves in the foot when it comes to their own ship:

Indeed, a glance over her shoulder revealed Azriel staring blatantly at the back view of it, Cassian and the stranger already too deep in conversation to notice what had drawn the spymaster’s attention. For a moment, the ravenous hunger on Azriel’s face made my stomach tighten.

But Azriel … Cassian tries, I try—but I think the only person who ever gets him to admit to any sort of feeling is Mor.

He knew she and Azriel were . . . whatever they were. Knew Azriel had been in love with Mor from the moment she’d strutted into the Illyrian war-camp fve centuries ago.

If the warrior ever stopped quietly loving Mor. I doubted it. Azriel would likely love Mor until he was a whisper of darkness between the stars.

“The issue, actually, wouldn’t be me. It’d be him. I could peel off my clothes right in front of him and he wouldn’t move an inch. He might have defied and proved those Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it won’t matter if Rhys makes him Prince of Velaris—he’ll see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone. Especially me.”

Azriel’s head lifted from where he was sprawled in his own blood, eyes full of rage and pain as he snarled at the king, “Don’t you touch her.”

Azriel hissed—but covered her bloody fingers with his own.

“Azriel,” Rhys said, “has been preoccupied with the same female for the past five hundred years.” “Wouldn’t the mating bond have snapped into place for them if it exists?” Rhys’s eyes shuttered. “I think that is a question Azriel has been asking himself every day since he met Mor.”

“Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.” One moment, Azriel was seated. The next, he’d blasted through Eris’s shield with a flare of blue light and tackled him backward, wood shattering beneath them.

Mor opened her mouth, but Azriel laid a scarred hand atop hers. She snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned—burned as he had been.

Azriel stared at the floor, stone-faced. “Sorry.” The word was emotionless—distant. He had not spoken, had barely moved, since his savage attack.

“The violence as a result of what he feels, lingering guilt over the deal with Eris—and what neither of them will face.”

“But—but he loves her. How can he sit idly by?” “He thinks she’s happier without him.” His eyes shone with the memory—of his own choice to sit back. “He thinks he’s unworthy of her.”

I made the mistake of asking if he’d spoken to Mor since he’d left last night. No, he had not. And that was that. Even if he kept flexing his scarred hand at his side. As if recalling the sensation of the hand she’d whipped free of his touch during that meeting. Over and over. I didn’t dare tell him that he’d made the right call—that perhaps he should talk to Mor, rather than let the guilt eat at him. The two of them had enough between them without me shoving myself into it.

That coldness, that aloofness that had been there in the wake of Mor’s anger and rejection … It’d warmed. Either from Mor choosing to sit next to him at dinner last night—a silent offer of forgiveness—or simply needing time to recover from it.

I choked. Azriel did, too, whirling on Cassian as he did. Cassian only winked at him as the barely there red negligee swayed between Mor’s hands. Before Azriel could undoubtedly ask what we were all thinking, Mor hummed to herself and said, “Don’t let him fool you: he couldn’t think of a damn thing to get me, so he gave up and asked me outright. I gave him precise orders.

I had to look away to keep from laughing. Az, to his credit, gave Mor a smile of thanks, a blush creeping over his cheeks, his hazel eyes fixed on her. I looked away at the heat, the yearning that filled them.

She knew Azriel would say no, would want her safe. As he had always done.

Az would have been pissed, and withdrawn even further into himself. She hadn’t wanted to take his joy away from him. Any more than she already did.

Nesta said to Feyre, “Did you tell Elain?” Before Feyre could reply, Azriel said, “What about Mor?”

The High Lord of Day considered Cassian and Azriel, then frowned. “Where’s my beautiful Mor?” Az said tightly, “Away.”

These scenes are ACOMAF all the way through ACOSF.

I'm going to just say it but E/riel being one anothers first choice and currently being in love with each other are some of the worst takes in this fandom.

Claiming that he shouldn't end up with Gwyn because she's not his first choice while declaring that Elain is.....

How can someone so blatantly disregard EVERYTHING that has been said about Mor and Az? How is not extremely obvious that Az became fixated on Elain because he couldn't have the one he wanted? Elain was NEVER his first choice, she still isn't. Wondering why the female he's known for a little over a year isn't his mate because his brothers are with his sisters is NOTHING compared to his wondering why the female he loved for 500 years wasn't his mate. For the simple fact that he loved her from the moment he saw her (and not because of who she's related to and what his brothers have).

It doesn't matter what E/riel moments exist in those same books. How many "cute" one liners people like to use for them. Every single moment is overshadowed by the intensity of what he felt for Mor. Even though he was about to be physically intimate with Elain, something not special to Elain considering Rhys tells us both Az and Mor had taken lovers over the years (proof that sex does not equal love), he was unable to convince his brother that he no longer had feelings for Mor moments later.

E/riels love to insult Gwynriel moments. "He doesn't even consider her a friend!" "Worst possible bond ever!" "He didn't care she was in the Rite!" (not true but it's one they love to use).

The reason Gwynriels aren't bothered is because they'd rather read about Az admitting that he's moved on from Mor before developing anything physical or emotional with someone else.

They don't want to read about Az falling for Gwyn while simultaneously loving and pining for Mor.

And no, maybe Gwyn won't have been Azriel's first choice but since when is that a bad thing?

Tamlin was Feyre's first choice but he wasn't the BEST choice. And she did not develop feelings for Rhys until she admitted to herself that she was no longer in love with Tamlin.

In the end it's not first or second choice that matters, it's the right choice. But the right choice won't happen until Az can admit to himself and his brothers that it's time to let go of Mor. Az might not be in love with Gwyn but I'd much rather wait until he's not thinking about another female on the regular. Where his thought upon wondering who knew about Feyre's pregnancy was not "What about Mor?" though we still hadn't gotten an answer as to whether Elain knew. I'd much rather wait until he has no problem confessing to every single member of his family that he will no longer "love Mor until he was a whisper of darkness between the stars" before they have their first intimate moment together.

It's funny that anyone would talk about Gwynriel ending up together as cheapening the romance because Az would need to "get over Elain" considering what E/riel "share" is 0.002% of the centuries old love he had for Mor. E/riel is completely cheapened by the fact that he looked at Mor with yearning after the apparent proof of his love for Elain when he went into Hyberns camp to get her and let her borrow Truth-Teller. Seriously, what kind of romance story is that?!

The concern should not be wanting Gwyn to be Az's second choice to Elain but wanting Gwyn to be the right choice for Az once he deals with everything he felt for Mor. Starting to move on is not the same thing as fully letting go. And falling in love with someone else too quickly while trying to let go of another is never going to end well. Not that E/riel is in love but they're attempting to convince themselves that maybe their attraction will be enough to make them forget about the real problems they have without ever actually facing their problems.

It was always a plan destined to fail and I'm pretty sure the moment Elain returned that necklace was proof of that, especially when you consider there's been no mention of E/riel since.

Elain has only ever been a distraction for Az and Az has only been a distraction for Elain. The only real hurdle for Gwynriel is Az finding a way to let go of Mor once and for all.

[theurgic-necromancer]

Rest has not come easily to you for years now, and this night proves to be no different. Whether it's your persistent insomnia or something else that causes you to break your restless trance, you may never know.

All you do know is that you open your eyes to find Astarion leaning over you, fangs glinting in the dying light of the campfire. His red eyes widen as he realizes you're awake, and he quickly sits back, uttering a quiet "shit" under his breath.

You bolt upright, a grin crossing your face. Astarion hastily springs to his feet, holding his hands up defensively. He still bears the bruises from the unexpectedly difficult fight with the mother spider. But you know now exactly what he is.

"I knew it!" you exclaim excitedly. "I knew you were a vampire!"

"It's not what it looks like, I swear—" Astarion says, backing up a little further.

"You were trying to bite me," you counter. There's no malice in your tone, more amusement.

"I wasn't going to hurt you!" Astarion claims. "I just needed—well, blood."

You raise an eyebrow, not that it's immediately visible with the way your hair falls over your face. "And you couldn't have asked when we were making camp, or any other time before the middle of the night?"

"At best, I was sure you'd say no," Astarion says with a shrug. "More likely, you'd ram a stake through my ribs."

You give him a look.

"All right, maybe not you specifically," Astarion admits, "but the group at large likely wouldn't. Especially given last night's... incident."

Zia's blackout murder, he means. You rub the scars on your neck distractedly.

"I needed you to trust me," Astarion continues. "And you can trust me."

"I do," you assure him. There's a momentary flicker of surprise across his face, so quick you're not sure you even saw it. "Considering you're one of about three vampires—"

"Vampire spawn, technically," Astarion corrects you.

"—I've ever met that weren't gunning for me... yeah, I do."

"Thank you." You're not entirely sure how genuine Astarion's smile is. "Do you think you could trust me just a little further?"

You raise an eyebrow again, fairly certain you know where this is going. Astarion's eyes flick to your neck ever so briefly, confirming your suspicion.

"I only need a taste, I swear," he assures you. "I normally feed on animals—boars, deer, kobolds—whatever I can get."

"Like the boar we saw earlier," you say. Astarion nods.

"Well spotted, by the way. Even I almost didn't see the puncture wounds, and I'm the one who left them."

You shrug. "Once I realized it had been exsanguinated, all I needed to do was look for any wounds on the neck."

"Look at you, breaking out the fancy terms," Astarion teases. You feel your face grow hot. You idly wonder if your face is turning red, or if your blushing shows up differently.

"How much is 'a taste,' anyway?" you ask.

"Oh, you know," Astarion says, waving a hand. "Not enough to harm you."

"So you're not planning on draining me dry like that boar?" you say. "How reassuring."

"I won't," he insists.

You consider how to respond. Even after all this time, the skin around your scars feels rough. You remember what it was like to have your blood taken, used by people who saw you as nothing more than a tool. A convenient repository of divine power. A walking spell component.

But so far, none of the others have made any indication of knowing what you are. And reading between the lines, you're fairly certain Astarion targeted you because your necromancy is a poorly-guarded secret, and not because he's figured out what you are. You wonder if divine blood like yours and Zia's would taste differently than anyone else's.

"Fine," you say, "but only a little."

"Really?" Astarion looks pleasantly surprised. "I—of course. Not one drop more."

"And," you continue, holding up a hand, "if it tastes... odd... you'll stop, got it?"

Astarion raises an eyebrow. "Why would you think your blood would taste odd? It certainly doesn't smell strange from where I'm standing."

That catches you off-guard. "It... doesn't?"

Astarion shrugs. "No, it smells about the same as anyone else's."

You wonder if he's even noticed that your blood looks different. But if he hasn't noticed a difference in scent, then maybe...

"Just don't drain me dry, then," you say.

"I promise you I won't," Astarion says. He then gestures for you to lie back down. "Let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we?"

You lie down again and get comfortable. Astarion leans over you, and you catch a glimpse of his pearly white fangs before they plunge into your neck. It feels like two sharp shards of ice jabbing into your neck, before the pain quickly fades. The sensation is less unpleasant than you remember it being. But then again, all the other times you've been bitten were during battle, which is not exactly the most relaxing of times. You're willing to tolerate the discomfort for now, at the very least.

As you feel the dizziness set in and become more aware of your racing heart, however, unpleasant memories start drifting to the surface of your mind. You need this to stop. Now.

"That's enough," you gasp. You press your hands against his chest and feebly push against him. "Stop."

"Mm?" It takes a moment for Astarion to register the request, but he sits up quickly. "Oh, of course."

You breathe a sigh of relief, reaching for the puncture wound in your neck. You remove your hand to see your black blood smeared across your fingers, as you expect.

"That," Astarion says breathlessly, "that was amazing."

You glance over to see him wiping a trickle of your blood from his mouth, the darkness a stark contrast to his pale skin. You can already see some of his bruises fading as the blood rejuvenates him.

"My mind is finally clear," he remarks. "I feel strong. I feel... happy!"

"Happy, huh," you murmur. He does certainly look a bit more chipper than before, though. You manage to sit up, ignoring the way your head swims for a moment.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Astarion says, "you're invigorating, but I need something more filling."

You wonder how your blood could possibly fail to be filling. Then again, considering the source of your divinity...

"This is a gift, you know," Astarion calls over his shoulder. He's paused in his stalking off into the forest for one last parting remark. "I won't forget it."

Maybe it's from the blood loss, but you feel your heart skip a beat. You shake it off, before dragging yourself to your feet so you can go clean the blood off before it soaks into your shirt.

[lucky-ladybugs-lovelies]

I was going to write up a Tumblr post on the names of Radley's and Malcolm's gangs, how they differ between original and dub versions, and the ironic significance of said names.

Instead, Dracula Daily happened and I was so upset I had to get out my feelings in a scene for one of my current fic chapters:

He took out his phone to idly look up exorcisms and other ways to remove restless spirits, but frowned at a notification. ". . . Of all the things to show up right now, I've got a reminder about Dracula Daily starting soon."

". . . What is that?" Kalin grunted. "It sounds like something Scotch would like, but not you."

"It's an email list that feeds you pieces of the novel Dracula each day," Radley said. "It's told as diary entries, letters, and newspaper clippings, and they're sent out on each corresponding day that the entries were originally made in the book. And you're right, it wouldn't normally be my thing. Scotch told me about lots of friendship goodness and got me interested enough to try it last year."

"So did you like it?" Kalin asked.

"Yes and no," Radley replied. "I loved the friendships and other pure love between the characters, but I got so upset by Lucy's fate that it could never be a favorite book for me."

"You cared that much about her?" Kalin sounded disbelieving.

". . . Let me guess, you watched a movie version as a Dark Signer but never read the book," Radley said.

"You're right," Kalin said.

"It seems like all the movies portray Lucy as trashy," Radley said. "She was actually incredibly sweet. She sure never deserved all that Dracula put her through, and then to not be able to get her happy ending. I kept hoping that even after she became a vampire, she could be saved when Dracula was killed. Instead, they had to kill her to stop her." He shook his head. "It was extremely disturbing. I wonder if that's why they changed her in the movies, because you're right that it's much less disturbing if she's a naughty girl anyway."

". . . Scotch seems like the type who'd be upset by a nice character being hurt too," Kalin said.

"He is," Radley said. "He'd read a lot of Internet hype about the friendships. Last year was his first time reading it too. I think he got more upset than I did. After he finished the book, he wrote a fanfiction story where the Harkers meet The Time Traveler—from The Time Machine, you know?—and they go back in time to save Lucy. It was actually really good. Scotch said he insists on believing that's really how the story continued." He smiled. "Scotch loves happy endings for those who deserve them."

". . . That's an interesting premise," Kalin had to admit.

Radley nodded. "It's actually pretty plausible, considering both books take place around the same time and the Harkers and The Time Traveler all live in London. Why not have them meet?"

[kristannafever]

Into the Mouth of the Unknown - Part Two

All my wip’s and unfinished fics and this is what I was drawn to most with my desire to write again after over two years  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

Rated: MA (!TW’s in Tags! - Angst!/Fluff)

WC: 11,214

Into the Mouth of the Unknown (first part)

---------------------------

Anna started crying as soon as she heard the car pull up.  It was a sound she recognized as welcomed and excruciatingly painful at the same time.  Not this time, though.  He said he was coming home.  This time he was going to stay.

She ran out to him. He was barely out of the car when she threw herself into his arms.  He hugged her tight, sobbing uncontrollably into her ear.  She realized that she too that she was crying as hard as she ever had.  Each sob was a measure in tortuous relief.  It was over, she knew that, just as she knew they would never get back that lost time.  It was just the way it was.  The way it had to be.

They held each other. It could have been years.  The moment ceased to exist in time.  It was simply them, together again.  Now and for the rest of their days.  

Anna was so overcome with emotion that it took her a minute to realize she was no longer standing. Kristoff had her in his arms, walking them to her house.  

No.  Our house. Kristoff is home now.

He took her into their room and laid her on the bed that they used to share every night… a decade ago.

Kristoff kicked off his boots and settled himself beside her, pulling the unmade sheets over both of them.

“I feel like I haven’t slept in ten years,” he muttered with a sadness in his tone that just about shattered her heart.

“Me either,” she admitted, eyes welling with tears again.  

She listened to him breathe for only a few minutes before she realized he was asleep.  Anna snuggled even further against him and relaxed, ready to join him, wondering idly what lay ahead for them, until sleep took her as well.

-----

They sat at the kitchen table with a coffee cup in front of each of them and stared into each other’s eyes. They slept long and late.  They slept the sleep of the dead.  Anna was so groggy when she woke, she was almost alarmed to find a warm body in her bed.  Then it all came rushing back and she hugged Kristoff tight, accidentally waking him up too.  By the sudden tensing of his body and slow relaxation, she knew he must have woken up very much the same way she did.

They got out of bed without talking much and took turns in the bathroom before they sat themselves at the kitchen table waiting for some coffee to brew.

“You want a smoke or something?” Anna asked, hating that it felt wonderful yet awkward to have him sitting across from her again without the fear that he was going to bolt to his feet and run again.  Well, at least she didn’t think he was going to.  He had told her he was home now, after all.

He slowly shook his head, eyes looking sad all over again.  “I quit.”

Anna nodded.  She understood and pushed her own pack across the table to throw away later.  The past ten years had been very hard on them, emotionally and physically.  Whatever Kristoff had smoked driving back to Oregon had been his last cigarettes, she could see that definite decision as clear as day on his face.  There was no way she was not going to follow his lead on deciding to quit cold turkey.

“So, what now?” she couldn’t help but ask.  Her mind was going in a million places as to how they were going to get back even a semblance of what they used to have.

“I…,” Kristoff sighed. “I don’t know.”

Anna eyed him a moment, watching the way his gaze slowly lowered down to the table.  To the same spot it always did when he was feeling especially guilty about coming back after he kept telling her he wouldn’t. She knew what was going through his mind at that moment.  

“You want to run again, don’t do?”

He looked up quickly. “No.  No, it’s not…” He sighed harder and put his face into his hands. “Maybe… maybe a little, yes,” he mumbled.

Anna nodded, willing back the tears that stung her eyes.  

“I just… it’s the guilt, Anna.  It’s not so easy to shake.”  

“Kristoff, what happened wasn’t-” He jerked his head up so quickly, eyes blazing, that Anna choked on her words.  

“Don’t!  It was!  It is! And it always will be, okay?  I can’t have it any other way.”

Anna nodded again, almost shaking with seeing such sudden intensity from him.  Was everything going forward going to be this hard?  After all they had shared together before Elsa’s death, had everything in the past decade ruined that?  She knew things were going to be different, but were they even compatible anymore?  Were they capable of anything other than angry sex and being mostly silent in each other’s presence?  They’d hardly said a dozen words to each other since he got back the night before.

Kristoff slid his open palm across the table and spoke softly, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Anna sniffed, putting her hand in his and looking into his haunted eyes.  She wondered if they would always look like that.

“Where do you think we should start?”, he asked, voice as tender as she’d ever heard it in the past ten years.  

She shrugged.  “Well, I already quit my job when you told me you were coming home, so we should move, I guess.  Now that… that you’re… back with me, we can start fresh… you know?”

Kristoff seemed to ponder that a moment and Anna had to wonder why she suddenly felt so afraid to talk frankly to him.  Maybe she was more worried of him changing his mind that she realized.  He just still looked so… broken.  And he clearly still felt the pull to leave.

“Where would you want to move?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in an encouraging way as if he picked up on her nervousness to speak her mind.

Anna shrugged again. She couldn’t help herself. “Anywhere, really.  You’ve been all over the country, where would you want to start our new home?”

He looked confused for a moment.  “What about being close to your…” he swallowed hard, “Your family?”

Now Anna felt confused. “My parents are dead, Kristoff. Have been for years.”

As she saw his face pale in front of her eyes, Anna realized with a sickening realization that she had never outright told him that.  All the times he’d been to see her since they both passed and she had never actually mentioned it to him.  Never said the words out loud.  She had rehearsed it, so many times, she was sure that one time she was drunk that she had come outright and told him… then again she couldn’t remember what he did after so that must have meant she had mistakenly thought that-

He pulled his hand away from hers and stood quickly, horror all over his face.

“Kristoff, no, listen, I’m so sorry, I really thought that I had told you!  realize I guess I never did-”

But he wasn’t listening. He was turning and walking to the front door like he was going to be sick.  He lurched forward briskly, clearly shaking and stuffed his feet into his worn-out boots so quickly that Anna didn’t have time to put herself between him and the door.  She could only chase after him as he marched towards his car.  

“Kristoff, please! Don’t go!  Not now!  You said you were coming home for good!”

He either didn’t hear her or didn’t care because he threw himself in the driver’s seat, slammed the door and gunned the engine to life.  The car surged forward and hit the street with a squeal of the tires.  

Tears fell mercilessly down her face as she watched him speed out of sight.  And then, at the end of the street where he stopped at a four-way… he sat.  For a moment Anna wondered if he was deciding which way to go, but after he sat there longer, and longer, she understood.  

Never taking her eyes form the car as she took a seat at the bottom step of the stairs to their house, she watched as the car slowly pulled forward, turned right, and made a big circle to come back to the house.  Kristoff pulled slowly up the driveway and stopped, put the car in park and turned off the engine.  With that done, Anna went inside.  He needed this time to think, she realized that now.  All his thinking in the past decade had been completely on his own. He would come in when he was ready.  

As Anna shut the front door and went to make something for some sort of brunch, she felt a sense of relief to know that he was, in fact, not going to leave her again.  But he was still a broken man who was trying to repair himself in a way that he could be functional with her.  Anna knew she needed to give him the time and space to do that, no matter how hard it was going to be on her.

-----

“Thanks, Anna,” Kristoff muttered as he cleared up their plates.

It hadn’t been much. All she had in the fridge was a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a very sad and wrinkly tomato.  Certainly not a breakfast of champions.  Or lunch for that matter since it was nearly noon.

Kristoff had shuffled back in the house two hours after Anna went inside.  She offered to cook, such as toasting bread can be called cooking, and he agreed, taking a seat at the table and watching her silently while she went about making the food.  They were silent still as they ate and the sound of both of them chewing the dry toast grated on Anna’s nerves.  Feeling so incredibly alone the past decade aside, she still hated silence.  Normally she always had the damn idiot box on for background noise, but she didn’t want to disturb Kristoff.  She knew he preferred silence.  Even before he liked quiet to read or think.

When he was done cleaning the dishes, he poured them each a fresh cup of coffee and sat back down at the table and spoke slowly, pointedly.

“How?  When?”

Anna took a deep breath. “My Dad, four years ago. Stoke.  My Mom, about seven months after him.”  She shrugged now.  “In her sleep.  Broken heart, I guess.”

Kristoff stared at her a moment before burying his head into his arms on the table.  “Oh God, Anna, I’m so sorry.  I’m so fucking sorry.”

He was crying and it was impossible for Anna not to cry when he was crying.   They remained that way until neither one of them seemed to have any more energy to shed emotion.  When Kristoff looked up, he could not meet her eyes with his.  

“And you were all alone for those loses.  Just like your sister,” he sniffed.

All she could do was nod even thought he was staring at the wall.

He heaved a shaky sigh. “Well, quitting smoking aside, I need a drink.  Or, drinks. Is that Pub still down the street?”

“It’s a health food store now.”

“The liquor store still a block over?”

“I have booze, Kristoff.”

He finally looked at her. “I need to think, Anna.”

“You can think here,” she offered softly.

He shook his head and stood. “I’ll be back.”

Anna didn’t bother following him to the door.  All she did was whisper “I know” to an empty kitchen.  

-----

She was surprised to hear his car pull back into the driveway an hour later.  She knew he didn’t drive drunk after what happened. Had that changed now that he was back? Did he have a couple beers and figure he’d be fine to drive?  Or did someone else drive him home?

With her own drink in hand, she sat on the couch in the living room and waited.  He walked in, looked right at her, and without breaking his gaze, took his boots off, shut the door and leaned his back against it.

“I sat in the parking lot for a bit.  Couldn’t bring myself to go in.”

Anna nodded, trying to keep the emotion from her face.

“This is hard for me.”

“I know it is, Kristoff.”

“And it is for you too.”

Anna opened her mouth to protest, only to shut it and nod slightly.  He was always so preceptive.  She knew that the past years hadn’t changed that.  They hadn’t talked much when they were together, but she knew he was still very much aware.  Too aware, if she had to say so herself.

“We’ll figure this out… won’t we?”  His eyes were pleading.

Anna’s heart melted. She placed the drink she no longer wanted down as she got up and walked to him, folding herself against him in a hug which he returned eagerly.  From there she simply had to look up at his face and he was kissing her.  Softly.  Oh, so softly.  Like he used to before.

Eventually they went to the bedroom, kissing and caressing each other with a forgotten tenderness and appreciation.   They fell onto the bed, slowly undressing one another until they were naked under the covers re-learning all the wonderful curves and discovering all the new scars and hardships of the past ten years over their bodies.  For the first time in over a decade, they made love.

Afterward they fell asleep with no talk, too tired to care that they were about to sleep the rest of the afternoon away.

-----

They woke sometime around five and lazed about in bed, talking idly about what they might do for dinner.  It didn’t take too long to settle on take-out since neither of them wanted to leave the house.  Their talk moved to other things, what had changed since he’d be gone, some of the jobs he did when he was away and he places he stayed at.  Then Anna mentioned that she still owned her parents house – left to her when they died – and rented it out for income, and Kristoff immediately went on guard.  Anna had a feeling it was going to be like this for a while, but there were still some things she needed to clear up before she could put talk of her parents to rest for a long time.  

“Kristoff, I need to tell you something else,” Anna started, not sure how to bring it up but figuring the rip-it-off-quickly band aid approach might be best.

His eyes rolled over to meet hers, weary and worried all over again.

She swallowed.  “I know that it was my father who told you to leave.”

He seemed surprised. “He told you?”

Anna sighed. “No.  Never.  Like you never did.  I figured it out.  I knew, Kristoff.  If there was any reason in the world that you would leave like that, it was because my father told you to get out of my life.”

He looked at her for a long time, stoic, when he finally spoke.  “And I just confirmed that, didn’t I?”

She couldn’t help but nod.

He sighed and looked at the ceiling.  “And I suppose you wonder what would have happened had one of us just told you the truth?”

“No,” she said immediately, then hesitated a moment before continuing.  “Well… not at first.  I was too hurt, way too hurt to even think about reasons.”  She felt his body stiffen and added quickly, “But I understood, Kristoff.  The first time you came back, when you left so suddenly… that was when I figured it out. And I understood.”

“And yet you didn’t even feel the need to ask him, or me, or even mention it to me when he died?”

Anna felt anger well up despite herself and sat up.  He immediately followed to look her in the eyes.

“You weren’t here,” she said through gritted teeth.  Despite how much she felt for Kristoff and his feelings, hers mattered too and she was dammed if she was going to spare him at this moment.  

“Anna-”

She didn’t care about the sudden panic in his eyes again, or the apology or the worry.  This needed to be said.  “You were gone, Kristoff.  You weren’t a part of my life.  For ten years, I didn’t know when I would see you next.  Day after day, month after month, I waited, wondering, hoping, wishing! I’m not going to apologize for keeping you posted on my life during that time when all we did was smoke, drink and fuck!”

His eyes narrowed, and for a second Anna almost thought was furious at her, then he turned his head and looked at the wall, grimacing back more tears and she realized he was furious with himself.

Anna went on, tone firm but gentle.  “I did ask my father once.  A couple of months after you came back the first time.  I asked him outright if he told you to get out of my life, and he said he would never do such a thing.  Perhaps in his grief and stress he forgot, or he straight up lied to my face, I don’t know. But I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was lying, because you were gone.  And you never said goodbye.”

“How could I?” he mumbled at the wall, sniffing and wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. “Your father told me he couldn’t lose you too and that he didn’t want me in your life.  And you know what?  I agreed with him.  If it was our daughter…”

Kristoff choked and dissolved into sobs, curling himself into a fetal position and burying his face in the covers.  Anna laid down with him and curled herself around his back, holding him, wishing for the millionth time that she had been driving the car that night.  She would give anything to spare Kristoff the guilt he was carrying.

-----

For the next week they did little but sleep and talk and try and heal their bodies from a decade of cigarettes, drinking too much and too little sleep.  It was hard, and they both felt like shit, but also good at the same time for clearing up their minds and bodies, clearing up the lost history between them, and working on mending the rift that had come between them.  

They laid in bed, talking about where they might go to start their new life.  Neither of them wanted to stay in Oregon, as beautiful as it was. There was too much pain in Oregon.

“San Francisco?” Anna asked.

Kristoff shook his head. “Way too expensive there.”

Anna sighed, although not in a dejected way.  “This is hard you know.  Why can’t you suggest anywhere?”

“Because I’ve been all over this country.  You tell me where you want to go,” she gave him a pointed look, “Within reason,” he raised the arm from the bed that wasn’t holding her to make a point.  “You want in the bay area?  It’s going to be Oakland.”

Anna hummed, twisting her mouth in thought.  “I’m not sold on California.  I just want to see San Francisco someday.”

Kristoff’s heart fell. It had been doing that a lot in the last week.  He had no money and Anna didn’t have a lot saved.   She was paying the mortgage on her own after all.  She had her parents’ house – which was more of a cottage – but it had fallen into disrepair and wouldn’t make a huge impact for them when it was sold with the renovations it needed.  If he’d stayed, the money situation would be different, he was sure of that.  But now they were a decade older and starting from scratch again.  Less than that actually, because back then he had a promising construction job.  Now he’d have to figure out what his social insurance number was to get a legitimate tax paying job again… and then there was what he was doing with himself for the past ten years which he was sure the IRS would be curious about-

“What’s the East coast like?”

Kristoff thought about that a moment, feeling relieved any time Anna took him away from his dark inner thoughts.  “It’s the same, but different.  Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Manhattan is something to see.”  He just about smiled, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do so.

“Yeah?”

He nodded.  “I was only there once though.  Too expensive, not enough cash work.  Now, New Jersey on the other hand, there was some good work there.”

Anna was silent a moment before she asked.  “All those odd jobs you told me about and all the places you found work… you never liked a place you wanted to settle in?”

Kristoff thought back to the one time he’d almost felt comfort since the accident, even though then it had still been very fresh, and maybe that was the reason it had felt that way to him.  “Well, I almost felt that once.  It was in Canada.”

Anna sat up and looked down at him.  “You went to Canada?”

Kristoff nodded, a small smile he could not stop spreading on his face to think about Cliff and Bea again and the kindness they had shown him.  He told Anna all about it.  He opened up to her in a way that he could see that she needed from him, and they talked about it for so long that by the time she knew all there was to know – the good and the bad – it was well into the evening and they were famished for dinner.

“Where should we go?” Anna asked as she dressed, excited that Kristoff had suggested they go to a restaurant.  

All week they’d been sheltering in the house, ordering takeout and grocery delivery as they healed, and for someone who hadn’t spent more than a couple days in the same place while he lived out of his car for the past decade, being stuck in their little house for a week was making him stir crazy.  

“Anywhere you want, Anna. I don’t know what’s around here anymore.”

The past pain flashed across her face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile.  “There’s a cool new Pub looking over the ocean on the other side of town.  I’ve been dying to go there.”

“There we shall go, then,” Kristoff smiled.

They readied themselves and got into Kristoff’s car, and he sat in the front seat like he had done thousands of times before, and nearly put it in drive before Anna even had her door shut.  Muscle memory was a hell of a thing and he was shaking his head at himself as he looked over at Anna as she buckled her seatbelt.

She looked back at him and smiled and suddenly Kristoff was struck with the weirdest sense of déjà vu. He had imagined her there in that seat millions of times as he crossed the county, smiling at him just like she was smiling now.  Suddenly he couldn’t breathe.  He felt panicky and scared.  He felt exactly like when Anna told him her parents had died when he was off being a selfish piece of shit.

Her smile was faltering. He needed to say something but he couldn’t think straight.  All he saw was her there, and then not, and then there, like he imagined her in his mind, but she was here for real and he knew it was different but he was having a hard time comprehending what was happening, even after the past week they had spent together.

“I can drive,” she offered, clearly trying to offset his obvious panic.  

“I need to sell this car,” was all he managed before he kicked the door open and practically threw himself out of the vehicle.  He tried to get back to the house but the next thing he knew he was face down in her dry lawn.  He could hear her calling his name and felt her hands on his body, trying to roll him back over.   Almost every fibre of his being wanted to quit then, to give up, because this was too damn hard no matter how much he tried to trick himself into thinking that it was going to work out.  He was too broken, too damaged.  There was no hope for him and would never be, because he had taken an innocent life and destroyed Anna’s.  All of the sudden he was laying in the snow, looking at that green lighter and he felt like he was finally going insane.

Then he heard his name though the fog.  It was Anna. It was always Anna.  Whenever he heard a voice telling him something in his head in the past decade that he was unsure about, it was always Anna.  She was, and always would be, the thing in the world that he could not live without, no matter where she was or what she happened to be doing.  He shuddered to think of what he would have done had he returned to Oregon all those years ago and found out she hadn’t made it.  Beyond a shadow of a doubt, he would have taken his own life right then and there.

“Kristoff!  Kristoff!”

He opened his eyes and found hers.  There was pain in her eyes, sadness, worry, love and a whole lot more that he could not place.  He opened his mouth, feeling a weird calm wash over him.  It was like he finally saw a way back to some normalcy.

“Can we just order pizza tonight?” He tried his best smile despite still feeling disoriented.

Anna stared at him a moment before her mouth twisted down in a half smile, half grimace, that tugged on his heart.  “Sure, Kristoff.  Yes, I would love to order some pizza.”

He sat slowly, with her help, surprised he didn’t feel at all like passing out anymore.  He was dead serious about selling the car. There was no way he was going to sit in that thing ever again.

“I will take you out tomorrow night, Anna.  That is a promise.  But we need to take your car.”

Anna nodded at him, and he found complete understanding in her eyes.

-----

They sold Kristoff’s car first.  Technically it had been Anna’s, but Kristoff stole it and claimed it as his the night he left.  He lived in it for a decade, it was his car.  He was not sad to see it go.  In fact, he practically gave it away to a young college-bound kid just trying to get out of their small town.  The kid was ecstatic and Kristoff was happy to see it drive out of his life forever. He knew the car would do the kid well. He’d taken meticulous care of it himself.  It had been his mode of transportation and the only roof over his head, after all.

Next was Anna’s parent’s cottage and neither of them expected that to go as easy as it had. When Anna approached the renters that she was planning on selling the place, they suggested visiting the bank and trying to see if they could make an offer.  Anna agreed that was a good idea and threw them a price way below market value since there was so much work to be done on the place.  They were a pair of young lovers, like him and Anna had been once, and Kristoff had a feeling Anna felt much about her parent’s place as he had about his car.  The bank came back with a mortgage value for the kids that was slightly below the amount of rent they’d been paying and Anna was happy to sign all the papers to make the place theirs.  

Then it was time to sell the house they had started their lives in.  Anna had done her best with the upkeep, but the outside needed a lot of work and the realtor said the kitchen was severely outdated.   In the end they decided not to do any of the work but to list it for what the realtor thought they could get.  The amount he gave then was slightly disappointing.

Over the next two weeks of house showings and trying to figure out where they were going to move, Kristoff and Anna had grown incredibly close again.  They still struggled, and Kristoff still had merciless nightmares, but they were making it work better than either of them had expected. They even began to laugh together again, a sound Kristoff missed to much he still felt jolted to hear it.  

They sat at the kitchen table chatting with the realtor after yet another open-house and he was telling them he felt good about a few people who’d come through.  One older couple even had visions of all the renovations they could do to the place, which was apparently encouraging talk to the realtor.  Deep down, however, Kristoff felt a twinge of sadness to realize that this place would no longer be theirs.  Not that he really had any claim it, he’d left Anna and it was all in her name now, but they’d bought it together and they were proud of themselves.  He wondered if wherever they ended up if he’d feel the way they felt when they spent their first night in the little house they had bought on their own.

That night for dinner, Kristoff took Anna to a little Italian place on the other side of town and asked her what she thought about it, sharing the feelings he had earlier in the afternoon.

“Well,” she hesitated, putting her fork down and taking a sip of water.  “I understand why you feel that way, Kristoff.  You haven’t had a place to live in over ten years… I did. And it was our house.  But I was alone.”  

Kristoff nodded, not taking his eyes form hers.  They were past expressing hurt and confusion over what had happened.  Now they talked about it frankly.  The scabs were getting thicker day by day.

“I had wanted to leave so many times, I guess I won’t be that upset to actually leave it behind, you know?”

“I get that.  I know I’d feel the same way if I was in your shoes.”

She smiled at him softly. “Can we take a vacation before we settle down?  A little road trip?”

That surprised Kristoff a little and he raised an eyebrow.  “A vacation?  Where would we go?”

Anna chewed her lip and looked down for a moment, thinking, then brought her eyes back up to his. “Maybe Canada?  That place you went afterwards?  Unless, that would be too painful?  I understand if this is way out of line, but I just can’t get the thought out of my head after you told me about it and I just kind of wanted to… what? What’s with the look?”

Kristoff couldn’t help but chuckle softly.  “You know what’s weird, I was having the same thought about going back to see them. Like you said, a road trip. Except maybe this time we stop along the way and see some sights.  A proper vacation.”

Anna’s face lit up and Kristoff was happy they’d finally picked a way to start over once the house was sold.  

-----

Two days later the realtor came in with an offer from the couple he had mentioned to them.  They were new retirees with no kids and three dogs and they had fallen in love with the potential to make the place their own. The offer was below listing, but Kristoff and Anna accepted it anyway and agreed to a thirty-day close.  

Two days before the turnover date, they packed only the things they really wanted and a few mementos and piled them in the trunk and back of Anna’s car.  They both decided to donate their furniture to the community and the house was completely empty by the end of the day.  Kristoff had booked them a room in one of the nicer hotels in town and they were excited to hit the road in the morning and head up to Canada. It had been a pain in the ass for Kristoff to get a new passport, but once he had all his paperwork sorted, he was able to get it done just in time.  

For what felt like the first time in his life, Kristoff was excited for what lay ahead.  And he knew Anna was too.

-----

“Okay, it’s official, I’m obsessed with Tim Hortons.”

Kristoff laughed behind the wheel of the car as they pulled away from the drive-thru.   “Locals just call it Timmy’s.”

“I’m obsessed with Timmy’s then.  Especially these Ice Capps.”

“Those and your Timbits.”

Anna chuckled with him and settled further into her seat, heart full and happy.  Their time visiting Cliff and Bea had been wonderful and Anna had a new appreciation for the story Kristoff had told him of his time with them.

Bea had instant tears in her eyes when she opened the door and saw Kristoff standing there.  She pulled him, and Anna, into a wonderful bear hug before she even said hello.  Cliff appeared at the door a moment later, curious expression turning into one of genuine happiness to see who had knocked on their door.  He embraced them both as well and they were invited in for dinner.

Anna loved their little home.  It was everything she imagined a grandmother’s home would look like, even though Kristoff had told her they were never able to have their own kids.   The colours were earthy and warm, the furniture – though dated – was taken care of and comfortable, and the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen could only by Bea’s home cooking and Anna’s stomach started grumbling as soon as they stepped inside.

Cliff and Bea never asked Kristoff what he’d been up to the past decade and Anna knew that Kristoff had appreciated that.  Instead, they had filled him in on the happenings in their town, what had changed, what had stayed the same, who had died, who got married and who moved away. Kristoff hung on every word, clearly remembering all the people they had been talking about.  Anna sat in silence for the most part but she was simply happy to listen, getting more and more of a picture of what Kristoff’s life had been like back then.

Anna jumped at the chance to help Bea get dinner on the table and enjoyed talking to the older woman about herself when she was asked questions.  Bea was clearly an intuitive person and never asked her anything personal about her and Kristoff, just things about herself as a person.  Did she like to read?  What was her favourite flower?  Was this her first time in their country?  Wonderfully simple things that Anna appreciated.  And Bea was very gracious in answering all Anna’s similar questions.  

It struck Anna how easy it was to talk to Bea when she was setting the table.  Even easier than her own mother, and that was even before Elsa had died.  Afterward, talking to her parents was difficult.  It was as if when they looked at her, they only saw Anna’s boyfriend who got their precious first born killed.  Part of her always felt that they resented her for that.  They did nothing to make her feel any other way about it.  She only had wished they understood how hard it was for her, and how impossibly hard it had been on Kristoff.  They could not put themselves in hers or his shoes.  Anna loved her parents unconditionally, but when they passed away, she had to admit that there was a very small, deep-down part of her that felt relief she would no longer see that resentment in their eyes.  

Bea had put a hand on Anna’s shoulder and she realized she had zoned out, pondering the feelings of the past.  She felt embarrassed, hoping that Bea wouldn’t ask her what was wrong, but she didn’t.  She simply smiled a sweet and understanding smile at Anna and asked if she would please call the boys in for dinner.  Anna happily did so and they all had a wonderful meal together.

That night they stayed in the room Kristoff had once occupied while he tried to heal a broken ankle and came to terms with living with a broken heart.  Kristoff told Anna they would insist they stay instead of wasting money on a hotel.   It was a wonderful gesture and they were happy to stay, but both Kristoff and Anna lay awake that night, no words between them but their minds both thinking about similar things.  Eventually Kristoff pulled Anna into an embrace, mumbled in her ear, and they were able to fall asleep.

“There were so many nights back them I wished you were here with me,” he had sighed.  “I’m grateful that you are here now.”

-----

They had stayed for three days, Anna taking a great delight in helping around the house while Kristoff and Cliff went about working on things outside that needed to be done. Bea had taught Anna how to bake a perfect loaf of bread, the process of canning preservatives and the art of saving things around the house for re-use in various other ways.  Anna knew most people their age had lived through some financially hard times and knew all the best ways to save a buck and reduce useless waste, which was very much unlike her parents.  They had squandered a lot of the money her father’s family had, and by the time Anna and Elsa came around they were living a comfortable middle-income existence with little regard for tossing things into the trash.

When it came time for Kristoff and Anna to move on, there was a palpable sadness as they said their goodbyes.  Unlike the last time Kristoff had left however, or so she imagined from what he had told her, there was a good feeling amongst the four of them.  A feeling of hope and a feeling of a future, and a promise to keep in touch and return again someday.  

This time there were no tears with the goodbye.

They drove towards the mountains and ended up in Banff, a place Kristoff said he’d always heard Cliff and Bea talk about.  Even though they were in the cheapest motel in the whole town, it was clean and well taken care of and they had a wonderful time while they were there.  Kristoff took her all over, driving something called the Minnewanka Loop, taking a gondola up to the top of Sulphur Mountain, exploring the museums in town and going to the Cave and Basin National Historic sight, where some of the first settlers of the area believed that the natural hot springs had healing qualities.   Anna was in awe of the beauty of everything, especially the spectacular Rocky Mountains that towered around the town, all their angles gleaming in the sunlight.

On their last night while they lay in their motel bed after making love, Anna told Kristoff what had been on her mind all day.   The more and more she thought about it, the more conviction she had that it was the right decision to make.  

“I’ve lived by the ocean my whole life.  I want to live close to the mountains.  Our new home should be in the mountains.”

Kristoff had smiled at her with an incredulous shake of his head.  “Even after all this time, we still have the same ideas.”

Anna grinned, heart filling anew with joy and excitement for what lay ahead.  

-----

They followed the Rocky Mountains south and a week later they arrived in Denver.   They figured it was the best place to start out since jobs in small mountain towns were scarcer than that of a city.  

They did all the right things.  They got themselves a small apartment, they got life insurance and added Kristoff to Anna’s health insurance.  They got jobs and they got rental insurance and they bought another beater car for Kristoff to drive to and from work since they both headed in opposite directions. They shopped grocery sale items and put whatever money they saved each month into an interest-bearing account. They did all the proper adulting things they could, because they had a new dream to buy a place of their own in a small mountain town and start some sort of business for themselves to sustain the rest of their lives.

Five months after they began their new lives there, Anna found a better paying job closer to home and Kristoff was promoted at the construction company he worked for, which came with a raise.  They went out to celebrate that night, an extra fancy place for the one night a month they went for a meal out, and toasted each other on a job well done.

It was a wonderful moment in time and they had a wonderful evening.  Life was looking very bright, but darkness has a way of hiding around the corner, and it can fall upon you when you least expect it.

-----

“Do you ever think about kids?”

Kristoff choked on the coffee he had just taken a sip of, coughing and sputtering as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.  

“I’m only thirty-one, Kristoff.  It’s certainly not too late,” she added, not giving him much of a chance to catch his breath let alone think straight.  “Even if we had two kids in three or four years, we would still be at an appropriate age, I mean, a lot of people have kids later in life these days, right?”

Kristoff had a feeling this was going to come up someday soon, but he was still unprepared for the feeling it had given him for Anna to actually bring it up.  His mind was racing in all sorts of directions, but deep down his heart always harboured a desire to have children with Anna.  And right in that moment, he realized that there was nothing his damaged mind could do to remove that yearning from his soul.

“Anna,” he coughed, trying his best to repress the spasms of his throat, but Anna wasn’t done pleading her case.

“I know that you must have all kinds of thoughts about kids, and maybe you have some reasons for perhaps not wanting to, but I want you to talk to me about this, and even if you want to take some time to think more about it, hopefully we can-”

“Anna,” Kristoff managed more clearly and she stopped, looking at him with those beautiful wide eyes all full of hope.

He cleared his throat a few times, finally confident that he could now speak without hacking.  “The answer is yes, I have thought about having kids.”

“And?” she asked.

The smile that ghosted across her lips almost broke his heart all over again.  He pulled in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he prepared to tell her the truth, even though he was scared out of his mind.  

“When we were younger, I always knew we’d have kids.  Then after what happened,” he paused, feeling the waves of guilt wash through him for the millionth time.  His smile faltered as the familiar weight settled itself back into his shoulders. “After that,” he continued, raking a hand through his hair and trying his best to look her in the eyes.   “I pictured it often.  Our life with a family.  It hurt, but it was also… nice.  I imagined it a lot actually, no matter how devastated it always made me feel. But now… now with the way things are and with what we can do with what’s left of our lives, I can’t pass on the opportunity to try and have a family with you, Anna.  I can’t.”

She threw herself at him then, weeping with joy and knocking his coffee cup right off the table, clacking off the linoleum floor and spewing coffee everywhere.  It was a wonder the mug didn’t break.

They both decided there was no time like the present, and made love every day for two weeks.  Their efforts were rewarded when Anna’s period was late and a pregnancy test came up positive.  There was no diminishing the joy they had both felt and the love that they had for their baby on the way.  They talked every night about names for boys and girls and all the things they couldn’t wait to experience when the baby came.  

Then on Anna’s ninth week of pregnancy, she started to bleed.

At first it was only spotting, something the baby books said could happen, but then it got worse, and eventually she decided to go to the hospital to find out what was happening.

They did blood tests and an ultrasound and Anna didn’t really know what to think beyond the worry over their baby.  She was anxiously waiting to hear about the results of all the poking and prodding but the next thing she knew it wasn’t a doctor she was talking to, it was grief counsellor, passing her a pamphlet on dealing with the loss of a pregnancy and cooing about how these things happen, they are no one’s fault, and that there were ways to process the grief of the loss.

Anna was numb.  She sat there for a long time after the hospital counsellor left them to deal with the tragedy.  She couldn’t come to grips with what she had been told.  How could this have ended in a miscarriage?  They were supposed to have a baby.  They were supposed to start their family and get the joy out of having children.  They were supposed… it was supposed to happen for fucks’ sake!

They drove in silence. Kristoff hadn’t said one word since they left the hospital.  He was despondent, he wouldn’t even look at Anna when she softly said his name, and Anna was becoming terrified that this was the thing that had broken him for good.

“Kristoff, please, talk to me,” she pleaded, putting her hand gently on his arm that was gripping the steering wheel so tight, his knuckled were white.

Suddenly he wrenched the car to the right, plowing into the shoulder and slamming on the breaks. Before Anna could make heads or tails of what was about to happen, he was out of the car and on his knees, screaming up at the sky.  The anguish in his cry turned her blood cold.  

Anna shook violently, fumbling with the door release to get out of the car and get to Kristoff.  Wild fear made her think he was going to get up at any second and hurl himself into oncoming traffic or just take off into the woods on the side of the road and she would never see him again.  

But he wasn’t going anywhere.  His outrage turned into horrible sobs and he laid down in the dirt with his hands over his face by the time Anna reached him.  She kneeled next to him, ignoring the rocks poking her knees through her tights, pleading him to talk to her, to even just look at her.

Eventually he did and Anna didn’t know what to make of the eyes looking back at her, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could never have kids with Kristoff.  If they tried again and this happened again… it would be the death of him.  

-----

Kristoff was too messed up to do anything but slump his body across the backseat, so his miscarrying wife was forced drive his pathetic ass home.   Everything he had taken from Anna, her sister, ten years of her life, her future, and now he had taken a family away from her too.

He closed his eyes and wished he was dead.

Anna was talking softly to him the whole way.  He wasn’t sure what she was saying however, he was too far gone in his own mind.   He wasn’t even entirely sure if she had helped him into the back seat, or of he had just slithered himself into the car like the snake that he was.

Voices through the fog told him he was a monster.  That he was the reason that they lost their child.  Kristoff was a murderer after all, of course their child would pay that price with its life.  That was how Karma worked right?  An eye for an eye.  He’d taken a life so a life was taken from him.  Only it wasn’t, it was taken from Anna, right from inside of Anna.  Again, she was suffering because of him.  She would always suffer because of him.  What he needed to do was finally get himself dead and spare her the curse that he was on her life.

Then Anna’s sweet voice broke through the midst.  She was telling him to see a therapist.  She’d said it before, many times, and he wondered if it was memory he was hearing, or her talking to him now.  She was still there, he could feel her presence.  He knew she was talking, but he was simply unable to focus on what she was saying at that moment.

I don’t want you in Anna’s life anymore. I can’t lose another daughter!   Do you understand that? I can’t!

Kristoff winced as Anna’s father shouted at him.  Then all of the sudden he was looking at Elsa’s twisted body in the snow, the words coming again but echoing as though they were far away.  Anna’s mothers sobs echoed from the dark forest all around the wrecked car.

A green lighter. Blood in the snow. A broken body.

Blackness.

-----

Kristoff startled awake when something cool touched his face.  He jerked up in surprise, scaring Anna as she was trying to adjust a cold washcloth onto his forehead.  Anna gasped, flinching back in a way that made Kristoff sick to his stomach to realize that he was the reason she looked scared.  

In all of the earth, was there a sadder excuse for a man than him?  He didn’t think so.

“Kristoff, are you okay? Talk to me, please.”

He stared into her eyes and he was suddenly filled with intense shame.  Outburst aside, he should never have shut down like that.  Anna was in pain, losing the baby, and he was acting like a fucking child having a temper tantrum.  He felt at a profound new low, and that was saying something.

His mouth opened but he had no words.  There was nothing he could say.  He realized then that no matter if the voice of Anna he heard was one from the past or from earlier that day, he needed some help.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting up and sliding towards the open door to get out.  He took a couple of breaths before taking to his feet, steadying himself with the open car door.  His legs felt like jelly and his heart lay heavy in his chest.  How could he tell Anna that he absolutely could not live through this again?  How could he tell her that he had to break his promise, that he could not try again to have a child with her?

“It’s okay, Kristoff. It’s okay.  I understand, alright?”

Anna was nodding supportively but the deep sadness was like a neon sign on her forehead.  He didn’t have to tell her he was going to break her heart again.  She knew.

She always knew.

-----

Therapy was working wonders for Kristoff, and it didn’t take long for him to come to terms that what had happened to their first baby was ‘just one of those things’.  It made him feel more human to realize that the part of his soul that wanted to have kids with Anna wasn’t killed as he had feared it had been that day three months ago when they went to the hospital.

Anna was washing dishes when Kristoff got home.  He was slightly annoyed to see her doing so, insisting that since she got home from work first and always made dinner, that she was to leave all the dishes to him, even tough she came home from work most days on her lunch break to cook for herself since she worked so close.  He found her doing her lunch dishes more often than not and it bothered him that she simply wouldn’t leave them for him like he’d asked.  He would cook dinner if he made it home earlier, but with his long work hours and regular therapy sessions, she was always the one to get the groceries and make dinner.  Perhaps he was annoyed because he felt like he wasn’t providing for her the way he wanted to.  Likely, he was annoyed with himself and not her.

The things he was learning in therapy still amazed him.

Letting his petty annoyance go, he stepped up behind Anna and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling his nose against her neck and planting soft kisses on her skin.

“I know, I know,” she started.  “You want to do the dishes, but dinner is all in the oven and I know you work so hard so I just thought-”

“Let’s try and have another baby,” he said against her skin.

Anna stopped washing and her body went ridged in his embrace.  He let the silence stretch, at peace with his decision, even if Anna decided that she was the one who didn’t want to try again, he was calm.  But he knew her, and he knew she wanted a family with him more than anything.  The only reason she wouldn’t have one, would be because she changed her mind.   He vowed to himself it would not be because of him.

“Kristoff,” she sniffed, still not moving and clearly trying not to cry.  “I don’t want to put you through anything like that again if… well if…”

“It’s okay, Anna.” He said, gently turning her around to face him.  She still had wet hands and a sopping sponge in her hand that dripped onto the floor between them.  “I want to try again.  As long as you are willing and this is still something you want?”  Anna nodded quickly.  “Then I do, too.”

The sponge made a splat sound on the floor as they embraced each other with tears in their eyes.

-----

Kristoff thought he was going to pass out he was so scared.  His heart jackhammered away in his chest as he tried to remember all the information from those damn classes.

“Breathe, breathe,” he kept repeating while his mind drew a blank on literally any other word that he knew.  His whole vocabulary, out the window.

“I am breathing!” she half moaned, half screamed, baring her teeth with her eyes squeezed shut.  Her hand had his in a death grip but he didn’t feel it, all he felt was unbridled terror that something was going to go wrong.

“You’re doing great, Anna. Push on the next contraction, okay? You can do it.”

Kristoff barely heard the doctor, but Anna opened her eyes and nodded her agreement to the woman positioned between her legs, then her eyes went to him.

He nodded at her, speechless, trying to be reassuring when all he felt was cold dread.  Despite all the therapy, there was still a part of him that was convinced he was going to lose Anna and the baby because of the car accident when they were young.  

“I’ve got this.” Anna said to him.

Kristoff blinked, seeing new determination on Anna’s face.  Part of him felt that it was there more for his benefit than hers, and that made him feel pretty bad about himself as a man.  Anna was giving birth to their child and in more pain than he could ever imagine, and here she was being strong for his fragile psyche as well. He was going to have to take up this incredibly inadequate feeling in his next therapy session.

Anna gave a guttural groan as she pushed again and then all of the sudden, she gasped, and the room was filled with the wail of a baby.

“It’s a girl!” Announced the doctor, pulling the baby up and gently placing her on Anna’s chest before resuming a flurry of activity of next steps that Kristoff had read about in books but failed to bring to mind just then.  All he could do was stare at the small form on Anna’s chest as both mother and baby cried.

He was in shock.  The world around him went gray and he wondered idly if he’d kill himself by hitting his head on the way down to the floor. That would be fitting, since he had made a deal long ago with whatever higher power might be out there, that if anyone in his family was going to bite the dust next, it better be him, or there would be literal hell on earth to pay for it.  

A nurse caught him by the shoulder and forced his ass clumsily down into a seat as they greyness went in and out on the sides of his vision.  Anna was calling his name, bringing him back, but it was slow, fighting the urge to just slump over and take a quick nap to reorient himself.   Finally, he came back, and his focus cleared on Anna and her breathtaking smile beaming proudly at him.

And that was it.

Clarity took over and he had tears in his eyes before he even realized it.  

A girl. Their baby girl. Their daughter. She was finally here.

-----

Unlike the previous time, they had wanted to find out the gender of this baby rather than have it be a surprise at birth like their first.  An unlike the birth of their daughter, Kristoff held new strength and new conviction, determined to be a rock at Anna’s side.

“How the fuck did I do this last time without an epidural?” Anna groaned miserably.

“Because you were too far dilated.  Don’t worry, the nurse said they’ll be here soon.”

“They fucking better be!” Anna wailed as another contraction took over.

Kristoff rubbed her back while she stood and leaned herself against the bed, riding it out and trying to breathe.

“I swear it’s because it’s a boy,” Anna panted as the contraction ebbed.  “More morning sickness, high blood pressure, all of it!”

Kristoff had to laugh. They had been talking about that for the past three days.  They both had a feeling this little boy was going to be a handful.

Their daughter was going to be eighteen months old in two weeks.  It might seem a little crazy to have two kids under two, but Kristoff and Anna both wanted two kids, if it was in the cards, and they wanted them as quickly as they could have them.  When they agreed to start trying again nine months after their daughter was born, they had almost assumed it would be a little while before she got pregnant again, but apparently, they were the two most fertile people on earth, and the pregnancy test Anna took four weeks later was positive.  

Anna groaned through another contraction before she was finally got the epidural she had asked for. Afterwards she was able to relax and the birth of their second child went wonderfully while Kristoff spoke encouraging words to her the entire time.  The screaming baby was placed on Anna’s chest and she beamed that proud smile at Kristoff again, giving him an odd but welcoming sense of déjà vu.  He felt that weird clarity again, although this time he was nowhere near fainting.  He smiled back at her, elated.

Now that their son was here, their family was complete.   Kristoff had already made a vasectomy appointment for the next month.  They were excited about their future, excited about watching their kids grow up.  

Excited that they got this second chance at happiness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

EPOLOGUE

The children’s laughter filled his ears.  The smell of Anna’s famous chocolate chip cookies hit his nose.  His eyes took in the sight of their four grandchildren playing on the lawn.

Kristoff’s heart was full. The cancer was eating away at his body, but his heart was light and happy.

The diagnosis had come months earlier.  Stage two pancreatic cancer.  That night him and Anna had cried themselves so sleep holding each other.   Kristoff had strange dreams of beauty and horror, mingling together, attacking him from both sides.  He felt pulled and stretched, haunted and at peace, scared and resigned.  

The next morning, they phoned their children.

Their daughter was distraught and her family was at their door within the hour.  Their son was upset and angry that such a thing would happen to his father and arrived with his family not long after their daughter. After a lot of tears amongst the adults sitting around the kitchen table while the children played in the next room, the mood began to lighted as they all agreed Kristoff was going to beat this.

And he’d be dammed if he wasn’t going to give it the fight of his life.

Still, there was a part of him that was at peace – almost glad, dare he say – to know that in all likelihood, he’d be the one leaving next, as selfish a thought as that was. His family would grieve and they would be in pain, but they would move on, and he hoped they would all live very long, happy and fulfilled lives, even if he wasn’t there to see the rest of it.

Everything that had happened in his life, he knew that if he died tomorrow, he would die a fulfilled man. Both his kids were married to wonderful people with two children each of their own, and a third on the way for his son. They had their own lives and they had their own futures and he knew they would take care of Anna after he was gone. They all loved her so very much.  

He would be eighty-one next month and that was a respectable age to die.  At least in knowing his death was approaching, he could tell his kids all the things he wanted to tell them.  He could give Anna all the rest of the love he was able to give with his time left.  He could make arrangements and make sure they’d all be taken care of when he was no longer there.  They’d be okay.  

Anna offered him a cookie from the nearly empty plate after the grandkids took fistfuls of them but he politely waved it off.  The chemo was making him sick to his stomach and he had little appetite these days. His chances were about fifty-fifty they told him.  Every morning he pulled a beanie over his nearly bald head and wondered if this was the day the cancer would win the battle.  

He reflected more and more over the life him and Anna got their second chance at having.   There were hard times, times when him and Anna went hungry so that their kids could eat dinner when the bills were more than they could handle.  There were times Kristoff had to work nights so that they’d still have a roof over their heads.  There were times that Anna had to swallow her pride and go to the food bank so that there was something she could pack in their kid’s school lunches.  There was one time Kristoff ended up stealing a loaf of bread, something that bothered him so much, he went back to pay for it eight months later when money wasn’t as tight and he was able to pay back the $1.49. But throughout all the struggles, his kids were happy.  They were all happy.  No matter how hard the struggle was, they were a very close family and they shared many laughs together.  

Kristoff and Anna had worked hard for everything they had.  They even built themselves a business at night instead of sleeping. So tired they were, that their kids often woke them while they dozed off while reading books to them or telling bedtime stories.  On more than one occasion one or both of them would wake in their children’s beds and need to stagger to their own room and collapse back into sleep.  But it was worth it.  Not long after launching their custom printing business, it took off, sales soared, and they were able to live very comfortably with the pleasure of working from home.  While they never did get a home in the mountains – their kids were in Denver and they wanted to stay close to them – they had enough money for yearly vacations all over the globe.  Truly it had been a blessed life, despite everything in their youth.

Kristoff thought about the guilt and those impossibly hard years more along with all the good that had happened.  He supposed it was all part of it, part of his path or whatever.  He was agnostic, he didn’t profess to know what was beyond his capacity to understand, but part of him hoped that there was something beyond death now that it was looming in his very near future.  Whatever the case, he knew he would die at peace.  Anna had given him that.  She’d given him the peace he had longed for in life.  She had given him everything, even after what he’d taken from her.  And he would fight this thing with all the strength he had left, for her.

A squeeze of his shoulder brought him back from his thoughts.

“You okay, Dad?”

Kristoff smiled up at his daughter.  “I’m wonderful, sweetheart.”

“The kids want to know if you want to play hide and seek, but I think maybe you should just rest since-”

“Nonsense!”  Kristoff laughed, struggling a little to get to his feet.  “I’m not going to pass on a chance to play with my grandkids.”  

His daughter helped him down the front porch while they kids squealed that he was ‘it’.  Kristoff closed his eyes and counted loudly to twenty, smiling to himself at hearing them scamper away.  When he opened his eyes, he looked around, already spotting a pair of small shoes poking out from behind the bushes the lined the porch.

“Ready or not, here I come!” He exclaimed, eyes passing up to the porch and catching Anna’s gaze.

She smiled at him. That sweet, understanding, compassionate smile.  He smiled back and mouthed ‘I love you’.  She blew him a kiss and then mouthed it back.  Then he went searching for his hidden grandkids, determined no matter what happened with his illness, that he was going to squeeze every last drop of joy out of however much life he had left.

[76istracersdad]

plants - 3.2k words, incomplete

ft. a lot of jack comparing himself to lena and feeling guilty about it, speculation about the slipstream & overwatch's involvement in it, and government coverups

hi all - i figured i'd start posting some of the fic i've written over the years to make this a better archive. note - none of these are complete :(

this one is titled just "plants" and was written late 2020. i think i was aiming for an overarching theme of perennials vs annual plants (ie ones that last and ones that die to put it bluntly) thus some of the plant based commentary.

only change i've made is cassidy's name.

Lena Oxton is, by far, the best candidate for the Slipstream. Her test scores are perfect across the board, her commanding officers give glowing reviews of her abilities and all mention her natural aptitude for taking on challenges, and leadership abilities that shine despite her position as a non-commissioned officer. Despite the flight program not technically being under Jack Morrison’s command, he is currently the highest ranking officer in Switzerland right now, and Director Petras wants to give this ace pilot a warm welcome. And neither he nor Ana Amari, his second-in-command and the woman sitting directly to his right, know anything about this mysterious pilot.

“They didn’t even give us her age,” Ana comments idly, legs crossed at the ankles and fingers tapping on the table. “She could be older than you, Jack.”

“I thought you said that was impossible?” Jack tosses back, smirking a bit despite the uncomfortable situation they’re both in. First meetings in any military-esque organization are rarely actually first impressions, due to the personnel files stored on anyone who’s ever so much as sneezed on a recruiter. He runs a hand through his grey hair, thinning and receding at the front. Ana’s has gone grey as well. Gabe, the lucky bastard, is the only one out of the three of them to even have a hint of his original hair color left, and he shaves most of it off and sticks a beanie on top just to spite them.

Jack’s pulled out of his musings by the sound of a knock on the office door, and he and Ana stand up straight. “Come on in,” Jack says, a little unprofessional and hits the button to open the door.

Lena Oxton is, in fact, not older than Jack or Ana. Ana stiffens a bit next to Jack when she sees the younger girl, smiling wide and walking confidently in RAF service dress, two chevrons on her arms denoting corporal rank. Her hat is tucked underneath her arm, and the sergeant who walked her here nods and salutes to Jack. Jack nods back at him, and he takes his leave. It’s a meeting just between the corporal and Overwatch, after all.

“Good morning Strike-Commander Morrison, Captain Amari,” Lena Oxton says, maybe out of turn but her eagerness and the sharp salute she gives them, all with a cheerful grin on her face, makes Jack let it go.

“At ease, Corporal,” Jack says, waving his hand and motioning towards a chair across the table from him and Ana. Ana is still silent next to him, and it’s only from years of service together does he know that she’s silently furious. He hasn’t let himself feel any anger yet, and instead pulls a notepad out from underneath the limited files he has on Oxton. Clicking his pen once, he gives her a small smile and says, “I have to say, you’re not exactly who we were expecting.”

Lena smiles wider, back straight but legs kicking in the seat a bit. “I get that a lot,” she admits, tilting her head. Her hair is short, obviously growing back out from a buzzcut, and is already beginning to show signs of wildness. It makes Jack wonder how recently she got out of basic training.

Ana’s one step ahead of him as she asks, “When did you become a corporal?”

“Earlier this year,” Lena answers. Ana frowns, and Lena’s posture becomes nervous, looking between Ana’s own displeased face and Jack’s clearly shocked one. “They streamlined me, sir, they said because of natural aptitude. I’m far from the youngest enlisted.”

“How old are you?” Jack asks, a bit afraid of the answer. The RAF would know better than to send them a child. Cassidy was strictly kept off the battlefield and not given an official position until six months after he turned eighteen, all at Reyes’ hand. Even then, it made them all uneasy. Jack and Gabe knew too much about being selected for a special program when they were too young to understand everything that was going on behind the scenes, blinded by patriotism and the concept of being special. They were eighteen then, too.

“Eighteen, sir, as of a few months ago,” Lena replies, grin gone and face now matching the solemn feeling of the room, although she doesn’t seem to understand it. She looks as if she wants to argue for her case, prove her worthiness, tell them to give her a chance and let her show her skills, thinking they might reject her because of naivety. Neither of them doubt her skills, though, and neither does Director Petras, who all but ordered Jack to approve this girl for the Slipstream.

The rest of the interview goes normally, with Oxton thanking them effusively when Jack tells her the position is hers. Jack knows this was all orchestrated over their heads when she tells him the RAF already shipped her belongings over to Zurich. They insist on walking Oxton over to her new quarters, where her room is designated by a fresh new nameplate and a singular cardboard box on the desk inside.

“Wicked,��� she says, looking around the room, and then turning back to them and saluting crisply. “I’ll do my best here, Strike-Commander, Captain!” She promises, and Jack just nods and gives her a thin smile as he and Ana walk away. It’s not until they’re in Jack’s office again does Ana speak.

“She’s younger than Fareeha when she left home, for goodness’ sake!” Ana yells, Jack sitting in the office chair and looking thoughtfully at the personnel files. Mysteriously, they only showed up when Jack had approved Oxton for the Slipstream position. Ana reads them over his shoulder, flipping the page before he finishes, making him look up at her, annoyed.

“Listen to this. Lena Oxton, age eighteen. Applied for the Royal Air Force when she was fifteen, Jack. Fifteen. Enlisted as early as she possibly could.”

Jack rubs at his eyes tiredly, already resigned to the whole situation. Petras already strong armed everyone into it, and it seems like he has the backing of the United Kingdom.

“I know that, Jack.” Was he speaking out loud? “What I’m saying is, she’s maybe not the youngest person to ever be drafted for Overwatch, she is the youngest one enlisted on base right now.” Ana frowns, sitting down on the desk across from Jack and sighing. “I just don’t like it.”

“Me neither. But it seems like it's gone above our heads, again,” Jack grumbles, running a hand through his hair again and leaning back in the chair. “Best we can do is offer a support system. Maybe introduce her to Cassidy.”

The conversation switches to a less disheartening topic, from the new recruit to old friends and their new updates. After an hour or so, Ana excuses herself to go to dinner, chiding Jack lightly and reminding him to eat. After threatening to set Angela on him, she leaves, the door shutting quietly behind her. Jack gathers up Lena Oxton’s scattered files and reviews them again, this time without Ana grabbing the papers out of his hands.

The majority of it is test results in more detail, seemingly to justify choosing Oxton over a more experienced candidate. They even included her high school transcript, which shows a fairly average student before it stops abruptly, replaced with military academy grades. It shouldn’t surprise him. The United Kingdom had increased their recruitment rates for the Omnic Crisis and continued to take on new recruits after it ended.

At the very end of the file are photos from various points of Oxton’s career. The most recent was only taken a few days ago, Oxton giving a half-smile at the camera. The oldest two are most striking, however. They seem to show a before-and-after: in the before, Lena Oxton scowls at the camera, head half-shaved and hair dyed white. The after shows her, still scowling, in a military academy uniform with a nearly-bare head. The pictures give him more insight into Oxton than any of her official records do.

Jack makes a note to himself to talk to Lena Oxton before she leaves the base for the Slipstream project. 

--

Of course, he never gets that opportunity. It isn’t until a week after the Slipstream incident that Jack gets to read the report. One pilot missing in action. One teleportation matrix currently being searched for. The scientists note that the chances of finding the matrix are likely, due to the magnetic fields or whatever the technobabble is, but that the fate of Lena Oxton is completely unknown.

“It’s none of your concern, Commander Morrison,” Director Petras tells him over the phone. “Research and development isn’t your jurisdiction.”

Jack grits his teeth. “I understand that, Director.”

“Great. I know I don’t need to remind you that the Slipstream project is highly classified. As such, our official stance is that there was no experimental flight program, no test flights, and no missing pilots. Understand?”

Jack stays silent as he thinks. He thinks about a twenty year-old young man laying in a hospital bed in a classified military hospital. He thinks about the way the injections made him feel like he was burning from the inside out. He thinks about seeing doctors wheeling covered bodies to the morgue, whispering about another failed subject. He thinks about being told to never speak of it again.

“Of course, Director,” Jack says, and the phone line goes dead.

He hasn’t forgotten the lifeless bodies in the beds next to him. He doubts he’ll forget Lena Oxton, either.

--

They recover Slipstream’s flight recorder two weeks after the crash, one week after the gag order is placed. In the audio recorded by the cockpit voice recorder, Lena Oxton speaks clearly and confidently, reporting all signals normal.

“Order received,” she says, her voice tinny. “Activating teleportation matrix in fifteen seconds.” And then, almost too quiet for the recorder to pick up, Oxton says, “This ought to be fun!”

A few moments pass before Oxton speaks up again and announces the activation of the teleportation matrix. Harsh static follows, and the recording ends.

Morrison isn’t sure if the hint of a scream before the static is real or just his guilty conscience.

--

Lena Oxton was never a part of Overwatch, officially, so Jack Morrison has no flags to place over caskets and no next of kin to inform - not that Oxton had any, he remembers grimly.

There were no flags or ceremony for Soldier: 75, the teenager in the bed next to him who cried out in the night, whose bed was empty when Soldier: 76 woke up in the morning. Jack hadn’t even known his name. He hadn’t even thought of him for decades.

That night, when he sleeps, he dreams of the soldier enhancement program for the first time in years. In his dreams, Lena Oxton is wheeled out of Jack’s room, her still body covered by a white sheet. The doctors tell him not to think about it, tell him that the bed next to him was always empty. The doctors tell him to forget.

--

Ana brings it up first, when they’re sitting alone in his office. Jack has his hands folded and pressed against his face. Someone who didn’t know him would assume he was praying.

“We failed her,” Ana says. Jack doesn’t look up. “What are you going to do about it, Jack?”

“There’s nothing I can do,” Jack replies without looking up. “She accepted the position. She knew the risks. This is what happens in war.” 

“I know that. It doesn’t make it any less wrong,” Ana retorts. She’s been a soldier longer than he has. There’s another long pause.

“After I had Fareeha, I fought so she wouldn’t have to,” Ana says. “I thought that she could grow up in a time of peace. I hoped that she would become something - anything besides a soldier. I failed her too.”

“Fareeha made her own decision. She knew the risks. This is what happens in war, Ana -” Jack repeats, but Ana cuts him off.

“What war, Jack? What war are we fighting?” Ana stands and moves to leave. “The Crisis is over. You and I and Gabe each have the medals to prove it. So why are our kids soldiers?” She hesitates by the door. “We failed them, Jack.”

The door slides shut behind her. 

--

Lena Oxton doesn’t let any of them forget her.

The Slipstream’s teleportation matrix is found after months of searching, with some reclusive new signals expert named Winston apparently being the one to pinpoint its location. Within a week of its return, the scientists note chronal anomalies surrounding it and place it in an asymptotically timelike chamber in the Swiss base specially designed during the beginning of the Slipstream experiments. 

Jack takes a moment to scrub at his eyes, squints at the page, and skims over the next few dozen lines of equations. He respects the scientists, but he wishes he knew how to ask them to dumb their reports down without coming across as dismissive. He flips the page and begins to skim over the paragraphs when he reads:

Upon reactivation of the chamber, the pilot previously assumed killed in action, Lena Oxton - callsign Tracer - reappeared, though she exhibited many anomalies that could not completely be contained by the chamber. 

Five more pages of analysis follow. The report concludes by stating that Dr. Ziegler and the scientist from earlier, Winston, have been assigned to her case.

Jack goes back and rereads the paragraph. He rereads it again.

“Athena, where is the, ah, asymptomatic timelike chamber?” He asks out loud.

“The asymptotic time chamber is located on level 2B, wing E,” Athena replies.

Jack sprints the entire way there.

--

---

They make her speak at his funeral in Arlington.

He’s watching from a distance, hacked into some security livestream via drone, less than a mile from the actual thing. All the old heroes of Overwatch, the ones alive, anyways, are gathering around his grave. The sun is shining brightly. He can see Reinhardt sweating in his old Overwatch formal dress. Jack Morrison’s glad it doesn’t rain for his funeral, because it would just be another nail in the empty coffin.

Lena’s been made to speak. It makes sense that they would - the funeral is popularized by the media, with Overwatch’s downfall and the scandals that led up to the explosion, why wouldn’t it be? He wonders where she’s going after the Petras Act, the heroic law that saves the world from any other superheroes trying to do good and fucking up the planet more than it already is, goes into effect. For now, she’s still the golden child, the posterboy of Overwatch, for better or for worse. He’s read his own slander. He can’t bring himself to read anyone else’s.

“He was an excellent commander.” A goddamn lie. He couldn’t run a military company for his life. Maybe he was charismatic enough on the field, enough of a solid figure in a rapidly shifting war-torn field, to be considered for Strike-Commander, but it blew up in his face. He touches the lesions that are just starting to heal, ugly stripes breaking his facial features. Blew up in his face, alright.

Lena’s never sounded ungenuine in her life. She quips advice sometimes, to whoever she feels needs it at the moment, never sounding haughty or out of line. Even now, when she’s spouting lies that he’s sorry she believes, she has the conviction of someone announcing the sky is blue and the grass is green. “He was a mentor to me, personally, after the Slipstream Incident. I could have gone back to civilian life, but he inspired me. I wanted to make the world a better place. Jack Morrison helped me learn how it could be done.”

He tunes out. Stays on the drone’s line for hours, waiting for anyone to say anything about Gabe. He’s not sure why he cares so much. Morbid curiosity? Looking for revenge? Nothing interesting turns up until it’s late into the night, and the motion-activated camera has been off for hours. Its night vision spins on quickly, and Jack sits up, studying the footage.

There’s a small figure standing in front of his gravestone, a baggy hoodie barely concealing the light of a chronal accelerator. Lena’s changed out of her formalwear and is back in front of Jack’s grave, obviously trying to stay hidden. The drone picks up every word she says, and though he can’t see her face, the tears are obvious in her voice.

“I hate you,” Lena says, voice shaky as she lowers herself to sit on the ground. “...I don’t mean that. I hate...I don’t know what I hate. But I hate this situation, and I hate Director Petras, and,” her voice cracks, but she continues, “I hate that you’re gone.” Silence for a few more moments as she picks at the grass around his grave, then picks up the flowers someone had left there and inspects them. “You would’ve hated these,” she says. “This is an annual. One year and it’s gone.” She picks at the petals absentmindedly, voice still thick. “Y’know, I’m coming up on my first year as an active field agent. Streamlined me so fast, people seem to think I’ve been here for years. I think being new is the only thing that’s keeping me from being demonized in the news, like you.” Jack shakes his head. He deserves what they’re saying about him, and more. But he can’t tell Lena that. She drops the flower and stares ahead at the gravestone, not saying anymore for a few more minutes, just crying quietly to herself. Sometimes she starts to say something, but breaks off. It’s not until a car pulls up to the road nearby, and Angela comes out, pausing by the car door as Lena whips around to look at her.

“Listen, C’mander…” Lena begins again, standing up and tugging the hoodie firmer around herself. “I told you about my shit family and all, but, ah.” Jack watches Angela walking closer, his own throat growing tight at the words coming out of Lena’s mouth. He doesn’t want to hear them. Doesn’t want to disappoint anyone else.

She says them anyways. “In the end, I had a pretty good one. I don’t think tossing pulse bombs at me to teach me not to drop them counts as catch in the park, but what the hell would I know?” Lena shifts where she stands, digging a heel into the dirt. “For what it’s worth...I would have liked to call you dad.” The last bit comes out almost silent, almost too quiet for the drone to capture and almost too quiet for anyone but a supersoldier to hear. Angela comes up to Lena and wraps her in a hug, and Lena loses it again, crying into her shoulder.

“Oh, liebling,” she says, guiding Lena away from the gravestone after pausing for a moment at it. “Come back to the hotel room. Winston’s worried sick about you.”

Jack shuts off his connection to the drone, heading out of Arlington through the shadows.

It takes him months to locate Lena, find where she’s settling into civilian life. With the networking today, it hardly takes any time at all to pick out some perennials and have them sent to her apartment. The hardest part, he thinks, as he clicks the anonymous option, was not having them sent with the message, ‘to my daughter.’

[allwaswell16]

—Fics by allwaswell16—

[ 10k - 19k ]

Unraveled [E, 18k, bodyguard, fic post]

Harry Styles, recently retired UK Secret Intelligence Service agent, had not yet had time to become accustomed to civilian life when he was tapped by MI5 for a high profile assignment. They had reason to believe that Prime Minister Louis Tomlinson might be in danger, and they’d like Harry to act as his personal protection.

Whilst Harry was prepared to protect the PM with his life, he wasn’t prepared for Louis’ secrets. As Harry helped investigate the attempts on Louis’ life, he found a tangled web of political rivals, possible terrorist attacks, and family secrets as well as an undeniable attraction to the man he has vowed to protect.

No Easy Love (Could Make Me Feel This Way) [E, 17k, alpha/alpha, fic post]

There’s never been anyone for Harry but Louis. He had always thought their love would last forever, despite society’s pressures on an alpha/alpha relationship. When Louis breaks up with him and moves to Chicago, he’s suddenly left behind to pick up the pieces of the life they once shared. Instead of moving on, he finds reasons to keep Louis in his life and in the process begins to piece together what went wrong.

Or an Alpha Louis/Alpha Harry au where they get a second chance to make things right with the love of their life.

When You Know [E, 17k, assassin, fic post]

Years of living in the shadows has taken its toll on Louis Tomlinson. When he’s offered a chance to leave behind his life as a hired assassin, he intends to take it.

How Could I Ever Forget [E, 14k, Vegas, fic post]

After his boyfriend leaves him for a job in New York, Harry vows to move on with his life. A year later when their best friends announce their engagement, Harry knows he'll be forced to see Louis again and face the truth he's been trying his best to hide--even from himself.

Or a Vegas AU where Ziam's bachelor party turns into drunken karaoke, winning thousands at slots, washing your clothes at the laundromat in your underwear, and making life altering decisions that you can't remember in the morning.

Sit Next To Me [E, 12k, strangers to lovers, fic post]

Harry Styles of One Direction always gets what he wants. Well, nearly always. What he can’t seem to figure out is why the very fit man who comes to assist Liam’s tattoo artist seems to have zero interest in him. Is Louis Tomlinson the straightest man alive? Or does Louis showing up for every show on tour mean something more is going on?

Paper Houses [E, 11k, famous/famous, fic post]

When model Louis Tomlinson admits to having a celebrity crush on a very famous actor in an article in GQ magazine, he has no idea it will lead to anything. He definitely never suspects he will fall so hard and so fast for Harry Styles. When reality begins to interfere, their relationship is put to the test.

One Day You'll Say These Words [E, 11k, historical, fic post]

Growing up together in Yorkshire has led to a lifelong friendship between Louis Tomlinson, the future Marquess of Rotherham, and Harry Styles, the heir to a viscount. When Harry suddenly inherits his uncle’s title and estate much earlier than expected, Louis must watch his friend struggle under the weight of these new responsibilities, including searching for a wife with a dowry large enough to save his estate. However, sitting idly by as Harry looks for a bride brings some unexpected feelings to the surface.

A friends to lovers story set in the Regency era.

Over [E, 11k, exes, fic post]

Harry still thinks about the one who got away. Louis still wonders what went wrong with the man of his dreams. A year after their breakup, fate intervenes in the form of a photographer looking for strangers to pose as a couple.

Waiting [E, 10k, omegaverse, fic post]

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

[Back to masterpost]

[whump-ghoul]

Fic: If Found, Return To...

I was thinking about dog!Mountain again and wondered what his first ‘walks’ were like prior to ‘How to Walk a Mountain’.

(Aka: The Ghouls try and put him on a leash. It goes as well as you can imagine)

Wordcount: Approx. 2200

Characters: Zephyr (chAir), Dewdrop (Water), Iftrit (Fire) and of course Mountain (Earth). Terzo is mentioned. 

[My Ghost lore is a little rusty so please bare with me - this is set around 2016/2017. Might edit and post to AO3 at some point, but for now enjoy a ficlet at the expense of my sanity - I wrote this in a rush on the train so sorry about any mistakes lol]

“I really think we should put him on a leash.” Zephyr had said in the early days of their ‘walks’. This was the third one they’d taken across the last five months, and the air ghoul was already getting tired of constantly losing the ghoul to the forest and waiting an age for him to return. It had happened twice now, especially since Essence Mountain had a different perspective and understanding of the world than normal Mountain. Dew and Ifrit only shared a look and shrugged. Sure, it was annoying, but nothing truly harmful to any of them; the earth wasn’t their essence, but it didn't do them any harm to embrace the outdoors - especially after weeks of rehearsals and chores keeping them cooped up in the Abbey. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Omega crossed his arms, he’d just returned from an afternoon of helping in the infirmary, therefore was more than done with people’s bullshit for the day. 

“Could work, but might look a little strange, no?” Dew offered.

“We are ghouls summoned from Hell to help a Satanic Pope spread The Word with world-wide music tours. We have to regularly take the huge, non-verbal earth ghoul out for walks or he starts tearing the place apart. They make me play a fucking keytar. I think stranger things have happened.” Zephyr scoffed. “It’ll just make it easier on us, that's all I'm saying.”

“Alright, man,” Omega said, a headache already forming behind his eyes. “Do whatever, but I don’t want any part of whatever dumb shit you decide on.”

And with that, he retired to his room for the night. Years down the line, Dew would come to regret that the era four ghouls couldn’t get along. Since their summoning, and the frequent shifts in touring ghouls, tensions were high and meaningful connections were at an all time low, therefore the water-turned-fire ghoul had made it his goal to at least connect with one of them. Oddly enough, the silent one was going to be his best bet at levelling his loneliness. 

“We could just stop taking him out for ‘walks’ and instead just let him do whatever.” Ifrit suggested.

“No way.” Dew said, “Once he’s in that headspace, he doesn’t know what to do with himself - it’s like all rationale goes out the window. He needs us to take him out y’know.”

“Then can’t we just play fetch with him until he gets bored?”

It was Zephyr’s time to argue, “No. Tried to do that once but it’s really not enough, the menace wouldn't leave me alone.” 

The air ghoul wasn’t going to admit that they fell hard for the large doe eyes the earth ghoul sported whenever he wanted something. Whether they were purposeful or not, none of the ghouls had the heart to say ‘no’ when Mountain gave them the eyes. 

So that's how they found themselves a few days later: stood awkwardly apart in a pet store as they idly browsed the leash section. 

“We should get the pink one with love hearts.” Dew giggled, holding up the offending collar for the others to see. 

“No way, man,” Ifrit scoffed. “He’s not a handbag dog - this red one with flames is more his style for sure.”

Zephyr, who had been banned from choosing a collar when they suggested a chain one, shook their head at the absurdity. Nothing in their life could be normal, apparently. For ten minutes they argued over colours until a worker finally stepped over to help. 

“No man, the green one is much more his style, he’s an earth-“

“First time dog owners?” The worker asked the glamoured ghouls, who startled at the interruption. 

“Something like that. We’re just looking for a friend.” Ifrit said with a shark-like grin. The worker swallowed, though still determined to continue the customer service spiel. 

“Yeah, we just need something big and comfortable enough to fit his neck. None of this choking stuff, but something to keep him in line.” Dew elaborated. 

“Uh- right.” The worker stammered, “We do have some anti-pull harnesses if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“He wont wear a harness - nor will one fit him.” Zephyr said. “Has to be a collar.”

“Is this for a puppy? We offer training classes for puppies and small dogs, but we also have specialised classes for more mature dogs such as rescues.” The man smiled, reaching for a display that had the pamphlets and handed one to Zephyr. Dew snatched it out of their hand because how on Lucifer's forsaken earth were they to sneak an Essence Mountain in, and he was sure normal Mountain would beg to be sent back to the Pit instead of attending one. As much as the search for a leash was amusing, Dew felt somewhat uncomfortable at the treatment of the earth ghoul. 

“Thank you, but he’s… not… yeah.” The water ghoul mumbled, passing back the now creased pamphlet to the dubious worker. Ifrit took his chance to take control of the situation back by derailing their search completely. 

“What's the longest leash you have? We need one that’ll still have some slack even when he stands up.”

The man tried to smooth his tucked-in polo as he stammered. He tripped on his words until they finally levelled on his tongue in a concerned tone, the pamphlet forgotten and scrunched in tense hands. 

“I- I- have to ask… is this going to be for a child?”

“What?” Ifrit scoffed, “No!”

“Is he a kid?” Dew pointed out, “He’s younger than us, sure but we don’t actually know is inf- his actual human age.”

*** 

In the end, they got kicked out before they could purchase anything, the worker deciding they should take their ‘inappropriate’ business elsewhere. 

“Man this is bullshit!” Zephyr huffed. “Who knew buying a leash for a ghoul would be so hard!” 

“This was your idea in the first place.” Ifrit accused. “We came all the way out here for nothing- I had to take on a Sister’s chores for a month just so she’d drive us here!” 

Ifrit looked apologetically to the Sister of Sin waiting by the car of the parking lot. She didn’t complain, as she was leant happily against the hood speaking animatedly on the phone and touching up her eyeliner in the polished black metal. 

“Yeah yeah.” Zephyr shifted on their feet, stumped. 

“Guys.” Dew suddenly interrupted from where he had been gazing across the rows of department stores. 

“What?” Zephyr asked, following Dew’s grinning stare at a small child who toddled past with his parents. Attached to his backpack/harness was a leash. 

“I think I found a solution to your problem.” He grinned further, dragging Zephyr along with him towards the nearby toy store. 

“We’re not fucking doing this…” Ifrit scoffed, his face in an amazed super in his awe at the antics.

***

Since hidden at the bottom of the basket, the ghouls had settled on the largest, and most appealing child harness they could find: a bumblebee backpack with a fairly long leash. It was only hidden as Ifrit and Dew had tossed some toy guns on top for their own entertainment. They included enough for Terzo and Omega too, after all, it was Terzo’s  card that was paying for all this. The air ghoul pretended he didn't want one… then added his own just a few minutes later. 

“Are we done?” Zephyr asked as Dew finalised their shop by adding a can of tennis balls to their haul. 

“Don’t get pissy with me, Zeph, you’re the one who suggested this.” Dew accused, following Ifrit to the checkout counter as the familiar tug of their glamour pulled at his mind. They were all growing tired of keeping up such an intensive glamour for so long. 

“Whatever.” Zephyr rolled his eyes, and followed the ghouls back to the car once everything was paid for. They ended up making a stop at another pet store to get him an engraved tag and collar that read: 

‘Monty. If found, return to Dave’ with a number on the reverse. 

They decided that using the most human names they could think of would somehow make it easier for him to be returned, and ‘Monty’ was an apt pet name for their floppy-eared mountain ghoul. In this scenario ‘Dave’ was Omega, given that Zephyr never answered his phone, Ifrit would troll the unsuspecting caller, and Dew… was Dew. They thought about adding Terzo's number instead, but it would look bad on them If Mountain got lost on their watch and Terzo found out. 

***

“See? Isn’t this better already?” Zephyr said a few weeks later as they walked the wooded trail. At first, mountain had been pretty against wearing a leash of all things, but after some bribing and positive enforcement, he eventually gave in. He was walking just ahead of them, when he slowed to inspect a small budding plant. The ghouls also stopped, basking in the springtime sun as they continued to talk yet Dew shifted uncomfortably. 

“I don't know man, this seems a bit dehumanising.” He shrugged when Zephyr questioned his hesitance. Sure, Mountain was far more animalistic than the current summoned ghouls, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be treated without a shred of dignity when his essence clawed at his resolve enough to turn him into an anxious puppy. It happened so infrequently that it was hardly a burden on them in the first place. Still, they were reluctant to share such information with the rest of the clergy, as even Terzo was still unlearning the biases against ghouls that had been ingrained into his mind by his father. 

It was their ‘secret’ of sorts, and Dew could only worry about what was going to happen on tour… A twig snapped, and Mountain's head snapped in the direction of the noise. Dew and Zephyr thought nothing of it. 

“I guess.” The air ghoul amended, though tightened his grip on the leash regardless. “But it’s either this, or we lose him, and I don’t wanna explain that to Papa.” 

“Come on, he can’t exactly help it.” Dew argued, “I’ve had my ass beaten by Imperator too many times for leaving windows open during storms and trailing water through the halls, and Ifrit has burnt too many curtains to count. Hell, you can’t pretend you’re perfect with your constant fucking with the weather whenever your essence is particularly sensitive.”

“So? At least it’s not embarrassing. I don’t get why we needed a new ghoul in the first place - Earth was doing just fine, all we got with this one is trouble. The old man couldn’t even summon a normal one. Instead we’ve got a mute with fickle knees and-”

Dew blinked. 

Mountain was halfway up the trail.

Zephyr was sprawled on the dirt track. 

In the blink of an eye, the air ghoul had been launched across the path - a good few feet by the water ghouls estimate. They were laying face down in the dirt, one arm extended in front of them as though reaching for the quickly retreating leash that tumbled after the earth ghoul as he sprinted after a rabbit. Dew winced, Zephyr wasn’t exactly small, so Mountain was sure to have a few bruises later from the pull. It was almost admirable how it didn’t stop him, though. 

“I don’t think the leash is gonna work out.” Dew said as Zephyr pulled themselves up, their face either red with rage or embarrassment. Dew suspected both.

Without another word, they pushed past the water ghoul and headed back to the Abbey, rubbing their shoulder as they went and cursing profanities that Secondo would be proud of.  

***

Eventually, Mountain returned to the wandering water ghoul, emerging from the shrubs and sheepishly carrying the destroyed leash in one hand, the other holding his filthy backpack that was overflowing with trinkets: animal bones, leaves, twigs, flowers and wild herbs. The telltale rattle of rocks told the water ghoul that there were several stones in there too. 

“All good?” Dew asked, and Mountain nodded, frowning as he looked around for Zephyr. He keened as though worried for the air ghoul. 

“Went back to the Abbey after you destroyed their ego.” Said Dew, laughing when Mountain's large ears drooped in his guilt. 

“Don’t worry about it, big guy. The leash was their dumb idea in the first place. I knew something like this was gonna happen. I mainly came along just to see it blow up in their face.” He said, and reached up to unclip the collar. 

Mountain purred as soon as it was gone, and instinctively scratched the skin where it had been.

“Come on,” Dew gestured towards the path back to the Abbey, “I promise you won’t have to wear it again, but we’ll have to work on your recall.” 

The water ghoul only laughed as Mountain grumbled something akin to: “Fine.”