#I think once they both left immediate crisis mode he would also try to like... set aside time to just do normal father-son stuff with peter

[ask-ursa-tonypeter]

[fic: double-blind] Hi Tony! So that was some _shit_ you went through, i imagine being forcefully personality swapped into a megalomaniacal dictator would do a number on anyone's brain. Since actual therapy is hardly realistic in your case, what are you doing to cope? Do you have any big or small rituals, any activities that help you feel better? If not atm, do you plan on eventually trying to find some way to healthy-ish cope with your trauma?

Drinking.

--Oh, you said "healthy-ish."

Drinking responsibly.

[pitiless-achilles-wept]

2020 Can Take My Hair, But Not My Hope

My hair started falling out on election night.

I thought at first it might be the anxiety, that I was literally pulling my hair out with worry over numbers I already knew were not going to be definitive before the night wore into morning but which I stayed up until 3:30am watching anyway. I tweeted rapidly, reassuring my jittery timeline that not only had we all known that the night would bring no results but that we had even expected Trump to lead in key states because of the greater number of mail-in ballots from urban areas that would largely count for Biden. We knew. We all knew. But we were all terrified, flashing back to 2016 and already dreading another four years of living life on high alert, in constant survival mode.

I posted a selfie with a tweet that read, "Could be the last presidential election I vote in (blah blah stage 4 cancer blah blah) and I wish it were better and clearer than this but it's a crucial privilege to have voted. Remember, whatever the outcome, the last thing they can take from you is your hope."

To me that last sentence has been a mantra for these years and for my treatment. I have consistently refused, despite overwhelmingly terrible odds, to lose hope. The story of Pandora's Box tells us that the very last thing left inside was Hope--that even once all the demons were out in the world there was that tiny, feathered creature left to hang on to. It hasn't been easy, but I am one of the most stubborn people you will ever meet (and if you doubt this just ask anyone who's ever fought me on anything!) and it has turned out to be a saving grace rather than an irritating personality trait. Feeling like the world was trying to take my hope away made me angry. And when I get angry I will fight back.

I know I'm not alone in feeling like we entered some kind of alternate nightmare timeline on election night 2016. To that point, despite periods of immense personal difficulty, nothing truly terrible had happened to me. Then, in short order, my marriage ended and I was diagnosed with and began being treated for a terminal illness, all against the backdrop of a regime so deliberately hateful that it was truly incomprehensible to me. Then, a global pandemic and national crisis swept away the small consolations I'd found in my new life with cancer. The temptation to feel hopeless was strong and I struggled with it, particularly in the isolation of quarantine. I'm struggling with it now, facing a winter of further lockdowns, social isolation, continued chemo, and the added indignity (and chilliness!) of not having any hair. But somehow the coincidence of my hair loss with election night seemed like a good omen for the future, if a sad thing for the present.

I heard the news that they had called Pennsylvania for Biden at a peaceful Airbnb in the Catskills after stepping out of a shower where lost hair in handfuls. It felt oddly like a sacrifice I had made personally. I joked about this with friends on the text chains that lit up and that (despite my promise to myself and my writing partner that we'd "go off the grid") I responded to immediately. Instant replies, with emojis and GIFs, participated in the fiction: "Thank you for your service!!!"; "We ALL appreciate your sacrifice!"; "Who among us would NOT give up their hair for no more Trump?". The feeling was real for me, though. It was as though the good news demanded some kind of karmic offering. You never get something for nothing, I thought, and really it was a small price to pay.

The rest of the weekend passed too quickly, with absorption in the novel I plan (madly, given that I also work full-time) to work on for "National Novel Writing Month" (NaNoWriMo), walks in the unseasonably warm woods, and nighttime drinks on the back deck under the stars, watching my hair blow off in fine strands and drift through the sodium porch light. My friend and I read tarot and both our layouts contained The Tower, the card for new beginnings from total annihilation, the moment of destruction in which (as the novel's title says) everything is illuminated. "This might sound dumb," he said, "but maybe yours is about your hair." It did not sound dumb.

[shaved heads, the 2020 election, and a couple pics under the cut]

There is probably no more iconic visual shorthand for cancer than hair loss. It happens because chemo agents target fast-proliferating cells, which tend to inhabit things that grow rapidly by nature (hair, fingernails), or that we need to replenish often (cells in the gut), as well as out-of-control cancer cells. But not all cancer treatments, not even all chemotherapies, cause hair loss. In my 20 months of being treated for cancer and my three previous treatments (four, if you count the surgery I had) nothing had yet affected my hair beyond a bit of thinning. This despite the fact that my first-ever treatment (Taxol) was widely known to cause hair loss for "everyone." I had been fortunate with this particular side effect in a narrow way that I have absolutely not been on a broader scale. "Maybe," I had let myself think, "I can have this one thing." The odds were in my favor too; only 38% of people in clinical trials being treated with Saci lost their hair. I liked the odds of being in the 62% who didn't. But--as we all felt deep in our gut while they counted votes in battleground states--odds aren't everything.

I had come to treat the "strength" of my hair as a kind of relative consolation (though as with everything cancer "strength," "weakness," and the rhetoric of battle have nothing to do with outcomes). I treasured still having it, not just out of vanity (though I have always loved my hair whatever length, style, or color it has been) but because it allowed me to pass among regular people as one of them. I had no visible markers of the illness that is killing me, concealed as first the tumor and then the scars were by my clothing. "You look wonderful," people would tell me, even when I suffered from stress fractures from nothing more than running or sneezing; muscle spasms in my shoulder and nerve death in my fingertips; nausea that I swallowed with swigs from my water bottle that just made me look all the more like a hydration-conscious athlete; and profound, constant, and debilitating fatigue. Invisible illness had its own perils but I would take them--take all of them at once if necessary!--if only I could keep my hair and look normal.

It was not to be. A part of me had known this, since a lifetime with metastatic cancer means a lifetime of treatments a solid proportion of which result in hair loss. But I had hoped. And I had liked the odds.

The hardest thing for me is having to give up this particular consolation before knowing whether or not my new treatment is also working on my cancer. Unfortunately, there really isn't a correlation between side effects like hair loss and effectiveness of treatment. If it is working then I will feel that--like the election to which I felt I had karmically contributed--it was all completely worth it. Yet, even in this best case scenario, there's a new reality for me which is that while I am on this treatment I will stay bald. When you are a chronic patient you hope for a treatment that will work well with manageable side effects. And if this treatment works--and if the other side effects are as ok-ish as they are now--then I will remain on it.

It's that future that I am furious about more than anything else. I want to continue to live my life, of course, but I don't want to have to do it bald! In part that is because I don't want to register to people constantly as an archetypal "cancer patient" when I know that I am so much more. It is also in part because I don't want to think of myself as being ill, and living every day having to disguise my absent hair will make that all the tougher. I have already noticed that I feel, physically, as though I am sicker because of my constantly shedding hair. How could I not, in some ways, when every move I make and every glance at myself (including in endless Zoom windows) shows me this highly visible change?

For that reason, I'm shaving my remaining hair tomorrow (Wednesday). It's a way to feel less disempowered--less like hair loss is happening to me--and wrest control of the situation back. I will try to find agreeable things about it: wigs, scarves, cozy caps, bright lipstick, statement earrings, and a general punk/Mad Max vibe that is appropriate to 2020. But I don't want anyone to think for a second that I find this agreeable, or even acceptable, or that I don't mind. I mind a whole hell of a lot. My hair was my consolation prize, my camouflage, my vanity, my folly, and my battle cry.

I dyed it purple when I was first diagnosed because I knew (or thought I knew) that I would be losing it soon. I didn't, and I came to cherish it as a symbol of my boldness in the face of circumstances trying to oppress me, to make me shrink, to tempt me to become invisible. I refused and used it to "shout" all the louder in response. Because of what it came to mean to me, I'm nearly as sad about losing the purple as I am about losing the hair itself. It both symbolized the weight I was carrying and also that I would not let that weight grind me down. It was my act of resistance and my sign resilience all at once.

I sent a text to my friends, explaining this and offering, as an idea, that I could "pass the purple" to them in some way, small or large. It would feel more like handing off a torch or a weight (or the One Ring) than anyone shaving their head in solidarity. (After all, if they did that it would just remind me as I watched theirs grow back that, in fact, our positions were very different.) You're welcome to do it if you'd like too, internet friends, with temporary or permanent dye or a wig or a headband or one of those terrible 90s hairwraps or whatever. But I don't require that anyone do it because I feel support from you all in myriad ways, all the time. (But if you do, please send me pictures!)

It's November 2020. The election is over and Joe Biden has won. I still have cancer and I'll be bald tomorrow. I hope it's a turning point, both personal and global, because it feels like one. We've given up a lot in the last four years and I cannot say that I feel in any way peaceful or accepting about having to give up yet one more thing. But in losing my hair I absolutely refuse to also give up my hope.

(On our walk we did also seem to find a version of The Tower, all that was left of an abandoned house)

[clumsyclifford]

bella I would love a directors cut on literally any of the rilex you’ve written, but specifically it’s always her, and you, and me, or for these days you’ve been stuck in my brain 💙

OHHHHHH those are some CHOICESSSSSS lucy. fuck yeah. let’s get into it. ill link them both here but we’ll take em one at a time

it’s always her, and me, you

these days you’ve been stuck in my brain

here’s a cut for convenience cos i KNOW i’m gonna go long here.

okay! let’s start with the rilisex fic.

it’s always her, and me, and you

so like it says in the ao3 notes, this fic came from realizing just how frequently rian and alex kiss each other like, all the time? just? casually? for funsies? this was another one of those situations like i mentioned where the hook aka first line (“Rian's no expert, but he doesn't think normal friends kiss this much.”) just appeared in my head and i was like heyyy that’s a GOOD first line. i have to build from that line. that’s the hook, that’s the summary, that’s the core. 

something i discovered upon searching through the editing history of the doc: i had originally sort of intended to go a direction with this where in some other circumstance, rian would see alex giving jack a super casual friendly kiss and he’d get all sad/jealous and be like sure why SHOULDNT alex kiss jack after all its just a thing he does with his FRIENDS. but the fic ended up going a different way and honestly? im glad. i like this way better.

the role of singin in the rain in this fic actually has a HILARIOUS backstory because the night i originally wrote that conversation in the tour bus kitchen, i went into the club and said the following

and then. the next day. rian streamed with ricky, and i asked if he’d ever seen singin in the rain, and he ANSWERED ME and said he hadn’t. so first of all i had already written the scene and i then had to rewrite it to make it so rian wouldn’t have seen it but also!!! i literally asked rian fucking dawson if he’d seen a movie for the sole reason of using that information for fanfiction!!!! and he provided me with the information i needed!!!! whole thing is just fucking hysterical to me. ANYWAY.

ANYWAY, the other reason why sitr has such a big role in the fic is because megs and i watched the movie together while i was in the middle of working on the fic, so it was extremely fresh in my mind. in fact i can probably show you this: i had this comment left for myself when i was kind of trying to figure out if i could make a real metaphor of sorts with the sitr ot3 and the Big Three of this fic. some of this ended up in rian’s wild musings in the hotel scene but i did conclude that it wouldn’t really have worked and that was definitely true but anyway. fuck it, director’s cut, here’s the kind of shit i leave for myself to refer to

so that’s part of the reason why it became such a puzzle piece of this fic, but real talk, it’s also just because i love singin in the rain it’s one of my favorite movies lmao

briefly gonna also touch on lisa and why she’s in this fic because i realize that rian/alex/lisa is an interesting approach to rilex! first of all, i love lisa. i love alex and lisa. and it occurred to me that there was really no reason to split lisex up just to make rilex happen. plus there’s this tweet that really just pushed me over the edge of being like yeah, rilisex is extremely plausible. so that’s that on that.

as for the scene in the hotel room while they’re watching sitr, there is a small piece of that scene - from when alex starts kissing rian’s shoulders etc to “it would defy the laws of nature not to” - that i actually wrote before anything else in that scene. that small piece got stretched out and edited quite a bit from how it started but it did function as a sort of foundation around which i built the rest of the scene, because that small section sort of ~came to me~ absolutely out of nowhere, and i really liked the Vibe it had and i wanted to include it. i THINK that was the only piece of this fic that i wrote Out Of Order - for the most part this was written chronologically.

ALSO!!! omg this is exciting, this fic actually has a deleted scene!!!!!! i hate cutting scenes but i also hate having scenes that are less than 1k and this one didn’t really contribute much to the fic. i can probably share it here right? sure why not ! hopefully you can read this. it originally took place after the scene where alex and rian call lisa for the first time. the question of “what gets left into interview videos and what gets cut” is also just interesting to me as a (fic) concept in general so...eyes emoji, but here’s my mini-exploration that i cut from the original fic. enjoy lol it’s silly <3

oh! also one more thing!! the very final scene was included for two reasons. the first reason being that when i write getting-together fics, i really prefer to add on a scene After they Get Together because i love to write domestic established relationship stuff and i think that’s a satisfying reward for a reader who’s just slogged through all the mutual pining and bullshit to get the characters together. but the OTHER reason is that i got an anon (here it is!) and i read that ask and was immediately like well shit. now i have to fucking include this. for the anon and for myself. so you can thank that anon for that last scene. (also i wanted to include merrikat especially since i had to cut their little moment in the interview scene above.)

so....................whew. i think i’ve bled that fic dry. holy shit that’s a lot of Stuff. OKAY! let’s move on.

~

these days you’ve been stuck in my brain

so!!! THIS fic was the breakthrough after (what felt like) a long bout of writer’s block. long for me was maybe two weeks, but i am the kind of person who is always writing, and two weeks was a long time to go with little to no inspiration/motivation to write anything. i had also been in a weird narrative headspace because i’d been binge-watching disney shows (jessie > austin and ally > girl meets world) and i don’t know how well i can explain this but the way those shows are written is a lot snappier and cares way less for realistic and consistent character development or plots or relationships, and so i was stuck between caring a lot about including those things in my fics but also being unable to conceptualize them in writing because my brain was in Disney Writing Mode. does that make sense? this is rhetorical so let’s go with yes. so anyway. i was in a slump

actually what i ended up doing was basically googling something like “au prompts tumblr” or something and just scrolling through posts. i saw something about soulmate telepathy and i actually tried to write something totally different before i wrote this one, but the first attempt was a different concept and then the direction i took it was like......it wasn’t quite right and i realized that i was kind of writing dark disney style? there is really no way for me to explain what i mean by that because it seems really obvious to me but that’s just because i’m inside my own head so just take my word. 

anyway. attempt #1 of soulmate telepathy rilex went poorly, and this fic was attempt #2. i kinda took the soulmate telepathy thing and changed it as i saw fit and i also went back to skim helen’s telepathy fic because obviously she’s the pro and then i tried not to steal her ideas. and as i was writing it i kinda realized i was doing the whole quirky funny best friend character with jack and also doing the whole “somehow this not-very-dramatic situation with teenagers is treated as The Most Dramatic Thing Ever and that’s totally normal and nobody finds it strange” disney trope with rian and alex being soulmates and i was like (deep sigh) i have to accept that no matter how much i try to fight this, this fic is going to be tainted with disney. and that’s life

on top of that i will add that the real-life rilex were extremely inspiring during the two-day period during which i wrote this fic, because that was when the once in a lifetime video came out and in the brief pre-video livestream rilex were Beyond Married and that definitely helped in the writing of fic rilex!

hmmmm what can i tell you about this fic itself.................honestly, i don’t think there’s much to tell! rian is a band kid because in real life rian was a band kid and he’s staff manager at rita’s just like he was in real life. there is truthfully not a lot to unpack here that i can think of!

oh here’s something i guess: rian and alex go on a date in this fic! that is because watching So Much Disney made me realize that i often forget the fact that people just. go on dates. sometimes. look i clearly do not have an active romantic life but i also really liked the idea of alex and rian going on a date despite not knowing if they’d be soulmates or not and liking each other organically just by getting to know each other, rather than being victim to the whole soulmate thing. like i wanted them to build a connection so that they would want to be soulmates. and then the audience would want that for them too. stakes!! very important.

i can tell you i had a mild crisis over the title of the fic because i am not a fan of the word brain and i didnt wanna use that sticky lyric for the title when it had a word i hated but it was objectively a much better title option than the other one i had, which was “sticky just like the song in my head” but i obviously decided on the former and it has not upset me nearly as much as i expected it to so that was the right decision imo

so! i think that’s all on that! sorry (?) that it got so long although then again i don’t know what’s to be expected in a director’s cut for two long fics but thank you for asking me about these, i love them both so very much rilex is so supremely underrated but so very important

[severetimetravelnerd]

Change (ft. G Dragon and Yoo Yeon-Seok)

Part 2

When Yeon-Seok fainted, no one really knew what to do, but more than that, no one expected you to swing into action

( I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owner)

For a few seconds after Yeon-Seok fell, everyone froze. It hadn’t really registered in anyone’s mind that someone had collapsed in front of them. You also froze for a second and the you realised that someone fainted. Immediately, you swung into action. As you were always a little paranoid about health, you had taken a course on first aid, and your sister used to faint a lot, so you were used to it. First, you checked his pulse and his breathing to make sure it wasn’t a heart attack. Thankfully, it wasn’t, but you realised he was a bit warm to the touch. With a frown on your face, you asked,” can the two of you help me move him to a couch, or something? Oh, and someone call an ambulance”, addressing GD and Manager Jang. You were waiting for them to help you, but after no one moved, you realised they were still in shock. You were starting to get annoyed. Yes, it was an emergency and of course, people would be shocked, but someone needed to have their wits about them to help with first-aid. Gritting your teeth, you asked again,” Can the two of you please help? Come to your senses please!” again, there was absolutely no response. Clearly, neither of them had ever dealt with anything like this before. You turned around to see what they were doing, and they were just frozen, like deer in the headlights. Finally, you lost it and screamed, “Yah! You bloody idiots! Come to your sense and help me move this man to a couch. And you, his manager, call emergency services right now.” Finally, it seemed like your yelling snapped them out of it, and both of them just obeyed your orders, with their minds blank.

Yeon-Seok is taller than both of them, and bigger built too, so both of them carried him into a nearby room, following which his manager called the emergency services. They put him down on a couch and then they just looked at you expectantly. You mentally facepalmed at the two of them, but you unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his clothes. You then lightly slapped his face to check whether he was regaining consciousness, but he wasn’t. You grabbed some poor manager’s water bottle and sprinkled his face with water, but Manager Jang was panicking on the side, and the noise wasn’t letting you concentrate. Annoyed, you asked Manager Jang about Yeon-Seok’s sleeping patterns. Manager Jang paused momentarily, only to say “I have no idea” in a trembling, nervous voice. You just got even more annoyed. “What about his meals? Do you know what he ate last and when?” Manager Jang nearly started crying and said, “No. I don’t.” and then he started ranting about how useless he is as a manager. You rolled your eyes and muttered, “oh, for fuck’s sake.” When you couldn’t take Manager Jang’s rant any more, you called GD, and asked him to get Manager Jang out of there, to make him call the actual manager and find out about Yeon-Seok’s allergies and to make sure no videos of Yeon-Seok get out, because that would do horrors for his image.

You finally had some peace in the room, and you were racking your brain trying to think of how to figure out his sleeping patterns and eating habits, when his phone rang, and that was when it hit you; you should just check the health app on his phone. You did, and you were surprised he hadn’t fainted earlier. He hadn’t slept in three days, and the last thing he ate was breakfast the previous day. “oh god, and I thought I was bad when it came to taking care of myself.” As soon as you said that out loud, the paramedics arrived on the scene, and started asking you questions about what happened and what first-aid was administered. You walked with them till the ambulance, dragging Manager Jang along with you on your way, because he had forgotten he would be needed at the hospital. GD followed because he didn’t know what else he should do. The paramedics put Yeon-Seok in the ambulance, and they were getting ready to leave with Manager Jang, when Manager Jang grabbed your hand and wailed, “Please come with me! I have no idea what to do. It’s my first job as a manager.” You suddenly felt bad for him. You looked at GD, because you couldn’t exactly leave without telling your boss, and he just nodded in the direction of the ambulance and gestured for you to go with them. So, you got on the ambulance, and left for the hospital with a crying Manager Jang and an unconscious Yoo Yeon-Seok.

They rushed him to the ER. And luckily, he had just fainted due to exhaustion, dehydration, lack of sleep and bad eating habits. They put him on IV, and left him to get some rest. They then asked Manager Jang to fill out some forms so that they could shift him to a room. Manager Jang looked so relieved. “Finally, something I can do.” You were sitting next to him, watching Yeon-Seok out of worry, letting out a small smile when you realised he was just sleeping, when Manager Jang turned to you and asked you what the date was. You had had such a busy and eventful day, that you had no idea what the date was. You just shrugged. Manager Jang took out his phone to check the date, and you also leaned in to see what date is was. Seeing the date, you let out a small chuckle. It was your birthday.

You left the hospital after calming down Manager Jang, and making sure everything was alright, but even after you got back to work, something kept playing on your mind. Right before you left, you went to check on Yeon-Seok, who was fast asleep. You leaned in to check whether he had a fever, and after confirming it had come down, you were about to leave when Yeon-Seok grabbed your hand. He let go of it after a while, but the fact that he grabbed your hand kept on playing on your mind. The moment things went back to normal, you went out of crisis management mode, and started thinking about how screwed you were for talking to your boss so rudely, but luckily, he just pretended like nothing happened. He just told people you had to leave because of something personal, and left it at that. And just like that, the day where you felt different, useful… yourself again was over.

Then everything went back to normal. You were back to being the one employee no one else remembered. GD decided he was going to work late that night, so although you were exhausted, you ended up staying at work till 1 am. Usually, when GD works late, it’s just the two of you, because most of the other employees have fixed schedules, and they don’t need to be around when he’s working on his music, but you were always there because of his constant aches and pains. For a change however, that night, he was working with Mino on a song. After GD finished working for the night, the three of you wrapped up and got ready to leave. When you got out, you looked around and saw it was raining. You were walking a little ahead of the two of them, and when you saw the rain, you cursed out loud because you didn’t have an umbrella. You were getting ready to sprint in the rain, when Mino tapped your shoulder, and raised an eyebrow at your pose. With a chuckle in his voice, he said,” Planning on running in the rain?” You were planning on running in the rain, but you paused when he spoke to you. You looked around to see whether there was someone else around that he could be talking to. He laughed and said, “You. Y/n. I’m talking to you.” You looked very confused. “Oh. Yeah, I was planning on running in the rain. I forgot my umbrella at home.” You laughed. “What else am I supposed to do?” Mino glanced up at the pouring rain, and said, “Doesn’t seem like the best option right about now.” You smiled, shrugged and said, “I know.” Mino took out his umbrella and gestured towards his car. “Let me drop you off.” You were taken aback and recoiled a little in shock. Mino saw that, and said, “you don’t have to accept if it makes you uncomfortable.” And for the first time since you began working at YG, your smile reached your eyes.

“I’m not uncomfortable. Just a little surprised, that’s all. I’d love to take you up on your offer. Can you drop me off at the hospital?” and like that, you and Mino walked off towards his car. Jiyong was watching all of this, and for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about your smile.” Why have I never seen her smile like that before? Does she like Mino?” He knew something was wrong. He knew that you’d have to have smiled at least once in three months, but he refused to accept what he already knew, albeit subconsciously. He knew that he hadn’t seen you smile. He knew that he had never heard your name before. He knew that he should have offered you a ride home. He knew all those signs pointed to something, but he didn’t want to accept it. He shook his head free from those thoughts, and walked towards his car. At least, he thought he got rid of those thoughts about you. As he got into his car, his niggling mind asked him one last doubt. One that would stay for a while. “Why is she visiting Yoo Yeon-Seok?”

[adventure-hearts]

20th Anniversary = 20 questions (Day 14 / 21)

FEB 14: FAVOURITE SHIP / OTP

All right. I know what is expected of me. Time to give one for the team.

*cracks knuckles*

It’s a strange time to be a Sora/Yamato fan. Just when everyone had kind of grown out of the shipping wars and when most have accepted that the Epilogue outcome was going nowhere, we got new canon that ended up challenging many people’s expectations and not paying too much attention to the ship. The Result: some of the people who are more invested in the canon portrayal of Sorato are the ones that were left more disappointed. 

But this isn’t going to be a discussion of the “Highschool is Complicated!” approach that tri. (and so far, Kizuna’s promo) have taken. No, fam, this is a good old-fashioned analysis about why this ship freaking works.

*

I’ve been uninspired lately, and it’s been a while since I wrote a proper, long Sora/Yamato analysis. Consider this post a sequel to my very first meta, one of the very first things I wrote when I started AH. You can also check the sorato / soraxyamato tags to read few smaller pieces I’ve written since. 

I think it’s time to move on from the whole “here’s 97699 hints and foreshadowing you missed in the original series”. By now, everyone knows the appeal of the couple is based on their parallel journeys, the symbolism of the crests, the perfect balance that it gives to the triangle, their similar yet compatible personalities... I don’t feel the need to keep justifying it or trying to convert people. 

For the Kizuna Countdown, I’m going to write a few words about Yamato and Sora’s mutual understanding and uncanny empathy for each other, focusing in particular on the portrayal of their relationship in tri., and even more specifically about their scene in Chapter 6, which, is to my mind, one of the best canon Sora/Yamato scenes we ever got in canon. I’ve actually written briefly about it before, but I’m just going to analyze it again, because it’s such a perfect moment of shipping bliss. 

It is my contention that tri. didn’t give us much, but the little it did give was spot on.

The scene takes place early in Chapter 6, after Taichi’s disappearance. Yamato has assumed the role of the leader and is making sure the group moves forward and keeps fighting, in spite of what happened. However, although he is acting calm and pragmatic and determined, other feelings lurk inside. For a split second, Yamato drops his mask and looks back at the mountain where Taichi went missing, and his true feelings emerge to the surface.

Everyone else seems oblivious to this moment of vulnerability. Except for Sora. Yamato tries to hide it, embarrassed that she caught him, but eventually relents. This shit doesn’t work with her. While everyone moves on, Yamato and Sora stay back to have a one-on-one.

At this point, I have to address the elephant in the room, which is that tri. makes zero acknowledgment of the current relationship status of these two, or even about whatever happened between them during 02. 

Is this a scene between boyfriend and girlfriend? (tri. surely peppered the episodes with enough material not to completely erase this interpretation — arriving together all time, etc.). And if they’re not together, do they have a romantic history? Did the 02 fling go nowhere? Are they exes? Who broke up with whom? (lbr, Sora did.) Are there lingering feelings between them? (This, I will argue, is obvious — from Yamato’s side, at least)

The fact is we don’t know the answers to any of these pertinent questions. It’s let to the viewers to imagine the background of the relationship according to their own interpretations. It’s a bad writing decision, obviously. But I believe that, despite of this uncertainty, this scene still works wonderfully to establish and develop why Sora/Yamato makes so much sense.

Back to the scene. Sora doesn’t even need to ask Yamato what’s up. She immediately knows what is going to his head. In fact, she is the one who verbalizes what he doesn’t dare to. Yamato is surprised that she read through him so well.

Then Sora decides to do the most “unhealthily-Sora-thing” she can do. She tells Yamato he can go find Taichi, if he wants to, and that everyone else will be fine. It’s obviously not true. Sora is putting Yamato’s emotional needs first, ignoring her own.  She knows that the whole “let’s save our tears for later and fight on” is something he’s doing for the sake of others, not necessarily what his heart wants him to do.

But Yamato doesn’t even think twice. He immediately reaffirms his choice. He’s not leaving the group at this crucial time, when he has a job to do. It’s the right thing to do, it’s what Taichi would want. Yet, he is conflicted. Part of him is pulling in the opposite direction, as his natural instinct (his Crest, remember?) is pulling him towards his friend. The fact that Yamato is making a decision with his head rather than with his feelings is a huge sign of growth for him. But it’s a tough choice, and he’s not immune to the inner conflict and the responsibility of stepping into Taichi’s shoes, as later scenes in the episode will show.

Sora is reaction to this is just The Best. She doesn’t judge. She gets it. After all — and every tri. scene is always echoing what came before, always sending us back to moments in the previous series — this has happened before. Once, it was Sora who made a different choice. She was the one who left to find Taichi, and the group suffered (as did she, who had to be alone with her grief). At another point, Yamato also left the group — not to find others, but to find himself.  Then, Sora was the one who provided reassurance and who understood why he needed to go. This is to show that, if anyone understands the urge to leave, it’s Sora. She’s giving Yamato permission to make a different choice, taking the pressure off his shoulders. So that when he decides to stay, it’s much more powerful.  

Sora then decides to open up. She’s very cautious about it, but she ends up admit she’s struggling with all the loss they’ve been experiencing lately. Yamato admits he feels the same.

This a pretty vulnerable moment for Sora. As previously established, she’s one of the characters who represses her emotions the most, preferring to focus on others instead of herself. In such a moment of crisis, of course she’s doing her best to hide her fears. She’s far from an optimist, but her job is to keep morale up, to reassure others. So, for her to expose her own doubts to someone else is also a big step.

I’d just like to point out that the framing of this scene is really interesting. Next time you’re watching it, notice where the characters stand at the beginning and at the end. 

When Sora starts talking about her feelings to Yamato, their backs are turned to each other. She’s looking at the mountain behind them, he’s staring at the goggles in his hand. Taichi is on both of their minds, as their pain about his disappearance rise to the surface. This is a point when each of them is kind of lonely in their own grief.

But when Sora asks if Taichi is dead, Yamato turns around immediately, focusing on her. She doesn’t want to believe he’s dead, but she doesn’t want to fool herself either. You can feel her despair at the moment, so carefully controlled until now.

Then Sora turns to him, tears in his eyes. A pretty vulnerable moment for both, when every pretense is dropped.  They are facing each other, now. 

And Yamato just… gives her the most affectionate smile ever.

Smiling! When she’s crying! I can hear some people sharpening their pitchforks as we speak. Our Yamato would never respond so callously to her pain! Just go and hug her, you big dork!

But think for a second.  

Yamato gets that she isn’t asking him a question, not really. She’s just telling him how she feels. Yamato gets that trusts him enough to drop the mask that everything is okay. He gets that doesn’t necessarily expect him to lie or to comfort her… she just needed him to listen.

Flashback to Chapter 4:  Sora’s complaint was that she wasn’t listened to, that her feelings weren’t being taken into consideration, that no-one seemed to care. The conflict back then was caused because Yamato and Taichi couldn’t see through her silence, and also because that she would refuse to talk about what was bothering her, and expected others to guess.

But now Yamato has grown, Sora has grown. They got to a place where they feel totally at ease admitting their deepest, darkest feelings to each other. They know the other will listen and empathize.

They’ve reached a moment of pure mutual understanding. Yamato totally gets Sora, is flattered that she trusted him, and he is full of tenderness for her. That’s why he’s smiling.

Yamato just asks if she’s okay and she thanks him, for listening. 

By the end of the scene, they are facing each other, a lot closer, looking at each other with adoring eyes affection and trust. 

That’s what Piyomon sees when she and finds them together. Piyomon goes into Protective Mother Hen mode and decides to interrupt this lovely moment. To ad insult to injury, he Yamato aghast at the accusation that he would break into “a cheesy love song.” (Would he? HAS HE?)

To sum up, I find this small scene to be a perfect example of why Sora/Yamato is so compelling to me, and why I think tri. (in spite of its issues) was such a wonderful addition to the history of this couple.

The trust and love between them (whether romantic or not) are palpable. Look at Yamato’s smile (and all the looks he gives her during tri.) The boy freaking adores her. Sora is more guarded, but actions speak louder than words. Lots of people complain Yamato and Sora “came out of nowhere” and “have no relationship outside of Taichi”. I redirect you to this scene. There’s history and depth between these two.

The scene also shows that their personalities are different enough to cause friction, but similar enough so that, when they are open and honest enough, they can understand each other’s thoughts and feelings easily and completely, without much need for words. This is important, since both Sora and Yamato aren’t good at expressing their feelings in a healthy and open way, although they are so empathetic and passionate. Yamato and Sora have never been a case of “opposites attract”. Similar personalities can cause their own set of issues, but they can still make for a compelling and fulfilling kind of relationship.

It also explains why gravitate towards one another and why they have what it takes to make each other happy in the future. Yes, they are probably the two people who are more invested in Taichi’s fate and the ones who are more concerned in keeping the group together under these specific circumstances. But who else would see though Yamato’s tough resolve and allow him to confess his inner conflict freely? Who else would let Sora vent out without jumping in with words of empty comfort? (The Digimon partners don’t count!) They give each other exactly what they need, in this specific moment and (one can only imagine) in other similar hard times. They make each other feel safe, understood and, ultimately, loved.  Not a bad place to start.

*Dido’s White Flag plays in the distance*

[nobodyfamousposts]

So I couldn’t help myself and wrote a continuation for your Felix July First Kiss story. Hope you enjoy.

~~~

One moment, Marinette had shoved Felix out of the way, shouting for him to run just before she was hit. The next moment, there were hands on either side of her face, and there was Felix who was shockingly close.

“Felix?”

For a moment, they stared at each other, and Marinette’s mind stuttered and reeled as it took in the hands on her face, the way he was so close that they were only a few inches from brushing their noses together or…and then the moment was gone and Felix pulled away as if he had been burnt.

“We need to get out of here,” he said, and his voice was cold and curt in a familiar way. Marinette couldn’t miss how uncomfortable he looked if she tried, and so she didn’t ask questions, just stood from her seat (when had she ended up seated?) and attempted to take a step forward, only to immediately step on her dress and nearly topple forward, barely managing to regain her balance.

This…this was not the dress she had made. It was…well she guessed it looked good, but she had made her dress accounting for the fact that she was clumsier than a blind mouse, especially when Adrien was around, and so it had been a few inches off the ground. This…this was completely floor length, and also heavy, covered pearls and silver and Marinette kind of hated it now that she was in her right mind.

“…Felix, how did you get up here?”

“Stairs.”

“How many stairs?”

“…”

Felix bit his lip (and that was a nervous tic she hadn’t noticed from him before), and he didn’t need to say anything for Marinette to get an idea of what kind of an escape this was going to be.

She was going to die before she ever reached the bottom of the stairs, because this dress was going to murder her.

Also, she wasn’t alone to transform, and that wasn’t good.

What had even happened? She had clearly been under the effects of the stupid akuma, but how had…

Oh…

Nope! Not thinking about it. She was not thinking about it, because she was Ladybug and she had to plan and no she was not going to think about the fact that Felix had almost certainly kissed her.

Plans. That was something she was good at.

“Okay, so this dress is complete dead weight, and my chances of getting down the stairs without falling to my death and dragging you down with me are minimal,” Marinette noted aloud, forcing her brain to focus on the relevant details and not that Felix had kissed her. “The dress is magical, so the chances of me being able to remove it or cut it through ordinary means are slim. This tower is-” She checked out the window. “-approximately fifteen stories up, guessing by the windows. No chance of being able to climb down in this dress anyway. Currently, the akuma won’t be after me, since as far as he knows I’m still under his control, but you’re a target because he hasn’t gotten to you yet.”

Marinette took a deep breath. She knew what she was going to have to convince Felix to do. Like it or not, the only way she could safely escape this tower was as Ladybug, but she couldn’t transform in front of him. But considering Felix had climbed fifteen stories of stairs on foot and kissed her (don’t think about it don’t think about it) to help her out, she wasn’t sure he’d listen to her perfectly reasonable argument here.

She needed to appeal to his logical side.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, before turning to face Felix again. “You’re going to need to get out of here alone.”

“I’m not going to-” he began, but Marinette held up a hand.

“The akuma hasn’t gotten to you yet, but the longer you stay here the more likely he is to try and control you. And if you stay here or if I try to follow you, then he might try and control me again and we’ll both be screwed. As much as it kills me, the best thing I can do is sit here and not draw attention to the fact that we aren’t being controlled.” She let out a disgusted groan. “And besides, this dress was not designed with mobility in mind, and I don’t think you’ll want to see the ensuing rampage if I end up face to face with the akuma.”

Felix looked annoyed, but Marinette knew him well enough to know he would listen to her. She had made a perfectly reasonable point and, even if it annoyed him to have to leave her here, he would realize it was necessary.

Honestly, she owed him a lot just for the fact that he came up here at all.

…Nope, not thinking about it right now.

“Fine,” Felix ground out, clearly not happy. “You have a point.”

She nodded. “Thanks for the rescue, Felix. I do prefer having control over my own body. Now run.”

Felix went through the tower door, sparing a glance back at her before turning and running, the door shutting behind him.

Tikki flew out from hiding as Felix’s footsteps grew quieter, and Marinette waited until she couldn’t hear them before saying, “Tikki, spots on.”

~~~

The battle was ridiculous.

Marinette had dealt with ridiculous and annoying battles before, but her patience was thin going into the battle, and Chat Noir had taken her arrival as an immediate sign that he should jump in the way of the next attack, ending up one of the akuma’s minions seconds after she had figured out a plan that involved him. So she had to immediately reconsider her plans and devise another plan while a mind-controlled Chat Noir was attacking her, giving off a rotating set of stock lines like NPCs did in a video game.

Was that what she had been like? Well, considering the dress, she probably hadn’t been doing much attacking, but if it was all otherwise the same then she wasn’t amused.

She technically should blame the akuma, but they were the victim in this case and so screw that, she was blaming Hawk Moth.

Once she had incapacitated Chat Noir (who didn’t stop saying those lines even when he wasn’t moving anymore, and that was disturbing), it was getting to the akuma, summoning Lucky Charm, creating a plan within seconds, getting the object and breaking it, purifying akuma, and done.

Yeah, if Hawk Moth made another go at the miraculous today after that freaking dress, Marinette was going to hunt him down and kill him, with her bare hands, in civilian form.

She didn’t wait to fistbump Chat Noir, didn’t wait for anyone to approach her. It was back into the hotel as soon as possible, detransforming, sighing with relief because her costume was her’s again, and then heading for the elevator down.

Felix was outside the building, and Marinette was no longer in a situation where she couldn’t think about the fact that Felix kissed her and she obviously didn’t remember it and she hoped it wasn’t his first kiss because her first kiss had been with Chat Noir in rage mode and kissing people controlled by akuma wasn’t exactly fun and-

She tripped out the door, because even with a dress specifically designed with her clumsiness in mind, Marinette was still Marinette, and she always tripped more when her brain got too overwhelmed to focus on her feet.

Fortunately, she didn’t hit the ground.

Unfortunately, that was because Adrien caught her, and wow, that was just what she needed, wasn’t it? While having a crisis about a boy kissing her, she absolutely needed to have the boy she was not so secretly in love with to be there too.

Geez, Felix’s salt might be rubbing off on her a bit.

“You okay?” Adrien asked, and Marinette decided that no, she wasn’t going to deal with him right now because her brain was already fried.

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine,” she insisted, removing herself from Adrien’s arms. “You go check on the director, make sure he’s okay. I’ve got to do something.”

And, in a delightful twist of something going right for her today, Adrien nodded with a determined expression and ran off.

Felix was looking at her from the side of the building, and Marinette steeled herself, lifting her skirts and moving over to him for this conversation. This was some dramatic, regency drama garbage that she had a feeling Felix was just as uninterested in as she was.

“I assume you’re okay,” he noted as she stopped beside him, his voice almost emotionless, and she gave a sharp nod.

“Yeah.” She took a deep breath and ripped off the Band-Aid. “Thanks, by the way. I know…I know you don’t like touching people much or anything like that, so I’m sorry you were forced to do that to help me out.” He had probably saved Paris in the process, though she wouldn’t tell him that.

He looked uncomfortable for a moment, and Marinette was about to apologize for bringing it up when he spoke.

“It wasn’t right, to leave you like that,” he said simply, and yet there was a weight behind those words that Marinette didn’t really get. She wondered, for a moment, how bad she must have been for him to feel desperate enough to kiss her when he didn’t even feel comfortable holding someone’s hand usually. She’d have to ask Tikki later.

For now, she simply smiled at him. “Well, either way, I owe you one.”

He made eye contact with her for the briefest of moments before turning his head away, focusing his gaze on something down the street. “Considering you were only in that situation because of me, I think we’re even.”

“If you’re sure.” She was definitely getting him salted caramel cookies from the bakery anyway, because she could. “I should probably get back to the play then, see what work needs to be done to fix Lila’s sabotage. See you later?”

He nodded silently, and she smiled again, a little bit brighter as she did.

“Later Felix.”

He nodded to her, and when she eventually turned back to him to wave, he gave a tentative wave back.

Thinking about the situation, she wasn’t really sure how she left. She knew she liked Adrien, but…but maybe…

No, not right now. Kissing her had been uncomfortable for Felix already. He didn’t need her mixed up feelings on top of that.

Needless to say though, by the time she was done with the play, she was not in the mood to be a princess anymore.

___________________________________

Spectacular work by Ace and a lovely continuation of the original First Kiss prompt! Thank you!

[anonthenullifier]

A Promise Broken with a Vow - Chapter 2

A Scarlet Vision Victorian AU

Chapter 2 summary: An unassuming day leads to an existential crisis for Vision, one that forces him to re-examine and redefine what he wants.

AO3 Link

Acrid smoke swirls with the palpable waft of grease sliding from spits into hungry flames, a mixture that envelops Vision as he walks, hands lounging in his trouser pockets. There are fifteen wagons left, comprising what appears to be three separate groupings. Each wagon looks roughly the same—knotty boards forming the base, the ends sloping up and ballooning into off-white canvas covers. It’s akin to watching a fleet of boats skim through the bay. In a way this is accurate, the prairie grass oscillating in pelagic mimicry. 

Based on what Vision has read in pamphlets and heard in saloons and trading posts, this is a popular jumping off point for the wagon trains. Gaggles of people flocking to explore the relative unknown of the territories, some in pursuit of gold, some freedom from poverty and lack of opportunity, and some because there might just be something more out there. Whatever the reason, he feels a kinship with these strangers who are so willing to shed the past and seek a new future.

What he does not feel a kinship towards is the inconsiderate messA. Carefully he sidesteps another pile of luggage, movements slow as to not step on the broken, hand painted tea cups forming a barrier around a lopsided stool. A wagon train left this morning and this is only one carcass of their lives, eight other mounds rise from the ground, each one swarming with scavengers eager to pilfer from another’s discarded life, not once seeming to wonder why the former owners left it all behind.

“Excuse me, fine gentleman?” Vision’s hips turn first, eyes remaining for a half second longer on the broken arm of a doll laying in the grass, and then his upper half follows. “Would a double-breasted water butt-smasherB like yourself fancy to know the secrets of your future?”

His right hand slides from his pocket and finds its way to tug at his earlobe. “I do not, um, think that is an apt description of my, well...” A wave of his hand over his decidedly non-athletic physique finishes the thought.

The fairly clear display seems to be willfully ignored, Wanda’s lips tightening into a pleased line. The action is accentuated by the silk headscarf she wears, the crimson and marigold beads (ones he spent many days threading onto it) framing her delight at throwing him askew. “Just get over here you fine yard-of-pump water.C “

“Wanda,” there is no one within ear shot, yet her brazen disregard for all etiquette both offends his sensibilities and also sends a spark of desire twining through his body, “please.” 

The attempt at admonishment is weak and crushed immediately when she stands and grabs his hand, leading him to a wooden stool. It’s then buried deep in the ground as she leans against his shoulder, lips not far from his ear and accent rougher than usual, her tone sending his heart and mind into a dizzy, “It’s Scarlet.”

“Well, Miss Scarlet,” he makes sure to emphasize her working moniker, enunciation sharp on the c and t, “I do hope you are in my future.”

Her forehead thumps his shoulder, untamed curls tickling his jaw as she shakes her head with an ounce too much drama to be taken seriously. The lack of annoyance is confirmed once she moves away to take her seat, only bemusement left in her unerring gaze. “You do know that is the most overused line by men thinking they’re being clever with me.”

This is not a mystery to him and he admits it is an uninventive and tired quip, but the way she looks when her cheeks develop a subtle glow, fingers picking at the fringe on her shawl, all while her eyes pierce him with disbelief always shields him to embarrassment long enough to (politely) be bold. “And yet it will most certainly be successful.”

“I suppose I can consult the spirits to see what chance you have.” With a wink she easily slips into her spiritualist role. A moderate, swooping dance of her hands accompanies a drop of her voice into a recently practiced monotone, one Helen and Amadeus agreed gives the most otherworldly feel. “Based on what I see in my crystal ball,” which is not a crystal ball but a discolored beaker of Helen’s they charred in a campfire for added, spooky effect and then stood up in a cushion made from one of his socks, “you,” the band of her crescent moon clinks against the beaker as she points at him, “will be in my bed tonight.” 

“Is that so?” 

“The spirits never lie.”

How she keeps a straight face is a mystery to him, especially given he can barely manage it himself. “Can you perhaps explain to me how the spirits are so certain it is I in your bed and not you…” A woman and her daughter walk past as he speaks, eyeing the table with disquisitive mistrust, causing his voice to lower into a stutter, “um in mine?” Vision clears his throat, the reminder of the public nature of this interaction grounding him immediately. “Or well, not that it matters, I suppose, given this whole thing is a farce.”

Wanda is unfazed by the passersby, her attention solely on him. “Just give me your hand and I’ll confirm it.” He complies, tugging his glove off and allowing her to grip his wrist, fingers lackadaisically tracing the lines of his palm. For a fleeting moment he considers asking for a tarot reading, believing it is a bit more intriguing to watch from an outsiders’ perspective given his own curiosity about the process, having only seen the practice from a distance since Wanda never offers it to him. He, however, will not ask nor push her. Even though she has embraced and reclaimed the Scarlet Witch persona, he knows there is far more depth of agony in the title and its consequences than she wishes to face, understandably so. “Was it easy to see me across the way?”

“It was,” an important aspect they’ve discovered in traveling to towns with more open spaces than cramped ones. The more direct sight lines to her table, the more likely people are to get curious. It is why, once they’ve set her up, he will meander the perimeter to check her overall visibility, often weaving between the wagons or railcars or whatever mode of gathering they are near to decipher any poor angles. “I do think the tablecloth needs more panache to truly signal your offerings.”

Wanda seems less certain, albeit not completely against the idea. “What if we added more to the scarf instead?”

The current headdress is not as prominent as the one she used to wear, though it still, to him anyway, is unmistakably a look only a spiritualist would don. Additionally, it creates a rather fetching silhouette when she leaves her hair down, like she has today.  “I can see if there are any potential additions when I am at the trading post.  Perhaps some feathers?” 

“Worth a try.” Toying with his fingers is not part of a typical reading, something he won’t point out to Wanda since he is not at all bothered by the action and she always carries a certain amount of nervous energy before customers arrive. “When does Helen want you back?”

“Not until one.” He answers her next question before she can ask, since it is the same every time, “I will be sure to stop by before then.”

“Good.”

Their conversation lulls into an amiable calm, her fingers moving haphazardly along his hand while her eyes wander the surroundings.  All of this a sham to bring in customers. He even wears one of his nicer suits for it, the hypothesis being that if a man of civility is intrigued enough to seek a reading, then others will feel it is the socially reasonable thing to do. Part of him wonders at the ethics of ushering people towards a practice that is inherently specious while the other part of him knows that the decently accurate (albeit empty) reading does not actually harm the customer, per se, other than maybe a mite more hope or worry or vim, depending on what Wanda tells them. Plus, and this is the most persuasive argument for his involvement, Wanda truly seems to enjoy it now that she has figured out how to avoid amphibious attacks. “What do you think is going on over there?”

“Where?” Vision does his best to turn in the direction of Wanda’s gaze without pulling his hand away and breaking the illusion of their performance. Nothing has changed since he sat down, he thinks, other than a handful of people beginning to edge closer. “It seems you have some curious parties?”

The feel of a phantom hand nudging his chin a bit more to the right would be a curious thing if he had not become so accustomed to Wanda’s powers. He follows the direction and spots the farthest wagon train where there are four fires dotting the ground, each surrounded by people conversing and going through their belongings, likely to determine what to leave behind. “I am not sure I-”

“They’re setting something up” 

There are more seats arranged than is usual, well maybe not more seats but the arrangement is somewhat odd—trunks, boxes, and blankets set up in clear lines. “Perhaps there is a, um,” gala is the first word to come to mind, except that is not the life they are leading now, “a gathering tonight?” 

“Well,” a tug brings him back to face her, “we should come back tonight. I’ve never gotten to see you kick up a shindyD.” 

“That is because I do no such thing.” There are, admittedly, many things he had never done until he met Wanda or thought about doing until she came into his life, her influence a pleasant chaos that leads him down some rather indecorous paths. Lively dancing in public, however, is an embarrassment he will not suffer, even for her. “Nonetheless, I will accompany you if you wish to participate.” 

It is not meant as a challenge, yet she is staring at him with the same lopsided grin and narrowed eyes as when she is about to take the last pair from his hand in a game of Commerce. “Vision,” and this is how she says his name when she is about to hit his ball into the oblivion of grass on their makeshift paille maille course, “we both know that—” her mouth snaps shut and her eyes move to watch something over his shoulder. “Play along now, please.” It seems the onlookers have drawn within earshot. Wanda begins to hum, ramping up the eccentricity of the reading, dragging her nails along the grooves of his palm. “Your life line is branching, a sharp turn towards fortune is in your future, but,” a dangerous, over-the-top edge enters her voice, “you must tread carefully lest you bring about your own ruin.”

Vision is not a thespian, is not even decent at telling lies, so hopefully his words are heard as sincere. “Does this mean I’ll find gold?”

The path of his reading jackknives towards the base of his fingers. “Not just treasures, your heart line curves here,” she rubs the base of his ring finger, “if your heart is open, you will find love as well.”

“Love and fortune?” He tries to sound enthralled and gullible.

Wanda winks at him, a whispered not bad in his mind as she releases his hand, her palm coming to rest over her heart. “Yes, now go,” the people are barely two feet away now, “follow your heart and you will triumph.” 

“I will.” He stands, as quickly as he can manage without wincing, hand diving into his pocket to retrieve a silver dollar. “You have saved my life.” This is sincere, something he tries to convey with a hard stare at his fiancée, gleefully accepting her moony smile. “I must go forth now and seek my fortune.” Compared to the prior statement, this one feels awful in his mouth, an acerbic falsehood tainting his general demeanor. At least it is almost done. The coin (which is near 100 times her going rate) thuds on the table and he slides his palm beneath hers, breaking script to lay a doting kiss to the top of her hand, “Thank you.” 

Wanda’s jaw tightens as she does her best not to break character, her, “Go” vibrating with amusement. He grins at her and grabs his glove, pulling it back on before he walks away, turning after ten feet to see a woman already occupying his old seat and a line forming behind her. 

With the feederE act done, he is free to explore the town, a task Vision finds inherently satisfying, no two places exactly alike. It’s why he never bemoaned when Mr. Stark would send him on wild goose chases to hamlets and towns with varied and often confusing names. Sometimes he would even suggest a new merchant to “investigate” if he discovered a name on a map he was ignorant of. Based on the walk from the hotel to the wagons, there are at least ten unique shops for him to explore and he has already mapped out the most efficient path between them all. 

First, however, he returns to the railcar for his shopping basket. He locks the door, tugging on it several times to be sure it is secure. Satisfied, he turns towards Council Bluffs, ready to discover what it has to offer. 

The grainery is the farthest away and most strenuous to get to, located in the old fort on the side of a hill. It is also the quickest, the owner more than happy to deliver fifteen bags of flour to their hotel this afternoon. At the bottom of the hill Vision ambles into Royal Amy’sF, flanked by muskets and pistols but only interested in finding a suitable combustible to help start fires in wet conditions. The Robinson Hotel has a side business of selling excellent dried venison, or so he overheard at breakfast. He buys a few bags and determines, based solely on the lobby, which he knows isn’t fully fair, that they chose the correct accommodations. It’s on his stroll to Harle’s Hall that a realization creeps into his mind. A minute glance over his shoulder confirms what he suspected, spotting the same bearded face roughly fifteen feet behind him that has been fifteen feet behind him since he left Wanda. Granted this is a small town, albeit one inundated with transient visitors which should reduce the probability of being followed...unless someone else has deduced the same logical shopping route. That thread of reassurance is frayed since the man hasn’t once gone into the stores to purchase goods. 

There are two other experiences Vision can find equivalent to now. After he was known to be the butler of the Stark Estate, it was not an uncommon occurrence to be cornered by Mr. Stark’s jilted business partners or lovers, sometimes it was individuals with grand ideas that needed financing, and other times it was mothers looking to climb the social ladder who believed Vision would be a suitable candidate for their daughters in the hopes their daughters would then seduce Mr. Stark. Only no one here knows who he is and it leaves the other, far more insidious experience. Vision shoves the thought away, arm curling tighter to trap the basket against his side, determined to remain calm and logical. 

This determination is short lived.  While he’s in Harle’s his eyes betray him, sliding every so often to the windows at the front where the man stands talking with a group of people, angled perfectly to see the front door. Then Vision’s body, against his wishes, defects from rationality, a cold sweat breaking on his forehead at the memories he tries so hard to keep at bay lest he inadvertently forces Wanda to relive their capture, something she already experiences at least one night a week while she sleeps...as does he. 

Vision scans the room, recalling the instructions Natasha once gave him on evasion after a particularly overzealous mother pressured him into a six hour tea where he met all eight of her daughters. The lessons emphasized the need for alternative exits, a tactic that he, as a butler for a man with questionable morals, had already discovered though clearly had issues fully utilizing.  “Excuse me, sir?”

“Yes?” The store owner smiles amicably at him. 

“Is there a second exit?”

The friendliness slides from the man’s face, replaced by befuddlement. “Er, yes, back left corner’s where they deliver the goods.”

“Thank you.” Vision pays for the balms and ointments, eager to escape while still ensuring he remains cordial so as not to leave a poor impression. “You have a lovely establishment.”

Past the soaps and bandages, wedged between a shelf of loose teas and a display of elixirs, Vision bends to exit through the small delivery door, finding himself in a grove of pine trees that insist on latching onto the threads of his jacket as he struggles through their alpine embrace. 

It appears he has successfully navigated off the main road, a small dirt path separating him from the field of wagons. Given the rest of the shops are on Broadway, it seems like the majority of his perusing will have to wait, except, however, the trading post which is situated on the outskirts of town near the railcar. Luckily for him, it also happens to be the most important stop of the day and isn’t terribly far, perhaps a quarter mile. 

Vision glances around, checking for untoward eyes, and walks as swiftly and casually as he can without overexerting himself,  worried if he stumbles or shows signs of his ailments that he will be perceived as an even easier mark. In a sense, being on this dirt path allays his worries of kidnapping while in another sense the lack of bystanders and witnesses make the ease of absconding with him that much more proficient. He tries not to consider this option, instead forcing himself to think about the target destination. For instance, earlier today the owner at Amy’s explained how the trading post is one of the few log-based structures in Council Bluffs, the majority of the houses and buildings either stone or sod. It also stands alone, a sturdy structure framed by the emptiness of the fields beyond, the first thing all travelers see when they arrive. Or the last, depending on the direction of travel, and for him, at the moment, it arises as the solitary structure leading him out of town. 

Successful in reaching the building, Vision enters and assesses the room, relieved when he only sees a mustachioed man at the counter. Adding to his comfort is that the inside is almost identical to every other trading post in the last three weeks. All the shelves are packed so tightly with an array of items it is hard to decipher the logic of their placement, assuming there is logic in putting oil for lamps immediately next to bags of cornmeal. All Vision can imagine is how a bump of an elbow would knock the oil over and how it would then soak into the bag of food. Once it dries, would anyone be the wiser?

He decides to skip the cornmeal and wait to grab his oil until the end. On his journey towards the maps he collects their typical victuals: rice, coffee, fermented fish (not Vision’s preference but it does last long), dried apples, jarred beans, and hardtack biscuits. He grabs a new cast iron kettle, Amadeus accidentally losing theirs down a river, a few more mugs, and a collection of sturdier cooking utensils. The next shelf is stacked high with beaver pelts, just as expensive as all other stops so far. Vision runs a gloved hand along the fur, trying to convince himself the money spent will be worth it now that the weather is beginning to bite. 

“Mornin’ Francis!”

Vision glances up at the newcomer and his blood freezes. Slowly he backs away from the pelt table and towards the corner with the axes and goads. All his life he has believed in the goodness of mankind, and mostly he has been proven correct, except his body aches at the memory of the evil that brought him here, that is forcing him to travel to Seoul. His hand wraps around the wooden handle of a goad, sliding it off the hook on the wall and keeping it close at his side. Natasha would be so proud of him and the thought is a little sickening.

Armed and on edge, he shuffles his way towards the table of maps, half heartedly sifting through them while keeping his attention on the men speaking at the counter. He notices a hefty book labeled The Emmigrant’s Guide to Oregon and California and scoops it up, gently placing the goad against the wall so he can open the guidebook. 

“Howdy.”

Vision flinches at the voice, dropping the book at the sight of the bearded man grinning up at him. “I am not interested.”

The grin intensifies. “I imagine you might be interested in knowin’ that guide‘s barking at a knotG.” Somehow Vision resists looking down at the discarded guide, knowing from Natasha’s lessons, and his own experience, to never remove his eyes from an enemy. “You the fella with the afternoonifiedH railcar?”

It’s phrased as a question and stated as a fact. “I, um, yes, I am.” He could deny it but he is not a gifted liar. 

“Where ya goin’ with it?”

“San Francisco.” Instantly he realizes the mistake. He should have said somewhere that is not their actual destination just as he should have told mothers he was taken and Mr. Stark’s jilted lovers and business partners that they deserved better. 

The man whistles in response, scratching the back of his neck. “So you, the lad, and the two AngelicasI are plannin’ to go all the way to San Fran in that?”

The danger of the situation fades into a stubbornness he developed when working in the factories, never one to take lightly the gall of people who question every decision without proper facts or documentation.  They have planned this trip, they have survived this long, the graves this man’s voice is digging for them is unacceptable. Vision stands taller, towering over the stranger as he grabs the Emmigrant’s Guide. “Yes we are. Now please, I need to purchase my goods and be on my way.” The man lifts his hands in mock apology, stepping away from Vision. 

He makes it four steps before he’s held hostage all over again. “You want to lead them to their deaths with that fallacy,” the man’s dirt encrusted finger is pointed at the book, “have at it. Lansford never updated the map in there after the first publication.” Natasha’s protocol is broken by Vision’s eyes darting down. The name on the front of the guidebook is L. W. HastingsJ. “The rest of it’s decently useful,” something that seems to be painfully admitted, “but the map’s bound to put ya’ll in a bad boxK. So if you want to walk away from someone’s been on that trail dozens o’ times and rely on an almost decade old map, go right ahead.”

If Helen or Wanda were here, they’d likely urge him to leave, but the guilt that he tries to keep suppressed, the knowledge that he is the sole reason for this journey, that he has single handedly put the woman he loves and his dear friends into numerous precarious situations already, weighs so heavily on him that he can’t seem to move his feet and can’t take his eyes off the guidebook in his hands. The man picks up on the hesitation, shifting his demeanor from a soothsayer of doom to a gentle friend. “Wanna see my map? Update it every journey.”

Maps are not evil nor suspicious nor likely to kidnap and torture him. If he treats this as reconnaissance to figure out the correct path, would that not be preferable to ignorance? “I would.”

From the depths of four layers of unmatched clothing the man pulls out a weathered, chicory-colored leather bundle. Lovingly he unfolds it, revealing a map that sends a spark of awe and a whip of jealousy into Vision’s chest. It is handmade, similar to the ones Vision has been constructing, only there is so much more, or so he thinks, the legend and all markings in symbols he vaguely recognizes. “I been on these trails dozens o’ times.” Enraptured, Vision moves closer, bending down to watch the man show him their forthcoming journey all while opening the guidebook’s map and comparing them. “Y’all will have an easy time across the prairies, some good buffalo hunting here,” the brown smudges are apparently buffalo herds, dotting the map in various places, sometimes close to the thick black trail and sometimes a fair distance away. This is not information available in the book. “Then you reach Fort Laramie. Good place to stock up before the mountains. Happen to fall in love, it’s one o’ the few magistrates on the trail.” 

“Are there not weddings on the trail?” The plan, as of now, is to wait until they are in Seoul to get married, allowing their marriage to start with hope (and health) instead of being shrouded in uncertainty. It is also the latest Wanda is willing to consider despite their promise to Mr. Stark. But Vision had also assumed, based on sensationalized stories shared in the newspapers, that weddings were common on the frontier and easily coordinated if spontaneity suddenly befell them, at least it is what he conceded to Wanda the last time they had a fraught conversation on the topic back in Springfield. 

“If you want it legal, gotta have a magistrate, and they ain’t readily available, see,” now Vision understands the faded heart symbols on the map (yet another difference with his own), only three of them falling along their path. “That ain’t your big concern, really, after Laramie is the first mountain pass, it ain’t bad in pleasant weather, but it ain’t easy either. Break a wheel or lose an oxen, you best hope you get out before the snow.” 

Vision listens in increasingly abysmal despair as the man walks him through the path—raging rivers, deserts where people freeze to death in their sleep, stampedes of buffalo, thunderstorms with lethal hail and whipping winds, dysentery, cholera, starvation, dehydration, wild predators, getting crushed by other wagons, and the crowning bit, “Y’all lookin’ to hit the Sierra Nevadas right around the time the Donner Party did who, by the way, used Lansford’s little guide.”

Even in New York, the morbid, cautionary tale of the Donner Party was brought up at any mention of the pioneers. “Is there another path?”

“Re-route here,” the name is illegible in the secret code the man uses, “go south to the Sonoran. It’s a pretty big desert so gotta hope it ain’t too cold or ya don’t run out of food and water but ya avoid the mountains leastways.”

Vision already knows his functioning diminishes greatly in the winter, every joint with metal seizing into a deathlike rigor when the temperatures drop too low.  Adding to this the constant concern of freezing to death, or starving to death, or developing infections and illnesses, or being crushed by other travelers, or shot because you’ve been mistaken for an elk, or attacked by bears, wolves, coyotes, or mountain lions, and he feels himself questioning every choice they made concerning this journey. Had they known all of this, would traveling to Seoul have been a solution? If they were not so pressed for time would they have more fully investigated the paths? Should they have delayed long enough to send out messages about the condition of the railroad? The growing list of should haves are irrelevant now, the past impossible to rectify and so he must do as he always does and try not to let himself fall prey to the cruel, illogical entity of his pastself’s ignorance kicking up a shindy with hopeful, rushed desperation. There is only the future now and he intends to make a reasoned decision. “How much longer would that route take?”

The man shrugs, scratching his bearded chin as he calculates, “Prolly two, three more months.”

Vision struggles not to allow himself to slip into the grave this man already so kindly dug him. “How long is the journey if we took the mountains?”

“Total from here?” 

“Yes.”

“Just you and the three?”

“Yes.”

“In that fancy railcar?”

“Yes.”

The map is folded up as the man thinks, sliding back into the depths of his clothing when his answer is ready. “Five, six months.” The grave grows deep enough for all of them. “But you trade it in for a schooner and some oxen, get a good guide, and hit all the best weather, four months, three and a half if y’all are of the first waterL.” 

Without Wanda’s powers, it is useless to assess the trustworthiness of the estimate. Men with a business accept a certain level of dishonesty to get compliance from customers. “Thank you for your time and the informative discussion.”

“Listen,” the man leans to the left, blocking Vision’s exit, “you can talk to all the other guides ‘round and all they can give ya is a lick and a promiseM. I’m the only one can say I ain’t ever lost a soul on the trail.” 

A large, unsubstantiated claim. “I must discuss everything with my party.” 

Nonplussed is the general air of this man. “Well, when ya’ll decide, you can find me in the Ocean Wave. Ask for Phillip.” He tips his wide-brimmed hat towards Vision. “Don’t forget yer goad.”

In a haze, Vision picks up the goad, the Emmigrant’s Guide, and four pelts. The price registers enough in his consciousness for him to pay and then he returns to the railcar. He removes each item individually from the basket and places it in the appropriate location. Once the basket is empty he sits down, hand diving into the front pocket of his waistcoat. A small click and he confirms it is a quarter to one, just enough time to check on Wanda and then return to the hotel. 

Except he can’t seem to find the energy to stand, drowning in the images of the trials ahead. Vision drops the pocket watch back into place and then grabs the bundle of papers from his inner coat pocket. 

Just underneath the third paragraph of his draft letter he allows his thoughts to seep into the parchment, awaiting this evening when he will have time to contemplate it all. 

I am beginning to think we have made a grave mistake.

He wipes the pen tip, blows three times on the statement, and then folds it up. There is nothing that can be done immediately and wallowing his way into tardiness is never an option. 

Vision stands and does what he has always done the entirety of his life; he moves on to the next task. 

  “Lift your right arm.” Vision complies, muscles constricting around the immutable vibranium until it leaves his arm hovering as if reaching for someone walking away.  Dr. Cho measures the space created by the action. “Bend your elbow.” The grinding of the hinge is felt far more than audition allows, regardless, Dr. Cho’s nose scrunches at what he hoped was a silent struggle. “Straighten it back out and then rotate your wrist.” Vision does this easily, relief swirling along with the movements. “Good.”

His arm drops back to his side, fingers drumming noiselessly against the thin layer of cotton on his thigh, always on edge under such observational scrutiny, Helen’s discerning gaze and muted writing amplifying the feeling of dissimilitude between his flesh and inhuman parts. “Left arm.” They repeat the process, his arm lifting, Helen measuring and then writing her observations, a bend of his elbow (this one is more compliant than the last), a twist of his wrist, and then he stands still, awaiting either a comment or a new direction. “You’ve lost almost four degrees in both arms.”

That cannot be accurate. “Are you certain? Only my right felt any resistance.” 

The clinical mask slips for a moment, compassion radiating in a way that should be more soothing than worrisome, only it’s not. “Your right elbow is inferior to the left, but,” she places her notebook on the desk before gently coaxing his arms back up into his full wingspan (well, a lesser version than what he can ideally attain). “The joints are good over here,” her fingers tap his left elbow hinge and then the ball socket of his shoulder, “but you’re losing movement,” she steps behind him, an impersonal touch outlining the plate traversing the entirety of his upper back, “here.”

It wasn’t until he found his body failing that Vision paid any mind to the intricate dance of his musculature and how one malfunction could ripple so far. Perhaps he is being disingenuous to his younger self, there were times he’d get injured at the factory (however rare it was, his precision and precautions were always taken to the book) and find the effects of the injury were not isolated. Only those healed and could be easily forgotten. “What is the total loss so far?”

The numbers of his life are scrutinized, the tip of her pen wiggling in the air as she calculates. “It seems typical of your month and a half progression.” Which is worse than he suspected. “But we need to assess everything before reaching conclusions.” Helen moves out of sight, her hand coming to rest on his lower back. “Try to touch your toes.” A physical impossibility, his fingers dangling uselessly around his shins due to the stubbornness of the exoskeleton. “Hold it there for a moment.” He does, even as the telltale pain of his abdominal plates pinching skin becomes borderline unbearable. “Stand back up and rest for a moment.”

“That was worse.”

There is no denial in her silent scribbling. “Did you and Wanda find a good spot this morning?” It must be a troubling number for such a diversion.

“We did. When I stopped by on the way here she still had a line.”

A small, facetious curve breaks Helen’s scientific façade. “I have a hypothesis that the more uncertain the environment, the more superstitious people become.”

A fair prediction, one he has noticed as well, particularly once they began coming into more frequent contact with settlers gearing up for the West. “It does appear hope of any kind is in higher demand the farther we proceed.”

“Can you lift your arms over your head and bend to the right?” The bolts of his left hip react harshly and he clenches his teeth to smother any reaction, not wanting to cause more alarm than is needed.  “Maybe we’ll all need Wanda’s readings by the end of our trip.”

The groan building in his chest is transferred into a brief snort at the thought of abandoning science in such a way. “That,” it’s hard to speak at this angle, the vibranium weighing heavily on his right lung, “would be a troubling development.”

“It would. Stand up.”

Vision’s body happily settles back into place, the residual pain dissipating with thoughts of what it would take for them to wholeheartedly follow spiritualism, particularly when their resident purveyor is not even a believer. Likely the same things that spur other travelers—unexplainable storms and diseases, dangerous crossings and the nigh constant concern of death. “I was approached by a trail guide today.”

“Oh?”

A nudge encourages him to bend to the left this time. “Yes, at the trading post,” momentarily he considers sharing the being followed part, but decides it is not pertinent. “He walked me through our journey. Did you know we have to cross a desert?”

“I don’t remember one on the map. Put your hand on the wall.” 

He does, mind still focused on the harsh terrain ahead. “Apparently there is one.” It was the unmarked opening on their map, an area they all thought to be a valley or prairie. “And we will be crossing the last mountain pass at a precarious time.”

“How is it any more precarious than what we already assumed?”

A fair question. It’s not as if they hadn’t studied any maps before leaving, except there is a major difference in observing triangles on parchment and the reality of traversing the steep slopes under the threat of winter. “Well…”

“Lift your right leg and bend the knee.” 

There is little discomfort in the action other than trying to remain balanced on his other leg. “We will be arriving at the mountains right before the snowy season.”

The lack of any response beyond a slight rise to her eyebrows makes him realize he may need to better convey the direness of what he learned, certain she will have a similar reaction to himself. “Did you know we will reach the mountain at the same time the Donner Party did?”

This information drags her lips down into contemplation, a half second of thought and then it slips away, appearing to not be worth much at the moment. “I did not.  Switch to your other leg.”

“Of course. Apparently—” with a single lift of his left knee the words crash into an uncontainable groan and an outbreak of sweat across the entirety of his chest. Typically he uses a certain level of mindfulness in preparing for a move that will aggravate whatever part of his body is currently rebelling. It seems he was too intent on conversing, too intent on proving the direness they all overlooked, that he forgot to do so, breath still trapped in his chest and body shaking when Helen wraps an arm around his waist and guides him to the bed. Gently she eases him down until he is laying on his right side.

With medical precision and formality she unbuttons the outer seam of his drawers, ones specially made by Tony to provide maximum modesty while also leaving the steel fasteners available. “I need you to breathe.” Shallow inhales are followed by harsh exhales as she lightly prods at his hip, each touch sending stabbing pains up his torso and down his leg. “Vision,” another push, this time with her whole hand, and he gasps, droplets forming along his eyelids, “this is worse than you implied.”

Vision closes his eyes to block out the physical pain and the searing embarrassment of minimizing the truth of his injury, a tendency that should be added to his running list of flaws, right between a predilection for self-sacrificial actions and being overly detail oriented. 

He doesn’t see her leave the room, too focused on shutting the world out of view, but he can hear the creak of the door and a muffled conversation in the hallway. Several minutes later there are footfalls and then a quilt is gingerly tucked around him. “Amadeus is retrieving Wanda.”  A contingency that was agreed upon before they ever left New York, one that does not bode well for his prognosis. “I want to try a direct injection.”

“I thought you had decided it was too risky.”

“That was when you hadn’t started showing signs of infection yet.” 

The implications hang over the bed like a noose. There are only so many rivets, only so much medicine, only so much time. Every decision has to be made with the knowledge of the consequences. If they merely ignore the infection and change the parts, it will do nothing to slow the spread of illness to his blood. This they know for a fact, many years of painful experimentation confirmed the treatment must be twofold: replacement and the intravenous conveyance of his medicine. But if they use the medicine in this unproved fashion and it fails, it cannot be synthesized again. If he then develops a worse infection later (a guarantee, from his experience), it will have to be treated with a smaller dosage than likely required. Amadeus has been hard at work learning the properties of all the herbs and plants on their path, but as of yet, he and Helen have not produced anything more promising than an ointment that soothes the ache in Vision’s muscles and is also used by all of them for sore feet. 

The ups and downs of his life are never more pronounced than in moments like now. Less than seven hours ago he walked down the road with Wanda on his arm, nary a hitch to his steps nor worry in his thoughts. All onlookers saw was a young man of decent standing ostensibly at the prime of his  life. And then slowly the façade chipped away, the worries returned, the pain amplified, he hasn’t breathed correctly since the trading post and now, well now it is once more a bag of nailsN. This cyclical pattern is a sad truth of his life and he wonders why he tries so hard to believe Wanda’s affirmations or Helen’s scientific proofs of his humanity when, in reality, his body is more similar to the piles of discarded luggage and unneeded tea cups.

“I think it will work.”

The hand rubbing this belief into his back is not of the medical doctor but of his friend, a bond that formed primarily through the exchange of letters and has transformed into a foundational sense of calm in his daily life since they met once again. It's under her auspice that he allows all his worries to tiptoe from his lips, “I am doubting my ability to reach your lab.” 

“I know.” Helen’s hand stops, caught between his shoulder blades, “we all know.” This is more concerning than cholera or starvation. He is certain Wanda has an idea of the depths of his doubts, but up until now he believed he had kept it fairly well masked in front of Helen and Amadeus. “Vision,” what usually comes next when she says his name like this is a reasoned, logical breakdown of why his thoughts, though valid, are more harmful than useful if he ruminates on them for too long, “without making reasoned adjustments, I also worry you won’t make it.”  Chastisement, however heavily layered with concern, isn’t what he expected. “What is Newton’s third law?”

It comes out without thought, “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

“Exactly. Every action you take influences your well-being.” 

Helen is his equal and (more often) superior in many ways, least of all is her practical approach to rationality and conversation, making the vagueness of this comment especially aggravating. “What are referring to, specifically?”

The circular motion of her hand is no longer a comfort, each revolution rubbing the meaning of her answer deep into his soul like a stain that grows bigger the more you try to wash it out. “You insist on helping us with everything even though it is detrimental to you.”  This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation but it is the most severe her tone has been. “If you continue to physically push yourself like that, under Newtonian laws, the friction of the exoskeleton on the steel will lead to a quicker deterioration.”

Physics has never been volleyed against him like this and, under the weight of the sciences he so dearly admires and practices, he struggles to counteract the claim, forced to rely on immediate emotional concerns. “I do not want to be a coffee boilerO.”

“You do realize the only reason any of us are on this path is to save your life?” Something he has never failed to recognize. If not for needing the cradle, Wanda would be safe in Normanskill and Helen and Amadeus would be on a well-furnished boat sailing through warmer waters. It is a thread of contemplation he has almost daily.

“I know.”

The bed sinks beneath him as she leaves it, re-emerging with a chair and situating it right in front of his face. She sits down, face serious and determined.  “And the only reason we want to save your life is because you are worth saving.” A lengthy pause and hard stare forces him to accept her words. “A desert won’t stop us.”

“There are also mountains.”

Helen bends forward, elbows on her knees and chin resting in the nest of her hands. “It is a well-established belief in the Joseon scientific community that altitude is good for one’s health.” His lips tilt slightly in half-hearted appreciation of her attempt. “You can make it, but only if you stop physically helping us all the time.”

Any positivity of altitude is lost at the command. “Helen, I…” In every great hurdle in his life, helping has always been the very thing that has protected him.  Whether it was fixing a threshing machine to allow his mother to hire less farmhands, or learning to mend broken axles and belts in the factories, or spending long hours doing extra research at university, it centered him. After the fire, he refused every offer of financial aid and firmly denied the insisted arrangement that he simply live as Mr. Stark’s ward. He needed a purpose and so he informed Mr. Stark that without gainful employment, he would rather fend for himself. Butlering then inoculated him from the worst of his despair. It filled his day and mind with lists of what he must do, of what came next, never allowing him to dwell too deeply on anything beyond an hour or two away. And now, on this journey, it’s been small duties such as restocking their supplies and caring for the horses, fixing their railcar, rearranging their belongings to provide more space, or building a fire to make tea for Wanda when she’s cold, that have helped keep him functioning. Without the menial, he spirals into a feeling of suffocating nothingness. “I can’t.”

“We’re aware.” Severity has turned into a frustrated gaiety. “The other night Wanda suggested we just tie you to one of the seats.”

A suggestion she has made to him as well, though hopefully the contextual underpinning was very different when she made it to Helen. Regardless, it is a preposterous thought, just like asking him to shrug off such an integral mantle of his existence as helping.  “There are just so many difficulties ahead for me to sit and watch.”

Helen shrugs, acting like this is as trivial as deciding between pickled herring or halibut, both tasting the same in the noxious liquid. “I only said physically. You can still navigate, and strategize, and provide company to the overnighters.” All things he never categorized as menial tasks, viewing them instead as interpersonal and often intellectual jobs that are simply enjoyable. “Amadeus still wants you to learn Sokovian with him, he says it makes him look better,” somehow a snigger breaks through his melancholy, the young man more competitive than anyone he has ever met and, unfortunately, far better at languages than himself. “You won’t be a coffee boiler and you won’t just sit idly.” Clearly this conversation has been planned for some time, by all of his companions. Helen’s words are sure and lack any hesitation, even down to the precise lightness she imbues her voice with as she reassures him. “It’s not like we are asking you to do nothing ever again. We just want you to choose how best to use your energy and time, and personally, I don’t think it should be doing chores.”

If there is merit to the suggestion, he needs time to consolidate his thoughts on it and weigh every positive and negative aspect of this change in activity, hence why he diverts away from it, asking the question she hasn’t fully answered. “What is the prognosis based on total loss so far?” 

“As long as this injection works, it is my medical opinion that we should have at least another five months.”

A desert flanked by mountains fills his mind, his worries flurrying to obscure the path. “And what if five months is not a feasible timeline for travel?”

“Then it’s not feasible.” It’s said with an unperturbed air, like it is a struggle for a future Helen to consider, one that, in five months, is lost in the snowy mountains. Her fingers grip his shoulder, squeezing it as she speaks. “Death is biological. It is a process every living being experiences.” A phrase she wrote him in the second letter they exchanged, one that was more comforting four years ago than it is now. “If we can’t make the trip in under five months then yes, you will die and,” this is the first hitch in her voice, the first indication that they may have veered away from any pre-planned words, “we all will be shattered by your passing.” The shards of their grief embed into his heart, twisting deeper to nullify the thoughts he uses to comfort his own worries, the certainty he has that they are strong and will be fine, that their lives will move on. Except the tears she’s already shedding for him while he is alive suggests otherwise, just as Wanda’s anger each time he tries to speak of this informs him, very clearly, that he is stepping into imbecilic territory for the sake of his own mental comfort. “Science won’t stop death, superstition won’t stop it, whether it's a slow, foreseen inevitable or quick and unsuspecting, it will happen to all of us.” How she can smile so gently in the face of unrelenting fate is beyond him. “I, however, will do everything I can to delay it as long as you promise me something.”

Guilt urges him to accept her request before he’s had time to fully think it through. “I will try to stop helping—”

She chuckles, shaking away his attempt to read her mind. “Two promises then. Will you forgive the quotidian nature of my next statements?”

Vision provides a puzzled, “You are forgiven.”

“You have planned everything for your death,” a truth he cannot refute, he even has instructions of what to do for every state and territory based on the local laws, “so, Vision,” he shakes away the morbid thoughts and looks intently at her, breath bated for what he has to promise, “now it’s time you accomplish the only thing anyone truly needs to do before biological inevitability.”

There are very many things he wishes to do before he dies, how a woman of her intellectual standing can boil her own accomplishments and goals into one unit is curious. “That would be?”

“You have to live, Vision.”

It is perhaps the least scientific phrase he has ever heard Helen utter and yet it affects him more than Newton did, leaving his mind in a haze of what precisely she means or how one is supposed to operationalize living. Before he can inquire further, the door to the room opens, abruptly ending their conversation and pulling Helen away.

Wanda’s concerned face comes into view, her hair engulfing him as she bends to kiss his forehead. “How are you doing?”

A question he is not capable of articulating an answer to at the moment. Instead he grips her hand and brings it to his lips, shoving down all doubts and uncertainties from his mind before she reaches out to him, like she always does. “Unfortunately, it seems I will not be able to kick a shindy tonight.”

The roll of her green eyes is a sight to behold, filling him with an immense gratitude that he gets to see it so often. “If you didn’t want to go you could have just said no instead of going through all this.” She settles onto the bed next to him, her hips pressed into his stomach, allowing him to wrap his arms around her and bury his face into her skirt.

Vaguely he is conscious of the sounds of Helen and Amadeus laying out the supplies needed, can even catch a whiff of the iodine, but he lets it all fade away as Wanda draws her hand along his cheek. “Want to know what they were setting up?”

“I do.”

“You were close.” The soothing dance of her fingers on his face stop for a millisecond, resuming with a more hesitant rhythm as she finishes her thought. “It was a wedding.” 

Living is a fickle thing, filled with highs and lows; for some, like himself and Wanda, far more ravines than mountains. But as he feels the expectant, slightly nervous anticipation in her body, he realizes that there are some things not worth risking, that if he bypasses a long day of collecting supplies, it means he can spend one more evening wandering the fields with Wanda, or an afternoon playing paille maille, or an indecorous dusk in a barn. Admittedly he has never been one to be selfish, always putting others needs before himself, and he has done that already, everything is planned that can be planned for the inevitable. Life is finite and maybe, just maybe, he needs to do what Wanda has always urged him to since the day they met – decide exactly what he wants and unapologetically pursue it.  

Vision kisses her side as the image of their future solidifies in his mind. “How wonderful.”

Victorian Language and Culture Decoder

A

The Oregon and California trails were littered with people’s broken, old, or unneeded possessions. It was officially known as leeverites (leave ‘ere right here)

B

Double-breasted water butt-smasher: a man of athletic build.

C

Yard of pump-water: a tall and lanky man.

D

Kick up a shindy: Dance, cause a raucous. It is a precursor to shindig, but it seems that words wasn’t in US usage until the 1880s.

E

Feeder act: an actor or actress whose role is meant to feed/help the more important actor or actress.

F

I have a link to a map of 1853 Council Bluffs over on Ao3

G

barking at a knot: Useless

H

afternoonified: Smart

I

Angelica: an unmarried woman

J

Lansford W. Hastings: Hastings, or Lansford for those who read too much about him, is one of the biggest names in the Oregon trail. He did write the Emmigrant’s Guide to Oregon and California. He also founded the Hastings Cut-off in Utah which is the route the Donner Party took, though he did not actually recommend people take the route. It actually was only a one sentence suggestion in his book, so don’t blame him for the Donner Party. By 1853 he was either living in California or Arizona (sources are mixed), so he couldn’t be their guide. Next chapter I’ll leave a footnote on good ole Phillip as he is a comic reference.

K

Bad box: a bad predicament

L

Of the first water: something or someone that is first-rate or excellent

M

A lick and a promise: Doing something with minimum effort.

N

Bag of nails: when everything seems to go wrong at once

O

Coffee boiler: a person who is lazy or shirks their responsibilities

[miracutrashcan]

Only the irredeemable should tremble (Part 2/3)

Hey everyone! I forgot to post the update onto my Tumblr so have part 2 and 3 in one single post. If you have any questions about what’s going on feel free to message me and I’ll see how much  I can answer without giving too much about the plot away. Anyways... bug out!

Part: [1] [HERE] [3]

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

She could protect the innocent and punish those who take advantage of others and not learn from their mistakes. Finally registering how tightly someone was holding her hand, Marinette pushed the hand away from her. "You are right Hawk Moth, I accept on one condition. You uphold your end of the deal, I get to personally judge you for your sins once I retrieve the Miraculous." After her last word is said a dark miasma covered the troubled girl, a pained cry could be heard in the distance and then silence.

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

Once the miasma disappeared Marinette was replaced with Princess Justice. Dressed in a pure red, short-sleeved, high-low dress ending just above her knees in the front and midway down her caves on the back. Covering her chest was a black breastplate with golden detailing all throughout the area before fanning out ever so slightly. Her gloves were opposite colors her left hand was covered in a black, light metal gauntlet with golden accents while her right hand was covered in a light golden gauntlet with black metallic accents. Her knee-high boots the same color as her breastplate. Her eyes were covered in a purple cloth that trailed behind her, stopping midway down her back. Strapped across her chest was her bag, gone were the pink and white polka dots with her custom embroidered pattern. Instead, the purse was pure black with five red spots on it, a rather strange coloration given the rest of the costume. Finally, her hair was let loose, flowing gently in the breeze — the ensemble completed by a single golden tiara on her head.

Attention shifted from the unseen voice to those remaining within the locker room. A few students left during the conversation with Hawk Moth. 'No matter, they will receive their judgment in due time.' Focusing on those who are left. Princess Justice noticed that Adrien was sprawled across the floor, a strange sight to behold. "Freeze." A single command ushered from her lips. Everyone within earshot swiftly obeyed, even Lila. Magic was not the source of the power behind her word. Rather there was an aura present around her that screamed danger to any who dared to disobey her command. Satisfied that no one was going anywhere, she made her way over to the semiconscious boy and checked immediately for a pulse. He appeared to be in pain, yet Princess Justice could not fathom any reason why he should be suffering like this. She could get a few reactions from him but not enough to satisfy her concern for the model. Not to mention, she passed no judgment on him, and her transformation should not have caused this. Without moving from Adrien's side, Princess Justice spoke once more. "Nino, Chloe, you may step forward."

Since the moment that she watched Adrien collapse to the ground, she was desperate to check upon him. However, Princess Justice had other plans in mind that prevented Chloe from running over to her childhood best friend. After the words were spoken to release her from the invisible bindings, Chloe felt like she could safely move her body. The experience was strange, even by Akuma standards. She's been caught in the crossfire between Ladybug, Chat Noir and Akumas on more than one occurrence, and she's never felt a presence such as Princess Justice. She could tell that it was not magic keeping her in place, instead the authority and power behind the Akuma's words. It almost reminded her of - no, that was impossible. The mere idea that Ladybug could be Akumatized made Chloe want to laugh. However, she could not afford to spend time on speculation, there was a full-blown Akuma present, and she did not have Polen nor her Miraculous to help her. Her only saving grace is that Marine- Princess Justice does not seem to be mad at her... right? Following the Akuma's orders, she glanced to where Nino was, a glance of uncertainty was shared among them. Chloe took a deep breath and reminded herself who she is. She was Queen Bee, and she needed to start acting like it.

"Chloe, you were able to see through the carefully woven lies, and you have not only acknowledged your past sins and faults, but I have also seen you actively attempt to remedy and improve yourself. For that, I commend your efforts and pardon all crimes you have committed thus far. Keep this in mind, if you start to revert to your old ways. I shall not extend this kind of mercy again. Understand?" Princess Justice kept her back towards Chloe as she continued to make sure that Adrien was safe. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a vial of clear liquid and rolled it within her hand.

Chloe listened to each word intently and with bated breath. Princess Justice powers were unknown to everyone within the room, so Chloe decided that her best option was to play it safe and remain on the Akuma's good side. Once the Akuma appeared to be finished with her speech, she let out the breath she held this entire time. "Thank you for the kind words, Princess Justice." It was mildly irritating being forced to be so formal with Marinette, but as long as she stays on her good side, she may learn important information that she could relay to Ladybug. The vial that she held had Chloe feeling on edge but not enough to cause her to leap into the situation irrationally.

"Nino, you also learned to question statements when they seem far too good to be true. While you are not nearly as vocal as some other people, you attempt to seek the truth in your way. For that, I also pardon you from any crimes you have made thus far. Just like Chloe, if you change your ways and start following a darker path, then there will be no second chances." With her warning shared, Princess Justice finally stood up, away from Adrien and turned to the two students. "I want you to take Adrien to the infirmary. Tell the nurse that he collapsed in the locker room and the moment he seems to be in any more pain to call an ambulance and have him transferred to the nearest hospital. You are free to tell anyone about me, and you are also free to leave provided that you see to it that Adrien gets the proper medical treatment first." She opened her bag once more and returned the vial inside. The bag was angled in such a way that no one could see what was inside.

A single nod came from both students as they walked around the Akuma and gently lifted Adrien. He was heavier than he initially appeared, but not enough to cause too many problems between the two students. After an awkward first few steps, Nino and Chloe made it out of the locker room safely. Once the door was shut, Chloe was the first one to speak up. "Her Akuma is definitely in her purse. Now the problem is, how do we get Ladybug and Chat Noir's attention so they can come to save everyone."

"I don't know dudette, normally Alya makes a post on the Ladyblog about it, or the Akuma makes a big enough scene that the reporters flock to the attack site. I dunno if either one of those options are going to help us now." A quiet but frustrated sigh escaped the DJ's lips. The feeling of seeing one of his friends Akumatized in front of him caused him to feel sick to his stomach. However, he knew better than to dwell on the fact. Just because Princess Justice was active, who knows when Scarlet Moth will make a reappearance. Heroes Day was traumatizing enough. He was not quite sure if he could handle a repeat event.

"Princess Justice is a dangerous Akuma. You could feel the sense of dread if you even thought about disobeying her. I think that Ladybug is going to need everyone to take down her. Which means I need to be close by so Ladybug can give me my Miraculous." She glanced towards Adrien for a few moments, and her expression softened. "If the school becomes a battleground, I don't think that taking Adrien to the nurse would be safe. Especially if he doesn't wake up soon."

"So call an ambulance? Maybe the paramedics can do something to let Ladybug and Chat Noir know that Hawk Moth is at it again." Nino suggested as he pulled out his phone to show Chloe. It was weird for him to be working with Chloe like this, but Nino could not find it within himself to complain. It seems like being Queen Bee did help Chloe mellow out. It could be the current crisis kicking her into her 'hero' mode, but if he could see Chloe acting like this more often the school would be much better off.

"I know if I call daddy, he'll have the news all over this... but he might also cause the police to show up at the school and who knows how Princess Justice will react. Let's start with the Paramedics and see where we can go from there." One silent nod from Nino later, the duo were headed away from the nurse's office and towards the front door. Nino was on the phone with the paramedics to arrange for an ambulance to show up and take Adrien out of the danger zone.

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

Now that Adrien was safely out of the way, there were three more people that Princess Justice needed to address first before she could properly start her mission. Her parents have done nothing wrong to her nor anyone else that has not warranted their rage towards. It was by sheer chance they were present when she finally fell prey to Hawk Moth. Alya, on the other hand, she had her share of issues that needed to be addressed. Ultimately, Princess Justice determined that Alya did indeed work on improving her fact-checking and understood now that not everything people say is the truth. She turned to face her parents first as they were the people she wanted to get out of this room the quickest.

"Tom and Sabine, you have done nothing but try and support your daughter's innocence this entire time not only that you have gone out of your way countless times to help those who need your aid regardless of their situation. For that, I commend you for your efforts, and you may leave. I do not wish for you to see the judgments that are to come." Up until now, Princess Justice's lips remained in a straight line upon an emotionless face. The moment she started talking about her parents, there was a sense of pride coming from the Akuma's lips.

An uncertain gaze was shared between Tom and Sabine. They both knew the dangers that Akumas presented, yet at the same time, this was their daughter they were dealing with. How could they abandon her while she was suffering like this? Tom took a careful step forward. He wanted to hug his daughter and tell her that whatever caused this Akumatization will be all right. Before he could open his mouth, he noticed a small arm shoot out in front of him. Sabine's entire expression and body language changed from mere moments ago. "We understand Princess Justice. Thank you for the kind words, and we will be leaving now." With those words said, Sabine took the lead and guided a dumbfounded Tom out of the room.

Now that her parents were out of the room, Princess Justice was left with just one more. Alya. "Alya, you've been tricked by the lies before and held them to the highest standards of truth without even checking the validity yourself. You claim yourself a journalist, yet there are times where you needlessly throw yourself into danger, causing the situation to grow worse for everyone involved. Yet you are starting to learn from your mistakes, and for that, I pardon you for the sins you -"

"No! I do not want a pardon. I know I've done bad things to you, and I've been an even worse friend. I've been trying to improve so I don't make the same mistakes again. Despite this, I feel like I should be properly judged by you, Princess Justice." While this time she may have stood by Marinette's side without a second thought, Alya knew that she's also abandoned her best friend for Lila and more than one occasion. Despite being blinded by Lila's supposed connections, and assuming Marinette was simply jealous. Marinette never turned her back on her. Marinette has done so much for her, it seemed like it was only fair that she do something for Marinette. "I am not leaving your side, Princess Justice. I've abandoned you once before. I am not going to do it again." While this may have been one of the stupidest things Alya could do, her heart knew this is the right decision.

"Very well, Alya, you shall consider yourself among those waiting to be judged." If someone listened close enough, they could tell there was a hint of pride within the Akuma's voice as she spoke. The smile that was once on her face disappeared as she focused on the task at hand. "Now that everything is taken care of, it is time to begin the judging." Once she was done here, she would go find Chat Noir and ultimately bring Hawk Moth to his knees.

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

Because the distance between the school and bakery was so short, the duo walked home in silence. Tom was still in shock over Sabine's sudden change in attitude while Sabine was focused on a plan that would get her daughter back. She walked into the house via the side door, with no intent to go inside the bakery. Ideally, Tom would accept what happened and go down to the bakery to get out whatever emotions he was feeling, allowing Sabine to take care of business uninterrupted. Once the duo entered the main living area, Tom could not hold back his raging thoughts any longer. "Sabine, dear... why did you leave our daughter behind? She's suffering if she fell to Hawk Moth's words! We should be at the school with her trying to help her come back to her senses." He could tell that his wife had some sort of plan the way that she talked and moved, but he could not figure it out. If anything, he was stunned that she was so quick to leave.

Finally facing her husband, Sabine let out a quiet sigh. There are a few things she's been keeping a secret from him ever since they started dating. She never saw a reason to talk to him about it before, that chapter of her life was completed, and she believed that her chances of going back to that life were slim. Clearly, fate said. Otherwise, she finally turned to face him a determined look settled on her face. "I'll explain as we walk, I need to find something very important and quickly. If we want any chances of seeing our daughter back the way she was, I need to work fast." Sabine turned back around and went straight for their bedroom, with more questions than answers Tom reluctantly followed after his wife.

Once in the bedroom, Tom opted to take a seat on the bed he watched his wife dig frantically through the dresser drawers, not sure what she was searching for. "So Marinette just got Akumatized... situations like this happen all of the time since Hawk Moth appeared in Paris. What makes this time so dire?"

Sabine did not expect Tom to notice the signs, partially because this entire time she's been running interference for Marinette. It seems like even after all this time, certain habits die hard. "Because once Hawk Moth realizes who exactly he Akumatized, he will not let her go without a fight. So there is only one person I know who might have a solution to this mess that we found ourselves in. Assuming I can find this little gift, he gave me all those years ago." Sabine explained digging through the drawers looking for a small box. She had hidden it away simply out of respect, despite believing that no one will ever put the dots together. It's been about ten years since she last saw that box and it was getting on her nerves that she forgot where she hid it. After a few more minutes of digging around a triumphant cry came from her lips as she found the box she was looking for. Opening the box, she saw that inside was a single slip of paper. After setting the box down on the drawer, she pulled out her phone.

"Who are you calling at a time like this?" The box that Sabine pulled out seemed familiar. He knows that he's seen it somewhere before, but could not place where.

"An old, grumpy, turtle who just so happens to owe me a favor." A cocky smile crept slowly onto her face as she heard the phone dial before an hearing a familiar voice utter hello on the other line. "Good you picked up. Tell me where you are, and I'll be right over. Hawk Moth does not Akumatize my daughter and get away with it if I have anything to say about it." It turns out that Master Fu was right; once your life becomes intertwined with the Miraculous, there never is a way to escape fully.

"So it is true, she did fall prey to Hawk Moth... this is troubling news indeed. Did you see where the Akuma is hiding?" Master Fu sighed and shook his head in disappointment. He knew that Marinette mentioned to him a few times about how her situation was starting to grow worse. Stress is a temperamental emotion; at specific points, being stressed does wonder for productivity and motivation. However, when stress levels get too high, that is where the problems typically begin. He gently bit his lip as he looked over at the school, he would have to do this quickly and quietly if he wanted any chance to avoid a repeat. He's already put Sabine through enough pain by failing her once, and he would not make the same mistake again.

"Her purse. I guess that the Akuma was sitting there just waiting for her to get angry, neither one of them had time to prepare." Sabine explained as she went towards the bed and pulled out a locked wooden box. On the top of the box held a specialized type of engraving pattern, a pattern that only a select few would recognize. She muttered a few words under her breath, and the box suddenly opened, revealing a large assortment of herbs, vials, and liquids within. She knew that Tom was still in the room, and under normal circumstances, she would have waited until Tom left to create her signature brews. However, time was not on her side today. Nesting the phone in-between her ear and shoulder, Sabine got started by spreading all of the packaged herbs out along the floor. "At least it didn't go for the earrings."

"Honey, what are you planning to do?" Concern was spread across Tom's face. For a few moments, he could not recognize his wife with how suddenly her personality changed and how she spoke. The box she retrieved from under the bed, he's seen that patterning before within Marinette's room. While the box Marinette possessed was not nearly the same size as Sabine had, clearly there were a few things that he was not told about. He feared for his daughter's safety, and he feared for whatever his wife was planning. There was a glint in Sabine's eyes, one that he's never seen before. There was a sense of danger that he never felt from his wife before this. Not when his father was stubborn about his baking style, nor when they were caught in the middle of an Akuma attack. The best way he could describe this feeling was like a cornered queen trying to protect her kits.

Sabine looked up from the mixture she was creating to where Tom was sitting. A deep frown was on her face as she thought about telling him the truth. There was a strong chance that if anything went wrong today, she would not be coming back. The thought of leaving him alone to tend to Marinette shook her to the core. However, the idea of leaving her daughter alone, waiting for the other heroes of Paris to figure out a plan to purify her? Unacceptable. "I'm getting ready to fight to get our daughter back. I'll tell you the entire story once she's safely home, alright?" She felt terrible over how much she was lying to Tom right now. However, she wanted to prevent him from worrying any more than he already is. She needed to focus in on her preparation if she wished to have the highest chance of success.

"I know what you intend to do and I am going to tell you that this is a terrible idea Sab-" Master Fu attempted to talk her out of this insane plan. While her experience in battle would shift the favor towards them, he was far too concerned about the risks she was taking. He knew that there was an element of risk for anyone he chooses to get involved with this particular Akuma. Sabine's particular risk was tripled in this situation.

"I know the risks going into this. But this is my daughter we are talking about. You wouldn't understand how painful it is to watch you child get Akumatized right in front of your face. Besides, you know as well as I do this situation I know the most about. So just tell me where to go. I am not taking no for an answer." Sabine looked at the paste she created and sighed, outside of meeting Tom luck was never on her side. However, she had to trust in her skills that this paste would work well enough to get the job done. Taking a small piece of parchment paper, she carefully bundled up the paste into a square. The longer she waits to take this, then the longer she has before problems start arising. Setting the bundle aside, she picked up a vial of clear liquid and swished the contents inside around. She glanced between her arms and the vial and shook her head. She was going to need all the help she could get today, which meant being at the top of her game. She twisted the lid off and consumed the entire vial in one single gulp.

"I will let you help only if you swear you've been taking your medicine on a daily basis." At least if she's been keeping up with her medical regiment, then some of the most significant risks were mitigated at least somewhat. He has not talked to her in-depth about her condition in at least five years, so he had to trust her that she kept up with the treatment. If she was not maintaining her program, then there would be no way she could adequately fight against Marinette. In that situation, Sabine was just begging to be lost, just like - no. He would not allow himself to go down that line of thinking right now. "How are your marks?"

"I have, every single morning for the last twenty-two years. I made a double-strength dose just for this mission." Sabine replied calmly without missing a beat. She was faithful to her treatment, especially since it meant that Marinette would avoid any of the side-effects from their mistake all those years ago. Though at the mention of her marks, Sabine glanced down at her arms. She knew Tom, Marinette, nor anyone besides a select few groups could see what appeared to be intricate black, cat-themed tribal tattoos dancing across her body. Right now the color was relatively light, however, by the time she met up with Master Fu that would be a different story. "Fairly light, and there are times where I forget that they are even here." Another lie, but she needed his approval if she wanted a fighting chance to try and talk to her daughter.

An audible sigh came from the Guardian's lips, and he's heard rumors of the lengths parents would go for their children. Clearly, nothing besides restraining Sabine will get her to back down. "You are right. But the moment you start to notice anything I want you to stop, understood? You better take as many safety precautions as you can..." The last thing he wanted was to rescue Marinette just for her to find out what happened to her mother. If that happened, well... he was reasonably sure he would need to find a new Ladybug.

"Yes, I understand."

"I see that there is no changing your mind on this, so meet us at the bottom of the Arc De Triomphe in half an hour. I'll fetch you then." Master Fu wanted to continue with his lecture but could not find the energy to finish. Hanging up shortly, he shot a concerned glance towards Wayzz. The Turtle Kwami could only nod his head in sympathy for his decision. If there was anyone in this world who truly knew what the stakes were right now, it was Sabine. Maybe luck will be on their side, and Hawk Moth will not realize who he has, and everything will be fine until then, Master Fu needed to get reinforcements, and he needed them now. He was old, and transforming was painful for his back. Yet, if Sabine could find the strength needed to come back, he could manage one more transformation. He took off the Turtle Miraculous and safely stored it away, opting for the Horse Miraculous for the mission ahead. "Kaalki, Full Gallop!" Being transformed with Kaalki was strange for him, but this was neither the time nor place to dwell on that, he had heroes to recruit.

With the conversation done, Sabine packed up the box, careful to leave the paste out and returned the box to underneath the bed. She finally made full eye contact with her husband, as she reached for the square and stood up. She needed to change her clothes before she left, her arms were too exposed, and Master Fu would catch her lie immediately. Placing the square on top of the dresser, she switched into a long-sleeved shirt and jeans to match. She had to assume that there was still a chance that he would still say no to her, meaning she needed clothes she could quickly move in just in case. Everything was moving so fast; the only way Sabine was keeping up was through experience. Though for someone like Tom, who had no experience here, it was no surprise that confusion was the only emotion visible on his face. Walking over to him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly. "I need you to stay here love, and it is too risky for you to go out there. I don't know what Marinette is capable of while she's Akumatized so I would feel better if I knew you were here where it is safe. I doubt she will have any reason to attack the bakery."

Returning the hug, Tom tensed up once he heard the request. He had no idea what paste Sabine made, nor what the conversation she had was about and coupled that with her ominous request, he felt like something terrible was about to happen. "Promise me that you will come back safely?" He pushed her away just enough to see directly into her eyes. He needed to have this confirmation from her for his sanity. Otherwise, he'll drive himself to insanity, thinking about what kind of dangers his wife and daughter could be in.

A forced smile came onto Sabine's lips, and she knew in her heart that she could not truthfully agree to his request. The hidden energy dancing across her skin was a prominent reminder about what kind of limitations she has to deal with. She slowly nodded her head in agreement regardless. "I promise I'll come home with our daughter safely." With what could be her final lie uttered she pulled away from Tom and left him alone in the bedroom. She needed to make her way over to the Arc De Triomphe as quickly as humanly possible. "I'll save you, Mari, just please keep fighting. I lost a bug once, and I'm not going to let it happen again."

[0ldsold1ers]

can’t wait to go home with you

Reaper76 week, TUES: keep yourself alive/ Omnic Crisis

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17850008

Reinhardt is stiller than Gabe’s ever seen him. There’s blood dripping from his collarbone, seeping through a bandage which is just hours old but he sits still and quiet, letting the healers take care of him.

They’ve taken cover in an evacuated set of flats. This portion of the city had been emptied a couple of days ago after the first attacks, so now they’re waiting for an emergency evacuation of their own - the closest aid had been forty minutes away. Things had gone wrong, really wrong this time around. It was meant to be a simple strike mission, destroy a bunch of the Bastion units which had been terrorising central Berlin from an abandoned hospital, and get out fast before they could summon other units. The intel had come straight from the Crusaders and the mission was top secret. Only Gabriel, Ana and Reinhardt had known any details.

Or it was supposed to be top secret, anyway.

Somehow the Omnics had known, they’d been prepared. The hospital had been swarming with them. And they were lucky so many of them had gotten out alive - his retinas are still burning red from the blood and his coat is stiff and stained dark. His shoulder is aching where a bullet wound has already been patched up. He doesn’t even want to think about how he must smell. He couldn’t think, even if he tried.

Because Jack hadn’t made it out with them.

He doesn’t know where he went or what happened - one minute they’d been fighting back to back, the next he’d vanished, running to a scream for help from across the corridor. Gabriel had tried to follow before Reinhardt had grabbed him and pulled him behind his shield - just in time, as a spray of bullets had almost reduced his face to mincemeat.

In the chaos, Gabriel hadn’t had the chance to look for Jack - he hates himself for it now, is plotting out a million different things he could have done to save everyone - but as commander, he had to get as many out alive as he could. There hadn’t been any chance to scout the area as they beat an immediate retreat, carving their way out through the mass of enemies. Staying would have meant death.

He tries not to think about what that means for Jack’s chances.

“He could still be alive, Gabriel.” Reinhardt says quietly, and just the fact that the German is so quiet tells Gabriel how weird and fucked up and unlikely the situation is. He nods once but doesn’t reply. He doesn’t trust himself to speak right now and keeps pacing.

The door crashes open once more, and Gabriel turns for the millionth time, hating himself for being disappointed when he sees black hair, not blonde.

Ana looks at him, angry and grieving and a million other things but still determined. “Choppers are five minutes out, Gabriel. We have to get ready to go.”

Gabriel feels his heart break a little. This can’t be the way they end. They’ve been through so much already, it’s not fair. There’s so much Gabriel never got the chance to say, so many unsaid words, unseen films, unspent moments they’ll never get to see now.

“Get the troops outside together. I’ll do final perimeter sweeps.” ‘I have to make sure he’s not coming.’ is what he doesn’t say. They both hear it anyway.

There’s nothing though. No signs of stragglers, no flash of gunfire, thankfully no Omnics in pursuit.

He keeps staring back at the smoke of the hospital over the skyline, waiting for a flash of blonde hair, a panicked cry for help, a blast from that insane rifle he insists on carrying - but there’s nothing. The air is thick with something which isn’t quite silence but drowns him all the more for it.

Until the insistent shuddering of helicopter blades breaks through his reality and it really hits home - he’s going to have to leave without Jack. His eyes are burning but he’s got another six troops in this old apartment building who need to get home and see their families again.

He scrubs at his eyes and is about to return to his squad when his wrist unit beeps once to let him know he has a message.

from: boyscout

message: fukc

He blinks once. There’s relief, so intense he thinks his hearts going to burst and he laughs out loud. He’s going to strangle the stupid motherfucker when he gets his hands on him. The device beeps again insistently.

from: boyscout

message: i fucked up, are you guys still here, need extraction, at church opposite hospital

Gabriel doesn’t blink again before he’s tearing back up the stairs to where Ana’s assembling the team on the roof and onto the helicopters.

“Jack’s still down there,” he starts, and Ana’s relief matches his own.

“You’re going back.” It’s not a question. She knows him too well.

He nods. “If you hear nothing for fifteen minutes, leave without us.”

She looks at him before dipping her head once. He knows he can trust her to do things in his stead - he wouldn’t try and do this if it was anyone else. But it’s Ana.

And this is Jack.

He’s flying down the stairs and out the building before he can catch his breath. He knows he has to be quiet, but also fast - it sounds like Jack is in trouble and he briefly wonders how he’s going to be able to get him back to the others. Or why he didn’t just activate his location tracker.

The hospital comes into sight soon enough, and Gabriel thinks for a half second before running down a back road. The Bastion units might not be able to get heat signatures yet, but some of the other Omnics have infra-red sight modes.

The church Gabriel thinks Jack means is old - really old, and the grand architecture is obvious even from the tight alleys hidden in central Berlin. If Jack was going to pick an obvious place to hide…

There’s a tiny door at the back of the building his HUD informs him, and he eases it open before slipping inside. He’s hidden in a quiet chapel, carved stone saints peering down at him, and feels a prickle of discomfort. He’s never felt too comfortable in these places. He’d sworn off religion a long time ago.

He scans the interior of the building with his HUD display but there’s no trace of any other machinery in the vicinity. Which means that a) no Bastion units but also b) Jack’s tech is either offline or c) not here.

Neither of the latter options are great.

He leaves the chapel carefully, listening closely before he hears it.

There’s laboured breathing coming from the front of the pews and finally he lays eyes on the golden hair he’s been searching for, a fallen angel before the altar.

Something is wrong. He realises with a creeping dread just how much red is smeared into the gold, and drops any pretense of stealth, sprinting up the aisle.

“Wondered when you’d get here.” Jack says, strain clear in his voice.

The room spins for a moment as he lays eyes on him.

There’s a really nasty cut along his temple which would explain the HUD not showing up in the scan - it looks like the Omnics have gouged out the implant from his head. He’s holding a hand over his stomach, and from the copious quantities of blood, Gabriel would guess he’s probably been holding his intestines in since he left the hospital. He can’t see any other obvious injuries but the left leg of his pants is badly ripped up and stained as well, and he doesn’t seem to be focusing too well when he looks up at Gabriel.

He’s seen some nasty injuries before, but this… this is awful. Even SEP applicants have died from less.

“What the fuck happened, Morrison.” He breathes, not really expecting an answer. He’s guessing a pretty bad concussion from the lack of focus in the usually sharp blue gaze. Hell, he’ll take it right now, it’s better than the alternative. He pulls off his coat and starts ripping it into bandage strips as he places a call to Ana from his wrist unit, no longer caring if the Omnics can track his location from it.

“I’ve got him, Ana. He’s in a bad state, I don’t know if I can get him back like this.”

The audible sigh of relief is quickly taken over by a hum of concentration. “You might have to, Gabriel. There’s no way we can bring the choppers closer, it’ll be an obvious giveaway where you are. How bad are the injuries?”

He quickly lists off what he can see. “I don’t know if he can walk.”

Jack pouts at him. “You could ask, you know. I’m right here.”

Any other situation, Gabriel would have laughed at his childish expression.

“Do what you can, you might have to carry him. Keep me updated with progress. We might have to leave and arrange for a secondary evacuation if you can get far enough away.”

Gabriel nods, then remembers it’s a phone call. “Wheels up in fifteen minutes.”

Ana begins to complain, but he cuts across. “That’s an order, Captain.”

She goes silent, before a stilted “As you wish, Commander,” and then she hangs up. It doesn’t escape his attention that she hadn’t suggested for a second leaving Jack behind, and he’s beyond grateful.

Gabriel doesn’t think as he works, letting instinct take over as he wraps wounds as tightly as he can. He re-sets Jack’s leg - he’d cried out, the pain overwhelming the delirium for a second - but the healing factor would hopefully be able to do enough that they could walk out.

He pulls Jack to his feet, dragging one heavy arm across his shoulders. Gabriel staggers - Jack isn’t holding himself up properly, there’s still too much blood and he’s holding himself together with his hands at this point.

“Come on, you big lump,” he grumbles, pulling his best friend from the church, “there’s no way I’m dying in this hell hole.”

Jack sighs dreamily, and Gabriel really doesn’t like the sound of that. “Can’t wait to go home with you.”

Gabriel chuckles. “We don’t go home together, pendejo. You’re moving in with Vincent aren’t you?” Jack had spoken briefly about his plans a couple months ago, but Gabe hasn’t heard anything since. Delirium does funny things to the head anyway.

“Wish we could go home together though. Love you.” Jack sighs, and Gabe freezes for a second, heart pounding, before realising: he must have thought Gabe was Vincent. He almost laughs again, in relief, in love, in despair, but Jack won’t understand any of those.

So he just says, “Love you too, golden boy.” He wishes it was a lie as he drags him back to the apartment building.

*

“Next time I tell you to evacuate a war zone, you do it. Understood?” Gabriel stares down his unimpressed Captain from the sick bay lobby.

“You were on your way back. If Jack didn’t get immediate attention he could have died, from what you said.” Ana replies, mulish as she refuses to drop eye contact.

She’s obstinate and stubborn and determined, funny and deadpan and sometimes edging on rude. Gabriel wouldn’t have her any other way.

“How is he?” he asks instead of reprimanding her like he should. The doctors had ordered him to ‘fuck off and get some sleep,’ in their own words, and the doors had been programmed not to let him in until his brain was functioning at a certain level of activity again.

“He’ll be fine,” she says, mouth twitching up just a little, “but the doctors are a little worried about the head injury. They think removing the implant could have caused some long-term brain damage, but they won’t know until he wakes up. And he’ll have to stay in for a couple of days until his gut has healed anyway.”

Gabriel sits down heavily. That recovery time is slow for them but at least it’ll be fixed. But brain damage? Jack had been acting very strange, and the doctors had confirmed multiple concussions. His implant as well… it allows them to interface with their tactical visors without speaking, allowing everyone to see where the rest of the squad is. That the Omnics knew to rip it out is both awful and really worrying. They’re getting smarter.

“Gabriel?” he looks up at Ana as she crosses over and sinks into the seat next to him. He sees just how tired she really is in the sink of her spine, the tightness around her eyes. How she’s still so composed, he’ll never understand. He must look like a mess. “It’s not your fault. It’s because of you he’s even alive. Stop beating yourself up.”

He gives her a tired smile. “Shouldn’t have left him in the first place.”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “A saviour complex doesn’t suit you. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and tell him how you feel before you lose the opportunity again.”

He gapes at her for a moment, but why is he even surprised? Ana doesn’t really need her cybernetic eye when she sees everything anyway. She stands and moves to the door. “I need some sleep, I’m done babysitting stupid men for the day.” More softly, she smiles at him, properly this time. “I want to know the minute he wakes up.”

Gabriel just nods once before entering the ward. The scene which greets him is infinitely preferable to the one from twenty hours ago.

Jack is breathing, peacefully now, and Gabriel could watch the soft rise and fall of his chest for the rest of his life. All of his limbs are smooth, straight lines once more (he’d missed the broken arm in his rush to get the man back to safety), his hair is gleaming a soft yellow in the sunlight streaming from the window, and the heart monitor he’s hooked up to steadily beeps at his side.

He lowers himself into the chair next to the bed and tries not to frown as he sees the jagged scar running over Jack’s temple, narrowly avoiding the corner of his eye. “Dumb blonde,” he mutters, running his eye over the rest of his face, “why have you gotta put me through this bullshit?”

Jack’s always had a hero complex, it’s how he got picked for the SEP, throwing himself in front of his squad to protect them from an explosion. As soon as he’d been patched up, his CO had volunteered him for the programme – ‘mental fortitude’, the report Gabriel had read had said. And he sure does have buckets of it. If anyone will make it out of this…

He takes Jack’s hand on impulse, weaving their fingers together. “We’re gonna get through this, punk. You’re gonna see Vincent again, you’re going to move in together and go home with him. Just like you wanted.” He pauses for a moment. Ana’s words are ringing in his head. “That’s what’s gonna make you happy. That’s all I want for you, Jack. I wish…” he stops. “God, if you weren’t unconscious I wouldn’t even be saying this. I don’t know. I just wish I could be the one to make you happy.”

He looks up to find an unnervingly blue gaze watching him. Shit.

“How much of that did you hear.” He demands. It vaguely registers that he’s still holding Jack’s hand.

Jack clears his throat and smiles his shit-eating grin. Fuck, he’s so far gone for this dumb bitch. “Everything since you called me punk and held my hand.”

Gabriel refuses to drop that, it would be proving a point if he let go now. “And you just laid there and let me talk? Puta.” He makes a point of looking away and sniffing.

Jack laughs croakily and starts coughing immediately. Gabriel look at him with concern. “Damn, feels like I got put through a meat grinder.”

“You did. You lost. I had to pull your dumb ass out afterwards.” Gabriel deadpans. He’s alive, and now he has to suffer the consequences – endless mockery.

Jack smiles sheepishly. “Thanks, Gabe. You saved my life.” He stops for a moment and looks unsure. “What you were saying-“

Gabe cuts across him, “Don’t, just pretend I didn’t say anything-“

“Shut up, Gabe.” He smiles up at him and Gabriel feels his heart flutter a little. “You do make me happy. I got separated from the group and all I could think while I was trying not to die was seeing your smile when I wasn’t dead. And then you ripping me to shreds yourself.” He manages another wheezy chuckle, and Gabriel feels his heart squeeze. This man is going to be the death of him. “You’re my best friend, and sometimes… sometimes I wish we were more. Even if you don’t feel the same.” He’s thoroughly avoiding eye contact with Gabriel now, who can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Maybe you have got brain damage,” he says, watching the five stages of grief cross Jack’s face before he bothers to continue, “If you think I don’t feel anything for you.” The realisation blossoming in his mind is beautiful to watch.

“You… you feel the same?” Jack asks faintly, and Gabriel scoffs.

“Even Ana noticed what was going on. What about Vincent though?”

Jack looks confused. “What about him?”

Gabriel is staring at him. He was joking earlier, but maybe there is some memory damage or something. “You’re his boyfriend? You wanted to go home with him? I thought you were moving in together.”

Jack stares at him like he’s the one who’s being ridiculous. “Vincent and I broke up a month ago.”

“What.” Gabriel stares at him. How had he possibly missed that?

“I only spoke to Ana, and she wanted to tell you straight away for some reason…” It’s satisfying in the most frustrating way to watch realisation settle on his face. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Gabriel echoes, disbelief on his face. What an idiot. Why did he have to fall in love with such an idiot.

“No, but I knew you’d have been too sympathetic and close, and I couldn’t have handled that when I was already heartbroken!”

“So when you said you wanted to come home with me…”

Jack looks at him nervously. “I did mean you.”

“And the other thing?”

Jack licks his lips nervously. Gabriel can’t look away. “Yeah, that too.”

Gabriel leans forward and kisses him. It’s warm and slow and relief and ‘you absolute dumbass’, a knot slowly coming undone in his lower abdomen which he didn’t realise had been there for so long. Jack responds eventually, shakily placing a hand behind Gabriel’s head to deepen the kiss. He’s warm under Gabriel, and he has to brace himself on the bed with his hands so as not to lean on broken ribs.

They have to breathe eventually, and Gabriel stares at Jack, lips red and cheeks flushed. He notices now a small mole hidden just above his left eyebrow and raises a finger to stroke it without realising.

“You’re an idiot.” He idly comments.

Jack grins bashfully. “I know. But I’m your idiot, if you’ll have me.”

He tries to ignore the grip around his heart. “Does that mean I have to keep carrying your ass out of danger?”

Jack flashes him a boyish grin, and Gabriel feels dizzy for a moment. “Only if you want to.”  

“Good thing you have a nice ass,” he grumbles, and Jack beams back at him like he’s smiling at the sun.

[jupiterjunebug]

This was. Going to be short. But you see. I love Aubrey Little.

Anyway thanks @callingcardinal ily, and I’m also still accepting prompts (even if I’m answering them...slowly)

Aubrey Little was cursed. Definitely cursed. What other explanation could there be for the fact that one of the cutest women she’d ever seen walked into Kepler Community Center while she was in…this predicament?”

“More beard!” Allison Wilson, ten year old aspiring barber, declared as she smeared more shaving cream – keeping a stock of it was the only way to keep them out of the whipped cream – up Aubrey’s cheeks. Aubrey ignored the fact that she was literally going to die of embarrassment, right there, crouched amongst a gaggle of elementary schoolers at seven pm on a Tuesday.

She’d hoped to go out doing some badass magic trick, but no. She was cursed.

Aubrey sat there, frozen and staring directly at the mysterious and beautiful stranger, until Duck weaved his way through the tables of parents and kids.

“Hear we were givin’ out beards now?” He asked. Aubrey could tell that it pained him to offer himself up as sacrifice, but he still bravely allowed the mob to climb all over him. She smiled gratefully and gave him a salute, the least she could do given his service to his country – read, her love life – and slipped away.

By the time she’d gotten over to where Ms. Tall, Blonde, and Very, Very Cute was still standing, Aubrey was pretty sure she’d gotten most of the mess off her face. Up close, the stranger was still very, very cute, but also weighed down with a kind of exhaustion that could only come from the two identical little girls – five, maybe six  – clinging onto her hands. The girl on the right looked a little impatient, while the one on the left was peering out from her…mother’s? Legs with wide eyes.

Hell, the woman’s eyes were wide too. Aubrey wondered what had her looking so lost. Sure, the gym was chaotic during Sunday Cookie Lunch, but most parents were either eager to try and distract their kids or had developed an immunity to huge messes like this.

“Hey! You new here?” Aubrey asked. The woman jumped a little, then turned to her with a relieved smile.

“Uh, yeah. Kind of?” The girl on the right reached up to tug at her mom’s sleeves. The woman looked down, her long hair falling forward and hiding her face from Aubrey’s sight. Very, very unfortunate.

Be cool Aubrey. Be cool. She has two kids, she might be taken. Or, oh no, what if their other parent is dead? I can’t be the person that swoops in after a tragedy and steals her heart away I can’t be a rebound that’d be weird.

“It’s lunch time,” the girl announced. There was a whistle on her s’s, and when Aubrey glanced down at her he caught sight of a missing front tooth. Oh no, the kids were also cute.

“Mhm,” the woman replied, “I thought we could have cookies first, since Barclay’s not here to make us eat it after.”

The little girl’s face lit up, revealing even more gaps in her teeth. She nodded, her curly brown hair bouncing around her head like a bunch of very tiny slinkies. Meanwhile, the other little girl shrunk even further back, mumbling something inaudible into the woman’s leg.

Oh no. Aubrey recognized crisis mode when she saw it.

Thinking fast, she knelt down, reaching into her leather jacket and digging around for the perfect solution. This kid was too young to really appreciate the cards, Aubrey didn’t know whether the – she should really figure out if the woman was her mom, dancing around the word was getting to be exhausting – would appreciate any of her fire tricks. Maybe…yeah, that could work.

“Hey,” she said, keeping a bit of distance from kid on the left, “would you like a flower?”

A second passed, the girl’s fingers tightening around the woman’s hand. Then, just as Aubrey was wondering if maybe acknowledging she existed was a bad move, the girl slowly turned to look at her. She nodded, eyes still wide, and her sister made an excited noise on the other side.

“Okay, then,” Aubrey smiled her stage smile, the one that the Beaverton Daily Gazette called dazzling and the kids at Kepler Pre-K called her super cool wizard smile. “You can’t tell anyone I’m giving you guys these, because they’re very special.”

She pulled two paper flowers out of her jacket with just the right amount of flourish – too little and they get bored, too much and they think you’re talking down to them – and presented them to the girls.

“That’s tissue paper, silly,” kid on the right said, nose crinkling. Kid on the left gave a nod of agreement. Her hair didn’t bounce like her sister’s did, pulled back into a tight, coiling bun.

Aubrey looked down at the pieces of paper and gasped.

“You’re right! Oh, they must be hiding from me, again.” She shook her head, “they do that sometimes. Maybe I can talk them into coming out, though. But you’re going to need to help me.”

She pulled out a handkerchief, waving it so that it flared dramatically and settled over the two flowers. Then she looked over at each of the girls in turn. Girl on the right met her gaze fearlessly, while girl on the left seemed to be staring at her chin. That was fine, looking in her direction and not about to cry were really the only things Aubrey needed.

“Okay,” Aubrey continued. “I’m going to need you two to convince them they should come out for you. So I’m going to need you two to put your hands on the handkerchief and say the magic word.”

“What’s the magic word?” Girl on the left asked, her voice very small.

The woman laughed softly, deep in her chest.

“I think you know the magic word, Sophie,” she said. Sophie frowned, her tiny little face full of confusion. Then she made a noise of excitement.

“Is it please?”

“Yep,” Aubrey replied, then held out her covered hand to the girl. Lydia reached out tentatively, then settled her fingers butterfly-light on the side of Aubrey’s hand. That would make the trick harder, but Aubrey could work with that. Sophie’s sister had far less hesitation, letting go of the woman’s hand and slapping both of hers over Aubrey’s so hard it almost hurt.

“Okay,” Aubrey said, and didn’t sound affected because it only almost hurt, and she most definitely wasn’t going to ruin her reputation as a badass punk magician because a little girl got overenthusiastic. “On the count of three, I want you two to say ‘please come out.’ Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Sophie answered softly. Her sister nodded with a confident grin. Aubrey took in both their expressions, because this was exactly she’d been hoping for. Then she chanced a look up at the woman, and nearly stalled mid-trick.

Her expression was so soft, deep brown eyes focused on the way her little girl’s hands rested on Aubrey’s. Then her eyes rose to meet Aubrey’s, and both of them blushed. Aubrey added a little quirk to her smile, and the woman smiled back.

“You too, miss,” Aubrey told her, like this was all part of her plan and not just her being hopeless. The woman raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it only works if everyone helps.”

The woman nodded very seriously. Which meant that if she wasn’t the girls’ mom, she probably at least watched them a lot.

“Well, you’re the magician,” she said, reaching out with one long-fingered hand and placing it on top of the kids’. No wedding ring, and no ring tan either. Focus Aubrey, that doesn’t mean she’s single. Or that you can come on to moms at milk and cookies day.

“Now that everything’s ready,” Aubrey said, “we can get this started. I need all three of you to look right at the handkerchief, just to make sure I’m not cheating.” Sophie’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Great. Now, with me. Three, two, one-“

Aubrey would normally have used stage magic for this, but she was pretty sure Sophie had been a couple seconds from full on tears, earlier. Which meant that she hadn’t had time to slide the marigolds she’d gotten Kirby to make for her – the ones with the velvety orange petals – up her sleeve and into the spring mechanism she kept there, let alone to put the release for it into its proper place beside her thumb. Even if she had, the trick only worked when everyone’s hands were on top of hers. Sophie’s little fingers resting near her thumb meant that hitting the button would have revealed her, and Aubrey was pretty sure touching Sophie’s hand to move it would’ve cause a backslide. Big time.

So instead of reaching for her talents as a stage magician, she reached for her talents as a magic magician. She waved her free hand, pretending to do some specific hand motion but in reality nudging the wind to lift the fake flowers out of her pocket and send them rocketing down her sleeve. She prayed silently that they wouldn’t get too squished, then set her hand atop the probably-a-mom’s.

“Please come out,” they all said, the little girls slightly off-sync from each other.  Aubrey smiled at them. And at probably-a-mom. As soon as this trick was over, she was getting a name.

“Alright, let’s see if this worked!”

They were not, in fact, too squished. Instead, as the girls pulled their hands away and she turned her hand, the little marigolds sat nestled together in her palm. Sophie and her sister shared a look of awe, so Aubrey gestured at the flowers. The two reached hesitantly forward, each taking one.

“Now,” Aubrey said, as the girls examined their new treasures, “do you promise to take care of these?”

“Yes!” Sophie’s sister exclaimed. Sophie just nodded, hugging her marigold to her chest.

“Alright, then. Now that we’ve done magic together, let’s introduce ourselves.” Aubrey held out a hand, and Sophie immediately took it. “My magic name is The Lady Flame, but since you’re my friends now, you can call me Aubrey.”

Sophie’s sister immediately reached out, gripping onto Aubrey. It was, once again, almost painful. Aubrey hoped she grew up to be some kind of badass, with a grip like that.

“I’m Maddy! It’s short for Madeline Elizabeth Cobb Jr,” Maddy announced confidently. “My magic name is also Maddy, because Maddy is already the best name.”

“Good. Simple. I like it.” Maddy grinned, and gosh. She had dimples. It was totally unfair that the cute woman had cute kids. As Maddy let go, Sophie took her place, inching away from her mom’s side to shake Aubrey’s hand.

“I’m Sophie. And my magic name is. Um…” She trailed off, eyes widening in panic.

“You don’t need one right now,” Aubrey said hastily. “Magic names are very important, thinking about it for a while is just fine.”

Sophie mumbled something, still staring at Aubrey’s chin. Then she took a deep breath and said, louder.

“Marigold. My magic name is Marigold.”

“Nice to meet you, Sophie slash Marigold.”

Sophie smiled shyly, eyes falling down to the flower in her hand. Aubrey rose to her feet, her thighs complaining about crouching for so long.

“And you, Miss?” She asked, and hoped that she looked cool and not kind of goofy.

“Dani,” the woman said, brushing her hair behind her ear and then taking Sophie’s hand again. “I don’t have a magic name either. I’ll have to ask the girls to help me find one.”

“Well, before that, I think these two deserve some cookies!” Both of the kids nodded, Maddy vibrating with excitement.

“It’s a little…hectic,” Dani mused, then tilted her head meaningfully to Sophie. On cue, Allison barreled past with a mustachioed Duck in pursuit. Sophie jumped, her shoulders creeping up to her ears.

“Yeah.” Aubrey laughed, stepping to the side to block Sophie’s view of as much of the room as possible. “You know, when I first got to Kepler I didn’t know there were this many kids in town. It used to just be kids from the preschool, but then someone,” She leaned around Dani and glared at Ned Chicane in mock annoyance, “started advertising at his museum.”

“That’s, uh, that’s actually how we heard about this. My brother, Jake, he goes by there sometimes to…” Dani gestured meaningfully.

“Oh, Jake! Yeah, I know Jake. He comes to the Saturday Night Dead set sometimes to…” Aubrey gestured meaningfully back, “see Kirby.”

Dani snickered.

“Yeah, to see Kirby.”

It finally clicked. Jake Coolice, who refused to use his real last name because it made his first one sound stupid. Jake Cobb. Aubrey was going to give him so much shit about that later. After she processed the realization that she was meeting Jake’s older sister, whose ex Jake consistently roasted for dropping her four weeks after said sister’s adoption papers came through. Aubrey tried to grin like a normal, maybe-a-little smitten person instead of like a goofy dork about a woman she’d just met being single.

Sophie made a little anxious noise, which meant Aubrey couldn’t stare into Dani’s eyes for as long as she wanted to.

“Anyway,” Aubrey leaned back down, “Since you already know my secret magic trick, do you wanna know another secret?”

“Yes,” Sophie whispered.

“There’s a room nobody’s allowed to go to except special adults,” Aubrey said. “But you two are magic, so I think we can go in this one time. So how about you all wait outside, and I’ll grab us some of the good sweets.”

“How does that sound?” Dani asked, and Aubrey thought Sophie might get whiplash from how fast her head was bobbing up and down. As Dani guided the kids back out of the gymnasium, she looked over her shoulder and mouthed thank you.

As soon as they were out of sight, Aubrey let herself scream just a little. Then she realized that was still embarrassing, even if the cause of the scream wasn’t around. She buried her face in her hands, then looked back up and squinted at the cold, wet something that had  rubbed off her face and onto her fingers.

Shaving cream.

God, she was cursed.

[redrobinfection]

“Mi cama es su cama”

JayTim Week 2018 | Day 5 - “Bed Sharing” (Day 6), Pt 5 of 6

AN: Okay, so, March is definitely one of the worst times of year for me, surpassed only by April, so, originally, I hadn’t planned on participating in this JayTim Week. But I couldn’t stay away from the “bed sharing” prompt, and thus this massive oneshot was born. Since I don’t like posting long works to tumblr, and the fic naturally split into six, roughly-even parts, I’ve decided to release one part each day up until day six, at which point I’ll also share a link to the entire work on Ao3. I particularly enjoyed writing this spur-of-the-moment monster, so I hope you enjoy reading just as much!

Tags: enemies to friends to lovers, pre-N52, slow burn, blood and injury, tw: blood

<< Part 4

---

Tim blew out a breath and sagged down onto the bed, running both hands through his hair. At this point it was a waiting game, nothing to do but wait until the man tucked into his bed woke up again. He carefully smoothed out the blankets he had draped over Jason's still form, mindful to keep his touch light so as not to aggravate the wounds stitched and bandaged underneath, and mused over the events of the past two hours.

The ordeal had begun with a bewildering alert from one of the safehouses at which he and Jay would often meet up to discuss cases or catch a nap if one or both of them were running on fumes. The napping part of it had started out as a joke between them after the time Tim had crashed at Jason's place right after the invasion had ended. Since then, every other week or so, one of them would show up at whichever safehouse the other was currently occupying just to beg a nap, hang out, and eat the other's food. These days, they were hanging out together at least twice a week, and Tim was actually starting to depend on those extra naps to keep him going throughout the week.

So when he had gotten the alert, he had wondered if maybe Jay had thought that he was there for some reason and just hadn't thought to disable and reset the security? It was that or someone had legitimately broken into the place; all of the Bats knew to either call him or disable the security themselves upon entering, so it wouldn't have been one of them. He had been particularly bewildered after he had pulled the security feed and saw that it was indeed Jason who had entered. Uncertain and a little concerned, Tim had peeled off from his patrol route and circled back to check, just in case.

Maybe Jason had info for him but had lost his comm? Or maybe he'd been hit with fear toxin or something similarly nasty and just homed in on the closest place to crash, just as Tim had months ago when he'd been hit by Freeze? Or maybe he had just really needed a nap?

Those possibilities had circled like impatient vultures in his head as he had cautiously entered the safehouse through the false wall Jason had carelessly left ajar. Upon seeing nothing immediately out of place, he had turned off the silent alarms and reset the system. He had then walked from room to room, seeking Jason out, until he had found him in the only bedroom.

At first glance it had appeared that Jason had snuck in for a quick nap, stretched out on his stomach across the bed, hood nowhere to be seen, head buried in a pillow. The second thing Tim had noticed was that Jay hadn't bothered to remove his boots before flopping across the bed. It was at the point that Tim had opened his mouth rouse his guest and gleefully rib him for his oversight that he had noticed the third thing, the spreading pool of blood just seeping out from under Jason.

Tim had instantly cried out and jumped forward, gingerly rolling the man onto his back. The stain hadn't spread too far, but thinking back to when he'd first gotten the alert and by looking at the deep color and wet glisten of blood that could no longer be absorbed by the saturated material, Jason had clearly been bleeding profusely for a while.

Heart in his throat, Tim had jumped right into crisis mode, quickly stripping out of his gauntlets, pulling on the nitrile gloves he kept in one of his bandolier compartments, shaking Jason to gauge level of consciousness - completely non-responsive - and feeling for a pulse as he gauged Jason's color and breathing. He had clearly lost a lot of blood, as confirmed by the paleness of his skin, his rapid, shallow breaths, his rapid, thready pulse, and the total loss of consciousness, but at least Tim had made it back while he had still had a pulse.

Tim had wasted no time in running into the gear room for his vigilante first aid kit, IV fluids and oxygen. He then quickly identified two gunshot wounds to the torso, in the lower right quadrant, and one superficial wound to the left shoulder. He had staunched the bleeding temporarily with sterile gauze and pressure bandages, then set Jay up on fluids and oxygen while he had made some calls out to Oracle and the Bats to call in some favors.

He had then cleaned and stitched the wounds in record time - Jay had been lucky the bullets hadn't gone deep enough to rupture viscera or nick any major arteries, otherwise he would have been taking a trip to his least favorite cave in the world, if he had survived long enough for Tim to call in the cavalry - and then he had gingerly shifted Jason over on the bed so he could strip the blankets and sheets from under him. The blood had soaked all the way through, as he'd thought - the mattress was a total loss - but it was the only bed Tim had, so he had done his best to soak up as much liquid as he could, then laid down a layer of towels before stretching clean sheets over the bed.

He had only just then finished tucking Jason back into the bed, setting him up on a unit of blood, cleaning up the bloodied sheets and towels, and putting away the first aid supplies. It had been two hours since he had first gotten the alert from his security app, but it had felt like two of the longest hours of his life.

He hadn't realized until he'd seen the pool of blood and seen Jason's pale, slack face how much he actually cared for the man. It scared him, just how much he cared. It frightened him, just how much it had frightened him to find Jason bleeding out and unresponsive in his bed.

He shifted his attention back to the man lying in his bed in the present moment. He threaded his fingers into Jason's and squeezed, his fingers mimicking the fear he felt squeeze his chest in that moment as he thought back on how close to total disaster they had come tonight. If he had been a few minutes slower or if the bullets had gone a little bit deeper or if they'd hit just a little higher. So many 'what-ifs' and it terrified him that the mere act of considering those possibilities terrified him so much.

He'd felt fear for the safety of those he'd worked with before - for Bruce, for Dick, for Steph, for Bart, Kon, Cassie and the Titans, even for Damian, once - but he'd never felt fear like this before. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Now that he was waiting for Jason to wake up, he wasn't sure whether he was more nervous about what would happen when Jason woke up again - what he would say, what Jay might say, what would happen next - or at the possibility that Jason might never wake up again.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a soft sound from the bed. The significance of that sound pulled a relieved smile from him in spite of the churning feeling he felt in his stomach as he watched Jason begin to stir. He subtly shifted his grip around Jason's hand, lightly feeling for a pulse and feeling a greater measure of relief from the strong, steady beat he felt gradually quicken under his fingertips. After a minute or so, Jason's eyes blinked open once, twice, then stayed open, at which point his face immediately twisted in pain.

"Wha' happ'n?" Jason groaned.

"I was hoping you could tell me that," Tim responded smoothly. It took Jason a few tries to focus his gaze on him.

"I was… trackin' down a weap'ns deal an'… turned bad… got caught in th' crossfire as I tried t' break it up… an' then… I dunno," Jason recalled woozily, frowning slightly. He pulled his hand from Tim's and pressed it lightly to the wounds on his abdomen, hissing slightly.

"And then you somehow made it out here, broke into my apartment, took a little nap in my bed, and bled all over my sheets. Not to mention you forgot to take your boots off first," Tim finished, keeping his tone light and teasing.

Jason huffed a laugh, then grimaced and pressed his hand harder against the wounds. "Shit, man… don' make me laugh. Hurts." Tim rose smoothly and retrieved two syringes from the dresser and rounded the other side of the bed to fiddle with the IVs. "Sorry about the sheets, though. And the boots, of course," Jason finished, shooting him a wink that was nearly indistinguishable from a wince.

"Don't worry about it," Tim assured him, patting the hand just below the IV sites patronizingly, "I mean, you forgave me that one time with Freeze, so I'm sure I can give you this one."

"H-how generous of you," Jason choked out, clearly trying his best not to laugh.

"I've got some painkillers and antibiotics here for you, if you want them. No allergies, right?" Tim asked, waving the syringes. Jason nodded vigorously to each, so Tim carefully uncapped and injected them into the port he'd placed with one IV catheter for this express purpose. "I would have given you the painkiller sooner, but I wanted to make sure you'd wake up first."

The tension visibly drained from Jason's face and body within seconds of the painkiller going in. He let out a pleased sigh as he relaxed back onto the pillows Tim had propped him up upon. "No problem, man. I'm just really grateful you got me the good stuff. Oh, yeahhhh… that's the stuffffffffff." He practically melted into the pillows, a happy little puddle of high-as-a-kite Jason.

Tim snorted. "Yeah, I had to call in a few favors to get my hands on it, so you're welcome." He capped the empty syringes and set them aside. "Had to call in one for the blood too. You're lucky I had the rest of this stuff on hand here or we would have been shit out of luck and you would have had to take a ride in your least favorite automobile in the city."

"Hey, nah, I love the Batmobile - awesome wheels on the thing - I just can't stand the jerk who drives it," Jason explained drowsily, eyes slipping closed in spite of himself. "But thanks for not calling in big B or Dickie and the Demon Brat."

"Well, it was Damian who brought us the morphine and blood, so…"

Jason's eyes snapped open and he stared. "Wait, Damian did you a favor? Wait. He owed you a favor? How even…? What did you do for the demon for him to owe you a favor?"

Tim laughed, slowly rounded the bed, and sat down beside Jason once more. "Yeah, he owed me a favor, and part of the favor I did him involved not telling anyone why he owed me that favor, so, you know, I really like not getting stabbed and thrown from high places, and rather dislike having my grapple lines cut, so I'm gonna keep that one to myself."

"That's fair. But jeez…" Jason whistled. "To use a favor from the Demon Brat on me. Wow. I'm honored."

Tim grinned. "No problem, man." He was just about to stand and go in search of extra blankets when Jason's hand unexpectedly shifted from his wounds down to where Tim's hand rested on the bed, his chilled fingers wrapping around Tim's slightly sweaty ones with a firm grip.

"But really, Tim, thank you," Jason murmured seriously. "Thanks for catching the alarms I must have set off coming in here and a special thank you for not taking your time coming back and checking on them - coming back and checking on me. Thanks for patching me up." He paused, then smiled and squeezed Tim's hand, instantly rekindling the heavy churning feeling in his stomach that had fallen to the wayside during their easy banter. "Thanks for sharing your beds, particularly this one, tonight, with me. Means a lot to me."

Tim nodded and swallowed. "Y-yeah, no problem." He shot up from the bed, yanking his hand from Jason's abruptly. He fluttered for a moment before rambling out some words that might have conveyed a desire to find more blankets and get Jay some water, but probably came out too quickly to be understood, and then he fled the room. He took his time pulling the spare blankets from the main closet and filling a lidded cup - complete with straw - with water before he made his way back to the bedroom. He steeled himself outside the door, running what he planned to say over and over in his head.

"Here are more blankets and some water," he began as he walked in. Jason accepted the water silently, taking a few small sips before setting it aside. Tim draped several of the blankets over him carefully, then stood back from the bed. He sucked in a deep breath.

"Jay, I-"

"So where're you gonna sleep, Timbo? You got a couch in this place?"

"I uhhh… hadn't thought about it actually," he admitted. "No, I don't. I'll probably just make myself a pallet on the floor, to be honest. Plenty of blankets left."

Jason shook his head. "No, don't sleep on the floor, man. There's plenty of room on the bed."

Tim immediately began to protest, but Jason raised his voice to over him. "I'm serious, get yourself outta that suit and climb in. I can use all the extra warmth I can get right now; blood loss fucking sucks."

Tim wavered. "I don't want to accidentally elbow you in the middle of the night, or worse, kick you or something."

Jason scoffed, then fiddled with his nasal cannula with a grimace. "Like that ever happens. You're not a kicker, anyway. If anything you might snuggle me until my stitches pop, but believe me, I'll wake you up loooong before it gets to that, so stop stalling and get in. After all," Jason explained with a loopy grin, "we're not really sharing a bed if you're not in here too."

Tim rolled his eyes and sighed, but didn't argue it further. He had wanted to keep a close eye on Jay tonight, anyway. He quickly shucked off the remaining pieces of his suit and carefully climbed into the right side of the bed - ideally he would have liked to have avoided Jason's sore side, but with the IVs on the other side he didn't really have a choice - purposefully giving the injured man wide clearance. Jason huffed and dragged him closer, pulling him nearly flush against his side.

Eventually they settled in together, the sound of Jason's breaths growing slower and softer while the drip-drip of the IVs filled the silences in between. Before Jason could drop off completely and before Tim lost his nerve entirely, he sucked in another long breath and went for it.

"Jay?"

"Yeah?"

"You really scared me tonight."

A long pause. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I… I don't know… I can't…" Tim struggled and he felt Jason shift beside him in confusion. "I'm not sure what I'd do if you had…"

"Died. Again," Jason finished, his words reminiscent of the many jokes he often made about his death. There was no humor in his voice this time, only understanding.

"Yeah. I'd… It scares me, Jason. It scares me how much it scares me. I'd really hate it if something happened to you."

"I'd really hate it if something happened to you, too," Jason admitted softly.

Tim let the silence stretch, weighing his next words carefully on his tongue and in his heart before he whispered them to the ceiling. He wasn't even sure Jason was awake anymore.

"Jay, I think I like you."

The admission floated into the space above and around them and Tim felt an overwhelming sense of peace at having finally gotten the words past his lips, words that he felt were true down to the depths of his soul, a truth that had grown between them for months without him ever realizing it.

Jason wasn't asleep. The response he gave without pause echoed in Tim's head until sleep finally took him and then all the way through the night and on into the morning.

"I like you too, Babybird."

---

Part 6 >>

[skiesofbluenuzlocke]

Chapter four

Sky made her way along Route 1, on her way to the trainers' school, only to be stopped by Lillie. "Sky! I'm so glad I found you! Kukui wanted to see you, but I had no idea where you were so I just waited for you here. So, uh, follow me, please." Lillie led Sky along the path to the beach, hopping down the ledge that allows those without pokemon to avoid the tall grass. Sky followed suit, as she didn't want to fight all those trainers unless she had to, not to mention the fact that she didn't have repels. They walked down the beach to Professor Kukui's house, where crashes could be heard coming from inside. "Oh, uh, we should probably wait to go in. It sounds like he's doing one of his mock battles again." Sky shrugged. "I'll be fine." "No, seriously, Sky, this is a bad-" Sky went inside anyway.. where she ducked just in time to avoid a Rock Throw. She turned back to Lillie. "See? Told you it'd be fine." Lillie was just staring. "How- how did you do that?" "I've known this man for three years. I've come in here during training sessions enough times that dodging incoming attacks is basically second nature to me." She turns back around. "Hey, Kukui! You wanted to see me?" "Yeah! I trust Hau gave you your pokedex?" Sky nodded and took it out of her bag. "Can I see it for a second?" Sky shrugged and handed to him. "Yeah, sure. Why?" "You'll see in a second." When he gave it back to her, there were two things that were different. The first was that the screen was glowing even though she hadn't turned it on. The second was that it had a face.  When she looked back up, Kukui was grinning. "Go on, say something to it!" Sky shrugged. Sure, why not. "Uh, hail and well met." She was expecting something to happen. What she did not expect was for it to respond. "Hey there! I'm-" "WHAT THE FUCK?!" Sky dropped the dex, but instead off falling to the ground like she expected it to, it floated. In midair. Right where she dropped it. "Kukui, what did you do." He was still grinning. "I didn't do anything! What you see before you is thanks to the talents of a certain pokemon called Rotom! Isn't it cool?" Sky, who was still staring at the Rotom Dex, which was chattering away, responded with a weak nod and said "This is the most excited I have ever seen you. And that's saying something. I'm, uh, I'm gonna get going now. Bye." And she turned on her heels and left. She was surprised to see Lillie following her. "Hey Sky, wait up!" Sky, being the kinda-sorta-maybe nice person she is, stops and waits for her. "What's up?" "Uh, I hope you don't mind, but I'm gonna join up with you on the island challenge? I mean, if that's okay with you." Sky smiled. "Of course I don't mind! Why do you ask?" "I forgot to tell you this, but Nebby isn't exactly a normal pokemon. From what I can tell, it comes from somewhere pretty far away. I've been trying to find a way to help it get back home, but I'm not able to do much by staying in one town. I'm hoping that by traveling with you, I'll be able to help it more." "That sounds reasonable." "Oh, also, could you keep Nebby's existence a secret? There are some pretty bad people trying to find it." "Of course I can! Won't say a word." After going stealth mode to avoid the trainers on the route (aka hiding behind a tree and walking behind one of the trainers) The two headed towards the nearest pokemon center in silence. Well, silence except for the incessant chatter of the rotom dex. "I'm beginning to think rotom being 'cool' wasn't the only reason Kukui was so excited." Lillie turned to look at her. "What do you think the other reason is?" "I think he was glad to finally be rid of the thing. I wonder if there's any way to get it to shut up?" Trouble, who had been unusually quite, piped up from Sky's shoulder. "Tape is always an option." "I don't your two cents, Trou- Wait. That's.. actually not a bad idea." "Holy shit! You actually agreed with me! What a surprise!" "I'd probably agree with you more if you weren't such a mudbray's ass." Trouble gasped in mock horror. "Sky! Watch your fucking language!" Sky just glared at her. "You two don't get along very well, do you?" Sky sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I wish we could, but I think Trouble's just the disagreeable type. Oh hey, we're finally at the pokemon center!" Sky led the way inside and immediately walked over to the pokemart. "Hi, hello, do you have any duct tape?" A few minutes, 100 pokedollars, and half a roll of duct tape later, rotom finally shut up, at which point Sky sank into one of the chairs in the pokemon center's cafe. "Silence. Sweet, beautiful silence. I'm gonna get some moomoo milk, I have a headache." Once she returned, she sat across from Lillie at one of the tables. "Hey, Sky, I have a question for you." Sky looked up from the book she was reading. "Shoot." Lillie sighed. "Why are you and Professor Kukui so casual with eachother? Literally everyone else besides Professor Burnet refers to him as Professor Kukui, but you don't, and I'm wondering why." "Oh, that. It's kind of a long story. Essentially, shortly after my mom and I moved here, she started acting.. cold. When she wasn't sleeping or working in her room, she was either yelling at me, startling me on purpose, or giving me false apologies for said yelling and startling. So, after a few days of this, I started sneaking out whenever I could, and would usually hide out at this pokemon center or the trainers' school, the latter of which was where I met Kukui." "Wait, why would you go to the trainers' school if you weren't a trainer?" "Well, it's kind of hard to be sad when you're surrounded by pokemon." "Fair enough." "Anyways, whenever we were both at the trainers' school at the same time, we would talk about pokemon. After a while, I began to see him as somewhat of a father figure, at which point I opened up to him about my mom, and he started letting me hang out at his house. That's how it's been for the past three years, and he and Burnet have practically adopted me in all but the legal sense. I actually helped raise a few starter sets, including the current trio. Which, now that I think about it, is probably why Siren went to protect me as soon as he realized exactly who it was that was standing in the tall grass with a yungoos attached to her ankle." "Wait, then why did you only give him a nickname after you started your island challenge? And why is Blaze so hostile to you?" "I didn't give any of the starters I helped raise nicknames out of respect to their future trainers. And Blaze is just hostile to everyone." "Respect to their future trainers? You mean you didn't expect to get Siren as a starter?" "No, I didn't. I honestly didn't expect to start my island challenge until I was 18 and legally allowed to live separately from my mom, since despite her uncaring nature she's extremely controlling. But now that I have started my island challenge, I'm not going back. Ever." "Then where are you going to stay?" "Probably just going to take out a room in whichever pokemon center is nearest." Sky looked up, and realized it was Super Late. "Speaking of, it's a whole lot later than I though it was. I guess the trainers' school is gonna have to wait till tomorrow. Are you going back to Kukui's?" Lillie nodded. "Tell him I said hi, and thanks for the rotom dex. Preferably without telling him that I taped its mouth shut." Lillie stood up and prepared to leave. "Will do! Meet you here tomorrow?" "Yep!" Lillie gave a thumbs up and left the pokemon center. Sky just kinda stared a window for a bit, until she processed what the fuck just happened. "Holy shit was that a date? I think that might have been a date. Does it qualify as a date if you're just friends? Oh my god I just talked about a whole bunch of deeply personal shit with someone I just met to-" She was cut off by a Water Gun to the face. "Hey, Sky, I know you're busy having a personal crisis, but could you please book a room here already?" Sky blinked the water out of her eyes for a second. "Uh, yeah. Yeah I can. Was that really necessary though?" "Yes." Sky booked a room, laid down in the bed, and promptly realized how exhausted she was and passed out.

[revolutionaryeye]

Karl Marx and the case of the never-ending theft

Marx's masterwork turned 150 years young this month. Hadas Thier pays tribute.

September 27, 2017            

Left: title page from the 1867 edition of Capital; right: Karl Marx

ONE HUNDRED and fifty years ago, the first volume of Karl Marx's Capital was published. It was the crowning achievement of Marx's developing economic analysis and the culmination of over 20 years' worth of work.

Sixteen years prior to its publication, Marx wrote to Frederick Engels, his lifelong friend and collaborator, that he should be done with "this economic crap" in five weeks. Intervening world events, revolutionary movements and counter-revolutionary reactions, the complexity of the questions, as well Marx's own health, financial problems and the illnesses and deaths of three children intervened to delay completion of this very ambitious project for many years.

Marx's outline for Capital had many iterations. In each case, some number of volumes would cover the topics of capitalist production, circulation and exchange; system-wide processes in their totality; the state; international trade; the world market; and capitalist crisis.

In the end, only the first volume of Capital was published during his lifetime. Its aim was to uncover the economic laws of the capitalist mode of production. Two other volumes were completed by Engels based on Marx's notes and published posthumously.

Though the grand outline first conceived of by Marx did not come to fruition, Capital remains the single most insightful and comprehensive guide to capitalism. It was written to provide a theoretical arsenal to a workers' movement for the revolutionary overthrow of the system--and to do so on the most scientific foundation possible.

As Ernest Mandel wrote in his introduction to Capital: "Precisely because Marx was convinced that the cause of the proletariat was of decisive importance for the whole future of mankind, he wanted to create for that cause not a flimsy platform of rhetorical invective or wishful thinking, but the rock-like foundation of scientific truth."

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

DURING THIS past decade, Capital has gained in popularity as new generations of radicals try to understand the functions and dysfunctions of our political and economic system.

But it still remains a daunting read, not only for its formidable length, but also for the depth of its sometimes abstract theoretical points, detailed historical and anecdotal accounts, and numeric examples and formulas.

This is particularly true of the first chapters of volume one, in which Marx sets out to define the key concepts--commodities, value, surplus value, money-- that are necessary to understand the broader themes and processes he lays out later.

As Marx himself wrote in the preface to the French edition:

The method of analysis which I have employed, and which had not previously been applied to economic subjects, makes the reading of the first chapters rather arduous, and it is to be feared that the French public, always impatient to come to a conclusion, eager to know the connection between general principles and the immediate questions that have aroused their passions, may be disheartened because they will be unable to move on at once.

That is a disadvantage I am powerless to overcome, unless it be by forewarning and forearming those readers who zealously seek the truth. There is no royal road to science, and only those who do not dread the fatiguing climb of its steep paths have a chance of gaining its luminous summits.

Reading Capital is unlikely to happen before bedtime as you doze off, or as a light read on the beach (though I've attempted both). It is meant as a text to be enjoyed, but also struggled with. The reward is not only a clear understanding of the way the system works, its laws of motion and its long-term trajectories and processes, but also an incredible education in Marx's dialectical approach.

Marx employed a method of investigation that was meant to go beyond static, everyday surface appearances to uncover the essence, motion and inner contradictions of capital--unraveling, step by step, its economic laws. The dialectic was key in this, as Marx described in a preface to the second edition of Capital in 1873:

In its mystified form, the dialectic became the fashion in Germany, because it seemed to transfigure and glorify what exists. In its rational form it is a scandal and an abomination to the bourgeoisie and its doctrinaire spokesmen, because it includes in its positive understanding of what exists a simultaneous recognition of its negation, its inevitable destruction; because it regards every historically developed form as being in a fluid state, in motion, and therefore grasps its transient aspect as well; and because it does not let itself be impressed by anything, being in its very essence critical and revolutionary.

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

AN EXPLORATION of all the important concepts and themes of Capital is clearly beyond the scope of this article or even a whole series of them. But we can touch here on two central themes: that capitalism is a social relation of production, and that human labor is critical to making it tick.

What Marx meant by a "social relation of production" is that profits are not the result of good accounting or the inventive ideas of the super-rich, but rather by an exploitative relationship between two classes of people: bosses and workers.

Under capitalism, employers and workers meet each other on a very unequal playing field, in which one owns the means of production (land, factories, tools and machinery, technology, etc.) and the other has no choice but to sell their labor to live. As Marx wrote:

For the transformation of money into capital, therefore, the owner of money must find the free worker available on the market; and this worker must be free in the double sense that as a free individual he can dispose of his labor-power as his own commodity, and that, on the other hand, he has no other commodity for sale, i.e. he is rid of them, he is free of all the objects needed for the realization of his labor-power.

In other words, workers are so "free" of any means of producing wealth that they have no choice but to work for someone else in order to survive.

This social order of haves and have-nots is neither natural nor timeless. In fact, the precondition for the early development of capitalism was the violent expropriation of the masses of people from their land. "The expropriation," wrote Marx, "of the agricultural producer, of the peasant, from the soil is the basis of the whole process."

Marx vividly described in the pages of Capital the cruel history in which displaced peasants-turned-workers were subjected to a new hell... Read on:- https://socialistworker.org/2017/09/27/karl-marx-and-the-case-of-the-neverending-theft

[kujo1597]

Actually, That Was a Good Thing

Four years.

Four years since the last visit.

Four years since the fire.

Four years since college.

A lot happened in four years.

It’s about time Angel got to really catch up.

You can also read this on Archive of Our Own.

Chapter 14

Peridot practically skipped her way through the airport.

An impressive feat for one without two feet.

Her dad finally got enough time off work to pay a visit. The last visit was right after the fire so Peridot wasn’t in a good place.

But now she was!

She eagerly looked for her dad and when she finally saw him her whole face lit up as she waved at an average height Asian man wearing a large sweater-vest and glasses with short receding black hair. He grinned large and lopsidedly and waved back.

Peridot and Angel briskly walked up to each other and hugged very tightly.

“I’m so so glad to see you,” Angel didn’t want to let go; the last time they went this long without seeing each other Peridot nearly died.

“It’s really great to see you too,” Peridot didn’t want to let go either.

But they had to eventually, they were in the way.

“Stars,” Angel took Peridot in. “You look so good. And I see you’re still rocking the mohawk.”

Peridot giggled. “Yep, I stopped for a little bit in college but I actually ended up missing it.”

“And you got a new piercing, that’s cool.”

“Thanks. So, we should pick up your stuff then load up the car.”

“Alright,” Angel firmly patted Peridot’s upper right arm.

She flinched slightly. “Ouch.”

As if a switch got flipped Angel went into ‘protective dad mode.’ “What happened?”

This actually took Peridot by surprise. “Nothing. I just recently got a tattoo so I’m a bit tender there.”

Angel’s expression immediately lightened. “A tattoo, huh? What is it of?”

“Um, well...” Peridot lightly blushed, “some UFOs. The one piloted by Mars People in Metal Slug, a generic retro UFO, and Cosmos, the Transformer in vehicle mode.”

Angel chuckled warmly. “I should have known. You’re always loved space and UFOs.”

They talked some more while picking up Angel’s luggage. Catching up, and enjoying there not being a crisis going on and their conversation continued as Peridot drove Angel to her home.

Feeling some staring Peridot glanced at Angel. “What?”

“Oh, sorry, I can’t stop looking at you,” Angel said. “I just can’t get over how well you look. You’ve healed so nicely and I like how you’re doing your hair now.”

“You’re just saying that because I was bald the last time you saw me,” Peridot had intended that to be humourous, but her red cheeks betrayed her.

“No,” Angel said with a chuckle. “I just think it looks nice, it suits you.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence before Angel spoke up again.

“I’m excited to meet Amethyst and Lapis.”

“And I’m excited for you to finally meet them,” Peridot grinned brightly. “Lapis has been doing very well lately so now’s a great time. And Amethyst has been so wonderful. Well, the only time she hasn’t been was after our fight.”

“Has it actually only been the one?” Angel was skeptical.

“Well, we have tiffles here and there, but every couple does; especially after dating for as long as we have.” 

“But it’s mostly just small stuff, right?” Once again, Angel got protective.

“Yeah, just small stuff,” Peridot looked her dad in the eyes. “Don’t worry so much. I know what to look out for.”

“It’s not that simple, Peridot.”

“I know. I have a good network of support too so if, and this is a big if, Amethyst does end up being like that I should be able to get out of it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Angel sighed. “Ever since Jaune I worry constantly. I know I should trust your judgement.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s understandable. And I’m sure that after you meet Amethyst you’ll stop worrying.”

Angel thought, “Jaune didn’t set off any warning bells with me.” He instead said, “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll put my mind to rest.”

Another silence.

“Is Lapis still dumping all of her problems on you?” Angel spoke firmly. “You said she’s doing well but I still worry.”

“Nah, seeing a psychiatrist helped cut down on that. And I’m being more firm and not dropping everything to be there for her.” Peridot laughed. “It’s actually kind of hard for me sometimes. But it’s better for the both of us.”

Angel nodded approvingly.

He was proud of his daughter for managing to build healthier relationships.

Maybe one day he could too...

Peridot pulled into the driveway and smiled when she saw Max looking out the window. She made sure to point him out to her dad.

“Isn’t he adorable?” Peridot cooed.

“Yes, he is,” Angel said, amused.

The door opened and Lapis came out. Angel took a look at her. Her blue hair, myriad of piercings (the most recent being snake bite piercings), and her water witch half-sleeve tattoo.

As okay as he is with Peridot’s body mods Angel can’t help feeling a bit iffy about people with a ton of piercings.

He offered his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Angel.”

“Lapis,” she shook his hand. “But you already knew that.” She noticed Peridot pulling luggage out of the trunk. “Peridot! Wait a sec so I can help you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” Peridot called from the car.

Lapis quickly walked up to Peridot with Angel following.

“Seriously, you know you’re supposed to ask for help,” Lapis scolded Peridot.

“Not all the time,” Peridot’s annoyance was clear. “We also need to work on our codependency issues.”

“Codependency issues...” Lapis rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s a problem. But so’s your being a control freak.”

Angel unloaded some of his luggage as Lapis and Peridot argued.

“Oh dad,” Peridot turned her attention away from Lapis. “Sorry, we’re trying to talk more and I got wrapped up in it.”

It didn’t quite sound like a conversation to Angel but Peridot and Lapis seem fine so he left it alone.

“It’ll be easier if the three of us brought my luggage in,” Angel said; he saw Peridot about to protest. “Guests can help out too dear.”

Lapis snickered. “Dear?” Peridot looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “It’s just funny. You look like a punk and your dad still calls you ‘dear.’”

“Ha,” Peridot barked a laugh. “Look who’s talking.”

They continued their usual light-hearted back-and-forth as they carried Angel’s luggage into the house.

After he got settled in Peridot office-slash-guest room Angel joined Lapis and Peridot in the living room.

Max ran up to him wagging his tail like crazy.

“Stars, what an excited pup,” Angel had a huge goofy grin on his face as he tried to pet the wiggly little furball. “Yes, hello. I know, I’m new.”

The parent and child both giggled. Lapis looked between the two a bit puzzled by the lack of a resemblance.

After the excitement was over Peridot left to make tea. Angel turned to Lapis.

“Thank you for giving Peridot a home.”

“Whatever, I needed a roommate,” Lapis brushed it off.

But Angel didn’t buy it. “Even so, I am grateful.”

“She’s a good person,” in a rare moment of sincerity Lapis added, “I appreciate her. She’s really helped me out.”

“And I think in some weird way you’ve helped her too.”

“It’s literally the least I could do.”

In that moment they felt a sense of comradery.

Angel didn’t really get how, but he knew their odd bickering was actually a good thing.

The next evening Peridot was fixing her hair in the mirror. Her, Angel, and Amethyst were going to have a nice dinner together.

“Want help?” Lapis offered.

“Yes, please.”

“I don’t get why you fuss over your hair when you’re just going out with your dad and Amethyst,” Lapis half-heartedly complained while playing around with Peridot’s hair.

“I just like to look nice when I eat out and have no idea what to do with it,” Peridot replied. “I actually don’t know whether or not to leave my industrial in either.”

“Well,” Lapis started working a comb through Peridot’s locks, “I always leave all my piercings in. But I also don’t give a shit.”

“True,” Peridot gave it some thought. “Yeah, I think I’ll leave it in. Give my outfit a bit of a casual touch.”

“Do you want your bald spot covered or exposed? I’m combing your hair to one side.”

“Exposed.”

“Alright,” Lapis put product into Peridot’s hair then started up the hairdryer. “I’m giving it some height too. Y’know to ‘balance out your long face.’”

Peridot hissed in pain. “Watch the heat.”

“Oops,” Lapis repositioned the dryer. “Forgot about that.”

After a few minutes of working on Peridot’s hair, combing it over, adding volume, curling the bottom forward a bit, and fluffing the back out, Lapis was done.

“This looks really nice,” Peridot inspected her new ‘do. “Thank you.”

“No prob,” Lapis ran her fingers over the large burn on Peridot’s head. “Have I ever told you it’s awesome how you don’t cover this thing up? Most people would.”

“I’ve actually grown to like it,” Peridot fixed a couple out of place hairs. “It’s hard to imagine myself without it.”

“Yeah, even after seeing old photos of you I just can’t imagine you looking any other way.”

Peridot looked in the mirror some more. “I’m debating wearing those star plugs Amethyst got me.”

Angel happened to be walking by. “I know it’d make me happy to see my girlfriend wearing the earrings I got her.” He smiled warmly. “You’re looking very handsome by the way.”

“Thanks,” Peridot played with the untucked part of her light green dress shirt. “You look nice too.”

Angel was just wearing a simple powder-blue dress shirt, dark green tie, and black dress pants. “Thank you.”

“You’re right too, I should wear the jewelry Amethyst got me,” Peridot fixed her black waistcoat and rolled her sleeves up then put her plugs in. “I don’t wear these often enough.”

“They look nice. So, you ready to head out?”

“Yep,” Peridot replied with a smile. She turned to Lapis. “Don’t forget to eat, and don’t forget to feed Max.”

“Okay, I got it,” Lapis said as she walked Peridot to the door. “Don’t worry so much; you leave us alone all the time.”

“I know but-”

It was at this point Lapis pushed Peridot out of the door. “Just have fun. And yes, I will call if anything happens.” She shoved Peridot’s cane into her hands.

“Alright, bye Lapis,” Peridot waved. “And bye Max, love you, bye.”

“Bye mo~m,” Lapis dragged out the ‘mom’ then closed the door.

This made Peridot splutter.

“Honestly,” she huffed.

Angel couldn’t hide his amusement.

Peridot took the wheel and off they went.

As they were walking towards the restaurant Peridot spotted the unmistakable sight of Amethyst in her usual nice purple sweater and slacks. She quickly ran up to catch her.

“Hey Peri,” Amethyst said. “You’re looking handsome. Love your hair, and the bowtie’s a really nice touch.”

“Thank you. And you’re gorgeous as always.”

The two hugged then kissed.

Angel had seen this exchange and the tender kiss between Peridot and Amethyst helped put his mind to ease.

He finally caught up with them. “I’m glad to meet you, I’m Angel.”

“Amethyst,” she shook his hand. “So uh, I didn’t expect a Spanish name, that’s really cool.”

“Oh,” It’s been a while since Angel was last asked about his name, he softly laughed. “My mother’s from the Philippines and even back then Tagalog names were considered old fashioned.” His laughter turned hearty as he patted Peridot on the shoulder. “Peridot definitely got her progressiveness from her grandma.”

Peridot giggled. “Dad.”

And now Amethyst better understood what Peridot meant when she called her dad embarrassing.

“You guys ready to head in?” Amethyst asked.

They walked and talked together.

“So Amethyst, how’s work?” Angel asked, a pretty standard subject.

“Same old, same old. Waiting tables doesn’t really change and I haven’t even had any funny customers yet. Tourist season is when those start showing up.” Amethyst didn’t miss a beat. “How ‘bout you?”

“Busy as always,” Angel replied. “My team’s about to make a breakthrough so we’re working around the clock.” His chuckle lacked amusement. “Kind of ironic how unhealthy a bunch of people in a medical field are.”

“So, wha’d’ya do?” Amethyst asked, intrigued.

“Peridot’s never said?” There was mild surprise in Angel’s voice. “I help develop advanced prosthetics.” He blushed. “I’ve always wanted to use my love of technology to help people and Peridot, inspired me.”

 Amethyst couldn’t help glancing at Peridot whose prosthetic foot is as basic as they get.

As if she read Amethyst’s mind, Peridot responded. “My foot’s so simple because it’s cheap, and anyway, dad’s team is prioritizing arms and hands. It’s easier to live without a foot than it is to live without a hand.”

“Yeah,” Angel said with a sigh. “It’ll be a while before I can get something better for my daughter.”

“It’s okay,” Peridot reassured her dad. “I’m fine with what I have. It works. So focus on making better hands for those who need them.”

With a small feeling of guilt, Angel recovered. “You right. Sorry, for killing the mood.”

“Nah nah, don’t sweat it,” Amethyst smiled at Angel. “You’re doing good work. That was really cool to find out.”

Amethyst leaned on Peridot who giggled. “You know I’m not good at conversing.”

“You’re good at ‘conversing,’ just not great,” Amethyst stuck out her tongue.

As their exchange continued Angel signed in with the host.

It took a while for their waitress to lead them to their table.

“So where are you from, Amethyst?” Angel asked after everybody placed their drink orders.

“Kansas City,” Amethyst replied.

“Huh, moving to tiny little Beach City must’ve been quite the adjustment.”

“Um,” Amethyst looked away for a split second, “yeah. But hah, uh, I was happy to just have a roof over my head.” She cleared her throat. “Bein’ homeless for a couple years does that to ya.” Regret started to bubble up. “But hey, weren’t for that I wouldn’t have met Peri or made most of my friends or have Steven, so you know. It worked out.”

“Oh right, I think Peridot mentioned that. It’s how you met Pearl, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, her and Rose were going back to their hotel after watching a musical and I,” a quick glance down, “bumped into Pearl. She got all huffy. But Rose took one look at me and knew what was going on. She brought me back with them.”

The waitress took their food orders.

“Where was I?” Amethyst rapped her fingers on the table. “Right. Rose was gorgeous and had this air about her that made you wanna follow her.” Amethyst looked at Peridot. “You woulda loved her.”

“From what you’ve told me I’m sure.”

The couple smiled at each other.

“Excuse me,” Angel interrupted the moment. “I need to use the washroom.”

Peridot got up and Angel shuffled past her. After Peridot sat back down Amethyst spoke.

“Bullshit you look nothing like your dad.”

The sudden exclamation startled Peridot. “N...no, I don’t. His features are way rounder than mine, our eye colours are completely different, and he’s not even short.”

“That’s superficial shit, You two look so much alike! For one thing, you sure as hell didn’t get your cuteness from Jaune. Your dad’s adorable!” Peridot looked very puzzled by this statement. “Don’t judge me Per. You know I like dorks.” Amethyst raised her hand. “Anyway, not just that either. You two have the same smile.”

“We... do?”

“You didn’t notice?”

“No! Nobody’s told me that before either,” Peridot looked happy. “I never knew that.”

“Wow,” Amethyst didn’t really know what to say. After some thought she figured it out. “It’s really obvious. How’d nobody point it out before?”

Peridot wiped her eye.

“Hey, you alright?”

“It’s so silly, such a small thing moved me to tears.”

“Nah,” Amethyst held Peridot’s hands, “all your life you had no idea you looked like the parent you love. Just the awful one.”

Angel returned as Peridot was still tearing up and shot Amethyst a look that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Hey Angel, before you sit why don’t we have a private chat?” She had a feeling what that look was about. Her partner, his daughter, who was abused by her mother is in tears after he left.

“You two can’t leave,” Peridot protested. “Supper will get cold.”

“We won’t be long,” Amethyst put a reassuring hand on Peridot’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we’ll be back before you know it,” Angel echoed Amethyst.

“Hey,” Amethyst spoke softly as her and Angel stood outside the restaurant door. “I get why you’re so worried about Peri ending up with somebody like your ex-wife.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I ain’t good at serious-talk but I’m gonna try.” She made eye-contact with Angel, “I promise ya, I love Peri, I ain’t gonna lay a finger on her, I ain’t gonna hurt her in any way. What Jaune did to her was horrible, terrible, and god,” Amethyst couldn’t maintain her composure, “I wish I punched that cunt when I had the chance.”

Angel’s eyebrows rose then he started to chortle. “You’re right, you’re not good at ‘serious-talk.’ But you know, how inarticulate you were made that speech far more believable. I wouldn’t have bought it otherwise.”

He looked Amethyst in the eye. “It’s literally impossible to never hurt someone. I know that and you know that. Your sincerity when you said that came through. So I trust you with my daughter. I believe that you will take good care of her. There’s something between you two that me and Jaune never had.”

His expression turned serious. “And you’re wrong. I’m not worried that Peridot will end up with somebody like Jaune. I’m terrified. I didn’t see any of the warning signs. They’re not always obvious.”

“Out of curiosity, and you don’t gotta answer this if you don’t wanna,” Amethyst looked at her feet. “How did you end up with that piece of shit?”

“Hah,” Angel couldn’t hold in his bitterness. “It wasn’t an arranged marriage by any means, but my father ‘strongly suggested’ that I marry her. He owns a large company and Jaune had hers, even back then. He was hoping that his son marrying her would open some doors.”

“Peri mentioned Jaune moving to Calgary was a business decision.”

“Yeah, marrying me was it,” Angel pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was such a loveless relationship but I couldn’t say ‘no’ to my father.” He cleared his throat. “But Peridot was born because of it and I wouldn’t trade her for the world. My only regret is not divorcing Jaune before the damage was done.”

“There’s no point in regret,” Amethyst’s blunt statement took Angel by surprise. “It already happened and what happened because that happened did too. No telling how things turn out if stuff happened differently. It’s why I’ll never dick around with time travel.”

Angel started to chuckle and Amethyst joined him. “Yeah, you’re right. Regret does sound pretty pointless when you put it like that. But I can’t help feeling it.”

“Yeah, I get that. That’s like, how you’re wired. I just try not to sweat it, y’know.”

To fill the dead air Amethyst decided to bring up a new happier subject.

“I told Peri to keep it secret so you probably don’t know this. I wrestle pretty much every Saturday.”

“Really?” Angel’s eyes lit up. “Stars. I watched wrestling all the time as a child.”

“Ah! Seriously?!” Amethyst grinned. “Dude! Me too!”

“I watched some American pro wrestling when I first moved to Canada and that was fun. But if you can you should really check out Japanese pro wrestling. It’s very intense and physical with full contact. They even have medics at ringside.”

“Seriously? Man, but not as much theatrics though, right? See, I like heels and for me, the stories and stunts are the main draw.”

“We have theatrics too, but not as much and the stories are more focused around the strength of man.”

Their animated conversation about wrestling continued until they got back to the table. And sure enough, the food was there.

Peridot was annoyed but that dissipated when she saw how well her dad and girlfriend were getting along.

The rest of supper was very laid-back.

The next evening Amethyst came over to Lapis and Peridot’ for supper. As Angel helped with the dishes he heard Amethyst and Peridot talking in the next room.

“Man, I can’t get over that poncit palabok,” Amethyst sounded full and satisfied; making Angel feel proud. “You told me your dad taught you how to cook and now i really believe it.”

Peridot giggled and Angel heard the familiar sound of her resting her prosthetic foot against the side table. “Yeah, he’s a really good cook. I’m nowhere near as good at cooking Filipino food as he is.” A happy sigh. “It’s been so many years since I’ve had it.”

As Peridot and Amethyst talked Peridot’s voice got higher. Angel finished with the dishes and was just about to go into the living room when Lapis stopped him.

“Wait, when Peridot’s voice gets like that, her and Amethyst are about to get super mushy.”

“Uh, okay?”

Apparently Lapis knew Peridot very well, Peridot spoke again, sounding a touch bashful, “Um, heh, I have something to show you.”

“Oh really?” Amethyst seemed interested but also casual. “You just took your foot off and gotta be honest Peri; if I carried you right now you’d be covered in barf. I’m too full.”

Peridot found this statement amusing apparently. “Don’t worry, I can show you on the couch.” There was a shuffle then

“Yyyoooooooo!”

a very enthusiastic response from Amethyst.

“You got a tattoo! It’s so cool,” Amethyst got quiet for a moment then chuckled. “Is that Cosmos?”

“It is! I also have Mars People in my tattoo.”

Some more chuckling. “So much for ‘nerdy yet understated.’”

Then Peridot laughed. “Yeah, I did go all-out with the nerdiness. But it was worth it; I’m really happy with it.”

“You should be, it looks awesome! I’m so jealous!”

“I’m surprised I ended up getting a tattoo before you did.”

Amethyst groaned. “I’m having a hard time finding a place. You’re lucky you’re pale. If I want a colour tattoo then I need to see somebody who has experience working with darker skin. I found a couple people but they didn’t do the style I want.”

“Hm, well, I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

The couch creaked. “You’re right. Just gotta keep looking. You should tell me where you got your ink, maybe they can do mine. The style of yours is so freaking rad.”

“Alright, I have it written down. The address is in my office.”

Once again, Lapis stopped Angel.

“Not yet,” they heard Peridot shuffle and giggle. “That means they’re about to be super gay and embarrassing.” 

After a few minutes Lapis let Angel into the living room and the girlfriends were cuddled on the couch.

“Oh, dad,” Peridot’s cheeks were a bit red. She glanced at Amethyst.

“Don’t worry, keep cuddling; it’s not bothering me,” Angel waved his hand.

“So Angel,” Amethyst wasn’t shy in the slightest, “what time do you leave tomorrow?”

“Around six,” Angel replied.

“Gross,” Amethyst was obviously not thrilled. “I might not be seeing you off then.”

“Oh, you’re staying the night?” Angel briefly wondered if there was another guest room. Then he remembered that his daughter was an adult. And he had a flash of shyness. 

Of course, they’ll be sharing a bed.

“Is something the matter?” Peridot’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just sometimes forget how old you are,” Angel laughed.

A blush made its way across Peridot’s whole face, she buried it in Amethyst’s hair. The luscious mane shook as Amethyst couldn’t hold in her chortles.

The rest of the night went well; Peridot eventually got over her embarrassment, Amethyst and Angel talked more about wrestling, and Lapis drew.

Peridot let out a breath as her and her dad stood in the airport.

“Well, this is it.”

She really didn’t want to say her goodbyes. Three days wasn’t a long enough visit.

“Yeah, this is it,” Angel felt the same way.

There was a long stretch of silence.

“It’s too bad you couldn’t meet the rest of my friends,” Peridot said awkwardly, her heart ached.

“Heh,” Angel smiled.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just so glad to hear you say that,” he gently hugged Peridot. “You’ve never had a group of friends before. I’m proud of you.”

Peridot returned the hug a bit tighter. “Thank you.”

“Oh Peridot, we’ll see each other again. I promise.”

“I know, but I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. I’ll try to visit more often.”

“I should try to come out there sometime.”

“And maybe bring Amethyst.”

Peridot broke the hug to look at Angel. “You’d like me to do that?”

“Well, yeah, I like Amethyst and she might want to see where you grew up. Imagine the stories you can tell her.”

Angel knew how Peridot ticked, she’s always loved telling stories.

Sure enough, Peridot’s eyes lit up. “You’re right. I’ve told her a few things but she doesn’t know the places.”

“Exactly.”

The boarding message played. Father and daughter both clicked their tongues.

One last hug and Angel was off.

“Bye, love you,” he waved as he headed towards the gate.

“Bye, love you too,” Peridot waved back, choked up.

But she knew she’d see her dad again.

And it’s not like they don’t talk every week.

[subcutaneous7]

Can you do 29 for the prompt list

Kara pushed the door open slowly, reverently, like she was entering a temple, like she might disturb the spirits still lingering there.

Part of her felt guilty for never returning her key. She planned to give it back to Eve plenty of times, but something in her just couldn’t. Now, she was glad she kept it. It made sneaking in that much easier. Not that she wouldn’t have found another way, because this — breaking into Cat’s empty condo—was all she had left, and the only thing worse than losing her completely was knowing she’d never get the chance to say goodbye. Not the way she wanted. Not how she would have if she knew the last time they were together would really be the last.

She kept tabs on her travels at first, tracing her movements on a map each day with her fingers, like they would somehow paint a picture that made sense of her decision to leave. After hearing nothing for weeks, she knew she needed to move on. She was restless in her absence, agitated, and it affected her work. Eventually she became less invested, distracting herself with other things, other people, losing track of exactly where in the world Cat had landed, until that was, news broke of the earthquake in Nepal.

There was an endless flurry in the office that day, and also a stillness. James was a wreck. Snapper flipped into crisis mode, and the attempts to make contact began. As soon as Kara caught on that Ms. Grant was there, she took off, soaring across the globe faster than she’d ever flown, offering support to villagers as she made inquiries about survivors. Quickly, she learned the hotel Cat was staying in had been destroyed. Very few people made it out, and no one could account for her whereabouts. Kara stayed for days, combing through debris, visiting surrounding towns, piecing together every bit of information she could before the search was officially called off. Even then she refused to leave, refused to accept it was over, until Alex begged her to return to National City. There, the news cycle began playing a constant loop of in memoriam reels. Kara vomited for the first time ever on her way to the office one morning, catching Carter’s interview with the press, telling the world he knew his mother was still out there, that he refused to give up hope.Almost two weeks passed. Kara tiptoed through the empty condo, knowing Carter was with his father, but still proceeding with caution. She crept down the hall, passing framed photos she’d admired so much the first time she saw them, the ones of Cat snuggled up with her son, or on vacation, so many smiling, soft memories no one else got to see. When she reached her bedroom, she took a deep breath before gliding inside, feeling like she was on autopilot, being led by some force other than herself.

But deep down, she knew this was a choice. She was choosing to slip off her shoes, choosing to run her fingers over every item on Cat’s nightstand: a discarded book, a pad and pencil, an extra set of reading glasses. She began touching everything, almost compulsively, religiously. Her jewelry. Her perfumes. The pieces of mail left unread, the silk robe hanging on a hook just outside the bathroom. The smell of her was everywhere, even if she hadn’t been there in months. Kara had never felt so surrounded, so completely engulfed in her aesthetic, almost as if Cat were touching her all over, whispering not to forget.She sat on the bed, lying back, once again filled with guilt for being there, but she didn’t know what else to do. It was rumored Kryptonians didn’t cry as much as other species. They were supposedly more stoic, better able to separate pain from practicality. Kara grew up believing this, even after she landed on Earth. She could count the number of times she really sobbed on one hand, but over the past few days, she more than made up for it.

The DEO was on strict orders not to call unless it was absolutely necessary. Snapper approved a few days off, showing what small kindness he could. Everyone tried to reach out, but Kara refused them, isolating herself more than she already had. There was nothing anyone could do or say to take away this pain. All she could do was lie there, soak up what was left of Cat and her essence in these walls, these sheets, wishing to Rao she could see her again just once, tell her all the things she should have said when she had the chance. The tears came again, stronger than before. She curled into a fetal position, pressing her face to her knees, giving in to the convulsions as the pit in her stomach widened, threatening to swallow her whole.

She shot up at the sound of the door opening downstairs, immediately considering an escape through the window, or perhaps confronting whoever it was, making an excuse for why she was there. But as the footsteps drew near, her throat began to ache, muscles frozen. The sound got closer, more familiar as she held her breath, shaking her head, knowing it had to be an illusion, a gruesome trick her mind was playing as she grieved. But then the door opened, and Cat was standing there, looking so real and raw and beautiful, Kara swore she couldn’t have been a ghost. Her arm and forehead were heavily bandaged. She looked dirty, tired, but as far as Kara could tell, alive. Very much alive.

Cat bit her lip, throat muscles straining as she swallowed, eyes welling up, like she wasn’t at all shocked to see the younger woman sitting on her bed, waiting. She let out a breath, gripping the wall, before taking a step forward.

“Wait,” Kara’s voice rattled, like she was in a dream she didn’t trust. “Are you…how did you…”

“Turns out…getting trapped beneath rubble laced with lead makes it difficult for recovery teams to find someone,” she cleared her throat. “Even those assisted by a very persistent superhero.”

Kara leapt to her feet, not giving a shit whether this was a dream or hallucination. She needed to touch her.

When her arms fit familiarly around her body, and she felt Cat’s weak but unflinching efforts to squeeze her back, it took all her strength, alien or otherwise, to keep from falling.

She held her as tight as she could, careful of her injuries, burying her face in her hair, hands moving over her shoulders, her back like she’d been given permission for such a thing, but Cat was doing the same. Every ounce of Kara felt like it had been shattered and put back together in the course of seconds, heart pounding as she kissed her cheek, cradling her face, looking her over, needing to reaffirm that she was really there.

“How…” she continued to gape. “Everyone thinks…”

“I just landed,” Cat breathed, letting her thumbs press into Kara’s cheeks, wiping away her tears so naturally, like this wasn’t the first time she’d ever done it. “Carter’s on his way. Snapper has the exclusive, of course, and the rest will follow suite. When was the last time you checked your phone?”

“I…” Kara frowned, remembering how she’d broken the device earlier that morning, ripping out her earpiece, deciding to shut out the world for a while. “But…why did it take you so…”

“I lost everything,” Cat sighed. “Phone, money. My plane was destroyed. I was able to borrow one from a man I met outside the city. It’s a wonder it made it across the ocean. I’m not sure how I’ll get it back to him, but I will.”

“You…” Kara just stared at her incredulously. “You borrowed a plane?”

“How else was I supposed to get home?” she huffed. “As soon as I arrived, I sent the necessary texts and immediately went to your place, but you weren’t there so…”

“Why?” Kara swallowed. “Why would you…go to see me first?”

“Because,” Cat whispered, trailing her fingers across her skin. “You came for me. I couldn’t let you keep thinking…”

“I thought you were dead,” Kara’s voice broke, eyes stinging, lips trembling as she felt Cat’s hands pulling her closer, until they were kissing feverishly, the taste and feel of her so much better than any dream.

Cat’s lips and tongue and and teeth were all over her, until they were both moving backwards onto the bed, Kara’s hands gently pressed against her chest, moving down to her waist, helping her settle on top of her as she kissed her again and again, taking deep, shivering breaths as she continued to cry and let everything sink in. The newness, the life coursing through both of them, casting aside every doubt and reason they had for not doing this sooner, as if anything could have stopped them.

“I will always…always come for you,” Kara exhaled sharply. “But…please…don’t ever do this…”

“I won’t,” Cat shook, brushing their faces together, continuing to kiss her deeply. “I promise. I’m here.”Kara wrapped her arms behind her neck, mind going numb at the surge of adrenaline and emotions fueling them. She couldn’t help but grab at Cat’s bare thighs, where her dress had ridden up, fingers pressing into her skin, body growing warm at the sensation of soft, pliant flesh.

“Ouch,” Cat hissed, back arching a little.

“Sorry!” Kara jumped, swallowing as Cat hovered above. “You’re hurt, I…I shouldn’t…”“No, it’s okay,” Cat whispered, leaning down, letting her sweet, salty lips press just barely against Kara’s pout. “You can’t break me.”

Kara sighed, kissing her again as she sat up, turning them over so Cat could lie next to her.

“You are…so, so strong,” she told her, letting her fingers trace the outline of the bandage on her face before kissing her forehead. “And so beautiful.”

“Well,” Cat blushed a bit. “If that’s how you feel when I look like this, then…”

“Let me take care of you,” Kara shuddered. “Please.”

“Okay,” Cat agreed quickly, eyes filling up again as Kara kissed her fiercely.

“Tell me what you need,” she asked. “Anything…”

“A hot bath and some sleep,” Cat admitted. “But first, I need to see my son. And figure out how to handle…all of this.”

Kara’s heart swelled at the thought of Carter walking through the door any minute, trying not to think about the anguish she’d witnessed in his eyes the last time she saw him, only the inevitable joy of their reunion.

“Do you want…” she began slowly. “I should probably let you two…”

“No,” Cat grabbed her shoulders firmly, keeping her in place. “Stay, please. I…I want you with me. For all of it.”

Kara allowed herself to smile for the first time in months.

She leaned in again, letting their lips meet perfectly, holding Cat’s small body, so much tougher than she ever imagined, very close. There was so much to do, so much to say. But for now, they simply lie there together, waiting for Carter, thanking whatever miracle made this possible.

[artificialqueens]

saint in the city ch.4 (katlaska) - comeapart

a/n: poor alaska and her bad luck in love, right? check yes for angst. ch.1 here & ch.2 here & ch.3 here. 

“I need you to take more nights on call, Alaska.” Bianca said, and Alaska tried not to groan. She had known it was going to happen. Everyone that could was taking on more hours, especially as news of the flu had spread through the city, and the number of cases rose. It made her feel sick, too uncomfortable to think about anything else. She hadn’t been in full crisis mode since one of her patients had had complications with surgery, and that hadn’t been a full hospital event. She wasn’t used to constant exhaustion yet, with everyone busy. The moment that she had more than two days off, she knew she was going to get so disgustingly sick. She didn’t want it, but it was one of life’s great injustices.

She didn’t say anything to Bianca, partly out of fear of being yelled at and partly out of acceptance. She made a mental note to bring spare clothes to her office, bring makeup wipes and more makeup incase she needed to fix anything, so that she could sleep there if needed.

Bianca looked exhausted, too. Her hair was tied back tightly, lying flat otherwise on her head. She had dark circles around her eyes, hidden carefully with layers of makeup, and although Alaska didn’t know her particularly well, she was a good boss and a good Dean of Medicine. She had been called a few times on her ability to run her mouth, but Alaska knew that she was only like that around her closest friends. If she didn’t know Trixie, Willam and Katya, she wouldn’t have ever known, only realising how quick-witted she actually was when they would relay jokes at lunch to her.

Even when she was busy and overworked, she still managed to find time to be sad about Katya. When Sharon had left her, after a particularly aggressive fight which Alaska needed stitches from, there was never this pain. It was a clean break, and although Alaska still had to go to therapy, she had been able to heal. This was more like jagged bone hanging out of a broken arm. They hadn’t spoken since the night it had all happened, and judging by the way Katya managed to vanish every time Alaska walked into a room, Katya didn’t want to. Alaska wanted so badly not to care. She was a one night stand. She had to get over herself, she was an adult, she couldn’t spend her entire life crying over one night.

“Thanks,” Bianca said, snapping Alaska back to reality. She looked relieved, the lines in her makeup starting to crack. “Can you take the clinic tonight? I’ll see if I can put you on admissions tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure.” Alaska said, rubbing her eyes. She had gotten past the point of eyeliner, accepting her ridiculously heavy-handed eyeshadow for what it was. At least with primer, it didn’t budge, no matter how many times she found herself crying in a bathroom stall.

“I’ll let them know you’ll be down in an hour.” Bianca said, and Alaska went to find somewhere to nap. She would have gone to the staffroom on the third floor, but when she saw a familiar figure in the doorway with long blonde hair, she kept on walking and decided on her office instead.

*

She got off at eleven that night, making an easy twenty five hours since she’d started the night before, and decided she needed to call her brother. Between her three siblings and two parents, she had been receiving a consistent and unrelenting stream of emails and texts about her holiday plans. She had been trying to avoid any mention of the topic, knowing it would disappoint all of her family. She hadn’t managed to have a Christmas off in three years, and the one year she had managed it off, she had been snowed in.

Her brother talked about all of the important things. Their sister had a new boyfriend, someone in law, and they were planning a wedding. Alaska would have to make sure she got a date on that, otherwise she’d end up unable to go due to scheduling. She would also have to see if she could find a date, but that was a problem for future Alaska. He mentioned the flu outbreak, and Alaska just nodded, sighing as she pulled into the building car-park. It made her feel guilty. He asked about holiday break, and she gave some spiel he’d heard before about overtime and working for a cure.

She hung up before he had the chance to put her on with her mom, trying to swallow back the guilt as she let herself into the building and into the apartment. When she opened the door, Courtney was sat on the couch, watching an old episode of Friends. Alaska couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Howdy, stranger,” Alaska sighed, stretching her back ever so slightly as she put her bag down. Her voice sounded rough. “You mind if I join you?”

“I love your company, girl. You know you’re always welcome here. You eaten?” Courtney smiled, and Alaska tried not to frown. With the extra shifts, she had been forgetting to eat, and the mention of food brought it back to her.

“No.”

“Willam’s bringing me back pizza if you’re up for it.” Courtney offered, shuffling over on the couch and making room for Alaska.

Alaska sat down, sprawling herself out on the couch and resting against Courtney, yawning before looking up at her. “Only if you get stuffed crust. I’m not about that thin-base life. Fuck, my vision’s gone weird.”

“Should I be on nurse-mode or is this just exhaustion?” Courtney raised a brow, smiling as she got out her phone to text Willam.

“Exhaustion? Maybe. I hope I’m not sick. I don’t think sleep-deprivation and dizziness from exhaustion were symptoms of this new flu.” Alaska drawled, stretching out as she jutted her bottom lip out. “You could be a good friend and go draw a bath for me.”

“Nice try, but no. Draw a bath is so American of you. Where are you from again? Texas?”

“Leave me alone, Aussie bitch,” Alaska whined. The next half an hour passed with ease, Alaska tiredly watching Phoebe talk about how her voice was better when she was sick and Courtney texting Willam for the most part. It was comfortable. It was times like these she was glad she didn’t live alone, because if she had to have a moment alone with her thoughts, she would probably have tried to kill herself from the bubbling anxiety inside of her.

When Willam walked in, Courtney just gave her a look and shuffled a little further over to let her girlfriend join. Between them, they managed to get Alaska upright and eating, and it wasn’t until she had had three slices that she actually bothered to acknowledge them, just smiling weakly.

“How’s life?” Willam asked carefully, crossing her legs over Courtney’s and kicking off her kitten heels, nudging at Alaska with her toe.

“Don’t do that. You’re gross.” Alaska pouted, swallowing down pizza as she spoke. “I’m just tired.”

“Yeah. We all are. It seems to be hitting you pretty bad though,” Willam hummed, pressing her foot flat against Alaska’s thigh and making her whine even more. “How’s Katya?”

Alaska thought for a moment, closing her eyes as she leaned back into the couch. She picked at the crust of the pizza, picking out the cheese before deciding to eat it. “Katya Zamolodchikova is the least of my problems right now.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Can you leave it? For once, can you just leave it?” Alaska frowned, looking over at Willam. She regretted telling Willam and Courtney about that night. They had been sympathetic and listened, and had known exactly what to say, and had even let Alaska join them on their rare nights off. If Alaska was a better person, she would’ve offered to cover Courtney’s shifts even after her ridiculous thirty hour shifts ended, giving Willam and her the time alone they deserved.

Willam must have caught onto her complete discomfort, because she sighed and got up, looking down at Courtney before pursing her lips. “You need to sleep.”

“Bill…”

“Court, shut up. Alaska, c’mon. I’m a good friend. You’re going to sleep, and you’re going to miss your alarm tomorrow morning, and that’s okay, cause me and Court will cover for you. Fuckin’ bullshit that they’re making you work over twenty hours. The only reason they don’t schedule me that long is ‘cause I’m a surgeon. So I’ll cover.”

“Willam, no. You don’t- You can’t do that.” Alaska frowned, reaching up to rub her temple as she looked up at her. “Not only will I get into trouble, so will you.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Willam shrugged, taking her hand off of her head and helping her up. “You have to sleep. No point having sleep-deprived staff, right? More mistakes are made.”

“I guess.” Alaska mumbled, legs shaky as she gave in, leaning against Willam before being dragged back to bed. She didn’t remember having her makeup taken off, but she was pretty sure Courtney came in a little after she was lying down in the dark and cleaned her up. She didn’t deserve her friends. They were too kind to her, and they were even kinder to ignore the crying that Alaska both tried and failed to keep quiet.

*

It wasn’t until eleven that she woke up the next day, her phone set to silent for the first time in years. Courtney must have fixed that too while she was sleeping. She sat up in her bed, checking her notifications and feeling her heart sink. She had thirty six missed calls, of which thirty were from the hospital, and the other six were from both Courtney and Willam. She had a couple of missed texts, all of which were from Bianca, either complaining that she was late for her shift or praising her ability to get Willam to cover. One was from a number she recognised but couldn’t place, asking for an immediate return call. She assumed it was probably an insurance company or something, which would explain why she hadn’t bothered to save it. Alaska had nothing better to do, so she decided to call.

The number held for a few moments before connecting her, asking her to state the reference number she was sent in the text. After she checked it and repeated it to the operator, she was met with a familiar voice.

“Am I speaking to Miss Needles?”

*

Alaska wasn’t attacked by Bianca for lateness, for the first time in her life. Apparently Willam had given a good enough excuse, and Alaska wasn’t about to question that, because the sleep she’d managed to keep had made everything feel better. She found Courtney almost immediately, dragging her into the canteen to get coffee.

“I haven’t slept in at least thirty hours now,” Courtney smiled, eyes ever so slightly too wide for her to be anything other than awake. Alaska wasn’t even sure if ‘awake’ counted as an emotion, but that was definitely what everyone was currently feeling. Willam appeared besides her, wrapping her arm around her and leaning in.

“You should sleep. I heard this rumour about people actually being able to do shit when they’ve slept, instead of staring at walls for ten minutes at a time and blinking too much,” Willam said carefully, taking the cup of coffee from Courtney’s hands without her even noticing, sipping at it before making a face. “This is gross. You need to add more sugar.”

“Hey, that was rude. That’s mine,” Courtney frowned, turning her head to look at Willam and raising a brow.

“You’re rude,” Willam rolled her eyes, sipping again at the drink. “I can’t believe I’m friends with someone who hates sugar. How is that even possible?”

“Who?” Someone asked, and if the Russian accent wasn’t a total giveaway, the fact that Alaska immediately decided to focus on her own coffee, picking at the side of her cup and trying not to be visible. She didn’t need to try, though. Katya wasn’t paying attention to her, or even acknowledging her.

“Me, and it’s because I don’t like too much sugar. What’s up?” Courtney asked, turning to look at her. She was trying to be nice, but her tone gave away the awkwardness of the situation, clear on the fact that she knew what had happened and wasn’t okay with it. Alaska wanted to die, or maybe disappear forever.

“I need Willam in surgery,” Katya said, looking up at her. “Last one, and then you can go. You’re the only person here who can do it.”

“Thank you, Queen Ekaterina and Powerful Business Boss,” Willam rolled her eyes, handing Courtney her coffee back and leaning in to kiss her, leaving Alaska and Katya looking even more awkward than they had before.

Katya looked awkward, too. Not nearly as uncomfortable as Alaska, but she was tired, and it showed. She was holding a pile of paperwork in one arm, securing it against her hip, and Alaska knew that she should leave. She wanted Katya to like her, or at least go back to painful indifference. It was hard to share her friends, and it broke nearly every plan they had, because Katya would call out the second she found out that Alaska was planning on coming along too. She threw her own cup in the bin, and paused, remembering what she had heard earlier.

“Oh, uh, Court. Sharon’s been admitted here, apparently she’s in a bad condition. I don’t… If you want, maybe we could try and see her when you’ve got a moment,” Alaska mumbled, trailing off towards the end as she saw Courtney’s face change.

“She has the flu? Wait, Lask, how do you know she’s here?” Courtney asked carefully, pulling back from Willam and blinking at her.

“Oh my god, girl, don’t tell me you still have your ex listed as your emergency contact. Are you serious?” Willam raised her brows, pursing her lips into a tight line. “I thought we fixed this,” She cut off, realising Katya had dropped her papers at the mention of Alaska’s ex, “Uh?”

“Sorry, I slipped,” Katya mumbled, looking at the floor and the mess she’d created. If Alaska didn’t know better, she would’ve thought that Katya was actually blushing, but she was Katya and Katya never blushed. Katya never even showed outward emotion unless Trixie was around, or if she was out with Willam.

Willam rolled her eyes again, clearly done with the entire situation and the exhaustion that was creeping in as she leant down to help, and after a moment Alaska joined. She wasn’t close with Katya, sure, but she was still a good person, and she still liked her, even if she’d essentially been fucked over by her. She gathered the papers into stacks, handing them over to Katya after a moment of awkward silence.

“Thank you,” Katya breathed, and took them back, fingertips brushing against Alaska’s own as she took them back. Her hair had fallen over her eyes, and she looked her age for once. Like how she’d looked in Alaska’s bed, when everything was okay and nothing was awkward. Alaska got herself up almost immediately, and left, without saying any goodbyes. The thought of Katya was actually painful, and the reminders of what could’ve been made her feel something that left remnants of a bitter taste in her mouth.