#I want to believe that they they’ll always ‘zing’ when they see you

[kuroowo]

Post break-up HCs

- Gojo x Reader x Geto

Genre - Angst, Hurt/No comfort, Exes, No-Curses AU

Masterlist

The relationship was hurting you more than you could bear. It reached one too many dead ends and faced with your final straw, you decided to let go of their hands and leave them watching your back.

At first, Geto & Gojo didn’t and couldn’t accept it & were trying to reason with you at every chance they could get. No matter the time or place or event, if you were there, you would spot them and their mile long reasons why. Over time though, Gojo was the first to accept the reality of your relationship whereas Geto was a bit more stubborn in believing that this was just a very rough patch the three of you were going through.

However, after awhile, Gojo and Geto seemed fine. Outwardly, that is. To the rest of the world, it’s as if they’ve moved on relatively easy (for such a sweet looking and long standing relationship) and it was like you never really made that much of an impact on them. But to the keen eyed, it was terribly obvious how in love they still are and how they can’t seem to let go no matter how much time passes.

Note - I personally think in a world without curses and it’s looming threats, Geto & Gojo would be more open (in many senses/aspects). I’d also like to think that you complete them. IMO they’re both individuals with a strong sense of independence and freedom, but their communication could be better and sometimes they need to be grounded. I think you bring that to the table and it makes everything work so smoothly that the three of you can’t be anything but soulmates. At least, that’s what STSG believed. It’s what they still believe, even after you left them.

Gojo, who can’t let go because he associates much too many things with you and the memories of you.

Every little thing, whether useless or useful or in passing or significant or eye catching, it doesn’t matter — every single thing reminds him of you. A little trinket he spots during his travels, a cute dessert spot he could’ve dragged you to, places you would’ve loved to visit, Megumi’s pets you loved to pet and spoil, kikufuku, little doodles, coffee shops, certain accessories, anime shows and merchandises, & etc. etc. (Gojo still accidentally buys a number of things meant for you, and he doesn’t ever bother to return them)

It physically pains him to a stop the first few weeks because when he turns to his side, it’s not you and Geto anymore. It’s just Geto and the sorrows you left behind. (He accidentally texts you the first few weeks because he was still in a little bit of denial. He blamed it on habits, but even that he knew was blatant denial)

It didn’t help either that during the first month, he wouldn’t stop talking about you. Nearly every conversation, nearly every passing comment, Gojo would not miss the opportunity to relate it to you somehow. Nanami tapped out at day 6, Shoko tapped out at week 2.5 (surprisingly long, he thinks), and Haibara, sweet Haibara, still listens to him to this day. It’s not very often anymore. He’s learned some semblance of self-control (he thinks you’d be proud and also because his pride wouldn’t let him do it much anymore), but on days where he can’t seem to shake your hold on his heart, he goes to Haibara. (He can’t go to Geto because the first and last time it happened, they got into a fight and then tried to call you after. He couldn’t tell if the constant ringing haunts him or elates him, since that means you didn’t block him)

Note - I would like to think that Gojo in a No-Curses AU would be more open to talking about his feelings/being vulnerable/being open to his close confidants to some degree because well, the weight of the literal world doesn’t rest on his shoulders. He doesn’t exactly cry to them, he more so just… talks about you. Nanami could be drinking an Americano and Gojo would tell him that you liked yours in a certain way, as if he was telling him about the weather outside. As time passes, he talks less about you, but on days he can’t seem to shake off the heavy feelings, he’d talk about his memories of you & what he knew about you.

Geto, who can’t let go because he’s still in the belief that you’d turn around and come back to them, to him.

Geto can’t fully accept the reality of you leaving them, so his fractured heart feeds him with grand ideas of you knocking on their door, with tears in your eyes and flowers in your hand, begging for them to take you back. That you had a lapse in judgement and went through a period of craziness that convinced you that you didn’t need them. You’d apologise, sincerely and earnestly, and with open arms he would snark at you, but kiss you almost urgently in the same desperate breath.

He longs for such, more than he would ever be willing to admit. So he puts on a brave, nonchalant face. Smiling and chuckling, touched with a twinge of tension, and goes about his days being branded as someone you left.

An ex who still yearns for you deep down, and it manifests terribly in his dreams. (Sometimes, Suguru would wake up with tears staining his cheeks, but he’d refuse to acknowledge it)

An ex who used to tease you about the silly Sanrio plasters you used to buy for yourself, but now has a drawer full of them. One by one, he’d pay for them whenever it catches his eyes. One by one, stored in a space you used to occupy. Untouched and waiting to be used.

An ex who still keeps the knickknacks you gifted him. Handmade and one of kind, “Like you.”, you used to tell him. His heart still flutters. He keeps them packed and hidden in a compact box, sealed with memories tainted in quiet regrets and dried out anguish. His favourite will always be the two little clay dolls you made. One’s a snow white dragon with ugly bulging blue eyes in the shade of Gojo’s and the other’s a black matching pair with tiny purple irises in the shade of his. You promised him you’d make a version of yourself so the three of you could match like those lovesick couples you always made fun of, but you never got around to it. 3 weeks later you were gone, and a year later he’s still waiting.

Note - I think Geto would take it really hard in the lonesome comfort of his own presence. Keeping every single thought, tear, and hopes locked in his big, brittle heart.

It doesn’t do well on them that you share mutual friends either. It makes them want to be petty and hurtful, make you see what else you could lose, but when they catch your smiles and laughter in their peripherals, it simmers their bastard urges and quiets them down into pitiful longing.

It’s even worse when the kids ask about you because they didn’t know how to tell them that it was a lot of their fault why you left them.

Megumi, who loved you most out of all of the children, took it the hardest and it made Gojo & Geto hurt in different ways. But surprisingly, Megumi was also the fastest to bounce back once he realised that you breaking up with them doesn’t mean you’ll stop interacting with him too. “Don’t be silly, Megumi. You have my number and new address, just call or text or visit whenever. Nothing much is changing between us, y’know? Unless you wanna get rid of me?”, you can’t help but tease him when he pouts at you. Gojo & Geto couldn’t have been more jealous (and maybe even a little resentful) of Megumi.

Mimiko & Nanako had a mix of emotions. They were anxious, thinking maybe it was their fault somehow. They were young, they were angry, and they were hurting on behalf of their beloved dad(s). They were in denial, you had made so many promises with each other already. They were tearful. They miss seeing you everyday. They miss your head pats. They miss your praises. They miss your comfort. They miss you. (They tag along with Megumi when he goes to visit you. The ache in Geto’s heart twofolds each time.)

Tsumiki was the oldest one out of the 4 and has divorced parents and separated co-parents. She knew the protocols and how to still maintain your relationship with each other, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t felt sadden by your departure and change in relationship dynamics.

(STSG tried using the kids as a reason to make you stay too. Nanami gave them the good ol’stink eye for this)

Gojo & Geto are still together, but they don’t entertain the idea of a third anymore. (They won’t admit it, but no one could ever take your place. And truth be told, they’re still holding out hopes for you to come back to them)

[spoiled-fawn]

CoD Western AU and Mail Order Spouse Trope

Howdy!

Welcome to my version of a Wild West AU & Mail-Order Spouse Trope. Introduction of the reader scenario will be down below and a little digital art will be added in to show our lovely options of spouses. This is Gender Neutral.

This was my first Au and trope project I’ve worked on. While I learn and decide how I want to upload this, I hope everyone enjoys or just gets a kick out of this!

Introduction & Backstory

Your life wasn’t awful, per se, but sometimes you wonder if you say that to yourself to cope with what you’ve been through. Simply put, you were your family's breadwinner, caretaker, and damage controller. You were poor-ish, where you had to use scraps of fabrics to make your clothes, but yet your father could always afford a bottle to be in his hand, and your mother out on the porch smoking whatever she needed that day to cope and try to be a mom and wife.

Coat of many colors indeed.

You worked, and you have worked from a young age to continuously support your family as you didn't have a choice if you wanted to keep the roof over your head. Although, you were thankful that your mother was adamant you went to the schoolhouse and got at least a good amount of education.

After attending school for a few years until puberty, you were in the working class; your job as a domestic servant included the taste of farmhand, tailoring, and working to cann fruits that were grown on the farm. After a long shift on the warm and humid spring day, you walked back home to hear your father yelling as usual but stopped when you heard your name being spoken.

“As soon as we sell that damn nuisance, we’ll be rolling in dough. I can’t believe that damn bastard politician wants our kin. Said once he’s back from his campaign up north he’ll come meet ‘em.” He laughs before taking another swig of his drink, your mother laughing along with him as she has a lit pipe in the house for the first time in a long time.

Now, you to truly understand the depravity of this; the seriousness of her celebrating with a lit drug inside the house.

Your stomach drops, nausea rolling over you at the thought of them selling you off to the old and decrepit wealthy politician for marriage to get money. Money that they’ll blow through, having never learned to control their vices turned addictions.

A cold sweat breaks out on you as you swallow down the urge to expel the minimal amount of food in your worn-out body, and promptly turn around and walk back into town.

Walking the dark streets, you navigate quietly and hide behind the shadows of the night with only a few dimly lit light posts flickering their oil flame light. While walking the edge of the closed shops, you see a dirty newspaper thrown on the ground and almost step over it until a small headline catches your eye.

��FRONTIER MEN, LOOKING FOR CAPABLE SPOUSE”

Your eyes scan quickly over the matrimony company advertising for men located in the frontier lands, each searching for promising spouses and wanting to marry soon. You read over the information, seeing that the listed men below are located in newly booming towns out west, a few even located in mining towns or having their own company.

Your body zings with a chill of adrenaline at the thought of diving head first into chance and change, but you knew something much better could be awaiting you…

Should you do it?

looking around, the humid and small town looks back at you as you enter a hardened state of mind; What would become if you stayed here? The disgusting politician's new toy just to break? Your parents are already planning on how to drain their funds dry within a month of letting their addictions take over? You don't have friends, your boss is the closest thing to one just because you spend hours each and every day working.

Yeah.

You're gonna fucking do it.

Taking a seat, your eyes quickly scan down the page of advertisements, looking over the small blurbs of descriptions offered. The correspondence cost would be 10 cents, meaning you have one chance to get his attention and get the new life you need.

Simon Riley Biography, Meeting Simon,

John Price Biography, Meeting John

Kyle Garrick Biography, Meeting Kyle

John MacTavish Biography, Meeting Johnny

Phillip Graves Biography, Meeting Phillip

Alejandro Vargas Biography, Meeting Alejandro

[beardrabbles]

invitation.

characters: GN!reader, claude, mentions of GN!byleth

warnings: none

word count: 2,814

notes: posted this on ao3 ages ago and totally forgot to post it here too :’) got into the fandom late, like alwaaaays! but i have an enormous claude / golden deer bias and wanted to write some fluff with him.

You forgot sometimes that this peaceful spot tucked between the trees wasn’t yours alone. You shared it with another from time to time, but it had been so long since the last time you both stepped foot in the clearing that it startled you to hear footfalls crunching at the grass behind you. Pushing yourself up halfway, eyes blinking blearily, you spotted the richly dressed prince with his hands planted on his hips.

“Napping without me?” Claude clicked his tongue, and you quickly replied with a roll of your eyes.

“I can’t nap here on my own?” You fell back again, letting the soft grass cushion you. A soft, content sigh escaped through your nose as the sweetest of breezes barely brushed your skin. It smelled of flowers and damp leaves, dense soil and a distant storm. There was no zing of hot iron or blood, and it was a relief.

“I thought it was our thing.  .  .”

You felt him sit beside you, taking up his usual position to your left. The tiniest flutter tickled the inside of your ribs, his nearness nearly making your head spin. “Before I came along, it was just your thing, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but I like it better this way.” Claude leaned back on his hands, eyes up towards the greying sky. It had taken fighting a war to bring back their usual glimmer, but it was there in full. Bright, hopeful, determined. Laying there, gazing up at the unsuspecting prince, it was almost as if you were looking at the man from five years ago — the cunning, clever and sometimes troublesome man that you had fallen head-over-heels for and had continued to painfully pine for.

“Me too.” You dared to smile, his gaze shifting to you. Adoring him hurt, but no amount of hurt would have you appreciating his presence any less.

Claude returned the smile, and the gesture sent your heart slamming against your chest. But just as quickly as it came, the smile faded. “I spoke to Byleth.”

You sat up in an instant, concern etched into your face. You were aware that he had gone to meet them, but he had failed to tell you why. You equally failed to push the subject, as it wasn’t your place to disrespect a man in his position. Curious as you might have been, you assumed it was best not to ask and only hope that he trusted you enough to confide in you later. Seemed you were right, though you acknowledged to yourself that it was a rare thing.

“How did it go?”

“They’re disappointed I won’t be here for the coronation. I can’t blame them. After everything we’ve been through together, I should be here for them. I want to hope they understands. They always have.” He exhaled sharply. “But, hey, I got to see them smile again! I think as long as they’re here, Fódlan will be in good hands. If they keeps smiling, if they keep breaking down the walls that were built up, I can go home and do my part there. I trust them.”

You shifted, feeling uncomfortable in your envy.

“So they’re not coming with you to Almyra?” You wondered. Claude shook his head.

“No, and I didn’t want to ask. Fódlan needs to be taken care of. It needs a parent that will hold its hand and lead it in the right direction. It’s gonna stumble around like an infant walking for the first time, but that’s why they’re the best person to lead. They’ll know what to say and do to help this little baby along.”

You screwed up your face and nudged him with your shoulder.

“You really like talking about babies.” You pointed out. Claude’s cheeks and the tips of his ears darkened a fraction, but he dismissed it with a hearty chuckle.

“I guess I do. I wonder why that is.” He trailed off, voice soft but nowhere near as confused as his words would have lead you to believe. You had long ago resigned yourself to never truly understanding him, so you shrugged. Trying to pick through his mind was like attempting a hedge maze without a map.

“Does that mean you’re going to be heading back soon?”

“I can’t stay for long. There’s so much I need to do if I’m going to see things through, but there’s something important I need to do here before I can go home.” There was sharpness to his eyes that you recognized and deeply adored. He was planning something, and you felt your curiosity rise again.

“What is it? Can I help?” You were always so quick to offer him aid. Usually, he gently denied it, stating time and time again that most of his schemes were for his mind alone. Things often worked out for the better that way. The fewer people that knew, the less chance they could commandeer the plan or ruin it. Yet you still asked just in case he needed you.

“Maybe. Before that, can I ask you something?”

You frowned. “Of course. You can ask me anything, you know that.”

“You’ve been saying that since we met. Is it really true?” Claude smirked and raised a single brow, only for you to shove him harmlessly.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You eyed him for a moment, worry mounting. “Was that what you wanted to ask me?”

The prince shook his head, as if he were getting off track. “No. I wanted to know where you plan to go. What are your plans for the future?”

“Oh! Oh.” You frowned when the sudden realization that you had no plans slammed into you. “I don’t.  .  . know. I haven’t thought about it. I’ve been so busy supporting everyone else, doing what I can for them, that I don’t know what to do with myself. Everyone’s grown up. They’re all doing their own thing, starting their own lives. No one needs me anymore.”

“That’s not true.” Claude’s voice was firm in your ear, and his expression was set to match. You smiled meekly.

“I grew up with all of you, but it felt like my purpose was to help you all find yours. Not that I really think I’m capable of being that helpful, but I never took the time to think about myself. I was too worried about you all reaching your dreams that I didn’t have one. I don’t have one.” You amended the last part quickly because it was blatantly clear to you that you had no direction to go in.

“There has to be something you want.” Claude pushed. You laughed.

“At the risk of repeating myself, I want what you want. I want you to succeed.” You opened your mouth again, but were quick to clamp them shut when another thought arose. I want to be with you.

It was lovely to imagine, but you had lived with the fact that any future with him was left solely to your imagination. You met him as an heir, and you knew him now as a prince. The differences in your status was vast and hard to ignore. Claude had his mind set on making those differences unimportant, but you doubted that he could find room in his heart for you. He had a country to take care of and love, not to mention you two had been friends since the start of your time at the academy. Too much time had passed since then, and while your feelings had grown deeper and more troublesome, you were sure he had none to begin with. No, as students, he had been too preoccupied with tormenting you. Teasing, poking, taking up your time with nonsense and rarely giving you a moment to yourself.

Despite him being a brat at times, you loved him. And even if he didn’t reciprocate, you were grateful to have known him at all.

“So you’re not bound to Fódlan?” His voice shook you from your thoughts.

“What?”

“Do you have any obligations here in Fódlan?” His gaze was so intently set on you that it made you squirm, the feeling ten times worse since coming out of your own head.

“No, not that I can think of.” You couldn’t recall making any promises.

“Right, so you could leave.” Claude hummed thoughtfully and got to his feet. Once upright, he dusted the grass from his clothes and offered you a hand. Confused, you took it and let him pull you into standing.

“I guess I could, but where would I even go? I don’t know anyone outside of Fódlan.” You felt something subtle was being said, you couldn’t catch on. Some days, you could. You had learned him just as he had learned you, but he was always several steps ahead. You could read him, but only the pages he allowed you to see. In this case, the pages were written on, but only in bits and pieces.

Claude gave you a pointed stare and a gentle, encouraging squeeze to your hand. When you failed to understand, he raised both eyebrows and pointed to himself. No words were needed. His gestures and odd line of questioning were like a clarifying slap to the face. You reeled, giving him a wide-eyed stare while sputtering idiotically.

“Wh——”

“That took you while. I was starting to worry I’d have to spell it out for you.” Claude put on a convincing pout. “Unless this is your weird way of telling me you don’t want to come with me.”

“No!” You leaped too soon, your eagerness prompting a smirk on the prince’s face. You fell silent again, worried that saying anything more might reveal all of what you had been trying to hide for over five years. “I’m not saying that.”

“What are you saying?” He purred cunningly, hand still holding tightly to yours. You didn’t resist when he to eased you closer, your heart screaming in your chest. Cheeks red and breaths shallow, you could hardly think. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

I’m still napping, and this is just another stupid dream.

You swallowed hard and peered up at him. “I think I should be asking you that, Mr. Vague.”

“Ah-ah,” chided the cheeky man, “you’ll have to address me as Prince Vague now.”

You scoffed and gave him another shove. When your hand pressed to his shoulder, he trapped it there with his own. Even closer now, Claude lowered his head until your noses nearly touched. You sucked in a breath and found yourself unable to move away, attention trapped in his bright, beautiful eyes.

“You want to know what I’m asking you?” He lowered his voice, tone growing tender and warm. You nodded. “I’m asking if you’ll come home with me. I want you to meet my parents and my people, and I want them to meet you. I want them to love you as much as——”

He choked for a moment, a rare flicker of pure emotion startling him.

“As much as what?” You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but he was making it incredibly difficult not to.

Claude calmed himself with a shaky breath and tilted his chin down, lips barely ghosting the curve of your cheek. His eyes fluttered half closed, while a single lock of his dark hair tickled at your cheek. When you didn’t shy away, he spoke again in honeyed tones. “I want them to love you as much as I do.”

“You can’t mean that.” Your entire being felt numb with glee, but you couldn’t process his confession without a little doubt. He met your doubt with a chuckle, so you persisted. “Why me?”

“Why not you?” He nuzzled into your cheek, and you felt the compulsion to reach up and thread your fingers through his hair. You had done so many times before, letting the gentle touches calm him during his bad days, but there was new meaning behind it now. There was an honest love behind it as your dragged your fingers through the strands, pushing them back and away from his darling face.

“There were so many others.  .  .” So many people wanted his attention, his affection. You were but one in a thousand that longed for him.

“I didn’t care. I dreamed of many futures, and all of the best ones had you standing there beside me.” He muttered into you, the softest of kisses resting just under your eye.

“We argued so much.” You shuddered, warmth blooming in your cheeks.

“You kept me grounded. How can anyone expect to be a decent ruler if they’re always agreed with?” He countered. You huffed and tried to think of another argument.

“You used to tease me all the time.” You muttered.

“I’ll admit that was dumb of me, but it felt like the only way to get your attention.” His lips found the tip of your nose, and you couldn’t contain a snicker. “You looked so cute when you were embarrassed, especially when you wrinkled your nose. I couldn’t help it.”

“Why do I feel like you still can’t help it?” You tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear and let your fingers follow the path of his facial hair. He was putty in your hands, cheek pressing to your hand.

“It’s part of my charm.” Claude flashed his usual smile, then took a step back. The lack of closeness left you feeling a little colder, but the distance let you appreciate him fully. Tall, handsome, commanding. You were exceedingly proud of him, and you felt yourself falling for him all over again. But before you could think to speak, he started again. “You don’t have to answer me right away. I know this a lot to ask of you, so I want to give you the time you need. I’m leaving in two days. Meet me at the——”

You didn’t allow him to finish. Your heart was too full and on the verge of bursting, and it seemed silly to you that he didn’t know what your answer would be when he was so skilled at predicting you. Rather than let him wonder, you removed your hands from his and took his face between them. You gathered your courage, mustered with his help, and pulled him down for a soft but silencing kiss.

Claude wasn’t often rendered speechless, but he supposed he didn’t mind being put in his place if it meant your lips fitting against his as perfectly as they did. Unfortunately for him and the heat radiating throughout him, you didn’t let the kiss last long. He wanted to wrap you in his arms and crush you against his chest like he’d long to for years, but you parted from him too soon for his liking.

“Where are you going?” He took chase, but you placed your hand over his mouth. Claude stilled and arched a brow.

“I’ve had my answer for years, Claude. I’m with you in every possible way. But if I ask you a question, will you answer me honestly?” You uncovered his mouth, but his silence told you more than words would. “How long have you, uh.  .  .”

“Cared for you? Admired you? Wanted to kiss you the way you just kissed me?” Every question he posed in response to yours made your heart thud and your cheeks burn. “A long, long time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I was never given the chance.” He answered so surely that you wondered if he had those words prepared. You couldn’t pester him about it — too many things had gone horribly wrong during your time at the academy, and it didn’t make sense to plant seeds in dead soil. There would have been no guarantee that it would bloom and flourish, but with the land starting a slow recovery, you hoped that what you two started here would become lusher and more far-reaching than any forest in Fódlan.

“It’s alright.” You giggled giddily and granted him another kiss, this one to the corner of his lips. “We were given our chance, and you took it.”

“Does that mean you’re going home with me?” He asked.

“I told you——”

“I want to hear you say the words.” Claude softly pleaded. Weak for his doe eyes, you melted in his arms and relented.

“I’m going home with you, Claude. I want to meet your parents, and I want to get to know your people. And for as long as I’m there, for as long as you’ll have me, I want to get to know you better.”

A soft sigh tinged with relief escaped the man as his head came to rest on your shoulder. His grasp on you tightened, and you felt his heart beat against your chest.

“Thank you.”

You smiled and embraced him. “Don’t thank me. Just take me home.  .  .”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Unfurl and Fly

Prompt: Hello! I've been meaning to request this for so long but, you'd never posted any Sanders Sides fanfics till recently so I finally get to ask! = D

This is simply a request, but could you possibly to a Hurt/Comfort and Angsty o ed! Virgil fanfiction? Where he hides his wings for whichever reason you want- And it's *painful*, and eventually his wings get to damaged from constantly being hidden and self-groomed and other stuff of the sort and the others find out either accidentally cuz Virgil is in Too Much Pain, or Virgil reaches out- Just, take creative liberties with it! (Platonic LAMP all around- Or you can decide if it's romantic! Idc, whichever you prefer-) = D You can decide whether the others have wings or not, or if it's only the 'dark sides', or no one except Virgil, etc etc. I just have craved this for So Long in your writing specifically!

Whether you decide you would like to do this idea of not, that's fine! ^^ Just thought I'd suggest it! Thank you very much! = D - moonscar

Thanks for the request, babe!

Read on Ao3 The sequel: Soar

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, found family babes let’s go

Warnings: self-hatred, some implied self-harm, self-destructive behavior, poor Virgil is not having a good time, y’all. Sympathetic Janus, sympathetic Remus

Word Count: 7,932

Out of all of the Sides to have wings, why the fuck did it have to be Virgil?

 Come on, it’s not like it even fits with Anxiety, being able to fly? Having these big fucking things sticking out of his back? No thank you, that’s more literally anyone else’s thing! Roman would love it, he’s sure, soaring to great heights and all that. Patton’s the closest one of them to actually being an angel. Logan could use them to fly away from the bullshit.

 But nope. Virgil’s the one stuck with them. Isn’t that just fantastic.

Virgil grunts and pulls his hoodie on tighter, zipping it up over the sports bra. He growls and reaches back to tug the wings into place under the layers of fabric, hunching his back so the others don’t notice that there’s conspicuously more mass on his back than there’s supposed to be. Thank god he’s already known for baggy clothes.

 He has to walk carefully. Too much jostling and the wings’ll pop loose. He leans on the stairs as much as he can before making his way to the back of the couch. He looks around. No one else is here.

 Which would make sense, seeing as it’s three am.

 Virgil winces when something twinges in his shoulder blade. His ears strain to pick up the sounds of anyone moving; no floorboards creak, no doors open or close, no sinks or anything else. Shit. Fuck, it’s happening when he’s breathing now too.

  Shit.

 Wincing, Virgil unzips his hoodie and slowly, slowly starts to lift his shirt up, sliding his hands under the material to try and—

 A door opens upstairs and in a flash, Virgil’s hoodie is fully zipped up and his hands are back in his pockets.

 Patton walks downstairs, rubbing his eyes. He blinks lazily and turns to go to the kitchen.

 “Patton?”

 Virgil winces when Patton startles horribly, whirling around until his eyes land on Virgil, perched on the back of the couch.

 “You scared me, kiddo,” he pants, leaning against the counter before forcing a smile onto his face, “what’re you doing up?”

 Virgil shrugs, trying to hide his flinch when one of his wings snag against something. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

 “Aw, I’m sorry to hear that.” Patton tilts his head. “Anything I can do to help?”

 Patton…Patton might be nice.

 Patton would help, right? He—he’d care enough to help. Wouldn’t he? Patton had tried, so hard, when Virgil was first…around, just to make him comfortable, help him fit in, make him feel at…at home.

 But—but Patton is the kind of person who would do anything to help someone and Virgil…Virgil doesn’t want that either.

 Patton would see his wings—his ugly, dirty, huge wings—and look at Virgil with so much pity that he would be forced to help out. And the thought of hands in his wings was bad enough. The thought of unwilling hands in his wings was even worse.

 Not Patton.

 Virgil smiles, tightlipped in the dark. “No thanks, padre. ’S just the job.”

 It’s a little sad how quickly Patton nods. “I trust you, kiddo, if you say you can do it I believe you.”

 A sigh of relief lessens the ache in his shoulder blades for just a moment, then Virgil narrows his eyes. “What’re you doing up right now?”

 “Needed a drink!” And sure enough, Patton goes into the kitchen and grabs a glass. “You want one?”

 “…no, no I’m good.”

 “Suit yourself.” Once the glass is full, Patton yawns, his jaw cracking, before he walks over to ruffle Virgil’s hair. “You gonna try and sleep a little?”

 “Maybe.”

 “G’night, kiddo.”

 “Night.”

 Once Patton vanishes back up the stairs, Virgil holds completely still until he hears the door click. As soon as it does, he slumps, burying his head in his hands, ignoring the bolt of white-hot pain that shoots through him. That was too fucking close.

What was he thinking? He can’t be here, not now, not while they hurt so much.

 He sinks back to his room, biting his lip to stifle the noise when his wings slip under the bra. Now he won’t be able to get it off without hurting them—fuck why is this is fucking life?

 He has to go slow, agonizing second by agonizing second, until the bra lies crumpled at the foot of his bed and he’s panting, sweat beading on his forehead and two new gashes in his lip. He takes one shuddering breath, then two, then—

 “Come on, you assholes,” he mutters, “just…fucking cooperate for me.”

 His wings creak and groan as he unfurls them, stretching them out until his throat protests with the effort of holding back a scream. He bound them wrong this time. One of the tendons is twisted, slipped over the bone on his right wing and every flex threatens to rip it entirely. His eyes, screwed tight from the effort, blink away tears, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

 He forgot to cover it again.

 Virgil winces when he sees the state of his wings. The primaries aren’t lying flat, the secondaries are all bent out of shape, he can see the loose feathers stuck in the rest of the mess, and his oil gland must be clogged again. He can hear everything rasping together, the creaking, and everything. He—he has to try again.

 Slowly, he sits down in front of the mirror, crossing his legs and sitting up as much as he can. He holds his wings out and winces at the sharp yank. Flexing his fingers, he reaches out with his hand and starts combing through his feathers. He can’t get the right angle no matter how much he twists his wrists and trying to hold the wing in place doesn’t work either. But he’s able to pull a few of the loose feathers out. It doesn’t matter that he plucks out several of the remaining healthy ones as well.

 Alright. Step one done.

 Virgil braces himself and twists, reaching out quickly for his wing before his back pulls away from him. He grabs it with two outstretched hands and can’t stop the cry of pain when another sizzling bolt races down his spine. He can barely hold onto it for three seconds before he has to let go. A roll of nausea makes him retch, hunched over himself, tears springing anew to his eyes.

  Pathetic.

  Can’t even clean yourself properly.

  Worthless.

  Useless.

  Dirty.

 The room rings with shuddering breaths as his chest heaves, the pain still zinging through his wings. He can’t. He can’t do it. He can’t clean them properly, not now, maybe not ever. He fucking bound them wrong, like an idiot and now he has to sleep on his stomach and if someone walks in they’ll see them and he won’t be able to bind them properly if they don’t heal and—

 The fucking worst thing about his wings is they always try and make things better. They twitch whenever he’s near someone he likes or bristle when he feels upset. And when he’s alone, all by himself, about to have a panic attack, they always try and hug him.

 So Virgil cries there, on the floor, surrounded by his ugly, dirty, painful wings.

 He sleeps on the floor that night too, a few pillows here and there to keep him from pressing his face directly into the ground, wings as outstretched as he can until he can ignore the pain long enough to fall into a fitful, uneasy rest. When he wakes, the joints are still tender and he curses, knowing if he tries to bind them again it’ll just get worse. That means a day of staying in his room, which by itself wouldn’t be awful except that the others would know.

 When Virgil was alone, he could have his wing day all by himself and no one would care. He could stay shut up in his room without fear that someone would come and knock on the door, wondering where he was, if he was okay, did he need anything? He’d tried, he’d tried so hard to convince himself that alone was better, alone was safe, alone protected him.

 But the others were magnets, always pulling him closer, closer, closer until he was bound within them. How was he supposed to pull away from that warmth, that care, when every time he was close to it his wings reached out? He had to start binding them when he first appeared to Thomas, yes, but it wasn’t until recently that he had to start binding them. Because they would reach for the others. All the time.

 He couldn’t have that.

 So he tied them up.

 And it was worth it. It was worth being able to stand next to Roman, to see that smile up close. It was worth being able to stand next to Logan, to hear him talk and explain everything he could ever want to know. It was worth being able to stand next to Patton, to feel warm and safe.

 The pain was worth it, even if it didn’t always feel like it.

 The others couldn’t know about his wings. If they did, they might—they would—

 Only dark sides had animal traits. If they knew Virgil had wings—

 Virgil shakes his head and groans into the pillow. He can’t go back. Not after what he’s done. He can’t—he won’t—there isn’t—

 He barely remembers being small. He remembers being scared, being afraid, fumbling in the dark, but he almost never remembers being small. Small enough where he didn’t know yet to be afraid to ask someone for help, when hands in his wings weren’t tied up with problems or intimacy or care or obligation. Small enough where he could cuddle into the lap of someone who loved him and not have to worry.

 He remembers getting older and being scared, huddling in the dark with the others.

 He remembers rubbing his hand over shedding scales. He remembers helping rub away the twitches in newly formed tentacles. He remembers hands, hands in his wings.

 Those memories are locked away, behind bars Virgil won’t let himself bring down.

 A knock on the door startles him out of his thoughts.

 “Yeah?”

  Fuck, does his throat sound like that?

 “Virgil?” Logan. “Are you alright?”

 “What the fuck is an alright,” Virgil mutters, pushing himself up off the ground and wincing, before raising his voice, “I’m fine, Logan.”

 “You didn’t come down for breakfast—“ shit— “and we were concerned.”

 “Didn’t feel like coming down,” Virgil tries, aiming for nonchalance and failing miserably, “but I’m all good here.”

 “Are you certain?”

 Logan…Logan would help.

 Logan would understand things from a logical perspective. He would be the most business-like about it, just doing what needed to be done and leaving. He might find it…interesting? He would get it over with.

 He would…get it over with.

 A human figure having wings is illogical. Virgil doesn’t want to be stared at like some sort of…object. And…and…Virgil wants to be cared for, not treated like a chore. The desire burns a shameful hole in his gut, the craving for soft words and gentle touches accompanied by flaming cheeks and a roll of disgust. He doesn’t think he’d be able to hold back the tears at being treated so…coldly, even if it would be better for him.

 Not Logan.

 “I’m sure,” Virgil grits out, “thanks, though.”

 “Of course. Will we see you for dinner?”

 Swallows before his tongue chokes him. “Dunno.”

 “Very well.”

 He hears Logan walk away and cringes. That was awful. But he’s made a commitment now, so he has to get ready for dinner. Four hours should be enough.

 Sitting up is a slow process and every few moments he has to stop when his vision grows spotty. He flexes his wings, watches the shape twist back for a few seconds before he has to relax it again. The ache has dulled slightly and maybe he can try again.

 Raising his arms straight above his head, muscles straining, shaking, Virgil bites his lip and holds for one, two, three seconds until he cries out and lets them drop. Nope. No way. If he can’t even do that, he’s not gonna be able to pull the sports bra over his head, much less get his wings tucked into position. He winces and looks around for the belt.

 He hates using the belt but it is easier on his shoulders. Instead of tucking the whole folded-up mess into the sports bra, he folds his wings up as small as they’ll go and wraps a belt around them, straining behind him and valiantly ignoring how much it hurts until he’s sure he’s got it around the joints. He lets go with a gasp, rolling his shoulders experimentally. It still aches, yes, but much less, and as he turns to the side, if he just wears a big enough shirt, with his hoodie on, no one will notice.

 That means he can use the rest of the time to get used to it.

 By the time he walks down to dinner, the others are waiting, Roman’s face lighting up in a huge smile as he sees Virgil round the top of the stairs.

 “There’s our little Stormcloud!” He waves Virgil over to the chair next to him. “Haven’t seen your gloomy face all day, I’ve missed it!”

 Virgil snorts. “You’ve just missed seeing another version of you, Princey.”

 “Can you blame me, Hot Topic?” Roman winks. “We’re gorgeous.”

 “The fact that we all share a face should not be surprising to you,” Logan remarks as he closes his book.

 “Aw, you think I’m hot.”

 “Pasta!” Patton places the pot on the table and Virgil winces when the sound makes his wings twitch. He doesn’t catch Roman’s concerned look. “Who wants what?”

 “Just olive oil for me.”

 “You got it, Logan.”

 “I’ve got mine,” Roman announces, sweeping half of the condiments on the table toward him and combining them in…a way.

 “…jeez,” Virgil mutters.

 Patton rolls his eyes fondly as Logan and Roman start idly bickering about the appropriate condiments for pasta. A steaming bowl slides to a stop in front of him and without pausing, Roman passes Virgil the jar of sauce.

 Virgil watches the jar slide to a stop in front of him, blinking up at Roman who just gives him a quick wink and goes right back to bickering with Logan. Patton giggles as Logan pinches the bridge of his nose, obviously trying to hide his smile as Princey grins. It’s a game now, to see which one of them will break character first. Princey’s the actor, but Logan’s got an incredible deadpan face. And when he’s in a playful mood the two of them can go at it for hours. Virgil and Patton just sit back to watch the show.

 As it turns out, both of them break character at the same time tonight, Logan stumbling over a word, and Princey accidentally slurring Logan’s name as he tries to come up with a comeback. Logan immediately tries to hide his smile behind his hand only to snort when Princey screws his face up in protest.

 “How did I manage to do that,” he cries, “I said—what the hell did I say?”

 Patton’s laughing too hard to answer and Virgil just shakes his head helplessly.

 Logan snorts. Tries to stifle it again. Then his giggles start to slip out. “D-damn it.”

 Roman gives up trying to stop his own cackles and throws his head back, letting it ring out. “We were doing so well, too!”

 “We were indeed,” Logan says through a smile, “perhaps we should try again.”

 “No, no, no, I won’t be able to get any words out before I’m reminded of whatever the heck my tongue did.”

 “What word were you trying to say?”

 “I don’t even remember.”

 Dinner gets finished and Logan stands to help Patton clean up. Roman leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. Virgil watches him, his eye first caught by the movement, lingering when he sees the rush of relief on Roman’s face.

 Is…is that what stretching is supposed to feel like?

 “Stormcloud?”

 Virgil blinks. Oh. Oh, fuck, he’s staring. Roman stares down at him, his head tilted.

 “You’ve been quiet today, Stormcloud,” Roman says, too low for Logan or Patton to hear, “everything Gucci?”

 Nope. Princey’s not allowed to do that. Definitely not. He’s not allowed to sound that caring because Virgil will talk to him.

 “Everything’s fine.”

 Roman raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

 “Shut up,” Virgil grumbles, shoving Roman halfheartedly as he chuckles.

 He goes to pull his hand back but Roman catches it, making him wince when his wings jar. This time he doesn’t miss Roman’s look of concern.

 “Virgil,” Roman calls, “are you hurt?”

 Yes. “Nah. Just slept weird.” On the ground, in pain.

 “You don’t want me to sic Patton on you, do you?”

 Virgil shudders, ignoring the twinge in his wings again. “No. Nope. I’m good.”

 Roman chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Virgil’s hand. “Alright. You just come and tell me when you need something, hmm?”

 Roman…maybe Roman?

 Roman, who is desire and passion and so, so warm to the touch. Roman, who has tried so, so hard to make Virgil his friend, to care for him. Roman, who looks at Virgil with soft expressions and sly winks and is just so there.

 …Roman, who treated him like a villain. Roman, who Virgil knows struggles to keep his own head above water most of the time. Roman, who can put on a mask to rival any actor’s, who can hide everything so well they might never know what’s really going on.

 Not Roman.

 “…yeah, sure, Princey.”

 “Marvelous!”

 And despite everything, despite the pain in his wings and the belt digging into the soft points of his feathers, Virgil smiles, just a little.

 If this is what he has to deal with to be a part of this, then he’ll do it.

 Then Deceit shows up and Virgil panics.

 Not because of what this means, not because of how it’s going to affect Thomas, but because Deceit knows.

 Deceit knows that Virgil has wings. Deceit knows that Virgil is a dark side. Deceit knows that Virgil hasn’t told the others.

 He’s safe—at least he thinks he’s safe—because if Deceit tells them about his wings, he’d have to tell the others he sheds too. And Deceit won’t ever volunteer information about himself like that. Virgil has one moment of panic on the witness stand, thinking Deceit’s about to split his defenses wide open, but no, no, he’s wings stay tucked up, ugly and rumpled, Virgil’s very own dirty little secret.

 Luckily—or unluckily—there are too many other things to focus on for Deceit to let slip that particular little secret. Virgil is too worried about Thomas and Patton and Roman and Logan and everything to worry any more about his wings. He runs on adrenaline and worries for days, weeks, months until it’s all he can think about, over and over, coffee being drained as quickly as Logan can brew it.

 He plucks out his own feathers in the dark and washes the blood off the carpet. He strains to move his arms, his shoulders, anything, just to get a little more range of motion. He wipes the crusted salt from the corner of his eyes and grits his teeth.

 Then Remus shows up and does what Remus does best: wreak absolute chaos.

 Roman is knocked out, Logan gets a shuriken in the forehead, and Virgil tells Thomas he used to be a dark side.

 The second he sinks into his room after that he tears at himself, his hoodie thrown to the corner of the room as his wings groan and buckle and writhe as Virgil paces.

  Why did he do that why did he do that now he knows now they know now it’s going to be so much worse they’re going to hate me again I’m going to be alone alone is safe alone protects me but alone is cold and lonely and alone hurts it hurts I hurt make it stop please—

 He’s panicking, he knows he’s panicking, he knows he should go, go find someone, have Logan help him, talk to Roman, get a hug from Patton, but his wings are out, he can’t put them away and they hurt, they hurt so much, everything hurts so much, he just wants it to stop.

 Virgil collapses onto the floor, ignoring the sickening crunch as one of his wings buckles under his weight. It just…it just hurts.

 Thomas doesn’t say anything.

 Patton doesn’t say anything.

 Logan doesn’t say anything.

 Roman doesn’t say anything.

 Remus doesn’t say anything.

 Janus doesn’t say anything.

 And somehow…somehow that’s worse.

 It doesn’t get easier, it just gets repetitive.

 He doesn’t try to get the spots he can’t reach anymore. He knows he can’t get the oil glands cleaned. He washes them as best he can but he knows he can’t dry them properly. He wears the sports bra. He wears the belt.

 He endures.

 Then he fucks up.

 Janus has been watching him. In fairness, Janus watches everybody, but he’s been keeping a particularly close eye on Virgil. If Virgil didn’t know any better, he’d think Janus was suspicious of him, that he’d do something to ruin Janus’s seat at the table, or hurt the others, or try and turn them against each other. It would make sense, given their…history.

 But Virgil knows Janus better than that.

 He knows that look and that’s why he shies away from it.

 He lashes out and he hates himself for it. He scorns Janus’s attention and has to hold back a gag. He slams his door shut and claps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying.

 He can’t let himself stop now. If he stops he’ll fall apart. He’s been numb for so long he wants to stay numb, can’t start feeling it again or—or—

 He can’t. He just can’t. The dark sides may be accepted now but that says nothing about Virgil.

 Which is why it is so, so stupid that Janus chooses to stand next to Logan when the next session comes. Because he’s right there, so close, where Virgil can practically feel his presence prickling along his left side and he’s so glad he bit the bullet and wore the sports bra today because his wings are straining to reach for him.

 But then Remus pops up next to Roman and Virgil visibly flinches.

 He’s able to pass it off as surprise but the knowing look Janus gives him tells him Janus can see right through him.

 He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He shouldn’t. He left the dark side ages ago, he shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—

 He shouldn’t be aching for them. For all of them. His wings shouldn’t be bristling and yearning and his back shouldn’t feel like it’s splitting in two right now.

 His mind shouldn’t be filled with thoughts of the soft touches they would give him as the helped groom his wings, the gentle jabs and playful barbs tossed back and forth as they supported each other.

 He shouldn’t feel so cold.

 The debate is already going, Logan and Patton tossing things back and forth, Roman and Remus doing the same. Janus adds a comment here and there, Thomas frantically trying to keep track of all of them. It’s far too easy for Virgil to withdraw, sink into his head, focus on keeping his wings in, make them stop, ignore the ache.

 Someone shouts right next to his ear and without thinking, Virgil reaches out and grabs Janus’s cloak.

 He freezes.

  Fuck fuck fuck he fucked up he fucked up—

 Why the fuck had he done that? Was it just because he was scared? He’s Anxiety, he’s always scared, why had this made him do something he hadn’t done since he was tiny?

 He’s not some frightened child anymore, tugging on his parent’s clothes to beg for scraps of comfort. Is this what he fucking wants, to be coddled, told pretty lies about how everything was fine?

 Too late, he realizes he’s still holding on and tries to let go quickly enough that no one will notice.

 It only partially works.

 The others are too busy scolding Remus—who just looks very pleased with himself—to notice. Except for Janus.

 Of fucking course Janus notices.

 Virgil shoves his traitorous hands into his pockets. He hunches his back, not caring that it makes his wings strain against the fabric of his hoodie. The only one who could see them right now is Janus and Virgil’s already dug his grave there, hasn’t he?

 He just wants this to be over so he can go and Janus will stop looking at him.

 The video ends and he can’t be the first one to sink out of the common area, that will draw attention, he can’t draw any more attention, but the longer he stays then someone will ask him something and he doesn’t want to—

 Oh.

 He blinks. Is…is the room empty? Oh. He can sink out now.

 …or he could stay here.

The others tend to go cool off in their rooms after heated videos, just until they can all come out and make nice again. Virgil…Virgil has the common room to himself.

 “Virgil?”

  Fuck.

 “…hey, Janus.”

 “Hello,” Janus says softly, and no, no, no, don’t do that.

 Janus is being kind and it’s so hard for Virgil to just stand here and not let his wings rip out of the hoodie. He didn’t sink out, he stayed, of course he fucking stayed, Virgil tugged on his cape like a little kid—

 Virgil curses under his breath, collapsing to sit on the steps. He ignores Janus’s soft noise of concern and balls his hands up, beating out an erratic rhythm on his legs. His back hurts. His shoulders hurt. His wings hurt. Now his legs hurt. Now his hands hurt.

 Something grabs his hands and pulls them over his head. The searing pain tears a cry out of his throat.

 “Shh, shh—“ Janus, it’s Janus— “none of that now, sweetie.”

 “Let me go.” It’s meant to come out as a snarl but instead, here Virgil is, whimpering at Janus’s feet.

 “Will you keep hurting yourself if I let you go?”

 No, Virgil wants to lie, yes, he wants to say just to spite him, what comes out of his mouth is neither of these.

 “You’re hurting me,” he pants, “you’re—it hurts.”

 Janus is silent above him, still holding his arms firmly above his head. Virgil chokes back a sob in the agonizingly painful position, barely suppressing his cries enough to still his shoulders which of course did nothing to alleviate the pain. Then another hand—right, he has six—touches gently beneath his chin, guiding his head up.

 Virgil meets such an open expression of concern that tears spring to the corners of his eyes. He looks away immediately, only for Janus to crouch in front of him. He keeps a hold of Virgil’s hands but the release in his shoulders is enough to make him gasp.

 “Sweetie,” Janus calls, “sweetie, look at me.”

 “No.”

 “Virgil, I need you to look at me.”

 Gritting his teeth, Virgil looks up at Janus. Janus squeezes his hands once.

 “When was the last time you had your wings groomed?”

 Virgil’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach.

 “Y-yesterday.”

 “Did you do it yourself?”

 “…yeah.”

 “When was the last time someone else helped you groom them properly?”

 Virgil swallows heavily and doesn’t say anything.

 “…oh, sweetie, have you not had anyone help you groom them since…?”

 Janus doesn’t even have to finish his sentence before Virgil’s nodding, the shameful secret finally spilling out. It’s Janus, he rationalizes, he knows how to keep a secret, right?

 “Why haven’t you told them,” Janus murmurs, his voice broken, “why, sweetie?”

 “Because telling people things is always so easy,” Virgil snarls.

 Janus accepts it with a slow nod, reaching out to cup Virgil’s cheek. On instinct, Virgil jerks back, unable to get away from the touch because of the grip on his hands. Janus’s eyes widen.

 “…oh, sweetie…”

 “Don’t tell them,” Virgil blurts out, “please don’t tell them.”

 “You’ve been hurting yourself, Virgil,” Janus whispers, “so badly, I can’t let that continue.”

 “I’ll—I’ll fix it, I can fix it—“

 “You know you can’t do this by yourself, honey.”

 “I have to,” Virgil cries out finally, “I have to, I can’t—I messed up, I messed everything up, I have to do it alone now, I have to—“

 “What did you mess up, sweetie?”

 “You a-and Remus and I can’t—I can’t ask you ‘cause I messed it up so bad—“

 “Shh, shh,” Janus soothes instantly, reaching out with another pair of hands to cup Virgil’s face properly, “you haven’t lost me, sweetie, you haven’t messed anything up so badly. You know you can come to me for help, you can always come here.”

 “But you’re—“

 “What, sweetie,” Janus prompts when Virgil cuts himself off, “what am I?”

 Nope. Because Virgil can’t even use the dark side excuse anymore because now the dark sides are accepted. He has no fucking excuse. He has no justification for why he’s doing this. He’s—he’s—

 He’s hurting himself.

 “It hurts,” he whispers instead, “m-make it stop.”

 “Do you have enough energy to sink out, sweetie?” Virgil shakes his head. “Okay. I need you to stand up for me, honey.”

 Getting to his feet is a slow process, Janus murmuring encouragement as they go. He sets Virgil’s hands gently against the stair railing and whispers that he’ll be right back, he just has to grab some things, wait here, please? Virgil lets him go and clutches the railing for dear life, trying to keep the waves of nausea inside thank you very much.

 “What do you mean, you haven’t seen him?”

 “I knocked on his door, he didn’t answer.”

 “So?”

 “So I…tried the knob.”

 “Roman!”

 “I know, I know, I’m not supposed to, but I was worried and he isn’t in there, so—“

 “Wait, he’s not in his room?”

 “No! That’s the problem!”

 “Well then where is he?”

 “I don’t know, that’s why I came to find you two!”

 “Wait…Virgil?”

  No, no, no—

 “Stormcloud,” Roman breathes from the top of the stairs, racing down, “there you are, we’ve been looking for you!”

 “What’re you doing down here, kiddo,” Patton asks worriedly, “are you…you don’t look so good.”

 Logan hustles around the end of the stairs to face him and no, no, Virgil doesn’t want this, not now—

 “Virgil,” Logan calls softly and he sounds so much like he cares— “Virgil, are you having trouble standing?”

 Virgil nods jerkily.

 “Let’s have you sit down, then,” he continues gently, trying to cover up the shake in his voice.

 When he doesn’t move, Roman can’t help himself. He walks forward, his arms opening to hover around Virgil’s waist.

 “Can I carry you, Stormcloud,” he asks, “just to the couch?”

 What does he do? He can’t say no, not when they look so worried. They just keep asking questions, they’ll just—but Janus asked him to wait for him, but standing is so hard and they all look so worried—

 He nods again.

 Logan carefully places his hands around Roman’s neck as Roman scoops him into a princess carry, heading for the couch. He sits down in the middle, holding Virgil as securely as he can, looking up when Logan crouches in front of them, nervously adjusting his tie. Patton sits on his side, pulling Virgil’s legs into his lap.

 “What do we do?” Roman whispers. “I don’t—what do you need, Stormcloud?”

 Logan nods encouragingly, still looking at Virgil with his brows drawn until realization dawns on his face.

 “Virgil,” he says as he gets up to sit beside Roman, resting his hands on Virgil’s shoulders to encourage him to lean against him, “are you…is your ‘everything machine’ breaking?”

 Oh.

 Yeah, that’s what’s happening.

 It’s Roman’s turn to have the ‘aha’ moment when he nods, taking one of Virgil’s hands and tenderly pressing a kiss to it. Logan keeps a steady, grounding pressure on his sides as Roman carefully lies him on the couch, going to the kitchen.

 “Can you sit up? It’s perfectly alright if you can’t,” Logan assures quickly, “but it might be easier to drink something if you are upright.”

 Virgil nods.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “we’ll go slowly, alright? If you feel dizzy or light-headed at any point, squeeze my hand and you can lie back down.”

 As promised, by the time they’re fully sitting up, Logan’s hand still on his shoulder, Roman’s breezed back in with a tissue box, a glass of water, a glass of orange juice, and a mini french loaf on a tray, set it all down on the coffee table, pulled the table close enough where he can perch on the edge, and reached out to take his hand again. Patton rubs encouraging circles into his knee, murmuring soft words of encouragement.

 Virgil can’t move. He doesn’t know what to do. He—they feel so warm, they keep touching him so gently, it—his wings are straining.

 He whimpers when Logan’s hand lands on his back and Logan moves away immediately. The loss of contact has him itching to reach out but he can’t can’t can’t—

 “Well.”

  Janus.

 Virgil blinks, and sure enough, there he is, standing with his hands clasped out of sight. Distantly, Virgil thanks that he’s still trying to keep Virgil’s secret, hiding whatever he has behind his back. He makes eye contact with Virgil and asks a silent question.

 Virgil can’t respond.

 “Janus,” Patton says, “do you—do you know what’s going on?”

 “Can we help,” Roman blurts, “with whatever it is?”

 Logan stays silent, gaze going back and forth between Virgil and Janus. Janus doesn’t take his eyes off Virgil.

 He’s waiting, Virgil realizes, to see if I’m going to let them help.

 …he doesn’t really have a reason not to anymore, does he?

 Logan leans closer, his lips barely brushing Virgil’s temple.

 “Please,” he whispers, “please, dearheart, let us help care for you.”

 Oh.

 Oh, fuck.

 “…help.”

 It’s loud enough for Janus to hear and he nods sharply, sitting down on the floor and holding out his arms. “You’re going to need to pass him to me. Be careful of his back.”

 It takes the other three to get him tucked up against Janus’s chest before they shuffle back, wary. Janus wraps his lowest pair of arms around Virgil’s hips, holding him close.

 “You just focus on me, sweetie,” he whispers, much too quiet for the others to hear, “and if you want them gone, you say so, okay?”

 “R-Remus?”

 “Remus is coming, sweetie, he found me looking for your things.”

 “You kept them?”

 “Of course we kept them.” Janus rests their foreheads together. “Of course we did.”

 Janus holds him close, whispers a few more soft words, until Virgil nods and lets him unzip his hoodie.

 “How, sweetie?”

 “…sports bra.”

 He can hear Janus swallow a noise of protest before he nods. “I’m going to have to cut them off, it’s going to hurt too much if we try and pry it off you.”

 “But—“

 “Sweetie,” Janus hushes, “you’re losing circulation, it’s not good for you.”

 Virgil shudders. “…does that mean you have to cut off m-my shirt too?”

 “Do you think you can hold your arms up long enough to get it off?”

 “…no.”

 Janus holds him tightly. “I’m so proud of you, sweetie, I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

 Against his better judgment, Virgil turns and tucks his head into the crook of Janus’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent. “…always are.”

 “I’m going to need the others to help me, help you, okay?” When Virgil nods, he can feel Janus look at the others, can feel the way his face changes.

 “Roman.”

 “Yes, I’m here.”

 “I need you to get Virgil’s hoodie off.”

 “O-okay,” Roman says, and Virgil can hear him shuffle up behind them, “is it already unzipped?”

 “It is.”

 “Here we go, Stormcloud,” Roman says softly, sliding the battered old thing from Virgil’s shoulders like it’s some fine silk garment, “you’re doing great…there. Where should I—“

 “On the couch.”

 There are a few more rustlings and then Janus’s mouth appears by Virgil’s ear again.

 “I’m going to cut them off now. You just hold still for me, alright?” Virgil nods and Janus squeezes him around the waist. “Good.”

 He turns his attention to the others. “Virgil has decided to trust you with this. I have decided to trust you with this. Betray that trust and you will not like the consequences. Am I clear?”

 Murmured assurances. Then the soft rip, rip, riiiiiip of fabric, and the pressure on his wings releases.

 Virgil’s sure Janus is talking from the vibration of his throat and he’s also sure the others are saying something back, but he can’t hear anything right now over the rush of blood in his ears from his wings unfurling, creaking, in all their ugly, dirty glory.

 He winces, tries to stretch them, only to hear a cry of dismay from over his shoulder and an ‘oh, sweetie,’ from Janus. The tendon snaps back out of place and his wings slump.

 “Virgil,” Janus says next to his ear, “Virgil, Remus is here now. Do you think you can explain what we need to do or would you like us to?”

 Virgil should explain. It’s his problem. It’s his responsibility.

 But…but it would be nice to not have to…for once. To…to let them take care of him.

 “…c-can you?”

 “We can.”

 He feels another warm hand on his bare side and Remus’s voice in his ear.

 “Hey,” Remus says, “you really are a mess right now, huh?”

 Coming at any other time, it would be an insult. But right now, laced with concern, Remus’s statement sends a rush of warmth down Virgil’s spine.

 “We need to get the tendon reset first,” Remus says. Someone shuffles over to join him. “You know what you’re doing?”

 “I think so.” Oh. It’s Logan. Logan knows what he’s doing. Good, good. “Hold still for us, dearheart.”

 “Ah!”

 “Sorry, sorry,” Logan stammers, “but we’ve got it now.”

 “You’re gonna be sore for a bit, little monster,” Remus says, “but Logan’s right. You’re all reset now. You wanna stretch it out? Carefully?”

 Virgil does, tentatively extending his wing and it—it feels better. Well, it feels bruised and sore and achy—but it feels better.

 “It…it’s back,” Virgil says in a strangled whisper, “it’s back.”

 “Yes, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, “now let’s get you cleaned up.”

 Virgil drifts. In and out. He hears Remus explain how to straighten his feathers, feels two strong steady hands carding through them, Looks up to see Roman, expression more focused than he’s ever seen, sees that expression melt when he catches Virgil’s eyes. Plucks a loose feather out and lays it in a growing pile.

 Feels two more on his other side and looks around to see Patton doing the same, running his fingers through the primaries, secondaries, up to the covets, and through the scapulars. Feels his fingers linger just where the tips of the feathers brush Virgil’s bare back, stroking reassuring rhythms where he lands.

 Janus still has two of his arms holding Virgil in his lap. With Virgil’s nod, he slowly raises Virgil’s arms above his head again, letting the others have access to the rest of his wings. With his last two hands, he starts smoothing the bottom of his wings, lingering in the spots where Virgil winces, gently tugging and adjusting until everything’s just right.

 A flash of movement and he sees Remus over Janus’s shoulder, grabbing a spray bottle and two hairbrushes. He ruffles Virgil’s hair as he goes back around, warning him before he starts gently spraying Virgil’s wings, passing the hairbrushes to Roman and Patton with the instructions to try and get as much of the gunk out as possible.

 “You,” Roman murmurs as he works, “are magnificent, Virgil, just look at you.”

 “Don’t,” Virgil manages, “please don’t tease.”

 “I’m not teasing,” Roman promises, brushing a part of his wing that sends a shudder down his spine, “you’re…you’re—these are spectacular, Virgil, truly.”

 Virgil shifts in Janus’s lap. “…ugly.”

 “What?”

 “…they’re ugly.”

 “Of course they’re not, what do you…” Roman turns to him. “Stormcloud, who told you that?”

 “…me.”

 “Falsehood,” comes Logan’s voice from directly behind him, “your wings are indeed quite splendid.”

 “Because they’re interesting?”

 “Because they are a part of you,” Logan corrects softly, “and yes, because they are interesting.”

 “We love you, kiddo.” Patton reaches up to squeeze his hand. “That means all of you, even your wings.”

 Virgil opens his mouth to respond when hands slip through his feathers and every breath is stolen from his body.

 “Here,” Logan says softly, “are they here?”

 “Yep. Feel around in there a little, you should find the—“

 “Here.”

 Two thumbs swipe over the glands and Virgil shudders, right down to the tips of his wings. Logan pauses, leaning forward and doing it again. Virgil shudders harder, warmth shooting through his body, so warm, so warm. Then Logan’s hands start spreading the oil through his feathers and Virgil can’t.

 “Shh,” Janus soothes, holding him tightly, “shh, I know, sweetie, just hold on…you’re doing so well.”

 “Be gentle, Logan,” Roman orders, his gaze fixed on Virgil’s face.

 “I am.” Logan does it again and Virgil gasps. “This area is simply…sensitive.”

 Virgil swallows. “…haven’t…haven’t been able to…to…”

 “You have not been able to reach these areas yourself,” Logan finishes when Virgil can’t make words happen anymore, “and so the sensation is heightened by the newness of it.”

 “Y-yeah.”

 Then Roman’s hand brushes over his alula and he whimpers.

 “S-sorry.”

 “Would I be mistaken in saying this is quite…an intimate action?” Virgil shakes his head at Logan’s question. “Then you do not need to apologize. Trusting others with this level of intimacy is difficult, and you are doing very well.”

 “You are, kiddo,” Patton adds when Virgil makes a noise of protest, “and you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. It’s okay that you’re sensitive, it’s okay.”

 “Is this alright, Stormcloud,” Roman asks softly as he keeps brushing the feathers, “can we keep going?”

 “Mhm,” Virgil mumbles, head lolling forward, “mhm.”

 “Good.”

 As they finish removing the clearly damaged feathers, the real grooming starts. Roman and Patton start gently tugging here and there to pull out loose and broken feathers, pushing the ones that are just slightly crooked back into place. The hairbrushes, with nice wooden spokes, split the feathers easily without a snag as Logan carefully works the oil throughout. Remus slips down, carefully spreading the oil over Virgil’s back, kneading out the tension from his sore muscles. Janus holds him steady, murmuring softly.

 Virgil floats, punch-drunk on the fuzzy feeling from Logan’s hands, Patton’s hands, Roman’s hands, Remus’s hands, Janus’s hands. It’s so warm, so warm, as he feels the lingering strings of hurt and tension slowly and persistently untangled from his wings.

 “I think that’s everything,” comes Logan’s soft voice an uncertain amount of time later, and yet none of the hands move away.

 “You’re so pretty, kiddo,” Patton murmurs, running his hands through the feathers, “so, so pretty.”

 “Guess you really did dig the purple, huh?” Remus gives Virgil’s hair a ruffle. “I think these are the best these have looked in a while.”

 Virgil shifts in Janus’s lap. “…yeah, well…”

 Janus shushes him. “It doesn’t matter, now, sweetie. It’s okay.”

 “You were hesitant because being vulnerable is hard,” Logan adds, still stroking up and down the joint of his wings, “that isn’t anything to be ashamed of.”

 Virgil opens his mouth to reply when Logan’s fingers skitter over the spot right under the joint and he cries out.

 “…Virgil?”

 Logan raises an eyebrow when Virgil simply shudders, his back arching. Slowly, he does it again, smiling when Virgil all but purrs.

 “I think he likes that,” Patton says quietly, “don’t you, kiddo?”

 Virgil whines.

 “Where else are you sensitive,” Roman murmurs, scritching his fingers lightly along the top of Virgil’s wing, “where else, Stormcloud?”

 “I don’t think he’s got command of words right now,” Remus chuckles.

 “If Virgil’s wings are anatomically similar to bird wings,” Logan murmurs, “then…”

 Roman’s hand is tangled in his alula. Patton’s hands are rubbing at the crook of his wings. Logan’s thumbs stroke over the oil glands again.

 Virgil’s mouth is suddenly very, very dry.

 Remus’s thumbs suddenly dig into the space between his shoulder blades, startling a short moan out of him. He hears a chuckle from over his shoulder.

 “Does that feel good, dearheart,” Logan murmurs, his nails scraping lightly over the soft skin where Virgil’s wings met his back, “right there?”

 Virgil’s only response is a long, low, drawn-out sound that would have been mortifying had he any control over his brain right now.

 “Oh, wow,” Patton mumbles from the side.

 Roman reaches up and wiggles his fingers next to Logan’s and Virgil keens.

 Janus chuckles, lowering Virgil’s arms around his neck and reaching out to scritch lightly at the marginal covets. “You’re about to get spoiled, sweetie,” he murmurs, “you just hang on, hmm?”

 Virgil wraps his arms around Janus and holds on for dear life just as fingers wiggle into his axillaries and he freezes.

 Then he melts, right into Janus, right into the hands in his wings, the sound physically being ripped out of his chest.

 Lips brush the side of his neck like the owner couldn’t stop themselves. The hand on his right twitches violently. From his left comes a long, shuddering breath.

 “Oh, Stormcloud—“ Roman, that’s Roman— “you best believe we’re going to spoil you all the time.”

 Just like that, everything multiplies. Pats, strokes, kneads, scritches, ruffles, so many so many so many gentle, adoring touches and soft voices in his ears and Virgil flies.

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[winterscaptain]

fear itself.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: part two of the 100 arc! this installment covers the events of faceless, nameless. i am living for the feedback! please keep it coming. i can’t wait to hear what you think as we go through this (very emotionally wrought) section.

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 4.5k warnings: canon-typical violence, language, hospital setting

summary: four hours of sleep and aaron’s missing. what else could go wrong?

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

4:02am “Just got home, so I’m calling like you asked. Shoot me a text when you get back to the apartment, if you aren’t already asleep. Call me when you’re up and we can work on that Nebraska consult, maybe in the early afternoon? Goodnight. Sleep well.”

8:13am “Hey, it’s me. I know I’m not supposed to be worried about you, but we were called in a half hour ago and you’re still not here...so...give me a call when you get this. Bye.”

8:48am “Hey, it’s me, checking in again. You’re probably still asleep, but I’ve never known you to sleep more than seven hours...so if I don’t hear from you by eleven I’ll drag you out of bed myself.”

9:51am “We’re headed to the crime scene. Garcia’s sent you the address. I know JJ’s been calling you too, so just...I dunno? Call us back? Bye.”

10:20am “If you’re getting these and ignoring me, I hope you know you’re taking years off my life right now.”

11:08am “Um...Call me back. I’m starting to worry. Well...not starting. I’ve been worried. But I’m getting...really worried.” 

11:37am “Aaron please call me and let me know you’re alright. You’re scaring me.”

+++

Needless to say, it’s been a weird day. Why you expected anything else after that wretched Canada case and four hours of sleep, you have no idea. 

You had a horrible dream last night, on top of everything else. The image of Aaron broken and bleeding beside you hadn’t left your mind since it first appeared in Foyet’s kitchen. You tried to shake it off every time, but it was persistent. 

We’ll worry about that later. 

You check the time again, trying to ignore the weird feeling in your gut. 

Where is he? 

Your phone rings and your heart leaps. Guilt (and a little bit of embarrassment) pricks at you when you’re disappointed to see Emily’s name on your phone. You answer. 

“You have to get down here.” Her voice isn’t frantic, per se, but the urgency is undeniable. 

“What’s going on?” 

She takes a breath. “I just got off the phone with Garcia - I have crime scene techs and SWAT on the way to Hotch’s apartment, and I need you here.” 

All the blood in your body seems to rush into your head, and you lean heavily on the nearest object - the dining room table. “What?”

“I - I don’t know. All his stuff is here and there's -” She stutters for a second. “There’s blood on the carpet, broken glass, and a bullet hole in the wall by the kitchen. No Hotch.” 

An eerie kind of calm washes over you, and you straighten, making eye contact with Derek. “Okay. Let me just -”

Derek gets a call, but keeps his eyes on you. “What’s goin’ on, Baby Girl?...What do you mean ‘Emily just called SWAT to Hotch’s apartment’ what -“

You break his gaze as he nods at you and turns to the rest of the team. “Emily, I’ll be right there. Don’t go anywhere.” 

+++

You make it to the hospital with Emily. You flash your credentials and it gets you exactly where you want to go. 

When you see him, your breath catches. He looks awful - drawn and small and wrapped in what seems like miles of gauze. Emily grabs your arm, but you’re not sure if it's for her benefit or yours. 

This is, after all, your worst nightmare come to life. A little chill crawls up your spine. This whole thing has you feeling six different kinds of scared. 

The nurse lets you into his room, telling you he’ll be out for another hour, at least. “He needs the rest.”

Emily leaves you to retrieve coffee. You take the opportunity to sit beside him and slide your hand under his, careful not to disturb the IV. Your hand shakes - whether from anxiety, fear, fury, or all of the above, you’re not sure. 

“If you die, Aaron Hotchner, I’ll kill you.”

You hear a little laugh from the doorway and you pull your hand from him. Emily shakes her head, two cups of coffee in her hands. “You’re fine. I'm not going to tattle.”

You squint. “Tattle?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re so clueless it’s almost cute, but he’s worse.” She throws her head toward Hotch with a fond smile, handing you your cup of coffee.

+++

The rest of the team arrives in a flurry a little while later, and the nurse has to warn them off as Aaron starts to wake. 

They quiet down, surrounding his bedside. You haven’t moved, making it your mission to keep your eyes on him at all times. 

His eyes flutter before closing again. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital,” you say, keeping your voice quiet and steady despite the tightness in your chest. 

“How did I get here?”

Derek gets that one. “Foyet drove you.” 

Aaron takes a breath. It’s shaky, and you imagine he’s in a lot of pain. Emily leans forward, looking for his eyes. “Can you remember what happened?”

He tells you, slowly, about how Foyet broke into the apartment, waited until he was home with his guard down, fired a shot, and then...He trails off. A heavy breath leaves him. “What did he take?”

You have an answer. “There was a page missing from your day planner, the Bs from the address section.” 

He closes his eyes and his breath grows faster, his heart rate increasing. After a moment, he collects himself and asks Emily, “What did he leave?”

“I don’t know.” 

“He also leaves something with his victims.”

Emily shakes her head. “I looked through your entire apartment. Nothing felt out of place.”

“Where are my clothes?”

“Right here.” You reach over, grabbing the bag and removing his bloody shirt with only the barest moment of hesitation. He reaches for the envelope of his personal effects and you press it into his hand, saving him the effort. 

Tears prick at your eyes as you watch his hands shake, opening his wallet. He’s eerily quiet, and you catch a glimpse of a photo, tucked into the fold. 

Haley and Jack. There’s blood on it. You recognize it from the desk in his home office space. 

No. 

Aaron’s come to the same conclusion, falling back on the pillows with a look you can only describe as defeated. It scares you. You swallow, pushing your tears back. 

That’s the last thing he needs right now. 

“Haley’s maiden name is Brooks. I always listed her in the Bs in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands.” Your hand, like JJ’s, has fallen over your mouth. 

Oh. 

Of course. 

Of course, he keeps her under Brooks. All he wants to do is keep her safe. 

You hope, one day, that someone will love you that much, will want to protect you with the same ferocity, will think of you before anything else. 

You could only be so lucky. 

He swallows and continues. “He knows where they live.”

Derek makes assignments. You’re to stay right where you are, while the rest focus on locating Haley and Jack. 

When it’s just the two of you, he closes his eyes again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if -”

“They’ll find her. They’ll find Jack. They’ll be safe.”

You have to believe it, too. They’re too important to you, to central to your life, now 

He shakes his head, his eyes cracking open. “Why didn’t I just take the deal?” Clearing his throat, he continues, his voice a little stronger, but still rough. “He told me I should have. I never thought -” He cuts himself off.

You hand him a cup of water, and he takes it gratefully. Idly, you note he hasn’t looked you in the eye yet. 

“Do you want an answer to your question?”

He doesn’t answer you, looking across the room. 

You lean into his eye line. “You didn’t take the deal because you have the most integrity of anyone I’ve ever known. Anything he does is on him. It’s not on you.” 

“But,” his voice breaks and the smallest of tears falls out of his eye. It tracks down his temple until you gently wipe it away with your thumb. “But I could have stopped all of this.” 

“No,” you whisper. Your hand lingers on the side of his face. “No. He’ll be this way wherever he goes. The only way you change that is by catching him, Hotch.” 

He finally looks at you, his brown eyes exhausted, hurting, and bloodshot. You card your fingers through the hair at his temple, putting the oxygen cannula back over his ear. Soon, he closes his eyes again, his vitals evening out as he falls asleep. 

“We’ll get him, Aaron.”

A few tense minutes later, your phone buzzes in your pocket. When you see the caller ID, a shot of adrenaline zings around your body. “Haley?”

Your name is a sigh of relief in her mouth. “SWAT scared the hell out of me and I just - I don’t know.”

“Oh, Haley I’m so sorry. I should have gone over there with the team but -“ Derek knew my stress wouldn’t be useful. 

“No, no. It’s fine. They’re getting Jack from a friend’s house, but they told me what’s going on. I’ll see you when I get to the hospital. I just -“ She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I just freaked out.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

Your heart pulls. “I love you, too.” 

She hangs up, and you stuff your phone back in your pocket. 

Aaron wakes again when you pull a case file from your bag, but you’re not sure it’s your doing.

Shit. 

He looks around a little frantically for a moment, still disoriented. You rise and cross the room, finding one of his hands. 

“Hotch, it’s okay. You’re still in the hospital.” 

“Haley?”

You nod. “They got her. She’s safe and she’s on her way with Jack.” 

He finally relaxes, sinking back down into the pillows. “Thank you.”

You nod and resume your place on the other side of the room, patting the back of his hand as you let him go. He’s quiet, if not a little fidgety. You look at him for a minute. He takes a talking breath. 

“After the first one, it kind of goes blank.” His breath is still a little unsteady, and you take your chair next to his bed again. “There were nine, apparently.” 

Your breath catches. It’s not new information, but it’s still raw, sharp-edged. 

Awful.

He swallows. “He taunted me.” His eyes beg you to understand, to keep him from flying off the rails. 

“He’s a bastard, Aaron.”

He levels you with a withering stare. No shit. 

“I know you know that, but it’s worth repeating.”

“I don’t want -“

You interrupt him, knowing exactly where he’s going. “You’re not going to become a victim. You aren’t a victim.”

“I don’t want Haley to -“ 

You press a hand to his arm, mindful of his bandages. “One day at a time. They’re safe today.”

His lip quivers and his voice leaves him in a whisper. “That’s not good enough.”

+++

Eventually, Haley arrives looking a little worse for wear. 

Her haircut’s really cute. 

The thought almost makes you laugh. 

Of all the things to notice...

You startle a little as you remember where you are and rise, ready to give them space. She waves you off, giving you permission to stay. 

“How do you feel?” She asks. 

Aaron sits up a little more, not without effort, and says, “I’m gonna be okay.” 

That’s not what she asked, stupid. 

He continues. “Did they explain to you what’s happening?”

She nods. “They said the marshal's service is taking us straight from here and putting us into protective custody.” Her eyes meet yours, and you dip your chin. She’s right. 

Aaron apologizes to Haley for the first of what you imagine will be many times. 

Her lower lip disappears between her teeth. “Do you know where they’re gonna take us?”

“No,” you answer. “We don’t. And that’s the point.” 

“I can’t know where you’re going,” Aaron adds. “If you have any contact with anyone, he can track you.”

That shocks her a little, and you can see she’s getting upset. “Jack has school. He has friends. I have a job now. I have -” She cuts herself off. 

“I know.” He levels a steady, solemn gaze upon her. “And I’m sorry. We will catch him and you’ll come back.”

She looks at you again. “Are you sure we’re in danger?” 

You nod, almost imperceptibly, and Hotch answers. “Yes.” 

“And what about you? Are you gonna be safe?”

There it is. 

She does love him. 

You knew that, of course. Seeing them together during visits at home or out to dinner or otherwise in the presence of that other, that was never in question.

Your heart tugs. 

Twenty-five years... 

“He wants to see me suffer. Knowing that my son is out there and that I can’t see him is better than killing me.”

Haley wets her lips and swallows. 

That’s her tell. 

You figure she’ll burst into tears pretty soon. It was only a matter of time, and you don’t blame her in the least. You’ve had tears threatening you all afternoon, and this wasn’t even happening to you. 

“Jack wants to see you.”

Aaron’s jaw gets a little tight. “I want to see him, too. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

You hear what he can’t say, too. I don’t want to scare him. I don’t want him to see me like this. 

“Look,” she says, exasperated. “I know you’re trying to protect him, but you both need this. Please.”

He nods, resigned. “Okay.”

Haley looks over and offers you a shaky smile, trying to break the tension. “He also asked me if you’d be here. He’ll be thrilled.” 

That almost does you in. “So will I,” you tell her, meaning every syllable. 

With another brisk nod and wipe of her face, she leaves the room to retrieve Jack. Aaron sits up a little straighter and you help him. He tries to suppress his wince, but fails. 

“Do you need another round?” 

He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Just let me know.” You settle back into the corner, the case file in your lap. 

Haley and Jack return, and she brings him to Aaron’s side, lifting him up onto the bed. 

Aaron meets his eyes and tells him that he’s okay, giving him a little preparing for what’s about to happen. “But, what do I tell you whenever I go away?”

“That you love me.” 

You hide your face, looking out the window as tears finally fall from your eyes. Haley’s eyes are on you and you know it. You wipe at your face and take a quiet breath before turning back, pretending to pay attention to the case in your lap. 

In your periphery, you can see Aaron looking over Jack’s face as if to memorize it, as if he doesn’t already know every plane, every curve, every angle of his son’s face. “More than anything in the world.” 

They exchange a few more words before he brings him close and kisses his forehead. You glance up, and they look so alike in their profiles it almost makes you smile. Haley’s crying, too, and she meets your eyes. 

Something passes between you, but you don’t have a name for it. 

You don’t need one. 

Haley takes a breath and tucks her hair behind her ears. She redirects Jack’s attention to you, and his eyes light up. She helps him scramble off the bed and he books it around the bed to you. 

You close the case file and open your arms to him. “Hi, bud.” It’s hard not to scare him with the feverish way you hold him close, your fingers wound in his hair. 

There’s a failed attempt to avoid thinking about the uncertainty of the future, when you’ll see him again. 

If ever.

Stop. 

The pair of you lean back for a minute, and you brush his hair away from his forehead. 

“Are you going away, too?” He asks. 

You shake your head. “I’m gonna stay here with your dad.” 

“Are you going to keep my dad safe? I’m going to keep Mom safe.”

It’s Aaron who looks away this time. 

“Of course, my love.” You offer him something you hope looks like a smile. “We always keep each other safe. We’re a team, like you and your momma. I’m so proud of you.” You check in with Haley, who’s looking away, the back of her hand swiping at her cheek. When she turns back to you, you tilt your head a little. 

Want a minute? 

She nods. 

You stand, Jack still tucked against your chest. “I think,” you say, as he sits back in your arms, “Miss Emily and Miss JJ are back and might have something fun for you over there.” You tip your head toward the waiting room. “Wanna go see?”

He nods, leaning back into you and playing with your collar. You pat Aaron’s knee and squeeze Haley’s shoulder with your free hand as you pass. 

Aaron watches you go, your low murmuring comforts to Jack lost in the ambient hospital noise. When you find JJ and look back, giving him a small (if not a little watery) smile, he looks over at Haley, guilt closing up his throat. 

“I’m so sorry, Haley. I promise, when this is all over, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” 

She gives him a half-smile and sits on the edge of his bed. She reaches for him, and he takes both of her hands in his. There’s silence for a moment as they sit together. She studies him. 

While it doesn’t bother him (she has been looking at him for nearly twenty-five years, after all), he does feel more exposed under her gaze than he’s used to. 

“You should do something about that, one of these days,” she says, looking over her shoulder. You’re still visible in the window, talking to JJ while Jack is still glued to you. His little arms are tight around your neck, his head tucked under your chin.

Aaron’s brow furrows, but the EKG picks up the increase in his heart rate, much to his embarrassment. “What are you talking about?”

Haley laughs, a light, watery, delicate thing, and turns back to him. It almost brings a smile to his face. “Do you think I don’t know what you look like when you’re head over heels, Aaron Hotchner? After eighteen years of marriage and twenty-five years knowing you? Give me a break.”

His jaw grows tight, but he holds her gaze. 

“You used to look at me like that, you know.” A little smile plays at her lips and she looks down, almost shy. “Still do, sometimes.” 

“I love you, Haley.” 

She squeezes his hand. “I know you do.” A sigh leaves her and she looks over her shoulder again, just catching a glimpse of you and JJ out in the hall with Jack as you go scavenging for something sweet. There’s a little smile at the corner of her mouth when she turns back to him. “You are so loved, Aaron.” 

“I don't…” He huffs, frustrated. “I don’t feel -”

“I’m not saying you have to do anything, but it might do you some good to just…” She sighs, throwing a hand up in a kind of searching gesture. “I don’t know, be honest with yourself. Think for a minute.” 

His teeth worry the inside of his lower lip as he thinks about it. He does care about you. But love? 

He thinks of the way his chest feels too small whenever you laugh, the way he always goes above and beyond to make sure you’re safe in the field, how he looks for you when you’re out of the room, how he looks for you when you’re in the room. 

The way you are with Jack brings him to his knees every time. The sound of his son’s laughter under your tickling fingers never fails to bring a smile to his face. 

You’ve helped him heal what seemed like an insurmountable chasm between him and Haley, and though it’s not perfect, it’s better than it would ever be without you. 

You always take a second to straighten his tie and ensure his suit jacket lays flat across his shoulders before leaving the plane, just like he always takes time to count the rounds in your magazines or tuck your tag back into your shirt collar. 

He always feels so warm under your fond and attentive touch. With a little bit of alarm, he hopes you feel the same under his. Safe. Cared-for. 

Loved. 

Oh. 

Oh no.

He knows the realization is clear on his face when Haley laughs again, surprising them both. She swipes at her eyes again, clearing any remaining tears. “You know, I can’t say I’m surprised you didn’t know, but it’s still funny, even with all this.” She shakes her head. “You haven’t changed much, have you?”

His face breaks out into a little smile as he looks back at her. “Oh, quit.” 

“I’ll never quit giving you hell, as long as we live.” Haley reaches out, pushing gently against his shoulder. He takes the shove like a champ, even through the ache in his chest and abdomen, thankful she’s not treating him like he’s made of glass. 

“Don’t I know it.” 

They look at each other for a minute before Aaron sobers, the mirth evaporating between them. He already misses her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all of this. I’m hoping it’ll be...temporary.” 

“I do have a life, Aaron. And Jack…” She sighs and her eyes fill with tears again. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I wish there was another way to keep you safe, but -” He cuts himself off, knowing there’s nothing he can say. 

She swallows again. She already misses him. “How am I supposed to keep him safe when there’s nobody I know to help me?”

He sighs, but speaks with conviction. “Haley, you’re strong. You lived with me in this job and you’ve practically raised Jack all by yourself. You’re a great mother.” 

Haley’s actively crying now, trying to stem the tears with her fingers. It’s not working. After a moment, she collects herself. “Can you catch this man?”

“I will catch this man.”

+++

When she leaves Aaron’s room, you bring Jack to her. You take a moment to lightly fuss over them both. 

Her blue eyes find yours. “Take care of him, please?”

You nod. “I will.” 

“He needs you.” 

She says it with a simple kind of conviction that makes your chest pull. You put a hand on her shoulder, trying to communicate everything you can’t say into your touch. “He needs you more.” 

“No, he doesn’t.” Her lips twist in an odd sort of smile and she wraps you in a hug and kisses your cheek. “I’ll see you soon.” 

You hold her tight, Jack trapped (and whining a little) between you. “See you soon, Hales.” You pull back, looking deeply into her eyes. “We’ll get him.” 

The U.S. Marshals arrive, and you have to let go of each other. You press a kiss to Jack’s forehead and tell him you love him one more time, and wait until they’re in the car and out of sight before you break down. 

You don’t know where he came from, but Derek wraps around you, catching you before your knees hit the ground. You don't know what you’re crying about, really. 

It could be the overwhelming task of catching Foyet.

It could be Hotch in the room down the hall with nine stab wounds to his chest and abdomen. 

It could be the indefinite absence of your dear friend and her son - a boy you love more than anyone except maybe -

Nope. Don’t go there. Not now. 

Sobs wrack your chest, and your head hurts and your throat is sore by the time your body lets you breathe. 

Derek’s there the whole time, rubbing your back and keeping your face hidden in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, kiddo. It’ll be okay. He’s okay. We’re gonna catch this son of a bitch.” 

“It’s just so much, Derek.” 

He sighs. “I know. I know.”

+++

“Did you hear what happened this morning?”

You’re woken by Dave’s voice, coming from the doorway. Cramped and crunched into the corner of an uncomfortable chair, you stretch and what feels like every joint in your body cracks. 

“No.”

When did Aaron wake up? 

You look over at him and he glances at you before returning to Dave, who’s leaning on the door frame. 

“We had a situation. Unsub had already killed two people. Said he was gonna keep killing unless a man used his son as bait.”

“What happened?”

Good question. 

Belatedly, you realize you’ve neglected your case duties all day in favor of holding vigil over Aaron’s bedside. The weirdest part about it? The rest of the team let you. 

Why? 

“We kept the boy safe. Worked the profile. It was a happy ending.” 

That’s good, at least. One fucking happy ending today. 

It’s like Dave’s reading your mind as he asks Aaron, “Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

“Yes.” Aaron’s gaze is impassive, but there are universes behind his eyes. 

“No other group in the world could have pulled off what yours did in a matter of hours.” Dave checks in with you, and the corner of your mouth lifts. 

Sorry. 

He shakes his head just a little. No sweat, kid. You did your job.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Dave, but -”

Dave cuts him off. “We’ll get Foyet.”

“I promised Haley I would get him. But the truth is, if he stops killing we have no way of tracking him. He stopped killing for ten years just for the pleasure of watching Shaunessy’s life fall apart.” 

He’s crying again, and your heart breaks. You’re surprised Dave can’t hear it crack all the way across the room. 

“What’s Jack going to remember about me in ten years?”

No. 

“Hotch, look at me.” You rise from your chair and sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb his position. He turns his head just so, his brown eyes locking onto yours. “We’ll get him. We will get him.”

We have to. 

+++

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[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #243: Chain of Command!

May, 1984

In this issue! The Vision takes command! Scarlet Witch fights a fire! Starfox battles bandits! And Earth’s Mightiest Heroes return from the Secret Wars!

Its one of my favorite sub-genres of comic covers! ‘Here’s a bunch of stuff going on in this issue’

Vision and his new hat make a good central element for the various other happenings to happen around. It doesn’t work quite as well as the Wizard’s control panel but its still good.

Last times on Avengers: Vision walked into an invisible wall and was stuck in a healing tube for a while. His recovery was hastened by Starfox connecting him to the Titan supercomputer ISAAC. While tube-bound, Vision detected several anomalous energy surges. Leaving his tube, Vision led the Avengers to Central Park to investigate where a large structure appeared and whisked away Hawkeye, Wasp, Thor, Captain Marvel, Captain America, and She-Hulk!

Bring them back, anomalous energy surge!

This time: Vision faces the press.

Not only have many Avengers vanished, so have the Fantastic Four, the X-Men, and others. But its too early for Heroes Reborn!

Vision: “Certain irresponsible people have gone so far as to suggest a conspiracy to rob our world of its greatest heroes, to soften us up for some imagined invasion. Those are just rumors!”

Well, I didn’t think that before but I certainly am now!

Who let Vision be the person speaking to the press?

Apparently Vision did as he’s named himself the chairman in absence of Wasp.

What, Scarlet Witch doesn’t get the nod? She’s been with the team longer.

One reporter, not at all soothed by Vision’s insistence that there’s definitely no conspiracy going on, asks Vision to comment on reports of an alien invasion out of West Virginia.

Since Vision hasn’t received confirmation about the alien wraith menace, he basically tells the press ‘yeah i’ve heard of that but can’t really comment. BUT I can confirm that the Avengers are going to meet with a bunch of people from the National Security Council which I assume is going to be about the alien wraiths but who can really say!’

Watching this press conference on Air Force One, Henry Peter Gyrich says a swear.

Henry Peter Gyrich: “@#$%$ android!! Why doesn’t he give them our location and air speed while he’s at it?!”

Mr. Sikorsky points out that the meeting isn’t exactly classified and that the Washington Post reporter would have mentioned it if Vision hadn’t.

But Gyrich is still peeved because he thinks Vision should have consulted the NSA before giving a press conference.

This makes me feel gross but Gyrich actually agrees with me that Vision isn’t doing a great job of allaying people’s fears with this press conference.

Reporter: “If worse comes to worse, how do you plan to deal with the potential for civil unrest?”

Vision: “In the same way the Avengers have always dealt with it. We have always been strongly supportive of civil authority at all levels -- and we’re not about to change our position now! The public should not feel that they are unusually threatened in the current situation!”

Ironically, this press conference is being played on a tv at a bank that is currently being robbed. And there’s a bunch of hostages who probably feel unusually threatened in the current situation.

But the irony giveth and takeith away.

When TV Vision says “Never let it be said that the Avengers abandoned their responsibilities to --” Starfox shows up to punch some bank robbers.

Probably thinking ‘oh thank god, some dumb adventure finally.’ He just wants to punch people and have adventures.

And punch some bank robbers he does do, until one of them takes a woman hostage and says he’ll shoot her if Starfox doesn’t let him walk out the door.

Annnnnnnd.

Yeah. Uh.

Starfox does a thing?

His head glows pink and the bank robber’s head glows pink and he suddenly can’t stop laughing and now he’s Starfox’s best friend.

My god, he can make people drunk with his mind?? So this is his secret power!

Truly, he is the mightiest Avenger...

Anyway, Starfox turns his new best friend over to the cops, showing he’s no friend at all, and then flies off.

The giggly bank robber staying giggly as he obligingly walks into the police van, weirding out the cops.

Meanwhile, the Avengers press conference at the Avengers Mansion ends.

A reporter: “Psstt! Do you believe any of that”

Another reporter: “Suurre, just like I believed that Nixon wasn’t a crook!”

Wow, sweet politics dunk.

Geez, Vision, you got politics dunked on. You did not convince people in that press conference at all...

Vision: “It did not go as I’d hoped! It is the duty of these people to probe and question, but by the manner of their questioning, I could tell they didn’t accept my reassurances. If their reaction is a common one, my speech may have done more harm than good.

He floats up through the ceiling, giving Mockingbird a startle.

They have a talk to establish that Sue, Franklin, and Alicia from the FF books are staying with the Avengers due to the rest of the FF catching a bad case of disappearing.

Vision has invited Mockingbird to stay with the Avengers until they find out what happened to Hawkeye.

Mockingbird: “Look, Vision, don’t give me false hope just because I’m a newlywed. Level with me... Is there any chance that Hawk’s still alive?”

Vision: “This is not the first time Avengers have disappeared. There is always hope.”

He’s got a point. The Collector for one is constantly collecting the Avengers. Sure, he’s dead now but this is a superhero universe.

Vision then floats up through another ceiling, giving Mockingbird another startle.

Mockingbird: I will never... never get used to that!

Vision floats up into the communications center where Scarlet the Wanda Witch is monitoring the monitors. She tells him that there’s been no more news on the disappearances.

Vision: “Then we must draw encouragement from the fact no bad news has been received.”

Scarlet Witch: “I didn’t say no bad news had come in! Agents Gyrich and Sikorski radioed that they’ll be arriving on schedule and they want to see you right away! Gyrich didn’t sound happy.”

Hahahahahahahahah. I love that Gyrich arriving on schedule is bad news. Because he’s the worst.

Wanda also updates Vision on her progress in contacting reserve and inactive Avengers to help cover the sudden personnel shortage.

She’s contacted Black Panther, Wonder Man, the Falcon, and Black Knight who are standing by for an emergency alert. She hasn’t been able to contact Hercules or Black Widow.

Huh. Wonder what they’re up to. I was sure that the Champions book was dead by this point.

She offers to contact Quicksilver but Vision tells her to hold off.

He asks her where Starfox is and she tells Vision that he went out to handle that bank robbery thing we saw him handle.

Vision: “That’s excellent! Now more than ever, the Avengers must maintain a high level of visibility! And responding to day-to-day emergencies is an ideal way to do it! Stopping a bank robbery accomplishes more than a dozen news conferences!”

Especially one of your conferences, zing!

Sorry, Vizh! It was just really bad!

A fire alarm comes in over the monitors and Scarlet Witch runs off to handle it. Because she was handling it on the cover. It wouldn’t do to create a time paradox.

As soon as Wanda leaves, Vision slouches down into a chair in his Visiony way and consults the giant holographic head of ISAAC, the great and powerful.

There’s so many giant heads in this book lately.

ISAAC has apparently kept the link to Vision going since Starfox hooked the two of them up. Vision seems okay with the fact that a supercomputer is linked to his brain.

Vision: “That explains the greater memory capacity I’ve felt lately!”

And with the fact that its a two-way street, with Vision having access to ISAAC’s data... and vice versa.

Vision is smiling and everything seems to be looking up but this still bodes.

Anyway, the synthezoid bemoans that the disappearance of half of the Avengers has allowed him to rise to a position of authority but that it doesn’t seem to matter.

Vision: “I must lead a team of respected Avengers, if I am to meet my goals. But our most revered members are missing. A new team could be assembled -- but without Thor or Captain America behind me, the public will never accept what I have in mind.”

ISAAC: “You reason people will not fully trust an artificial man, a synthezoid such as yourself. But you need not convince all of them... only a few select individuals!”

Vision: “Of course! And in my expanded capacity, I have the means to do just that!”

Um.

Umm.

Seems shady.

Seems shadier that the ‘means to do just that’ involves intangibling to the electronics laboratory.

MEANWHILE ON THE MOON

Love saying that. Thank you, comics.

Meanwhile on the moon, Quicksilver and Crystal have a household discussion.

They decided not to expose Perfectly Human Baby Luna to the terrigen mist in The Thing #3 but none of the Inhumans have experience with human babies. And Crystal has decided that what she really needs is a “good down-to-earth nanny!”

Literally, a nanny from Earth. But one that can deal with Inhuman society.

Quicksilver muses that he may know just such a person.

It’s Bova, isn’t it? It better be Bova.

But are Inhumans really so incapable when it comes to human babies? There’s a lot of Inhumans that aren’t externally mutated at all. Wouldn’t a human baby just be easier to care for?

And do the Inhumans really expose their babies to the mists? Based on Inhumanity event, it doesn’t matter when a latent Inhuman is exposed, they’ll develop powers anyway. So why not wait until they can walk and talk?

Your society is silly, Inhumans!

Meanwhile, over at the fire, there is a fire. Right in the heart of midtown Manhattan, a place you wouldn’t generally want to be on fire.

Scarlet Witch offers to help but the fire chief on site is skeptical about what she could do to help.

She quickly confirms that there are no civilians in the building and that the firefighters caught inside are wearing oxygen masks and tells the firefighters to keep hosing down the buildings.

Then she gets to her witchy work.

Using the awesome and OP power of probability manipulation, she manipulates the probability that all the oxygen in the area will just decide to not go near the fire.

OP AF.

But its a big thing to do so she can’t do it indefinitely. So she tells the firefighters to hose the buildings to drop the temperature so it doesn’t reignite when the oxygen rushes back in.

I do love how OP probability manipulation is. Without even needing to be straight up reality alteration!

People complaining that Wanda is too powerful to write around, she can sit comfortably in the ‘can move all the gas around but it takes effort’ level!

Do Anything powers makes her a good wild card for whatever nonsense you need to happen and one of the more powerful Avengers without being so powerful that she’s difficult to write around in a team context.

Anyway, as foreshadowed, Gyrich and Sikorski arrive and Gyrich immediately gets to Gyriching, complaining that it was too easy for him to access the mansion with but a simple card swipe.

Henry Peter Gyrich: “See here, Jarvis, it’s not that I don’t appreciate courtesy, but no one should be granted entrance without a security check!”

Jarvis: “Indeed, sir! Anyone might steal your card! That is why the two of you were scanned by a dozen or more devices by the time you passed our gates. You’ll be happy to know that your identities were verified. Otherwise our defensive systems would have dropped you where you stood!”

Sikorski: “D-dropped?”

Haha, eat shit, Gyrich.

Jarvis leads the two to meet Vision in the electronics laboratory.

Vision has. Made an interesting fashion choice.

You’ve seen it on the cover and boy does it also happen in the book.

Vision explains that the hat is some testing equipment he made to check the hardware after his recent time stuck in a tube. But its all good. He’s operating in peak condition and feeling amazing.

Gyrich isn’t impressed or assuaged and asks Vision if he was trying to start a panic with his press conference.

Vision: “Admittedly, I may not be the Avengers’ best spokesman, but, given the circumstances, I was all we had! I do appreciate and understand your concern, though, and I’m glad you’re both here. As you said, we’ve got a lost to discuss!

Vizh, you’re going to get the Avengers operating out of city buses again.

Meanwhile back over at the fire, while the fire chief is thanking Wanda for her help, a big flash lights up the sky, just like when the Avengers were spirited away last issue.

Wanda commandeers a police car to drive her to Central Park. You can do that when you’re an Avenger and have A1 (steak sauce?) priority.

Starfox also spots the flash while flying around the city and Mockingbird spots it from the Mansion.

In Central Park, on the exact spot where the six Avengers vanished, five of them plus Iron Man return. Also that large structure from before reappears too.

Only one issue and several days in-universe and the Avengers are already back! Minus She-Hulk. Where the hell is She-Hulk.

Iron Man (I’m assuming Rhodey) immediately takes off to go do Iron Man stuff. I think his armor has changed but I haven't been following the Iron Man book close enough to know for sure. I just don’t think the armor usually has little shoulder antenna.

The Avengers that were headed towards the giant flash start arriving for the happy reunion. Since Mockingbird was right across the road, she arrives first and throws herself into Hawkeye’s arms.

Awww.

Scarlet Witch asks the heroes returned where the hell they were and Cap says

Captain America: “You can find out all about it in the Secret Wars limited series, on sale soon!”

Naw, just kidding.

He says he’ll Explain It All when they get back to the Mansion. Because for reasons, he’s decided its best that the public not know about the Secret War.

Probably so the event’s title makes sense? Yeah, probably.

The cops that brought Wanda to the park go uhhhh but we need to take statements about where you’ve been so Cap(tain America) flashes his Avengers card which means he can do what he wants.

Captain America: “I’m afraid that any statements we make must be submitted at the federal level first. You understand.”

And the cops go yeah that sounds legit.

BUT WHAT ABOUT SHE-HULK?

Well, she joined the Fantastic Four, of course.

Wanna know why?

Captain America: “You can find out all about it in the Secret Wars limited series, on sale soon!” 

Yeah, we don’t get any more information except that she’s taking the Thing’s place on the foursome.

What happened to Ben Grimm?

Captain America: “You can find out all about it in the Secret Wars limited series, on sale soon!” 

It be like that.

So this isn’t the narrative reason but here’s the doylist reason. When Stern and Byrne were collaborating on that Annihilus story, Byrne decided he liked writing She-Hulk and that he wanted her. Stern apparently was cool with this and the character was shifted from one team to the other.

A couple years later, Byrne is going to write the Sensational She-Hulk series which sets the tone for the character. But based on an FF liveblog a friend is doing, Byrne does not hit the stride with She-Hulk while she’s in that book.

I’m a bit annoyed because I was really enjoying her in Avengers.

In a bit of a sad comedic beat, cabs still don’t want to stop for the seven foot green woman, even now that she’s wearing an FF uniform.

She-Hulk returns to Avengers Mansion for the post-event debriefing meeting where she runs into Captain Marvel looking melancholic.

Monica has come to a decision after being whisked away to an event for several days.

Captain Marvel: “I called my parents to let them know I was okay... In case they wondered where i was lately... and there was no answer!”

She-Hulk: “I take it they don’t know about your life as Captain Marvel yet?”

Captain Marvel: “Not yet. And after all we went through -- in that insane Secret War, I definitely want them to know, but -- !”

She-Hulk: “You’re not sure how to tell them?”

Captain Marvel: “Yeah.”

Yeesh, I wonder how Spider-Man dealt with disappearing for several days. He’s always on the knifes edge of his life just falling apart completely.

Captain Marvel and She-Hulk join the rest in the main assembly hall. Wasp and Vision are off in a private meeting. He was handling chairmen duties and making decisions and such while she was gone so she probably needs to debrief him personally.

As Hawkeye points out, the Avengers have two chairmen now and nine members.

Minutes later, Wasp and Vision emerge from the... I dunno, sub-assembly hall? Secondary assembly broom closet? Wherever they went to have a just them talk.

Wasp calls the meeting to order.

... And then immediately steps down as chairwoman??

;___;

RIP Wasp’s Totally Sweet Time Leading the Avengers, issue #217 - #243.

T-twenty-six issues isn’t a bad run...

I guess someone else should get the chance.

Like Vision. Who Wasp nominates.

Cap’s Biggest Fan Hawkeye nominates Captain America instead but Cap defers. His civilian career (cartoonist, I think?) has been pretty hectic.

So how about second her nomination of Vision then hmmmmmm Wasp suggests.

And that’s how Big Plans Vision gets voted the new chairman.

And he’s got big plans!

First! Since Thor and She-Hulk are going to be too busy doing Thor and Fantastic Four stuff to be active Avengers but are too cool to just completely cut from the roster just because Byrne decided he gets She-Hulk now, Vision creates a new type of Avengers status.

Vision: “I propose the establishment of a special ‘detached membership’ status. You would function as active members when you were available, and reservists when you were not.”

She-Hulk: “Hey, that sounds ideal.”

Thor: “Indeed!”

Everybody’s happy! Except Hawkeye because he can count and he’s still counting to seven when the max roster is supposed to be six. And he’s got a bad feeling that he’s unlucky number seven!

But Vision’s big plans don’t stop at saying that She-Hulk and Thor can pitch in whenever they’re around.

He’s also proposing the creation of a second team on the west coast. Some kind of............. West Coast Avengers, perhaps.

Between Gyrich and Sikorski arriving for the meeting with Vision and now, Gyrich has managed to get reassigned to new duties. Somehow.

Anyway, that means his understudy Mr. “I hate the superhero genre” Sikorski is their new NSA liason.

Mr. Sikorski: “I have spoken at length this afternoon with both the Wasp and the Vision, and I am prepared to offer full governmental backing for the establishment of a West Coast branch of the Avengers. I’ve been convinced that it’s a... logical solution. Perfectly logical!”

Weird to have an ellipses but okay.

And the person Vision has chosen to lead this new team?

None other than Hawkeye!

Oh, Clint, your dream is coming true and all you had to do was be vaguely antagonistic and obnoxious in the vicinity of the Avengers off and on for years to establish yourself!

Vision: “You’ve had years of experience as an Avenger, and you’ve worked with nearly everyone who’s ever been a member. You and Mockingbird can relocate quickly...”

In fact, its imperative that he do! He do relocate and get the West Coast team up and running ASAP!

Vision: “Mr. Sikorski has shown me frightening evidence of a new threat to freedom worldwide! Unless we prepare ourselves, this planet could be overrun by an alien race known as -- THE DIRE WRAITHS!!”

Huh. I guess that journalist was onto something.

And I guess its ROM time?

No. We had a Secret Wars, remember? And while that was doled out over a year, I’m going to go a little faster.

So next time, some Secret Wars.

Although, it was just the one war actually.

Follow @essential-avengers​ because you think I’m a cool person. Like and reblog because you have your reasons.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Winner’s Curse Ch. 21

I’m back and the story’s back! Hope you enjoy. It’s the final countdown. Only 9 more chapters to go. Enjoy!

“I can’t believe you’re actually going through with this!” Calix hissed once his mother walked through the door.

Circe hastily finished closing the door, taking extra care to double check the locks on the marble doorway, though Calix suspected that was more for the sake of gathering her thoughts together than caution. As suspicious and paranoid villains could be, Coven members rarely tried to intrude in each other’s rooms or meddle in their business. Probably an ego thing, thinking the doings of others were beneath them.

Not that this was important to Calix right now.

They were on crunch time. In a week, less than a week considering the sun was already setting today, the Coven would invade Auradon. Wrecking long-awaited vengeance, and chaos on Auradonians. Auradonians, who, if we’re being honest, were too sheltered and pampered to know how to slap much less defend themselves. There would be blood if they didn’t stop it.

And his mom, his mom who never tried to drag people to “the other side” or cared who was the fairest, who was not vying to be the baddest of them all, was still going along with this.

“Calix, I told you, there’s no other option.” Circe faced him, elegantly strutting toward the nearest ottoman where she could talk to him face to face. Just like the old times, when she would give him romance advice or assure him he would not die from alcohol poisoning, but that’s what he got for trying to drink Bacchus under the table.

Only instead of maternal advice, the son was the one trying to steer his mother away from murder.

“Yes, there is an option.” Calix stressed the last words, mangling the velvet cushions under his grip. The only thing keeping him from taking one of the many statues of muscled Greek heroes and throwing it against the walls in frustration.

“You still have the option to do the right thing. Join us. King Ben will grant full pardon for being part of the original Coven. You’ll be considered a hero.”

“Hmph! You’re right. If I reformed, then they’ll completely forget my crimes.” Circe said sarcastically.

“Oh right, I did do that! I stopped turning men, idiots really, into animals. I found love, I raised a son, made a business and they still sent me here! I’m sorry but there’s no right option.” Circe’s face lost her bitter scowl for a moment, returning to the maternal gesture reserved for him. One that conveyed comfort but also firmness, “Not for me. Life’s just not fair.”

“But Mom….” Calix whined, cringing at how childish it was but also feeling the pit in his stomach grow. He felt helpless. He’d always been able to get his Mom to see his point of view. But that had been in small disputes like whether he should be allowed to go to Orpheus’ concert on a school night or not grounding him for fighting with one of his cousins and punching him in the face. Minor things really.

None of them dealing with Circe’s values or worldview or any of her decisions.

This time he was trying to fight her on something she actually cared about. And gods, he was losing. Or maybe his mom was as stubborn as Minos and he simply hadn’t noticed it before.

Either one boded badly for his friends.

“I’m sorry, koukla. Honestly I wished I had you before the Great Uniting. You would have been there during the fires and earthquakes and all that. The “Life’s not fair” wouldn’t be so surprising.” Circe gripped his hand, rubbing her fingers lovingly. But it was only jarring for Calix. It was like some surreal, sick joke that his Mom was acting like their disagreement was over a menial thing and not life or death. Good and Evil.

So Calix snatched his hand from his Mom’s grasp and squared his shoulders. Time to get tough because clearly he couldn’t rely on motherly love to just do what he wanted. He’d have to be rational. Play to her sense of self, and what she would get out of this.

“Athena help me.” He prayed.

“I know life is not fair already, Mom. You think I didn’t realize that when they shipped you here. Life is not fair. But what I don’t get is that you won’t consider leaving the Coven. You’re not like them, you don’t want to kill anyone.”

“No,” Circe sighed in admittence, slumping and conceding to him. A little bit but it was something. “I just want to turn King Adam into that Beast form he hates so much. Wait, no, no. A slug. If he becomes a beast, he has too much power to fight back.”

Calix stood up and began to pace around the room, tapping his chin as if in thought that he’d seen Socretes do during his lectures before zinging a student with some philosophical epiphany, “Really? You’re sticking with them, murderers and tyrannical narcissists for petty revenge.”

“Not petty! I’ve always been a reasonable person!” Circe yelled, selectively forgetitng the many exes she transformed because she got bored with them, “He is punishing me for my past mistakes. This damn Isle is “consequences for my actions.” Bastard! I’m giving him consequences for his actions, he’s going to be a slug!”

Calix nodded as if he understood how his Mom felt. Which he had at one point. But now, he was tired and slightly bruised and again, so so tired. He wanted this to be over. The mission. The spying on the Coven. This stupid repetitive fight.

“Mom, you’re not like them. We both know that. But other people don’t. Auradon will only remember you as one of the many evil Coven members. Not a reformed sorceress injustly sent here, trying to get back to her-”

His mom looked at him, a rush of emotions crossing her face in an instant. Understanding, thoughtfulness, concern, anger, resolve and firmness. “Enough, Calix, I made up my mind. I have nothing left. With the Coven, I get some sweet revenge. What do I get if I reform? A pardon while that hypocritical King Adam waits for a new mob requesting for “villains” to get shipped.”

Firmness and resolve were flush on her face. Firmness and resolve to stick with the Coven.

Calix breathed deeply, feeling an unwanted lump gather in his throat as he listened to his mom make possibly the biggest mistake of their lives.

And worse, that she felt she had to do this because she had nothing left.

Was he not there? He was something… someone who desperately wanted her back home. He wanted her so badly that his chest ached as another weight settled there. Couldn’t she see that? This mission, this seriousness and emotional honesty that he usually avoided most of his life, he was doing this because he wanted her back.

And she thought she had nothing.

He couldn’t hide the emotion in his voice  though he did his best. “You have nothing left if you choose to help the good? You’d get to live in Greece again. With me, your son. But I guess I’m not worth… I’m not-you know, since you have “nothing left.”

He turn to walk out the room, barely remembering to walk out the room was to be exposed in the hallway for any of the Coven to jeer and question him. Who already distrusted his surprise presence. So he swerved onto the right where the mosaic of Hermes’ cadacus was like an arrow to the private bathroom. Not better but he wanted to be alone.

He breathed in the faint wisp of steam that pervaded the room. His mom’s paltry attempt to make the closet-sized space echo the bathhouses at home. It had the faint hint of rotten bananas, another reminder of the poverty and dirt of the Isle that everyone wanted to get away from.

He sat on the toilet, hugging his knees to his chest like he had when he was a little and peering through the keyhole at one of his mom’s parties. It was a perfect position for how he felt, like a little boy who could do nothing to change his world. Just stare through the keyhole in relative safety and wait to see what would happen next.

He was hidden and alone.

So alone as he could hear his mom’s footsteps as she walked, he could see a pause outside the door from the shadow that peeked from the floor. But she didn’t knock. She walked away, walked away to the other door into the hallway to do who knows what with the Coven.

Damn his mom with her ideas of being a cool free range parent. For once, he actually wanted one of those Auradon helicopter moms he heard about. Like FG, constantly getting into his business and not letting arguments go.

Could his mom not see the big picture?

While she was storming King Adam’s castle for her damn revenge, the rest of the Coven would be destroying the kingdom. People wouldn’t just get transformed into animals. Hades, that would be a blessing. People would get killed.

And how could she forget him? He was willing to fight for their mission, he knew that he would have to when he agreed to join Jordan, but did his Mom not realize if the Coven took over, they’d mark him for dead. They’d go behind her back and her claims of “protection” to make sure he wouldn’t start any rebellions like he was doing now.

He glanced around the small room, desperate for something to numbly occupy his mind before he thought about something darker. His eyes landed on the cabinet.

Any Greek worth their sandals would carry some ouzo in their homes, and since he hadn’t since a wine rack in his mom’s museum-like room…...

Sweet Nike! There was a whole shelf of shot glasses with ouzo already poured into them. Circe must have needed it to deal with living in this dump and all the villains around her.

If there was anything that would help him with the awful weight on his chest, it would be this.

He lifted one shot glass to his lips and drank, relishing the sweet burning liqued that went down his throat as smoothly as a waterfall.

Then he took another glass, and he was about to reach for the third when a small, quiet voice reminded him that there was still a mission at stake. He had to report back to Uma and the others and give them the bad news that his mom would definitely not be helping them.

Normally, that reminder would have sent him to gulping down four more drinks but this time it stilled his hand.

Like he told his mother, there was a bigger picture at stake than just her revenge. There were bigger things at stake than his own feelings of sadness. He slowly closed the cabinet, leaning his head against the cool mirror. He tried to do the deep breathing and focus.

This was hard. Gods, it was hard, he had known that going in.

And okay, maybe he’d known that but hadn’t believed it until this moment.

He had thought it would be fun, just like another one of those adventures or a fairytale.

Auradon was built on fairytales and he had thought there would take the requisite two or three days, they fight a dragon or two and then they’d go home in victory and as a family.

But it’d been a month, they found out the villain’s grand plan but had no way to solve it and now, he was having personal issues with his mom.

This would be a good time for what Jordan dubbed, a deus ex machine or just in time denouncement.

“Life’s not fair.” That’s what his Mom said. Not just now, but several times. When his dad died, speared by an Arendellan fisherman’s net. Yet another thing Circe despised King Adam for, because those fishermen came from the King’s initiative for kingdoms to share their resources.

The Arendellans hadn’t been properly vetted, or simply hadn’t paid attention to the orientation that not all sirens were trying to siren-song them to their deaths. That some simply lounge around the oceans because it was literally their home.

He had learned that after he experienced his first time being dumped last year. Which honestly had been more of a shock than a devastation but still.

His mom being sent away had been the worst by far. This coming in a close second.

But in all the times, he learned that life was not fair. He also learned to deal with it and try to keep moving with his life. At one point there had been nothing he would have liked more to have stormed the castle and changed all the suspicious mobs into mice. That’s why he made friends with Morgaine Le Fey. She was the only one who understood the anger and pain he felt, and it felt good to share his revenge fantasies.

But that’s all they were. Fantasies. Rationally, he knew that would only prove their fears right.

Calix learned to adjust his attitude a bit after his mom left, trying his best to stay out of trouble now that his mother wouldn’t be able to bail him out of the dungeon. Also he was more aware of how people viewed him in light of his siren-sorcerer heritage. Where once he played up his casanova flirtatiousness, now he tried to moderate himself.

And he had been fine.

Part of his outgoingness was a purposefully middle finger to the Auradonian Magic Ban. He played up all the things the royals hated like awesome kinky sex, and lavish magic acts because what else could he do? He had no reason to go to a fancy school with the preppy royals. But he also couldn’t pursue a normal job since the magic that was part of him was forbidden.

So there was nothing to do but get into the dungeons a lot.

But in trying to curb himself into something more “acceptable,” it was annoying but also nice?

Sure, he had resented it at first, but it was also nice?

Not trying so hard to be so unflappable, to have a pick up line for every man and woman. Stop trying to hide the fact that occasionally he wanted to act like that romantic prince archtype who wrote poems and made sculptures for their beloved because sirens didn’t do that. To hide that he could be serious, that his feelings got hurt when someone, usually a satyr because satyrs are cranky assholes, crossed a line. Maybe it was adapting, maybe he was growing up?

He didn’t know, but he lifted his head from the mirror and the twitch in his hands to reach for another shotglass was gone.

It was time to man up and be serious. It sucked that his mom wasn’t going to help, but he still had a job to do to save Aurado. After all, maybe if they saved the Coven, KIng Ben would allow his mom back as a favor. Jordan was always saying he was a sweet pushover. Yeah, there was still a chance he could get his mom off the Isle. And then-

“Hey, Cal, how are you doing?” A warm breeze ruffled his hair in a show of pink smoke and there was Jordan leaning her chin in the crook of her neck like the most annoying yet heartstopping ghost ever.

Calix choked back a scream, losing his balance at the sight of another person in front of the mirror. This fall resulted in Calix hitting his head several times against the door in his ungraceful slide down the wall.

Probably looking more like a scandelized royal than a put together teenager with his hand clutching his heart, Calix gasped for his pulse to go back to normal.

“Fucking genies! Jordan, I told you, warn me before you pop up. Remember, you had that whole lesson about the importance of knocking before entering? It’s the same thing, I almost had a fucking heart attack!”

Jordan didn’t care, she simply raised an accusatory eyebrow, “Are you drinking?”

How the fuck did she always know that? Calix was sincerely starting to suspect that she planted a magic tracer on him. The number of times she popped when he was having a drink was too coincenidental. Or maybe he just drank all the time?

Whatever, it didn’t matter. He was a new, mature Calix now.

“Just a shot-” Calix held up a hand before Jordan could interrupt him, “Just a shot. But I stopped because we have bigger things to worry about like how my mom isn’t on our side.” Jordan slid down to sit next to him, “You stopped because I came in time, admit it.”

Calix rolled his eyes, “No, it wasn’t that. I stopped but I listened to the Jiminy Cricket that I finally released from the dungeons of my brain.”

Jordan put a hand on his, the serious anxious look that had become her normal expression the past month returned, “Calix, I know this thing with your mom is hard, but now is not the time to fall apart. Things will get better, I don’t know how, but I need you to promise me not to touch alcohol.”

Calix stared at Jordan, realizing that this wasn’t one of their usual banters. She really thought he was going to go on a binge, right at this moment.

Yes, Calix had done that before. The days after his father’s death for instance and his mom’s absence. But he hadn’t been on an high stakes mission then. It was just himself and his grief.

But to binge drink, when someone was depending on him. Never. She knew that. When they had a night on the town with Aziz, he had been the sober one. He refused the drinks his way because someone had to be the designated carpet flyer. And filmer of embarrassing drunken antics.

Though Jordan may have been too drunk to notice herself, his self-imposed maturity.

But did she really think that he’d fall apart at this moment when he managed to keep himself together for the past seven months. For the 4 weeks on this hellish Isle?

“Jordan, I am not on a bender.” Calix enunciated each word carefully, staring her straight in the eye so she could he was serious. A bit of an intimidating feat if Calix was being honest with himself. Not because it was Jordan, but because… well the only one he was serious or honest was with his mom. But there was a first time for everything.

“I am not drinking on this mission. The shot was a lapse but I know I’m on a bigger mission right now, so I stopped.” “But you never-”

“I used to. But I have matured. We all have matured if you haven’t noticed. The usual doesn’t apply here, so I promise you, I’m not going to drink my sorrows away. There is too much at stake.”

Jordan looked a bit freaked out by his proclamation because she was staring at him all wide-eyed, “But-are you sure? I don’t think you’re capable of-”

Calix clenched his jaw and glared. It was one thing for himself to be surprised at his maturity but it was kind of insulting that it was so hard for his best friend to comprehend. That apparently she thought he was “incapable” of change.

“Yes, I am. So are you going to insult me some more or would you like to carry on with important things like how are we going to pull this off without my mom’s extra power?”

Jordan closed her mouth, satisfactorily chastened. And then in another milestone of their first emotional talk, Jordan muttered under her breath, “Sorry.”

Eh, not really meaningful but it was enough.

“It’s fine.” Calix nudged her shoulder with his to show their was no real hard feelings.

Jordan didn’t look at him but leaned her head on his shoulder, “I’ve been messing up so much lately.”

Calix pursed his lips, not trusting himself to not say something that would send her in a mood. He’d seen her being all moody and mopy the last few days though he didn’t know the exact reason. She was probably regretting giving the leadership position to Uma (drunken decisions are rarely ones you enjoy the consequences of) but Calix thought she made a good choice. Uma was a bit stern and intimidating, but she knew she was doing and was more effective than Jordan could ever be.

He also sensed the tension between her and Aziz. Especially since that meant she was hanging around him more. Usually he wouldn’t mind that, but this was hanging out with an ulterior motive and he wasn’t going to get in the middle of whatever Agrabah sandstorm that was between them.

“Hey, you still have me. Besides, now we’re having that alone time talk that the heroes and sidekicks or the love interests have before they save the day. We can check that off our adventure list.” Jordan lifted her head from his shoulder to stare at him incredulously, “Wait whose the sidekick in the scenario?”

“You are, obviously! You’re the genie.” Calix said.

“Wha-but but-why can’t we be love interests?” Jordan protested. “We’re already friends with benefits. It’s too late for us.” Calix answered. “Well, I-”

There was a knock on the door, and a tentative, “Calix?” “I‘ll leave you to it, Uma says to report at 4 sharp.” Jordan whispered, and poofed away.

Calix opened the door, feeling more calm, “Yes, Mom?” Calix was swept into the warm arms of his mom, the smell of sea salt and roses sweeping over him as she hugged him tighter. Firm, steady, like she wasn’t going to let him go.

But she did, holding onto his shoulders, “I’m sorry, Calix. You’re right.”

“I am?” Calix asked, almost hitting himself in the head for questioning it instead of just celebrating.

“Yes, you’re right. I went to another meeting and I listened. I actually listened instead of envisioning what I would do with Beast.. And.. it’s stupid to say this. But they’re evil. Actually evil. It’s not just a “cross the border and destroy everything in sight” plan. They- they’re actually thorough. Mother Gothel and Evil Queen are using sorcery and the dwarf tunnels to get through to the castle. Nerissa and Maleficent are going to go in double dragon form and burn down the castle and corner the royal children in the basement. It’s just-I- I can’t ally myself with them.”

Circe’s eyes brimmed, “Especially when I have a son… I do want to come back to you. My revenge shouldn’t be before you.”

Calix nodded, pulling his mom in for another hug because gods knew they haven’t done this in a long time.

Now they had to report to the captain.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “Any idea where that wench is now?” Harry snarled, slamming down a glass of rum so roughly that CJ could hear the crack of glass as well see as the spider-cracks on its side from her position behind the window curtains.

It was a cliche spot. So obvious that no one would think to look there, and that’s why CJ chose it.

After all, a true pirate and a true villain had to keep track of her competition.

After last night’s, in CJ’s opinion, humiliating talk with the mini Ak Coven or whatever they called themselves, it was clear that Lady Caine was not going to honor her word.

Well… Lady Caine hadn’t said that they wouldn’t use her plan to take over the Jolly Roger, in fact she had asked for CJ’s plan outlines, but…

CJ bristled at the way Caine had shoved her aside and wouldn’t let her speak in front of the group. As if she was an afterthought. A kiddie tagalong.

It was too familiar a feeling. It was like she was one of the Hook siblings again. The youngest one, the baby trying to play an adult’s game.

And after all she’d done, getting to Auradon on her own before Harriet or Harry, going to Neverland to retrieve James Hook’s compass, stealing and plundering across the Seven Seas…. Everyone still didn’t see her as a pirate in her own right.

By Davy Jones’ locker that was all going to change even if that was that was the last thing she did! Screw Lady Caine, supposed mother or not, she didn’t need anyone’s assistance. She didn’t want to be part of Lady Caine’s revenge on Beast plan.

All she wanted was to be on her ship, on her own with her infamy riding the waves.

She was going to plunder the Jolly Roger by herself.

So she snuck out of Hans and Staylan’s castle… Actually, disappointingly enough to CJ’s sense of showmanship, it was more like she walked out of the castle since no one cared where she went anyway.

And now she hid out in Captain Hook’s office behind the curtains in hopes of hearing of any plans or information that would be helpful to CJ’s future theft.

Unfortunately Hook was not the one using the office. Apparently he was blacked out in his bedroom.

Harriet and Harry were the ones in charge of Hook’s office. Harriet being the heir to the Jolly Roger.

CJ grinded her teeth, a stupid childhood habit that she thought she had outgrown. Along with her more obsessive pacing, a Hook trademark with their fear of ticking crocodiles. CJ bit her lip instead trying to curb her instincts but teh word “heir” just irritated her to no end.

Why should Harriet be the heir? Seriously!?!

Her sister was tough. One of the baddest, most intimidating Vks with her scarred eye, tattered eyepatch and half shaved head. Not to mention the numerous kraken-inspired tattoos running down her arms and neck. Yeah, she looked the part of a seafaring pirate.

But she didn’t do anything worth the name of piracy.

She inherited the crew from Captain Hook, an easy feat since they were spineless swabs, brainless and obedient.

They were sidekicks whose idiocy often hindered their looting runs than helped. Much like Smee was the clueless thorn that ruined most of Hook’s plans.

Besides, everyone knew that things stolen on the Isle were useless and valueless. The biggest treasure chest that Harriet ever stole was one of Captain Hook’s old buried treasures. The coins rusted over or chewed by sea mammals.

A rotting bone would have been more bright and shiny than that treasure.

And Harry….

Harry never bothered to fight for himself. He lowered the Hook name by acting as a little enforcer and first mate to that sea witch, Uma.

CJ couldn’t believe she once idolized them.

“Dun know. Don’t care.” Harriet rasped, wiping her lips, and rolling her eyes in that bored babysitter way that CJ and Harry seen their whole lives.

Harriet was a pirate without ambition. Yet another reason why she, Calista Jane Hook, should be the famous Hook of them all.

“The welp is scheming against us, how can you not care?” Harry growled

“Because it is just another game to her. She’ll get bored with the ship and go off again. You knwo her, obsesses with one thing and moves on. It doesn’t matter.”

CJ clenched her fist, her grinding teeth sounding obnoxiously loud in her head. Another game. Moves on. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter.

She was still a kid to them. How can they not see how serious she was? Why couldn’t they once admit that she was a good pirate.

Why couldn’t they do that?

She knew they were capable of it. When they were younger, they didn’t hold to their Dad’s value that you couldnt say a nice thing about anyone but yourself. Or a particularly gorgeous jewel.

But they didn’t dismiss her like Dad. They acknowledged her quick thinking and even quicker fingers. Her strength in swinging on ropes for her piraty entrances.

Why couldn’t they do that now? It’s like they and the rest of the world grew up, but they didn’t think she did. She was still an inconsequential child. She didn’t matter.

And a thought… dark and unwelcome like the girl’s shadow creatures entered her mind.

Freddie’s warm, sultry smile and bright eyes looking at her with unbidden delight. The kind of smile that made CJ forget about the fresh sweet smell of sea kelp calling to her or golden treasures blinding her eyes. The smile that made her want to fall into Freddie’s dark spell and nimble fingers until she forgot what light was.

The same, curving lips telling her that she wasn’t worth it. That Freddie would rather stay in Auradon than sail the seas with her. That she’d rather change herself so she could be a goody goodie among the luxuries of Auradon than be with her. That’d she’d rather be like Mal and those other traitors than be with her.

Cj bit her lip harder, trying to find one thought any thought that would distract her from the memory that was threatening to make her sink to her knees.

Freddie Faciliar, for all that CJ tried to distance herself from the shadow girl, relegating her to sidekick, to simply a best friend and occasional lover… Freddie was one treasurer she had had that she loved most of all.

And even Freddie rejected her.

What was it? With all her skills and ambition that no one would take her seriously? That no one respected or wanted her enough to listen.

Freddie’s green eyes flashed once more in her mind, fading and fading much like Freddie herself from CJ’s life.

No one wanted to stay with her.

CJ grinded her teeth again, a small spark of pride and fury flaring up in her despite the limited amount of movement she could without being caught. Anger was better than weakness or sadness. She had to focus on that.

Her time would come.

The day of the invasion, when everyone was distracted, she would take her rightful place alongside Ching Shih and Captain Hook as a pirate for the history books.

She would take that sword mounted on Captain Hook’s wall and use it for herself. She’d make this brainless, spineless crew walk the plank. She’d cut the ropes and sail through the barrier.

She’d kill anyone who got in her way.

And if that person was her sibling, so be it. Then they’d take her seriously.

After all, a pirate needed to be ruthless and backstabbing to be the best.

Because that was who she was. The best pirate the Isle and Auradon had ever seen.

[reverseblackholeofwords]

Means to an End (pt. 4)

Part 3

Chase rubs his hands up and down the doctor’s arms. “Breathe with me okay? In... hold it... and out. Okay, okay, you did good. Again.” He coaches him through a few more breaths, but Henrik just shakes his head and loses control all over again.

He’s been holding it together for so long. It was always only a matter of time, but even now he’s cursing himself for falling apart so completely. And in front of his brothers, too. He’s supposed to be the one that fixes the problems, not the one that starts them, and here he is crying like a baby and clinging to his youngest brother like he’s a lifeline.

“Jackie, turn the lights off okay? And brew some coffee.” Chase looks up at the hero who seems all but panicked himself. He’s strong, but he never handles these sorts of things well. So Chase knows it’s best to give him a job to do, something he can contribute, and the smell of coffee always puts Henrik in a better mood. “How about I tell you a story, Hen? Will that help?”

Henrik hardly responds, a jerk of his head that might be a sharp intake of breath and might be a nod of affirmation, but Chase takes it as the latter and pulls Henrik to his chest to begin. He does this with his kids when they wake from a nightmare, so maybe it’ll work now. “I didn’t join the channel at a very good time, I know that, but when I did, when I saw that all the fans loved and supported me, it felt... wild to instantly be part of something so big.”

He runs his fingers through Henrik’s hair and leans back against the wall behind him. “But it was scary, too. I was worried that I’d mess up or that people would realize Jack hadn’t come back from the Halloween attack yet, and I knew I was supposed to be some kind of distraction... But you never made me feel that way.” Chase laughs a little. “You were so relieved to finally have a ‘normal’ brother. Do you remember telling me that? You said you’d had it with heroes and magicians, and I was such a nice surprise. That made me feel incredible.”

He can hear the bubbling and hissing of the coffee brewing in the kitchen, and Henrik visibly relaxes as the shaking finally leaves his body. “Even when things are at their worst, you’ve been strong for us, and I appreciate that. But maybe you should take a load off, bro. Maybe let us be strong for a bit?”

Schneep bites his lip, tears still streaming down his face, pooling at the point of his chin and dripping onto Chase’s shirt. “I’m supposed to fix zings. But I-I can’t fix anyzing anymore. Anti... he broke our family. Vhat do-vhat do ve do now?”

Chase feels a pang of sadness in his chest and has to take a deep breath to get around it as he says, “We get up every day. We do the things, and we come home and hold onto each other. We fall apart, but we pull ourselves back together. And one day, maybe we won’t fall quite as hard.”

“But Jack...”

“Will wake up. He’s strong, too.” Chase doesn’t know if he believes what he’s saying, but he wants to. And maybe, just maybe if he says them enough, they’ll be true. “He’ll come back to us, just watch and see.”

Marvin and Jackie edge their way into the room, and after a smile and a nod from Chase, they kneel down around Henrik, Jackie with a cup of coffee and Marvin with a few of his fresh baked cookies. Both have an apology. “Sorry I snapped at you this morning. It’s not your fault I’m a grouchy jerk.” Marv holds out the little tin of cookies, and Henrik takes them shakily.

“And I’m sorry that I haven’t been honest with you.” Jackie pushes the mug across the floor to Schneep. “I guess I haven’t been doing as well as I’d hoped either. Maybe we’re all falling to pieces, like Chase said.”

Henrik brushes the tears from his face and sighs, sitting up. “Vhen I lost ze clinic back in November, I... I zought I vould be useless to you all, so I’ve been taking jobs from people, under ze table stuff.” He cleans the tears from his glasses on his shirt. “I had to, for Jack, you know? But I hated how bad it made me feel to hide zis from you all.” He puts his glasses back on and takes a deep breath. “But now you know.”

They all rather awkwardly reach for each other at once, a group hug of hurt feelings and tired eyes and finally mending hearts. Something sparks then, a weird sort of electrical charge that has the air tasting like burnt wires. “Vhat vas...” Henrik asks slowly, knowing instinctively that somehow whatever that was came from him, before he hears something moving in the other room.

“Jackie? Marv? Henrik?” A pause. “Guys? What happened?”

The Egos look at one another in shock before they all simultaneously bolt for Jack’s room.

[5ivebyfive]

i live for soft trimberly so if you would want? them tending to each other’s wounds and just overall cuteness *

Hope you enjoy this! cw for blood/bruises/cussing

Kimberly walked down the stairs of her large, almost empty house, and went around the corner into the living room. In her arms were first aid supplies; every one that they owned. She entered the living room and saw Trini, her very best friend and her very biggest crush, sitting on the edge of the couch. She had her arms resting on her legs and her hands bundled up in her yellow shirt. Blood stained the shirt where it hid her hands, and Kim was sure Mrs. Gomez would never get it out. She was also sure that Trini wouldn’t give her mom a chance to try, lest she be berated with questions.

Trini had cuts on her face by her mouth and eyebrow, and one long one along her cheek. The bruising already began to set in around her eyes and jaw, and they looked painful. With a sigh, Kim walked into the room and over to her best friend.

“Okay, this is everything I could find.”

“I told you I’m fine.”

Kimberly raised a brow. “You’re not fine, Trini. Even with our advanced healing, you’re going to be hurting the rest of the day. At least let me clean you up.”

Trini’s eyes darted to Kim, to her face, to the supplies in her arms, then finally away. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Thank you.” Kim knelt down in front of the couch and dumped everything onto the floor. She took the damp rag from her shoulder and looked up at Trini above her. That was weird. It was always the other way around. And she was used to Trini being the one to mend everyone. She always insisted on it, and they all gave in and let her. She rarely got hurt badly enough to need mending of her own. She seemed to like wearing her wounds as a symbol, for as long as they lasted. Kim wondered why she had a crush on such a frustrating girl. “Hands,” she said. 

Trini met Kimberly’s gaze and stared at her a moment before reluctantly pulling her hands from her shirt and hissing as the fabric brushed over them. Kim took one in her own hand and examined it. The knuckles were red, split open, and bleeding. The blood seemed to be coagulating, the bleeding slowing, but they were pretty nasty wounds. She glanced up, catching Trini watching her. Trini’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. Kim just smiled softly. “I can’t believe you got into a fight. That’s one of the rules, you know.”

“Gonna tell WallDad on me?” Trini’s head tilted, challenging. 

“No. I’m just saying...” Kim lowered her gaze again and ran the damp towel over Trini’s knuckles. Trini hissed and pulled her hand away.

“Jesus, Hart.”

“Not Jesus,” Kim replied. She reached for Trini’s hand and tried to pull it back, but Trini held it up high. “Don’t be a baby, Gomez. I have to clean it.”

“Well how’s about using something other than sandpaper?” Trini asked grumpily as she offered her fist back.

Kim took it. “Baby,” she said again. She shot Trini a look before going back to wiping the blood from Trini’s skin. Some of it was already caked on, and she worked as delicately as she could. Trini kept quiet aside from a few hisses of pain. “Why did you get into a fight? And who were you fighting?”

“Don’t know who he was,” Trini half answered. Kim noticed the omission and didn’t push.

“He must not have been half bad,” she said.

“Please,” Trini huffed. “I had him. Til you came out of nowhere and pulled me out of it.”

“You were five seconds from getting busted! You should be thanking me! Unless you want Saturday detentions until the end of the year.”

“What’s a few more?” Trini lifted her shoulder in a shrug.

“You know...your little bad ass bravado is really unappealing sometimes.”

“Should I be more appealing, Princess?” Trini teased. She did that. She would occasionally get that tone, a look on her face, and she’d tease Kim. As if she knew. And it flustered Kim every time. Including then.

“I...you...Trini.” She glared up at her best friend for a moment before finishing up on her hand. “Other one.” She took Trini’s other hand and started to do the same with it. “Why were you fighting someone you don’t know?”

“Can’t we drop it?”

“No. We can’t. You’re in my living room bleeding all over the place. I should be able to ask.”

“He was just some Douche Bro,” Trini said, almost a whine. 

“And what did Douche Bro do?”

“He was talkin’ shit and I didn’t wanna hear it,” Trini answered. Kim looked up at her and Trini had her lips set in a thin line, her jaw set. ( Oh, her jaw. How Kimberly loved that jaw. )

“About you?” Trini was silent and Kim continued her work. Silence surrounded them as Kim finished and picked up the antiseptic spray. “This will hurt,” she warned. Trini’s hand closed over Kim’s and Kim stared at that for a moment before pulling herself out of it. She aimed the bottle over Trini’s knuckles and sprayed.

“MOTHERFUCKING HORSESHIT!” Trini shouted. She pulled her hand in and shook it. “Damn Hart! Are you tryin’ to kill me?!”

It was a relief to Kim that her parents weren’t home for once. She watched Trini’s overreactions with a small smile and waited for the other girl to calm down. Eventually, Trini relaxed and let out a breath.

“Not doin’ that again.”

“Yes, we are.”

“I’ll be fine, Princess. You cleaned my hands, I’m good.” Trini started to get up, but Kim pushed her back down with her Ranger strength. “Kimberly!”

“I’m not going to keep saying it,” Kim said, her voice hard and in charge. “I’m cleaning you up.��

Trini stared at Kim with a certain look in her eyes that Kim couldn’t read. She tried, but she still didn’t know all of her best friend’s looks, and this was one of them. There was something about it though that turned her on, and she didn’t need  that at the moment. She stuffed it away and cleared her throat.

“Okay. Next hand.” She held her own hand out, and it took a moment of hesitation, but Trini placed her hand in it. Kim smiled reassuringly and gave Trini’s hand a squeeze. “Count of three?” Trini nodded. “One, two-” And she sprayed.

“TITTY FUCKER!”

That one amused Kim. She bit her lips to hold back her laughter and waited for Trini to calm down. It took a moment. 

“We’re done with that foul shit, right?” Trini asked.

“No, we’re not.” Kim shook her head. She got up on her knees so she could get closer to Trini, and found herself directly face to face with the girl who had her heart. Trini stared at her silently, and Kim found herself at a loss for words. Trini was beautiful, even all beat up. Their faces were only inches apart, and Kim’s heart pounded hard in her chest. She was admiring the golden flecks in Trini’s eyes when she heard her speak.

“Now what?”

“Um.” It was all she could get out at the moment, and she kicked herself because she was so much cooler than this! She had game. Where was it?! “Your...face,” she said slowly. 

“What about my face?” That teasing tone was back in Trini’s voice, and Kim kind of wanted to punch her.

“We have to clean it up,” she replied, finding herself again. She lifted the rag to Trini’s brow and started to wipe it, her eyes on the spot instead of getting lost in Trini’s eyes again. She was focusing hard, forcing herself to, and she could feel Trini’s eyes on her. There was something thick in the room suddenly, and she didn’t know how to stop it. Didn’t know if she wanted to, because she liked the shivers and zings that it brought. She finished cleaning that brow and moved to the other. She was holding her breath and didn’t realize it until she needed to breathe in.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. She finished on the brow and pulled back, looking at Trini’s face, and she was overcome with a need to lean forward and kiss her. She knew she couldn’t. Trini didn’t see her in that way. Probably didn’t even know Kim was bisexual. It wasn’t something Kim talked about. “So...” she said, trailing off. Her eyes fell to Trini’s lips and the cut on them, and she steeled herself. She was determined to clean Trini’s wounds. So she took Trini’s chin in her hand and tipped her head back and ran the cloth against the lips that she dreamed about. It didn’t take much, and when she finished something made her look up to Trini’s eyes. The girl was staring at her, her eyes darker than usual, and Kim stilled the cloth on her lips. 

The two stared at each other for a long moment, something there between them. Kim felt it and she wondered if Trini did, too.

“He was talkin’ shit about you,” Trini said softly, slightly muffled due to the cloth on her lips.

“What?” Kim moved the towel.

“He was sayin’ some shit about you. Like...” She rolled her eyes. “Like things he’d do to you. I had to do something.”

“So you...were defending my honor?”

“Why you gotta say it like that?” Again, she rolled her eyes. “No. I was just putting him in his place.”

“You fought him for me,” Kim said, amazed.

“When you say it like that, I regret it,” Trini grumbled.

“You’re...so stupid!” Kim swatted her shoulder with the towel. “People talk shit, it happens. You can’t fight everyone that does!”

“I can damn well try.”

“No. You’re better than that. You’re a Power Ranger.”

“Exactly. So they don’t know who they’re messin’ with.”

“Trini...”

“What? You want him out there saying....what he said?”

“No, but-”

“Right. No. So I did the right thing,” Trini argued. She tried to get up. “We done?”

“No! We’re not done!” Kim yanked on Trini’s leg and made her fall back into her seat. “You need Neosporin and band-aids.” 

“And cover up my awesome wounds?”

“Yes. They heal better that way.”

“They’ll be healed by morning anyway.”

“That is not the point, Trini Gomez.” Kim picked up the tube of antiseptic cream and opened it. “Just sit there,” she ordered harshly. She got to work putting the cream on all of Trini wounds, then opened up the box of band-aids, and she started putting band-aids everywhere that she could. When she was done, Trini had band-aids everywhere but on her lips. “Now, we’re done,” she said, up on her knees with her hands on Trini’s knees. She looked at Trini pointedly, and Trini stared back at her with that same indescribable look as before. 

“Thank, Princess,” Trini said softly. 

“You would do it for me.”

“Yeah, I would.”

Kim reached up and ran a light touch over the bruise on Trini’s jaw. Trini flinched slightly, but kept still otherwise. “I can’t do much about this.”

“That’s okay,” Trini said, mumbled again. 

Kim met Trini’s eyes again and gulped. Trini had something on her mind, Kim could tell. She was almost afraid to ask what it was. “I guess...we’re done,” she said. She began to stand, but Trini reached out and wrapped a hand around her wrist to hold her there. Kim frowned and sent her friend a questioning look, but before she could ask, Trini leaned down and kissed her.

She was surprised, and didn’t move her lips for a moment. Was it really happening? Why? What changed? Oh right, kissing. She started to move her lips against Trini’s, but Trini shot back, holding a hand over her own lips.

“Ow!”

“Oh!” Kim reached out. “I’m sorry! Shit. I’m sorry!”

Trini shook her head. “It’s okay. It’s, uh...okay.” She reached out and held Kim’s face in her hand then leaned down and tried to kiss her again. Kim’s eyes closed and she kissed Trini as softly as she could. She felt Trini’s thumb brushing her cheek and she sighed. It was better than she had ever imagined it.

After a moment, the kiss brief but sweet, Trini pulled back. Kim kept her eyes closed for a second then opened them and looked at her friend. She had so many questions for Trini, but she couldn’t get a single one out.

“I won’t let anyone talk badly about you,” Trini whispered.

“Thank you,” Kim whispered back.

“Did I at least earn some cuddle time?”

“Yeah...you did,” Kim nodded. She got up and sat in the corner of the couch, and Trini moved over and curled up in her lap. Kim smiled as she started to stroke Trini’s hair. The cuddling was something they did a lot of, and Kim always thought that her pinning was one-sided, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe, just maybe, Trini wanted everything that she did.

“You really are a baby when it comes to fixing you up,” Kim commented idly, a smirk on her lips.

“I swear to god, Hart, I’ll knock you out, too.”

“You could try.”

“And succeed,” Trini said.

“I don’t think so.”

“I do.”

“Hmm,” Kim hummed. “Know what I think?”

“What’s that, Princess?”

And Kim leaned in and kissed her. And Trini kissed Kim back.

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Balance on the Head of a Pin

Chapter Thirty-Six

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Loki Odinson x OFC  |  Word Count: 7301 Warnings: Swearing, smexy, angst, violence

Lauren stretched her arms up over her head as she walked into the kitchen and smiled back at Loki when he made an unintelligible noise. “Somethin’ wrong, peaches?”

“You know very well your shirt rides up when you do that, darling. Stop being coquettish,” he grumbled, pouting when she slipped out of reach of his grasping hands.

“None of that now. You know they’ll all be down here beggin’ for breakfast within the next hour. It’s your own fault, puttin’ me in this mess. You and Sadie,” she huffed. “Now not only am I cookin’ for the bottomless pits of the masses, but I’ve got to put a basket up for auction, too.” Already fretting, she yanked open the door to the fridge.

“Lauren,” Loki sighed and slipped up behind her to place his hands on her hips. “If you dislike it so much, why don’t we simply give Sadie and Marcus whatever monetary equivalent will satisfy them excusing you from this event?”

“Bite your tongue!” she huffed. “I already said I’d do it, and whether or not I hate it is beside the point. Participatin’ and showin’ my support for their foundation is. I can’t just back out.” Even if she did despise the idea of standing on a stage again. She preferred to be the assistant, the one who took the notes, answered the calls, and arranged events. Behind the scenes was a perfect place to be.

“My heart,” Loki murmured and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “You do not have to do anything that makes you this anxious. Had I known it would upset you so, I would have rejected the idea wholeheartedly last night.”

She sighed and closed the fridge to turn and face him. “It’s not all the picnic. I’m nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs over the kids and these people and everythin’ with Samuel.” Lauren dropped her forehead to his polo shirt covered chest.

He was dressed as immaculately as always, the deep blue of his shirt a complement to his eyes, while she had refused to let him dress her just yet, preferring to tug on a pair of cutoffs and a tank top in sunshine yellow. She’d brought the clothes, she may as well wear them, and as she would be cooking on what was already announcing itself as a scorcher of a day, Lauren had no desire to be overdressed next to a hot stove. Even her signature ponytail had been exchanged for a messy loop to keep her hair off her neck.

“Elskan min,” he crooned, bringing her closer to his body by tightening his arms. “I told you. Everything is under control. The call which needed to be made has been. Soon the others will be caught up, and then this will be over. As for breakfast…” he flicked out his wrist, and the kitchen island was covered in enough food to stuff an elephant.

Plates of pancakes were piled high along with massive bowls of whip cream, mixed berries, and sliced peaches. The bowl with the strawberries sat separate, an omaĝe to Pepper’s allergy that turned Lauren’s heart over at Loki’s thoughtfulness. There were servers of bacon, eggs, and a platter of muffins still steaming as if she’d just taken them out of the oven.

“Loki!” Lauren gasped, “I think that’s cheatin’.” She couldn’t help but smile at his playful way around things.

“They will never know the difference. Now, about this basket…” He flicked his fingers a second time and had one appear at the end of the counter. “There. Fried chicken, the salad thing with the potatoes your Gran made, that delicious Hummingbird Cake, and a bottle of Asgard’s finest wine, along with fruits and cheeses of course.”

“Of course,” she snickered. “Have you left me anythin’ to do this mornin’?”

“You can make the coffee. Yours is always far superior to anything the others make.”

Lauren chuckled and tried to escape his hold only to find herself backed into the cold metal of the stainless steel refrigerator. She gasped in surprise and gave a breathy moan when Loki’s tongue slipped into her mouth.

His hand found its way beneath her top to cup and mould her satin encased breast. Even through the thicker padding of her bra he found her nipple and rubbed his thumb back and forth across it. “You can make it in a moment,” he said, grinding his pelvis into hers. “After I have my fill of you.”

“Insatiable,” she teased and wrapped her arms around his neck. He’d already had her when the sun had risen, rolling her beneath him to make slow, sweet love, and then again when they’d showered together, holding her up against the wall, taking her hard and fast. “I’m not havin’ sex with you in the kitchen, Loki.”

“That is what you think,” he growled and jerked her off the floor, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist.

“That is what I think. I’ll do a lot of things with you, peaches, but fuckin’ in the open where any old soul can walk in on us? That’s a big ol’ no.” Sure he could hide them with magic, but she wasn’t taking the chance he’d get distracted.

“Fine,” he huffed and carried her toward the butler’s pantry where he plopped her butt down on the counter. “Better, wife?”

“Much, but I’m still not havin’ sex with you in the pantry.”

He growled from his position, his forehead now pressed to her chest in frustration. “You are impossible, woman.” Loki huffed before relaxing against her to look up. “Just what would constitute an acceptable place for me to seduce you, my heart if I cannot convince you to let me have my way with you in the kitchen?”

“I do have a new found appreciation for tack rooms. Also, offices hold a special place in my heart. Hidden gardens are nice.” She grinned when his hands flexed on her bottom.

“Temptress. The moment I have you alone and behind a locked door…”

He let the pseudo-threat hang and Lauren shivered, anticipation skimming up her spine. “Such promises,” she crooned and leaned in to kiss him. His bottom lip was a tasty pout she just had to sink her teeth into.

He gave a content sigh and slipped his hands beneath the hem of her shirt, but only to rest them on the skin of her lower back.

Lauren linked her fingers together and fell into the sweet, sultry kiss. He tasted ridiculously good, still that peppermint patty flavour, but beneath it now she recognized the ice and snow, the crisp bite of frost, and the thing which made him who he was. She could taste the zing and tingle of magic which flowed beneath the surface in his very blood.

She would never, could never, grow tired of having his marvellous taste to look forward to with each kiss. Even the smallest of pecks still left a hint of who he was on her lips. Add in the way he smelled like everything she loved about winter and Lauren was hooked for life.

“What is that devious little smirk for?” Loki asked.

“I was just thinkin’ how much I love the way you smell and taste. You’re like all the best parts of winter wrapped up together.” Lauren brushed her nose along his cheek and carded her fingers through his hair.

“And you are like a sultry jungle, pet. Warm and lush and laced with lilies.” He buried his nose in her neck where he dragged it along the length to close his teeth gently on her shoulder next to the strap of her top. His fingers dipped beneath the waist of her shorts to knead the swell of her ass cheeks, slowly rocking her forward and into the hard length wedged between them.

She knew what he was doing, and though she’d protested, Lauren revelled in his attention. Even with all that had happened in the last few days, it felt surreal and gave her a thrill to know he wanted her so badly. She felt powerful, strong, and loved in a way she’d always longed for.

He’d done so much for her self-esteem. He made her feel beautiful. He made he feel graceful and seductive. No, she wasn’t unaware of the face in the mirror. Yes, she knew most people thought her pretty, but it had been so hard to believe what others said after so many, many years of being pounded with a negative image of herself, her body, and her brain.

For the first time ever, Lauren finally felt free.

“Loki,” she whimpered as tears burned her eyes.

“My heart,” he whispered, kissing her cheek and holding her gently. “It’s alright, darling. I understand.” One of his hands left the back of her shirt to lift and press against the stone in the center of her torque. “You are so special, and beautiful, and amazing. It is time you felt it. It is time you found yourself.”

“Without you… I don’t know if I ever would have,” she sighed, letting their foreheads rest together.

“Perhaps that is why the Norns have brought us together. You make me whole, my love. It is only right I should do the same for you. We are meant to be.” He let his hand lay against her heart, an action Lauren mirrored. “My life beats here. I could not long live without you at my side.”

“Good thing you won’t have to then, hm?” she murmured, feeling so overfull of emotion she wanted to laugh and cry and love and just wallow in the feel of him. She wanted to fall into him and live beneath his skin. To wrap herself around his heart and hold it tight to her own so nothing and no one could ever injure it again, and in turn, find the protection, the love, and the understanding she’d longed for all her life.

Unable to physically do so, Lauren simply let her arms rest on his shoulders, her wrists crossed and hands dangling loosely as she wiggled impossibly closer. She turned her head to lay on her arm and just… held him. Chest to breast, belly to belly, heart to heart. “I never thought I could love someone the way I love you.”

“You two are ridiculously sappy.”

Lauren startled and opened her eyes to see Bucky leaning in the doorway. “If y’all weren’t spyin’ like a super sneaky assassin, you wouldn’t have to see it.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “You could have said somethin’, Loki.”

“As we were not in a compromising position, and I personally like this one quite a lot, I wasn’t about to ruin the moment because of Barnes’ sneaky feet.”

Bucky’s eyes widened before his face twisted. “No. No funny business in places where people eat.”

Loki grinned wickedly. “Of course not.”

The super soldier’s eyes widened further and darted around before returning his gaze to them. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

“Wasn’t gonna tell you anyway,” Lauren snickered as Loki stepped back and helped her slide to the ground.

Bucky took in her appearance and his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Looking good, doll face. You don’t usually dress so casual.”

A blush burned through Lauren’s cheeks while she played with the hem of her shirt. “Well, it’s already swelterin’, and what with you all demandin’ breakfast it was this or overheat.” She twisted the toes of her bare foot against the cold tile floor in an action which mirrored Sara’s from a few days ago.

“Ho, man. That smells amazing!” Steve’s voice rang out through the kitchen.

Bucky stepped out of the doorway, and Lauren linked her fingers through Loki’s, reached for the tin of coffee on a lower shelf, and smiled when Loki leaned over and kissed the back of her shoulder.

“As we do not want people to see your lovely adornment, my sweet, you may not want to stretch too high,” he murmured against her skin.

The hand with the can of coffee went right to her stomach, and Lauren eeped in surprise. “I forgot.”

“I don’t know how you could. Putting them back where they belong was incredibly memorable,” he chuckled.

The blush already present got even hotter. “Shush, you,” she huffed, but it was half-hearted at best. After all, he wasn’t wrong.

Her devious God of Mischief had pulled her beneath the shower spray and led her serpents back to their home around her belly button… with his mouth. He’d used his tongue, and they’d followed, sliding over her skin with the tiniest brush of sleek scales. Loki had put them back, then put his tongue to better use.

Just thinking about it made Lauren feel far too warm.

Loki brushed his hand down her spine, and it was icy. “You appear flushed, darling.”

She rolled her eyes and left the pantry to make the coffee. “Mornin’, Steve.”

“Lauren. Loki.” He grinned sheepishly as he jerked his hand away from the bowl of whipped cream.

Lauren chuckled. “Y’all can get started. I’m sure the others will be down soon enough. Eat while it’s hot. And, Steve?”

“Yeah, doll?” he said absently as he began to pile things on a plate.

“Happy birthday.”

Blue eyes darted up, and a red flush coloured his cheeks. “Um, thanks, Lauren.”

“See?” Bucky chuckled. “No one forgets your birthday.”

“The irony of being Captain America and being born on the same day this country celebrates its independence is both amusing and startling. Fate has a hand in all our lives it seems,” Loki said, handing Lauren a coffee filter. “Felicitations on your natal day, Captain.”

“Thanks,” Steve smiled and nodded.

“What is that smell?” Pepper breathed as she walked into the kitchen on Tony’s arm. “Oh, wow, Lauren! This is too much.”

A floaty peach wrap dress accentuated Pepper’s figure while Tony looked no different than the others in jeans and t-shirts. Seeing her dressed as if Pepper was heading to a ladies breakfast had Lauren suddenly feeling a little shabby, a little too underdressed, and she tugged on her shorts self consciously.

Loki’s hand captured hers, and he looked at her, his eyes so knowing before they slowly warmed with appreciation when he let his gaze drift down her body to her painted toes and back up.

It snapped Lauren instantly out of her head, and she smiled brightly at Pepper. “Considerin’ how much some of them eat? I don’t think so. Besides, I had help.” She gave Loki a wink. “Cookin’s a lot more fun when someone can do all the dishes with magic.”

“Does that mean you’ll do this again?” Bucky asked around a mouthful of pancakes.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, James,” Lauren scolded.

“Sorry.” He swallowed. “It’s just so damn good.”

“Seconded,” Steve mumbled, plowing through his own stack of pancakes.

“Coffee,” was all Tony said as he leaned against the counter and put on a pair of dark glasses.

Lauren tried not to smirk and bit her lip as she turned back to the coffee maker. “Did you indulge a little last night, boss?”

“Every time I finished a drink someone handed me a new one,” he grumbled. “I know you’re a lightweight. How the hell are you so chipper?”

“She’s of Asgard. It will take much more than a few glasses of Midgardian wine to make Lauren give that sweet giggle she makes when she is tipsy,” Loki informed them, his arm wrapped around her waist and made her shiver with the coolness radiating off him.

“I wager a horn of mead would do the trick,” Thor laughed wandering into the kitchen with Natasha.

Lauren glanced at the redhead, their gazes connected, and Nat smirked before casting an assessing eye toward Loki.

“Oh, my stars,” Lauren whispered and wrenched her face around, knowing it had turned a burning red.

“Mm, she is back to normal,” Loki whispered in Lauren’s ear. “And it appears they enjoyed themselves as much as we did.”

“Shut up, Laufeyson,” Lauren hissed and kicked him in the shin, trying not to die of embarrassment when Loki snickered.

“It’s Odinson, darling,” he teased and kissed her cheek.

“Do somethin’ useful and tell them about our visitor, peaches,” Lauren grumbled.

The atmosphere in the room changed so suddenly, Lauren felt it in the rise of the hair on the back of her neck.  

“Excuse me?” Steve laid down his fork.

Loki waved a dismissive hand. “It was nothing I could not handle on my own. In fact, it shall work splendidly toward my plan for the ones who dared to come after Sara. Mario was quite helpful… once he stopped resisting.” The smile on Loki’s face was wicked.

“You’re gonna give ‘em a heart attack, elskan min. Just tell them what happened,” Lauren huffed, having gotten the full story earlier.

“You ruin all my fun,” he pouted but got on with it. “His name was Mario Gallo, one of the men from earlier, and was sent by Valentino to watch the house and inform on any changes to our circumstances. Apparently, they knew a handful of Avengers were in residence, myself and Thor, thanks to the ignorant man who had been hired last minute by the setup crew.”

“The one you threatened to skin, brother?” Thor asked.

“You threatened to skin someone?” Lauren gasped.

“Yes, but he was that man who made you uncomfortable while dealing with that horrid white-haired snot of a woman, darling.” He squeezed her waist where his hand still rested.

She nearly snorted at his description of Quinn. “Oh. Alright then.” Lauren made to reach for the mugs above her, only to have them appear on the countertop. “Thanks, hun.”

He hummed and continued. “While that man was not part of last night’s crew, he is part of Valentino’s operation. He knew the layout of the house and where the children would be housed during the party and relayed this back to Valentino. Apparently, they have been planning to use Sara or Benny, or both if they could take both, as collateral until Avirett returned the funds he’d stolen.”

A hardening of Loki’s jaw had Lauren reaching out and brushing her hand up and down his abdomen before returning to pouring the coffee. She didn’t notice how Bucky, Steve, Thor and Pepper all smiled teasingly at the act of affection, nor how Nat smirked at Thor, or how Tony’s grin grew smug, for they were all back to their stoic faces by the time she turned around to begin passing out coffee cups. “Eat for heaven’s sake! I didn’t slave over no stove for it all to run cold. Y’all can chew and listen,” she huffed placing a coffee in Tony’s hand and offering the other to Pepper.

“You’re a godsend,” Tony muttered, inhaling over his cup.

“Designed by the Norns,” Loki smirked and chuckled when Lauren patted his cheek. “Knowing Thor and I were here only made them more determined to succeed in removing the children out from under our noses. The plan has been in place for some time. Jimmy Johnson, the one helping with the setup, has been renting a farm outside town, making it appear as if he was new to Greenville, and asking about work. Hence the reason he was here without proper vetting. Bianci, too, has been to the house under the pretense of purchasing one of the Annandale’s horses.”

The thought of it gave Lauren the willies. A crime lord in the house, meeting her father, seeing the children.

Loki’s hand caressed her arm as she took more coffee to the island. “Avirett has made a very serious enemy, and so, apparently, have we.”

“What’s that mean?” Bucky asked.

“Valentino has had a run in with both Natasha and Barton. It appears you foiled an assassination he’d been sent to carry out. He quite thoroughly hates you. While the Captain and Barnes had a hand in destroying a rather important shipment of narcotics Bianci was counting on. So, when Valentino realized not just two but six Avengers were suddenly in-house and showed interest and affection with the children, well…” Loki shrugged.

“It’s now become a challenge. A way to stick it to us all,” Natasha murmured.

Lauren looked at her, and her eyes were a hard, sharp green full of anger.

“I’m feeling particularly inclined to kick a little ass. What did you do with this… Gallo?” Nat asked, biting a strawberry off the end of her fork with a snap of teeth.

“I gave him to Hill. He is out of the way, and I have been in contact with Valentino as Gallo to inform him there has been no change. The Avengers remained overnight.”

“So, the question is, do we stay and make it a challenge? Or pretend to leave and let them think it’s going to be easy to take the kids,” Steve asked.

“Neither,” Loki smiled his signature grin. “There is a third option I think we shall all enjoy.”

***

“You’re not staying.”

Lauren paused before she reached the doorway, having slipped out of the kitchen after Loki revealed his plan to go check on the children only to find Pepper and Tony arguing outside the powder room door.

“Tony.”

“Don’t start,” he huffed.

“It’s not like there will be any danger. Not after you take care of Valentino and his men. Then we can spend the day at the fair. We never get to do things like this. It will be fun.” Pepper stepped into his chest and placed her hand lightly against his cheek. “We can eat cotton candy. Ride the Ferris wheel…”

“We are not riding the Ferris wheel! Who knows what kind of third-rate hack last checked its mechanics.” His arms slipped around her waist.

“They’ll likely have corn dogs,” Pepper tempted.

Lauren had to bring her hand to her mouth to contain her giggle when Tony’s eyes lit up.

“Ya think?”

“And mini donuts. You know you love mini donuts.” Pepper smiled and stroked her fingers along his beard. “You can even try your hand at winning me a teddy bear.”

“Maybe you should win me one,” he teased.

Her brow arched. “You know I could. I bet I could win one faster than you could.”

“You’re on!” Tony smirked and drew Pepper in for a tender kiss.

Lauren slipped away before either noticed her, a smile playing on her lips with Pepper’s sleek manipulation. It didn’t surprise her at all, Tony’s protective nature. Though Lauren hadn’t been around when Pepper had been kidnapped and experimented on by Aldrich Killian, she had seen the files and knew in general what had happened.

Tony went out of his way to make sure Pepper was never again put in a position which could see her injured because of him, but this time, Lauren too thought he was being a little ridiculous when he’d tried to make Pepper leave. There was no point.

Mario Gallo had revealed to Loki, Valentino and his men were staying at the farm this Jimmy had rented, what turned out to be the old Taggart place. It had once been a rundown house and a handful of outbuildings, but Kipling Scott, a former high school buddy of Marcus, had ended up buying it and turning it into a rental investment.

Lauren remembered Kipling from school but had little dealings with him, and her memories of him were vague at best. She’d only ever seen him if she’d been out with Marcus and Sadie, or in passing in the halls.

Still, after the dust settled with this forthcoming encounter, she figured she should probably give him a call and let him know the Avengers would compensate him for whatever damages had occurred. She was not so naive as to think there would not be damages. Two gods, two super soldiers, an assassin, and a man in an iron suit were not going to tiptoe their way around like it was a china shop. They would be the damn bull and plow their way through it.

But, going in hard and fast was the only way to be sure all who were involved were rounded up without tipping off the Bianci’s. Hill and Fury were set to go, the SHIELD op intricate and multifaceted. It could all come tumbling down far too quickly if one of the bad guys caught wind of what they were doing.

Loki was running point, to everyone’s surprise, and his plan was both devious and effective. Sure he could waltz in and take them all out himself, but Mario had unwillingly informed him that Valentino had called in reinforcements. They had planned to cause a disturbance at the fair, something resulting in mass panic and injuries, pulling the team away and causing complete chaos. Then, in the confusion, they would have taken the children and whoever had been with them.

Lauren shuddered for when Mario had been speaking about it, they had mentioned her. The sweet little blonde, he’d said. The one they’d nearly caught. The one who’d escaped out from under Valentino’s nose.

By now they would know who she was. They would know her name and that the children were her niece and nephew.

Loki had remained absolutely calm throughout the whole explanation, but Lauren knew better. His hand had twitched toward his waist, and she could only imagine what he’d done. She was of no illusion that he wouldn’t have reacted… poorly to that revelation. By now she knew him and knew exactly what he was capable of when angry.

She gave her head a shake, preferring not to think about it. He would always do whatever he felt was needed to protect her. As they all would. This time was no different.

For this reason she, and now Pepper, would be staying at the house where it was safe while the team went to Kipling’s property. As Mario had not been back, he couldn’t tell them what the intended target at the fairgrounds was, nor whether Valentino’s backup had arrived, were on route, or were set up elsewhere. Hence Tony’s upcoming role.

He, with the help of Loki’s magic, would be playing Mario and walking into the lion’s den. When Steve had protested because Tony would be going in sans suit, Loki had only thrown him a look of exasperation and irritation. For one, Tony would not be in danger as it was simple enough to weave a protective shield into the magic he was using to disguise Tony as Gallo, and two, Tony was the only other person besides himself who could speak fluent Italian should he be required to. Yes, Loki could do it, but he was better situated on the outside, capable of moving locations should they need to do so quickly.

Steve had closed his mouth with an arched brow and assessing nod, seeming to see Loki from a new perspective.

It made Lauren happy. They were all seeing Loki in a new light, a different light. No longer the backup, they were allowing him to put his exceptional mind to work, and he was excelling at it.

Once Tony had gotten the lowdown on what the plan was, they would move in and take out Valentino and his cronies. If by chance, there was a second team elsewhere, Thor and Loki would deal with them. Between the God of Thunder and the God of Mischief, there would be little chance of anyone escaping. Once everyone was rounded up, Hill had transport on standby waiting to collect the criminals and take them off the team’s hands.

Yes, it made her heart trip a little. Every time the Avengers were called up for a mission she worried, but she didn’t let it show. This was their job, and they were very good at it. Still, she had more invested this time, both in the children they were working to protect, and the man who had stepped into the leadership role of the team for the very first time.

Lauren blew out a heavy breath when the sound of high, childish giggles resounded behind the closed door she approached and pasted on a smile which became real as soon as she pushed open the door. Sara and Benny were sitting on the floor in their jammies with Usun between them. The puppy rolled on his back, all four feet in the air, wriggling happily as they rubbed his belly.

“You’re such a good boy,” Sara cooed causing Usun’s tongue to loll happily from his mouth.

“He sure is,” Lauren said, walking into the room to settle to her knees on the floor.

“Aunt Lu!” Benny jumped up and threw his arms around her neck before plopping his bum down on her knee. “You’re takin’ us to the fair, right?”

She nodded. “I am. We’re gonna go as soon as the team gets back.”

“Where they goin’?” he asked, blinking up at her with big, innocent blue eyes.

Sara’s face paled, and she buried it in Usun’s fur when the pup crawled up on her and licked her face.

“They have to go deal with some bad people, but after that, there will be nothin’ more to worry about.” Lauren ran her hand down Sara’s hair. “Nothin’ at all,” she promised when Sara looked up in tentative hope. “Let’s get y’all dressed and fed, and maybe Miss Potts would like a tour of the grounds.”

“Why are you so stupid?”

The hiss of hatred had Usun growling and Lauren stiffening in both surprise and anger.

“I beg your pardon?” Lauren snapped, turning to see Marabeth standing in the doorway.

She looked ready to take on the world in what Lauren knew was one of her power suits. A deep blue, the pants and jacket were so crisp you never would have guessed it was hot and humid already.

“You should be beggin’ my pardon after what you’ve done.” She stormed into the room and jerked Benny from Lauren’s lap by the arm. “The both of you best be gettin’ off that filthy floor right this instant! Get up, Sara Marie and stop handlin’ that mongrel. It’s goin’ straight to the pound the moment y’all leave. I can’t believe you’d be stupid enough to think I’d let you keep that mangy curr!”

“But, mama!” Sara cried, squeezing Usun all the tighter as big tears rolled down her face.

“Don’t you go blubberin’, Sara Marie or so help me I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about!” Marabeth shouted, and Benny squealed in pain when she twisted his arm.

“Enough!” Lauren shouted lurching to her feet to tear Marabeth’s hand away from her son. “Leave them be, Marabeth! They’re just babies!”

“They’re my brats, and I’ll do as I please!” she screamed.

Lauren was prepared this time when the open palm came at her face and deflected the blow while using the momentum to spin her sister back toward the door and push her out of the room. “I warned you I wouldn’t allow you to hit me again, Marabeth, and I won’t let you hurt your kids because you’re mad at Samuel!”

Marabeth stumbled into the hall. “What do you know about it?” she hissed, face hard with narrowed eyes.  

“I know he missed the party. I know you left in a hurry. I know you’re madder than a wet cat! If y’all are havin’ problems take it up with him, but you leave the kids outta it!”

“Or what, boo hoo?  You’ll run off and tell daddy on me?” she simpered and took a threatening step forward.

A thunderous, deep growl came from behind Lauren, somewhere around thigh height and she smiled, cold, sharp, and deadly at her sister. It was Loki’s smile, but Lauren used it with glee. “No, Marabeth. I won’t need to.” Without looking, she set her hand on the brindled coat of the fully grown dyrehund. “Usun will not be going anywhere. He was a gift from Thor. Try and remove him at your peril. Come at the kids like that again at your peril. You won’t like the consequences.” She stroked her hand down his coat before the hound stretched his body out on the rug and glared at Lauren’s sister.

“You’ll regret this, Lauren Guillemin!”

“I don’t think so, Marabeth Augustine.” Lauren lifted her chin and stood her ground. Both kids cowered behind her, afraid of their own mother. It sickened her. “You should go. Deal with whatever has you dressed so fancy at this time of day. I’ll take the kids into town.”

“They’re coming with me,” she growled.

“No. They are not.” Lauren glared her down. “You’ve clearly got important business. I ain’t got a problem lookin’ after them for the day.”

“I have a problem with it!” Marabeth snapped.

“Marabeth.” Their father’s voice resonated down the hall. “Lauren always takes them. Let them go.”

“But, daddy!” Marabeth wailed.

“They’ll be bored and bothersome taggin’ along with whatever it is you got goin’ on. They hardly get to see Lauren. Let them go.”

Thunderous brows and a pinched face glared at her before Marabeth stormed away. Her father stepped into the doorway seconds later, and Lauren sagged in relief.

“Thank you,” she whispered before dropping down to hug both the children tightly to her. Both had silently started to cry, and Sara burst fully into tears against Lauren’s shoulder. “Hush now, sugar cube. It’s okay. Your mama’s having a tough day is all.”

Lauren looked imploringly at her father, now standing in the room. This couldn’t keep happening.

He cast a confused glance at Usun. “Last time I saw him he was a might bit… smaller.”

“Usun’s magic, pawpaw,” Benny said, holding his arm with the other. “He protects us.”

The dog, for he was no longer a puppy, wagged his tail happily against the floor with a hearty thumping that saw dust mites floating up and through the sunbeam streaming in the children’s open window.

“I see that,” Hoyt nodded slowly, his hands tucked in his pockets. “You hurt your arm, buddy?”

“No,” he pouted. “Mama did.”

Lauren’s heart broke at the resigned way he said it. As if this wasn’t the first time Marabeth had done so. She knew it wasn’t, that her sister had been getting rougher with them for a while now, but to hear it come from the mouth of a six-year-old who’d barely begun his life, was painful. “Oh, baby,” she whispered and cupped his little face.

“Mr. Loki could fix it,” Sara said, knuckling the tears from her eyes. “He fixed mine when mama…” She trailed off, her eyes growing wide and scared, darting up to where Hoyt stood watching. “Um…”

Lauren watched her father’s heart break as pain rippled across his face. Hoyt took the last few steps and knelt down beside Sara where he scooped her up into his arms and held on tight. “You don’t worry about that none. I know Loki fixed your arm, sweet peach. From now on, I want you both to know if you’re scared, or your mama hurts you, you come to me, okay?” He brushed Sara’s hair back and stroked her cheek.

“Really?” she whispered.

“Really.” He tapped her nose. “That’s what pawpaws are for. That and sneakin’ treats when meemaw ain’t lookin’.” He winked at her and smiled.

Sara threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, pawpaw.”

“Aww, I love you, sweet peach.” He kissed the top of her head and squeezed his eyes closed.

Lauren had seen the moisture present, the tears aching to fall, and reached out to squeeze his forearm. “Thanks, daddy.”

“We ain’t havin’ no more of this in this house. I promise, Lauren. I won’t stand for it.”

“That’s good.” Lauren smiled at him even as she wished he’d come to this conclusion sooner and turned her focus to Benny who still cradled his arm. “Let’s see it, hun.”

The boy held it out, and Lauren flinched. Black and purple bruises had formed in the shape of Marabeth’s fingers. “It hurts, Aunt Lu.”

His chin wobbled, and big, silent tears dripped down his cheeks. “Oh, baby.” Lauren cuddled him close and called out, “Loki!”

He appeared in the doorway. “Darling?”

She watched him take in the room in a single glance. His face instantly hardened when it landed on Benny’s arm.

“Why young Ben, you seem to have gotten injured. How painful it looks. May I?” He didn’t wait for Benny’s agreement, though the boy gave it with a rapid nod of his head, simply dropped to a knee at Lauren’s side. “What ghastly bruising. Might I inquire just who wrenched your arm to the point of nearly breaking the bones?”

Loki’s eyes were cold and hard when he glared at Hoyt as if to say now do you see? Her father nodded once sharply, and Lauren touched Loki’s shoulder. “It got handled, peaches.”

“It should not need to be handled,” he growled, continuing to glare at her father as he wrapped his fingers around Benny’s arm.

“Ooh, that’s cold!” Benny giggled as green and gold light gleamed from beneath Loki’s fingers.

Hoyt quietly cleared his throat. “Y’all will never guess who I saw at the party last night.”

“Who?” Sara chirped, her fear and sadness gone.

Lauren wondered if it was Loki’s arrival, or just that she now felt safe again thanks to having three adults around who she knew would stand up for her and protect her. Benny crawled onto Loki’s lap the instant her husband sat down, and Usun snuck his nose beneath her arm, prompting Lauren to wrap her arm around his neck and lean against his much bigger body. When he snuck a kiss to her chin with a flick of his tongue, she smiled, scratched his ear and murmured, “You’re such a good boy.” She didn’t notice the way he looked at her, or the look Loki gave them.

“I saw Angie last night,” Hoyt continued. “And she’s agreed to come back and look after y’all.”

“Really?” Benny squealed excitedly.

“She sure did.” Hoyt grinned.

“That’s great, daddy,” Lauren said. “She’s… okay with it?”

Hoyt nodded. “I assured her that wouldn’t happen again and that she’s bein’ hired on by me, not Marabeth. She’s gonna start tomorrow.”

“Yay!” Both kids yelled excitedly and leapt up to jump around.

“Oh, my. What a ruckus. What are y’all up to in- good gracious! When did he get so big?” Magnolia shied away from Lauren and Usun.

“He grew up, mama. Dogs and most people have a tendency to do that,” Lauren snapped, getting to her feet. “Kids, y’all get dressed then head down to the kitchen. The others are just finishin’ up breakfast and hopefully will have left you somethin’ to eat. I’m gonna go change, and then we’ll see if Miss Potts wants that tour.”

“Okay, Aunt Lu!” They called out as Lauren swept past her gaping mother and out into the hall. She only made it halfway back to her room before anger and hatred and disgust overwhelmed her, and she stopped to press a hand to the wall and the other to her mouth, praying she wouldn’t be violently ill.

“Just breathe, my love,” Loki whispered, turning her around to gather her close.

Lauren threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. “What is wrong’ with her? What sick, twisted thing snapped in her head to make her hurt her own babies? God! She’s even worse than mama. Mama may have hurt me, but she never hit me. What the hell is wrong’ with her?”

“I’m afraid things will only go from bad to worse when what her husband has been doing comes to light. Is there a way to take them from her? Can we get them away from her before then? Can it be done here, darling?” Loki asked urgently.

“I don’t know. Yes, children in abusive homes can be removed, but Marabeth is well respected. It would be tough to prove, and she’s so good at twistin’ things, I just… I don’t know. And if I tried and failed, she could take the kids away altogether. I might never see them again.” She didn’t want to cry, not again, and rubbed her nose beneath his jaw to breathe him in. It was beginning to feel like she’d spent half her time here bawling her eyes out or wrapped around Loki. “I don’t know what to do anymore. At least daddy’s gettin’ involved. Between him and Usun, I feel a little better about leavin’, but… she scares me, Loki. Marabeth scares me.”

“I know, my heart. Before we go, I will give the children a gift. If their need is great, they can use it to call for me directly. It will not matter where in the nine realms I am. I will hear and know they need me, and I will come.”

Shocked, Lauren pulled back to look at him. “You’d do that for them?”

“Lauren.” He released her but only to cup her face. His eyes were washed in green magic. “I would do it for you. You love them with everything you are. If I could take them from her and give them to you, I would do it, but your Midgardian laws are foreign to me. The others assure me this cannot be done so I will do what I must do to see they are safe.”

He had done so much for her already. Adding one more thing, one more step seemed like asking too much, even if it was for the children she loved so dearly. “You… you shouldn’t… not just for me…”

He smiled. “No, my darling. Not just for you but for me as well, for as they are the children of your heart, so have they become mine. If something were to harm them, what pain and sorrow you would feel, I would also feel. They are brave little darlings. No child should live in fear of pain or violence inflicted on them by their parents. I won’t stand for it. If giving them a way to contact me gives them peace of mind as well as you, what harm is there in it?”

Lauren wrapped her fingers around his wrists. “You’re too good, Loki. Too sweet and kind and genuine.”

“Only for you,” he whispered and brought her in for a tender kiss.

The slow brush of lips, the quiet understanding, and complete depth of his love was her undoing, and Lauren let the tears fall.

Loki swept her off her feet, wrapped them in magic, and sat with her before the empty fireplace on the makeshift throne in her room. “Do not fear, my love. They will be safe. Safe from the monsters who hunt them, and safe from the ones who live under the same roof. I swear it!”

His fist came down on the arm of the divan making her jolt, but Lauren only curled further into him. She needed to sink into his love and his comforting embrace for a few minutes before she locked it all up and spent the day with the children away from the drama which was about to unfold for Marabeth and her husband.

She didn’t notice the blood which dripped from Loki’s fingers onto the arm of the divan, nor the hard, sharp, calculating glare he levelled at the fireplace.

Next Chapter

[cryptidofthekeys]

Schneeplestein x Tiny!Reader

You were wandering around the home of the SepticEgos, humming quietly to yourself as you surveyed the scene.

Anti was scaring Chase, all while getting scolded from Marvin. Robbie was sitting there, watching Jackieboy-Man, occasionally talking to him and having a very confused look on his face.

Angus and Shawn appeared to be arguing over god knows what, its best to stay out of they're way when they are arguing.

Bing (no, not Bingiplier sillies, Bingsepticeye-- cause the boy needs more attention tbh) was standing there, his arms folded behind his back as he watched over the others, he saw you and gave you a small wave.

You smiled, waving back to Bing, he was the main protector of the group, sure him and Anti haven't seen eye-to-eye but, nonetheless, Bing is the one who stops fights when they happen.

Just like now... Shawn threw a punch at Angus... Bing immediately rushed over and grabbed them both by the wrist [ Dear Users, it is not wise to engage in combat, acts of violence such as this is an extreme danger to your health. Cease this useless aggressive behavior and apologize to each other for whatever caused this. ]

Shawn and Angus sighed and nodded at Bing's words, its not wise to argue with a robot, especially not one like Bing.

You rolled your eyes, Shawn and Angus always had a few arguments here and there, nothing TOO serious, they always settled things in the end.

Finally, Schneeplestein... He was actually walking over towards you, you looked at him curiously, wondering what he wanted, he usually never came out of the lab, well besides for food and such. "(Y/N), I need your assistance, come vwith me."

You nodded at his words "Okay then." It beats being up there with all the noise, the lab was very quiet and peaceful, you followed him, sighing in relief when you got into the lab, finally some peace and quiet.

You looked to Schneeple and tilted your head "So, what did you need exactly doc?" You watched him walk over and grab a vile of some sort.

"I vwas vwondering if you vwould... erm, try zhis little... serum out. It's supposed to enhance ze body's immune system."

((Shhhh--yes, boost the body's immune system, best excuse-- no one would fall for that, he could literally just say 'hey, drink this' and it'd probably work better haha-- I didnt have anything else so improvising lol))

You blinked, looking a little concerned by this "Are there any bad side effects? Or anything harmful?" You had a skeptical look on your face now. "I dunno Schneeps... Couldn't you get Chase to do it?"

Schneeplestein sighed "Chase... izn't here at ze moment, I believe he vwent back to see his kids for awhile und ze last time I tried to azk za ozers fo' help ....Anti didn't vwant to. Marvin vwanted to enhance zis serum even more with hiz ''magic''... Jackie vwas scared, Robbie ...not much can be done zhere... Angus und Shawn? ....They'll probably try to punch me und Bing is technically a robot."

He did have a point... ...Well shit... You sighed "Fine... It... doesn't have to be in needle-form does it?" Schneeple shook his head, much to your relief "Vwell it can be done eizher vway, drinking it or needle."

"DRINK DRINK DRINK!" You quickly spoke, not wanting ANY part of the needle, at this, Schneeple nodded and gave you the vile. "Only drink half fo' now. Just to be on ze safe side of zings."

You nodded and looked at the serum, sighing, you braced for the taste of bitter and sour, quickly gulping down half of it, it actually tasted sweet in a way... Strange, afterwards, you gave him the vile back and looked over at him.

Schneeple curiously looked at you "Do you feel any....different?" ...A few moments passed, before suddenly, you fell to your knees and winced "Ugh... Well... t-that's new... S-Schneeple..." You looked up at him, concern written in your face.

Schneeple had a panicked look as he knelt by your side "(Y/N)? Vhat's wrong? Vhat do you feel?" He asked, panic lacing his tone.

You gasped and squeezed your eyes shut, you felt weird, really weird... A few more moments passed, you slowly opened your eyes.... Everything was now so bright, the lights almost hurt to look at and-- wait.... They seem a lot larger than last time... You blinked, then glanced over at Schneeple who wore a look of curiosity and yet worry.

Oh god... Schneeple was huge! He was way taller than previously, your instincts immediately took over and you sprinted for a place to hide, of course to no avail, Schneeple quickly scooped you up before you could get away.

"(Y/N)...! Calm down, its only me!..." He began whispering some soothing words in German, something about his tone made you instantly relax into his hand. You took some shaky breaths, glancing at your now gigantic surroundings...

"S-S-Schneeple... What.... What was in that serum? That.... That WASN'T anything normal! What did you do to me?!" You screamed, yelping however when you felt some shifting, you were then plopped down on the desk.

"Calm down! Liebling... I'm sorry, I didn't know somezing like ZIS vwould happen, I don't even know vhat could have caused zis. I thought I had created za perfect serum, one that could help everyone... So zhey vwouldn't get sick so easily. I guess all I done vwas create somezing zat can turn people teeny tiny."

You recognized Schneeple's tone, his voice, laced with defeat and failure, you sighed and looked at the giant doctor "...Schneeps... Your a great doctor, honestly... Not EVERYTHING can turn out right the first time around, maybe it'll take a bit but you'll perfect that serum eventually. Or maybe make something even better than that, your a great doctor! You've saved Chase and Jack a few times ya know."

Schneeple looked at you, smiling a little at those words, he gently scooped you up again and hugged you carefully "Zhank you liebe... Zat means a lot."

You hugged back, well, as best you could anyways "You know being tiny isn't all.... THAT bad.... It's... interesting to say the least..." you admitted, looking up at Schneeple.

"Really now? Vwell... To be honest, you do look razher... adorable, meine Kleine..." He had a blush on his face now, like he had blurted out something and was embarrassed by it.

You had heard him say liebe/liebling before, you knew what those meant but meine Kleine was a different story "What does that mean?"

Schneeplestein sighed "It means 'my little one'..." He mumbled out, which made you smile and giggle "Aww, that's cute. I like that nickname..." You had a red tint on your face.

Schneeple smiled, he then shook his head and had that serious look on his face "I vwonder if Marvin haz anyvway to turn you back to your normal size..." He stood up, holding you in hand carefully "Do you vwant to come vwith me?"

You bit your lip, realizing how loud it'd be now up there... You quickly shook your head "I'd rather not..." This made Schneeple nod and set you down on the desk "Alvright, I vwill be right back und please, don't stray to far from ze desk here..." He said with a stern tone which you giggled at.

"Yes sir" You then watched as he walked back upstairs, and then you sighed, sitting on the desk casually...

You heard the door slowly creak open from upstairs, you curiously looked over and you instantly froze when you saw Anti approaching... You quickly looked for a place to hide, noticing there was some books, you quickly dove behind them.

"Ńo̸w wh̛ere̕ the f͢uck ̨di҉d̨ t͡ha̸t͏ ͞do̶ct̡or̶ ͜pu̢t ͢i͠t҉..҉.͠.?̷" That glitchy, distorted and layered voice made you shiver, you curiously peeked from behind the books, wondering what he was talking about.

You watched him rummage through the doctor's things, not caring if he broke something or not, you glared at him but its not like you could stop him or anything... Not right now anyways.

You quickly ducked back into place when you saw him approach the desk, you then froze in terror, praying he didn't look behind the books... Unfortunately he did, he pushed the books aside, almost knocking you off along with them.

Your eyes widened and locked with Anti's, he blinked in disbelief then got a little too close for comfort "(̵Y/͜N͏)҉? Wh̶at̨ t͝h̵'̀ fùc̷k͞ ̛ar͜e ̕y͡a d͘o҉i̸n̛g̷ ̸'̷e͞re̢? An' ̨w͢h̴y̕ are ya͟ ͜so.̀...̸ smal̷l͞?͢"

You opened your mouth but all that came out was gibberish, you then began sprinting away, of course you didn't get very far before you were scooped up in the glitchy demon's iron fist.

Anti smirked and brought you closer to his face "̧Hey c̛'mon̵ ńow̧.̵.͟. I̴ts r͘ưde t̀' just͡ ͞u͟p n ̀ru͘n li͏kę t̡h͞a͡t͠.҉ I ͝as̵k͠e͏d̸ ͟ya ͟à s̛i̢mple q̶ùe҉s͝t̴io͢n͝,̨ s ͜h o ̧r͘ t͢ y~"

You struggled in his grasp and stared up into his black eyes "Let... Let me go Anti." You said shakily, now dealing with Anti was already difficult even at normal size but being tiny? This was going to be worser... Worser than ever.

Anti merely sneered, baring his sharp canines "̷Aww~ ́W̢hat͠'s ̢w͘ro̧ng ̸(Y͟/N)͜?̧ ́Y̨'̵ s ��c̛ a ̛r̸ e̕ ͝d͞ ͜n͞o̴w?̢~"

You grumbled and glared at him "I'm s-serious Anti, this isn't f-funny... Put me down, or else..." You tried to sound threatening which was difficult.

Anti merely laughed and dangled you by your foot, which made you shriek in horror "O̸r͜ ȩls͜e ͢w h͏ ̡a̛ t?~ Whądd͝ya̛ '̵t̢iņk ͜y͡er ̛gu͜nna d͏o?̡~ ͟Huh? ́Ì d҉o̕n't '̴t̴i͘n̷k̸ y͝er̵ ͢in ̵A̶ N͢ Y͢ ͏p͏osit̢ion ͢t'͞ ͠b́e ţellin'͠ ͠me what͟ ̷t̸' ̴do͘ ̨rig̡h҉t ͜no͢w~̶"̸

You struggled against his grip, grumbling lowly "Why do you have to be such an ass?..." This just made Anti smirk and swing you, which of course made you scream.

"D͢o̢n't ͡b͡e͘ s̛o r͝ude~!̕ M̧' ͘ju͝s͝t͞ ͜ha̶v̧i̸n̵' sơm̀e͢ fųn̶~̢"̵ He cackled, his voice being way too loud for you to handle.

"ANTI, GET ZE FUCK AWAY FROM ZHEM!" You winced and covered your ears at Schneeple's yelling, but a sense of relief flooded over you to hear from him.

"Let (Y/N) go Anti... Don't make me get Bing down here... You know how he gets vwhen you mess vwith his users." Schneeplestein hissed lowly.

Anti rolled his eyes and plopped you down on the desk rather harshly, he simply grinned "͝I͡ ͡ẁas̕ ónly̢ ́h̴av̵i͠n͏'̀ so҉mę fu͠n̸~̕ ̡Ye̕r ҉a̛ll͢ ́b̕o̵r͡i͝ng͟ y̵a̶ ̵knơw̶ ̴tha̴t̴?̶"

Schneeple growled and pointed to the door "Get ze fuck out of here." Surprisingly, Anti listened for once and left.

Schneeplestein rushed over and gently scooped you up, sighing "I'm so sorry Schätzchen! I vwish zat door vwould have been locked..." He grumbled, looking over you for any bruises.

You looked at him and sighed "It wouldn't have done any good you know that, but don't worry Schneeps, he didn't ACTUALLY hurt me... He was just being an asshole."

Schneeps sighed "Vwell... Zat's good at least... I'm glad I got here vwhen I did." He glared up towards the door, making a mental note to give Anti a good scolding later ....Actually, he had something better in mind...

(( That'll be revealed in a lil bonus at the end~ ;) ))

You nodded at his words "So, did Marvin have any way to turn me back to normal size?" Part of you wanted to stay small actually... but the other part knew it would be very dangerous with the others around and how loud they were.

"Vwell, ja, he does but, he said he needed some time to study ze spell und get it vright." Schneeple finished, adjusting his glasses.

You nodded, you couldn't hide the smile on your face, you get to be tiny just for a little while longer "Well, at least he HAS a spell ....Let's just hope he doesn't mess it up" You shivered, remember a few spells he messed up before.

Schneeple cringed as well "True..." He didn't have much room to talk, Schneeple knows he's had his fair share of fuck-ups in the past, but he tried not to let that bother him.

You yawned slightly "I'm tired... Schneeps, do you have a bed down here?" You asked curiously, he practically lived in the lab anyways so it wouldn't be surprising if he had a bed down here.

((he doesn't just live in the lab/basement-area like some kinda hermit-person trust me, he's 50% in the lab and 50% outta the lab ...kinda-- just shh the man loves to work))

Schneeple nodded, of course he did.... He then walked over and plopped down on the bed with you in hand, he then placed you on his chest "To be honest meine liebe, I'm a bit tired myself."

You smiled up at him, laying down and then curling up on his chest, your smile grew when you felt his warm hand over you, it felt like a blanket... a really warm and comfy blanket.

You yawned again and closed your eyes, snuggling into Schneeple's chest "Sleep tight Schneeple.... ...Love you big guy."

Schneeple smiled and closed his eyes, for once he seemed to relax which was a rare sight, he usually overworked himself "Sweet dreams meine Kleine..."

You both drifted off into a peaceful dreamland, being tiny did have its perks, even if it was dangerous, you honestly didn't mind at this point if you stayed tiny or not... You could get used to giant doctor cuddles.

Bonus: Schneeple smirked upon seeing Bing and walked up to him "Bing, I need to tell you somezing"

This made the robot blink and turn to stare at Schneeple [ Yes User 3? ] Bing awaited, making weird beeping noises.

Schneeple leaned close to Bing and whispered "Anti was messing vwith (Y/N) earlier und zhey could have gotten hurt because of him... You may vwant to deal vwith him later~"

Bing made a loud beep noise and nodded, a glare suddenly appeared on his face [ Duly Noted dear User, I will see to it that he gets what he deserves ]

Schneeplestien chuckled and patted Bing on the back "Zank you very much Bing" Oh yes, this was perfect... Although, Schneeple wondered if he'd pay for it later, Anti could be vengeful... ....Nah. It was worth it.

((I wanted to add some lab-work n stuff but tbh I feel like Schneeple would be too hesitant and worried for your safety while working, after all he DEFINITELY doesn't want you hurt. And Bingoboy never gets hardly any attention, sure he's not really canon technically but I love Bingsepticeye-- heneedsSomeG/Taswell*COUGH*-- anyways @pizsospa here’s some Schneep G/T for ya IfeelLikeitsnotpacedasgoodasIwantedBUTohwellI’llgetpacingrightonedaylmao

[elegantmoonchild]

I didn’t mean to think of it but please imagine Sweet Pea opening up a bakery and Veronica is one of his daily customers but he stays in the back while like Toni/Fangs run the front. Ronnie gets into an argument with this rude stranger outside the place only to find out he’s the owner and has been making her favorite pie for a year.

Well, since you asked… 😉

Veronica stood in line outside the well-renowed SerpentineBakery in the West Village, tapping the toe of her tan Louboutin against thelight gray pavement while her fingers scrolled along the screen of her smartphone, perusing the morning’s offering of articles from the Wall StreetJournal. It was another Thursday afternoon, the late lunch rush curling theline of the eatery all the way beyond the front door, but to Veronica the waitwas worth it.

Every day, after a harrowing round of business meetings andbullshit e-mails, Veronica would treat herself to the delights of theSerpentine, their chicken salad croissants and gooey apple turnovers the stuffof legends. The tradition started a year ago when she first began to take thehelm of her father’s company, earning her seat with the board at the young ageof 28. The office was located a mere block from the bakery, and when she fellupon it one lazy lunch hour, she was hooked.

Especially on Thursdays – that was the day of the week wherethe baker would put out her favorite pie, glistening with its golden browncrust underneath the glass cover of an ornate pie case. The soft, mushy fleshof the peaches within would seep out of its form with one cut, its sweet andtangy nectar spreading out onto the plate in a golden wave like runny honey.The chunks of candied ginger added to the zing, that little kick of flavor thatwould hit with that side of the cheek pulse that kept customers coming back formore.

Unfortunately, the ginger peach perfection that was theThursday Serpentine Special came in limited batches, so it was worth the 45minute line just to secure a piece of the pie. Sometimes, she would carry itout, the plastic container like a trophy case inside her take-out bag, thespoils of waiting for the delectable treasure. Sometimes, she would dine in andwatch as the two main employees ran the front. One of them was a tan, buff guywith a sleeve of tattoos, his hair trimmed back in a fade and his eyes afriendly shade of brown. He always gave her the biggest piece of pie, his smilewhen he put it on her plate a genuine one that warmed her heart.

The other bakery employee was who Veronica assumed owned theestablishment, a brown and pink haired girl with a wily grin and a wicked senseof humor. She would always flit from table to table, checking on the needs ofthe dine-in customers while calling out to regulars by name. Veronica never sawany other employee though, and she was content with the idea that these twoindividuals championed the bakery that was quickly becoming a borough favorite.

On that particular Thursday, as Veronica continued to readher columns, her position next in line to enter the shop, her attention wasdrawn suddenly to a motorcycle that was growling as it was put into parkdirectly in front of the café. The man who dismounted from the machine wasincredibly tall, his hands nimble as they removed the helmet from his face,revealing an attractive character with jet-black hair and rich chocolate eyes.They met hers suddenly and he shot her a smirk, instantly causing the hairs onthe back of her neck to bristle up.

He placed the helmet on the seat of the bike and crossedtoward the entrance, effectively cutting her off from her place in line.

“Excuse me, mister.”

The man turned at the sound of her voice, his brow furrowedas he took in her stiff posture.

“Yes?”

“You need to get to the back of the line and wait your turnlike everyone else.”

He considered her for a moment, pursing his lips. “Hmm, Ithink not.” He made to continue his progression into the shop.

“Hey buddy, what’s your problem?” she called out, never oneto back down from a confrontation.

He paused his footsteps again, turning to face her. “I don’tneed to explain myself to you. Look – I’m busy. Can you just let me be on myway?”

“So are the rest of us. We all have lives too. Now I’vewaited for the better part of an hour for a piece of my favorite pie and I’mnot about to be shoved out by some privileged asshole who thinks he has theright to cut in line.”

Behind her, the crowd clapped in agreeance. His eyesnarrowed in annoyance.

“You’ll be lucky if there’s any pie left. Plus, I know theowner. I’m sure they’ll be more than willing to make sure you don’t getanything at all.”

“Right. I’m sure I believe that,” she replied sarcastically.

“Look, princess. I get that you think your expensive shoesand iPhone dictate that you can boss me around, but I really don’t give a shit.Now I’m late for work and I need to get in there. You have a problem with that?Write it on a customer complaint card.”

Next thing she knew, he was brushing past her into the shop,heading straight for the back of the counter. She watched as he reached for anapron, tying it on over his dark gray t-shirt and his black denim jeans. Hepulled a hairnet over the strands that dangled low over his eyes. She observedboth employees as they deferred to him with comments about the show, himanswering back with authority, and suddenly she realized she had been insultingthe owner of the shop. The owner of her favorite café. The baker of herfavorite summertime pie.

Shit.

When she finally got to the front of the line, her eyesglued to the last slice of pie under the case, she watched in horror as the manfrom earlier came up behind the cashier with the tattoos. He pulled the top of theglass case away, setting it down before reaching for the metal pie servingknife. As if moving in slow motion, she gaped as he removed the last slice,setting it into a plastic take-out container, before snapping it secure andwalking to the back of the kitchen.

Her heart dropped. She had been waiting all day with visionsof that pie dancing on her taste buds, and now her quick tongue had cost herits guilty pleasure, all because she had to go and offend the owner of theSerpentine. Just as she was ringing up the rest of her lunch, resigned toadding an almond tart instead for dessert, the owner came back up to thecounter with a plastic sack.

“I’ve got this one, Fangs.”

The cashier stepped out of the way and began to help thenext customer as the tall owner towered over her from across the counter.

“Thanks for coming to my shop,” he looked down at her creditcard, “Veronica. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”

He offered her a smirk, and when she took the sack heoffered her with her lunch, she saw the revered slice of ginger peach piesitting on top, a series of numerical digits with the name “Sweet Pea” writtenin sharpie on the plastic.

“Anytime you want a private pie tasting, give me a call.”

With a final wink, he sauntered back to the kitchen, leavingher stranded with a newfound sense of hunger.

Thanks for the ask, @tory-b!!!

[itwasalwaysjustred]

prompt #004 - clinch

no pairings; WoL confronts Thancred about his reluctance to speak to someone important, 2.1k

content warnings: minor violence, vague Shadowbringers spoilers 

“Not today.”

It’s not often that two, simple words have such an impact on Nhagi’li, but it is this pair that leaves Thancred’s lips as he watches Urianger comfort Minfilia that leave the Miqo’te feeling deeply, deeply unsettled. They buzz around the inside of his head like wespes, returning any time his mind isn’t occupied with fighting off monsters or running errands to help with their mission. He tries to set his concerns aside, wanting to believe that Urianger at the very least will step in before this goes on too long. And still, as each day slowly blends into the next, Thancred says nothing — nothing, at least, that would indicate he intends to speak with Minfilia about anything out of the ordinary. Nhagi’li takes up chewing his fingernails down to nubs to try and settle his nerves. 

Because really? They don’t have the time for this. It would be foolish to assume that Vauthry hasn’t been tracking their every move, and even more foolish to assume that he is going to just sit on his laurels and let them do as they wish. Moreover, their work doesn’t allow them the leisure of a low profile, and the longer it takes for the trolley and the Talos to be made operational, the greater the risk that they’ll be caught by Vauthry’s men. In truth, their escapes thus far, particularly from the likes of Ran’jit, have had more to do with luck than they have with skill. If he catches up with them, before they have the chance to get the Talos going, it will be impossible for them to protect their project, its workers, and Minfilia. Something — or someone — will have to be sacrificed, which will put them right back to square one. What if they lose one of the Scions defending this place? What if that Scion is Thancred? 

And yet, he says nothing.

What frustrated Nhagi’li the most is that Thancred should know as well as he does that one doesn’t always get the chance to say the things they mean, that relying on actions alone doesn’t guarantee that they are understood. That sometimes, people are taken before their time, and those who remain are left to bear the burden of all their unspoken words. Nhagi’li’s own have lodged themselves somewhere between his heart and his lungs, tender and aching and doomed to remain there forever because he’d been too cowardly to do anything about them. He had lost his chance; he can’t bear to let Thancred lose his. 

(Again.) 

So he seeks Thancred out after dark, knowing the gunbreaker won’t have gone far. They’re too close to the completion of the trolley for him to stray, and it’s too late for him to be out guarding the engineers, who have long since gone to bed themselves. Sure enough, he finds Thancred in their shared quarters, mostly undressed and in the process of cleaning his weapon. The Hyur spares Nhagi’li a nod by way of greeting, no doubt assuming the Miqo’te has come in to get what rest he can. Any other time, Nhagi’li would have shed his armour and flopped down on the bed next to his companion, shamelessly leeching off his warmth until the sound of Thancred’s motions lulled him to sleep. 

He’s too tense for that kind of thing now, though, and with an air of reluctance he settles himself carefully down on the bed next to Thancred, realizing a little belatedly that he hadn’t thought of what he was going to say. (Nhagi’li really shouldn’t be surprised. He’s never been good at emotional moments and there was no reason to start now.) 

“I think you’re making a mistake,” he blurts out when the silence gets to him, and then winces at his choice of words. That was not how he intended to begin this conversation at all, but beggars can’t be choosers apparently. Luckily, Thancred takes his bluntness graciously, giving him a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders. 

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes, you’ll have to be a little bit more specific.” 

Nhagi’li licks his lips, already feeling the hairs starting to stand up along his tail, but takes the opening all the same. “With Minfilia.” 

That is enough to make Thancred’s shoulders tense, his hand stilling for a heartbeat. It’s more of a tell than he usually gives, and Nhagi’li hopes that means that the girl has been on his mind as well. If he’s been thinking about it too, then maybe there’s a chance he is going to speak to her and this whole thing will just be an embarrassing waste of time. 

When Thancred says nothing more, the Miqo'te forges on, determined to see this to the very end, no matter how awkward. He owes it to Thancred — and to Minfilia, if he’s being honest — to try and make them both… happy? Is that what they’ll be? Perhaps “unburdened” is a better word. 

“Look—” Nhagi’li cuts himself off with a frustrated noise, running agitated fingers through his hair. “I know I’m not a good person to take advice from, or even to listen to about anything except maybe fighting Primals, but this isn’t okay. She looks up to you, you know, and she wants you to recognize her for her and not just because she looks like someone you cared about. You gotta tell her she does deserve this and you do care about her and—”

Thancred interrupts him with the snap of his cleaning case, expression tight and closed off. He sets his weapon aside and stands, seemingly unwilling to even look at Nhagi’li despite speaking to him,

“Urianger has everything well in hand. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

His dismissal is clear in everything from the rigidness of his posture to the haste in his stride as he turns his back on Nhagi’li and heads for the door. Being brushed off like that stings; it’s not like Nhagi’li has never been ignored or passed over in his life, but he liked to think that the Scions wouldn’t be quite so cruel. Apparently, he had been wrong, and the itch of irritation spurs him into motion. It only takes a moment for his hands to make the familiar signs before he’s landing right in front of the retreating Thancred, little clouds of smoke fading away as he rises up from a crouch. He folds his arms over his chest and raises his chin in defiance, as though daring Thancred to try and walk out on him again. 

“I think you’ll find that doesn’t work on me. I’ve been told I’m annoyingly persistent when I don’t get my way. Now then.”

Something that might have been anger flickers across Thancred’s expression and Nhagi’li latches onto it. If he can’t appeal to Thancred the polite way, with gentle conversation and clumsily worded advice from a friend, then perhaps he needs to try another route. He can be the bad guy in all of this, if he needs to be. This is for the Hyur’s own good, after all. 

Affecting nonchalance, the Miqo’te slits his eyes and says, cooly, “I want a date from you. Or I go and tell her now. Everything that you won’t.” 

Nhagi’li’s not entirely sure he intends to go through with his threat, but something in his body language must suggest that he will, because the moment he turns to head out of Thancred’s room the Hyur reaches out and grabs him by the arm. The Hyur has grabbed him before, mostly to tug him aside for something, but he’s never yanked him backwards quite so roughly. He’s never stepped into Nhagi’lis personal space quite so threateningly either, using the scant inches he has over the Miqo’te to loom over him, expression dangerous in its stillness. 

“You will do no such thing.”

The words send a kind of rebellious zing up the length of Nhagi’li’s spine, and he feels his lips curl into a sneer, tail thrashing behind him against the door. Is Thancred trying to threaten him? Really? He should know better than to try something like that. 

“Oh and I guess you think you can stop me?” 

Thancred’s grip on his arm tightens past the point of pain, and Nhagi’li can’t stop the low, threatening growl that rumbles in his chest. His heart beats strong and fierce in his ears like a wardrum, the threat of violence almost tangible in the air. 

He doesn’t know who moves first, too focused on the taste of Thancred’s blood on his tongue and the weight of the other’s body as he’s dragged into combat. There is nothing beautiful or heroic about their fight; it is messy and ugly and full of every dirty trick the pair of them know. Without weapons, the two of them squabble like children, grabbing at hair and clothes and ears and tail, trading blows and knocking over furniture as they squabble without a care for what they ruin. Urianger’s neat stack of tomes topples to the ground with a loud bang and the flutter of pages, something breaks when it shatters against the floor, Thancred’s bag of charged cartilleges scatters underneath one of the beds, and yet Nhagi’li only has eyes for his opponent.  

Were it not for the blessing of the Echo, Nhagi’li suspects that Thancred would have him on the ground before he even knew what hit him. As it stands, Hydaelyn’s blessing is enough to even the playing field, and even tip it slightly in his favour. With a snarl more beast than man he manages to shove Thancred against the floorboards, using their locked hands to keep him there as he plants his knees on either side of the Hyur. It’s hardly the most effective of holds, but it’s enough, and though Thancred bucks and thrashes against him, Nhagi’li manages to keep him there with every ounce of his Primal-fighting strength. 

When he finally stops to catch his breath, glaring daggers the whole time, Nhagi’li retaliates by pushing more of his weight into the pin, Thancred’s hands squeezing his so hard that he’s sure his fingers will go numb soon. The pain does nothing to deter him from leaning in closer still, baring his teeth. 

“What will you do if we’re attacked and you don’t make it? What do I tell her?”

Thancred struggles again and Nhagi’li snaps his teeth, lowering his voice to hiss, “He really did love you, Minfilia, I promise, he was just too much of a coward to tell you it himself?!” 

The door of Thancred’s room opens, then, without warning, and Nhagi’li makes the mistake of glancing over his shoulder, not wanting to be surprised by their newest visitor. It’s just for a moment, long enough for him to meet Urianger’s wide-eyed stare, but it’s all the opening Thancred needs. Nhagi’li finds himself tossed like a ragdoll, winded and momentarily confused as the man beneath him frees himself in a single, brutally effective move. It’s a dirty trick, and Nhagi’li would have called him out on it if drawing breath past his bruised rib cage didn’t currently hurt quite so much. The best he can manage is what he hopes is a fearsome scowl up at Thancred as the Hyur brushes himself off, knowing that he’s lost this round of their argument. The look he gets back from the gunbreaker is nothing short of withering, before Thancred turns on his heel and stalks past Urianger and out the door. The Elezen looks between them, his gaze lingering on the Miqo’te until Nhagi’li waves a shooing hand at him, at which point he turns and follows Thancred out. 

Licking at his split lip, Nhagi’li growls something extremely unflattering about Thancred and his parentage under his breath before reluctantly hauling himself to his feet. There’s no point in following the gunbreaker; the moment has, for all intents and purposes, been lost. He’ll either have to try again later or pray that his words reached Thancred somehow and might stir him to action. That thought is enough to make him curse again, the end of his tail flicking an irritated rhythm against his calf. 

With great reluctance he gives himself a shake, pushing dark thoughts aside for another time when he has nothing else to think about. For now, he supposes he ought to put the room back the way he found it, if only so he doesn’t inconvenience the rest of them. With an extremely put upon sigh that turns quickly to a wince, Nhagi’li bends down to start picking up the pieces of their mess. 

[atamascolily]

Fanfic Excerpt: Alternate version of Sinbad 2x21 - “The Guardians,” 4/?

AU version of Adventures of Sinbad episode 2x21 - “The Guardians” - from Bryn’s perspective. Parts One, Two and Three are here, here, and here respectively.

In which I realize I prefer writing angsty character studies to actual plot, but decide to give it a go nonetheless.

"So, who are these Balardi monks, anyway?" Doubar wants to know as they let the horses rest for a time, while Ajeeb sleeps. A good question, and one Bryn is curious about as well.

Firouz shrugs. "They're part of a minor religious sect, fairly popular in this region. Dedicated to studying the meaning of life and the martial arts, rather than promoting the worship of any particular god."

"So, philosophers who study war as much as they study books," Sinbad comments archly. "They seem like they would be formidable opponents."

"Perhaps. They generally keep to themselves, rather than proselytizing, although they have a reputation for being effective fighters." As usual, Firouz is skeptical of anything that doesn't match his particular interests: explosions, inventions and healing. Bryn tries not to roll her eyes.

"It reminds me of some practices I encountered further east," Sinbad muses idly, almost to himself. Sometimes Bryn forgets that Sinbad, despite his relatively youthful appearance, is so well-traveled, in addition to being frightfully competent in every discipline except talking about his feelings.

"Oh, like Tetsu," Doubar agrees, referring to Sinbad's one-time foe turned friend - a rogue samurai from the distant island of Nippon, with its strange customs and peculiar weaponry. Tetsu, like Bryn and Sinbad, also bore a mysterious rainbow bracelet shackeled to his right wrist, and had no memory of who gave it to him or the circumstances under which he received it. "A skilled fighter and a noble spirit!"

"Kinda like Tetsu," Firouz agreed. He spreads the map out on his lap. "It looks like Balardi is both the name of the monastery and the name of the village nearby. So we can stop in at the village and re-supply when we get there."

"So are there any prophecies about the Balardi monks?" Doubar asks Firouz. "How does a tiny baby fit into all of this?"

"I don't know. It seems unlikely, but the Balardi do believe in predestination and re-incarnation, particularly of their leaders. Perhaps they think that's what Ajeeb is and the ring around his neck is some sort of identifying token." It's clear from his tone Firouz doesn't think re-incarnation is very scientific, although in this case, it would fit the facts.

"More importantly, the bandits think he's the subject of this prophecy," Sinbad interjected. "That's the real problem here."

Firouz passes the map over to Sinbad, effectively changing the subject. "It looks like we have two options - a direct route over the gorge here, or a longer route on the main road. Which do you want to take?"

Sinbad pauses, staring at the map. "The gorge. Even if it's too narrow to get the horses across, we'll still make better time on foot than we would mounted on the main road. Besides, if we have to, we can always destroy the bridge to buy ourselves some time if the bandits are on our tail."

Bryn winces, though she's not surprised. Sinbad is an excellent rider, but he is never sentimental when it comes to horses: he picks them up if they need to travel overland, and drops them immediately when it comes time to return to the sea. Often, he loses them in between, a loss he takes out of his own personal share of the profits from each voyage. He doesn't seem to notice. Horses are a means for Sinbad, never an end in themselves, though he is never intentionally cruel to them. Bryn always finds herself fond of the horses and it hurts whenever circumstances force her to let go of them.

Rongar, staring off into the distance through Firouz's magniscope, signs that he can see the bridge off in the distance. Not too far.

Bryn stands up, stretches. "I'm going for a walk," she says.

"Be careful," Sinbad says. I can take care of myself, she wants to tell him, but she knows he means well, so she says nothing, just turns and walks away into the forest.

She doesn't intend to go far - just enough to get some privacy so she can relieve herself - but after she's finished her business, Dermott sends the image of a veiled bandit into her mind and she realizes that she's just set herself up for an ambush. Great.

Fortunately, the bandit is so intent on stalking Bryn that he pays no attention to the hawk perched in the tree above him and Bryn is able to use the images Dermott sends her to quietly circle around behind him. He goes down like a sack of grain when she hits him from behind and doesn't get up again.

She ought to feel some sort of grim satisfaction, but she doesn't - just numb. And if there's one bandit wandering around out here, there are likely to be others as well.

Thanks, she thinks hard at Dermott, and runs back toward the clearing where she left her companions. She was used to him winging in and out  on short notice - often not seeing him for days at a time - but in this case, his timing was particularly good. Judging from the shouting, it looks like the main attack is well under way. At least no magic is involved, at least none that she can sense, anyway.

"INCOMING," she yells as she charges into the clearing, to prevent any friendly fire. She ducks and rolls as arrows zing past her, and lands solidly behind the rocks her friends are using for shelter.

Sinbad smiles archly, "Bryn, how nice of you to join us." His words would be gallant if the situation weren't so dire.

"I leave you boys alone for a minute, and all hell breaks loose," she jokes, trying to lighten the mood. The horses have already bolted in terror, which Bryn supposes is better than bleeding out from the bandits' attack. Like it or not, the gorge bridge looks like their best option now. No way can they beat the bandits to Balardi on foot.

"Rongar, can you  carry Ajeeb?" Sinbad asks quietly."You're the fastest runner of all us. If things go south, do you think you can get across the bridge and wait for us to find you?"

Rongar gestures to the bandolier of knives, his hands flashing in signs. Yes, but...

"No problem," interjects Firouz. "I can work around your daggers. It's better if he's shielded by something, anyway." He's already tugging at the leather bandolier across Rongar's chest, and within a minute, he has the baby wrapped snugly around the warrior's chest, and lowering the bandolier back over the child's body. Rongar bears this fussing quietly, more amused by the novelty than anything. Bryn admires his aplomb. She wouldn't be able to move very well with the baby strapped to her like that.

Amazingly, Ajeeb is still sleeping through all of this. Please don't let him cry, Bryn silently prays. He's been such a calm baby so far - gurgling and smiling if he makes any noises at all - but she's not sure how far his tolerance will extend and doesn't really want to find out.

While Firouz is working, the arrows keep coming down around their rock shelter, many of them on fire, and the landscape is so dry that it isn't long before the vegetation around them is burning, sending up huge plumes of smoke around them. They wrap damp cloth around their nose and mouths, like they would for a sandstorm, but the smoke infiltrates into everything and Bryn cannot control her coughing.

"Sinbad, we're going to be cooked alive if we stay here!" Doubar warns. "What's the plan?"

Sinbad takes one of the pale cloths that used to swaddle Ajeeb and that Firouz didn't use to tie the baby to Rongar. He wraps it around his sword. "I'll create a diversion. Doubar will have my back. Rongar, Bryn, Firouz, when you see an opening, run like hell. The map said there was a bridge crossing up ahead. If we can get over that and cut the bridge, the bandits will have to take the long way around."

"What if they beat us to it?" Bryn asks soberly.

Sinbad shrugs. "We'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

She makes a face at the pun, since, knowing Sinbad, they probably will end up burning the bridge,  but he's right, as usual. One of the things she likes about the captain: he may have crazy ideas, but he's always willing to put his own life on the line first to implement them. Also, they usually work. She's seen enough by now to trust him: if he can get them out of this fix somehow, he will.

Sinbad swings the makeshift flag up over the rocks where their attackers can see it and the hail of arrows slows. "I'M COMING OUT!" he roars. "HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

The steady stream of arrows slow, and then cease abruptly as the bandits swarm out from under cover towards Sinbad.

Next to her, Rongar takes off running. She hesitates, not wanting to draw the bandits' attention their way while Ajeeb is still in bowshot range, so she sees what happens next: Sinbad, dropping his cloth-wrapped sword, then somehow managing to get a dagger out from his side pocket and taking the bandit leader hostage, with the blade wrapped around his throat.

As quickly as that, the tide has turned. They're not out of danger yet, but at least the bandits have stopped shooting at them for now.

"Okay, that's our cue," Doubar says, as Sinbad staggers back towards the rock, dragging his hostage with him. The rest of the bandits mutter to themselves, but they refrain from striking out.

"Let's go!" Sinbad yells and all four of them plunge into the woods after Rongar towards the gorge bridge.

She doesn't know exactly what Sinbad has planned - he probably doesn't know either, improvising it all as he goes along. At least this way they'll keep the element of surprise on their side. Whatever outcome the bandits had planned for their ambush, Bryn has a feeling this probably wasn't it.

[hrayrdallakyan]

G.I.R.L.Z.

Hey there, girls. I wanted to start this post with some sort of a saying about you and how we, guys, can never understand you or whatever, but then I thought nah, all those stupid sayings are by guys and most of them were cunts anyway.

Ok, so, this is the part where you decide whether you want to read this or not, ‘cause I’m not gonna censor myself. I say what I think and there’s no filter. I’m tired of being PC.

Ok, so those of you who’s reading this for reasons unknown… get ready.

THIS IS GOING TO BE… boring.

I always wondered, what the hell is wrong with you girls? Most of you are amazing human beings and yet… Some of your decisions are beyond not just my, but any human being’s understanding. And most of those decisions are about… us, guys.

In many ways girls are better than guys. I honestly believe that to be true. I’m not gonna name all your great qualities.. Everyone knows how great you are. Some will admit it and the rest are morons, so fuck ‘em.

I honestly believe that this world would be more peaceful and prosperous and a much better place overall if it was led by women. You wouldn’t start a nuclear war just because you have an itch between your legs. We would. I can’t imagine a woman doing all those STUPID things that we did and keep doing. All the great discoveries and achievements made by men were and still are backed by women. One of the greatest things created.. Ever.. was and still is that thing we all know as a computer. Alan Turing created it, yes. But would he succeed without Joan Clarke? Don’t think so…

Every story has a great woman behind it. You’re mostly behind the scenes, but you’re there.

I sometimes think that you, ladies, have no idea how great you are and how big of an effect you can make on our fucked up history. My bet is - you’re the ones who’ll right all the wrongs. Or maybe I’m an idiot.. Who knows? Not me.

Anyway.. Being as awesome as you are… my question to is… what the actual fuck? Why do you let your partners behave the way the do? Huh? I mean male partners. I know many awesome girls who, before changing their “relationship status”, were fun, strong, interesting… you could see that spark in their eyes. Aaaaand once they start dating, not to mention marriage or whatever,... it’s all gone. Some guys take over… and I mean they TAKE OVER... of your movements, thoughts, interests, activities… everything… and train you to be a “good girl”. You don’t do this, you don’t smile like you did before, you’re home at a very specific time and so on… in the end you talk and move and speak and live the way you’re told. If not - there’s a scandal and you’re mostly labeled as a bitch or a whore. And if that’s not enough there’s always physical violence. And so you live a very boring life, just wasting away your precious years, like a puppy. All you need to do at that point is to pick up a paper with your teeth and take it to your master.

Sorry, I just threw up in my mouth…

I described the worse case scenario of a “happy home life”.

Do you know a person whose life can be described as hell? If not - imagine the situation I’ve described. Who do you blame? The partner who charmed her and once he got full access to the body - the inner animal took control? Maybe it’s her fault? But how can it be her fault? She didn’t do anything… it’s him who acts like a piece of shit.

Well, there we go, she didn’t do anything. That’s the answer. She just chose him. But how do you choose a guy? I mean seriously… What is it that you pay attention to? What’s the first thing? I asked few girls I know this question… and fucking hell… the answers I got… Somebody kill me.

If I ask a guy.. What’s the first thing you pay attention to when you see a girl? 9 out of 10 would lie. They’ll say “eyes” or shit like that. It’s simple. Ass, tits, lips. That’s it. Done. Guys actually “look” at your face like a week later.

Ok, so I’m just gonna quote some answers from girls without naming them... although I’d love to… oh anyway. I promised them confidentiality. La-di-da…

I asked the same question.

“What do you girls look at when you see a guy? What's the first thing? What's your criteria of a guy being likeable?”

“Fingers and wrists”... And then she added “I know I’m weird”

Maybe you are, ok. Next.

“First of all... it depends where I’ll meet him. Next, it’s everything. They way he speaks, behaves, what’s he wearing...”

What’s he wearing?... Um… Ok, I’ll bite. Moving on.

“A year ago I’d say shoes, but now it’s hair”

Shoes. Hair. Looks like I’m gonna need a tranquilizer sooner than I thought. Fine, next.

“How fit he is”

Well that’s a cliche, no?

“No specifics. When I see him I’ll know it’s him. That “zing” thing will just happen”

Ok, fair enough. Neeeext.

“The way he talks, behaves”

Looks like behaviour is… kinda important.)) Neeeeext!!

“First hair, then shoes”

Shoes. Again. SHOES!!! I want something for my headache… NEXT!

“How fit he is, hair, clothes, odour and he must be clean”

The Ken doll?

“He must have that thing, charisma… must be a gentleman and an animal in bed”

Woah… I said the FIRST THING! You’re killing me))) NEEEEEEEXT!!

“Even if the guy is very hot, the INSIDE is very important. Men look at 1 or 2 things, women look at 100 things at the same time”

The overall thing… sounds complicated, but ok ))

Sooo… You girls want a Ken doll, who’s interesting on “the inside”, goes to the right places, has good fingers and wrists and is an animal in bed. Um…

15 minutes later

Um….

30 minutes later

Still ummm…. No I’m not meditating. I’m just trying to understand how the fuck can a supercool girl pay attention to fuckin SHOES!!!!!!

Guy’s shoes can be ideal…. And if you pay that much attention to it… those fuckin shoes can be orgasmic… AND the guy can be your worst nightmare. What’s your reaction? Something like “oops”?

I’m not judging you, girls… who am I kidding? Hell yea I’m judging you! I personally don’t interact with girls who BORE me… The girls I asked the question are amazingly cool. So the overall description of a guy who would interest you makes ME wanna puke. I mean is that it? Really? SERIOUSLY?

This makes me think… Either we, guys, are so fucked up that you just wanna get one, like a pet or something. OR somehow your standards are surprisingly LOW. And the question is… WHY? Why do you grade yourself down? Some of you want a happy family… you can’t have a happy family life with that piece of shit, girls)) Come on. Think.

The family life is the hardest and most interesting game ever created. It only works when the pair plays it together as a team. Otherwise it’s a disaster.

This is really weird. You, girls, demand equality in everything and in my not so humble opinion you deserve no less. It shouldn’t even be a topic for a debate or conversation even. Equality must be an axiom. That’s it. No questions asked.

It turns out that you, girls, are getting better at solving worldwide problems, making a difference, changing things for better… but at the same time you’re getting worse in.. choosing a partner. It is a problem. I know many young families.. How many of them are really happy? Despite everything… 2! and that’s because those 2 families play the game as a team.

This whole post is a mess with bunch of mistakes and all that.

I feel like I don’t really have a right to say all this, but I am saying it, whether you like it or not. Some of my thoughts are cliche. No doubt about it. But there you go.

The main point of it all is that you, girls, have absolutely no clue how awesome you are. And it’s fuckin sad.

[dialux]

time’s been kind to you, my love

Many thanks to @queenblackbetha for betaing!

[Chapter 1]

[Chapter 2]

Chapter 3: strange, the things we regret

...

Jon seats himself outside Sansa’s room- technically, it’s their room, but he’s fairly certain that Sansa doesn’t know that, and also that she’s distressed enough to miss the signs of his presence in them.

He settles against the floor opposite the door instead of knocking. He’s learned enough to recognize what her crying sounds like- she’s done it before, once, when she thought him deep asleep- but she’d shied away from him then and he’s certain that she’ll do the same now. So Jon pulls out his sword, balances the blade across his knees, and starts to sharpen it.

The metallic zing of the whetstone across his blade seems to rouse her, though, for it’s only a few minutes past him starting that Sansa opens the door. Her eyes sweep over the hallway once, then twice, before catching him. They narrow.

“What’re you doing?”

“Sharpening my sword,” he says, shifting it so she can see it better.

Sansa’s eyes are red-rimmed, and the tear tracks still gleam in the torchlight. It’s strange, Jon reflects; but Sansa manages to turn blotchy cheeks and graceless anger into something ladylike. Somehow, through some strange method, she still manages to look lovely.

“You look ridiculous,” she snaps. “Where’s your bedchamber?”

Jon lifts his eyebrows, tilts his head to the door open behind her, and Sansa flushes in sudden understanding.

“Well, then- come inside. People will talk if they see-”

“This is your family’s private wing,” Jon replies, easily. “It isn’t a problem.”

“The floor cannot possibly be comfortable.”

“I’m fine,” he says bluntly. “You needed- still need, likely- some privacy. Take it. I’ll be here.”

After a long moment, Sansa’s face softens. It’s no longer the exasperated look she’d sported before, nor the heartbroken one before that; there’s affection there, in the gentle swell of her lips, in the crow’s-feet along her eyes. Jon’s called himself a fool countless times: for seeing a flame-haired woman with more strength than was entirely healthy and falling head-over-heels in love with her- and there have been times when he hates himself for putting another man in her way, after so much has already been taken from her by men.

Then there are moments like this, when Sansa looks at him as if she could love him, as if some part of her already does, and he can’t quite stop his heart from quivering with delight.

“Give me a moment,” Sansa tells him, and steps back into the room.

She closes the door, but she doesn’t latch it. Jon shrugs inwardly and returns to sharpening his sword, letting the rhythmic motion lull him. When the door opens again, Sansa leaves it open and walks back inside; Jon waits for a few more beats before rising to his feet and entering.

She’s washed her face, that’s the first thing he realizes- scrubbed the evidence of tears from it. The second thing he notices is the flowers that have been scattered over half the bed and floor, the same ones that had graced her hair not a few moments previous. The third is that Sansa’s wearing a nightgown, not a proper dress, and that she’s at the small vanity, undoing the small braids that had held those flowers.

He keeps the sword and whetstone on the nearest flat surface he can find, moving closer to Sansa.

She looks at him through the reflection in her mirror. “I shouldn’t have overreacted,” she murmurs.

“Not the most common reaction to finding out that your long-lost sister isn’t dead, aye.”

“I am glad,” Sansa says, twisting on the seat to look at Jon. There’s genuine worry in her eyes, as if Jon could ever think Sansa unhappy at such a thought. “I know it wasn’t... I was just startled.” Her lips curl, self-deprecating. “Stupid Sansa, always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

“Hey,” Jon says, breathes, stepping closer to her, close enough that the soft edges of her nightgown catch on his jerkin, “no, Sansa. None of that, not here.”

Slowly, keeping his eyes locked on hers, trying to see if she'll accept it, he places one hand over the back of her neck, fingers rubbing into the muscle. Almost instantly, Sansa goes boneless in his arms, melting against his back.

It’s one thing he’s learned of her: she craves touch, but only in specific places, only at specific times. When she feels safe enough for it, however, Sansa can be reduced to a pliant, loose-limbed mess within a few moments. Rubbing the back of her neck- it usually leaches the tension from her even quicker than the other spots.

“I’m so glad Arya’s alive,” she whispers, head tipping back against him, body settling fully against his. “So glad. You’ve no idea, Jon, how much of a relief it was to hear.” Sansa turns, then, and reaches up to undo the jerkin’s laces, eyes half-lidded, so easily he almost groans. “But- Robb- he just-” she shakes her head. “I wanted him to save me,” she says, and it’s the plaintive tone to those words that, finally, spurs Jon to draw her up, rest his forehead on hers.

Her hands pause in undoing the jerkin, palms flattened against his chest. Jon wonders if she can feel the thunder of his heart, the rapid bird’s flutter of it.

“I never doubted you loved Arya,” he tells her. They’re close, so close, and Jon can see the water still clinging to her lashes, the way the color fades from the root to the tip, turning bright and shining as gold. “Not even when you fought over the stupidest things. And Robb’s an idiot, Sansa. Someone with a proper head on their shoulders would’ve come for you.”

“I dreamt of it,” she confesses, muffling it into his chest. “Of Robb, marching into King’s Landing on a white horse. Of the stone walls falling, or how Cersei would scream when the sword fell on her neck, or how Joffrey would- would look so afraid. I wanted it, and-”

“And,” Jon finishes for her, softly, “the only person who came was me.”

“Yes,” she says, sighs, before stepping back enough that she can continue to undo the laces. “And I was rather angry about that as well, you know.”

“What, that I was the one to save you?”

“That it wasn’t Robb.”

“Well, I gave you dragons,” Jon says, running his thumb over her cheekbone, lips quirking. “’m not sure it gets more romantic than that, Sansa. Pretty sure Robb wouldn’t have ever ridden dragons into King’s Landing.”

“It’s not a competition,” Sansa says, sounding the tiniest bit irritable. But her eyes are no longer so grieved- they even have a hint of laughter in them- so Jon counts it as a win. “Take it off,” she adds, gesturing to the jerkin, and moves towards the bed.

“It’s just past evening,” Jon comments, but he’s not hesitating to undo the laces, not at all.

They haven’t shared more than the bed yet. Those first days, Sansa had hesitated to do even that, lying stiff and unmoving on her side of the bed- but, slowly, she’d relaxed enough to shift closer to him. Only a week previous, she woke quite clearly in his arms, and she must have liked it, because every night since, she’s rolled so she’s touching just about every inch of him that she can.

“And I’ve had a tiring few weeks.” Sansa tilts her head to the side, settling against the bed. “I wasn’t japing about that bit- those past few days were exhausting.”

“Exhausting,” Jon repeats, brows pulling together.

“It’s exhausting to be in a place where nobody’s willing to admit that you exist,” Sansa says, lifting one shoulder in a graceful half-shrug. “Though I suppose it wasn’t all bad.”

“No?”

“You hear things,” she tells him. “Secrets, I suppose, though rumors might be a better term for it.” Her eyes darken, just a little, and Jon wonders what she’s remembering- but then it’s gone, and her face is as calm and open as ever. “Did you know that Daenerys is barren?”

“I... might have heard some things,” he says slowly.

“I’m sure you know what that implies.”

Jon frowns, before pulling off his jerkin and stepping closer to the bed. “I don’t.”

“You’re the heir,” Sansa says impatiently, turning to face him. “To Daenerys. To Westeros. The next-”

“I’m Dany’s age,” he says flatly. “What makes you think I’ll outlive her?”

“Then your children,” she says, hands flattening on the bedcover. Sansa exhales, slowly, and looks up at him. “Our children. They’ll inherit, if she has none. Why do you think she was so amenable to our marriage, Jon?”

He sinks onto the bed. “But- you said she threatened to kill Robb if he refused her hand.”

“Yes,” Sansa says slowly.

“Then why would she want a marriage if she was barren?”

“Because she’s young. Because heirs can wait. She wanted a marriage to the Starks, and I gave her that.” Sansa purses her lips, nails digging into the linen before she stretches out over the bed. “There’s little more we ought to offer- little more that we can offer.”

Jon moves as well, toeing off his boots and resting his head against the headboard. Sansa’s eyes are closed, shining hair fanned out over the pillows, and she looks like one of the statues he’s seen in Pentos: every inch of her soft and perfect and lovely.

“This is important to you,” he murmurs to the ceiling.

It’s soft enough that she might not have heard it, but Sansa rolls over, her sweet warmth slotting against his side, and she says, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she says, eyes so large and aching that any man might drown in them- “I’ve spent one year alone while Robb fought a war that had Joffrey beat me in front of the court. Because I’ve spent two years believing Robb and my mother died at my uncle’s wedding, and that the only surviving Stark was me. Because the North is all that we have, and I won’t let that be taken from us.”

“All the blood we’ve shed,” Jon says, quietly, “won’t bring your father back.”

Sansa turns, rises, surges up, and there’s something sharp in her eyes that shines like stars through a storm-wind. “No,” she replies. “But there are things in this world worth fighting for. Worth bleeding for.” Her hands spasm, one contracting around his thigh, the other on the bedding. “Worth dying for.”

“Sansa,” Jon says, his own blood heating. “You think your father died for something worth it? You think Bran, or Rickon, or- or Robb, if we’re being honest here, how close he and your mother came to death- you think any of it was worth it?”

He’s shouting, almost, by the end of it. Sansa flinches back at the start, her eyes widening to the size of coins, before she tosses her head and firms her jaw.

“They’re not the only ones who died,” she says coldly.

“Oh, aye, let’s talk about Lord Karstark,” Jon snaps. “Or his sons. Because their deaths served such a great purpose-”

“Then let’s talk about how Arya risked everything to save Robb and Mother!” Sansa retorts, eyes narrowing. “Let’s talk about how Robb risked his entire life and army and nearly lost his life for his honor! Let’s talk about how you decided to land your dragon in the middle of the Red Keep just to save me, Jon, let’s talk about how you’ve spent years thinking of me as something more important than your life!”

“None of us have died!”

“But you have risked your lives.”

“And Father,” he says. “Or-”

“Not every death matters,” she cries, flushing, “oh, gods, is it that impossible to understand? Not every death matters, Jon, but we get to choose what our lives are worth, what we will die for, and we get to try to make it worth something. And nobody, not my family, not any queen, not even you, my husband, can speak to me of what that is.”

His clenches his jaw. “You’re going to fight for Northern independence, then.”

“For the North,” Sansa says, voice lowering.

Another person, a person who didn’t know her quite as well, might have taken that to mean that she was faltering- but Jon knew very well how obstinate Sansa could be. This was her attempt at ending the conversation, not any sort of surrender.

“And how do you plan on doing it?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do you plan on doing it?” Jon repeats. “We haven’t begun the talks yet, that’s true enough; but who will listen to you?”

Sansa’s lip curls. “Just because no one shall notice if I hold my silence,” she says, “doesn’t mean that I must be quiet, nor does it mean that they won’t take note of what I say.”

He hisses out through his teeth. “So... you have a plan?”

She looks at him, measuring and steady, for a long minute. Jon watches her back- he’s unsure of what she wants, what she’s looking for- but Sansa seems to find it, for she nods.

“Yes,” she says, and looks as if she’s finished; but then, abruptly, she softens. It’s that- that she looks as if she’d be willing to speak to him about this, her hands skipping over the sheets in careless descriptions, finally letting words pass from her lips- that pushes Jon to draw his legs under him, to press his fists into his thighs and listen, properly. “I am not half a fool, Jon. Your aunt- she has spent a lifetime attacking, has she not? She is a Targaryen, she has dragons; she has spent years learning that the best defense is a strong offense.”

“Aye.”

“But a war of words is not one where dragons can burn dissent to ash.” Sansa bites her lip. “And if we place her on the defense from the start, she will be unbalanced. It will be easier to bargain.”

He feels a smile pull at his lips. “Bargain, as if we were fisherfolk.”

“Margaery- Lord Tyrell’s daughter- she used to tell people that the lowest born were no different from the highest.” She lifts an eyebrow at him. “’Twas true enough then, and it’s true enough now. If we name Robb the king of four realms, do you not think it changes the entire setting of the conversation?”

King of four realms, Jon thinks, startled. King of four realms- but it’s true enough. The North, as he was crowned; the Riverlands through his mother; the Iron Islands by conquest; and the Vale- who have more than fifteen thousand men in Robb’s army, who, upon hearing of Daenerys’ return, decided to join with a Stark rather than a Targaryen.

He hadn’t thought of it, not truly, but Robb is the King of almost half the realms of Westeros, and of those realms, the majority chose him; as opposed to Daenerys, whose only claim on Westeros is that of her bloodline.

“Ah,” is all that comes out of his mouth, at first, though the next words are easy enough: “Daenerys didn’t come to rule over the southern half of Westeros alone, Sansa. She won’t accept this.”

“Robb won’t be able to hold to all of the realms,” Sansa agrees. “But if we make Daenerys bargain down to one kingdom rather than up to that, then we will be far more likely to achieve what we need.”

Jon exhales, before deliberately relaxing against the headboard. Sansa’s eyes are cool and sharp, like the blued-steel blades of the Vale soldiers; it reminds him of the way she’d looked when she landed in Riverrun, all measured defiance and level emotion. She’s chosen- and there’s nothing Jon can say to shake her from her course now.

“So that’s what you shall do tomorrow,” he says.

“Yes.” She leans forwards, just a little, and brushes her hand against the back of his. Jon lets his hand flip so his fingers curl over hers and uses the leverage to bring her closer to him, so she can settle against him, her back to his chest, warm and soft once more. “That is what I intend, Jon, yes.”

He trusts Dany, loves her, has spent years with her. But Jon also trusts Robb, also loves Robb- has spent years with him as well.

Only a few days ago, he’d been certain that the wounds of war would have to be closed. Peace was necessary. Everyone was tired; the smallfolk had suffered enough. But if Jon knows anything in all the world, he knows these two things: that a good king is as beholden to his subjects as they are to him, and that Robb is one of the best kings Westeros has ever seen.

Things are nowhere near as simple as he’d hoped- it’s a tangle, all that’s before them; of lives and honor and land, and Jon’s not quite sure if he’ll survive the unsnarling.

But then he remembers Sansa’s warmth by his side, slotted under his arm, sweet and trusting, and Jon’s certain of one more thing: he’ll die before offering Sansa any more pain.

“You’re thinking too much,” she murmurs, and Jon sighs, lets his hand trace over the smooth weight of her hair.

“It’ll be dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t like it,” Jon continues.

Sansa tips her head back, eyes meeting his. “I know.”

He sighs, again. “I can’t stop you.”

“No,” Sansa says, the faintest hint of a smile written across her face. “You cannot.”

“Well, then, I have no choice.” Jon’s head droops forwards, exhaustedly, but his arm remains tight around Sansa’s waist, fingers loose around the curve of her body. “I’ll be there,” he tells her, half-irritably, half-fondly. “If this is of such importance to you, Sansa, then I’ll be there.”

It’s all he knows, truly: to protect Sansa, to love her, to offer her everything he has.

She trusts him, trusts him enough to speak to him, to rest in his presence when she won’t offer the same to her own mother- and- it’s- well. Call Jon a fool, call him Targaryen-mad or Stark-tragic or bastard-lustful, but his heart’s been Sansa’s since the moment he landed in King’s Landing, and the very idea that she might offer any of that love back is enough to leave his dilemmas moot.

In the end, Jon’s choice isn’t between his father’s side or his mother’s, isn’t between Dany and Robb, isn’t between Targaryen and Stark. In the end, his choice is Sansa, twice over, thrice over, a choice he’d make for a thousand lifetimes.

We’ve all lost too much, Robb had said, days previous.

Now, his wife in his arms, her warmth seeping into his bones, Jon can only think, Lost too much to lose more now.

...

Sansa wakes early the next morning, early enough that the sky is still dark, with Jon fast asleep beside her. She wishes, for a moment, that she could just remain beside him; that the world could stay outside these walls for long enough that she can forget it exists at all.

But Sansa’s not in the habit of shrinking back. She sighs, instead, and rises, careful not to jostle Jon; then she takes the cloak Jon shed before slipping into bed and wraps it around her shoulders. It’s large enough that nobody will be able to see beneath, and it’s warm to boot. The door creaks, just a little, when she opens it, but Jon doesn’t even seem to hear.

Outside the room, Riverrun is still asleep.

It’s just barely dawn, the sky still a soft grey, and there are few enough people around, fewer still who are aware enough of their surroundings to notice her. Sansa moves easily in the shadows, exploring the castle slowly- she’s never been to Riverrun before, after all, and though there’s numerous similarities in the architecture of the castle to the Red Keep, there are differences as well.

It’s why she doesn’t realize that one door isn’t just one that opens into another corridor, but rather into a garden.

A garden that’s not been tended in a long time, it seems, for Sansa can’t discern any maintenance. There are thick vines and blooming flowers, and trees tall enough to shade the entire ground despite the rising sun. Sansa hesitates for a moment: it’s cold, cold enough to leave her shivering even under her cloak, and she can’t be sure of what lurks in the darkness.

But the fresh smell of pine needles is so sharp in her nose- and the damp, earthy coolness of the garden is so entirely reminiscent of Winterfell’s godswood, she can’t find it in herself to be afraid.

The air is cold, like the North. Sansa breathes it in, lets it rest in her lungs, and steps out into the garden.

There are no paths- that’s the first thing she realizes. Even as the sky lightens above her, sunlight shaded green by all the leaves, she can’t find anything in the garden that’s not derelict or overgrown. There’s a broken-down stone formation a few feet to the side that might once have been a well. Growing over it are purple flowers, smaller than her thumbnail, that she’s never seen before; Sansa plucks a full vine of them and starts to search for another vine, one stiff enough to give shape to a crown that she can weave.

It’s while searching for it that she stumbles over Robb.

Or, a person who looks quite like him. It’s hard to identify amidst the dappled shadows, but he’s young, Sansa thinks, with hair Tully-bright and a cloak of furs spread over his broad shoulders. He’s seated between two trees, back curved against one and the steel-shod toes of his boots touching the roots of the other; the trees are tall enough to match his height, slender enough that he could likely span their trunk with both hands.

Sansa’s foot comes down on a dry leaf, and his bowed head, pillowed on arms that rested on drawn-up knees, jerks upright wildly.

Robb, she thinks, then, not half-bitter.

“Sansa,” he breathes, when he recognizes her.

There’s a part of her that resents him for looking so young; the commander who won a hundred battles, whom she bled for before the Iron Throne- he doesn’t deserve to look so fragile here. But the dawn-light is harsh, and under a canopy that makes her so homesick she can scarcely breathe, Sansa can’t find it in herself to hold to that resentment.

“Robb,” she replies, and swirls the flare of the cloak around her knees to settle against a nearby tree. “I didn’t expect anyone to be awake,” Sansa confesses, and Robb’s teeth flash in a hesitant smile.

“People usually aren’t. It’s why- why I come here.”

“To be alone?”

“Yes, partly.” He pauses, looks at her, and then seems to deflate even further, spine molding against curve of the tree behind him. “I like it. The trees are nice, and there’s not much noise, and-”

“-and,” Sansa finishes, mostly because she’s certain Robb won’t ever say it: “it feels like Winterfell.”

Robb looks at her. “Yes,” he says, finally. “Yes, it feels like that, too, a little.”

“I miss it,” she murmurs, drawing up her own knees and resting one cheek on them. “I never thought I would. But now I want to- to go back there. To see the kitchens and the halls and the godswood-” Sansa bites her lip, bites back the flood of words rising up her throat.

It won’t do anyone any good if she were to spill her guts to the world. They’re ruined, now, ruined on the inside, ruined along with the scars on her back. She’s wondered, before, if she would bleed red, if such a healthy, vibrant color could be given to a fool and coward such as she- but even Petyr had bled such a gushing red on the flagstones of the Red Keep, and she knows him to be a consummate liar and traitor, knows him to be the murderer of her father.

Some would call it a terrible thing- knowing one’s own humanity only due to the humanity of other, more terrible people- but Sansa can only feel relief at the thought.

As she said: she’s broken, inside.

“I wanted to leave,” Sansa finishes, because there’s so little else she can allow herself to say. “And now all I want is to go back.”

“To see us there,” Robb says. He pauses, then continues: “Do you remember, those games in the godswood- the ones where Arya and Jon would climb the trees and you’d shout at them to get down?”

“And I’d go off and sulk,” Sansa says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “They’d bring crowns, after that, wouldn’t they? Of leaves and berries and- oh, gods, do you remember that time when Arya made it of thorns?”

“Well,” Robb says, “you whinged to everyone from the cook to Father about it. I doubt anyone would forget.”

“How dare you!” Sansa gasps. “I’ve still got the scars from that!”

It’s a lighter feeling than she’s felt in a long time. Not quite happiness, but something that fizzes in the back of her throat like the froth of the cider Margaery had once given her. There’s something about this place, about the mulch under her feet and pine-sharp air, that seems to lighten her and Robb both: it feels as if these past few years haven’t happened, as if anger and distrust and cold grief hasn’t lodged itself between their ribs in the place where once their love for their father and brothers lived.

But love and laughter can only last for so long. The levity in Robb’s face fades, along with the smile; and though he looks reluctant to speak on it, he does.

“Yes,” he says, quiet. “And I hear that they aren’t the only scars you have.”

Sansa inhales slowly, hands tightening on the fabric covering her knee. “You’ve heard the rumors, then.”

“Everyone has,” Robb tells her. “Though some are worse than others.” He pauses for a moment, and then he announces, suddenly: “It should have been me there, to rescue you. I know- I know that-” There’s frustration in his voice and in his eyes when he continues, as if words are not enough to convey his meaning; or, as she thinks is more likely, there are too many words for him to choose. “Yesterday,” he decides, in the end, “in the solar- well. If you cannot find it in yourself to forgive me, Sansa, I’d understand.”

She doesn’t answer, not for a long time. The weight of Jon’s cloak is warm around her shoulders, though, and it’s the creature comfort of his smell around her, of Winterfell surrounding her, that gives her the courage to say what she does next.

“When I was in King’s Landing,” Sansa murmurs, eyes affixed on a patch of moss by Robb’s feet rather than his eyes- Robb’s eyes have always been piercing, and she doesn’t think she can bear to look at them now- “Cersei- and Joffrey, though Joffrey spoke a lot less- they always called me stupid.” She swallows, hard. “To hear that Arya saved you, that she could live with you for three entire years while I thought you were dead for a good portion of it, was- it just seemed-” a breath, in, out, steady and raw in her ears, “-true.”

Robb shifts, as if to take her in his arms, but Sansa sets her shoulders at a defensive slant. Almost instantly, he freezes.

“I don’t blame you for not rescuing me,” she says softly, and lets her eyes drift up, doesn’t let herself look away.

Her father went to his death with his head held high, dignified to the last, and Sansa is his eldest daughter. Her mother bled out of scars along either side of her neck, enough that everyone thought her dead- and Sansa is her mother’s heir. She might be ruined, might be broken, a specter of a girl who’d once loved lemoncakes and finery- once, she’d been a summer lady, but now she is a princess of winter, a Princess of Winter, a lady with teeth sharp as the wolf they once killed.

Sansa is a fool and a coward and a traitor.

But she will not let herself falter here.

“I could have spared you so much pain,” Robb says, softly, just as soft as Sansa. “You ought to blame me.”

“It is mine to choose,” Sansa replies. “And- there is enough hatred in this world, don’t you think? I can choose to weep over the scars Joffrey left on my body, I can choose to rage over Father’s death, I can choose to hate you over your abandonment- but I choose not to.” She sighs. “And, anyhow, I am not the only one who has lost over-much in these years. Do you think I don’t know that?”

“We’ve all lost so much, but-”

“I wasn’t speaking of us all.” Sansa forces her voice to be even when she continues. “We’ve lost a father, two brothers; and, of course, I feared that I’d lost you and Mother and Arya- but you’ve lost more than that, as well, Robb.”

He blinks at her. There’s comprehension there, she’s sure of it; but also, layered on top: a wilful desire to misunderstand.

“What are you talking about?”

But Sansa’s not a stranger; she’s Robb’s sister, and she can still remember his first love, his first kiss, his worst defeat in the training yard- Sansa might temper her tongue for herself a thousand times over, but she won’t ever do it simply to make her brother comfortable.

“Your wife,” she says, voice gentling from the truth’s initial sting.

“My wife.” Robb sounds so weary when he says those two syllables, worn down as the stones of the well a few feet behind them, a man of sixty years settling into the sloping shoulders of a boy just past two decades. “What of Jeyne?”

“What happened to her?”

They say that you loved her, Sansa thinks. They say you were bewitched by her. Everyone calls you the King in the North despite knowing the North to be held by the Greyjoys, despite knowing you to have never set foot there in years, but-

“She lives,” Robb says shortly. “I haven’t seen her in years, but- but she lives.”

-but I have never heard a single soul name Jeyne Westerling your queen.

“In the Westerlands?” Sansa asks.

Robb’s lips twist. “Yes. Alive and well, I hear- but. She’s married.”

“Married,” she says.

“Yes,” he says, wryness settling into the dear bones of his face. “Married, to another. While Jeyne believed me to be dead- but married nevertheless.”

“Oh,” Sansa breathes, gut twisting. “I’d no idea.”

“No, it’s not common knowledge.” Robb leans back, stretches his legs out. He looks sad; sad and tired. The resignation in his eyes hurts more than his anger ever could. “I miss her, in truth,” Robb tells her, “though less than I’d thought I would. Jeyne- she was a dearer friend, I think, than ever a wife.”

Sansa bites her lip before reaching out and laying her hand in the crook of Robb’s elbow. “I’m sorry.”

“As am I.” Robb sighs, then places his hand over hers. “For everything, Sansa, a thousand times over. For the blood you shed, and the truths I never told, and the danger I placed you in. If I’d been better-”

“-but you weren’t,” Sansa says.

Robb flinches at it, and Sansa feels her breath catch in her lungs, abruptly remembering the shake of Robb’s shoulders in the hours after Bran fell- she’s not seeing the king, Sansa realizes, not here, not now: all that’s here is her brother, elder by three years, dutiful to a fault, a boy who’s always swallowed responsibility like it were Arbor Gold, like it were something to enjoy. Her hesitation drips away as fog before the morning sun; and then Sansa catches his sleeve between her fingers and drags him towards her.

“You weren’t,” she says, fingers digging into the fur across his shoulder-blades, feeling Robb’s forehead heavy on her shoulder. “But you couldn’t be, and I cannot fault you for that.”

It’s uncomfortable, Robb’s bones digging into Sansa’s, the morning air cold enough to leave her fingers aching; but she’s not been held by her brother in almost four years. It’s lovely- that’s what this is, more than any discomfort- lovelier than almost anything she could imagine, despite the give of mulch against her knees and stiff armor pressing into her arm. A warmth like a hearthfire settles into her bones, steady and unshaking, chasing away the morning’s bite.

They stay like that for a long time.

…

The sun slants down from the high windows of Riverrun’s Great Hall.

Sansa wears a gown of Tully and Stark blue, her hair brushed back and high once more. Jon can almost see the flutter of her pulse at her neck, the beat of her heart obvious through the thin skin there. She’s nervous, Jon's sure of it, but she hides it well; he’s also quite certain that none else know her to be anything less than perfectly composed.

They’re seated at the high table, Robb’s throne tall and starkly undecorated compared to Dany’s chair on Jon’s left; Sansa’s on Jon’s other side, and Robb’s on her further side, and her mother is to sit on Robb’s right. Dany’s already seated- she was there before noon, in all truth, looking as stiff and haughty as she ever got in a room of strangers. 

But Robb’s not there yet, and the bannermen are getting steadily impatient with him. Jon doesn’t know why, though he's starting to suspect that Sansa does: she’s spent the past two days in huddled conference with Robb- ones that she’s invited him to, ones that he’s refused under the full knowledge that his presence there would only make everyone further uncomfortable.

When Lady Catelyn enters the room, there’s a collective sigh of relief that the feast can begin soon. Everyone knows, after all, that Robb’s never far from his mother; where she goes, he’ll follow soon after.

A quick look over at Dany proves that she’s not impressed, but neither is she particularly irritated. 

That, Jon thinks, hiding the twist of his lips behind his cup, will change soon.

“You look lovely,” Catelyn murmurs to Sansa, one hand brushing almost thoughtlessly over the back of Jon’s jerkin. Then, directed to Dany: “I apologize for the wait- Robb got caught up in the stables this morning.” She shrugs, the same half-lift Sansa’d done a few days previous. “Clearly, hawking can make even kings lose track of time.”

“Clearly,” Dany says. “May we get started on dinner, then?”

“Of course,” Catelyn says, turning to reach for her cup of wine.

Sansa stirs at that- she reaches out and lays her hand over her mother’s. The other, clenched in her skirts, creeps a half-inch in the other direction and Jon lets his arm twitch forwards. Their fingers just barely brush each others before Sansa takes the cup and stands.

 “Let me,” she tells her mother, more a vibration in her chest than a true word. 

Sunlight catches on her hair, brightening it until it shines like polished metal. 

“My lords,” Sansa says, and the ambient noise fades away as ripples through a stone falling in still water. The bannermen turn their faces towards her, as flowers to the sun, and Sansa glows at it, a star shrouded in human skin, a queen without a crown, a wolf finally flexing her claws. 

“I beg of you to join me,” she continues, “in welcoming my brother, your elected King: sworn ruler of the North and the Vale and the Riverlands, the conqueror of the Iron Islands.” Sansa lifts her wine-cup high, the sunlight shimmering off the cut glass to throw rainbows across the audience. “To King Robb, my lords: the Young Wolf, the Twice-Risen King.”

When she tips her head back and swallows, in time to the cheers of the bannermen, a single curl of red hair slips out of her coif and falls down her neck. It’s pride Jon feels when he sees her like this- it’s a possessive sort of pride, a low, mean sort of pride, a sort of pride that makes him feel faintly guilty; the kind where Jon can see the appreciation of other men and think only none of you shall ever know her in all entirety- but it is pride nonetheless. 

Jon loops his finger in her red curl when she sits down, and tugs, and feels that pride lift his lips into a smile. It takes Sansa a moment to realize what that expression means, but when she does her face softens into a look that she’s only ever directed at him twice before: first the night of their wedding, when she wrapped herself around him and wept; second the day she arrived Riverrun and saw him seated outside of their room.

It’s the look of a woman in love, and though Jon knows it to be foolish beyond all reason to think she’ll ever truly love him, he cannot help but think it only a matter of time. 

Hope, perhaps, is what sweetens his wine so much, for it’s never before tasted so wonderful.