#Said the above thing after I said: “ Me when I have a fire alarm on my back so the fire can't sneak up on me ”

[bizzyboyfriends]

Me when the moots play gre.at go.d gro.ve because I keep yapping about it

image is not by me, unable to find original artist. I just added the little details and the live wyrm reaction.

[im-a-wonderling]

Rescue Me, Part 5 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

Sorry this took so long! I had a conference and then a car accident and then was maid-of-honor in a wedding, so safe to say things have been chaotic. I hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: Y/N tries to cope with the aftermath of the events on Neftali and Obi-Wan Kenobi's part in them.

Warnings: a sort of panic attack and PTSD

Word count: 5.9k

Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist

Words did not exist in the place I was.

I did not exist in the place I was. 

And strangely enough, there was no place where I was either. I was both nowhere and somewhere. Or maybe I was multiple somewheres at the same time.

But there was no time. 

Time did not exist either. 

There was no weight to me, for there was no form to me. I could not move, but I did not need to. I could not feel, and I didn’t need to do that either. All I needed was just to be, and I was, and the was-ing was.

Then something shifted.

I couldn’t describe what was different from Before, I only knew that I was now in After. There was no light, no sound, no smell, nothing I could discern other than the certainty that somehow, something was changing. Gradually, everything began to grow heavier and heavier, but not in a fearful way or an exciting way, just in a way.

And then, suddenly, there was pain.

Oh, it ached and burned, growing worse. And worse.

I couldn’t temper it or move away from it, forced to experience the pain exactly as it was.

Then, I felt tiny strikes, small reliefs from the otherwise all-consuming fire.

Next came the light. Dull and warm. It didn’t shine on any shapes or colors, but any light was a contrast from the nothingness of Before. 

Slowly, I became aware of where the fire’s shape started and stopped. Where I started and stopped. I could feel legs and arms again, battered and burning as they were, but I couldn’t move.

“Y/N, please, please wake up!”

I could’ve cried at the sound of that voice coming from somewhere above me. I tried to say the name, but my voice didn’t work, as if it was still in Before.

“Please, Y/N!” 

Now I could feel my face, but most particularly the pressure on my cheek accompanied with tiny scrapes that did not hurt.

“C’mon, talk to me, open your eyes, breathe!”

I tried. I tried so hard to listen, because I would do anything that voice asked of me, but I couldn’t move, no matter how hard I fought.

Obi-Wan’s voice grew quieter, and at first, I was alarmed. Was I fading back to Before? No, that couldn't be, because I could still feel the burning pain and the small pricks of relief. No, Obi-Wan’s voice softened as he chanted something. Was it my name? It didn’t sound quite right to be my name. I strained to listen.

“I’m sorry,” he was saying. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

 He said it over and over, and I yearned for him to stop, but the words only poured forth at a greater speed and intensity. “I should’ve run faster, I should’ve gotten to the club sooner, she wouldn’t be here if I’d been faster. I shouldn’t have left her alone in that bar or in the storm, I should never have let her go. It’s all my fault, I know it is, but please don’t take her from me.”

My chest twinged, a hurt much different from either the fire or ice. I gathered every part of myself, urging my body to listen. Obi-Wan didn’t deserve this. He saved me when I’d already owed him more than I could ever repay.

Another tiny strike hit my face, but it wasn’t cold like the others. “Please don’t go, Y/N.”

I clung to the words, building up the momentum.

Move, I ordered my body.

Nothing happened. 

MOVE!

All at once, my chest rose as I inhaled what felt to be a great big breath. My heart started at a dizzyingly painful pace. Had it not been beating before? 

A strangled, shuddering gasp came from above. “Y/N?”

I still couldn’t move my arms or legs or even lift my eyelids. But my chest moved as my lungs expanded and retracted.

Whatever I was lying against shifted. “You’re okay.” The familiar scrape brushed across my forehead, my hair. “Thank the stars.”

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a tiny grunt.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe, take your time.” The warm scrape brushed down my temple back to my cheek. The callouses on Obi-Wan’s hand, I realized. Then something else brushed my forehead without scraping, something softer.

I’d felt it recently before.

Was…Obi-Wan…kissing my forehead?

Fighting for every miniscule movement, I peeled my eyes open.

The first thing I saw was the upside down and blurry face of Obi-Wan. I blinked several times, and my vision cleared to show me the ginger hair laying flat against his head and trickles of water rolling down to meet his beard. His eyes blinked rapidly, likely protesting against the water.

The water. The tiny strokes of relief from the fiery pain all over my body was water. 

Were we in a refresher?

“Buh…” I managed to say, but the sound was painful to my own ears. I weakly cleared my throat. “Bun-ker.”

From Obi-Wan’s expression, one could have mistaken the word for a treasure. “No, we’re not in the bunker, we’re on the ship, we’re going back to Coruscant.” He shifted behind me slightly, making me aware of how much of my bare skin was touching his, but I didn’t have the energy to pull away even if I’d wanted to. “How do you feel?” 

I swallowed, the movement feeling as foreign as if I’d never done it. “Hurts.”

He nodded, giving a weak laugh that reverberated against his chest where I lay. “That’s to be expected.”

My view continued to expand. I could see the walls of the refresher behind Obi-Wan and water dripping down from the stream pouring from the head of the refresher. 

“How…?”

Obi-Wan’s hand squeezed my arm. “I found you.” Normally the words would be comforting, but there was a strangeness to them. Was it the tone? The cadence? I wished we both were still connected to the Force so I could better understand what lay beneath his words, but as it was, I couldn’t muster up any words to ask.

With great effort, I lifted my hand from where it’d lain limply by my side to cover his hand.

Obi-Wan looked away so immediately, I nearly withdrew it, as if I’d done wrong. But while his face was turned away from me, his arms seemed to hold me tighter. 

I pressed my hand to his chest, waiting patiently for him to turn back to look at me. 

Was I imagining the shudder that passed through his body when he finally met my eyes? And also the fear in his blue eyes?

“It took so long,” he finally rasped. “I came back, and you were gone, and it took so long–” He shook his head as he cut himself off, eyes falling to the floor of the refresher. Whatever words were building in his throat seemed to be hurting him. “You were blue. You were blue, and you weren’t moving, not even breathing, and I was so scared that you were–” Again, he stopped, staring hard at the floor. The rising and falling of his chest was more ragged than before. 

I lifted my hand from his chest to his face, trying to reassure him. 

He cleared his throat, looking back at me with hope. “But then I remembered what you told me when we were in the bunker, a-about not rewarming too quickly? And then…then that gave me the hope that you would wake up.” 

I gave a weak smile. 

We sat unspeaking, listening to the pattering of the water on the floor. While moving was still greatly difficult, I gradually felt more and more aware. Obi-Wan watched me carefully, his gaze constantly shifting from my face to the rest of my body. 

When Obi-Wan reached up to turn off the water, I could finally hear the hum of the ship’s engine in the absence. Obi-Wan didn’t move yet, seemingly in no hurry. 

My wrists started throbbing oddly, and I tipped my head to look at them. The shackles are still there, I realized. Of course there was no way Obi-Wan would risk cutting off my hands altogether simply to remove the chains that still bound me.

But somehow, those chains felt heavier than everything else. 

My breathing grew choppier. 

Eleven days. 

I’d spent eleven days hanging from the ceiling, eleven days with little water and littler food, eleven days in pain while being…

I shuddered. If Obi-Wan hadn’t come for me…would I have died in that dungeon? Or would Dooku have kept me alive and suffering until I caved?

Obi-Wan’s thumb moved to wipe away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. “You’re okay.” 

The soft words only made more tears fall. Obi-Wan flinched as the vice grip I clung to him with increased. I tried to let go, but my hands could only cling to the only safety I could feel without the Force. 

Obi-Wan gently freed one arm and grabbed the cloak sitting on the metal floor just outside the refresher, using it to wipe off the excess water. 

Once I was dry enough, he got to his feet, pulling me up with him. My feet, still bare, shuffled against the metal floor as I focused on trying to stay balanced on them. “I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said helplessly as he guided me onto a rickety cot in the ship, “I left too quickly to grab any supplies. I don’t have food o-or water or any clothes for you or even blankets and we’re still hours away from Coruscant.” 

I wanted to wave away his concern, but the fabric of the cot was likely just as cold as the metal surface of the floor. 

“You’re shivering,” Obi-Wan said with alarm. “You weren’t shivering before.” 

“N-no, it’s g-g-good,” I muttered quietly through chattering teeth. “M-m-means m-my bod-dy is fin-nally fi-fighting.” For warmth, I wanted to add, but it was so taxing to speak. 

Obi-Wan pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “You’re still not warm.” He took his hand away, and my forehead felt colder than ever. 

I reached out blindly for his wrist, and upon finding it, brought his fingers back to my forehead, sighing at the warmth of his skin. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t reconnected with the Force, I didn’t need it to know that Obi-Wan was hovering. 

The cot sank a bit by my thighs, as if Obi-Wan was leaning his weight into that spot. Then, the space behind me dipped further.

An arm wound around my waist, pulling me into the heat of Obi-Wan’s body.

There was a soft grunt. “You’re freezing.”

I didn’t answer, too overwhelmed to think straight. His touch was still prickling and painful against my skin, but there was another sensation that bloomed somewhere deeper than my skin, a sensation that seemed to frighten the chill. When my shivers finally subsided, my still body sent my exhausted mind into the embrace of sleep.

-

“Y/N?” Obi-Wan said, what felt like a minute later.

I forced my eyes open to see him in front of me, the metal walls of the ship just behind him. There was no hum from the ship’s engine. 

“Let’s get you to the healers.”

Pressing my cheek into his chest, I allowed Obi-Wan to pull me to feet I could barely feel and guide me wherever he wished. Even though it was night on Coruscant, everything still seemed too bright. I squeezed my eyes shut as the movement of walking tugged and pulled at my sore body. 

“Y/N?”

The voice was familiar enough for me to peel my eyes open in time to see Chief Healer Vokara Che rushing towards us. “Put her down here.”

Obi-Wan helped me lay on the bed Vokara Che indicated, and the minute my back touched the cushion, Vokara Che started bustling about. She pressed a hand to my chest, just under my collarbones, in the way of Jedi healers and the way she’d taught me. I could feel her searching the Force within my body. 

“What are you waiting for?” Obi-Wan came around to my other side, having been pushed out of the way by the head healer. “She needs food!”

Vokara Che snapped in Obi-Wan’s face. “Do not order me around in my own temple infirmary, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan’s nostrils flared. “She’s been starving–”

“She cannot eat yet,” the healer cut in, “or we risk subjecting her to refeeding syndrome.”

“I didn’t bring her to you so you could–”

“Kenobi, hold your tongue or I’ll have you thrown out.” The following moment of silence was fraught. “Y/N,” she said, quietly but not gently, “the Force in you has been disrupted.”

I nodded. 

“Was your Force connection severed?”

I glanced at Obi-Wan before realizing, too late, how incriminating such an action might be. “I had to pull back,” I whispered. “Che, it was Dooku.” 

Vokara Che looked between the two of us, her lips pursing. “No wonder you’re so weak.” She yanked a blanket up and over my body. “You know what the first step towards healing is.”

I needed nothing more.

The moment I threw my mental shields down, the Force came rushing in, filling me with such warmth and security, I let out a long breath. My eyes closed, my body lighting up with something akin to rejoicing. Homecoming. 

When I opened my eyes, the lights in the temple infirmary seemed brighter. Vokara Che patted my shoulder in her firm manner. “Now stay still, I need to scan you.”

She bustled away, rummaging around before returning with a machine I knew well. We used it to quickly scan and address physical injuries. The machine whirred as she passed it up and down my body, collecting information.

The beep of confirmation was followed with a sour look on the healer’s face. “You’ve lost 18% of your body weight.” 

18%? Almost a fifth of my total body weight?

Even though Vokara Che spoke with a matter-of-fact tone, I could feel the buzzing of her anxiety through the Force, even if it wasn’t as palpable as the anxious thrumming of the light. The healer’s eyebrows lowered the more statistics the machine provided. I closed my eyes, too tired to keep up. 

Malnutrition slowed healing greatly. My body didn’t have the energy for basic functions, let alone the uphill climb of getting my muscle mass back. To avoid refeeding syndrome, I’d have to introduce enough nutrients with slowly increasing amounts of food, keeping close watch on my metabolic levels. It would be a slow process. 

“May I speak with you, Kenobi?”

I opened my eyes to see Obi-Wan standing beside me, looking down with a blank expression that couldn’t disguise the worry permeating his force signature. 

“Go.” I patted his arm to try and be comforting. 

“Kenobi?” Vokara Che prompted again. 

Obi-Wan turned with what seemed to be great effort before following Vokara Che out of the door. 

Leaving me alone.

The only light came from the window behind me. 

I didn’t need the beeping to tell me that my heart rate increased. I’m safe, I told myself sternly. Obi-Wan and Vokara Che, my two mentors were only just on the other side of the door. I wasn’t in the dungeon, I was in the Jedi Temple. Dooku was far from me. 

A gentle scraping started off to my left. 

“No,” I mumbled, my mouth dry. The chains around my wrist clanked as I clutched my arms to my chest. They ached as if I were right back in that dungeon. Suspended. Hanging. The subtle thumping of my heart in my chest grew until I could feel it beating in my stomach. 

The scraping increased. 

I can’t go back, I can’t do this again, never again, not back in that place, not back with Dooku, freezing and starving, I can’t–

“Y/N!” Obi-Wan burst in, rushing to the side of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

I only balled up tighter. No matter how hard I fought for air, I never got enough. A sharp cramping started in my side, painful enough to make me gasp. 

“She’s panicking,” Vokara Che’s voice said, sounding funnily distant. 

A hand touched my shoulder. My skin seemed to scream at the contact, but my limbs couldn’t move beyond the trembling of my hands. 

“Y/N, honey, look at me.”

I was petrified, unable to respond or move or even breathe.

“You’re safe. Dooku isn’t here. You aren’t on Neftali. You’re safe, you made it, I’ve got you.” He said the words over and over again, a wave of reassurance flowing in from the light. 

Then, before I could react, arms wrapped around my hunched body. Gently, hands guided my head up until my face pressed into the telltale fabric of a Jedi tunic. A chin rested on the top of my head, and when Obi-Wan continued to speak, I could feel the rumble of his words against my temple. “You’re safe. He can’t get you here.”

Finally, I clutched the front of his robes with my trembling hands, taking comfort in the Jedi-ness of the fabric’s coarseness. Don’t go, I pleaded with my grip. Don’t leave me. 

“That’s it,” Obi-Wan said gently, his hold tightening on my shoulders. “That’s it, honey."

As the panic subsided, exhaustion took its place. I started to droop against Obi-Wan’s chest, my grasp on him quickly slackening. He could’ve easily untangled himself from me now, but I didn’t feel him move. 

“Kenobi–”

“I’m not leaving.” A hand rested on my head. “I’m not going anywhere while she needs me.”

“Your judgment is clouded,” the head healer said briskly. “You have no idea what’s best for her right now.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Obi-Wan promised, his light thudding in time with the heartbeat against my ear. “I’ll do whatever you tell me, I swear.” 

Vokara Che’s response was muddled as I fell back into sleep.

-

My eyes flew open. I grasped my wrists where I could feel the chains, but my hands touched not harsh metal but my own warm skin. My body remembered the chains, even if they were no longer there. 

I glanced around me, the sight of the temple infirmary never more comforting. There was ample light, and the faces of the other Jedi were comforting in their familiarity. I’m not in a dungeon anymore, I reminded myself as my eyes traveled over the other beds. 

Then my eyes reached the seat beside my own bed where Obi-Wan sat, watching me with the look I recognized as an assessment. “How do you feel?” he asked. 

“I’m well enough.” I sat up, swinging my legs to the side of the bed. The casual air I’d intended to have was foiled by the slowness of my movements and the pained grunt that left my lips. 

I paused then, disoriented by the Jedi undertunic I wore again. When had that been put on me?

Obi-Wan’s light gave a thoughtful ripple, and I distinctly avoided looking at his face. Shame coursed through me at how pitifully I’d clung to him before falling asleep. That wasn’t the Jedi way. Our comfort came from the Force, not from other beings. Obi-Wan was being far kinder than his mission required him, though it was likely second nature to him now after being my master. 

Speaking of…

“Where’s Ghon?” I asked. “How much does he know? Is he upset?”

Obi-Wan’s face pinched for a moment before returning back to the placid mask I recognized as being his negotiator’s mask. “He’s worried about you. He knows your mission was only supposed to take an evening.”

I winced. Ghon needed a lot of support, and after this whole ordeal, he would be practically buzzing with anxiety. Before I could ask anything more, my eyes flitted to the infirmary doors just in time to see them open. 

Luminara strode in, coming quickly to my bedside and addressing Obi-Wan. “The council requests that you appear before them.”

Obi-Wan nodded, getting to his feet. 

“Both of you.”

The light pulsed unpleasantly. “Y/N has still not recovered. She is traumatized and needs time to heal.” Obi-Wan’s authoritative tone didn’t seem to land with Luminara. 

She blinked slowly, a brave feat when faced with Obi-Wan’s displeasure. “I’m sorry, sir, but the council insists.”

I braced my hands on the bed, using them to balance my weight on my feet. “I’ll go.”

Obi-Wan stepped closer, reaching out as if to push me back on the bed. “You can’t, you’re not well.”

“I will answer the council’s request.” I picked up the Jedi overtunic on the small table beside my bed, struggling to put my arms through it. 

“Y/N–”

“Don’t.” I finally managed to pull the tunic on, relishing in the familiarity of it. “I’ll not let your concern get in the way of my obedience.” Attempting for loftiness, I lifted my chin before brushing past him, but I only managed a few steps before reaching out for something to aid me in holding myself up. 

Wordlessly, a calloused hand caught mine. Much like how we’d walked to the club, Obi-Wan let me lean on him as he walked me out of the infirmary, except now I didn’t have poor footwear to blame my unsteady gait on. 

It was a good thing those blasted shoes and revealing dress were still on Neftali. I never wanted to see them again.

“You should be resting,” Obi-Wan grumbled, clearly unable to help himself. “The council can wait a day or two.” Perhaps it was my imagination, but the farther we walked, the more agitated the light grew. Was he truly that worried about me?

“It’ll be quick,” I promised, without a clue how long the meeting would actually take. Strange. It was just the type of promise I would make Ghon. A promise born of a deep desire to reassure without being certain of the truth. 

Obi-Wan slowed down. “Let’s take a break.” I started to disagree, but he cut me off with: “Y/N, your breathing is getting ragged.”

I stopped walking, pressing a hand to my chest. He was right. I allowed him to lead me to the nearest wall so I could lean up against it. 

I could remember a time when my body lived easily, when my steady heartbeat paired with the assured pumping of my lungs. My legs were capable of inhuman jumps while my hands could heal nearly every possible wound. But now, when my body didn’t have to do any of those things, something as simple as walking required more of me than I had to give. 

That 18% loss of my body weight took all my stamina and fortitude with it, and I sorely missed them. 

“I won’t be jumping off of any mountains any time soon,” I tried to joke, but my tone was all wrong, too flat and serious. I glanced up at Obi-Wan, prepared for a teasing comment about wallowing, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring down the hallway in the direction of the councilroom, his hands fidgeting with his robes. He looked as though he were gauging the distance. Obi-Wan could be protective, he’d proven that on Taris. But why was he so protective now? Only a few more feet and I would be in one of the most protected places in the galaxy. 

When I got up, Obi-Wan didn’t take my arm again. Instead, he hovered a stride behind me, close enough to catch me if I were to crumple to the floor. If he’s so worried I’ll fall, why doesn’t he walk beside me? I wondered.

We reached the councilroom doors, and I didn’t even have a moment to smooth down my robes before they slid open.

There should’ve been some comfort in the familiarity of the grave expressions of the council, but their faces only made me tense. “Knight Y/L/N,” Master Shaak Ti acknowledged, her voice firm. My spirit gave an almost audible waver as if it gulped where my dry and sore throat could not. 

Obi-Wan hung back, allowing me to walk in first. I did, expecting him to walk past me towards his seat once I reached the center of the room, but he did not. Behind me he still stood, exactly in the position I’d stood when I was his padawan. Why was he behaving as though he were the lower-ranking warrior between the two of us when his empty council seat was right before me?

Master Windu extended a hand. “We’re pleased that you’re safe.” I bowed slightly, wishing his tone sounded less robotic so that the words might sound more genuine. “We sent for your padawan the moment you arrived. He should arrive from Ryloth soon.”

Even at lightspeed, it took days to travel to and from Ryloth safely. If I’d been gone for ten days before they sent Obi-Wan after me, I’d have been gone less than a week before they sent Ghon away. 

I tilted my head. “Why is he there?”

“When we were unsure that you would return, we reassigned him to Master Ima-Gun Di.”

I stared at Master Windu, my lethargic brain struggling to wrap my mind around the idea of my padawan being reassigned. When his face didn’t shift, I glanced around at the others, hoping for some explanation. Did they not have faith in Obi-Wan’s ability to rescue me? Is that why they sent my padawan away before sending Obi-Wan after me?

Master Yoda lifted the end of his walking stick, pointing it at me. “Conflicted, you are.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “This ordeal has been…confusing.” I felt the Force in the room darken a bit. “I imagine it will take a lot of work before I am fully–”

Fully what? Fully at peace? Fully safe? Full healed?

“–normal.”

“Vokara Che has notified us of your injuries.” Master Mundi leaned forward. “You endured much.”

Unbidden rose the feelings of cold, hunger, and fear. I lowered my gaze to the floor, trying to remain calm in front of the council. How was I expected to respond to that? How would one of them respond if they had been subjected to Dooku’s torture? 

“I’m just grateful it wasn’t worse,” I finally replied, even as my thoughts swirled. Was grateful the right word? Yes, I was glad to be out of that dungeon and off that icy planet and perhaps even glad to be standing before the council. But was I truly thankful that it wasn’t worse? How could it even have been worse? 

“Much more rest, you need,” Master Yoda decided, his wise eyes piercing my inner depths. “Feel your exhaustion, we do.”

I bowed my head. “Yes, master.”

“Heal while you await your padawan’s return,” Master Windu said. “When he does, we’ll inform you of your next mission.”

Another mission. I swallowed hard before bowing and leaving the chamber on unsteady legs.

The doors hissed shut, but I didn’t sag against the wall to catch my breath until I’d turned the corner.

Perhaps it was a good thing Ghon wasn’t here to see his master like this. In the few days until he arrived, I needed to get my strength back. Especially if the council would send us on our next mission when he arrived. I couldn’t afford to not be able to protect my padawan when Dooku was now aware of his existence and could potentially target him.

I heard the council doors open. Ever the humble Jedi, Obi-Wan’s feet dragged a bit as he came around the corner, his light flagging. Did he truly hate praise so much? I’d only been commended by the council once, but it was a euphoria unlike anything else. Though perhaps when one had been commended so many times, it lost its punch. 

The smile I plastered on my face took much effort, but I resolved to stay positive. “So? Did they give glowing praises?”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows furrowed as he bent down beside me. “You don’t look well,” he said softly. 

My smile fell. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan smirked. “C’mon, let’s get you–”

Abruptly, he stepped away until he was almost on the other side of the corridor, just as Masters Windu and Fisto rounded the corner. 

I blinked, confused.

I’d felt their Force signatures drawing near just as Obi-Wan had, but I’d ignored it, whereas he’d almost scrambled away from me. 

The masters didn’t look in my direction, walking right past me without so much as an acknowledgement. When they were well past us, however, Master Fisto glanced back at Obi-Wan, and I felt a surge of something through the Force.

Regret?

No, that wasn’t quite right. 

It was too complex, too layered for me to puzzle out and after the masters walked through the doors at the end of the corridor, their Force signatures grew too faint for me to fully perceive what lay within them. 

Obi-Wan came to crouch beside me again. “Vokara Che said she has a regimen for you, to get your strength back, and she wants you to start today.” He held out his hand to help me up. 

“What’s going on?” I asked him instead of accepting his hand.

“I’m taking you back to–”

“No,” I interrupted, “what’s going on with you? Why did Master Fisto look at you like that? What happened?”

Obi-Wan licked his lips. “Y/N,” he said in a way that didn’t sound like him at all, “why don’t we just–”

“Did they not commend you?” I pressed. Obi-Wan motioned for me to take his hand and stand. “I won’t move until you give me an answer.”

“They didn’t.” No longer waiting, he took my hands and pulled. 

I allowed him to bring me to my feeble feet, even as the blood started to drain from my face due to the exertion. “Why didn’t they?” I faced him, leaving a hand on the wall for balance. “Do they…” I swallowed hard. “Do they care so little about me that your mission means nothing to them?”

Obi-Wan coughed even though his throat sounded clear. “It would…mean something.”

“What do you mean ‘it would’?” I narrowed my eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He sighed, rubbing his temple with his thumb in a strange and unconfident gesture. “I wasn’t commended because it wasn’t a mission.”

Now the blood drained from my face for a different reason. “What are you talking about? What do you mean it wasn’t a mission?”

“Please, Y/N.” He tried to reach out for my arms, but I pulled away, swaying a bit. 

“But why would they have sent you if it wasn’t a mission? You wouldn’t have come if–” I stopped. “Obi-Wan…did…did the council not send you at all?”

He let out a long breath. “I asked them to.”

There’s only one response they must’ve given, but I still had to ask. “And they refused?”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer, turning his face away from me. But shame radiated through his signature, and it wasn’t a shame directed inwards. 

“They…they left me to…die?” I stammered, a second wave of something hitting me so hard, the world started to sway. 

That’s why they sent my padawan away. Not because they had no confidence in Obi-Wan, but because they never expected for me to be rescued. Obi-Wan had come to rescue me despite their inaction. 

But if Obi-Wan was part of the council, how could he cross them? To cross them…was to cross himself. He undermined his own authority by disobeying the council. Was the council angry? Is that why Masters Windu and Fisto didn’t acknowledge either of us? But then why would Master Fisto feel something similar to regret? Had they punished Obi-Wan? 

It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

I didn’t realize Obi-Wan was steadying me until he tightened his grip on my shoulder. “Are you alright?” His concern, which would normally have felt so comforting, was now worrying. Why did he seem so much more distressed by my health than the council?

The floor seemed to swirl under my feet as I shrugged out of his grasp. “What did they say to you?” I demanded. “What did they do?”

His answer was too quick. “Nothing.”

“There’s no way they’d allow you to just defy them, especially to rescue me. So tell me. What did they do?”

“Vokara Che will be wondering–”

“Tell me!” I shouted at him.

The light of Obi-Wan’s signature grew stronger as we stared at one another, becoming increasingly resolute the longer he looked at me. “They stripped me of my status as master.”

How could he lie about such a thing with such a straight face? It was unfathomable! No, if he were no longer a master, that would mean he was no longer on the council, and the very idea was a joke. I leaned into the Force, trying to parse through what he’d told me, to puncture the lie. 

But instead of sharpening, the Force softened, cradling me as if to comfort me. 

“No,” I blurted. I shook my head, causing my head to spin faster. “It’s not possible.”

Instead of answering, Obi-Wan just looked at me. He didn’t argue with me or try again to get me to the temple infirmary. In his silence, the truth had nowhere to hide and became apparent at last. 

“H-how are you simply okay with this?!” I cried. “They just stripped you of your position on the council, and you’re not even the least bit concerned that–” I broke off. The words I spoke seemed to wound me more than they wounded him, almost as if…as if he wasn’t surprised. “By the void,” I said faintly. “You knew they were going to do that to you.”

Obi-Wan’s sigh seemed to come from the depths of the Force. “I didn’t know completely…but I suspected.”

Something in me flared, rearing its ugly head as it was reborn from long ago: the anger I thought I’d put to rest. Staring at the unruffled Obi-Wan Kenobi, now Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi instead of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, I couldn’t contain it. “That’s why you tried to keep me from going before the council, isn’t it?!”

“Y/N,” he said sharply, “I was concerned only with your health.”

“No, no, you were trying to keep your secret from me!” I lifted a tingling hand to my head. If only everything could stop spinning!

Now Obi-Wan finally looked distressed. “Please, Y/N, don’t do this now. You’re too weak.” 

I looked up at him, dazed but focused on his steady, blue eyes. “Why…why would you…” I stumbled, struggling to regain my senses long enough to put my racing thoughts in order.

The world spun faster for a moment as a strong arm looped around my legs, knocking me off balance. I felt as if I’d been thrown into the air, until my head fell against a chest. A beard brushed against my forehead, and the comforting smell of Obi-Wan enveloped me. 

“Why would you?” I managed to whisper as my eyes fell shut. “Why would you do that?”

“Shhhhh. You need rest.”

My anxiety, though fuzzy at the edges, did not lessen. How could I rest, knowing Obi-Wan defied the council and lost his position in it? But as I should’ve expected, the answer to my plight for rest was Obi-Wan himself, his strides lulling my tired mind back into sleep.

-

If you enjoyed this, consider buying me a coffee and/or check out my masterlist for more!

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[royallyprincesslilly]

Cautionary Tale on Carbon Monoxide

So, for the last 2 weeks or so my smoke alarm/carbon monoxide alarm has been beeping sporadically. I paid it no mind because there was no smoke, nothing was burning and I did not think it could be anything else. I assumed the alarm or batteries were going bad because they had been here forever ago.

So, we changed the batteries and bought a new alarm, and installed them through the house a week ago. The beeping stopped. However, a few days ago while I was cooking the beeping came back. Again, no smoke in the home and nothing was burning. We are searching trying to figure out why it keeps going off.

I constantly have my essential oil diffuser plugged in and running so some searches came back saying certain essential oils might set off the alarm if strong enough and my 16-year-old has been fear rubbing herself with Citronella essential oils(repellent for mosquitoes) because whenever the door opened these new breed mosquitos fly in and she is terrified if her face and body looking like a swollen pepperoni pizza🙄😂. (The concerns of a 16-year-old who was looking out for her upcoming first day of school face card status lmao)

Finally, after some YT videos and Google searches, we began to suspect it was beeping because of carbon monoxide. So we hurry and get out of the house, food still on the stove half cooked, and wait for the gas/electric company to come to investigate and fix the problem.

When the tech comes he walks inside the house and instantly the machine he carried to check the PPM set off a reading of 41. This level is highly dangerous and prolonged exposure can result in health risks and possibly death.😳

He continued to walk through the house and found pockets in the house where the PPM was 38-41(still dangerous). He goes into the kitchen and instantly says, I see your problem. He goes to the stove and points to my favorite, can't live without have used almost every time I cook 11" Copper Chef casserole pot and says this is the culprit.

Apparently, the size of the pot covers my entire burner so there is no ventilation happening under the pot which is bad. He then points to another favorite pot on the back burner and says this one is also bad because of the size of the pot. He turned on the fire under the Copper Chef pot and instantly his machine went up to 144 PPM😳.

I was appalled. He asked about how we all were feeling and asked who the cook in the house was and of course it was me✋🏽. I felt fine. I usually always have headaches and feel tired, he said I could be suffering from long-term carbon monoxide exposure and should go to the hospital to be sure.

To make this longer story just plain ol' long, I say all of this to caution you guys on pot sizes for your gas stove burners and to say it could be the things/ways you least expect.

Tips from the gas/electric company tech

-Make sure your pot is not bigger/wider than your burner flames.

-Turn on your overhead vent or open your kitchen windows when cooking for either or both of these: 1) If your pots are bigger than the burner flames or 2) To take an extra level of safety.

-If you are using bigger pots try to open closet doors throughout your home because the carbon monoxide can creep into the closed closet and remain there for hours.

-In your gas using ovens do not have any liners or protectors(the ones you put down to prevent spills or drips as you bake) on the bottom of the oven if they come anywhere near the two ventilation slits in the oven(where the flames/heat rises).

-If you have done all of the above and constantly feel lightheaded, dizzy, persistent headaches, fatigue, sleepiness, be safe and just get it checked out in the ER or Urgent Care.

Be safe out there y'all. Carbon Monoxide is known as a silent killer.

[sitkowski]

it's just fire alarms and losing you ( jolly karlsson x nick folio )

pairing: jolly karlsson x nick folio cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ i can only apologize ahead of time for this one, angst, accidents, non-permanent injuries, probably inaccurate medical information, nick is stubborn and jolly is overprotective. a character’s fate is unknown for a brief period of time. the boys are fighting again and this time it’s not okay right away, blowjobs (can blowjobs be given sadly?), makeup sex. just a lot of angsty feelings for the boys. word count: 3.1k author's note: right now, wifi is scarce and free time is even more so, but i wanted to get out a little piece of the riptide verse. i hope you all enjoy it. title comes from "death valley" by fall out boy, divider by @saradika-graphics ✨

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups || riptide verse masterpost

Nick leaves Jolly in bed sleeping and decides to go and get some early morning fishing in. They’ve only got so much time until shows start back up and he isn’t able to get out there as much as he’d like. In retrospect, it was stupid to go out there alone. Even if he told more than one person where he’d be. Even if he did it all of the time, the weather has been shit for days and the trails are still slick. It didn’t matter that he knew them like the back of his hand, one wrong step and he was falling backwards. It feels like slow motion, and then it feels like nothing, because everything goes black.

The thing is, Jolly shouldn’t have to worry about something like this. It’s just fishing, how dangerous can it be? He gets his answer when Matt calls him a few hours after Nick’s left to go to one of his favorite local spots. At first it doesn’t make any sense that Matt is the one calling him to tell him that Nick is in the hospital, but then it does. Because Matt is listed as a secondary emergency contact for all of them, and Nick’s parents are on the east coast. And then Nicholas and Noah are showing up at his and Nick’s place, because they’re just down the street and they don’t think that Jolly should drive.

He wishes he were only just worried about Nick. The worry is there, clawing around in the middle of his chest as they make their way to the hospital. But there’s another feeling just below it, and it’s one he wants to ignore but he can’t. Still, he keeps it to himself as much as he can, brooding silently all the way up until they’re in the room with Nick.

His injuries aren’t that bad, but they’re bad enough; a few bruised ribs, a minor sprain in his left ankle, a smattering of bruises on his face, the biggest one at his hairline above his right eye, because he hit his head in the fall hard enough to lose consciousness for a few minutes. Matt repeats everything that the doctor told him, and Jolly still hasn’t said much. He sits beside the hospital bed, hand resting on Nick’s wrist. His thumb slides back and forth over the back of his hand, and all he can think is he’s okay.

“On the bright side, I’ll be fine by the next show.” Nick says, carefree as ever despite the mild concussion.

“Who gives a fuck about the next show, Nick?”

Jolly’s outburst is loud in the hospital room, and Nicholas, Noah and Matt stand awkwardly on the other side of the bed. The smile fades from Nick’s face, and Jolly feels like an asshole. But he’s worried, and he’s mad. Mad at Nick for going out there when the trails weren’t the safest, going out there alone. Mad at himself for doing this now, for not insisting that Nick stay home.

“Can you give us a minute?” Nick asks everyone, but Jolly shakes his head.

“No, they can stay. Because you have a fucking concussion, and all you can think about is a show? When will it be enough? When you’re puking your guts out on stage and actually stop playing—”

“That was food poisoning, and this was just an accident. I’m fine, why are you mad at me?”

Jolly gets up and leans over the bed, grasping Nick’s face gently. “The shows are replaceable. Where am I gonna get another you if you get hurt worse, huh? Think about that and then ask me again why I’m mad.”

Before anyone can say anything, he gets up and leaves. Everything is a blur as he bolts for the elevator, tears burning in his eyes.

Nick wants out of the fucking hospital bed. He calls after Jolly, but he doesn’t come back. Whatever they’ve got Nick hooked up to starts beeping, and Noah presses a hand to his chest to try and calm him while Matt and Nicholas go to look for Jolly. It doesn’t even register to him at first that Noah is talking to him, not until he’s actually crawling into the bed with him.

“What are you doing?” Nick asks as Noah pushes at him.

“Scootch over,” he fits his long frame into the bed beside him, taking up nearly half of the thing. Nick can’t even protest, instead he lets Noah pull him against his chest. “God, I forgot how much I hate these things.”

Nick snorts and leans his head into him. “No one told you to get in here. The nurses are gonna be mad you’ve got your shoes on the bed.”

“Got your machine to stop making that noise, so it’s a win.”

Nick’s smile fades and he closes his eyes. “He’s not gonna come back.”

“I’ve got the keys, where the hell is he gonna go?” Noah pets his fingers through Nick’s hair in some sort of attempt to soothe him. “Hate to break it to you, but he’s stupidly in love with you. You just scared him, that’s all.”

Nick isn’t so sure, but he doesn’t say anything. He can’t imagine what Jolly must have felt when Matt called him and told him what was going on. Knowing that Nick had lost consciousness, and had been out there on his own. It scared Nick, so he knows it scared Jolly too. Bringing up the shows had been a bad attempt at making light of the situation, he knows that now.

“I’m stupidly in love with him too, you know?” Nick swallows around the lump forming in his throat, curls in closer to Noah. “Like, marriage and a future.”

“I know, bub,” Noah nods against him. “Don’t worry, I get it.”

“Like you and Ruff.”

“Yeah,” Noah nods again. “Like me and Ruff. He’ll come back, Folio.”

But when Nicholas comes back to the room, without Matt and without Jolly, something cracks inside Nick’s chest. He sinks his teeth into his tongue, tastes his own blood. It doesn’t keep him from crying. Not even when Nicholas somehow wedges himself into the bed with him and Noah, mumbling about how this felt familiar. He lets them console him, listens as they promise him that everything is going to be okay. 

Matt gives Jolly a spectacular lecture, but still offers to drive him home from the hospital. There might be a jab in there about Noah and Nicholas bothering to stick around to look after Nick for him. It’s not until Jolly’s home alone that it sinks in how much he fucked up. Nick got hurt, and all he could do was yell at him. It was just an accident, they happened all the time. And yet all he can think about is how much worse it could have been. What if it had been Nick laying out his motorcycle on the highway, what would he do then? Tell him he had to get rid of his bike?

A part of him wants to go back to the hospital and grovel, but the more stubborn part of himself stays right where he is. A few hours pass before he gets a text from Noah saying that he and Nicholas will be dropping Nick off to him, and that he better take care of him. Jolly takes the threat for what it is, and anxiously waits for his boyfriend to arrive. When they do, Noah is actually giving Nick a piggyback ride to be mindful of his ankle. He takes him all the way upstairs and deposits him on his and Jolly’s bed.

“These are the meds they gave him,” Nicholas says, handing him a prescription bag. Jolly tries to take it, but he snatches it away, leveling him with a serious look. “Fix this, Joakim. He didn’t think you were coming back, and you proved him right.”

“I’m right here.”

“Well you need to be right here, for him. With him. I’m not gonna be so nice next time I see him like that.”

Jolly knows that’s not a threat, but a promise. The four of them care about each other deeply, but him leaving Nick in that hospital room the way he did made Nicholas think a little bit less of him. He can see it on his face. All he can do is nod and agree. Nicholas sighs and pulls him into a hug, like he could tell that was exactly what Jolly needed in that moment.

Noah comes back downstairs. “He’s allowed to sleep, but you’ve gotta wake him up every few hours. The doctor said to ask him something easy, like his name. Maybe throw in a harder question. You’d know all of this, if you’d stuck around.”

He doesn’t say it meanly, but he doesn’t need to.

All Jolly can do is nod again. Once they’re gone, he hesitates to go upstairs. Instead, he makes Nick a sandwich to take up with him, as some sort of peace offering. When he finally walks into the room, he sees the way that Nick’s eyes light up, and it makes him feel both happy and disappointed in himself. He’s sprawled out in the middle of the bed, wearing different clothes than he came home in. Of course, he’s got one of Jolly’s hoodies on.

“Here,” Jolly offers him the plate. “You should eat, I don’t think you did this morning.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m starving.”

Nick devours the sandwich under Jolly’s watchful eye, faster than he thought he would. He almost goes to make him another one, but Nick sighs and sets the plate aside on the nightstand.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“What do you have to be sorry for, Nick? I’m the one who acted like a complete asshole to you at the hospital. I—” Jolly’s voice breaks a little and he clears his throat. “I left you there, and I shouldn’t have. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Nick sits up a little and fists a hand in the sleeve of Jolly’s shirt, pulling insistently. Jolly gets the message and moves up the bed. He pulls Nick against him, not at all surprised when he immediately manages to fit himself against Jolly as closely as possible. Jolly slides his hands beneath the hoodie until he feels warm skin, and Nick lets out another sigh, this one much more content.

Jolly wants to tell him how scared he was, that the thought of some kind of injury that’s more serious haunts him. There are so many ways for Nick to get hurt, and he’s imagined every single one between the time that Matt called him and now. But he can’t. Instead he presses gentle kisses to Nick’s forehead, to the bridge of his nose. To every little mark on his face, saving the bruise on his temple for last.

They fall asleep like that.

Maybe Nick should have woken Jolly up to tell him that he was going to attempt a shower, but he didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. He manages it just fine, even with the twinge in his ankle. But when he’s getting out of the stall, Jolly is there, looking panicked.

“What are you doing?”

“Um, showering?” Nick grabs a towel and wraps it around his hips. “All I could smell was the hospital, even when I changed my—”

“So you wanna add a slip and fall to your list when you haven’t even been out of the hospital for a day?” Jolly asks.

Nick has to fight to push down the mild annoyance he feels at that. “It’s fine, I’m fine, Jolly. I’m not an invalid, I don’t need you to hold my hand while I try to take a shower.”

“Alright.”

The look on Jolly’s face is now defeated and he nods, before turning and leaving the bathroom. Nick hobbles after him, using the furniture for leverage the same way he did to get into the bathroom in the first place. His fingers catch on Jolly’s arm before he can walk out of the bedroom, because they’re not doing this, they’re not going to keep walking away from one another.

“What can I do to make this okay?” Jolly asks, finally turning to meet his eyes.

Nick shrugs. He’s still holding on to him. Mostly for balance. “Don’t treat me any differently than you would have before this?”

Jolly nods again, and then he’s moving Nick backwards, half carrying him until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. He almost asks what he’s doing, but then he realizes this is what he’d be doing under any other normal circumstance. Because this isn’t the kind of thing that requires an apology, but it requires the reassurance that everything is the same for them as always. So when Jolly tugs the towel away and gently pushes him down, Nick goes willingly. When Jolly sinks to his knees between his spread thighs, Nick immediately leans back on his elbows.

He’s got enough height that he can lean up to drag his mouth over Nick’s torso, and downward. Nick hisses out a breath that is tinged with pain when Jolly’s mouth ghosts over a bruise on his hip that came from his fall, but Jolly doesn’t relent. Instead his tongue traces the mark until Nick shudders and fists a hand in his hair. He pushes, a little impatiently, trying to get Jolly’s mouth on him. He knows better than to ask for that, because he knows the answer he’ll get. Jolly’s teeth nip at his lower stomach and he grasps Nick’s cock lightly.

Nick sucks in a sharp breath the second that Jolly takes him into his mouth, and he lets it out slowly. Jolly moans around him, pushing himself down to meet where his fist is wrapped around the base. Nick keeps his hands buried in Jolly’s hair. Not guiding him, just holding on.

“Let me see,” he pants, tugging gently at Jolly’s hair. His voice cracks as he pleads. “Look at me, please.”

Jolly tilts his head just enough so that Nick can see his eyes, shiny with tears. Nick’s fingers brush against his cheek, pressing a little to feel himself there, and his own eyes flutter, nearly closing.

“And you call me pretty. You should see yourself right now, you’re just so…”

He trails off, unable to really articulate what he wants to say. Words probably couldn’t describe how Jolly looks right now, the flush creeping over his cheeks as his eyes stay right on Nick’s face, his mouth sinking down as far as he can before raising back up slowly. Nick tries to lift his hips, but realizes that Jolly’s got him pinned to the mattress and he sighs, leaning back on one elbow, eyes bouncing between Jolly’s mouth and his eyes. They don’t really look away from each other. But eventually Jolly pulls off, replacing his mouth with his hand.

“Is this good?” he asks, voice coming out rough. Nick hears the unasked question in his words. Am I forgiven? All he can do is nod his head, and the corner of Jolly’s mouth tilts up. “You’re a mess, pretty.”

Just hearing that little nickname makes Nick’s entire body go hot. He can feel his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach, and before he can get a chance to beg for more, Jolly turns his head and swallows him down again. No teasing this time. Nick finally manages to get a little bit of leverage, rocking his hips up as he curls his hands into Jolly’s hair again. Jolly moves with him, hands digging into the blankets of either side of Nick instead of grabbing onto him roughly like he normally would. Even now, he’s still being careful.

He doesn’t get a chance to warn him that he’s going to come, and when Jolly pulls off after to catch his breath, he won’t let Nick pull him up on the bed with him. When he looks down, he sees that he’s got a hand shoved inside his sweats, jerking himself off. Nick curls himself down over him as best he can from the bed, tipping Jolly’s face up and pressing his mouth to his. Only after he comes does he finally crawl up on the bed beside Nick, wrapping himself around him.

“I was kind of hoping you’d let me use that to my advantage,” he murmurs and Jolly shakes his head.

“Didn’t wanna hurt you.”

“If you think fucking me into the mattress would hurt me—” As if to make a point, Jolly presses his fingers into that bruise on his hip, and Nick winces. “Fine.”

“Don’t pout at me like that, Nicky,” Jolly puts a finger beneath his chin and tilts his head up to kiss him softly. “The second you’re really feeling up to it, I’ll happily take care of you however you want.”

Nick wants to argue more, say that he’s up to it. But the truth is he’s tired. Last night’s sleep was fitful with Jolly waking him up every now and then to ask him questions that he could easily answer. His head is starting to hurt, and his ankle might be throbbing a little in time with his heartbeat. Before he can tell Jolly that he might be right, Jolly’s getting up and grabbing him a pair of sweats to put on. He accepts them gratefully, before grabbing the hoodie he’d discarded before his shower. Shuffling up the bed, he crawls beneath the blankets, watching as Jolly goes from the bathroom, out of the bedroom, and then he comes back with a bottle of water and some pills.

“Are you gonna come back to bed with me?” he asks after he takes them. His voice comes out smaller than he’d like.

Jolly leans down and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Gonna take a shower of my own, and then I’m all yours.” he promises.

Nick sinks down in the bedding with a contented sigh, wrapping his arms around a pillow and dragging it to his chest. It’s not even nine in the morning yet, and he’s pretty sure eventually Nicholas and Noah are going to stop by to check in on him at some point, probably Matt and Zephyr too. It’s in the back of his mind that he’s gotta send out texts to those who had checked on him, and call his parents too. But he’s asleep before he can even reach across the bed for his phone.

He’s only half aware when he feels the pillow being pulled away from him. He grumbles but doesn’t open his eyes, especially when he realizes that Jolly’s replacing the pillow with himself. He snuggles against his chest, wrapping himself around him as Jolly tugs the blankets up over them further.  

⇉ taglist

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@collidewiththesavannah @sorrowsofsilence

if you ’d like to be added to the taglist, you can find the form at the top of this fic! thanks for reading/reblogging 🩷

[messylxve]

ghost spider | cisco ramon x Gn!reader

part one

It was a just another day for Team Flash. One more meta-human captured and one step closer to a safe city. So when the alarm went off for a robbery, they all thought it was nothing more.

“He’s making a run for it Barry,” Cisco warned through the comms system. “You’ll catch him if you cut through the alley on 24th and Charles.”

Doing as Cisco said, he made his way on the street, skidding to a stop when he saw a panicked man rushing down the road. But Barry’s grin was quickly wiped off of his face when the robber was yanked off the street and into the air.

“Oh you robbers make it so easy,” a voice sighed.

Looking up, Barry’s eyes landed on you, hanging upside down so you were eye to eye with the cursing man.

“Who are you,” Barry shouted from his place on the ground.

You looked around the crook, smiling under the mask at the sight of the Flash. “No one of consequence.”

You suddenly flipped in the air, landing on a fire escape above the Flash and leaving the robber hanging. “But you can call me Ghost Spider.”

“Ghost Spider?” He couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the name, but before he could make another comment the sound of a gun firing stopped the both of them.

Barry was quick to rush to your side to stop the bullet, but you too moved fast—dodging the speeding weapon like it was nothing more than a football.

“Hey,” you shouted, turning to the man. “Didn’t anyone teach you fire safety?”

You flung a web out, snatching the firearm from the man, leaving both him and Barry shocked. “You could have killed me,” you pouted.

“W-w,” Barry stammered out, now more intrigued than ever. “What was that?!”

“Nothing of consequence,” you smirked.

“I swear to god,” the robber grumbled. “I’ll kill you both.”

“Blah blah blah,” you mocked, shooting another web to cover his mouth. “No one likes a blabber mouth.”

You turned back to Flash. “I’ll leave him to you. Catch you around Flash.”

Flinging a web at the nearest building, you swung away out of sight, leaving Barry watching you practically fly over Central City in awe.

“Did you see that,” he exclaimed to the very angry robber.

“So are they a meta-human,”Caitlyn asked once Barry returned to S.T.A.R. Labs.

“I think so. I mean they dodged a bullet that they didn’t even see get fired.”

“Wow,” Cisco mused. “And they shot spider-webs from their wrists?”

“Yeah, apparently it’s strong enough that they can hang from it and swing from buildings with it.”

“Woah…it’s a Spider-Man.”

“How do you even know if they’re a man,” Caitlyn questioned.

“Spider-Woman.”

“Actually,” Barry cut in. “Ghost Spider.”

“No,” Cisco exclaimed. “I name things, not you.”

Barry threw up his hands in mock defense. “I didn’t name them, they told me their name. Ghost Spider.”

Cisco frowned. “Hmm, it’s okay. I guess.” In truth he loved it, but he’d never admit it out loud.

That next time you made an appearance with the Flash, it was less than ideal. You had shown up right in time to meet the man in yellow.

To put it lightly, he didn’t appreciate you butting in on his meet with the Flash. You could hold your ground for only so long, but when he dragged you across the wall with his speed and threw you to the concrete ground, you looked worse than battered.

When Barry found you, you were knocked out, covered in blood, and mask in shreds, revealing your face.

His own instincts kicking in, he rushed you to S.T.A.R. Labs.

“Help me,” he panted after speeding into The Cortex with you in his arms.

It was action first and questions later as Caitlyn and Cisco rushed you to their makeshift hospital bed.

Hours later, your condition was finally stabilized, leaving the three to talk in the room over.

“They had 4 broken ribs, major fractures in their skull and will have extreme scarring all over their face.” She shook her head in disbelief. “There was no way they could have come back from that but…they did.”

“I guess that answers our meta-human question,” Cisco whispered.

“Do you know exactly how they were able to survive that, much less stabilize so quickly?”

Caitlyn shook her head. “No. I could run tests, but I wouldn’t want to do that while they’re in such a fragile condition and without them knowing.”

“Extreme cell regeneration.”

Everyone whipped around in shock to see you leaning on the door way; the only sign of damage on you being the discoloration from your scars and the tired expression in your eyes.

“Woah,” Cisco exclaimed. “You should not be up much less even awake.

A tired chuckle left you. “I’m fine.”

“Cisco’s right,” Caitlyn entered. “You shouldn’t be up, it’s extremely dangerous.”

“I promise you, I’m fine. You can check if you’d like.”

Caitlyn gave Cisco and Barry a glance, begging for them to back her up, but sighed when she saw it was fruitless.

“Okay.”

Not too long after the group found themselves looking over your X-rays and brain scans.

“How?”

“Extreme cell regeneration.”

“But on this level,” Cisco asked in amazement, coming in close and touching your cheek, examining your face. “It’s nearly impossible.”

Heat spread up your neck, burning your cheeks and ears as you felt how close he was.

“Shoot sorry, got too excited,” he laughed off, embarrassment settling in on him.

“It’s okay,” you laughed before clearing your throat. “It started a few months ago when your particle accelerator blew up. You see, I’m a biochemist for Mercury Labs and I was studying spiders and their healing capabilities—did you know the silk in a spider could repair human ligaments or—or that sea spiders can regrow entire body parts instead of just limbs.”

“Umm…no,” Barry chuckled lightly.

“Right sorry, besides the point,” you coughed. “I was at the lab late that night, looking over my work and when the incident happened, everything kind of exploded all over me. I woke up feeling normal at first, but everything felt dialed up to 20. I could hear see, and feel everything, a million times better than before. I was stronger, all of my injuries would heal overnight or even in hours. I stuck to walls and I had what I call a 6th sense. It helps me sense danger before it’s there.”

“Like a spidey sense,” Cisco whispered in amazement.

“Yeah,” you smiled, your stomach doing weird flips. “Like a spidey sense.”

[eatbrick]

assurance.

note : hello! i’ve never written before publicly and never posted anything like ever bcuz i like my privacy (lol) so this will be my first! plz no hate! i love alejandro gillick with my heart (he’s  babygirl) and it’s sad to see there’s not enough fanfics! i guess this is gonna be the start of my writing for you gals and also, this isn’t edited yet! 

hope you lovelies enjoy! :)

summary : your father assigns a cia assassin, alejandro gillick, to be your bodyguard. after countless nightmares, alejandro figures out a way to take your mind off things. *wink* *wink*

pairing : bodyguard!alejandro gillick x fem!reader

warnings : 18+ mature content. explicit. smut. just pure smut. 

    (cursing. being a virgin (mentioned). vaginal fingering. praise kink. etc.)

—

You sprinted faster by the minutes just as Alejandro instructed you to do after he killed all the men in the house one by one. When you both left the house, you and Alejandro parted ways quickly. He ran in a different direction to distract them in a different direction so you could run away as far as possible. You can feel your throat on fire from the harsh air as you breathe it in quickly running through the woods while some branches skimmed past your arms, possibly revealing blood by then. 

“Run as fast as you can towards the village. Don’t run towards the woods. Got it? I know you can.” He said. 

However, you noticed that you–instead���definitely ran to where the woods were located. You could’ve sworn you knew the directions to the village.

“Apparently not, you dumbass.” You said to yourself. 

You can hear the voices closer than you expected them to have. Tears immediately ran down your cheeks; afraid of what could happen to you if you were to be killed in such a traumatizing way here in Colombia. But how could you hear them so close to me? Did that mean Alejandro didn’t make it? 

“Fuck!” you exclaimed out loud. Frustrated at the thought of Alejandro getting killed was the only beginning to fuck up in any way. 

As you can hear the footsteps of men screaming at each other in Spanish—probably about you—it was easy to say that you needed to hide somewhere at the time they caught up. From their tone of how pissed they are at not being able to find you alive, some of the men had started to randomly shoot everywhere that you could be. Your body jumped, alarmed by unexpected gunshots in the distance from where you hid—under a small cliff where water was falling down into a little stream. Moss covered most of the cliff as bushes and trees were thick enough to cover most of the yourself that seemed visible. 

So suddenly, your eyes grew wide as someone stood above you. Slow footsteps begin to walk comfortably into the water. Terrified as you were, you quickly covered your mouth with both hands, canceling the noise of your shaky breath even if it couldn’t be heard from the water. It felt like hours as the stranger contemplated your whereabouts silently. Little did he know that you were hidden right under where the water falls downwards. 

‘Please. Please, go away.’

The eerie beauty of the woods were enchanting as the bright moon shined past through the clouds. Only if it weren’t so scary as it was for now. You can see the man's shadow–somewhat of it–walk nearer to the edge of the leveled cliff. But soon enough, he takes his chances of defeat to departure. You feel your head become dizzy and eyes disoriented; it seems that you have forgotten to breathe after holding it in unintendedly-minded. 

Gently, you lift your hands off from covering your mouth, taking soft, quiet and short intakes of oxygen into your weakened lungs. The relief you had felt was desireful. You wanted more. However, you needed to pay attention to the men who were after you. You hear all the commotions from the men clear out as they go away into the opposite direction where you had been hiding. Everything seemed to have calmed down a bit as the lights–that the group of men have used to see–had become distant, swallowed by darkness. 

Shocked to see you somehow survived this close encounter, you shed tears and sighed from your escape. Whether from crying tears of joy or out of a near death experience, shortly afterwards, you wipe your tears away with your hands and begun to get yourself together to find an escape of this fucked up, loathsome paradise. 

As soon as you get out of your hiding spot, a hand reaches to grab you. Roughly. 

—

You gasp harshly, sitting up from your slumber. You notice that everything was fine. Nothing seemed to have happened like it did. It was all a nightmare. Feeling something heavy, draping over your waist, you turn your side to whatever was holding you–Alejandro. 

Alejandro was still awake as he put his arm over you from whatever he was doing before going to bed with you. After countless nightmares that had kept on bothering your sleep, you had asked one night for Alejandro to sleep with you. Since then, he had been sleeping with you for comfort and reassurance of protection. 

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” You look up at Alejandro after he apologises. His weary eyes that were filled with past trauma softened at you and his hair had looked so fluffy which screamed to be touched–in many different ways. 

You shake your head (as if you now dirty thoughts weren’t just in your head a few seconds ago) that it wasn’t him that had awoken you, but it was the nightmare that had. You take a deep inhale before saying, “A nightmare was what had woken me up.” He sensed that you were in a very uncomfortable state after. 

“I see.” He replies back shortly. “Is there anything I could do?” 

“I wish there could be anything in the world to help me right now to take my mind off of things.” You whispered softly looking away from his attention. 

It was silet afterwards as Alejandro lets you have your moment of quietness to help calm you down. But suddenly it didn’t help you calm down as your heart speeds up after Alejandro says, “What can I do to take your mind off of things?” 

By then, you couldn’t even remember what lead you to this moment as he felt closer to you than before. Like, really close. You felt like there was no oxygen in the room as your face begins to heat up quickly. Your breath hitched as his hand rises up to hold your face gently to kiss you–and to mention also, that you’ve never been kissed or had sex.

“I-I’m a virgin!” You blurted out, embarrassed and ashamed to what's to come after as you stopped Alejandro from kissing you or to lead any further. Now, you just felt terrible. Kissing your bodyguard who your father assigned was messed up. Secretly, you always thought of Alejandro in a different way. Pleasuring yourself many nights as you thought of his hands replacing yours, roaming in different areas that were very inappropriate but felt amazingly good otherwise. 

Now it’s obvious that you were upset. But for Alejandro, he was smiling in his head. Alejandro tilts your chin up with his thumb and index finger for you to look up at him. You can see that he was smirking. “I know, sweetheart,” He said knowingly, with such confidence. “We can take things slow.” 

Before you could say anything to Alejandro, his lips were on yours by the second. Your eyes widened in shock. They felt so soft and tender. You felt warm all over as your lips began to move in motion. As the kiss began to deepen, you felt an opening for your tongue to touch his. Alejandro answers back with such power as you both explored each other’s mouth as he moves his hand down to your waist. Your sweaty palms grab up to clench his navy-blue, buttoned up shirt and the other to touch at his hair. 

Jesus christ, you thought. His hair was so soft than you had ever thought. Your fingertips ever-so softly touching at it. You wouldn’t ever change anything, if you were to have a hot makeout session with Alejandro. You felt a sudden rush of anger as Alejandro paused from kissing you. He rises up from kneeling and reaching over to you after so long. As he moves outwards, you could see that saliva had dripped off from your lips to his as he licked it so sexually. It was hot enough as he did it so intentionally as he stared at you while doing it. 

You can feel that one spot between your legs become very warm and wet. In Alejandro’s eyes, he sees your disheveled appearance, yet eyes filled with lust. 

“You’re my best first kiss.” You said, so out of it.

He chuckles at your response. “I’m glad I was,” he pauses, “I’ve been wanting to do that since.” You blush harder as if you weren’t even blushing before. He notices. 

“I-I want to finish what we’ve started–if that’s alright with you?” You ask so gently, not knowing how to process what you’re wanting. If Alejandro could die from your soft, angelic voice, he would. You were so innocent. So vulnerable. He would kill the world for you. He wanted to take his time with you if he were to take your mind off of things as said before. 

Alejandro gets up from the ruffled bed. As he does so, he opens up the buttons from his sleeves to roll up..slowly.

“W-what are you doing?” You asked. You wanted to know so urgently that you clench the blankets that covered you. He looks down at you. “I want to take things slow, since it’s your first time.” he slowly replies, “I want to make it worthwhile so you can remember it as I explore your body with my fingers first.” 

After he got done rolling up his sleeves, he comes over to you and reaches for the blankets to pull it away from your petite body as you let him willingly. You were very nervous as it’s gonna get very intense later on. But in honesty, you were very excited–well, very horny in other words. As the blankets pull away, you rub your thighs together from the cold breeze that was roaming around in the room. You had only worn your pajama shorts and tank top to sleep–not to mention that you weren’t wearing a bra under it. 

“Don’t worry,” he assures, “I’ll be gentle.” 

You nod in understanding as your soft, doe eyes began to look up at his , “I’ve trusted you from the start. It’s not any difference as to what we’re doing right now.” Shortly, you guys begin to kiss again. This time, the kiss was hungry. You both had wanted more. Alejandro’s hand suddenly roams under the tank top to sofly grasp your naked waist. 

When Alejandro meant by being gentle and taking things slow, he meant it. On the other hand, you were touch-starved. You wanted to him to touch you–anywhere–from the moments you had met him. Suddenly, he moves to where your back was leaning against him as he lays against the headboard of the bed. Your head begins to fall back onto his shoulder as he softly pinches your nipple through your tanktop. You moan as he twists his thumb and middle-finger whilst he pinched your nipple in such a slow rhythm and the other massaging your other breast. 

Alejandro repeats the action over and over as your nipples perk up through your shirt as you incoherently say words that he can’t make out. You arch your back so suddenly in a jolt, as you feel his hand that was on your breast lead down to touch your covered sex slowly moving up and down. You’re panting harder and your face so flushed, desiring the sinful touches from Alejandro. ‘This is way better than my dreams’, you had thought.

As it it couldn’t get any better, Alejandro then moves up and down into your sex under your underwear. “Oh my god!” you moaned. Your hand grabs at his hair from behind to hold onto as you feel his fingers move in circles of your pussy, making it wetter than it was before. 

Alejandro chuckles to himself, loving this sight of you as you bite your lips from being too loud hopefully not causing any noises for neighbors to hear as the windows are opened for the Colombian breeze coming into the bedroom. “You’re doing so well for me, baby.” He praises. His voice was so deep, yet husky, making you melt like butter. You would’ve never imagined him calling you that ever. 

“Did you ever thought about me in this way? Me touching you in so many ways that your father doesn’t know about?” 

You could only nod as you couldn’t think straight. You moaned again as he speeds up his movements. “I need you speak up for me. Can you do that?” He gently asks you. You whimpered as you feel that knot in your stomach from Alejandro rubbing your pussy at a pace. 

“Yes, Alejandro.” You whimpered out. 

“Good girl.” 

Feeling so close to your climax, his middle-finger dives into the opening of your pussy fingering you with only one at the moment. Your eyes roll back as your back arches more than it possibly could as Alejandro grunts from the sudden impact as you grind yourself into his hands and the bulge that begun to show in Alejandro’s pants. “I’m so close!” You cried out as you start getting closer to cumming. Seconds later, Alejandro inserts another finger and thumb rubbing against your clit to add more to the max. 

Alejandro smiles. “There you go. Good girl.” He kept on praising you as you clenched around his fingers and were beginning to cum. You felt like you were seeing stars on the ceiling; seeing a whole different universe beyond. His hands felt so amazing. “F-fuck, Ale-Alejandro. Please.” You whimpered softly, hand still roaming at his hair and the other reaching down at his. Alejandro hums in compliance. He nips at you earlobe and down to your neck. You couldn’t take enough of the pressure as he didn’t stop fingering you. You were trying your best to wiggle yourself away from the hot pressure that had kept on repeating, but you couldn’t as he grabs your thighs quickly stopping from closing in. 

“Uh-uh.” Alejandro uttered in disagreement from your actions. “I’m not done just yet. I want you to remember this.” 

—

After cumming twice on his fingers, it’s no surprise that you had actually squirted for the first time on the bed (and on him) as he pleasured you with his delicate fingers. It was very dreadful for you as you apologized profusely, but for Alejandro, he was so pleased and delighted at the thought of what could happen if he replaced his fingers with something very much larger. After Alejandro cleaned you up with a warm, wet rag and gave you a different pair of clothes–that were actually his, but you didn’t question it–you effortlessly fell onto the now changed bed sheets and blankets that Alejandro had put on. 

“Umm..” you began to say to stop the silence in the room. Alejandro tilts his head towards your direction as he gently places a glass of water on the counter of your side of the bed. “I just want to say thank you.” You say not knowing what to do as you play with his hands as he sits beside you to past time. 

“You’re welcome.” He responds back instantly, responding back to your touch. He could see that you were exausted from the session not too long ago.

It was like you couldn’t look at him, as if you felt ashamed. But in action, Alejandro carries your attention by pulling your face into another gentle kiss in a sense to assure you. You answer back by smiling into the kiss and holding his cheek and the other around his neck, kissing the night away.

—

another note : wheeeww! that took very long! i hope you enjoyed reading! feedback would be amazing as this is my very first fanfic i’ve ever    published on tumblr!  

thank you! :D

[weaverpop]

Hands above the waist — Lotusnoodles fic

“Wow Nezha! That spin move as awesome!”

MK’s excited voice caught Nezha’s attention, even as the fleeing demon yelled onsenitoes at the exhausted group.

“Thank you, Mk.” Nezha couldn’t help but smile at the praise. That move had taken him ages to learn, and was significantly harder to preform without his fire wheels, but the demon now fleeing was the sweet fruit of labor.

“HOW did you DO that?!” Mei slung an arm over his shoulder, bouncing like a chiwawa on crack. Mk soon joined her on his other side with the exact same energy.

“Well, uh, it was a move I had learned a while ago while trying to work with my ribbons and fire wheels.”

“It’s also a move that increasing dangerous yo do without said ribbons.m and firewheels.” Jing’s voice cut in, and Nezha sheepishly looked away as Mk and Mei gasped.

“Dangerous? How?” Mei eemoved herself from him, looking at Jing with mild alarm.

Jing had his arms crossed, and Nezha realized he had managed to find his ribbons, although his rings were still missing. “Dangerous as in he could have cracked or even broken a rib.”

Mk gasped again, and moved to instead pat down Nezha’s sides, looking concerned. “Oh man! Why didn’t you say anything?! Are you hurt!?”

Nezha stuttered, and Mei and the others started looking for their own weapons, Jing eyeing him and Mk while looking for Nezha’s rings.

“N-no! I’m good, maybe a bit tired b-but nothing too bad.”

“Still! I’d feel terrible if you got hurt defending us.” MK’s voice lowered, as his hands gently squeezed nehzaa sides. “Your health matters to me, you know.”

Nezha could feel his face get very hot all of a sudden, and he quickly glanced around. Thankfully none of the others seemed to be paying any attention.

“M-Mk-“

“Wow, you have a really small waist.”

MK’s hands squeezed his waist a little as emphasis, and Nezha nearly died right then. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest from how hard it was beating! His face felt like he had just been set ablaze, and he quickly patted his cheeks to make sure his fire powers hadn’t accidentally activated.

Mk continued to pat him down, his hands slowly lowering until they rested at Nezha’s hips. “You know, you’ve got some good muscles… they remind me of a gymnastic…”

Nezha could’ve died right then, and shivered when Mk squeezed his hips….

“Oi. Monkey Boy.”

Both startled and look up to see Jing approaching, holding Nezha’s found rings and ribbon. He looked a cross between amused and mildly annoyed.

“Keep those hands above his waist, you hear me?”

It took a moment to register, before MK’s hands shot away and back to his own sides, the poor boys face just as red as Nezha’s.

“Dad!” Nezha whisper-yelled, taking back his things. Mk himself looked mortified. “It wasn’t- he was just-“

“Oh please, I know what a man looks like when he feels someone up.” Jing stated bluntly, “Especially when hiding it behind concern.”

Nezha spluttered, and looked to mk, who looked… mildly ashamed?

Oh…. OH.

“…well,” Nezha said quietly, avoiding Jing’s look. “I didn’t mind it…”

MK’s own face was so scarlett that Nezha was half-worried he’d get a nosebleed. “O-oh, that’s good.” Mk squeaked, and they stood there for a moment more in silence. Fortunately (or unfortunately) it was Jing who broke it.

“Just be sure not to do that in public. We don’t need people gawking.” With that he tired and made his way back to the group, leaving two spluttering, red faced boys in his wake.

After a moment more of silence, Nezha quietly spoke. “I… wouldnt mind it if you were to ever… check me again.”

Mk nodded, his eyes bright despite the embarrassment. “C-cool! I was hoping you would say that.”

They both quickly followed after Jing not long after, waving away the others concern about their red faces via the summer heat.

[noicevibes]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬 & 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐬

i don’t even like s’mores so i hope y’all do. also… me jumping on the “bkg smells like caramel” train when i know full well 1) it ain’t true and 2) real nitroglycerin smells like ass… let me be delulu. double also… idk how fires work ok, i’ve never even started one???? 👀

summary → subconsciously, and in your boyfriend’s absence, you crave some caramel. and so, you make some. kind of.

pairing -> katsuki bakugo x gn!reader

warnings -> sfw, apartment fire, injuries (heat burns, heat blisters, threat of asphyxiation from smoke inhalation), injury care.

wc -> 3k

The smell alerts you first, and harshly stirs you from one of the deepest of sleeps you’ve ever had. No, it wasn’t the splintering of wood echoing through the halls from all the fixings and furniture within your home, nor the crackling of flames, and not even the intense heat that’d been swirling within the four walls of your bedroom. Not even the blaring of the fire alarms of your building had been enough to wake you.

The scent of fire was a comfort to you, or at least, it used to be. Memories of taking summer trips past the outskirts of Musutafu with loved ones that had the nights ending with you preparing a western camping treat for everyone— s’mores, you’d tell them they were called. You knew little else of them besides what they were made of, and when they would ask, you’d only say the exact same thing. Graham cookies, marshmallows, and chocolate! Delicious, isn’t it? you’d asked. And there hadn’t been a head shake of disagreement from a single one of them.

You ended up becoming fond of putting caramel inside yours. The first time you did, you made a mess, and ended up burning the pads of your fingers from a lack of care— grabbing onto the handle of your bedroom door managed to remind yourself of the pain from that time. Gasping sharply, dryly, you recoil, hand retracted into your aching chest to comfort it.

Careful, a chiding voice echoes in your head. You flinch, temple pulsing with aggravation as you back away toward the window.

“Careful.” Turning toward the source of the warning, you found Bakugo leaning toward the supplies bag to grab a wet nap. “You’re gonna burn your fingers off with that stuff.”

You didn’t even realize he’d been sitting beside you. Either you’d gone delirious from sitting so close to the campfire, or you’d drank too much of whatever liquor it was that Denki poured into your juice a half an hour ago, but besides the s’mores making, the entire night passed in a blur. You suspected it to be a combination of both, considering you hadn’t noticed who took up sitting next to you on your chosen log (though it might’ve been the other way around— had he been sitting here before you?)

You stared back at him as intently as your focus would allow — it’s definitely a mix of flame and fuel, you subconsciously decided — and Bakugo stared right back.

“Here,” he said, a moment after you heard the tearing of paper. “Before it leaves a mark on you.”

“… uh-huh.” You knew you were staring dumbly at him; as it turns out, your focus didn’t allow you to do much at all, let alone raise a hand to take the packaged wipe from him. He groaned, a loud affair that briefly had some of the eyes of the others glancing his way before returning to their own s’mores and conversations, before forsaking his own treat to the grate above the fire. This, you somehow noticed. “Katsuki, your—”

“Gimme your hands, already,” he interrupted. Reaching forward, he grabbed one of your wrists and tugged it into his lap— napkin blanketing his index finger and thumb, he begins to pick the caramel off of your skin, relieving you of the heat it contained beneath it.

They’re soft. Big, and most certainly scarred, but most importantly, soft. You couldn’t tell if you were surprised to learn this or not; you had your speculations, after all. In the sense of him having such a strong hygienic routine, Bakugo Katsuki wasn’t necessarily like the other boys of your group of friends. In bed by the most reasonably earliest time, teeth brush two to three times a day, faced washed at the end of the day and a shower each morning— in your exhaustion, somedays, this was more than you could say you did for yourself. More than likely, this also accounted for some kind of skin care routine, as to why they were so soft.

Dazed from the smoke of the fire — and from the strong scent of Bakugo’s s’more burning (that Midoriya thankfully had the tact to remove off the grate for him before it was too late) — you watched with a lidded gaze as he pried the final piece of cooled caramel from your last finger. It’d been done so gently, too. The warning, the insistence of caring for you when you’d been too incognizant to care for yourself— even in the days before this, he’d always been quick to assure your well-being, and in a funnily zero-to-a-hundred way.

You hummed, and watched Bakugo discard the damp tissue.

If this is what he’s like to his friends, he’d probably be a good boyfriend, too, huh? Gaze wide and pointed, Bakugo’s head snapped back toward you with such zeal that it made you flinch.

“Then date me.”

With how accidentally loud his response had been to you accidentally speaking your thoughts aloud, the entire camp had gone quiet, and all that was heard was the crackling of the fire.

It’d been no different than now, really, except for the fact that there aren’t any graham cookies, or chocolate, or marshmallows, or that caramel drizzle you’d use that reminded you of Bakugo and how naturally sweet you’d learnt his skin smelled; no different, despite the fact that none of your friends are present.

It’s no different, except that Bakugo isn’t at your side to take care of your burnt fingers again.

It’s no different, but at least you hadn’t been about to die back then.

You act quickly, though in your panic, you fumble over each step, nerves eating away at what strength your fingers and knees had left. First is the call to emergency services, one that you put on speaker phone while you roll up your bath towel, swiped off its hook to put at the base of your door. They ask your name as you dump the remainder of your drinking water on it, and watch it seep through while you give them your address and your prefecture. They tell you not to open any windows in your room, not until help can arrive. They tell you they’ve contacted your emergency contact for you, too, and only because your emergency contact is a pro hero.

In your one bedroom apartment, your room sat in the middle of the three rooms within it, and to the right of the kitchen. And from where you stood, it’d become easy to tell where the fire had started; you could feel the heat stronger to your left side. The fire would have already traveled the path of least resistance and crawled down the hallway, while spreading through the wall between your room and the kitchen.

The operator said not to open the window, you remind yourself, as you’d instinctively gone to unlatch the lock. The heat would just be pulled through, and the more oxygen, the faster it would move. You scoff, hands pressed to the warm panes. It doesn’t even matter. It’s too high up to get anywhere. My Quirk won’t help me here, either. I… I’m really trapped.

Another building stood across from yours, a good thirty feet away. Too far to jump, obviously. And being on the tenth floor, too high to drop. In the far distance, to the left of the building opposite you, you spot several sets of emergency lights moving quickly in your direction. Katsuki would’ve gotten the call by now. Knowing him, he’s… probably on his way here.

You cough. Despite having blocked the bottom of the door, the smoke still seeps through other cracks in your rooms’ minimal defence.

He… probably won’t make it in time. You press your face against the window and peer down, in time to watch dozens of your buildings’ residents spill into the street below. Faintly, over the blaring alarm, the fire, and the emergency sirens that have only just pooled into the area before the porte-cochère below. They spill out of the vehicles, some ushering the residents away to the other side of the street, the others putting on their leatherheads and zipping up their turnouts—

You drop to the floor, legs folded under you, and wheeze.

Could it have been an electrical malfunction? Did you somehow turn the stovetop on and leave it on? You didn’t make any food tonight for a lack of time and then energy; the many reports from your office you’d had to complete by morning made sure of that—

And it clicked, in your sleep-riddled, smoked-out brain, what the cause of the fire was. Why you’d recalled that camping memory from nearly four years ago. You were making something. Caramel. Albeit burnt and turned into a fiery mess, you can faintly smell it. You were going to dip apple slices into it.

All those hero courses, the safety training we’d gone through, and all because I wanted some damn caramel! And I fell asleep and left it there! You cough again. Not even safety training, just some damn common sense would’ve been good to have!

You shouldn’t have sat down, shouldn’t have yawned and leaned further into the comfort of your bed when you did sit down, shouldn’t have slept through the timer’s alarm, shouldn’t have craved junk food at all, should have eaten just that apple or something else just as simple—

You sob, a dry, choked sound that burns your chest. Tears barely spill, though your eyes had already been watering from inhaling so much smoke; you can’t even bring yourself to look outside your window again from a lack of strength.

There’s nothing I can do but wait, you tell yourself. And if that doesn’t work out, t-then, I guess… I…

A loud boom stirs you from finishing your thought. It doesn’t come from inside the apartment, nor from within the building. Boom. Another. Boom-boom. It seems to be getting louder and louder, like it’s moving closer. From outside…?

You steady yourself when you move onto your knees. Hands shaky from nerves and lung damage from the smoke, you at least manage to get one last look out the window, and in time to move out of the way of it by throwing your body as far as possible from it.

Clattering of brick, splintering of wood, shattering of glass— arms thrown over your head, you cry out as your body shifts from the pressure of the explosion. In front of you, there’s a rush of heat, and from behind, the cool night air licks at your bare feet. As the debris falls from the top of your head, eyes protected, you look toward your window-turned-wall and find a panting figure half-hanging from the opening, and half bent at their knees with a gloved hand extended to you.

“Quit staring! Take my hand and let’s move!”

“I’m not staring,” you grumbled, burning under his knowing stare. “But clearly you were to be watching and waiting to see if I was.”

“Was not.” A bemused silence fell between the two of you, the only sound being that what swirled around your cafeteria table. Taking a swig of his water, “Do I have something on my face or something?”

“No,” you answered. “You just—” You hold in your breath, lips pressed into a firm line.

“Just?”

You cleared your throat, shaking your head at him. You shrug.

“You just… smell…” Chopsticks clatter, against the ceramic of his bowl and onto the table, flicking spicy peanut sauce onto it.

“Hah?!”

“Good!” you shouted, at the appalled look on his face. “You smell good!”

“Finish the sentence faster next time, damn it!” he yelled back, cheeks red from your call out on his apparent poor hygiene. There are multiple snickers and chuckles from the nearby tables, but none sitting there dare to try and look Bakugo’s way.

“Sorry.” You shrink a little in your chair. “I got distracted by it halfway through the thought— you smell really sweet.”

Bakugo stiffens, brows furrowing and pinching toward the bridge of his nose; the tinge in his cheeks don’t disappear quickly.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “So sorry.”

Your body jerks forward, scalded fingers leading the way into his gloved palms, and when he pulls you into him to have you wrap your limbs tight around him, the door to your bedroom bursts open at the seams, giving way to the build-up of flames that would’ve happily greeted you.

Heat licks at your back as Bakugo pushes off of the building, letting the recoiling from his palm’s small-but-quick explosions carry the two of you low and far enough away from the gaping hole in the wall of your tenth story apartment. Audibly, you wince, and in your attempt to keep a tight hold around him, you feel your fingertips pop.

Instinctively and despite only having gotten halfway to the ground, your grip loosens, and you begin to slip.

“Hold on!” Bakugo urges— an arm drops to curl around your waist, hoisting you back up from under your ribcage. You seethe in air through gritted teeth, forcing yourself to ignore the pain of your blistered hand to twist the fabric of his shirt into your fingers.

When your feet finally touch the ground, you crumble onto your knees, clutching your injured hand. Harshly, Bakugo does the same, only to rise back up with you properly in his arms.

“Katsuki,” you call, voice hoarse from the heat.

He doesn’t respond, barely glancing down at you on his way to one of the paramedics; he doesn’t even shout at the residents who stand in his way, his aura apparently doing the speaking for him. They stumble off to the sides, watching him covet you, even when he reaches the ambulance. It takes both you and the paramedics to get him to set you down on the gurney; for them, it’s business as usual when they demand he let them do their job. For you, it takes a placating kiss to his cheek, a promise of your well-being, and you begging him to let go of your hand, him not even realizing that he’d grabbed it until you’d begun tearing up.

If this were a regular rescue mission, with you at his side instead of in front of your where you sit on a medical bed, his behaviour wouldn’t have been so volatile, so… possessed. Focused and driven, he wouldn’t have impeded the paramedics in helping you right away, but he’d been focused on you and only you. He’s not here as a hero, dressed up as one and having been on patrol as he might’ve been before getting the call. He’s here as your partner, your friend, your lover, your next of kin, your emergency contact— “Dynamight,” you call, your uninjured hand raised to touch his face.

“Yeah,” he finally responds— it’s gruff and heavy, like he’d stopped breathing. You can’t help the frown that settles onto your face, and Bakugo begins to spiral again, whispering out your name and simultaneously cursing out of earshot.

“Hey, hey— I’m fine now,” you once more swear to him. Your fingers tense where they pinch his cheeks. “Look at me. I’m alive, right?”

“… yeah,” he repeats, tone hollow.

“Then let them bandage my hands and I’ll be even better.”

“Okay.”

They’re quick to rinse off your hands with cool saline before applying a gentle lotion to them; some kind of antibiotic cream, you’d overheard one of them say. One of them begins to unwrap a fresh packet of bandaging, and at the look on Bakugo’s face, hastily and gently wraps it around your hand. The other, having just finished checking your oxygen levels and having examined the back of your throat, insists on you breathing through an oxygen mask.

Bakugo is the one who places the rubber band around your head and lowers the mask over your face, having snatched it from the innocent paramedic, all so he can press his palms against your cheeks after. They puff up slightly beneath them as you breathe in and out, deeply, your eyes fluttering shut in relief at the soothing sensation that coats your lungs.

Bakugo calls your name less than a second later.

“I’m fine now,” you say to the paramedics you spot standing off to your right. “Please go check if there are others who are injured.”

They exchange looks. “But,” one of them starts, though you’re quick to interrupt.

“I’m a hero, too,” you inform them. “I really am okay now. Please go.”

They do, looking almost grateful for your dismissal and lack of series injuries. If Katsuki was acting normal right now, he probably would’ve been offended by that.

“Katsuki,” you say, and with your good hand, you drag the mask away from your face— or, at least, you’d tried to. His gaze is harsh on you when he forces it back up over your nose; you sigh. “Katsuki.”

“… they said the fire started in the kitchen.” You nod, and let him pick you up again to carry you to the back end of the ambulance; Bakugo sits, and places you into his lap. “The hell were you doin’?”

“I… I wanted to make caramel.”

“At three in the morning? What, did’ya fall asleep?” This, you don’t bother to answer; your silence ends up being enough. “You idiot… Out of all the damn things…”

Bakugo’s groan is one of exasperation when he sets your hand down, of relief when you’re pulled into his chest, and of frustration and when you raise your arms to hug him back. Muffled complaints seep into your clothed shoulder, while your tears seep into his— as much as you can with what strength your throbbing fingers supplied, you pull him further into you, teeth gritted.

“Idiot,” he repeats.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His grip on you tightens, but you don’t say a word. You were almost so close to never feeling it ever again, to never feel from your Katsuki Bakugo, to never breathe him in or hear him chastise you when it’d been deserved, to never hold his hands again. You pull your mask down once more, and press trembling lips up against his jaw. “Thank you for saving me; thank you.”

He nods, a stiff gesture. “… don’t make me have to do it again.”

© nc-vb 2023 please don’t repost! reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

[shamelessliarkickapow]

Arrvatarr! The Last Arrbender!

Chapter 3, part... the rest/3

A Zutara pirate AU - comedy/romance/action

Here's part 1/3 on Tumblr or Read the whole thing (chapters 1-3) on AO3

This story is rated M for Mature (Ole Salts only, yarrr)

Detective GoodBrother Sokka, anyone? ^.-

((this one might be boring? idk, things got plotty on me and i've been framing a roof, which has involved climbing around on the inside of gables about 14' off the floor and lots of trips up and down the wobbliest 12' ladder carrying heavy rafters in 90 degree weather and. dudes. i'm tired and all my clinging muscles are like wtf is wrong with you we never do this? so here's a finished chapter to celebrate the framing being done and the roofers coming to finish decking and surfacing yayyy))

.

.

The sun rested low and soft in the east, peeking through scattered clouds and Katara was just finishing off her porridge when Sokka came sidling up on deck. He spotted her where she was sitting on the port gunwale and made his way over, stretching his arms above his head in the super-casual move that clearly meant he was here for a classic brotherly chat.

Katara heaved a sigh. He must have really gobbled his food to follow her so quickly.

“Ahh, nothing like dish duty with Toph to really top off an action-packed night of pirating!”

“You cannot be done already.”

“Right, yeah, no, I just mean I’m looking forward to dish duty with Toph. You know, because her playful and fun-loving attitude makes the chore go so much quicker.”

That could be true. Or it could mean Toph had tried to metalbend the tin dishes again and they were all dinged and bent - and still dirty. Katara sighed a second time and rolled her eyes. Sokka hoisted himself up to sit on the rail beside her and laced his fingers together on his crossed legs.

“So! How are things?”

“Great. I’m the only pirate in the world who has to rewash the dishes for the other pirates. How could I not feel extra special, Sokka?”

“You don’t have to rewash them. We haven’t even first-washed them yet. I’m kind of just here for your bowl, but I was trying to be cool about it.”

Katara frowned at his demure expression and held out her bowl. He accepted it graciously - and then did not go away.

“You seem tense, little sister.”

He said it with gravity and quiet care that made Katara’s frown fade. It also made her aware of how the pucker in her brow had started to ache.

“Usually after a good plundering, you’re as cheerful as the rest of us. But today it’s like you’ve got a rain cloud on your shoulder. Toph seems to be getting to you more than usual. What gives?”

Katara let out a little huff. “Are you really pretending that you didn’t just gang up on me with the rest of them down there?”

“We might have taken the teasing a little far,” Sokka admitted with a half-repentant shrug. “It’s just… it was kind of a surprise to see you take your intimidation game so hard in that direction. I mean, I’ve seen you tease a guy before but… damn, Katara.”

She blushed and turned her head up to examine a very interesting cloud. She had forgotten her brother was watching that play out… “It got out of hand.”

Sokka was quiet for a long moment, then sighed and, sounding like he really didn’t want to, asked, “Was it, though? Because in the moment, you really seemed to be having a good time.”

Katara snapped a glare on him. “Not you too.”

“What?”

“You are not going to pressure me to-! To-!”

“Pressure? Who’s pressuring you?” Sokka’s alarm suddenly became outrage. “Was it those soldiers? Toph mentioned the crew-”

“It’s Toph! She’s out of control! The guy is a Fire Prince - obviously an evil oppressor of all our peoples - and she wants me to jolly his roger like the most-”

“Horrible turn of phrase.”

“-important thing is me getting off!” Katara scoffed and threw one arm up in the air, still disbelieving. “It’s so much more complicated than that. He’s not just some guy. He’s everything that’s wrong with the world, but in a person!”

“Well, not everything…”

Katara turned wide, disbelieving eyes on him. Sokka just shrugged extra-deep.

“Don’t get me wrong, the guy fights like a war machine. But I’ve seen enough firebenders to know he wasn’t exactly going for kill shots.”

“He burned Toph!”

“She was touching her shield and it got hot. Besides, who wouldn’t take a swing at Toph? She’s a powerful bender and powerfully annoying. Risk of the trade. If she’s pressuring you to go after him, she clearly isn’t holding a grudge.” He squinted and raised an eyebrow as if thinking about it, then shook his head and went on. “I’ll talk to her about that. Or get Suki to do it. Kid needs guidance. Anyway, something about this whole situation feels off to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. The Fire Lord only has a few kids, right? What’s one of them doing so far from home on that crappy little ship with about half the soldiers it’d take to fully crew it, much less defend it?” Sokka stroked his chin as he talked. Katara half expected him to whip out the detective hat and pipe. “That wasn’t a fighting force. Prince Zuko wasn’t out here leading any excursions to put down resistance factions.”

“What resistance?” Katara muttered sourly. “The last resistance in the South Seas disappeared with Dad.”

Sokka peered at her, and she could see the burning heart-deep sting, the horrible grieving aloneness in her chest reflected in his eyes. “For a long time, that was true,” he said carefully. “But now there’s us.”

“We’re one ship. A handful of kids.”

“And we’ve sunk how many steamers in the last year?”

Unbidden, Katara’s eyes slid sideways to the railing on the stairs up to the poop deck. It was scored deeply, one for every steamer sent down. The freshest notch was a quarter of the way up, with many older ones marching behind it.

“And now,” Sokka said quietly, “we have and are training the Avatar.”

“Nobody knows about that. Aang has been really good about keeping quiet.”

“Aang is a goofball kid with too much energy and not enough sense to protect himself. He’s not ready to go public and yet here he is trying to yuck it up and get philosophical with the first firebenders he meets since coming out of the ice. I mean,” he half-laughed, half-scoffed, “did you hear that arr-bender joke? Terrible!”

“I know…” Katara rubbed her arms as if to chase off a sudden chill. “I tried to tell him to stay away from them before dinner but he keeps talking about his friend from the Fire Nation. I think it’s hard for him to really internalize that it’s been a century and everything is different now.”

“Well he needs to get with the program quick.”

Sokka’s tone was all seriousness now and he turned his head to meet her eyes, concern knotting his brow.

“The ship’s log indicated their heading was for the South Pole. There weren’t any specific coordinates cited - just a note that the commanding officer intended to continue his search there. Katara, Prince Zuko was on his way to look for our village.”

Katara’s heart pounded for more than one reason. “Do you think he came here for us?”

There had been a few Fire Navy ships in recent months sent to capture them. Ambushing and sinking those ships was easy enough. It was much scarier to think that the Fire Lord might have sent his own son to target them…

…but the thought that this particular muscle-bound prince had come here to get her had a whole swarm of flutters battling it out in her belly. That Prince Zuko might have tracked them and laid a trap with himself as the bait, and now he was locked in the brig - perhaps as a part of his own plan… It gave Katara a wild tingle thinking about what might happen. What he might try to do.

She would stop him, of course, but… whatever he did, it’d be exciting to watch him try.

But Sokka just shrugged, wide-eyed. “I don’t know what he was after. With a fighting force that small, he’d be lucky to subdue a crew of normal pirates. And if he was hunting us specifically, he’d have had some reports about Toph and probably would have prepared his men to counter her somehow. I don’t think he came here planning on a direct fight. Maybe he meant to take the village hostage while we were gone and force us to surrender that way.”

“You think he wanted to take Gran-gran hostage?” Katara fumed, horrified and furious at the mere notion.

“I’m just not sure what else he could have had planned.” Sokka shook his head and scratched the back of his neck, leaning back on one arm. “And yet… I’m speculating on all that. Whoever wrote the ship’s log was wordy and did not follow standard reporting procedures so it might take some serious digging to figure out what Prince Zuko was really searching for. There’s a chance it wasn’t us at all. I mean, he seemed pretty surprised when we took his ship. And he adapted quick to Toph’s metalbending, but he made a big deal about her being blind. If he’d heard of us at all, he hid it well. Which is kind of weird all on its own…”

“Sokka, just because we’re the scourge of the South Seas doesn’t mean everyone’s heard of us.”

“No, but you’d think a prince sailing into dangerous waters would have at least gotten some kind of warning. They stopped at a Fire Nation shipyard near Whale Tail Island to refuel last week. Why wouldn’t the commander at that outpost tell him he was heading into our territory?”

“They probably did and he figured he could handle it because he’s an arrogant, entitled asshole.”

“Or maybe they were hoping he’d get captured because he’s such a charmer.”

Katara smirked, but it quickly faded. “His crew seemed to like him. If the commander tried to sabotage him, it might have been some kind of political thing. Jealousy or something.”

Sokka assessed her face for a long moment. “What did those guys say to you?”

“Ugh. Toph.” Katara rolled her eyes, then shrugged. “They overheard her loudmouth personal advice and started extolling his virtues like a pack of used boat salesmen.”

He scoffed, trying to hide a short laugh. Katara couldn’t help the grin spreading over her face.

“So I said - get this - ‘What is this? The FNS Wingman?’”

“Classic!” Sokka laughed, then slung an arm around her shoulders. “My little sister, making jokes and witty repartee. I’m so proud.”

Katara looped an arm around his back and leaned her head on his shoulder. The sun was beginning to grow warm in the east, cutting through the chilly night air. For a long moment they were silent, basking in some of the last sunshine they would see before autumn hardened the air and tucked the sun away for winter. At length, Sokka broke the quiet with a gentle, teasing tone.

“A whole ocean of guys and you let it ‘get out of hand’ with the Fire Nation prince who might be plotting to sabotage us. What is it about this guy?”

Katara didn’t really mean to answer, but she breathed it out anyway. “The way he looks at me when I’m winning.”

Sokka chuckled and squeezed her shoulders. “Well, you just keep on winning. And if you ever don’t win, don’t worry. Ole Sokka-” He grinned, bright as the rising sun. “-has a plan.”

.

.

The warrior, Suki, came with bowls of some manner of gruel shortly after dawn and, several hours later, Sokka appeared. He wore a simple blue tunic and a mild smile and he carried Zuko’s broadswords sheathed and tossed casually over his shoulder.

“Rise and shine, it’s sword-fighting time!” he chortled as he unlocked the door. “Ya like that? I came up with it just on the way down here.”

Zuko, who had been meditating (stewing) on his bunk and certainly not sleeping during the day like some kind of sluggard, practically leapt past where Iroh snored to get out the door.

“Finally. It’s hours past midday. I thought you weren’t coming at all.”

Sokka relocked the door and gave Zuko a once-over before starting for the stairs. “Aw, and you got all dressed up just for our fight? I’m touched.”

“It’s a training tunic,” Zuko snapped as he kept apace. “I don’t fight in my pajamas. Unless my ship is being attacked in the night.”

“But barefoot is normal.”

“…No.”

Sokka only kept walking, that easy smile irritatingly unchanging. “Forgot to grab your boots?”

Zuko glared at him and did not speak. He had to fall behind to follow Sokka up the narrow stairs to the next level of the ship.

“Oof, that’s gotta be tough. Forgot your boots and now they’re lost forever, sunk with your ship. Why, you might even get frostbite walking around with no shoes on-”

“I won’t get frostbite.”

“-but luckily ole Sokka has an eye for fine footwear.”

He shoved open a sticking door along a hallway of shut doors and Zuko followed him into an untidy cabin with a wide rumpled bed and shelves crammed with dusty objects. …And several items that Zuko immediately recognized as his. He surveyed the chaos with a scowl. Sokka paid him no mind as he threw open a trunk and fished around.

“It’d really be a shame to let quality leatherwork be lost at sea.”

He emerged with Zuko’s scuffed training boots and held them up like a specimen he was examining.

“Just look at this stitching! It’s so fine, you can’t even see the individual stitches. And you were just gonna leave these behind!”

In the trunk behind him, Zuko spied some of his other, less broken-in boots. “You took all my shoes? When did you do that?”

“Less questions, more deals,” Sokka said, dangling the boots just in Zuko’s grasp. “I’ll let you borrow these for our first round on the condition that they become your prize if you win instead of the swords.”

Zuko considered it for a moment, then tipped his chin up and met those clever blue eyes. “Alright. But I want an immediate second round for the swords.”

“I guess that’s not totally unreasonable.” Sokka smiled like a closing trap. “If I win that one, I want to know how you got that scar.”

Zuko thought about refusing, but what did it matter? He was going to win anyway. “Fine.”

He snatched the boots from Sokka’s grasp and shoved his feet into them, peering around at the packed shelves as he did.

“This is your room? What do you need with all this junk?”

“You never know what might turn out to be useful later,” Sokka said, picking up what looked like a lantern intended to float on a candle’s heat - though it was not quite like any paper lantern Zuko had ever seen. “Sometimes I look at this stuff and get ideas. Build stuff from other stuff. That kind of thing. Sometimes I just like knowing it’s here and not in the Fire Nation’s hands. All set?”

Zuko wanted to go back to the brig for some of his socks - which he had remembered - but he was impatient to get those swords back in his hands.

They made their way up to the deck where Suki and Toph waited, loitering around a little table and tossing bits of food - nuts or something - into the air for that strange little animal to swoop down and grab. Zuko had gotten only a glimpse of it last night. By daylight, though, the big ears and luminous eyes were much more recognizable.

“Is that a flying lemur?” He asked, stopping just past the door to watch it perch in the rigging and munch on whatever it had caught. “I’ve only ever seen those at the Air Temples.”

“Yeah, yeah, super rare animal companion,” Sokka huffed. “At his current pace, Momo’s gonna steal more food from us than we can steal from the Fire Nation. He’s a pirate among pirates.”

Zuko kept staring at the lemur. He had never been this close to one before. They had all been so skittish when he had spotted them during his search.

But then… he also remembered the desolation of the ruins, the ancient blast marks and lingering signs of devastation. The skeletal remains of air and fire people alike, bleaching just the same in the long years of weather but still telling a story of horror and murder and ruthlessness. Genocide.

Perhaps it was inevitable that a creature that lived in such a habitat carried some resonant awareness of the nature of the terrible deeds done there. The crimes and who had perpetrated them.

The lemur presently licking itself and making unsettling eye contact with Zuko, however, seemed to have left such reticence behind.

“Are you guys gonna wail on each other or just stand around sharing precious moments?” the warrior asked, making smirking eyes at Sokka.

“Yeah,” snickered the metalbender. “Would you two girls rather go back to swapping shoes and admiring cute animals?”

Zuko glowered at her, but Sokka was already talking.

“Suki, my love, I’m saving all my precious moments for you. Toph-” His tone dropped to prim annoyance. “-I don’t even know how to respond to such sexist generalizations, being as I am a confident man to whom girls and girly activities are totally fine and not demeaning in any way.”

“Haha, yeah, you almost believe that, Snoozles.”

“Do they have to be here?” Zuko demanded.

“Trust me,” Suki said with an unpleasant smile. “If Sokka gets hurt through no fault of yours, you’re gonna want as many witnesses as possible.”

“Uh, a little faith here? C’mon.”

“You should probably keep it down, too,” Toph added. “Sweetness is taking a little nap and she’ll probably turn you into a permanent prince-cicle if she finds out you’re cheating on her with her brother.”

“What?”

“Okay! Sword time!” Sokka suddenly swung the scabbard around and into Zuko’s chest - he caught it, but barely - and then strode across the deck, stretching out his shoulders. “Remember the rules. We stop at first blood, and no limb-chopping, throat-slashing or other lethal moves. No firebending,” he added with a smirk. “I think that covers it.”

“That’s not all the terms,” Zuko protested. “If I win, I keep my boots. If you win, I’ll tell you about the portrait. The second round is compulsory.”

“Right right right.”

Sokka wore an almost placid look on his face as he reached over his shoulder and drew the weapon waiting there. The blade was oddly dark, and the craftsmanship seemed especially fine - but it was difficult to tell from across the distance separating them.

Besides, Zuko had other things on his mind besides assessing more of Sokka’s stolen goods. He slowly drew the broadswords from their scabbard and tossed it aside. And then he began.

He separated the blades in the artful slashes of an opening sequence, then faced his opponent, whose standard beginning stance had sagged slightly. Sokka watched him with an incredulously curled lip.

“Aw shit,” piped the metalbender. “Better watch it, Sokka. Prince Pretty-hair came to play.”

“I came to win,” Zuko corrected. Then he attacked.

[sarcasticbambi]

HMBingo "Baking Disaster"

Opening the door to her apartment, Marinette is immediately engulfed by the smell of something burning. 

Her first reaction was to panic and worry that someone managed to somehow get through the Waynes’ security system - even if the chances were almost 0, there was still the possibility of it happening.

She knew Damian would be out of the house the entire day, being too busy with WE meetings since Bruce was officially stepping down and leaving the company in his and Tim’s hands.

So it was natural that she’d be worried about the house smelling like something was burning.

Did she leave the oven on? Did she forget something IN the oven before leaving the house?

But she hadn’t even had the chance to cook or eat anything in the morning, and Damian doesn’t step foot in the kitchen without her, so there’s really no way either of them left anything cooking and forgot about it. 

Looking down, she found Damian’s slacks at the door and while that did help calm some nerves, it was still not enough, so she called out to him. 

“Dami? I’m home!” clattering noises were heard in response, an almost silent “shit” followed and soon after, footsteps were coming her way.

“Uh Mari?” his head peeked around the corner of the foyer. The rest of his body was hidden behind the wall and that was making marinette suspicious, even more so when her collectible “Le Coq Gaulois” baking timer went off.

She never thought she’d ever hear Damian’s baritone voice go up a pinch, but she was suddenly left speechless when it went up a couple notches when he said “Why are you home so early?”

Narrowing her eyes “I’m not early, I finished all my fittings in time. What are you doing Damian, and was that my limited edition french timer that you are NOT allowed to touch?”

“Uhhh no?”

“You don't sound so sure of yourself and that doesn't reassure me in the slightest. What are you doing and what is this burning smell”

“Nothing-” 

And as if destiny was having fun with his misery, the fire alarm went off.

Pushing him off the way he was trying to cover from her, Marinette navigated the familiar walls to her kitchen, where she saw a mess of all her baking supplies and some grocery bags in one corner. There was flour all over the kitchen surfaces, the sink was full of dishes and bowls and from the looks of it, so was the dishwasher, batter was dripping from the island and,  was that egg on her kitchen cabinets???

Above all this, was a cloud of smoke, clearly coming from her very expensive and custom made oven that was currently looking like a baking war broke out on it and it lost. There were trays with charred remains of something she could not for the life of her figure out what it was on top of it and Marinette could only think What the heck has he been doing to my kitchen????

She promptly made her way around the island and opened the oven, only to have a gust of smoke coming out of it. Ordering Damian to open the windows and close all room doors, she started to clear out the air, in an attempt to shut off the fire alarm. It obviously didn’t work since maintenance was still called up to the penthouse to check if everything was alright and they even helped them with clearing the air.

After the air became more breathable , she sat Damian down. He refused to look her in the eyes, but he seemed very interested in the strawberries container that somehow survived the chaos he brought upon her kitchen.

"Care to explain why my kitchen looks like a warzone, and what were you even doing in here? You never step foot in the kitchen without me. The only thing you know how to make without my supervision is the tea and coffee for our breakfast."

She was all but glaring at him, and in response, she got a very uncharacteristic reaction.

He was pouting. Damian "I'm-colder-than-the-North-Pole-and-my-heart-is-darker-and-more-bitter-than-the-coffee-Tim-and-Mari-consume-everyday-multiple-times-a-day" Wayne was actually pouting. She was so stupefied over this reaction she didn't even notice he was talking to her. well, not talking, it was more like mumbling than anything else.

"You gotta speak a bit louder than that if you want me to actually understand the reason you burned down my kitchen."

"Alfred's birthday is in 2 days and, since he's the one always baking our birthday cakes, I thought I'd bake him one for a change."

"That's so sweet honey! But why didn't you ask me for help, it's not like I was born and raised in a bakery or anything. And I love Alfie like a grandpa, I'd be more than happy to help you with it!"

Damian kept mumbling answers under his breath, which wasn't helping with Marinette's frustration regarding the whole situation.

"Damian!"

"I didn't want to bother you ok? happy now?"

"What do you mean you didn't want to bother me, you know I'm always willing to help!"

"Exactly!"

"wha-"

"It's exactly because you're always willing to help that I didn't want to ask for help. You've been so busy with commissions these past weeks that you always sleep in the studio and I'm the one taking you to the bedroom so you don't wake up sore in the morning. And on the few occasions you're not stuck in the studio, you're busy with back to back fittings and last minute arrangements because the gala is only a month away. I couldn't just pop in on your busy schedule just to have you help me bake a stupid cake, they're not even that difficult to make."

"If they're not that difficult to make, then why is the kitchen in the state it is and we had to have maintenance come up to help shut off the fire alarm?"

"..."

"I didn't mean to ruin your kitchen, I know how much you treasure it and your utensils"

"Oh Damian honey. I'm not upset about it, I was more concerned about your safety! matter of fact, I'm more upset that you didn't ask for my help than I could ever be because of you making a mess of my kitchen."

"I've told you-"

"I know. Let's put it this way, if I wanted to create a portrait for my parents for their wedding anniversary and needed help because it's not an art form I'm used to, compared to you, who always draws portraits of everyone and everything you feel like."

"I would help you, of course!"

"Alright, but! What if it was during Seasonal Meeting weeks. You know, the ones that have you so busy, you tend to sleep in the office and just come home to get a new change of clothes or if me and/or Alfred drag you out of there."

"No meeting is more important than you, of course I'd drop it to come to your aid."

"And why would I not do the same for you? You are just as important to me as you say I am for you. I would have said yes and rescheduled any meetings to be with you for such an important celebration, to help you with anything you need. That's because we're partners, and we support each other no matter what, no matter when. And that Damian, is because I love you."

After a bit of silence - that Marinette assumes to be reflective on Damian's part - he pulls her in between his open legs and hugs her midsection, his forehead leaning against her collarbone and his arms tightening the embrace.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think of it from that perspective. I completely understand what you mean, and because of that, I'd like to ask..." he took a steadying breath "I'd like to ask for your help in baking something for Alfred's birthday."

Exhaling softly, Marinette placed one of her hands on his shoulder, and the other on his midnight strands. Placing a soft kiss to the crown of his head, she smiled. 

"Of course you dummy, I was just waiting for you to ask."

He looked up at her and smiled, "Thank you, love."

"We do have to clean up this mess first if we want to be able to bake anything at all." she giggled.

He stayed in the same position,but turned his face around to look at his mess.

"Indeed. Again, I'm very sorry."

"I've told you, it's fine. Let's go. We'll also need to get new groceries since I'm sure you destroyed them all in your attempts to make - hold on, what exactly were you trying to bake again?

"... I prefer not to disclose that information."

"Come on Dami, I need to know so I'll know what we need and what to prepare for it."

"...cake.."

"what?"

"I was trying to make a yellow cake."

"..."

"pft hahahahaha- yello- yellow cake hahahaha! You destroyed my kitchen trying to bake the most basic of basic cakes hahahaha"

Marinette was still trying to catch her breath by the time she managed to finish her sentence. 

“Ha. Ha. Laugh all you want, but remember, not everyone was raised in a bakery.”

“Damian, honey. No one would make as big of a mess baking for the first time as you have.”

“Just leave it. It’s alright, we can bake him that and more! Maybe some of those scones he loves so much!”

“Hm. Whatever you want to make, I’ll be your assistant.”

“Oh no, I’m not baking it. You are. I’ll just be here to help and guide you through the steps.”

“I guess it’s time I beat my brothers in another field and finally be unbanned from Alfred’s Kitchen.”

“Suuuuure.”

“Mari?”

“Hm.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome? What for though?”

“I love you.”

“Hehe, I’ll leave it be for now. I love you too Dami!”

[humaforever]

Can I get a kid’s menu and a rum and coke, please?

(Huma?)

Thank you for the prompt. This was a self fluff indulgence but I hope you like it.

___________________________________________

"This food is like... disgustingly fancy" Harry said as he looked at the menu with a scowl

Uma raised her brow and looked at him "How so?"

"Why are they adding so many extra ingredients? What even is a sauteed onion?" Harry said

Uma couldn't help but agree, this food almost seemed too fancy.

"But it's still better than the food we had on the isle so I'm not gonna be too upset" Uma said

"I'm not sure that's even true. This shit sounds gross" Harry frowned

"Since when are you mister picky" Uma said

"Since I heard that tangy, aged goat cheese was a thing" Harry read off the menu in displeasure

Before Uma could respond, the waiter came to their table and asked for their drink order.

"I'll have a mimosa, thanks" Uma told the waiter

"And for you sir?"

"I want rum and coke" Harry said, "And I'll also be needing a kid's menu" he added

Uma closed her eyes and bit her cheek to stop herself from laughing at the bewildered look that crossed the waiters face.

"Of course" the waiter gave Harry an all to cheery smile before he left

Uma turned to Harry with a smirk "You really couldn't handle the big kid menu today huh? You're still too little for that" She teased

"Not my fault they only offer the good shit to the kids" Harry said

"What? Mac and cheese and applesauce?" Uma smiled as she continued to taunt him

"Exactly" Harry said somewhat sarcastically

"Okay" Uma shrugged "Anything for the wittle baby" she snorted out a laugh

"Make fun of me now but you won't be laughing when you're jealous of my food" Harry said smiling himself

"Do you think that waiter has ever had a grown man order alcohol and then proceeded to ask for a kid's menu?" Uma said

"He has now. You know how I love to leave a mark in everybody's life" Harry gave her a wink

"Yes, I know you can't leave a place without making sure everybody knows you were there" Uma said flatly

"What is the point if not to make a scene?" Harry said

"And this is exactly why you are banned from multiple establishments" Uma said

"You can't blame me for the last one really, it was just too tempting not to pull the fire alarm. Anyone would've done it" Harry told her

Uma couldn't help but cringe at the memory.

Eventually the waiter came back to deliver their beverages and Harry's menu.

"Hey would you look at that, kids eat free" Harry told Uma

"You think you can pass for a twelve year old?" Uma said

"Probably not, but we're gonna dine and ditch anyway so it's fine" Harry said

Uma gave him and unimpressed glance "Harry"

"Kidding love, only kidding" Harry sing songed

Uma knew that Harry would actually love to dine and ditch but that was very illegal.

"Look at this, I told you everything on the kid's menu is better!" Harry suddenly exclaimed "They have chicken tenders in the shape of a heart"

Uma curiously looked over at his menu "What part of the chicken does that come from?" She raised her brow

"Doesn't matter. It's fucking cool" Harry said as he took a sip of his rum

Uma shrugged slightly "It is kinda cool" she said barely above a whisper

"The peanut butter and jelly sandwich comes with a cookie that looks like a jellyfish" Harry informed Uma

"Wait what?" Uma said trying not to sound too excited over the thought of a cookie that looked like a jellyfish

"Yeah, see" Harry showed her

Maybe Harry was actually on to something here

"Hang on lemme see this" Uma gently guided the paper out of Harry's hand so she could get a closer look

"There's even a cool ass coloring page" Harry pointed out

Well...

Okay, so Uma may have been slightly hypocritical. Because she hadn't previously been aware of the fact that the kid's menu was far superior.

Both Harry and Uma would end up ordering from the kid's menu. Because even though it wasn't as fancy, it was more fun. They even colored in that coloring page together. After all they never got this in their childhood.

Uma had made fun of Harry, yes, but as it turns out, it is actually quite exhilarating to drink booze with your heart shaped chicken tenders and jellyfish cookies.

[inposterumcumgaudio]

Poedit Cut/Unused Content: Haworth Labs

So the quest "Haworth Labs" was originally quite a bit different. Its sutitles are titled "Fun and Games" in Poedit and contains some cut eavesdroppers as well as conversations Arthur participates in that imply the structure of the quest involved more environmental storytelling and choice making based on it.

Basically, rather than immediately being recognized as an interloper as you are now, you'd be infiltrating Haworth Labs and pretending you worked there. You'd periodically be dragged into conversations with other workers and if you said the wrong thing, they could determine you were a spy and raise the alarm. It explains Arthur's objective note "I'll have to sweet talk my way past these check points if they spot me in here" for the first room after decontamination.

F_DL Do you smell burned motilene?

M_AH I always smell motilene. There's cracks in most of the pipes.

F_DL No, burned motilene. You don't think they mixed up the motilene and the methyltransferase?

M_AH How? One's a fuel and the other's a catalyst. One goes in the heating coil and the other goes in the reaction vat!

F_DL I heard Frankland saying motilene when he meant methyltransferase. I thought it was just a slip of the tongue, but with Dr. V swapping around all the precursors...

F_DL Could have been worse. What if they'd swapped it for the propanyl?

M_AH Do you want tell Dr. V?

F_DL Of course not! He'll tear my head off!

M_AH Well it's not going to be me. I like my job.

M Mr. Watt seems so upset. What if we got him a present?

PC How about a pinata? Uncle Jack did a whole episode on it.

F_M But Mr. Watt hates the Spanish. Ever since Gibraltar. Everybody knows that. You're an imposter! SPY! SPY!

PC He loves art. Maybe we could get him a painting of horses, or something.

M Oooh, my stomach's growling at the very thought of horses.

F I'm sort of worried about the tunnel rats. They haven't sung in a while.

"What? They just sort of squeak, don't they?"

F The Tunnel Rats! They came to serenade us -- who are you? A SPY! A SPY!

PC I hope they're not all gone on holiday. They were down to a duet, weren't they?

F If they're all gone, who's going to fix our pipes?

F_M I should have never left the flower store. I should never have taken this job.

F Calm down, for heaven's sake. You haven't worked at a flower shop in five years!

M Have you got roses? Oh, yes, long stem or short stem. Short stem, please. And would you like some greenery with that.

F Snap out of it! It's just another day on the job!

M_EF This place has gone to the dogs since that Boyle girl left.

F_DH Oh, she broke his heart, she did.

M_EF It's worse than that. I think she was checking his calculations.

F_DH And now they won't even let her in. Oh dear. No wonder things keep exploding.

And a bunch of stuff that didn't fit neatly into the above.

The fog smells ... sort of sweet. It's not cyanide, is it?

Cyanide smells like almonds. It's probably nitrous oxide. I'd still stay out of it. Unless you need dental work!

Righto. ...Who are you, again?

I'm Reg.

Reg! Of course! I didn't recognize you.

The dimethylamino-phenylpropanol has turned into a salt!

Yes, that's normal. We isolate it as an oxalate salt.

No wonder there was an explosion! At 57 Celsius, motilene's practically itching to burst into flames!

Stop it! Just stop it! you're driving me out of my mind!

The flunitrazepam seems to be ... on fire.

05 There's a fire extinguisher in the office.

F I'm sure Dr. Verloc will come up with a better formula!

F Stop it! Just stop it! you're driving me out of my mind!

F_MS You don't work here, do you? SPY! SPY!

F_3 Oh. That's all right then.

F_6 Right! Forgot about that.

F_M Who the hell are you? INTRUDER! INTRUDER!

F_MS You don't work here, do you? SPY! SPY!

M Who the hell are you? INTRUDER! INTRUDER!

M You're an imposter. SPY! SPY!

M It's not! It's not! They've changed the formulas! The new ones have never worked. And now they're exploding.

PC Well, that'll make it easier to bottle, then, won't it?

PC Oh, Christ, where are the gas masks!

PC Ah. The good doctor left his keycard. I can get into his storage room now.

PC Heavens! Hit the alarm!

Stubbs I do not drink alcohol, nor should you attempt to induce a constable to be derelict in his duty!

Stubbs is the white bobby, by the way, for the all the apparent Stubbs/Verloc shippers out there. You could try to bribe him at a point based on this line, but he would be immune to your bullshit.

Anyway, the reason I went looking for these in the first place is because every time I play this game for someone, they get hung up on the part of the cutscene by Verloc says to do whatever they did the last time and then says that no one should know that.

Which I still don't know what it is that no one should know, but if they had kept the information checkpoint part of the gameplay, then it would have created a cool narrative twist where you had to look around for clues and information in the factory all the way up so you would know what you were talking about and not arouse suspicion, only to know too much when you get to Verloc's white bobby.

I also think that more gameplay like this would have been helpful in teaching the player how to examine the world more deeply. There's not really many quests where the information you need in is the world rather than told or given to you, but the game does use environmental storytelling a lot to enrich the narrative, only to have a lot of players not even knowing to look.

[what-gs-watching]

“It all looked so simple in Jane Austen.”

So after I finished Good Omens (and sobbed, and got deep into fanfic, and sobbed some more, and then immediately started it over, and over)  I harassed my sister into watching both seasons, she’s on maternity leave and was looking for something. I made her text me along her journey and I was sooo excited for her to get to the end, I was literally tracking her and squealing about it to my husband.

Gang. After she watched the finale, she just said “I never got a romantic vibe from them….”

Like. I can’t. I literally said “c’mon that’s not real” but she doubled down. I understand we’re different people and we watch things differently but jesus. It was extremely disappointing. This is why she always wanted to unsubscribe from What G’s Watching, clearly. 

But we’re gonna shake it off, and talk about it. Season 2 episode 6. And how absolutely fucking crushing it is. Thank god for the internet. 

Right. So Aziraphale starts enacting his own plan while Shax tries to be menacing outside, setting up his portal to heaven. It looks good on baby boy, not going to lie, guardian of the Eastern gate comes out, it’s that ‘little bit of a bastard’ we’ve been looking for all season.

Up in heaven Crowley gives a rousing speech about bees to convince Muriel to take him to her office,  and then changes his getup after they call him a “murder hornet, or a snake…” Bravo to whoever designed this outfit, the tracksuit and the little sandals and his painted nails. He’s hippity hoppity Crowley and it’s so endearing. 

Muriel is fairly upset when they realize they’re helping a demon but they produce Gabriel’s file anyway because they can’t open it, so why not; “you need to be a throne or dominion or above.” But Crowley can. And I know there are a ton of theories out there about why he can, but my favorite likens Crowley to an engineer (he did create the stars, afterall) that’s been fired by a lazy startup who never changes their API keys. Of course, that’s not as salacious as the thought that he was an important angel before he fell, but it’s my favorite thought. I love engineers. 

Come to find out that Gabriel had decided that he didn’t want to do Armageddon 2: Electric Boogaloo, refusing to use his powers as Supreme Archangel, and the rest of the crew were none too happy about it. Saraquel shows up while they’re watching the scene unfold, and again Crowley doesn’t remember someone he supposedly worked closely with (more implications, but I can’t right now) and so she lets Crowley see Gabriel’s resulting “trial”.

Surprise, Metatron is running the thing - Gabriel thinks he’ll be sent down to hell but he says  no, one archangel cast down is a good story but two makes it look like an institutional problem (it absolutely is) and so instead he’ll have his memory wiped, and become a scrivener, one level below Muriel. Crowley gives her a sweet little pat on the arm when she’s proud of that, it’s so endearing. 

Gabriel seems to take it in stride, asks if he can clean out his desk and they let him, because sure, and he makes a break for it. You can see him stripping out of his heavenly suit while wielding the box he showed up to Az’s shop with, scribbling something on the bottom and then dropping the matchbox as he enters the elevator. 

When they realize he’s doing something squirrely, they try to wipe his memory without him present (y’all dicks)  only to realize he’s no longer in heaven. Metatron is none too happy, it’s clear that mofo is pulling the strings entirely, and instead of sounding the alarm, he wants the other angels to find him, quickly and quietly.

Back at the shop, Shax tries to convince Maggie and Nina into letting them in, taunting Maggie who is suddenly very brave , butMaggie accidentally tells them to come in and say their insults to her face. So, they do. 

And Aziraphale’s trick with the portal works for a bit, stupid demons keep stepping in and getting vaporized, but that’s not going to work for long so they retreat up the spiral stairs while the demons advance. 

At the top, Nina and Maggie arm themselves with fire extinguishers, a lot of fire extinguishers. Which I’m sure we all imagine is Crowley’s doing, I can see him trying to clandestinely fill the bookshop with them after the devastating fire. I guarantee it’s his (not so) irrational fear. And you know Aziraphale noticed but said nothing about it, because why would they talk about those horrible feelings.

So as the demons try to climb the stairs the girls are spraying the extinguishers and that works a bit too. Shax is back at trying to be menacing, though she does a bit of a better job - calling Az Crowley’s emotional support angel, she accuses him, “the softest touch, the one who went native”, sneering at him about big human meals and sushi. And you can see it gets to him. He’s probably thinking he should be more ferocious in the face of all this.

And then the girls run out of extinguishers and they ask if they can throw books and he hates the idea, they offer encyclopedias and he acquiesces. I love the look on his face while they’re hurling the books though, he has gone native but it’s in the sweetest little ways. He loves knowledge; Crowley gave humans knowledge.

It’s now time for Aziraphale to do something, really do something, so he goes for broke. He steels himself and he removes his halo from seemingly nothing and he throws it down into the shop. One of the demons toe at it gently and then TADA! All demons (except Shax) are blown to bits. Guardian Aziraphale says “I may have just started a war”, because of course he did. 

In heaven, Crowley, Muriel and Saraquel see alarm bells so they decide to head back down to get involved in Aziraphale’s mess, and I love the scene in the elevator with all the angels huddled against one side while Crowley grins at them from the other and his clothes change back, “funny old world, isn't’ it?”

When they show up in the bookshop Az is so excited and Crowley asks what he did to them all. He’s not proud to admit he “did the thing with the halo” but Crowley absolutely loves it; yes he loves to rescue Aziraphale but he also loves when Aziraphale stands up for himself. Boy is tickled over it. 

But of course shit’s about to get real, Beelzebub shows up with a handful of demons all thrilled that they’re finally at war. Crowley isn’t having it, he’s commanding a room full of idiot angels and idiot demons and he asks Az for the box Jim/Gabriel showed up with so they can sort this shit out. On the bottom, he’d written “I’m in the FLY!” 

So they turn it over to Beez, who finds the fly that’s been sneaking around the entire season, and she says “it’s familiar.” she coaxes it over to her, sweetly, “look at you, you’re perfect.” It’s a turnaround for her - we haven’t seen much of her this season but last season she was absolutely not any kind of soft. 

She gives the fly to Gabriel, tells him to take it gently and open it. And he does. 

Is this part a little rushed? Yes. We see Gabriel traveling through his memories, meeting Beezlebub during the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, commiserating over their jobs. And then they meet in a pub to talk about apocalypse mark II, but their hearts don’t seem exactly in it. A third meeting, where Gabriel proposes they maybe don’t armageddon at all - Beez is intrigued, and agrees, and they hear “Everyday” playing on the pub’s speakers. Beezlebub says she likes it, and Gabriel decides that if she does, he does too. 

Every time they meet they say there’s no reason to ever meet again. And then a fourth time, Gabriel takes Beez to his statue in Edinburgh (which I think is absolutely hilarious, calling back to the conversation in 1827 wherein Crowley suggests he comes down to stare at it and marvel at his own beauty. Bingo.)

They go to the Resurrectionist pub afterward and they sit in a cozy little booth at the back. Gabriel miracles the jukebox to play “Everyday”, he tells Beez it’ll always be there on, to ease the afflicted, and she’s appreciative of the gesture. She gives him a gift in return, the fly, which she says is a container. Gabriel says “no one’s ever actually given me anything before.”

And that’s all it takes, y’all. Heaven is so sterile and unfeeling and clean and cold that all it takes for an archangel to think ‘fuck it’ is a small gesture of kindness, of thought. For someone to give him something. Crowley’s been giving Aziraphale things for 6,000 years.

In the shop, Gabriel is full Gabriel now and everyone realizes slowly what’s going on. Beezlebub is called a traitor for collaborating with heaven, but she says she didn’t collaborate any more than Gabriel did. And then she says:

“I just found something that mattered more to me than choosing sides.”

The LOOK on Aziraphale’s face, he reaches out and grabs Crowley’s shoulder. Sweet angel is incredulous and excited and hopeful. And it’s what Crowley has been trying to tell him ALL ALONG. They matter more than choosing sides, they always have. 

Is it infuriating that Gabriel and Beezlebub can figure this out in what must feel like, 30 seconds to them? Absolutely. But the problem is, neither one of them gives a shit about earth or humanity. Crowley and Az are on their own side, but that side has always included the stupid little planet that brought them together. So it can’t be as simple. Nothing can ever be as simple. 

Meanwhile, Nina and Maggie are still in the shop but they need to  be ushered out so as not to turn into pillars of salt. Crowley says he’ll take them but Aziraphale is still holding his shoulder and when he breaks away you can see Az take a few steps forward still reaching for him. He’s so close to getting what he wants, if they can just wrap this situation up.

The point is, Beezlebub and Gabriel want to go off together and be left alone. Crowley tells the Alpha Centauri is nice, he always wanted to go, and Aziraphale’s face, again, jesus Michael Sheen and that face. The flicker of recognition and understanding, my poor heart. Beez tells  Shax she can be a duke of hell to discourage her from looking for them, and then they hold each other’s hands and disappear while singing “Everyday”. Annoying yes, but still sweet. 

In the coffee shop, there’s a slightly familiar old man, fucking Metraton, ordering a coffee from Nina and he asks her if anyone ever asks for ‘death’, gesturing at the name of the shop. She says no, they don’t, he says “No I don’t suppose they do, so predictable.” 

This asshole takes the coffee he ordered and heads over to the bookshop, interrupting the threats to be erased from the book of life being hurled at Aziraphale. The angels don’t recognize him. But Crowley does. Metraton tells the angels they don't have the authority to do what they’re suggesting, and he sends them back upstairs (minus Muriel) after they ask if they’ve done anything wrong and he tells them that remains to be seen.

Metatron asks Az if they can talk, and Aziraphale says there’s nothing to discuss, since his position has been made pretty goddamn clear. But Metatron offers him the coffee, goads him into taking it and having a sip. No one ever asks for death. He looks back to Crowley to figure out what to do (instinctual, heartbreaking) and Crowley tells him to go on. So he does. 

Muriel is still in the shop though, and Crowley tries to get her to go, he tells her that when Az returns they’re going to need “us time” (swoon, again), he says he wants to have an extremely alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz. He thinks the worst is behind them for now and he just wants to be with Aziraphale, and it’s just so dear. He gives Muriel a book and she leaves, and he sets himself to cleaning up the shop, fixing the bookshelves and covering the portal and messing about with Aziraphale’s chair, he’s anxious but he’s removing the obstacles in the way of his planned little trip. He just wants to be with the angel in a place that’s meaningful for them.

And then we see Nina and Maggie bickering a bit in the shop, Maggie wants to talk to Az and Crowley but Nina doesn’t think it will help, though she gives in anyway. They bust in on Crowley and tell them they have to talk to him, these girls are gonna call him on his shit. They tell him they’re real people, they aren’t toys to be played with, and he tries to defend the little charade that he and Az both had put on for them, but they don’t care. 

They tell him he needs to talk to Aziraphale. And he says they talk all the time, they’ve talked for millions of years. Except we all know that’s not talking, it’s not communicating. THEY’RE TALKING PAST EACH OTHER. They tell him that he needs to actually say what’s on his mind. And he seems to understand, finally. 

Woof. Okay. And then, Aziraphale comes back into the shop. And everyone holds their fucking breath.

Crowley tries to dive into it, he really does “if I don’t start talking I won’t ever start talking” but Aziraphale stops him because he can’t pick up on social cues?! Or how nervous Crowley is right now??! Or how serious he’s being?? I can’t.

It tumbles out of Aziraphale, he tells him that Metatron has asked him to replace Gabriel, because he’s a leader, and he doesn’t tell people what they want to hear. And Aziraphale resists at first, saying that he doesn’t want to go back to heaven. But Metatron pulls Crowley in, saying that their arrangement has been irregular, but if Az was archangel, he could restore his friend to full angelic status. The more you watch this part, the more it sounds like a fucking threat. And it is. Everyone asks for coffee, they never ask for death - Aziraphale took the coffee hesitantly, and if he doesn’t fully accept it, it really is death, but not for him. 

He paints a prettier picture for Crowley though, he seems to be excited and thrilled with the idea even though it’s not truly shining through. “You could come back to heaven and everything, like old times, only nicer!” Which Crowley hears as a slap in the face. Hears it as ‘I’ve been tolerating you but I’d really like to go back to the way things were’, hears it as a million different terrible things.

So he explodes a little bit and tells Aziraphale he’s better than that, “we’re better than that!”They don’t need them, they’re toxic.  He says they wanted him to be a duke of hell and he refused and fucking Aziraphale says obviously he said no to that, “you’re the bad guys”. My dude is choosing all of the wrong words. You’re gonna say “you’re” there? For real? Jesus christ. Because heaven is the side of “truth and light” and really baby, you are so far off the reservation right now. How the fuck do you truly think that anymore? 

Crowley tells him: “When Heaven ends life here on Earth, it'll be just as dead as if Hell ended it.” And it’s so crucially important but what he should have said was - ‘they’re not going to give up on trying to destroy everything and they’re tricking you into helping them’ but he doesn’t. And he’s so angry, he wants Azirphale to tell him that he said no, the second time he repeats it it’s so deflated, defeated, sad. But Az is convinced he can make a difference. 

This is where that familiar trope would come in wherein the character that was trying to confess how they really feel gives up, but I have to give this man credit, Crowley decides he’s going to power through it, he’s gonna say the things he needs to say, even if he already knows the outcome.

And everyone is still fucking holding their breath. Because poor Crowley is too, trying to get it all out. David Tennant is a beautiful disaster, huffing and stumbling and looking away and looking back. And it falls apart spectacularly.

“We've known each other a long time. We've been on this planet for a long time. I mean, you and me. I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me. We're a team, a group. A group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't. I mean, the last few years, not really. And I would like to spend...I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can. Just the two of us. We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic. We need to get away from them, just be an ‘us’. You and me, what do you say?”

How Aziraphale doesn’t crumple at all of this, I will never understand. Like, are you hearing what this beautiful demon is offering you? Maybe he shouldn’t have insinuated that you’d ‘leave’ together, he doesn’t want to go anywhere, not really but my brother in christ, he puts his heart on a platter all trussed up and still you’re not hearing him. Now would be a good time to tell him you don’t really have a choice, but oooh baby, you’re gonna lie through your teeth. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.

Instead, he asks Crowley to come to heaven and be his second in command (so fucking laughable) and insists again they can make a difference. Poor demon says “you can’t leave this bookshop” at that, and Az tells him nothing lasts forever. The girls had told Crowley to say what he’s really thinking, but he still isn’t doing it - you can’t leave me, you can’t leave earth, you can’t leave what we’ve built together.

 Hurdling onward, Crowley puts his sunglasses back on at that, he’d given his little confession without his ever-present protection, and he just says “Good luck.” At which point, Aziraphale makes a go of it himself, saying “Work with me! We can be together! Angels, doing good!” (and the ‘angels’ part is where he fucked up, he knows Crowley would never, ever, ever want to be an angel again). 

When Crowley’s not moved, he’s got one last thing, squeaking out: “I…need you!” and those are the wrong three words. We all know it. It’s there in his hesitation. And then he’s a little bit of an asshole, to protect himself: “I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.” Which is essentially protection, a nowhere-near-perfect-but-maybe-it-can-be-enough way to be together.

Crowley tells him “I think I understand a whole lot better than you do” because that’s true, he knows neither of them would  be safe there, it’s a fucking TRAP, why isn’t he screaming it’s a trap?! I get it, he wants Aziraphale to say no because he should be enough, because Aziraphale needs to fully accept they’re on their own side for once, but the poor little one is not working off enough information, he hasn’t been. And It’s not fair to keep it from him, but here we are.

Sad little demon has to twist the knife a little bit, and he asks “do you hear that?” and of course there’s nothing to hear. He says, “No nightingales” and it breaks Aziraphale like it should. The song that had been playing at the Ritz when they toasted to the world. That was supposed to imply they’d get their happy ending. The words do what they need to do.

Has anyone breathed this entire time? How was I simultaneously holding it in and screaming at the two of them at the same time? Crowley waits a beat  and he says “You idiot…we could have been us” and I guarantee you there’s no air in the room and Aziraphale looks like he’s going to cry (or is likely crying already) and Crowley crosses the room and he grabs the angel by his lapels and

Crowley kisses him. 

Like he’s desperate. Like it’s a ‘hail mary’ that he knows isn’t going to work. Like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. And it isn’t sweet, it isn’t tender, it isn’t a vavoom under an awning or a sudden revelation during a slow dance. 

Aziraphale looks like he’s in pain, and his hands flutter around a bit, one of them resting on Crowley’s shoulder briefly, he doesn’t know what the fuck to do, it’s not like it should be at all, and it’s fucking agonizing to watch. It’s a fucking gut punch. For them, for everyone.

When they break away, Aziraphale does crumple (as much as he can anyway) and then he says the worst thing he could possibly say. “I forgive you.” It’s the most devastating of the wrong three words he could possibly choose. There’s hesitation again, but he still chose wrong. No more Guardian of the Eastern Gate, no more bravery. Always wrong.

Crowley tells him not to bother, and then he’s gone. At this point, we need to give all the awards to Michael Sheen - Aziraphale’s face is a mash of anguish and anger and desperation and frustration and confusion and broken and he just puts his hands to his lips (so did I). Utter devastation.

We all know the rest: Metatron comes back and ushers Aziraphale out of the bookshop even though he does half-heartedly try to say maybe he’s changed his mind, it doesn’t matter now though, he’s done too much damage and he knows it. So he goes. And Crowley’s there outside, standing stock fucking still against the Bentley, staring through his shades. You know his eyes never leave Aziraphale, you know the angel can feel every ounce of it, and before he gets on the elevator he does dare to look back, but he steps in anyway. 

Oh, the grand plan, by the way? The one Aziraphale is perfect to lead? The second coming. 

Crowley gets in the Bentley once they’ve gone, and the radio plays him “A nightingale sang in berkeley square”. He lets it, briefly, then shut it off and drives away. The credits show their faces side by side, Crowley hidden behind his glasses but dejected, resigned, Aziraphale trying to plaster on his best ‘jolly good’ face. It goes on for minutes. And it breaks you.

And so. TFL;DDR (too fucking long, definitely didn’t read): somehow an angel and a demon hiding a amnesiac archangel in a quiet bookshop turns into a 6000-year-long love story that will rip your fucking guts out, make you believe in soul mates, shatter your emotional processing skills, hurt you in a way you can’t exactly define, and leave you in a puddle of goo, dazed and wondering what the fuck just happened. Or maybe that’s just me. 

I haven’t connected to a show like this in a long time. And I’m so grateful for it. Like I said, a love story, in the most beautiful and worst ways possible.

[starlitangels]

How They Met

Well, I told y’all I was gonna write how Pandora met Odin. Have fun! 1.9k words (almost exactly!)

—

“Y’know, you’re really good at stuff like this. You should, like, run with a permanent crew,” Huginn said. I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

“Nah. At my level, permanent crews can’t afford each other,” I said with a sarcastic snort. Huginn took a turn to roll his eyes. “Singular contracts are about all people like me can get.”

He turned and kept a lookout while I huddled over the lock, picking it with careful precision. Most locks on Esselheim were easy for me to get past, despite their complexity. A race of biomechanicals tended to over-engineer things unnecessarily. But that didn’t always make them better. This lock, though, was giving me trouble. Not more trouble than I could handle. It just required more time than usual.

“There we go. Got it,” I hissed as the last tumbler clicked into place and let me turn the bolt.

I started to twist—carefully—when I felt something in the lock catch.

“What?” I whispered.

I paused my movements and turned the mechanism back toward its original position, but not quite reaching the place. And then paused.

Nothing happened.

“What’s wrong?” Huginn asked.

“Not sure. The lock hit a catch,” I replied.

“Trap?”

“Possibly. But fitting a trap into a lock’s path would be difficult. Not to mention a pain to disengage for the people who are supposed to be here.”

Huginn made a face. “Hmm. So what’s the plan?”

“Well, I was—”

BWOOOOP! BWOOOOP! BWOOOOP!

The alarm made me jolt.

“Dammit,” I muttered. “I didn’t trigger that, did I?”

“Look who cares? Scatter before we get arrested!” Huginn took off running the same way we’d come in. Not far in the distance, I could hear the clanking of armor. Guards coming to investigate the alarm. Shouting joined the clanking. Along with projectiles being fired.

I rolled my eyes and ducked down a different corridor. Like as not, the guards didn't know the traps. If I could dodge through one, it would slow them down and help me escape.

In theory.

I took corners at random, trying to find my way out and make myself hard to follow.

But one of those corners seemed to take me to the thick of the conflict.

I pinwheeled my arms as I backpedalled. With a sharp curse, I ducked behind some sort of ruined statue plinth.

“There’s another one!” I heard a guard shout. An energy bolt struck the plinth. I swore and crouched low to make myself a smaller target. A few more hit the stone above and behind where I was somewhat hidden.

Cackling laughter rose over the din. I heard the shing! of metal cleaving through weapons.

“It’s the intruder! Get him!” another guard barked.

“Ha-haaaaa! Come and get me you f—” Bzoop! An energy bolt fired and plink!ed off something metal. “—ers!” The voice wasn’t Huginn’s. Nor was it anyone else that had been hired for this crazy scheme. Huginn and I had been the only ones to go inside anyway. Everyone else was on logistics or tech.

One thing was for sure, I was probably not going to get paid after this. Especially after Huginn bailed. No way would I make it to the merchandise on my own in the middle of a shootout.

The sound of energy bolts being fired increased. Whoever had been cackling cried out, “Whoa—whoa!” and started running. Bootfalls weighed down by heavy armor thudded over the stone floor. 

I didn’t dare peek out for fear of getting shot myself.

With a clumsy flop, someone crashed into the back of the plinth beside me. “Whew!” that same voice exclaimed. “Finally—some decent cover!”

I whirled around to see another Joten leaning back against the plinth. There was a massive battle axe, a raven carved down the metal blade and charred in a few spots, in his hands and across his lap.

“Hey!” I protested. “This spot’s taken! Find your own!”

“What? Oh, come on. We can share!”

“We absolutely cannot,” I retorted, pushing at him to get him away from me. Being smaller than the average Joten myself, this guy was absolutely massive and was going to crowd me out of my hiding spot.

He resisted my pushing. “Whoa. Slow down!”

“You’re going to get me killed and I don’t know you. No way am I going to trust you.”

“I’m Odin.”

“I don’t care—that doesn’t make me know you.”

“We’re both being shot at!”

“Yeah, and I assume that’s your fault. ‘Cause it sure as hell wasn’t mine!”

“Were you breaking in too?”

“What are you, a guard? Mind your own business.”

“You’ve got lock-picks sticking out of your wrist pockets,” this Odin guy pointed out.

“Now is not the time!” I snapped, peeking out from behind the plinth before quickly ducking back. “We are getting shot at from three sides and you’re asking if I broke in?” I shoved the lock picks deeper into my pockets so they wouldn’t stick out.

“Hey, I did too. There’s s’posed to be sweet loot in here.”

“Why do you think it’s full of traps?” I narrowed my eyes and slid a tiny mirror out of my bag. The kind that I usually used to reflect laser tripwires back on themselves. With it, I took quick stock of the guards. “By the Twin Gods... There’s at least twenty of them,” I muttered.

Odin looked down and met my eyes. “Know how to fight, thief?”

“I can handle myself in low numbers. This isn’t a low number.”

He gave me a lopsided, cocky smile. “Good thing you have me then.”

“Arrogant much?”

“Only on Wednesdays.”

“It’s Monday.”

“Close enough!” He beamed. “I’ll go right and take as many guards down as I can. You go left and try to get through the trapdoor on the floor.”

“Are you nuts?!” I exclaimed.

He smirked mischievously. “Only on Mondays.”

With that, he leapt out from behind the plinth, swinging his axe and roaring a battle cry.

I sighed in exasperation and rolled my eyes. Using my small mirror, I did a quick sweep of the room again. “Gods above,” I muttered.

I yanked a smoke canister out of my bag, popped the pin, and rolled it away from me, toward Odin.

“Hey big guy! Fall back!” I shouted as the smoke started to spew.

As the area started to get more and more obscured, I dodged out from behind the plinth myself and stole toward the uneven flagstone in the floor that was an obvious trapdoor.

I moved faster than I ever had to pop the trapdoor open—right as Odin slid to a stop on his knees beside me, axe slung over his back. “Going down,” I said, hopping over the edge of the hole in the floor and landing solidly on the metal ladder rungs hammered into the wall. I dropped down several to make room for Odin. He quickly followed. Once he was fully in the hole, he shut the trapdoor on top of us as quiet as he could.

We both went down the ladder as fast as we could. I hit the stone ground first and backed out of the way. Odin dropped off the rungs from right where he was, landing heavily but his knees took the shock of the impact easily. His knee servos must have had better absorbers than mine.

Warrior. Explorer. Adventurer. Probably. He was built for endurance. I was built for stealth. I was quiet, he was hardy.

“Where are we?” I asked, looking around. “This wasn’t on my blueprint of the place.”

“Catacombs. This was a temple, right?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged. “Temples usually enshrine the dead somewhere.” He rolled his shoulders to adjust how his axe sat in its holster on his back. “Which means there’s a way out somewhere.”

“Problem being most catacombs are confusing.”

“Yeah, yeah. That.”

“So... what? We’re just bailing on the loot?”

Odin glanced up the hole we’d climbed down. “We’ll come back,” he said with a determined nod.

“I’m here because I was hired to be,” I said. “If I go back empty-handed, I don’t get paid.”

He scoffed. “Whatever they were paying you is a pittance compared to what we can lift from this place on our own.” He held his hand out. “Allow me to introduce myself properly. I’m Odin. You never gave me your name.”

I shook his hand. “You haven’t earned it,” I replied, extracting my hand from his grip and stomping away.

He had the audacity to chuckle at my attitude before following after me. “How do you plan on getting out of here?”

“Following the scent of the air.”

“Meaning?”

“A surface-level exit will bring in slightly-fresher air,” I grumbled. “Follow the scent of it and we’ll find at least a vent to the surface.”

“Huh. Smart idea.”

I glowered at him over my shoulder. “I’ve been doing this for a while. I should hope so.”

“So you are a thief.”

“Treasure hunter,” I corrected.

He shrugged again. “Same difference.” He leaned forward, closer to me. “Y’know, I’m a bit of a treasure hunter myself. And you seem to be quite the, uh, treasure—”

“Don’t even try it,” I interrupted.

“Worth a shot.”

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “We’re running away from guards after you got me caught and you’re trying to flirt.”

“May as well try, right?”

“I cannot believe this is how my day is going,” I grumbled. “First the alarm gets triggered by a dumbass and now I’m stuck in the catacombs with him.” I shook my head. “You’d better win me over before we get out of here or there’s nothing stopping me from ratting on you when we get out.”

“Except for the fact that you broke in first.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe I will be too,” he retorted.

“You’re doing a pretty terrible job of winning me over.”

“No. I think I already have. You’re finding me funny, despite being annoyed.”

“Ugh. In your dreams, Owen.”

“It’s Odin!”

“Whatever.” I poked my head down the two prongs of a fork in the tunnels. “This way.” I marched down the left one.

We wandered the catacombs for what felt like hours, occasionally hearing guards running above us. But none seemed to have descended down into the intestines under the building. I couldn’t blame them.

Finally, we made it to a grate made of steel bars and padlocked shut—that led out to the surface. Beyond even the temple walls. “Thank the Twin Gods,” I muttered. I flicked my lock picks out of my pocket and into my hand and reached through the bars. I closed my eyes and picked the lock by feel.

It popped open. I got the padlock out of the pair of holes in the metal holding it shut and creaked the grate outward.

“You are very good at what you do,” Odin remarked.

“Yup,” I agreed. “Now. How about you go left and I go right and we act like this never happened?”

“Sure.” He moved to head down the alleyway toward the populated street beyond. “We should do this again sometime! Come back to this place and actually get the loot.”

“Mm,” I grunted noncommittally.

“See you around, nameless thief.” He raised a hand in an almost wave as he took several backward steps toward the left of the grate.

“Hope not!” I turned sharply and trotted away to the right.

—

Tagging some GB peeps to hopefully enjoy: @palilious @gwenifred @ryn-halo26 @halscafe @monster-scribe-tya @miloeveryday38

[spnhunter4life]

So Long Chapter 4

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: canon typical violence, character death

A/N: Another longer chapter. I don’t know what else I expected at this point. I’m pretty confident the next one will be shorter though. Thanks to everyone who has liked this story so far!

I decided I want to post a second version of this fic. It will be the same thing, except everything will be chronological instead of the stories jumping around to fit the lyrics. So if anyone would prefer to read it that way, you can expect that in a couple of weeks.

Series Masterlist

You know you make me feel loved Make me feel like I’m home So if we knew all along Why did it take so long?

Ages 20 and 22 May 18, 2001

We unlocked the door to the abandoned factory and took off in different directions, moving quietly, guns at the ready. After searching the entire manufacturing floor, we met at the bottom of the stairs leading to the office area. Dad started up the stairs first and I followed closely. The first office we checked was empty. The second too.

The third is where we found it. Peeking through a window, we saw the wraith standing above a man who had been tied to a chair. The wraith let the spike slide free from her wrist and moved to stand behind the man. He was struggling, trying desperately to free himself as she placed the tip behind his ear. Dad kicked the door in.

There was nothing I could do but watch in horror as the wraith, startled by the noise, shoved its spike deep into the man’s brain, killing him instantly. I knew I was dreaming. This was the third time I’d seen his death tonight, my mind processing the disastrous events of the day the only way it knew how. By making me relive it in excruciating detail. 

Dad fired three times in quick succession, each silver bullet finding a home in the wraith’s chest. I ran over to the man, desperately checking for a heartbeat even though I knew I wouldn’t find one.

“Let’s take care of this,” Dad said gruffly, already dragging the body of the wraith to the middle of the room.

And then we were at the factory door again, starting the whole nightmare over. We had just met up at the bottom of the stairs when I was woken up by a fist banging on the door. I groaned and turned on the lamp on the nightstand before getting out of bed and drowsily making my way to the door. Dad had gone out to drink. He never handled it well when we weren’t able to save somebody. He’d probably forgotten or lost his key, not for the first time.

I opened the door, ready to be faced with the sight of my dad drunk out of his mind and needing help getting to bed. My breath caught at what I saw instead.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” I asked, alarmed at the sight of him.

He was there, red eyed and miserable, looking completely lost. It concerned me more than it would have if he came here covered in blood.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted, voice cracking. A tear rolled down his cheek.

“What’s wrong?” I asked again as I let him into the room, trying to remain calm despite the panic flaring in my chest. 

After shutting and locking the door, I began to look him over for any sign of injury. He looked ok apart from a mostly healed scratch on his right temple.

“Sorry to barge in on you like this,” he apologized as he wiped away another tear. He stood in the middle of the room, seeming unsure what to do with himself. “It’s just… well, like I said. I didn’t know where else to go.”

I’d only ever known him to be confident, unbreakable, ready to take on the world. I was one of the only people who ever got to see his more sensitive side, but even in his most vulnerable moments I’d never seen him this… broken. It scared me.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him with me to the couch. Seeing that he was ok physically, the next conclusion I came to was that something must be wrong with Sam or John. It couldn’t be anything too serious. If there was something really bad happening he would have told me right away so that we could fix it. He probably wouldn’t have even come to me, he would have found a closer source of help. On the other hand, if it wasn’t serious, why was he here, looking like his world was collapsing?

I’d talked to him three days ago. It was our monthly phone call, a tradition we’d kept going. Everything seemed fine then. He seemed happy enough. They were between cases, keeping their eyes out for something new. They had been in Indiana. Dad and I were in Pennsylvania, so we’d even talked about meeting somewhere in the middle once we finished our hunt. What had happened between then and now?

“If you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s fine,” I assured him even though I felt like I’d go crazy if I didn’t find out what happened. “Just at least tell me that Sam and John are ok.”

He laughed bitterly.

“That depends on how you define ‘ok.’”

My heart skipped a beat. Had I been wrong? Were things more serious than I anticipated? Were Sam and John laid up comatose in a hospital somewhere or something equally bad? I’d never been a big fan of John. I cared for him only because Sam and Dean did. I would mourn his loss only for their sake. But Sam… if something happened to him I didn’t know if I could handle it.

“What happened?” I asked again, a little more demanding this time. Dean seemed to notice the room for the first time, looking around as if searching for something.

“Where’s Ben?” he asked, noticing his absence. 

“Out. Drinking. Dean-” I tried again to get some answers, but he cut me off.

“Rough hunt?” He knew my dad wasn’t usually one to spend the night getting drunk. He only did when things went wrong.

“The guy didn’t make it,” was all I said. “What’s going on?” 

He ignored me again.

“How are you doing?” He asked, avoiding the conversation I was trying to start. Worrying about someone else was Dean’s go-to way of avoiding his own problems.

“I’m fine,” I told him, giving up on my questioning. He would talk when he was ready. He looked me over doubtfully.

“You don’t look fine,” he said.

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered, self consciously trying to smooth down my hair and noting my very wrinkled pajamas. “I see you haven’t lost your ability to flatter the ladies.”

“I just mean you look tired,” he clarified.

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when someone knocks on your door at,” I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “3 in the morning and wakes you up,” I deflected. There was no reason for him to know about the nightmare that had been playing on a loop. He couldn’t do anything about it anyway and he clearly had enough on his mind.

“Sorry,” he winced. “I shouldn’t have come. Or at the very least I should have waited until morning.”

“No, don’t apologize,” I quickly backtracked. “You can always come to me when you need to. You know that. It doesn’t matter what time it is.”

He nodded in understanding.

“Seriously, Dean. No matter the time, no matter the reason. I’m always happy to see you,” I told him, wanting to be sure he knew I meant it.

He sighed, ran a hand over his face, and turned to face me, tears shining in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Sam’s gone,” he said. “He left us.”

“What?” I gasped out, shocked.

“He’s going to college. Says he’s done with hunting,” he continued. I hugged him, wanting to comfort him and not knowing what else to do. He hugged me back immediately and buried his face in my shoulder.

“I can’t believe he actually did that,” I said, feeling more hurt than I had any right to. I’d barely seen Sam in the last three years. It’s not like he’d abandoned me. Somehow it still felt like he had. And I knew how unbelievably painful this would be for Dean. His appearance and behavior suddenly made sense.

“What do you mean? You knew he was planning this?” Dean asked, pulling away from me, sounding betrayed.

“No!” I assured him. “I mean, he always talked about wanting to go to college, but I thought that’s all it was. Talk. I didn’t know he was ever actually considering it.”

“Well apparently he was. Thanks for the heads up,” he snapped, standing up and starting to pace.

“Dean, I’ve barely talked to him in the last year. How was I supposed to know?” I snapped back. “Plus, you were there for all of our conversations, so you know it’s not like I was secretly planning with him.”

“You’re right,” he sighed, sitting back down. “You couldn’t have known. But he’s never in his whole life said a word to me about college. I didn’t realize that’s something he wanted. Why didn’t you tell me back then?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I figured you knew. Besides, I thought it was just a dream. I didn’t think he’d ever actually go for it,” I explained.

“Looks like neither of us know him as well as we thought we did, then,” he said, putting his head in his hands. I put my hand on his shoulder and rubbed my thumb back and forth.

“Why did he leave already?” I asked. “It’s only May. He just graduated. Literally days ago.”

“From what I could get out of him, he wasn’t planning on sticking around much longer anyway. He just… announced it, out of nowhere. That he was leaving us. And he seemed relieved.” he told me resentfully. He looked up at me then and I moved my hand away.

“I know he’s never loved hunting or the way we were raised. I know he’s always wished we were normal. But how could he leave us like that? How can he care so little about our family that he would tear it apart? Things weren’t perfect, but they weren’t that bad were they?”

“No,” I agreed. “It wasn’t bad.” 

It broke my heart to see Dean hurting this way. I desperately wanted to make it better. But I knew I couldn’t.

“What did your dad say?” I asked. Dean let out another bitter laugh.

“If you think you’ve seen my dad mad before, think again. My ears are still ringing from all the shouting. From both of them.” He paused as if remembering the argument. “He told Sam if he walked out that door he’d better never come back,” he said.

I let out a breath. I didn’t want there to be any more tension between them than there was likely to be already from the fallout with Sam. John would undoubtedly take his anger out on Dean.

“And he was ok with you coming here?” I asked. Dean straightened.

“If he’s got a problem with it, it’s his own damn fault,” he fumed. “He took off as soon as he and Sam were done screaming at each other. I waited for hours, but he never came back and wouldn’t answer my calls. He left me too.

“So I got in the car and just started driving. I didn’t even know where I was going until I was halfway here. I guess I must have known subconsciously where I wanted to go.” He took a deep, uneven breath before continuing. 

“Sometimes I feel like I care about my family more than they care about me. That I need them more than they need me,” he confided. “And it must be true. Otherwise they wouldn’t have left me.”

“Dean, no,” I told him firmly. “Don’t you ever think that. Of course they care about you and of course they need you. I don’t think they realize how much. They’re too stupid and stubborn to see how much they rely on you. Don’t let them make you feel bad about yourself. They don’t see how important you are to them. They don’t see how you’ve held your family together. But you know what I see?” I asked him, making sure he was paying attention.

“I see a man who puts the needs of his family above his own, who has done so his entire life. I see a man who cares so deeply about his family that he’d do anything for them. I see a man whose family really doesn’t deserve him.”

He was looking at me intently, face full of gratitude and pain.

“Don’t leave me,” he pleaded. “I couldn’t bear it if I lost you too.”

“John didn’t leave you,” I told him. This much I knew. John was a grade A ass, but he hadn’t left Dean for good. “He just needs a day or two to calm down. I can’t believe he was selfish enough to not even answer the phone though,” I grumbled.

“Please,” was all he said. My heart broke for him again.

“I would never leave you Dean. Never. I promise. You can stay here with me for as long as you want, and then you’re always welcome to come back. Anytime. You won’t lose me. You can’t lose me. Even if you try,” I told him with a small smile.

He smiled back before collapsing back against the couch.

“I should let you get back to sleep,” he said.

“I’m happy to stay up and talk. Or just hang out,” I told him.

“I know. But I’m actually pretty exhausted myself. I’ve been driving since yesterday afternoon,” he said.

“Okay,” I agreed. “You might as well take my dad’s bed,” I told him. “Who knows when he’ll stumble back in. And he can take the couch.”

“I’m fine on the couch,” he answered, standing up. “I’m just gonna grab my stuff out of the car.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Positive,” he said. He pulled me in for a quick hug and I felt him relax a little. He gently nudged me in the direction of my bed and left the room. 

I sat on the edge of my bed, waiting for him to come back. I relaxed when I didn’t hear the Impala’s engine roar to life. He came back in a minute later with his duffel and a small blanket I remembered being left in the car for nights they slept in there.

I laid down, getting comfortable as I watched Dean take off his layers of jackets and unlacing and taking off his boots. He laid down on the couch and sighed.

“Goodnight Jenna,” I heard him say.

“Goodnight.”

~~~~~

Apparently I wasn’t meant to be getting much sleep tonight. It took about an hour for me to settle down again and I was just on the edge of sleep when my dad stumbled through the door. Thankfully he didn’t wake Dean up – the slow, even breathing I could hear coming from the couch assured me of that – but the disturbance left me once again wide awake. 

I rolled over to look at the clock. 4:30. I sighed and restarted the process of getting to sleep, resigning myself to being very tired in the morning. I would need a lot of coffee.

~~~~~

Despite the rough night I had, I was still the first one up at 8. I wasn’t surprised my dad was still out. After the night he had, he’d probably sleep for at least a couple more hours. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised about Dean either. He’d had an emotionally exhausting couple of days. That took a lot out of a person. Coupled with his twelve hour drive here, he would need as much sleep as he could get.

As quietly as I could, I got dressed, threw my hair into a messy ponytail, and slipped out the door. I walked four blocks to a little coffee shop and bought coffee and donuts for everyone. Drink carrier and plastic bag full of donuts in hand, I slowly made my way back to the motel, enjoying the morning air.

I quietly opened the door and a quick scan of the room confirmed that both men were still sleeping. I set our breakfast on the table and sat down. As I waited for them to wake up, I sipped on my coffee and started a book I’d been wanting to read for a while. I’d barely started the second chapter when I heard Dean moving.

“Hey,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice. I looked over and saw him sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey,” I greeted, bookmarking my place. “How’d you sleep?”

“Not bad,” he said as he got up and stretched. “You?”

“Not bad,” I echoed. “I got breakfast,” I told him.

“Aww, thanks sweetheart. You really know how to take care of a guy, don’t you?” He teased, protective humor fully in place this morning.

“Well you’re not particularly difficult to take care of,” I informed him. He laughed and headed to the bathroom. 

I opened the noisy plastic bag and took out one of the donuts while I waited for him. I wasn’t really worried about being quiet now that Dean was up. Drunk as I knew he was last night, I figured Dad would sleep through a bomb going off.

“What did you get?” Dean asked when he emerged from the bathroom and sat across from me. I just pushed the bag in his direction in response, letting him look through the variety of donuts I’d chosen. 

He picked a powdered sugar one, looked me right in the eye, and took a big bite, getting the sugar all over his mouth. I just shook my head in amusement.

“You’re like a three-year-old,” I informed him. 

“Nah. A three-year-old doesn’t know that this stuff,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee, “is where it’s at.”

I chuckled and took another bite of my own donut. We spent the rest of the morning talking, filling in details of things we didn’t have enough time to talk about over a phone call. My dad woke up around 11. I’d ended up drinking his coffee a couple hours ago, needing the caffeine boost and knowing it would be cold by the time he got to it anyway. 

He gave Dean a cursory greeting, not even bothering to ask about the surprise visit. After taking a quick shower, he left to do who knows what. He didn’t give an explanation.

I was still sad about the news Dean had brought last night. I couldn’t imagine how hard he must be trying to cover his pain right now. But I was also happy, so incredibly happy, to have Dean here with me. In the same room. It happened so rarely these days that I never failed to appreciate it in the moment. I secretly dreamed about a day when we could be together every day again.

For now I’d content myself with the time I did get with him. I wondered how long it would be this time.

~~~~~

Turns out, it wasn’t very long. Dean and I had gone out for lunch, reminiscing about some of the sketchy looking places we’d eaten in over the years. We were just getting back to the motel when John called. And he was mad.

From across the room I could hear the angry tone of voice coming through the phone speaker. I could only hear Dean’s side of the conversation, but it was enough to piece together what was going on. John had finally gotten over his fit of anger and come back to the motel to find Dean gone. Dean mostly stood there and took the verbal beating. Only once did he try to defend his actions.

“You left. You just took off. And you wouldn’t answer the phone.”

I couldn’t hear John’s response, but I could take a pretty good guess as to what it was. He would say something about how Dean should have known better than to take off. He should have stayed put and waited for John to get back. Like a dog, sitting at home, waiting for its master’s next command.

Dean’s posture changed, any thoughts about arguing gone. He was back to being that good little soldier, ‘Yes sir,’ or ‘No, sir,’ the only words escaping his mouth.

There were few things in this world that made me as mad as John’s treatment of his eldest son. I wanted to snatch the phone from Dean’s hands and yell at John for throwing a temper tantrum. For abandoning Dean in that heartbreaking moment and leaving him behind, the exact same thing he was mad at Sam for doing to him. I wanted to tell him if he was going to behave like a child and treat Dean like a broken toy, then he didn’t deserve to get him back. 

I didn’t say any of this though. I clenched my hands into fists at my side, gritted my teeth together, and kept my mouth shut. 

Dean hung up the phone and immediately went to grab his bag.

“You’re leaving?” I asked, unwilling to let him go so soon. Not wanting to let him go at all.

“I have to. Dad needs me.”

I scoffed.

“Don’t start with that Jenna,” he said tersely. “You wouldn’t abandon your dad. Why would you expect me to abandon mine?”

“Yeah, well my dad wouldn’t abandon me. Tell me again what John did just a couple days ago.”

“He didn’t abandon me. He just needed to cool off. Like you said. And I’m sorry, but where exactly is your dad right now?” He snapped.

“That’s not even close to the same thing and you know it.”

“How is it any different?” He asked.

“First of all, my dad didn’t just up and leave me behind because he was angry. He’s out trying to deal with what happened last night.”

“And my dad wasn’t trying to deal?” He challenged.

“Your dad left you behind!” I shouted. I was mad at John, not him, but I was also frustrated that he couldn’t see how terribly John treated him.

“My dad would pick up the phone if I called him right now. And he wouldn’t have left at all, except you’re here and he’s trying to give us some time alone.” I told him.

Dean opened the door and stepped into the parking lot, walking around to the trunk of his car.

“Dean, stop.”

“I have to go, Jenna. It doesn’t matter if you don’t agree because it’s not your decision,” he said as he threw his duffel in.

“I know,” I said placatingly. “But can you just stop for a minute?”

He closed the trunk and looked at me expectantly.

“I don’t want to fight,” I told him.

I saw the anger leave him. That quickly. And I realized his anger hadn’t been at me either. He was probably just overwhelmed.

“Neither do I,” he agreed. He sighed and wrapped me in a hug.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” I said sadly. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing me once before letting me go. Then I thought about the reason he was even here.

“You want me to drive to Cali and whoop Sam for you?” I asked teasingly, hoping that making it into a joke was the right call. 

“Thanks, but no. All I ever wanted was to protect him. And when we were kids I wished so badly that he could have a normal life. That he didn’t have to be caught up in all this hunting crap.” He smiled ruefully. “Be careful what you wish for, I guess.”

I didn’t know what to say in response. I’d undoubtedly come up with a good reply later and kick myself for not thinking of it now. So I settled for the best thing I could think of.

“Call me when you get there.”

“I will,” he assured me. Then he climbed into the passenger seat and drove away.

Ages 12 and 16 July 23, 1995

Dean’s POV

The beds at this motel were probably some of the best quality I’d ever seen. The mattresses weren’t lumpy or too hard and they didn’t smell musty or like cigarette smoke. There weren’t any questionable stains on the blankets either. It was actually a comfortable bed, and I didn’t take that for granted. I would undoubtedly be sleeping on a bed that was much less comfortable and much more sketchy in the next day or two. 

We were in Washington right now, but we’d just finished the job last night. It had been my second official hunt, and I was still thrilled that I was finally allowed to be involved, to actually get to chase down and kill the monster instead of being stuck at home doing research. 

It was only a simple salt and burn case, but I’d still had a lot of fun. Things had gotten exciting when the ghost showed up as we were searching the abandoned house she used to live in for the object she was tied to – it turned out to be the knife she had been killed with, still covered in her blood – but other than getting a little bruised up from being thrown across the room, nobody had gotten hurt. 

It had been a long night though, and so, exhausted, I hadn’t been able to do more than strip down to my t-shirt and boxers before collapsing on top of the bed and falling asleep almost immediately. 

I had slept deeply. I was slowly making my way towards consciousness, clinging to the dream I was already forgetting. It was about me and Jenna. We were… out with friends? On a date? The details were hazy and fading quick. I think we were at the movies maybe. I was startled into alertness by Sam’s gasp.

I grabbed the knife from under my pillow, rolled onto my back, and sat up, scanning the room for a threat. There was nothing though. Dad was gone, probably either talking with Ben or gone out to grab breakfast and coffee. There was just Sam standing at the foot of my bed, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, staring intently at my ankle. Staring at the name that was tattooed there.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” He cried out in the voice of a little brother outraged at being left in the dark.

“Shit,” I muttered as I got out of bed and started getting dressed to hide the evidence. But the damage had already been done.

“Dean!” Sam protested.

“Let it go Sammy,” I ordered, rifling through my duffel bag for some clean clothes, deciding a shower was in order. 

“Let it go?” Sam echoed, trailing me towards the bathroom. “Dean, this is huge! I thought we didn’t have secrets. You guys should have told me!” he insisted.

I set my clothes on the counter and was ready to threaten him to keep his mouth shut when something seemed to occur to him.

“Wait,” he said, backtracking a little. “Jenna does know, doesn’t she?”

“I’m only going to tell you this once Sam, so listen up. I don’t care if you’re my brother. If you ever tell anyone, especially her, I will end you,” I warned before slamming the door in his face.

Great, I thought. I’d been able to keep this thing a secret for less than a year. I wasn’t at all sure that I could trust Sam not to say something. Sure, he could keep a secret if he wanted to, but I didn’t know if I would be able to convince him that this needed to stay between us. Anxious thoughts swirled in my head throughout my shower, but by the time I got out I had a persuasive argument ready to go.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Sam was on the couch, restlessly tapping his fingers against his knee. He looked up at the sound of the door opening and stood to face me.

“I won’t say anything,” Sam rushed out at the same time I said, “We need to talk.”

“What?” I asked, not having heard him over my own statement.

“I won’t say anything,” he promised. “But… why haven’t you told her?”

I sighed. I should have expected this. Should have, but didn’t. I’d planned out how to persuade him not to tell anyone, had considered potential arguments he might throw my way. I hadn’t anticipated him immediately complying or the simple question that followed. I ran a hand through my hair as I considered how to answer. 

“You know why,” I finally said, deciding that the argument I’d planned out would work as an explanation to his question. He just stared at me expectantly.

“I haven’t exactly made a secret of the fact that I don’t want to know my soulmate. That I don’t want her stuck living this life,” I told him.

“You love this life,” he pointed out.

“Yeah. I do. But it’s dangerous and it means never having a home. I won’t force her into that,” I explained.

“But she’s already a part of it. You won’t be forcing her into anything,” he responded.

“Just because she’s in this life now doesn’t mean she has to be in it forever. She’ll be able to make her own decisions in a few years. She can find somewhere she likes and stay there. She can get out of hunting.”

“Who says she wants to?” Sam asked. 

“Well then that’s her choice if she doesn’t want to quit. I’m not going to be the reason though. I don’t want her hunting with me out of a feeling of obligation. I won’t do that to her.” I told him.

“You keep talking about her being able to do what she wants. What if what she wants is to be with you? Did you consider that?” he argued.

I had considered it. I decided that until I had a reason to think that she was interested in something more, I would leave things the way they were. I was happy just to have her in my life, in any way. I wasn’t going to push for more when what I had was already more than I could have ever hoped for. My soulmate was with me every day. And I didn’t have to worry about scaring her away. She already knew the whole truth about me and my life.

Frustrated that he kept pushing, I snapped, “I thought you weren’t going to say anything.”

“I’m not,” he insisted.

“Then why won’t you let it go?” I demanded. He scowled at me.

“If I’m going to be keeping this a secret for you, you can at least tell me why it has to be a secret. I told you I won’t say anything and I won’t, but I still don’t see why you don’t just tell her.”

“I don’t know how to explain it in a way you’ll understand,” I told him. “Can you just believe that I’m doing what’s best?” 

He thought about it for a while.

“Fine,” he agreed.

“Fine?” I asked, relieved, but surprised he wasn’t putting up more of a fight.

“Yeah. Fine. Because you have less than a year before Jenna turns 16. You know she’s going to find out then,” he said confidently. 

I hadn’t been letting myself think that far ahead. I wasn’t sure what to expect when her birthday came around again. Would she find my name somewhere on her body? Would she be happy or disappointed? Would she want to be with me or would she rather stay away and have a normal life? Would it even be my name she found?

“Maybe,” I said, humoring him for the moment. “But until then, this stays between us. Actually, this stays between us until I say otherwise,” I told him.

"Fine," he agreed. He wasn't happy about it, but he felt secure in the knowledge that he had less than a year before it would no longer be a secret. I both hoped he was wrong and hoped he was right. "Jerk," he added a little frustratedly. 

I just smirked at him. 

"Bitch."

Ages 21 and 22 December 29, 2001

Dad and I were currently in Chicago, working a case we suspected to be ghouls. Three different mausoleums had been disturbed in two different cemeteries. Whoever had broken into these places hadn’t stolen any of the valuable items inside, but had opened up the caskets. And then the bodies. And they’d eaten them.

It was late afternoon and we were going over the information we’d gathered over the past few days, working on narrowing down the location these things might be hiding in when I heard the rumble of a familiar engine. My focus, which had been tenuous at best at the anticipation of this moment, flew out the window.

John was taking a few ‘personal days,’ whatever that meant, so Dean was coming to stay with us for a few days. I wished we weren’t working so we could just spend time together, but I was excited to see him either way.

I jumped out of my chair so quickly it would have fallen over if my dad hadn’t caught it. I stood at the door, waiting for him to knock before opening it. I didn’t want to seem too eager or like I’d been watching for his arrival. Which I hadn’t been, despite how much I wanted to. The curtains had remained closed in order to discourage looking out the window and not focusing on the case. It’s not my fault his car was so loud.

The thirty seconds or so it undoubtedly took for him to grab his bag and walk to the door felt like an eternity. Finally, there was a knock. I quickly unlocked the door and threw it open, huge smile on my face as I hugged him.

Dean seemed a little startled at how quickly I threw myself at him – so much for not seeming eager – but didn’t hesitate to hug me back.

“Hey, sweetheart. I missed you too,” he mumbled so only I could hear.

“Alright, give the man some room to breathe,” my dad teased.

I wasn’t even close to ready to be done hugging him. We hadn’t seen each other since the night he told me about Sam going to college, and I missed him so much. Not that that was a feeling I was unfamiliar with, but being away from him was getting harder. I let him go and took a step back, giving him space.

“How’re you doing, son?” My dad asked him, placing an affectionate hand on his shoulder.

“I’m good, Ben. Thanks for letting me crash with you,” Dean said, moving to the couch to set his bag down.

“Of course. We’re always happy to see you,” he assured Dean. “We’re still working on a case right now. You’re welcome to join in if you want, but if you’d rather take a few days off, that’s no problem.”

“I’m happy to help, sir,” Dean said, unsurprisingly. 

“Great!” Dad said, smiling warmly at the younger man. “We’re trying to track down some ghouls. We were just working on figuring out where they might be hiding,” he said, walking to the table. Dean followed.

“So far, we’ve narrowed it down to-” My dad’s phone rang, cutting him off. He fished it out of his pocket.

“Hello?” He answered, business voice in place.

“Where?” He asked. Then, after a brief pause, “I’ll be right there.” 

He put the phone back in his pocket and looked at me and Dean.

“They just found another grave that’s been opened up. I’m going to go check it out. You two keep working here,” he instructed.

“Where was this one at?” I asked.

“Same cemetery as the last one,” he said as he shrugged his coat on.

“So that makes two at each cemetery,” I commented. 

“Right. So let’s get on top of this before there’s another one,” he said, closing the door behind him. I heard his truck’s engine sputter to life, and then it was just me and Dean.

“Which two cemeteries have been hit?” Dean asked, in full hunter mode. I fondly rolled my eyes at him, but answered his question. The sooner we finished this hunt, the sooner we could just relax together. I listed the two cemeteries, pointing to their locations on the map we had rolled out on the table.

“They’re probably hiding out somewhere in between the two,” Dean said.

“Yeah, that was our thought too. We were just working on narrowing down the most likely locations,” I told him. 

Working with Dean was comfortable. We easily fell back into our old rhythm of working together as we analyzed and theorized. When Dad came back an hour later we were feeling pretty confident that we’d found the two most likely places.

“Good work,” he praised when we told him what we’d come up with. “Let’s go grab something to eat and then we’ll go check them both out.”

“We can go check them out first,” I suggested, wanting to finish this case as soon as possible.

“Food first,” Dad said. “There’s no reason to be hunting on an empty stomach when we’ve got time. Based on their pattern, they won’t hit another grave for a few more days, and they won’t leave their little nest until then.”

We piled into my dad’s little truck, me squished in the middle seat between the two men, and drove to a nearby diner.

We chatted as we ate. Dad mostly listened, letting Dean and me do most of the talking, but joining in every now and then with a comment or question. It was nice. It was the happiest I’d been in a long time. I looked forward to the next few days of this.

~~~~~

We were back at the motel, readying weapons and just about to drive to the first location Dean and I suspected of being their hide out when Dad’s phone rang.

“Hello?” He said. He listened to the voice on the other line, frown growing on his face. “I’m on my way,” he said, hanging up the phone. 

“Change of plans,” he told us. “Jenna, I guess you were right. We shouldn’t have stopped to eat first. That was the groundskeeper at the second cemetery.”

“There was another one?” I asked. “Already?”

“Apparently,” he said, climbing into his truck. “I’m going to go check it out, see if I can catch a trail. You two go check out that abandoned church like we planned. Be careful,” he warned.

“And Dean?” He added, almost as an afterthought. “Take care of my girl.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean answered without hesitation. Satisfied with his response, Dad backed out of the parking lot and drove away. 

Dean put his shotgun in the trunk of his car and I threw mine in alongside it. He closed the trunk and slid into the driver’s seat as I got into the passenger side.

“It’s weird that they’re breaking pattern like this,” Dean mused as we pulled up to the old church. There was a crypt below it. The perfect place for a monster that fed on the dead to hole up.

“Yeah, I thought so too. Let’s just hope that it gives us another lead if neither of these places end up being right,” I said.

We made our way into the crypt, Dean going first. It didn’t take long to realize we were in the right place. The remains of chewed on corpses littered the ground. Coffins that were decades old had been opened to make room for the bones of bodies the ghouls had dragged back here to feed on. I wrinkled my nose at the smell.

We made our way through the place carefully, guns at the ready. In a small room in the back we found three old mattresses laid out beside each other. 

I heard a noise behind me and spun around just in time for one of the ghouls to reach me and knock the gun out of my hand. Before he could do anything more, I punched him in the nose. I used the half second it took him to recover to aim a kick straight at his stomach, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

“Get down!” I heard Dean call from behind me. I dropped to the floor and heard the gunshot behind me. The ghoul went down, head blown to pieces. I quickly grabbed my gun off the floor and stood beside Dean, aiming at the doorway, ready for the other two to come.

“Where are they?” Dean hissed after a couple of minutes. 

“Maybe they haven’t gotten back yet,” I said. 

“What?” he asked, agitated at not knowing where the threat was.

“Maybe the other two went out to the cemetery and this one was left behind to guard the place or something. They might be on their way right now. Maybe we should find some place to hide and wait for them to get back. Ambush them,” I suggested.

Dean considered the idea, weighing our options. Then he stiffened. 

“We need to go. Right now,” he said as he hurried from the room.

“What? Why?” I asked as I followed him.

“Why would they leave one behind to guard the place? They shouldn’t have any reason to worry about someone stumbling in. And even if someone did, they wouldn’t find anything they’d consider suspicious,” he said.

“So they knew we were onto them and left one behind to kill us if we found them. It was a trap,” I concluded, catching onto his thought.

“No Jenna,” Dean said. We made it out of the church and ran for the car. “There’s strength in numbers. Why would they send two out to a place they would be long gone from by the time we heard about them and leave one behind to take on a group of hunters alone? It was a trap. But the trap wasn’t for us.”

“It was for my dad,” I said in horror. We reached the car and Dean had the Impala screeching away the second the doors were closed.

“They found out about you guys somehow, so they dug up another body, probably somewhere they knew it would be found quickly, and then sat back and waited,” he continued piecing things together. He hit the steering wheel in frustration. “I knew something was up when they changed their pattern,” he seethed.

I got my phone out of my pocket and dialed my dad’s number. He didn’t pick up.

“Drive faster,” I urged, the dread I was feeling building.

When we made it to the cemetery we jumped out and split up. Dean had wanted to stay together, but I argued that we’d cover ground faster apart. My dad’s life was in danger, and I wasn’t going to waste time.

I ran through the cemetery, keeping my eyes open for any recently dug up graves – they would be particularly easy to spot with the layer of snow on the ground – or open mausoleums. I was about halfway through when I noticed one of them had a door cracked open. I made my way over as quickly and quietly as I could. 

I probably should have taken my time, assessed the situation and gathered as much information about what I was about to walk into as I could. I should have. But I didn’t. I kicked the door open the rest of the way and took in the details as quickly as I could.

There were two people in the middle of the room, standing over a dead body. It was fresh, partially eaten. It was the cemetery groundskeeper. And his face was staring back at me from one of the two men above him. The ghouls. They both lunged for me. I had my gun already aimed and fired at the closer one. His headless body collapsed to the ground.

“Jenna!” I heard Dean call, alerted by the gunshot.

Realizing he was outnumbered, the third one bolted out of the building. I was about to go after him when I noticed the other person, sitting against the wall across from the dead body. Dad.

“Jenna!” Dean called again when I didn’t answer him. His voice was much closer now.

“I’m fine, Dean!” I yelled back, willing it to be true. Willing my dad to be ok. “Go get him!” 

I rushed over to Dad, gasping at what I saw and choking back tears. 

“Dad!” I cried out. There was a knife in his chest. And he was in a pool of blood, not so much sitting as being held up by the wall.

“Jenna,” he rasped out. I grabbed his arm and put it around my shoulder, trying to help him stand. He gasped in pain and sagged against me. I let him go, not wanting to make things worse.

“It’s ok. It’s going to be ok,” I said through my tears, trying to assure myself more than him. “We’re going to get you out of here. As soon as Dean gets here we’ll get you in the car and to a hospital.”

“Stay with Dean,” he said.

“Dean’s fine. He’ll take care of the last one. I’m not leaving you,” I told him.

“Stay with him,” he repeated, reaching for me. I grabbed his hand. “You’ve been… so sad without him,” he breathed. I could tell talking was difficult for him.

“Shh,” I ordered. “It’s ok.”

“No, listen,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to live… without him. You should… be with your soulmate.” I gasped at his statement.

“You knew?” I asked.

“I’ve suspected for a long time,” he confessed. “Since before you even turned 16. He’s… a good man. And I want you to know… for what it’s worth… that I would be proud to have him… as a son.” There was blood coming out of the corner of his mouth now.

Hurry up Dean! I mentally urged.

“That doesn’t matter,” I told him, trying to get back on track. “We’ll get you help. Everything will go back to normal.” I heard the gunshot then.

“I love you Jenna,” he told me. “Be happy.”

“Dean!” I screamed, and then in a quieter voice, “Dean’s coming now Dad. Just hold on.” His breathing was getting more strained.

Dean came crashing through the door then, gun held at the ready. His eyes zeroed in on us and he lowered his gun, coming to my side.

“Help me get him to the car,” I told him.

“No,” Dad protested.

“I’m not just going to leave you here to die, Ben,” Dean said as he bent to grab him under the shoulders. “Grab his legs,” he instructed me. With the knife buried in Dad’s chest, Dean wasn’t able to swing him over his shoulder.

“Stop!” Dad gritted out, gasping in pain as our attempts to move him jostled the knife.

“What do we do?!” I wailed as we reluctantly set him back down.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Dad breathed out. “Remember… what I told you,” he said to me. “Be happy.” Then he turned to Dean. 

“Take care of my girl,” he said to Dean for the second time tonight. Only this time his meaning was very different.

“I will,” Dean assured him, realizing we were running out of time. I realized too.

“I love you,” I sobbed out as I hugged him as tightly as I could. I felt his hand smoothing over my hair once. Twice. Then it fell to the floor beside him.

~~~~~

I didn’t know how long it had taken him to convince me to leave the cemetery that night. He’d sat with me for a long while before he left to take care of the bodies of the two ghouls. 

“Jenna,” he said gently a few hours later. “I know you don’t want to hear this, and I don’t want to be the one to say it. But we have to get out of here. We have to…”

“We have to burn his body,” I said numbly, finishing his trailed off sentence.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. I knew he was right though.

Dean carefully carried my dad’s body over to the Impala, laying him on a blanket in the backseat.

“Are you ok to drive?” he asked me. “We’re going to need to get your dad’s truck out of here too.”

“No,” I said.

“Ok, no problem. I’ll take care of it later then,” he assured me.

“No, I mean I don’t want it,” I told him. “We have to burn the body anyway, right?” I asked rhetorically. “So let’s just do it in the truck. That way at least we don’t have to spend the rest of the night building a pyre.”

Dean hesitated a little before answering. 

“Are you sure, Jenna?” 

“I’m sure,” I told him. I didn’t want to keep that truck. I didn’t ever want to see it again. It would just be a constant reminder of what I’d lost tonight.

We drove to an open field a few miles outside the city, Dean in the Impala, me in my dad’s truck. I watched stone-faced, all cried out for now, as Dean transferred Dad’s body from the Impala to the truck and then covered them in gasoline and salt. I watched as he lit the match. And I said goodbye to my dad for the last time.

~~~~~

I’d spent the last three days laying in bed, crying until I couldn’t anymore. Dean stayed with me the whole time, sitting beside me, holding me, his presence a silent comfort. One that I couldn’t appreciate right now. I felt hollow inside.

He did his best to encourage me to eat and drink. I made myself drink a little each day, but I couldn’t eat. 

John called Dean on the fourth day, wanting Dean to meet him in Arizona. Dean told him no. He said he wasn’t going to leave me alone and that John could do the job alone or find someone else to help. It was only the second time I’d ever heard Dean openly defy John. And that’s when I realized how concerned he was. So I decided it was time to move on. 

I started eating again and made an effort to talk and make jokes. He seemed relieved to see me doing better. 

On the fifth day, I told him he needed to go back to John.

“I’m not leaving you alone. I’m going to stay with you as long as you need. Dad will be fine on his own for a while. We’ll meet up with him when you’re ready,” he told me.

“I need some time, Dean. I don’t know how much. But I’m not going to ask you to leave your dad on his own. I’ll go stay with Bobby for a while. I’ll be fine,” I said.

Dean wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but after a little bit of convincing, he finally agreed.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he said when he pulled up at Bobby’s, reluctant to leave me. “I promised your dad I would take care of you. I intend to keep that promise,” he told me.

I just smiled as I grabbed my bag from the back seat. 

“Thanks for everything Dean. I’ll see you later,” I told him. Then I walked to the house, not giving him a chance to answer. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep from crying if I had to watch him drive away.

As I climbed the porch stairs, I remembered my dad’s last words to me. Be happy. Maybe I’d see about meeting up with Dean and John soon. Once I’d had time to process and was ready to start hunting again.

Chapter 5

[terrazaurio]

Some sketchies and heartfelt letters for friends that Lira knows are lost already, but still need to atone.✨😔

I know that little or nothing can fix this letter, but I can't stop thinking about how unfair it is that I have known such an intimate part of you and that you have nothing to hold over my head.

I want it to be clear that I do not need you to forgive me, I understand that what I did doubled a wound that has not healed for a long time, and that I will never be able to come close to closing it, not even the slightest bit.

But if you have some time, here I leave you a piece of me;

When I was little, I often felt alone. I've never been good at maintaining a friendship. But there was one person who managed to stand out above all the others, and who taught me what it was to love. Her name is Cecania, and she lived in the village, not far from my house.

I had always thought she was a very pretty girl, but I would never have approached her on my own. She intimidated me. Luckily, she was the one who did it.

She came up to me one afternoon and said; “I can jump higher than you.” And well, knowing me, you'll know that I can't say no to a challenge like that, so we spent the entire afternoon jumping, until we got sunstroke and we almost didn't tell it... From then on there was no one to separate us.

Somehow we grew up together, we fell in love, and she taught me how nice it can be to express what you feel without fear (even if it meant ending up in the police station more than once).

Cecania was not happy there, and neither was I. We always talked about escaping, traveling the world and getting married in every country we visited. To never look back. Additionally, she had always had anger issues, but over the years they became stronger.

One day, as she had done many times before, she told me that it was time, that she would pick me up that same night, that we would burn her house until there was nothing but ashes, and that we would run away together. I, obviously, said yes.

I guess I'll never really know why, but Cecania didn't show up. I assumed that she had collapsed again, like other times, but I still went out to meet her, it was late at night and I could hear alarms in the distance, this scared me.

When I got there, I saw nothing but fire consuming her house. Firefighters said there were no human remains among the pebbles and ash. I have never seen her again.

Her parents left town shortly after.

Yesterday I was planning to talk to you about her in person, but we already know how that ended.

I know there is no point of comparison between the two stories, or between what I have caused and what I can offer you, but this is all I have. I have not lived long, nor very intensely; This is the most important moment of my life. Cecania and I used to smoke together, and in the ashtray in my room there were two butts stained with her favorite lipstick. I'm a little embarrassed, but I kept them like a treasure. It was the only thing that didn't burn completely that night.

I'm leaving them to you because I don't know how else to even begin to apologize for how careless I've been. Do whatever you want with them, I won't be mad, I promise.

(If you're reading this after a while, I guess it's already late, and either I'm dead or I was able to deliver some information at the next meeting with Felix. I hope it's the second one, but just in case.

I'm going to meet Penny, the tattoo artist with the white and green hair. I know it's risky, but I really want to prove that I can do something! Nothing I do will ever be your fault, please believe me. I've always been this impulsive and idiotic. I am grateful to have been your friend, Rodrigo.)

Lira.