#So i think this would be a sore spot for both of em that they’d understand | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

Note

Seconding the 'mob guys watching over Chris for Paul's suggestion!

CW: References to murder/mob organization stuff, references to parental death, grief, referenced past whump of a minor

Every Tuesday at 9 am, just like clockwork, Sean Malley lumbers into a coffeeshop nestled into the corner of a flat featureless strip mall. Contrasting to the pale concrete nothingness of its surrounding, the little coffeeshop is painted a warm, rich brown along the exterior, with heavy platers spilling over with purple and yellow flowers every few feet until Sean reaches the door.

It’s a welcome bit of individuality along this ring of small strip malls and larger big-box stores kept out of the city proper by a pile of zoning laws too draconian to fight. He’s been coming here for ten years now, more or less, and has seen the little coffeshop through its earliest days struggling for business right to now, where he feels reasonably certain he’ll be dead long before they close this place for good.

He moves inside, the light immediately warm and slightly dimmed. The scent in the air of freshly roasted coffee beans and baked goods. The cannolis they sell came from him, Sean’s proud of that - his wife had a favorite recipe and he’d given it to them after she passed, hoping for one batch for the service. They’d just kept making them, having one ready for him when he popped in, and... well, they’ve sold them ever since. Even call them Christa’s Cannolis, handwritten in cursive on a little placard. She’d have been tickled pink, he thinks sometimes, to see it.

One of his knees comes and goes as it pleases these days, giving his step a bit of a shuffle-scrape. He’s smiling, though, and humming as he goes.

Life is good for Sean Malley, all things considered.

Truth be told, he hadn't actually expected to live this long. Keeping close to Conor and his family had paid off in the early days - just as his instincts had kept him safe when the Garden erupted in in-fighting, too. When the Clean-Up happened, during the Garden’s most vicious in-fighting, Sean had seen half the men he’d watched start as snot-nosed dumbasses taken out one by one, clearing the way for Conor’s fucking grandson to make his play for power.

Those kids who’d run lookout gigs and then moved on to guard duty or work with the cargo coming in... one by one those kids-turned-adults, with families of their own, had been removed from the picture. Fifteen, all told, a bloodbath stretched out over six months - sixteen, of course, if you count how Paul’s murder went all wrong.

The one comfort had been watching Conor’s grandson lay the groundwork for his own comeuppance the whole time - promising favors for loyalty and then killing the ones he’d promised those favors to. That’s no way to start yourself as leader, and... well.

Trash had been taken out, in the end. Riley Higgs had gotten rid of the poison - and the poison’s friends - and his crew’s a damn sight better than Conor’s grandson’s people had been.

Riley, for one thing, understands that an organization like the Garden works, in the end, on trust. On being a family.

Don’t kill your family without a good damn reason, now do you?

Now Riley... he had a good reason. And Sean had made sure Riley Higgs knew a few very important facts that kept him on the man’s good side, and very much alive when the dust settled.

Even if he had did have to live with a bum knee. And back. And his hip’s started twinging every time it rains...

"Morning, Mr. Malley!" His favorite barista calls out, giving him a wave from behind the counter. She's a pretty thing, just cute as a button. Probably in her late twenties but when you’re as old as Sean is, everyone looks like a child playing pretend.

Still, it always brings a bit of sun in the old man's day to see her bright pink hair before he ever takes his seat. He always tells her she should move on from here, do something with her life other than serve old men their coffee and watch them while away the hours.

But I like it here, Melody always replies, giving a little shrug of her shoulders. I like our regulars, too. Besides, this place pays better than the job I’d get with my actual degree.

"G'morning to you, Melody!" He calls back, moving to have a seat in his usual spot, sinking gratefully into the plush armchair by the bookshelf in the corner. His favorite coffee table book, a heavy thing full of photos of World War II, is already laid out on the side table next to it, bookmarked where he’d left off last week. "Busy day, today?"

Melody is already heading his way, coffee in hand just how he likes it, one of Christa’s Cannolis on a small plate in the other. Sean’s doctor has been on him about cutting out sugar, and he’s done it just about everywhere else, but he still has his cannoli on Tuesdays. Christa had been so proud of herself when she’d mastered that recipe...

"Not really,” Melody says with a shrug, breaking into his thoughts. “Just the usual morning rush and a couple college kids, wandered outside but they left their drinks, I figure they’ll come back. One of 'em looks like he got mauled by a real weak bear."

Sean feigns surprise. "Oh, does he now?" He takes a sip of his coffee and sighs happily. "Not too hot. You had it out already, didn't you?"

"I saw your car pull into the lot," Melody says, giving a little it's nothing gesture. “I knew you’d be in, so I kept an eye out for you.”

"You're a doll, Melody, and this place would be lost without you." He presses the twenty-dollar bill into her hand, and when she protests, he shakes his head, adds another ten, and closes her hand firmly around the cash. "Take it, take it. I'm an old man on my own, who've I got to spend it on, huh?"

"You're not that old, Mr. Malley," Melody sighs, an old song and dance between them. “You’ve got grandkids who could use it, too, you know.”

"Ha! Trust that my grandkids never want for anything, Melody. Besides, live the life I've lived, and sixty feels like eighty-two. Go on, then. Cilly'll be along in a bit."

He sits back to drink his coffee as she heads back behind the counter, watching through the front window the cars that pass along the highway, the scattering of people getting in and out of their own vehicles in the parking lot. It's a perfect, and perfectly normal, Tuesday morning. Just like any other.

A perfectly normal Tuesday where one creature of habit makes it a point to get a quick look at another.

A flash of red catches his eye, and he frowns, watching a bright red Northern cardinal alight on the bench placed outside the shop, preening one wing briefly and then seeming to look towards the lot.

Sean follows its gaze, silently chastising himself for being so utterly taken by a simple bird, but... Northern cardinals are more or less unheard of around here, especially in the city. This one seems to cock its head in his direction.

"Someone," He mutters to himself, "is a bit lost."

There's a peal of laughter, as the door opens, the little bell on top chiming to announce them, and there they are.

Two young people walking inside, heads tilted together. One of them has thick, wavy black hair, one of those haircuts the younger people like so much now, shaved on the sides but long on top. The younger guys in the Family wear their hair like that now and then.

Sean thinks he liked it better when everyone kept things neat and tidy, but times change, and the Garden can't stagnate just because an old timer's got opinions. Riley’s take is he’d rather is people look like they could be anybody anywhere, and Sean has to admit the kind of haircut he’d like to see would stick out like a sore thumb.

Both of them are wearing all black head to toe, the black-haired one in a tank top and baggy pants, a large yellow lightning bolt on a cord settled just below their collarbone. Honestly, if he gets past the hair thing, they’re cute as a button, too.

Really, though, he’s not here because of them.

He’s here to get a good look at the young man walking in beside them.

It’s funny - it’s been nine - ten? - years since he last saw Paul Higgs alive, the day before he and his sweet Ronnie were gunned down in their own home in the night... but tears still prick at the corners of Sean’s eyes when he see the ghost of Paul in his son’s narrow face.

There’d been a joke when the little one first came into the world, that somehow Paul and Ronnie had put together a child where her genetics simply skipped out entirely. He’d been a little clone of Paulie from the start, and he’s different as a man than he’d been as a child lining toy cars up at their feet in the warehouse on Saturdays when Ronnie needed a break.

Sean pulls his phone out, idly scrolling - his daughter had helped him to get Facebook and a couple other things besides, including some kind of app that had his favorite card games. He pretends now to be fascinated by something he sees, but in truth he pulls his camera up and starts recording.

“It, it, it could change everything,” Paulie’s boy is saying, breathlessly excited, hands moving through the air in a blend of gesture and general happiness. “You see? Everything! Make it, it, it-it safer, make... make things better.”

“I know, I know,” The other one replies, deep voice warm and thick with love, and Sean sighs, missing his Christa now more than ever. He consoles himself with a bite of cannoli. “I already told you I’m in, Chris, okay? I’m going to help you. You don’t have to sell me on it.”

Tristan ducks his head with a shy smile, and boy if he isn’t Paul’s spitting image in that, too. Paulie hadn’t smiled much, not like his kid does - maybe that’s what he got from Ronnie - but in a smile like that, well... you could see where he got it from. If you’d known Paul, of course.

Which the kid didn’t, not anymore.

“It could, um, be dangerous though.” They’re barely audible now as they go back to where they left their still-steaming drinks, sitting down on a nearby couch. “Nat’s worried. And, and, and you know Jake-”

“Chris, you could walk across a crosswalk when the light starts blinking and Jake would still worry about you,” The other one teases. Sean knows their name, but right now it won’t quite come to mind, lingering on the tip of is tongue, never quite landing. “It’ll be public, yeah-”

“Telling everyone who... who, who I am.” Tristan starts tapping his fingers on his pants, a peculiar finger-twist-tap-tap-tap gesture that Sean once knew as well as anyone, when the boy was small. But it’s the words, with a hint of nervousness lining them, that get his attention. “The... the whole world’s going to, to, to to-to-... to... to know about Tristan Higgs.”

Now that gets Sean’s attention. He cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and starts a new one. It takes work not to sit up, or drop his cannoli, or in some other way give himself away.

He knows, then?

How?

Sean looks down at his phone, looking over the scar on Paul’s boy’s forehead, the only remaining evidence of what had been much more visible the first couple times they’d seen him out after it happened. Sean and Cilly had figured maybe a fight - people get into them, really. Paul wasn’t exactly gentle as a lamb, and why would his boy be?

But now... he wondered. His instincts told him the two were related, and of course he knew from the time they’d worked with WRU pretty closely under the table that those memory things they did sometimes failed. Sean had done a fixer job once for someone whose pet had recovered memories too fast and killed a servant in a panic...

“Oh, Paul,” Sean murmurs. “What’d your boy do, hm?”

“I’m, I’m going to to to t-... to tell everyone who I am,” Paul’s boy is saying, leaning forward and taking the hands of the other one in his own, squeezing them tight. “I’m... will, will, will you come with me? When, when I... so someone’s there?”

“What? Holy shit, Chris, go to the Olympics? With you?” They inhale and exhale, blowing some hair from their eyes, and smile. “You should take someone who knows more than I do about all that stuff, Chris, take Jake, or-”

“Jake has has to stay here. To, to protect the house. But... will you come with me?”

Sean cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and this time adds a message.

Olympics are in Chicago this year. What’s Paul Jr. planning?

He feels eyes on him and glances up to find Tristan looking over at him, an expression of uncertainty on his face. Sean’s been watching him for years, popping up in places, the way you sometimes see the same faces at the corner store, the mom-and-pop, a coffeeshop like this one. Now, he watches Tristan look him over, knowing he’s familiar but not knowing why. Part of him, with a pinprick of an old, old grief, wishes Paul’s little boy would recognize him now.

Most of him knows it’s better if he doesn’t.

Tristan looks away, and goes back to talking, but his voice lowers and now Sean can’t quite pick up what he’s saying beyond a few scattered words. He gets a couple photos of the lovebirds with their head together, sipping coffee, and sends those on to Riley, too.

Job done, he settles back to finish his cannoli and drink his coffee. Tristan and-... Laken, his name suddenly supplies, only an hour after he’d started trying to remember it - get up and leave, Tristan’s arm around Laken’s waist.

Good for the kid, Sean thinks, with a smile. By this age Paul had an elementary school son running around, but you know, it’s good to take your time on these things, and it’s nice to see that all the shit they’ve had to stand back and watch still wraps up nicely into Paul’s boy living a pretty nice life indeed.

His phone dings just as Cilly enters - right on time at 10, like clockwork - and he glances down to open the message from Riley.

I’ll get one of our guys to look into it. This might give us the out on the business I don’t want to be in I’ve been looking for. Kid looks good, looks like Paul. Family genes run deep.

Sean greets Cilly, even older than him but a sight more spry, and glances out the window. The bird’s gone from the bench, of course. The day is bright and shining.

In Laken’s car, they’re halfway back to the house Laken shares with their roommates when Chris suddenly sits straight up. “Mr. Malley,” He breathes out, green eyes widening.

Laken jumps - he’d been silent, preoccupied and in thought - and nearly jerks the car into a curb. “Damn, Chris! You scared me. What’d you say?”

“The old guy, in, in, in the the the the-the-... the coffeeshop, who kept looking at, at me.” Chris rocks forward, hands on the dashboard, his eyes staring ahead but not at the road, they’re looking far ahead... or behind himself, back in time and not space, when and not where. “His name’s Mr. Malley. I, I, I knew-... my dad knew, my, my, my dad, my dad-”

He winces, the headache splitting him apart, and Laken hits their turn signal, pulling into the parking lot of a generic fast food place, swinging into a parking space and turning to look at him.

“Chris? You okay?”

Chris’s face has gone pale, cold sweat breaking out. It still happens, sometimes, and when they lean over to touch his shoulder he flinches back from them, instinctively.

Laken exhales. “Okay. Ride it out, Chris. Let the memory go if it’s hurting, it’ll come back to you. They all come back now.”

“No! No, I, I, I want-... Mr. Malley knew my dad, I went to-... work, with, with him sometimes, his his his wife babysat me, I... I know him. I knew him. I knew-” He turns to look at them, and they fight the urge to try and touch him again.

Not yet.

“Do you... do you think, think, think he knew me?”

Laken swallows. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t he have said something, if he recognized you? If he was your dad’s friend? Are you absolutely sure that-”

“Yes, I’m, I’m sure. I know it was him. I, I, I know, he, he, he gave me me me Dinotopia books... for Christmas one year...” Chris jerked in a breath and let it out again, hands going up over his head, folding himself in half until his forehead rested on the dashboard, pressed to the cool molded plastic. “He, he, he, he came to their funeral, he hugged me, he said, you’re too young to to to to have to lose so much, and everyone said-... everyone said stuff I hated but but but not him, he said, he said-”

“Chris, please, don’t hurt yourself doing this-”

“He said grief gets worse before it gets better, and and and and he said-... he said... he said don’t let anyone tell you that R-Ronnie’d want you to to to be strong, she’d want you to scream your head off if you want to, your dad’d be proud if if if if-if... if you told us all to go to hell, and... and and and and it felt like he was the only person who who who knew them at all that day, everyone said, said, said stupid things but not him, not-... not him and not Mr. Cilly, not-... not my Aunt Jo, not anybody, but he-”

Chris chokes on a sob and when Laken throws their arms around him he melts into it this time, crying against their shoulder, the two of them uncomfortably arched over the center console and the gear shift.

“It’s okay,” Laken whispers, running their fingers over the slowly growing fuzz of his hair. “It’s okay. Let it ride, Chris. It’s okay.”

“He, he, he was my dad’s b-b-best friend-... Why d-didn’t he, if he saw me, why wouldn’t he-... I s-see him all th-the the the time, why doesn’t he know who I am?”

“Maybe he’s like Akio,” Laken says, and feels him trembling under their touch. “Maybe he’s always thought you were dead.”

“I w-was,” Chris whispers “When I, I, I was Baldur. When I was training. When... when I... was good. I was dead.”

“Chris-”

“I was dead,” Chris says, and they kiss his head, helpless to think of anything else to do. “When my p-parents died, I died, too. Mr. Malley made m-me feel like I I I wasn’t. Why didn’t he kn-know me? Why didn’t a-anyone know I was alive?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

“Hurts,” Chris whispers. “Why, why, why didn’t anyone help me before she she she-... before I was-... why didn’t anyone help me?”

Laken’s own eyes burn, and they draw circles on his scalp with their fingertips. “I can’t answer that,” They say, low and soft. “I’m sorry. But you know you have people who can and will help you now.”

For a while, Chris’s only sounds are sobs, and Laken can only make soft soothing nonsense noises and feel like shit that it’s not enough.

“Ev, everyone knew she-she hated me,” Chris whimpers, and sounds younger than he ever has, and Laken wants to throw a punch or scream and they can’t do either, only sit in the car and glare at people who look in as they walk past. “Everyone.”

“Chris-”

“Everyone knew, why, why, why why why didn’t they stop her?”

Back in the coffeeshop, Sean and Cilly are in the midst of an argument about a baseball game that happened 30 years ago when his phone rings. He holds up one finger and picks it up, lifting it to his ear.

“I have a job for you,” Riley says, with his cheerful hint of brogue. Funny, to remember that this part of the family only came here a few decades ago. “It’s a job I know you’ll enjoy.”

“Watching Paul’s boy is my retirement gig,” Sean says amicably. “You know I don’t do the dangerous stuff any longer, Mr. Higgs.”

There’s a silence. “I’m going to do some looking into what you sent me. But in the meantime I need to give you a job, and you’re going to do it.”

“And why is that, Mr. Higgs?”

“Because you’re going to want to do this.”

“What is it, then?”

Another pause.

“I want you to find Joanne Botham.”

Sean thinks of the dour, angry woman who had ignored Tristan in his funeral suit, gathering mourners around her while she sobbed over Ronnie’s loss, Ronnie’s own son alone on a couch staring off into space until Sean himself had sat down and told him, don’t let ‘em say your mom’d be proud of you bein’ stoic today, kiddo. Ronnie’d want you to scream if you felt the urge.

The kid had looked at him like he’d been given water in the desert, a starving man offered a bowlful of broth. Mr. Malley?

People will say a lot of real stupid stuff to you today, Sean had said. His eyes had gone to Joanne Botham, and Ronnie’s sister’s icy glare when she looked at her own nephew had made his blood run cold with anger even then. Likely in the future, too. But you just remember Paul and Ronnie weren’t saints. And they’d never want you to be, either. I’m sorry for your loss, Tris. No one on God’s earth has loved their kid like yours loved you. Should’ve seen his face when he told us your mom was pregnant with you. Could’ve lit the world with all the sunshine there.

A clap on the back, a whispered thank you, and that had been the last day Sean Malley had ever seen Tristan Higgs alive.

Until, of course, Riley had told him there was a boy living in a pet liberation safehouse who looked remarkably like Paul. Until, of course, Riley had shared that he’d known Tristan Higgs was alive all along. Until, of course, Sean had been told he couldn’t make a move because WRU was protecting all the players who had stolen his friend’s kid.

Until... now.

“Mr. Higgs?” His voice drops, and Cilly sits up, alarmed at the sudden change in tone.

“You heard me. Find Joanne Botham. I have a feeling we are about to get the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

The phone goes dead on the other end, and Sean slowly sets it down, finishing his second cup of coffee in a gulp. Then he looks at Cilly, and starts to smile.

“Riley’s got work for us,” He says, and when Cilly’s eyebrows raise he doesn’t wait for him to ask for more. “Don’t worry. You’re going to like it. Finally get to do what we should have done ten fucking years ago.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump

#whump #speak out arc #chris the strawberry blond romantic #emotional whump #grief tw #referenced parental death #referenced past whump of a minor #referenced murder #memory loss #memory recovery #recovering whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #hi made myself cry during chris's part towards the end wheeeee

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qlala · 4 years ago

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Is it cheating to submit a fic request for the pride post you just made? I neeeed the whole thing (I'm on my laptop, but insert the big gay eyes emoji)

fjskdgjslg "big gay eyes emoji" you know what? just for you. just for you i have written this. i'll clean it up and upload to ao3 later but for now: have 2.7k of len dragging a sunburnt, tipsy, and glitter-covered barry back to his apartment, and happy pride!

Len wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone a good time, especially when the good time involved loud music, leather harnesses, and throwing water bottles at cops. Central City’s annual pride parade came as close as it got to challenging that attitude; families, fellow queers, and queens descended on the city waving more flags than the United Nations after a hurricane, all decked out in color combinations that Len hadn’t been able to keep straight since the ‘80s.

The end result was the kind of crowds that could make a grown man feel claustrophobic in the middle of a city block, and that was without the visible haze of alcohol wafting off the whole event.

But what the parade lacked in personal space, it made up for with one very important commodity: unattended wallets.

The flock of sunburnt twinks in denim cut-offs made Len’s job almost too easy—a hand on a sweat-slicked lower back, a flash of blue eyes, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed their wallets going missing if Len had dangled their IDs in front of their faces afterwards. (While there were plenty of women dressed in just as little clothing whom Len certainly wouldn’t have minded getting within robbing distance of, he’d found queer women as a group to be less enthusiastic about uninvited touching and more enthusiastic about wallet chains, even when three sheets to the wind off of canned rosé.)

He’d taught a dozen visiting suburbanites the importance of not keeping valuables in their back pockets by the time he spotted a familiar profile in the crowd.

His usual red getup wasn’t much more modest than some of the outfits Len had already seen, but even knowing the shape of that body didn’t prepare Len for seeing Barry Allen stripped to the waist, bright-eyed and flushed and shimmering all over with a fine dusting of glitter. Len noted, on auto-pilot, that it didn’t seem like he’d put any of the glitter there himself; he was standing dangerously close to a drag queen throwing handfuls of the stuff on anyone who got within arm’s reach of her. It set the sun refracting off every dip and plane of muscle across Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry’s hair, already wild and dark at the roots with sweat, was full of it.

Len’s feet were carrying him closer before he gave himself permission to move. Barry managed to drag Len into his orbit at the best of times; visibly tipsy and dripping sweat, Len would’ve had better luck resisting the turning of the earth.

Up close, Len could take that Barry had lost his shirt somewhat recently; the slight touch of pink spanning his shoulders and chest had nothing on the serious flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He had a spray of new freckles as well. They were barely distinguishable under the haze of glitter stuck to his skin, but Len noticed them at once, the change unmistakable on an otherwise unchanging face (not a scar to be seen, even after three years of running into burning buildings and jumping in front of bullets; Len was equal parts frustrated and relieved).

It looked like someone had painted a few strokes of color across one of his cheeks at some point, but it was smudged to hell and back. The back of one of Barry’s hands was stained a tell-tale matching purple, and Len could only guess at what it had been at the start of the day.

He stepped into Barry’s space as easily as he had the rest, taking care to keep Barry between him and the source of the glitter, and hesitated for the briefest moment with his hand above Barry’s spine. He’d never touched Barry like this, skin to skin; the gloves had never come off between them, metaphorically or literally. Kept things neat.

Nothing about Barry was neat right now. He turned even before Len touched him, and the movement brought Len’s hand into contact with his side instead. It took everything in Len not to pull it back in a flinch, and he met Barry’s curious glance with a tightly-controlled smirk.

He’d expected Barry to step back, maybe add a bit of blush to those already-pink cheeks. Instead, Barry’s eyes took a belated second to focus, and then he gave Len a face-splitting grin.

“Snart!”

That time, Len did have to pull backwards to avoid Barry dragging him in for a hug. To think he’d been concerned about a hand.

Barry didn’t seem the least bit put out, smiling loose and easy like Len hadn’t iced him to the door of a bank vault the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t taken Barry for such a cheerful drunk—he seemed inclined toward melodrama on a good day—but Len would take it over any of the alternatives.

“Barry. Fancy seeing you here. And so much of you, at that.” He let his gaze slide down his bare chest and stomach, pulse ticking up at the warm brown of his nipples and the sharp vee of his hipbones that invited his gaze further down.

“You’re overdressed,” Barry disagreed. He wasn’t quite slurring, but there was a careful deliberation in his tone that told Len it was a near thing. He took a step closer and peered at Len, suspicion evident in those pale green eyes. “And… sober.”

“I’m not here to score. Perks include keeping my shirt on.”

For the briefest second, Barry looked almost disappointed. But it was gone in a blink, confusion taking over. He glanced down at himself, puzzled. Then his expression cleared, and he looked up with another easy-going smile. “I got hot.” His gaze dropped again, to Len this time, and he licked his lips. “Aren’t you… you gotta be hot in all that.”

Len was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and thin jacket, and it hadn’t hit eighty degrees all week. But he wasn’t in the mood to argue with drunk logic. And besides, another scan of the nearby revelers had made something unpleasant begin to scratch insistently at the inside of Len’s chest, and he tapped Barry under the chin with one knuckle to bring his attention back up.

The contact startled both of them—Len’s control had slipped, something he could not afford to happen around Barry Allen—but Len recovered first. “Where’s the rest of your team of do-gooders?”

“Lost ‘em.” Judging by the return of Barry’s crooked grin, it was an accomplishment, not a concern. “Cisco said the shot was too strong, but I didn’t wanna go. He’s the d…” He faltered, brows pulling together as he frowned. “S’the designed. Designinated, superhero, anyway. Shh!”

He shot a pointer finger toward Len in a movement that Len clocked, alarmingly, as intending to be pressed to his lips, as if he were the one who’d been chatting about Vibe’s secret identity. Len had three years of dealing with the Flash to thank for being able to catch Barry’s wrist in time to stop him, and he glared at him for the attempt.

But Barry only gave him a crinkle-eyed smile and twisted his hand in Len’s grip to clasp his wrist back. “S’so good to see you here. I didn’t think…”

“Don’t tell me you had me pegged for straight.”

Barry made a frankly insulting noise halfway between a scoff and a hiccup and tilted Len a condescending look.

“Speedster, remember?” he asked, far too loudly, even for a crowd currently screaming along to a pop song that’d been bad enough the first time Len’d heard it in 2000. “I see it when you...” He let go of Len’s wrist to make a gesture with two fingers, parting them in a V and sweeping them up and down Len’s body, the muscles in his forearm shifting distractingly under Len’s hand. God, the kid had to be a hundred degrees. “When you check me out. In the suit.”

Len smirked. “It’s cute you thought I was being subtle.”

“You’re cute,” Barry muttered, childish and sulky, and Len took it for the compliment it wasn’t.

“You had a point, Barry.”

Barry still looked displeased with him, but his brow was furrowed again when he met his gaze. This close, it was impossible to ignore that Barry had an inch or so on him. “About what?”

“You didn’t think…?” Len prompted him.

Barry stared at him blankly, and Len rolled his eyes and let go of his wrist.

“Get out of the sun, Barry,” he said. “Find a park bench. Wait for your little friends to come find you. Shouldn’t be hard—you’re as red as your suit.”

Barry either ignored his last comment or didn’t hear it. “Iris is here somewhere,” he said, possibly to himself. “She’s…” He twirled his finger absently beside his head. “Curly, today. And… bikini.”

Len strongly considered abandoning Barry to his sunburn to go find out for himself. But Barry was beginning to sway a bit, and a man closer to Len’s age than Barry’s was giving Barry’s toned back a speculative look from a few feet away, and Len gave in to the unsettled feeling gnawing at his ribcage. He refused to call it worry. It was annoyance—or, at the very least, the feeling was annoying him, which was close enough.

“As much a sight for sore eyes as that would be,” he said, allowing a magnanimousness he didn’t feel to color his tone, “I doubt Miss West ran away from her group and got heatstroke. Unlike some people”

Barry didn’t look the least bit chastened, lips curving up mischievously in a way that drew another couple interested looks. Len needed to get them both out of the crowd before he started breaking noses.

“Tell you what. Give Cisco a call, tell him you went home. My bike’s on Kingsbridge, away from the parade route.”

Barry’s smirk sharpened. “Trying to get me out of here, Snart? I thought you weren’t here to score.”

Len gave him a flat look, ignoring the decidedly interested way his body was reacting to Barry’s tone.

“You can barely stand.”

Barry’s eyes glittered at the challenge, and Len realized his mistake.

“Barry—”

He hadn’t even finished biting out the second syllable when the world spun out from under him, the noise and the heat and the press of the crowd swallowed up in a hair-raising charge of yellow lightning. Exactly two and a half seconds passed in a blur of movement, just long enough for Len to realize Barry was supporting the back of his head with one too-warm hand. Then the world came skidding to a stop around them. Barry’s momentum carried them both forward several feet even after their new surroundings materialized, and they very nearly went straight through a window again before Barry seemed to remember how to stop.

Len considered pushing him out the window anyway for the stunt. True, he’d been itching to get another taste of that feeling, the ozone snap-drag of Barry’s power like a live wire under his hands, but he’d rather have waited until Barry could pass a breathalizer.

He realized Barry still had an arm around him and shoved him off. It did nothing to dim Barry’s self-satisfied grin, and Len had to look away or risk giving into the interested once-over Barry was skimming over his body again.

“Pretty sure the point of a designated driver is not doing that.”

Barry followed him when he took a step back. Len made a calculated decision, decided the risk of touching Barry again was worth it, and pressed his fingers to the middle of Barry’s chest—right where the Flash insignia would be on his suit, his brain offered unhelpfully—and pushed him backwards, hard.

Barry unbalanced and wheeled back a step. Then the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he toppled, satisfyingly, back onto the dark leather cushions.

It was a nice couch. The whole apartment was nice, actually. Len could’ve drawn a perimeter of possible locations based on Barry’s speed and how long it had taken them to reach it if he hadn’t already known the address.

“Sit,” he said. And then, with a smirk: “Stay.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Gonna have to ask nicer than that if you wanna boss me around in bed.”

The way he threw it out there, easy as anything, almost made Len miss a step as he turned away. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on Barry, not when he was drunk on sunlight and skin and whatever concoction Cisco had apparently cooked up for him. But hearing him say it, like they’d already gotten all of the messy parts out of the way—it set off warning bells in Len’s head, flashing past all the possible off-ramps he would’ve taken if Barry had ever tried to have the conversation in a more linear fashion.

“You’re drunk,” Len said, which was a coward’s answer, and behind him, Barry made a vague noise of agreement.

“Probably,” he acknowledged. “You could stick around ‘til I’m not.”

Christ. Len didn’t trust himself to look at Barry again, not when he knew he’d find him sprawled out and shedding glitter all over what had looked like a very expensive couch. “Stay,” he repeated, and went off to find the kitchen.

By the time he got back with two glasses of water, the problem had solved itself; Barry was out cold on the couch, his painting cheek pressed to the throw pillow he’d curled himself half-around. He was shivering faintly in the air conditioning, all cooled sweat and goosebumps, and Len resigned himself to the now-familiar impulse to help him that stirred in his chest. He put one of the glasses down on the table and, not trusting his hands, knocked his knee into one of Barry’s where it was bent close to the edge of the couch.

Barry buried his face into the pillow with a noise of displeasure, and Len said his name again.

“Last warning,” Len said. “Ten seconds, you find out if I put on steel-toed boots today.”

Barry groaned, and if the sound hadn’t made Len’s pulse skip, the easy shift of muscles in Barry’s arm as he pushed himself up to sitting again would’ve done the trick.

“Water,” Len said, unnecessarily, as he passed him the glass.

Barry took it with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something personally offensive to him, and took a single, polite sip before putting it down beside the other with no small amount of distaste. Then he glanced between the glasses, and up at Len, a dirty spark already lighting behind his eyes again.

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re both for you.”

Barry let out a breath with audible annoyance and dropped back against the couch cushions to glare at him.

Len felt a modicum of sanity return to him. This, at least, was familiar ground: Barry, frustrated, asking for too much, too soon. True, it had always been about the hero business until now, but Len knew a pattern when he saw one. Give Barry an inch, and he always took a mile.

Len gave Barry one last, appraising look. He looked ridiculous, all self-righteousness and bare skin. There was only one break in the otherwise even coat of glitter, there on Barry’s side: faint, but unmistakable, the outline of Len’s hand on his waist. The feeling in Len’s chest coalesced into something pleased and possessive. He met Barry’s glare with a slow curl of his lips, then gave him an inch.

“Call me when you’re sober, Barry,” he said, letting his voice slip into the Cold drawl just to watch Barry’s eyes go dark. “And you can show me how well you sit up and beg.”

He could see the impatience radiating off of Barry’s frame, the effort it was taking him to stay on the couch instead of closing the space between them.

“Call your friends,” he reminded him. “Enough people got a look at your face today without the CCPD splashing it on every milk carton, too.”

In the elevator, Len reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thin black wallet he’d liberated from Barry during their sprint across the city. Two and a half seconds: child’s play. A little extra incentive for Barry to track him down in the morning, not that Len thought he needed it. He flipped it open, noted the deer-in-the-headlights picture of Barry on his driver’s license with amusement, and then thumbed open the bill compartment.

Len smirked. Barry wouldn’t miss a few dollars; he owed him for the dry-cleaning it was gonna take to get the glitter out of his jacket, anyway.

#coldflash #leonard snart #barry allen #the flash #my fics #is 10 pm on a tuesday peak posting time? no! is it when i finished this? yes!#also this is blatantly nyc pride sorry #write what you know etc

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justmypartner · 4 years ago

Text

Make it Work: Chapter 4

Summary: When offered a permanent position with the FBI, Hailey agrees to take it under one condition: Jay comes too. As their personal lives and work lives begin to change, the two partners find it increasingly difficult to navigate their complex relationship and manage their feelings for one another.

Writer’s Note: This is a monster of a chapter. I honestly could have split it into two separate chapters, but I felt like the flow of the story went better having it all be in one. If you watch FBI or have at least seen Hailey’s episode, there’s a familiar character in this chapter ;) as well as some newbies. Reach out if you would like to be added to the taglist for future chapters! As always, thank you for following my stories and for all of the kind words!

Tagging: @angelsjedi , @brookerz122493 , @cpdfan2014 , @the–carousel , @maya-asturias

Read on AO3 or below

Jay’s first night in the city wasn’t pleasant. Both he and Hailey hired moving services to ship their things from Chicago to New York prior to their move. Because of this, they spent their last few days in Chicago living out of duffle bags and travel toiletries in hotel rooms. The hope was that by the time they arrived in New York, unpacking was the only thing they’d have to worry about. However, when Jay walked into his apartment for the first time, only half of his things were waiting for him. He tried contacting the moving company, but being that it was so late, all he got was an automated message. Wherever the rest of his things were, his mattress, couch, and any sort of seating he had were all with it. This left him sleeping on the floor, using whatever he could find in the mess of boxes filling the apartment to build a makeshift bed. It was something he had done plenty of times before, especially while he was stationed overseas. However, as proven the next morning, his body just wasn’t cut out for it like it used to be. He was sore all over, making the rest of the day miserable.

The first thing he did was reach out to the moving company. He found out that of the two trucks that were carrying his things, one of them had gotten delayed somewhere in Pennsylvania. That particular truck just so happened to be the one carrying his mattress, bed frame, and couch. He figured in the meantime, he would unpack the things he had. However, he found it increasingly difficult to maneuver around due to the ache mainly centered around his back.

After a few hours of progress, he decided to take a break, leaning his back against the wall and sliding his body down until he was in a sitting position on the floor. He hadn’t had a chance to get groceries of any sort, so he was hungry and in desperate need for painkillers, but he couldn’t find it in himself to leave that spot on the floor, let alone his apartment. He threw his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as his face scrunched up from pain. He was about to pick up his phone and text Hailey when there was a knock at the door. He stood with a groan, holding at the lower part of his back as the motion sent a sting of pain up his body.

When he opened the door, Hailey was standing there with a 6 pack of beer and a cheerful smile on her face. The smile faded as she realized he was clenching his back in pain.

“What happened to you?” She asked, her brows furrowing as she looked him up and down.

“Nice to see you too,” he said, moving out of the way to let her in. She stepped inside, making her way to his kitchen counter to place the beers down.

“Yeah, hi or whatever… What happened to you?” She asked again, looking at him with a puzzled look.

“Stupid moving truck carrying the other half of my stuff got delayed, so I was left sleeping on the floor. I do not recommend that by the way,” he said, grabbing one of the beers and making his way to sit back on the floor.

“Why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve just spent the night with me,” she said. Her eyes immediately widened and Jay sent her a raised brow, a confused smile on his face as she said it. He noticed her turn red and he rubbed at his mouth and chin to conceal a smile escaping across his face.

“Ah I mean, you know you could have slept at my place on the couch,” she stammered over her words as she turned to look around his apartment, avoiding eye contact with him completely.

“It was like 3am. I didn’t want to bother you and I was too tired to even consider that. Thanks though,” he told her taking a swig of the beer. “Thanks for these too by the way,” he said, raising the beer in the air.

“Yeah of course. So when’s your stuff supposed to be here?” She questioned, playing with a small Chicago Bears figurine he had rested on a shelf.

“They said sometime this afternoon. Really hoping they’re right because I don’t think my body can take another night on the floor,” he told her, his eyes following her as she moved about the room.

“Yeah, you better watch it. Might not be able to get back up next time, old man,” she told him with a smirk, grabbing a beer from the counter and coming to sit crossed legged across from him on the floor. He wiped the condensation from his bottle and flung the water droplets at her, causing her to flinch.

“Hey!” She called out, guarding her face with her hands.

“Call me old again,” he challenged with a grin. She held her hands up in surrender and he retreated.

“So I like your place. How are you liking New York so far?” She asked him, placing one hand behind her and leaning back on it as she brought the bottle to her lips.

“Well considering I’ve only seen the inside of this apartment, I feel like I can’t answer that. How about you? How’s your apartment coming along?”

“Really good actually. Most of the major stuff has been arranged, now I just have to unpack all of the tedious things - dishes, silverware, knick knacks, all that,” she told him. He nodded as he adjusted his position against the wall. She sent him a concerned look when she saw him flinch and grasp at his back.

“Can I get you anything? We could stop by the store and get you some medicine then we could go back to my place. You could check it out, we could order some food, you could actually have a comfortable place to sit too,” she offered him.

“You had me at get you some medicine,” he beamed. She chuckled and stood, extending a hand towards him to help him up. Being that he was much heavier than her, she really had to pull to help him up. When he was finally on his feet, he was only inches away from her, their hands remaining together for longer than they should’ve. He could feel his heart picking up rhythm in his chest by her touch, so he quickly released his hand, bringing it to the back of his neck before chugging the rest of his beer and tossing it in the trash bin by the counter.

After picking up painkillers and dinner, the two made their way to Hailey’s apartment. Following Hailey into the apartment, Jay’s eyes studied the space, noting how accurately it represented her personality. It wasn’t completely put together yet. There were still boxes lying around sporadically across the floor, but for the most part it was simple and organized much like her. Hailey made her way to the living room where she set the food down on the coffee table before planting herself on the couch. Jay followed suit, falling onto the couch and letting himself sink into the cushions. Hailey popped open the bottle of aspirin they picked up at the store, offering him a bottle of water and 3 pills. As he took them, he realized how instinctively she was caring for him and how natural it felt to be in such a domestic setting with her. She pulled out his food, sitting it in front of him and snapping him out of his roaming thoughts.

“So, are you nervous about tomorrow?” She asked him, settling back into the couch as she took her fork out of the plastic wrapper. She was referring to it being their first day. Jay hadn’t confronted his feelings about it until that moment.

“I would tell you no, but we both know that would be a lie,” he admitted. She flashed him a knowing smile before continuing.

“What are you most worried about?”

“Nothing in particular, I just know it’s going to be a lot different than what I’m used to. Every fed I’ve ever worked with has been a pompous jackass, in it for the optics more than the actual people they’re trying to help. I know what we’ll be doing will be important, I guess my reservations come from a combination of not wanting to deal with that and not wanting to turn into that,” he told her, a solemn look overcoming his face. Her face formed into a frown and her stare fell to her plate as she seemed to silently think through her response.

“You know my first day, I walked into that building already carrying this sort of forced regard for the place. I had those same reservations you carry for the feds, but I respected what they did so I forced myself to walk into it all with a sort of blind respect. My first interaction with OA wasn’t so great. He made some backhanded comment and you know me, I don’t take stuff like that, so I threw it back at him. Made him realize I saw through what he was really trying to say. The more time I was there, I realized that even though they don’t all go about it the best way, everyone is there to do their part and take the bad guys off the street. While that type of mentality you described certainly exists among many of the people we’ll work with, I think the perspective we can bring will have a similar impact as what went down with OA that day. We put ‘em in check and they sort the rest out themselves. You’re a good cop, and that’s just what these units need. So whatever fears you have, I wouldn’t spend too much time dwelling on them because you’re going to be great,” she told him, smiling briefly before immediately diving back into her food.

Her words reassured him. He still felt some apprehension about the next day, but she leveled him enough to instill a bout of confidence he hadn’t previously carried. After finishing their dinner, Jay relished in the comfort of the couch and the relief brought on by the painkillers. Hailey had put a tv show on in the background, but Jay was watching it absentmindedly. He noticed his eyes get heavier and heavier, and when exhaustion eventually caught up to him, he fell asleep. He was woken up with a light shake from Hailey. His eyes blinked open and he took in the sight of her slightly hovered over him.

“Hi,” she said as he fully opened his eyes and pushed himself into a straighter sitting position.

“How long have I been out?” He asked her, rubbing at his eyes and stirring about in a blanket he didn’t remember having before. He realized Hailey must have put it on him while he was sleeping and he stifled a smile as he awaited her answer.

“About an hour. Your phone was ringing and I picked it up. I hope you don’t mind,” she told him, holding the phone out to him. He took it from her, squinting his eyes at the brightness of the screen.

“No, it’s fine. Who was it?” He asked, looking at a number he didn’t recognize and looking back at her for her response.

“It was the movers, they said they’re coming in about an hour,” she told him, standing to clear their empty take out containers from the table. He looked down at the time and threw the blanket off his body gently before folding it into a more manageable size. He then picked up what was left on the table and brought it into the kitchen to help her clean up.

“I guess I better get going,” he told her, looking for his coat.

“Okay, yeah. Here’s the painkillers. You may need them again later,” she told him, handing him the bottle from before.

“Thanks for taking care of me today,” he told her, tilting his head slightly as he sent her a warm smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” she shook her head with a grin. “See you tomorrow?”

“You know it,” he told her, opening the door to leave. Just as she went to close it behind him, he pushed it back open slightly. “Also, thank you for what you said earlier. It helped a lot.”

She returned his words with a slight nod before he turned to make his way to the elevator. The rest of the night he felt like there was an oddly natural shift in their relationship. The way she cared for him and reassured him seemed so much more than their usual platonic dynamic. It was like they crossed some sort of line without making a thing of it, and it made his heart rush just thinking about it. Though, he decided to not think about it. Instead, he tried to focus on the change they were set to endure that next day.

- - - -

Jay woke the next morning in the comfort and familiarity of his bed. The night before, the movers brought the last of his things into his place, and he felt relieved to not have to sleep on the floor once again. After taking a shower, he stood in his bedroom in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers, staring down at the suit he had laid out for the day. It was a tangible symbol of his new life, and it made him nervous. He only ever had to wear a suit for two things: funerals and court, and those never came with good memories. He finally psyched himself up enough to put it on, looking in the mirror as he adjusted the tie around his neck. He took a breath, briefly staring back at his own reflection in the mirror before moving to his bedroom and pulling his gun from a safe in the closet. He secured it in the holster on his belt before pulling on his jacket, buttoning the top two buttons to conceal it from view.

He met Hailey outside of the building. They first had to get their photos taken for their identification and badges before making their way up to the new unit. He immediately recognized how nice everything was, even just the equipment they used to make their IDs was far more advanced than anything he’d ever seen. As soon as they handed the badge to him and he placed it on his hip, everything settled in. This was his new life. His new job. The nerves kicked in as they made their way up to their floor. He fidgeted in the elevator, pulling at the sleeves of his coat and adjusting his tie every few seconds. Hailey clocked his jumpiness from the corner of her eye.

“Dude, you need to relax,” she told him with a chuckle, placing a hand briefly on his shoulder.

“I know, I know,” he all but whispered.

He was feeling very out of his element. First days can be nerve wrecking in general, but this seemed new and unfamiliar to him. His transition from Organized Crime to Intelligence felt natural. There was a comfort about the ruggedness of Intelligence that put him at ease on his first day; it made him feel like he fit in. This though? Suits, million dollar tech, fancy buildings, it all seemed so far out of his league and he was having trouble calming his nerves.

There was a brief silence before he blurted out, “I just really hate suits,” he admitted, putting his energy into the discomfort he was feeling about the attire.

“Eh, I do too, but you get used to it. Just, relax though. You’re going to be great, they’re going to be great. It’ll be fine… You look great by the way,” she reassured him with her dimpled grin. He flashed an unconvincing smile at her and took a deep breath just as the elevator doors opened.

Organized chaos is how he would have described the room before him. Everyone in the room was busily distracted by something. It seemed to be a meticulous operation, but it was a much larger scale than what he was used to in Intelligence.

“Hailey Upton!” An excited voice called out as they exited the elevator.

“OA? The hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be a few floors down?” She asked as Jay watched a stranger grab her in a hug. He was tall, so tall in fact that he made Hailey look miniature.

“Yeah, I heard you started today so I thought I’d come say hello,” he said as his eyes met Jay’s over Hailey’s shoulder. As they pulled away from the embrace, Hailey turned to gesture towards an awkward smiling Jay.

“OA, I’d like to introduce you to my partner, Jay.”

“So you’re the illustrious Jay. Hailey told me a lot about you, specifically that you were a Ranger. I was a Captain, two tours in Iraq,” OA said, reaching a hand out to shake Jay’s.

“No way, I did two in Afghanistan. 75th Regiment, 3rd Battalion,” he said, shaking his hand back firmly. “Hailey told me a lot about you as well by the way. Thanks for looking out for her all those weeks,” he continued.

“Yeah, well I think you got it backwards, it was her who was looking out for me,” he said sending a smile Hailey’s way.

“Yeah, he’s alright… for a fed,” she said with a shrug and a mischievous grin.

“What do you mean? You know you’re a fed now too, right?” he laughed back.

“Shhh don’t tell anyone,” she replied jokingly.

“Secret’s safe with me, but I have a feeling they’ll find out eventually,” he said waving a finger at the busy room around them. “Anyway, it was good seeing you Chicago, but I gotta head back to JOC. Catch ya later?” OA said backing away towards the elevator.

“Yeah, for sure,” she responded.

“Hey man, nice meeting you!” Jay called out.

“Yeah, you too!” OA replied as he climbed into the elevator.

Jay felt more at ease by the interaction. Seeing how comfortable Hailey was in this environment and how well she got on with OA lowered his nerves a bit. He figured if everyone with the bureau was like him, adjusting may be easier than he thought. He followed Hailey as she made her way over to a group of people gathered by a large screen. When they were close enough, Hailey cleared her throat catching the attention of them all, heads spinning around to look at the two of them.

“Detective�� or should I say Special Agent Upton, great to see you again. Welcome,” one of them said, extending a hand out to shake hers.

“Agent Reynolds, likewise. This is Jay Halstead,” she said with a nod towards Jay.

“Jay Halstead, it’s nice to officially meet you, I’m Drake Reynolds, Assistant Special Agent in Charge. Welcome to the FBI,” he said, reaching his hand out to meet Jay’s. “Everyone on the team just calls me Drake by the way,” he said, darting his eyes back to Hailey to correct her.

“Nice to meet you as well, sir,” Jay replied.

“Right. Now, normally we’d do a more official welcome, you know get to meet everyone and everything, but we just had a really urgent case come in so I’m going to have you two jump right in if that’s okay,” Drake told them. They nodded as he made his way to the front of the room to get everyone’s attention.

“Okay, everyone we caught a live one this morning. Subject is Eli Sarkova, Latvian national who has been on many federal agencies’ radars for a while now. Sarkova is said to run one of the major trafficking rings out of Eastern Europe with strong ties right here in New York. NYPD picked up one of his connections, Andris Ozola, last night. They called us and now he is sitting in our interrogation room where one of our agents was able to pull out intel that Sarkova is right here in Manhattan for the first time in months. Ozola didn’t have a direct location, but we do know where his driver is expected to be at 11 am today, so we’re sending a team to go pick him up. Driver’s name is Edgars Berlina, white male, 6’2”, 185 pounds, bald, with ironically, a tattoo of angel wings on his neck. Berlina and any crew he’s with are most definitely going to be armed and dangerous. Memorize his picture, he’s going to be in a public area so we need to play this one right,” Drake said as he addressed the whole room.

“Bennett and Burrows, I want you two riding with Halstead and Upton today. Show them the ropes and answer any questions they may have about the field,” he told two agents to his right. They nodded in agreement, flashing warm smiles to the partners before Drake left the four of them standing there.

“Agent Daisy Bennett,” the female agent said extending her hand out to each of them. “And this is Walker Burrows,” she said, gesturing to the male agent by her side. Jay picked up on a lingering look Agent Burrows gave Hailey as he shook her hand. He frowned at this slightly as Hailey introduced herself.

“Hailey Upton, good to meet you both.”

“Jay Halstead,” he said shortly, continuing a stern stare at the man in front of him whose gaze continued to remain on Hailey.

“Follow us to the garage. The gear is already in the car, so we can get suited up out there,” Daisy said, turning to walk down the hall to the elevators.

“So you’re both from Chicago. Detectives, right?” Walker questioned, pressing the button for the garage.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Jay replied, carrying his gaze straight ahead of him. “I gotta say, it’s already a culture shock. I’m not used to having intel handed to us like this. Usually we’re digging for this stuff ourselves,” Jay admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I’m sure as hell glad we don’t have to worry about that. We get to do the actual important stuff like actually taking down the targets,” Walker replied. Jay shot Hailey a cross look, one that she returned, but he decided to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to challenge the man already in the first 5 minutes of meeting him. Maybe it was because he was used to doing the intel work himself, but Jay saw the value in all of it. Hearing the man so easily disregard other positions in the unit already didn’t sit right with him, but he shook it off for the sake of starting off on the right foot.

When they arrived at the car, Daisy opened the tailgate, pulling out 2 containers of gear.

“I’m not sure how you guys rolled in Chicago, but we have these in-ear coms. They’re fully open channels so you can communicate with any and all of us at all times. Mic button falls near your collar, so keep that in mind,” she said, handing them each ear pieces to put in their ears. “Bureau issued vests. Level IIIA body armor. It’s supposed to protect you even up to point blank range, but will leave a pretty nasty bruise,” she told them as she handed them each a vest. As they took their jackets off to put them on, Hailey looked over at Jay with a cheeky grin.

“Just because it’s good armor, doesn’t mean you need to go testing it out, okay?” She joked as she pulled it over her head, securing the velcro straps on the sides.

“Ha Ha,” he mocked back at her.

“Get shot a lot do you?” Daisy asked as she pulled her hair up in a ponytail.

“Bullet magnet, this man,” Hailey joked, eliciting a laugh from each of them.

Walker drove them to the target location, Daisy riding in the front and Hailey and Jay in the back. Jay didn’t like not being in the front, in control of the car, but he went with it, recognizing it as a temporary thing until they got settled in. When they rolled up, they exited the car, concealing their badges, vests, and weapons as to not be identified as law enforcement before they could get eyes on the target.

“Looks like there’s two entrances to the park. I say you guys take the north end and we’ll take the south. If he’s anywhere-“ Jay began, taking point on tactics as he was so used to doing in Intelligence, but Daisy cut him off.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but you guys are supposed to be following our lead today. I think each of us need to be partnered with you both. So, Walker you go with Hailey to the south end. Jay, you and I will take the north,” she instructed. It made Jay slightly uneasy to be split from Hailey, but he went along with it, acknowledging his unfamiliar role that came from being the new guy. Hailey sent him a reassuring look, silently communicating that everything would be fine. He nodded before they all departed ways.

“Dean, Fisher, your teams in place?” Daisy asked the other team leaders through the coms.

They each confirmed as Jay walked side by side with her down the path in the park. They settled on a bench, giving them a view of the center and north entrance of the park.

“We’re in place, all clear on the north end,” Jay said into the coms, his eyes surveying his surroundings as he put an arm on the back of the bench.

They sat in the park for a while. Eventually, one of the other agents saw the target pull up. They were able to bring him in without any problems. He was alone when they brought him in, which they all found odd. He was also very silent throughout every interaction, something they took as years of keeping his mouth shut with his boss. When they got him in the interrogation room, Drake sent Jay and Hailey in together to get a read on their capabilities. While Hailey pulled the “we’re here to help you, but only if you talk” method, Jay took a more silent approach. He remained in the seat staring at the man as Hailey paced the floor of the interrogation room trying to convince him to talk. After 20 minutes of silence, Hailey sat down next to Jay, looking down at the table, her arms crossed as the man kept a cold stare at her.

“Tell me Berlina, why’d Sarkova send you into that park alone this morning?” Jay finally asked, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on the table. The man said nothing, shifting his stare from Hailey to Jay.

“I mean, you’re just his driver after all. Anybody can drive a car, you’re pretty replaceable. But still, you’d think years of working for the man would earn you something, right? Some sort of protection,” Still the man remained silent. Jay shrugged before continuing on. “I don’t know. He’s probably already got you replaced anyway. We found out some pretty interesting things about you from Interpol. A couple of outstanding warrants in Latvia… even a few in Estonia. You get around, don’t you? Anyway, your plane leaves this afternoon. Hopefully that gives you enough time to get out of here before Sarkova has a chance to tie up loose ends,” Jay finished, rising in his chair to exit the room. Hailey followed, and just as they were about to exit, the man called them back.

He ended up giving them the location of a brownstone in a wealthier neighborhood. They set out with the FBI tactical team, expecting heavy arms and numerous bodyguards according to what Berlina gave them. They had planned to infiltrate late in the night to provide themselves with an extra element of surprise. This was the one part of the job that Jay felt sure about. As he geared up, he felt pumped up for the first time that day. Knowing that his interrogation gave them the location added a little motivation as well. Still partnered with Daisy, she and Jay followed after the two tact team guys upon breaching the front door. Walker and Hailey were behind them, making their way to the other side of the house upon entry. One of the tact team guys came in contact with an offender first, convincing him to stand down and taking his weapon before cuffing him. Jay and Daisy continued into the house, sweeping each room one by one. They came into contact with a second offender, and they were able to convince him to stand down as well. Next thing they knew, there was a ruckus on the other side of the house, so they swiftly picked up their pace, making their way in that direction. There was a gunshot and panic overcame Jay as he realized it was in the part of the house Hailey was clearing.

“Hailey!” He called out. No response. He called her name once more before entering a large room. He caught sight of her blonde hair on the ground. His heart dropped, but she turned over as he got closer, clutching at her jaw. Walker was behind her, standing over Sarkova who was face down on the ground.

“Hailey! What the hell happened, are you okay?” Jay questioned, making his way over to her and instinctively grabbing at her chin to get a better look at the red mark on her jaw.

“Guy was hiding behind the door when I walked in. He tried to grab at my gun and forced me to fire a round into the wall. He also got me nice in the jaw before I could react,” she told him, stretching her jaw. Jay offered her a hand and she grabbed it to come to a standing position.

“She took the hell out of him though. Girl’s a badass,” Walker said, bringing Sarkova to his feet and guiding him to a tact guy by the door.

“Yeah, where the hell were you? Huh?” Jay asked, a slight snarky tone in his voice.

“Hey man, I was right behind her. I had her back,” Walker said back, closing the distance between him and Jay. Jay didn’t take well to people getting in his face. Hailey noticed this and stood between them, lightly pushing them apart.

“Woah, okay boys. We’re all good here,” she said, her eyes looking between the two of them.

Jay backed off, looking down at her with a worried look.

“Are you okay?” he asked her quietly, dropping his voice to a sincere tone.

“I’m good,” she nodded, patting him slightly on the chest.

“I should’ve had your back,” he said, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Jay, I’m fine. Relax, would you?” she told him, a slight frustration in her voice.

Jay didn’t like that she had gotten hurt and he wasn’t there to protect her. It wasn’t that she was hurt badly, but he didn’t like the idea of someone else, basically a stranger, being the one to watch her back in such a high risk situation. His opinion of Walker wasn’t all that great after his comment that morning, and it certainly wasn’t improving now that she had gotten hurt under his watch. One thing he was sure of was that he was glad their separation was only a temporary thing.

#upstead #jay x hailey #hailey x jay #jay halstead #hailey upton #chicago pd #upstead fic

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emersonfreepress · 4 years ago

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ok ok in the spirit of community, how would the ros fair in a paintball war?

(referring to this ask! like the zombie au post this ended up making me think a lot 😅)

ohh... interesting, interesting... p sure the only paintball wars i’ve really seen were the ones featured in The League, Peep Show, and Community... but let me wrack my lil head...

ok, i ended up coming at this from multiple angles like the zombie au post 😅 always so much to consider in battle environments! and in the spirit of community, I'll stick with the individual player elimination style paintball match. in the woods with other e prep seniors. last one standing wins bragging rights

Gabe

Shooting skill | 6/10 - Experience with shooting and practice with Kile ofc

Stealthiness | 8/10 - He's done a fair amount of sneaking around during his after school activities, is super observant (or just paranoid lol), and naturally light on his feet. Good luck ambushing him.

Strategy | 8/10 - Strike deals. Do favors. Form alliances. Shoot 'em in the back once they’ve outlived their usefulness. ...What? It’s just paintball.

How does he win? | Graciously. Gabe likes winning, and especially via strategic manipulation, so it puts a smile on his face. And he's in a good mood so he treats a bunch of you to ice cream or smth 👀

How does he lose? | Slumps in frustration at being outwitted or taken off-guard, sulks about it for a little while. He's not that sore of a loser but needs time to lick his wounds and stop thinking of the different choices he could have made.

Kile

Shooting | 9 - The most accurate shooter of the cast and easily one of the best shots at E Prep. Lots of practice + talent

Stealth | 10 - They're stupid good at climbing trees and 100% consider that a valid method of ambushing their classmates. People start having flashbacks to 3rd and 4th grade recess and P.E. Scanning the trees. They just start taking people out with such efficiency it quickly starts ruining the game 😂

Strategy | 0? 10?? - “...Strategy? You just stay out of sight and kill 'em all, right?” (immediately scolded by Gabe for word choice 🙄) They really do mainly stay out of sight and pick people off with max stealth, like 😆 they'd be such a terror, people would need to take them out early for anyone else to stand a chance! They spend a lot of the game staking out the most frequented paths in the area and taking out groups quickly, all at once. Then they'll get around to stalking and picking people off one by one. The real fun...

Winner type | Stoic. Likes winning combat but the stakes were non-existent, so... the win is meaningless! this just infuriates the losers more 😅 such disrespect

Loser type | Sucks their teeth and tosses their paintball gun to the ground. "Y'all suck." (they're over it five mins later tho lol)

Jack

Shooting | 3 - This is nothing like shooting light guns... ☹️

Stealth | 5 - Not just due to his size making him an easier target, but homeboy is liable to get distracted by a cute squirrel or some pretty flowers 😂 He's not great at keeping his voice down either so good conversation would make him easy to seek out. He's just out here enjoying a beautiful day 😅

Strategy | 7 - All that movie-watching (and DMing) make him a valuable creative mind for problem-solving, but he needs a cooperative team to be effective. Rescued and recruited by Rupan/Rohan early on in the game ^ ^

Winner type | Disbelief! And everyone’s content and satisfied with him winning. Except Vivian/Vincent, that jealous fool

Loser type | Doesn't mind losing at all! He just hopes he was a good teammate and was glad to have fun ☺️

Jessie

Shooting | 7 - Comes from a family of hunters, girly knows how to shoot.

Stealth | 6 - Familiar enough with woods and stalking prey to be capable of sneaking around. Having too much fun to not giggle and get overly invested in the developing plot of the game. Even more easily distracted by critters and flora than Jack 😅

Strategy | 5 - Oh, she's just here to have fun. She'll go with whatever the person she's teaming up with decides, but can adapt easily enough.

Winner type | Surprised... then elated! Bouncing and happy and it's completely contagious. No hard feelings about a single thing. Convinces Heidi to invite people to the Emerson Estate—it's a hot day and they have a nice pool

Loser type | Same as Jack! Congratulates the winner with a hug because she's sweet like that 🧁

Rain

Shooting | 2 - This... thing is so cumbersome. And ugly. At least it shoots pretty colors.

Stealth | 7 - Small and used to sneaking around different environments and seeking out hiding spots. Their height and frame makes them harder to spot too.

Strategy | 4 - Hide!!! They’re not getting assaulted with paint and pellets!! Especially not after managing to make this ugly jumpsuit look cute?? Waiting it out is perfectly legitimate. Might share snacks if you decide to join them in hiding 😆

Winner type | Falls asleep in an unexpectedly cozy hiding spot and emerges as everyone thought they’d declared the winner. I imagine R and others yelling at them to get their gun while the original winner scrambles to get theirs, just for Rain to win by pure luck of the draw. Won’t stop them bragging about it, though! (I want this spurned runner-up to be Vi bc ofc)

Loser type | "So I can stop holding this thing?" Yawn. "I'm so hungry and bored, we've been at this for hours..."

Rupan/Rohan

Shooting | 4 - Ah, shit. These don't shoot anything like light guns.

Stealth | 7 - They sneak out and around town a lot 😂 They just force themself to be careful about how loud grass and bushes are.

Strategy | 7 - They’re treating this shit like an action movie and banding together a ragtag team of misfits to take down the strongest alliances and players. Savvy enough to reject Gabe’s and Curt’s offers to join, not opposed to strategic backstabs. They're very clearly just as focused on having fun as they are on winning—and playing Predator, which honestly works with Kile runnin around. They even brought war paint and borrowed a tactical vest. Is it mostly packed with snacks and weed? Maybe. Does it prove useful for negotiations? Hell yeah.

Winner type | Raucous celebration, just pure joy and adrenaline ☺️ Celebrates with their team, brags a bit, rubs it into Vi's face, makes fun of Curt, the usual. Then invites allies out to get pizza because it's the obvious next step

Loser type | Mostly disappointed they can't keep playing. They're a little sore about being left out of the action, but soon just start chatting with other marked players about how the game went for them. Plenty entertaining on its own, they want all the details

Vivian/Vincent

Shooting | 5 - They've got a little bit of shooting experience.

Stealth | 4 - They're overly sensitive and hate being in nature. Their skin is sticky, they keep feeling bugs everywhere, they've gotten dirt all over their pants, it's so hot, they keep WALKING into SPIDERWEBS, [flails about, screaming furiously]

Strategy | 8 - They have good ideas, they're just difficult to execute alone, especially since they're getting sunburnt and getting crankier and can't stop swatting at insects 😅 they're one of the first people to figure out that someone's taking out groups from the trees, so they stay solo and try to find a single person to team up with. Really what they need is someone who's a better shot but easy to boss around. They can probably just owe them for an in-school favor...

Winner type | Barely suppressed gloating. Vi somehow finds a way to be an obnoxious winner almost entirely by the look on their face. Once they're in a smaller group, they're passionately discussing the details of the game and happily boasting about their triumphs (while glossing over all of the whining and and slip-ups lol)

Loser type | Booo, such a sore loser. (Especially in the scenario where Rain wins 🤣) If they're outsmarted or outgunned in a clear, transparent way they'll growl and stomp off, then quietly glower and sulk for way too long. If they're double-crossed or beaten in an underhanded way oh lord —they're fighting it to the end. R can't help but get involved either way, reminding them it was a damn game with literally no prize. "C'mon, Vi, chill. You want ice cream? Let's get you ice cream."

Heidi

Shooting | 6 - Some shooting experience.

Stealth | 8 - She's very aware of her surroundings and her body. Perceptive yet quiet. Tactical. All residual traits picked up from her many activities over the years.

Strategy | 9 - Most likely to outsmart everyone. The first one to figure out groups are being targeted from the trees. Goes it alone and only open to trading (unless she sees Curt with Jess in which case she puts a quick pin in her plans to rescue her 😂). She also immediately figures out it's Kile, because ofc it is. Keeps close tabs on what groups are doing, knowing that eventually Kile will come down to ground level to pick off individuals and couples. Predator becomes prey 👀

Winner type | Proud but not boasting. She doesn't need to be. Victory looks good on her, natural and fitting. Thanks everyone for a good game then takes the girls for a long ride in the Cadillac 😎 top down on a bright day, baby

Loser type | Damn. She should have won this. Maybe if she'd... She probably could have... Then she snaps out of it, roped in by the celebratory mood of congratulating the winner. She's over any feelings of frustration or regret after getting to discuss the match with the person that took her out/the winner and there's no hard feelings. If anything this was fun as hell, it should be an annual thing. ☺️

Curt

Shooting | 8 - Some shooting experience and a natural knack for it. Good reflexes.

Stealth | 8 - Curt likes to say he gets along with the woods around these parts. Sneaking around is second nature to him. Really good hearing too. He's an easy target if you manage to seduce him though, having no issue leaving himself vulnerable if it means that kind of fun 😂

Strategy | 7 - Honestly, he's most interested in seeing how long he can get away with using charm and seduction for both protection and double-crossing 😂 Eventually becomes persona non grata and gets all of his ammo stolen by a vengeful mark, barely getting away in the process. Since that jig is up, he finally starts thinking a win might be nice... and so he teams up with the only competent player who would never betray him and also inspires the least vitriol in others: Jessie. What? Is his back-up plan using her as a human shield? No! 😚 Of course not! 👉👈

Winner type | Insufferable and gloating. Rubs it in a lot of people's faces, specifically Heidi, Rupan/Rohan, and any participants who genuinely don't like him. Brags to Gabe (who is completely disinterested in gassing him up 😂), then promises he'll make things up to Jessie (who didn't mind and had fun lol). Then celebrates by asking whoever he's flirting with these days for a quick date—and a ride in the Ferrari. Makes a scene pulling out of the parking lot. Ass.

Loser type | Doesn't care one bit as long as he had fun! And he always finds a way to have fun, it's why he's so carefree 😅

#lovely anon #answered #ROs #scenarios #someone pls confirm that kile is using paint pellets thx #I can totally see myself writing this out as a an actual short story 😂#maybe as a kofi reward whenever I get that set up 🤞🏾#I don't think any of these are incomplete...

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

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I love your writing so much! If requests are still open could you do a yandere Kirishima and Kaminari sharing a darling, please? Maybe they come home to their darling who’s managed to escape into the backyard and just sits there knowing they’ll be punished

I don’t usually pair these two up, but it’s to work with characters a little softer than my usual preferences. That doesn’t mean I’m going to go easier on their Darling, though, at least not in this one-shot.

Title: Bloodless Victory.

TW: Mentions of Physical Abuse, Delusional Mindsets, and Stolkholm Syndrome.

Like all of the injuries your captors inflicted, this one felt worse than it looked.

You shouldn’t be surprised, honestly. Kirishima and Kaminari liked plenty of things about you, but neither was fond of blood and gristle and all the dirty, gristly messes their affection left behind when they were done with you. Kirishima would leave bruises, pressing his fingertips into your hips until your flesh was tender and soft underneath his hands, but he never broke the skin, he never did anything that would interrupt his fantasy of being your oh-so-benevolent caretaker. Kaminari didn’t pretend to be so altruistic, but he wasn’t any better when he pulled you into his lap and shots bolts of white, burning electricity into you until you were little more than a barely-conscious pile of muscle and bone draped on top of him, too tired and too sore to do anything but lie there and try not to notice when his hands began to wander. It hurt, but a few bruises and a patch of raw, reddened skin hardly looked like violence. They didn’t have to acknowledge it, not if they didn’t want to.

A traitorous, treacherous part of you wondered if they’d be kind enough to forget this, too, if they’d overlook the throbbing, icy pain of your submission and just be glad that you had surrendered, eventually. Immediately, you bit the side of your tongue and cursed yourself for daring to indulge the thought at all.

You curled into yourself, bringing your knees to your chest and letting your focus drift towards a new spot on the plain cement wall. Despite the lavishness of their apartment building, this room was barren, empty, little more than a conference table and a few plastic chairs, one of which you were currently tucked into. It was meant for staff, not the wealthy tenants they catered to, the same staff who’d herded you into your new prison when you emerged from the maintenance elevator, dazed and confused with rope-burns still visible on your wrists. You should’ve guessed that they’d been warned about the ‘vulnerable person’ living in their pent-house, and you should’ve known they’d believe the two Pro-Heroes with concerned smiles and enough spare income to rent out half the apartments in their building indefinitely. You only had yourself to blame for thinking otherwise.

In hindsight, you were forced to realize that, if you’d pushed, they probably would’ve called the police. If you cried and told them about the deadbolts and the chains and the abuse, they would’ve listened, done something to help you, gotten you away from your ‘boyfriends’ and taken you somewhere safe. They would’ve doubted you, sure, but you could’ve begged, screamed, explained. You could’ve said something. Anything would’ve been better than what you actually did - blinking and averting your eyes and nodding along until you were left alone to wallow in your own self-pity. If anything, you’d only reassured them that you were unstable, that you needed to be isolated and cared for.

So enveloped in your own thoughts, you almost didn’t notice when Kaminari came in, still dressed in his monochromatic get-up with a small, worried frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. His presence was unignorable, though, and as soon as you thought to lift your head, his arms were around you, pulling you to his chest before pushing you back, holding you out in front of him as he searched for cuts, scratches, evidence that something or someone else had come after you. He never really believed you didn’t want to be with him, he couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to. “Are you hurt?” He asked, hastily, speaking too quickly for you to answer. “Did something happen? You look like hell - you didn’t cause any trouble, did you? Oh, fuck, how did you get down here?”

You opened your mouth, ready to either soothe his nerves or lie through your teeth, but Kaminari was already being pulled away, hauled back by the collar. “Space, Denki, give ‘em space,” Kirishima said, only letting go of his companion when Kaminari huffed and crossed his arms, grudgingly submitting to Kirishima’s demands. His gaze never left you, though, hardened and strict, standing in harsh contradiction to Kaminari’s unveiled concern. Completely unconnected with the taut, gentle smile he was so adamant on wearing. “Hey there, sweetheart,” He greeted, his tone smooth and even, as if you’d crack and shatter the moment he dared to raise his voice. “You alright?”

This time, you bit the inside of your cheek. Your tongue was starting to hurt. “No.”

They both stiffened, but neither did anything, only exchanging a wordless glance before shifting forward. They barely moved, hardly even taking a full step, but instantly, you were cornered, caged in place by two bodies you could never hope to overpower in a fair fight. Kirishima was the one to break the silence, placing a hand on your shoulder as he spoke. Whether it was in sympathy or in warning, you couldn’t be sure. “Can I ask why, (Y/n)?”

“I don’t know,” You started, glaring at the tiled floor at their feet. “Maybe because I was kidnapped, held captive and tortured by people who said they loved me, and after all that, they still don’t know why I might be upset. Because I can’t get away from them, I can’t even get outside, and whenever I try to, they hover over me and ask ‘what’s wrong’ and ‘are you alright’ until I cry or scream or pass out and believe it or not, none of those things are a whole lot of fun for me.” You paused, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You’d have time to be angry later on. Right now, you just wanted to get out of this goddamn room. “Or, it might be because I can’t even make myself escape. I don’t even know if I want to, anymore, and I’m beginning to hate myself for it.”

Neither made a sound. Kirishima’s grip tightened around you, Kaminari swallowed, but neither of them spoke. You almost wished they’d interrupt you.

“I’m broken,” You admitted, weakly. “I’m don’t have any money, I don’t know what you did with any of my IDs, and everyone I know thinks I’m in the perfect relationship with two great, amazing guys. I don’t have anywhere to go, and I don’t even know if I can make myself leave. I just... I want to go home, now.”

Again, a second passed in silence. You were beginning to think you’d have to repeat yourself when Kamilari broke into a wide, unforgiving smile.

Then, he laughed.

You were hauled off your seat in the blink of an eye, scooped into his arms and drawn against him, his face quickly buried in the crook of your neck and his remaining laughter soon muffled by your skin. Kirishima tensed, but he didn’t cut in, letting Kaminari have his fun, letting you suffer. As glad for the former as he was complacent in the latter. “Hear that?” He called, addressing his companion despite Kirishima not being the one pressed against him. “They love us, Eijiro. They want to stay! I was starting to think our baby would never come around, but you were right!” He sighed, straightening his back and pushing a light, hasty kiss into your forehead. “We’re going to be a big, happy family, just like you said. We can finally be happy.”

Kirishima didn’t laugh, but he grinned, a gesture that was almost worse when combined with how easily he slotted himself against your back, how guiltlessly he added himself to Kaminari’s bliss. His lips brushed against the nape of your neck, and he chose to let them linger. To ignore your attempts to lean away. “Things’ll be easier, now. You won’t have to struggle, and we won’t have to get rough,” He muttered, nuzzling against you. “This is good. You might not think so, but trust me, it’s a change for the better.”

You could’ve fought, clawed and bit and struggled until they dropped you and let you stand on your own, but your limbs felt heavy, your form dragged down and mercilessly weightless, at the same time. You were tired, and you were hungry, and…

And it wasn’t like you had anything to fight for, anyway.

You’d already given up your chance to run.

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masterjedilenawrites · 4 years ago

Text

Blueberries and Cowboys: Chapter 1

A choose-your-own-adventure style fic. First, 2 platonic chapters for set-up/build-up. And then, the story will split into 2 paths depending on your romantic pairing preference: You and Thrawn, or You and Eli.

Set Up: You are an outcast at the Imperial Academy, which means your only options for friends are the tall and stoic Chiss Mitth'raw'nuruodo and his translator from Wild Space Eli Vanto. The three of you get along, for the most part... Thrawn is obsessed with acing all the exams, Eli is desperate to show up his classmates, and you... well, you just want to feel like you belong somewhere. And hiding beneath it all are your unspoken feelings, longing to be realized, but fearful of ruining the balance of your trio's friendship....

Chapter Masterlist

Chapter 1: The Problem

Pairing: None yet, just a nice friendship trio

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of bullying

Length: 2k

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

You wound down the hallways of the building with a scowl on your face. You would never grow used to this ridiculously long walk, from your first class of the day to the next, so conveniently located on complete opposite sides of the facility. Whoever had designed your schedule this year was either an utter imbecile or had done so on purpose, just to tick you off. At this point in your education here at the Imperial Academy, you knew either scenario was equally likely. You weren't exactly liked by the staff or your peers, and there were plenty of idiots to go around.

The one saving grace of your journey was that you would eventually cross paths with the only two friends you had managed to make in this elitist hell-hole: Eli Vanto and Mitth'raw'nuruodo.

Eli would be the first, his class letting out just a few corridors away from yours. He was leaning against an alcove in the wall just out of the way of passing traffic, his usual spot. When you rounded the corner, he pushed off and fell into step beside you.

"What happened?" you asked, having noticed he was scowling as well. His resting face usually made him look like a sad puppy, so for him to have such a prominent frown this early in the morning, something really upsetting must have happened.

"Lost the debate," he grumbled.

Ah, you'd forgotten he had that today. You and Thrawn had helped him practice for weeks, covering every possible argument and rebuttal from his opponent on the assigned topic. He had it in the bag, or so you'd all thought.

"What? How? Don't tell me you got stage-fright."

He glared over at you. "No, I wasn't nervous or anything. I did everything perfect. But all Arden had to do was throw in a few snide remarks about my accent and that got the whole class turned in his favor."

Eli started biting down on one of his nails in frustration. You frowned along with him. That was a variable none of you had accounted for while practicing.

"Is Arden the pimply-faced guy?"

"Yeah."

"Hate him," you muttered.

"Yeah."

The two of you paused at the doors of a lift, waiting for the previous occupants to exit before filing in yourselves and punching the button for the next level up. Eli was still chewing on his nails.

"Stop," you exclaimed, swatting his hand away from his mouth. "I told you that's a bad habit."

"Oh yeah, what's this then?" He grabbed one of your hands and twisted it around so you could see the splotches of chipped polish on your nails.

You jerked your hand away and held it defensively against your chest. "There's only so much I can do with this insane caseload, okay? I haven't had time to think about my nails."

"Then why'd you paint 'em in the first place?" he said with a bit of a laugh. Well, at least his mood was improving, even if it was at your expense.

You swatted at him just as the lift doors opened. "Maybe I want to try feeling pretty sometimes, not like some zombie student."

You both were keenly aware that the cadets waiting to board the lift had backed up significantly as you passed, despite not having been in your way at all. They were all whispering too, and by the tone, it was probably not about very nice things. It was always like that, wherever you went. Even if they didn't know your reputations of being from wild, "backwater" planets, they need only hear one of you speak to know you were different. And in these Core worlds, different was inferior.

"You know you don't have to follow our course map, right?" Eli spoke up again, once you'd put some distance between the lift of sneering cadets. "Me, I don't have a choice. Thrawn's determined to graduate in as little time as possible, and I'm the sorry sucker who has to follow 'im. I'd run far away from the guy if I were you. Enjoy your freedom."

Eli complained about the last member of your trio, Thrawn, at least six times a day. And half of those complaints ended with him telling you to make a break for it. You knew he didn't mean any of it; the two of you had spent the last holiday break at a bar, and in his drunkenness, Eli had confessed to being secretly grateful for having met the Chiss. He only complained to cope with the stress.

And you... well, you weren't really sure why they let you hang around. They'd both easily become your closest friends, but you weren't always sure where you stood with them. Maybe they did like your company. Or maybe they just felt sorry for you. They were both friendly enough, allowing you to join them on Thrawn's "fast track" out of the Academy. But you had a feeling that as soon as you all graduated, they'd leave you behind and move on to whatever mission the Emperor had planned for Thrawn in the Navy.

You tried not to think about it too much.

Speaking of your friend, Mitth'raw'nuruodo emerged from a classroom doorway just a few paces ahead. Right on time, as always. His specialized "tactical statistics" class ended several minutes ago, but he had learned to carefully time your path so he wouldn't have to stand awkwardly in the hall waiting. It was for the best; you and Eli may sometimes draw unwanted attention, but poor Thrawn always stood out like a very big, very blue sore thumb.

"We have a problem," he stated, coming up on your other side. You never had to ask Thrawn what was wrong; if he had a problem worth sharing, you would hear about it.

"Hallway problem or 'fresher problem?" asked Eli.

You'd all agreed long ago there were some topics of conversation best had out of earshot from any passerby. And since most scurried out of the refresher whenever Thrawn went in, that became the only suitable place for such conversations, if it couldn't wait until your dorms at the end of the day.

"Refresher," Thrawn said. He looked down at you. "You'll be late for your class."

You shrugged. "If it's important...."

"It is."

You trusted him; he wasn't the type to make up drama or blow things out of proportion. The three of you picked up the pace, turning right instead of the usual left, and slipping into the men's bathroom. Thankfully it was already empty. Eli turned the lock just in case.

Thrawn wasted no time diving into the particulars. "I have come to learn our flight instructor, Commander Burdick, intends to sabotage my simulation tests next month. He is acquainted with Admissions Supervisor Aberdeen and understands that a failing mark will require a remedial course before being allowed back into the program. This would set my graduation back several months."

That was a problem. The flight course was one of the longer ones, and mandatory, and you were all so close to finally being through with it. Just one more round of simulation tests and then an actual flight around Coruscant.

Eli was groaning by the door. "You've gotta be kidding."

"I am not," said Thrawn in a measured voice. He knew it was just an expression, but you knew it was one of his pet peeves.

Eli wasn't listening, instead kicking at the tiled floor and mumbling about how this was so typical and why can't we just be left alone.

You turned to Thrawn. "Just you?"

"The ill will seems to be mostly directed toward me. Supervisor Aberdeen does not appreciate the special provisions that have been afforded me on behalf of the Emperor, and has coerced Commander Burdick to indulge in his spitefulness. However, I would not put it past them to also have plans for either of you, as well. They are aware of our... connection."

You were certain he was about to say friendship but changed his mind. Did he not know the word for it? Was he too embarrassed to admit it? Or did he truly not see you or Eli as anything more than connections?

"Okay, but..." Eli was still processing things. "How? What's their plan?"

"I purposefully said the Commander intended to sabotage the tests. He does not yet have a plan."

"So... we stop 'im," said Eli.

"Or," you countered, a mischievous smirk playing about your lips. "We don't."

Eli merely blinked at you, but Thrawn was very interested. "Go on," he encouraged.

"If we learn what the plan is, or maybe even give him a plan of our own, then we can let it play out and ensure he gets in trouble for it."

Thrawn rubbed his chin as he considered. You knew he'd soon slip into his usual routine of pacing and muttering in unknown languages, which could take a while and make you even later for your class. You cleared your throat, drawing his two red eyes back to yours.

"Surely a Commanding Officer wouldn't dare do anything to sabotage you directly," you offered. "He'll either look for some help or pin it on someone else, in case there's an investigation."

Thrawn rubbed his chin again. "You think we should influence the Commander on who to pick to be his... what do you call it, ensipki?"

"Scapegoat," Eli said quickly. It was becoming second nature for him to translate what was left of the holes in Thrawn's understanding of Basic.

"Right, and then we can expose the deception just before the tests," you said. "Before there's time to come up with another plan."

Thrawn's eyes narrowed in thought. "A decent idea, but it would require the education of one of our fellow cadets to be jeopardized. It should not be our first plan."

"But if he's going to use one of them anyway..." you started to protest.

"Then we should seek to expose his connection to that person as well. This is an instructor who is not serving the best interest of several of his students. He should be the only one blamed."

You weren't going to let his logic win this time. As far as you could tell, this was a perfect opportunity to get revenge on your obnoxious classmates. "It's going to be a lot easier to take issue up with the Board against a student than an instructor. We can try to expose both people, but if we can't, then at least we can nail one of them. It's called a scapegoat for a reason."

Eli spoke up before Thrawn could respond, throwing you a meaningful look. "Arden's in his class. Different time, same instructor."

"Who is this Arden?" asked Thrawn.

"The racist asshole who unfairly stole Eli's grade on the debate today," you said. You'd picked your words deliberately, and it did the trick.

"Very well. We have our scapegoat," said Thrawn.

You winked at Eli and he hid a smile.

"So," Thrawn continued, fully invested now. "We will need to push Arden toward the Commander as a viable accomplice. We will need to gain insight into the details of their plan. And then we will need to ensure those details are brought to light at the right moment."

The three of you looked among each other. This was probably the tenth plan this year alone that you'd all devised to take care of some kind of "problem." Just last week Thrawn had discovered misinformation in one of your textbooks that took the three of you on a field trip to the lower levels of Coruscant to find a con-artist who'd sold a quarter-hundred counterfeit materials to the Academy library. You'd only had the weekend to catch up on all the rest of your homework, and here you all were again, ready to jump into another scheme.

You had suggested the idea, so you were already grinning and ready to go. Thrawn had just put together a to-do list, and you could almost see the gears in his head continuing to spin as he determined more points to the plan.

The deciding vote was Eli. Though he often complained about not having a choice, you and Thrawn rarely forced him to do anything and were always respectful if he had a differing opinion. This time, you had a feeling he'd be on board.

He set his hands on his hips and smirked. "Disgracing a shitty classmate and a shitty teacher in order to save our grades? Let's do it."

Next Chapter: The Plan >

#star wars #thrawn #eli vanto #thrawn x reader #eli vanto x reader #choose your own adventure #friendship #romance #mitth'raw'nuruodo

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zwowow · 4 years ago

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Either 15 or 19 for the angsty writing prompts plz 🥺

15. “This wouldn’t even be a problem, if you wouldn’t make one out of it.”

This is the dumbest fight they’ve ever had. Colson is convinced. They’ve had a lot of dumb, petty arguments, from blow outs over left out cereal bowls to Em sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms for a week because they couldn’t agree on which RUN-DMC album was the best. Colson maintains that it’s their self titled album, but since he hates sleeping without Em, he keeps his mouth shut as his boyfriend praises Raising Hell. So yes, they’ve had some dumb fucking fights, but this takes the cake.

And it started with Spongebob. The two of them had been cuddling together on the couch and trying to find something to watch when a Spongebob Squarepants rerun came up on the screen.

“This was my shit as a kid.” Colson grinned.

At the same time, Em said, “I used to put this on all the time when Hailie was a kid.”

Colson didn’t think much of it, just nodded and laughed, but Em froze right away. The children’s show played in the background as Em sat still as a statue.

“What?” Colson finally turned and looked at Em after a full minute of silence.

“You’re so fucking young.”

“Hell yeah, old man, thirty, flirty, and thriving or whatever Jennifer Garner said in that one movie.” He expected Em to laugh, or even just to crack a stupid smile and get back to picking a movie or TV show, but he was just met with Em’s thinking face and a sort of brutal cold shoulder.

“You’re thirty.” Em said after a moment of silence. His lip curled when he spoke, like it was the first time he’s said it, and the number was bitter on his tongue.

“Yeah...” He didn’t understand what Em was getting worked up about. It’s not like he didn’t know how old he was when they got together. He knows for a fact Em had googled him before. When he’d stolen Em’s phone once and looked up his own name, the link to his Wikipedia page was purple. Obviously he’d seen it.

Hell, they’d even celebrated both of their birthdays with each other last year. Em had lit the three and zero candles up himself.

“I don’t think... How did I... You’re almost twenty years younger than me.”

“Yeah,” He cocked his head to the side, confused, “That’s kind of how numbers work.”

“We shouldn’t be together.” Colson hadn’t expected any part of their conversation, but when Em said that, his neck snapped to look at Em head on.

“You can’t be fucking serious right now.” But Em was, and that was just the beginning. Now, they’re fighting about whether or not to break up, because Em found out he watched fucking Spongebob.

“If Alaina was with a dude that was forty five...” Em starts and stops, too disgusted to finish.

“She’s not.”

“But if she was, I’d be doing everything in my power to stop that shit. It’s gross.”

He rolls his eyes, “Lucky for you I don’t have an overprotective uncle-dad that needs to deal with his own relationship with a younger dude instead of fixating on my fictional one.”

Em narrows his eyes at Colson, a warning about crossing some invisible line he’s drawn, Colson looks back at him pointedly, and rolls his eyes again. This is so unbelievably stupid.

“I don’t understand how you don’t see how weird this is. When you were born I was a legal adult. Kim and I had Hailie before you were in school. You were in the fucking fourth grade or some shit when the Marshal Mathers LP came out-”

“Yeah and at twenty nine you had three albums that had blew, whatever. Look, I fucking get it, you’re old. I knew that when I slept over the first time and saw your beard dye in the bathroom. Get over it, I did.” He grins while quoting Em’s own song back to him. He had to cut him off, Em is fighting with him over nothing.

They’re still sitting on the couch together, but instead of cuddling they sit facing each other. Em’s leg is bouncing so wildly, he wants to reach over and put a hand on it to calm him but he’s not sure how well that would go over since Em is in the middle of trying to convince him they shouldn't be together. Not that he plans on letting himself be convinced of anything.

“I’m serious. You being as young as you are is a big fucking problem. I don’t know how I ignored it for as long as I did, but I can’t keep ignoring it. It’s freaking me out.”

Annoyed both at their cyclical conversation, and by Em’s obsession with calling him young like he hasn’t lived three full decades, Colson snaps, “This wouldn’t even be a problem, if you wouldn’t make one out of it. I’m thirty, you’re like a hundred, it’s not a big deal.”

“You’d be more age appropriate for Lainey or Hailie, yeah it’s a big fucking deal.”

“Oh, so now you’d be okay if I went for Hailie?” Colson jokes to ease the tension, nudging his shoulder into Em’s but the older man doesn’t find it funny.

“Don’t even fucking joke about that.” Em flinches away from his nudge and all but jumps off the couch. Colson stifles a laugh. It’s been close to like nine years and Em still hates whenever the tweet is brought up. It used to be a sore spot for him too, but now Colson and Hailie are able to joke about it. Em never joins in. That’s probably part of the reason they’re having this argument right now.

“Em, really,” He grins easily, refusing to take this stupid ass argument seriouslu, “I’m fucking thirty. I got an eleven year old girl. We’re way past the point where our ages have anything to do with us fucking. It’s not like I’m a teenager, seventeen or eighteen and shit.”

“You act like you are.” Em quips, the barest hint of a smile gracing his lips.

“And you act like you’re eighty. Still love you, old man.”

Em’s smile grows. Kells gets up from the couch and ambles over to him. He wraps his arms around the back of Em’s neck and hugs him close. With only a few inches between them, Kells looks down at Em and grins.

“Plus, I’m like three feet taller than you, so we’re pretty much the same age.”

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Neither do they, not really, still, Kells wouldn’t have it any other way. The way Em is looking up at him, he knows he feels the same.

#i forgot until i was almost done that these are angst prompts #um oops #mostly snark with a smallll side of angst cozy?#also its long #y is it so long #thank u 4 the prompt #hope u likeee anyway #cosmicbash #emgk #angst prompt #zwowfic #um anybody get the 13 going on 30 reference or is it just 4 me?#just did 19 so went with 15! <3

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yukiwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Behavior, Making the Difference

Thank you for the support as always, @xpegasusuniverse! This one was so fun to write, I hope you like it! I love exploring all of these different interactions!

Summary: Ricken, Lysithea and Hayato banded together due to their similar circumstances in their home world. They were now good classmates, who shared the same woes even in another world like Askr: why are they being looked down on, just because they were young?

Commission info HERE and HERE!

__________________________

The amount of Heroes being summoned in Askr grew day by day. The castle alloted to house the Order of Heroes had enough space for them all, yes, but there were some areas that a few groups of like-minded Heroes claimed for themselves.

For example, the western training grounds was now CHOP’s exclusive meeting spot. The eastern forest? Home to Heroes who would rather stay away from people to focus on calming their raging power. There was also a meadow past the southern garden, almost touching the outer wall, where the dragon-shifters liked to gather.

In the same manner, the central library was used as a classroom and gathering spot for the mages. It was big enough that classes could be taken on the second floor while others could quietly do their personal research on the first floor without one being a disturbance to the other.

Every other day, more experienced mages ministered classes on the second floor in favor of the apprentice mages. Merric’s was a particularly popular class due to how Young Merric also participated and asked many questions to his older self, which would extend the lecture for hours upon hours.

After class had finally ended, many of the students had stiff necks and sore legs for sitting up for so long. Be that as it may, one of the most eager students, Ricken, observed how Merric and his younger version interacted. On top of that, he noticed how younger Merric received different treatment whenever he went despite being the very same person who was just at the helm of the class.

Sure, the years of experience made a whole lot of difference, but younger Merric was in no way lacking in comparison to any other mage!

“Maybe it’s just ‘cause Merric’s tall.” Ricken grumbled to his deskmates, Lysithea and Hayato, as he looked up to his intentionally large hat.

Lysithea revised her notes calmly, resting her head on one hand. “At this point in time, young Merric has much more experience than Professor Merric had when he was that age. He’ll grow into a much stronger mage if he keeps up with this hunger for knowledge.”

Hayato nodded beside Lysithea, yawning loudly while he stretched his stiff muscles. “I do not know if it was due to the special summoning or if something different happened in his home world, but this young Merric has outstanding innate magical energy. It’s even larger than Professor Merric’s.”

“See? That’s what I’m saying. He’s much stronger than a lot of the adults, but he’s still treated like he’s not that capable because he’s young. They’re treating him like a little kid in favor of his older self!” Ricken protested with puffy cheeks.

“I do understand the hierarchy that comes with the territory of being a mage, so it’s not like I agree completely with you,” Lysithea pinched in, lifting her gaze to the red-haired young boy, “but I don’t disagree completely, either. They could treat him with the deserved respect of someone who holds that much power.”

“Though the man himself doesn’t seem to mind, unfortunately.” Hayato sat back down after cracking his neck a few times. “He sucks it all up, as though he himself feels unworthy of respect.”

“I suppose seeing how much you’ve grown can do that to people,” Lysithea mused, then mumbled so only herself could hear, “I’d be jealous if I wasn’t in such a hurry.”

Ricken’s cheeks only inflated more and more. Seeing people just like him, full of potential and stacking on accomplishments, being treated as less than they deserved made his blood boil. It reminded him of the constant ‘are-you-alright’s and ‘someone-your-age-should-rest-now’s he received on a daily basis.

“He shouldn’t be treated that way!” Ricken exclaimed, raising both fists up. “It’s the same everywhere! Back home, Chrom and everybody else treated me like a little, helpless kid and never saw how much I could do.”

Hayato crossed his arms, bobbing his head to the sides. “Just blow something in their vicinity; that will shut them up.”

“But I don’t want them to fear me! I want them to respect me! Besides, that’d probably just make them tell me I’m still too reckless for the battlefield.” Ricken’s shoulders dropped as he saw the exact scene being played in his mind, word by word.

“... Ah, you’re part of a specialized task force, right?” Hayato momentarily forgot that although the other two shared the same amount of potential and suffered from being berated by their ages, they weren’t the heirs of their tribes. He could get away with a lot of stuff because the heir was usually the strongest one, but that wasn’t the case with Ricken, who was simply one soldier amidst many.

Ricken sat back down, deflated. “Yeah, and there’s this other boy who got in after I did but no one treats him like they treat me! He’s only older than me by a few months, but everyone already sees him as a man and they never hold him back on doing stuff.”

Lysithea immediately remembered Petra, the princess of another country who studied with her under Byleth. They were both the SAME age, but no one treated Petra like a little kid. “... Is it the height?” She mumbled, though both of them heard it loud and clear.

… Oh.

It was the height.

Ricken took off his hat, then glanced up as though to remember how tall Donnel was compared to him.

… After a moment, he realized Donny was at least a head taller than himself.

“This is ridiculous!” However, Hayato was the one who slammed the table. He, too, was conscious of his height. “Bring it on, I’ll zap him with my magic and we’ll see-”

“Wait, wait, wait! I don’t wanna hurt my allies!” Ricken pulled on Hayato’s sleeve. “Besides, he’s not a mage, he’s- uh, I don’t know what he does exactly, but he’s a villager. Everyone trains with him and gives him tips and puts him on the frontlines without question… It’s unfair! I can hold my own, too!”

“That does seem like special treatment,” Lysithea nodded. “It’s unfair, but that only means that you have to overwhelm everyone with your effort. Study a lot and show them how good you can be to shut them all up.”

“Yeah... It’s my dream to be able to fight side-by-side with Chrom, but it’s not something for the far future. I can do it NOW, but they just don’t acknowledge me! It’s driving me nuts.”

Before the other two could reply, the sound of steps going up the stairs to the second floor interrupted them, which was unusual. It was an unspoken rule to use sound-muffling magic while walking around the library; not to mention that the second floor was commonly used for classes, so there shouldn’t be anyone going up at that moment, as the next class would only happen after dinner.

“C’monnn, up we go, Donny!” A familiar, peppy voice echoed. Soon, the blonde pigtails could be seen before the princess’ body: It was Lissa, Chrom’s sister and princess of Ylisse.

“W-wait, wait, Miss Lissa! I reckon we shouldn’ta be ‘ere now! Aren’t them egghead folks studyin’?” Being pulled by Lissa, Donnel held the pot on his head to hide his face, whispering in an attempt to be quiet.

“Nope, class was over a while ago, so now it’s Professor Lissa time! Take your seat, Donny, and let your big sister here teach you stuff!” She pulled out a monocle from her sleeve and a presentation stick from the other, pointing at the blank blackboard. “Now, todaaay we’ll learn about… Cloud formations!”

Apologetic, Donnel glanced around as he scratched the back of his neck, meeting Ricken’s, Hayato’s and Lysithea’s eyes as he sat down. He bowed to them before turning back to Lissa’s long winded explanation about Stratus clouds.

Lysithea’s expression turned cold as her optimal studying space had been breached. “Aren’t they from your world, Ricken? Don’t they know how this is a place of learning and not of fooling around?”

“Ah, um, yeah. He’s the boy I was talking about, too, but…”

“You said people don’t treat him like a kid, though? But look, even that young princess is making sure to even call him ‘little brother’...” Hayato commented, glancing between Ricken and the other two.

“I’m surprised, too. I only see people praising him and telling him to go to the frontlines more often. Princess Lissa can be annoy-erm, difficult to deal with, especially if you’re younger than her…” Ricken spoke with a jaded voice, as though he had experienced all of that first hand (he did). “I didn’t know Donny also went through that.”

Hayato cracked his fingers. “He doesn’t seem to be much older, just like you said.”

“Yup, I can only imagine they treat him differently because he wields a weapon, not magic. They might think I’m weaker than others just ‘cause I don’t have muscl-”

“That’s ridiculous.” Lysithea interrupted. “Mages are one of the most terrifying pieces of the battlefield. No one has any right to look down on a mage just because they’re more fragile than their weaponized peers.”

As both boys nodded, Ricken clutched his hands. “Yeah, but that’s the only conclusion I can come to, honestly. What IS the difference between us if not that? We’re basically the same age! I refuse to believe it’s because I’m- I… I’m s-shorter than him!”

As the three of them discussed, Donnel raised his hand to ask Lissa a question. “But ‘scuse me, ma’am, it’s the Nimbus kinda cloud tha’s the rainy one! Folks called ‘em that ‘cause no matter how fast you saw ‘em, they’d catch up with ya and wet all your laundry, that it would!”

“Weh? What? No! It’s the Cumulus one, I’m sure of it!” Lissa was bewildered for a moment before stomping her foot stubbornly. “I’m the older one here, so I know best, okay?”

Donnel scratched his head awkwardly. “B-b-buh… But the Cumulus kinda cloud’s the one’s looks likea’ tree, ain’t it? Mighty tasty-looking too, like a pretty treat I saw in one offa those fancy towns we gon ‘bout.”

“Nghhh!” Lissa shook with embarrassment and mortification. That wasn’t the first NOR the second time Donnel corrected her during her ‘classes’. She was the older sister here, darn it all!

In between the three mages, the princess and the villager boy, none of them could truly fathom the reason why people treated Donnel differently, despite their close ages. In other circumstances, perhaps, Lissa would be sitting at the table alongside Ricken, Hayato and Lysithea. However, since that was not the case, the group was fated to observe the duo.

If they had just a little more self-awareness, they might have realized that the simple and obvious reason was only one’s behavior and humility.

But perhaps, they were all still too young to realize...

#fire emblem heroes #lysithea fire emblem #ricken fire emblem #hayato fire emblem #donnel fire emblem #my writings #feh #yuki's commissions

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lajulie24 · 4 years ago

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D for hanleia pre esb!! ❤️

Thank you kindly for the prompt, and for your extreme patience with the long time I took to finally fulfill it! This idea ended up racing past drabble and well into fic rather than ficlet territory, so think of this as part 1 of a two-part fic. Also, this will be a long post since Tumblr seems to deal poorly with “read more” links in asks these days. Title is a reference to a line in Abra Moore’s “Four Leaf Clover.”

D. Subtle kindnesses.

Let go of all the big deals

Damn it. Leia really wished Evaan were still here.

I wish Mama were here, her thoughts continued, before she could stop them. Or Winter, or Aria. Papa. Memily. Even Aunt Rouge, Aunt Celly.

It was easier when she didn’t let herself go there at all, but apparently she’d opened the floodgates simply by thinking of Evaan—who was still alive, just elsewhere with the rest of her people, keeping them safe, leading them in the way Leia couldn’t right now.

Evaan would know what to do with this, this mess that had become of Leia’s hair. She would’ve laughed, wielded the comb, helped her work out the little bits of resin that lingered in the strands. A few washings with Chewie’s shampoo had actually done a brilliant job at getting out most of the sticky sap that had exploded all over them, but it couldn’t work miracles.

Leia worked the comb through her hair slowly, wincing as she hit another tangle.

“How’s the grooming goin’, Your Worship?” Han called from outside the door. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn’t sent out a search party for her, given how much time she’d been at this already, but perhaps he had enough experience with Chewie to understand that this was no simple job.

“Fine,” she called back. “Just great.” She took up another section and began working the comb through it, gradually, carefully. This was honestly the longest her hair had spent fully down in quite some time; normally she took it down, brushed it, and put it into her sleeping braid, or pulled it out of the sleeping braid long enough to put it back up in her familiar crown braids. Now that she had spent so much time with it, she noticed not only the tangles and remaining bits of sap, but the split ends.

She hadn’t cut it since Alderaan. She’d been neglecting it, frankly; it had been this length for years, but regular trims helped maintain its health and texture. When she was home, she and Winter would trim one another’s hair. Or she’d get Memily to do it. TooVee could do it in a pinch, but normally cutting hair wasn’t a task you would give to a droid. It was too personal, too intimate for that.

TooVee would’ve claimed it contrary to her programming, anyway. A stickler for protocol, that one.

“Need anything?” Han called. He was actually being surprisingly considerate about this whole thing; somehow he seemed to have caught on to hair = private and had made sure to keep everyone else out of the crew quarters while she tended to this.

There was one tangle that didn’t want to come out. A little nest of hair that defied her, no matter how carefully she worked to unwind it, her efforts achieving nothing but a sore scalp. Such a sad little knot, she thought. A little snarl of hair and resin twisted all within itself, about two inches from the bottom.

She tried again. Nope. It wasn’t coming out.

Surely Han had something she could use. What did Chewie trim his fur with, anyway?

“Han?” she called. “You still there?”

“Yeah, you need something?”

“Do you have a scissors? I’m going to have to cut this bit out.”

“Sure thing.” Footsteps left down the hall, and Leia busied herself trying the knot again. Just like her, continuing to work at something even while it was hopeless. Optimism? Stubbornness? A little of both?

The footsteps came back, and then the hatch opened enough for Han’s arm to slip in, a beard- and pelt-trimming scissors in his outstretched hand. Leia took it. “Perfect, thank you.”

The door closed again, and after a slight pause—

“Ah, you need any help with that?” Han’s voice sounded tentative.

Leia considered that for a moment. She’d figured she would probably have to just cut out the offending knot for now and figure out how to fix it later, because she definitely was not going to be able to even it out all the way around by herself. But she also knew from experience that having one bit of hair that didn’t match the others would be a real pain. And it did desperately need a trim—

You could ask Han to do it.

“Uh, maybe?” she answered, stalling for time while she thought this through.

She wasn’t sure why she felt so weird about asking Han to help trim her hair; she respected her culture’s hair traditions, but she’d never thought she was personally all that attached to them. Certainly she’d had it down in front of others before. She’d even had it down in front of a man before.

Yeah, a man you were involved with. And it was kind of a big deal when you did that. And that had been before, when her planet and her culture were not in danger of extinction.

But also, that had been before. She had been doing a lot of things lately that she hadn’t done in her life before.

Like asking random men to cut your hair for you?

Except Han wasn’t some random man, not at all, as much as some of her colleagues on High Command might think of him that way. As casual and as brash and as infuriating as he could be sometimes, he was her friend. And he had seen her at some of her worst already—narrowly escaping death by being crushed in a wet trash compactor could do a lot to help you bond, right?

Then she remembered the other thing he’d done that day, the thing that told Leia that there was more to the man than swagger and bravado and a frequently professed love of money. The thing he’d done quietly, and without ceremony.

It was after they’d escaped the TIEs, after he’d scoffed at her assertion that the Imperials were surely tracking the Falcon to Yavin IV, after she’d dismissed him as a mercenary and strode off, leaving him and Luke to gossip or whatever it was men did. They’d all stunk of garbage, so later Han had offered use of the real water showers and the autovalet.

After Han had gotten Luke set up in the ‘fresher (with Luke still both fascinated and terrified by the newness of cleaning with a continuous spray of water), Han had quietly approached Leia.

“Hey,” he’d said, “you’ve had a hell of a day.”

“Yes.” That was an understatement, one she was trying not to think too much about.

He’d beckoned toward the corridor. “We got a medbunk. I c’n help you get fixed up. Might not be much time for that once we land.”

“I’m all right,” she��d said.

“Yeah, I know,” he’d agreed. “But who knows what was in that garbage. Don’t want those wounds to get infected. Really drag down your revolution.”

She’d stared at him for a moment.

“If you want, I can get Chewie to, uh, chaperone or whatever,” he’d said, obviously misunderstanding her silence as mistrust of his intentions. Honestly, she’d just been surprised at his mention of the wounds hidden by her white dress—how did he even know they were there?

“No, that’s all right,” she’d said. “This way?”

It was unexpected, how gentle he’d been as he’d cleaned and applied bacta to her injuries, somehow knowing exactly which spots would have been hit by the droid and other devices. At the same time, she’d been relieved to find him casual and matter-of-fact about the whole thing. No pity or patronizing, just care, like they were comrades in battle. And when she’d asked him—how did you know? he’d answered simply. Used to be one of ‘em. Long time ago. Another life.

“Another life,” she’d repeated.

If she could trust him with the wounds from the worst day of her life, when they barely knew each other, she could certainly trust him with this.

“Uh, yeah, could you come help?” she called, and a moment later, the door slid open.

Thank you for the ask!

#ask lajulie #myfic #quarantine drabbles #han x leia #hanleia #star wars #leia organa #han solo #anonymous #thank you for the ask!

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hannahcoursey · 4 years ago

Text

Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 3

Author: Hannahc56

Word Count: 3,896

Request: The reader who lives in a small town called Welling's in Nebraska, her best friend dies and Sam and Dean go to interview her as FBI agents and she doesn’t believe they’re FBI so she follows them one day and gets caught by the Djinn they’re hunting.

A/N: This story is around season 5 when Dean is dealing with the concept of angels being total assholes. So, he’s a little defensive around Castiel still at this point.

PART ONE. PART TWO.

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You head bobbed lightly against something soft. Cold air whipped around you, slipping over your exposed skin and leaving chills in its wake. Your head felt like it weighed a million pounds. Something was warm up against you, despite the low temperature of the evening. Willing your eyes to open as much as you could muster, you saw the moon’s glow shining down, casting over a stubble covered chin of the man that was carrying you. You caught the fragrance of - was it gunpowder? Maybe with a mix of the lingering scent of body wash and sweat.

Holding your eyes open was a chore within itself, but the curiosity in you was fighting to keep you conscious. Your hands were folded in your lap, your wrists were red and irritated as if there had been rope around them. His calloused hands were wrapped under your knees and gripped solidly onto your thigh, holding you up against him. You could feel his arm underneath your back as he walked you throughout the night. You could hear another set of footprints coming from behind him. The tall FBI man walked past you in the other man’s arms, as the bobbing came to a halt. You heard him clear his throat and open and then slam closed what sounded like a trunk lid. You kept your eyes shut, forcing yourself to stay awake to gather as much information as you could.

“Think she saw anything?” You heard the taller man with the shaggier hair mumble. The man who held you in his arms managed a slight shrug.

“I don’t know,” He said, his deep voice rumbling in the chest your head laid on, “I knew it was her following us, but I didn’t think she was so hot on our tails that she’d follow us in there.”

“Yeah, well,” The taller man took a breath, “She wants her friend back.” He finished. The men said nothing more as they opened up the car doors and settled you in the back. The shorter man slid in the backset and gently picked your head up to rest on his lap, while the tall man got in the driver seat and fired up the car.

“Sammy, you good to drive?” The man in the backseat with you asked. Sammy.

“I mean, yeah, but I think she’s alright to leave back there.” Sam answered. The other man hesitated.

“You saw the file on her, Sam. She has no one.” He said, his voice low. Your heart dropped so hard, you worried for a slight second that he may have felt the shift in your chest. “I think the last thing she needs is to be back here, confused and alone, with two strange guys wielding machetes and blood stains.” He finished. Neither of them spoke another word as the car roared into gear and left the mill.

Your mind was begging you to succumb to the sleep that ached for you to give into it. You needed to stay awake, to listen, to gather as much information as you could. But your eyes were heavy and the thought of sleep was growing to be too warm and welcoming to ignore. As the thought passed your incoherent mind, a calloused hand made it way through your hair, brushing it lightly behind your ear. And before you could muster enough energy to fight it, you fell into a deep, comfortable sleep.

----

You cracked open an eye. Your head pounded as if you’d woken up after a weeks’ long bender. This time, you were in your room again. You sat up quick, the comforter moving off of your chest and landing in your lap. The sudden movement sent a body ache down the length of your back, your muscles sore as if they’d taken a beating. Did you take a beating? You turned and threw the bedding off of you, your feet landing on the floor. Your legs ached and your head felt as if you’d been put through the spin cycle one too many times. You fought the urge to collapse to the ground and leaned on the side of your bed to gather yourself. Footsteps gained momentum down the hallway and you looked up from squinted eyes, your free hand to your head. The fake feds turned the corner, the shorter one walking towards you before stopping in his tracks. You backed up a step.

“Who the fuck,” You tried to sound more threatening than you felt, “Are you guys?” You tried not to wobble on your legs that were beginning to feel increasingly weak underneath you. Sam threw his arms up in defense.

“Listen, Y/N,” He started, but you cut him off.

“And don’t tell me you guys are the feds, alright?” You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut for a second, “I don’t play stupid, I sniffed you out the second you walked in the door with your cheap suits.” You mocked, noticing the shorter one had taken offense.

“Okay, no,” Sam said and cleared his throat, his arms slowly making it back down to his sides, “I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean,” His head nodded in direction to Dean, who gave you a small grin as a hello, “We’re here for the same reason you are, alright? We’re looking for people that have gone missing around the same time as your friend.” The brothers stood next to each other and in the dim light that streamed through your bedroom window, you could see that they were weathered but attractive men.

“Have you gotten anything?" You questioned, hardly any more at ease that these men were still in your apartment.

“Uh, not really, no,” Sam said, throwing a look to Dean as he cleared his throat. The air in the room stiffened and the awkwardness was evident in the glare between the brothers.

“I’m sorry, let me ask that again without the bullshit,” You said, your voice wavering slightly. You cringed internally and begged that the weakness in your tone wasn’t obvious to the brothers. After a few moments of hesitation, Dean wiped a hand down his face.

“Okay, you want the no bullshit answer? The answer is that there is a gypsy wagon full of Djinns rolling through your town that is kidnapping people, draining the life outta them and then leaving em’ for dead.” He said, his voice stern and full of an authoritative tone, knowing full well you wouldn��t know what he was getting at. You stood there and stared at the men.

“Djinn?” You asked, your brows crinkling, ”Djinn.” You took a breath and wiped at your eyes.

“Look, they did a number on you, you should get some rest-” Sam started, but the way your head shot up stopped him in his tracks.

“On me? They got to me?” Your eyes were the size of melons, meanwhile Dean looked as though you were wasting his time. You looked down and noticed the red trail of burns around your wrists and a few inconsistent spots on your arms that indicated fresh bruises. The way your head was swimming began to make sense. “Okay,” You took a deep breath, trying to keep yourself as calm as possible, “And how did I get here?”

“We killed them-” Dean started, his voice as plain and bored as his face.

“Jesus, Dean-'' Sam said exasperated, “Y-Yes, we killed them.” He said, his hands falling at his sides. Dean shot his brother a confused look before turning back to you. “They were going to kill you, Y/N.” Sam said, his tone serious. You connected the dots as you listened to the men talk.

“So, that’s who that woman was; The one that you killed? With the tattoos?” You inferred. Dean nodded.

“Yeah. their tattoos grow when they start to enchant you and their eyes have this-”

“Glow.” You finished his sentence for him. The men stood there, awkwardly.

“Well, yeah - They glow,” Dean said and shrugged, “You’re handling this pretty okay.” He said, his expression giving away the concern behind his eyes.

“‘You think I’m taking this okay? I mean, I feel like I’m a second away from hitting the floor, but I’m glad you think I am.” You laughed nervously and sat on the edge of the bed. Sam walked out of the room and Dean made his way over to you. He looked down at you as if he was inspecting you. You patted the spot on the bed beside you and to your surprise, he followed.

“Listen, kid-” He began, but you scoffed.

“Kid? I’m not a kid, I’m a news reporter - Do you realize I’ve snuck onto crime scenes before the cops had even gotten there? A-And I’ve seen things, a lot of bad things - So don’t act like I don’t know what I’m doing.” You defended yourself, “Don’t sugarcoat this. I can handle it, alright?” You took a breath and wondered how true that statement was. What if they told you Lizzie was dead? What could you handle? What would be the final straw? The thoughts of just where that line could be raced around your head, but a calloused hand on yours took your mind off of it. You looked up at him.

“I’m not saying you’re a kid. I’m saying it’s alright if you feel like the world just came crashing down on your shoulders,” He said, his hand leaving where it rested lightly on yours, “You don’t have to be the hero here.” The room grew silent and with every fiber in your body, you looked down and forced the tears from where they threatened behind your eyes. You nodded. Before you could muster up the words to answer, Sam walked back into the room with a glass of water and you graciously took it.

“So, it looks like last night we found their nest. The only downside of that is that we left it a bloodbath.” Dean stood up and crossed the room, thinking out loud.

“So they’re on the move,” You said, “They know they’ve been made so they won’t stake out there any longer than they have to.” You looked down at your glass, the water inside of it unsteady as your hands shook slightly. You put it on the end table next to you. Both boys stared at you a moment before moving on.

“Right,” Sam said, clearing his throat and cocking his head to one side, “The next question is where are they running to?” He finished.

And just like that, within a snap of fingers, you were in.

----

Before you knew it, you were sitting in a motel room. The walls were littered with impressions of fake tropical palms and the sheets that poked out from under the thin, scratchy comforter had stains splayed across them. You fought back the chills that climbed up your back and left the hairs on your arms on edge at the thought of what might have caused those stains. The brothers stood in front of you, wordlessly sifting through luggage and duffel bags full of weapons you’d never seen. Every so often, one of them would shoot you a look, as if they were half expecting you to be running for your life or passed out from the effort it took for you to wrap your head around this whole situation they’d just explained to you. If you were being honest, you were a little surprised you hadn’t done either of the two. Hell, you’d seen things in your time. The thought of what happened on that snowy day, the same day you went to in your dream, made your heart speed up in your chest. Color climbed up to your cheeks, and you could’ve sworn your fast heartbeat was audible from across the room. You forced your mind to another topic, focusing on the worn particle board dresser in front of you. Your mind wandered to those things, those Djinn. Naturally, questions were lined up on your tongue, ready to come spilling out whenever you let the floodgates open, but you decided to keep them to yourself for now. You picked at your nails, the only thing that lulled the shake in your hands to settle, even if only for a moment. When you looked up, Dean was eyeing you from the corner of the room. When your eyes met, you both shot your stare in another direction. The silence in the room was doing nothing to ease your mind.

“So,” You cleared your throat and both brothers looked over at you, almost as if they too were thankful for the momentary break in silence, “What do these Djinn do? I-I mean I know you said that they drag you under and suck the life out of you but - What’s their point?” You rubbed your hands nervously against the length of your thighs, the thin layer of sweat that coated your palms now soaking into your denim. Dean walked over to you, a pearl accented gun in hand, and sat on the other bed adjacent to you.

“You’re food to them,” He shrugged, “They put you in this dream state where you get to see what your perfect dream life would be like so that you never fight it,” He looked down at the gun and pulled out a rag from his back pocket and began to mindlessly rub at the pearl accents that ran along the handle.

“Your perfect life? That’s what you’re supposed to see?” Your brows furrowed in confusion as you thought back to what you’d envisioned. There was nothing good about it. Dean matched your expression.

“Well, yeah,” His hand stopped moving along the gun, his attention fully now on you.

“Why?” Sam asked as he stepped closer from across the room, intrigued by the turn the conversation had taken. You swallowed hard and took a breath.

“I didn’t see that,” You ran a hand through your hair, “I didn’t see anything good when I went under - or whatever you call it.” You said as the temperature of the room began to feel warmer with the territory they began to get into. The brothers looked at each other and your heart beat faster in your chest. “What?” You asked. Being the only one left in the dark was starting to become an annoyance. Sam cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his neck.

“I mean, I don’t know,” He said hesitantly, Dean looking at you as his brother spoke, “That’s never happened before.” He finished. The both of them looked at you, as if thinking that maybe if they glared a little longer, the answer would appear across your forehead. You rubbed your hands together anxiously.

“Okay, I guess that maybe that can happen to people, maybe you just didn’t know that.” You tried desperately to sound grounded. Dean shook his head and mindlessly chewed his lip.

“No, I don’t think so. They got their inky hands on me one time and,” He shook his head, “Let’s just say, with the things I’ve seen, they probably had to get creative to find anything good enough to make me wanna stay.” He stated the dark undertone of his statement obvious in his eyes. You decided it was best not to poke him about it any further.

“Okay, whatever,” You let out a nervous laugh, “Just forget I said anything.” You shook your head and forced a small smile. Neither of the boys returned it.

Before they could interrogate you any more, a man in a trench coat appeared behind Sam. A scream left your lips and you fell back onto the bed, your eyes practically bulging out of your skull. The boys stood up quick at your screech and as quick as they’d gotten up, they’d calmed down once they turned and saw the man. You sat there, your chest heaving, looking from the brothers to the man who inspected you curiously as if he was the one who was interrupted by you.

“Hey Cas,” Sam said, turning back to face you. Dean glanced over his shoulder and nodded a greeting to the man as he sat back down where he’d previously been across from you.

“That’s our friend Cas,” Dean looked at you, “He’s uh, he’s-”

“An angel of the Lord.” A deep, scratchy voice finished the sentence for the elder sibling. You looked back and forth between the three men.

“A-An angel? Like an angel?” You asked, your voice coming out in soft, hesitant strangles at the sight before you. He looked normal; Almost too normal.

“Of the Lord; Correct.” The man answered your rhetoric question, his brows knitted in confusion as if his presence was an easy concept to digest.

“Okay, an angel,” You sat up straighter, inching closer to the headboard and further from the dark haired man, “So, you mean that even with all of the crappy things like the Djinn and other monsters, there’s still something good out there?” You tried to desperately make sense of this, of any of it. Dean shook his head.

“Nope, nothing good about em’ they’re all dicks.” He said, shooting a look over his shoulder at the man who claimed to be an angel. The tension in the air was obvious and was only slightly broken when Sam cleared his throat.

“No, Y/N, listen,” He shook his head emphatically and moved closer to you, “There is good out there. It’s not all crap. We just focus on the shit work so that maybe other people don’t have to.” He said, trying to sound reasonable despite the issue at hand.

“Yeah,” Dean laughed sarcastically. There was no humor in his chuckle and it reminded you of the dark look in his eye he’d had moments before. “Well, I'm glad that at least someone still thinks that.” He ran a hand over his face and you could tell by the way he moved that he was worn. It was your job as a reporter to notice a person's stance, their body language and nonverbal cues. Dean’s were easy. You just had to pay attention to them.

“I’m not here for you,” Castiel walked over towards you as his cold glare focused on Dean, “I came for her.” He finished, his shockingly blue eyes now trained on you.

“Me?” You asked, pointing a finger inwards. The man hardly nodded in response.

“We called you about the Djinn, alright, leave her out of it.” Dean stood up, his demeanor puffed and irritated.

“Dean, just hear him out.” Sam said, his voice solid. You’d been able to pinpoint the dynamic between the brothers in the time you’d spent with them. Sam was the safe one. Sam was logic and fact driven, he’d hardly broken his calm attitude in the time you’d been observing him. But Dean - Dean was a fire, igniting everything in his path when he felt it deserving. You had no idea what had happened between the angel and them, but Dean’s reasoning ran deep. He had the type of calm that was unnerving, unlike Sam. As if he was almost always teetering that border of blowing up the whole building with only himself inside. Even in a tense conversation like the one you currently sat in, only Sam could bring his brother down off that edge.

“I’d talk fast if I were you.” Dean said, his voice as cool as the delivery in which he’d said it. He sat back down on the bed and looked down at the gun he hadn’t finished cleaning. Castiel took in a long breath as if to shake off the threats before returning to the purpose of his being here.

“You said you didn’t see a dream world when the Djinn poisoned you,” He looked at you intently.

“Poisoned me?” You looked over at Dean who shook his head.

“Jesus, Cas. Baby steps here, maybe? The girl just got the talk an hour ago.” He wiped a hand down his face as Castiel turned back to you.

“Uh, my apologies,” He said, his voice as robotic as his movements, “I have to ask you; What did you see?” He finished, asking the question that you’d been avoiding this entire time. You maintained eye contact with him as you thought about what you should reply. Is it a sin to lie to an angel of the lord? Was he even an angel?

“Nothing,” You said, praying that the eye contact you held with him would make your white lie appear to be more solid, “Just didn’t see a dream world or anything else for that matter.” You finished.

“Y/N, you do realize I can hear what you’re thinking,” He said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he stared intently at you, “And no, keeping eye contact does not make your lie sound any more valid than it already is.” He finished, as if he had just said the most normal thing in this world. Your lips formed a line, trying to maintain some sort of composure.

“Alright then if you’re so high and mighty, you should already know exactly what I saw without asking me.” you replied, your tone tight and smug. Silence filled the room and before you could understand what was going on, he pressed two fingers to your forehead.

----

Part 4 coming soon!

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songfell-ut · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 13, something luck something

I gave myself the feels, @lostmypotatoes send help

Link here.

“…AND THIS, MY INTREPID YOUNG FRIEND, IS…THE ROYAL GUARD!! NYEHHHHHH!”

They’d stopped at the head of the staircase in the Grand Hall. Her new skeleton friend had thrown his arms wide at a line of monsters standing motionless in shiny black armor, as proud as a child showing a visitor his favorite toys. “NYEHHH,” he added reverently.

The Royal Guard was quite impressive, like gleaming statues that could come to life and kill you, but Frisk wasn’t scared. She could see their ears poking out from their helmets, and some of them looked pretty silly: a couple of dogs, a cat, a rabbit, a bug, something like a lizard or dragon…

But then there was their Captain, who had just removed her helmet. She did not look silly. “UNDYNE!” Papyrus blared at the tall, eyepatched fish-woman. “THIS IS KRIS! SAY HELLO TO HIM! …ER, UNDYNE? HIS NAME IS KRIS, NYEH HEH! …HE IS A HUMAN! …NYEH? UNDYNE?”

No answer. Undyne’s scarred, scowling, evil-toothed countenance did not waver. Her webbed hand was clenched on the shaft of her spear, cerulean scales and mostly-yellow eye glittering in the witchlight. Even her red ponytail looked menacing as it fluttered in the breeze of passing dignitaries.

The human’s path was clear. Her expression went blank with determination. Frisk looked around and saw vases full of fresh flowers against the wall; as the monsters glanced at each other in confusion, the child selected a vase, tossed out the flowers, lugged the vase back to the Royal Guard Captain, and, with one almighty heave, threw the water right into Undyne’s face.

Frisk woke him even earlier than they’d planned, looking as though she hadn’t slept and sounding very businesslike. Sans was too groggy at first to remember last night, and before he could wonder if it had even happened, she was already laying out their plan for the day.

And…it was not what they had discussed yesterday. It was the opposite. “Lemme get this straight,” he said when she was finished. “Ya don’ wanna sneak out anymore. You wanna tell everyone an’ their mom that we’re takin’ the monsters back t’the Underground as a goodwill gesture in exchange for more cool monster stuff.”

“Yes.”

“So we’re goin’ out as a big deal that everyone knows about, on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“We’re gonna let ‘em think you already cleared it with the King ‘n everything’s fine?”

“Yes.”

“That’s…that’s a big fat lie.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes it is.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“I’m not an idiot, Sans! If we disappeared without any indication whatsoever of where I’d gone, His Majesty would assume I’d been abducted and send soldiers after me. I just woke him up a few minutes ago and told him where we were going, and why.”

Something about the way she said it made him ask, “And he’s okay with it?”

Frisk smirked. “We’re going.”

Departing with a lot of fanfare actually took less effort than Sans expected. All he had to do was go down to the stables, announce that Her Eminence was leaving immediately on an important diplomatic mission, hand over her written instructions, and then stand back. For once, his scariness was a real advantage: by the time Frisk brought down the group of silent, shivering monsters, the wagons were already in place, the horses hitched up, and the cargo nearly loaded.

The priestess had been busy mobilizing a small army of assistants, which was a lot easier than their original plan to have him teleport everything from her room. Their provisions and gifts for the Underground were brought down and loaded according to the diagrams Frisk had drawn for the monsters: one wagon was for Ice Cap, who would travel with the majority of the food, while the other had Pyrope and Vulkin, who were wrapped in fireproof blankets and seated away from anything flammable. The other monsters would ride with them in order to stay warm—the canvas wagon covers were good for privacy, but didn’t keep out much of the wind.

Sans had made himself scarce while the work was going on, but when everyone and everything was in place, he stepped up to make Frisk get in with the flame monsters instead of riding up front in the lead wagon. She’d been standing in a corner of the freezing yard to supervise the last preparations; in her full High Priestess regalia, she was as impressive as ever, but he’d watched her closely and seen her trying not to cough.

As her personal guard, and her…whatever the hell they were now, it was his duty to not let her get sick again, but his official consideration was for her safety. They were traveling with a cortege of twelve guards, which would deter most attackers and also help clear traffic ahead of them, but there was no point in putting her on display for someone to take potshots.

They wheeled out of the castle gates and onto the main thoroughfare just after sunrise. Sans wasn’t a big fan of walking, or being in the cold, but his slippers and overcoat were mostly adequate. He wished he could poke his head into the wagon to check on Frisk, but she had asked him not to let the other monsters see him yet; besides, he heard her humming at a couple of points and figured she was busy keeping them calm. Pyrope was a twitchy little bastard, and Vulkin had a bad habit of “helping” via lava, so he’d just leave her to it.

The day passed, and to their pleasant surprise, they reached Frisk’s house on the outskirts of the city long before dark. That gave them more time than expected for Frisk to unload the monsters and shepherd them into the house; Sans grabbed enough food for that night and the morning, and the attendants took the wagons and horses to the nearest inn. Two guards took up positions outside the house before they locked the door for the night, and that was that.

None of the monsters had spoken or made eye contact with anyone all day, to Sans’ knowledge. As soon as they were gathered in the dining room, the priestess allowed him to step in and say, “Heya.”

Frisk retreated as the monsters came alive, swarming around the giant skeleton and all babbling at once in frantic relief. He had been somewhat scary to them in the relative peace of the Underground, but seeing him now was the best possible reassurance that the High Priestess had not been lying or playing some kind of sick game with them: they really would be home by the day after tomorrow.

After a few minutes, Frisk came back into the room, bare-headed and wearing a loose white gown, for Sans to re-introduce her as “Kris,” the not-really-a-boy from the human delegation. Six of the eight remembered her, and Pyrope got so excited that he left a couple of smoking holes in the carpet.

When everyone was done eating and talking, Frisk directed Ice Cap to the attic, where they could safely leave the little window open to keep it cold, while Sans built up the kitchen fire and made an asbestos-blanket fort for the flame monsters. The others sprawled out on the beds or any patch of floor they could, safe and well-fed; still, Sans noticed how uneasy they were, and understood what that was like. He just hoped they’d be able to feel safe again.

Once everyone was settled, Frisk was nowhere to be found. Of all the damn places she could’ve slept in, Sans finally found her wrapped up in her cloak in the bathtub. “Frisk,” he said accusingly.

She made a noise explaining that she was fine, a monster could have the remaining bed.

“Nope.” The priestess squeaked as he bent to scoop her up in both hands. “C’mon, kitten. Time ta sleep literally anywhere else.” Before she could object, he walked her into the smallest bedroom, dropped her onto the bed, and threw a comforter over her. “There. G’night.”

Frisk struggled to sit up. “Wait, where—”

Sans lay down on the floor and sighed noisily. “We’re not t’the Underground yet. Let’s just go ta sleep, okay?”

“…Okay. But, Sans—”

The boss monster emitted a loud, sustained fake snore, cut short by her pillow landing on his face.

Either the demon-child was still satisfied from the other night, or they were just too tired to be reachable, because they woke from a dreamless night to another stiff, sore day of travel.

The monsters were more animated today as they loaded into the wagons, which Frisk took as a good omen. Granted, there was a delay when Sans got too close to the draft horses and scared them so badly that the grooms had to unhitch them for a quick jog around the block, but the crowd gathering on the street to watch still cheered and waved as they set off.

It was another bitterly cold day, and as Frisk leaned into Vulkin, she tried not to think too much about spending the night in the no-man’s-land. King Stephin had still been sleepy when they talked yesterday morning, and the best objection he’d come up with on the spot had been the diplomatic ramifications of bringing so many humans so close to the Underground. She’d countered with the proposal that they leave all their attendants at the border and have Sans handle both security and transportation from then on, as he was a monster and knew the area well. The King tried to backpedal, but Frisk had gone on about a smaller group being faster and safer, attracting less attention, needing fewer provisions, etc., until he gave in.

“Very well. I will ask His Holiness to arrange the necessary financial matters for each monster,” the King had said coolly. “I am trusting you, Frisk, to bring back favorable news, and prove that this mission is any better than a child’s tantrum over not getting her way.”

“I wonder that Your Majesty has ever spent enough time with a child to see one,” she shot back, eliminating any chance of leaving him on a polite note.

Unfortunately, Frisk was now so busy thinking of that conversation – and trying to ignore the bruises she was accumulating from riding in a big, jouncing cargo wagon – that she forgot to mention it to Sans until they stopped for a break several miles outside the city. He’d started bemoaning the logistics they had to work out for that evening, trying to get all these guys fed and coordinated and bedded down and what they were going to do with the horses, and she had to cut him off with “They’re not coming.”

The guards and drivers looked up from their roadside sandwiches at a furious, smothered explosion of sound. They glanced at each other as the massive skeleton growled down at the priestess, but she didn’t seem worried, so they resumed eating as Sans carried on snarling and gesticulating.

Frisk could understand why he was upset, but the third time he ended a sentence with “—‘n did I mention I’m not a fuckin’ horse?!” was enough. “Sans,” she said, and he stopped. “Calm down and think about it. This may actually be safer. Have I ever shown you how I can hide something with a barrier?”

“Uh…” The boss monster shrugged crankily. “I know you’ve got a lotta different tricks.” Snort. “Any chance ya have somethin’ that’ll pull the wagons for us?”

“Yes. You.”

Sans blinked, and covered his face with one hand. “God damn it.”

Frisk turned her back to the guards so she could grin at him through the veil. “It takes a lot of strength, but if it’s just the two of us and the wagons, I could keep us completely hidden for short periods,” she said, more somberly. “In your opinion, is it safer to move by night, or camp outside the border till morning and then make as much time as we can?”

The skeleton tapped his dusty slipper on the grass, thinking out loud. “It’s probably better t’go at night. A lot of this place is so flat that you can see fer miles on a clear day. I can get by pretty well in the dark, so yer right. If we don’t have all of these dorks walkin’ with us ‘n makin’ noise, you’d just need ta cover up the wagons. It’s mostly bedrock out here, so with the wind blowin’ the sand around, we shouldn’t hafta worry about tracks.”

“I see. How far should we try to get tonight? I don’t think we can make it all in one push.”

“Not if I’m all we’ve got,” he grumbled. “Let’s get t’the fence and see how we’re doin’.”

Frisk had a word with the drivers; when they started again, they went at a quicker pace, the better to reach their destination and allow the men and horses time to get back to the nearest village before dark.

She grew more and more apprehensive as the hours passed, and finally dug out her satchel of clothing, asking the monsters to close their eyes so she could change into a more practical dress than her High Priestess leg-trap. Not long afterward, the wagon slowed and ground to a halt; they were at the border, a day’s journey from the Underground.

Sans waited till the other humans were almost out of sight to tell the monsters, “Come on out, guys.”

All but the flame monsters piled out to stretch their legs and wings while Sans ran a trace of red magic along the wire fencing. Frisk watched him pluck at a seemingly solid strand, revealing a length of twine holding two cut pieces together. “Humans go in ‘n out this way,” the skeleton informed her. “’s like havin’ a gate. They just untie it and tie it back up behind ‘em.”

Frisk shook her head and hugged herself tighter under her cloak. Sans didn’t have time to admire how the cold air had turned her cheeks red, or be really irritated at how the men had all gawked at her without her veil, but he did it anyway while the monsters got ready to resume their places. “So,” the skeleton said, resigned, “how’re we gonna do this crap?”

Five minutes later, Sans was trudging along in the fast-fading light, his hands shoved in his pockets, the wagon’s shafts wedged between his wrists and his hipbones so he could pull it in lieu of a horse. Frisk sat in the driver’s seat of the second wagon, whistling softly and watching the tufts of red magic keeping its shafts upright. Sans had to admit that the flat terrain and the laws of physics made it easy to keep the wagons going once they’d started…but it still sucked.

“Are you doing all right?” the priestess asked at one point.

“Neigh,” he responded, and she started snrrking so hard that he threatened to stop and make her pull the damn wagon. Then he had to deal with that mental imagery until it got darker and he could focus on maintaining a tiny speck of magic to sharpen his night vision. It was nearly a new moon out, perfect for moving in secrecy.

It happened some time after midnight. The monsters had fallen asleep; the priestess was dozing, and Sans was on the verge of stopping for the night when a shriek rang out from the wagon behind Frisk, who nearly fell off her seat. Sans had to lift her down for her to run back, leap into the wagon, and rouse Vulkin from a nightmare, humming urgently to quiet her.

“Shit,” Sans muttered as a torch flared in the distance. “Hey, kitten?”

She didn’t waste any time: a whistle raised a golden bubble around them, and Sans winced at the sheer power crackling through it. For the first time, he found he was less worried about being trapped inside a barrier than he was about the amount of magic it was costing her.

Minute after minute passed. Strange human voices drew way too close, and Sans could only stand there while Frisk held the spell steady, diverting enough magic to soothe the terrified monsters. The giant skeleton had no idea how she was blocking both sound and light and hiding the barrier’s presence from the other side while she hummed, but she did it, because the poachers soon concluded that it’d been a false alarm and wandered back the way they’d come. “They’re gone, sweetheart. Drop it,” Sans ordered, and he heard a ragged sound as the barrier evaporated.

That was enough. Sans set the wagons’ brakes, grabbed as many rocks as his remaining magic could carry, and formed stacks under the shafts to hold them upright, then stuck most of his head into the back of the wagon. “I’m so sorry,” whimpered Vulkin. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not yer fault,” he said roughly. In the monster’s glow, he could see the priestess lying on the wagon floor, resting her head on her forearm as she struggled to catch her breath. “Hand ‘er over.”

Later, he would kick himself for dragging Frisk into the cold again, but he had to see for himself that she was okay. Sans bundled her under his coat and sat down against the wheel, folding her into the crook of his arm while he summoned up heat and softness, everything a skeleton usually couldn’t offer.

That was all well and good, but as she turned toward him, trying to reach up around his neck, something weird happened. He allowed her to stand on the ground and rest her weight against him, her arms sliding under his coat and over his bony shoulders; he’d almost gotten used to that amazing, fluttery, possessive thing his SOUL did when she was on him, but this time, it got physically warmer, and he felt like something was…leaving him? What—

Frisk’s whole body jerked. She pulled her head back enough to stare at him. “Sans? What did you do?!”

“I…” Sans had to close his sockets against a rush of dizziness. “I dunno.”

The priestess withdrew her arms and looked down at her hands. She raised one and snapped her fingers, and another barrier roared to life around them. “What the crap, Frisk?” Sans rasped. “Ya don’t have the strength fer that!”

“I do now,” she said blankly. “How…how did you give me magic directly? Is it—”

Just like that, the dizziness had become full-on vertigo. “Sansy needs t’go night-night,” the skeleton mumbled, and the darkness politely stepped up to pull him back down with it.

A band of poachers had made camp near the river. Their sentry glanced up from his breakfast, then leapt to his feet and called out as someone emerged from the morning mist. “Whoa! Easy, pal,” said the stranger, stopping a polite distance away and holding his hands up. “We’re not lookin’ for trouble. I’m just checkin’ somethin’.” He made a strange face, as if he wasn’t entirely sure how faces worked. “Have ya heard who’s s’posed to be out here right now?”

“Maybe,” the sentry admitted. He eyed the interloper’s oddly pale hair, the contrast it made with his black coat and red shirt, and lowered his crossbow. “Depends what you’ve heard.”

“Someone from the High Priestess is passin’ through, doin’ somethin’ with a buncha monsters,” said the newcomer, lowering his arms very slowly. “I was makin’ sure ya weren’t them. We’re pretty new at this, so—”

The sentry gave a bark of laughter. “Dumbass! It’s the High Priestess. She’s out here with nine or ten monsters, all by herself.”

“Really?” The stranger blinked too many times. “Hot damn.” He laughed, too, sort of. “Too bad we can’t get magic outta her, huh?”

The sentry leered at him in male camaraderie. “Ever seen her in person? I know what I’d get out of her!” He slapped his leg, oblivious to the stranger’s twitching eye and clenched fists. “Well, if you’re new to the business, take it from me: keep any humans you find and save ‘em for ransom, ‘specially her.”

Blink. “Ransom?”

“Yeah. Ransom,” the poacher said impatiently. “You know who her dad is, right?”

The pale-haired stranger blinked again. “Duke Whatshisface?”

“Seriously?” The sentry shook his head in disbelieving pity. “Her dad’s the King, dipshit. You never heard about it?” He gestured expansively with the crossbow, enjoying the stranger’s dumbfoundment. “No joke. The old man used to fuck anything that’d hold still long enough. There’s five or six kids left that we know of, and she’s his favorite.” His grin broadened. “You really didn’t know? Man, you’re fuckin’ stupid.” He flapped his hand. “Get out of here. Go on home before you trip ‘n kill yourself.”

In a daze, the stranger put his hands in his pockets and turned around. “Oh, by the way,” he said, and without warning, something erupted from the ground, impaling the sentry’s foot.

His screams brought his comrades running to see him clutching a huge white bone sticking out of the bedrock, and a stranger pointing wildly toward the river. “Holy crap, it came from over there!” he shouted. “It’s that big-ass skeleton thing! It’s definitely over there!”

Only one of the poachers tried to say, “Who’re you?” before another line of projectiles slammed into the ground heading away from them; he ran to follow the rest of the group, leaving the luckless sentry to try to wrestle the bone free. When he looked up to demand the stranger help him, there was no one there.

“Fuckin’ fuckstick,” Sans muttered to himself from a few hundred yards away, jerking a hand to summon more bones and make it seem like they were still under attack. “I oughta fuckin’…” He kicked a rock so hard that it hurt his stupid wimpy human toe.

Fuck-a-duck. He couldn’t go back to camp like this. With the mist covering him and the poachers haring off in the opposite direction, he could think things over for a minute, starting with whether Frisk had ever come out and said who her father was.

…No, she never had. He’d just remembered something about Rosa – who he now knew wasn’t even her mom – working for a duke, and reached a reasonable conclusion that was totally wrong. It was probably such an open secret that she either hadn’t thought to tell him or hadn’t wanted to in case he treated her any differently. She was probably sick of that already…

Sans was too lost in thought to see something moving in the mist, following him away from the poachers’ camp along the riverbank. When he absently turned to stare at the water, it vanished, only to reappear as he turned again.

So, Frisk had pulled this crazy stunt because there was nothing else she could do about the monsters being sold. According to everything Sans had seen, only the Cardinal or the King could go over her head; therefore, while Duke Whatshisass was in charge of doling the monsters out to new owners, it probably wasn’t him who’d actually decided to sell them. The Cardinal hadn’t bothered her since she said she’d be retiring, and she hadn’t mentioned him at all, which just left the King.

Sans had seen for himself how much the old man treated her like a daughter, go figure. Knowing Frisk, she’d probably told His Majesty to his face that she intended to free those monsters, and he’d decided to keep her out of serious legal trouble and also remind her who was boss by ordering them sold right away. No wonder she’d been willing to flip him the bird right back by stealing the monsters and getting public opinion on her side.

Against all logic, Sans felt his poofy lips curling upward. In a weird way, this was the push he needed to be a little less miserable about not deserving her and a bit more smug that she’d picked him over the zillion guys desperate to snag an illegitimate princess. At this point, she transcended the concept of anyone deserving her. He still thought he sucked, but so what? If he hadn’t imagined what she’d said the other night, then…

The mist was beginning to thin out as the sun came up. Sans paused and glanced behind him, but nothing was there. He turned back toward their camp, reaching for his chain. Better not confront her about something she hadn’t really been hiding in the first place, though now he was determined to ask about her m—

Only the hiss of something flying through the air alerted him in time to fling up a wall of bones, barely deflecting a blow aimed at his neck. Before he could even swear aloud, more things came at him, and he instinctively turned to run away from their camp.

“Hey! HEY!” a voice shouted. Sans’ human ears perked up at the sound. “Come back here, meat-wad!”

His aim wavered as he threw a wave of pointed bones behind him, just missing the figure in the mist. It easily caught one and threw it straight back at him, only to see it glance off another wall of bone. “You!” the figure snarled. “How did you get Sans’ magic? Where is he?! Tell me, you damn coward!”

Sans dodged another one. “Hey!” Dodge. “Hey, listen, ya crazy broad! It’s—”

“Sans?” They both froze at the sound of Frisk’s voice. “Sans, where are you?”

The boss monster finally understood that expression about blood running cold. Fighting chills, he turned his head and opened his mouth to tell Frisk to run.

That moment of distraction was all the figure needed: Frisk came up just in time to see a bone spin end over end and smash into the back of his head, nearly knocking him out.

The High Priestess had heard Sans’ attack on the poachers as she was balancing a frying pan on Vulkin, who’d volunteered to help cook breakfast. Frisk just prayed Sans could divert them without killing anyone, or that he would at least try.

Several minutes later, though, he hadn’t returned. She was passing the pancakes around and had retrieved the bucket for more water when she heard shouting. Her stomach lurched at the sound of bones breaking. Sans!

Telling the monsters to stay put, Frisk reflexively grasped the bucket handle and ran out of the warded camp, keeping another barrier ready. “Sans?” She looked around, squinting through the last tendrils of mist. “Sans, where are you?”

She saw him a split-second before someone threw one of his own bones straight back at him. Frisk choked on a scream as he hit the ground, blood darkening the sand. “Sa—"

“Hey. You.”

Frisk gulped as their attacker advanced on her from the edge of the water. “What’d you say about Sans, human? You know where he is?” The tall monster emerged from the mist, removing her helmet as she glared down with one mostly-yellow eye. “Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you took out a boss monster! How’d you do it? Cheating?” She almost spat the last word. “Start talking, you—”

“Undyne?” Despite her fear, Frisk smiled. “Undyne, it’s you!”

A spearpoint flashed in the air, stopping the priestess as she tried to step forward. “How’d you get my name? Did you torture it out of someone, human? Huh? Was it Sans?!” The spear poked at Frisk, forcing her backward. “Tell you what,” Undyne snapped, pivoting toward the human-shaped boss monster, who was still struggling to get up. “Let’s assume you care at all about your accomplice here. Either you tell me what I want to know, or…” The spear rose.

“No!” In sheer panic, Frisk threw a barrier between Sans and the other monster.

A moment later, she realized her mistake: Undyne had only been threatening him, but as she looked back at Frisk, her gaze was now murderous. “That’s it! That’s how you did it! You used a frickin’ barrier!” She stomped the ground so hard that Frisk felt the bedrock tremble. “I ought to gut you like a fish, you damn cheater! Do you hear me? A FISH!”

“Wait!” The priestess held up her hands, too distressed to be amused by Undyne’s choice of words. “Undyne, please! I’m—” She bit her lip. That wouldn’t work; Undyne wouldn’t believe that she was Kris. It might make her so angry that she’d try to kill them outright. Frisk racked her brains for some way to prove it—she had never shown Undyne her scars, but…

The Royal Guard Captain scowled deeper, this time in puzzlement, as Frisk stared at the bucket dangling from her forearm. “You’re what, human?” Undyne demanded.

Frisk swallowed hard. “I want to show you something,” she said, and took a deliberate side-step toward the water, ignoring the raised spear. “It’s not a barrier, and it’s not some kind of trick. Just watch, all right? And don’t hurt him!”

Undyne glanced around them in case this was a diversion, and at Sans, now lying still and silent. Frisk saw him, too, and her expression made Undyne lower her spear ever so slightly. “What is it? Make it quick!”

Frisk took a deep breath. To Undyne’s bewilderment, the human’s expression went neutral. She went to the river, dipped up a half bucket of water, carried it back to Undyne, and threw it into her face.

Through the haze of pain and gut-wrenching fear, Sans distantly heard Undyne yelling at Frisk, and he felt the barrier she put up to protect him. He wanted to shake her for thinking of him and not herself, and for showing Undyne she could do it. Then there was a dreadful silence, and he couldn’t get up to—

“NGAHHHHHHH!”

Sans threw himself forward, not quite gaining his feet. Hitting the ground again on all fours, he looked frantically for Undyne and whatever horrible things she was doing to—

Frisk was dangling, not from a spear’s bloody point, but from Undyne’s bear hug as the dripping-wet monster swung the human in time to a joyous bellow of “My little bestiiiiiiiiie!”

What the…no, never mind. With an effort, Sans pulled off his disguise and tried not to collapse as the world lurched sideways. “Ow,” he muttered, just to be part of the moment.

Undyne froze, not quite releasing Frisk. “Sans? What the—where’ve you been?” she demanded.

Sans’ glare would have set a lesser monster ablaze on the spot. “Almost gettin’ murdered by yer crazy ass!”

“Really?” Undyne looked puzzled. Then her face lit up. “Ohh, that was you! Ha!” She gave her giant-toothed grin. “Sorry about that, boss. How’d you do that? And why were you saying all that crap to that human back there?”

“I was tryin’ ta throw him off our trail! We’re the monsters and the High Priestess!” Sans sat up and raised one hand to heal his aching skull, indicating Frisk with the other. “Now let ‘er go before ya squeeze her t’death!”

“Hm? Oh, right.” Undyne set Frisk down, letting the priestess catch her breath. “So you’re Kris, huh?” The Captain planted her hand on one hip, watching Frisk brush herself off. “Did you know she was a girl?” she asked Sans.

“Nope. She had us all fooled.” Sans closed his eyes to focus his magic. Fuckin’ Undyne. If he hadn’t been a boss monster, that would’ve killed him!

“It wasn’t my idea,” Frisk protested as she picked up the bucket. “I was only ten, and they said it’d be safer. Can I help you with that, Sans?”

Undyne waved her spear. “Whatever! You’re here now! Ignore him, he’s being a big baby.” She glanced around. “Let’s move out before any more damn humans show up. No offense.” Frisk inclined her head. “You say you’ve got more people with you?”

If the monsters had been happy to see Sans, they nearly turned to dust when Undyne strolled into camp and announced that she would be escorting them the rest of the way home. Once everyone had calmed down, Sans had to admit the fish-lady knew how to get people moving: they scarfed down the remaining pancakes and some leftover oranges, then loaded right up and took off toward the Underground.

“Man…” Undyne was holding it together better than he had the first time he found himself inside a barrier, only betraying her fear of the dome overhead with a tighter grip and her eye darting back and forth. “I can’t believe it. She really is the High Priestess, huh?”

“Yep.” Sans was very pointedly nonchalant, sauntering along as the barrier crackled and the fish monster twitched. Served her right. “She coulda killed me a zillion times over, but she never did. Hell, I tried ta kill her a few times, an’ she smacked me down without hurtin’ me.”

Undyne shook her head. “It’s just…Kris is back, and he’s a she, and she’s the High Priestess, and she’s crazy strong…but she’s still Kris. It’s a lot to take in, you know?”

“Tell me about it.” Sans adjusted his grip on the shafts. He was pulling one wagon, and Undyne was pulling the other one alongside him; all it’d taken to get her going was a hint that she couldn’t do it. She was puffing a bit, but doing well now that they were moving. “So how’d you suddenly know it was her?” the skeleton asked.

“It was from the first time Papyrus introduced us,” Frisk said from the driver’s seat behind him. “I thought Undyne must’ve been upset because she was thirsty, so I grabbed a flower vase and tried giving her some water. …In her face.”

Sans guffawed, freeing one hand to slap his femur. “How’d that work out? Did the nice fish say ‘thank you’?”

“No, she just looked surprised. I thought she was feeling better, so I went back and—”

“The little punk tried to do it again! It was the stupidest thing I’d ever seen, but the kid wasn’t scared of me at all.” Undyne shook her head. “Then the King ordered us to be friends with the humans, so I figured I’d be the best damn friend Kris ever had.”

“And you were.” Frisk sighed. “When we get there, Undyne, I have something for you. In fact, we brought gifts for everyone. Did Alphys ever read the last two Adventure Lady novels?”

“Nah, and it’s been bugging her for years, the poor—” Undyne’s eye widened. “No. You didn’t!”

Sans let them chatter, profoundly grateful that they weren’t doing that weird thing where women hated each other for no reason. Having Undyne on their side, both physically and for moral support, was worth a dozen other monsters. “Did you get him that outfit?” she asked Frisk, nodding at the boss monster. “He’s been growing nonstop, so after a while, he just quit buying new clothes. It drives Papyrus nuts.”

“He’s my bodyguard, and it pays pretty well,” Frisk explained. “Those were a bonus for helping me shop for everyone.”

“Nice!” Undyne couldn’t reach over and smack him in congratulations, so she contented herself with jerking her head. “Good job, boss. Way to find a nice—what do humans call it? A ‘sugar mama’?”

Frisk burst out laughing and couldn’t stop, Undyne joining in as Sans sputtered. Stupid women, he thought sullenly. Why couldn’t they hate each other instead of giving him shit?

A few hours later, Undyne called a halt. “At this rate, we can get there by nightfall,” she said, offering a hand to the priestess half a second before him. “Er…do you have to, uh, go?”

Frisk looked uncomfortable enough for Undyne to nod hastily and point behind the wagon with her spear. “Not much privacy out here. We’ll just pretend you’re not doing anything, okay? Here, I’ll dig a hole for you.”

If that was awkward – and it was – it was nothing compared to the piscine monster making the others talk to cover the sound of Frisk’s business, then leaning over and whispering to Sans, very matter-of-fact, “Is it just me, or is it weird that Kris turned out to be so damn cute?”

Sans wished the ground wasn’t so flat around here, because then he could find a nice big pit and jump right on in. Luckily, Frisk suddenly said to herself, “Oh, dirt, why now?” and stuck her head beneath the wagon to call, “Undyne? Can you please get the little gray bag out of my satchel for me?”

The Captain obligingly found the only satchel with human clothing in it, rummaged around, and tossed the bag over the wagon and into Frisk’s lap. The young woman mumbled her thanks, but sounded so aggravated that Undyne asked, “What’s up? Are you okay?”

A prolonged sigh. “It’s nothing, just a stupid, ridiculous thing that human females have to put up with.” Frisk came back around a few moments later, stuffing the bag into the satchel. “Now, once we reach the Underground, should we all come in through the Grand Hall, or should Sans and I go through the Ruins into Snowdin?”

Sans exchanged glances with Undyne, who was munching on a roasted potato as if it was an apple. “You’d probably better not go straight to Asgore,” she said reluctantly. “When Snowdrake came back, he was pretty messed up, and the King was…uh…”

“Not happy?” Sans guessed.

Undyne’s eye closed. “Yeah. Not happy.”

“We’ll tell him what happened,” piped up Vulkin from inside the wagon. “We all heard the humans talking. Lady Frisk’s in big trouble for bringing us home, but she’s doing it anyway.”

The monsters made generally affirmative noises, and Frisk managed a smile.

“You are?” Undyne scowled. “Here, we’ve got to get going if we want to make it home before dark. Why don’t you give me the whole story on the way?”

They did, starting with Frisk being brought to the convent after her stint in the Underground and her memories being removed at her father’s request— “Oh, crap, that’s right,” Undyne interrupted. “That scumbag said the King’s your dad. Is that true?”

Frisk looked down at Sans in alarm. “Yeah, that’s what the guy told me,” Sans confirmed, not turning his head. “He was talking about her being worth a lot for ransom.”

The priestess grimaced. “I might not be, after all this.” She swallowed. “I wasn’t sure if you knew. I’m sorry if I—”

Sans made himself shrug. “It’s fine, kit—kiddo. Not like ya ever actually lied about it.”

“I don’t get it,” said Undyne. “If your dad’s the king, why aren’t you a princess?”

“Because I was one of many, many children the king had with women he wasn’t married to,” Frisk replied. “To be a princess, I’d have to have come from his actual wife. The first queen died childless, and his second wife died having the Prince.”

Undyne started. “Wait, so he…with just anyone, and you didn’t even count? What the hell is wrong with humans?”

“There’s the million-g question,” Sans mumbled.

Frisk sighed. “Anyway,” she said, “once I stopped begging to go back to the Underground, I settled down and studied as hard as I could. I was ordained a priestess when I was sixteen—”

The story continued until it was time for Sans to pick up with how he’d been caught by a party of five sorcerers almost a month ago. “I figured I’d hang out in jail until someone came ta get me, then kill ‘em,” he said conversationally, “but guess who came strollin’ downstairs?”

“The Duke asked me for help. There was a huge monster in the cells, and no one could decide who would be suitable to take him,” said Frisk. “I figured he must be a boss monster, and I scared them with stories about how powerful he was and how lucky they were that he hadn’t destroyed half the castle already. Then I said I’d take care of him.”

“And you tried to kill her?” Undyne snapped at Sans.

“Tried to burn ‘er, squish her, and blast her,” the boss monster said, almost proudly. “Nothin’ worked. Next thing I knew, I’d signed up fer a month of bein’ a witch ta learn how to grow better crops.”

“Which turned out to be much closer to three weeks, thanks to His Majesty,” Frisk said sourly. “I had each of these monsters taken from humans who were mistreating them so badly that even the Church wouldn’t allow it anymore, and I brought them out here to keep them from being sold again.” Even over the sound of the wheels crunching on sandy rock, they could hear her teeth grinding. “The King knew what I wanted to do, but he thought I shouldn’t have to worry my pretty little head about it anymore, so here we are.”

Sans considered pointing out that the King probably just wanted to keep her out of trouble, but decided he’d rather not be murdered. Undyne’s sole contribution was “…Damn.”

They rolled along in silence. “In three days or so, we can go back to the village and pick up the grain and other things Sans ordered,” the priestess said. “It won’t feed the entire Underground, but it will help.”

“That reminds me, Undyne—ya know the big farm over that way with the maple trees?” Sans nodded in a direction. “She’s gonna get it fer us.”

The Captain gaped at him. “She what?”

“I shit you not,” said Sans. “The human who owned it croaked, an’ she’s been negotiatin’ ta buy it. Turns out bein’ High Priestess makes ya super rich.”

Undyne muttered something under her breath, taking a fresh grip on the wagon shafts. Then her head swiveled, and without being told, Frisk immediately began whistling again. The air around them, which had been a translucent gold, solidified until it was nearly opaque. “They can’t see or hear us at all?” asked the fish monster, glancing up warily.

Frisk shook her head, and paused long enough to say, “They’d have to literally be touching the barrier to know we’re here.”

“No kidding?” Undyne squinted to watch the far-off group of humans through the barrier. Sure enough, they were moving away. “So,” she said presently, “how long are you gonna stay this time? Another month?”

“’Bout ten days,” Sans answered for her.

Undyne nodded slowly. The whistling stopped, and the human said, “Yes, if all goes well. It depends how long Asgore will let us stay, and what we’ll be allowed to bring back to the castle afterwards.”

“‘We’?” repeated the Captain.

It took Sans a second to realize what Undyne was even asking. He and Frisk had yet to discuss whether he’d be coming back to the castle after her visit, but the possibility of leaving her hadn’t even occurred to him, and she obviously felt the same way. “Yeah, I’ve gotta learn more witchy crap,” he said, hiding his elation. “Plus, the more monster stuff she gets ta show the other humans, the less trouble she’ll get in fer cartin’ these guys off in the first place.”

“And I’m not pulling the wagons back on my own,” Frisk added.

“Got it,” Undyne murmured, and Sans breathed an inward sigh of relief. Another thing they needed to hash out: what to tell the other monsters about…whatever they were now. Everything still depended on him working on himself, didn’t it? It would be easier to learn to control his magic in the proper directions inside the Underground. Who knew? Maybe if he kept thinking happy thoughts and not actively loathing himself, it’d really be possible. Maybe, if he was in good enough shape by the time they straightened things with Asgore, they could really—

The priestess resumed whistling, snapping him out of it. Undyne began bobbing her head along with the melody, and immediately started getting the rhythm wrong, but Sans decided not to say anything; he had a lot more thinking to do before they got home.

Very much against her will, they left Undyne just out of sight of the Underground’s principal entrance. She would announce their arrival, see the monsters to each of their homes, and then report to Asgore; knowing the King would insist on the wagons being inspected before he allowed them inside, they would also remain here.

Undyne checked over the little group of monsters as they climbed out, then paused. “Hey. Sans? Are you…gonna talk to Her Majesty?”

Frisk knew a loaded question when she heard one. Sure enough, Sans took a much longer time to reply than usual. “Yeah, I kinda have to. If she’s asleep already, I’ll leave ‘er a note.”

“Okay.” The Captain picked up her helmet from one of the shafts, pulled it back on, and nodded to them. “I’ll be in Snowdin as soon as His Majesty’s done with me. Good luck, guys.”

“We’ll see you soon,” Frisk replied, giving her a smile and ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. This was it. They were here!

The monsters trotted off, and they very faintly heard Undyne hail the sentries from atop the rise. “Welp,” Sans said. “This way.” Frisk obediently grabbed her satchel, which she’d stuffed with apples and potatoes, and set off after him, trying to be happy and grateful and not on the verge of barfing.

It was another cold, boring day in Snowdin. The monsters were pretty sure they knew what was going to happen today – nothing – and that it was going to keep happening, and it was hard to care much about it anymore. Sure, Papyrus kept nattering about how Sans and a mysterious human had told him they were going to come back to the Underground soon and everything would be all right, but…Papyrus. The denizens of Snowdin carried on with nothing as usual, secure in the knowledge that—

Every monster in town stopped what they weren’t doing and looked around in confusion. Magic was building in the air like smoke from a barely contained fire; there was a hhhwp, and in the empty space in front of the skeleton brothers’ house, there now stood a boss monster in black slippers and a tiny human peeking out from beneath his overcoat. “I told you to wait,” she scolded him, moving the coat aside like a giant curtain.

“What? You were the one whinin’ about how cold it was,” retorted the skeleton.

“Hey!” To their surprise, Undyne sprang up from where she’d been sitting on the step. “Where have you nerds been?” she snapped. “It’s been five frickin’ hours! Were you talking to Her Majesty, or what?”

“Nah, we got lost in the Ruins,” said Sans. “Tori’s asleep, so I left her a note like I said. What’re you doin’ here already? Is everyone okay?”

Undyne looked at them narrowly, then said, “Yeah, it turned out Asgore was already in the Grand Hall, so we didn’t have to waste time finding him.” She had changed into the outfit Frisk remembered: a short jacket, wool shirt, long pants and red boots. “Everyone’s home by now. I left Ice Cap with his family a few minutes ago.”

Frisk nodded gratefully. “What did the King say?” she asked, setting her satchel down.

Undyne hesitated. “Well…he was happy to see everyone, but then they started talking about how the High Priestess was coming in through Snowdin, and he wasn’t happy anymore.”

“How not-happy is he, exactly?” Sans demanded. “Is Frisk in any danger?”

“Nope. The others kept going on about how you saved them from the other humans, and when I told him you were Kris, he got really quiet.” Undyne put her hands in her jacket pockets. “He said you could stay until we ‘know your true intentions.’ I have to babysit you, and he wants to talk to Sans as soon as possible, but that’s it.”

Sans and Frisk breathed sighs of relief. “Good enough,” said the boss monster. He stood on tiptoe, the better to see most of the way across Snowdin. “Where’s Pap?”

Shrug. “I don’t know. No one’s in the house. He must be at the store or something.”

Frisk rubbed her arms unconsciously, turning in circles to look around them, especially at the light-spangled house. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured. “I—” She swiped at her eyes.

The Royal Guard Captain stepped over to the High Priestess and put an arm around her shoulders. “You know what? May I be the first, K—Frisk, to say: welcome back.” She gave the human what was, for her, a gentle squeeze. “C’mon. We’ll introduce you to everyone again. We can take it nice and slow, no pressure to—HEY!” Undyne had spotted a nearby cluster of monsters staring at them. “What are you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen a human before? I know you have!” She pointed at Frisk, who was still tucked beneath her arm. “Remember Kris?”

Frisk quickly forgot her irritation as several monsters hurried over. “Kris! Bro!” One dinosaur-like creature shouldered its way through the crowd, hopping from foot to foot. “Is that really you? Do you remember me? Hi, Undyne!”

Of course she remembered Monster Kid, who was only a little bigger now, still wearing the same armless sweater—twelve years obviously didn’t go as fast for monsters as it did for humans! There was the bunny who ran the store, Gyftrot – stuff still dangling from his horns – a couple of the various dogs she’d petted and thrown sticks for…

Once the first wave of pleasantries had subsided, it was time to tell them the reason for her visit, what Sans had been up to, and why “Kris” had turned out to be a lady. She noticed a few of those who hadn’t greeted her falling back to go spread the news, but saw no signs of Papyrus.

She wasn’t the only one: right in the middle of a very important discussion on someone’s baby sister being ready to hatch soon, Sans let out a growl that shut everyone up at once. “Where’s my brother?” he asked.

Shrugs and mumbles all around. “He was staring at the river again,” volunteered Gyftrot.

Sans waited for more information, then nodded. “Okay, everyone,” he told the little crowd. “We’re gonna head inside for a minute. If anyone sees Pap, don’t tell him I’m back yet, don’t mention Kris, and don’t do anything to freak him out. Got it?”

A chorus of agreement. “Don’t freak out,” someone said helpfully to Papyrus, who had just stepped into view.

Papyrus froze, staring up at Sans. “BROTHER?” he said. Then: “BROTHER! NYEHHH HEH HEHHHHH!” He leaped up and threw his arms around Sans’ massive ribcage, doing a pullup of sheer joy. “YOU’RE HERE! YOU’RE REALLY HERE THIS TIME, LAZYBONES! I THOUGHT…THE GREAT PAPYRUS THOUGHT—”

“Yeah,” Sans mumbled. “Hey, Pap.” He hugged him back for a long moment, then glanced downward. “She said she’d bring me back safe, didn’t she?”

Papyrus looked at Frisk, who was grinning. He looked at Undyne, who was grinning and nodding. The younger skeleton released his brother and launched himself straight at his best friend, tackling her with a wail of “THANK YOU, UNDYYYYNE! NYEHH!” Before the Captain could correct him, Papyrus dropped her and caught Frisk up in a less forceful but similarly enthused hug. “THANK YOU, HUMAAAAN! I—” He stopped, and turned his head to look at her quizzically. “NYEH. WHY AM I THANKING YOU, HUMAN?”

“Ya met ‘er the last time we talked, Pap, in the dream,” Sans reminded him. “An’ you were right. She is Kris.”

Papyrus blinked, still holding on to her. “I SEE,” he said sagely. “NYEH HEH HEH! OF COURSE THE GREAT PAPYRUS WAS RIGHT! I…I…” His eyes rolled up, and Sans caught Frisk just before she hit the snow along with the fainting skeleton.

“Geez. He probably hasn’t eaten anything or slept in a couple days. No worries, we can fix that!” Undyne punched Sans reassuringly in the ribs, then bent and rummaged in her friend’s “armor,” helping herself to the house key before slinging Papyrus over her shoulder. “Listen up!” she shouted at the assembled monsters. “This is all very exciting, but these guys’ve been traveling for a couple days straight to bring the others back to us. We’ll see everyone in the morning, okay?” She poked Sans as he turned to teleport into the house. “Not you! Asgore’s waiting. Get your bony butt over to Alphys’ place before he comes looking for you.”

Frisk gripped his sleeve, but she made herself say calmly, “It’s fine. We’ll be here when you get back,” as she picked up her satchel.

He stared at her for a moment, then gently removed her hand, and was gone.

Undyne let them into the house, flipping the witchlights on and kicking the door shut as Frisk walked into the living room. It wasn’t the biggest or nicest of dwellings, and it didn’t help that Papyrus had probably been stress-cleaning—it would explain why the couch cushions were still damp from the last time he’d mopped them, and why the pet rock by the kitchen was barely visible under a pile of rock-candy shards. Had Sans set those out for his brother to use, just waiting for the pun to sneak up and hit him out of nowhere?

“Here you go, Pap,” Undyne said briskly, tramping up the stairs while Frisk marveled at how much smaller everything was than she remembered. The priestess heard her deposit Papyrus in his pirate-ship bed, slam the door behind her, and come back down to pull a kitchen chair out for Frisk. “Have a seat. Sorry, but they don’t have anything in the fridge.”

“That’s all right,” Frisk said. She unbuckled the satchel and offered Undyne an apple.

The Captain took it politely, but as Frisk glanced down to dig another one out for herself, the monster chomped the apple nearly in half, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “So,” she said casually, “what were you and Sans up to in the Ruins? No one’s dumb enough to just get lost in there for that long.”

Frisk felt her face grow stiff and hot. “I had to stop and rest because I used too much magic today,” she answered truthfully, and Undyne nodded. “I…actually, maybe you’d know this—is it possible for someone to directly give someone else some of their magic?”

The Captain paused, her eyebrows rising, a smile growing into a giant grin. “Haven’t you heard of—”

Frisk’s face got even hotter. “Not like that! I just mean, if you were weak and needed a little extra power, could, say, Asgore or Alphys give you a handshake, or a hug, and lend you some magic?”

“Nope. They couldn’t.” When Frisk looked skeptical, Undyne sighed, then made a fist. “Look, pretend this is my SOUL.” Another fist. “This one is…we’ll say Alphys.” Frisk wondered if it was her imagination, or if her friend’s face was turning red, almost purple under the smaller blue scales. “My body’s made of magic, and so is hers. But my SOUL is self-contained, and so is hers. Even if I took a chunk of my magic and handed it to Alphys—” She knocked her fists together. “Nothing would happen. She can heal me, but that’s just repairing damage, not giving me power that I could use to attack someone or do my own spells, assuming I knew any. There’s no way to combine or exchange magic unless you’re trying to have a kid, and that’s a whole different thing. It takes a lot of power and concentration, and…it’s different.” She was definitely purple now. “Why are you even asking?”

The priestess thought about it. She made a fist, and loosened her fingers until she could slide the fingers of her other hand through it. “After you left today, I was tired, and Sans gave me some of his magic again,” she said distantly. “Monsters can absorb a human SOUL, but…” Her fingers wiggled. “I don’t think it works both ways. Humans can’t take a monster’s SOUL, at least not directly into ourselves.”

Undyne suddenly looked very, very uncomfortable. “That’s true,” she commented, “for normal monsters. For Sans, the rules are a little different.”

Frisk was so startled that she dropped her hands. “Are you saying I was able to take some of his SOUL because I’m human and he’s a boss monster?!”

“Hell no!” the Captain snapped. More calmly, she said, “It doesn’t work like that. If you really took something from him that he couldn’t get back, he’d be acting a lot weaker, or he’d be dust already.” She shrugged. “If he did somehow give you magic and you had to wait for him to recover, and he did, then nah, there’s no permanent damage.”

That was something to think about. Frisk remembered last night, when she’d just wanted him to hold her. There was that jolt of energy, and he’d almost immediately passed out… She thought of a few hours back, when she’d gotten anxious and her magical exhaustion had suddenly kicked in, forcing her to sit down. Sans had – somewhat correctly – assumed that she was getting cold feet, gotten impatient, and picked her up, and when she turned to put her arms around him, it’d happened again.

Then, of course, they’d been in a uniquely ridiculous quandary where she was brimming with magic that wouldn’t help them get anywhere, and he couldn’t even stand up. Thank God she’d had something for him to eat in her satchel, or they might have been stuck out there all night waiting for him to recover. When she half-jokingly suggested she try giving his magic back to him, he’d almost bitten her head off.

Wait. Wait a second. If his magic was supposed to be so dark and terrible and evil, etc., how had she not felt anything like that from him, much less been poisoned? Frisk had the sudden, idiotic, schoolgirl-ish urge to giggle—did the good magic come out of the top half of his body, while the evil stuff came out of the other thing?

Undyne was shaking her head in wonder. “You need to tell all this to Alphys. She’d have a better idea of what’s—”

Crack went the window.

Both women whipped around at the sound of shouting outside. Undyne wasted no time, slamming her chair back and throwing the door open to roar, “What the hell is going on?”

A moment of quiet; it might have ended there if Frisk hadn’t peeked around her friend’s shoulder. A group of four or five young monsters stood a few yards away, holding stones, their body language scared but defiant. Their ringleader was a feathery snow monster who looked very familiar. “Chilldrake, isn’t it?” the human asked.

The hoodlums drew back as Undyne’s face darkened. “What do you want, kid?” she snapped. “If you’ve got a good reason for breaking Pap’s window, I’m listening!”

“We want her gone,” the drake said, shifting his feet and glaring at Frisk. “Haven’t you seen Snowdrake? He’s not Snowdrake anymore! How can you let a human in here after what they did to him?!”

“And what if she blows us up?” his friend added.

Undyne grabbed a spear from thin air and thrust it in the monsters’ direction. They shrank back, but stood their ground. “That’s not up to a bunch of kids like you,” the Royal Guard Captain snarled. “His Majesty said she could stay. Are you telling me you know better than Asgore?”

They shuffled back again, but a moment later, Chilldrake drew himself up. “Does he know she’s the humans’ High Priestess?” He raised his voice for the monsters standing nearby to hear: “Does he know she makes barriers?”

That got an anxious murmur going. Frisk felt sick; this was everything she’d been afraid of, no matter what Undyne said, or Sans. She glanced around instinctively, but he wasn’t there.

“He knows way more than you do, punk!” snarled Undyne. She advanced down the steps, leaving Frisk in the doorway. “Now get out of here before I get you out of here!”

“Fine!” Chilldrake shook his ruff, dancing a little in place. “If she’s here, it’s not safe anyway! We should all leave before she traps us and drags us off!”

The murmurs were louder and more upset now. The Royal Guard Captain looked at the other monsters in disbelief. “Guys, you were just telling her how glad you were to see her again! She’s the same damn person she was fifteen minutes ago! Are you going to listen to this little—”

“Is she really the High Priestess?” the shopkeeper asked Undyne.

The piscine monster’s face said it all. Too late, she snapped, “It doesn’t matter! She only uses her magic to—”

Everything happened at once. A stone came sailing over Undyne’s head, straight at Frisk, who did not stop to think that it was better to get a black eye or a bad cut than to confirm their worst fears. Reflex kicked in, and a barrier flared in front of her, pinging the rock away.

Her one piece of luck was that every monster froze in place instead of screaming or running to spread the tale of the human who had snuck Underground to use barriers on them—every monster but Chilldrake. “See?” he screamed, flapping his wings so hard that ice crystals flurried off them. “What did I just tell you?! Get out, human! We don’t want you here, and if I have to go tell His Majesty that you’re using barriers, I’ll—”

Whump.

It wasn’t a rock, or a spear, or a barrier. A ball of pure flame struck the ground in front of Chilldrake, who yelped and hopped backward, crashing into his friends.

The monsters’ heads turned toward the magic’s source, the edge of the field to Frisk’s right; each one immediately dropped to their knees or the equivalent thereof, with the hoodlums dropping the rocks and throwing themselves flat on their faces.

Undyne took one look, shook her hand to dispel the energy spear, and went to one knee as another monster advanced. “Your Majesty,” she said in wonder, then apprehension. Her head ducked. “Majesty, I can fully explain and take responsibility for—”

A gesture silenced her. The monster came to stand in front of the house, her amber eyes coming to rest on the High Priestess, features impassive.

Frisk’s heart constricted. She was suddenly ten years old again, not knowing whether to be afraid, whether she should bow or do something royal. She came down the steps, and to her horror, she found herself breathing harder, eyes prickling, throat tightening. “Lady Toriel,” she whispered.

Toriel folded her arms at the waist. She wore a plain robe, adorned only with the Delta Rune in white—the same thing Asriel had worn the day she fell into the Underground, only purple instead of black. The former Queen regarded Frisk for a long, terrible moment. “Where is the human named Kris?” she asked sternly.

It took all of Frisk’s training, all her experience as an exalted and lonely member of the Church’s highest echelon, to speak up. “The human child you knew was not a boy, and his name was not Kris. He was a girl, and his name was Frisk.” She swallowed. “I am Frisk.” Damn it, her voice wouldn’t stay steady. “I’m back, Lady Toriel. Please—”

Toriel took a step toward her. Another, and another. Her white-furred hand came up to brush Frisk’s hair from her face. The boss monster stared into her eyes…

And she stooped, opening her arms and folding Frisk into a huge, warm, cloud-soft hug.

Everything pent up behind Frisk’s defenses rose in a surge that crumbled the walls like wet paper. She still smelled like cinnamon and golden flowers, Frisk realized, and she wasn’t ashamed to grab hold of the velvet robe and get it soaked with tears again.

“My poor child,” the boss monster murmured, stroking Frisk’s hair as the priestess’ shoulders heaved. “My poor, dear girl. I’ve missed you so much.” She hugged her tighter. “I cannot tell you how very glad I am to see you again.”

Frisk was sobbing without restraint now, not caring what anyone saw or heard or thought of her. Toriel rested her hand on the back of the young woman’s head and looked up for the first time, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Am I to understand that this human is not welcome here?” She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to. “Would anyone like to say anything?”

Chilldrake had collapsed in on himself. His beak moved, but all he could muster was “…High Priestess, Majesty.”

Toriel’s hand grew heavier. “Is this true, my child? You’ve become the High Priestess?”

Frisk didn’t have the courage to raise her head. She just nodded.

The boss monster inhaled, and sighed, her diaphragm moving under Frisk’s cheek. “Then we are very fortunate to have you, Frisk.” She glanced up, once. “Wouldn’t you agree, young man?”

Chilldrake did not nod so much as vibrate his head too fast for it to be visible.

“Splendid. We…what, my child?” Toriel listened as Frisk turned her head to mumble more clearly. “They broke Sans and Papyrus’ window? My word.”

Frisk didn’t see who rushed forward, but she heard a scramble to be the first to check the cracked glass and figure out how to fix or replace it or something right now.

Toriel waited for the priestess to get herself under control, then stepped back and took Frisk’s hand. “Captain,” she said, and Undyne was instantly on her feet, fist on her chest. “We have much to discuss. Please accompany us.” And with as much grace and ceremony as if the old house had been a marble palace, the boss monster went inside, allowing Undyne to glare once more at the crowd, then shut the door gently behind them.

#songfell man i love my mom but

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oddsnendsfanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Holding On for Dear Life

Genre: Fan Fiction (Vikings) Pairing: Hvitserk/OFC Warnings: Medical, Illness, Sexual Content Rating: M Length: Multi Chapter Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: Okay, this is something that I have been wanting to write for a long time, but never got to it. It’s not exactly polished a I would like right now, but wanted to posted the first part to see how it went over. Keep in mind, I am doing my best to go about Emmer and her illness as correct as possible, but a good portion of her is actually personal. I mean sure I can bog us all down with medical by the book, but personally I like my own life experience better.

thank you @flowers-in-your-hayr for the header

Catch Up Here

Hospitals, yuck!

Hvitserk wasn't a fan, then again was anyone?

Ironic that they would be there on the anniversary of them meeting, in this very hospital. Waiting for his best friend – sometimes girlfriend, Hvitserk had sat quietly watching a news programme on mute with captions scrolling across the screen. After what felt like ages, Emmer emerged, slightly sore and exhausted asking Hvitserk if he could take her home.

Cozy in her apartment, Emmer yawned and insisted that Hvitserk was fine to leave her. She'd been through this before, it was nothing new. Bed rest, only fluids, and pain meds only when the label dictated. Although Hvitserk admired her trying to ship him off, he knew better. The last time he listened to Emmer, she had gone and ordered a large pizza and proceeded to eat half of it. Landing her back in the bathroom sicker than when she'd gone to the hospital.

This time, he refused to leave.

“Hvits, I'm fine.” Emmer rubbed her eyes, yawning from the cocktail of medications that she'd received at the hospital.

“Nope, you're not getting rid of me.” Hvitserk shook his head, fluffing the pillow on her couch. He had zero intentions of moving, besides he was too tired to drive again. It didn't matter that his apartment was only a block away.

Hands on her hips, head cocked, Emmer scowled. “I'm not Ivar.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Hvitserk smirked laying down on her couch and yawning.

His baby brother was a far worse patient than Emmer ever thought of being. Although their diseases were nothing alike, they'd both had their fair share of surgery and hospital visits. It was during one of Ivar's stay overs that Hvitserk had wandered the halls of the ward, bumping into the frail girl with the IV pole. Emmer had recovered, gained strength, and a Hvitserk all in a few short months.

“Hvits,” Emmer whined.

“Bed, Emmy. The doctor said you should be on bed rest until tomorrow. You know the drill. If you need me, I won't be far. But I need some sleep, first.” Closing his eyes, Hvitserk took a deep breath, snuggling into the blanket that he'd pulled down from the back of the couch.

Ignoring her would eventually work, growing bored of sitting in the kitchen alone, Emmer would go to bed. If this were under any other circumstance, Hvitserk would have gone to bed with her. Knowing that she'd been in so much pain a few short hours ago, he didn't want to crowd her. Giving her space to wrap her head around the night's events.

Emmer was unfazed and not at all bothered by what had happened, but spending hours in the ER with a blocked stoma took a lot out of a person. Ulcerative Colitis was a cruel mistress, not only causing severe abdominal pains and cramping, but leaving one swollen joints, ulcers in various places, and fatigue. One time Emmer had told Hvitserk on top of that, it was literally the shittiest disease ever. Pun and no pun intended. Tonight's trip had been courtesy of something causing a block in Emmer's small intestine. Unable to pass, sending blinding pain shooting through her abdomen.

She'd called Hvitserk around the third hour of vomiting, asking for him to come over and keep her company. Arriving to find Emmer in the bathroom on the floor soaked in sweat, complaining that she was dizzy Hvitserk grabbed her emergency bag and escorted her to the car.

“Damn peas,” Emmer mumbled leaning against Hvitserk on the way to the car. She'd known better than to eat them, but she couldn't resist. They were there in all their green glory taunting her.

Home and somewhat comfortable in her bed, Emmer laid looking through her phone. Hvitserk on the other side of the door, stretched out and sleeping on the couch. Outside in the morning sun, the birds sang and the city slowly came to life. Oblivious to what some people were going through.

Each person lived their own life on their own path. Emmer had always believed that, even more so now. Her path had taken a turn, sick for months on end without reason or cause. Doctor's office after Doctor's office. Specialist after Specialist. Disease had nearly ruined her life. Easily, she could have allowed it, but why?

So she'd had some surgeries, a ruptured bowel, no large intestine, and had a bag on her side which was now her new bowel. It wasn't the end of the world and certainly wasn't the end of her life. Emmer enjoyed the freedom it had given her, now she was able to go places and not worry about whether or not she would be left in tears, over not being able to find a public restroom.

Meeting Hvitserk days after her first surgery had been another weird little blessing. He was quirky, sweet, and his own kind of funny. Not to mention he was a pretty good boyfriend. He was patient and gentle, even sticking around to be the supportive best friend when they weren't dating.

Rolling on her right side with a slight wince, Emmer rubbed her tummy above the spot where her bag resided.

“Really Eir?” She rolled her eyes at the grumbling stoma. “Now you're talking?”

Whatever. She shook her head, closing her eyes. Hvitserk would be in shortly, she was sure of it. His love for her plush bed would eventually take over, once he realized the couch was a tad to short.

Stretched out on the couch, his feet resting on the arm rest at the end, Hvitserk was surprisingly comfortable. Although he wished Emmer's couch was about seven inches longer. It was plush, comfortable, and like a cloud, until his ankles began to go numb. Curling his legs up, Hvitserk shifted over onto his side trying to stop his feet from tingling. Picking his head up, when he heard the bedroom door open.

No matter how hard she tried, Emmer wasn't exactly stealthy. The bottom door hinge and the floor board right outside of her door gave her away. Hvitserk pushing himself to sit up, scratching the back of his head, he looked like he'd been the one in the ER all night, in pain.

“Hey Hvits,” Emmer raised her hands over her head, stretching her shoulders, then dropping them. “What's for breakfast?”

“Why are you out of bed?” Hvitserk scowled with concern.

“Because I'm not tired? The day awaits us, Hvits.” She'd slept for three hours, it was almost 10AM. Time to be awake and out doing something.

“Your day is going to be spent in bed, binge watching cheesy sitcoms, while drinking tea, and eating broth.” Hvitserk smiled wide at her. “I'll even join you, once I clean up a bit.”

“You don't have to clean my apartment.” Emmer rolled her eyes at him. “I can do it.”

“I know, but I want to help. Besides, if I stay here it's an excuse not to go home. Ubbe had a new lady friend over, I should at least give her time to get out.” He shrugged. His older brother really needed to pick one of his rotating women and settle.

“He still on the rebound?” Emmer dropped onto the couch beside Hvitserk. Leaning over onto his shoulder, glancing up at him.

“Yep,” Hvitserk nodded. “Margrethe really fucked with his head. We have a talent for picking bat shit crazy women, you know. I think it's genetic or some shit.”

“Your mom isn't bat shit crazy.” Emmer countered. “She's just angry that your dad kept fucking around on her.”

“Understandable, although what did she expect? He did meet her, while he was married.” Rubbing his face, Hvitserk sighed. His family would never be up for any sort of Family of the Year awards.

“Your dad still seeing Yidu?”

“Nope, she grew some common sense and left.” Rolling his eyes, Hvitserk scoffed. “Did you know she's the same age as Bjorn?”

“I had a feeling she wasn't your dad's age.” Emmer shrugged. “Every family has their bullshit, what can I say?”

“There is family drama and then there is the Lothbroks. But, enough about my parents. How do you feel, now?” Leaning his head on top of Emmer's; Hvitserk nuzzled his nose into her hair. “And for the record, you're not bat shit crazy.”

“Thank you, I think.” Emmer laughed. “And I'm still a little sore, but feeling better. Really, I'm hungry. Can we eat?”

“Sure, but you're not getting anything solid.”

“Well, ice cream isn't solid. Oh! Let's go get ice cream.”

“Or, you can stay here, in bed while I go get some ice cream and bring it back. What kind do you want? Chocolate?” Hvitserk slowly lifted his head from Emmer's. “I can also bring back some coffee. Iced latte with almond milk and one shot of caramel syrup?”

“Yes! Yes that sounds amazing!”

“Alright, I will go get previsions. You stay in bed and rest. I shouldn't be long. Promise me, you won't try to do anything until I am back?”

“Well, I may shower.” Emmer shrugged, pretending to smell herself. “I stink like hospital, you know how much I hate that.”

“Fair enough, but nothing else. I will do the housework, when I get back. Okay, Em? I don't want you to get hurt or over strain yourself.”

Rolling her eyes, Emmer nodded. “Okay, fine, I will behave. Now go, I want my latte and ice cream.”

“Bossy Britches,” Hvitserk mumbled, grabbing his phone, keys, and wallet.

“Damn right I am!” Emmer called after him, gently tossing a pillow from the couch at his back.

Turning to blow her a kiss, Hvitserk laughed, closing the door behind him. A click indicated that he'd used his key to lock the door, saving Emmer from having to get up and walk twenty feet to the door. Hvitserk was always that way, making sure she was taken care of and he did anything to make her life easier.

Sometimes, it was annoying. Others, it was welcomed. Especially on days when Emmer had no energy. Some days she could barely make it out of bed, those were the days when Hvitserk's overbearing need to cater to her were welcomed the most. He was good at knowing when she needed him to take over, but not so good when knowing he had to back off.

Emmer adored him, but had no problems telling him when to lay off or go away.

In a family of six children, Hvitserk was number 4.

Since an early age, he had been the caretaker. Right after his older, half, sister Gyda. He was constantly taking care of his younger brother Sigurd while his mother focused on his baby brother, Ivar. Gyda kept her brothers from killing one another, while Hvitserk kept Sigurd from somehow killing himself. A task and a half to take on as a five year old. If they wanted Ivar to see his 10th birthday, it was a small price. Twenty years later...

Hvitserk had the ice cream in the car, thankful that the coffee shop wasn't overly busy. Along with their drinks he had gone ahead and ordered brown sugar oatmeal for Emmer and a bacon sandwich for himself. Food in hand, he tapped his foot lightly to the music that softly played through the shop. Lost in his thoughts and tiredness, he jumped when his phone rang.

“Hel-”

“Where are you?” Ivar huffed over the phone.

“I'm getting breakfast and heading back to Emmer's.” Hvitserk smiled his apology to the barista as he accepted the iced latte and the flat white. “Why?”

“You were supposed to drive me to that appointment, this morning. I tried calling you.” Ivar grumbled. Hvitserk didn't have to see Ivar's face to know it was twisted in a scowl. “I had to get an uber.”

“Sorry, fuck. Shit.” He hissed. “Ivar, look I'm sorry. Em had to go to the emergency room. She wasn't well and I had to stay with her.”

“So getting laid, because you played the hero, is more important than family?”

“No, Emmer had an emergency. Listen, I'm sorry. I am. Where are you now? I can come get you, before I go back to Em's.”

“Gyda came to get me. Unlike some people, she cares.”

“I care, Ivar.” Hvitserk defended himself. His younger brother was so dramatic. It came with being the baby. “Tell her I said hi.”

“Fuck you.”

Hvitserk sighed, the line went dead with a beep. Whatever. Ivar would get over it. Eventually.

It wasn't like Hvitserk intentionally forgot about his brother. Had Emmer not needed him, he would have drove Ivar as promised. Ivar was more than capable of getting places on his own, he simply refused. Unlocking the car, Hvitserk groaned and shook his head. Ivar was petulant, but still his brother.

Whatever, he could worry about that later. Right now, Hvitserk had to deliver ice cream and an iced latte, before Emmer sent out a search party or put a bounty on his head.

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