#The amount of notes I took on this AU just for this summary spiralled a little bit

[roboticnebula]

Fake Fic asks: 🐝 Refraction

🐝 send me a fake fic title, and I’ll make up a summary for it!

Cisco doesn't know why he keeps dreaming of Barry - their patient in Star labs. Sure, it could be the guilt for what happened to him, and he's been spending a lot of his waking hours looking him up and talking to the man's family.

Barry sounds exactly like the sort of person Cisco would love to hang out with, but it doesn't explain why Cisco has such specific dreams of the two of them watching Star Trek and placing bets on who can eat the most Belly Burger nuggets (spoiler alert for himself: Barry always wins, the man is a bottomless pit).

It gets very worrying when the dreams slowly grow into strange, waking visions of Barry moving at superspeed, fighting a man in yellow, and into very creepy flashes of Doctor Wells standing over Barry's comatose body.

Cisco can't explain it, but he knows Barry is in very grave danger at Star labs and he's determined to save his future best-friend-maybe-something-else. He also really hopes Barry wakes up soon, because this will all be a lot to explain.

(In which Cisco gets his vibe powers before Barry wakes up from his coma. Set in the CW Flash show.)

(Fake fic ask game!)

[boldlyvoid]

Intro to Criminal Minds: Why They Did It

Criminal Minds x Mindhunter AU

Spencer Reid x Peggy Carr (OC) Part 2: The Case

Summary: Spencer is teaching a 7-week seminar on the most interesting criminal cases, explaining their actions to understand why they took place. Only, not everyone in the audience is a student.

warnings: strangers to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn! flirting, fluff, eventual smut, idiots in love, OC is Wendy Carr and Jason Gideon's biological daughter. mentions of rape and murder (typical canon violence)

word count: 2.2K

ao3

P1

He’s not expecting her to roll out a full map after the waitress clears the food from their table. They’ve been in the booth for barely 20 minutes. Having mindless conversations about their day and small get to know each other questions while they ate.

“So, I brought all this to my dad,” she explained, dropping 33 files on the table as well as 2 spiral notebooks and a handful of pens. “He thinks I have a case, but he’s refusing to look at the evidence because he’s still triggered by it, which I get, but he said you’d be the best at helping me because I really just need a geo-profile consult.”

“How is he doing?”

She’s been waiting for him to ask but she still didn’t know how to answer, no matter how much time she had to prep, “uh, he’s good. He talks about you every time I see him, how often do you talk?”

“We haven’t talked since he almost died, 6 years ago now… yes, it was in 2015,” Spencer says it like it’s nothing serious.

“Oh,” she’s confused about it all. Her father talks about him more than anyone else, always remembering a case or a conversation that he just had to tell her about.

Spencer was his buddy in her eyes. “Here I was thinking he liked you more than me like you’re his favourite kid.”

“I’m not his kid,” his eyes widen at the insinuation that they’re somehow siblings in any sense.

It makes her laugh, she knows he’s interested in her a small amount. She was hoping he would, she’s heard so many wonderful things about him and she remembers just how cute he was back in 2005. Now he’s a man and a mighty fine one at that…

“I take it you’re an only child?” He changes the subject, “you can’t handle the idea of your father having relationships with people your age when you hardly know him?”

“How about you tell me who you think I am and I’ll tell you where you went wrong?” She challenges him rather than answering, she knows he’s good but she wants to see it in action.

Spencer raised his brow, “if I get it right, you’re paying for lunch.”

“Deal.”

He opens her notebook and takes a look at her notes, flipping through the pages reading the words just as fast as her father said he could. It was incomprehensible, but he didn’t read far… he keeps going back to her drawings, studying the pressure and how her mind worked.

“Your mom travelled a lot when you were a kid, and you always went with her. I’m thinking you have a few degrees, at least 3…” he pauses to watch her microexpressions, trailing her skin with his eyes as he looks for anything out of the ordinary. “There’s a doctorate in there but you hate being called Dr. Carr because that’s your mother’s name and it reminds you too much of people asking about her instead of how you’re doing.”

It cuts deep, but he hits the nail on the head and she just blinks. The simplest microexpression that shows him he got it right, his smile is awkward and he’s sorry for it.

“You were homeschooled so you don’t trust people very easily. You have issues with your father that you can’t place because you still don’t think you know him well enough to really have an opinion, and you’re jealous of me because you wish you knew how he brags about you when you’re not around, but he doesn’t talk about you because you told him not to.”

“I specifically told him I wanted to be left out of his life to stay safe, so it’s really my fault that he can’t brag about me. But I still wish someone would,” she admits with a soft smile. “And I think it’s not really jealousy. I’m not jealous of how he brags about his time with you. If anything, I really admire you now.”

He blushes a little, “alright, your turn.”

“You’ve never had a girlfriend before have you?” She calls him out right away. “You can’t take a compliment seriously because no one has loved you deep enough yet for you to believe them. I already know about your parents, I know that you’re scared of forgetting and that’s why you won't stop learning. I think you probably have a bucket list, you’re desperate for something exciting to happen and that’s why you like me already.”

He blinks right back, “touché.”

“I’ll still buy your lunch,” she smiled, and he smiled right back. “And I do have 3 degrees.”

“I do too.”

“I know,” she reminded him. “You’ve been working on that 4th one for the last 16 years.”

“I haven’t had the time.”

She shakes her head as she laughs, teasing him as if she’s better than him because she knows he finds her interesting already, “I had my Ph.D. by 17, as well 2 masters by the time I was 21.”

“3 Ph.D.’s by 22,” he bragged right back.

It had suddenly become a staring contest, “when exactly did your dad walk out on you?”

“I was 10.” Spencer answers. “When was the last time your mom said she was proud of you?”

“Oh, we're going that far, I see,” she laughed, hurt just a little that he dug that deep, “what happened to yours recently?”

“Alzheimer’s.”

“I’m really sorry, I knew about the schizophrenia already because of the fisher king case, that one is the one that still has my dad all fucked up,” she can’t help but rant as she apologizes, placing her hands on his in the centre of the table and he interlocks their fingers like they’ve known each other for years.

“Boston?” He asks her, changing the topic back to getting to know each other without letting go of her hands.

She nods, “Vegas?”

“You knew that already,” he catches her.

“Maybe so,” she blushes at the embarrassment of him picking up on her crush.

“How’d he describe me at chess?” There’s a cockiness behind it that she admires, smiling in response she just shakes her head.

“I don’t play chess, but he says that other than Agent Prentiss, you’re the only person who has come close to beating him.”

“Prentiss?” He looks almost offended at the fact he didn’t know that story.

“You were asleep on the jet, it was right after the trip to Azkaban,” she reminds him.

“Azkaban?” He repeats. “You mean Guantanamo?”

She’s only slightly embarrassed by the slip-up, blushing a deep red as she presses her lips together and squeezes his hand. “My mom calls it Azkaban, she hates it. If it wasn’t for the BAU, she would have never joined the bureau or the government in any way, she’s against the criminal justice system too, so…”

“She’s a woman of science and empathy, I’ve never met her, but I’ve read all her work.”

“So have I,” she’s full of butterflies for some reason as she thinks about him knowing everything that she does, she’s suddenly excited at the prospect of future conversations with him like this isn’t a one-time thing.

He’s still holding her hands over the map, both of them leaning in slightly as they kept talking, it felt overly intimate for a discussion of a case— and they haven’t even started yet.

She takes her hands out of his grip and flattens them over the map, “so I found a pattern, I was asked to look into the rape and murder of a friends sister, and now I’ve found 32 matching cases all over America going in alphabetical order by state, 2 a year since 2005.”

“Are you serious?”

She nods softly, “I’m a private investigator. I hated the academy and simply being in the BAU almost killed both of my parents so I’m not really fond of it, but I need help.”

“How did VICAP not pick this up?” Spencer’s still caught up on the fact this has been happening during his entire career and he had no way of helping. It was very clear by the look on his face.

“Because they’re college-age women getting raped in their dorms, 1 in each state, and men don’t care enough to dig a little deeper when it’s just a little girl who was probably asking for it anyway, right?”

He looks furious, but with her… not at her.

Not like most men, that’s actually exactly what any other guy would have said to her. ‘Not most men,’ they only said that if they were offended; when they knew that they were the exact type of man she was referring to.

He started opening case files then, flipping through everything as she watched carefully, “he always does it the exact same way. It’s every March and November between the 6th and 12th, he’s gotten to the O’s, which means the next hit should be in Oklahoma in exactly 2 months' time.”

“Has there been evidence?” Spencer asks, avoiding eye contact as he both listens and absorbs.

“1 footprint and some random fingerprints at the first few, other than that it’s like he was never there,” she sighs. “This is where I need your help; I’m unsure if he’s attacking randomly or if it’s planned ahead of time, so I brought the map to see if you can make any connection.”

“Alright,” he closes the folder and hands them to her so he can get a better look at everything. “I’m going to need the exact address of each one.”

“I have 32 mini maps,” she says, opening her book bag and handing him yet another folder.

“I’ve noticed they’re in every capital, and it’s always on the east side of the city,” she adds as he spreads them out on the table.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and turns on the flash, turning it face down and holding the sheets of paper over it, “If you look at them over each other, there might be a pattern. We should call my friend Penelope, she’ll be able to digitally do this and find something.”

“Okay,” Peggy nods along, “I really need to know within the week because I’m moving to Oklahoma.”

“What?” He looks overly worried.

“He’s interested in college-age brunettes,” she points at herself. “I’m going to rent an apartment with a sliding door in the kill zone, and I’m going to wait it out. I’ll make sure everyone knows I live alone, I won't make friends, I’ll keep the windows open when I go to the store, I’ll make myself a victim.”

“No, we can get the bureau to send in a team, you don’t need to be in harm's way,” he protests, “I won’t help if I know you’re throwing yourself in the middle of all this. I refuse.”

There’s an underlying panic that she doesn’t quite understand. He’s almost shaking as he thinks about her playing the victim, they stare back and forth at each other softly, eyes flickering over the other’s expression as he also reads her.

“Fine,” she agrees, finally. “But if you’re getting the team involved, I want to be able to have some say in the investigation. I don’t want to be kicked out for just being a PI.”

“On one condition,” Spencer smirks. “You have to teach the BTK seminar with me.”

“Deal,” she smiled. “But I have some conditions too.”

“Anything?”

He was going to regret that.

“We can’t sleep together until we catch the guy— don’t look at me like that!” she catches the way his jaw drops and his eyes glisten.

He’s in complete shock, trying to say words and failing miserably as she stares at him knowingly. “I only said that because I need rules for myself too. We can’t care more about each other than the victims. Solve the case with me and then I’ll have a crush on you, okay?”

“Okay,” he finally finds the words to agree. “Was it that obvious?”

“We held hands for 5 minutes, I’ve thought you were cute since you were 23 and that seminar was a; 'my horse is bigger than your horse' flirting match,” she calls it all out, “I’m just as into you as you are into me already, if not more so because I know way too much about you thanks to my dad and uncle Rossi.”

“Dave knew about you too?” He’s more upset than she expected.

She nods, “yeah, so that I’d be taken care of if anything happened to my dad.”

He is a little upset and she can’t figure out why from what she knows already, “why?”

“You’re so interesting, you and I could have been friends for the last 15 years and things could have been so interesting but you were a secret,” he whispers.

“I was right wasn’t I?”

He nods again, “Gideon doesn’t know about Maeve, but I had a girlfriend who died in front of me before I could tell her I loved her and it broke me.”

Everything makes sense now. The stares, the stuttering, the defensiveness at the idea of her being in harm's way after only knowing her for a few hours. He was desperately looking for someone like himself to prove that he wasn’t going to be alone forever, and he wanted that to be found in her.

“Solve the case with me, then you can learn what it’s like to love someone who loves you back.”

taglist:

@g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk

[frostmarris]

Jailbreak

KakaSaku, KisaSaku, ShikaSaku - Fantasy Au

summary: A witch, a knight, a dog trainer, and an apprentice mage. Great minds think alike.

notes: gift fic for petrikore for the Sakura Haruno discord server's 6 month anniversary exchange!

there's uh,,, a lot more lore and world building that I thought up that I didn't end up including in the fic lol. Maybe I'll continue one day?

Enjoy!

: :

The hall is silent except for the crackling of flames and the whispers of onlookers. The torches perched equidistant along the polished stone walls of the grand hall hold their flickering fires behind fine metal cages, twisting and curled in elegant loops that glow red when kissed by the flames. The court is full, fine silks and satins and lace and pearls crowded together between the towering columns that lined either side of the main path from the entrance to the throne. The noblemen and women keep clear of wide path, necks craving to see over each other and the occasional muffled tap of tailored shoes against marble floor joining the crackling and whispers. Royal guards are placed periodically down the sides of the wide walkway to hold the line, either to keep the members of the court back or to protect them from something else.

All eyes are on the pair of grand doors opposite of the throne, the carved wood aged but well-maintained and the metal lining reflecting the light of the torches. Dancing shadows are cast over the painted carvings of forest creatures - foxes chasing rabbits, a mother doe grazing with a fawn, wolves running as a pack, birds soaring overhead, a hunting party on horseback following a lone stag. In the center, standing atop a green hill, every blade of grass meticulously carved, is a white silhouette of a strange beast - the single horn in the center of its forehead pointing to the heavens and touching a fallen star. The paint and carvings mimic the light radiating from the star, stretching out over the other creatures and bathing them in its ethereal glow.

A chorus of footfalls grows steadily louder from behind the carved wood and the whispers fall silent, leaving only the crackling flames to accompany the low groan of the old doors as the unicorn is split in twain.

The metallic ringing of armor scraping against armor and the sturdy thuds of leather boots against the marble floor soon drowned out the flames, but the entourage of royal guardsmen is ignored in favor of the woman  trapped in the center of the pack. Two men stand on either side of her, just a step behind, with their hands on their hilted swords and their keen gazes never leaving her profile. Ahead of her walks the Captain, holding the iron chain attached to the heavy shackles encompassing her delicate wrists.

Her skin is rubbed red and raw under the sharp edges of the cuffs and her gown is torn and stained along the hem. A long sleeve ripped up to her bicep and a straight scratch along her left cheek, but she might as well have been dressed in all the finery and jewels of a queen with how the court stares in awe. 

She radiates… something. 

Something unseen and powerful and glorious that has breaths caught in lungs and eyes unblinking as she strides forward, the chain slack and her back straight. She stands with all the power and regal air of a royal lady of the court, as if she were here as a guest rather than a prisoner in chains. 

The deep green of her gown, velvet and hemmed with silver threads, sweeps over the marble like a curtain of moss, silent compared to the footsteps of the soldiers. Beaded starlight dappled lightly over her skirt gathers together in larger clusters towards the bottom hem, gradient of silver and white sparkles that catch the crackling flames with every movement. Her skirt trails behind her, tattered and torn, and the guardsmen take care not to step on it. 

They keep a wary distance from the woman, even though they must remain close - as if afraid to touch any part of her.

Hair the color of flowers only found in the royal garden cascades down the open back of her dress, brushing over unmarred skin and twisting in loose curls. Her head is held high and remains facing forward even as her eyes pass over the awed faces of the court. Eyes like the emeralds lining the King's crown and a face that is both hard edges and gentle curves, her stern expression unwavering and the smallest downward tilt to pink lips is the only inclination to her thoughts as she is led towards the raised dais of the throne.

The guardsmen and their charge stop at the first step of the platform and the hall falls silent once more, except for the soft rustling of fabric as the King shifts in his throne. Hard, aged, brown eyes stare into sharp green and the hall is filled with bated breaths, no person daring to speak or draw breath too loudly lest they draw the ire of either the King or the woman.

She stands tall and unwavering, refusing to break her gaze from the King's. Neither of them speak and the tension in the air grows heavy and thick, the crackling of the flames falling to a soft hush as well.

Then, her eyes flicker upwards and green-stained fingertips curl as her hands fist against the fabric of her gown.

The flames lick and rage against their delicate metal cages, growing bigger and brighter and hotter as her gaze falls on the single opalescent, spiraling horn mounted at the top of the King's throne, the jagged ivory base still stained red.

: :

Kakashi sees a ruby. 

It is placed in the center of her forehead, pressed into her skin rather than the metal of a circlet or crown, and it catches the flickering flames of the torches as she passes by.

The Guardian of the Forest, he'd heard them call her - a strange woman inhabiting the mysterious woods just at the edge of the King's claimed land. She kept the creatures of the forest safe, allowing neither hunter nor soldier to enter and discover its secrets. Tales of magical beasts mingling among common animals and an ethereal being dressed in leaves and moss who wandered its hidden paths.

They were bedtime stories and lullabies that all children who lived near the woods grew up hearing, their dreams filled with creatures of legend and fae that would whisk you away into the darkness if you walked too close to those tall, tall trees.

He couldn't recall any mention of pink hair and eyes like green fire, however.

Kakashi stands at the edge of the crowded court, one of his hounds sitting obediently his side while he stands mesmerized, catching glimpses of the strange woman as she is led towards the throne. 

He rarely ventured inside the castle anymore, preferring to spend his time in the kennels where he trained and tended to the royal hunting dogs. He'd had his fill of the court and politics and retired some years ago from his position as the Captain of the Guard. No more bloodshed, no more fighting - Kakashi had seen enough battles and men dying to fill several lifetimes.

Now, he took his place as the kennel master, making sure the hounds were kept happy and healthy between hunts and training pups for their eventual roles in the King's hunting parties. He spent a fair amount of time in the woods, but specifically those near the castle that were used for game and sport. Occasionally he ventured to other forests where townsfolk and noblemen hunted for their meals, but never to the great forest to the West, where white stags and black wolves and something otherworldly roamed.

Kakashi had been checking up on an order for new leather leads for the pack when he'd heard the whispers amongst the castle servants.

"A strange woman in chains caught by soldiers."

"A witch was being bought to the castle."

"The Guardian of the Forest had been captured."

So, he'd slipped into the throne room and kept to the edges of the great hall like many other curious members of the palace staff, unable to resist.

And he sees the woman, standing so tall and strong despite how the shackles dwarf her wrists and she barely reaches the shoulder of the guard next to her, soft and lovely and out of place in the court, and Kakashi insists to himself that there must be some mistake.

But then his hound whines and cowers and the flames lick at the metal cages of the torches, nearly grazing him as they seem to reach out in their rage, and the air grows cold, heavy and thick in his lungs.

And he knows that a mistake has been made, dire and dreadful.

: :

Kisame sees a sapphire.

It reminds him of his homeland, where the sea met the land and great waves crashed against towering cliffsides, carving back the rock and stone as it tried to reclaim what had once been under its care. Ocean spray and salt on his tongue, weathering his skin well before calluses and scars from training and combat. His gaze reading the horizon and tides and stars and the grand forests to the West only a legend for the children of seafarers and fishermen. 

He'd always wanted to see those green, green woods and trees as tall as cliffs, even though his heart sang for the water and seafoam. 

Kisame trained and worked and eventually found his place in the castle guard for the royal palace itself, his ocean home and those rocky shoals seen now only in his dreams. His heart yearned for both the sea and the woods he'd yet to witness, caught between both and unable to choose whether to return or venture onwards.

Now head of the King's personal guard, he dreams of both the past and the future - of before and more.

The Lady of the Woods, he'd heard whispered. 

First as a story-creature when he was a child - a magical woman who'd never seen the ocean or horizon or sky, only trees and their reaching arms that hid away the stars and clouds with their canopies of leaves and vines. A being that spoke to the forest and bade the plants to follow her commands. Both a prisoner and a warden, where life was so unlike that of the coast and the inhabitants sounded alien and strange.

And now again, as he stands at his post to the right of the dais, armor glinting under the flames and his hand resting at his side, always just a moment away from reaching for his sword.

Kisame sees her as the grand doors open and the procession of guardsmen enter and his heart stops.

He sees the sunsets over the horizon that he misses, pink and lovely and breathtaking, and the greens of the great forest he yearns to see, cloaking a body with pale skin that had never known ocean spray or the harsh coastal sun.

Her eyes are more green than any leaf and they travel over the staring faces as she passes, unreadable and intense. The sapphire in the center of her forehead seems out of place amongst the greens of her eyes and gown and fingertips and the pinks of her hair and lashes and lips and Kisame stares like everyone else, something thrumming in his chest and in his ears.

Her eyes meet his own and he takes the smallest, sharpest breath, holding her gaze for what feels like hours, but he knows is only an instant, before her attention is turned to the King. Her anger is palpable and sweat beads at the nape of his neck and he doesn't dare take his eyes off of her.

Kisame is privy to more information than most, as he is always at his King's side, and he knows this woman has been brought here for heinous crimes - murder of soldiers, destruction of royal property, defiance against the King's will - but he finds himself unable to believe it.

She seems so delicate and frail, despite the strength behind her gaze. How could one small - lovely, beautiful, otherworldly - woman destroy an entire battalion? How could this woman have possibly uprooted a small fortress and crushed stone into rubble?

And then her gaze moves away from the king and to the horn mounted overhead and Kisame feels a chill unlike anything he's experienced in years.

The bite of ice in his veins and the suffocating pressure of water and drowning, no air left in his lungs and his heart heavy in his chest. 

His hand is on his sword before he even realizes it and he's stepped forward, just the same as all the guards and soldiers present. The flames behind him grow wild and unruly, but he feels no heat from their lashing tongues. 

Kisame's hand is on his blade but he can find no true desire to draw it, lost as he is in the Lady's gaze.

: :

Shikamaru sees an onyx.

He'd been restless all morning, a heavy pressure at the back of his skull and an unsettling feeling under his skin. He knew what would be happening today, had known for the week leading up to it, but he had no idea what to expect. And not knowing is one of his least favorite feelings. 

The Witch of the Moors.

She was a legend - an enchantress, a sorceress, a shapeshifter - who had only ever been glimpsed through trees and branches of those daring few who entered her woods. Ruby hair, onyx eyes, golden hair, topaz eyes, diamonds and sapphires and pearls and emeralds and so many conflicting stories that encompassed years and years and years. Wearing the forest like a gowns and cloaks and hallowed by starlight, the very earth listened to her command and the creatures of the forest both feared and adored her.

She wasn't supposed to be real.

If anything, it was just some reclusive witch hiding in the great forest to the West, driving away people who tried to enter.

But then the King had taken a hunting party to the forest and returned with the most glorious trophy, exposing his sins to anyone who looked upon the opalescent horn he'd mounted.

Shikamaru had been on edge ever since he'd seen the horn, still bloody and shining though slowly dimming as the King laughed and regaled his grand story. He'd wanted to leave, to lock himself away in his study and beg for forgiveness as he knew there would be dire consequences. But his teacher had a place on the King's council and, as his apprentice, Shikamaru must remain at his side. To learn and listen so that one day he'd be able to take his place as a royal advisor and mage to the King.

His fingertips were numb and his shadows restless, flickering at the edges and twisting underfoot as he stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back and his expression tired and every fibre of his being screaming for him to run.

The first omen came the next morning, a dark storm reaching across the sky like a clawed hand, the castle its final mark. Reports claimed that the storm stretched across miles and miles, no break in the black and charcoal clouds. Lightning crackled just under the surface, never striking the ground but filling the air with static and energy.

The storm originated from the great forest, with its massive trees and otherworldly legends, and reached all the way across the kingdom for the King himself.

He had the horn mounted to his throne that evening.

And during the night, he claimed someone - some thing - had slipped into his bedchamber and tried to kill him.

(Reports from the guards claimed that they had rushed to the King's chamber at the sound of his screams, to find him waking from a nightmare and a manic look in his gaze.)

The next day, he sent a small battalion of soldiers to the forest. 

Only one man returned, half dead upon his horse with reports of a bloodbath and screams and a witch standing on the rubble of what had once been an ancient watchtower.

The King consulted his mages and magical advisors and they came back with a potion, iron shackles, and a plan.

And now the Witch of the Moors had been brought to the castle to answer for her crimes and, again, all Shikamaru wanted was to run away.

The air is electrifying in the hall well before the doors finally open, the hair on his arms standing on edge but no one else seeming to notice the unrest in the atmosphere. Shikamaru stands to the left of the dais, at the back of the council and behind his teacher but with a clear view of the path to the throne.

The grand doors open and his blood sings.

A powerful force rushes through his veins, both chilling and burning all at once, and he hasn't seen her yet but he k nows she is there. There are whispers and hushed voices calling feather-soft into his ears, drawing patterns against his bare skin under his clothing and making him tense. His shadows writhe and twist and it's the only movement from him as he finds himself standing frozen-still, gaze straining as he waits for her to come into view.

Shikamaru finally, finally, sees petal-pink hair, green eyes brighter than any gem, and an onyx stone in the center of her forehead and he tries and fails to breathe.

Something is so terrible wrong and he can tell that his teacher feels it now as well as he tenses and inhales sharply through his teeth, but Shikamaru doesn't dare look away from the woman - he never wants to look away.

He feels her anger under his skin and in his veins and he knows she has every right to tear the castle itself down around them and rip apart anyone who stands in her way. He knows the only crime committed has been against her and, then and there, he resigns himself to whatever destruction she desires and knows that he will be leaving the castle by daybreak.

The flames roar and scream and rage and after things are calmed to simmering rather than overboiling and the woman is led away in her iron shackles, three minds simultaneously come to the same conclusion.

Tonight is the only night she will spend as a prisoner.

: :

Kisame brings her food.

He swipes the meal meant for her from one of the prison guards to hand-deliver it himself, using his authority as the head of the King's personal guard and claiming he wants a closer look at the witch, sharp steel in his gaze and his jaw tense.

The hardness of his expression melts away as he faces the door to her cell, high up in one of the tallest towers and far away from earth and soil. He meets her with a hushed voice and light steps as he enters, finding her still shackled at the wrist and kneeling at the far edge of the dark room. There is a single hole high above her, allowing a single ray of light from the setting sun to enter the cell.

She pauses in the midst of singing in a language Kisame doesn't understand and looks up at him, those emerald eyes practically glowing in the dark.

He carefully approaches her and slowly lowers to one knee, setting the food in front of her. Though her meal had originally only consisted of stale bread and water, he'd added a few fresh pieces of fruit that he'd swiped from the kitchen to the platter.

She meets his gaze and Kisame feels as if she is staring into his very soul, reading every thread of his being and slowly taking him apart, piece by piece.

And then her stern, indecipherable expression melts away and she offers him a near-smile, reaching out to touch his arm with her cuffed hands. He's never felt such soft skin against his own and he freezes, breath caught again before he bows his head in reverence and promises his return. Kisame unwillingly backs out of the cell and and doesn't look away from her until the door is closed.

He swipes the spare ring of keys mounted at the guard station after passing the original back to the prison guard, already making plans for a pair of horses and supplies.

: :

Kakashi brings her a blanket.

It's old and from his own home, so he's inwardly apologetic for any lingering dog-smells, but he would rather she have something of his than something belonging to the castle. 

It's still fairly early in the evening and he distracts the prison guards with Pakkun, the small dog grabbing their attention as he makes off with someone's coinbag and they chase after him. Kakashi slips through the shadows, unseen and unnoticed and well practiced at getting where he wants to go without being spotted.

He curses as he finds the spare ring of keys missing from its usual spot in the guard station and resigns himself to picking the lock, using skills that have gone unused for some years.

The sound of muffled singing stops just as he manages to unlock the latch and carefully push the door open.

She's kneeling in front of the far wall, hair he longs to touch and run through his fingers cascading down her shoulders as she watches him warily. Still slightly crouched, Kakashi stares at her for a long moment, forgetting why he'd come, before he's startled by a soft bark in the distance.

Pulled from his reverie, Kakashi glances over his shoulder before silently slipping into the cell. Her eyes narrow and he holds up his hands as a show of peace, smiling behind the cloth covering the lower half of his face. Green eyes stare and stare and he holds his breath for almost too long, relaxing when she finally seems to find what she's searching for in his gaze.

Kakashi speaks, softly and lightly and her tense shoulders lower, her head tilting and sending those soft tresses in further waves down her arm as he procures the blanket from under his belt. He holds it out to her and she hesitantly reaches for it, his boot brushing an apple core as he takes another crouched step forwards.

Soft, delicate hands touch his rough, weathered fingers and she gives him the smallest smile as she accepts his gift.

His heart is pounding in his chest and he nearly lets out a small laugh, but then he hears more barking in the distance, grimacing behind his mask. Kakashi promises to return and slips back out of the cell, listening to the click of the lock and casting the door one last look before disappearing into the shadows.

: :

Shikamaru brings her a candle.

He stashes it away in his pocket and heads towards the tower used as a secondary prison with a lie on his tongue and conviction in his veins. He claims that the other mages sent him to see the witch, showing off a vial filled with shimmering black liquid that, in reality, is just metal shavings and ink. 

He's led to her cell and watches as the door is unlocked for him, one of his shadows slipping into that of the prison guard to inspect the key as he enters the dark room, the sound of singing suddenly stopping. The sun has set and the sky has been dark for some time now, with the only light coming from the torches lining the hall outside the cell doors. The guard places a torch temporarily in one of the wall sconces and closes the door behind him, leaving Shikamaru with the woman.

She's bundled under a blanket and watching him with curiosity, something tickling the edges of his awareness and making him shiver, a buzz of energy under his skin. He stands there for a moment, holding her gaze, before walking forward and slowly dropping to his knees in front of her. Removing the candlestick from his pocket, Shikamaru gathers some of the energy in the air into his hand and passes his fingers over the wick, a flame lighting to life and flickering between them. The light dances across her face, catching in her eyes and the onyx on her forehead, and he waits with bated breath.

Then she chuckles and Shikamaru finds himself smiling, holding reaching to her left and using some of the melted wax to anchor the candle to the stone floor. When he looks back up at her, he's caught off guard by warm lips on his forehead and a spark of energy that rushes through him and makes his hair stand on end, his blood racing and roaring.

With hushed whispers, Shimamaru promises to return, retrieves the torch from the wall of the cell, and returns to his room to pack only the most important of his possessions.

: :

The next evening, after a tense day full of anxious thoughts and restless bodies, the commander of the King's personal guard, the kennel master, and the apprentice mage return to the prison tower.

Kisame and Kakashi arrive at the same door at the same moment.

They balk at each other, both searching for their next course of action and unwilling to harm each other. Kinda-sorta-friends and all that.

"Commander Hoshigaki…" Kakashi says, shuffling awkwardly with his lockpick hidden behind his back.

"Hatake…" Kisame answers back, just as stiff and tense.

A long stretch of silence passes between the men, muffled singing heard from behind the door next to them, and Kisame just barely shifts, the ring of keys hidden under his coat jingling at the movement and slipping out of their place in the picket he'd hurriedly stuffed them into. They hit the ground with a dull thud and both men look down, sweat beading on Kisame's brow as Kakashi’s eyes widen.

The knight grimaced, wondering if it would be quieter to knock him out by punching him in the face and knocking his head against the wall.

"...So that's where the spare keys went." Kakashi mumbles after a moment and Kisame's confusion is just long enough for the silver haired kennel master to sheepishly hold up his lockpicking tool and let out a nervous laugh.

Kisame opens his mouth to speak but is too dumbfounded to find words. They both silently shuffle their feet for a moment before a tired groan from the shadows has both men suddenly turning towards the source, a sword raised and a knife in hand within seconds.

Shikamaru steps out of the shadows, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and holding up the copy-key he'd made with the other. 

"Man, did we all have the same jailbreak idea..?"

The three would-be rescuers all stare at each other for a moment, Kisame resheathing his sword and Kakashi slipping his blade back into its spot on his belt as there's a chorus of awkward grunts and murmurs.

"One horse or two..?" Shikamaru asked after a moment, looking up at the much-taller Kisame. He'd only been able to get a single stallion, since he rarely left the castle anyways, and he doubted Commander Hoshigaki would be as unlucky.

"Two," Kisame admits, scratching at his cheek. "I've, uh, got them saddled and ready over by the West wall."

Shikamaru nods in approval but then Kakashi lets out a tired chuckle.

"Cart for me."

At their stares he sighs and shrugs.

"I've got dogs I'm taking with me, alright?"

The air is eerily quiet for a moment as the three men discuss their plans in hushed tones before Shikamaru suddenly tenses, static under his fingers as he sends the door a startled look.

All at once there's a rumble and a crash, the ground shaking and the sound of thunder filling their ears, coming from behind the cell door. The three men share startled looks before scrambling forward to unlock the door, a rush of fresh air meeting them the moment they throw it open.

The far wall of the cell has been blown apart, tree roots and branches digging into the floor and reaching into the room while the light of the moon dappled the darkness through the leaves. 

Kneeling on the thick roots with one leg outside of the tower is the witch, who looks back at the men for a long moment. Then, she grins, waves, and hops off the ledge, sliding down the length of a massive tree that had reached up toward the tower, branches and leaves curling away from her as she makes her escape.

Kakashi, Kisame, and Shikamaru stare at the place she'd been for a long moment before the latter finally speaks up.

"S-so, uh… do we follow her or take the stairs..?"

[calpalirwin]

Tough Act

Summary: Lip may have finally met his match.

A/N: A season 4/season 5 AU of sorts. My first Shameless/Lip Gallagher fic too, so fuck off if it sucks.

Content: Swearing, fighting, fucked up-ness.

Word Count: 4.3k

And away, and away we go!

__

The door to the lecture room slammed open, averting everyone’s attention to the teenager rushing into the closest empty seat. Underneath the sea of unruly brown curls was a face red from the exertion of his run across campus in a blind hurry. There was a wild look in his crystal blue eyes as he tore his backpack apart, digging around for a notebook and pen, and a flash of agitation as he came up empty-handed. The adrenaline of his bad morning made all his movements swift as he frantically scanned around to figure out who to ask to help him out of his predicament. 

“Psst,” he whispered, his rushing about coming to a standstill as he stopped on the girl seated to his left. “Psst… hey!”

“What?” she whispered back in annoyance, her lips barely moving, her attention still fully on the professor who continued with their lecture.

“You got a spare scrap of paper. And, uh… a pen? I seemed to uh…”

“Forgot to charge your precious laptop?” she questioned with the same note of annoyance.

“Oh, you think I’m one of these snobs?” he smirked, gaze flickering about the room. “Nah. Rough morning.”

Her eyes rolled as she reached wordlessly into her bag at her feet, producing a notebook with a pen tucked into the spirals. “Here,” she hissed, handing it over.

“Oh, I don’t need the whole th-”

“Don’t care. Now, shut the fuck up.”

“Thanks.”

“The fuck did I just say?”

The boy smirked again, but didn’t say another word, turning his attention to catch the rest of the lecture.

When the class was over, he ripped the pages free from the notebook, tucking the pen back in the spirals and handing it over. “Thanks again.”

“Keep it,” she said, pushing the notebook into his chest as she rose to her feet. “You clearly need it more than I do.”

Confused irritation flashed across his face as he followed her out of the classroom. “I was just trying to be nice. Fuck.”

She paused, turning on her heel to face him. Now that they were literally standing toe to toe, she got a good idea of just how tall he was as she found herself eye level with his chest. Or what would be his chest if it wasn’t covered in a white t-shirt sporting the words “Fuck you you fucking fuck” in blue block letters. The same color blue of the simple zip up hoodie he was also wearing. The kind of blue that really made his eyes pop as her chin tilted upwards to find his own gaze staring down at her, unchecked attitude in every sharp feature of his face. She crossed her arms, scoffing. “Are you saying I wasn’t nice back?”

“Look, if you’re gonna be a cold bitch, that’s fine. But why bother helping in the first place?”

“Right. Next time I’ll just let you keep pestering me, then.”

“I just said ‘thank you.’ What the fuck more do you want?! Jesus…”

“You’re welcome!” she snapped back. “Better?”

His temper gave way to cockiness as he flashed a grin. “See? Was that so hard? Can I buy you a coffee? Or like a new notebook?”

“Ugh, I don’t get you. One minute you’re pissed I helped you. The next you’re trying to flirt with me? Pick a side, loser.”

“It’s Lip, actually.”

Familiarity flashed in her eyes. “As in Gallagher?”

He chuckled lightly. “Yeah. How many Lips do you know? Wait… you know me? How?”

“Think you’re the only one from the South Side with a brain? I’m Mickey and Mandy’s cousin.”

“Oh shit! You’re a Milkovich?”

“A Y/L/N, actually. But yeah, I guess.”

“No shit, huh?”

“Yeah, what gave it away? The attitude, or the fact that I’m the only one in this place taking notes by hand?”

“Well, not the only one,” Lip chuckled, waving the notebook he had tucked under his arm.

“Right…” she said before walking off. After a few steps, she turned to look over her shoulder at him still standing there. “Well?” she demanded. “You buying me that coffee, or not?”

That trademark smirk graced his lips before he adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and jogged after her. 

“So, how’d you end up here?” Lip asked as they pushed their way out of the building. He rubbed his hands together, blowing into them before digging into his pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lip shook the box at her in a silent question as he placed one between his lips and lit it.

She took one, and when she moved to take the lighter from him, he gave a small shake of his head. One of Lip’s hands cupped around the cigarette in her mouth, the other lighting it for her, before he took a long drag from his own cigarette. “You gonna answer my question?” he asked, pocketing the cigarettes and lighter.

“You didn’t really give me time before you asked a new one,” she responded, blowing a ring of smoke.

“Well?” Lip prompted, twisting his left wrist in a gesture to indicate for her to go ahead and answer.

“Like I said. You think you’re the only one from the South Side with a brain?”

“I mean… statistically no. But to get into a place like this? And afford it? What’s your secret? The Milkovichs fuckin’ got some dirt on someone? Can you get them to threaten them for me too?”

She rolled her eyes. “One, I got in here on my own. Two, I’m not a Milkovich. I may share a little blood, but I don’t share the name. Not that I’d want to anyway. Fuckin’ Terry trying to fuck the gay out of Mickey by having him fuck that Russian broad? Like he has several dipshit sons to pass on those disphit genes. Who gives a fuck if one of ‘em’s a raging homo?”

“Hey, that raging homo is fucking my brother. Watch it.”

She raised her hands in defense. “Like I give a shit who’s fucking whom. None of my damn business.”

“Whom, huh? Jesus, you are smart.”

“Yeah, and for a brainiac you’re fuckin’ slow. Smart isn’t a special Lip trait made just for you. Other people can have it too. Probably hard to see that though with your ego. Does that ever get heavy?”

“Ooo, she bites.”

“She happens to have a name. And I swear if you call me a Milkovich one more time, I’ll show you exactly how I’m not one by not pulling my punches for a Gallagher like some white trash version of Romeo and Juliet.”

It was his turn to hold up his hands in defense. “Shit, okay. Let’s see… a Y/L/N… My age, give or take a year in either direction… that makes you Y/N? Which makes you a junior. Impressive.”

“Is that an ‘impressive’ in regards to your stellar deduction skills? Or an ‘impressive’ in regards to me being a junior.”

“The latter. I’ve already almost dropped out like 6 times.”

“Mmm, then maybe you’re not as smart as you think you are, Lip. Spewing bullshit to illiterates is easy. Actually being smart though requires a little more work.”

“Alright, fuck me for being curious, but I don’t exactly see our kind around campus, do you?”

“That’s probably because we don’t go around flaunting that part of ourselves. We had our chance to get out, we took it, and then we didn’t bother looking back.”

“What like some take the kid out of the hood metaphorical shit? Wouldn’t the follow up to that mean that you can’t take the hood out of the kid?”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why I’m constantly busting my ass to keep up with these silver spoon trust fund brats. It was easy in high school. Pay attention every now and again, and you don’t have to bother with cracking a book to be labeled a genius. Big fish, small pond. Here? These kids have had nannies and tutors since before they could string two words together. Suddenly I’m just an average sized fish in a bigger pond. And out there in that ‘real world’ everyone keeps harping about? Do you see how as the pond gets bigger, you get smaller? But you think I’m gonna let that slow me down? Play into that self-fulling prophecy that I won’t amount to shit because of where I grew up? No. I’m gonna keep my mouth shut, and work my ass off because that’s what got me out in the first place, and that’s what’s gonna keep me from backsliding.”

“Did you just call me a small fish?”

“I’m saying you better get your shit together, Gallagher. This ain’t fuckin’ t-ball, it’s the big leagues. Back home, we might be the big shots. But here? We ain’t shit unless we do something about it. And showing up late to class without a fuckin’ notebook and pen isn’t how you make that happen.”

“Fuck, alright. If I wanted a lecture, I’d just call Fiona.”

“Just trying to warn you. One hood kid to another. But by all means, you could also contemplate dropping out for the 7th time.”

“Anybody ever tell you that you need to fuckin’ relax?”

“If they think that, they’re not stupid enough to say it to my face.” She took a last drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke up in Lip’s face, before dropping the butt on the ground and grinding it out with the toe of her boot.

“Oh, yeah cuz I bet you’re real tough,” he deadpanned with an eye roll, stomping out his own smoked up cigarette, and pulling open the door to the school’s coffee shop.

Y/N scoffed. “Start putting those pretty eyes of yours to good use Gallagher, and you might just realize that in addition to being smarter than you, I can also do anything else better than you. That includes being tougher. And partying harder.”

“Pretty eyes, hmm?”

Her eyes rolled, but the way her cheeks flushed didn’t go unnoticed either. “That would be the only thing you heard… Friday night. 8 o’ clock. And if you have to ask… well… guess you better put that brain of yours to work.” The smirk on her face could rival his any day as one of her hands patted affectionately at his chest. “Bye, Lip.” And with that, she walked backwards from him out of the coffee shop, leaving him wondering what the fuck had just happened, and more intrigued than he’d ever been by any girl before.

~~~

Lip understood what Y/N had meant about not needing to bother with an address for the party. All he had to do was follow the sounds of loud music and drunk laughter.

He could feel the music vibrating in his bones the second he stepped inside, the room dark with the exception of the strobe lights bouncing triadic colors all across the party-goers, one of which was Y/N.

“Hey!” Lip said when he got closer to her.

“Hey!” she greeted with a grin. “Looks like you figured it out. C’mon, let’s get you a drink.”

He followed her deeper into the house, into a brightly lit kitchen that had him squinting. “Pick your poison,” she said, tossing him a red cup.

“So, I still owe you that coffee,” he commented after a beat, while they made their drinks.

“Oh, do you now?” she asked, looking up at him over the rim of her cup.

“I mean… I don’t do well with debts.”

“Who said you were in my debt to begin with?”

“You helped me out when you didn’t have to. What would you call that?”

“I’d call it being nice.”

“Yeah, well you know as well as I do that being nice comes with a price tag attached where we’re from.”

“That may be so. But look around Lip. Sometimes people do things for others without there being a catch. And it was a fuckin’ notebook and pen, not bail money. I don’t need anything from you, because I don’t want anything from you. Crazy concept, I’m aware.”

He took a pause to take a long drink from his cup. “I don’t get you, you know that? Like you’re nice, but you’re such a fuckin’ bitch about it too.”

“The duality of woman,” she smirked, bowing dramatically. “Some people aren’t so easy to pin down, Lip. God forbid you might actually have to get to know them. Or let them get to know you. Which one scares you more, Lip?”

Again, as a chance to get his thoughts together, he took a drink. He decided to take a page from her book. “Bye Y/N,” he called out over his shoulder as he walked away.

She watched him go in proud amusement, knowing that she’d be seeing Lip sooner rather than later.

It took about an hour for Y/N to be proven right.

“So less say you n me get outta here,” the drunk nameless college boy slurred, one hand propping himself up against the wall, the other getting dangerously close to her face.

“Let’s not, and say we did,” she replied, grabbing his hand and dropping it to his side.

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” he crooned, breath smelling like cheap booze and shit weed.

“The fun is that you walk away with the only part of you bruised being your ego,” Lip growled from behind.

Frat boy turned to face Lip, his movements sluggish. “And who the fuck are you?”

“Nobody,” Y/N hissed at the same time Lip responded with “Her boyfriend.” “Nobody,” Y/N repeated in a firmer tone. “Lip, leave. I got this handled.”

“Yeah, leave,” the other boy said earnestly. “Probably be best if you didn’t watch me fuck your pretty little girlfriend.”

“Ugh, you’re disgusting,” she spat while the muscle in Lip’s jaw ticked. “You can follow Lip in getting the fuck out of my face.”

“Mmm, feisty. Good. Just the way I like ‘em.”

Y/N’s hand cracked against his face, and then Lip was shoving him backwards. “The fuck did you just say to her?! Get the fuck out of here!”

“Oh, yeah? And who’s gonna make me?”

A snarl ripped itself out of Lip’s throat, before he was throwing a punch, his fist connecting solidly with the other guy’s jaw. “Lip!” Y/N scolded in disbelief as Lip took the next hit square in the face. “Hey!” she yelled, wedging herself in between both young men, each prepared to keep exchanging blows. “Leave! Both of you!”

The drunk frat boy stumbled off, but not before throwing Lip the dirtiest look he could muster. Lip huffed in disdain, but stayed rooted in place. “You alright?” he checked, the lights bouncing off the room showing the area around his mouth already starting the transition from red to purple. With a thumb, he wiped at the trickle of blood spilling from his nose, smearing it with the blood coming from his busted lip.

With both hands, she shoved him as hard as she could. “I had that fuckin’ handled!”

“Well fuck me for being nice, then!” he shot back, matching her anger. He turned on his heel, away from her.

“Where the fuck are you going?!”

“Away! Like you wanted!”

She grabbed his arm, whipping him back around and dragging him to the nearest bathroom. “Sit!” she instructed, as she locked the door and grabbed a washcloth.

“I’m fine,” he protested, but sitting on the ledge of the tub anyway. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

She slammed one of her hands on the counter as she turned on the faucet to wet the washcloth. “See?” she said, cupping his face and cleaning away the blood. “It’s exactly that type of thickheaded stubbornness that’s gonna keep you stuck exactly where you are.”

“Thickheaded stubbornness?”

“Yes. That chip on your shoulder that says the world is always gonna be against you, and that everything comes with a price tag. That fighter’s instinct you disguise as reckless bravery, but is really just a stupid desire to hit the world as hard as it hits you. The world isn’t as black and white as you were made to believe. If this was some piss poor attempt at saying we’re even for giving you a fuckin’ notebook the other day, congrats. We’re even. Thank you. Are you satisfied now, Lip?” She chucked the washcloth in the sink.

“I’m never satisfied. And wasn’t it you who told me that sometimes people can do nice things for others just because? I wasn’t evening a score between us, Y/N. I was just being nice.”

“Well, way to be a bitch about it…” she snorted.

“Oh, you liked it,” he taunted, rising to his feet. “Didn’t you?”

She rolled her eyes in disgust. “No.”

“Aw, not so tough when it’s me confronting you with the truth now are you?”

“Fuck you, Lip.”

“Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” He closed the distance between them in one step, lifting her up onto the counter, his lips finding that niche where her neck met the collarbone. When her fingers flew to tangle in his hair, he took that as his cue that he wasn’t pushing limits that shouldn’t be pushed. But erring on the side of caution, he pulled back to peel his shirt off, giving her ample time to stop him. When he got a throaty whine of protest instead of her slapping him senseless, he chuckled darkly. “Aw, look who doesn’t want me to leave now.”

Y/N pulled her own shirt up and over her head, tossing it to join his on the tiled floor. She hooked a finger in his belt loop, pulling him back to her. “Fuck me, Lip,” she breathed before their lips collided, heat radiating in every touch.

~~~

Lip’s chest heaved as he tugged his jeans back on. “Here,” he said, digging out his phone and handing it over. “So next time we can cut right to the chase.”

She scoffed but started to put in her number anyway, a warning about how he better call on the tip of her tongue, but the screen changed as the name “Fiona” flashed and his phone started to ring. “Uh…” Y/N said slowly.

He swore under his breath, taking the phone back and answering. “Yeah, Fi? Whoa, slow down. Ian did what? Okay, we’ll keep him there. I’m on my way now. I dunno, Fi, as soon as I can. I’m coming from campus. But I’m coming. Just… sit tight or something.”

“What was that?” Y/N asked as Lip hung up the phone, pulling on the rest of his clothes in a hurry.

“Family emergency. D-do you have a car? Can I borrow it? It’s faster than taking the L.”

“Yeah,” she said, redressing with the same hurry and dangling her car keys. “C’mon, I’ll drive.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he rushed. “Come with me, I mean.”

“I’m coming with you whether you like it or not.”

Figuring that arguing with her would only only result in him leaving later, he nodded his head before letting them out of the bathroom.

The drive to his house was filled with tense silence as Lip bounced his leg and smoked the whole trip. As a quiet act of comforting the young man, Y/N rested a hand on his leg, and while he flinched at the contact, he allowed her hand to stay, the touch soothing even if it didn’t fully quit the storm raging in his head.

She hadn’t even put the car in park before Lip was bounding out, his boots racing against the pavement as he rushed towards the house. Y/N followed as quickly as she could, nearly colliding into his back as Lip froze in the small entryway of the house. “Where is he?” Lip barked, his brief hesitation breaking at the sight of his family huddled together in the middle of the living room while pounding and screaming sounded from upstairs.

“Up there,” a woman a couple years older than Lip directed, her voice cracking with fear and worry. “Mickey’s trying to break down the door to get to him. He’s been locked in there for like 2 hours, Lip. He stopped answering us. I- I-” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she pushed shaky hands through her hair. Behind her was a man and woman who looked to be even older than the woman talking, a teenage girl and boy of similar age, and a small toddler, all of them bearing the same terrified confusion.

Lip nodded once, understanding what the woman was saying without her needing to finish the thought. “Are all the knives accounted for?”

“Yeah, I think so. But… Fuck, Lip, I dunno what to do. Like I can’t just call the cops. I- I guess I could call Tony?”

“No, it’s fine, Fi,” Lip told her. “I’m gonna go help Mickey. You guys stay here. Actually, Kev, come with me. Carl, you too.”

As the men sprung into action and headed upstairs, the attention averted to Y/N who was still standing in the entryway. “Who are you?” the woman asked.

“Uh, I’m Y/N. I drove Lip. You must be Fiona?”

Fiona nodded numbly. “Yeah. This is V, Debbie, and Liam. Thanks for driving Lip. Uh…” She dug around in her pockets, pulling out a few crumpled bills. “Sorry,” she said, placing them in Y/N’s hand. “That’s all I got right now.”

“Oh, no,” Y/N responded, pushing the money back. “I- I go to school with Lip.”

Any chance for more small talk was interrupted by a loud splinting crack and an “Ian! What the fuck?!” before Lip, Kev, and Carl all came stomping downstairs, along with Mickey and Ian. “Y/N?” Mickey blinked, as he helped Ian onto the couch.

“Mickey,” Y/N deadpanned.

Mickey looked back and forth between Lip and his cousin, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ hell, Gallagher. You gonna fuck all my female relatives, or what?”

“Shut the fuck up, Mickey,” Lip and Y/N told him.

“Ian, are you okay?” Fiona asked, as Debbie went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water.

“Yeah, I’m fine…” Ian muttered, gulping down the water, whatever that had transpired upstairs apparently long over in the red head’s mind.

Fiona’s gaze flickered over to the other boy’s for a more detailed answer. When Kev answered with a small whistle and twirl of his finger to indicate that Ian was off his rocker, V shoved him. “Kev!”

“What?” the man asked, holding up his hands in defense. “It’s true. Oh, and Fi… we’ll uh… fix the door tomorrow.”

“Don’t care,” Fiona responded, all her attention on Ian.

“I’m tired,” Ian declared.

“Okay, get some rest right here. I’m gonna talk to Lip real quick.” Her voice was soft, motherly even. A drastic change from the scared person she’d been 10 minutes ago.

“Okay. Hey, Lip. You home for the weekend?”

“Something like that,” Lip told him before following Fiona into the kitchen to talk out of earshot.

“What are you still doing here?” Mickey asked Y/N, not caring for the answer as he stalked after the eldest Gallagher siblings.

“Yeah, who are you?” Carl asked.

“She’s friends with Lip,” Debbie explained.

“Oh,” was the knowing reply.

V rolled her eyes. “Alright, Debbie, Carl, take Liam upstairs and go to bed. Kev, c’mon, let’s go home.”

There were some grumbles before the group dispersed, leaving Y/N alone with Ian. “So, you’re friends with Lip, huh? And related to Mickey somehow?”

“We’re cousins on his mom’s side. And I wouldn’t say Lip and I are friends, necessarily.”

“Mmm, right. Yeah, Lip doesn’t really do friends. Or relationships.”

“Good to know.”

“Hey, thanks again for driving Lip over,” Fiona’s voice sounded from behind as her and Mickey came back into the room. “We got it from here if you got somewhere to be.”

“Lover boy’s outside,” Mickey smirked.

“Not a problem. And thanks, jackass,” Y/N said, then headed in search of Lip, finding him on the back porch smoking yet another cigarette. “Hey,” she said softly, sitting down next to him.

“You’re still here?”

“Was I supposed to leave?”

He shrugged. “Everyone else does.”

“Ooo, dark…”

“Wasn’t saying it to seek sympathy points.”

“Does this tough act of yours ever get tiring?”

“Who said it was an act?”

“It’s not gonna kill you to let someone in, Lip.”

“Yeah, maybe. But it sure beats the hell out of watching them leave. Because in the end, they all do. I learned a long time ago that the only person I can count on is myself.”

“What a lonely way to live your life.”

“Better than the alternative.”

“Did you miss the part where I said I was tougher than you? That shit,” she said, jerking her thumb back at the house, “is a fuckin’ Tuesday. If anyone is gonna get the fucked up parts of you, it’s me, Lip.”

“Why?”

“Why do I get it?”

“No, why do you want to?”

“Because you get me back. Look, I know I’m abrasive. I know I piss people off. Because like you, if I push them away from the start, then when they eventually leave it hurts less. But here’s the stupid thing about that, Lip. It still hurts. Maybe this time it doesn’t have to.”

“You know that this is like a complete 180 from you berating me three days ago, right? Or even earlier this evening. Or right now.”

“That didn’t seem to bother you when you were fucking me in that bathroom.”

“How do I know you won’t leave?”

“How do I know you won’t?” she countered. “I’m not saying you gotta fuckin’ marry me, Lip. Just loosen up on the tough guy act. Not everything has to be a fight.”

“But what if I like fighting with you?”

“I’m sure we can find ways of making sure that still happens.”

“Wanna stay the night then? Maybe have a fight or two?”

__

Tag List

@frontmanash​​ @goeatsomelife​​ @flameraine​​ @creator-appreciator​​ @cxddlyash​​ @1-irwin-94​​ @sparkling-calm​​ @tea4sykes​​ @youngblood199456​​ @5-seconds-of-obsession​​ @gosh-im-short​​ @aquarius-hood1996​​ @talkfastromance4​​ @itjustkindahappenedreally​​ @philthepegacorn​​ @ashtonlftv​ @miirandaaa​​ @karajaynetoday​ @myfavfanficsever​ @stormrider505​ @cashtonisruiningmylife​ @another-lonely-heart-blog​ @cullen-collective​

[maggielindemanns]

all mixed up - an elu social media au

summary: it’s simple really - eliott meets a guy at the bar, that guy gives him a fake number, and that fake number just so happens to belong to lucas. the rest is history.

[EPILOGUE PART THREE]

[EPILOGUE PT 2 || BONUS]

taglist: @that-one-meh @a-french-disaster @fallout-of-my-chair @menamesniall @iamshannonmcfarland @yesyoutubeisruiningmylife @yackgrace @moschinobra @xomywonderwallox @jacwena @awake-dreamer18 @noritagrace @lost-inside-fantasy @myverybigmoodboard @ariavds @ididntgowithgrace @laurenkmyers @sunshineyou27 @nanidice @orangefizz4 @blanxkey @bodizzy @q-branchminion-nr43 @nova-on-standbi @boysrunaway @anothergayhpblog @mlhalbertt @valenschmidt @skamchokehold @mostlysh1tposting @lucassdemaury @oceanicinception @yellowballoon @fallinglikeafoolforyou @bluronyourradar @painfully-oblivious @alwayskissmeatnight @katzen-kinder @howlingsaturn @luxandobscurus @anotherplaceintheuniverse @aly-kazam @quint-cssential @rynnsama @vlm2002 @grey-mist-exist

[note: putting it up here w everything else bc this one is long so it’ll be under the cut and i am SORRY . this took so long i was not at my home and i have one lil baby bonus thing i wanna post (later), but i just wanna say another thank you to all of you, like...just finishing out the writing process of this universe today really put me through Emotions LMFAO but i really do just wanna thank you guys one last time for every single thing, the support and love i’ve gotten with this au has been nothing short of incredible and heart warming and honestly my whole world like cannot even express how much this au and you all mean to me so . sadly, here i am to do this 🥺 without further ado, the final part for amu, epilogue part 3 🥺💛]

JAN 11TH, 12:32 AM

Eliott couldn’t sleep. It was officially anniversary day, their six month anniversary, and rather than sleeping peacefully in Lucas’ arms, he was watching the slow and steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. Hair was falling onto his forehead and his eyelashes were casting a shadow onto his cheekbones, thanks to the soft white light of the streetlights peeking through the curtains. To Eliott, he looked nothing short of ethereal, but he always thought that about Lucas.

His thoughts were the very reason why he couldn’t sleep, however. School was starting up in a matter of days, graduation was around the corner, and he was yet to hear back from any internships he applied to last week while at his parents’ house with Lucas. The pressures of life to come were hitting him so very hard, and the timing was just not good.

“Why do you think so loud?” Lucas mumbled in that usual sleepy voice, the one that made Eliott want to hold him forever and never let him go. He opened his eyes when Eliott took too long to give an answer, and that made Eliott smile.

“Why do you listen so hard?” he countered, and Lucas tsked at him, starting to smile back.

“You’re an ass.” He reached over and touched Eliott’s face then, thumbing over his cheekbone and his lips. “Pretty though. What’s on your mind, Lartigue?”

“Too much.”

“Talk to me. I got time.”

“Remember all those internships I applied to with you?” he asked. Lucas nodded. “Nothing back so far. Graduation is in a matter of months. My senior year is going to end and I’m probably going to be stuck at the video club if no one gets back to me. I don’t want to stock DVDs and check things in and out forever, I wanna create and live life as a true starving artist.”

“Eli,” he sighed, “you will get something, don’t stress.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then...you’ll keep trying ‘til you do. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. Even if it takes years and we end up having to use twisty ties as wedding rings and live in your tiny college apartment forever, I’ll still support you and your dream. You deserve it, so.”

Eliott just smiled at him, feeling overwhelmed with the amount of love for the boy laying beside him. Lucas always seemed to know what to say to make him feel better and put a halt to the quick spiraling of his thoughts. His gaze was unwavering and his eyes were bright as he scooted closer to Eliott until they were basically nose to nose.

“I love you,” was all Eliott could think to say. Lucas’ face softened and he kissed Eliott’s nose, feeling like ‘I love you’ back wasn’t sufficient for what he felt for Eliott. Of course, six months didn’t seem like a long time, but to Lucas, it felt like a lifetime of loving Eliott. Of learning everything about him, including what he needs to hear in times like this. And he really did love him more than anything.

“I love you too. More than you know, Demaury. Let’s sleep, yeah?” Eliott nodded at that and Lucas turned over, Eliott snuggling close and pressing a kiss to Lucas’ shoulder.

“Twisty ties,” Eliott whispered, and Lucas simply closed his eyes.

“Shut up.”

•••••

JAN 11TH, 11:54 PM

“This tastes like fizzy glitter water, Eliott,” Lucas laughed, and Eliott laughed even harder, almost spilling his own glass of cheap champagne. They decided to save the drinks for home after spending the night out at dinner so they could come back to Eliott’s together, the rest of their night spent drunk on cheap champagne and wrapped up in each other.

“It is champagne, stop. Glittery because it’s...the shimmers of our love in it.”

“What are you even saying right now?” Lucas asked him, and he shrugged, downing the rest of his glass and pouring another.

“I don’t know, baby. But I do know this - I love you so fucking much, happy six months.”

“À ce soir,” Lucas said, smiling and holding up his glass. Eliott clinked his glass against Lucas’ and they sipped, smiling at each other like goons. Lucas felt warm and happier than ever honestly. Warm, happy, and so very in love.

About an hour after that, it was almost midnight. Lucas felt thoroughly blissed out after being loved on like he just was, still feeling phantom sensations on his hips, thighs, and face where Eliott grabbed on him the most. He shut his eyes for a second, feeling like he still was catching his breath, and he could feel Eliott staring at him without even looking to confirm.

“Why are you staring at me?” Lucas mumbled, and Eliott laughed, shifting next to him and putting his finger on what most likely was some kind of bruise starting to form along his jaw. The thought combined with his touch sent a chill down his spine.

“Because you’re beautiful.”

“You’re corny, be quiet now.”

Eliott chuckled as he shifted some more beside him, laying on his back, and they did indeed sit in a comfortable silence for a bit before either of them said anything.

“Let’s do this forever, Lu,” Eliott spoke quietly. “Maybe you should just move in with me, like...for real.”

Lucas opened his eyes at that, turning his head to find Eliott looking up at his ceiling, blinking slow. He searched his face for any sign of it being a joke at all or if he was going to continue saying anything else, but he didn’t.

“I’ll consider it. Okay?” Eliott started grinning at that and gave him a short nod.

“Okay.”

••••••

JAN 18TH, 6:52 AM

To say Eliott was nervous about today was an understatement. He didn’t have class for another three hours, and yet he couldn’t get himself to go back to sleep now that he was up. He decided to quietly and carefully slip away from Lucas, who was with him more often than not these days, and go take a long shower to just...think.

He’d been standing in the shower for quite some time, how long exactly he wasn’t sure. The plan was to stand here until it got cold or something and try to not look like he’s thinking about everything under the sun before he went back to Lucas in his room.

When he did make it back to his room, a towel around his waist, he saw that Lucas was actually gone. His side of the bed was made up and the only trace that he was even here was the fact that his drawer was slightly open and a t-shirt was half pulled out of it. That, and the note left on the bed, and Eliott grabbed for it as soon as he noticed it, beginning to read.

eli,

i had class at 9:05 and it’s day one, so i didn’t wanna be late. i’m sorry to just leave this note :( i love you though. i know the last few days have been a little hard for you, but take it easy today, okay? you’re brilliant and whatever needs to get done will get done. i know it. don’t stress. make that your mantra or something.

i made toast and eggs, both in the kitchen. eggs might be cold by the time you read this, but still better than the ‘UOD’ you made me way back when.

i love you, and good luck today. <3

-L

p.s. don't go looking for your brown jacket i stole it bc it’s cold <3

Eliott first looked to his closet, seeing that it was indeed open and a hanger was peeking out, as if he ripped the jacket off of it in his rush to go. The thought made Eliott smile, and he grabbed his phone before making his way to the kitchen to eat, his only thoughts now being how much he loved this boy and always would.

•••••••

JUNE 21ST, 4:33 PM

“Just need a height on Demaury and then we’re done,” Sof told them, filling in for Eliott’s wingspan on the cap and gown sheet.

Lucas had been going around him with a tape measure for the last 45 minutes, debating with Sof and Yann about numbers not sounding right. When Sofiane kept asking ‘well, whose best friend is this?’, Lucas always countered with ‘whose boyfriend is this?’ as if that made him more correct than anyone, and Eliott couldn’t help but smile. In the end, they got it done though, and Eliott was now holding the top of the tape measure for Lucas while he brought it to the floor, looking up at him once he got a measurement.

“What?” Eliott asked. “I was 181 centimeters last time I did this, did I shrink?”

“Nope. 183. A whole two centimeters taller.” Lucas stood back up and booped him on the nose, making him roll his eyes.

“Aw, he’s growing so big and strong, how cute,” Yann teased, and Sofiane laughed, shoving his shoulder and telling him to stop. Lucas wound the tape measure back up with the push of a button then, throwing it at Yann after.

“Can’t believe you losers are graduating next month,” Yann mentioned casually. Sofiane and Eliott looked at each other, seeming a bit sad about the idea, and Lucas gave Yann a look that screamed ‘fix it, now’. “But, you know, you guys will be great adults, obviously. You’re great,” he added hesitantly, “I’ll miss you guys.”

“Yann, just stop talking now,” Lucas sighed, making Sofiane laugh. Eliott just smiled, hugging Lucas from behind and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll miss you too, Yann-y boy,” Sofiane teased, pinching his cheek. Yann pushed his hand away, mumbling about hating that Sof called him that.

“Me too,” Eliott agreed before looking at Lucas. “I’d say you too, but I see you all the time.”

“And that won’t change.”

“Ew, please don’t be gross in front of us,” Sofiane groaned, and Eliott started kissing his cheek repeatedly just to be annoying, making Lucas laugh as he accepted the love.

Lucas didn’t say it, but he was going to miss all of this too. And he couldn’t believe he only had not even a month left of this either.

••••••

•••••••

JULY 11TH, 8:46 PM

“Yours looks better than mine,” Lucas pouted, and Eliott looked at him unamused.

“Lucas, this is my degree.”

Lucas flicked paint off his paintbrush at him and Eliott flinched just a little, starting to laugh. They decided to spend the night in for their anniversary, following a Bob Ross tutorial on some of Eliott’s unused canvases together. Some candles were still burning from their candlelit Chinese takeout dinner they shared, and they were using Eliott’s TV to play the tutorial on. It was all fun and games until Lucas looked over and saw that Eliott’s was like a perfect replica of what was onscreen.

“This is my degree,” Lucas mocked, and Eliott gave him a look before pausing the video. Lucas started laughing and leaned over to press a kiss to his bare shoulder. He then looked at him, not saying anything.

“What now?” Eliott asked, feigning exasperation. Lucas dropped his paintbrush into their jar of water and turned to face him, hugging his knees to his chest. “Uh oh, am I in trouble?”

“Why would you be in trouble, no. I just. I considered.”

“Marriage or the moving thing?” Eliott teased, and Lucas smacked his arm gently.

“The moving thing, idiot. You’re not funny.”

“What’s the verdict, Lallemant?”

“I...guess you can call me your roommate. I’ll move in. The answer’s yes.”

Eliott got visibly excited and immediately got up in lieu of giving an actual response, walking away to his room, and Lucas was beyond confused.

“Eli?” he called out, “where are you going? This is the part where you shower me with kisses and you tell me we’re gonna bang on every surface to celebrate!”

“Wait, wait, wait!”

“That was a joke, Eliott.”

He came running back in and sat in front of Lucas once again, putting a small, maroon box in his hands. A spike of panic rose in Lucas, feeling like he knew what this was.

“Eliott, I love you, but I don’t know if I’m ready to be a husband yet…” he told him, his voice gentle. Eliott started laughing right in his face, and Lucas’ whole demeanor changed. “Fuck you, why are you laughing?”

“No, it’s not funny, baby, I’m sorry—“

“It’s not funny, yet you’re laughing at me.”

“No! Lucas, just. Open it, please.”

Lucas was giving him a dirty look as he opened the box, and when he saw what it was, his face softened again.

“This is...this is for here, isn’t it?”

“This is a key for here, yeah. I was gonna bring it up to you later and give it to you as your gift, but you just kind of beat me to it so I’m giving it to you now. If you want a custom one, I’ll get it for you if you hate it, but I just want you to have keys for what is now ours,” Eliott rambled. “Well, it’s always felt like ours to me, but—“

“Eliott,” Lucas interrupted, looking at him. Eliott took a deep breath and Lucas scooted closer to Eliott, kissing him just once before looking in his eyes. “I love you. It’s perfect, everything. Especially you. Thank you.”

“And I love you.”

•••••••

[greenninjagal-blog]

The Space Between Us

Alien au? Alien au! I have no self control! Please accept this one shot that quickly spiraled into 23 pages of Virgil being a disaster in space. (If you guys enjoy it, let me know because I’m considering making it a series.)

Summary: The cosmos is a Gigantic place and somehow Virgil’s past still catches up to him.

Words: 11400

TW: Human trafficking, Human experimentation, dehumanization, fighting rings, 

Quick taglist: @chelsvans @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones  @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection  @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders  

Read on Ao3 || General Writing Masterlist

“Tell me again why this is absolutely necessary?” Virgil asked, watching Logan’s hands dance across the console. On any other day the sight would be comforting. Every time his digits landed on a key, his nerves glowed with sparks of multicolored light through his transparent crystal skin, creating a beautiful firework show right in front of them all. Logan had told him once it was called Lightdancing, an evolutionary adaptation of the Tenkarie people: their bodies were near invisible in dim light, and they could control the pulses of light just enough to attract other cave dwelling creatures to them before striking the killing blow.

Now, though, the sight made Virgil’s stomach churn. Logan’s lights were a calculated system that he had trained to hone better than most of his race: he could make any part of his body glow at a brightness ranging from a flickering candle light to a flood light, he could make his whole body radiate or he could make just the tip of one of his sixteen fingers, he could even change the color of the light with just a thought. Virgil had always been glad that Logan was the only Tenkarie that dared venture from their caves on L0-G1C; Logan’s kind had perfected the use lights and dancing which made all other creatures become so nauseated they couldn’t fight back or become so mesmerized by the swirling motions that they didn’t see the attacks.

(Of course, because Virgil was rather distinctly human, it took longer for either of the effects of Logan’s fighting to work, which had saved both their lives more than once.)

However, in contrast to the usual focus of Logan’s fingertips on the control panel, lights were flickering all over his body, up and down each of his four arms and burning from the notches around his neck. The lack of control was enough to make Virgil’s stomach churn.

“Because its Remus,” Roman replied, although it didn’t help that he said his brother's name the same way he might have said puppy kicker.

“And we care about Remus because....?” Virgil prompted, running his fingers over his satchel again, checking the latches to make sure they were still there, still closed, still containing the supplies within. “If my memory serves me correctly, Remus was the one that set us up to be ambushed by those space pirates the other week. You know, the ones that nearly killed Patton?”

“We care because, in Erefrenian customs, blood bonds are the most sacred of bonds.” Logan supplied distractedly. “And Remus invoked the Oath of Brothers, which means that if Roman were to ignore his call for aid, Roman’s honor would be forever stained which would prevent him from crossing to the planes of heroes after his death according to the religion of his people.”

“Yeah that,” Roman says, even less excited than Logan at the idea. The bone spikes along his spine had been secreting that red poison that usually only happened when he got annoyed or anxious. Virgil had learned quickly to stay away from him when he was like that: touching it merely made Virgil’s limbs feel pins and needles, but the Orlun thief had screamed until unconsciousness.

It was one of the (very) few perks of being a Deathworlder, Virgil supposed. Most of the things that hurt the other species out here usually had a looser effect on humans because humans rarely made it this far. In fact, it was illegal for humans to get this far by at least sixty doctrines (all of which Logan had filed away in his room). 

Humans were juggernauts-- the alien versions of the boogie man told to children to keep them from acting out. Virgil had seen some of the written documents about his kind, and the tales of bloodshed and terror invoked by merely existing were pretty horrifying. Graphic depictions of humans tearing aliens limb from limb, scientific studies on the amounts of chemicals that humans had absorbed and withstood against, an interview with a survivor of a human rampage who revealed the bite marks left by the so-called beast.

Almost every species out here was just as scared of him as he was of them.

The problem came from the ones that weren’t scared. 

Which, of course, was how Virgil had ended up hundreds of literal light-years from Earth, on a ship with three aliens whom he was pretty certain he would end up dying for sometime very soon. Yurinks were crafty, shameless, bold, creatures, and they were notorious for visiting Earth and abducting humans for individual sale. Weslors ran fighting rings and humans were almost always the safest bets for some quick cash. Quitans were a fan of skinwearing, which was not something that Virgil ever wanted to see, based on the name alone. And Pol’turs loved learning how things worked and paid very handsome prices for human subjects on the space black market.

Virgil, himself, had sold for 300 griot. (Which was apparently a lot, based on the way that Patton’s eyes had quite literally bugged out. Virgil was still trying to figure out the conversation ratio of American dollars to griot and getting nowhere with it.)

“I hate him,” Roman said under his breath as he threaded through the spare armored uniforms in the storage, trying to find one to fit over the rigid bone plates along his back. His tail squirmed behind him as he searched, dragging the spikes through the air. “I hate him so much.” His bone claws cut through the fabric and he growled as he tossed the ruined clothes to the floor. “We’re gonna save him and then I’m going to toss him off into space, myself.”

Logan made an affirming noise, using his lower left arm to nudge his visor back up his nose. Virgil had only caught sight of Logan’s eyes once or twice, as most light strained his sensitive eyes. They had paid a pretty griot for a repair and a spare of his light blocking visor after the first time some space smugglers had surprised them and managed to break the lens. Logan’s pained scream was the worst thing that Virgil had ever heard and he had sworn he’d do anything to avoid ever having to hear it again.

(That had been the first time that Roman and him had truly worked together on something, Virgil noted absently. Between Virgil’s uncharacteristic bloodlust and Roman’s furious wrath they had taken out the smugglers in less than five minutes and they hadn't been very nice about it.)

Looking from the back, Roman resembled a stegosaurus to Virgil. If, like....stegosauruses ran around on two legs, flourished a sword, and were prone to acting like every minor occurrence was a slight against them personally. His red-ish skin had the appearance of leather but was twice as thick, his bone plates were slimmer rounded triangles than Virgil remembered from his kindergarten picture books but they ran from the based of his neck all the way down his back and to the tips of his tail which he liked to use as a spike-ball-and-chain attack along with his ridiculous sword. Virgil couldn’t count the number of times that Roman had nearly taken him out along with the enemy. His claws were only a few inches long but Roman whined like a baby when they broke-- which was ridiculous because his bone plates literally grew back overnight, and the ones on his forearms were made to be taken off and thrown. (Logan had indeed informed Virgil that Erefren grow new bones every moon cycle and proceeded to lose the old ones which Virgil had then mentioned that humans did that too sorta! With their baby teeth! And Roman and Logan had both looked unnerved by that information.)

“I’ve got it!” A voice sang from the ceiling, which was about all the warning Virgil got before a child sized figure vaulted down from the rafters of the teleportation deck right onto his shoulders.

“Jesus! Pat!” Virgil yelled as he stumbled swaying to accommodate the new weight that had stuck itself to Virgil’s back and then wrapped around to hug his chest. “Give a guy a warning, will you?”

Patton giggled, hooking his legs around Virgil’s waist so that he could sit comfortably, swinging the two other satchels he had been sent to fetch from his hands. Roman accepted one of them readily.

“What's a Jeeezus?” Patton asked, stressing the syllables as English terms never really fit right in his tongue. As far as Virgil was aware no species were equipped to speak human languages, although Roman’s Erefren dialect involved some rolling syllables. He probably could have picked up Spanish, if Virgil hadn’t barely passed Spanish III with a C minus. 

To be fair though, that year had been bad. Janus had been in his class, and then he hadn’t. And it was hard to focus on conjugation of verbs when the golden student of the entire school who had sat next to him had been declared dead and Virgil had been the prime suspect of it.

That, and Virgil was pretty terrible at picking up new languages. He had only managed to figure out how to communicate with Logan by luck: hands raised with the fingers spread was a symbol of innocence and fear for the Tenkarie, while a sign of rage and fury for Yurink. This, of course, had also been in the middle of an illegal Weslor fighting ring which Logan had been dragged into and essentially sentenced to die in after being separated from Roman and Patton. 

(Virgil tried not to think too much about those days. Alien blood was still blood and it was very not-good to feel dripping from his hands, even if it was him or them, even if it had been his life on the line, even if it wasn’t another human with heterochromic eyes and smug smirk. Virgil had fought nearly six times before Logan had been his opponent, and that was six times too many.)

Regardless, Virgil was lucky that when Roman and Patton had come for Logan, Logan had remembered his reluctance to fight and insisted that Virgil come with them in an escape. Roman and Patton had their hesitations but Logan wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

(And Virgil who did not understand Common, had honestly thought that Logan had come back to kill him officially. Not a good first impression.) 

Logan had made him flashcards to study from and taught him common in the sitting area of their ship. The endless hours of memorization, the drills, the sentences, all of which helped him more than he thought the others knew. They were something to do with his mind and Virgil had been in desperate need of something to do with his mind those first few months that wasn’t thinking about Earth or home or boys who were dead.

“We could go to Earth,” Logan had offered once during one of their sessions.

Virgil had blinked looking up to from the practice reading he had been studying with a bewildered look. “What?” It had taken a moment for him to realize that he had spoken in English rather than Common, but Logan must have picked up on the meaning of the foreign word anyway.

“You were… badly, ah, stolen,” Logan had said, pointing at the flashcards. “We could give you back.” He had used his lower two arms to mimic the motion of handing something off.

It had been so touching, the way that he had scaled down his speech to match Virgil’s progress, had offered despite Earth being the infamous Deathworld, had been looking at Virgil like he was living being and not just some animal. Virgil had cried.

He should have wanted to go back to Earth, should have wanted to go home, but instead he had begged in his broken, garbled Common for Logan to let him stay in space with them. And Logan had glowed nearly blindingly with purple light, a relief light, a content light, a happy light and promised that he wouldn’t have to go back if he didn’t want to.

Perhaps that had been the day the Virgil had realized he’d die for Logan.

And once Virgil had decided that for Logan it wasn’t hard to decide it for Patton too. The Reytin was just so nice. Even back in those first months when Virgil didn’t know how to talk to them and Patton had been so obviously terrified of him, the alien had made sure that Virgil was eating, that he was sleeping, that he had space when he needed it. Though, Virgil really suspected that their friendship had blossomed so quickly because of Patton's rare Reytin ability to see emotions with his frog-like eyes. Once he realized that Virgil was actually terrified of everything, and it wasn’t just ploy to kill them (or maybe despite that….Virgil hadn’t gotten a straight answer from him), Patton had done his best to befriend him back to good health. 

And Virgil liked being on the ship. He liked his room, which was filled with stupid alien plants he had managed to collect and the weird shapes of the bed. He liked being right down the hall from the kitchen so he could smell when Patton was cooking something, and the way that he could always hear Roman singing in his room. He liked slipping out to the observation deck and just seeing Space the way no other human really had. 

(Its stupid really, that sometimes he forgot it had been three years. Its stupid really, that sometimes he still turned to ask a question of someone who was never going to be there. Its stupid really that he could be so happy and still feel the gaping hole where someone used to be.)

“Oh this is so exciting!” Patton said happily, shaking his hands in the air to show his excitement. “Isn’t this exciting, guys?”

“Exciting isn’t the word I would use,” Virgil said hoisting the smaller creature from around his waist to settle him on the floor carefully.

“More like Vexing! Or perhaps burdensome! Irksome! Problematic!” Roman snarled, finally finding the armor that would fit around his plates and slipping it on. “You know what? Let’s forget it! Remus got himself into this mess and he can get himself out!”

“Now kiddo…” Patton warned, and wow, Virgil sometimes forgot that the alien who was half Virgil's height and twice as lively, was also older than all of them combined. Reytin lifespans were literally off the chart. Patton had been around way back when humans were first declared illegal on this side of the cosmos. “You know that we can’t do that! He invoked the Oath of Brothers so we have to!” 

“We don’t have to do anything,” Roman griped. “Worse case, my soul just becomes eternally damned and I’m shamed by the rest of my race until I die a lonely, lonely death on some distant planet!”

“Must you be so dramatic?” Logan asked.

“You won't die alone!” Patton said, “We’ll be right there with you! Probably even die right next to you as well!”

“No offense Pat,” Roman said glumly, “But that makes me feel like I’m gonna be the cause of your death.”

“It’ll be fun!”

Thankfully before Roman could explain exactly there was nothing fun about making all his friends die, Logan cleared his throat and made his upper two palms glow with a soft blue light. Green and pink bulbs flashed up and down his neck. “I have mapped out the perceived trajectory of the enemy ship so we should be able to beam directly into the hold. However because of possible miscalculations I believe that I should be--”

“--The first to beam aboard as I am the only one who is not affected by the lack of gaseous properties and the extreme temperatures of the expanse of space.” Roman, Patton, and Virgil chorused together. 

“Must you all?” Logan asked, with just enough fondness in his tone for Virgil to know that he wasn’t actually bothered.

“Change up your speech sometime, Teach,” Roman suggested, and then he sighed dropping his head. “You guys are really willing to do this for me? These are mercenaries, you know. If this doesn’t go well they’ll likely sell us for parts.”

Virgil really didn’t need the reminder. Just the thought of once again having his arms restrained, having his clothes striped away, being reduced from a person to a thing used for entertainment, was enough to have Virgil eyeing the door back to the rest of the ship. Even on the off chance that they didn’t try to take him apart to see how he ticked, they would still sell him for griot. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, survive being thrust back into the fighting rings. He’d shake himself apart before they managed to drag him into that dust riddled death trap.

Patton reached up and tugged the edge of Virgil’s under armor tunic, drawing his eyes away from the door and down to his friend. Patton, of course, was smiling, imitating the human action of bearing his teeth (something that Logan had explained was incredibly threatening to all other species and you may want to avoid participating in that activity with Roman in the vicinity, Virgil). 

It was silly things like that that make Virgil hopelessly certain that he would do anything to protect his friends. He didn’t need to worry about being caught and sold off because the others wouldn’t let that happen again, and in turn, he wouldn’t allow them to be taken away either. They were a family, for better or worse.

(He wasn’t going to lose someone again. Not like before. Not without a fight, a trace-- not without Virgil doing every single thing he could to get them back first.)

“We’ll be fine!” Patton told Roman brightly.

“Yeah, cheer up, Princey,” Virgil added, hooking his satchel over his shoulder, “Worse case scenarios are my thing.” He offered out a folded fist, palm up and Roman dutifully knocked his own knuckles against it, as an upside down fistbump (a signal of friendship in Erefrenian). 

Patton let out a chittering and jumped up to knock his own knuckles with them. And Logan’s left forearms flickered pastel pink from the wrist up to his neck and he begrudgingly added his own to the pile.

“Everyone remembers their part of the plan, correct?” Logan asked, letting his two lower arms finish typing a final sequence into the control panel.

Patton sprung in the air, jumping Virgil’s entire height, and shook his palms. “I’ve got the emergency pods and the armory, using Virgil’s thingies to shut down the access to the lower rooms and blocking off escapes as I make my way to the medic bay!” 

“I’ve got the crew quarters to where I’ll use Virgil’s thingies--”

“Can we not call them thingies?” Virgil grumbled. “They’re just EMPs. Barely enough to take out the door locks. And it's likely they won’t do much of anything if this group has an emergency system reboot in case of an electrical surge. It’ll buy us five minutes, max.”

“--Virgil’s thingies,” Roman repeated with his tail rattling in that way that said he took pleasure in Virgil’s annoyance. “To lock as many of the doors as I can, before travelling to the cell blocks to get my brother and his crew and move them to the medic bay where Patton will have the necessary supplies ready incase of injuries.”

“I will take the Bridge,” Logan said, “and act as the major distraction, as Tenkarie are very rare and it is likely that they will have never encountered nor have preemptive measures against my Lightdancing. Once I have control of the bridge I will cut off the communications to other ships in the area and start inputting the redirection course. Once I have the new coordinates I will send them to Virgil for him to implement.”

“I’ve got the engineering deck,” Virgil said, finally, “To make sure they don’t try to blow us all up with the warp core and whatever. Then I’ll redirect the teleporting course and get us home while the rest of you take out the bad guys. Piece of cake.”

Logan’s neck notches glowed red, “There should be no stopping for cake--.”

“Idiom,” Virgil interrupted quickly, “Human saying. Means it should be easy.” 

Logan hummed musically, which sent a vibration of multicolored lights off his shoulders and down under his clothes. “Ah, interesting. This should indeed then be a piece of cake.” He picked up one of the teleportation bracelets from their charging pads and fixed it on his upper right wrist. “I’ve already added in the coordinates to the watches, so merely wait for my signal and press the button.”

Virgil would be lying if he said he didn’t have a little bit of anxiety over their plan. It was pretty slapshot compared to the things that they had put together before, but Remus’s transmission had been shoddy, even after Roman and his combined efforts to clean it up. It was hard to remember that Remus was every bit a ship captain as Roman was with how he had appeared in the picture dressed in ripped and tattered clothes, oozing green poison from his forearm plates, and bleeding profusely from a wound on his forehead. He had been leaning heavily on the communication panel, gritting his teeth through the pain, but his tail had been dancing in the air behind him in the same motions that Roman’s did when he saw a new sword to add to his collection. 

Remus had invoked the Oath of Brothers, spit up blood on the console, and then relayed as much information as he could about the attacking ship. They were lucky, in that way. Most of the Pol’tur ships followed the same base model, which meant that the Bridge was always going to be at the bottom, the engines would be at the top and the engine core center would be between them.

If it was possible Virgil was sure they all would have wanted more time to make a better plan, but they all knew that Pol’turs loved to work quickly. They had already lost three days chasing after the ship, and in that time, Pol’turs could cut apart fifty Reytins like Patton.

They were working mostly on the assumption that the Pol’turs would save Remus for near last, and they were going to be absolutely fucked if they had chosen to chop up the other Erefren first.

In addition, their plan had Virgil avoiding most of the fighting. well, as much as he could while being on an enemy ship. Virgil himself wasn’t sure how he would do in a lot of combat, but they had seen what happened when one of the others were in danger (when Logan’s glasses had broken, when the space pirates had almost shot Patton through both his hearts, when the spikes had been pulled from Roman’s spine by the Quitans before the new ones had grown in--). He could fight, and he could fight well, but the cost was a little bit of Virgil’s sanity and his ability to sleep through the night.

Patton plucked his own teleportation watch from the pad and hooked it on, before offering Virgil his. Well it wasn’t really his, the same way that the red one wasn’t Roman’s and Patton didn’t own the blue one. They were all Logan’s pet projects, but he had tailored them to their favorite colors. It felt a bit like coming home when Virgil clicked the locking mechanism into place and the screen lit up with the digital alien symbols.

“I shall see you all soon,” Logan said matter-of-factly, as if he couldn’t see all the ways that their plan could go wrong. Then with barely more than a breath he clicked the activation button and his form flickered out of existence.

Roman made a nervous noise with the back of his throat, which ended up sounding a bit like the first bars of a Disney song Virgil had forgotten. Virgil gently tapped his tail with the toe of his boot, avoiding the glisten poison spikes. Roman startled just enough to laugh.

“Its funny, you know?” He said, glancing towards Virgil. “A year ago Remus told me he had taken in a Deathworlder, and I thought he was crazy. A Deathworlder? But now that I know you guys I can’t believe I didn’t get my own sooner.”

“Remus has a human on his crew?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, I wonder if you know each other!” Patton added.

Virgil bit back his original comment, and let the weight settle in his stomach. If Remus had a human in his crew there was even more of a chance that Remus was dead, because the Pol’turs had chosen to save the mysterious human for last.

“Earth is a big place,” Virgil said instead. “Like really big. They’d probably be from like Russia or something.”

At the blank stares he got, Virgil tried rewording, “We probably never have met before. Or speak the same language.”

"There's more than one human language?"

Virgil breathed through his nose, warding off a memory of rolling Rs and failed pop quizzes. "Yeah," he said, "Humans can't agree on anything."

Roman thoughtfully crossed his arms, but Patton made a chittering again and bounced, “Oh well! Now you guys are gonna meet! All the way out in space! How cool is that?!”

Virgil hid a smile in his shoulder. Trust the Reytin to find the bright side to everything. 

Roman looked like he had more questions (questions that Virgil wasn't exactly enthusiastic to answer; Earth was a sore topic for him) but mercifully each of their watches let out several musical bars from Patton’s favorite song. The alien shook his palms one last time, beaming at each of them.

“Oh this is gonna be so much fun, guys!” He said right before pressing the activation button and disappearing.

“I’m so going to kill Remus for this,” Roman grumbled, one hand on his sword hilt.

And, really, Virgil agreed with him on that. Tossing Remus into the airlock and ejecting him directly into the void sounded like an excellent plan for when they got back to their ship alive and whole and safe.

“Let’s do this,” Virgil said and jabbed his thumb into the activation button.

***

Predictably, their flimsy plan fell apart within seconds of them appearing on the ship. Starting with, exactly, Virgil did not appear in or near the engineering deck. Instead he had landed approximately two feet above a box in the Cargo hold of the Pol’turian ship, which likely meant he was somewhere left of where he needed to be.

It also meant that the Pol’turs in the Cargo Hold had a grand view of his body blitzing into existence, landing on a crate, and then tumbling off it with a lot of English cursing. It was a mere matter of luck that Virgil was able to roll his body to the side just before the first BZZZTTRRRT of their blasters went off.

(There was an actual name for the guns that most aliens used, and Virgil was pretty sure that it started with a hard K sound but he had never been able to remember it. He stuck to calling them blasters in his head, and hoped somewhere back on Earth George Lucas was proud of himself.)

The Polyfurnish of the crate hissed and sizzled as it took the brunt of the attack meant to vaporize Virgil, and the human hissed another curse as his hands dug through his satchel.

One of the Pol’turs-- the deep purple one although Virgil hadn’t truly been able to catch sight of how many there were-- shouted something in its language. Probably something along the lines of “Stop”, “Surrender”, or “Kill him”. Virgil wasn’t exactly a fan of any of those options.

He had heard them before-- too many times. The hundreds of variations of the terms spat and yelled and cheered down at him, and he scrambled away from the edge of a sword, as he tasted nothing by dust and dirt as he dodged another attempt on his life, as he desperately backed away from an opponent who couldn’t understand that Virgil didn’t want to fight, please, stop, please, I’m sorry, please I don’t want to hurt anyone--

Virgil curled up as another gold blast ricocheted off the top of the crate he was cowering behind. The air was cooler here, he told himself, the air was cooler and the floor was slicker, and he was surrounded by shelves of goods. He was not in a colosseum and he was not in a fighting ring and he was not alone.

He had the others to regroup with and no time to panic over the past here and now. Virgil gritted his teeth, remembering the feel of Roman’s knuckles bumping his, the sight of Logan’s excited lights, the sound of Patton’s laughter, and then his hand wrapped around the homemade smoke bombs in his satchel.

He yanked the pins from their sockets, wound back, and launched them over the crate into the mass of where all the shooting was coming from. Almost immediately the shoots veered off course, and the cavernous room echoed with high pitched screams. Virgil ripped his turtleneck up and over his nose and then he grabbed the edges of the nearest shelf and hoisted himself to a higher area, out of the range of the low hanging gas.

It was a pale red, near pink thing: a concoction formed by Logan out of Roman’s poison that had taken them literal years to perfect. Virgil was mostly immune to it, the same way he was mostly immune to most poisons that horrified the other species. Inhaling it made his head dizzy and his limbs a little numb, which was just unpleasant enough that he tried to avoid inhaling anything when he had the chance. Other species though...they weren’t so lucky. According to Logan, inhaling it allowed it directly into the bloodstream where it would swiftly ignite all the pain sensors in the body and could make one feel like they were being stabbed everywhere at once.

(He knew this, Logan admitted, because it had taken him many times to get it right. His scientific journals recorded experiments #1 through #357 as “unpleasant” and “ill-advised” and Virgil had nearly throttled him when he discovered that Logan had used himself as a test subject.)

Using the shelves he boosted himself another level until his head was parallel with a box of what he thought were floating Welsor hearts, before he scanned the ground under him. There were three Pol’turs on the ground writhing in pain, blasters discarded, and pale smoke floating ominous above them. Their usually languid tentacles flopped up and down on the floor like a bunch of fish out of water.

The glass container next to his hip exploded, missing him by mere millimeters. Virgil cursed as he scrambled up another level, eyes darting around to find where the hell that shot came from. His armor took much of the hit but it was sizzling with heat in a way that was decidedly not-comforting. 

“Up there!” Something shouted.

Another blast missed his ear and a container of Sblorp fangs shattered and sent the teeth spilling to the floor. Virgil kicked his feet through the lower shelf pushing through a crate and a dozen jars of various indeterminable body parts and squeezed his body in the place of them. The crashes on the next isle were rather satisfying.

He ripped the pin from another smoke bomb with his teeth, and felt his tongue buzz slightly as the proximity to the toxin before he launched it out at the direction of the other shooter. There was another scream and Virgil took the time to roll into the next isle and leap back down to the floor. 

The gas still hadn’t cleared around the original three Pol’turs, but they had gone unconscious from the pain, with a few seizing tentacles here and there. Virgil would feel bad about it, really he would, but the last time he had been in a room of Pol’turs they had been discussing how nicely his skull would look in the centerpieces of their tables and tried to buy him for 270 griot.

 His skin tingled the same way he thought it might right before he would get struck by lightning back on Earth. Virgil ignored the feeling in honor of sliding across the polished flooring to the nearest fallen mercenary and hoisting it up as a shield, while he grabbed its blaster from the floor. 

Two blaster shots sunk into his Pol’tur shield and it dissolved into ashes in his hand. Virgil cursed again, raising the blaster with his other arm and using his ash coated hand to slide the trigger, because this blaster-- like all other blasters-- were not made for human anatomy at all.

The last Pol’tur was a sickly orange color, like some type of invasive evil moss with long arms. Virgil grinned as the blast exploded forth in a dangerous golden ray of death. The heat singed the edge of his fingers, although the mild numbness prevented him from feeling much more than the slight pressure he assumed was warmth. The shot went wide, and the kickback sent Virgil to the floor, but it was enough. 

The blast shattered though several items on the shelves and Pol’tur scrambled back to avoid the avalanche of perishables-- scrambled back right into the pink fog of Virgil's last smoke bomb. It was screaming before Virgil could even sit back up.

Virgil inhaled heavily, sucking as much oxygen into his lung as he could afford and breathing it out through his nose. He squeezed his hand around the handle of the blaster, and tried to pretend like his skin didn’t feel too small. His empty hand-- the one that had held the Pol’tur-- was trembling, shaking, burning.

“I just think you’d be better off spending time with someone else.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Storm!”

“What was it like, Virgil? When you killed him?” 

His hand was covered in soot, tingling from nerves and poison and the heat of the blast that had annihilated all evidence of the living, breathing alien.  

“It wasn’t….” Virgil breathed heavily, “I didn’t….” 

He sucked in another breath, two, three, seven breaths, until he could feel the masquerading gas in the air turn his face numb, and the voices in his head went back to threatening buzzing. 

“Fuck,” he whispered softly, and pushed himself off the ground.

Virgil took the blaster with him, and made a private note to ask Logan to look into building communicators for times like this. There were an untold number of things that could have happened to get them mixed up: the Pol’tur ship could have barrel rolled at the time of, or before the final teleportation codes were in, it could have slowed or sped up, it could have marginally changed direction. All of which just proved that only stupid people like Virgil, Logan, Roman, and Patton would dare attempt a teleportation on a moving ship. Virgil tried not to think about what would have happened if his coordinates had been a little lower in space, a little closer to the box he had landed on, a little more personal and prompted whatever was inside of the crate merged with whatever was inside of Virgil.

It took him a moment to realize that the lights had started flashing an interspaced red and yellow series: a visual alarm to the crew.

“Fun,” Virgil mumbled, hugging the wall next to the exit, with one last breath, and then punching the exit lock. The hydraulics took a moment to work (probably due to excessive use of the doors and wear on the components), but it opened to reveal a brightly lit, completely empty hallway. Virgil raised his blaster, checking both the direction before he stepped out and punched the door closed behind him. Then he lined the blaster up with the door controls and fired.

You know, for safekeeping. The last thing they needed was the Pol’turs inside to wake up with a vengeance and come after them before they were off the ship. 

(If he was still on the ship by the time that they woke up, Virgil was pretty sure he’d be dead. But hey! Surprising things happened all the time when one lived in fucking space.)

The floor was springy under his feet, some mixture of carpet and flooring that Virgil didn’t know the name of, just that it was weird and he didn’t want it in his Sims House. He could feel the fibers through his shoes as he hugged the wall and sprinted towards where he thought the Engine room would be located.

He could hear the sound of more blasters echoing from the depths of the ship, some yelling, some cursing: all lovely signs that Roman was doing his best to be the most annoying moving target anyone had ever seen. Virgil found his lips curling into a smile as he faintly at the noise.

“Oh come on!” Roman taunted, “I’m a big guy! Surely, you can’t be that bad of a shot!” 

There was deafening BZZZTTRRRT, a clamorous crashing, and an ear splitting series of screams. 

Virgil flung around the last corner but in time to see Roman stand up from a kneeling position over a clump of bodies that had probably been more alive a few seconds ago. There were blaster marks all along the walls, and several had blown through a wall revealing a cozy living quarters with giant sword slices in the beddings and floors.

“Oooh, so close!” Roman said with faux-empathy bordering on smugness which at this point should just be his default to the mass. “Maybe next time you’ll think more before attacking an Erefren!” He spun at the sight of Virgil coming around the corner, pointing his sword and then shaking his tail in a greeting.

“Roman,” Virgil sighed in relief. “You okay?”

“Virgil! It seems like I got a little off course! Checked the prisoner cells but they were all empty. And then a few new friends of mine had some fun things to say about Remus.” Roman looked feral as he bared his teeth. He jabbed his sword down into the corpses and something wheezed painfully. Virgil didn’t look at them, didn’t look at them, didn’t look.

“Do you know where he is?” Virgil asked.

Roman used the edge of his shirt to wipe the blue grey blood from the tip of his blade. “Not yet, but if you give me a few more minutes with these lovely fellows of mine I will!”

It did not take “a few more minutes”. Roman hoisted on still gasping Pol’tur up by its gangly neck and it had already started blubbering in a mix of languages. Virgil watched the halls while Roman took notes from their new best friend. 

Half a minute later Roman dropped their captive to the ground with a fire in his eyes and turned to Virgil with his bone plates clinking, and dripping poison.

“He was on the Bridge.” He said, coldly, “He didn’t know if they had finished with Re or not, but he was up there”

“Okay,” Virgil said.

“The rest of his crew, Virgil,” Roman growled, squeezing the hilt of his sword. “His friends! His family!” He stared down at the shaking cowering alien life. “They..!”

The back of Virgil’s throat tasted like his stomach acids. 

Remus had tried to have them killed, he had sold them out, he had been a thorn in their side since before Virgil had become part of the team.  Between the harrowing escapes and the near deaths, it wasn’t hard for Virgil to absolutely despise him.

But his crew? His entire crew? In three days? 

Just….gone?

Condensed into the memories with a snap, removed from the future in just a blink. The initial attack on them must have been bad and bloody for Remus to call them for help, a surprise ambush type of attack. And for all Virgil hated Remus, he couldn’t help but wonder if Remus had had plans with them-- had they been discussing visiting the bars on L3-012 or shopping on K5-369 or relaxing on C2-276? Had Remus made plans with the people he had been close with and now those plans were meaningless because the people he had made them with were dead and gone and never coming ba--

The Pol’tur on the ground giggled something hysterically, one last brave blubbering comment, and Roman took the toe of his boot right into the creature's soft flesh. Its tentacles flopped on the floor with a plu-plat. 

“Virgil,” Roman hissed, without looking up.

Virgil blinked and swallowed hard, “Right, Engines,” He said, turning to go back to his task but Roman reached out and hooked his claws on Virgil’s shoulder, stopping him there.

“Change of plans,” The Erefren said, “You’re coming with me to the Bridge to get my idiot brother.”

Logan was on the Bridge too. Roman didn’t need to have Virgil come with him-- in fact, Virgil shouldn’t come with him. Too many people, too close to fighting, and Virgil couldn’t wipe away the feeling of grit on his hand. 

His entire crew. In just three days. 

Roman didn’t mention anything about how Virgil was shaking from head to toe, and Virgil didn’t point out the way that Roman’s voice wobbled with silent pleading. He just nodded at the alien and let him lead the way towards where they suspected the examination rooms would be.

Two heads are better than one, and all that. 

It was less of a guessing game when the halls and doors were labeled and Roman was very fluent in Pol’turian. Roman was quick to move, quick to sort his way through the poorly designed areas, quick to move. Virgil kept the pace as well as he could, watching the halls behind them for stragglers attempting to get the drop on them and Roman cut down anything in his way. 

Blue grey blood splattered across their shoes, filling the air with a sickly sour smell that made Virgil want to gag. He settled for squeezing the handle of the balster and counting out his breaths again as he avoided Roman’s tail striking forward at astonishing speeds and squeezing his eyes shut when he thought he saw a pair of mismatching eyes in the reflection of the lights.

There was no way for them to go quietly through the halls, not with Roman stomping hard enough to shake the entire ship and his poison attacks turning every enemy into a screaming, begging, crying puddle.

“Roman!” Virgil yelled as heat billowed around them, and the taller alien stumbled back, hit the wall and fell to his knees.

Virgil snarled at one of the mercenaries and fired three times at them. Between the near misses and the scattered yells of “Deathworlder!” they retreated into nearby rooms and locked the doors after them. Virgil tore one of his EMPs from Roman’s belt and sent it flying down the hall to keep them trapped there for a little bit, before he turned to check on Roman.

His shirt was smoldering, and one of his bone plates were cracked, but he just looked out of breath and angry, “I’m fine.” His claws scraped the floor as he stood up. “Armor took most of it.”

Virgil checked the hallway again. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, like a cancerous lump that he couldn’t get rid off no matter how much he swallowed or coughed. It pulsed to a beat that he wasn’t sure he could replicate: too fast and yet the space between each thud had felt like forever. It was so loud he almost was afraid of missing the sounds of another attack.

(An attack where Roman’s armor wouldn’t be enough, where he wouldn’t be able to wheeze off the pain, where he’d hit the wall then the floor and he wouldn’t be able to get back up and it would be all Virgil’s faul--)

Roman’s claws pricked his shoulder as he looked. With a slightly trembling hand he pointed in the direction they needed to go and Virgil did his best not to let his churning stomach get the better of him. 

“Virgil! Roman!” They both spun at the voice; Roman in particular struck out with his tail, and just narrowly avoided impaling Logan’s crystalline chest on spikes.

Logan didn’t even flinch, not that he could really. His lower arms spread with palms out to signal innocence but his upper arms were busy holding up the profusely bleeding Erefren that was leaning mostly on him. Logan’s arms were flickering with so many colors Virgil couldn’t keep track of them. (Vaguely it reminded him of a disco ball, of party lights, of something so Earthly it would have made him laugh if he wasn’t so busy trying to hold back a panic attack.)

“Remus,” Roman breathed, reaching forward, impossibly gently.

“Ro’mn,” Remus slurred, shifting his head ever so slightly. His blood was pooling down the left half of his face, his eyes were partially glassy, but other than that he looked remarkably like Roman: they shared the same face with a strong jawline, the same dark dark hair curled the same way, and the same long tail with dozens of bone plates. The only real difference was the tinge of white in Remus’s hair, the oozing green poison leaking from his bone structures in place of Roman’s red, and the gaps where someone had torn out his bone plates before Remus had grown new ones in.

“Didn’t think…” Remus’s head lulled to the side, showing off the smile he was desperately forcing on his face, “didn’t think… you were comin’.”

“I’m throwing you out of the airlock,” Roman told him.

“‘ounds fun…” Remus murmured, dropping his head back to Logan’s back, and wincing like each inhale was a battle.

“They had him on the Bridge,” Logan explained, “When I arrived, they were attempting to retrieve information from him through barbaric methods. I may have gone overboard with my retaliation.” Logan shifted Remus’s weight slightly, drawing a groan from the other alien. “I am by no means a medical examiner, however, I suspect that he may have several rib fractures, and a few wounds that need to be looked at and well bandaged.”

Roman nodded, although Virgil didn’t think he actually heard anything. Virgil was an only child himself, but he could guess that even if Remus had been the biggest asshole in the entire cosmos seeing him reduced to this weakened, bloody, broken mess was terrifying. From the stories of their childhood, Virgil had always guessed that Remus was as lively as they came. But this version of him couldn’t even stand by himself.

Roman’s head shot up, “Patton. Where’s Pat? We’ve got Re, now its time to get out of here and get him help--”

“NO!” Remus shouted lunging forward suddenly. Logan stumbled at the change of weight, nearly dropping him to the floor, but it seemed that the movement had taken most of the rest of his power. “I can’t… They have…Jay… I prom’sed…”

Virgil checked the hall for enemies because that was easier than looking at the desperation in Remus’s eyes. His voice was scratched and grated like a glass under the assault of a diamond. He coughed so violently it dragged out a glob of purple blood from him.

“Remus, you can’t--” Roman said.

And despite Remus looking like a simple breeze could end his life, he grabbed at Roman’s outreached arm, above the danger of the forearm spikes.“Me and... my crew,” Remus coughed, weakly. “The oath…” 

“I talked to one of those bastards,” Roman countered, forcibly soft, forcibly strained. “Re, your crew is--”

“Ro…” He pleaded, “Please.” 

Roman made a noise like something in him was physically shredding him apart. Virgil suspected it was his hero complex, which usually manifested the urge to save every living being he saw. Lost wasn’t a good look on Erefrens, Virgil decided right then and there. Hopeless and terrified and sad-- all of them made Roman look wrong. 

“What's wrong, Vee? You look like you want to say something.”

“....It’s nothing.”

“What? Not even a joke? Come on, I know you--”

“Let it go, Ekans.”

Virgil blinked away the unwanted memory.  He sighed out of his nose and reached up to hook on the back of Roman’s armor collar. “Let’s go.” 

“Virge…” Roman murmured.

“If we don’t do this now,” Virgil said, “We’ll regret it.” 

He didn’t wait for the others to catch up with his train of thought, or maybe he wasn’t waiting for his own train of thought to catch up. He tugged Roman back a step and nodded at Logan. “We’ll double back and find any crew that’s left and get Pat. You take Remus to the engine room room and get the codes ready for us to get back.”

“For real?” Roman said.

“Understood, Virgil.” Logan nodded back. He glowed purple softly, around his neck notches as if he had expected this after all. “Don’t be late.”

“Time is a construct.” 

Remus laughed like he was choking on a handful of rusted nails. Roman tensed at the sound, gritted his teeth, and then tightened his grip on his sword. Resolved hardened in his eyes, burning through the lost expression like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. 

“Right,” Roman said, “Let’s go.” Roman grabbed Virgil’s hand and took off in the direction they had come from. “Any guesses where the guy’s gonna be? Or where Pat is?”

Virgil felt his stomach churn. He closed his eyes and let Roman pull him along as he tried to remember the 3D diagram of a Pol’turian ship. “Well if I was in cargo, you landed near the prisoner blocks, while Logan was on the Bridge...that means that while Logan was doing the calculations the ship probably did a half roll on the longitudinal axis, which he couldn’t have accounted for. Since this ship appears to be the same as the other makes and models of Pol’turs that means that Patton probably ended up in the medical bay. And if I had to guess that’s where any last member of the crew would be as well. Take this left here.”

Roman nearly stumbled over his own feet. “How in the name of the Great God, Disney-- have you memorized all the maps?”

Virgil furrowed his brow at the alien, “Haven’t you?”

“Well yes, but--” Roman’s face flushed with a bit of his purple blood, “Nevermind, Deathworlder.”

The medical wing of the ship was easy to get to compared to the other places. It seemed that either the Pol’turs had wisened up for an ambush or they had fled when they had the chance. Either way they only came across two mercenaries and Roman made quick work of them. 

He knew they had arrived by the buzzing of air, the tingle of his skin that made him feel too big and too small at the same time. The walls were bare and there were four rooms lining them, each with a number engraved in the door and the lock panels glowing red with what Virgil guessed was the Pol’turian symbol for “closed” or “locked” or “dangerous chemical inside do not release”. Virgil reached for another EMP, but his bag was empty. There were scents around them, faint scents: something metallic, something sour, something clean, something, something, something--

Something that smelled like blood. So many different kinds of blood.

Virgil swallowed hard. He hadn’t known a lot about Remus’s crew, but he knew that Remus had had a dozen different species with him. A dozen different species that hadn’t survived the encounter. 

“Pat!” Roman yelled down the hall, brandishing his sword. 

“Roman! In here! Help--” A voice that was most definitely Patton’s yelled out.

Roman didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward to the room the voice had come from, almost feverishly, desperately, and he didn’t bother with the password. With a swift violent motion he jabbed his sword into the locking panel and then pried open the door with his claws and his hands.

Virgil thought that it would have been one hell of a sight: if he had been strapped to a table, a knife jab from death’s door, begging, pleading, crying and knowing that all his friends had been taking to the room before him and had not come back out intact? If Virgil had been bleeding out and clinging to the slippery bit of hope that was a miracle, and then he saw his captain’s brother literally prying open the door with his bare claws to get to him---

Virgil thought it would have been pretty awesome.

Not something that should have warranted a knife being thrown at them.

Roman let out a curse in Erefren and it was one of those don’t-repeat-this-don’t-tell-Patton curses that Roman specialized in. He staggered back, clutching his shoulder where the knife had sunk in all the way to the hilt, Jesus! What the hell! Virgil kicked the rest of the door open, dropping low as scalpel skirted by where his body should have been, and then he sprung back up with his blaster set on that asshole. 

Except.

“Virgil!”

The room was small, almost claustrophobically small. Just standing in the doorway made Virgil’s breath shorten (his cell back at the Welsor fighting rings had been bigger than this--). And it was lit with cold harsh white light, nearly blinding, if it weren’t for the greyed walls and the splashes-- the splashes of faded pink and blue and other colors that Virgil recognized all too well as blood. The table took up most of the room, leaving just enough space for a Pol’tur to sweep around and a small hand tray of twisted instruments.

In fact there was a Pol’tur on the ground right there. Limp and unmoving with an eye scoop so far in it’s skull there was no way it was coming back out.

But Virgil wasn’t staring at the body. 

“Don’t you get tired of being everyone’s favorite person?” 

It couldn’t--

“Just shut up and help me with these conjugations, will you?”

This wasn’t--

“What do you mean no one can find him?” 

He hadn’t--

The detective had looked at him with such a pity that it had made Virgil’s entire body flinch. He squeezed the plastic cup in his hand, crushing it, letting the fragments cut into his skin. He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel anything. The man was still talking to him, talking softly like anything louder would shatter the fragile reality around them, talking so quietly Virgil couldn’t hear a single thing he was saying at all over the sound of his own heartbeat.

“You’re wrong,” Virgil had croaked. “He’s not dead.”

But he had been.

He had been for nearly two years now.

And everyone had thought that Virgil had done something to him, had thought that Virgil was the last to see him, had thought that his dark clothes and his eye shadow and a few sneers in the hall had meant that Virgil was suddenly capable of killing Janus Ekans in cold blood.

Except.

Except that Virgil was staring at Janus --fucking-- Ekans right now.

It was unmistakable, the shape of his face, the curve of his lips, the slimness of his nose. The wispy brown hair that turned golden under the summer sun, the mischievous eyes danced with different colors, the flick of his tongue that moved so freely when he let it, the tattoo of two theater masks on his chest that no one was supposed to know about-- Virgil could have spent days naming things, committing them to memory, staring in disbelief at him. This was the same boy who had sat next to him in Spanish. The same Janus who had been convinced he was so completely untouchable up until Virgil had dragged him off his stupid, golden pedastal.

It was the same Janus who was currently wrapped around Patton like a boa constrictor cutting off the alien’s ability to move and had a knife perched ever so closely to one of Patton’s eyes.

“What the hell?” Virgil had said because-- because--

Because Virgil had asked Logan once if there was a race that could pick through minds, pull memories from heads, change the way someone thought. And Logan didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t lie to him. There were no alien types that could break into a mind and drag illusions into reality and there were no races that could bring ghosts back from oblivion.

“Virgil,” Janus said barely a whisper, barely enough to be heard, barely enough to mean anything. The knife was tilting in his hand, tipped like he wasn’t sure what he was saying, wasn’t sure what he was doing. “What-?”

Partially drugged, Virgil thought with absolutely no room to breathe in his chest. Partially drugged, holding a knife to Patton’s weakest point, and alive. 

“Janus,” Virgil said, ”Put down the knife.”

He’s still partially strapped to the table, bound by his left ankle and sporting a lovely series of cuts on the side of his face as if someone had started carving scales into his cheek for funsies. If Virgil had to hazard a guess he would have assumed that Patton had dropped in literally as the Pol’tur was taking Janus-- Janus, alive, breathing, real-- apart one centimeter at a time, then proceeded to win a very cramped fight in the room. Virgil would even say that Patton had started taking the restraints off of Janus when he had gained enough consciousness to realize that he needed to defend himself. 

(The fact that they found something capable of drugging a human, a Deathworlder, was concerning, so concerning, terrifying--)

“Virgil….You are not real,” Janus said, slowly, blood dripping down his neck. “You cannot be real. None of this is real.”

“I’m the one thats not real?” Virgil muttered. “You’re the one that was declared dead.”

He laughed. Virgil’s stomach swooped.

For a second, a brief fleeting second, he could have sworn that this was all a dream. A fever dream in which Virgil would blink himself awake from and find himself on the floor of Janus’s stupid, giant ass room surrounded by a dozen cans of off-brand energy drinks, a half eaten bucket of popcorn, and the credits for a horror movie scrolling on the screen. For a second it felt like he would roll over and bump elbows with Janus who had woken up an hour previously to study for that stupid Spanish test that wasn’t until Monday. For a second it was like he was seventeen again and his biggest worry was figuring out if it was too weird to ask to run his hands through Janus’s silky hair.

“Of course, I was declared fucking dead!” Janus said, like it was the obvious thing that would happen, “I am dead. I have to be, because there’s no other way that the kid who's afraid of going outside made it this far into space.” 

“Janus, put down the knife.” Virgil took a step forward, a half a step, but Janus just squeezed the knife tighter. 

“Why don’t you come and make me?” Janus smiled at him, smiled, smiled, smiled.

Smiled like he knew that this was a dream and nothing he did was going to matter. Smiled like they were back on that balcony of his room with their feet swinging between the bars and two Seagrams gone each and they were going to get in a shit ton of trouble for it. Smiled like he had never been dead and Virgil hadn’t had to bury the thought of him.

Patton made a noise, a small whimper, and Virgil felt it in his chest. The near silence of the room, the soft muted buzzing in his head, the fuzzy dream like quality of reality-- it all shattered at the sound. Shattered like glass, like a mirror, like the concept of “forever”. It shattered and Virgil was suddenly hyperaware of how small the room was, how cold he felt, how metallic the air smelt. 

“Hm, just as I thought,” Janus said softly, smile dropping into something wistful and disappointed, “I really am just seeing thin--”

Virgil didn’t give him the satisfaction of finishing; he surged forward, throwing his blaster to the side, and using his left hand to catch Janus’s wrist millimeters from putting that knife in Patton. He twisted his hand, pining his fingers into the soft flesh of Janus’s nerves until his hand jerked open on reflex and the knife fell into the open air.

Janus froze, inhaling so sharply Virgil was certain that he took all the oxygen in the room away. 

He was warm, Virgil realized absently. He was warm and had a pulse and for some reason both those things made Virgil’s chest hurt. His skin was soft and his breath was sweet and Virgil had gotten punch-drunk stupid on less.

Which probably explained why, how, when, Virgil’s lips ended up on his, pressing firmly, and tasting like something from a past Virgil had thought he had given up on. Virgil had always been stupid, but this was another level of stupid. This was incredibly dumb, unbelievable, ridiculous. 

Janus’s mouth was on his, and Virgil’s hand was tipping his head back ever so slightly, and Patton had managed to scramble out of Janus’s absolutely shocked slacked hold.

“You’ve always been so annoying,” Virgil gasped between breaths, “Always thinking you know everything. Have you ever considered you might be wrong before?”

“You’re--” Janus whispered, “Real? For real?” Then, “Don’t you know what the fuck consent is?”

“Fuck you,” Virgil told him.

Janus grabbed him by his collar and yanked him forward again. “Since you asked so nicely.” 

“Don’t be cute.” 

“Don’t be coy.” Janus shot back because he was still the same asshole who needed to have the last word. He bit at Virgil’s lip, and then pulled back to show off a wolfish grin. 

Virgil was stuck somewhere between wanting to smash his stupid smug face in and wanting to kiss him until he lost all sense of direction. Janus was like that, Virgil remembered suddenly, even when they were kids, when Janus was trapped on that pedestal everyone had put him on, when Virgil couldn’t have cared less about him and somehow had ended up unsure how to live without him.

“Not that this isn’t the fucking cutest shit I’ve ever seen--“ A voice behind them called and Virgil stiffened.

“Language!” Patton interrupted, as Roman grunted through the pain of still having a surgical knife in his shoulder. 

“--But can the two of you save your weird-ass….human…. greeting custom…. for some other time?” The Erefren snarled with one hand clutching the hilt and then yanking it out with a wheeze that Virgil felt physically. His purple blood spouted out from the wound but Roman didn’t seem to care, beyond tossing the knife to the floor.

“That’s an Erefren,” Janus said because he’s just as good at stating the obvious as he is at kissing. “That is not Remus.”

Roman snapped out something in his native tongue, which by the stress on the syllables was probably not nice and definitely not Patton approved. The Reytin even puffed up, shaking his head in a way that normally prefaced an hour long lecture on manners and the reintroduction of a swear jar. 

However, Janus just laughed that pretty stupid little laugh of his but when he opened his mouth the words were all forgein. It took Virgil a moment to catch up, a moment to realize that he hadn’t even fumbled, that Janus had actually spoken Erefrenian and it had been grammatically correct enough that stunned Roman for a whole half second. 

“You speak Erefrenian?” Virgil asked.

Janus blinked up at him a smug looking expression on his face. “You don’t?”

Virgil had a good response, he did. It was a response that had been some-three years in the making and Virgil had been ready to wipe that prideful expression of his face. But before they could do anything the entire ship lurched to the side, taking gravity with it. Virgil let out a yelp and grabbed for Janus and clung for stability.

(Space had done wonders for Janus’s abs, Virgil thought distantly.)

Roman slammed into the door frame and stumbled out into the hall, with all the grace a drunken ballerina, and cursed again when Patton landed on top of him.

“That’s our cue to leave!” Roman growled.

“Ya think?” Virgil shot back. He lunged for the end of the table where Janus’s bare foot was still strapped to the table. He didn’t look at the rusted color on the buckle, at the stiffness of the leather strap, at the rawness of Janus’s skin where it was biting into his ankle. He didn’t, didn’t, didn’t--

His hands shook. Janus reached over and clasped his forearms, the fabric of his tunic, him. 

“Virgil--” Janus said, softly, unsuredly, with no trace of that previous pompous expression on him. “I--”

There was blood on his face, trailing all the way down his neck in scarlet silvers from the cuts. His hair was sweat matted, pressed and tousled in a way that made Virgil feel a certain rage in his chest, like someone had been running fingers through his curls while they sliced him apart. His eyes were still slightly glassy from whatever they put in him. There was an unspoken question on his lips, in his eyes, through his fingers as he clung to Virgil. 

“I’ve got you,” Virgil told him, practically scooping him up. Janus heaved a breath as his feet touched the ground again. “Us humans have to stick together, right?” 

Janus Ekans was alive. 

It sounded surreal even in the moment, because Virgil had been mourning him since they were seventeen and stupid. Everyone else had moved on, had buried his memory, had forgotten about him. But he was not dead, and Virgil had not killed him. Somehow he had ended up in space, ended up with Remus, ended up here on this ship in the several billions of lightyears from anything they had known previously.

There would be no more late-nights-turned-early-mornings study sessions, no more sneaking over the gated walls of the Ekans mansion, and no more scaling the lattice underneath Janus’s balcony. They were never going to go stargazing on the hills outside of town again, never going to ruthlessly text each other under the desk during History class, never going to skip prom together to go trespassing in the woods somewhere to find Mothman. He was never going to butcher Spanish past participles in the cozy corner of the school library after hours and he was never going to get to listen to Janus brag about obtaining his Seal of Biliteracy finally despite his proficiency in about three languages. 

Janus had disappeared right before senior year. And Virgil, who had been the biggest thorn in his side, the biggest instigator of all their fights, the wild and unruly punk kid that lived in detention-- Virgil had stopped looking for him. Because everyone said he had died. Because everyone said that Virgil had killed him.

But Virgil could feel Janus’s pulse, could hear his heartbeat, could see the way his chest moved as they stumbled out of the room. 

Part of him was afraid that if he let go now, later, ever, Janus would disappear again. Shimmer and fade like a mirage in the desert.

“Careful Virgil,” Janus said breathily. “I almost think you missed me.”

“I hate you so much,” Virgil said back, as Roman and Patton led the way toward the engine rooms by blade and alien jujutsu and well-placed pun.

“Somehow, I don’t think you mean that, at all.” Janus said, grinning.

And then he closed that last little bit of space between them again.

[Next installment: Stars Die (But We Don’t)]

[bnhayyy]

The Call (1)

Chapter Title: Slayer

Wordcount: 4.1k

Ao3 Link: Click

Notes: Written for day one of @aot-au-week , since a Buffy AU very technically counts as a College AU, and because it's the least I owe @cookietonwrites for convincing them to take on another fic. As you can see, the idea quickly spiraled into a multi-chap, for which I am not even remotely apologetic.

Summary: There is only ever one slayer at a time; the chosen one, a girl strong enough to fight against the vampires, demons, and forces of darkness.

 Mikasa has accepted that for her, being the slayer means living a reclusive life, haunted by the image of the first person she failed to save and unable to ever truly let anyone in. However, everything is called into question with the arrival of Annie, a girl who claims to also be a slayer. Mikasa's life becomes much less solitary seemingly overnight, but friendship is followed by a deadly conspiracy, and with it, the threat of loss and heartache.

Mikasa's world consisted of a haze of blurred vision and the gentle buzzing in her ears. She blinked, and the figures on the paper before her solidified into numbers for a heartbeat before fading out once again. Trying it a few more times didn't yield any better results. It only made her aware of how much her eyes burned and how heavy her eyelids were. How heavy her entire head was. How easy it would be to just slip forward and… 

The buzzing reached a crescendo. A hand reached out to grab her shoulder. She jerked back upright to find Armin sitting across the table from her, one hand still extended and a worried expression on his face. 

Mikasa faltered. Words played at her lips, semi-contradictory things like 'it's fine' and 'what's wrong', but none of them felt right enough to actually be voiced. Instead, Armin was the one to break the silence. 

"When's the last time you slept?" he asked. 

Mikasa sighed. He must be really worried if he was cutting straight to the point like that. 

"Don't worry about it," she said, even though she knew it wouldn't work. 

Armin's frown deepened as a hint of disapproval trickled onto his features. He pitched his voice into a whisper to say, "you don't need to go out every night. You can't- you shouldn't be doing this alone."

"I do," Mikasa countered. "I'm the only one who can. You know that, Armin."

There was one girl in the whole world charged with keeping the forces of darkness at bay. She couldn't cast that duty aside just because she was tired.

It was with that thought that she realized that her gaze had begun to drift back toward the table. She snapped it back up as Armin asked, "does Erwin know how thin you're wearing yourself?" 

Mikasa pursed her lips. "Erwin's only been here for a few weeks. He'll get used to it."

"You shouldn't be used to it," Armin insisted, the softness of his voice warring with the rapidly mounting undercurrent of anxiety. He was still talking, too, about how Erwin wouldn't approve and she would be more productive if she wasn't dead on her feet. She didn't absorb any of the actual words, his voice fading back out into that gentle, incoherent buzzing.

Then there was a flicker of movement as something faded into sight in the corner of her vision, and everything Armin said became utterly doomed to sail right over her head.

Mikasa very determinedly did not look at the figure. She didn't turn her head and didn't allow her eyes to move in his direction beyond that first involuntary twitch. It didn't matter. He leaned forward, and she caught a glimpse of the green eyes peering out from what she knew would be a placid-yet-piercing expression.

"He's right, Mikasa," he said. "You need to take better care of yourself."

She allowed her eyes to flicker shut even though it did nothing to block out the man's voice. The voice of her own imagination.

"You've always been like this," he sighed. His voice had a whisper of warmth in it today, a touch of fondness tucked within what sounded like age-old resignation. "But you shouldn't. You're at your best when you have our friends with you."

Something flickered within her at the comment, although she was pleased to note that she managed to keep it within. There was no need to remind the hallucination that she didn't have any friends. Not even Armin, truly. Because for all that they were fond of each other, no amount of fondness could ever make up for-

"-kasa?"

It was the hint of iron intertwining itself with the worry in Armin's voice that got her to open her eyes. Mikasa forced herself to look at Armin and only Armin, who was leaning halfway across the table at this point.

"You really need to get some rest," he said. She moved to open her mouth, but he cut her off by asking, "you don't have trigonometry for five more hours, right?"

Mikasa nodded.

Armin gave one short, decisive nod, which appeared to be more for himself than anything. "You should take a nap, then."

The shift in her expression was subtle, just a faint downward turn to her lips, but apparently still enough for him to catch, because he quickly added, "you're going on patrolling again tonight, aren't you? Even a couple of hours would be better than nothing. I promised to meet up with Annie in a little while, but. I could walk you home?"

Mikasa didn't bother asking who Annie was, but she didn't protest either. She could see the logic in his argument, even if it felt painfully like a waste of time. "No, it's alright," she said. "I can walk myself."

Armin frowned. "Okay, but you will-"

"Go home and take a nap. Yes." She was already standing up as she finished agreeing. If she was going to keep her word, then it would be better to get it done sooner than later. The earlier she left, the sooner she could return. "I'll see you tomorrow," she promised.

With that, she turned around and left without taking another look at the boy who maybe, in another world, could have been her friend.

Or the distorted memory of Eren Jaeger.

*

Mikasa laid in her bed and closed her eyes.

*

Thud.

"Clear!"

Thud.

"Clear!"

Thud.

"Cl-"

Coughing. Choking, sputtering, straining, a strain in her chest that turned into an ache resonating throughout her entire body. A pain worse than anything she had ever felt in her fourteen years.

Shouting. Rushing. Urgent voices talking rapidly. Not to her, with her aching body and spinning vision, but to each other. White coats and flashing lights. They were talking, talking, and there was something she had to say, something more important than the flashing lights or the unreal pain or the whisper of strength that shouldn't be there. There was something, someone, she had to ask about-

Her voice cut off in a hoarse croak when she tried to speak. Her throat stung, like it had been worn ragged by- by-

Salt.

Memories flashed by her in a dreadful kaleidoscope. The parents. The men. The boy. The other man, the one they'd thought would help. The sea - he'd thrown them in the sea, her and-

A jolt of energy. Mikasa forced herself upright and grabbed the wrist of the first person she saw. Surprise was on his face. Surprise and discomfort; her grip was stronger than it should have been. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was-

"Eren," she croaked.

"Eren." The white-coated man's voice was softer than she needed it to be. Focused on her. He needed to be focused on not her. "Is that your name? Eren?"

Through parched lips and a throat like sandpaper, she croaked out, "where's Eren?"

The man gave her a long, sad look. No. No. He shouldn't be looking at her like that.

"He saved me," Mikasa pressed. "Then he- the-" monster “- we went in the water together."

One faltering moment that lasted for an eternity.

The man redirected with talk about her. What's her name, can she describe what she's feeling, she's okay, it'll all be okay - it didn't matter. It didn't matter and it wouldn't be okay. It didn't matter, because in that moment, he didn't need to answer.

His expression spoke only of death.

*

She woke up feeling more awake, but just as tired as she had been before.

*

Mikasa didn't even try to pay attention during trigonometry. The nap may have refreshed her to some degree, but not enough for that. Besides, she still had a solid C. Spending class zoned out was... admittedly detrimental, considering that she had been in a similar state for her last two classes, but not so devastating that she wouldn't be able to recover from it. She would just have to cram as hard as she could once she had the opportunity to spend a few nights on her classwork. It wasn't a pleasant routine, but it had gotten her through her first two semesters of college. She could make it work for this one as well.

Besides, she had more important things to spend her brainpower on.

A girl had been marked absent during roll call. Mina Carolina. A single absence was not unusual in and of itself, but although Mikasa couldn't claim to know Mina well, she had not seen the girl take a day off before. That didn't mean that she couldn't - she could be well and truly sick, or an emergency could have popped up. People took days off all the time, even those who normally didn't.

The trouble was that there had been a marked increase in people turning up absent lately. Most of them never returned. There were no bodies found or hints as to their whereabouts. They were simply never seen again.

Mikasa didn't want to feel a sense of distant mourning. She wanted to hope that Mina would show up at their next class with some excuse for the teacher about how she can sick or had to deal with an unignorable situation. However, that same part of her had also wanted to hold out hope for Franz and Hannah when they disappeared from her American Literature class, and now they were nothing but faces on missing posters.

The semester had only been in swing for a month and a half. Mina would be the third victim person she had shared a class with. Not third overall - just that she had shared a class with specifically. When she scaled the radius up to encompass the entire campus, she would be the fifth disappearance.

According to Erwin, Paradis' level of supernatural activity was on the low side of average. She suspected that that was the reason he had been hinting that they should relocate. He felt that she was wasted here, and as her Watcher, he wasn't comfortable doing nothing about it, no matter how new to his position or unwelcome he was. And truthfully, five people disappearing off of a college campus during the first semester and a half wasn't unusual. College was stressful. She didn't know the details regarding two of the disappearances, and even with the couple who had seemingly disappeared off the face of the like, a human culprit was just as likely as a demonic one, if not moreso.

So why was she so certain that Mina Carolina had met her death at some point since she had last seen her?

Why did she feel like she had failed to stop it?

Once the feelings of dread and guilt grew strong enough for her to be actively aware of them, Mikasa decided to redirect her attention to the students who were there. 

Armin probably would have been one of her classmates if she hadn't insisted that he not take any classes that run past sunset and directed him to the morning trigonometry course instead. However, it wouldn't have been a large class even with him and Mina. 

Four of the students scattered across the room were unknown to Mikasa. However, her seat near the back of the room allowed her to keep an eye on them with relative ease. That, in turn, allowed her to be fairly comfortable in her assessment that they were normal human students. 

She could say the same of her four other classmates as well. They, however, were a little higher on her radar. 

Closest to her, his desk seated directly in the last few rays of evening sunlight, was a muscular blond man. Mikasa thought that his name began with an 'R', but didn't know much else about him. He'd caught her attention with a loud, outgoing personality and general demeanor that made him seem like an odd fit for the class. At the moment, it looked like he wasn't paying much more attention than Mikasa herself, fiddling with the ring on his left hand and only occasionally glancing up at the teacher. 

The blonde next to him was as much of a stranger, but she at least looked like she was focusing. She had gained Mikasa's attention by joining a week after classes had started. Since then, however, she had proven quiet and distant, only interacting with her classmates when she glared at the man next to her for trying to talk to her while she was working.    

Jean Kirstein, meanwhile, clearly didn't want to be a stranger. Over the past year, he had made a few attempts to reach out that she could admit were enduring. If she didn't have her duty, he might be someone she could consider a friend. As it was, she couldn't bring herself to do anything but brush him off, for his own sake. He didn't pay her much attention in class though. That wasn’t to say that he was completely focused, even though he had claimed a seat at the front of the class. She often glimpsed him speaking to the student next to him. There’d also been enough instances when she’d heard a frustrated comment from him regarding the course for her to get the sense that trigonometry wasn't particularly easy for him. However, she also suspected that he was hardworking and dedicated enough to make up for it.

The student next to him was Marco Bott. Cheerful and painfully earnest, he was honestly mostly notable to Mikasa because he was Jean's friend. He seemed like a good person though. That meant he was a reminder of why Mikasa couldn't let Jean become her friend no matter how hard he tried or let herself rest no matter how much Armin tried to insist. If she faltered, if she slowed, there would be consequences.

Mina used to sit behind Jean and Marco.

The sound of chairs being pushed back and writing implements being put away drew Mikasa out of her stupor. Rather than look at the clock, she glanced out the window.

The sun had already begun to set.

She quickly stuffed her textbook, pencil case, and notebook in her bag, feeling only a brief pang of guilt for the blank sheet of paper that stared back at her. The items landed haphazardly, and she knew that if she looked, they would likely only partly obscure the stake, crossbow, and knife that laid carefully arranged at the bottom. She zipped it shut before anyone could get curious and try to sneak a peek; a reflex even though she knew that no one would be bold enough to try that with her.

Despite being the last one to start getting packed, she was the first one out of class. Just like she always was. From there, it didn’t take long to get off the campus.

The first two blocks of Mikasa's walk went like she was heading home. It was as she reached the third - the one that would have lead back to her apartment - that she took a sharp right. From there it was four blocks straight on, then one block to the left. A simple route, but one that had come to haunt her nightmares.

Dusk had descended on the cemetery by the time she reached it.

Logically, she knew that she wasn't likely to run into anything for several more hours.

Instinctively, she knew that Mina Carolina wasn't likely to return to class.

This wasn't a night to take risks.

Mikasa wandered deeper into the graveyard, where she was less likely to be spotted by any passerby, and pulled out her stake. There, she began to wander.

It wasn't a small cemetery by any means. That was what made it the ideal hive for demonic activity. Not only were cemeteries where the majority of newly turned vampires rose, but large ones were also rife with additional dead bodies and crypts. This one was even separated into several different sections, which made it easy to get lost.

Getting lost made it easy to watch the time slip by.

A couple of hours into her patrol, a familiar figure flickered into existence at the edges of her vision. She didn't say anything to him, and he followed her silently, gaze occasionally flickering to one side or another as he took in the graveyard. As if he might notice anything before she did. Technically speaking, she supposed that he might. He had "caught" things a few times in the past, when she was subconsciously aware of something but hadn't been fast enough to process it with her conscious mind. It was the only thing that made sense, for all that she desperately wished that it wasn't.

A slayer whose hallucination needed to point things out for her couldn't mean anything good for the world.

She forced herself to look away from the figment and focus on her surroundings.

Not five minutes later, the sound of shifting earth caught her attention. Mikasa turned and strode toward it, her grip on her stake tightening and her gaze fixed straight ahead. Within seconds, she had spotted it; a grave with the earth beneath it stirring. As she watched, a hand punched up and out of it, grasping desperately at the ground. The head came next - an unfamiliar man, his face distorted by lumps across his forehead and nose, slitted yellow eyes, and fangs. The visage of a vampire prepared for predation. It glared at her as it struggled and snarled, eventually freeing its other arm. Once that was done, it had a much easier time dragging itself to the surface.

It never got the chance to free itself fully. The second its chest was completely exposed, Mikasa sprang into action. She grabbed the thing by the lapels of its dirt-stained tuxedo and dragged it upward. Fear flicked across its face, causing the predatory features to fall away and leaving a normal face behind. A face that could have been human if she didn't know better. She didn't allow herself to look closely.

In a blink, she had rammed her stake through the vampire's chest and into its heart. It dissolved into dust a few seconds later. Mikasa stood and watched the flecks flutter back down to earth.

She was drawn out of her reverie by a firm, "you shouldn't be patrolling tonight."

Mikasa grit her jaw. "I already rested," she pointed out.

"It isn't enough. You've been exhausting yourself, one little nap isn't going to make up for that."

"You just saw me kill a vampire."

"Yeah, and it took way more out of you than it normally would."

Mikasa whirled around to face the figment. Something in her chest threatened to hitch as she allowed herself to look directly at him, just as it so often did, even years after he first manifested.

The thing before her almost could have been a ghost. It wasn't though; god knew she had done enough research on the subject. Ghosts, when they visibly manifested at all, took the appearance they wore at their time of death or at another point in their life.

Eren Jaeger had been fourteen when he died. Even if he responded to the same name, this grown man with distant, unreadable eyes couldn't be him.

He wasn't anything. She'd run all of the tests as she learned more about the Supernatural. She wasn't haunted, there weren't hints of a demonic presence lingering around her - there was nowhere he could have come from other than her own mind.

He was nothing but a manifestation of her guilty conscience. She had come to terms with that years ago, yet she was still wasting time arguing with him.

At that instant, it was suddenly very tempting to look away. However, she forced her gaze to remain steady as she coldly said, "leave."

The figment blinked. "Mikasa-"

"No," she interrupted.

Something flickered in the illusion's eyes. It was difficult to identify, caught behind that distorting wall that so often covered his emotions, and she didn't even bother to try. He opened his mouth again, but she didn't let him get another word in.

"I'm not willing to put up with you tonight," she said. "Get out."

His expression finally came together into something real and visible. Alarm. "Mikasa, move!"

Mikasa lunged to the side just in time to avoid being grabbed by the shoulder.

She spun around to find a burly vampire standing over the ashes of the one she'd just killed. He was musclebound and bulky enough that he might be somewhat difficult to face in hand-to-hand combat - but not so much as to stand a real chance against her. "Slayer," he snarled. "I am going to grind you into dust."

Mikasa didn't bother responding. He lunged forward and she spun to the side, ducking beneath his flailing fist to get behind him. As she moved, she noticed that Eren had disappeared. Good. She sprang forward, stake in hand, only for the vampire to swing back around at the last moment and grab her wrist. He squeezed, a horrible grin on his face, and she had to fight to keep from automatically releasing her grip on her stake.

As the vampire leaned forward, she twisted to punch him in the sternum with her free hand. It only made him falter for a moment, but it was enough for her to wrench her wrist out of his grasp. It was also enough for her to come to a terrible realization.

Her blows weren't as hard as they usually were and she was moving slowly.

Eren was right.

There wasn't any time to ruminate on that. The vampire lunged forward, and Mikasa dove to the side again. She leaned into the momentum and swung her leg out to land a kick to the vampire’s side. He stumbled, a curse on his lips.

It didn't bring her any sense of victory, for as she brought her foot down, it landed on uneven ground. Not observant enough.

Pain shot up her ankle and the world began to tilt.

Eren still wasn't anywhere to be seen. Funny. If her mind was going to conjure up even a distorted version of Eren Jaeger, she would have expected it to happen when she died. She had thought that he would watch.

Mikasa hit the ground, the side of her head slamming hard against a flat gravestone. The world continued to spin around the sound of the vampire chuckling. She clenched the hand holding her stake, only to find that it must have fallen out of her grasp during the fall.

She forced herself to sit up, hands pushing hard against the ground to make up for the way the world was spinning around her. When she looked up, the vampire was glaring down at her. She tried to stand up, to scurry back, but her ankle gave out when she tried to bear weight on it. A sprain - just a sprain - nothing that wouldn't heal in a couple of days with her abilities, but even a sprain couldn't bear weight immediately. The vampire was saying something now, but she couldn't make out the words, couldn't hear anything past the buzzing in her head, couldn't feel anything but the sensation of warm blood oozing from the cut in her head.

The vampire was reaching for her.

She hadn't wanted to take a risk, and because of that, she was going to die tonight. And Eren wasn't even there to see it.

Maybe that was fitting. She hadn't witnessed his final moments either. Maybe he wanted her to die alone as well.

The vampire's hand closed around her neck. She forced herself to look up, to at least look her death in the eyes-

- and the vampire exploded into dust. In his wake stood the blonde girl from her trigonometry class, stake in hand and gaze locked on Mikasa.

The girl said something. Mikasa blinked, hearing her words, but unable to process them. The girl frowned, and Mikasa grit her teeth, just to give herself another sensation to focus on.

"Repeat that," Mikasa ordered.

The girl extended a hand. "I asked how badly injured you are," she said.

Mikasa ignored the hand and moved to force herself to her feet. Her injured ankle protested once again, but she bore the majority of her weight on her other leg and managed to get upright. "I can handle it," she said. "Who are you?"

The girl didn't seem at all off-put by Mikasa's blunt question. If anything, she seemed like she expected it. "Annie Leonhart," she said.

She paused for a moment. It did nothing to prepare Mikasa for her next, impossible words.

"I'm the slayer."

*

Weeks later, armed with only an axe, her memories, and the desperate research of a lonely girl scared she was losing her mind, Mikasa went hunting.

She found the one who had snatched them from the bodies of the original monsters and tossed them into the ocean.

She took his head, and he turned to ash at her feet.

[snowdice]

Gaps in His Files (Part 12) [Relabeled; Refiled Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton

Appear: Remy, Virgil (but only in the epilogue)

Summary:

Logan Berry has learned many things the last 10 years: a lot of math and physics, a bit of humility, and how to be a hero being just a few. Through his education, his experience teaching, and his exploits as the superhero Bluebird, he’s changed in a lot of small and large ways. He has recorded these changes in well-organized documents and files. He’s even had to create two new file designations: a red one for files about his moonlighting at Bluebird, and a light blue one dedicated to his boyfriend, Patton.

When Bluebird is targeted by a memory device and all of those 10 years of progress suddenly disappear, Patton Sanders and Logan’s extensive files are left as his only resource to get those memories back. But what is Patton supposed to do when there are clear gaps in his files? And what does he do when he is one of them?

This is set 25 years before Sometimes Labels Fail though it’s story is completely independent of it and it is not necessary to read that one first.

Notes: Superhero AU, memory loss, past child abuse, past child neglect, unhealthy ideas about ones place in relationships, emotional suppression, self-deprecating thoughts, medical procedures mentioned, very brief unhealthy views of sex

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

This one is very heavy. Patton is spiraling hard and expresses some very unhealthy deep seated views of himself and his role in relationships. So be warned and if you want to wait to read this, feel free. Basically all of the warning in the notes apply in this one except medical procedures.

Patton’s back ached from falling asleep on the floor next to the couch once again the night before. It had been horribly quiet in the apartment in the last 24 hours since Patton returned from the hospital to find Logan gone. He didn’t know what to do.

They’d defaulted back to looking through the files that they’d already pretty much read through at this point and Patton was starting to wonder if there was even any point. They’d looked through the red ones last night and the green ones this morning before rotating back to the blue ones which were now spread all over the coffee table.

Patton had snagged one of the fluffier blankets from the closet and curled up under it, but it didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, he might feel worse because he couldn’t keep insisting that Logan pet it like he normally would.

Logan didn’t even seem to care enough to voice his obvious unhappiness with Patton. His silence just made Patton feel worse and worse and made his thoughts spin and spin. Logan was tapping his fingers against the table thinking about something. Usually Patton would respond to that action with patient fondness, but today it just made him want to curl up into a ball wondering what he was thinking. Patton’s mind kept returning again and again to that place it had been in on and off the last two months except that place was getting darker and darker every time he came back around to it.

Ever since the rejected proposal, Patton had tried to figure out what it was about him Logan didn’t like. He’d tried all sorts of things. He’d tried not inviting himself over to his apartment as much, not being as pushy about Logan taking care of himself, offering sex less, offering sex more, not being as pushy about spending time with him, being more quiet, letting him decide what they did on dates, not talking as much about his job, not depending on him as much when he was stressed, not crying in front of him when he was overwhelmed. He’d tried. He’d tried so many things.

The problem was Logan. Or at least Logan before.

What Logan hated most in life was change and he’d clearly gotten used to how Patton naturally acted over the years. Thus, he kept getting distressed when Patton tried to change something.

When Patton avoided his apartment for over a week, he’d asked if Patton was mad at him and then since Patton had that Saturday off, he’d managed to cajole Patton into spending all day in Logan’s bed napping and cuddling.

The not pushing him to care for himself had only lasted a few hours. Patton knew it had to be annoying, but he couldn’t stop himself from reminding him to eat breakfast and Logan hadn’t seemed mad when he’d started back up. He’d even brushed a kiss across his cheek when Patton handed him a plate of bacon and breakfast potatoes.

He seemed to be able to tell when Patton wanted to have sex with a startling amount of pinpoint accuracy, like he had Patton down to a science. When Patton wanted it, but didn’t start something, he initiated it himself and he looked at him with abject confusion when Patton tried something when he didn’t want it.

He showed up to the hospital to take Patton to lunch in the cafeteria when he didn’t mention meeting up for lunch because he assumed the reason was that Patton was too busy that day. He pushed when Patton didn’t speak much, citing that he was worried something was wrong and he insisted on his input on dates before he’d move forward with any plans.

Patton had kept quiet about his job for three days before Logan had gone and talked to Remy behind his back to ask if something was wrong at work. Under pressure from both of them, he’d spewed out the buildup of stress all over the place. And it was so hard. It was so hard not to cry about it when Logan pressed soft kisses to his cheeks and temples and asked him if he was okay.

But now Logan wasn’t used to Patton and wasn’t set into patterns that he probably didn’t actually like, but just allowed because he wanted to be nice to Patton and was used to it. The problems with Patton were becoming apparent every time Logan side eyed him.

Patton had been hoping that maybe he could figure out from this version what parts of Patton he really did not like. Then Patton could hold more firm about getting rid of those things once Logan got his memories back. He’d definitely appreciate it after an adjustment period. That is if Logan even wanted him after this. He hoped he’d at least give Patton a chance to fix himself.

Patton was good at pretending. He knew how to cut pieces of himself off to get people to love him back. He’d had a lot of practiced. Make sure to do your homework at the dinner table at mom’s house so she knows you’re not being lazy. Cook when you’re at dad’s house so dinner is ready when he gets home from work, but make sure you’ve cleaned up by the time he gets home, so he doesn’t see you cooking. Don’t let grandma cook potatoes; she doesn’t like them and will blame you for them being on the dinner table. Never turn on the television at mom’s house; it rots the brain. Make sure the television is on the sports channel by the time dad gets home. Don’t touch grandma’s remote no matter how loud the volume is. Sit up straight for mom. Don’t cry in front of dad. Be quiet for grandma. Pretend dad doesn’t exist for mom. Call dad’s new girlfriend mom. Don’t try to correct grandma when she calls you by your dead grandfather’s name. Get good grades. Get into a good college. Get a job that pays well. Don’t complain. Don’t get in trouble. Don’t be gay.

Patton knew how to do it all. Logan had never asked it of him. Never, not once had he told Patton that he needed to fix himself or that he had to change for him; he deserved it more than any of them.

“We’ve talked a lot about me,” Logan said surprising Patton out of his churning thoughts especially since he had barely spoken all day. “but what about you?” he asked. “Tell me more about you. Tell me about our relationship. Why do you want to be with me or at least the me with my memories?”

“I…” Patton started. “There are a lot of reasons.”

“Then tell me one.”

Patton bit his lower lip. “You read my papers.”

“Your papers?”

“I’ve written a few research papers and you looked them up and read them and tried to understand them because you wanted to be able to talk to me about something I was interested in. That was the first time in my life that someone looked at me and it felt like they actually wanted to know me. And you kept doing things like that. You remember my coffee order and bring my favorite sandwich to the ER even when you know I’m in surgery and I can’t be there to see you so you just leave it with someone else to give it to me when I’m done. You eat the stupid cafeteria food at the hospital when I only have time for a 30-minute lunch just to spend time with me and after the first time we had sex, you got up early and cooked me an omelet because you didn’t know how to cook anything else. You try to find ways to help me feel better when I’m upset even though it doesn’t come naturally to you and you’re willing to throw popcorn in my mouth from across the room with your powers just because I ask even though you think it’s silly. You once took me on a picnic to a park 5 hours away because I mentioned how much I loved it when a group of us went there on a retreat during medical school even though you don’t like eating outside because of the bugs. And you didn’t even complain… well, I mean, you did complain, but only enough to make me laugh, not so I thought you really resented being there with me. When we go to parties and I say I want to go home, you pretend to get a migraine so we can leave early and sometimes we end up having sex in the car outside. And even though you complain about how annoying you think Remy is, you know he’s my friend so you still make a point to make an effort with him and hang out with him even when I’m not there. So…” he swallowed. “Yeah.”

“You really love me,” he stated, eyes intent on him and unreadable.

“Every part of me loves you Logan,” Patton said, gripping the soft blanket in his fingers. “You can have whatever pieces you want.”

“Whatever pieces?” he echoed.

Patton forgot for a moment that the man in front of him did not have context, that he didn’t and couldn’t understand what Patton was asking. “Look,” he said. “I know there is something wrong with me. I know there are parts of me that annoy you or make you angry, but if you just tell me what they are I’ll change them.”

“You think I don’t like all of you?” Logan asked.

“Clearly not!” Patton said, standing up suddenly and throwing the blanket off onto the ground. He paused and took a breath, forcing his tone to be calm and clinical, like he did when he got too emotional at work. “Look at this,” he gestured to the piles of files in front of him: blue, green, and red. “This is everything from your personal files to your work files to the files for your alter ego, but where am I? You have the receipt from the first fast food order you bought with your credit card, the invitation from your five-year high school reunion that you didn’t even go to, and your sixth-grade report card. But there is nothing in here about me. Not really. I am not important enough for you to keep. But I can be if you just tell me how. I can be whatever makes you happy. If you love me at all, I will rip myself apart until I’m what you need.”

Logan looked him directly in the eyes. “If I love you, I don’t want that.”

Patton blew up. “Then what do you want, Logan?!” He snapped his mouth closed and looked away, tears that had been building since Logan had lost his memory, since Patton’s marriage proposal had been rejected, since his mom had first called him stupid because he’d gotten a B on a math test in the 5th grade, springing to his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” he swallowed and stood, a picture of calm. “It has been a stressful couple of days,” he said, flicking a tear off his cheek. “I think I need to go back to my place and rest for a while. I’ll come back tomorrow morning and we can… I don’t know, try aromatherapy or something.”

Before Logan could say anything more, Patton beat a hasty retreat.

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 13

[ddaehyeon]

– ♡; FIRST FALL ; KANG MINHEE

pairing: kang minhee + reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 1.5k

summary: the question kept running in your head and maybe, you didn't want an answer. >> star tears au

a/n: i really enjoyed writing this one aaaaa i have a part two idea. if you want a continuation of this one-shot let me know! (´｡･v･｡｀)

do you like minhee?

like a broken record the question kept on spiraling in your head. after it was asked by your best friend, the words became attached to your mind. at some point, it would even make you space out.

a sigh left your lips as you leaned to the railings. located on the fourth floor of the apartment building, your new unit gave a good view of the busy city. during the day, it would give a fair scenery of the people pacing around, most were university students who were to attend their classes. during the night, office workers who had been trampled by exhaustion would be trudging on the sidewalk, wanting nothing but be comforted by their beds or if they have enough energy, drinking would be their go-to.

you retrieved your phone from your pocket, swiping it unlock as soon. minhee should be here by now. in his last text, he said he'd be there in ten minutes.

a few days ago, minhee agreed to go with you to buy some indoor plants. you just moved into a new unit and as per your mother's wish of keeping you former plants, you ended up budgeting this week's allowance to buy yourself another batch of flora companions. there was something in having plants decorating your room. seeing the greens gave a good amount of serenity. something that you needed as a break from all the piling homework assignments your major was throwing you.

"hey, y/n. did i make you wait?" minhee's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, your head turning to him.

straightening your composure, you shook your head. it was a lie. you've been waiting for him... rather impatiently, but you didn't want him to know. at least he was already there. a faint smile came to your brim. "let's go?"

the walk was a silent one. judging from the dark circles that were painted under his eyes, he probably didn't get much sleep last night. his major was as taxing as yours, having to deal with numerous code under the dim lights of his computer screen. there were a lot of things that he had to remember and the midterms examination was just around the corner. minhee was dealing with codes as you were dealing with numeric equations. he could've just told you that he was to rest today, but then again, you can't blame him for wanting a break off the bustling student life. if given the opportunity to, getting outside the dormitory was far better than lying on the bed. a single turn to the side and you'd be seeing your study table where all the school-related works were waiting.

this wasn't so different from your first encounter with minhee. a quiet walk as he carried the rubber plant you purchased. seeing you struggle on the sidewalk, urged him to lend you a hand. minimal words were exchanged. few questions uttered to learn something about the stranger who was walking beside you. he was attending the same university, the only distinction was he was under the department of information technology, while you were in the engineering department.

his own dormitory was farther than yours and sometimes when you were to attend your morning classes, he'd end up bumping to you. the previously solitary walk altered by his presence as he treaded with you. without noticing, it became a routine for the two of you whenever your schedules match.

once again, the question came knocking in your mind, anticipating an answer. however, you denied it, pushing it to the back of your head.

with the bells chiming, the florist welcomed you with a warm greeting. the smile coming from the old lady was vibrant as usual. something that could easily pull the same expression from you.

your feet immediately brought you to the location of the indoor plants.

minhee followed you, eyeing each plant curiously. he lifted a kalanchoe. "this looks pretty. the small blooms would suit your window sill."

humming, you took a mental note of picking that one up. you reached for a peace lily, a beam gracing your lips as you do so.

"you gifted me that plant last year." a soft chuckle was heard from the male as he moved closer to you. standing behind you, his hand was extended to hold the same pot. his fingers brushed by the back of your hand, bringing a pale hue of red to your cheeks.

there was an awareness that coursed throughout your body, resulting in you being conscious of your senses. your ears enclosed by the rapid beating of your heart. cheeks growing hot each passing second. butterflies were in chaos as they flutter in your stomach. his presence alone was taking your breath away.

no, you told yourself. refusing to submit to the query that had been plaguing your mind ever since it was spoken.

"you still remember it, huh?" gaze fixated to the plant both of you were holding, you asked. it was an attempt to distract yourself, to put your mind to another topic.

but his answer immediately pulled you back to your best friend's question. "of course, i still have it by my study table. it's such a nice plant."

yesterday, your best friend joined you in the aimless staring by the balcony. legs propped together as you leaned to the wall. the wooden bench holding the two of you as you silently stared at the night sky. the stars were glimmering above, making you wonder how it was possible to see its light when it was a million miles away from you. the celestial canvas gave way for comfort to wrap around your figure. it was one of the nights where the sky was clear, offering a wonderful view of the black ocean with smothered sparkles.

"hopefully none of us will have those stars slipping out of our eyes," your best friend said.

for a moment, you tore your gaze away from the sky to look at her. "what do you mean?"

"star tears disease," she replied, pausing for a moment. "the result of unrequited affection."

it was a known illness in your place. people day by day were losing their gift to see colors, the saturation decreasing each passing day of their unreciprocated feelings. at extreme, some even see the world pitch black-- all colors snatched from them.

cruel. how come the universe would take away your ability to see the beauty of the world and still leave you with a broken heart?

the serenity that surrounded you shattered by a question that came out of her lips. "do you like minhee?"

four words. four words that were punctuated by a question mark came penetrating past your ears down to your stomach, making it flip in a terrible manner. you never asked yourself such. all you knew was you enjoyed the male's company. you froze in your place, unable to voice out a reply. you were unsure of what to answer.

or perhaps you knew the answer, but you were reluctant to succumb to it.

you declined to fall under its spell that would bring nothing but worry to your veins. as if the question sitting by your brain wasn't enough to intensify such feeling.

"thank you for today, minhee," you said after he placed the last pot on your table. different kinds of flora would be your company tonight.

the male let out of a chuckle. "no problem. it was fun." a beam became visible on his countenance as his gaze landed on your figure.

"you should go and rest now. seems like you didn't get much last night as well." among the group of plants, you lifted a pot of echeveria. you walked toward the male, handing it to him.

"what is this for?" minhee tilted his head to the side, a brow raised. he accepted the plant without much thought anyway.

you hunched your shoulder up. "nothing. a thank you gift, i guess?"

"oh-" nodding his head, the smile he had on his lips became brighter. too much for your liking. if he keeps on having such a vibrant smile, you might end up giving him all the plants you bought. "i'll take care of it then."

few more exchanges and minhee finally bid goodbye, wishing you a pleasant evening. there was a smile that spread on your lips, the answer you've been searching for coming to you in a single hit. its wave strong enough to make your knees grow weak. minhee left the room, the door closed cautiously. it also served as an answer to your unspoken confession.

along with the jingling sound that came to your ears as a soft music, a star cascaded down your cheek.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ masterlist ☆ request ☆ jungmo star tears ☆

[museflight]

The Call (1)

Chapter Title: Slayer

Wordcount: 4.1k

Ao3 Link: Click

Notes: Written for day one of @aot-au-week , since a Buffy AU very technically counts as a College AU, and because it's the least I owe @cookietonwrites for convincing them to take on another fic. As you can see, the idea quickly spiraled into a multi-chap, for which I am not even remotely apologetic.

Summary: There is only ever one slayer at a time; the chosen one, a girl strong enough to fight against the vampires, demons, and forces of darkness.

 Mikasa has accepted that for her, being the slayer means living a reclusive life, haunted by the image of the first person she failed to save and unable to ever truly let anyone in. However, everything is called into question with the arrival of Annie, a girl who claims to also be a slayer. Mikasa's life becomes much less solitary seemingly overnight, but friendship is followed by a deadly conspiracy, and with it, the threat of loss and heartache.

Mikasa's world consisted of a haze of blurred vision and the gentle buzzing in her ears. She blinked, and the figures on the paper before her solidified into numbers for a heartbeat before fading out once again. Trying it a few more times didn't yield any better results. It only made her aware of how much her eyes burned and how heavy her eyelids were. How heavy her entire head was. How easy it would be to just slip forward and… 

The buzzing reached a crescendo. A hand reached out to grab her shoulder. She jerked back upright to find Armin sitting across the table from her, one hand still extended and a worried expression on his face. 

Mikasa faltered. Words played at her lips, semi-contradictory things like 'it's fine' and 'what's wrong', but none of them felt right enough to actually be voiced. Instead, Armin was the one to break the silence. 

"When's the last time you slept?" he asked. 

Mikasa sighed. He must be really worried if he was cutting straight to the point like that. 

"Don't worry about it," she said, even though she knew it wouldn't work. 

Armin's frown deepened as a hint of disapproval trickled onto his features. He pitched his voice into a whisper to say, "you don't need to go out every night. You can't- you shouldn't be doing this alone."

"I do," Mikasa countered. "I'm the only one who can. You know that, Armin."

There was one girl in the whole world charged with keeping the forces of darkness at bay. She couldn't cast that duty aside just because she was tired.

It was with that thought that she realized that her gaze had begun to drift back toward the table. She snapped it back up as Armin asked, "does Erwin know how thin you're wearing yourself?" 

Mikasa pursed her lips. "Erwin's only been here for a few weeks. He'll get used to it."

"You shouldn't be used to it," Armin insisted, the softness of his voice warring with the rapidly mounting undercurrent of anxiety. He was still talking, too, about how Erwin wouldn't approve and she would be more productive if she wasn't dead on her feet. She didn't absorb any of the actual words, his voice fading back out into that gentle, incoherent buzzing.

Then there was a flicker of movement as something faded into sight in the corner of her vision, and everything Armin said became utterly doomed to sail right over her head.

Mikasa very determinedly did not look at the figure. She didn't turn her head and didn't allow her eyes to move in his direction beyond that first involuntary twitch. It didn't matter. He leaned forward, and she caught a glimpse of the green eyes peering out from what she knew would be a placid-yet-piercing expression.

"He's right, Mikasa," he said. "You need to take better care of yourself."

She allowed her eyes to flicker shut even though it did nothing to block out the man's voice. The voice of her own imagination.

"You've always been like this," he sighed. His voice had a whisper of warmth in it today, a touch of fondness tucked within what sounded like age-old resignation. "But you shouldn't. You're at your best when you have our friends with you."

Something flickered within her at the comment, although she was pleased to note that she managed to keep it within. There was no need to remind the hallucination that she didn't have any friends. Not even Armin, truly. Because for all that they were fond of each other, no amount of fondness could ever make up for-

"-kasa?"

It was the hint of iron intertwining itself with the worry in Armin's voice that got her to open her eyes. Mikasa forced herself to look at Armin and only Armin, who was leaning halfway across the table at this point.

"You really need to get some rest," he said. She moved to open her mouth, but he cut her off by asking, "you don't have trigonometry for five more hours, right?"

Mikasa nodded.

Armin gave one short, decisive nod, which appeared to be more for himself than anything. "You should take a nap, then."

The shift in her expression was subtle, just a faint downward turn to her lips, but apparently still enough for him to catch, because he quickly added, "you're going on patrolling again tonight, aren't you? Even a couple of hours would be better than nothing. I promised to meet up with Annie in a little while, but. I could walk you home?"

Mikasa didn't bother asking who Annie was, but she didn't protest either. She could see the logic in his argument, even if it felt painfully like a waste of time. "No, it's alright," she said. "I can walk myself."

Armin frowned. "Okay, but you will-"

"Go home and take a nap. Yes." She was already standing up as she finished agreeing. If she was going to keep her word, then it would be better to get it done sooner than later. The earlier she left, the sooner she could return. "I'll see you tomorrow," she promised.

With that, she turned around and left without taking another look at the boy who maybe, in another world, could have been her friend.

Or the distorted memory of Eren Jaeger.

*

Mikasa laid in her bed and closed her eyes.

*

Thud.

"Clear!"

Thud.

"Clear!"

Thud.

"Cl-"

Coughing. Choking, sputtering, straining, a strain in her chest that turned into an ache resonating throughout her entire body. A pain worse than anything she had ever felt in her fourteen years.

Shouting. Rushing. Urgent voices talking rapidly. Not to her, with her aching body and spinning vision, but to each other. White coats and flashing lights. They were talking, talking, and there was something she had to say, something more important than the flashing lights or the unreal pain or the whisper of strength that shouldn't be there. There was something, someone, she had to ask about-

Her voice cut off in a hoarse croak when she tried to speak. Her throat stung, like it had been worn ragged by- by-

Salt.

Memories flashed by her in a dreadful kaleidoscope. The parents. The men. The boy. The other man, the one they'd thought would help. The sea - he'd thrown them in the sea, her and-

A jolt of energy. Mikasa forced herself upright and grabbed the wrist of the first person she saw. Surprise was on his face. Surprise and discomfort; her grip was stronger than it should have been. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was-

"Eren," she croaked.

"Eren." The white-coated man's voice was softer than she needed it to be. Focused on her. He needed to be focused on not her. "Is that your name? Eren?"

Through parched lips and a throat like sandpaper, she croaked out, "where's Eren?"

The man gave her a long, sad look. No. No. He shouldn't be looking at her like that.

"He saved me," Mikasa pressed. "Then he- the-" monster “- we went in the water together."

One faltering moment that lasted for an eternity.

The man redirected with talk about her. What's her name, can she describe what she's feeling, she's okay, it'll all be okay - it didn't matter. It didn't matter and it wouldn't be okay. It didn't matter, because in that moment, he didn't need to answer.

His expression spoke only of death.

*

She woke up feeling more awake, but just as tired as she had been before.

*

Mikasa didn't even try to pay attention during trigonometry. The nap may have refreshed her to some degree, but not enough for that. Besides, she still had a solid C. Spending class zoned out was... admittedly detrimental, considering that she had been in a similar state for her last two classes, but not so devastating that she wouldn't be able to recover from it. She would just have to cram as hard as she could once she had the opportunity to spend a few nights on her classwork. It wasn't a pleasant routine, but it had gotten her through her first two semesters of college. She could make it work for this one as well.

Besides, she had more important things to spend her brainpower on.

A girl had been marked absent during roll call. Mina Carolina. A single absence was not unusual in and of itself, but although Mikasa couldn't claim to know Mina well, she had not seen the girl take a day off before. That didn't mean that she couldn't - she could be well and truly sick, or an emergency could have popped up. People took days off all the time, even those who normally didn't.

The trouble was that there had been a marked increase in people turning up absent lately. Most of them never returned. There were no bodies found or hints as to their whereabouts. They were simply never seen again.

Mikasa didn't want to feel a sense of distant mourning. She wanted to hope that Mina would show up at their next class with some excuse for the teacher about how she can sick or had to deal with an unignorable situation. However, that same part of her had also wanted to hold out hope for Franz and Hannah when they disappeared from her American Literature class, and now they were nothing but faces on missing posters.

The semester had only been in swing for a month and a half. Mina would be the third victim person she had shared a class with. Not third overall - just that she had shared a class with specifically. When she scaled the radius up to encompass the entire campus, she would be the fifth disappearance.

According to Erwin, Paradis' level of supernatural activity was on the low side of average. She suspected that that was the reason he had been hinting that they should relocate. He felt that she was wasted here, and as her Watcher, he wasn't comfortable doing nothing about it, no matter how new to his position or unwelcome he was. And truthfully, five people disappearing off of a college campus during the first semester and a half wasn't unusual. College was stressful. She didn't know the details regarding two of the disappearances, and even with the couple who had seemingly disappeared off the face of the like, a human culprit was just as likely as a demonic one, if not moreso.

So why was she so certain that Mina Carolina had met her death at some point since she had last seen her?

Why did she feel like she had failed to stop it?

Once the feelings of dread and guilt grew strong enough for her to be actively aware of them, Mikasa decided to redirect her attention to the students who were there. 

Armin probably would have been one of her classmates if she hadn't insisted that he not take any classes that run past sunset and directed him to the morning trigonometry course instead. However, it wouldn't have been a large class even with him and Mina. 

Four of the students scattered across the room were unknown to Mikasa. However, her seat near the back of the room allowed her to keep an eye on them with relative ease. That, in turn, allowed her to be fairly comfortable in her assessment that they were normal human students. 

She could say the same of her four other classmates as well. They, however, were a little higher on her radar. 

Closest to her, his desk seated directly in the last few rays of evening sunlight, was a muscular blond man. Mikasa thought that his name began with an 'R', but didn't know much else about him. He'd caught her attention with a loud, outgoing personality and general demeanor that made him seem like an odd fit for the class. At the moment, it looked like he wasn't paying much more attention than Mikasa herself, fiddling with the ring on his left hand and only occasionally glancing up at the teacher. 

The blonde next to him was as much of a stranger, but she at least looked like she was focusing. She had gained Mikasa's attention by joining a week after classes had started. Since then, however, she had proven quiet and distant, only interacting with her classmates when she glared at the man next to her for trying to talk to her while she was working.    

Jean Kirstein, meanwhile, clearly didn't want to be a stranger. Over the past year, he had made a few attempts to reach out that she could admit were enduring. If she didn't have her duty, he might be someone she could consider a friend. As it was, she couldn't bring herself to do anything but brush him off, for his own sake. He didn't pay her much attention in class though. That wasn’t to say that he was completely focused, even though he had claimed a seat at the front of the class. She often glimpsed him speaking to the student next to him. There’d also been enough instances when she’d heard a frustrated comment from him regarding the course for her to get the sense that trigonometry wasn't particularly easy for him. However, she also suspected that he was hardworking and dedicated enough to make up for it.

The student next to him was Marco Bott. Cheerful and painfully earnest, he was honestly mostly notable to Mikasa because he was Jean's friend. He seemed like a good person though. That meant he was a reminder of why Mikasa couldn't let Jean become her friend no matter how hard he tried or let herself rest no matter how much Armin tried to insist. If she faltered, if she slowed, there would be consequences.

Mina used to sit behind Jean and Marco.

The sound of chairs being pushed back and writing implements being put away drew Mikasa out of her stupor. Rather than look at the clock, she glanced out the window.

The sun had already begun to set.

She quickly stuffed her textbook, pencil case, and notebook in her bag, feeling only a brief pang of guilt for the blank sheet of paper that stared back at her. The items landed haphazardly, and she knew that if she looked, they would likely only partly obscure the stake, crossbow, and knife that laid carefully arranged at the bottom. She zipped it shut before anyone could get curious and try to sneak a peek; a reflex even though she knew that no one would be bold enough to try that with her.

Despite being the last one to start getting packed, she was the first one out of class. Just like she always was. From there, it didn’t take long to get off the campus.

The first two blocks of Mikasa's walk went like she was heading home. It was as she reached the third - the one that would have lead back to her apartment - that she took a sharp right. From there it was four blocks straight on, then one block to the left. A simple route, but one that had come to haunt her nightmares.

Dusk had descended on the cemetery by the time she reached it.

Logically, she knew that she wasn't likely to run into anything for several more hours.

Instinctively, she knew that Mina Carolina wasn't likely to return to class.

This wasn't a night to take risks.

Mikasa wandered deeper into the graveyard, where she was less likely to be spotted by any passerby, and pulled out her stake. There, she began to wander.

It wasn't a small cemetery by any means. That was what made it the ideal hive for demonic activity. Not only were cemeteries where the majority of newly turned vampires rose, but large ones were also rife with additional dead bodies and crypts. This one was even separated into several different sections, which made it easy to get lost.

Getting lost made it easy to watch the time slip by.

A couple of hours into her patrol, a familiar figure flickered into existence at the edges of her vision. She didn't say anything to him, and he followed her silently, gaze occasionally flickering to one side or another as he took in the graveyard. As if he might notice anything before she did. Technically speaking, she supposed that he might. He had "caught" things a few times in the past, when she was subconsciously aware of something but hadn't been fast enough to process it with her conscious mind. It was the only thing that made sense, for all that she desperately wished that it wasn't.

A slayer whose hallucination needed to point things out for her couldn't mean anything good for the world.

She forced herself to look away from the figment and focus on her surroundings.

Not five minutes later, the sound of shifting earth caught her attention. Mikasa turned and strode toward it, her grip on her stake tightening and her gaze fixed straight ahead. Within seconds, she had spotted it; a grave with the earth beneath it stirring. As she watched, a hand punched up and out of it, grasping desperately at the ground. The head came next - an unfamiliar man, his face distorted by lumps across his forehead and nose, slitted yellow eyes, and fangs. The visage of a vampire prepared for predation. It glared at her as it struggled and snarled, eventually freeing its other arm. Once that was done, it had a much easier time dragging itself to the surface.

It never got the chance to free itself fully. The second its chest was completely exposed, Mikasa sprang into action. She grabbed the thing by the lapels of its dirt-stained tuxedo and dragged it upward. Fear flicked across its face, causing the predatory features to fall away and leaving a normal face behind. A face that could have been human if she didn't know better. She didn't allow herself to look closely.

In a blink, she had rammed her stake through the vampire's chest and into its heart. It dissolved into dust a few seconds later. Mikasa stood and watched the flecks flutter back down to earth.

She was drawn out of her reverie by a firm, "you shouldn't be patrolling tonight."

Mikasa grit her jaw. "I already rested," she pointed out.

"It isn't enough. You've been exhausting yourself, one little nap isn't going to make up for that."

"You just saw me kill a vampire."

"Yeah, and it took way more out of you than it normally would."

Mikasa whirled around to face the figment. Something in her chest threatened to hitch as she allowed herself to look directly at him, just as it so often did, even years after he first manifested.

The thing before her almost could have been a ghost. It wasn't though; god knew she had done enough research on the subject. Ghosts, when they visibly manifested at all, took the appearance they wore at their time of death or at another point in their life.

Eren Jaeger had been fourteen when he died. Even if he responded to the same name, this grown man with distant, unreadable eyes couldn't be him.

He wasn't anything. She'd run all of the tests as she learned more about the Supernatural. She wasn't haunted, there weren't hints of a demonic presence lingering around her - there was nowhere he could have come from other than her own mind.

He was nothing but a manifestation of her guilty conscience. She had come to terms with that years ago, yet she was still wasting time arguing with him.

At that instant, it was suddenly very tempting to look away. However, she forced her gaze to remain steady as she coldly said, "leave."

The figment blinked. "Mikasa-"

"No," she interrupted.

Something flickered in the illusion's eyes. It was difficult to identify, caught behind that distorting wall that so often covered his emotions, and she didn't even bother to try. He opened his mouth again, but she didn't let him get another word in.

"I'm not willing to put up with you tonight," she said. "Get out."

His expression finally came together into something real and visible. Alarm. "Mikasa, move!"

Mikasa lunged to the side just in time to avoid being grabbed by the shoulder.

She spun around to find a burly vampire standing over the ashes of the one she'd just killed. He was musclebound and bulky enough that he might be somewhat difficult to face in hand-to-hand combat - but not so much as to stand a real chance against her. "Slayer," he snarled. "I am going to grind you into dust."

Mikasa didn't bother responding. He lunged forward and she spun to the side, ducking beneath his flailing fist to get behind him. As she moved, she noticed that Eren had disappeared. Good. She sprang forward, stake in hand, only for the vampire to swing back around at the last moment and grab her wrist. He squeezed, a horrible grin on his face, and she had to fight to keep from automatically releasing her grip on her stake.

As the vampire leaned forward, she twisted to punch him in the sternum with her free hand. It only made him falter for a moment, but it was enough for her to wrench her wrist out of his grasp. It was also enough for her to come to a terrible realization.

Her blows weren't as hard as they usually were and she was moving slowly.

Eren was right.

There wasn't any time to ruminate on that. The vampire lunged forward, and Mikasa dove to the side again. She leaned into the momentum and swung her leg out to land a kick to the vampire’s side. He stumbled, a curse on his lips.

It didn't bring her any sense of victory, for as she brought her foot down, it landed on uneven ground. Not observant enough.

Pain shot up her ankle and the world began to tilt.

Eren still wasn't anywhere to be seen. Funny. If her mind was going to conjure up even a distorted version of Eren Jaeger, she would have expected it to happen when she died. She had thought that he would watch.

Mikasa hit the ground, the side of her head slamming hard against a flat gravestone. The world continued to spin around the sound of the vampire chuckling. She clenched the hand holding her stake, only to find that it must have fallen out of her grasp during the fall.

She forced herself to sit up, hands pushing hard against the ground to make up for the way the world was spinning around her. When she looked up, the vampire was glaring down at her. She tried to stand up, to scurry back, but her ankle gave out when she tried to bear weight on it. A sprain - just a sprain - nothing that wouldn't heal in a couple of days with her abilities, but even a sprain couldn't bear weight immediately. The vampire was saying something now, but she couldn't make out the words, couldn't hear anything past the buzzing in her head, couldn't feel anything but the sensation of warm blood oozing from the cut in her head.

The vampire was reaching for her.

She hadn't wanted to take a risk, and because of that, she was going to die tonight. And Eren wasn't even there to see it.

Maybe that was fitting. She hadn't witnessed his final moments either. Maybe he wanted her to die alone as well.

The vampire's hand closed around her neck. She forced herself to look up, to at least look her death in the eyes-

- and the vampire exploded into dust. In his wake stood the blonde girl from her trigonometry class, stake in hand and gaze locked on Mikasa.

The girl said something. Mikasa blinked, hearing her words, but unable to process them. The girl frowned, and Mikasa grit her teeth, just to give herself another sensation to focus on.

"Repeat that," Mikasa ordered.

The girl extended a hand. "I asked how badly injured you are," she said.

Mikasa ignored the hand and moved to force herself to her feet. Her injured ankle protested once again, but she bore the majority of her weight on her other leg and managed to get upright. "I can handle it," she said. "Who are you?"

The girl didn't seem at all off-put by Mikasa's blunt question. If anything, she seemed like she expected it. "Annie Leonhart," she said.

She paused for a moment. It did nothing to prepare Mikasa for her next, impossible words.

"I'm the slayer."

*

Weeks later, armed with only an axe, her memories, and the desperate research of a lonely girl scared she was losing her mind, Mikasa went hunting.

She found the one who had snatched them from the bodies of the original monsters and tossed them into the ocean.

She took his head, and he turned to ash at her feet.

[mindingmyownbusiness]

Rescue (4/?)

Pairing - Bucky x Reader Soulmate AU Summary - You’ve always believed your soulmate was out there somewhere, Bucky not so much. What happens when he finally takes a leap of faith and reaches out to you? Warnings - some canon-typical violence in later chapters, the occasional curse word, but I promise to make up for it with loads of fluffiness Chapter Word Count - 1757 Notes - I’m hoping to post new chapters about once a week on Saturday nights so wish me luck (and any encouragement you can offer is always welcome!). Inspired by Rescue by Lauren Daigle and by a lot of the concepts in Sense8.

Series Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

His POV

Bucky Barnes had been through a lot in his life but nothing from his past seemed quite as terrifying as the silence he was experiencing at the current moment. It was as if a switch had been flipped, nothing but radio silence. A thousand thoughts were screaming at him as he paced back and forth in his room, his heart rate and panic skyrocketing. Is she okay? Is she hurt? What if someone attacked her, hurt her? Bucky didn’t know what was happening with his newly discovered soulmate and it was completely debilitating. He felt useless, helpless… he didn’t even know her name, where she was, had no way of knowing if she was hurt or worse… “This was a horrible idea, I don’t know why I ever listened to Sam in the first place.” Resisting the urge to punch the wall he slumped to the floor, head in his hands.

Your POV

What the hell just happened…? You grimaced as you moved to sit up, gingerly touching the throbbing lump on the back of your head that unfortunately was becoming more painful by the second. Leaning back carefully against the wall you closed your eyes and took some slow, deep breaths, trying to get the room to stop spinning so you could figure out why you just woke up on the floor surrounded by cocoa splatters and the broken remnants of your favorite mug. I remember taking the brownies out, fixing my drink, looking out the window and talking to my soulmate like I always do, and then… It was like time stopped as your eyes flew open and you remembered hearing words that clearly weren’t yours. Did he…? Was that really…? N-no way… could it be? Or did I finally completely lose it and project my desires so hard I passed out…? You pressed trembling fingers to your lips as you silently prayed that it wasn’t all in your head and then you listened, reaching out with your whole being for that connection you’d dreamed of your whole life. Please be there, please be there… You held your breath, your heart feeling as if it would burst any moment. 

Later you’d swear that you felt him before you heard him, that pull, that connection deep within, giving you the tiniest moment to prepare before you finally heard his voice growing stronger and clearer with each word he spoke. 

“--rible idea, I don’t know why I ever listened to Sam in the first place.” You exhaled with a soft laugh, overcome with joy and emotion and literally blurted out before you could stop yourself--

“Who’s Sam?”

His POV

Bucky’s head snapped up. “You’re alive?!”

Your laugh was like music to his ears. “Sure feels like I am, got a bit of a bump on my head though… and my favorite mug is toast.” He could hear the twinge of sadness in your voice and immediately felt the strange need to fix it.

“That explains the sound that scared me half to death...”

“You shoulda been here to see me keel over, now that would’ve been something.” There you go giggling again, he was quickly becoming addicted to that sound.

As your laughter faded away the silence descended again. One beat, two beats, three-- “So…” you both started and then immediately chuckled in individually adorable, awkward ways.

“It’s really you? M-my um, soulmate?” He could hear the cautious hope in your tone.

“Yeah, looks like it is.” He hoped he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. 

“This should feel weird, right? But somehow it doesn’t, and that should be weird, right? Sorry for rambling I-I just can’t believe it’s really you...”

“It’s alright, I just found out today that soulmates were a real thing so I’m still trying to decide whether or not I'm hallucinating all this.” 

“Same here, but mostly because I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment.” The longing in your voice was unmistakable.

“Oh,” he deflated a bit, suddenly worried that he’d ruined things before they’d even started. “I-I’m so sorry…”

“Oh no, don’t be sorry okay? We’ve found each other now a-and that’s all that matters.” He sighed in relief, the tone of your voice instantly putting him at ease. He was feeling more and more thankful for.. for..  He groaned, facepalming as he realized his mistake. Nice move idiot, he thought as he cursed himself internally.

“What’s wrong?” Your worried voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“I just realized I don’t even know your name,” he said apologetically.

“Oh, It’s um, it’s (Y/N).” Wow you really can hear when someone is smiling, he realized.

“(Y/N)... that’s a beautiful name. I’m James, but everyone calls me Bucky.”

“Bucky hmm? Can’t wait to hear the story behind that nickname.”

“Not much to tell, it’s just a play on my middle name.”

“Well, I still look forward to hearing all about it. So, soulmate James slash Bucky, how much do you know about what we are, about soulmates?”

“Not much actually, not sure what’s fact or fiction since my only sources are my roommate who doesn’t have a soulmate yet and the cesspool that is the internet.”

“Well consider me something of an expert, my parents were actually soulmates and they told me all about it. What questions do you have?”

He thought for a moment. “Is it true that we could see each other, if we wanted?”

He could hear you hum thoughtfully. “Yes, ‘if we wanted’ being the key bit there, consent is absolutely essential.”

“My roommate, that’s Sam by the way, said that since I was seeing and hearing you in my dreams that you must have been pretty open about connecting with me, is that true?”

“Dreaming about me already, huh?” He couldn’t help but smile at the affection in your voice. “Well Sam is right, I decided a long time ago that I wanted to be ready for my soulmate whenever my soulmate was ready for me. It seemed like a natural first step.” 

He pictured you in his mind’s eye, the girl literally of his dreams. You were probably dying to know what he looked like as well. Bucky suddenly worried about all the things that made him a very complicated soulmate. His past, his age, his current occupation, his arm… his thoughts quickly spiraling out of control.

“Bucky? A-are you okay? You’re awfully quiet...”

“Y-yeah I just… I’m not sure I’m ready to show you what I look like yet.” He knew his voice sounded strained but he couldn’t help it.

“It’s okay, if you’re worried that I won’t like the way you look or something you don’t have to, worry that is. The soulmate bond goes so much deeper than the physical, we are literally made for each other, it’s gonna be okay.”

“I just… I think I’m gonna need some time to process all this, to get comfortable with it. Is.. is that okay?” He hated sounding so vulnerable.

“Hey of course it’s okay Bucky, you’re not gonna hurt my feelings. I’ve waited my whole life to find you, just knowing you are really there is the most wonderful thing that’s happened to me in, well, ever! I love being able to finally talk to you and the rest, well the rest will happen when the time is right. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yet again everything about your voice eased his anxiety and he felt himself relax. “Thank you doll, that means a lot.” 

He heard your tiny sharp intake of breath, then your timid whisper, “Oh, I like that.”

He was momentarily confused until he realized what he said. “Like what? Being called ‘doll’?”

“Yeahhhhh..” You sounded a bit flustered, something that interestingly enough gave him a small sense of pride.

“Are you--- are you blushing right now?” He knew he was being cheeky but gosh he was loving it.

“Mayyyyybe?” You were definitely flustered and Bucky was hooked.

“Now that I look forward to seeing.” He was legitimately grinning at this point. 

You gasped, “Who knew my soulmate would be such a charmer? Bet that works on all the girls where you’re from.”

“Nah, not any other girls, not for a long time anyway.” The sound of Bucky’s phone alerting him to a text pulled his attention away. “Shoot I gotta go… I’m late to meet up with Sam. Um, so how exactly do I contact you again?”

“Well, if everything works the way it’s supposed to, all you have to do is listen for my voice. This sounds nuts but I actually talk to you all the time, like an embarrassing amount, about the most mundane things. You just don’t hear it all the time because you aren’t tuned into me.”

“So I just need to ‘tune out’ when we are done and then ‘tune in’ when I wanna talk to you? That seems too easy.” He couldn’t help but sound skeptical, but then again he’d learned a lot of impossible things in his long lifetime.

“Yep, and it’ll probably get easier as time goes on honestly.” You paused before continuing, your voice thick with emotion. “I-I'm so glad we finally met, Bucky.”

“I am too (Y/N), I really am.”  He wished he could be there to wipe the tears he knew were falling down your face. “It’s not goodbye, never goodbye, okay? We’ll be talking again before you know it.” 

“I know,” you were audibly sniffling at this point. “It’s mostly happy tears, I swear. Just.. j-just promise me that you won’t disappear on me? That you’ll be back?”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to fight back tears. “I promise, we’ll talk again, real soon.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that mister.” He could hear your happy leaking through your words.

“That’s my girl.” He smiled, picturing your face. “Later, Doll.”

“Talk to you soon, Bucky.” 

And just like that he felt the connection end, but not sever though. There was still this feeling, a pull that didn’t go away when their conversation ended. He put his hand over his heart, closing his eyes and taking a moment to embrace the feeling, knowing somehow that somewhere out there you were doing the same thing. 

Another incoming text from Sam had him scrambling for the door. He was definitely in for a Captain America sized lecture for his lateness and undoubtedly a giant Sam sized ‘I TOLD YOU SO’ when he explained exactly what or rather who had made him so late.

Part 5

[rvnclwrites]

Romania 1999 Pt 4 (Charlie Weasley x Female MC)

Summary: AU where MC is an American who attended the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry instead of Hogwarts. Set eight years post graduation (1999) when she finally gets the nerve to travel abroad and follow her dream to be a Dragonologist in Romania. Check out my master list for parts 1-3.  

Notes: Despite the word count, this one feels a little rushed to me and I can’t stop editing it, so I’m posting it before I lose my mind. Hope you guys like it!

Word Count: ~8000 (Yes, again. Sorry 😅)

"Hey, you ready to go?" Charlie asked, pushing open the screen door.

(Y/N)'s heart gave a painful squeeze as the redhead stepped inside. He was wearing khaki trousers and another crimson jumper, but instead of a dragon, this one featured a bright golden "C" in the middle.

"Woah," Charlie said, his brown eyes moving around the room. "I didn't know you liked Christmas so much."

(Y/N) turned away to hide her embarrassment. She had reorganized and used the colour changing charm on the scarce objects around her house this morning to give herself something to do. "I was bored and thought I should make this place a little more festive." She sat on the edge of the mattress to put her shoes on while Charlie stepped toward the dining table, picking up the snow globe Rowan had given her last year. 

"Any reason you decided to do this right before we're about to leave?" he asked, giving the Christmas decoration a little shake.

"Not really."

He set the snow globe back down and considered her for a long moment before a small smile crept across his face. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

"What? No, I'm fine," she insisted, but as she followed his gaze down to her boots, she realized she was trying to tug the left boot onto her right foot. Swapping shoes, she said, "Okay, maybe I'm a little nervous."

Charlie laughed. "There's really no reason for you to be."

"Easy for you to say." (Y/N) couldn't decide what intimidated her the most- trying to impress Mrs. Weasley, meeting Harry Potter, or just the sheer number of Charlie's siblings. She felt queasy just thinking about it. "Are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe I should just stay here."

Charlie snatched her bag from the floor before turning back to her. "I can pick you up too if I have to."

(Y/N) was certain her face was now as red as his sweater, and she hated herself for the perverted direction her mind went. She shoved Charlie on the shoulder before pulling on her coat and taking her bag from him. "Fine. Let's go."

Since nearly all forms of transportation inside the Sanctuary were banned for danger and security purposes, (Y/N) wasn't exactly sure how they were going to get to Weasley's until they stopped right outside the Sanctuary gates.

"Felix managed to get us a Portkey," Charlie said, indicating the battered oil lamp peeking out of the snow near the Sanctuary wall.

(Y/N)'s stomach did a backflip. "Oh."

"Everything okay?"

She nodded. "It's just- so soon. We touch that thing and boom, we're there. Guess I was expecting a train ride or something."

Amusement flickered across the redhead's face as they stopped in front of the lamp. "You've faced dragons head on for nearly six months now, but it's my family that scares you?"

"It's not your family," (Y/N) clarified, "it's all families. It's just… it's been awhile since I've done the whole holiday thing."

Charlie's expression softened and he hesitated a moment before grabbing her gloved hand and giving her palm a quick, reassuring squeeze. "This will just take us right outside the Burrow. We don't have to go inside right away."

She let out a breath, distracted by the tingling sensation in her hand. Thank God they were both wearing gloves- she didn't think she could handle any skin to skin contact from him at the moment. "Okay." 

On the count of three, they each grasped one of the lamp's handles, distorting reality and sending (Y/N)'s world spiraling. Portkey transportation was uncomfortable, but no worse than Apparition to (Y/N). She felt the familiar tug near her lower abdomen and within a minute was landing firmly on unfamiliar ground. Flying skills were definitely an advantage when it came to Portkeys because she hardly ever felt sick after using one. 

(Y/N) adjusted her messenger bag strap while Charlie pushed his hair from his face. For a moment, she wondered if they had ended up in the wrong place because all she saw was a field of snow-covered grass until she turned. 

A staggeringly tall, slightly leaning house stood in front of them. It looked as if each room had been added on as an afterthought, carefully building upward as the family grew larger. There was a detached garage out front, along with a snow-filled cauldron and what appeared to be a chicken coop.

"Wow," (Y/N) breathed. She was used to the city life and quaint suburbs in the States with nosy neighbors and houses smushed together. She didn't know anyone who lived out in the country.

Charlie rubbed the back of his neck. "I know it's a bit odd, but I promise it won't topple down while we're in there."

"Like I'd ever doubt any Weasley's ability when it came to magic," she said, nudging his shoulder with her elbow.

Charlie smiled at that. "You ready?"

(Y/N) swallowed, gripping the strap of her bag for something to hold onto as they drew nearer to the Burrow. "What if they don't like me?"

"Why wouldn't they like you?"

(Y/N) scoffed. "I don't know, it took you nearly three months to be my friend. Does stubbornness run in the family?"

Charlie laughed, shaking his head. "Trust me, if I were you, I'd be more worried about whether or not my mum will ever let you leave."

That made the knot in (Y/N)'s belly untangle the slightest bit. "Okay." She wanted to ask what Molly said once Charlie told her he was bringing company, but then a scary thought struck her. He had told them she was coming, right?

Before she could double check, Charlie's knuckles were rapping against the door and he was pushing it open. "Mum?" he called, holding the door open for (Y/N).

Gripping her bag for dear life, (Y/N) crossed the threshold into what must be the Weasley's kitchen, and a plump woman with an all-too-familiar head of red hair came bustling in.

"Oh, Charlie!" she cooed, arms outstretched as Charlie stooped forward to hug her. "How have you been, dear?" She patted her son's arm, looking up at him with clear motherly affection before her eyes landed on (Y/N).

(Y/N)'s heart dropped into her stomach as nerves overtook her. She tried her best to force a smile, now suddenly panicking on whether a wave, handshake, or hug was appropriate.

"Merlin's beard," Mrs. Weasley said, her eyes twinkling. "You sure are prettier than Hank or Scott."

"Mum, this is my friend (Y/N)," Charlie introduced, causing happiness to pool in (Y/N)'s stomach. Even though the redhead had confirmed their friendship months ago, she still loved hearing it. "The one from America I told you about that works at the Sanctuary with me."

"It's so nice to meet you," Mrs. Weasley said, enveloping (Y/N) in one of the best hugs she had ever received. Unexpected emotion tickled the back of her throat at the gesture. It had been years since one of her own parents had hugged her like that. 

Feeling vulnerable, (Y/N) forced thoughts of her family away. "Thank you so much for having me. I hope I'm not intruding."

"Oh nonsense," Mrs. Weasley assured, placing both hands on (Y/N)'s arms and squeezing. (Y/N) wished she could read minds because the look in Molly's eyes made her feel like there was something she was missing, like an inside joke or secret she wasn't party to. "In our house, the more the merrier. It's about time Charlie brought something other than just presents for the holidays. I've been pestering him to bring the team for years."

(Y/N) thoughts wandered back to the unanswered question she had mulled over endlessly at the Sanctuary. Did that mean Charlie invited them every year and they just said no?

"Hank and Scott keep pretty busy, even during the holidays," Charlie said, not answering (Y/N)'s thoughts in the slightest.

Wanting to get out of her own head, (Y/N) added, "Someone's gotta hold the fort down while the expert is out."

The corner of Charlie's mouth turned up. "Oh please. I took you hostage to make sure they didn't replace me while I was gone."

A swell of pride filled (Y/N) up like a balloon. Did he really think she was anywhere near as good of a Dragonologist as he was? 

As she tried to think of a witty response, (Y/N) caught sight of Mrs. Weasley, who looked between the two of them with the brightest smile on her face. Oh God. Mrs. Weasley didn't think… No, definitely not. Charlie had just introduced her as his friend. (Y/N) was overthinking things again. She was probably just thrilled to see her son after all this time.

"Arthur is still stuck at work," Mrs. Weasley said, moving to fuss over a pot on the burner, "but he said he would try to get off early today."

(Y/N) turned to Charlie, suddenly feeling rude for not asking sooner. "Where does he work?"

"The Ministry of Magic," Charlie answered, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets.

(Y/N) stiffened, feeling as though a bucket of ice water had been dropped over her. "Oh." She tried her best to sound casual, but her heart began pounding in her chest. "What does he do?"

"Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. The Ministry keeps offering him promotions, but he always turns them down."

Mrs. Weasley laughed, shaking her head. "No amount of galleons or authority can persuade that man to give up his fascination with muggles. Do you have any muggle relatives, dear?"

(Y/N) tried to relax, feeling oddly comforted by the loving look in Molly's eyes. She could handle this. (Y/N)'s problems had zero ties to no-majs, she should be fine. "Yeah, my grandpa was a no-ma-" She stopped herself before the American term left her lips. "I mean muggle." 

"Oh, Arthur will be so excited to hear about him. Can I get either of you something to eat?" 

Charlie looked to (Y/N) and she shook her head. Her latest panic washed away any indication of hunger.

"No, I think I'll show (Y/N) around the Burrow. Is anyone else here yet?"

"Ginny, Harry, George and Angelina are up in the orchard playing Quidditch, of course. Bill and Fleur should be here shortly, and Percy and Audrey will be joining us in a few days."

Charlie nodded. "What about Ron and Hermione?"

"They're visiting the Granger family this year, but they send their love."

(Y/N) exhaled, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. At least now she would only make a fool of herself in front of Harry rather than the entire infamous trio.

Nodding his head toward the doorframe, Charlie said, "Come on, I'll show you around."

The passageway they went through lead to a staircase and as they began climbing, Mrs. Weasley called up, "Audrey's staying with Ginny and Percy is sharing George's room, so you two will have to share Bill's room."

(Y/N) knew her eyes had to look like big fried eggs as Charlie laughed.

"Calm down," he said, gesturing inside the first open door to their left, and (Y/N) spotted the two twin beds on opposite ends of the room. "If it still makes you uncomfortable though, I can take the couch."

"Oh no, it's okay." She tried ignoring the pitter patter of her heart at the thought of going to bed later. "Which one is yours?"

Charlie pointed to the one on the right, and she resisted the urge to claim that one as her own for the week. She set her bag down on Bill's bed and looked around the sparse room. "Did you and Bill always share a room?"

"No, Ginny's room used to be mine," he answered, setting his brown leather bag on the dresser in the middle of the room. "Cons of being the second oldest I guess."

(Y/N) bit her lip. She was about to ask why Mrs. Weasley was letting them stay in the same room when all other unmarried guests were separated, but the answer seemed obvious enough. They were just friends, and Molly was probably aware of her son's disinterest in dating. If anyone could be trusted alone in a room with a woman, it would be Charlie.

"So, are you going to give me the grand tour?"

Charlie smiled at her, an unfamiliar expression reflecting in his brown eyes. "I'd love to."

He showed her the remaining bedrooms, adding tidbits about each of his siblings along the way. (Y/N) could tell he was closest with Bill because of their age, so she was most excited to meet him.

They eventually made their way outside, walking up a hill behind the house until they reached a small paddock surrounded by trees and hedges. As (Y/N) glimpsed the four figures on broomsticks, it dawned on her that this must be the orchard. She stopped in her tracks, her legs feeling heavier than lead, and Charlie chuckled. 

"You gonna be okay? I thought you might want us to join them since you're so sure you'll beat me."

(Y/N) knew what he was doing. Charlie's playfulness always helped her relax and she was grateful he knew it. Before they continued on, however, one of the figures dismounted their broom and came barreling toward them.

"Charlie!" a stunning slender woman with long red curls squealed just before colliding into the dragon lover. 

"Oof." Charlie stumbled back a bit before returning the bear hug. "Hey. You're kicking their asses, right?"

"Obviously. There's no real competition until you come home- but don't tell Harry I said that." The woman did a double take as she registered (Y/N)'s presence, and (Y/N) felt a chill travel down her neck. The woman's hair may have been a deeper shade of red, but her brown eyes were identical to Charlie's. 

"Who's this?" Ginny asked, a smile growing on her pale face. The subtle suggestiveness in her voice reminded (Y/N) of Hank's once he found out (Y/N) was going to the Burrow.

"Hi, I'm (Y/N)." She waved slightly before nervously rubbing her gloved hands together. "I work at the Dragon Sanctuary with Charlie."

Ginny studied her with deep interest. "Wait, are you American?"

(Y/N) laughed a little, forgetting how out of place her voice must sound compared to their enviable British accents. "Yeah. Actually, that's kind of why I'm here. Charlie invited me since I couldn't go home for the holidays."

Ginny nodded slowly, glancing back to Charlie. "How kind of you." 

"So, do you have room for two more?" Charlie asked, making (Y/N)'s heart flutter nervously.

Ginny's eyes lit up as she turned back to (Y/N). "You play?" 

It was probably a good thing Ginny looked as though her happiness replied on (Y/N) saying yes- it prevented her from trying to weasel her way out of it. "Yep."

"Brilliant! What position? Please don't say Seeker, we already have enough of those."

(Y/N) laughed. "No, I prefer Beater." 

Ginny looked to Charlie with a unique expression in her eyes and for the second time, (Y/N) felt like she was missing out on something. "That's perfect. We can play girls against guys. Harry can be Chaser for a change."

Charlie chuckled at the look of dismay on (Y/N)'s face. "You may want to introduce (Y/N) first, or we might risk her fainting off her broom."

Mortified, (Y/N) smacked the dragon lover on the shoulder. "Shut up."

Ginny howled with laughter, taking (Y/N) by the arm and leading her towards the paddock. "Hey it's okay, he still gets it all the time. You should have seen me the first couple times I met him. If that hadn't scared him away, nothing will."

Ginny had been right of course. Harry, George and Angelina were all incredibly nice to her. Charlie had already told (Y/N) about how George lost his ear, so she was sure to make a witty remark about it, securing an instant friendship with the joke shop owner. 

As for Harry, she managed to not make a total imbecile of herself and was even a little less starstruck by the end of their match. She did, however, still get a shiver down her spine whenever she caught a glimpse of that lighting bolt scar on his forehead.

"You're a natural," Ginny said as they dismounted from their brooms. Just as Charlie was about to catch the Snitch, (Y/N) had sent a Bludger his way, allowing Ginny to sneak in and snag the fluttering golden ball. "I can't believe you didn't go pro."

A sore spot inside (Y/N) flexed. That was the one wizarding career she had no chance of ever perusing. "I was offered but don't really like the spotlight," she said, which was as close to the truth as she could manage.

They sat on a nearby bench together as Charlie and Harry wrestled the Bludgers back into the box. George had managed to slip away with Angelina beforehand, claiming his disability prevented him from helping, which (Y/N) found hilarious. She really liked George, and her heart ached whenever she considered the pain he was in. And most of all, she wished she could have met Fred.

"So, are you and Charlie together?" Ginny asked as casually as one would inquire about the weather.

(Y/N)'s stomach flopped, and she was thankful her face was already flushed from the cold air. "Uh no," she answered quickly, shaking her head. "We're just friends."

Ginny considered this for a moment, staring down at the powdery snow beneath their boots. "Well I'm really glad he brought you. He needs someone who can give him a run for his galleons." She smiled, but it fell away quickly, and when she spoke again, her voice was more fragile than (Y/N) anticipated. "And we've been down a Beater ever since we lost Fred. Did Charlie tell you about him?"

Frowning, (Y/N) nodded. "Yeah."

"Wow, you two must be close. He hardly ever talks about it."

"Well it wasn't easy." (Y/N) attempted a laugh, but it faded just like Ginny's smile had. She hesitated a moment and cleared her throat. "But um... I actually lost my brother too."

"Oh," Ginny said, her lips parting in surprise. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," (Y/N) reassured. "It was a long time ago. But I think that helped him open up to me." 

Ginny glanced at Charlie and Harry in the distance, a wistful smile now on her face. "I'm glad he has someone to talk to about it." She bit her lip before adding quietly, "I think he fancies you."

Unwelcomed butterflies swarmed in (Y/N)'s stomach, and she prayed she didn't sound as flustered as she felt. "What? Why would you say that?"

"Well he brought you here for one," Ginny answered, looking at (Y/N) like she was missing something obvious.

(Y/N) gripped the ends of her coat sleeves so she wouldn't fidget. "He was just being nice. None of my friends could come visit me and I'm not really close with my family."

Ginny hesitated for a moment. "You do know he's never brought anyone here before, right?"

(Y/N) figured he had never brought a woman here before, but she wasn't a girlfriend, just part of the team who happened to be a girl. "Well Hank or Scott have come here, haven't they?"

Ginny shook her head slowly. "Nope."

(Y/N) tried to keep her breathing steady. "Well maybe he's invited them and they've just always said no. The Sanctuary is hardly ever not busy."

"I don't think so," Ginny said with a cute giggle.

"Oh." (Y/N) wasn't sure what response she had anticipated to hear from her long awaited question, but that answer caused a weird tingling sensation to spread throughout her body. "I, uh, didn't know that."

"I hope that doesn't freak you out or anything," Ginny added quickly. "And it's perfectly fine if you two are just friends. I just-" She broke off, staring admiringly at her older brother. "I know it may seem like he only cares about dragons, but once he cares about someone, he never stops." Her attention found its way back to (Y/N) and she looked uneasy. "Just- if you don't feel that way about him, can you please careful? I know my brothers always feel the need to protect me, but I don't like seeing them get hurt either."

(Y/N) had to pinch her thigh to force away the emotion bubbling up inside her. Charlie was so lucky to have a family like this. She smiled reassuringly at Ginny and said, "I promise I would never do anything to hurt him. He's honestly one of the best friends I've ever had."

Ginny's brown eyes sparkled as a big, cheeky smile grew on her face, and (Y/N) suddenly had a terrible feeling that her confession may have had a little too much honest emotion behind it. But before she could add anything else, Harry and Charlie made their way over to the bench.

"Uh oh," Charlie said, looking between (Y/N) and Ginny. "Do I even want to know what you guys were talking about?"

Ginny hopped up and took Harry's hand, happiness still radiating off of her. "Just how bad you two are at Quidditch. C'mon, Harry, let's go see what my mum's cooking." She flashed (Y/N) another grin before tugging Harry back down the hill to the Burrow.

Charlie filled Ginny's spot on the bench, looking at (Y/N) with a mixture of amusement and hesitation. "Should I even ask?"

(Y/N) chuckled and shook her head.

"But she was nice to you, right?"

For a second, (Y/N) thought Charlie was teasing her in spite of her earlier comment, but he looked surprisingly serious. "Of course. Your sister's really sweet."

"Well then she took to you a lot better than Fleur," he admitted. "I didn't want to freak you out, but her and my mom were pretty hard on her at first."

"She's just protective of you guys, that's all," (Y/N) said, trying to ignore the stirring in her chest at the comparison. To Bill's wife. She forced a smile to move on from that detail. "And it probably helped that we got to bond over Quidditch. She was glad you finally have a friend who can kick your ass."

Charlie laughed, shaking his head. "Hank and Scott are never gonna let me hear the end of it."

(Y/N) tried to think of a response, but her heart ached as she watched Charlie's profile- his laugh, that smile. She thought back to what Ginny had said, and a chill raced down her spine. You do know he's never brought anyone here before, right?

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Charlie asked.

(Y/N) instantly looked away, pursing her lips together in an attempt to hide her pathetic smile. "I was just thinking about something Ginny told me."

"Merlin's beard. Let me guess, she told you the Apparition test story? They love telling that one."

(Y/N)'s eyebrows raised in interest. "No, she actually didn't, but you bet your ass I'm not letting you drop it now."

Charlie groaned, rubbing his face with his gloved hand. "Oh well, George would've told you eventually anyway. I failed my first attempt because I ended up five miles away from where I was supposed to."

That didn't sound embarrassing- several adult wizards rarely used Apparition because of the risks, and retaking the test was hardly uncommon. "Where did you land?" 

"On top of an older woman shopping."

(Y/N)'s jaw dropped and she leaned against the redhead, laughter pouring out of her. "Oh my God, are you serious?"

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Charlie said, digging his elbow into her side. "Fair is fair. Now you have to tell me what other embarrassing secret she spilled."

"It wasn't embarrassing," (Y/N) reassured him once her hysterics subsided. She fiddled with the end of her scarf, choosing her words carefully. "She just- well she told me that I'm the only one you've ever brought here, and I guess I was wondering what made me so special." 

(Y/N) waited for Charlie to say one of the obvious answers she had managed to come up within the last five minutes. Perhaps it was the age difference- it would make a lot more sense to bring a friend his own age rather than two forty year old coworkers. Or maybe he was too shy to ask Hank and Scott and knew that (Y/N) was less likely to say no. Or maybe Charlie just felt sorry for her and didn't want her to be a lonely loser on the holidays. 

Instead, Charlie laughed and said, "Don't friends invite other friends over for holidays?"

(Y/N) smiled at that. She didn't think she would ever get tired of hearing Charlie call her his friend. "But Hank and Scott are your friends, and you've known them longer."

The redhead drummed his fingers against his knee, considering. "You're probably going to think I'm a nutter." 

"Try me," (Y/N) encouraged, relishing the way the British phrase rolled off his tongue. She tried to think of what reason he could possibly have that he would be embarrassed by. Maybe he was tired of being the only sibling without a significant other and they teased him over it.

Charlie sighed. "I wasn't lying when I told you Christmas at the Sanctuary is a little depressing, and I was worried that if you stayed back, you might get homesick. And then maybe-" He paused for a moment, looking back down at his hands. "Maybe you'd want to go back to America."

(Y/N) held in a breath, recalling Charlie's expression after he found out about her notorious career hopping. She had already spent six months at the Sanctuary, and he was worried she was going to leave. Her heart felt like it was going to burst.

"And now you think I'm insane, don't you?" 

She shook her head, hoping he didn't see the emotion shining in her eyes. She had never had a coworker care about her like that and it affected her more than she anticipated. "Quite the opposite actually," she said once she managed to find her voice again. "That's one of the sweetest things that anyone has ever done for me. But you don't have to worry about that, okay? I'd never just up and leave." It was risky for (Y/N) to make promises like that, but she would do whatever it took to stay true to her word. Charlie deserved that.

"Good to know," Charlie said, and the expression in his eyes made (Y/N)'s stomach do about a million back flips. "I also invited you to come because of your Christmas present." 

(Y/N) blinked, certain she misheard him. "What?"

He stood and rubbed a hand over his jaw in an attempt to conceal his grin. "We should head back to the house. Bill and Fleur are probably here by now."

"Charles Weasley," (Y/N) began threateningly, pushing off the bench, but he started down the hill, pretending not to hear her as she tried to catch up with his long strides. "We agreed no presents!"

He turned around, continuing to walk backwards while holding his palms up in a shrug as if to say, Oops.

He was so dead.

(Y/N) unfortunately didn't catch up to Charlie until they reached the back door, which he so kindly didn't hesitate to open. She wouldn't have minded so much if it was a small present, but he would have been able to give her that anytime. What on earth would she need to be here for him to give her?

A pair of unfamiliar voices broke (Y/N) from her thoughts, and she tried her best to remain expressionless as they entered the living room. Like George's ear, Charlie had told (Y/N) about the werewolf attack, so she had prepared herself for the worst. But as she glimpsed the healed slashes across Bill's pale face, (Y/N) decided it wasn't that the scars themselves were that bad- (Y/N) had seen wizards in America completely disfigured after encounters with dangerous magical creatures. What was more startling was the stark contrast as the eldest Weasley brother stood side by side with his breathtaking wife. It was like looking at a portrait- tragedy and hope. Love and war. It was a lot to take in.

"Hey, how's Egypt been?" Charlie asked, relieving (Y/N) of her initial surprise as the brothers slapped each other on the back in a hug. Charlie looked so happy to see his older brother, it reminded (Y/N) of how she looked up to Jacob when they were kids.

"Busy. Discovered three cursed tombs just this past week," Bill said, sliding his hands into his pockets. He was taller and more lean than Charlie with his matching red hair pulled back into a low ponytail. "I managed to break the first two though. I said they could handle the third."

(Y/N)'s heart thudded painfully inside her chest even though Charlie had already mentioned Bill was a Curse-Breaker. She didn't think she would ever be at ease when it came to that career.

"He'z a natural. Works zo very 'ard," the blonde woman said proudly, stepping forward to hug her brother-in-law. "How are ze dragons?"

(Y/N) had to purse her lips together to prevent a fit of laughter from escaping as Fleur placed a kiss on each of Charlie's cheeks. Even though Fleur was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen, (Y/N) felt no jealousy. It was hard to when Charlie looked more uncomfortable than Hank did when on a broom.

"I don't see any new scars," Bill added with a quick up and down glance at Charlie. "So I'll take that as a good sign?"

Charlie laughed and started to say something, but Fleur interrupted as her eyes met (Y/N)'s. 

"Oh- where are my manners. Who'z zis?" Her eyes were twinkling the same way Mrs. Weasley's had as she approached (Y/N).

"Oh, it's okay," (Y/N) reassured, feeling her cheeks glow from the sudden attention. "I'm (Y/N). I, uh, work at the Sanctuary with Charlie."

A mixture of wonder and curiosity reflected in Fleur's ocean blue eyes. "Are you American?"

(Y/N) answered with a nod and a shy smile. Even she felt intimidated by Fleur's beauty.

"Wow, you've come a long way for ze dragons," Fleur said, and to (Y/N)'s surprise, she repeated the kissing gesture on (Y/N)'s cheeks. "I'm Fleur, Bill's wife. I would love to 'ear all about where it iz you came from. I've never been to ze States before."

"Of course." (Y/N)’s stomach gave a nervous tug as her gaze shifted to Bill, who was staring intently at her- the kind of stare that made a person worry if they had something on their face.

"Hi there, I'm Bill," he said, taking a step forward to shake (Y/N)'s hand. "Charlie's told me an awful lot about you."

(Y/N) hoped the skip in her heartbeat wasn't reflected on her face. She knew Charlie hadn't seen Bill since last Christmas, so any mention of her would have had to have been in letters. Did Charlie really write about her? "Oh really?" she asked coolly, and it was now Charlie's turn to squirm under the scrutiny. "All good things, I hope."

"Definitely. Even beat him on a broom I heard. About time someone knocked him off his high horse." He elbowed Charlie in the shoulder, but the younger Weasley did not look amused.

Instead of commenting, Charlie nodded toward the kitchen. "Well I think mum's almost done with dinner. You guys ready to eat?"

-

The next two days at the Burrow flew by and soon enough it was Christmas Eve. The family hung out around the house for most of the day, continuing to swap stories and play wizarding games together. 

(Y/N) told Fleur as much about the U.S. as she could and frequently bonded with Ginny over Quidditch. She talked to George about the clever pranks she used to pull on her brother and even managed to bond with Bill a little bit over her limited experience breaking curses. Arthur went crazy for stories about her grandpa, and she showed Molly a unique knitting pattern her mom used to use. It was such a good day in fact, it started to take a toll on (Y/N). By nightfall, she realized she had never had so much fun around the holidays before and that knowledge left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Hey," Charlie said, leaning against the door frame that lead upstairs as (Y/N) emptied her tea mug into the sink. "George wants to know if you're up for a game of wizard's chess since he and Angelina will be leaving tomorrow."

"Actually, I'm pretty beat and was going to go to bed soon," she admitted, turning off the tap and leaning back against the counter. The early morning routine at the Sanctuary usually left her yawning at ten o'clock, so she was impressed she had managed to stay awake this long. "But tell him rain check for me?"

The smile that spread across Charlie's face made (Y/N) realize a rain check implied she anticipated seeing his siblings again at some point. She hoped that wasn't too forward. "Sure thing."

Because of the dim lighting, it took her a moment to register the decoration hanging above Charlie’s head, and as she glimpsed the small bouquet of green pinned to the door frame, she couldn't restrain a giggle.

"What?" Charlie asked, his eyes following hers above his head.

Seeing the immediate discomfort that overtook Charlie as he spotted the mistletoe, (Y/N) decided to offer him a bone. "Want me to go get Fleur? It's bad luck to break tradition." 

Charlie let out a muffled groaned, rubbing his face with his palm. "Sorry I forgot to warn you about that. It's a French thing I guess."

"Oh, it's fine. Some people in America do it too, but it's usually just one cheek." She grimaced as she recalled the way her mom's friends used to pinch her cheeks and fuss over her when she was little. "Your face was priceless though. It looked like a frog was kissing you, not a stunning part Veela woman."

Charlie shrugged. "I guess I just see her as Bill's wife, so it's weird to me." 

"That makes sense," (Y/N) said, despite the sinking feeling in her gut. First Sydney and now Fleur. Had any woman ever caught Charlie's eye before? 

She nearly mustered the courage to ask about his former girlfriend from Hogwarts, but the clock chiming on the wall distracted her. "Merry Christmas," she said, seeing that both clock hands were pointing straight up.

An alarmingly smug smile grew on the redhead's face. "You mean Happy Christmas?" 

(Y/N) shook her head in disbelief, fighting back a laugh. Even on Christmas and away from the rest of the team he still loved to push her buttons. Well two could play that game.

Pushing off the kitchen counter, she walked toward him, wanting nothing more than to wipe that grin off his face. Instead of passing him, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, gratified as the playfulness slowly faded from his face. "Happy Christmas, Charlie," she corrected quietly and, without questioning it, eased onto her tiptoes, placing a friendly kiss on his freckled cheek. If the French could uphold traditions, Americans could too. 

Charlie blinked at her, his brown eyes wide and a subtle hue of pink spreading beneath those freckles (Y/N) loved so much. "Goodnight," he replied, but it came out weak and breathy.

"'Night, dragon boy.” She patted his shoulder once before continuing past him to the stairs.

Happy Christmas indeed.

-

(Y/N) couldn’t believe how fast the rest of their vacation flew by. Christmas was a blur for (Y/N) with all the heartwarming presents and affection. The thing about the Weasley’s was it was never about the amount or the cost. It was solely about giving meaningful gifts and everyone was always grateful. 

The only thing that confused (Y/N) was Charlie hadn’t given her a present and whenever she questioned him about it, he refused to answer.

“Why won’t you tell me?” she complained as they packed to leave the following morning. “It’s driving me nuts.”

But Charlie just merely smiled to himself and kept on packing before they made their way downstairs to say goodbye.

“Are you sure you can’t stay another few days?” Mrs. Weasley asked as she held on tightly to her son.

“Sorry, mum. I promised Felix we’d drop off some dragonhide gloves to Hagrid today or we would.”

That was the first time Charlie had mentioned a name associated with wherever the hell they were going, but before (Y/N) could ask who Hagrid was, Molly pulled her into an equally tight embrace. “Promise me you’ll come back to visit again, dear? It was so lovely having you.”

(Y/N) hugged her back, for once welcoming the unfamiliar motherly affection. “Definitely. This was seriously the best Christmas I’ve ever had. I can’t thank your family enough.”

Mrs. Weasley hugged Charlie one last time and just as (Y/N) was about to head out the kitchen door, Charlie tapped her shoulder and pointed to the living room.

“We're traveling by Floo Powder this time,” Charlie explained, leading her to the grand fireplace in the Weasley’s sitting room. He scooped a handful of powder from the vase on the mantelpiece, splitting the amount between himself and (Y/N).

(Y/N) gripped the powder in her hand nervously. She had traveled by Floo Powder before but had no idea where he was taking her. “Where exactly are we going?”

“You really wanna know?” Charlie asked as he stepped into the fireplace. When (Y/N) nodded, he smiled and closed his eyes. “Hogwarts.” He dropped the powder and was instantly engulfed in wild green flames before vanishing. 

(Y/N)’s mouth dropped open. What? They were going to... Hogwarts? 

-

(Y/N) coughed and sputtered as she landed on her feet, fanning away the smoke residue in the air. 

“I’m going to kill you,” (Y/N) said between coughs, stepping out of the fireplace and dusting off her clothes. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner.”

She was surprised to not only hear Charlie’s familiar chuckle, but a deep gravelly one too. The redhead came into view first as (Y/N) blinked open her eyes, but she nearly gasped as she processed the unmissable person next to him. Huge didn’t begin to describe the man who was more than double Charlie’s height and at least three times as wide. Thick, long brown hair covered both his head and chin, and his cheeks were flushed pink.

“Oh hi,” she squeaked, mildly embarrassed.

“(Y/N), this is Hagrid,” Charlie introduced, gesturing to the giant man. “He's the Care of Magical Creatures Professor here at Hogwarts.”

“It’s so good teh meet yeh,” Hagrid said, and his jovial expression instantly put (Y/N) at ease. 

She smiled back at him. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

"Charlie tol' me yeh werk at the Sanctuary with him. Do yeh like dragons as much as he does?"

(Y/N) laughed. "I'm not sure anyone can like dragons as much as Charlie does."

Hagrid chortled, nudging Charlie's shoulder. "Yeah, he hasn't changed one bit. I've known him since his first year here at Hogwarts. Did'e tell yeh he tried to buy a dragon egg when he was just a wee fourth year?"

Before (Y/N) could shake her head, Charlie interrupted.

"I think she's heard enough embarrassing stories from George and Ginny this past week.”

(Y/N) wanted to say speak for yourself, but Hagrid conceded.

“Okey, okey," he said with a snort, holding up his massive hands in defense before turning back to (Y/N). "I hear yeh’re a natural with Norbeta. Isn't she a beaut?”

“Oh, you know her?” (Y/N) asked, surprised.

Hagrid looked at Charlie, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeh jus’ spent how many days with Harry and yeh haven’t told her the story yet? C’mon, I’ll tell yeh all about it on the way back to my hut.”

(Y/N) followed Charlie and Hagrid through the castle, trying hard to not ogle every new corridor or room that came into sight. She couldn’t believe her ears when Hagrid told her how the Sanctuary acquired Norberta, and (Y/N) felt a nostalgic tug at her chest. It had been nearly six months since that first day when she fed the Norwegian Ridgeback. Time really did fly when you were having fun.

It wasn’t until they reached Hagrid’s place that (Y/N) realized how far they walked. Since Hagrid had met them in the castle, she was confused why Charlie needed to bring the gloves all the way out here- Hagrid could have easily carried several boxes of them on his own.

“Here we are,” Hagrid said, propping open the door. “Yeh take as long as yeh need. Jus’ be sure teh come back for some tea before yeh leave, okey?”

Charlie smiled appreciatively at him. “Of course. Thanks, Hagrid.”

The door shut behind with a bang behind him and (Y/N) looked to Charlie for an explanation, now completely lost. “Take as long as we need for what?”

“Your Christmas present,” Charlie answered, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Her gaze flicked back and forth between Charlie and the castle. “But I thought Hogwarts was the present?”

“No, consider the castle a bonus.” He lead (Y/N) toward the forest off to the right and pointed to a trail in the distance. “The real present is in here.”

“Wait- is that-” She gaped at the dense, snow-covered forest ahead. “Holy shit, that’s the Forbidden Forest, isn’t it?”

Chuckling, Charlie said, “I’m starting to think you’re easily impressed.”

“Oh come on. Voldemort was in that Forest at one point. I know you grew up with it, but this is stuff I only got to read about in textbooks.” 

“Fair point. I guess it’s a good thing my mom never found out how much time I spent in here,” Charlie said, staring around at the tall trees as they continued walking. 

“Let me guess- looking for dragons?”

Charlie grinned. “Absolutely.”

“So, are you going to finally tell me what this is this all abo-” (Y/N) stopped dead in her tracks and lost the ability to speak as the answer to her question stared back at her. She blinked, gaping at the stormy grey Hippogriff standing less than twenty feet in front of her. Her gaze moved between the beautiful creature and the redhead, and she tried to form a sentence but had to squeeze her eyes shut as raw emotion knocked into her like a freight train.

“You still mad I got you a present?” Charlie asked.

She shook her head slowly, still unable to find the words.  She was so overwhelmed she was trembling- partially from missing such a stunning creature and partially from how unbelievably perfect Charlie was. “I- I can’t believe you did this for me.”

"You don’t even know the best part yet.”

(Y/N) blinked, unsure how this situation could get any better.

“This Hippogriff used to be Sirius Black’s after he escaped from Azkaban."

The remaining air left (Y/N)’s lungs, and she glanced up at Charlie, lips parted and throat dry.

“Harry helped Sirius escape on him in his third year, saving both Buckbeak and Sirius’ life.”

As (Y/N) looked back the Hippogriff, she could no longer stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks. She quickly turned away from Charlie, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve and forcing out a laugh. “Dammit,” she hissed under her breath. “I’ve been burned and scratched by dragons for the last six months, but it’s a damn Hippogriff that makes me cry in front of you. Now who looks like a nutter.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it." Charlie's voice was low and soothing as he stepped closer to (Y/N). "I won’t tell the guys- as long as you promise they’re happy tears.”

(Y/N) laughed, nodding her head so fast it began to hurt. Without thinking, she flung her arms around Charlie, hugging him tightly around the waist. He was stiff at first but soon relaxed into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her back comfortingly. 

“You don’t know what this means to me,” she whispered against his chest. She stayed there for a moment, breathing in his honeysuckle and grass scent before pulling back slightly to look up at him. 

It was a big mistake because Charlie's body was too warm and his face was way too close. She could make out every last freckle on his smooth, pale skin and it took all of her willpower to not let her eyes drop to his mouth. Her whole body shivered and she held in breath as he smiled down at her, praying he couldn't feel how fast her heart was racing.

Boundaries.

She quickly let her hands fall away and stepped back, her body instantly feeling betrayed from the loss of his warmth and touch. “I just- how can I ever repay you for this?”

“By not telling Hank or Scott you beat me at Quidditch," he answered easily.

(Y/N) shook with laughter, her tears and sniffles now subsided. “Deal.” He always knew how to make her feel better.

The only problem was that as Charlie urged her toward the Hippogriff, encouraging her to ride him for a bit, (Y/N) realized she wasn’t just crushing on her best friend.

She was falling in love with him and had no idea how to stop it.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Severed Bonds (Chapter 16)

Summary: Edge, Jedi Knight, is lost in a Galaxy without the Jedi Order and the only one left to him is one who already betrayed them all.

Tags/Warnings: Spicyhoney, Star Wars AU, Darkfic, Angst, Minor Character Deaths, Friends to Enemies to ?, Hatesex…?, Trauma, Implied Possible Insanity, Rough Sex, Lemons, Mentions of Prostitution,  Violence, Possessiveness, Attempted Rape

Notes: PLEASE READ: Just a reminder that this story is very dark and that you should read the tags. 

Severed Bonds: a Spicyhoney SW AU

CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4: Interlude | CH5 | CH6: Interlude 2 | CH7 | CH8 | CH9 | CH10 | CH11 | CH12 | CH13 | CH14 | CH15

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Read Chapter 16 on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

By the time Rus returned from his scrounging through the bounty hunter’s ship, Edge was drowsing where he sat leaning against the wall. He jerked awake at BD-7’s blat of warning, tensing as the door slid open only to reveal Rus striding back in, a couple large carrysacks slung over one shoulder.

“come on,” Rus said. The contents of the bags clunked as he leaned down to help Edge to his feet, steadying him as he shuffled cautiously towards the door.

“Pants?” Edge asked, blurrily. The exhaustion still coursing through his system was making thinking somewhat difficult yet, but he did know that he wasn’t interested in heading out into the wastelands in nothing more than Rus’s outer robe.

“yeah, don’t worry, i got you covered.” It took a moment for the pun of it to filter through and Edge stopped, staring at Rus in disbelief.

He only grinned in return, eye lights glittering with deep amusement. “what, it’s the truth! come on, we’ll get the clothes issues ironed out. not too much further now. this ship ain’t that big.”

Edge followed Rus’s guiding tug, but it wasn’t the puns giving Edge pause. It was that in this moment, Rus seemed more like himself than he had since the day he’d vanished. It made something rise in Edge’s soul that he didn’t dare name, tamping it down as they shuffled through the narrow corridor. It was a good thing that this ship wasn’t better than their own, considering the amount of corpses they passed as Rus finally led him out of the maze of the hold. Cleaning it out would be more trauma than it was worth.

The further they went, the more difficult it became for Edge to keep up. His legs were cursedly wobbly, probably an aftereffect of the stunners they’d use on him. The faint soreness lingering between his legs from Rus’s possessiveness morphing from gratifying to an annoyance.

To his confusion, Rus led him to a lavatory instead of the exit and when Edge looked at him in mute question, he only shrugged. “planet’s in occlusion, no one will be able to take off or land for at least six more hours. may as well use up their resources instead of ours. not like they’ll need them.”

True, but it hardly needed said like that. Rus stayed with him, his blatant staring forcing Edge to forgo any modesty as he shed the robe. By now there was little Rus hadn’t seen of him and any mystery Edge still possessed was only in the corners of his mind. His body he’d given Rus willingly, what right did he have to complain if Rus took his due?

BD-7’s presence was slightly more unnerving but then, droids didn’t have the foibles of living creatures when it came to nudity.

Sonics would never be as satisfying as water, but Edge couldn’t hold back a groan of appreciation as the filth was cleansed from his bones, dust from the planet, blood from the Gamorrean, and Rus’s come, all of it dissolved beneath the sonics.

He felt better when he was clean, but his knees still tried to buckle as Edge stepped out of the stall. Only Rus catching his arm kept him from falling heavily to the floor. He supposed that was one good reason for Rus to keep such a close watch.

Even if his old clothing wasn’t shredded, it was still filthy, both from crashing the speeder earlier and his captivity. Edge couldn’t help his relief as Rus yanked some items from one of the carrysacks, helping Edge to pull a pair of too-loose trousers over his legs, tying them tightly at the waist to keep them from falling right back down. A tunic followed, large and billowing over his slender bones. At least his boots were his own and he wouldn’t need to stuff the toes to keep them from falling off his feet.

Once Edge was dressed, he reached for the droid waiting impatiently nearby. BD-7 nestled in his arms with a weary-sounding chirp and Edge gave him a gentle pat. At least his hurts would heal, BD-7 would have to wait for repairs and he would need to depend on Rus for it. That at least they had in common, both of them depending on Rus.

Edge didn’t question what else might be in the bags that Rus scooped back up, slinging the straps over his shoulder even as he helped Edge towards the ramp that led to the dusty ground.

There were several speeders to choose from and Rus inspected each of them with a mechanic’s jaundiced gaze before deciding.

It was only when he tried to guide Edge onto the chosen one did he balk. “If I drive one, we’ll be able to take two with us.”

“if you drive one, you’re going to plow right into a rock,” Rus retorted. He was rummaging through the bags once more, pulling out a long scarf in muted crimson. He wrapped it around Edge’s skull deftly, tucking it here and there before plonking down a helmet on top of it. “i didn’t go through all this trouble to end it in death by stupidity. get on.” There wasn’t much possibility of countering that argument and Edge did as he was told, riding pillion with BD-7 nestled into the front of the jacket Rus liberated for him from somewhere. Or someone.

He kept his face buried into Rus’s back, partly protection from the blowing dust, and partly...he didn’t know. His inner equilibrium seemed as unsettled as his outward, tipped off-balance and ready to collapse at the first unkind touch. Part of him was braced for it to come from Rus. A cruel taunt, a rough hand laid upon him, any seemed enough right now to break him apart.

It didn’t come. The speeder slowed as they came up on their ship and Rus drove it right up the ramp into the hold. He helped Edge climb down from the seat with uncommon gentleness, steadying him while he pulled BD-7 free from his shirt. The little droid hooked on to his shoulder clumsily with its damaged feet, huddling in close to Edge’s vertebrae.

Rus didn’t seem to notice their combined wariness, securing the speeder while Edge leaned against the hold wall, watching him.

“there is one bright spot,” Rus said cheerily. He held up one of the bags and from within came a muffled jangle. “between them, they were carrying enough credits for us to get off this rock and have a nice nest egg besides.”

“So you’ve decided where we’re going?” Edge asked, cautiously.

“yeah.” He didn’t elaborate and Edge didn’t ask. The journey was of little matter to him, anyway. Wherever Rus went, he would follow. “we’re going to have to head over to Gonser to fuel up.”

Edge winced. Gonser was a port town on the opposite side of the planet, existing for little more than refueling and a hot meal for any travelers passing through. Going there was a risk; if those bounty hunters found them, others wouldn’t be far behind, but there was nothing for it. They needed fuel and the small mining community he’d been working at wouldn’t be able to provide nearly enough, no matter how much coin they had.

“if we time it right,” Rus went on, reaching for Edge to help him limp up to the main deck, “we can get fueled up and get the fuck out right around the time the planet clears the gas giant. might be able to keep anyone from getting too curious about us before we leave.”

Edge nodded. He drew a little away from Rus’s grasp, testing his balance. Not perfect but he should be able to walk on his own two feet. “I can get supplies while you’re refueling.”

Rus went still, the soft orange of his eye lights flaring, “you aren’t going fucking anywhere.”

“It will be faster,” Edge tried. He could manage at least that much for them.

“yeah? how about being reasonable?” Rus shoved him against the wall and Edge would have fallen except for Rus catching hold of the front of his too-loose shirt, hauling him upright. “you’re not steady on your feet, you don’t have a lightsaber, your connection to the force is sketchy as fuck, don’t think i haven’t noticed. we don’t need any supplies, we’ve got enough to keep us afloat for a while. get over it. plus, our faces are plastered all over every holoviewer within a million kliks and our disguise didn’t survive the attack from the hunters.”

Being reasonable. Edge almost laughed, something close to hysteria bubbling up. Reasonable was the last thing any of this had been.

“But you’ll go refuel with your face hanging out,” Edge snapped. His own guilt at losing the breathing apparatus they’d been using as a disguise hung heavy at the back of his mind. Useless, he couldn’t protect himself, couldn’t protect BD-7. Couldn’t protect Rus against the hunters that were coming and he didn’t need to be one with the Force to know that.

“your little droid is giving us a hand with that. while we were otherwise occupied, he was playing scrap hound and found this.” Rus held out his hand. In his bony palm was a small, flat disk, spirals of metal leading to a central opening.

“Is that a disguise matrix emitter?” Edge asked, disbelieving. Highly illegal in the days of the Federation and difficult to acquire. In all his days as a Jedi, he’d only ever seen a picture of one.

“yeah, and it’s a damn nice one, not even a dent in the case. good find,” Rus reached out to pat BD-7, jerking back when the little droid hissed warningly. His mouth twisted into a rueful grin. “wish they’d had a couple of ‘em. must’ve been from someone’s personal arsenal.” He tucked the emitter back into a pocket and jerked a thumb in the direction of their sleeping quarters. “i can handle the fuel. you. go meditate, get your head facing the right direction. heal, if you can.”

Edge didn’t move, kept his shoulders against the bulkhead. This...this was not what he’d come to expect from Rus, no underlying mocking with the cusp of cruelty dripping from each word when he spoke of Jedi techniques. “Now you want me to meditate. Shouldn’t you be busily trying to coax me to the dark side?”

“nah,” Rus said, carelessly, but Edge saw that little dig land, the not quite hidden flinch. “can’t say the title sith lord suits me much anymore, does it.”

It never did, Edge did not say.

“go on, it’ll take a couple hours or so for us to hit the port, anyway. bd-7, stay with me,” Rus lifted the bag and shook it, letting out another rattling jangle. “lets see if we can get you back into fighting shape.”

To Edge’s shock, the little droid crawled awkwardly down and went to him, even giving a hopeful, if grudging, chirp. Whatever happened between them while Edge was captured seemed to have dimmed at least some of its animosity.

Rus scooped up the little droid and strode off in the direction of the helm, leaving Edge to stare wordlessly after him.

He seemed...oddly together, brisk and efficient with dry humor coating his words. More like the Rus he’d always known. Edge wasn’t sure what to make of it. He wasn’t enough of a fool to believe it would last, but a stupid kernal of hope tried to light in his soul, anyway.

At last, he pushed off the wall and made his way unsteadily to their quarters. He didn’t bother pulling off his boots, nearly falling to his knees to try and stitch the ragged fabric of his composure together enough to meditate.

It was harder than it had ever been to allow the Force to soothe over him, the touch he’d known since birth finally cradled him, keeping him from ever being alone. It surged within him without judgement, filling him, but then, it always had, hadn’t it. Judgement came not from the Force, but from those who used it, from the Universe itself that chose to give it balance, lightness and dark.

Edge pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the power inherent in the Force, guiding it to help him heal. Physically, it was still easy enough, bruises fading away, tiny cracks in bones vanishing beneath his coaxing influence. But he was unsteady with more than simply his injuries. Everything that happened kept throwing him off kilter. He’d find his space legs and then gravity would shift again and again, and it had been happening far longer than since Rus’s tantrum earlier or even the moment he joined the Jedi team designated to hunt Rus down. Edge wasn’t sure he’d had his balance since…

Since Rus left the Jedi.

Distantly, he felt the ship lift off, accelerating to an easy cruising speed in the direction of the port.

There was some measure of relief at leaving the mines behind, abandoning that exhausting, filthy work. What he and Rus earned here plus what they’d taken from the bounty hunters would hopefully last them a little while.

Edge returned his focus to healing, allowing the Force to fill him to the brim, settling him body and soul. There was nothing hovering on the edge of his perception, no unknown ghoul ready to swoop through his bond with the Force to drag him into darkness. His fears melted away beneath that familiar force-touch and soon he felt much better, energized. Only then did he reach out to brush lightly against the closest force signature to him.

Rus.

The brief flare of shock came from outside, then within, flowing through their nascent bond. Rus’s touch, usually so shattered, the jagged breaks cutting into Edge whenever he opened their bond, was softer, tentative, and if it didn’t echo the love that Edge cautiously offered, neither did it reject it.

What was going on, what, why was Rus being like this, what was happening

The unexpected voice that answered him came from nowhere, everywhere, from inside Rus but not from him, One Of Us Needs To Keep It Together, And If It Isn’t You, It Has To Be Him. Figure Things Out, Jedi, It hurts, He Can’t Do This For Long.

The gentle pulse of the bond between them did not change and Edge realized with distant shock that Rus hadn’t heard that voice.

He didn’t care about that, it was a mystery for later. For now, their connection was flowing, better than it ever had, and what Edge sent along the bond next was anything but gentle.

Rus’s shock at the pulse of pleasure reverberated back into Edge, followed by the impression of glee and a return pulse. It was like nothing Edge had ever attempted before, only heard of in whispers. To use the Force and their bond to send ghostly ecstasy trailing along nerves, through winding passages of the mind, echoing and growing between them, and their peak was a shared one only within the Force surrounding them.

Edge was panting when he eased out of their bond and his new quivering was only from aftershocks. He took a moment to change into clothes that actually fit him, shrugging into a fresh robe before he headed for the helm.

When he stepped inside, Rus was in the pilot seat and he threw Edge a look that was more amused than anything. “i was working on your droid when you pulled that little stunt, you know.”

“He doesn’t seem any worse for the distraction.” In fact, BD-7 looked as well as he could have possibly hoped. His paint would need redone, but that was something Edge could do. Considering he had no idea where they were heading after this, he might well be grateful for the distraction.

One of the rucksacks was still at Rus’s feet and he reached down to dig through it, one hand still on the steering column. After a little blind rummaging, what he pulled out was the handle of Edge’s lightsaber, handing it back to him wordlessly. Or more accurately, it was what remained of his lightsaber. The damage made him sigh inwardly. Repairable so long as the crystal wasn’t damaged, but it was far more important than a droid’s paint job and impossible to be done by the time Rus headed out to refuel.

Especially since they were landing now.

A check of the chronometer showed they had less than an hour before the planet cleared the gravity well of the gas giant that currently prevented orbiting ships from landing. Any of them could hold more bounty hunters, there wasn’t time for negotiating. They’d need to go with Rus’s plan.

At the gangplank, Rus paused crouched down to shaking a stern finger at BD-7, “you’re in charge while i’m gone, got it? it’s on you to keep him safe, think you can handle it?”

Whatever the little droid burbled made Rus wince, then he laughed, “yeah, okay, that’ll work. i’ll be back soon.”

He was still laughing as he turned on the disguise matrix, his appearance shifting convincingly to slender Quarren, the tentacles that made up its beard twisting and curling with amusement. The species was similar enough to their height that Rus wouldn’t seem absurdly tall and they were known for being relentless bargainers, so it was likely the fuel master wouldn’t try to drive up the price. They were also considered unattractive to most species and Edge couldn’t help wondering if there was a dark joke buried there, considering how Rus usually paid their way in the past.

“Good choice,” Edge said dryly.

“i thought so,” Rus said in a liquid, burbling voice. He turned on his heel, heading down the gangplank. Edge watched him go, then hit the button to close the plank.

There was nothing to do now but wait.

It was the better part of an hour when Edge heard the gangplank lowering again and the sound sent prickles of warning across his senses. It should have been locked down from the outside, Rus should have needed to use the intercom to ask to be let in.

His lightsaber was currently useless, spread out in pieces on the table, but Edge wasn’t above using a blaster when necessary. He hushed BD-7 when it blatted a protest, heading in the direction of the ship’s entrance.

Footsteps, only one set, booted feet that weren’t bothering to disguise themselves.

“Come on out, you bony bag of space wizard, I know you’re here!”

Cheery and loud, a voice he knew somehow, and when Edge peered cautiously around the corner, he could see white, needle-sharp teeth cutting through the dimness, shaped into a grin. That grin widened as its owner caught sight of him, tossing her head to send the long fronds of her slender fins cascading down her back.

“Well, hey there, Jedi,” she called, “you’re pretty hard to find.”

“Undyne?” he whispered, disbelieving.

“Even remember my name, good deal.” Her wide grin dimmed into something more serious. “I owe you one and I don’t forget my debts. So when I saw the bounty on you, I signed up, thought maybe I could find you before any of the bucketheads did.”

Edge met Undyne only once on a mission for the Jedi, years before. A smuggler by trade, for a hefty price she’d nonetheless agreed to help him and Rus evacuate a ragtag group of orphans from a planet before the Neimoidians purchasing it could ‘assign’ them parents and bind them into what was little more than legalized slavery. She’d been shot by a droid trooper while running towards the ship with one of the children and only survived due to Edge’s healing skills.

Back then, she’d sworn to Edge that she owed him a favor that she would someday repay, something he’d quickly forgotten; such promises were common to Jedi and rarely fulfilled. Since last they’d met, she’d lost an eye, a fresh scar showing around the edges of a patch, but that smile of hers was unchanged.

She cocked a hip, hands tucked easily into her pockets. “Okay, now that I’ve found you, laserbrain, what are we dealing with?”

“The empire wants me dead,” Edge admitted.

Her eye didn’t so much as twitch, but Undyne sucked on her teeth loudly, considering, “Knew that much. When you dive in the soup, you go headfirst, dontcha.”

“he did, but he didn’t hop into the main course alone.”

From behind Undyne came the sound of a lightsaber igniting but brighter yet through the shadows was the burn of sockets brimming with glaring orange, crackling offshoots of lightning surrounding that hellfire glow.

There was no time to think. Edge flung himself forward, stepping bodily between Rus and Undyne in a move borne of pure desperation because he knew if a fight began, it wouldn’t stop until one of them was dead.

“Don’t,” Edge said, sharply, meeting Rus’s glare with one of his own. With his hood up, he looked every particle the Sith he claimed no longer to be, his skull dull and gray against the black cloth.

Edge braced himself, ready to defend Undyne, a faint, dismal hope rising that perhaps Rus would remember her and at least allow her off the ship. What Edge did not expect was to see a sudden thread of crimson running from Rus’s nasal aperture. It widened quickly, a ribbon instead of a thread. Scarlet trailing over his teeth to drip from his chin, fat droplets welling and pattering to the ground.

His blazing eye lights sputtered, dimmed, then rolled upward, lightsaber extinguishing as it fell from his hand to the ground. Edge lurched unsteadily forward and caught him before he could crack his skull open on the decking, lowering him to the ground as Rus began to convulse.

“Fuck,” Undyne sounded uncommonly shaken, “Listen, I dunno what’s wrong with your boy, but we can’t hang around here waiting for a doc or your healing mojo, we need to move. Occlusions over, anyone with a tracking fob can find you on this planet.”

“Can you fly this ship?” Edge asked. The wellspring of his calm was currently little more than a muddy puddle, but Edge drew on it as much as he could. He stripped off his robe, tucking it under Rus’s head without sparing a thought to the staining crimson that began soaking it.

“Does an ewok shit on their boots? Come on, let’s hit space.” Undyne’s feet clunked on the planking as she ran in the direction of the helm. BD-7 hestated, its optics taking in Edge and Rus worriedly, but in the end, it scrambled after her, obviously intending to keep a sharp eye on this new companion.

That was probably for the best. The convulsions racking Rus stopped as suddenly as they began, leaving him bloodied and unconscious. Edge lifted him into his arms with a grunt, staggering as the ship lifted off and headed towards the outer atmosphere.

One of them needed to keep it together, that unknown voice had told him and it seemed as if now was Edge’s turn.

Carrying Rus towards their sleeping quarters, Edge couldn’t help hoping sourly that he could. Just lately it seemed all they ever did was break apart.

~~*~~

tbc

[moondustaeil]

rêverie ⁏ huang renjun

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ✧☾.·:·. rêverie

⠀ ⠀⠀ about

⋅  genre : artist au, angst, platonic relationship

⋅  characters : artist!Renjun x reader

⋅  word count : 1.4k 

⋅  note : Based on “In an Artist’s Studio” by Christina Rossetti , leave some feedback if you want to, I might base more fics on poetry!

⠀ ⠀  ⠀ ⠀

⠀ ⠀⠀ summary

⋅  You , the subject of Renjun’s art. Dressed in dreamlike clothes, angelic white, ruby-red that resembles a queen. Fair as the moon, and joyful as the light: you fill his dreams

“The look in your eyes is quite distressing, angel”

Renjun pointed out as he stared into your eyes for a short amount of time, his head tilted to see your emotions through multiple perspectives. Multiple perspectives, but only one single emotion was displayed. Sorrow filled his eyes upon seeing the never-ending trail of distress, hadn’t he made you happy after the grand exposure yesterday. He had the impression that yesterday’s smile was pure and genuine, but upon seeing your current expression, he began to realize false smiles didn’t always look that different from genuine ones.

A nervous hair ran through his silver-grey hair, tugging at the ends but stopped before it could cause damage, instead, he clasped his hands together. Both his index fingers circulated around one another, playing a game of tag to prevent a war of nerves in his head. Self-hate absorbed the pride he had been building up through the past time, how could he be blind to the consequences of his actions? Perhaps selfishness and confidence turned one eye blind, while the other eye had forgotten about you as well. Resulting in the lowering spiral your relationship was floating on. His eyes once more searched for yours, in hope that his eyesight had been betraying him as punishment for his insensitivity. Though, your eyes continued to show distress, and distress only.

In defeat, his eyes tore away from yours. His shoe-clad feet stepping over the cold tiles. The room might have been illuminated by candles only, but Renjun was aware of each piece of furniture that surrounded him. Past the sheet-covered furniture stood the body that he had chosen to expose yesterday. The colors appeared to be darker than they were yesterday, perhaps as a consequence of the sadness, or simply because all of the windows had been covered to darken all existing sources of light. A slight smile carved its way to his lips when the personage he created gave her loveliness back to him. A queen dressed in a ruby-red long gown, elegantly seated on a balustrade that had victorian typed spindles. In the background, greenery patterned itself through the shape of a tree.

Though as beautiful as the personage was, more than a piece of jewelry, the personage could not be. The loveliness displayed was brighter than the golden necklace and yet, he had no option but to hide the masterpiece behind a screen. “Is it because you dislike being a queen?” Renjun asked out loud, slightly facing the distressed eyes he had left a few minutes ago. Rather than the eyes, his eyes went to your lips as he waited for a simple answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’. The two words repeated in his mind, perhaps trying to send them to you through telepathy so that either of the two options would give him a clear view. The room fell into a hole of utter silence, though, Renjun’s breathing prevented silence from visibly settling down amongst you.

“Why won’t you tell me, angel?” Renjun asked as he grieved momentarily over your silent treatment, his eyes displaying a great sadness but it didn’t compare to the heartbreak he felt on the inside. His muse deadening his words without listening, her own lips never letting them come alive again. He stepped away from the royal personage, making his way towards you with unstable steps. From the way you looked back at him, he couldn’t tell if you were disturbed by him, or the masterpiece with the kind eyes. Walking through the unknown path towards you, was like walking the path between heaven and hell. That same path was covered by alluring roses, as well as seductive thorns. A single touch and the way was paved in your chosen direction, two options, one path, and only one chance.

Renjun felt as if he was walking upon that path, it resembled the choice that had to be made. Despite refusal of those words, within his heart, he realized he could not have all in life. A smile was what he gave you as he was able to see you clear once again, his eyes merely found yours as he compared the ruby red from his new personage, to the opal white your skin was covered with.

Opal colored fabric clothed your bare body. The long sleeves of the dress rested just below the knuckles of your hand, not giving him the opportunity to kiss upon the back. Rather than seated, you were standing upon bare feet that must have gotten cold due to the endless waiting for him. The fresh greenery you offered, was shaped in a halo and filled with olive leaves. How could you not see your resemblance even after the same meaning was added time after time? The selfsame figure, and yet you hated her with a passion.

“My divine messenger, would you spread a word for me?” He asked in hopes he would get to speak to you through your occupation as a messenger. Angels brought messages like a queen ruled over a kingdom. Though each had their own occupation, meanings behind occupations were equally important to one another. The way your posture seemed to be open for his speech, made him let out a sigh of relief even if he realized you had not moved at all. “Tell my angel that I am deeply in love with her…” He spoke, directing the message to you in third-person. Whilst saying the words, he couldn’t stop the adorable smile from shining through the remains of his previous sad scowl.

His eyes searched for yours once the words had been spoken out loud, too conscious of his own smile to notice you weren’t reflecting it like a mirror would have done. “Excellent,” he said even if it was towards himself, nodding his head almost as if you had non-verbally confirmed that the message had been delivered. Focus was lost when in distance the sound of a clock was heard, indicating the start of another day right in the middle of the night.

Renjun’s smile flashed your way once more, the love in his eyes slowly vanished behind glimpses of eye contact with you. A souvenir of the past was given to him when he remembered how long he had spent to create the angelic features on your face, how many intervals it took to colorize your opal dress due to the pigments, how freshly-green your crown was as the last molecule of what you had been in another life. In another personage…

History repeated itself in a new canvas when one of his fingers stroked over your cheek, hidden to your eyes, his other hand pulled up the white sheet. The scent of paint prickled his nostrils, his eyes noticing the red stain upon the white sheet, and yet that didn’t stop his hand from plotting.

Many times before this, white sheets had been the only indication of an ending. The time before this, the pearly-white sheet had been thrown over the image goddess due to finding admiration for the personage that they had called an angel. Queen, angel, goddess. All titles that had been given, despite their different names, the meaning had never lost itself, unlike what he had truly lost. Personages went by, each face resembling the exact same as the one before it, each face resembling you.

A black sheet covered one particular canvas in the artist’s studio, hiding the colors from being as joyful as the sunlight was. On that, rather than a personage, a human being that carried the name y/n had been portrayed. The background was fully made up out of greenery that consisted of blooming flowers and growing trees, a grotesque paradise outside of his studio. y/n was portrayed as the person she truly had been rather than how she appeared in his dreams, the love in her eyes immortalized within the paint.

Though Huang Renjun didn’t know y/n, he only knew the unnamed girl that filled his dreams.  

Angelic features hid behind the sheet, and when he turned away from what could have been his. Thorns pricked his skin as he walked to the ruby-red dressed female that now was you, but turned to the uninhabited canvas next to it. A paintbrush anticipating for the start of a new fable on which he would feed himself day and night.

“One face looks out from all his canvases, One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans. We found her hidden just behind those screens,”

[junionigiri]

Just Another Secretary Story! Chapter 2: What Else I Can Do With My Life

Chapter Summary: Director Todoroki confronts Secretary Uraraka about her reasons for leaving. (Midoriya tries his best).

Rating: T

“Y-you’re kidding,” Midoriya stammers in awe.

Shouto shakes his head. “Have I ever lied to you before, Midoriya?”

“Never, since I’ve known you in UA,” his former classmate agrees.

It’s the morning of the day after Spiral’s fundraiser. While he expected to have a better morning because of all the successes last night, he woke up with a terrible headache that neither Victoria, his vitamin-infused shower, nor Sato’s award-winning gâteaux minute au yaourt were able to soothe. Because Uraraka requested to come in to work at noontime for her personal matters (whatever they were), Shouto has had to pick his own suit and tie his own tie and review his day’s agenda by himself.

“So the Bodhisattva of Endeavor Inc, the most patient woman in the world, the angel at the demon Director’s side… Uraraka-san’s finally resigning. Wow. It’s really the end of times.”

Midoriya’s smile is too amused for the dire situation at hand.

“How are you feeling about that?”

“Neutral.”

He’s a capable young hotshot, independent and mature, and he can do everything he needs without anyone’s help. He’s not going to throw a tantrum over anything just because his absent secretary won’t be there to assist him anymore.

“That so? Well I’m glad you’re taking it so well.” Midoriya doesn’t appear too convinced, though. “Did she tell you why she was resigning?”

“Personal reasons.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t understand the details but that’s all she said.”

Midoriya ponders about this briefly. “Well, personal reasons are personal reasons. I take it you didn’t ask her what they were?”

“No. I didn’t expect a satisfactory answer.”

Besides, asking for reasons might be mistaken as asking her to stay. A thing he will never do. Todoroki Shouto doesn’t beg.

The green-haired executive shrugs. “Maybe? But I think after nine years of working together, she’d give you an honest answer to it. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

That’s just it. It’s nine whole years from age twenty to present. Nine years of good, hard work, sleepless nights, and successes one after the other. And she ends it all in one night with a smile on her face.

But she’s acting within her rights, so he shouldn’t complain. Whatever those personal reasons are, he doubts he would be very interested in them. Anyhow, “What personal reasons could there be to quit a good, stable job you’ve had for nine years?”

“Oh, plenty,” Midoriya answers with a patient smile. “Health, family, a sense of fulfillment.... Maybe she wants to write a novel. Or get married to a nice guy.”

A muscle twitches under his eye. “Those are unacceptable reasons. She has the best health plan any company can offer, she doesn’t have children, and her work--our work--is fulfilling. World-changing. As for the other reasons--”

He pauses. Does Uraraka like writing? He’s never seen her read or write anything except things related to work. As for marriage, well. His sudden annoyance at the idea of her marrying an unexceptional man aside, married women are allowed to work at his office, so he doesn’t see why that is a problem.

Midoriya only laughs. “But they’re personal, so you have to accept them. You understood it last night pretty well.”

Maybe he did because his guard was so down with his elation from their successes and all that whisky, but now that he’s sober he struggles with the sheer absurdity of it all.

“Anyhow, since she’s leaving, you have to be prepared for a new secretary. It’ll be shaky at first, but I’m sure Uraraka-san will train her well before she leaves you.”

Besides the time it will take to find her replacement, Secretary Uraraka is given two weeks to a month to turnover her duties to the new hire. A blank slate prone to mistakes. Already Shouto is dreading going through the process.

Things would be simpler if Uraraka didn’t quit and nothing changed. Change is awful. Why must he be subjected to this again? Does he deserve this turmoil?

“So, that’s some time to find out what her reasons are,” the freckled executive continues brightly. “And maybe, if you find out what they are--”

The little Archimedes sitting dormant in Shouto’s brain suddenly screams, Eureka!

“Then she doesn’t have to quit being my secretary anymore.”

“Then you can support her in--huh? Come again, Director?”

That’s right. If it’s health, he’ll offer her the best treatments that Japan has to offer, overseas if he has to. If it’s family, he’ll compensate her more than enough to support them. If it’s work, or a novel, or travel, or whatever, there’s always money he can throw to solve those.

If it’s marriage, well... that might be difficult, but Shouto has solved every problem that came his way, and this will be no different. There’s no reason for Uraraka to throw away nine whole years of good work for any silly personal reason she might have come across.

Best of all, it won’t be begging if he has something to offer. How could he have missed it?

“As expected from you, Midoriya. Talking to you in your much smaller office has unexpected productivity benefits. I’ll talk to accounting to give you further compensation.”

Midoriya falters, a flabbergasted expression on his face. “Th-that isn’t really necessary, Director.”

“Nonsense. You’ve earned it.” The most pertinent problem of the day addressed (somewhat), the young director stands up from Midoriya’s couch and moves to leave. “Well then, break time is over. We should both be attending to our duties now.”

“Director.” Midoriya bows, strangely defeated. “Nice talk.”

Feeling less gloomy than he felt this morning, Shouto returns to his office with a new sense of purpose.

 *

 Meanwhile, Ochako wakes up the same morning feeling more refreshed than usual.

The sunlight hits her face as she sits up from her tiny bed. It’s bright out, she’s still in bed, and she has places to go. It’s gonna be a great day.

She moves about in her messy little apartment, being careful not to trip around her discarded clothes and things as she readies herself for the day. She puts on light make-up, silver earrings and a simple necklace, and puts on her favorite peach silk blouse and pencil skirt. She fixes her hair until the end result of it is respectable but not too flashy. Director Todoroki never likes flashy.

She’s amazed that she’s able to ask for a few hours off in the morning from Director Todoroki. She’s glad that she did such a good job last night that he had no room to say no, and that she plucked up the courage to say that she wants to resign. All it really takes for him to say yes to anything is good results. She didn’t think she’d get here, but she finally has room in her life for important things.

So, on to personal reason number one.

With a sense of confidence she’s never had before, she enters the bank to fill out a few forms. Her heart is light as she signs her name and date on it and passes it on to the clerk.

“Thank you. Um,” the clerk says in mild confusion. “Sorry, your name is Uraraka Hisho ?”

She blushes furiously and takes back the form with an awkward laugh. “No… it’s Uraraka Ochako.” Fumbling momentarily with her pen, she erases the characters for secretary and replaces them with the ones for tea and child-- her proper legal name. 

It’s a mistake she makes more commonly than she’d like, but not for long since she’s resigning. She’d brag about it to the stunned clerk if she could.

After a few stamps, signatures, and computer logs, the clerk hands her copies of her forms and a receipt. “Your debts have been paid in full. Congratulations, Uraraka-san.”

Ochako might have smiled a little too brightly, judging by the way that the clerk and the others around her are visibly taken aback, but she couldn’t help it. “Thank you so much,” she gushes, and after shaking more hands than necessary, she greets the rush morning traffic with a brightness to her soul.

Nine years of hard work, sleepless nights, blood and tears amounted to this. It cost her her youth and a lot of heartache, but she can look back at all of that without regrets. She can finally call Ma and Pa back home and tell them that she took care of things and there’s nothing to worry about anymore.

And she is about to do just that, except her phone vibrates impatiently before she gets to it with a familiar name flashing on the screen. “Director Todoroki,” she answers in her business voice.

“Secretary Uraraka. Where are you? You told me I can expect you back at work by eleven.”

As blunt and intense as ever. It’s ten-thirty according to her wristwatch. “I am on my way back to Endeavor Tower, sir. I will be at your office on schedule.”

“You did not answer my question,” he replies, to which she gives an impolite grimace through the phone.

Suppressing a sigh, she gives the name of the bank and the exact address. “It’s ten minutes away by taxi,” she adds, knowing very well that the Director has no sense of the parts of the city he does not frequent.

“Don’t move. Shoji is on his way.”

“No, that isn’t necessary--” Ochako begins, but the line is cut off before she can put in another word. Honestly, would it kill him to say goodbye like a normal person?

Ten minutes later, the Bentley comes by the curb. The back door pops open to reveal the Director in all his glory. “Get in. We’re going to be late for lunch.”

Ochako slides in the back seat with an incredulous look on her face. “You told me you didn’t need me to accompany you there, Director.”

“Now I need you to,” he replies bluntly. “Will that be a problem, Secretary Uraraka?”

Hiding the twitch under her eye, she answers, “Of course not, Director.”

Shoji catches her eyes through the rearview mirror. The sullen expression in the quiet bodyguard’s face tell a detailed story of the demon Director giving everyone a hard time in the office. Simply put, she just had to do what he says to save both of them the trouble. 

Noted, Shoji-kun, she replies silently. He appears grateful for it.

And so begins their awkward ride. As they speed off, she decides to adjust the Director’s tie for him--it’s been a while since he wore one on his own, and it shows. This should be routine, nothing special, but today it was just weird. Todoroki’s glare is a thousand times more intense today and he won’t stop glaring at her right in the face and it just makes her feel like her face is too close to his.

Feeling like she’d catch fire if she took too long with his tie, she fixes it in a hurry and sits at an arm’s length away from him.

The strangeness doesn’t stop there. She expects to spend the hour drive to the Todoroki estate in their usual, comfortable silence, but somehow the stretch of silence seems a little strained now, and in the middle of it the Director clears his throat and asks, “So. How was your morning? Did you spend it well?”

Is this…. small talk?

Nine years of complaining about small talk and he’s suddenly engaging her in small talk??? She sees that even Shoji is taken aback by this. “... Yes. I was finally able to finish some personal business that needed fixing. Thank you for generously giving me the morning off.”

The Director hums thoughtfully. “Your personal reasons, ” he confirms. When she nods, he adds, “I’m glad that went well, then.”

There’s a little smirk on his lips when he says that. What is going on with this guy? She doesn’t wonder about it for too long though as they make it to the Todoroki Mansion outside of the city.

It’s big, sprawling, and overall intimidating. An ordinary person wouldn’t know that an estate as big as this existed close to the crowded city, but Ochako knows this place well thanks to the Director and Chairman Todoroki’s whims.

At the door, Todoroki Fuyumi welcomes them in with a graceful smile. “Oh, you brought Uraraka-san as well,” the older sister says in surprise. “You told me it’s just you.”

“She was with me. It was merely convenient to bring her along.” Ochako tries not to puff her cheeks in offense.

Knowing her baby brother very well, Fuyumi doesn’t seem that convinced. “Well, I always like having you here, Uraraka-san. At least Shouto's going to behave better," she adds with a teasing smile directed at her brother, who obviously does not appreciate it. "Let’s go, father’s waiting.”

In the dining room, Todoroki Enji, Chairman of Endeavor Inc, is fuming in his seat. But that's not surprising. Ochako has never seen the older Todoroki wear any other expression for all the years she's known him. “Shouto, what’s this I hear about you and the Yaoyorozu girl?”

“Hello, Father, it’s nice to see you too,” the Director drawls, taking his seat across him. Ochako sits next to him just as the servers place all sorts of entrees in front of them: traditional Japanese food, plus an inordinate amount of zarusoba and kuzumochi. Typical Todoroki household fare.

“Answer my question,” Chairman Todoroki rumbles.

Director Todoroki slurps his zarusoba in response.

By now it’s easy to imagine fire coming out of all of the holes of the Chairman’s head. “Here I took the trouble of finding an appropriate spouse for you, did all the negotiating and all the bothersome work, and you end up wasting my efforts in the most shameful way possible.”

“I thought you’d be used to it by now,” the Director answers easily. “Yaoyorozu’s wasted on me. I did her a favor.”

“You don’t get to decide,” Todoroki Enji says bluntly. “Her father’s a good friend of mine who the company owes a lot of favors since I started it. I won’t be able to face him after that stupid stunt you just pulled.”

The younger one sighs. “I’ll make it up to her,” he relents.

While the Chairman gives him a barely-satisfied grunt that comes with the expectation of his son getting back together with Yaomomo, Ochako knows that the Director is likely going to send her an apology bottle of wine or something similar. She hopes that he sends Shoji for that errand instead of her for a change.

The Chairman unexpectedly turns to her as she places kuzumochi in her mouth. “And you. Don’t just do every single shameless thing that my son asks you to do. If you want to keep your job, you’d do well to use your own discernment and not just his.”

That shit stings to the highest level, and if it were any other secretary than her, she would have burst into tears. But she’s Secretary Uraraka, and she is better than that. “Thank you for your kind advice, Chairman, but you don’t need to worry about me. This is my last month of work in your company, so--”

All manner of cutlery falls noisily on their plates. Todoroki Enji and Fuyumi are staring at her in plain shock. Well, she expected this. This is the first time she mentioned her resignation to them after nine years of serving Todoroki Shouto and his family after all.

But Todoroki Shouto also seems to have dropped his chopsticks on the floor in favor of staring at her like she just stabbed him the gut. What did she say that was so surprising to make him turn blue in the face? Did she mispronounce anything again?

Fuyumi speaks above the violent coughing fits that come after. “Uraraka-san, do you have a minute? I want to show you something in the sitting room.”

Trying not to appear too stunned, Ochako mutely follows Fuyumi out after a brief and deep bow to the shocked father and son combo. 

 *

The drive back from his father’s house is uncomfortable. That’s to be expected after coughing out cold noodles from his trachea while watching his father do the same thing with a mouthful of chewed kuzumochi. Then there’s the heavy air of betrayal coming from the person sitting on his left.

“I didn’t know you were still quitting,” he manages to say in a calm, albeit very strained voice. “And to announce it in front of the Chairman like that.. that’s as good as making it final.”

Uraraka looks at him as if she said nothing out of order at all. “Yes, sir. I don’t recall saying anything otherwise.”

“You said your personal affairs were all resolved.”

“One of them, sir,” she answers in a careful tone. “But that does not change my decision. I still plan to resign for personal reasons.”

Again with those reasons. Whatever they were, they can’t be as important as her work with Shouto. He’s sure that they’re easy things that can be resolved, like the thing she resolved in just a few hours.

“So tell me about them,” he tells her, trying not to appear as menacing as he felt. “What are these very important personal reasons that will make Secretary Uraraka abandon all that she’s built with Todoroki Shouto for the past nine years?”

Maybe it was unfair to phrase it like that. Shouto doesn’t know where all the negative emotions are coming from, to be honest, and he doesn’t know why he’s reacting this way to her. He considers taking it back and rephrasing his question in a more professional way, especially when Uraraka’s brown eyes darken with something that makes him want to retreat.

But he doesn’t take anything back--if this candor is what keeps Uraraka from running out on him, he’ll give it to her.

Uraraka takes a deep, calming breath. “It’s nine years, as you said. Good, productive years where I gained valuable skills and knowledge by your side. I’m grateful for all the experience.”

As you should, Shouto thinks smugly, before she continues.

“But I’m already twenty-nine years old and I live alone and I don’t want to be anymore. I have to work hard and make up for lost time if I want to get married and have children.”

What a mundane reason. Doesn’t she know that the company gives certain perks to married people and their children? “So find someone, go to city hall, and marry them. I’ll give you a day off for that. You can have one tomorrow if you want.”

Uraraka stares at him incredulously. “It doesn’t work that way, Director.”

“That’s how people are legally bound in marriage according to the laws of Japan. Am I mistaken?”

“No, but--” she pauses, laughs in frustration. “Marriage doesn’t work that way for ordinary people like me. Especially with so little opportunities to meet someone worthwhile to marry.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really.” Uraraka’s tone is stiffer than usual. “May I remind you that for the past nine years, my work starts before the sun rises and ends right before midnight with no days off. There’s no way for me to meet anyone if I keep up that schedule.”

Shouto gives her a look that confirms that indeed, he doesn’t understand why it’s a problem. Isn’t it all on her if she can’t manage her personal life? But instead of looking apologetic about it, she gives him a pitying look. “It’s all right Director, I don’t expect you to understand. You are far from ordinary, after all.”

“I am,” he tells her without boasting. “So don’t underestimate me.”

“I’m not, sir.” Uraraka looks at him, eyes wide and bright. “Director… I’ve given nine of the best years of my life to you and your company. I don’t regret anything about it. But don’t you agree that it’s time to see what else I can do with my life?”

The silent plea in her eyes makes the air around Shouto feel like lead.

No, it can’t be true. Nine years of her being at his side, nine years of good hard work, blood sweat and tears. Do they mean nothing to her? Was it all a waste? Did he really force her to waste her life on him?

Why did it feel so terrible to realize this?

All the snide remarks die in his throat. Suddenly it’s hard to look at her. Suddenly it’s hard to focus on anything except the rushing city past the window beside him. In the glass, Shouto sees her reflection staring at his back quietly.

It’s not long before she looks forward to a place far away. 

 *

 “And that’s the gist of it,” Shouto says, nursing a cup of tea as he looks out at the veranda. It’s full of plants as green as Midoriya’s head. He wonders how the marketing chief doesn’t lose himself in it.

Clad in a T-shirt that says shorts and a pair of sweatpants, Midoriya tries not to laugh at his plight, and fails.

“I don’t appreciate that, Midoriya,” he warns him. Even though he invited himself to the other executive’s home, it doesn’t give him the right to laugh at a superior officer.

“Sorry.” He controls the smile on his face expertly and continues with a cough, “It’s just that it’s all that the company is gossiping about all day long. To think that the Chairman choked on his lunch over it… it’s bigger news than I thought.”

“A bigger problem,” Shouto corrects him sternly. “It’s a bigger problem for the company than we thought.”

Midoriya gives a high pitched eeeh. “Is it, though? She’s going through the proper procedure before she leaves work. And she gave you a sound reason for quitting, so…”

“It’s not reasonable to quit a good career just because she wants to get married.”

“It sounds pretty reasonable to me. Lots of people want to prioritize relationships over their careers and the other way around. Neither one is the only correct thing to do. It’s simply a personal decision.”

And here he thought that he worked so well with Uraraka because she belonged in the second group like him. For him it wasn’t a matter of prioritizing career over anything because there was nothing else. Since when did Uraraka want a relationship? “I thought we were on the same page all this time. Before I knew it, her mind’s already made up and there was no room for me to change her mind.”

It feels unfair. He’s likely being immature about all this, but Uraraka’s worse, because she’s stubborn.

The other man shrugs. “At the end of the day, it’s not your decision to make.”

“Well, it should be.”

“Director… it doesn’t work like that.”

Uraraka is his employee. His. And nobody else’s.

Green eyes look him over carefully. “But you know, there’s only one reasonable thing to do about this, right? And that is to--”

Shouto can’t say that the gentle, hinting smile on his best friend’s face is his favorite. It’s much too patronizing and it reminds him how emotionally inadequate he is. But then again, every time he does it, enlightenment follows and a solution appears.

“--marry her.”

“--wish her well in her--wait, what?!!!”

He stands up more unsteadily than intended as he listens to sound of the universe clicking things in place.

How could he have missed such an obvious solution? The old man wants him to marry someone. Uraraka wants to marry someone. There’s no rule in the company that spouses can’t work in the same office. If they don’t take too long with prenuptial agreements, they can get married in no time. It all works out.

“Midoriya, excellent job. Expect another call from accounting,” he says, finishing the rest of his tea in one swallow. Midoriya has a face that can’t be read, but it doesn’t matter now that he knows the precise, exact, correct answer to this previously unsolvable situation.

“No, that’s not--” Midoriya stammers, following him out of his house. “Todoroki-kun--I mean, Director, are you serious? You’re going to propose to Uraraka-san? Because that’s definitely not what I meant when I said those things…”

“Maybe not,” Shouto says, “So that means I came up with the perfect answer on my own, doesn’t it?”

Midoriya gives him an uneasy look. “Director, this isn’t going to work.”

“Hm,” Shouto says doubtfully. “In the unlikely event that it doesn’t, I’ll come back to you for analysis.”

Midoriya looks like he has an hour’s worth of mutterings to say in this regard. Shouto can try to listen to that, but he’s already wasted enough time.

Leaving the flustered Midoriya on the curb, he speeds off into the night, an address in a middle-class area of the city his target. 

  *

 Because Director Todoroki unexpectedly cut their work short in favor of consulting Chief Midoriya in his home, Ochako finally had extra time to do some shopping.

Grocery shopping is a simple joy that she doesn’t take for granted. Today she made it before the afternoon sale on eggs closed. It’s been a while since she last enjoyed a good home-cooked meal, and she’s looking forward to all the things she can cook for the next couple of days.

“Let’s see… tonight, omurice sounds great,” she says, singing a little song to herself. “Oh, and I have some time to check out that k-drama Tooru-chan told me to watch!”

There isn’t much to see in the neighborhood she lived in. Most of them are apartment complexes with affordable rent. She managed to score the cheapest one. The street is narrow, which isn’t usually a problem since most of the residents there don’t own cars. And it may be too quiet, but quiet is good. Quiet means she can take it easy, and...

An all too-familiar Bentley takes up the entire street in front of her apartment. Gods, nothing in this life is ever easy.

Director Todoroki is leaning against the hood of the car, intently watching the door of her apartment like a cat waiting for a mouse to come out of a hole in the wall. That’s strange enough, but stranger still is the fact that he evidently drove there by himself, didn’t get lost, and didn’t seem to have run over anything or anyone on accident or otherwise.

“Director?” she calls out experimentally, on the off-chance that it’s all an elaborate hallucination.

The curt executive turns to her immediately. The familiar severe look on his face tells her that this absurd situation is happening for real. “You’re finally back. It took you a while.”

His blue and grey eye run over her in a flash. This might be one of the few times he’s seen her outside of her work clothes. It shouldn’t bother her since she’s off duty, but suddenly she’s self conscious of the old teambuilding exercise shirt and gym shorts she opted to wear to buy her food.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, not willing to prolong this awkward moment any longer.

“I was waiting for you,” he answers, as if it’s obvious. “There’s something that I need from you. And from my understanding, there’s something that you need from me, too.”

She tells him plainly, “I don’t follow.”

“It’s all right, Secretary Uraraka. It took me a while before I caught on, too.”

He steps forward, ever impressive in his tailored suit, striking eyes almost glowing in the dark with purpose. It's been a while since she feels the boggled feeling ordinary people feel when seeing his disconcertingly handsome face. Maybe because it's so dark and it's just them and why the heck is he in such an ordinary part of town anyways?

She really, really, really doesn’t understand what is going on, and so she responds to him in the way that works on him--bluntly. “Director, please let me know what you want,” she says, struggling to remain professional in her shorts. “I’ll do my best to comply.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good.”

Without warning, he drops to one knee, awkwardly gathering the hand that’s not carrying two dozen eggs, and pretends it isn’t awkward at all. As if this isn’t awkward enough--

“I want you by my side forever. Marry me.”

All her plans of making omurice are instantly obliterated as the bag drops on the concrete beside them. 

[teacupcreations]

TITLE OF STORY: Exceptions to the Rules CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: Chapter Twenty-Five  AUTHOR: teacuphiddlesfics & cheers-mrhiddleston WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Twin AU - Jag!Tom & Exec!Tom GENRE: Angst/Drama FIC SUMMARY: A year after the events of What’s Yours is Mine, identical twins Thomas and William Hiddleston have fully acclimated to each other’s lives; William becoming a larger part in Thomas’s cartel, Thomas lending a hand in the family Hiddleston Corporations. Another important, albeit unexpected part of their shared livelihood is the inclusion of a bit of happiness in the shape of a woman: their employee, Amanda Tremaine.

Running out of hope that Thomas could ever be fully invested in a relationship with her, Amanda turns elsewhere, leaving Thomas with feelings that he cannot fully describe. But her new relationship brings out unforeseen circumstances that Thomas and William can’t ignore, leading all three of them down a path that will test each of them in their own way. RATING: M WARNINGS: explicit language, violence, drugs, sexual content AUTHOR NOTE: This is a collaboration between myself and cheers-mrhiddlestonand the sequel to What’s Yours is Mine. We’ll be alternating writing the chapters again, so make sure you’re following Madison if you aren’t already and stay up to date with the entire twins universe here

William was furious as he stormed through the doors of his and Thomas’ go-to bar. He knew the moment Thomas took off where he would go to. When things got tough, Thomas turned to his two vices - alcohol and drugs. He just hoped he hadn’t spiralled in the short amount of time since leaving the house.

A quick glance around the bar and he located his twin, sitting at the bar and drowning away the unexpected news. Without a word, William crossed the distance, grabbed Thomas by the arm, dragged him off the stool and shoved him against the bar counter.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Thomas tried to push him away.

“Trying to knock some sense into you, apparently.” William gripped Thomas’ coat lapels. “What the hell are you doing, Thomas?

Thomas tried to brush him off again. “Figuring shit out.”

“By getting drunk?”

“I’m not drunk.”

The alcohol was pouring off of him, however. “No, but you’re nearly there. God, brother, come on.”

“I just need a little time.”

“You’ve had enough time.” William looked over at the empty glasses. “Enough drinks, too.”

“I need a little more.”

“Tough shit, big brother. Time to get your head out of your ass and deal with this.”

Thomas stared at him for a long moment. “I can’t,” his voice cracked.

“You can.”

“No, William, I really can’t.” Thomas turned his head away.

“What are you do afraid of.”

“What-what if I turn out like him?”

William paused before sighing. “You won’t.”

“But how do you know that?”

“Because, Thomas, you know what it’s like to have that as a father? You won’t be anything like that to your own kid.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know YOU, big brother.”

William loosened his hold until his arms dropped to his side. Thomas sighed as he raked a hand through his hair. “I never wanted a kid. I’d fuck them up, William.”

“You won’t”

“I’m a fucking drug dealer!”

William hissed as heads started to turn towards them. Grabbing his arm, he pulled Thomas out of the bar. “You run a cartel, not quite the same thing.”

Thomas snorted. “My apologies, I secure drugs for higher profile clients. That’s not exactly father material.”

“Our father was a CEO, and he wasn’t exactly father material. A job doesn’t dictate that,” William pointed out

“But the fact that I’m fucked up does.”

“You’re not fucked up.”

Thomas shook his head as he walked a few paces away. “Get your eyes checked, little brother. I can’t quit cocaine after over a decade. I kill people. Torture them. And I don’t even bat an eye at it. I’m. Fucked. Up.”

William fought rolling his eyes. “You have enough common sense to know that has nothing to do with raising a child.”

Thomas was frazzled as he paced back and forth. “Fuck. God. I don’t know what to do. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Neither does she, Thomas.” William  caught his gaze. “She’s freaking out, just as you are. She’s panicked and she needs you.”

“But I don’t know how to be there. I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“And she does? No one knows. You learn.”

“What if I can’t?” Thomas asked so earnestly. “What if I can’t learn and I just end up hurting her and...and our kid?”

“You’re not someone that just gives up.”

“I can’t.” Thomas shook his head in refusal. “I can’t, William.”

William’s eyes narrowed. “Then maybe you’re not so different from father.”

The change in Thomas was immediate, just as William predicted. “I’m nothing like that scumbag,” his jaw clenched.

“Then prove it.”

They glared at each other, waiting for the other to fold.

“Prove you’re nothing like him. Prove that you’re the caring man that Amanda and I both know that you are. I get you’re scared, big brother. Most people are. This is different. This is new. But you’re not in this alone.”

Thomas stared him in the eye for the longest moment before hanging his head. “Is she okay?”

“She’ll be better once you’re back.”

“I don’t know how I’ll face her.”

“Like a man. Like the brother I know.”

“Fuck.”

“I know.” William walked up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, you can’t face her smelling like you do. There’s a diner around the corner, you’re getting a coffee and a burger. I’ll sober you up if it kills me.”

“You’d both be better off just letting me get drunk and leaving.”

William looked him directly in the eye. “I let that happen once before and I’m not going to let that happen again. Neither is she. Have a little faith.”

“I don’t deserve her.”

“She loves you, Thomas. Enough that whatever your decision about the baby will be, then it will be hers too.”

“How am I supposed to even make a decision?”

William chucked. “You talk.”

“I’m not exactly a talker.”

“You are with her,” he reminded. “You used to lie awake all night talking. Never with anyone else. Only her. That’s still true. Talk with her. Make a decision together.”

Thomas started to argue and William held up a hand to stop him.

“This isn’t just you. The two of you are a team now. You have to deal with this together.”

The expression on Thomas’ face shifted. “Maybe you should just do this. You want a family. You know you can do it.”

William looked at him in shock. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Thomas.”

“What? Our DNA is the same. No one would question it.”

“Fucking hell,” William muttered under his breath. “I’m going to punch you in the goddamn face if you don’t walk to the car right fucking now.”

“I thought the diner was around the corner.”

“Forget the fucking burger. We’re going home right now. So you can see her, touch her, and remember that she wants you. She’s always wanted you, Thomas.”

“Is that really the best…”

“One more word and you’ll be going home with a bloody nose.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow and his hands.

“Car. Now.”

The ride home was quiet as William drove. With every glance over, William saw the worry, the fear, the terror.

“It will be okay, big brother,” William said softly. “You will be okay.”

“This wasn’t planned.” “Hate to break it to you, but a lot of times it isn’t.”

Thomas sighed. “I never...god I never expected this.”

“Neither did she. She was panicked when she called me. She was so afraid.” William caught his eye quickly. “She was afraid to lose you.”

The pain was evident in Thomas’ face. “I didn’t want to hurt her. I just...I just shut down. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel. I just had to get out of there.”

“I know. I get it. She will too once you talk to her,” William pulled into the driveway. “She’s in your room. Hasn’t left the bed.”

“Do you want to do this for me?” Thomas asked hopefully.

“Nope,” William chuckled. “I’ll give you some time to talk.”

“What?” His eyes were wide. “You’re not coming in?”

“You’ll be fine, big brother. Just be honest with her. Be with her. That’s all you need to do.”

“If you say so.”

“Go.” William all but shoved him out of the car.

Thomas stood before the house, the sounds of the car backing back out of the driveway behind him. He didn’t have anywhere to run this time. The front door creaked as he opened it. As did every stair as he made his way to the second floor.

Amanda laid in bed, her back to the door, her knees pulled up to her chest. Thomas thought she was asleep at first, but the soft sniffs proved she was awake. He took a step, and then another, but stopped before he could get too deep into the room.

“Amanda,” his voice cracked. “Manda.”

Her entire body tensed as she pulled further into herself.

He had done this. He caused this.

“Manda I...I don’t know what to say.”

Her arms wrapped tighter around herself. “Y-you didn’t have t-to say anything a-at all.”

He winced. She was right. His walking away spoke louder than anything he could have managed.

Another step towards the bed, Thomas paused. “I was scared. I am scared.”

That caused a reaction. Amanda pushed herself up, twisting her body so her tear stained eyes could glare at him. “You’re scared? How do you think I’ve felt, Thomas?”

He deserved that. “I know. I know, alright? I wasn’t thinking. I just...I just reacted, and it was wrong. I realize that now.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter when you realized it. It was your initial reaction. To leave. To just walk off. You wouldn’t even talk about it. Talk with me.”

“I’ve never been a talker.”

Her voice was tiny when she responded. “You were with me.”

The second one to remind him of that. His eyes closed as he dragged a hand down his face. “I never thought I wanted this. Not just a...god, a baby. I didn’t think I would be with you.” He looked at her. “You came out of nowhere, Manda. I didn’t expect you. I didn’t prepare myself for you. You barreled into my life and then I nearly lost you. I did, for awhile. Because I screwed up. I’m always going to screw up, Amanda.”

Amanda pulled her legs up to her chest. “You always think the worst.”

“Because I am the worst.” He tried to make her understand. “Look at my job, Amanda. Look at who I am at the end of the day.”

“I do!” she cried out. “I do see you.”

“Then why are you with me?”

She unfolded off the bed and got to her feet quicker than he was expecting. She put herself right up in front of him, poking him in the chest with her long nail. “I see you, Thomas Matthew Hiddleston. I see your heart. I see how much you care about your brother. That you’d do anything for him. I see how you take care of your employees. How you care for Moira and Izzy. I see how to care for Winston when you hate him but he’s mine. I see,” her voice broke as tears slid from the corners of her eyes.

There was a poke to his chest at every other word, her finger shaking more after each time.

“I see how much you love me. How you care for me. How you touch me. How you look at me. How you hold me all night long. How you put a smile on my face even when you’re stressed. Damn it, Thomas, I see you, why can’t you?”

The defiance in her eyes started to crumble. “Manda,” he rasped out, his hand going to the back of her neck and pulling her to him.

She only pushed against him for a moment before melting into his arms. He could hear the muffled sobs into his chest as his hand ran through her hair. It felt like his heart was too big for his chest. It hurt. It hurt.

“Shh,” he tried to calm her. To calm himself.

The shaking in her body slowed eventually, until only a few hiccup sobs could be heard.

“I-I thought if you-if you didn’t want this we could...it’s still early,” she sniffed softly.

Thomas’ eyebrows drew together. “Early?” he took her shoulders, pulling her away enough so he could look down at her. “What do you mean early?”

Her expression twisted, the pain obvious. Her arms wrapped almost protectively around her middle. “T-there’s a clinic.”

His eyes widened. “Fuck, you mean to,” his gaze dropped to her stomach. “To abort -” he couldn’t even finish, his throat thick.

Amanda looked away, arms tightening around herself. “I thought I could. To keep you. To keep this. But I-I don’t think I can. Even if it means leaving.”

He didn’t even hear her. All he could hear was ringing in his ears.

Abort. Abort the baby.

Their baby.

“No.” The word spilled out. “You can’t - we cant- kill our -” he cut himself off when he realized what he said.

Her eyes snapped to his. “I don’t want to. I’ll go. I can do this on my own. Dad did. And I was happy. I can-”

All he could think of was the baby being taken. Aborted. Amanda taking it and leaving. Someone else finding it and hurting what was his.

His.

Fuck. This baby was his.

“We’ll do this together.”

“What?” Her arms dropped away.

His hand had a mind of its own as it moved to her flat stomach. “I-I don’t know what I’m doing. I probably never will. I might not be good at this. Shit, I likely won’t be.”

“Thomas…”

“It might be dangerous. Being who I am. People might want to hurt both of you.” he warns. “I don’t know if being with me is safe.”

Her hand went to his. “Thomas.”

“Are you sure I’m a good idea?” he frowned. “What Groves did to you -”

“Wasn’t your fault,” she whispered. “It wasn’t and you need to let it go.”

“How could I ever? What he did to you -” Thomas shook his head. “I won’t let that happen again.”

“I know.”

“Not to you. Or...or our baby. Never,” he vowed. A promise he wouldn’t break. God help anyone who tried to hurt his family.

His family.

“I-I need you to tell me what you’re saying, Thomas.” Amanda grasped his wrist.

He cupped her cheek, brushing away the last few tears. “I’m going to mess up, Manda.”

“No one’s perfect.”

“My father -”

“Is not you,” she interrupted. “Never has been.”

“Might need you to remind me that sometimes.”

“Always. Just...I want you Thomas. But I, I want this baby too. I wasn’t expecting to, but I do.”

Amanda held her breath as she waited for him to say something. When his expression twisted, her face fell.

“Does this mean I have to get a ‘safer’ car?”

She stared at him, not sure if she heard him correctly.

“I like the Jag.” he sighed. “Can we still keep the Jag too?”

A sob ripped through her throat as she threw her arms around his neck. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m going to hear that a lot, aren’t I?”

“I love you.”

His arms were tight around her. “Manda. Mine, always.”

“What are you doing in my closet?”

“Where’s that suit?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “In case you’ve gone mental, you’ve thrown them all on the floor.”

William looked at the disaster and shook his head. “No there was this one...shit...was it pinstripe? No, black and double breasted. Yeah. That one. Where the fuck is that one?”

“There’s three on the floor. Seriously, you’re taking them all to get dry cleaned.”

“No no, it’s not there.” William dragged his hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s too formal. Do you think it would be too formal?”

“For a trip to the mental hospital, yes.” Thomas shook his head, stepping over a pile of shirts. “What’s going on with you?”

William hesitated.

“Out with it little brother.”

Sighing, William leaned against the wall. “I have a date.”

Thomas’ eyebrow shot up. “A date?”

“I sort of asked Emma out.”

“And she said yes to the mental patient?”

“Fuck off.” William groaned. “I’m nervous, alright? I haven’t been on a first date in awhile. And I...shit, Thomas, I like her. Really like her.”

Thomas looked at him for a long moment, not saying a word. William shifted at the silence as he resumed searching.

“You’re thinking too much, little brother.” Thomas spoke softly.

William snorted. “When don’t I?”

Thomas chuckled in return. “You always thought too much for the both of us.”

“Someone had to with your schemes.”

“You came up with your fair share of schemes too.”

“We’re getting off topic.” William sighed.

“If the suit isn’t here it’s likely at the dry cleaners.” Thomas shrugged. “It’s just a suit, William.”

“It needs to be right.” When Thomas raised an eyebrow William let out a grunt in frustration. “It just needs to be, alright?”

“Have you asked, Manda?”

Williams eyes closed, his shoulders slumping. “You know that’s not a good idea.”

“Didn’t she tell you to ask her out already?”

“Her saying that and me doing it are two different things.”

“Yeah I know,” Thomas walked further into the closet, sifting through what remained on the hangers. “But William? If I can face being a...god, a father, you can face a first date.”

“Shit, you’re going to use that card now, aren't you?”

Thomas threw him a grin. “It’s my duty.”

“Just help me find a suit, asshole.”

Amanda leaned against the wall just outside of the bedroom, her hand resting on her flat belly. As the twin’s voice wafted out of the closet and into the hallway. Her eyes closed as she rested her head against the wall.

He was nervous. Had she ever heard him this nervous? It hurt, in a way to know he was nervous to go on a date with another woman. But she didn’t have any right to feel that way, especially since she encouraged William to ask this girl out. Especially since she was pregnant with his brother’s child.

She couldn’t be that selfish anymore. William stepping away had nearly torn their little family apart. And now with a baby on the way, she wanted this family as full as possible.

That thought didn’t ease the ache in her heart, however.

“Maybe I should cancel.” William’s voice was muffled.

“You’re not a coward, William. It’s just clothes.”

“Maybe it’s just not right. If I’m thinking this hard.”

“Your problem is that you’re too deep in your head.”

Amanda smiled. William thought too much. He had for as long as she’d known him.

Sighing, she pushed off the wall, her feet taking her down the hallway to his room without hesitation. Her focus was immediately on his closet as she crossed the room, the perfect outfit already in mind. With a quick swish of her wrist, she was pulling pieces off the hanger and setting them on the bed. She admired the outfit for a long moment, picturing how handsome he would be in it.

Hearing the twin’s voices grow louder, Amanda quickly slipped from the room and retreated downstairs. Where she would hide out while William finished getting ready for his date.

It was official. She had nothing to wear.

Emma groaned as she looked at the mess on her bed. She should be able to find something in that mess. But nothing felt right for a first date.

“This is stupid.” she grumbled to herself. “It’s just a date. Just a silly little date.”

With the most handsome man she’s ever seen in her life. Why he seemed to be enamoured by her, she didn’t have a clue. But she was caught up in those ice blue eyes and broad shoulders.

Meow.

“I know I know,” Emma turned as the black cat jumped onto her bed. “He’s just a man.”

Meow.

“Fine, I’m lying to myself.” another groan. “Should I cancel?”

Meow.

“You’re right, that would be the cowards way out. I haven’t been on a date in months. It’ll be fine. Completely fine.” she tried to pep talk herself. “If I could find something to wear.”

Meooooow.

“Well someone’s vocal…” Emma raised an eyebrow. Her eyes widened, however, as she watched her cat maneuver himself on a pool of green fabric, pushing and prodding with his paws until his bed was just so. “Oh Bagheera you’re a genius.” she swept the green wrap dress up underneath the cat before hairs could start migrating.

Meow.

“Here have these.” she pushed the rest of her clothes in his direction, holding the dress close to her chest.

She really needed to get a hold of herself. It was just some silly little date.

Meow.

“Shhh, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

He was twenty minutes early, like an idiot. And he brought flowers. What was he, a teenager? Did anyone bring flowers to their dates anymore? At least he stopped himself from getting the chocolate. But what if Emma liked chocolate more than flowers? Shit, he should have gotten the chocolate too.

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” William muttered to himself as he paced in front of the restaurant. She was going to think he had never done this before. Why was he even doing this -

“William?”

That sweet caused immediate reaction in his groin. He stifled a moan as he twisted, finding Emma standing there with her sparkling eyes, her wild curls tamed into smooth waves. He had the sudden urge to his hand hands through her hair, to grasp onto to and pull until she was right where he needed her.

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she let out a little laugh when he didn’t say anything.

“Beautiful. I mean, you’re beautiful.” he stumbled over his words - as usual whenever he was around her.

And she was, with the dark green wrap dress that hugged every curve, the neckline giving him enough of a peak of her cleavage to leave him nearly drooling like a school boy.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” her own gaze perused him, her cheeks growing a faint pink. “Are those for me?” she nodded at the flowers in his hand.

“Right. Yes.” he nearly forgot he had them. He flushed as he held them out. “I realize they’re a bit of a nuisance while we eat. I can just -”

She took them before he could finish, bringing the fresh bouquet up to her nose. “They’re lovely. I love flowers.”

William sighed in relief. He didn’t fuck that up, that had to be a good sign.

“I don’t remember the last time someone bought me flowers.” she admitted, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” God he hoped there would be other times.

Her smile just grew. “Do you want to go in?”

“Right yes, of course,” he held out his arm. “You really do look beautiful, Emma.”

“My cat picked it out.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Did I just say that outloud?”

He tried not to grin but failed miserably. “You have a cat?”

“Bagheera.” her cheeks were nearly as red as her hair.

“Like from the Jungle Book?”

“It was my favourite Disney movie.”

“Mine too.”

“Well that’s a relief. If you hated it, I would have to end this date immediately.”

“Well it’s a good thing that won’t have to happen.” he waited until she put her hand in the crook of his arm before leading her toward the restaurant entrance. “I’ve very relieved.”

He held the door open for her, but before she passed through, she squeezed his arm. “Me too.”

Thomas’ hands felt clammy as he knocked on the door. Shit, he couldn’t remember the last time he was consistently this nervous. But ever since Amanda told him about the baby, he couldn’t shake this anxiety. And he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Oh hi Mr. Hiddleston,” Beth smiled as she opened the door to his mother’s home. “We weren’t expecting you today.”

“I’m sorry to just drop by. How is she today?” He realized now his mistake. He should have called. With his mother’s condition, he never knew what he was walking into. What if she didn’t even recognize him?

Beth’s smile brightened. “She’s having a really good day, Mr. Hiddleston. She was just saying how she’s missed her sons.”

Relief flooded through him. “Thomas, please.”

“Thomas. Please, come on. Helena will be so excited to see you. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

“If it’s alright, I’ll surprise her myself.”

Beth nodded as she stepped aside for him to step through. “She’s just out on the back patio for morning tea. If you need me, I’ll be puttering around in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Beth.” he offered a smile before walking through the house from memory alone until he reached the back door. Breathing deeply, he slipped through the doorway and onto the back patio. “Hello mum.”

Helena jumped with a start, but as she turned, the brightest smile was on her face. “Well I was wondering when my sons would remember I existed.” she teased.

Thomas couldn’t help the boyish grin that spread across his lips whenever he was around the one woman who had always been on his side. Before Amanda that was. He had been lucky to find another that accepted him for who he was. He could only hope this child - his child - felt the same way.

“William saw you earlier this week for lunch.”

She rolled her eyes. “And when was the last time I saw you? You’re too busy. You both are. You’re going to miss the life going past you. At my age, you realize how precious every little moment is.”

“I’ll come around more. I promise.” he pulled her into his arms.

“I’ll hold you to that, my love. Now, come, I’ll pour you some tea.” she took his arm and led him over to the table. “And you can tell me why you’re here.”

“Can’t I just come to visit you?”

“I know you.” was all she had to say.

That didn’t calm the nerves. Neither did the first cup of tea. The second didn’t do a damn thing either. Thomas wasn’t sure whiskey would have been any help.

“Just tell me, Thomas.” Helena reached for her son’s hand. “Whatever’s in that head of yours. I know you keep everything so closely guarded, but you came here for a reason. Whatever it is, you know I’m always on your side.”

She meant it, and he knew. But this didn’t make it any easier.

“Mum,” he began, tapping his thumb nervously on the teacup. “There’s um, been a lot of changes as of recent.”

“Is everything alright? How’s William?”

“William is fine. Work is fine.”

Helena frowned. “Has Matthew been disturbing things again?”

He flinched at that name “No, he hasn’t been around.”

She nodded.

“I’ve, uh, met someone.”

Her eyes widened, her lips already twitching into a smile. But still, she didn’t say anything, just letting him find his footing to get it out. She was always good at giving him time, have the patience of a saint.

“Her name is Amanda and I…” he was caught on the words. “She’s become very important to me.”

He could see the excitement in her eyes.

“And we...well…” he scratched the back of his neck. “We recently learned about something big. Something that will change our lives.”

Helena squeezed his hand to encourage him.

“Amanda is expecting.” he blurt out. “What I mean is, well, She’s pregnant and I...I’m going to be a father.”

The breath left him the moment the words were out. He stared at her, waiting for her reaction. Surprise was written all over his mother’s face, but other than that, he couldn’t tell what she thought.

Shit.

Maybe he should have waited. Maybe he should have brought Amanda by first. Maybe he should have just had William spill the beans. Maybe -

“Mum?” Thomas stood suddenly as Helena stood, politely pushing her chair under the table and moving into the house.

He stood there in wonder. She didn’t say a word and then she was gone.

“Great job, idiot.” he muttered.

Of course he would manage to fuck this up too.

Thomas just stood there, not sure what to do. Did he follow her? Did he leave? Was this due to her alzheimer's? One minute she was perfectly fine, but she had switched at a drop of a hat in the past. Had he lost her again so quickly?

Sighing after a few minutes, he pushed his chair in and resigned himself to a failed visit. He would come by again in a few days, see if his mother would even see him.

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite remember where I had put them.”

Thomas looked up as his mother waltzed right back outside, her hands gingerly holding an object. “Mum?”

“I forget things at my age. But I was able to find it.”

“Find it?” He raised an eyebrow. Did she know who she was talking to? And about what?

Helena smiled, with all the love that she had always showered him with as she took his hand and held it with his palm up. “This belonged to you when you were only a baby. Your brother had a matching one. I thought your child might like it as well.”

His eyebrows furrowed as a small, silver rattle was placed in his hand, a ‘TH’ engraved on it.

“I-I can’t take this.”

“Of course you can. It’s yours.” she closed his hand around it. “And it’ll be your baby’s.”

His tongue felt thick in his throat. “I should have told you about Amanda.”

Helena cupped his cheek. “I know you, my son. And I know your love doesn’t come easy. If this woman is special to you, then bring her over for a pot of tea. I’d like to get to know the mother of my grandchild.”

It felt more real, hearing her say it.

“I’m...worried.”

Her head tilted to the side, hand still resting on his cheek. “You are nothing like Matthew, Thomas. You have so much more in your heart to offer. So much more love.”

“I’m not always a good person.”

“Love, Thomas, love is what you need. And I have a feeling you already love this child.”

He couldn’t say it outloud. He could barely say the words to Amanda. But that fierce protectiveness he already felt over his unborn child, that was something, wasn’t it?

He would clutch onto that for the next few months. He couldn’t be like his father. He’d rather walk away before he put Amanda or their child through that.

“You are such a good boy,” Helena patted his cheek softly before stepping away. “Did you want to join me for something to eat?”

“No I, I should head to the office.”

She nodded in understanding. “Don’t make it such a long time before you come to see me again.”

“I won’t.” he vowed.

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Soon, I promise.” he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Always, love.”

“How did your meeting go?” Amanda smiled up at him as Thomas approached his office.

“Better than expected.” he leaned down for a kiss. “Meet me in my office? There’s some...things I want to go over.”

“Sure, just give me five.” worry flickered in her eyes.

Kissing her lips one last time, he passed her desk and into his office. The rattle sat in his suit jacket pocket, almost as if it were on fire. He was more aware of it now that he was so close to Amanda, so close to their child.

“Sorry about that, had to send off an email.” Amanda walked in, iPad in her hand at the ready.

Thomas shook his head, pulling out of his thoughts as he pushed back in his chair and patted his lap. “Come here, sweet girl.”

Her eyebrows furrowed but she set down the tablet on his desk before rounding it to him. “Is everything okay?”

“Don’t worry so much.” he pulled her down onto his lap, careful to be gentle. He would have to remember that now more than ever. His eyes dropped to her flat stomach, amazed that something could be growing inside of her.

“It’s the hormones.” she admitted. “My emotions are all over the place. That’s a valid excuse, for the record.”

Thomas chuckled. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Her hands came to rest at the base of his neck. “Thomas, talk to me. You were vague when you said where you had to go this morning.”

He sighed. “I went to see my mum.”

Amanda frowned. “Why did you keep that a secret.”

“I...I haven’t told her about you. I was scared what she was going to say. I was scared she wouldn’t even know who I was.”

“Oh Thomas.” her thumb caressed the side of his neck. “How was she?”

“Good. She was really good. Completely lucid.”

Relief was evident on her face. “I’m so happy. Did everything go alright?”

“More than alright.” he pulled her tighter against him. “She wants to meet you.”

“I want that.”

“Maybe for brunch.”

“I’d like that.”

“There was something else.” he pulled his hand away, reaching into his jacket. “Something for you. And the baby.”

Her head tilted to the side in confusion. “What is it? Is everything -”

He pulled the rattle free, holding it tightly in his palm before opening his hand. Amanda’s gasp went straight to his heart.

“That’s so beautiful.” she whispered.

“It was mine.” he flipped it over so she could see the engraved initials. “William and I both had them.”

Her finger glides across the small toy. “It’s special.”

“I’m hoping it will be special for someone else too.” he was hesitant at first, but his hand came to rest on her stomach.

Her eyes widened. “It’s for the baby?”

“For our baby.”

Her eyes glistened. “Oh Thomas. I...I don’t know what to say.”

“Well don’t cry.” he grumbled gruffly.

She laughed, slapping his chest. “Good luck with that, you’re stuck with crying for the next couple of months.”

He sobered. “It feels so far away. But so -”

“Close,” Amanda nodded. “I know. It still doesn’t feel real.” her frowned returned. “Is this...are we okay? I know this wasn’t in the plan. I know this isn’t what you wanted -”

“Manda,” he took her by the back of her neck, pulling her to him. “I want - need - you, more than anything. This was unexpected but…” he looked at the rattle. “I think we can do this. I know you can, but I think I can. At least, I want to be able to.”

“You can. I know you can.”

“You have more faith than I do.”

“That’s okay.” she stole a quick kiss. “But we are going to be okay, right?”

“All three of us.” he nodded, his hand still on her stomach. “We’ll be okay.”

“And William.”

“Yeah I guess him too.”

Amanda giggled. “This is going to be weird. We’re having a baby.”

“You’re telling me.” he snorted. “Another mouth to feed.”

“Says the richest man I’ve ever known.”

“Yeah I guess we’ll be just fine then. All of us. Our family.”

A tear slid down her cheek as Amanda smiled so brightly. “Our family.”