#There's no red swirling clouds but I guess that could be explained away as a side effect of permanent Dynamaxing

[melonthesprigatito]

Honestly, I think it's hilarious that the Detective Pikachu movie managed to slip in a blatant reference to Dynamaxing with that entire Torterra garden scene and absolutely NOBODY noticed because the movie came out before Sword and Shield did.

First time I watched the movie, I was like "Oh, I wonder what kind of fucked up unethical experiments that lab did on those poor Torterra to make them grow so big. :(" but when I rewatched it during quarantine after I played Sword, it dawned on me that they must have pumped the Torterra full of Dynamax particles.

Like, this movie and SwSh were probably in development around the same time so I bet some writer on the Detective Pikachu team was just sitting there like "Wouldn't it be funny if we had this entire scene with a game mechanic nobody knows about yet, so when people rewatch the movie later, they'll be like "OH YOU MOTHER FUCK-"

[darth-aces]

Orange Hour

Bella Ramsey x Reader

A short one for this week. Some feedback or suggestions for other stories is always welcomed if you wanted to share any by the way!

Walking towards Bella’s trailer, you unravel a clementine. One hand held the orange, the other hand-multitasking-began peeling away as it held onto a second orange. It’s small volume made it easy to peel and divide, making it even easier for you to share with others.

By the time you reached Bella’s door the clementine was completely peeled. Holding the peel and oranges in one hand you used the other hand to knock. Almost instantly the door opens to a smiling Bella.

“I see my daily dose of vitamin c has finally arrived.” When they say this they bring their hands up cupping them signaling me that they wanted some.

You and Bella do this at the end of each day after filming. You two have even coined this time of your day as the ‘orange hour’. A play on words to it’s ‘golden hour’ counterpart and an attempt to mark a time of the day dedicated to each other.

Surrendering the clementine to them, you place it in their hands and they begin tearing the pieces apart in pairs.

“Lets get going or else we’ll miss it.” You say.

With this ritual you and Bella share the first orange as the both of you make your way up a nearby hill that overlooks the set, giving you a great show of the color changing sky ahead of you before the sun disappears casting a dark blue. During the ‘orange hour’ you two sit and talk about your day and anything that came to mind as you shared the remaining clementine.

“How do you always peel it in a swirl like that?” Bella asks.

“Practice, I guess. Making smaller peels are harder to carry before throwing it out, it’s also less pleasing.” You explain, your eyes fixated on the sky.

“These are good today, sweet and cold. They’re the best when they’re cold.” You nod in agreement. They truly were the best when they were straight from the fridge or a cooler, enhancing it’s taste.

“They’re even better shared.” You say handing them the last slices. They hum in response before letting out a small ‘thank you’.

Suddenly you ask, “what do you think the sky taste like?” Bella snaps their head in your direction, with a humored expression.

“What?”

“The sky, like right now. What’s it taste like?” A chuckle came from their growing smile.

“I wish I could tell you, but I haven’t tasted the sky before.” They confess. “Although, right now when it’s all orange like that, I like to think it’d taste like the oranges we just ate.”

You nod, agreeing with them. “Yeah, I always thought the sky would taste fruity too.” This garnered a laugh from them and an immediate smile from you, satisfied from hearing them enjoy your joke. “I’m serious. It’s orange, pink, red, there’s even some white from the clouds. The sky is just one gigantic lesbian flag.” They find this irresistibly funny, giggling with you.

“But it’s blue most of the day.” Bella points out.

“That’s what makes ‘orange hour’ so special,” you point at the remaining peels in between you, “The sky is blue most of the day until it smells the citrus from the clementine because it reminds her of her lover. She gets so excited and she can’t help but change colors: red, orange, pink, and white. Lastly, she tries to change her taste: a citrusy, cool, orange flavor. Then she realizes that she’d been mistaken and her lover hate’s oranges causing them to ignore the sky’s attempts completely. The sky then returns to her blue state, only now its a darker blue because she’s saddened by how little her lover likes oranges.”

After intently listening to you, Bella says “You made that up.”

“Maybe I did, but you liked it.”

They hummed in agreement. “I think it deserves a better ending. I mean, why would the sky want to taste like an orange? You know, if her lover hates it so much.”

“They taste good, she can’t help it. I think I’d want to taste like a clementine.” Impulsively confessing trying to be funny.

A snort emerges from Bella, making you realize the accidental innuendo you made.

“Not like that. I meant like if someone were to kiss me.” You looked down at your shoes blushing, hoping to avoid eye contact.

A silence brew as you waited for their response, and you get nervous hoping you hadn’t just embarrassed yourself any further with your honesty. Your anxiety from the quiet was soon overcome by curiosity, wanting to see their reaction. Moving your eyes toward Bella’s face you see them looking right back at you. Their expression had a hint of seriousness but it was mostly made up of something that you couldn’t describe.

Keeping their eyes locked on yours, they softly ask, “Did you want someone to kiss you?”

With a shy tone you say, “Only if they liked oranges”, jokingly trying to regain control of the conversation again.

Quietly Bella says, “I like oranges.” They’re eyes never leaving yours adding weight to their honesty.

“Good, I like bringing them to you.” Gaining some confidence you added, “I’d like to bring more though”, as you start to slowly lean your head toward them.

With the remaining space between you two, they look down at your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Another odd question comes to your mind. “Do you think I’d still taste like the clementines? Like the sky?”

“Could I find out?”

The sun disappears and the dark blue begins to take over. The only remaining sign of any red, orange, pink, and white that night was up on the hill, sharing a kiss with their lover.

[wh3nturtlesfly]

Hi sorry if I'm doing this wrong, I don't know how requests work but I would love to see a hero x villain piece where they're stuck in a log cabin together cause of a snow storm! Bonus if the hero has injuries the villain has to take care of 🤭 thank you, your writing is amazing :)

Thank youuu, and I’m SO SORRY this took so long to answer, I hope its still alright, and again I’m sorry for such the long wait!!

The world outside was a slur of white. Flakes passed across the windows with a crystalline grace. They swirled amongst gusts of wind, all of which sent drafts through the old window panes. Frost continued to spread along the corners of the glass and even indoors Hero’s own breath clouded.

They winced when Villain pressed a damp cloth to their abdomen.

“Stop struggling, you’ll only make it worse.” they said, never looking up. The cloth had been white just moments before, pristine as it was taken from the closet and dunked into a bowl of warm water. Now it was caked with crimson. Hero bit their tongue to keep from grimacing.

A patter of water droplets returned to the bowl as Villain wrung out the towel. With a sigh they looked once at Hero’s wound before dunking the fabric back in.

Hero allowed their eyes to trail downwards and for the first time took in the true extent of their injury. A gaping hole served as the aftermath of a dodge executed too slowly. The cause still lay on the floor, having been torn out the moment they stepped indoors. Its blade glinted beside the fireplace, the silver tarnished by scarlet blood.

“Do you mind me asking what you were thinking?” Villain didn’t look up but Hero could only imagine the wrinkle in their brow. Their voice sounded tired. Whether they said it or not, the subtext hung above both their heads. How could you be so stupid?

Hero winced through another wave of pain. “Supervillain’s plan-” they grit their teeth, “I couldn’t just stand by when I figured out what they’re going to do.”

“And you just happened to graze over the fact that Supervillain might suspect you’d come after them?”

“I didn’t think they’d send their lackeys after me.”

“Yeah, well you guessed wrong.” Villain’s jaw was set, but there was concern laced with their words. With a quiet splash they deposited the rag into the bowl and felt for a roll of bandages at their side. It was a shock to find Hero’s skin was nearly as pale as the fabric, still carrying a bluish tinge from the cold.

They looked out the window in hopes of distracting their mind. The cloth was rough against their skin, a contrast from Villain’s cool fingers. “If you’re thinking of running off I would advise against it.” Villain spoke up just as they secured the last of the bandage.

“How’d you know?” Hero was only half joking.

A half hearted attempt at a laugh fell from the Villain. “I know you,” their chuckle faded into wariness. Outside flakes swirled in their frozen paradise and they couldn’t help but gaze out into the raging storm. “Nothing will stop you. Even bleeding and on the edge of consciousness, you would have kept crawling until you died had I not found you.”

Hero shrugged, “That’s just my job.”

“Your job is to help this world. If you go out there now you’ll die, and that sure wouldn’t be very helpful would it?” Villain turned away before they could get a response. Depositing the bowl and rag on a nearby counter, they felt for the kettle at their side.

Steaming water poured from its spout. Villain filled two cups nearly to the brim, just enough space left to insert a tea bag into each. Color began to flow from the thin paper, creating swirls of red. Red. Villain forced themself to look away from the Hero and the soiled cloth they had discarded.

“To help regulate your body temperature,” they explained when they handed Hero the cup. The scent of berries and spices drifted from the beverage’s surface. It almost made the whole exchange feel normal. Cozy even. Villain raised their hand just before Hero could take a sip.

“Careful, it's hot.”

They were met with a chuckle and despite the warning Hero downed a fair portion. It splattered across the floor a moment later.

“Ack! It burns!”

Villain didn’t try to hide it as they rolled their eyes. “A simple cup of tea, and even then you have no self preservation.” That got them a scowl in return, though Villain’s attention had already fallen onto something else. Outside the wind had grown and whistled loudly against the windowpane. Nearly everything was covered in white, not even the nearby trees visible in the storm. “It’s getting bad out there,” they sighed.

“Guess I’m lucky you found me then.” Hero took another drink, though more careful this time. The distant look in their eyes was all too recognizable.

“I told you. You’re not going out there.”

“What makes you think you could stop me?”

“You wouldn’t get three feet from this cabin without succumbing to the cold and snow. Not that I’d ever let you reach that point regardless. With your wounds you are in no shape to face it out there, much less enter battle.”

Hero scoffed, “A little storm doesn’t scare me.” Their voice faltered as they looked to the ground, “Not when there are worse things.”

Tea untouched in Villain’s hands, they forced themself to take a sip while also processing the statement. They knew the detriments of going out in Hero’s shape, and as such they would never let them leave until they had healed somewhat. But after that- Was it selfish that they didn’t want the Hero to cross Supervillain’s path? If this is what had come of the first time, Villain hated to admit they feared what would happen the next time. And still, to keep Hero locked away, even if it meant they could be safe-

“We have two nights left at most. Storms of this level will continue for some time, and I assume we’ll be trapped through most of the day. However,” Villain raised their gaze, “If the sun does make an appearance, it may be possible to set foot outdoors a few mornings after.”

Hero’s head cocked to the side, “What are you saying?”

What were they saying? Villain opened their mouth to speak, then closed it again. This was their nemesis, someone they had fought before. They had quarreled time and time again, but the moment Villain had seen Hero, shivering as flakes covered their nearly unconscious body, they had to help. Something about seeing their nemesis, bloody, freezing, scared. Though they would never admit it, Villain hated to see the Hero hurt.

With a deep breath, they squared their shoulders and faced Hero. “Once the storm ends, you can leave. Your wounds should be decently healed by then. But until then, you must stay. Rest, and gain back what you’ve lost.” Villain gripped their mug tightly, “I know how important this is, for you and the world, and I could never take something like that from you- but, I do have one condition if you do decide to go.”

Hero was hesitant. Curious yet unsure as they gazed into the eyes of the criminal.“And that is?”

“You must take me with you.”

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

Snow Day (An Alcina x Reader Fanfic)

“Found you!” You jump with a start as Cassandra grabs you by the shoulder. You glare at her. “Congrats on finding me, but was the scythe at my throat really necessary?” you ask as she took the aforementioned weapon away from your throat.

Cassandra pouts. “You’re no fun, Maman!” She links your arm playfully and led you down the hall. “Now we just need to find Daniela! Nerd’s probably in the library, reading Wuthering Heights for the 50th time.”

It was a beautiful winter’s day at Castle Dimitrescu. Your wife Alcina Dimitrescu had braved the snowy weather to check on some deliveries. While she was gone, it was up to you to entertain your adopted daughters.

So naturally, you had to play Hide and Seek.

You had already found Bela hiding behind the portrait of her mother in the atelier. Now all that was left was to find Daniela.

“We should split up,” you say. “We can cover more ground that way.”

Cassandra grins manically. “Good idea! We’ll make a hunter out of you yet! I’ll go check the east wing, you go for the west!” With that, she vanished in a swirl of flies.

You head down the hall, glancing behind suits of armor and objets d’art to search for your youngest. Suddenly, you see a glimpse of red hair peeking out from behind the velour curtains. Not a very good hiding place. Surely she’d read Hamlet enough times to know that.

You sneak up behind her, intending to get back at her for the amount of times she’s scared you by jumping out at you in the hallways. As you get closer, you see her looking out over the village. A group of children are in the midst of a snowball fight, squealing as they run over the breast of the new-fallen snow to avoid the frosty missiles being pelted at them. You see from Daniela’s profile a wistful expression has clouded her features.

“Daniela?” you ask gently. She whirls from the window and begins wiping furiously at her eyes.

She turns to face you and beams, her wistful expression vanishing as if it had never been there in the first place. “Oh, there you are Maman! Sorry, I guess I just got a little distracted!” She looked back at the window, where the children’s mother was ushering the little combatants inside, probably for a cup of hot chocolate. “I guess that’s everyone! Can we go for another round, Maman? You found me last, so that means I get to count this time!”

You smile indulgently at your youngest. “Of course, love.”

*****

Later that evening, you and your wife Alcina are lying in bed together, basking in the afterglow after having made love. Your head is on her chest, your body nestled comfortably in the curve of her hip. She runs a hand through your hair. “You’re getting that faraway look in your eyes again, draga mea,” Alcina says, kissing your bare shoulder. “A lei for your thoughts?”

You turn to face her and she rests a hand on your waist. “While you were gone, the girls and I were entertaining ourselves by playing a round of hide-and-seek,” you explain. “When I found Daniela she was staring out the window...at a group of children playing in the snow.”

Alcina’s aureate eyes cloud over and a pained expression crosses her face. “Oh,” Alcina says quietly. “I see.”

She looks away quickly and when you turn her face towards yours, you find her eyes are brimming with tears.

“What is it darling?” you ask gently. “Talk to me.”

“It was the winter after I first took the girls into Castle Dimitrescu,” Alcina begins to explain. “There was a blizzard the night before and Bela and Cassandra came to me suddenly in my office and told me they couldn’t find Daniela anywhere. Daniela and I had had an argument the night before when I told her it was too dangerous to play in the snow. When the girls came to me, I immediately knew what she had done.”

Alcina takes a shuddering breath before continuing. “I bade the girls to stay inside while I searched for Daniela. It was still snowing pretty hard by the time I went outside. I could hardly see ten feet in front of me, the snow was so thick. I tripped over something and when I looked down, I saw her.” Alcina’s voice began to grow thick. “My Daniela. My baby. Lying facedown on the ground. Right next to the snowman she had built.”

You run a hand along her back, tracing your fingers over her spinal column to help calm her down. “It’s all right, my love. You don’t need to tell me any more if it’s too painful.”

“No, dearest, it’s all right,” Alcina says, smiling weakly before going on. “I picked up Daniela and rushed her inside as quickly as I could. I piled blanket after blanket on top of her and ordered the maids to make a fire. But she was so still and her body was like ice, her lips a pale blue.” Alcina sobs. “I thought I had lost her until she suddenly leapt up in my arms. And when she came back, she was so happy. She couldn’t wait to tell me all about the snowman she had made.

“I don’t think I remember being so angry. I shook her hard, telling her to never do that to me again. I wanted to make her realize how dangerous it was for her to go outside, but when she looked at me again, I saw fear in her eyes of me. For a moment, my own daughter was afraid of me.”

Alcina’s body is heaving with sobs and you take her in your arms, kissing her brow before resting your chin on top of her head. “Darling, that was so long ago. You and Daniela have long made amends since then.”

“I know,” Alcina says, as you lift her face up and gently wipe the tears from her eyes. “But every winter since then I get this pain in my chest when it starts to snow because I know how badly Daniela wants to go outside. I know Cassandra and Bela feel it too.”

You think for a minute and then suddenly an idea comes to you. You put on a dressing gown and head over to the telephone. Alcina sits up as you turn the rotary dial. “Darling, what are you doing?” she asks.

You hold up a finger to tell her to wait. The line connects and you hear a soft voice say, “Pronto?”

“Donna! Bona sera. Listen, I was wondering if you could help me with something…"

*****

“Can I open my eyes yet, Maman?’

“Not yet, dearest,” you say as you guide Daniela along down the hall, her eyes covered by a blindfold. ”Just a couple more steps and we’ll be there.”

You look behind you and your other daughters have similar blindfolds on, hanging on Alcina’s arms for support. Alcina looks up at you and gives you an encouraging smile.

“Maman, you know I hate surprises,” Cassandra complained.

“Just be patient,” you chide. You come to a stop in front of the library doors. Gently taking Daniela’s hands in yours, you have her push open the double doors. Alcina herds the rest of your children inside and the doors close behind you.

You and Alcina take the blindfolds off your daughters and you hear Daniela gasp and clap her hands together in delight.

Donna has truly outdone herself. The library has been transformed into a wintery landscape. Big fluffy snowflakes pour down from the skylight although it is closed for obvious reasons. In the middle of the dais, there is a skating rink.

You are surprised to see Moreau and Heisenberg there too along with Donna and Angie. “Well, we knew how much this would mean to the girls, so we wanted to be here to see their reaction,” Heisenberg said with a grin.

You stand to the side and lean your head against Alcina’s side as you take in the scene around you. Daniela is happily making a snowman with Moreau and the fish-man proudly sticks a fisherman’s cap on top of its head. Cassandra and Heisenberg are in the process of making some heavily ramparted snow forts. Bela takes Donna’s hand and leads her to the ice rink. Donna is nervous at first but Bela gently guides her along the ring hand in hand until she feels comfortable enough to skate on her own. Angie, in the meantime, is skillfully doing triple axles seemingly without any effort. Honestly, nothing about that doll surprises you anymore.

Alcina takes your hand in hers and kisses the back of your hand. “Thank you, my darling,” she murmurs against your knuckles.

You smile up at her. “You’re welcome, my-”

The moment is interrupted when a snowball hits Alcina on the shoulder. Alcina whirls around and you are not the least bit surprised to see Hesenberg doubled over with laughter.

Alcina’s thunderous expression softens and she simply gives Heisenberg a smirk. She then reaches down and forms a snowball of her own. Heisenberg realizes the grave error he has made when Alcina straightens and lobs the missile at him. It hits him straight in the stomach and he drops like a stone to the ground.

You glare at Alcina. “Well, he started it!” Alcina says defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

Donna soon starts getting a headache from the effort of holding the image of the illusory snowscape and the other Lords have to leave as well. Daniela surprises the dollmaker by giving her a big hug before she leaves. By the time the door closes behind her, the library is reverted to the way it was before. You turn to your daughters and see they are happy, but tired from the snow day.

Alcina smiles at you and takes a book from one of the shelves. She settles down in her favorite wing-back armchair in front of the fire and the girls gather on the floor around her. You settle yourself in her lap and kiss her cheek as she opens the book and starts to read. “One morning Peter woke up and looked at his window. Snow had fallen during the night. It covered everything as far as he could see…”

[hearica]

Be my Master (01) - [Eddie x Fem!Reader]

Summary - New girl gets to school and runs into a certain someone.

A/N - This is my first time posting on Tumblr, let me know if I need to do anything differently. This is the first part, isn't smutty but trying to build on the plot!

My breath stuttered slightly, when trying to inhale. My first day, it's January, it's bitterly. Hawkins High School, seems nice enough. I wasn't exactly expecting much when I was moving to this small town. But it's quiet, which I like, get in, get my diploma and hopefully off to college.

I shuffled my feet onward, head down as I made my way to the office where I could get my class schedule, I hope I don't have Gym today as I wasn't exactly prepared.

“Here you are, there's a map on the back so you don't get lost,” the receptionist say passing me a wad of papers. I nodded and turned to examine what I had today.

Monday. Gym, first thing. Fuck.

What am I supposed to do, go to for a run in my knee high socks and loafers. I unfolded my map and followed it along the corridors to the gym, which adorned a proud tiger above. Too busy looking around when I thudded into someone.

Fell flat on my ass, my papers thrown to the floor like a fan, spread out.

“Watch it! New girl,” I look up to see a blonde presumably senior, wearing the High School colours in a sports jacket. Clean haircut, clean shave, Jock.

“Sorry...” I say with a tone and bring myself kneeling on the floor now.

“Freak...” he mutters back to me, kicking my papers further away and now down the corridor.

I sighed, this was a great start. I stood up and brushed my skirt back into place, my face just as red as my ass checks no doubt. I gathered my papers together, fighting back tears in my eyes, and quietly pushing myself to go into the gym. I walked in, to see the gym coach. A middle aged man past his prime years, grey patchy beard, sparingly amount of hairs on his head.

“Who are you?” he boomed at me.

“I'm Erica, this is my first day, but I didn't bring any gym clothes,” I explained to him.

He seemed to look me up and down as if I wasn't worth his time, I've never been very athletic.

“Well, you're not much use to me today then. Come back next time with the kit, just take the first period to get used to the school, I guess.” He then turned off away from me, going to the flock of guys now flooding out of the changing room.

I just stood there, what am I supposed to do? Walk around? I sighed, shoving the papers I was still clutching in my arms into my leather satchel before slinking away. I roamed the halls for a little while, empty for the majority of it, except one or two students either playing hooky or going to the toilet.

Tears began to well up in my eyes, I just had to get out of there, I found the nearest door to take me outside. I slammed it open, no one here, good. I went around to the back of the building, fully crying now. Finding a set of concrete steps to sit on, my hands cupping my cheeks whilst my arms rested on my knees.

“I hate it here...” I muttered under my breath, the cold air swirling like a cloud.

I could hear some distant shouting inside of the building, the doors I came out of previously, slamming open.

“God damn it!” I heard someone shouting, their frustration coming out through gruff low screams.

“Not another year, we've got to try harder” they said, by the tone it was a guy. I heard footsteps, coming closer, I panicked, becoming flustered. I stood up hastily grabbing my bag and swung myself around the corner.

-SMACK-

I crashed into them, falling flat on my ass again, hitting my head slightly against the wall. I whimpered with pain, holding my head, I looked over to the guy. Who was also on the floor, but more composed. He had long curly dark hair, which framed his face. He wore a denim vest over a black leather jacket, and a shirt with writing on it but I couldn't read it, my head was a little fuzzy.

“Sorry...” I managed to say, trying to stand up, but my knees a little wobbly.

“It's okay, I wasn't looking where I was going,” he said. He looked at me for a moment, almost intrigued, a slight smile curling the side of his mouth. He blank deeply, stood up quickly.

“Let me help you up,” reaching his arm out to me, his fingers mostly wearing rings on them.

“Thank you, I keep falling today, I'm not sure why,” I said trying to justify myself. I grasped his hand tightly as he pulled me up onto my feet. I wobbled for a moment before locking my balance again, he felt warm. I composed myself and stepped back, but he was still focused on me.

“Who have you been falling for?” he said with a grin, chucking slightly.

“Not that blonde jock, that's for sure. Really not my type...”

“Yeah, most jocks are dicks. Plenty of that around here,” he said almost reassuringly.

“Oh, I'm Eddie, Eddie Munson, resident freak,” he said with a little curtsy, and held his hand out to me. I smiled, I think he was trying to make me laugh, no-one is like this for real. I shook his hand, mine now sweaty from the stress of the day and from him.

“I'm Erica, Erica Bailey, also a freak,” I joked, looking up at him, our hands now separate. I just took a moment to look at him, I've never met anyone like him. He's just so... God damn hot.

[aangelinakii]

Not sure if this counts since it’s still Clem, but it’s S2 Clem!

Imagine Sarita had a child around Clem’s age so when Clementine and Kenny reunite he introduces her to Sarita’s kid (which is… Reader in this case, I guess) and they become Clem’s first crush… </3 I’d like to imagine them both surviving together despite the odds :)

DAYBREAK

in which you and clementine manage to watch the sunrise

season : two

character : clementine

song : daybreak , dreamcatcher

warning : mention of death of family members

date : 10th november 2021

note : thank you dc and anon for helping me come up with something for this <3

the view from the resort was breathtaking, but, no matter how many times your breath grew short at the sight of it, you kept going back for more.

in the winter months, you would sneak out of bed earlier to watch as the sun glowed orange and red, and would stand outside before dinner to watch the sun and moon swap places. after you, your mum and kenny found the lodge, you and kenny would grow closer, just sitting on the porch and staring out into the distance — but when a new group came along, holding onto a girl around your age, your horizon-watching partner switched out. since kenny knew her, he didn't mind.

your knew horizon-watching partner was a girl called clementine. judging by the stories she had to tell, she'd seen a lot, but was coping well, especially now that she'd reunited with kenny; a member of her previous group.

hoping to find food and supplies, you and your mum – sarita – had found kenny holed up in a restaurant. long story short, the two fell in love. near the beginning, your father, out of fear, abandoned you and sarita. he hadn't popped up since, and, because of his actions, you weren't wanting to cross paths again either.

having another kid your age around was a nice change. you were just about a year into the apocalypse, and each day you missed your old school friends more and more; so many memories, so many people you saw each day, and there was no way of knowing whether or not they were alive. but at least you had her.

her name was clementine. as sweet as her name was, she seemed like she could be feisty if she wanted (that's what luke said, anyway). from kenny's stories about his old group, clementine was sweet and inexperienced, but judging by the others' words, she could handle herself just fine.

honestly, from what you'd heard, you were rather intimidated by her at first. however, after one evening when she joined you in watching as the sun sunk low below the horizon, you came to realise that she was just as sweet as her name despite the stories.

after that night, the two of you would meet up before or after dinner, or sneak out of bed after lights out — whenever the sun set and the moon rose — just to watch the sky change with each other, learning more about one another and building opinions and sentiments.

behind you, the door swings shut, and footsteps tread lightly, crunching down on slushy snow. ahead of you, the orange sun begins to sink further down into the trees, casting a series of yellows, pinks and purples to dance across the sky.

there was no need to glance behind you to see who had joined you, there was no need to turn your head to the person next to you. you already knew who it was.

"every night i think about how beautiful the sky is, and each night it just gets more beautiful," you spoke aloud.

steam floated up into your face, clouding your vision. when you looked down, brown dreams swirled around in a mug in clementine's hand. you looked back up at her with a puzzled expression, clasping the mug gratefully with your mittened hands.

"cocoa. kenny made some and asked me to give you one," clementine explained shortly. she brought her hands up to her face, and you saw she had her own mug.

"thanks," you spoke softly, turning back to the prancing colours in the sky.

in the lodge behind you, multi-coloured christmas lights flashed and blinked away on the tree they sat on. none of you knew what date it was — barely what year — but everyone assumed it was nearing christmas. there was snow; snow, winter. winter, christmas.

someone had found a box of christmas decorations, and everyone liked the idea of some form of normality.

"what did you normally do this time of year? like, christmas time of year," you asked, glancing over at clementine, drawing the warm chocolate drink to your lips.

a small smile appeared on the girl's lips as she remembered. "we used to put up the tree. we would sing christmas songs, and bake christmas treats. and on christmas eve we would leave out a glass of milk and a mince pie or cookie for santa. it was really nice."

"oh yeah? i bet you were great at singing," you let out a laugh. "what was your favourite song?"

"obviously 'all i want for christmas' is high up there," clem replied. "but we always sang 'jingle bell rock'. it was my dad's favourite." her cheerful tone faltered at the end of her sentence.

you turned back, looking out onto the skyline once again, the previous relaxed atmosphere now burning with tension. how could you fix this?

"hey," you spoke up again after a moment, turning to look at clementine once again. "what if we sang for everyone?"

"what?" the girl next to you gasped, taken aback.

"sing. like christmas songs. maybe it'll be nice."

the small smile returned to clementine's lips, but she looked away. "maybe."

[c-r-ash-crash]

New Life Chapter 2

Grian yanked his comm out of his pocket and pulled up the player list. He needed to know if he was the only yellow life. He glanced over it and saw a mix of colors. Him, Jimmy, Scott, Ren, and Cleo were all on their yellow lives. He saw a smattering of light green names in the list (Impulse, Skizz, and Bigb). The rest were all a dark green.

“Why do we all have a different number of lives?” Ren asked in chat. Martyn’s response popped in. “I think it’s random this round. Probably a way to make it more interesting.” “You don’t all have four lives?” Lizzie asked.

Grian froze, hand hovering over the communicator screen. Lizzie had four lives. How did Lizzie have four lives? That shouldn’t have been possible. You got three lives, and then you permadied. Or at least, you were a ghost until everyone on the server bit the dust. Lizzie shouldn’t have gotten more. It wasn’t fair.

Bitterly, Grian forced a laugh out. Of course it wasn’t fair. Nothing about this curse of a server was fair. He should’ve been on Hermitcraft, pulling pranks and building an alleyway filled with magic. He wasn’t supposed to be here, shoved back into a horrific trial of life and death. It wasn’t fair.

A new message on his comm drew his attention back to the situation at hand. “Wait, do the different colors mean a different number of lives?” Mumbo asked “Yeah,” Tango said. “But the maximum number should be three.” “Lime green names mean that person has three lives,” Joel explained. “Yellow means two lives. Red means one life. Trust me, Mumbo. You don’t want to be on your red life.”

A chill ran through Grian, and quickly, he shut off the chat. He didn’t need to be reminded of crimes past. He needed to shift through his admin panels anyways, figure out what was different this time around.

He slumped against a tree, sliding to the ground as he entered command after command. Screen after screen of code appeared, most of it the same player code as always. But about twenty screens in, he noticed something strange in the list of crafting recipes. In the TNT recipe, where there should have been gunpowder, there was instead sugarcane. Grian whistled softly under his breath. That was a game changer. Explosives would be so much easier to get his hands on his own. He chose to ignore the idea that the new recipe would also make it easier for others to make the weapons.

He dug further into the code, and found a list of commands, most of which were disabled for all players, even the admin. But one jumped out at him. “Give life.” His eyes widened. Could they transfer lives between themselves? Was that why some players had more lives? He swore under his breath. With a mechanic like this, lives were the most valuable currency imaginable. Suddenly his eyes lit up as he realized that meant he could push himself back up to his green life. Maybe he could even gain more.

His mind began racing, sorting through and dismissing people he could scam out of lives. He couldn’t do anyone who was on their yellow life like him. They needed to avoid red lives at all costs. He should probably also avoid anyone on their green life, just in case. But given that everyone with a dark green life seemed to have four lives. Finally, he settled on Scar.

A knot of guilt nestled up in his chest, but he shoved it down. Scar would understand. He would probably be happy to five it in fact. Besides, Grian had already owed Scar a life. Scar could return the favor. Surely he’d understand. They were surviving. Putting Scar down to three lives wouldn’t really hurt him. Scar had survived into the late game with only one life. It would be fine. Before Grian could second guess himself further, he stood up and set off.

Scott dug into the ground, pickaxe breaking through the stone and leaving a small hole. He swung again, hair hanging down into his face. He brushed it away, but froze when he felt cold metal around his temples. Slowly, he reached up, hands curling around a thin circlet, fingers wrapping around thin spires of gold. He removed it and held it in front of his face. It was a thin gold crown, lightly tarnished. It was in near perfect condition, except for a small trace of dark red along the bottom of some of the spires.

Scott’s face fell, eyes clouding over, as memories filled his head. The sight of a small, broken body, an arrow pierced through the chest, a grave adorned with flowers and a small garden of poppies planted around it. Anger welled up in his chest. He reeled back and chucked the crown away from him. It clattered to the ground loudly, and Scott’s shoulders slumped in relief. Then, slowly, the crown began to dissolve into bunches of light. Then, they began to float off the ground and swirled around Scott. They settled into his hair, and hardened into metal once again. “No, no, no,” Scott muttered, yanking the crown off his head, and smashing it into the ground. He couldn’t do this again. The crown simply appeared on his head yet again, heedless of his wishes.

Suddenly, a soft voice drifted through the air, startling him. “Hello?” it called out. “Is everything alright?” “It’s fine!” Scott called, a bit more harshly than he meant to. “Are you sure?” the voice said. Then, Pearl appeared from behind a rock. “I heard something fall.” “Oh, yeah,” Scott said, forcing himself to sound fine. “Just dropped my pick. Nothing to worry about. Say...” he muttered, eyeing her wrist and the small dark green hearts embedded there. “Mind showing me your wrist? Wanna know how many lives you ended up with.” “Oh, sure,” Pearl said, cheerfully pulling up her jacket sleeve and proffering her wrist. Scott’s jaw dropped slightly when he saw the six hearts there. “You have six lives,” he muttered. “Yeah,” Pearl said sheepishly, pulling her sleeve back down. “I figured from everyone’s reaction to Lizzie and Mumbo having four lives, this much was unusual.” “Yeah,” Scott said. “Last time, we only had a maximum of three lives. You know...a deal might be in our best interest.”

Bdubs and Etho blocked up the entrance to their little cave. “Kind of glad I ended up with you,” Bdubs said. “If there’s anyone on the server I’d want as an ally, it’s you, Etho. And maybe Grian. I mean, he did win the game last time.” “I’m honored,” Etho said, pulling a small furnace from his pocket and tossing it to the ground. It expanded to a full size block, and Etho began to load it with fuel. “But you know I’m not actually all that powerful, right? I only survived last time because I got lucky. And even then, I died to something as pathetic as a fire. Don’t overestimate my abilities.” “Well, don’t sell yourself short,” Bdubs said. “You’re ancient. You know things about this universe that I’m pretty sure even some of the gods don’t.”

Etho opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, floating text appeared in front of his and Bdubs’ eyes. “1...” “What is the server doing now?” Bdubs asked. “I don’t know,” Etho said, the slightest hint creeping into his voice. “2...” “It’s counting down,” Bdubs said. “I noticed,” Etho deadpanned, loading the salmon he had caught into the furnace. “3...”

Across the server, the text read: “You are not the boogeyman.” But for Bdubs, bright red letters screamed, “You are the boogeyman.” What did that mean?

[yandere-sins]

The Exception

My friend let me try playing Hades on her switch and well... I kinda liked it. Namely, I liked all the characters, so my brain went like “what if they were yandere” and I had an idea for this story that I threw together this morning before working on the Fox Wedding (: The latter isn’t done yet, but this sure is, so who knows, mayhaps some of you will enjoy it! Just tried to answer the question how we could get Thanatos to whisk us away.

Characters: Yandere!Thanatos x Reader Warnings: Yandere, Blood, War, Wounds/Impaling, Major Character Death (???) or well dying, I read into greek history for almost an hour but if I gotten something wrong then so be it

Thanatos had seen enough of the world to know that he didn't want to stay on the surface forever. 

The current battle spreading before him was a mere reason to sigh deeply as he watched bodies fall left and right, their souls soon leaving to a better, or perhaps worse, place. It was mandatory he stayed, but Thanatos was well aware of which side was winning and which was losing. It was his duty and his work to know these things, even though it didn't make the fighting any less futile in his eyes.

Letting his gaze wander over the battlefield, he watched the red splatters on the ground, heard the crushing sounds of iron against iron and the cacophony of fearful and devastating screams. He still couldn't believe Zagreus would want to come to such a place. A place where there was futile fighting and too much light, but perhaps, it was a world that fit the Prince of the Underworld, as he was the same, even if Thanatos only recognized this fact bitterly. 

Finally, the battle was closing in on its end, just like the hundreds of people that found their death because of it. The ones who weren't dead yet slowly but surely started to hesitate and retreat. Even as the personification of death, Thanatos reckoned that a pointless death was scary, even though so many humans chose it over desertion. Their death was inevitable, preordained by Thanatos sisters. Still, he had seen many hold on to the last sparks of hope that they could escape Thanatos' grasp. 

And then, on the other side of the coin, were those that practically would have offered their life to Hades and fought to the end.

You weren't an exception. Yes, your quest and pride were your downfall, and by the gleam in your eyes Thanatos could tell you knew. You knew and recognized that you'd die. However, as if you were spiting him personally, you still continued to fight ahead of everyone else, gaining questioning glances from your comrades and contempt from your enemies, which you pulled to the ground one after another and sending them to hell. 

Many before you had this overzealous compulsion to make that best out of their inevitable demise. Thanatos would admit that yes, most had a good reason for it, like saving their family or fighting for their own life. Others simply lucked out on the gift of pride and ignorance, forcing themselves and occasionally many more lives with them into the deep, dark pits of death. 

What was your reason? Thanatos wondered. 

He still had time before he needed to take action, he could allow himself a short - minuscule, really - different thought than his upcoming work, and you presented yourself so nicely to him as the incarnation of death waited for the end of today's battle. It wasn't often that he had the leisure to let his thoughts wander, so Thanatos intended to use these few seconds, which would fall under the radar, to still his curiosity.

By the looks of it, you weren't an inexperienced fighter. Or perhaps, you were just a farmer judging by your muscles. Surely, you seemed enthusiastic about your task, so were you fighting for something more significant than the glory of your country? Family? A loved one? Thanatos couldn't help but be curious about what your drive was, as he had seen so many reasons, yet they were all the same. Perhaps, yours was new?

Even so, you were graceful as you swung your sword around. What did he know about footwork, but at least, yours seemed to pay off as you weren't dead yet. When one of your foes managed to smack off your helmet, Thanatos believed that was it, but alas, you regained your strength, charging at the very same attacker. 

In a way, fighting was like an elaborate play. The only difference was that neither of the parties knew the other one's move. The person reacting better was the winner. He couldn't find joy in watching wars, but even Thanatos had to admit that it was a joy watching you. Even if you lacked the enthusiasm as the heroic shades that lingered below, like Theseus, had, you fought a fight worth mentioning in the books as well. 

Every move you made, Thanatos could see the calculations in your eyes, that keen shine reflecting in them. The sun seemed to break through the clouds just to reach out to you, making your armor sparkle in its rays. Yes, you were a formidable human, and Thanatos caught himself thinking that it was a shame you were fighting even if you looked so beautifully while doing it. 

Taking another deep breath, he could see the swirls in the air left by it. While the winter wasn't affecting him, no matter how little clothes he wore, Thanatos felt a second of pitiful understanding for everyone who had to fight in those conditions. Undoubtedly, the cold armors, freezing hands and weapons, and frozen ground were another nemesis for every soldier out here. Even if their bodies stayed warm from adrenaline and running, it certainly was another reason many of your human bodies gave out quicker, merely submitting to their fate. It was fair enough for Thanatos. It meant his work was over faster, and judging by you being circled and the other soldiers at your side beginning to see the end coming towards them with long spears and sharp swords, it was all over soon. 

You had fought bravely, that much he could give you. Perhaps you had impressed him enough to put in an unusual good word for you with Hypnos, who'd pass it on to Hades himself, granting you a shot on being put into Elysium. But your fate had long been decided, and as you fell to the ground, the battlefield erupted in victorious screams, announcing your time of death. 

And also, his start of work. 

As the winners retreated one after one, happy whenever they found a friend that survived too, Thanatos passed by them and onto the battlefield instead. Unseen by the human eye, he began his duty of reaping, one soul after the other, as mangled and frustrated over their death as they were, following his orders as he shushed them away. Usually, some pleaded and bargained with him for another shot of life, but even if Thanatos had wanted, there was no way for him to help them. But that day, everyone seemed awfully aware that there was no negotiating nor mercy waiting for them as they looked at his figure, frightened and frustrated. A pointless battle, with meaningless deaths, brought forth the self-pity in them, but this wasn't the first battle Thanatos tended to, so he felt nothing akin to that. It also wasn't his duty to take care of the souls gathered here, as it was Hermes' job to lead to them. 

He had something very different on his agenda. You. 

It was unfortunate for both of you, but when he reached you, you had yet to breathe your last breath. One eye slowly and in pain, opened, the other one damaged from the blow to the head you had received. However, as you looked at him, serene clarity laid in your gaze, and you recognized him, mayhaps by the giant scythe he carried around. Your stare was clear and less afraid than he expected you to be when acknowledging him, but you closed your eyes as a cough overcame you, hot, red blood dripping down your lips. 

"Guess that's it," you croaked, and Thanatos could only stare. Conversing… wasn't his strong suit, and there wasn't exactly a reason to talk to you.

"Are you going to kill me?" you continued, undeterred by his silence, and Thanatos weighed his actions. "No, of course not," he eventually spoke, shaking his head slowly, the hood on his head shifting along to his movement. 

"Ouch, that's cruel. You'll just wait until I die like this?" 

Your words were nothing he hadn't heard before, and he didn't feel offended by them. However, he didn't expect your lips to briefly curl into a smile, adding a jesting notion to what you said. Even that wasn't new, but… it struck a chord inside the usual stoic bringer of death. "I can't end your suffering," Thanatos explained, hoping you'd simply know about the unspoken rule that he couldn't harm you. 

"I think, I get it," you heaved, feeling worse by the minute. "You are just making sure I know I am supposed to die here."

That assumption wasn't wrong, even though there had been more playing into his service than just that. Too many kept trying to escape their fate, and sort of, Thanatos was just checking and cleaning up what would be left. You still had some time before your organs would fail and finally take you to the grave, different from the other souls that were already leaving for their new home. 

"No, you will die here," he retorted firmly. 

"I could," you chuckled, followed by another painful cough. 

"Don't test me, Mortal."

In between deep breaths, you allowed yourself a short laugh. Just like him, you were probably aware that there was nothing worse that could happen to your situation, so his threat was just a way he hoped to shut you up with. In silence, he watched over you, until eventually, your eye opened up again. This time your gaze was searching for him - or something really - but your sight had already begun to cloud. No matter how proud and achieved you are in life, in the face of death, everyone looked the same.

 "I think I did a good job. You know, fighting. Thought that if I already had to do it, I might as well give it my damn best."

More coughing. Thanatos watched the puddle of blood around you grow by the second. The spear inside your body must have been stirring up your insides the more you talked. Thanatos had expected something like this, you, young as you still were, had been led by the belief that doing your best could make up for the fact that you'd die. "But in the end, it was worth nothing, right? We lost after all."

Thanatos could only stare as he wondered what you expected him to say. He came here, knowing your life would end here, so really, the hope you had put into yourself didn't have the same disappointment to him now as it did to you. And yet, as he listened to you, seeing your body battered up with cuts and bruises, for the first time in centuries, he felt something akin to pity for you, and you specifically.

"Why did you fight then?" he asked, perhaps against your expectations. 

"Why? Because they told us too. The King ordered us to fight this battle, and only he could have known how many soldiers our opponent would bring."

"You could have run." Thanatos tried to stay as detached from you as possible, though it didn't quite work, your words taking their influence on him. "Can you?" you retorted before letting out a long sigh. Death was near, literally as well as figuratively. 

"Can you run from your duties? You don't have to do this either, do you?" 

"I do--"

"Really?"

There was no immediate response this time, your question justified, despite your little mortal soul undoubtedly never understanding the burdens on the shoulders of Gods. The world would stop if they all decided to not continue their work and fulfill their duties and expectations. If Thanatos stopped, no one would die anymore, and but the suffering of everything would never disappear too. 

"Dying sucks," you whispered, turning your head away. 

"I reckon," he muttered indifferently. Not like he could talk about it from experience. It must be painful, dreadful, and, depending on the circumstances, frustrating too. Right now, though he couldn't imagine the extent, you must have felt so hopeless and so, so scared. There wasn't much other reason for your banter.

"Thanatos… I always thought it was a pretty name, even if everyone feared it." Regaining his attention after finding himself momentarily lost in thoughts, he looked down at you again, watching as your eyelid closed slowly. "Say what you want, but you can't blame them for fearing death, and alas, me."

"Perhaps if they talked to you, they wouldn't be so afraid."

"Meaning you don't feel so afraid anymore?"

A smile danced over your lips once more, a truly unusual sight for a soul so close to their end, and especially after talking to him. Hypnos often teased Thanatos with being too formal and dutiful to be amusing, and Hades beware, comforting. Though he didn't care for his twin's words, yours did make him feel... happy. 

"Let's go then," you whispered, and Thanatos kneeled down, his hand falling to your wrist, listening to your pulse. Even with the feeling of your heart still desperately pumping blood through your body, only to lose it through your wounds, you didn't utter another word afterwards. You undoubtedly were dying, but perhaps, for now, you were merely unconscious as your lungs didn't stop reaching for air, and your heart used all your strength to function. 

Once more, the sun broke through the clouds, shining down right at you two, bringing Thanatos into the predicament of being blinded as it reflected off your armor. Perhaps he understood it now. Understood how unfair it was that someone like you, innocent and kind, was doomed to die out here. How awful his job on this day was, forcing him to take you to Tartarus and put you before the judgment of the god residing there. 

So what if... he didn't. 

He couldn't heal your wounds, nor make you feel better. But what he could do is battle the fate, earn the scorn of many, but at least, even if he took out the spear from your bloody body, you'd live. You'd live to tell your tale, and who knew, even he could apply some bandages, so maybe you'd recover some. 

It was a risk, and one Thanatos did not like taking, nor found pleasure in executing. But you couldn't refuse to come to this battle, whereas he, perhaps, after all these years, could refuse to do his job once. For your sake, and unbeknownst to him at that time, for his own even more.

His scythe disappeared in favor of Thanatos grabbing for the dreadful spear. Never before had he experience the kind of sound a wound could make from so close, and by the gods, he hoped he never would again. It was just your luck that you were unconscious, or the pain would have perhaps killed you faster than your wounds.

Leaning down, he scooped you up, his hand sullied with your blood and the dirt on the ground. The snow wasn't cold when he touched it, but your body was warm in his arms and still alive. Your threat of fade wasn't cut yet, and he wouldn't do it. With you in his arms, he stepped back, looking into your sleeping face before he retreated from the battlefield with a quiet, "Let's go."

No, the surface wasn't a place Thanatos liked to linger. It was too loud, too wrong, and too bright. But to see your smile, lively and happy, one more time, he didn't need to stay above ground. Where you were going, it was dark and, at times, lonely if you weren't a being born there. But you'd also be safe and alive for as long as you wished to.

And Thanatos would be with you, even if everyone would turn against him and his decision, for all eternity if he must.

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 3

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 6.3k Warnings: slow burn, canon rewrite, canon-typical violence, cursing Summary: You and Mando choose Sorgan as your place to lay low, only to get wrangled into a risky job. Notes: In my head, Cara Dune is Katy O’Brian.. Yes, I’m ignoring the fact that she plays one of Moff Gideon’s officers lol Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme​​ @beskarhearts​​ @dincrypt​​ @honey-hi​​ @just-me-and-my-obsessions00​​ @red-leaders​​ @zoemariefit​​

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

The three of you sat in the cockpit—Mando piloting the ship, you in the copilot seat behind him, and the kid perched on the console. He had slipped out of his own seat, waddled to the front of the cockpit, and managed to grasp the edge of the console with his tiny hands and scrabble his legs against the front of it to shimmy all the way up there. Honestly, it was an impressive feat for such a small being. Mando pretended not to notice, keeping his visor trained on the viewport.

You’d been sitting in silence for a while, watching the stars streak by. It was a fairly comfortable silence, considering you were complete strangers and still trying to feel out the limits of your tenuous alliance.

Looking at the back of Mando’s helmet, the surface of which reflected the bands of hyperspace that surged around the Crest, you thought again about how challenging it was to read him: there was so little to go on. No facial expressions, no significant looks, and very few gestures—even the cadence of his breathing was largely disguised by the helmet and modulator.

That was definitely part of his appeal: the mystery. He was an almost blank canvass where others were open books. Because your survival had hinged on your ability to read people, you had gotten so good at it that the task lost its fun rather quickly. Mando was an interesting new game.

In some ways, the armor forced the Mandalorian to be much more straightforward. Because it obscured his features, he had to ask for what he wanted outright—unless it was from a bounty. He could easily communicate threat with just his stance. Anything else, though, he had to verbalize. You were interested to see how this would play out in his interactions with you. You weren’t a job or his enemy, and you were really hoping that meant he’d eventually be slightly less withholding with you.

The baby, looking around, cooed quietly and reached over to flick a random switch on the panel to his right. Mando disregarded the action, pressing a few buttons in front of him. You stifled a chuckle.

The kid, clearly testing his boundaries, leaned over to flick another switch. It turned green when he activated it, and the sound of a machine whirring kicked in.

“Stop touching things,” snapped Mando, frustrated, turning to look at him. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face, grateful that Mando couldn’t see you.

The child lowered his ears and trilled sadly in response to the admonishment but recovered quickly: his ears pricked back up, and keeping his eyes trained on Mando in what seemed like a purposeful act of open rebellion, he leaned over slowly to flick yet another switch. This one turned red, and the ship rattled in response. You let out a sharp bark of laughter, slapping a hand over your mouth to smother the rest of your reaction.

This time, Mando pushed one large gloved hand past the baby to deactivate the switch and picked him up to set him on his lap. You smiled again, knowing this was likely what the kid was trying to achieve anyways. He wanted attention.

“Do you know his name?” you asked. You assumed he didn’t because he always called him “the kid”...but it also wouldn’t be a surprise if Mando did know his name and just chose to call him that instead.

“No,” he replied. “You ready to pick a planet?” Mando changed the subject abruptly as he reclined to look at you over his shoulder.

“Sure,” you agreed, standing to lean over the back of his chair so you could see the screen in front of him.

After some discussion and research, toggling through the nearby planets on the nav, you decided on Sorgan as your place to lay low. It was a rural planet, sparsely inhabited and undeveloped. Mando described it as “a real backwater skughole.” But there were some small settlements, so there would be food and fuel.

Your stomach gurgled loudly.

“I’m going to go eat,” you said, standing to leave the cockpit.

Mando, still holding the baby, stood to follow.

You moved toward the door just as Mando did the same, both attempting to walk through it together. He paused and stepped back, pressing himself against the wall as far as he could to let you by, gesturing you forward with his free hand.

Without thinking, you touched his arm lightly as you slipped past him in the tight doorway, and he flinched away, wrenching his arm back. You withdrew your hand quickly and looked up at him.

“Sorry,” he explained gruffly, visor tilted down at you. “Reflex.”

“I get it.”

He twitched his hand forward like he was considering reaching for you then decided against it, clenching it into a fist by his side.

You stood in the confined space for a moment, pinned by the mesmerizing void of his visor. Inches from your chest, he was so tall and imposing, somehow equally menacing and alluring as he towered over you. It was hard to ignore his intoxicating magnetism when you were this close to him.

He cocked his head the tiniest bit, and you realized, with a rush of embarrassment, that he was waiting for you to move.

Flustered, you turned and climbed down the ladder to find your pack. Mando followed and sat across the hull from you, after settling the kid into a makeshift crib—a storage box lined with blankets—on the floor beside his feet. He busied himself adjusting something on the complicated armor that covered his forearm, as you ate one of your ration packs.

You studied him as he worked. As far as you could tell—with the glaring exception of the presence of the child—Mando was the definition of a bounty hunter. He worked alone, and all he did was work.

He was clearly not used to casual, nonthreatening human contact, aside from that of the child.

You felt a deep, cutting sadness when you really pondered the solitude of his existence. The bulk of his interactions were violent confrontations. He had the child, but for how long? He seemed a recent acquisition. Did Mando have friends? When was the last time he felt at ease around another adult person?

When was the last time someone touched him, other than a bounty during a fight?

You’d been on the run for years and, at times, it had almost killed you—not the running itself, but the loneliness. No matter how much time you had to adjust, it remained a draining existence. You maintained only loose contacts and casual, fleeting relationships. How long had his life been exactly the same? Decades? Had he ever known anything different?

You looked down at the baby. The presence of the child spoke to the possibility that he at least wanted something different for himself.

The kid seemed to feel your gaze and turned his head to train his huge eyes on you. You smiled at him. He grabbed the edge of the box with his tiny three-fingered hands to haul himself over the side and toddled his way over to where you sat. He hugged your calf, looking up at you expectantly.

Mando was busy fiddling with the controls on his vambrace and didn’t notice.

“Can I?” You gestured down at the kid. Mando’s head flicked up.

“I guess,” he acquiesced hesitantly. He watched as you reached down to pick up the kid.

The baby settled happily into your lap, looking up to reach a hand toward your face. You met his hand with your own, and he was content to latch his little fingers around your much larger one and sit back. He babbled and wiggled the tiny green toes that poked out of the bottom of his outfit, which appeared to be made out of the altered sleeve of an old beige flight jacket.

Despite the fact that the child was more than happy cuddled in your arms, Mando was visibly uncomfortable. Abandoning his task completely, he sat forward with his elbows propped on his knees and watched you tensely.

He didn’t relax until you set the baby back down, turning him toward Mando, and he toddled his way back across the floor. Mando took the kid with him into his bunk when he disappeared to eat.

***

From the ship, Sorgan looked inviting: lush greens and blues, the landscape broken up by winding rivers. Clouds swirled across the atmosphere. Mando touched the Razor Crest down in a clearing of a pristine forest.

Mando wasn’t about to leave you behind with the kid—or with the ship, for that matter—so he informed you that the two of you would set out to the nearest village to find lodging, and he would leave the child behind. You understood that he didn’t have a lot of options, but leaving a toddler alone on a ship seemed like a terrible idea. You decided not to question it for the moment.

It was abundantly clear that Mando was accustomed to running the show and operating alone. He was used to making unilateral decisions...and that was going to have to change if the two of you were ever going to get to a place of easy coexistence. As someone who was also used to making unilateral decisions, you didn’t take well to being told what to do without even being consulted. You figured you’d give him some time to adjust to your presence before bringing this to his attention. You reminded yourself that this was a temporary arrangement.

Before leaving, Mando gave the baby a very serious, very stern talking-to about not touching anything and staying put. This was another instance that made it clear that he hadn’t been in charge of this kid (or any kid) for very long. You tried your best to conceal your amusement while Mando lectured the child. When he started to wag his finger dramatically to punctuate his points, you coughed to cover a laugh that escaped your lips.

As you both gathered what you needed in the hull, you asked, “How effective are your lectures usually?”

He let out a tired sigh, shoulders dropping slightly: “Not very.”

You laughed.

Sure enough, the baby shuffled up behind the two of you as the ramp of the ship lowered.

Mando looked down and sighed heavily.

“Oh, what the hell? Come on.” He strode forward decisively without a backwards glance.

You bent down to scoop up the child, not sure how Mando expected this tiny creature to keep up with his long strides, and followed Mando into the verdant forest.

***

The village was made up of a collection of circular wooden structures with pointed roofs. You ducked after Mando into the public house, the largest building in the small cluster. Good-natured conversation and the smell of something delicious permeated the air. You set the baby down on the floor to walk beside you.

A lothcat curled underneath a table hissed loudly at him as he waddled by, and he cowered in fear. You scowled at Mando, who didn’t react besides tilting his helmet down, and picked the child back up, patting him lightly.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you murmured reassuringly. Mando paused to watch you comfort the kid. You waited for him to pull the baby from your arms or say something to discourage you, but he didn’t. When you looked up at him, he continued forward to find an empty table.

Mando scanned the room carefully as he strode between the tables. You noticed an intimidating woman surveying him as he passed. You seated yourselves, and a woman in an apron approached with a friendly smile on her face.

“Welcome, travelers. Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth for the little one,” requested Mando. Then he turned to look at you.

“One for me too, please.”

“Very well,” replied the woman.

Jerking his head towards the intimidating woman, Mando asked, “That one, over there—when did she arrive?”

The woman hesitated, and then said, “Uh, I’ve seen her here for the last week or so.”

“What’s her business here?”

You studied the woman in question, noting her piecemeal armor and tattoos. She looked like a war-hardened soldier.

“Oh, well there’s not much business in Sorgan, so I can’t say,” the server responded noncommittally. “She doesn’t strike me as a log runner.”

Mando reached into his belt and threw some credits toward her on the table. She brightened.

“Well, thank you, sir. I will get those broths to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a flagon of spotchka for good measure. I will be right back with that.”

The server left, and the unobstructed view revealed that the woman he’d been asking about had disappeared.

Mando stood quickly.

“Stay with the kid?” he asked, looking down at you.

You hummed your assent, but he watched you for a long moment, as if assessing whether or not this was a safe idea. He was weighing the risk of leaving the kid with you against the risk of not neutralizing the possible threat of this stranger.

“I’m not going anywhere. We agreed to stick together for the time being, remember? Relax,” you assured him. It wasn’t much of a commitment, but what else could you say?

He nodded decisively and turned on his heel.

You and the kid watched him leave. The baby made a small whimpering sound as Mando disappeared through the curtain that hung over the exit.

You considered the baby as you waited for your food. He looked around, curiously taking in his surroundings.

What species is he? You’d never encountered anyone like him. Despite the fact that he was clearly a toddler, he looked a bit like an old man. And a tortoise? And maybe a frog? Whatever he looked like, he was really damn cute. Those big eyes and huge, expressive ears were undeniably adorable. You’d never felt a maternal instinct in your life, but in that moment, you wanted to pick him up and snuggle him again. You resisted the urge.

The server returned with two steaming bowls of broth and a flagon of electric blue liquor. The child immediately reached out for the broth, letting out a string of gibberish.

“It’s too hot. Let’s let it cool.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and let out a disapproving huff.

Despite his protests, you waited until the broth cooled a bit before setting it in front of him. He picked up the bowl and slurped happily.

You didn’t start to worry about Mando until you’d finished your own broth and the drink—you’d figured Mando wasn’t about to drink spotchka—and he still hadn’t come back. You scooped up the kid, who was still holding his little wooden bowl of soup, and slipped out the exit to look for Mando.

The loud sounds of a brawl made it easy to locate him.

He was locked in an intense hand-to-hand fight with the woman. They were both on the ground, Mando on top of her briefly until she used her strong legs to launch him over her body onto his back. He landed with a thud.

Ouch.

You set the baby down on the ground, but neither Mando nor the woman noticed. The two of them seemed fairly equally matched. To be safe, though, you eased your blaster out of its holster and held it loosely by your side.

Before you’d decided whether or not to intervene, the fight ended in a stalemate, both of them flat on their backs, having drawn their blasters simultaneously.

They panted on the ground, until Mando lolled his head to the side and saw you and the kid watching them, the baby slurping his broth loudly.

“You want some soup?” Mando deadpanned, looking up at the woman. You let out a sharp laugh at the unexpected question.

The tension dissolved, and they both brought their blasters back down to their sides.

You sheathed your blaster and offered Mando a hand, and—to your surprise—he took it without hesitation.

“Thanks for jumping in to help,” Mando grunted as he got to his feet slowly and dropped your hand to dust himself off.

“Hey, I was ready to step in,” you held out your blaster pointedly. “I probably wouldn’t have let her kill you.”

The woman chuckled as she straightened up then turned to walk back to the public house.

“Good to know,” retorted Mando, fixing you with an exasperated head tilt.

***

The four of you sat down together and talked for a while, sipping broth. Mando introduced himself to the woman, ignoring you and the kid. His manners seemed to come and go.

The woman shared that her name was Cara Dune.

“And who is this?” Cara inquired, eyebrows raised, looking from you and the baby to Mando.

Interested to hear how he’d explain your presence, you waited to see what Mando would say before answering.

“Long story,” replied Mando. Yep, that seems about right.

You introduced yourself, offering a fake name and sticking out a hand to shake Cara’s hand.

Mando’s head snapped to you: “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“You never asked,” you shrugged.

If Cara was confused that Mando didn’t know your name, she didn’t say anything about it. She shared that she had been a shock trooper in the Alliance, but she was trying to make a new life for herself, away from all that.

When she inquired, you shared a carefully curated set of details about yourself: born on Naboo, studied on Coruscant, now a freelance programmer with a diverse set of clientele and therefore stayed off the grid as a rule, with Mando at the moment to get from one place to the next and find more work—Sorgan was a temporary stopover.

You figured Mando didn’t love the idea of being described as a glorified taxi service, but it was better than disclosing the truth.

Mando leaned forward slightly and fixed you with his unwavering gaze while you spoke but questioned nothing. You knew he likely recognized the gaping holes in your story, considering he’d witnessed firsthand how well you could hold your own in a fight.

He shared little about himself, aside from the fact that he was in the Guild but not currently in pursuit of a bounty. Cara explained that she’d thought Mando was hunting her and that was why she reacted so defensively.

Understandable. That’s a much more reasonable reaction to his attention than flirting with him from afar liked I’d done in Nevarro. Whoops.

Finally, Cara stood: “Well, this has been a real treat, but unless you want to go another round, Mando, either you or I are gonna have to move on, and I was here first.” She turned to you and added: “You, on the other hand, are welcome to stay.” She winked at you and sauntered away.

You let out a surprised laugh, and Mando swiveled his head from Cara to you so fast, he probably tweaked his neck.

You couldn’t decide if it was hilarious or frustrating (probably both) that Cara had warmed to you over the course of a twenty-minute conversation while Mando remained aloof after more than twenty-four hours together.

Mando shook his head like he was willing away an unwelcome thought and leaned an elbow on the table: “Well, looks like this planet is taken.”

“Technically, that only applies to you.”

“You want to stay here?” There was a hint of unease in his otherwise even voice.

“No, Mando. You’re stuck with me for now, remember?”

“Right.”

You leaned forward and placed both your palms on the table: “But before we leave, I would like it on the record that I watched the kid for a full ten minutes without running away or harming a single hair on his wrinkly head.” You reached over to rub one of the child’s ears briefly, and he cooed up at you. “And I am electing not to ditch you and stay here with Cara even though she seems much more fun than you.”

A sound that might have been a laugh crackled through the modulator.

“So maybe you don’t have to breathe down my neck every second when we’re on the Crest?”

“You did almost let Cara kill me.”

You leaned back and laughed. “So, you admit it—you needed help.”

“No—I...That’s not the point.” You enjoyed how easy it was to agitate Mando.

“You’re right, it’s not. The point is that if I’m going to stick around for a while, you’re going to have to give me the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, this doesn’t make sense.”

He hummed noncommittally and rested a hand on the tabletop, gloved fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm.

“I could have abducted the kid and stolen the Crest while Cara took her time kicking your ass, but I didn’t.”

“It sounds like you considered it.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Mando.” 

You fixed him with an impatient stare, and he met your look with his impassive visor.

You huffed, and letting the levity fall away, so he knew you meant it, you asked, “Maybe it would just be easier for me to find some other way out of here?”

His fingers stilled. “No.”

“Okay... so, you’ll lighten up?”

In a well-timed interruption, the kid quirked his head at Mando and let out a string of nonsense that had the upward cadence of a question.

“He’s wondering the same thing.”

The child stretched his arms out toward Mando and wiggled his fingers. “He just wants to be picked up.” Mando scooped him up and tucked him under his arm. “But, point taken. Let’s get out of here,” he said, lifting his hand to flag down the server.

Mando seemed surprised when you reached into your bag and pulled out a small pouch of credits to pay for the food. In reality, it was one of three that you had on you at the moment.

You were a professional at disappearing. You always had a blaster at your back, a knife on your belt, another knife strapped to your ankle, and plenty of credits on your person. Plus, the roughly hewn necklace tucked under your shirt looked unassuming but was worth a small fortune—though, you’d have to be in a really tough spot to ever consider selling it. You were used to leaving places at a moment’s notice. Being prepared for anything was your default state.

Mando should understand that better than anyone.

***

When you returned to the Crest, Mando mumbled something about routine maintenance and disappeared outside with a heavy metal toolbox in hand. The kid was asleep in Mando’s bunk, and you were sitting in the hull, reading about potential planets on your datapad, when you heard strange voices approaching.

Setting down your datapad, you stood and walked down the slope of the ramp at the back of the ship quietly. You peeked your head around the side, staying out of sight, and watched two men speaking to Mando’s back as he continued working at an open panel on the side of the Crest.

The men didn’t look threatening, and Mando was clearly unconcerned. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Our whole village chipped in,” explained one of the men, a touch of desperation in his voice. The other man, who had longer hair, held up a pouch of credits.

Mando turned to face them. “It’s not enough,” he answered simply.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what the job is?” the man with short, curly hair continued.

“I know it’s not enough. Good luck.”

Rude.

The men were insistent, pleading. Mando’s harsh rebuff surprised you. He seemed to flip flop between being decidedly cold and cautiously warm with strangers, and right now he was the former. You weren’t fooled though. With a little more prodding, you were sure they’d convince him—well, you hoped they’d convince him to take the job and stay.

“This is everything we have. We’ll give you more after the next harvest,” promised the second man.

The side door of the Crest hissed loudly as it opened, and the two men jumped back in surprise. They looked at each other, resigned, when Mando walked up the ramp, ignoring them.

“Come on, let’s head back.”

No, don’t give up yet. He’s secretly soft. He adopts stray babies, protects complete strangers, and offers soup to people who have just thrown him on his ass!

They turned to leave, mumbling sadly to each other. You hurried back up the ramp to meet Mando in the hull. You stopped, settling your hands on your hips.

“What?”

“I mean... we were looking for a reason to stay, and they just gave us one. We were looking for a place to stay middle of nowhere... they just happen to live in the middle of nowhere...”

“Cara—,” he started.

“She seems like a reasonable enough person.”

He let out a long, dramatic sigh then turned to lean out the open side of the ship. “Where do you live?” Mando called after the retreating men.

One of them called, “On a farm. Weren’t you listening? We’re farmers.”

“You have lodging?” Mando clarified.

“Yeah, absolutely!”

“Come up and help,” he said to the men.

The two men paused when they saw you.

“Hi,” you greeted, turning to pull on your boots and grab your bag.

“Hello,” they both replied tentatively.

“She comes too,” Mando stated, jerking his head in your direction, as he began to pack up a chest of weaponry.

“Sure, that’s fine,” one of the men responded.

“And we have to make a stop.”

***

You waited with the two men—they introduced themselves as Caben and Stoke—at their speeder while Mando took the kid and tracked down Cara. They shared that they were krill farmers and needed help because Klatooinian raiders had been terrorizing their settlement.

Mando located Cara quickly, and they met you at the speeder, the back of which was full of weapons. You scooted over to make space for them as the speeder stuttered to life. It was cramped and when everyone was seated, your side was pressed into Mando, the kid settled on his lap.

Mando and Cara talked quietly while you laid your head back to watch the stars. You looked down when you felt something gently press on your thigh. The kid had climbed off of Mando’s lap and was looking up expectantly at you, as if asking permission to crawl into your lap.

You smiled at him and looked up at Mando, posing a silent question.

He nodded once, and you pulled the kid onto your lap. The baby cooed happily, wiggled around to get comfortable, and closed his eyes. You rested your head back again and let the movement of the speeder lull you into a light sleep.

Before you were totally out, you felt Mando adjust beside you, leaning back and stretching an arm over your head. Instinctively, you lifted your head so he could settle his arm down behind you, and you relaxed back so your cheek rested on his cold shoulder.

In a sleepy haze, you decided to capitalize on this opening and let your hand rest on the beskar plate covering his thigh.

***

You woke up when the speeder stuttered to a stop and opened your eyes, rubbing them in the brightness of the morning. You sat up and Mando did the same beside you, moving his arm from where it had been supporting your back. He hadn’t moved all night.

The scene before you was nothing if not idyllic: green and peaceful. Wind whispered through the tall grasses that lined the village, forming a natural buffer between the settlement and the forest. Circular wooden structures, the same pointed shape as the public house, were clustered at the middle of the clearing. Villagers, catching flopping blue krill in flat baskets, waded through square ponds that encircled the small community. Children giggled and called out, running toward the speeder.

“Well, looks like they’re happy to see us,” observed Mando.

“Looks like,” agreed Cara.

The children flocked toward you to see the baby in your arms, and you hopped down to greet them.

***

You spent the morning meeting people, learning the layout of the tiny village. The children took to the kid immediately, following you wherever you carried him. Apparently, Mando had accepted the fact that the child was safe with you because he didn’t object.

The gaggle of children showed you around excitedly, even demonstrating how to expertly sift krill from the ponds. They brought you to the long hall where food—stew and spotchka—was served. You sat on the ground outside, eating and enjoying the sun, with the children and the kid. They watched in enthusiastic disgust as the child caught and ate a live frog.

That afternoon, you and Mando followed the woman who introduced herself as Omera to your lodging. Though there did not seem to be an official leader of the small community, Omera clearly garnered respect. You watched as she gave easy instruction to those around her, and they complied reflexively.

She led you to one of the wooden buildings on the edges of the settlement. You noticed the way Mando stopped in the doorway to admire Omera as she raised a window covering and the afternoon light illuminated her beautiful face.

“Please, come in,” Omera invited warmly. 

You set the baby on the ground, and he waddled a few steps before plopping down to lean against a crate, his eyelids heavy after a full morning of play.

“I hope this is comfortable for the three of you,” Omera continued. “Sorry that all we have is the barn. There is a spare crib for the child.” She gestured at a well-made looking crib. You wondered when the last time the child had slept in a proper bed was.

You picked him up from where he sat dozing on the floor and settled him into the crib.

You looked around the open space of the barn. It was clearly used for storage: it was lined with baskets, furniture, crates, fishing equipment, and more, but a large space in the center of the room was clear. You hadn’t considered until this moment that you might be sharing one room with Mando. Neither of you would be comfortable in these close quarters.

“Oh, we’re not—,” you started.

“This will do fine,” confirmed Mando, cutting you off mid-sentence. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, surprised that he seemed okay with this sleeping arrangement.

“I stacked some blankets over here,” Omera pointed to a stack of quilts in the corner.

“Thank you. That’s very kind,” replied Mando as he turned to unstrap his rifle from his back.

A little girl crept up to the open doorway, looking down at her feet with her hands clasped behind her back. You recognized her from the gaggle of children. She was one of the quieter, shyer kids.

Mando, who was facing the back of the room, whipped around defensively at her movement. His hand hovered threateningly over his blaster.

The little girl gasped and jumped back, disappearing from view. Omera turned to follow her out the door.

You stepped toward Mando and put a steadying hand on his elbow in the space between his armor, drawing his arm away from his weapon. He looked down at where your hand gripped his arm.

“Are you okay?” you asked, under your breath.

He gave you a curt nod and exhaled loudly through the modulator.

You dropped your hand to your side when Omera returned, the little girl hugged tightly to her.

“This is my daughter, Winta,” she explained in her dulcet voice. “We don’t get a lot of visitors around here. She’s not used to strangers.”

Neither is Mando.

Mando stood awkwardly and said nothing.

“It’s nice to meet you, Winta,” you greeted gently. She smiled timidly against her mother’s stomach.

“These people are going to help protect us from the bad ones,” Omera said.

“Thank you,” replied Winta quietly.

“Come on, Winta. Let’s give our guests some room.” Omera took Winta’s hand and lead her away.

As soon as the two of you and the baby were alone, you turned to Mando. “How are we both going to sleep in here? You can’t sleep in your helmet.”

Mando stood frozen, staring at the doorway. He seemed not to have registered that you said anything.

“Mando?”

He turned to you. “I—uh, it’s fine. I didn’t want to inconvenience them any more.”

“But how is this going to work?”

“I can sleep in my helmet.”

“No way, that’s ridiculous. I’ll ask if I can stay with Cara.” You took a step toward the door.

He looked down at the floor. “I’d rather you stay here.”

“Ah...okay. I thought we were past the stage where you felt the need to babysit me,” you joked, hoping that wasn’t the reason for this.

“No. That’s not...” he started to explain but trailed off.

He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, and, despite the prickle of irritation you felt at the confirmation of his mistrust, you felt compelled to fill the uneasy silence that followed.

Avoiding his gaze, you looked over to where the kid was snoozing in the crib. “It’s fine. I’m going to go out for a bit if you want to take it off now. I’ll let you know before I come back in.”

“Thank you.”

You dropped your bag onto a crate and slipped out of the room and into the soft sunlight that shone through the sparse clouds.

Unwittingly, Mando seemed to know how to give you just enough reassurance to keep you around and just enough doubt to keep you guessing about why you were here with him. He was holding you at arm’s length, but not letting you go.

The potential between you was as enticing as it was confusing.

The more time you spent with Mando, the more of a paradox he seemed to be. He was constantly torn between a need to be hard and his instinct to be soft. You had an inkling that at heart, he was soft through and through. How else could you explain the presence of the baby?

His literal and metaphorical armor were clearly worn out of necessity—for several reasons, you guessed: to be successful in a brutal profession, probably as a result of past trauma, and simply because life is just fucking hard. You barely knew him, but you couldn’t help but want to be someone with whom he felt comfortable letting his guard down.

You pushed these thoughts from your mind as you stepped into the dappled light that filtered through the canopy of the forest. You were happy to explore the woods on your own, enjoying the serene atmosphere and natural beauty. It had been a while since you’d been on such a lovely planet. It reminded you of home.

***

When you returned a few hours later, all the villagers were gathering around the barn where Mando and Cara stood on the porch. You walked up to join the crowd and Mando’s visor followed your movement. You smiled at him, and he looked away abruptly, turning to Cara. They exchanged a few words then Mando stepped forward to address everyone.

“Bad news. You can’t live here anymore,” Mando announced. He declared this in an infuriatingly neutral, straightforward way, the same way you’d tell someone there was going to be rain.

They must have seen the same tracks in the forest that I saw.

The villagers broke out in surprised chatter: “What?” “Why?”

Cara and Mando muttered to each other. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you hoped Cara was explaining how callous he’d sounded.

Cara started forward, “I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”

Despite her slightly better manner, the villagers broke out in angry protests again.

“You took the job!” Caben cried.

“That was before we knew about the AT-ST!” exclaimed Cara.

Your stomach dropped. You had hoped you were somehow wrong about what those tracks belonged to. It would take serious preparation to successfully take on a band of raiders and an Imperial walker.

“What is that?” asked Caben.

“The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn’t mention,” said Cara indignantly.

That is a pretty important piece of information they had chosen to leave out.

More protests erupted. The villagers shouted pleas over one another. Mando was surveying the desperate villagers, saying nothing. You had a feeling that despite his initial refusal and these adverse circumstances, he would elect to help them anyways. Eventually one of the many heartfelt appeals was likely to sway him—listening to their pleading voices, you knew you would find it hard to refuse them.

Omera’s plaintive voice broke over the crowd, and you suspected she’d be the one to convince him.

“We have nowhere to go,” she entreated.

Mando met your gaze, where you stood silently at the back of the crowd. He cocked his head, and you knew what he was asking. You gave him an understanding smile, nodding your agreement. He bowed his head slightly in response.

You turned and walked away, not needing to hear the rest of the conversation to know that Mando had already decided to stay.

***

Chapter 4

[astarryon]

Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart. 

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp. 

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.”

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself. 

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good

[neko-naruto]

Corrupted

"Sam, this, this isn't you." I stammered out as I looked at Sam in slight fear, Jazz and Tucker at my sides.

Sam had been corrupted, splotches of her skin having faded to a light green, accents of bright reds here and there. Cuffs of spiked vines attached to her wrists and ankles that kept her linked to the ground, writhing occasionally.

"Really Danny? Look at you, join me and my friends," Sam said, raising her hand and calling upon a set of three kids that burst from the ground, one of them Kwan, all plant like zombies of their past selves. "Become, stronger, and better like them."

"Sam, please listen to me." I said, more forcefully than before, her eye twitched a bit as she flicked her wrist back down, her small army melding into the ground again.

"Fine, you have five minutes to convince me to not make this school my army." Sam claimed as she lowered her arms to her sides and shook herself down, a cloud of pollen floating off of her into my face, I coughed a bit at the bitter particles.

I felt a sting run down my trachea as I inhaled some of the pollen, numbness taking place.

"Look, Sam, this isn't you, your not an ectoplasm powered plant nymph, your not meant to be this," I tried to explain, having a hard time forming a counter argument, desperately, numbness slowly spreading across my nerves. "You were my friend, you were our friend, our closest friend, at my side through everything.

"Even before all this ghost stuff started.

"Before Vlad revealed his powers and cloned me.

"Even when I got my powers, hell you were the one that convinced me to step into that stupid fucking portal and get stuck between life and death!" I snapped, the numb of the pollen doing nothing to quell the bubbling emotions in my ice cold core.

I don't even know what was brewing, but I felt chilled breezes fly past me, the wind gaining intensity and bring bits of powdery flakes of snow and icy chunks of hail that slowly grew in size. I heard footsteps, Tucker and Jazz fleeing as I brought down bone chilling breezes and swirls of snow and near golf ball sized hail.

Sam stared in shock at me as she backed away a bit, the blizzard I was bringing down intensifying, the snow on the ground sticking to the grass creating a thin sheet on the ground below us.

I'm still human, guess some of what Vortex gave me stuck, just needed the emotions to be more intense.

Lucky me.

I shot out my hand as Sam leapt into the air, vines keeping her steady in the air, I tilted my hand upwards, a stream of snow and wind knocking her from her balance causing her to fall to the ground, I could hear something snap, I cringed a bit at the sound. I walked over to her as she flicked her hand, raising her henchmen, the ice spreading from below my feet and coating the ground preventing the three from raising.

"Get rid of your ice, so I can have a trying chance." Sam growled as she backed away, shooting a stream of spiked vines at me, I deflected the attack with a flick of my hand, a look of shock washed over her face.

"No, I don't think I will." I said, a smirk playing at my lips as I slowly stepped over, going ghost as I did so, Sam grabbing a handful of the vines that clung to her and throwing out at me like a grappling. The vines wrapped around my torso through the blizzard I had spawned in, I struggled against the vines as I kicked off a small golf ball of hail that quickly gained size as the hail rolled across the ground towards Sam who leapt out of the way.

"Stop fighting back! I was told this would be easy!" Sam shouted at me before flicking both wrists in the air, the vines around my torso dropping down to the snowy ground below me as she held her head, slowly lowering to the ground from her position in the air.

I inched over, emotions down to a light simmer as Sam reached the ground, falling to her knees, she released a strangled scream once I got close enough, the plant restraints tightening, thorns gaining size as they dug into her skin, blood trickling down her arms. I reverted back to human form and looked at her from a slight distance, the green splotches seemingly fluctuating between gaining size and loosing size as she struggled.

The vines, that's the problem.

I summoned a small blade of ectoplasm, and leapt at her, the vines and Sams form lurching away from me as I went to try and slice off one of the vines. They had a mind of their own, I growled a bit as I lunged again, slicing the vine on her right ankle off, the part that was attached to her ankle shrivelling up and dying, the patches of green reverting to her normal skin.

She hissed at the sudden reversion, and froze up giving me a chance to slice off at least one more of them, I lunged once more with a second ectoplasmic blade, with some twisted luck lopping off the vines on her right ankle and wrist. Sam fell unconscious as the last vine dragged her further from my range, the vine lifted her into the air before going to slither past her loose lips. I leapt up, going ghost as I did so before yanking at the vine and sliding down, my hands being shredded against the thorns, ectoplasmic knife being retracted.

"Maybe this will work...?" I said weakly as I pulled out an ectoplasmic knife again and hacked against the writhing vines until they snapped, I fell back as the vines dropped down to the ground. I stumbled with a roll before dashing over to where Sam was falling, just barely catching her, hearing another snap.

Oh man... That does not sound good at all.

Is, is she gonna wake up?

Is she gonna get hypothermia from the cold?

I have fucked up...

[pale-goblin]

Sheep Always Follow.

There had been many times Richie tried to make a move on Eddie. Bumping hands at the movie theatre, sharing food, putting his arm around Eddie’s shoulders as they walked. Of course, Richie had to be in love with the densest person on the planet.

“Richie, you’re like that with everyone,” Eddie mumbled, laying on his back, eyes glued to the clouds in the sky. Richie pulled at the grass with his hands rolling it into little balls before throwing it back into the field. “Sure, I like to cuddle and hug the others but not like you.”

Eddie was quiet for a minute rubbing the big red V Richie replaced the S with. “What are you saying? That you like me?” Eddie snorted. “Yeah, I am.”

“That’s pretty gay of you.”

“What if I am gay?” Richie took a breath, hoping that Eds, of all people, was going to leave him over just liking boys. Eddie’s mother was a big homophobe and sometimes made Richie uncomfortable for hugging Eddie goodbye just because she heard things around Darry about him.

“You know--”

“Don’t go on an aids rant Eds--” Richie took a deep breath, trying not to just take it all back. “I just---I can’t help it, okay? I like you, no, I love you. All the jokes aside, I love you.”

Eddie finally broke eye contact with the sky, looking over at Richie with those big brown eyes before sitting up. “Boys, can’t like boys, Richie.” “I don’t care, Eddie; I really don’t care what other people think or how other people view it. Listen if we were peppermint candy.” “If we were peppermint?” “Shut up, if we were Peppermint, the red and white one; red and white need to come together to make a whole peppermint.” Richie used his hands as he explained, interlocking his fingers while Eddie made that ‘what are you going on about’ face. “I can’t have peppermints; my face swells up.” Eddie rubbed his own cheek just thinking about it. “Eddie, I feel like we’re soulmates. I never wanna be apart.”

Eddie’s lips curled into a smile then a nervous laugh came out. “Rich, if my mom found out, she would never let me over anymore---I” Eddie swallowed hard like he was hiding something.

“Eds--” Eddie leaned into Richie, pulling him into a hug, “Can’t you keep this inside like me until we move away?” Richie slowly hugged him back, holding on to the small body of his friend. Maybe Eddie was just playing dumb and wasn’t as dense as Richie really thought he was. They held onto each other for a while. Not talking or moving, but Richie couldn’t keep it in, not Anymore. It was too much for him to keep lying to the world like he was, that he didn’t love Eds more than just a friend. He wanted to kiss him and hold his hand.

“We can keep it just between us,” Richie mumbled into his friend’s neck. Hoping to god he would agree. “But My mom--” “Fuck your mom; we will stay hidden, not tell anyone.” Eddie nodded in Richie’s arms as the wind picked up and swirled in their hair, chilly and cool to calm their aching fear in their souls. A rebel with a follower. Some things maybe shouldn’t mix because someone always gets hurt.

It had been weeks after IT disappeared, they were fighting him in a war of his own games, and Eddie got this light in him like he wanted to on the world. This crisp glow to himself, even after his mother tried to stop him from seeing the losers club. Eddie still came to Richie in the dead of night, hiding by the lumberjack, holding each other with shushed kisses. Losing themselves in each other just like peppermint.

“Hold,” Eddie pulled away, wheezing at the foot of the statue. Richie helped him grab the light blue inhaler out of Eddie’s fanny pack that Richie loved so much. “You okay?” Richie mumbled, watching the love of his life suck in his lifeline. Nodding over and over as he gasped for another shot of vapours from the inhaler.

“Sorry, I was going too fast” Richie put his hand back onto Eddie’s cheek, rubbing his thumb in circles along his jawline.

“I’m okay, Rich.” Eddie smiled just before pulling him back in for a deep kiss, Eddie might have not been Richie’s first, but he was Eddie’s. It was the first time Eddie took a breath of air he would rather choke on than breathe any other philosophy.

These moments they shared under the moonlit sky was their safe place, a place hidden in the dark shadows of the lumberjack in a quiet small town. Their lips locked in a dance floor of their mouths, something they couldn’t get enough of because their tastes were familiar to each other.

When their lips broke again, Richie knew it was time, “I have to go,” Eddie mumbled, his face turned into a frown, but that rebel light in his eyes stayed.

“Just a bit longer,”

“Rich--” “Please,” “My mom--” “Eddie, Just run away with me.”

Eddie’s mouth fell open. He was at a loss for words. Running away? At 14? His mom would call the police, and Richie would get charged with kidnapping, no doubt. “Richie, you know...I- can’t; we don’t have money.” “I’ve been saving” Richie grabbed Eddie’s soft hands.

“Where would we go?”

“LA, I heard they like the gays.”

“Rich--” “We could take a bus, move in with my aunt; she could enroll us in school and--” “I can’t--” “Eddie, stop, we can! I have a plan that is going to be totally fine. If we leave tomorrow--” “RICHIE” Eddie raised his voice, just like his mother would have at him just because he didn’t listen when he was called. Something he learned from her, he guessed. “We’re too young; I can’t just leave my mom.” Richie didn’t understand; all she did was abuse him and make him feel like total shit all the time. “She makes you sad; her fat ass needs to leave my Eddie alone.”

Eddie was hit in the chest again, that arrow right in between his ribs, “She loves me Rich, You don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Right, she doesn’t love you, Eddie.” Richie pulled away, frowning, forming deep lines a child shouldn’t have. “Forget it”

“Richie, stop; we can’t just run away.”

“Yes, we can! I thought you wanted to be with me forever?” Richie hated this feeling that the world needed them to stay in line. Like not, some children before him didn’t run away from abusive homes. He just didn’t understand how it was so easy for Eddie to stay in a house that was falling on his head, crushing all the free will he had.

“I do, Richie, but not like this! I can’t--” “I don’t get it--” “I’m NOT READY RICH.”

Richie put his hands in his pockets, watching that rebel glow in Eddie’s eyes fades to the background. Caving back into his sheep-like eyes, ready to follow the shepherd. Richie was never a follower; he was loud and ‘too much for people. He was the class clown everyone loved to laugh at, not with. But it didn’t bug Richie because he felt like he was burning a trail for broken people just like him. Gay little kids that were not scared to say they were gay. That worn the title ‘fag’ like a badge. He just wanted the love of his life to feel the same and wanted to fight for him in the open.

But Eddie was too scared; Eddie was raised on the back of fear his mother gave him. All little gay kids get AIDS and die. It will kill you like mustard gas if you breathe in the wrong air because Eds was ‘sick.’

“Okay,”

“Rich--don’t go.”

“You said you had to go home,” Richie got up, fighting back the tears in his dumb ass tear ducts. He heard Eddie sobbing as he fucked around with his bike, trying to get on it in a fit of rage. He just wanted Eddie safe with him, safe from his fat ass mother, but he was stuck. Nothing Richie would say could change that. He was a sheep, a follower, someone conditioned to look to one person because they were safe.

Richie finally got on the bike with a groan, “Stop letting her run your life, Eds,” Richie mumbled as he took off on his bike home.

Sometimes when you mix Rebels and Followers, someone always gets hurt.

[marjansmarwani]

fading under dying light

3.9k || ao3

After a rough shift TK comes home to an empty condo and decides to go for a run to clear his head, to avoid being alone with his thoughts. But when he runs into trouble on his run it’s Carlos who comes home to find him, to save him. He just hopes he was fast enough, that he wasn’t too late to save the person that matters most. ------ Day 7 of Angst Week: Free Choice + “grabbed by the hair” for @badthingshappenbingo

--------

He hadn’t been able to save them.

Two brothers, 16 and 19, trapped in a car that had gone off an embankment and he hadn’t been able to save them. It didn’t matter that he had been able to go down to the vehicle without a problem, it didn’t matter that he and the fire crew had done everything they could. In the end, they were still gone. Two young lives ended far before their time; two fearful gazes that had held his own until the very end. He had seen the moment it had ended, he had been there still fighting against fate when their time ran out. He had been there for the moment that would shape a family’s new reality and he couldn’t get it out of his head. 

So, when he had arrived home to an empty condo and Carlos still had another 2 hours left in his shift, he had decided to go for a run. It was better than sitting alone with his thoughts — anything was better than that. 

So he found himself in the nearby park; the sound of his feet pounding against the pavement echoing through the cool night air was almost enough to drown out his thoughts. It was late and the park was nearly empty, which suited TK just fine. Being around people right now seemed unbearable. His crew - both fire and medical - had extended invitations, had offered to stay with him; to prevent him from being alone.  But being alone is what he needed right now. He needed this time to process, to sort through the thoughts swirling through his head. 

He had done everything he possibly could have to save those boys, he knew that. He knew that he wasn’t at fault, that he was in no way to blame for what had happened. No one was. It had been an accident; a tragic, awful accident. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe it wasn’t so much that he hadn’t been able to save them as it was the grief and guilt in the older brother’s eyes as he told TK in a low voice that it was all his fault. That he had taken his eyes off the road for one second, and that single second had made all the difference. Maybe it was that though TK had tried to reassure him that mistakes happened and that it didn’t make him a bad person he was almost certain that the older boy — Danny — hadn’t believed him. That he had died thinking that it was his fault, that he had killed his brother. 

Maybe it was the fact that TK had made so many mistakes of his own — mistakes far, far worse than looking away from the road — but he was still here and Danny and Ryan weren’t anymore. He had been given so many chances and they hadn’t even gotten one, and he couldn’t reconcile that idea in his mind.  

He had been trying since it happened. He had even said as much to Paul and Marjan when they had checked in on him, when they had caught him in a vulnerable moment. But no amount of logic or reassurance could make this better, nothing could make it make sense. That wouldn’t stop him from trying, though. 

He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not see the skateboard in his way until it was too late. His foot caught the edge of it and sent him crashing to the ground where he lay as pain blossomed from throughout his body. He groaned and was about to push himself up to assess the damage when he heard footsteps. He froze for a moment, trying to get a sense of how many there were when a fresh pain ripped through him as a hand reached into his hair and hauled him up. He hissed in pain as the hand tightened in his hair, pulling him up to his knees so he could see the figures surrounding him. 

There were three of them and, as best TK could tell through his watering eyes, they looked young. No older than Danny. 

“Hand over your wallet and no one needs to get hurt,” the one in front of him instructed and TK shook his head. 

“I don’t have it on me,” he explained, “I don’t carry it when I run.” 

 “Why don’t I believe you?” the figure asked and TK shrugged the best he could. 

“I don’t know, but it’s the truth.” 

“Maybe we should just check to see,” the figure said to the companion standing beside him he nodded and lunged forward and TK felt a blinding flash of white-hot pain. 

“I don’t have anything,” he gasped again, “all I have is my phone and airpods. You can take them, but that’s all I have.” 

There were hands on him then and though TK tried to follow the movements it was hard when his head was a cloud of pain. It seemed like an eternity before a new voice spoke. 

“It looks like he’s telling the truth, all I’ve got is his phone and airpods, like he said.” 

The first figure shrugged and looked down at TK, “Then I guess that’s what we take. Let him go and let’s get out of here.” 

The hand gripping his hair disappeared and TK sagged forward without it to hold him upright. He crumpled to the ground, instinctively curling in on himself to protect his wound and prevent any further pain. But the sound of retreating footsteps told him that there was no need, the danger was gone and he was on his own. He pulled himself off the ground and looked down, trying to locate the source of the white-hot pain burning through his abdomen. 

He located a red spot, steadily consuming the gray of his shirt. He pulled up his shirt, hissing in pain as the material clung to his skin, to get a better look at the wound. It was a puncture wound, likely from some sort of blade, but it didn’t look too deep. He was only a few blocks from the condo, he could make it home and get a better look at it. Besides, they had taken his phone. He had no way to call for help. He was on his own. 

He pulled himself off of the ground gingerly, swaying for a moment on his feet before he found his balance. He took a deep breath and headed in the direction of his home, keeping a hand carefully pressed against the wound all the while. It wasn’t a far walk but he was moving more slowly than usual and though he had no way of knowing how long it had been, he was certain it was longer than the usual 8 minutes it took to walk to the park. 

He let himself in; thankful they hadn’t thought to take his keys, at least, before heading up the stairs towards the bathroom. He had to pause in the middle, gripping the railing tightly as a wave of dizziness washed over him, nearly toppling him on the stairs. He waited for it to pass before pulling himself up the last few stairs and entering the bathroom. He flipped on the light and was taken aback by the sight of his own reflection in the mirror.  

He was far paler than he should be and the bloodstain had grown to show beyond the hand covering the wound. He lifted his hand to see that the blood was now dripping at an alarming rate. Maybe it was deeper than he thought after all. 

He stepped closer to the counter, reaching for the medicine cabinet. If he could at least get it bandaged, if he could put some better pressure on it he should be able to buy himself some more time. He just needed enough time to figure out how to call for help without his phone. Or for Carlos to get home. TK had no idea how long had passed since he had set out for his run but he was sure that it had been nearly two hours; Carlos should be home soon. It would be okay. He just needed to handle it until then. 

He managed to pry open the medicine cabinet and fumble through it, hand landing on the first aid kit they stored there. He tried to tighten his grip on it, to pull it out, but his body wasn’t responding to him. Hypovolemic shock his mind provided, far too late to do anything about it. He had lost too much blood; his body was starting to shut down to preserve itself. He tried to grab the first aid kit again, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. There was nothing in there that could help him now. 

He got one last look at his reflection in the mirror — skin pale and face shining with sweat despite the fact that he could feel shivers racing through his body — before darkness began to encroach on his vision. He tried to tighten his grip on the wound, to put as much pressure on it as possible but he knew it was a lost cause. 

He had one fleeting thought as the darkness took over and he could feel himself sinking to the ground: though he hated the thought of Carlos having to find him like this he hoped desperately that he came home soon. 

He hoped that he got here before it was too late. 

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

Carlos sighed wearily as he stepped up to his front door, pulling out his keys as he reached the threshold. It was late and his shift had been long, he was just happy to have gotten out on time. For a while, it seemed like it would never end. 

But it had and now he was home and all he wanted to do was convince TK to order some takeout and curl up on the couch with his boyfriend and possibly fall asleep in his arms. He didn’t think that was too much to ask. 

He barely looked around as he stepped inside, calling out to TK as he shut the door behind him, “Hey babe! I’m thinking takeout tonight, unless you had other plans.” 

There was no response and Carlos frowned as he pulled off his shoes. He glanced at the table beside the door to see that TK’s keys were there. 

“TK?” he tried again. “You here?” 

He didn’t get a response but a glance up the stairs showed him that the bathroom lights were on. Carlos grinned and headed in that direction only to freeze when his foot made contact with something wet and sticky. He looked down and felt his heart jump into his throat. 

It was blood, and there was a trail of it leading all the way up the stairs. Carlos stood and stared for a moment, rooted to the spot by horror before his mind caught up and put all the pieces together: TK was hurt. 

Carlos raced up the stairs the moment the shock faded; heart thudding in his chest. He barely took a moment to dwell on the growing horror at the sight of a larger puddle almost at the top. It was too much blood. Whatever had happened it was bad and he needed to find TK now. 

He reached the bathroom a moment later and careened through the open doorway only to freeze at the sight that met him: TK, sprawled on the ground in a small pool of blood. He wasn’t moving. 

Carlos crashed to his knees beside his still form, reaching out a shaking hand to feel for his pulse. For several moments he felt nothing and Carlos couldn’t breathe, the weight of dread and despair pressing on him from every angle. Then, by some miracle, he felt it. A slight beat under his fingers. It was weak and slow but it was there and in that moment it was the best thing Carlos had ever felt. 

He blinked to clear his eyes of the tears that had gathered as he reached into his pocket for his phone, dialing before tossing it next to him on speaker. He leaned forward to examine TK as the call connected and the familiar cadence of dispatch answered: 911, what is your emergency?

Carlos swallowed before speaking: “I just came home to find my boyfriend unconscious and bleeding. I think he’s been stabbed.” 

Because know that he was looking he saw it: a wound at the center of all the blood. It was angry and red and nothing he had ever wanted to see on the body of the man he loved but a sight he was all too familiar with nonetheless. He answered the rest of the questions on autopilot, providing his name and address and other relevant details but the majority of his focus was on TK. He had been next to him, touching him and moving him and he hadn’t stirred. Carlos was no medic but even he was well aware that was a bad sign. 

He desperately wanted to know what had happened. TK had sent him a text two hours ago to tell him he had made it home. He had been fine, but now he was bleeding in their bathroom wearing his running clothes and Carlos had no idea why. The only thing he knew for sure was that he needed TK to wake up. Nothing else mattered. 

Soon there was commotion as a paramedic team showed up as well as some uniformed officers. Carlos told his colleagues what he knew, answered all the questions the best he could but his eyes never left TK. Through all the prodding and commotion he hadn’t stirred once and that more than anything else reignited the cold fear in Carlos’s chest. 

The paramedics worked quickly and efficiently and in no time they had him on a gurney, ready to head to the hospital. Carlos stepped away from the officer he had been speaking to without a word, silently following them down the stairs and to the ambulance. He paused at the door, eyes seeking the paramedic Captain who met his eyes and nodded, gesturing for him to climb in. 

He did without a second thought and watched with a heavy heart as they continued to work on TK, giving him fluids and starting a transfusion. 

“Is he going to be okay?” he asked quietly, desperately. His voice was thick and when the other paramedic — Megan from the 132, Carlos had worked with her on several scenes — looked up at him, her gaze was grim. 

“He’s going to give it the best he has,” she said eventually, “and from what I hear he’s pretty stubborn, but I’m sure you know that.”

Carlos nodded. TK was stubborn, more so than anyone else he had ever met. But there had also been so much blood on the stairs and the floor and god knows where else and he knew what that meant. He knew how precarious this situation was, he knew exactly how much danger TK was in. 

He closed his eyes as they raced towards the hospital, squeezing TK’s hand that he had been holding since he had entered the ambulance. Megan was right, TK was stubborn, but so was he. And if anyone thought that they were taking TK away from him, they’d have to go through him first. 

He wasn’t about to let him go without a fight. 

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

When TK woke up, he wasn’t fully sure he was awake. 

Actually, when he wakes up, he’s not too sure of anything. 

He opened his eyes to see the dim light of dawn peeking through the window. Soft pinks and oranges paint the room and distantly TK wonders how he forgot to shut the curtains. He always made sure to shut the curtains after Carlos has a late shift. His boyfriend is naturally an early riser but blocking out the morning sun helped to make sure that he got an adequate amount of sleep after a late shift. TK went to roll over to make sure Carlos was still sleeping when he realized that he wasn’t in their bed. 

From there the pieces fell into place and the realization dawned on him: he was in the hospital. He frowned to himself trying to remember how and why. He didn’t think he had gotten hurt on shift and he was pretty sure it hadn’t been one of his usual kitchen accidents but he couldn’t figure out what it was, his mind was too hazy. 

He looked around the room and smiled fondly as he saw Carlos, asleep in the chair next to his bed, his head rested on folded arms next to his hip. He reached out a gentle hand to brush a curl off of his forehead, nearly jumping himself when his light touch caused Carlos to sit bolt upright, eyes frantically looking around the room. They seemed unfocused when they found TK looking at him, for a moment. Then he blinked and they cleared as relief flooded his expression. “TK,” he breathed, reaching out to place a hand on his cheek. 

TK leaned into the warmth of the touch and smiled at him until he saw the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. 

“Carlos?” he asked, voice weaker than he expected, “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Carlos repeated incredulously, “what’s wrong? TK, you almost died. I almost lost you.” 

“What?” he asked, his heart rate picking up at the distress in Carlos’s voice, “What do you mean? What happened?” 

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Carlos said more softly. “I came home and found you passed out and bleeding in the bathroom. You had been stabbed, and it was pretty deep.TK, what happened?” 

His voice was desperate and TK frowned as he thought. His mind was still fuzzy, but bits and pieces were starting to come back to fill in the blanks left by Carlos’s words. 

“We had a rough call during my shift,” he remembered, feeling the pang of guilt and grief hit him all over again, “and I didn’t want to dwell on it so I went for a run. I was running in the park and I think a group of kids robbed me. They were just kids, Carlos, they couldn’t have been more than 19.” 

“But they stabbed you,” Carlos said darkly. “I think that graduates them from ‘just kids’, TK.” 

“They asked for my wallet but when I told them I didn’t have it…” he trailed off but judging by Carlos’s grimace he could fill in the blanks. “They’re just kids Carlos,” he told him again, “they have their whole lives ahead of them.” 

“But thanks to them, you almost didn’t.” Carlos pointed out, his firm tone shifting as choked out the last words, “you almost died, TK. I almost lost you. That goes well beyond kid stuff.” 

TK knew Carlos was right but the thoughts he had been running away from were back. He couldn’t stand to think that these boys, no older than Danny had been, were out of chances. He couldn’t stand the thought of their lives as they knew them ending over a stupid mistake. 

Carlos was studying him now. He knew that he was an open book to the other man, he had always been. Carlos reached for his hand and wound their fingers together, “Why don’t you tell me what is really going on,” he asked gently. “It has to do with the rough shift, doesn’t it?”

TK swallowed and looked down. “There were two brothers,” he whispered, just loud enough that Carlos could hear, “16 and 19. The older brother was driving. He kept saying that he had just looked away from the road for a moment, that it was all his fault. He made a mistake Carlos — a simple, stupid mistake — and now he and his little brother are both dead. They didn’t get a second chance.”

There were tears running down his face now, but he didn’t bother wiping them away. 

“They didn’t get a second chance,” he repeated, “and I’ve had so many. It just doesn’t seem fair.” 

He felt a hand on his face as Carlos wiped away the tears running down his face. “You’ve used those chances Ty,” he reminded him tenderly, “you’ve used them to become a better person, to help people. They brought you here and made you who you are. They weren’t wasted and they weren’t a mistake; I think they were fate.” 

“But why me?” he asked, voice thick with tears as he met Carlos’s warm brown eyes, “Why did I deserve it? Why didn’t they?” 

“I can’t answer that Ty,” Carlos responded sadly, “no one can. We don’t get a say in who gets a second chance. That goes for you, the brothers, and those kids that did this to you.” 

TK knew he was right. He knew that it was out of his hands and that regardless of what he said or did, the boys who had robbed him in the park would either be caught and punished out they wouldn’t. It was out of his hands. Carlos was watching him and TK was sure that he knew what he was thinking. 

“If that’s not enough,” Carlos said after a few moments, “think about the fact that they could do this again, and that the next person might not be so lucky. The next time it could be a loved one planning a funeral instead of sitting in the ER, because that’s almost where this ended, TK. You can’t protect them.” 

TK wasn’t sure “protect” was the right word. He just didn’t want to see three young lives altered over one mistake. He wanted to see them move past this, to grow from it, but he knew he had no say in the matter. He shifted his focus instead to Carlos who was here and who he could help. 

“How are you doing?” he asked him, shaking his head at Carlos’s objection. “Don’t give me that,” he insisted. “You have been waiting and worrying all night. You found me and saved me. While I am beyond grateful, I know if it had been me and it had been you, I would be a mess so don’t lie to me, Carlos.”

He held his boyfriend’s gaze, watching as it wilted and as Carlos took a deep, shaky breath. 

“It was the scariest thing I have ever faced,” he admitted. “I was a wreck the whole time you were in surgery. If it hadn’t been for your dad and your team, I don’t know what I would have done. But I knew you would be okay because any other possibility was unacceptable.” 

“Is that so?” TK asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Mhm,” Carlos agreed. “Because if anyone tried to take you away from me they’d have to go through me first. I don’t give up easily; I learned from the best, after all.”

TK smiled and pulled at Carlos’s hand. He was still too weak for it to make much of a difference but luckily Carlos understood and moved closer. TK leaned in to give him a kiss: short, but full of love. He liked to think that it was a promise too, but just in case he said the words aloud. 

“And I would do the same for you,” he vowed, holding Carlos’s eyes and giving him a smile. “We’re in this for the long haul, you know. Anybody who says otherwise will have to answer to me.” 

[theodora3022]

How bnha boys would ask you out (Big three edition)

Request: Since you watched Season four, can I have some Mirio and Tamaki headcanons? Similar to your "how they ask you out" post before.

I assume you mean separately because I am not comfortable with writing poly.

Pairing: Mirio togata x reader, Tamaki Amajiki x reader

Notes: Reader is their underclassman, a student of 1A, met them during the work-study arc. Condition: the reader is single. Female reader I guess.

Warning: Just big Fluffs.

Mirio Togata

Before

Sunshine. That is what Mirio is, a pure package of warmth and enthusiasm. If you are shy like Tamaki, you would probably envy his outgoing spirits.

He notices you as soon as he first sets foot in your classroom. You sat there with a hand underneath your chin, looks up to your senpais with those shiny eyes. He seen you around the campus before, also seen your exceptional performance at the sports festival.

When they were introduced as the big three, he did not miss that bright light of admiration in your eyes. Congratulations, you successfully peaked Mirio’s interests. During his short speech, his eyes would circle around the classroom, resting on you for a few more seconds.

When he trained with you that afternoon, whether you are a long-ranged or melee combatant, Mirio would knock you down the first chance he got. Would not want you to hurt yourself recklessly, right? He also thinks how you try to counter him is absolutely adorable.

Nejire and Tamaki notices the extra attention Mirio is giving you. While Neijire would tease him and jokes about it, Tamaki just silently assess you with his intense glare. Mirio is happy that they both think of you as a hard-working kohai, and their approval is just icing on the cake.

After the beat-up training, Mirio approaches you causally and ask you to train together sometime. To make his intentions seems less suspicious, he also extends that invitation to Midoriya.

After a couple of training sessions, you start to warm up to him. You no longer seen him only as Togata Senpai, just Mirio the friendly upperclassman. But he is still not satisfied with the result.

His quirk is made for stalking. I do not accept counter arguments. You all seen how he scares Midoriya Izuku. Probably stalks you as a pastime, you wonder if you are losing your sanity since you always feel like someone is watching you.

During

After another intense afterschool training session, Mirio would ask you to get dinner with him in the city.

“You’re working so hard lately; you deserve a break! Why don’t we go get a bite in the city? My treat.”

You accept delightfully, did not think of it as a date. Just your upperclassman friend treating you with something tasty. You chatted with him about all sorts of things, such as your homework. It feels nothing more then hanging out with a pal.

It is when he tries to kiss you on your way back, you realize something is off.

If you accept, he will become eccentric. You thought the normal Mirio is energic enough, but this mode, good gracious.

Lifting you up by the knees with his strong arms, he will give you a bright smile that can make you blind. “Oh! My dearest (y/n)! Thank you, thank you, thank you! We’re going to be the cutest couple!”

If you flinch and distance yourself from him, that is another story.

“(y/n), not going to kiss your date goodnight?”

When you explain you see him nothing more then a friend, Mirio would laugh. It honestly creeps you out since you expect him to yell, or even show you a hint of anger. Then he would bid you goodnight as if nothing is wrong.

The next day you found an elaborate flame rose bouquet on you desk, without a single clue of who the sender is. Mina would start rambling about how sweet your secret admirer is, but you just felt shivers down your spine.

You texted him. “Can we talk?”

“Of course, anything for you.”

When you meet him in a nearby café few hours after, his usual enthusiastic attitude is still present. The sunshine boy sure knows how to hide any stormy clouds.

Mirio urges you to reconsider, sing you praises that made you blush like mad. You told him you would. “I just never thought of you in that way, but I guess there’s no harm in trying.”

Once the sunflower got you, he will spoil you, probably not with expensive gifts, but with all of his attention.

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

Tamaki Amajiki

I relate to him on so many levels, you have no idea

Before

If his best friend is the sun, shines proudly with endless energy, Tamaki is the moon, shy and would hide behind clouds. (I love this analogy you cannot blame me)

Just like Mirio as soon as he saw you in 1A classroom you got his attention.

Nejire and Mirio would notice how his gaze linger on you more then others, and tease relentlessly until Tamaki is flustered mess.

He asks Mirio to go easy on you on the beat-up training, but Mirio said if you want to get strong, he should not.

It takes a while to get Tamaki even say hello to you, however his eyes will not be left you when you are in the same room as him.

Surprise, surpise, it’s Nejire who come asking for your number, when you ask her why she needs it, she just tilts her head and say: “Tamaki said he wants to train with you sometimes! Here’s his number for you.”

If you are aware of the surroundings you could find a red-cheeked ravenette hiding in the shadows. You wonder why you, out of all your classmates who all have just as much potential.

Tamaki likes to observe small details. How you wave at your friends, how you dash through the hallways as the bells rang, how your sight follow pretty butterflies, how the rice sticks on your chin at lunch time. He got it all down.

You need to text him first, no doubts here. “It’s kouhai (y/n). Hado Senpai said you want to train together? When are you free?”

He felt he has been run over by a train. Is this what having a crush is like? No wonder why people act so stupid while in love.

His reply would be short. Tamaki is not doing that to be rude, he is just at a loss of words. Even though you would never ignore him even if he made typos. 

When you offer him a bottle of water after training, he would freeze. After ten seconds or so, he would snap back, take your gift, and mutter “thank you” before running away, leaving you there confused.

From then on you two would text on a regular basis. You ask him to help with your homework and training, he would ask you about how to deal with social anxiety (if you are outgoing like his best friend). You figured he is a lot more expressive through texts then in person, even though you still need to initiate conversions most of the time.

Tamaki starts to check his phone so often, even when he is at work with Fat Gum. The pro hero would also tease him (poor him, just endless teasing) about his “little girlfriend”. The older man laughs as Tamaki stutter how you two are only friends.  

During

After he answers some of your questions concerning an assignment, Tamaki offers to buy you ice cream. You met him by the gate, in your casual clothes.

As you two are walking back licking your treats, you notice how his dark hair has fallen in front because of the afternoon breeze.

“Ah, your hair is getting in the way. Let me help you.” Your fingers brush his face lightly as you tug strands of raven hair behind his pointy ears. His blush confirms your suspicions. Rumors has been swirling around about you two being more then regular friends, since Tamaki never spends much time with anyone apart from his two best friends.

“(y/n) ...” He dips his head as he finishes the ice cream, screaming inside. What if you say no? How is he going to face you afterwards? What if you say YES by some insane fluke?

“Would you...consider d-doing this s-some other time? W-with me, I mean.” Tamaki instantly regretted it as soon as it comes out. He seen enough rom com to know this is not how you ask a girl out.

If you said “Yes, of course!”, Tamaki would panic. He was not expecting you to, he seen how the other boys in school gazes at you. “Can you pinch me, please?” The sharp pain confirms this is all real, not some wild dream. Very insecure, he would get jealous easily. If you have male friends, he will not interfere (you need your own space too). but if you are being hit on in front of him, Tamaki would like you to kiss him on the cheek and proudly proclaims that you are taken.

If you turn him down, Tamaki’s expression turns grim and he said he understand. Of course, who would love him when they got so many other better options? 

Tamaki would not attempt to court you like Mirio. To him your happiness is his top priority, his personal feelings comes after. If you are happy, Tamaki is content. To him if you love someone, you need to ensure they are happy no matter what (such selfless love is true love).  If you eventually come around, he would be over the moon. Tamaki would bury his face in your chest, saying “thank you” over and over again, and hug you like he would never let go.

The shy ravenette may be timid and emotionally vulnerable, but Tamaki is the kindest soul you will ever find. Treat him with lots of affections and he will give you triple in return.

These boys are just so lovable aren’t they? Honestly I won’t say no to either of them...

[robininthelabyrinth]

Silver Mist - part 3/3 - ao3  or tumblr pt 1, pt 2

warning: adult content, read the ao3 tags

Every enchantment had a weak point.

There was a reason there were more cultivators than foxes out there, why even the cleverest fox had to hide behind a human mask and pretend to some level of decency – why Nie Huaisang had been so careful with playing with his brother, his most favorite and most precious of people. There would come a time when he got weakened, or distracted, or something, and suddenly all his enchantments would slip through his fingers, breaking down, and he’d be left with nothing but what he earned fair and square.

(Nie Huaisang’s mother, the second Madame Nie, had disappeared right after he’d been born, and yet it was Nie Mingjue’s mother that everyone said went away, that everyone recalled leaving, not his – his mother was the one they all said had died.)

Nie Huaisang lived in fear of that moment.

When his brother burned his fans in a rage, he thought – this is it. He’s remembered.

He hates me now.

It was all so very frustrating, too, because he’d finally settled everything just the way he liked it: his da-ge in his life and in his bed, feeding him with his heart and body and happy to see him flourish. It was all he needed in life, just that and nothing more. Sure, Nie Huaisang loved the gifts his brother’s sworn brothers brought for him – he’d always been spoiled beyond belief, and never saw any reason to change. It was ironic, really, that it was Jin Guangyao’s gifts that his brother always found fault with, not Lan Xichen’s which were just as multitudinous, but perhaps it was because he needed to wheedle and whine and beg for gifts from Jin Guangyao.

With Lan Xichen, he just needed to smile.

(Lan Xichen was always weak to a smile. Back at the Cloud Recesses, during the war, his weak protests had died at once at the sight of a smug little curl of the lip as Nie Huaisang pressed him down and climbed on top of him –)

Lan Xichen’s ears didn’t turn red the way Lan Wangji’s did, nor did he duck his head and grin the way Wei Wuxian did, Nie Huaisang observed judiciously, but that didn’t mean he could hide his embarrassment at the very sight of Nie Huaisang, and that made it very easy indeed to talk him into buying Nie Huaisang all the gifts he could possibly want with barely any protest. Maybe a But your brother - that quickly cut off when Nie Huaisang pressed his fan to his lips, but nothing more, and then he’d go above and beyond to find an excuse to take Nie Huaisang shopping for anything that caught his eyes.

But Jin Guangyao…

Sometimes Nie Huaisang would swear that his san-ge gave him all those gifts in front of his da-ge on purpose, the sneaky little minx, even though he knew Nie Mingjue would only rage at him for it.

Nie Huaisang’s presents burned, and he shouted and screamed and fled and cried, and he waited in his da-ge’s bedroom shivering in fear but unwilling to back down. He was a Nie, after all, and being a fox didn’t make him any less that.

“Huaisang?” his brother said, coming in through the door.

He looked – tired.

Tired, not angry; his eyes were bloodshot and he appeared to be in pain – his da-ge, his brave and bold da-ge who feared nothing, in pain!

“Da-ge, what’s wrong?” Nie Huaisang said fitfully, deciding to ignore… everything, at least for the moment. “Why are you like this? What happened?”

“I don’t –” His brother rubbed at his face. “I don’t know. I – I got so angry –”

His nose was bleeding, Nie Huaisang noticed, and frowned. “Da-ge?”

Maybe this wasn’t about what he’d been doing at all.

“Da-ge, come here,” he said, and his brother came to him. “Lie down,” he said, and his brother obeyed, free and clear and of his own volition. “What’s wrong with you?”

“The saber spirit,” Nie Mingjue said dully, staring up at the ceiling. “I thought I’d have longer.”

Nie Mingjue had never explained the exact details of their family’s cultivation technique, only postponed discussing it, and so Nie Huaisang had known there was something wrong with it – his brother only ever shared good things with him, while shielding him from the bad. He’d taught him everything he could, omitting only the last few details, and thus it was in those details that the problem lay.

As if Nie Huaisang couldn’t guess, when every generation of his ancestors had died from a qi deviation.

He scowled.

“It can’t be,” he said, settling down next to his brother on the bed. “You haven’t even been cultivating it that much, recently. Not more than your usual training.”

“Maybe it’s the war?” his brother wondered aloud. “After-effects, only becoming apparent once my cultivation increased further –”

“But the recent increase in your cultivation isn’t even because of saber cultivation!” Nie Huaisang argued. “You’ve been helping me, instead; it’s completely different, a totally different approach. A problem with one method wouldn’t affect an increase in your cultivation through another.”

His brother frowned.

“Huaisang,” he said, his brow furrowing, his eyes clear and thinking – thinking and realizing. “Your new cultivation ‘technique’…”

…oops.

“It’s only because I love you so much, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said at once, immediately pulling himself up and over to straddle on Nie Mingjue’s lap. It gave him an unfortunate view into the expression of shock and no little bit of horror currently forming on his brother’s face, but he needed any advantage he could get – he wouldn’t be able to pull his brother into the trance state like this, not when he’d realized, not when he was fully sober. Nie Huaisang had gotten stronger since they’d started this, but not strong enough to beat his brother when his brother was trying. “Haven’t I been good to you? Don’t I show you how much I love you?”

“Huaisang! There are – you can’t – you’re not allowed to love me that much!”

“Why not?” Nie Huaisang said, and when his da-ge tried to sit up he put his hand on his chest and pushed him back down. Maybe it was the angle, maybe it was the surprise, maybe it was just that his brother wasn’t really trying, but he managed it, and immediately a short sharp shock went straight to his cock. “Why not? Who’s it hurting?”

“Who is it – me! You’re doing it to me!”

“And sometimes you do it to me, what’s your point?” Nie Huaisang said, breezing past the fact that his brother wasn’t referring to penetration at all. “If we keep it discreet, no one will learn from our bad example, and you weren’t really looking for a spouse anyway, were you? You always wanted to leave the sect to me. Why shouldn’t I have you? I want you.”

“Huaisang –”

Nie Huaisang ground his hips down and felt the answering twitch. “It’s too late, anyway,” he said, and his brother stared up at him. “Look at you. I’ve already ruined you – you’ve got my words in your brain, in your core. You’ve had my cock up your ass and you’ve loved it, you get hard just thinking about my cock in your mouth –”

“Because you put it in my head.”

“Just because I put it there doesn’t mean it’s not still there,” Nie Huaisang said, and leaned forward to press his lips to his brother’s neck. “It’s still in there, da-ge. And if it is, then what’s the point of not letting me have you? Haven’t I been taking good care of you, all this time? And look at where it’s gotten us: you sleep better, you eat better, you have the strength to train, I’m stronger than ever before… I’m a good didi, da-ge, I’m your good didi.”

His brother was weakening. Nie Huaisang could feel it in his heartbeat.

“You didn’t take advantage of me,” he whispered, intimate as the lover he had made himself into. “I took advantage of you. There’s nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be guilty for. The act’s already been done, plenty of times – the line’s been crossed, and there’s no going back. There’s only the way forward.”

“Huaisang…”

“Don’t I have your heart?” Nie Huaisang demanded. His fingernails were like claws where they dug into his brother’s chest as if to rip it out himself, his teeth like fangs filling his mouth; he didn’t know what his face looked like right now and he didn’t care. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted – a cultivator as righteous as his brother would be a prize for any fox, any yao, any creature bent against humanity, but all Nie Huaisang wanted was what his brother had always given him freely. “You love me, you love me. Give me your heart and I’ll be happy. Da-ge, I’ll be so happy, you don’t even know, it’s everything I’ve always wanted and more. You give me anything and everything, you always have. Give me this, too.”

“I can’t,” his brother whispered, and it was only I can’t because he couldn’t make it I won’t. “Huaisang…”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Nie Huaisang coaxed him. “I know you love me, and that’s enough. You don’t have to go against everything you are, da-ge, I’d never ask that of you. All I need you to do – the only thing you need to do – you know already, don’t you? You know what you need to do for me.”

Nie Mingjue did know.

All he had to do was let go, give in, and let the words already swirling beneath his skin come to the surface, sink willingly down into the quiet world where Nie Huaisang was master absolute, and Nie Huaisang would make sure that he never felt bad about any of it. Not ever again.

“Give me your heart,” Nie Huaisang said. “Please, da-ge.”

His da-ge’s heart, whole and entire with nothing held back, was the best thing he’d ever gotten.

-

The art of deception was misdirection.

Change one thing in a room at a time, and in time no one would notice that they were in a different room entirely. Set water simmering slowly, and the crabs would cook without ever thinking of escape. Dress up as a god and play the demon to confuse –

Nie Huaisang knew how to play with the hearts of men, for good or for evil, and in comparison their eyes were nothing much. A talisman for illusions, a mimicry of mannerisms – it was easy enough to pretend to be his brother, who was sleeping so sweetly in his bed. A deep sleep, a healing sleep; his poor brother’s meridians were all twisted up into something like a nightmare, but it wasn’t anything that they couldn’t straight out over time, together. All he needed was some sleep and some peace, and Nie Huaisang could give him both, so he did.

His brother had stirred briefly, hearing the siren call of duty, but Nie Huisang was a better siren by far. He promised him that it would be handled, and his brother trusted him to see it done – and he would.

No one knew that the Nie listening coldly to their requests wasn’t the right one.

Not even Jin Guangyao, who came with his head bowed and his demeanor meek, setting up his guqin to play music designed to provide clarity – he expected Nie Mingjue to be there, steady as a rock and just as unshakable, and so, to all appearances, he was. There was no reason to check any further.

He played.

Nie Huaisang listened, his eyes narrowing in a smile – oh, san-ge, he sighed. Oh, Meng Yao.

I always knew we were too much the same.

He did nothing, though, nothing but wait for the song to finish and Jin Guangyao to take his leave, bowing, and then he said, “Will you spend some time with Nie Huaisang today, before you return? He’s still upset from yesterday and not speaking to me.”

Why would he be speaking to his da-ge now? His brother was asleep, just as he ought to be, and speaking to him would only wake him.

Jin Guangyao had been expecting this, too. “Of course, da-ge,” he murmured, and Nie ‘Mingjue’ scowled, Nie Huisang scowled – no one who wanted to really hurt his brother deserved to use that term.

“Dismissed,” he said, and waited until Jin Guangyao left to remove the disguise, drifting out after him, calling, “San-ge!”

Jin Guangyao turned with a smile and Nie Huaisang threw himself forward, wrapping himself around his sworn brother-by-proxy’s dominant arm – he could use both, but he had a preference if you cared to look – and immediately burst out into chatter, complaints and stuff and nonsense, wailing on and on and on about how wronged he had been.

His voice modulated itself into a melody, the cadence quickening and slowing, rising and falling, infused with his own very special cultivation, and it wasn’t that much different from what it normally was – and Jin Guangyao wasn’t really listening to him anymore, anyway, not any more than it took to respond with a few hums of sympathy and the occasional word of consolation.  Why would he? The situation wasn’t anything different from normal, from the boring and mundane and uninteresting, what with there being complaining and whining and Nie Huaisang, a younger brother that he trusted, even if only to be a complete idiot. Absolutely harmless.

Jin Guangyao wasn’t the cultivation genius Nie Mingjue was, but he’d had a very long way to go to catch up; he wouldn’t have made it to where he was now if he hadn’t taught himself the habit of constantly cultivating, drawing in qi from the outside and channeling it inwards. He did so now, unconsciously, spreading the effect throughout his entire body, pulling him inch by inch into something nice and comfortable, pleasantly restful.

There was no need for schemes with Nie Huaisang, after all. He was so silly, so useless; he couldn’t even really be used, only indulged, like the little brother Meng Yao had never been able to afford to have growing up. Look at how dependent he was: scared to do anything else, wholly in the palm of his hand.  

There was nothing to fear.

There was only –

Listening.

Give me your heart.

[strangerays]

Nothing in Particular Update #3

About seven months and I finished the first draft at 93k!

I always imagined how it would feel to finish a first draft (I’ve been writing novels “seriously” since about 2017) and now that I’ve finally done it, I can say it’s a better feeling than I imagined! Telling my friends and family (and even my doctor, who was really quite excited about it) was an amazing amazing thing. I’m generally pretty nervous to tell people about my work, but I had a really positive reaction. Honestly all of it has me on a creative high (not sure I’m coming down from that any time soon lol).

I’m going back for my last year of school in two days, which means I’m not going to have as much time as I did to write all summer. This is okay, because I’m actually going to take an entire month off of writing! I’m really burnt out - don’t want to start editing a story that’s so near to me if I don’t feel ready. I’ll talk more about editing when the time comes!

In a lot of ways, I found that my life mimicked my art. I think for a lot of people, it tends to be the other way around, but this story did a lot to heal me.

Going to hop right into excerpts now! I’m not going to explain much this far into the story because I would like to try to publish this story (FAR in the future) so I apologize for that! Also, I stopped naming most of the chapters until I go back and edit because there are just SO MANY and I didn’t have the time to stop and think of cool names. Anyways... enjoy!!

(Here is the link to the original masterpost!)

#1

text: Rays of gold curled to the ground, primordial and shy as the fire reeds on the cusps of shallow pool around the bay outside of Mothouse combed them to fine sparkles. I remembered the way Lonan kneeled on the edges of this pool. He never dove in – just blinked slowly as he watched crabs and minnows chase each other in a swirl of sand. I could not resist the water. I’d made it a part of me. My hair was longer then; down to my elbows, fading from dark red to orange and white, soaked always. Lonan let me borrow his shirts when I forgot to bring my own. They hung from my waist, too big for me, and I was warm even as the breeze rocked us inside.

#2

text: The sky was never blue in Point Blink. At least, I couldn’t remember the last time the clouds hadn’t given way to a dark gray mist. Jude was here. I was out of place. I was floating – watching slender, underfed pines wave in the breeze behind houses on the water before they disappeared underneath furls of cloud. Bursts of warm light shone in windows on the bay, like hungry eyes watching for a storm. A group of kids our age chaffed on a rocky expanse, their heads popping over pockets of darkness when they laughed. Froths of cloud stretched across the sky, moving the ground with it. Long stretches of trees and islands far on the other side of our small pocket of ocean looked more like large freight ships. Lights glittered and beamed on the roads and highways that belonged to the city. Pink was starting to show over the horizon. Lonan was on the other side. Somewhere.

#3

text: 

Jude sucked her lips in and flopped onto her stomach so she could see the blue below her feet. Her dark curls draped over her ears and hid her nose.

“I can’t see the bottom of the ocean.” She cupped her fingers with the other hand. “See where the water fades to white and back again? The endless tide. Why do people say the ocean is blue?”

I leaned forward. She was right. Blue ocean climbed up the side of the cliffs and turned the rocks a dark gray; ate the erosion as if from a plate. I’d never had the ocean explained to me that way before.

“I think I like it that way,” I said.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was at the bottom of Point Blink.

#4

text: 

She smiled weakly. “It’s okay. This is just guesswork. Patchwork.”

I wanted to apologize again, but I had a strong guess that it might make her annoyed with me. “It’s kind of like… I’m just waiting for the next bad thing to happen.”

She wrinkled her nose and eyebrows, scrunched up her little face. “That’s dumb.”

“I think it’s a smart way to live.” Sometimes it felt like worry was the only thing that kept me alive. It wasn’t dumb at all.

“You’re going to be fine though. We’re going to be fine. If something bad happens, we’ll deal with it. Don’t let it eat you.”

There was wisdom in what this seventeen-year-old girl on my bed had offered me. I caught it like a gold coin. Before I could reply with anything, she launched into another question. I didn’t want to think much about change anyways.

#5

text:

“Oh. Wow. That’s like, next year.” I sort of laughed.

“A year can be a long time,” Lonan said with a wince. “What do you think?”          

I sighed through my nose and leaned back with him. The sun was going down. Sometimes, my life felt less like a golden hourglass and more like a stopwatch with a broken face.

“For once, I think I agree with your mom.”

Lonan just stared at me, with something like awe.

“I think you should do what you want,” I said.

 “Ray,” Lonan started.

“No,” I interrupted him. “It’s not about me. She’s stopped you from doing anything and everything you’ve wanted to for the last four years, so when you go to college, you’ve got to separate yourself from this place.” I pointed to him. “You’re allowed to do this.”

#6

text: 

Maybe I was just being strange. Lonan was my best friend. It didn’t help that there was a little bit of him in everything – the tide pools, the echo of shells, my broken camera.

Soon, we stood in the center of the field. A breeze whispered through the cattails, fanning against our knees. Ellis loped behind me as I stepped in and out of tire tracks under the cloudless sun. She wasn’t much different than Jude. Her footsteps crunched excitedly behind mine, excited at the prospect of an unprecedented adventure. I’d missed those.

Lonan said he didn’t like to walk in fields because the wind tricked him into thinking that someone was behind him. Every brisk of his heel was a trick of the mind. Sometimes I felt the same way, like I might be haunted.

#7

text: 

The ageless water begged me closer, frizzed my hair and swathed my arms in a sweet, familiar scent. I remembered galloping down to the shore with a childhood friend in one May. Soft piano accompanied croaky lyrics from someone’s radio when we fell chest-first into the water. Static erupted in my head. There had been nothing new for me in Point Blink for so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to float. Grass turned into pebbles, and I heard Ellis’ footsteps soften to the beat of the sand. Our eyes crumbled the shells that walled the long expanse of dark sand where waves rolled in. We leaned over like two swans, crunching shells beneath our feet, displaying shells to one another, naming the ones we recognized, and when I looked out at the horizon, I saw blue.

Red plastic cups, cigarettes, and even some broken glass stuck out through the sand as we made our way further down the shoreline, as if someone had thrown a party. My brow furrowed. Maybe this part of the beach wasn’t so abandoned after all.

Between the spit of the waves and dry sand lay some sort of book. Sand trickled out of the pages and onto my shoes when I swept it out of line of an oncoming wave. Ellis was beside me in moments. Shells tolled under her shoes.

#8

*Warning for mention of blood (fake blood and fake knife!!) this takes place on Halloween haha*

text: 

Jude held the container in her palm, kneeled down so we were shoulder to shoulder. Her eyes fixed on the knife in my neck, mine on her hands, then her focused expression. Her fingers tipped my chin up, cold on my skin. I tried not to move. Suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about Dad, or Raven, or Lonan. I only let Jude in – this girl who had come out of nowhere and wrecked me, saved me. And she didn’t know any of that. I didn’t owe anything to her, but I needed her. She kept us afloat when I couldn’t even keep myself above water. Her fingers painted blood over the center of my throat, our breath quiet on each other’s cheeks. She held my shoulder as she set back.               

“Absolutely feral,” she said.

#9

text: 

“Point Blink is all I have. It’s where I am, what I am.” My throat was tight. “It’s all I’ve known. I am happy with my life. And I’m sorry, but I’m not willing to throw all of that away so we can dig up answers. I want to stay.”

 Jude sat there for a moment. I think Florian and Ellis had turned to look at us, because when we went silent, I could no longer heat their hushed whispers, only the sound of water as it rose and rose and rose. I wondered if it would rain.

Jude sat up on her hands, then her knees, then she stood over me.

“Is that what you honestly believe?”

Tears bubbled in her eyes. Blood streaked down her cheeks. I’d been so focused on not crying, I had missed when she started to.

“Point Blink is just the same as anywhere,” she said. The words sat somewhere above her inside her chest, weak and frail, as though they’d been realized a long time ago.

I’d stared into her eyes until they disappeared. She grabbed onto a branch above her and quietly swung herself around a corner. Her footsteps echoed until they dissolved into waves and birds and frogs and left me in the dark.

#10

*Warning for strong language!*

text:

“Why didn’t you tell me how you’d been feeling?” he asked after a few moments of silence. It was beginning to stretch uncomfortably.

“I know I don’t deserve to know,” he added, “but you’ve always put me first.”

I picked at the wood that peeled from the fence.

“I just want you to be okay,” Lonan croaked. “Please tell me what to do.”

Even when we were together, we still worried about each other. It wasn’t always that way. Maybe that was my fault. I didn’t want to think about it.

 “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I mumbled into the crisp, red air. “To be fair, I didn’t know it like I know now for a long time. I think sometimes I got the same way as a kid. Now I have a name for it, and I still don’t know if it feels right.” I sighed. “I guess… I guess I just thought that was how things were supposed to be. I thought I was only the humming low and the high.”

“Of course that’s not how you’re fucking supposed to be.”

 I coughed on a laugh, wiped away a new set of tears. On the rare occasion that Lonan did swear, he sounded much like he was doing it for the first time.

I hadn’t fully realized what I’d said before Lonan’s hand was around my arm. He pulled me close to his chest. I felt smaller than him; warm and safe. I exhaled and sunk into him, didn’t allow anything else in. I’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

“You’re funny and smart and better than a lot of people.”

And... that wraps up all of my excerpts for the time being! I really enjoyed writing the last four chapters of this book. Of course they aren’t perfect. A lot of the book needs improvement. There are entire characters who are flat and plot lines I just forgot about! Come October, I plan to get back into my edits/rewrite the story.

Really quick before I finish writing this:

I just wanted to thank everyone who read about my story and showed genuine interest in the characters. Had I not received all of this love from people in real life and online, I might never have finished this draft at all. When I started this story, my mental health was really quite bad. (I’m doing a whole lot better these days!!) I guess you could say the idea started as more of a journal entry. All of these characters are like little parts of me coming together to help the main character, and I think there’s something really special about that.

Thank you so much! Good luck on all your creative endeavors! It pays off in the end, I promise :)

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