#Top Fire Alarm Equipments

[quickshipfire]

6 Fatal Fire Safety Hazards for Banks & Financial Institutions

Commercial buildings often use different fire protection methods. This may be due to the construction of the building or what types of items are in the building. Banks and financial institutions, for example, have their own requirements for fire safety systems, as well as special fire hazards unique to that type of business.

There are six main fire security risks for banks and financial institutions, which is why they need a specially designed fire protection system:

[worldssilliestserpent]

bruhh the world really hates me this week

[narumi-gens]

firefighter!yuuji shows up late to nobara’s Halloween party. but since he just got off work, he doesn’t have time to change into a costume and just comes in his uniform. but not his full-on “runs into burning buildings carrying his weight in equipment” uniform. he comes in his daily uniform — a bright blue button-down tucked into unflattering, matching blue pants. the outfit looks more like a jumpsuit than anything else and it’s topped off with his baseball hat that proudly reads, “TOKYO FIRE DEPARTMENT.”

it’s your first time meeting him and you make a joke about whether the equipment was too expensive to rent out and he laughs and tells you he never could have gotten away with sneaking it out of the station undetected. he gives you his name with the widest smile and you give him yours.

you share drinks. you share laughs. and by the end of the night, you’ve also shared numbers. he unfortunately has to leave early, telling you that he’s covering a shift the next day, which makes you giggle because he’s still keeping the joke going.

the butterflies in your stomach are still fluttering throughout the next day. at least until you’re cooking dinner and the pan gets too hot and starts to smoke. you quickly take it off the fire and then off the stove but despite the situation being taken care of before an actual fire could start, it still sets off the smoke detector in your kitchen.

you panic and try to fan the smoke out of the kitchen as best you can. but when that doesn’t work, you open the door to your apartment hoping that will help the smoke disperse. what you haven’t accounted for is the smoke setting off the alarm in the hallway, which then sets them off throughout the rest of the building.

you can only bow repeatedly and apologetically to your landlady as she scolds you, surrounded by your neighbors who are forced to wait in the cold outside after having to evacuate. thankfully the screech of the fire truck’s siren drown her out as it appears along with Tokyo’s finest.

your landlady immediately begins to wave at them, grabbing their attention only so that she can point at you furiously. you feel like you might die of embarrassment on the spot and bury your head in your hands. the truck’s sirens cut out and your landlady starts to shout about the problem starting in your unit.

“I’m so sorry…” you mumble into your hands as you give another deep bow when you hear one of the firefighters approach and come to a stop. “I accidentally set off the alarm while cooking…”

“So, I should be the one to cook for you on our date.”

your head shoots up and your jaw drops when you see yuuji standing in front of you in his “runs into burning buildings carrying his weight in equipment” uniform, a good natured smile on his handsome face.

“I thought it was a costume!” you blurt out before quickly slapping your hands over your mouth as if that will shove the words back in.

yuuji throws his head back and laughs, the sound making you feel warm with something other than embarrassment. his eyes sparkle with mischief as he takes his helmet off, only to surprise you by placing it right on top of your head.

your hand unconsciously comes up to steady it, trying to keep its massive weight and size from sliding forward so that you can continue to look up at him with wide eyes.

“it’s a much cuter costume on you than on me,” he grins, and you’re overcome with the sudden urge to bury your face in your hands once again, if only so he doesn’t see how flustered he’s made you.

[songmingisthighs]

Wanbelyn

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

<< previous | m.list | next >>

ch. vi - fire ?

neurosurgeon!hongjoong × reader

buy me coffee ?

tw : medical emergency

where love and peace is held, i never expected for this to happen. i planned and i planned, i expected, and i hoped, but it was never you. you held what i wanted hostage to make room for you, the thing that i needed but has no means of acceptance. deny me, live your best life.

It had been a while since you stepped into a hospital in the hopes of getting a job. Last time you did, you were younger and more naïve, unaware of what the job entails. Unaware of what was waiting for you.

The thought of working as a nurse kind of made your palms sweaty and knees knock slightly. You suddenly wanted to run but you had already told the HR that you were there and Yeonjun had spent a good amount of time prepping you. Not to mention Wooyoung who gave you the opportunity itself. You can't disappoint them and you can't disappoint yourself. You kept repeating the words your dad told you after that morning's call, "Calm down, take a deep breath, hold until 3, then bust a move."

He's dorky but you love him.

So in your attempt to distract yourself from your nerves, you began looking around the hospital, taking note of the things around you and naming them. It was then that a noise caught your attention from the end of the hall, causing you to immediately snap your head towards the direction. You couldn't see it clearly but you saw an abandoned cart rattling and shaking slightly before a tiny figure emerged, going on his tippy toes trying to get something from the top. It worried you to see a kid rummaging through carts like that as in hospitals, there's a chance that the cart could be filled with medical equipment that children shouldn't play with. You would've attended to the boy and brought him back to his parents but you were about to get called in for the interview any time and frankly, you learn to leave things that are not your responsibility alone. As hard as it was. So you looked back to your lap and took a scan through your resume, recalling the things Wooyoung wanted you to mention and the way you should explain things.

As you were deep in your own head, practising answers to potential questions, you heard clattering sounds from the direction where you saw the boy and soon you saw him on his back on the floor. Your eyes squinted in hopes of getting a better view of what was going on, both curious and worried, so you let your legs move on their own, walking closer to the figure only to hear strangled noises coming from the boy who was slowly turning blue.

"Oh my God," you whispered, body freezing in shock. No matter how much you were trained to face emergencies, the sight of the boy convulsing on the floor with his lips turning blue was scary enough to render you useless. Your hands shook and flashes of memories passed in your head, the figure of the boy who was in front of you mixed together with flashes of another child who was lying on his bed with blaring alarms from machines flooding your mind, almost suffocating you as well.

"No, no," You whimpered, bottom lip trembling as your eyes swam with tears, "Not again."

The boy lay not far from you, face red and lips turning blue in a position that made his choking even worse. You knew you had to help, you knew that at that moment, there was no one else but you who could help him and you needed to act fast.

With a bit of struggle, you managed to get your frozen body moving again slowly, step by step. You fell to his side and saw that the boy was clutching an empty jello container. You immediately put the information in your head, slightly relieved that it was a rather softer food instead of literally anything that wasn't food or worse, something sharp.

Though you were practically trembling in a mixture of fear and PTSD, you braced yourself, you grabbed the boy and dragged him to your lap, placing his chest on your thigh as you made sure his mouth was opened. As you manhandled the boy, you could feel how rigid his body was and it did not make you any more relieved/ Heck, it reminded you how you had to move fast or else it was another kid's life in your hands.

For a moment, you hesitated, you didn't want to do something you felt you were not ready for yet. But what were you supposed to do? So after successfully pushing the thought aside, you began striking the boy's back hard, right between his shoulder blades. The first hit made you stiffen, afraid that you might have done more harm than good and slightly hoping that it was all it took. But alas, the boy's face was turning purple and when you saw his eyes rolling back, something took over your whole body, something that was a mixture of determination and fear. You can not lose this boy, not when you can do something about it, you decided. So you sent blow after blow, one by one, and with each one delivered, you felt your mental state slipping slightly to the point that it seemed like you were not in control of your body anymore. You were fully aware that you had been trying to get the boy to cough up the jello he choked on, but you had absolutely no idea how to stop.

You swore you processed what went on, you swore you finally heard the boy's clear, loud cries from his lung that was no longer congested. You realized that you managed to save the boy but your hand wouldn't stop hitting him until you were yanked away and thrown to the other side. With your body slumping, you slowly regained consciousness of what was going on. Your cognition came back like a wave of cold water crashing onto your body. You hadn't had time to fully comprehend at what point of time you were at when you were yanked up to your feet.

"What did you think you were doing!?" you recognized her as the HR personnel who was supposed to interview you. "What?" you gasped out, a little delirious from your dissociated state but she didn't care, "Why were you hitting that boy!?" she yelled out, surprising you. At the mention of the boy, however, your eyes darted around until you fell to his crying figure. He was being held by a nurse who was glaring at you as we wailed loudly, so loud that it caught the attention of the people who were slowly gathering around. It didn't occur to you earlier at all but once reality crashed down on you, you recognized the boy as Kijoong, the boy Wooyoung brought to Yeonjun's cafe a couple days back.

Just as you felt relieve, the HR personnel snapped her fingers in front of your line of sight. "Well?" She asked, seeking an explanation out of you. Dread crawled to your chest and the look of absolute distaste and Kijoong's wails only made you feel worse, it struck a deep sense of fear in you. "I-I was, I saw him there all alone a-and I noticed he was taking, I think it was jellos? He got up and a-and got like a jello from the unattended cart so-," "So you punished- no, ASSAULTED a child you don't know because he was being juvenile?" She snapped, voice loud as she stressed the word 'assaulted'. Your eyes widened and you shook your head quickly and you moved to take a step back only to fail. That moment you realized that you were being held by a security guard who was rather bulky, unable to escape even if it was just to create some distance. "No! I-I, look, I was-" the words were at the tip of your tongue but your brain was muddled, your cognition was not working correctly and maybe it was because you had had what could only be practically described as an out of body experience, but it was also due to the situation you were put in. Who would be able to stay calm in that situation?

Though she could've waited for you to explain, she simply rolled her eyes and told the security guard to escort you out the hospital after making sure that security has your picture and profile.

"P-profile? Wha- Excuse me?" Things weren't making sense and the people who were there did not provide clarity. The HR personnel paused momentarily in front of you, letting out one sharp exhale, "I'm afraid we can't process you in our hospital, Ms. (y/l/n). The behaviour you had just shown in this very unnecessary situation tells a lot about your personality and I do believe with absolute certainty that you would not fit in with this hospital. Frankly, I do not think you are fit to work in this profession whatsoever. The interview is off, you are no longer permitted back into this hospital, effective immediately," she then turned sharply just as you saw Kijoong being put on a gurney and getting strolled out.

"Wait!" You called out, what for? You weren't sure. It didn't matter anyway because just as Kijoong's voice grew further as he got wheeled away, you were dragged with such force by the security, past the group of people who were glaring, leering, and whispering at your expense.

Honestly, you didn't even care about the interview or the job opportunity, you just wanted to make sure that the kid was okay. Sure, his voice was loud and clear, but you wished there was a way for you to be absolutely sure.

One thing is for sure though, you may have lost an opportunity, but you had potentially saved a life.

network :

@cultofdionysusnet @sandsofire @kflixnet @pirateeznet

taglist :

@yunho-mp3 @strawberry-yeo @luvt0kki @allisonleannn @dinossaurz @khjcs @blackb3ll @aloverga @at1nys-blog @itsbeeble @senpai-of-doom @axo-l0tl @green-thots @intancollins @galaxypox @babyhailey819 @maddiebabyxoxo @alyssajavenss @mirror-juliet @gxlden-bxbyy @charreddonuts @dreamlesswonder86 @mayonnaisehoeshit @kodzukein @teenyfinds @dear-dreamie @mitchloveswriting @soobiverse @satsuri3su @phenomenalgirl9 @guess-monst3r

@rheriver @olizzly @chocolatelightbeliever @bubblesdestiny @starjoongie1117

@yungilia

[nightynightghoul]

Pebble has POTS

How Pebble finds out they have POTS and sort of learn to accept it.

This is just a little something I wanted to share, if it does well I may share other ideas. Thank you to @sister-nyx for encouraging me and giving it a read :)

Warnings: Pebble faints, there's talk about medical tests, not much more.

When Pebble was summoned, the rest of the ghouls thought nothing special of it. Yes, they were smaller than the rest, but their summoning had been hard and not as much energy went into it as it did for the past ghouls. They all had seen ghouls of all sizes during their lives back in hell. Many of the smaller ones being doubly as fierce to compensate for their size. No one thought anything could be wrong with them. 

Neither did Pebble. At least not for their first few months topside. They learned what they had to in order to become their new drummer, they were good at it too. Enjoying the feeling of getting lost in the music alongside the rest of their new pack.

Pebble started noticing they weren’t like the rest of the ghouls. Not as strong, not as agile, not as resilient. The first time they felt it was when they were moving instruments around the practice room. They had to clear the floor for the siblings to come in for a deep clean. Ifrit had easily lifted and carried stands, amps, boxes, and instruments. Aether had no trouble helping Zephyr with their Keyboard. Hell, even Dewdrop was helping haul up equipment, and he was smaller than them!

But here they were struggling to catch their breath and feeling their heart in their throat just because they were trying to drag one box across the stage. Emphasis on the word “trying”. By the time Ifrit was done, Pebble was only just getting the damned box to where they were supposed to stack it with the others. The fire ghoul just smiled at them and lifted the box to stack in on the others. 

Pebble could not catch their breath and their vision was spotty. But they just ignored it, muttered a thank you and went back to the den. 

The second time, was stupid if you asked them. It was a very early and cold morning, they just wanted to have a nice hot shower before breakfast. Yes, they took longer than usual. The water felt great, they had to wash their hair, and maybe they wanted some time for themselves. The problem appeared when they stepped out into the colder air of the bathroom. As they were drying off, they started feeling like they ran a marathon. Heart beating quickly, spotty vision, and they couldn’t catch their breath. Nothing new, but it was getting worse. 

A splitting headache started right behind their ears and their vision became tunnelled. Suddenly the effort to just stand was just too much and against their will they crumpled to the floor half conscious, dragging with them several items from the counter that clattered loudly on the floor and on top of them. They spent a few minutes on the floor, floating in that space between. After getting ready, only Aether asked why they took so long. Even years later, they could not tell if they fainted that time or not. 

The third time was when they started to get worried. It was a sunny, warm day, fairly humid too. Most of the ghouls were spending their time outside. Even Zephyr felt well enough to go on a little stroll with Dew. They were sat on the grass with Omega and Alpha. Playful chatter, became playful banter which in a few minutes became playfighting. Pebble wrestled Alpha but was quickly pinned under the bigger ghoul. 

But Pebble wasn’t laughing any more, the heat, the humidity, the exertion and now Alpha on top of them had their vision swimming. Just like before they felt that headache, the tunneled vision and the breathlessness. But this time it all came so quick, they had no time to tell Alpha that they wanted out. With a pathetic whine they breathed out and then everything became black. 

When they next opened their eyes, they were laying on their back. Omega was looking at them alarmed, as if they had grown a second head. Alpha was agitated too, the usually stoic ghoul looked close to tears. Omega insisted on carrying them to the infirmary even as Pebble protested that they were fine and could walk themselves.

While in there, Omega took his sweet time noting their blood pressure and heartbeat. Pebble insisted time and time again that this was normal, that it just had gone a little further than it usually does. Omega made quite a few notes and kept asking more questions. As if every ghoul didn’t feel the same as them. -

Do you have a hard time breathing?

Do you usually struggle to catch your breath after exerting yourself?

Are high temperatures usually a problem?

Do you get dizzy when you sit up? When you stand up?

Pebble quickly became frustrated and ended up leaving the infirmary before Omega could finish his long list of questions or tell them much of anything really.

The quint did ask them to come back for some tests the next day but Pebble in their eternal stubbornness didn’t go. They were fine, and this was normal for all ghouls. Right?

The subject was forgotten with time but right now, this very minute. They kinda wish they had gone for those extra tests with Omega. Maybe there was something wrong with them.

This was their third ritual, the past two had gone very well. Only getting somewhat dizzy with the heat of the stage lights and the effort of playing the drums. They had managed to stand up without fainting by taking deep breaths. But right now, in this damned venue and its non-existent ventilation, Pebble found themselves sweating bullets. Their skin felt clammy and cold, their breath getting quicker, same as their heartbeat. 

This was more than the adrenaline from rituals, Pebble was in trouble. 

By the last song of the set, their vision was becoming spotty, but they did their best to keep playing. If Dewdrop, Aether and Ifrit could jump around the stage and play at the same time, surely they could keep playing while sat down. 

The alarm bells really rang in their head when that last song ended. The crowd was cheering, and they cursed the damn mask for not letting them breathe properly. They had to stand up, go to the front with the others, go to their place for final bows. But just as they stood up, they realised just how bad they had let it become. The headache came in so hard they had to close their eyes and grasp their head. They may have been glamoured, but the loud whine they let out sounded like that of a wounded animal. 

They tried to walk down the steps of their stage, but their vision went all black and unlike that time after that hot shower, this time they crumpled to the floor like a wet napkin. Aether looked back at his stage as he saw several people in the crowd pointing behind him.

He saw Pebble, unconscious, sliding down the steps of their stage. He ran to catch the smaller ghoul before they could reach the bottom. Ifrit and Dew turned to look at Aether, confused as to why he would be heading backstage in a rush before final bows. Then rushed to help him as they saw him removing Pebble’s mask.

Papa grumbled his disapproval to Zephyr, but quickly changed his demeanour as Ifrit ran back to him. - Pebble is out cold, Aether is taking them back to the greenroom -. They bowed and quickly headed back.

When he opened the door to the green room, Papa found Pebble laying on the couch, Dewdrop holding their legs high and Aether sat on the floor taking vitals. The quint assured them all that Pebble would be fine, even if they had some nasty bruises from their fall. 

When Pebble woke up, they groaned and tried to sit up. But with a gentle hand on their chest, Aether kept them on their back. 

Don’t move just yet love. Your heartbeat just went through the roof.

M’fine

No, you’re not. You just passed out on stage, and I need to get Omega on the phone now.

Terzo fumbled with his robe to take his phone out and call the older ghoul. Pacing around the room while waiting for his lover to answer.

Terzo? 

Hi Amore, Aether needs to talk to you. Now.

Wait, aren’t you in the middle of a ritual right now?

No, just finished. But Pebble fainted.

What? Ok, let me talk to Aether please.

He handed his phone to the quint. Sitting by Pebble’s head, petting their head and around their horns. Hoping to comfort one of his smallest ghouls.

Aether immediately got to work, narrating all the important details to Omega. All Terzo could glean from what was said was that this was not the first time Pebble had fainted, and that more tests were needed to have an answer as to why they were passing out. 

The rest of that leg of the tour went surprisingly well. Pebble didn't faint, although there were a few close calls, but much to Pebble’s annoyance, Aether was on top of them, all the time. Just as they got back to the abbey, Omega practically kidnapped them and got them to the infirmary. 

A full week of tests got them their answer. There was something wrong and other ghouls definitely did not feel like this every day of their lives topside. Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome. Stupid Human thing to have. 

They walked back to their room after Omega was done with indications. There was nothing that could be done to get rid of the problem. They would always be smaller, lesser, defective. The feeling of being lesser invaded them. They’re supposed to be a demon straight from hell, strong, fast, agile. Not a runt that has to be watched over all the time. 

What made it truly worse was the news they were given before the next leg of the tour. They would be summoning another Earth ghoul, Omega and Terzo had decided touring would be too much on their body. Straight up salt in the wound. No only that, they would be training them in the time remaining.

Their out of control heart rate and quick breaths didn’t help at all when they asked for the decision to be reconsidered. Pebble walked back to their room, to calm down on their own, to mope for weeks and isolate from their pack. 

With time, they learn to live with it instead of against it. Accepting their body just as it was, flaws and all. It doesn’t come quick, and they still miss the little time they had with their Papa on stage. 

But yes, with time, the bitterness subsides. They still get frustrated sometimes, and some days are impossible. They still faint all over the abbey, but they’re fine at least.

[wing-ed-thing]

Exposure Therapy (Shino x Reader)

Request:

Word Count: 1.3k

Tags/Warnings: Entomophobia, Insects, Large Amounts of Bugs on You, A Shibi Feature!!, Alcohol, Hangover

Notes: It’s actually kinda gross, so if you’re squeamish when it comes to insects, maybe sit this one out. This ultimately took on more Shibi than I expected. 

You could’ve cried. You would have if it weren’t for the emptied, vacated streets. The surrounding area had been completely deserted, except for you, Shino, and a few thousand rogue Aburame beetles. It was just you and an absolutely wasted, nearly unconscious Shino who leaked beetles like water. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you were practically flinching as you supported Shino from under his arm. You quickly shut your mouth as you felt the sensation of tiny legs at the edge of your lips. He was heavier than he looked, although you should have expected as much with his height and still fully equipped vest. Together, you lumbered through the streets. 

Shino’s beetles covered every inch of the surrounding area, completely morphing fences and rooftops. The light above you flickered, casting the shadow of a moving, shambling mass onto the pavement below. You were not immune to the infestation, extremely aware of all the little legs that tickled their way through your hair and under your collar. 

You had popped in your standard-issue earplugs before you left the bar with Shino, which proved wise as the insects clung to the shell of your ear. It was for the better. You knew the experience would have been much worse if you could hear the churning of exoskeleton on exoskeleton. A few of them clung to the window of your goggles, along for the ride as you returned Shino to the only place you thought to take him. 

To your surprise, Shibi didn’t seem bothered by being woken up in the dead of night. He stared down at you from the front door of the Aburame residence, absolutely covered from head to toe in beetles. They seemed to march from Shino directly to you. Shibi couldn’t even see an inch of flesh or fabric on the side that supported Shino. Only one of your eyes was visible behind your goggles. You swiped beetles away from your mouth. 

“I’m sorry to wake you, sir!” you said a bit louder than necessary. “I don’t know what happened! He had two sips of something, and he completely collapsed! I didn’t know where to go!” 

Shibi took you in, and you heaved Shino to his room together. You laid him out on top of his sheets, and for the next hour, Shibi proceeded to scoop Shino’s beetles off of you into a cardboard box he had plopped under Shino’s arm. He cleared them away with indescribable confidence, talking palmfuls upon palmfuls of insects to shake off into the box. 

“Do you think he was drugged?” you glanced at Shibi nervously, alarmed by his lack of urgency at his son’s medical state. Beetles fluttered around, spanning out across the small room. He shook his head.

“No, just another Aburame man who can’t hold his liquor.” He frowned, a contrast to your nervous laugh.

“He didn’t even drink. He had maybe a sip of beer if that.” Shibi stopped. You could see the slightest bit of his eyes as his glasses slipped down his nose. 

“Shino should have known better then.”

The rest of the beetle removal was made in silence. You excused yourself to the restroom to grab the stragglers from under your clothes before returning with about forty beetles collected in a jar. Shibi shook them into the box before gently covering it with a lid. Insects continued to pass in and out through the two side holes. 

“These aren’t poisonous, are they?” you asked, the thought suddenly dawning on you. Shibi passed you, slipping out the door just down the hall to the kitchen. He motioned for you to follow.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he answered. Not the most reassuring. Shibi lit the stove with a match before sliding a heavy-looking kettle over the fire. He turned to you as you stood in the doorway, your tactical vest hanging over your arm. “You don’t have to stay, of course, but I do enjoy a late-night cup of tea myself.” He gave you a curt nod as he turned to take out cups. 

You sat down at the chabudai. Shibi placed down two cups before fetching the tea to pour. Hot steam wafted up into the air. He sat down across from you.

“I remember you from the Academy,” Shibi mused, sipping his tea. You gave your cup a light touch to find it pleasantly at the perfect temperature. 

“Oh?” you hummed, not entirely remembering the sort of impression you gave at age five. Shibi gave another nod as he set his cup down gently on the table. 

“Yes, I always thought you were a poor little thing. Cried at the sight of me every time.” You remembered as soon as he said it. As young as you were, you didn’t quite remember who caused you so much distress at Academy pick-up time, and the memory rushed straight back to you. Your face froze in dread as you wracked your head for a response. You must’ve made a face. Shibi only chuckled, extending a hand over the table as if to physically wave off your worry. “Those old Aburame gourds sure made a lot of ruckus for battle. Good for scaring off enemies. Maybe not so great for little kids.”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Aburame,” you said, head instinctually bowed a bit forward. He waved you off again as he nursed his tea. 

“No need, please. We, as humans, evolved to have a certain wariness of insects. It’s why they’re so effective on the field.” Shibi chuckled to himself again. He moved to take another sip from his tea but stopped short. He held his cup in both hands halfway up to his mouth. “Thank you for bringing my son home. You’ve always treated Shino well. You certainly have my gratitude.” 

You parted your lips before closing them again, once again at a loss for words. 

“We’re… close.” You opted, hoping that Shibi wouldn’t pry too hard. 

He didn’t ask at all. 

***

Shino woke up with the worst, most raging hangover. 

It was well into the afternoon by the time he mustered up the energy to leave his room for something to eat. He had stripped off his jacket and gear, leaving them haphazardly around his room. Shibi was already in the kitchen, an assortment of foods in various stages of preparation scattered around him. 

“Dad?” Shino rubbed his eyes, the light hurting his head as he trudged through the doorway. An array of fresh vegetables from the garden sat in baskets across the counter. “Is it a holiday?”

“Your friend is coming for dinner. The one who brought you home last night.” Shibi placed a small bowl of clear soup in Shino’s hands. “Eat this; it will make you feel much better.” 

Shino didn’t have the energy to deny him. He slumped down at the chabudai where you sat the night before, pushing away rising doughs and covered greens to make enough room for him to eat. Shibi placed a large glass of warm water in front of him. 

“Why are we having a feast?” Shino grumbled, his fatigued head not quite understanding. 

“I want the poor little thing to come back. Good conversation is hard to come by.” Shibi ran his knuckles across the side of Shino’s face, humming disapprovingly. “You need to shave. I’m doing this for your sake, so you best clean yourself up.” Shino massaged his forehead, keeping his head down to avoid the glare from the window. 

“Not so loud, please.” 

Shibi scoffed, returning to his cooking.

“A beer,” he muttered. “What were you thinking?”

“It won’t happen again.” Shino stood, his empty bowl in his hand as he lumbered toward the sink. Shibi turned to snatch the bowl from his hand with a hum.

“You wouldn’t be my son if you didn’t have to see things for yourself. Go wash up now. We have lots of preparation to do.” 

Shino shuffled out of the kitchen with a new promise to swear off alcohol.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Wow, the poc experience really seeped through on this one. I’d like to think that Shino just turned of age and didn’t know what his reaction would be to alcohol. Also, I kept thinking of that one lady who saves bees and just takes handfuls of them and scoops them into travel hives haha

[bird-in-the-space]

Echoes of the Unknown

You try to practice using your blaster arm, but then you, Emily, and the trio end up beneath the earth when an abandoned mine catches your attention. You find a ship and meet one of the most notorious Decepticons.

Warnings: you practicing shooting, falling through a sinkhole, Starscream talking about himself, and sneaking away right under his nose.

Chapter 14

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

A sound of blaster fire echoed in the air as your shot blasted off the target rock. It flew off from the boulder, leaving a scorch mark and a trail of smoke. Emily whistled as she stood on the side with the trio, who wanted to come and see you train using your blaster. 

“Nice shot. Way to go (Name). You’re getting better,” she said. 

“Yeah, but it's still kinda difficult to handle the recoil,” you stated. 

“It depends on your feet and balance. With a firm stance, you won’t be blasted off. Now you need to learn to keep your arm steady,” Arcee guided. “But way to go. This time you actually managed to hit the target,” she said as there were many different blast marks around the boulder from your target practice. 

“For a rookie, you do learn fast,” she said as she walked over to the boulder put another rock on top of it. 

“Well, it’s mostly thanks to you. Thanks for helping me practice again, Arcee,” you said. 

“It’s no problem. It’s good for you to learn how to defend yourself in case you end up facing a con,” she said as she came back and stood beside you. 

“Now, try again,” she said. 

You aimed at the rock with your blaster, holding it steady with your other hand. You balanced your sight on the rock and with a calm breath, you prepared to shoot. 

A loud sound then echoed from the distance. You looked toward the way it came from. 

“Did you hear that?” you asked. 

“Yeah. It came from there,” Jack said as you all looked toward the way where the sound came from. 

You all walked up to a hill and noticed what seemed to be an old mine. The sound of the wind and something falling echoed from the mine entrance. You noticed warning signs that warned about sinkholes and unstable ground. However, it looked abandoned as there was no sign of people or mining equipment to indicate that it was an active mine. 

“I guess from the sounds that the mine is just echoing falling boulders,” you said, then your scanner showed something odd. 

“Hold on. I am getting a strange reading from there,” Arcee said as her scanner was also picking up the odd thing. 

“What is it?” you asked. 

“I don’t know…” she said, before turning toward you. “I’ll go check it out. It might be a possible false reading. Continue practicing,” she added. 

“Sounds good to me,” you nodded. 

“Aww! Can’t we come along?” Miko asked. 

“That warning is saying unstable earth. I’m afraid it's too dangerous for you to go there,” you explained, pointing at the several signs. 

“She’s right. It will be safer if I go check it on my own. There’s a high chance that there’s nothing down there,” Arcee said. “Do not think about following me,” she said strictly and Miko whined. 

“Alright. Stay safe,” you said as Arcee then walked into the mine. 

“I wonder what got this place shut down,” Jack said as you started making your way back to your practice place. 

“I checked this place out from the internet. Apparently, it got shut down due to the unstable structure and the digging of too many tunnels,” Raf answered. 

“After what happened last time I was in a mine, I am not very fond of going into another again,” you uttered. 

Something cracked beneath you. 

“Wait,” you said and you all stood still. 

The ground beneath you released cracking sounds. You began to feel nervous and wondered if you were causing the cracks. The sounds then suddenly stopped and it was quiet. You waited but nothing happened. 

“Phew. False alarm.” Emily said. 

At that moment, the ground beneath you suddenly cracked a big time and you felt how the ground sucked itself deeper into the earth. 

“We’re sinking! We’re sinking!” You all yelled when the ground finally failed and you all dropped from the surface. Luckily, you didn’t fall far. Right beneath you was another, much sturdier ground, which made your landing unpleasant. 

You fell on your feet and cleared up the dust. You looked through the sunny hole above you, seeing nothing but the clear blue sky.

Emily coughed. “Oh, come on. This is too cliche,” she said as she and the trio recovered from the fall. 

“Are any of you hurt?” you checked on them. 

“I’m fine. Just got some dust on my clothes,” Emily said as she dusted off the dirt from her jacket. 

Miko coughed. “I’m okay,” 

“Same here,” Raf said as Jack helped him up. 

You all stared at the hole that was too out of your reach.

“You think you could jump that?” Emily looked toward you. 

“I don’t think so. It also doesn’t look like I can climb it either,” you said as the ground did not look like it would hold your weight. 

“We should call Arcee,” Jack said. 

“Good idea. Arcee?” you opened the comlink. “Arcee, we fell into a sinkhole. Can you come to help us out?” you asked but only heard static. 

“Crap. I can’t get a hold of her. She might already be too deep beneath the earth to hear us or it's that strange reading from before,” you concluded.

“What should we do now?” Raf asked worriedly. 

“We could try finding the entrance by following this tunnel,” Emily pointed at the tunnel. “There is a high chance we end up finding another tunnel that will then lead us to the entrance,” she explained. 

“I don’t like this. If the ground fails beneath us again, then we might end up somewhere deeper with no way out,” you said, reluctant to follow the tunnel.  

“But it doesn’t seem we have much of a choice,” Jack stated. 

You sighed. “Well, seem like we’re gonna investigate underground tunnels after all,” you said. 

“Sweet. Let’s go then,” Miko said, taking the lead and running deeper into the tunnel. 

“Just make sure you stay near us, Miko. I’m not gonna come look for you if you get lost,” you said as you followed her into the tunnel. You could only hope you either find a way out or stumble upon Arcee.

Right after you left, a distant sound of a jet echoed from the sky. A silver jet transformed in the air and the bot chuckled when his scanners picked on the strange readings. “Now let's see what we have here,” he said as he entered the mine. 

The tunnels were dark. You used your car lights to light the way. Jack and Raf stayed close to you while Emily was behind Miko, who was excitedly checking out all the corners of the mine. 

“Cleveland!” she yelled and the ground shook beneath you. 

“Miko. You need to be quiet. This mine is unstable enough for the sounds to affect them,” you scolded. 

“Sorry,” she said in a much toner voice. 

You then arrived at the end of the tunnel that led you into a large cavern. 

“Wow,” you all said as the cavern was bigger than you imagined. It was perhaps bigger than the mine at Lynx Wood. 

You saw paths and tunnels, and when you noticed sunlight, you saw the entrance high above you. 

“Over there. If we walk up that path then we should be out in no time,” you pointed out. 

“Wait, is that a ship?” Emily pointed at something. 

In front of you stood a large ship, bigger than you. It looked old and corroded over time, but it was clearly a cybertronian ship. 

“How long has this been here?” Jack asked. 

“From my guess, it must be at least centuries old,” Raf stated. 

“Who cares? Let’s go check it out!” Miko said with a new type of adrenaline. 

“Miko. We should prioritize getting out of here. We don’t know what’s in there and Arcee might not like seeing us if she finds us there,” you explained. “I suspect this is the thing that caused those strange readings,” you added. 

“Most likely,” Raf said. 

“But what if there’s something valuable there? Like energon, or a cybertronian artifact? It would be a shame for the con to get their hands on that,” Miko said. 

You crossed your arms along with Emily. “Are you seriously trying to guilt trip us to go there just to sate your own curiosity?” you asked. 

“Yeah, that’s kinda foul,” Emily agreed. 

“Can we take a quick peek, please?” Miko pleaded. 

You glanced toward Emily and she shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. Just a quick peek. Any sign of danger and we’re out of here,” you said. 

“Sweet! Let’s go!” she said and ran toward the ship. 

“Woah. Are you sure about this?” Jack looked toward you. 

“Well, I’m a robot, so if there’s danger then we should be fine. If we’re lucky we might end up meeting Arcee on the way,” you explained as you all followed Miko to enter the ship. 

The inside of the ship was rusty. You had to push the doors open to pass through with Emily and the kids. You looked around as Emily and the kids used their phone lights. You were somewhat glad that the room was empty as it meant there was nothing important on the ship. 

“Well, this is the third room. There’s no energon or alien artifacts,” you said as the kids investigated the place. 

“Maybe the ship's old system is causing the disturbances,” Raf suggested. 

“Then I’m sure Arcee already has it handled,” you said. 

“We should get going,” you said. 

You then heard a sound. 

“What was that?” Emily questioned as you listened to the sounds. 

“They sound like footsteps,” You said as you approached the doorway. 

“Arcee?” Jack questioned as you looked into the corridor. You then quickly pulled back. 

“No. Not Arcee,” you said, stepping away from the door. 

“Who?” Jack asked as they all now panicked. 

“I don’t know. But I saw a Decepticon mark. You need to hide,” you said as the unknown bot got closer to your room. Emily and the trio quickly hid behind some boxes as the unknown bot pushed through the door. 

Miko gasped. “It’s Starscream,” she said. 

“Who?” You questioned, but she did not have time to answer when the unknown bot entered the room.

You stared at each other.

He had silver paint and a red thin horn in the middle of his head. You guessed he was a mech despite his sleek build and heels that kinda looked like stilettos. His wings reminded you of a jet, so you guessed he was a flyer or something. The thing that made you feel more dread was the Decepticon symbol on his chest. 

He looked at you confused, most likely because of your face. 

“Well, this is curious. What does a lone Vehicon like you are doing here?” he asked with a husky tone of voice.

“Ughh… “ you considered what to say. Your guts told you not to tell him anything. However, you could not stay quiet. Maybe you should play dumb.

“Looking for a safe place. Who are you?” you asked. 

He seemed stunned for a moment.

“You do not know me? That’s impossible. I am commander Starscream. All Vehicons should know my name,” he said. 

“Actually… I’m not exactly a Vehicon… sir,” you hesitated. 

“Hmm? What do you mean?” he asked curiously. 

You straightened your back. “Well, believe it or not. I’m actually a human inside the body of one,” you revealed. 

“What?” he tilted his head in confusion. 

“I encountered one of your kind before and found this strange artifact that made me switch bodies with these things. Please, sir. Do you know how to help me? I have been alone for a very long time,” you asked, hoping he would take the bait. 

His eyes were now filled with intrigue.

“Oh, really? What’s your name earthling?” he asked. 

“(Name), sir,” you answered. He had a hidden grin on his face. He seemed to like how you referred to him as a ‘sir.’

“Well, (Name). I say you’re in luck. Though I do not know much about your current condition if you follow me and become my loyal servant, I promise to keep you safe and well looked after by the Decepticons,” he said. 

You glanced toward the doorway and this con named ‘Starscream’.

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, Starscream, sir. However, what are Decepticons? Who are they, and what do they do?” you asked as you backed closer to the box, motioning with your hand behind your back for Emily and the trio to hide behind your foot. Emily understood what you meant and carefully they moved behind your leg while you moved toward the doorway while keeping your eyes on Starscream as he began rambling about Decepticons. 

“Of course. Decepticons are a faction of great warriors, meant to conquer and… protect the innocent from the cruelty of the Autobots. I was their lord for the time being, but then that position was taken from me by Megatron,” Starscream explained with a hidden snarl. 

“Megatron? Who’s that?” you played stupid, stopping when he was looking at you. 

“The most vicious and treacherous cybertronian you could ever meet,” Starscream continued, looking away and allowing you to continue moving toward the doorway. You tried to play along, but his yapping about overthrowing Megatron and becoming the lord of the Decepticons started to annoy you. 

Fucking hell, this guy loved to yap. 

“And… if I help you become the lord of the Decepticons again? What kind of plans do you hold for them and my planet?” you asked, trying to keep him talking. 

“Well, why of course, lead them to victory over the Autobots. Then I will reconquer my homeworld Cybertron and with all the resources—” his voice fell out as you reached the door. Emily and the kids sneaked out through the opening. You looked toward Starscream and carefully stepped out without alerting him. 

When you were out of the room, you transformed and opened your doors, letting Emily and the trio climb in before hitting the pedal.  

“And become the emperor of Cybertron!” Starscream said, then he heard the sound of your wheels becoming distant and saw you were no longer there. 

“Eh? Where did you go?” he questioned, baffled by your disappearance. 

You quickly got out of the ship and drove toward the entrance. 

“Way to go, (Name). You kept him distracted by keeping him yapping,” Miko said excitedly. 

“Yeah. that guy sure loved to yap,” you said as you exited the mine. 

You allowed the kids out before transforming. You soon reunited with Arcee who had come outside after hearing your static message. 

“(Name), kids, what happened? I came here when you tried to reach me through the comms,” she explained. 

“Well, as you can see, we got stuck in a sinkhole so we had to use the mine tunnels to get out,” you pointed at the sinkhole. 

“Did you see the ship down there?” you asked, pointing at the mine. 

“I did, but I didn’t have the time to investigate it,” Arcee nodded. 

“Well, don’t go down there anymore. There’s nothing except this guy named Starscream,” you explained. 

“Starscream! What happened? Did he hurt you?” she asked worriedly. 

“No. We’re fine. I distracted him long enough to get us out of there unharmed,” you assured. 

“Yeah, she kept him yapping so much that he didn’t even notice us,” Miko grinned. 

“Yeah, apparently, the best strategy to distract those who love talking is to keep them talking,” you shrugged.

Arcee sighed, her shoulder relaxing. “Well, I’m glad nothing happened. Let’s get back to base,” she said, calling out to Ratchet to open a ground bridge. You looked down toward Emily and the kids before shrugging. Compared to the other dangers you experienced, this was rather tame. 

[wrathofresistantx]

Anthony Barbaro - The Olean High School Shooting

The Shooting

On December 30th, 1974, at approximately 2:50pm, 17-year-old Anthony Barbaro entered Olean High School. He was armed with a .30-06 rifle, a shotgun, smoke bombs, and a pistol. Before going to the school he told his younger brother "Tell mom I've gone to do some target shooting".

Upon entering the school through a side-entrance, he went up to the 3rd floor of the school and set off a molotov cocktail made from a Coca-Cola bottle filled with gasoline. He then shot the lock off of the Student Council room before going inside and tying the door shut.

Hearing a fire-alarm in the school, 61-year-old Earl Metcalf was sent upstairs to see what the problem was. Metcalf was a custodian at the school, and was part of a 12-man crew doing maintenance in the basement at the time. When Metcalf reached the 3rd floor, Joe Kusidlo, who was the school's 3rd floor custodian, warned Metcalf not to go further, as he thought he heard gunshots.

Metcalf went forward anyway and was confronted by Barbaro when Metcalf saw him through the window of the Student Council room. Anthony then opened the door and shot Metcalf, killing him. At around 3pm, Barbaro began shooting at people on the street from the 3rd floor.

From the 3rd floor he killed 25-year-old Carmen Wright while she was driving her car near the school. He also killed 58-year-old Neil Pilon, who was shot while fleeing from his truck during the shooting.

At 3:05pm, the Olean Fire Department received a call of a fire at Olean High School. This fire came from two smoke bombs used by Anthony Barbaro to lure the fire department to the school. Upon arriving at the school, the Olean Police Department received a call at 3:07pm from the Fire Department saying "Send all the help you can, the police and all. We're being shot at". Four police cars were dispatched to the area, and the area was sealed off 15 minutes after the initial call came in.

The shooting lasted over 90 minutes, as by 5pm witnesses reported that two "long-barrelled" weapons had been tossed out of the 3rd floor window. The police had also planned an assault on the school, with them moving to the top floor armed with shotguns, rifles, protective equipment and gas masks.

When police entered the 3rd floor student council room, Anthony lay on the floor with a gas mask over his face and a tape recorder by his left ear. He then let the police handcuff him and put him away on a stretcher. According to police testimony, Barbaro "was limp, conscious, not overly affected by the tear gas that filled the room".

The police also found 17 spent shotgun shells and 18 empty rifle cartridges, as well as 27 live rounds for a rifle and 30 for a shotgun. A 30.06 rifle was also found beneath the 3rd floor window. Its stock and barrel were broken in two, as well as being equipped with a telescopic sight and having one live round in the magazine.

The word "Shit" was also found written on the wall of the Student Council room in 20-inch letters and it was found that Anthony had been listening to the song "Ticking" by Elton John during the shooting. This song shared parallels to his own life, as it describes a quiet boy who goes on a shooting spree.

Anthony Barbaro

Anthony Barbaro was born on September 9th, 1957, to parents Ned and Helen Barbaro. He also was the oldest of his siblings, with him having two younger brothers and one younger sister. He was also a lifelong resident of Olean, with the family living in a two-storey house on the outskirts of the city.

Anthony was reported as being extremely quiet and "a loner". His uncle, Michael, said that "He never swore or said a curse word. He was quiet, very reserved, polite. He was a brain. He never had a girl friend. I never knew him to even go out with a girl". He was also the eight highest student in his class of 290, and wanted to be a physicist or a chemist.

In the wake of the shooting, much was made of Anthony's academic abilities. He had recently received a Regents' scholarship to go to college, and was an 'A' student. Upon hearing his nephew was the shooter, Michael Barbaro said "That's my nephew! He's an 'A' student!". Classmates also called him 'the professor' in Biology classes, and neighbours reported seeing him with a rifle and gas mask playing outside. The general attitude towards Anthony after the shooting was that he was a quiet student who rarely, if ever, caused any trouble.

He was also ranked third in Olean High School rifle team, with a teammate of his stating: "He was always very careful with the gun and he was always telling everyone else to be careful". Another teammate of Anthony's said that they sometimes "joked about holing up in the armory with all the weapons, you know - a sort of stand-off thing". It was also said that he "liked to read books about war, he liked war films".

Anthony's performance on the schools' rifle team was widely discussed, with Joe DeCerbo, Barbaro's rifle team coach, saying that he was "an excellent marksman" and that he regularly came to practice twice a week and was "very responsible, very safety minded".

Anthony also had a job at the Castle Restaurant, with his mother soon coming to work as a cashier. Frances Sullivan, who was a waitress who worked with Anthony said that she "loved him like a son" and that he said to her "I'll see you on New Year's Eve" and asked her if she wanted him to come into work early that day.

Barbaro's Trial

Anthony was arraigned on 31st December on three counts of second-degree murder, six counts of first-degree assault, and five counts of first-degree reckless endangerment.

On the 1st April 1975, Anthony was found competent to stand trial, with a preliminary hearing taking place on October 27th, 1975. Barbaro's defence lawyer, Vincent Doyle, stated that Anthony had a "serious, deep-rooted mental illness that precluded his conviction" with it also being said that he didn't remember committing the shooting.

"He can't remember pushing a couch against the doorway but yet he can remember shooting at a figure that appeared in the doorway" said Doyle. He also said that Anthony "forgot several details of the school room but he remembered the shooting".

It was also found out that Anthony had been planning the shooting for five months, with him having a notebook containing other locations he considered for a shooting. These included Rock City Hill, Olean High School and a line stating "get a car and drive through town shooting". Anthony only decided to commit the attack 12 hours before, after feeling more and more depressed for two weeks.

Barbaro's Suicide

On November 1st, 1975, Anthony was found hanged in his cell. He was found with a bedsheet knotted tightly around his neck, with the other end being tied to the bars of his cell. His death was ruled as a suicide after an autopsy was conducted.

He left multiple notes in his cell prior to his death, with two reading:

"To Whom It May Concern,

It hit me today that whichever way the trial goes, I won't survive. So I've decided to save all concerned some time and pain"..."I know for many it is too late, too late; but my life is all I have left to give.

Some will always ask 'Why?' I don't know - no one will. What has been, can't be changed. I'm sorry. Anthony Barbaro".

"The End,

It ends like it began; in the middle of the night. Someone might think it selfish or cowardly to take one's own life. Maybe so, but it's the only free choice I have. The way I figure, I lose either way. If I'm found not guilty, I won't survive the pain I've caused - my guilt.

If I'm convicted, I won't survive the mental and physical punishment of my life in prison. Therefore, this is the only logical thing to do.

The following pages contain the details and my farewells."

Other quotes from these notes read:

"People are not afraid to die; it's just how they die! It's this way with me; especially when considering pain. I don't fear death, but rather the pain. But no more. Now, my fate is in the hands of the Lord - His will be done."

"Now, come the thoughts at large. Mostly regrets I guess. I regret the pain I will cause my family and friends.

I regret that day the force took me - and the pain, suffering and destruction that resulted. I regret losing the few good memories...

I regret the foods I'll never taste, the music I'll never hear, the sites I'll never see, the accomplishments I'll never accomplish, in other words, I regret my life."

After his death Anthony was cremated, in accordance with his wishes. 300 people attended his funeral, with Rev. Roy Ronald asking the congregation to "think of all those years when there were no headlines. When Tony was doing his chores at home, when he was at school, working hard as always, when he was an altar boy here at St. Mary's, serving very faithfully".

[mightyflamethrower]

You know how awfully fond I am of the lithium-ion battery stories. Sometimes, the ones I've covered have been semitrailers full of them overturning and lighting off, or a warehouse full, or - more menacing - a battery storage facility close to residential areas that suddenly goes thermal, and evacuations ensue. 

But mostly, I wind up discussing them in the context of the EVs I am equally fond of. *spits* 

This morning, between a note from Global Travlr and a WattsUpWithThat email about the same event, I thought I had my theme set and ready to go. But when researching, I found something even more disturbing. 

Everything is all tied together by battery fires.

Europe is (thankfully) way ahead of us on the climate-culture-induced EV madness, even as far as their public safety vehicles go. Where many American cities are only just beginning to get that first "electric" fire truck...

Elected officials and local luminaries Thursday marked the completion of San Diego's new, environmentally friendly fire station near the UC San Diego campus. Fire Station 52 is two stories tall, has more than 14,000 square feet and is part of San Diego Fire-Rescue Department's Battalion 5. It is the first in the city to feature an electric fire apparatus and rapid electric vehicle charging station. "I'm excited to celebrate the completion of this top-notch facility featuring San Diego's first electric fire truck and rapid charger," said San Diego Mayor Todd Gloria. "Thanks to our partnership with UC San Diego, we're delivering on our promise to increase fire protection and life-safety coverage across San Diego."

...or are bummed the feds dropped the ball paying for the one they already ordered and now the city's stuck with the tab...

...what Green grifting officials in every last venue need to do is pay attention to lessons they could learn from people who have been doing this a lot longer than Americans have.

First things first, for a shiny new fire station like San Diego's, make sure it has a fire alarm system.

Especially if it has *check notes* an electric fire truck or emergency vehicle anything.

A new fire station in Germany that was destroyed in a fire, causing millions of euros in damage, did not have a fire alarm system. The fire broke out early Wednesday morning at the Stadtallendorf fire station in Hesse and destroyed the equipment hall and almost a dozen emergency vehicles, according to local media. Initial estimates put the damage at between €20 million and €24 million. No one was injured.

I would never store one of these vehicles in a garage or any other part of a home. They should be outlawed for multi story apartment buildings.

[runariya]

Drive to Survive (JJK) • Chapter 3 “Lights out”

pairing: F1driver!Jungkook x female race engineer!reader genre: colleagues2L, formula1!AU, racing!AU, drama, kind of fantasy/cyborg!AU fic rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: slight cursing, jealous Jungkook, heavy drinking, blacking out because of heavy drinking, sweaty Jungkook, word count: ~5.820

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to the sport of Formula 1 are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

🎵 NCT DREAM - Fire Alarm 🎵

01 • 02 • series masterlist • 04

The day after the successful race is crisp and bright as you arrive at the Mercedes headquarters in Brackley. The air hums with the post-race buzz as you settle into your new office, surrounded by the sleek, cutting-edge design typical of a top-tier Formula 1 team. Screens flicker with data and analysis, and the faint sound of engines testing in the distance reminds you that this is where champions, such as Jungkook, are made.

You immerse yourself in analysing the weekend's performance, taking detailed notes for the debriefing with Jungkook. This is a crucial part of your role, ensuring every aspect of the race is dissected and understood. With the next race weekend in Singapore just two weeks away, there’s no time to waste.

The office is still new to you, the polished surfaces and state-of-the-art equipment a constant reminder of the high standards expected here. You’ve agreed to meet Jungkook half an hour ago for the debrief. Confident he knew where your office was, you start to feel the gnawing of time slipping by. Since you don’t have his phone number or any other means to contact him, you decide to grab a coffee from the nearby kitchenette to pass the time waiting.

As you make your way there, Engineers and other team members hustle by, engrossed in their tasks. You walk with purpose, the sound of your heels clicking against the tiled floor, as you greet your new colleagues. As you approach the kitchenette, you hear a familiar deep, hushed voice and a high-pitched giggle. Rolling your eyes, you don’t quicken your pace. It seems Jungkook's propensity for unprofessional behaviour is a habit reserved for you only. 

Stepping into the open area of the kitchenette, you find Jungkook casually leaning against the counter, Trish by his side. She leans slightly towards him, her laughter filling the small space. Jungkook is clearly enjoying the attention, his posture relaxed and flirtatious.

You don't let your irritation show as you stride towards the coffee machine, your professional smile firmly in place. "Good morning," you greet them both with the same friendly demeanour you extend to everyone else in the team.

Jungkook looks momentarily startled, his easygoing facade slipping, while Trish’s expression shifts to one of thinly veiled annoyance. Understanding that you need to get to the coffee machine, Jungkook moves slightly aside.

As the silence stretches, you don't let it affect you. Instead, you focus on making your coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as the machine whirs and hums. "We’ve been scheduled for the debrief half an hour ago," you say evenly, not breaking your stride. "I’m free for the next twenty minutes until my next appointment. You know where to find me until then."

Trish’s annoyance deepens, but you ignore it, keeping your focus on the task at hand. Jungkook frowns, "What's in twenty minutes?"

You remain professional, maintaining your composure. "I’m meeting with Joongki to optimise the power unit, and if we have time, also the breaking.“

Jungkook's expression darkens at the mention of Joongki, but you don't let his mood swings bother you. The coffee machine beeps, signalling that your cup is full. You take it and turn to face Jungkook and Trish.

"I'll be on my way," you say, your smile warm and genuine as you address Trish. "It was nice to meet you again, Trish."

With that, you walk back towards your office, the smell of coffee trailing behind you. As you move through the hallway, you hear the sound of footsteps following closely. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Jungkook trailing behind, his expression unreadable. You keep your pace steady, determined not to let the previous conflicts shake your confidence.

This is your professional environment, and you intend to handle it with the competence and grace that brought you here.

You don’t look back again as you enter your office first. The room falls into an uncomfortable silence, as the lock of your door clicks shut. You and Jungkook sit down across from each other, the desk between you strewn with your tablet and some papers regarding RPM, fuel consumption and clutch performance data, and some reviewed strategy plans of the weekend. The tension lingering between you since day one is palpable, but you maintain your composure, establishing a professional atmosphere for the task at hand as good as you can. 

"Let's review the race," you begin, your voice steady and soft. "Despite the win, we need to understand exactly where we can improve."

Jungkook nods, leaning forward slightly. "Did you find the problem from qualifying?"

You meet his gaze, confidence in your eyes. "Yes, I did. It was an issue with the KERS and the engine. There were short miscommunication between the two that caused the loss in performance."

Jungkook sighs, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Good to know we have it figured out. That was frustrating."

You nod. "I understand. The issue has been logged and will be addressed before Singapore."

Jungkook shifts in his seat, an uneasy expression crossing his face. "About the qualifying... I, uh, wanted to apologise. For my behaviour. I shouldn't have yelled at you or accused you of nepotism."

You wave a hand dismissively. "It's okay. It's understandable to react emotionally, especially under the pressures of qualifying. We all have moments like that."

He looks relieved until you see him rethink your words and the subtle jab. 

Sensing his growing annoyance, you offer a smile as distraction. "Apology accepted. Let's focus on moving forward and making sure we don't encounter similar issues again."

Jungkook nods reluctantly, still thinking about your words. But then his eyes narrow slightly. "Wait, are you meeting Joongki alone?"

You raise an eyebrow at the unrelated question, sensing the shift in tone. "Yes, I am. We need to go over some technical details. Why do you ask?"

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant but failing. "Just curious. Is he... your type?"

You sit back, folding your arms. "I'm here as a professional, Jungkook. If I were to have affairs left and right, I wouldn't have made it this far in my career." Your eyes flicker with a hint of challenge. "I think we both know that professionalism is key in this environment." 

Jungkook's expression tightens, catching the second jab about his behaviour with Trish now clearly. He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off.

"Look, the point is, we're here to work. And I expect everyone, including myself, to act accordingly." You glance at your watch and then back at him. "I have to go. Joongki and I have a lot to cover."

You gather your notes and stand, ready to leave. Jungkook's jaw tightens as he watches you, clearly frustrated but unable to argue.

"Fine," he mutters, standing as well. "We'll talk later."

You nod once, professional and composed. "Absolutely. Let's ensure we’re both getting ready for Singapore."

With that, you leave the office, your heels clicking against the floor. As you walk down the corridor, you can feel Jungkook's eyes on your back, his irritation palpable. But you don't let it affect you. You have a job to do, and personal feelings shouldn’t have a place in it.

The week flies by, each day packed with activity. You find yourself holed up in your office, immersed in data analysis, simulation sessions with Jungkook, and car development tasks. Collaborations with other engineers, especially with Joongki, to optimise the car’s performance and strategy meetings consume your time, leaving you barely enough hours in the day.

Your schedule is overflowing, the demands of your job unyielding. More often than not, you find yourself retreating to your hotel room only to catch a few hours of sleep before diving back into work. Even when you should be resting, your mind races with calculations and strategies, the pursuit for perfection driving you to hunch over your laptop well into the night. The glow of the screen and the endless flow of data are both comforting and consuming.

As the newest team member, you are determined to prove your worth, so the loss of time for personal relationships or socialising beyond your job doesn’t bother you. Despite the relentless pace you set for yourself, Jungkook’s playful shenanigans provide a refreshing break you’d never openly admit to enjoying. His antics, from flirty to cheeky remarks, manage to loosen your usually upright demeanour. You find yourself responding to him more casually than professionally, the light-hearted exchanges becoming a welcome contrast to the intense, high-stakes environment of your new role.

One evening, after hours of fruitlessly searching for Jungkook, you make your way to the drivers' gym. The sound of weights clinking and the rhythmic pounding of feet on treadmills fill the air as you step inside. Your eyes scan the room and quickly land on Jungkook by the dumbbells, his shirtless form instantly drawing your attention.

His torso glistens with sweat, every muscle defined and rippling with each movement. His right arm, covered in intricate tattoos, contrasts starkly against his muscular back and flexing arms. The low grunts he emits with each lift send an involuntary shiver down your spine. You can’t help but stare, nearly drooling over the sheer physical perfection before you. 

Jungkook catches your eye in the mirror, a smirk forming on his lips as he winks at you. Your face flames up, and you quickly avert your gaze, internally scolding yourself for the lapse in professionalism. You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves, and stride towards him and Trish, who is standing nearby, her posture leaning slightly towards him but not quite touching.

“Toto has scheduled an extraordinary meeting regarding a rival driver in half an hour,” you say, keeping your voice steady and authoritative. “He sent me to inform you.”

Jungkook, not missing an opportunity to tease, smirks and says, “Caught you staring, huh? Enjoy the view?”

You wave off his remark, trying to maintain your composure. “I’m here to deliver a message, not to ogle,” you respond curtly. “Make sure you’re there on time.”

Trish’s glare is icy, but you don’t let it affect you. Her hostility towards you is barely contained, but you refuse to let it dictate your actions. Turning on your heel, you walk away, determined to stay focused on your professional responsibilities after this slip-up.

As every meeting, this one is also held in the sleek confines of Mercedes' briefing room. You settle into your spot beside Jungkook, a habit that has become ingrained in the past week. As always, his knee bumps into yours like clockwork, something you accepted faster than you would have liked. You quickly realised that Jungkook wasn't responding to your pleas. 

Toto stands tall at the head of the table, his expression serious as he delivers news that sends a ripple of disbelief through the gathered team members. "The FIA has reached out to me," he begins, his voice sharp. "Max Verstappen, Red Bull's lead driver, is injured. And they allowed his points to be transferred to his replacement, Kim Mingyu."

The announcement lands like a thunderclap. Murmurs of discontent sweep across the room, eyebrows knit in frustration and confusion. Jungkook, normally composed, visibly bristles at the news. His hands clench into fists on the table, his jaw clenched.

You sense his tension and instinctively reach out, placing a calming hand on his forearm. Jungkook startles slightly, his gaze flickering to your touch. For a fleeting moment, your eyes meet, and in that silent exchange, a wave of reassurance passes between you. His rigid posture eases, shoulders relaxing as he leans back in his seat again. 

Toto, ever the diplomat, concludes solemnly, "There's nothing we can do but accept this decision. Jungkook, you're still leading with 393 points, and as a team, we're at 574 points." The weight of these numbers underscores the gravity of their implications, and the room falls into a reflective silence. Red Bull as a team is currently slightly behind Mercedes in points, but if Max's points are transferred to Mingyu, there's a possibility that not only Red Bull could surpass Mercedes in team points but also Mingyu could overtake Jungkook individually, costing the victory. 

As the meeting winds down and colleagues begin to disperse, you turn to Jungkook, noting the furrow in his brow. "You're the best driver out there," you affirm quietly, your voice a counterpoint to the residual tension in the air. "We need to stay focused on your performance, regardless of the challenges thrown our way."

The intensity in Jungkook's gaze softens, replaced by a warmth that momentarily catches you off guard. Before he can respond, you make a quick excuse and slip away, seeking respite from the emotional currents swirling between you. In the quiet solitude of your office, you take a moment to steady yourself, the weight of Jungkook's unspoken gratitude lingering like a bittersweet echo. You physically try to shake those thoughts away, but it’s fruitless. Taking a deep breath, you do what you know best and immerse yourself in the gearbox data in preparation for the upcoming race, doing everything in your power to distract you from Jungkook’s haunting expression. 

The week leading to the nineteenth race continues in a similar fashion, each day clocked with high-intensity tasks and moments of personal challenge. You delve deeper into simulation sessions with Jungkook, his feedback sharp and insightful, pushing you to refine your strategies further.

It's Saturday, the day of qualifying in Singapore, and the atmosphere at the track is suffocating with its intense heat and humidity. The circuit itself winds through the city, illuminated by bright lights as dusk begins to settle in, creating a dramatic backdrop against the gleaming skyscrapers and the distant Marina Bay Sands. 

You arrived yesterday morning, hastily dropping your luggage in your hotel room before rushing straight to the track. Yesterday's training session went smoothly; all necessary data were gathered, allowing for final adjustments ahead of today's crucial qualifying and tomorrow’s race. 

Mingyu performed admirably, matching Max Verstappen's talent, a surprising feat given his unknown status in the racing world. 

The evening training session was a strategic move to avoid the blistering daytime heat, leaving you drained and collapsing into bed upon return, jet lag adding to your exhaustion.

Now, in the early evening, the paddock is bustling with all teams and personnel gearing up for the qualifying rounds. Over the past two weeks, you've made significant strides, proving to yourself that you're capable and competent. Feeling more assured during your second racing weekend, you take a moment to appreciate the vibrant atmosphere around you. Amidst the activity, your gaze settles on Jungkook, deeply engrossed in conversation at the Ferrari paddock with none other than their second driver’s race engineer, Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung notices you and breaks into a wide grin, waving you over eagerly. A reciprocal smile lights up your face as you make your way towards them, though Jungkook's expression betrays surprise at Taehyung's apparent familiarity with you.

As you approach Jungkook and Taehyung, Taehyung's warm greeting and enthusiastic hug catches you by surprise, but you return the embrace with equal delight. "It's so nice to see you again!" Taehyung exclaims, his smile infectious as he congratulates you on your new position. You thank him graciously, genuinely happy by his kind words.

Jungkook, standing nearby, wears a puzzled expression, clearly taken aback by Taehyung's familiarity with you. His annoyance is palpable as he listens to your exchange. When Jungkook finally interjects, his tone edged with confusion, "Where do you two know each other from?" Taehyung chuckles lightly before responding, "Miss Genius and I shared some classes, and she used to come by the racing club this one time when I needed help." His playful nudge at your shoulder elicits a laugh from you, and you nod in agreement with Taehyung's recollection.

Jungkook's brow furrows deeper as he tries to recall, "I don't remember you being at the club." Taehyung pauses for a moment, a mischievous glint in his eye, before offering with a grin, "Ah, that must have been around the time you were out with that illness." His teasing jab is met with an apologetic shrug from you, even though you’re not at fault, but Jungkook's mood visibly sours even further. Sensing the tension, Taehyung smoothly transitions the conversation, asking about your role with the team now.

Just as the atmosphere starts to lighten, Jungkook abruptly interrupts, his patience obviously wearing thin. He firmly takes your arm and guides you away from Taehyung, back towards Mercedes’ paddock. Over your shoulder, you shoot Taehyung an apologetic smile before focusing on Jungkook's irritated expression.

Stopping abruptly, Jungkook turns to face you, his annoyance still etched across his features. Before he can speak, Toto strides briskly past, his voice cutting through the bustling paddock, "Get ready for qualifying, everyone!" His reminder snaps you back to the impending reality of the day's events. The paddock buzzes with activity as teams make final adjustments, and drivers mentally prepare for the qualifying rounds ahead—all except you and Jungkook.

“Shit.” Jungkook mutters, shaking his head as he turns towards the car to prepare. You watch him briefly before moving to the pit wall to settle next to Joongki.

“Everything alright?” Joongki asks as you adjust the headset.

You hum in response, reluctant to dwell on Jungkook’s mood. While you should be used to it, his downturns still affect you deeply.

“Radio check, Jungkook, can you hear me?”

“Yes, loud and clear,” Jungkook responds, his tone tinged with something indiscernible, adding to your unease. If Jungkook feels off, it could impact his performance during qualifying. You search your brain frantically, trying to come up with something that could help his mood just a tiny bit. 

“Great! Remember, in qualifying, no pressure—just think of it as a really fast sightseeing tour!”

Jungkook’s laugh crackles through the radio, and as everyone else listing in also chuckles, you know it’ll be all you could have done.

As Jungkook sets off for his qualifying run, the atmosphere grows serious once more. By the time he finishes, he secures the pole position so far, setting an impressive time.

But as Mingyu begins his final round, the paddock falls silent. Despite Jungkook’s stellar performance, Mingyu manages to surpass his time by a significant margin, leaving everyone baffled.

Jungkook’s voice filters through the radio, his confusion evident as he enters the pit stop, “Why is it so quiet? What happened?”

Automatically, you reply, “He beat your time by five seconds.”

Silence follows.

“Who?” 

“Mingyu.”

This evening, after the second qualifying-fiasco and subsequent meeting ,you’re finally completely settled in your luxurious hotel room in Singapore, a high-end suite that epitomises modern elegance and comfort to it’s finest. The polished marble floors gleam under the soft ambient lighting, casting a warm glow that complements the sleek, minimalist decor. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking panoramic view of the glittering city skyline, and the king-sized bed, draped in crisp white linens, gives you an unparalleled comfort. The bathroom is a spa-like sanctuary with a rain shower and a deep soaking tub, providing a perfect retreat from the day's stresses.

Clad in your cozy pyjamas and wearing a green, glibbery face mask, you lie sprawled on your plush hotel bed, absently chewing on gummy bears, the sugary sweetness a mere backdrop to your thoughts. Beside you, an ocean of papers—all copies of yesterday’s training session and today's qualifying—scatters across the bed. Yet, your focus remains firmly on the laptop perched beside you. Initially, you intended to review Jungkook's previous races in Singapore for obvious reasons, but the incredible work of his fans soon led you down an unexpected rabbit hole.

One particular fan-made video has captured your attention for the last hour. It showcases Jungkook's most triumphant moments, and now you're utterly engrossed. The scene playing on repeat shows him leaping out of his car after the last season’s win at Abu Dhabi, though you're not interested in this fact anymore. In this particular scene, he rips off his helmet and balaclava, revealing a face and neck glistening with sweat. Each droplet catches the light, highlighting the contours of his strong jawline and cheekbones. His dark hair, damp and wild, sticks to his forehead, giving it an almost raven-black sheen.

The raw intensity of his emotions is palpable, radiating through the screen. He looks euphoric, his eyes sparkling with triumph and relief. The crowd's roar seems almost audible through the speakers, merging with the distant hum of the A/C in your room. You watch as he throws his helmet aside to his prior race engineer, runs a hand through his wet hair, and flashes a dazzling smile that seems to light up the entire scene.

You've replayed this exact moment countless times, captivated by the sheer charisma and raw, unfiltered passion he exudes. Each time you watch, you notice something new—the way his chest heaves with exertion, the slight tremble of his hands from the adrenaline, the way he looks at his team with a mixture of pride and gratitude. 

Lost in this mesmerising moment, you forget the professional distance you're supposed to maintain. The line between work and personal interest blurs as you continue to watch, absently reaching for another gummy bear. The screen flickers slightly as you rewind once more, unable to tear your eyes away from the screen. Jungkook's presence, even through a video, is magnetic, drawing you in deeper with each viewing.

As you lie there, the taste of gummy bears mingling with the taste of infatuation, you find yourself marvelling at the complexities of the man behind the race car. The dedication, the intensity, the sheer human spirit he displays—it's all too captivating. Your professional resolve wavers slightly as you hit replay yet again, surrendering to the magnetic pull of Jungkook's victorious moment, wishing you could have been there to witness it firsthand.

As you reach for yet another gummy bear, you let the scene come to an end and let it transition into an obvious vlog cutout. The gummy bear slips from your fingers, landing on the bed with a silent thud as your mouth hangs open in disbelieve and astonishment. Leaning closer to the screen, you watch, entranced, as Jungkook steps out of the shower, his dripping wet upper body visible. He looks directly into the camera with a momentary expression of surprise before resuming his post-shower routine. As he applies cream to his face and then dries his wet hair with a towel, his tattooed biceps flex vigorously, the sheer display of muscle a captivating spectacle blessing your eyes. Heat rises within you, and you find yourself inching even closer to the screen.

Just as you’re a breath away from the paused image, a sudden knock at the door startles you to the brink of a heart attack. „Shit, shit, shit, shit,“ You hurriedly close YouTube and shut your laptop, feeling as though you've been caught doing something forbidden. With a racing heart, you glance at the door, nearly convinced you imagined the sound. But when there’s another set of knocks, you compose yourself and stand up with a groan, wondering who could be bothering you at this hour.

Pushing aside your papers, you rise from the bed and make your way to the door, curious yet apprehensive. As the door swings open, you're greeted by Jungkook in the soft light of the hotel corridor. His striking yellow jacket glows warmly against the neutral backdrop, while a fitted black shirt peeks from beneath, adding a touch of sleek elegance. The crisp white pants complete his look, their clean lines providing a perfect contrast to the bold hues above, creating a sophisticated yet relaxed ensemble. Jungkook's hair is styled neatly, slicked back with a touch of shine, yet a single rebellious strand falls into his eyes, adding a hint of effortless charm to his polished look. The scent of his cologne—a blend of cedarwood and something subtly spicy—hits you, making your heart skip a beat.

You’re momentarily struck by his appearance, unable to form a coherent thought. Jungkook’s eyes, however, roam over you, taking in your pyjamas and face mask. His expression is a mix of mesmerised and slightly repulsed amusement.

“What do you want?” you manage to ask, snapping out of your daze.

“We’re going out,” he replies with a casual shrug, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’ve got work to do,” you say, gesturing to the papers and laptop strewn across your bed.

“Work is over for tonight,” he insists, stepping past you into the room. As he passes, he glances down at you. “Were you always this small?”

“I’m not that small,” you retort, a pout forming on your lips, though you know that without your heels, you’re significantly shorter than usual.

Jungkook’s gaze lingers on your lips, making you school your face into a neutral expression. He continues, “Mingyu is hosting a party tonight. We’re going to attend it, and you’re going to get close to him and figure him out. The ultimate masterplan.”

You stare at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious.” His annoyed look prompts you to shake your head. “I’m not going. Why isn’t Trish doing this?”

“Why would she?” The confusion is clearly written all over his face. “And of course you’re going with me.”

You groan, looking at the cream coloured ceiling, massaging your neck. “Jungkook, please. I don’t even have any clothes for a night out.”

Jungkook is persistent. “That’s an excuse. You’re coming. Now, let’s see what you have in your closet.”

He strides over to your wardrobe without asking and starts rummaging through your clothes. You rush over, trying to stop him. “Stop! Hey! Hands off my clothes! Jungkook!”

He momentarily pauses his rummaging, looking back at you and pointing at your face. “You’re not going to go out like this. What’s that you have on your face?”

“It’s a face mask,” you say, exasperated, not understanding what got into him.

He touches it, then recoils dramatically. “Ew, I got it on my finger. Make it go away! Oh my god, make it go away!”

You grab a tissue from the sideboard nearby and halt his hand. “You’re unbelievable. Unbelievable and insufferable,” you mutter under your breath, carefully wiping the mask off his finger. You can’’t believe how he acts this childish and careless, not only rummaging through your closet like a kid on a sugar rush but also sticking his finger into your mask. Yet, he manages to be a full-grown man, exuding professionalism and maturity in every aspect of his career. It’s baffling how those traits seem to vanish whenever he interacts with you leaving you to deal with his perplexing duality. 

As you finish, you look up, and your eyes lock with his. Time seems to stop as you get lost in his dark eyes. Both of you lean in slightly, the air between you charged with an almost palpable tension, crackling like static electricity. Your breaths synchronise, each exhale a whisper of unspoken thoughts, as if the very atmosphere is holding its breath. The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing down to just the two of you, every detail of his face magnified—the intensity in his dark eyes, the subtle curve of his lips, the way a single lock of hair falls across his forehead. It feels like time has slowed, stretching this fragile, suspended moment into an eternity. You can almost hear the rapid beating of your own heart, a drumbeat echoing the anticipation that pulses in the space between you. Then, abruptly, the spell shatters as your phone pings with an incoming email, the sharp sound slicing through the tension like a knife.

You lean back abruptly, reprimanding yourself for being so utterly stupid. What were you even thinking? You excuse it on the hours spent watching his earlier races and the fan-made videos that highlighted his every triumphant moment. You tell yourself it’s only natural to be curious about your team’s star driver, but deep down, you know you crossed a line. You shake your head subtly, trying to rid yourself of the chaos within you.

Awkwardly, Jungkook turns back to the closet and pulls out a black dress. “This one could work if we cut it shorter.”

“No way,” you protest, the moment before forgotten in an instant. “That’s my favourite dress. I’m not letting you cut it.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” he counters.

“Why don’t you buy me a new one now and leave my dress alone?” you challenge with a fake smile.

He pushes his lips to his nose while shaking his head, looking down at you. Sighing in defeat, you grab the dress and head to the en-suite bathroom to change, yelling after the door is shut, “We’re NOT cutting it!”

When you step out, ready for the night, you find Jungkook sprawled face down on your bed, snacking on your gummy bears. His broad shoulders and muscular back almost take up an entire half of the bed, his dark hair falling messily over his eyes.

“Why does your bed reek of you? You’ve only been here one night,” he asks, his voice muffled by the pillows as he inhales deeply again, thinking you didn’t hear it.

You sigh and shake your head in annoyance, too fed up to answer him. Slipping into your heels, you mutter, “Let’s get this over with,” and head for the door, trying to put a semi-professional mask on despite the absurdity of the situation.

Jungkook springs up and rushes after you, catching up midway to the elevators. “Okay, so here’s the plan, we go into this party” he begins, raising one finger in front of you to count the steps. You look on with a bored expression. “And than you befriend Mingyu.” he continues, lifting his second finger, as you both enter the elevator.

After a moment, you turn to him as the elevator descends to the lobby. “And what are the other steps of your ‘master plan’?”

“That’s it,” he responds, his tone nonchalant.

You gape at him. “Did the G-forces mash your brain?”

“Pardon?”

“Pardon?” you parrot him, massaging your temples. “Jungkook, you can’t just crash into my hotel room and drag me along for a ‘master plan’ that’s neither a plan nor a good one.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Jungkook says, gripping your shoulders, shaking you lightly. “You know as well as I do that something’s fishy. And we’re going to figure it out.”

You sigh, your head still being wobbled by Jungkook’s shaking. You swat his hands away, crossing your arms over your chest with furrows eyes. Looking into his pleading eyes,you reluctantly agree, blaming the videos you watched earlier for softening this much. “Okay.”

“Perfect! I hope you can handle your liquor,” Jungkook beams, turning to face the door as it opens on the ground floor.

“Of course I can,” you scoff, exiting right behind him. 

In fact, you absolutely cannot. 

Later that evening, you find yourself drunk to the bone, slouched next to Mingyu on a couch. The open rooftop party offers a breathtaking view over the Singapore skyline, with the soft hum of conversation and laughter mingling with the distant sound of traffic, creating a vibrant, pulsating atmosphere that intensifies your buzz. The rooftop is adorned with elegant string lights, casting a warm, inviting glow over the sophisticated crowd. Potted palms and lush greenery add a touch of tropical elegance, while a sleek, modern bar stands at one end, serving an array of colourful cocktails, one of which Jungkook is sipping while leaning against the bar, his eyes constantly darting towards you, an eagle eye on your every move.

Your head swims from the cocktails you consumed, but you know you need to befriend Mingyu. His P1 position in qualifying has made him a prime target of Jungkook and you, and your mission is to get close. 

Mingyu, tall and confident, sits beside you, his summer scarf draped loosely around his neck. He looks at you with a hint of interest, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You were incredible today,” you say, leaning in closer, your words slightly slurred. “How did you manage to stay so cool under this heat?”

Mingyu chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “It’s all about focus and practice. But you—what brings you to these races?”

You giggle, resting your hand on his shoulder and inching closer. “I’m here for the thrill, the excitement…“ You’re not sure if the suppressed gag reflex is due to your excessive flirting or the alcohol swirling in your system, „and maybe to meet interesting people like you.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your forwardness. “Interesting, huh? Well, I’m glad you think so.”

Feeling emboldened by the alcohol, you reach out to play with the hair on the back of his neck. He subtly dodges your hand, but not before you feel something metallic under his scarf.

“Hey, what’s that?” you ask, your curiosity piqued, no filter in your words.

Mingyu's smile falters for a split second. “Just a necklace. Nothing special.”

You laugh, not entirely convinced, but too intoxicated to pursue the matter. Instead, you place your hand on his thigh, only to be met with an unusual hardness.

“Wow, you must work out a lot,” you murmur, your vision starting to blur.

Before Mingyu can respond, he places his hand on your thigh, and you barely register the gesture before Jungkook appears out of nowhere, his expression unreadable.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jungkook says, his voice firm. “But I need to take her. Now.”

Mingyu looks mildly surprised but doesn't protest, holding both his hands up as if to say „She’s all yours“. Jungkook helps you up, and you stagger slightly, clinging to his arm.

As you walk away with Jungkook, you start to giggle uncontrollably. “Jungkook, you’re so hot. Did you know that?”

He looks flustered, his usual composure slipping. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

„No, I’m serious. You’re like really, really, super hot. And so funny.“ 

You abruptly stop and look up at him with the most serious and sober expression you can muster, but the hiccup betrays you. “Let me feel your thigh,” you declare, dropping to your knees.

Jungkook’s eyes widen in shock, and he quickly pulls you back to your feet. “This is not the time for that,” he says, trying to hide his embarrassment.

„No you don’t understand. Jungkook, let me feel…“

„NOT THE TIME,___!“ He practically carries you back to the hotel, your drunken state making you increasingly unsteady and bubbly. As you near your room, the world starts to fade, and you black out, barely aware of Jungkook’s arms around you, supporting you through the haze.

01 • 02 • series masterlist • 04

a/n 2: lmk what you think in any way you like! please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

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taglist: @jksusawife

[gaoau]

summer with(out) you

he's warm one day and so cold the next one. she makes sure he stays warm forever.

pairing — sano shinichiro x fem!reader warnings — sensitive topics; descriptions of blood and death. word count — 2.8k

it's the morning of august 13th when [name] awakens.

she reaches for her phone first thing, shutting down the alarm blaring in her ears. a fuzzy haze wraps around her head. as she squints at the characters on the screen, she recognizes a blinding fog covering her eyes. she blinks it away. dozens of notifications line up underneath the reminder that her device is still set to do not disturb. thousands of missed calls from benkei and waka, billions of messages piling up one on top of the other.

she knows things will never be the same.

sano shinichiro is dead.

the day goes by in a blur. she remembers debating with the silence of her own room. she remembers striking her fists at waka's propped-up palms. she remembers hollering voiceless pleas so shinichiro would come back. she remembers bawling her eyes out in benkei's arms. the five stages of grief burn in her mind at the same time as she fluctuates through all of them back and forth in the span of a few hours.

when she stands solemnly outside s.s motors, she forcefully digs her nails into her palms. she wants to set it all on fire. she wants to keep it in her memory forever. she wants to forget and she wants to save. she wants to grieve in what was their shared safe haven, but now it's a fucking crime scene and completely blocked off.

behind her, she hears her friends and their voices calling out to her. she doesn't turn around to face them. if she looks away, it all might just disappear. she gulps for courage. the hot summer air pierces and burns her nose even if it's almost midnight. a deep breath is all she needs to break past the barricade of warnings to not enter.

there's a sickening bloodstain on the floor. her brain oscillates between the reality of her loss and the denial of her grief. she can't even glance at the remnants of shinichiro for too long. she can't believe a crimson puddle is all that's left of him.

the shop is quiet—a suffocating quietude. she averts her eyes towards the bikes and equipment; there stands the CB250T he was planning to gift manjiro. it's all colored with the painful hue of his absence. [name] doesn't understand why it feels so cold in here.

the clock hanging on the wall ticks time away. the seconds weigh more than the minutes and the hours stretch into eons. her anguish and distress seem cheap in the face of how long shinichiro has been gone. she cowers in fear at the threats the passing numbers bark at her. the more she lets it pass, the more she stands alone.

"i miss you so bad…" she croaks in a broken voice. it echoes in the solitude. her eyes squeeze shut to avoid acknowledging her tears as she chokes back a sob. "i miss you so, so bad, shin…" the emptiness he left behind is just so jarring. it pierces through her chest relentlessly and she knows she'd be better off with bullet wounds. it would hurt less.

things will never be the same.

but she'll make it so they stay the same forever.

it's the morning of august 12th when [name] opens her eyes again.

sunlight pours in through the window, caressing over her face to make her stir awake. she sits up and digs the base of her palms into her eyes to rub the sleep away. her back aches after lying on the hard floor all night. when she catches sight of shinichiro sprawled out by her side, it's all forgotten.

there's a small puddle of drool beside his face, falling from nowhere other than his open mouth. he has the audacity to snore. [name] exaggerates a gag as she brings her foot up to his chest to kick him out of his dreamland. shinichiro startles awake in an instant.

"what? what happened? are you okay? what's wrong?"

she bursts into amused cackles at his frantic, groggy mumbles. the sound of her laughter makes him blink repeatedly to reorient himself. [name]'s image comes into view, cheeks flushed with joy. he doesn't know what's so funny, but he joins her anyway.

her chortles fade into giggles when his voice overpowers hers. she lets his laughter ring melodiously in her ears, better than any alarm she's ever woken up to. she's learned to appreciate the little things about her friends. anything coming from him is worth admiring.

shinichiro takes a little too long to notice she's staring at him so intently. he raises a brow at her. a smirk curls his lips. "finally falling for me?"

she sticks her tongue out at him. "not a chance. i'm wondering how long it'll take you to wipe that disgusting drool off your face."

his fingertips reach up to his chin to find the dripping saliva sticking to his skin. [name] regrets being friends with this man the moment he uses her shirt to wipe his face clean. she slaps her palm against his forehead to push him away. "good morning, [name]," shinichiro struggles to pronounce behind her hand. he grips tightly onto her waist.

"yeah, good morning, shin." she'll have to change out of this shirt and chuck it into an incinerator. peeling his arms off her, she manages to slip away from his grabby hold. as she stands, he crumbles on the floor again and [name] eyes him unimpressed. "i'm gonna go home and take a shower. i think there's bike oil in my hair."

"but what about breakfast?!" he whines on the ground. his fingers reach towards her, barely brushing the skin of her ankles when she steps away.

"what do i look like? your servant?"

"my love."

she bursts into loud cackles that could easily rival a chicken. he smiles up at her because at least he made her laugh. "yeah, not happening. we can meet at the family mart in an hour. we shou—"

"oh, a date!"

"—should tell benkei and waka."

"double date!"

shinichiro sits up as he watches her disappear towards the back of the shop. her giggles dissipate into the summer sun when she closes the door behind her. he catches her voice in the distance, "i'll see you later, shin!" and takes it as his cue to start his day too.

it's the middle of the day on august 12th when [name] is standing outside their frequented family mart.

she doesn't know what's taking her three idiots so long inside the store. she's already chosen and paid for her food, but the other indecisive dumbasses are still browsing the shelves. please, let them hurry the fuck up because the heat is really starting to get to her.

she hears the automatic doors open and a wave of cold, artificial air slams against her back. it makes her stagger forward. her throat clogs up as she chokes on her own spit. shinichiro's voice behind her is a distant echo while a deafening ringing drills into her ears. she winces in pain at the dull ache pounding on her temples, numbing her head. her feet stumble aimlessly when her vision becomes foggy.

it leaves as soon as it comes. it simply rattled her brain to remind her. time is running out.

it's unbearably hot on this scorching summer day, but [name] is more than thankful to know shinichiro's got good reflexes. he catches her by the arm and pulls her back into stability before she can faint. "here, have some water," he advises while bringing his own water bottle to her lips. "you okay, babe?"

she shoves the bottle away only to choke out, "don't call me babe," in a horribly raspy voice.

waka snorts, "she's good."

"no, really, you okay?" there's laughter but so much concern.

"yeah, yeah, just got light-headed." she wordlessly switches the bottle he opened for her with her own sealed one. she makes sure to pay him back for at least this one thing when she's too late to repay what he's done through the years. "c'mon, boys, let's get a move on." and again, she's quiet when she presses her shoulder against shinichiro's.

he peers at her with wiggling brows at the sudden contact. "where we headed?"

"the beach, obviously."

"anything for you, my queen."

[name]'s shoulders bounce with laughter when he playfully bumps into her. she doesn't have the time to hesitate and slips her fingers into his clammy hand. she grasps him tightly to never let him go. shinichiro eyes her curiously, but all she needs to explain herself is a firm squeeze. he doesn't know the catastrophe he'll unintentionally cause with his parting.

they hop onto his bike as if it were routine—at some point, it became one. he revs his engine while she makes herself comfortable behind him. his dark eyes find her gaze from over his shoulder. "ready to race?"

"i hate you."

"oh, yeah?"

"don't do it."

one more ear-piercing rev and he speeds down the street, his two friends following behind. [name] scrambles to wrap her arms around his torso. his joyous cackles ring above the roaring of his engine. she feels him vibrate with glee under her touch, and although her heart wants to leap out of her mouth, she basks in the natural warmth of his body.

the blood runs through his veins and keeps him alive. he's alive. he's here and he's warm and he's alive. he's with her, he's right in front of her; she can see his face and hear his voice and she's holding onto him.

shinichiro glances behind his shoulder once more. she looks into his dark eyes and allows them to trap her soul completely. she really doesn't want anything without him in it. he grins at her with so much brightness. her memory shines down on all of him to ingrain it forever.

it's the afternoon of august 12th when [name] sprints on the sand.

she's darting away from shinichiro and the dead fish in his hand. her feet only allow so much speed as she runs along the shore, naked toes leaving footprints on the humid beach that he follows. he gets a little too close and it's the perfect opportunity to fling the fish at her.

it's disgustingly wet when it hits her shirt and bounces back towards shinichiro. a shrill stream of curses slips from her tongue, cringing at the stench of the makeshift weapon. [name] whips around instantly, just in time to watch as shinichiro steps accidentally on the fish and tumbles to the ground.

roaring cackles bloom between the two of them; shinichiro lies on the sand while clutching his stomach in joy, [name] runs out of air as the waves creep closer and lick at her feet. she kicks water at his face in revenge. he rises briefly to tackle her head-first into the sea.

"no!" she hollers between giggles and strands of black hair that are not hers, "shin! my shirt!"

"oh, my bad, let me do your shorts, too." and he effortlessly throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before dropping her fully into the water.

he stands above her, chortling away at the disheveled state of her hair sticking to her face. when [name] props herself up on her elbows, spitting salt water from her mouth, she feels her head pound again. the sun drapes like a veil over shinichiro from the back as it encapsulates him in an ethereal glow. his face is shadowed, but she can still see the charming grin curling his lips.

then he blurs out of sight.

the more she stares at him, the more she fails to see him clearly. she hears his voice calling her name, and she can make out the shape of his hand in front of her. she wants to grasp his hand so tightly. before she understands what is happening, she's sinking into his arms and he's welcoming her despite being soaked.

concern twists his features. his lips brush against her ear when he whispers, "you good?"

instead of replying, [name] holds him even closer to her. her face buries in his chest as the world around her becomes upright once more. time is really running out. he doesn't know, but it's running out. she wishes she could tell him, but it's running out.

shinichiro hugs her back even if it's unusual. "d'you wanna head back, baby?"

a chuckle rumbles from the back of her throat. she playfully pinches his skin and makes him hiss. "don't call me that."

"no, but do you?"

"not really." because if they go, he'll leave her forever. because their last day together will come to an end. because there are billions of things left to say that he won't remember.

"let's go."

shinichiro pulls away from the unexpected embrace, offering her a gentle simper. he tugs at her wrist to get her moving. the sea loops around their ankles once more, almost begging them to stay a little longer so that time will kindly stop. she watches his back retreat as he strides towards his bike. it's a warm afternoon, but her heart and hands feel colder by the second.

she follows after him, albeit reluctantly. she doesn't want another second without him.

it's the night of august 12th when [name] is sitting inside s.s motors.

shinichiro has already closed the shop so they can relax into the last hours of the day. he's tinkering with manjiro's bike, knowing his birthday is a week away and time is running out. if only he knew. [name] adores the mere sight of him while he dutifully works. moonlight streams in through the window to shine down on his face and his frown of concentration.

he's so close yet so far, because in a few hours he'll be dead again. she's trying so hard to beg the moon and the sky and the passage of time to stop. but she's left with the clinking of metal and the characters for his name in every word. she's losing sight.

the bike oil staining his hands fades away, becomes colorless, trails down his wrists and disappears into puddles of her memory. [name] remains quiet, gazing at every little movement of his fingers. she wants to tell him things that would take her a lifetime, but she only has a few hours left of his presence.

she doesn't notice when he ceases working. he raises a brow at her intense eyes burning a hole through him. a hum pushes past his lips, "hey, [name]."

she startles. "yeah?" she blinks blankly at him.

"you sure you're okay?" he asks, brows furrowed, crawling closer to her. it's been a long day.

"yeah, why?"

shinichiro cradles her face in his palms, gently holding her cheeks. "your eyes are out of focus." it's been the only day in quite some time.

when [name] blinks again, she realizes the man in front of her is so far away, blurring out of sight. her head doesn't pound and there's no ringing in her ears, but she can't hear his voice pronouncing her name anymore. the touch of his skin on her own starts becoming colder by the second. their time is up.

"i'm just tired," she lies straight through her teeth, "i'm gonna head home." her fingers can't feel what she's holding when they circle around his wrists to pull him away. she stumbles onto her feet with a blinding fog covering her eyes. shinichiro is nothing more than a few blobs of color.

his sentences reach her through an infinite loop in broken pieces. "have a good night, love."

the smile tugging at her lips is automatic yet painful. "i'll see you tomorrow, shin." she waves her hand at a shape of white noise working on manjiro's bike. the summer air slaps against her cheeks in a breeze that promises rain.

the first few droplets fall by the time she's curled up in her bed. it's almost like the sky is bawling, telling her it's all over. the wind tears healthy leaves off their branches to flutter and die forever. the crashing waves echo in [name]'s chest, speaking of fond memories of shinichiro. she fades into sleep with the haze of time.

it's the morning of august 13th when [name] awakens.

—あごす (agosu) • 2021

[catherinetcjd]

This is a Complete Overhaul of the Specialty Lot Bin. 

Every property (17 apartments and 2 hotels) has been edited, fixed, improved, cleaned, and now comes with a custom thumbnail. Many of the lots have been shrunk, and three of them have 2-Step foundations.

After installing these files, the next time you open your Specialty Lot Bin, it should look a lot better, and the apartments should be easier to use. Your sims will be able to move-in and start living - without having to worry about missing fire alarms, telephones, and nasty sim references.

I really did try to keep EA/Maxis' original intent/"flavor" for these lot bin apartments and hotels... But, I ended up changing many of the floor plans. I added a few extra bedrooms and bathrooms, added playground equipment and pools, etc. I changed up floor-coverings too, so you can more easily distinguish one apartment from another when looking at them from 'the watchers' viewpoint.

Each lot now has a custom thumbnail that clearly lists the following pertinent information: How many Units/Rooms, class value, and which ProgFileLot# that particular property is. (In case you want to search and destroy!) Apartments have a blue banner across the top, Hotels lots have a red banner.

NOW available on Simblr!

Originally uploaded to MTS (8/18/2022)

Also available from my blog Sims2VirtualRealty (8/18/2022)

Enjoy! 🦚

[signfromeywa]

AUNGIA TA EYWA (A SIGNS FROM EYWA)

Chapter 04: The Infirmaty

Description:

Anastasia Novak is a behavioural scientist tasked with socializing a captive Na'vi on behalf of the RDA. The longer she works with the Na'vi and the closer she gets to him, the more she has to rethink everything she thought she knew and redefine her morals and values. Can she just carry on like this, or will she follow her heart?

Content: Rating +18, Avatar fanfiction, human x Na'vi ship, Na'vi captured

Characters: Human OCs: Anastasia Novak, Steven Turner, Patra// Na'vi OCs: Ean'tu,

Word Count: 3914

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❗️English is not my native language! I apologize very much if it reads a bit bumpy here and there.

I'm a German author and this is the first time I've tried to translate a story I'm working on into English and upload it. I still hope you enjoy it.❗

A sudden loud bang that shook the walls of the base made Mr. Turner jump up from his chair. He had been scared out of his wits and not long after the loud bang, the base's alarm sounded. Were they under attack? What had happened, just a moment ago Turner had been dozing away in front of the documents with his coffee cup in his hand, now chaos had broken out. The doors to the surveillance room opened.

"Turner! Quick!" Gonzales literally shouted and Turner took off running.

Once in the room, his eyes immediately fell on the window, which offered a view of the enclosure. The red flames colored the otherwise unlit surveillance room red.

"We have to get Sky out of there, now! Mobilize Unit 12 and give Sky a dose! This has to happen quickly!" as he instructed Gonzales and another colleague. The colleague ran out of the room to initiate everything else to get Sky out of the completely destroyed enclosure, Gonzales was busy in the meantime adjusting the dose and administering it to Sky via the collar.

It wasn't long before an entire unit stormed the enclosure. Fully equipped, they fought their way through the flames and searched for the Na'vi, who was lying unconscious somewhere. Only a few minutes later, the next unit arrived to fight the fire. Two AMP suits were mobilized to help get the flames under control and clear the debris out of the way.

Turner stood tensely at the top of the window and watched the units at work. Half of the surveillance technology had failed and he very much hoped that nothing worse had happened to Sky. If something happened to the Na'vi on his shift, it could cost him his head. After a nerve-wracking eternity, he was given the all-clear. The recovery unit had found the Na'vi and taken him out of the enclosure. But now everything had to happen very quickly. Sky couldn't wake up until he was back in a safe room where he couldn't hurt anyone and, above all, couldn't run away.

Gonzales came over to him. " Come on, let's take care of this, it's going to be a long shift."

Turner nodded to his colleague. He was right, besides, he would have to write a detailed report later and let Novak know that she would have to show up for work early, because they would most likely need that woman if Sky got out of control.

**

Ana woke up to the sudden ringing of her cell phone. Tired, she reached for the device that she had recently started keeping on her bedside table for just such occasions and peered at the number with blurred, tired vision. When she recognized the facility where she worked, she hastily answered her cell phone.

"Dr. Novak, what's wrong?" she asked anxiously, still a little hoarse."Forgive me for interrupting, Turner here, it's about Sky."

"Has something happened to him?" Ana interrupted her colleague, upset and worried.

"He's fine so far, just a few bruises, but we had to transfer him to the infirmary. Could you make it here at short notice?" Turner reassured her.

Ana sat on the edge of the bed and breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, I'll take the next team bus, where do I have to go?"

"Just our normal facility, I'll pick you up at the gate. See you in a minute."

"Yes, ok, I'll be right there. Goodbye." Ana ended the call. What had happened that Sky was in sickbay? It certainly hadn't been easy to move him there. Sky was wild and dangerous, he wouldn't have let that happen without resistance.

Tired, she got up and hurried to put on a skirt and blouse as quickly as she could before setting off. After all, this was still her workplace and she didn't want to be lacking in professionalism. She grabbed her work bag and hurried out of the room and down to the bus stop while she hurriedly checked her wristwatch again. If she remembered correctly, a bus was about to arrive and she couldn't miss it under any circumstances if she wanted to get to the base as quickly as possible.

The bus stopped and she ran the last few meters to catch it. Out of breath, she sat down on a seat in the first row and the bus took off. The journey seemed like an eternity, all she could think about the whole time was Sky and how he was doing. Questions were running through her head, making her tired mind dizzy. So she was delighted when the bus finally reached its destination and she was able to rush out of the doors.

Past the security staff, in the courtyard, her colleague Turner was already waiting. "It's a good thing you made it here so quickly. Sky is completely out of control," Turner said by way of greeting and set off with her.

"What happened, why did he hurt himself?" Ana wanted to know.

Turner's steps were fast and Ana had difficulty keeping up. "A plane crashed and tore one side of the enclosure. It started a fire and the flying debris must have injured Sky," he said, without turning to look at Ana. "That was a big bang, I tell you, I was totally startled."

"Oh shit- sorry." Ana cursed in disbelief, it was lucky that nothing else had happened to Sky. No wonder Sky was beside himself now, he was in a strange environment with strange people and the last thing he remembered for sure was that huge bang. Absolutely disturbing.

Turner went on to fill her in on the state of the enclosure, what measures had been taken and what would be necessary. While he was telling them this, they walked along the large main corridors of the base to an area that Ana had not yet entered. Until now, she had always taken the direct route to her department and had not explored the rest of the base. However, they walked through far too quickly, so Ana had no chance to look around, not to mention to remember where they were. She would never find her way back without help.

The large mechanical doors of a ward appeared in front of them, with a large white glowing sign. Infirmary. But this wasn't where ordinary soldiers went when they were injured, this was a high-security wing. It was already written on the front which security clearance was required here. One that Ana certainly didn't have, but Turner seemed to know what he was doing.

Together they entered the station through the large door and just ahead was an airlock with a receptionist. "Yes, please?" She didn't even look up from her work.

"Mr. Turner, we're here for Sky." He pulled out his employee card and Ana did the same.

Now the woman looked up, inspected the cards and compared the data with her computer. "Yes, that's right. You have to go down the corridor, turn left and go all the way through. He's in the isolation station, room 4," she explained briefly and then opened the airlock to the station for both of them.

With the help of the description, it didn't took them long to find the right room and when the doors opened, they could hear something falling to the floor and shattering, followed by the loud sound of many smaller metal objects falling to the floor.

Turner and Ana hurried in. The room was divided into two areas and separated by a pane of glass. On the far left was a small airlock and behind it was Sky. He was hissing angrily and frightened, pressed against the wall and fending off the medical staff who tried to approach him. In the process, he had knocked over a small side table where medical utensils had been laid out ready for treatment.

The two medics, fully clothed in protective suits and wearing masks, didn't dare approach Sky, their gazes just as frightened as Sky's.

"What's going on here?" Ana wanted to know immediately.

The two medics became aware of her: "He suddenly jumped up and started thrashing around wildly!"

Ana didn't want to hear any more, it was clear that they were scaring Sky and she couldn't blame him. He didn't know what they were planning to do to him, he was completely disoriented and perhaps even in pain.

Without hesitation, she grabbed a mask and entered the airlock. If she didn't intervene, someone else would get hurt.

She entered the separate treatment room and stood in front of Sky: "Please leave the treatment room, Sky is not in a condition where you can treat him."

"Mam, we have to treat his wounds," said one of the medics, raising his hands placatingly.

"You can do your work later, but if you don't leave now, Sky will only hurt you."

"All right," they picked up the medical instruments and bandages that were scattered on the floor and left the treatment room, "watch out, there's broken glass here."

Ana turned to Sky, who was now huddled on the floor in the corner. He had raised his hands anxiously in front of his face because the light in the room was a glaring white and seemed to be blinding him, which must have disoriented him even more. Tears were running down his face and his body was bruised here and there, with small wounds and cuts. His whole body was trembling. Ana felt so sorry for him, but she didn't know what to do. It wasn't as if they had built up any trust in each other, he was probably just as scared of her as he was of the doctors. How could she help him?

Then Sky suddenly lowered his hands and his wrinkled forehead smoothed as he seemed to recognize her.

"...Ana." he then said and Ana's eyes widened in surprise.Had she just heard correctly? Had Sky said her name? It was impossible, even if he was intelligent, that he had remembered the name so quickly since the last time, which had been a few days ago.

"Ana." she heard clearly this time. No doubt he had called for her. She cautiously approached Sky and carefully raised her hands.

"I'm here, don't worry." Ana said gently and crouched down in front of him when she reached him. She sat there hesitantly. Sky's expression had calmed a little when he recognized Ana, but she still wasn't sure how much he trusted her. Was it OK for her to touch him? How close could she get to him?

To her surprise, Sky pulled her out of her thoughts by saying her name again. He seemed to want to communicate with her, but it was the only word he knew. Ana summoned up all her courage and reached out for the Na'vi, who did not flinch. So she reached for his hand.

"Come Sky, come with me." She made a gesture for him to follow her, hoping he would understand beyond the language barrier.

Indeed, as she rose from her crouch, Sky stood up too, but without letting go of her hand. He was so huge, his hand completely covered Ana's, she felt fragile next to him, even though Sky only held her hand very carefully. It was as if he was aware of his size and, above all, his strength.

She gently led Sky to the treatment table where he must have been lying a moment ago. He sat down on it and looked at Ana.

"I'll get the medics to help you now, okay?" Ana knew that he didn't understand a word. Nevertheless, she looked deep into his eyes and said this very slowly in a particularly gentle tone of voice. She was trying to make him understand that she wasn't up to anything bad and that everything was fine.

Nothing was good at all. The circumstances were completely bizarre and actually quite inhuman. In front of her sat something that seemed not unlike the consciousness of humans, and yet he was caged like an animal.

As she turned to go to the airlock so she could use the microphone to ask the medics in, Sky held her by the hand. His eyes looked at her pleadingly; there was no way he wanted to be left alone.

Ana lovingly placed her other hand on his. "It's okay, I won't leave you alone."

She thought about it. Sky needed someone to look at the wounds and treat them, not that anything would get infected. But he would never let the medics near him without Ana.She pointed to his sore knee. "You have wounds." she said very slowly, then pointed out to the medical staff standing in front of the glass pane, still holding the bandages in their hands. "They'll help you take care of the wounds."

Sky looked at her warily and then at the medics. He seemed to be thinking about what Ana might have meant and she hoped so much that he would understand. She didn't know how else to tell him.

"Tam 'ì'awn hu oe." Sky then also said very slowly. Ana could hardly believe that she had just witnessed his language. It was the first time she had heard this foreign language, so she had no idea what he might have said, but from the way he had squeezed her hand, he clearly wanted her to stay with him. She smiled at him, trying to be calm, even though her heart was beating excitedly. She had gotten herself into something, the extent of which she could not yet fully comprehend. The more she saw that Sky was not so emotionally dissimilar to her, the more she had to question everything she thought she knew.

Ana looked to her right, to the window behind which the medics stood and watched in amazement as Ana dealt with Sky, waiting to do their job. With a gesture, she indicated to the two men that they should come to her and Sky to treat him. Only hesitantly did they both set off, still full of suspicion as to whether the Na'vi would be able to control himself this time or whether he would fight them off again.

Turner also seemed to be watching tensely. He seemed to be worried about Novak in particular, just like on the first day. As the medics stepped through the airlock, Sky's hand holding Anas tensed. His tail whipped nervously back and forth and his ears flattened. Ana could see him clenching his teeth and tightening his jaws, but he remained still. He was clearly still scared, but he trusted Ana to look after him, which she was determined to do.

"Come to us, but slowly, don't make any loud noises that might frighten him," Ana instructed.

The men approached them slowly, careful not to make any rash movements. They placed the utensils for cleaning, disinfecting and bandaging on the small side table with castors that they had set up again.

"Can we approach him without concern?" one of them asked uncertainly.

"I can't promise anything, but I'm in good spirits if you move calmly and slowly," Ana answered them, but looked at Sky to let him feel safe. The medics carefully began to clean his wounds and Ana knew that most of them stung a lot. Sky held on bravely. His body was tense and his face showed fear and uncertainty, but he didn't break eye contact with Ana. She would have loved to say something to him now, but she didn't want to risk Sky answering her in his own language. After all, Ana didn't know who exactly knew that Na'vi were apparently an intelligent species and what would happen if the wrong people found out.

After plasters had been applied to the few abrasions and two deeper cuts had a thin bandage, the two medics left the treatment room again. You could immediately see that Sky's tension had eased a little. He was much more relaxed when he was alone with Ana, but unfortunately she also had to leave now, however much she hated to leave him behind. He needed her now more than ever, of course, she was aware of that, but she had to talk about his further whereabouts. After all, he couldn't stay here. He needed a place where he could rest, with somewhere to sleep. Here in the room there was only emergency care equipment with a treatment table. If she took a closer look, it was even the right size for Sky. That was extremely unusual. None of this changed the fact that the circumstances had to improve for him.

"I have to go for a moment, but I'll be back." She looked Sky in the eye. "I need to talk to my colleague." She pointed at Turner.

Sky looked at her, worry written all over his face. He didn't want her to leave. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he pointed at Ana and said her name.

She nodded with a smile. "Yes, I'm Ana." But then he pointed to himself. "Ean'tu"

Ana's breath hitched for a second as she processed what the Na'vi had just said. Was it what she suspected? Had he just told her his name? His real one? Ana had to make sure. She pointed at him now too. "Ean'tu?" she said in an uncertain, questioning tone. The Na'vi, who apparently went by the name Ean'tu, nodded and Ana thought she saw a faint smile on his lips.

Ana pointed at herself again: "I am Ana," she said slowly, every single word, then pointed at him. Would he understand?

He looked at her warily and pointed at himself too. "I. Am. Ean'tu," he spoke after Ana, with a strong accent, only with his name instead of hers.

"Yeah, right." Ana smiled happily at him. He had understood quickly, she hadn't expected him to really try to communicate with her and if he did, it wouldn't be here. It was all very unexpected and she wished they had more time and, above all, more privacy. But there was a lack of both and she really had to go and talk to Turner, who certainly had enough questions.

"I'll be right back, I promise," she said softly and released her hand from his. Ean'tu stood up immediately, wanting to grab her hand again, but then hesitated when Ana flinched. That he would reach for her so suddenly had admittedly startled her and Ean'tu seemed to have noticed. His gaze went to the window behind which Turner was standing, watching them both tensely through the glass.

Then Ean'tu sat down again. He apparently didn't want Turner to think he was going to attack Ana again, because now he seemed very passive and was ready to let Ana go, even if she could read in his gaze that he was reluctant to do so. But she didn't have any more time to waste. Ana's colleague was waiting for her outside and she didn't want to keep him waiting any longer. She hurriedly left the isolated area through the airlock and approached Turner.

"What happens to Sky now?" she wanted to know directly. Now that she knew what Ean'tu's real name was, it felt wrong to talk about him as Sky. The name he had been given by a human. But for now, it was safer for them both and wouldn't lead to unnecessary questions.

"The enclosure is still partially destroyed and will probably need a few more days until at least everything is escape-proof again, until then Sky can't go back," Turner explained the situation. Among other things, he was responsible for managing the enclosure and therefore always knew exactly what was going on.

Ana crossed her arms thoughtfully. "We can't leave Sky here, he needs to rest, it's all been a lot of excitement for him. Isn't there a temporary enclosure for him?"

"We have a sanatorium on this base, with various enclosures, but I can't tell straight away which ones are currently occupied and which are not. I'll make a few phone calls in a minute. If I have anything, we can move him." Turner looked over at Ean'tu thoughtfully. "The only thing we have to think about is transportation. We can't just transport him through the station like that, there's a high risk of escape or worse, he could attack someone. I'll be glad if there's something between him and me to keep us apart."

Ana could have been upset. The way Turner talked, Ean'tu was a monster, but Ana was no longer convinced of that at all. He was considerate and careful around her. To be honest, she had the feeling that he was very sensitive and therefore often very scared. If only she could make his circumstances better. She was determined to do this in the future and, above all, she really wanted to find out more about the secret contact. Her contact certainly knew a lot more about the Na'vi."Take care of initiating the transfer, I'll take care of Sky," Ana looked at her colleague resolutely. "I'll make sure he goes safely with me to the other station. No need to sedate him again."

"You want to... walk through the ward with him? Just like that? I can't let you do that. It's far too dangerous to trust on your word alone that Sky won't get out of control again and hurt someone." Ana could understand Turner's mistrust, but they had to start trusting him somewhere. At least Ana could, but Turner didn't know what she knew either. She was sure she could form a good bond with Ean'tu.

"We're taking security measures. We clear the corridors from here to the sanatorium, then we don't endanger anyone. We'll seal off the exits so Sky can't escape and he'll still have the collar on in case of emergency. So if he gets out of control, we can use it to tame him," suggested Ana, who was now all the more determined to move Ean'tu without sedating him. He should walk on his own. If he could see that Ana trusted him to do this and that he wouldn't hurt her, it would be good for their bond.

"...Novak, you have some ideas." Turner sighed.

"But they're good, aren't they?" Ana grinned.

"Unfortunately, it's not a bad plan... but I'll have to talk to the boss to get permission to evacuate and go into lockdown. After all, we'll be shutting down a small part of the facility."

 "Good, then I think you should start making calls right away." Ana laughed a little, although she felt sorry for her colleague. These were certainly difficult calls that she wouldn't have wanted to make herself. But then again, she was the brave one who was always with Ean'tu. Although she was no longer sure whether the Na'vi was the greater evil in this case.

Ana turned away to go through the airlock, "Let me know when we can start the transfer, I'll take care of Sky until then."

"All right, I'll see you later." Turner pulled out his cell phone and began to enter a number as he left the room. Ana just looked after him for a moment, then went through the airlock to Ean'tu, who had apparently been watching them the whole time and was already waiting for her.

Tag List: @twisteduniverse5 @yukilaaw @mooniequeen (If you want to get added, comment it under the post)

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type au part 9!

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9

aphantasia whooped my ass trying to write this chapter, so for clarity's sake, the fort in this chapter is an almost complete rip-off of Murex Fort from Assassin's Creed: Odyssey with only some small adjustments (i.e. the snowy mountain, added stone walls, and size with my version being bigger than what you see in the game) and the upper part of Pharsalos Fort. It is painfully obvious to me that I copied these forts, and even if the plagiarism doesn't come across in the story, it would feel disingenuous to try to imply that I came up with the layout all on my own so I wanted to give credit where credit is due.

@imjustheretofightforlove / @pieckyghost / @life-as-a-gamergirl

...

The fort was significantly bigger than Ghost was expecting.

It wasn’t one of the temporary encampments he was used to; It had proper walls made of brick, towers that provided ample view of the surrounding area, and long banners that draped down the walls with the kingdom’s symbol emblazoned proudly across them.

The fort was built into the base of a mountain and he could see the tops of some buildings that trailed up the incline poking out from the high walls. The snow that had piled against the bricks only served to make it look grander, a sign that the fort had been standing there for many winters and would continue to do so for many more to come.

It was an impressive structure but the fact that Ghost was able to get as close as he did was concerning. The walls were built to house hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers and yet he stood at the open front gate, unimpeded. 

He was fully equipped with several weapons on display and his armor clearly denoting him as an enemy soldier sat atop a war horse. He should have at the very least been stopped, if not openly fired upon.

Ghost advanced slowly, waiting for someone to finally notice him and raise an alarm or light a brazier. Yet he stood in the entrance and wondered if he was too late. 

The plans he had copied made mention of weak spots that could be targeted and gaps in defenses that could be exploited but there he was, right inside an enemy fort having used the front door.

The interior was oblong, carrying on further to his right but quickly cut off on the left by a cliff face, upon which were some of those buildings he saw outside. At the base of the cliff were hastily assembled canopies doing a poor job at protecting the crates of supplies housed underneath them.

On his right, the area was partitioned by another wall of stone, this one man made, with an entryway that led to the rest of the fort. With the angle he had, he could only see more snow and stone walls beyond the door.

There were a few signs of life; There was a small path carved through trodden snow leading to the supplies and he could hear fires crackling and people hurrying about on the other side of the interior wall. 

But something was wrong. Even the small, temporary camps he was used to had better guarding than this.

He had stopped Taxes right after the gate, unable to move forward. His paranoia was getting the better of him, but everything just felt so wrong that he couldn’t take one more step. 

Not that Taxes would have allowed that. She was nervous as well, sensing her rider’s worry. She stomped and snorted in place, making it known that she did not want to stay there.

Ghost dismounted; He was worried about what would happen if she was caught in the crosshairs of a surprise attack. Ghost walked slowly and quietly towards the doorway to the right, leading Taxes behind him as he itched to grab his weapon. 

Still, he carried on with only her reins in his hand.

His suspicion that the inhabitants of the fort were beyond that wall was correct. There were several campfires dotted around the middle area with soldiers huddled around them for warmth.

Most of the tents and buildings seemed to be occupied by others in need of medical care, medics and healthy, uninjured soldiers rushing in and out of tents. As he watched, the people around the campfires would tap in and out with those working, a rotation to assumedly make sure no one exhausted themselves or got too cold.

It was only then that he realized that the walls of the fort were fully hollow, presumably all the way around, as people carried supplies to yet more medics within the walls. 

It seemed that what was once a formidable military fort was now an impromptu emergency medical center. Ghost blamed Soap for the pang of sympathy that struck him and nestled into his chest.

He wondered if the general knew he was planning to attack the sick and wounded. Wondered if he would care. He thought back to the soldiers’ sleeping faces. Perhaps not. 

Ghost’s rumination was interrupted when someone finally, finally, noticed him. 

They shouted orders and very quickly there was a wall of people blocking him from continuing further, their spears drawn and hastily grabbed shields raised. He made no move to draw his weapon but did not raise his hands in surrender.

Taxes pulled against the reins once but remained calm. Ghost was sure that standing in the dark shadow of the doorway, they made for a rather intimidating sight. He was just glad they didn’t immediately attack, but it did raise concern about their proficiency as soldiers.

Not openly attacking was the correct decision in this incredibly specific scenario, but they had no reason to know that. Ghost was glad that he didn’t have another arrow in his chest, but if these were the people he needed to win the war, then things were going to be even more difficult than he thought.

A man emerged from the hollowed walls and immediately made his presence known with a shout. “What the hell is going on?”

The man didn’t need to push his way to the front of the blockade as they parted for him; Clearly he had some level of power and/or respect here. He carried himself as a man in charge, but the emblem on his tunic called him captain.

“Who are you?” the captain demanded, enough authority in his voice to be mistaken for a much higher rank. He had significantly less protection against the cold than those around him, wearing only long sleeves and an ugly hat with no coat in sight.

“Where is your commander?” Ghost asked, even though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

“You aren’t answering my question.” He said it with enough power that it came off as a threat without any promise of violence having been muttered.

Ghost ignored him again. “Where is he?”

The captain let out a humorless laugh that made the hair on the back of Ghost’s neck stand up. “I’m afraid someone has already poached your contract. He died two weeks ago.”

“I am not a mercenary,” Ghost stated with much more conviction than he felt. The man had an aura of power that made Ghost loathe being on the receiving end of his ire.

“An assassin, then. Either way, he’s dead,” the captain paused and let the statement linger, “If you’re after the person in charge, that’d be me. But I would not suggest attempting that — I’m afraid you’re outmanned.” He said it with a huff of air, like Ghost killing him was a bad joke at best.

“I am not here to kill you,” Ghost corrected even though he knew it wouldn’t change anything.

The captain retorted quickly, “And snow is yellow.” 

(It was certainly the most creative way he’d been called a piss-poor liar.)

“I came here to offer information,” Ghost said flatly, wishing he got tips from Soap on how to be personable. 

There was a small amount of movement to his left, but he couldn’t afford to take his eyes off of the captain. One errant twitch of Ghost’s fingers and he’d be dead. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he could survive seven spears pointed right at him.

“Oh, did you now?” the captain laughed, this time something closer to real but just as alarming as before. Laughed like Ghost was a naive child with no idea about how the real world worked. It made him more unsettled than offended.

He plainly answered, “Yes.” 

There was a long pause, the silence filled by the wind wailing around the mountain, enraged at the walls of the fortress for preventing it from wreaking havoc on the people within.

A new voice cut in. “Uhm, I—”

Their voice was quiet but as soon as they spoke, both Ghost and the captain turned to see who dared to interrupt the verbal struggle between them. The person the voice belonged to shrunk back when their attention snapped to them, their sentence cutting off. They had a crutch under one arm and a person under the other, who looked nervous for them as they glanced between the two parties.

It… was the kid. Deja-vu washed over him at the way the kid cowered, flashing back to the medic on the brink of death he had found dying in the woods. 

…And clearly Ghost failed to help them. 

Their leg had been amputated. 

Above the knee amputation; An aggressive procedure that was avoided as much as possible with many complications spawning from it, not just with the immediate infection risk but the pain as well. 

Ghost… Ghost could have killed the kid in battle and he would have felt remorse, but not guilt. Yet now, he watched the kid lean on their friend for support as their wooden crutch slid against the icy stone and he felt nothing but reproach for his own cruelty.

He looked back up at the kid who somehow looked more panicked when their eyes met his, quickly turning away and staring at the ground beneath them with shifting eyes. Ghost was consumed by a level of contrition he had thought himself no longer capable of feeling.

He had killed gods-alone-know-how-many people yet it was the first time he had left someone permanently disabled— 

No.

It was the first time he had seen his own actions directly lead to someone being permanently disabled. Ghost would never know how many times this story had been repeated before with his callousness being the cause.

“I— I have something I need to s-say,” they said, stumbling over their words so much that it took a moment to understand them. Ghost wondered if his presence alone was enough to push the kid to the brink of a panic attack. 

It, for whatever reason, almost made him feel worse than causing the kid’s leg to be cut off.

The captain’s voice softened as he addressed them, “Son, now is not—”

“NO!” they shouted, shifting as they almost lost their balance, “Or, no, I’m sorry— I…”

“Breathe, son.” The captain was kind yet commanding and the kid listened.

It was obvious that he was much more used to leading on a smaller scale, a scale where he leveled with those under him, treated them as people and not soldiers. No self-respecting commanding officer would refer to an underling as ‘son.’

Either way, they followed the order, taking a shaky breath. “I… think you should listen to him.” The kid stared at the general as they said it, voice shaky but opinion firm.

It wasn’t what Ghost was expecting at all. He thought it was going to be a request to get the first hit in.

The captain sighed at the request and was about to refute it but the kid pushed on. “He… he was the one who— who carried me out of the woods. He was the one that got me to the doctor. I’d— he—”

The kid took a breath, trying to formulate a passable argument around the panic overtaking their mind. “He didn’t have to save me, but he did.”

Their mouth moved like they didn’t want to leave it there, but no noise came out. Having said their piece (or as much of it as they could get out), the kid looked between Ghost and the captain before staring holes in the ground.

The captain looked at the kid with that sympathetic look before pinning Ghost under one that was much more threatening as he considered what the kid had said. 

“Is that true?”

Based on the way he asked it, Ghost could tell that he was already coming to terms with having to give Ghost the benefit of the doubt.

“Yes,” he said, only just leaving out the ‘sir’ that wanted to follow it. Just because the man carried himself with authority didn’t mean Ghost had to treat him as an authority figure.

The captain dropped his shoulders and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. He waved a hand at the soldiers to stand down and return to their posts. Some of them gave him questioning looks, but they all soon quickly returned to their prior routine.

The kid looked up at that, a grateful expression taking over the anxiety riddled one.

“Drop off your weapons and horse,” the captain said, pointing to a spot to his right with an empty hitching post. “Then follow me.”

Ghost gave no verbal confirmation or even a nod, just quietly followed where he had pointed and loosely tied Taxes’s reins around the post. He didn’t think they were stupid enough to try to do anything bad to his horse, but he wanted to make sure the knot was loose enough that she could pull free if they did.

He laid his smallsword and halberd against the wall and hesitated before dropping his bag as well. He busied himself with nothing in particular as he watched the kid out of the corner of his eye. The captain was having a word with them, gently advising something while the kid obviously protested whatever the advice was.

When they were done, the captain dismissed them and stood at the base of a staircase that led to a path atop the stone walls as he watched Ghost. Ghost gave Taxes an apple and made a point not to rush just because the man was waiting on him. 

When Ghost approached, the captain looked at the two arms he had deposited. They both knew that Ghost was still equipped with whatever weapons he had hidden, but the captain nodded and led him up the stairs regardless.

The top of the walls provided a path to the buildings Ghost had seen on top of the cliff at the entrance. The overview of the fort showed a grim picture, the entrance vacant and covered in snow while the other side had people constantly rushing around to prevent the sick and injured from getting worse.

Ghost was tempted to tell the captain that he needed to post guards at the entrance, but he had a feeling the man already knew that. They walked in silence, Ghost taking in the landscape with the higher viewpoint. 

He was sure that if he had a warm fire, he’d find the grand, snowy vistas charming. Instead, with the echoes of the rushed medics and freezing soldiers behind him, it looked like a siren’s song, like it was begging some poor, naive soul to fall victim to its promised eternal slumber.

The ice made the winding passage tricky; there was no footpath worn into the snow. Wherever the captain was leading him, neither he nor any of his soldiers had been in a long time. 

Part of him was curious if the captain was just taking him up there to kill him away from the prying eyes of the rest of the fort.

The walkway led to yet another, albeit shorter, staircase, this one ending on a man made landing carved into the rock. Up on the cliff, the walls weren’t able to protect them from the wind and his cloak whipped to the side; The captain remained unaffected.

Ghost didn’t know what purpose the two buildings served, only that they both looked fairly similar. He was led past the first one and glancing through the frosted windows, it was dark, but it looked like it had at one point been a storeroom that had since been emptied.

The captain stopped at the second building’s door, pulling out a key and unlocking it, though frowning when it didn’t open. He braced himself against the door, taking four attempts to shove it open. He carried on inside as if it was normal.

Ghost followed. The inside was just as dark as he expected, the only light to illuminate the dusty interior falling in through boarded and dirtied windows. The open door made the wind echo loudly inside the room, the noise seemingly magnifying as it crashed against the walls. 

The other had gone further in, lighting a lantern and doing something in the dim light. Even though he knew how likely it was for everything to have been a setup for an ambush, he closed the door, shutting out most of the noise.

He took several more attempts to close it than the captain had to open it, with Ghost fighting against the wind for the handle to latch. By the time he turned around, the captain had lit a fire in a fireplace he’d failed to notice in the darkness. 

Ghost watched as he broke an old, brittled chair into pieces and tossed them on the fire. Now with more light, he set the lantern on a table in the middle of the room. It must have been some kind of war room or headquarters that had gone abandoned for one reason or another.

The captain dusted off one of the old (but thankfully not brittle) chairs and set it at the table, gesturing for Ghost to do the same. He was not sure why he did; Any other scenario and he would have stayed standing out of spite.

Still, they sat at the meeting table directly across from one another. Ghost sat down without taking his eyes off of the captain, subconsciously checking that the book was still in his pocket.

Once settled, the man across from him appraised him before sticking out his hand. He introduced himself, “Captain John Price.”

Ghost appraised him as well. His other hand was flat on the table, not hiding any weapon just out of sight. He followed the display of trust without having to think about it, shaking hands as he reciprocated, “Ghost.”

“So I’ve heard. Why are you here?” the Captain asked, maintaining the firm tone that told Ghost that the man sitting across from him was not intimidated.

“I have information,” he repeated.

“What’s with the sudden change of heart?”

“Grew a conscience,” Ghost lied dryly. He pulled the book from his pocket, showing clearly that it wasn’t a weapon, and slid it across the table. “Page 73.”

The Captain gave him a skeptical look but followed along, making no secret of glancing back up to keep an eye on Ghost as he flipped through the book. His eyebrows raised as he assumedly reached the page.

The inner margins were full of information, writing that appeared to be nothing more than random scribbles until you looked close enough to actually read the messy scrawl. 

It was an entire war’s worth of information crammed across a handful of page’s margins; Detailed plans of attack, possible weak points, and entire dossiers on each commanding officer’s strengths and weaknesses that he’d observed over the years.

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t cathartic to write out the general’s every failure and how to exploit them, even with the guilt hanging over him like a noose. From page 73 to 79, he doomed the man who had previously been his savior.

After skimming over everything, the Captain folded the page to mark it and closed the book. “And how do I know I can trust you?”

It was probably more rhetorical than anything; Whether he meant it or not, marking the page showed he had enough trust in Ghost’s information to want to come back to it.

“You don’t,” Ghost answered honestly, “It depends on which risk you’re more willing to take.”

On the journey, he’d had a lot of time to think and the question of trust was one he had asked himself and found he had no answer for. Anything that could be a sign of honesty was too easy to turn back around with an explanation that still left Ghost without an alibi.

(After leaving the cabin, part of him had considered turning around. Riding back to camp and removing the general’s head. Wrapping it in cloth and hanging it from his bag. Showing it off as a proof of trust. Tossing the decapitated head to the man in charge to see how he’d dispute that. 

He wasn’t as appalled at the idea as he should have been.)

“I’ve heard of you,” the Captain said after an agonizing pause, “Not good things, but I have heard of you.” 

Ghost didn’t back down from his piercing gaze even as he dreaded wherever this was going.

“I think there’s more to it,” the Captain finished. Ghost waited for more, but that was it.

The Captain was trying to say as little as possible while prompting Ghost to spill everything — A good tactic that probably would have worked on anyone other than Ghost.

Unfortunately for the Captain, he had long ago perfected the art of only answering exactly what was asked and nothing more. What felt like a lifetime ago, it had forced a quick-tempered father to word his demands very carefully and, more recently, forced an ill-mannered general to overthink every order he gave.

With no question asked, Ghost remained silent. It went on for several minutes, Ghost waiting to see how long the Captain could remain stoic before he broke and asked another question.

Six and a half minutes passed (yes he counted, what else was he supposed to do for almost seven minutes?) before the Captain sighed and rubbed his face, exhaustion now firmly on display.

Before he spoke, Ghost knew what was going to happen now. The intimidation hadn’t worked, so the Captain was going to switch to a more human approach. But with the way he held his head in his hands and, for just a moment and no longer, let his guard down, Ghost again wondered how much of it was a ploy by a cunning officer and how much was an exhausted man unable to rest.

The Captain sat up in his chair and put his elbows on the table, crossing his hands and holding them in front of his mouth in the mimicry of a prayer. He let his head rest against them a moment before seemingly finding the strength to lift his head and speak. 

“I’m going to level with you, Ghost.”

(Ghost had a small smile that was unnoticeable behind his mask at correctly pinpointing what the Captain was going to do next.)

“I’ve had about three promotions in the past five months, I’m holding onto the title of captain out of stubbornness. The sick and injured were sent here as a temporary solution to a lack of medics, but now they outweigh the healthy troops,” the Captain partially mumbled the last part as he looked out the window, like he got caught up in doing calculations on just how screwed they were.

So Ghost was right — a fortress turned into a medical center. He had a feeling that was a decision made three promotions ago and that no one in charge stayed alive long enough to do anything about it.

The Captain took a deep breath, sighed, and dropped his hands to the table. “Now you’re telling me that the enemy is planning an attack and we need to move to a less defensible place? You, the enemy, is suddenly coming to us with insider information— do you see why I’m struggling to believe you here?”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” Ghost replied, still sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed. It was a bit of a risky gambit; It ran the risk of antagonizing the man further and, in turn, leading him to disregard everything Ghost had to say.

They had reached a stalemate. Trust is a two way street and both refused to move.

And so Ghost waited. He stared at the captain with a stony expression, unmoving. To an outsider, he would look intimidating, like some infallible, unaffected thing; In reality, he was trying to remember what Soap grabbed from the cabin that he could eat for dinner.

“Why are you here?” the Captain tried again. However it was a question that Ghost had already answered twice (the first time without even being prompted) and thus felt no need to repeat himself a third time.

They returned to silence. 

Ghost quietly hoped that the Captain would start interrogating him again. He was tired from the trip and the room was comfortably dark and warm with the fire; Could you blame him for starting to feel sleepy?

“And what of the god of death?”

Well, that woke him right the fuck up.

“Excuse me?” Ghost asked, hoping his odd reaction looked like that of someone who was surprised at a seemingly random question. Surely that would be more logical than whatever the truth was.

The Captain laughed like something was funny and Ghost did not like not being privy to the joke. His smile was genuine and threatening. Like he found Ghost’s ignorance amusing but felt nothing but contempt for him.

He sneered, “The army that shed so much blood, the Old Gods had to awaken to take care of the dead? Not even their favorite executioner has heard the rumors?”

Ghost remained impassive on the outside while ice ran through his veins, shocking his system and shutting off everything non-vital. He couldn’t tell if he was more alarmed that people were getting close to finding out his connection to the god or that they thought Soap was aiding the slaughter.

He would need to tread very carefully, to overthink every word and every way it could be interpreted. But he was not sure of how to go about the following conversation in a way that would save himself and Soap from any potential fallout.

“No,” Ghost corrected sharply.

“Pardon?” the Captain asked, angered surprise pouring from his tone.

“Soap has not sided with any faction,” he answered, throwing self preservation out the window. He was angry at even the implication that Soap and the general could possibly be working together. 

Why he felt the need to protect Soap’s reputation over his own safety, he did not know. It seemed he didn’t know much these days, but he knew that the idea of the god repeating the cycle that happened previously had his bones twitching.

In fact, he was so caught up in his own righteous anger and need to protect someone who did not need protecting that he didn’t catch his slip up until the other leaned back like he was taking in a sudden rush of information.

Soap.

His name had been forgotten for an age. No one should know it, least of all know it well enough to drop it casually in conversation.

Fuck, that was stupid. 

Yes, Soap had chastised for him for calling himself stupid, but holy fuck, that was stupid.

“Yet he sent you,” the Captain asked, confirming his fuck up and putting the last nail in his coffin with such force that the wood cracked.

Ghost had nothing to say that could save him, so he said nothing. He kept up the stoic stare while on the inside his lungs staged a revolt. The fewer damning things he said, the better.

“If we acted on this,” the Captain asked, gesturing to the book without taking his eyes off Ghost, “Would we have the god of death on our side?”

“No,” he answered, immediately throwing his previous solution to say nothing away. Ghost jabbed, “If you want a god on your side, start praying to the god of war.”

The Captain stared back at him. This was still an interrogation. Ghost could not afford to get angry; He answers only what is asked and nothing more. His previous response should have ended at no.

“Yet he sent you,” the Captain repeated.

Don’t answer. Don't answer. Do not answer. DO NOT ANSWER, YOU FUCKING MORON.

“If they win,” Ghost answered, “They kill the soldiers, starve the civilians, and continue their reign of terror. If you win, the war ends.”

The Captain muttered, “If life grows, so does death.”

He hummed, contemplating the slew of information that had been dumped onto him. Ghost contemplated what he would offer to Soap as an apology for how badly he’d fucked up.

Was the rumor of Soap’s return just an astronomically lucky guess out of the rumor mill? Or did someone, somewhere have some facts to back it up?

Sure, he told the kid Soap’s name, but he would be surprised if they remembered anything about that day beyond that he got hurt and Ghost took them to a medic. And even if they did, he doubted anyone would believe the delirious ramblings of a kid who just had their fucking leg amputated.

Ghost was likely the only one that could recognize the god on sight, and even then Soap looking like, well, Soap was a recent development. So how the fuck did the leader of the opposing army know that Soap had awoken?

The Captain’s voice snapped him from his contemplation.

“What do you know about strategy, son?” the Captain asked.

“Not much,” Ghost answered truthfully.

“That’s more than none,” the Captain said as he stood, “Which is good enough for me.” 

He walked to the door and barely turned the handle, letting the wind blast it open. “Get comfy, we’re gonna be here a while.”

…

Several hours later, Ghost really fucking wished he’d lied and said he didn’t even know what the word strategy meant.

Apparently, whatever strategist they’d had died a while ago (which Ghost would never say aloud, but it explained a lot about the trajectory of their more recent battles.) The Captain instead brought in a few various lower ranked soldiers he seemed to trust.

And they trusted him in turn. As inexperienced as he may be with leading an entire army, he at the very least had the trust of each and every member of his troops. When they entered the reinvigorated war room and saw Ghost, the enemy they had just been pointing spears at, they hesitated but sat at the table with him when they saw their Captain do the same.

It became a battle plan by committee, everyone pitching in their expertise to patch where there was once a gap in knowledge; Occasionally, someone would be sent down to fetch yet another person who could lend a different viewpoint.

It was annoying to be a part of as a man who hated working in teams, but he still couldn’t help but admire their tenacity. It was a bad place to be in, the general more or less planning to attack a hospital, but they refused to accept it as an impossible situation. 

Admirable, but fucking hell, he was exhausted. 

He and the Captain were the two most experienced there (which was sad, to be quite honest) and had to act as the common sense filter for about eight starry-eyed rookies who refused to accept loss, both of the battle and human life, as a possibility. 

By the time everything was finalized, it was so dark that they had to leave the upper section of the fort in pairs, sticking close with a torch to light the way. There was no room for pride when he and the Captain descended the icy stone, arm in arm so as not to fall off either side of the wall.

They provided him with lodging with the agreement that he would leave in the morning and return to the camp as if nothing had changed at all. It was harder to hold onto his guilt over leading soldiers he’d known for years into an ambush when he saw the way joy had slowly spread through the fort.

Word had gotten out that there was a plan in motion, a hope for winning. The fortress was pitch black with snow steadily falling, yet they quietly cheered at the notion that they had a chance. 

The tent he’d been given was smaller than the one he had at camp with only a few blankets stacked on the ground as opposed to a cot, but even before spending a night there, he knew he preferred it to his own. 

It was tucked close to the others, a small way to conserve warmth, and if he strained his ears, he could hear excited whispers from his neighbors. The words were lost to the wind but the happiness lingered, quiet laughter ringing in the desolate night.

It was stupid and it was sappy but Ghost finally felt at least a little close to being at peace with his betrayal, knowing that this was what he was saving in return. 

The dinner he’d been fantasizing about for hours was provided as well. Sitting in his tent, he had resolved to eat some crackers if he felt up for it and go to sleep hungry if not, but one of the rookies he’d been strategizing with apparently noticed that he hadn’t eaten. 

They had approached his tent and actually said “Knock, knock” out loud and waited for his permission to open the flaps of the tent. They handed over a bowl of some kind of stew quickly and quietly apologized both for bothering him and the small meal and wished him a good night before he could even fully process what they had knocked about. 

He was still staring into his rapidly cooling dinner when Soap appeared.

The god didn’t say anything, just draped himself over Ghost’s back like a blanket, like it was second nature to make sure he was warm and comfy, and mumbled something about his food freezing solid before he could eat it.

Ghost smirked, pushing back against Soap teasingly before sitting up, still partially leaning against him. He pulled down his mask and ate in silence, Soap tapping a rhythm against his side as he did. The rookie had apologized for it not being much, but it was one of the better meals he’d had in a while.  

He chewed slowly and dragged out the last few bites even though it had chilled past the point of being palatable, worried that when he was done, Soap would pull away.

Is he still worried about falling, jackass?

Ghost smiled. He hadn’t heard from him since that morning. It felt like two months had passed since then, since the cabin. Even after reflecting on how much he had done in one day and feeling the exhaustion creeping towards his spine, he still wasn’t ready to fall asleep and end the day yet.

It was a novel feeling for him, to want to make the day last longer as opposed to cutting it short, and though he knew he would be even more exhausted in the morning, he wasn’t ready to toss away this rare happiness for a few more minutes of sleep.

It did not take long for Soap to break the silence with a quiet mutter, “I won’t be able to stay like I did last night.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to,” Ghost reassured quietly. He would miss forcing the god of death to be his pillow, but he supposed he could make do.

“What?” Soap poked back as he leaned forward, forcing Ghost to do the same, “Already wanting me to leave?”

Ghost scoffed and rolled his eyes. He took a breath to speak but cut himself off; He almost responded with a firm denial before his brain caught up and stopped that before he could embarrass himself.

The instinctive honesty from his own subconscious surprised him. Such a simple thing, but the realization that he was genuinely upset at the idea that Soap could have felt rejected by words that were meant to reassure left him unsettled.

Thankfully, his scoff and obvious dismissal of Soap’s teasing was enough of an answer even without a verbal response and the god chuckled silently. He remembered his prior wish that Soap had coached him on how to be personable; It was back tenfold as silence found its way back into the tent. 

Ghost couldn’t tell if it was an actual awkward silence or just his social ineptitude back in full force. 

It was easier when it was just the Captain interrogating him, but now he had to keep a not just civil, but friendly conversation up without being too clumsy. 

A truly impossible task. At least the Captain had—

Had known that Soap was active but was mistaken on why. Who believed the rumors that were swirling of a greedy, malevolent god’s return. Who had his fears fed into by Ghost saying Soap’s name.

Ghost knew he was forgetting something.  

“Ghost,” Soap said in a warning tone, “Yer thinking too loud again.” He added with a small laugh, “Or, sorry — Sulking, brooding, whatever word it is you want to use.”

Ghost took in a deep breath and before he could think better of it, said, “Rumors are circulating that you reawoke to aid the general.”

The god tensed but said nothing. 

This was the one thing Soap had wanted to avoid. Despite how much his mind revolted at the words, Ghost hastily apologized, hating the uncertainty of not knowing what Soap was thinking. “I’m sorry, I—”

“I know,” Soap said in a soft voice. 

Ghost had a feeling he wasn't talking about his feelings of regret. 

The simple and quiet admission almost hurt more than if the god had gotten angry and cursed him. He didn’t deserve the god’s patience; Soap had already given him so much, but how much of it was given knowing that Ghost was restarting the cycle?

“How?” he asked.

Perhaps Soap could read minds as he answered, “It’s not your fault, it was bound to happen eventually.” He had the tone of someone telling a pretty little lie meant solely to appease the other.

Realizing that he might have misrepresented the situation, Ghost minutely shook his head and reworded his admission. “I… may have confirmed the rumors.”

Soap pulled away and looked at him with betrayed disbelief. “What?”

Confirmed the rumors that he had reawoken, not that Soap was siding with the general.

Ghost shook his head, “I meant—”

Soap interrupted, “What did you say?” The words were not angry (yet), but the surprise that Ghost may have betrayed him was still there.

Ghost relayed the conversation he’d had with the Captain almost verbatim, focusing on the memory as opposed to Soap’s reactions to his words, if the god had any reaction at all.

It was easier with Soap still sitting behind him. Confessing his fuck up to the canvas tent in front of him was easier than looking a god in the eyes and confirming his fears.

Once he was done recounting the “interrogation,” (Was Ghost allowed to poke fun at the Captain’s interrogation skills if he got Ghost to crack, even if accidentally?) they fell into a nerve-wracking silence.

The howling wind outside only called attention to the quiet within the tent. 

After some amount of time, Soap returned to how he was before Ghost had started talking — draped across Ghost’s back, this time his chin hooking over his shoulder.

It was a mirror of a position they had found themselves in multiple times before when on Taxes, but this time it felt different. A couple of weeks ago, or even a few days ago, he would have tried to tell himself that it was some convoluted manipulation tactic. 

Right there in that tent, he wasn’t even sure he could convince himself that it wasn’t Soap trying desperately not to fall apart.

Soap pressed his mouth into his shoulder. Ghost could not tell what caused the reaction until he realized the god was trying to contain a noise — whether it was cries or laughter, he did not know.

The longer it went on, the more apparent it became that he was chuckling, finding some part of the account funny. Ghost could feel the god’s small smile growing as Soap tried to dampen the reaction.

Soap mumbled between chuckles, “If you want a god on your side, start praying to the god of war.”

Ghost’s brow furrowed, the parroting of his own words not clearing up any of his confusion. The angle was awkward, but turning to his right, he could just about see Soap and the tear tracks that were running down his face.

Ghost panickedly asked aloud, “Are you crying or laughing?”

“Yes,” Soap answered with a huff of laughter that ended on a sad sniffle. 

That wasn’t a yes or no question!

He felt like a rookie on the battlefield for the first time, terrified of doing the wrong thing. Except he wasn’t fighting for his life — he could do that just fine. No, instead he was just trying to fucking comfort someone. 

He would rather be on the battlefield. Getting stabbed wasn’t as stressful as this shit.

Soap’s hands had ventured back to holding him at some point in the midst of it all. Not knowing what else to do, Ghost patted Soap’s hand in a shitty imitation of the comfort the god had provided him the night prior. Pulling the touch away afterwards felt like it would be the wrong move, so he awkwardly laid his hand on top of the Soap’s.

Now, of all times, would be a fantastic time for a pushy dead man to chime in with some post-mortem knowledge.

I don’t know? Just do whatever feels natural?

Well. Fuck. So they’re both lost then. Ghost had to think about it for a moment before rubbing Soap’s hand with his thumb. Soap had done something similar for him, right? 

Right?

Probably? I’m fucking dead, not omniscent.

Gods, what the hell is the point of being haunted if the haunter can’t help you with simple tasks like social interaction?

Fuck you man, it’s not my fault you need a miracle—

“Thank you,” Soap muttered.

FOR WHAT?

Ghost and his haunter’s thoughts matched, for once; Both were at a loss for what Soap was thinking about and referencing with his gratitude.

“You’re welcome?” Ghost more asked than said with the hope that Soap would offer some clarity.

A hope that was dashed when Soap just snickered at his confusion.

Better than him crying, at least?

Soap, with a smile that seemed out of place for how much stress he had just caused Ghost, said in a wispy voice, “Lie down, you’re gonna have a long day tomorrow.”

It was obvious that Soap didn’t want to discuss whatever the hell just happened even though Ghost was still unsure if Soap was pissed at him or not. Making someone cry does not feel good. 

He wanted to ask what Soap wanted him to do to make up for his blunder, to ask Soap if there was anything he could do. Ghost did neither. He instead stretched, the motion a little awkward with Soap still clinging to his back. If Soap wanted to act like nothing had happened, then that’s what Ghost can do.

Just ignore the past however-many minutes and go to sleep.

Unfortunately for him, it was as if Soap’s words had activated a part of Ghost’s mind, his exhaustion suddenly hitting him even though he had been fine barely a moment prior. 

He stumbled through the steps he needed to take before laying down; Boots were removed with fumbling fingers, blankets hoarded by cold hands, and weapons laid out with sore muscles.

Soap tried and failed to hide his amusement at his lack of coordination, asking something about whether or not Ghost had snuck out to a tavern when Soap wasn’t looking.

Ghost aired his grievances, complaining about Soap with incomprehensible rambles. The nonsensical words kept him awake enough to carry through his routine but if you asked him the next day what the fuck he was talking about, he would have had no answer.

When he finally laid down, the weight of the day fell onto his chest, forcing him to lie still and breathe before he was able to untense and pull his blankets closer as he rolled to his side.

Ghost only remembered that Soap was still there when the god spent some time pulling his covers straight and making sure he was evenly protected from the evil cold. Again, he felt shame for how incapable it made him seem but he forced himself not to dwell on it.

Beyond the shame, there was something else there. Disappointment, mayhaps. But why he felt it, he did not know. At least, not until it was quelled by Soap lying next to him.

He internally scoffed at himself for being so childish but still did not rebuke the offered touch. It was muted through the several layers of fabric, something he was grateful for.

Ghost’s eyes drifted closed without his permission. Opening them, he found that Soap was watching him.

When he had first started looking into tales of the first incarnation of Death, he found it funny just how varied accounts of the god’s eyes were. It was such an odd thing to take note of, but it stuck out to him. 

While most everyone agreed that the god’s preferred form had blue eyes, the exact tone was an unexpectedly hot topic for debate.

Some said they were dark like a stormy sea, some said they were light and freeing like an open blue sky, and some even claimed they were icy like a pond that had just frozen over.

Back then, he had thought it stupid, assuming people were either exaggerating or, what he thought was most likely, that the god changed the tone on a whim. But staring into Soap’s eyes directly, he finally understood.

They were monochromatic prisms, only reflecting one color but showcasing every shade that could be considered blue. 

Or maybe it was past his bedtime. That was probably it.

When he pulled out of his stupid, blue-tinged thoughts, Soap was still staring at him but with an expression that Ghost wasn’t awake enough to understand. He hoped his own creepy staring would be cast aside as a direct result of his exhaustion.

He fought to stay awake a little longer, something in him wanting to avoid falling into sleep.

And it was as he was losing that fight that he felt something against his forehead for just a moment before it was gone. In his sleepy state, he couldn’t quite figure out what it was, brushing it aside as perhaps a stubborn strand of hair or bunched up fabric.

In a level of clarity you can only get when just about to fall asleep, when your logic and reasoning has already shut down and left you only with observable fact, he realized that Soap, the god of death, just kissed him on the forehead. 

It felt nice, he thought.

Anything that came after was lost as he finally fell to the whims of his exhausted mind. While the idea of sleeping peacefully felt laughable for years, he had now fallen asleep two nights in a row without feeling like the world was going to crush him once he reopened his eyes.

The peace was shattered by a loud noise outside, something deafening in the dead of night that echoed through the walls of the fort. 

He sat up quickly, his heart pounding as he prepared for an attack. He stilled as his chest heaved, forcing his mind to wake up and listen for more of an indication of what was happening outside the tent.

There were several quiet footsteps shuffling around, and it wasn’t until he processed that there was light, daylight edging past the flaps of the tent that he realized there was no nighttime kerfuffle.

It was morning. 

Soap was gone, likely (hopefully) having left hours ago. While he wanted to fall backwards and go back to sleep, the sound had sent too much energy through him to allow him even a few more minutes of rest.

Ghost only got up to start the day after quite a while of cursing the gods (all except for one) and reluctantly peeled away each blanket one by one. With his shield gone, he got ready quickly, donning his outerwear before the icy air had the chance to freeze him solid.

He repacked his bag and rubbed his eyes, demanding himself to wake up fully before leaving the tent. He was barely awake when he pushed past the flaps of his tent, but it was as close as he was going to get.

When he stood fully, he saw that the rest of the fort was in a similar state of tiredness. He had a feeling that not even the Captain was awake enough to kick his men into shape as they shambled around and prepared breakfast.

As much as he wanted to throw himself onto a fire to get as warm as he physically could, he instead found the stable that Taxes had been moved to and prepared to set out. He needed to leave five minutes ago if he wanted to get to camp before nightfall.

Ghost was surprised to see that his horse had been well cared for, someone clearly having taken the time to win her trust to brush and feed her. He smiled as he pet her mane, happy to see his fears of her being mistreated were unfounded.

He remembered once upon a time ago, he had denied Taxes being his horse but by now she might as well have been. There certainly wasn’t any other horse he would want to take with him to fuck up a long planned war.

“Ghost, I—”

The voice from behind him was an unwelcome intrusion on his time spent spoiling Taxes. He turned to face it stonily, his anger plain in what was visible of his face. 

It was the kid. His expression softened without him being fully aware of it.

“Gods,” the kid flinched at the anger that was momentarily directed towards them, mumbling under their breath in a way that Ghost clearly wasn’t meant to overhear, “Fucking creepy bastard.”

They rolled their shoulders and carried on. “I wanted to thank you.”

For the second time in less than twelve hours, someone was thanking him and he had no idea what for.

They waited, clearly expecting him to say something, and looked only slightly thrown off by the silence. Back in the woods, they had been full of determination and brashness, ready to gut Ghost if given the chance. Here, the determination stayed, but now with much more nerves.

When it was clear that Ghost wasn’t going to say anything, they swallowed anxiously and stumbled over their words as they added, “I… I would have died if not for you. Back there. In the woods. I—”

“Do not tell me that you owe me your life,” Ghost interrupted sternly. He walked to the other side of Taxes; He knew the conversation was not done, but he did not have the time to stand there doing nothing. He glanced up at them, waiting for their rebuttal.

The kid was surprised by the sudden broken silence and shook their head, “Well, yeah, of course not.”

Ghost heaved an internal sigh of relief as he prepared Taxes’s bridle.

The kid continued, “Not anymore. I turned in the favor by stopping you from getting skewered yesterday.”

Ghost heaved an external sigh. “You do not owe me for causing your leg to be amputated.” He wasn’t used to speaking so openly but he needed the kid to understand his point for reasons he himself couldn’t voice.

“What? No. What?” the kid looked bewildered, adding on, “My leg was already fucked when you found me. If you hadn’t gotten me out of the woods— What?” Their own bafflement cut them off and they paused, trying to figure out where the point of confusion lied. “Was I supposed to crawl for miles with one leg? Just worm my way through the dirt ‘til I found a town?”

Ghost stared at them as he realized that he was the one being irrational. The kid was objectively correct, and yet he still felt guilty. Why was he being irrational?

When Ghost again said nothing, they added, “I thought I was going to starve in those woods. And I would have if not for you. I mean, ‘if it’s life or limb,’ and all that, right?”

He stared at them. They stared back, but with a shifting gaze, too impatient. Snow had accumulated in their hair, standing out against the black strands. They never stood still, their fingers tapping where they held their crutch and their foot shuffling as they tried to keep their balance.

They reminded him of his nephew.

The revelation hit him like a kick in the chest. 

He looked in the kid’s eyes and saw a nephew he only got to meet a handful of times. A nephew he had gotten killed years ago, along with the rest of his family.

Logically, it made no sense. They did not look alike and even in behavior there were only so many similarities between someone old enough to be a medic in an army and a child forever stuck at six years old.

It made no sense, and yet he looked at the pain the kid had gone through and could only think of how much pain he had caused his nephew.

Ghost was being irrational and he didn’t like it. He was not supposed to be irrational— he was not allowed to be and with the life he led he could not afford to be.

“Uh, yeah, anyways,” the kid nodded, not knowing how to respond to Ghost’s unwavering stare. “Just uh, wanted to say thanks.” They turned, leaving slowly as their crutches struggled for traction on the icy stone.

“Kid,” he called out, refusing to let his irrational emotions control him. His chest still hurt.

“Badger,” they corrected as they turned awkwardly, standing as they waited to see what it was Ghost wanted. With such a shitty nickname, you would think they would be happy with being called anything else.

Ghost nodded his head in a “Come here” gesture, grabbing his bag. They approached Taxes cautiously, hesitantly reaching out a hand to pet her. To Ghost’s surprise, the mare allowed the touch, her skin jumping as they made contact but not moving away.

(Or maybe it wasn’t that surprising. Maybe this was just how she was when she wasn’t surrounded by the rowdy soldiers she normally had to keep company.)

Once they had her permission to pet her, the kid moved both of their crutches to one hand and rested their arm against her back for support. She was tall enough that the angle was a little off, but they seemed happy being able to pet her.

Looking away (and not thinking about how much his nephew had loved horses), he rooted through his bag, pulling out something that he never should have held onto and passed it over.

“Is this… my knife?” they asked.

Ghost grunted an affirmation, brushing Taxes and failing to not focus on the way their face lit up as they looked between him and the knife.

“Thank you! I thought I left it in the woods, I thought it was gone!”

Nope, Ghost just forgot to leave it with the medics when he dropped them off. 

He grunted again, not wanting to admit that it was his own oversight that led to them thinking they lost something that seemed important to them.

The kid repeated, “Thank you, I wish I had something to give—”

“You do not owe me anything,” Ghost interrupted, staring them down.

“Right,” they added awkwardly, unsure of what to do with the firm command. When Ghost had to brush around their arm, they sheathed the knife and held out their hand for the brush.

He considered them for a moment but hesitantly passed it over. Unsurprisingly, they just brushed her other side. They had to lean awkwardly on their crutches to do so, but again just seemed happy to brush her.

(His nephew had ran up to him, excited. They met so few times the little tyke was still anxious around him but seeing the horse he’d been given for his visit home made him forget his fears.

The kid had gasped in amazed wonder, letting Ghost pick him up so he could pet the horse’s mane. 

His brother smiled, happy to see them bonding, even if it was only for a few hours before Ghost had to return to his cell. These moments were treasured, for all of them. 

They were bittersweet, he was only allowed home before a major fight. The one kindness from the arena, a last chance to say goodbye, one last shared dinner should the worst come to pass.

His nephew wasn’t old enough for any of that, however, and just seemed happy to pet his uncle’s temporary steed. He glanced between Ghost and the horse with a look of pure adoration—)

When they were done, they held onto the brush a moment, considering, before passing it back and asking, “The person that was with you, my memories are all fucked, but uh, gods this is gonna sound insane, was that the god of death? Like… the old one?”

Ghost did not reach for the brush nor answer. He did not think they remembered that.

They sighed, relieved. “Okay, yeah, I knew it was just my mind fucking with me. I just, I— I know it’s insane, but—”

He grabbed the brush and interrupted calmly, “No, you were right. That was Soap, the god of death.” Ghost turned to put the brush away and hide his smile at the kid’s sputters. At least he knew now that it wasn’t the kid that blabbed about Soap’s return.

The kid stammered, “What the fuck—? Actually, no, sorry, I have to go… uh… fucking… water the grass.” They turned and headed back to where they must have come from, shaking their head. 

Ghost could hear them grumbling about ancient deities appearing out of nowhere just to be an inconvenience. Ghost could most certainly sympathize.

He finished preparing for the trip and mounted up. As he approached the gate, he made eye contact with the Captain. The Captain nodded at him and Ghost returned the gesture with a hole opening in his chest. 

As he left the fort, riding out into the snow, he was struck by the realization that he felt… lighter. He should have felt worse, now irrevocably dooming his cohort, but instead he—

He stopped in the middle of the road.

Ghost… free wasn’t the right word, it couldn’t be, but after the battle, he’d be gone. He would have to. To leave, to find somewhere, anywhere else. He would never see the general again after leading his men into the trap.

Within three weeks, he could go wherever he wanted. The general wouldn’t have control over him, nor the owner of the arena. He pushed Taxes into a walk.

Why did the prospect of freedom fill him with dread?

[jpitha]

Just a Little Further

Edited here for Royal Road Support.

I woke with a start. I was going to be late! Today of all days!

I slept through my alarm, my backup alarm, and according to Starbase Picaresque, 5 minutes of him pinging me, trying to wake me up.

"I was about to call the infirmary, Melody. I was sure there was something wrong." He said.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry!" I said as I threw on my clothes. Fortunately, Vin'aren wouldn't leave until I was completely packed last night. I wouldn't have been done otherwise. Running a comb through my hair - luckily it was a fresh, cute short cut so it wasn't too bad - I grabbed my uniform jacket and glanced longingly at my kitchenette.

"There isn't time to make coffee." SP said.

I sighed. "I know. It's just..." I ran over to the kitchenette, grabbed my hand grinder, my brewer, my set of measuring cups, the scale and the airtight container of coffee and swept it into a bag. "I don't know what kind of coffee FarReach has, and I don't want to be a grump because they have bad coffee!"

SP sighed. "Really Melody? Fine. But you have to leave now unless you want me to get the Fire Brigade to bring you.

Starbase Picaresque was threatening me with having to get a ride from the only folks who have vehicles on board. The Fire Brigade uses them to carry hoses and equipment to a fire and sometimes bring injured people to the infirmary. If they brought me to the docking ring because I was late I would probably die of embarrassment.

"I'm going, I'm going!" I said, as I ran out the door, no breakfast and no coffee.

Hi, by the way. My name is Melody Mullen (ugh, I know) and I'm the information warfare officer on FarReach! The administration of Starbase Picaresque and the joint Human/K'laxi colony Zen'agan's Reach have sponsored our mission to travel the Warp Gates and go as far as we can!

Normally yes, humans would just use their wormhole generators and link to a location in space, it's instant and easy. And sure, a few people feel like they died and visited the afterlife, but not too many, and it's not like they get hurt. But before they met us, the K'laxi didn't travel that way. They'd use the Warp Gates and travel from gate to gate using an Addressing Module.

These days, K'laxi ships have both an addressing module and a wormhole generator. They actually bought the rights to build them from us and improved them! The newest Human ships have K'laxi wormhole generators and they're amazing! They use less power than ours do and they even have fewer people suffer side effects when they're used.

You know about the K'laxi right? They're the first sapient species we ever met! They're from a world that's smaller and lighter than ours, plus their planet is straight up and down, no tilt and their orbit is almost perfectly circular. That means they have no seasons! It's always a fall (for us) day there! I went once for vacation with my moms, it was kind of weird. We were there for a month and the weather was identical the whole time. They didn't even know what a meteorologist was until we explained the concept!

They're so cute looking too. They're shorter than us, and they have big expressive ears on the top of their head, a long fluffy tail that they can grab things with and fur all over! Someone said they kind of look like a cat or squirrel or fox person from comics and I guess I can see it, but they are definitely their own thing.

The crew of FarReach is about half K'laxi, they are a major sponsor of this expedition too. They share the work onboard with us.

Oh, I should mention FarReach too. She's an AI, and has been alive for nearly a thousand years, can you believe it? Humans and AI have been working together (mostly) harmoniously for two millennia. When AI take on a new ship, they name it and that becomes their name. I learned it's incredibly rude to call them by an old name, it's like deadnaming them. Oof. That was awkward. I apologized and She said it was okay and that I didn't know, but I think I was beet red for like three hours.

FarReach started out as a Starjumper, an old, old ship originally designed to go between human colonies at relativistic speeds. They were more than a thousand years old when the first wormhole generators were developed. They can thrust with their star drives at tens of gees when needed (though when there are biological people on board they keep the thrust around one gee) and they can cost through interstellar space at half the speed of light.

Before they were FarReach, the Starjumper was refitted at the Mt Greylock docks in orbit around The Reach. It's a brand new facility meant to bring the K'laxi and I closer together. Made up of Human and K'laxi facilities, it will enable us to work even closer together to design ships.

FarReach has more K'laxi parts than any Starjumper ever! They still have their stardrive and massive printers and hidden laser batteries (just in case) but a lot of the interior was refitted and reconfigured to be an exploration ship. There's a new information warfare suite (hello!) hibernation cabinets (just in case) and enough cabins for a dozen crew with room to expand later.

Speaking of which, I bet you're wondering why an exploration ship has an Information Warfare Suite (and your lovely Information Warfare Officer). We're not planning on going to war per se, but we don't know who we'll be meeting (if anyone) and how friendly they'll be. A few years back Venus decided they didn't like AIs and tried to apply applications to shackle them. They seemed to have dropped the rhetoric and aren't really making noises about being mean to AIs anymore, but the lesson was learned. Now, ships have an IWC (Information Warfare Community) which is a group of people who have the job of making sure that all the signals coming in are... safe.

We can also send out bad signals if needed, but we probably won't need to do that.

As I walk up only slightly out of breath, Captain Q'ari is standing there fielding questions from reporters. She sees me walk up late and flicks an ear, a K'laxi raised eyebrow. I salute and say "Apologies for being late Captain. Permission to come aboard?"

She returns the salute and says "Permission Granted Lieutenant Mullen. Please endeavor to be more punctual from now on." From her ears, I think she's annoyed, but not too annoyed.

"Yes Captain. Thank you." I say and head inside. I rush to my cabin and toss my belongings inside without even putting them away - I'll do it later. and rush up to the Command Deck. "Hi FarReach! I call out brightly as I walk onto the Command Deck. It's set up human style with the Commander's seat in the middle rear, and everyone sitting around them at their stations.

"Good of you to join us Melody." FarReach says wryly. "I was wondering if you were going to show up on the back of a Fire Brigade vehicle." There were chuckles from the other crew members. I'm known as being slightly late for things.

Just a little late.

It's really hard to be punctual, okay?"

"Har har, very funny FarReach. I made it, on my own even, and I managed to remember my coffee supplies." I said smugly.

"Good thing too" FarReach said "Because I just happen to know that there are thirty pounds of coffee from the mountains of Parvati that was loaded on just this morning."

I gasped. Parvati's mountain ranges were known for producing excellent coffee from the original Earth stock. It was a rare treat. "How did you manage that?" I asked, surprised.

"She didn't have anything to do with it, that was all me." A voice said behind me. I turned and Ambassador Vivenni was standing there, looking casually elegant. She wore a smarty tailored uniform of the K'laxi government and stood there with her hands on her hips. "I heard that some people here enjoy good coffee and I happened to know offhand of a shipment coming in, and was able to... ahem... ask for a donation to the cause." she said, her eyes shining.

I didn't think to ask where she learned so much about coffee, it's poisonous to K'laxi. Even decaf will mess them up. They do love tea though, and I'm sure the stores are packed with chamomile tea as well as other flavors.

"Thank you Ambassador!" I said gratefully. "It's so nice of you to think of us coffee drinkers."

She smiled "I know a bit about coffee thanks to my human friends and when I saw this go by, I couldn't help myself. Enjoy!" And she turned back to speaking with another officer.

Maybe this trip would be more fun than I had originally thought.

Part 2!

[renecdote]

something fiercer (something softer)

For @reneewvalker 💛

For once, it’s not Buck on the gurney. He gets an oxygen mask and a stern, “sit,” and he sinks onto the bench while Eddie is helped out of his turnout coat before lying reluctantly on the gurney. He reaches out, searching, and grabs Buck’s hand as soon as Buck reaches back.

“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes wide and worried.

“Me?” Buck chokes on something that might be a hysterical laugh. Might be a sob. “You threw yourself on top of me.”

For BTHB: human shield

[Read on AO3]

Eddie sleeps on the side closest to the door. It’s not obvious at first; not when Eddie sleeps on the left and Buck sleeps on the right and that’s just the way it has always been. But then they get married, and they buy a house together, and the room is arranged differently, and suddenly—Eddie sleeps on the right.

Closest to Christopher, Buck thinks at first, because why would Eddie need to protect him? He’s always the first to step up ready to defend Buck, but Buck is the one who curls around Eddie when they sleep. Buck is the one who wakes hearing noises in the night and goes to double check the locks on the windows and doors.

(“You have got to stop watching those true crime videos before bed,” Eddie tells him, grumbly with sleep as he pulls Buck’s arms around himself when he climbs back into bed.

“If there had been an intruder,” Buck replies, kissing the back of his husband’s neck, “you would be thanking me right now.”

If Eddie’s eyes were open, he’d probably be rolling them. “Go to sleep, Buck.”)

It’s different when they’re at work. They watch each other’s backs, that’s the deal they made. They both make it out alive (another deal, which they will never be telling Bobby that they made when they got engaged). They’re partners, that’s the way it works.

That’s the way it’s supposed to work.

Buck wishes it could always be that simple.

****

The building is already unstable when they arrive on the scene.

“We don’t know if anyone is inside,” Bobby reports, while they all pull equipment out of the engine. Hoses and SCBA gear and whatever they might need to get in and get out in one piece. “Be quick, be safe. This building isn’t going to hold much longer.”

The heat sucks them in, smoke immediately blinding. Training and adrenaline take over as they work their way through the rooms, calling out for anyone who might hear them. They reach a staircase and Buck points—I go up, you go down?—but Eddie shakes his head: we stick together. So they keep moving, room after room after room.

Under the roar of the fire, the building groans. Something pops. Buck glances up, worried, but before he can turn it into a question, Eddie’s weight slams into him, knocking him to the ground, and Buck doesn’t have time to suck in a surprised breath before the ceiling is crashing down on top of them.

He blacks out.

Comes to, seconds or minus later, coughing on dust and smoke. His mask was knocked askew when his husband pushed him out of the way, which Eddie is probably going to feel guilty about when he—

Eddie. The weight on Buck’s chest registers, his brain foggy and slow, body one giant ache. It’s hard to move, hard to breathe, hard to think.

“Ed—” His voice splinters and Buck breaks off to cough.

“Eddie,” he tries again, fumbling to find the pulse under Eddie’s jaw, trying not to move his neck. He almost sobs when he finds it, Eddie’s heart still beating against his own.

Both their PASS alarms beep a low warning. Buck was out for seconds, then, not minutes. The fire is still burning around them, getting closer, moving faster than it should be able to. When their alarms start screeching, the roar of the flames almost drowns them out.

“Eddie,” Bucks says again, tapping his cheek, rubbing his shoulder when that doesn’t work. “Eddie, please.”

He can taste his own heartbeat, panic burning hot through his veins. He should radio for help, but both their radios are pinned between them.

Eddie shifts, groaning, and Buck’s grip tightens reflexively, holding him still.

“Hey,” breathy with relief. “That’s it, I’ve got you, Eds.”

Eddie mumbles something he can’t make out, fingers flexing against Buck’s uniform—good, Buck thinks, moving his fingers is good.

“Don’t move, okay?” He doesn’t even know if Eddie is hearing him. “You might have hurt your back—your spine—”

Something unintelligible muttered against his collar. Then, more clearly, “‘M fine.”

Eddie’s legs shift against his own, like some kind of proof. He gets a hand flat on the ground, pushing himself up before Buck can stop him.

“Gotta… we gotta get out of here…”

There’s no time to argue. Eddie is right: they need to get out of here. Everywhere Buck looks, flames are pressing in on them, the heat as suffocating as the smoke.

“Can you walk?” he asks.

Eddie eyes the murky distance to the door, considering. “With some help.”

Buck gets to his feet. Only staggers a little. His shoulders ache sharply when he pulls Eddie to his feet as well, but he wasn’t the one who had an entire ceiling come down on his back, so. He’s fine. He has to be fine.

Somewhere in the building, there is another loud crash. Probably more ceiling coming down. Buck swallows through the spike of adrenaline and slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders.

“Come on,” eyes streaming, trying not to breathe so it doesn’t turn into coughing, “let’s get out of here.”

****

Their teammates are around them as soon as they stumble to a collapse on the grass. Buck tries to say, “Eddie—check Eddie out first—,” but he doesn’t get through the first syllable before he’s coughing, and coughing, and coughing.

They both end up in the back of the ambulance.

For once, it’s not Buck on the gurney. He gets an oxygen mask and a stern, “sit,” and he sinks onto the bench while Eddie is helped out of his turnout coat before lying reluctantly on the gurney. He reaches out, searching, and grabs Buck’s hand as soon as Buck reaches back.

“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes wide and worried.

“Me?” Buck chokes on something that might be a hysterical laugh. Might be a sob. “You threw yourself on top of me.”

Eddie takes a breath to reply and ends up cursing when Chimney’s exam hits a particular sore spot.

“You’re both going to the hospital to get checked out,” Chimney says, no room for argument. “Eddie, how’s your pain?”

“I’ve had worse,” Eddie answers. “Buck, are you—”

He tries to sit up, but Chimney pushes him back down. Buck squeezes his hand, rebuke as much as reassurance.

“I’m okay,” he says against the scratchiness in his throat.

“He’s okay,” Chimney confirms, and Eddie finally relaxes. Chimney is looking at Buck when he adds, “You’re both going to be okay.”

Buck nods, and tries to believe it, but even with Eddie’s hand warm and solid in his own, he can still hear the deafening crack of the ceiling right before it came down. It’s a sound that he’s pretty sure he’ll be hearing for a while.

****

He doesn’t get to see Eddie’s back until they’re home. When he does, it’s a livid watercolour of angry reds and deepening purples. Buck rubs soap over his skin carefully, murmuring apologies even though Eddie doesn’t make a sound in pain. His jaw is tight, eyes closed under the shower’s water, only opening them to give a grimace of a smile when Buck ducks in close to kiss him.

“Come on,” he says, a softer echo of earlier, “let’s get out.”

Eddie steals another kiss, then reaches past Buck to turn the water off, only wincing a little bit. Painkillers and hot water: a magic combination. It should be a relief, but it isn’t. Buck pulls on clean clothes, then sinks down onto the edge of their bed, exhausted but still somehow antsy. He watches Eddie grab his own clothes out of the dresser, moving slow just in case it hurts. He pulls on boxers and sweatpants and one of Buck’s t-shirts carefully, then turns and finds Buck watching him.

“What?” he asks, frowning.

Buck shakes his head because—it’s nothing.

It’s everything.

“Buck,” Eddie presses, concern in his voice. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Buck starts to shake his head again, it’s nothing on the tip of his tongue, but the truth is bubbling up and bursting out before he can stop it.

“Why did you push me down?”

Concern blurs into confusion. “I saw the ceiling was going to come down.”

“You pushed me,” Buck repeats. “Why didn’t you—you could have got out of there—”

“I love you,” Eddie reminds him, still frowning, still confused. Starting to sound annoyed. “Would you prefer I didn’t try to save you?”

“You could have died,” Buck almost snaps, emotion and smoke inhalation making him hoarse. “Eddie, I can’t—I won’t—be the reason you don’t come home at the end of a shift. Please don’t make me.”

Eddie’s arms come up around himself, a familiar kind of self-hug. “So, what? You’re leaving me?”

“No.” Quick and startled. “Eds, no, I love you. I love you. I just—” Reaching out, curling a hand in Eddie’s hoodie when he doesn’t reach back, tugging him in between Buck’s legs. “I don’t want to be the reason you don’t make it home to Christopher.”

I don’t want how much you love me to ruin us.

Eddie’s jaw works, fighting against emotion. His voice is haggard when he says, “We both make it home. That’s the deal.”

Buck swallows. It’s the kind of deal that looks good on paper, that sounds good when it’s just a promise and not a reality, but. “Maybe… maybe both of us making it home isn’t always an option.”

Eddie shakes his head.

Shakes it again.

His arms drop their self-hug, but he steps out of Buck’s reach in the same breath, hand dragging roughly across his face.

“Where is this coming from?” he asks, movements sharp and jagged when he turns. “And don’t say the fire earlier because that was close but it wasn’t—it wasn’t sniper close, or lightning strike close, or even natural disaster close, Buck, so don’t lie to me. Where the hell is this coming from?”

Sometimes I feel like you don’t trust me, Buck thinks. But just as quickly he’s flicking the thought away because no, that’s not it. It’s not even true.

Sometimes I don’t trust myself feels closer to the truth.

“If we both make it home,” he tries, reaching for words he’s not sure how to fit together, “then the reverse is true too, right? That maybe one day we both don’t make it home. And I know that’s always a risk, and I know I’m not good at math, but if one of us is always trying to save the other, then the odds of both of us making it out alive have gotta be lower. Right?”

Eddie is still. Silent. He doesn’t look at Buck for a long time.

“No,” he says finally.

“No?” Buck echoes. “Eddie—”

“No,” Eddie repeats firmly. The distance between them is gone in an instant, his husband kneeling on the floor at Buck’s knees, taking both his hands and holding them tight. “I don’t care about the math, Buck. I’ll always try to save you. Always. And I know you’ll always try to save me too.”

There are tears in his eyes, gathering at the waterline, his face open and anguished as he looks up at Buck.

“Please,” he says. “Please don’t ask me not to save you.”

Buck thinks his hands would be shaking if Eddie wasn’t holding them so tight.

He thinks maybe Eddie’s hands would be shaking if he wasn’t holding Buck so tight.

“Okay,” he finally answers, his voice quiet between them. “Okay, I’m sorry, I won’t.”

****

“I’m sorry,” he says again later, the bedcovers pulled up over them, twilight fading into night. “I just got scared.”

“I know.” Eddie’s fingers trace his face, lingering over features he memorised long ago. “I get scared too.”

Buck wants to hold him, but doesn’t want to hurt him. Eddie is right, he knows: this wasn’t even their closest call. He doesn’t know why it shook him as much as it did. Maybe because they weren’t married before. Maybe because he woke up unable to move, with the dead weight of his husband on top of him, and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

“I thought you were dead,” he admits, and he has to bite his lip so it doesn’t tremble. “I thought you’d died trying to save me.”

Eddie’s fingers are so, so gentle wiping away the tear that breaks free and runs down Buck’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I had to do something.”

He doesn’t say you would have done the same thing, but they both know it’s true. And five years ago, Buck might have argued that it’s different, if it’s him, but he knows now that it isn’t. He’s worked hard to know that it isn’t.

“I know you did,” he answers simply. “I’m not mad.”

“You were a little mad.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, because he can’t deny it, “but not at you.”

Eddie tips his chin up, just a little, and leans over to kiss him. Buck makes a sound, half a protest, your back—, but he can’t stop himself from kissing back.

“I love you,” Eddie tells him, thumb at the corner of Buck’s lip, half a caress.

Buck kisses the pad of his thumb, smiling across the pillow at his husband, watery but real. “I love you too.”

“I don’t think I’m up for make up sex,” Eddie jokes, his own smile crinkling his eyes. “But how about some make up cuddling?”

Buck hesitates. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Eddie promises. “C’mere.”

He tugs on Buck’s shirt and Buck only holds out for another second before shuffling closer, Eddie’s arm over his waist, Buck’s arms tucked between them. It’s the kind of position that is going to grow uncomfortable pretty quickly, but he doesn’t care, not when he can feel the steady beat of his husband’s heart under his hand.

“Are you going to sleep?” Eddie asks, breath tickling Buck’s hairline.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Are you?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie echoes him. His hand slips under Buck’s shirt, warm skin against warm skin. “Is this okay?”

Buck curls his fingers in husband’s shirt: don’t let go.

“Yeah,” he says. “This is perfect.”

Eddie kisses the top of his head, hugging him a little tighter: I won’t let go.

The fear is still itchy under Buck’s skin, but—

They both made it home today. Eddie threw himself over Buck to shield him from a collapsing ceiling, and he could have died, but he didn’t. He didn’t. They both made it home. Buck holds onto that, and holds onto his partner, and for now, for today, it’s enough.

It’s enough.

****

(Eddie sleeps on the side closest to the door.

Closest to Christopher, Buck thinks at first, because why would Eddie need to protect him?

He’s not sure why he ever wondered, though, because it’s the same reason that Buck always wants to protect him: they’re partners. That’s just the way it works. And whenever he forgets it, he knows he can trust Eddie to remind him.

After all, that’s what partners are for.)