#amanda and i were inconsolable

[rainkays]

if the until dawn cast got put in a saw trap WHO do you think will survive twin!!! best twin forever

TWIN I LOVE THIS QUESTION

unfortunately i feel like chris would be a saw 3 jeff situation and would be too fucking slow trying to figure out the trap before actually doing anything so he’d run out of time before he even realizes it

i’m like 50/50 for mike’s survival because he would either accidentally kill himself or be put in a saw x valentina type trap and do it successfully

i think ashley would probably be inconsolable especially if she was in a trap with other people (chris, sam, josh) and as much as i love her i don’t think she’s gonna make it 😭

emily would probably survive but in a group trap they might pull a saw 5 on her and she’d be killed for the sake of the rest of the group’s survival and because they know she’d probably one of the best competitors

josh is getting out. for obvious reasons. he’d probably become an apprentice after.

i think jess would be an unlikely save in a sort of daniel saw 2 fashion or be thrown in a needle pit like amanda because the rest of the group thinks she’s weak but i feel like she would find a way out

sam would definitely survive and would either be in a solo trap or group trap where the rest of the group looks to her for advice the entire time. she would feel really guilty after especially if it’s a sole survivor situation

i’m 50/50 on matt too because i think he would either miss the premise of the trap (saw 5) or just go the brute strength route and end up getting himself killed but i think emily would help him out if they were in one together

if hannah and beth were put in a trap together they would probably do everything they could for both of their survival but either they would both die or only one is making it out </3 (sorry twin)

[sassenach77yle]

HE MADE IT TO Amanda’s room a half step before Brianna and scooped the child out of her bed, cradling her against his pounding heart.“Jemmy, Jemmy!” she sobbed. “He’s gone, he’s gone. He’s GONE!!” This last was shrieked as she stiffened in Roger’s arms, digging her feet hard into his belly.“Hey, hey,” he soothed, trying to rearrange her and pet her into calm. “It’s okay, Jemmy’s fine. He’s fine, he’s only gone to visit Bobby overnight. He’ll be home tomorrow.”“He’s GONE!” She squirmed like an eel, not trying to get away but merely possessed by a paroxysm of frantic grief. “He’s not here, he’s not here!”

“Aye, like I said, he’s at Bobby’s house, he—”“Not here,” she said urgently, and thumped the palm of her hand repeatedly on the top of her head. “Not here wif me!”“Here, baby, come here,” Bree said urgently, taking the tear-streaked child from him.“Mama, Mama! Jemmy’s GONE!” She clung to Bree, staring desperately, still thumping her head. “He’s not wif me!”Bree frowned at Mandy, puzzled, a hand running over her, checking for temperature, swollen glands, tender tummy…“Not with you,” she repeated, speaking intently, trying to get Mandy out of her panic. “Tell Mummy what you mean, sweetheart.”“Not here!” In utter desperation, Mandy lowered her head and butted her mother in the chest.“Oof!”The door at the end of the hall opened, and William Buccleigh came out, wearing Roger’s woolen dressing gown.“What in the name of the Blessed Virgin’s all this riot?” he inquired.“He took him, he took him!” Mandy shrieked, and buried her head in Brianna’s shoulder.Despite himself, Roger was feeling infected by Amanda’s fear, irrationally convinced that something terrible had happened.“Do you know where Jem is?” he snapped at Buccleigh.“I do not.” Buccleigh frowned at him. “Is he not in his bed?”

“No, he isn’t!” Brianna snapped. “You saw him leave, for heaven’s sake.” She forced her way between the men. “Quit it right now, both of you! Roger, take Mandy. I’m going to phone Martina Hurragh.” She thrust Amanda, moaning around the thumb in her mouth, into his arms and hurried for the stairs, her hastily acquired nightclothes rustling like leaves.He rocked Amanda, distracted, alarmed, nearly overcome by her sense of panic. She emitted fright and grief like a radio broadcasting tower, and his own breath came short and his hands were wet with sweat where he clutched her Winnie-the-Pooh nightie.“Hush, a chuisle,” he said, pitching his voice as calmly as he could. “Hush, now. We’ll fix it. You tell Daddy what waked you up, and I’ll fix it, promise.”She obediently tried to stifle her sobs, rubbing chubby fists into her eyes.“Jemmy,” she moaned. “I want Jemmy!”“We’ll get him back straightaway,” Roger promised. “Tell me, what made you wake up? Did you have a bad dream?”“Uh-huh.” She clutched him tighter, her face full of fear. “Was big wocks, big wocks. They scweamed at me!”Ice water ran straight through his veins. Jesus, oh, Jesus. Maybe she did remember her trip through the stones.“Aye, I see,” he said, patting her as soothingly as he could, for the ferment in his own breast. He did see. In memory he saw those stones, felt and heard them again. And, turning a little, saw the pallor of William Buccleigh’s face and knew he heard the ring of truth in Mandy’s voice, too.“What happened then, a leannan? Did you go close to the big rocks?”“Not me; Jem! That man took him and the wocks ate him!” At this, she collapsed in tears again, sobbing inconsolably.“That man,” Roger said slowly, and turned a little more, so that William Buccleigh was in her field of view. “Do you mean this man, sweetheart? Uncle Buck?”“No, nonononononono, a other man!” She straightened up, staring into his face with huge, tear-filled eyes, straining to make him understand. “Bobby’s daddy!”He heard Brianna coming upstairs. Fast, but unevenly; it sounded as though she was bumping against the walls of the staircase, losing her balance as she hurried.She stumbled into view at the top of the stair, and Roger felt every hair on his body stand up at the sight of her white, staring face.“He’s gone,” she said, hoarse. “Martina says he’s not with Bobby, she didn’t expect him tonight at all. I made her go outside and look—Rob lives three houses down. She says his truck is gone.”

[Cap 85Son of a witch ~An echo in the bone ]

[superblysubpar]

AMANADA.

THE ENDING OF THIS CHAPTER.

I AM INCONSOLABLE I FEEL CRAZY WHAT'S HAPPENING THE FLASHBACK?! I HATE YOU no I don't but like yeah I do

You grit your teeth and offered a curt nod, pulling him with you through the gash. That swoop rocketed your stomach, but backwards, a tug at your navel that felt right, like pieces were falling back into places, like someone had reversed the fall of a Jenga tower. The bits that wobbled and swayed now firm and planted like your boots to the grey matter of the Ether. 

I just really loved this description and I loved the sinking horrible (okay maybe loved isn't the right word) feeling of something isn't right and we know it isn't right except oh boy steve smells something suspicious too.

Emotion clawed at your chest at the gesture, wetting your eyes, thus far the only remembrance you’d heard for your fallen compatriots. Your team leads fought fire with fire, and died at the hands of the Devil. When you closed your eyes, you could still make out the sharp angles of their necks. Hank cradled his partner. Staring at their lifeless bodies, Vickie’s hand tugging you to retreat, you wondered if you’d succumb to the same fate. Bodies twisted and torn, in the arms of someone you loved.

I DO NOT like this description Amanda. Not one bit. Reader didn't get to hold Vickie. And I fear this is some foreshadowing shit and I will be coming for you if it is. You've been warned!!! (But like I do love the tragically beautiful description you poet genius BUT NO)

You watched Steve toe at her knee with his shoe until she looked up, and he offered his fist in some form of solidarity or congratulations. She returned the gesture with knocked knuckles before the two of them erupted into a more intricate secret handshake. 

I need to kiss him 🤷‍♀️

“Sure, okay,” Vickie scurried to round the landing before you, to stand a few stairs ahead and box you in. “But like, I don’t know, it really looks like it’s over. You know? Like really over. Which none of us thought would happen, and maybe it’d be good for you to consider what you’re going to do next, right? I just think you really need to seize an opportunity. And I’m not just saying this because you’re my best friend and he’s Robin’s best friend. I just want you to be happy.” 

I DONT LIKE THIS. I DONT LIKE THAT LINDA SAID THE SAME THING. I DONT LIKE IT.

Of course, you wanted to feel the coarse pads of his fingertips draw circles just north of the insides of your knees. You wanted to feel his breath fan your pulse points. You wanted to hear the way his breath caught when you dug your nails into his scalp.

You’d settle for soft kisses to the temple after long runs through the Ether, like the ones you’d caught him press to Robin’s sweat-slick hair. You’d settle for the elaborate high-fives he’d give the children when they’d reunite after nights in Quarantine. You’d settle for half-smiles across the caf like the ones he’d give you when you’d finally caught his gaze. 

Your reaction to Steve Harrington was reckless, always had been. Volatile, even, the way your heart raced, the heat that churned through you like water boiled over. There was always something in his tone that challenged you, always something in his gaze that riled you up. He pushed you over the edge you teetered on with an eye roll and a smug smile, arms pinned over your head against the mat or mask over his face on the Scorch course. 

The warmth of Steve’s palms coaxed you forward until he caught your mouth with his once more, and his words echoed in your mind beside her, a chorus of contradiction. This is your last night here. You fit right here. I’ll never leave you. It’s not like you’d be alone. Two truths pulling at you like a rope over a line, neither would exist while the other did. 

“I can wait.” His voice was soft, almost imperceptible, and his brown eyes held that same hopefulness you’d seen in Vickie’s.

"I CAN WAIT."

“Harrington and Nancy make better partners than you two did. He actually listens to her.” 

You snorted, rolled your eyes. “That doesn’t surprise me.” 

“He and Munson ask about you constantly. I caught Wheeler and Henderson trying to hack into your security camera footage.” He wrapped his knuckles against the glass again, pointing toward the camera that had been watching you. He waggled thick fingers, and you mirrored him, trying to hide the swell of something lighter within you. 

Wildfire • Searing

A trip to the Ether brings force new pain and horrors, and you spend time in quarantine remembering truths of the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Wordcount: 9,356

Warnings: There's a flashback this chapter! I marked it off and hopefully it's easy to understand, but please let me know if it's confusing! Thank you! • enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slooooowburn, made out scene that goes nowhere fun, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire, panic attacks, insomnia

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Four: Pyre • Chapter Six: Combustion

---

NOW

September 1988

Byers hummed under his mask, the low rumble of his chest against your arm that shook like the truck bed over treacherous and unpredictable terrain. Your eyes were closed in attempt to quell the nausea of motion sickness. The soft vibrations of the boy’s voice combined with some foreign sixth sense you could feel in the marrow of your bones, steeling the claws of terror that shredded your esophagus. 

The truck came to a halt, and you peered one eye open to take in your surroundings. The streets of Hawkins were black on a still night, moon casting shadows down alleyways and across the back side of The Hawk’s marquee. Harrington pulled himself to two feet, reaching a hand to help you up. You took it, pack weighing you down.

“Argyle, radio on?” Nancy hopped from the tailgate and spoke into the receiver clipped to her shoulder strap. Her voice echoed to the one on your chest, and Steve’s, a handful more of Scorch team as you all stepped onto pavement, dust kicking up at your heels. 

“Copy that, Scorch lead,” Argyle repeated, and then you heard the slow crank of his window before he shouted. “Hey, be careful out there. I’m just a call away.” His demeanor had sobered entirely.

Jonathan met him at the window, and they exchanged an intimate handshake. 

You had to look away. 

Your breath tasted of oxygen from your tank and tequila without the buzz, adrenaline taking over and burning through the calories before it could hit you properly. Your ears rang a bit, struggling to focus on the crunch of asphalt beneath your feet. You were moving before you’d even realized, a steady walk.

Something tingled in your fingertips, a magnetic pull. You halted your steps and clenched your fist, released, clenched again. With a frown, you glanced forward at the gaping wound in concrete, a pulsating wall of wet and vines, a whisper that sounded like home. 

Something snatched your wrist, and you pulled back to find Steve’s eyes on you, big brown and worrisome. 

“Alright, we go in, find the source, torch what we can, and get back to the Gate.” Nancy’s voice cut through the air. She stood before the gash in the wall, the steady pulse of red flashed across slender features. “Stay in your groups. Watch your feet. If anyone gets bit, you call for immediate quarantine.” She paused and looked out on the group before her before saying, “Stay alive.”

The torch end of her gun split through the thin membrane, and the vines began to slink away, leaving the space gaping and cold. Again, it pulled you to it, tugged on your sleeve opposite Steve’s grip, led you forward. 

“Hey, are you good?” He asked, voice low, breath too warm against your ear. He sounded underwater. 

You grit your teeth and offered a curt nod, pulling him with you through the gash. That swoop rocketed your stomach, but backwards, a tug at your navel that felt right, like pieces were falling back into places, like someone had reversed the fall of a Jenga tower. The bits that wobbled and swayed now firm and planted like your boots to the grey matter of the Ether. 

“Steve,” Jonathan called, far off. “You two are with us.”

—

 The Ether was a desolate landscape of ash and ruin. Vines overtook the charred remains of your comrades and their own kind. Not as thick as they had been, dust remained, still in the damp atmosphere. No wind kissed at cheeks. No cloud moved, an overhead shadow of burgundy and black. 

You felt the next quake before it settled, a buzzing in your fingertips, a rumble in your stomach. The only movement in a statuesque world. Then the asphalt rolled, cracked. You gripped Steve’s shoulder strap to hold him upright as Nancy and Jonathan barreled into one another for support. 

Nancy shouted orders, muffled by her mask, but you watched her two fingers pointing for cover. Northbound, a semi upsized, jack-knife becoming a rickety shelter. 

One-by-one, you filed in on unsteady footing, the Ether quaking around you. The crackle of broken limbs split the air as widow makers were shaken from nearby trees, branches stabbing into decaying Earth at right-angles. A power line groaned and snapped, loose line slapping against asphalt a handful of meters away. 

“What exactly are we looking for?” Steve asked, voice too loud, breath fanning your ear. 

“Sign’s He’s back,” is all Nancy could muster before her hands came flying near your face. You crouched out of her way just in time to see her slapping Steve’s mask back onto tanned cheeks. “Keep your mask on.”

“You mean signs like an Earthquake…” Jonathan snapped. Mid-word, the low rumble stopped, settling your stomach, an ache in your knees. 

“Let’s keep going,” Nancy instructed, peeling herself from beneath the truck bed to scout the road once more. 

“Do you feel anything?” Steve’s voice came muffled this time, still inches from your cheek, and you felt his hand, once again, around your wrist. He held you back, allowing the other two to gain quite a distance. 

You swallowed, adjusted your straps. You felt everything: the prickle of your skin beneath his clammy fingertips, the damp chill of stagnant air, that all-to-familiar set of eyes between your shoulder blades. The smell of death and decay somehow stronger. 

Steve stepped into your sight line, jaw tight, brown eyes full of worry. His plastic mask cut into the bridge of his nose, past smile lines you hadn’t seen in years. He released your wrist, but the steady burn of his knuckles against yours grounded you, pulled you right-side up. 

Then you heard her voice. Vickie spoke your name. Her breath fanned your cheek. Her nose nuzzled your ear, sent chills down your spine.

Steve had heard her too, maybe he’d even seen her. You watched as brown eyes went wide, face flashing in terror. He lurched forward, forearm shoving at your bicep to get you out of his way. “Jonathan!”

Everything else happened in slow-motion: the turn of your heel as you crashed to the ground, pack weighing you down and bouncing off cold asphalt, Steve’s footfall echoing as he scrambled for the trigger. Fifteen feet away, a demodog crouched on its haunches, flower-like face opening one petal at a time, claws extended before it sprung.

Jonathan Byers cried out, a sound that pierced the dull throb at the base of your skull. The meat of your palms turned to pulp as you caught yourself, hands and elbows bloodied, but the taste of iron filled your mouth like copper pennies, mixing with saliva and the soft meat of human flesh.

You sputtered, spraying the pavement red, and scrambled to your feet.

Steve kicked at the beast, hard, sending it flying from the gaping wounds on Jonathan’s side. It caught itself in a slide. Another one leapt from the ruins of the semi trailer, the sound in its throat guttural, dark, bone chilling. 

“Steve!” You called, pulling your gun from its holster.

Nancy was faster on the jump, knocking it from the sky with her fist. 

Jonathan managed to fight off a third, smacking it over the head with the butt of his weapon with a distinct grunt of pain.

“All clear?” You called from behind the first two, thrower heavy in your hands, finger on the trigger. 

“Clear!” Steve and Nancy confirmed, taking two steps backward until they were backed into Jonathan.

With a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger. There was minor kickback, nothing you weren’t used to, and the surge of power as you sprayed the creatures with a stream of liquid fire. The heat burned at your mask, the tops of your cheeks, your lashes, a sensation you were all-to-familiar with, had made peace with, found home in. But as the flames stuck to the gooey flesh of the monsters, as the smell of ash and decay met your nostrils, something worse settled into the pit of your stomach, seared beneath your own flesh, charred your bones.

You dropped the device in your hands, unable to maintain hold. Your breath had been stolen from you, replaced instead with unbearable, all encompassing pain. Was this what Vickie felt when you stripped her flesh from her bone? Was this white hot the same that she felt in her last moments, fire on her last breath? You fell to your knees. 

“Harrington to base, we need emergency evac immediately.” Steve’s voice stuttered over the radio on your chest. You heard your name and Byers’. “Requesting medic and mandatory quarantine.”

You ripped your mask from your face and gasped for air, trying to see past the blur of your eyes. The horrible image of Vickie’s death flashing in your mind again and again and again.

“Copy that, evac on its way,” Argyle’s voice was high-pitched, cut-off on the end as he undoubtedly hit the gas. 

“Harrington, it’s Munson. What’s going on out there?”

Two hands grasped your face, cold, clammy, a plunge of relief despite the fire still rattling inside you. Soft thumbs swept at the tops of your cheeks, and when your eyes focused, Steve was inches from your face, his own expression wrought with worry. 

“Harrington!?”

“Demo dogs,” Nancy answered for him. You glanced over the man’s shoulder to see her tightening a tourniquet around Jonathan’s thigh. She reached for her radio again, hand slick with her partner’s blood.

“What do you mean dogs? Alive?” Hopper’s voice came through the radio this time, and it wasn’t until he’d said it that you realized. You hadn’t seen a single living creature in the Ether since Vecna died. No demogorgon walked the scorched Earth, no demo bat patrolled the skies. For over a year now, this place was desolate, empty. 

“Hey, look at me,” Steve squared your chin back to him while Nancy explained your team’s predicament back to base. “Are you in there?”

“I could feel it,” you croaked, voice shaking. “The fire, Steve. I felt it.”

“I know,” he frowned. “You were screaming.”

Just like Vickie had screamed, engulfed in flame, calling your name, pleading for you to stop. 

Your stomach rolled, and you shoved your partner out of the way as it emptied its contents to the asphalt, as black and bloody as the heap of dog charred not fifteen feet away. 

“Is she flayed?” Nancy approached, ever the investigator. “Are you flayed?” 

“No,” Steve stepped between the two of you. 

“Nancy,” Jonathan warned from his place on the ground. He was holding his side together with one hand, and his face was growing increasingly pale. 

“I just want to know what we’re dealing with here,” she explained, teeth grit to turn her jaw sharp as glass. “Is he back? Is he talking to you?”

Steve glanced over his shoulder at you, and you shook your head, wiped your mouth on the back of your hand.

“Well, you’re clearly connected to the hive mind, so -” 

“Nancy!” Jonathan called, sending a chill down your spine. His partner rushed to his side, and he gripped her hand. “Help me up.”

“Steve,” you rasped, staggering backwards, out of earshot. “Maybe she’s right.” 

“Stop it,” your own partner held his hand up before he helped Nancy pull Jonathan to his feet. 

“I mean, what if he can see all of this through me? What if I lead him right to base?”

“You won’t,” Jonathan grit his teeth, leaned on Steve’s broad shoulder. “I’ll keep my eye on you.”

Steve scrubbed his face with his hands, and you watched his measured gaze point Nancy’s direction. She wiped blood on her pant legs and nodded, adjusting the straps of her pack. 

“You’re not staying out here,” you argued. “There are dogs, bats, probably. Who knows what else.” 

“Someone has to stay and figure it out.” Nancy pointed out.

Before you could come up with more excuses, more reasons to pull Steve back with you, back to the base and back to safety, Argyle’s set of wheels squealed into view. He reached out the window to pop open the door handle to the rickety old pick-up, a distinct scowl darkening his features. 

“What the fuck didn’t you understand about ‘be careful’, Byers?” But there was no meanness in his tone as he scurried to help Steve pull Jonathan up and onto the open tail gate of the truck bed. 

Nancy followed, heaving his pack up beside him. 

You waited a long moment, turning to face the beasts you’d helped gun down. They felt eerily familial now, some kin you’d betrayed with the tug of your finger. They lay before you charred and pock-marked, flesh bubbling to a sludge of goo beneath their forms. A shiver on the wind caught your shoulder tops. 

“Let’s go, buddy! We gotta get this idiot stitched up, pronto!” Argyle called, drumming the side of your caravan back to the real world, your real home. 

You lifted yourself up and over a wheel-well, pack weighing heavy against your lower back. Someone tossed a handkerchief your way as a means to blindfold yourself. You gripped it tightly in one hand, willing your trembling fingers to still. 

Over the red cotton, you caught a whispered moment between lovers. Jonathan told Nancy not to worry, begged her to be careful, pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, her cheek, her salted lips, her pointed jaw clutched in a grimy hand. 

You bit back emotion that welled, this need that pitted itself somewhere dark, somewhere deep. You turned your cheek away from the couple and found a honeyed gaze, brown eyes beneath a crumpled brow. You opened your mouth to speak, but something latched to that need, somewhere dark and deep, lurking on the water’s edge, a predator waiting to strike. 

You grit your teeth and dutifully brought your handkerchief to your eyes. Strong hands replaced yours at the back of your head, maintaining a knot that wasn’t too tight, and you felt the warmth of Steve’s breath against your ear. “Keep it contained.” 

With the wrap of a fist to the tin roof, your stomach lurched, and you were off. Steve’s words and Jonathan’s hummed tune playing tennis in the recesses of your mind. 

———

THEN

One Year Earlier

September 1987

The music was so loud. Pop ballads blasted through overhead speakers that once called fire drills and announced containment breaches. Chatter echoed against concrete walls between each break in song. The occasional whoop and holler accompanied the clinking of plastic cups and pouring of more liquor. 

Your own glass of lukewarm bourbon stung like smoke, only sweeter, and hung at your side. You were tucked into a folding chair in the corner, watching the party rage on in an echoing cafeteria, the bitter taste of defeat on your tongue.

Your best friend clung to the shadows on the far side of the room, pressed against a pillar with her face buried in her girlfriend’s throat. The smiles on both of their faces were the only consolations you’d allow yourself to celebrate.

“Hey, don’t know if you heard, the Wicked Dick of the Upside Down is dead,” Eddie Munson slid into your purview, all curls and dimpled smile. He returned your non-response with an eye roll, and ordered you to hold his walker steady so he could dip into the seat beside you.

He slumped against you, his denim jacket jingling with the amount of pins stabbed through it. “You’re seriously harshing my mellow.” 

“Oh, am I?” You rolled your eyes and continued your stare into the middle distance, watching the steady pulse of happy party goers. “I’m not stopping you from enjoying your night.” 

“Yes you are,” he whined. “Because the little dark rain cloud over your head is bumming me out.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t feel like celebrating,” you sighed. 

Eddie hummed, nodded, all hair in your periphery. He shifted in his seat, and you caught a glint of light out of the corner of your eye. He’d pulled a flask from his pocket and twisted the cap off, tipping it against the plastic brim of your cup. “For Gutierrez and Ramsay,” he mumbled low enough for you to hear.

Emotion clawed at your chest at the gesture, wetting your eyes, thus far the only remembrance you’d heard for your fallen compatriots. Your team leads fought fire with fire, and died at the hands of the Devil. When you closed your eyes, you could still make out the sharp angles of their necks. Hank cradled his partner. Staring at their lifeless bodies, Vickie’s hand tugging you to retreat, you wondered if you’d succumb to the same fate. Bodies twisted and torn, in the arms of someone you loved.

With a shaky hand, you brought the sticky sweet beverage back to your lips. 

“You know, Linda told me we can’t carry the burden of every life lost. It’ll just weigh us down.” Eddie sounded about as convinced of the bullshit as you were. 

You rolled your eyes and took another swig for good measure, the bourbon stinging like ash at the back of your throat. “Fuck Linda.”

A laugh caught your attention, a private moment that was probably too far for you to catch, but your subconscious was listening for it. Steve Harrington was perched on a cafeteria table, all long limbs and head thrown back in delight. A smile lit up his tanned features as he took what you could assume were slicing insults from Erica Sinclair. 

Her own lips were pursed into a shy smile, a rare expression on her sweet little face that had your own heart swooping. The girl’s arms were crossed, face tilted downward to hide the smile before it spread across all of her features.

You watched Steve toe at her knee with his shoe until she looked up, and he offered his fist in some form of solidarity or congratulations. She returned the gesture with knocked knuckles before the two of them erupted into a more intricate secret handshake. 

The entire exchange warmed your insides more than the drink in your cup ever could on a day like this.

“Hey, dickheads,” Eddie’s call startled you back into focus.

You cowered into him, as to not be seen by wandering eyes, and noticed the couple of teens he’d called out for. Dustin Henderson and Mike Wheeler inched by, red solo cups in their hands. 

Eddie beckoned with long, ringed fingers. “Are you both insane? If Hopper caught you with those, you’re dead men.” 

“Hopper can’t do anything about it,” Wheeler scoffed, but he kept his volume low. 

You snorted.

“Uh huh,” Eddie cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“We were bringing them for you guys,” Henderson informed a little too loudly, the most obvious lie he’d told.

Wheeler kicked him in the shin. 

“Thanks so much, Henderson. We were running dry.” Eddie’s face split into a grin, and he held his hands out to receive the kids’ drinks. 

Shoulders slumped in defeat, the two boys handed over their drinks. 

You noticed, with the faintest glint of light, that Eddie had exchanged them for his flask. “You bring that back to me tomorrow, or else.” He hissed, but couldn’t manage to hide the look of mischief from his brown eyes, the curve of his mouth.

With a matched grin on their faces, the boys scurried away down a secret hallway to partake in their own form of celebration.

“Eddie Munson, you big softy,” you snorted, elbowing his side. 

He sighed, taking a long sip of something bright red from the cup in his right hand. You managed a chuckle at the cringe of dramatics on his face at the taste, tongue stained neon within seconds of the liquid touching his lips. He chased it with whatever he held in the left.

“Did you just confiscate these from the children?”

Robin and Vickie approached the two of you, hand-in-hand, matching lovestruck looks on both of their faces. Eddie extended the cherry concoction, and Robin took it with a matching look of mischief in her blue eyes. 

You felt a familiar sneaker tap against your own, and managed to greet your best friend with a sad smile. Her head was tilted toward you, pretty orange hair cascading over her shoulders. She took two fingers to the rim of your cup to tip it towards her, peering over to see just how much you hadn’t drank.

“Did Steve find you?” Robin asked, licking neon from the crease of her plush lips. 

Something odd kicked in your chest, not unfamiliar, just dormant, and your face warmed. You avoided Vickie’s gaze as she tapped your foot again, and you shook your head. You peeled your cup from her grasp to take another drink.

“Oh, well he was looking for you,” Robin shrugged, but you noticed the smirk meet her lips simultaneous to her own cup. 

You narrowly avoided Vickie’s waggled eyebrows as you glanced over your own cup to search for Steve across the bustling caf. He was no longer perched tabletop, Erica long-since distracted in a conversation with her brother. But it didn’t take long for your eyes to attract like magnets to those broad shoulders, the gloss of his hair, the curve of his tricep. 

He stood toward the center of the crowd, locked into a conversation with Nancy Wheeler. Dim light was cast across her pointed features, and she seemed engaged in their conversation, a lightness on her brow you hadn’t seen since you’d met her. She seemed relieved, celebratory, maybe even a tad shy as she spoke, hands tucked beneath her arms. 

“I think I might go to bed,” you swallowed, sliding Eddie the remainder of your drink before pushing into Vickie’s space to stand. 

“I’ll walk you up,” your best friend seemed too eager, a frenetic energy buzzing under her skin. 

You tried to ignore the kiss she shared with her partner, letting Eddie offer a loving bite to your wrist like a feral child in his form of a goodnight. You patted his hair, and Robin took your spot beside him, cheersing you with a red cup and lips stained pink. You nodded. “Night.” 

-

The stairwell echoed in silence, that swell of a pulse in your eardrums that matched the tandem steps of you and your best friend. The steel door slammed shut behind you, quieting the ruckus of the celebration down below. An odd chill coursed over your shoulder, and you glanced behind you to find nothing and no one but the vast expanse of concrete and steel spiraling for floors below. 

“They’d want you to be happy, you know,” Vickie cut the silence, chewing the smile from her face with extreme difficulty.

You rolled your eyes and continued your climb. “I know, Vic. It’s just… complicated.” 

“Have you talked to him since?” She pressed. 

She referred to a drunken night one week earlier. You’d fallen asleep in Steve’s bed, nose-to-nose, large fingertips tracing hidden circles into your skin. 

“No,” you avoided her gaze, despite her neck stretching to catch you. “But it’s fine. We’ve been busy.” You’ve been avoiding him, sinking yourself in training, in Scorch, in fighting. Secrets shared between covers felt insignificant compared to a fire-fight with hundreds lost, minuscule in comparison to the ache from your grief and the confusion you’d attached to a win you weren’t sure would ever come. 

“Sure, okay,” Vickie scurried to round the landing before you, to stand a few stairs ahead and box you in. “But like, I don’t know, it really looks like it’s over. You know? Like really over. Which none of us thought would happen, and maybe it’d be good for you to consider what you’re going to do next, right? I just think you really need to seize an opportunity. And I’m not just saying this because you’re my best friend and he’s Robin’s best friend. I just want you to be happy.” 

She was nervous, rambling. 

You glanced around, her voice echoing up the staircase, and you gripped her wrist to lead her back up beside you. “Okay, I get it. Take a deep breath.” 

“Sorry,” her shoulders relaxed, bumping your own as you continued your climb. A soft breath of a laugh fell from her lips.

You pushed open the heavy steel door, holding it for her to pass through before you fell back in step, sneakers tapping against linoleum flooring, dimly lit by the escaping sunlight. 

Vickie walked beside you, gaze a little far-off, hands wringing in front of her, twisting at a ring on her middle finger.

You pulled your key on its lanyard from a pants pocket, and your dorm door clicked open. “You want a glass of water?”

You fell easily into your roles. You filled her a plastic cup of water while she tidied discarded books and pages, piled your laundry into a basket. She smiled at your eye roll, and you watched as she drained the cup. She caught a bead of water as it fell from her lip and released another of those nervous laughs, the ones that prickled the hair at the base of your neck, the ones you knew preceded confrontation. 

“Vic, what’s going on with you?” You scoffed, crossing arms over your chest. “You’re being cagey.”

She rolled her eyes, but you saw the chew of her lip. Caught, she turned her back and paced toward your bed before slowly lowering herself at the foot. “You really think this is done? Do you really feel like he’s dead?” 

This woman had fought monsters. You’d watched her jump into action on dozens of occasions, leading hundreds of innocent people to safety. You’d seen her face covered in char and sweat and ash as she scorched the remnants of her hometown. You’d seen tears spring to her eyes as the landmarks of your shared childhoods crumbled into matching piles of ruin. Never had you seen as much concern etched across her soft features. 

You swallowed, nodded. “He’s gotta be, right? We watched him burn. Eleven said…” A chill swept over the back of your neck as you watched Vickie twist her ring around her finger once more.

“I know, but I don’t know. Do you think he could have like… jumped onto someone else? Maybe he’s in hiding without a body somewhere.” Her tenor was starting to quicken, the breadth of her sternum rising and falling too rapidly.

You reached out for her, and she jumped under your touch. “Hey, why are you so worried about this?” 

Her eyes were wide like saucers, dark circles beneath them that you’d honestly all possessed over the last few particularly grueling weeks, but in this moment, hers felt pronounced. 

You swept hair from her long eyelashes, tucked it behind her ear. “What’s going on?” 

She shook her head, scrubbed at her face with her hands, and peeled upward and out of your grasp. “It’s nothing, it’s stupid.” 

“Nothing’s stupid. Come on, talk to me.” You reassured her, taking her seat on the foot of your bed, preparing for the worst. 

“It’s…” She paused, back to you, shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. When she spun to face you, her demeanor had changed, lightened. The rain cloud that hovered before seemed to drift away. “I just want this to be over so bad. Robin and I have been talking about what we’re going to do, when this is all over. It used to feel so far away, and now it’s right here, and I’m scared, I guess, but excited, but also just anxious, and - “

“So tell me about it,” you cut her off, somehow managing a smile despite the repeated reminder that this was over and soon you’d be floating in a world who didn’t understand what you’d gone through, and odds are, you’d be alone. 

She chewed on her bottom lip, a habit her mom had scolded her for since she was a child, but that aching smile fell back over her features, and she crossed to collapse on the bed beside you. The mattress harrumphed under her weight. “We talked about going to school together. We both got into IU.” 

“Yeah?” You fell backwards beside her, staring up at the stained dorm ceiling panels. 

“Yeah,” she nodded, “I’m nervous, but like, excited, you know?”

You swallowed back that lump growing in your throat. “You were excited before. You still want to be a music teacher?” 

Vickie always had her plans, organized chaos in the form of binders stuffed with mail-in applications, the gentle push and prod of you to apply with her. You could never decide, stuffing envelopes into that floorboard beside your bed, lying about acceptance letters when she’d received her own. You’d sipped vodka out of matching Betty and Veronica mugs and tried not to imagine her off in the big city without you. 

“Or art,” she confirmed, fingers tracing lines in your ceiling like the constellations you used to lay out and watch.

You sighed simultaneously, and snorted in response. 

She muttered your name, and you glanced sideways to catch the pale yellow light cascading across high, freckled cheekbones, a soft sadness in her eyes. “Do you think I’m being reckless?”

You frowned. 

She caught your gaze and swallowed. “With Robin, I mean. I think I might ask her to move in with me, and I know that sounds crazy because we’re literal children, and - ”

You caught her wrist mid-air, gave it a squeeze, managed a dry laugh. “Vic, you literally followed her into War.”

The laugh that poured from her at the irony was warm enough to pull a genuine smile to your lips, a gesture that was growing more and more foreign as this fight continued. Your grip loosened on her wrist, and she moved to interlock your fingers, her little silver ring scratching between roughed-up knuckles, blistered and burned. 

“You know I’ll never leave you, right?” 

You bumped her with your forehead, her visage blurring in the proximity. “Couldn’t get rid of me when you moved to Hawkins, what makes you think you can get rid of me now?”

Satisfied with your answer, she brought the back of your hand to her lips for a peck and release. 

“Good,” she tutted, rising from the foot of your bed to open the tiny wardrobe beside you. She pushed aside a couple of grey tank tops and pulled a black v-neck from the rack, holding it to herself as if she didn’t have forty in her own closet to match. “Then I can talk to you without you getting mad at me, right?” 

The challenge prickled your skin, competitive nature over-wrought with irritation at the shift of her tone from sincere to playful, mean, even. “Probably not,” you snapped, propping yourself on your elbows to catch the shirt she tossed your direction. 

“Put this on, it makes your boobs look amazing.” 

You groaned and flopped back to the mattress, suddenly warm and exposed under her gaze. You hid your face in the t-shirt, hangar still attached, and shook your head. Her name slipped from your mouth in annoyance.

Yours was repeated back to you in a mocking tone. “What if tonight’s the last night?”

The rustle of your drawers pulled your focus from around a sleeve. “What?” 

She was bent over a pair of jeans you hadn’t worn in well over a year. A tear had pulled through the fibers on both knees, and you were positive the waist band wouldn’t fit now. “What if it really is all over?” She tossed the denim beside you. “What if this is the last night we’ll be in this building? What if it’s the last night we celebrate with these people? What if it’s your last chance to talk to everyone?” 

You knew she didn’t mean ‘everyone’. 

“I get that you’re sad, okay? I’m sad too. I’m going to miss them just as much as you are.” Vickie’s hands found your knees, and she jostled them. “And I understand if you’re tired. We’re all exhausted. I yawned about twenty times dancing with Robin in there. She yelled at me.” Her face lit up with something fierce. “But I’m asking you to get dressed and come with me back to the party, because tonight might be your last night, and I don’t want you to miss your chance.” 

You scoffed and tossed the shirt aside. “Miss my chance for what?” 

Her mischievous gaze was hard to avoid, and she leaned in even closer. “I don’t know. What do you want to happen?”

It was a question you’d asked yourself several times over the last week, when avoiding Steve meant slipping into the girl’s locker room and excess of times or taking the rickety elevator to avoid him on the staircase. You thought last time would be the ‘last time’ so-to-speak, and all the other times before that. That’s just how life worked under fire. 

And last time, as with each of your last times, you’d ended up exchanging truths under government issues linens, chuckling soft breaths against one another’s mouths, making promises of honesty and protection. You weren’t sure you needed more than that. 

Of course, you wanted to feel the coarse pads of his fingertips draw circles just north of the insides of your knees. You wanted to feel his breath fan your pulse points. You wanted to hear the way his breath caught when you dug your nails into his scalp.

You’d settle for soft kisses to the temple after long runs through the Ether, like the ones you’d caught him press to Robin’s sweat-slick hair. You’d settle for the elaborate high-fives he’d give the children when they’d reunite after nights in Quarantine. You’d settle for half-smiles across the caf like the ones he’d give you when you’d finally caught his gaze. 

“Okay, forget about it,” Vickie glossed over your non-response. “Just come downstairs and hang out with me. We’ll find Robin and Eddie and get you another drink and just pretend like we’re stupid kids again. Maybe we’ll sneak into the pool.” 

Her optimism was always so difficult to crush, her rosy lips split into a grin, and you knew she wouldn’t cease fire until you complied. 

With a resigned sigh, you reached your hand for her to help you up, and you nodded.

She took your hand with a grin and tugged you to your feet. 

-

The party below spilled upwards into living rooms and dorms. Music on overhead speakers was transferred to boomboxes and acoustic guitars. Instead of echoing off concrete walls, laughter was absorbed into threadbare couches. Hallways dimmed to the red glow of Exit signs. Footfall faded, stumbled behind locked doors. 

You perched on a comfortable sofa in the living space, waving Eddie goodnight as he waggled his fingers. Vickie and Robin had sandwiched you in sloppy kisses before they slunk off hand-in-hand, whispering sweet nothings. You sunk further into the cushions, hugging one tightly in your lap as the lights turned off and your world was cast in moonlight from a nearby window. 

You sat there for ages, maybe the entire night, staring out at the greyscale world beyond, those treetops tinged in golds and rubies in the daylight. You thought of your friends, hand-in-hand, and of Pedro and Hank, arm-in-arm, and of the emptiness that lingered when you recognized life, as you lived it, was coming to a close. 

You pondered and mourned in silence, starlight the ever-present reminder that you were Rightside Up and safe, somehow, a promise Steve had kept without realizing it. 

“Hey,” a voice full of recognition startled you from your reverie, and you turned to face Steve. His strong features were silhouetted, but you knew the curve of his shoulders, the dip of his jaw. 

“Hey,” you offered a smile, shrinking further into your seat. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked, gesturing for permission to join you.

You nodded, shrugged. “Not really.”

He crossed slowly before sitting, his weight on the springs shifting your own. He was close, warmth radiating off biceps pressed against yours. “I was looking for you.” He touched his knuckles to your knee, a sensation that shot electricity through you. 

“Oh?” Your voice squeaked, throat dry. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, and you ventured a glance his direction. The moonlight poured in, pale yellow against his features, his nose, cheek, the swoop of his chestnut hair. “I know you and Hank and Pedro were really close, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

His eyes shone, and you had to pull yourself from his gaze to process his words. He cared. The thought brought a smile to your cheeks despite the grief you felt in your soul. You tipped your face away from him and played with fraying of the canvas lining the pillow in your lap. 

You contemplated lying, reassuring you both that you’d be fine, but something about his warm presence settled beside you, the soft lilt of his voice, had you speaking freely. “I will be,” you nodded, a sentiment you hadn’t even realized until you spoke it into existence. “I just haven’t had time to think about what my life’ll be like without their… guidance.” Orders, teasing, coaxing, care.

“I get that,” Steve sighed beside you, head tilting to rest on the furniture at your backs. “It’s been kind of nice not having to make decisions for myself.” 

“What were you going to do, before all of this?” You gestured to concrete walls, a singular window, a common space long since vacant. 

His gaze trailed the room before landing on you, and you warmed under it. With another sigh, he looked outward again. “I thought I had a plan for when it was all over, but that was a year ago.” He waved it off. 

You nudged him with your elbow. “What was it? Maybe it’ll give me some inspiration.”

He snorted, shook hair into his eyes. “Ah, yeah. I doubt it.” 

“Come on, Harrington,” you goaded. “What was it? Become an actor? Join the circus?” This felt better, right, the tease of competition between you settling the tension that was building with each passing glance.

“Try marrying the girl of my dreams and having six kids?” That popped the bubble. You couldn’t hide the face of disgust and unease that settled after his comment, knowing all you knew about him already. “Yeah, bad, right?” 

You stuffed back a remorseful chuckle, tried to keep a strange bout of jealousy at bay when you remembered his conversation with Nancy earlier, how engaged the two of them looked, how hopeful her blue eyes were. 

You cleared your throat, made firm eye contact with your pillow, shrugged. “I don’t know. Seems like you aren’t the only one with those aspirations. I’ve heard Rob and Vic might move in together.” A harmless bean spilled surely wouldn’t rile up your best friend. 

“Wait, how do you know that? I thought Robin was going to wait to ask her…” Steve trailed off, and when your eyes met, you both rolled them in exasperation for the gushy love shared between clueless women. 

“So what about you?” Steve asked after a moment had passed, little finger soft once again to your knee. “If this is really all over, what’re you going to do?” 

You glanced back over the parking lot, the trees, Scorch course off in the distance. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out… where I fit. You know?” You locked your fingers together above your pillow, as Vickie had done earlier, but without the lightness of her touch, yours were bruised and calloused and burnt. Your knuckles were sore.

“Right here,” he said.

His eyes were dark, brow soft, yet pensive, and under his watch, you couldn’t breathe. It was the same panic you’d felt all week when you’d watched him cross the caf or climb into the bed of a truck, that fight or flight ramping up within your rib cage. 

“I’m serious,” he shrugged, shoulder knocking your own. “What if you fit here?” He pressed a large finger into the pillow on your lap for emphasis. The skin of your wrists and hands lit up with proximity. “You’re so good at this whole thing, and we know it isn’t over. The Upside Down didn’t close up when Vecna died like we thought it would. There’s still a mess to clean up. Who says you have to leave? That you have to move on right now and make some huge life plan over night?” 

You blinked back at him because you hadn’t considered any of that, and maybe it’s because this existence had been something everything was counting down the chance to run from. You’d all been thrust into this life when the world opened up (or earlier), and you followed orders because that’s what kept you safe, what kept you alive. You’d never considered that maybe you were made for this. Although, when Steve mentioned it, things did sort of kick back into place. 

His knee knocked yours. “It’s not like you’d be alone.” 

The implications rendered you silent, a splash of cool water across skin that had been set ablaze, filling the space with steam. Your breathing was shallow, mouth dry, and you couldn’t unstick your knuckles from each other, though his hand remained centimeters away, picking at that same tear in the fabric you’d been playing with moments earlier. You felt yourself go stock straight, rigid against the warmth of his bicep. 

“Did I make you uncomfortable last week?” His voice was barely a gravel, a shockwave of electricity sent through you.

You swallowed in vain, shook your head. 

His eyes trailed your features, and you bit hard on your lip when he stopped there, before he found your gaze again. “Because I meant it when I promised I’d keep you safe.” 

Your reaction to Steve Harrington was reckless, always had been. Volatile, even, the way your heart raced, the heat that churned through you like water boiled over. There was always something in his tone that challenged you, always something in his gaze that riled you up. He pushed you over the edge you teetered on with an eye roll and a smug smile, arms pinned over your head against the mat or mask over his face on the Scorch course. 

Maybe that’s why neither of you were surprised when you reached across the space and pressed your lips to his. Neither of you stiffened at a first kiss, noses bumped and knuckles. Simultaneous, you parted for a breath and dove back for something stickier, something warmer, something more dangerous.

He was sweet, whisky and something softer, ice cream, maybe. His lips were warm, and a bit dry, but plush. And when you finally sunk your fingertips into his silky hair, you coaxed a breathy whine that sent warmth pooling through you. 

“Is this okay?” You hissed between kisses.

He hummed in agreement, hands reaching for your middle to tug you into his lap. He massaged your thighs with oversized hands as you bracketed his hips, pulling another loud groan from deep in his throat.

You had him pinned beneath you now, hips rolled, and his head thrown back against the sofa, pupils blown with your fingers in his hair. The moonlight cast shadows across his chiseled features, a constellation of freckles down his left side. The way he watched you, lips licked, sent a wave crashing through you, another sizzle to fan the embers burning within you.

His hands found your hips, and your ribcage beneath the t-shirt you’d been forced to change into, and you thought of Vickie’s encouragement, her optimism that this would be the last of it.

The warmth of Steve’s palms coaxed you forward until he caught your mouth with his once more, and his words echoed in your mind beside her, a chorus of contradiction. This is your last night here. You fit right here. I’ll never leave you. It’s not like you’d be alone. Two truths pulling at you like a rope over a line, neither would exist while the other did. 

Steve sucked in a breath, harsh, and you blinked your eyes open to see him licking a tender lower lip. You’d bit down on him without realizing, that ever-present competition fresh between you. He didn’t seem to mind, already going back in, but you pinned his shoulders back, pushed off of him to stand. 

“Whoa, it’s okay,” he wiped at the corners of his mouth, ran a hand through his hair to replace yours. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, stumbling backwards until you almost tripped on a coffee table. You managed to side-step it, feeling claustrophobic surrounded by so much canvas furniture. 

He stood to catch you in case you fell, and the reach of his arms had you backing even farther into the shadows of a long corridor. He recoiled, scratching at the back of his neck. “Are you sure? Because um… I didn’t mean to push anything if you weren’t…” 

You shook your head, that familiar panic clawing at your chest at the mess you’ve created. “Steve, it’s fine. I just don’t think I should do this right now.”

A crease formed between his brows, concerned, pitying, and he shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “Okay?” 

You sighed, scrubbed at tired eyes, tried to ignore the taste of him that lingered on your lips. You’d already taken it too far, already scratched the itch that had been growing within you for months now.

“I can wait.” His voice was soft, almost imperceptible, and his brown eyes held that same hopefulness you’d seen in Vickie’s.

Guilt rattled your rib cage, searing. You nodded and said goodnight. 

-

The night remained sleepless, starring at water-stained ceiling tiles while you contemplated next steps. The feeling of Steve’s hands ghosted your ribcage. The image of Vickie’s hands twisted in your own burned behind your eyes.

Knuckles wrapped against your door, and you pulled your watch from the beside table to look at the time. 08:25. With a resigned sigh, you buckled it over your wrist and answered the door. You startled to find Nancy Wheeler on the other side, brown crinkled and hair curled around her slender features. 

“Hopper wants us.” She informed you, managing the softest of smiles. 

You swallowed, nodded, and went for your room key on the countertop.

After the loss of Gutierrez and Ramsay, your Scorch team needed new leaders, and there was still so much Ether to scorch.

———

NOW

September 1988

Stains on pale yellow walls churned at a bread-and-broth full stomach as cigarette smoke wafted in beneath the broken seal at the bottom of the door. The lone light flickered, exacerbating a migraine that had lingered for weeks now, maybe months. Two familiar faces sat on the other side of the plexiglass, wrinkles between their brows, smoke swirling round faces. 

“How you feeling, kid?” Hop asked, voice gruff, concerned, paternal. 

“Sweaty,” you winced, peeling your tank top from your sternum. “Hope I don’t smell. My shower is one scalding pressure wash every morning.”

Hopper snorted, a cloud of smoke exiting each nostrils and floating skyward. “I know. It’s Hell.” 

Hell was the Ether. Hell was the tug between your shoulder blades. Hell was lurking somewhere deep, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. 

“How is everyone? Byers?” You grit your teeth, pushing back the wave of nausea and slumping against the glass that fogged on your side. The water bottle, lukewarm, was the only reprieve you’d been given from your sauna, refilled at frequent intervals to ensure you stayed upright and alert. 

“Jonathan’s fine, but he’s not out of the woods yet. We’ve got him holed up too. Huntley and Miller are dead. Dog fight this morning on the county border.” 

You cursed under your breath, squeezing your eyes closed to push back the visions of yourself lashing out against the two Scorchers, gnawing on their flesh, the fresh squeeze of hot blood between your teeth. “I was hoping that was just a dream.” 

“Are you having any visions right now?” Owens asked, voice gentler than his gruff counterpart.

You shook your head. “Same as yesterday and the day before. I can see her,” you gestured to somewhere in your periphery, where the wave of fiery hair stood out, just beyond your reach. “And I can feel him.” That tug in your shoulder, the bend in your spine that itched and ached. You rolled your shoulders and pushed it back. “But I don’t see anything unless I’m asleep. Even then it’s just roaming the Ether. I can never see him. He’s not coming out.” 

“What happens when those fuckers catch fire?” Hop asked, wrapping his knuckles against the glass. By the look in his eye, he was testing the strength of it, making sure it’d hold you back.

You took another sip of water. “I wake up.” 

“Maybe we do a bit of uh… what do they call it? Remote viewing? Put her under, have her tap in.” Hop spoke under his breath, but you knew he was talking about Eleven. He knew Hop was talking about Eleven. You felt the itch under your shoulder and shuddered again. 

Owens caught your movement and stopped Hopper with a hand up. “Alright, miss. Are you comfortable if we take another look at your back?” 

With a sigh, you pushed yourself upright and turned your back to the men to pull your shirt up and over your head, holding it to your front with what little sliver of modesty you could maintain. Although, at this point, you’d lost your will to care. 

For days now, you hadn’t noticed growths on your back, no indication that you’d been Flayed or that this parasite was growing within you. Nothing showed itself beside this feeling you had that you couldn’t explain, that no one could understand. 

“Thank you, dear,” Owens wrapped his knuckles to the window to tell you it was safe to put your shirt back on. 

You did so and turned to face the men again. Both of them offered characteristic grimaces: one of pity, the other of disdain. You slumped back into the chair next to the window. “So, what’s the prognosis, doc?”

The older man shrugged, scratched at his forehead. “Unfortunately, we might just have to keep you in here until we discuss further plans. We kind of have to keep you out of the loop, kiddo. Can’t risk him hearing us.” 

You understood. You shook your water bottle, tapped it against the glass, and said, “Empty.”

“Fresh water, coming right up,” he smiled and stood. “Jim?” 

Hopper waved him off, stamping his cigarette out on the seal. You watched ash scatter the ground. He stood, chair groaning beneath him, and he towered over you on the other side of the glass, teeth ground into a clenched jaw. He scratched at the stubble on his chin. 

“Harrington and Nancy make better partners than you two did. He actually listens to her.” 

You snorted, rolled your eyes. “That doesn’t surprise me.” 

“He and Munson ask about you constantly. I caught Wheeler and Henderson trying to hack into your security camera footage.” He wrapped his knuckles against the glass again, pointing toward the camera that had been watching you. He waggled thick fingers, and you mirrored him, trying to hide the swell of something lighter within you. 

“Keep holding him back,” he ordered, your commanding officer once more.

With exchanged nods, he exited down the hallway with Owens, and you slumped back against the fogged glass. You swallowed and stared up at the bright green bulb that glowed just beneath the lens of the camera.

—

Days had gone by. Maybe nights had too, but you couldn’t tell under the buzzing fluorescents. You had no windows to the outside world, probably miles beneath the Earth at this point, just on the precipice of that churning, horrific world on the other side. 

You tossed and turned on your cot, sheets stained with sweat that clung to every inch of you. Cries echoed a few boxes down, unfamiliar voices of more and more faces sequestered into quarantine, their fates somehow worse than your own. 

All you wanted was to stay awake. If you stayed awake, he stayed away. But the ache of your eyelids added to the dull throb at the base of your skull, and every so often, the rake of fingertips down your arm coaxed you into a slumber. 

Feet sputtered down the hall, steady, a run, and your heartbeat matched it. You launched from the unsteady rock of your cot and met a figure as its hands slapped against the glass of your window, steadying itself.

“Harrington?” You frowned at your partner on the other side. His palm met yours, thick glass in between, and his chest rose and fell as his breath fogged the glass. “What’s going on?” 

He shrugged, slumped into the chair Hopper had been in. It creaked beneath him, and he glanced down the hallway for on-lookers before turning back to you. “Are you okay?” 

“Are you?” You scurried into your own chair, leaning in to get a better look at him.

The bruise around his eye was yellowing, and his hair looked good pushed off his brow. He maintained that signature scowl, but there was something soft in his eyes as he observed you the same way you looked him over. “Are you suffocating in there?”

“Only a little,” you shrugged. “Why are you here?” You glanced back down the hallway, as much as you could see, to find it the same as it always had been, empty. 

“We had a bad firefight yesterday. Ten dogs or so.”

You did another cursory glance of his person. That you could see, there were no bandages. His hair wasn’t burned or singed. Any soot had been scrubbed from the creases on his face. 

“Could you feel it?” 

You shook your head and watched his shoulders relax. You wished you could soothe him further, reassure him you were okay, that you were safe, but the two souls attached to you lingered in the periphery. Instead, you tapped your fingertips to the glass. “I thought of something yesterday.” 

Steve adjusted in his seat, glanced down the hallway once more before leaning in to read your lips.

“You remember the party, the night after he died, or at least, we thought he did?” You asked, feeling that presence heavy over your shoulder. 

Recognition flashed behind your partner’s eyes, and he shied from your gaze, scratching at the back of his neck.

You warmed, tried to forget the feeling of your hands there, of his warm hands against your sides. Something prodded your shoulder. You cleared your throat. “Vickie made a weird comment that night, off-handed. She was acting really shady, and she asked if he could have latched himself on someone. The body died, but maybe the soul didn’t?”

He looked back up at you, brow crinkled, understanding sinking into him, and you watched his ribcage deflate. His knees began to bounce, and he buried his face into his hands. 

“And if that’s true, she had him for almost a year. It had nothing to do with the flower. He just latched on to the nearest thing, and when she died,” you gestured to yourself. “Maybe he’s weaker now.”

Steve was shaking his head, arms crossed over his chest. “You couldn’t save her.” 

You swallowed back emotion that boiled at that slap in the face. “She didn’t tell us. None of us could, but I’m telling you.” You hoped he couldn’t hear the desperation in your tone.

“This happened to her, and you murdered her.” His voice was lower, graveled. 

You balled your fist, swallowed back that panic which seared at your ribcage.

“What do you expect to happen to you?” Finally, he met your eye, his own brown replaced with piercing blue, cloudy. The smell of charred flesh stung at your nostrils. The taste of ash filled your mouth. 

---

[A/N: Remember when I said hiatus cuz of NaNo and then I wrote this chapter? *insert eye roll here* I can't help it! This story wants to pour out of me, and I want it to, too. I love these two more than anything. They bring me endless joy. And they kissed! I made them kiss! In a flashback, but still. Maybe they'll kiss again, who knows? Maybe the reader dies a horrific death like Chrissy, who knows? I do. I know. And I love it so much. Thanks, as always, for reading xo]

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Four: Pyre • Chapter Six: Combustion

[princess-of-france]

“There is an insidious rumor circulating in Petersburg that Napoleon Bonaparte marches on Russia with an army of French troops, but for my part I am sure it is idle gossip. People are always so desperate for a villain, they will conjure one out of thin air. I suppose it helps make sense of the story. Nevertheless, look after yourself in Moscow. We are living in strange times…”

(Annette, War and Peace, Part Two, by Claire F. Martin, based on the novel by Leo Tolstoy)

@harry-leroy @suits-of-woe @je-suis-em-jee @a-mature-honey-lavender @lizbennett2013 @thelibraryiscool @opheliarose7

[skyburned]

This is the fourth installment of my family history background set and the last.  With Gabe I leave the second generation of the Lombardo family and enter the third, and the plots and families become too tangled to summarize.  Gabe is a major character in Intermezzo even if he never shows up alive (not saying he won’t) so he belongs here.  

Rereading some of the old stuff I wrote about this guy makes miss him.  I think I’m going to post 2 short old chapters here. Very old and cranky and rough but right now given the whole world, so what if sims stuff isn’t perfect.

The Lombardo Family

Gabe Lombardo

"The Legendary Gabe" - a title his third generation teenage cousin Autumn Taylor mockingly calls him.  He looms within the family, his persona inescapable, his reputation mythologically glamorous.  Like most myths, a lot of it is total shit. 

Raised by a distracted father after the death of his mother, Gabe learned early how to take care of himself. He was more attached to his Uncle Tony than he was to his own father.  When Gabe managed to retrieve his uncle’s real son, he did not adjust well to the loss of that semi-paternal attention.  He was young, and the loss was unexpected, and he resented Rafe from the beginning.  

Camilla, only a year older, lived in the same neighborhood and they were close from as far back as he could remember.  She was virtually his sister. He found her amusing but intimidating, challenging and maddening, and absolutely trustworthy.  She might refuse to join him and would mock him, as he would her, but they laughed a lot and she never let him down.  From childhood to the day he disappeared Gabe considered her the only friend he ever had.

Apart from Camilla, Gabe had one longstanding relationship, a romantic one with a girl he dated from the time they were young teens, someone he fought Rafe for and eventually won – Amanda.  He never broke it off, always returned, knew she loved him and may have loved her as well.  When he disappeared he left without saying goodbye, but he knew he was in trouble and he left her with regret.  

Intelligent, analytical, cool under pressure, tied in with everything and everybody, physically stunning and charismatic, he could be dangerous to cross.  He was also a lot of fun as long as you remembered he was sort of a sociopath.  Gabe was a gambler and a con-man and a minor thief.  He enjoyed himself immensely when causing chaos or helping Camilla to crash or wreck or solve something difficult.   

There was that time though when he rescued a little girl lost on a beach, knowing he was probably asking for trouble, not knowing he would change her whole life, her family’s life, the lives of many people, a whole web of people in many different ways with that one act of mercy. He gave her his knife to hold when she demanded to see a sword since he was a ‘prince’ (a title she bestowed on him, not one he chose, and one that outraged Rafe).  Years later she still kept that knife secreted safely in her jewelry box, and remembered him whispering to her when he knew who she was and just before Rafe drove her home: You’re going to need a sharp sword Rayne Stanfield, and I may as well be the one to give it to you. (Throughout her young life she expected and hoped he would return to rescue her from heartbreak, disillusionment and addiction, but he never did, of course.)

Gabe disappeared under mysterious circumstances.  He borrowed a lot of money from disreputable people, couldn’t pay it back, and expected them to try to kill him.  They might have. Or not. Nobody knows.  Just before he vanished he risked his own life to give Rafe information he needed to use against his mother. If he hadn’t taken the time to gather it and send it, his chance of escape would have been much better.  He did it for family, Camilla would say, grieving and inconsolable.  What Gabe would say nobody knows but revenge was probably part of it. The sheer satisfaction in taking down a far more powerful adversary might have been the better part. It wasn’t for love of Rafe.      

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

Longer than I wanted it to be.  Thank you for going through all this with me!  And thank you @thewynd​ for the years of mercy yourself.

[survivorsgetstitches]

How would Rin, Susie and Amanda react to their s/o being left behind by their teammates? Love ur writing btw

Thank you!! I hope you like my writing for this as well!!

Rin Yamaoka/Spirit

It’s hard to say if Rin actually recognizes that its you, you know the entity pulls her into an inconsolable rage state when she had a trial. There seems to be a lull in her rage, her eyes staring at you and then flickering towards the door where your teammates just left.

She doesn’t really say anything but you can tell how gentle she has become, as she gently picks you up and carries you towards the door. When she sets you down, she gently pats your head before giving you a soft kiss. You know that she’ll get in trouble for letting you escape so easily, and a part of you wants to wait out the timer so she can at least get a kill and not be punished but with the way she’s looking at you...you knows that’s not what she wants.

After the trial is over, it’s you that makes your way towards Rin’s realm. When she sees you, a genuine smile comes across her face as she moves towards you. Asking you if your alright with what happened in the trial, if there is anything she needs to do to make you feel better, or if you would like to stay with her for a little bit. No matter how many times you ask if she’s angry at your teammates, Rin only gives you a mischievous smile.

The next time she sees your teammates in a trial though, her rage rivals that of a thousand volcanoes as she tracks them down individually and makes them pay for leaving you behind. Rin hopes that they learn from this lesson, because next time she’ll do more then just mori them. 

Susie/Legion

Is incredibly angry for you when she sees that they have left! Especially if you had been doing most of the rescues this match, it just makes her feel like your teammates underappreciated you and saw you as a good sacrifice for the killer.

You don’t deserve to be left behind, your sweet and fun, and! Susie just can’t fathom the fact that they would just up a leave you! She knows that none of the Legion, no matter how dysfunctional they could be sometimes, would never leave one of their members behind. Your pained groaning snaps her out of her thoughts, and she quickly tends to you so you can try to make it out.

Susie has the oddest luck in finding the hatch, no matter where she is on the map she can find it easily. So that’s where she brings you to first, because the doors could be way farther then where she thinks they are so the hatch is always her best bet.

After the trial, Susie quickly goes to find you and when she does she’s not leaving your side unless the Entity pulls them away. Susie also takes the time to chew the hell out of your teammates for leaving you behind, and she doesn’t take any excuse either. She’s seen survivor try to safe someone no matter if they had been on the hook before and even when they were severely injured. She’s gonna make it knows that next time, they may not be so lucky in escaping her.

Amanda Young/Pig

Amanda can’t really express the emotion that goes through her when she sees your teammates leave, it’s a bit of disgust for them and sadness for you. She knows the feeling of being given up on...and she hates that you had to go through something like that too.

If you have a trap on your face, she quickly takes a key that she keeps on her just for you and releases you from the trap. If your closer to the gate, then she’ll pick you up and try to get you as close to it as possible and if that isn’t possible then it’s a hurried race to find the hatch for you.

Amanda knows she should put you on a hook. the Entity could punish both of you for this but right now she doesn’t care. You need to get out a live, to tell those bastards how wrong it was to leave you after the whole match. To prove to them that you were able to get out without their help, if she wanted to go to the survivor’s campfire it would only be so she can watch you rip them to shreds with your words.

She makes sure to give you a rare dose of affection when the trial is done and over, your probably exhausted after everything and she’ll gladly help relieve some of that stress. The next time she sees your teammates though, they’re all going to be dead meat come next trial.

[matildainmotion]

My Cure for the Blues, thanks to my Daughter who Loves Pink: What Might Yours Be?

I am blue. I don’t know why. There are many blatant reasons for blueness in the world right now - more than there have ever been in my lifetime - yet still I don’t know why. If I did I wouldn’t be blue. I would be sad with purpose. Or angry. Or upset. But what I have is a slightly pointless feeling. Being blue is vague. Vaguely low. A big wash of a dark colour, devoid of detail.

Meanwhile my four year old daughter is definitely not blue - she’s pink. “What’s your favourite colour today?” She asks, everyday. I find it a hard question to answer with accuracy, perhaps because of my vague blue feeling. She does not: “What’s yours?” I say. “Pink,” she replies with absolute certainty, “And gold.” Another favourite question of hers, that she poses most evenings at supper: “What are you the fairy of?” The grown-ups round the table come up with various quips in answer: Daddy is the fairy of mashed potato; Granny is the fairy of hearing aids; Mummy is the fairy of tiredness. 

“And you, Tenar?” 

“I’m the fairy of beauty, sparkly things and everything I like,” she replies, while skipping up and down beside the dinner table, because the fairy of beauty is much too busy to pay any heed to the fairy of meal time manners. Her favourite Christmas present was a gold princess gown, which she dons daily, and Snow White-like, checks in the mirror to see if she looks suitably fair. She wants to grow her hair down to just above her bottom. 

This all comes as rather a shock to me because I was not a pink girl - my favourite colour as a child was navy blue, no pastels please. I refused to wear dresses. I had a party boiler suit- dark blue - for birthdays. I climbed trees, ran along garden walls and lived in trousers. I was inconsolable when my father once brought me back a kilt as a present from a trip to Scotland - imagine being given a skirt! Despite being told this was a skirt meant for men, despite the photos in the family photo drawer of my father, a proud soldier in a Black Watch regiment kilt, I remained unconvinced. I have stayed relatively consistent in my tom-boyness into adult life. As a mother my children rarely see me in dresses, hardly ever in make up. Mummy has long hair under her armpits and on her legs but often shaves her head.

Given the version of womanhood I have presented to my daughter, I assumed  her predilection for pink princesses was a result of the vicious marketing to which children, especially girls, are subjected - the bright pink magazines with plastic toy lipsticks and hair curlers sellotaped onto the front, placed at just her height on the wracks near the supermarket check out. This is just one example of the many things about the world that make me blue so, when her pink princess phase began, I set to work. 

I had already consistently switched pronouns around in books - mostly from he to she - or had discussions with my daughter about the absence of active female heroines.  More recently, her questions such as “Why is it girls that have long hair?” Or, “Which one of these princesses is the most beautiful?” lead to long discussions about the history of fashion, gender as a colourful spectrum, and how peacocks are just one example of a species in which it is the boy that gets to wear the gorgeous feathers. None of this seems to make the slightest difference to my daughter’s commitment to pink, but two developments recently have eased my concerns and made me think that there is more than 21st Century patriarchal capitalism at work in her choices, and that the pink thing - or the thing for pink -that is sustaining her spirits through this hard time might actually contain within it a clue to the medicine I need for my blues.  

Firstly, last weekend, after a day on which I had had to work and so had resorted to letting Tenar watch Disney’s Cinderella (the 1950 animation) she ran back and forth during supper and told us her version of the story. In her rendition, she played the part of the fairy godmother, and having magically rustled up a stunning dress for Cinderella, she thought she should be the one who got to enjoy it. So it was she, the fairy godmother, who danced the night away with Cinders. And what of the prince? No princess for him - he was left with a slice of pizza. After three nights of dancing together, Cinderella married Tenar, the fairy godmother, and they lived together happily ever after, with an ever-expanding wardrobe of fabulous dresses. The prince married the pizza, and was, apparently, content with his lot. 

I was reassured by this that my daughter is in no way either a passive consumer of pink-ness or likely to become an easy victim of social norms. Soon after marrying Cinderella, she came up with the second thing which allayed my concerns, and made me question my fast feminist assumptions as to what is at work in her psyche. She announced, seemingly out of the blue (that colour again), that one day she wants to acquire a white, calm, mare.  

We have some chickens, but on the whole we are not an animal-focussed family. No cats. No dogs. Certainly nothing as large and demanding as a horse. My daughter accepts the fact that owning a horse is a big deal - you need a stable, a meadow, and various other bits of kit, so she is going to be patient - not a quality that comes to her easily - and wait, but it is important that she gets the mare when she is still young, she says, by the time she is twelve. By then her hair should have grown to her full desired length and both she and the white mare can ride over the fields with their locks streaming behind them. She is also keen on a cart to go with it, which will, she says, make shopping much easier and less boring. She will look after it very well: she will dress it in garlands of flowers, feed it hay and apples and exercise it daily. Its stable will be right beside the pink, gold and violet-painted bedroom of her own, into which she will also have moved by the time she turns twelve.  

I am not entirely sure from where this horse has ridden into her mind. She has a sticker book of white unicorns, but much of the dream seems to be of her own invention. I am not about to surrender to an essentialist narrative and suggest that all little girls harbour a horsey dream - how could I when I myself never have?- but it has touched me, this sudden passion for a white horse, the oddly mature way in which she discusses the details of it, and it makes me think there is more than magazine marketing at work in her.  

My husband plays Tenar the theme tune to White Horses, the 1960s TV series, whilst I remember all the stories I know that feature a woman and a horse. One of my favourite Ted Hughes’ tales concerns the first woman complaining to God that she is bored - she wants a playmate. After trying out various creations and getting it horribly wrong, God finally gets it right when, out of the crests of the waves, he conjures a horse, who rides ashore to greet the waiting woman. Going further back in time, there are the tales of Epona and Rhiannon, Celtic horse goddesses which I know of thanks to mother-maker, Jackie Singer, who made a brilliant show about them that explored women’s power and sexuality - both its repression and liberation. Rhiannon in particular, who can outride any man with ease, is no passive princess. Whilst the image of a girl dressed in pink is no more than eighty years old, the image of a woman riding a horse is clearly a good deal older. However, irrespective of age (simply using the fact that something has been around for a long time is a highly dubious reason for justifying it - patriarchy, for example, is ancient!) it seems to me, listening to Tenar, that she has somehow tapped into an image-geyser - it has sprung up mysteriously, and with tremendous energy. It feeds her.  Life is tough, we are confined in a tiny house, while we try to stay well, stay sane, shield Granny, but my daughter is buoyant, not blue, because she is dreaming of horses- I need some of what she’s got.  

But I never dreamt of horses. They don’t do it for me. I think back to when I loved navy blue and try to recall what else I was dreaming of then. What made me run around the kitchen table with delight like my daughter does? And then the answer comes: I wanted a meadow too, but not for a horse. I wanted a cabin in one corner - I was going to run across the meadow, barefoot, marvel at the wonder of the world and then head into my cabin and write. I didn’t want to be a princess, I wanted to be a poet. With the same passion, the same weird mix of realism and fantasy as I see in my daughter and her horse ambitions, I made plans for my poetry cabin. I remembered this when I watched the amazing Amanda Gorman, not dressed in pink or blue but brightest yellow, reciting at Biden’s inauguration - a young poet woman warrior. I can feel it does me good to summon up this archetype, this image. It starts, slowly, to dispel the blue. It’s a dose of a meaning-of-life medicine, the first iteration of it that I ever brewed for myself and so, because of this, it still holds a certain potency. As Victor Frankl argues in his classic Man’s Search for Meaning a sense of purpose, of meaning, is what we (man, woman, or betwixt and between) need to survive the hardest times - a holocaust, a global pandemic, or, closer to home, just a tough day of schooling with the kids. 

So, here are your questions for the month - actually a mix of my daughter’s questions and mine:

What is your favourite colour today? What are you the fairy of? What do or did your children, if you have them, dream of? And what were your own childhood dreams? And can your answers to these questions change the colour of your days?

As I type this, Tenar is sitting on my lap, and she has asked for the last word. I have said she can dictate and I will type. Over to Tenar, then, to finish this off:

“I ask my mum so many questions that I feel in my body and I say my heart is the thing that controls my feelings. I ask every night to my mum, why she was a tom boy? And I say that I love you as much as I am going to love everything around me, and I love my heart, and my horse. And I am a girlie girl, not like my mummy.  I love princesses, I say, every night.”

[alj4890]

Love/Angst Prompt

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) in wanting to see more of the pregnancy.

(Thomas x Amanda) taken from the And Then I Met You storyline.

A/N Three part fic for the Hunt family of three soon to be family of five as requested. There is some angst with this pregnancy. Thomas and Kathleen try and cope with the unexpected events.

@lxaah11​ @alleksa16​ @penguininapinktuxedo​ @blackcoffee85​ @stopforamoment​  @hopefulmoonobject​  @krsnlove   @annekebbphotography  @cora-nova @bella-ca @hopelessromantic1352. @sunflowergirl05 @desiree—1986 @greywitchyshots @lilyofchoices @moodyvalentinestories @emceesynonymroll @dr-nancy-house @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 y @lolablackwrites @friedherringclodthing @flyawayboo @i-bloody-love-drake-walker. @trappedinfandoms  @kate-mckenzie

Masterlist

Part 2 Part 3

The Unexpected

Part 1

London Film Premiere

"My wife is in her eighth month of pregnancy and told she shouldn't travel." Thomas explained to the group of reporters. "If not for my directing this, I would be with Amanda and Kathleen right now and most likely dry."

It was a cool, early May evening. Misting rain fell, tempting him to turn the collar of his jacket up.

"What are your plans for your next film?" One reporter called out.

A ghost of a smile appeared on the director's face. "I will be taking a break as we deal with having twins and a five year old. I think Amanda might banish me if I even hinted of a possible project."

Many around him laughed. A few more questions were asked of tonight's film and then he was set free. He stopped inside the theater and pulled his phone out when he felt it vibrate again. There were numerous missed calls from Liam and Amanda's phones.

Thomas called her first. He was surprised when Kathleen answered.

"What's wrong?" He asked when he heard her tearful cry of his name.

"Mommy's bleeding." She started crying harder. "A lot."

Thomas froze. "What? Where is she?"

Kathleen continued to cry until she started coughing. She was unable to get the words out. 

His frustration grew as he attempted to control the volume of his voice. "Kathleen, calm down and give Mommy's phone to someone who can talk." He tried to keep the panic out of his tone.

Riley took the phone while trying to comfort the little girl. "Hello?"

"What is going on?" Thomas demanded.

Riley's voice trembled with sadness and fear. "We were eating dinner and Amanda said she felt funny. She stood up to go to her room and collapsed." Riley audibly gulped. "There was blood on her pants and chair. Liam and Bastien have rushed her to the hospital while I stayed here with Kathleen and the boys."

Thomas ran out of the theater and hailed a taxi. "Has there been any word from Liam?"

"Not yet." Riley whispered. "Thomas, hurry."

__________________

Cordonia, a little over three hours later...

Thomas burst through the hospital doors and ran down the hallways, ignoring the nurses calling after him. He paused to read the sign pointing toward different wards and continued running.

Bastien was leaning against the wall outside the room and straightened when he saw him.

Thomas said his name and paused at the door. He didn't know what to expect. He took a deep breath and walked inside.

Liam stood up in relief when he saw him. The usually unflappable director paled while he walked around the bed where Amanda slept with multiple IV's and monitors on her. Her sleep was peaceful through all the swooshes and beeps.

"What happened?" Thomas whispered after touching her hand.

Liam lowered his voice. "She has placenta previa. The doctor said she was at a higher risk for it being pregnant with twins. He isn't sure how long she will be here or if he will be forced to take the babies early." He nodded toward the bags of A positive blood. "She lost a great deal of blood."

Thomas ran a hand down his face. "Is she in pain?

Liam shook his head. "No. She had some contractions that they managed to stop. She was still unconscious when they occurred."

"Did she ever regain consciousness at all?" He asked.

"For a moment, only to make certain the babies were well. Once she was reassured she fell into a deep sleep." Liam told him.

Thomas sat down and looked at her. He reached out to smooth her hair back and noticed how warm she was. Her cheeks were flushed a bright red. "She's running fever."

"The nurses are monitoring that. They said it can happen when receiving a transfusion." Liam explained.

"Thank you for acting quickly." Thomas said. "Riley told me how you and Bastien made certain to get her here fast."

Liam placed a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezed. "Of course. I will leave you alone with her and let Kathleen know she is being taken care of."

"Kathleen." Thomas rubbed his hands over his face. In his panic he had forgotten how she must be reacting to all this. "I should go see her." He stared down at his wife and couldn't seem to move away from her.

Liam could see the battle between husband and father and told him to remain here. "I promise to call if Kathleen is inconsolable. I'll let her know she can see Amanda as soon as she gets some rest."

"Thank you." Thomas said softly. He resumed his vigil by her bedside, thinking of the other time he had done so. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not ever. He had not thought it possible that he could love her more than he did all those years ago, yet he knew it was true.

His eyes briefly left her face to observe their babies' heartbeats. Then he focused on his wife's steady beat showing on the monitor. His gaze came back to her face. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead then one to her belly, softly smiling at the movement he felt. He prayed it continued.

He relaxed some after a nurse came in to check everything. The bleeding was still occcuring but had reduced some. She reassured him that all would be fine.

He leaned his head back against the chair cushion and slipped his hand under Amanda's. Her fingers barely moved as she continued to sleep.

He closed his eyes and soon fell asleep.

_______________

The next morning...

Kathleen woke up and rubbed her eyes. She had quietly cried herself to sleep after Liam told her everything was fine. She wanted to believe him. She wanted her mother here where she could see she was really well. Learning that Thomas had arrived made her want to see both of them. She needed her parents to say everything was right.

She climbed out of the plush bed Riley had put her in so she would be close to the Royal family if she needed her or Liam. She opened her door and peeped out.

Bastien saw her and bowed. "Good morning, Lady Kathleen."

She looked up at him. "Good Morning."

He knelt down before her. "Is there anything you need?"

She nodded while fresh tears appeared. "Can I see my mommy?"

His sharp gray eyes softened at her heartbreak. "As soon as your father calls, we will take you to see her." He promised.

She swallowed her sob down. "Can I call my daddy?"

He was about to answer when Liam stepped out. He noticed her tears and picked her up when she repeated her request. "Let's eat some breakfast first." He opened his sons' bedroom door and told them to come join them.

"You know how much your mommy loves to sleep late." He tried to coax a smile from her. "We'll let her sleep a little longer before calling."

Kathleen rested her head against his shoulder while the tears still slipped down her cheeks

Ellis and Emerick looked up at her. They whispered to one another a plan to do all they could to make her laugh.

"Dad's cooking isn't that bad, Kat." Emerick teased.

Liam half smirked at his sons. "I make excellent waffles, thank you."

"Just don't let him make bacon." Ellis said to Kathleen. "Unless you want the firemen to bust through the windows. His laugh at his own joke made her smile some.

Liam set her on the kitchen counter while he and the boys started getting everything ready for waffles. The palace chef chuckled and left with a warning that he wanted his kitchen to still be intact when they finished.

Liam twirled a spatula around and over his shoulder, earning an applause from the three children. Riley walked in and laughed when he began to stress the importance waffles have in everyday life.

"What topping would you like, m'lady?" He asked of Kathleen while giving her the first waffle. "Strawberries? Chocolate chips? Whipped cream? Syrup? Whatever you would like."

Her eyes filled with tears again as she thought of making breakfast with her mother. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Syrup please."

Riley picked her up and cuddled her in her arms. As sweet as the queen was, Kathleen thought that no one could hold her like her mother.

_______________

At the hospital...

Amanda opened her eyes and looked up at the nurse changing her IV bags.

"Your grace!" She said softly. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"It's quite alright." She looked at Thomas asleep in the chair next to her and tried not to cry at having him where she needed him. "When did he get here?"

"It was a little after midnight." The nurse explained. "He caused quite a scene running through the maternity ward."

Amanda threaded her fingers through his. "Has Dr. Vasco been by yet?"

"He just arrived and is reviewing your chart. He should be in shortly." She gave a curtsy and left.

"How are you?"

She looked up at Thomas quietly studying her.

"Better now that you're here." She swiped at the tears building up. "Thomas."

He moved closer and pressed his lips to hers. She held him tight for an extra moment while tears fell. "I'm so scared."

He gently wiped her tears and kissed her forehead. "I am too." He gently nudged her face up and looked into her eyes. "I can't lose you."

She averted her gaze. "We can't lose the twins." She glanced at their monitor and gently rubbed her belly.

Thomas set his hand next to hers and could feel the kicks and movement. He looked at Amanda's profile and saw her lips firm in determination.

"Kathleen?" She looked up at him. "Have you seen her yet? She saw me collapse."

"Liam and Riley were taking care of her while I stayed here." He explained. "Once we talk to the doctor, I’ll leave and bring her to see you."

Amanda relaxed some. "Poor little thing." Tears spilled down her eyes again. "She must be so frightened."

"She wasn't the only one." Thomas met her eyes. "I haven't felt panic like that in a long time. Kathleen called me and was only able to get out that you were bleeding." He rubbed a hand down his face. "I turned a three hour flight into a two hour and fifteen minute one."

"I'm sorry." She settled his hand against her cheek. "I hate that I interrupted your premiere."

"I don't give a damm about that." He snapped. "You come before everything else." His dark eyes narrowed on her. "I dont care if that film is hailed the biggest flop in the history of cinema. All I want to know is how to fix this." His eyes darkened in intensity. "I can't lose you."

"I--" she was cut off by the doctor walking in.

He bowed to them both. "Lord and Lady Hunt. I hope you rested well." He flipped through her chart once more and then examined her. He made a few more notes, checked the readout on the baby's monitor and finally pulled up a chair to talk to them.

"His majesty informed you of what happened." He confirmed with Thomas.

"He did. But what does it mean? Is my wife going to..." He swallowed down the word and chose others. "Will she recover?"

"Yes, I feel confident that all will go well if you do as I suggest." He turned to Amanda after explaining how the fraternal twins each had their own placenta making her even more at risk for this to happen. "With the heavy bleeding you are having, I do not feel comfortable releasing you with bedrest at home. I want to keep you here where we can monitor the bleeding, the twins, and be able to, at a moment's notice, perform a cesarean."

Amanda blinked in surprise. "But not now, right? We need the babies to stay in there for as long as we can."

Thomas leaned closer and frowned. "How would that affect Amanda's health if we continue to wait?"

"Thomas!" Her voice cracked. "You know I can't choose me over them."

He ignored her and focused on the doctor. "Well?"

The doctor lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. "With us closely monitoring, I believe both Lady Amanda and the twins should suffer very little complications." He looked at the couple. "I have three patients here that I am looking out for, Lord Hunt. I don't intend to lose any of them."

"If you took them now," Thomas persisted, "wouldn't that be easier on her?"

Amanda shook her head no as her tears fell faster. "Thomas, please don't do this to me."

"I need you." He stated again. His tone was harsh as his fear built. "We have a five year old who needs her mother." He lowered his eyes. "I want nothing more than our twins to make it, but I need you to be here to help care for all our children."

"I can't lose another baby." She replied. "You know that if I lived and they died when I didn't even try to wait as long as I possibly could that I would never recover emotionally from that." She bit her lip, trying to make him understand. "My body might survive but you will have lost me."

Thomas covered his face with his hands and slowly lowered them, unwilling to hear her arguments.

The doctor cleared his throat. "Let's take it day by day. The longer we can give those two the better it will be," he focused the next to Thomas, "and I will make sure that her grace does not have to make the choice of her life for theirs."

He left with telling them he was going to administer steroids to help build the twins' lungs in case they had to perform the operation sooner than they would like.

Thomas got up and walked over to the window. It was amazing how life still went on while one's personal universe had come to a screeching halt. He looked out over the small courtyard. Flowers were blooming in bright colors as some patients were wheeled along the paths. He tried to focus on what promised to be a beautiful spring day rather than this uncertainty they were entering into.

Amanda observed him quietly. She knew why he was not wanting to hear her arguments. She didn't see it as giving up on him and Kathleen. She saw it as giving them something more to have and to love.

"Thomas?" She tried to keep her voice steady.

He lowered his head.

"Please don't leave me alone in this." She pleaded. "I need you to--"

"You need me?" He gave a bitter laugh. "I keep saying how I need you and you ignore it. Now that you need me, suddenly I'm the villain for not wanting to watch you hemorrhage to death."

He turned around and noticed her heartbreak. Unable to leave her in that mindset, he went to her bedside and knelt down beside it. He pressed a kiss into her palm while closing his eyes. "I'm sorry."

She gently ran her fingers through his hair. "I am too."

He looked up at her. "Promise me that you will mind the doctors."

Her lips softened into a hint of a teasing smile. "I don't really have a choice since I'm not being released."

"Amanda." He stood up. "Promise me you will tell them every strange sensation, feeling, twinge, even a wild thought that comes over you."

She nodded. "I promise."

He leaned down and kissed her. The kiss was filled with the thought of losing her. She cradled his face, returning it with all the love she had for him. He pressed another kiss to her forehead before speaking again.

"I should go change and bring Kathleen by." He tenderly cupped her cheek. "Anything I can bring you while I pack my bags?"

"No." She softly kissed his hand. "I can't think of anything right now." Her brow furrowed in thought. "Maybe you shouldn't stay here."

His features hardened. "Why?"

"Because of Kathleen." She explained. "She needs at least one of us there--"

"I will pick her up everyday to be here with us and then tuck her in bed at night. Liam and Riley will watch over her while she sleeps." His stance became immovable. "I'm not leaving you here alone as you face this."

Amanda nodded while trying not to cry again. "What about St Orella? They were expecting us back tomorrow."

"I'll take care of that too." He kissed her softly once more. "Rest and try not to worry about anything other than you and those two troublemakers."

She laughed through her tears and pulled him down to kiss him again. "I'll try." Her eyes met his. "I do love you so much."

His adam's apple bobbed a couple times while he swallowed down his emotion. "I love you." He met her steady gaze. "So very much."

__________________

"Your father called." Liam told Kathleen in the playroom. "He is coming to pick you up and take you to see your mother."

Kathleen smiled and hugged him. He chuckled and suggested she color a picture for Amanda. "She's always bragging on what beautiful pictures you create."

"Can we do one too?" Ellis asked.

"I believe she would love that." Liam patted him on his head. "That’s very thoughtful of you."

The three rushed to a table and picked out what art supplies they wanted to use. Liam left them to it while he and Riley went to call their other friends and let them know what was happening.

____________________

Kathleen looked up from the third picture she was working and saw Thomas. He knelt down while she ran into his arms. She then dragged him over to the table to see their pictures. The little princes explained theirs too.

"These will make Amanda smile." He thanked the two princes and told Kathleen to get what she wanted to take to play with. "We’ll be spending a lot of time in Mommy's room at the hospital. She can't come home yet, so I will bring you here to sleep and come back to get you each morning."

Kathleen stared at him in surprise.

"Kat! You get to play with us everyday!" Emerick exclaimed.

Ellis jumped up and down, cheering for having indefinite company.

Thomas took her hand and told the boys he would see them this evening.

___________________

Kathleen became more nervous the closer they got to Amanda's room. Thomas had explained all the tubes and monitors her mother was hooked up to and to not be afraid. "All of it is to help her and the babies."

Her imagination was running wild with how her mother would look.

He knocked on the door and entered when Amanda called out.

She smiled at Kathleen and held her arms out. Thomas told her to be gentle as she hugged her. Kathleen began to cry seeing that her mother was really okay and buried her face in Amanda's side.

Thomas picked her up and set her beside Amanda on the hospital bed. She curled up and rested her head against her chest, listening to her heartbeat. Amanda began to silently cry while holding her close, knowing how frightened she must have been.

Thomas stood there watching them hold each other while unshed tears formed in his eyes. He mumbled about getting something from the vending machines and stepped out into the hallway. He covered his face while trying to calm down. Seeing them both like that brought up all the fears he had of raising Kathleen on his own. What if he had her and newborn twins without Amanda?

Kathleen would never get over losing her mother. He doubted his own ability to comfort her if he lost Amanda. The very thought practically brought him to his knees. His brow furrowed as he thought of the twins. Since they had seen how much they loved Kathleen, he had not hesistated in already giving his heart to these two they had yet to meet.

He couldn't lose any of them.

He slid down the wall.

"Thomas!"

He looked up at Maxwell and Nadia running up. Both had varying expressions of fear on their faces.

"Liam called, has something else happened?" Maxwell asked.

Nadia sat down in the floor beside Thomas as he shook his head, unable to speak. She wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened before hugging her back. He managed to get some of the words out about why he was out here.

Maxwell sat down on his other side and stared at the opposite wall. His blue eyes filled with unshed tears as he thought about being in Thomas's place. He knew exactly how he felt. He couldn't imagine losing Nadia and being left with taking care of their children. No one could take his wife's place.

Thomas got up after a few moments of shared silence. He asked if they wanted anything and they followed him to the machines, making a variety of choices. The three grapsed at anything to try and not think of what was ahead of them.

Amanda and Kathleen finished their cry while Thomas was gone. Her daughter remained against her side with her little arm draped over belly. She could feel her siblings move ever so often.

"They've missed your stories." Amanda said softly. She pressed another kiss to Kathleen's head and hugged her tight. "They only settle down at night when you talk to them."

Kathleen rubbed her eyes before placing her ear against Amanda's belly.

"Hello Elizabeth and Ian." She said in a hoarse voice.

Amanda could feel the tears building up once more as Kathleen told them all about playing with Emerick and Ellis. She told them about Liam making waffles and doing tricks with cooking utensils. She then closed her eyes tight before asking them to not hurt their mother.

Amanda pulled her back in her arms and held her. She shushed Kathleen's tears while promising that all would be as it should. With vision blurred by tears Amanda looked into her little face. "Whatever happens, always remember that you grew under my heart. I couldn't help but love you. I am so proud to be your mother."

Kathleen threw her arms around her neck and said she loved her. Her knee unhooked one of the monitors and an alarm sound went off. Both jumped in surprise.

Filled with terror, Thomas burst into the room followed by a wide eyed Maxwell and Nadia.

"Nothing's wrong!" Amanda promised. "I became unhooked from the heart monitor."

A nurse came in and reset everything. She smiled at Kathleen and nodded to Nadia and Maxwell on her way out.

"We come bearing treats." Maxwell said to break the tension. He dumped out a number of snack cakes and candies.

Nadia looked at everything Amanda had attatched to her. "How are you feeling?"

"A little tired but good." Amanda said for Kathleen's sake.

"You should rest." Thomas finally managed to say.

"I will." She promised as Kathleen snuggled against her side. Thomas readjusted the blanket to cover them both up. He gently smoothed Kathleen's dark hair back before caressing Amanda's cheek.

Nadia leaned against Maxwell to keep from crying. Thomas looked like a man being tortured on the rack. Kathleen held onto Amanda as if afraid she would disappear if she let go. And Amanda...was putting on a brave show for all.

Maxwell cleared his throat. "Are you able to eat? We can go get whatever you want."

"I might break into those orange cupcakes." Amanda replied. She glanced down at Kathleen and saw her drifting off to sleep. She had worn herself out from all the crying.

Thomas motioned toward a couch. "Would you like me to make a bed for her over there?"

"No." She held her in her arms. "She can stay here." Amanda tried to swallow. "I remember what it was like, wishing I could be held by my mother."

Nadia wiped her tears. "We’ll run out and get you three some lunch while Kat sleeps."

"Thank you." Thomas said. "I don't know what--"he grimaced, "thank you."

Once the Beaumont's were gone, Thomas sat down beside the bed. He watched Kathleen sleep for a few moments before looking at Amanda's profile. She turned toward him.

"What are you thinking?" She whispered.

He shook his head and opened the package of cupcakes for her. She took one and waited for him to find the words.

"Nothing." He finally managed. "Nothing but my fears of losing you and the twins."

_________________

That evening, Thomas gathered Kathleen's untouched bag of toys. She never left Amanda's side. He slipped his blazer on and told the little girl to say goodnight.

Her bottom lip trembled. "I don't want to."

Thomas rubbed the back of his neck in agitation. "It’s getting late."

"I don't want to!" She said louder. "I want to stay with Mommy."

"Young lady, do as I say." He snapped. "Now!"

Tears fell down her cheeks at his anger and with leaving. "No." She said softly. "I won't go."

He dropped the bag and went to pick her up. She started fighting against him.

Amanda opened her eyes when she heard their raised voices. "What's--"

"I want to stay here!" Kathleen struggled in his arms. "Please Daddy! Don't make me go!"

"Thomas!" Amanda called out. "Let me--"

"That’s enough!" He yelled. He lowered Kathleen to the floor and held tight to her. "Listen to me. I am taking you to get rest. I will be back in the morning to bring you here."

Her cries echoed in the room, hurting the couple. Thomas dropped his head. He couldn't do this. He knew this was a glimpse of what life would be like if it ended tragically.

"Come here sweetheart." Amanda said softly. She brushed the strands of hair sticking to Kathleen's damp cheeks. "The only way I can rest like the doctor needs me to is by knowing you are being well taken care of. I need to know you are tucked in bed with warm covers and a little stuffed corgi."

Kathleen sniffed. "But I want to be with you."

Amanda didn't bother to wipe her own tears. "This is only for a few more weeks that we have to do this." She kissed the little hands gripping hers. "Will you help me and Daddy with this?"

Kathleen reluctantly nodded. She looked up at Thomas and tearfully apologized. He knelt down and hugged her close, whispering his own apology.

Amanda watched them silently. She forced a smile when Kathleen hugged her good night. "I will see you in the morning." She promised, kissing her daughter's forehead. "Sweet dreams little love."

Thomas pressed a kiss to Amanda's lips and said he would be back soon. He picked Kathleen and her little bag up. He looked back at his wife on his way out.

Once the door was shut, Amanda succumbed to the broken sobs that had built in her chest.

[thedistantstorm]

Keep On Rising (Until The Sky Knows Your Name) 14

Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation

A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.

(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

This time: Eva and Hideo and Holliday. A chain reaction.

-/

It doesn't take much to get the faction rep's attention. A few key words, some very pointed, hushed phrases.

"I know it is not a common occurrence," She tells the Speaker, who though she cannot see his face, she is sure he looks on with something akin to compassion and maybe amusement. He is a very intelligent man. Frighteningly so to most, but incredibly benevolent all the same. "But I cannot believe the orphanage would deny him without at least looking at his application. He might not be a member of the faction but I would think he does enough for them - and this City," She tuts. "I just feel so awful for him."

All of it is true, and yet she packages up that truth and tries to sell it like Tess does. The younger woman would be proud.

Hideo himself comes over. "Excuse me," He says politely enough, pressing his palms together like a prayer, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. The Commander is trying to bring home a child?"

"I could not believe it either, dear," Eva gushes in her best impression of borderline senile. She isn't that old, she thinks with an internalized sigh, but it does the trick. "He told me he'd just gotten the application filled out and was going to tell her the good news, but they transferred her out of nowhere. The new facility won't listen to the old one, and you know how Zavala is. Wants to do everything the right way, even if it tears him up inside."

"That's horrible," Hideo agrees. "You said they denied him, though."

"Oh! I did," Eva agrees. The Speaker casually moves back to his observatory, his work done. "Did you know they require you to be a faction backer to adopt a handicapped child?"

"Well, I'm sure it's to make sure they have the financial well-being…"

"It's just so sad, Executor. This is Zavala we're talking about. The Commander always plays fair, and yet he's beating himself up inside because his position does not allow him to play favorites, even if he wanted to." She sighs, wistfully, watching as the man's hand came up to stroke his chin in consideration. "And the poor girl must be inconsolable. The bond between them is just… Those refugee children are so tough, and then this one…" See shakes her head.

"Let…" Hideo looks up to her, his dark eyes soft yet calculating. "Let me see what I can do. You said this child was handicapped? We support the most vulnerable members of our population. If this child is at one of New Monarchy's facilities, perhaps I can intervene."

Eva smiles a teary smile. "Oh, that would just be the most wonderful thing, dear." He calls over one of his men, who takes the information from her. After, she pats his hand, thanking him profusely for his kindness. 

"I'll see to this myself," He promises.

He returns to his nook, already issuing instructions. Eva hides her grin behind her hand, returning to her stall. For now, all she can do is wait. She can't imagine it will take very long for the Executor to set things to rights for his 'dear friend.'

-/

It takes the better part of a week. She knows because there are Consensus meetings that call away the majority of the Tower's top players, and when she checks in on Zavala, he still has that sad glimmer in his eye, but clearly others have started to notice.

Ikora is standing across from his desk, looking down at him with something Eva takes a moment to realize is concern. She retracts her hand from the doorframe, intending to return later, by nothing escapes Ikora's notice.

"Come in," The Warlock Vanguard says, not unkind and yet brisk om her delivery.

Eva knows better than to say no, and Zavala waves to an unoccupied chair in a non-verbal invitation of his own.

"Zavala informed me of the situation," Ikora tells her. "And that you've offered to assist."

"I have." She looks to Zavala. He looks older like this. "You need to take care of yourself. What if things happen quickly?"

"They won't."

"They might. This one put on quite a scene the other day." Ikora looks so sarcastic. Eva thinks it's a shame. She's such a beautiful woman, and so powerful too. Then, her eyes soften a touch. "My Hidden reported a rather interesting conversation, with the Speaker, no less."

Zavala looks to Ikora, but her gaze is trained on Eva's face. The youngest of them shrugs.

"Whatever was said," Ikora finally turns to Zavala, amusement lighting her golden eyes, "It certainly motivated the Executor. He was watching you throughout our meetings, and was clearly working on something besides that plasteel contract, considering he didn't even try to block the infrastructure proposal."

"Eva." His intense stare is intimidating, but Eva will have none of it.

"You underestimate my concern for you, my friend." She smiles warmly at Zavala's look of tired exasperation. "What was I supposed to do, let you mope for the next few months? The poor girl wouldn't hold out that long. Besides, all I did was give him some information. I didn't force him to do anything. For all I know, he hasn't." 

"That's very shrewd of you," Ikora says levelly. "That explains why Tess is afraid to buy you out."

Eva shrugs. From the Warlock, she suspects that's a compliment. "Thank you."

Turning back to Zavala, Ikora tilts her head to the side. "I can't imagine this not going in your favor. Even if I don't think it's the best of ideas."

"I think you might be surprised, Ikora," Eva chimes.

"The Speaker certainly isn't against it," She supposes aloud. "And you are miserable, so there's no doubt you're attached." She gives him a smirk that seems like more of a sad smile, the longer it stays on her face. "And above all, you are my teammate. My friend," She revises. The emotion seems to make her uncomfortable, Eva thinks. "I'll talk to Hideo myself, if need be."

"I can't imagine that ending well," Zavala deadpans. Ikora's lips curl into a predatory smile. The severity of Zavala's gaze lessens. "But I do appreciate the sentiment."

-/

A man comes to see her. He is wearing a color red just a little bit darker than her blanket, she can see it out of the corner of her eye. He didn't look like a doctor, but Amanda doen't trust anyone these days. The last time she answered questions for a doctor he'd told these people to come get her.

"You're Amanda, yes?" He pauses. "Amanda Holliday?"

She blinks to him listlessly and then turns her head back to the window.

The man sighs. She hears the sound of footsteps, the annoyed huff of the new matron, her sworn enemy. "She's been like this since we brought her in. The only thing we've gotten out of her is that she wants to go back to her old orphanage."

He tilts his head toward the matron, asking quietly, "The one just outside the Rich District, right?"

"Yes," The matron answers, not that Amanda would have spoke to him anyway.

Silently, she pulls her blanket up and around her like armor, still refusing to make eye contact.

The man steps a little closer. He can see the bulge of her stump, the small, swollen limb wrapped beneath the blanket.  "Did he make that for you?"

 Her fingers curl through the stitches, wary, but she tips her head, listening.

"For the Dawning last year, he gave me a scarf that’s nearly the same color. It's warm and cozy, much like that blanket."

She looks at him, then. Her eyes are dull, it's clear she thinks this is some game, because she all but looks right through him before looking back toward the window.

"I've known Commander Zavala for a long time," He continues. "We work together on many things. I heard from another friend of ours that he is very worried about you."

That certainly draws a reaction. She gasps as though she's come up for air, her seaglass eyes glossy with unshed tears, but focused. "H-" She clears her throat. "He is?"

"What? Executor-"

The child's stare narrows angrily on the matron for her intrusion. He can feel the force of her tiny wrath.

"Leave us," He says to the matron, who sputters but complies.

The man pulls up a chair to her bedside. She scooches back, clearly unsure of the newcomer, regardless of who he claims to know, pulling her blanket up to her chin. "Can he come visit me? I-if he'd wanna?" She looks at him in concern, balling her fists to keep them from shaking.

"Did he come visit you often, before?" The man's eyes are not unkind. It's clear, if nothing else, he feels sympathy for her.

"He sat with me at night,' She murmurs, sniffling.

"I see." The man crosses his right leg over his left, slouching comfortably. "I don't think he knew you were moved," He tells her. It's a safer line of explanation than the truth, considering what the matron had told him when he arrived about her meltdown. "I'm going to see him shortly, and I'll make sure he knows he can come to see you any time he wishes."

She doesn't answer him, hugging the blanket to her tightly. Her closed off posture and behavior are not going to wavier, he can tell. Thus, he does not linger, rising without another word.

When he gets to the doorway, she drawls after him, "Ya promise?" 

Hideo turns back. "Absolutely."

[bighrted]

*  minecraft villager noise * —- hello , hello folks !! my name is amanda ( 19 & she/they ) and dfgksdfhgsd …. let me tell y’all now how excited I am to be in this group. I can’t wait to meet everyone + your charas !! but anyway …….. I bring to you a mega papabear, dean diallo :^) there’s some info + wanted connections under the cut !

( TREVANTE RHODES + CIS MALE ) ——— DEAN DIALLO ? twenty-eight years old. born in ontario, canada and living in jackson, colorado for nineteen years. a college graduate, already a high school english teacher. he’s worrisome, but also intelligent.

details…

belly laughs, soft touches, grading papers for hours on end, formal clothes, genuine happiness, the out-of-the-blue feeling of thankfulness, letting your daughter put makeup on you, ability to nap anywhere, scruffy facial hair .

owns 1 pair of sweatpants for weekends only, steel toe boots, shirt cuffs rolled up, dark blazers, fuzzy socks, wristwatches, funky looking boxers, vests, black leather belts, a hand-me-down bowtie .

personality …

positive: nurturing, humorous, intelligent

negative: worrisome, overprotective, stubborn

a boy with big brown, hopeful eyes. he grew up in a fast-paced city and yet, somehow managed to stay calm and collected. a confused dean and his father -- who looked inconsolable -- moved in with his grandparents in jackson, colorado; he wasn’t sure where his mother was. but when he was older & able to handle what had really happened, he started to miss & wonder about her less.

curious boy with a curious mind. while some teenagers his age were doing very illegal things & getting into pointless drama, dean was at the library. content & reading up about the world’s history. there was nothing he loved more than “expanding his horizons”. & he planned on doing so until he knew everything there is to know.

important info …

warning : there’s a brief mention of depression .

bisexual | ravenclaw | esfp | virgo

has a corgi named monty who he AdOREs

knows how to shoot a gun fairly well because his best friend ( a police officer ) taught him @ a shooting range

dude is FOND of english lit -- if you want to get on his good side, talk about to kill a mockingbird ( aka his favourite book )

was born in toronto, ontario to loving parents, amelia ( mother ) & lekan ( father )

he had a very typical childhood --- until the age of 9 when his mother unexpectedly left with only a goodbye note to be remembered by

his father was . . . reasonably quite upset by his love leaving as you might expect & he slowly slipped into a depression

fearing dean wouldn’t get the love & attention he needed as a growing boy, the boy’s father decided to move to colorado -- where his own parents lived ; he figured being around them while he’s dealing with his “ issues ” would be far better than him being alone

after that bump in the road, his adolescence was average once again

dean was a very smart person ; things just naturally came easy to him -- which was both a curse & a blessing. many people didn’t like dean because of his effortless intelligence & this made it quite hard for him to make friends during high school

and then he met his ( now ) wife, riley --- long story short..... they had an instant connection & fell in love :””)

8 years later  ;  the couple are happily married, have a 4-year-old daughter named adelina & dean finished college + has a stable job as a high school teacher

he’s also currently searching for his mother in hopes of reconnecting but honestly........ doesn’t have much hope that 1) he’ll find her & 2) she’ll be interested in meeting

oh -- also... his dad is a nurse & would teach him different things here & there. so he has some knowledge on first-aid

connections ideas …

friends : best friends, close friends, childhood friends, unlikely friends, internet friends

enemies : frenemies, friends turned enemies, mutual dislike due to a misunderstanding

he’s currently married rn so no romantic connections :(

A N Y T H I N G !

i hope this is everything i wanted to include jkdfs tysm for reading about my boo !!!!!!! please hmu @ any time to do some chatting or plotting :^)

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

Me: I’m just going to do a really quick, shitty AU Captain Spock (green wrap edition) and First Officer Kirk sketch. 

Also me: 

Captain Spock and First Officer Kirk head canons:

A young science officer Kirk was so frustratingly good at chess that he was known to intentionally lose an occasional chess game to his brother George just so that he would at the very least have someone -- anyone -- to play with him. (It was lonely for a nerd in Iowa.) 

Pubescent Captain Spock was a confirmed nightmare. There was a legitimate emo “I hate my dad” phase. In an act of defiance he once tested out a risque human gesture which involved making the hand into a fist and then raising the middle finger, resulting in the longest grounding of Spock’s childhood. Amanda was inconsolably amused. Sarek was not.

Cadet Kirk nearly fell out of his chair when Commander Spock walked into his chess club, sat down, and just silently started a game with him. He resisted the urge to geek out hard because he knew exactly too much about the commander: his innumerable accolades and accomplishments, what it meant to Starfleet to have him, the only Vulcan known to turn down a position at the Vulcan Science Academy -- the sheer intelligence, the strength of will, the raw talent it took for him to earn the reputation he had -- 

“Cadet Kirk. There is a notable tremor in your hand. Are you quite alright?” Jim made some strangled noise around the lump in his throat that sounded something like consent and nodded just in case his awkward attempt at communication had failed him.

Spock was walking away after personally asking Jim if he felt ready and capable of supporting him by filling both Science and First Officer positions on his newly appointed ship. It was a tall and ambitious order, but Spock made a point of informing Kirk that he felt confident in Jim’s abilities -- so much so that Kirk was his first choice without hesitation. Jim was so utterly grateful that the Vulcan had turned and walked away when he did, because Jim’s knees were weak. He was so shocked that for a moment his head swam, he felt tingles in his extremities -- Oh God don’t faint here! He stumbled sidelong against the wall and shimmied around the corner before letting himself slide down the wall, cradling his head in his hands with his knees drawn up under his chin. He was certain he was having a panic attack right now, his chest was so full of joy and other wild and flailing emotions that he thought his ribs might crack from the pressure of holding it in. He wanted to dance, scream, and cry his tired eyes out. The most promising and anticipated individual to be promoted to Captain in the fleet would command the Enterprise; people were clamoring to showcase what they had to offer in the hopes of being aboard the first and only ship with a Vulcan captain, who also happened to hold the current highest aptitude in the history of the fleet. People were giving their all just to get to set foot on that ship as a crew member. Oh God. Oh God. I’m going to be second in command. Oh God! He had never wanted anything else so badly in the entirety of his life. On shaky legs he worked his way back up to his feet, taking massive gulps of air. He fled to his dorm on legs he still did not quite trust and swore to himself he would not. Cry. Out of every single qualified candidate in Starfleet, Spock went out of his way to personally approach me -- to ask me to be his First Officer. ME!!! He threw himself into the room and slammed the door, collapsing onto his bed and no, he didn’t cry. What he did was more akin to silently sobbing.

My Original Captain Spock & First Officer Kirk art/meta More Captain Spock and First Officer Kirk art

[furioushoneybadger]

A letter for your suicide

What’s the name of the feeling you get when you remember that your idol killed themselves? That ugly choking feeling that burns your eyes and makes your chest sink in on its self? Does anyone know? Well whatever it is that’s how I’ve been walking around for that past week. Every time I remember that you’re dead my eyes burn and can feel my lip quivering. At night I google your name to see what’s being said about you. Maybe that isn’t healthy, but I can’t stop myself, I need to know. 

About two months ago I dreamed you were dead. I forced myself awake and I reached for my phone in the dark, I googled your name frantically and was finally able to breathe when the search came back that you were fine. I fell back asleep a little shaken but relieved that you were fine. My favorite sarcastic and ever real dude, somewhere out there recovering from another adventurous night. Later that day I told my mami all about my dream and how real it’d felt. And how I wouldn’t know what to do if something ever actually happened to you. 

I woke up on June 8th to relive the nightmare from months before, you were dead. Dead by your own hand. I jumped out of my bed and frantically woke my sister, “Amanda! Amanda! He’s dead! Anthony is dead!” She looked at me and whispered, “No way. You were just talking about him.” I crawled back into my bed and sobbed. I was inconsolable. I cried because I didn’t want you to be dead. I’m selfish like that. I wanted you alive to keep teaching me about the world, to keep inspiring me to be my authentic self. I cried because you had given me so much during a time in my life when I was so hopeless waking up alive felt like a punishment.

 I’d watch your show and pretend to go on adventures with you. I’d watch your show and fell in love with cooking. You and food became the therapy that saved my life. God fucking damn it Anthony. You’re gone and I’m not ready to say good bye. I had this fantasy where I’d meet you one day and thank you for everything. Now what? Now what do I do?

On June 8th I cried all day. I went to my mami’s room to wake her up and I told her you were gone she hugged me and cried with me. She knew how much you meant to me. She knew you had been a really strong influence on my life. She had seen how you changed me. 

All day i cried because I was terrified to learn how you’d died. I kept hoping and wishing it’d been an accident. Mixing too many pills with alcohol. Heroin. Too many sleeping pills. I needed your death to be an accident. That you didn’t really mean to leave. But at night when I read you’d hanged yourself, my heart finished breaking. You meant to do it. You chose to jump into The Great Perhaps without saying good bye. 

Anthony I’m not judging you nor am I angry. We all have the right over our own lives. We make decisions for ourselves. You made your decision and I respect that. But it doesn’t mean that I can’t be broken over it. 

Last week passed in a daze. I was disassociating so hard half of the week I felt like I was floating. I felt faint. I broke down at the grocery store when I went to get groceries for my family for the first time since your death. You’re the reason why I care about food, why I care about sharing food with everyone I love. 

I’m not going to change, food and community will always define me. I have you to thank for that.

Where ever you are my dude, I’m mad sad you’re gone. I miss you and I love you. I hope you’e comfortable and free of any aches. 

Goodnight, sweet prince and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

[dr0wnedatsea]

A year & some months in review

14 Months ago

I decide I will give the CPA a shot. New year, new goals. My mother decides she’ll find her comfort in wine. New year, old habits.

12 Months ago

Time. Sure, it kept moving but I felt stuck within the confinements of the four walls of my office. My life stood unaltered and kept its fast pace while it seemed like everyone around me got to slow down and catch their breath. Jealousy. I needed to catch my breath.

11 Months ago

My dad gets COVID. My biggest worry of the pandemic comes to fruition. I watched delirium from extended fevers kick in. The rise of my heart-rate every time a new coughing fit began. My then boyfriend relentlessly harassing me about the unknowing exposure to his family I caused over the phone. My first full blown anxiety attack since 2013. Two weeks of this.

10 Months-8 Months ago

Heightened anxiety. Endless stress. Excessive guilt. Ruminating. A lot of checking things. Rain sounds. Loneliness. I don't remember much else.

7 Months ago

I was going to write a rise and a fall but can you fall if you’re already feeling so low? A plop? I have described this moment as my vision being foggy with everything in black and white and then suddenly being shaken only to see in bright vivid color. A click. I knew this was coming and for the first time recently I expressed out loud that maybe I just didn't want to admit it to myself. I end my 6 year relationship over the phone because I can't even stomach looking him in his face. I immediately vomit and put myself to sleep afterwards. I am sitting at my desk the next morning as if it is normal. 

6 Months-3 Months ago

The seven stages of grief:

Shock & denial- A lot of calls to Arielle and Amanda on my car rides or in line at the bank drive through. Repetitive internal thoughts that had to be rehashed out loud to someone else for re-assurance that I didn't make some crazy decision based off delusions in my head as if my test results weren't enough.

Pain & guilt- Did I make the right decision? (Yes Gab) Did I cause irreparable damage? (You didn't do anything wrong Gab) What if he is inconsolably angry and upset? (WHAT ABOUT YOU GAB) Should I have ended things in person and not the phone? (YOU DID WHAT YOU COULD HANDLE AT THAT TIME GAB)

Anger & bargaining- Funny enough, I think this stage is what I experienced the least. There is a very good chance you gave your affection and attention to another woman based on events and test results? There is no anger & bargaining at that point, there is only disgust. The block button. 

Depression- Ah, an old friend. Let’s be honest, this was already a lingering issue before the end of my relationship and even before the beginning. My thoughts were hard to manage before any of this was an issue at hand. One night I was crying into his arms because I was just not happy and could not figure out why. I couldn't conceptualize the idea then that the person holding me while I cried was the one making me feel empty.

The upward turn- This came soon after I realized that suddenly I felt a lot more peaceful in my day to day life. When I sat back and thought, hey I am feeling a lot calmer than I have in years. When the repetitive thoughts got a lot quieter.

Reconstruction & working through- I worked on one thing a week (no matter how simple of a task) once I found my footing after the initial shock. Week one: vitamins. Week two: Hair care. Week three: Gym routine. Week four: Watch things you love. Week five: Find new hobbies and so on. I have been through heartbreak before, I knew I had to pour everything into me and create new routines. Working through the idea that I think I was with someone who had narcissistic tendencies is still in progress.

Acceptance & hope- I want the word acceptance tattooed on me.  There are just some things I will not have control over whether that be the process, the outcome or the details along the way. Acceptance has always been an everyday thing for me and I think it always will be. I am hopeful because I realized I am the whole package but was at the wrong doorstep for quite some time. 

2 Months ago-now

A realization: I was pouring out of an empty cup because I thought that was what love is. 

Love is not forgoing your needs for your partner. Love is not being put down for the sake of honesty. Love is not walking on eggshells. Love is not fear of the future. Love is not being scared to speak your mind. Love is not draining.

More time with friends. More time with family. Self care- a lot of it. Journaling. Putting time into new and old hobbies. Getting outside. Moving my body. Sleeping. Picking up books again. Righting wrongs.

Doing what I want when I want for me because I love me and somewhere along the line I forgot that that is enough. 

[dkunk11]

What a long week.

It started off with me working 28 hours in 3 days, so I could leave early both Thursday (hip doctor for me) and Friday (Rylee’s 6 month appointment).

Pretty much all week Rylee didn’t sleep well since she was sick, but Wednesday into Thursday was horrible. Rylee literally wouldn’t sleep unless you were holding her. I got probably 3 hours of sleep total that night.

Thursday came and Amanda took her to the doctor’s, a few docs checked her out and told her to take her to children’s. I left work at 11 and met them there. We discharged with a diagnosis of ear infection and a UTI, they gave us a script for antibiotics.

We were taking shifts at night and I fed Rylee around 11PM which she only took two ounces. She then became inconsolable, so I had to wake Amanda up around 11:30. We checked her temp and it was 101.5, she then threw up a little bit later so we made the decision to take her back in.

They knew right away that we would be admitted so she could be monitored and get fluids. They also gave her IV antibiotics. She threw up 2 more times before she was admitted. We didn’t get admitted till about 7AM because all the beds were full (something like 700 beds, this flu thing is real this year).

She finally started to take and keep down some fluids and we were discharged around 5PM.

We had a couch/bed that we took some naps on, but since about 4:00AM Thursday, i have had around 6 hours of sleep. On top of this, Amanda starts her class tomorrow so I will be the one to get up with Rylee if she wakes up overnight.

Sorry for the long post, but there’s my update.

[leisurelypanda]

Life is Good chapter 16

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11676360/chapters/27430023

Thanksgiving Day was, blessedly, uncomplicated. Beyond the actual cooking itself (Craig handled the turkeys), preparing for the family to arrive was actually quite easy. Andrew made Amanda’s favorite cherry pie without catching fire even once (they were all very impressed). The only tricky thing was what to do with Carl Jr. He was about 9 months old now and big enough to pose a threat to any food left on the counter top. They were trying to train that out of him, but as yet, they had not managed to eradicate the behavior entirely. The simplest solution would be to keep him in the basement and close the doors to the laundry room and the workout room so he couldn’t get into too much trouble.

“I think it’s cruel that Carl Jr. isn’t getting any turkey while the rest of us stuff our faces,” Amanda said after they had closed the door.

“You’re right,” Andrew replied. “It’s not fair. It’s also not fair to leave entire turkeys up where a puppy can get to and choke on a bone.”

“Fair point.” She said. “It’s for your own good, boy.”

“You’re not allowed to go back to college,” he said, hugging her. “I miss having you around too much.”

“Ugh, dad, feelings,” she replied. “As much as I’d love to stay and befriend our first dog, I got pictures to take, things to steal, establishments to break. You know, normal college stuff.”

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Now help me set up the tables.”

Smashley was the first to arrive, naturally. She came through the door with a store bought pumpkin pie, set it on the counter, and was immediately attacked by her twin daughters. Andrew immediately thought that it was going to be awkward seeing her again, especially since he was very seriously dating Craig now, but she just gave him one of her bear hugs that was half hug, half tackle, and half the reason for her unfortunate nickname.

“Andrew! Dude! How ya been, man?” she nearly shouted at him. “You never write, you don’t call, honestly I feel forgotten.”

“Hey Smashley, good to see you again,” he said with a bit of a nervous chuckle. They settled into a bit of a tense catching up session, her talking about her life and what she was up to these days, and him talking about what happened after they all graduated from college. Eventually she looped her arm around his.

“Can I talk to you? Alone?” she asked. Andrew looked at Craig who just smiled and waved them off.

“Sure, I guess,” he said. Please don’t kill me please don’t kill me please don’t kill me please don’t kill me.

They went outside, which at this point in Maine meant that it was cold as hell. Their breath made puffy clouds and there was a light layer of snow on the ground, good for stomping around in, but not good for making snowmen yet. It was peaceful, serene even. Across the way, Andrew could see Damien’s garden, which was beautiful and vibrant lie barren for the season. Damien had sold dozens of bouquets to the local flower shops before they all ended up dying. It was exactly the sort of relaxing atmosphere for too friends to catch up.

Or for a murder to happen, he thought to himself.

“Relax, champ, I’m not going to beat you up,” Smashley chided playfully. “I just want to know how it’s going between you two.”

Andrew swallowed, not yet reassured. “Things are great. Couldn’t be happier.”

“Good,” she said. “He certainly seems more relaxed than I’ve seen him in years. Every time he drops the girls off, he seems less like a lost puppy than he used to, though I doubt he’ll ever be okay with being away from them.”

“You should have seen him when he sent them to that sports camp over the summer,” he said. “A full week without them, he was inconsolable the first couple days.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “That sounds exactly like him. But seriously, ever since you two got together, he’s been better. Grounded.” She turned to face him fully, her face very serious. “Thank you.”

Andrew blinked. “For what?”

“For doing what I never could,” she replied. “I was actually afraid that he would run himself into the ground. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.”

Andrew was honestly touched. He released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “You’re welcome,” he said. They hugged again, gentler this time, like two friends who had been apart for a long time reuniting. ****************************************************************************************************

Finally everyone had arrived and the meal was ready. Andrew was most worried about his daughter. Amanda had made friends with Craig’s mother, Brooke, who was now teaching her how to play poker over turkey and fixings. A lesson, which Andrew, Craig, his sister, and her husband all got roped into at the table in the living room, angled so that Brooke could simultaneously keep track of the football game. Together the two of them took all comers and soundly thumped them all. Fortunately they only played with poker chips and not actual money, otherwise Andrew would be completely broke.

“Good thing we aren’t playing strip poker, eh, boy?” Brooke teased. “You’d be buck ass nude and then I couldn’t teach your daughter a damn thing.”

“Ugh, Gramms!” Amanda protested. “Thanks for that image.”

“Leave him be, mom,” Craig said. “At least we know that he won’t blow our life savings.”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied drinking her beer. “You’re just happy we weren’t playing strip poker cause by now you’d be all hot and bothered.”

Craig’s face turned bright red. “Mooom! I’d at least try to be decent around the family,” he protested.

“Why?” she asked downing what was left of her drink. “I don’t.” As if to emphasize her point, she rose up and slammed her drink down to the table. Her team was losing. “What the fuck was that play? What the fuck were you thinking, you half brained jackasses! I could play better with both hands tied behind my back!”

Andrew leaned over to Craig. “Bro, is your mom always like this at Thanksgiving?”

Craig nodded solemnly. “She thinks that nothing in the English language is off limits as long as it’s said well. Which usually comes out when football’s on.”

“How did I miss this when we were younger?”

“I think we were usually a mile high or drunk or in a food coma or a combination of the three,” he said. “I mean, you practically lived with us for a while, bro. It’s amazing that you didn’t know.”

Since the poker game was interrupted by poor football prospects, Amanda made her way over to their side of the table.

“Yo Pops, my new Grandma is the bomb,” she said. “Can we keep her?”

“I don’t think the freezer downstairs is big enough, Manda Panda” he joked. Craig snorted into his drink.

“Daaaaad, she can just sleep on the couch and we can get a rocking chair so she can sit out on the lawn and yell at rowdy teenagers, it’ll be fun!” she said.

“Much as I would like to keep my mother around as a constant corrupting influence on my young daughters,” Craig said, “I’m the youngest, so I’m the last in line to have to take care of her.”

His sister, Rose, heard that from the other end of the table. “What was that, little brother, I’m first in line?” she asked. “No no, as the most successful of us, you’re the first one up for taking care of her in her old age.”

“Who are you calling old?” their mother demanded.

“You mom, you’re 65,” she said.

“None of you are allowed to call me old ‘til I’m on my deathbed!” she declared. “So you’re all gonna be waiting a long damn time!”

Amanda laughed loudly. “See, we have to keep her!” ****************************************************************************************************

Later that evening, as Craig and Andrew were lying down on their bed, Craig turned to his bro and said, “I love you. Happy Thanksgiving, bro.”

Andrew smiled back. “Happy Thanksgiving, bro. I’m so grateful to be with you.” ****************************************************************************************************

Black Friday was spent, oddly enough, not at the office, as Andrew half expected. Rather, when he awoke in the morning and wandered out into the living room, he found Craig trying to teach River how to walk. He held her arms up gently with her feet set on the floor in front of him. She was making hesitant steps as Craig cheered her on.

“Morning workout seems a bit different this morning,” Andrew quipped.

“Tiny bro has her regimen, too, dude,” Craig said without looking up.

“Does this mean I get a rest day?” he asked.

“Just for that I’m gonna push you even harder today.” He teased. He let River go to let her stand for a while.

“Nice knowing ya, Popsicle,” Amanda said from the couch.

“Make sure to say something nice at the funeral,” he replied. “Something poetical. Something with imagery.”

“I’ll write a haiku,” Amanda promised.

Just then River fell to the ground and began crying. Craig knelt down and began encouraging her and helping her get back into a standing position. She sniffled, but let him help her go through some clumsy steps. Just then Carl Jr. trotted into the room wagging his tail slightly as he sniffed River. River smiled and let go of Craig’s fingers and reached out and grabbed Carl’s fur, using him to cruise around. Carl didn’t seem to mind and walked around slowly as he supported her tiny body. Amanda took out her phone and began taking a video of the two of them as Andrew and Craig heaped gobs of praise on both the baby and the dog.

The effect was eventually ruined by River falling down on her butt. She started crying in frustration, but Carl Jr lay down behind her and began to lick her face. Her crying stopped and she began giggling. The lesson officially ended as River began playing with Carl’s fur and ears.

“Amanda,” Craig said. “Can you watch them? I’m gonna kill your dad.”

“I’m not even dressed yet!” he protested.

“You have a t-shirt and pajama pants. Just throw some shoes on, what more do you need?”

“Have fun!” she cheered as Craig dragged Andrew down to the basement. ****************************************************************************************************

True to his word, Andrew felt like he was dying. By the time Craig announced he was done, his entire upper body felt like it was about to disintegrate. Craig, on the other hand, looked great, even if he himself had gone as hard as he had pushed his bro. His biceps were pumped, his chest was heaving, and his shirt was so sweaty it clung to his body and Andrew found it difficult to be cross with his bro while he looking so sexy.

Be that as it may, even if Craig were in the mood, he didn’t think he had the energy to have sex with him. He also just wanted to get in a shower and wash himself off.

“Hey bro,” Craig said, bumping his shoulder with his fist. “You did good today, I’m really impressed with how far you’ve come.”

Andrew blushed despite himself. “Thanks, I couldn’t have done it without you,” he replied.

Craig gave that toothy grin. Dammit I’m supposed to be angry and he’s being cute. “Aw bro, you’re gonna make me blush.”

Andrew gave in and grinned. “Much as I enjoy complimenting each other, I’d love to wash off. I feel gross.”

“Wanna save water?” Craig asked.

Andrew grinned and his dick expressed interest. Maybe I do have a little energy left over after all. ****************************************************************************************************

Amanda was trying really, really hard not to think about how long her dad and Craig had been in the shower and focus on introducing the twins to one of her favorite shows: Warehouse 13. She was, after all, 18 and knew that there was a limited number of things people did in the shower. So far, Briar had declared that Artie was her favorite character and Hazel threw her lot in with Myka. River wasn’t paying much attention, as she had curled up on the floor with Carl Jr and fallen asleep and Carl lay his head protectively in her lap. Amanda had gotten lots of great pictures that she fully intended to frame and put on a wall somewhere in the house.

Just then Andrew and Craig walked out of their room, clean and refreshed. Their eyes took in everything that was happening. The show, the twins captivated by the show and River and Carl sleeping together on the floor.

“Please tell me that you got pictures of that,” Craig stage whispered. “This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Hell yeah, dude,” Amanda replied in like fashion, holding up her camera. “I couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this!”

Craig walked over to her to give her a fist bump, but his plans were ruined. Amanda got up and hugged him. Craig was a bit surprised but returned it gently.

“I love being part of this family,” she said.

Craig smiled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his bro wipe his eye. “Me too, Amanda. Me too.”

[initiala]

Casual Intimacy - COMMENTARY

@spartanguard and @yayimallamaagain both asked for me to do commentary on this Captain Hood AU. It’s sexual and slashy, so if it’s not your cup of tea, please keep scrolling

Thanks @unfolded73 for bringing this back, it was fun!

It felt like they’d known one another forever. They moved together on the field with ease, passing without thinking, sensing where the other was – just knowing they would be there with the assist. They stayed up late in the common area, going over plays and devising new ones, finishing each other’s thoughts late into the evening until someone inevitably reminded them about morning drills and the need for sleep. When one had a bad day, the other knew and was often the first to drag him out for a pint and some mindless entertainment to cheer him up. They had similar pre-game rituals, sat next to each other on roadies, and their teammates were surprised when one was seen without the other. They laughed and took the piss out of each other like the oldest of mates, but Killian and Robin had only been playing together since their first year at uni – sorry, freshman year.

Let’s start off with the hows of this story. Tina and I were chatting while I was at work one night and we were mostly bemoaning the fact that Oncers tend to stick very... safe and vanilla with their ships and smut. (where is the Sea DeVil tentacle porn I ask you??) It turned into how it’s interesting to actually have a fandom where there’s so much f/f compared to the sea of m/m, but then we were like “... okay but outside of Captain Charming ARE there any serious m/m ships?” And so here we are.

(Killian still had some trouble wrapping his mind around the linguistic differences between American and British English. At least he’d known better than to ask to borrow someone’s rubber in the middle of class.)

Sorry, Emma Watson, it’s just too funny not to throw in.

Regardless, he’d certainly heard of Robin Locksley before decamping to America and Robin had heard of Killian Jones; the amateur competitive football world was small back home and everyone knew who was being scouted by the leagues and by the universities. Locksley was good, a striker with the makings of an excellent skipper one day. They’d never played against one another, but everyone kept tabs on the big names.

There was a big to-do about if they’d play on the same team or just run into each other in the locker rooms a lot, but I’m me and it got sticky on the sport schedules. Killian was on the swim team for a while at the beginning but Robin was always on the footy team and so Killian eventually made his way over there to make it easy.

(No one had ever thought to mention how ruddy fit Locksley was. Oh, he’d noticed at first – beautiful people drew his eye in that way – but he’d had a few other dalliances before realizing just how bloody fucked he was when it came to Robin Locksley. It was during a rain delay that Killian had realized he was absolutely fucked when it came to Robin. They’d gotten caught in a downpour during warm-up drills and everyone had gotten soaked through, but Killian had zeroed in on how Robin’s kit clung to his well-defined muscles and the water ran down his chiseled jaw and bloody fuck he was well and truly fucked.. He’d also decided then that an artist should capture Rob’s beauty in marble, like the Greeks. Though it wouldn’t capture the way the sun glinted off his hair and made it shine, or the way his cheeks dimpled when he laughed, or the cold fury in his eyes when another player committed an unnecessary slide tackle and injured one of their teammates.)

The fact that they’d both been scouted for this small university’s football team – rather, soccer, as the Americans stubbornly continued calling it – just happened to be a twist of fate.

A rather cruel one, if he was going to be melodramatic about it – which he was apparently rather adept at, according to Swan.

Swan was his roommate, a lacrosse player with a mean right hook, a passion for grilled cheese, an old Volkswagen Beetle that he was constantly trying to keep running for her, and a penchant for throwing her pre-law books at him when he was in one of his “melodramatic moods”. And yes, Emma Swan was a girl – woman, as she and her friend Snow were fond of reminding him.

The university’s rather liberal policy of gender neutral residence halls had ended up quite in his favor, despite the book-throwing. While even he could admit that Swan was a striking example of womanhood, his tastes ran more towards the men. And sharing a room with another man had always run hit-or-miss for him in the past. Swan hadn’t even batted an eye that first year, offhandedly mentioned an ex-girlfriend named Lily, and then asked if his practice schedule was as grueling as hers.

This is also the “everyone is bi/gay AU”. And let me tell you, I was so happy to go to a university housing conference and learn all about the (slow) changes being made to allow different genders rooming together! While it’s VERY SLOW GOING (this is higher education we’re talking about, it’s slow turtles all the way down), most public universities and quite a lot of private ones are shifting policies to accommodate preferences for LGBT students.

They’d been the best of friends ever since.

“If I have to hear you sigh over Robin’s quads one more time, I’m banishing you to the lounge for the night,” she grumbled, highlighting something in a textbook.

“They’re just so–”

“Perfect, so I’ve heard. Just ask him out already.”

“I had to wait fifteen minutes before I could shower,” Killian said, flopping back on the futon with one of his lit texts. “Bloody git took forever.”

“Scandalous,” she remarked, her voice dry. “Can’t even shower together. Oh wait, yes you can, because half the LAX team is gay and we have no problem.”

“Women don’t have knobs, bit different,” he retorted.

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “There is nothing sexy about a locker room, Jones. Quit being a – a, what is it you always call Will?”

“Bellend,” he deadpanned.

British insults are a delight and thank you Gavin Free for using them constantly so I’m on form.

“Right, that. Stop being a bellend and just say something. And don’t give me another speech about ruining the team ‘vibes’.” She actually used air quotes, the sarcasm dripping from her tongue. “If nothing else, you have to learn to keep personal shit off the playing field. Or use it as fuel during a game.”

Either Tina or Steph were like “oh thank god you made ‘vibes’ sarcastic I would not allow this otherwise” during the beta/preview process, I forget. But either way.

Killian sighed, resting his book on his face. She was right, he knew she was right, but when it came to actually admitting his own feelings, he was the biggest chickenshit – one of Swan’s delightful Americanisms that had rubbed off on him.

He just didn’t know how Rob would react.

Tina has never gotten over calling Robin Hood Rob. It’s hysterical to me.

It wasn’t as if his teammates didn’t know about his sexuality; as Swan had said, coming out to his mates hadn’t ruined any of the team’s closeness. Locksley had clapped his shoulder, thanked him for his trust and honesty, and assured him that the team would do their best to return that trust and honesty.

Well, that was all very well and good when stating a general interest in men and women, but in Killian’s experience, men who had no interest in other men tended to react… poorly.

To put it mildly.

“Rob’s not like that.” Swan’s quiet voice broke through his thoughts.

“What, are you a mind reader now, love?”

She snorted. “No, that’s you. I just recognize that silence.”

“Come here.”

She did, dragging her textbook with her and settling against his side on the futon. She could be a pain in his arse sometimes, but she also knew the value of physical contact; he was, admittedly, more free in his general affection towards friends, but he counted himself lucky to be one of the small handful of people that Swan regularly showed any sort of affection towards.

Hi, my name is Amanda and I’m a goddamn CS shipper until my last breath on this miserable Earth and I WILL MAKE THEM SNUGGLE. PLATONICALLY OR NOT. It was SO HARD to keep their hands off each other, seriously. Just... jump on in there, Emma. You, Killian, Robin. It’ll be a grand time.

“I’ll bring it up tomorrow,” Killian said quietly.

Swan made a noise as if she didn’t entirely believe him, and truth be told he didn’t entirely believe himself, but it was said and it would be enough for her to hold him to it. “I have a test tomorrow,” she told him, settling more comfortably into the crook of his arm.

He breathed a laugh and pulled her in closer, picking his own book back up to get some reading done before he was too inconsolable to think of studying.

Perhaps Swan was right about his inclination towards the melodramatic.

His body may have been at practice, but his head clearly wasn’t. He was passable at drills, but he was easily distracted during the scrimmage and it did not go unnoticed.

“Jones,” Robin called.

His skip’s voice cut through the locker room chatter. Killian paused only after securing a towel around his own hips, ready to half-drown himself in the showers after that abysmal practice. “Aye, mate?”

Robin made his way through their teammates, giving Killian a critical once-over before speaking. “You alright?” he asked, dropping his voice now.

Even I don’t know if Robin was checking him out or not. Also, same sex pairings make pronouns THE W O R S T.

Killian glanced up, then away, irritated at himself for a multitude of reasons now. “Aye. Long night. Sorry, skip, I’ll get right tomorrow.”

Robin was silent for a moment, then reached out and clapped Killian’s shoulder. Killian had to fight the urge to lean into it, to show how the familiar gesture affected him as he stood there half-naked in the bloody locker room. “Shower up, we’ll go for a pint and a chat,” Robin ordered and turned before it could be argued.

So much for locker rooms not being sexy.

Killian stared after his friend’s retreating back, taking a long moment to compose himself and adjust the towel a bit before grabbing his caddy and stalking off to the showers.

The hot water and soap didn’t make him feel anything other than clean of sweat and grass stains. Try as he might, letting the water beat against his skin did nothing to relieve the guilt of giving less than his best or the anxiety gnawing at his gut at the conversation to come.

After he dressed, he went out into the hall to find Robin waiting for him. Wordlessly, they fell into step together, practice bags slung over their shoulders and hands shoved into their pockets. He followed Robin’s lead as they left the training facility and went down the street to their favorite dive bar – fairly empty at this hour, which would make Robin’s scolding easier to hear.

I don’t know why but I always envision this as a pub. I also have no idea where they’re going to university, so maybe there is an English-style pub near their facilities.

They ordered, and after the waitress brought their pints, they each took a long drink as Robin regarded Killian thoughtfully over the rim. “So,” he said, setting his glass down. “Something’s eating at you. And don’t give me any nonsense about everything being fine or I’ll go talk to Emma and she’ll tell me what’s really going on with you.”

Killian winced, setting his own glass down. Swan absolutely would, if for no other reason than she was an abysmal liar. “That’s a low blow, Locksley.”

“Aye, but you’re a right stubborn bastard when you put your mind to it, so my hand is forced. You’ve never played so badly, not in all the years I’ve known you. Even after the mess with that lass Milah and then your disastrous rebound with Jefferson.”

Those had been easier to handle – after Milah left, there had been nothing for him but throwing himself into the game, leaving everything on the pitch until he was spent, an empty shell left for Swan to care for, making sure he ate and had a decent night’s rest. Jefferson had been an angry affair, both of them lost and angry and winding up hurting the other more. But it had only led to more fuel, something like a dam breaking in Killian’s soul that flooded his body with pain and rage and powering his game until he was left with only quiet and acceptance inside.

Please join me in a vision about Killian and Jefferson, basically hatefucking each other until they can’t breathe, but there’s a bunch of h/c involved too. Like the most ridiculous S/M relationship ever where they just use each other until they don’t need one another anymore. 

Also Milah didn’t die in this one, I don’t know the story but she’s still alive somewhere.

But this, this situation held more at stake.

Swan’s voice was in his head, telling him she’d hold him to his statement yesterday, but he reasoned that if such a confession went poorly he would have nowhere to turn. He’d left his feelings out on the pitch after Milah, after Jefferson, but the pitch was where Robin was. Robin was his friend, his teammate, his skipper.

Robin kept things grounded with the rest of Killian’s world had fallen apart.

No matter the universe, Killian always seems to have someone he revolves around. He needs a center!

Killian took a long pull from his glass, stalling for time. Thankfully, their food arrived, and both young men were too well-mannered to talk and eat at the same time – Robin’s family descended from some stuffy upper class lot, Killian’s mum drilling the mantra of “manners maketh man” into his head as a lad. During a lull, he finally said, “All twisted around about someone, s’all.”

His burger sat heavy like lead in his stomach, watching Robin’s face. Robin’s eyebrow lifted. “Enough to ruin your football? Don’t tell me it’s Emma.”

Killian tried not to laugh. Swan was gorgeous, but it wasn’t meant to be. “Roommates are off-limits, remember? Or have you and Regina started sharing a bed as well as a room?”

From Tina: “Or we could just go full on polyamorous with CS/OQ all fucking each other *___*”

Robin’s cheeks pinked and he stabbed a chip into the ketchup. “I should bloody well think not… Very well then, who are they?”

I do think there was a little something between them though. Killian is very comfortably bi in this universe, but Robin... he’s not really sure what he is, and he’s okay with that. I think he’s more pansexual than anything else but he’d probably be most comfortable with the catchall “queer”.

His mouth felt dry, no matter how much of his beer he drank – indeed, he drained the glass and still felt parched. The waitress came and got him a refill and Killian stopped himself from guzzling it down lest he hurry along his buzz. He hardly thought a drunken confession of attraction would make things any better. “It’s… complicated,” he finally said. “Telling them, it would change a great many things that I’m loathe to give up.”

He met Robin’s gaze then, willing him to understand the words he wasn’t saying, but he knew it often took a straight answer for things to sink in. Robin’s blank look confirmed that. Killian swallowed hard, then said, “I value our friendship too much, Rob, to allow my personal feelings to get in the way if it makes you uncomfortable. I apologize if this admission alters the way you think of me –”

Robin’s eyes widened and Killian shut up fast; Robin was a good man, but he’d known plenty of men who turned on a dime at the thought of a man desiring them. “Bloody hell, me?” Killian’s mouth opened wordlessly, an icicle of fear slicing down his back as he tried to figure out whether he should run for it now or go down swinging. Robin blinked, shaking his head. “Well. I have to admit, Jones, this is a surprise, but I can’t say I’m not flattered.”

Well, he does look at himself in the mirror every day.

It was Killian’s turn to blink, his emotions a complete jumble. “You’re not…”

Robin met his gaze. “Killian, don’t be a tosser, I’m not upset.”

Sometimes it’s just nice to have a fic where everything goes according to plan. No gay angst, no “never fall in love with a straight boy”, nothing. Just two boys who like each other and would look really good in bed together. I was very, ANNOYINGLY conscious about how “but is the other person gay” fanfic works and actively wanted to subvert it.

“Well, you don’t go shouting about your conquests in the locker room, so I couldn’t be sure if it would be received well or not.”

Robin grinned. “No, we’ll leave that to Will. As it happens, I suppose it’s never really mattered to me.”

Will Scarlett loudly and hungoverly discusses his Friday nights with anyone who will listen. Usually his teammates, not by choice.

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

There was a long pause and Killian fought the urge to gulp half his beer to fill the silence. His fingers must have twitched towards his pint, though, because Robin started to grin. “So, is this a date, then, or should we do one proper another time?”

Sometimes to break an awkward silence you created, you give a character a joke.

Killian stared, flabbergasted. “One - what? And two, are you seriously asking me out right now?”

“Well, you should probably be the one to do the asking, but you seem – for the first time in your life, I might add – at a loss for words.”

“Rob, don’t indulge me if you’re not serious about this.”

“Who says I’m not?”

“You’re being awfully flippant.”

“I’m not getting on one knee, if that’s what you want.”

No, Rob, he wants you on both knees. Preferably naked.

Killian felt his ears burning and he wasn’t sure what the cause of it was: embarrassment or anger, possibly a mix of the two. “Look, just forget it,” he said, balling up his napkin and tossing it on the table. He dug in his back pocket for his wallet, trying to look anywhere but at Robin; but when Killian opened the tri-fold to look for cash, he stilled when Robin’s hand covered his.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Killian looked up to see a soft, earnest look on his face that matched his voice. “I thought – well, occasionally humor helps to ease tension, and I see now that it was a mistake.”

“Too bloody right,” Killian muttered.

Robin’s hand was warm, an odd but nice mix of calluses and softness against his own skin. Killian called up every ounce of courage he had, then turned his hand over to clasp Robin’s. His friend looked surprised at the gesture, perhaps a little unsure of how to handle it, but seemed neither disgusted nor displeased. “We’ve got a match Saturday afternoon, but how about after dinner we ditch the team and take in a movie?”

Haaaaaaand poooooornnnnn.

There were normally team dinners after matches, so it made sense – no need to alert anyone of anything new developing. And Killian and Robin normally went out after matches, though normally with Emma or Regina and their friends (they’d agreed that both of their roommates were useful in separate situations: Emma might not be a wild party girl but her LAX teammates knew how to celebrate a victory, while Regina and her group knew the perfect way to drown out any anger at a loss)

“Alright,” Killian said. Then, feeling bolder and remembering Robin’s remark about humor, added, “Though just so you know, I don’t put out on the first date.”

Robin blinked and Killian thought his joke may have missed the mark, then Rob started to laugh. “You’re probably a bloody awful kisser anyway.”

He thought about proving him wrong right then and there – he’d received approximately zero complaints about his technique, thank you very much – but in all honesty Killian was too busy trying to hide the fact that he was now very much staring at Robin’s mouth, wondering how he kissed and what the combined sensations of their beards might feel like.

I’m very glad to never have to find this out. Folks with beards who kiss others with beards -- chime in.

Swan, bless her, did her best not to gloat when he told her what had happened later that night.

Now please imagine Killian screaming into his pillow and then panicking about their date.

Though given the fact that he couldn’t stop grinning, he probably wouldn’t have minded a bit of gloating anyway.

Their style of play didn’t falter and Killian’s ability returned now that he was free of the stress of any difficult conversations. He’d been out with Robin before and though he fundamentally knew this was different, part of him wasn’t able to truly understand that this was a date and not just two friends out on the town. Perhaps that’s why he could keep his head on straight over the next few days, even managing to score a goal and assist on two others to help win the match on Saturday.

It wasn’t until after the team dinner that Robin caught his gaze and gave him a meaningful look.

That’s when the waves of butterflies hit.

They took Robin’s truck – Killian had never gotten the hang of driving on the wrong side of the road and happily allowed others to chauffeur him around – and headed out to the shopping mall on the far side of town. There was a theater there that gave student discounts. Knowing their teammates, no one would be out that way celebrating, and it wasn’t likely that they’d run into Emma (the LAX team was on a retreat for the weekend) or Regina (who had an organic chemistry exam on Monday and had threatened to set anyone who disturbed her on fire).

A few things here. I (and Tina) really enjoy the image of Killian going “fuck it, no” and just demanding others drive him around. Usually with his feet on the dash of Emma’s Bug and she wants to smack him for it. It’s also very hard sometimes to do like... little canon nods without beating people over the head with it. Particularly with magical shows like this. So I took a concept that I (and Tina) really enjoy, that Regina is a science nerd with her little potions kit, and translated it to the worst possible subject, organic chemistry, and viola, a perfect excuse for a super stressed student to want to light someone on fire.

Killian had found that there was always an odd moment concerning who paid when on a date with a man, but it seemed that Robin had already thought of that. “You get tickets, I’ll buy snacks?” he asked as they jumped out of the truck.

“Sounds good to me.”

GOING DUTCH, WHY DO ANYTHING ELSE ahem

They wound up eating most of the popcorn halfway through previews, making snide comments to the other about trailers for this overblown blockbuster or that lackluster comedy. By the time the lights went out, Killian was feeling more relaxed, though it still felt decidedly more like friends hanging out rather than a date.

About forty-five minutes in, he decided to make it feel like a date.

It took another fifteen minutes to build the courage to do it, sneaking glances at the armrest that lay between them and Robin’s arm casually resting on it.

He felt Robin still when Killian took his hand, and almost withdrew, but then Robin’s fingers laced with his and Killian’s heart soared.

He couldn’t remember the rest of the movie if he tried.

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnddddddddddddddd poooooooooooooooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnnnnnnn I have a thing if you didn’t notice

They were quiet as they left, Robin’s hands casually tucked in his pockets. There weren’t many people leaving the theater at the same time, so Killian pretended to stumble, bumping their shoulders together and making Robin laugh. He nudged back and it turned into a little game, shoving one another until Robin finally just threw his arm around Killian’s shoulders. It was almost a headlock, and to anyone observing it would appear so, but he recognized it for what it was.

Maybe Robin understood the value of physical contact, too.

“So,” Robin said as he pulled up to Killian’s dorm a while later.

“Yeah.”

“That was nice.” Killian scoffed and Robin grinned. “Right, you have a better adjective?”

“I had a good time,” Killian said, his voice pitching high at the end, silently asking if Robin felt the same.

I always picture Killian’s voice cracking a little here, not just questioning but just nerves making his voice crack like he’s going through puberty all over again.

Robin smiled and reached over the center console to take Killian’s hand again. “I did too. Though perhaps next time we not dine with our teammates beforehand?”

“Is there a next time?”

“I’d like there to be.”

They stared at one another for a long moment until Killian smiled. “Alright. Next week?”

They had two more dates before the championship tournament hit, and Killian didn’t like to admit how it frustrated him to put whatever this was between them on hold for the sake of the game. At the same time, he knew it was more important to focus on winning, that there would be more time in the off-season, but he was frustrated all the same.

More because Robin seemed to hide behind his skipper mask, even when it was just the two of them discussing plays after a scrimmage.

He missed his friend. Or his… whatever this was.

~labels~

They won the next game, solidifying their place in the quarterfinals, but only by the skin of their teeth. Everyone was frustrated after the game, Robin snapped at everyone in the locker room, and Killian’s own frustrations at his own poor play combined with his personal frustrations towards Robin. He managed to hold his tongue until everyone else had gone, finally lashing out, “It’s enough that we’re aware of our own mistakes, mate, there’s no need to be a prick to us all on top of it!”

“I’m skipper, Killian, it’s my damn job to be a prick when you all deserve it!”

“And whose job is it to put you in your place when you’re being an unjust prick?!”

“Not yours, that’s for certain! Take it up with the manager if you have a problem with my skipping!”

now angerbang

this isn’t commentary so much as it’s me pointing out where they could have fucked before they actually fucked, but I wanted angsty shower sex so we had to wait

Killian fumed. “It’s not enough to know your team isn’t happy with their treatment? You stubborn arse, we selected you and we can damn well take that away. We know we won by the skin of our teeth, we know we need to do better next match, and trust me when I say we’re all going to be beating ourselves up over these mistakes until the next time we can go out there and prove we can do better than before.”

“It’s not enough,” Robin said, scowling.

“What should we do, Robin, become gods? Invest in a Time-Turner? Because the only way we can fix what already happened is to–”

Anything else he might have had to say was abruptly cut off, his ability to speak lost as Robin surged towards him, gripped his shoulders, and fused their mouths together.

If Killian had any lingering doubts about Robin’s intentions – if he was merely indulging Killian’s crush or humoring him so as not to cause any alienation or hurt feelings – they vanished. Hands moved slowly, from clutching to embracing, fingers tentatively twining in hair. They both were in need of a haircut, too superstitious about it at this stage in the game, but something deep and primal in Killian’s bones liked being able to twist his fingers through Robin’s hair as his tongue traced the seam of his lips and begged for entrance.

writing kissing is hard. I wish I could wax poetic about the difficulties of it, but really, writing about kissing fucking sucks sometimes. Kudos to everyone who can do it well.

He hadn’t any expectations for what kissing Robin Locksley would be like, hadn’t allowed himself to think that far ahead or get his hopes up. But even in his wildest fantasies he couldn’t have imagined this – there was a soft urgency to his kiss, unsaid words pushed into actions and touches and the soft glide of their tongues, and Killian could feel Robin’s restraint, how much he was holding back, his inability to lose control in this moment and give in to the feeling.

He vowed to work on that.

Both were breathless when they parted, only enough to get air. Their foreheads touched and Killian almost chuckled when Robin’s mustache tickled his lip. He liked this – really liked this – the feeling of Robin’s arms around him and their bodies pressed chest to thigh. Though, he did try to angle his hips away, feeling his cheeks heat up as he realized Robin could surely feel his erection pressed against his thigh.

But if Killian wasn’t mistaken, and he’d bet a lot that he wasn’t, Robin wasn’t feeling very calm after that himself.

“Bad form,” Killian said finally, giving in and resting his head on Robin’s shoulder. It was a bit awkward, as Robin was actually a bit shorter, but he liked it anyway.

“Are you really commenting on my technique?” Robin asked, sounding both amused and exasperated.

“No,” Killian said with a laugh. “Bad form for shutting me up in the middle of a tirade. As for the actual kissing, that’s a solid eight out of ten.”

you will also pry feminist Killian Jones from my cold dead fingers. While this isn’t a particularly feminist point at the moment, there’s an annoying trend in media where a heterosexual couple is arguing and the woman is rightly mad about something, and the man stops her yelling at him by kissing her. Don’t kiss someone to shut them up, especially in an argument. Anyway, that was the point of that line, to point out how it’s dumb.

“I’m going to regret asking how one scores a perfect ten, aren’t I?”

Killian only grinned.

It was a hard loss.

The weeks leading up to the finals had been good ones. Robin had eased up a little, leaving any discipline discussions up to their manager and refocusing his energies on team morale. He’d confessed to Killian that part of his outburst had been fueled by his nerves about advancing their relationship.

Killian, in turn, was too stunned about Robin defining this as a real relationship to comment.

Little touches had helped. Lingering shoulder claps or gentle touches when they thought no one was looking. Spending time together after practices also helped; Swan knew enough that they could hang out in Killian’s room without much fuss, but Robin wasn’t sure about Regina’s reaction just yet. If anyone asked, they were studying together. If anyone took a closer look, they’d notice Killian’s hand on Robin’s thigh, or the casual way Robin’s arm slung around Killian’s shoulders.

Well, maybe one didn’t need to look too much closer.

about as subtle as a kangaroo in a flock of flamingoes

Still, playing the last few matches with that kind of support, that kind of assurance, helped. They’d entered the final match with their heads held high – all of them, everyone on the team – but losing in the championship would sting regardless of their pre-game morale.

Losing 5-0 basically annihilated whatever morale they had left.

I had to do a lot of research on how soccer playoffs or whatever works. In case you were wondering, Stanford won the championship I researched.

The team was slow to leave the locker room. Robin had no rousing speeches or kind words – in fact, he had no words at all. No one spoke, the silence dulled only by the steady hiss of the showers and punctuated by the occasional slam of a locker. Everyone trickled out in ones and twos, their heads decidedly less high than they’d been earlier that morning, until only Killian remained in the main room.

Sometimes he did this, lingering in the locker room, letting himself feel whatever emotions he felt after a match without worry that anyone would see. Today he sat with his head in his hands, going over every play in his mind and trying to find what he could have done differently, what plays they could have made instead.

He heard both Robin and Swan in his mind, telling him not to do this to himself, that he knew better.

Well, he did know better, but it was all he could bloody think about.

Disgusted with himself, Killian stripped off his grass-stained jersey and shorts, tossing his dirty uniform into a bag to be washed and grabbing his towel and shower things; everyone else would be back at the hotel by now and he’d join them later, but right now he had to wash off the stink of failure.

It appeared he wasn’t alone in thinking that.

He hadn’t noticed the water still running, but there was a lone occupant in the communal showers: Robin. Killian tried to think back to the last time he’d seen him and concluded that his boyfriend had probably been trying to literally drown his misery for at least three quarters of an hour.

Thanks, crazed Quidditch captain of my heart Oliver Wood, for the inspiration here.

Boyfriend. That was still strange.

Killian dropped his things in the partition, then stepped into the steam. “Rob.”

Robin turned slightly and Killian’s heart broke all over again at the self-loathing and anguish on his face. It mirrored his own feelings, but actually seeing it made him push them away and focus on trying to make Robin feel better. Or at least stop looking like he’d never feel happiness again.

They are in a gay relationship and there is angst. It’s different than gay angst, and I had suuuuuuuuuuch a hard time making myself comfortable with that and hoping I wasn’t going to be another hum-drum angsty slashfic.

As Killian went to hug him, it dimly registered that not only was this the first time in several years that he was seeing Robin naked, it was the first time they were even touching one another in an intimate way without clothes. And there was nothing sexy about it. And that was perfectly fine.

They didn’t speak, the water beating down on both of them and keeping them warm as Killian held Robin close; and it wasn’t as if he disliked the way that Robin clung to him, he just wished it were for any other reason than misery. And he really had no idea how to make it better.

For anyone keeping score at home, Sean is 5′9″ and Colin is 5′11″. For your height difference needs.

“You’re going to prune,” he finally said, voice barely audible over the hiss of the water. Robin only nodded, tucking himself under Killian’s chin. “Did you wash at all?” This time Robin shook his head.

Well, that was easily taken care of. Killian eased back to grab his things, then set to work.

He always found value in casual displays of affection. Whether it was hugging friends or letting Swan sleep on his lap when they watched telly or now gently washing Robin’s hair, Killian knew that simple touch, simple gestures of care, warmth, and safety were so scarce these days that the extra effort was appreciated by anyone on the receiving end.

Preening or grooming is an important mating habit, jsyk

He raked his fingers through Robin’s hair, massaging the shampoo in and scrubbing out the sweat and lingering feelings of defeat. Robin’s eyes were closed and slowly his features relaxed, following Killian’s gentle lead to tip his head back under the spray to wash away the soap suds. Then came the body wash and Killian was hesitant as he lathered up his hands and spread them across Robin’s chest. It was then that Robin opened his eyes, meeting Killian’s hesitant gaze with his own. “Can you handle it?” Killian asked.

“Yes, I think so,” Robin said; it was hard to hear him over the sound of running water, his voice hoarse from shouting on the pitch and likely from the emotions that kept him shut away in his self-imposed confinement.

Killian nodded and stepped back, going to scrub his own hair while Robin got the soap.

He sighed as he stepped into the spray, scrubbing his fingers against his scalp and inwardly bemoaning the fact that he desperately needed a haircut. With finals coming up he’d be hard pressed to find time to get it done, though perhaps he’d ask if one of Swan’s teammates knew how to cut hair.

“Killian.”

He jerked up, wiping water out of his face as Robin took a step towards him. Their lips met and Killian grunted in surprise, hands automatically moving to cup Robin’s head and circle his waist. “Make me forget,” Robin whispered against his lips. “Make me feel good, Killian, please.”

Initially I set out to do like actual penetration sex, but then every single slash panel I’ve attended was like “LUUUUUUUUBEEEEEE” and I can’t just magic lube here like I could elsewhere. So then it came down to “well, sex can be a lot of things, and not all m/m sex is penetration”. Hence how it became trading angsty blowjobs.

His cock swelled at the words and nudged Robin’s. Killian swallowed hard, pulling back only enough to look his boyfriend in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

He didn’t want this to be something Robin regretted, this large of a step in their relationship brought on only by the urge to expunge negative feelings. But by God, did he want to.

Robin gave a small nod. “Yes.”

Killian surged forward, their lips crashing together and making Robin stumble back slightly. They turned so that Robin was practically pinned against the wall but for Killian’s hand reaching down to grip his ass. They both groaned, Robin’s hips jerking up as Killian kneaded and squeezed the firm muscle. Killian moved quickly, kissing a path down his jaw and gently biting the thick cords of Robin’s neck before reaching the juncture. He bit a little more hard, then sucked. Laving his tongue against the skin, desperate to mark him in some primal need to stake his claim, and squeezed Robin’s ass in time with his sucks. Killian pulled back with a slight popping sound, then dropped to his knees, ignoring the hard tile as his free hand traced the muscled lines of Robin’s stomach. Even over the water, Killian heard Robin suck in a breath when his hand reached his cock; glancing up, Killian saw he was being watched with an intense expression and hooded eyes. “You like this?” he asked, running gentle fingers over Robin’s cock before wrapping his hand around it.

He gave it an experimental pump, watching Robin’s eyes flutter shut and his head fall back against the wall. “Ah, ah,” Killian scolded, getting used to the feel of Robin’s cock and moving his hand in firm, even strokes. “Watch me.”

Killian Jones, voyeur extraordinaire.

With that, Killian leaned forward and flicked his tongue against the head. He heard Robin groan as he tasted the salty precum leaking from the tip, then wrapped his lips around the head.

Robin’s hand fisted itself in Killian’s hair as he promptly put every other blowjob he’d ever given to shame. His tongue swirled around the head and traced the fat vein pulsing along the side of the shaft. Robin’s cries echoed through the room, his hips jerking in Killian’s hold and forcing his cock further down Killian’s throat. He only gagged the first time, not expecting it, but relaxed and tried to keep a stronger hold on Robin as he continued.

See the nice thing about giving and receiving the same things is that I only have to do details like this once. The other time is just all reactions and I can go on autopilot. It’s hard to write this stuff and make it seem fresh every time.

When one hand went to fondle Robin’s balls, that seemed to be the breaking point. Killian eagerly swallowed his release as Robin came with another shout, only wincing slightly as the hold on his hair tightened. Only when he’d licked the last of it away did Killian sit back on his haunches, looking up to see the results.

Robin slumped against the wall, head tilted back as he caught his breath. As his eyes opened, Killian grinned. “Get up here,” Robin practically growled, taking the offered hand and hauling him up.

smol and sexually frustrated Robin Locksley

Something had snapped in him; Killian felt it as Robin’s kisses became fiercer, more possessive. Killian groaned deep in his throat as Robin practically shoved him back against the wall, his mouth tracing a similar path that Killian’s had done earlier, though Robin paid attention to different areas of his body. Robin nibbled his ears before nipping his way down Killian’s neck; his hands weren’t idle either, running down Killian’s sides and kneading his ass in a decidedly greedy manner. Killian shuddered as Robin’s fingers danced along his thighs, wondering what it might feel like to be pinned to the wall and properly fucked – but that would have to be another time, when they were prepared and not trying to distract each other.

My small reminder to myself that no, we can’t penetrate here. Also a side note: I’m really conscious of how often Killian is portrayed as the “feminine” one in pairings like Captain Charming. Like, going so far as to give him “feminine” descriptors such as “whine” or “mewl” and making him the reciprocator in anal penetration. So yes, Killian likes to be fucked, (and tbh I like writing him getting fucked) but I did a lot of rereading and conscious word choice throughout this piece so it wasn’t like a “oh just replace one character with a woman and it’s the same” thing. Which happens SO MUCH in slash it’s incredible. and by incredible I mean infuriating.

As he mused, Robin slowly dipped down, pausing briefly to pay attention to Killian’s nipples and nose through the thick, wet hair covering his chest. (One of the many things Killian appreciated was that Robin was nowhere near as hairy as he was; only one of them needed to be part-wolf.) His breath hitched as Robin ran his tongue along his abs, tracing a path down to Killian’s aching cock and wasting absolutely no time at all before wrapping his lips around the head.

somehow this didn’t turn into a lycan-fic

Killian would have to take a moment later, when he wasn’t about to collapse from pleasure and when he wasn’t trying to contain screams, to appreciate that as both of them were uncircumcised, both knew exactly how to handle the other’s cock. It was a marvel, and one he would put into appreciative words.

Later.

Eventually.

Apparently this means that docking is possible, but from what I understand docking is very unsafe, so don’t try this at home unless you want ripped foreskin. #safesexwithAmanda

When his boyfriend wasn’t going down on him so earnestly, one hand playing with his balls and the other teasing Killian’s ass and making him want to melt into a puddle of goo.

He tried so hard not to rut his hips, not to fuck Robin’s mouth, but God he couldn’t help it. He did his best to keep his thrusts shallow, but then the goddamn son of a bitch sucked hard and Killian’s body jerked involuntarily; he felt the head of his cock brush the back of Robin’s throat and almost came right then.

He decided to copy Robin’s earlier move and threaded his fingers through Robin’s hair; he silently urged him to move faster, desperate for more and half-wild from the need to come. Robin obliged, his tongue swirling and his teeth ever-so-slightly grazing along the shaft and Killian vaguely tasted blood from biting his lip too hard to keep from crying out.

He didn’t remember an orgasm that powerful before, his hips rutting and rutting into Robin’s willing mouth as he came down his throat. He sagged when it was over, when he was finally spent, and released Robin’s hair to let him up. Killian fell gratefully into Robin’s kiss, both of them more relaxed and their touches more tender, less frantic than before. “Water’s getting cold,” Robin said softly, cupping Killian’s face briefly before tracing the line of his jaw.

using up a university’s ENTIRE supply of hot water, w2g boyos

“Someone interrupted my wash,” Killian said, his weak joke earning a grin in response.

Robin ducked out first, letting Killian scrub himself, though he was a bit more reluctant to wash away the feeling of Robin’s lips over his body. It was a consolation to realize they could do it all over again another time, with more time and more preparation and less chance of someone walking in on them in a somewhat public locker room.

Nothing sexy about locker rooms, he thought, Swan’s words from several months ago coming to mind, we’ll see about that. He wasn’t one to kiss and tell, but he’d give a mild update to Swan when they returned.

Perhaps. Or perhaps he’d keep this new, warm feeling in his chest to himself for a while longer. His own private happiness to keep the demons of defeat away.

Or perhaps it was a private happiness to be shared by two people; Robin’s face when Killian went to change was a complete 180 from before, soft and with a glow that matched the one Killian felt.

They kept sneaking glances at each other as they dressed, smiling when their eyes met. When Killian’s head popped through the opening of his shirt, Robin was there, moving to gently cup the back of Killian’s head and touch their foreheads together. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“Anytime,” Killian replied. “Really.”

That made Robin laugh. “Next time let’s be a bit more private, though, eh?”

They slung their bags over their shoulders and Robin took Killian’s hand as they left the facility. Killian gave it a squeeze, a reassurance that it would be okay – and it would, they both knew it. Their shower dalliance bled away most of the poison but some of the sullenness would return.

But it would be okay. They had each other.

They’d be okay.

and they’ll wear each other’s jerseys and have plenty of time to get better at sex during the offseason! :D Thanks for rereading with my SUPER ENLIGHTENING commentary!