#and cell don’t work well cause the hurricane ����

[nocasdatsgay]

I stayed up late editing day 4 and also writing an unplanned bonus chapter for from the ashes the wildflowers grow.

Then my home internet went out again and I slept in longer than I planned this morning.

I try and post on ao3 at lunch if I’m lucky. Tumblr post will come when I get enough service 🥲

[crisis34]

So I’ve had this irondad idea that I would KILL for someone to write. I’ve wanted to write it too but I don’t think I’ll get to it.

I started kinda sorta actually writing this in a few scenes 😂 don’t mind my weird idea writing style. Feel free to change what you want or add your own twist on things!! And please tell me if you do write this idea. I’ve had it stuck in my mind and I wanted to make it at least 10k-30k words.

I sadly, don’t have time for that though haha! Soooo hopefully someone wants to write this so I can read it lol

———

The idea is that after Tony passes away the rest of the Avengers talk to Peter for about two years, since Peter spends time at the compound and all that.

But at a random point Peter notices he’s getting ignored by the Avengers for months, they won’t say anything on why they’re all stressed and won’t talk to Peter AT ALL.

One day one of them (most likely Sam/Rhodey) let’s it slip that they have an imposing threat on earth they’re trying to find and it’s so classified that Peter can’t get his hands on the information.

So Peters bummed they don’t trust him, probably gets a line said to him like “Look kid, we really don’t need your help on this. Trust me.” And it destroys Peters self esteem because he’s already 18 and they still see him as the kid.

He goes home one day after school/compound/work or something and when he walks in his spidey senses act up.

Looking into his apartment (moved away from aunt May assumingly) he sees nothing at first so he’s suspicious but not taking any drastic measures.

And then he walks into the living room, where he has a view of the kitchen. And who happens to be standing there eating the fucking blueberries?

Tony motherfucking Stark.

Peter flips out, because he saw Tony die. He’s rambling about how he thought he was dead and all that but then he sees something that tells him -it’s not his Tony-.

The Tony Stark eyes he always remembered were whiskey brown. This guy had glowing blue eyes.

And now Peter’s heart drops. He’s trying to get information out of the imposter and that’s when the guy finally speaks.

He tells Peter about how he’s been on this earth for a few months, the Avengers spotted him through satellite, and how he’s from an alternate reality.

Peter refers to the guy as Anthony since he isn’t his Tony Stark. But he also realizes this is what the Avengers were keeping from him.

Anthony explains how he was drawn here as first (which we later get a point of view from Anthony when he first got on this earth and he wasn’t drawn there, he was told to go there. By Tony Stark whispering in his head).

Anthony also tells Peter that there’s a bigger threat than him on their way, and the Avengers are so caught up looking for him they’re ignoring the other threat.

Peters skeptical, he really is. (If you do end up writing this please don’t make this another Quentin Beck. I don’t want Peter being too gullible or getting used by Anthony because that kinda ruins the plot/already been done in far from home)

Peter has close to no trust for Anthony, especially since he has no information at all from the Avengers. But he still partially believes the guy that there’s another threat.

And he knows he’d have a lot of guilt if he turned him in and there was a threat he could’ve stopped.

So him and Anthony team up.

They look for the bad guy, maybe go through goons/hydra agents for information. But now Peters stumped.

Because Anthony isn’t afraid to use a gun or kill. Anthony’s moral meter isn’t like Tony’s was, especially in front of the kid.

Peter scolds him, tells him that he won’t be killing around him or else he’s shutting the whole operation down.

After that Anthony only kills a few more times, and Peter tries to yell at him for those but he sees rage behind Anthony’s eyes.

Especially since the guys Anthony had killed almost hurt/killed Peter. Peter kept quiet for those deaths and they end up back at his apartment to sleep maybe.

Peters silent after he realizes that it seems Anthony cares about him. This is the night before they confront the big bad guy.

For reference they’ve been together looking for information for weeks!! Keep that in mind cause then you can add your own cute scenes in those weeks of maybe Anthony being protective or helping Peter with homework.

In the middle of the night Peters spidey senses go off, he wakes up and immediately looks for Anthony. He walks into the living area to see the guy peacefully sleeping on the couch.

His eyebrows scrunch together and he decides to go back to bed but can’t fall back asleep.

And then the Avengers break down the door of Peters apartment.

Peter freaks out l, hearing it and Sams familiar footsteps along with whoever else you want to be there. Rhodey would make the most sense with the rest of the Avengers waiting at the compound.

Peter runs back to the living room to where they’re already handcuffing Anthony and Anthony isn’t saying a word, but Peter is trying to convince them to stop and there’s a bigger threat out there they need to be after.

Rhodey or Sam would tell him sternly to get to the compound.

Apparently they had found out the two of them were working together while trying to find out where Anthony was after figuring out he was on this earth.

When he’s at the compound he finds out Anthony has been out in an interrogating place at the compound and each of the Avengers try to crack him but he won’t say a word.

Now(preferably Sam but you can have Peters main Friendship be with someone else, lol but this part of the friendship will be a bit rocky) Sam confronts Peter.

Goes something like this:

“Peter you knew better, why didn’t you contact an Avenger? Huh?”

“Because I knew you guys would do this shit Sam!! There’s a threat! I’ve seen it, we need to stop the threat.”

“Peter, there have been no signs of a threat against earth. At least nothing like he seems to be telling you. Because he won’t tell us anything. I need information on him! Because that damn well isn’t Tony Stark.”

“I know that, of course I fucking know that. You just.. you don’t know him Sam. I swear he’s a decent guy. Anthony is telling the truth.”

“No. He’s manipulating you, he knew you were an easy target and that’s why he went to you!”

Peter pauses for a second, tears catching up with his emotions as he begins to cry. “That’s what you think? That’s what you all think.. of course.”

Sam seems to realize he messed up, but he keeps his mouth shut and let’s Peter talk.

“You guys don’t trust me. I don’t even know why I hang around here, I’m obviously not welcome.” Peter laughs, pained.

“What? Of course we trust you.”

“That’s a god damn lie!! Because if you did this wouldn’t have happened.” Peter yelled.

Sam stays quiet again, remembering how he told Peter that he couldn’t tell him about the threat they were all worried about. Each of them didn’t trust that Peters reaction wouldn’t cause a hurricane of events, it seems it did anyway.

“Do you know.. how scared I was?” Peter whispered this time, wiping his tears away.

“What?”

“Do you know how fucking scared I was when Tony Stark ended up in my apartment! He died two years ago right in front of me and then there he was!! Eating blueberries in my kitchen with glowing blue eyes as if it never happened.” Peter said, watching as Sams face dropped.

Peter shakes his head and continues. “I’m going home, maybe think before you decide I’m to be untrusted next time.”

Sam doesn’t stop Peter because he’s already pissed the kid off.

Either way it was 2am and he assumed Peter wanted some sleep. The whole night Anthony doesn’t say a word.

The next morning the Avengers decide they need Peter to clarify what happened.

When one of them goes to Peter’s apartment, they can’t find him. At first they assumed he went somewhere but the tracker on his suit the compound has access to has been clipped. (If you can figure out a better way that they figure out Peter went after the threat on his own go for it).

After Sam figures out Peters gone he hurries into the cell that Anthony is in, guilt putting in his stomach because what if Peter was right and he was against a threat much larger than himself.

“Where is he?” Sam immediately asks after slamming the door shut behind himself.

Anthony stares at him, obviously planning on not saying anything.

“Where the fuck is Peter? C’mon asshole, you told him there was a threat and now I can’t fucking find him. Where is he?”

Sam watches as Anthony’s face pales and he looks down at the ground with his eyes wide.

Sams stomach churns. “Please? Come on, I don’t know your intentions but please tell me. He’s only 18, I-“

Anthony gets the watch as Sam regrets every word he ever said to Peter and holds back tears because there was a chance they wouldn’t find Peter and it would be Sams fault.

“Get me out of here.” Anthony tells Sam.

Sam stares at him, there’s a darkness behind Anthony’s eyes at that moment he’s only seen on Bucky when he had to act like the winter soldier with Zemo.

Sam thinks back to Peter voguing for Anthony and makes a decision. This time, he would trust Peter.

“Alright.”

None of the other Avengers had been consulted during this decision, but Sam leaves the tracking of his wings on just in case.

He and Anthony would go together to help Peter.

“What are we doing?” Anthony asked while Sam walked into his room at the compound.

“I don’t know what we’re up against, I gotta suit up.” Sam said.

Anthony hummed and nodded, leaning against the doorway while Sam picked up something familiar.

“Is that Captain America’s shield?” Anthony asked, raising a brow.

“Yeah, Steve gave it to me before he retired.” Sam nodded, picking up a duffel bag.

“Which makes you Captain America.” Anthony smiled.

“Yup.” Sam chuckled.

“Alright, grab your suit. You can change on the plane.” Anthony decided, already walking off.

“What?” Sam quickly slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, carrying the shield and jogging to catch up with Anthony.

“What do you mean, plane?” Sam asked.

Anthony lifted his hand, holding a pair of keys in it. “Snatched it before you guys locked me up. You should really have an AI looking over this place to tell you things.” He suggested.

Sam felt some deja vu, remembering when Tony was alive and the voice of Friday could be heard everywhere. Rhodey shut her down, unable to listen to her voice and be reminded of his friend.

—

Anthony takes them to where Peter is currently trying to get a good vantage point on the threat, he’s only getting minor goons outside the building(maybe? The antagonist is up to you).

Sam stays back for a bit, getting a call on his phone from Rhodey who he knows is pissed.

He hesitantly answers and listens to the scolding but gives them their location anyway, having more Avengers on their way.

Anthony and Peter are talking and planning as well as joking. Peter seems pleased that Sam decided to trust him.

The three of them start to infiltrate the threat, Anthony has a wrist gauntlet that’s ice blue and silver he uses as well as a gun.

The Avengers arrive rather quickly to help the fight, all very wary about Anthony.

Here’s the thing, they all know Anthony’s moral is messed up and he isn’t afraid of killing or anything like that. They know he isn’t Tony.

So when Peter gets injured/almost dies they are all very surprised to see Anthony freeze as Sam tries to help the wound on his body.

The threat is gone at this point and the Avengers are trying to help Peter while he’s screaming out in pain, and Anthony is unfamiliar with the liquid rolling down his face.

(You can also make it where everyone thinks Peters dead and he kinda wakes up in the middle of their mourning lol)

And then Anthony snaps back into it, rushing forward and sliding through The small crowd and leaning down next to Peter with Sam on the other side.

“Hey hey hey, you’re alright kid. You’re alright.” Anthony said, forcing and smile and putting his hand on the side of Peter face.

Peters crying while Sams trying to get the bullet/clean the wound.

Anthony grabs onto Peters hand and squeezes it, Peter squeezes back.

“You’re gonna be okay Peter, I know it hurts, Underoos.” Anthony whispered in Peters ear.

Peter looked like he was gonna say something but then looked up and locked eyes with Anthony.

“What?” Peter whispered.

For Anthony, that moment too felt unreal. Memories began to blend with his own.

~~

‘There’s this crazy car parked outside!’

‘Mr. Parker.’

‘Umm. What, what are you doing? Hey.. I- I- I’m Peter.’

‘Tony.’

~

‘If you’re nothing without the suit, you shouldn’t have it!’

~

‘I don’t want to go, please, I don’t want to go Mr. Stark.’

‘I’m sorry.’

~

‘Hey! Holy cow! You will not believe what's been going on. Do you remember when we were in space? And I got all dusty? And I must've passed out because I woke up and you were gone. But Doctor Strange was there right. And he said 'It's been five years. Come on, they need us.' And he started doing the yellow sparkly thing that he does. Anyway...’

Tony hugged Peter, feeling as the teens excitement wore down.

‘This is nice.’

~

‘Mr. Stark, hey, Mr. Stark?’

‘Can you hear me? it’s Peter. Hey..we won. Mr.Stark. We won, Mr.Stark. We won, You did it sir, you did it.’

~~

“Anthony? What did- what did you just call me?” Peter asked, sliding up against the wall nearby after Sam finished making sure his wound was okay.

The Avengers looked confused, Rhodey glancing at the Tony lookalike uneasily.

Anthony and Peter looked at each other, both pale and scared.

“I- I don’t understand.” Anthony muttered.

Peter seemed to be staring at Anthony’s eyes the whole time, tears going down his face.

“Your eyes, Mr. Stark.” Peter held his hand to his mouth, staring in disbelief.

“What?” Anthony asked, new found emotion for the kid and everyone around him.

“Your eyes, Tony. They’re brown.”

[ahappybeginning]

Hi 😊👋

I promise I haven’t forgotten about this blog. In fact, it’s been on my mind constantly for the past few weeks. But due to a very intense streak of bad luck, and being thrown into constant chaos and uncertainty, I didn’t have the mental capacity to post here. Or even WHAT to post here, because it became a game of “I know nothing except exhaustion and frustration and no other concrete answers.”

But I’m going to go out on a limb here and post an update, hoping against all hope that I don’t accidentally jinx myself and screw everything up AGAIN.

So…the last month and a half in a nutshell:

My mom and sister both got COVID just under two weeks before my surgery date of Sept. 12. I locked myself in my room for 10 days and only came out when absolutely necessary, and wore my gloves, mask, and shoes at all times.

Miraculously, I did NOT get COVID. HOWEVER, I made it all the way to going to the hospital (an hour away) 3 days before surgery to do the COVID test and registration, did all the paperwork, etc. They had to draw blood because my last results were too old. So later that day I get a call from my surgeon’s office that the blood results showed that my white blood cells were way too high, and they couldn’t safely perform the surgery as scheduled.

I spent a TERRIFYING 3 days trying to figure out what could possibly be causing the issue, because I had no pain, no fever, no other symptoms that I was aware of. So my brain of course went to worst case scenarios like leukemia or something equally scary. In the end (and multiple rounds of being poked for more blood work later), it was a gum infection.

Got to a dentist ASAP and got on an antibiotic and was given a special mouthwash to help. The infection cleared up by the following week.

Went to have my blood checked AGAIN, and the WBC level was still a bit elevated, but it was actually lower than a previous result back in June, which my surgeon hadn’t been concerned about.

Called the surgeon’s office to relay the information, the nurse (who is the primary person I’ve been dealing with) said she’d leave the results on the surgeon’s desk, but I might not hear anything official until the following week.

WELL, the exact day I was supposed to hear something was the same day everything in my area closed because there was a hurricane heading right for us. So…I panicked because I didn’t want to have to wait to hear what was going on. Tried to get some kind of information through the Facebook support group specifically for my surgeon’s patients (and run by members of his staff), but I got nowhere.

Hurricane Ian made landfall just about 20 miles south of me. Our area didn’t get the absolute worst of it but there was still significant damage in the area and most everyone lost power. Thankfully we made it through without any major issues and got our power back after 3 days.

So after finally getting ahold of the office the following week, and a bit of back and forth with getting all the blood work results sent over and being sure the main reason for the WBC being so high was the infection, I FINALLY got a new surgery date of October 20th. It’s a month and a half later than originally scheduled, and it being that late makes things much more complicated work-wise, but I’m just PRAYING that this one holds, and there aren’t any other crazy unexpected bumps in the road to getting this surgery finally.

So…there’s so much more I could say about everything, and I’m gonna try to make another post before Thursday to break down some of what I’m feeling at this point, because I feel like it’s important to document each phase, and I’ll want to be able to look back at it in the future. But for now, after over a month of being stuck in the worst and most frustrating limbo of my life while dodging multiple life threatening issues all at once, I’m VERY happy to be in the “moving forward” part of this again.

Oh, and current weight loss total is 93 lbs, in about 5 1/2 months. Every one of my doctors has told me I’m a superstar, and I’m not even ashamed to admit that yes, I damn well AM a superstar, and I’ve never been more proud of myself. ✨

[todourouki]

IT’S YOU.

♡ dabi todoroki

SUMMARY he hates to express himself but it’s now or never.

WORD COUNT 2.9K

WARNINGS angst, someone d*es sorry lol, fluff, sorry i miss dabi & i had to, also a suggestive joke cause it’s dabi

AUTHORS NOTE this is kinda trash cause i’m just warming up again lol <3 also it’s unedited lol sorry ly guys

** italics signify a flashback

Everything went to shit.

Nothing could be heard through your ears other than the large explosions and cries for help, flames of red and blue illuminating your face through the porcelain glass.

You should be out there. You should be fighting with everyone, trying to save the planet from the complete destruction and cataclysmic hurricanes of utter civil war.

Instead, you found yourself trapped within the walls of the practical prison cell, encaged within nothing but glass on the highest building in your current prefecture. You couldn’t remember when it happened, how it happened, how you get there, where it started— nothing.

All you could remember though, was yesterday morning. And as the flames began to grow closer in proximity to you, all you could do was think about him.

“Dabi, if you keep touching me with your cold ass feet I promise I’ll call the police and turn you in.” He could hear the irritation in your voice, doing nothing but chuckling and pulling you closer into his bare chest.

“You wouldn’t dare, you know that.”

His voice was soft for the first ever time, the sign of sleepiness still lingering behind his tongue as he lingered the ends of his words. The warmth of the winter sun hit your bodies through your shades, and you found yourself opening your eyes and doing something you rarely got the chance to do— admire Dabi.

He usually expressed his hatred for his appearance. It usually ranged from the two-toned colors loitering his body, the staples holding him together, to even the simplest of things such as his hands being too weak or his weight not being strong enough.

Everything he ever complained about though, were things you found yourself falling deeper and deeper inlove with as the days progressed. The sunlight hit his skin softly, the white duvet perched across his shoulders showing that he at least got cold even though he felt like a human radiator.

“You’re so pretty.” Your simple words silently slipped, his ears perching up in his sleep but his scowl remaining against his monotonous face.

You knew he liked it though, from the way his fingers heated up just a tad bit and caused you to blush for him. He wasn’t a friend of admitting the way he felt, giving out compliments whether they be true or not, or doing anything remotely close to giving you any kind of affection that wasn’t physical. You knew this tough, from the moment you got yourself involved with someone like him.

You knew that getting into Dabi’s life and lingering around meant that your life would permanently be in danger, would never be the same, and would never be safe. You knew all of this, yet you never batted an eye on whether or not you wanted to deal with it for as long as you lived— you knew you would die for him if he’d ask you to.

Sometimes you thought of saying those three words you knew scared him. They almost slipped more than a few times, and it was Dabi that prevented you from doing so by doing things such as changing the conversation topic and reaverting your attention towards anything, absolutely anything else.

To tell the truth, you were scared of admitting it to him as well. Dabi was a criminal, and not just any criminal, but thee criminal of the hour. He was plastered all over Tokyo with nothing but a mugshot taken when he was about two years younger and a life sentence he refused to give in to. You knew what would happen if news got out that you had invested your time with someone like him.

You would potentially lose your family, everything you’ve ever worked for, your job, you’d lose it all. It never bothered you though, because you’d do anything for him. Anything.

And as you felt the words begin to form from the bottom of your throat, you realized those cerulean eyes were now staring back at you. It was almost as if the world didn’t exist when you were with him, and you would give anything to be able to say those words. Anything just to show him your devotion for him, and how you would kill or be killed for him.

Like clockwork, the opportunity fell from your hands and onto the ground like shattered glass when you felt him peck your cheek with something hidden in his irises. “Let’s get out of bed, yeah?”

Tears fell from your eyes, silent whimpers growing louder as you realized what was happening. Your feet began to ache, body spiraling down in pain with nothing but heartbreak racing through your veins.

You hadn’t seen Dabi since that morning, the chaos only growing the minute he slipped through your apartment door and not bothering to call, text, or even see you.

The world was ending, and you never got the chance to tell Dabi you were in love with him.

You knew everything was coming to an end. He had warned you things were only growing worse, heroes and villains alike reaching a point so desperate in finishing the war, they’d both resort to anything. And that anything, was currently demolishing the streets in front of your own eyes.

The blue flames only grew in damage, covering towers of glass and growing closer in proximity into the glass bubble you were stuck behind. You were the only person up there, being led to safety by a hero much too young to be in such a situation and bringing you to even more tears.

You wanted to scream— cry for anything or anyone to help you so you could just get out and look for him. It’s all you wanted, to just hold him once more and feel his snide remarks slap you hot against your skin one last time.

“Hey dollface.”

The voice you heard forced your breath to cave in, voice being numb from the tears falling earlier enough to where all you could do was turn and feel your heart break even more.

He was missing a few staples, a bullet wound pressed against his white shirt near his torso and his body seeming weaker than you’d ever seen it. His hair was disheveled more than usual, coat missing, and skin beginning to detach itself from his thin frame. His face was tired, voice wavering from pain and exhaustion and you felt your body freeze.

“Dabi?” Your voice was sweet to him, music to his ears finally being played at a lesser pressure to where if tears could fall down his eyes, they would.

He had searched everywhere for you, ignited the streets in flames looking for anyone that knew of your whereabouts no matter who or what they were. He saw your weak frame run towards the end of the glass he stood on the opposite side of and his body limped closer to you.

If only you could see how much it hurt him to not be able to hold you, looking at you cry and mourn through glass hurting him more than he thought anything ever had. He knew it was his fault for getting so attached as for involving you in this mess. It was his to clean up but he let you help him and manage to self destruct your future quicker than he could stop you.

“Missed me?” His smirk was lazy as usual, but weak enough to falter as his head knocked across the glass and held its eyesight on you.

You were crying, not being able to stop yourself from leaning against the glass right with him and he couldn’t say it hurt him any less than it did. It fucking killed him to see you like this. He knew he couldn’t break through the glass without killing you, and he knew you couldn’t break the glass unless the hero who surrounded you in it was there. And he had never wanted to kill someone more than he wanted to kill that guy— not even his own father.

“Please tell me you’re okay.” You whimpered, hands flat across the glass as your chest heaved up and down in nothing but pain.

Dabi heard them getting closer from a distance, the sound of screams beginning to crowd his ears and preventing him from hearing to your voice so clearly. He knew he had to say something- he had to do something if he wanted to have time to do it before the end.

“Don’t worry about me, just do me a favor and listen alright?” His voice held the usual attitude it did when you’d speak to him, the pain growing more and more noticeable as he started to wince after each growing syllable.

You always listened to him, and as much as you wanted to scream at him to get you out of there so you could just feel your skin on his, you knew it wasn’t the time yet. His hands slowly raised towards yours on the glass, something he would have never done under any other circumstance other than this one and you knew. You knew what he was doing.

“I love you,” the words fell flatly, echoing through your brain as you sucked in air and watched as blood began to drip from the hand falsely holding yours across the glass, “I fucking love you.”

“I don’t know what to do with myself if I’m not waking up next to ya’, or what to do if I’m not laying with ya’, but I know what I’m gonna have to do now if it means you get to get out of here okay.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, your posture straightening and beginning to panic. “Dabi, what the fuck are you talking about?”

You saw him squeeze his eyes shut, blood growing against his eyelids and starting to trickle down his burned cheeks. The air you once knew how to breathe without thinking started to slip through your lungs faster than you could catch up, and you knew you were living out your worst nightmare.

The screams Dabi had been waiting for grew, footsteps flying up the stairs behind him growing in sound and he knew time was limited. He knew he needed to do this now or he’d never get a second chance.

“I’m doing this to save you, so don’t think I’m doing this to find an excuse to get your annoying ass out of my life.” His words caused you to sob, air leaving your lungs as your dainty hands slammed across the unbreakable glass.

“Shut the fuck up! Don’t you fucking DARE!” Your words hit him hard, nothing but a small smirk lifting against his lips and staring back at you with blood streaming eyes.

“You know I have to, even if I don’t wanna. So listen good. In about three seconds, those guys are gonna slam through the door and kill me and I’m gonna let them.”

“I’m gonna let them do to me what they should’ve done a long time ago if it meant I got to give ya’ a better chance at life so it’s what I’m doing, okay? I’m giving you a chance to do some shit you couldn’t do with me sticking around.”

Dabi’s words burned through your ears and you knew nothing hurt you more than this. The pain of smacking against the glass only caused bruises to form against your knuckles. You wanted to keep hitting, to keep fighting, and to keep doing whatever you possibly could’ve done if it meant you’d get to hold him and stop him from being so fucking stupid. But this was a fight that was already won, and it’s what hurt you the most.

“You’re the most beatiful shit I’ve ever seen in my life. You make the best fucking French toast I’ve ever had, and your lips are better to me than any fucking weed I’ve ever smoked in my life.” The footsteps grew louder, and he knew this was all he could say before it was over.

“I never told you cause I was a fucking pussy but right now I’m facing death and nothing could be worse than this. I fucking love you, Y/N. I love you and you’re the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Maybe if I wasn’t a criminal about to die I woulda married ya’ with a ring I stole from Shig but I am.”

You watched something glimmer from his fingertips, the sight causing your breath to get stuck between your throat and hold itself longer than you could handle. He was going to propose to you.

Within seconds, the door slammed open and there stood police officers with guns and weapons piling through. They were yelling, and you knew you should’ve been listening to their words but all you could do was stare at the ring Dabi dropped underneath his foot and hid beneath his shoe.

“They’re gonna kill me and I’ll never be able to feel you against me again, but know that nobody in this world will ever make me feel the way I do or did with you. Do something with your life while I’m gone, dollface.”

That’s all he could say before turning his body around, giving you one last view of his arrogant smirk before trying to shoot his arm out to give himself one last method of defense. The only problem was that he didn’t stand a chance. You couldn’t watch, knowing that if you did you’d lose your mind more than you were going to eventually anyway so you blinked.

You blinked for a really long fucking time, long enough to slip down the glass with your hands following the trail of blood Dabi’s hands left as his lifeless body rested against the cage holding you in.

You couldn’t hold him, you couldn’t smell him, you couldn’t even tell him you loved him back. He never gave you the chance to say it, and when he finally admits it to you, his body loses every inch of life it was granted before you were even given the chance.

You wanted to hate him, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t find it within yourself to do anything other than weep and sob Dabi’s name like a mantra. Because this was it. You were there when he took his last breath to finally admit he loved you and you couldn’t even say it back, without the chance of ever saying it again.

You’d lost him, and couldn’t even try to save him from his own self.

Dabi’s body rested on top of yours, head nuzzled between the crevice of your breasts and breath pattering against your exposed nipples as you both lay there speaking of nothing but nonsense. That was, at least until he cleared his throat and began to rub his warm hands against your waist.

“You wanna know something, Y/N?” He muttered, causing you to giggle softly and run a hand through his raven hair.

“What, Dabi?” The snow falling outside was louder than it had ever been before, the silence after you replied consuming you so strongly and so loudly you would’ve been concerned if it wasn’t for him opening his mouth yet again.

“When all this shit ends,” his staples clicking and deep voice was the only thing circling against the room, taking a second to think and finally finding his voice once again, “I think I’m gonna take you out on a date.”

The laugh that left your lips was one that made Dabi smile, playfully glaring up at you with an eye and joining you in a slight chuckle. Dabi usually said stupid flirtatious remarks like this, but hearing him offer to take you out on a date was beyond anything you’d ever heard.

“Oh really? Where are we gonna go, lover boy?” Your hands continued to run itself through his hair, words tickling at his scalps and making him relax even more into your body’s sanctuary,

“Anywhere else. As long as I got your dumbass with me.”

The words rang deep, your hand stopping slightly and cheeks burning more as the words echoed through your head. He wasn’t one for romantics or for sappy comments but this one hit a bit deeper than it probably should have for you. You knew it took a lot for him to say, being well aware of his faux emotional aloofness to really just cover up the fact that he’s an undercover softy.

“Simp.” Translated in Y/N’s language: I love you.

“Don’t be such a bitch about it.” Translated in Dabi’s language: I love you, more.

Silence covered your ears once more, nothing but flashing Tokyo lights illuminating through to it window with snowflake shadows dancing across your white walls. Moments of peace like this were rare, especially with Dabi being in your bed with you for as long as he pleased.

You appreciated moments like these the most, his body weight fitting like a puzzle on top of yours. You both continued to crack a few jokes, talking about nothing and everything at the same time until someone (most likely you, honestly) fell asleep with a small smile imprinted on the two of you.

You know moments like these were only the beginning of your relationship, and you knew you’d do anything for Dabi to make sure you got to show him how much you appreciated them until the day you died.

You knew it wouldn’t be for a while though, since your love was too strong to get any of you killed.

—

[supermantv]

daxton + first date after getting back together

Their first date after getting back together is technically at the Winter Dance, and while it had been overall pleasant, there were still the minor bumps (the major glaring one being that Paxton had nearly ran his girlfriend over with his car) that prevented the date from retaining a sense of utter bliss that Paxton was still seeking. He adores her, loves being around her, thinks she is the most exciting person that he has ever met, but there is no denying that Devi is an absolute hurricane. He loves that too, and he’s starting to understand that moments of complete peace will be hard-earned, but entirely worth it. He’s also hoping that these moments of peace become more and more common, with a smoother path paved to achieve them each time. 

They’re in his garage when he decides to broach the subject, a random slasher film playing on the screen that neither of the two are really invested in. Devi lays between his legs, her own feet dangling over the edge of the couch as she rests her head on the hard planes of his stomach. She traces unrefined patterns into the exposed skin above the waistband of his jeans where his shirt has ridden up, and Paxton knows that if she keeps this up, there’s a very high possibility he will actually be driven insane, so to prevent this, he shifts into a sitting position, forcing Devi to move with him.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and it’s hard not to get distracted when his eyes follow the movement of her hands, shifting to smooth out her skirt, because it’s yellow and pink, and cute, and short, and it very much suits her. 

“Um.” Paxton clears his throat and flicks his eyes away and Devi must see something in his actions to tip her off to the situation because she actually laughs. Loud and unapologetic and Paxton feels the tip of his ears beginning to burn but he’s smiling. “Shut up,” he grumbles without a trace of any real aggravation, lobbing a pillow at her head. She catches it easily and hugs it to her chest. 

“Okay, okay,” Devi says and she quiets down but her eyes are twinkling. “What’s up?” 

“I was just gonna ask what you wanted to do for our first date on Saturday.”

“First date?” Devi asks bemusedly. 

“Yeah, y’know, first date since getting back together,” Paxton clarifies, but Devi still looks confused. 

“Wasn’t that at the dance?”

“Yeah, about that,” he starts, drawing back his shoulders and filling his voice with enough mock authority that Devi guffaws under her breath. “I’d like to put in a formal request right now for a do over.”

“Why?” Devi asks, taking this chance to throw the pillow back at him. It bounces harmlessly off his face where it slides into his lap, and he cries out from the shock of the hit rather than the pain. Devi ignores him. “I had a good time. Did you not have a good time?”

“I had a great time,” Paxton reassures her and his heart just about melts when she beams at him. “But I very nearly ran you over with my car at the beginning of the night.”

“After that!”

“After that you threatened to kill the DJ.”

“He deserved it,” Devi grumbles and the same murderous scowl she’d worn that night resurfaces. “But those were minor issues anyway.”

“I’m not sure vehicular manslaughter or attempted homicide are minor issues,” he jokes and his girlfriend rolls her eyes before he becomes serious again. “Really though. I just want to go on one perfect first date with you. No Trent or Marcus, and no narrowly avoided death.”

Devi wrinkles her nose. “Perfect is a tall order.”

“Third time’s the charm,” he says, but Devi’s doubtful expression doesn’t waver, so he relents. “Okay then, not a perfect first date. A first date where everything goes according to plan.”

“That’s more realistic,” Devi says, but she sounds and looks unconvinced by his words. “But still.”

“Don't worry,” Paxton says, leaning forward to rub his thumb tenderly across her cheek. She relaxes into his touch and he grins. “I'll prove you wrong.”

“I sure hope so,” Devi sighs, and no more is said on the subject for the night because then she's grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and yanking him into her. 

But of course, Devi was right to be skeptical, because as Paxton is starting to learn, it is impossible for things to go according to plan when they're involved. 

He’d called that very same night to make reservations at a semi-fancy Italian restaurant across town, and was promptly told they didn't do reservations, which as Paxton figured was even better, because if a restaurant didn't do reservations, that had to mean there was always available seating, right? He asks his mom to teach him how to iron on Thursday, and by the time Saturday night rolls around, he feels relaxed and ready, so assured that nothing could possibly go wrong. He lays the bouquet of flowers he'd bought for Devi gingerly in the passenger seat and whistles to himself as he starts the car. 

Except his car won't start. Why won't his car start?

And from then on, things only spiral out of control further. Paxton texts Devi asking if she can just walk to his house and he'll order an Uber to take them to the restaurant from there. Except when he checks his bank account, he cringes at the lack of money, failing to realize earlier how long it'd been since his last paycheck from his summer job. He wouldn't have even been able to pay the bill for their food, much less order a $15 Uber now. And really, he's not above begging his parents or sister for money, but his parents aren't home, gone on a weekend camping trip in the wilderness where they most likely don't get cell service. And Becca is working on a new assignment for school, her door locked with very clear instructions for Paxton not to interrupt her. He doesn't want to risk becoming a murder victim before his third first date with his girlfriend. 

So, when Devi arrives at his house and the front door swings open to reveal her visibly frazzled boyfriend explaining to her that he's going to be cooking for her tonight instead of going out, she smiles sweetly and nods her head in understanding. Paxton wonders briefly if she had seen it in his face, how close he is to snapping, because he’d been expecting maybe a little push back, a slight protest. He knows his girlfriend isn't renowned for her accommodating nature, but he thinks she's trying to be in this moment, for his sake, and he's grateful and questioning how he could have gotten so lucky. It makes him want to cradle her in his arms and kiss her senseless, but he can't because he needs to figure out what he's going to feed her. 

Paxton leads Devi to the living room and leaves her with a peck on her forehead and the TV remote before rushing back to the kitchen. And this is where the next problem presents itself, because Paxton doesn't know how to cook. 

At best, he can scramble an egg and microwave a hot pocket. Both of which he thinks Devi would not appreciate. So, Paxton grabs two packages of ramen from the cabinet and drops the noodles into a pot of boiling water. He thinks he can spruce it up with an onion, trying to recall all the tips and tricks he'd seen on the Food Network, but as he's cutting it his eyes begin to sting and he can't see all that well because he's blinking back tears and he's starting to feel like a contestant on Chopped when he slices his finger with the knife. He winces at the initial pain, but the cut is shallow, and it would be fine but now his blood is all over the cutting board and the onion and there goes that idea. 

Paxton is praying that it can't get any worst from here, because if one more thing goes wrong he's not sure he'll be able to keep it together. 

He turns off the stove and removes the pot from the heat, pouring the noodles carefully into two separate bowls. It's certainly not Michelin star worthy, but Paxton promised Devi dinner and it's better than nothing. 

But it's as if he’d been a war criminal or a serial killer in his last life, and the universe is determined to punish him, because Devi is sitting at the dining room table waiting for him, and all Paxton has to do is take three moderately sized steps to make it to the make it to her. But his foot gets caught on the corner of a rug and he staggers forward, the noodles and bowls flying out of his hands and straight onto Devi. The broth stains and drenches her dress and the noodles coat her from her hair down to her shoes, but she's still sitting, as if she hadn't processed what had just happened. 

“Shit,” Paxton swears, crouching next to her and flicking noodles off her thighs. “Are you okay? Any burns?” 

“I'm fine,” she says, glancing down at him, and her eyes are a little wide and her chin wobbles slightly, and he feels his heart drop into his chest because she's about to cry-.

The sound of her laugh startles him and his head snaps up, thinking she might've cracked before he had.

“What?” he asks, concerned. 

“I tried to tell you,” she says, but she doesn't look upset. Noodles cling to her cheeks but her smile stretches the entire length of her face. She doesn't even sound like she's gloating, even though she had been right, and as a result of his unwillingness to listen she was now wearing their dinner. 

Paxton’s fingers curl around the hem of her dress, causing broth to seep down his fist. “I wanted to make this perfect for you.”

“And it was,” Devi insists, hands coming up to cup his face. 

“Devi,” he grimaces. “You don't have to lie.”

“I'm not!” she objects. “It was perfectly us. And I like that.”

Paxton lifts a brow. “You like being covered in soggy ramen noodles.”

“You're deliberately missing the point,” Devi rolls her eyes and pinches his cheek. “I like being with you, even if the day is a complete disaster, I'll be happy because I was spending time with you. And, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a bit of a disaster magnet.” 

“I think it's cute,” Paxton murmurs demurely. 

“See,” Devi says. “You know what I'm talking about, and you agree.” 

“The noodles don't help though.”

Devi makes a face. “No they do not.” 

And while Devi is taking a shower in his bathroom and Paxton is laying in bed, thrumming his fingers against his stomach, he thinks about what she had said about this date being perfectly them. He smiles to himself.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter 10

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, grief, loss and some second base action.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who reads, re-reads, points out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

May the flowers remind us why the rain was so necessary - Xan Oku

Chapter 10

Your eyes fly open - heart pounding, mouth dry- as the nighttime movie that played behind your eyelids finishes abruptly. Hugging your arms around yourself, you try to steady the impact of that injection of adrenaline into your veins, drawing deep breaths into your lungs as you gaze into the oil slick of darkness surrounding you. The sounds of day are yet to kick into being as your phone screen illuminates 03:02 - the trains not yet pulling out of their sidings, sirens still silenced for the most part. The night air is just punctuated by the rhythmic pitter patter of rain upon the roof and the sweetest little snores still rising steadily from your…

Your boss.

For fucks sake.

Once could be called a mistake, even if it was a twelve year long one. But back doing this shit again? Sheer fucking stupidity. Your head drops into your hands as a stab of pain cuts through your gut. What the fuck do you do now? Marcus so honestly put his heart on a platter for you last night- could you be the cold hearted, callous bitch that throws it back in his face? All of your body fizzes with fear - your muscles twitching with the cortisol so rather than irritate him with your fidgeting, you slide out of his bed.

Bare soles on the night-cooled wooden floors help to ground your flighty soul as you walk around the unfamiliar apartment. Whilst the exterior dampness can only come as far as pretty patterns on the window pane, the chill causes tiny pinprick goosebumps to stand proud against your skin. You finally settle cross-legged on the floor by the French doors leading out to the balcony, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass - mentally cheering on your favourites as they glide towards the inky pools gathering beneath them.

With your mind so lost in your new-found sport, you aren’t entirely aware of the arrival of a warm, breathing blanket that curls itself around your body languidly before you are tightly encircled by long limbs and gentle nuzzling into the side of your neck, “What’s up, honey?”

A small, precious kiss is pressed into your temple before the sleep-thick murmur continues in your ear, “Thought you’d left. So happy to find you here.”

Leaning back into his broad chest, you allow the expanse of his form that is wrapped around you to consume your body whole, “Bad dream. Couldn’t get back to sleep and didn’t want to wake you.”

“‘M sorry,” Marcus slides you slightly to his left so he can search your face for the answers that you are so incredibly reluctant to give, “Your heart is racing - do you want to talk or just have things that will make you feel better?”

Initially, you don’t feel able to catch his gaze, having thought about breaking his heart only minutes prior to his soothing arrival but when you do, everything hits you like a ton of bricks. The deep pillow creases of his cheek, sweetly mussed up hair and the earthy hues of his questioning eyes make your fist fly to cover your eyes as your tears echo the deluge of rain.

He doesn’t speak. Just holds you close. Cradling you in his arms as your body shakes into his. Marcus allows you to sit with your pain awhile - not pressuring you to speak or offering any empty platitudes to solve it- allowing the hurricane of grief to rip through you, all the while tethering you to the ground.

As the tears exhaust themselves, Marcus leaves and your eyes dance in panic at the loss of his soothing touch. The relief of hearing his kettle start to boil and then the gentle roar of taps filling a tub, stretch a ghostly pair of arms back around you, soothing the ache beneath your ribs. A hand reaches down to you offering a way out - gently hoisting you back onto your feet.

“C’mere sweetheart,” Marcus pulls you back into his chest, pressing a line of kisses along your hairline, “I’ve made you a cup of camomile tea and run you a bath.”

He makes to leave you but your haunted eyes and tight grip upon his wrist beg him to stay, “Honey, I don’t want to overstep the mark here. I’m sorry that I asked you to stay. Overwhelming you like this, isn’t fair of me.”

Trying to eloquently respond to him comes out with just a snotty sad gasp so you vehemently shake your head tugging his hand towards the bathroom. Once inside the metro tiled space - pausing between heaving breaths - you manage to squeak out in your juddery voice, “Please stay with me.”

“Please don’t feel guilty - this is just shit I need to work through,” you mumble as you fiddle with the hem of Marcus’ t-shirt, feeling his skin twitch as you accidentally make contact, “I’m sorry that it’s having a knock on effect for you.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he leans in to sweetly kiss your forehead, “I’ll turn around while you get in but I promise not to leave.”

“I don’t care if you see me naked - it’s just a body,” you mutter slightly confused by this sentiment when he’d been stroking your breasts earlier. As you start peeling off the t-shirt you’d borrowed from him, Marcus swings to face the bathroom door quickly.

“No,” the sharpness of Marcus’ response steals the air from your lungs momentarily - you stand in front of him like a rabbit caught in headlights, “I’m sorry, sweetheart - didn’t mean to be so forceful. No - it’s not just a body. It is your body and I wanna enjoy it properly when you’re not so upset. It would be taking advantage.”

Slowly lowering yourself into the delicious expanse of Marcus’ bath, you allow the warmth to soak into your aching bones. The water cocoons and hugs every inch of you as you permit it to unknit every knot of tension within your body.

“You can turn around now.”

A kind smile plays upon the deep creases set by Marcus’ eyes, “Tilt your head back.”

Reaching behind you, he turns on the shower attachment - the water bursting forth in a perfect summer rain across the skin of the bath water. Like a parent with a child, he checks the temperature until it reaches a soothing heat and runs it over your hair, soaking every last strand, washing away the mix of salt from anxious sweat and tears. Dropping the shower head in the bath, he then grabs a generous squirt of shampoo in his hands, lathering it into your scalp, massaging until you feel like a gelatinous blob under his skilful touch.

After rinsing every last bubble and sud from your hair, Marcus then squeezes out some conditioner - the bottle releasing the most indecent sound that has you both giggling like small children. Having coated his digits well, he starts to run his fingers through your hair - combing every strand with his hands, ensuring there isn’t a single knot to be found. A gentle finger beneath your chin tells you to tip your head back again as the shower rinses the excess away.

Settling back on the plush bath mat, Marcus passes you your tea silently and you just sit. Sit there in companionable silence - without an ounce of awkwardness- just both sipping tea as your body gradually accepts its need to sleep again.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Give me two minutes and I’ll be ready,” Marcus gazes softly after your disappearing form as you spin into your bedroom to get dressed for work. It takes every bit of gentlemanly restraint that he possesses not to follow you, run his hands over your silken skin and get a hit of your delicious taste. Instead he re-settles his mind by looking around your flat having finally been allowed a peek inside your inner sanctum.

He doesn’t quite know what he expects to see but it certainly isn’t this. It feels an odd mix in there- piles of cushions and blankets but no photos. No pictures decorating the place yet multiple empty frames propped against walls, waiting for their stories to be told. Your home isn’t really a home at all - it is just a roof over your head with nests for you to curl into exhaustedly.

“Have you been here long?” he asks quizzically, spying the battered moving boxes that have obviously been rummaged through for a missing necessary nick-nack or two but never having been fully unpacked. Marcus runs his hand over the coarse, corrugated cardboard and light spattering of dust coating them, wondering what secrets you wish to keep hidden in there and if you will ever open fully to him, to allow him to lighten your load.

“Almost two years,” he hears you muffledly answer through the jumper you pull over your head as you momentarily reappear in the doorway of your bedroom - a vision of radiantly soft curves- just knickers and a mess of limbs arguing with the item of clothing, before your breasts get hidden under the striped knitwear.

As much as Marcus tries to stop himself, his body takes the required steps forward so that his fingers can be satiated with the warmth of your skin. He doesn’t kiss you yet - the heat of his breath just dusts the shell of your ear as he inhales the scent of his shampoo in your hair.

“Look at you,” he murmurs - shaking his head in disbelief as he grabs your wrists and pulls you into him, “Beautiful.”

Using the back of his hand to release the hair caught in the collar of your jumper, Marcus takes a moment to drink in all your features. The flecks of gold in your eyes, the sharpness of your cheekbones, the streaks of wisdom in your hair - how were you, the beauty that you are, interested in him?

And then you’re kissing him. Your mouth open, soft lips inviting him into your inner sanctum. He feels your fingertips stroking into the nape of his neck, your nails scratching into the hair that twists and curls there. Shivers of pleasure run down Marcus’ spine, making him pull you closer as your touch sparks life across his body. Your gentle push causes Marcus to startle - to stumble backwards, falling back onto the sofa, sending cushions scuttling across the floor.

Feeling his jaw tic as you clamber into a kneeling position above him, Marcus tries to steady his breath by focussing on the small details of you. The darker spots of pigmentation where the sun has permanently kissed your skin. The divots of your collarbones just peeking above your sweater. The small reminder of a childhood misadventure just above your right eyebrow.

Nope. This is not working. God, I want her.

“Lower those goddamn hips,” he growls, “Sit down.”

“I can’t,” he hears you whimper, eyes shut tight, “I’ll make a mess of your trousers.”

Marcus groans as he considers the sweetness that is encased by those bright pink, lace edged panties - still not quite believing that it is him who has had this effect on you. When you grab his hands that have been stroking little circles by your knees and pull them to your ass, the heat in him rises as he squeezes and needles the delicious flesh beneath.

“This is gonna be hard having you work so close,” as soon as he hears the words leave his mouth, he regrets it. The little twitch between your eyebrows. The tremble of your bottom lip. The slight shift back of your weight upon his lap. Marcus catches them all.

“I’m sorry. Nush, I shouldn’t have…”

As your weight rocks back away from him, leaving his body quickly cooling with your absence, the air is punctuated with your muttering of one word over and over. Each utterance a bullet coated in guilt hitting him sharply.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Scrunching his eyes tight shut, he rocks forward, head in hands. Should he come after you? Should he leave? Fuck, Pike.

Hearing the creak of your bedroom door, Marcus lifts his head in your direction - his eyes throwing a million apologies to you, “Nush, I’m so sorry - I didn’t mean to upset you. That’s the last thing that I’d ever want to do.”

He watches as you walk across the floor - smaller shuffling steps rather than your usual confident stomp, your eyes red-rimmed and glassy and your breathing a little jagged - and feels like he’s just crushed a butterfly in his hands when all he was trying to do was appreciate its beauty. Water starts to pool in the corners of his eyes as he blinks hard to warn them off - after all, he didn’t need to give you any other reason to walk away from him. A small grateful smile creeps across his face when you settle between his knees, resting your arms across his lap - your tear-streaked face looking up at him.

“I’m frightened,” he hears you whisper, “Repeating past mistakes is sheer fucking stupidity.”

Marcus freezes, the blood in his veins turning to ice as he awaits your verdict.

“I can’t do that again. You cannot become another Jasper to me. The relationship that never was with all the hiding.”

“I don’t want us to hide,” he hears his voice betraying him as fear courses through his synapses, his hands aching to touch you. Hold you.

Please don’t let me lose her.

Please don’t let this be it.

“Can I touch you?” Marcus quietly, carefully checks before daring to reach out. He watches as a cloud of confusion washes across your face at his request.

“Of course you can. What? Hang on, did you think,” you pause, brow furrowed, “Did you think I want to stop whatever this turns out to be?”

With his shoulders slightly hunched, one hand reaching behind to rub the base of his neck, Marcus nods, “Yeah, a bit. I…”

“I don’t wanna fuck this up, Nush,” he reaches forward to stroke your wrist.

“Me neither, but we will,” your words take a moment to register with him, “We have both experienced so much - good and bad - that we will put our proverbial foot in it with each other.

“But, I hope that in time, with our collective pasts and the streaks of grey in our hair, we may also slowly learn how to communicate and say when things are a bit shit for us and why. Why my instinct is to run screaming from things and why you think everyone you love is going to leave.”

Marcus curls forward so he can rest his forehead against yours before placing a small kiss there, “Now you’re really gonna have to be two minutes if we’re gonna get to work on time. I’m just gonna shut my eyes until you’re dressed so I’m not tempted to make us late.”

“You think that’ll work?”

Chuckling at the wink you throw at him over your shoulder, Marcus starts to allow that tiny ray of hope he’s been burying for years to shine again.

✪✪✪✪✪

As Marcus opens the door for you, an overwhelming wave assaults your senses. Noises from tapping keyboards, phones ringing and computers blaring, the overwhelming scents of fatty, sugary yet discarded breakfasts and coffee hits hard but it’s the tiny, surreptitious stroke at the base of your spine gives you the kick you need to go in and start your day. A steaming coffee is thrust towards Marcus behind you and some case files are handed to you by a smiling Andy, “Morning Sir, morning Nush. What time did you manage to get cleared up?”

“Between the two of us, it didn’t take too long,” you grin at the PA before looking over your shoulder to find Marcus smiling at you, “Think I was asleep by eleven.”

“Snoring away,” Marcus barely audibly whispers, making your eyes widen.

“Ready for the meeting at nine o’clock, Sir? I have everything set up in the conference room, ready to go…” Andy sweeps Marcus away from you as you head over to your desk, spying the hot cup of Java awaiting your arrival.

New piles of paperwork seem to litter your desk, replacing the ones you’d tried so hard to clear on Friday afternoon. Office life. That it is a life is a bit of a lie, as every soul within your office space looks like it is in some stage of decomposition. Kiri appears to be in need of another weekend to get over the two days of rest just gone, Dian is yawning into her coffee and as for Harper, well, there’s a part of you that doesn’t quite believe she’s fully human with the way she’s already ploughing through her work.

When 9am finally rolls around, it feels more like two in the afternoon. Marcus sticks his head out of the door to call everyone into the meeting and is met by several groans from the team as they reluctantly shake themselves from their chairs and drag their Monday fatigued bones towards the conference room. At the oval, walnut table, you sit sandwiched between Dian and Kiri, directly opposite Andy in a hopefully not too obvious ploy to not be too close to Marcus.

“Good morning everyone, I’d ask you if you’d all had a good weekend but I think we spent enough time together to know that we all did,” a chuckle rises from your office mates as Marcus welcomes everyone, “I wanted to have a catch up this morning as the Soutine that Agent Pierce and I checked in Lyon, has come back as a definite fake. The verdict was reached late Friday afternoon and the French authorities are currently trying to trace its origins.

“We also received word this morning that a Modigliani has turned up in Sotheby’s - they have their own art fraud team but hopefully we will get a look in soon. Agent Pierce, I know I haven’t asked you to prep but could you explain to the team what the issues are around his work?”

“Sotheby’s?” you question, staring straight at Marcus and entirely ignoring his request, “I can get in there now as my best mate works in the fraud team.”

“Hephzibah?” Andy catches your eye, “Didn’t realise she’d transferred over from Scotland Yard.”

“More money,” you shrug as Andy presses his lips together and nods in agreement.

“No, Agent Pierce, I’d like us to hang back for now,” Marcus responds, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, “If you could give us some of your insight about Modigliani’s pieces, please?”

Slightly taken aback by Marcus’ firmness, you take a moment before responding, “Modigliani’s back catalogue is a fucking mess as he used to give out sketches like a fortune teller.

“Jean Cocteau said that he was drawn by Modigliani roughly fifty times but he only ever owned one picture. Prices have skyrocketed over the past decade with one going for $170.4 million dollars so he’s very much a member of the $100 million club along with Warhol, Picasso et al but not quite at their ethereal prices.

“One of the main things about Modigliani is that the love of the man is not easily separated from his art. Over the years, he has been painted as somewhat Byronesque in his exploits by salacious biographies and films - very much sex and drugs and rock n roll. A bohemian who lived in Montparnasse and Montmartre at the Fin de Siecle - he was known by all the artists who lived there at the time - Picasso even said he was the only man in Paris who knew how to dress.

“To be honest, whilst he was hot - soulful dark eyes, ebony, wavy hair and a beautiful bone structure with an extraordinary amount of intelligence and eloquence-”

“Ah, so you have a type?” Harper mutters into her notes.

Your cheeks flush and eyes dart around the room, hoping that Marcus didn’t hear that as you desperately try to summon a consummate professional performance for the others, “-It is hugely difficult to separate the man from the myth but the main issue due to his profligacy with his art, unlike the other greats who get over $100 million for their work, Modigliani’s work is often questioned. You could easily find a Modigliani in an attic with a letter attached from the man himself and people would still raise an eyebrow at it.

“So, um, the main thing according to all the auction houses is that unless it is in the catalogue curated by Ceroni, it ain’t a Modigliani. This is problematic in itself as that was published in 1958 and even some of the pieces on his list are questionable. People have ended up in prison over their dubious dealings with Modigliani’s back catalogue as you can see in the case of Parisot.

“So if a piece comes to auction that isn’t on the list, they’re damned if it is a Modigliani, and damned if it isn’t?” Dian questions you.

“Pretty much. And he worked at a time when a lot of advances and changes happened in artist’s products. In the first half of the twentieth century, both the production of paint and paper changed massively as everything was slowly more industrialised and made more stable. By industrialising these things, it made the equipment cheaper quicker as more could use it rather than being made Etsy-style in tiny batches that were way beyond the means of most artists.

“Normally, with older pieces we can look at how the artists use paints and the type of paints they use but with more modern artists everything becomes a bit murkier as it is harder to date. And I will stop there before I piss off Harper by rabbiting on too much more.”

Even Harper has the decency to smirk at your comment before returning to her notes. Marcus’s gaze has softened again as you finish speaking, “ Thanks, Agent Pierce. Perhaps we could hear from you now Agent Gleason and Youngerson?”

Harper raises her eyebrows in Marcus’ direction before starting, “So, Agent Youngerson and I have been looking at various right wing groups currently active across the world and what their links are to the art world. The main ones who have thrown up scents for us to chase are The Old School Society, Hydra and The Order.”

Dian looks up from her pad of extensive notes, “Yeah, we've been tracing money routes with those three and when looking at the main donors to these groups, they’ve all had dealings with art galleries and auction houses recently. So we’re now looking into each donor carefully and may need to do some in the field meetings with them as prospective buyers - so my darling work wife, Nush, we may need notes unless you fancy being our cover girl?” she comically winks at you. Making a little heart with your index finger and thumb, you send an equally cheesy wink and click of the tongue back at her.

Marcus huffs a chuckle out at the two of you before turning his attention to Kiritopa, “How have you been getting on with your catalogue of fakes relating to this case?”

“Yeah, alright - slow going collecting all the data as it seems some auction houses are reluctant to reveal how many fakes pass through their doors,” Kiri frowns before glugging some more coffee.

“It’s understandable, they don’t want their reputations dashed. Doesn’t make our work any easier though. Agent Morrison - if you can show me what you’ve compiled so far that’d be great,” Marcus gives the agent a small, sincere smile before turning to address the room again, “Right, I have a meeting this afternoon that’ll keep me out of the office for the rest of the day so I’ll leave you all to get on. Have a great day everyone.”

✪✪✪✪✪

You:

Hey sexy lady, I hear you’ve got a tasty little number at S’s - can I take a look?

Hephzi:

Off the books? Course you can. Change into civvies and I’ll get you in this afternoon.

You:

You’re a fucking ⭐️. I’ll make it worth your while

Hephzi:

Do you mean cake and coffee? Because if you do, I’m fucking yours.

You:

Urm obviously! See you around two?

A small knock on your desk makes you put down your phone and you look up into Marcus’ face, “Hey, you got a minute?”

“Yes, Sir,” as you push your chair away from your desk, you throw your mobile in your desk drawer and follow him into his office.

His desk is immaculately tidy and warm to the touch with its honey and caramel tones washing back and forth in undulating waves as if across a beach. There’s not a hint of Marcus in his office yet - no personal treasures - it stands in stark contrast to the warmth of the man you’re getting to know.

“I just wanted to check you were ok. I heard what Harper said,” he reaches out to straighten the ribbing at the bottom of your jumper, his thumb stroking your tummy lightly.

“She’s not wrong,” you grin lopsidedly at him as you step in closer, placing your hands on either side of his face, “Dark soulful eyes, beautifully high cheekbones, delightfully luscious lips that are perfect for kissing - hard not to fancy Modigliani, really.”

“You’re mean,” Marcus squeezes your hip as he shakes his head, “When would you like to speak to the others? I think being up front with them will help us in the long run.”

You sit on the edge of his desk, leaning back slightly, your face illuminated by your smile, “Maybe we can have our first date and then think about the long run?”

When you see the flinch from Marcus, a pang of guilt echoes through your gut as you recall your earlier conversation, “I think you’re right- once we’re truly confident we know where this is headed, we should speak up. I am not going to lose my job or risk my reputation for you… but I also already know that I don’t want to lose you either.”

“Me neither,” his hand reaches out for you, fingers entangling, thumbs stroking - eyes crinkling as they meet yours, “What are you doing for lunch?”

“Well, I was a bit distracted when I got dressed this morning - there was this really hot guy in my flat…”

“Uh huh, tell me about him,” Marcus slowly drawls, looking down at you amusedly.

“Oh you don’t want to know, Sir. Wouldn’t let me get dressed. Just kept groping me.”

“How... inappropriate of him.”

“Yeah - so I was almost late to work because of him wanting his wicked way with me and accidentally ended up putting on two different shoes.” Marcus steps away from you and having looked down, notices the one extremely dark navy and one black ballet pump with a gently shaking chest as he tries to swallow his chuckle.

“Going home to change? Your mind really must have been elsewhere,” you nod at him -slightly embarrassed by your initial genuine mistake that has now become a cover story. His gaze intensifies as he cups your face, his eyes focussing on your lips, “I’m sorry honey, I don’t think I’ll have time to drop you there and back before my meeting - will you be ok?”

“Of course, Marcus - I’ve worked here for years,” you tease him, feeling awkward as fuck when the half truth you are spinning for your boss feels awkward and bitter in your mouth.

But his kiss doesn’t. Marcus quickly closes the gap between the two of you, leaning towards you - his head tilted, lips soft and welcoming with their desire for you utterly apparent. Deepening the kiss, his mouth gently opening, tongue searching as his hands drop from your face to your waist, you find yourself forgetting to worry that anyone could walk in. Forgetting the regret of lying to him. What had you even been talking about? Should you be doing this? Fuck it. You pull him the final distance so that no air could pass between you - just you and Marcus refusing to pause for breath until your lungs run out of air.

Pulling back to gaze at him with lust blown pupils, wanting him so much more, you eventually find the energy to push away from him. Swiping at your lips with your thumb in case anyone spots the remnants of this moment as you walk towards the door on brand new baby deer legs.

“Hey Nush,” you swing back to look at Marcus, still standing, equally dumbstruck as you, before he winks with a cheeky grin, “Nice shoes.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Gripping the cardboard carrier that holds two steaming cups of black coffee in your left hand, you ring the bell to the magnificent Bloomsbury building that has sold multiple pieces of multi-million pound art. The Georgian façade is impressive in its structure and beautifully kept without a sign of peeling paint, decrying its almost 250 year history - a far cry from the shatterproof glass and steel at HQ. Hephzi opens the door to you with a wide grin upon her face, “Bang on time, missus - I swear the only way to get you places quickly, is with the promise of fine art to get you salivating!”

You can’t really respond eloquently to her as you are absorbed into the cool of the elegant building. Whilst kept modern and minimalistic, the space has retained some of its more charming period features - the cornicing and ceiling roses are still firmly in place despite the stark white of the walls. Oh, the pieces that have passed through this space! The very thought makes you tingle all over through excitement.

Currently bedecking the walls are a collection of women artists about to go up for auction the next day. To you, there was no true money in those frames - just a conversation between you, the spectator and the artist about their emotions in picture form. A discussion that spanned centuries as you follow Hephzi’s soft footsteps through the gallery, enjoying every single one from a still life of flowers surrounded by butterflies and other insects by Rachel Ruysch to one of the copies of Blinding by Tracy Emin - the upside down nude female form shaped in neon pink tubes. The artists speak through ages, through the art upon the wall, in the language of your soul.

Marcus would love it here. Oh to bring him and enjoy it together, walking through the space, hand in hand. My head on his shoulder...

“...Hello? Earth to Nushka? Ah, welcome back,” Hephzibah is shaking her head at you, “You’re here on work experience if anyone asks, yes?”

“Yup,” still only half listening to your friend, you begrudgingly continue on to her workspace in the fraud and forgeries department, reluctantly walking away from the art you long to submerge yourself in.

“Right, hand over the coffee and cake- I take payment in advance, Madam,” Hephzi demands, hand outstretched, “So tell me about the new job. What’s your new boss like?”

“Marcus is nice,” you quietly offer into the rim of your coffee.

“First names already?” Hephzibah’s eyes are round with surprise, “And you mention him before the job… Who even are you? What have you done with the real Nush? Oh! Oh Nush, do you like him?”

You stand there blinking hard, feeling an absolute idiot for being so awkward in front of the person you call your best friend. A small, barely perceivable nod through the steam of your coffee has the arms of your best friend wrapped around you, “Nush, tell me more - has anything happened? Do you think he feels the same way?”

“I think so. Made a curry last night for the team at his flat, and ended up staying the night - nothing happ.. Well, we didn’t have sex but I think he likes me,” you nervously chatter at her before drawing a deep breath, “He’s pretty fucking amazing. Seems to be genuinely a nice guy - just straight talking, gentle, kind and holy shit is he good looking! His kisses and touches just turn me into fucking jelly.”

“Better than Jas?”

Your heart thuds in your chest so hard that there is a point where you fully expect it to wrench open your rib cage and run across the floor. You stare wide-eyed, your mouth open

“What?”

Hephzi steps forward, her gaze gentle as she places her hand on your arm, “You weren’t quite as good at hiding it as you thought you were. It was pretty obvious you were together and loved each other very dearly - I just knew that if I ever brought it up that you would run a mile.

“I tried telling you that I knew before. It was after he died and I wanted you to know that I knew it wasn’t just the death of a co-worker. Not that there’s ever any just in those situations for us either but I knew. When I asked about meeting someone the other day, it was more of me just trying to figure out if you were ready to date again.”

With that, the floodgates open and the grief flows you like a river, eroding your defences away. Hephzi holds you as you utterly soak through her expensive blouse, “I wanted to tell you so many times but I was terrified of what you’d think of me.”

“What I’d think of you - are you fucking kidding me, you absolute idiot?” she tucks your tear drenched hair behind your ears, “I’ve held your hair back in pub toilets as you’ve thrown up from too much alcohol and gotten you out of so many other scrapes but that, a relationship with a man from work is what you think I’d judge you for? Nah, that's not how any of this works, mate. Firstly, you can’t help who you fall in love with and secondly, where else are you ever going to meet someone when all you do is work?”

“N...N...Need a tissue. You made me get all snotty,” you tearfully stammer, all blotchy-face and tear streaked.

Hephzi can’t help but laugh at you blaming her for your tears. As she grabs a tissue, she also grabs the cake and the serviettes from the bag, “Come on, I know what’ll cheer you up - cake and a masterpiece.”

Following her into the studio beside her office, there it is. A supposedly lost version of Modigliani’s Nu Couché sur le Côté Gauche - her sheer sensuality rolling off her in waves. The way that she gazes out of the piece beguilingly, inviting you to join her on the bed, the sheets ruffled and rolling beneath her delicious curves.

Hephzi laughs at your reaction to the piece, “She’s hot isn’t she?”

“Yep - I’d definitely do her. I’d like to say that it is her almond eyes enticing me but really, it’s that entirely biteable bum,” you say before biting into the pastel de nata.

“Agreed - although for me, it’s her back and her thighs. They are edible - as you rightly say,” she says into her coffee.

“How’s the provenance?”

Hepzhi pulls a face as she turns back to you, “Traceable, but this one isn’t in Ceroni.”

“Shit.”

“My thoughts entirely. Look, love, I can’t let you touch it but feel free to take photos, measurements etc. As soon as my own tests come back, I promise you’ll know before the guys upstairs do,” Hephzibah asserts before sitting back on the desk in the room, “Just remember, you’re here on work experience.”

You throw a thank you over your shoulder at the rapidly retreating figure of Hepzi as you set to work. Using a Canon with a macro lens, you instantly photograph the major features and then take several overlapping pictures so that you can look close up on your computer at work. Whilst not quite a microscope, it would have to do given the circumstances. You trusted Hephzi’s sample taking but it was good to see it in person, even if Marcus had asked you to hold fire.

Whilst you were taking measurements of various points and aspects of the picture, you realised there were multiple footsteps coming up the corridor. Hephzi, obviously heard them gaining on the studio too and rejoined you, to back the story of work experience rather than letting her old friend backstage for some covert readings. She threw her notebook at you with a pencil to have the pretence of you taking notes as she worked.

“Well, Hephzibah, that is the first time I’ve ever seen you entrust your beloved notebook with anyone other than yourself. You have never even shown me the secrets you record there, and I am the person paying your salary,” a truly plummy voice cut through the room, “Whoever this work experience girl is, we will have to see about hiring her if you trust her this much.”

Hephzibah plasters a smile onto her features, “Sir, she is the best I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Such a keen eye.”

Refusing to turn around, you carry on making notes in Hephzi’s journal, attempting to concentrate on the words written in front of you, instead of the intrusion.

“So what d’ya think? On first impressions, is it real?”

Shit.

That voice.

Stepping up in response, Hephzibah firmly states, “Sir, I am terribly sorry but I am not currently at liberty to be able to fully disclose that info…”

“Oh no, it is quite alright, Hephzibah - this gentleman is Marcus Pike. He is currently fronting an investigation into white terrorism and art forgeries with 5 Eyes. One of your old lot, you know,” Hephzibah’s boss winks as if he was letting her in on the national secrecy act.

“Marcus Pike?” Hephzi shoots you a surreptitious look before the smile is back, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. Shame we haven’t crossed paths before now.”

Marcus offers his hand in greeting to Hephzibah, “I hope we can put that right in the future. I was wondering if we could hear from your work experience person. I am always open to fresh eyes.”

Dread courses through your veins as you turn towards Marcus, not wanting to look him in the face, “It would be remiss of me to make a declaration without reading through and tracking back the provenance as well as undertaking the necessary infrared and paint samples.”

“Sensible,” Marcus nods, his face not betraying a single emotion.

Your face creases at his lack of response, something that Hephzi’s boss picks up on, “Are you alright, dear? You don’t look terribly well.”

“Sudden headache, sir. I should probably get going for today anyway,” you virtually throw Hephzi’s notebook at her before grabbing your bag, “Thank you for today, I will be in touch, Hephzibah.”

Running out of the building as fast as your feet and lungs can carry you, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

Sir Agent Marcus Pike:

Hey,

We need to talk. My office at 5?

You:

...

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319 @sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @day-off-inkyoto @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @honestly-shite @sharkbait77 @lawfulgranola @agirllovespancakes @theravenreads @lv7867 @ezrasbirdie @songsformonkeys

[resident-leevil-old]

RCW's RE7 CONTINUITY:

RCW: Biohazard

in the re7 continuity of Raccoon City Winters i feel like Mia was more sympathetic towards Eveline considering her and Ethan had strikingly similar upbringings; minimal socializing, constant tests ran on them, the needles.

I feel she was torn between taking Eveline away and staying with the Connections in order to help Ethan and it made her feel like shit the entire time. Especially when she had been lying to Ethan about working with the Connections.

She justifies it in her head, saying it would hurt Ethan more if she told him she had been working in a similar place his father had been working in, for a reason almost the same. She knows it's a shit thing, to lie to him like this, but she really wouldn't be able to stomach the look he would give her, and maybe that's selfish but she hates to see him hurt.

And then Eveline, who was young and only wanted a family ("like Ethan did," her brain yelled at her) to grow up with. Eveline, who smiled up at her even after going through the worst tests imaginable and finds comfort in her presence, like Ethan did, every time. Eveline who cries because she knows she's too dangerous to have a real family, but wants to try- hopes she could anyway, like Ethan did.

Mia considers it, running away with Eveline, back home to Ethan and Kyde and stay as far away from California as they could. She planned it out, the whole situation, down from the moment she got Eveline out of that basically a cell for a room to buying a house under a different name in god-damned Romania if she had to.

She accepts her plan as half-baked but the overwhelming guilt and sympathy in her heart allows her to forget about that.

Then the ship, sprung on her that they would be moving Eveline somewhere. The hurricane, Eveline's freakout, Mia's promises of taking Eveline with her and being her mother, the mold.

That night, before the two of them were knocked out of that ship, Eveline cried in Mia's arms for the destruction she caused, and Mia held her and cried for the feeling of failure weighing on her soul.

And when Mia hits the water, when she starts to fall unconscious, she only thinks of how Eveline said she hated storms before, just like Ethan does.

-

And Mia wakes up at the Baker's, and they tell her they rescued her, she deliriously asked if they also found a young girl, if they found Eveline. They tell her not yet, tell her to rest and they promise they'll help find her little girl. She rests, but wakes up again later, unable to keep her eyes closed. She writes on a paper she found just about everything she knew about Eveline and herself, trying to recollect her thoughts when she noticed them fading.

She falls unconscious again before finishing the paper, and she's unable to defuse Eveline's fear and anger before the Baker's are under her control.

-

The years that pass, Mia spends trying to convince Eveline that they can leave the Baker's and start anew. Eveline refuses, too scared that the Connections will come for them if they leave this house. She compromised with the shots that slowed her aging, why couldn't Mommy compromise with her? Did she hate her? Did she secretly want to abandon her? Whenever Eveline asked the answers were always, "No, no Evie I don't want to abandon you but we can't stay here forever, eventually we'll run out of resources for your shots, I don't want you to die, and you'll die after too long without them."

Eveline is content with it, with dying, if she gets to stay with Mommy the whole time. When she told her that, Mommy cried and apologized to her. Eveline never knew why she kept saying sorry, but she stopped saying she would be okay with dying because Mommy crying made her cry.

As the Baker's become cannibalistic and murderous under Eveline's control, she becomes more prideful of herself. Mia doesn't know what to do, how to stop these people from dying, falls under a state of depression. She tries to talk to Eveline, tries to tell her to stop, though Eveline only tells her that she wants to find her Mom someone to be with since she was so sad all the time. Mia knows its a part of Eveline's powers, but the look of innocence in her eyes breaks her down and she stops opposing.

Eventually, Mia tells Eveline about Ethan. Talks about how Ethan loved her more than anything in the world, laments that she shouldn't have lied to him when she only wanted to help him, tells Eveline she only wanted to leave this house so they could be with him. Eveline listens, asks her if she misses Ethan a lot, latches on to the reason she gave for wanting to leave.

Mia tells Eveline she did, that she missed Ethan more than anything in the world, and before she knew it she was unconscious again.

-

Ethan's arrival sparked something in Eveline's soul. She felt angry, at first that this man was the reason Mom would be willing to risk herself and her freedom to be with. She makes Mom fight him a few times, so angry at him for being the reason her family almost broke apart.

Then she watches him cry. She watches this man sit next to his wife each time they fought and cry, even holding her at the risk of her waking up again and hurting him. Eveline sees a man who loved her Mommy so much he would risk dying to mourn her hurt.

And, the final time Mom falls because of Ethan, he didn't move at all, crying on his knees as he held her in his arms. He hardly looks away from Mom when Jack attacks him and even when he kills him.

Eveline realized, when he woke again, his thoughts now shared with hers due to their new connection through the mold, that he loved Mom just as much as she did. She tests him, makes him fight with Grandmother and Grandfather, watching over him as he stumbled through Lucas' puzzles.

Eveline starts to like this man, who loves her Mom so much he'd died and came back to life with her as the only thing on his mind.

-

They nearly escaped, in that stupid little boat. Eveline cried when they both fell in the water. She hadn't mean to do that, hadn't meant to hit the boat directly. She panicked, pulled them both out of the water. She may be angry at Mom and Dad for nearly leaving her but she didn't want them to die.

She helps Mom remember things she forgot, everything that lead up to this. Mom cried again, and Eveline cries for her too.

She talks to Dad, in his head, and she scared him but he doesn't let that get in the way of talking to her. He shows her kindness, sympathy, tells her he doesn't want her to hurt.

Eveline cries to herself, as Mia frees Ethan and pushes him away, afraid she would hurt him. Eveline doesn't make Mom do anything except sleep, lets her rest for all that these years and this day has troubled her.

She talks to Ethan in person again, cried because he was so much more than nicer than he had to be. Cried because she understood now, why Mom wanted to be with him again, cried because she kept them away from each other for so long. Ethan convinces her to let her control of the house go, and she collapsed into the hug he gave her, so so tired.

-

Ethan held Eveline protectively in his arms when he met Redfield, not letting this child who has been through so, so much out of his sight. He doesn't trust these people, but they're helping Mia despite what she'd done so he held back his hostility.

He refused to let them take Eveline from his arms, she was tired and none of them looked like they knew how to carry a tired child.

They have to do check-ups every month during the first year, but they're allowed to stay together. They have to move to Europe, "Romania, huh?" Mia thinks to herself when she heard it, realizing that she'd gotten her wish- just differently than she expected, and no one could know where they lived but otherwise they would be fine. They keep in contact with Zoe, and Kyde (who doesn't wait to say "I told you so," to Ethan but still shows he's happy Mia was found and well,) throughout the years.

Eveline gets a final shot that was able to stabilize her aging process, and she's able to go with no more needles unless absolutely necessary. Mia tells Ethan everything she had been there for, promising to never keep another secret from him again, and he forgives her (he would do it either way). The three of them live happily in Romania, for all of three years.

And Eveline doesn't tell anyone that Ethan isn't Ethan like he used to be, waits for everyone to notice by themselves. They never do. And Re8 begins.

And that, my friends, is the RE7 Continuity of Raccoon City Winters; Raccoon City Winters: Biohazard!

[shihalyfie]

The relationships between the Adventure group and the 02 group

As much as it would sound romantic to group the older Adventure six and the younger 02 juniors into one huge “group of twelve” all of the time, it’s undeniable that there’s a boundary between them, especially since there’s a different internal dynamic within each group as well -- of course, for important events or incidents like Diablomon Strikes Back, they’re capable of getting together as a whole, and they hand off information and call on each other freely for support over the course of 02, but once we start getting into “social life relationships”, things get a bit more complicated. Overall, we all know that the juniors adore and respect their seniors, and the seniors are happy to mentor and support their juniors, but the way each of the older Adventure six approaches the younger kids has an interesting variance from person to person!

Overall

The other sections of this post deal with how each of the “02 quartet” (Daisuke, Miyako, Iori, and Ken, or in other words the four Tokyo Chosen Children introduced in 02) interacts with individual seniors, but in general it should be established that each of the Adventure and 02 groups is always comfortable calling in the other for backup or assistance if necessary. This is especially accentuated in 02 episode 46 (when Daisuke ropes Taichi and the others into helping them do a full-on stakeout of the Dark Seed kids all over Tokyo, which is a lot of work), and Diablomon Strikes Back (when the initial mission was very obviously intended to have the older kids at the forefront and the younger ones as backup, before things went south).

It’s also indicated multiple times over the course of 02 that “sharing information” is a huge priority for everyone, especially with the D-Terminals in play that allow people to keep people in the loop about what’s going on, so that backup can be called in at any time -- see how quickly information passes from the juniors to the seniors during the crisis in 02 episode 7, or how Takeru and Hikari constantly keep each other posted on the situation and their whereabouts in the first half of Hurricane Touchdown. (This is especially when you keep in mind the real-life context that, in 2000, it wasn’t common yet for the average elementary school student to have a cell phone, so 02 deliberately inserted the D-Terminals into the lore so that this kind of communication could be possible, further tying into the overall franchise theme of the impact of technology on society.) There is no issue in 02 that’s caused by lack of communication (at least, unless it involves someone being emotionally unable to communicate), because of how quickly, easily, and constantly everyone is kept in the loop.

Each group is a valuable resource for backup in any situation, and both groups have a clear and obvious sentiment of “wanting to help as much as they can” and “not wanting to be useless”; the Adventure seniors constantly express frustration over the course of the first half of 02 that they can’t do more, and do their best to provide as much support as they can within the restraints of the situation. Once evolutionary restrictions are lifted in the final quarter of the series and everyone goes on winter break, the older Adventure seniors start making a significantly larger number of appearances and directly getting involved without even needing to be asked; since everyone clearly wants to help each other out, there's no reason to refrain from seeking all of the help one can get. By the time of Kizuna, Daisuke (and, if the storyboards are to be believed, Ken too) is still on Koushirou’s call list even if he’s not present for that single incident, and Yamato loops them in to help scout on Menoa in New York since they’re in the right place in the right time.

This is especially in the case of Koushirou, the team’s resident analyst, who can only do his analyses if he has all of the information he can possibly get; since the 02 kids can do certain things that he or the others can’t, he often asks them to do favors for him or provide him with info (such as borrowing Miyako’s D-3 in 02 episode 4, or having Daisuke test out opening a gate at the Yagami residence in 02 episode 17, or picking Ken’s brain in 02 episode 33) so that he has more to work with. It is generally advantageous for Koushirou to get as much as he can on the table and make use of, and since he has an important role in 02 as a personnel manager and team organizer, it’s in his best interest to use the 02 group as guinea pigs make extensive use of their own abilities, as much as he can.

With Daisuke

Daisuke is a very deferential person in general, so him treating his elders with utmost respect and deferring to them is kind of like saying water is wet, but there are some relationships in particular that stand out!

Daisuke being Taichi’s soccer junior and “inheritor” of both his Crest of Courage and his goggles is of course one of the most iconic and well-known parts of 02, but it’s interesting to see how Taichi treats Daisuke in return. While it’s unclear if Taichi knew him as anything but yet another of his soccer juniors prior to the events of 02, there’s a lot to be said about how Taichi hands over his goggles without hesitation -- as much as we as the audience associate this with “leadership”, the 02 group doesn’t actually have a leader from an in-story perspective, and, in-universe, Taichi gave him his own goggles on account of the fact that Daisuke was a “new Chosen Child”...and also the fact Daisuke had just broken his own and he presumably felt bad for him. (How much Taichi was consciously aware that Daisuke was doing it specifically to imitate him will be left to your imagination, because Daisuke never actually vocalizes this to his face.)

That’s a pretty big deal of a thing to do, given that even if you don’t necessarily believe there’s a huge sentimental backstory behind those goggles, Taichi took off an item he’d been wearing for at least seven years and just handed them over! So in other words, Taichi really did believe in Daisuke’s potential enough to entrust him with something this important.

We also see Taichi come to watch Daisuke’s game against the Tamachi team in 02 episode 8, and it should be pointed out that Taichi, being from Odaiba Middle School, had no practical reason to be at this game -- as far as the kids knew at the time, Ken had no connection to any of the Digital World incidents, and it was just a game that they all attended to give Daisuke their moral support, and so Taichi was mainly just here to watch how his junior would do in such an important match and give him advice. (Although, as Daisuke points out later in the episode, he’s pretty strict, too.)

Eight years later in Kizuna, in a scene where it’s established that Taichi is drifting enough from of the others to the point Yamato has to update him on them (Sora and Takeru), Taichi still seems to be roughly aware of what’s going on with Daisuke, despite neither of them playing soccer anymore -- and, of course, Daisuke seems to have always had utmost faith in him. (Also, Daisuke seems to have returned the goggles; we’ll leave to the imagination what might have led to that.)

Some interesting history about Daisuke’s relationship with the soccer club members: as per 02 episode 2, he was already at least roughly acquainted with Sora prior to her switching her sport to tennis, and, if the Adventure novels are to be believed, he was apparently already a member at the time of Adventure in 1999 (likely as an “unofficial member”, given that he would have been too young to formally enroll in it until Taichi had already graduated). If this is true, this would make him likely to be roughly acquainted with Koushirou as well. He was, at the very least, also around to overhear Taichi discussing the Digimon (although we don’t actually have all that much evidence that anyone was working that hard to keep it a secret).

According to Spring 2003, Daisuke is said to have picked up his goggles in imitation of “the person wearing goggles” whom he witnessed from afar during the Odaiba fog incident three years prior, not necessarily Taichi as his soccer club senior -- meaning that he may not have immediately recognized that they were the same person (although that certainly begs the question of how many people in Odaiba wear goggles; given that Daisuke seemed to just have a pair lying around at home, perhaps this is a normal fashion statement?). Taichi is portrayed as being much better at soccer than Daisuke is (Taichi was already a soccer captain in his fifth year while Daisuke didn’t even become a regular until his sixth), and so learning that they’re the same person at some point presumably solidified Daisuke’s personal image of Taichi as an absolutely incredible senior to look up to.

Daisuke infamously starts off on a bad note with Yamato in 02 episode 4 -- he insults an older sibling, something Yamato takes very personally, and it’s a bad mix of Daisuke’s abrasive demeanor and Yamato’s emotional passion -- but by the time of 02 episode 11, it all seems to be water under the bridge as Yamato treats Daisuke very endearingly after watching the process of him earning the Digimental of Friendship. (While it’s not stated in words, one might imagine that Yamato also became a lot more forgiving of Daisuke not being very respectful of Jun after personally witnessing how much of a handful she could be in 02 episode 7.) And, as Daisuke’s technically the inheritor of his Crest of Friendship, it’s interesting to point out that Daisuke arguably shares as many of Yamato’s personality traits as Taichi; he’s an intensely emotional person (far more so than Taichi is), and has somewhat of an awkward way of expressing himself.

Yamato is also the Adventure group member who maintains contact with the 02 quartet over the course of Kizuna, and with Daisuke as the main representative calling back, he naturally goes straight into “happy puppy mode” the moment one of his seniors calls to ask him a favor. The novel refers to the 02 group as “reliable juniors they can count on” (which we can imagine reflects Yamato’s mindset at this point), and he also makes sure to check on whether the 02 group hasn’t also been subject to the ring of light issue, out of curiosity but also worry.

While it’s less immediately apparent, Daisuke also forms a recurring relationship with Mimi. Interestingly, most of their interactions have to do with Mimi’s location in the US, with Mimi teasing him in an email in Hurricane Touchdown and inviting him to come over, Daisuke helping Mimi and Michael out in 02 episode 40, and Mimi getting a lot of mileage and fun out of teasing him in The Door to Summer (this trip is implied to at least partially have been planned with meeting Mimi in mind; perhaps Daisuke was following up on that email one year prior). All of this happening with no translator; one might say that Daisuke seems to be good at befriending Americans in New York, which is interesting when you consider that his English is implied to be reasonably good, and the fact he eventually opens his ramen shop in New York...

Both he and Mimi are pretty like-minded overall, being very pure-hearted people who love supporting others and are never condescending or consciously rude to others, so it’s easy to see why they’d get along.

With Miyako

Rather famously, Koushirou was Miyako’s computer club senior prior to the events of 02, and she still looks up to him and adores him (she even goes out of her way to bring souvenir yatsuhashi from Kyoto for him in 02 episode 34). Koushirou’s handling of her is rather professional -- he calls her “Miyako-kun” -- but this is, in general, more of a symptom of the fact that Koushirou isn’t exactly the kind of person who shows open affection for anyone, and he’s still dealing with the fact that he used to compulsively push people away, so being able to talk to anyone neutrally like this is already kind of a big step.

This is especially because he’s got a pretty huge investment in the kids in general -- he’s one of the most visible of the seniors in 02, and while part of it is also because of his specialty in computers and his inquisitive personality driving him to take a very direct role in things, he also rails at the kids in worry in 02 episode 7 and continues to support the kids with actual support, providing them things they might find helpful or useful. So, in effect, it’s just that Koushirou has his own ways of showing support for his juniors, especially since his character arc has heavily to do with developing a skill in coordinating others.

Miyako continues working in the computer club under Koushirou even after entering middle school, and, eight years later in Kizuna, it seems that Koushirou is actively maintaining contact with Miyako (in the opening, he’s the one directly shown initiating contact via email), since she’s personally helping him with Chosen Child community management. There’s no computer club anymore and the group isn’t necessarily working as a cohesive group all of the time either, so this is something they’re actively involved in together...and Miyako is clearly comfortable enough to dump work that she doesn’t want to do on him. (He doesn’t seem to mind that much.)

Miyako first meets Mimi in 02 episode 6 and immediately latches onto her without hesitation, to the point of fantasizing about their relationship and labeling her “Mimi-oneesama” (big sister Mimi) thereafter. (Note that she only does this when it’s a very casual or playful situation, since 02 episode 14 later establishes that she’ll go back to the usual “Mimi-san” when things get more serious or her mood is worse.) Mimi answers to Miyako’s affection easily, given their similar temperaments, and they get along swimmingly.

We get a little more insight as to Miyako’s feelings on Mimi in 02 episode 14, where Miyako spends the duration of it negatively comparing her own behavior and personality to Mimi's kinder and more mature way of handling things, implying that she sees Mimi as an example to follow that she sees herself as not sufficiently reaching. Notably, in 02 episode 25, when Mimi takes charge and uses Miyako’s D-Terminal to request Ken’s help, Miyako doesn’t protest at all; it of course wasn’t helped by the fact Miyako herself was tussling with mixed feelings on Ken, but it’s worth pointing out that, after all of the vehement verbal arguing about the issue, Miyako respects Mimi’s decision enough to not protest.

Miyako also bonds a bit with Sora, both during her initial process of receiving her first Digimental in 02 episode 2, and during them working together in 02 episode 42. Miyako doesn’t seem to put her on as much of a pedestal as Mimi, but still very much defers to and respects her stance, and Sora is happy to indulge around and bond with her (note how casually she carries herself around Miyako).

While we don’t see them interact much in the series proper, Miyako reveals in 02 episode 29 that she does sound engineering work for Yamato’s band (in conjunction with Koushirou), which she continues doing after entering middle school in Spring 2003 -- although it seems she’s having a hard time getting him (and everyone else) to embrace techno.

With Iori

Among the Adventure seniors, Iori’s most notable relationship is with Jou, which is pretty interesting on its face given that this is the largest possible age gap among any two from this group (Iori is 9, Jou 15). Yet the two are put together in major situations no less than three times -- 02 episodes 5, 16, and 41 -- and with the first two depicting Jou as having a major role in mentoring Iori, in regards to the importance of personal choice and responsibility in being a Chosen Child (02 episode 5), and the conflict between moral principles and practicality (02 episode 16). A lot of the gist of Jou’s and Iori’s character arcs and dispositions are quite similar -- Jou himself struggled with trying to adhere to arbitrary standards without regard to practicality back in Adventure, and it’s because of this that he can figure out Iori’s mentality and reach out to him in a way he understands. For Iori, being a polite and respectful person in general, it’s only natural to expect that he would take very well to Jou being an admirable and honest model citizen.

Iori also receives his initial Digimental consultation from Koushirou in 02 episode 3, and, like with how Daisuke and Miyako also have some degree of personality traits relevant to the characters they inherit their Crests from, Iori also has some characteristics that evoke Koushirou as well, most prominently his tendency towards politeness and deference (albeit for different reasons). While they don’t end up following similar paths for the rest of the series due to Koushirou’s “curiosity” being more about intellectual knowledge and Iori’s “curiosity” being more about human behavior and psychology, Koushirou does correctly identify Iori as having the potential for that kind of inquisitiveness in said episode long before the relevant character arc clearly sets in, allowing Iori to claim the Digimental of Knowledge.

With Ken

Due to the late position of when he’d joined the team and the even later position in which everyone came to like him, Ken isn’t shown necessarily bonding too deeply with many of the seniors, although it’s clear that they all came around for him in the end. That said, some of his limited interactions or interactions by proxy with the seniors end up fairly notable:

Ken has a long and extended chat with Koushirou in 02 episode 33, which is interesting because it’s a point in time when not even everyone in the 02 group itself was particularly receptive to him yet (at the time Hikari and Takeru were still maintaining silence on their stance on him, and Iori still ironing out a lot of complicated feelings about his presence). Yet Koushirou has no qualms whatsoever approaching him and picking his brain about what he knows, since Ken, as a hitherto unknown factor with a lot of background information that Koushirou could make extensive use of, has a lot to offer him. That said, he’s not just using Ken as a resource for intellectual purposes; Koushirou offers him emotional goodwill in his own way, hearing about how Oikawa had targeted Ken and even lamenting that it would have been better if the older kids had reached out to him first.

During 02 episode 25, Mimi makes an active bid to reach out to Ken when Golemon is about to destroy the dam, in the midst of everyone having an argument over whether to allow him to help (and not only that, she’s vehement about doing so). Recall that Mimi is forgiving to a fault, allowing herself to get beaten up by Digitamamon in 02 episode 14 and refusing to give up on him despite knowing he was actively brainwashed -- so it stands to reason that she’s actually one of the most receptive to Ken, even moreso than the more emotionally overwhelmed Miyako, and offering him a chance to join in (she’s never really been depicted as the type to hold grudges).

During Iori’s consultation of him in 02 episode 35, Yamato makes a remark regarding Ken pointing out that he and Takeru have technically gone through the same experience in witnessing the death of a partner, which means he’s actually willing to cast Ken in a sympathetic light at this point! Once Ken has integrated more smoothly with the others, Yamato and Ken work together in 02 episode 42, and they get along swimmingly with zero discomfort at all (not only that, Yamato’s dropped the honorific, going from 02 episode 35′s “Ichijouji-kun” to the more casual “Ichijouji”). Not bad!

[aitarose]

ROSES | ZUKO

PAIRING: Zuko x Reader x Azula [fem]

PLOT: Zuko’s main focus was always Azula’s health, that was until he reconciled with the girl behind all of her improvement—from then on, all he saw was Y/N. companion piece to thorns 

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, mutual pining, unrequited love (azula)

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

A/N: this connects to the events that occur in thorns. this piece can be read as a standalone, but thorns gives more detail to the reader’s feelings and struggles with azula

ALT. END: Blossoms | AZULA’S POV: Thorns

MY MASTERLIST

orange · roses : a symbol of love in the sense of enthusiasm and passion. bright colors denote life, energy, passion, and excitement—whilst softer hues speak of sincerity and gratitude.

Year three, day twelve.

Zuko groaned, facepalming as he listened to the pattering footsteps of his advisors leaving the throne room. His shoulders dropped, the formal demeanor he usually wore dissolving almost immediately.

Meetings with his advisors were far from his favorite of the Fire Lord duties, but they were necessary to reassure the people that he was doing right by them. Their trust and support was what held the dignity of his rule in balance.

This meeting in particular had gone on for far too long. His advisors were always able to drone on about his least favorite topic, the topic of Azula’s mental state of health.

His sister had been in recovery for a little over three years now, keeping her promise to him that she would learn to be better. Azula’s goal was to understand compassion and honor—and maybe even love.

Zuko had been taken back by the idea at first, Azula having brought it up during her time in the Fire Nation’s most secure prison cell. He didn’t think she was capable of knowing guilt, but happily obliged to her wishes.

He and his advisor’s had determined that she’d be given a total of five years to begin her rehabilitation. Five years to prove to his nation that she was no longer the monster that they knew her as.

It’d been going fairly well as of yet, only a few tantrums and outbursts here and there, but overall well. Azula’s progress was undeniable, she had finally begun to leave her demons in the past.

As he entered the kitchens which were empty of any royal staff members, Zuko heaved a deep sigh. It seemed as if there was very little time that he was able to have to himself these days, constantly being bombarded with his duties.

He felt like his mind was in chaos, millions of ideas and plans storming in his head like a hurricane. The storm brewing beneath his facade was overwhelming. His only wish was for a simple breath of air.

While Zuko sat in silence, leaning against the large counter with his head held in his hands, his ears perked up to the sound of the door opening.

Without bothering to look up, he waved his hand in admission, not interested in whatever servant had come to fetch their leader. “Not now,” he called out, “the Fire Lord is out of service for the day.”

Whoever had accompanied him began giggling, their voice ringing in Zuko’s ears like the melody of a choir. His head shot up, knowing full well that it was no servant interrupting his time alone.

“Y/N!” He smoothed out his wrinkled robes, fixing his hair in a hurry as she gracefully stepped into the room—gracefully meaning that she ran into a pile of pots and pans before tripping over her own feet.

Zuko rushed over to help her stand, taking one hand in his while the other supported the rest of her body. This wasn’t uncommon, Y/N had a tendency to make a mess wherever she went, unintentionally of course.

She’d been working in the palace for the past three years to help Azula honor her promise to the nation as the advisor’s were unable to put all of their trust into Zuko alone. 

Which had actually been an extremely helpful conclusion. Without the help of Y/N, Zuko didn’t think Azula would’ve been able to make any progress, let alone the amount she had made now. Y/N was the light to Azula’s darkness.

She was also the girl that Zuko had a little bit of a crush on, which he’d admitted to himself early on in their relationship—not that he’d call their relationship a “relationship”. Zuko wasn’t actually sure what they were.

When he’d met Y/N, she was nothing but a tool that he was forced to provide for his advisors. There hadn’t been many applicants due to the dark cloud of Azula’s stigma, but Y/N had shone against the few that’d applied.

He’d selected her himself, reading through her resume and immediately liking what he saw—and after speaking to her in person for the very first time, he knew that if anyone could help Azula, it’d be her.

What he didn’t know, was that he’d begin to notice how utterly and undeniably amazing Y/N was.

She was kind to the servants, never failing to remember their names. She’d wish each and every one of them a happy birthday, even if she’d never spoken to them before.

The nation’s people were in love with her, thankful that she was brave enough to take on the challenge of spending one-on-one time with the princess, and for the pure goodness of her heart.

Zuko had become enthralled by her mentality and love for life on the first day of Azula’s treatment. However, he’d still been involved with Mai, leaving little to no room to explore friendships with other women.

But now that he and Mai had broken up, Zuko was free to make his own decisions without having to worry about her constant attitude. Mai was in no way a bad person, but she was a bad person for Zuko.

As he helped Y/N to her feet, Zuko’s face was flushed bright red. If he was being honest, she made him nervous—more nervous than any person had ever made him.

“That was a pretty bad fall,” he said sheepishly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes to avoid Y/N seeing how much he was shaking. “Are you alright?”

Y/N smiled, her expression warming Zuko’s heart. “I’m perfectly fine, Fire Lord Zuko. You don’t need to worry, I’m quite used to falling over.”

He laughed, dropping his head to hide the deepening blush dawning his face. Zuko took a breath, preparing to end the disaster of an interaction so he couldn’t embarrass himself any further.

“Well then,” he started, beginning to back away from Y/N in the most natural way he could manage. “Is there anything I can do for you before you’re on your way?”

Y/N nodded her head, gesturing to the large kitchen space surrounding them. “There is actually!” She exclaimed, pulling out a wrinkled piece of paper from her bag.

“I wanted to surprise Azula with some of her favorite treats, but I’m afraid that I’m not sure what those are. This is all I have to work with.”

Zuko peered over her shoulder, studying the various names of deserts and snacks that had been carelessly written across the page. He knew by the handwriting that it’d been Azula that had given Y/N the list.

His sister hadn’t made it easy on Y/N, only providing a few of the many Fire Nation delicacies that she enjoyed—but Zuko was going to make sure that Y/N’s plan went perfectly.

“I’d be honored to help you with this, Y/N.” He grinned, taking the list from her hands and heading towards the exit. Y/N stood still behind him, shocked that Zuko would jump to the task of her aid.

She stumbled, doing her best to follow along without causing more havoc. “Are you sure?” She asked, concern laced in her voice. “Don’t you have any Fire Lord duties to attend to, Fire Lord Zuko?”

Zuko shook his head, stopping to a halt in order to be beside her. He looked into her eyes, trying to show that he was unbothered by his titles and that his duties could wait. 

“Call me Zuko.” He requested, hating the way his authoritarian name sounded coming from her lips. “And of course I can join you. The Fire Nation can miss me for one day.”

Y/N’s face lit up, excited to hear that she had the honor of calling her leader by his first name. “Okay Zuko,” she trailed on, grabbing one of the woven baskets sitting on top of the counter. “I guess we’re spending the day together.”

Zuko nodded, grabbing a basket of his own before holding the door open for Y/N, which she gladly walked through, proud of herself for befriending the most famous member of the Fire Nation—who’d finally come up with his response.

“Then, I guess it’s a date.”

Year three, day eighty-seven.

Zuko cursed to himself, pricking his fingers on yet another rose bush. Little scratches and marks graced his fingertips, encouraging his hatred for the thorn covered stems. 

He’d been in the royal gardens for what had seemed like hours, searching for the most perfect flower he could find. However, with spring time just beginning, there were few plants that had fully grown.

Normally Zuko wouldn’t be caught dead in the middle of the gardens, dirt all over his formal wear, and leaves caught in his traditional bun—but for Y/N, there was no telling the lengths Zuko would go to make her happy.

They’d been seeing each other romantically ever since their trip to the market in search of deserts. While their goal had been to provide food for Azula, he and his love had ended up spending all of their time at the beach.

Distractions had come early on, intrusive thoughts and worries erupted in Zuko’s mind. Y/N, having noticed this, had suggested that they worry about Azula another time. 

He’d wholeheartedly agreed with her, happily getting to know and understand Y/N for the entirety of their night, quickly falling for her natural charms. It wasn’t long after that when Zuko had asked her on a real date, one without the original nerves.

Which brought them to now. He and Y/N’s relationship had progressed beautifully, Zuko could confidently say that he’d never felt as seen as he did with her.

His flaws complimented her strengths and vice versa. They both knew that they were nowhere near perfect on their own, Zuko could pick out each and every one of Y/N’s flaws without hesitation and he was positive that she could do the same for him.

Y/N wasn’t held on some high pedestal where she could do no wrong in Zuko’s mind. She was just a human girl with human qualities that he happened to fall in love with. 

The girl that he loved who deserved the gift of the most amazing, gorgeous, and beautiful rose in the royal gardens. A rose of only the highest quality that Zuko’s eyes had finally landed on.

He reached down into the thorn filled bushes, wincing as he plucked out a single flower. His face lit up at the sight of the petal’s soft orange hue, seemingly in the midst of bloom.

The stem was free of the pesky thorns, smooth and welcoming of his grasp. The flower itself seemed to embody his love for Y/N perfectly, his love that he was planning on admitting to his girlfriend later in the day.

He hustled out of the gardens, quickly heading towards the kitchens where he’d informed the staff of his evening plans. Zuko had asked for the whole night off, wishing to be free of his lordly duties, and thankfully getting his wish granted.

The fresh breeze whipped across his cheeks, rejuvenating his senses as he rushed through the halls and past the courtyard, barely taking notice of the two hysterical girls sitting under Y/N’s favorite cherry blossom tree.

Zuko’s steps halted, being frozen in awe at the contagious beauty that was emitting from his girlfriend. Her smile lit up the whole space, outshining the sun itself in his eyes.

As Azula took notice of her lurking brother, Zuko frantically stuffed the rose in his pocket, crossing his fingers that neither his sister nor Y/N had seen his surprise.

He waved sheepishly at Azula, hoping that his posture looked natural and not at all shuddering in complete nerves. Zuko was counting down the seconds to which Azula would call him out for his strange behavior, silently thanking the spirits when she chose not to.

“Zuzu?” His sister called out, her voice echoing among the wind. Y/N perked up at the sound of his name, curiously looking out to see Zuko’s awkward position. “What is it that you need, brother?”

Zuko shrugged, internally panicking and attempting to come up with a reasonable excuse for interrupting Azula’s time with Y/N. Normally he’d never intrude on Azula’s Y/N hours, believing that she deserved to have fun with her best friend without his presence.

His feet began to rock beneath him, his heels alternating positions on the stone ground. Zuko gestured to Y/N, pointing at her in response. “I need to speak with, Y/N. I have some business that we need to cover, it’ll only take a second.”

Y/N stood up as fast as lightning, nearly falling over in doing so. Zuko chuckled at her eagerness, eager to talk to her as well not having had any time together earlier in the day.

“I heard that the Fire Lord requested me?” Y/N grinned, standing beside Zuko at a comfortable distance, not wanting to flaunt their relationship in front of Azula for some unknown reason. 

Zuko brushed it off, knowing that whatever it was that Azula and Y/N had was nothing but a friendship. He didn’t want to be jumping to conclusions, no matter how confused he was about it all. Y/N would tell him whenever she was ready.

“What could the infamous Fire Lord need with someone such as myself?” Y/N pondered jokingly. Zuko rolled his eyes at her ridiculousness, ruffling her already unruly hair in doing so. 

He felt a smile bear his cheeks, unable to contain the utter joy that came with being with Y/N. “I just wanted to tell you that you have plans for tonight.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, giggling at the information she’d been given. “I have plans?” She repeated, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “And who might these plans be with?”

Zuko laughed as she went along with his ruse, her humor was also one of the million things that he loved about her. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, Lady Y/N.”

She shook her head in amusement while beginning to turn away from Zuko, feeling the need to return to Azula. She’d already kept the princess waiting for far too long, finally having gifted Azula with her surprise deserts. “I suppose I will.”

As her figure began to retreat, Zuko’s mind was at war with itself. On one hand, he wanted to wait until that night to reveal his gift to Y/N—but on the other, he couldn’t contain his excitement.

Choosing to follow his latter instinct, Zuko reached out to take hold of Y/N’s forearm. She let out a gasp, nearly running straight into his chest. Her eyes radiated with confusion, wondering what Zuko could possibly still need.

He took one of her hands into his, relishing in the feeling of the perfect fit, before revealing the blooming rose that had been stuffed into his robe’s pockets and offering it to the girl in front of him.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed bright red, becoming a much deeper hue than the rose itself. “What’s this for?” She asked, gently taking the rose from Zuko’s light grip.

Zuko watched as she spun the stem around in her palm, studying the beauty of the flower. He once again contradicted himself, most likely ruining his evening plans in doing so. 

“For the sole reason that I love you.” He admitted shyly, praying that she felt the same. His heart thumped in his chest, jumping at the idea of her being in love with him.

Y/N reached forward to wrap her arms around his neck, her hands playing with the stray hairs on Zuko’s head. She pulled him in for a tight hug, before whispering into his ear.

“I figure you’d meant to save that for later.” He could hear the grin on her face through the tone of her voice. “I suppose I might as well save my words for later, considering you couldn’t yourself.”

With that, Y/N pressed a light kiss to his cheek, lingering slightly before skipping back towards Azula—who’d begun to look bothered by their intimate interaction.

Zuko’s hand caressed his own cheek, his mind doing a dance of its own at the news that Y/N felt the exact same way. This day was amazing, he’d determined. She was amazing.

Year four, day two-hundred and one.

Fear. That was the only emotion on Zuko’s mind. Fear of rejection. Fear of being alone. Fear of losing the person that mattered most in his life. The person who he considered to be up in the ranks of Iroh and Ursa.

It’d been over a year and a half since he and Y/N had begun dating and about one year past the date in which they’d admitted their unconditional love for one another.

Their relationship had only gotten more close and intimate since then, causing Zuko to come to the realization that he wanted to spend the rest of his life by her side. There was no one else for him, he was sure of it.

Of course, the only logical thing to do would be to propose, which had caused an immense amount of stress on Zuko’s life.

He’d gone and gotten Y/N’s parents blessing, his own family’s blessing, and his advisor’s blessing before going out to prepare for his proposal. Zuko had picked out the finest jeweler in the Fire Nation, helping design and create the perfect ring for his beloved.

Now, the only thing left to do was actually propose. Which was one of the few things Zuko was certain would happen that night. What he wasn’t certain of, was if Y/N would accept.

“Please, please, please.” Zuko mumbled to himself, standing outside of Y/N’s chambers, itching to knock on her door. Every nerve in his body was screaming with positivity. “Please let this go to plan.”

The entrance swung open, Zuko’s hand still midair. Y/N was bouncing in excitement, having suspicions of the big question Zuko was meaning to pop. She’d been waiting for hours for his arrival, sitting by the door with anticipation on her mind.

“Y/N!” Zuko yelped in surprise, nearly falling over at the sight of her face so close to his own. She laughed at his unbalanced posture, glad to see the tables had turned for once.

She held out her hand, taking his in her own and led him out of the hallway and into another. “So what’s the big surprise?” She wiggled her eyebrows, trying to suppress the large smile forming on her lips.

“A little bird told me that you asked the entire staff to keep out of the kitchens tonight?” She let out her smile at the sight of Zuko’s flushed face. He shook his head in disbelief, loving the fact that his staff adored her as much as he did.

“That little bird can’t keep a secret.” He wrapped an arm around her body, leading her towards their destination—the place where they’d first discovered their connection.

As they entered the kitchen, strong smells of freshly baked bread, warm wood logs, and most prominent of all—roses, filled the room. The aroma was overwhelming, dominating all of Y/N’s senses.

Zuko pulled out her chair for her, making sure that she was comfortable before taking a seat of his own. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the ring box in his pocket, before continuing on as if everything was normal.

His plans went off without a hitch. They shared a meal, some laughter, a few kisses here and there—now came the time for Zuko’s big question. The question that would determine their entire future.

“I love you so much.” Zuko breathed out, sitting beside her at the small table. He held her hand, pressing a light kiss to the back of it and stuffed his own into his pocket.

He took out the ring box, placing it on display in his grasp above the table. “I’m well aware that you know what I’m going to ask you.” He smiled, biting his lip and looking into her beautiful eyes. 

Her expression was indescribable. Tears welled in her sockets, dripping slowly down her cheeks. Her hands were covering her mouth, trying to prevent any soft sobs from escaping her lips.

“And I just want to lay everything out, before you say yes.” He explained, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t want you agreeing to something that you may come to hate.”

Zuko set down the box, now taking both hands into his. He squeezed them, trying to calm down Y/N’s rapid breathing. “By saying yes, you’d not only become my wife, but a leader of my people.”

“They already look up to you so much, but as the Fire Lord’s wife—their expectations could get out of hand.” Y/N nodded at his words, taking in his reservations and understanding his concerns.

“I want you to accept this proposal for the sole reason that I love you.” He confessed, having confessed it a million times before. “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Y/N leaned forwards, cupping Zuko’s face in her palms before kissing him deeply. She poured all of her emotion into the single act, expressing her feelings and acceptance of his proposal.

“You are everything to me, Zuko.” Her eyes sparkled with tears, her hands shaking. She let her arms hang loosely around his neck, bringing him even closer. “I’d love to marry you.”

Zuko felt his eyes begin to water, sweeping her into a large hug, causing the both of them to lose their balance and fall to the floor. They laughed together, radiating happiness as Zuko slipped on the ring—marking their engagement.

Year four, day two-hundred and two.

Zuko rushed through the hallways, his footsteps rapidly hitting the pavement in urgency. Staff members and servants swerved to the side, trying their best not to get in the way of the famous Fire Lord.

His hair had come undone in the midst of his sprint, his robes flapping behind him in the wind. The rain was pouring outside of the palace, washing away the clear skies that had taken up the day’s morning.

The thunder rumbled, echoing down the vast walkways, filling the palace with dread. Worry had overcome Zuko’s mind—worry for the girl who’d become his fiancée just the night before.

“Please be alright.” He mumbled to himself, stepping into their shared bedroom which was filled with the sound of her beautiful soft sobs. Zuko dropped the soaking robes, letting them fall from his shoulders before calling out. “Y/N?”

The cries began to settle, quieting for only a moment before picking up again. “I’m in here!” He heard Y/N exclaim, choking back her sadness. “Although, I’m afraid I look like quite a mess.”

Zuko shook his head, his royal mannerisms being thrown out of the door the minute his love came into view. He knelt down beside her, holding her close as she continued to let out her agony.

“One of the servants interrupted my meeting earlier.” He said quietly, his arms wrapping around her shaking figure in an attempt to calm her nerves. “They said you made a bit of a ruckus at the beach.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, resting his head on top of hers. A deep sigh escaped his lips, confusion and concern being his only emotions in that moment. “What exactly did happen at the beach?”

Y/N breathing began to even out, her sobs subsiding as she relished in the feeling of being in Zuko’s warm arms. She stared at the engagement ring resting on her finger, as she began to give the explanation that she’d been dreading.

“I told Azula about what happened last night.” Her voice sounded numb, the usual merriment and joy was void from her tone. She gulped, preparing herself for Zuko’s inevitable shock. “And she wasn’t happy, at all.”

Zuko’s eyebrows furrowed, trying to piece together why Azula wouldn’t find excitement in their happiness. Their engagement was a definite sign of love between her brother and best friend. Why wouldn’t she want them to be happy?

“What’d she do?” He asked, trying to get definite answers that would suffice the questions on his mind. “Yell? Scream? Did she hurt you?”

“No.” Y/N shook her head absentmindedly, she turned to face Zuko in his embrace, her eyes bloodshot. She bit her lip, preventing any more cries from escaping, before taking a shallow breath.

“She kissed me.”

Nothing. That was all that was running through Zuko’s head. Absolutely nothing. He had no thoughts on the matter, no opinions, no ideas that had ever even come close to that explanation.

He’d always known that Azula and Y/N were close, far closer than typical best friends would be—but he’d never guess that his sister had had feelings for the love of his life.

He’d never have guessed that his love used to have feelings for her as well.

“It just happened, I don’t know how.” Y/N explained, her eyes beginning to brim with tears once again. Zuko shushed her, bringing her closer to his chest to show her that he would always be there to comfort her.

“One second we were laughing and talking and the next thing I know she kisses me and I’m storming away.” Y/N clenched her fists, closing her eyes whilst trying to repress the anger she’d felt in that moment.

“I just don’t understand why she did this now!” She exclaimed angrily, slamming her hand onto the soft floor of the carpet. “I don’t understand why she did this after she told me that she didn’t love me, two years ago!”

Zuko felt immense rage bubble up inside of his chest. Not at all angered at the idea of them loving one another, but at the notion that Azula had intentionally broken Y/N’s heart.

He took a hold of her shaking hands, suppressing her anger with the natural comfort his presence brought her. They sat in silence with nothing but the sound of the thunder outside, holding each other as if they were all they had left.

Year five, the last day.

Serenity. That was the only thing left to feel on the wide spectrum of Zuko’s emotions. He’d found the person that brought him inner peace, someone who could calm his fire, rather than smother it.

Y/n was his soulmate, there was no denying that. He knew it, she knew it—spirits, the entire world knew it. There had never been two people more overwhelmingly compatible in all of Fire Nation history.

With the support of his people behind him, Zuko and Y/N had felt no need to keep their engagement a secret. Their only reservations being the topic of Azula, which was a sore subject on both of their minds.

Neither of them had been in contact with his sister in the past few months, afraid of pressing the issue further and making more of a mess. Y/N wanted to be on good terms with Azula, perhaps even friends again.

Azula, however, had refused Y/N’s requests for any meetings or sessions. She’d caved herself in her room, only allowing servants to come in and out with meals. 

Zuko hadn’t seen his sister behave in such a manner since they were just the two little children of royalty, pitted against each other. He hadn’t seen her like this since she had her spiral.

In all honesty, Zuko was worried about Azula. He saw his sister’s improvements and the good nature breaking down her bad—but without Y/N, he didn’t know if she could continue the path upwards on her own.

Her struggles would come witness later today as Azula had accepted their formal invitation to the wedding. The wedding that they had specifically scheduled on Azula’s last day of rehabilitation for the sole purpose that she could attend.

Not that Zuko was even positive that Azula wanted to attend the ceremony. He feared that his sister was still lost in her feelings for Y/N, and wouldn’t have the strength to be present.

That’d been on the back of his mind all morning. While he was getting his robes fitted, his hair tied up—even while he was reuniting with his old friends, the friends he hadn’t seen in months.

Azula was the only thing he could think about, because while he never openly admitted it—his sister did matter to him. She actually mattered more than most things, and her feelings for his soon-to-be wife brought Zuko a sadness that he would never be rid of.

Knowing that his little sister would never be able to be with the person she loved most in the world was heartbreaking, and knowing that he was the reason behind that—it was just wrong.

Their lives hadn’t been fair growing up and he’d expected adulthood to be somewhat better than the hell they’d lived, but life wasn’t like that. It simply wasn’t.

There’s good and bad in the world. Sometimes the good outshining the bad and other times where the bad overwhelms the good, crushing it under its darkness—but despite that the world still needs balance, never tipping the scale too far one way.

With these thoughts constantly running through his brain, taught to him by Iroh in his own darkest moments, Zuko knew that Azula had a happy ending. Someone, somewhere out there, would be the person to make her happy.

He knew this by simply knowing her, and knowing the new person she’d become. He knew by the look on her face as Y/N walked down their rose covered aisle, her veil trailing behind her against the petals.

Azula’s expression was solemn, heartbreak and sadness rolled into one. However, there was a gleam in her eyes at the sight of Y/N’s smile, knowing that she’d never been the one to make her grin like that.

One glance, one second of eye contact between the two siblings gave Zuko the notion that Azula would be okay. She’d grow from this and continue on with her life, loving every second as the new and improved person she’d become.

The feeling of serenity had finally devoured Zuko’s concern, inklings of content reached his soul, settling his worries and letting his full attention focus on the beautiful girl standing in front of him.

The beautiful girl who was the perfect fit to his broken puzzle. Y/N, his perfect person—that he was now able to call his wife.

TAGS: @practicallylivesonline @cherryskyies @shell-bells-ringding @xapham @mochminnie​ @bombardia @lammello @user12345321 @xxspqcebunsxx @missmorosis @mysticpeacecrusade @akiris

[bonesofapoet]

On the Breath of a Hurricane

[peter hale x you]

author’s note: i started rewatching teen wolf and i am shameless, this is shameless!!!! post psychotic Peter Hale: he's Working On That. blood, minor violence, swearing and a quick hostage situation

word count: 1304

ao3: here

It was dark when you woke.

A void swallowed you whole. Cold, clammy air bit into your skin, your bones, your soul. The air was damp with must and mold. Wherever you were, this place hadn’t felt the kiss of sunlight in some time.

Thick, opaque fog lingered around your thoughts, slowed your movements when you tried to stand. Wrists bound, feet bound. Ropes too tight, cutting off circulation. Skin slick with fear, sweat, and retaliation. Eyes still unseeing, but no gag. You could spit, you could scream. You could hiss at the blood trickling down your fingertips, the drip drip drip of it’s collision with the cement under your feet.

Dripping. You were in a chair. Not wooden, which could be potentially problematic.

Fuck.

Then a roar ripped through the air in front of you, around you, above you. A flinch tore through your body, then a wince. A pain in your shoulder was suddenly blinding. Seething. Consuming. Stars appeared in the darkness to accompany the unmistakable snarl of a werewolf.

Hopefully, your friends. Or, at the very least, someone to help you bust your way far, far away from here.

Footsteps sounded above you – heavy, swift and unyielding. Multiple crashes followed suit – like whoever it was left a trail in their wake. Breadcrumbs. A map for the others to follow. A warning? Maybe all of the above.

You screamed, held yourself still to keep the bleeding to a minimum, to keep the pain from pulling you back into the comfort of it’s sheltered embrace. Something had to be done on your part; waiting idly by to be saved was never your specialty, but your voice was all you had this time.

It didn’t echo. The cry for help was swallowed by the darkness, just like you. That meant you were in a room – small, enclosed. Likely with a door separating you and the action coming closer and closer with each labored breath.

That mattered little, in the world of werewolves and heightened senses. Soft, far away light suddenly flooded your holding cell. Instinctively, you cringed away and squeezed your eyes shut until the quiet settled over you, tension thick, air chilled enough to rival the ungodly stare of Medusa herself.

A silhouette – probably familiar – made your heart flutter violent and quick. Adrenaline began to stir awake within you.

A voice, unmistakable and urgent cut through the darkness. Your name was the only thing to break the spell.

Your relationship with Peter Hale wasn’t much of one. He was insufferable, and you refused to spoon-feed his narcissistic tendencies. He held a skewed morality, dramatic and burning in his hands. You tried to contain flames from scalding innocent lives, put out the little bonfires when they weren’t welcome. Rarely, did he think twice about his bloodstained hands. You tried to avoid the inevitable. The two of you didn’t quite get along, but Peter Hale never played well with others. He provoked everyone, only helped the pack when it was personal for him.

You were everything he wasn’t, and that was why he had come for you. Changing him was something you never tried; coexisting as best you could was the path you had chosen. He recognized the potential you saw in him where he tried to drown it. Tried to keep it from seeing anyone’s eyes but your own. He cringed when you tried to draw it forth on occasions. You never pushed, never pulled. Simply let it be what it was, left it to break out on it’s own.

That time was now, it seemed. He couldn’t crush it into oblivion this time. The worry. The fear. The urge to save, instead of destroy – even only if it was personal for him. He didn’t know where the fuck any of this had come from. Didn’t know how to handle it, how to shape it back into nothing.

“I can’t move,” you said to the darkness. “And I think I’ve been shot.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Figured that out for myself, thanks.” The restraints fell in heaps to the ground.

A hiss through your teeth as fresh air stung the rope burns on your wrists, the places where your skin separated into open wounds. A sharp groan as your arms fell to your sides, jerked at your apparent bullet wound.

“Can you stand?” he knelt before you, silhouette caught back in the light as your eyes adjusted. A gentle hand tilted your chin, checked for more injuries.

Things were still disjointed in your head when you tried. The darkness and the light swayed as you lifted a foot, clutched at Peter’s waiting arm when you pitched sideways.

“So that’s a no.”

“You’re not carrying me out of here.”

Harsh yelling sounded from upstairs. An arm slid around your waist.

A gunshot, loud in the silence that followed.

Another.

Then another.

It was jarring, the regroup after a fight. Adrenaline began to flood your veins again – the pain became a distant memory. Your head cleared just enough to get a sharper grip on reality. Your fingers that held you steady against Peter let go, trailed down his arm to test your balance – or lacktherof.

Peter’s arm around your waist tightened.

Were you truly so out of it, or did his breath just catch?

“I don’t think you have much of a choice, sweetheart.”

Gone was the arrogance, the playful armor he wore. It was unsettling, when he was serious.

Pain lanced up your arms, down your ankles when he lifted you, and your wrists brushed the fabric of his shirt around his neck. A grunt of pain made it past your lips when your shoulder pressed tight against his. You didn’t miss it this time, how he cringed at your pain. How he was the one causing it.

This was not the time for your feelings to shine in the dark, you reminded yourself. Guilt twinged through your chest anyway, how you seemed to make him feel – when otherwise he didn’t.

The flash of a bullet leaving the barrel, the glint off a blade, eyes that glowed replaced the lurking darkness. A strangled yell, the whoosh of an arrow stripped away the muffled silence within each moment, each step forward. The tang of blood hung in the air, but maybe that was just you, bleeding all over Peter Hale.

A knife flew your way, materializing out of thin air. Peter sidestepped with grace. A growl tore through his throat; loud when your ear was right next to the source. It was the main thing anchoring you to consciousness now – sound.

Peter – no! Get them out of here. The distant voice of an alpha – your alpha, rang above the cacophony of battle.

“This is a good time to listen to Scott, actually,” your voice was weaker than it had been when he first found you. It was harder to speak. Your grip on him loosened. The blood loss from your shoulder threatened to pull you away from yourself. Away from your friends. Away from Peter.

The fight dulled now that the darkness was coming back for you. Everything slowly fell away, and all you had was Peter Hale.

He huffed, irritated and pushed down his pride. “Don’t worry,” he said, bright blue eyes dimmed back to brown. “I won’t let you die.”

You would have laughed, if the weight of the world was not resting so heavy on your chest, crushing your heart. Atlas, maybe, in another life.

Peter glanced down when there was no reply. No quip, no laugh. Just an eerie, unsettling silence. Only the ghost of a smile and heavy eyes were there to answer him. He moved faster, tempered his want to stay and fight, to rip apart whoever did this to you – brick by bloody brick.

He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t.

[too-scared-to-do-this]

Insufferable

Chapter two - A king’s duty is a king’s duty

Sander’s sides fanfiction - ‘Off the Devil’s head’ spin-off (can be read as a stand-alone)

Wordcount: 1928

Ship: intrulogical

TW: cursing - a lot of cursing (still Remus, lovlies, get used to it), confusion, cute bickering (I think...?), forests at night, very obvious autistic tics (based on my own, so I know they are real and how they work, in case you’re not sure ^^ I wouldn’t write something that I haven’t checked at least twice with someone who has, or deals with or is deeply interested in this stuff). And I think that’s all. If anything pops up, do let me know :) <3

Summary of the whole story: This might have not been the brightest idea - steeling from a cart right in the fucking smack-dab-middle of the Square. But Remus never claimed his ideas were bright. Never said his words and actions were appropriate either. So how in all off goddamned hell did he find himself sprawled out on a giant comfortable throne instead of a cold and dark (and very drippy) prison cell - with guards actually guarding his safety instead of assuring his imprisonment - is completely beyond him.

Link to AO3 for those who prefer reading there ^^

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

Chapter two - A king’s duty is a king’s duty

There’s not a lot of things Logan dislikes. There’s a total of fifteen so far. But disruption of order, change and tall grass is definitely in the top ten. And wouldn’t you look at that?

Green-haired hurricanes are tearing threw his peaceful kingdom, disrupting peace - thus creating an unnecessary change. Which caused his sleepless state, which lead him down a path where he has to hop from foot to foot like a dear, to eliminate any unnecessary contact with grass.

And the fact that all these things alone cause unnecessary stress, let alone combined, just makes it all worse. His movements are more jagged then usual, more frantic. Gestures all over the place in unorganized manors. And his eyebrows are stuck in a constant ‘thinking scowl’ as his advisors call it.

To any other person, his behavior would seem truly strange - Logan can’t say he doesn’t feel a little embarrassed by it, even now that he’s alone. But there are some things that just can’t be helped.

Besides, all of his kingdom know that their king is a ‘little weird’.

Since Logan first sat on the throne - at the mere age of thirteen - everybody’s been in love with their ruler. It sounds a little odd, that they let a thirteen-year-old kid on the throne, but Logan’s never really been a kid. Since when he can remember he read books far too difficult for the usual kid his age, listened in on conversations he probably had no business listening to, let alone understanding. Sat by his father’s side, while he made life-concerning decisions. Watched his mother as she took care of every problem with caution and care not everybody could offer. Although Logan never got around to fully understanding that care, he learned to act the same way. Same words, same gestures. Nobody was worried when the crown got passed down to him. All the people in the kingdom knew they were in good hands.

Logan’s very first mission was learning the name of every single person in town. It wasn’t an easy task, but it wasn’t as hard as someone would expect, since a surprisingly big amount of people shared the same name. And Logan had a really good memory when it came to association. A face to a name. A shape to a math formula. The smell, color, density and overall look to a chemical. And of course, the exact numeric measurement of a star’s whereabouts.

But there was no way of ‘associating’ his way out of this. He had no clue of the density, the weight, the pace, the name, nor the whereabouts of this mysterious disrupter of peace. All he knew was, that his hair was unnaturally green and he looked way too skinny for a wealthy towns-man - which just underlined the reason why he was steeling.

Oh, and let’s not forget he wanted to kiss Logan. Right there on the Square, apparently.

The young king scratched his arm, absentmindedly, trying not to think too much about it. Not that that’s helping. Questions keep popping up, tripping up his sane thought process.

It’s not like Logan liked the idea of the stranger kissing him. He didn’t like to be touched, let alone landing his lips to someone else. But the thoughts didn’t leave him alone.

Maybe that’s why he was here, stepping over unnecessarily high strands of grass in the middle of the night. He might not like the greenery touching him, and the jutting out branches and leaves of trees and bushes cause him immense panic (and make him scratch his exposed body parts like crazy), but he actually likes the forest. It is really calming (for the most part, anyways).

He hoped that this almost-calming surrounding would help him clear his head. But it just seemed to stress him out even more.

The thoughts kept on swiveling in his head - swirling and twirling, not letting the unknown thief out of their claw-clad grasp.

Logan needed to find out the thief’s name. He knows everybody’s name. And if this thief stays close to town, he’s considered a citizen. He needs to learn his name.

Not far from the obsessing king, Remus was lounging out in the hammock he hung outside Matilde’s old run-down cottage. One leg swung over the edge, he swayed from side to side, twisting the silver ring on his slender finger.

Bored out of his mind.

There wasn’t many days, when Remus’s screwed-up brain didn’t come up with things to entertain him; but some days even that head needed some rest, it seemed. Apparently today was one of those days.

Not a single fun thought. Even the inner monologue he never seemed to be able to end, somehow bored him to death. The only thing peeking even the slightest of interest in him, was the constant image of those scarily-blue eyes the king-dude possessed.

Seriously. In all his life, he has never once seen such ocean-blue eyes. Dark and deep, holding many a secret. It made Remus desperate to know each and every single one.

But that was not happening. No matter how much the eyes mesmerized him. How much he couldn’t get them out of his head. (Agh, Jesus fucking Christ those eyes…) There was just no way he could go back to that town.

The king has let him go once (he chalked it up to his good looks, charm and smooth words) and the second time is as likely as Matilde coming back from wherever she fled to.

So here he was. Bored as all hell.

He sighed heavily, wondering what kingdom was next on his agenda tomorrow. When suddenly he heard a scrunch. Then another. And another. This was no squirrel. Remus sat up immediately, eyes darting along the dark forest.

It was so late. What the hell would anybody be doing up at this hour of the night?

He darted out of the hammock - almost falling face first when his foot got caught in the fabric - hiding in the near-by bushes. Thank the lords that he didn’t forget to turn the fucking lights off again.

The scrunching got louder by the second, and Remus crouched lower.

Low muttering drafted into his ears. “…nice of you good sir, but I’ll have to decline. I am not sure that would be appropriate considering we just met…” A dark figure, drafted in shadow came into view. “And besides, you haven’t even introduced yourself. I know the name of every citizen in this kingdom. For the sake of consistency, I would also like to find out yours…” Jesus Christ, who were they talking to?  And what were they doing?!

One leg up in the air, like soldiers marching, then quickly stamped down, hopping to the other. Weird movements all over the place, not even in a straight line, like a sane person. Was this person drunk? They looked like a fucking goat, jumping from one small jutting out pebble on the mountain-side to the other.

The site alone would make Remus want to piss himself, but together with the inconsistent murmuring? He couldn’t hold back the snort.

The figure immediately froze in place. All movement and words falling into still silence. “Who’s there?” They called out cautiously.

Remus bit his tugging lip hard. Fuck.

Well, there was no backtracking now. Besides, it’s not like he was scared. It was more likely he’d scare the crazy-pants over there. So slowly, he razed from his hiding spot with hands in the air and a huge grin on his face. “What are you doing dude? You look like a fucking crazy person.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” came the person’s answer. Voice laced with nerves.

“Just a random dude in a forest.” Rem shrugged.

“That’s not a very satisfying answer.”

Roman bit back a laugh. Seriously, what the hell? “Don’t worry I won’t hurt you.” he snickered. Then this thought blinked into his head, and as you know, thought’s bring words. Stupid, embarrassing and unnecessary words. “Unless you want me to.” he winked seductively. Then realized the person probably couldn’t even see his face, let alone the wink he just threw at them. Ah well, at least it saved him some embarrassment, when his tongue betrayed him.

Swear to god, the person ‘Eep’-ed at this. He made this strangled sound that sounded like a nervous whine mixed with surprise cut in half and that just made Remus want to laugh even more. “That’s really unnecessary, thank you.” And they’re still being polite! How even…?

Rem couldn’t help it at this point. It was too much. He burst out cackling like to crazy idiot he is. Probably scaring the poor person to death. (But then again, the ‘poor person’ did come wondering into a forest in the middle of the night, muttering to themselves and jumping around like an idiot.)

“Am… You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh that’s right…“ Rem’s forhead creased in thought. “…what was the question again?”  

“Who are you.”

“I’m Remus.”

If Logan could allow himself to curse, he would. But he couldn’t so instead he just gave a long exasperate sigh. “And who might that be?”

The stranger stepped closer, allowing the fleeting moon-light to reach his features and gave a big bow. Hand gesture and all. “Me, obviously.” No matter how much he disliked to admit it, Remus was every bit as dramatic as his brother. If not more…

The king’s eyes lit up with recognition (not that Rem could see). Well, guess his duty’s done then - the thief’s name is Remus. Huh…Very interesting.

“Well, now that you know my name, it’d be nice to get yours, pretty.” Rem grinned, daring to get a few more steps in. Bringing him closer to the still standing-frozen person.

From here he could finally see more of them. Well, him. Because apparently the smooth deep voice he was conversing with was the royal-head himself.

And his royal head slanted to the left slightly, eyebrows drawing together. “Why should I give my name to unknown man in the forest?”

“Why should I give my name to some random bloke, then?”

“Because I asked you to?”

Remus wondered what this dude’s problem was. Logan wondered why even wanted to get out of the safety of his chamber in the first place.

“Alright then, weirdo, tell me one good reason why I should answer and you shouldn’t.” Rem crossed his arms over his chest. Yes, he was aware he was talking to the king. But that doesn’t mean he had to play nice.

Rem treats everybody the same way, because that’s how it should be. (Maybe that’s what landed his ass behind bars twice already…)

Logan jutted out his chin. He could use the ‘King-card’ - as his advisor calls it. Could easily force the thief to answer without any objections (that is if he abbeys rules; which he should.) But honestly, Logan felt like doing neither. It was late, and he was supposed to stop obsessing about this whole thing. Which he did. The thief’s name was Remus.

So, as gracefully as a king can, he shrugged. “I don’t have one.”

“Well, shit. Then you ain’t getting my name, darling.”

The royal couldn’t decide whether the thief was that simple-minded or just easily distracted. “You’ve already said your name.”

Our beloved idiot’s expression froze, grin falling. “Ah, fuck.” his shoulders did the same. (In a very overdramatic - and admittedly, impressively flexible - way)

Well, if he wasn’t screwed before, now he certainly was.

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

Jesus Christ, I’ve never cursed more in my life and I hate it so much! I don’t curse in real life, not even while texting with friends (I use shit, hell and damn, but that’s about it) and this is killing me on a whole other level! But this is Remus, and I feel like a good Remus requires a hella lot of curses. 

So here we are. Me actually cursing more then my brain can accept it. But at least I get to project on Logan, right? I love autistic Logan, too damn much. He’s too precious. And the greenery thing? Believe me, my mum constantly makes fun of it XD But I don’t mind, I know I look ridiculous.

Anyways! I hope you liked this chap! ^^ I still have no idea where the hell I’m going with this, but I guess we’ll see where we end up. 

[aethelar]

For @evening-rose-309 who sent a prompt about a dog

“Would you stop?” Newt hisses, tugging his sleeve out of his soul’s mouth.

“Newt?” Leta asks, hesitating and cocking her head at him curiously. Newt can - just - see the shadowy outline of her own soul, something small and inquisitive peering over her shoulder. It’s a mark of how well he knows her, how close they are as friends, and the fact that she’s never seen so much as a stray tail-wag of his own soul is something he tries not to think about.

“He’s worrying again,” he says, frowning down at the dog. “Which he doesn’t need to do, because nothing’s going to go wrong.”

The dog - his soul - raises an unimpressed eyebrow and snags his other sleeve to try again.

“Oh,” Leta says. “We can go back, if you’re worried. Sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“What - no, I’m not worried. He is. It’s fine. C’mon Leta, we’ve been planning this for weeks.”

She’s already leaving though and he scowls in ungracious defeat. “If your soul’s worried then you’re worried,” she calls back to him. “The mooncalves will be there next full moon.”

The dog, black and white with a luxuriously silky coat, trots smugly after her and barks when Newt is too slow to follow. “Heel,” Newt snarks as he obeys. “Sit, stay. Roll over. I thought dogs were meant to be loyal and obedient, but no. I got the overprotective worrywart. Do I look like an overprotective worrywart? No. Clearly, you’re someone else’s soul, or just some random dog ghost that appeared in the night and stole mine. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Newt, you’re muttering again.”

He pulls a face at Leta. Then another at his soul, who is looking immeasurably happier now that they’re headed back in the castle instead of out to the forest at night, and is carefully scouting round corners for prefects.

Newt rolls his eyes, but dutifully hides behind a tapestry when he’s told. It’s his soul doing the telling, after all. You can’t argue with yourself.

Except, apparently for when you can. Newt’s expelled, his brother’s gone to war, he’s going to follow him - and his soul won’t let him go. “He’s Theseus,” Newt hisses, yanking his sleeve back and continuing to shrink his stuff into the battered suitcase he found. “We’re not going to leave him.”

The dog dances in place, as frustrated as he is, then tries to steal his registration forms. “Give those - hey! Do not chew that up, that’s the only ID I’ve got and I need - hey!” Newt salvages the soggy scrap, then throws it down in disgust. The charm’s bust; it displays his real age, too young to sign up.

“Listen,” he says, then levitates his case out of reach. “Listen damnit. We can’t stay here. What else are we meant to do? It won’t be that bad. We’re not backing out, so could we please just - could you do what a soul is meant to do and back me up for once?”

The dog whines, ears back, tail curled down. He crowds closer to Newt, butting his head against Newt’s lanky, unmuscled form and growling softly at the fake ID. “It won’t be that bad,” Newt repeats quietly, reaching out to stroke behind his ears. “We’ll be fine. Are you going to help me fix the charm?”

His soul does. It’s better than it was before.

War is not better. War is worse. The dog curls round him at night and leaps between him and enemy spells and once when Newt falls unconscious he feels his soul pulling him out the mud before he drowns. War is worse, and on his worst days he hides with the dragons and admits to his dog that he was right and they should never have come, and his dog rests his head on Newt’s knee and licks his face to comfort him.

“Hush,” he mumbles. “It’s not illegal, it’s heroic. We’re saving lives.”

He gets a flat stare in response, followed by a deafeningly loud bark. Thank god he’s the only one who can hear it, because there’s at least four guards that he can see. “You are entirely far too concerned with the law,” he says. “Where did I go wrong with you. Do you think I should use a shield charm, or go invisible and rely on stealth?”

In answer, the dog huffs, then grabs his sleeve and tows him round to the circus’ back entrance. Newt hadn’t even known high-top tents had a back entrance. “See?” he says. “We’ll make a hufflepuff of you yet. Let’s go free some unicorns.”

In Egypt, they fall ill. That’s the only way Newt can explain it. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, or what’s causing it, but he feels - tight. Too tight. Constrained. He wakes up gasping for breath with his fingers clawing at his throat, but there’s nothing there. The dog flinches at things neither of them can see, hackles raised and backing Newt into defensible corners when the shadows come too close.

There’s nothing there. Newt knows there’s nothing, he’s checked, but the dog is on such high alert and being so overprotective that they barely make it out of Cairo alive. The thunderbird is safe, though, and when Newt stumbles his way through a splinching his soul hauls him over the sand to a sheltered place to hide.

“Oh fuck,” Newt says, staring at his leg with wide, shocky eyes. “Oh fuck, it’s, what do I do, I never - I got expelled half way through that course, I don’t know what to do, it’s bleeding oh my fuck.”

The dog noses at his hands, teeth catching on the end of his sleeve, and Newt curls his fingers instinctively around the bottle. “Dittany?” He reads. “What do I do - hey, wait what are you - ow.” The dittany burns, but it does its job, and Newt’s leg slowly reforms into something he can walk on.

“Huh,” he says, as the dog inspects the scar. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

The illness doesn’t go away. By the time Newt gets to New York he feels like he can barely breathe every time he wakes up, and he spends the first morning throwing up in the toilet and cursing the fact that it wasn’t just sea sickness like he thought. The dog sticks close, too close, so much that it’s almost hard to walk through the crowded city streets.

“Is it a wizard thing?” Jacob asks, the fourth time Newt’s had to stop and wait for his soul to stop blocking the way. Jacob’s own soul is a monkey, Newt thinks, maybe one of the primates - he caught a glimpse of it when Jacob was staring in wonder at the creatures in his case. Not for the first time, Newt wishes he could share his dog with someone else. Not everyone. But. It would be nice, he thinks, for some people to see him the way they sometimes let him see them.

“No,” is what he says out loud. “Wizard souls aren’t any different from muggle ones, as far as I know. Mine just disagrees with me a lot.”

“Oh,” Jacob says, taken aback. “I’m... sorry?”

Newt would laugh, except his dog is curled miserably around his knees, staring out at the world as though it would hurt him. “Don’t be,” he says, dropping a hand to bury in the silky fur. “He’s just looking out for me. I wouldn’t have him any other way.”

In MACUSA’s holding cells they’re interrogated by a man called Percival Graves. Newt’s dog tries to rip his throat out. When they’re sent to be executed, the dog bites through the cuffs before Pickett can even crawl down to them, and barely gives Newt time to rescue Tina before he drags them away. They run through secret passages and disused access tunnels and Tina looks at him funny and asks how he knew they were there, and Newt waves the tattered ends of his sleeve at her in answer.

After, when Graves turned out to be Grindelwald and Picquery threw him in a cell, when Tina’s reinstated and Jacob’s forgotten and Frank is flying hurricane-high and riding the wind to Arizona, Newt stands on the dock and watches his boat pull out of the harbour.

“We were meant to be on that,” he says, but it sounds distant even to him. The dog gives him a muffled bork in reply, teeth clamped around his wrist, tail tucked low between his legs.

He’s started looking raggedy. His silky fur is going bald in patches. There’s a red welt developing around Newt’s neck from where he wakes up in the morning and has to remember how to breathe.

“Ok,” Newt says, letting his soul pull him insistently back to the city. “I’m coming. It’ll be ok.”

“Oh,” he says when he finds the man. He’s in chains, rough iron that suppresses his magic and has rubbed his skin raw and bleeding. It matches where the dog is losing fur.

“The fuck are you,” Graves rasps, shifting to hunch protectively over the little sugar-glider in his hands. It too is chained, one spelled iron-link that closes around its throat like a collar.

“Um,” Newt says, trusting his dog to keep watch while he works on undoing the wards. “I’m Newt. I think I have your soul.”

Graves freezes. His gaze darts between Newt and the dog, and there’s something undeniably vulnerable about realising that he can see him. The dog steps between them, hackles raised, and growls a warning, and that, of all things, makes Graves relax.

“Yeah,” he says, a vaguely hysterical note to his voice that suggests he thinks he’s dreaming. “Mangy mutt that likes to fight. Sounds like me.”

“You should see him when he’s had a bath,” Newt says mildly. “He’s very handsome.”

The wards fall, and Newt busies himself with releasing the chains and misses Graves reaction. When the last iron link cracks open he feels it like a weight lifted off his neck, and the sugar glider squeaks and scrambles up to sit on Graves’ head.

“You’re going to drag me on an adventure, aren’t you?” Graves asks, sounding resigned. “And then you’re going to get in trouble and I’m going to have to rescue you.”

“Well,” Newt says. “You’re going to make a fuss about breaking the law, and then you’re going to worry too much about everything that could go wrong. But you’re also going to be there to make sure it doesn’t go badly wrong, so that’s ok.”

Graves barks out a laugh, and chokes through the coughing fit that follows. Both Newt and the sugar glider hover awkwardly over him, Newt with a spell to ease his airways, the sugar glider with a tiny hand tugging comfortingly on his ear. “Sounds like me,” Graves says when he can speak again.

“Good. But first, you’re going to come home and get better and I’m going to fuss over you until you’re well again.”

“And that,” Graves says, and raises a finger to stroke the sugar glider with a fond smile, “That sounds a lot like you.”

[highlifeboat]

ok so i’ve never played any resident evil games so can someone explain the whole mia/baker family/being set on edge when rose calls her mommy thing or if it’s too long, is there like a link or video cause i tried looking it up and i couldn’t find anything.

Okay! I’ll explain this as best that I can;

In Resident Evil 7, Mia worked for an organization called The Connections. The Connections worked with H.C.F (which is an expansion of Umbrella Corp, which is a whole other thing I don’t know that much about) their goal was basically to try and mind control people to use as a weapon, and they discovered a fungus (AKA Mold) that would pretty much serve this purpose. There was a line of experiments/subjects but all we really need to know is the E-Type.

In 2014, Mia was sent on a mission that was to, for lack of a better word, Babysit one of these E-Types (Known as E-001, Eveline, or Evie), who basically looks like a 8-10 year old girl. Mia, along with a male colleague named Alan, were told to act as Evie’s guardians while they transported her to a laboratory via cargo ship. The ship was caught in a hurricane, which caused Evie to become unstable and basically go haywire. She killed Alan after he called her a “little bitch”, and started to refer to Mia as “Mommy” as she made it clear she wanted a family. The ship ended up crashing in a bayou in Dulvey, Louisiana.

The Bakers were the ones who had found the ship. Jack Baker (father) went to investigate the ship and was able to find Mia and bring her back to their house for rest, I believe he put her in the daughter’s trailer at this time. He later went back and found Eveline, not knowing she was an incredibly dangerous bioweapon, and brought her back to the home, placing her in Lucas (son) and Zoe’s (daughter) bedroom. Eveline caused a blackout when Zoe went to check on her, and infected Lucas, Jack, and Marguerite (mother) Baker.

We don’t really know what happened while Mia was there, but it’s implied that in the three years they were under Eveline’s control they murdered and ate humans, along with rotting foods, and slowly became monstrous versions of themselves, save for Mia who seemed to be more or less conscious and “normal” through the ordeal, and Zoe who was no longer welcome in the family. Eveline did possess Mia at least once to contact Ethan in 2017 pre-game. It’s also good to note that Lucas calls Mia “mommy” at one point as well, before he takes her to be locked up in his shed, so it’s possible it wasn’t just coming from the mouth of Eveline during her time with the Baker’s.

By the time you find Mia in-game, she’s being held in the basement in a small cell with padded walls, laying on a bed. The way to she acts makes it safe to assume she’s traumatized by the whole thing.

SuperHorrorBros also has a video that explains the story of Res 7 if you wanna watch that, too. It explains things a little better than me. But that’s pretty much the basics of it all I think.

[outrebanx]

Dragonfly - Chapter 2

JJ x female!reader fic

Summary: Your first day working at the wreck is cut short when there’s a hurricane, causing issues later on.

Word count: 2.3k (slightly longer than I planned whoops)

Warnings: swearing, absolutely awful writing

Catch up: Chapter 1

A/N: Rip to actually writing well, but I was stuck on how to do this chapter for a while because I want to get to the others which I’ve kinda planned - still not sure how many chapters this will be tho as I need to decide on how I want to end it. Feedback is appreciated like normal :)

When you woke up that morning, all your muscles ached, hours of surfing generally did that to you, but you were always happy to pay the price as it was always worth it. You stayed in bed, completely zoned out for a while before you realised you should probably get up and have a shower so you were presentable for your first shift at the Wreck, hopefully giving a good first impression.

After getting in the shower, you got dressed into some jeans and a plain black top, put on some mascara and made your way to the kitchen to have a coffee before you got going.

Your dad was at the table eating some toast when you walked in, you said a quick hello before heading over to the kettle, putting it on, and searching for a travel mug.

You had found one just as your dad spoke up from the table, “you have work today right?”

“Yeh but only a short shift, why?”

“Oh on the radio this morning it said there’s gonna be a hurricane tonight, and I want you home, not only so you’re safe but so you can help me keep this place together.”

You smiled at him, “Don’t worry, I’ll be home before then and honestly I’m not sure that even with both of us this house will survive it, but I guess we’ll have to see.”

“Yes, I guess we will.” He laughed, he got up from the table, giving you a quick wave as he headed to whatever room he was trying to fix today.

After making your coffee, you grabbed your keys and headed out to your car, your car was a second hand jeep (possibly older, you had no idea) and so wasn’t always the most reliable, but it held a special place in your heart, and until it caught on fire or died completely you refused to get rid of it - no matter how much your dad asked you to.

The drive to the Wreck wasn’t awful, the road you were on showed some nice views of the island, although, the wind was beginning to pick up ahead of the hurricane that according to your dad was a common thing around here - something else you didn’t like about living on this side of the country. But you were going to try and make it work here and look on the bright side as even if you didn’t like it, this was now your home.

You got to the Wreck and were greeted by the owner Mr Carrera, who gave you a name tag and was about to show you around when he got a call, leaving you standing there looking like you were lost. The girl who you saw yesterday, Kiara you think her name is, came over to you to see if you were alright, and once you’d explained that her dad got a call, she decided to show you around instead.

“Okay,” she glanced at your name tag, “Y/N, obviously this isn’t the largest restaurant ever but we get quite a lot of people in here, especially at weekends and whenever there are loads of tourons around.”

“I’m guessing tourons are tourists?” You asked.

“Yes they are, sorry I keep forgetting you’re new around here, you’ll soon find there are names for everything around here - but if you’re ever confused you can always come and ask me.”

This girl was really nice, and pretty, and you kind of wanted to be friends with her, but before you could ask her anything, the first few customers came into the restaurant and she headed over to them, turning back to you with a smile.

Whilst she was busy with that group, a group of boys, who looked to be around your age, came in so you took it upon yourself to serve them, although the looks they gave you put you a little on edge. After giving them a few minutes to decide on what they want to eat, you approached them again, they all looked at you as you began speaking.

“Do you want any drinks?”

“No, but you could give us your name.” One of them said, he was probably the leader of this group, attractive yes, but anyone who doesn’t have good manners automatically is ruined for you.

“It’s Y/N,” you say pointing at your name tag, trying to be nice.

“Well, Y/N, we haven’t seen you before, and I have to admit you’re pretty hot for someone who I assume is a pogue, but that doesn’t mean much”

His other friends laughed at this comment, you didn’t even know what a pogue was so you were unsure of how to react, but the way he said it made it sound like an insult, so you just ignored him.

“Well if you don’t want any drinks, what food can I get for you guys?”

“Just leave us alone to decide” you nodded and just as you began to walk away you heard him mutter under his breath, “pogue bitch.”

What the fuck, you thought, who raises their children to speak like that to others? It had been a while since you’d been involved in customer service and you’d forgotten how shitty people can be. Ignoring the anger you felt, you headed over to Kiara, who had been looking over at you trying to serve them.

“Hey Kiara, what’s a pogue?” You asked.

“Call me Kie, and it’s the name for people who live in the Cut, the guys who you were just talking to are Kooks, they live in Figure 8 which is the ‘rich side’ of the island which means they kind of just look down on anyone who doesn’t have as much money as them.”

“Wow, a proper class divide, how fun.”

She laughed, “Yeah its not great, but some aren’t as bad as them, the main guy there is Rafe Cameron, his family is one of the richest on the island, they pretty much only come here when they really need to get away from their families or if they want to start a fight.”

“Okay, does that mean they’re not here often?”

“More or less, like I said earlier, it’s mainly tourons and pogues who come here.”

You nodded, and then you both headed back to serve people again.

The rest of your shift went by quite quickly, and all without any problems, and soon Mr Carrera said you could go home, he was closing up early anyway because of the hurricane.

Just as you were leaving, Kie caught up with you, stopping you from getting into your car.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” She asked

“I don’t think so, why?”

“Usually days after a hurricane me and my friends go out fishing and I think you’d like them, and them you - you don’t have to obviously, I just thought I’d offer.”

“No, I’d love too, thanks.” You smiled at her

“Okay you can meet me here, at like 11?”

“Sounds good.”

You quickly exchanged numbers so you could contact each other if there were any issues, and then you got into your car, beginning the drive home, happy that you were starting to make friends.

It was evening now, and the weather had definitely taken a turn for worse, you weren’t used to weather like this and it made you a little nervous.

Just as you were thinking this, your car made some sputtering noises and slowed to a stop.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

You tried turning the key a few times but it still wouldn’t start - you were too far away to walk home, not that you wanted to leave your car behind anyway in case something happened to it, which left one option. This option was to find someone who might be able to fix it so you could get home.

You picked up your phone, ready to call your dad and tell him what had happened but apparently the weather had already knocked out cell service, so you couldn’t contact anyone, not even a tow.

“Unbelievable.” You muttered, getting out the car and deciding to go to a house nearby instead and ask for their help.

It was only a short walk until you came across a small road going towards a house, you took a breath and made your way towards it, hoping whoever lived here would help you.

The house seemed quiet but there was a beat up VW van outside so you assumed there was someone home, you stepped over some empty beer cans and knocked on the door.

It had been about a minute and just as you began moving, about to head back and try and find another house, you heard the door open behind you.

You turned around only to be met with the attractive face of one of the boys you had met last night, John B if you remembered correctly.

“Y/N right?” You nodded, “um do you need help with something?”

“Yeh my car just broke down and apparently your house is the closest, would you be able to help me?”

“Sure, just let me grab JJ quickly, then you can take us to your car.”

As he walked back into the house, you muttered to yourself, “Oh great, he’s here too.”

You had stood there waiting for a little bit when John B reemerged, JJ next to him, an annoying smirk on his face.

“Hi again.” He said

“Hi - follow me I guess.”

As you began walking back up the dirt path, you heard JJ catch up with you, looking towards him, you saw he was looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?” You say, beginning to get uncomfortable under his stare and the silence.

“Nothing - just wondering why you can’t fix your car yourself.”

“Not everyone knows how to fix cars and my dad did once try to teach me but my excuse for getting out of it was because if I ever broke down I’d be able to call him or at least someone for help. But you know the first time it happens is when there’s a fucking hurricane so I have no cell service - and now my dad will never let me live this down so that’s great.”

You heard John B chuckle from behind you, and just as JJ was about to say something in return, your jeep was in sight, and with the wind starting to feel stronger, you picked up the pace.

JJ let out a whistle beside you, you looked at him saying, “that better be an appreciative whistle, my jeep may be old but it is a thing of beauty.”

He held his hands up in defence, “oh absolutely, I would never insult it, but I am a little shocked its never broken down before.”

“I’m going to ignore that.” You gave him a small smile, which he quickly returned before turning back to lift up the cars bonnet.

“I obviously don’t know much about cars but I think the battery could be dead?” You say to the boys, John b looked to you and nodded,

“If that’s the case we’ll just have to jumpstart it, I’ll be right back.” He turned and ran off back towards his house, leaving you and JJ in silence.

You were tapping the side of your car to fill the silence when JJ started talking again, “do you live here with your dad then?”

“Yeh, my mum died recently and he wanted a change of scenery, so it’s just us.”

“Oh I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him, “Thanks, but it’s alright, life doesn’t always go the way you want it to, and hey, I think I’m actually starting to like this place so it’s not all bad.”

“Oh yeah, when there’s not a hurricane involved, this place has its good moments.”

You laughed, and before you could say anything else, John B appeared on the road in his beat up van, jumping out when he got near with some jumper cables.

“This is safe right?” You asked

“Absolutely.” For some reason that answer didn’t comfort you, or it might’ve just been the way the two boys looked at each other before attaching the cables and going to the van.

Once the boys gave you a thumbs up, you turned your key in the ignition again, this time the car actually starting this time, you could hear the boys cheer from where they were standing.

As it was getting later and the wind was getting stronger, you quickly ran over the boys to say your thanks and hugged them, surprising both them and you. Ignoring your out of character show of thanks, you got in your car, waving at them again as you passed and drove home.

The rain had started by the time you got home, and as soon as you pulled into your drive, your dad was out the door, asking where you had been.

“I broke down, but some guys I met the other day helped me, and I still got home so there's no need to worry.”

He kissed your forehead, “Okay lets just get inside, I’ve made some pasta if you want any.”

“Like I would ever turn down pasta,” you laughed, heading to the kitchen, “how was your day?”

“Alright, but right now I’m more interested in the guys who helped you, are they your age?”

“Yeh I think so.”

“Do you think they’re good looking?”

“Ugh dad, I barely know them, and I’m not going to have this conversation with you.”

He just laughed, “that means they are then.”

“Omg, I’m taking my pasta and escaping before this conversation gets worse.”

Your dad was still laughing when you left the kitchen to head to your room, but you had to admit you wouldn’t mind getting to know those guys a little more, especially JJ, but that could be done another day, right now you just wanted to try and sleep through the hurricane and see Kie tomorrow.

Tag list: @jellyfishbeansontoast​ @tangledinsparkles​ @k-k0129​ @sofiluvschu​ @outerbankslove​ @obx-beach​

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Helmeted Hunter: Chapter 21

Boba Fett x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Injuries, some fighting

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

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

Chapter 21: A Farewell to Friends

You had been getting a glass of water, just before bed. You'd done your best not to wake anyone, being the last to finally turn in for the night. The cat was the only one who'd been disturbed by your soft padding across the tile floor. You gave it a little wink, as if sharing a secret, and then raised the glass to your lips.

And then you'd disappeared.

You weren't sure why the memory came to you now as you stumbled your way through the sloping halls of Crimson Dawn's starship. That glass of water had probably shattered all over the floor. Would your family have heard it? Had they been as scared and confused as you had felt going through that portal? Were any of them still alive?

You pictured their faces as you rounded the next dimly lit corner. The faces of everyone that had once been part of your world... family, friends, neighbors, celebrities, animals.... You should have been there with them all when the Empire took over. Whatever fate they faced should have been yours, too.

But for some reason, the galaxy had spared you. Spared you one horror, and spat you out into another. Sent you on this crazy, almost hopeless adventure around the galaxy to find answers. You'd been chained up and shot at, hunted and hurt and humiliated and tricked. And all for what?

You'd done some thinking while imprisoned on this ship. At first, your mind had wandered in circles, repeating the same thoughts over and over obsessively and without end. Then you'd started to latch on to some things. Tiny details that poked and prodded their way into importance. But eventually your energy had drained and your spirit deflated, and those thoughts had lost their hold on you. You would die on this ship, you'd thought, so nothing mattered.

You'd been so ready to give up. But seeing Boba again had awakened something within you. A new hope; though for what, you weren't entirely sure. All you knew was those ideas you'd had would lead you somewhere, if only you kept pushing. Kept fighting. Just a little bit further....

You approached the end of the hall, which opened up into a moderately-sized aircraft hangar. There was damage all around. Ships that looked like they'd been in a collision, walls with skid marks, wires sparking, pipes bursting, sirens blaring. And in the middle of the chaos, as if in the eye of a hurricane, was the Slave I.

You were eager to race for it, nestle yourself somewhere deep in its interior, and finally get the rest you'd been longing for. But as you passed through the opening of the hangar, something caught your eye. A control panel, protruding from the wall just beside you. And suddenly, the faces of your past were replaced by those of the unlikely friends you'd made on this journey. Perhaps you couldn't save your old friends, but you could save your new ones.

You stopped at the consul, thankful you'd learned the Aurebesh symbols, so it didn't take you long to pull up what you needed on the screen. The map of the starship was buzzing with activity. Dozens of heat signatures were zipping around the various corridors. Several were bunched up in the middle of the ship, perhaps in a control room. One little dot was making its way toward it, colliding with other dots along the way until they slowly faded into nothing.

And then there was a pair remaining stationary in a small room just a short ways away. Maz and Hondo. Thankfully no one seemed to bother lingering around the damaged hangar, giving you time to figure out how to remotely open their cell before taking off to get them.

They met you half way. Maz immediately reached out for you, pulling you down for a quick embrace as she hummed your name and rubbed your back soothingly. Hondo gave you an apologetic half-smile.

"Good to see you standing, kid," he nodded.

"Barely," you said, your voice like gravel. "If it wasn't for Boba..."

Maz and Hondo exchanged a look but you were too tired to read into it.

"His ship is back this way," you said as you turned to head in the right direction. You pulled up when you noticed neither had moved to follow.

"I imagine the escape pods would be close, yes?" Maz turned to the pirate.

Hondo looked down the opposite corridor with hands on his hips thoughtfully. "This is a Kalevalan yacht. They would definitely have them on this side of the ship."

"What are you guys talking about?"

Maz reached out for your hand, being careful not to aggravate the wounds on your wrist. She pressed it gently.

"My dear. You started this journey with Boba. You will finish it with him, too. Don't let two old creatures like us get in the way."

"Who you calling old?" Hondo grumbled behind her. But his expression toward you was the same as hers. This was something they'd clearly already worked out between them. And their minds were made.

"Go," Maz entreated. "You are so close to finding what you've been searching for. I can feel it."

She gave your hand a slight squeeze before letting go. The way she said the word made it seem like it was more than just her being nice, or even having a hunch. It was like she could see into the future and was letting you know your fight wouldn't be for nothing.

"But..." you protested, though it was half-hearted. You knew it was time to part ways.

"We'll be fine, little miss," Hondo waved you off. "She is right, we have lived a long time. And we've survived much worse than this." He paused and then chuckled. "Maybe we'll tell you the stories some day."

A small smile crept into your otherwise weary features. "Promise?"

"Well, if you don't die," he chuckled again, earning a punch on his arm from Maz.

"The pods are up ahead," you said, remembering seeing them on the map. "Should only be a few yards. Make two lefts."

They turned to head where you'd directed. Maz winked at you from over her shoulder. "We'll meet again, my dear. Friends always reconnect at just the right time."

* * *

As you made your way back to the hangar, the lights kicked back on and the ship righted itself so you were no longer shuffling along walls to stand upright. You paused in front of the consul again to see if anything else had changed. A whole line of heat signatures were headed your direction, one dot just ahead of them. In a matter of seconds, you could hear shouts and blasters firing just a corridor away.

You hurried across the hangar toward the Slave I, regretting how your stiff muscles were making you move more slowly than you wanted. It was like those dreams where you wanted to run but couldn't quite make it to speed.

A few droids pilfered around, attempting to clean up the mess Boba had made when landing. You were startled by them at first, though of course they wouldn't have popped up on the heat map. But they didn't pay you any attention so you returned the favor and continued pushing your way toward safety.

Just as you reached the ramp, Boba came careening from around the corner, followed by blaster shots. Once he was in the open space of the hangar, he ignited his jetpack and fired a few rounds back at his assailants. Dryden Vos was in the middle of the group, barking orders furiously. You noted, with great satisfaction, that his face was bruised and he was bent over with a protective arm around his middle.

One shot hit Boba's jetpack, causing it to sputter and lose altitude quickly. You were already prepared to help. Having made it to the top of the ramp, you rifled through the compartment in the wall that held Boba's miscellaneous weapons. You settled on a small, metallic ball. A grenade, you hoped. Using what strength you had left, you pressed the button on top and hurled it, aiming for Dryden.

The ball clanked along the floor just in front of the group as Boba touched on the ground and made a run for his ship. Only a few of the criminals had time to jump out of the way before it exploded. Boba skipped up the ramp, past you, and up into the cockpit. You couldn't see through the smoke to tell who'd all been harmed, but Dryden's voice soon roared through it.

The Slave I began to rise and the ramp started to close. But you could clearly hear the threats he was screaming after you.

"You'll regret making an enemy out of me, Fett! There's not a single planet you can hide on where I won't find her!"

[guardianofjunmyeon]

Finding Atlantis (part 7)

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description:   20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor, to  any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man has  heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But  fewer  men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean, the key  to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold should they  find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself. Thus, the hunt  began.    

A/N: Sorry it took so long for an update but i was kind of pissed off at baekhyun and exo for their lack of BLM support but whatever now. I’ve received you guys’ messages and asks and I keep meaning to respond to things but i really dont get on tumblr all that often. I really love and appreciate you all though so here’s a pretty...cute chap

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

Darkness. Suffocation. Cold. Not breathing. He’s not breathing. He’s not breathing.

You’re not breathing.

You sit up with a start. “Baekhyun!” You gasp for air. Your chest heaves as you frantically try to breathe. The image of Baekhyun’s unmoving body begins to fade from your memory like a dream you can’t fully recall. Darkness makes way for the brightness that you are beginning to realize surrounds you. You don’t feel seasick; your body is still.

Panting, you look around.

A beach. Your heartbeat slows down when you realize that you’re sitting on a beach, alive. Alive and safe and the boat is pulled ashore.

But you can’t find Baekhyun. Panic rises again.

“You’re awake.” You hear from behind you.

You whip around, and there he is. Baekhyun stands on both of his feet, shirtless with an armful of wood.

And both of his god damn eyes.

Pain unexpectedly shoots up your middle. You groan loudly and lower yourself back down on your back. It doesn’t feel as intense like this. “Fuck,” you hiss in agony.

“You fractured your rib,” Baekhyun says, now at your side. You look at him through squinted eyelids. “It’s not broken, and it’ll heal on its own. You’ve just got to take it easy for a while,” he instructs you softly. You catch a glimpse of concern in his eyes.

His fucking two eyes.

“You’ve got more than one eye…” you croak dumbly. With each inhale of breath the pain begins to subside.

He blinks and the concern that you think you saw vanishes. “Yeah, and you’ve got fractured bones. Now we’ve both stated the obvious.”

He stands up and walks off while you struggle to sit up without experiencing more shooting pains. It doesn’t work out well; any move to raise your body sends another painful jolt through your body. From experience, you can tell that it’s your lower left rib that’s injured. That’s where you experience the most pain. Breathing doesn’t hurt; you chalk it up to luck that you didn’t puncture a lung in the process. In…all of that.

Your throat begins to close up at the memory. The rain. The waves. The cold.

He’s not breathing.

A decently sized canteen drops into your lap. You jump in your spot. “You’re dehydrated,” is all Baekhyun says before he walks off again.

You follow his retreating figure with your eyes. “Thanks,” you rasp to yourself.

Surprising yourself, you’re glad to see that he’s fine. That he’s alive despite the years you’ve spent wishing him dead.

It takes a bit of time, and a lot of moaning and hissing, to open the canteen. You nearly cry when you’re finally able to feel the water sliding down your throat. You drink it greedily.

What if this is all the water you’ve got?

You stop and pull the lip of it away from your mouth. You drank half of it in just 3 seconds.

“You can finish it,” you hear Baekhyun say from where he’s crouched by the wood. “There’s more on the island, we won’t go thirsty for a while.”

Without further hesitation you drain the rest. You’re still thirsty, but at least now you can talk, and maybe even stand without passing out. Like a baby learning to walk on its own, you slowly lift your body off the ground and on to your knees.

Baekhyun watches you closely, but does nothing to help. Once you’ve caught your breath again and are comfortably sitting on your knees, he stands up. He pulls on his shirt and then starts in the direction of the tree line. He pauses, turns to you and jerks his head towards the trees. A silent beckoning.

With a breath to prep you for the pain, you force yourself on your legs.

After only a few seconds of dizziness, your visions clears and you take careful steps in his direction.

Baekhyun waits until you’re only a step behind him to start walking forward again. There seems to be a clear path to wherever he’s leading you. You’re thankful that you don’t have to duck and dodge branches with your fractured rib.

Actually, the more you think about it, the path is suspiciously cleared of obstructions. You frown and look around. It’s clear as day that branches have been broken off recently. Maybe Baekhyun was going to use it for the fire?

You squint at the ground and see broken pieces of tree along the ground. So, not firewood. Path wood?

Why would he need to do that when he can just push them out of the way? The ground is flat even without the branches he’d torn down. It seems kind of unnecessary.

Your foot catches on a divot in the ground and your body stumbles half a step too far just fast enough to cause a pain to shoot up your side. You bite back a pathetic whine and notice belatedly that Baekhyun is hovering right at your side anxiously. Your eyes water instinctively at the smarting in your torso.

You let out a shaky breath and straighten up. “Fuck.”

He frowns.

“We’re almost there.” A beat of silence. And then, “Watch your step dumbass.”

Your rib prevents you from fighting back. You don’t think you would really want to even if you could. You trod behind him dutifully. The forest is full with the sounds of life, but the conversation between the two of you is dead. Painfully so.

“How long have you been awake?” you ask to fill the silence.

“A few hours. I looked around the island while you were unconscious.”

You hum. You wonder whether the boat washed up on its own or if he rowed here in your sleep.

To your surprise he continues on. “It’s an old prison island from the looks of it. I came across the jail and a bunker when I was gathering firewood.”

“Were there people in the prison?”

“Not living ones.”

“Gross.”

Silence.

“Thanks…by the way,” he says gently. Oh? Is that…a thank you you’ve heard?

“What was that?” you goad.

“Don’t make me say it again…”

“Do you mean for saving your life? Are you thanking me for that? For being a heroic, brave, sexy, strong-”

“I should have thrown your body into the ocean when I woke up.”

You laugh softy, carefully. If you breathe too hard then your rib smarts again.

“How’s your rib doing?” he asks.

“Hurts.”

“Okay smartass-”

“I’m serious!”

A beat.

“How are your stitches?” you ask.

“Hurts.”

“Listen here-”

He laughs. A full one. A bright one.

You shuffle behind holding back a smile. A building comes into view after a few minutes of walking. He was right; it’s obviously an old prison if the dreariness of it is anything to go by. It’s a small one. You follow him through broken doors, barely hanging onto their last hinge.

It reeks of death.

A chill runs down your spine.

Avoiding the actual prison cells, the two of you walk right to the guard room. Light streams through the window and you can see that the place was left in a hurry. There is still a lot of junk strewn around. It smells of moldy water. Maybe the place was hit by a hurricane.

You walk over to the desk and pull out a drawer. Matches, pens, an old pipe. You pocket the matches and check each drawer for anything of use while Baekhyun does the same across the room.

Most of the things you come across are entirely worthless, but you do find a fully loaded gun and a dusty flare.

The finds remind you that you didn’t grab anything when you jumped off the ship. Reckless. Thoughtless. But the realization that you don’t regret it is humbling.

Quickly you pat your body to see if you happened to bring anything of use. Your smallest blade sits reliably on your hip, and your gun still happens to be in its holster.

The compass.

You unhook it from your hip and stare at it in disappointment. Useless.

The sound of glass crashing across the room alarms you.

Baekhyun stands next to the shattered object with startled eyes and a wince frozen on his face. “Can you be quiet?” you whisper harshly.

He relaxes and rolls his eyes. “There’s no one alive here,” he reminds. “It’s not like we’re going to get in trouble.” His voice is as low as yours.

“Then why are you whispering?”

“Because you’re whispering!” He whispers back in frustration.

You cock an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” he says at normal volume. He steps over the glass with his hands on his hips and his lips jut out in a disappointed pout.

Clearly there’s nothing else of value in here.

“Do you know where the kitchen is?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah, come on.”

You travel through the halls wordlessly. The dripping of water punctuates every other second that passes. Your boots slosh through puddles of dirty water.

The silence of the jail feels more oppressive than anything else you’ve ever felt in life. It puts you on edge. You won’t say it scares you. Not when you’ve faced death itself countless times in your life. But if a fucking dead body comes back to life to eat your heart, you will not be responsible for your actions.

You are not beyond tripping Baekhyun so that you can get away.

In the kitchen, you split up to look for anything that can be salvaged. There are cans of food, packages of dried meats and fruits. The food left in the broken fridge is rancid, and rats crawl around on the floor. You would probably be better off just hunting and fishing on your own.

The floor creaks awkwardly under your foot as you close a cabinet with metal serving dishes; you look down. There’s a catch in the floor.

A door.

“Hey,” you hiss. You motion to your side when Baekhyun looks up from snacking on a bag of dried bananas. “Can you lift this up for me?” you ask.

He pads over and looks down in confusion at the spot near your foot. His jaw freezes in the middle of chewing as interest spreads across his face.

When he reaches down, the door squeaks open with a severity that hurts your ears. It’s pitch black below.

You dig the matches out of your pocket and lower yourself carefully, closer to the entrance. You strike a match and it dimly illuminates a bit of the space. An oil lamp hangs not far from the top.

Once lit, the lamp brightens up the hidden room.

A ladder.

Despite the burning in your torso you begin to lower yourself down farther.

An hand lands on your shoulder to stop you. “What are you doing?” Baekhyun whispers.

“I’m investigating. There’s no one here remember?” you mock. You shrug off his hand and scale down the short ladder. Another lamp awaits at the bottom. You strike another match and the full room comes into view.

You smile. “It’s a liquor storage.”

“What?”

“It’s a liquor storage,” you whisper a bit louder.

“What?!” he calls louder.

You inhale angrily. “IT’S A-”

“I heard you the first time. Quiet down,” he laughs from above. You hear him jump down into the small space. He looks around appreciatively.

“Party on the beach. Better than dying stranded and sober I guess.”

Baekhyun grabs a few bottles and places them outside of the little room. You attempt to grab a bottle of bourbon that’s caught your eye a bit above your head.

You’ll have to stretch for it.

Bracing yourself for pain, you suck air through your teeth. But before you can lift your hand above your head, a warm body is pressed against your back and the bottle is pulled from your vision. You blink dumbly and once the solidness of his chest vanishes from your back, you turn to face him.

“What part of ‘take it easy’ don’t you understand?” Baekhyun scolds you, the bottle of bourbon you were going to grab cradled in his arm. He exhales in exasperation. “I’ll carry this stuff back. Just…stop doing shit that will hurt your fracture.”

“Aw Baekhyun are you worried about m-”

“If you actually break your rib I’m not going to help you fix it and you can die on this island immobile.”

You quiet.

“Fine.”

Baekhyun ends up carrying all of the heavy items found on your search back to the beach where you’d washed up. You trail behind him, mind shrouded in confusion, and a bit of worry. When did he start to care about your injuries?

He puts down the sheet, that he’d used the carry everything over, with an exhausted puff of breath.

Wordlessly you both begin to set up camp.

Baekhyun works on getting a fire started as the sun begins to lower in the sky, and you spread out the cloth so that you’ll have a buffer between your bodies and the sand when you sit down or sleep.

You take stock of all of the supplies that you’d collected while he continues to nurse dim embers to life. You’re happy to see that he’d found a second flare in his search.

The sky and the ocean are calm, cruelly so, as the two of you settle in front of the growing fire. When the sky is blanketed in black and stars begin to make themselves known, you light the flare that you’d grabbed from the prison. It illuminates the sky briefly and then fades away. Hopefully your ship sees it.

The night is warm, and the fire crackles excited between you. You on one side of the fire and Baekhyun five feet away.

Baekhyun munches on a package of dried meat he’d collected, and you struggle to open a bottle of rum with your teeth. It uncorks with a satisfying ‘pop’.

You take a large swallow and feel is settling, warm, in the pit of your stomach.

When you hold it out towards Baekhyun, he only looks at it, and then trains his attention back to the fire.

You shrug and take another swig. You smack your tongue against the roof of your mouth loudly to show your satisfaction.

“Okay fine. Hand it over.” You smile gratuitously as he takes the bottle and takes a drink for himself.

The alcohol relaxes your muscles and you feel the urge to start talking. “So…two eyes huh?”

You name falls from his lips in warning, telling you to drop it. You raise your hand in mock defeat.

You think maybe the alcohol is making him want to talk too. Or maybe it’s the silence. “…Why do you keep calling Suho a princess?”

“Huh?”

“He’s a prince,” Baekhyun states. He shifts in his spot and turns his body to face you. “He’s the Prince of Atlantis, but you’ve been calling him a princess even though you know that he’s not a girl.”

You shrug. “The stories…they originally just called him the lost child of Atlantis.”

“Yeah…”

“I don’t know when people started to just assume the lost child was a girl. It helped to keep his identity hidden that way even if it was wrong. If everyone was out looking for the Princess of Atlantis, they wouldn’t give a second thought to a man who fits the description. After a while it just became second nature to refer to him like that, to continue to talk about him as a little missing girl rather than who he actually was. Suho is a princess, and Junmyeon is a member of my ship. They weren’t the same person in my head.”

Baekhyun hands you the rum. For the same reason that you keep your own identity a secret, your crew decided to keep Junmyeon’s. Sometimes you gain an advantage by letting people assume what they want.

“Did you find out on your own that he was the princess- the prince?”

You smirk. “Your curiosity finally won out huh?”

He pelts a stick at your arm.

He waited longer than you expected –you’ll give him that.

“Since you are so curious I guess I can tell you.” He picks up another stick. “Anyways! He came up and told me. Introduced himself to me that way, the dumbass,” you laugh at the memory. “It was…years ago. Right as I was starting to find people to join my crew. He just walked up to me while I was sitting in the corner of a bar and slid one of my ‘Man for Hire’ posters across the table. This scrawny guy, soaked from head to toe. He looked exhausted but there was something in his eyes that I’d never seen before.” You look into the fire as you try to recall the details of that night.

“He told me that he wanted to hire me to get him home. I’m pretty sure I laughed right in his face. He sat down at my table, dropped a heavy bag of money between us, and said, ‘I can get you more money than you can imagine.’

“‘Okay I’ll bite. What’s the deal?’

“‘Have you ever heard of Atlantis?’” you repeat the words from the exchange and then pull your gaze from the fire to meet Baekhyun’s. “He went on to tell me that he was a prince and that he’d run away a few years before. He was ready to return, but he had no idea how to do it. He’d left because his family and his people were pressuring him about his destiny and the role he had to fulfill to save the kingdom and he just...panicked. He was just a teenager, you know? He was scared, he wasn’t ready, and so he ran away. He fled and then lived on land among humans for long enough that the connection he’d had with the ocean had dimmed. He couldn’t find his own way home, and they couldn’t come find him, even if they wanted to.”  

Baekhyun frowns. You take a drink, pass him the bottle, and continue on.

“I didn’t believe him at first, but decided to do what I could. Our relationship started out like that, with me trying to get him home. After some time he just decided to be on my crew. We would find crewmen, do other jobs to pay for our expenses, and then continue to look for Atlantis. Over time we gained more men, we lost even more, but he was always there at my side as my first mate. As my first crewman.” You smile fondly and play with the sand at your side. “Soon enough, finding Atlantis became an…afterthought. It wasn’t our priority anymore. We went on other adventures, faced other challenges, and strengthened the family we built aboard the ship.

“He said he was fine not finding his way home anymore after a few years of looking. But the way he looks out at the sea sometimes…” Memories arise of him leaning against the side of the ship and looking out at the expanse of the ocean longingly. “It’s heartbreaking.”

You don’t realize that your eyes are starting to water until a tear falls against the back of your hand. You swipe away the moisture and paste on a smile. Baekhyun’s expression is one of empathy. “I know that he misses the sea; I know that he misses home no matter what he says to deny it. I promised him that I would get him back, once. He laughed at me, but I meant it. He’s like my family, but his happiness comes before anything else…even if I have to give him back to the sea.”

Your words settle over you both like a heavy blanket. Your own heart tugs a bit at the memories and realization that you really may be giving him up soon. If they find you on this island and you continue on your quest. You’ll be giving up the person who’s been at your side longest.

“You love him,” Baekhyun states.

His words startle you. You look at him with widened eyes and try to read his expression, or at the very least the intention behind his words. It’s carefully concealed behind neutrality, but you can see a bit of the uneasiness in his eyes. You don’t know what comes over you. Why you want to see his reaction to your words so badly. Why you hope that it’ll bother him –even if it’s just a little.

You keep your gaze steady when you respond. “Yes.”

A glimpse of offense is all you catch as evidence that you words may have affected him, but it could have been a trick of the light from the fire. He rolls his eyes and takes a long swig of the rum, no longer looking you in your eyes.

“I love him the way I love every member of my crew,” you press on cautiously. You catch the stillness in his throat as he stops swallowing for half a second. Satisfaction thrums through your body. Why? Why? You don’t know for sure yourself. “Everyone on my crew is my responsibility, and with that comes a level of love and respect that we’ve all worked hard to build. Like I said, the men and women on that ship are my family. We wouldn’t work as well as we do if we didn’t love each other just a little bit. Thinking that you can’t love your shipmates just because you’re a pirate and you kill people is old fashioned. Love solidifies a bond like nothing else. We would risk our lives for each other…that goes for us with you and your men too.”

The fire pops loudly.

He wipes away a drop of alcohol from the corner of his lips and gives you a measured look. You watch as he figures out how to form the question he wants to ask next. You hold out your hand for the bottle.

He passes it, and if your hands faintly brush –neither of you mention it.

The next swallow of the liquid burns its way down and blurs your senses. Drunkenness creeps in at the corners of your mind. A weighted silence stretches on while you focus on the pleasant humming in your veins.

“Is that why you jumped in after me?” You twitch in your spot at the sound of Baekhyun’s voice. Enough time has passed of prolonged silence that you have to search your mind for what it is he’s referring to.

Oh, the storm. Your recklessness.

“Yeah,” you say easily. “You’re a part of my crew for now. We shook hands on our truce and everything –and you didn’t stab me after I cut your side, so I figure I can trust you. I would have done the same thing for anyone.” He seems unhappy with your answer, but doesn’t voice it. “If I can save a life, I save it. Especially if it’s someone on my crew,” you ramble on.

He laughs in disdain. “That’s stupid of you. No self respecting captain would do something like that.” He mutters around the bottle he’s slipped from your fingers, “I would have let me drown.”

You toss a handful of sand in his direction. “Well I’m not you.”

His eyes shine in confusion. You curse under your breath from the movement on your rib as you scoot closer to him. “You know,” you start, fully committed to over sharing now that you’ve started, “I haven’t hold anyone this, but years before I met Junmyeon –when I was still just a little street rat pick pocketing to eat and whatever- I had my life saved. You can think it’s stupid, because it kind of is but I don't care.” Baekhyun’s lip twitches up in amusement.

“Anyway! I had my life saved by this one kid. I was being chased down by a couple of thugs a man sent on me after I stole his purse. It was a rich guy who lived in my town, super well-known and feared. I’d really fucked myself over this time. His men were after me, and I tried to hide, but no one was willing to let me in. They were afraid of him. And I was just this random kid; they didn’t owe me anything. I knew if I was caught, I’d get my hands cut off…or worse!” You widen your eyes to emphasize your words. Baekhyun breathes out a laugh.

“I ran around in a panic, crying, shaking, begging. I was only like…10. I hid in an alleyway for an hour when I heard them coming. I could hear them asking people on the street if they’d seen me. ‘Have you seen this girl?’ ‘Have you seen this girl?’” you mimic. “I knew that I was going to be found. But then, this kid, he saw me when he’d come to throw out the trash from the shop he worked at. Or maybe he lived there? I don’t know…I just know that he didn’t have to help me, but he did. He helped me up and hid me in a storage shed under the shop until the next morning. It might not have meant anything to him, but I remember that favor to this day.

“I know it’s unlikely that I’ll ever meet him again, especially since I haven’t returned home, but I feel like I’m repaying him in some way like this. Saving the lives of people close to me or the lives of people who can’t save themselves. I can’t save everyone; shit, I’ve killed way more than I’ve ever saved, but where I can, if I know I can do it, then I do. Since I never got to tell him thank you…it helps.”

You aren’t sure if your words make sense; they don’t the longer you think about them, but you hope that Baekhyun gets the general idea. As a pirate, you pride yourself on killing those who are evil by nature. The people who pick on and hurt the innocent, the less fortunate, the defenseless. You kill, and you collect money for killing, but you have never killed someone who did nothing to deserve it. You’re relentless, sadistic, and at times monstrous, but you aren’t heartless. Despite how you grew up and the struggles you’ve faced –for every unkind soul you encountered, you met two with hearts of gold.

“You know…you talk a lot when you’re drunk.”

“Shut up.”

“No it’s…nice. Having a…normal conversation.”

You blink at him. Yeah, it is. Not throwing curses and insults at each other for once is…nice.

But the thought of admitting that aloud to him makes your stomach twist in an ugly way.

“Are you going soft on me Byun?” you tease.

“I’m allowed to enjoy just talking every once in a while. You’re the one going all starry eyed over some kid from your childhood that’s probably buried in whores and liquor right now,” he throws back. “You shouldn’t idolize people like that. It’ll hurt you less when they don’t fulfill your expectations.” He fingers the neck of the bottle before taking a large swallow. “Besides it sounds like you’re in love with him and you don’t even remember what he looked like.”

“I’m not in love with him,” you feel your stomach turn uncomfortably when Baekhyun looks back at you with an amused eyebrow raise.

So you’re in love with him right? That's why you’re acting like this?

Heat fills your cheeks. “And so what if I can’t remember what he looked like? It was a long time ago and my memory’s been distorted. Fuck off.”

For a while you did look for that kid. You can remember the kohl rimming his eyes, and the hood he wore that hid his face in the darkness. In the time you searched for him you wanted so bad for someone to fit the mental description that you began to make people fit it. You confused what you actually remembered of his appearance with what you wanted him to look like.

Even if he sat right in front of you today –you probably wouldn’t even recognize him.

You hear Baekhyun holding back his giggling and you glare at him half-heartedly. With a full smile, all rectangle, all rounded cheeks, he holds the nearly empty bottle for you to take once again.

When your hand touches his this time, you both pause for a second longer than you should. You blame the alcohol. He lets go and averts his gaze back to the fire. You clear your throat nervously. “What about you?” his eyes flicker quickly from the fire. “Any savior stories? Or love stories, heartbreaker? You know, outside of ones with me,” you add jokingly before finishing the bottle.

“No,” he says quickly. You see his ears color.

You gasp. “You do don’t you? Tell me,” you demand. “Was it someone you grew up with? Are you in love with someone right now?”

The red spreading up his neck isn’t a result of your imagination, or your drunkenness, you know it. “Why are we even talking about this?” he complains, a whine taking form in his voice. You’ve heard him whine like this once before –when he was leaving a bar being held up by one of his men (Sehun, now that you know the people in his crew) and not wanting to go home.

“You’re the one interrogating me over my love life!”

“I was not!”

“‘You love him’, ‘Sounds like you’re in love with him’, ‘You’re obsessed with each other’,” you mock.

His eyes narrow. “I never said that last one.”

This time you feel your face heating. “Whatever. You started the conversation.” You grab sand and start to fill the empty bottle just to give yourself the distraction. You don’t think you can look at him right now. “Besides, there’s nothing else to do. Unless you want to spar…” you look over eagerly.

His face scrunches up (cutely) and he lies on his back. “No, I’m too tired and too drunk to fight you right now.”

You frown to yourself and finger the top of the bottle distractedly. “You know…” you start again, “You act like love is a death sentence, or like it’s something bad.”

“It is,” he says simply. His voice sounds far away. You shuffle closer so (so that you can hear him better –obviously) and grumble under your breath as a way to distract from the pain movement causes you.

He doesn’t move away when you lie down next to him. You both stare up at the sky, visions swimming.

Fuck you’re drunk.

“Are you drunk?” you whisper.

“…a bit,” he laughs in a whisper back.

You both continue to look at the stars and giggle to yourselves. It’s funny that you’re here like this, you think –lying on a beach with Baekhyun on your side, so close that the sides of your bodies are nearly overlapping. Giggling and drunk and talking about love like old friends.

I think you should both admit you’re in love with each other so we can all move on.

“Baekhyun…”

“Hmm?”

“It could be nice…being in love.” His head rolls to the side to watch you. You keep your eyes trained on the sky. “Like…it could be like having a first mate in life. Someone to help you navigate your ups and downs like a first mate helps a captain navigate the seas. It could be nice having that one person to lean on when the waters get too rough and it feels like the entire world is against you –you still have the one person who will always be there at your side. It might be nice to be scolded and praised and encouraged for just living…for just being yourself. Don’t you think?” you let your head loll to the side so you can look at him.

You observe the furrow of his eyebrows and the way his lips pout as he thinks. You stare openly into the darkness of his eyes and notice how they both droop downwards. How his nose slopes and how his face is so round.

You feel your stomach flip in an ugly way.

Struck by panic and by his silence at your words –you slap on a sleazy drunk smile. “And you can have sex with them whenever you want. That’s a pretty cool bonus, I think.”

He laughs his absolute loudest –his brightest- at that.

You shove down the urge to say something else, something just as dumb, just so that you can see him laugh like that again.

Shit.

“Shut up,” he giggles. His eyes shine and dart across your face excitedly and you faintly register your own doing the same. His cheeks are so round and so red from the alcohol and the joy.

He’s very pretty when he smiles.

Both of his eyes, pretty (he’s got two of them who would have thought?). A mole under one of them, another on his cheek, one more above his lip.

His lips…those stupid little pink triangles that make up his upper and the stupid moisturized swell of the other. As if able to read your thoughts, his tongue darts out to wet them.

“Your lips are so stupid,” you grumble to yourself loud enough for him to hear you clearly.

That pulls another raucous laugh out of him. His teeth gleam in the moonlight and against the fire.

“Your teeth too,” you add softly. “They’re too white.”

“You’re drunk. Go to sleep,” he says with a smile.

You roll onto your side to face him. He follows. “Am’not. You’re s’the one who’s drunk,” you fire back. He chuckles softly, almost fondly, and it ghosts across your face. You’re close enough to count his eyelashes.

If you had half the coherence to do so.

“Baekhyun…”

“Hmm?”

You pause to figure out why you called out his name this time. You don’t have anything else you really want to say –just wanted to capture his attention.

“You wanna mess around?” you try.

He giggles. “No, we’re drunk.”

“How valiant of you, that’s never stopped us before. I’m only offering this one time so you better take it up before I take it back.”

He scoffs. “No you aren’t. You’ll probably ask again tomorrow too when you’re sober because you’re always horny and always stupid and you’re in love with my dick.”

You hum and close your eyes with a smile. “Touché.”

The world spins even as your eyes are shut. Your body feels heavy with alcohol and warm with whatever it is that has happened tonight between you and Baekhyun.

When you hear him murmur your name, you peak open an eye. His gaze is surprisingly clear for someone who drank just as much as you.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll uh…I’ll take the first watch,” he stammers.

You close your eyes again and hum in agreement. “You’ve got first watch?” you yawn out.

You vaguely hear him hum as the crackle of the fire sound of his soft breaths lull you to sleep.