#and this is supposedly the first one in the flip line to catch up to the mainline galaxy specs? so its like Actually Really Good

[omohole]

auhwuhug ive been windowshopping-slash-drooling over this really sleek new phone and i HAAATE doing this i hate the idea of getting a New Thing when i dont Need One it feels so wasteful but also ive been using the same phone since 7th grade and it IS getting slow and running out of space/compatibility with apps and features so im also like. maybe i am just due for an upgrade but also it isnt BROKEN its still USABLE just fine and id have to sort through all my stuff on what to save and what to delete and thats a hassle. but i keep just looking at this sleek cute design and how much the design has improved and its definitely just me being a nerd about cool tech but auwhauwghghghh its sooooo coooooool

[inoreuct]

i just got a brainwave. ZOSAN DANCER AU.

zoro mainly does hip hop, sanji mostly does ballet, they’re both attending this prestigious dance academy; zoro’s a scholarship student and he thinks sanji’s an absolute fucking snob. he can’t stand the prissy rich boy three studios down, golden with all the money from his royal background— he’s a vinsmoke. he’s a prince. it’s right there on the student name list, clear as day.

he’s only seen sanji from afar and yeah, sure, maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to judge but the blond infuriates him with his stupid hair flips and his heart eyes and his mirror-hogging and the way he kneels down to retie the girls’ pointe shoe ribbons for them so that they don’t have to. he’s tall and willowy and strong and fucking talented and every time zoro sees him he wants to kick a hole through the drywall.

now, zoro doesn’t really practice in school often. he enjoys lessons well enough, but he and his crew dance their best in the streets. so when he signs up for a practice slot the one time and gets there (already fifteen minutes late, mind you) just to realise there’s a very familiar annoyance in his studio? he’s pissed. he slams the door open right as sanji executes a spinny jump thing that reaches a frankly ridiculous height, sinking to one knee with his head thrown back, the air ringing after the music’s final crescendo.

zoro doesn’t give a shit. he’s tired and hungry and needs to get his fucking step sequence clean before next week’s dance battle, and thus opens his mouth and shatters right through the thick quiet as he barks, “vinsmoke!”

and he doesn’t know why, but sanji’s gaze flicks to him and he freezes in place. the blond’s expression, just moments ago composed and focused, is dripping with something that zoro can’t quite name, but he has to stop himself from gulping when sanji gets up and beelines straight for him, jabbing a manicured finger right into his sternum without reserve.

“don’t. fucking. call me that,” the blond grits, damn near seething, jaw so tense zoro’s honestly afraid he’ll crack a tooth and it’s almost funny, but he suspects that he really did cross some sort of line, and he might be rough around the edges but he isn’t an ass.

“okay, i’m sorry,” he offers, cautious, hands up in the air. the words taste weird in his mouth, but sanji looks slightly less livid so he counts it as a win. “what do i call you, then?”

the other man looks torn between kicking zoro soundly in the shin (which zoro can already tell would hurt like a bitch) and storming out of the studio, but he huffs loudly and turns away. “black. sanji black.”

zoro hums carefully and slowly inches his way to the corner of the room, setting his duffel down much gentler than he normally does. he should really leave this alone. he has a solo he needs to practice for and dinner to catch after. so what if sanji renounced his supposedly royal last name? it didn't make him any better than every other stuck-up dancer with a superiority complex.

(he decidedly doesn’t leave it alone, because this is the first time that he’s seen cracks in the blond’s porcelain-doll facade, and he can’t help but want to dig his fingertips in and pry. he’s never claimed to have a sense of self-preservation.)

“so…” he starts, facing the barre that he’ll never use and watching sanji through the mirror. “your parents—”

“not my parents, i’m estranged,” sanji cuts in, blunt and terse, emotionless to the point where zoro knows he cares much, much more like he wants to seem like he does.

he watches sanji sit in the middle of the wooden floor and fiddle with the elastics on his weird sock shoe hybrids, going into splits with no apparent effort and pressing his torso flat to the ground. a bright blue eye meets his and zoro looks away sharply, yanking on the zipper of his duffel and grabbing his snapback to pop the closures just to look busy.

…god, fuck, zoro wants to ask so bad. estranged. that word is rapidly reshuffling his worldview regarding the man currently yanking off his knitted leg warmers behind him and tossing them to the side. he wants to know how much of all of it is real; the money, the rumours, the gleaming reputation that surrounds sanji like a shield. he’s their academy’s golden boy and a shoo-in for the principal position at its sister ballet company, once he graduates. zoro had thought of him as an absolute primadonna— put bluntly, a pompous brat. a classic silver spoon child. but even just sitting here and stewing in his thoughts, the ability to cling onto the image he’d admittedly half made up in his head is rapidly slipping away from him.

it’s painfully obvious that sanji can talk the talk and walk the walk. jump the jump? “hey, what was that spinny jump thing you did just now?” jesus christ. zoro winces; his voice is so loud against the silence that he nearly puts his head in his hands.

“mm?” sanji’s voice isn’t even strained as he sits up from where he’d had his face pressed to his knees, forearms around his feet. how a person could even fold that far forward, zoro would never understand.

“the— the jump thing. when i came in.”

“oh, the double entrelacé?”

zoro squints. “the fuck kind of name is ontrolassay?”

“it means interlace in french, you—” the blond seems to struggle with choosing an insult before he finally lands on, “—goonhead. although i wouldn’t expect you to be able to appreciate it.”

the KT tape on zoro’s calf rolls back at the edge as he rubs over it absentmindedly, and he quickly stops. that shit isn’t cheap. but he’s more concerned about why he'd been doing it in the first place, because he only does that when he thinks, and zoro has enough self-awareness to know that when he thinks too hard it usually doesn’t end well. he’s all instinct— and something in the back of his mind is telling him that sanji is tired.

the blond isn’t just a pretty boy with no bite, that much is obvious. but now, with the sky dark outside the full-length windows and the air still and silent, it’s easier for him to see the weariness that sanji hides with all his fawning and flirting and smiles. he eyes the other man in his peripheral and clocks it settled bone-deep in the weight of sanji’s eyelids, the parting of his hair, the curve of his back.

he turns around properly to look at sanji over his shoulder and thinks, ah, fuck it. he’d been late to begin with and he’s spent so long here fiddling with his fucking hat under the guise of doing something important that half of his hour-long slot is gone, anyway. “the crew and i are going for pizza. come with.” a smirk pulls at his mouth as he cocks his head. “or are you gonna die if you eat something other than rabbit food?”

the blond looks up with an arched brow and a scowl. “you fucking wish,” sanji scoffs, but after a moment he gets up and starts tossing things into his bag. “it better be makino’s. arlong’s pizza dough tastes like sardines no matter what you get.”

zoro would have been impressed if sanji knew any neighbourhood pizza places to begin with, but this sounds like he has experience. “of course it’s makino’s, curly. we have standards.”

“i wouldn’t have known,” sanji sniffs delicately. “and curly?”

“yeah.” zoro shrugs, the strap of his bag digging in over his baggy tee as he stands. “your hair, your brows, your spinny jump thing—”

“double entrelacé.”

zoro makes a like i said gesture with his hands, grinning broadly. “spinny jump thing.”

sanji sighs as he tosses his hair out of his face. zoro gets a glimpse of two sapphire eyes, blue as the heart of a flame. “you’re a barbarian.” the blond shoulders him aside and snaps the lights off, pulling the door shut as he fishes out the keys. “and you’re buying.”

zoro hums non-committally and deliberately neglects to mention that makino’s fond of both luffy, his best friend, and luffy’s godfather shanks— which means that the whole crew basically eats free on late weekdays like these. on a side note, shanks has a thing with his own dad, mihawk, but they refuse to admit it. it’s infuriating. maybe he’ll rope sanji into helping to get them together before christmas because he has a bet running with nami and it is not looking good for him.

they walk out into the brisk night air as he flips his snapback onto his head, picking up the pace when he sees sanji shiver. “i drove, c’mon.”

“oh, you’ve been driving,” sanji says airily, raising his brows again as he digs around in his well-loved canvas bag for his cardigan. it’s pink and it’s cashmere, because of course it is. “driving me crazy.”

zoro doesn’t even realise he laughs until after it’s left his mouth and sanji is looking at him with wide eyes, blue, blue and more blue. he clears his throat. “let’s hope i don’t crash, then. did i mention i’m half blind on the left side?”

he cackles as sanji squawks at that, half-terrified and disbelieving, and on the way to makino’s he explains how he’d gotten into a scooter accident with luffy as a kid. (“of course you did,” sanji mutters, rolling his eyes. there’s no malice to it.) his crew’s already waiting for him when they arrive; to his dismay (or is it?), sanji hits it off with them marvellously.

zoro finds out that sanji’s biological family is royal, sure. royal assholes. sanji had run away one day and the bastards hadn’t done a damn thing to make sure he was alright, which, he supposes, made sense considering sanji had literally run away. (he isn't given a reason. he doesn't push.) and yet vinsmoke judge still refuses to let sanji change his name, which means that sanji’s father zeff had never been able to legally adopt him. he pays his own school fees working at zeff’s restaurant; not as a waiter but as a chef, and at this point zoro resigns himself to seeing this guy around a lot more because luffy’s already vibrating with excitement and in this friend group, luffy somehow always gets what he wants. sanji’s in it for the long haul now.

but it doesn’t seem like such a horrible thing anymore. zoro almost feels bad for thinking that sanji had been some kind of spoiled brat the whole time, and isn’t that something? the blond is quick to laugh and hardworking and snarky and proud, yes, but it’s deserved solely based on how much he’s trained to get to where he is— he’s damn good and he knows it, and zoro can appreciate that.

(he takes that last bit and shoves it into a box that he locks up tight and buries deep, deep down. he will Not be thinking about that tonight.)

he’s impressed all over again as he watches the sanji inhale an entire four cheese pizza and five garlic knots to boot, and he laughs when the blond gives him a petulant glare.

“fuck off, marimo, i’ve been training all day. m’fucking starving,” he groans through another mouthful of garlic and cheese, elegantly hiding his mouth behind his hand.

oh, hell no. “marimo?” zoro deadpans. “really?”

“not inaccurate,” nami hums from beside him, and he nearly smacks his forehead to the table. he cannot let these two get along. that would be the beginning of his own personal hell.

it’s too late. “small and green and fluffy,” sanji coos, faux-condescending as he reaches out to pet zoro on the head, and zoro snaps his teeth at slender fingers. he listens to sanji meld effortlessly into his friend group and wonders just what he's gotten himself into.

(there is warmth blooming between his ribs. he knows it will grow no matter what he does.)

they get closer as the weeks go by. zoro learns that sanji hates oregano with more vitriol than should be possible towards a herb. he learns the blond’s favourite brand of dance shoes (he knows that they’re suede slippers now, considering he got beaten over the head with them). he learns that sanji’s left arm never healed completely right from where his oldest brother snapped it when they were children, and he has to dig his nails into his palm so that he doesn’t punch something. sanji drags him into an empty studio one day and tells him to lift his leg as high as he can, which devolves into a stretching session that zoro is more inclined to call torture. sanji is adamant that having at least some degree of flexibility will help him dance more fluidly and loosen up his muscles. zoro tells him to eat shit.

(he goes home, and stretches, and he’s mad as hell because sanji’s right.)

the whole crew goes to the ballet course’s end-of-semester recital and nearly gets kicked out with how loudly they scream when sanji finishes his presentation. zoro throws a rose along with everyone else and pretends that he doesn’t.

(sanji pretends that he doesn’t find the exact one zoro tossed and press it to his nose as he sits in the dressing room backstage, his classmates bustling around him not enough to break his bubble of makeup mirror lighting and silky red petals and the memory of keen grey eyes, watching from the darkness of the audience seats.)

(zoro had been the first one to stand when he’d bowed. he’d cheered the loudest. sanji saw him. sanji heard him.)

zoro doesn't realise how much he talks about sanji until his sister threatens to peel the skin off his face if you don't ask him to come watch nationals, zoro, i swear to all that is unholy— and he shudders. perona is... terrifying. he also loves her terrifyingly much, but that won't stop her from peeling his face off, so he drops sanji a text with the details of the national finals of the dance battle that he was supposed to be training for that fateful day. he's too chickenshit to do anything else. too much of a coward to ask him face-to-face.

they win. their friends and family flood the stage. zoro looks for one face only. he feels a hand on his shoulder, whips around with his heart pounding and oh, he's here. radiant under the stadium lights, hair gleaming like brazened honey, eyes bluer than the sky and his smile even brighter. zoro opens his mouth to say something. anything.

sanji crashes into his arms and kisses him, and he feels like the fucking king of the world.

(the wolf-whistles only register when he realises sanji's legs are wrapped around his hips, his hands beneath strong thighs, but sanji is flushed so brilliantly pink and he looks so happy that zoro doesn't even care. luffy's elbow loops around his neck, nami crashing into his back, usopp coming in fast from the right, and sanji wiggles down to slide his arms around zoro's waist and tuck right up against his side. the trophy shines in his fist as he raises it high above the crowd and his nakama press in tight around him, and zoro screams and cheers with them until his throat goes hoarse.)

(mihawk and shanks get together three days later. sanji and zoro split the money nami begrudgingly forks over and then buy the whole crew pizza.)

[cannibalizedlove]

hey id love to request a jimmy oneshot where the (male) reader is working the midnight shift at a convenience store, and Jimmy notices them while walking by during his midnight walks nd buys a cigarette pack (only to get some attention) and just basically jimmy trying to shoot his shot with the reader !! idk if youd do this req because it's a small fandom and Jimmy (entergalactic) is voiced by timothee :)) but id hope you consider giving Entergalactic a watch and maybe write the oneshot ! also totally random but reminder to stay hydrated and drink your water 🫶

Jimmy is the cutest, thank you so much for this ask, I literally love him. I just rewatched the movie to freshen my memory for this request! Also, I couldn’t resist using this gif, can you blame me? Hope you enjoy <3

Can I get you something.

Information and warnings — x male reader, flirting, smug Jimmy, the trio being silly, awkward Jimmy trying to land pick up lines, first time meeting, fluff.

You rubbed your eyes as you opened the shop door, the familiar ringing of the bell reminding you that you’re clocked in for a 7 hour shift.

You flicked the remaining bud of your joint as you flipped the “Be back soon” sign back to “Open.”

The first thirty minutes of your shift were spent playing a cat-themed candy crush rip off while sipping a tall boy version of a Coca Cola, avoiding your duties of shop clean up and restock.

You were enjoying your silence and lack of work while still being paid, as trio of overtly intoxicated men stumbled into your convenience store.

“I’m Jabari and I’m too scared to fuck my fine ass neighbor, cause I’m scared of pussy! Wah Wah.” The tallest one announced, picking on his friend as he ripped a Monster energy out of the holder.

The one you assumed was Jabari, pushed his friend in a half joking, half fuck off way as he grabbed out two cases of beer, either taking the party home, or to another trap-house.

Yet over all of the commotion, your eyes were drawn to the last one to come in, he was scrawny with a shaved head, and seemed more airy opposed to stumbling; definitely more high than drunk.

You continued to swipe for three matching cats, occasionally looking up to see Buzzcut grabbing handfuls of roadtrip-esque snacks to satisfy his munchies. Though, you’d quickly push your head down and fumble with something on the counter to “act busy” when he’d catch your stare, which seemed to be every-time you’d look at him.

You wondered if he was staring at you in return, but hurriedly shook the idea as you remembered you worked behind the counter at a dingy convenience store; and these guys looked like big deals. ‘Selling doritos, snowballs and corn dogs wasn’t the most attractive thing to guys’ you thought as the men plopped down their items on your counter.

“Just these, man.” Jabari smiled before he continued to argue with the taller man about not piping his supposedly very attractive neighbor. You agreed with him, but kept silent as you scanned the slew of beer and midnight snacks.

“Jimmy would agree with me, he’d totally say hit it and leave it! Wouldn’t you, Jimmy?” The man announced, his sunglasses sliding down his nose, perfectly agreeing with his smug smirk.

“No! I actually would never, Ky, because I do not sleep around! I only do that once I’m settled down, which I’m not, but would like to be, you know this.” Jimmy, you knew him now as, said defensively, his head jerking to you in a gesturing manner, basically saying ‘don’t blow my cover.’

“Ohh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Very committed and very saintly; I know that about you.” Ky chuckled as he pushed his sunglasses up. “Go get your man!” He said in a hushed tone, earning an elbow to the ribs from Jimmy and grabbed a case of beer, telling Jabari to get the other, leaving Jimmy to get his bag of cheap snacks.

“I’ll be just a second, guys!” Jimmy waved his friends off as he leaned against your counter, earning a small giggle and smirk from you as you watched him begin to start his ‘‘smooth’’ flirting.

“Can I get you something?” You said after a moment of silence staring at eachother, you wouldn’t mind looking at him quietly for a few more seconds, but also wanted to talk to him and see where this went.

“Oh, you know what, I forgot to get smokes, that’s what I was missing! Can you grabbed me some camel filters, red?” He said in a shaky, nervous voice as he gave you a bashful smile.

You plucked the pack from above you, placing them infront of the both of you while a smug smile; waiting to see where he goes with this small interaction. Jimmy began to reach for his wallet, cutting his losses and sighing under his breath knowing it would be awkward to keep it going.

“On the house, you seem good for it.” You bit your cheek and leaned against the counter yourself, mirroring him and meeting him at eye level; somehow hes even more pretty this close.

Jimmy smiled and let out a breathy laugh as he looked to the side, seeing his two friends watching through the window and nodding profusely with thumbs up.

“Thank you, you don’t have to, but I’d never turn down free smokes.” Jimmy said in singy songy tone, pocketing the pack and moving slightly closer to you, staring at your lips.

“Big party tonight? What’s the celebration?” Your eyes trailing to his lips yourself, once again mirroring him, watching as he swallowed thickly at your advances. “Celebrating life, baby, always making it a party.” Jimmy said with a goofy laugh, he was sarcastic, but you knew he was the type of guy to bring the party wherever he went.

“Would love to have you join us, if you wanted to?” Jimmy swallowed thickly, looking up at you with knitted eyebrows, he was shooting his shot and looking absolutely stunning while doing it, you couldn’t turn him down if your life depended on it, but you knew you couldn’t just drop your shift for a party.

“My boss would have my ass.. any chance you’re free tomorrow afternoon? I still wanna see you.” You admitted with a soft smile, seeing Jimmy’s eyes go from pitifully sad from the start of your sentence, to being wide with joy at the end.

“Lunch? There’s this burger joint down the block, I could meet you there, or pick you up. Anything you want.” Jimmy smiled and balanced on his tippy toes with a few taps on your counter, unable to hide his excitement.

You wrote your phone number down on his receipt, along with your address with a smiley face, smirking as you slide it over to him. Jimmy launched for it and grabbed it hastily, smiling widely and began to make his way out of the store.

“Hey, what’s your name?” He said, looking back as he reached for the door handle, embarrassed for being so caught up in your looks before even asking you a basic question.

“Y/N. See you at lunch, party animal.” You giggled as you waved goodbye to him, going back on your phone, updating your friends about the cute guy asking you out.

“Later, pretty boy!” Jimmy yelled out with his arms raised, while laughing as your heard Ky and Jabari praise him for his flirting game.

The three men walked away as they slapped Jimmys back, pushed into him and cheered for him.

“Got a fucking address, number and a date, boys! We’re so fuckin in!” Jimmy screamed out into the night sky, overjoyed and slapping the receipt with a dopey smile.

[snowyaika]

pairing: felix x rebel!reader

summary: you and felix became close when he joined the rebellion. when he’s gone from a mission longer than he should be, you set out to find where he really is.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: season 6 chapter 10 spoilers, swearing, symptoms of a panic attack but not actually stated, brief mention of suicide(but not acted upon), pain pain pain!, kind of an open ending, all lowercase, gn!reader, follows plot of show

notes: whew! put a lot of prompts into this one, gotta make it sting a little! keep in mind this is my first work for this fandom and for…well, anything! please please please comment your thoughts on it, hope you all enjoy :)

-

“felix, rendezvous back at the ship, it’s time to let them end their war once and for all.” the radio goes quiet for a moment, the other side contemplating their choice of words.

“tie up your loose ends.”

the line cuts off with static, locus supposedly getting ready for the attack on the federal army.

it’s quiet, until a long sigh breaks through the empty room. “fuck.”

-

it’s no question that felix and you have a… special relationship. ever since he joined the rebellion, it’s as if you two just clicked.

you were one of the best in the rebellion, although you didn’t have much competition. because of your superior skill, or well, the inferior skill of others, you had trouble connecting with the other soldiers.

when felix showed up, everything changed.

like a flipped switch, you were never alone, always by each other’s side. of course, other than when he went on his own missions and when you had your own duties to attend to on base.

you two did everything together. training, dining, hell— even chores (although, he was more so just keeping you company as you were on dish duty).

eventually, things started to take a turn. training sessions and missions suddenly turned into late night walks and deep conversations in your quarters.

of course, this soon led to more… intimate moments between you both.

soon after, everyone could catch on that you two had something going on.

… or maybe it was after felix beat up a new recruit to the brink of death when he found out the poor guy was flirting with you.

nevertheless, things were going fine— perfect even. as fine as things can be during a civil war.

until everything wasn’t.

-

“felix? i thought kimball sent you out to scout the feds?”

you’re in the back of the weaponry, sharpening your knives (gifted by a certain someone) and preparing your other guns for an upcoming mission when you spotted him walking up to you.

“oh god, please tell me she doesn’t want me to tag along. i don’t know how many more bullets i can take for you.”

he let out a soft chuckle as he stood in front of you, staring down at you seated on a crate.

“oh please, it was one time. and you didn’t even get shot, it grazed your leg.” his eyes flicker down to the knife in your hand, his chest puffing up smugly.

he’s weird that way. seeing you use the knives he gifted you gave him a sense of possessiveness, as if he was staking his claim on you. you always called him a creep when he brought it up.

neither of you brought up how you never denied it.

“as much as i’d love to have you on this next mission, no, she didn’t tell me to come get you.” he clears his throat before continuing, “i just… wanted to you to see me off.”

you pause your work, staring up at him with a confused look. of course because of the helmets, he doesn’t see it, so you both stare at each other in awkward silence for a moment.

“...okay, i’ll bite. why?” you set your weapons to the side so you can stand face to face with him. “you don’t plan to die on this one, do you?” your tone has a tint of humor to it, but your body is clearly tense.

“darling, please. look who you’re talking to. you think some weak federals can kill this awesome bod? i’m offended.” he makes a pose of showing off his arm muscles, causing you to just scoff and lightly shove his shoulder.

“right. i forgot i was hanging with the strongest man on the planet,” your tone drips with faux praise, glancing behind him at the lingering soldiers giving you both cautious glances.

“i’m serious though. i just wanted to see you before i left.” he steps closer, his hand reaching for yours, his fingers brushing against your wrist. your helmet clinks gently against his like a childish kiss. everyone already knew about you two, but it’s nice to keep some professionalism in public.

“how long will you be gone?” you whisper softly, as if raising your voice would shatter the intimate moment between you two.

“not long. intel says it’ll be quick. i should be back in a few days.” he responds just as gently, all humor in his voice gone and replaced with a tone you would never hear him use with anyone else.

“okay, be safe.”

-

it’s been two weeks since your last conversation with him, and it’s safe to say you were… on edge.

you’ve been going around the base non-stop asking the same questions, where is he, what do you know about the mission he was sent on, and at some point during it all kimball summoned you herself after you snapped at one of the rookies.

“what the hell were you thinking, pulling a gun on a fucking rookie? have you lost your goddamn mind?!”

kimballs voice is loud enough to echo throughout the whole base, yet you remain unphased as she throws words towards you that are intended to hurt. you tune her out, completely uninterested in what she has to say.

your mind hasn’t been the same since he left. you can handle when he goes off on his usual missions, but when he doesn’t come back two weeks after he said he should’ve?

it’s logical for you to get a little high strung.

you let her hurl a few more insults towards you before interrupting. “it won’t happen again. am i dismissed?”

she grinds her jaw to restrain the next string of curses about to be let out, and huffs. “look, i know you’re stressed that felix is gone. shit, i don’t know where he is either, okay? but you need to get your shit together. i don’t want to see another fuck up like this again, understand?”

you only nod, turning on your heel and walking out of the building. as you make your way towards your quarters, you overhear the galaxy's greatest heroes (a bunch of lazy idiots if anyone were to ask you) talking about some sort of rescue mission to save the rest of their team.

you tense up. maybe felix was sent to go after them and got captured himself? you were willing to take the chance to find out.

pausing, you contemplate the risk of asking to join them. not because it would be betraying your alliance to the rebellion, but because hanging around with them will surely lower your chance of survival.

waving away your doubts, you walk into the building they were in. they notice you immediately, instantly becoming tense. “oh… hey there,” the yellow (orange, he always corrects you) one says.

“i want in on your little rescue mission. it’ll be wise for you to bring me along.”

they all share a look, before the teal one speaks up, “uh… sure. but why?”

-

oh my god, they’re fucking idiots.

there is absolutely no possible explanation as to how the five of you have made it this far, and you don’t plan on questioning it, instead thanking whatever god is up there that you haven’t blown your own brains out from the frustration of having to deal with their idiotic antics.

you don’t think about it any longer once they reunite with their team, your disappointment evident when you don’t see felix being one of the people among them.

for fucks sake, where could he have gone?

your question gets answered shortly after.

“...felix?”

you stand amongst the other soldiers, staring at him with a confused expression. your heart stutters in what you thought was relief, but you should’ve known better.

once the fight broke out, you were so confused. you had no idea what to do. do you shoot at him? what if it was just a huge misunderstanding? why was he with locus? there was too much going on. before you even knew it, one of the soldiers, you’re assuming one of the heroes allies, teleports your team away.

you were left behind.

following your instincts, you fucking book it and run, away from whatever the hell just happened and whoever the hell was chasing you.

not long after, because your training wasn’t that good, you’re worn out from running away, deciding to take cover behind one of the many rocky pikes surrounding the base.

you drop your gun, your hands shaking too much to hold it steady. “fuck, fuck, fuck!” you hear footsteps running past you, and you try your best to hold your breath. you didn’t know what to do, you weren’t cut out for this, you weren’t cut out for this war.

your breath is shallow as you rip off your helmet, taking large gasps of air and clutching your chest tightly to help ease the pain forming there. you couldn’t feel anything, your chest was hurting so much it numbed the pain in your legs from running.

trying to steady yourself, you count your breaths, praying that you can just calm down and keep running.

“i knew i’d find you here.”

your heart drops, and you raise your head to look up at the person approaching you. you take a deep breath to try and focus.

“felix, i thought you- what the hell is going on?” you stand up straight, starting to walk towards him. you’re so confused and you need to know if it's really him.

before you can even take a step, his gun is aimed straight at your face. “stay where you are.”

your body instantly freezes, a sudden chill shooting down your spine. “felix.. what are you doing? we can leave before they find us, stop messing with me and put the gun down!”

he doesn’t seem to listen, his gun following your head as you try to move slightly out of its range.

“you know, from the day we met, i knew i’d hurt you eventually,” he lowered his gun, starting to pace slowly in front of you.

the radio in his suit buzzes, most likely containing orders to the soldiers nearby to eliminate you immediately, but all he does is switch it off.

“i was surprised, really, how easily you opened up to me. i mean, come on, trusting a mercenary? i thought i taught you better,” he keeps the gun lowered, but you know the threat is still prominent, “and then you had to go and fall for me. you sure gave me trouble finding ways to report to command without you being on my back all the time.”

your brain lags, trying to piece together what he’s saying but you’re so deep in denial. “felix i- what are you even saying?”

“do you remember the first time we met?” he cuts you off, taking a step closer. “the first conversation we had?”

when you don’t respond, he takes pride in answering his own question, “i told you not to get too close to me. kimball said it herself– i was hired to help you guys, what makes you think you and your little crush on me could ever change that?”

it’s like a wave of ice water washes over you, and you finally come to your senses. it really is felix, and he really is betraying you.

your gaze slides down to your previously dropped gun, and as if reading your mind, he lifts his gun again towards you, “i don’t think so, darling.”

what once was a nickname that made you smile giddily, now makes your body tingle in a new feeling of discomfort.

“what is this, a lesson in not trusting people? god, spare me the act,” your words leak with newfound hatred, glaring at him as if looks could kill. “just get it over with and say you never loved me.”

your brain yells at you to not be so hostile, to start begging for your life, but you’re stubborn.

just how he taught you.

your comment takes him by surprise, the grip on his gun faltering slightly. he quickly recovers, tightening his grip and aiming it at you with a new sense of justification. “don’t make me kill you.”

you let out a scoff, “what, going to shoot me? go on, do it.”

after a moment of silence between you both, and still no sound of a trigger, your eyes narrow at him, “don’t have the balls to do it? you don’t need me to call locus over, do you?”

he lets out a low growl, but still makes no move to pull the trigger. letting out a sigh, you lean back on your heels. if you were going to die now, you’d at least like one of your questions answered.

“what was going through your head when i told you i loved you?” you try to sound like you don’t care, like him betraying you didn’t feel like a fucking train wreck, but you can’t help the unsteadiness in your voice.

“that i wish you never had trusted me.”

you see his finger twitch on the trigger, and you look up to the sky.

as much as you hated the feds, they had a pretty damn good view.

[spartanguard]

sons of love and death, 11/13 {CSSNS 23}

Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon] A/N: Back to the main story in this chapter! Fair warning: you may need a tissue… Only one more big one after this, and then an epilogue! Can't believe this @cssns adventure is almost over! (As always, thanks to the best beta, @optomisticgirl!) rated M | 4.5k words | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Dorian hummed to himself in thought. He’d been sneaking around the former wicked witch’s property, stealing some of the leftover golden straw made by Rumpelstiltskin (he wasn’t sure how he’d missed it the first time), when he noticed his brother at the front door of the house. So, obviously, he decided to eavesdrop, lingering just below the kitchen window. 

He had to admit—the heroes’ idea of using the Crimson Heart to render him powerless was a valid one, if the connection between his and his brother’s magic was accurate. And he had every reason to believe it; there was a period of a few weeks a couple years ago when his own magic wouldn’t work. He’d been in New York City at the time and just attributed the dysfunction to the lack of magic in the rest of this realm finally catching up to him. But based on what little he’d deduced about the timing of Hook’s dabble with the underworld, it was likely then, and it returned whenever his twin had been resurrected. (He’d spent the bulk of that time with a lovely redhead anyways.)

(He’d also finally read the novel supposedly inspired by his life, after delaying it for over a century. Damn, Oscar had taken quite a number of liberties with that story, but given what he knew about the man, none were surprising. He loathed that he gave it a moral, though, and a tragic ending to boot, when Dorian himself had few and had no plans of failing.)

He translocated away before his brother could leave the farmhouse, heading for the queen’s vault. He’d heard of the Crimson Heart, but never thought he’d have a reason to seek it out—he was all about acquiring power, not losing it. He still wasn’t sure how exactly he could use it, but better to have it in his arsenal before it could be used against him. 

As he approached the vault, he could sense the protection spell the queen had placed around it—far stronger than the one at the town line. Well, that was no problem; he reached into an inner pocket and pulled out an odd-looking dagger; the blade looked vaguely like bone. It was precisely what he’d been looking for during his ill-fated adventure in London all those years ago: the knife was made from a sliver of Maui’s legendary fish hook, having the ability to cut through any spell (though he didn’t come across it for a few more decades). 

He flipped it in his hand, then stabbed at the air, connecting with the barrier. Then he cut down; a bright red line followed, glowing as it created a break in the spell. When he reached the ground, he was able to slip his other hand into the split and part it like a curtain, then stepped through. 

Foolishly, the queen hadn’t put any further security measures on her hideaway. To be fair, that was a strong spell guarding it—few would be able to get through with their lives. But he was usually the exception to any rules.

He’d been focused on the books the first time he’d been down here, but could easily tell it was a treasure trove of other useful items. Based on what he’d overheard, the object he was looking for had some inherent magic of its own; that would make it easier to locate among all the other clutter.

It took a few tries—and only after uncovering a number of other, actual hearts—before he found it, set casually on a shelf in a box. It was a clear-ish stone, vaguely tinted green or red, depending on the angle, but he could feel the void-like enchantment it held. It was just waiting to absorb whatever magic it could get.

For a brief moment, he wondered if there was a way to use it as a siphon—perhaps he could merely take his brother’s magic for his own, including that bit of Darkness? But no; everything he’d heard about this was that it was a one-way vacuum, and he was too close to achieving his goals to risk it by getting greedy.

He closed up the box and tucked it under his arm, then transported away, to another part of town. If a town as quaint as Storybrooke could have a seedy side, this was it: a short strip of warehouses and industrial spaces near the docks. A plain, almost charred-looking cinderblock building sat at the end of the lane, with a sign by the door reading Wayland Smith (if one could read it, that is; the metal sign was almost tarnished beyond recognition).

A rush of heat welcomed Dorian as he pulled the door open; inside, a number of forges were going, giving the entire space an orange glow.

In the back of the shop, a man wore a welding helmet and was shaping red-hot metal with a hammer; the resounding clang echoed in the large space as sparks erupted from his project. He stopped when he saw Dorian approach, though, and lifted the mask.

There was nothing special or unique about his appearance. He was just…a man, albeit a large one. It was near impossible to tell he was the centuries-old Wayland the Smith of legend. Perhaps that was how he’d survived so long, though. But that wasn’t Dorian’s style.

“Y’ready, then?” Wayland asked gruffly.

“As ever,” Dorian replied.

Wayland beckoned him to follow to one of the massive furnaces, which was currently cold. But at the table in front of it, a crucible was waiting next to a fresh-looking mold. “Wha’ever you’ve got, put it in there,” he brusquely explained, nodding at the cup. 

Dorian first pulled out his brother’s namesake prosthesis and attempted to put it in the melting pot, but it was too big. Wayland took it from him, whacked it on the edge of…some sort of structure within the foundry to snap it in half, and then put the broken pieces back in. 

Then, Dorian pulled out the strands of gold he’d taken from the former dungeon at the farmhouse, as well as the last ingredient he’d taken from the Evil Queen’s vault the week prior: ambrosia dust. Neither of those objects was very potent on their own, but in combination—oh, they were going to be everything.

He set the gold down on the worksurface and dumped the vial of dust into his left hand. He then picked the gold back up and closed his eyes, focusing on the remnants of dark magic that lingered in the metal strands. Even if the Darkness no longer truly existed, it still left its fingerprints—like it had on his brother and the others, and like it did in this bit of gold, fabricated with its use.

The strands began to glow and warm in his hold; he smirked at the feel of it, then opened his eyes and dragged the wires through the dust in his other palm. The ambrosia—known for its ability to resurrect the dead when in its pure form—would help bring back those powers, and the metal gleamed even brighter as it picked up and held onto the specks of dust. 

He bent the bits in half and added them to the crucible. Obviously, that wasn’t all it was going to take to bring back the Darkness—he still needed to get at those bits stuck to their souls, and that would require a blood tether first—but this was the start of finally getting what was his.

“Care to light it, sir?” Wayland asked, pointing toward the furnace. They could have used any of the other ones, but Dorian figured it would be all the more meaningful if his own magic fueled the fire.

He stood in front of the cavernous hole, then put his hands together at chest height. Between them, he created a dense fireball, small, then growing larger as he moved his hands apart, calling on his magic to increase its size and intensity.

When he had a fireball nearly the size of his abdomen, he pushed the whole thing into the furnace; it immediately began to lick at the brick walls and set it alight from the inside, to the point that he had to shield his eyes.

Wayland was watching the temperature gauge on the outside; when it was heated enough, he gestured for Dorian to step back. Then the smith pulled his visor back down and pushed the crucible into the blazing hot oven. 

Dorian had no idea how long it took for metal to melt down, but it was somehow both longer and less time than he expected; perhaps he was just anxious. Still, the next time Wayland moved, it was to bring the crucible back out, now filled with bright orange liquid.

(There was something exceedingly satisfying about the fact that he’d not only taken Captain Hook’s hook, but that he’d also essentially destroyed it.)

Expertly, Wayland turned around, not losing a drop of the molten alloy, and poured it into the mold Dorian had commissioned earlier in the week. From the angle he stood at, he could see the light from it illuminate the inside of the form until it just reached the top.

The men shared a beer as they waited for it to cool, and once it got close to being ready, Wayland fitted it with the handle that Dorian provided—made from a chunk of wood he’d kept in his pocket from a tree on the grounds of the Dark Castle. (It had been his favorite tree to climb as a child, and he’d always kept a piece of it on him in case he ever needed help finding his way home. But this seemed to be a far more fitting spot for it now.)

Wayland assessed the form, then nodded; he assumed that meant it was ready. Dorian tossed the cigarette he’d been dragging on into the furnace, then watched as the smithy tapped and pulled with his tools to undo the mold.

It took a few hard hits, but then—there it was; a bit rough still, but gorgeous: a new dagger for a new Dark One.

It was similar in shape to the one of lore—it had mostly the same tapered shape with its undulating edges, but had a few more curls added on the sides, ending in dangerously sharp points. A pattern similar to the old one was pressed into the blade in relief, but was the same color as the rest of the metal at the moment.

Wayland took the blade to yet another part of his workspace and flipped the switch on another machine, first sanding it a bit and then buffing it until it gleamed.

He gave it one final inspection then, seemingly satisfied, took it carefully by the blade and extended the handle to Dorian. “All yours, m’lord.”

Dorian couldn’t hold back his grin as he took it and looked it over. “Oh, it’s perfect,” he remarked, turning it over in his grip and enjoying the weight of it in his grasp. He pressed a fingertip into one of the points; it came back bleeding. “Yes—perfect.”

“Good,” Wayland answered. “Anythin’ else ya need?”

Dorian hummed, giving it another once over. “There is one thing.”

“Wha’s that?”

Swiftly, Dorian took the dagger and shoved it into Wayland’s shoulder. The man cried out in pain and fell to his knees, which seemed dramatic; it’s not like it was a fatal stab. 

But then Dorian pulled it out to an even harsher scream, and realized that the extra points on the edges probably made it worse. 

Still, the blade was covered in blood. It looked wonderful, but it wasn’t the blood he ultimately needed. 

He summoned a small fireball and ran it along the sides of the dagger; the blood turned dark and filled in the designs pressed into its surface. There—now it looked like the Dark One’s dagger. 

Time to make it real. 

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Since becoming mortal again, Rumpelstiltskin had learned to appreciate the blessings of a full night’s sleep. Although he had forgotten how light a sleeper he’d been prior to taking on the curse; it didn’t take much to wake him—especially once his son arrived and didn’t seem to understand the concept of a normal sleep schedule. (Not for the first time, his heart went out to Milah having to do that on her own centuries prior.) 

Gideon had at least grown out of that now (mostly), but Rumple retained the ability to wake at the slightest disturbance. Given that he still had a number of enemies, it was a useful skill, even if he largely towed the correct side of morality nowadays.

So he wasn’t surprised to wake in the middle of the night. However, he wasn’t sure why. A glance at the monitor sitting on his nightstand indicated Gideon was still asleep, and Belle was lightly snoring next to him. No other sounds could be heard; not even the hooting of an owl outside (the only thing that typically woke him lately, and—if he was being honest—his main rival at the moment).

The moments he missed having magic were few and far between, but this was one of them. As he sat up, so did the hair on the back of his neck—someone was there.

And he could only think of one foe who would be able to enter undetected.

“What do you want, Mr. Gray?”

The shadows shifted on the far side of the room as the man in question came forward. “Color me impressed, Dark One; you still have your wits about you.”

“I had them before I had that title; why wouldn’t I when that title no longer exists?”

“For now,” Dorian countered. He could only just make out the shape of him in the bit of light that came through the drapes.

“Please; you’re not still on about that, are you?”

“Indeed I am,” Dorian countered, then suddenly appeared at Rumple’s bedside—and was pressing a cold bit of metal against his neck. 

Rumpelstiltskin jumped away and looked down; that fool had the dagger. Or, a version of it—this one seemed a bit more dangerous (and far more impractical). “Where the hell did you get that?” he asked, hoping he sounded unimpressed—though, in reality, it did worry him a bit. The dagger was only ever a conduit, but the fact that Dorian had one wasn’t a good sign. 

“Why, I made it,” Dorian boasted. “And I came here to thank you for your help. It’s mostly my brother’s hook, but you left some gold behind in that storm cellar; gives it just that little extra boost of magic, I think.” He pressed it close to Rumple’s neck again. “What do you think? Pretty great, eh?”

Of course, that’s when Belle stirred next to him. “Rumple?” she asked sleepily. “What’s going—”

Her (obvious) question was cut off as she was quickly frozen in place. “I thought your magic was fire, not ice,” Rumple bit out. 

“Bit of everything,” Dorian shrugged. 

Rumple took a deep breath but tried to be steady about it, and not let on the nerves that were stirring. (He may have been a coward long ago, but he was no such thing now—not when it came to his family’s safety, at least, and he was at a severe disadvantage here.) “I’m surprised you didn’t already put your name on it,” he instead taunted. “Since you seem to think you’re entitled to be the Dark One.”

“Oh, no no no,” Dorian replied. “I need to earn it—just how you did. I want to know the joyous feeling of watching my name engrave itself after I’ve won it outright.”

Rumple remembered his own emotions upon suddenly seeing his name etched in that cursed steel. “Joy? I just remember feeling sick.” The memory had dulled over his years in the Darkness, but it was another of those things that came back to him with mortality. “I was willing to do anything for my son, but I didn’t know that would be the cost.”

“You were fine with murder, but not with the Darkness?” Dorian scoffed. “That’s an odd line to draw.”

“Desperation does that to people,” he countered. “Your father was apparently determined enough to make sure you didn’t get those powers that he duped me into it.”

Even in the dark, he could see the fire of anger light the other man’s eyes. 

“Which actually brings me to a question,” Rumple went on. “Why are you so desperate to be the Dark One? And don’t just tell me it’s because you were promised; you already have magic and found a way to immortality, so what could you want with them?”

“Because I have nothing else,” Dorian spat. “No family, no friends—no loved ones. I’ve devoted and sacrificed so much of my life in pursuit of this. I deserve it.” Rumple rolled his eyes, but Dorian didn’t notice. “My birth parents gave me up—in favor of another, I’ve recently learned—and I killed my only other love. This is it—this is all that remains of the only person who showed me any care. And I will have it.”

Rumple narrowed his eyes—and was suddenly sympathetic. “You want to prove to your father that you were worthy of the magic.”

Dorian said nothing.

“Trust me, I know all about complicated paternal relationships. But you can move past that; you can find something else worth living for.” He looked over at Belle, still frozen, to emphasize his point. “I did, and so did your brother.”

“No, I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Dorian answered, almost sadly.

And with a flick of his wrist, both men disappeared in a cloud of fiery smoke.

Rumple just hoped he wasn’t about to lament the fact he couldn’t say goodbye to Belle.

He knew he was resourceful and could find a way out; but he knew the target wasn’t just on his head, and hoped his inevitable allies were thinking just as far ahead.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Dorian was beginning to regret not drawing up a dramatically oversized checklist of the things he needed to complete his plan. First on the list was the dagger—check; Rumpelstiltskin was a little further down, but he could cross him off, too.

Next up: his portrait. Much like the Crimson Heart, he mainly wanted to keep it close to prevent it being used against him, but he also wanted the inherent magic in it handy if the situation called for it. He transported himself and the former Dark One to the storage room above the library, making sure to tie up Rumple’s hands in the process, lest he make a grab for any potential weapons.

The room was musty and dim, with only a bit of light coming through the spaces between the boarded-up windows from the streetlamps outside. But he didn’t need to be able to see to find the portrait—he could hear it, the steady beating of Sybil’s heart still echoing his.

At least—he thought he was fine, until he ran into several somethings dangling from the ceiling.

He cried out in surprise; meanwhile, Rumpelstiltskin laughed. “Careful, lad; I’m sure there’s a metaphor there about needing light in the darkness.”

“Lad? You’re hardly older than me.”

“Still am,” he shrugged.

Dorian turned away and tried to brush…whatever it was out of his path, but there were more of them. “The bloody hell are these? Some primitive security system?”

“Dreamcatchers,” Rumple explained. “I forgot we put them up here.”

“What value do those have?” He’d never heard of spells requiring stolen dreams—but the longest Dark One to ever hold the title probably had.

“It’s a bit of magic that originated from the indigenous folk of this land,” he said. “Not just to hold dreams, but memories.”

“There are stones for that,” Dorian retorted.

“Aye, but only in a few places. These can be made anywhere. See for yourself how they work.”

Dorian looked over at his foe; he felt like he was being baited, but he didn’t know into what. He could play along, though; Rumpelstiltskin’s hours were numbered, so he might as well take in any bits of knowledge from the man he could.

He reached up to grab the nearest dreamcatcher. “No, not that one,” Rumple interrupted. “That one, over there—with the black feathers. You’ll like that one.”

Dorian arched an eyebrow skeptically, but obliged, and took down the one made with a reddish ring of wood (at least, as far as he could tell in the dark) with feathers hanging off of it as described.

It didn’t do anything at first, but he could feel the magic simmering inside the web of strings across its middle.

“Now what?” he asked, impatient.

“Just give it a second.”

He looked back at it, and then, slowly, an image appeared in the empty middle of the dreamcatcher. He leaned in closer to study it, and then—it was like he was inside the memory.

A couple dozen hooded figures stood in a half circle at one end of the clearing; at the center stood Hook and Emma. But they looked very different from the couple he’d met here in town: Emma had bleached-white hair and a severe, all black outfit; while Hook…looked a bit more like him—hair parted on the right, dressed far more casually than he’d seen him yet (though still in all black), with an emptiness in his eyes that seemed out of character.

What was most astonishing, though, was the fact that his twin was holding a united Excalibur in his hand, and it wasn’t hard to make out the names Killian Jones and Emma Swan both engraved in it. 

“Impossible,” Dorian gasped.

“Just keep watching,” Rumple told him from…somewhere beyond his awareness; this must be his own memory.

Next to Hook, a cloaked woman stood—with noticeably scaly skin. Was that… “Nimue?” he wondered aloud.

“In the flesh, so to speak,” Rumple confirmed. 

He scanned the rest of the figures, and realized the posture of one was exceedingly familiar. “Zoso,” he whispered. They were all the past Dark Ones. Gods, he was about to get starstruck.

Nimue announced, “It’s time,” though for what, he couldn’t tell. But it triggered Emma, who angrily proclaimed, “No—you are not taking the people I love.” Her voice was harsher than he recalled.

Nimue lifted her hand to magically choke Emma; it obviously wouldn’t kill her, but it definitely stopped her in her tracks. The original Dark One taunted Emma, but Dorian was more focused on his brother’s reaction. At first, it was nothing; then, he seemed to be avoiding Emma’s eyes. But the moment he met them, the change in his countenance was visible, from realization to horror to anger.

“That’s enough,” he spat as he turned to face Nimue. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, not giving up her hold on Emma’s neck.

“Being the man I want to be,” Killian answered. 

“You can’t stop us,” she boasted. 

“Yes, I can.” Hook held Excalibur aloft, then closed his eyes and concentrated—on pulling all the other Dark Ones into the blade. Emma was let go and caught her breath, but Dorian was focused on the disappearing image of Zoso from the ring of sorcerers. 

When it was done, the blade had changed its color, to black with a red glow from its engravings. His brother was visibly shaking at the effort to hold it—them—in. 

“Killian, you can’t do this,” Emma told him tearfully; it reminded him somehow of his last moments with Sybil. 

“We both know there’s no other way, love,” Hook told her, equally emotional. “We have to hurry; the Darkness won’t stay trapped in Excalibur much longer—take it.” (Were Dorian actually there, he would have done so in a heartbeat—but not to do what he had a feeling was about to happen.)

Emma tried to refuse him, but after a brief debate, Killian was able to convince her. “Let me die a hero; that’s the man I want you to remember—please.” Dorian rolled his eyes a bit, but they were also glued to the scene.

Reluctantly, Emma took the sword; it wasn’t obvious if its own weight or that of her next task was making her struggle to hold it. 

Hook was beginning to brace himself, but Emma wasn’t ready. She whispered that she loved him, and pulled him into a kiss that clearly had goodbye written all over it. He returned the sentiment, then nodded at her as she stepped back.

She hesitated again, until Killian told her it was okay. She lifted the blade slowly, and it seemed like she wasn’t going to move—until she abruptly surged forward, piercing him through the chest with the sword.

Dorian sucked in his own breath at it; despite being told the abridged version, he almost thought she wouldn’t go through with it. Almost immediately, Hook collapsed on Emma’s shoulder, but managed to push himself away in time to see the Darkness drop its hold on Emma; she glowed briefly, but then was left looking much the same as the sheriff that Dorian now knew.

She pulled the blade out—likely only hastening death—and it disintegrated, but she was too distracted by the dying man in front of her to care. 

She grabbed him as he fell to the ground, and went down with him. Her sobs filled the clearing, echoing around him.

But then, all of a sudden, he was back in the storeroom above the library. He gasped, and could feel the wetness on his cheeks from the tears that scene apparently elicited. 

“Impressive magic, eh?” Rumple said; Dorian had almost forgotten that he was there—why either of them were there. And he wasn’t sure if the man was referring to that which allowed him to watch that scene unfold—or what happened in it.

“Rubbish,” he tried to counter, but the emotion in his voice betrayed him.

“Like I said, you don’t have to do this,” Rumple told him again, softer. “Your brother—”

“Is a completely different person than me,” Dorian spat back. “You really thought this would get me to change my resolve? Some little mind game?” He tossed the dreamcatcher aside. “Nothing will stop me from getting what I want.” 

He turned on a dime and followed Sybil’s heartbeat to his portrait; he was glad there wasn’t enough light to see what it looked like. 

When he returned, Rumple was still looking smug. “Come on,” he snapped, then shoved the man with magic, compelling him to follow him.

“What now?” he asked.

“If my brother is half the hero he says he is, he and his bride won’t hesitate to come to your rescue. And then I’ll finally take what should have been mine—what he threw away.”

They made their way down the stairs and into the night, but he could still feel a sense of self-satisfaction coming off Rumple, as if he was convinced that showing him that scene had impacted Dorian at all. It hadn’t.

(At least, that’s what he was trying to convince himself.)

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows​ @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz​ @resident-of-storybrooke @bluewildcatfanatic

[thevoyageurmoteplass-writing]

Zeph should have realised his task was going to be impossible right from the start. Not because of the stories whispered about Alia Underwood between demons, the horrors told about her as if she were the bogeyman of the damned to keep them in line. It wasn’t even the fact that a greater demon had asked him to do the job because they couldn’t that should have been the giveaway, it happened more often than not. Delegation in the underworld wasn’t unheard of.

But as soon as he’d set eyes on her, he should have simply given up the fight. It wasn’t because she was tiny, that she didn’t look nearly as imposing as the stories suggested. It wasn’t even the fact that despite her small stature she managed a cold look that had some people skirting around her in corridors as if she’d carved out a space all by her personality alone. It was the way his stomach flipped when she’d hidden her affectionate smile for something Freddy had said.

‘You didn’t have to do this,’ she said from her place curled into an armchair. She was wearing one of the shirts he’d tossed into the wardrobe of the house that supposedly belonged to his parents. It was all part of the lie he was living, a precaution he’d taken just in case his story had needed some sort of credibility. The shirt had been a little large on him, but it swamped Alia. The short sleeves grazed her elbows, her feet tucked up beneath the shirt front but didn’t seem to stretch the fabric too much.

‘Freddy would’ve killed me if I let you catch a cold,’ he said. The sudden downpour had caused chaos in the streets. Despite everything he’d grabbed her hand and dragged her through the crowd to the house. He’d been shocked by how fragile her hand felt in his, how his own engulfed hers in a way that reminded him too starkly of just how small she was. How physically unthreatening she was. How to any other demon her size would have been the thing that made them act on that first day without thinking about what else she might have been able to do; as if all the stories, the warnings, were lies.

‘He’d have loved a reason to dote,’ she noted, affectionate irritation in her voice.

‘Another one,’ he corrected, earning an eye roll.

Silence settled between them, one that made Zeph slightly edgy. A peanut allergy. Only in the last day had he learnt about that little fact, the fact that would have been an easy way to get her out of the picture. A way to fulfil his mission without truly having to dirty his hands. And yet he couldn’t help but hold onto that secret, protect it desperately when he next had to explain why she hadn’t yet been dispatched, or why there was no information that might help the greater demon with getting rid of her.

‘What?’ she asked, a slight sharpness to her voice that made Zephaniah realise he must have been staring.

He coughed, tried to ignore how small she looked curled in the large winged back chair. Ignore how it almost seemed prepared to swallow her whole.

‘Do you want tea?’ he asked, offering her a slightly strained smile.

One eyebrow arched ever so slightly, a scrutiny in her gaze that made him sure she had guessed what was going on in his head. Sure that she’d figured out his secret and was toying with him, waiting for him to slip up before she did anything about it.

Before she sent him back without so much as a chance to explain. To tell her the truth of how he hadn’t been able to do any of it because she’d made him fall for her simply by being herself.

‘Yes please,’ she said, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

Zeph nodded before excusing himself from the room, desperately hoping he could find a way to protect her before she realised the truth. Before it had the chance to shatter the thing that he held dear to him. 

[snailsandpuppy-dogtails]

Damn Kids

Also posted to Ao3 A year ago, but never posted here! Robinwest Smut WC: 2,951 "And if we survive today and I catch you and your underage friends trying to break in and party, I'll whoop your ass."

I was just like, but what if one of them did break in and throw a party at the dam? So this is that.

-----

He jerked awake, panicked, the sharp trill of an alarm pulling him out of sleep. It was the alarm for the dam synched to his comm, someone had accessed it without inputting the all clear code. Disoriented, he swiped at the device from his side table turning it off, trying not to disturb the still sleeping chicken in the crate next to his bed. He rubbed at his sleep bleared eyes before checking the clock, it was midnight.

Fuuuuuu.

That wasn’t right. That meant it wasn’t a worker, it wasn’t repairs, that was someone (or something) who should not be there. And while he was above board now, no longer doing the smuggling thing, he still had reserves that could be handy needing protection (and because he had supposedly disclosed all his remaining stash to the panel deciding whether or not he could stay on Alpha Centauri). He would have to go see who, or what, it was. Unfortunately, he would have to do it alone…couldn’t really wake up Maureen and John for this. Plus, he’d been kind of distancing himself from the family lately and a late night call for backup was the opposite of what he was trying for. But that was another problem for another day.

He scrubbed his face one more time, rough hands rolling stubbled skin up and down, the warm friction stimulating blood flow and pushing him ever more mentally awake. He swung his legs free from the sheets thinking out a plan. He would need to wear something commanding if he wanted to scare off whoever was over there, he needed to look like he had the authority to do something nasty should they not immediately comply or scurry at being caught, but basic enough to sneak in and move the load should need be. Of course, first, he’d scope it out, Don West wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t going to jump into a situation where he could be outnumbered or overpowered.

Flipping through his small closet of things he found a nice pair of pants and a sturdy leather jacket, a gift from John and Maureen this past Christmas. He always thought it looked too expensive for everyday, so he only wore it for special occasions… there hadn’t really been many of those lately. He loved the jacket, he love the people, but it felt a bit like playing dress up.

What did he need? What did he need?

Boots were on, Debbie’s lucky feather was tucked in his pocket, he had a wrench, he looked tough and authoritative... night-vision binoculars. That would be helpful. Convenient that mechanic’s kits for space had things for working in the pitch dark. Nice, Maureen. Don made sure the binoculars were in his bag before simply taking the whole duffle with him. You never know what might be of use when you don’t really know what you’re walking into.

He mumbled to himself as he drove, I hope to god this is just some malfunction. Or some stupid kids. Better than the alternative…rogue robots. He shudders at the thought. He didn’t worry too much about it being another criminal, someone who could make trouble and be dangerous. There weren’t any of those really on Alpha Centauri, not with the vetting process to get here.

Don decided on using the paved road to the dam rather than the park-and-walk-miles rout he’d used with the girls and Vijay the day they’d gone to war with the robots, but made sure to park in a space off road. There were chariots lining the drive, out in the open and obvious, at least 15 of them. This told him there were lots of people here, and lots of stupid people at that. Who was smart enough to break into a secure dam, but dumb enough to leave such obvious signs of being present?

People who thought they wouldn’t get caught all the way out here...This was weird. This. He knew what this was. And he was pretty sure he knew who this was. He left the kit, he wouldn’t be needing anything from it. He could hear the quiet melody of music thumping as he got closer, could see light pouring out as he crept through the underbrush approaching stealthily.

Penny, you are in so much shit.

As he came closer, the sound of music growing louder, he could hear the chatter of people. He snuck in through the side access and down a short hall, observing from behind a large stack of wooden crates left over from rebuilding the turbine. A group of about 30 youngish colonists were gathered. He watched the crowd of people dancing, drinking, and carrying on in the murky darkness. Makeshift lights from groups of lanterns were stacked on every available surface casting strange shadows all around. They were without a doubt students, young, but not high school young. He hadn’t been around the Robinson’s home in a while, personal feelings needing sorted, emotions becoming too difficult to keep in check, just avoiding like he used to do, but he was sure Maureen would have said something at work if Penny or Will were hanging out with an older crowd...He looked around for anyone he recognized, glowing copper hair, Vijay,…Will? No robots...

And then, there she was. The back of a head he’d know anywhere. He stayed crouched down, waiting for her to turn around, hoping, praying he was wrong. That he wouldn’t have to do this with her, disrupt this, ruin a night she without a doubt deserved. He fought internally over wether or not he should break it up, but no, he couldn’t risk it, he had to. And he found himself asking why. Why would she do this? Why would she abuse his trust, go against what he’d asked? If it was Penny he’d understand, it would make sense, and there would be plenty more in the future he was sure.

But the problem was that wasn’t Penny. That was Judy. Responsible, dependable, older-than-she-was Judy Robinson. In a glittering red dress wrapped so tight around her he could see every precious curve. And some guy. Some tall, strong-jawed, handsome moron with his hands all over her. And Judy who didn’t dance moving like that against him...

He ducked his head looking away, heat flaring from neck to face. She was like a little sister to him- no, that wasn’t right. If that’s what she was he was going to hell or jail for…anyway. She was someone he wanted to protect at any rate, didn’t want to see her get hurt, or taken advantage of, which this guy was clearly set on doing judging by the way he…Don knew guys, knew himself, and knew what that one was working very quickly towards.

He watched as the younger man’s face came to her ear, Judy laughing, and then moved to her neck and down across her collar, all the while hands drifting lower on her body squeezing. His hands gripped hard into the wood box he was behind, splinters biting into flesh. Judy’s head tipping back, eyes closed, his hand slipping her skirt up in the middle of all these people and god he wanted to kill this kid. You’re really letting him do that?

He thought back to when he’d been in that place. Back when they were all stranded a lifetime ago, before she took on charge of all the 24th colony children, before they’d almost lost John, before they’d lost and miraculously regained Will…before they really knew what the hell was going on and before it was all resolved. When they'd felt a little like The Swiss Family Robinsons, stranded in an unfamiliar land with only their ingenuity and ship parts to survive. Back when he knew they’d get out of anything, but felt a little like they never would…and so he might have taken advantage of someone who felt the same, was having the same resignations.

It wasn’t like that

Someone younger, less experienced…someone who wouldn’t stop running past his bunk at night. Things changed though. They all grew closer, in a different way and he had to let go of the guilt or let it eat him. And so when they’d gotten settled here, everyone finding their place, he decided the best thing to do would be to slowly break away…just. Drift off. It hurt seeing her, being reminded of what he wanted but couldn't have, now that they were settled. He needed to move on.

Her here with that guy, that was natural, that was right. That was what he was creating the space for, wasn’t it? For her to be with someone like that, someone more appropriate for her. So why did he want to march over there and punch this guys lights out for dancing with Judy when he'd never been the brawling kind to begin with?

You know why.

It didn’t matter. He needed to get all these people out of here and make sure they’d never come back. Wouldn’t see this as a good place to party. He needed his stash protected and he needed a quiet place for it. If the council found out people were partying on their property they’d definitely be looking into how and why and he wanted no part of being connected with that. And he definitely couldn’t have Judy getting caught.

Time to break up the fun.

Don walked back out through the access tunnel and side entrance, heading for the main doors, still open. Stupid fucking kids. He was never this dumb. They were lucky it was just him that caught them. He drew himself up, standing as straight and tall as he could, put on his meanest face, then finding the light panel, switched on all the lights. His booming voice called out over the startled crowed “THIS IS COUNCIL PROPERTY, UNLESS YOU ALL WOULD LIKE TO BE ARRESTED AND HAVE THIS MARK YOUR RECORD, I SUGGEST YOU PACK UP AND LEAVE!” The shocked group stared on blinking in the bright light, not sure what to do, freeze taking the reins in their fight or flight sequence. Through the crowd, Judy’s eye caught his holding her gaze firm and he was sure that he'd seen her smirk.

“NOW! MOVE IT!” He clapped loudly walking into the group, the clap and additional directives seemed to trigger their flight mode, music shutting off, students quickly filing out, hands grabbing lanterns as they did. All but one who stayed where she was, arms to her side watching him. Waiting for him.

Everyone else fleeing, he dropped the persona taking off the stiff jacket, shoulders relaxing, and approached her, hands stuffed in pockets. Standing in front of her, he took in the glassy eyes of someone a few drinks in. “Princess.” he tipped his head forward, “There a reason you let your date leave you?”

Her hand came up to his face, fingers brushing behind his ear, ignoring the question, “Mmm, no aftershave tonight…Just.You. I like it.”

He gently grasped her wrist, “Stop. Judy, just go." pulling her hand away he turned to walk out.

She didn’t move with him though, arm tugging slightly as he walked on anticipating her following him. "Are you mad? Why?! We didn’t break into your stash, I didn’t even tell them about it."

Don turned back to face her, but kept moving backward, they really did need to leave incase someone else came to investigate. "Why choose the dam? Judy, this was so irresponsible."

She advanced on him, anger rising at what she took as a dig. He knew how she felt about being “the responsible one” the pressure it put on her. "Says the man who still has contraband squirreled away around the planet! They asked if anyone knew of a place out of the way where we could have privacy, I did!"

"Half the planet is undeveloped, you could have gone anywhere!” Both yelling now into the echoing room.

It was at that point a voice broke in from behind them “Uh, Jude? Do you need help?” the man pointedly stared to where the two were still connected, wrist in hand. ”We should probably go-"

They rounded on the intrusion, Don shoving his hands back in his pocket as he barked out a laugh. Judy glared at him before turning back to the man who had come back for her.

“I’m fine, you can go.”

He took a step toward her, uncertainty on his face “I really-“

“Kenneth, this is between me and him. Leave.” She pointed between herself and Don before pointing to the exit. The man frowned, but exited without further protest.

Don leaned back, bitter smile and amusement in his voice "Oh! He calls you Jude!”

“Shut up.” she scoffed.

"And so obedient!” he mused backing away.

"Shut up!” she chased after him.

He continued on his path, pied piper leading her out. “So, what? None of the dozen fields you passed to get here would work?"

"You don’t get it.” she was following, not done with this, not done with him.

“Princess, I don’t really care. You broke my trust.” With both of them outside, he turned out the lights and punched in the lock code.

“That’s laughable, YOU are using a public dam as a WINE CELLAR! You have no right treating me this way!” The anger bubbled up, hands sweeping widely, exploding.

"What way?"

"Like a child!"

"Act like a child, get treated like a child. Partying in a dam? Child.”

“So is this where you whoop my ass then, Don?” Her arms were crossed defiantly, standing near the last vehicle around.

“Judy, just get in the chariot.”

“No." She knew she was being petulant, that she should be able to have this conversation with the words she meant, but alcohol coursing through her veins and emotions running high and a plan working had her all mixed up. She needed him. She'd thought he needed her, instead he'd abandoned them like John...trying to slowly pull away. She wasn't having it. She wouldn't let him.

Don came closer, voice firm, "Judy Robinson get in the damn chariot.” He couldn’t believe she was being such a brat. After all this. After waking him up and making him drag his ass down here. But he couldn’t leave her alone all the way out here.

"Or what?" face coming closer, heat filling her eyes. “You gonna bend me over, Don? Spank me?”

He let the image rush through his mind, shutting his eyes and breathing in. He opened them, tight smile pursing his lips. “Why here?”

“One thing guarantied to make you come running. And look at that, I was right.” Her voice was soft, sad, tone matching his own.

Her hands came up again to touch him, Don catching them and pinning them at her shoulders against the cool metal of the vehicle. "Don't-" There was a beat, and then she surged forward, lips colliding with his, grip tightening on wrists, Judy relaxing against the vehicle once she was sure he’d follow, Don tumbling after her.

He moved, body weighing her own, the pleasant crush of him against her and this time it was his hands traveling the curves of her body, her waist, her hips, mouth covering neck and collar, nipping away earlier explorers, smothering the feel and leaving only him behind. Hating himself for thinking of her as his, touching her, claiming her, and not wanting another person's hands on her ever. Fire burned in him needing her, thinking of brilliant Judy Robinson setting a trap to see him and all that implied.

Don moved lower, mouthing at her chest, her breasts, teeth grazing over nipples under fabric, Judy moaning, head rolling back and fingers threading through hair. Don dropping to his knees, kissing frantic trails down her stomach, hands gliding up legs and under skirt, fingers hooking around lace before glancing up in question. She looked down, gaze meeting his, and gave the smallest of nods, Don stripping her of her underwear and tucking them in a pocket.

He guided a smooth leg over his shoulder, skirt hitching up exposing her to the night, hand pressing firmly against stomach holding her in place as he ate her out against the chariot. Judy writhing above him, small gasps and thunks against metal and glass, fingers tightening through curls and an airy “Don” providing further motivation. Justification. Hand moving and seizing bucking hips, fingers stroking harshly as his tongue lashed, mouth sucking against her. Judy building, clenching, hands gripping harder, holding him closer, almost there- almost- abs flexing and walls spasming, air rushing out of her in a yell and Don continuing. Fingers slipping in, thrusting, crooking and spreading her newly tightened entrance, Judy panting and begging mindlessly above him trying to sinking lower into him. He stood, hand never ceasing, bringing his body to pin her, pushing against her and in her, mouth meeting hers swallowing the sound as she came again quaking against him. Slowly he stopped, arms propping him against the window on either side of her, letting the scarlet dress fall between them. His breath fogging the window behind her as they roughly regained control.

“…So, Kenneth…” he asked once breathing had steadied, voice low. She turned her head to the side placing a soft kiss to his jaw. “Doesn’t mean anything this does.” She brought adrenaline shaken arms to wrap around his waist, holding him loosely, head falling to his shoulder. “I don’t want anyone but you... Don't leave." He nodded, kissing the top of her head. "Let's get you home."

[darkacademicfrom2021]

Jotunnary | Day 4 - Lovers

Word count: 1 K

Warnings: it's a little smutty. I think it'd be like a lime rating.

Loki, or, as he is supposed to be called right now, Mr. Pine, is playing his part perfectly.

There aren’t many things he isn’t good at -or that much you know for now-, but definitely, working undercover is one of his biggest assets for the team.

As you laid your hand over the counter, you asked for one more glass of champagne for the gentleman in the blue three-piece suit over there -the target. You raised your eyebrows to meet Loki’s eyes across the room as subtly as you could, and he walked up to you. He, still on the phone with one of Roper’s men, surrounded an arm around your waist and kissed your cheek -just for the looks of it, of course. You could get used to it, though.

In the past week you’ve had this mission, Loki has behaved like a complete gentleman. One that would make any lover fall to their knees. You were there just as the trouble maker, the lover that would get mistreated and to the brink of death by his own hands, just so Roper -the worst man in the world- could see the menace he was. Just so Roper could want him on his team.

Loki is making it extremely easy for you to act in love with him. Truth be told, you had already fallen for him long ago. This was only adding up to the arousal you’d feel every time he roamed his ocean eyes around your body and licked his lips subtly, a slight smirk on his lips as he talked to someone else about how you were the most amazing person he had ever met.

You could absolutely get used to this.

“Right. Thank you very much for your…”, he says to the man on the other line, yet it seems he cut the conversation. “How are things going, my love? Enjoying the party?”.

Untense your shoulders as he massages them, that way, they’ll see how much sexual tension you have. Fake one, of course. Fake, right?

“I’m perfect, Jonathan, yet… I’d much rather go to our hotel room”, you whispered in his ear, loud enough so the men around him could hear. He chuckles darkly, and you can’t help but notice the light flush on his sharp cheekbones, making its way to the ears and neck.

“And who am I to say no to that, darling?”, he whispers equally loudly. His arms snake its way around your waist again, and he redirects his attention to the men you are trying to fool. “Gentlemen, if you may excuse us, it’s getting a little past my lover’s bedtime and work tomorrow will be very early. It’s been a lovely evening”.

“Until next time, Mr. Pine”, says one of them, and nods his head to you in acknowledgement.

The next few steps for that were quite easy. In the hall, where supposedly nobody walks in the middle of a party, he has to yell. You have to yell back. A fight has to happen, to catch everybody’s attention, and he has to pull a knife on your neck. This is not the first time he threatens you with slicing your throat, and will not be the last one. This is, on the other hand, the first time he has to kiss you.

Because the dramatics never escape the two of you, in the middle of the yelling and verbally fighting, he grabs your hair and pulls you in with a tongue deep kiss -a passionate one, filled with lust. He grabs your hair tighter and you suddenly forget what your next move is, because your hands travel around his neck and you somehow let yourself enjoy the act.

Curtains open, Roper is witnessing a very soft and slightly less dominant than desired Jonathan Pine, who is, instead of threatening to kill you, biting your lip and pressing you against the wall with his whole body. He seems to have forgotten his next move too.

As soon as he pulls away, he remembers, and takes the knife out against your neck. He now looks more threatening, more like a menace, ready to do some damage at the cost of his own sanity. Roper observes contently, admiring how Mr. Pine changed from one moment to the other, as if flipping a coin would determine this minute’s personality.

You should act scared. You’re turned on. Loki can sense it, and it seems to arouse him too, by what you’re feeling on his trousers, threatening to pop out at any moment. He presses himself against you even more, so that nobody around notices he’s not in the mood for anything other than killing you, and you have to hold back a moan. You whined in terror instead, and he puts a hand against your mouth.

“Shut it. You know what will happen if anyone sees you like this”, he groans in your ear. “I’ll kill you. Don’t play with me”.

You act some tears, scrunching your forehead and trying to battle against his grip. As you move around, you accidentally grind against him, and he presses the knife further against you, with a voice that you can discern being from Loki himself this time,

“Don’t move, or else”.

You want with all your strength to ask him or else what, but you stay in character instead.

That same night, as you change into your pajamas and Loki sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to say something, or do something -anything about what had happened-, you ask him. You turn around, facing him completely, standing almost between his legs, and untie his tie.

“Did you kiss me?”.

He seems to be taken aback by the question. He fakes a kind smile and slowly denies with his head.

“I kissed your character, that’s all”.

“Would you have liked to kiss me, instead?”, and he doesn’t waste any more time, crashing his lips over yours.

If he was going to fake a relationship with you for the sake of the mission, they might as well have to hear your moans in the middle of the night, wouldn’t they?

Taglist: @lucywrites02 , @louieboo87 @the-departed-potato , @jesuswasnotawhiteman , @idontknow296 , @beksib , @spythoschei , @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass , @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 , @joscelyn02 , @t00-pi , @selfship-mishaps , @sallymagnoliaposts , @deadgirl88 , @theonewiththenerds , @vicmc624 , @spiderlaufeyson @theaudacitytowrite @bi-andready-tocry @alorev @justasmisunderstoodasloki @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @theetoastyghosty @lokiprompts @sarahpaq08 @lostgreekgod

[serpenteve]

I'm having the horrible realization that Aleksander never actually did any serious wooing of Alina in the books. It's all just Alina her self being horny attracted to him. But this is supposedly???? His grand scheme???? Of manipulation???? Implications! It seems like the girls in these books wasn't the only one slut shamed. I'm- ☠

Leigh wrote a man sexy and captivating and said "it's his fault, actually, that Alina got a crush on him. He shouldn't of.... uh.." Flips through papers. "Ah, had such pretty eyes."

Okay! 👀Yes, we are finally doing this!

I'm flipping through my copy of Shadow & Bone and noting down all the interactions between the Darkling and Alina which I've put in chronological order beneath the cut.

First of all, the Darkling and Alina are only alone together in about a handful of scenes. Most of the time, the are surrounded by other Grisha or Baghra or are in a public place. A lot of the Darkling's actions and words are clouded by Alina's own insecurities. She constantly voices how she feels like she's not good enough, not pretty enough, not strong enough and he takes it in stride and gently encourages and placates her. There are a few lies he does tell her (that the Black Heretic was his ancestor, that he wants to destroy the Fold, and he doesn't know what Baghra's power is, etc) but if we extrapolate the trajectory of her ill-fated romance arc, I think even book!Darkling would have told Alina about his real plans if she seemed like she'd accept them.

A lot of speculation has been made about the Darkling's seduction of Alina and honestly???? Aleksander literally just exists and Alina is thirsting for him because she's desperately looking for validation and re-assurance. I initially head-canoned his first kiss by the lake as being pure calculation and the kiss at the Winter Fete being 100% accidental (because Dark Lord Sasha played himself lmao) but on this re-read, I don't even know anymore. He already came close to almost kissing her after they have a tender moment, catches himself and then immediately leaves before he can catch feelings. Then when they share another tender moment at the lake, he kisses her and then is surprised by it and before he can really process it, Ivan comes by to cockblock.

Like, even Leigh (as much as she has shit on this ship) said at one point that the Darkling has strong feelings for Alina, even if he may not necessarily quantify them as love. So looking back, I don't read anything the Darkling did as manipulative seduction. He obviously lied about some stuff and wasn't transparent about his real plans for the Fold, but as a military commander who sees Alina as an opportunity for a coup, it makes sense that he'd play that a little close to the chest---especially when Alina has proved to be wary of his powers and has a very black-and-white sense of morality. If anything, this is less "the Darkling seduced Alina to manipulate her into being used!!11" and more "local dark lord tried to encourage his protege and accidentally caught feelings and it was a mASSIVE FUCKING INCONVENIENCE TO HIS EVIL PLANS"

But you know who does slut-shame Alina a lot? Baghra. Seriously, Baghra makes Alina feel like shit for her crush on the Darkling numerous times. She has all these lines:

"You want to be [his pet]...Don’t bother lying to me. You’re like all the rest. I saw the way you looked at him."

"Dreaming of dancing with your dark prince?"

"Foolish girl." (After Alina shamefully admits the Darkling might come to her that night)

At one point Baghra creeps on Alina and the Darkling's interactions and even though literally nothing happens between them and when the Darkling leaves, Alina catches Baghra giving her a snooty look. ("For no reason at all, I blushed")

She is determined to shame Alina for her feelings and make her feel like a lovesick idiot for daring to crush on him and this is in addition to all the slut-shaming Mal does. The narrative revealing the Darkling is the bad guy all along while leaving Alina no compelling arc to discover this on her own feels very much like Leigh hitting us all with Baghra's stick, like "Foolish girls! You thought he cared about Alina just because he has a sexy jawline??? HAHA HE LIED YOU SLUTS"

Scenes with Alina and the Darkling in Book 1

Their first scene together is in the Grisha tent. Based on Alina's description of him, she already thinks he's hot as barely any other character in this godforsaken series gets so many descriptions of their grey/smoke/slate/quartz eyes as Aleksander does 😏

The next time they're together he saves her life. Alina is traumatized from seeing a man sliced in half and the Darkling instructs her to keep her eyes on him instead. She is disturbed that he killed the person about to murder her and this aversion seems incredibly contrived and arbitrary on behalf of the author. It's almost like she wants Alina to be vindicated and shamed for not trusting her initial bigotry against him or something 🤔The Darkling admits even he can make mistakes and then he touches the back of Alina's neck (with some secret Heartrender/Healer abilities?) and she falls asleep riding on his horse.

They spend the next few days traveling. Alina notes that the Darkling hasn't spoken to her (probably because he's focused on getting her to the Little Palace without any more assassination attempts) but Alina is a paranoid she's offended him somehow. Again, this is just Alina's insecurity painting a narrative that simply doesn't exist based on what actually happened so far.

They exchange a few words by the stream and Alina fishes for pity points by saying she's ugly and can't possibly be Grisha. Aleksander appears 100% done with her stupidity and says she doesn't understand but he's not in the mood to explain at the moment and walks off ☠️

Alina joins the Darkling and his men for a meal. She notes that the grouse they've killed is meager shared meal but that the Darkling doesn't want to put his men in danger by sending them out to hunt in the forest at night 😌He also sits on the floor to eat like they do and he doesn't take more than the regular portion than they do 😌. Sorry, how is this man the most ~evil~ wizard on the planet? He is obviously a good and fair commander and beloved by the Grisha.

Alina has been checking Aleksander out the entire time so when he catches her, he walks over to talk. He fishes around for information on what Alina has heard about him. He seems sad when Alina mentions she has heard that Darklings are born without souls, though not surprised. He then spins the story about the Black Heretic being his ancestor and how the Fold was a mistake and how every Darkling since then has tried to undo it and how Alina is "the first glimmer of hope" he's had in a long time.

Because Alina is still on that "Grisha are unnatural monsters" agenda, she asks him about the Cut and he explains it but she's still distrubed. He asks her if it would have been better if he used a sword and she replies: "I don't know". The Darkling gets offended and leaves. Alina tries to convince herself she can't have possibly hurt his feelings (because Darklings don't have souls or feelings?) and then feels paranoid that she's failed some secret test. Yeah, the test you failed is called "empathy", Alina 🙄

Two days later, they arrive at Os Alta. Aleksander roasts the Grand Palace as the ugliest effing building he's ever seen. He leaves immediately after dumping Alina at the Little Palace and Alina actually seethes that he isn't paying more attention to her? I understand that it's overwhelming to go to a brand new place, but Alina expecting him to constantly hold her hand and explain everything to her after she basically insulted him is a bit strange.

The next time Alina sees the Darkling, they are scheduled to appear before the King and Queen. The demonstration is a surprise for Alina and Aleksander's lack of transparency of what's expected of her means she's forced to rely on him and trust his instincts. This might be his underhanded way of getting Alina to see that she can trust him; that he will not make her look like a failure or humiliate her; that they are in this together and it will only work if she trusts him.

After the demonstration, Genya and the Darkling trash the monarchy for a bit (Alina is horrified) and then the Darkling orders Genya to get a black kefta for Alina, to which Alina infamously wants a blue one. The Darkling doesn't really put up much of a fight, merely wanting to know why. Alina decides he doesn't approve of her choosing blue and wonders to Genya if he's angry.

After Alina's first day, the Darkling calls her to his quarters to ask her how her day was. Alina is surprised that this is all he wanted to know because she was paranoid he was going to torture her??? She says: "Why shouldn't I be afraid of you?...You can cut people in half. I think it's fair to be a little intimidated." If the Darkling is offended or angry about this, he doesn't show it and merely indulges her. He notes that she has a habit of running her hand across a scar on her palm and asks her about it, tracing the scar himself. Alina gets distracted by his touch but manages to answer his questions: she got the scar at Keramzin, Mal is also an orphan, he is good at tracking. He shows her a secret passage back to her rooms to avoid the main hall.

Alina starts her training and at one point laments that the Darkling is rarely at the Little Palace and when he is, he never speaks to her or barely looks her way and she is convinced it's because she's a failure and can't summon light on her own. It could also be because, you know, he's the commander of the Second Army and is usually seen in talks with other military advisors and the fact that Alina kinda lowkey insulted him with her wariness about his powers???

The next time they are together, Alina interrupts him and Baghra arguing. He politely asks her how she is. Baghra antagonizes her. The Darkling defends her. They talk about amplifiers and because Baghra is being a snarky little shit about it, they take their conversation outside.

Aleksander complains about how annoying his mom is and then asks Alina what stories she's heard about Morozova's herd. At one point he laughs for the first time and Alina practically creams her pants at the sound. Alina expresses her concerns that she can't summon any light and the Darkling says he's not worried and it will happen when it happens and worse case scenario, it will happen once she has the stag. They have a quiet intimate moment, gazing softly into each other's eyes and then suddenly Aleksander realizes he's catching feelings and steps back suddenly like "GoodLuckWithYourLessonsOKayBYE". Baghra watches this interaction from her hut and gives Alina a slut-shaming look.

Alina eventually does learn to summon light on her own. Baghra gives her grief about how it's not enough. The Darkling shows up during one of these lessons and says as much. Alina says she's useless. The Darkling corrects her (“I don't think you're useless, Alina....No Grisha is powerful enough to face the Fold. Not even me”) and then he apologizes for letting her down ("I've asked you to trust me and I haven't delivered"). He wonders if his mother is right and he's crazy to hunt the stag. They have a nice bonding moment, Aleksander lies about Baghra's power, and then he asks if Alina would think him crazy for still wanting to find the stag. She asks why he cares what she thinks, he seems genuinely surprised himself that he cares. Then he kisses her. He seems not to have meant to kiss her because then Ivan shows up for his 5 o'clock shift of cockblocking and the Darkling immediately pretends like nothing happened and walks away with him. Like dude is acting like a fucking dork who's allergic to feelings at this point. I should note here that Alina practically has an orgasm from how giddy she is about this moment. She can barely think of anything else.

The next time they're together, it's at the Winter Fete. They do their demonstration and Alina accidentally reveals her insecurities about how he had kissed her and then disappeared. He responds, "Did you really think I was done with you?" and then they enjoy some steamy kisses and thigh grabbing in an empty room before a random round of Grisha show up for their 6 o'clock shift of cockblocking. Aleksander is annoyed at his own attraction to Alina. He asks if he can come to her that night but Alina doesn't get a chance to respond.

and then the Darklina romance arc falls off a giant cliff and dies a terrible death 😭😭😭

[80s4life]

The Thought Of Losing You

Word Count: 2,507

Status: Not Requested!

Fandom: Lethal Weapon 1987 {1}

A/N: This follows sort of around the ending of the first Lethal Weapon film where both Riggs, Murtaugh, and Rianne were being tortured in separate ways. I know it sounds brutal, but trust me, it isn't that bad. AND! Happy ending! (Spent all night on this!)

Relationship: Martin Riggs x Reader

Summary: When a team is formed, Roger Murtaugh and Martin Riggs are solidified together once Y/N is added to the mix, squeezing in perfectly. Although very fiery and stubborn at heart, childish games and teasing became common place for sergeant Y/N and Martin, unable to let the other out-trash their own trash talk. But, when there is a complication during the final breakthrough of the whereabouts of the heroin-trafficking cartel, Y/N is separated from the duo. Only coming together when a kidnapping sends her in a desperate spiral trying to save the people she loves, especially Riggs.

Warnings: violent themes, kidnap, manipulation, torture, violence, language, attempted!self-surrender/suicide, 18+ audience suggested, read at own risk

Masterlist Lethal Weapon Masterlist

Prompts: #67, #68, #100 (from this list @palettes-and-prompts) & #6, #8, #17 (from this list @waiting-for-motivation)

{I do not own any of the prompts, credits to original owners above, nor do I own the gif below -> @leofromthedark}

Strolling around to the back of the supposed drug dealer's extravagant condo, Murtaugh, Riggs, and I engage in light conversation, silently noting and observing our surroundings. Stopping just near the edge of the rather expensive-looking below ground pool, Murtaugh and Riggs catch sight of two brunette women inside. Rolling my eyes, I expect Riggs to do something flirtatious, a painstakingly common reaction to almost every woman he lays eyes on. Every woman... except me. Yet, I pay no mind, Riggs' crazy nature probably too much for me to handle anyway.

Murtaugh flashes his gun, indicating to the women that he is armed. In a flash of a second, just merely after he had shown his weapon, the women duck and run from within the glass-paned wall, just in time for a man to blast a shot from behind. More specifically, the source being a shed occupying the space on the opposite side of the pool we resided on, destroying bits of its siding from the sheer distance and voracity of his attempt of subduing at least one of us.

But, we came prepared, although we were slightly taken aback, Murtaugh's swift abilities with a gun coming in handy as he lands on the drug dealer's right knee, lower thigh area. Splitting off, Murtaugh and I take either end of the pool's side, desperately trying to corral the person of interest. All the while as Riggs takes the women from in the house outside and to the nearest tree, in case of them being suspects as well, handcuffing their wrists together around the tree.

Once the task is done, Riggs hurries over to our aid, following our one, sole purpose: keeping the suspect alive for questioning.

Coming around the perimeter of the pool, Murtaugh reminds Riggs of this rule, replaying it to refresh his sometimes questionable mind. This, however, does not work in our favor as the man pulls yet another gun, this time a pistol, as Riggs had went to pull the man up.

"He's got a gun!" I scream, yet it's all in vain, as Riggs tries to act just as fast as his reflexes would've allowed, lifting the man's aimed arm as the trigger was pulled.

Yelping in surprise, I clench my teeth as the copper red liquid instantly encompasses the injured area, jerking as far away from the incident as possible.

"Y/N!" Murtaugh yells, instantly coming to my side as I go crashing to the concrete floor, catching my head and my left side as I now slowly lean into the ground below me, clutching the stinging injury to the right of my abdomen.

As Murtaugh had come to my side, Riggs took care of the suspect, unfortunately not being able to accomplish our sole purpose of being here, but overall getting rid of the threat.

"Cocksucker," he all but grunts, as he makes sure to shoot the man once more, pissed at the fact that I had gotten shot, although that fact being unbeknownst to me. "I'll call the ambulance," he all put spits out some time later, not making any attempt to check on my well being nor even making eye contact, stalking back through the side gate we had entered through.

//Some time later//

Now nestled safely and securely, I lay within the gloomy walls of the hospital, hooked up with some anesthetics and monitors, all for separate purposes. The stitches surely going to leave an awesome scar, only adding to my aggravation and exhaustion as the day finally settles and the slightest of movements constantly sending sharp pains within my whole body.

The doctors, coming in every so often, had reassured me of a discharge after the course of at least 2-4 days, only needing to ensure the proper sanitary measures are used and stitches being durable and strong without issues or tears.

Staring off at one of the four blank and colorless walls, in a daze, my ears perk up at the sound of a knock on my door, followed by Roger and Martin entering the room.

Handing me a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, I smile at Roger as he pulls a chair beside my bed, asking, "How ya' feeling, Shortie? How're they treatin' ya' here?"

Giggling at the nickname, I respond with an, "I'm doing just as good as I can I guess. It's not so bad here either. The nurses are nice, although they're all pitiful glances and meek gestures, coming in and out as quickly as possible. I guess bullet wounds aren't their preferred cases?" I joke lightly, trying to lighten the tension in the room.

Roger catches on instantly, having caught wind on Martin's rather uncharacteristically quiet sulking in the far corner of the room. Turning to look at him briefly, he all but shrugs at me as he comes up with no response or solution to his partner's unknown issue.

Checking the time, I make up an excuse, assuming Riggs just didn't want to be here maybe? "Damn, look at the time...It's almost 9 pm guys, don't wanna be late for Trish's cooking do ya'?"

"Shit, really? Come on Riggs, you know the ass whoopin' I'm gonna get? Let's go, minus well feed you too, huh?" Murtaugh says, getting his coat and squeezing my shoulder, giving me a sympathetic look that I swipe away quickly. Riggs just gets up, side-eyeing me once quickly, but above all, ignores my presence and leaves the room. With one final look from Rog, he shuts the door, leaving me to my boredom for the remainder of my stay.

//Some time later//

Having been discharged, Roger had caught me up on the recent news, and how they had left to finish the job a day before I had gotten out of the hospital, that being yesterday evening, and it now being a full 24 hours of no communication from them.

This had struck me as odd, given that they were very advanced in their fields. Finding the whereabouts was the last big hump of every mission, the rest supposedly coming easy. This had all changed as soon as I had stepped foot onto my front porch, a not left hanging slightly within the pocket of my mailbox.

The words shocking me to the core;

"Come to xxxxxxxxxx if you want to save your partners. 8 o'clock. Sharp."

Rushing to my car, I waste no time, pulling out of the driveway and to the given destination, the time being almost too close to the deadline as I preferred it to be.

Once outside of the destination, an old, run-down warehouse stands gloomily in front of me as I slip my gun into the waistband of my jeans. Another, tucked against my ankle within my boots.

I move quietly, staying alert as I enter the warehouse quietly, instantly hit with the cries of what could only belong to Riggs, my heart wrenching. A new feeling that I instantly push aside. Following the pained screams, inching closer to the source, I catch wind of yet another's set of booming cries as well, recognizing it as Murtaugh.

With this new set of knowledge, my heart does another painful flip, as the sheer terror now courses through my veins as if it was my blood. They were the toughest men I had ever known. At least that is how I had always felt, how I feel right now, but with their pained screams, it makes me feel utterly hopeless.

Drawing my gun, I aim it before me, right beside the wall I hide on, lining it up around the corner, my full intention at being able to at least shoot down one of the three men guarding one of my teammates; their identity unknown to me at the moment with the unfortunate dimness.

Taking the shot, I hit one man, the two now swinging to guard the area, looking my direction. The man held captured, Riggs, tied to the ceiling, consistently doused in water, making the homemade shock therapy increasingly unbearable with multiple relentless blows.

"Come out now, Little Rabbit, or I pull the trigger," a booming voice commands, me now peeking out from the corner to see none other than Mr. Joshua, the man we've been after, pressing a firm gun to Riggs' limp form.

Coming out from my hiding space, Joshua motions for his goons to grab me, now taking Riggs off the hook, and into another room. The room we are led to happens to be the room Murtaugh is in, his daughter beside him, both incarcerated and handcuffed. Moving Riggs to the chair beside the pair, he is tied down just as I am, the four of us now completely helpless.

Mr. Joshua, confident and prideful of his work, moves Riggs to the center of the room, starting his interrogation, answering with beatings and threats here and there. The cause: the information given by Hunsaker on his heroin-trafficking cartel.

Just as Joshua leaves yet another powerful blow, Riggs' strength starts to run low, just watching him making me squirm in my chair, wanting nothing but to take him in my arms and drag him as far away from here as possible.

"If you have to kill one of us, kill me. Take me instead, please? Just stop! Stop all of this now," I say breathlessly, doing anything in my will to get their hands off of Riggs.

"What would I want with someone as pathetic as you?" Mr. Joshua answers bitterly.

"Information. That's all you want right? You just want details about the business, you went through all this trouble, and for what? Just to kill us in the end? I know your type. You can't get off without getting what you want, and this would've all gone to waste without it," I respond, determined now.

"So, what do you want? To strike a deal?" I nod. "So, if I let them go, you'll give me what I want?" I nod again.

"Y/N no," Riggs says, now worried about what you're going up against.

"Shut it," Joshua states strictly.

"Y/N, listen to Riggs! You can't do this!" Murtaugh adds, now borderline terrified as everyone in this room is filled with the most important people in his life, all threatened with the only thing that could take them all away: death.

"SHUT IT!" Joshua all but screams now. "Fine. I'll take you up on your little deal. However, you fuck with me, I'm killing them."

"I don't agree with you unless you cut them loose right now, and I am assured that they are out of this building," I say confidently, yet shaking with fear.

He nods his agreement, showing a security camera view from one of his computers, watching as Rianne, Roger, and Martin are all led back outside, handcuffs removed, and all moved into my car, them pulling away from the warehouse.

Pulling the computer's view away from me now, he turns to me sharply, my gaze turning upward as my arms are still strapped behind my back, behind the chair. "Now," he starts, the voice strict like a parent beginning to question a toddler, "The information. What did Hunsaker tell you?"

Taking a breath in through my nose, I exhale through my mouth as I ponder my response, "Just as much as he's told you."

With this, Mr. Joshua lets out a scream, landing a punch to the jaw, my body leaning in on the stitches. Taking notice to my sharp intake of breath from the movement, Joshua uses that to his advantage, grabbing a knife, lifting my shirt, and pressing the cool metal along the line of handiwork. The only thing keeping my skin together at the moment.

"Let's try this again, what information did you receive from Hunsaker?"

"I told you. I. Don't. Know."

"Bullshit!" He digs into the skin, smirking at the cry of agony and shaking engulf my body.

"I-I don't know anymore than you do! Please! He was killed before we got anything from him!"

"Bullshit," he answers playfully now, dragging the blade of the knife wherever he pleases now, enjoying my pleads.

As he opens up my stitched bullet wound, he goes to start at another spot, the attempt being short-lived as a bullet wound of his own goes through his skull, the source standing in the doorway alongside Murtaugh with Rianne tucked under her father's arm.

Crying now, I sigh in relief as Riggs rushes to me, cutting me loose and lifting my limp body. Carrying me to the car, we make our way to the hospital once more.

During the wait and multiple switching of rooms, Riggs stays, waiting for me, only getting up once I emerge from the exit, patched up and clean. He smirks at me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, leading me to Rog's car, taking us to the only place we find comfort; his house.

//Some time later//

Getting settled in at the Murtaugh residence, Riggs and I share Rianne's room, which was so generously offered as one of the youngest decide to have a sleepover with her.

Looking over at Riggs, he looks at me, covered in open cuts and bruises, dirt and grime, and, taking a first aid kit from Rianne's desk, I make it my priority to get them fixed up.

"What are you doing?" Riggs asks, tiredly amused.

"Taking care of you, it's the least I can do," I reply determined once again.

"Awww! Someone's got a little crush on me huh?"

"Hey! When I finish patching you up, I swear to God I'm gonna kick your ass for making me worry about you," I say jokingly. Riggs replying by grabbing me by the waist and pulling me closer.

Locking eyes on one another now, I couldn't help but joke once more, adding a sly, "Is this the moment that we kiss?"

Giggling, he looks down, placing his head on my chest, murmuring, "I think I'm in love with you and I don't know what to do. I mean, I've been married before, and I- I lost her and I don't wanna lose you too- I couldn't live if you go too, I-"

Grabbing his chin, I tilt his head upwards to meet my gaze, "Look at me, Riggs. Look at me. I love you."

Eyes watering, he leans in for a kiss, my hands finding way to his hair, while his pull my hips into his lap, wrapping lightly around them. After leaning back for air, we giggle once more, leaning our foreheads against one another.

"I never want to ever feel the fear of the thought of losing you again, okay? So don't be a dumbass, Dumbass."

"Yeah, yeah," Riggs answers once more, leaning in for another kiss.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

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, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed 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!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“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 @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[psijic-toast]

FFXIVwrite 17: Novel

Ao3 link if you’d like

It was a given that one day, stories would be written of the Warrior of Light. Whether it be prose, poetry, sonnets or ballads, someone would capture the tales shared by the Scions on paper. It was a fate T’ahria had prayed would be far into the future, when she had only a few years left to learn of how she would be remembered. Perhaps that way she may go to the grave in peace.

She did not expect for such novelizations to come out so soon.

She wasn’t one for reading, had resisted her aunts’ every attempt to get her to pick up a book willingly. As an adult she was a bit more pliable, so long as the novel was a work of fiction and held her interest. Or about Nym, as she would skim those books for whatever information she could find on scholars and fairies, Eos sat on her shoulder. This is all to say that it was odd to find her looking at the literature stall in Revenant's Toll, fingers trailing spines as she looked over the titles.

It was there she encountered them first, an inconsequential cover decorated with blue roses. ‘T’alia Lightbringer’ was embellished in silver on the front, in an overly fancy cursive font. It caught her attention long enough that she read the blurb on the back -before handing the required gil over to the merchant, and all but running to the Rising Stones, purchase in hand.

She now stood beside the bar, slouched over with her head pressed against the cool wood. Above her, Wren sat casually, reading the story aloud.

“May she be blessed by the elementals” the Seedseer cried, staff held aloft. A cascade of magicked leaves billowed from the tip, scattering and falling amongst the crowd. Children cheered as they reached to catch the fluttering leaves, which transformed into butterflies in their palms - did that really happen at Greenbliss?”

“No” She mumbled, voice muffled. “I got trapped in the Echo to the point of passing out”

“Oh goodness” He paused in his reading, leaning over to gently pat her head. She hummed in response, though he couldn’t tell if it was a good hum or bad hum. “But other than that it’s pretty accurate?”

“It’s everything thing I did and went to, up until after defeating Ifrit”

“So someone’s written a biography of your life” Wren flipped through the book once more, skimming pages until he found something of note. “Only missing out some key information and with some slight changes… such as you have ears. Wait, do you have a brother?”

“No? Why, does ‘T’alia’ have one?”

“T’rahto Tia took after their father more, tall and lean, with shorter fangs and a bushy tail. Though, like T’alia herself, he inherited their mother’s blue eyes and rounded pupils”

“I don’t know who that’s supposed to be”

“He supposedly comes to your aid during your foray in Sastasha -oh gods is this supposed to be me?!”

“Who’s supposed to be you?”

Both T’ahria and Wren glanced up to find Beryl sauntering over, lute slung over her shoulders. She plucked the book from Wren’s grip, closing it to view the cover -before chuckling.

“I see you’ve found it”

“”Found it?” Wren asked, as T’ahria suddenly perked up. “You knew about this?”

“Knew about it? I wrote it!” Beryl chuckled harder, full on cackling now. She held the novel up, tapping the short bit of text on the bottom. ‘By B.L.Ironwood’ was printed in the same silver font as the title.

“You used my surname?!”

“What does the L stand for?”

“Lyandra. Thought a good middle name made the alias sound fancier. And, yes Wren, I used your surname” Beryl hopped up on top of the bar, leaning back to grab a bottle and cup. She took a glug of water as her friends gaped at her. 

“We all knew someone would start writing about the Warrior of Light, slayer of primals, stealer of pants. I just thought, why don’t I be one of the first and line the Scions’ coffers while I do it? Tataru even helped me find a printer” She patted T’ahria’s head. “Besides, with the amount of sales it has, people have T’alia in their head when they think of the Warrior. I thought it’d let give you a shield from the limelight”

T’ahria stayed silent, just absorbing the information. It was a good way to stay out of the public eye.

“Beryl. How many books have you written?” Wren asked, hesitant about whether he actually wanted to know the answer.

“Oh, this is just volume one” Beryl handed him back to the novel. “I’m on the seventh right now”

[bellakitse]

Take Me Back to the Start

“I thought our fight was going to be our last words to each other,” he whispers, his eyes filling up. “I’m so damn sorry, baby.”

Carlos looks into those green eyes, wet with unshed tears and relief, and frowns. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” he asks and watches with growing dread as those eyes widen with shock and fear.

+

Carlos is in a car accident and forgets the last three and half years of his life.

M | 15.4K | AO3

Everything hurts.

That’s the first real thought Carlos has as he squints up at the lights over his bed through sore eyes. He can’t remember ever aching this much everywhere at once. He’s pretty sure even his hair aches, something he didn’t think was medically possible, but here he is, lying on what he’s sure is a hospital bed, and everything fucking hurts.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he tries to take inventory of the damage. His head is pounding, and when he moves it, he feels a tug over his brow that tells him there is a bandage there. Looking down without trying to lift his head, he catches a glimpse of a soft cast on his left arm from his wrist to his elbow. He tries to sit up to take in the rest of his body, only to let out a hiss when his ribs scream in protest at his sudden movement. Focusing on his breathing, it takes him a second to realize there is someone else in the room with him with their hand on his shoulder, helping him lay back down.

“Hey, hey, hey, slowly, Carlos,” he’s told with a gentle but urgent voice. “You have three cracked ribs from the accident. You can’t be moving like that right now.”

“Accident?” he questions through gritted teeth waiting for the wave of pain to pass. He gets a wince in return for his question.

“You flipped your car,” is the answer he receives. “The roads were wet, and we think an animal crossed your path. You swerved to avoid it, lost control of the Camaro, went off the side of the road, and flipped.”

“Jesus,” he whispers. He clenches his right hand as he tries to recall the accident described to him and comes up empty.

“I really thought I lost you.”

He turns his head at the words, finding beautiful green eyes pained and worried as they stare back at him.

“When I got the call,” he continues, letting out a shaky breath while running an even more trembling hand through his brown hair. “I thought our fight was going to be our last words to each other,” he whispers, his eyes filling up. “I’m so damn sorry, baby.”

Carlos looks into those green eyes, wet with unshed tears and relief, and frowns. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” he asks and watches with growing dread as those eyes widen with shock and fear.

 ֎֎֎

 His retrograde amnesia, the doctors say, is brought on by his head injury during the accident. They have high hopes it’s temporary, but they can’t know for sure.

All they can do is wait, he’s told in hopeful tones, and while he can appreciate the optimism, all that means to Carlos right now is that he’s lost years of his life. He woke up thinking it was 2019, and instead, it’s 2023.

He gets the cliff notes version of the state of the world. Global pandemic in 2020, bad. Trump lost reelection, awesome. Michelle found Iris alive, a miracle. She left town to go help others like her sister, admirable.

The guy with the pretty green eyes sits in the corner of his hospital room silently while Carlos’ parents catch him up on things. Carlos’ eyes stray to him more than once, always finding his gaze on him as he nervously bites down on his lip.

“Do you know who TK is, son?” his father asks softly, turning towards the man in question. His mother has walked over to stand next to this TK, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he flinches when Carlos shakes his head, letting them know he doesn’t.

It’s strange and frustrating. It’s evident by the sympathetic looks they give the stranger and how his mother rubs his back that the man is someone they care about. Someone who is connected to Carlos, and no one needs to say out loud how for him to read between the lines.

TK’s broken expression as he stares at him – what he’d said when Carlos first woke up, lets him know what he needs to know. He and TK are involved.

That part isn’t necessarily shocking. His life might be suddenly turned upside down and his memory in shambles, but he has eyes, and TK is breathtakingly beautiful. He imagines that he took one look into those pretty green eyes and lost all thought of anything else.

What’s hard to imagine is a relationship where his parents are obviously well acquainted with someone he’s involved with.

“I don’t remember,” he says softly, feeling horrible at the choked sound TK lets out as he stands up from his chair. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, staring at the man across the room with regret.

“It’s okay,” TK answers with a wobbly smile that fools no one in the room. Finally, he exhales loudly, his eyes straying for the door. “I think I need some air,” he says, already turning on his heel, ignoring Carlos’ parents when they both say his name, leaving them alone in Carlos’ room.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos repeats quietly as the room is left in silence after TK’s abrupt exit.

His mother comes over to him while his father shakes his head at him. “Don’t apologize, mijo,” he says gently. “This isn’t your fault, and no one understands that better than TK. No one blames you for this.”

“He’s hurting,” Carlos points out. He might not remember TK, but the man’s expression hides nothing. On the contrary, his pain has been visible since the moment Carlos first opened his eyes.

“He loves you, Carlitos,” his mother says instead of denying his words. Her expression is achingly sad as she takes his hand, giving it a soft pat. “And he’s scared.”

Carlos doesn’t say out loud he’s scared too. There is a gaping hole in his memory in the shape of a man his mother claims loves him, a man who pulls at him in a way he can’t understand, and Carlos is terrified he’ll never know if he can’t remember him.

 ֎֎֎

 A slew of unfamiliar faces visits him. Paul, Marjan, Nancy, Mateo, Tommy, and TK’s father, Owen. He politely answers when they ask him how he’s doing and apologizes when he has trouble remembering their names. He gets waved off in return as they smile compassionately and tell him they’re just glad he’s okay. That it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know them even though they’re supposedly his friends – they’re just happy he’s alive.

He gets visited by Judd and Grace Ryder, and while he does remember them, it startles him to realize they are his friends now too. He remembers Judd from the 126 and is struck when he’s told the old crew is all gone. He can’t imagine what that must have been like for Judd, and he tells him so.

The tall man gives him a saddened smile that tells Carlos it’s still a pain that lingers. Judd tells him having his new team helps with that grief and how thankful he is that Owen and TK Strand decided to come to Austin years ago to rebuild the firehouse, giving Judd and the others a new family.

He sits up straighter at the mention of TK. He hasn’t seen much of him in the last few days, at least not while he’s awake. The guy is obviously giving Carlos space, but Carlos has caught him more than once at night when he is half-asleep checking in on him.

Carlos has taken to playing possum to not scare him off.

“Is that how we met?” he asks Judd. “Me and TK,” he clears up when Judd gives him a confused squint of his eyes. “Did he and I meet on the job?”

Judd and Grace share a look between each other.

“You really don’t remember anything about him, sweetheart?” Grace asks softly, her eyes pitying when he shakes his head.

“Man, I can’t imagine what that must feel like,” Judd says with a harsh exhale. “Poor kid must be losing his mind without you.”

He must make a face at that because Grace elbows Judd in his side hard in response.

“Not that it’s your fault, man,” Judd rushes to comfort him. “This was just really shitty luck. But you and TK have been through worse. You’ll get through this.”

Carlos swallows hard at the conviction in his friend’s voice. “My mother says he loves me,” he questions, still having a hard time believing it himself. While parts are missing from his mind, he does remember that there was never anyone serious in his life. No one who stuck around long enough for him to love, let alone love him back.

“He does, very much,” Grace says with a smile on her pretty face. “And you love him back just as much.”

“You’re actually pretty sickeningly cute together,” Judd tells him. “Always in your own little world where only the two of you exist,” he continues, getting a fond eye-roll from his wife. “It makes the rest of us want to pour water over the two of you, but after three years, we’ve learned to live with it.”

“Judson,” Grace scolds her husband softly, but Carlos tunes them out as he files away another piece of the puzzle.

Three years.

 ֎֎֎

 He gets discharged from the hospital two weeks later. His ribs are bruised but healing, as is his arm. The scratches and bruises on his body are mostly faded. He greets the news of his release with barely restrained glee – already half out of his mind after spending so many days in the hospital.

“You’ll come stay with us, Carlitos,” his mother says with a smile that feels over the top. “It will be so nice to spoil you.”

He looks from her to his father and then finally to TK, who is actually there during his waking hours for once. He takes in his rod-straight posture as he stands at the end of his bed, his jaw clenched.

Carlos raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re okay with me going home with my parents and not you?” he challenges, barely holding back a sharp grin when it startles the man in question.

“I want you to feel comfortable,” TK answers after a moment.

“You’re my boyfriend,” he shoots back, only slightly stumbling over the last word. “I should be comfortable with you, shouldn’t I?”

“You don’t know me,” TK points out, his jaw tightening even further, and Carlos has the urge to touch at the edges, to run his thumb over the smooth-looking skin until TK stops grinding his teeth.

Instead of soothing him, though, Carlos shrugs a shoulder at him, seeming more unbothered than he actually feels. “Maybe if you didn’t just visit me when you think I’m asleep these last two weeks, I’d know you.”

TK’s mouth drops, his eyes going wide as he sputters, and Carlos has to ignore the little vicious voice in his head that cheers at the reaction. Instead, he turns to his parents, giving them a shake of his head.

“If I’m going to remember my life, then I should probably start living that life,” he reasons, holding up a hand when his mother tries to speak. “And as far as I know, I wasn’t living with my parents when the accident happened,” he lets the statement hang, waiting to see if anyone will correct him. “I thought so. I’m going home, to my home.”

He looks back over at TK, finding his eyes locked on him once more. There is so much going on behind those eyes. Too much for Carlos to read it all when the man continues to be a stranger to him, but there is one thing Carlos does recognize. Tentative hope.

“So,” he starts, raising his eyebrow once more as he drags out the word. “Are you gonna give me a ride back to our place or not?”

 ֎֎֎

 “This isn’t the way home,” he points out the next day from the passenger’s seat of TK’s Ranger. The ride has been mostly silent except for the radio playing. His discharge had also been quiet, his parents doing most of the talking while they waited for his doctors to sign off on his papers. They’d made TK and him promise to call if they needed anything while also letting them know they would be checking in on them often. “You missed the turn on Lynwood,” he says, pointing back at the avenue.

TK makes a face, something very much like a grimace. “Yeah,” he starts to say slowly. “We don’t live there anymore – haven’t for a while actually.”

“We moved?” he questions, surprised. His place had been big enough for two people. More than enough for a couple just starting to live together. “Did you not like it?”

“I loved that house,” TK answers, turning to look at him. “I was so happy when you asked me to move in,” he continues softly. He gives him a sad smile. “But there was a fire, and we lost it.”

“A fire?” he repeats, swallowing hard at the sudden inexplicable fear he feels. TK looks over at him again, going instantly on alert. He takes a hand off the wheel, reaching halfway towards Carlos before coming to a halt.

Carlos watches as the hand hangs mid-air for a moment, feeling a twinge under his ribcage when TK drops it back on his lap instead of touching Carlos.

“We were in it,” he realizes, sure of it as something flashes through his mind, and he swears he can feel the heat and smell the smoke.

TK bites down on his bottom lip, his eyes focused on the road. Then, finally, he gives him a sharp nod but says nothing.

“We almost didn’t make it,” he continues, exhaling slowly, trying to bring his racing heart back down. “It messed me up for a while, didn’t it?”

TK pulls into a quiet street with modest two-story houses. He passes four of them before turning into the driveway of a moss-green house with a brown roof. Turning off the car, TK twists in his seat to look at him. “It did,” he answers honestly. “It got really close, and we almost didn’t make it out. We were shaken up for a long time, and as a result, there is a fire extinguisher in just about every room of this house, which you have me check to make sure they’re all in working order every couple of months.”

TK lets out a breath, raising a hand to run it through his hair. “But we got through it, and we found this place,” he points at the house. “And we fell in love with making new memories in it.”

Memories Carlos can’t remember. Neither have to say it out loud; the words ring out through the car regardless.

“It’s green,” he points out for lack of anything else to say. TK smiles, and for the first time since Carlos opened his eyes, it’s not brittle at the edges.

“To match my eyes,” he says softly, his voice sounding far away. He shrugs at him when Carlos gives him a questioning glance. “Your words, man,” he says, smiling again when Carlos wrinkles his nose at him. “Yeah, you’re kind of a sap that way. Come on.”

Carlos follows TK out of the car and up the steps of the house. Standing on the porch, he spots a swing. “My parents’ house has one of those,” he points at the padded bench. “I always wanted one for my house too.”

“I know,” TK says with a slight smile as he looks over at the porch swing. “You told me when we were looking for a new place to live. So I had it installed a few days before we officially moved in to surprise you.”

TK’s smile grows as he gets lost in the memory. “We spent most of our first night here on it instead of opening boxes. Eventually, I started to fall asleep on you, and you – “

TK trails off frowning, shaking his head at himself as he turns back to open the door.

“I what?” he asks. He puts his hand on TK’s forearm to keep him from turning the lock, swallowing when TK’s eyes thunder up to look at him, surprised by his touch. Carlos realizes he hasn’t done that before and resists the instinct to take his hand off. “I what, TK?” he asks again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You carried me inside and put me to bed,” TK whispers back. He blinks, but that doesn’t keep Carlos from seeing the sudden sheen in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he turns towards the door once more, opening it. “You’ve always been really good about taking care of me.”

TK takes a step forward, and Carlos lets his hold on him slip away. Following him, he finds himself in the middle of a living room painted in light colors instead of the dark walls he remembers from his other place. There are pictures and knick-knacks everywhere, plants at each corner of the room. The place looks well lived-in and busier than his usual style. His face must show some of what he’s thinking because TK snickers.

“Yeah,” he says with a smirk. “It took you a while to get used to my particular brand of chaos.”

Carlos walks over to the fireplace, finding it full of little trinkets. “This is all you?” he questions.

“You have bought me a lot of them,” TK answers with a shrug. He points at a small bronze bee next to a detailed firetruck. “That one you got for me because you thought it matched my tattoo.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at him as TK just shrugs at him again.

“Like I said, you’ve gotten used to my love for random stuff.”

“You mean I’ve gotten used to the fact that you’re a hoarder,” he tells him, smiling when TK lets out an offended gasp.

“Rude,” TK grumbles, but Carlos is pleased to see it’s said with a smile. TK hasn’t done much of that around him, understandably, and it makes Carlos ridiculously happy to be the cause of it now. It must show by the way TK’s expression softens as he looks at him.

“Do you want me to show you the rest of the house, or do you want to eat something first?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “You haven’t eaten since the hospital this morning.”

“I could eat,” Carlos answers with a nod, his stomach grumbling at the suggestion. All he had this morning was the muffin on his food tray, too anxious to leave the hospital to eat anything else.

TK nods for him to follow him, leading him towards the kitchen. “You’re in luck. Grace dropped off a casserole last night, so you won’t be subjected to my cooking.”

Carlos leans against a marble counter, looking around at the beautiful kitchen, not a pot out of place, and knows instantly it’s his domain.

“You don’t cook?” he asks, getting a face back as TK pulls a glass dish out of the fridge.

“I mean, I wouldn’t starve,” he says as he turns on the oven, flashing him an amused grin over his shoulder. “And I have picked up some tricks from you. But we’ve both agreed it’s safer for our house and stomachs if you do the bulk of the cooking.”

Carlos smiles at the comment, entertained by it.

“This will take a bit to heat up,” TK gestures towards the oven. “Let me show you the upstairs.”

Carlos nods, trailing TK back out of the kitchen and up a set of stairs. He follows him as he shows him a room that seems to be part guestroom, part library, before continuing towards the end of the hall towards a master bedroom with a large bathroom attached.

“This bedroom is yours. I’ll be sleeping in the other room for now,” TK comments, standing back as Carlos looks around. From the open closet displaying their clothes together to the top of a black drawer with a series of pictures of them. Everything about the room tells the story of their life together.

Carlos picks up a picture frame. In it is a picture of him and TK on vacation going off the beach in the background. TK has a big silly hat on and a coconut drink in his hand, while Carlos has his arm wrapped around him, pressing a kiss into the man’s cheek. Both are smiling wide.

“That was Cancun a year ago,” TK says softly as he comes to stand next to him, looking down at the picture with him. “I surprised you with the trip and had to practically tape my mouth shut to not spill the beans before everything was ready. I’m not very good at keeping secrets, much less from you.”

Carlos looks over at TK, giving him a once-over. “You have no poker face,” he realizes, sure of it. TK proves him right by the startled look he gives him, letting out a huff a moment later.

“You always say that,” he tells him with an eye roll. “I just don’t see a reason to keep anything from my best friend and the love of my life.”

Carlos’ breath catches at TK’s description of him. “Is that what I am to you?”

“Yes,” TK answers without hesitation.

“We look so happy,” he says as he looks back down at the picture. There is no doubt in his mind as he looks at their smiles that he is in love with the man in the photograph.

“We are happy,” TK answers. He wavers for a second but then covers his hand holding the frame, and Carlos feels a shock go through him at the touch. “We have our moments like any other couple, sure, but we’re so damn happy, Carlos.”

Carlos twists towards TK, turning his hand to hold onto his. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out desperately, blinking back the stinging in his eyes at the loss he feels acutely, even if he can’t recall what he’s lost. “I’m sorry I can’t remember us.”

TK shakes his head at him, pulling him into his arms, careful of Carlos’ cast. “This is not your fault,” TK whispers firmly in his ear as he cradles the back of his head. Carlos sinks into his embrace, taking comfort in it. “We’re going to figure this out, Carlos,” TK continues as he pulls back to look at him. “I’m not saying it’s easy to look in your eyes and see very little recognition, but I’m not giving up on you or us.”

Carlos doesn’t know what to say to that, and it seems he doesn’t have to. TK gives him a small smile, pulling out of their hug while Carlos has to bite his tongue to keep from protesting as he loses TK’s touch, leaving him feeling cold.

“Come on,” he says softly, taking a step back. “The casserole should be warmed up by now.”

He follows TK back downstairs, watching him as he moves around their kitchen, serving up their meal, grabbing glasses when he points at the cabinet where they’re kept.

They sit down to eat the casserole quietly. It’s good, but Carlos barely tastes it, more preoccupied with sneaking looks at TK.

“You’re burning holes into me, Reyes,” TK says dryly as he looks up from his plate. “You know you can ask me whatever you want, right?” he questions gently. “I’m an open book. You just have to ask.”

“How did we meet?” Carlos questions instantly, dozens of questions ready to go on the tip of his tongue. TK seems to realize this by the smile on his face.

“On the job,” he says softly. “There was a car accident, a mother and son. We were the answering firehouse; you were the cop on the scene.”

“How long have you been a firefighter?” he asks, causing TK to wrinkle his nose at him.

“I’m not one anymore,” he answers. “I was one for over seven years between New York and here. But after almost a year in Austin, I switched from Fire to Rescue. I’m a paramedic now with Nancy and Tommy. You met them, right?”

Carlos nods, recalling the two women visiting him at the hospital.

“Tommy is my Captain, Nancy, my partner,” he continues with a smile that speaks of fondness for the women in question. “I became a firefighter in large part because I wanted to be like my dad, and I loved being one, but I always felt like something was missing. Becoming a paramedic was like finding the missing piece to the puzzle, you know?”

Carlos gives TK an understanding look, pausing for a moment before he asks his next question. “Did I ask you out, or did you ask me out?”

“Oh man,” TK chuckles, his cheeks turning slightly pink. Reaching for his glass, he takes a sip of water. “You need to understand that we didn’t start so easily as going on a date.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at that, earning another smile from TK, this one bashful.

“Okay,” he starts, exhaling loudly. “So our story goes like this – ”

Carlos listens as TK tells him of Michelle inviting his team to the local honky-tonk after rescuing the mother and child from the car accident. He tells him about Carlos walking up to him in a ridiculously tight shirt and asking him to dance. He blushes as TK shoots him a look, telling him he looked so hot. And blushes even further when TK tells him of the two of them sneaking off to make out in the bar bathroom, exchanging numbers after kissing each other senselessly before seeing each other two days later and having sex on the floor of Carlos’ old living room.

“Not much time for courting,” he says dryly, unable to keep the smile off his face as TK grins back at him.

“In your defense, you did try to court me,” TK says gently, affection shining in his eyes. “You invited me to a midnight dinner the next night.”

“Oh,” Carlos says, relieved. “That’s better.”

TK winces slightly in return.

“Or not?” he questions, getting a nod back from TK.

“I kind of freaked out on you,” he says, looking deeply sorry. Carlos can’t imagine it could have been so bad if three years later they’re still together, but he waits for TK to explain.

“I had gone through a horrible breakup back home – I was getting ready to propose, and he was cheating on me with some guy from the gym. I wasn’t looking for anything other than some harmless sex, so when you made this lovely dinner for me with flowers and candles, and you looking so fine in a dress shirt and slacks. I turned into a jerk, and the dinner was a bust.”

Carlos quietly processes what TK has just told him. He feels a pang in his chest at the knowledge that TK loved someone else enough to consider marriage. He scoffs quietly at the silly jealousy he feels from it. It’s completely ridiculous to be jealous of some random man from TK’s past when TK is here now in their home with him. He tries not to think too hard about what it means to feel this way when TK is still essentially a stranger to him.

“How did we recover from that?”

TK cringes again, and Carlos has to keep from reaching out and poking his nose as it wrinkles adorably.

“I got arrested, and you were the officer to process me?” TK says in the form of a question, groaning when Carlos’ eyebrows both go up.

“That sounds like a conflict of interest.”

“That’s what I said to you!” TK exclaims, waving a hand at him. “Thank you for finally agreeing with me!”

“Maybe I made sure to get your paperwork when you were brought in,” he suggests, theorizing.

“Do you think you would do that?” TK questions curiously.

“If I really liked you and wanted a reason to talk to you, sure,” he shrugs, knowing that while he’s usually a by-the-book cop, he has an impulsive streak. “And something tells me I did like you enough to do that.”

TK looks away from him, but it doesn’t hide his pleased smile from Carlos. He feels warmed by it again, and wonders just how many times over the years has TK’s smile caused his stomach to flutter.

“So how did getting arrested help us after that dinner gone wrong?” he asks, clearing his throat. “And what did you get arrested for?”

“A bar fight,” TK answers, wincing when he shoots him an unimpressed look. “I know, I know. It was stupid, and trust me, you let me know how stupid you thought it was. But like I said, I was going through a bad breakup, I had relapsed on substances as a result, and I was looking for something to keep my mind off my life being shit that wasn’t alcohol or pills.”

TK sneaks a look at him, holding his breath as he waits for him to react to his confession.

“Are you okay now?” he asks softly, letting out a sigh when TK nods.

“I haven’t used since my relapse,” he answers. “There have been moments of struggle, but I have overcome them.”

“I’m proud of you, TK,” he says as he reaches for his hand, not sure if it’s his place but unable to stop himself.

TK gives him a slight quirk of his lips. “You always say that,” he whispers, offering his hand a squeeze. “And I’ll remind you now that you’re a big reason for my continued sobriety.”

“No – “ he starts to shake his head, freezing when TK grips his hand that much tighter.

“Yes,” TK answers firmly. “You are my biggest champion. Your unwavering faith in me has saved me so many times, sweetheart. I know you don’t remember it now, but you need to know that.”

 ֎֎֎

 TK leaves for the basement after they finish their meal, claiming a need to do laundry. Really Carlos thinks he’s giving him space after the emotionally packed conversation they shared. Either way, Carlos takes the reprieve he’s given. He calls his mother to check in, assuring her he and TK are okay.

She gives him a loaded ‘hmm’ and an amused ‘nothing’ when he asks what’s that about.

After ending the call, he wanders around the house some more. It’s hard to find pieces of the life he does remember, but he figures losing everything in a fire will do that. He takes his time looking at the rest of the pictures around the house. He and TK are attached at the hip in just about all of them, more often than not smiling at each other instead of the camera.

TK comes back upstairs an hour later with a basket full of clean clothes. “Fresh towels,” he proclaims happily. “Just the way you like it for your showers,” he smiles before giving him a curious look. “We’ll have to wrap your arm with plastic for that – are you okay?”

Carlos nods, pointing at the framed photos on the wall. “Just looking,” he answers, pausing as something comes to mind for the first time and feeling silly for it. “Hey, do you know what happened to my phone?”

“It got wrecked in the accident,” TK answers as he crosses towards a cabinet. “But I got it replaced for you, and made sure everything was backed up from the cloud.”

He takes the phone from him, looking at it, and then looks back up at TK, who smiles back at him a little awkwardly. “Your passcode is my birthday,” he answers, rattling off the numbers to him before leaving the room again, heading upstairs with the laundry in hand.

“I really am a sap,” he mumbles to himself, punching in the code. He looks through his old messages first. Some are from his partner Mitchell, there is a recipe link from Paul, and a group message between him, his parents, TK’s father, and TK himself about dinner plans from over a month ago. The conversation between him and TK is endless, with many ‘I love yous’ and ‘be safe’ exchanged. There are also teasing remarks – quite a few racy enough to make his ears feel hot.

He turns to his camera roll and scoffs at himself at the sheer amount of pictures of TK in it.

“What’s that noise for?” TK questions coming back into the living room.

“I might be your stalker,” he answers, waving his phone when TK raises an eyebrow at him. “Pretty sure 90% of my phone is pictures of you, so yeah,” he points a finger at himself. “Stalker.”

TK lets out a laugh, throwing his head back, and Carlos can’t help but stare, transfixed by the image of him. It’s almost unfair how beautiful he is without even trying.

Looking back at him, Carlos can see his green eyes sparkle with amusement.

“You should see my phone,” he says unbothered. “It’s all you, all the time. Nancy teases the crap out of me for it. So we’re pretty even on that front, don’t worry.”

“There are some dirty messages from you here,” he tells him, biting down on his lip when it makes TK smirk, even as he turns a rosy pink.

“I would bet my car that there are more than just dirty messages saved in there from me,” he answers, his smirk growing filthier as Carlos’ eyes widen. “Sometimes you work nights, and I get bored without you,” he tells him, his blush growing stronger. “Bet you haven’t found those pictures yet.”

No, but he sure as hell plans on finding them later when he’s alone, he thinks, going hot himself at the thought. “So you like to tease me,” he questions, earning himself a suggestive chuckle in return.

“As I like to tell you when you call me a tease. It’s not teasing if I deliver,” TK points out, grin firmly in place. “And I always do.”

“Of all the things to forget,” Carlos grumbles, mostly at himself.

TK’s smile slips away, a flash of pain crossing his face before he can hide it away. “It will come back,” he says softly.

Carlos tilts his head, studying him. “You sound so sure.”

TK gives him a gentle shrug of his shoulder in return. “When it comes to us against whatever crap the world throws at us, I’ll place my bet on you and me every single time.”

 ֎֎֎

 Carlos is in the bedroom waiting for TK to finish his shower before he can hop in himself. He smiles as he hears TK sing some song horribly off-key.

“Hey, rockstar,” he calls out when he hears the water shut off, grinning as TK lets out a shouted curse in surprise. He probably figured Carlos was still downstairs. “When you’re done with your concert, can you help me wrap my cast?”

He hears more muffled grumbling that causes him to chuckle at least until TK opens the door. His laughter halting in his throat as he takes in his boyfriend in nothing more than a towel, his chest bare with water droplets running down his defined abs.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he scolds him with a pout on his face that has no right being as charming as it is.

“I understand how we fell into bed so quickly,” he blurts out, blushing as TK raises a questioning eyebrow at him. “You’re stunning,” he continues, unable to hold back the thought. “I must have taken one look at you and just fallen head over heels for you.”

TK stares at him for a moment before shaking his head, a small reluctant smile taking over his face. “Leave it to you to have no memory of us and still manage to be ridiculously romantic,” he huffs, chuckling softly to himself. “You’re dangerous, Reyes.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlos apologizes, feeling awkward. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

TK crosses the room, coming to sit down next to him on the bed. “The fact that you’re still attracted to me doesn’t make me uncomfortable. On the contrary, it gives me hope,” he tells him with a half-smile. “Hope that you’ll come back to me here,” he says, tapping a finger against Carlos’ temple. “And here,” he brings his hand down to tap against Carlos’ chest over his heart.

“Don’t give up on me,” Carlos whispers, and even he can hear the pleading quality in his voice.

“Never,” TK answers gently, his green eyes bright and hopeful, and Carlos might not know him well, but he can see the love he feels for him in those eyes – it leaves him breathless. He realizes with a start how badly he wants to lean in, to close the gap between him and TK and see if tasting him will trigger the memories he so desperately wants back. He realizes with alarming clarity that even if he doesn’t remember, he very much wants to know if TK tastes as sweet as he seems.

He takes too long deciding, and when he shifts an inch closer, TK is already grabbing the plastic and medical tape he has on the bed.

“Now, let’s get this wrapped so you can shower,” he says sweetly, reaching for Carlos’ arm. “You’re probably tired after the long day. I bet you go right to sleep afterwards.”

Carlos thinks sleep is probably not coming with his swirling thoughts, but he gives TK a nod anyway.

“I’m going to the farmer’s market tomorrow morning,” TK continues once his arm is wrapped up. “We usually go together on our days off. Think you’re up for it?” he asks, giving Carlos a hopeful look.

Carlos nods again, wanting to keep that look on TK’s face and the bright smile that follows.

“That sounds nice.”

 ֎֎֎

 Carlos leans against the kitchen counter, staring through tired eyes as the coffee machine spits out a robust Colombian roast. Sleep, like he had expected, had been hard to come by the night before, with too many thoughts and too much space in his bed for him to settle in right. He might not remember sleeping with TK in their bed, but he has a feeling his body does, and it rebelled at the idea of TK being in another room away from him.

More than once last night, he had given serious thought to walking over to the guest room and begging TK to come sleep beside him. He hadn’t, and instead spent the night twisting and turning, flashes of moments running through his mind too fast to make a complete picture. It frustrates him while also giving him hope being home with TK will trigger his memories.

He hears footsteps coming down the stairs and turns his head just in time to see a sleepy, shirtless TK come into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and grumbling.

“Need. Coffee. Now,” he mumbles, passing him, going straight for the coffee maker, only to let out a whine when he sees the pot is nowhere near ready.

“Good morning,” he says dryly, a smile tugging on his face at the adorable image TK makes, pout in full display as he turns to acknowledge him.

“Coffee,” he demands once more.

Carlos opens his mouth to tease him, stopping short as something comes back to him instantly.

He’s in the middle of bringing his cup to his lips when he feels TK slide up behind him, his arms going around his waist, his face tucked between his shoulder blades.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says fondly, twisting in TK’s hold to turn to him, smiling at his sleepy expression.

“Woke up without you,” TK pouts, his green eyes narrowed. “On our day off. That’s illegal; arrest yourself right now.”

“If I arrest myself, we can’t spend the day together,” he points out, chuckling as TK gives him a dry look.

“Maybe I just want you in handcuffs,” TK quips, a teasing smile playing on his lips when Carlos raises an eyebrow at him.

“We can play that game if you want. It was a lot of fun the last time,” he challenges back with a smirk of his own when TK lets out a sharp breath at his answer.

“Too early for this,” TK grumbles, his cheeks a pretty pink. “Need coffee.”

“If you let me go, I can get you a cup,” he offers, waiting as TK considers. Finally, his boyfriend shakes his head.

“Nope,” he answers, tucking his face into Carlos’ shoulder, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “This is better anyway.”

“Hey,” TK snaps his fingers softly in front of his face. When Carlos focuses on him, he finds him looking at him with a curious and slightly worried expression. “Are you okay? Where did you go?”

“Nowhere,” he answers, trying to give TK a smile to ease his worry while inside, he’s reeling. The memory had been as clear as TK standing in front of him now, but more than that, he can remember what he’d been feeling at that moment. The love and adoration he felt for the man in his arms, not wanting to let him go even for a cup of coffee.

“Are you sure?” TK asks again, still concerned.

“Yeah,” he says again, this time his smile coming out a little easier as he wraps himself in the feelings caused by the memory. “Are we still going to the farmer’s market today?”

“Sure,” TK answers as he walks over to the coffee pot that is now full. He pulls out two mugs, pouring them both a cup. “If you’re up to it, that is.”

“I am,” he answers, taking the cup TK offers him. “I thought I could cook this evening,” he suggests, waving his cast at him. “With your help.”

TK shoots him a grin. “Sure, it should be fun to watch you bite your lip to keep from telling me I’m chopping the wrong way.”

“Do you chop the wrong way?” he questions, suddenly concerned.

TK shrugs a shoulder at him. “You seem to think so. You’re always warning me I’m going to cut myself and hover over me like the worrywart you are.”

“I’m suddenly reconsidering letting you help me,” he says honestly, getting another playful grin from TK.

“Too late,” he chirps. “I’m helping. Now I’m gonna head for the shower. We can grab breakfast at this bakery we like near the market.”

Carlos nods in agreement as TK starts to leave the kitchen. He’s about to let him pass when he notices a scar near TK’s left shoulder. “Hey, what is that?” he stops him, bringing a hand to the spot, running a thumb over it. He hears TK’s breath catch, but he ignores it as he realizes with a start what he’s looking at. “Is this a bullet wound, TK?” he asks, his voice coming out higher than usual.

He stares at TK with wide eyes as the man lets out a wince.

“Yeah…see what happened was – “

 ֎֎֎

 “So you’re telling me you have been shot at and kidnapped?” he questions for the third time since TK finished retelling him his unfortunate work calls. Since then, they’ve stopped by the bakery TK mentioned, bought their breakfast – a spinach pie for him and a cherry cheese Danish for TK, and now are walking around the market, reusable grocery bags in hand. Carlos is still at a loss, having trouble understanding how TK can recall the moments so calmly. When Carlos on the other hand, is quietly freaking out and wondering how to hide TK away from the world hellbent on injuring him.

“Yes,” TK answers simply, lifting his hand to offer him half his Danish. “Trade? We usually do because you like the last taste in your mouth to be sweet.”

He distractedly takes the offered pastry, giving TK the last bit of his pie.

“Do I have blood pressure issues?” he questions, looking over at TK as he pops the last bit of food in his mouth. “I feel like I have to because my BP is skyrocketing right now.”

“So dramatic,” TK scoffs, rolling his pretty eyes at him. “As if I would let you have high blood pressure. My dad is a health nut. If you had a high BP, there would be no salt in the house,” he continues with a cheeky smile that makes Carlos huff.

“Cute,” he says sarcastically. “Have I tried to bubblewrap you? I think drastic measures need to be taken here to keep you safe.”

He winces as his voice goes a little manic at the end there, causing TK to stop walking, the amused but exasperated smile on his face dropping.

“Hey,” he starts softly, reaching out to touch Carlos’ wrist, pressing the pads of his fingers against his pulse point, squeezing gently, helping Carlos center himself. “I’m okay,” he says slowly, his eyes locking with Carlos’.

“Yes, they were scary moments, ones I would rather not repeat. But when I was shot, you were there every day waiting for me to wake up.” TK squeezes his wrist again, making sure he’s listening. “And when I got kidnapped, you figured out where we were, and you rescued me.”

“I did?” he asks breathlessly. Leave it to TK to get to the root of Carlos’ freak out. The thought of TK hurt or in danger and Carlos helpless to save him.

“You did,” TK answers. He lets go of Carlos’ wrist, but Carlos instinctively takes his hand before he can get too far.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, holding his breath as he waits for TK to decide if he should pull his hand away or not. He watches his eyes flicker between their joined hands and Carlos’ face, a flash of something too close to sorrow playing over his features for a second. He’s just about to pull away himself and apologize to TK when he links their fingers together, giving Carlos a slight smile.

“Yeah, sweetheart, of course it’s okay,” he whispers back, his smile more honest and less pained. “Take this as a blanket invitation to touch me when you want or need, okay?”

Carlos startles at the offer, staring at TK as he looks back at him.

TK shakes his head softly at him. He reaches up, touching Carlos’ temple gently with his other hand. “This is hard for me,” he admits, brushing one of Carlos’ curls into place. “But I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going on in your head. How scared you must be to have all these missing pieces in your memory. So yeah, Carlos, if holding my hand brings you any kind of comfort, if touching me helps center you, feel free to touch me anytime the urge hits.”

Carlos can’t speak in the face of such an offer when he knows TK hurts every moment Carlos doesn’t remember their life together.

“That might not be fair to you.”

TK gives him another gentle smile, his eyes shining with what Carlos can only call love. “You let me worry about what’s fair to me,” he tells him before wrinkling his nose at him sweetly. “Besides, I’ve never said no to your hands on me, and I’m not about to start now.”

They stay like that, neither moving as they get lost in the moment. It’s only when a sharp whistle pierces the air that TK breaks their eye contact, twisting around to find the source. Carlos doesn’t recognize the elderly woman waving at them from a few stalls away, but TK obviously does by the low noise he lets out.

“Shit,” he mutters, looking back at him. “That’s Martha; we buy jam and honey from her. She’s very old and very sweet and is extremely fond of us. She’s gonna take one look at your arm and fuss, and if we tell her about your memory issues – “

“She’s not going to take it too well?” Carlos finishes for him, getting a nod in return. “Okay,” he says, understanding TK is suggesting they pretend everything is fine. “Martha, you said?”

“Yeah,” TK bites down on his lip nervously.

Carlos gives TK’s fingers a gentle tug. “Let’s go say hello and get some jam. Does she have apricot?” he questions as they start to make their way over to her stall.

TK lets out a breath, smiling slightly as he leans into Carlos’ side. “Yes, she has apricot jam, which she always lets you taste even though we buy it from her all the time.”

“I like her already,” he says honestly. He can see the woman better now. He can see the happy smile on her face as they approach, followed by concern as her eyes stray to his arm.

“Carlos Reyes,” she gasps once they are close enough. “What in the world happened to you?”

“Car accident,” he says as she comes around her stall to get closer. He stands still as she touches his arm and then his cheek with gentle wrinkled hands as she peers up at him.

“Oh my dear boy,” she says softly, her tone caring like a grandmother. “Are you okay?”

He gives her a nod, tilting his head towards TK. “This one over here is taking very good care of me,” he says with a playful waggle of his eyebrows, smiling when she lets out a whistling laugh, her concern easing at his teasing.

“I’m sure he is,” she says with a laughing tone of her own. She turns towards TK, holding out her hands to him. TK places his hands in hers, holding on as she gives them a gentle squeeze. “You okay, dear?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, Martha,” TK answers her softly, sneaking a look at him. “He’s alive and whole, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Martha studies both of them with a gentle look. “Sweet boys,” she whispers. She pats TK’s hands again before letting go of them. “Your love is so special,” she continues with a smile that is then followed by a pointed look. “Beautiful, even though I see no rings yet.”

TK groans out the woman’s name through a tired smile. He looks amused, but it doesn’t hide the gentle blush taking over his face. “We’ve talked about this, Martha,” he reminds her, sneaking a look at him again before focusing on the older woman. “We’re happy the way we are, for now, there is no need to – “

“Rush things,” Martha finishes for TK, rolling her eyes at him. “Blah, blah, blah,” she mocks with her hand.

“Martha!” TK exclaims with a surprised laugh. Carlos looks away, not knowing what to say. He can feel his heart tick up at the subject. Obviously, it’s one the older woman is used to commenting on going off TK’s response, and Carlos wonders what his usual answer is. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that the mention of rings – his on TK’s finger, makes his stomach do a somersault.

“Young people,” Martha mutters as she opens a jar of jam, spreading some over a cracker before passing it over to him.

He takes it from her, popping it into his mouth, letting out a pleased sound as the sweet taste fills his senses. “Delicious,” he says to her, causing her to beam back at him. “Best jam ever.”

“If you put a ring on this boy’s finger already, I might give you my secret recipe,” she says to him, grinning brightly as he feels his face go red.

“Oh my god, Martha,” TK mumbles, turning his face to hide it into Carlos’ shoulder.

Carlos instinctively pulls him closer, trying to shield him from his own embarrassment.

Martha sighs deeply, pursing her lips at them. “Just the jam then?”

 ֎֎֎

 They get home past noon. The ride back is quiet and a little uncomfortable. Martha’s teasing prompting some new questions Carlos is itching to ask.

“I left some chicken out for a southwest salad for lunch?” TK tells him as they place their groceries on the counter. “What do you say?”

“Sounds good,” he answers as he takes out the avocados from the bag, separating the two ripe ones for the salad.

“Great,” TK says, flashing him a strained smile. He starts pulling out what he needs from the cupboards, beans, and corn, while Carlos gets the rest from the fridge.

They work together around the kitchen quietly, Carlos’ assistance limited by his arm. Finally, as TK cooks the chicken on a cast iron skillet, he can’t hold in his questions any longer.

“Have we talked about it?” he asks, holding his breath when TK shoots him a knowing look.

“We haven’t planned anything officially,” he answers, not needing Carlos to clarify his question. “But you know how much I love you, and I know how much you love me. We both know we want to spend the rest of our lives together. There is no doubt about that.”

Carlos takes in a sharp breath at the certainty he hears in TK’s voice as he speaks about their commitment to each other in the present tense, not in the past before Carlos’ accident. TK’s absolute belief in them is humbling, and Carlos is left in awe that someone loves him as much as TK does.

It must show on his face by the way TK’s expression softens. He reaches out, touching Carlos’ side gently for a moment, offering him comfort.

“The chicken is done,” he says as he pulls his hand back.

Carlos doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just watches TK move around the room, getting their salads ready. He takes the plate offered, heading for the dining room table, following TK.

“I have a shift tomorrow,” TK tells him as they eat. “But Captain Vega said I can call out if you need me here with you.”

He looks at him questioningly, but Carlos is already shaking his head. “I don’t want you to miss work because of me,” he tells him. It’s bad enough that he’s on leave for the next few weeks due to his arm and head injury. “I’m healthy enough to be left on my own.”

TK opens his mouth like he wants to argue, pausing when Carlos gives him a pleading look. “Okay then,” he says softly, agreeing. “I’ll tell her I’m good to go, but I’m gonna check in on you.”

Carlos nods.

“A lot,” TK warns him, and this time Carlos smiles.

“I expect nothing less,” he answers softly, affection spreading through him for the man before him.

 ֎֎֎

 They spend the rest of the afternoon and evening lounging around. Carlos’ parents call again, this time facetiming. He and TK press against each other as they talk to them, and Carlos catches the smiles his folks throw their way more than once.

“My parents seem to really like you,” he comments later as they lay back on the couch watching TV. They’re watching the end of an episode of house hunters, and TK has been complaining about the couple and their ridiculously high expectations for most of it. “How did that happen?”

TK turns to him, raising both eyebrows in challenge. “I’m sorry, do you not find me charming enough to win over Gabriel and Andrea Reyes?” he asks with a teasing smirk on his face. “Because I’ll have you know they adore me. Big fans of TK Strand those two.”

Carlos rolls his eyes even as he smiles. “I know. I can tell they love you,” he answers. “And I know you’re charming. You’ve already captivated me, and I’ve only been home two days with you.”

TK looks away from him at that, but Carlos can see the corners of his mouth tug upward anyway.

“I just remember how it used to be between my folks and me when it came to my private life,” he continues though he wants to forget the subject and focus on the smile on TK’s face. He wants to reach out and trace it with his thumb, hating how it drops as he continues. “I guess I don’t understand how we got to this point with them.”

“That’s probably more of a conversation you should have with your folks,” TK answers delicately as he fidgets with his fingers. “But I will say that though it took time, once they knew about us, they were very happy with our relationship, and it greatly improved your own relationship with them. That old hurt you’re remembering of not being able to share your life with them, that mended over time.”

“Thanks to you,” he answers softly, sure of it deep in his bones that TK had everything to do with it.

TK doesn’t deny it; he just gives him a kind smile. “I always have your back,” he tells him. “Just like you have mine.”

Carlos wants to say thank you, but it doesn’t feel nearly enough. The smile TK gives him lets him know he hears it anyway.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” TK says as he stands up from the couch. “When I get out, I’ll wrap your arm for you, okay?”

He gives him a nod and watches as he heads upstairs. He waits for a few minutes before he too gets up, turning off the TV and the lights, punching in the security code TK wrote down for him before heading upstairs himself.

A few minutes pass before TK comes out of the shower and into the bedroom, this time in a pair of sleeping shorts and a t-shirt, disappointingly not like the night before with just a towel around him.

“I didn’t even ask how you slept last night,” he says, running a towel over his head, looking at Carlos expectantly.

Carlos goes to tell him he slept fine, not wanting to burden him, but can’t bring himself to lie. “The bed is too big,” he says instead, getting a sympathetic look back from TK.

“We have slept together for a long time now,” he says softly. “We are used to our bodies next to each other. I didn’t get great sleep in the guestroom either,” he admits.

“You could – “ Carlos stops himself, biting down on his lip as his heart starts to race at the same thought he’s had since the night before. He can tell by the way TK’s eyes widen that he knows what he wants to say.

“Yeah?” he questions, pausing hesitantly as he licks his lips. “You wouldn’t be uncomfortable with me in bed with you?”

He lets out a small huff as he closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he can’t help but smile. “I might not remember a lot of stuff right now. But I know for a fact that you have never made me feel uncomfortable, that much I do know.”

He tilts his head to the side as he studies the way TK has gone shy. “What about you? Will you be uncomfortable if we share the same bed?”

“More like relieved,” TK blurts out, going rosy in the cheeks as he speaks. “It’s been a long two weeks without you, sweetheart.”

His eyes darken for a moment, and Carlos feels his breath catch.

“Okay then,” he whispers, swallowing hard as his stomach clenches with anticipation, feeling a fundamental shift between them. “It’s settled.”

 ֎֎֎

 He takes his time in the shower, and by the time he comes out, TK has settled into his side of the bed, his eyes half-closed as they follow him around the room that is dark except for his bedside lamp. It casts a low yellow glow that gives the space a dream-like quality.

“You should know I have been known to cling to you like a koala in the middle of the night,” he warns him sleepily as Carlos gets under the covers. It sounds nice, and he tells TK that, earning a tired chuckle in return.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he sighs out as he turns to his side, facing Carlos with his eyes closed.

Carlos mimics him, turning towards him without turning off the lights just yet, his face inches away from TK’s. He doesn’t mean to stare at him, but he can’t help himself. This is the closest he’s had TK since this started, and he can’t help but want to take him in. He must be staring too hard because after a few minutes, TK’s eyes flutter open. They’re tired but bright in the darkened room. Like two beacons of light, they pull Carlos in. He inches closer until his forehead is pressed against TK’s. Their breathing is loud and heavy, and Carlos can feel every puff that passes TK’s lips touch his face.

He reaches up, giving in to the impulse from earlier, running a trembling finger over TK’s mouth, finding it as soft as he imagined.

“Carlos,” TK whispers, and when Carlos looks up from his mouth, he finds his pupils blown wide.

TK lifts a hand, grabbing at his bicep to pull him closer.

“Are you sure?” he questions even as he wraps an arm around TK’s waist, pulling him tight against his body, his heart racing at the soft moan TK lets out in response.

“If you don’t kiss me, I’m going to lose my mind,” TK mutters, pressing his forehead harder against Carlos’.

Carlos lets out a low groan right as he covers TK’s mouth with his own.

It’s not a tentative kiss.

He might not remember their first, but his mouth and body seem to have no such problem as he sinks his tongue into TK’s mouth. Desperate from the first taste for more.

TK gives as good as he gets; he licks and bites on Carlos’ bottom lip, smiling into the kiss as it makes Carlos gasp. Then, he presses a smaller, gentler one over the sting to soothe it, and this time Carlos’ toes curl at the sweetness of the gesture.

“I must want to kiss you all the damn time,” Carlos whispers frantically as he clings to TK. It gets him a soft, loving laugh from his boyfriend as their kisses slow down to a gentle back and forth of their lips.

“The feeling is very mutual, sweetheart,” he tells him, giving him one last kiss, followed by two smaller ones at the corners of his mouth. He pulls back then, reaching over Carlos’ side to turn off the light. They settle in for the night, neither pulling away from each other’s arms.

He feels TK fall asleep even as he remains wide awake and accepts another sleepless night as TK gets even closer, his face tucked away into Carlos’ neck.

With TK in his arms, this one is already a hundred times better than the night before.

 ֎֎֎

 Carlos is in the middle of mindlessly channel surfing when there is a knock at the door. Most of his morning has been aimless with nothing to do but think of TK and them waking up together in a tangle of limbs.

He had woken up to his breath being stolen by the beauty of a sleeping TK. He’d been helpless but to stare and study every detail of his face, committing it to memory, wondering how in the world he could ever forget such a perfect picture in the first place. Twenty minutes later, right before his alarm went off, TK’s eyes had fluttered open to find his gaze on him. The smile that took over TK’s face as he teasingly called him a weirdo for staring had caused something to squeeze tight under Carlos’ ribcage with a feeling he didn’t dare speak out loud yet.

Getting up from the couch, he opens the door to find his mother on the other side with a bakery box in her hands.

“Conchas?” she asks with a bright smile as she shakes the box back and forth.

Carlos smiles, giving her a head tilt toward the inside of the house, kissing her on the cheek as she comes in.

They head for the kitchen, and Carlos silently starts the coffee machine before pulling a jar of Nutella out of the cupboard.

“You remember that,” she says with a pleased smile as she grabs a knife and starts cutting the conchas down the middle to spread the Nutella over it.

“Mmhmm,” he nods, leaning against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew.

She passes him a half of the sweet bread with a smile. “How’s it going, cariño?” she questions, her brow wrinkled with worry.

Carlos chews on his concha as he tries to think how to answer that. Physically he’s okay; his arm is healing, and he should have his cast off in a few weeks. Even mentally, the doctors aren’t terribly concern. They’re sure his memory will come back, and given the small but frequent flashes he’s had, he’s inclined to believe them.

Just this morning, he’d made TK’s banana and peanut butter shake – made with oat milk, two tablespoons of creamy peanut butter, and half a scoop of protein powder. TK had taken a sip from it, smiling as he told him it was precisely how he liked it, pausing for a moment as he realized Carlos remembered how to make it before his smile grew even larger. He was remembering, it was slow, but it was happening.

He could tell his mother all of that, but that wasn’t what was on his mind. What’s on his mind is the feel of TK’s mouth against his the night before and then this morning as he let him kiss him before he left for work. What’s on his mind is how right it felt to hold TK as they slept. What is on his mind is how TK’s smile or laugh causes Carlos to go warm all over.

“I think I’m falling in love, Mami,” he says softly, holding his breath once he’s let the words out.

Andrea puts down her treat, wiping her face with a napkin. When she lowers it, Carlos can see the hints of a smile playing on her face. “Well, I hope it’s with your boyfriend, or else this is going to get really awkward for you.”

“Mami,” Carlos groans at her teasing, getting a delighted laugh in return. He pushes off the counter to turn off the coffee maker, pouring the hot liquid into two mugs. “You don’t look particularly surprised by what I just said.”

Andrea smiles at him as she takes the mug he offers her. “Why would I be?” she questions. “Like temporary amnesia is going to destroy what you and TK have? Por favor.”

“What do we have?” he questions, curious to know how his mother sees his relationship with TK. If she really approves.

His mother seems to understand. She places her mug down, crossing the distance between them until she’s standing in front of him, taking his face in her hands.

“I will always regret not asking you more after you came out to us,” she starts, shaking her head when he goes to speak. “You were just a kid, my sweet boy, scared of what we would think, and we messed up so bad. Your father and I thought the best way to let you know it was fine was by acting like nothing had changed, when of course everything had changed for you. We should have asked about your romances, about your heartbreaks.”

“Mami,” he whispers, his heart in his throat as his mother gives him a sad smile.

“We didn’t realize we were hurting you by keeping quiet,” she continues. “I love TK as if he was my own, Carlitos, for a lot of reasons, but two above all.”

Carlos bites down on his lip, waiting for her to tell him her reasons.

“One,” she says with a teary smile. “Him coming into your life gave us a chance to fix our mistakes with you. He became so important to you, you couldn’t keep him from us, and as a result, we got to meet him, know him and get to know you too. The you we had been missing out with our ignorance, and I am so grateful for that.”

“And the second reason?” he asks, swallowing hard around the lump of emotion that has formed in his throat as he starts to get a picture of how he and his parents overcame years of silence about his personal life.

“The second reason answers your original question,” she says with a growing smile that is both loving and proud. “What you and TK have – it’s what I have always wanted for you since I first held you.”

With her hold on his face, she makes sure his eyes are locked with hers, letting Carlos see how sincere she’s being.

“You two have the type of love I always wished for you. Kind, patient, incredibly loving and tender, and above all else, genuine. You, telling me that you’re falling in love with TK all over again isn’t surprising in the least, mi niño. It was the only direction this story could go.”

 ֎֎֎

 Carlos waves at his mother as she drives away after dropping him off at the firehouse. He walks through the bay doors, finding both fire engines parked but an empty space where the rescue 126 rig should be. He sees a few of the faces that visited him while in the hospital over by the back of the firehouse but hesitates about approaching them.

“Carlos? What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

Carlos turns around at the voice to find the fire captain – TK’s father, his brain supplies, coming towards him with a concerned frown on his face.

“Captain Strand,” he greets him with a nervous smile as the older man’s frown deepens.

“We worked long and hard getting you comfortable enough to call me Owen,” he says with a shake of his head. “I know you can’t remember that we get along great right now, but please, let’s not revert to Captain or sir, I beg of you. It’s just Owen.”

“I’m sorry, sir – shit – Owen,” he gets out, cringing a bit as he feels like a school kid in trouble with the teacher. “I’ll work on it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Owen tells him with a smile that doesn’t hide his amusement in the least. “What brings you by? Not that you’re not welcome anytime, of course.”

“I was restless at home,” he answers with a shrug as he looks around the place. “I figured I’d come and visit TK, but – “ he trails off.

“He and his team are answering a call,” Owen finishes for him, his smile growing fond and meaningful. It makes Carlos want to squirm under the man’s watchful eye.

“What?” he blurts out finally as Owen seems to grow even more amused with him.

The captain lets out a chuckle, holding his hands up in a silent apologetic gesture. “It’s just that nothing has changed. You might have trouble remembering a lot of things right now, but you still seek TK out when you’re anxious.”

“How do you know I’m anxious?” he questions, surprised. He gets a sympathetic fatherly look from Owen that seems vaguely familiar in the back of his mind.

“Because you and I are friends,” he answers, slapping his back gently as he gestures towards the kitchen with a tilt of his head, asking him to follow him.

Carlos does, sitting on one of the stools when Owen points to it.

“And hopefully someday soon we’ll be family,” he continues with a smirk when Carlos jerks his head up to stare at him. “Officially anyway, we’re already family.”

Carlos doesn’t say anything as Owen pulls a slim pitcher with green gunk in it out of the fridge.

“I’m usually a good listener,” the fire captain tells him, placing a glass of the green liquid in front of him. “You and I talk sometimes.”

Carlos brings the glass to his mouth, taking a sip, instantly making a face that causes Owen to snort.

“You usually hide your distaste for my power greens smoothies better,” he says to him, laughing when Carlos scowls.

“You know I hate it and still offer it to me?” he questions, getting a cheeky grin and a nod.

“Just waiting for the day you finally have the guts to tell me you don’t like it.”

“Well, that day has arrived, Owen,” he says dryly, even as he blushes in the face of the older man’s enjoyment.

“At last,” Owen smirks, and it’s so reminiscent of TK it forces Carlos to smile back reluctantly.

“Strand men, troublemakers to the core,” he mutters, his eyes widening moments later. “I remember that,” he whispers, catching Owen’s eyes. “You two are brats.”

“Hey, now,” Owen says with faux offense, even as he looks at him brightly and hopefully. “Hurtful, truthful, but hurtful.”

Carlos huffs, shaking his head with amusement.

“You’re starting to remember,” Owen says kindly, his expression softening as he says it, relieved as Carlos gives him a nod. “That’s so good, kid. We all miss you, but especially my son.”

Carlos licks his lips nervously, parting them to speak when the beeping of the ambulance coming back echoes through the place.

“Speak of the devil,” Owen says quietly, the corners of his mouth tilting upward. “Go on then. He’s who you came to see, and I know he’ll be happy to see your face. He’s been worried all day about being away from you.”

Carlos quickly gets up, flashing Owen a grateful look before heading back towards the front of the firehouse. He watches as TK’s partner and Captain joke with him for a moment before heading off together, leaving TK alone by the rig.

“Hey,” he calls out, watching as TK’s head snaps up at his voice.

“Hi,” TK says back, walking over to him quickly. “Are you okay? Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly, touching TK’s bicep, running his hand up and down his arm. “I’m fine. Nothing is wrong,” he continues, pulling TK towards him as his shoulders drop in relief. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispers, wrapping his good arm around TK, holding him to his chest. “I just missed you and wanted to see your face.”

TK pulls back just enough to look up at him from where he has tucked his face into Carlos’ chest. “Really?” he whispers, his green eyes bright and oh so pretty.

“Yeah,” he answers, licking his lips, his stomach clenching as TK tracks the movement, and he wonders if it’s okay for him to kiss TK here. If now that they have kissed, he can just kiss him when the urge hits. He thinks probably not, or he would be kissing TK nonstop seeing as the urge seems to always be there.

Instead, he takes a small step back to resist the urge to give in to the temptation and says. “Let’s go out tonight.”

TK raises an eyebrow at him, a small, shy smile playing on his lips. “Like a date?” he questions, his smile blossoming when Carlos nods.

“Yeah,” he exhales to calm down his sudden nerves. “Let’s go out on a date.”

“Okay,” TK grins, looking giddy. “I get off at 7. I’ll pick you up. I know exactly where to go.”

 ֎֎֎

 “This is really where you want to have our date?” Carlos asks dubiously as TK parks in the middle of an empty field – the burgers and fries they had picked up in a brown bag on his lap.

TK kills the engine, flashing him a grin as he unhooks his seatbelt. “It’s a special place for us,” he says mysteriously as he opens his door, stepping out of the car and grabbing their drinks. “Come on,” he motions for him to follow him to the back.

Popping the flatbed, Carlos finds a blanket laid out on the back of the truck.

“You prepped for this,” he comments, smiling when TK gives him a shy shrug of his shoulders. He takes the food from Carlos to allow him to get in first, following him seconds later.

“This is nice,” he says softly, looking around, picking at a loose thread of the blanket underneath them while TK unwraps their food. “Why is this place special for us?” he asks curiously. The field is elevated, and over the edge, there is a nice view of the city.

“This is where you and I officially started,” TK answers him as he looks up at the night sky. “We laid on top of your car looking at the sky and really began that night.”

Carlos looks up at the sky too. They’re far enough from the city that the stars gleam brightly. They’re beautiful, but Carlos just knows they were stunning the night TK is talking about.

Different shades of blue and green streak through the sky, lighting it up above them. They’re one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. So stunning, and yet they pale in comparison to the man resting next to him on the hood of his car.

He looks up because he’s supposed to and has to resist the urge of turning his head towards what he really wants to be looking at.

“What are you thinking?” he asks finally, holding his breath as he waits for an answer.

“I’m thinking,” TK starts to say, his voice soft but pleased. “We make a pretty good team.”

Carlos’ breath catches his throat, a thread of hope spreading through him before he can tell himself to rein it in. Finally, he allows himself to turn his head, looking at TK, finding him smiling up at the sky.

“We really do, don’t we?” he asks, his heart skipping a beat as TK turns to face him, his smile growing the longer he looks at Carlos.

“’fraid so,” he whispers as he reaches for Carlos’ hand, intertwining their fingers together before he brings their hands to rest over his stomach.

Carlos blinks, but the memory doesn’t fade. If anything, it gleams brighter. He remembers leaning in closer to TK until their mouths were but a whisper away from each other. He remembers the half-moan-half-grumble TK let out the longer their lips didn’t touch until Carlos was chuckling into their kiss – moaning himself when TK licked into his mouth, pent-up passion engulfing them after weeks of being something like friends.

“You with me?” TK questions curiously as he takes a sip from his soft drink.

“We make a pretty good team,” he answers and watches as TK’s hand freezes midway to the fries between them. His green eyes snap to his, fearful, hopeful, and everything else in between as he stares at him.

“You remember that?” he questions, and Carlos can tell he’s holding his breath as he waits for Carlos to answer. So he does.

“We made out on the hood of my car like teenagers,” he says with a smile as the memory plays again. “You almost pulled on your stitches. I warned you that if you pulled them out again, you were going to have to call your father and explain how it happened.”

“I was excited,” TK grumbles, giving him a pout. “Making out with you is the most fun I have ever had making out with anyone. The stitches were fine but you invoking my dad totally killed the mood.”

“No, it didn’t,” Carlos counters with a grin. He pushes the food away so he can get closer to TK until their faces are only inches apart. “You kept kissing me. We kissed at every red light from here to your dad’s place, and then when we got there, we made out for another ten minutes until he turned the living room lights on and off.”

“That was so embarrassing,” TK groans, leaning his head forward to let it rest against Carlos’. They stay like that for a moment, their eyes locked on each other.

“You remember that night,” TK breathes out in awe. “It’s coming back.”

Carlos nods, his nose rubbing against TK’s as he does so. “It’s coming back, TK,” he whispers back, swallowing hard as he lets himself ask for what he fears the most. “Please don’t stop loving me.”

 ֎֎֎

 Carlos wakes up after ten. It’s later than he’s used to, but with still being on leave at least until he’s out of his cast, he allows himself the indulgence of a late morning. He lets his good arm reach over to TK’s side of the bed. It’s empty, he knows, remembering the touch of TK’s lips to his forehead earlier in the morning before he left for work. Still, he touches the cool sheets, turning to press his face into TK’s pillow, breathing in his boyfriend’s scent, smiling to himself as he remembers the night before.

They’d come home after their date out in the field, kissing at every red light just like the first time, and by the time they pulled into the driveway, Carlos was vibrating out of his skin with desire.

He all but sprained his neck, nodding his consent when TK asked him if he was sure he wanted them to be intimate before his full memory came back. The smile on TK’s lips as he let out a soft chuckle was worth how red in the face he turned at his own eagerness.

He lets out an exhale, his good hand sliding down his body to cup himself through his sleep pants as he relives the night before.

TK helping him out of his clothes, laying gentle kisses over every inch of bare skin – he had laid back on the bed, his heart racing as TK took his own clothes off before he straddled his thighs, kissing him until he was a shaking mess underneath him. Only then had TK reached over to grab supplies out of the bedside table. And if he thought making out with TK was hot, nothing had prepared him for watching TK open himself up slowly for him with wet fingers, eyes fluttering shut, soft moans escaping his kiss-bruised lips as he found the right spot that made his thighs clench around Carlos’.

By the time TK was ready, reaching back to take him in his hand, lining him up to his opening, Carlos had been pleading, needing to be inside TK more than he has needed anything in his life.

Carlos lets out a low moan, tightening his hold on himself as he remembers the complete bliss he felt as TK sank down on him, taking in every last inch while Carlos stared up at him in awe as he started to move his hips.

Never in his life has he felt more connected to another person than to TK the night before.

He continues to picture it, recalling every beautiful sound TK made as he pushed them higher and higher, right up to the edge until he curved his body over Carlos’, his forehead pressed against his, his eyes wide as he stared down at him.

“I’m never going to stop loving you, Carlos,” TK whispered, drawing out a whimper from Carlos as he rolled his hips again. “Ever, I can promise you that. You can remember our life tomorrow or never again. I’ll always love you.”

Carlos comes in his fist with TK’s voice echoing in his ears just as he had done the night before. TK’s sureness of his love for him tipping him over the edge.

He lays there for a few minutes, waiting for his heart to stop racing before he gets up to clean himself. Without TK there to wrap his arm, it takes him longer to hop in the shower, but he manages. He has another week and a half with the cast on and honestly can’t wait to have it removed.

Once out of the shower, he’s looking through his dresser for clothes when his phone rings. Picking it up, he smiles as TK’s face appears on the caller ID.

“Hey,” he says, smiling into the speaker, his stomach doing a flip at TK’s voice, and he would roll his eyes at his silly schoolboy with a crush reaction if he wasn’t so happy and in love with the man on the other side of the phone.

“Hi,” TK says softly back, going quiet for a moment, and Carlos can just picture him biting down on his bottom lip. “I just wanted to check in with you. I had to leave for work early, and you were still mostly asleep. We didn’t get a chance to talk after last night, and I wanted to see how you were feeling this morning.”

Carlos smiles into the phone at the concern for him he hears in TK’s voice and wonders how he got so lucky to have such a caring partner.

“I’m good,” he answers as he keeps looking for a shirt he wants to wear. “I’m great, actually,” he continues honestly. “Last night was amazing.”

“No regrets?” TK questions hesitantly, causing Carlos to let out a snort.

“Only that we didn’t do that the night I came home,” he answers, grinning when TK lets out a laugh.

He pulls out a green shirt, throwing it on the bed with the jeans he’s already picked out. Then, opening the top drawer, he sticks his hand in to grab a pair of fresh underwear and socks, frowning when his hand finds a small hard box.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asks, and TK repeats himself as he suggests they do a movie night when he’s done with work. Carlos makes a sound of agreement as he stares at the small black box in his hand, his head racing as he realizes what it is.

A ring box.

“That sounds great,” he says, distracted, whispering a goodbye when TK tells him he has to go.

Ending the call, he places his phone down before focusing on the little box in his hand. He holds his breath as he opens the box to find a simple but beautiful wedding band, white gold or platinum, with a strip of small diamonds around it. On the inside is engraved ‘Eternally yours, te amo.’

The words hit him hard, and he has to take a seat at the edge of the bed as he realizes with startling clarity what he’s holding in his hand is his ring for TK.

He already knew he loved TK, has been falling for him all over again despite his lack of memory, and now, in his hand is the proof of just how much he loves him.

A hot tear lands on the hand holding the ring before he realizes he’s started crying, and by the time he reaches up to touch his face, he’s sobbing. It feels like the dam breaking after weeks of not even noticing it was filling up in the first place.

He cries over the moments he’s lost and is terrified he won’t get back. He cries as he realizes he could have lost so much more if he hadn’t made it out of the accident. He cries for TK, because if he feels this broken over a life he can’t remember well, he can only imagine what TK feels remembering it all. He cries in hope. Hope that forgotten life will come flooding back at some point. Finally, he cries in relief as TK’s voice promising to love him forever echoes again. Relief that even if the past doesn’t come back to him by some cruel twist of fate, he and TK still have a future.

He cries, and cries and cries some more, letting every last bit of it out.

 ֎֎֎

 If someone had asked Carlos how he thought he would get his memory back, he’s pretty sure his answer wouldn’t have been ‘on a random Thursday morning while brushing his teeth,’ but that’s precisely how it happens. He’s finished his shower, happy to no longer need to wrap his arm in plastic after having his cast removed a few days earlier.

It’s been three weeks since finding his engagement ring for TK and the minor breakdown that followed. He didn’t tell TK of either thing, not wanting him to worry or make him sad at his discovery. He knows it’s not the right time just as much as he knows that eventually, he’s going to put that ring on TK’s finger, memory back or not. He’s in love with his boyfriend – has fallen for him all over again.

His doctors are happy with his progress and the memories that are starting to seep through more and more as the days go on. They promise him if he just keeps living his life, doing what he usually does, they will all come back soon enough.

Carlos believes them, but he’s still surprised as he stares at his reflection, and it all comes back in an almost blinding flash. One second it’s not there, and then the next it is. He spits out the toothpaste in his mouth, barely passing a wet hand over it before he’s running out of the bathroom and down the stairs, tripping in his need to find the one person he needs the most right now.

“Scramble eggs for breakfast? We should probably go grocery shopping today since I’m off,” TK says to him as he turns to face him with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“TK stands for Tyler Kennedy,” he blurts out, watching as TK makes a face at the name before he realizes what he’s said, and his eyes widen. “And you always make that put-out face when I use it, but it’s followed by a smile because as much as you hate your name, you like it when I say it.”

“Carlos – “ TK whispers as he puts down his mug, and he can see it shaking slightly.

“When you are nervous or restless, you chew on the strings of your hoodies,” he continues. “And you bitch about Texas pizza, claiming it’s not real pizza because it’s not from New York.”

“Oh my god,” TK exhales, bringing a hand to his mouth as his eyes fill with tears.

Carlos swallows around the lump in his throat as his own eyes sting. “You play with my hair when I’ve had a hard day. You blush when I turn my cow eyes as you like to call them on you, and I love that I can make you blush even after three years.”

“You remember?” TK asks, and it breaks Carlos’ heart to hear the fear in his boyfriend’s voice, too scared to hope.

“I remember everything, baby,” he whispers back, taking a step toward him and then another. “And I love you, I love you so damn much TK – “

Carlos lets out a small grunt as TK slams into him, clinging to him as he starts to cry. He holds him tight to his chest, pressing his face into TK’s shoulder, rubbing his back, trying to soothe him as he continues to cry. It takes a few minutes for TK to calm down; by the time he does and pulls back to look at Carlos, his eyes are red from his tears.

“You remember me,” he says softly with a trembling smile.

“I’m so sorry I forgot,” he answers, reaching up to touch TK’s mouth when his boyfriend starts shaking his head, ready to tell him he doesn’t need to be sorry. “I know I don’t have to be and that it was an accident, but I’m still sorry you had to go through this. But you need to know, TK, that even without my memories, I still loved you, almost from the start. I loved you.”

TK wraps his fingers around Carlos’ wrist, pulling his hand away as he gives him a teary but beautiful smile. “I know that, my love. I know.”

Carlos nods as his eyes sting again, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I love you, TK. Then, now, and forever.”

TK lets out a shaky exhale, and when he tugs Carlos forward, he goes easily, sighing against TK’s lips as he kisses him gently. “And I love you, Carlos,” he says against his lips with another smile. “Exactly the same way.”

[themonsterblog]

The Beast of Bray Road

Dating back to 1936, citizens of Elkhorn, Wisconsin, in Walworth county as well as Racine and Jefferson counties have been witnessing a beast.

Reported to be 6ft tall, with grey and brown fur, the Beast is said to have a wolf-like face, shiny yellow eyes, pointed ears, and run and walk on all fours or hind legs as well as kneel like a man. I am reticent to call it a werewolf as shapeshifters are rather outrageous even for the cryptozoology community, but that is the imagery that comes to mind.

The first reported sighting was in 1936. 30-something Mark Shackleman was the night watchman for the St Coletta School For Exceptional Children outside Jefferson. The school had extensive grounds that included wide, open fields that held several preserved Native American burial mounds. Crossing the fields one night when doing his rounds, Shackleman saw a shadow digging into one of the mounds, much like a canine would. The Beast then stood to six feet tall and looked at him, it’s large body covered in dark fur and smelled of rotting meet. Shackleman took a step back, startled, and the beast abruptly turned and ran off into the woods. Shackleman reported seeing it again the next night, but never again.

Due to some what conflicting descriptions of the beast, some cryptozoology enthusiasts believe the beast to be a misidentification of some other cryptid, such as “Eddy” or “The Bluff Monster,” a Bigfoot like creature in Wisconsin. Others suggest a Waheela, or “bear dog;” as well as a Shunka Warakin. Some have even suggested due to the similarities and proximity that The Beast Of Bray Road and The Michigan Dogman are the same animal.

The Beast has been reported to act aggressively, but not outright violent and hasn’t reported to have physically harmed anyone. It had also been reported to charge vehicles, even chase people, but breaking off the chase before catching anyone, suggesting the theory that some have that it is territorial or guarding something, which could also explain the reason that many sightings are concentrated on a 2 mile stretch of farm road.

In 1991, 18 year old, Doris Gibson, reported driving down Bray Road during a storm when she felt her tire hit something. Thinking she had hit a small animal, she got out of her car to investigate only to find nothing. She looked to the side of the road, saw the form of the Beast and rushed back to her car. As she sped away, she said the Beast jumped on the trunk of her car but slid off in the heavy rain.

In the fall of 1989, Lori Endrizzi was driving down Bray Road on her way home from her job as a bar manager, when she saw a hunched figure in the road eating road kill. She flipped on her high beams to see it clearer and realized that whatever it was, knelt like a man and held the carcass in its hands like it had human-like elbows. The creature then stood and started towards her vehicle that had stalled out as Lori panicked and struggled to get it to start. When the engine successfully rolled over, she floored it to her mother’s house. “I didn’t sleep that night very well,” she said in her interview with Monsters and Mysteries in America.

The town of Elkhorn has supposedly had so many sightings of the Beast from the 80’s and 90’s that the Elkhorn Animal Control is rumored to have a file on the creature. The vast uptick in sightings is what had the now defunct Walworth Week assign junior reporter, Linda Godfrey, to investigate and report on the sightings. Linda published her article “Tracking down ‘The Beast of Bray Road’” on December 29th, 1991 and would then go on to write “The Beast Of Bray Road: Tailing Wisconsin’s Werewolf” and become the foremost expert on the subject.

One story Godfrey tells regarding the Beast is about a group of boys heading home from sledding, that was told to her by a friend of her son’s that experienced it first-hand. On their way home, the boys saw a large furry creature drinking water from a creek, thinking that it was a dog, they decided to go pet it. When they approached the creature, it stood, snarled, and took chase after the boys, breaking off after they cleared the tree line. Which, while terrifying, is in line with many reports.

Steve Krueger has told a consistent story on both Monster Quest and Monsters and Mysteries in America. Myself being a natural skeptic, once recognizing him on M&M from Monster Quest, made sure to track down his MQ episode, initially thinking that I could rule him out as a credible eye witness if his story changed. It hadn’t in the 4 years between episode airings, which lent more to his credibility in my eyes, albeit the story being more sensational on M&M due to the nature of that show. In November 2006, Krueger, a DNR worker had removed a the carcass of an 85lb doe from a road in Holy Hill, Wisconsin. As Krueger sat in the cab of his truck filling out the required paper work for the removal, he felt his truck shake, thinking it was simply the wind, he ignored it. A second harder shake caught his attention and he looked out the back window of his truck to see a shadowy figure standing at the tailgate of his truck. Krueger shined his flashlight through the back window to get a better look and saw a 6ft tall animal with a wolf-like face, reaching into the bed for the deer carcass he had just removed from the road. Startled, Krueger threw the truck in drive and sped away allowing the Beast to drag the doe off the back of his truck.

Wolf Biologist Peggy Callahan believes all of these sightings can be explained as simple misidentification. “People could definitely misidentify a wolf jumping up on its hind legs,” she tells Monster Quest, in a 2010 interview. Callahan believes that folklore and superstition combined with misidentification has created the tale of the Beast and influenced sightings. “As for the traditional werewolf, I’m going to tell you it doesn’t exist.”

Linda Godfrey on the other hand, does not believe this is a simple case of misidentification and advocates for witnesses saying “I really believe that all of these witnesses have seen what they say they saw. [...] Anybody who drives around much in Wisconsin has seen so many deer, and so many bear, and these other creatures that they would have a hard time mistaking something like that for a completely unknown animal.”

Sightings over the years have dwindled in frequency but recent sightings have been reported to MyRacineCounty.com with Danny Morgan’s January 2018 account of seeing the Beast while driving home from Lake Geneva, accompanied with the cell phone photo that heads this post; and Ron Rice’s 2020 account of seeing the Beast in the town of Lyons while delivering fertilizer.

If you are interested in learning more about upright, Wolf-like hominids, I highly recommend sifting through Linda Godfreys blog at Lindagodfrey.com. She has compiled sightings on there since 2009, but has been inactive since May of 2020.

Sources:

Milwaukeemag.com

Legendsofamerica.com

Lindagodfrey.com

MyRacineCounty.com

History Channel’s Monster Quest

Travel Channel’s Monsters and Mysteries in America

Cryptidz.fandom.com

[technofantasia]

Rise of the TMNT Timeline

Alright, by piecing together some clues from the show and making some educated guesses, I’ve put together a tentative chronology for Rise!

(Note: not all episodes are included, just a couple that either have timeline evidence or are somehow plot notable. This is assuming the canonical episode order is also chronological order.)

[EDIT] Added some more information (namely Splinter’s birthday month).

1600s-ish: The Shredder was created and sealed away September 1960: Splinter was born 1966: Splinter’s mother left (Finale part 1 flashback) 1979: Splinter left for America (Finale part 1 flashback) 1980-1984: Splinter became an action film star, dated around 1984: Splinter started dating Big Mama 1987: Splinter’s “Hot Soup: the Game” was released 1989: Splinter proposed to Big Mama, was imprisoned in Battle Nexus November 2002: April was born April-August 2003: (Presumably) Raph was born April-August 2004: (Presumably) Leo and Donnie were born April-August 2005: (Presumably) Mikey was born October 2005: Splinter and the Turtles were mutated February 2014: The first Lair Games was held 2014-2016: Donnie made his first battleshell, goggles, and tech bracer Early 2018: Piebald was flushed August 2018: Mystic Mayhem (the series begins), Down with the Sickness September 2018: The Turtle Tank was created (The Fast and the Furriest), Bug Busters, Hypno part Deux October 2018: Bullhop,  Evil League of Mutants, Shelldon was first created (Smart Lair), Shadow of Evil November 2018: April’s 16th Birthday (Warren and Hypno), April meets Sunita (Operation: Normal) December 2018: Snow Day January 2019: S1 Finale February 2019: The sixth Lair Games was held (Lair Games), Repairin’ the Baron March 2019: Air Turtle April-May 2019: S2 Finale

(Reasoning below the cut!)

So. Assuming that the episodes occur in chronological order, we can reasonably assume that the course of the show proper takes around or slightly less than a year.

In Hypno Part Deux, April is going to a homecoming dance; homecoming dances happen usually around the beginning of the school year, in late September or early October. Since she is canonically 15 at the time (she says she’s 16 in Always Be Brownies, which happens after her birthday) and has a birthday that comes after homecoming, that would likely make her a high school junior! That’s not important, just a fun fact. Placing the beginning of the series around August makes sense, then, since it’d be before April started school and during flu season, giving Splinter a good reason for catching the rat flu in Down with the Sickness.

The other solid time marker we have is Snow Day, which obviously takes place during snow season in New York (which is usually December to March). It’d likely be closer to December, since I’d like to imagine that they would have gone out to have fun in the snow as soon as they could have, potentially even at first snow. Since Lair Games comes chronologically after Snow Day and confirms the year as being 2019, we can assume that most episodes that happen before Snow Day happened in 2018 while those after happened in 2019.

Another, slightly more tenuous time marker is Bullhop, where a calendar is shown that says the 21st of the month was on a Sunday; by our previous assumption, this is 2018, so a calendar shows this must have been during the month of October, which falls in line with the rest of our timeline here! Neat. The 2018-2019 NBA season went from October 6 to April 10, so, since Air Turtle presumably showed a late season game with potential for turnaround, early March seems like a fair bet. All of those episodes combined give a pretty good sense of time throughout the series, spanning from probably around August 2018 to Mid-2019. The finale could have happened any time after March and before June (when high school would end, meaning Sloppy Joe wouldn’t have had to be working Draxum’s kitchen). Because there were quite a few episodes that should have happened before the finale, though, I’ll split the difference and say the S2 finale happened in or around May.

Fun detail: by this timeline, April’s birthday is sometime between October and December/January, likely November (seeing as it comes after Bullhop but before Snow Day, and judging by the fall colors of the foliage in Operation Normal which comes directly after her birthday episode.)

As for the brothers, we can assume that they might have different birthdays judging by how in Lair Games, Mikey says that one of his favorite days is “my birthday”; if they all shared a birthday, he might have been more likely to say “our birthday”. They were mutated sometime close to October, but since they didn’t seem to see the date of their mutation as anything special in ELoM, we can assume they don’t celebrate it as their birthday. We know that at the beginning of the show, Mikey is 13, Leo and Donnie are 14, and Raph is 15; at no point during the show do any of them have a birthday, which leads me to assume that they are the same ages by the S2 finale. They COULD have had a birthday offscreen, but since birthdays are a pretty big thing for teenagers, I’d think that if one of them had a birthday it would be pretty noteworthy. I’ll just guess and say they didn’t have one. If that’s the case, then all of their birthdays would be some time between April-ish and August-ish. By the time the show starts, then, they would have already had their birthdays, confirming for us their (probably only guessed anyway but whatever) birth years as 2003, 2004, and 2005. Realistically, Splinter probably didn’t know how much older Raph was from any of the others or anything like that, but the years are still somewhat important for age calculation purposes. I could try to guess their birthday months by saying they might all have wanted a unique birthday month, but that would be complete conjecture on my part (as compared to the rest of this which is just mostly conjecture), and would honestly be more headcanon territory than an educated guess? So for the timeline I’ll just say that their birthdays are between April and August.

Now, reaching further backwards to figure out Splinter’s life timeline!

In Splinter’s memories in E-turtle Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, we see a clip of a teenage Splinter. Said “teenage splinter” looks to be on the older side of teenager, as he seems to have his own apartment and just looks older besides, so I’d place him at either 18 or 19 (leaning towards 19). Additionally, taking a look around his room, it looks like he might be using a Sony Walkman (first made in 1979), and has what looks to be a Star Wars poster on his wall (1977). Additionally, he has a TV in his room that looks to be a Toshiba Blackstripe model that was popular in the mid-to-late 70s. While I can’t tell if he does actually have a walkman or not, I’d probably place this scene as being 1978 or 1979 anyway, so let’s just say it’s 1979. If he was 19 in 1979, that would place Splinter’s birth year as 1960, which is nice and even so I’m keeping it. That would make Splinter 58-59 during the course of the show, which seems to track! He has a birthday in Mascot Melee (the turtles are buying him a new robe as a birthday present), which, according to my episode timeline, puts his birthday around early September.

The flashback of Splinter as a kid is a little bit tricky, since he looks to be about five or six judging by how he acts in the scene? But he’s also holding a Kamen Rider doll, and that show didn’t exist until 1971. I nonetheless place the scene in 1966, since this is a cartoon and hey, maybe the Kamen Rider equivalent came out a few years earlier in this world, who cares. The bottle flip challenge already apparently happened in 2014 here, why not move some other stuff around? This exercise has already had me comparing calendar days, I will not be deterred

In Many Unhappy Returns, the clapperboard for the film “Crouching Shrimp, Hidden Tiger Prawn” in Splinter’s flashback shows that it was 1984 when he first met Big Mama, meaning that he was not only Lou Jitsu by then (at just 24 years old!), but that he had been making movies for at least a few years. After all, he and Big Mama were supposedly inseparable after meeting, and in The Shadow of Evil, it’s shown that Splinter did date around a bit as a star. Assuming that rat dad isn’t the cheating type, that would have had to be before meeting Big Mama. In Fists of Furry, Splinter mentions that he hasn’t seen any of his dojos in thirty years; while he may not have meant literally thirty years on the dot, assuming he’s at least close, that would mean that he was first abducted around 1989 (age 29). At that point, he and Big Mama would have been dating for around 5 years, which seems like a reasonable amount of time for him to wait before proposing. He also would have had time to build up quite a bit of fame as a movie star; the game he had of him looks to be on a system similar to the Atari 2600 and in fact looks pretty similar to the real life game “Kung Fu Master” that came out on Atari in 1987, a year which would have been the prime of his career. Sure, that date works as well as any. After that point, we know he was imprisoned in the Battle Nexus until Baron Draxum kidnapped him in order to use his DNA to mutate the turtles 13 years before The Evil League of Mutants. That would have placed his kidnapping and their mutations at around October of 2005, judging by the monthly timeline of the show. So, Splinter would have been around 45 when he adopted the turtles, after having been imprisoned and forced to fight for ~16 straight years. Dang.

Finally, I figured that the whole deal with Shredder and Karai would have happened at some point in the 1600s as it was 18 generations ago, judging by the number of “greats” in Karai’s grandma title, and if you average out a generation to be about 20-25 years, that lands you in the range of the 15th century. That works especially because Ninja apparently first started becoming a thing in the 15th century, so the timing checks out well enough.

(and, just as an extra fun note for the timeline, the lair games was said to have been going on for 6 years as of early 2019, meaning it must have started in 2014. We see that, in 2014 (year 1 of the Lair Games), Donnie doesn’t have his goggles or battleshell and is instead wearing glasses. In 2016 (year 3), though, he looks about the same as he does in the present, meaning he must have created all his tech that he wears on him (battleshell, goggles, tech bracer) between 2014 and 2016.)

So, the above timeline is a guesstimated and shoved around compilation of all this totally meaningless investigation, typed in a form that makes some kind of chronological sense! I hope that someone finds it useful, or just fun to think about :D

[teyvattherapist]

Twin Swords - Act i - Vita Altaris

“There’s Xiao!” Paimon pointed out and the two of you made your way to the Yaksha currently standing beside the balcony railing of the Wangshu Inn. “Maybe he’ll know how to destroy that statue!” Her words made sense, maybe he would know. The path up to the inn was quick and Xiao didn’t immediately disappear upon hearing you two approach.

~You and Paimon explain what happened in the domain~

Xiao seems momentarily lost in thought as he processes the situation. Paimon opens her mouth to speak when he cuts her off. “In Mondstadt, there’s a man. He’s a captain with the Knights of Favonius. He wields Cryo, hard to miss him. He’d be more suited to help than I.” Xiao directs as he crosses his arms over his chest. Paimon nods and turns to you, a captain that wields cryo and has questionable connections who could that be-

“Let’s go see Captain Kaeya!”

~You and Paimon head to Mondstadt and seek out the captain in the courtyard of the KoF~

“Well hello there, traveler.” Kaeya smiles, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyes you. While you relay the summons from Xiao, Kaeya cuts you off before you get a chance to explain the statue and what happened. “You’re not looking for me, I’m afraid.” Kaeya waved his hand halfheartedly. “You’re looking for somebody in Springvale, I’m not sure if he’s home though. Check near the waterfall nonetheless.”

>“How many cryo captains are there?!”

>”Cryo seems popular with the knights.”

Kaeya laughs, arm around his stomach as he giggles in a way that you always questioned whether or not it was real. “Quite a few I’m afraid. You’ll want to go soon, it’s getting dark.” Kaeya straightened out, a small smirk on his face as he notes the time of day.

“Come on, traveler!” Paimon insisted, floating around you.

~Find the house in Springvale~

Finding the house that sat away from the rest wasn’t difficult, however taking a peek inside the window and seeing an oddly dressed man with Albedo of all people, was surprising enough to warrant a falter in your step. Paimon gasped, hiding on the side of the window as she watched the scene unfold in front of her.

“I heard from my contact that the Abyss Order is planning to create a sort of mechanised God.” The man’s voice was low, you had to press your ear against the door to hear him speak. Albedo hummed, the relatively stoic alchemist seemed distraught by the news.

“Using a God to overthrow the Divine, isn’t that against what the Abyss stands for?” Albedo questioned, waving his hand to the side as he looked up at the strange man, the man in question merely shrugged. “Not to mention, combining technology of Khaenri’ah with such power..”

“Yes, dangerous indeed. I must admit I find this all troublesome. The location of the statue hasn’t yet been revealed to me, however. My contact is-”

You furrow your brow when the speaking ceases, were they just speaking quieter? “What are you doing eavesdropping on us?” A voice behind you and Paimon startled you both, your companion shrieking as she turned around to stare at the man that was previously inside the house.

(How did he get out here? There shouldn’t be a back door..?)

The door opened and Albedo looked down at you, teal eyes blinking. “Honorary Knight, Paimon. Don’t worry about them, they aren’t here to cause problems.” Albedo lifted his head to look at the man who hummed, arms crossing over his chest as he walked by you, Albedo moving so he could enter what was supposedly his home. “Come inside.”

Inside the house you’re able to explore the open floor plan of the kitchen and living room. A jar placed on its lonesome on one of the counters in the kitchen held a black flower, glowing blue lines pulsating through it. It was interesting indeed, unlike anything you had ever seen so far in your exploration of Teyvat. (An immortalised flower given as a favour from a godless traveler.)

“This is Medical Captain Ohm Ambros. He’s with the Knights of Favonius, our main medical practitioner.” Albedo introduced them, the man in question raising a hand to give a short wave, a lingering smile on his face. Now that you could see him better you noted the odd marks on his face, two navy blue crescents under each eye. Not to mention the various scars that littered his facial features.

Paimon introduced you and herself and you went to check out the bookshelf, a smaller one compared to the rest given it was shoved into an alcove in the wall. Only two books catch your eyes, the first volume of a series dubbed the Altars of Reality; a Tale of Favours. And another book, a black and heavy tome that seems to have red script. (A tome on a forsaken art, it’s written in a language you don’t understand.)

The only other thing of note in the living room was a red feathered quill held up in a quill stand on the mantelpiece, so you moved to investigate it while Albedo and Ohm quietly chatted with Paimon. The feather was certainly red, but upon closer inspection it shimmered a strange gold, the same way the medical captain’s coat seemed to shimmer in certain lighting. (The feather of an endless reincarnation given as a favour from the dawn knight.)

“Ohm just returned from a medical expedition in Fontaine, let’s try and make this quick.” Albedo speaking for the captain was odd enough. (Paimon doesn’t think Mister Albedo is being entirely truthful..) Something just felt off about their relationship to one another, of course they worked together. But what else was there? It didn’t help the lilac eyes boring into you unnerved you greatly.

~You and Paimon explain what happened in the domain~

“So Xiao sent us to find a cryo captain and we went to Kaeya but Kaeya sent us here, to you! Apparently you can help us destroy the statue!” You nod along to Paimon’s explanation. Albedo put his thumb under his chin, pointer finger on his lip as he listened intently to what Paimon had been explaining. Ohm finally stopped looking at you, he seemed relatively lost in thought.

“Well, if Adeptus Xiao sent for me, I must oblige. We leave at once.”

“May I come? I’d like to research this statue..” Albedo interjected and Ohm nodded his head. Paimon gleefully agrees, it has been a while since you did any work with the alchemist after all. Plus a familiar person joining you on a journey with the questionable captain would be more comfortable than going alone.

~Head to Liyue and find the domain~

“Back to what you were saying, Ohm, what happened to your contact?”

“I received a letter when I got back to Mondstadt, he’s missing. Though I have a hunch I know where he is now..” Ohm seems to sigh as the four of you walk. “Nevertheless, I’m not worried about him. I’m more worried about the Abyss Order. One nation has already fallen due to a single person’s inability to reel themselves in. We don’t need any more damages.”

(Could he be speaking about Khaenri’ah? How much does he know?)

“Yes, well, destroying the statue should thwart their plans. Where is this domain?” Albedo questions, looking at you and Paimon. You’re nearly there.

Upon entering the domain however.. You find everything to be different. The statue is missing and there are multiple abyss mages. Before you have time to react both you and Albedo are thrown to the side, hitting the wall. Your vision remains just enough to watch Ohm disappear from the spot he was standing in, thus dodging the mitachurl’s attack.. Everything goes black.

“May the Gods be with me!”

You find your entire team revived, sitting at half HP despite the ambush attack. So.. This was the power of the Medical Captain. The captain in question flips his sword in his hand, eyeing the multiple cackling Abyss Mages. Now’s the time to fight.

~Ohm Ambros Trial~

“Well that was a strange turn of events.” Albedo comments once the mages and mitachurl were destroyed. “Where is this statue, traveler?” The blond alchemist questions, turning towards you. It was here previously, then again all of this had been different.. But now..

Ohm bends down, gloved fingers brushing some soil on the ground, he picks some up, rubbing it between his fingers. “I have a contact in Liyue Harbour that I want to investigate this soil. Albedo, let’s split a sample.” Ohm called out and Albedo nodded, bending as well so they could split some of the mysterious soil.

~Find Ohm’s contact in Liyue Harbour~

You blink up at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Who just exactly was Ohm’s contact? Speaking of contacts.. He seems to have so many strange contacts. “Ah, Ohm? It’s been a long time. What brings you to Liyue?” A familiar voice has you turning around, watching as Zhongli closes the distance between you three.

“Mister Zhongli! I’m here on business, I’m afraid.” Ohm held out the bag of dirt and Zhongli took the item without fuss. “I need you to tell me which nation this soil is from, I noted traces of a peculiar stone, I’m hoping you could pinpoint the location for me.”

“Of course, give me a moment.” Zhongli stands off to the side as he investigates the soil. Ohm leaned against one of the pillars while he waited, arms crossing over his chest as he watched the funeral consultant work.

(He seems to know more about everything going on in general.. I should talk to him.)

“Captain Ambros!”

“Please, Captain Ohm if you must defer to me as my rank, I prefer just Ohm though. What can I help you with?”

>”What do you know about the Abyss Order?”

>”What do you know about Khaenri’ah?”

>”What do you know about the Archons?”

Ohm laughs, his eyes squeezing shut as he did so. When he reopened his eyes, you noticed the dull shade of lilac at this distance. There was no shine. “I know everything that I should, traveler.” He answers despite your question. And you are left with a familiar scratch at the back of your head, where did you hear that specific sentence again?

“Favoured one,” Zhongli calls out and Ohm pushes himself from the pillar. “The soil is as you guessed.” You furrow your brow as you wait for clarification, watching as Paimon questions just what that means. But it seems Zhongli isn’t keen on giving answers.

“Thank you Mister Zhongli! Well, Traveler. Your journey with the statue ends here. Unless it turns up in Teyvat again, it is currently inaccessible. I’ll leave the rest of your journey to you. Should you ever need medical assistance, I’m generally at my lab, feel free to stop by my home as well though!” Ohm pulls something from his pouch and he holds it out to you.

+1 Ohm’s Medicinal Cream 4*, restores 40% of Max HP and an additional 1500 to the selected character.

You take the red gel, pocketing the item. With your goodbyes said and done you walk off, but before you got too far you gestured Paimon closer, hiding behind some rocks, where you could still hear but you couldn’t see the mysterious captain and the ex-archon.

“Will you be staying in Liyue long, Moon?”

“After you stupidly gave up your gnosis without thinking? No. You can fell your own demons, Rex Lapis.” Your eyes went wide upon hearing the exchange, favoured one? Moon? It was like one of the stories you read, it sounded vaguely familiar. Beyond that though, this proved that Ohm knows who Zhongli really is.. Not many people can say the same.

“I’ve done my duty.”

“No, your duty was to find a replacement, the same way the previous archons have done. What you did was dodge your responsibilities, place them on the back of Aether/Lumine who will not be here one day. That is far from fair.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

“I usually am. When was the last time I was wrong?”

“Many years now, Moon. Tell me, before you go at least, how are your expeditions to Snezhnaya going?”

Ohm scoffed, the sound of footsteps and his voice was now further away. “The Sun remains missing in action. Need I remind you, Prime of the Adepti, I am contracted to Mondstadt, not Liyue. I’ll see you around.” His footsteps faded and you listened to Zhongli sigh before he entered the funeral parlour.

“So let me get this straight..” Paimon started, turning to you with wide eyes. “The medical captain of Mondstadt is on good enough terms with Adeptus Xiao for him to send us to him, he knows that Zhongli is Rex Lapis,” you nod, “he knows Albedo well enough to discuss private matters in his home, he has a book on some ancient art that not even Paimon can decipher..” She trailed off putting a hand to her head as you continued to encourage her wrap up.

“He knew of the statue before it was mentioned to anybody else, he knows something about the Abyss Order’s plans, or at least his supposed contact does, he lies about the expeditions he goes on, and he knows something about the fall of Khaenri’ah?! How are we supposed to trust this guy?!” Paimon whined as she shook her head.

>Kaeya seems to trust him.

>Albedo seems to trust him.

>Zhongli seems to trust him.

“Maybe so, but that calls into question how much we can trust them? Who do you think his contact is?” She questioned out loud and you brought your hand to your face as you thought it over, eyebrows furrowing once more.

(I know everything that I should.. My true name...)

>It’s Dainsleif!

~Quest Complete~