#anyway this post us brought to you by my awful fucking cough i sound like ive smoked cigarettes since the womb

[muchmossymess]

Raaa I'm a big scary dog I bark and bite and roll over for pets and tear apart possums and eat their heads and you might need to put me down because I am a danger to have around small children

[13uswntimagines]

Better To Be Friends Than Competition (Lindsey x Reader)

Author’s Note: This Technically wasn’t requested, but @literaryhedgehog and i had a blast writing this. It’s the Harry Potter AU. Basically, reader is a muggleborn who really wants to be a chaser, but maybe there’s a better position for her on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. This is the beginning of what will be a multi-part series following the building romance between two amazing characters and how our golden octet help them out along the way. 

@sleep-deprived-athlete​

“Alright, you’ve all been told the rules and had the chance to warm up. So let’s start by dividing into groups. Anyone who wants to be a seeker follow Mia there to the far side of the field. Beaters to the left with Foudy. Keepers to the goalposts with Hope. And chasers with me up top,” Brandi said with a wave of her hand, kicking off of the ground and heading towards where her group was going to meet. 

You snuck a glance to either side of you as you also kick off and head to your position, trying to guess who out of the eight students around you is going to be your biggest competition. Surely you thought more people would have wanted a chance at a spot on one of the best teams at Hogwarts. Tryouts had been packed for the last two years. 

You wondered which drill Brandi was going to start with as you approached the group (said woman was idily tossing a quaffle lightly in her hands as she talked to another one of your competition). For the last 2 years it was always a set of passing drills, where would-be chasers played a very complicated game of catch up and down the pitch. 

Maybe those tryouts were supposed to be private, but how else could you prepare for them if you didn’t know what to expect? 

Quidditch was honestly a really weird sport. Well, American football made less sense, but you hadn’t exactly studied the rules as extensively as you had Quidditch. Like, the game literally would not end until someone caught the snitch. According to Quidditch through the Ages a game had literally lasted for months. You remembered watching a tennis game that lasted for four days before, but generally the muggle sports you grew up with were more consistent in how long each game took.  

“Oh yeah”, you thought, watching the beaters line up across the pitch, “and there is also a ball charmed to try and knock people off their broom. That’s not normal.” Though it was something your dad found hilarious. 

Sports were always something the two of you could talk about, even before you found out you had magic. He loved the fact that you loved football as much as he did, and was thrilled by the fact that you had enough talent to play it in your primary school. 

Though with your hand eye coordination you had done better with cricket, and baseball the few times you had a chance to play it in gym. So when you had joined the wizarding world you naturally had gotten into quidditch. Learned everything you could about the game so you could give him detailed play by plays about the games when you sent owls home. 

At this point you were dying to play. You were too short to be a beater or a keeper, but you knew you could be a chaser. You could catch like nobody’s business, and you had at least half of the tactics in The Beginner's Quidditch Playbook memorized. You were going to be the best damn chaser Hogwarts had ever seen. 

“Hey space captain, you ready for this?” 

“What?” You froze, heat flooding your cheeks at being caught not paying attention. You slowly turned to face the new presence. 

You knew the girl. Well. You knew of the girl (it was impossible not to know about the very pretty blond girl). She was in your house and year (and therefore in your dorm as well as all your classes) but the two of you had never really interacted before. She seemed to already know everyone and everything when she got to Hogwarts, so it didn’t really seem like she was looking for friends, and it was hard enough trying to figure out your new life without having people look at you strangely when you didn’t know a word they used. Not that Lindsey, you thought that’s her name anyway, had done that, but other purebloods did. It was easier figuring things out on your own to start, and by the time you did, you and Lindsey had already established yourselves in different friend groups. Was her name Lindsey? A Slytherin in your year was always calling her strange nicknames, so it was hard to tell. 

“The drill. Are you ready for the drill space captain?” The girl asked again. 

“Yeah, but I’m not a captain. I’m a second year, like you,” You said softly, your eyebrows furrowing. Maybe that was a wizard saying, but you had no idea what she was talking about. Your heart also dropped just a touch because if she thought you were a captain then she had absolutely no idea who you were. 

She shook her head with a giggle (showing off her dimples). “My dad says that’s what muggles call a person with their head in the clouds,” 

You cocked your head to the side, your brain running a million miles an hour to try and figure out what she meant. But then it clicked. “Oh you mean space cadet,” 

“I guess,” She shrugged, seemingly unbothered about the correct verbiage. 

The whistle blowing brought both of your attention back towards Brandi and the first set of would-be chasers beginning the crossing drill. You coughed to hide a scoff when Lynn Williams raced at breakneck speed up the pitch, and released the quaffle at least 30 feet off where the chasing captain had instructed. 

You shook your head at the play. It was too sloppy, too open and it would never connect well with JJ and Alex up top. 

“Not impressed by what you see?” Lindsey asked, her eyebrow quirking up (trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t interested in your answer. You were her competition after all). 

“Not after Alex basically destroyed the same course last year. She’s got an 85% accuracy rating on goal and nearly 60% of her shots come off of left crosses. Williams isn’t getting high enough on the pitch to provide an adequate pass,”  You mumbled out quickly, wincing when Lynn made the same mistake on the way back, nearly sending her partner (a girl in the year below you named Mal) into the stands to catch it (though you were slightly impressed that Mal managed to grab it before it landed in the seats). 

“Yeah, I see what you mean. Her throws tend to either go too short or too long. Even if it doesn’t go directly to her partner it at least needs to be consistent so during a game the person she’s throwing it to knows where to intercept it before the other team does,” Lindsey said, taking a hand off her broom to shield her eyes.

“She’s fast but it won’t help if she forces the other chaser off her line to provide service to Alex in front of the posts,” You huffed. Having her on that side would be a positioning nightmare. It left the team open and vulnerable to so many different attacking options. 

“I am not entirely sure what that means,” Lindsey said, smirking as she looked sideways at you, “but it sounds like you don’t think she’s competition, which is good news for us!’

You opened your mouth to respond, only to be cut off by Brandi’s whistle. “Alright next pair up,” 

You gulped and tightened your fingers on your broom “Guess it’s showtime,” You muttered, surging forward to the starting line. 

“Good luck space captain, you’re gonna need it,” Lindsey called back towards you with a wink, taking the ball from Brandi. 

You shook your head. You wouldn’t need luck. A fucking golden retriever could beat out the performance you had just whitnessed. As long as you didn’t fall off your brooms, you both would be fine. 

***

You raced towards the hoops, reaching your arm out to pluck the perfectly timed ball out of its arc towards the ground. Okay, Lindsey was good. Really good. She HAD to have known how bad Lynn’s throws were, because hers were positively perfect. Your throws were good, but Lindsey had this way of arching the ball up through the air if a perfect loop so it practically fell into your hands. There was no way she didn’t practice over the summer. 

You neared the posts, starting to make your u-turn to pass the ball back when a flash of gold caught your eyes. Before you really thought it through, the hand anchoring you to your broom had already lifted to snatch it out of the air on instinct. You had played cricket for most of your life- it was instinct to reach out and grab a ball that looked like it was about to fly into your face. 

The next few seconds happened almost in slow motion. As your fingers closed around the cool metal, you realized just how far to your side you had to lean to reach the object, and how far off balance it had put you. Your legs crossed tightly as you flipped completely upside down on your broom, entirely unwilling to let go of the object you had just caught or the large quaffle still tucked tightly under your arm. Before you really knew what was happening, you were staring straight at the ground, your legs the only thing keeping you in the air. 

“Holy shit, holy shit. Um, hey Lindsey?” You called, eyes on the ground below you. 

“What?” You heard her call. You idly wondered why one of the captains hadn’t put a stop to this yet and put you out of your misery. 

“Catch?” You threw the quaffle, well tossed it really, up into the air towards where you thought the other girl was. You knew it was going to be short, but also knew that she was going to catch it anyway. She really was that good. With your now free hand you reached up and grabbed the handle of your broom so you could pull yourself to it and rotate back to an upright position. 

Only then did you look down at the tiny ball fluttering in your hand. The tiny, almost leathery, wings flapped like it was waving hello. You stared at it in awe, your lips ticking up. You had just caught the golden snitch. You never thought you would get to touch the snitch, much less catch it. 

“Hey you” a voice called from the pitch behind you. You turned to look as Mia flew from where the seeker candidates were staring hopelessly at the sky around them to land on the pitch. “Get down here. Yeah, you on the drills.” She motioned down to the pitch, indicating where you should land, then turned her head to call over her shoulder, “Brandi I’m taking number 2.” 

You quickly flew towards where she had pointed, shakily dismounting from your broom. You weren’t sure if it was fear, adrenaline or nerves, but your legs felt like jelly. You clutched the little ball in your hand so tightly that you were sure there was going to be an imprint in your palm later. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing in the chaser section?” Mia said, tucking her broom under her arm and throwing her hand up towards the group of would be chasers throwing a ball around at varying distances. (You tried not to wince when Lynn nearly pegged Mal in the face again). 

“Um, trying to be a chaser? I was always a good forward so I thought it might fit?” You mumbled with a shrug, scratching the back of your neck with your free hand. a light shade of pink covered your cheeks. It was a little embarrassing how clueless you were with the magical world sometimes, and how even after being here for two full years, you still felt completely out of your depth. 

“That’d be like using a cauldron as a teacup because they’re both the same shape. It’d work but what a waste!” 

“I…- I have no idea what that means. I know I caught the wrong thing, and I’m sorry. I’ll leave now if that’s what you want,” You stuttered out, suddenly finding the way your shoe poked the pitch underneath you interesting. 

“No, kid you misunderstand me. Look, you, what’s your name again?” Mia stepped closer, tilting her head as she looked at you. 

“Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n,” 

“Right, Y/n, you could play chaser. You’d even be a decent one with a bit of work. But that’d be a damn waste of talent. You’re a natural seeker. I’m not upset with you for catching the wrong ball, I’m upset you weren’t over in my section trying to catch the snitch in the first place. Look at that lot over there, they still think it’s somewhere over the stands.” Mia stepped next to you and turned, gestured to the group of seeker hopefuls flying in circles near the Ravenclaw seats. 

“Oh,” You breathed out, following her hand to look at the large group. They were squinting towards the stands and swooping low at whatever they thought they had spotted, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the snitch had been caught on the other side of the pitch and that Mia wasn’t even paying attention to them anymore. 

“I’ve had a lot of practice spotting this ball,” Mia said, tapping the snitch trapped in your hand. “I was able to see it within about a minute of it being released, and have been watching it since. None of them saw it when it was on their side of the field, but you saw it instantly- even when you were focused on something else. That is a talent Y/n. Why didn’t you try out for seeker in the first place?”

“I didn’t know how to practice for it, and that-. It wasn’t like any of the other positions I have ever played,” You muttered, trying to cover your insecurity with a nonchalant shrug. It seemed like the position that required the most innate ability, and as a muggleborn you didn’t think you had any. 

Mia nodded slowly looking at you. “Right,” she said, turning and mounting her broom, “I wanna run you through some drills. Come on.”

You blinked at the woman as she hovered in front of you. Your eyes darting between Mia and the object still clutched tightly in your hand. Where were you supposed to put it? Were you supposed to let it go? 

You brought your palm up so it was level with your eyes and opened your hand, half expecting the snitch to fly away. It didn’t. It’s wings slowly unfurled and it waved docilely at you. Like an old friend. 

“What’re you waiting for?” Mia called down at you.

“It won’t fly away!” You called back, looking up at the woman, who rolled her eyes indulgently. 

“Of course not, it’s yours. You caught it, and you can watch it like some love-struck puppy later- stash it in your pocket and come on!”

***

You were having a fucking blast, even though you had no idea what you were in for when you joined the seeker group. Every year when you watched tryouts, you never payed attention to what they had to do, as you never thought you would have to do it. Even without the advantage, you were killing it. 

You had been separated into pairs, just like the chasers were, but Mia had enchanted clear balls (the size of tennis balls) to randomly fly through the air. The balls were given a 5 second head start before you and your partner were allowed to race to catch it. Now this was familiar, the jostling of arms while racing after a ball and trying to prevent someone else from getting to it before you. Only once out of five rounds did your opponent get to the ball before you, but really, that elbow to your ribs was a red card if you’d ever seen one. 

Then everyone took turns hovering in the air as Mia took ten of the enchanted balls and flicked them up haphazardly one by one every five seconds. The goal was to catch as many of them as you could before they hit the ground, even as they were sent up in different directions and some much higher in the air than others. You didn’t get all of them, but the seven you saved still seemed to impress the other seeker candidates who didn’t scowl. The second highest number saved was six, but that girl still congratulated you as you got off your broom, since “those last few of them went way further out than they did for me- and you were an inch away from that eighth one!” 

You nodded, smiling at her, though you were probably more embarrassed than she realized about that eighth one. That one had been sent towards the far side of the field, where you looked up to meet Lindsey’s eyes. You had been placed perfectly to catch the ball as it started falling from it’s apex, but in the moment your hand faltered, and it brushed by your hand instead. You cursed and considered going after it, but then you flew back to where Mia had already released one of the last two on the other side of the field. 

“Alright, for our last drill, we’re going to try to catch a real snitch again,” Mia said, pulling another golden ball out from inside her robes and holding it between her thumb and pointer finger. Its wings sprung out and flapped wildly, unlike the slow waving of the one in your pocket. 

Everything in you wanted to catch the little golden ball. To tame it like you had the other one. For it to sit calmly in your hand and wave hello like an old friend. 

“Isn’t the other one still out there?” The same girl asked, her head tilting to the side. 

“It’s been taken care of,” Mia smirked and shook her head, sending a little glance in your direction. The girl stared at her wide eyed, opening and closing her mouth as though she wanted to say more, but Mia again cut her off with a stern glare. ”As I was saying, the first of you to catch it gets to keep it and also gets a boost to the points on their scorecard. Now line up,” 

You all flew low on the pitch, forming a circle with Mia and the snitch at its center. Your eyes never left the frantically flapping little ball as you waited for her whistle to blow. There was no way it was going to escape you and if you got to show off for the would be chasers watching you near the posts, that was fine with you too. 

***

“Congratulations Y/n! There’s no way you won’t get picked to be seeker,” the girl said, after Mia released you, promising that the results of the tryouts would be posted next week. 

“Oh, um thanks-...” You said trailing off towards the end, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck. You didn’t know her name. 

“Oh, sorry. You missed introductions at the beginning. I’m Savannah, from two years above you.” Savannah grinned at you, a bit ruefully. “You know, I thought this was going to be my year to nail the seeker position. But with you on the team, there’s no WAY we’re gonna lose to Slytherin. And Lloyd can stop looking so smug about the cup win last year.”

“The only reason they were better is because they had Amy and Sydney scoring.  They won despite her and her stupid tactics. If Slytherin actually got a decent seeker then we’d be in trouble,” Lindsey said, throwing her arm over your shoulder and stepping to walk between you and Savannah. 

“Carli’s decent, just distracted I think. She had NEWTS along with scouters and stuff,” you muttered, a bit defensively. You know you weren’t supposed to like the Slytherins- house competition and all that- but Carli’s strategy was pretty impressive. The recruiters certainly seemed to think so, you heard rumors that the recruiters from the Wasps and Arrows had a bidding war before the Harpies showed interest. 

“Pshh it was just the Harpies recruiter. Even if they have Potter, she’d still probably tank their win streak. At least that’d help my team,” Lindsey snorted, shaking her head. 

Your eyebrows furrowed. The Harpies were the second oldest team in the league, and since they recruited Ginny they had been on a tear taking down the Cannons and the Magpies in the final games of the European cup three years running. You thought Carli’s strategy would fit nicely in their ranks. 

“I’m pretty sure there were Wasps recruiters and Magpies guys here too,” Savannah said to Lindsey. You noticed her eyes glanced towards Lindsey’s arm around your shoulder as she smiled widely. Lindsey dramatically rolled her eyes. 

“Which team is yours?” You asked softly, leaning your head on Lindsey's shoulder as you trudged towards the locker room, ignoring Savannah. 

“The cannons of course,” Lindsey said confidently. Savannah seemed to be hiding a smirk, and waved goodbye at you as she headed into the locker room. 

“They’re pretty alright, but Ronaldo is a little too cocky for me. Sinclare and Potter together are a lethal combo for the Harpies and with Angerer in goal they’re like unstoppable,” You hummed thoughtfully. You also liked that the Harpies were an all female team. 

“Ugh, you sound like Emily,” Lindsey said, rolling her eyes. “She and Sam are giant Magpies supporters.” 

“I mean the Magpies have a 75% score rate while the Cannons are only at a 60. And Messi catches the snitch within the first hour 80% of the time, while Ronaldo’s catches take about 85 minutes on average,” you rattled off. So maybe you were a little too into statistics. At least your dad never had to worry about your math skills. 

“No way, they’re super into team stats too! Maybe you can help me convince Emily and Sam that the Cannons are the best team!”

“But Emily and Sam, whoever they are, are right. The stats don’t lie,” You said with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Oh, Emily is my friend in Slytherin and Sam‘s in Hufflepuff. I’ll introduce you later.” Lindsey said waving a hand in the air. “Anyway, the Magpies may have Messi, but the Cannons have heart! And isn’t that what really matters to make a good team great?”

You paused, pulling Lindsey to a stop beside you. “I know they don’t teach math here, but Statistics beat heart any day.” 

Lindsey laughed and shoved you playfully to the side. “You haven’t even met them and already you’re ganging up on me.” 

“I’m just stating facts. The hat almost put me in Ravenclaw cause I just love random factoids so much,” you smirked, tucking yourself back under her outstretched arm (it was just so warm and it made you feel… safe). 

“Well, I’m glad you’re in Gryffindor. It's way better to have you as a teammate than competition Space captain. Now let’s go- if we hurry we can probably get to the library to work on that potions essay before curfew.” 

[cartoonsaint]

Try Not to Use the “F-Word,” Okay?

[Ao3]

was reading about @doodledrawsthings​ ‘coffee shop au’ and thought it was interesting that from the jump Luka uses “peck” as a swear. told myself not to overthink it... so naturally here’s nearly three thousand words about the idea that Luka used to swear a LOT. not sure how in keeping it is w his character, but it certainly is in keeping w MY experiences of unthinkingly swearing around a toddler ahahah.... fuck 8)

Summary: three snapshots of luka that are definitely only about swearing (coffee shop au) Characters: Luka, Vanessa, baby Hattie, Luka’s parents. Rating: T (features swearing, implied unhealthy relationship, post-birth scene, minor bleeding) Length: 2878 words

One evening during dinner, Luka loses his grip on his fork and drops it under the table with a clatter. “Fuck,” he says mildly.

Dad gasps, which is a poor choice since he was mid-sip of water. He sputters and coughs, face turning alarmingly red, while Mom throws her head back and laughs. It’s even louder and longer than usual; even by the time Luka crawls back up from under the table, errant fork clutched in one hand and brow wrinkled in confusion over his weird parents, his mom is still laughing. His dad, though, has managed to get his breath back.

“Luka T. Princeton!” he says hoarsely, looking both absolutely scandalized and absolutely soaked from the water that escaped his mouth and cup. “We do not say that word at the dinner table!”

“What word?” Luka asks, before a metaphorical lightbulb goes off. “Oh, ‘fuck’?”

“Don’t—!” his dad says, then goes “hrng” and looks to his wife for help. 

Luka’s mom, now face-down at the dinner table in stark contrast to her usually flawless manners, just smacks the table with a fist and laughs harder. The water in Luka’s cup ripples with it, which in itself is pretty funny, but his dad still looks so uncharacteristically thunderstruck that Luka is unsure whether to join in. Plus he pulled out the full name, so… 

Luka bites his lower lip, suddenly worried. Did he do something bad…?

“Where did you even hear that word?” Dad is massaging the bridge of his nose now in the way he only does when dealing with a tough client or a call that he doesn’t want Luka to overhear, and Luka finds he has to bite his lip even harder because it wants to wobble and he’s a big kid, he’s not going to cry.

“M-Mom said it the other day, when she cut her finger,” he admits, fiddling with his fork. Dad turns to her with such a look of betrayal, even as Mom tries to stifle her continuing giggles. “Um… is it bad?”

“Yes,” Dad says, just as Mom catches her breath and says, “Well, sort of.”

Luka’s parents glance at each other in surprised confusion, but Luka barely notices. He said a bad word… Does that mean he’s bad? Despite his best efforts, his vision starts to go blurry with tears as he stares down at the fork in his hands. He doesn’t want to be bad.

“I don’t think it’s that big a deal,” his mom says.

“I do,” replies his dad, sounding baffled. “I just assumed we were on the same page with this.”

Luka sniffs, trying desperately to hold it together, but he said a bad word — but he didn’t know — but does it matter if he didn’t know? He’s still bad, right? Hot tears start to trail down his cheeks and he sniffs again, harder and louder.

“Oh, Lu,” his dad says softly and crosses around the table to kneel by Luka’s seat. Luka wipes at his eyes fruitlessly as his mom reaches across and takes his smaller hand in hers. “I’m sorry, kiddo, I didn’t mean to get upset. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s okay,” his mom tells him, giving his hand a squeeze. “It’s alright, Luka. We’re not angry — it is a, ah, a ‘bad word,’ but you didn’t know. It’s alright, sweetheart.”

Once Luka starts crying, though, it always takes him an embarrassingly long time to stop. He can’t help it. His frustration about unwillingly acting like such a dumb little kid makes his tears come faster and harder; he has to scrub at his face for a while, his dad handing him tissues, and so he doesn’t pick up on the silent conversation happening over his head between his parents.

They are a matched set in so many ways. To Luka they seem to move in perfect tandem, one picking up the tasks of the other with seamless grace. It seems so natural, so unpracticed and easy, and indeed some of it is — but as Luka cries, they communicate in a series of small expressions each has long-studied in the other: We will talk about this when Luka goes to bed. And, Well I thought it was funny. And, Alright maybe it was but I still don’t want him swearing. And, We’ll discuss it. We’ll figure it out together. I love you.

Luka never realizes. He just assumes that perfect couples are never out of sync with each other — and if they are out of sync, then they must not be perfect.

***

“Fuck, Ven, she’s perfect,” Luka breathes.

He couldn't get close enough sitting in one of the chairs, so he had been leaning against his wife's hospital bed when Vanessa passed him their child — their child, their baby, theirs — and his knees went weak. Now he’s kneeling on the tile floor, barely aware of his surroundings because in his arms he holds a truly, beautifully perfect little baby girl.

She has… a nose. He couldn’t say whether it’s more like his or Vanessa’s because this perfect bundle of joy is a scrunched up little pink newborn so mostly she looks like a lot of wrinkles that a sleepy face got on, but fuck, he loves that little nose and everything attached to it. Honestly through the tears he can barely see her right now but she’s perfect, perfect, perfect… even if she is, objectively speaking, not actually that appealing to look at. “Shit, Ven. Ven. Look at her goddamn little face, fuck.”

Vanessa makes a sound and reaches for him, touching his hand. “You don’t like her face?”

“I fucking love her face,” he says hoarsely. “I love her so goddamn much, Ven, I don’t even know how to say it. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Good,” Vanessa says tiredly. Luka doesn’t want to put their daughter down for a second so he does his best to wipe his eyes on the shoulder of his shirt sleeve. He gets to his feet only to sink right onto the bed beside his wife. His perfect, wonderful wife who has given them the tiny creature he never wants to look away from. “You wanted to name her Harriet, didn’t you?”

It’s like there’s a thread pulling his gaze directly to their daughter but he resists it for long enough to look up at the radiant woman he loves. She’s watching him, eyes glittering. “Do you mean…?”

She gives him one of her luminous smiles, even exhausted as she clearly is. “If it’s what you want, my love.”

Luka’s heart leaps as he looks down at their daughter — at Harriet. “Harriet,” he whispers in wonder. “Little Harry.”

Vanessa’s grip on his arm briefly tightens. “No,” she says.

Luka can’t help the wet laugh that comes out of him, though he tries to keep it down for the sake of his exhausted wife. “No,” he agrees. “How about… Hattie? Little Hattie?”

Hattie sleeps on, a teeny tiny person wrapped up safe in Luka’s trembling arms. He’s probably going to get dehydrated from all this crying and his face already hurts from how hard he’s smiling but, fuck, he doesn’t care about that at all when their perfect daughter is right here. “Hm? Hattie? How’s that sound, princess?” And he presses a gentle, wet kiss to Harriet’s brow.

Luka doesn’t notice Vanessa’s stung shock. He doesn’t notice the shadow of fear, anger, and confusion that darkens her face as she looks between her husband and the daughter she’s given him. It will take him a long time to realize his assumptions about their mutual goals as a unit are different.

For now, he loves Vanessa with all his heart — and loves their little Hattie just as much, if not more.

***

“Fuck,” Luka hisses, jerking his hand out of the hot, soapy water to check his fingertip. Blood wells up from its soft pad, mixing and diluting in the dirty dishwater. “Fuck,” he sighs again, and turns the squeaky nozzle of his shitty sink to run clean water over it. What kind of a fucking fool leaves a sharp knife in the sink like that, anyway.

Obviously, he does. This god awful apartment is just his, after all — he’d run here as soon as he could manage to pull together both the separate funds and distance necessary to prevent Vanessa locating it. This place is safe: Vanessa has never been here, and as of today she never will. So it’s safe, that is, from her — not from Luka’s own inability to keep track of where the goddamn sharp objects are.

“Stupid,” he mutters to himself as the water rushing over his cut starts to run clean. “Shithead.”

It’s been a weird day — a weird week — shit, a weird few years, if Luka thinks about it. When Vanessa came into his life, she seemed to him so bright that nothing else was worth looking at. It took until their daughter — his daughter, now — for Luka to start looking into the darkness she brought as well. Then the divorce proceedings, custody battles, the restraining order — for so long it had seemed that the legal system would fail Luka and Harriet, that Vanessa’s long shadow would follow them wherever they went.

Until earlier this week, that is, when Vanessa used magic in the courtroom.

Things had happened quickly from there. The paperwork barring Vanessa in his and Hattie’s life was just signed and made official today; his copies are still set neatly on the junky, second-hand kitchen table until he figures out exactly where to put them. After so long, it’s finally over. He and Hattie are free.

The old pipes complain as he turns the water off. The cut isn’t too bad, but he probably ought to bandage it anyway. He wipes away the spilled water with a ratty towel, turning to —

“Ffffpffpffpfpfpflllffff,” says Hattie from right by Luka’s feet, which is also outside of her playpen.

“Fuck!” Luka yelps, leaping about a foot in the air. Hattie stops blowing air through her lips to smile up at him, totally angelic. Luka presses a hand to his chest, staring at his little girl. “Kiddo! You scared me! How did you—?”

He looks across the small, open floorplan into the den, where he’s set up several different brands and varieties of baby gates to keep Hattie out of the kitchen when he’s occupied with cooking or cleaning. Her many toys are left behind, the gates apparently untouched, but somehow she’s escaped them — again — to hug Luka’s leg and smile up at him.

He smiles back, of course — he couldn’t deny her anything. And even if it is a problem that his little girl can’t be contained anywhere, he feels a swell of pride at her continued and baffling ingenuity — as well as a slight prickling in his eyes because even with all her toys she always just seems to want to be close to him. “No one’s gonna keep you trapped anywhere, huh, sweetheart?” he asks, squatting down to ruffle her light brown waves.

“Fffpllfpllfff,” Hattie replies importantly, graciously accepting the affection.

“Ah, I see. Your jumping abilities are unmatched, are they?” Luka says in return. His daughter started moving early, her curiosity about the world apparently unable to be sated with just looking even when she was just a few months old. She has always wanted to touch, to crawl, to walk — just the other day Luka could swear he caught her trying to climb the couch. His little princess is unstoppable, and his pride in her every step has gotten him teary-eyed more than once (more than once this week, even).

“Fffflpllplflffff,” Hattie tells him, eyes bright. She smiles hugely in between blowing air through her lips. What she lacks in the ability to form words (she’s a little late, and Luka’s not worried, exactly, but he is watching that with hawk-like eyes) she makes up for in expression. She turns her big blue eyes to the hand Luka isn’t using to brush back her wavy locks, curious. “Fffllllllllflflplf?”

“Oh, your dad cut himself,” Luka explains, showing her the slim red line of blood beading up on the pad of his finger. “Pretty stupid, if you ask — oh, sweetie, don’t—!” She’s grabbed his finger in a little fist before he can stop her, smearing blood all over it. He quickly scoops her into his lap, frowning down at her messy hand. “Fuck. Alright, we’ll just—”

“Fffffffuck,” Hattie says clearly.

Luka blinks once. Twice. He looks down at his daughter, who is beaming up at him with clear pride.

“...what,” Luka says.

“Flffflpplf.”

“A-alright, okay, that’s — sorry, princess, your dad thought for a second there you said—”

“Pllllfffflllplflflfff. Fffuck!” Hattie says again. Then she claps her little hands together in delight, further spreading the blood between them.

“Ha,” says Luka, voice unusually high. “Hahaha I? You??? …Alright! Alright! This, ah, this is fine, kiddo, we’ll just—”

“Fuck! Ffplplffuck fuck fuck?”

Luka takes a deep breath. Then he takes another one.

When Harriet was first born, he’d made an effort to cut back on the swearing. He had the ability to turn it off, after all, in the courthouse and with clients, so presumably it should have been easy to transfer that back home, too. But changing the way he’s spoken for years in his own space turned out to be quite difficult; with the stress of the past few months, that effort had been one of the many things to fall by the wayside in favor of more immediate concerns.

So Luka has been swearing a lot lately. And his sweet Hattie has been quietly soaking it all up, patiently biding her time until she could attempt to communicate with her dad in his own language.

“Ffffuck?” Hattie asks, eyes concerned. She presses one dirty hand to Luka’s face, as though attempting to stem the flow of tears. “Fffpllppff?”

“Oh, princess, I’m sorry,” he tells her, rubbing his wet face on his shoulder to clear his eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have — I—” He sniffs, then exhales hard. “Alright. Daddy’s been saying some bad words lately, but he’s gonna stop now, okay?”

“Fuck!”

A part of Luka really, really wants to laugh, actually, because damn is Hattie cute with her big, sparkling eyes, her chubby cheeks uplifted with a smile, the absolute adoration on her face as she looks up at him for approval. The contrast between how sweet she looks in her bird-patterned onesie and the foul language coming out of her mouth is almost —

“Fuck?”

“Nope!” he says brightly. “We’re gonna try something different! Okay, kiddo?” Hattie tilts her head adorably and Luka’s chest squeezes — fuck he loves her. “Hmmm…”

She watches him silently as he thinks. In the dozens of parenting books he’s read there was never anything explicitly about what to do if a toddler started cursing (because no one else has this problem because only he is this bad a dad, holy shit), but he can recall a number of chapters about encouraging them in pronunciation…

He’ll need something that sounds like “fuck,” but definitely isn’t. He laces his fingers together, tilting his head at Hattie. She pats his hands, looking solemnly back. He sticks his tongue out at her; delighted, she does the same. What word to use?

He notices that her orange onesie has penguins on it. 

“Alright, kiddo, this is going to be a little silly,” he says, and goes, “fllpppplffffpeck.”

It might be easier to just let this go, to let Hattie say and do whatever she wants, and part of Luka is tempted. But he knows now how important it is to talk in a family, to put in the work to understand one another. This situation might be a minor instance of it, but he wants to make sure he and Hattie never have a problem talking to each other. He’s willing to put in the work, as much as it takes.

It takes an hour or so to convince her that “peck” is superior to “fuck.” The process is complicated by the continued desire to laugh every time she swears, but eventually they manage, and Hattie goes toddling off merrily chanting, “peck peck peck peck.”

Luka painfully hauls himself up (shit, his tailbone hurts) to finally finish doing the dishes in water that has long gone cold. This is a good start, he thinks, but he’ll need to watch his own language as well. Maybe he can encourage Hattie’s positive association with the word with a bird toy or something? He considers this as he reaches into the water to unplug the drain —

And jerks his hand back as the same finger grazes probably the same goddamn knife. “Fff—!”

“Peck!”

He glances over his shoulder. Hattie is painstakingly tugging at the baby gates, trying to get back into the playpen he knows she knows he prefers her to be in. Her eyes are solemn, watching him for what he’ll do.

“...peck,” he agrees weakly. She smiles brilliantly and goes back to her toddler work.

God, he fu— he pecking loves her.

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Metamorphosis Chapter 27: Nesting

Huzzah!! I’m so excited to finally bring you Chapter 27!! You can catch up on where we left off in Ch26 HERE (since its been awhile), or head on over to the master list. Metamorphosis is also up to date at AO3!

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night with Jamie? How would that change the plot points we all know and love?

Ch27 fits in the Season One finale episode of the show, or towards the end of the book timeline. Claire and Jamie have OFFICIALLY left Scotland’s shores and are on their way to safety in France!

Claire. Midday, February 21st, 1744; Somewhere in the English Channel

I shifted cautiously on the outrageously uncomfortable crate my husband had deposited me on, trying not to make any noise, but it creaked and groaned just as much as my aching joints were at present — tattling my discomfort to Jamie, who I swore had batlike hearing.

“I have the bucket jus’ here,” Jamie commented cautiously from somewhere behind me, alluding to the fact that I had absolutely nothing left in my stomach after several bouts with the receptacle.

“Do ye need it again?”

“No,” I bit out as the muscles in my lower back spasmed, a band tightening around my waist with an increasingly bothersome intensity.

What I needed was to move around… to be able to stretch my stiff limbs and appease my offended muscles. I voiced this suggestion — a slow turn about the room with assistance — and a sudden, Scottish noise of amused non-committance sounded from my left.

Snapping my head in Murtagh’s direction, I found him bracing his weight casually against a post, one arm raised as he held onto a beam just above his head. The ship heaved just then and I could see the tendons in his wrist tighten as he steadied himself.

He caught my gaze and lifted brow as if to say ye’d fall on yer arse in a moment, lass.

I sighed, abandoning his support and craned my neck in search of my husband. The room was dim and stacked high with crates and bundles, easy enough to lose track of a bored yet always curious Jamie.

He’d made no comment in support or negation of my request, but was currently choosing to remain out of sight.

“What are you up to over there, anyway?” I eventually huffed when it became clear that neither of them had any intention of helping me.

“Ach, tis nothin’,” he tried to dismiss my attention, which piqued Murtagh’s in turn and drew the older man to his side like a magnet.

“Just a wee bit of putterin’ to pass the time is all.”

An amused sound of delight came from the elder of my two companions and I heard him slap Jamie on the back… hard.

Making no effort to hide my amusement, I heard my husband begin to protest the joyful abuse befallen him but his words were interrupted by Murtagh’s enthusiastic, “Now how’d ye manage that, ye wee fiend?!”

There was an exchange of heated Gaelic conversation — so overlapped that I was confident I’d have a hard time following even if they were speaking English — and then I quite suddenly found myself being lifted by my elbows and carted off to the other side of the room!

I objected strongly as my hips screamed in protest at their pace and was about to dig my heels in and balk completely when we came to a screeching halt before what looked remarkably like a bed.

“How the bloody fucking hell—“ my voice broke and I stared down at my husband’s miracle in disbelief, then turned to look up at him in awe.

“God, I love you, James Fraser.”

Murtagh cackled with glee at this and Jamie bent his head to kiss me in support of my declaration. I expected a quick peck on the cheek or a rather brief smooch on the lips — we didn’t exactly have the room to ourselves — but was taken aback by a kiss that made a thrumming warmth begin to grow between my legs. The heat spread across my hips and up my spine, loosening my muscles and made me feel quite suddenly completely and utterly exhausted.

I sighed as he pulled away, inquiring, “When can I crawl in?”

“Now if ye like,” one shoulder rose in a shrug and Jamie explained his construction plans. “That is, if ye dinna mind us building a wee fence around ye.”

“A fence?” I stared up at him incredulously.

“Oh, aye!” This came from Murtagh. “We canna have ye rollin’ aboot, now can we?”

Jamie caught the glare that his godfather missed entirely — being that he stood between the two of us — and bit his lip in a failed effort not to betray the mirth that clearly bubbled up inside him.

“Think of it more as a wee nest than a paddock, Sassenach,” he chose his words more carefully, then realized he quite liked them and patted my arm rather patronizingly. “A wee nest for my mother hennie, aye?”

“As long as I’m not a wallowing sow,” I grumbled, making Jamie choke in an effort to conceal a laugh.

This assuaged me a good deal and I felt myself smile a bit as I prodded him in the ribs, “Are you going to help me with my shoes or am I to track mud all over your beautiful nest?”

Jamie perched me on a nearby crate and knelt to shed me of my shoes. There wasn’t much to the flimsy things and what they were composed of was now completely sodden in mud and sea water that they all but fell off my feet with his guidance. He set them neatly aside and began to rub my aching feet, bringing warmth and a rush of blood back into the extremities with a burning pins and needles sensation.

I winced and his face contorted in contrition.

“Christ, I’m sorry, a leannan,” he crooned, keeping up his blessed work. “Ye deserve a proper bed and a fire ragin’ in the hearth…  no’ this lumpy mess wi’ barely even a plaid to keep ye warm.”

Reaching out my hand, I brushed the curls from his brow and cupped his cheek in my palm, “You know I’m not above sleeping on the ground.”

Though I thanked my lucky stars it wouldn’t come to that just now.

“And I have you to keep me warm,” I nudged him with my toe, making Murtagh cough behind me.

Jamie gave him a look, but his gaze softened as it returned to me, “Aye, well, I only wish I could give ye more.”

My hand moved to the place where one of the baby's heels pressed sharply against my side and I reached for him. His hand moved to mine, slipping beneath it to feel the life within.

“You’ve given me more than I could ever dream,” I whispered hoarsely.

…

Jamie.

“Lay with me?”

The flicker of uncertainty in Claire’s eyes cut me to the quick.

Did she really think I wouldn’t?

Nodding, I made quick work of my own filthy shoon and dropped them beside the entrance to the cove of safety Murtagh and I had built for her.

Her wee nest.

The thought warmed me and brought a smile to my lips as I gingerly crawled in beside my wife.

“Always, mo nighean donn,” I assured her, arranging the plaid around us both as I curved my form around hers.

It dawned on me in an instant that it wasn’t my presence she doubted… it was her ability to fall asleep. She looked dog tired and pale as any winter’s snow, but now that I had her in my arms, her restless spirit was made clear.

Claire shifted her hips, first this way then another, always finding it unsuitable and moving back… then tried adjusting her head and shoulders, first moving closer to me — I received a an accidental elbow to the ribs but didn’t comment — then away again, all without success until she was left completely spent and utterly exhausted.

I had loosened my arms around her, giving her full range of motion to seek the best position for sleep, but now that I knew this was an impossible task — I thought I might have a try.

Pulling her close without ceremony, I tucked her head neatly beneath my chin and curled my knees up to surround her completely. I felt the taut muscles of her back and shoulders begin to loosen against my chest as I twined my fingers between hers, our clasped hands resting gently atop the swell of our children.

A deep, shuddering sigh left her and I knew she’d not last much longer. I squeezed her hand gently, whispering, “I’ve got you, Sorcha… you can rest now, all is well.”

Another ripple of fatigue ran down her spine, her muscles slowly succumbing to the heavy weight of slumber and becoming limp. The vice grip on my forearm loosened, her head slipping back and resting fully against my arm. Her lips parted softly in that first sigh of sleep — in the way of hers that I found so irresistible — and I knew she’d not wake for anything save the second coming of Christ Himself.

I tucked a stray curl back into place behind her ear, brushing a kiss across her cheek, and settled myself more comfortably beside her.

My eyelids were growing heavier and heavier as I caught sight of my godfather. He’d positioned himself between us and the door, far enough away as to give us a measure of privacy but close enough to respond to a call for assistance at the drop of a hat. Everything about his rigid posture made me lose my resolve to stay alert beside my wife and sleep came crashing down around my ears.

It was a shallow, dreamless slumber — the sort where you know you mustn’t drift too far, should you need to be fully wakeful again — and I didn’t think I’d been out long before Claire began to stir in my arms.

She curled inwards, her knees tucking up tight against the swell of our children as a low groan escaped her lips.

The nightmare.

We were each cursed with our own nocturnal demons, but my wife found hers to manifest themselves in reoccurring dreams... the most prominent and prevalent being the one born in the depths of Crainsmuir’s Thieves Hole. It hadn’t stopped twisting and turning in these many months and I would be lying if I said my blood didn’t run cold when she’d tell me of the night’s latest development, sobbing into my chest as though both the bairns and I were truly gone.

“Shh, mo chridhe,” I murmured low, curving myself around her. “Tis but a dream… I’ve got ye.”

Her entire body tensed and her eyelids flickered, but she didn’t wake.

Sweeping away the curls from her brow, I gently brushed my finger along the curve of her cheek, intoning, “Ye’re safe, Sorcha.”

Claire’s eyes opened at her name, yet stared ahead unseeing. The muscles of her jaw worked as she clenched it tight and a short burst of air left her nose in a decided snort. Her hands moved restlessly, reaching for me but then drifting back to her stomach, only to roam up and down and nearly every direction at once.

I covered one hand with my own, twining my fingers through hers — not speaking again, but letting her know I was aware of her turmoil.

Her head snapped towards me at my touch, her eyes widening as wheezed, “Jamie!”

“Aye,” I shifted onto one elbow, bringing my face directly above hers as I hovered above her. “I’m right here… I’ve got you.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut again without comment.

Was she fully conscious?

“Claire?” I tested, gazing down at her in concern as her jaw clenched tight.

She didn’t open her eyes so much as a crack but let out a grumbled fuck from between persed lips. I dropped her hand, my own flying to her face. Her eyes did open then at my touch, ever so slightly, and she peered up at me in agony.

Something was terribly wrong.

“Talk to me, Claire,” I begged, my heart racing.

Shoving me away, she thumped the narrow space in front of her and groaned, “Move over here.”

I scrambled around her, careful not to jostle her from her current position but finding it near impossible to wedge myself between her knees and the wall of crates behind me. Somehow managing to accomplish it, I lay nose to nose with her and could now see her flushed face in startling clarity in our deeply shadowed cocoon.

Her breathing remained ragged, with drops of sweat gathering at her temples as she lay rigid in my arms.

“Tell me wha’ to do, mo nighean donn.”

“Make it stop,” her voice cracked, the jagged edge of her supplication knifing across my heart and flaying me wide before her.

My mind spun as my thumb caressed her cheek, wiping away the sudden dampness that I found there. Skimming my hand along her neck and down her spine, I found the fastenings of her skirts and had them free in a moment. I bunched them loosely around her, keeping her warm, but no longer restricting her. I moved to do the same for her stays, but found she’d already started the process.

Pulling the strings completely free, I flung the constricting thing to the side and took her face in my hands.

“A wee bit better?” I tentatively asked, knowing it was nothing compared to the turmoil inside her.

She didn’t respond, having instead retreated miles within herself in the time it took me to undress her, and I did the only thing I could think of to retrieve her.

Kissing her softly to begin with — not wanting to jar her and giving her full opportunity to refuse me — I cupped her cheek in my palm. She shifted, seeking more of me, and I grew more confident in my ministrations.

I slid my fingers into her hair and slowly gathered each pin, intently undoing the neatly coiffed style she’d worked so hard on this morn as I worked to rid the tension from her body. Setting my bounty aside, my hands traveled back down to her hips, digging my thumbs into the muscles that I knew continually plagued her.

A moan bubbled up from deep within her and I knew I was moving in the right direction.

“Aye, tha’s the way,” I crooned as her arms slipped around my neck, her nose nuzzling my cheek.

“Damn it, Jamie,” she sobbed against me. “It hurts.”

I didn’t comment, but nodded and kissed her again, keeping my hands moving as well. A shudder ran down her spine as she nearly swallowed me whole, finding suddenly a respite — an ability to draw from me that which she needed.

And I was only too eager to give it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her arms loosened around my neck...the taut muscles beneath my fingertips became lax and Claire became limp once more in my arms.

“A dhia, mo chridhe,” I sighed, my lips moving against her neck, “ye scared the life near out of me.”

I felt her groan, her voice dry as she quipped, “Well, it was no picnic for me either, you bloody Scot.”

A measure of relief washed over me, hearing her vocal jab, but reality still hung heavy in the air.

“Tha’ was different, Sorcha,” I whispered hoarsely, my good fingers splaying wide across the curve of her children. “The other pains ye had at the Abbey… they were’na like that.”

Her grip on my arm tightened as she tipped her head back, needing to see my face as much as I needed to see hers. Lifting one hand to my face, her fingers deftly traced my cheek bone, her eyes gazing deep into mine. They were now free from the fog of pain, but instead of clarity, I found agonized turmoil.

I covered her hand with my own, curling my fingers around it as I turned my face to place a kiss in her palm.

…

Claire.

How I longed to close my eyes and slip back into that blessed, deep slumber in my husband’s arms… but every inch of me was now wide awake, whether I liked it or not.

I was now having bonafide contractions… whether I liked it or not.

Swallowing hard, I felt a shudder run down my spine and Jamie instinctively pulled me closer. I did close my eyes then, turning and burying my face in his neck as I hid from his gaze for a moment.

He knew — damn him — without me having to say it out loud. I was rather glad, for I wasn’t entirely sure I could say the word ‘labor’ aloud just now without dissolving into hysterics.

What the bloody hell are you going to do, Beauchamp? I mentally sighed against Jamie’s chest.

Was I really going to have to do this without a midwife? Twice? And while bobbing along in a dingy at sea?!

“Jamie?” my voice cracked, betraying my abject terror.

His hand traveled up my back, lifting to gently curve around the back of my head, “Mo chridhe?”

My mouth opened and shut like a floundering fish, no longer suffocating from the strength of my contraction but the size of my fear. A low rumble started up within him and I knew in an instant he’d heard my unspoken thoughts.

“Aye,” he acknowledged, softly kissed my brow. “But ye canna change things any more than I can make this ship sail faster… although, I’d get out and swim it to France if I thought t’would get ye there faster.”

I couldn't help but smile at that particular image and Jamie must have taken great comfort in it, for he continued.

“Tis my fault, ye ken… I should no’ have taken ye in such a manner last night.”

I snorted, finally moving to look at him once more, “If you recall, James Fraser, I brought you to that pool with the exact purpose of taking you in such a manner… so don’t you dare apologize for it.”

His shoulders began to shake in suppressed laughter and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Care to share what’s so funny?” I poked him in the ribs.

“You are Sassenach,” he grinned, easily taking hold of both my hands to prevent future attacks and squeezed them gently. “Ye’ve never wanted me so badly… or so openly as ye did last night.”

“Oh,” I commented quite lamely, finding myself blushing for the first time in quite a while.

This made my husband laugh all the harder and I resorted to kicking him in the shins as he currently had possession of my hands.

“Will you help me sit up or are you just going to lie there and find humor in my depraved state?” I quipped, raising a brow.

Jamie eagerly agreed to this and dropped my hands, easily moving himself into a seated position before guiding me into the same. I sat beside him, swaying slightly, and realized a half a moment later that we were completely alone in the captain’s quarters.

“Where’s Murtagh?” an uneasy feeling began to grow in the pit of my stomach as I asked.

“Tis nothin, Sassenach,” Jamie tried to reassure me, but it was clear that he wasn’t overly comfortable with his godfather’s absence either. “Jus checkin’ in wi’ the Captain is all… he’ll ken how long til we reach Le Havre when he gets back.”

The urgent, persistent twinge started up again at the base of my spine and I swore under my breath.

“Too long,” I pronounced, reaching for Jamie’s arm and taking a firm hold of it.

He studied me for a moment, then nodded and took a deep breath.

“Then we’ll take it one step at a time… aye?” His hand covered mine, “Together.”

...

Murtagh. A Good Deal Later.

The door swung closed behind me with a solid bang, shutting out a snowy stramash unlike any I’d ever seen. The warmth of the Captain’s quarters rolled over me like the tumultuous sea outside its walls and I sagged against the door for a moment, letting it thaw my fingers and tip of my nose.

Hrmph, I snorted, wiping the dripping appendage on my sleeve and ridding myself of near an inch of snow and ice.

“Tis jus’ me,” I greeted, unable to see them from the room’s one and only entrance.

I heard movement and subdued voices, but no answer to my call. Frowning, I quickly navigated my way around boxes and crates until I reached them — and stopped dead in my tracks.

“Iffrin,” I muttered as I took in the pile of Claire’s discarded clothes and found her in nothing but her shift and Jamie’s plaid, clinging to him as if life itself depended on it.

Her time had come.

I raked a hand across my face and sank down onto the closest crate. It was lower to the floor than I thought, making it seem as though it weren’t there at all, and a wheezing oof left my lips as my hind end finally found it.

When I looked up, both Jamie and Claire were gazing at me with no small amount of amusement. I disregarded my godson’s jesting smile with ease and instead turned my attention to the young woman who had stolen both our hearts.

Her face was pale, with furrows etched deep in the usually smooth plane of her brow. The spark of amusement in her eyes was dwindling quickly and in its place grew a consuming agony that I couldn’t bear to see.

“Yer pains have begun, then, mo leannan?” I asked unnecessarily, my voice hitching at the endearment she’d earned in our time together.

Claire nodded, trying to give me her best attempt at a smile. It wobbled and faded as she pressed her forehead against Jamie’s, her eyes sliding shut as she commented hoarsely, “They seem to be in a hurry.”

My heart turned over, skipping a beat before clattering on again as I heard the Captain’s words echo in my mind.

We’ll be lucky to find Le Havre at all in this storm… twould be another day a’ least on fair seas, but now? Best be prayin tha’ my men dinna toss yer lady overboard to appease Neptune himself.

Jamie’s gaze found mine again, this time much more subdued, and asked, “What’d ye learn, then?”

I lifted one shoulder and tried to wave him off. It was nothing I wanted to share while Claire was in such a state.

“A goistidh?” he insisted, lifting a brow.

Taking his cue, I slipped into the Gaelic, telling him of my conversations with the Captain and his superstitious men. He took it about as well as I had, working to keep his frustrations in check as Claire seemed to regain some composure and alertness.

“I dinna think we’ll make it in time,” Jamie kept his voice even, but his unease was palpable. “We’ll have to help her deliver the bairns.”

While I’d expected as much, his second pronouncement took me completely by surprise and I burst, “We?! Ye canna be serious, lad! She needs a midwife, not a couple of numpties wi’ no idea what they’re about!”

Claire sighed heavily and I realized too late that I’d said that in English. I began to apologize, but she waved me off, interrupting me.

“You may have no idea what you’re about, my dear Murtagh,” she muttered, seeking a comfortable seated position, “but Jamie does because I’ve told him what will need doing… and you’ll listen to him and do as he says, is that clear?”

She’d stopped shifting to spear me with a look that had me agreeing in an instant.

The look of relief on her face was nearly my undoing and I assured her, “I’ll do whatever ye need, mo rùinean beag...  I promise it.”

Claire reached out her hand to me and I plucked it up, brushing a kiss across her knuckles.

“I know you will,” she whispered hoarsely, squeezing my hand. “You always do.”

[severetimetravelnerd]

I Don’t Know (Ft. G Dragon and MINO) (1)

Part 1

When Jiyong goes for Mino’s party, he sees someone he never expected to see

Hiii! So, it’s been a while since I’ve posted and that’s because I’ve been working on a series:)) It’ll be updated once a week, every Friday! No specific time though lol. It’s something different for me, so I hope you really like it! It’s an AUish thing where Jiyong has a younger sister and you’re her best friend! Featuring my OC Mirae as the Best friend. Just saying, it’s not related to any of the scenarios I’ve written so far. Please do leave me some comments or asks! I love receiving them! It’s also a bit of a love triangle situation, so yeah :)) There will be eventual smut in this series. 

(I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owners.)

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know immediately.

Taglist:

@kwonnansi​

@unabashedturkeytreeslime​

@happiestgirlontheeastcoast​

Please comment if you’d like to be added to the tag list:))

Word Count: 2131

 WARNINGS: Nothing in this part really. Rejection maybe?

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

“Y/N, I think you’re just confused.”

You laughed, unable to keep the bitterness from it.

“Jiyong, I’ve liked you for years. Years. I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried getting over you. I’ve tried rebounds. I’ve tried denial. I’ve tried avoiding you. None of it works. I know I’m definitely not confused. Kwon Jiyong, I like you.”

He paused and looked at you with dead serious eyes.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way.”

You felt your heart break, little by little.

“Jiyong, I thought there was something here. Was it all me?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve never felt that way about you Y/N, and I’m never going to.”

He got up to leave, but you grabbed his hand.

“Why? What is it about me that makes you feel like you’ll never like me?”

He shot you a scathing and pitying look at the same time.

“Everything.”

And he got up and left you there, alone at the diner at 2 am, slightly tipsy.

Half an hour later, you got a text from him

“Y/N, I don’t think we should talk anymore.”

And god it hurt, it hurt so much. And you knew you still liked him, even after all that.

 You still liked him, but you knew he would never see you that way. He had made that abundantly clear. So, you stopped hanging out at places he would go to. He never asked you to, but you didn’t want to see him. It would make things a million times worse. You avoided him like the plague. You stopped going to parties he would be there for. You became a recluse and the only one allowed into your shell was Mirae. She didn’t know who the guy was. She just knew what happened and how that made you feel. And she was there for you every step of the way. She would have been supportive of you liking him. You just didn’t tell her because you didn’t want her to be caught in an awkward place if you were rejected by her brother, which you were. You avoided him so much that you didn’t see him for three years after that. Even though you live in the same city. Those three years, you dedicated to you. You still liked him, but you buried that at the back of your mind, forgetting that it existed. Out of sight, out of mind. You were your priority. Which is why, when you met Mino, things were different. You were determined not to let Jiyong ruin this aspect of your life as well.

 You met Mino when you were walking your dog and your dog got away from you only to attack Mino with cuddles. That’s when you offered to buy him coffee to make up for it. He laughed and said that there wasn’t much to make up for and he prefers tea anyway. The moment he said that, you knew you had to find out more, because you were a tea person too. You were just about to offer to buy him tea at this great place you knew when he interrupted your thoughts with a light cough and a small blush.

“Actually, I’m a little messy right now, so I have to go home and change. Do you want to come home with me? I make a great cup of tea. Of course, no pressure, but”

You cut him off. You didn’t usually like to go random places with strangers, but you decided, on a whim, that this guy was worth getting to know. And you were right.

“I’d like that. I’m Y/N. Please to meet you.”

With an adorably shy smile, he responded.

“I’m Minho.”

 Mino liked you, right from the start, but you were a lot more cautious when it came to liking people in general. And the thing is, Mino wasn’t like any of your rebounds. You cared about him. He was a really nice guy. So completely refreshingly different from Jiyong. Mino was sweet, adorably nervous and Jiyong just oozed cold confidence, the utmost surety in anything he did. You weren’t comparing. You didn’t even think about Jiyong anymore. Mino had given you the ability to forget him. For the first time in seven years, you stopped liking Jiyong. Which is why things with Mino were different.

 You were just friends with Mino. Close friends. But one day, things changed. It was his birthday. There was going to be a party in the night. You went over a little earlier to spend some time with him and give him his present. He knew you were going to. Which is why he was so nervous. Because he planned on asking you out that night. He knew it was a bad idea. If you rejected him, on his birthday, it would really suck. And he was having second thoughts about it until you walked through the front door. You were wearing an oversized t shirt and some shorts, and you had a gigantic bag with you. You would change into your clothes for the party later. You wanted to be comfortable around him. And you took his breath away. You always did. What you were wearing never mattered. He knew he had to tell you.

“Hey hon, I got you brownies. And that’s not even your birthday gift.” (You had a habit of calling people terms of endearment.)

Before you could turn around and tell him about his birthday gift, that you were super excited about, he grabbed you hand and turned you around, so that you were facing him. One look at him and you could tell that he was nervous.

“Hey, what’s wrong Minho?”

He took in a couple of deep breaths, telling himself that he should just get it over and done with.

“Y/N, I like you. Will you go out with me?”

You froze. You knew he liked you. And if he had asked you any earlier, you would have said no, because you didn’t want him to get hurt because of your unresolved issues. But you were sure now, Mino helped you get over Jiyong. Because without even thinking about it, Jiyong stopped being a suppressed part of you that you never thought about. The part of you that was toxic for yourself. And just left. It was gone. For the first time in years, you took out that old phone where Jiyong texted you about not talking anymore. Whenever you used to look it, it always used to hurt. But now, you felt nothing. You were taking a bit of time to answer without realising it, and suddenly, you looked up, realising that Minho had stopped holding your hand. His face had fallen. It was obvious what he thought you were going to say.

“No, it’s okay Y/N. Don’t worry. I get it.”

“What? Minho, no, listen to me.”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

You couldn’t stop the light smile from appearing on your face.

“Why do you look so sad if you know I’m saying yes?”

It took him a second to register what you were saying and when he did, he jumped up, eyes lit up and mouth wide open.

“Wait, Y/N, are you saying?”

“Yes, Song Minho. I like you. And I would love to go out with you.”

And before you knew what was happening, he lifted you up with one arm around your waist, the other cupping your cheek and kissing you.

 You got ready for the party after that. Minho was adorably hyped about introducing you as his girlfriend to all his friends. You put on your dress. It was a teal satin slip dress, with spaghetti straps and a cowl neck, with only two straps criss-crossing for a back. Yeah, you were planning on seducing Minho earlier but now you didn’t have to. It went down till the middle of your thighs, and you were wearing black thigh high net stockings with it with these gorgeously strappy black heels. You put on some minimal gold jewellery and you stepped out of the room, to show Minho, wanting to know what he thought. He was in the living room, in some ripped jeans, a black vest and a Burberry blazer. He looked great, especially since he brought out the lip piercing and his really nice Burberry tartan boots. Suddenly, you felt rather shy. Coughing softly to get his attention, you waited for him to turn around. Mino was on the phone with a friend, giving him directions to his apartment when he heard you cough and he turned out. He was mind blown. God, you looked so fucking beautiful. He was speechless.

“Yeah, I’ll have to call you back.”

And he cut the call, looking at you in awe. You felt a little shy.

“Is this a bit too much Minho? Should I change?”

“What?! No, Y/N, so look stunning. Change if you’re uncomfortable, of course, but I think you look amazing.”

You turned around, letting him see the backless part of the dress.

“You don’t think this is too much?”

He came up to you from behind and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss at the nape of your neck.

“I think it’s lovely.”

You blushed. You liked your outfit, but something didn’t seem right to you. you turned around and looked at Mino. Bingo. You knew what was missing. Sounding a little sheepish, you asked him,

“Minho, can I borrow a black leather jacket to go with this?”

His eyes lit up.

“Sure Y/N.”

He loved it when you wore his clothes.

  The party was going great and Mino was so excited and happy the whole night. He was so happy things worked out. He was busy introducing you to all his friends, and you were so busy trying to talk to them and remember their names that you didn’t realise that someone you knew has just walked in.

 Jiyong walked in a little late, because he had to go pick up a present for Mino. He knew it was a little lazy, but he just picked a good bottle of wine. Mino was like a brother to him. He could just pick up something nicer for him later. As he smiled at the people he knew and got himself settled with a drink, he tried searching for Mino, wanting to wish him in person. He smiled when he saw him. He had the brightest smile Jiyong had ever seen on his face. He was talking to a few of his friends, blushing a little at something one of them said. There was someone else there with them too. A girl. Jiyong could see her heels and a bit of her hair through the crowd. The crowd parted a little. Okay, wow. A really hot girl. He still couldn’t see her face because of Mino’s friends, but he could see that Mino was looking at the girl with pure adoration and had his arm wrapped around her waist. Jiyong smiled. Maybe Mino had finally gotten a girlfriend. Good. Jiyong was happy for him.

 Mino suddenly turned and saw Jiyong. His face lit up and he grabbed your hand and wove through the crowd.

“Hyung, I’m so glad you’re here!”

Jiyong raised his glass and leaned in for a hug.

“Happy Birthday Mino!”

Mino smiled and finally helped you through the crowd. He turned to Jiyong, beaming, and said,

“Hyung, meet my girlfriend Y/N.”

 Both of you were in shock.

You recovered pretty quickly and smiled, extending a hand to greet him. Did you want to see him? No. But did that change the way you felt? No.

You smiled and said,

“Hi. I’m Y/N,”

and you were about to introduce yourself when he turned to Mino, and said,

“Sorry, Mino. Give me a few minutes.”

Grabbed your hand, and yanked you away, onto the balcony.

He grabbed your hand so hard that it hurt.

“What the hell GD?”

His face twisted in confusion.

“GD? When have you ever called me that?”

“We’re practically strangers to each other. What else would I call you?”

His face darkened with an uninterpretable expression.

“Why’re you here? How did you meet him? Why did you disappear? I tried texting you and calling you, but you blocked me.”

“New number. And why did you call?”

“Why didn’t you come home?”

“I didn’t want to see you.”

“You hate me that much?”

“Yes.”

“This isn’t you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Does Mirae know?”

“Yeah, she loves Minho.”

Minho walked out onto the balcony, for the first time being vaguely assertive. He was worried about you.

He wrapped his arms around you protectively and raised an eyebrow,

“What’s going on? You know Y/N, hyung?”

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 63)

Goodbyes

Soooo this one has some gory details I guess, and some sad moments. But I hope you enjoy! Please let me know if you’re still enjoying this because I could use the motivation haha 😅

Tagging @emily-strange and @actuallyhansolo ❤

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

I stood outside the tent flaps. They were drawn closed and shivered in the wind in a ghostly fashion that made the hair on my arms stand up when the wind didn't even have much of a chill. The sounds I heard weren't pleasant. Shaky, gurgled breaths, rolling grunts and heaves, raspy inhales and sharp exhales. A near constant string of sickening moans. He was alone in there, with Dutch off out somewhere, with Miss Grimshaw giving him all she could before leaving the tent, and nobody else liking him enough to want to sit by his bedside… Micah was alone. Alone, and dying. 

I sighed and pulled back the canvas and peered inside. There he was, laying down on Dutch's bed, his shirt was off and his gut was bound up with bandages and rags, tight, but blood had still managed to seep through. The tent smelled like sweat and something rotten, like death, it was heady and warm and it caught in my throat and made me want to gag, but I entered anyway. I approached him, looked down at his scrunched up, agonised face, shiny with perspiration and a mix of deathly washed out skin and blotchy, feverish redness in his cheeks, running down to his neck. His hair looked wet and it clung to his forehead and laid limp and messy, framing his head against the pillow. 

I covered my mouth with my hand and stared down at the sight before me. This man… whom I'd worked with, spoken with, shared a drink with, lived with. Whom once upon a time had seemed like a friend, like our bond would grow closer in the name of the gang and the family we shared. But here he was, laying motionless and in pain, suffering in a prolonged state of hell. Because he'd tried to kill me. 

I felt guilty. No. I felt as though I should feel guilty, but I didn't. And that in itself generated a sickly sensation in the pit of my stomach that was something like guilt, but far more muddied. 

"Micah," I whispered, my head shaking of its own accord. His eyes flashed open and he stared up at me with a bloodshot, dilated gaze that unnerved me. His teeth were bared, and something that sounded like his laugh escaped him but was quickly interrupted by a choking cough and a groan. "You really did it this time," I sighed. 

"F– fu–" the sounds he made were weak, shaky, drawn out and almost incomprehensible. He was struggling bad. 

"I'm surprised you thought you could get away with that. You know that even if you had shot me, Arthur would've killed you immediately afterwards. It wasn't the smartest move. But you're paying for it. For your lies and betrayal and the suffering you have caused," I said to him, standing over him. He stared at me, unblinking, shivering. "You smell like death," I added. 

"You'll– you'll never be free. Y-you know that… right?" He spoke breathlessly. I stared blankly at him. 

"You'll be free soon. From all this," was my nonchalant response. "You're gonna die." 

"I'm a fighter," he hissed, his shaking hand rising to his gut, gingerly resting there against the soiled bandages. 

"You don't look good at all," I frowned sadly at him. "Arthur stabbed you deep. Charles said it might've punctured your bowels."

A grunt of some sort came from him, it wasn't clear whether he was trying to speak. 

"That's a death sentence, really. How could it not be? Your heart is pumping dirty blood to every part of your body," I bent down, leaning close to him. "Even dirtier than it was when you weren't dyin'."

Micah's face screwed up tighter, something like dread seeping into his aura. 

"I'm just having fun with you, sweet thing," I whispered to him, smirking as I regurgitated his own words back to him.

"'Least my prediction came true," he grunted. 

"Which one?" 

"We'd either f-fuck each other or–"

"Oh yeah," I cut him off. "Only it ain't me that's killed you." 

A smile passed over my lips as I thought of Arthur. 

"And you're alone. Ain't nobody here to help you through your suffering," I continued. 

"You're here," he pointed out, seemingly taking a kind of satisfaction from it. 

"Only so I remember this," I shrugged. "I'd rather this be my last memory of you, instead of that God awful kiss."

My gut churned uncomfortably. I felt so strange. At the mention of his kiss, I almost pitied him, and that brought some real guilt. His eyes kept trying to roll back, his breathing was becoming far more strained and the gap between each one increased and increased. He didn't have long, that much was clear. 

He was evil. He'd betrayed the gang, tried to frame me and then tried to kill me, all the while toying with me from day one. Kissing me just so he could violate me. What a vile man.

Even so, I didn't feel good about the way he was dying. I rested my hand on the Schofield revolver at my hip, wondering whether I should use it. I eyed Micah, his gaze had gone soft, out of focus, ascending to the top of the tent. I never thought I would see him so weak and vulnerable. I dropped my hand away and sighed.

"Things could've been so different, you know," I told him, brow curving, bottom lip protruding. "You did all this. If you'd just left me be earlier in Van Horn, if you'd kept your mouth shut to those Pinkertons– no, if you'd never worked for the Pinkertons at all. Maybe we'd all have a fighting chance. But you thought you were special, huh?"

I shook my head and sighed. 

"Don't think for one second that any of this ain't your fault," I finished. "But I suppose I should thank you, really… if it weren't for all this, Arthur and I wouldn't be leaving tonight. Jack wouldn't be getting away from here with his family just yet. Who knows when that would've happened without your help."

He wasn't making much noise, and I stepped forwards, frowning. I reached my hand out, hovering the back of it in front of his mouth and nose. I felt his hot breath against my skin and immediately withdrew. It was weak, but it was there. I swallowed hard. 

"Thank you, Micah," I finally said. Then I turned around, heading out of the tent. I paused before walking away, considering my next actions carefully, unsure if it was the right thing to do but knowing that I would think about it for years to come if I didn't. I took the canvas in hand and drew it back, securing it in place to expose the outside world to him. I didn't know for certain why I was compelled to do that; perhaps it stemmed back to when my brother and I opened a window when each of our parents passed to let their souls leave. Perhaps it was because I figured Micah deserved at least one last look at the rising sun. Either way, I walked away once the tent was open, knowing that it was the last I'd see of him alive. 

Arthur caught my eyes from across camp. He looked as though he'd been searching for something, and by the way he immediately beelined for me, I realised it had probably been me. I met him halfway, and he eyed up the open tent behind me with a small frown upon his face. 

"What're you doing in there with him? He don't deserve one second of your time," he scolded, though his hands scrubbed my upper arms affectionately. 

"Just needed to see how he was doing. He's goin', Arthur. Ain't nothing for it," I shook my head. His eyes were intense in how they gazed into mine, and he nodded slowly.

"I can't believe he kissed you," he whispered. 

"No… I can't say I expected it," I frowned, looking down, "I'm so sorry."

"Ain't you who's gotta be sorry."

"No, I do, maybe I… maybe I pushed him. I should'a known better than even talking to him when he was in that mood."

"What mood?" Arthur frowned.

"Just, saying all this crap, about how there's something between him and I, a fire, when we bicker," I murmured, not really wanting Arthur to hear it. "When he kissed me, I froze, couldn't do nothing. I'm sorry." 

Arthur was quiet for too long and it made me anxious. When I looked up at him, his eyes were distant and hurt and angry, and he was gazing towards Micah.

"Arthur?" I whispered. His jaw grew tenser and I could practically see the plan forming in his head, then a second passed and he began walking, but I grabbed his arm to stop him. "He's dying anyway, leave it."

"I can make it quicker–"

"Arthur, just stop. I don't want that. He got what he deserved already, I just wanna leave him behind. What he did don't matter, didn't mean a damn thing," I pleaded, holding his arm tight despite the fact he carried on walking. "Please kiss me. Make me forget about it," I cried out, and it made him stop. 

He was still for a moment, his back to me. Then he whirled around and cupped my face, pushing his mouth to mine and stealing my breath, exploring me with tongue and kissing me with such a flame it burned and melted me beneath his fingertips. Didn't matter at all that we were in the middle of camp. When he broke the kiss his mouth stayed close to mine, puffing hot breaths. 

Before he could say or do anything, I asked; "when're we leaving?" 

"Soon. Abigail got the money. Just our share, like we discussed. I've packed our things and spoke to a few others– Lenny's coming too. And… and Susan is," he said, and my eyes flashed wide and I jerked back a bit in surprise. He was nodding in agreement before I even said anything, "I know, I'm as surprised as you are. She came and spoke to me after she realised what we was planning and invited herself along without a second thought. I weren't even planning on asking, just coz she's been with Dutch so long–"

"I thought she was on his side! Patching Micah up like that," I exclaimed and Arthur nodded. 

"Yeah, so did I. But she was just doing what she felt she had to. Was a wild few minutes when all that happened, she couldn't just leave him. But she… she's had time to think now," he told me, looking over his shoulder at her as she packed up her things. He whispered the next part. "She's not happy with Dutch's behaviour. She sees as clear as I do how he's changed."

"God… it feels good knowing we ain't alone," I sighed. 

Arthur nodded. "Lenny don't like how he's been handling things, neither. Wanting to leave John to rot, taking advantage of Eagle Flies."

"Tilly's leaving. So are Mary-Beth and Kieran. I asked 'em if they wanted to come with us, but it seems they're trying to get away from it all for good," I told him. Arthur exhaled and his shoulders dropped. It was relief. 

"Good. That's good. What about Karen?" 

"I don't know about Karen. She says she's fine, but…" I trailed off. "She didn't say she'd come with us."

"I'll try talking to her," he said, and I nodded. 

"But Charles said he'd come, and he asked Sadie… we got quite the family forming," I said hopefully.

"It'll just be till we get on our feet, make sure everyone's got a plan. A real one. A proper way out; not what Dutch's been promising all this time."

"And then what?" I asked, and Arthur blew a jet of air through his lips as his eyes peeled to the sky. 

"I don't rightly know. Maybe you and I'll head west like we were going to before… before everything," he breathed. I nodded, reaching up and stroking his cheek. 

"I love you," I whispered to him, and he cupped his hand over mine and leaned into it, closing his eyes momentarily. 

"Then it's all worth it," he whispered, then took my hand from his face and squeezed it, "come on, princess, let's finish packing up. We're taking a couple wagons, don't care what anyone says. I want us gone before Dutch comes back."

-

The gang disbanded a little like this; while we were preparing to leave, others dropped off too. Trelawny was the first to get gone, he spoke to Arthur and I and we wished each other the best of luck and then he waltzed out of camp like he'd done many times before. Pearson was next, he quietly slipped away with only a few words of goodbye. Then Swanson and Uncle left. Mary-Beth and Kieran were all prepared to go but hung back, seemed nervous and hesitant. Some didn't seem prepared to leave at all. Most notably Javier and Bill, of course, but also Strauss. He sat with his little ledger and didn't move, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Not that I had any disappointment over the fact he wasn't coming with us, after the work he gave to Arthur.

We were all ready. Arthur, Charles, Sadie, John, Abigail, Jack, Lenny, Susan and I. Our things were distributed across two wagons and we could leave at any moment. It was so strange. Bill had come over to argue over us taking the wagons but Arthur had reasoned with him. It wasn't a violent or aggressive reasoning, it was a respectful plea. Let us go our way so that you can go yours. As thick-skulled as Bill could be, even he accepted it.

Tilly approached Arthur and I where we stood by the wagon, making final preparations for our departure. Karen was behind her, looking dazed and tired and only slightly more sober than the last time I'd seen her. 

"I, uh, I'm leaving now… and I'm taking Karen with me, ain't that right?" Tilly said firmly, glancing over her shoulder at Karen. 

"It's a hostage situation," Karen murmured, her arms crossed vulnerably over her chest. Tilly breathed a laugh and shook her head. 

"I'm gonna make sure she pulls herself together. We both need to get away from this, find something normal. I ain't leaving her to find some ditch to lay down and die in," she explained bluntly and Karen scoffed.

"I love how you see my potential, Miss Jackson," Karen rolled her name off her tongue with attitude, but a lot of love. It was honestly a massive relief to know that they would be leaving together. They'd have each other, and Tilly was a smart woman and she'd make sure Karen looked after herself. They just needed a better environment to thrive in. 

"You're my friend, Karen, I'm just being honest," Tilly sighed. I smiled at them both. 

"You two look after each other, alright? You're good people. Smart. Kind. You'll get on out there alright, I know it," Arthur said, reaching a hand out and knocking Tilly's chin with the edge of his knuckle like she was his little sister. My smile only widened. 

"Arthur–" Tilly began, but her voice wavered and her eyes looked wet, and she took a moment. A lump formed in my throat immediately. "Thank you for being in my life," she managed. Arthur took a shaky breath and wordlessly pulled her into his chest for a gentle hug. I pressed my lips together and averted my eyes, trying desperately not to cry. 

"You bastards, you're making me wanna cry," Karen bemoaned, and nestled herself against the two to join the hug. She was accepted easily, and Arthur's arm came to wrap around me as well, dragging me in whether I liked it or not. 

"You girls, all'a you; you're all the best people I know. I just want you all to be safe and happy, and I know this situation is messed up and it ain't ended too well, but…" Arthur began, taking a breath before finishing, "it's for the best. I know it."

We all parted after a moment, and Mary-Beth and Kieran joined us. 

"You're all saying your goodbyes?" Mary-Beth tentatively asked with a small smile. "We're heading out too, wanna go before…"

"Before Dutch comes back?" Karen asked. She nodded.

"Seems we all have the same idea," I breathed. 

"I love each and every one of you, remember that," Mary-Beth told us, "I will always think of you, and I hope somehow we can keep in touch."

Arthur glanced at me considerately for a moment. "Send all your letters to Miss Jemima Jones in… in Manzanita Post. We'll check there if ever we pass through. We'll find each other some way or another, we ain't ever lost each other before."

“That’s right… I… I feel a little better leaving knowing that you’re all leaving too. Last few weeks ain’t been easy– well, they’ve been just awful. And after what happened today, I just can't see this thing lasting any longer," Mary-Beth said quietly, "everyone's just so divided."

"Micah was gonna shoot you!" Tilly exclaimed, nodding along with Mary Beth and turning her wide, doll-like eyes to me. "Right there in front of everyone! Even Jack was there," she sighed, shaking her head. 

"Well it turned out to be his last mistake, didn't it? The fool," I said, almost a little too mournfully. I wasn't sad that Micah was dying. I was sad that things had turned out in such a way. So full of poison and betrayal and heartache. It tore the gang apart. 

"Good riddance," Karen scoffed. 

"I can't say the same thing for you folk," Mary-Beth said sadly, then took my hand and then Tilly's in hers. "I really am gonna miss you girls. And boys," she turned her smile to Arthur and he nodded a little bashfully.

"Kieran, you better look after this lady, treat her right," Arthur said sternly to the man who had been standing sheepishly and silently behind his sweetheart. 

"Oh, I– I will, sir, I'll do my utmost," Kieran nodded firmly, squaring his shoulders and standing up straight. Mary-Beth broke into a fit of giggles and playfully smacked the back of her hand against his chest.

"Mr. Morgan, I did not realise you were my father!" She exclaimed. I snorted and grinned up at Arthur who shook his head fondly and smiled, but otherwise said nothing. "Anyway, we best get going." 

"Said all your goodbyes?" I asked.

Mary-Beth nodded, "I have. I tried not to linger too long 'cause otherwise I'll start crying and I'll never leave," she chuckled.

"Yeah, I understand," I smiled and squeezed her hand. She took a breath, glanced at Kieran, then back at us. 

"Well then. Until we meet again, whenever, wherever that may be," she breathed. 

"The very best of luck to you," I said.

"Take care," Arthur nodded. 

"Thanks for everything," Kieran blurted out, "this all changed my life and I– I'm real grateful."

"Grateful? We had you tied to a tree, boy!" Arthur bellowed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Get out of here, enjoy your life. Stay out of trouble. Lord knows you ain't cut out to be an outlaw anyways."

"Yes sir," he nodded and took Mary-Beth's hand, and they each gave us one last smile.

And with that, Mary-Beth and Kieran skedaddled, and disappeared on the little wagon they'd claimed for themselves.

Not long after that, Karen and Tilly left too. They said the rest of their goodbyes and left on horseback quietly and discreetly with only a few tears from Karen, surprisingly. Tilly held it together well and comforted her, but I could see that she was struggling to hold back emotion of her own. The camp looked so barren with just Javier, Bill and Strauss still hanging around, and Micah still in the tent. 

Our little group was all ready to leave and after a lot of last minute hesitation, soon we couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. It was time to go. 

Jack, Abigail, and John boarded one wagon, while Susan, Arthur and I boarded the other. Lenny, Charles and Sadie mounted up on their horses and we stood motionless in the middle of camp, each holding our breaths as we waited for someone to make the first move. 

"Are you ready, sweetheart?" Arthur turned to me, his hands tight on the reins. I met his eyes, stared into the beautiful blue ocean that was his irises, and took a shaky breath. 

"I am, if you are," I nodded. 

"If you're with me, I'm ready for anything," he whispered, then snapped the reins. The horses got moving and the wheels turned, and I only looked back once at the sparse remains of the gang that once welcomed me with a blanket and kindness and songs sung around a campfire. At the people whose hearts were once full of warmth and hope now turned to icy stubbornness, a refusal to let go of what once was. 

Truth be told, I couldn't blame a single one of them, for I knew that part of me would never let go of it either, not fully. 

And as Micah Bell took his final breath lying upon the bed inside Dutch's tent, with the man he'd turned so sour against his own family still nowhere to be found; I could only hope that those that I once regarded as family of my own would see the light and find happiness in a world where they were more than just pieces of a weapon.

[pixieungerstories]

Captive - 9

Hi Readers - I hate to be like this, but if you love this story, please go here to subscribe.  I’m not intentionally neglecting the free content, it’s just getting overlooked right now.  My next book deadline in Nov15 (2020).  Normally, it’s just me writing for me and you get the benefit from that.  This time Podium Audiobooks has me under contract for second book in the Mistaken Universe.

Also - if you have the time - the occasional gentle reminder is appreciated.  Today’s post is brought to you by @dizzy-poncho who sent me some love and made my brain realized I hadn’t posted in a while.

The sound of someone pounding on the door was less than an ideal way to be awoken. As was the kitten, who had up to that point had been curled up behind her knees, screeching and bolting. Elly glanced at her watch, she had managed maybe four hours of sleep. The person on the other side of the door pounded again. Groaning, Ellly got to her feet, stomped over to the shop door and wrenched it open. 

“What?!” 

The church ladies were clearly taken aback by her tone. They stared at her in stunned horror. 

“The sign says we’re closed for the day.” Elly announced.

“I just need-” Posy started to say, but Elly interrupted.

“You need to come back tomorrow.”

Posy narrowed her eyes, “I could just as easily order my yarn off the internet instead, you know!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Elly replied sadly.  “Good day then.” She then closed the door on the women’s shocked faces. She leaned against the door for a minute and groaned before rallying the strength to head upstairs. On her way she nearly tripped over the reappeared kitten. 

“Jesus, cat! Learn some self preservation!” Elly scolded as she scooped up the tiny thing. The kitten clamored up her arm to her shoulder and settled in for the trek upstairs. Elly tried to remember where she had stored Mitten’s cat stuff. In all likelihood she probably gave it away when she figured her cat had been eaten...Well she’d need to take the kitten for vaccinations anyways. She could pick up whatever she needed then. First thing on the list, a bell collar.  

Well, that could be second. The first thing she needed was a name. Elly wondered for a moment if George would want any say in that. The thought could wait. First she needed a nap, or possibly a whole lot of coffee. Likely both. 

Ben was just staggering out of the spare room when Elly got back to her apartment.  “Shit, boss, I am late getting started this morning.”

Elly sighed, “We are closed today.  How are you feeling?”

Ben shrugged, then rubbed his bleary eyes, “Slightly hung over, possible still a little drunk, and baffled that you have a dragon living in your basement.”  He looked at her face and frowned, “Did you sleep last night?”

Elly shook her head again, “Not really.  I napped.”

Ben winced, “Was that my fault?”

Elly shook her head again, “I was up too late and started getting creeped out by the sounds of the house settling.”  Ben really did look awful.  “Right!” she announced, making him wince again.  “Big glass of water, a couple of aspirin and back to bed.”

Bean groaned, “I would roll my eyes at you except that they feel like they might fall out of my head if I tried.”

Elly snickered under her breath and went to the kitchen for a glass.

“So tell me about George.”

She froze.  This was awkward.  “I think you should ask him about him.  Carefully. I don’t want to offend the dragon in my basement and neither do you.”  She filled the glass with water and handed it to him.  As Ben drank the water she pulled the aspirin out of the spice drawer.

“Does he breath fire?” he asked, lightly, trying to make a joke.

Elly pursed her lips as she considered that.  “More like belches fire, but he can adjust his body temperature to heat the building.”

“You are fucking kidding me!”  His eyes went wide as Elly shook her head.  “Holy shit.”  It was said reverentially, whispered almost like a prayer.  Ben took two steps to the left and sat heavily in one of the kitchen chairs.

Elly gave him a sympathetic look.  “I am honestly unsure if this conversation would be better once you are sober.  It could turn out to be worse.”  She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Are you planning on quitting?”

“Why would I quit?” Ben asked with a frown.

Elly frowned right back at him.  “Because there is a dragon in the basement.  And if you tell anyone, they will just think you’re delusional.”

Ben considered this.  “You won’t.  Think I’m insane, I mean.”

“I’m not really the best judge of sane, Ben.” She sounded sad when she said it.  

There was a long moment of tension before the kitten stropped up against Ben’s leg, causing him to curse and stand up fast enough to knock over his chair.  It hit the ground with a clatter and the kitten bolted.

“Was that Muffin?” he mumbled, looking sheepish as he picked up the chair.

Elly frowned, “You mean Mittens?  No.  George brought it home last night.”

“Like a present?  That’s sweet.”  After a moment, Ben added “And a little weird. Where did George get a kitten?”

“He said someone killed its mom and littermates.  He was vague on the details and I didn’t push.  He would have told me if he wanted me to know.”

Ben shivered, “Yeah.  I was picking up my spice delivery at the post office last week and overheard the Debbie from the pound saying it was less killing cats and more a plaque of cat mutilations.”

Elly went very still.  When Ben finally looked up and met her eyes, she whispered, “Are we talking disemboweling here?”

Ben blinked and stared at her in horror before nodding.  “How did you know that?”

Elly spun on her heels and fussed at the sink, giving it a wipe before putting the kettle on the hob.  “George was unusually circumspect about what had happened. I couldn’t figure out why, he isn’t usually shy.”

Ben snorted, “I can see that about him.”  He watched her face, it was easy to see the wheels turning, but he couldn’t figure out what she was thinking.  “If someone is hunting cats, it might be safer to take … um. . . her?  Or him?  Whatever, take the kitten to a vet a couple of towns over.  If you are keeping it, I mean.”

Elly gave him a puzzled look, “Of course I’m keeping it.”

Ben fought a smirk, “You sure?  Have you named it yet?” 

Elly considered this.  “Nyx, goddess of night.”

Ben snicked, “Really?  What if its a boy?”

Elly rolled her eyes, “Ben, I’m not going to enforce gender roles on a kitten.”

Ben just shook his head.  “Fine, but when we go to the vet, you get to drive.”

----

The vet proclaimed Nyx to seem perfectly healthy and old enough for vaccination and FIV testing.    They booked her in for a spay in two weeks.  Next stop was the pet store.

Ben picked out an adjustable purple collar and neoprene cat harness.  Elly gave him a look.  “What?  You can harness train cats it you get them young enough.  I follow Suki Cat on instagram!”

Elly blinked, “Huh.  I never would have picked you for a cat person.”

He smirked, “Stupid cat videos is what the internet is for.”

“Really?  Because I suspect most people would say porn,” Elly teased, then was surprised when he blushed.  She managed to fight the urge to comment on that, and while she was wrestling with her morals, Ben left to go look at cat carriers.  Nyx meowed and tightened her tiny claws into Elly’s shoulder where she was sitting.  

“I’m sorry!” she blurted out.  “That was rude.”

Ben just waved her away.  “More unexpected. I haven’t seen that side of you. You are very, um, professional.”  He didn’t make it sound like a compliment.  When he realized she was frowning slightly, Ben flashed her a smile.  “You are a great boss, Elly.”

Elly coughed, “I’m not actually your boss, you know.”

Ben blushed again.  That was new.  “Any preference on cat food?”

Realizing he was trying to change the subject, Elly turned to face with wall of food.  “Wet food for cats.  I’ve never had one do well on kibble.”

“Did, um, your other cats sit on your shoulder like that?”

“Nope, this is a first, but she seems to like it up there.”

They watched each other awkwardly for a moment.  Elly broke first.  “Ben?  Are you OK?”

Ben quickly turned his head to the right and scoped out the litter boxes.  “Ina wasn’t that fun to work with,” he admitted.  “Most of the time you are.  Weird, but fun.  I’m starting to understand where the weird comes from.  And now I know that too.  How do you go through your day knowing something like that?”

Elly sighed.  “Ben -  Look, tell me about yeast.”

“What?”

Elly rubbed her eyes, making Nyx meow and dig her little claws into Elly’s sweater.  “You told me that yeast for bread used to come from beer, then the beer yeast changed and there was a shortage, right?”

Ben frowned, “Yeah, brewers switched from top fermenting to bottom fermenting and that process didn’t make the byproduct that bakers use.  But what does that have to do with George?”

“How many people do you think know that?”

“Elly!  It doesn’t matter!  People knowing or not knowing about yeast doesn’t actually matter!”

Elly just raised an eyebrow, “How does knowing about George matter?  Yeast is way more practical on a day to day basis.”  Ben stared at her like she was insane.  Elly kept talking, “Most people, including me, would consider baking bread or spinning wool or knitting a weird and slightly esoteric hobby.  George is just one more weird bit of trivia that you now know.”

[ethereousdelirious]

Fandom: The U. mbrella A.cademy

Characters: all the sibs

Pairings: N/A

Tropes: just fluff

Summary: request fill for anon! D.iego gets the flu and it fucks with his powers and he starts freaking out thinking that he's worthless

Warnings/Notes: very short, vague depiction of a character having a mild panic attack

I'm posting from mobile so if the formatting gets fucked up or the post gets cut off, I can't fix it for another like 4 hours give or take

Set in some idealistic Avengers Tower AU (y'know when ppl would write those fics where the Avengers all lived in the tower and would like bro out and actually talk about their problems. Yeah. That, but TUA)

--

When it came to solving problems, Diego Hargreeves tended to beat them into submission with brute force and the liberal application of knives. If he couldn't solve a problem in this manner, he tended to ignore it until it escalated into something he could solve via incredible violence.

Unfortunately, today's problem (inevitably the first of many) was 0% knife-able.

That morning found Diego curled up in bed with a bad case of vertigo and a stinging pain in his throat every time he dared to swallow. He forced himself to get up anyway and had to brace himself against the wall for support as the room spun and his chest began to spasm with the need to cough.

Keeping his wits about him, he stifled the coughing fit behind closed lips. If his siblings found out he was sick, he'd never hear the end of it. They'd think he was weak. That he was useless. After all, Luther never got sick.

The sheer spite made Diego straighten up and get dressed. Fatigue made his joints feel sticky and painful, so he decided to skip his morning workout. Just getting through the day like this would be enough work as it was. He brushed his teeth quickly and decided not to take his temperature-- better to not know. Plausible deniability.

He had to take the stairs at a pace that felt excruciatingly slow compared to his normal light-footed jog. He clung to the banister, painfully aware of the fact that any one of his siblings could pop out onto the landing to witness his pathetic descent. He was just so dizzy and his body ached like he'd spent the night jogging instead of sleeping.

Finally, he reached flat ground and was able to stagger to the kitchen. He wasn't really hungry, but there was no way he was going to skip breakfast and risk losing his hard-earned gains. Besides, maybe he'd feel better after eating.

"You're up early."

Diego jumped and instinctively flung a knife, just barely managing to dampen the force behind his throw as his brain caught up with his body. The knife clattered to the floor, a clumsy, straight trajectory, not at all what Diego had intended. "Hi," he said lamely, not looking at Five.

Five looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Your ninja skills are getting a little rusty."

Diego continued to stare at the knife on the floor. He'd meant for it to curve and stick in one of the cabinets. "Uh, yeah." He bent to pick up the knife and had to pause and steady himself.

"Your Neanderthal impression on the other hand…" Five put his hands on his hips. "Perfection."

"What's got your shorts in a twist?" Diego asked, not really caring about the answer.

Five got up on his tiptoes, reaching for one of the cabinets. Diego nudged him aside with his hip and got a clean mug down for him.

"Thanks," Five said begrudgingly. "And to answer your question, I'm used to having my morning coffee alone."

"Oh." Diego opened the fridge and muffled a short cough into his elbow, trying to relieve some of the aching pressure in his chest. "I can fuck off for a bit. If you want."

"It's fine."

They were quiet for a moment. Diego stared at the contents of the fridge. Something with protein would be good. Eggs sounded like too much work, too much standing. He wanted to sit. Protein shake? Even the thought of making that sounded like far too much work. Sighing, Diego grabbed the milk and poured himself a glass while Five watched in silence.

"You didn't work out this morning," Five said.

"Is that a fact?" Diego shut the fridge and went to the living room.

Five phased in ahead of him and sat down in the chair Diego had been heading for. "Your hair is dry."

"And?" Diego contemplated just sitting down on Five, but didn't think he'd have the energy for the subsequent wrestling match. He threw himself down on the couch instead.

"And, you always shower after your morning workout."

"I'm cutting," Diego lied. "I'm going for a jog later."

"Interesting. Don't care."

Diego sniffled, annoyed to find that his nose was starting to run. "Why'd you bring it up, then?" he asked, looking around for a spare napkin. Finding nothing, he sniffed again.

"Just letting you know: I notice things, so don't try to pull any shit. And blow your damn nose, you sound like a coke addict."

One by one, the rest of the family came down the stairs and joined them in the living room. Diego tried his best to ignore them, trying to figure out what had gone wrong in the kitchen, but it was hard to concentrate when no one would leave him the fuck alone.

He kept having to leave the room to blow his nose and muffle coughs into his shirt collar, and every time he came back, the ambient noise of his siblings' conversations seemed to grow louder and louder.

"What's got you all broody?" Allison asked upon seeing him return from yet another trip to the bathroom.

"I'm not broody," Diego said, at least vindicated that he didn't sound sick.

"He dropped a knife this morning," Five said to her.

This started up a round of ribbing and teasing that chafed at Diego more than usual. His weak attempts at defending himself went ignored until his ears started to roar. He pulled out a knife and threw it at Klaus, intending for it to stick in the chair's armrest, right between his fingers.

It missed by a mile, thudding against the wall and knocking one of the paintings crooked.

Everyone went quiet.

"Uh, Diego?" Luther asked. "Did you mean to do that?"

"Yeah," Diego said, glaring at him. "Fuck that part of the wall in particular." Despite his best efforts, he started to cough. He managed to choke the fit back into something more manageable, but the damage had been done. Everyone was looking at him.

"Are you okay?" Vanya asked meekly, eyes wide.

"I'm fine."

"That didn't sound fine," Luther said. "You sick?"

"You're sick," Diego said, knowing he sounded like a petulant child but unable to bring himself to care.

Allison studied him. "He's shaking" she said to Luther.

"I said I'm fine," Diego said, batting her hand away. "Five, tell them I'm fine."

"He's sick," Five said to Luther.

"Vanya? Klaus?"

"What are we supposed to do?" Klaus asked.

"Back me up!" Diego ran a hand through his hair, dismayed to find that his forehead was a little sweaty. A thrum of fear had started up in his chest, something he couldn't really explain. He was fine, he could still fight. He wasn't useless.

Luther pointed to a discolored spot on the wall. "Prove it."

"What?"

"If you're fine, hit that spot."

"Fine," Diego growled, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his throat. He took out another knife and just held it for a moment. He had to concentrate, that was all. He'd been sick before and it didn't affect his powers. He was just psyching himself out, that was all.

He took a deep breath and threw the knife. It was over in a blink. The knife traveled straight forward, whizzing by Luther's head, and stuck in the wall across from Diego, nowhere near where Luther had pointed.

Diego's head went fuzzy.

He could feel his body shaking, hear his siblings' voices. He caught sentence fragments, words without meanings attached to them.

"Allison, move."

"Get his head."

"How long has he been like this?"

The world tilted, sickening. He fought for breaths, trying to clear his head. What was happening? What if his powers never came back?

"Diego?" Hands on his head, fingers tracing patterns against his scalp.

Diego took several deep breaths. He had been moved so he was on his back, and he was holding himself stiff.

"Look at me," the voice said. Unable to connect it to a face, Diego looked up. He'd been manhandled from seated to a supine position with his head in someone's lap, so he had been expecting to see Luther's face.

Instead, it was Klaus who stared down at him, his expression unreadable.

"Hey," Diego said shakily.

"You okay?"

"No, I'm not fucking okay," Diego said. He was hot all over and his hands were shaking and he couldn't use his fucking powers. "I'm useless." He remembered how they'd all treated Vanya, remembered all the awful, cruel things their dad had said about her, that they had said about her. "I'm fucking useless."

"Hey." Allison appeared in his periphery. "Your powers will come back." She put her hand on his cheek and drew it back in surprise. "Luther, he's burning up."

"You're telling me." Klaus shifted, one hand still gently tangled in Diego's hair. "It's like being trapped under an electric blanket."

"So move," Diego grumbled.

"No."

"Why don't I go get a cold compress?" Vanya said from somewhere down by Diego's feet.

"I got it," Five said. The subsequent flash of blue stabbed into Diego's eyes and made his head ache.

"What am I gonna do?" he said.

"What do you mean?" Luther asked.

"Without my powers, I… I'm nothing."

"Oh, you were serious about that?" Klaus said. "I thought you were just being dramatic."

Diego was too tired to point out the irony of Klaus accusing him of being overdramatic.

Another flash of blue. Five leaned over Allison and, with surprising gentleness, laid a damp washcloth over Diego's brow. "You're not useless," he said. "In fact, out of all of us, you might just be the most powerful without the help of spooky extraordinary powers."

"Yeah, right." Diego brought up one hand and coughed into his wrist, prompting a quiet "eewww" from Klaus.

"No, he's right," Vanya said. "You work your ass off every day. Even if you really did lose your powers, you'd still be a badass killing machine."

"And you're the only one of us who kept doing heroics after leaving," Allison said. Luther made a noise of protest followed by a grunt, presumably after Allison nudged him in the side.

"You guys… Do you really think so?" Diego asked. Despite the pep talk, he still couldn't really picture himself without his powers. Without them, he wasn't himself. "I feel like… I mean, what's the point of me if I can't use my powers?"

"Lots of things," Klaus said. "I'm pretty sure you're singlehandedly propping up the leather industry in the US."

"You're a good person," Allison said firmly. "And there's more than one way to help people." Pointedly, she added, "Isn't that right, Luther?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah," Luther said. He sighed. "I really do admire you, Diego. You're so obsessed with saving people it's almost pathological." He chuckled. "I mean… Your biggest character flaw is that you literally care too much. Not many people can say that. You're a hero no matter what."

"Besides," said Five. "Your powers will come back." It's probably just the fever that's screwing with them, same way it's screwing with your emotions and making you all vulnerable and adorable."

"Oh," Diego said thoughtfully. "Shit." He rolled over onto his side and started to cough, finally letting loose what he had been stifling all morning. He curled his head down and did his best to breathe through the spasms that tore through his chest and seemed to rip his throat open until everything from his ribs to his head was on fire.

"Please don't die in my lap," Klaus said. "I don't think I could handle the trauma."

"God, I feel like shit " Diego said, his face buried in Klaus' shirt.

"That tickles," Klaus said.

"Have you taken any medicine, Diego?" Vanya asked.

"No," Diego said.

Klaus wriggled. "Diego, seriously!"

Sighing, Diego rolled over again to face his siblings. "I haven't taken anything."

"Or eaten anything," Five added. 

"M'tired," Diego mumbled. The proximity to Klaus' body heat was overwhelming next to the fever simmering under his skin. He wanted to get up and crawl into bed, preferably naked, and sleep. He was in no mood to lie here and listen to siblings squabble over medications. He sat up, prompting a chorus of protests from his siblings.

Luther planted a hand square in the middle of Diego's chest. "What do you think you're doing?" 

"Going to bed," Diego said, anger flaring up at the thought of Luther trying to push him around. He swiped Luther's hand away and got to his feet, pleasantly surprised when he didn't immediately collapse back onto the couch.

"I'll help you up the stairs," Luther said.

Diego stepped away from him. "The hell you will."

"You're not going alone," Luther shot back.

"Guys." Vanya stepped between them. "I'll go with him."

"You gonna tuck me in, too?" Diego scoffed and started to walk away. Vanya matched pace with him but didn't touch him. "Thanks, Vanya," Diego said when they were out of earshot of the others.

She shrugged. "You're just sick, it's not like you need to be babied."

They took the stairs slowly, with frequent breaks so Diego could catch his breath. "I just hate feeling like this," he said.

"I know." Vanya smiled sadly. "It's so ugly and… It just makes you feel so small."

They reached Diego's room. He pushed the door open and got into bed without bothering to take off any of his clothes. "Vanya," he started, unsure of where to go with him the rest of the sentence.

"I should go get the others," she said, hovering by the doorway. "Before they kill each other arguing about, I don't know, Aleve versus Advil."

"Vanya," Diego said again. "I, um. I want to teach you how to fight."

"What?" She looked at him, baffled.

"I know you don't really need it, I just… It's something I want to do."

She smiled, an actual, genuine smile. "I think I'd like that."

"Good."

"Do you want anything to eat?" Vanya asked. "Allison is probably going to make soup, but if there's anything you want in the meantime..?"

"I don't know." Diego leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "Water would be great."

"Don't go to sleep yet," Vanya said. "I'm sure Five will be here with medicine any second now."

"Yeah, yeah." Diego waved a hand.

Vanya laughed quietly. "I'll get you a glass of water."

"Thank you, Vanya." Her footsteps faded away and Diego sighed.

Maybe it was time to drop the lone wolf thing and start embracing life as a pack member.

[sworn-unbeliever]

30 - Splinter

(or: The Unchosen One) (or: The Completely Canon Story of How Teremy Arrived at Norvrandt)

((The last entry! I wanted to go out with a bang. Or a diatribe since this entry is really long. First of all, a huge thanks to @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast, an amazing person who tirelessly(?) organizes this event and with such passion and love. You’ve inspired so many to write or post, including me. Thank you so-so much. Also thank you to @abeat once again. I had asked her to have the Exarch describe Jeremy and she ran with it. She is amazing and hilarious and I can’t thank her enough for that and everything she’s done.

I debated whether or not to break up the story of how Teremy came to Norvrandt into a 3-part story for free Sunday. Then I opted to take Sundays off. But because of that, I decided to do this story as the last entry, and all in one go. Thus this entry is probably more digested than what it could have been. Either way, I had this silly idea stuck in my head for awhile about the sword in the stone and I finally got to write it. A huge thank you to anyone and everyone who has stuck around with me, my obsessive, self-indulgent stories, and this sarcastic musician-poet-dancer-thug up until now. You can also find me at @adeat, @quasionion, and @aspected-benefic. Until next time!))

Wc: 5,250

“Apologies for taking you out like this, but the citizens are as baffled as the local doctors. Perhaps you are able to shine light on this precarious situation.” said Lyna.

The two arrived side by side at the Rotunda. Upon Lyna and the Exarch’s arrival, commonfolk and guards alike parted, allowing them to pass. The Exarch didn’t have to go far to see what Lyna had been talking about. There in the center of the crowd laid an object that had not been there previously—a sword with a third of its black blade lodged in an oddly specifically-shaped stone. In fact, said object seemed so foreign that it looked as though someone had played a practical joke. Yet, as the Exarch held a hand towards the blade, he sensed great powers within.

“Whomever or whatever had brought this object here is no ordinary being.” said the Exarch. “The question is… what is this sword’s intended purpose?”

“This is why we’ve called you, my lord,” said Lyna, “in which you may hopefully shed light on this puzzling matter.

The Exarch held a hand to his chin and tilted his head. “Hm. ‘Tis most puzzling indeed. Perhaps I may attempt to divine an answer.”

Lyna bowed. “Please do, my lord.”

Closing his eyes, even though no one could see as such, the Exarch called upon the powers bestowed upon him by the Crystal Tower. He looked into the divide between worlds to see who the foretold hero would be. Using his phenomenal magical powers, he created a portal to show an image of the foretold hero. The crowds gasped in awe and wonder at the vision shown to them—a handsome, brown-haired miqo’te with a smile that radiated like the ever-present sun.

“Yes, I see it now. He is someone who is brave, kind and true. He is always kind to all creatures except his enemies. His enemies are creatures who are the bane of all that is good within our world. He feeds hungry orphans and houses needy animals. He is wise, benevolent and handsome—”

“What does being handsome have to do with being a legendary hero—” Lyna mused quietly under her breath. “Wait, is he feeding those orphans bacon bread?”

“—courageous and more powerful than anything across the land and sea—”

Lyna had never before doubted the wisdom of her grandfather, but she felt that was about to come to an end if this sweeping description continued for much longer.

“—he will come to us and slay all of the Light Wardens, Vauthry, and every last Eulmorean—”

“I doubt that’s necessary. Since when is mass murder heroic—” Lyna started to say.

“He is also chiseled like a god of war and has a magnificently long—”

“My lord, perhaps you should to try to summon the hero now?” Lyna interjected to prevent the description of the foretold from quickly going from a PG-13 rating to an 18+ one.

The Exarch coughed. “Yes! He is indeed the destined hero—the one foretold in the records.”

In the background, Moren, holding a tome, nodded vigorously.

“I see…” The Exarch held a hand to his hood, “... I see his name! His name is… Jeremy! Jeremy Itsubishi!”

Lyna quietly sighed, relieved that at least the remainder of the lengthy description had remained decent. “Where is this one, this Jeremy Itsubishi?”

“Alas, it may seem that he is… in a realm far beyond us. Much like the ones that have been drawn before.” The Exarch said tactfully. “But fret not. Mayhap with my magics I may be able to summon him here. Please stand back. I can guarantee neither the accuracy nor the drawbacks of this spell.” He held his staff in front of him.

The crowd, including Lyna, took large steps backwards to give the Exarch all the space he needed.

Closing his eyes again, the Exarch once again drew upon the powers bestowed to him by the Crystal Tower. He channeled his energies to cast a spell—one of which he had much practice. A giant, flat circle appeared in thin air. The Exarch reached inside, his hand vanishing into the hole. Bystanders peered to the sides and out the other end of the portal, yet saw nothing. A few moments later, the Exarch grinned like a cat that had just pounced on its prey.

“I have you now. Throw wide the gates!” the Exarch bellowed.

Everyone in the vicinity raised their arms as powerful gusts of wind billowed violently, yet somehow everyone’s feet remained firmly in place. The Exarch pulled his hand out of the portal. When the the portal vanished, all that remained were the Exarch himself and what he had pulled out.

Or, rather, who—a miqo’te, or mystel as they were known in these parts.

Blinking a few times, said miqo’te-mystel rubbed his eyes, one foot forward in a natural fighting stance, and looked around. “What the fuck is this place…? Can a guy ever get two winks of a rest? God fucking dammit! Agh. Next time, send me a warning ahead of time before you drag me through time and space?”

Lyna gestured to the brown-haired miqo’te-mystel that had just arrived. “Benevolence personified, my lord.”

Not one to be deterred that easily, the Exarch cleared his throat and spread his arms wide. “Welcome, destined hero, to the Crystarium in Norvrandt. I am the Crystal Exarch and I am the one who have summoned you here. You are the one fated for a destiny greater than you could ever imagine, Jeremy Itsubishi!”

“Jeremy…?” the brown-haired miqo’te-mystel asked. Rather than the higher pitch than the Exarch had imagined, this seeker spoke in a lower pitch with a natural velvety growl, even discernable from one word alone. “You mean my brother?”

Silence.

“... brother?” the Exarch asked.

“Jeremy’s my younger brother. I’m his elder twin brother. Teremy.”

The Exarch said nothing.

The crowd said nothing.

Lyna gestured to the brown-haired miqo’te-mystel again. “Once again, your aim is impeccable, my lord.”

* * *

“Teremy…?” the Exarch repeated slowly. “In what realm does one name their child ‘Teremy’?”

“I ask myself that every single day of my life,” said the aforementioned Teremy.

“Hmm.”

Placing a hand to his chin, the Exarch circled around Teremy, looking at the seeker up and down in a similar manner as one would appraise a fine piece of art. All the while, Teremy stood ramrod still, arms firmly at his side, his ears shooting straight up to the sky. Teremy sensed no malicious intent from this very familiar-sounding miqo’te, but at the same time, the longer the Exarch stared at him, the higher Teremy’s fight or flight thermometer rose. Any second longer and Teremy’s instincts will bolt him out of the room, whatever intention they had with him or no! Thankfully for Teremy, the appraisal process ended sooner, rather than later. The Exarch returned to his original position of in front of Teremy, his hand still on his chin.

“Well, he seems to appear the part on first blush,” said the Exarch. “He is quite handsome and his face, height and frame match the appearance of the one seen in the vision. Yet, there’s something different about him. I’m afraid I can’t quite place a finger on it.”

“Is it his hair, m’lord?” Lyna asked.

“Come to think of it, his hairstyle is different,” said the Exarch. “Rather than a lampshade, his hairstyle appears to be rather… messy? Side swept? But no, ‘tis another facet, one I’m failing to discern.”

Right then and there, Teremy wished his hairstyle looked like his brother’s. Then his mind could click on a light bulb as to what the fuck was going on.

“Then perhaps his build, m’lord?” Lyna asked.

The Exarch gave Teremy an appraising look up and down. “Yes, well, while the frame fits, his muscles are certainly much… larger. More pronounced. His shirt may as well be a second skin. A venerable god of war indeed. Perhaps he does even have a magnificently long—”

Teremy flattened his ears and pulled his hood over his head. “Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind—”

Lyna cleared her throat. “My lord. Although the spell may have been deceived by facial likeness, perhaps we can still take this situation to our advantage and have him try to pull out the sword from the stone anyway.”

Teremy pulled his hood back down. “Sword in the stone…?”

The Exarch gestured to something behind him. “Yes, well, we had attempted to call the hero seen within a vision to pull this sword out from the stone. Perhaps you can feel the blade’s energies from here? I can sense it. And it has been and shall be foretold—”

Moren, tome in hand, nodded vigorously again.

“—that a hero will pull this sword from the stone and use it to save our world.”

“That’s one hell of a story for you to drag someone all the way through time and space,” said Teremy.

The seeker paused to regain his mental state. He had taken on an empire. Primals. Violent illegal cartels and their lords. Getting dragged through time and space seemed like a logical next step. He pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. Pain. Bad idea. Yet he still stood amid a crowd and in front of a hooded miqo’te no less. Pulled through time and space all because his brother was needed to fulfill some kind of prophecy. And it wasn’t like Teremy could nope out of there. He had no idea where he was in the first place.

Might as well see this great big fuss first.

Teremy turned around to see exactly the description—a sword in a stone. Nothing more, nothing less, except for the sword itself. Teremy recognised the type of blade right away.

A gunblade.

The chamber was the largest thing Teremy had ever seen. The blade itself thick with a black coating except for its sharp edges. What was a gunblade doing here? What was it doing in a stone? Waiting to be picked up like a hero of legend.

Indeed, a legend: Teremy’s own brother.

The seeker’s mind jumped back to a point in time when Jeremy pulled out that own gunblade. Wherever he had found it mattered not. The thing got destroyed in a later ensuing fight anyway, but the point of the matter was that Jeremy had kept it. Prior to then, the younger Itsubishi brother had never shown any particular interest in the gunblade. But then again, things changed. Did Jeremy’s sudden affinity for the gunblade show some kind of destiny at work? Fate’s guiding hand that gestured the way?

And then fate in the form of this Exarch guy nabbed the wrong brother.

Teremy approached the sword in the stone. The crowd and the Exarch took a step back to give him some space.

‘Well, what the hell. Might as well give this a shot. Nothing left to lose.’ Teremy thought.

He gripped the gunblade’s handle. Immediately he felt the smooth coolness as though forged to fit his hand perfectly. He and Jeremy had the same size and shape of hands, but different dexterity, with Teremy being common and right-handed. Then why did this grip feel so natural? Why upon its touch did he feel like his very arm had been stuck in the rock and not this sword’s blade? Did Teremy imagine things? Fully expecting the blade to take his arm off the moment he pulled, Teremy yanked the handle with all his might.

His arm swung straight up with so much force, Teremy fell backwards. He shoved one foot behind him, quickly regaining his footing. The crowd gasped and murmured, but not the kind of gasp that he had expected. Not disappointed but not awed.

Confused?

Flecks of rock and debris trickled down on Teremy’s head and face. After shaking his head, he lowered his arm to see that he had indeed pulled the sword out.

With the sword still lodged in the stone.

In fact, Teremy not only pulled the sword out, he pulled the stone out as well.

Holding the blade sideways, his left hand cupping the flat end of the blade—or, rather, the stone—he turned back to the Exarch. “Does this count...?”

The Exarch’s pursed lips told the whole story. “Hm. Perhaps I truly need to perfect my aim after all.”

“There is always next time, my lord,” said Lyna.

Teremy’s ears darted around to the front and the side to catch the audio filtering in.

Disappointment.

Chatter.

Norvrandt will forever lord under the curse of an ever-present sun. Sin eaters will reign until the end of days. Teremy frowned and stared at the sword-still-in-the-stone again. His mind flashed him images of a time when he still lived under his father’s roof. A time when Teremy had been nothing but a disappointment to his father. A time when he protected no one but himself. His fight or flight radar soared near the top, only to be stopped by a roadblock called his ire. In just a few short moments, Teremy had been dragged around just to let others down by virtue of not being special, and that was that?

The Exarch placed a hand on his hood. “My apologies. I must return to my quarters. Also, I apologise again for inconveniencing you. You are free to stay here at the Crystarium as long as you’d like. We shall summon your brother in due time.”

He leaned on his staff. Teremy held a hand forward to brace him, even if he didn’t feel like he had a right to be in the Exarch’s presence. The Exarch turned his head towards Teremy and smiled.

“Thank you, but I shall be all right. This is nothing new. Believe me.”

Lyna sighed. “Yes, he is correct. This is nothing new. Teremy, if you don’t mind, I shall take the Exarch to his chambers.”

Without knowing what else to say, Teremy held onto the Exarch until Lyna got her hold on the cloaked figure. Once the two headed back, the crowd dispersed as quickly as Teremy had arrived. Teremy looked at the sword-still-in-the-stone.

“What should I do with this thing?”

No answer. Everyone had gone their separate ways. And now Teremy had no other choice but to do the same. Exhaling loudly, he placed the sword-still-in-the-stone on his back where he usually strapped his gunblade. May as well make use of it. Thanks to years of extensive training, he felt very little difference in weight. Had to be good for something.

Teremy wandered south. Some things remained the same as he knew them to be, yet different. Same gardens, though in circular plots with lampshades hanging overhead. Trees yielded leaves of not only green, but lovely shades of lavender and blue as well. Long lamps and domed areas that shone an unearthly shade of blue. He definitely wasn’t in Eorzea anymore.

But the question was… now what?

“Um! Are you Teremy?” asked a vaguely familiar voice that sounded like that of a small boy.

Teremy whirled around to see a dunesfolk lalafell looking back up at him. Blond hair parted in the middle, crimson eyes that matched his bandana and jacket, and an aura of magic surrounding him. But moreso than the lalafell’s presence or his appearance, his voice caught Teremy’s memory cue. Where had he heard that voice before?

Just in case Teremy’s mind played tricks on him again, he spoke cautiously. “Now all of Norvrandt knows my name. No thanks to that spectacle earlier.”

“Spectacle? Ah… I must have missed it.” the lalafell asked. “I just got here myself. Thought to take a walk and get a good idea of this place. Understand your surroundings and all that.”

“Fair. Then how do you know me?”

“I was part of the group that catered to that dance auditions. You know, the one you took part in. When that plant monster attacked, I was your co-tank. The, uh, paladin, if you can call it that,” said the dunesfolk.

The lalafell’s words acted as a cue that triggered Teremy’s memory. The dance auditions in Costa Del Sol. A disgruntled auditionee summoned a giant plant monster in retribution. What Teremy had once believed to be just the catering crew turned out to be an astrologian, a white mage, and a paladin—although more like a hybrid spellcaster who shielded his entire body with big guard and flung magical swords like a red mage—who helped the dance crew fight off the sudden foe. Teremy distinctly recalled the voice of said paladin who warned the party of dangers. A young boy’s voice.

A voice exactly the same as this lalafell’s own.

The lalafell nodded and smiled. “You remember! So you are Teremy Itsubishi?”

Teremy nodded. “If you’re looking for Jeremy, he’s… not here. Unfortunately for the prophecy.”

Joey put his stubby finger to his mouth and tilted his head, looking down, as though weighing options of how to answer as such. When he craned his neck to look up again, he finally spoke. “I just happened to see you and you looked lost and confused. That’s all.”

The seeker rubbed his face. All those years of trying to look indifferent… thwarted by his bewilderment. What a day. “Right. You said you missed the spectacle. Thankfully for my pride. At any rate, what’s your name again?”

“Joey. Joey Madison.” The lalafell gestured to himself with his thumb. “So, um, what brings you all the way to Norvrandt?”

“I—” Teremy started, but stopped. What was he supposed to say? One moment he was in Costa Del Sol chilling with his brother on the beach, and then the next moment he found himself sucked into a portal with only time to grab his clothes. Not even his trusty gunblade.

Joey tilted his head. “Here, come with me. My mistress, Reonora, also got summoned through the portal and I followed her here. She’s going to ask the Exarch some questions. He might have some answers for you too.”

‘Sure didn’t have any answers earlier.’ Teremy thought, but followed Joey anyway. Couldn’t hurt.

* * *

As it turned out, Teremy hadn’t been the only one who got dragged through a portal against his will—the entire Fortunes & Fancies crew—of which Teremy had correctly remembered as the catering crew at the dance audition—had been dragged here as well. The Crystal Exarch’s original aim was to find the fabled Warrior of Light, the one who had saved Eorzea time and time again alongside the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Somehow, this extended to a humble shopkeeper trying to make a living, and both her retainers. Well, Rosemary, anyway. Joey had followed Reonora here by reopening the portal, but only due to traces of energies. He couldn’t open the portal back. In other words, in an attempt to find the Warrior of Light, the Exarch had pulled in nearly every single Scion of the Seventh Dawn, and them too.

For Teremy, because the Exarch had a vision of some legendary hero that could pull a sword from the stone. Now all Teremy had was the sword… and the stone.

Teremy folded his arms and said nothing as he listened to everyone else talk. To his limited thug mental capabilities, he gathered that the Scions had scattered at various parts around this world, and the Leveilleur twins happened to be the easiest ones to reach. At least from the Crystarium. Speaking of twins. Teremy bitterly wondered how one of them thought if they learned the other had been hailed some chosen hero, yet they weren’t the one and now they’re stuck here. No, no point to think about that. Things happened for a reason. Even though Teremy wasn’t exactly sure as to what yet.

“We should split up.” Reonora concluded. “I can go to Eulmore to find Alphinaud.”

Teremy unfolded his arms and stepped forward. “Then I’ll go to Ahm Araeng to find Alisaie.”

Everyone, including the Exarch, looked at Teremy in surprise.

“Are you certain?” The Exarch asked. “‘Tis true you have been pulled from your homeworld against your will—and for that, I deeply apologise. But you’re welcome to stay in the Crystarium as long as you like. There’s no need for you to go out of your way for this trouble, especially after the trouble I have caused you.”

Teremy cracked his knuckles. “Sitting still makes me antsy. Destined hero or not, I might as well make myself useful.”

Reonora held Rosemary’s hand. The keeper had clearly chosen who she wanted to take with her. Though she looked at Teremy as she spoke. “Then please take Joey with you. He may not look like it, but he is a versatile all-rounder. He should be able to help you in any capacity you need.”

Joey performed an eastern bow. “I’ll do my best!”

Teremy placed his right fist in his left palm and bowed.

“Then it’s decided,” said the Exarch. “Please speak to the Amaro Keepers once you have fully prepared.”

The girls headed out first, followed by Teremy and Joey. As the seeker and his newfound companion headed to the Amarokeep, Teremy wondered what he was going to do with this sword and the stone combination. He quickly concluded that he’d just carry the thing around. If nothing else, having the feel of a gunblade made him feel better, even if half of its blade was rendered useless. All else fails, he had an interesting sword-mace and story to tell Jeremy when he got home.

If he got home.

* * *

The last time anyone saw any trace of Alisaie, she was last seen at the Inn at Journey’s Head. From Mord Souq, Teremy and Joey traveled south—Joey on a flying chair, Teremy on foot. He needed some time to work off his nervous energy.

The blazing hot sun beat down upon them. Occasionally Teremy felt breaths of cold coming from Joey’s own aura. At one glance, he saw a few ice cubes hovering around the lalafell. Magic really could do anything. Although Teremy felt the effects of extra heat from his black clothes, he welcomed that feeling right now. He needed that reminder that he was still alive.

Expected of a place that bared an eternal sun, the Fields of Amber gave home to some of the largest sabotenders Teremy had ever seen. Gigatenders, as the natives called them. The two also passed by varieties of turtles and moles, but none of them gave the two any extra trouble. As they continued south down a rocky ledge, Teremy placed his hands in his pockets. His fingers grazed upon aether-charged bullets. To think, he had the bullets but not an actual gunblade to fire them. His gunblade had been left behind at Costa Del Sol. All Teremy had left was this part blade mostly rock thing. Maybe he could fire off a round or two and a Burst Strike would blast the rock off. He pulled the gunblade from his back and slammed the rock into a nearby larger rock. All Teremy felt was the other rock shatter upon impact. That rock. Not the stone, that looked not even a grain out of place.

Joey jumped and squeaked. Had Teremy not been in such a sour mood, he would have thought the lalafell’s noise to be cute. “Everything okay?”

“Too much sun.” Teremy strapped the gunblade to his back.

“Here, have some cold.”

Teremy never asked for anything, but he felt a cold breeze slowly billow around him. The miqo’te smiled a little. “Hypothermia.”

“S-sorry!”

“I’m kidding.”

“Oh!” Joey placed a hand to his mouth. “A sarcastic type. I see.”

“Glad we understand each other. Thanks for the cold, though. Feels nice.”

Teremy held one hand over the horizon. How much farther was this inn anyway? What kind of inn could even survive in the middle of a desert?

Just when Teremy thought he saw a trickle of blue like an aetheryte crystal coming from between two large rock formations, he also saw a flash of white streak across the sky. Pure killing instinct. And from Joey hopping off of his chair, Teremy knew that the lalafell sensed it too.

What they saw was a sight they had never seen before—beings of pure white with angelic wings but forms of monsters screeching from the sky and diving down towards what looked like hyurs in rags.

“Those are Sin Eaters! We have to be care—”

Joey didn’t have time to finish his sentence, for Teremy already ran ahead at full speed. Imbuing his body with the power of wind, he ran faster than Joey’s lalafell legs could keep up. The miqo’te thought he heard things from the lalafell like “—ful.” “This guy…!” and “Wait!” but too late. Teremy had already committed the moment he saw someone in trouble. And soon, one of the sin eaters keeled back in the air from Teremy’s shoulder tackle. A reverse roundhouse kick to send the next one flying. And a quick burst of qi energy launched like a projectile to push away the last.

“You all right?” Teremy asked what appeared to be hyurs.

And indeed they were. Or whatever they were called in this world—Teremy forgot the explanation nor did he have time to care. His strikes had only served as a distraction. The sin eaters regained their senses quickly and dove again.

“Go, quickly! I’ll hold them off!” Teremy whirled around and grabbed the gunblade strapped to his back. Footsteps pattered behind him. Good.

One of the sin eaters took a large dive at him. Teremy swung his gunblade, except that the weight at the tip felt much heavier than usual—not enough to knock Teremy off balance, but enough to feel the weight of that attack. Rather than slash and slice, the stone still attached to the gunblade bludgeoned the sin eater. Good show but not exactly what he was looking for. Taking a chance, Teremy filled the revolver with one aether bullet, snapped the gunblade back into place, and fired.

Ka-thunk.

The recoil of a burst strike sent Teremy flying back. He skidded on the ground to prevent himself from falling. And yes, to answer his question, the stone remained perfectly intact. Putting the useless gunblade away, he resorted back to martial arts again. A shoulder tackle. A series of hand strikes to points usually vital to humans, but the sin eater didn’t seem to recoil in the same manner. Now what?

A flechette of magical swords impaling the sin eaters answered Teremy’s question. Immediately following the hailstorm came bolts of fire. A sudden bolt of lightning that shocked the sin eater to its core. A bolt of unaspected energy flecked them, followed by a large gust of wind to blow them off target. Teremy watched as a red blur collided onto the sin eater in front of him, but it was the sin eater that inevitably went flying from a impact spell with Joey’s open palm as a catalyst.

“Careful. These sin eaters can sire you into one of them if they feel like it,” said Joey.

“Thanks for the heads up.” Teremy called back. ‘Huh. Magic and martial arts together. Don’t see that every day. Cool.’

Teremy turned around, raising his fists in a fighting stance. Now he and Joey stood back to back.

Turned out that these three sin eaters weren’t alone. Another screech and more arrived. Joey flung spell after spell. Lightning to unaspected kinetic magic. Wind to unaspected kinetic magic that sent sin eaters flying away towards Teremy, causing the miqo’te’s strikes to collide even harder. But the more sin eaters they felled, the more came. The more strikes the duo dished out, the more sin eaters clawed their way. Teremy felt more irritated than winded—the miqo’te was just getting warmed up. But Joey, as befitting of a typical spellcaster, felt his stamina ebb away from him. It wasn’t long before the lalafell fell on his knees, panting, using vercure to heal his and Teremy’s wounds, but the same spell couldn’t cure for Joey’s exhaustion.

Although Teremy could rely on his martial arts to attack, his very instincts reached to his gunblade. He had to be there. He had to be the one in front, to protect the party. To protect the people behind him. To protect his companions.

To protect…

Teremy clenched his teeth. He had known the answer all along. He just didn’t want to see it. He pulled the gunblade from his back. “You know what? Fuck this. I made a vow upon my honor to protect others. Destiny can go to hell!”

With the hardest swing he could muster, Teremy smashed the blade’s stone prison against the rock wall.

CRACK.

The stone shattered. The sword’s blade gleamed in the light, shining brightly like a smile from its first taste of freedom. His grip on the handle never felt any better. As he swung, he felt like this blade was not a weapon, but an extension of his own arm. Moreso than any blade he had ever possessed.

“C’mon!” Teremy beckoned to the sin eaters as his battle aura flared twice as brightly.

He vaulted into the air and spun around, sword outstretched. The blade cut cleanly into the sin eaters’ flesh. Another spin cut even deeper. Sensing the danger that shifted from Teremy’s battle aura alone, the sin eaters now flew away from Joey and towards Teremy instead.

Joey struggled to stay on his feet just enough to see Teremy call all the sin eaters in the vicinity to himself. Even in his tired state, Joey noted just how much the miqo’te’s fighting style had changed. Although powerful and graceful before, Teremy’s moves flowed much more naturally. Much more gracefully. Like he now had the means to complete his purpose. Still, there had to be something Joey could do. He watched Teremy spin around to attack all the sin eaters at once. But that alone, was that enough?

“Teremy. I got an idea. I’m going to imbue your blade.”

Whether or not Teremy had heard Joey, the lalafell proceeded anyway. Using Teremy’s blade as a catalyst, the lalafell summoned magical fire onto the blade. When Teremy spun, a trail of fire followed, cutting and burning into the sin eaters’ flesh. With their combined attacks and another flechette hailstorm, the sin eaters collapsed to the ground. Their bodies dispersed into the air, never to be seen again.

Joey flopped to the ground and sat down, exhaling. Teremy, too, panted slightly and leaned on the wall. The miqo’te laughed. Then Joey. And soon, the tension from the battle subsided from laughter of genuine relief.

“That was a good idea with the fire thing.” Teremy pointed the blade of his sword upwards and turned it with a flick of his wrists, reflecting light from the sun. “I’ll have to remember that technique for myself.”

“And you… you freed the sword from the stone,” said Joey.

Teremy stared at the black side of his blade. “I did, didn’t I? Heh… rather than be chosen, I forced my way, you could say.”

“Sometimes destiny is what we choose for ourselves,” said Joey. “Maybe the stone knew that.”

“Or I hit the damn thing too hard for its liking. Yeah. I’ll go with that story. Fate splintering off into the great unknown thanks to me.” Teremy strapped the gunblade to his back. “C’mon. Let’s go find Alisaie.”

As the two headed into the Inn at Journey’s Head, Teremy felt a wave of relief tide over him. Now he understood why he had been called to Norvrandt. There were people who needed saving and people he had to protect. He didn’t need to be chosen to protect others. He had already decided long ago what he wanted to do.

[annakie]

An Annotated Mass Effect Playthrough, Part Thirteen

List of Posts: 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Last Time: We arrived on Feros, helped the struggling colony, and headed across the Skybridge.

This Time: Falling metal bugs, capitalism, and gas grenades.

Let’s keep moving across the skybridge.

Oh we’re picking up radio transmissions that there’s some people in the area looking for some loot?  Should probably help those idiots out.

Whoops, too late.  Man I hope you sacrificed yourself to the Geth for some truly great loot.

*sad trumpet sounds*  Annnnd.... all reduced straight to Omnigel.

Finally, across the skybridge, and time for a pretty fun battle getting into the facility!  Boom!

During my last playthrough, I remembered I’d made a post on tumblr about the really f’d up textures down in the hallway on the way into the facility, so I was like “Hey, I wonder if the textures are still like that?

Guess who decided to jump down here before getting the dialog at the blue door OR going into the fight behind the locked door?

Guess who hadn’t saved since leaving the colony tower?

Guess who had to do the entire skybridge again?

Anyway, good to know that ALOT fixed the textures in the hallway!

I love this fight.  It’s just dropped in on you then you can watch the varren running at you QUICKLY and it’s so easy to get overwhelmed if you don’t use some well-placed biotics very quickly, and also it’s great for short-ranged weapons, which often fights in this game are not.

Also, flying varren!

Maybe one of the best comical moments from ME1, a particularly dumb Krogan arguing with a VI.

Honestly, krogan aren’t dumb?  At least not any more dumb than most humans.  I’m glad they got out of that mindset. We have Wrex, starting to get to know him and see how he’s survived so long and later becomes a great leader.  Ryder has Drack, and a whole colony of Krogan using their ingenuity to survive.  

Obviously by now we know that things are super F’d up, but throwing something called The Thorian at us WHILE we’re in a tower full of geth and hostile Krogan is like a whole other level of scary.  

I mean thanks for the security clearance and all, but Lizbeth should have given us the rundown ahead of time. Did she think we weren’t going to find out??  Lizbeth, c’mon, we’re here to save you, and your mom is pretty cool.  

Anyway, thanks for the info, VI!  Moving on...

Oh neat, GIANT CLAWS STICKING THROUGH THE BUILDING.  All of this is very Normal.

This fight is like, so easy with a well-placed Singularity!

But seriously, what IS the deal with the orb? We never really find out.  It’s one of those dropped threads that never gets picked up again, and I don’t think we see another orb.  

This hallway fight against THREE CHARGING KROGAN is definitely not terrifying, or impossible feeling on Insanity when I played.  Nope.

Real glad I’m still wearing armor with all of 20 shields on it!  Thank you, Niftu Cal for Barrier.

Believe it or not, Tali survived.

Of course, fighting through the Krogan was totally worth it for Gavin’s data.  Or more like, the very eventual results of said data.

Mmm... yeah.  Awesome.

Now that’s what I call teamwork!

Thanks, ExoGeni and Geth for leaving important data just laying around for me to find out!

Oh no... math.  Nobody told me there’d be math in this game!

Actually, it’s pretty easy to figure out, and there’s two right answers!  But still a decent small puzzle.

And the conclusion is so, SO satisfying.

Buh-bye!

Annnd... done here!  Back to Tower One!

Plus, we can talk to Joker again!  Oh, Zombies, pounding on the Normandy door?  You’re FINE, Joker!   Uhh don’t we have like, Wrex, Garrus, Liara and Ashley just hanging out in there? Should tell them to suit up and clear that out!  Don’t want zombies putting scratches and dents into my ship!!

This guy doesn’t trust Cerberus, eh?  And they’re doing something shady?  I’m sure it’s fine and we can totally trust them and NOT ever be mad at someone who doesn’t want to join them!!

Time to go.

Aw, right.  Lizbeth.  FINE.

Hey, I’ve only ever written five Mass Effect fics, and they’re all pretty short, and it’s been a long time and my writing has gotten somewhat better since I wrote this, but one of the five fics I’ve written is about this moment, right here!  Link: AO3, Four’s A Crowd. The drive back with Lizbeth in the Mako! (Except in the fic, I brought Wrex along to amp up the reasons why things had to happen like they did.) It’s all Shenko, and 2500 words.

(Nevermind the typo in the gif.)

Thanks game, for keeping the mako as we parked it and forcing a u-turn and then putting big blocks and mounds of rock in the way.  Very cool of you.

100% expert Mako driving here, y’all.

Believe it or not, I didn’t fall off the edge.

Yes, Lizbeth.  Run out of the protection of the Mako WITHOUT your highly-trained military escort.  Good thinking.

Have we said fuck you to Jeong lately? No?  Jeong, fuck you for holding Juliana at gunpoint.  Bootlicker.

Let me explain to you how this is gonna go.

Honestly, I’m kind of regretting my decision here to let Jeong live.  Not letting ExoGeni purge the colony is the only reason you get to live.

Annnd... done!  Now to not think about you again for like, fifty hours.

Time to get back to the colony!

Ummm.... 

Well... that’s not great.

Glad we’ve got that clear, now let’s kill some zombies!

FUN!

Now time to kindly put some colonists to sleep, saving their lives.

*cough*

Time to REMEMBER TO EQUIP THE GAS GRENADE and put some colonists to sleep, saving their lives!!!!

That’s better.

No that’s cool, just keep shooting at me.  My 20 shields can take it.  YOU’RE WELCOME.

Believe it or not... all 16 colonists saved on only the second try!

.

So lets’s find the secret, hidden staircase and...

Damn.

I’m truly sorry things went down like that, Fai Dan.  I wish I could have saved you.

I was going to try and finish up Feros in this update, but this feels like a good place to end it.  Next time... the Thorian, and back to the ship.

[massivedrickhead]

Okay ffs I’ve been trying to add a “read more” line to my latest drabble because it’s long as shit but it isn’t working and I can’t just leave it there taking up everyone’s dashboard space because everyone will hate me.

So I deleted the ask and reposted it as a text post.

Please give this is a read I’m very tired and I’ve been working on this all night.

The prompt was: Just breathe / It’ll be over soon combo from the angst list pretty please?

Here it is ->

------

One month before

The girl was a dead weight in Chloe’s arms as she pulled her out of the sea and onto the sand. Being a trained lifeguard, this wasn’t the first time Chloe had had to rescue someone, but she never got used to the weight.

She moved quickly backwards up the wet, cold sand and finally got the unconscious girl above the tide line.

Wet, dark brown hair was plastered to her face and Chloe swept it out of the way so she could check her over. Her heart sank when she realised the girl wasn’t breathing and had no pulse. 

Chloe started CPR without hesitation, the girls lips cold against her own.

She had been intrigued by the girl when she spotted her on the beach a few hours before. She’d been in a wet suit and had an old surf board next to her, but she’d made no move to head into the sea. The area was popular with surfers but because it was a colder day the beach was quieter, and Chloe had been surprised the girl didn’t use this to her advantage. Eventually the girl had made her way into the sea to the line-up, but that seemed to have sapped all the energy out of her. Chloe had watched as the girl sat on her board, forcing herself to take deep and steadying breaths, before she slid sideways off her board and didn’t reappear.

Chloe’s arms were aching as she carried on performing CPR. She began to feel a rising sense of panic. The longer the girl was down, the more oxygen deprived her brain was becoming, and the less likely it would be that she would recover.

“Come on,” Chloe muttered through gritted teeth. “Come on.” She could feel tears stinging her eyes. 

And then the girl gave a cough and splutter. She coughed up a large amount of sea water, and opened her eyes, looking confused and afraid.

Chloe rolled her onto her side and rubbed her back while she got the rest of the water up.

Her chest wheezed and rattled as she sucked air into her lungs.

“Just breathe,” Chloe said, feeling relieved. “You’re okay, just breathe. We’re gonna call an ambulance and get you to hospital-”

“No,” the girl choked out. “Please. No ambulance. No hospital.”

“I’ve… I’ve got to. You have to go to the hospital. You weren’t breathing. Your heart literally stopped. There are also loads of complications that can happen after near-drowning-” Chloe rambled on before the girl cut her off again.

“Stop,” she said, coughing. “Jeez. I’ll go just… No ambulance.” She coughed again. “I can drive myself.” Her teeth were chattering and her lips were practically blue. There was also something strange about the look in her eyes. It was almost like anger.

“No,” Chloe said. “If you aren’t taking an ambulance then I’ll drive you. I can’t just let you wander off after you basically died. Do you have clothes with you?”

The girl groaned but didn’t argue. “Fine. And yes, they’re in my car. If you wait here-”

“So you can drive off? Nope. We’re getting some blankets and towels from the lifeguard station and then we can go get your stuff from your car,” Chloe said. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Beca,” the girl said, shivering violently as a gust of wind swept across the beach.

“I’m Chloe,” she said, standing and helping the girl to her feet. “Let’s get you warm, okay?”

Rather than argue, the girl nodded. She looked pale and exhausted and her legs looked like they were going to buckle with every step. 

Back at the lifeguard station Chloe wrapped a foil blanket around Beca’s shoulders and grabbed a couple of towels. As Beca got her keys out of a locker, Chloe changed out of her wet shorts and t-shirt and through on a hoody. 

“Ready?” Chloe asked. Beca nodded again and they made their way to her car. “Here.” Chloe handed her a towel and turned her back so Beca could change and dry off. “Is there anyone you want me to call for you?” Chloe asked as Beca zipped up a hoody and locked her car.

She shook her head. “How long can you park here for?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Once you’ve been checked out I can drive you back to your car,” Chloe said.

Beca shook her head slightly but the corners of her mouth twitched, threatening a smile.

Chloe cranked the heat in her car, worried about the way Beca was still shivering and coughing. 

“Thank you by the way,” Beca said, her head resting on the passenger side window. “For saving me. I… I might have acted like a bit of a jerk.”

Chloe glanced over at her as she drove them to the hospital. “That’s okay. You were scared. People act like jerks when they’re scared.” Beca laughed and the sound made Chloe smile, even if it was followed by a coughing fit. “What happened anyway? One minute you were sitting there and then you just… fell.”

Beca shifted in her seat. “Don’t really remember,” she said. “I’m a bit more out of shape than the last time I surfed. I guess I just passed out or something.”

“You aren’t out of shape,” Chloe said, causing Beca to snort in disbelief. “Okay, maybe you look a bit like death right now, but I’m sure that’s because you almost died.”

Beca shook her head, smiling. “Is your bedside manner always this good?”

“I’m a lifeguard, I don’t need a bedside manner. I just need to look hot when I run in slow-motion.”

“I’m sure you do,” Beca said, laughing.

When they got to the hospital Chloe had to help Beca out of the car and support her as they walked inside as didn’t seem able to hold herself up. When they reached the entrance, Beca groaned.

“What is it?” Chloe asked.

“Nothing, just-”

“Rebecca Mitchell!” A loud voice rang out. “What the fuck?!”

“Hello Dr. Conrad,” Beca said, clinging to Chloe as she limped into the hospital. Her voice seemed to be getting more and more drained. 

“Friend of yours?” Chloe asked, confused at the way this tall brunette doctor was glaring at Beca.

“Doctor of mine,” Beca said. 

“Where have you been?! I go to check on you and your bed is empty and your shoes are gone! Everyone is searching the hospital and grounds for you!” 

“Relax, Stacie,” Beca said. “I just went surfing.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” The doctor called Stacie said, her voice now quiet and terrifying. “You went surfing? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Chloe’s eyebrows furrowed as she glanced between the two. Sure surfing was dangerous, but this seemed like an overreaction.

“Oh my god,” Beca groaned, rolling her eyes. “I’m fine, okay?”

“Then why is a lifeguard half carrying you to the hospital?” Stacie turned her gaze to Chloe. “What happened?”

“Uhh…” Chloe looked at Beca who seemed resigned to getting chewed out. “Well…” Stacie raised her eyebrows.

“Well?”

“I pulled her out of the sea unconscious and not breathing,” Chloe said, with an apologetic look at Beca. 

Stacie pushed her fingers into her eyes and started quietly counting to ten. 

“She’s dramatic,” Beca muttered. 

“Rebecca Mitchell,” Stacie said, very quietly. “I am going to kill you.”

“That’s not really necessary is it?” Beca said, smirking.

“Do not test me,” Stacie said, pointing at her. She grabbed a nearby wheelchair. “Sit. Now.”

“I can walk,” Beca grumbled.

“I’m not trying to take sides here,” Chloe said, causing both women to shoot a glance at her. “Uh… It’s just I’m literally supporting all of your weight right now. You should sit down before you collapse.” She turned to Stacie. “She had no pulse and wasn’t breathing from about five to ten minutes.”

“Nark,” Beca muttered, sitting down on the chair and coughing again.

“And she’s been coughing like that since I brought her back,” Chloe said. 

“She’s been coughing like that for about about a year,” Stacie said, not taking her eyes off Beca. “What were you thinking?” Her voice had softened considerably.

“I just wanted to see the sea again,” Beca said, eyes downcast. “I wanted to be outside and away from this place.”

Chloe had a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach. 

She hadn’t met Beca before today, and it wasn’t as if they’d even hit it off, but Chloe was feeling sick at this dawning realisation.

“Thank you for bringing her in,” Stacie said, putting her hands on the handles of the wheelchair.

“Yeah, thanks for saving my ass,” Beca mumbled, giving her a small smile. “I don’t think I’ll be back to the beach anytime soon, but if you find yourself on ward 17 hit me up.”

And to Beca’s surprise, Chloe did.

She arrived the next afternoon, finding Beca lying in a hospital bed with a drip attached to her arm. She looked miserable but not quite as close to death as she’d looked the previous day.

“Dude, what are you doing here?” Beca asked, surprised.

“I was in the neighbourhood,” Chloe said with a shrug. “Are you allowed visitors?”

“Uh, sure?” Beca said, still confused. 

“Do you want a visitor?”

“I guess?” 

“Awes,” Chloe said with a grin. She sat down in the chair beside Beca’s bed. “What are you in for?”

“Man you don’t do small talk do you?” Beca said with a nervous laugh. Chloe shook her head. “I’m sick.”

“Well duh.”

Beca laughed. “Okay. Really sick. Like, uh, been in hospital the past few months sick. Like they’ve tried every treatment they can throw at me and I’m still really fucking sick.”

“Oh,” Chloe said, her smile dropping. “Shit. I’m sorry, Beca.”

“Yeah,” Beca said. “Me too.”

Three weeks before

“Any sevens?”

“Go fish.”

“Rude. I’m not allowed in the sea anymore,” Beca said, picking up a card from the pile.

“You don’t have to go in the sea to fish, dummy,” Chloe replied, looking through her own cards. 

“Your bedside manner is appalling.”

Chloe had been to visit Beca almost every day, whenever she wasn’t working. They usually just played cards and talked about nothing serious. Sometimes Beca would show Chloe mixes she’d made on her laptop. Sometimes she’d be too sick to talk so she would sleep while Chloe would read.

Beca wasn’t sure why Chloe was visiting her, but she couldn’t say that it wasn’t nice to finally have some company. And Chloe was fun, and kind, and funny. And didn’t make Beca feel like she was broken. Or dying.

Chloe couldn’t say why she was visiting Beca, but she enjoyed her company as much as Beca enjoyed hers. She wished they’d been able to meet under different circumstances.

One night after Beca had fallen asleep and Chloe was leaving her room, Stacie approached her.

“Can I have a word?” Stacie asked quietly.

Chloe nodded and they walked away from Beca’s room, down the hospital corridor.

“Look, I feel like I should give you a heads up,” Stacie said. “I don’t know how much Beca’s told you but… Well… Basically she’s, uh, she’s not getting better. She’s… She’s not going to get better.”

Chloe felt her heart drop into her stomach. “She’s… right… shit.”

“I think it’s really cool that you’ve been visiting her, I know it’s definitely improved her mental state. But you should know that she doesn’t have a huge amount of time left. You should… you should prepare yourself for that,” Stacie said, and Chloe was surprised to see tears in the doctor’s eyes. 

Chloe swallowed, feeling them burn her own eyes. “She doesn’t have anyone else, does she?”

“No,” Stacie said, sadly. “Her Mom died when she was a kid and her dad is nowhere to be found. As for friends, they came in the beginning but I think it got a little too real for them. I’ve been trying to be there for her, we’ve grown kinda close since she got sick. But, you know, I’m her doctor. There's only so much of a relationship we can have.”

“Right,” Chloe said. “Thank you for telling me this. But I can’t leave her on her own.”

Two weeks before

“Cool badge,” Beca mumbled.

Chloe’s eyes shot up from her book. Beca had been asleep when she got there, so she’d just taken a seat beside her and waited for her to wake up. This wasn’t uncommon, and Beca seemed to find comfort in having someone there when she woke up. Chloe didn’t mind, it meant she had a quiet place to read and she could be there just… Just in case.

Chloe looked down at the pink, purple and blue badge that was pinned to her jacket.

“Thanks,” Chloe said, brightly.

“It’s the bi flag, right?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said. 

“So you’re…”

“Bi? It’d be weird if I was wearing the badge and I wasn’t,” Chloe said with a wink.

“Shut up,” Beca said, laughing and coughing. She was quiet for a few minutes. “I am too.”

“You are?”

Beca nodded. “Never really told anyone before.”

“Well, thank you for telling me,” Chloe said, smiling. 

Beca stayed quiet again, thinking. “Have you ever kissed a girl?” She blurted out.

“A couple,” Chloe said. “Have you?”

Beca shook her head.

“How old are you?” Chloe asked.

“Twenty-two,” Beca said, a little embarrassed.

“Well, don’t worry about it. There’s still time,” she said, full of optimism. Beca raised her eyebrows and Chloe’s face burned red as she realised what she’d said. “Shit. Sorry. My brain and mouth don’t always connect.”

“It’s okay,” Beca said, laughing. “I’d like to though. One of the things on my bucket list I didn’t get to tick off. Along with visit every Six Flags and swim in the sea during sunset.”

Chloe looked at her. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m taking you to Six Flags, duh.”

Beca closed her eyes hesitantly. 

Chloe kissed her.

Beca’s lips were chapped and warm and she tasted like the grapes she was always eating. Beca kissed her back, cupping Chloe’s face with her hands. Chloe’s lips were soft and she tasted like the sea. 

"Holy shit,” Beca whispered when they broke apart. 

Chloe surprised them both when her eyes filled with tears.

“Dude… Was I that bad?”

“No,” Chloe said, half laughing, half crying. “Sorry. I just… I really like you.”

“Oh,” Beca said. “I like you too. Why else would I let you hang out here and eat all my grapes?”

Chloe laughed again. “I mean I… I like like you.”

“But you didn’t even know I liked girls?”

“Sweetie, your phone background is a picture of Emily Blunt and you wear a different flannel shirt every day. I had a hunch,” Chloe said.

“Fuck off,” Beca said shoving her away, laughing. “I was gonna say that I like liked you too but now I think you’re the worst.”

One week before

“I’m dying, you know that right?” Beca said one afternoon. It had been a particularly bad few days. Her breathing had gotten so bad she had to wear an oxygen mask because the cannula she’d been wearing wasn’t giving her enough oxygen. Beca was tired and irritable and miserable with constant headaches and no appetite. 

“Everybody’s dying,” Chloe said, trying to ignore the free-fall of her stomach. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Beca muttered, rolling her eyes.

“What?”

“I’m trying to have an actual conversation and you keep making jokes,” she said.

“Sorry,” Chloe said. “I didn’t mean to. We can talk for real if you want. No jokes.”

Beca looked a little ashamed. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just… I’m fed up.”

“I know,” Chloe said, taking hold of her hand. “I’m sorry. And… And yeah. I know you’re dying, Bec.”

Beca nodded, and looked like she was trying to psyche herself up to say something. “They’re moving me to a hospice.”

“Fuck,” Chloe said. “When?”

“Soon,” Beca said. “Within the next few days.”

“Right.” Chloe’s eyes had filled with tears but she didn’t want Beca to see. “Okay. I can still visit you, right?”

“Yeah,” Beca said. “Basically all the time. Not that you’d want to. But there’s fewer restrictions. Since they’re not really there to keep me alive. It’s more… They’re making me comfortable.” 

“No, that makes sense. I’ll be there as often as I can,” Chloe said. “I can take some time off work-”

“Chlo’ you don’t have to,” Beca said. “If you need to… To bail then you can. You should.”

“What?”

“I’m giving you an out,” Beca said. “You don’t have to be here at the end.”

“I’m not leaving you now,” Chloe said. 

Five days before

“I didn’t pass out that day,” Beca said, her voice rough and thick with sleep.

“What?” Chloe mumbled, half asleep herself.

They were in Beca’s room at the hospice. Beca had a decent dose of morphine to keep the pain away, and had slept most of the evening. Chloe barely left her side now, and had been almost asleep herself.

“When you pulled me out of the sea. I hadn’t fallen off my board because I passed out,” her voice kept trailing off as she struggled to stay awake. “I was trying to kill myself.”

Chloe suddenly felt wide awake. It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of icy water on her. “What are you talking about?”

“Dying is the fucking worst,” Beca mumbled. “I just wanted it to be over. I didn’t want to die in a stuffy room attached to a load of machines. I wanted to die outside. With the sea. It might have been kinder if you’d let me.”

“I’d be a pretty shitty lifeguard then,” Chloe said, before dissolving into tears.

“I’m sorry,” Beca mumbled, letting sleep take her finally.

“Me too.”

The day before

“She doesn’t have long,” Chloe said, standing outside Beca’s room with Stacie. “They’re saying it’s any day now.”

“And you’re sure this is what she wants?” Stacie asked, looking into Beca’s room through the window on the door.

“Positive,” Chloe said. “She doesn’t want it to happen here. And… and she’s ready, Stace.”

Stacie sighed, tears pricking at her eyes. “Okay,” she said.

“You’ll help?”

“I’ll help,” Stacie said. 

Her last day

“Take my hand,” Chloe said, helping Beca into the wheelchair by her bed. “I’ve got you.”

“Thanks,” Beca wheezed. 

“Ready?” Chloe asked, tucking blankets over her legs and fastening her coat. 

“Ready. Quit fussing,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She tried to bat Chloe’s hand away but the redhead caught it and kissed it, tears building. “None of that. It’s…” she took a deep, rattling breath, “it’s a good day.”

“Are you sure about this Beca?” Stacie asked, making sure the portable oxygen tank was working. “We can do this another day? Maybe when you’re feeling stronger? It doesn’t have to be today.”

“It does,” Beca said. “I don’t have another good day in me.”

Chloe wheeled Beca out of her room and towards the waiting van. She wheeled her into the back and locked the wheels in place. The van drove them to the beach.

Her chair wouldn’t go across sand so Chloe picked her up and carried her, Stacie following behind holding the oxygen tank.

“God you’re so heavy,” Chloe muttered, pretending to struggle with her weight.

Beca laughed which turned into a cough, and blood coated the palm of her hand. She wiped it on her jeans and Chloe pretended not to notice.

“How long until sunset?” Beca asked.

“About thirty minutes,” Chloe said. “Can you hold on until then?”

“I think so,” Beca replied.

They sat at the edge of the ocean, the water creeping ever closer, brushing against the soles of their shoes. 

“Can… can you take…” she pointed to her shoes and Chloe removed her socks and shoes so Beca could feel the water against her feet. “Holy fuck that’s cold.”

“You don’t have to go in,” Stacie said, a note of panic in her voice. “We can still go back.”

“Stace,” Beca wheezed. “Thank you for being my friend.” She reached out and squeezed Stacie’s hand. “You can stop being my doctor now. There isn’t anything you can do or say that will cure me.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, Mitchell,” Stacie said, choking out a sob. 

“Are those your last words to me? They suck,” Beca said, smirking. 

“Fuck you, how about those words?”

“So professional,” Beca laughed. 

Stacie squeezed her hand back. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“You did everything.”

Chloe was having a hard time keeping it together. She was biting down on her lip hard to stop from crying out. 

“I’m ready, Chlo’.”

With Stacie’s help, she removed the oxygen mask and untangled her from the tubes. Beca struggled to breathe the cold sea air, and Chloe had to fight the urge to give her the mask back.

“This is going to be cold,” Chloe said, picking Beca up and walking into the sea.

“I hope so,” Beca replied.

When the first wave crashed into them, the cold shocked Beca so much she started almost hyperventilating.

“Shh,” Chloe said, as they carried on walking. “You’re okay. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

“So… fucking… cold,” Beca shivered and coughed but she was smiling.

Chloe kept walking and soon they were deep enough for her sink down into the ocean, the water reaching just below their shoulders.

“The sun’s setting,” Chloe said, softly, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I can see it,” Beca said, teeth chattering. Her hands wrapped around Chloe, and Chloe held her close. She could hear each one of Beca’s desperate, rattling breaths. 

“Do you want to go back? You’d be more comfortable with some oxygen,” Chloe said, her own voice shaking though not from the cold. “We have some morphine with us.”

“N-N-No,” Beca stammered. 

“Okay,” Chloe sobbed, unable to hold it back. “Okay. It’ll be over soon, baby.”

“Th-th-thank y-you.”

“Thank you,” Chloe whispered back, kissing Beca on the cheek. 

And soon Beca was a dead weight in her arms. 

And she walked out of the see, across the cold wet sand, and lay her down. Wet brown hair plastered her face, and Chloe swept it aside to confirm what she already knew.

Send me one?

[clown-bait]

Monster Family (Monster Roommate AU) CH9

HIATUS OVER! Im back! I had to take some time off in the fall because holy hell life got crazy! But Im back and Im determined to finish this and get the story through IT ch2 idk how long that will take me but now that Im financially stable I finallly have time to write!

CH 9 Hospital

When you're on a diet the last place you want to go to is an ice cream shop where temptation surrounds you in every corner. For Pennywise staring at a room full of screaming crying infants was like standing in an ice cream shop with a growling stomach and the world's biggest sweet tooth. 

They were so helpless and plump he could just pluck one up and swallow it whole. No one would even notice! They're all just right there! The Adam's apple of his human form bobbed up and down as he gulped and pressed a hand to the window. 

"First time dad?" A man was speaking to him he sounded disgustingly confident and joyful.

"Yes." He answered distantly.

"Aw congrats son! My wife just popped out number 3 right there! Cute little tyke, those legs look like a future football star's legs I'm tellin ya! Nice and plump gonna be a strong runner!"

Robert Grey wiped his lips with his sleeve as he stared at the squirming drumsticks. 

"So newbie which one of the little rascals here is yours? Wait don't tell me, the one with the fish eyes HA!"

Robert held back a snarl. "My offspring have not arrived yet." He said almost ominously 

"Ah hell don't be nervous pal! You'll be fine!"

"I do not get nervous." Robert did growl this time. He wanted to leave not only because this human stunk of pork rinds and grass cuttings but more so that he was stressed being in this place. There was a lot of fear in these halls possibly some of his own. His mate's seizing body was still fresh in his mind and the blood from her head was still under some of his fingernails. She will definitely kill him when she wakes up.

"Mister um Grey? Your wife is…..well she's stable will you please come with me?" A nurse called to him. Finally an excuse to leave. 

"Go get em champ!" He heard the human male call out to him. The eldritch decided that none of his offspring will be participating in this game of footballs just to avoid ever encountering this loud individual again. 

"We don't know how to tell you this sir but your wife is….well she has no pulse... Medically speaking she should be dead.." Robert stood unamused at the door of a hospital room he really did not want to be in. "I'm aware of that." He growled at the confused nurse. He should probably make her not see the fact that leech was a card-carrying member of the living dead but to be honest he wasn't focusing too much on what people saw and did not see. Most of his attention was on the strange male who insisted they came here instead of home. He didn't like the smell of him and did not like that his mind was unreadable. All he knew about him was that he knew his mate and had more than just a guitar in that case he carried. 

When the man found them it was Robert Grey's face he wore while he stood in the middle of the road. The creature frantically licked his seizing mate whos swollen stomach flashed frantically with muffled light. No matter what he did, he couldn't get it to stop and his silver desperate eyes reflected back in the approaching headlights. The following conversation was a blur,  the man apparently had met them the night before on that wonderfully brilliant bender he went on. Something about getting his mate to the hospital something about a friend who worked there….

"Sir? Are you all alright? " The nurse asked and brought the eldritch out of his thoughts. He let out a very inhuman snarl and pushed past the woman "sir! We need to discuss this more there's the matter of an ultrasound and-" Pennywise slammed the door behind him. He glanced up at the scene before him; another nurse fussed over the unconscious vampire smearing ointment on her stomach as she lay as still as a fresh corpse. He did not like the way they touched her nor the smell of the bandages on her head.

"Oh you must be the father? We're about to take a look at the baby." She said cheerfully. Pennywise's scowl did not change. 

The instrument pressed into his brood and a fang twitched over his lip. How dare this filth touch his mate and his eggs. He moved to protect but stopped when little lights began to dimly glow beneath the surface of Leech's pale skin. The nurse was mumbling something about seeing babies then she froze jaw going slack at the sight of the monitor. The infant deadlights within his vampire all shined through the screen, paralyzing their victim while rotating hypnotically just like their parent lights. The eldritch finally softened his gaze at the sight of his offspring. Pride stole his breath away from him and his scowl slowly warmed into a smile. Not even born and already making kills. He understood it all now, pride in something other than himself. Was he crying? Can he cry? Pennywise was lost in pondering these new emotions not even registering that his mate had come to and had bitten into the brain scrambled nurse. Leech hissed as she sucked the life out of the woman reflecting soulless eyes at the dumbstruck cosmic horror who was still completely mesmerized by all the strange new parental feelings it was trying to process. He didn't move till the empty body fell to the floor snapping back to reality at the sound of the heavy thud. Leech returned to a reclined position resting her palm on her churning stomach feeling the happy buzzing beneath her skin coughing and wheezing as if the blood she just consumed was her first breath of life.

A tissue dragged over her lips and one of her eyes slowly opened to watch Robert hover over her. "You're in trouble." She muttered.

"When am I not." He smirked and licked the tissue before swiping blood from her cheek particularly hard. 

"You didn't even propose you dick!" Leech growled and gingerly sat up. 

"Was tired of being bothered." Her mate tossed the tissue aside and instead switched to running his thumb over her cool lips. He licked his fingers clean with a satisfied groan. 

"That's not really the point of getting married Pen." Leech replied quietly and the mood changed fast. Robert's hands pulled away from her and a coldness filled the air. The eldritch stepped back towards the door and Leech could see the hurt on his features even if he hid it.

"..........You do not want this?" was he sad? Oh great drama queen is upset. 

"Hey I'm having your fucking babies egg head!" She blurted out trying to get out of the bed but struggled from her size. Her mate was already getting ready to walk out. "Pen don't fucking jump to conclusions. I don't want this in the way you did it! That's what has me upset!" She felt fear in her throat followed by the pain of her own children feeding off her. Tears spilled from her eyes as ichor bubbled from her mouth. "I want it to fucking mean something to you, like it does for me!" She gurgled weakly spilling black goo from her lips to the floor. Her mate did finally stop trying to leave much to her relief. She coughed and gripped the bed tightly. "I didn't even get a bachelorette party…." She could feel herself panting and she shifted back to a reclining position. "Hey, I still love you, you big drama queen. Don't ever doubt that. Can we just discuss this post offspring? I got a lot on my plate right now."  After an uncomfortable silence he turned to her with wild golden eyes. "They look like me." Was all he said. 

"They eat like you too." Leech sighed wiping her own blood from her lips. Robert's lip twitched upward as Leech shut her eyes in relief "I hate saying this but-"

"You need my help."

"You're the one who did this to me anyway." The vampire groaned and shut her eyes. "I feel so gross and bloated." She felt a hand reach under her knees and another slither around her back lifting her with ease. "Who's being the drama queen now?" He finally grinned 

"Fuck you." 

"You've already done that darling." Robert smirked with pride kissing her bandaged head. Leech traced the nail of her thumb over his cheekbone and her eldritch leaned into the touch.

"Just mouth stuff then." She smiled and kissed his soft wet lips.  

"What the hell are you doing?! Put her back idiot!" The pair froze at the shout as two men burst into the room. Pennywise's eye cracked open and rolled to the side, eyeing them both with venom. "Oh christ, they killed Bridget." The doctor groaned. Herbert West lifted the dead woman's wrist and dropped it "I suppose I can use the body for research. This will be such a mess to clean, you people are nightmares to work with I hope you know that." 

"I thought you said you didn't work with the living doc." Leech grumbled as her mate eased her back down and stood guard in front of her bedside.

"Your buddy here called in a favor."

"The guy from the bar?"

"Call me Duke darlin, Duke Rivers! Found the two of you in the middle of the road, gave you a lift." 

"I don't remember anything after passing out." Leech grumbled gingerly touching her head. 

"Shoulda seen that old bug of yours! What a worried wreck! Didn't I tell ya he'd come around?" The older man laughed then placed his coat on his shoulder. "I'll bet letting the doc take it from here, consider it my one good deed of the day. Come see my show sometime kid." 

"I- yeah, I think I will thanks." The man studied her as Robert shot a venom-filled glare in his direction then nodded at them as he slipped out. Leech barely had time to think before being roughly grabbed by the chin.

"You seem to be healing slow your um..species.. is known for regenerating yes?" West turned her head and pulled back her dressings.

"You think I'm sick?" Leech sat up taking her mate's hand.

"Do keep in mind I specialize in humans this is completely uncharted territory for me." 

"Well I'm human-shaped….most of the time…"

"I'll need you to go over weaknesses and allergies of both you and your...significant other. Something could have weakened you or the babies." 

"I have none!" Robert butted in with pride. 

"Yeah yeah lucky you." Leech grumbled. 

"And I believe I told you to wait till sunset but ohhhh no someone just haaad to go swimming."

"Oh shut up you were just as into it as I was."

"So you've been weakened by sunbathing despite knowing you're allergic to sunlight. And here I thought legendary monsters would be intelligent." The doctor sighed and turned the vampires head who hissed in annoyance. "Figures you are more vulnerable in your condition. By the rate your head injury is healing it'll take days instead of hours till you're on your feet. Hope the tan was worth it."

"Your bedside manner needs work doc." Leech muttered as he roughly redressed her wound 

"I work with the dead not the living"

"It shows." Robert nearly hissed not liking the way this other touched his mate so carelessly.

Leech rolled her eyes at him "So I don't know about you boys but i need another drink. Hook a girl up doc? Got any A negative? That shits rare!" 

"I would like a baby." The cosmic horror said cooly

"You already have babies Pe-.......wait…..no. oh no you are not eating a baby!"

"Peachy they are literally right there!" The eldritch's fangs split his face as he glared out the small window. His company looked mortified "Just one, one small soft and squealing."

"You are not eating a fucking baby!" Leech growled.

"I deserve one!" The disguised clown snarled glaring at his mate with vermilion eyes and a broken human face. 

"You already got my ass virginity today!" Leech snarled back rolling her eyes at the dramatic display.

"Things I did not need to hear at 5 am….. look I'm not stealing you rare blood types and infants for a grotesque gourmet feast. I will supply you with what you will need and then ask you people to get out of my hospital." The doctor grumbled and began to fuss with the corpse on the floor. 

 "Fine then Pen take me home, I'd rather rot in my own bed anyway." 

"I told you a couple days rest. You will live, are all of you this dramatic?"

"Only the pretty ones doc!" The vampire flashed a parting grin as they left the doctor to clean their mess. He was grumbling something about never working with the undead again. 

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

"You should be resting." Her monster’s voice hissed from under her bed. Leech shot a disinterested glance to the floor then back to her window. She felt a puff of hot moist air uncontrollably close to her face then heard a maw of teeth open "YoU sHOulD bE REsTinG." The eldritch gurgled.

"You realize the scary faces are gonna keep me awake right?" Leech cooly said and heard a set of jaws snap shut with enough force to break bones in two. 

"Things other than scary faces are keeping you up. I smell it on you." Her clown’s voice warbled out and Leech subconsciously moved for him to join her. 

"You ever look at someone you've never met and just feel like you know them?"

"No. But I am amused by this continue." The massive horror smiled through his words as he bullishly snuggled his way into his mate’s bed.

"I think I know the guy who helped us. I don't know why though." 

"Hmm too much stressing for you Mrs. Wise. But I will help put your mind at ease when you feel better. Promise promise." Leech felt soft nuzzles against her head as her mate ran his cheekbones over her skull like a cat. 

"I thought we agreed not to talk about that." Leech grumbled and turned to face her apparent "husband". "And its Grey. I like Grey on the end of my name."

"Someone's thought of this before!" Pennywise's smile widened. "Daydreaming about your clown my dear?"

"Don't embarrass me." Leech grunted and buried her face in his ruff. If she was alive, her face would be hot. "I'm not considering this official until we have a real ceremony and I get a ring. Call me old fashioned but your girl has standards."

"Hmm as you wish then Mrs. Grey!" He chuckled darkly smirking at her darkened cheeks and wide-eyed expression. 

"You fucking jackass." She muttered as her clown cackled grabbing her tight and tickling her skin. So much for bed rest.

[littlenightma]

I just read the one about the slashers confusing their s/o for a random victim and absolutely loved it. I wanted to ask, could I get the same premise but with Bubba, Chucky, and Freddy?

Note: Thank you, sweet Anon. Apparently, a lot of people really enjoyed them which really took me by surprise. I am glad you guys like what I write :)

Warnings: Mentions of blood and murder

Bubba:

• Bubba can tend to get a bit too excited and aggravated depending on how a situation goes.

• Unfortunately for his s/o, they happened to be around on a day where a victim happened to escape. His brothers went out to look for him while Bubba stayed back.

• He was kicking dirt and shaking his chainsaw in the air, huffing, and wailing. It just wasn’t fair. He almost had him!

• You would hear Bubba from the house and you became instantly worried. He didn’t like for you to be around him or his family during “play time” but he sounded pitiful as if he was hurt.

• Rubbing your hands on your apron from washing dishes, you went outside to see a small tornado of dirt and dust. They could see Bubba spinning around.

• They became worried but also relieved that he didn’t appear injured, however, he seemed upset so they decided to go and comfort him.

• Their clothes whipped around from the wind and your lungs became clogged with the air so you covered their mouth with their hands. Their eyes thrown shut with just a small slit to allow them to walk

• Bubba soon became tired, but he was still mad. He saw a small shadow behind him and without thinking, he assumed it was the victim trying to mess with him.

• Not today! He would not allow them to escape again. He would prove himself.

• He yelled loudly and spun around, his chainsaw roaring to life above his head. He swung down and stabbed them in their shoulder.

• They screamed but all that came out was a harsh cough. They fell on their side with a groan, not understanding why he was acting this way.

• “Bu-bb..b..a..” they spoke, but their words were hoarse and muffled. Too low for Bubba to hear or make out.

• Bubba gave another yell, swiping down once more and catching them in the leg. They screamed and feared that their time with the Sawyer family was up. They must have decided that they were going to be the next family meal.

• With one final cry, their vocal cords screeched out a painful

• “BUBBAAAA!!” Before their face buried itself in the red dirt, heartbeat slowing down from blood loss.

• Yes! He’d celebrate, hooping and hollering.

• His brothers would come back and he’d meet them eagerly, wanting to show them his good work, but he would stop dead in his tracks, chainsaw falling languidly in his hands.

• The boy from earlier was being dragged by his two brothers when be should have been laying just a few feet behind him. If he was with them, then who was…

• ?_?

• Bubba would freak the ever-loving fuck out and this is not an exaggeration.

• He’d cry and cry and cry until he couldn’t anymore and even then he’d still cry, begging for his family to help. His skill was using the chainsaw, not first-aid.

• “Shit, Bubba, you’ve really done fucked up this time.” Nubbins said, twiddling his fingers in stress because he was afraid that his favorite person would die.

• He’d be rocking himself in the corner of the living room as his older brother worked on you. It wasn’t the cleanest or the most precise work, but he did stop the bleeding and their heart rate increased to a steady pace.

• The family would use the bloodied water to flavor the dinner that night. His s/o wouldn’t mind as they knew it was their way of saying they are glad you are okay now.

• Bubba would sit next to their bed as you ate. He’d sometimes wipe their chin when they missed their mouth.

• “Bubba, I swear that I am fine. You scared me, but I know it was a mistake. We all make mistakes.”

• They would kiss his unmasked face to further prove their point.

• He’d solemnly nod, feeling a little better, and they would snuggle into his chest that night, finding comfort in Bubba’s soft body. His arms would be wrapped around them loosely, not wanting to hurt them any more than he had.

• Chop Top noticed Bubba’s untouched plate and elbowed his brother about it.

• “I don’t think Bubba is going to want to eat meat for a while.” Drayton said disappointingly, but he wouldn’t say much to Bubba. Not this time.

• It would be only half true. He’d eat meat, but he was staying far away from anything that contained anything of his s/o. He wouldn’t approve of dinner that night, but his s/o didn’t seem to mind so he relented. But he wouldn’t eat it. No, he wouldn’t eat it. He was the one who spilled their blood in the first place. Oh no, he wasn’t going to eat it. No, sir…

Freddy:

• This dream demon was having one hell of a time in someone’s dream turned nightmare.

• He’d have them running around scared and lost in his favorite nightmare scene. Rusted red pipes with hot steam blowing everywhere making the air humid and uncomfortable.

• “Come here, Little Piggy!” he’d cackle, blades stretching with anticipation.

• His s/o somehow was brought into the dream world once they fell asleep, however, Freddy was too preoccupied to feel their presence within his realm.

• They wandered around, seeking Freddy, calling out his name, but no one answered back. Until they heard his laughter in the distance. Oh, so he wanted to play, huh?

• They smiled and ran around the hallways, trying to sneak up on Freddy. While they did, Freddy’s target ran past you on the other side of the piping in the opposite direction of where they came from.

• Freddy heard to who he thought was his target’s footsteps and figured they had gotten turned around.

• His eyes glittered darkly and his gloves snapped excitedly. He waited around the corner and the moment he saw movement, he cackled, jumping in front of them.

• “Gotcha, Bitch!”

• Each blade entered the victim’s stomach at once. They screamed and Freddy instantly stepped back from shock.

• They fell to the ground with a thud that echoed throughout the hallways and Freddy’s ears.

• “Son of a bitch!”

• Flecks of glitter surrounded their unmoving body as Freddy tried to heal them with his powers, but the wound wasn’t healing and they would already be gone from sight.

• In the real world, their parents found them in bed with a stab wound they believed they inflicted upon themselves and took them straight to the hospital.

• They would be in intensive care for three weeks and able to go home at six weeks when the doctor’s and psychiatrist deemed them not suicidal, even with the unexplainable wound that appeared.

• During the stay at the ER, the doctors gave them medicine that made them sleep without dreams so Freddy had to watch from his place in the dream world until they could come home.

• “Why the fuck was you there in the first goddamn place!?” would be the first words said when his s/o appeared again.

• Curse after curse and a few from his s/o as well before it would eventually end with them in tears and Freddy telling them to fuck off and never to come back.

• He was secretly pissed off that he was unable to fix them himself due to not having enough souls and he deemed himself weak. He was mad at them for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. He was mad at his victim that got away, but most of all he was mad at himself.

• His s/o felt more hurt than what happened earlier. They left the dream world within a few pinches of their arm, leaving Freddy all alone.

• “Fuck this shit. Pathetic little human, I don’t need you anyways!” he threw his glove on the ground angrily, the blades clanking against the metal.

• Weeks would go by and not a word from either party. The s/o would take Hypnocil to keep from dreaming of Freddy. He was so evil and rude, it was inevitable that this was how their relationship would end.

• But they wouldn’t admit that they did miss him. Did he miss them too? Probably not, not him. He wouldn’t stoop that low for someone like them.

• One day they would be watching tv when a new caster flashed a post on screen. A young girl had been brutally murdered the night before with the words “It Should Have Been You” was sketched into their skin by some kind of blade.

• They would turn it off and go into their bedroom. They would notice a white tulip on their dresser with a note with god awful handwriting:

• Sorry for being a prick - Signed, The Man of your Dreams.

• That night they would decide that maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t be taking the Hypnocil.

Chucky:

• He and Tiffany were on a spree and he told his s/o to stay home.

• “But, Chucky, I want to help you. You don’t need to rely on Tiffany all the time…”

• “Babe, please. It’s too dangerous and I need someone who knows what they are doing.”

• They would frown and Chucky would sigh, rubbing his hand on his head.

• “We’ll do something when I get home. Just the two of us,” he said, hoping that would make them feel better.

• “Okay…”

• They’d watch Chucky and Tiffany leave in the van and as they rode away, Tiffany blew them a kiss from the window, her doll face fading away in the distance.

• He doesn’t even like you anymore, slut

• They could be Chucky’s perfect partner. They’d show him. They would be perfect together.

• They followed Chucky and Tiffany to a park where a group of young people were having a bonfire. Parking far enough away where Chuck and Tiff wouldn’t suspect a thing.

• They were stalking the group until one of them found Chucky sitting on the ground and another found Tiffany.

• Chucky and Tiffany had found the group’s stash of paintball guns and replaced the paint bullets with real ones and watched as the group started to kill themselves one by one.

• This is when the s/o would decide to make their move and sneak up behind the last remaining person, but when they were about to pounce, they felt something pierce their shoulder right on through and into the chest of the person in front of them

• “Oh my god, Chucky. A double whammy. How lucky are we. I didn’t even seen that one.” came Tiffany’s voice from behind you.

• “Why do they look familiar?” asked Tiffany after a moment.

• “Because they’re both in a puddle of guts and blood. We’ve seen this before, Tiff.”

• “Seriously, Chucky. The one who ran in front of our bullet has the same shirt that [S/O’s Name] was wearing when we left. Look,”

• Chucky’s s/o was in so much pain that they couldn’t speak and they listened on hoping Chucky would realize it was them.

• Chucky would step closer and see an earring that looked all too familiar. It was the same exact style he got his s/o for Christmas that he stole from a jewelry store.

• “No way…Tiff, get the van! Now!” Chucky barked as he knelt down and turned the body over and saw the eyes of his baby.

• “TIFFANY!”

• “I am going as fast as I can with four inch legs you bastard!”

• “Take your heels off!”

• “Fuck you!”

• The ride home was awful. It was bumpy and the van was filled with Tiffany and Chucky’s arguing back and forth. His s/o other would go in and out of consciousness.

• At home, they would be placed in bed and still they would be arguing. Eventually, his s/o would finally lose the battle with their head and fall into the abyss of sleep.

• Chucky is not known to show his feelings, especially if they are more on the tender/emotional side. He would become angry and distance himself to find all the first aid equipment and a doctor who he’ll threaten until they corporate.

• The doctor would be disposed of after since Chucky would be in no mood to show mercy, not while his s/o lay in bed on the verge of death.

• The doctor would stabilize his s/o and work on their shoulder. Chucky would not leave the room, eyeing the doctor with his knife showing in his pocket just enough so the good doctor could see.

• “I told you she would only get in your way,” Tiffany mumbled under her breath.

• Chucky’s eyes steeled, head swerving to meet Tiffany’s judgmental gaze. “Say that again and I will rip your head off your fucking body.”

• …

• “You really love them, don’t you, Chucky? You never acted this way when I got hurt.”

• “Don’t-“

• “I’m just saying. You act different around them. You really must love them. Just admit it, dumbass.”

• “…yeah, I do.”

• His s/o would be listening from the bed, a smile on their lips. They reached a hand and caught Chucky’s with their’s. “I love you, too.”

[rhinozilla]

Whumptober Day 6: Dragged Away

Summary: Connor gets dragged behind a truck by fleeing suspects. Thanks to Officers Person and Wilson, they don’t get far.

--

For a full second, it looked like the two suspected android murderers were going to use Connor as a shield, hauling him with them toward the old pick up truck, keeping him firmly between them and where Officers Person and Wilson were in pursuit. The gunfire had scattered all of the civilians, sending them to seek cover inside the buildings off the street.

Wilson had already called for backup just as the two perps had managed to overpower Connor. Wilson hadn’t seen any LEDs, but he’d also never seen anybody get the drop on Connor like that that HADN’T been an android. The blow to the head had knocked Connor down and left him dazed enough to not be able to defend himself.

“FUCKING PLASTIC!” one of them jeered.

The full second passed, and Wilson saw the chains.

“Fuck.” Person saw them too.

The fleeing suspects dropped three loops of the chain around Connor’s neck, letting the sudden weight ruin the android’s already-compromised balance, sending him to his knees. One of the men vaulted into the bed of the truck, while the other leapt into the open driver’s side door. He gunned the engine, and the tires spat dust as the truck launched forward. The short length of chain not wrapped around Connor’s neck lifted up into the air as the other end of it led up to the ball hitch on the back of the truck.

Connor only had time to lift his head, finally get his bearings, and make eye contact with Wilson before the chain went taut. It was a split second in time that Wilson knew would haunt him.

Then Connor was being yanked backwards by the neck, dragged away behind the truck as the two men tried to flee…Tried to flee and murder another android while they were at it.

“Stop!” Wilson screamed anyway, still chasing after the truck.

Person abruptly stopped running, drawing her weapon. “Wilson, out of the way!”

Wilson glanced back at her and then skidded to a stop, jumping far out of her line of fire. Person planted her feet, raised both arms, and aimed at the truck.

“Wait—You could hit Connor,” he warned.

Without moving, without breathing, Person stared down the sights of her gun. “I won’t.”

Pop.

The bullet found its home in the bald rubber of the truck’s front tire. The tire blew, and the metal rim was instantly spinning sparks as it ran directly into the pavement. The truck lurched to the side, off kilter, and the driver fought to compensate. The chain attaching Connor to the truck swung as a result, sending Connor bouncing more into the middle of the road. It looked like the driver was going to manage to keep going—

Pop.

Person’s second bullet took out the back tire farthest from Connor, causing it to spin toward the curb. The truck bucked out of control before hitting a thick light post on the street corner head on. The front of the old truck formed an accordion shape as it came to an abrupt stop.

Person holstered her gun, and she and Wilson resumed running toward the scene.

“You got Connor,” Person instructed sharply. “These two are mine.”

“Person—“ Wilson warned.

“I got it!” she snapped.

Wilson didn’t spare any further attention on her as she approached the cab of the truck. Instead, he hurried over to where Connor wasn’t moving. Reaching him, Wilson quickly got down on his knees and noted the cycling red of Connor’s LED. Blue blood was staining through his pant legs and the back of his jacket where he’d been dragged across the concrete, and the synthetic skin had failed around his throat and the side of his face where the loops of chain had gone tight.

“Jesus,” he wheezed, working enough slack into the chain to carefully lift them up and away from the android’s neck.

He threw the blue slicked chains aside, and Connor started choking as his airway was opened up again. It was an awful sound, full of damaged circuitry misfiring and air rattling through a partially collapsed throat. Some thirium dribbled past his lips as he struggled to breathe. His eyes were half open but full of pain as he blinked rapidly up at him.

“Wil—Wils—Wilson—“ he wheezed.

“Shh, shh,” Wilson shushed him, glancing down the length of his body and back up, taking in the extent of the damage. “Oh my God…” He met Connor’s eyes again and composed himself. “Hey, man. We’re taking care of this. You don’t worry about anything, okay? You just keep breathing like you’re doing—We’ll take care of everything else. Try to relax, man.”

Connor coughed again, thirium coming up in a foam and painting his teeth pale blue. He was choking on his own blood. Wilson cursed and slid a hand up under Connor’s neck, feeling the base of his skull and tracing the hard line of the android’s spinal structure. He went as far down Connor’s back as he could reach, feeling no breaks or bulging discs that suggested spinal damage. Fuck, even if he had, he couldn’t NOT move him. He was choking—

“Shit,” Wilson hissed through clenched teeth. “Sorry.”

As gently as he could manage, he rolled Connor from his back onto his side, turning his head so that the blood could drain out of his mouth. He coughed again, managing to suck in a ragged gasp of air. Wilson put a hand on his back, holding him steady.

“There we go. Just like that. You’re doing great.”

He waited for Connor to manage three breaths before carefully situating him fully into the recovery position. He shrugged out of his jacket and hastily folded it up. Connor spat out a final mouthful of thirium, and Wilson gingerly lifted his head, sliding the jacket underneath so that his head wasn’t lying directly on the hard ground.

That done, he kept his hands on Connor’s back and wrapped around one of his arms for support, and he finally looked over at the front of the vehicle. Person had secured both men back to back, handcuffed to each other with the light pole between them, locking them in place. One had a bloody red nose from hitting the steering wheel on impact. The other had a hard knot already bruising on his forehead, presumably from the impact as well. They were both squirming and swearing, and Person was a pillar of pure rage as she called in the incident on the radio attached to her shoulder.

Wilson breathed a sigh of relief and jerked his head to get her to come over.

“Connor?” Person knelt on his other side, putting herself in his line of sight. “Hey, don’t try to speak. Just squeeze my hand if you hear me.”

She slipped her hand into his open palm, and Wilson saw his fingers close in a weak squeeze. Person assembled a smile for him, touching her hand briefly to the top of his head.

“Good, that’s good. Help is on the way.” She started to shrug out of her own jacket as well.

“I don’t want to move him,” Wilson stated. “I had to roll him…He was choking, but…without knowing the full extent of the damage—“

“Good call,” Person assured swiftly.

Between them, Connor’s face pinched, and he shut his eyes, falling into an irregular breathing pattern. Person leaned in closer to him, keeping her hand in his.

“Hey, hey, hey, quit that,” she said lowly. “You’re gonna be fine. Breathe. Watch me? Breathe.”

She drew an exaggerated breath, holding it until he raggedly mimicked her. Then she released it slowly, pausing until he did the same. She repeated the process with him until the tension in his frame started to relax slightly, and without moving her eyes from him, she held her jacket toward Wilson.

“He’s gonna go into shock before medics get here. It’s…It’s like human shock but slightly different…Does the same thing though. We need to keep him warm,” she rattled off in a truncated tone.

“Right.” Wilson pulled the jacket out of its wadded up shape.

He draped the material over Connor’s top half, tucking it loosely around him. Person remained very close to him, nearly doubled over herself as she stayed in his field of vision, holding his hand and speaking very softly to him. It was a weird look on her, since Wilson had only ever seen the other officer as standoffish and curt to the point of rude toward her co-workers.

Connor just brought out this side of people, it seemed.

The sound of sirens echoed in the closing distance, and they all visibly breathed easier.

“Pigs!” one of the perps spat.

Person lifted narrow eyes toward the two men, but Wilson raised a hand, shifting up from both knees into a kneel.

“Stay with him. I’ll keep an eye on those two idiots.”

“You better…because if I go over there…” She let the statement hang, shaking her head and turning her attention back to Connor.

Wilson nodded and stood up, stepping away to go shut up the two assholes while they waited for help to arrive.

[everythingisgayandnothinghurts]

Before and After

Steve’s world is all about after the serum was given and after he woke from his time in the ice.  What if he was forced to live the before, even just for awhile?

This is inspired by @whumpitywhumpwhump post about asthma and how terrifying it is so I decided to write this little thing.  Well, it was supposed to be little anyways.

When Steve woke his room was dark and he could only see darkness outside his window as well.  He blinked heavily a few times and ran a hand through his hair to try and wake up a little more.  He remembered vaguely that the team plus Bucky had gone out on a mission that afternoon.  Hydra had been causing problems and as usual they were the ones to interfere before it got out of control.  

His heart stuttered in his chest.

This time had been different.  They had been expecting them to show up and almost eager to see them.  The fighting had been difficult, even for him and his beyond normal capabilities.  One of them had gotten the upper hand on him and before he could throw the guy twenty feet away from him he had been injected with something.  He remembered the fear that had shot through him when he realized a needle had pierced his neck.  The memories it brought back had been unpleasant to say the least.  

He had actually cried a bit when Bucky had found him frozen in place.

Whatever he’d been injected with must have knocked him out for the rest of the day and they had left him to sleep it off.  Steve smiled at his knees when he heard dishes being washed in the kitchen and slowly the hum of TV filtered in.  Not everyone had left him of course.  Buck would never leave his side like that.  Hell, he would probably leave him to fend for himself despite the fact that now he could lift almost twice his body weight.  

He made a displeased sound when he swung his legs over the side of the bed and the room spun for a moment.  How did they find something strong enough to still affect him after so many hours?  Bruce couldn’t even give him anything to last more than four, despite trying for months now.   He brought a hand up to his head and closed his eyes to try and get the world to stay still long enough for him to figure out what was going on.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Bucky slowly eased the door open and his face lit up when he saw Steve awake.  “You’ve been out for about nine hours.  It’s nearly midnight.”  He wasn’t so casual when Steve made another sound of alarmed displeasure and dropped his head fully into his hands as he hunched over the side of the bed.  He felt sick to his stomach in such a foreign way that it was almost frightening.  Since that serum he hadn’t been ill and nothing had really affected him physically.  His body had been through beating after beating and he had never felt this awful.  “Steve?”

“I’m…” Steve wanted to tell him he was fine, but fear was clogging his throat.  This was so stupid.  There was nothing to be afraid of.  HIs stomach being upset was perfectly reasonable when he’d been given a heavy dose of some drug.  “What did they drug me with?”

“Bruce didn’t have any conclusive results to tell us.  He figured it was some kind of tranquilizer to get you out of the fight.” Bucky knelt in front of him and had both hands on his knees.  “How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” Steve admitted softly as he swallowed a few times.  “That must of been one hell of a tranquilizer then.”

“You feel dizzy,” Bucky’s hand came up to brush through his hair and over the hands already cradling his head.  

“Dizzy and have a headache,” Steve confirmed as he tried to shake off feeling so off.  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He made to stand and immediately was weak in the knees.  Bucky hurried to catch him before he hit the carpet and Steve felt the fear increase.  What the hell was going on?

“Take it easy Stevie,” Bucky’s voice leaked of concern as well and he tried not to let it alarm him further.  “Let’s stay in bed, okay?  You hungry or anything?  You haven’t eaten all day so I’m sure you’re starving.  Tony brought up some sandwiches around dinner for you to have.  Or I can make you whatever you want me to.”

“Just stay,” Steve said in a voice that could barely be heard.  He tugged Bucky close and felt his eyes drift closed again.  The other man quickly got the hint to climb in bed with him and cradle him close.  

“You just need some rest, Doll,” Bucky told him softly with a soft kiss to his head.  “Today was a rough fight.  Nobody came back from that without a few bruises.  They came after you the hardest.”

“I don’t get sick,” Steve said quietly and felt his eyes sting.  What the hell was going on?  “I mean, ever.  After eight hours I should be healed just fine.  It was just some drug.  They didn’t even really hit me.  I spent four days with Tony when he had the flu and I didn’t get so much as a sniffle.  I feel… I feel funny.”

“Shh,” Bucky hushed him gently with a hand tangled back in his hair.  “Tomorrow you’ll be fine, okay?  Get some more sleep and the morning will bring a better day.”

Steve was too exhausted to argue that point so he let himself fall asleep and pretend that nothing weird was going on.  

He woke before Bucky the next morning and was relieved when his symptoms did seem to be better.  He felt a bit sluggish, but other than that he was fine.  He got changed for his morning run and made some breakfast for himself.  He was full after only three eggs, which was unheard of, but maybe it was part of his recovery.  He quickly put on some shoes and went outside for his usual run.  Soon enough he was on the familiar streets of the city and everything was fine again.  His fear had been for nothing after all.  

He thought that for about twenty minutes before the fear came back ten times worse.

He felt his chest getting tight about ten minutes into his run, but he figured his lungs just had to wean off the last of that drug and pushed on.  He could run for at least a couple hours before his body showed any sign of weariness.  He had made it almost to his familiar streets of Brooklyn when he passed a construction site where work was actively happening for a change.  He waved to the guys, too out of breath for a real greeting.  He slowed to a jog but that wasn’t enough for his body to catch breath again.  He started to cough as the tightness grew like a rubber band had been wrapped around him.  

He knew this pain.  He had had it so many times growing up on these streets with construction and all kinds of stuff in the air.  He could hardly walk to school without using his inhaler once back in the day.  He leaned a hand on a brick wall next to him as he seemed to be unable to suck in air to his lungs.  He felt like he couldn’t breath and like the dust was choking him.  This didn’t happen to Steve Rogers, better known as Captain America.  This hadn’t happened since coming out of the ice.  

The pain grew and his breathing got worse, bringing him to his knees.  The fear crashed over him in a tsunami tide now as he fought to suck in air.  He fumbled for his phone in his pocket and dialed the person he called the most.  

“Did you seriously go running after the night you had?” Bucky offered instead of a greeting.  “Nobody is going to blame you for laying in bed one morning of your life.  Super soldier or not you are allowed rest and relaxation.  I had plans for-”

“Buck,” Steve got out as tears streamed down his face.  He didn’t care what he looked like right now when he could hardly suck any air in and he felt like he was suffocating.  “Bucky.”

“Steve?  Hon, what’s going on?” BUcky’s voice turned sharp and serious in an instant.  “Are you alright?”

“I can’t breathe,” Steve choked out as panic crept over him as he said it aloud.  “Asthma.”

“Asthma?” Bucky repeated, bewildered.  “What the fuck?  Steve you don’t have-”

“Bucky,” Steve sobbed his name again as he clutched his chest.  

“I’m on my way to you,” Bucky assured him and Steve could dimly hear doors slamming as he made good on his promise.  “Stark can track you or whatever.  Take a deep breath Steve.”

Steve tried to and it hurt like hell.  His chest was burning and he was getting dizzy from lack of proper oxygen.  “Can’t.  It h-hurts.”  

“I know it does,” Bucky said, sounding in nearly as much pain as he was in.  He heard Bucky saying something frantically to someone else.  “We are on our way, okay?  I’ll see you in just a few minutes.  It’s gonna be okay I promise.”

Steve let the phone go limp to the ground and tried to hold onto the thought of Bucky coming soon.  He could get him through this if it was asthma.  God knew he had more than enough practice.  The number of times he had forgotten his inhaler as a kid was staggering.  He really had had no self-preservation skills.  

Loud footsteps gave him seconds of warning before both Bucky and Tony were in front of him.  He was having a full blown panic attack by now and his head was throbbing in pain.  Bucky didn’t hesitate a moment before maneuvering behind him and tugging him close to his chest.  

“Okay, okay Stevie I’m right here.  We got this down to a science now, hm?  Follow my breathing, okay?” Bucky’s hands were rubbing his shoulders gently as his chest moved slowly and deliberately.  

“W-why is this happening?” Steve gasped out as he tried to follow instructions.  The alarm wouldn’t leave him since it had been so long and it should be impossible for this to be happening at all.  

“Steve, we’ve got you, alright?” Tony said steadily.  “I may not have asthma, but panic attacks are my specialty by now.  We’ll get you through this.”

“I brought this,” Bucky showed him an inhaler that Steve had no idea existed.  The plastic was pressed to his lips and Steve felt a smidge of relief as the medication miraculously hit his lungs.  He coughed a few more times and it seemed to take forever for air to reach his lungs properly.  

Steve curled against Bucky’s chest as the pain ebbed away to a bearable level, though the fear was still there.  Tony was holding his hand and looking concerned and kind.  It was a surreal experience and he hated being seen crying like this.  He felt like a kid all over again and it wasn’t the best feeling.  

“Feel any better?” Tony asked quietly after long minutes of the three of them sitting on the sidewalk.  Steve nodded and squeezed his hand tightly.  “I’m sure that was terrifying.  It’s been decades since you had to go through that, right?”

“What is going on?” Bucky asked quietly as he rubbed his back.  “Steve doesn’t have asthma.  He doesn’t have even a hint of it.  He was out of it last night after the drugs had been his system for over nine hours.  Something weird is going on.”

“It looks like something they gave him messed with the serum,” Tony speculated as he rocked back on his heels and stood.  “Let’s get him back the Tower and away from the construction.  It’s probably what set him off in the first place.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Bucky warned as Steve tried to stand up on his own.  “You just worry about getting air into those lungs.  You need to take it easy until we figure this out.”  

“I’m sorry,” Steve apologized softly as Bucky scooped him up in his arms.  A kiss was pressed to his temple softly.

“Darling, you don’t need to apologize at all.  This isn’t your fault,” Bucky assured him quietly.  

“I should have taken it easy.  Should have known something was off,” Steve said hoarsely before breaking into a round of coughs.  

“Take another puff of your inhaler,” Bucky instructed and already the Tower was in view.  He really hadn’t gotten far when he had collapsed.  Steve fell quiet and let his head rest on Bucky’s shoulder as they quickly approached the Tower.  This whole thing made him feel oddly helpless.  He could remember in the days when Bucky was constantly with him in case he got in trouble with other boys, or his breathing, or anything else he could find.  He would have died at least five times over if Bucky had never been his friend.  He had truly forgotten how terrifying asthma attacks were until now.   He didn’t want to go back to those times now that he knew a world where breathing was done without thinking.  How could he be an Avenger with asthma?  Without the serum who was he in this new world?  He had had a hard enough time finding a place in it as a superhero.  What use would he be as just peaky Steve Rogers?

He was quiet as Bucky settled him in a bed and Tony went to see if Bruce was free to see him.  He felt small now and he wasn’t used to feeling that way.  He had become so used to being the guy that saved the day time and time again.  Of feeling useful and powerful for a change.  

“Steve,” Bucky said as he sat next to him on the bed.  The quiet rumble of his voice caused the tears to come back as Steve realized that his hero days could be over and he would go back to being nobody again.  It wouldn’t matter so much except all of his friends were on the team now.  He had nobody outside the Avengers.   A hand came up to cup his cheek as a thumb wiped away his tears.  “What’s the tears about, babydoll?”

“What if Captain America is over?” Steve asked in a quivering voice, staring at the white sheets.  “What if I’m not a hero anymore?”

“I’ll sleep a ton better,” Bucky muttered as a joke, but it fell flat when Steve didn’t so much as smile.  “So what if you aren’t a hero?”

“My whole life is here,” Steve said miserably.  “I don’t have a place out there.  If I have to leave I don’t have anything.  I don’t even know where I’d live or-”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupted him and made their eyes meet.  “Nobody in this tower loves you because you can throw cars around, alright?  If whatever Hydra did to you really did take away your powers nothing will change with anyone here.  Your home is here, with me for good.  Okay?”

“Why would you ever question if you belong here?”  Tony cut in as he stepped in the room.  “Capsicle, you’re stuck with us no matter what goes on.  That much I can promise you.”

“Yeah, yeah I know that,” Steve muttered as he held Bucky close.  

“Let’s get some answers, yeah?” Bruce cut in as he shrugged on his coat and stepped into the room

It didn’t take long to conclude that Hydra had indeed tried to mess with his powers.  They were trying to take them out from the inside instead of fighting them.  Steve was their first target.  He wasn’t sure if he was horrified or honored by that.  Bruce, genius that he is, had a plan to get him back to full strength, but it seemed like he would have to lay low for a few weeks.  Steve already had a feeling the number of missions were about to increase dramatically in that time.  

But he would come back stronger than ever sooner than they’d think.  

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

Sometimes, My Horses Stand a Chance of Winning

For those of you who ain’t tryna go to AO3, I figured that I would do a text post also.

This is the second part of "My Horse Won". Yeah, I know I said that it was a one shot, but I am bad at leaving well enough alone. You don't have to read "My Horse Won" to understand this, but it might help.

Tommy Shelby and y/n tried to make a go of it after the Derby last year. It didn't work. When Tommy sees you drinking at the Marquis, he tries to make another move. The arrogant ass just won't give up!

“Come out with us!” the girl at the next desk begged. Your best friend wanted to go out after work to have a few drinks, but you begged off, citing a nasty cold. The only thing that sounded appealing to you was a hot cup of tea and some cinnamon rock candies to soothe your throat.

 “Can’t do it. I have to be back in the morning to help with inventory, and I am sick. I need a good night’s sleep, not a night on a town.”

 “Who said anything about a night on the town? Just a drink or two, come on! It’s no fun without you.”

 “I’m not going to the Garrison,” you mumbled, rolling your itchy eyes and sniffling.

 “We can go to the Marquis.”

 Why had you let her talk you into this? The short answer was that she was a good friend, and you knew she was not comfortable going out alone. So you sat at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey, sucking on cinnamon candies, and trying to find a dry spot on your handkerchief with which to wipe your nose. You looked down the bar at your friend. She had cozied up to a lanky guy in a brown tweed suit. He had dimples when he smiled, and she was clearly smitten. Occasionally she would glance in your direction and wiggle her eyebrows, making you chuckle. You stared down into your glass, wishing that you had a little romance in your life, but you weren’t likely to find any guys who would be interested in contracting a respiratory infection.

 Your friend seemed to be in good hands, so you decided that you would leave after you finished your drink. Just then, the man who was standing with your friend moved to reveal a hat lying on the bar beside him. A peaked cap with razors sewn in.

 “Shit,” you whispered, utterly disgusted. If one peaky boy was there, could others be far behind? The thought had scarcely formed in your mind before you spotted him. Tommy Shelby. You quickly turned your back and started to pull your coat on, but it was too late. You could sense the patrons parting like the Red Sea as Tommy moved in your direction.

 The last time you saw Tommy in a bar, you ended up going home with him. You had been drinking, and you fell into the abyss of his charm. You’d had a crush on him ever since you could remember, and had even shared a snog or two when you were younger, so you weren’t too hard to pull. He talked a good game and you went for it: hook, line, and sinker. He wanted you to stay with him, so you did. There were a few wild nights when he would come home splattered in someone else’s blood, ice behind his eyes and fire in his veins- those were the nights when he would screw you against a wall, leaving you sweaty, breathless, and willing to believe anything he told you. The next morning you would wake up to his slow, sleepy kisses and make love in his tangled sheets. You were intoxicated by him for a couple of weeks, but it didn’t take long for you to find out that Tommy’s heart would only ever belong to his “business”. You couldn’t deal with being stood up and waiting up all hours of the night for him, never knowing where he was, who he was with, or if he was dead or alive. After pacing the floors all night you would angrily explode, only to be told not to ask any questions, so you ended it. As you were leaving he actually told you that he had never promised you anything.

 You did not want to deal with Tommy’s crap. Maybe he would just say hello and let you go in peace. Your head ached, your throat was raw, and you looked like death warmed over; It was just your luck to run into him. The wheel of the universe always seemed to roll over you and mash you flat where Tommy was concerned.

 He came to stand beside you and you refused to look at him. He stared at you in the bar mirror, willing you to raise your eyes. You wouldn’t. He ordered two whiskeys. When the barman brought them, Tommy slid one in front of you. By this time the silent tension between the two of you had your blood boiling. You pushed yourself off of your stool and turned for the door.

 “y/n,” he finally spoke.

 His voice rumbled through your body like thunder. Barely a whisper, it was still powerful enough to make you stop walking. You stood with your back to him, holding your breath and silently cursing the reflex that made you stop.

 “Sit down.”

 Like Pavlov’s dog, you predictably responded when Tommy rang his bell. You sat back down, but you still would not look at him. If he wanted your company, you would make it as awkward as possible for him. In your periphery, you could see him looking you up and down. How dare he.  With every second that passed you became more furious.

 He took his silver cigarette case out of his pocket, placed one between his lips, and struck a match. You could smell the acrid match head, and you watched out of the corner of your eye while he lit the end of his smoke and pursed his lips to deeply draw on the tobacco. A little shiver crept up your spine at the sight even though the voice in your head called him an arrogant bastard.

 “You can’t leave without finishing your drink,” he murmured. He sat with his head slightly cocked, his eyes still travelling up and down your body.

 “Fuck you.” You tried your best to keep the emotion out of your voice, but it came out as a low snarl.

 Tommy smirked, “I only want to talk.”

 “It’s never just a talk with you, Tommy. Not when I was sixteen. Not last year on Derby Day. It’s always, ‘Have another drink, y/n. I can’t get you off of my mind y/n. I can’t leave here without you y/n.’ Well, I’m fed up with your bullshit.”

 You killed the whiskey in one go, and finally turned to look at him. His mask of cold detachment was stripped away. It took a few beats for him to respond, “y/n, are you alright?”

 “Aw, what’s the matter, Tommy? I’m not going to crumble at your feet so there must be something wrong with me?” You slid off of the barstool and began walking toward the door when the room began to spin and your knees turned to jelly. Apparently Tommy’s question was out of genuine concern for your health. You went pale and nearly lost consciousness.

  ***

  Tommy bundled you into his car and took you home with him. You weakly protested at first, but then fell asleep, curled up under his coat like a cat. When you reached Watery Lane, he carried you up the stairs to his room. You became cognizant of what was happening when he laid you on his bed. Fighting against his hands and struggling to stand, you shouted between coughs, “Oh no you don’t. Get me out of your room. Put me in Ada’s or something.”

 Tommy laughed, “I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Look, I’ll go downstairs. I won’t even sleep in here, I promise.”

 “I don’t trust you, you …you…ass.” You gave him the evil eye as you took increasingly ragged breaths.

 He winced and took a step toward you. His cool hand rested on your forehead and he whistled. “You have a high fever y/n. How long have you felt this way?”

 You sighed, “About a week, but it’s gotten worse tonight. I should’ve gone home instead of going out,” you threw a disgusted look Tommy’s way, “would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”

 “I think you may be getting pneumonia. I’ll stay in here with you and keep an eye on you tonight.”

 Your bottom lip started to quiver, and you could feel hot tears spring to your eyes. “No! I’ll be fine. Just get me a car home.” You sat up in bed, but unable to muster the strength to stand, sank back down.

 Tommy went to get a cold towel, and you lay in his bed cursing fate. You began to shiver. You pulled Tommy’s sheet and blanket over your head and were surrounded by his musky scent, breathing deeply and willing your tears to stop. When he returned, he gave you a bottle of vile syrup to take, and put the cool towel on your head. You knew it was necessary, but your chills were so intense that your whole body ached. You got tears in your eyes again, and looked up to see Tommy standing by, watching you, his face painted with worry. You pouted at him, but begrudgingly patted the bed beside you.

 Tommy didn’t need to be told twice. He snuggled up to your back and wrapped his arms around you. The nasty potion he gave you began to work, and your chills started to taper off. Unfortunately, your inhibitions became significantly lower too, and you began to run your mouth.

 “You know what, Tommy? You think that you can come ‘round, an’ find me drinkin’ in a bar, mindin’ my own business, an’ charm my pants off whenever you want. But you’re fucking wrong.”

 Tommy stifled a smile against your back, “I don’t think that. Now, get some rest, love.”

 “Love?” you scoffed. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. I trusted you, Tom. I really believed that you wanted me. I fell for all your lies last Derby Day. Just another one of your stupid little fools. I can’t believe I fell for your lies. You’re an asshole. You hear me Tommy? An a-s-s-h-o-o-,” you trailed off for a moment, blotto on the codeine and aspirin mixture that Tommy gave you, “h-o-l-e. Arshole.”

 Tommy squeezed his eyes closed. He knew that you had a point. He wanted to make things work with you last year, but he had a lot going on with the Lee Boys, Sabini, and local cops breathing down his neck. It was just bad timing. He had a hard time committing to relationships anyway, and he thought that you would be the type to understand. He was mistaken. It killed him to see your tear streaked face and hear your strained voice demanding an explanation that he couldn’t give, but he couldn’t drop all of the shady business that he was involved in. There was too much money involved and too many lives were hanging in the balance.

 It wasn’t as if he could quit you altogether, though. He discreetly kept tabs on who you dated, where you went, and how your work at the BSA progressed. There were many days that he watched from afar as you shopped or had lunch in town, and there were many evenings that he stood outside your house watching the lights go out as you turned in for the night. He wasn’t a saint; he saw many other women during the past year, but as he lay down to sleep at night, his mind always returned to you. He breathed in the scent of your hair and tried to work his courage up. He knew that this was his chance to make amends and try to get you to be his.

 “I was wrong to lead you to believe that I could offer you what you needed. It was selfish of me. I was drunk and I wanted you so badly that I made a poor decision. I am sorry, y/n. But please know, no one else can take your place. I longed for us to work, but there are things about my life that cannot change.” He took a deep breath and continued. “But, still, when I close my eyes at night, I see you.” He squeezed you and kissed your neck. “I’m shit at relationships. I can’t be what you want me to be, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting you. If you could only agree to accept what I can offer, little as it may be, we could make quite a team, eh? Sometimes, my horses stand a chance of winning. What do you say?”

 Tommy felt like he had said too much. As a man of few words, the things that he just told you seemed like a Shakespearian soliloquy to him. He held his breath as he waited for your response to all that he had confessed. The silent seconds ticked on, and he nuzzled his head into your shoulder, hoping that his irresistible touch and charm would win you over in the end. His mind was plagued with doubts as the minutes passed without an answer. He was sure that he was unable to endure another second of waiting when he heard you snore.

 He had just confessed his true feelings, which was no mean feat, to a sleeping y/n. The codeine knocked you out before he had begun to speak. Maybe he would have the balls to tell you again tomorrow, and maybe he wouldn’t. Tommy turned the light off, pulled the blanket up to his chin, and settled in for a peaceful night’s rest with you in his arms.