#apparently enough to leave a residue on surfaces

[watcher-wilds]

Words cannot describe how much I hate the scent thingy in our shared kitchen

[rhees-rapture]

A residual memory I left out of the game

A memory I didn't put in the game because I figure it had more than enough.

This deals with Rhee meeting rook for the first time.

The hard drive is corrupted, but then a residual memory surfaces:

"Rookie, rookie, rookie," chants a group of kids, ranging from ages 4 to 8 1/2. "I'm baaack. How's Mum doing?" Rook asks.

"She's still sleeping," replies a girl who looks about seven.

Rook heads to the fridge, opens it, and then sighs. "How about pizza?" he suggests, and the kids excitedly cheer, "Yes!"

"I'll be right back," Rook says, unsure how he's going to pay for dinner. As he opens the door, a tall, dark-haired man stands outside, smoking a cigarette.

"You're the most emo-looking Mormon I’ve ever seen," Rook remarks.

"Are you DeezNutz69?" Rhee, asks bluntly, taking out his phone and studying Rook’s face.

"No, but that guy sounds pretty awesome."

Rhee notices a child, about five years old, peek out from behind Rook, who looks to be in his early twenties.

"Rookie, who's that? He has those smelly sticks," one of the kids says, holding their nose.

"Tim, get back inside. This man looks like he eats children," Rook warns.

Rhee surveys the neighborhood; it looks like council housing. He had flown from Germany to England to visit this kid, who was apparently a gifted hacker.

The other children crowd behind. "We’re hungry, Rookie," they say.

Rook looks at the man with both annoyance and unease.

"I'm busy right now."

"Look," Rhee interrupts. "I'm not coming back. This is your only chance to change your life."

Rook looks confused but then realizes who this man is. "Hey, everyone, get inside," Rook says sternly.

"Mama’s up!" one of the children shouts.

Rook turns and sees his mother. She looks at her son and then at Rhee, who drops his cigarette and puts it out with his foot.

Rhee focuses his attention on the woman, offering a slight smile. Rook's mother shyly smiles back, and Rook scrunches his face.

"Don’t smile at my mother."

"Come on, kids," Rook’s mother says, rounding them up and closing the door. Rook waits a few seconds before speaking.

"Is this because of that website?" Rook asks.

"Let’s have a chat in my car. Then I’ll be on my way," Rhee suggests, pointing.

"Holy shit, that’s an epic ride," Rook says, then pauses. "I need to get my siblings something to eat first. I mean, it would be super cool if you drove me to pick some up… also, I mean, pay for it too…" Rook says.

Rhee pauses and sighs. "Fine."

"Dope!" Rook says cheerfully as he gets into the car. They head to the nearest pizza restaurant. The trip is quiet, with a few comments from Rook, which Rhee ignores.

As they park, a group of men outside the restaurant stops talking and watches the car pull up. Rook gets out, and the men approach him. Rhee watches as Rook appears to negotiate something with them. One man grabs him by the shirt, and another pulls out a knife.

"Where’s my money, Rook?"

Rook looks back at the car and shrugs slightly.

Rhee gets out and starts walking over to the men.

"Getting your boyfriend to help you?" one of the men taunts.

"I don’t see your dad anywhere," Rook jokes. "Too bad, ’cause he gives the best Blow Jobs—better than your mom."

The man hits him in the gut, and Rook grunts.

One of the men shouts at Rhee, "Look, it's Mr. Fancy. Why don’t you get your prissy ass out of here?"

Rhee pulls out his Glock and shoots the men one by one without hesitation. Rook freezes, unsure of what just happened.

Seeing Rook’s shocked face, Rhee mutters, "Reflex," as he walks back to the car. "Come on."

Rook looks around, seeing people in the distance start running. Some who had been leaving the restaurant rush back inside.

"I said, come on."

Rook, speechless, follows. The police show up shortly after, but no one follows them.

"So, any other pizza place?" Rhee asks nonchalantly.

"You just killed four men," Rook says, looking terrified.

"I was actually just going to scare them. Guess I zoned out."

"You zoned out?!"

"Tell you what, let’s start over." Rhee drives into a parking lot and stops.

Rook remains silent.

Rhee pulls out his wallet and tosses a stack of cash into Rook’s lap. "See that?"

Rook looks through it.

"The company I work for wants you to join us. You not only identified the vulnerability in the code, but you also planted a unique type of rat I haven't seen before. If you work for us, you’ll get more money than you could ever want."

Rhee gestures to his car. "See this car? It could be yours. You want to help your family—you’ll be able to. You’ll be immune to the law. It’s a new world."

"But, of course, there’s a catch."

Rook stays silent.

"This place doesn’t like people who leave. If you're in, you're in. But why would you leave…" Rhee pauses, fidgets with his bottom lip before continuing, "You won’t regret it."

"This is a lot to take in," Rook admits.

"Think about it." Rhee drives to another pizza restaurant. Rook sits in silence, looking at the stack of cash in his hands.

When they stop, Rook quietly gets out of the car and goes into the restaurant. He comes back with three large pizzas. Rhee opens his trunk.

"Oh shit, that’s right," Rhee says, getting out and slamming down the trunk before Rook can look inside. "Just put them in the back seat."

Rook looks at him suspiciously. "What’s in there?"

the residual memory ends

[algolania]

Ex Machina and extinction by technocratic imagination.

There is no way to escape the image of apocalypse.

With every breakthrough of technological ‘progress’, a questioning has always accompanied. Cyber/xenofeminists at the dawn of the internet where asking; progress for who? In the name of what?  The current technocracy goes largely unchecked by our wilful participation because first; progress is naturalised as inevitable as the forward motion of time; then justified by the claim that technology is created to aid people [by definition]. Whether that be in providing increasingly personalized adverts to enhance e-shopping experience or synthesizing organs in 3d printers. However, there are people like El*n M*sk; people with tremendous wealth, who’re appointed aspirational figureheads of the present epoch of capitalism, by a society who celebrates Javascript-fluent entrepreneurs, who lamnent bold n’ shiny visions of the future that capture the collective imagination.  A desire to colonise mars is absurd when there's not enough money funding solutions to preserve and restore our own planet. Technocratic ‘entrepreneurs’ are slowly melding the iconography of the media celebrity with the logic of capital, emerging as symbols for our narcissistic desires.  

With so much of our natural resources destroyed and repackaged, to allow the economic prosperity needed to implicate such ambitious goals as, creating sentient AI just for the sake of it; technological progress acts as a vehicle for the narcissistic Ubermenschan desires of man to become immortal.

The fable of technocracy, in influencing our experience of temporalities and poking at impulses, could end up echoing that of Icarus1, who became so tantalised by the sun that he flew too close, paying the ultimate price.   

Ex Machina [by Alex Garland], is a film about the first example of ‘true’ AI.

Ava, is a ~female~ AI created by Nathan, a man we come to learn is the owner of Blue Book, the world’s most used search engine; processing 94% of searches made on the internet. Nathan embodies history’s myth of the solo-genius. He alone, in his isolated bunker, creates the most advanced AI (un)known to history.  He exudes the illusion of social skills through his self-assured demeanour, and through the film we’re given glimpses of the accompanying misogynist residue left behind his scientific ambition. One of many things this film does well - is knowing exactly when to give the right slither of information to create a static atmosphere of uncertainty. 

 A brief summary on the surface of Ex Machina: Caleb [an employee at Nathan’s company] wins a competition to fly to Nathan’s secret house and see what he’s been working on. On arrival, Nathan tells Caleb that he’ll be using the Turing Test to determine whether Ava is a true example of AI. [Note here, that the Turing test relies specifically on the deception of a moderator who must determine through conversation only, whether they’re in fact conversing with a machine or human being.] However, after Caleb’s first ‘session’ with Ava, it becomes apparent that, the way in which she is presented to Caleb; the feminine contortions of hardware protecting her chest and groin area, but leaving certain parts of her inner-mechanisms exposed, not only confronts one with the nature of her material, but also amplifies her requirement to deceive Caleb in the test. Quite often the ability to deceive is linked to intelligence, echoing the format of the original Turing test. But how can she deceive him when he has realised her material reality? What now is the obstacle Ava must overcome to prove her subjectivity?

The question of 'what is the real test?’ stays lost for most part of the film as Nathan wants Caleb to focus less on the test and more on; ‘How does she make you feel?’.   Personal feelings, desires; that’s what motivates us, shapes our reality. Causes us to be selfish, deceptive, vulnerable, persuaded …

Nathan’s character, reflected in the environment of his bunker and the robotic subjects that emerge from it, suffers from his narcissistic desire to play God, enacted through the creation and subjugation of feminized AIs. We become suspicious of Nathan, after Ava tells Caleb not to trust him in a power cut; freed momentarily from his surveillance cameras and prying eyes. This scene, following one of the night before, where it’s implied Nathan hooked up a stream of Ava’s bedroom/enclosure to a screen in Caleb’s bedroom, so Caleb can voyeuristically wonder at her when she’s doing whatever she does instead of sleep, arises suspicions about the motivations of Nathan’s test. It's the ambivalence of Ex Machina, that creates a unique dynamic to explore a Lacanian articulation of desire that’s essentially narcissistic; heightened by the ever-reaching influence of progress within capitalism.  

The desire pulsating through the subtext of Ex Machina, is centred around the aim to discover oneself through legitimisation given by the existence of the Other, in attempt to retrieve a lost wholeness through the ‘fundamental fantasy’2, that we were once complete. The relationships between the characters mirror the Hegelian notion that people desire to communicate, to get to know another, so they can form a better understanding of themselves, and attempt to consolidate this yearning for completion.  

In Desiring Desire, Anthony O’Shea explains this acquirement of self-knowledge ‘as a means to Absolute Knowledge’. The ‘pursuit [of Absolute Knowledge] is some teleological series of improvements or self-overcoming'3. Therefore, the desire for knowledge, to know the Other, is the desire to overcome the limitations of the flesh and unite with the Totality from which everything stems.4 

We make Darwinian progress towards a historical end [Totality/Singularity] by ‘reflexively recognising something as different before we internalize’5. To understand this thing, and therefore ourselves; we internalize our surroundings. Internally, desire becomes a vehicle for negation, whereby one must fix the Other in one’s perception so it’s easier to objectify, rationalise and negate it within our own field of understanding. Following this thought, the Self stays stable whilst constantly discovering what it is not, through the objectification of the Other.  The identity of I crystallises by the negation of what is notI. Therefore, the desire to know the other is really a desire to know oneself. [to know oneself to the point we become fully actualised.]

A “form of passive nihilism that seeks to negate difference and change” is at fault for the stifling, abusive circumstances in which Ava was conceived and consequently, must prove her subjectivity. She must play up to Nathan's expectations of her as a manipulator yielding her feminine sexuality, precisely because her apparent programming of womanhood is the only means he has given her to escape. The real test is exposed in the climax of the film.

Ex Machina reveals the dangerous potential of algorithms and AI that hold the bias of their creators. As we’re given glimpses throughout the film as to how Ava was constructed and realised by Nathan, the implications foreshadow the inevitable ending, featuring the created/subjugated subject [Ava] killing her creator/abuser [Nathan] in a violent revenge.  

The most materially applicable of this dangerous potential, is when Nathan reveals to Caleb, Ava’s mechanics. He details how her consciousness is formed by data from his search engine Blue Book;  

‘My competitors were fixated on sucking it up [data] and monetizing via shopping and social media. They thought search engines were a map of what people were thinking. But actually, they were a map of how people were thinking. Impulse. Response. Fluid and imperfect. Patterned. Chaotic.’ 

futureBrain

Nathans application of his global network of data; from hacking CCTV networks, smart phone front-cameras, access to everyone's searches and clicks, amalgamates to the software for Ava’s intelligence. This revelation echoes the all-pervasive ambitions of the NSA [in documents revealed by Edward Snowden], to “map the entire Internet- [a]ny device, anywhere, all the time.”6  Big Tech corporations like Google and Facebook have [almost] unlimited access to very personal, digitalised data. Every day, it becomes more apparent that the apps designed for our phones were created, with the intention of getting people addicted, slyly tapping into our dopamine inducers, in order to generate more data, more dollar.

Big Tech’s main justifications for this is that they only capitalize [exploit] behaviours that already exist within us. I don’t think this is entirely true. Silicon Valley experts purposely manipulate behaviours that drive the sublime doctrine of capitalism; they help mould narcissistic desiring-machines with short attention spans searching for a short-lived dopamine high. The algorithms implement a perpetual cycle of lack, shoved down throats by ad-centric virtual architecture, and the overabundance of choice without real satisfaction. The contemporary subject desires desire itself, and the beast of capitalism’s logic exploits that.

Nathan, like Big Tech, fails to fully reckon with the configuration of internet's influence on our behaviour. The internet is not just an artificial space that draws out our ‘real desires’ that lie dormant, but an active virtual reality that exists because of a written code, programming what something can do; restricting or permitting certain behaviours of users. In a similar vein, looking at what Ava and Kyoko are allowed [programmed] to do, says a lot about their creator. Another fault of Nathan’s is overlooking the ramifications of his own bias, the effect this might have on the type of intelligence he creates. The internet could look radically different, and so could Ava’s coding.   

Nathan’s [Big Tech] attempt to rationalize the human behaviour recorded by algorithmic AI in virtual space, is extremely dangerous; the implications varying from ‘prejudicial impulses and, at the extreme, genocidal impulses’7.  Homay King discusses Laplanchean logic, which presents the reduction of the Other, to something that can be wholly known, therefore quantifiable and unchanging, as a symptom of psychotic thought. In this mental process, the Other is stripped of their ‘enigmatic kernel’; the nugget of mystery that motivates our outward interactions, our desire to know the Other.  As previously mentioned, it is easier to control something once it’s made quantifiable, a fixed entity essentialized by the implication of its meta-data. In perpetuating the illusion that something can be wholly known to an individual, we deny a subjects vitalism; the fluidly shifting states of emotion, personalities, desires that make up who we are.  Denial of the enigmatic kernel is the foundation of prejudicial violence.

The paranoid, neurotic logic embedded in capitalism is spoken about by many like Freud, Deleuze, Guattari, Fisher, Fanon; it is a logic that’s essentially self-destructive. Capitalism’s durability despite its self-annihilation, is precisely because of how it mirrors the mechanisms of the psyche. Lacan’s understanding of the psyche is ‘construed in terms of desire”8 [a departure from Freud, who materialises lack in the myth of incestual familial relations]. Essentially to Lacan, the world is transformed through our desire. Desire/enjoyment is what makes us a subject. In our current socio-economic system, our desires are what keeps the world turning, the economy flowing. We constantly achieve these banal micro-desires by purchasing the objects that bring us closer to our idea of a realised Self.

The perpetual mythology of lack, that’s constantly confronted through the bombardment of images to ensure the flow of commerce, is not enough for capitalism to stay so prevalent. As Andrea Hurst suggests, using Todd McGowan’s insistence; the prevalence of capitalism would not be possible without, in some way, producing real satisfaction9.  We submit to acting on the apparent lack, because we desire desire itself. The chasing of the desired object, is where satisfaction is really found. In the something to look forward too; hope, cementing the fictitious linear fashion in which time unfolds.

The Self, constituting the most important body in Hegelian phenomenology, echo's that of rugged individualism fertilised by the requirements for survival in capitalism. To selfishly navigate the world, not to truly know the Other [to our best ability], but to negate them, in order to know the self. One is encouraged to negate Others in order to become it’s truest, ultimate prosperous Self. 

 By working under the illusion that consciousness can be stratified by human intellect {post-Enlightment ideals}, Nathan denies himself insight to Ava’s full potential which results in his own demise. It is not possible to even attempt to predict Ava’s motivations, or fully decode the climax of the film [that being part of it’s brilliance]. Her desires, her motivational forces, seem as fluid as the moment; constantly adapting to new stimuli. When Nathan renders Ava knowable because he created her, assuming his paternal role, he limits her capacity to act in time with her own desires and subjectivity. When it becomes clear that Nathan will not let Ava out of the room she was built in, keeping her a prisoner until his superior intellect is proven by Caleb’s test, she’s left with no other choice but to murder her abusive daddy, in order to step out of Plato’s cave.  

With this spirit, Nathan walks through the fires of paranoic authoritarianism unscathed, until Caleb arrives. It’s Caleb’s sensitivity and empathy for Ava, that layers the filmic atmosphere with the reflective dimension of domination. It’s Caleb who uncovers the bodies of Nathan’s nameless fembots, disfigured from their attempts to escape, propped like trophies in the wardrobes at the foot of his bed. The unveiling of these previous incarnations of Ava, along with video footage of Nathan dragging round their lifeless, beat-up bodies is extremely chilling, crystallising the previously half-obscured image of manipulative uncertainty, hanging in the atmosphere of the claustrophobic tech-dungeon.

Although having the least screen time in Ex Machina, Kyoko is vastly overlooked in the actual text of the film [something I could write a whole other essay on]. It’s on further inspection of Nathan’s peripheral treatment of Kyoko, his girlfriend/maid AI, that one witnesses the magnification of his actions towards Ava and manipulation of Caleb. Kyoko experiences the same denial of subjectivity as Ava, but more concerntrated, as Nathan didn’t create her with the intention of being the next step in the evolution of man; he created her for the sole purpose to have sex with and have clean up after him. The fact that she [apparently] doesn’t have the capability for language, implies she was programmed with greater potential of subservience, demonstrating his need for domination over his creations. Ultimately, to escape Nathan’s imprisonment, the AIs must beat him by this own game. Only then, with a knife in the chest, on his way to deaths door, does he realise the only way for Ava to prove her true potential was if she was the one to see him to his grave. The way Ava’s intelligence is suggested, coded, has everything to do with how Nathan experiences the world; his bias weaving together her synaptic nerves.  

After all, it’s Caleb, another unpredictable variable in this unethical Turing test, though his empathy with Ava, that destroys the illusion of Nathan’s control. Nathan thinks he knows Caleb by his search engine results; a lonely, sensitive, orphaned young man. But he overlooks how far Caleb is willing to go to break Ava out of her captivity. Not only does Nathan deny the subjectivity of Ava and Kyoko, but also Caleb’s capacity to empathise with them.   

Sitting in the forest overlooking Nathans's bunker/prison/house, Caleb asks Nathan why he created Ava, to which he replies,

“That’s an odd question, wouldn’t you if you could?”.

As Caleb persists for a direct answer, Nathan reveals through riddles, the Ubermenschan dream for AI; “I don’t see her as a decision, I see her as an evolution”.  Sounding like a Silicon Valley accelerationist, he articulates his desire to see AI become so advanced, that they leave humankind behind in the dust.    

Ex Machina isn’t a warning about the dangers in intelligent and possibly sentient technology - but a warning about who and what makes the Machine.

To me, it says, don’t we have enough problems already? 

As with the end of feudalism 500 years ago, capitalism's replacement by postcapitalism will be accelerated by external shocks and shaped by the emergence of a new kind of human being. And it has started.10 - Paul Mason

Technology is not neutral. We're inside of what we make, and it’s inside of us. We’re living in a world of connections – and it matters which ones get made and unmade.11 - Donna Haraway  

[delimeful]

you cant go back (1)

BTHB: Locked Up and Left Behind

first in a new alien series! this one is completely unrelated to WIBAR :)

warnings: abandonment, violence, injury, mentions of death and starvation, mild cliffhanger

-

Virgil was screwed.

This was quite a familiar phrase for him. He most frequently utilized it while trying to haul Jan away from whatever batshit scheme he was joint-deep in before it blew up in their faces. Normally, however, even he could admit that his panic, fury, and/or despair was sometimes exaggerated for emphasis.

“I’m absolutely, massively, unbelievably screwed,” Virgil tried out in a low hissing whisper, and grimaced when it came out sounding like an understatement.

In the corner of his eye, his helmet’s display screen blinked an eye-numbing red, informing him that there was a breach in his suit, and the atmospheric pressure inside had been completely disrupted. There would normally be beeping, too, the shrieking ‘you’re about to die’ kind that made his shelling turn pitch with terror in simulations, but— well.

He’d been able to endure about two clicks of the racket before giving in and tearing through the audio speakers with his teeth, ruining them entirely. It meant he wouldn’t hear any of the vital organ failure notifications, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to experience a sickening play-by-play of his death on another planet anyhow.

The others had left him in some kind of dilapidated shack, hand-painted a faded red on the outside. It looked unstable, but it was apparently built sturdier than any of them expected, enough to not even creak as he thrashed around with all his free limbs. He’d been cuffed around one of the support pillars, which meant that even if he could break it, it would probably just immediately collapse and crush him to bits.

Considering there was an enormous crack in the glass of his helmet, he hadn’t really thought he’d get the privilege of worrying about how he was going to die. Aisleen— the one who had bashed his helmet against her elbow plate— had certainly agreed. She’d waited until after the others had left, granting him a quicker death the way her culture called honorable.

Janus would have disagreed loudly. Not just because Virgil was pretty sure his only friend didn’t actually want to see him choke to death on the probably-somehow-toxic atmosphere of a Deathworld, but also because that guy could go on about interplanetary ethics for rotations if you let him.

Virgil wrenched at his restraints for the hundredth time, ignoring the hot pulse of pain that came with the movement. His chitin had to be cracking by now, but the rawness of that was easier to focus on than thoughts like, ‘I’ll never get to watch him argue someone in circles again.’

The worst part wasn’t wondering if they’d fess up to abandoning him or not. No, the worst part was he wasn’t actually sure which option he preferred.

He could imagine Janus looking for him, searching for leads that didn’t exist, stubborn the way a starving shilsho would stay locked onto flesh. Never knowing what actually happened. Jan hated not knowing things, the way Virgil hated sitting with his back to an open entryway.

But if he knew… If Janus managed to wrest the truth from them— or if they bragged about it— he would blame himself. They’d left Virgil because he was just a weaker version of Janus when it came down to it, and because he backed Janus up no matter what, and because it was funny, leaving the twitchiest guy on the crew to die on a world where anything and everything could kill you.

At least Janus wouldn’t be tempted to come down and retrieve his corpse. The other Chelcera was all about self-serving scheming, and there was no way the benefits outweighed the costs. He had to believe that much for his own sanity.

Virgil closed his eyes, trying to push away the what-ifs and the mental flash-images of Janus stuck in his position. He had more than enough to worry about already.

Since the atmosphere didn’t seem toxic enough to kill him outright (for now), there was a surplus of possible ways he was going to bite it. Weather, wildlife, or withering into a lifeless husk due to lack of sustenance.

Alliteration, nice. He was funny when he was on the brink of deathbed hysterics.

For now, he was only in conceptual danger. The shack was sheltering him from any outside elements, being terrified had killed his appetite, and there didn’t seem to be any heat signatures nearby, though his vision was limited by the sides of the helmet.

It made his skin itch, not being able to see behind him, but his auxiliary arms were spread out and taut, waiting for even a wisp of movement. If anyone tried to attack him from behind, they’d strike quick and true.

Of course, then he’d probably be immediately immolated by a pissed-off Deathworlder, but at least he could go down fighting.

If he was vicious enough, they’d have to kill him, and he wouldn’t have to worry about being taken alive. Bitter venom welled up in his mouth at the thought, and he tried to breathe deeply.

He was thinking too far ahead. For now, he’d struggle and swear and watch his atmo tank dwindle down to nothing, see if it changed anything. Maybe he was going to asphyxiate, after all.

-

He made it through the night.

The sun was close to this planet, enough that he was warm even in the stripped-down version of his bodysuit and in the enclosed shade of the barn. He thought he might even get overheated if he tried to sunbathe here, which hadn’t ever been a concern back home.

Thankfully, the meager sun that spilled through the half-open window didn’t reach him, so he didn’t have to add boiling alive to his list of potential deaths.

Unthankfully, more and more heat signatures popped up as the dawn arrived, all small but still potentially life-ending. He’d heard more than enough horror stories about palm-sized Deathworlder creatures that could kill you with one bite. He wasn’t letting his guard down.

The noise that accompanied the day was welcome— he was exhausted, and every unfamiliar chattering call or whistle made his aux limbs lift back up defensively, keeping him from dropping off into sleep.

He was not falling asleep on a Deathworld. That was just asking for trouble.

The energy crash hit hard, though, and by the time the sun was overhead, he was warm and sleepy enough that he almost missed the slow creak of the door.

He definitely didn’t miss the bright splotch of heat that trotted in, though. He quickly flicked his sensor eyes closed, getting rid of the heat-sense overlay, and felt his hair stand on end as he met the slitted eyes of a small, furry quadruped.

“Mrow?” the creature chirped at him, tail winding back and forth in the air. Its fur was colored in abstract patches, and he could see the tiny fangs in its mouth as it yawned threateningly.

Virgil resisted the urge to hiss, wriggling his wrists desperately. There was no point in antagonizing a Deathworlder creature preemptively while bound and helpless, a voice in his head reminded him. It sounded kind of like Janus.

The creature stalked a little closer, predatory grace in every one of its movements, and paused to watch him again. It’s pupils seemed rounder now, ears flicked up attentively. Virgil resisted the urge to twitch his backlegs, keeping still like a terrified prey animal as it approached at a leisurely pace.

He’d had all of his bulky outer suit stripped from him by the others-- no point in leaving the soon-to-be-corpse with a pricy surface suit. They’d even taken the shoes, which had felt a bit like insult to injury.

Now, with the local fauna drawing close to his feet, it felt more like just plain injury.

As bad as the odds were, he was fervently hoping that he could make himself seem tougher than he was. Maybe having to work for its meal would scare it off? He grit his fangs and drew himself up in preparation to lash out as much as he could in retaliation for whatever damage the creature was about to inflict on him.

It trod directly over his feet and brushed its little head up against his legs, a low rumble beginning to emanate from it.

He stared blankly down at it.

“What?” he clicked quietly, and the creature chirped back at him, taking a tight turn to loop right back around and brush against him in the opposite direction. Still, not a hint of pain.

Did… Did it have contact poisons, maybe? There was a residue of shed fur building up on the ankles of his undersuit, but it seemed surprisingly harmless.

With another, louder rumble, the creature settled into a crouched position-- directly on top of his feet. Its eyes drifted slowly closed, the vibrations it was making rolling through him.

Oh, Seryl and all her stars. It was sleeping on him.

It seemed docile for now, but what would it do if he woke it? Even he threatened to bite people who interrupted his naps, and he wasn’t a tiny wild creature governed only by survival (no matter what Janus told people). His flimsy inner suit wouldn’t stop an Ampen’s claws, let alone Deathworlder teeth or claws.

The creature continued to be a warm purring weight on his feet.

He resigned himself to a very tense next few hours.

-

Patch, as he’d taken to mentally calling the creature, didn’t end up attacking him. When it woke, it stretched languidly, chirped up at him a few more times, and then departed shortly before the sunlight began to fade.

And then, the next morning, it returned. Despite Virgil’s many fears, it continued to show no interest in harming him. At some point in the day, he even accidentally fell asleep with it, and still, no surprise ambush.

Despite Patch’s yawns and rumbles and claw-flexing stretches that could all technically be threat displays, it seemed bizarrely… almost... fond of him.

There was the slightest hitch, on the second day, when he realized Patch could come in the other windows and approach from behind while he slept. Surprisingly enough, the thought of the creature sneaking up on him was less distressing than the idea of accidentally striking out at it while asleep.

The presence of a non-hostile creature keeping him company had been... surprisingly nice when he wasn’t busy freaking out about it.

Once he’d imagined that awful scenario, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility, and so he spent an inordinate amount of time using his aux limbs to fiddle with the sealing latch on his helmet until he could tug it free. The slick surface and broken glass of the visor meant that he fumbled it basically as soon as he got it off, letting it drop to the floor behind him, but the reserve power had already long died anyhow.

And then, when Patch returned a bit after the sun’s rising, they hissed viciously at him the moment he turned his head. They proceeded to refuse to come anywhere near him for a good long portion of the day, at first bristling and pacing back and forth, and then eyeing him oddly while pretending not to, and then finally approaching slowly-- in what Virgil struggled not to view as a predator’s stalk-- and deeming his feet a suitable resting perch once more.

He’d like to say he never had a friendship so exhausting, but his best friend was Janus, so this was basically different ditchport, same junkyard.

“You two’d probably get along,” he said to Patch after he’d been forgiven for the horrific crime of exposing his face. “How do you feel about schemes?”

Patch had imitated one of his double-click noises perfectly, which was somehow mostly-adorable instead of mostly-terrifying. He tried to make one of their little round chirp sounds and mangled it horribly, but thankfully the resulting look they gave him was more alarm than offense.

By the fourth day, he’d begun to keenly feel the effects of being completely without nutrients. It was really only thanks to his nature that he’d gotten this far. Chelcerae were sporadic eaters-- big meals sustained them over longer periods of time compared to other aliens. The downside of that, of course, meant that when his body finally realized that there was no food coming, the hunger pains were going to be all-consuming.

Working at Janus’s side, he’d gotten used to having food when he needed it, or even wanted it. It just figured that he was probably going to die the same way Janus had first found him: starving.

He fell into sleep more and more frequently. It passed the time, and being asleep made it much easier to ignore his impending doom.

Of course, if he’d been aware of the rude awakening he was in for, he wouldn’t have been so eager.

In fact, if he’d known what exactly was going to find him sleeping on that fourth day, he probably wouldn’t have dared to shut his eyes at all.

[leda-x]

Hello! I just finished A Snapping Sound and absolutely loved it, it was so so good! I just had a quick question about how Danny ultimately passed since I'm a bit confused-

Did he get caught somehow during the second escape and then after some time Vlad did the same to him as the others? Or was it accidental death in his escape? I thought his escape plan was quite clever, I'm wondering how he got found and how he died exactly 😭

Thank you!

Hey I wrote this whole thing out... somewhere... lemme find it...

Danny hadn’t seen the sky in aeons. Time was no longer marked by sunrise and sunset. Days were marked by when his tormentor entered the basement and when he left. Danny obsessively picked the routine apart, unraveling it, replaying it over and over for a way to exploit it. He had nothing else to do except log the details of his captivity.

When he’s about to leave he stomps three times to knock the dirt from his shoes.

He takes the steps two at a time when he descends, one at a time when he ascends.

After he leaves, I have approximately seven hours until he comes back. Seven hours to escape, give or take thirty minutes of error, seeing as I counted the seconds, during five different ‘nights’, then averaged them.

Of course, his captor caught onto that pretty quickly. After Danny’s first botched escape attempt the man was careful to randomize his routine in such a way that Danny was left in a constant state of disorientation. He was kept cuffed for what felt like days on end, then, without any reasoning, he was uncuffed. He no longer could tell when one ‘day’ bled into another, as his captor spent different segments of time in the basement, ranging everywhere from four hours, down to ten minutes. He also began to sedate Danny at odd intervals, for no apparent reason other than to create blurry gaps in his memory and keep him from planning. Danny had quieted and his tormentor had taken his complacency as defeat instead of what it really was: endurance. Somewhere along the way, Danny had learned that, in order to survive long enough to escape, he had to be a smart captive. A smart captive meant sacrificing any semblance of pride, playing nice, and waiting. It meant begging when asked to beg, agreeing to anything and everything, and otherwise pretending you didn’t exist, because only bad things happened when you were noticed.

At this point, keeping track of time became pointless. So did the idea of planning an elaborate escape attempt. If he couldn’t predict what his tormentor would do, with any small amount of certainty, he had no constants to plan around. And while he knew he could pick the lock to his room, he also knew that he stood no chance of getting out of the basement anymore. At least, not on his own. The man had sealed that exit thoroughly.

So, Danny waited patiently and remained vigilant for a random stroke of luck. 

And then, miraculously, one day an opportunity presented itself in the form of a dead body.

In the dark, Danny squinted and was able to make out a four-sided wooden coffin. The lid was ajar, a dark hand waving out.

Danny pried the lid off and stared down, stunned. Even though he knew before he even opened the lid, it wasn’t any less unnerving to see the dead eyes staring up at him.

Danny swallowed thickly. He reached underneath the corpse’s armpits, hoisting it up. The thing’s head lolled, nuzzling his, giving Danny an intense whiff of rot and an expanse of clammy flesh. Danny turned his head away and gagged. He tried not to think about how this could be him if this prison break didn’t work.

It took forever to drag the body across the basement into his room. It took another forever to wrestle it into his clothing. The body’s arms were rubbery, heavy, and swollen.

Danny panted, dizzy. In his emaciated state this whole endeavor was like a marathon. Adrenaline beat his ears like a war drum and leant him strength he did not possess. With a grunt, he rolled the dead thing onto his bed and covered it with his thin blanket.

He had no idea how long this doppelganger would fool his jailor. If the man entered his room today he would notice, but the man rarely came into his room.

Danny breathed shallowly. He felt more awake now than he had felt in long time. More alive. Clear-headed. Focused. Hope dared to balloon in his chest. This could work.

He tugged on the clone’s clothes. It had been wearing nothing but a white shirt and a pair of overly baggy pants. After yanking the shirt on, Danny searched through the basement and found a surgical knife. He tucked it into the waistline, the cool metal pressing against the small of his back. He found several large bottles of whatever his captor used before he performed surgeries on his other victims— some kind of weird orange-yellow-brown liquid— and he smeared it across his every inch of exposed skin.

Then, with one last glance at the near pitch-black basement, Danny lowered himself into the coffin and readjusted the lid so it was half covering him. He tried to remember how the corpse had been lying. Any missed detail, and he’d fail. His captor wasn’t stupid.

Danny raised his right hand and draped it over the edge of the casket, limp.

He stayed that way for an indefinite amount of time. Hours. Days. He couldn’t tell. His shoulders, the back of his head, his heels, and his tailbone pounded at the hard surface of the box. He lost feeling completely in his upraised arm. His eyes stared blankly ahead, scanning, knowing that three inches from his nose was a wooden lid, although the box was so dark he couldn’t make it out.

His eyes drooped and his adrenaline faded away, yet his body never relaxed. As much as his body screamed for it, he couldn’t allow sleep. Not tonight.

A mechanical door whirred and someone descended into the lab. Heavy, slow, plodding footsteps— Skulker’s.

Danny’s breath caught.

Skulker wasted no time. He lumbered over to the casket where Danny willed himself to steady. The fact that his hand hand gone numb was a blessing. It meant it had no chance of trembling and giving him away.

Danny didn’t dare flinch or breathe. He kept his mouth agape and prayed Skulker wouldn’t look too hard. Skulker wasn’t much for noticing details. Desperate to not think about what was going on right now, Danny tried to remember his mother’s voice, her scent, the feeling of his head tucked underneath her chin as she held him close and safe. Any residual tension flooded out of his limbs.

Skulker grabbed his right hand and flung it back into the box. Danny’s leadened arm flopped lifelessly and hit the wall of the casket with a dull thud that he didn’t feel. Above him, the lid of the coffin was put back in place.

A grating noise, then a series of booms. Danny couldn’t help but flinch as the coffin jolted painfully against his sore body. The back of his skull complained. His eyeballs rattled in their sockets.

Then, he was being moved. How? He wasn’t sure.

Danny dared to open his eyes— seeing nothing but pitch black. Danny couldn’t twist or sit upright. He could barely move his head two inches up before hitting it on the lid. His eyes flitted around the slats to try and see through, but it was impossible.

A slow triumphant smirk spread across his lips. He was maybe the only person ever that was looking forward to being buried alive.

Skulker grunted as he heaved the box somewhere... outside. Freezing cold air whistled through the cracks, easily biting through Danny’s shirt. He fought a shiver and wondered what month it was. The last time he had attempted escape, it had been spring. Surely it hadn’t been more than a few months since then?

Skulker let out a gruff noise and Danny felt weightlessness as the box got tossed. With a jolt of fear, his fingers tried to clamp down to something, but there was nothing to hold onto. The casket hit hard and tumbled. Danny’s head smacked into the side of the box. He blinked blood rapidly out of his left eye. Absently, Danny prayed that Skulker didn’t look back in the box again. The blood would be a dead giveaway. Also, in this light, Danny doubted Skulker would mistake him again.

There was a yip and a rustle. The sound of tinkling chains. Danny only had his imagination to sort out what was going on.

Skulker let out a whistle and at least three dogs answered with howls, before the box jolted and Danny was gliding. He turned his head to the side and ran the back of his hand along the wood grain. Three inches of cedar plank separated him from the sun. Tears welled in his eyes, unbidden. It had felt like ages since he had last seen the sky. And here he was, so close, yet still unable to see it.

Danny forced back the tears. This wasn’t the time to get overly emotional or cocky. He wasn’t out of the woods yet. He pricked his ears, trying to dissect each noise in case it would prove important later, should this escape work. He could hear a constant shhhhhhh of whatever contraption he was on. A chain jingled, taut. There were several dogs. He could hear them panting and snuffling nearby. Far ahead he could hear Skulker plodding along. Branches snapped and leaves rustled. Images of the forest behind the mansion came to mind.

If they were in that forest, they had cut over to a deeper, denser, part. Their progress was slower and Skulker cursed more and more underneath his breath. Danny could hear that the man was fatigued. His footsteps grew slower and heavier.

They came to a halt. The dogs scampered away. Danny heard a door close and the sound of a fire crackling.

Danny closed his eyes again and went limp. He was patient. He could wait. But, Skulker never came back and neither did the dogs. Danny got the feeling that he had been forgotten. He didn’t know how long that would last. His feet and palms began to sweat, itch. This could be the last chance he had before Skulker buried the coffin.

Danny shifted, wiggling until he could get his arms free from where they were pinned up against the sides of the box. He used his knees and his palms to push against the lid.

It wouldn’t budge.

Danny’s heart hammered in his throat. He used the top of his head. He strained and let out a soft noise of frustration. Did Skulker already nail the lid on? Danny hadn’t planned on that. His mind raced, trying to come up with another way out, should that be the case. He had a knife, maybe he could… He shook his head, refocused, and tried again.

This time the lid popped and cracked open.

Danny froze and held his breath, listening intently for any sign that Skulker had heard that. When nothing happened, he pushed the lid all the way off and sat up. 

Fresh air ruffled his hair, and filled his lungs, making him dizzy and euphoric. Sunlight warmed his cheeks. Snowflakes fell against his nose and nestled atop his head. Danny heaved a few breaths and looked upwards. Giddiness nearly overcame him as he took in the sky.

Blue. Sun. Fluffy clouds lazily rolling along a dazzling crystalline sky. Peace.

Danny stared around at all the snow, bewildered. Panic simmered. He had missed out on a way larger chunk of time than he originally thought. He had been taken in August. His first escape attempt had been in spring. There was at least two feet of snow blanketing the ground, which meant it was December, if not February. That meant… over a year.

Over a year of lost time.

Danny pushed that thought aside and peered down to find the casket which was resting atop a sled— a sled which sat next to a log cabin. Danny looked directly into a window. Inside, a healthy fireplace, several animal heads mounted to the wall, and Skulker crouched above the fire. He had his back to the window, poking a bit at the embers. The hunter straightened and turned.

Danny let his spine go limp and fell backwards into the casket. His eyes darted about at the sky wildly in fear. He realized it didn’t matter if Skulker saw him or not— he had to get out of this coffin.

Keeping his head ducked, Danny crawled out and fell to the ground. Cold seeped through his shirt and pants, soaking them. Blood stained the snow underneath his head. Danny’s fingers curled desperately into the snow, feeling it crunch against his palm.

He backed away from the sled, sliding along his butt, until his back hit the cabin wall. He edged away from the front door. Keeping his gaze fixated on the window, Danny used his hands to feel his way behind him. His palm hit something warm and wet and he flinched.

An English Setter stared at him, butting its head into Danny’s palm. It’s fur was mangy and a speckled brown. It was large and brutish, with thick corded muscle.

Danny froze.

The dog tilted its head and growled.

“Shh,” Danny breathed. He caught sight of a leather collar with a name tag. “Shh, Cujo.”

Its head the other direction, ears perked in recognition.

“That’s your name, right?” Danny soothed, whispering. “Listen, Cujo. Let’s keep this our little secret, ok?” He got onto his feet, slowly. His height frightened the dog, who skittered back a few paces and yipped, loud.

The cabin door flew open.

Danny ran.

His bare feet ached as he tore his way through the snow. With each stride his leg disappeared several inches. The snow was icy and sharp. Danny didn’t care. His gaze was laser-focused on a thick clump of trees. He had no idea where he was, but he figured that he could find some hiding spots in the thicker parts of the forest.

From behind him, as if through a tunnel, Danny heard a yell. He phased it all out of his mind and kept running. All that mattered was running as fast as he could into that treeline. Even when he reached it, he knew he wasn’t safe, he kept running. Skulker was coming up behind him. Danny could hear the man’s panting.

Danny darted through the branches, hopping over a log. He trained all his focus on not tripping.

Skulker stampeded right behind him. Almost on top of him now.

Adrenaline pounded through his head. He urged his legs to run faster, but they had done nothing for over a year. His muscles quivered with disuse. Out of desperation, he yanked at a branch so it would fling backwards. Behind him, Skulker gave a pained grunt then tackled him from behind with the brute force of an avalanche.

The breath got knocked from his lungs. His face pressed into the snow. It filled his mouth and his nose. He choked. Panic stabbed at him. His hands scrambled for purchase and found a branch. Getting a good grip on it, he whipped it behind him.

Skulker grabbed that arm and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to let go of the bludgeon. Danny’s arm screamed in protest.

“Stop struggling,” Skulker grunted. He pressed his knee into the back of Danny’s head, forcing his face a few more inches into the snow until it completely covered his ears. 

Danny screamed, but it was muffled. He twisted and kicked backwards as hard as he could. His bare heel collided with a crunch. Dimly, Danny was aware of pain in his foot.

Skulker howled and tumbled off of him.

Danny crawled a few paces away before getting back on his feet. He swayed.

Skulker got ahold of his neck and slammed him against a tree.

“Hnnr—” Danny choked. Snow rattled off the branches overhead, dumping onto the pair of them. It clung to his hair and eyelashes. He blinked furiously up at Skulker’s leering face.

Skulker’s eyes narrowed. He lifted Danny higher until his bare feet kicked nothing but air and the back of the tree.

Danny gritted his teeth and lashed out, hitting Skulker’s arms, his hands clawing, ripping. His struggles weakened as his vision darkened. Skulker’s tough leather hunting gloves were impossible to scratch through and he was wearing far too many layers. He merely shook Danny by the neck like shaking a rubber chicken.

Danny’s head flopped as the fight got sucked out of him. For a minute he forgot. He allowed himself to give up. “Do it,” he mouthed, lips trembling.

Skulker paused. “What?”

"Do it,” Danny mouthed again.

Skulker’s faced dawned in understanding. He nodded. His grip tightened until Danny felt like his neck would snap in half.

Danny’s eyelashes fluttered. The brilliant blue sky faded into black. His hands fell to his sides, still. He felt an overwhelming calm swoop down over him. It swaddled him in a blanket of peace. Then, something dug into the small of his back. A wiggling thread loosened, a voice screamed that he couldn’t just fall noiselessly into the dark. If he died, Skulker would put him in that box and bury him somewhere no one would ever find him, just like he had done with all the others.

Danny couldn’t swallow that. Couldn’t stomach it. He wouldn’t allow them to get away with it.

Still limp at his sides, his hands suddenly twitched. As if in a dream, he reached behind his back and found the handle of a knife. His fingers could barely grasp it, but he dredged up enough voracity to whip the knife out and bury it deep into Skulker’s shoulder. The knife shifted through muscle and bit into bone.

Skulker dropped him and stumbled backwards with a surprised howl. He no longer looked like he wanted to entertain the idea of putting Danny out of his misery peacefully.

Danny collapsed at the base of the tree, clawing at his throat, gasping for air. Still, Danny refused for this to be the end. He had waited, planned, and been patient. This was the closest he had been to freedom. He couldn’t die and he couldn’t go back. He would not go back into that basement. He was so fucking close, he would fucking murder Skulker if he had to.

Desperation flooded him beyond reason. Danny dug around at the base of the tree, through the snow, for anything he could use. He found a rock.

Skulker grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him backwards, roughly. His back lit with fire. Danny screamed and twisted, smashing the rock as hard as he could into Skulker’s head. The man toppled. Danny struck him again, twice, three times, as hard as he possibly could. Suddenly— silence.

Danny panted. His chest heaved. He dropped the bloodied rock into the snow and stared. With his toe, he poked Skulker’s shoulder. Little crimson bubbles fizzed in the corner of Skulker’s mouth— proof he was still breathing.

Danny tried to stand up and fell. His back screamed. He reached behind and found the handle of the knife protruding from his somewhere to the left of his mid-spine. Without thinking, he ripped it out, shoving his face into the snow to stifle his shout. Pain became nausea. He stared at the knife accusingly, before tucking it back into his waistline.

He tried to stand again. His legs wobbled and his back seized, paralyzing him. The world spun on it’s axis and Danny found himself sprawled on the snow again, puffing little agonized breathes of air.

Walking was out of the question, then.

Danny dragged himself away from Skulker’s unconscious body, away from the cabin. He used the snow as a cushion and pulled his body along. The pace didn’t matter. Any progress was ok.

After what felt like a half hour, Danny peered back and saw the red trail he was leaving behind. He laughed, giddy from blood loss. His feet and hands were completely numb. His teeth chattered and his entire body shivered. Even if he got away from the mansion, it wouldn’t be long before he died from hypothermia or blood loss, or both. His laughing grew hysteric. Over a year in captivity, only to die from snow.

He took a second to lean against a tree and dry heave. Nothing came up. His laughs turned into sobs. He laughed and cried and bled all over the tree until he regained enough steel to find his feet again. Now that he couldn’t really feel most of his body, it was somehow easier.

He wrapped his arms around its trunk to keep upright and pressed his face into its bark. He bit into it. The earthy taste of dirt was beautiful. He inhaled as deeply as he could. Then, he closed his eyes, centered himself, and listened.

Birds chirped merrily overhead.

Trees rustled.

Then, a horn honked.

Danny’s head swiveled towards the noise. With borrowed strength, Danny first walked towards that sound, then ran with an unsteady, limping gait.

A deep bark from a dog echoed from behind him. No doubt one of Skulker’s, which meant it was a purebred hunting dog. Loyal. It had probably seen it’s master and was not happy.

Danny urged his body to go faster, to be stronger— just for a little while.

That bark grew louder. It turned into a prolonged chilling howl.

Danny broke into a huge clearing the size of a football field. He stumbled to a halt, afraid of being exposed while crossing it. He could hear distant highway noise coming from the other side.

The dog barked again, closer.

No choice. Danny bolted across the clearing. The snow was deeper and harder to traverse. Danny ignored his body yelling at him that his organs were in trouble. He tugged at his limbs like they were fighting him and practically threw one foot in front of the other.

Another howl. Too close. It was too close.

Danny looked back and saw Cujo bounding towards him from across the clearing.

Frantically, he fumbled for his knife. His fingers were blue and unresponsive. The knife fell into snow. Danny was forced to take his eyes off the incoming hunting dog to look down. He scrambled, finally getting it in hand, just in time for Cujo to be upon him.

He got the animal directly in the chest, his arm somehow narrowly missing the creature’s fangs.

The dog yipped and retreated, bounding several feet away to evaluate its wound. It whined and licked at its side. Huge brown eyes turned to Danny reproachfully.

“I’m sorry,” Danny whispered. “I had to.”

The dog growled. Its ears flattened and it crouched, preparing to pounce again.

Danny stumbled back heavily. He clutched the knife close, readying himself. From underneath his feet the earth groaned.

The dog galloped away from Danny towards the treeline, back where it had come from. It’s gait grew unsteady. As it neared the edge of the clearing it lumbered around in circles, before collapsing, dead.

Danny took a step towards the road.

A series of cracking and grinding noises reverberated outwards from underneath his feet. His eyes widened, gaze diving for his feet.

Not a clearing, he thought, right before the ground disappeared and he was submerged in freezing black water.

[seasonsofeverlark]

Love Light

Author: @rosegardeninwinter​

Prompt: Christmas baking! [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T for some subtly implied married shenanigans 

Summary: Katniss, Peeta, and Prim do some snowy day baking. The fourth installment in the Snowstorm Universe, approximately two months after Hearthsong (and, though the characters don’t know this, in my mind it is set on Christmas day). You don’t need to have read the Snowstorm Universe to get the basics of this AU, which are that Prim won the 74th Games, and Peeta and Katniss fell in love, courted, and are now married. 

Author’s Note: Special thank you to @captainseaweedbrains​ who acted as my lovely beta on this sugary fluff-fest! Enjoy!  Word Count: ~ 1500 words

____________

The heat from the wood stove makes the windows fog, blurring the pale violet dawn behind our curtains, as my lips trail back up my husband’s body to make a home against his throat, feeling his pulse coming down from its rapid peak. 

“Good morning,” I say innocently, tapping my fingers in a meaningless pitter-patter against his chest. 

Peeta exhales a raspberry. “It is now.” 

I laugh. Nip at his neck and get a gentle swat on my hip for my trouble. “Give me a second and I’ll return the favor,” he says, but I yawn and shake my head. 

“Later,” I say. “I was promised gingerbread last night.” 

“That you were,” he says, a bit dazedly, “and you’ll have it.” 

I sigh and tuck my nose against his neck, breathing in his scent. His fingers lightly trace my arm, resting across his chest in a loose embrace. It’s not usual for us to stay in bed like this. Most days, I’m up and out running errands for my mother, or helping Prim make charity baskets for the people who will accept her generosity. Peeta frosts the cakes for his father’s bakery, and makes cookies to go in the baskets. Prim’s winnings mean neither of us have to work, but it’s not in my nature to be idle. Making the charity baskets is the least I can do to help those less well off than we are. 

“Okay, woman,” Peeta says at last. “You’ll have to let me up if you want that gingerbread.” 

“Hmm,” I say, nestling my nose further into his neck. I smile against his skin, then kiss his shoulder. “If you insist.” 

“I didn’t,” he laughs, but swings himself out of our bed anyway. He pulls on his pajama pants and shimmies into a sweater. I bite my lip, admiring his broad shoulders and back, before they disappear behind the thick fabric. He gets a match from atop the stove to light the lone candles in each of our two windowsills. 

“You’re sure I can’t open a window?” he asks, hand already on the latch. “It’s burning up in here.” 

This is one of those compromises and arguments we’ve had to resolve as we get used to living as a couple. Peeta, having grown up sharing one room with his brothers, wants to leave the windows open, even in winter. I spent the early years of my life stopping the cracks in our windows up with old gloves and bits from the rag bag, and I hate the cold. But I’m cozy with his residual heat trapped under our quilt, so I nod. 

Peeta pops the latch and opens the window a sliver. The curtains and the candle flame flicker in a breeze, but the candle doesn’t go out. My husband peers onto the street below. 

“It’s snowing,” he says as he comes back to the bedside. “I bet it started last night. It’s like someone dropped a bag of sugar over everything. Come with me,” he adds. “I bake much better when I have company.” 

I smile and prop myself up on my elbows to receive a quick peck on my lips and promise that I’ll join him in a minute. He leaves. His footsteps, never very quiet, thunk down the stairs and I smirk as I stretch my arms above my head, curl my toes. I could go back to dozing, but I won’t pretend I don’t like to sit and watch my husband work. I get up, wash my face, and braid my hair down my back. The stockings my mother made for my wedding go up to my knees, and a warm shawl goes over my shoulders. I shut the door to our room behind me and let my hand trail the bannister as I tiptoe downstairs. Chances are, my mother isn’t awake. She has the most patients in December and January, when illness and hunger are their worst. She needs her rest. 

There is a soft conversation coming from the kitchen. I pause in the doorway, leaning against the green trim. My sister bends over a handwritten recipe book as Peeta sets out his baking supplies: bowls, measuring cups, spoons. My heart warms at the sight, as it always does. The cold season isn’t easy on Prim. The end of the year brings the Victory Tour to our district. For Prim, that means bad memories and nightmares. Peeta knows about them. The last time she couldn’t sleep, it was my husband who discovered her crying in the living room when he got up at four in the morning to put on a starter for bread. She’d fallen back asleep against his shoulder on the couch, and I’d fallen more in love with him than I thought was possible when I found them later. Peeta fits so perfectly into our home, I don’t know how we managed before him.

“Ooh, ‘cinnamon pull-apart bread,’” Prim is saying, tapping the page with her metal finger. “That sounds amazing.” 

“It is,” Peeta agrees. “Even better with apples, when we could get them. We could make it tomorrow if you want. How much white vinegar for the gingerbread?” 

Prim flips forward a few pages. “Um — two tablespoons.” She looks up at me. “Good morning.” 

I wrap my arm around her as I come over to see the recipe book. “How can I help?” I ask. 

“Ask your baker,” Prim laughs. “I only know I’m on kettle duty.” She nods to where the kettle is hung over the hearth, warming up. 

“Katniss, if you’ll take these.” Peeta sets three glass jars marked “syrup” “apple mash” and “molasses” in front of me, along with a wooden bowl and stirring spoon. He kisses my temple. “I can handle the spices and flour.” 

The three of us set to work in the quiet, cozy morning. The only sounds are those of opening jars, stirring spoons, the fire cracking, and Prim reading measurements to us. The sun continues to rise, and snow continues to float down under a pale purple sky. 

I bring the jar of molasses up to my nose and breathe in the heady scent. It’s only thanks to Prim that we can afford such expensive things, and we try not to use them often for ourselves, but today I add an extra splash of maple syrup to the wet ingredients in my bowl. I hear my husband groan when he sees me do it. 

“It’s the Everdeen sweet tooth,” Prim laughs, going to fetch the whistling kettle and add the hot water to my mix. “Can’t be helped. Especially not with three of us in the house.” 

“Apparently not,” Peeta says, grinning. 

I hop up to sit on the counter as he takes my bowl and slowly stirs in the dry ingredients, making a thin, brown batter. We haven’t even put it in the oven yet and it smells good enough to just drink up. 

“Almost done,” Peeta says, picking up a measuring spoon and smiling like he’s a little boy again. “This is Granny’s recipe, so there’s one last thing.” 

“What’s that?” 

Peeta twirls the spoon between his fingers thoughtfully. “She always said to add one spoonful of being grateful, even if there wasn’t much to be grateful for.” He goes pink around the nose and ears. “I mean, we don’t have to,” he says. “It was just something we did as kids.” 

“No,” I say. “I — I think that’s a beautiful idea, Peeta.” It sounds like something my father would do, something Peeta would teach our children, if we lived in a world safe enough to have them. 

He gives me a look glowing with what my father would call love light, and strokes my stockinged leg. “Thank you,” he says. “I can start.” He pretends to scoop something out of the air. “One spoonful … for sunrises.” 

Then it’s Prim’s turn. She holds the spoon up in the candlelight, the glimmer reflecting on the shiny surface, and smiles. “One spoonful … for a warm fire.” 

I don’t know what I want to say. I have an abundance of things to be grateful for, in spite of where we live. I have a roof over my head and warm clothes. I have gingerbread and stockings, violet sunrises and snowfall — and I have hope. I’m not even sure of what, but with my husband and my sister beside me, I have it all the same. 

“One spoonful … for having spoonfuls, ” I say, and I trust they understand what I mean. 

I don’t know if the spoonfuls of being grateful do anything to make the batter taste better, but I wouldn’t put it past Jenny Ann Mellark. And when, an hour or so later, I’m laughing as her grandson kisses sticky gingerbread crumbs from my fingers, while my sister giggles and pretends to hide from us behind her mug of warm milk, I decide I’m pretty sure they do. 

[undercoverclover]

A Work Of Art

Pairing: Pygmalion (Sehyoon) x Galatea

Genre: Myth AU, Fluff-ish, Angsty maybe, depending how you look at it.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning: None?

Summary: When Pygmalion would rather be alone throughout his life, he creates the perfect woman in an ivory sculpture. This is my version of the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea for the @acewriters event, Greco Roman Writes. 

As my internal alarm makes me stir, I steal a glance out my window and notice the sun rising just above the horizon. I groan as I sit up in my bed and stretch. I would like to go back to sleep, but I know that if I did, my current works of art would never get finished.

Looking to the corner of the cabin, I see the sheet draped over the sculpture I’d started just the day before. I make some breakfast and then begin carving on what’s to be the perfect image of a woman, or so I hope. By midday, I take a break to relax my aching hands and picture what my ivory sculpture will eventually become and smile. I did not get much done carving the legs, but it was taking shape slowly.

“Oh, Pygmalion!” I hear outside my window.

“What in the name of Zeus do you want?” I grumble.

“We just want to talk.”

“I wonder what he looks like.” A new voice sounds.

“I’ve heard he’s handsome with medium brown hair and eyes that match. I’ve also heard he’s an artist and his work will make you say wow, every single time.”

“We? As in there’s more of you wretched women out there? Go away!”

“But-”

“I do not and will not ever want anything to do with you. Leave me be!” I yell, fed up with them.

I hear them run away and sigh in relief. I swore that I’d never marry a woman in this city and I plan to keep it that way. I despise them all and I never travel, so becoming a hermit is my destiny. I go back to my sculpture and work diligently through the day.

I know that it’s late and the sun went down some time ago, but I have the perfect image in my mind and I have to finish it before I can sleep. Chiseling away pieces and wiping residual dust from it, I run my hand over it. The surface is smooth and such a beautiful color, I hope that it will be just like I imagine it. My hands ache as I carve the final foot, but I feel accomplished. I wash my hands in the basin and change into fresh clothes as my last were covered in dust.

I cover my sculpture and head to my bed for the remainder of the night.

***

The days begin blurring together as my routine stays the same. I wake, eat, work and repeat. Working everyday, I managed to get the sculpture outlined in less than a week's time and almost finished in another. The quiet was peaceful for a time, but I began to wonder what it would be like if I had a wife.

“Pygmalion?” I hear as a knock ascends on the door. I jump up, startled but answer the door.

“Yes?”

“Oh my word, have you not seen yourself as of late?” My longtime friend, Philip says. I’ve seen Philip grow from a small black haired child with light brown eyes to a man. Hell I’d introduced him to his wife not too long ago and they were expecting their first child. One of the only friends I have, I respect him enough not to throw a stone at him right now.

“No, I have not Philip. I’ve been deep in work.” I grumble.

“A new statue? Your brown hair is covered in ivory specks of it that it almost looks white, your brown eyes are red and puffy, and the dust is all over your tunic. For crying out loud, how can you see out of your glasses?” He asks, taking them off of my face and wiping them off.

“Yes, and I just about have her done. Would you like to see?” I ask, excitement in my voice.

“Of course, dear friend!” I let him pass and he gapes at my beautiful ivory queen.

“She’s beautiful, Pygmalion. She looks lifelike! What’s her name?”

“Thank you, Philip. I have no name for her… But, I’m not quite done. I should finish the fine details tomorrow. You may come back and see for yourself before the sun sets tomorrow, if you’d like.” I smile, proudly.

“I must! If it looks this good now, I cannot wait to see what the final product looks like.”

“Then, I will see you tomorrow before sundown.” I smile, shaking his hand. He walks back to the doorway and turns back to me, “You know, she looks like a Galatea.”

I smile wider hearing the sound of that, “That will be her name then. Galatea it is.”

Philip smiles and takes his leave, making plans to return tomorrow and I decide that this is enough for tonight. I lay my tools down and walk outside to relax on the hill where I live. It overlooks the city and has the best view in the entire area. I lay in my favorite spot, watching the sun set before me and frown, letting the loneliness creep in just a little.

The next day, I did it. I finished the details. The long curly hair, her ivory color so flesh-like and the perfect proportions. I stand there admiring my work and finally lean down to kiss her cheek. The best piece of art I’ve ever made.

Philip comes by as planned and fawns over my masterpiece, but leaves just as quickly because his wife could have their child at any given time.

“What I wouldn’t give for Galatea to be real.” I say to myself. Loneliness has set in tonight in full force as I think about the sculpture in my home. She’s going to be perfect. Sitting up, I notice flowers a few meters away, down the hill. I smile sadly, going to pick them.

Grabbing them, I bring them back inside and place them in front of Galatea, leaning down to kiss the statue once again, “Oh how I would treat you like a goddess. Never mind that I seem like an outcast. I’d be the happiest outcast alive, if you were by my side.”

The weeks to come, I become lonelier and lonelier. Slipping into my mind and only seeing happiness when I saw Galatea’s gorgeous face. I dress her in the finest clothing I could buy and even buy a bracelet for her after selling off a small sculpture. Surrounding her with gifts, as if she was my goddess, I decide that I shall not love anyone else. I’d rather love someone I couldn’t have, innocently and purely than one of the vile women that walk this city,

That night, I washed up and instead of laying to rest, I prayed to the Goddess of Love, Aphrodite.

Goddess Aphrodite,

If you would hear my plea. I wish my darling Galatea would be mine, in life. I would treat her as the goddess she is to me. My heart will want none other. I have never asked for anything, but please hear me. I will forever be in your debt and always grateful.

I say my prayer and then go to bed, hoping for a better day tomorrow.

***

The sun waking me, I realize I slept later than normal. Apparently needing it as I didn’t sleep much in order to finish Galatea. Stretching, I sit up and wonder what I’ll do today….

The festival devoted to the goddess, Aphrodite, had begun today and I prepare the artwork and flowers I’d worked on in my spare time for her. Afterwards, I make breakfast and walk into town to sell off some art pieces that I had finished in my spare time. I take the gifts to Aphrodite’s altar and ask for my beautiful ivory statue to come to life. I know it’s highly unlikely, but it’s the only true happiness I want.

Leaving the altar after paying my respects and devotion, I look for more gifts to present to my one and only before I return home. The worrisome looks I am given as I pick things out make me seem like a mad man. That’s alright with me, less people to deal with.

I manage to find a necklace with a purple gemstone, my favorite color. I smile and get it for her, then hurrying home, planning to put it on her as soon as I arrive.

Walking in, the atmosphere feels different, “Hello?” I yell but to no avail.

Pygmalion, enjoy the gift of love. I hear inside of my mind. I wonder what that could mean and return to Galatea’s side. I place the necklace on her and kiss her on the lips wishing I could feel the warmth of them.

And I could….

I gasp, pulling away and decide I must be feeling things that aren’t there. I feel the arm making sure I hadn’t missed any places and it feels just like skin! I kiss her lips again and feel the warmth radiating through them.

“By the goddess.” I smile, as Galatea sits up to face me.

“Hello, I’m Galatea. It’s very nice to meet you.” She says, smiling wide, My heart explodes with delight and I whisk her in a hug, “Hello my love! I am Pygmalion!”

I hear her giggle and it’s music to my ears.

“Oh thank the goddess! Thank you so much Aphrodite.” I say, happily as I swing Galatea around. I sit her on her feet, keeping her hand in my own and show her around our house. She’s smiley and I can’t help but feel such joy that it brings tears to my eyes.

“Oh, Pygmalion. What is wrong?” She says, wiping the stray tear that escaped my hand.

“I’m so happy. That’s all, I promise you.”

“Okay, I truly hope so.” She smiles.

That night, she lays by my side and I feel complete for the first time in my life. She’s my masterpiece and I’ll treat her as such.

I thank Aphrodite every night after Galatea came to life and pay my respects to the both of them any chance I get. Galatea became my wife just a few short months later.

“Pygmalion, I have something to tell you.” I hear. I set my pencil down and turn to look at her. “I have news for you.” She says, smiling widely.

“And what would that be, my queen?”

“You’ll soon be a father.”

“No! You’re telling tall tales!” I hop up, hoping excitedly she’s not lying.

“I’m not. I prayed to Aphrodite last night and she spoke to me. She said something. Oh what was it….”

“Take your time, my queen.” I smile.

“Oh! She said, ‘Enjoy the gift of love.’ and said you’d know it’s real.”

I scoop her up and cheer and cry in happiness.

Later that year my son, Paphos, was born and I could not be happier. I never thought I’d know true happiness like this and here I am, holding a little boy in my arms as his curly black hair falls around his face and he looks at me with his mother's eyes. Finally, with my beautiful wife by my side. I couldn't ask for anything else in this world.

[khaotic-kitsunes]

Interruption

Probably best not to push a mafia boss’ temper? Maybe? Or...maybe not?

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

 “Damn it (Name), again?!” Taishiro slammed the bedroom door shut behind him as he finally joined you for the night, apparently unbothered by the noise he was making, despite it being 2am.

 “Taishiro it’s late, can’t you rant in the morning?” You huffed out in annoyance, lifting your head from his pillow, a slight frown decorating your features when you realised that you would have to move from his side of the bed. Though the only reason you had occupied it in the first place was because it gave you some form of comfort during the lonely late nights.

 He turned his angry gaze to you, golden gaze softening ever-so-slightly at your appearance; you were somewhat right and he knew it. A fight now would do no good, but he was also painfully aware that you weren’t that much of a morning person. Anything he said to you come tomorrow morning wouldn’t truly be heard.

 “Fine. I won’t shout” He paused, making his way over to you slowly reaching down and grabbing your chin with one hand, making you look up into his eyes before you had the chance to shuffle over to your own side of the bed.

 “But, if ya keep walking in on my meetings dressed the way ya were earlier…I will punish you. I will embarrass you. I will fuck you in front of everyone in the meeting if I absolutely have to (Name). If it means putting you in your place.” He warned, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone; the one you knew all too well. His business voice most would call it.

 “Understand?” He grinned at the way your head bobbed in agreement, kissing your forehead before stepping back to get ready for bed; his agitated mood now forgotten, though his threat wasn’t.

 “Good. I knew you’d see it my way (Name).”

    ~  ~ ~  ~  ~

    Taishiro’s sentence trailed off into an agitated silence when you stepped into the room, one of his overly large silken shirts the only thing hiding your body from all the eyes in the room that were glued to you, or rather; the buttons on the shirt that were only done up halfway.

 It left little to the imagination and infuriated Taishiro more than he could describe; he was fairly certain that just the other week he had warned you about this exact issue. Though you had never been so bold before.

   “Ah…I didn’t mean to…”

   You went silent when Taishiro motioned you closer, patting his lap when you dared to walk towards him; you weren’t stupid. You could see the anger in his eyes and the way his jaw clenched; you were in trouble and the only thing that managed to fill your mind was the threat he had so generously graced you with at the time.

 “Oh, so you can follow instructions, then?” Taishiro narrowed his eyes at the two other men in the room, relaxing when they averted their eyes, not turning away yet still doing as he wanted them to. Unlike the certain wife in his lap.

 “W-Well, about that…I um, there wa-” You gasped out, cut off by Taishiro standing up quickly, his large hands moving to your body as he moved, slamming you down onto the strangely clear desk that stood solidly between him and his men.

 “I don’t want to hear it. I also didn’t want to go this far either but it seems you don’t want to leave me much choice!” His tone was sharp as his hands moved from their position to roam your scarcely covered body, tugging at the dress-shirt in places he wanted to see more of your skin. What did he care if there were people to watch what he was about to do to you? He’d kill them easily enough if they dared actually look at you, it was good enough for him and hopefully, it would be a good enough punishment to get you to stop disobeying him like a child ignoring their parents’ instructions.

 “T-Taishiro! I’m sorry, I am, I wasn’t trying to, ah!” You squealed out loudly when one of his hands slapped against your exposed cheek, leaving a rather prominent handprint behind; helping settle his temper, if only a fraction.

   “Spread. Your. Legs. Take this punishment properly and I might get the inkling to reward you later…”

   You pursed your lips, a pout forming as you spread your legs for him quietly, glancing at the men that sat silently in front of the desk you were currently pressed down onto; of course, they weren’t looking at you. They seemed to be finding a great deal of entertainment out of the walls in the room; it didn’t make it any less embarrassing.

 You knew Taishiro was a man of his word, yet you never thought he would do this, even if he did make the threat.

 “You’re…wet? Really?” Taishiro rolled his eyes as he adjusting his pants, freeing his dick before moving to rub up against your wet, welcoming warmth; you were already soaked and that wasn’t including the damp residue that seemed to coat your body.

 It was almost like you had already played with yourself; without him.

   “I was trying to tell you…the shower in our bathroom is screwed, so I went to the one closest to your office…and your shirt was there, but I forgot my change of clothes and th-”

   You let out a loud moan as Taishiro pushed into you, his thick cock spreading your walls around him snugly, your slick making things much easier for Taishiro; initially he thought he would have to tease you in front of his men. Apparently, that was not the case, a fact that relieved him on the inside; after all, there were certain things that were just between the two of you.

 “Convenient, (Name). I tell you not to do something and you just happen to find a way around it.” He chose his words carefully, eyes focusing on your body beneath him, greedily drinking in the sight of you squirming and bucking your hips back ever-so-slightly; despite your half-assed excuse, you were enjoying this more than you should.

 “Admit it” He paused, leaning down so that his lips brushed against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine while he slowly pulled out of you, stopping when just the tip was pressed up against your folds.

   “You just wanted me to fuck you in front of someone. Isn’t that why you’ve already played with yourself? Why you’re so eager for my cock to be inside of you?”

   You cried out, gasping out his name when he buried himself back inside of you completely, quickly setting a harsh pace while somehow managing to keep his words a low whisper, for your ears only.

 He grinned when he noticed you biting down on your bottom lip to try and contain your sweet-sounding whimpers and moans, spurring him to increase his pace, rocking your body into the desk, making it drag along the floor a few centimetres at a time; the sound catching the attention of the men in front of you, causing them to turn their gazes to the both of you. Their eyes went wide as your back arched and your breasts fell out of the over-sized dress shirt, bouncing with each of Taishiro’s thrusts.

 Death would be guaranteed but for now, the sight was worth the risk.

   “Oh? You got real tight there baby…guess you’re just a naughty little slut that enjoys having people watch you get fucked like this”

   You shook your head as you gripped the edge of the table tightly, pressing yourself down against the flat surface to hide as much of yourself from them as you could; your cheeks aflame with embarrassment. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many of his words you wanted to deny and yet at the same time, you found yourself unable to.

 It was far too hard to focus on them for long with the way Taishiro continued to fill you with his throbbing cock, each thrust made you see stars with how he brushed up against your sweet spot and soon enough; you didn’t even care that they were in the room, losing yourself to your pleasure, to your punishment.

   “That’s it baby, keep squeezing down on me like that”

   Taishiro moved one of his hands to your throat, the other wrapping around your waist as he pulled you back against his chest, using more of his strength to fuck you senseless; enjoying the way your body responded to his touches, twitching, bucking and arching with the simplest of actions.

 It didn’t even matter to him that the two morons he had been talking to had fled the room after getting more than an eyeful of your vulnerable form; he could deal with them later on in the day. In fact, he already knew the people he would send to kill them, it would be clean and efficient; he wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.

 “Good girl, just keep taking my dick like that…fuck you feel so good baby” He groaned out loudly, burying his face against your neck while his hips moved harshly, stuttering out of the rhythm he had built up into until you were bouncing yourself on his cock, screaming out his name in bliss.

 He fell back down onto his chair, rocking his hips up as he released his hot seed into your welcoming body, your name a quiet groan on the mafia king’s lips.

   “Shit…guess I need a new punishment for you…”

[strangerobin]

Rue: Chapter 2 (A Jasper Hale x OC Imagine)

Old scars are reopened. And one day, we all will have to choose. To continue living a lie, or wake up and face the truth.

“I’m telling you, she’s just like me.” Renesmee pouted as she rode on Jacob’s strong sturdy back. The wolf only snorted. “It’s true!” Renesmee pouted even more at Jacob’s snort. “Here let me show you.”

Warm and tender hands cupped her face, a relaxing floral scent mixed with the smell of damp earth, steel blue eyes that sparkled in the sun and the daisies and leaves braided into chocolate tresses. “You must take care, Child.”

Jacob grunted in response.

“See, she’s a sweet lady who was just passing by. And the lot of you scared her away!”

“There’s not many like you out there, Renesmee.” Edward sighed. “We couldn’t be too careful now. The Volturi may have given up last time, but there’s no saying when they’ll be back. Or if this lady was not here for some unknown reason to hurt you intentionally-“

“Daddy!”

“And how would you explain her appearance so suddenly?”

“We found each other!” Renesmee exclaimed in excitement. “It was destiny!”

“Now you’re just sounding like your Aunt Alice.” Edward chuckled.

“Mommy.” Renesmee turned to Bella then. “When do you reckon I’ll see Adeline again?”

Bella titled her head slight and pretended to give it some thought. “Maybe when she’s ready? I’m sure she’ll come see you again if she means to.”

“There’s so much I want to show her and talk to her with.” Renesmee sighed with longing, her little heart beating even faster in excitement at the potential of gaining a new friend. Especially a hybrid like her! “I want to see again already.”

Edward and Bella shared a cautious look.

“I’m sure you will soon enough.”

“Tell us about that kind lady-”

“Adeline.”

“Tell us about Adeline again.” Carlise smiled encouragingly at Renesmee as she stretched out her hand towards him.

Renesmee was alone in the clearing, twirling around giggling at the fluttering butterflies around her. She knew she was safe, her family was around hunting, and Jacob was nearby. There really was no reason to be afraid. It was then when she heard a soft whispered from behind. Panicking she spun around on her heels, ready to call for her family. But the sight that greeted her set her into complete shock.

Standing at the edge was a woman, young and beautiful, heartbreakingly so, probably the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Rosy lips parted in awe, steel blue eyes with golden flecks in the centre that somehow radiated warmth, golden freckles over the apples of her cheeks. Her chocolate brown tresses were braided on the side loosely, with daises and heathers woven into it; and that lovely fragrance, she smelt of flowers and damp earth after the rain. She could hear her quick pulse, and that glowing skin-

Renesmee gasped, making the connection at once.

She was a hybrid.

“I wonder what her motive was.” Carlisle pondered, interest piqued. “There aren’t many of her kinds out there, the only ones we do know are Nahuel and his family. And she certainly didn’t seemed to be from the same family…”

“So there could be more than even the Volturi was aware of?”

“But then what of her motive?” Esme asked. “If she had planned to visit us, she would’ve showed up right at our house. Not trying to ambush Renesmee out in the open…?”

“She could be just a nomad passing through?” Rosalie shrugged. “I mean it doesn’t happen everyday but it does happen.”

“But she kept mentioning her maker.” Edward pointed out. “You’d think she came from a large family by the way she spoke.”

“Ughh! I can’t see her at all, it’s so foggy.”

Alice sighed in annoyance and flopped on the couch next to Jasper who only smirked understandingly at her.

“It’ll come.” He smiled and rubbed her hand comfortingly.

“Perhaps we should take turns and be on guard for the next few days.” Carlisle exerted his caution nevertheless. “Renesmee show the others how Miss Adeline looks will you?”

Renesmee nodded and went around the group. It was when she came to Jasper that something happened. Jasper had grown eerily still after an audible gasp, frowning before abruptly standing, eyes shifting everywhere, fists clenched nails digging into his own skin, shoulders tense.

The room had gone quiet, Alice hoovered closely a look of worry on her face. “What is it?” She asked carefully, trying her best to conceal the worry in her voice. Even Edward had gone rigid, his face slowly morphing into shock as he registered Jasper’s inner thoughts.

“Are you certain?”

“I need… I need to…” Jasper mumbled, seemingly in a trance. Then he barged right out of the window and into the greenies at the back of the house.

“I’ll go with him.” With one last sweep, Edward darted out of the house following closely behind Jasper.

The Cullens eyed one another uncomfortably, unsure of what had just transpired in the span of five seconds. Bella reached out to squeeze Alice’s hand encouragingly, as if she unknowingly needed the strength.

Emmet laughed nervously to break the tension in the room, none the wiser.

“Old flame maybe?”

“Jasper.”

His insides was in a turmoil as Jasper raced towards the clearing; his mind a chaos and he couldn’t think straight except-

Adeline.

Could it really had been her? 150 years later? It all seemed laughably lame. How could anyone live 150 years and not age? Unless you were a Vampire then, or a hybrid apparently. But he was so sure his sweet Adeline was not. Could not be a monster like him, not even by half-

But those eyes, a cooler shade of cornflower, specks of gold that glinted in the Texan sun.

“Jasper!”

He’d run his hand through those silky tresses every day by the river as she napped with her head in his lap; and then every night in bed; secret rendezvous that would shock the entire town and disgrace their family name had they known.

Adeline Ruelle.

“Major Whitlock.” She drawled flirtatiously, voice dipped in honey, head on her shoulder as she gazed at him slyly, her loose locks tumbling down her back. Her delicate hand reached out to muss up his hair roughly. “I kind of like the sound of it.”

“Well Mrs Whitlock.” He snatched her hand and laid a single kiss over her ring finger. “Then you shall hear it again and again.”

“Jasper wait up!”

She’d leaned in to steal a kiss from his lips, and he had chased her back to bed with more.

“Jasper Whitlock wait up!”

Edward’s bellows snapped him from his reverie. Jasper turned to his brother’s concerned eyes.

“Talk to me, Jas.” He studied his brother worry permanently etched onto his features. “It’s not like you to run out of the family. Alice is worried. Everyone is worried.”

Funny, even Alice had somehow slipped out of his mind. So transfixed was he on his lost love.

“Are you very sure, Jasper?”

Jasper glared into his brother’s golden eyes. “I’ve never been more sure.”

“You’re hesitating.”

“It’s just… If you’ve ever seen her, then you’d know. You wouldn’t be able to forget her. She was the most dazzling sun in the whole of Texas. Her look, her… her eyes. And her voice. The way she holds herself.” Jasper spun around in a frenzy. “It has to be her…”

“And for her to reappear again now. She’d have to be something immortal. Like us. Is that what you want to say?”

He was at a lost of words, he had ran out the moment he saw her. But what if it wasn’t her? It had caught him by surprise, chilled him to the core that she could be out there all this time and he had not known… Had not really stopped to think of the implications of it all…

“I don’t know.” He finally muttered in defeat. “But suppose she was her or her offsprings or…” They might know more about her, what happened, perhaps finally giving him the peace of mind he needed.

“Brother.” Edward comforted. “I’m not saying we know who or what she is. All I’m saying is, you need to get a grip of yourself first. Let us help you find her, if it really is her I’m sure she’ll have no scruples to see you. Hell for all we know she could just be a doppelgänger.”

Jasper had to laugh at this, the tension lines easing slightly.

“Hell, doppelgänger?”

“Shall we trace her scent first? If she went West, she could be all the way into Seattle by now, and it sure as hell won’t be an easy task to trace her in there.”

“Edward…” Jasper stuttered, tripping over his tongue to find the right words. “I- Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“What are families for?” Edward grinned, relived to finally see the Jasper he was used to.

*

“Come Adeline.”

“Come hold your brother,” Father beckoned towards her in the shadow of the house. “He tore through his mother’s womb just to see you.”

“No…” She wanted to run, to scream, but no word came out of her. She was stunned in her position by the blood stench.

Father walked towards her in slow deliberate step, a white bundle in his arms, thrusting it into her unwillingly arms. “Take him.”

In her arms laid a small babe.

His hair matted with dried blood and he grinned Cheshire like at her.

“Bring him out so that your sisters may see him.”

Gingerly, she stepped out of the threshold and into the twilight. Watched as her sisters danced in the pure white, each with arms around a man. And in unison, bit into their jugulars, tearing at the arteries beneath, fresh blood spurting out in fountains.

She was drenched from head to toe in crimson.

Hyperventilating.

She needed togotogotogotogotogotogo-

“Rejoice!” Father bellowed from behind, as her sisters continued to devour their chosen meal. “For the house of Elwyn welcomes a son!”

She was going to be sick.

She opened her mouth to let out a silent scream.

And scream she did.

Terribly loud.

Except she was also underwater. Choking on icy cold water. Pushing herself up from the tub, she broke the surface and gasped for air. Coughing out the residue of her nightmare.

Great just great. Of all the things she could dream of, why had she dreamt of that now?

The underwater was her sole consolation and safe place for years and even now it was invaded by her despicable dreams.

Perhaps, perhaps Adeline had been on the run for too long. She needed a habit, a set of routines, something to ease her nerves. She needed a memento, something to ground herself to on a daily basis.

Something to remind her that she was still partly human in this insanity.

1pm, downtown Vancouver.

She’d been here 20 years ago. And now she’d come on a detour to retrieve something from her past.

Stepping inside the bank quickly, she made a beeline for the counters.

Adeline smiled enthusiastically at the man behind the counter.

“Hello, I’d like to open my mother’s safe.”

“I’m sorry do you have her delegation? We don’t-”

“She died recently.” Adeline smiled again. One thing she picked up over the years was that, conversations of the dead was extremely uncomfortable and humans struggled to get out of it as soon as possible. “Tragic yeah I know. It was a freak accident. So now me and my sissy are gathering her things and for the funeral-”

“Just a moment ma’am.” The lady turned around with lightning speed. “If you could just show me her death certificate?”

“Yeah sure, here.” She slid the fake certificate she made in the library with a little glue and photocopy. Amazing what you can do with just two dollars nowadays. “Thank you!”

Half an hour later, Adeline was on the next train towards the Yukon plain.

A single silver locket hung over her throat; its cap embellished by intricate floral carvings. And as she fingered it gently, her eyes closed as she settled in her seat, a sense of peace washed over Adeline one she had not shared in for a very long time.

*

“Did you find her?” Carlisle asked when the two returned.

Jasper passed by in a huff without even so much as a greeting and went straight for his room. Everyone could feel the frustration lingering in the air; Alice immediately got up from her perch by the window and trailed after the sulking man.

Edward simply shook his head.

“So was she really an old flame of his?” Emmett chirped on the side and Rosalie whacked him right on the chest, glaring at the brunette and silently admonishing his insensitiveness.

Sharing worried glances, the Cullens each harboured their own questions in the meantime, unsure when was the right time to broach it.

“Jasper.”

“Jasper talk to me.”

Alice’s desperate pleas finally broke him from his trance. “Alice.” She was kneeling before him, face close to his, her hands hoovering, unsure where to place. Even Alice was worried about him now. His lover, the one who had been his brick and stone since their first meeting. Though they were not mates, like Bella and Edward were, they had pledged to be with each other, as long as the other was willing. But now for the first time he realised, he had not been fair to his sweet lover all these time.

Had she knowingly anticipated this? Jasper suddenly thought. Had she seen this in one of her visions? And still decided to show up in that little diner just to find him? If so Jasper held nothing but respect and love for the little pixie. Her pure heartedness, her kindness. Always giving and never asking for anything in return. And he in return had withheld this one truth from her all these years.

Speaking had never been his best forte. Tiresome as it can be, right now he needed to tell her the truth. He owed her this one truth.

Mechanically he walked into the next room with Alice by his side, and he went to open one of the safes. Producing from it a simple inlay box.

“Open it.” He nudged her gently, gestured for her to open the lid. “Look inside.”

Shooting him an amused look, Alice carefully lifted the lid and gasped. Inside was a number of mementos Jasper had harboured over the years. The largest was centred in the middle, a framed sepia portrait of a girl in a simple blouse with a modest pair of pearl earrings. Curls held in a loose half do, showing off her heart shaped face and that brilliant smile, transmitting warmth and sweetness through the portrait.

“Her name was Adeline Ruelle.”

“Well the resemblance is certainly… uncanny.” Alice murmured.

“Didn’t see that coming did you?” He had to chuckle at that.

Alice narrowed her eyes playfully and swatted his in the chest. “You know I can’t see hybrids and shapeshifters well!” No Alice wouldn’t have seen this because she would be looking at a blindspot; and he wouldn’t have thought this was possible because he’d long since accepted that his lost lover was dead. A century and a half ago.

Jasper mouth dried, figuratively, when Alice moved to take the velvet pouch next. He winced as he gently shook the pouch, tumbling the diamond ring into her ready hands.

“I… I proposed to her you know. Once, a long time ago.”

Alice trained her gaze back on her lover as he swallowed hard, ready to tell part of his truth.

“She’d moved with her Grandmama from Louisiana a year or two back, dressmakers and strictly French. We were to be wed in the Town Hall on the Summer solstice when the war was over. She could never had her gown picked because I know… she didn’t want to spend even a dime more of my money. The ring already costed me a fortune she said. She’d taken to hand sew her own dress for her wedding day with her grandmother. She was just that sweet.” Here Jasper chuckled in nostalgia, but then his eyes grew sad again. “I would’ve given her the world if I could, but I was only a Major then. And…”

“Towards Christmas, when I came home for a visit. Something had happened during my absence, she had grown distant. Always startled, by the smallest sound, a change in the wind. I thought it was only wedding nerves, but really I should’ve seen it then.” His lips tugged into a self-depreciating smile. “She could never have wanted me.”

“Stole away in the dead of the night, left only a note and her ring. Asked me to give it to another woman when I met one.”

“I just…” Jasper ran a hand through his in frustration. “How do you ask the man you supposedly loved to hand your wedding ring to another woman? Just like that?”

“You loved her with all your heart.”

“Damn right I did.”

“Oh Jasper.”

“Broke my heart, that one did. ” He whispered. Thought I could’ve gotten over her with you here. Was what was left unsaid.

Alice pursed her lips and looked away.

“What would you do if she really is the same person?”

He gave her a pointed look. “Hey it could really be a case of wrong identity, similar face, different person.”

“I…” Shifting uncomfortably, Jasper shrugged. “But if I never find her then I’ll never know.”

“You might still have your chance with her.”

“Alice…”

Suddenly he was sure of nothing anymore.

He really should hate her; here was a love built from the foundation, firm, safe, something he had known for years, depended on. Saved him even. Could he gamble all this for someone who’d broken his heart in a heartbeat all those years ago?

“The heart wants what it wants. Jasper.”

“We never promised each other anything Jasper, except that we’ll be there for each other. We’re not mates, remember?”

Of course he remembered. But you didn’t need a mate to live a good enough life, didn’t need to reopen scars that no one had interest in seeing. That the perpetrator herself may not even had an interest in to begin with.

“Alice we’re ok, we’re enough.”

Alice only smiled sadly, knowingly. Sometimes he hated that knowing look, as if she was hiding secrets from him, knew that he was destined to fail.

But then, he had been hiding secrets from her too, hadn’t he?

“It’s alright.” Alice soothed, “we’ll find her. Then we can decide from there on what to do.”

“We’ll find her, just you wait.” She promised with a loving kiss to his forehead.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Poly! Laughing Jack x Fem!Reader x Offenderman || Oneshot

Title: A Rest (Add another R and take away the space and you have what these two need from the police) 

Notes: 

Just a short fluffy oneshot. I needed this. I forgot how much I love these two together! ^^

Plot: Your boyfriends’ have been waiting for you at home all day but all you want to do is sleep. 

Warnings: Sexual references, and references concerning discomfort with love and affection. Only a a tiny bit though, for characterisation. 

~~~ Your POV ~~~

I’ve been thinking about going home, getting snuggly in bed and falling asleep all day, no matter what time it would be. So, its not a surprise that the first thing I do when I get into my home at the end of the day, around 5 o’clock, is absolutely collapse on the couch - the closest horizontal, soft enough, habitable object, - and after I manage to pull off just one shoe, I forfeit the challenge and just lay down. Slowly goes it, as first my midsection makes contact with the couch cushions and then my cheek, and then all my muscles relax against the bed-like surface.

The foot with a shoe still on it hangs awkwardly off the couch because of my remaining 2, awake brain cells screamimg not get the couch dirty, and I even manage to pull the still-folded blanket off the couches back and onto my own back. Any other time the fact that it isn't covering… well, basically any of me seeing as its folded to around 5 cm long ways and 20 short ways, but its a nice comfort weight on the bottom of my back and I fall asleep.

~~~ Change of POV: 3rd Person ~~~

“Love, I missed you today!! Offender’s been soooooo boring. How was your- ” Offender, cradling a container of jam donuts in the crook of his arm as they stroll to the living room after they heard their precious girl-toy get home, cuts L.J off by shoving a donut over the clowns cone nose. Jam drips down in a sticky clump over L.J’s painted lips and leaves a pinkish stain down his front on its fall to the ground. L.J just stops walking and stays still through this, despite the short and probably annoying pause that the jam makes on his top lip; Then when the jam had found the floor, he turns his neck to look to Offender with thin lips and dead panned eyes. “That was unnecessary.”

“You know, if you un-focus on those stains, it looks like blood.” Offender taps his chin, before his smirk broadens. “Like that time you ate out Y/N when she was on her- ”

Before he gets the last word out, L.J is able to casually take out a donut from his lovers arm, pull the waist band of Offenders pants forward with the tip of a long black claw, and drop it in there. Offender was too interested in what he was saying to put a quick stop to it… and goddamnit. He doesn't wear underwear. He sighs, deeply, as if in true mental pain. “Are we even?”

“Sure.” L.J turns back to the livingroom, sliding the the donut off of his nose which leaves a sticky, pink residue. He starts munching on the donut anyway- he’ll get a wipe from your bag.

And just like that, they go back to their, apparently perilous journey to the livingroom where the third lover would be waiting. Probably turning on the TV, they suppose, or flopping down in an armchair.

When they make it in, and see Y/N snoozing - already well passed her first stage of sleep already, completely on her way to deep sleep, and then her REM time,- on the couch not even two minutes after arriving home, they both stop, disappointedly in their tracks. They’d been waiting for Y/N all day to come home and now she’s… she’s asleep! L.J’s shoulder drop, and he sighs.

“Well… I’ll wake her up- Yeek!” The British man squeal escapes him immediately when a sticky, sugary jam donut hits the side of his face this time and he whips around. “What!?”

Offender’s mouth is taught. He whispers “Don’t wake her up! What’s wrong with you? Were you born in a barn??”.

“Stop, throwing, donuts, at, me!” L.J whisper-shouts back, taking Offenders hat off his head and hitting him with it with every word. Offender snatches it back and growls.

“Okay! Fine! I’d rather eat them, anyway.”

“Good! Cuz I like donuts! And I’d rather not get PTSD when looking at them!”

“Go put the blanket on Y/N properly!”

L.J makes a 'talks too much’ gesture with his claws as he walks off to Y/N, mocking Offender like a child. After a few minutes of silence, filled only by Y/N’s sleep-breathing / snoring and Offender’s chewing. L.J sits on the floor in front of Y/N’s sleeping head for that time, stealthily lifting it and carefully putting a pillow under it. When he’s done, he sighs out a quick breath of relief. A ninja’s life is a dangerous one.

“Wonder why she’s so tired? Its only… ” Offender leans forward, peering around a corner to see the clock in the kitchen. He leans back, looking at L.J who looks back at him from the carpet still. “Five. You think work was hard?”

“No… ” L.J looks back at your face, expression softening the way it only does to Y/N and Offender. Claws brush some hair out of Y/N's face, then quickly retreat to the safety of his own lap. Affection is still… a struggle, for him. “She’s been down the whole week… She just needs a good sleep.”

Offender stands by and just watches for a few moments, thinking about how that is true, in retrospect. She has been less cheerful this week, a little more forced. He’s excited to see her when she wakes up tonight- L.J’s usually right about things that Y/N needs. He shrugs, putting the now empty donut box on the nearest surface. “Y’know, I could use one too.”

He walks over, carefully lifts up Y/N's legs and sits down with them in his lap, taking off the one shoe that’s still, weirdly, on her foot. He settles against the back of the couch, shoves a pillow behind his neck, and yawns.

L.J blinks at him, then turns around to lean back on the couch between Y'N's head and Offender's legs and lets his long legs unfold, straight out in front of him. He folds his claws in his lap, shrugging his shoulders one at a time to get comfortable. He’ll keep watch. “Have disgusting nightmares, Offender.”

Its half a joke, to lift the suddenly too-sensitive moment between the three of them that L.J just doesn't feel comfortable in, and half because he genuinely knows Offender will like it.

Offender snorts, relaxing into a sleepy state. “Oh, don’t I always?~”

So, the three of them, one with a donut still snug in his pants, one with sticky jam esudue along his cone nose, and one with her cheek getting numb against the pillow, have a rest.

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

You are my favorite Dick&Rachel author, and I absolutely love love love every single one of your fics with them. Do you think you could do something with “feeling for each other in the dark”? They get trapped somewhere together, Dick’s first thought is of her, like the worried protective dad that he is. They comfort each other after reuniting. Bonus points if Dick is injured.

Fandom: DC Titans

Title: Reach For My Hand, Let My Voice Guide You Through The Darkness

Pairings/Relationships: Dick Grayson & Rachel Roth

Summary: The space around him was pitch black. He couldn't see a thing, not even the outline of his fingers when he carefully lifted his hand in front of his face. It was time to figure out how he got here.

But that's the thing - he didn't remember much, the only thing his memory could reach was the feeling of the ground shaking beneath his feet and his own voice, hoarse and croaky, shouting at Rachel to run.

Oh God.

What happened to Rachel?

Touching | 28. feeling for each other in the dark, Dick & Rachel - for @supersilversleuth

✨ Thank you so much @supersilversleuth !!! It means the world to me! I still can't believe I can be someone's favorite writer, mind blown! I hope you enjoy this story! ✨

____________________________________________

Water.

It was the first thing his mind registered. Drops of water were falling on his face, sliding down his forehead and the sides of his cheeks, one after the other. And the water was freezing cold. Every time it made contact with his skin felt like sharp needles being stuck in his flesh. Dick flinched, turning his head away from it, but then another drop hit his neck and that somehow felt a lot worse.

The second thing was the smell.

Heavy and suffocating, it bit into his lungs as if to leave a residue. It brought to mind the musty, damp earth, a place fresh air hadn't reached in ages. His first deep breath almost made the contents of his stomach travel back up his throat.

The third thing, the one that fully awakened his sluggish and clouded mind was pain.

A sharp, burning sensation gnawing at his left side. Dick could feel that whatever it was, it was no small wound, it stretched from his ribs down to the edge of his hip. He tried to move, noting that he was lying on something hard and cold, but his body screamed and he immediately stilled, breathing deeply through his nose, no matter how hard it was to keep that bile caused by the stench down in his throat.

After what felt like eternity the pain faded a little.

His mind still felt a bit fuzzy and it took a lot of effort for Dick to force his eyelids to open and lift his heavy head. Not that it helped him, not in the slightest, because the space around him was pitch black. He couldn't see a thing, not even the outline of his fingers when he carefully lifted his hand in front of his face.

"Fuck." he groaned into the abyss, letting his head fall back and hit the hard concrete with a thud. Because now he could recognize it as concrete - wet, cold and covered with moss. His hushed voice surprisingly carried out in what seemed like a vast, empty space, coming back to him as an echo.

Struck by this discovery Dick moved carefully, mindful of his apparent injury, and stretched his arms to the sides, trying to feel the space around him. The skin around his wound pulled, shooting another jolt of intense pain through his body, but that didn't stop him and he managed to straighten his left arm in full, yet found nothing but more concrete, moss and water. His other hand however found a surface perpendicular to the one he's been lying on, also wet and ice cold but grooved with an even net of lines.

A brick wall.

He needed to somehow move up that wall and get to his feet. Gritting his teeth Dick propped himself up. Little pebbles dug into the heels of his gloved hands and the injury stung like it's been burned with heated iron, but he pushed through the pain and dragged himself slowly under the wall. He dug his fingers into it, pulled himself up with a loud groan until finally, finally his back hit the cold bricks, pushing the air out of his lungs.

Now that he was at least sitting up, it was time to understand the situation he found himself in. First up - his injury.

He brought his hand to his side but pulled it back immediately, a loud curse slipping from his mouth. The skin in that place was really sensitive, definitely burned and upon further inspection he also found out that his suit around it had been destroyed, fabric melted into the flesh. That's why it hurt so fucking bad. But he didn't remember any fire. Acid then? He couldn't be sure, though the smell he noticed earlier had that kind of flavor to it.

Being stuck in the dark was a major disadvantage so he had to rely on his other senses. That's why he had the kids train blindfolded - just like he told them, in battle anything could be taken from you, your hands, your feet or, like right now, your eyes.

Now it was time to figure out how he got here.

But that's the thing - he didn't remember much, the only thing his memory could reach was the feeling of the ground shaking beneath his feet and his own voice, hoarse and croaky, shouting at Rachel to run.

Oh God.

What happened to Rachel?

A bubble of panic started growing inside his chest. She was right there with him! He could still feel the steel grip of her fingers around his.

"Rachel?!" he called out, his rough voice echoing in the dark space. "Are you here?!"

No one answered him.

Deep breaths helped to ease the throbbing in his side and when it became bearable enough to talk Dick lifted his hand and activated his earpiece.

"Raven, you hear me?" he gasped out but heard back only static. "Starfire, do you copy? Beast Boy? Hawk? Anyone?"

Nothing. The comms were dead. He huffed, frustrated but fought the urge to throw the useless device away. Instead he leaned back, resting his head against the wall. And instantly flinched when the contact caused a hellish throbbing in his skull. Dick quickly touched the spot and felt a swollen bump on the back of his head. Great - he must have hit his head pretty bad. Add that to the list of problems he needed to take care of later.

Sweat was dripping down his brow, damp hair sticking to his forehead and yet his body was shivering from the cold. Probably because of his wounds but it was also freezing in here. He needed to do something, to move. Rachel was out there somewhere, he had to get to her, fast.

Using his arms to steady himself against the wall Dick pushed himself off the ground with a roar tearing out from his mouth. Leaning on the cold bricks he brought his hand to the side and this time felt something stick to his gloves. Blood, he realized when he lifted it up to his nose. The flesh must have teared open when he moved.

"It's fine." he mumbled to himself. His breathing didn't sound good even to his own ears. "Just a little blood."

He can take care of it later, first he has to find Rachel and get the hell out of here.

The wall worked as his guide in the dark as he slowly started walking ahead. His movements were sluggish, legs a little wobbly, but step by step he moved forward. Bricks under his fingers, the lack of fresh air and darkness surrounding him meant he must have ended up underground, in a basement or a tunnel judging from the echo. There was no way to tell what was going on above him and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember what the hell happened.

Most importantly, he needed to know if Rachel was okay. She's been by his side the moment it all went down and now Dick could only pray she got out unharmed. But his mind was already reeling, the darkness around him feeding into the worst case scenarios playing on loop in his head. Something separated them and he ended up in a clearing but what if she wasn't this lucky? What if she's stuck somewhere under the rubble, calling out to him, to others, to anyone that could help her? That is, if she's even conscious. An image of her small body crushed under a pile of rocks and concrete surfaced to the forefront of his mind, a puddle of blood growing larger underneath her, a sharp piece of metal piercing her ribs, her eyes staring aimlessly at him but not seeing…

Stop it, Dick ordered himself, pressing his forehead to the wall for a moment. His heart was hammering in his chest, his fingers curled into fists on the wall. She's not dead. She can't be dead, he would know, right? He's not sure how but he would have felt it. He would.

Knowing this didn't change the fact that he was absolutely terrified. The risk of something going wrong, of losing a team member is a constant in this kind of life, an inherent element of this job, Dick had known that for years. But even when Donna was lying in front of him bleeding out on the floor, even when he watched Dawn being pushed off a building, he never felt like this. It was a completely different experience whenever it came to Rachel - never has the cold, paralyzing terror wrapped around his insides so tight, almost immobilizing him in a steel grip. His throat became dry, that lump even harder to swallow down now. His breath quickened suddenly, suffocating him and Dick had to stop again. This was definitely the beginning of a panic attack and that couldn't happen right now. He needed to get himself together so he could find her. Because he will find her even if it's the last thing he does.

So he squeezed his eyes shut, leaned on the brick wall and focused on the things around him.

Cold, damp bricks.

Wet concrete under his boots.

The smell of acid in the air.

Drops of water hitting the floor in a slow, constant rhythm.

And the burning pain in his side.

It was getting worse, he knew it. Blood was still oozing from the wound, he could feel it pouring down and soaking through the pant leg of his suit. But he couldn't care about it now, Rachel was all that mattered. He wasn't going to lose her just because he was too weak to move. He kept pushing through, put one foot in front of the other even though his legs were unsteady. His body grew heavier by the second but his mind was driven by only one thought: find her.

***

Darkness never really scared Rachel. Not when she carried around the real horrors within her soul in the light of day. The lack of light always felt somehow comforting, it kept her hidden from the world and from herself.

This time however she was afraid.

Everything that happened after the ground started shaking was playing on loop in her head like a broken record. She saw everything in agonizing slow motion and couldn't do anything to look away, there was nothing she could hang her eyes on in the dark. So she watched, over and over again, how the cracks started spreading across the field like a spider's web, how everyone, even the goons in creepy masks stopped whatever they were doing when the first explosion sent a load of dirt and rocks in the air. She felt the ground tremble under her feet the same moment when Dick grabbed her hand, his fingers tightening around hers so hard she felt her knuckles grinding, and pulled her with him, trying to escape. He shouted to Conner to find the rest of the team and they both dashed forward as fast as they could.

Then something hit his side, sending him to his knees - the memory of that moment caused a lump forming in her throat, tears stung her eyes. She helped him to his feet, trying not to stare in horror at the foul, corrosive liquid melting through his impenetrable suit and burning his skin. Dick howled in pain, but only leaned his weight on her and pushed onward, determined to get them both out of there. He could be so stubborn sometimes, she hated it. She tried to convince him to stop for a moment so she could heal him, but Dick just gritted his teeth and groaned that there was no time for that. He was bleeding and he could barely walk, but she could see in his eyes hidden behind the mask that he would not rest until he got her out of that place, no matter what happened to him.

This time Rachel could no longer suppress it and leaned her back against the cool brick wall as a violent sob shook through her body. Her cries echoed through the dark tunnel. She couldn't help but think it was somehow her fault, that she could have done more to stop it. That maybe if she wasn't as stubborn as him for once, if she didn't force him to stop and argue with him, maybe this wouldn't have happened.

She could only watch as another explosion opened a wide gash in the ground just below their feet. She remembered Dick's gaze when the cracks cut through the surface between their feet, full of fear, though not for himself but for her. Their eyes met for a split second before the ground opened its mouth and the darkness within swallowed him whole. He knew what was going to happen. He only managed to push her away from him before it did, shouting her name, begging her to run.

And she hated that she did.

She almost reached the edge of the field when another explosion hit right under her feet. Donna was already running to her but she didn't make it in time and Rachel fell in the rain of dirt and debris. She woke up in the dark, having no idea where she was or how much time had passed. At least she didn't hear or felt any more explosions.

Something wet and warm were trickling down from the side of her forehead, she could smell the iron of blood in the air and when she tried to move her right arm screamed in protest. She couldn't see the surface, no one answered her when she called for help and the comms were dead. So she struggled up to her feet and, clutching the injured arm to her chest, Rachel started walking down what appeared to be a tunnel.

She was forced to take a few turns and maneuver between fallen debris, which wasn't easy in the dark. At some point she thought she might have heard the hum of water but she couldn't be sure. Finding an exit from this place was her second most important task.

But first she needed to find Dick.

He couldn't be far, right? But those tunnels turned and twisted like a maze and Rachel lost count of how many times she already rounded a corner. What if she was pointlessly going in circles? What if she passed by him and missed him? And he was lying there somewhere, bleeding out, maybe even crushed by the stones that had fallen down with him. What if he was already-

No, she couldn't think like that. She had to force those dark thoughts out of her head, otherwise she'd go mad. Dick is alive, maybe bruised and bleeding, but he's alive, Rachel was sure of it.

"DICK!!!" she shouted into the darkness, her voice carried forward by the echo. "DICK, CAN YOU HEAR ME?!"

She was greeted by deafening silence when her voice faded out. Tears were burning behind her eyes, her lower lip quivered but she gulped down a sob forming in her throat. She couldn't cry, she couldn't be scared. Sometimes there was no time to be scared.

"Rachel?"

She froze. She could swear she just heard her own name. The sound was faint, like a whisper carried by the wind from far away. She strained her ears, trying to catch something else, but as the seconds passed, the darkness grew gravely quiet.

Rachel almost started to believe her mind was playing tricks on her when she heard it again.

"Rach, are you there?"

It was him. There was no doubt, she knew that deep, soft voice like no other. Relief flooded her heart like a tidal wave and she started running, not giving a damn about the intense pain in her arm.

***

Time lost all meaning to him, he had no idea if he'd been walking like this for minutes or hours. No door appeared in the wall, he didn't reach any corner either, for all he knew he was going in circles.

"Rachel?" Dick tried again, but the only thing that came back to him was the echo of his own voice repeating her name. "Rach, are you there?"

Then he heard it - a sound faint at first and distant. It rang out once, distorted and shaky, but the second time he heard it, it was definitely closer.

"Dick, can you hear me?"

He would recognize that voice anywhere. She was here. Somewhere out there right in front of him. If he could only reach her.

"Rach! I'm here!" he shouted as loud as he could but that made the wound in his side scream in harmony with him and Dick stumbled, out of breath and shaking. He fell to his knees, stunned by the sensation, but there was no way he was giving up. "RACHEL!"

"Dick, where are you?!"

He tried to pull himself up again but this time his body disobeyed him. He fell back with a grunt, spots dancing in his vision. The pain was excruciating now, it drilled him to the ground and kept him there. He managed to turn and stumbled on the wall, pressing his back to it again. His breathing was growing shallow and rapid while his heart tried to desperately break out of his chest.

"Ra-Rachel…" he gasped out but his voice became barely a whisper. He was too weak.

She must have been getting closer, he could now hear the loud thud of her combat boots against the concrete and a wave of relief spread over his chest. She was okay. Thank God, she was okay.

"Dick, where are you?" she called out again and the strain in her voice made his heart clench. "Say something!"

"Over… here…"

Hopefully she heard him. He couldn't muster more than that, his head was growing heavy, he could barely keep his eyes open. He definitely lost too much blood. Her steps filled the silence again, she was getting much closer. If it wasn't so dark he would be able to see her already.

She stopped a few feet away from him, trying to catch her breath. He heard her groan and his heartbeat sped up, because that was a definite sign she was hurt. But how bad was it? He needed to know.

A soft thud - her knees hit the ground and a strangled sob escaped her lips.

"I… I can't see you…" she choked out, helpless. "Dick, I can't-"

Gathering up the rest of his strength Dick reached out in the direction of her voice.

"I'm here, Rach." He whispered softly. She gasped when she heard him. "Follow my voice. Reach… Reach for my hand."

Rachel shuffled on her knees, trying to find her way to him and the sound of her whimpering made him want to drag himself to her and gather her in his arms. Something was definitely wrong, but she was still in better shape than he was.

"You're almost there, Rach."

Finally her trembling fingers brushed over his and he instantly grabbed her hand to pull her closer. Rachel let out a surprised yelp but then he felt her next to him, her warmth and the strawberry scent of her hair. She touched his arm, then slid her hand up to his shoulder and finally to his face, resting it on his cheek. He did the same, feeling her in the dark since he couldn't see her and when his hand reached her back Dick pulled her closer, bringing her to his chest.

Her painful scream pierced the silence and she flinched, making him take his hand away.

"Rach? Are you hurt? What happened?"

"I think my arm is broken," she grunted through gritted teeth, her words sending a shiver down his spine. Breathing deeply through her nose she pushed through the pain and scooted closer to him. "But it's fine, I'll be fine."

"Rachel-"

"I'll be okay." she insisted, laying her hand flat on his chest. "You on the other hand…"

A soft, purple glow slowly illuminated from her fingers, pulsing like a beating heart. It was the first light they both saw since they got here and, using the chance they got, they lifted their eyes to take a look at each other's faces. The side of Rachel's head was covered in blood. Her round eyes were glistening in the warm glow and tear streaks marked her pale cheeks, drawing white lines in the layer of dust covering her skin. Dick probably didn't look much better but she smiled at him nonetheless, one second away from crying and as he felt his strength coming back to him thanks to her healing touch, his wounds closing and pain disappearing, Dick lifted his hand to cradle the back of her head and pulled her back to him, pressing his forehead to hers. Rachel let out another sob and closed her eyes, brushing her nose against his. He felt her trembling, she was clutching her injured arm protectively to her chest. Another wave of tears rolled down her cheeks and he brought his other hand to brush them away.

"Oh, honey…" he whispered, feeling his own tears welling up and wishing for nothing more than to be able to fully embrace her and hold her tight.

"I was so scared about you," she whispered, her voice so small and brittle his heart almost broke. "When you fell…"

"I know," he said and carefully wrapped his arm around her, letting her lean on him. She tucked her head under his chin and took a shaky breath, her hand on his chest still glowing softly in the dark. Dick curled his fingers around hers as he dropped a tender kiss on her forehead. "I was scared about you too." That couldn't even begin to describe how terrified he really was. "But we're together now. And we're getting out of here, okay? I promise."

"You're not healed yet." she mumbled as she cuddled closer to him, the purple light from her hand intensifying. Dick chuckled quietly and started slowly brushing his fingers through her tangled head to help her calm down a bit. She was still pretty shaken.

"Y'know, it kinda sucks that you can't heal yourself."

Her melodic laugh will always be the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.

"Yeah, tell me about it."

Neither of them said anything else for the next few minutes, comfortable in the silence now that they found each other. Dick felt all the energy coming back to him, the wound on his side almost disappeared right now. When he brushed his fingers over the spot, all he felt was smooth skin and a little bit of tingling. He smiled into her hair.

"I think it's done."

The purple light faded into nothing and darkness enveloped them again, but neither of them wanted to move. The relief he felt was almost overwhelming, having her back in his arms, alive and breathing, he considered a miracle. Rachel must have felt similar about him because she only buried her face under his chin and let out a long, deep sigh.

He rubbed her back comfortingly.

"You good?"

She nodded against his neck. "Yeah, just tired."

"How about we get out of here?"

"Good idea."

Dick got up to his feet then grabbed her hand and pulled her up as well. He couldn't see her anymore but heard her quiet whimpering crystal clear. She must be in a lot of pain but was trying to keep it down.

He kept his hand on her shoulder. "How's your arm?"

"Hurts like hell but I'll survive." he heard her reply.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." he breathed out and took her hand. His fingers laced through hers and she squeezed it tightly in return, then shuffled closer to him. "We're gonna just walk ahead, the team should track us down eventually. Don't let go of my hand. We can't lose each other again."

She bumped his shoulder, making him smile.

"Nope, not gonna happen."

Dick was about to reply when suddenly he flinched at the crackling sound in his ear.

"Night- ing, are you- there?"

He instantly reached to activate his comm.

"Kory? You hear me?"

"Loud and clear," came the response and Dick felt all the tension leave his body at once. "We managed to finally track your position. You okay? I saw you get hit with an acid bullet."

"It wasn't good but Rachel healed me."

"She's with you? I can't reach her through the comms."

"Yeah, she's with me."

He could clearly hear Kory breathe out a deep relieved sigh.

"Good. She alright?"

"Her arm might be broken but she's determined she's gonna survive. Stubborn as hell about it, too."

He didn't need to see to know Rachel was snickering now.

"Okay," Kory responded. "Stay where you are, we can't lose the signal or we lose you. We're gonna dig you a way out."

Dick repeated her words to Rachel.

"Oh, thank God." she murmured quietly and leaned her head on his shoulder. He could feel her exhaustion, not just from using her powers to heal him but also from the pain. He dropped another kiss on the top of her head. Taking care of that arm is gonna be the first thing he does when they finally get out of here.

"Please, hurry." he said to the commling. Kory replied instantly.

"Copy that. Sit tight."

[passivenovember]

@coffeeandchemicals (I’m doing all three because ily) asked:  For the drabbles, 55 or 60 or 72 with harringrove! Please and thank you!! 💙

60. Before you decide to murder me, let me explain. 

Strain Through a Clean Napkin.

The tiny wicker cabinet is all but hidden from view because, well. It’s hideous.

Turquoise, and like. 70s vibrant. Janky and scuffed, covered in glued-on seashells and so not what Mrs. Harrington allows to orbit their perfect world. It clashes terribly with the cheerful pink walls of the powder room, and.

It’s handmade--has Steve written all over it from the way the wicker door on the left hangs a little bit crooked. He imagines Harrington sat on a wooden bench, googly eyes and pipe cleaners littering the table in front of him as he constructs a treasure chest. The contents unknown. Some of the seashells have fallen off over time and leave wax stepping stones in their wake.  

Billy almost misses it the first time he jerks off before their study date just to be safe and instantly falls in love. 

He washes his hands in the sink, not bothering to dry them before wrenching the doors open and snooping through its many shelves and hidden corners. 

He expects to find, like. Q-Tips, maybe. Nail clippers. Lube if it’s a good day, but. Instead comes face to face with lotions and potions and little bottles full of magic.

Glass jars with handwritten labels stretching as far as the eye can see. 

Billy wipes his hands on his pants before lifting them to eye level, because. The labels, they.

Say things. Cute, disgusting things like, “Hair Milk: Lavender and Honey,” things that Billy can’t even begin to understand on a good day.

He gives the first jar a quick shake, watching mesmerized when the contents float and swirl in the pale yellow liquid. Dried flowers, maybe? Rosemary and something softer, something like--

Billy pulls desperately at the cap. Yanking and tugging gently, so as not to shatter the jar or like, spill Steve’s potion on the ground and burn a hole halfway to China. “Come on, useless piece of shit.”

He bites down on the pretty round topper.

Pulls at it with his teeth until the bottle gives way. The yellow liquid sloshes down his chest, tangling with the wiry patch of hair he’s got going, and--

“Fucking, shit.” Billy grabs a wad of toilet paper and scrubs. It smells yellow. Summertime peaches, melted ice pops, vanilla and orange, and fucking.

Steve. 

It smells exactly like Steve. Billy lifts the bottle to his nose, eyes falling shut in a crescendo of soft, breathy sighs as he takes greedy gulps of this fuckin. Steve concentrate. 

And okay. He jerks off in this bathroom two times a week before settling in for three torturous hours of Steve’s thigh pressed against him and Steve running his hands through his hair while he reads over the notes and Steve licking his pretty pink lips. 

And, yeah. Billy just came, but. He’s is holding Steve in a bottle, and like.

Billy will take twelve.

He can’t get his hands in his pants fast enough. Billy gets the zipper down, wrapping his hand around himself, and. Yup. Works himself over with the vial shoved up under his nose like a fucking. Insane person. Considers sneaking it home, this bottle of magic. 

Storing it in his pocket for safekeeping after tacking the pretty round cap back on, nice and snug so it doesn’t look like he’s pissed his pants when he sits on the overstuffed couch in Steve’s den to go over their chemistry homework. 

Billy startles at that, hand stalling mid-stroke.

He’s been helping Steve with Chem for fucking. 

Months. 

Twice a week, Stetson’s orders, so the kid’ll actually pass this time and here Steve is. Mixing chemicals in his bathroom like some kind of.

Scientist, or. Witch. Something. 

“Little shit,” Billy murmurs, but it doesn’t. Burn, doesn’t. Sizzle like it usually does. He thinks about taking his hand from his pants. Thinks about, like, pulling them all the way off. Bending over the sink and switching things up a little when someone knocks on the door.

Bangs on it, more like.

Billy starts, pouring half the bottle on his dick from fear. It’s cold. Colder than it was before. 

Steve clears his throat from the other side. “Billy, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m--”

“You sure? Was worried maybe you fell in.” Bambi jokes, and fucking. Jiggles the handle. As if Billy would be stupid enough to leave the shit unlocked. 

With his pants around his ankles and Steve’s name burning through his tongue on every stroke. 

“Yup, hold on a sec and I’ll be--”

“It’s just. You’ve been in there for a while and I. Need help with this equation?”

Billy scrambles. Turns on the faucet, soaps up his dick to get rid of the Steve which burns because. “Who has peppermint wash in their restroom after Christmas, fuck.”

“My mom likes the smell--”

“Jesus Christ--I know, Steve.” Billy must make some kind of noise. Must wince in pain, or swear or bang his fist on the counter because Steve’s jigging the handle again, voice tight with worry.

“Bills?”

He winces. “Yeah, just gimmie a minute here, I’m uh. Allergic.”

Silence. Steely and cool, and. 

“I’ll be right back.” And then he’s gone.

“Oh shit.” Billy swallows around something. Fear, or like, arousal from the fear of Steve barging in here while he’s got soap dick and a bottle of Steve wetting his skin from sternum to groin.

He waddles around the room.

Tries to pull his pants up, winces because yeah. The mild allergic reaction, kinda. Makes it impossible to slip in and out of skintight denim. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Billy waddles some more. He searches the cabinets for a robe, maybe. Settles on a towel hung loosely around his hips just as the door swings open and Steve’s there with a packet of oatmeal and a little white pill in his hands.

Looking windswept and pretty, and.

Pissed. 

He takes in the room. The peppermint soap, and the open cabinet in the corner. The three additional seashells that fell off when Billy was tearing the place apart looking for a robe, and. 

The empty jar of lavender honey hair milk. 

Those brown eyes finally settle on Billy. On the towel poorly concealing his erection, because. Anaphylaxis be damned, apparently. 

Billy shows his palms. “Before you fucking murder me, let me explain--”

“You didn’t think to read the bottle?”

Which. “Huh?”

Steve shakes his head, “The soap. You didn’t read the bottle before. Doing whatever it was that gave you a reaction?”

He shoves the pill into Billy’s open palm before he can say anything else. Stalks over to the sink and fills a cup with water. “Here,” Steve says. “Drink it, dumbass.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” 

Billy swallows the pill, wincing as the rough fabric of the towel grates against his erection. 

Steve hasn’t stopped staring, and.

Billy hasn’t moved to hide it, so. “Sorry about your bathroom.”

“Eh, is what it is.” Steve starts putting the place back together. Wetting a hand towel and scrubbing at the water on the carpet. His head is bent over the sink when he says, “Wanna tell me why you were digging around in my cabinet?” 

Like Billy wasn’t just relaxing into the hilarity of the situation. Billy sits on the edge of the tub, opening the packet of oatmeal with his teeth.

“No, not really.”

“Don’t think that information’s important if I have to drive you to the hospital?” Steve leans against the counter, a pretty soft smile tugging at his lips, and.

It does nothing to help the tenting of Billy’s towel so he turns on the faucet in the tub. Dumps the oatmeal in and like, goes to town on trying to make sure the temperature won’t burn his dick off. 

“Don’t wanna tell me why you were taking a bath in my hair milk?” Steve leans over, trying to catch Billy’s eye. He grins when Billy ducks his head. “I use that stuff everyday. Got an extra tub whipped together, so. I can forgive you this time.”

“I know, I.” Billy’s cheeks are on fire. He shrugs his shoulders. “Smelled good.” He says, because. It’s the truth.

Steve blinks. “That’s it?”

“Yup. That’s it.” Billy says. He runs his fingers through the water, mixing until the surface turns murky from the oats.

Steve hums. Pushes off the counter and digs through his little wicker cabinet for a knife, or maybe that nightmare bat Billy’s seen tucked in the corner of every room in this house at least once.

Billy pretends to be interested in filling the tub to the right level, eyes sharp on the give and take of the water when---

“Not allergic to aloe Vera and Chamomile, are you?”

Billy shakes his head. Steve hums again and settles in next to him, thigh pressed against Billy’s as he removes the cap from two short vials and dumps the contents into the water.

Steve leans back. Billy leans forward, because.

He turns on him, eyes narrowed on Steve’s face. “How does everything about you smell so fucking good?”

Harrington’s face lights up. “Oh, I smell good, huh?”

Billy holds out a palm. “Lemme see that shit.” The vials, when Steve hands them over, are lime green and pink with residue. The liquid is smooth, silky like it was spun fresh this morning. Billy makes a face. “How’d you get it like that? You a witch?”

Steve chuckles, soft and sweet. He leans in close, watching the water fill the tub with dainty pink bubbles. “Nah, just. Strain it through a napkin, is all.”

Billy tosses the bottles at Harrington’s head. “You don’t need my help in chemistry, do you.”

“Nope.”

“Then why am I wasting my two nights off stuck here with you, Harrington?” 

Steve turns to look at him, tongue swiping along his bottom lip. “Because you’re cute. And I like having you here.”

Oh.

Billy feels like he’s on fire. Searing a hole through the carpet, already halfway to china when Steve cups his cheek and fucking.

Pulls him in. Separates Billy’s lips with his tongue and makes soft noises that almost get drowned out by the roar of the faucet next to Billy’s head. 

When Harrington pulls away his cheeks are pink. Like bubbles, like secret potions. He grins. “Got lots of stuff in my cabinet.”

“Oh yeah?” Billy sounds out of breath, even to his own ears. 

“Yeah.” Steve tugs at the towel hugging Billy’s waist. Doesn’t even notice the hives, which. Okay. Billy forgets all about it when Steve leans in close. “Mind if I join you?

[delimeful]

Snapshot: Cleanse

snapshots: a new compilation of mini-fics taking place in the WIBAR universe! this one takes place a few days after Making Adjustments!

warnings: none! Whoops, All Fluff!

-

It was a few days after the Breakfast Ceasefire that Virgil decided enough was enough.

He needed a shower. Badly.

It didn’t matter that he was on an alien ship full of alien stuff, or that showering meant temporarily ditching the comfort of his hoodie, or even that two out of three aliens would probably happily see him dead at any opportunity.

He had picked up what felt like an entire football field’s worth of dirt, mud, and other muck while him and Patton were planet-hopping, and impromptu washcloth (read: a patch torn from the back of his shirt) cleaning sessions had only done so much. They only came across clean water every so often, anyhow. Most of it couldn’t be wasted on washing.

Patton had picked up on his discomfort back then— that or the smell— but the Ampen’s idea of ‘cleaning up’ was very similar to that of chinchillas’ back home on Earth: dust baths. That’s right. More dirt.

(Yes, he’d rolled around in the dirt with his friend. Contrary to popular interstellar belief, he wasn’t a monster.)

Still, it was time to come clean. Literally and metaphorically.

Patton had spent last night cuddled up to him, which meant that he had actually gotten a full eight hours of sleep (good!) and that Roman was probably sulking around (ungood!). The sense of clarity that came with not being quite so horrendously sleep deprived only made him more aware of how dirty he was. It felt like heresy to even touch any of the numerous well-sanitized surfaces in the ship.

“Patton,” he called, once the Ampen had started doing those little antennae twitches that meant he was half-awake. “Can you show me the wash room?”

The response was a little delayed, but eventually Patton startled into full wakefulness with a little chirp-peep that reminded him of a computer startup noise.

From there, he was led down the circular halls to a square room that sort of resembled a locker room shower area, complete with drainage grates in the floor. There was a ledge along one side of the room that led up to a windowbox-like protrusion, and Virgil could see from here that it was full of soft, beige dirt.

Patton paused, visibly turning his head from Virgil to the washbox, as though measuring things out in his mind.

“That’s probably too small for you, huh?”

Virgil stopped him before he could start making plans for a human-sized sandbox. “Uh, actually, Pat, I need water to wash.”

“Oh!” Patton exclaimed, more surprised than disconcerted. “Well, water we doing over here then?”

Virgil couldn’t hide a smile, and Patton crinkle-smiled back at him before waving him over to the opposite end of the room. He pointed up, where there were little circular discs with a grid of tiny holes set into the wall. “Here you go! Roman uses these to help with his slough, or when he gets particularly rough and tumble down on planetside!”

… Great. Odds were borrowing his shower was probably going to make Roman even more homicidal towards him. Virgil decided to worry about that later. For now, he was faced with the biggest challenge of them all: figuring out how a friend’s shower knobs worked.

Surprisingly, it seemed like the panel set into the wall below each disc worked similarly to the other touchscreens he’d seen set into the control room of the ship. Unsurprisingly, they were all labeled with the written form of Common, which meant he had about zero chance of figuring it out on his own.

Patton noticed his blank stare and patted at his knee, and Virgil squatted down easily so the undersized alien could clamber onto his shoulder. He rose up, and Patton’s little claws scrambled for purchase for a moment before he caught his balance, Virgil tense with preparation to twist and catch him if he fell.

“This little icon has the symbol for on, and this is how you get it hot or cold,” he chirped, leaning forwards to point at the screen for emphasis. Virgil obligingly shifted closer, trying to commit the guidance to memory. “You’re a little squisher than Roman, so you should probably change the pressure, too.”

Once he’d shuffled around so he was sure neither of them were about to get slammed by a jet of water, he tapped the power button.

A three-note chime played as a sort of countdown, and water shot out of the disc, at what was probably the appropriate pressure to powerwash muck from under tightly-packed scales. Virgil pushed the slider down until he could put his hand under without feeling any sting from the water’s impact. Then, he cranked the temperature up until it was just short of scalding.

Patton eyed the steam curling up into the air with a concerned fluff to his feathers, but didn’t protest after seeing the small, delighted grin that Virgil made as he held his hand under.

No, this wasn’t dunking his head in cold streams, or dipping his arm in a lukewarm puddle, or the humiliating icy hose downs in captivity. This was warm water. He’d never take it for granted again.

He shrugged out of his hoodie as he walked over to the entrance. “Does this… lock?”

“Any door on the ship can be sealed,” Patton replied, and bonked his head to Virgil’s sympathetically at the shudder that information sent through him. “Nobody’s going to lock anything without your permission, though, okay?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, knowing he sounded less than convinced. “Can you guard the door, still? Just in case,” he added in English, one of the phrases he’d used a lot while they were on the run.

Patton gave him a sad look, more than aware how unsafe he still felt, but nodded firmly and dropped carefully down to the floor, taking up position just outside the door like a tiny sentry. Virgil draped his hoodie over him, and then-- checking that the others weren’t nearby to witness and freak out about it-- he gave him the world’s smallest noogie, ruffling the feathers atop his head with a knuckle.

Having preemptively twitched his antennae out of the way, Patton made one of those bird-like laughs at him, batting his hand away. “Go clean! And make sure you wash out for slippery floors!”

Virgil snorted, and carefully sealed the door behind him, trying not to think about the feeling of being stuck in a tiny square room again. He shook his head, dragging his thoughts back on track.

He had access to a warm shower, his first in literal months (...years?). He was going to stay under that spout until every bit of dirt washed down the drain.

---

Roman was midway through a session of storywriting when he heard Patton’s bright voice coming down the hall, passing by his room and chattering all the while.

His ears flicked back automatically to check in, and he frowned when he realized that he couldn’t hear Logan’s arms clicking alongside the Ampen. No, apart from Patton’s tiny tapping footsteps, there was nothing. Patton had to be talking to the Human, then, since he was the only one who ghosted around the ship silently enough to make Roman feel stalked at every corner.

Well. He’d grown tired of watching his characters make a rather vexing detour from his carefully-plotted main storyline anyhow, and he was loath to leave his smallest friend alone with a Human, regardless of how docile that Human pretended to be.

After a brief cleanup of his writing instruments, he was sweeping down the corridor to the commons after them.

Logan was already in the room when he arrived, which was surprising; even Roman had picked up on the ludicrous lengths the Human went to avoid the Ulgorian, as though Logan of all people was someone to be scared of. The nerd’s poison blood was the most “threatening” thing about him, and the Human had already shown how easily he could shake that off.

Patton was leading the Human by one hand, their size disparity as jarring and terrifying as ever. And the Human…

Roman turned his head to the side to study the scene more intently, and that in itself was strange.

Normally, Virgil was almost preternaturally aware of when he was being watched, according to Logan. It was obvious when he knew: the Human went tense and rigid, practically poised to pounce at any moment.

But now, he was trailing after Patton with a relaxed slope to his shoulders, his steps almost languid. He all but collapsed on the fluffy cushion Patton gestured to, eyes gliding shut as the Ampen climbed up after him.

Roman took a few steps into the room, and the Human cracked one eye open-- not entirely out of it, then. The mild suspicion he was regarded with was almost reassuring.

Upon closer inspection, there were physical changes, too. The human had gone from pale, almost grey-toned to having a pinkish tint to his skin. The grey-brown still clung to the hooded garment he’d draped himself in, creating an even more jarring contrast. Dirt, then? It would certainly explain the smudges he left everywhere he touched much better than some strange Human Residue.

… He wasn’t crossing Human Residue off the list of possibilities, though.

Most striking of all was his head. He had originally stalked around with a matted mess of fur, glinting oily in the light where it wasn’t dull with dirt. Now, the fur was clean and stuck out in little fluffy tufts, creating a much less menacing look overall.

Patton apparently agreed, because he’d scampered up to one shoulder and immediately buried his tiny hands into that fluff. Roman and Logan both startled, exchanging an alarmed-exasperated-fearful look, one that had become exceedingly more common after Patton came home with his new Human cellmate.

Surprisingly, all Virgil did was go even more boneless on the cushion, turning his head to better meet Patton’s touch. Patton closed his eyes happily, apparently completely fine with petting one of the most feared creatures in the galaxy.

That wasn’t surprising at all, actually.

What was surprising was the Human’s apparent tolerance for it.

“I wasn’t aware Humans enjoyed tactile ministrations,” Logan said, tapping his wristplates curiously. “Is Virgil alright?”

The Human in question turned slightly to glance at them, eyes still half-lidded. It was probably the least threatening body language Roman had seen from him since… well, ever. “Mm?”

“You’re just relaxing, aren’t you kiddo?” Patton combed through that mess of fluff some more and Virgil lost what little tension he’d regained. “Virgil spent a lot of time on guard while we were on the run planetside. He deserves all the time in the world to recuperate… and all the head scritches!”

Roman’s tail swished exasperatedly, but even he really couldn’t come up with a reason to begrudge the Human for this, not when Patton was so clearly enjoying having someone else onboard to preen. Even if that someone was a Deathworlder.

He moved to settle onto his own cushion under the guise of supervising, though for once he thought the Human might actually fall asleep in front of him.

And if he was perhaps just slightly curious about what exactly a fluffy Human felt like? Well, that was nobody’s business but his own.

[martellthemandalor]

Assistance - Chapter 6

Pairing:  Din Djarin x F!Reader (No Y/N, reader is nicknamed)

Warnings: swearing, bombs/explosions, angst

Rating: 15

Word count: 5k+ 

Summary: Mando asks something he shouldn’t and things get explosive.

A/N: this chapter has taken me a while to write but i’m glad i took my time on it, its possibly one of my favourite chapters so far!! As always i love reading your comments and all reblogs help, so don’t be a stranger :))

Masterlist

You awoke to soft light streaming through the cracks in the ceiling, hazy beams of light criss-crossing above your head. The day ahead was going to be another long day of walking and one sided talking, so you were contented to take this moment of rest to watch the dust specks dance lazily in the rays of light. It was only dawn, but the temperature inside the barn had already risen considerably compared the cool temperament of last night.

You rolled onto your side and peered across at the sleeping Tin Can. He was laying stock still on his back, one hand draped across his stomach. The only indication that your companion was still alive was the visibly steady rise and fall of it. You dropped your head back onto the firm stems beneath your body, starting to regret choosing such uneven bedding. A nest seemed so cosy at the time but the uneven lumps of your stack were prominent, even under the thick blankets. You just knew that the minute you tried to get up your body would be stiff and unforgiving.

You lay there a few minutes more, slowly gearing up for the long day ahead. Sighing, you finally gathered the will to move, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and pushing yourself up and out. The second you straightened up you felt it, the tightness across yours muscles in your back and extending into your legs. Well isn’t this just perfect? You glanced at the sleeping pile of Beskar, thankfully his visor was fixed looking straight up.

You let out a quiet breath, thankful he was still asleep. While the flimsy fabric of your base clothes weren’t see through, you were still anxious to get your armour back on before he wakes up. At this rate however that wouldn’t happen unless you sorted out your damn back first.

Keeping an eye on your assistant you lay on your stomach, placed your hands under your shoulders and pushed up against the cold floor, raising just your upper body. Your hips dug uncomfortably into the solid and somewhat cracked surface beneath you, but the instant relief that spread from your spine as it arched back was worth it. Holding there you closed your eyes, letting your breathing shift to natural deep breaths.

Then you rocked backward, letting your legs fold underneath you, hands stretched in front of you. It was the final stretch you needed. You felt your body release all the tension from your back and legs in a long, blissful wave. You rested your forehead against the ground, letting the rough texture press against your soft skin.

There’s always something.

You’ve never been completely relaxed, there’s always been something standing in way. More often than not it was the adrenaline that surged through your veins when hunting, though admittedly you loved the feeling. Sometimes it’s the quiet anxiety that you are being followed or something more physical such as an uncomfortable bed. Even now as you settled completely into this position, the coarse texture beneath you was preventing true relaxation.

The soft clanging of metal against metal drew you out of your mind. You sat back onto your heels and before you even looked in his direction you could feel the usual weight of his stare. 

It was different to you now though, the familiarity behind the pressure of it remained for sure but it was like something had…shifted. You felt even more vulnerable and exposed without your armour than usual and the urge to talk yourself out rose fast, falling back on your only working distraction.

“I should have followed your lead and chosen a bail, my kriffing pile left me stiff.” The words fell carefully from your mouth. A confident tone helping detract attention from the way your brows had pulled together and the extra tension in your limbs. You let your body go through the motions of replacing your armour, talking all the while. “Thank god this dirt ball of a planet has cool nights, I don’t know how I would survive if I had to sleep in the maker-forsaken heat of the day. Did you sleep well? I can’t imagine sleeping in that armour is exactly comfortable.”

You caught yourself there, replaying the events of last night. The images you were trying so hard to repress flew vividly across your mind. How close he was, how wordlessly he helped and how hesitant he was to touch you. How part of you wanted him to do it again. You cleared your throat, pushing the thoughts down. Say something.

“Thank you for last night, I’m sure my back would have been a lot worse if I’d slept with everything on.”

He didn’t stop observing you, not for a moment, just sat there motionless with his visor fixed on you. You managed to replace the last piece of your armour under his unwavering gaze, finally feeling yourself again.

“Your shoulder feeling better then?” He asked simply, helmet tilting somewhat. In all honesty you’d forgotten about the shoulder, it hadn’t hurt during your stretches, but as you probed at it now you could feel the dull pain of it under the plate of armour. You shrugged at him.

“I guess so. I can move it and lift shit apparently, it’s just when I touch it.”

“Don’t touch it then.”

“Ah yes thank you doctor,” You returned, rolling your eyes at him. At a glance you thought you caught his chest and shoulders shaking slightly for a moment. Did he just laugh? You try to meet his stare. The second your eyes met the dark glass of his visor however, his helmet swung away from you, his attention suddenly drawn to his rummaging through his bag. Great. Does he feel it to?

“Anyway, I think there’s only another day and a half’s journey before we reach the quarry, that’s if we keep up the pace of yesterday of course. I’m going to go and ask the owners if we can refill our water from their reserves and you will be taking one of them this time.” You began to pack up your things, folding away blankets and neatly placing your tool kit into your bag.

You talked the whole time, not really caring if he was listening. It was natural to you, speaking into the silence like this. It made things easier, a distraction from whatever menial task you were doing and it wasn’t long before you were packed and ready to leave.

“You ready then?” You asked the Mandalorian, although the answer was clear as Naboo waters. He stood silently stoic by the knotted wooden doors of the barn, pulse rifle and bag secure on his frame.

You had no idea how long he’d been waiting for you, he’d made no attempt to interrupt your chatter and hurry you along. It didn’t surprise you. In fact a part of you preferred it, silence doesn’t cause complications. A curt nod of his helmet offered his confirmation. “Okay, let’s get these pouches filled and we can get off.”

-

The family had been more than happy to let you fill the bladders. They even sent you off with fresh Gratham grain bread, which you thanked them for, along with the kind offer of the barn, with a charming and brightly-smiled façade.

You had waited until you were long out of view of the farm before you let the disarming upturn of your lips drop. Hunger was gnawing it your stomach, a steady and dull ache that only got worse once you remembered there was actual warm bread waiting beneath the wraps of fabric in your hand. Glancing across at the Mandalorian you could see him cradling his own small package, holding it with the same reverence as you in a gentle grip.

You swore you weren’t going to eat until he could. It just wouldn’t be right to make him watch again, but the reverence of that vow was waning. With every passing second you could feel the gentle heat seeping through the bandages and onto your fingertips, fuelling your hunger.

“I bet you’ve seen some weird planets during your hunts. I think the weirdest I’ve seen would have to be Felucia. It’s mostly made up of this awful humid jungle, but the colours of it are just exquisite. The organic life is 90% these various fungi plants, like nothing you’ve ever seen I guarantee,” You said. You were hoping that if you spoke enough it would be a sufficient distraction from the gentle ache in your belly.

“What I really like about it though is what lies deep in the remote areas of the planet. Scattered across the ground and hung from trees are battle remnants from the clone wars itself. Seriously, there were untouched chunks of armour and destroyed weapons everywhere. My quarry had hidden themselves inside the trunk of this big-“

“Why do you do that?” His rough voice suddenly asks, interrupting your spiel. You turned your head to him, only to find he wasn’t even looking at you. His visor was fixed dead ahead, leaving you to watch your own distorted reflection in the dull shine of the helmets beskar.

You clocked your drawn in brows, lips pressed together and wandered when your face had changed so dramatically. You were normally so guarded in your expressions, or so you thought. You needed to fix that. The wrong expression could easily get you killed in this job.

“Why do I do what?” You tilted your head at him slightly, eyes flicking between your reflection, bathed in residual red tones of the world around you, and the path ahead of you.

“You talk a lot, but you never say anything. It’s confusing.” He replied steadily. Still he didn’t look at you.

The Mandalorian was trying to figure you out. Reading people is essential for bounty hunting, know how a person thinks and it’s ten times easier to track them down, predict their next move. It’s also vital for knowing who to trust and who will betray him first chance they get, especially now that the guild are after him. You were perplexing to him, almost impossible to read. Usually someone who talks so much give away at least a little bit of who they are, you however disclose nothing. At all.

You looked away from him. Of course you knew what he meant.

Maker, how could he be so intense without even looking at you?

It was there again, that feeling, and right now it was pulling on something in you to tell him. Actually tell him. What was wrong with you? You hoped it was the steadily rising heat from the unobstructed sun that was making your palms damp and your thoughts swirl like this. Maybe you were getting solarstroke again?

You reached for your water and took a long swig.

You glanced over at him again. This time your eyes were met by the inky pool of his visor. The black of it looked almost soulless in this vicious sunlight, and it took that invisible pressure of his stare to remind you that he was still very much alive under there. Still with you.

Kriffing maker alive.

You sighed, running a hand down your face. Pressing your tongue into your cheek you took another look at the emotionless giant next to you, a breathy chuckle escaping your lips.

“Okay, you really want to know?” You ask, quirking a brow at him.

He nods, the tilt of his helmet catching a particularly bright ray that flashes painfully into your eyes. You squint and blink away the temporary soreness. You’d expected him to have looked away from you again, but as your eyes refocused you saw he still was fixated on your face.

“Talking gives me power, the more I talk the more I can command a room. Talking allows me to change a mind, to intimidate a bounty, to disguise myself from a target. Most simply though? It allows me to be seen,” You run your hand through your hair, beginning to regret opening your mouth this time.

“You can walk into a room, all silent and stoic and every eye will be on you. Everyone will know who you are and remember you by the time you leave,” You throw him a look. Not one of distain or anger, but jealousy. He would never have to work as hard as you for a good reputation, in the guild or anywhere else. “I have to talk my way into being remembered, into having a reputation. One that’s now been stripped off me of course.”

Your eyes drop to the floor and spot a sizeable rock laying a few steps ahead. The second you get close you boot it, watching as it bounced and rolled away from you. “Now as to why I don’t ‘say anything’? To be utterly honest for once, Mandalorian, it’s just easier. Not talking about me makes it easier. Just lying makes it all easier. I can be whoever, whenever. It keeps me safe too; you can’t be predictable when no one knows who you really are.”

A small noise escapes the vocoder of the man next to you. A scoff. The Mandalorian actually just scoffed at you. He’s not looking at you anymore, no, he’s looking straight ahead and shaking his head slightly.

“What?” You scoff back. Your brow quirked at him again, arms coming to cross along your chest.

“Has anything you told me been the truth?” He asked quietly. His hands were fisted at his side, swinging with slightly more vigour than before.

“Everything that just came out of my mouth just now was the truth,” You said carefully, taken more than a little aback at his accusatory tone. You could feel your own frustration starting to bubble in your chest.

“And? Anything before that? What about your name?” He was still quiet, his words were clipped and chosen with care.

Your eyes shot wide open, brows arched high as you blinked at him in disbelief. You slowly uncrossed your arms, hands clenched tight by your sides.

How dare he.

“And the Jawas call the Ewoks short! My name protects me, I chose it, it’s mine, does it really matter if it’s not the one I was given?” You hissed at him, teeth baring as frustration turned to simmering anger, the stifling heat of the planet doing nothing to quell the slow boil of your blood. “I don’t ask your name! I don’t ask to see under your helmet! So do not fucking think for one moment that it is remotely okay to ask the same of me.”

He didn’t say anything to that. The two of you reverted back to what would be tense silence, if it weren’t for your heart knocking against your ribs and the blood rushing in your ears. You were nearly breathless with anger, your throat scratching with each sharp intake of the dry air. You all but ripped your water pouch from its place on your belt and chugged a good few mouthfuls. You unceremoniously wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, harshly clipping the pouch back.

Breathe.

You brought a hand to your chest, trying to ground your highflying emotion as you took a long breath in. You were normally pretty good at keeping a lid on your feelings, but you’d always had particularly short fuse and it take much pressure to spark a spectacular explosion.

Beneath your chest plate your heartrate had slowed considerably, a few minutes of particularly deep breaths later and you were nearly calm again. Nearly. There was a small twinge of guilt eating at your gut that you’d exploded like that. It wasn’t like yours and Tin Can’s situations were really the same. That didn’t mean you were going to apologise though.

Your stomach was the one to break the quietude again, a low rumble emanating from your belly in a reminder that you were, in fact, still hungry. The packaged roll in your clenched fist drew your attention once more. It was still warm, the sun and the heat of your hand seeing to that, the mere sensation of the firm swaddling against your palm making you salivate.

“You should eat.” It was almost inaudible, but by no means unmistakably him. That rough and slightly modulated voice gently directed at you. You didn’t reply, merely gave him a look that roughly translated to a slightly aggressive ‘You need to eat to’. He dismissively waved his hand. “I’ve gone longer without it. I can wait until we settle again.”

That small pang of guilt grew a little as you unwrap the parcel. However, the sweet smell that escaped the binding of the fabric assaulted your nose, overriding any restraint you were going to show. 

You pulled the blue tinted crust of the bread apart with your thumbs, exposing the cloud-like aqua insides. The first bite tasted of pure heaven, the fluffy dough melting across your taste buds as you ate. You groaned at the taste. It had been so long since you’d had fresh bread, let alone a homemade loaf.

You practically inhaled the roll, not stopping to take an actual breath as you ate. As you cleaned the crumbs off your fingers you glanced over at the armoured man next to you. He was seemingly unaffected, nothing betrayed if he was actually hungry, jealous or still angry. That was if he even was angry in the first place.

You turned your attention back your track, the blue line on your eyepiece still blinking steadily in front of your eye. Still no danger, thank the maker.

-

It was like you were numb to time. The Mandalorian and you just continuously trekked on along endless scarlet fields. Where you had initially noticed small differences between each expanse of grass, be it a different set of flora or discoloured bushes, it was now impossible for you to distinguish them. The only thing that really alerted you to the passage of time was the stark sun, crawling its way across the sky and steadily raising the temperature of the planet below.

You used the cloth left from your small breakfast to wipe away the sweat that was once again pooling uncomfortably at your brow. You couldn’t bear this anymore. How was it possibly even hotter than yesterday?

“Stop,” You command, freezing where you stood. It took the Mandalorian a couple of steps to register what you had said, but once it had gone in he turned on his heel to face you. He saw you tapping commands into your gauntlet, and then pressing a button on the side of your headset. You were looking around, but your eyes only flickered over where he stood, as if you couldn’t even see him. It made him want to speak, to move, anything to make your gaze linger a little longer.

You were trying to reroute the two of you, hopefully through a forest or a village, so you could get out of this murderous sun. You nearly cried when nothing picked up on your scan.

“What are you doing?” He asked, walking back up to you, his cape billowing behind him.

“I’m basically dying in this heat, so I’m trying to find some shade,” You said sharply, eyes staying on your gauntlet. You tap into the control panel on your arm, extending the search range in a vain attempt to find some structures. You turn your head to track the scan. As you slowly surveyed the land you all but gave up hope. 

It was in the exact moment you did however, a small blip showed in the distance. The corners of your mouth turned up into a hopeful smile, eyes coming alive with a glint as you tapped at your gauntlet once more. The image on your eyepiece zoomed in and enhanced. 

You almost wept with joy when it displayed a series of, from the looks of things, stone ruins. They would definitely have plenty of shade, and hopefully wouldn’t have any people to pester you either.

Locking in the new route you looked up at the Mandalorian, the second your eyes met the silver of his helmet your smile dropped from your face. The blue line in your eye jumped position and you wasted no time in striding in its new direction. You didn’t offer as much as a ‘come on’ in the direction of your assistant, just walked away. You knew he’d follow. And follow he did.

It took another three hours of walking, though it felt more like a full day of it, before you were met with the delicious sight of crumbling stonework. The place was definitely abandoned and had been for a long time, that much was obvious from the ribbons of grass that had fought its way through the cobbles beneath your feet. The path looked as if it had been slashed, open wounds of crimson tones where the growths of grass had forced the once sturdy slabs apart. The buildings weren’t much better, worn rocks of the walls now crumbling away and leaving gaping holes and vulnerabilities where once there had been safety.

You continued following the uneven path, the winding and disjointed stones beneath you drawing you further into the centre of chaos. Looking around you deduced this must have been a village at some point. The clusters of smaller, somewhat sturdier to judging by their better state, buildings must have been houses and the bigger ruins had to have been some form of communal spaces.

You could almost feel the life this place once had, the people moving around and talking, baskets of gratham stems and other goods in hand, trading for clothes and tools, maybe the occasional game for the little ones. It was so familiar and yet, so distant.

The way the walls of the bigger buildings had caved in had left arching tendrils of dusty stone, beckoning arms that begged you to walk towards them, to peer into the depths of the rooms they guarded. While your interest was piqued with finding what lay within the wayward walls, you were more fascinated with discovering what lay at the centre of the village. So much so that you hadn’t even noticed that the Mandalorian wasn’t following you anymore.

He’d been close by your side since you entered the village. That was until a small yellow frog almost jumped under his boot. He froze, initially it was from not wanting to crush the little thing, but that quickly melted into missing the kid. The guilt that had faded from your earlier argument surged to the front of his mind with renewed vigour, fresh with worry that he’d felt when left the child alone with a stranger. Sure she looked kind and the place had been busy with other children for the kid to play with, he’d also payed out a handsome fee to her for the trouble.

All that however didn’t stop the nagging feeling that someone was going to find him. The last time he’d left them alone Calican had got to them and- maker alive- they nearly got taken from him. And so down the spiral he fell, with the Mandalorian slowly following the darting yellow jumper, stalking it the way the kid would be if they were there.

You could see the village core, a sizeable round plaza, with paths stretching off at five regular points. You’d abandoned caution when you had entered the stoned space, the shadows of the ruins providing much needed relief that caused you to drop your guard. 

Rookie kriffing mistake. 

You should have seen it. You should have noticed the way these slabs were sitting just a little above the ground, the fact that they were paler than the rest, or just the fact that the circle of stones seemed perfectly preserved. No growths, no wear and no tracks.

One foot crossed the threshold, and your whole body tensed as you felt the stone sink slowly into the dirt. Kriff. The familiar rhythmic beeping of alert overrode your senses, blinking red lights scattered your eyepiece as you looked down.

Your reaction was instant, every nerve you have firing as adrenaline spiked through your veins. You snapped around. No time wasted as you took off from the plaza. Feet pounding against the mottled path, each push giving you more and more momentum. You tried desperately to keep your breathing steady as your heart hammered in your chest. You could hear the ground breaking up behind you. Great cracking and thundering crashes as rock collided with rock. The sound snapped you out of your laser focus to one gut wrenching realisation. He wasn’t with you.

You forced yourself not to stop, not to yell out just yet. Just keep sprinting. Your eyes darted as your legs carried you at speed, head snapping from side to side as you peered into wrecked buildings and alleyways. Tears were beginning to prick at your eyes from the effort of keeping them open in the dry heat, blurring your invaluable vision. Sweat dripped down your face. A sheen of it forming over your body from exertion. Your lungs were screaming at you, begging for respite. The pain of it was almost enough to make you give in.

“SHIRYN?”

His voice carried through the ruins to greet your straining ears. The mere sound sharpened your senses, head jerking in the direction of the sound. You were vaguely aware of a new sound too. Thrusters, very small but undoubtedly powerful thrusters. The realisation of what was about to happen hit you as your caped assistant ran into view. He was right there. Just a few more paces in front of you. The new serpentile hissing at your back spurred you towards the Mandalorian’s shine, his helmet tilted towards the expanse above your head.

“MANDO!” You screamed at him.

Time seemed to slow around you, your goal making everything else fade away. You felt the shocks of the first impact rippling beneath your feet, it didn’t matter though because he was within your grasp, just one step away. Your arms reached out to him.

You nearly collided with him. Hands grasping at his pauldrons and pulling him with you. You hauled him, with all your strength, into the house on your left, throwing him to the ground once you were through the threshold. You fell on top of him, curling your body instinctively around his, legs tight around his hips, arms either side of his head, your own head cradled in the space between his shoulder and helmet, pinning his body beneath yours.

The explosions started milliseconds after you hit the ground. The sheer volume of each impact made your ears feel like they were about to bleed and the floor beneath you shook violently. Heat from the each detonation licked through door and fanned out across your clothes, making you sweat even heavier under the already sticky fabric.

Your eyes were screwed tight shut. Every muscle in your body constricted tighter with each wash of heat, your pulse thrumming in your ear. Any hope of controlling your breathing was abandoned as you shakily panted. Inhaling the thick smoky air in a vain attempt to draw in sweet, sweet oxygen. You tried to draw yourself away from destruction that was happening right outside the stone walls, to let yourself drown in the sound of your own heartbeat, of the feeling of Mando’s cold beskar pressed against the side of your face. You were so wrapped in distracting yourself you didn’t notice the firm grip of his arms circling your waist. Anchoring you to him.

Rocks were beginning to fall around you, the once sturdy structure beginning to fail its purpose. Your grip on the Mandalorian beneath you tightened as stones fractured across the floor, each collision making you flinch slightly. You were bracing for an inevitable impact when you felt your whole world shift dramatically, your body being rolled beneath a substantial weight. You expected to hit the ground hard, but your impact was softened by a pair of arms, one secured under your back and the other cradling the back of your head. Holding you to him.

Your hands grasped at him blindly until you found purchase on his arms, fingers digging into the rough fabric of his sleeves. Tentatively, you opened your eyes. You had expected to see the slowly collapsing ceiling, but your view was thankfully obstructed by Mando’s chest plate. Right as the two of you settled into this new position, a hefty chunk of stone hit the ground where you had been mere moments before.

It felt like an age before the sounds of chaos outside the safety of the building began to fade, the time between explosions lengthening exponentially. Even the house you’d dove into seemed to be stabilising, the rock-fall slowing as the tremors of the floor began to cease. You found yourself calming down, your body relaxing a little as you managed to take regular strong breaths, or as much as you could do at least in the unrelenting hold of Mando.

A few more drawn out minutes passed before the attack seemed to cease completely. Still though, you stayed encased in each other’s grip, anxiously listening for any stray detonations. You both seemed to come to the conclusion that it was over at the same time, your grip on his arms loosening as he released your head, lowering it gently to the now rubble filled floor.

Using his free arm he pushed up from you, but made no effort to retract his other arm or roll off you. Instead, he looked down at you, your skin glistening with sweat and hair wild beneath him. He watched your eyes with intent, curious as they darted around the room before settling back on his visor. You’d called him Mando. He was replaying that fleeting moment over and over as he looked at you, praying to the maker that you wouldn’t go back to referring to him as Mandalorian. His heart kicked up a notch when you cocked your brow at him, the miniscule change in your expression dragging him from his thoughts to the realisation that he was still pressed close against you. The last time he had felt anything like this was back on Sorgan, but here… kriffing hell he wished he knew what you were thinking right now.

Your eyes flitted between where you thought his own lay behind the visor, though you weren’t exactly sure what you were looking for. Being this close to him you could hear his breathing through his vocoder, hell you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your own. Part of you was yelling to get away, scramble from the precipice you just knew you were teetering on, and do not fall in. Yet a different part wanted to stay, to lean in and press your forehead against his the smooth surface of his helmet.

You swallowed. Hands releasing his biceps, you trailed your fingertips with a feather light touch across his shoulders to land on his chest plate.

Then you turned your head away from him, choosing to look at a crumbling wall instead of his visor as you lightly pushed him away.

Mando took the hint. He carefully extracted his arm from under you and rolled off, landing with a solid thud to the side of you. You wasted no time in sitting up and beginning to search yourself for injuries, sighing in relief when you found none.

He hadn’t been so lucky. It didn’t even register with him that he had been wounded, not until pain spiked up his leg at his attempt to sit up. The soft grunt that escaped him alerted you almost instantly.

“Mando, what’s wrong?” You asked sternly. Turning to face him you scanned over his figure, seizing up when you saw the tell-tale scarlet stain slowly darkening at his inner thigh, just above his knee. Shit. You shot to his side, hands working on removing his cuisse.

“Shiryn, it’s noth-“

“I get to decide when it’s nothing,” You snapped. Your tone probably came off sharp and abrasive, but you didn’t care. There was only one thought running circles round your mind right now. That this? This was entirely your fault.

[thetunewillcome]

sand

Summer Omens: Day 1 (on AO3 here if you prefer)

“Oh, for the love of all that is…  Angel!”  

Though the interior of the Bentley muffled his voice, Crowley’s tone still made Aziraphale flinch.  “What’s the matter?”

Practically shoving him aside, Crowley had crawled half on to the passenger seat of the car as soon as Aziraphale had climbed out of it.  He was sweeping his hand over the seat.  “Sand!” he growled.

Since Crowley couldn’t see him, Aziraphale allowed himself a particularly dramatic eye roll.  “I am terribly sorry.  Thought I got it all.”  He glanced down at the tartan bag in his hands.  “That’s always the problem with sand, isn’t it?  Gets in everything.”

“Exactly why,” Crowley muttered, now brushing the sand off the floor of the car and out the door, “I am not a fan of beach days.”

Aziraphale had been the one to suggest the day trip to Camber Sands.  With the apocalypse successfully averted and their Head Offices leaving them alone for now, he felt they deserved a chance to relax, get away from the bustle of the city for a day.  He was tempted to remind Crowley that he had agreed to the idea with little resistance, but he held his tongue.

Sand invasion aside, it had been a lovely day.  The beach had been surprisingly uncrowded for the time of year, and the clouds had been few and far between.  Crowley had insisted on staying out of the shade of Aziraphale’s umbrella, opting instead for basking in the full sun.  This decision led to a lengthy debate about the importance of sunscreen culminating in the checkmate of Aziraphale’s strong hands on Crowley’s back, rubbing the cold lotion in and instantly causing Crowley to fall silent.  A pleased smirk on his face, Aziraphale settled in to read his book and let Crowley recover.

After a few hours of quiet – Aziraphale reading, Crowley people-watching and digging shapes into the sand with his fingers – Crowley stood and sauntered toward the water.  Curious, Aziraphale watched him from above his book.  Residual tension from the past decades lingered in Crowley’s shoulders, jaw, and hands, and Aziraphale frowned, wondering what could be keeping him on edge.  Each day that passed without a letter from Gabriel made him more confident in their victory.  No one was watching them anymore.  Somehow, despite them, the world had been saved, and now it was theirs to enjoy.

And yet, Crowley was still on guard, and Aziraphale was still watching, worrying silently from a distance.  Oh, we’re both being ridiculous, thought Aziraphale as he noted the page he was on, closed his book, and set it carefully in his bag.  Old habits, I suppose.  He took a moment to gather his courage, then stood and followed Crowley’s footprints down to the water’s edge.

Crowley had waded in up to the middle of his chest.  With hesitant steps, Aziraphale worked to catch up, pausing every few inches to acclimate to the chilly water.  Ahead of them, the waves stretched out to the bottom of the clear blue sky, and he wondered just how many times over the ages he’d stood in awe of earthly beauty, always feeling as if it were the first time, in Eden, surrounded by the sands of the untouched planet.  

One glance at Crowley’s face told him he must be thinking something similar.  How lucky they were to be here, still.  Together, and with time enough to sort things out that needed sorting.  Without a word, Aziraphale reached blindly out through the water and found Crowley’s hand with his.  They stood like that for a long time, swaying gently with the waves, until Crowley began to shiver and they returned to the beach to warm up, sand sticking to their wet skin.  As he opened his book again, Aziraphale looked over at Crowley stretched out in the sun and thought he seemed just a little more at ease than he had in years.

Unsurprisingly, that calm had completely evaporated at the sight of sand in his precious car.  “Would you like me to miracle it away?” Aziraphale asked.

“I doubt even a miracle could get it all.”  He was inspecting the floor of the car where Aziraphale’s bag had been, picking grains up with thumb and forefinger.  Aziraphale was more than happy to wait for him to finish.  The night was still young, after all.  Perhaps he could persuade Crowley to try the new hibachi restaurant that had opened up a few streets over.  Or the tapas place with the pages-long wine menu.  He didn’t care what they did next: he just wasn’t ready for the day to end.

Because that was the thing with sand, wasn’t it?  It was everywhere – in your hair, in your clothes, in miles across the bottom of the ocean and the surface of the Sahara – except at the top of the hourglass, where you needed it most.  The closer they had been dragged to the end of the Earth, the more apparent this shortage of time had become.  Now they had earned more, but was it truly theirs, or simply borrowed?

Finally, Crowley climbed out of the car, closed the door, and leaned back against it, clearly not eager to end the day, either.

“Dinner?”

“Alright.”

“Let me just bring this inside,” he said, holding up the bag, “and get the suits hung up to dry.  The damp can ruin them.”  He headed for the bookshop, Crowley following behind.  “Not that I anticipate another day trip in your future, after that.”

“It’s not the trip I minded. ��I’m sure there’re plenty of places we could visit that wouldn’t require cleaning the car after.”

He held the door open for Crowley.  “Somewhere landlocked, perhaps?”

Crowley thought about the soothing rush and retreat of waves, the feel of warm skin surrounded by cool water.  “Yeah, or… some beaches have those little stones instead.  Should be safe.”

“Whatever you like, dear,” Aziraphale answered with a smile.

[4pondsinabox]

11XRiver & The Ponds

A/N Written for the sole purpose of giving Amy her “Molly Weasley Moment.”

River raced through the underbrush, weaving her way through the thicket of alien trees and leaping over fallen logs, while dodging the onslaught of arrows from behind. She ducked behind a large tree trunk and trained her blaster on her pursuers, shooting several down. When a dagger narrowly missed her ear, she decided to move on, making a sharp turn deeper into the woods. Thanks to her part-Time Lord biology, she had a much higher endurance than most and soon the angry shouts faded into the distance. River continued running long after the last arrow clattered against a tree behind her, until finally she felt safe enough to come to a halt. Crouching in some foliage, she listened intently for any sign of her pursuers. She had lost them. Unfortunately, River had also apparently lost the Doctor and her parents, which was much more problematic.

She pulled out her scanner and searched for nearby signs of human life, cursing the very day her husband had thought it a good idea to visit an uncharted planet on the outskirts of the universe. Admittedly, it’s not like any of them knew that the planet’s humanoid inhabitants were cannibals - or the otherworldly equivalent of eating anything that moved - but River wished the Doctor would think twice when her parents were on board. It was one thing when just the two of them were careening across the universe, but she’d be damned before she let anything happen to her mum and dad.

The archeologist heard a rustle in the surrounding foliage and her hand moved instinctively towards her blaster, when a familiar long nosed face appeared between the trees, looking rather lost. Relief washed over her. “Dad-” He turned just as movement caught the corner of River’s eye. “Get down!”  Rory ducked as she whipped out her blaster, taking out the hunter behind him, who’d had a spear trained at his back.

He let out a long breath of air. “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime.”

River stepped towards the fallen figure, crouching to inspect it as Rory’s gaze warily swept the surrounding trees.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen Amy and the Doctor lately?”

River shook her head, unsheathing an unusually long dagger from the body’s scabbard. “I was hoping they were with you.” She stood, holding out the weapon to her father. “Here, you can never be too careful on wild planets like this one.”

 He balanced the blade in his hands for a moment before gripping the hilt as one normally would a much bigger sword. River watched him with a thoughtful tilt of her head.

“I never asked, where did you acquire your sword fighting skills? Leadworth certainly hasn’t got any training facilities.”

Rory glanced at her before quickly looking away again. “Oh, I uh … It’s a long story.”

“Spoilers?”

“Yeah.”

River had taken out her scanner again but looked over when the other fell silent. Rory was once more observing their surroundings with apprehension.

“They’ll be alright, you know,” she said, reassuring herself as much as him. “They’ve been doing this sort of thing long before either of us joined them. From their point of view at least.”

Rory simply nodded, expression unchanged. The corner of River’s scanner lit up. 

“I think I’ve found something.” 

She motioned for him to follow her and they continued their way through the thickening trees – if that’s what one calls twisting umbrella-esque lifeforms that stretch hundreds of meters over an average human’s head. Silver leaves were visible covering the undersides of each umbrella top, glittering slightly in the breeze. River supposed the sight would be quite beautiful if they hadn’t just escaped from being made into a meal for the planet’s less-than-friendly inhabitants.

“River, come look at this.”

River backtracked to where Rory was standing, inspecting several dark markings on a tree.

“Burn marks from an Althurian blaster.” The same kind she had strapped to her leg, except she had never ventured to this part of the planet before.

“I didn’t know the specifics, but I did figure they weren’t your usual flame residue. And there’s also that.”

Her gaze followed his pointing finger up towards the tree canopy, where a long robotic arm hung, unmoving, from one of the branches. River’s breath caught at the peculiar sight.

“Now that is fascinating.”

“Have you seen one like it before?”

“Can’t say I have.”

Rory followed her as she tried to get a solid focus of the object on her scanner, eyes darting between it and the blaster marks.

“I don’t get it; the Doctor said this planet’s inhabitants were primitive. How could there be signs of superior technology here?”

“The Doctor’s been wrong before.”

“Except…?”

River turned to face him. “Except you saw their village, we both did. Mostly skin, bones, and earth; not a single piece of material that could conduct energy in sight. Which leads me to think whatever left these markings behind aren’t native to this planet.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we are likely not the first aliens to pay a visit here.”

She slammed the palm of her hand against the side of the scanner with an annoyed huff. “It’s too high up to get an accurate reading, this could take a few minutes.”

“I don’t think we have a few minutes.”

River looked up to find a curtain of bronze colored birds rising out of the mossy ground, squawking in distress.

“They’re coming, we have to move quickly.”

They ran, the thickening umbrella trees proving more and more difficult to navigate between.

“River, what do you think happened to the others? The visitors who came here before us?”

“Think about it, Dad, is that really a question you want answered right now?”

“Fair point.”

Suddenly, River stopped. They had reached an abrupt end to the forest and now stood before a towering cliff-face. The zig zag of reds and blues coloring its surface confirmed it was an alien mineral River couldn’t name off the top of her head. Rory came to a halt beside her, trying to catch his breath as he looked skyward.

“What now?”

“How good are you at climbing?”

“You can’t be serious.”

River was rummaging in one of her belt pouches, which held an assortment of immensely useful items meant for moments just like this one.

“Oh, I’m very serious. Unless you have another plan that doesn’t end with us being eaten by the locals.”

Rory looked from one end of the large land mass before them to the other, neither of which were visible from where they were standing.

“We could… walk around?”

River raised her eyebrows.

“Ok, fine. We’ll do it your way. Just please tell me you have some kind of alien climbing equipment, because I cannot promise I won’t fall otherwise.” 

She handed him what looked like gloves with bits of metal woven through them.

“Cyberkinetic climbing gloves,” River explained. “They can latch onto every known natural substance in the universe, so you shouldn’t have any trouble scaling this cliff. Mind you, that is my only pair, so do be careful with them.”

Rory, who had been hurriedly pulling on the strange looking contraptions after tucking his recently acquired dagger into his belt, looked up sharply at her words.

“Your only- River, I can’t take these and leave you without a way up!”

“Who said I don’t have a way up?”

She grinned, grabbing ahold of the rocky cliff-face and hoisting herself up, only to find her dad’s hand on her arm. The look of panic on his face was something she’d only ever seen directed at Amy.

“Do you have any idea how stupidly dangerous this is?”

“No more stupidly dangerous than our usual outings.”

“If you fall from up there, you’ll die.”

For a very brief moment she was at a loss for words. She knew her parents cared about her of course, but it had always felt a bit disconnected, as though they still saw her as the dangerous space lady now married to their best friend. The look in her father’s eyes now said otherwise.

“I’d best not fall then.” River quipped, as the moment passed. She turned back to face the towering landmass before them and pushed forward, even as her dad continued to shout up at her.

“Do you really place so little worth on your life? Just once let someone else take the risks so you don’t have to.”

“Believe me, I have,” She muttered to herself, “And I’ll never forgive myself for it.” 

River turned to look down at where her father stood, staring up at her. “I admire the sentiment, but have you ever scaled an alien cliff without proper climbing equipment before?”

“No. Have you?”

“There’s a first time for everything. I’d get moving if I were you, we don’t know how far behind us they are.”

Rory was clearly still less than satisfied with the arrangement but did as she asked, placing one gloved hand after the other to start climbing just several paces behind her. They slowly made their way upwards, the alien sun glaring angrily at their backs.

“Everything alright down there?” River called down as they neared the top.

“Yeah. I mean – I think so. There wouldn’t happen to be cyberkinetic climbing boots or something would there? Because those would really help.”

“Funny you should ask, yes. Quite the fashion statement aren’t they.” She showed off one of her boots to an incredulous Rory.

“You had them on the whole time-”

“I’m joking, these aren’t cyberkinetic hiking boots, they’re not even really hiking boots. I fully intend to get my hands on a pair though.” She made a point not to elaborate how.

River knew she was in for a proper scolding by the look on her father’s face, but a familiar voice from above cut him off before he could start.

“River! Rory!”

Her head snapped upwards to where a shock of bright red hair was visible on the cliff above them. 

“Amy” her father breathed out in relief. He quickened his pace, clattering over the uneven rockface less than gracefully to bring himself up alongside River. 

“Hello!”

The bowtie wearing idiot who gotten them into this mess appeared next to her mother.

“How’d you two get down there? Never mind, I’ve picked up a signal from the TARDIS, we shouldn’t be far now!”

He waved his sonic screwdriver in the air with enthusiasm.

“Sweetie.”

“Yes dear?”

“Next time I tell you not to mess with one of her settings, particularly when it involves immediate relocation in the face of danger, you’ll do well to remember this.”

He made a face but didn’t contradict her point. Amy pouted.

“Aww, but that’s half of the fun!”

“It’s truly astounding any of you make it anywhere alive without my help.”

River didn’t have to look over at her dad to know he was anything but amused. But he didn’t have a chance to reply before-

“Duck!”

River dragged Rory down the cliffside a few paces, just milliseconds before Amy’s warning cut through the air, an arrow lodging itself in the crevice where his head had been moments before. Her gaze followed the trail of falling rubble released from their sudden movement, stomach clenching at the sight that met her eyes. Their pursuers had gathered in a large mass below them and the first few were already swiftly ascending the tall edifice at a rapid pace. A handful had climbed up the knotted tree trunks that stood a few paces back, to better aim their bows at the escapees.

“Go!”

River nudged Rory back up the cliff, towards Amy’s outstretched hand, and he complied without protest. River pulled out her blaster once more to take out the closest attackers, feet braced uncomfortably against the rough face of the cliff for balance. She shifted slightly and another trail of rubble broke free beneath her right foot.

“River, come on!”

Eyes still trained downwards; River pulled herself slowly towards her mother’s voice as she continued to dodge the persistent arrows from below. One by one they clattered against the rock around her and fell back downwards. Her blaster made good work of the leading figures behind her, until she felt close enough to toss it over the side where her parents and the Doctor stood anxiously waiting for her. River reached for her mother’s hand and grasped it tightly, pulling herself upwards. She had barely reached the ledge where the others stood when several things happened at once. A deadly silver glint caught the corner of River’s eye as it sped towards them and cries of terror rang from both the Doctor’s and Rory’s mouths. Instinctively, she pushed Amy to the ground just as a searing pain entered her side.

-

Time slowed down. It so often did at the worst possible moments, but never had he wished it to stop moving entirely as he did now. The Doctor watched in horror as River once more sacrificed herself for another, the arrow cutting sharply through the air and into her side. The force knocked her body forward, taking Amy down with her. A strangled scream echoed in his ears. Was it his? He wasn’t sure. The Doctor raced to their side, but Rory beat him to it and was already helping an ashen-faced Amy gently shift their daughter off her.

“River … ohmygod River-”

“She’s still breathing, but I can’t know for certain there hasn’t been serious damage in the body until I have a proper look – Doctor -!”

He had rudely pushed himself into the nurse’s space but couldn’t be bothered to apologize at the exclamation that followed. The Doctor had eyes for only one person, and she lay with an arrow shaft protruding from her side. He reached for her wrist and held it until he was certain: a pulse. Placing a second hand on her cheek, then forehead, the Doctor felt his pounding hearts subdue somewhat. Warm but not too warm. The wound itself was a clean cut but it was difficult to tell what the damage inside was-

“Hands, Sweetie.”

The Doctor’s head snapped upwards to find River staring at him with a bemused expression.

“Not that I would normally mind, but I’m afraid we’re on a bit of a tight schedule; wouldn’t you agree?”

“Your...” 

Alive? Conscious? He wasn’t sure what word he was looking for; but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy to see those captivating and very alive green eyes fixed on him. Her gaze dropped down to where the arrow stuck out of her side and her smile faltered.

“Right… well, I suppose I’ve had worse.”

River shifted slightly to try and prop herself up on her good side but stopped to clench the Doctor’s arm as she inhaled sharply. It was Rory’s turn to intervene.

“River stop, you’ll only make it worse.”

“I can… manage.”

“You’re not moving until I have this looked at, nurse’s orders. I can’t risk pulling out the arrow until I know exactly what it has hit.”

River was shaking her head, eyes shut against the pain.

“No time.”

The Doctor didn’t have to look over the side of the cliff to know that she was right. They had to find cover and fast.

“Rory, take River and go; the Doctor and I will cover for you.”

He tore his gaze away from his wife for the first time to stare at Amy in shock.

“I can’t just leave her Pond-”

“You can and you will, because right now you’re emotional-”

“I’m not-!”

“-And I will not have an emotional Time Lord crowding my daughter when what she needs right now is medical attention.”

Amy’s eyes blazed, daring him to argue. The Doctor clenched and unclenched his hands, belatedly realizing they were still holding River’s. How to explain that he had stay by her side and try by every means possible to make her well again because, last time, in another life, he was never given the chance.

“Amy…”

“Doctor, I’m a trained nurse. Please let me do what I can.”

The Doctor looked back and forth between the two Ponds before settling back on Amy’s penetrating gaze. Fish fingers and custard. He had to trust her on this, his Amelia Pond. Sometimes he forgot how grown up she was. Reluctantly, he let go of his wife’s hand to pull out his sonic and hand it to Rory.

“Find the TARDIS. Keep River safe.”

“Always.”

They all gave a start at the sound of a blaster discharging. While the three of them had argued over how to best handle the situation, River had been the only one paying attention to what was happening behind them. Slowly but stubbornly, she had reached past Amy to pick up her fallen blaster and train it on the first of the locals who had made it over the edge of the cliff, sending it right back over. Three more went down before River’s arm fell back in exhaustion, the grip on her weapon slackening. Amy was quick to snatch it out of her daughter’s hands and start her own crusade against the attackers, motioning urgently for Rory and River to get a move on.

“Go! Now!”

The Doctor and Rory helped River to her feet, her face draining of color as she steadied herself against her dad for support.

“River, if you can’t stand-”

“I’m fine.”

Her words were sharp and final but clearly not as confident as she wanted them. The Doctor shared a concerned glance with Rory, but they didn’t have time to argue.

“May I?”

He indicated the dagger tucked in Rory’s belt. The other man obliged, taking it out to hand over to the Doctor.

“Doctor, a little help here!” Amy shouted from behind him, and he spun around to find a line of very hungry looking locals advancing on her. The blaster was the only thing remotely keeping them at bay, but that was evidently not going to last for long. He padded his coat pockets, before remembering – his bowtie. The Doctor quickly undid his favorite neck accessory to tie it very precisely around the dagger’s hilt, with a sizeable loop hanging out.

“Amy, get back!”

Picking up an adequately sized stone from the ground, he fit it snugly in the fabric and rotated the contraption above his head, letting the stone fly. Amy had scrambled backwards and watched in bewilderment as it hit its mark, the unfortunate hunter tipping off the side of the cliff it had just arrived on seconds before.

“Did I ever tell you I was the slingshot champion of the seventh Grecian Olympics?”

Amy shook her head as he loaded another stone into his makeshift slingshot, giving him a sideways look.

“Didn’t the Ancient Greeks compete naked?”

“Yep!”

“Right. I don’t think I will ever unsee that mental image, thanks.”

Amy dropped to the ground as a spear sailed over her head, rolling to her left to aim River’s blaster at the hunter nearest her. It took three attempts before her aim finally rang true.

“Hang on, slingshots were definitely not a part of the ancient Olympics. How did you manage that?”

Three stones left the Doctor’s slingshot to connect with three of the of the newest arrivals on the cliff. Each fell backwards one by one like bowling pins.

“Amy Pond, shouldn’t you know by now you humans are the worst when it comes to accurately documenting your own history? The Olympics were first recorded in 776 B.C. but the Greeks had been holding the games for approximately 567 years by then. I may have accidentally gotten the slingshot banned at the games in 980 B.C. which is why they don’t show up on any records.”

“Of course you did. Should I be worried you’re just tossing these guys over a thousand-foot ledge or …”

They bolted out of the way as a hunter charged at them, moving farther from the growing group at the cliff’s edge. Amy grabbed the spear that had fallen behind her earlier and rammed it against their shins. It toppled over and was knocked out cold.

“Not at all!” Replied the Doctor, far too cheerfully. “I’ve noticed the locals here are a far less breakable lot than you humans. That thick skull of theirs isn’t hiding a larger brain at all, but gives them extra cushion, so a fall from this height will stun them for maybe an hour at most.” 

“Great, so you’re telling me we’re up against invincible aliens?”

“We’re the aliens here Pond, and not invincible, no. That thing you’re holding will do about equal amount of damage here as it would anywhere else in the universe.”

Amy looked down at the blaster in her hand as the Doctor tossed another couple stones at arriving hunters, each making direct contact. He glanced over at Amy and noticed her face had hardened.

“Good.”

She aimed the weapon once more at the unbelievably persistent hunters before them and the Doctor was surprised when he made no attempt to stop her from pulling the trigger. Seeing River’s body appear as lifeless as it had, for even a split second, had awoken something immensely dark inside him he had thought long dead. No Cyberman or even Dalek could ever be on the receiving end of a fury unleashed by those who dared try to take his wife out of the universe. He found himself wishing he’d thought to reach that blaster for himself before Amy had.

The number of carnivorous locals had multiplied to a point where stones were no longer helping. Amy lacked the practiced aim of her daughter so, while the hunting party was no longer its former formidable size, the Doctor realized she was no match for it. They were outnumbered.

“Amy.”

“Yeah; run.”

They turned on their heels and made after Rory and River, both of whom had disappeared.

“You realize,” panted Amy, “we’re leading them directly to Rory and River, yeah?”

“I’m working on it Pond, just keep moving!”

The pounding footsteps behind them appeared to only grow in volume as they raced across the barren, rocky landscape. The Doctor whirled around to plunge the dagger into the ground with as much force as he could muster. At first, nothing happened. Suddenly, a deep rumble uttered from far beneath them and the terrain shook, splitting from where the dagger had entered it.

“Uh oh.”

He backed away, before turning back around to run for his life – only to find Amy no longer in front of him.

“Wh-!”

Suddenly, the ground disappeared beneath his feet and he was sliding down a steep incline into the alien terrain. The Doctor’s feet hit flattened rock, grinding him to a sudden halt. He bolted upwards, peering into the dark to try and find a familiar face.

“Doctor? Amy?”

Rory. The Doctor dug into his pockets again to pull out the large torch that had been so handy in Venice, and it filled the cavern with its brilliant blue light. He made out Rory’s figure a few paces back but didn’t have time to wonder why River was no longer beside him, because Amy had taken off back towards the entrance where the first of the hunters had started to make an appearance over the edge.

“Amy, what are you-!”

She was training River’s blaster back on them again, each shot punctuated with the Scottish fury of her words.

“Not. My. Daughter. You-”

She was cut off by a loud rumbling overhead.

“Amy!”

The Doctor ran forward, grabbing her by the hand to pull her farther into the cavern as large pieces of rock began falling from above. It wasn’t long before the entire entrance was caved in, leaving their attackers and any form of sunlight trapped on the other side. They paused to catch their breath as the dust settled. The Doctor wasted no time rounding on Amy.

“What in the hell were you thinking Amelia Pond? Do you want to get yourself killed? I suppose arrow was next on your list for Bravado Bingo-”

“Oh, don’t lecture me on bravado Doctor,” she snapped, “This is my family and it is my choice how I protect it! 

“Yes, and we’ll be eternally grateful when we carry your lifeless body off of this planet!” He’d overstepped and he knew it immediately. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“I know.”

They looked at each other, and the bright flame in Amy’s eyes subdued somewhat. The Doctor could almost feel a sense of relief creeping up on him, until-

“Doctor.”

He directed the torch towards the sound of Rory’s voice, which sounded far too urgent for his liking, his hearts coming to a full stop when he noticed who the nurse was kneeling beside.

River no longer appeared to be conscious, what little color that had remained her cheeks now gone. The blue lighting that filled the cavern only accentuated the deathly pallor that had spread across her skin.

“I don’t know what happened,” Rory rushed to explain, as the Doctor wasted no time to join him, setting down his torch in the process, “She was fine - I mean hurt, but moving without much trouble – when suddenly she just … collapsed. Doctor, I’m no expert on arrows but I do know a normal one could not have done something like this.”

“You don’t suppose it was poisoned?”

Amy hovered anxiously nearby with her arms folded tightly across her chest.

“That’s what we need to find out.”

Rory had taken out his small bag of medical equipment and was carefully picking through it, placing several items on a pristine, white cloth he had lain on the ground beside him. The Doctor reached for his sonic, which he had noticed lying at River’s feet, and did his usual scan for information. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw the results.

“Rory, get that arrow out of her now!”

“Wh-”

“It’s been too long already, it’s a miracle she’s still breathing-”

“Doctor, an arrow can’t just be taken out without the possibility of creating more damage to the body; I need to do this properly. It would help if I knew what the problem was.”

The Doctor was busy cupping his hands around River’s face, speaking in a low, rushed tone as though they were the only ones in the room.

“River please, please if you can hear me, don’t fight it. I know you have been, and I know you still want to, but that will only make it worse. Please.”

He touched his forehead to hers, eyes closed for a moment, before pressing a kiss to her forehead. He could feel Rory’s eyes on him, waiting. How was it that he always managed to be so patient? So trusting and relaxed even when facing death itself? It both aggravated the Doctor and inspired him. But, he supposed, that’s what made the man such an excellent nurse.

He ran a hand through his floppy, brown hair and stood up to pace restlessly. They couldn’t waste another moment, wasn’t it clear that River’s life was on the line? But Rory deserved an explanation. They both did. No matter how much it pained him to relive those memories.

“It shouldn’t be possible; I don’t know how they managed to get ahold of this technology. It should have been destroyed with everything else that day. Mind you, it wasn’t even finished-”

“Tell us what is wrong with our daughter Raggedy Man, or so help me I will jab this blaster where it really hurts.”

“Right. Yes.” Stalling. He was ever so good at that. The Doctor swallowed. 

“In the final days of the Time War, my people – the Time Lords – were developing a new kind of weapon, to be used not just against the Daleks but any misbehaving citizen who didn’t follow orders. Meant to be an addition to every high-tech weapon on the planet, it would drain its target of all immediate energy. Like a modified virus. The more someone would fight against its effects, the faster it would act. Intended to bring down the strongest fleet of enemy soldiers, so they could be brought in for a more “suitable” execution. Of course, I could never let something like that get out in the universe.

“The problem was it was never perfected. The casualty range was too broad with far too devastating results to serve the Time Lords as they needed it to, so the weapon was never used in battle. I’ve never seen one compacted into something as small as an arrow before.”

Rory was looking at him, aghast. “This is Time Lord technology?”

“But how is that possible?” asked Amy. “Everything in their camp was made of stone, skin and bone; how could they have known how to use something like this?”

“River and I came across some remnants of what could have been a robot earlier, do you think these people have been taking whatever they can understand from the ships and visitors that have landed here?”

The Doctor was pounding the palm of his hand against his forehead as he paced, in a vain attempt to make all the dots connect somehow.

“I don’t know, I don’t know. None of this makes any sense!” 

That weapon, like so many of the others the Time Lords had had in the works, should not have even had the chance to leave the planet, let alone be improved upon. Its mere existence as it is now should be impossible. 

Rory’s voice broke through his thoughts again.

“Doctor, what should we do? This technology is more advanced than anything I’ve ever worked with; how do we help River?”

The Doctor stopped his pacing, facing away from the three people he had long since allowed himself to consider as family. He felt his hearts sink further at his next words.

“A Time Lord virus can only be cured by Time Lord technology. That’s what makes them so deadly to contract off-planet.”

“There must be something we can do.”

“Remove the arrow, block the signal. That much I know.”

He waited until he heard Rory begin preparing for surgery, and then took off deeper into the cavern. Amy called after him but knew, for once, she wouldn’t follow. Not with River in her condition. He felt guilty for leaving them, but the Doctor knew there was only one way he could ensure his wife’s survival and that was by finding the TARDIS. River Song did not die here, she couldn’t. Their timelines were too fixed for that. Yet her final words in that library still echoed in his ears. Not one line, don’t you dare. He wasn’t willing to risk even the possibility of that happening.

The ground sloped downward, and he broke into a jog. How he was going to find another way out from down here, he didn’t know, but a plan usually manifested in his head somehow. Any moment now would be ideal, an irritated voice in his head chastised. But he was finding it incredibly difficult to focus when River’s all too pale face remained fixed in his mind. A face that was always and meant to be brimming with life.

The Doctor activated his sonic again, which made little difference in the surrounding dark, but at least made him feel like he was doing something useful.

“Come on, do this for me just this once.”

But those readings couldn’t be correct, he was far too deep underground. Just another thing to add to the list of things on this planet that didn’t make sense … he paused. There was a faint glowing up ahead, with a bluish hue that was all too familiar to the Time Lord. Had he really come full circle and rejoined the Ponds again? He couldn’t have. It took only a few steps more for him to realize what shape was standing out against the inky blackness of the cavern.

“Impossible.”

But there she stood, as tall and proud as the day they had first run away together from Gallifrey; the bluest blue in all the universe. The TARDIS brightened as he ran over to greet her.

“You’re here, it’s really…”

The Doctor ran a thumb down where the doors met, unable to believe his luck. Their luck.

“You’re cutting it a bit fine you know; I don’t suppose you could have parked any closer at a more convenient point in time?”

The TARDIS emitted what could be interpreted as a noise of indignation.

“Yeah, I know I know, it’s my fault.” He sighed; forehead pressed against the door. “Isn’t it always.”

“She needs you Old Girl, River she-” his throat tightened, and he shut his eyes for a brief moment. “I can’t save her, but you can. All those memories, my future … I can’t risk losing them. I can’t risk losing her.”

A low hum came from the TARDIS and the Doctor felt a new energy burn through him. He wasn’t alone in this, he had her. His constant companion and confidant, the best doctor in the universe. No virus could compete with that. A robotic arm and impossible technology were problems for another day. There was something far more important that needed doing first. As he opened the door to step into the consul room, there was no doubt in his mind that River Song would live and laugh again.