#behind the scenes: i had a whole other fic that i scrapped last minute and wrote this instead lol

[winxanity-ii]

RESONANCE

ship: various!bnha x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 5.5k a/n: just wanted to spit out a lil one-shot, not sure if I'll make a full fic from this but who knows lolol; tell me what y'all think…

★·.·´🇲‌🇾‌ 🇭‌🇪‌🇷‌🇴‌ 🇦‌🇨‌🇦‌🇩‌🇪‌🇲‌🇮‌🇦‌/🇧‌🇳‌🇭‌🇦‌/🇲‌🇭‌🇦‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

All your life, people gravitated to you.

It was something that felt almost like gravity—a pull that made others orbit around you, with secrets and vulnerabilities spilling out like some cracked, overflowing dam.

They couldn't help it, and it wasn't something you actively tried to do either.

Your Quirk, Confidant, was a force of its own, turning you into an unwitting confessional booth for whoever happened to cross your path. Whether you were ready for it or not, they opened up.

There had been days when you tried to keep it off, to put up the wall and protect yourself from the sheer emotional weight that others dumped at your feet. But it took too much effort, too much focus to constantly repel that need in others.

If someone came to you, tearing up over a breakup or raging about the stress of everyday life, you'd let them; it was just easier to let it run its course.

And, sure, there weren't any physical drawback—no energy drained or migraines induced. But to you, there was a burden no one else seemed to recognize: the reboot.

Once someone started talking, your mind went into what you had nicknamed "short-reboot mode." It was like something within you flipped a switch, and suddenly, every part of you worked to cater to them.

Your eyes would track every shift in their expression, your ears catching every wobble in their voice. You'd analyze, break down every cue, every breath, until your responses flowed with practiced ease—the words that person needed to hear, the exact tone that made them relax.

Sometimes, you'd offer a soft, comforting touch. Other times, you'd say nothing at all, just be a presence there to anchor them.

When it was over, and they'd leave—well, that was when things got weird.

Not for them; no, for them it was almost as if a fog rolled over their memory of the whole thing. A protective influence that made the event seem far-off, unimportant, a comforting haze to keep them from fixating on you.

For you, though? You'd collapse in bed later on, mind swimming with everything you'd absorbed, while the Quirk worked behind the scenes to sort and compartmentalize every scrap of information.

It all got stored away—permanently—so you'd never forget.

And because of that, you hated it.

You hated how your brain worked on autopilot for everyone else, how every emotional exchange was something you'd retain forever while the small, everyday things slipped right through the cracks.

You'd put down your phone and lose it within minutes, or take things into a room one by one when you could easily grab everything at once. Your grandfather loved to tease you about it, always laughing as he cackled out, "Book sense, not a lick of common sense!"

Today, it was no different.

You groaned as you walked down the stairs from your bedroom, a yawn escaping your lips as you shuffled along.

You looked every bit as tired as you felt—oversized hoodie hanging loosely from your shoulders, the fabric wrinkled and slightly twisted, and your oversized socks pooling around your ankles.

Your clothes were a patchwork of dark shades, clinging to you in a way that made it clear you'd grabbed whatever was closest without a second thought. Your hair was pulled back into a lazy ponytail, secured with a shoelace of all things, because you couldn't find a single rubber band.

You sucked your teeth at the thought, recalling how bit by bit, you had given away every one of your hairbands over the last few weeks to others who needed them. "I just bought that bulk pack," you muttered under your breath, feeling the mild frustration bubble up as you ambled into the kitchen.

The moment you stepped into the bright atmosphere of the kitchen, it felt like you were walking into another world. The colors, the light, the very mood—all of it was the opposite of you. The kitchen was warm, sunlight pouring in through the curtains, highlighting the cheery yellow walls.

Your mother was already bustling around, her cotton candy pink hair tied neatly at the base of her neck, her slender form moving with practiced grace as she prepared breakfast.

Her skin was a deep, rich shade of brown, and her eyes were bright yellow, almost glowing, with small opal-like moles at the corners that caught the morning light. She looked like something from a storybook, too perfect for the mundane scene unfolding around her.

The moment she noticed you shuffling over, she gasped softly, a bright smile blooming across her face. "Good morning, ____~," she sang, her voice lilting and sweet. "Did you have a good rest?"

You grunted in response, barely managing to pull the chair out before plopping down into it, your face half-hidden by the hood of your sweatshirt.

"That's great, sweetie~," she chirped, entirely unfazed by your lack of enthusiasm. She set a plate of food in front of you, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your cheek. "Eat up. Your big brother will be taking you to school soon—you know how he gets about wanting you to be on time." She gave you one last gentle pat before twirling away, humming to herself, lost in her own vibrant little world.

It wasn't long before the rest of your family joined you. Your father and brother came down the stairs only seconds later, both of them just as bright and awake as your mother.

Your brother's footsteps were loud and purposeful as he approached, his hand ruffling your hair as he passed by. "Morning, sis," he said, his voice cheerful, a bright grin lighting up his face.

"Morning," you mumbled, barely looking up.

Your father followed, his broad shoulders taking up the space in the doorway for a moment as he stepped into the kitchen. His blue hair was tousled but neat, the same shade as the sky on a crisp morning. His green eyes were sharp but softened when he looked at you, a smile spreading across his face.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Good morning, little love," he said, his voice deep and warm, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

You sighed softly, nodding in response as they settled at the table.

Your mother moved between them, setting their plates down before finally taking a seat herself, her smile unwavering as she looked at all of you.

The scene was perfect, almost unreal in its harmony—the three of them chatting easily over breakfast, their voices blending together with the soft sound of birds chirping outside the window.

Even though it was a regular, cloudy day, the kitchen seemed filled with sunshine, the warmth radiating from your family like a beacon. Everything about the morning—the bright voices, the gentle smiles—made it feel mythical, as if you were living in a fairytale.

It was always like this: your family's moods almost too perfect, too light. How could they not be, though, when they had you? Built-in therapist, problem solver, always there to smooth over any tension, any hint of unease.

They could always be at their best because you carried the weight for them.

As everyone finished up, your brother stood, gathering the dishes and taking them to the sink. Your mother got up as well, moving to grab everyone's packed lunches for the day.

Your father turned to you, his gaze softening as he addressed you. "____," he started, his voice gentle but with a hint of something else—hesitation, maybe? "Could you come by my agency later after school? We've got a case... or, well, a patient. I could use your help again."

You hummed, a small sound of acknowledgment as you poked at the last bit of food on your plate. "Sure," you said, though the idea of it made your shoulders droop a little. It wasn't that you didn't want to help, but the thought of more people, more emotions, more weight, felt heavy already.

Your father's smile brightened, and he reached over, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, little love. You know it means a lot to me." He worked as a hero, and it wasn't uncommon for him to ask for your help.

He ran an agency called Constellation, and his quirk, Record, a photographic memory that worked both by touch and mentally, made him one of the best at what he did. He primarily worked with police and undercover heroes, solving cases that required an eye for detail that few others had.

Ever since you'd gained your quirk, he'd relied on you for the more delicate matters—the emotional weight of things that even he couldn't quite process alone.

A few seconds later, your brother returned, his grin blinding as he held out your backpack and lunch. "C'mon, sleepyhead," he said, his eyes bright with excitement. "I got your stuff. Let's go catch the train."

You pushed your chair back, standing up with a stretch. "Yeah, yeah," you muttered, taking the bag from him. You turned to your parents, waving lazily over your shoulder. Your mother and father stood side by side, your father's arm wrapped around your mother's waist. She towered over him with her lithe frame, his head just reaching her collarbones. "Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad."

"Bye, sweetheart!" your mother called, her voice as sunny as ever.

"Have a good day, little love," your father added, giving you one last smile before you followed your brother out the door.

The cool morning air hit you as your brother led the way down the sidewalk, his usual confident stride carrying you both towards the train station.

You glanced over at him, watching as he talked animatedly, his hands moving to emphasize whatever point he was making. He was always like this—full of energy, especially in the mornings, unlike you, who was still trying to wake up.

As you both settled into your seats on the train, your brother continued to talk, his voice carrying over the quiet hum of the train. He was telling you all about his third year at Shiketsu High, his eyes sparkling as he described how different and fast-paced everything was compared to the previous year.

He even started rambling about his work-study with Fatgum, who he mentioned was an alumnus of Shiketsu High, and his fellow collegues, some guys named Suneater and Red Riot.

You glanced at your brother as he spoke, taking in his features. He looked like a perfect mix of both your parents.

His hair was a blend of your mother's bright pink and your father's deep blue, swirling together like cotton candy, giving him a vibrant and almost ethereal look.

His eyes were a mesmerizing combination of green and yellow—a galaxy of colors that seemed to shift with his mood, as if reflecting the emotions he felt around him.

Scattered across the bridge of his nose were luminescent, opal-like freckles, glowing faintly in the light as he spoke. They weren't just decorative; they were part of his Quirk, Emotilink—which was inherited from your mother—would glow and shift in color depending on the emotions of those he touched, allowing him to feel the emotions of others.

Together, their abilities made them almost like human mood rings, their markings betraying the emotional states of anyone in their vicinity.

Your brother was tall and broad-shouldered, his husky build making him seem both strong and comforting. His skin tone was a perfect, ambiguous shade—not quite pale, not quite dark—striking a balance that made him stand out without fitting neatly into any one category.

He carried himself with a confidence that only seemed to amplify the presence of his quirk, his luminescent markings always a glowing reminder of what he could do.

You, on the other hand, looked nothing like the rest of your family.

When you were younger, you'd had your mother's yellow eyes and your father's blue hair. But after your Quirk had manifested, everything about you seemed to change.

Your features had shifted, becoming more subdued, less distinct, until you were left with an appearance that could only be described as forgettable. Your hair had dulled to a mousy brown, and your eyes had lost their vibrancy, now a muted shade that seemed to blend in with the rest of you.

Sometimes you wished your Quirk was just that—forgettableness. Maybe then you wouldn't feel the weight of everyone else's emotions pressing down on you.

You were pulled from your thoughts when your brother grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you up from your seat. "Let's go," he said, his voice filled with his usual enthusiasm.

You barely had time to react before he was practically dragging you out of the train and towards the school.

It was a routine you were used to by now—your brother carrying you along, making sure you got where you needed to be without any issue.

He didn't even break a sweat as he deposited you in front of the school gates, his hands moving to smooth out your clothes and pat down your hair, completely uncaring of the looks you both were getting from the other students.

"Aaand... there!" he said, stepping back with a satisfied smile. He handed you your backpack, his grin widening. "Alright, sleepyhead, I'll meet you here after school to take you to Dad's agency, okay?"

You nodded, adjusting the straps of your backpack. "Yeah, okay," you replied, your voice barely louder than a mumble.

He bent down, staring you right in the face with a grin. "Have a great day, alright?" he said, his eyes filled with warmth and encouragement. He reached out, ruffling your hair one last time before turning to head towards his own school. "See ya later!"

You watched him go, a sigh escaping your lips as you turned to face the school. You never really understood why he insisted on taking you to school every morning, especially when his own school was a twenty-minute walk in the opposite direction.

But then again, he'd managed to maintain perfect attendance for the past two years, so he must have been doing something right.

With another sigh, you pulled out your headphones, hoping that maybe—just maybe—they would be enough to keep people away today. You knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

As you walked through the gates and into the bustling courtyard, you could already feel the familiar pull—the curious eyes, the hesitant glances, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

You pushed your headphones over your ears, the music drowning out the noise around you, but it wasn't enough.

It never was.

You stayed behind in the classroom during lunch, deciding to give yourself a break from the constant buzz of students. The cafeteria was always too loud, too busy, and you needed a moment to just be alone.

You pulled out a packet of fries you had bought earlier, munching on them absentmindedly while staring out of the window. The clouds rolled lazily across the sky, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to drift off, letting the quiet calm your racing mind.

You were jolted out of your thoughts when you heard your name being called. You turned, startled, to see your homeroom teacher hovering near the doorway. "____," she called again, her voice soft but carrying an unmistakable edge.

Your teacher, Ms. Hachiko, was hard to miss. She had a distinctly bee-like appearance, with large, round eyes that shimmered like polished onyx, and her entire body was covered in soft, fuzzy yellow fur.

Two delicate antennae sprouted from her forehead, and her long hair was pinned back into a neat bun. She floated a few inches off the ground, her wings fluttering quietly behind her.

But it wasn't just her that caught your attention. Standing behind her, with his shoulders slouched and an unmistakable frown etched across his face, was none other than Aizawa Shouta—the underground hero, Eraserhead.

You felt your eyes widen, and you choked on the fry you had just been eating, your throat seizing in shock. You coughed, hitting your chest several times as tears welled up in your eyes.

Both adults stood there, awkwardly waiting as you hacked out a few more coughs. When you finally managed to catch your breath, Ms. Hachiko gave you an apologetic smile. "____, you need to speak with Eraserhead here," she said, her antennae twitching slightly. "I'll leave you two to it," she added before fluttering out of the room, her wings buzzing softly.

You were left alone with Aizawa, who ambled over to the desk beside you and dropped himself into the seat, his tired eyes fixed on you.

He was wearing his hero uniform, his capture weapon loosely wrapped around his neck, and his dark hair hung messily around his face. He looked exhausted, deep lines etched beneath his eyes, but even then, there was something undeniably striking about him. He had an air of quiet authority that demanded respect, no matter how disheveled he appeared.

He stared at you for a moment before finally speaking. "Look, kid, I'm not sure why Nezu sent me here," he began, his tone blunt, "but apparently, you're needed for something. Honestly, you're a child, and you shouldn't even be involved in this. But here we are."

You blinked at him, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that thee Eraserhead was sitting in front of you, talking to you. He let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Have you heard about the recent villain attack on the UA first-year training camp?"

You nodded slowly, recalling the news you had heard about it weeks ago. You remembered hearing that it was the same group of first-year students that had already had a run-in with villains at the USJ. "Yeah, I heard about it," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "They got some crappy luck..."

Aizawa gave a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, it's been rough on them, that's for sure. The thing is, my boss, Principal Nezu, wants you to help the students who were most affected by the attack��Class 1-A. The other students have been able to get help from their assigned therapists, but Class 1-A... they're different. They've built a wall around themselves so thick that not even the best world-renowned therapists can break through. They think this is just part of being a hero, that they have to suck it up and move on."

You frowned, a slight pang of pity tugging at you as you listened. You knew what he was asking before he even finished explaining. It wasn't like you had a choice anyway. If Nezu, the head of UA, was asking, then your small, out-of-the-way school, Okiyama Municipal High, wasn't exactly in a position to say no.

With a heavy sigh, you slumped back in your chair, dropping your half-eaten packet of fries onto the desk. "Will I be back before school is over?"

Aizawa rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed with your lack of enthusiasm. "Yes, you'll be back before the end of the day. Nezu already spoke with your parents. One of your father's sidekicks will pick you up from UA bring you straight to his agency. It shouldn't take too long—you're just meeting them and getting a quick assessment."

Shoulders slouching, you could already picture the long, draining night ahead of you. With a resigned sigh, you pushed yourself out of your seat, nodding reluctantly. "Alright, fine," you muttered, gesturing for Aizawa to lead the way. "Let's get this over with, then."

Aizawa gave you a curt nod, standing up as well. You followed him down the hallway, the silence between you two heavy but not uncomfortable.

It wasn't long before you were out of your small school building and on your way to UA, sitting beside the underground hero in a rather unremarkable car, driven by a UA staff member.

You were about to meet the students who had faced villains twice now, and you knew that whatever you were walking into, it wasn't going to be easy.

When you arrived at UA, the sight that greeted you was different from what you remembered. You had been to UA before, a few years ago when your brother brought you along during his campus tour while deciding where to attend high school.

Back then, UA had been impressive, sure, but now it looked almost like a university campus—new dormitories and additional buildings scattered across the grounds, giving it the appearance of a bustling college rather than just a high school.

Noticing your confused expression, Aizawa spoke up, his voice gruff but explanatory. "After the training camp attack, UA opened up dormitories to house students. Villains have become more audacious lately, targeting students even outside school grounds. The dorms are an extra precaution, meant to keep them safe."

You nodded, taking in the new structures as Aizawa led you through the campus. It made sense, given how much had happened to these students already. You felt a small pang of sympathy for them—it couldn't be easy, constantly looking over their shoulders, waiting for the next attack.

Eventually, you arrived at one of the dorm buildings, and Aizawa opened the door, ushering you inside.

You stepped into a spacious common area, expecting to see a dozen traumatized, weary teens gathered together. Instead, there were just two people sitting on the couch, their attention fixed on the television in front of them.

The room was warm and cozy, a stark contrast to the tension you felt brewing inside you.

The moment the door opened, both heads snapped towards you, their bodies relaxing slightly when they realized it was Aizawa. The redhead sitting closest to the door smiled brightly, while the blonde beside him scowled, his eyes narrowing.

"Kirishima," Aizawa grunted, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation, "where is everyone?"

The redhead—Kirishima, you assumed—grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, some of them went out shopping, Sensei. And Deku and Shoto are out training."

Aizawa let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his forehead as if trying to stave off a headache. "I thought I told you all to stay put because you had an important visitor coming."

The blonde on the sofa snorted, his voice dripping with irritation. "What important guest, Sensei? Don't tell me it's that pipsqueak over there," he said, jerking his head in your direction.

You blinked, taken aback for a moment before letting out an affronted scoff. "Pipsqueak? I have you know, I'm taller than average," you sniffed, crossing your arms defensively.

The blonde gave you a withering look, scoffing again. "In what? Middle schoolers?"

Before you could retort, Aizawa intervened, his tired eyes narrowing at the blonde. "Bakugo, stop," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. "I was told to bring you here, so even though not all of them are here, you've got two clients. Have fun," he said, giving you a small wave over his shoulder as he left the room.

You stared after him, your stomach sinking slightly. "Clients?" Kirishima asked, tilting his head in confusion as he looked at you.

You forced a smile, feeling awkward under their curious gazes. "Uh, yeah. I'm here to... help you guys. I guess you could say I'm kind of like a counselor," you explained, scratching the back of your head.

Kirishima's eyes widened in surprise before his expression broke out into a wide grin. He jumped up from the couch, crossing the room in a few quick strides to extend his hand to you. "Well, that's super manly! So young, yet already helping people like this. I'm Kirishima Eijiro," he said, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

You took his hand, shaking it a bit hesitantly. His grip was strong but friendly, and you couldn't help but notice the small details about him—his bright red spiky hair, the way his eyes seemed so genuine and open, the muscular build that made it clear he took his training seriously.

There was an energy about him that reminded you of your brother—that same relentless positivity.

Lord, it seemed you had found someone who could give your brother a run for his money.

"I'm Hanabira ____," you replied, your voice a bit more steady now.

The moment your name left your mouth, Eijiro's eyes widened even further, and he let out a gasp. "No way! You’re The Emotional Hero: Emberpulse's sibling?!"

You blinked, taken aback. "Uh, yeah?"

Eijiro's grin grew impossibly wider as he continued, "Your brother talks about you all the time! It's like I practically know you already. He says you're always helping people out, even when it's not easy, and that you have this way of making everyone feel better just by being around."

You raised an eyebrow, a bit skeptical. "How did you even know? Our last name isn't exactly unique, and we don't look alike at all."

Eijiro blinked, then broke out into another grin, shrugging as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't know, honestly. Your brother just said you gave off this aura of immediate kindness. Like, you just have this energy that makes people feel safe, you know? So when you introduced yourself, it kind of clicked."

A gruff voice cut in before you could respond. "Only you would make such a dumbass connection, Shitty-Hair," the blonde from earlier muttered, standing up from the couch. He turned to face you, his intense eyes boring into yours.

He had a scowl permanently etched onto his face, his posture confident and almost confrontational. His blond hair was unruly, and you couldn't help but notice the small, almost imperceptible twitches of annoyance in his expression—like he was constantly teetering on the edge of irritation.

Eijiro just laughed, seemingly unaffected by the insult. "That's Bakugo Katsuki, my best friend," he said, gesturing to the blonde. Katsuki sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes but not bothering to say anything further.

Eijiro turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. "So, uh, what exactly are you here for?"

You sighed, holding your hands up. "Like Aizawa-san said, I'm here to help, but it's not exactly like I'm a therapist or anything. I didn't ask to be here either," you said, your tone a bit defensive.

Katsuki scoffed, crossing his arms. "We don't need a damn therapist," he muttered, clearly unimpressed.

You gave him a flat look, deciding not to engage in an argument. Eijiro, sensing the tension, quickly stepped in. "Hey, don't mind him. He's just... like that," he said, scratching his head awkwardly. "Uh, would you like to join us? We were just watching a movie."

You shrugged, figuring you might as well. "Sure," you said, trying to sound casual.

Internally, you figured it was better to stay and at least try to connect with them, given that the rest of the students weren't even there. Plus, Katsuki seemed like he'd be impossible to talk to seriously right now.

The three of you settled on the couch, and Eijiro quickly started chatting again, asking you questions about your brother, your Quirk, and your school. He leaned in a bit closer whenever you answered, his eyes bright with curiosity and genuine interest.

You could tell he was trying to understand you better, his questions growing more specific as the conversation progressed.

At one point, he asked about your brother's favorite hobby, sharing how they had bonded during training sessions over their shared love of working out.

"You know, your brother's kind of like a legend," Eijiro said, his eyes wide with admiration. "I know I already told you, but he always talks about you, and I was really excited to finally meet you. He says you're his biggest inspiration."

You felt a warmth spread across your chest—a mix of pride and embarrassment. You gave a small smile, shrugging. "He always exaggerates. I'm really not that special."

Eijiro shook his head vigorously, his red hair bouncing slightly. "No way! I can totally see it. You've got this calming vibe. It's like... you make everything seem a little less scary, you know?" His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you could feel a slight buzz in the back of your mind—a familiar haze that signaled your Quirk almost activating.

You blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of your body language, realizing that your posture had subtly shifted to mirror Eijiro's, your smile matching his intensity.

Quickly, you broke eye contact, focusing on Katsuki instead, who was watching the interaction with an annoyed expression.

He caught your gaze, and his scowl deepened. "Don't let Shitty-Hair butter you up. He's got a habit of getting all sentimental," Katsuki muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Eijiro laughed, giving Katsuki a playful nudge. "Aw, come on, Bakugo. Just trying to make our guest feel welcome."

Katsuki rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite behind his irritation. "Yeah, whatever. Just don't go crying on us, idiot."

The conversation shifted, and Eijiro asked more about your school life. You found yourself relaxing again, the haze receding as you focused on answering his questions.

He seemed genuinely fascinated by even the mundane details—how you spent your days, what subjects you liked, even your least favorite lunch options. There was a warmth in his attention, a genuine desire to know you, that made it easy to keep talking.

Time seemed to pass quicker than you expected, and even Katsuki, though gruff and standoffish, eventually chimed in with a few sarcastic comments.

You noticed that, despite his harsh words, he never actually dismissed anything you said. It was as if he begrudgingly accepted your presence, though he made sure to keep up his rough exterior.

At one point, Eijiro nudged you lightly with his elbow, a grin on his face. "You know, I think you and Bakugo would get along great if you gave it a shot. He acts tough, but he's got a good heart. Right, Explosion Boy?"

Katsuki's glare could have cut glass. "Don't drag me into your dumb ideas, Shitty-Hair," he snapped, but there was a faint blush on his cheeks, barely noticeable.

Eijiro just laughed again, unbothered, and you couldn't help but smile. It was strange, but you found yourself feeling a sense of comfort in their dynamic—like, despite their differences, they had a bond that was hard to break.

After what felt like a couple of hours or so, there was a knock at the dorm door. Aizawa entered, followed by one of your father's sidekicks, who gave you a nod. "Time to go," the sidekick said, their voice gentle but firm.

You stood up, giving Eijiro a small wave. "I guess I’ll see you around," you said.

Eijiro grinned, giving you a thumbs-up. "For sure! And thanks for coming by, ____. It was... nice."

You nodded, turning to follow Aizawa and the sidekick out of the dorms.

The ride to your father's agency was quiet, your mind still replaying the interactions you had just had. You found yourself mentally sorting through the profiles you had unconsciously built on both Eijiro and Katsuki so far.

Eijiro was enthusiastic, open, and incredibly genuine—his positivity seemed almost endless, and you could tell he was the kind of person who made it his mission to uplift others.

He had this earnestness that made you feel at ease, like he genuinely cared about the people around him. He was always leaning in, listening intently, and his questions showed just how interested he was in knowing you.

There was something infectious about his energy, and it reminded you so much of your brother—the way they both could fill a room with warmth just by being themselves.

Katsuki, on the other hand, was more of a closed book. He was gruff, blunt, and had an intensity that made it hard to know what he was really thinking.

Yet, underneath all of that, you could see small glimpses of something else—his scowl wasn't always as sharp as he wanted it to be, and he had moments where it felt like he begrudgingly accepted your presence.

He never outright dismissed you, and while his comments were sarcastic, they didn't carry the kind of malice you might have expected.

It was almost like he was challenging you to see past the tough exterior, to prove that you could handle being around him.

When you arrived, your father was waiting for you, his expression stern.

He grabbed your arm, his eyes serious as he looked at you. "Listen carefully," he said, his voice low. "The villain you're about to interact with is dangerous. He was part of the Vanguard Action Squad—Mustard. He's unpredictable, so I need you to be cautious. Understand?"

You swallowed, nodding. "Got it, Dad."

He gave you a small, almost reluctant smile, his grip on your arm loosening. "Good. Just... be careful, alright, little love?"

You nodded again, feeling the weight of what was about to come settle heavily in your chest.

This was just another part of your Quirk, another responsibility you had to shoulder—whether you wanted to or not.

A/N: so what's the verdit? will it be good as a fic or just do a one-shot series???

[writing-good-vibes]

Summer requests! 28. Polaroid photos! Charles Lee Ray. Pretty please!!! I know you are going to nail this.

bex, my love 💕 thank you for requesting !! i think this is my first request for you ?? so i tried to go hard af,, it's been a while but chucky is always my ride or die 🙌🔪 WARNING for mentioned/implied/mild smut and for chucky being shady (specific tw in notes, as it is a spoiler of sorts)

[☀ requests for summer prompts are still open, and will be all month ☀]

charles lee ray (polaroid photos)

Charles Ray was nothing if not obsessive.

Obsessed with ritual, with knowledge, with control. Single minded at worst and devoted at best. And right now, you couldn't quite tell which.

After a long, hot summer of fun -- because being with Chucky was fun, the most fun you'd had in a long, long time -- it was then that the rose tinted shades came off.

You were no stranger to a camera. Chucky had had a fixation on taking porno photos (or "erotica" as he had once defended it to you) for as long as you'd been sleeping with him.

He kept the stack of polaroids in a draw, bringing them out to flick through when he was in the mood. Dozens of photos of you, naked and sweating. Blurry shots where you moaned or writhed at the wrong (or right) moment. You looked up at him with wet eyes, lips around his cock. You posed, tastefully in underwear he bought (or stole, you didn't like to ask) for, before it was ripped from your body.

At first you didn't know what to make of it, when he pulled away, just on the precipice of your climax and went, "Smile for the camera, doll." But now you were used to it, used to the way he framed a shot or watched you, closely, for just the right expression.

These photos were different though. Kept tucked away in an envelope at the back of his bedside cabinet. These ones were something else entirely.

You'd met Chucky just as the dampness of spring was turning to the dryness of summer, as the days grew longer and the hot prickling of your skin made it easy to succumb to the heat between your thighs.

These pictures -- the ones he kept at the back of a drawer like a dirty fucking secret -- were downright ordinary. You were crossing the street, unlocking your front door with an armful of groceries, waiting on the platform for the tram, smoking outside the bar closest to your apartment where you spent maybe too many night. Candid photos. Photos where you weren't smiling, not because of any overt sadness but because you were simply going about your day.

In all of them you were wrapped in your coat, the breath visible at your lips. Each photo captured not only you but the bleak sharpness of Chicago's winter. Winter.

Your summer romance was much more than that. At least, it was for Chucky.

Charles Ray was nothing if not obsessive.

[drabbles-mc]

First Impressions

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Request by @eversonaive​ : Could do a fic on the reader meeting Juice when he has the sign stuck to his chest only to find out later he is the club's intelligence officer lol

Part 2 can be found Here

Warnings: language, Juice being an embarrassed lil cutie

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: I loved writing this. Flustered Juice gives me life lmao. I hope it’s what you had in mind! I peppered in a couple other of our SAMCRO boys because why not?

Join my group-chat here: (X) ​

SOA Taglist: @adela-topaz-caelon​ @garbinge​ @i-just-read-stuff​ @multiyfandomgirl40​ @masterlistforimagines​ @mijop​ @chibsytelford​ @xladymacbethx​ @kkim120​ @toni9​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @unicornucopia-fuckers​ @mayans-sauce​ @shadow-of-wonder​ (If you want to be tagged in any of my writing please let me know! xo)

You couldn’t pretend that you weren’t surprised, and a little off-put by the scene in front of you. You looked around, wondering why you felt like you were the only one who saw what you were seeing. Everyone else was walking by, minding their own business, but you couldn’t pretend that you didn’t notice.

Crouching down, you pressed your fingers gently against the side of his neck, and you were rewarded with a fairly steady pulse. Relief flooded through you, glad you weren’t going to have to report a dead body. However, you weren’t quite sure how to handle the scene in front of you.

Gently nudging him, you tried to wake him up. He let out a soft groan but didn’t fully wake up. With a heavy sigh, you shook him a little harder but weren’t able to wake him. Pressing your lips together into a thin line, you patted the side of his face. You saw his brows furrow and twitch and you knew that he was almost awake.

“Hey,” you shook him and patted his cheek again, “you good?”

With a groan and what seemed like more effort than it should’ve taken, he slowly started to open his eyes. Part of you wanted to laugh because he seemed like he was probably going to be alright, but more than anything you were just confused.

“You alright? Looks like you’ve had…a time.”

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at the state of himself. The fact that he didn’t seem shocked and appalled spoke volumes. With a quiet grunt, he forced himself to his feet.

“Do I have to be worried about you?” you couldn’t help but to look him up and down again. With a chuckle and a shake of his head he reassured you that he was fine, which did little to actually make you feel better, “There somewhere I should be take you?”

He laughed, “No. Don’t worry. Thank you for, uh, waking me up. Way better than getting kicked by the cops,” he shook his head.

“Small miracles,” you had to laugh.

“Yea,” he glanced down at the sign on his chest and you could tell from the look in his eyes that he was weighing the pros and cons of ripping it off right then and there, “I should go. I’m uh,” he gestured to the cardboard, “apparently late for my eight o’clock feeding.”

You smiled and shook your head, “Well that’s unfortunate.”

With a deep breath he pulled the sign from his chest and you both cringed. He cursed under his breath from the pain of it before folding it and tucking it underneath his arm. He gave you a lopsided grin and a small wave before turning and walking in the other direction away from you. You stood there, feeling like you should be offering him a shirt, or something to at least tie around his waist, but he seemed pretty unbothered by it all, so you let him go. You shook your head to yourself as you continued on your way, unable to believe what a weird day you’d already had.

A few days went by and you hadn’t forgotten about your run-in on the street that morning. It was a tough scene to forget. You didn’t want to believe that that was going to be the first and last time you ever saw him. If nothing else, you just wanted some closure on the situation, and you also wanted to know how the hell he ended up like that.

Your mind had wandered back to that situation as you stood outside your car waiting for the tow truck. You knew that your car was on its last leg to begin with, and that you should’ve set about looking for a new one some time ago, but you just kept putting it off. The thought of shopping for one, and then paying for one was overwhelming. You were paying for it in an entirely different way now, though. You knew that fixing whatever was wrong with your car was probably going to cost more than it was worth. So, to distract yourself from thinking about that, you thought about literally anything else as you sat half propped up onto your hood.

You’d gone to Teller-Morrow one other time, maybe twice, since you’d moved just outside of Charming. You didn’t remember anything about it, though—you were in and out quick for an oil change or something equally innocuous. There weren’t a whole lot of options for mechanics to begin with, let alone ones that would also tow. Plus you figured since they were local, it wouldn’t take them too long to get to you.

About twenty minutes later the tow-truck pulled up, and you were a mix of relieved and apprehensive. Two men stepped out, and your first thought was that they couldn’t have carried themselves more differently from each other if they tried. The taller one approached you, adjusting his beanie slightly as he did, while the other scampered around to start hooking the truck up to your car.

“So,” he walked up to you, a small smile on his face for a moment as he looked at you, “what seems to be the problem?”

You chuckled and shook your head as you clocked the name stitched into his work shirt, “Well, it stopped running. That’s about all I know, Opie,” you smiled at him.

He laughed, nodding his head slightly, “Sounds like a pretty serious issue, then.”

“I’d say so.”

He glanced back to make sure that your car had been hooked up alright, “You need to be dropped off somewhere, or you got a ride?”

You sighed, resting your hand on the back of your neck as you thought, “Would I be able to ride back to the shop with you guys?”

He nodded, “Sure thing. Long as you don’t mind Kip staring at you the whole time,” he gestured over to the man who was waiting by the door of the tow truck.

You laughed, “Staring I can handle.”

When they pulled into the lot at the mechanics, Opie got out and instructed Kip to take care of the rest. He looked over to you and gestured to the office, “Gemma will get you all set up. We’ll get it right on the lift and try to figure out what’s going on.”

You nodded, “Thank you, appreciate it.”

You knocked lightly on the door to the office and she called for you to come in. She got you all squared away with your paperwork to get everything started. You let her know that if it ended up being more than a certain amount to just not bother and scrap it, or to give it back and you would take care of that part yourself. You weren’t in a position to be paying more than the car was worth. There was sympathy present in her eyes as she listened to you, nodding along. You hated the feeling of pity but you couldn’t deny that you’d landed yourself into a bit of a hole.

She was walking you back out of the office, “We’ll give you a call when we’ve got some numbers for you, sweetheart.”

“Sounds good. Thank you guys so much.”

“Need us to call you a cab?”

You shook your head, “No, no I’ll be alright. Thank you though.”

You were walking across the lot, pulling out your phone as you did to try and figure out who you were going to call to come and pick you up. There was a sudden influx of noise and voices. And despite the fact that you heard it, you still didn’t look up.

The only thing that snapped you out of your thoughts was the feeling of someone’s shoulder bumping into yours. You looked up and both of you were in the middle of apologizing when your eyes met his. Neither of you could hide the shock on your faces as you took each other in.

He looked a lot different when he wasn’t coming out of a mild coma. And also when he was fully dressed with an MC kutte on. You’d missed out on the fact that he was handsome in the midst of worrying about his well-being the last time you saw him.

“Oh shit,” he laughed, “hey.”

“Uh, hey,” you couldn’t help but to stare at him, “I didn’t…expect to see you here. Or again in general, for that matter.”

Another man in a kutte appeared, draping his arm around the shoulder of the man that you were talking to, “Juicy,” he said, “who’s your friend?”

He wore his nerves on his face, “Um. She’s not, uh, she’s—”

You cut him off to save him the trouble, holding out your hand, “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he let your name roll off his tongue, “nice to meet you. I’m Jax,” he paused, looking back and forth between you and the man next to him, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, “Sorry to interrupt,” you could see that he was biting back a laugh.

“No, you’re…you’re good,” you reassured him, “Nothing to interrupt. Just, um, a little surprised by,” you gestured to the two of them and to the clubhouse behind them, “all of this.”

“Well then I gotta ask,” Jax continued to stare at Juice who seemed to be getting more and more shy by the second, “how do you know Charming’s favorite Puerto Rican Intelligence Officer?”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped past your lips, “Intelligence Officer?”

Jax nodded, clapping Juice on the back as though he thought he was hyping him up, “For the club, yea. Can find out anything about anyone. Also our resident tech guy.”

You chuckled, unable to lie and say that you weren’t a little impressed, “Impressive. Guess we didn’t have time to get into all that last time we met.”

“Oh?” Jax looked back and forth between the two of you, embarrassment creeping onto Juice’s features.

“Yea, he was running a behind schedule. Had places to be.”

Jax looked over at him, “Where the hell did you have to be that could’ve been more important, bro?”

Juice ran his hands down his face, knowing that he was going to have to cop to it sooner or later, “When we met I was, um…she actually…” he shook his head, “She’s the one who woke me up the other day. Made sure I was alright.”

The entire incident had clearly already faded from Jax’s memory because he looked as lost as he had been before Juice said anything. You smiled, “I made sure he eventually made it to his eight o’clock feeding.”

Recognition flashed across Jax’s face and he laughed, “Jesus. Sorry you had to be a part of that.”

“Sure, her you’ll apologize to,” Juice rolled his eyes.

“She didn’t deserve it,” Jax chuckled and shook his head, “Well it was nice meeting you, Y/N. I’ll leave Juice to try and clean up whatever mess he might’ve made.”

He walked away from the both of you and you could head him laughing to himself as he approached the rest of the guys. You and Juice stood there facing each other, neither one of you really knowing what to say.

You broke the silence, “Won’t lie to you, Juice,” it felt nice to finally be able to address him as something, “over the past few days when I’ve been trying to think about what your life was like for it to land you in that situation, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“You’ve been thinkin’ about me?” he smirked.

You laughed, rolling your eyes, “You made quite the impression,” you looked him in the eyes, “I’m glad you’re alright though.”

He chuckled, “Not the worst thing they’ve ever done to me.”

You smiled and shook your head, “Well that’s a little concerning.”

“Sorry you got, uh, subjected to that,” he shook his head, “wrong place, wrong time.”

You waited for him to meet your gaze and you flashed him a smile, “I wouldn’t quite say that.”

There was a light in his eyes that was so enticing, “Right. Well. I’m glad I got a chance to make a better first impression. Sort of. Maybe,” he laughed. There were a few beats of silence before he spoke up again, “What brings you here anyway?”

You nodded towards the garage, “Car broke down.”

“Shit.”

Your laugh was a hollow, “Yea. Fucking sucks. Hoping they can fix it without bleeding me dry.”

Juice thought hard about it for a few moments, “I’ll take a look at it. I’ll see what I can do, see if I can get you a deal or something.”

“Yea?” you couldn’t hide your relief.

He nodded, “Yea. Least I could do.”

“You’d really be saving my ass.”

He laughed, “Guess that would make us even.”

You chuckled and nodded, “Guess so.”

He paused for a moment, eyes glued to the pavement, “If you want, you could, uh, you could give me your number,” he looked up at you, “and I’ll give you a call when I get it all sorted.”

You smiled, “Alright. Sounds good,” you held out your hand for his phone and quickly added your number to his contacts, “Hope to hear from you soon, Juice.”

“Juan,” he said quietly as he took the phone back from you.

“Hm?”

He looked at you, “Juan. My name is Juan.”

You smiled, “Well, then, Juan, I’ll talk to you soon,” you paused and bit back a laugh, “Try to keep yourself out of sticky situations, alright?”

“Well now at least I have you to call just in case,” he smirked.

“Won’t be able to come and get you until you fix my car,” you chuckled, “So at least be careful for a few days.”

“I think I can do that.”

“Good,” you stepped in and gave him a quick hug, “Thank you, Juan, seriously.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll, I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Looking forward to it,” you flashed him a smile before turning and continuing your way out of the parking lot.

You chanced a look back over your shoulder and saw that he was still standing there staring at you with a smile and a dreamy look on his face. You laughed and shook your head as you turned back around. There was something to be said about memorable first impressions, and something told you that you had landed yourself in an adventure when you met him. You were excited to find out what was in store.

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Twenty-Four: And the Rest is Silence

And this is it: the final chapter! It’s been insane, but this is the only fanfiction I've ever finished before, and it wouldn’t have happened without all the support. Thank you so much!! I didn’t think anyone would read this, but seeing everyone’s reactions to each chapter has kept me going :D

I’m sorry for the essay, but I’m aware I didn’t post anything about this in the AIB tag. Yes, there will be a sequel!

I need to read the manga properly before writing it, so I don’t know when the sequel will start. But in the meantime, there’ll be a series of Chishiya one-shots of his perspective, and there’ll even be scenes that weren’t in this fic, plus an original game!

For the full fanfic, you can find it here on AO3. 

I’ll also be creating a master list, and I'll post the literature references after this for those who wanted them <3

Once again, thank you so much!! And I hope you enjoy this last chapter. 

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

By the time Kuina found us again, it was already late afternoon, and even though our visas had extended by ten days after the Witch Hunt game, there was something about the setting of the sun that felt foreboding.

We lit up the furniture shop with candles and changed into the clean clothes we’d collected. Seeing Chishiya wearing ordinary clothes felt strange. Aside from when we’d crossed paths in the Tag game, the entire time I’d known him he’d been wearing swim shorts and flip flops.

Now, he emerged from the bathroom wearing grey sweatpants and a variegated blue cardigan that suited him perfectly. When his eyes flickered to mine, I realised I’d been staring, and distracted myself with preparing dinner instead. It wasn’t much, especially since all I had was canned goods and a camping stove, but the vegetable stew kept us warm while we curled up in our makeshift living room. As evening turned to night, however, it became obvious that something was missing.

There are no games.

Kuina chewed on her lip, looking out of the window. ‘What d’you think will happen when our visas run out?’

‘It probably has something to do with the Ten of Hearts,’ I told her. ‘Maybe there’s no need for games anymore, since we’ve got all the numbered cards.’

It didn’t bode well for us. If there were no games by the time our visas ran out, there was no chance of us getting out of the Borderlands. At least not alive.

As the night wore on, Kuina was the first to go upstairs. Covering her yawn with her hand, she waved goodnight and winked at me. I tried not to blush. Not that it made a difference, anyway. Chishiya was busying himself over a scrap of paper, and barely reacted when I smushed up by his side.

I frowned at the paper in his hand. ‘Isn’t that...’

‘Ah.’ He held it out so I could see it. ‘I took it from the tagger’s pocket.’ It was a drawing of a circle with squiggly lines, clearly a rushed sketch of something. In the middle of a line, the pen had stabbed a hole straight through.

‘What is it?’

‘Well, I have an idea,’ he said, but never elaborated.

Fighting the onset of sleep, I leaned my head against his shoulder, paying no mind to the way he tensed beneath me. The fabric of his cardigan was soft as down and made for a perfect pillow. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’

‘And if I don’t want to?’

I pushed my face into the fabric, pretending to settle in for the night. ‘Then I’ll just stay here and annoy you until your visa runs out.’

‘I have a feeling that won’t happen any time soon,’ he said, looking out the window.

And that was when I noticed it too. Midnight had passed by only a few minutes ago, yet there were no lasers. Did that mean the Borderlands were at a standstill? Were we stuck here permanently now? I wasn’t aware of how silent I had become, lost in my own thoughts, until Chishiya spoke up.

‘I believe it’s a map.’

My eyes slid to the drawing again. ‘And that hole in the paper, do you think that’s where the others are? The dealers, I mean.’

He shifted uncomfortably and I sat upright, conscious that I might have been unintentionally hurting or bothering him. Looking at the map properly, the lines could represent different interlocking pathways. If the marked place was a hideout of some kind, it couldn’t be in the open streets; there was too big a risk that a player might stumble upon it by accident.

So where...?

As soon as the idea came to mind, the words slipped out of my mouth. ‘The subway....’

He hummed in agreement. ‘I went to the nearest subway station this morning to check it against the real map. It’s a loose fit, but it works.’

I thought back to the second tagger – the crying woman – and how she’d been forced to participate in the game, donning an explosive collar. ‘Maybe if we find the place, we’ll get some answers.’

‘Probably,’ he said. ‘But I’m curious to see if anything changes within the next few days.’

‘Do you think we’ll hear something soon?’ I asked, yawning into my hand.

‘I believe we will.’ He gave me that same half-smile I had grown so used to. ‘But right now, I think you should go to sleep.’

Chishiya didn’t complain when I crawled into his bed. Like the night before, he kept his distance, but I could’ve sworn at times, when my sleeping became lighter throughout the night, I could feel fingers lightly touching my hair, only to pull back the moment I stirred. Over the next few days, it became the norm, and every night I would curl up on my side of the bed, slipping into calm dreams under the blue light of the window.

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

Despite the sunshine washing over the grey of the city, the stairs leading into Minami-Aoyama station descended into darkness. We’d checked and double-checked the drawing against the official subway map several times, but the idea of entering an abandoned station to uncover who knows what wasn’t inviting.

‘Are you sure this is it?’ Kuina asked for the third time.

I looked at the route map hanging over the station entrance, my eyes tracing the shape of the lines. ‘Positive.’

Folding her arms, Kuina went first. I waited for Chishiya to take a small torch from his pocket before following behind. The station was truly submerged in blackness, and if not for Chishiya’s torch, we would have easily become lost. He shone the beam at the paper in his hand, then held it up against each train line.

‘This way,’ he said, and walked towards the edge of the platform.

We hopped down onto the gravel below, using the metal tracks to guide us further into the tunnels. It was disconcerting to see the subway so empty, but with Kuina and Chishiya here, I felt safe somehow.

Several minutes in, Chishiya stopped abruptly, and I almost walked into him. If he reacted at all, I couldn’t see to tell. But he seemed more focused on something else, as he pointed the torch at a door that had been busted open.

‘That must be it.’ Kuina’s voice echoed.  

Without hesitation, Chishiya disappeared through the door, leaving Kuina and I in the darkness.

Chishiya?!

I panicked, arms waving as I tried to find something to hold onto. I heard Kuina hiss as we stumbled into each other and bumped elbows. Feeling around for the door frame, we managed to make our way inside, where Chishiya held his torch at us from further away.

‘Hey!’ Kuina snapped. ‘Don’t do that again! You’re the only one with a light here.’

‘Walk faster then,’ he said, waiting impatiently as we jogged over.

He shone the beam in the opposite direction, where it bounced off something. It was still too dark to tell just what, but as we walked forwards, everything became clearer. A structure lay ahead, with tunnels and walkways all leading into a giant room. Overhead, wires were strung across the ceiling, all feeding into the same place. We entered through one of the tunnels, and my heart jumped.

Televisions. They stared, black and empty, in rows and columns up the walls. But what was even more surprising was the setup right in front of us. It was an office, with papers, pen pots and coffee-stained mugs strewn about on desks. It would have looked like any other workplace, if not for the bodies draped in chairs and across the floor.

‘What... is this?’ I crouched to inspect the body of a man in a suit. Judging from its state, he had only died recently, but more importantly, there was a singed hole running through his head. He had been killed by a laser. ‘They’re not the ones in charge of the games.’

Chishiya closely inspected a desk. ‘Evidently not,’ he said, picking up a folded piece of paper and passing it to me. It was filled with numbers, some ticked off. Whoever it had belonged to was keeping track of their visa.

They’re playing games too, I thought. Or at least, they were.

‘So, these guys were the dealers.’ Kuina gingerly held up a sheet of paper with scribbles all over it. Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be odds. ‘They were betting on us,’ she said.  

A shiver ran along my skin. Of course, they had been watching us this whole time, that was expected. But to place bets on our survival was a whole other story. If the dealers were playing too, there must’ve been a separate system for them to extend their days. Perhaps how many people survived each game had some kind of impact on their visas.

A finger lightly brushed the back of my arm and Chishiya appeared beside me. ‘Momoka’s friend,’ I said, ‘she died right after she told everyone she was a dealer. And the taggers died because we won. I have a feeling their visas depended on whether or not we cleared each game... or maybe how many people didn’t make it.’

From his expression, I knew he had been thinking the same thing. ‘It doesn’t explain why they’re all dead now.’

I glanced around at the stiffened bodies slumped around us. ‘Actually, I have a bad feeling about that too.’

At that moment, a tap of footsteps echoed from the entrance. Chishiya instantly turned off his torch and tugged me into one of the tunnels. Kuina joined us and we hid, waiting. The footsteps grew louder, closer, and two torchlights waved through the darkness. I kept my eyes trained on the tunnel opposite as the footsteps paused.

‘Where is this place?’  

‘Who knows?’

With a sigh, I relaxed instantly.

Those two.

It had only been a few days since I had made peace with Arisu and Usagi, but I was glad to see them again. Arisu was cleaned up, his wounds well on the way to healing, while Usagi stared in amazement at the television screens around us.

Chishiya grazed past me as he moved out from under the shadows. ‘You actually found this place,’ he said. ‘As expected from someone I have high hopes for.’  

‘We meet again,’ Kuina said, walking around the desks to lean against the wall.

Arisu and Usagi’s eyes scanned the two of them before stopping at me. They looked visibly confused, probably wondering what I was doing with them after I’d told them I wasn’t involved in Chishiya’s setup. In an attempt at diffusing the awkwardness, I smiled and waved.

‘You guys,’ Usagi whispered. Her voice bordered on distrust, not that anyone could blame her.

I couldn’t tell whether Chishiya was trying to make things better or worse when he held up the full deck of cards and smiled. ‘Thanks to you guys, I have all the playing cards with me,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

Arisu only looked at him cynically. ‘How did you discover this place?’

Chishiya rooted in his pocket and pulled out the drawing. ‘It took me some time to realise this is actually a map. The route map of the subway.’ He sauntered around the desks. ‘As for what happens when we collect the cards... I thought I would know the answer if I came here.’ His eyes jumped to mine. ‘But there’s something else we discovered instead.’

‘They’re not the gamemasters,’ Arisu said, eyes fixed on the bodies around us.

I stepped over a hand strewn across the floor. ‘カードを集めたので、殺された.’ Because we collected the cards, they were all killed. I struggled for a moment, trying to think of the right words. ‘There must be someone above them.’

Chishiya translated, and Usagi turned to me with worry. ‘But who?’

‘Who knows?’ Chishiya shrugged. ‘They might be aliens... or even God.’

The idea didn’t sound as strange as it should have done. We were in a world where lasers appeared from the sky, and death games were the norm. Even when I first arrived here, I’d wondered whether this was a form of judgement. Nothing was out of the question anymore.

Suddenly, the screens burst into life and white light flooded the room. I jumped, flocking to Chishiya and Kuina’s side.

Have we been caught?

Music reverberated all around us, and the screens displayed all four card suits, along with a message I couldn’t read. It didn’t matter though, as the voice that rang through the speakers was one I remembered well. My stomach dropped.

‘Congratulations to all players!’

The screens blurred until Mira’s wild eyes and subdued smile came into focus. It was now obvious why the Ten of Hearts had taken place at the Beach at the very moment things had fallen apart.

She must’ve been feeding information back, I thought. But back to where?

‘How interesting,’ Chishiya said. Seeking stability, I slipped a hand into his pocket. There was a slight hesitation before his fingers laced around mine.

Mira’s voice shook with a quiet excitement. ‘With the exception of the face cards, you’ve all cleared the numbered games and emerged as victors. It’s a sweet victory, gained by sacrificing so many lives.’ Her expression turned wistful as she stood. ‘I wonder, how many of your comrades have died. Try remembering those who were shot dead with guns.’

A single screen switched to show footage from a miscellaneous game. A group were stood, clutching their guns as they inspected the scatter of bodies across the ground.

They’ve been recording us.

‘And that girl you burned alive.’

A second display opened up, revealing several players watching on as a girl, engulfed in flames, struggled and clawed at her skin and clothes. I held my breath, Niragi’s animalistic cries ringing through my memory.

‘Those struck by lasers, and those that drowned.’

My eyes widened, and I gripped Chishiya’s hand as the inside of the furniture store appeared on-screen. The fractured image of myself flinched, quivering with shock, as the first man and Green Shirt leapt from their seats, only to crumple to the ground, lasers piercing them where they stood.

Chishiya’s fingers squeezed mine, and I gasped, blinking away the image. He must’ve seen it too.

‘Those who’s heads were blown off,’ Mira continued, dreamily. ‘Those comrades of yours, the despair you’ve felt so far, and those dying moments you’ll never forget.’

The screen changed once more, and from the corner of my eye, Arisu winced. Following his gaze, I recognized his partner from the Tag game, his neck exploding around a collar.

I’m so sorry....

Meanwhile, Mira’s expression shifted into pure, childlike delight. ‘Everyone... I’m so touched!’ She held her hand over her heart. ‘All of you players, we’d like to give you a present.’

We?

Chishiya tensed slightly. He had noticed it too. If Mira wasn’t the only gamemaster, just who were the others?

Although Mira couldn’t hear us, Kuina mumbled, ‘Are you returning us to the real world?’

It seemed too good to be true, and sure enough, it was. Mira clapped her hands together excitedly. ‘There will be new games! Let’s play more games together and fight for the face cards this time!’

Aside from Chishiya, everyone sank with disappointment and fear. Just how much more would we have to deal with before we could go home? If we were competing for the face cards, did that mean there were only twelve more games in total, or would there be repeat cards like there were for the numbered ones?

Kuina groaned. ‘New games? You’re kidding.’

‘I don’t dislike the idea,’ Chishiya murmured.

I looked at him, curious. ‘What do you mean?’

His expression was guarded, but before he could reply, Mira’s voice cut in again. ‘The next stage will commence tomorrow at noon. Everyone, let’s have fun together!’

All at once, the screens shut down, leaving us all in the darkness once more. Everything was quiet as we came to terms with what had just happened. It was Arisu who first suggested that we get out of here. Him and Usagi disappeared back through the tunnel, and with one glance at Chishiya and I, Kuina followed.

My fingers were still interlaced with his, hidden within the warmth of his pocket. He was watching me, waiting.

‘These games,’ I said. ‘They’re going to be harder than the others.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Probably.’

‘About what you said before...’ I began. ‘Do you remember that time on the rooftop of the Beach, when I asked you if you were okay, and you told me it shouldn’t matter to me.’

I could see him thinking back. ‘I remember.’

‘What I said then still stands. You might not care about your own life, and I can’t stop you from taking part in these new games.’ I bit my lip, unable to face him as my eyes began tearing up. ‘Perhaps this is selfish of me, but you need to survive. And if you can’t do it for yourself, then....’

He sighed. ‘You cry too much.’ When I looked up, his lips were curled into that same, familiar smile, only this time, there was nothing cruel or condescending there. ‘We should find the others.’

Wiping my eyes with the edge of my sleeve, I finally let go of his hand, following him back out and through the tunnels. As we climbed the steps of the station, emerging into daylight, a series of loud bangs resounded throughout the city. The others were peering up at the skyscrapers towering over us, and the fireworks that burst like flowers against the sunlight.

‘Let’s make a new deal,’ Chishiya said, idly watching the display. ‘I’ll survive, if you return the favour.’

I looked to him, admiring the way his hair shifted in the breeze, and how the reflection of the fireworks danced in his dark eyes.

Let’s go home together.

‘It’s a deal.’

[thetomorrowshow]

i will make the sky collapse

Next - Read on AO3!

A/N: Hi, and welcome to my first ever fic for the Newsies fandom! This fic focuses on Crutchie’s time in the Refuge and will be six chapters long. Eac chapter will be cross-posted on my AO3. Content warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter, but this whole fic will be full of violence and angst.

CW: blood, intense scenes of violence, non-descriptive (but for sure uncomfortable) references to past deaths of children, a rat is eaten

~

There were only two boys who were by the entrance when they hauled in the new kid. Bart and Twig, eleven and thirteen respectively, were meant to be scrubbing the floor in the hall at that time, on punishment and missing whatever scraps had been scrounged up and thrown to the other kids.

News traveled uncommonly slow in the Refuge, but it was barely an hour before everyone knew. It was even less when Harley heard of it. By that time, there were already rumors spreading--some said the newcomer was barely three feet tall and no more than a sack of bones, others claimed they’d seen him walk in at a proud six feet and show himself to Snyder’s office. One thing that everyone could agree on, though, was that the kid was a newsie. Harley was sure that this kid was just like any other poor nobody who got thrown in here, but he’d have to wait until after his orientation was properly over to assess the boy.

The Refuge needed leadership, and that job had been Harley’s since Spud was freed a month before. Without a kid to keep them in line and hand out hope, the boys turned on each other, snarling and biting like they were no better than Snyder himself. The first month they hadn’t had any fight-related deaths was under Spud’s rule, and the kids were generally happier for it. With someone in charge, they had a person who would listen, a person they could blame, a person who would stop them from killing each other. Right now, that was Harley.

The kids got something else out of it too--ranks. It was amazing how much someone’s morale could be lifted just by telling them they were the treasurer, or the secretary, or the first mate. Every boy in the Refuge had a position, and each one played at pretend business like their lives depended on it--which they did. It was nice to have them cooperative, instead of nasty like they’d been before. 

Working together was better than working for oneself, but it had made it harder in some ways. Just last week, they’d lost six-year-old Mark to pneumonia. If Mark hadn’t been assistant to the war general, nobody would have cared or noticed. Now they cared too much, held a service in the middle of the night with a nicked candle, and averted their eyes from his bunk that was too big to be empty at a time when they were already squished three to a bed.

Now, though, whispers were traveling through the hundred-some kids that were scrubbing at the endless grime around the building. “Newsie,” Harley heard, and “Jack Kelly.” That one came filled with wonder, excitement even. Jack Kelly was the only one of them to get out and come back with help. Jack Kelly was the kindest guy anyone had ever known. What did he get out of stealing clothes and food, then risking his own skin just to bring it to them? Nothing, but he did it anyway. And he was from before the camaraderie of hierarchy, so he really didn’t have any reason.

It was possible that the new kid knew him, but Harley wasn’t about to be caught pinning all his hope on some random boy. It wasn’t like Jack Kelly was going to break everyone out of the Refuge for one kid.

Most everyone was outside today, digging endlessly with calloused hands as the sun beat down on them. There was no purpose to the holes, other than graves. Mostly they just dug them up and then filled them back in, though it had been only last month when a guard had pushed in Justin and made them fill it up over him. Justin had been sick, though. He was going to die anyhow.

Harley tried to wipe over his eyes, only succeeding in mixing more dirt with his sweat. He hated the hours spent with the splintering shovels--they all did--but it was better than the chemical water used to clean inside. He’d had to give up a couple of meals to save Stink, who had been forced to swallow a mouthful of it by a guard.

Speaking of guards, one left the building, quite literally dragging the new kid behind him. Harley made a pretense of shoving his dirt into a neater pile, watching carefully. The boy was average-sized, maybe blonde, face too covered in blood to really tell anything else. Harley felt a slight sense of relief. A broken nose was a rite of passage here that most got from Snyder or a guard, but some (like Harley himself) had dodged it only to wake up his first night to a circle of preteens ready to sock him.

There was no real way of discerning that this kid was a newsie, other than the fact that his clothes looked a bit nicer than most of those here. Still, that didn’t mean anything. Without a newsboy cap, Harley wondered where the rumor had come from.

The guard dropped him by the two spare shovels and growled something at him, likely a command to get to work. Some of the other boys had stopped to look around at him, so Harley made a show of dropping into his hole and digging vigorously.

After an hour or so, he risked a couple of glances around. Three guards were watching them lazily, occasionally smacking a boy for working too slow. The new kid was far too slow, though, and as a result, was targeted by the guards. Harley looked away when he heard a stifled cry from his dig spot, not too far from his own. There was nothing he could do to help right now.

Eventually, though, the new boy had been beat to the ground and wasn’t getting up. Most everyone had paused in their work, glancing at him, then away, then back as two of the three thugs kicked at the boy. Dry, rasping breaths came from him, and once again, Harley turned away, back to his own backbreaking work. He’d learn soon enough that he couldn’t stay down.

But he didn’t, and less than ten minutes later, Harley was watching again. He saw as a guard stomped on the kid’s leg, earning a muffled whine, and wondered--oh. There was something wrong with his leg, he realized, as he saw how twisted the foot was. He couldn’t stand, no matter how badly the guards threatened him.

And now that Harley had noticed, he could understand the words the boy was choking out.

“My crutch, please,” he whimpered. “I ain’t gonna be able ta work without it, please, I can work, I just needs my crutch. . . .”

“Jump,” one of the guards taunted. “Jump, and we’ll let ya have it!”

The kid struggled to get up, wiping at the tears that were making the dried blood on his face run again. He couldn’t even stand, though, let alone jump. The guards kept kicking him back down, pushing him into the shallow dent he’d managed to dig so far, mocking him with the same words. It turned into a threat--”Jump, you’ll jump if ya know what’s good for you!”--then to a compromise--”Just one little jump, and we’s leavin’ you alone for the rest o’ the day.”--to a dream--”Jump, crip, and we’ll let ya go tonight!”

But the boy couldn’t jump. He couldn’t stand. Harley watched, sick, as the boy’s eyes slid closed and his grimace hardened as the guards kept whaling on him. Then he turned away again. He couldn’t worry about some new boy with no name. He had to keep his clan strong.

Eventually, the thugs got bored of beating up a kid who wasn’t responding. One of them wandered inside, the other two left to taunt Billy, and Harley let himself steal one last look at the motionless pile of rags. As he watched, the kid’s eyes flashed open and met his. Slowly, one eyelid flickered down in an unbelievable wink, accompanied by a strained grin.

That was a newsie, for sure. The rest of the kids on the street had learned to never smile years ago. Harley looked away for the last time and got back to his work. He couldn’t waste time if he didn’t want the same fate.

-

The guards hated this kid, dragged him to the cellar instead of to the bunks for the half loaf of bread that had to be divided up between them all. One less mouth to feed, he rationalized. They didn’t have enough to feed themselves, let alone to spare for a new boy.

Stink managed to catch a rat, crushed with the heel of his thin shoes, and was attempting to roast it over a candle when the boy got thrown into the room. All the boys went silent at a hand from Harley, then watched the new kid as he lay, breathing heavily. Eventually, his head raised, looking around the room with watery eyes.

“What’s a guy gotta do ta get a welcome ‘round here?” he rasped. No one answered. A few of the younger ones looked to Harley, including Red, who had arrived just two days prior. After a moment, Harley nodded at Twig. Twig motioned for some other boys, all members of the welcoming committee. They were proud of their jobs, and would treat him well. They wouldn’t do anything to help him proper, but they would get him a bunk and a sip of water, and what more could a man ask for?

They boy’s name was Crutchie, they found out when Twig announced it, and he was indeed a newsie, as well as crippled. He did know Jack Kelly, and said something about a newsboy strike. He said that Snyder had taken his crutch after beating him with it, and now he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to get around at all.

The welcoming committee carried him to a bunk, which, from the gravelly protests, was apparently not much appreciated. The boys all returned to their own business, which was mostly whispering among each other or trying to get a bit of the dirt off before sleeping. Harley watched the new kid, now sitting on Mark’s old bunk, from across the stuffy room, before stepping around the huddled masses to get to him.

“Name’s Harley,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand before seeing how swollen Crutchie’s fingers were. Probably stomped on; he withdrew quickly.

“Crutchie,” the kid said with another painful smile. “You was lookin’ at me outside, huh? My face that good?”

His face was terrible, to be perfectly honest. Caked in blood and dirt, Harley could just barely see the purpling lumps on his forehead and the shallow gash along his cheek.

“Nah, I’m in charge ‘round here,” Harley answered seriously. “I’s got the job of checkin’ out the new meat.”

Crutchie frowned. “Jack says there ain’t a ‘in charge’, just kids.”

“Jack Kelly?”

Crutchie nodded, and Harley chewed on that piece of information for a moment. This kid clearly knew the guy well enough that they had spoken before. Maybe he would be worth something. He wondered how much Kelly would be willing to trade for one of his own.

“Yeah, well, things is changed since Jack Kelly was here last,” Harley answered, then left for his own bunk. He’d always wondered if he was meant to say more than that, but Spud hadn’t exactly left him with a book of instructions.

He had no place for a cripple in his ranks, but he couldn’t exclude anyone or else the guys would start doing the same to each other. Spud had always said that for unity, everyone had to feel important. He’d have to think on it.

“Stink! Gimme some o’ that,” he whispered across the room. Stink sighed and tore off a pinch of the greasy, undercooked rat and dropped it into Harley’s waiting hand. The others were clamoring for some too, but not the new kid. No, Crutchie was still laid up in the bunk, gingerly checking over himself and tearing off bits of his own shirt to wrap some of his worst wounds. There was a scarily deep cut across his ribs, surrounded with swollen bruises that were barely visible in the candlelight. Harley winced. That was ugly, especially for a kid’s first day.

Something sank in his stomach, and Harley knew. That kid wasn’t going to make it out of here. He’d be lucky to survive the week. Sure, he must’ve been a survivor to make it as a newsie, but this wasn’t the streets. This was the Refuge, and that kid was just another fly caught in the Spider’s web, about to be devoured.

[cadence-talle]

Sugar Snow and Peppermint Pathways

Pairing: Fitz Vacker/Dex Dizznee, Sophie Foster/Biana Vacker

Wordcount: 9,587

Summary: Unlike many baking shows out there, the Holiday Bake-Off isn’t elimination-based, which viewers claim makes it all the more interesting. Each competitor, however, is entirely on their own- which means that if the Vacker siblings do attend, they’ll be working against each other for the first time ever.

Dex rolls out the cookie dough again. "I hate them so much."

(Or: nearly everyone is a famous baker, Biana and Fitz are both a little bit in love, and Dex Dizznee does not, under any circumstances, want to interact with the Vackers.) 

Other notes: my Winter Exchange gift for @yeetersofthelostcities! I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you as much about this fic as I did, but it’s also 9k, so I think you can forgive me.

Read it on AO3 (much recommended since this is long and some of the fonts didn’t quite translate to Tumblr) or under the cut!

World-Famous Vacker Siblings Rumored To Be On 2020’s Annual Holiday Bake-Off 

Fitzroy and Biana Vacker have been making a lot of headlines this year, from the opening of their new bakery in Chicago to the millions of dollars they’ve donated to various charities around the globe. The sibling duo seems to have been born with baking skills- and it’s no surprise, since their mother is Della Vacker, author of five bestselling cookbooks. (See our biography of Della Vacker if you’d like to learn more!) 

But this December may mark their greatest trial yet. Netflix’s Happy Holiday Bake-Off garnered more than three million views last year, and it’s set to get even more attention this year now that four-star restaurant owner Edaline Ruewen is hosting. 

For those of you new to the bake-off, the rules are simple: it’s comprised of five different baking challenges, spread out over the week leading up to Christmas Day. Each of the eight competitors will have five different chances to wow the judges- and on the final day, whoever’s made the most impact will win thousands of dollars. Unlike many baking shows out there, the Holiday Bake-Off isn’t elimination-based, which viewers claim makes it all the more interesting. Each competitor, however, is entirely on their own- which means that if the Vacker siblings do attend, they’ll be working against each other for the first time ever. 

--read more--

OTHER NEWS

13 Christmas Cookie recipes to brighten up your winter! 

“It’s All In The Butter”: Edaline Ruewen shares the secret of her famous butterblasts! 

Fintan Pyren opens a new barbeque joint in Upper Manhattan. Its name? Flambé. 

Subscribe to BAKER’S WEEKLY ONLINE today and get a free tote bag! 

-/-

December 12, 2020.

Biana Vacker’s Self-Proclaimed Trash Can Fire

New York City, New York.

“No.”

“Yes,” Biana says cheerfully, leaning over the dining room table to ruffle her brother’s hair. Fitz glares at her. “I’ve already signed the papers.” 

“But-” Fitz sighs, apparently already giving up. “Ugh. I’m busy.” 

“Fun fact: spending thirty hours trying to refine the perfect croissant recipe does not qualify as being ‘busy’. Our croissants are delicious. They don’t need any more work. You, however, need a vacation.” 

“Funner fact: competing against my own sister on a reality show broadcast to the country is less of a vacation than working out apricot croissants would be.” 

“Even more fun fact: ‘funner’ is not a word.” 

“Even funner fact: I literally do not give a single fuck.” 

Della’s laugh crackles over the phone, warm and bright. “Language, Fitzroy,” she says. Livvy snorts. 

“He’s twenty-two years old, Dell. I don’t think you get to say that.” 

Biana giggles. She can almost picture the scene at the other end of the call- her moms curled up on the couch, Della nursing a cup of mulled cider as Livvy talks intently about her patients at the hospital. Their menorah will have four candles lit by tonight, mirroring the one that sits on Biana’s own side table. The whole house will be filled with warmth and laughter. 

Biana misses that sometimes, looking around her empty apartment. Wishes she was still a little girl and could snuggle up next to her mom and watch The Nutcracker because Della knew, without asking, that Biana was sad. Before all this… responsibility.

That’s not really fair, though, because when she was a little girl Livvy wasn’t there, and Della was sad, and Fitz was angry. So maybe she doesn’t miss the old days- maybe she just misses having someone there to understand her. 

Fitz is here, she reminds herself. He’s not leaving. He’s good, and he’s not leaving. 

“... chocolate chips on the ceiling,” her brother is saying when Biana snaps back to the conversation. Over the phone, Della groans. 

“Don’t even mention that. Goodness, I’m glad you’ve left the ‘crazy parties’ stage of your life behind, Fitz. Those were hell to clean up after.” 

“I don’t know, it was pretty funny to watch him try to repair a chair while hungover the next morning,” Biana teases. Fitz rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. 

“I didn’t-” 

There’s a loud beeping noise Biana registers as an oven timer, and she spins around towards her kitchen before realizing it’s coming from her moms’ end. Della makes an apologetic noise. 

“Sorry, darlings, we should go. I love you!”

“Love you too,” Biana and Fitz echo. There’s a rustling sound, like Della is moving to hang up, and then she pauses. 

“Oh, and Fitz, I think the Holiday Bake-Off is a wonderful idea. Good luck!” 

And then Biana’s phone is flashing the Time Elapsed: 22 minutes screen, and her brother is back to glaring at her. 

“No.”

“I’m not arguing this anymore,” Biana says, moving towards the kitchen and filling up a pot of water. “Do we want spaghetti for dinner?”

“Sure,” Fitz retrieves several cans of tomato sauce and dumps them in a pot. “I just- sorry. What if we lose?”

“Well, at least one of us is going to lose,” Biana points out. “And even if we both get the lowest ratings in the entire show, so what? We don’t need the money.”

“But-” Fitz waves his hands in the air. “We’re going to be- people are going to be watching us. What happens if we fuck up?” 

Oh. Of course that’s what he’s worried about. Fitz has always, always been worried about public appearances. Biana sets the water on the stove and moves over to him, leaning against the opposite counter. 

“Bro. Man. My dude.” She says seriously. Fitz purses his lips in a way that makes it clear he’s hiding a smile. “Fitz, we’re going to be fine. No one’s going to be judging how we do in this competition.”

“Sorry, do you hear yourself?”

“Okay, fair, but you know what I mean. Losing this contest isn’t going to wreck our business. If we can strike up enough of a friendship with whoever does win, we could even stand to grow.”

Fitz stares at her. Biana stares back. The tomato sauce starts to bubble. 

“Fine,” Fitz finally says. “Do we have any veggie meatballs?” 

-/-

December 13, 2020.

The Good Place Bakery

Middlebury, Vermont. 

Dex drops the cookie dough onto the flour-covered counter, smacking it with what’s probably more force than necessary. It holds up, though, and he cuts out two entire trays of tiny snowmen and stars before his co-owner arrives in a blaze of glory. 

“Guess who’s got a date this weekend!” Keefe sings, dumping his coat on a hook and pushing himself up on the counter. He gets a good look at Dex’s face and frowns. “Whoa, who bruleed your creme?”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Dex rolls his eyes, “and everything’s fine. What poor guy did you pick up now?”

“His name’s Nathan and he’s beautiful,” Keefe sighs. “But don’t try to change the subject. Why do you have your grumpy face on?”

Dex grabs the letter from where he threw it across the room half an hour ago and hands it to the other man. Keefe skims it. 

“You have been invited onto Netflix’s Happy Holiday Bake-Off,” he reads. He glances up at Dex. “Okay… didn’t we already know that? Soph’s been talking about the contest for weeks.”

“Yes, but I got more information this time around,” Dex says tightly. “And it turns out the Vacker siblings are also competing.”

“Oh.” Keefe sets the letter down and picks up one of the cookie sheets, sliding it into the oven. “Well, I think you can beat them.”

“Of course I can beat them,” Dex snaps. “That’s not the problem. The problem is-” he sweeps up the dough scraps and prepares to roll them out again. “The problem is they’re fake and I don’t like them.”

He’s aware he sounds like a child. It’s hard to describe, though, what makes him so frustrated about the Vacker siblings. The two of them just make it look so… easy, though. Born into fame and given a head start in front of everyone else. Dex had to take out three different loans to start this bakery, and even that was with Keefe’s huge trust fund. 

“They’re just… fake,” he says lamely. “No one’s that perfect.” 

“Mmm.” Keefe hums, then murmurs, “okay, but you know who is that perfect?”

Dex sighs. “Okay, tell me about Nathan.”

Keefe is halfway through the story of how they met- at the library, apparently, because that’s widely known to be the most romantic spot in town- when Amy shoves through the doors and steals an unbaked cookie. 

“Morning,” she grins around a mouthful of crumbs. Dex raises an eyebrow and slides the cookie sheet towards Keefe before she can eat more. 

“Morning,” he says. “How’s Marty?”

“Still hates everyone but Sophie,” Amy shrugs. “Who isn’t here, obviously, because she and Mom are in Chicago setting up the Bake-Off.” She squints at Dex. “I can’t believe you got onto the show. There have to be rules against that.”

“Technically, that only applies if it’s direct relation. So, like, kids and parents.” Keefe grabs a piece of cookie dough. “Plus, even if Edaline did give Dex super high ratings on everything, he can’t win unless the other judges agree.”

“You’re going to get salmonella,” Dex tells the two of them. “But yeah, Keefe’s right. I’ll have to actually try if I want to win.”

“Do you?” Amy asks. Dex bites his lip, dusting some flour off his shirt.

“The money would be nice, I guess. But- I don’t know. We’ll get publicity either way, and that’s what’s important.”

“Attaboy,” Keefe gives him a thumbs-up. “You’re gonna win all the brownie points. Well, assuming they have you make brownies.”

“I-” Dex stares at him, shaking his head. “Why don’t you tell Amy about Nathan.” 

-/-

December 17, 2020.

Some Fancy Hotel

Chicago, Illinois. 

Biana glances around the room, light reflecting off the chandelier above and casting glittering patterns on the carpet and various couches scattered around the hall-like space. Four days have passed she broke the news to Fitz, and she’s wondering if this was a bad idea after all.

She’s not the first one here, thank goodness; there’s a tiny blond woman seated on a chair further down chatting to a man with silver-dyed bangs and a frizzy-haired woman tapping impatiently on her phone a few feet away. A door at the other end of the hall presumably leads further into the hotel. 

A buzz in her pocket prompts her to retrieve her phone, and Biana opens it to find three texts from her brother.

ritzroy

Ok I made it to our room

[image.jpg]

There’s a paper crane on the kitchen counter is this some sort of message

me

yes.

they're trying to tell u that u r a paper crane

ritzroy

*you *are 

I know you only do that to annoy me.

me

<3

now get down here i feel awkward standing all by myself

ritzroy 

Have you tried talking to people?

me

fuck you

Sighing a bit, she plops down on a couch half-obscured by a large plant. Someone coughs from where they’re sitting next to her and Biana turns around to apologize. 

“Hi,” says Sophie Foster. 

Biana stares. The woman is about half an inch shorter than her, blond hair tucked back into a ponytail and white blouse slightly wrinkled. Biana’s seen this face on television upwards of a hundred times- the award-winning chef daughter of Grady and Edaline Ruewen attracts attention, after all- but never quite like this, with eyebrows furrowed and mouth tilted a little to the side. 

“Hey,” Biana says about a minute too late. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t know there was someone sitting here.” 

“No problem,” Sophie assures her. “You’re Biana Vacker, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Biana nods, slightly stunned that Sophie Elizabeth Foster knows her name. “You’re- Sophie Foster.”  

“That’s me,” Sophie says, smiling a little. “You ready for the competition?”

“Definitely,” Biana responds. “I mean, I don’t celebrate Christmas, but I watched the Holiday Bake-Off last year, and it seems like it’s super fun? And it’ll be cool to see what other people make too.” 

“Yeah.” Silence falls over the two of them, and Biana cringes inwardly. This is the worst possible thing. Where on earth is her brother? 

Searching for something to say, Biana opens her mouth. “Um-”

“Huh?” Sophie turns a little more towards her, eyes fixed on Biana’s face. Biana swallows a little.

“Uh, I was actually really nervous when I noticed I was sitting next to you. I’m kind of a huge fan.” 

Sophie blinks. “You’re kidding.”

“No?”

“When I found out you were going to be competing, I literally asked my mom if she could get me on the show because I wanted to meet you so bad.”

Biana’s staring again. “Oh.” 

Sophie’s phone buzzes and she pulls it out, tapping the screen. Biana tilts her head a little in confusion.

“Gotta go,” Sophie says with an apologetic smile. She stands up and starts towards the door, turning back to say one last thing before she leaves. 

“You’re even prettier in person.” 

When Fitz shows up two minutes later, Biana’s still staring wide-eyed at the place where Sophie was just standing. Her brother flops down onto the couch next to her and raises an eyebrow. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Biana shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Well, I dropped the bags off. The room’s nice,” Fitz offers. “Oh, and Mom says we should video chat tonight. She wants the tea.”

Biana blinks. “The… tea.”

“Her words, not mine.”

“Yeah, I think I could tell. What-”

“Hello, everyone!” The door at the end of the hall swings open and a smiling red-haired woman steps out, followed by two others. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Edaline Ruewen, from Vermont. I’ll be one of the judges next week. We’re all gonna go around and introduce ourselves, I’ll outline a schedule, and then y’all will be free to go. Cadence?”

“Good afternoon,” a tall dark-skinned woman greets. “I’m Cadence Talle, food journalist for the LA Times. I’ll be another one of your judges, along with-”

“Bronte.” The third man interrupts. He raises an eyebrow at the faces waiting for him to go on. “Well?”

“Looks like someone’s judging us already,” Fitz whispers. Biana muffles a laugh in her coat sleeve as the blond woman from before speaks up. 

“Hi, I’m Marella Redek. I’m a pastry chef over in Portland.” 

“Tam Song. I do the baking for a restaurant here in the city.”

People introduce themselves quickly, names flashing by in quick succession- Maruca Chebota, Jensi Babblos, Stina Heks. 

“I’m Biana Vacker,” Biana says when it’s her turn. “My brother and I co-manage a couple bakeries across the country.” 

Fitz raises his hand. “I’m her brother.” 

“Dex Dizznee,” says the last competitor, a strawberry-blond man seated on the arm of a couch. “I have a bakery up in Middlebury.” 

“Wait, The Good Place?” Fitz leans forward. “I made your chocolate cream pie recipe once. It’s fantastic.”

Dex blinks, face finally settling in an expression that reminds Biana of some of the people at the huge dinner parties her dad used to throw- carefully, delicately concealed disdain. She wonders what Fitz has done to warrant that look. 

“Oh, that’s cool,” Dex says calmly. “Chocolate cream is one of my co-owner’s favorites, actually.” 

Fitz nods. “Neat.” 

Edaline smiles at them, clapping her hands for attention. “All right! Let’s go over the schedule, then. The first round is on Saturday, and the last one is next Wednesday. You’ll be expected to arrive at the kitchens by eleven am…”

“What’s up with him?” Biana whispers. Fitz raises one shoulder in a tiny shrug. 

“I don’t know, but he doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

There’s no way Dex can hear them- he’s nearly fifteen feet away and Edaline’s voice carries throughout the entire hall. Still, he’s staring at Fitz when Biana glances at him, and there’s molten caramel in his gaze. 

-/-

December 17, 2020.

Some Fancy Room In Some Fancy Hotel

Chicago, Illinois.

“And then he just went, ‘Neat.’ Neat? Like, what the fuck?”

“Dude, you know I love you, but don’t you think you’re making a bit of a big deal out of this? He just complimented the bakery.”

Dex heaves a sigh, flopping onto his hotel bed and staring up at the light fixture. It’s probably trendy, with all those boxes or whatever, but Dex can’t really tell. This is why he’s a baker. 

“I know, I know. He just- gets under my skin. I’ve been pissed all day.”

“Funny,” Keefe says, and Dex can just hear him smiling. “I thought you had more of a problem with the Vackers as a whole than you did with Fitz. Or is he just too attractive to be anything but your singular arch-nemesis?” 

“Enemies to lovers speedrun,” Amy calls in the background and Keefe laughs. He’s probably having dinner with Grady and Amy tonight like they typically do once a month. Normally, Dex, Sophie and Edaline are there too. 

Dex’s family is weirdly spread across the country- Grady and Edaline live an hour away, Rex and Bex are somehow both coexisting at Seattle University while Lex stays closer to home back in Michigan, and Sophie and Amy split their time between Middlebury and their apartment in San Francisco. They do their best to stay in touch, though, even with the bakery’s odd hours and the Ruewen’s constant media appearances. 

“So how’s the hotel?” Keefe asks. Dex shrugs. 

“It’s a hotel. My room has a little kitchen, which is nice, and there’s, like, a bigger community pantry-slash-kitchen down the hall. It feels like college.” 

“College is worse, actually,” Amy says. Dex snorts.

“You say that like I haven’t been to college.” 

“Dude, we met in college,” Keefe points out, “and you did not get the full college experience. You just, like, baked 23/7 and then miraculously passed all your classes with the last hour.”

“Yes,” Dex says over the sound of Amy’s cackling. “Yes, that is exactly what I did. You’re completely right.” 

“I know,” Keefe says. “I’m always right. I have, never, ever done anything wrong.”

“You called me this morning to freak out over your date outfit for a date that’s three days away, but go off I guess.” Amy deadpans. 

“Fuck you-” The sounds of a small scuffle come through the speakers and Dex rolls his eyes. 

“I’m going to sleep,” he calls. “See you guys in a week.”

“Good luck!” Amy calls, and Dex hangs up. 

-/-

December 19, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois.

Biana tucks one last strand of hair back into her braid and glances over at the imposing black camera standing next to her station. There are ones just like it scattered around the entire room, fluorescent overhead lights reflected off their shiny exteriors. It’ll be weird trying to bake with someone recording her the whole time, but she can take it.

“Good morning, everyone!” Edaline calls, sweeping out to the judges bench with Cadence and Bronte close on her heels. There’s some sort of sheet-covered circle on the wall behind them. “I hope y’all are ready to bake!”

Everyone cheers and Edaline throws her head back, laughing a laugh with just enough snort in it to sound real. Biana’s reminded suddenly of her own mother; Edaline has the same sort of tough core and caring nature covered by a thin layer of plastic for the cameras. She wonders if Sophie is the same.

“And without further ado,” Edaline says. Biana snaps her attention back, hoping she hasn’t missed anything important. “Today’s challenge is…”

Bronte tugs on the fabric and it falls away to reveal a casino-style roulette wheel. If Biana squints, she can see words written on each colored section; CHOCOLATE and RASPBERRY and ALMOND. 

“Cookies,” he announces. 

Cadence sweeps her gaze over all of them. “Spin the wheel twice to find out what ingredients you need to include, and then you’ll have forty-five minutes to bake. Understood?”

Biana nods, glancing at the camera out of the corner of her eye and rearranging her face into something a bit more excited. She should probably start thinking about what to say in the post-baking interview.

Fitz is the first to spin the wheel, and he gets COCONUT and STRAWBERRY. He looks a little confused but smiles, media persona still firmly in place. 

Biana gets GINGER and CHOCOLATE, returning to her station with a wide smile. This recipe is one she created with Livvy- they were home alone while Della and Fitz went out to a show and decided to try the most difficult food combinations they could think of.

Honey-covered crickets were surprisingly delicious. Hot sauce mixed with Gatorade was not.

(I knew what I was going to do immediately, she tells the cameras afterward. It’s a family favorite; chocolate-ginger crinkle cookies.)

She retrieves a packet of candied ginger and grabs two bags of chocolate chips, dumping one bag in a saucepan and starting to melt them. A few feet away, Dex Dizznee stares at his ingredients- ALMOND and ANISE, a fairly simple combination- before turning away towards the ingredients. If Biana had to hazard a guess, she’d say he’s making biscotti. 

(Biscotti’s probably too obvious for almonds, Dex shrugs later, but my friend Keefe and I perfected an almond-anise biscotti a while back and I figured, why waste what little time I had on something new?)

Once she gets started, it’s easy to just focus on the recipe. She’s not like Fitz; baking’s not the be-all end-all stress reliever it is for him, but there’s definitely something comforting about the familiar motions. Before she knows it, she’s pulling the sheets out of the oven and arranging the prettiest ones on a plate for the judges to try.

Marella Redek goes up first, showing off her caramel-pecan shortbread with a polite smile. 

(I’m just glad I didn’t get one of those crazy combinations, she says with a sigh of relief.)

Then Fitz, who’s managed to make tiny sandwich cookies filled with strawberry jam and dusted with coconut in forty-five minutes. He fidgets with his hands as the judges taste them.

(I was really worried when I got my ingredients. I’m so relieved they turned out okay.) 

Biana’s cookies go over well, Cadence nodding and reaching for another one. Finally Dex Dizznee steps up. 

“Almond-anise biscotti,” he says with a small smile. The judges all bite into the cookies at the same time and smile.

“Delicious,” Bronte says. Dex grins and steps back to his station.

Fifteen minutes later, the contestants stand in front of the judges bench in a straight line, worried eyes and tapping feet all the way down.

“All your cookies were exquisite,” Edaline says. “But one of you made a fantastic first impression.” 

Cadence offers the group a tiny, sideways smile. “Dexter Dizznee,” she says. “You are today’s winner.”

There’s a round of applause and Dex’s cheeks go a little bit red. 

“Thank you,” he says.

(I won! It’s only the first round, of course, but I’m still proud to have started off on the right foot.)

“Hey,” Biana nudges her brother’s shoulder as they trail out of the room for individual interviews.“That wasn’t too bad, huh?” 

“No,” Fitz tilts his head and glances back at the still-smiling Dex. “I guess it wasn’t.”

(I don’t think I’m too sad about losing this round. Dex’s cookies looked absolutely delicious, anyway.)

Biana’s phone buzzes on the way back to her room. She pulls it out to see two messages from an unknown number. 

415-623-7868 

hi!! sorry if this is mega creepy but it was super cool to meet you the other day and i’d love to talk more sometime

this is sophie foster btw

“Holy shit,” Biana whispers. Her brother turns around with a questioning glance but she waves him off. “Nothing, I’m fine.” She’s pretty sure she’s grinning at her phone screen with all the force of a thousand suns. “I’m totally fine.”

(Tomorrow, we try again.) 

-/-

December 20, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois. 

Buoyed by the previous day’s success and an especially good breakfast buffet (he is not immune to chocolate-chip pancakes, no matter what he might claim), Dex practically floats into the kitchen the next day. His mood isn’t even brought down by Bronte’s lackluster announcement that the second challenge is simply Snowflakes. The bakery’s meringues are a town favorite for a reason, after all, and that reason is that they’re fucking good. 

He does get annoyed, though, by the man leaning against a counter a few feet away as he pipes the meringue. Fitz Vacker is tapping his fingers against the marble, watching the ice cream machine with a calm sort of fixation. Dex huffs and accidentally pipes too much meringue on the baking sheet. 

“Do you mind?” He grumbles under his breath. Fitz’s head snaps up. 

“Sorry,” he says, slight accent curling around his words. It’s not a British accent or really any sort Dex can discern, and that just makes him more frustrated. “Am I in your way?”

“No,” Dex says as politely as he can. He’s well aware of the cameras standing a few feet away. “No, you're fine.”

Fitz nods and tilts his head towards the meringues, apparently taking Dex’s grudging silence as an invitation. “Those look pretty good.”

“Thank you,” Dex says shortly, letting out an annoyed sigh internally when Fitz doesn’t budge. “You’re making ice cream?”

“Heh, yeah. I couldn’t really think of anything else, so.” Fitz shrugs. “Ice cream bars.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed. “At least it’s cold, right? Like snow.” 

This startles a laugh out of Dex. “Yeah, like snow.” He leans back a little to give the now-completed snowflakes a once-over. “What do you think?”

“They look great!” Fitz enthuses, jumping a bit when the ice cream machine lets out a long beep. “Oh, looks like that’s me. I should go. Nice to meet you!”

And then he’s off to his own station, bowl of ice cream clutched tightly in one hand. Dex allows himself thirty seconds of staring into the camera like he’s on The Office before he sighs and slides the meringues into the oven. 

What on earth was that. 

He bumps into Sophie on his way out of the room after interviews. Biana Vacker’s chocolate-pecan-bark snowflakes won today; unsurprising, since they looked almost real- and he kind of just wants to go back to his room and sleep for a month. His cousin, however, seems to have other ideas.

“Quick,” she says, grabbing his arm. Her phone is in her other hand, screen lighting up with a message. “How much would my mom kill me if I went on a date with one of the Bake-Off contestants?”

“Um,” Dex blinks. “I’m going to need some more information?” 

“Okay, so I met Biana Vacker the other day, and I might have gotten her number from the contestant files we have? And then texted her? For like five hours last night? And I might have asked her out and she might have said yes?” Sophie tugs at her eyelashes. “Please help me, I have no idea what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“You’re going on a date with Biana Vacker,” Dex confirms. “Why?” 

“Because she’s smart, and pretty, and incredibly funny, and because I don’t have some weird hate-obsession with her.” 

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you do. Seriously, how much is Mom going to murder me for this?”

“How much is Mom going to murder you for what?”

Edaline’s standing a few feet away, arms folded across her chest and eyebrows raised. Sophie’s eyes go wide, but she sighs as if already giving up.

Dex gets it. Edaline is scary when she wants to be.

“Is it illegal and-slash-or nepotism if I go on a date with Biana Vacker tomorrow night?”

Edaline blinks. “Probably not? As long as you can confirm that she’s not using you to get further in the contest.” She shrugs. “I could talk to Cadence and Bronte about it, but they were all right with Dex being on the show, so.”

“Wait, really?” Sophie grins and throws her arms around her mother. “This is the best. Thanks, Mom! I’m gonna go text her.” 

She takes off down the hall, typing frantically. Edaline watches her go with a fond smile. 

“It’s incredibly weird to see her this old,” She says to Dex. “I still think of her as twelve, honestly.”

Dex snorts. “Yeah.”

“So,” Edaline cocks her head, looking at him with the same I’m going to ask you a question and we both know what the right answer is look that Dex’s own mother has. “I saw you talking to Fitz Vacker earlier. Making friends?”

“No.” Dex says immediately. Then he rolls his eyes. “He’s not as bad as I was expecting, though.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, like, posh and rich and British or whatever they are. But he’s actually a decent person or whatever.”

“Or whatever.” Edaline laughs. “Well, I’m glad you’re having fun either way. I’ve got to get to a meeting, but I’ll see you later, all right? Say hi to Keefe for me.”

Dex nods and heads back to his room.

He really needs to sleep. 

-/-

December 21, 2020.

The Art Institute of Chicago

Chicago, Illinois.

“Here we are,” Sophie says as they push through museum security and enter the clearly-marked Thorne Rooms. Biana glances at the art curiously; the exhibit is made up of tiny glass windows set into low walls all around. She peers into one and lets out a tiny gasp. 

“Oh.”

It’s a tiny room in there; chairs and sofas all with perfectly embroidered cushions as small as Biana’s thumb. Through minuscule doors in the back, Biana glimpses a painted background and a balcony. It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

Sophie snorts behind her, and Biana realizes she said that last bit out loud. “Right? It’s all real, too. Took Narcissa Thorne and her craftsmen eight years.”

“Wow.” 

“I used to come here all the time,” Sophie says, stepping forward and tracing one finger over the glass. “Whenever we were in town. I wished I could live in some of these rooms.” She glances back at Biana and gives a little self-deprecating smile. “Pretty stupid, probably.”

“No, it’s not,” Biana shakes her head. “I get it. It would be nice to escape for a little bit, especially to a place that looks like that.” She tilts her head at the room. Sophie laughs. 

“I’ll bet it gets really dusty, though. And that chair seems highly uncomfortable.”

They move throughout the whole exhibit, making low comments to each other every time they see a particularly amazing piece of furniture or a fancy candlestick. Biana finds herself relaxing more and more- Sophie is smart, and funny, and keeps shooting her little smiles that make Biana’s knees weak. 

That day’s competition had been the hardest yet. Each contestant had had to make a dessert based around a Christmas carol; a specific, judge-assigned Christmas carol. It was, for lack of a better term, absolute shit.

Biana had gotten Santa Claus Is Coming To Town- not the worst, considering the circumstances, and at least she knew it- and had had to figure out how to map the route of an overweight stalker on baked goods. 

She hadn’t won; that honor had gone to Maruca Chebota’s fondant replica of a sleigh for Over The River And Through The Woods. (Biana is pretty sure that song is actually a Thanksgiving song, but she wasn’t going to contradict.) Still, Biana’s happy, content as they leave the museum and move down to an Italian restaurant a few blocks away. Smiling as Sophie’s hand brushes against hers. 

They get settled in a little corner near a window, knees bumping under the table. The room is dim, lit by one chandelier in the middle and candles on every table. It’s warm, something delicious wafting through the air. 

Sophie leans forward to grab a menu, hair lit golden in the candlelight, and Biana revises her earlier statement. The Thorne Rooms aren’t the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. This woman is. 

“Everything okay?” Sophie asks. Biana realizes she’s been staring and gives her a quick nod. 

“Yeah, no. Everything’s perfect.” She glances down at the tablecloth, sees Sophie fidgeting with the edge of her napkin. “Are you all right?”

“I, uh,” Sophie tugs at one of her eyelashes. “I just wanted to say that I don’t really tend to talk to my mom about the competition? So, like, if you’re just trying to get an edge or something-”

“No!” Biana shakes her head, reaching forward to grab the other woman’s hand. “No, no no. Absolutely not. This is like, the opposite of that.” 

“Pretty sure the opposite of that would be divorcing me to lose the Bake-Off,” Sophie says, but she’s smiling. Biana smiles back. 

“Well, I don’t want to do that either.”

“What do you want to do?”

Biana shrugs. “I don’t know. This is pretty nice. I like spending time with you.”

Sophie blushes and tightens her grip on Biana’s hand. “I-”

“Pardon me.” There’s a waiter standing next to their table, notepad in hand. He offers them an awkward smile. “Are you ready to order?”

“Right!” Biana says at the same time as Sophie’s “Yes! For sure! Just give me a second!”. They grin at each other and look back down at the menus. 

“Thank you,” Sophie murmurs after they’ve ordered. Biana doesn’t have to ask what for. 

“Of course.”

(Biana leans down to kiss her barely an hour later. Sophie smiles against her lips and tugs her in closer.)

(Biana doesn’t get back to her hotel that night.)

-/-

December 22, 2020.

Some Fancy Hotel 

Chicago, Illinois. 

Dex can’t sleep. 

There’s no particular reason why, no loud party down the street or flashing lights outside his window. He just can’t sleep, which is especially frustrating when he glances at the clock and finds it’s one AM. Tomorrow- or, today, really- is event four, and if he wants to make a good impression, he’d better do it on more than three hours of sleep.

Heaving a sigh, he flops himself out of bed and flips on the light switch. As long as he’s awake, he might as well read or something. 

A loud crash sounds from down the hall. Dex blinks and grabs his sneakers, opening his door and peeking out. No one’s in sight, but rustling noises are coming from the communal kitchen a few doors away. Dex decides that sleep is for the weak and pads down to investigate.

Fitz Vacker is standing in the middle of the kitchen, aggressively stirring a bowl of what looks like cookie dough and frowning. There’s a flour-dusted cookbook on the counter.

“Um.” Dex coughs a little. Fitz looks up from the cookie dough and turns toward him. He's wearing a sweatshirt thrown over a pair of what looks like Walgreens-brand pajamas. Dex is a little surprised that a Vacker would wear something that shitty. 

“Sorry,” he says in his annoyingly perfect accent. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nah, you’re fine. Why are you still awake?”

Fitz shrugs. “Couldn’t fall asleep. You?”

“Same.” Dex moves over and peers into the bowl. “Sugar cookies?”

“They’re a classic Christmas cookie, right?” Fitz looks at him. Dex blinks. “No, really, I’m asking. I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

This startles a laugh out of Dex. “Yeah, they’re a classic. My aunt used to make them all the time in December. I’d come home from school and she’d be, like, chilling on our couch with three different kinds of cookies.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t even realize she was famous until I was eight. She was just Aunt Eda.”

“My mom used to have to do all these photo shoots? With baked goods and shit? And she’d bring me and Bi along because our daycare didn’t go that late so we’d just be hanging out around this camera equipment and doing our best not to break anything.” Fitz looks down and stirs the cookie dough a bit more. “Bi always says we grew up with a camera in our faces, so much that we never learned to be normal. She’s more right than I’d like to think.”

Dex doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have anything to say; he’s always assumed, like so many other people, that the spotlight on the Vackers was effortless and encouraged. Life seemed so easy for them. 

Of course it does, Dex reminds himself. Life always looks easy when you’re the one looking at it. 

“Sorry,” Fitz grabs the bowl and turns away, reaching up into a cabinet for some powdered sugar. “I get… honest when I’m tired.” 

“Yeah, well, I get grumpy, so you’re still better off.” Dex grabs a baking sheet out of where they’re being stored in the oven, since the cookies look about ready to be rolled out. “You’re fine, though. No cameras here.” 

You’re not being judged here, he means. I’d like to get to know you. 

This must translate at least a little, because Fitz gives him a small smile and dumps the dough out onto the counter. 

“Help me? I think the cookie cutters are in the bottom left drawer.”

“Got it.” Dex grabs a tiny metal snowman and cuts out a piece of dough, laying it flat on the metal sheet. He’s reminded suddenly of going through the same motions back home, with Keefe and Amy arguing good-naturedly over his head. 

There’s a different air in the kitchen right now. It’s quieter, slower, dark-dark-chocolatey; something bitter and sweet and smooth all at the same time. 

“Are you worried about the competition?” He asks. Fitz blinks, lifting another three cookies onto the sheet before answering. 

“I don’t think so. I was, before, but once I got here…” he gives an expansive shrug. “It’s just baking. Baking calms me down.” 

“Hence the cookies at one AM,” Dex notes. Fitz laughs. 

“Hence the stress-baking cookies at one AM,” he agrees. “I don’t even think I was stressed about the contest, just-” he waves a hand in the air. “Just stressed in general.” 

“I get that.” Dex presses a few buttons on the oven and tilts his head toward the table a few feet away. They’ll need to wait for the oven to heat up before they put the cookies in. “I was pretty scared of fucking up at first, but, I mean, it’s a baking competition. Everyone’s gonna forget the butter at some point.” 

Fitz squints at him. “I can’t tell if ‘forget the butter’ is an expression I’m unaware of, or if you actually did that and I just didn’t hear about it.” 

“Maruca from Cali did that, actually. I have more style, at least- I forgot the eggs.”

“My friend’s cat got into my kitchen once,” Fitz says seriously. “Not during this contest, but when I was making her daughter’s birthday cake. There was hair everywhere. It was… a cat-astrophe.”

Both of them are silent for almost a full minute, just staring at each other, before Dex breaks down.

“That was terrible,” he wheezes, trying to stop laughing. Fitz grins. 

“I know, I’m embarrassed of myself.”

“You should be.”

The oven beeps and they both startle, turning toward it. Fitz retrieves an oven mitt and slides the cookies into the oven. Dex closes the door and stands back up, suddenly realizing how close they’re standing. 

“You should try to sleep,” Fitz says quietly. “It’s late.”

Dex nods slightly but doesn’t move. There’s a tiny bit of flour on Fitz’s cheekbone. He doesn’t know why he notices it. 

They seem to stand there forever, just looking at each other. Then, suddenly, Fitz turns away and looks over the cookbook again. 

“I should sleep,” Dex says. Fitz nods, face shadowed in the dim lights. Dex turns away and heads back to his room. 

What the fuck was that. 

-/-

December 23, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois. 

“Dex Dizznee. Biana Vacker. Maruca Chebota. And Tam Song.” Bronte reads out the names, then looks down at the contestants. “The four of you have won the past events, so you’ll get an extra prize today.”

“As you all know, today is the last event!” Edaline says cheerfully. “All eight of you have made some truly fantastic desserts in the past week, but only one person can win and today’s your final chance to really wow the judges. So, Event Five is…”

Cadence gestures toward the table up front, which holds two candy-covered houses. “Gingerbread houses,” she says. “You have four hours to bake, assemble, and decorate a gingerbread house with your partner.”

“Yep, you’ll be working in pairs for this one,” Edaline says when the murmurs start up. “And our four previous winners get to choose who they’re working with.” She smiles at Biana. “Although, Miss Vacker, I’m afraid you can’t work with your brother.” 

Biana laughs, turning and holding out a hand to Marella Redek instead. “All right. How about it, partner?”

Marella shrugs and takes her hand. Edaline gestures to Dex. 

He glances over the seven remaining contestants. Jensi Babblos seems nice- he probably wouldn’t be too bad to work with. Or maybe he can pair up with another winner and ask Maruca?

Then Fitz catches his eye and Dex remembers the previous day, cutting out cookies in the early-early morning light. It’s not really a choice after that. 

“Fitz,” he decides, and the man strides over to stand next to him. 

The other two pairs find each other, Edaline lays out the final rules, and then she shouts go! and they’re off. 

“Hand me the cinnamon?” Dex asks. Fitz drops it into his hand and Dex dumps a tablespoon in the bowl, starting up the mixer. “Okay, and we should get the icing started so it has time to cool-”

“Already done,” Fitz says. He points to a bowl of fluffy white icing on the counter a foot away. “We should probably-”

“Figure out the decorations, yeah. You wanna-”

“Sketch something?”

They grin at each other and Dex pours the gingerbread batter into a pan. “Perfect,” he says. The oven lets out a tiny beep when he closes it. 

The hours pass quickly, in a blur of candy and icing. They cover the sides of the house in dark red modeling chocolate and drag a toothpick through them for the individual bricks, carefully shape a vanilla wafer chimney, build a candy-cane fence. The actual construction of the house is tricky- Dex has to hold the walls up while Fitz pipes the icing and then keeps holding them until it sets. They get through it with only one roof collapse, though, and the final house looks pretty good. Fitz glues down three peppermints to make a path in front of the door, Dex attaches tiny sugar cookie trees to the ground, and they’re done with two minutes to spare.

“Wait, no. Hang on.” Fitz rummages through the mess they’ve made at their station, skirting a camera and grabbing the half-empty container of powdered sugar. He dumps it into a sieve. 

“Snow,” he and Dex say in unison. Fitz laughs and shakes the sieve over their presentation board, covering the whole thing in a fine layer of powder. 

“Perfect,” Dex says just as the timer goes off. “Let’s win this thing.”

-/-

December 23, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois. 

Cameras flash as they zero in on Dex and Fitz’s gingerbread house, presumably taking the shots that will go along with Edaline’s and the winner of Event Five is Fitz Vacker and Dex Dizznee! announcement in the actual show. Biana’s staring at the opposite wall, though; if she looks towards the recording equipment, she doubts she’ll be able to hide how nervous she is. 

The competition doesn’t matter in the long run, but it would be really, really cool to win. 

“Now,” Edaline says after the cameras have returned to their original places. “You’ve all shown amazing talent in the past few days. Frankly, all three of us were just blown away at some of the things you created. But one of you managed to wow us at every turn, showcasing your art as well as your baking skills. And that person is…”

Next to Biana, her brother stares at the ground. A few feet away, Dex is twisting his hands together, expression schooled into something just left of panic. Biana takes a deep breath.

“Maruca Chebota!”

The room is silent, and then everyone breaks into applause. Maruca is smiling wide, tears glittering at the corners of her eyes. 

“Thank you so much,” she manages before getting crushed into a giant group hug. 

Later, Biana stands in the front hall of the hotel with her suitcase by her side. She and Fitz are flying home tonight, and she can’t wait to get back to her own apartment. 

“It’ll be nice,” Sophie agrees. “I’m heading straight out to Michigan to see my aunt and uncle for Christmas.” 

Fitz appears in the doorway, talking animatedly with someone out of sight. Biana takes the opportunity to give Sophie one last kiss. 

“I’ll text you?” She asks. Sophie nods. 

Fitz strolls up, Dex by his side. They’ve finished their conversation, apparently, and are now just looking at each other. Biana coughs.

“We should get to the airport.” She reminds him. Fitz jumps.

“Right! Yes, of course. Um-” he glances back at Dex and then sweeps the shorter man into a hug. Dex’s eyes widen but he hugs back. 

“It was so nice to meet you,” Biana tells Dex when the two break apart. “Have a nice Christmas.” 

“You too,” Dex says, and then he and Sophie are gone. Biana elbows her brother. 

“Dexter Dizznee, huh?” She asks. Fitz glares at her. 

“Shut up.”

-/-

December 28, 2020.

Dizznee Family Household 

Detroit, Michigan.

Christmas is low-key. Or, it’s as low-key as Christmas with the Dizznees can be, anyway. Bex manages to get lights on the roof, Rex brings his partners to dinner and the three of them break into an impromptu performance of Deck The Halls, and Lex sets up an elaborate present-wrapping station in the living room that seems to involve heinous amounts of tape. 

Edaline disappears upstairs a few times to work out all the details of the show, but she has enough time to help Kesler baste a turkey and kick all of their collective asses at foosball alongside Juline. Grady makes chocolate-covered cherries and Amy eats too many of them and Sophie laughs herself to tears when her sister trips over an armchair in her post-chocolate haze. They smile and exchange terrible presents and sing carols and it’s all normal, as normal as anything gets these days.

So maybe they’re not low-key. Maybe it’s just Dex who’s low, Dex who still feels like something’s missing. 

He lost the competition. He’s not mad about it; losing by a few stray points isn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. And the publicity he’ll gain from just being on television is definitely worth it. 

None of that explains his mood, though, and Dex is starting to wonder what on earth he isn’t seeing. 

“Hey,” Sophie says, wandering into the den and flopping down on the couch alongside him. Dex has been absentmindedly fiddling with a Rubik's cube for the past ten minutes, and he only now realizes it’s solved. “What’s up?” 

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been mopey all day,” she says. “All week, actually. Which is weird, because you’re not normally mopey.” 

“You- noticed?”

Sophie gives him an affronted look. “I do pay attention.” 

“I’m not mopey,” Dex protests. 

“So staring into the distance and frowning is just a hobby?” Sophie sighs, plucking the Rubik’s cube out of his hands and scooting closer. “Look, I’m not trying to shame you. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Dex stares at her, then glances down at his hands. “I… who do you keep texting?”

The question catches Sophie off guard. “What?”

“You’ve been glancing down at your phone and smiling all through vacation,” he says. “Who are you texting?”

Sophie’s cheeks flush pink. “Um. Biana?”

“Oh.” Right. Biana Vacker. Dex had almost forgotten about her, in all the chaos of the last day of competition and then heading back home. Sophie didn’t, apparently. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

“You sound like a greeting card.”

“Fuck you, I’m trying.” 

Sophie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Thanks, though. I really like her.” She tilts her head. “Now, back to your moping.”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Sophie says. She fixes him with a look that says I can see into your soul and there is some weird stuff in there. “Dex. What happened when you teamed up with Fitz Vacker in the last round of the contest?”

“Um.” Dex blinks. “We… made a gingerbread house?”

“And after that?” Sophie raises an eyebrow. “Dex, I know you. You’ve hated the Vackers possibly since you were born. How on Earth did you go from that to hugging Fitz when you said goodbye to him?”

“I-” 

There have been a lot of things recently, Dex reflects, that he’s been unable to explain, even to himself. Why he disliked the Vackers in the first place. Why he’s been empty the past few days. 

Why he and Fitz are sort of on decent terms now.

But things start to dig themselves out of his memory; an out-of-the-blue compliment about his pies, a night spent in a terrible hotel kitchen unable to sleep, a grin and a tiny peppermint swirl and fake sugar snow on a rooftop.

“Oh.” Dex’s eyes go wide. “Oh, shit.” 

“What?” Sophie asks. As if on cue, three strawberry-blond heads poke into the doorway. Dex groans. 

“Do you hear that?” Rex asks, shit-eating grin on his face. Lex nods seriously. 

“I believe it’s the sound of a local man realizing he’s been in love with Fitzroy Vacker this whole time.” 

Bex gestures towards Dex as if she’s holding a microphone. “Tell me, sir, how does it feel to come to such a conclusion? Do you think your behavior towards Mr. Vacker will change after this?”

“Please leave,” Dex says flatly. Sophie squints at him. 

��Wait, are you really-”

“I don’t know. Please make them leave.” 

Sophie looks from him to the triplets, who give her matching smiles. She shakes her head and stands up. 

“I don’t think I’m capable of doing that, honestly. I’m going to go text Bi.”

“Traitor!” Dex calls after her. The triplets flop down on the couch, garishly patterned Christmas sweaters clashing terribly with the blue cushions. Bex gives him an exaggerated I’m thinking look. 

“Hmm,” she says. “You know, maybe Amy was onto something with all her ‘enemies to lovers speedrun’ stuff.” 

“I’m leaving this family,” Dex mutters, shoving a pillow over his face. “I will go to Canada and buy a large house and never have to see any of you ever again.” 

Rex raises his eyebrows. “Wow, you’d leave your boyfriend behind like that?” 

“Nope! No, nope, not doing this.” Dex stands up and moves towards the door. Behind him, he hears at least one of his siblings fall off the couch. 

“Seriously, though. What are you going to do?”

Dex turns back around. Rex and Bex are sprawled on the floor in a tangle of feet, but Lex is looking at Dex with a strangely sympathetic expression. He sighs.

“I don’t know.”

There’s a buzz in his pocket and Dex pulls his phone out as his siblings start to untangle themselves.

Fos-Boss

hey. wanna go to nyc?

-/-

December 31, 2020.

Biana Vacker’s Self-Proclaimed Trash Can Fire

New York City, New York.

“You’re doing it again.”

Fitz leans his head over the back of the couch and frowns at her. “Doing what?”

“Your whole woe is me, time to stare aimlessly at the wall thing.” Biana waves a hand towards her brother. “Stop that and help me cut the baklava.”

“This is… a lot of baklava for just the two of us,” Fitz says. “Are you sure you didn’t decide to throw another giant stupid New Years party again?”

“I promise there will be no giant New Years party,” Biana says. “I’ve invited two people over. That’s it.”

“But you refuse to tell me who those people are, which automatically makes me suspicious.” 

As if on cue, the doorbell rings. Biana smiles at her brother and takes the knife from him. 

“Why don’t you go find out?”

Fitz sighs and moves out into the hallway. Biana hears him swing the door open, and then- nothing. 

She pushes the now-cut baklava onto a plate and leans her head out the doorway. Her brother is standing there, staring at a man with strawberry-blond hair. Sophie stands behind him, smiling awkwardly.

“Hello!” She says, directing the statement at Biana since her cousin is still locked in a staring contest with Fitz. “Happy New Year!”

“It’s not New Years yet,” Biana laughs, coming out of the doorway to grab Sophie’s coat and drop a quick kiss to her lips. “How was your drive?”

“Long,” Sophie says. “But I’ve had worse. And we had some decent pancakes, right?” 

“Right,” Dex murmurs, still staring at Fitz. He shakes his head. “Yeah, they were pretty good. Happy New Year, by the way.” 

“You too,” Fitz manages. Biana hides a laugh behind her sweater sleeve and grabs Dex’s arm. 

“Hey, you wanna come help me open the champagne?” 

“Sure, but-”

“We’ll be fine,” Fitz manages a bright grin. “I’m gonna show Sophie some of Bi’s elementary school pictures.”

“Fitzroy Avery Vacker, don’t you dare-”

Fitz laughs and Biana and Dex retreat back to the kitchen. Biana reaches for one of the bottles of champagne and turns towards the shorter man. 

“I’m not going to give you a shovel talk,” she shrugs, “mainly because I think you already know I could murder you if you hurt him.”

“Yep,” Dex nods. He looks down. “But you don’t have to worry about giving me a shovel talk. It’s not like we’re dating.” 

“No, you two have just been in love with each other for a ridiculously long amount of time.” The cork pops out of the champagne bottle and Sophie cheers from the other room. Biana grins at the stunned expression Dex is giving her. “Come on. Only an hour till midnight.”

They put the Times Square Ball Drop on at 11:30, watching as some band Biana vaguely recognizes but couldn’t name rocks out in front of the crowd. Sophie says that looks cold, and Biana says it’s always cold. That’s why I stay home, and Sophie snuggles a little closer to her. At the ten-minute mark, Dex and Fitz make some sort of telepathic agreement to go out and stand on the balcony. 

“Hey,” Biana mutters as the lights onscreen get brighter. The countdown should start soon. “I’m so glad I met you.”

Sophie turns her face, so close their noses almost brush. “Me too,” she smiles. “But I’m even happier I get to do this.”

A hurricane could probably pass through the apartment right now without Biana noticing. Sophie's lips are soft, and Biana knows this woman will stick with her no matter what. 

Numbers start to flash on the screen. Biana couldn’t care less about what they say. 

-/-

December 31, 2020.

Fitz Vacker’s Plant-Covered Balcony

New York City, New York.

“The apartment’s Biana’s, technically,” Fitz says as they step out into the cold night air. “But she never uses the balcony and I needed a place to put my plants, so it’s mine now.”

“And you’re certainly using the space,” Dex notes. He can spot at least five different kinds of flowers out here, and that’s just with his non-existent plant knowledge. 

Fitz laughs, loud and bright against the painted backdrop of the sky. There are only a few stars Dex can see, but the whole sky is a shade of midnight blue that makes up for the darkness. 

“I am, yeah.” He leans on the railing for a moment, staring down at the world below, before turning back a bit. “How was your Christmas?”

“Good,” Dex says. “How was your… Hanukkah?”

“It ended before the contest started, but yeah, it was good” Fitz glances down at the street again and Dex goes to stand next to him. Minutes tick by, the two of them just watching cars pass by.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Fitz says finally. The words are soft, barely more than whispers, and Dex thinks for a moment that he imagined them. Then Fitz looks up and meets his eyes. 

A cheer goes up from around the city, people everywhere shouting Ten! 

“I’m glad too,” Dex says. Carefully, oh-so-slowly, he reaches up and cups the other man’s cheek. Fitz’s eyes flutter closed for just a moment. 

Seven!

“The ball will drop soon,” he murmurs. “If you want to watch it.”

“I’m fine,” Dex smiles. “Unless- you want to?”

Five!

“Nah,” Fitz says, reaching up to touch Dex’s hand where it’s still on his face. “I think I can do without the spectacle for tonight.”

Three!

Dex nods, rocking forward just a little. 

Two!

Fitz’s eyes are bright, and his breath is warm where it ghosts across Dex’s skin. 

One!

They barely have to move in before their lips meet. 

-/-

January 1, 2021.

Somewhere Over New York City. 

Fireworks bloom into bursts of color against the dark sky. 

[aahsokaatano]

King I would love that essay about Changing Channels

Fjdjshjdhdjd thanks for reading my tags Jesse you're the real VIP here.

Okay SO "Changing Channels" is the 8th episode of the 5th season of Supernatural. I give this information bc it's important in looking at the context of the episode - now I've complained a LOT about how SPN is terrible at giving us canonical timeframes within the episodes (y'all i was SHOCKED to discover the first season is supposed to cover a little over a year's worth of time, I thought it was like... 4 or 5 months) so I can't say for sure how long before and after the other episodes happen in-universe around "Changing Channels" BUT

The episode before is "The Curious Case of Dean Winchester" where Dean and Bobby bet years of their lives in a game of poker with a witch. The episode after is "The Real Ghostbusters" where Sam and Dean end up at a fan convention for the in-universe Supernatural novels.

Why am I pointing this out? Because it's important, please, no audience participation, this is like a Brian David Gilbert panel.

[under a cut bc this got...... STUPID long. Who knew I still had this many opinions about SPN in 2020?]

Okay first of all I wanna talk about the cinnamon topography of this episode - I love the way the first 5 seasons are shot because you really feel the americana gothic horror aesthetic they were going for (I have a whole ‘nother rant about the first 5 seasons vs the last 10 but thats for another time). Everything is a little washed out and grey-toned, the camera angles generally serve to make Sam and Dean appear even taller than they actually are (larger than life - again, another post for another time), and there’s honestly a LOT of shots from the ‘monster’s’ perspective, which is really neat! I’ve said it before (on another blog - YES i have a dedicated spn rant blog, don’t @ me hdjfhfjfh) but the episode that really got me hooked on spn back in the day was the second one, about the w*ndigo. Yes, it’s a racist, culturally appropriating shitstorm, but the way its SHOT is fantastic. I’m honestly not a horror fan, but that episode could have easily relied on jumpscares and they DIDN’T and it was scary as all fucking hell and just - fuck okay getting off topic. 

In “Changing Channels” we get that distinctive grey-washed tone in the beginning and the very end of the episode, but the middle? When they’re in TV Land? Everything is bright. Almost comically so, I mean - okay look at these two shots of Sam (apologies about the crappy phone pics, netflix won't let me screenshot)

This one is from the start of the episode, in the "real" police station

And this is from a little later in the "TV" hospital

Ignoring that my phone is washing him out a lot in both pics, you can still see the warmer tones in the hospital shot as compared to the cold greyness in the police station one

Okay, now look at this picture

Dean inside the Impala, and those warm tones are back. Why? Because even though Sam and Dean believe that they’re back in the “real” world, they aren’t - so instead of the grey-washed shots that we’re used to, its the bright and warm shots that we see in “TV Land”! So the viewers pick up, even if its just subconsciously, that the boys aren’t out of the woods yet - everything is still too bright to be the in-universe reality we’ve come to expect from SPN by season 5

Which is also why i love this shift so much

These shots are literally SECONDS apart. The first is in "TV Land" and the second is in the "real" world. I have some red strip lights behind my bed, which are reflecting off my laptop screen - notice how much brighter they seem in the second picture? That’s because literally all of the warm colors have been drained out of the shot. As soon as Gabriel snaps them all back into “reality,” things get so much colder.

Okay, so the second thing I want to talk about is some of the very pointed dialogue choices within the “shows” the Winchesters take part in. Not between Sam and Dan and Gabriel, but from the, for lack of a better term, NPCs within the shows.

In the hospital, Dr. Piccolo tells Sam that he is “the finest cerebrovascular neurosurgeon I have ever met - and I have met plenty! So that girl died on your table; it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Sometimes people just die.” Standard cheesy soap opera dialogue - but lemme just swap some words here and - 

“You are the finest hunter I have ever met - and I have met plenty! So that girl died on your hunt; it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Sometimes people just die.”

Or even - 

“You are the finest hunter I have ever met - and I have met plenty! So Jessica and Mary died above you; it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault [but Azazel’s]. Sometimes people just die.”

Keeping in mind that the NPCs are basically Gabriel’s mouthpieces, its easy to see why so many people ship Sabriel. I’d actually love to see a fic that explores them talking about this moment in particular later on and the kind of gentle forgiveness that Gabriel can give Sam... getting off topic again.

In an abrupt about-face, the herpes commercial (much meme’d within the fandom) is straight up Gabriel shaming Sam. Because if you replace “genital herpes” with “demon blood” it’s.... dark. And very intentional.

So that’s what I did! (I combined all spoken lines to make the message easier to read, rather than splitting them up across 3 speakers as in the episode)

“I’ve drank demon blood. I tried to be responsible... did I try. But now, after being forcibly detoxed, I fight my addiction every day to reduce the chances of passing back into that toxic mindset. Ask your loved ones about a demon blood intervention today. [...] I am doing all I can to slightly lessen the chance of drinking demon blood again. And that’s a good thing.”

Like... the subtext throughout this episode sure is. Something.

Okay this is getting ridiculously long so I wanna wrap up by talking about The Best Scene In The Whole Goddamn Show

I’m talking, of course, about Gabriel’s Confession

“Max,” you might be saying, “there are so many better scenes out there, even within the first five seasons!” and to that i say, again, no audience participation, please. Also, you’re WRONG and here’s why!

Gabriel’s confession hits every goddamn emotional chord that the fandom begged for on this show - fear, rage, grief, pain, guilt, and even, yes, absolution. 

Okay, here’s the scene again for those of you who don’t think about it at least once a week like me

Now this video is missing some of the conversation, but most of it is there, enough for you to see what I’m talking about. Gabriel up to this point has been, essentially, a nameless antagonist - this is the third episode he appeared in, and before this, we didn’t even know he was going by Loki. He was just referred to as ‘The Trickster’. But here, not only do we get a name (a real name at that), but we also get a glimpse of his backstory and a hell of a lot of character development in less than 5 minutes. I mean, Sam didn’t get this much character development throughout the entirety of season 1! There’s a good reason Gabriel has been a fan-favorite for a very long time, and I think a big part of it is this particular scene.

Because here, we get to see Gabriel being vulnerable. And we even see Dean show a little vulnerability, as he can empathize being the third party to explosive arguments between the two people who mean everything to him.

I mean... okay, it will never see the light of day, but I wrote a little bit of a Reverse ‘Verse fic (because I’m a sucker for Reverse ‘Verse) and this was the scene I started with. Not s1e1, not even the resurrection in s4e1, but this scene. Because this scene, more than any other, is critical to the way not only Gabriel’s (first) arc plays out, but also to how Sam and Dean conduct themselves for the rest of the season (and maybe a bit beyond, it’s been a hot minute since I watched s6 and later). Dean is angry but determined, he has a point to make, he is going to save Sammy and if he can’t do that, then he’s going to damn well die trying. But Sam... it’s after this episode that we start really seeing how bone-achingly tired Sam is. It’s after this conversation - where one of the other archangels, one of the few beings who can truly understand how powerful Michael and Lucifer are - says that there’s no other way around this that Sam seems to start inching towards giving in. Saying yes.

Sure, in the actual episode, he seems outraged by the idea, practically scoffs at it - “you want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?” - but it’s after this where Sam really seems run down.

I mean, look at the episodes before and after (HAH you thought I forgot about that first point I made at the very beginning of this post! I did, briefly, but I’ve circled back to it, thanks for being understanding). In “The Curious Case of Dean Winchester,” Sam behaves much as he did since the start of s4, which is to say, ‘annoying little know-it-all brother tossed into the middle of the apocalypse and just trying his best’ and it works well for the mad scramble for any scrap of information that’s happening in s4/early s5.

But in “The Real Ghostbusters” it’s different. This is another funny meta episode - except, while Sam and Dean are technically aware of the joke, they aren’t as amused by it as the audience is. And it’s not because of the ghosts. It’s because they’re just... done. Especially Sam. Dean has that nice little moment with the cosplayers at the end of the episode, but Sam... threatens to shoot Chuck. Sam ‘goes darkside’ more often than pretty much any other character in the show, but that moment is different. It’s a flat promise, not a threat. He’s not being an asshole, like he is after losing his soul. He’s just... done. And it’s obvious to see.

Gabriel’s confession is the turning point for Sam in s5, and it informs a lot of his behavior through the rest of s5, and possibly beyond! Like I said, I haven’t watched past s5 in a very long time, so I don’t feel confident enough to analyze that specific sort of character line, but I feel confident in saying that hearing one of the most powerful beings in the universe basically say “it doesn’t matter what you do - your destiny is unavoidable” and then he’s proven right (Sam says yes to Lucifer, and Dean eventually does say yes to Michael down the line!)... like, that’s really gotta fuck up your world view that was built on free will and throwing off the shackles of fate. Sam managed to avoid his ‘destiny’ in s2... but then it turns out that that wasn’t ever his destiny. Lucifer was his destiny.

Talk about an obscured view of the inner self.

[hazel-writes]

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female OC

Summary: Aristeia, an ambitious and self-reliant journalist on Tatooine, crosses paths with a Mandalorian after a harrowing encounter with Imperial remnants.

Word Count: 5,000

Warnings: canon-typical violence, death

A/N: Oh my gosh, I finally did it. After months of reading some absolutely incredible Mando fanfics, I took the plunge and started writing my own. I'm so excited to share this with all of you!

This fic starts during episode 1x5 and will loosely follow the show's timeline (I will be taking many creative liberties). The first chapter is from Aristeia's point of view, but I'll be going back and forth between her POV and Din's afterwards. I jump straight into the action in this fic, so if things seem a little crazy at first, don't worry, all will be explained soon :)

This is my first time writing for our favorite space cowboy, so any and all feedback is welcomed! If you want to keep updated on this fic between updates, check my bio for other places you can find me. Also, a Spotify playlist to accompany this fic is coming soon!

Without further ado, please enjoy this chaotic mess of a chapter! ♥︎

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Aristeia sighed as she weaved her way through the busy streets of Mos Eisley, Tatooine. It was almost sunset and most people were heading home after long days at work. A layer of dust rose around the feet of those attending to last-minute errands. She watched as a woman bought a large red fruit from one of the street-side vendors. A soot-covered teenaged boy stood by the neighboring building, stocking up on mechanical supplies. Near his feet, two sunburnt children fought over a small toy. The scene was normal to her: ever since settling on Tatooine years ago, Aristeia had slowly grown accustomed to the slow and gritty flow of the planet.

As she continued walking, she kept her head down, eyes always focused a few steps ahead of her feet. However, whenever someone neared, she would look up briefly to offer them a small smile. Most of the time they ignored her, scowled, or rolled their eyes, but every now and then, someone would return her gesture. Those moments made the effort worth it.

Unlike the people who meandered around her, Aristeia was just starting her work for the day. She kicked up clouds of dirt as she made her way to the recently-abandoned mechanic’s shop. She used to frequent it back when she had a speeder, but after the owners passed away, it had unfortunately turned into a popular site of criminal activity. A few days back, she had intercepted a transmission that mentioned a meeting at the location, and as a journalist, she had to be there to see what was going on. Armed with a small notebook and stylus, she was prepared to document the whole thing.

Turning the corner of a dusty alley, which was littered with miscellaneous tools and sheets of scrap metal, the old mechanic’s place finally came into view. Its exterior architecture was similar to that of the rest of Tatooine, however its dark and doorless entrance led to an underground network of small rooms. With every step Aristeia took towards the building, her anxiety grew. Unlike her other investigative stakeouts, she was going into the mechanic’s blind. The transmission didn’t reveal a whole lot about the nature of the meeting, which she knew meant it was of special importance. These were the kind of meetings that could provide her with a groundbreaking story. They were also the kind of meetings where someone could get hurt.

Aristeia had never been good at fighting – physically, at least – but she did give herself credit for not having died so far, especially in her line of work. Put a blaster in her hand and she’d probably shoot her own foot off. However, put a pen in her hand, and she was a force to be reckoned with.

Aristeia had been writing ever since she was young. It started with little stories: she would go into a crowd of people, find a quiet place to sit, and observe each person that passed by. She would notice what they were wearing, how they carried themselves, who they were with, where they were going, and then she would make up the ‘why’: Why were they dressed like that? Why did they walk like that? Why were they with this person or that person? Her imagination would stitch together the missing pieces of their backstories, creating life narratives of people she had never even met. She did the same thing now from time to time. In fact, people watching was imperative to her role as a journalist.

As Aristeia grew older, she and a few friends decided to start a local newsletter that got sent out to residents of Mos Eisley every month. It was by no means a ‘professional’ establishment. The writers were all residents, many of them barely adults, who wanted to keep their friends and family informed about any activity that could threaten the freedom they had fought so hard to gain after the fall of the Empire.

A group of giggling children ran around the corner, pulling Aristeia out of her thoughts. She watched as they kicked around a near-deflated ball with bare, dust-covered feet. Sighing, she turned back around to peer down the steps of the abandoned mechanic’s. It was just beginning to get dark and the suns had nearly reached the edge of the horizon, casting eerie shadows on the stairwell walls. She looked for any sign of movement in the space below and when nothing seemed to be stirring, she made her way down the packed-dirt stairs and entered into the main room.

The area was small with not very many places to hide, immediately making her anxious. She had never been a fan of tiny spaces. But this was too important of a mission for her to give up now. She looked to her left and spotted a large plant, which obviously hadn’t seen any light or water for quite some time. However, its pot and leaves could be big enough to hide her if she was able to fit behind it. It’s not like she had very many options to choose from.

A noise from above forced her into action. She darted behind the plant as fast as she could, curling herself up against the corner of the wall. The sounds of heavy footfalls met her ears. There were at least five people making their way into the room she was in. From between the leaves of the plant, she could make out the forms of two stormtroopers and a tall, lanky man in a gray uniform. Imperials.

After the fall of the Empire, most people on Tatooine had celebrated immensely. They believed they had finally achieved freedom. It was hard for Aristeia to share their excitement, knowing how many lives had been lost on both sides. She also had always been a realist, never letting herself get too comfortable when everything seemed to be coming up roses. She had been tracking the movements of rogue troopers around the city for a while, trying to figure out who they took orders from and where they were located. In recent weeks, she had intercepted a few transmissions referencing what the Imps called ‘the asset’. Just one day before, she had caught word of a meeting scheduled to take place in the room where she was now hiding. She knew she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get more intel. Once she had enough information, she planned on writing a massive expose, informing all of Mos Eisley to her discoveries.

A raspy voice broke her train of thought: “Have you found the asset?” Peering around the plant’s leaves, she saw that it was the man in gray who had spoken.

“No, not yet,” a Klatoonian replied gruffly. “We tracked the ship to this city. As far as we know, the Mandalorian still has it.”

A Mandalorian… Aristeia shuddered. There wasn’t much in the galaxy that she was terrified of anymore. Sure, she often felt scared. In fact, she was scared most of the time; it’s part of what kept her alive for so long. But there was very little that truly terrified her. Mandalorians were one of those things.

She shook her head, forcing herself out of her spiraling panic. Focus on the facts, she thought – it was a phrase she repeated often when overwhelmed with her work. Focus on the Facts. The Imperial man’s mention of the Mandalorian was new info to her. All she knew from previous transmissions was that the Imps needed the asset for some sort of experiment. She didn’t understand it too much – she was never very good at science.

Aristeia reached into her bag, pulling out her notebook and stylus so she could document her new discovery. As quietly as she could, she opened the front cover of the journal, flipping to the next blank page.

As she did so, her finger caught on one of the pages, slicing a thin cut across the pad of her pointer finger. Kriff, she whispered, accidentally dropping her stylus as she moved to nurse her injured finger. She realized her fatal mistake too late.

“What do we have here?” she heard a voice drawl from above her. The Klatooinian, who had taken a few steps toward Aristeia, peered around the edge of the plant before looking back at the Rodian. “Is this one yours?”

Aristeia scowled at the suggestion. “No, I most certainly am not.”

The two men chuckled, infuriating her even more. “Why don’t you come out so we can take a better look at you?” the Rodian suggested with a devilish smirk.

“Yeah, cause that sounds like it would end well for me…” she mumbled, trying to think of a way to escape the predicament she had gotten herself into.

The uniformed man and his two stormtroopers stayed quiet throughout the ordeal, seemingly bored by the other mens’ interaction.

“She must be terminated. She has heard too much,” the man in gray finally chimed in.

At this, Aristeia started to panic. She was in deep bantha munk this time. Sure, she had been in tricky positions before – it was kind of a requirement of living on Tatooine – but this was bad.

“I didn’t hear anything, I swear! I was just…” She stood up slowly and looked around the room, trying to find an alibi. “...admiring the plants?”

She mentally facepalmed at her attempt of a lie, something she was never very good at. It helped her in a journalistic sense, as she always did her best to remain objective in her articles. She recognised the power that came with telling the truth, especially now, in the wake of an empire founded largely on lies. However, in this case, she could’ve used a good fib. Admiring the plants, really? she scolded herself. After a moment of silence, the uniformed man directed a curt nod at the stormtroopers, who then advanced on her quickly.

Springing into action, she attempted to kick the chestplate of the trooper closest to her, but missed, only managing to clip his knee. Nonetheless, it threw him off-balance, sending him stumbling into his fellow trooper. She took the brief opening to run as fast as she could towards the stairs that led back up to the main street. She got halfway up, mere feet away from freedom, before a large hand yanked her back down the steps harshly. She fell backwards, scraping her elbows and knees on the hard dirt before hitting her head on the floor, hard.

She couldn’t see anything but blurry spots of white and orange as strong and grimy hands pulled her across the floor, back to the troopers. The one she kicked earlier returned the favor, sending sparks of pain through her abdomen. Footsteps approached and a heavy boot landed between her shoulder blades, forcing her against the floor. Another second passed before she heard the charging up of a blaster from above her head.

Aristeia closed her eyes, cheek pressed to the dirt, accepting her fate. She forced warm memories into her mind, not wanting her last thoughts to be of the man whose heavy boot currently pinned her to the ground. Her mind danced from memory to memory, finding it hard to focus on any one image for too long: a familiar, tender hand ran its fingers along the curves of her face; trees towered over her like arrows aimed for the stars; a single candle cast a warm glow over pieces of parchment; a sweet smile, one she probably would never see again, beamed through the darkness...

A burst of blaster fire sounded from above her head. As if shooting her once wasn’t enough, she thought, before realizing that it wasn’t possible for her to make sarcastic quips if she was dead. She opened one eye, then the other, only to stare right into the lifeless face of the man in the gray uniform. It was a sight she was sure would stay with her forever.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

She finally looked up, not recognising the deep modulated voice that sounded from above her.

A shining wall of silver met her eyes, his blaster pointed at the Klatoonian. A Mandalorian, she thought. Waves of terror flooded Aristeia’s body. It was almost as if the universe had plucked him straight out of one of her nightmares and dumped him deliberately at her feet. She was familiar with the Mandalorians, more than most, but seeing one after so many years still managed to send shivers down her spine.

Focus on the facts. Focus on the facts. she repeated to herself.

Something about the way the armored man carried himself made her realize that this wasn’t just any Mandalorian: this was the Mandalorian, the one her attackers had been discussing moments earlier.

His presence seemed to fill the whole room. She found her eyes involuntarily moving up his figure, taking in the pure power that emanated from his armored form. Her gaze landed on his face, or where his face should’ve been. Instead, all she could see was her own terrified reflection in his dark, deadly visor.

When the Klatoonian didn’t make any effort to move, the shiny man looked down and gave her a barely perceptible nod to the side. She knew exactly what he was telling her to do.

As fast as she could, she rolled to her right, hearing blaster shots fire above her as she did so. She scrambled back towards the plant she was hiding behind earlier and watched as the armored man fought the others. While the Mandalorian was distracted with the Rodian, the Klatoonian aimed his blaster towards his silver chestplate. Aristeia considered shouting to the metal-clad man in warning, but didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself. To her horror, she watched as the Klatoonian pulled the trigger.

The Mandalorian, however, sensed what was coming and ducked. The blaster beam rebounded off of a large metal sheet that stood propped up against the wall behind him and hit the Klatoonian square in the chest. He fell to the floor, lifeless. To Aristeia’s surprise, she heard the Mandalorian curse, seemingly frustrated by the death of his attacker. The stormtroopers took his moment of annoyed distraction as a sign to run, bolting back up the stairs before the Mandalorian could stop them.

Aristeia’s senses slowly started to come back to her, as did the pain in her stomach, hands and knees. Unsure of the Mandalorian’s intentions, she scrambled on the packed dirt, trying to find the notebook she had brought with her. She finally found it tucked between the wall and the nearby plant pot.

She turned to see the armored man, having knocked the Rodian unconscious, finally focus his attention on her. She grabbed the stylus that she always kept clipped to the side of her notebook, the one that had caused all this trouble to begin with, and held it out in front of her as threateningly as possible.

The Mandalorian casually put a hand on his hip and popped one of his legs out slightly. His helmet tilted to the side incredulously. If she wasn’t so scared, she might have laughed at his almost-lazy posture.

“Hey, they say the pen is mightier than the sword, right?” Aristeia shrugged nervously, still directing the stylus towards the silver mass in front of her.

He ignored her comment and dipped his helmet towards the bodies on the floor. “What were you doing with them?”

She debated whether or not to tell him. His low, warning tone made it seem like she didn’t have much of a choice. So far, he hadn’t made any move to hurt her, despite the fact that he had every opportunity to. Even now he kept his distance, almost like he was trying not to startle her any further. That, or the stylus really had scared him.

“I’m a journalist,” Aristeia responded. “I was trying to get some information for my next story when they found me.”

She shifted on her feet when he didn’t respond right away.

“Story?” he finally repeated, almost like he was skeptical of the word.

“Yeah.”

She knew it must sound silly. Her stories, and journalism as a whole, probably weren’t on this man’s radar. A lot of people thought that her profession was impractical and meddling, but obviously the work she did was important enough to gain the attention of the Imps.

Whatever the Mandalorian was thinking prompted him to mumble something, turn on his heel, and start back up the stairs. Aristeia was left speechless, her hair settling back into place after being disheveled by the sudden billowing of the Mandalorian’s cape.

She looked around the room at the bodies littering the floor, remembering briefly that the troopers had escaped. That alone almost ensured her certain death. They had seen her face – it was only a matter of time before they would find her. Already regretting her decision, she heard herself calling out to the Mandalorian who had reached the top of the stairs: “Wait!”

He stopped his movement, pausing briefly before slowly turning to face Aristeia, who now stood at the bottom of the stairs. She looked up at his figure, which from her angle looked more commanding than ever, his silver armor backlit by the setting suns.

Finally finding her words, she spoke. “Please, I… I need to get off this planet. You have a ship, right? The troopers who ran, they’ll tell the others, they’ll come after me.”

She hated how desperate she sounded, but she didn’t know what else to do. Her friends barely had enough money for speeders. Most of them had never even been off the planet. All she knew was that she needed to leave, and soon.

“Why would they waste your time on you?” the Mandalorian asked, probably unsure how a girl armed with a stylus could possibly pose a threat to the Imps.

She ignored his underestimating tone before replying. “Because I overheard what they were talking about. Once they find out who I am, they’ll kill me.”

“And who exactly are you?”

Kriff, she thought. If the Mandalorian found out just how invested she was in her recent investigations, he could use that against her. “Well… I’m Aristeia.”

The Mandalorian voiced a frustrated sigh. “And?”

“And…”

She was about to answer when she spotted a blinking red light out of the corner of her eye. Upon further inspection, she found its source: a tracking fob held in the Mandalorian’s left hand. Of course, she thought. He’s a bounty hunter. The Klatoonian must have been his bounty – that’s why he was upset when he was accidentally killed in the crossfire.

Aristeia felt her heart rate spike as she devised the best way to backtrack on her previous request for help.

She slowly made her way towards the Mandalorian, subtly attempting to get back up to street level. “...and I really should be getting back to work, so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll just head back up those stairs now.”

The Mandalorian, unfortunately, noticed the unusual change in her disposition.

“What’s the sudden rush?” he asked as the arm carrying the fob shot out to stop her escape.

“No, no, it’s nothing! I really should go. My… husband is waiting for me,” Aristeia lied. The Mandalorian just stared, his arm remaining in place. “He gets upset when I’m late.” She offered with a fake smile, trying desperately to alleviate the tension. When he still didn’t move, she continued. “He’s very big. And uhh… He’s a sheriff!” she added, for good measure. The Mandalorian cocked his head slightly to the left in response, as if seeing how far she would take her lie. “And he has lots and lots of weapons. A whole armory with guns and knives and other… spiky things.”

“Spiky things?” he asked, almost amused.

“Well, yeah.” she replied, but it came out as more of a question.

“Well, you know what I think?” he said, taking a few sauntering steps forward. His posture oozed confidence – one hand was hooked on his belt, just in front of his blaster, while the other hung casually at his side.

Aristeia took a small step backwards. “W-what?”

“I think you have a bounty on your head.”

Kriff, she thought. He’s good.

Aristeia took another step back, but the Mandalorian closed the distance quickly. She held up her hands placatedly.

“Look, I don’t… know if there’s a price on my head. I’ve always just assumed . Over the past few years, my friends, the other journalists here, they’ve been going missing. It was pretty obvious that the Imps didn’t want us sharing their activities with the whole planet. Recently, things had been pretty quiet, at least until they started freaking out about this whole ‘asset’ thing.”

The Mandalorian’s posture straightened and his towering body leaned towards hers menacingly. When he spoke, his voice lacked all the nonchalance it had earlier and instead radiated a seriousness that chilled her to the core. “What do you know about the ki- the asset?”

Aristeia, regarding his sudden change in demeanor, stuttered in response: “N-nothing really – Shouldn’t you know?”

“Nothing really?” he repeated, completely ignoring her question.

“Just what I’ve heard over the coms.” Shoot, she thought. Shouldn’t have said that.

“You have access to their coms?” he asked, a sliver of surprise peeking through his gruffness.

She did. It was one of her biggest accomplishments since arriving on Tatooine. One evening, she had been at her desk, listening to random transmissions on an old faulty comlink her mother gave her years ago. She would do this every night, never once picking up on the voice she was desperately waiting to hear. Instead, she usually caught onto feeds from people nearby: small business dealings, calls to family working out in the dunes, even the occasional secret teenage correspondence. Aristeia enjoyed listening to the small snippets of the others’ lives; it gave her hope in a world that she seemed more and more disconnected to with each new day.

But on this night, she had intercepted a transmission that was far more concerning than her typical listening content. Two voices, one that she now knew was the man in the gray suit and another who she assumed was a stormtrooper, crackled over the comlink. Within a few minutes, she not only knew that the Empire wasn’t dead, but that they were also situated right on her doorstep . After making this discovery, she made sure to keep her com set to that specific feed, which is how she ended up finding out about the meeting that led to her current encounter with the Mandalorian.

“Sometimes I have access,” she responded to the Mandalorian’s question with a nonchalant shrug. She basked in the power that this information seemed to give her over him. “It depends on how close they are, the wind levels, and if my tech is even working that day-”

“Where do you live?” he interrupted hurriedly.

Aristeia suppressed a laugh. “Excuse me?”

“Where do you live?” he repeated slowly, though this time it came out as a more of a modulated growl.

She laughed nervously. “No way, you seriously think I’d tell a bounty hunter where I lived? That’s like breaking every single rule of common sense. I mean, come on, think of this from my perspective.”

His posture relaxed minutely and he released another sigh, this one less frustrated than the previous. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done it by now.”

She recognised the truth in his statement, but that didn’t mean she was willing to go out of her way to help him. For all she knew, he could take the coms and turn her in afterwards. Aristeia tried to get a better read of him, but unlike most people she met, she couldn’t. She didn’t have any guesses as to who he was, what his intentions were, or why the ‘asset’ was so important to him. In a universe of starry galaxies, he was a black hole.

“What do I get out of it?” she asked, trying her best to sound confident. She countered the slight relaxation of his own stance with the newfound boldness of her own. “Helping you, I mean.”

The Mandalorian scoffed beneath his helmet. “I saved your life, I think that’s qualifying enough.”

“You were just going after the Klatooinian.”

“And if I hadn’t, you’d be dead.”

“Wow, consider me comforted.”

He sighed, clearly agitated by her retorts. “If you show me the coms, then I won’t tell the Guild about the little notebook operation you’ve got going on down here,” he said, waving a gloved hand towards the bag that carried her journal.

“And now I’m being blackmailed. Fantastic.” she muttered, running a hand through her hair.

Aristeia stilled, evaluating her options. She could either ignore the Mandalorian and risk having him reveal her, and her work, to the Guild, or help him and hope he returned the favor. Neither option was ideal.

“Fine ,” she relented. “Just give me a second.”

Aristeia took the Mandalorian’s lack of response as a signal to go ahead, and made her way back into the darkness of the room that now reeked of death. She tried to think back to the days when she would come to the mechanic’s to repair the many malfunctions her speeder frequently sustained. She always enjoyed the loud and hectic bustle of the establishment. Its owners were kind and would always let the neighborhood kids hang out and watch them work on one project or another, occasionally even letting them help out. Those times seemed distant as Aristeia approached the body of the fallen Imp.

“Hey, you wanna hurry it up down there?” a gruff voice sounded from above.

“Really?” Aristeia replied, astonished at the Mandalorian’s near-childlike impatience.

“I thought you had some husband with a large collection of spiky things who doesn’t like it when you’re late?”

Hearing him repeat her previous lie out loud made it seem even more ridiculous, but she ignored him and continued to move towards the gray-suited man.

“What are you doing?” he called from above, seemingly untrusting of her retreat back to the main room.

Oh my stars, she thought, surprised by her own annoyance at the Mandalorian. Her initial fear had evolved into irritation at his constant attempts at intimidation and control. She couldn’t let her guard down though – she could lose her leverage at any moment and then who knows what he’d do with her.

Aristeia reigned in the sarcastic comment she was about to make and instead answered his question with a restrained sigh. “Seeing if they have any information.”

“In case you didn’t notice, they’re dead. They can’t help you.”

Obviously, she thought with a roll of her eyes, but didn’t say so out loud.

“Yeah, but their pockets can.”

Aristeia stared at the man in gray. Even though the blaster bolt to his chest all but guaranteed his death, she still approached his body warily, as if it could come back to life at any moment. Avoiding his hollow gaze, she dug through his pockets, searching for any more information that could prove useful to her future articles. All she found was a handwritten note containing some sort of coded language she didn’t recognise. She folded it carefully and put it in her own pocket for safekeeping before heading back towards the Mandalorian.

By the time she joined him at street level, the suns had already set. He took a few steps forward but paused when he felt her hesitate behind him. She felt weird leaving behind the mangled bodies of the men in the darkness below.

“We should move the bodies,” she said cautiously, her eyebrows furrowed in confliction.

“No time,” the Mandalorian replied simply, turning back towards the street.

“Please,” she pleaded, looking to her left where a group of children played in the distance. “I- I don’t want any kids finding that.”

He silently followed her gaze and stood completely still for a moment, as if debating his own response. Aristeia tried, and once again failed, to get a good read of what was going through his head.

“Fine,” he finally said. “I’ll get them in the morning.”

She would’ve liked them taken care of sooner, but it seemed that there was no room for negotiation. To be honest, she was surprised he agreed to her request at all. Something was different about this Mandalorian, and she couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing.

“Which way?” he asked, referencing her house. The one she stupidly agreed to take him to, Aristeia thought.

“Uh…” She paused briefly, but it was a moment too long for the Mandalorian’s liking. “This way,” she finished, pointing down an alley to her left. She hiked the bag she carried higher up on her shoulder and took a few steps forward before feeling a hard tug on her arm.

“Hey, I wouldn’t recommend trying anything. It wouldn’t end well for you,” the Mandalorian said threateningly. His visor stared down at her coldly and she suddenly grew extremely frustrated by the fact that she couldn’t see his eyes. She felt vulnerable under his gaze and didn’t like it one bit.

“Let go of my arm,” Aristeia replied, her voice low and serious. His grip remained strong. She stared daggers up at his helmet and it was the first time since meeting him that she was truly angry. “I said, let go.”

To her surprise, she felt his grip loosen and she promptly tugged her arm away from him. Her posture radiated confidence, but the fear in her eyes betrayed her. Without a word, she spun around and continued heading in the direction of her small house, not sparing another look behind her to see if the Mandalorian was following.

He was.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Masterlist || Next (coming soon!)

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

Draco looked about him for the source of the meaningful cough. It seemed to have come from somewhere near his knees, but that couldn’t be right. 

“Pipsy?”

“Er. Down here,” Harry Potter’s head and shoulders were sticking out of the kitchen fire, and he reached out one hand to pluck at Draco’s robes. 

Draco jumped back, “Potter!” 

Potter waved, “Hi. Er. How’s your mum?”

Draco waved over a kitchen chair and sank into it, “Potter, my ignoring your owls was not a hint for you to Floo into my kitchen. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you. Can I come in?”

Draco shook his head incredulously, “No! You can’t rescue me from lycanthropy, Potter and I haven’t asked you to anyway. Get out of my fire and go back to forgetting I exist, like you have been for the last year.” 

“I.” Potter frowned, “That was a lot of very jumbled accusations. Are you angry about me paying attention to you or not paying attention to you?” 

Draco pressed a hand to his temple, “I am not angry. Please go away.” 

Pipsy came in and went to the stove, “Your wolfsbane potion is ready. Would you like some ice cream with it?” 

Draco rose from his seat, “I’m sort of in the middle of something, Pipsy. Give me a minute.” He nudged his chair backward and nearly tripped over Potter who had climbed out of the fire while Draco was distracted. 

“Go on and take it. I can wait. I know it doesn’t keep,” Potter took the seat Draco had just pushed aside.

Draco pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, “My life is out of control.” 

Nobody took any notice. Pipsy brought over a steaming mug, “Hello again Mr Harry Potter. Would you like some tea?” 

Draco took his mug, “I’m going to drink this in my room, and if any Potters follow me or appear there by any other means, I’ll hex them.” And he swept out of the room. 

Up in his bedroom, he choked down the hot, bitter potion in peace. When there were only the dregs left, someone tapped at his door. Draco swallowed hard at the last of his potion so that he could tell whoever it was to go away, but the door opened before he could. 

It was Potter of course, “Pipsy said you usually have ice cream after your wolfsbane potion.” He held out a dish of it, “It’s peach, which I hear is your favourite?” 

Draco felt in his robes for his wand and pulled it out, “Right, I’m going to turn you into a raccoon now.” 

Potter tucked the dish into Draco’s free hand and sat down on the bed, “I just want to speak to you a moment. Erm. Right okay. You know how I was quite good friends with Professor Lupin. And my best mate Ron’s older brother Bill has-”

“I know who Ron is.” Draco took a bite of ice cream, “Are you stalking me just because you’re obsessed with listing me your sick friends?”

“I was saying,” Potter continued, rolling his eyes as if it were unreasonable for Draco to have interrupted him, “Bill would tell you that if you stay here on your own all the time, your brain’ll rot. You should leave your house and be around people.”

Draco took a larger bite of ice cream and grimaced through his brain freeze, “What makes you think I don’t?”

Potter raised a skeptical eyebrow, “So. You socialize?”

“Fine,” snapped Draco. “Here’s the last tiny scrap of my dignity, Harry Potter. No, of course I don’t socialize; I’m a fucking pariah! Please go the fuck away!” 

Potter sighed longsufferingly, “Well er. I’ve got this house in London on Grimmauld Place. Me and Ron are flatmates, and we have an Exploding Snap tournament with a few people from school, so if you want to-”

Draco sort of grunted and scraped the bottom of his ice cream dish with his spoon, “The last time I saw Weasley, he punched me in the back of the head.”

“Well, your friend was trying to murder us at the time,” said Harry fairly. 

“And you think we should all play cards together and chat over the good old days?” 

Harry shrugged, “Fine, if you’d rather go mad of boredom-”

“And lycanthropy.” 

Potter dug his hands into his pockets, “Well it’s like. The dawn of a new age or whatever. I don’t want to. We. We’re all still trying to. Get our heads together, you know? That stuff before. It was stupid. We were kids. It doesn’t have to be our. Our whole lives. You know?”

Draco looked down and wondered when he’d started rubbing his left forearm. 

Potter watched him do that for a moment, “I just. I don’t like to. I don’t leave people behind.”

“Ah, of course. Well this has been more than could possibly be expected of you, St. Potter. Your record is untarnished. Please go.” 

Potter stood, “All right. But I’ll be back.” And he Disapparated, leaving Draco with no doubt that he’d keep his word.

__

Part One here

ETA I wrote a whole fic of this! You can find it here. The first two scenes have already appeared on tumblr, but the remaining 25k are all new babey!!!

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Falling From Grace- Part 2: Deleted Scenes

Calum, Ashton, Luke, and Michael have a prophecy to fulfill. They might not have always been Calum, Ashton, Luke, and Michael but they have always been brothers in the fight. Mythology!sos. Each guy is a God reincarnated from various mythologies. 

See the full story. 

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No one has my permission to repost this fic, including translations. All rights reserved. Copyright © be-ready-when-i-say-go.

_____________________________

He’s known the museum sitting there for years now. He’s just never step foot into it. Felt way too close to home knowing that statues of people he actually knows sit about. But Ashton walts in this time. It could be fun he figures. It’s not like anyone knows him, knows his connection. So with his hair tied back for the moment, Ashton pays admission and starts about the exhibits. Most of the place is way too pristine. The white walls look more like a hospital and it feels like one too but much less sorrowful. He keeps his hands tucked into the pocket of his pants, restricting the yearning to touch some of the frames. 

He misses the frill, the extravagant gold accents on his usual robes. The frames are the closet he’s going to get right now. Ashton follows the line down before rounding the corner and finding him at the door of another exhibit. Busts line the walls and he grins to himself. He recognizes these faces, knows them all too well, even if they are in white marble. Some are chipped, the wear and tear of time never being the most merciful force in the universe. 

Ashton poses in front of the first statue, mimicking the facial expression. He sends the photo to the group chat. This guy was a dick. Or is a dick, still, I guess is more correct. He moves down to the second bust, pulling a face similar to the one sculpted. Less of a dick, he types, grinning to himself. He takes a photo with the last bust, furrowing his brows, and pulling down the corner of his lips. Less of a dick than the first two. Guy’s still not my favorite. 

A couple of minutes later his phone buzzes. Michael’s replied, I’m saving these for evidence. You’ve been warned. 

They hate me anyway, so good luck with that.

Damn it. Why do all the Greek Gods hate each other so fucking much?

Because we do. It’s our Brand™. 

Alright Meme Lord. 

Ashton chuckles, pocketing his phone. As he walks through the rest of the museum he ponders what else to do with the photos? Should they just sit forever in the groupchat? What’s the real harm in posting them? He doesn’t have to put a caption. If he’s going to live in this life then he’s going to live it to its fullest. 

As Ashton settles back onto the cushions of his house, he hovers over the post button. He’s had the pictures sitting for ages in the post. Nothing’s going to happen to him. The Gods aren’t going to smite him, for all their seriousness, humor is not lost on them. Just post it, he thinks to himself. It is not the end of the world. He’s all acquainted with how that goes. His thumb twitches, the posts loads before the screen changes. There, staring back up at him, is his own face next to faces he’s always seen in the flesh. 

Maybe it’s a bad idea. Panic starts to hits his chest. His phone buzzes. It’s Calum. I know you, mate. Saw the photos. They’re funny. Don’t worry. Ashton starts to draft his response, tell them how he needs to delete the photos before another messages comes in. If you delete them, it’s more suspicious. Leave them be. We are human right now. What’s the point of having this humanity and not using it.

Calum is right. Ashton exhales, deleting all the panicked message and replacing it with a simple, Thanks. 

_________

Michael finds himself as the next one in a museum. This time not as accidental as Ashton’s trip. He decided to go out for the day, see some sights, to get away. They need a break. Recording and writing, more writing, more recording. He just wants to shut his brain off for a moment, just enjoy his time while it’s still mostly his. As he’s walking through the exhibits, awestruck by the use of colors and the line work that’s still incorporated into the final details of the piece, he jokingly poses in front of some pieces. He’s only doing it for the jokes, the giggle behind the camera. 

But at the conclusion of his journey through art, he realizes that some of those poses were pretty spot on. He posts the set of recreations with the caption, Immerse yourself. Become art. He wants to add more. You are art. Everyone is art. Everything is art. There’s an art in just existing, in just breathing when everything feels like it’s telling you not to breathe, to not exist. However he figures it best to stay positive, to keep it light and funny. He’s becoming art and that reminds him, even in all the struggle of making this album he still has a duty to himself. 

So he leaves it at just that. Become art. Becoming is the best part of existence. He can become anyone. He can become anything, even if in some ways he is still restricted by another’s diction. He will always becoming something in this human form. He hopes he never stops becoming either, even in the old age when bones are more brittle. 

__ Everyone’s buzzing about Marvel. It’s always somewhere in the corners of the internet the correct way to watch the movies. Calum’s never been one to delve head first into this. But Michael enjoys it and rather than tune out his friend’s interest, he suspends all he knows and finds the action scenes and the comradery admirable. Even if people are robots made out of blue scraps, and someone’s a purple giant, and there’s two green people. But only one’s technically the alien and the other deems himself an abomination.

It’s not very amusing when the interviewer jokes about potentially spoiling the movie. Calum can tell Michael’s a little on edge. So he jokes, “Is Spiderman in it?”

“Yeah, I haven’t even watched the trailer because I don’t wanna spoil it,” Michael replies, looking down at the slight furrowed brow of the brown man slouched, picking at his nails. 

“Is Spiderman in it?” Ashton echoes. 

Calum speaks up again, “Is it Toby?” HIs face in deadpanned. He knows Michael will think he is serious. 

Michael for a second is shocked, voice dripping with disbelief. “What? No.” He watches the very faint smile that overtakes Calum’s face and then laughs. Of course Calum would ask that. He knows it’s not Toby but it got a chuckle out of Michael. 

Calum faces forward, staring directly into the camera, like in The Office. Not too many people will catch onto the joke, the play that just happened. But it’s fine. It’s for Michael anyway. The stab about spoilers wasn’t funny to anyone and rather than let that tension grow, Calum knew he had to break it somehow. This then spurs Ashton onto a rant about how Toby is better. 

Calum interjects, mostly at Michael, “I like Tom, but I like Toby more.”

Later on, after all the interviews are done, they settle into the dark of the theater. They laugh, they gasp, they admittedly cry. Though it only maybe only a couple of tears and no one would admit it, it’s still a shock. Calum pulls out his phone, Why is Gamora? He decides to focus on the positive, on the laughs. Though the question itself is still a very valid one. Why is anyone? Why the question purpose, and sometimes the most difficult one to ask. Why anything? Why the four of them? Why is it so humid in Singapore? The t-shirt, that Calum figured would be thin enough, does not provide much circulation. His pits feel like a swamp, the leather to the couch they’ve been sat on for the last two days takes no prisoners either. 

Calum has learned, however, that he can question why until he turns blue in the face? He could analyze every interaction, every word in existence and it would still only lead him to more questions. He doesn’t let that stop him from question some things but he tries not to question too many things. There is some, while it is scary, serenity in knowing that one does not have all the answers. He is allowed to question Why is Gamora and it is nothing more than a funny piece of dialogue from a widely accepted heart wrenching movie and it will provide answers of its own accord, at its own pace. All he simply must do is walk into a dark theater. 

________

“So we can see, Calum out there has had a long day,” Luke starts, shirtless, watching out onto the balcony where Calum, “on the treacherous waters.”

“He was fishing for Tilapia,” Ashton interjects. 

“Catch Calum on the newest season of Deadliest Catch,” Luke concludes. He doesn’t find himself to be the funniest guy, but every so often he likes to get in a joke. 

Ashton opens the door, “You okay, buddy?” Calum’s earnest glance back makes all three men laugh on camera, including a small chuckle from Andy, who’s behind the camera. It makes Luke happy, that just for a moment, they aren’t too serious. Even though this is work, steaming his voice before a show, and he’s currently unsure of what he’s going to wear tonight, there is some play. 

Later on, after the adventure in Cream Soda, venturing down the dark streets, Luke pulls Michael to the back of the group for an ‘interview’. It quickly goes down south. They continue on down the street. The saying all work and no play makes Jack dull is right. So they make sure to have fun, even if it’s in the backseat of the car, shakily hitting a falsetto about Shake Shack. It reminds them all, but Luke especially to try and shake the bad times off. 

The whole year creating the album broke, and maybe in some ways, created chains and burdens. Expectations is the worst thing they’ve ever faced. They’re always expected to restore balance to the cosmos. That is an old cross they bear. But it is strange now to be so far into the limelight, to be told that they are expected to work almost endlessly day in and day out without allowing themselves the truth of the situation. They grow tired. They grow weary. 

They sing in falsetto though. They make sure to have these small moments to be strange and to be weird to remind themselves they are bound to humanness. They are not exempt from doubt even with the expectation to be superheros in the eye of the music world, even though they know normally they are able in deity form do miracles things, that are incredibly human right now. And it’s okay to have this tender moments. They’ve earned them. 

[no-te-lo-voy-a-dar]

Sibling Jealousy - Chapter 5

Fic’s Summary: Reader has known the Winchesters for a long time, almost two years before Cas entered their lives. After that, since Reader was the only one actually teaching the angel about humanity customs and stuff like that, properly, they developed a closer relationship, on the parent-kid way. But it was never verbally acknowledged. Now, with Lucifer’s child on the way, life stabs some sense and realizations onto Reader, but there’s no time for feelings in this house.

Author’s Note: This is mainly a fic with the purpose of developing a family relationship with the characters, of mutual support, and I don’t plan on adding romance for Reader, because that’s not my final goal.

Pairings: Castiel/Reader (Platonic), Jack Kline/Reader (Platonic), Dean and Sam Winchester/Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: Usual canon violence and conflicts, as well as injuries and blood mentions, emotional struggles such as feeling unloved, like an outcast, low self-esteem issues and if you think something else should be mentioned let me know.

<<Last Chapter - Next Chapter>>

Chapter’s Author’s Note: Yes so, a long time has passed, and well, I still am halfway through the next chapter, and I’m still kind of stuck on the same episode from season 13...not having a supportive team for school work sucks u all, don’t be like that. Hope you enjoy this, and remember, comments are highly appreciated, and if you see a typo let me know, it helps me improve ^^

Chapter Five: Therapy and Emptiness

Word Count: 3,170

It’s been almost a week since the discussion on the map room took place, and Dean had been really silent the whole time, while Sam had made small talk to you and Jack, borrowing him a computer he didn’t use all the time.

Jack was spending most of his days on his bedroom, the first two with you teaching him to make his bed, how to work the computer and a few lessons on how to heal people when you bumped against some equipment on the makeshift gym, where you were spending up to three hours divided along the days, a coping mechanism that allowed you to let steam and anger out and left your body tired enough to almost black out at night after touching your bed.

So far he’s been able of healing (yet not every time) from paper cuts to small scraps you had made on your hands while sharpening swords, blades and knives with a sharpening rock - because you also found the process soothing and kind of relaxing, but your mind still wandered making you lost focus, ending on said cuts.

Yet, you told Jack to not tell Sam and Dean about the healing, and when he asked why you were going to lie, you told him the truth...mainly because he still didn’t have a concept of morals good enough to just know why.

“If we tell them you are able of healing injuries, they are not even gonna listen to the fact they are small ones, much less to how exhausted it makes you. They are probably going to expect you to heal their deep cuts, and claw marks and everything they get from hunts. And one, you are not ready yet, second they haven’t earned a right to be healed by you after all what they’ve made you gone through. Maybe Sam, but he’s on thin ice.”

“Ice? But, the floor here is not thin, is it?” Ah, another thing you’ve been up to has been teaching Jack the meaning of some words and expressions, like right there.

---

The moment Sam told you to get ready because you were going hunting, you immediately asked who was going to stay with Jack.

“No one. He’s coming with us.” He seemed unbothered by his idea, proud even.

“Come again? Jack is going with us to a hunt? Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“He could use some fresh air, and being coped up in here is not going to help him (Y/N). We all need to go out a little.” He almost sounded like he was both asking for permission and just announcing the facts…

“Have you talked to Jack already? What does he thinks about this? Does he wants to tag along?” Even if his answer was a yes, you would be having a talk with Sam to tell him how not just because Jack looked old enough to be on hunt meant he was mentally prepared to be on them.

“Yes, I went to him after talking Dean into letting him come along. And he wants to be good, and with hunting we save people.” He shrugged as if it was the most normal and obvious thing.

“Fine. But we have to make sure Dean doesn’t throw him into the fire line.” You rolled your eyes at the idea, but you were also frowning, so Sam just gave you a grateful smile before going out of your room and telling you how you were leaving in 30 minutes.

You still were going to have to talk to Jack after this, letting him know how things could go wrong. Just, warn the kid.

---

As usual you were riding on the back of Baby, but Jack was with you this time. You weren’t surprised he wasn’t in a suit, since he barely had clothes (Dean didn’t allow you to take him into town just to get some for him, so you had to go out and get a few things in hopes they would fit and he would like them), but when Dean slammed the car’s door closed you flinched. You could almost touch his despise for Jack.

The first lady’s information didn’t really help, and after finding out Jack had gotten out of the car, you quickly went to close it before getting inside the crime scene, where they were staring at a blood stain, and talking about going to the grave of the wife to salt and burn what seemed to be a ghost issue, or a revenant.

You weren’t so sure it was either of those options, and you told them that, but you were ignored. Well, Jack did pay attention, but he didn’t know a lot about monsters so he couldn’t back you up or give his own opinion...not like Dean would let him anyway.

As night fell, you went to the graveyard, and took the shovels out of the Impala’s truck.

After explaining to Jack why seeing the inside of the grave was of relevance in this case, Dean put him to dig, and went to grab a beer from the car.

Sam went after him, telling him how he was transforming into their dad. You shivered at the memories of John, for both your experiences with him and the stuff the brothers told you about...mainly Sam, but you could see the aftermath of said stuff on Dean almost every day.

You decided to keep Jack company and actually help him, since neither of the brothers seemed like they were going to help after screaming at each other.

---

Well, the grave did had a body, which left the two main options to just a vengeful spirit.

Sam helped Jack out of the hole and Dean helped you after he saw you were kind of struggling. The soil wasn’t as compacted as you might think okay? I kept crumbling beneath you.

“My mom could be a ghost?” You weren’t sure if what you heard on Jack’s voice was fear or hope.

“No, we burned the bodies. And what burns, stays dead.” At least Dean was kind of talking to Jack…

A quick glance at the green eyed brother told you he meant Castiel. You burned Castiel’s body. And that was his way of accepting Cas wasn’t coming back.

You had to swallow the lump on your throat, and went back to look at the flames consuming the body inside the giant hole.

---

Turns out, it wasn’t a ghost nor a revenant, as you suspected.

Another person ended up dead, and you had to go to the police station to get more information, finding out all the victims had the same therapist, and deciding that giving her a visit had to be the next step.

The only issue was, how to see her and get to talk to her and see if you could gather more information, more clues about the case and what you were up against.

The solution? Going in as a family and pretend you wanted the family group program.

What could go wrong, right? Right.

Everything could go bad.

First, Jack almost blew your cover at saying he had lost his mom when you all were asked who you’ve lost, issue Sam fixed by saying you all where siblings. Then, after said incident, Dean ordered Jack to not speak unless he told him to, at which you pushed Dean off of Jack.

Inside the room, Sam and Dean took the couch closer to the therapist, while you and Jack took the one across them, yet slightly more afar from Mia, and you could feel how rigid Jack was, and you weren’t even sure if he was paying attention to what was being told on the room.

...But maybe that was for the best.

The therapist quickly wanted to address how Dean handled things, and without warning, Sam and Dean started almost shouting at each other, about how Sam didn’t want to accept Mary was dead, and then about how Dean at least had a relationship with her and how Sam just wanted to hold onto the hope of having the same if Mary was alive.

Welp, that went great.

Sam stormed out of the living room like place, closing the doors behind him, leaving a very awkward silence behind him, which was quickly filled by Dean drinking from his whiskey wine pot bottle, earning a glance and scoff from Mia.

“What? Got a problem?” Please don’t anger her, please don’t anger her...

She first scolded him about his anger issues, and how it wasn’t her business if he wanted to fix that up or not, but she told him about how he directed his anger at everyone around him.

“Jack? The poor kid can even look at you. Look at him he’s terrified of you.” You glanced at him, and saw how indeed he tensed even more at being mentioned in the conversation yet not asked anything directly.

“And (Y/N)? I can see you probably boss them around, if you even acknowledge them to begin with. They don’t feel comfortable here with you, yet stands you because of...I’m going to guess because of Sam and Jack.” Ok, what?

You sent her a confused and undignified look, because well yes, you were bossed around, and got along better with Sam, and now that Jack had joined you did felt like drifting more apart from Dean but you...well, Dean didn’t really spent time with you before if Cas wasn’t around, or if you weren’t watching a movie, because that didn’t involve a lot of talking.

...You didn’t like to think about not really fitting with the Winchesters the latest years and now this woman has brought up all of your doubts to the surface again. Thanks.

“Jack? Pff, we are just peachy, right kid?” Dean’s voice did scare you, like he would snap at any moment.

“Just peachy.” Jack’s reply was a copy of what Dean said and sounded almost robotic.

“And (Y/N) is just fine, if they didn’t like us they would have run away a long time ago. Sam sure did for a while.” Dean didn’t even look at you, at neither of you, and took another swing of the alcohol.

Actually you’ve wanted to leave the brothers since a while ago and go with Cas, but since he always went back to them, to Dean, it wasn’t really an option. And even after all these years you really thought you’ll end up being part of their family again. After all, before Sam left for college you felt like family.

The sound of doors slamming open cut your thoughts and sent you standing up and pulling Jack with you, instincts ticking in.

“Careful! She’s a shifter!!” Screamed Sam while pointing a gun at Mia.

Now you put Jack behind both Sam and you, taking your own gun out. That one didn’t have silver bullets, but they would slow her down enough for you to pull your silver knife from your belt.

Turns out a creature read you all so easily. Well, that couldn’t be good.

---

After deciding Mia might be telling the truth about wanting to help people, Dean and Jack went to check if it was true she was somewhere else when the first murder took place, while you and Sam stayed behind, checking the footage to see the eyes of everyone who came in and out.

You didn’t really wanted to leave Jack with Dean, but Sam reassured you it was fine.

Since your computer was slower than Sam’s, you decided to go get some water and stretch your legs, and when you came back Sam was gone, Mia informing you that Buddy, her ex, was acting as one of her patiences and Sam went to the address in hopes of finding him and killing the shifter.

Great, he left without a word.

Your face must have shown your hurt, because the therapist answered your unspoken question.

“He told me to let you know he was gonna be fine, and needed you here for whenever your brothers were back...but, the four of you...you are not really siblings, are you?” You let a dry chuckle leave your mouth.

“Nah, just Dean and Sam. Neither Jack nor I are blood related. Dean and Sam, we used to be closer before, as if we were actual family, but, at some point, a distance started forming, and even when it gets slim at moments between one of them and me, there’s always this, feeling, of how if they had to choose they would save each other, leaving me to perish.” It had happened before, that one time they left you in a vampire’s nest. They proclaimed they didn’t know you were held hostage, but Sam was there with you before you were taken.

Talk about trust issues. Castiel was the only one who made sure the three of you were safe and healthy most of the time, taking special attention to you.

“You lost someone too. If their mother isn’t yours, then who did you lose?” When you blinked, you saw how your vision got blurry with unshed tears.

“Uh, a friend of them? Us? He’s older than me, and, well, might as well say it out loud now. I saw him as a father figure. Castiel, he uh, sacrificed himself to save us all, including Jack, and I did get to say bye, but not like I wanted. And I haven’t been able of mourning him, we haven’t had time to rest since…” You stopped talking as soon as you hard the Impala engine outside, and went to wash your face.

You heard Dean being told by Mia about Sam going out, but you didn’t heard Jack requesting Mia to have a chat.

When you got out of the bathroom, you heard shushed voices from behind a door. Recognizing Jack’s you walk closer, and hear him talking to...Kelly? But, she was dead and...oh.

Mia took Jack’s mom form and he was not talking with her. At least what Mia was telling him was good, actual advice and good words.

You left a sigh of relief out, realizing how bad Jack’s been doing, and well, at least he was getting help.

You started to get up, after you heard Jack thanking Mia, but you were soon yeeted threw against and through the door, crashing against a lamp and a small table, and finally landing hard against the floor, bleeding cuts covering your left arm.

When you lifted your head, you saw Dean knocking Jack out, and then he came to do the same to you.

---

You woke up at the sound of Jack screaming, your blurry vision seeing Buddy flying by that energy Jack created, and Sam on the room’s door.

You were just starting to notice your hands were tied when everything was already over: Mia refused to kill you, Sam had shoot Buddy, the room was all bloody and destroyed and you saw Jack was not very conscious.

After being released, you stepped as far from Dean as you could without looking like a scared, kicked street dog, and went to check on Jack, who was already getting better.

Mia insisted on the four of you to get out, that she would take care of everything (meaning the body and the room), but Sam and you weren’t so sure. It was Dean the one convincing you to leave, and the first one to walk out of the room, Sam following close behind but stopping when he didn’t heard steps behind him.

You saw Mia talking to Jack, and the later giving her a hug. Unconsciously, you hugged yourself, trying to find some comfort. Jack looked like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, meaning the conversation he had with Mia-Kelly did worked.

You were just left feeling emptier than before.

After Jack let her go, he went to walk past you, standing besides Sam.

You looked at Mia, who had a raised eyebrow, making you realize you were still hugging yourself.

“I’m just a little cold, the blood loose dropped my temperature a little.” You made a dismissive gesture with your hand, but you could see you weren’t fooling her. Maybe she was prepared to be a therapist after all.

“Talk to them, you are not alone.” You barely heard her, and nodded to let her know you did.

As if that was easy.

---

When you got back to the Bunker, you went straight to the sink on the kitchen to clean your arm again, since it was closer than the bathroom.

You were redoing the bandages when Jack came in to get a glass of water, but as soon as he got in, Dean came in too. The tension on the air raised tenfold immediately.

Jack and Dean exchanged little ‘hey’s, but neither was looking at each other.

“Listen kid, you saved Sam back there, I’m grateful...you did good back there, okay? Good job.” You saw the exchange, and noticed how Dean was really trying to look ad Jack, and the almost newborn Nephilim gave him a little smile, nodding.

You now knew the one knocking Jack and yourself out was the shifter, but it triggered the fear you had against Dean from his demon and Mark of Cain days, so when he walked past you, patting your shoulder, you couldn’t help but flinch.

Dean noticed, but didn’t say anything, just murmured a soft ‘sorry’ before leaving the kitchen, probably to find Sam.

Jack, on the other side, went to sit in front of you, and asked with a calm and quiet voice tone.

“Uh, (Y/N)? Are you alright? Does your shoulder hurts?” he was really concerned for you, so maybe you should be honest. After all, he still needs to learn about lies and you didn’t want to be the one teaching him that.

“My shoulder is a little sore, but that’s not why I flinched. Part of my mind thinks Dean will throw or hit me again. I know a few hours ago it was the shifter the one that knocked us up, but my instincts haven’t caught up with that yet.” Okay, you weren’t lying, just leaving certain info out. He didn’t need to know that. Not yet anyway.

He hummed and nodded, understanding what you meant, stood up to pick another glass and filled it with water. You were about to tell him he could use the same glass when he offered it to you.

“Drinking water is vital after losing blood, right?” 

“Water is important in general, but yes. Thank you, Jack.” You washed both glasses after finishing yours and then called for Jack.

“Let’s use the fact I’m already covered in cuts to keep practicing your healing skills, shall we?” the kid glowed at the idea of practicing not hurting people, and catch up with you on the alley.

Maybe not thinking about Cas, but focusing on good things might help you…

.

.

Sibling’s Tag List:

@carryon-doctor-lock @theferretkids @sapphysaph(idk why i can’t tag u m8) @hazelle-uvu @tiggytaylor​ @a-door-into-my-mind @crazy-obssesed-fangirl @ladymarvelite

(If you wanna be added, please say so in the comment’s section of THIS post)

[anistarrose]

To See The Unseen - Chapter 1 (Gravity Falls)

Summary: A tale of old money, occult artifacts, and a man willing to try anything for a chance to see his brother again.

Warnings: see note below

AO3

A spooky mystery for Halloween! This first chapter is set during the night in which Into the Bunker happens, but as you’ll see, things are going to start to diverge from canon pretty quickly. I'm expecting this to end up as 4 chapters, but that's not set in stone.

This fic gets a little creepy at points, but if you were alright with everything that happened in the GF canon, there shouldn’t be any triggering stuff. But just in case, there is a warning for dq rxw ri ergb hashulhqfh (Caesar ciphered because of spoilers for the end of the first chapter).

***

The twins had left him a note saying they were out camping with Wendy and Soos, and while Stan had to admit he was a little worried, he forced himself to set those fears aside. With all the possible campsites in Gravity Falls, there was no way he was finding those kids even if he wanted to drag them back inside to safety, anyways. He’d just have to trust Dipper’s promise from yesterday that he wouldn’t go looking for any more trouble.

And besides, it was one of those rare nights on which he could be absolutely sure that no one would catch him sneaking down to the portal, and it would be a waste not to make the most of it. He spent the first half-hour or so of the evening lugging heavy toolboxes and clanking pipes down the steps and loading them into the elevator, and as the sun began to set, he retired to his desk in the basement to leaf through the two new Journals — or rather, Journal 2 and his photocopies of Journal 3.

He’d skimmed them already, and figured out just about everything he needed to know about the portal’s actual operation, but he’d skipped past most of the details of what Ford had actually gotten up to over the years. Unlike Journal 1, which he’d read and reread until his head ached and his eyes stung, desperate not just for clues but also for even the vaguest semblance of his brother’s companionship…

He started with Journal 3 but then quickly switched to Journal 2, because Gideon had made fewer notes and doodles in the margins than Dipper and Mabel had, and while the kids were admittedly good artists, it hurt to see them commenting on Ford’s research completely unaware they were talking about their own uncle. Journal 2 also had fewer codes — apparently Ford hadn’t been too worried about anyone reading his descriptions of various cursed artifacts, even though by his own account most of those artifacts were so dangerous that he’d needed to get rid of them by burying them in the woods.

One particular item caught Stan’s eye, though:

Scrying Eye Compact

This compact mirror got me in a heap of trouble, and though it holds incredible potential for the advancement of my research, even I have to admit that it’s too unsafe and unpredictable to keep around. Had my Muse not given me a helping hand, I almost certainly wouldn’t even be here to write this warning!

I buried it back where I found it, beneath the southernmost stall in the Northwests’ unused stables behind their mansion. I don’t even remember the reason I had for snooping around a place like that in the first place, so hopefully no one will dig it up again.

But even now, I have to admit that the power to spy on anyone, anywhere in the world, is incredibly tempting…

Stan’s breath hitched. If he could spy on anyone, anywhere with the mirror… could he see outside of the known world, too? Could he see if Ford was okay?

He flicked a few switches on the portal control panel, and a progress bar popped up on the display. It would be calibrating for at least another week, maybe even more.

He couldn’t wait that long. Not with a chance to see his brother again right within reach.

Not daring to take the Journal out of the basement, he jotted down the mirror’s location on a scrap of paper and tucked it into his pocket. Upon reaching the first floor again, he threw on a dark jacket, slacks, and a pair of boots, then stepped out into the woods through the Shack’s back door, flashlight in hand as clouds drifted in front of the nearly full moon.

***

Though Nathaniel Northwest’s riding accident was tragic and untimely, he was survived by a daughter, Felicity Northwest, and a son, Eli Northwest, the latter of which went on to establish Pioneer Day in his late father’s honor…

“Ugh.” Pacifica slammed her head into her desk. “I can’t believe there’s still over a century of this stuff left to read…”

Normally, she enjoyed the days her parents were out of town, since the rules were always significantly relaxed when they weren’t around, but this time, they’d left her with homework.

“I won’t need to know Victoria Northwest’s second favorite color to handle the family fortune responsibly! I won’t need to know the specific species of woodpecker that Reginald Northwest got disowned for trying to marry! There are so many better uses of my time than this!”

She flung open her window and stuck out her head, ready to scream her frustrations out to the empty nighttime void, but a flicker of motion near the bottom of the hill caught her eye.

From inside the abandoned stable, a thin beam of light swept past the window once, then twice. It disappeared after that, but Pacifica swore that she could see a faint glow still coming from inside, as if the light was pointing in a different direction, but still on.

“It had better not be that hillbilly making a nest again,” she muttered, but she’d already made up her mind about going to investigate. If she got caught sneaking out and her parents gave her grief over it when they got back, she could always say she thought someone was planning to rob them — they were always paranoid about break-ins, on account of living essentially next door to Stan Pines. Hillbilly or not, the light in the stable was still a mystery to solve, and she’d take that over homework any day.

Maybe those Pines twins were rubbing off on her, loath as she was to admit it.

***

In all the rush, Stan had forgotten to bring anything to dig with, but as luck would have it there was a rusty shovel leaning against the wall in one corner of the mostly-empty stable. As he brushed the cobwebs off it, he wondered if it had once been Ford’s.

Unlike the slightly muddy ground outside, the soil on the stable floor was dry and firmly packed, and Stan quickly realized he was going to have to set his flashlight down and dig with both hands on the shovel. The whole place was so musty it was almost suffocating, with a faint metallic tang in the air.

It smells like old money, Stan thought to himself with a scowl. Gotta admit, Ford was in the right for snooping on these snobs. Only the Northwests, with money coming out of their asses, would abandon a perfectly good stable without even selling it or renting it out to anyone else once they were done with it.

Beneath his shovel, something clinked, and he froze, afraid he’d broken the very artifact he’d been searching for. But after brushing away the last of the dirt with his hands, he felt a cold, smooth, intact object beneath his fingertips, and he fumbled for the flashlight as he lifted his discovery out of the hole.

The closed compact mirror looked exactly how the Journal had depicted it, though Ford’s sketch hadn’t captured its colors. It was entirely silver except for two golden accents — first, the hinge connecting its two halves, and second, the long and skinny oval that bisected the top half’s circle. The silver was in need of polishing, but the golden slit gleamed beneath Stan’s flashlight as though it had never been buried beneath several pounds of soil and horse manure at all.

Looks almost like an eye with a slit pupil, Stan thought to himself, ignoring the chill that ran up his spine. Yeesh, it’s drafty in here, isn’t it? Maybe that’s why no one uses the place any more.

Poised to flip open the compact, he hesitated as an owl hooted in the distance.

He hadn’t been that careful about avoiding detection here, had he? He’d been so impatient, so desperate to confirm that Ford was alive — but he’d be no good to his brother if he went and got himself arrested now.

So he set off back through the woods, shutting the stable door behind him and grimacing at the sound of his boots squelching in the mud. For one moment, he froze, sure that he’d heard the whinny of a horse from somewhere behind him, but the noise — if it had even been real in the first place — was quickly drowned out by the sound of chirping crickets, and Stan figured that even if there was a security guard or ghost horse or whatever chasing him down, they wouldn’t be able to hear his footsteps if he couldn’t hear theirs.

Of course, leaving the scene of the crime was one thing, but he was far too nervous to wait until he got all the way back to the Shack to give the mirror a better look. He settled down under a tall birch tree, on a patch of earth that seemed drier than most, and crossed his legs as he pulled out the mirror. It still seemed cold even after having been in his pocket for several minutes, and Stan couldn’t help but harken back to Ford’s warning in the journal…

As he stared up towards the night sky, he could’ve sworn that from its position just above the treetops, the moon gave him an encouraging wink.

He opened the compact, and the chill spread from his fingertips up his arms.

Inside, only one of its two sides had a mirror. The other featured a circular portrait of a familiar bearded man, whose face Stan couldn’t place, standing in front of a grove of birches. Most of the picture was in either yellow or sepia tones, but the man’s dark red eyes seemed to flicker as they stared daggers at Stanley.

The mirror itself was even stranger, reflecting everything in grayscale except for Stan’s own face, which was a transparent, electric blue. But strangest of all was the way it called to him, and he just knew that if he let it pull him where it wanted, he’d be able to see anything he wanted to see, go anywhere he wanted to go.

From a distance, an owl let out a screech, but it hardly registered to Stan.

I’m ready to see my brother again, he thought, and the whole world melted into a monochrome blur.

He saw a pitch-black plume of smoke rise out of the portrait, red eyes gleaming with delight as an incomprehensible smile spread across its nonexistent face.

“Good on you, stranger!” it told Stan with a deep chuckle. “I was starting to doubt that you had the nerve to open it! Oh, thirty-two long years later, and I’ve returned once more to walk the earth…”

With a dark, smoky tendril of a hand, it grabbed Stan by the throat. “Hope you enjoy your stay in the beast’s mirror! I know I didn’t enjoy mine!”

On reflex, Stan aimed a punch as best as he could from his restrained state, but before his fist made contact, the entity disappeared in a flash of light. Stan was left all alone, floating in the air and staring at his hands —

His blue, transparent hands.

Something beneath him clattered to the ground, and he looked down to see the compact, having slipped out of the grasp of his own unconscious body. He saw his own face staring at him with a blank expression, completely devoid of color like the surrounding forest except for in his two half-closed eyes, which were glowing blue.

With a spectral arm, he reached towards his physical form, but it passed right through his own head.

The mirror had trapped him outside of his body.

***

Pacifica slipped past the butler with ease and made her way to the current site of the Northwest Stables, where she saddled and mounted Angel, her roan pony. There were other horses who would be faster, but Angel would be quieter, not to mention closer to the ground to facilitate searching for clues. (And to tell the truth, Pacifica trusted Angel the most — she was one of the older residents and more mellow personalities at the stables, unlike some of the younger mares who liked to get frisky.)

The two of them cut across the unused racetrack as they headed for the abandoned stables, Pacifica holding the reins in one hand and an old-fashioned lantern from the family heirlooms collection in the other. It was chilly for a July night, and with the wind blowing in her face, she was grateful she’d chosen to put on gloves and a jacket.

With a whinny, Angel came to a halt a few yards further away from the stables than Pacifica would’ve liked her to, and balked at all attempts to guide her closer. So with a sigh, Pacifica slid out of the saddle and approached the door on foot. It opened with far less resistance than she’d been expecting.

She held her lantern protectively in front of her chest, bracing herself for someone to leap out at her from the shadows within, but the stable stayed dead silent. Even as spooked and anxious as she felt, nothing inside looked alive, and the only motion she spotted came from the flickering orange flame of her own lantern.

The building had been out of use since long before she was born, so at first she wasn’t sure which details might be out of place — but as she made her way down the hallway and laid eyes upon the last stall, right next to the window she’d glimpsed the light through, her uncertainty immediately evaporated. There were no cobwebs covering the doorway, unlike every other stall she’d passed, and a hole had been messily dug in the ground, with the culprit’s shovel still stuck in the dirt and standing straight up just a foot or two away.

“Angel, we’ve been robbed,” Pacifica announced, bursting out of the stable and immediately mounting her pony again. “I don’t know what they stole or why it was even here in the first place, but if they think they’re going to get away with this, then they’re —”

As she guided Angel in a broad circle around the stable, a set of tracks in the mud caught her eye. In the lantern’s imperfect light, she almost mistook the footprints for her own, but at second glance, they were far too big, and led away from Northwest Mansion.

“Then away from the mansion we shall follow them,” Pacifica declared with a smile. “Angel, giddyup!”

I don’t know what’ll be better — the looks on the twins’ faces when I prove they’re not the only detectives in town, or the looks on Mom and Dad’s faces when I tell them that I never would’ve caught this robber if I’d been doing all that worthless homework instead…

They only followed the tracks for about a minute before Angel skidded to a halt, whinnying and shaking her head.

“Hey, what’s the matter? Did something — gah! Is that a corpse?!”

From his position above his body, Stan whirled around. “Hey! Northwest kid? A little help here?”

He began to float towards her, but Pacifica dismounted and walked right through him, pinching her nose. Unlike everything else surrounding Stan, Pacifica in her purple jacket and her lantern with its flickering orange flame were patches of color in a world of gray, but that didn’t seem to mean Stan could interact with them any more than he could interact with his own body.

“Wait… Mr. Pines?” Pacifica picked up a stick with a gloved hand and gingerly poked Stan’s unconscious body with it, watching as its chest slowly rose and fell. “And he’s still breathing and everything. Guess he just decided to take a nap in the woods on the off chance he’d scare someone who thought he was dead, huh?”

“C’mon, Pacifica!” Stan pleaded. He waved at her frantically, and for a split second, her lantern’s flame lit up blue as his hand passed through it, but Pacifica was preoccupied. “Please tell me you can hear me! I… I just need someone to get a message to the kids…”

Pacifica scooped the compact mirror off the ground, brushing the dirt away as she held it up alongside her lantern for comparison.

“Similar craftsmanship,” she remarked. “Guess he was trying to rob us after all, wasn’t he?”

“It’s not like you were using it!” Stan replied automatically, but once again, Pacifica didn’t seem to hear. “My body’s eyes are glowing blue, for crying out loud! You’re telling me you can’t see that either?”

Pacifica pocketed the mirror and mounted her pony once again, shivering slightly.

“Let’s get out of here, Angel. It feels like everything in this forest has been giving me the creeps tonight.”

***

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Thanks for reading, reblogs/comments are appreciated as always — especially predictions! I’ve had a lot of fun putting together this plot, and I’m very excited to see if anyone picks up on certain pieces of foreshadowing!

[dammitdobrik]

Such a Pain | DAVID DOBRIK

Description: Your Soulmate David Dobrik was quite a pain in the ass, both literally and figuratively. A Soulmate AU where you and your true love feel each others' pain and receive each others'  injuries.

Author's Note: This fic will heretofore be known as the Soulmate AU no one asked for but Phoebe wrote anyway because she wanted to. Let me know what ya'll think of this and your favorite Soulmate AU's because who knows I might just write another one ;)

Word Count: 5974

  The first time (Y/N) remembered ever being genuinely concerned about her soulmate’s wellbeing happened a year before they ever met.

She was walking across the campus of USC to her next class when she gasped and dropped her phone with a scream of pain.

The students who flooded the sidewalk at that time of day all turned to stare at (Y/N) as she dropped to her knees and clutched her hand tightly to her chest.

She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip to stop from crying out again, not wanting to make a bigger scene than she already had.  A sharp stabbing pain reverberated throughout her palm and made it feel as if every nerve were on fire.

“Hey are you alright?” someone asked, squatting down next to her.

She shook her head. “I don’t know my hand-,” (Y/N) gasped out, gritting her teeth.  “-fuck it really hurts.” She pulled it even tighter against her chest as another wave of pain hit her.

They placed a hand gently on her wrist and tapped it. “C’mon let me have a look. I’m a student at the med school here I can help.”

Letting out a shaky breath, (Y/N) opened her eyes and pressed her wrist into his touch so he could examine it. As he gently tugged it away and she unclenched her fingers, (Y/N) was able to get a good look at the injury for the first time.

There was a deep cut running along the palm of her hand from her thumb all the way down across to the base of her inner wrist. It was bleeding profusely. And with a quick glance down to where her hand had been pressed into her chest, (Y/N) realized that her one white shirt was now ruined.

“You’re definitely gonna need stiches,” he said only after a moment of examination. ‘Maybe even a brace to protect it for a bit.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded his head. “You can go ahead and thank your soulmate for this one.”

Until that point, (Y/N)’s soulmate hadn’t given her any injures quite like this one. She used to get scraps on her knees when she was younger and the occasional scratch on the arm from him, but nothing too serious that she had any need to worry.

But this, this was different. This was the first injury she’d received from him that required medical attention.

(Y/N) hoped he was okay; and while she was sitting in the ER later that afternoon waiting to have her hand stitched up, began to think of every scenario possible that could’ve lead to such an injury.

  The first time (Y/N) saw her soulmates face was the night she’s pretty sure he got punched in the face.

She was hunched over her desk focusing solely on the textbook laid out open in front of her. She chewed on the end her pen absentmindedly, waiting for important information to jump out at her so she could write it down in her notes.

That’s when (Y/N)’s head jerked as her face contorted into a wince. A hiss escaped from between her teeth as she reached hand up to cover her mouth instinctively.

A dull pain radiated from her bottom lip and the taste of copper began to fill her mouth. (Y/N) tugged her lip down and picked up her phone to look at it in the reflection of the screen.

There was small cut on the inside of her lip that looked like it came from a harsh impact with her tooth.

The door to her dorm room opened and in came her roommate smelling lightly of alcohol and sweat.

“Hey,” she said, closing the door behind her. She tossed her keys and wallet down on her nightstand and collapsed onto her bed with a thump. “Have you seriously been studying this whole time?” she asked, turning her head to glance at (Y/N). “Wait what are you doing?”

(Y/N) put her phone down and let go her lip, rubbing it lightly. “I think my soulmate might be an asshole.”

“Huh?”

“I’m pretty sure he just got punched in the face,” (Y/N) said, showing her roommate her middle and index finger which were covered lightly in blood from her lip.

Her roommate laughed. “Speaking of assholes,” she said, sitting up on her bed, “-you’re never going to guess who I saw at the party tonight.”

“Who?”

“David Dobrik.”

(Y/N) furrowed her brows and spun her desk chair around to fully face her roommate, her chemistry textbook now long forgotten. “Who?” she repeated.

“You know, the Youtuber? He used to be pretty big on Vine.”

(Y/N) smiled grimly and shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

She let out a breath of exasperation. “He’s the guy you hear about on campus all the time. Him and friends are the one who show up to all the parties and film people doing crazy shit.”

“Ohhhhhh.” Now that rung a bell. (Y/N) definitely knew who she was talking about now.

David and his friends were a bit of local USC legend. She’d never actually seen them or watched any of their videos because (Y/N) was, as her roommate so nicely put it, a fucking nerd who spent way too much time studying and needed to let loose more.

“Yea. I heard a bunch of screaming coming from another room and when I went to check it out I saw him with his black hat and camera filming his friend making out with a bunch of girls.”

(Y/N) cringed and swiveled her chair back around to get back to work. “Gross.”

“Yea I know.” The bed creaked as her roommate stood up and walked over to (Y/N), slamming her textbook closed.

“Hey!” she yelped in surprise, jerking her hand away before it got crushed. “What was that for?”

“It’s 2 am (Y/N). You’ve been at this for hours I think you’ve done enough,” her roommate said. “I’m gonna take a shower, and when I come back you better be in bed. Okay?”

“But I-“

She pointed at her bed. “Sleep.”

They glared challengingly at each other for a moment, (Y/N) sighing in defeat when she realized her roommate wasn’t ever going to back down.

“Fine,” she conceded, a wave of fatigue hitting her like that punch her soulmate got to the face.

While her roommate was in the shower (Y/N) changed into her pajamas and pulled her (Y/H/C) hair away from her face then hoped into bed, only slightly begrudgingly.

She was sleepy, but not tired enough to pass out just then. It only took a moment of staring at her dimmed phone screen for (Y/N)’s curiosity to get the best of her.

She opened the Youtube app and searched up David Dobrik’s channel.

For the next the hour while her roommate took one of her notoriously long showers (Y/N) watched his vlogs on autoplay. They came on one after another, and she watched in amusement as a few people she knew from her classes made appearances in his clips from parties at USC.

As the sun got closer to rising in the East, her quiet laughs began to come less and less frequently as her eyelids became heavy with sleepiness. She let out a yawn and clicked her phone off for the night just before her roommate came back in from the bathroom.

And if (Y/N) wasn’t so tired that night from hours of studying chemistry, she probably would’ve gone back in his vlogs far enough to watch David cut his hand open with a wine bottle in the exact same place it had happened to her.

And if (Y/N) wasn’t so busy with school from that point on, she probably would’ve watched the vlog he posted the next day titled I GOT HIT IN THE FACE!! AMBULANCE CALLED!!, and realized that David Dobrik might be her soulmate.

But she was tired, and was busy with school, so (Y/N) did neither of those things.

They’d meet eventually, but the night David got punched in the face wasn’t that day.

  The first time (Y/N) met David Dobrik she had no idea that he was her soulmate.

It was the final day of her sophomore year of college, and she was out celebrating with her roommate after having taken their last exams.

(Y/N) had agreed to go with her to one of the many parties being hosted on campus that night, and 15 minutes after leaving her dorm room realized that she would never agree to such a thing again.

She knew that USC was a party school, and that parties at any college could get crazy, but she was in no way near prepared to experience it firsthand.

(Y/N) learned that night that she hated the smell of tequila and that the quietest place to run off to at a frat party was the back yard.

The bass from the speakers that were blasting some random Top 40’s hit track seemed to literally be shaking the walls of the house as she opened the back door and stepped into the fenced off yard.

(Y/N) took in a deep breath of fresh air, hoping to purge her nose of the smell of alcohol. She rubbed her grimy hands against the tight sequined skirt she was wearing and walked further into the yard to sit in one of the outdoor chairs that surrounded a dirty glass table.

It was comforting to know that wherever you went, the same hard metal chairs with minimum cushioning and square foggy glass table would always be in everyone’s back yard.

She sat down with a sigh and wiped a stray strand of hair away from her face. She tilted her head back and looked up at the starless, monochromatic black blob of sky that was above LA. The humidity of the air was almost suffocating.

(Y/N) turned her head at the sound of the patio door sliding open, the music from inside bursting out into the somewhat quiet night air before the door was shut again.

A boy wearing black jeans, a black t shirt, and black hat with tufts of curly hair sticking up from underneath appeared holding a professional looking camera. His face and boyish looking grin that he flashed at (Y/N) seemed very familiar, and it only took a second for it to hit her that this was the infamous David Dobrik.

“Is it okay if I sit?” he asked, gesturing with his free hand to the chair across from hers at the table.

(Y/N) lifted her back up to its normal position and nodded her head. “Go ahead.”

He gave her a quick thank you before sitting down in the chair. They sat in silence for a while, (Y/N) enjoying the weight lifted off her shoulders from the end of exams while David went through his camera footage.

He glanced up at her every now and then as if expecting her to say something, but looked back down at his camera screen quickly when she turned to look at him.

“Yes I know who you are,” (Y/N) said after he did it for the 5th time.

David’s eyes looked up from his camera in surprise.  “I never asked if you did.”

An amused smile graced her lips as she raised an eyebrow. “Yea well, you weren’t asking very loudly.”

He chuckled and clicked a button on his camera to turn it off, putting on the table between them. “Sorry I’m just- well if people don’t greet me because they know who I am they almost always ask about the camera with the microphone on top of it. You did neither so…” David trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

“What are you doing out here anyway?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you be in there filming some crazy montage or something?”

“I already have enough footage for one” he said with a smile, “- and I don’t have a lot of battery left so I’m saving it for the all the dumb shit my friends are gonna do in about an hour when they’re drunk off their asses.”

David leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, running a hand through his hair as he took off his hat and set it on the table. The weird shadow that had been casted on his face from it disappeared giving (Y/N) a good view of the light stubble that ran along his jaw.

“So what about you?” he asked, tilting his head to look at her, then repeated her earlier question teasingly. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

(Y/N) shrugged her shoulders and began to pick at her nails which rested in her lap. “My roommate took me out to celebrate taking our last final, but it took me coming to party to realize that I don’t quite like them.”

“They aren’t my favorite thing either, but I do like the stories they bring so I can always suck it for a few hours in the name of good content.”

“You mean clickbait?”

“Same difference.”

They both let out a laugh at that, then settled into a comfortable silence as it echoed off into the night sky.

Soft smiled adorned their faces as they held each other’s’ gaze. (Y/N)’s heart began to beat loudly in her ears as it thumped against her chest.

But if you were to have asked her what that meant she would’ve said it was because she downed a cup of lukewarm beer only 20 minutes prior.

David’s phone rang then, disrupting the trance.

He smiled sheepishly at her and muttered a quick apology before answering.

“Hello? Heath? Wait he’s doing what?”

A loud cheer erupted from inside the house at that moment, and (Y/N) knew that it probably had something to do with what David was talking to Heath about on the phone.

He stood up out of the chair quickly and grabbed his camera. “Be right there,” he said then hung up.

David turned to run back inside but stopped in his tracks right before reaching the door. He turned his head for one last look at (Y/N).

“Y’know, I never did get your name.” He had that confidant, boyish grin back on that always made people bend to his every whim.

“(Y/N),” she said with a smile. “It was nice meeting you David.”

He nodded his head. “You too (Y/N). Duty calls.” He held his camera up as another cheer came from inside the house and went inside without so much as a goodbye.

It wasn’t until he and his friends had already left that (Y/N) realized David left his hat with her.

  The first time (Y/N) and David could’ve found out that they were soulmates happened when they met for a second time.

Classes for her junior year of college had just started a week prior, and (Y/N) was still getting back into the swing of things.

That included remembering to set her alarm so she was up in time for her noon lecture.

(Y/N) was in such a rush having woken up late that she was shoving her notebook and pencils and pens into her bag as she sped walked out of her off campus apartment and onto the street towards her car which was parked a little ways down the road.

That was one of the downsides about not living in a dorm room anymore, the fact that she now had to drive to class instead of just walking. And since USC was in LA and she wasn’t a millionaire, (Y/N) couldn’t afford an apartment that came with parking so she spent at least 15 minutes a day wandering the streets trying to remember where she left her car.

(Y/N) turned around a particularly sharp corner, not watching where she was going, and let out a squeal of surprise as she colliding with someone and knocked her head against their chin.

They both stumbled back with a wince as (Y/N) dropped all her belongings onto the sidewalk.

“Oh shit sorry I’m- here let me help,” a familiar voice said, then leaned down to start gathering the papers before the wind blew them away.

“No it’s fine it’s my fault I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she said doing the same.

(Y/N) stood up straight looked forward right as they did the same and held up the papers they’d gathered.

Her lips parted in surprise at the sight of thier face. “David?”

He squinted his eyes and tilted his head a bit. “(Y/N)?”

If either of them had been paying more attention to the pain they felt from running into each other, they might’ve realized right then that were soulmates.

(Y/N) didn’t think about the pain she felt on her chin even though she’d done nothing to injure it. She didn’t realize that it came from David’s chin knocking into her head.

David didn’t think about the pain he felt on top of his head even though he’d done nothing to injure it. He didn’t realize that it came from (Y/N)’s head knocking into his chin.

And because of that, they went right on talking.

David grinned as look of remembrance overcame his face. “We met at a party a few months ago didn’t we? At USC?”

She nodded her head, taking the papers from him and shoving them into her bag with the others carelessly. The corner of (Y/N)’s lips tugged upwards. “I’m surprised you remember,” she said with a laugh.

He ignored that comment and pursed his lips, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Are you doing anything right now?”

(Y/N) checked her watch and scrunched her nose when she saw the time. “Well I’m supposed to be in physics lecture but seeing as I’m now half an hour late…” she paused and looked back up at David, “No. I’m not doing anything.”

She furrowed her brows at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“I’m actually on my way to get lunch with Matt, Carly, and Erin,” he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction he was heading before they knocked into each other. “You wanna come?”

She repeated herself. “Why?”

David seemed a little taken back by that. “I don’t know you seem pretty cool and I,” he stuttered lamely.

“Yes” (Y/N) interrupted, surprising even herself. “I’ll go.” She gave him a gentle smile. “Thanks for inviting me.”

He nodded his head with a relived smile. “No problem, it’s the least I could do considering how I just kinda ran off last time.”

David gestured for her follow him and they started the trek to the restaurant, arms brushing against each other every few steps. “I think you’re really gonna like them, my friends I mean.”

  The first time (Y/N) thought she and David might be soulmates happened when he wanted redbull.

At that point they had been friends for almost 4 months. (Y/N) had made a few appearances in his vlogs, but she didn’t consider herself a regular because she was so busy with school a majority of the time.

Anytime David decided to go to USC for footage she accompanied him and helped them figure out where the parties were and how to get there. When he was done shooting and his friends wanted to continue partying, they’d do what they did the first time they met and sneak off somewhere quiet to enjoy each other company and talk.

(Y/N) definitely had a crush on David. That much she’d admit.

He was so much fun to be around, and he always managed to make her laugh. They could talk for hours about anything and everything and never grow bored of each other. His smile was contagious, and just being in the same room as him gave her an energy that made (Y/N) think she could take on an army emptyhanded.

It was intoxicating.

And that was a bit of problem, because for all (Y/N) knew at that point, David wasn’t her soulmate. And she was starting to worry about what would happen when she finally met him, if what she felt for David would just go away.

And her biggest problem was that she didn’t want it to, because she loved the feeling she got around David. She could live off it, and never tire of it.

She’d always go straight to his house on Thursday’s after her last class of the week, and hang out with him while he gathered last minute footage for his Friday vlog or simply edited what he already had.

On this Thursday, David already had enough footage for his Friday vlog. He shot with Howie Mandel earlier in the week and had leftover clips of him that he didn’t use in the previous vlog to put in.

(Y/N) was sitting on the couch in David’s living room watching reruns of Parks and Recreation with Zane, Natalie, Jason, and Todd while the owner of the house finished editing his video a few feet away.

Right as the show cut to commercial David shut his laptop with a groan and threw his back against the cushions. “I’m getting some redbull.”

“Hold on let me CNN on the phone,” (Y/N) said in a dramatic voice, pulling out her phone. “They’re never gonna believe this.”

A resounding chuckle erupted from around the room as David stood up off the couch.

“Haha very funny,” he said rolling eyes playfully, then went off into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Zane started, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Did I tell you abou-“

(Y/N) felt the pain in her side right before David’s yelled out from the kitchen, “Ow fuck!”

The way she sucked a breath in between her teeth and winced as her hand went to rub her side in an attempt to soothe the pain radiating from it went unnoticed by everyone around her because they all turned their heads towards the noise.

“You good Dave?” Natalie asked, ever the good friend.

He let out low groan and (Y/N) bit her bottom lip to stop from doing the same. Her side really hurt.

And when Jason asked David what happened, something in her already knew what he was gonna say because it was something everyone had done before in their life and never forgotten; it hurt almost as much as stepping on Legos barefoot.

“I ran my hip into the corner of the island,” he replied, coming into sight. He was holding his redbull in one hand while the other rubbed his side. “Makes me wanna baby proof this fucking house.”

(Y/N) sat up straighter and relaxed her face and body to look the part as if nothing were wrong.

While in reality, her mind was screaming almost as much as her hip was.

This had to be the most coincidental coincidence of all time. David Dobrik couldn’t be her soulmate... could he?

And the more she tried to convince herself that, the more (Y/N) realized that he just might be.

  The first time (Y/N) knew that David was her soulmate was the night Jason had her babysit Wyatt and Charley.

His ex-wife had a date with her boyfriend and asked Jason to watch after the kids for a night because she planned to spend the night at his house (awkward). Jason said yes, but one thing lead to another and he ended up having to go do something with David so (Y/N) graciously offered to watch over them for a few hours until he got back.

They were well behaved, and old enough to not be too much of a hassle. She made them dinner and cleaned up the kitchen before leaving them to their own devices.

When she went upstairs to check on them at 10:30, Charley and Wyatt were both already sound asleep in bed.

She watched TV downstairs for another hour until Jason got back.

He opened and closed the door quietly as to not wake the sleeping children. “Hey,” he said with a smile. “Were they okay?”

(Y/N) nodded her head with light laugh. “Yea perfect, way better than I was a kid I’m sure.”

She got up and turned the TV off then followed him into the kitchen to grab her keys and wallet. And maybe it was because Jason was a dad and old and wise and stuff that (Y/N) felt okay asking him the question that had been setting fire to her head for days at that point.

“Jason?” she asked, sounding a lot more timid then she wanted too.

“Hm?” He turned to look at her. “What’s up?”

“How do you-“ (Y/N) paused and licked her lips. “How do you know, like- for certain, that someone is your soulmate. Like I know there’s the whole pain thing but-“

“Hit yourself in the face,” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m being serious.”

“Me too.” He raised an eyebrow at her questioningly. “Did Scott never tell you the story of how he found out Kirsten was his soulmate?”

She shook her head.

Jason let out a laugh and smiled wistfully as if the memory were his own. “Well, you know they met at Coachella right? And after Scott talked to her for a few minutes he just, I don’t know, got this feeling that she was the one, so he hit himself in the face.”

An amused smile broke out on (Y/N)’s lips. “Seriously?”

“Mhm. And when he looked down to see that she was cursing and rubbing her nose, Scott knew then and there that Kirsten was the one.”

“In a weird way that’s oddly poetic.”

“I know. It’s literally my favorite story of all time.”

Jason studied her a moment then cleared his throat. “But seriously (Y/N), when you know you know. I like to think that the whole pain and injury thing is for the cynics and pessimists who need some kind of proof before taking a leap of faith with someone.

“If you think you’ve met them, then you probably have. There’s nothing quite like it, nothing comes close to it.”

(Y/N) wanted to ask about him about Marney, his ex-wife, because they were soulmates and they didn’t work out. She thought better of it though because honestly, she wasn’t ready to go down that road quite yet.

“So….Who is it?” he asked.

She furrowed her brows. “Who’s what?”

Jason rolled his eyes and gave her a pointed look. “Don’t play dumb with me, I’ve been around long enough to know how this works. You wouldn’t have asked that question if you hadn’t met someone you though had soulmate potential.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to retort but let out a sigh and relaxed her shoulders. “Okay fine, I have, but I’m not telling you anything.”

“It’s David isn’t it?”

Her lips parted in shock. “How did- how did you know that?” she stammered out, unbelievably surprised.

“I didn’t until just now,” he admitted with a proud smile. He settled his lower back against the kitchen counter and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “How long have you felt this way?”

(Y/N) eyed him suspiciously.

Jason held his hands up in surrender. “I won’t tell him anything, promise.”

She pursed her lips and looked down at floor in front of her feet, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. “I’ve felt the way I do about him for almost 2 months. But the soulmate thing…” (Y/N) trailed off and looked up at Jason, “I just found out about that a few days ago.”

“How?”

“Remember when he ran into the island of his kitchen? I think-” she paused and shallowed harshly before continuing, “I felt it too. I’ve done it myself so I know what it feels like and…. and that was it. The pain I got in my side when he ran into it was that, I recognized it.”

It was quiet between them for a moment, the gravity of what (Y/N) said hung in the air.

“Do you want to know for sure?”

(Y/N) moved her gaze from the floor back up to him. “You mean right now?”

Jason nodded his head. “If you want to know why wait any longer? I can give you proof that David is or isn’t your soulmate in 2 sentences. Wanna hear them?”

Growing up, (Y/N) always imagined that her soulmate reveal would be something out of a Nicholas Sparks movie. She never pictured it happening in the kitchen of a divorced 40 year old who had two kids asleep 10 feet above their heads.

But life wasn’t a Nicholas Sparks movie, and (Y/N) couldn’t have another sleepless night before a test because she was too scared to face the truth.

So she bit her lip, closed her eyes, and nodded her head yes.

Jason hesitated a moment before speaking, the weight of what he was about to say was almost suffocating. “Two years ago for a bit, David and I started tossing wine bottles between us. He missed one and cut his hand so badly that we had to take him to the ER to get stitches.”

(Y/N) felt her heart skip a beat as something she’d been wondering for years had finally been answered. She finally knew who her soulmate was, and better yet, what the dumbass had been doing to get such a deep cut on his hand.

“So?” Jason asked timidly after a beat of silence passed.

She opened her eyes with a soft smile and looked at him, her finger absentmindedly tracing the scar that ran against her palm from the stitches she’d needed there.

Not able to speak quite yet, (Y/N) just nodded her head.

Another beat of silence. “What are you gonna do?” he asked quietly.

She snorted and gave him a pointed look. “Well I can tell you what I won’t be doing, I won’t be slapping myself in the face.”

“Hey it was only a suggestion!”

  The first time David knew (Y/N) was his soulmate was when he accidentally shot her with a paintball gun.

She hadn’t wanted him to find out that way, with a paint bullet to the leg. She planned on telling him, really, but there just never seemed to be a good time to break the news.

What was (Y/N) supposed to do? Just walk up to David and say Hey guess what? We’re supposed to spend the rest of our lives together and get married and have kids and stuff isn’t that cool?

No. Only someone stupidly impulsive like Todd would ever do such a thing.

There would be a time when the stars aligned to create the perfect moment, just like the sight of David’s paintball gun aligned perfectly with Todd’s leg then.

There was this new thing David did where he’d give someone $100 and in return they had to agree to let him shoot them once anytime throughout the week with his paintball gun.

This week, Todd took the bait.

And today, David took his shot.

“Hey Todd!” he called out, coming out from his hiding spot in the hallway.

Todd whipped his head around, and the rest seemed to go in slow motion.

David took the shot, not seeing that (Y/N) was standing directly behind Todd because they were previously having a conversation.

Todd, so used to getting shot by this point, had honed his reflexes and jumped to side with almost super human speed.

(Y/N) and David both let out a yelp of pain as the paint bullet spattered onto her jeans. The gun clattered to floor and they both reached their hands down instinctively towards their leg.

Everyone went silent. Their eyes darted between the two of them with wide eyes.

“David…” (Y/N) said slowly, standing up straight. Her heart stopped as their eyes met. She opened her mouth to continue but couldn’t get any words out. Not knowing what to say, she looked at Jason for help, which didn’t go unnoticed by David.

“Wait.” He paused and looked at Jason then (Y/N), and she just knew that her eyes were betraying all their secrets. “You knew?”

(Y/N) was never good with emotions and reading people. She was always better at science and reading data from lab reports.

That’s what made sense to her, science. Not emotion. Not the look on David’s face. Not the feeling of dread that welled up in her stomach at his continued silence. Not the urge to cry she was suddenly hit with and fought off with all she had.

Having no idea what to say or what to do, (Y/N) went with her gut instinct and pushed passed everyone to get to the front door; and she didn’t take a second to breathe and calm herself down until she was already in her car coasting down the freeway.

She wondered if soulmates sharing pain extended past physical too emotional as well if it were strong enough.

She held herself together.

  The first time both David and (Y/N) knew with absolute certainty that they were each other’s true love happened when they kissed.

It started to rain on the way home back to her apartment. Of course it did.

When (Y/N) walked up to the entrance of her apartment building already soaking wet from having walked to it from her car in the rain, David was already there, also soaking wet. Of course he was.

They stood there in silence with three feet of space between them, staring at each other as rain continued to pour down from the heavens. Of course they did.

“How did you…” she trailed off, confused as to how he got there first considering she left before him.

“Tesla.” Was all David said, as if that answer alone could solve all the world’s problems.

He reached up and pinched his arm then smiled wryly as (Y/N) began to rub hers in the same spot with a hiss. “Sorry, just wanted to check,” he said.

Another moment of silence passed between.

David, realizing that (Y/N) wasn’t to talk, sighed defeatedly. He took a small step closer to her. “(Y/N) why did you- why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged her shoulders lamely and wiped some water of her face. “I don’t know Dave I just- I couldn’t figure how.” Her (Y/E/C) eyes met his as she said, “You have to admit it’s not the easiest topic to bring up.”

“How long have you known?”

“Three weeks.”

“And are you happy?”

(Y/N) pushed a wet string of hair behind her ear. “About what? About you being my soulmate?”

David nodded his head.

She snorted and smiled at him in disbelief. “Of course I am David. Why wouldn’t I be? You’re- at one point I liked you so much that I was beginning to worry what would happen when I met my soulmate because I was so scared of having to give you up.”

His expression softened at that, and (Y/N) felt her chest warm against the chilled rain pelting them from above.

“Are you happy?” she asked, heart hammering against her chest in anticipation. “That I’m your soulmate?”

David exhaled deeply like a weight was lifted off his chest. A smile broke out across his face. “(Y/N) I’m so damn grateful that it’s you. I can’t imagine it being anyone else.”

A crack of thunder sounded overhead as he reached out and pulled her face forward to meet his lips in a searing kiss.

His eyelashes brushed against her cheek along with falling raindrops as (Y/N) threaded her hands through his wet hair and kissed him back immediately with just as much intensity.

Anything that wasn’t able to be put into words was put it into that kiss.

And at that moment, there was no longer any shadow of doubt in either of their minds about being each other’s true love.

Because that kiss? It was everything.

Absolutely everything.

[honekitteh]

Fic: Countdown - Chapter 5

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: M Genre: Angst, H/C, Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor,  Canon-typical levels of poor decision-making Synopsis: A distress call leads the Jedi Battlemaster to Ziost, but time is running out.  Follows the storyline of The Rise of the Emperor and inserts missing scenes.   Warnings: See Chapter 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |  Chapter 4 | Crossposted to AO3

“What was that thing?” I asked as I pulled my two shoto out of the back of the monstrous creature.

“We’ve been calling them monoliths,” Lana stated as she suddenly appeared on the holo comm from the failsafe console we had been directed to.  “I promise I wasn’t eavesdropping. Just wanted to warn you.”

I raised an eyebrow and gave a glance to Kira behind me.  The redhead was still staring dubiously at the ‘monolith.’

“We’ve seen several of those creatures appearing throughout New Adasta.  They’re made from Sith alchemy.  A sign of Vitiate’s growing power.  Extremely strong, next to impossible to kill.  The one you just defeated is the smallest we’ve come across.”

Kira mouthed behind me, “Smallest?”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up.  “Its power has already returned.”

“I’m afraid so,” Lana nodded and switched off communication.

As if on cue, the monolith swung his large arm and I was caught in my stomach and flung back against the walls.  I don’t entirely know how long I was out, but Kira was shouting at me by the time I shook my head and got back up and looked my surroundings.  We needed to defeat the Monolith and stabbing it til it died was not the way to do it.  

I looked across all the consoles, then noticed the broken electrical wire group on the floor, as well as the water underneath it.  This was a bit of a gamble, but thankfully this was an enemy I didn’t really need to worry about utilizing my terrible pazaak face on.  Remembering how things had worked in the Electrical Substation I looked around quickly for a switch.  

My body ached as I got back up and I took a deep breath, using the Force meditation techniques to ignore pain for a time.  My target was on the other side of the room and I had to get there without getting knocked out or winded again.  Kira was smacked hard into another wall, but she blinked in and out of visibility before she took full impact.

I flipped the switch and watched as the monolith was finally knocked out due to the electrical current.  After a few seconds, a little too late, did I notice the electrical current exit my own body.  I wobbled a bit and looked at my hand.  I couldn’t feel anything in it for what seemed like minutes, and there were now a few red lines adorning my flesh.  I flexed it for a bit as Kira kicked the Monolith on her way over to me.

“Did you forget the safeties?” she asked quickly.

“Did we have time?”

Kira rubbed her face with her palm.  “I should have kept the kolto pack...”

“I’ll be fine.  I’ve survived force lightning.”

“Doc will have a fit.”

“Must be a day that ends in –y.”  I moved back to the console to put in the failsafe override sequence.  I tapped in the commands as per the directions we had been given and then leaned back against it with a heavy sigh.

“Plan’s over.  Scrapped.”  Agent Kovach walked into the Metro Center, his eyes completely exhausted as he moved to the communication console.  “Some giant thing tore through a junction, caused an electrical surge.  Dampeners are shot.”

Kira and I both glanced at each other and then back at the finally dead Monolith.  I stabbed the nearest limb of the beast again to be sure before responding to the agent, “There has to be another way.”

He shook his head.  “I thought about an electrical bombardment from space, but it would be incredibly imprecise.  We’ll be as likely to kill a lot of people as anything.”

I shook my head in response to that.  That was an unacceptable outcome.  At least he had enough sense to see that without me having to point it out, like I have had to so many other Republic officials over the course of my career.

“Besides,” he continued, “The two fleets have engaged each other.  Maybe if we convinced Saresh or Darth Marr to divert some forces...” His holo comm chirped, demanding his attention.  

Theron appeared on the holo.  “What’s the word, Kovach?”

“The word is ‘failure.’ I couldn’t make it work.  I’m sorry, Agent Shan.”

I stared at Theron for a moment.  Even through the holographic interface, I could see how tired he was.  He wore what he felt was the weight of this world on his shoulders, even when he didn’t need to hold it alone.  I flexed my right hand, still not feeling a lot more than vague tingles in it.  I glanced over to Kovach and decided against bringing up something that, at this point, was not as important as stopping the Emperor.

“I’m sure you did your best,” Theron had continued on, “That’s all we can ask for.  Look, maybe you should check in with Lana.  If you can, get her to reach out to me.”  

“I’ll do that,” Kovach responded.  I thought I saw a slight wink in my direction from Theron before his image blinked out from the holo call.  I didn’t have a chance to be sure about that before Kovach had packed up his kit and started walking out of the Metro Center.  He turned his head slightly to me at the door and said, “You have my thanks.”

I frowned slightly and looked back at the Monolith lying dead in the middle of the room.  

“You didn’t tell him,” Kira stated.

“I hesitated,” I admitted.

“He’d have probably fired him when we need all the bodies.”

“True.  I’ll own that choice should it come up.”

“Guess we’ll have to talk to her at some point soon too.”

“Hm?”

“Chancellor Cockblock… I mean Saresh.”

I snorted.  “Chancellor Cockblock?”

“She totally disrupted your reunion with Theron.”

I sighed and waved my hands around the room and emphatically pointed at the Monolith. “I’d say this whole situation disrupted any reunion.”

“Fair point. Your holo comm is blinking.”

I blinked and nodded and pulled it out.   Lana appeared again on the holo.  “I’m told Agent Kovach’s plan fell apart.  The good news is I have another plan.  A better plan.  However, it’s an extremely dangerous plan—for you.”

“This is my shocked face,” I stated plainly at her, ���I’m listening.”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, war has broke out across the globe.  Our former Emperor, however, has focused his involvement to the area around New Adasta—near you.”

I tilted my head and encouraged her to continue.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence.  It’s possible he isn’t as strong has he’s been letting on.  It’s possible he’s worried about what you could do.”

I sighed.  “It was always going to lead to this.  Let him come for me.”

“I’m going to suggest something a little more proactive, actually.  You must get all of his pawns—every last soldier, Jedi, and Sith to stop their slaughter and chase you into the heart of New Adasta.  You must make Vitiate want to kill you.  Now.”

“Vitiate want to kill me?  Must be Taungsday.”

“I am aware of your past history with him.”

I quirked my eyebrow but said nothing else as she forwarded coordinates for the next location for me to head to.  A place called the People’s Tower.  Cutting off the communication with Lana, I frowned slightly.  

“I really doubt you know what you think you do…”

Kira came back up beside me after her patrol of the room.  “What was that?”

“Just doubting what Lana knows.”

Kira nodded.  “You told Theron, but not her?”

I just nodded and started walking out of the Metro Security Center.

“This thing working?”  

I blinked as Kira and I walked into a devastated cantina just outside of the People’s Tower in New Adasata.  I fiddled with the comm on my wrist computer.  “Doc, is that you?”

Doc’s voice was exasperated and tired, I could feel it from here.  “Oh good, it does work.  Giving you a status update because your spyboy has rushed off on a new errand with Teeseven.”

I sighed.  “Go ahead.”  As I awaited Doc’s report, I directed Kira to investigate the cantina with a quick motion of my head.  I sensed there was something in there that could be quite useful for us, but I wasn’t sure what.  I leaned against the edge of the door to the cantina and studied the area, taking note of some of the possessed soldiers and sith movements.  I was trying to figure out the best plan of attack to get to the next region.  I also noticed there were some very large turrets at the edge of the cliff the People’s Tower was on.  I filed their existence away for future use.  

“The small amount of survivors, between the soldiers, civilians, and slaves that he managed to keep from dying to... were they Jedi?”

“They were under the Emperor’s control.”  

“I could tell...” I quirked an eyebrow at Doc’s comment there.  Of course, he’d know what that was like.  I audibly sighed remembering that he and my other companions had been on the Emperor’s Fortress with me.  They knew… but Doc didn’t let my mind wander too far into it.  “I mean.  Anyway I’ve gotten the surviving patients that were able to be moved back up to the station. Tried to convince your boyfriend he needed to go with them for proper medical attention but he wouldn’t budge.  The idiot.”

Biting back the traditional denial response, I simply just stated, “Doc…”

But he would not be deterred.  “He’s a wreck and those scars will not heal properly if he doesn’t stop for 10 minutes to let a professional look over them.  He just took one of my stronger doses and went off with Teeseven for… something the blonde Sith said.”

“You mean Lana.”

“That was her name.  Sorry, I was never the greatest with remembering names.”

“Yes I remember.  What did you really expect though, Doc?”

“I don’t know… maybe to think about his own health for a change.  Maybe think how you’d feel if something happened to him.”

“Did you threaten him again?”

“Of course not.”  Doc sounded almost insulted by my accusation.  Though maybe not for the reason that I thought.  “He didn’t stick around long enough for the lecture.”

I tried to keep my own voice calm and flexed my right hand a few times.  “This whole planet is a mess Doc… You know I would…”

He cut me off.  “Yeah yeah, needs of the many or some kriffin Jedi nobility.  But you can’t save people if you’re dead.”

I rubbed my temple and just sighed, resigned.  “Thanks for helping, Doc.  That means a lot.”

“Of course.  It’s what I do.  I think he’ll be fine… just don’t think he will heal properly... not that that seems to be a thing he is unfamiliar with...”

“Doc...”

“Right right. Status update is done.  More patients filtering in. Doc out.”  

I continued scanning the surroundings and I felt Kira coming up from behind me.

“You conveniently left out how you got scorched when we defeated the Monolith,” she stated, smirking at me.

I flexed my right hand again, finally regaining the last bits of feeling that I had lost.  “Please.  Theron isn’t the only one who doesn’t want a lecture from Doc when there’s work to be done.”

“Agreed,” Kira nodded, “The bartender was dead.  Unsurprising but still a pity.  There was a key on him though.”  She displayed the key to me.

“Wonder what this is for…” I furrowed my brow and studied it.  Then I looked back around the landing pad outside of the cantina.  

As we moved from our spot, we were suddenly besieged by a group of soldiers.  I took a quick glance to the side and noticed that there was a woman cowering behind one of the benches, where these soldiers had moved from.  Soon as they had come after us, she ran.  I hoped she made it to the landing pad in time, but I had no way of keeping track of that.  The soldiers weren’t much of a match between Kira and I, but by the time they were defeated at our feet, I could not see where the woman had gone.  Hopefully she was safe and had not been added to Vitiate’s legion.

I really wish I didn’t have to think like that, but reality was unkind.  

I took a look back at the key in my hand and frowned.  

“I think it’s to one of these speeder bikes,” Kira spoke up.  

I pursed my lips and tried it on the one near the ramp up towards the tower.  That one didn’t work.  Sighing I looked across the other speeders that were around.  There were like five.

“Try this one!” Kira yelled back at me and I noticed she was pointing at the speeder right next to the cantina entrance.  

Of course...  That would make sense.  I came back over and sure enough, the key fit.  

“It needs some fuel first,” Kira stated, “No other way.  Not sure where we’d find some fuel though.”

I looked up and pondered.  Then I pointed out the air defense turrets I’d spotted earlier.  “They should have some fuel.  We can shut those down and get the fuel from there.”

“You mean steal the fuel.”

“It’s not stealing!”

Kira simply raised her eyebrow.

“It’s borrowing...”

“Borrowing?”

“... Borrowing without the intent to return.  What does it matter?  We need to shut down the turrets anyway.”

“Of course Master Jyana.”

We moved our way up the ramp towards the People’s Tower.  Four air defense turrets lined the edge of the platform with a very long drop down.  We made fairly quick work of getting the fuel from three of them, as well as dealing with more of Vitiates marionette army.  I stared up at the last turret and tried to figure out the best way of approach.  

“We should have enough,” Kira stated after helping a small shaking child out from under a bench.  “What are you thinking?”

“We need to get that last one shut down.  Think that speeder will get us there?”

“Most definitely, but let's get this girl to the transports here.”

I looked back and looked down at the child.  Her eyes were larger than her face, blue as the Alderaanian sky, her blonde hair short and dirty.  She stared up at me, her face stained with tears.  She was quaking with fear.  Kira had most of it handled as she eased the child to allow her to pick her up.  I placed a light hand on top of the child’s head. “Did you lose your parents?” I asked softly.

She nodded slowly.  

“What is your name?”

Her voice was very soft, barely audible if you didn’t know what you were listening to.  A slight accent painted her a native of the planet. “Kallie.”

“We’re going to get you to safety, Kallie.  Find help.”

She continued to stare at me, but I could feel her fear shifting to hope.

“She’s got a broken leg,” Kira mentioned as she shifted the child on her hip.  

I nodded.  “We need to get her to Doc.”

She nodded to me and we took back off towards the transport.  I reached out my senses across the platform.  I could not sense any other children or people that were of their own mind left.  First things first, get this child somewhere safe.

After making the appropriate transfers and verifying that Kallie was being taken care of by Doc and whoever else he’d roped into helping him now on the Orbital Station, Kira and I had gotten the speeder bike fueled up and ready to go.  I was planning to try to zoom up the ramp and get to that last air defense turret to shut it down.  

I hopped onto the speeder and started preparing to drive.  Kira stared at me dubiously.  “What?” I asked.

“This isn’t your run of the mill standard issue republic sanctioned speeder, Jy.”  

I raised an eyebrow.  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“This is more like one of the speeders I had to hotwire when I was on Nar Shaddaa.”

“I mean, what could possibly go wrong?”

“You just had to say that.”

I just stared at Kira for a few minutes as she reluctantly popped onto the speeder behind me.  I started the speeder up and started my way back up towards the tower.

The speeder, in whoever’s infinite wisdom, suddenly lurched forward in a spurt of speed, catching me completely off guard.  Holding on tightly, I tried to manage the speeder as it suddenly slowed back down again.  It did this a second time and I attempted to time it just so as we went towards the wall.  I couldn’t really breath with how tightly Kira was holding my stomach and the next burst of speed landed us into a wall, both of us in a pile on the ground.  

“Let me get this... you stay here...” Kira muttered, brushing herself off.

I sighed, still mostly upside down from how we were flung.  “Fine.”

I righted myself as Kira took the speeder and expertly angled it and got it up the ramp, jumping over the gaps with ease.  I grumbled a bit but took that moment to regain my breath.  I flexed my right hand, grateful that at least something had started to heal by the time I heard the explosion of the last air defense turret being taken down and Kira had made it back down.  

She smirked at me and patted the seat of the speeder behind her.  I rolled my eyes and hopped back on and we went inside the People’s Tower.

[lizord-lord]

Locked Heart Ch.8

(OKAY GUYS IT’S FINALLY HERE-this one was just giving me a lot of trouble so it happened to take a while..and just fyi, @patton-croc-agenda​ (who held a gun to MY head for this one, so the debt is repaid) and I apologize for literally nothing. Except the wait. Now, let’s see what happened to our dear Patton..)

Previous: Chapter 7

Next: Chapter 9

Pairings: Eventual Logicality, Prinxiety

Words: 3,363

Summary: After making the mistake of letting a vampire into his home, Patton wakes up to find himself in a strange room he doesn’t recognize, and no means of escape.

Overall Warnings: This fic will at some point contain: Assault, kidnapping, graphic depictions of death and violence, mentions of/explict sexual content (the more explicit scenes can be skipped), negative/possibly suicidal thoughts and a relationship that can possibly be interpreted as Stockholm Syndrome (though we do try and flesh the relationship out, if the idea of such a thing even slightly triggers you maybe give this one a pass). Warnings will be posted for individual chapters as well.

Chapter Warnings: This is the big one folks..guns, blood, gore, getting shot, biting, murder, kidnapping, arguing, injury.

Logan woke to a quiet house. For a moment he was confused, frowning as he rose from his bed and grabbed his glasses from the nightstand-but then he remembered that it was Wednesday, and Roman and Virgil had an evening class. That would explain the silence. Rubbing his eyes and slipping his glasses onto his nose, he slid out of bed to get dressed, squinting as he entered the hallway-giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the artificial light before continuing down the hall to the guest room. He shouldn’t have been surprised when he found it unlocked and open, as Virgil and Roman often let Patton out before he woke up. That was fine. He trusted Virgil. Roman…..well, werewolves were nothing if not loyal.

However, as he stepped down the hall to get a drink of water, he began to notice.

Something smelt off.

Logan entered the kitchen, and he still hadn’t heard a noise. No creak of footsteps on the old boards. No quiet humming from the library. No shower running, no breathing, no heartbeat-

Halfway across the hall, he froze.

The smell of sugar and sea breeze shampoo-Patton’s scent- had gone stale. It should never be stale.

Stale implies that he-

Logan turned on his heel, eyes boring into the wood of the door-holding breath he didn’t need to take as he clasped the brass doorknob and turned it.

It opened.

He’s gone.

Logan snarled-how could this happen, he’d been so damn careful, and now Patton was out there! Alone, in the dark, two towns away from the apartment Logan had picked him up from. And the only defense he had was the ability to make goddamn glowing cubes, idiot, he clearly should have been even more cautious.

Logan snatched his keys from the hook by the door, slamming the door behind him as he dashed off into the darkening evening.

He reached downtown in about two minutes-curbing his supernatural speed to simply a speedy walk as the buildings came into view and brushing his mussed hair out of his face.

Now, it was just a matter of how far into the city Patton had gotten.

His heart in his mouth, Patton shakily nodded. The gun was not removed from where it was pressed between his eyes, and the safety was clicked off..why, why, why, all he’d wanted was to go home!

“Empty your pockets, the man holding the gun growled, and Patton did so-not that there was anything in them other than a crumpled up piece of paper he’d apparently shoved into his khakis-worthless, by the way the mugger tossed it to the ground.

“All of them,” he repeated, and Patton stiffened.

“That-that was all of them!”

“Please, you expect us to believe you just went on a nighttime stroll without a phone or a couple dollars?” Spoke another of the muggers-a woman this time, her voice full of scorn. Weakly, Patton nodded. He opened his mouth to explain-but no...no, he’d never be able to make them believe the truth, even if he cut out all the supernatural aspects.

“My phone is..is broken, I had to send it out-and I was staying at a friend’s house for the night, promise! I really don’t have any money, I-”

The man grimaced-a glint of white teeth in the faint lamplight still streaming into the alley- and terror clutched at Patton’s heart. Could he use his magic? Make the light again? He tried to think-but any thought of the power he held slipped from his mind before he could grasp it. Too scared to think.

I’m going to die.

“Wait.”

Another voice, different from the first two, coming from the thinnest of the group. “Don’t kill him, Har- dude. So he doesn’t have anything on him right now, we could get him to take us back to his house, can’t we?”

“....I guess…” grumbled the man in front of Patton. After a long moment, the gun’s safety clicked on. Patton felt a wave of relief go through his whole body, visibly slumping back against the bricks.

“Then take us to your house,” said another voice, this one rougher than the others. In response, Patton felt the sudden grip of a hand around his arm and he squeaked-suddenly realizing the situation. He was still lost. He didn’t know where his home was, but that wouldn’t fit with the story he’d given..oh no. Oh no please no.

“I-I can’t-” he stuttered out, scrambling for an excuse, a plea, anything.

“What do you mean you can’t, you goddamn can, and if you don’t then we’ll just shoot you.” growled the man, his grip tightening and sending Patton’s heart pounding so fast he feared it would burst out of his chest.

“I can’t, I-” think think think- “I take the bus!! Yeah, it’s too far to walk, so I take the bus-and I mean the five of you would look kind of suspicious on a bus..”

“He’s useless! See, I told you we should have hit a better part of town-let’s just kill him,” announced the rough voice-and Patton’s hands shot up to attempt to shield his face, even though the action was useless with the gun against his head. God, if there was any time he’d love to understand his weird magic it would be NOW!

“Don’t!” he cried, his voice high and quaking. “I-I could-” what could he do, “Please, I promise I won’t tell anyone about your gang, just don’t-”

The woman scoffed. “Gang? Don’t make me laugh, we aren’t some squad of..Cackling Coyotes or anything. Some people just need to make a damn living, now name one reason why we actually shouldn’t just kill you?”

“Maybe we could get his bank info?” Piped up the thinnest man, but the man with the gun only rolled his eyes.

“That’s like asking a chick at the bar for her number, no way to know if it’s fake until it’s too late. I vote kill.”

“Wait-” the panic rose in Patton’s chest, suffocating and thick, and he almost feared he’d pass out-the choking horror a sickening compliment to the cold ice that was his blood. No, no, this couldn’t be how he died-after everything he’d seen, gone through, he couldn’t die to a squad of muggers!! Please, please..

“I vote kill too,” spoke the man with the gun in a chillingly flat tone-and Patton’s breathing only grew shallower as he saw the silent figure nod.

“Let’s be smart about this,” hissed the thin man-so far, the only thing Patton could call an ally. “What will we do with the body? Hide the evidence?”

“Oh shut up, Di- dickwad, what if he blabs?” snapped the woman. “We kill him. Dump him in the trash and take the gun.”

“Please!!”

“Do it,” spoke the rough man.

“I’m doing it.”

“DON’T KILL ME!” Patton screamed-and suddenly, his icy blood was hot. Light burst forth from his body-

The gun went off, and Patton’s scream turned to one of blazing agony.

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan caught a flash of light-and two sounds in unison. A scream, high-pitched and full of roiling emotion-and a sound that chilled him to the bone.

A gunshot.

A gunshot, and Patton’s scream.

Patton.

Logan raced towards the sound-barely registering the scene before him-five people standing over Patton’s-slumped against the alley wall clutching his side. The scent, thick and sweet and intoxicating, filled his mind and the bloodlust invoked by the mere thought of someone hurting Patton, of Patton being out and in danger-gained a dual meaning.

He collided with the man holding the gun-and he heard shouts, presumably from the people around him, but he neither noticed nor cared. The gun clattered to the pavement as he wrenched it from the mugger’s grasp, a sickening crack echoing through they alleyway, accompanied by a howl of pain-but it wouldn't last, as Logan’s fangs soon tore into his throat, deep into the jugular, spilling blood like a fountain as Logan shoved the body to the ground, disregarding the dull thump.

He felt something smash into his skull-not a fist, some heavier object-he wasn’t sure what, only that it hurt, and a grunt of pain was torn from his throat, only to morph into a snarl. Crimson eyes, glowing in the darkness, turned on the woman that had hit him, and Logan swung his arm out, sending her flying into the wall and splattering blood across the bricks like a gory perversion of a Jackson Pollock painting as her skull smashed open against it.

He heard a scramble behind him-one of the others going for the gun, but Logan was much, much faster-in the blink of an eye, the gun was reduced to scrap metal in his hands, and the one who had dove for it fell right into Logan’s deadly grasp, a screech of pain ripping through the night as fangs ripped his throat open too. Two left. One dashed Logan’s way, and his neck was snapped in Logan’s hands. The last tried to run. Tried.

But there could be no witnesses.

Logan dragged the flailing, screaming man back into the alley, and once more tore open his throat.

Blood spilled from the wound-and as the adrenaline surge waned, the tantalizing smell wafted up to Logan’s nostrils, and his grip grew tighter. His fangs clamped down harder, and he drank, greedily lapping up the blood that flowed from the limp mugger’s throat, more and more until he finally felt full.

It couldn’t hurt.

The corpse fell from Logan’s grasp, the thump of it hitting the bloodstained pavement the only sound in the alley. Well, aside from a sound that he now became acutely aware of. Patton, shivering, his breathing shallow and terrified.

Patton.

In an instant, Logan was crouching in front of the pale-looking human. He reached out his arms to scoop him up- but to his aggravation, Patton tried to tug away, weakly pushing himself back into the wall.

Red eyes narrowed as Logan recalled why this had happened in the first place. That Patton had tried to run. If he’d just listened, but no!

Regardless, Logan tugged Patton to his feet, ignoring the whimper and turning. He felt Patton trying to pull away-heard a weak protest, but it only hardened his resolve. Idiot, how could he just throw himself into danger like that? He’d gotten mugged for goodness’ sake, the second he’d stepped out the door-and Logan had to come save him. What if he hadn’t found him in time? Patton could be dead, did he not see that?

“No..no, lemme go..” echoed the soft whimpers from behind him-but the tugging had stopped. Instead he was dragging Patton behind him-and as Logan turned, his eyes went wide.

With his face still smeared with various people’s blood, the thick, coppery scent right in his nose-fights weren’t neat after all-he hadn’t noticed it. Patton’s left hand clutched at his side-and red dripped from beneath his fingers, staining the fabric of his gray sweater. His face was even paler now as he stumbled along, woozy. That wouldn’t do. Especially now Logan had to get him home faster, before he bled out.

So he yanked Patton in and hefted him into his arms as he had the first night-but very much unlike the first night, even bleeding out and half-delirious, Patton still squirmed, glistening tears dripping down his cheeks as he tried to scramble out of Logan’s grip. Logan sighed.

“Patton, stay still-I need to take you home and get you medical assistance!”

At that, Patton actually started struggling more.

This was ridiculous, if he was going to make sure Patton lived he had to get him home! And yet the human insisted on making things difficult! Logan growled low in his throat, his lips curling up as he gripped the back of Patton’s head and turned it to face him.

He saw the slumping of Patton’s muscles as the red of his crimson stare reflected in Patton’s blue irises, the compulsion turning his limbs to jelly. By all means, an ability designed to incapacitate prey-but in this case, he just needed him to stop fucking squirming.

The tears stopped too, after a moment, as Patton passed out from the pain-and Logan was left in silence to bring them back home.

The door swung open-the faint creak of the old hinges accompanied by Roman and Virgil’s typical loud banter. But both of them stopped dead in the hall-surprise and apprehension flashing across their faces at the sight of Logan standing directly opposite the door, brown eyes narrowed behind his glasses and posture stiff and cold, arms crossed over his chest. Both human and werewolf shrank back just a bit, Virgil recognizing it as the Dad stare and Roman as the ‘boyfriend’s vampire dad who will murder you if you make one wrong move though you’re not so sure anymore’ stare. Equally terrifying interpretations. But neither of them were prepared for the reason Logan was glaring at them so intensely.

“You left the door unlocked.”

“He’s-” Virgil began, worry in his voice (why? He wanted Patton to escape. Just...he’d miss him) but Logan answered before he’d even finished the question.

“He’s here. He ran off and got mugged of all rotten ways luck could go. But he is alive, and well enough considering.”

“MUGGED??” Roman burst out-and Virgil felt his boyfriend’s hand tighten considerably in his own. He looked frantic and angry at the same time, which only worried Virgil because of the high probability he’d do something horribly rash, though the word was ringing in Virgil’s ears too. Mugged? Patton? What could have happened-Logan had said well enough considering, that could mean anything from distraught to terribly wounded!

“Yes, mugged.” Logan clenched his teeth as he spoke the words, “Five of them. I assume he attempted to fend them off with magic, as that is how I found him. One of them had shot him in the side when I arrived, though it did not seem to be a fatal wound except for the copious blood loss.”

“Tell me you ripped them apart.”

The words were growled through Roman’s teeth-and Virgil swore he caught a flash of gold out of his peripheral. There was something else in Logan’s eyes as he shifted to meet Roman’s, something old and something dark.

“I did.”

“Good.”

“Where is he?” Virgil asked-more pressing matters, more important things than revenge..though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a dark rush of satisfaction upon hearing that those goons were gone for good. No one should hurt Patton, not sweet, loving, innocent Patton.

“His room. He’s still unconscious, passed out from blood loss. I bandaged him up best I could and locked the door again..” Logan trailed off, pulling his glasses off his face to wipe the lenses with his tie, looking frustrated. “And so soon after I let him have a bit more space.”

“I’m sorry..” Virgil mumbled. Normally he wouldn’t think this something to apologize for-it was an accident, and Patton shouldn’t have been trapped here in the first place. But he was hurt. And that changed things. Logan seemed to pause before sliding his glasses back onto his face.

“There had better be an explanation for your carelessness,” he said, though unsurprisingly his eyes did not turn to Virgil, but to Roman.

“We were running late for class, and in the rush to get out to not be late, something I’d expect you’d approve of, locking the door was an afterthought.”

“Well that ‘afterthought’ could have gotten Patton killed,” Logan replied lowly. “That isn’t my fault!” Roman protested, but Logan’s only response was a darker glare and crossed arms. “You should have been more responsible! Unfortunately, I can’t babysit you all every hour of the day!” “Ever consider we’re not babies?” Roman shot back. “You can’t control everyone!” “Oh. Oh. We’re going that direction, are we? Sometimes you might as well be children with how ridiculous you act, and if you’re going to be so careless clearly I must!” “And does that include Patton too?” Roman burst out, taking a step towards Logan. “I would have run away if I were him too, it’s not his fault he got into trouble, it’s not ours-hell, I’d even say it’s yours for shutting him up in here in the first place!” “He gets mugged immediately after leaving my care, and you say that my housing him here is the cause of this?? Explain to me exactly how that makes sense!” “Because you can’t just kidnap people and hold them captive, Logan, I happen to think that makes fucking sense!” Logan snarled, sharp fangs glinting in the artificial light. “You tend to seem rather happy to have him here, don’t you?” “So??? He’s a person!”

“Then you say I shouldn’t have brought him back? If that happened he’d be dead, and that is a good solution for no one.” “He shouldn’t-” “Will you two quit it?” The sudden intervention from Virgil froze both werewolf and vampire in place. They were practically at each other’s throats, an unfortunately common sight-though that also left the lone human in the room undeterred. Virgil stepped forward, pushing his way between them as an attempt to cool down the situation. “Look-I think we all know where everyone stands on Patton, and I kinda prefer you two not trying to murder each other, so let’s just...drop it okay?” “Virgil, come on-you know we can’t just-” Roman began, but Virgil spun to face him, cutting him off.

“Ro, can it.” The almost pleading look in his eyes finally did it. Sighing, Virgil turned to Logan, who was still standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Dad...I’m glad he’s safe.” He could have said more. But it wouldn’t help, would it? The three of them stood there in silence for a long moment before Virgil finally put his arms down, sighing. You could still cut the tension between his father and his boyfriend with a knife, but at least it wasn’t about to snap. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, still looking to Logan.

“Can we see him?” Logan’s brow pinched, as if he wasn’t too happy about the idea-but a moment past, and with a sigh, he nodded, turning and stepping back down the hallway, waving for Virgil and Roman to follow. But Roman didn’t.

He remained in the hallway, glowering at his shoes-and before Virgil could grab his arm and pull him aside, he opened the door and stepped through. “Roman-” Slam.

Virgil groaned loudly, hitting his thigh with a closed fist in-what? Exasperation, frustration, hopelessness? One of the above, at least.

“Just let him go,” came Logan’s voice from down the hall, and as much as it annoyed Virgil to hear the command, Logan was right. Roman threw tantrums, and it was better to have him leave for a while than let another fight break out. So, he did. Virgil walked down the hall and up the stairs, following Logan, until they came to the plain door of the guest room where Patton lay unconscious.

The key in his pocket felt unnaturally cold and heavy as he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Patton lay unmoving under the cream sheets, only the faintest rise and fall of his chest showing that he was alive. His curls were falling in his face, a plain blue t-shirt covering his chest-but as Virgil stepped closer to the side of the bed and tugged the covers down slightly, he could see the bloodstained bandages underneath. Wincing, he replaced the covers.

The silence filled the room as Virgil stood there, listening to the faint sound of Patton’s breathing and taking his freckled hand from where it lay beside him on the bed. But eventually, he did have to step away.

Virgil headed straight to his room, leaving Logan to shut and lock the door, kicking off his shoes and burying himself under his comforter. It was too cold without Roman.

He slipped into sleep soon after.

It was not a quiet sleep.

Also, we have a new Locked Heart Discord server!! Here’s a link that doesn’t expire, unlike the post I made about it, that was my bad XD

https://discord.gg/Fm6xZJM click to yell at us

Locked Heart Tags: @why-things-go-boom @altruistic-skittles @phantomofthesanderssides @soft-transboy @justanormalfoot @residentanchor @non-binaryemo @phlying-squirrel @shy-writing-life-of-hell @lucifer-in-my-head @forsakethegodsbeforetheydoyou @dragonheart905 @astral-eclipse @thatpinkpony59 @sleepyssnail @unipugsat221b @septic-fallen @cyberpunkjinx @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @kaileah-kat @childhood-wishes-and-dreams @punsterterry @fantazyiskey @spaceviolett @anxiousvirgil0 @radioactivehelena @faithfulcat111 @that-random-fangirl @squidthesyd1174 @the-blue-belle @4amanxiety @rosesisupposes @9-patton-punchlines @ilylogan @nirascharacterdump @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @ab-artist @bubblycricket @illogicaldeath @impromptu-sanity @wildhorsewolf @logicalerror @everyday-emo-stuff @belongstotrash @downrightdanny @cookiethedevil @awkwardcat @hatethesinlovethesinner92 @theultimatemomfriend @the-office-cat @ierindoodles @buckydeangirl91

[ingloriousblasters]

Second Chances (Merle x OC) AU- Chapter Twelve

Synopsis: Finding herself pregnant and unwed, Nora Buckley thought she’d never return to the small town of Redwater, Georgia. Five years later, life has brought her back to the town she swore she’d never go back to. In a hurry to find a place to live and a job to provide for her daughter, Anna, Nora reluctantly takes a position at the old Dixon farm on the outskirts of town, where she meets fellow Redwater outcast, Merle Dixon. Takes place in early 1960s.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven

A/N: So I’m the worst at updating this fic on a regular basis, but finally another chapter! Fair warning, still no smut cause I’m taking my damn time. (AKA: I’m still trying to figure out the gray areas between all the concrete scenes I have planned for this story, and it’s hard lol) Anyway, thanks for reading!

Chapter Twelve

“Where the hell am I supposed ta sleep now?” Daryl asked from the bottom step.

“On the couch… where ya belong,” Merle huffed from the middle of the staircase. The old mattress from the shed separating them. They carried the less than firm bed up the stairs and into the second bedroom that Nora had cleaned out to the bare bones.

“Where ya want this, sugar?” Merle asked her as he and Daryl came through the door.

“Oh, um, over by the window is fine,” Nora told him. She had been cleaning out the cluttered room all morning, throwing away more than she had the last time. Daryl and Merle set the mattress on its frame and scooted it up towards the corner.

Through the second floor window, they all watched as Anna wheeled a wagon full of her toys over to the house.

“Why don’t ya give her a hand?” Merle suggested to Daryl and the younger Dixon left the room with a grunt. Once he was gone, Merle looked over at Nora with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He grabbed her hand as he sat down on the bed, bringing Nora with him. She laughed as she landed in his lap.

Merle captured her lips with his while his hands stroked up and down her sides. Their kiss slowed as it continued. Merle’s tongue swiped over Nora’s bottom lip with caution, and she granted him access to her mouth as her arms wrapped around his neck. He hadn’t told Daryl yet about them, though Merle knew he wouldn’t be surprised. But sneaking a kiss here and there while he was around helping out brought a youthful excitement to Merle that he hadn’t fell in decades.

Merle’s tongue swirled around Nora’s and he let out a low grunt when she adjusted her position on his lap. The old mattress creaking underneath them brought multiple visions to Merle’s mind but they were cut short by the whine of the screen door opening. Nora pulled away from his warm lips when she heard Anna and Daryl heading up the staircase. Arms still wrapped around his neck, she gave the older farmer one more brief kiss before getting up from his lap. Picking up a dusting rag Nora turned her head back towards Merle, his cheeks flushed in a rose hue while his hand stroked over his chin, still in a haze from their short lived make out session. She smiled at him, feeling her own full, warm cheeks as well.

“Mama,” Anna called from the top of the stairs as Daryl carried her wagon of toys in the next bedroom. “I gotta find a place for all of them!”

“Duty calls,” she sighed.

Merle gave her a brief smile. “Yeah, I better go help Daryl with the rest before he decides ta just hop on his bike and leave.” He rose from the bed and followed Nora as she headed towards the door. Walking over the threshold his hand snaked down Nora’s backside, giving her rear a playful pinch. A yelp escaped from her mouth and she swatted the dusting rag at Merle, catching his shoulder as he galloped down the stairs with a laugh.

Later that evening they all gathered in the kitchen for dinner. Exhausted by the day’s events, the usual chatter over the meal was filled with nothing but the chirping of the birds outside. Merle had asked Nora to pass the bread and Daryl noticed his brother’s hand linger as Nora handed him a piece. He smirked to himself watching the two; Merle thought he was able to pull things over him, but Daryl always caught on to his brother’s secrets eventually.

As the sun began to set, Nora walked with Daryl out to the front porch while Anna had Merle make her a plate of scraps to feed King.

“I kinda feel bad,” she told the younger Dixon.

“‘Bout what?” Daryl furrowed his brows as he turned around on the second to last step.

“Taking your room.”

He let out a rare smile while listening. “Don’t be. I’m just glad Merle finally got some sense knocked into him.”

Nora giggled as she folded her arms in the cool twilight. “Yeah,” she muttered, agreeing with him.

“Besides, been wonderin how long it was gonna take till ya two got together.”

“What?” Nora’s eyes grew wide at his statement. Daryl huffed a laugh and stuck his hands in his pockets. He kinda liked watching the usually cool headed Nora panic at his statement.

“Don’t worry, you can hold a poker face. Merle ain’t as sly as he thinks he is. Saw how he was lookin at ya today. Don’t think I’ve ever seen him look at someone like that in his whole life.”

Nora bit her lip as Daryl talked about his brother. Her heart fluttered to hear his words. They seemed to comfort her, knowing that someone else was able to see whatever was blooming between her and Merle.

“Real glad ya two found each other,” he muttered. Nora smiled at him but the silence that fell between them set Daryl on edge. He said a quick goodbye and shuffled off towards his bike.

“Thanks for helping today!” Nora hollered at him.

The roar of his motorcycle sent Merle rushing out the screen door. “What?!” he yelled at his brother. “Ya ain’t gonna say bye?”

When Daryl came down the gravel path he lifted a hand and stuck his middle finger up in the air, leaving a cloud of dust in his path. Merle chuckled at the gesture while walking up behind Nora and wrapping his arms around her middle. Placing a kiss in the crook of her neck, Merle rested his chin on Nora’s shoulder while they watched Daryl disappear over the hill.

“He knows,” she said to Merle.

“Knows what?” he lifted his head to look at her.

“About us,” she smiled.

Merle nodded his head. “Of course he does.”

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

A few days later Merle woke before the sun even peaked its luminous head over the fields. Rubbing his blue eyes with one hand, he lifted the other above his head letting out a long yawn while he stretched his muscles. When his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he immediately noticed a sliver of yellow light seeping through the bottom of his closed door and the soft murmuring of voices from beyond.

Hearing what clearly sounded like a cough and a small whine, Merle grabbed his pair of jeans from the day before, slipped them on over his boxers, and opened the door. Glancing down the hall he found the source of light coming from the white painted bathroom door that was opened just an inch. Merle’s bare feet padded down hall wondering what was going on. Usually around this time in the morning, Nora and the little one were still asleep.

Merle braced one hand on the wall and the other on the bronze doorknob. Peeking a blue eye through the crack, he found Nora in her white nightgown, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall. A flushed face Anna sat next to her. The little girl was breathing heavy through her mouth and started coughing again. Nora ran a soothing hand up and down her daughter’s back while whispering calming words to her.

“What’s goin on in here?” Merle cracked the door open enough to stick his head in. Nora turned to face him, her dreary eyes looking as though she wanted nothing more than to sleep but couldn’t.

“Anna caught something from school,” she sighed. “We’ve been up all night.”

Merle took a look over at the five year old slumped against Nora. One of her beloved stuffed animals was clutched in her embrace as another coughing spell hit her.

Merle walked away from the bathroom and returned a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. He gave the glass to Nora who held it for Anna as she took a sip to help calm her throat down.

“Thank you,” she told Merle. “Do you mind watching her for a second? I have to go call the school.”

Merle rubbed the back of his neck before agreeing and letting Nora out of the bathroom. He was immediately brought back to his youth when a small Daryl would get sick. Merle was the only one who cared enough to take care of his baby brother, sometimes even resorting to swiping a bottle of aspirin from the local drug store because he didn’t have any money.

Anna wiped her nose with a long piece of toilet paper and looked up at Merle through watery eyes.

“Ya wanna lay down?” he asked. The little girl nodded her head and Merle walked over to pick her up. Resting her forehead on his bare shoulder, he could feel the heat of her skin seeping through his.

Merle carried Anna to the living room and shifted her to one side as he gathered the few pillows around the furniture and stacked them on top of each other before laying her down with her head propped up. He found a blanket in the hall closet and came back to cover her up. Anna’s eyes quickly closed as soon as she was comfortable underneath the checkered fabric. When Merle turned around, he came face to face with Nora, who had been watching him.

“So, you gonna head out to the fields now?” she asked, giving a half smile. Merle studied her tired face and knew she was trying to brush off how exhausted she was. He shook his head.

“I can watch Bug for awhile, ya go back ta sleep,” he told her.

“Merle, I’m fine.”

“Wasn’t a suggestion, sugar.” He lifted a brow at Nora and gave her the sternest look he could summon. They stared at each other until Nora rolled her eyes and finally caved in.

“Fine,” she sighed. “You’re so bossy.”

“It’s for ya own good,” Merle smiled and gave her a soft kiss before Nora walked back up to her room.

Finally waking from her much needed slumber, Nora rolled onto to her side and reached a hand out for her watch. With her eyes still closed, she finally managed to locate its place on the nightstand and blinked her eyes open to see it was just a little past two in the afternoon. She hadn’t realized she’s slept so long. Rising to her feet she left her room wondering what kind of state Merle and Anna would be in.

Coming down the stairs she could hear Merle’s raspy voice talking about about a dog. When she hit the bottom step Nora looked into the living room to see Merle, who was reading from her daughter’s worn copy of The Poky Little Puppy, and Anna tucked into his side staring intently at the colorful illustrations.

“Hi Mama,” Anna said with a rasp to match Merle’s when she noticed Nora.

“Hi baby. How ya feelin?” Nora answered walking into the room and sitting down next to her. She placed a hand over Anna’s forehead, which had seemed to cool off since earlier in the morning. Anna shrugged her shoulders.

“She’s been sleepin on and off,” Merle chimed in. “Hasn’t been sick again. Just a sore throat and stuffed up head.” Nora acknowledged Merle’s overview and asked Anna if she would like to try and eat some soup. When Anna agreed, Nora got up from the couch and headed towards the kitchen. She took out the red and white can and was opening it when Merle entered.

“Thank you,” she said tipping the tin over, the contents inside falling into the pot with a plop. “You don’t know how much you helped.”

“Was nothin, darlin” Merle told her leaning against the counter next to her. “What about ya? How ya feelin?”

“Better,” she smiled and walked over to him, sliding her arms around his waist. Merle wrapped his around her and leaned his head down to meet her kiss.

Nora rested her head on his shoulder and sighed while Merle slowly ran his hand up and down her exposed arm. The fact that she was still in her nightgown in the early afternoon made her laugh to herself.

“Kinda made me wonder though,” Merle finally spoke.

“Mm, ’bout what?”

“What ya did before when somethin like this happened?”

“Well,” Nora started. “Sometimes my landlord’s wife would help when she could. Watching Anna while I worked. And when she couldn’t, I’d have to call in and miss my shift.” She shrugged her shoulders and lifted her eyes to look at Merle.

And a paycheck too ran through his mind as he kissed the top of her head. Merle was constantly amazed as how Nora was able to support her and Anna all these years by herself. He had never met anyone with determination like her’s in his life.

“Speaking of which,” Nora continued. “You should probably get out there while you still have some daylight.”

“Ya sure?”

Nora nodded her head. “Mmhmm, you’ve done so much already. Really, thank you.”

“Well, if ya need me, ya know where to find me,” he said, giving her one more kiss before walking out the back door towards his fields.

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

Nora was jolted awake by the frantic horn of a large vehicle. Her eyes shot open as she got her bearings and kicked the checkered blanket off her body. The pounding in her head returned when she got up from the couch and started to run up the staircase. Oh no, oh no, oh no she thought with each step. Gasping for air when she reached the top, a coughing spell hit her while she opened the door to Anna’s room. Anna was still in bed, awakened only by Nora barging through the door.

“Anna, get up,” Nora croaked. “We missed the bus.”

“Huh?” The little girl rubbed her eyes as Nora pulled out the first dress she saw on a hanger. Anna hopped out of her bed and let Nora change her as fast as she could.

“Go down to the bathroom and brush ya teeth,” Nora told her and Anna listened. She knew by the tone in her voice that Mama was serious, and that meant no goofing off.

Nora hurriedly went into her room, slipping on her robe and the closest pair of shoes she saw. Coughing again as she came down the stairs, she glanced into the bathroom to make sure Anna was doing as told before entering the kitchen. Putting together at quick pb&j sandwich, Nora packed Anna’s lunch and headed towards the front to get her car keys.

Just as they were about to head out, Merle walked in from the back.

“The hell was that horn?” he asked. His words quieting as he saw a startled Nora in her nightgown, robe, and blue flats and Anna with one shoe on, the other in her hand.

“The bus,” Nora managed to cough out.

Merle sighed at her appearance. Apparently whatever Anna had the other day transferred to Nora. “Give me the keys,” he said.

Nora’s watery eyes watched as Merle strolled down the hallway. He held his hand out for the keys while Nora held in the sob she wanted to let out. She placed the keys in his hand and Merle and Anna walked out the front door.

Fifteen minutes later, Merle pulled up to the school and opened the back door for Anna. He walked her over to the playground where a hoard of children gathered before the bell rang.

“Ya okay if I leave ya here, Bug?” he asked.

“Uh huh. Thanks Merle,” she said and gave him a hug. The gesture caught him off guard and he stood still until she let go.

“Well, uh, don’t forget to catch the bus home, alright?”

She nodded at him and walked away towards a small group of friends she knew. Merle took a minute to watch her before heading back towards the car.

“Is that your daddy?” One of the boys from her class asked Anna, sticking a finger out behind her towards Merle. She furrowed her brows at his silly question and looked to where he was pointing.

“No, that’s my Merle,” she told him turning back around.  

“But he brought ya ta school and hugged ya goodbye like a daddy,” the boy countered. Anna shrugged her shoulders and the boy was off to play with other friends.

Was Merle her daddy, Anna wondered. He played with her and taught her neat stuff. He read to her when she was sick. And, she’d even seen Merle and Mama kissin recently when she wasn’t suppose to. (Her eyes weren’t all the way closed when Merle tucked her in on the couch the other day.) Maybe he was? Just as the thought entered Anna’s mind, it also disappeared when the bell rang, and her main focus went back to getting into class before teacher took roll call.

Merle walked through the front door and dropped the keys on small table near Nora’s purse. He glanced in the living room to see she wasn’t there, and started to head back towards the kitchen. Coming around the corner, Merle found her standing closely over the stove brewing a hot cup of tea.

“What are ya doin?” he asked as he watched her dip her face lower towards the steam coming from the pan.

“I can’t breathe,” she muttered through a stuffy nose. “I can’t sleep either.”

“Darlin,” Merle tried to hide the chuckle in his voice as he walked towards her. Turning off the burner to the stove, he grabbed her hands in his and started guiding her out of the kitchen and down the hall. “Ya take somethin for ya head yet?”

Nora nodded. Merle walked her back into the living room and piled the pillows at one end of the couch. But instead of letting Nora sit, he went down first, the pillows propping up his body. Merle opened his arms and gestured for Nora to come over, but she stood still in place. She wasn’t used to someone taking care of her and felt slightly guilty about it. She was just fighting off a bad cold or something, she would pull through on her own. Merle should have been outside working, not taking care of her.

“Merle-,” she started.

“Come on darlin, ya can’t sleep cause ya can’t breathe. Ya can’t breathe cause ya laying down too much.” Merle told her.

Taking a hard, deep breathe through her mouth, Nora slowly sat down on the couch and scooted in between Merle’s legs. She let herself fall back into his embrace, and the warmth from his chest relaxed Nora’s aching body. Merle grabbed the blanket and draped it over the both of them, then wrapped his arms around Nora. When he settled, Nora rested her hands on top of his.

“Better?” he whispered into her ear.

“Mhmm,” she nodded, closing her eyes and laying her head back on his upright chest. “Thank you.”

Merle placed a kiss to her temple and smiled. He adjusted his head into a comfortable position and closed his eyes as well. Within a few minutes, a nasally snore came from Nora’s mouth and Merle peeked an eye open trying not to jostle his chest too much as he laughed to himself.

Tags: @tyferbebe