#boi must have been nursing quite a nasty headache after that

[vastayan--vigilante]

The scene where Vi and Caitlyn get kidnapped by the Firelights is, in retrospect, very funny to me because it's basically just

Vi, immediately forgetting she's technically still in a fight and going 😨🥺 at seeing her sweet baby sis going feral:

Scar, driven by sheer spite, getting back up again after about 13 consecutive punches to the face:

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (16) || atz

The three of you are walking along in town.

Unsurprisingly, after the crazy celebration the night before, majority of the crew had woken up with massive hangovers, most retching over the side of the ship or trying to nurse pounding headaches. To be honest, the only ones who weren’t drunk were you, Seonghwa and Mingi.

Technically, Yeosang hadn’t been drunk either, but he had left for town earlier in the morning to go search for Wooyoung, who still hadn’t returned to the ship. When you had started to worry, Yeosang had simply reassured you that this was normal Wooyoung behavior, and he’d have their head gunner back on board before the ship set sail.

The biggest problem was, however, the fact that the ship’s resident healer was also suffering from a hangover.

“You’re such a lightweight, master.” You had chided him this morning as he groaned in his bed, half buried in a mountain of stuffed plushies. “Everybody needs you to cure their hangovers, you know?”

“You can do it, apprentice.” San mumbled weakly from beneath a pig stuffed toy. “You have a good master.”

“Red ginseng, lemon and ginger tea and prickly pear cactus.” You recalled diligently from your studies, glancing at the lump that was your master. “Am I right?”

The only answer you got was a snore in response.

So, that explains why you, Seonghwa and Mingi are together, walking along the town’s marketplace, searching for a hangover cure for your poor crew mates. Seonghwa had offered his services to help you carry the groceries back, while Mingi simply didn’t want to get in the way of his crewmates’ projectile vomiting.

You don’t blame him. The stench was absolutely awful.

“So, what are you looking for?” Seonghwa asks as you make your way through the crowd. There’s a soft buzz in the air, a little subdued, but you chalk it up to being early in the morning and that nobody is quite awake yet.

“Opuntia, or prickly pear cactus.” You tell him as you weave through the throng of people selling their wares at every corner of the long street. “Its fruit helps to ease hangovers, so that’s what I’m looking for.”

“Anything else?” Mingi asks, checking through his coin pouch. As the quartermaster and also the treasurer, all funds go through him before being spent.

“Lemon, honey and ginger.” Bending over to check out some of the fruits, you study a lemon carefully for any defects and put them in your basket. “I’m also looking for red ginseng to reduce hangover severity, but it’s an eastern root herb, so it may be a little difficult to find here.”

“We are in the Caribbean, after all.” Seonghwa remarks, using his superior height to his advantage as his eyes scan the multitude of stalls selling every sort of exotic plant, fruit, and even animal. “I do recall seeing a shop selling eastern herbs the last time I was here, though.”

“Ah, Master did tell me to make sure we stock up on eastern herbs if I found any!” You chatter excitedly, turning to Seonghwa. “Did you see any worm grass (cordyceps) or fish bladders (fish maw)?”

Seonghwa nods, a smile blossoming on his face. “Yes! I can’t believe I even found some dried black mountain ants there!”

Mingi stares at the two of you with a weirded out look on his face. “I’m not even going to ask any questions. None at all.”

“There, I see it!” Seonghwa points over the heads of the crowd at a stall tucked all the way at the end of the street, his grin widening. “We did it, Chin Hae!”

The two of you exchange high fives and dash for the stall faster than Mingi can blink. He simply sighs, following the pair of you at a more sedately pace, shaking his head dryly. “Are all cooks like this…?”

When he finally does catch up with the two of you, you’re gushing over the different herbs and spices with Seonghwa, picking up a piece of black root that looks suspiciously like a thin, black stick. You hold it to Mingi’s nose.

“Hey, Mingi-hyung, look what I found!” Mingi frowns as he stares down his nose at it, going a little crossed eyed. It’s black, thin and looks rather boring. Mingi doesn’t understand why you’re so excited over it at all.

“A stick?” He answers, a little befuddled to what it could be to get you so excited about it. Seonghwa clucks his tongue disapprovingly, reaching to take the stick from you and waving it in front of Mingi’s face.

“No, Mingi.” The cook shakes his head dramatically, brandishing the stick as if it is the cure to all the world’s troubles. “This wonderful, powerful herb is the cordycep!”

Silence.

“It looks like a stick to me.” Mingi grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. Honestly, he’s never been one for herbs and medicines like San is, but that’s why they have San and Seonghwa and now you, right?

“Yes, but you don’t get it!” You cry in horror, waving the black stick at him. “The cordycep is a worm-”

The quartermaster freezes, his eyes widening as he takes in the black thing so close to his face.

Then he screams like a ten year old girl and dives behind a stack of barrels, as if you’ve just pulled a musket at him.

“Uhh, Seonghwa-hyung?” You turn to the cook, who’s simply shaking his head in amusement.

“He’s afraid of insects and the like.” Seonghwa nods at the too tall shape that is Mingi crouching behind a cask of alcohol, his eyes peering over at the worm in your hand like a cat staring down a bath of water.

You can’t help but laugh at the sight as you turn to the shopkeeper and order a tael of cordyceps, red ginseng and ginger. Honestly, you would have never thought that the silent, strong quartermaster was afraid of insects.

The shopkeeper smiles at you. “Know your herbs, do you, dear?” She packages the dried herbs into paper and ties each up with a red string, before passing them to you. Each package is worth its weight in silver or more. “A gold coin and three silvers.”

Mingi carefully counts out the money before diving back into the relative safety of his barrel fort.

“Honestly, Mingi-hyung.” You say, going over to him. He doesn’t look at you, eyes fixated on the paper package that he knows has the cordyceps inside of it. “These are dead worms. The cordyceps are actually just fungi that grow on the worms.”

“Dead, alive, stuffed with mushrooms, worth a thousand golds, I don’t care.” Mingi hisses, eyes still trained on the bag like he’s ready to fight them. “I hate insects.”

You and Seonghwa burst out laughing at his hostile tone.

“Alright, alright.” Seonghwa steps towards the quartermaster. “Let’s get back to the ship and brew up a nice lemon honey ginger tea for the rest, shall we-”

Suddenly, a small boy shoves into you, knocking you to the side abruptly before dashing off. To your horror, you feel the package of herbs being torn from your fingers, the force leaving rope marks on your skin as you stumble to the ground, hands barely saving you from a nasty fall.

“Hey!” Mingi shouts, but the boy is already fleeing. He glances at Seonghwa. “Hyung, you and Chin Hae take the other way from the square, I’ll cut him off.” Then he pauses for a moment, staring at the cook, his gaze softening in worry. “Will you be alright, hyung?”

That seems like a strange question to ask, but Seonghwa must understand what he’s talking about because he nods, already pulling you in the opposite direction towards the town square. “Don’t worry about me!”

The two of you dash through the street, where people are filing out of their houses. It’s rather easy to move, considering that everyone is moving towards the town square, the same direction the two of you are. You simply move with the flow, following the crowd to the main square.

“There must be quite some commotion happening.” Your crewmate huffs for breath as the two of you tear along the town, bumping into several other people and apologising furiously. You’re sure one of them even curses you rather creatively in his native tongue.

“There are a lot of people today.” You pant, glancing around you as the pair of you finally emerge in the square. There weren’t this many people the last time you and Jongho had come to town, so you’re a little puzzled. “Why-”

Suddenly, the ringing of the town bells fills the air.

You’re instantly jerked back by the hand on your wrist and you nearly stumble to the ground. You turn back to stare at him urgently. “Seonghwa-hyung, we need to hurry!”

But Seonghwa merely stands still, face bloodless, lips moving without sound. You’ve never seen him like this, so afraid, so petrified with fear.

He looks so emotionally raw, bloody, haunted by the ghosts of his past.

You turn to look at Seonghwa in worry. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. “Hyung? We should be going.” But he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes are wide and unfocused, dark pupils dilated with fear, his breathing erratic and irregular. You tug at his hand once more, only to jerk back in shock, it’s slick with cold sweat. Your blood turns to ice inside you as you take Seonghwa’s face, cradling his cheeks with your hands. Your voice is gentle, afraid of pushing him over the edge into whatever abyss he’s dangling over.

You’re terrified.

“Hyung

? What’s wrong?”

His breath comes out in shallow pants, chest heaving. He doesn’t look at you. His eyes are fixed on something behind you, and you turn to see what could have possibly caused him to react in such a manner.

“-and I hereby declare the sentence will be carried out now.”

There’s the sound of a lever being turned, the squeak as the trap doors swing open.

And the noose jerks taut.

A soft whimper leaves Seonghwa’s mouth, and suddenly he squats on the ground like a small child, hands over his ears, shaking his head desperately as he whispers the same words again and again under his breath.

“Hyung!” You cry out in horror and panic, kneeling next to him to wrap your arms around him. What do you do? What’s happening to Seonghwa-hyung? He barely seems to be aware of your presence anymore.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers between soft, quiet sobs, raw and hoarse, from somewhere deep in his chest. You’re completely confused to why he’s apologising to you for a moment, until he begins to mumble names you’ve never heard under your breath. “I’m so sorry, mother, father, Hyunjung, Ha Rin.”

The last word is a wail, a cry of utter torment, so desperate that it yanks at your heartstrings, demanding you to do something, anything! But you don’t know what to do besides embracing him, watching him rock back and forth on his haunches like a deranged man.

There are tears winding down his face and you raise your hands to wipe them away as fast as you can. The sleeve of your shirt soaks with warm wetness, and suddenly, that same, tight agony wells up in you as well.

A single tear spills down your cheek.

“Seonghwa-hyung-” You manage to croak, your throat thick from unshed tears, but the older man merely stands as if in a daze, hands still over his ears as if that can stop him from hearing the sounds of the man at the noose slowly fading from this world.

Then he runs, tearing away from you without looking back.

[drwcn]

“Discordance” Chapter 7 Updated! 

[Read on AO3] or below the under cut! :) 

It is brighter than usual when he rolls over in bed and grumbles into his pillow. Wei Wuxian pulls the edge of his blanket closer to his chin and wiggles a little in the warm cocoon he has wrapped around himself. Unwilling to subject himself to the reality of daytime just yet, he breathes in the calming sandalwood scent lingering on his pillow and sighs in contentment.

Wait.

He blinks awake, brows furrowing as the cogs and wheels in his mind begin to grind against the heaviness of sleep. Though sandalwood is a rather common incense used by Cloud Recesses, Zewu-jun prefers aloeswood.

Wei Wuxian opens his eyes fully, turns over onto his back, and stares at an unfamiliar ceiling.

Where…where the hell am I?

This isn't Hanshi.

…

…This is Jingshi.

Jingshi?!

"Shit!' He shoots up, twisting this way and that as he takes in his surrounding. There, over by the center vestibule is Lan Wangji's writing desk. Scrolls painted by his preferred artist from the previous dynasty hang along the wall on the opposite side of the room. By its side is Wangji, Lan Zhan's guqin.

Fuck.

Definitely Jingshi.

"Lan Zhan?!" Wei Wuxian calls out, but receives no response.

How did I end up here? What happened last night?

His hand shoots to the front of his chest and he is relieved to find that he still has all his clothes on. Only his shoes are removed. Phew. Alright, so that means nothing nefarious happened, but gods, judging by the height of the sun it must be way past sunrise. People would be looking for him soon. In fact he is pretty sure he is supposed to meet with Uncle after breakfast to discuss - to discuss - gods he can't remember. If anyone catches him in Jingshi like this, in Lan Wangji’s bed no less -

- oh he is dead, dead!

The sheer gossip would be enough to kill him.

"Fucking hell," Wei Wuxian curses under his breath, pulling on his boots and trying to comprehend why he has such a headache.

It is almost as though he is hungover -

Hungover.

Emperor's Smile.

Oh, that's right -

 ~~~

 "Er-gongzi's birthday?"

It is on the return journey from their gruelling, two-week long night hunt that Wei Wuxian learns of this news from his senior disciples. They are about a day's trip away from Cloud Recesses, and due to exhaustion, have collectively decided to stay the night at a comfortable inn rather than camping out in the outdoors like they were forced to do during the most intense interlude of their hunt.

Ever thrifty, Wei Wuxian has planned well for their trip and so their funds are in excess. The team, composed of five senior disciples and two of their most-well trained juniors, are sent on a semi-classified mission by Zewu-jun and the Elders to investigate strange sightings reported by subsidiary clans in their border lands.

"You are not to speak of this to anyone outside of those in-the-know, understand?" Commanded Wei Wuxian when he rounded up his charges at the end of their hunt, standing over the remains of fierce corpses littering the forest floor.

"Understood, Wei-jun."

They've done well, and Wei Wuxian is all about rewarding where rewards are due. Tonight would be their last night out before returning home, so he orders a round of hearty dinner for their group of eight. Three of the disciples just about cry when Wei Wuxian takes pity on their stomachs and orders them chicken AND pork. They aren't within the confines of Cloud Recesses, so technically speaking, they are allowed to eat meat.

As their food is served, one of the seniors scoops a large spoonful of braised pork into his bowl of rice and says, "I was complaining initially that we'd miss Hanguang-jun's birthday and therefore possibly the best meal of the year, but this more than makes up for it."

His friends hum in agreement, but the conversation lulls as they dig hungrily into their own bowls.

Wei Wuxian, however, is more interested in this tidbit than eating. "It's Lan Z…er'di's birthday?"

"Yeah, three days ago," says a junior, carelessly violating the 'silence while eating' rule. "Tang-shen'er in the kitchen used to be Er-gongzi’s nanny, or wet nurse - uh, something like that - and she always makes the best dishes on his birthday. Of course, everyone at Cloud Recesses eats the same thing, so naturally, we all benefit." (note: Tang-shen'er = auntie Tang. The difference between shen and yi is that shen = wife of a younger uncle, yi = mother’s sister. They are both ways to say auntie.)

The boy grins, biting down into a honeyed chicken thigh. "But thank you for indulging us, Wei-jun. I haven't had meat in months."

Wei Wuxian nods, "I see…"

He feels wrong-footed. Lan Wangji is arguably his best friend since coming to Cloud Recesses, his companion, his confidant, his person. That he didn’t even prepare a gift of some kind, or a well-wishing message, or even had knowledge of his birth date is downright criminal. He estimates that Lan Zhan, the good, hardworking Lan-er-gongzi, probably doesn’t even notice his own birthday coming and going each year. The Lans are notoriously austere in this way.

Normally, Wei Wuxian would be confident that Lan Xichen would dote on his little brother, but even that's not guaranteed this year since Zewu-jun became embroiled in this nasty fierce corpse business. Uncle Qiren on the other hand hardly seems like the type to be celebratory and indulgent, which is probably why the kitchen cook of all people is remembered by the disciples as the one person who makes an occasion of it.

This is absolutely unacceptable.

Wei Wuxian sighs, something twisting unpleasantly in his stomach. Lan Zhan ought to be the happiest on his birthday; he is the best of people, and if anyone deserves it, he does. The little fuddy-duddy probably thinks nothing of it, that’s just the kind of person he is, but as his self-appointed bestfriend, Wei Wuxian cannot in good conscience let it go. It is a faux-pas that must be corrected upon his return.

His gut response, true to his Yunmeng upbringing, is to sneak some alcohol into Cloud Recesses for a little bit of private celebration. Sadly, alcohol is still forbidden, and it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Lan Zhan would go for.

"Zhanggui'de," Wei Wuxian waves down the innkeeper. "What non-alcoholic beverages are available and popular at your establishment. Surely not all customers order alcohol.”

"Ah, yes sir, quite right sir. Plum cider is an extremely popular drink in this region, especially in the winter. Would you and your party like to try some?" 

Plum cider? Hmm, excellent!

Wei Wuxian pays for enough to go around the table, using his disciples as unwitting test subjects. The taste of it is tangy and tart on his tongue, but it goes down smooth and leaves a pleasant aftertaste. Not bad indeed. The disciples think so too.

This is perhaps as close to plum wine as any of them is going to get.

A plan formulates in his mind. Wei Wuxian nods happily at another round of thanks he receives from the disciples and begins plotting. That night, while the disciples sleep off their weariness, Wei Wuxian gets down to work. The next morning, he leads the team home.

They arrive at Cloud Recesses a bit before dinner. Lan Xichen is away on another meeting with Jiang Fengmian and Nie Mingjue, thus leaving Wei Wuxian to report the findings of the night hunt to Lan Qiren. Lan Wangji is present as well, much to his delight.

"All went as expected?" The Second Jade of Lan inquires quietly upon seeing him, which is as verbal as he would ever get with his well-wishes. It is the equivalent to a good-to-see-you hug that Wei Wuxian is used to receive from Jiang Cheng. 

"Not quite," replies Wei Wuxian, but he grins nonetheless. "But I'm back now."

He is positively giddy with anticipation for what he has planned, but first, business.

"We tracked the fierce corpses into Lanling's territory, along its southern most region where our jurisdiction crosses that of the Jins and the Wens. That was where we encountered a group of patrolling Wen disciples." Wei Wuxian gestures at the map laid out on Uncle's desk. "They were led by Wen-zongzhu's second in command, his shidi, Wen Zhuliu -"

Lan Qiren frowns at the name, his gaze sliding surreptitious to Lan Wangji, an odd reaction which only Wei Wuxian catches.

"You know of him, Uncle?"

Lan Qiren clears his throat and shakes his head. "No, but I’ve heard of him some years ago."

Wei Wuxian gets a strange sense that the usually no-nonsense man is not entirely the truth. Lan Wangji does not seem to notice.

"What happened next?"

"He did not offer assistance but assured us that any issues within Qishan's territory would be dealt with by Qishan Wen and requires no further interference from external forces."

Lan Qiren considers this silently, stroking his beard. "Yes, their land is vast and has supervisory offices set up throughout their territory. Qishan Wen's disciples are diligent and trained. If the fierce corpses escaped into their land, we do not need to worry. Wen-zongzhu is a sensible man; he would deal with it accordingly."

"Is Wen-zongzhu still reluctant to join forces with xiongzhang, Nie-zongzhu and Jiang-zongzhu?" Lan Wangji inquires, his suppressed frustration leeching into his speech.

Over the last couple of months, he had witnessed how his brother slaved over this issue which grew by the day. That there are still sect leaders out there able to sit back and watch Lanling's ambition unfold is unfathomable. Truthfully speaking, Lan Wangji can admit to himself that he does not have the best head for politics, but the inaction of others on an issue the solution to which seems obvious to him often elicits feelings of frustration he cannot temper.

Wei Wuxian lays a firm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Jiang-shushu often told us that the Wens are physicians first and cultivators second. They do not concern themselves with the politics of others. Wen Zhuliu may have been curt, but not unkind."  

Qishan Wen are a private people, and the man who leads the sect - Wen Ruotian – is in possession of a clear mind and a level head. Under him, Qishan is stable and prosperous and able to withstand pressures from outside forces, especially that of the Chief Cultivator Jin Guangshan. Wen Ruotian has two children, his heir Wen Ning, and an elder daughter Wen Qing, neither of whom Wei Wuxian has ever seen in person. Wen Qing is younger than his shijie but older than Jiang Cheng and himself, so even when she had come to Cloud Recesses to study, they did not have occasion to meet. Wen Ning is younger still than all of them, and has never been known to leave Nevernight.

Lan Qiren folds his hands behind his back. "You did well, Wuxian. I will relay this information to Xichen. Unfortunately, he has gone out to meet with Sect Master Nie. He might return later tonight or early tomorrow. Rest now. You've been gone for days. We'll see you at dinner."

“Yes, shufu.”

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji bow, sensing that they are being dismissed. Together, they make their way out of their uncle's study.

"Hey, Lan Zhan -" Wei Wuxian whispers under his breath, tugging on Lan Wangji's sleeve furtively just as Lan Qiren suddenly remembers something else and calls out to him,

"Oh, Wuxian, I meant to ask -"

Wei Wuxian drops Lan Wangji's sleeve immediately and spins around too quickly with too bright a smile. "Yes Uncle."

What are you doing? Don't act suspicious, you weren't doing anything wrong!

Then why is his heart pounding so fast, like a child whose hand is caught in the pastry jar.

Thankfully, Lan Qiren does not seem to notice. Rather, he clears his throat, a sign that he is feeling somewhat awkward at what he is about to say. "I don't mean to pry, but as your elder it is my responsibility to ensure that you and Xichen are well. You are…well, yes? I know Xichen isn't often home, given how things have been, but things are going…amiably for you two, yes?"

What Lan Qiren is really trying to ask - and what Wei Wuxian is mortified to realize - is whether he and his husband are having an amorous marriage, to which the answer is no, absolutely not. Lan Xichen has not so much as attempted to kiss him since their wedding night. It's been terribly disappointing - not to mention a blow to his confidence.

But it's not like Wei Wuxian can very well tell Lan Qiren that Lan Xichen is treating him like a trophy husband in the sense that he is literally left to collect dust on the shelf.

"Everything is great, Uncle, please don't worry. There's no concern. Zewu-jun - ah, Xichen - is very kind to me, very caring."

Behind him, he can feel Lan Wangji's eyes boring into his head. Wei Wuxian maintains his smile. This isn't lying, not at all. Lan Xichen is indeed very kind to him, always courteous, always gentle. He just keeps him at arm's length, even when they lie right next to each other at night. 

Lan Qiren, however, seems satisfied with his response. "Good. Good."

Wei Wuxian bows again and quickly makes his escape before Uncle could think to ask any more uncomfortable questions.

Lan Wangji, who is aware of his situation, waits until they are both way out of earshot before stealing a glance his way. "Wei Ying…"

"Don't start, Lan Zhan, not today." Wei Wuxian shakes his head. "I'll be fine. Besides, I've got a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Um hm!" Wei Wuxian smiles brightly, pushing all negative thoughts aside. "Don't eat too much at dinner. Knowing you, you probably won't, but… leave some space for later, alright?"

Lan Wangji frowns in confusion, "But why?"

"You'll see."

 ~~~

 Truth be told, Wei Wuxian is exhausted. He'd been up most nights the last two weeks keeping the disciples safe, and when everyone else rested last night, he had spent his time preparing Lan Wangji's surprise, which he really hopes his friend likes.

After dinner, Wei Wuxian makes his way towards Jingshi, a lightness in his steps and anticipation fluttering in his chest. Lan Wangji is waiting for him on the front porch, watching the snow that has just begun to fall again. Sesame and Coconut (Zhima and Yezi) - the two bunnies Wei Wuxian rescued before New Years lie curled up in his lap. The black one, Sesame, is currently having his fur stroked and is having the time of his life.

Wei Wuxian pauses at the gate of Jingshi to admire the view for a moment (it's not weird to admire your brother-in-law). Lan Wangji truly lives up to his name, as beautiful and elegant and pure as jade.

As if sensing his gaze, Lan Wangji looks up and offers a quiet greeting, "Wei Ying."

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian hurries his steps and trots up to his friend and brother-in-law, depositing three individually wrapped packages in front of him before taking a seat on the veranda. "Sorry, did you have to wait long? I came as quickly as I could, but an elder wanted to talk to me about the night hunt."

Lan Wangji passes the dosing white bunny Yezi to him and says, "No matter. For Wei Ying, I'll wait."

Wei Wuxian laughs, lifting Yezi to nuzzle against his soft fur and earning him an affectionate sniff from the sleepy creature. Lan Zhan is such a funny odd man. An absolute treasure.

"I hear you have a title now. What did the Elders pick as your ‘hao’?"

"Hanguang."

"Han. Guang. Hanguang-jun. The light bearer. Hm, apt, very apt indeed. Lan Zhan is good and righteous, our very own light bearer, the pride of all Gusu Lan." Wei Wuxian reaches out with one hand and pats the other man on the head, half in jest.

"Wei Ying. I am not a child." Lan Wangji pouts in response, much to Wei Wuxian's delight. He is almost too easy to tease.

"No? But A-Zhan is my xiao-shuzi, my husband's baby brother."

"I am older than you are."

"Only by a couple of months. And besides, what is the old saying again? 长兄如父，长嫂如母. Oldest brother is like father, oldest sister-in-law is like mother; well, as your oldest brother-in-law, technically I am your elder!"

His words only cause Lan Wangji's glower to intensify.

Wei Wuxian laughs delightedly some more. "Aiyo, alright, alright! I take it back; I take it back!"

Despite his rascal ways, Wei Wuxian has never been much of an accomplished liar and cannot hold up his pretense for long, especially when the subject of his teasing is glaring at him with such an adorable pout. (The back of his mind gives a rattle of alarm, wondering when has he begun to think of Lan Wangji, this stubborn boring fuddy-duddy, as adorable. However, he does have long to dwell on that thought before his conscious mind gives it a firm shove back into the subconscious, or at the least, stalling it in the mental space of procrastination, to be pondered upon later.)

"Hm." Lan Wangji lets out an aggrieved huff and turns away from him.

Wei Wuxian softens, leaning forward to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. "Lan Zhan, all kidding aside, I am glad for you… and proud of you too, if I may be so bold as to assume that I have earned the right to be. Hanguang suits you well. And…I do mean it honestly, Lan Zhan, you are the best of us."

Warm eyes flick up to look at him in surprise, and Wei Wuxian smiles in return. He does not understand those who think Lan Wangji cold and unexpressive. Sure, he may not say very much, but this idiosyncrasy does not make him unfeeling. Even from the early days, Wei Wuxian could tell that Lan Wangji is in fact very opinionated, and everything he does not put to words are expressed with those lovely, almond-shaped eyes. Wei Wuxian cannot claim to be able as adept at reading him as his brother Lan Xichen, but he has grown to appreciate this strange but wonderful man more and more with each passing day.

Life at Cloud Recesses is not what he thought it would be, it's true, and if he says that he doesn’t have regrets, he would be lying. Yet, for all that things have not turned out the way he had hoped, and all that his marriage is not what he dreamed for himself, Wei Wuxian cannot regret that Lan Wangji is now a part of his life. As it is, he can hardly imagine his days without his Lan Zhan and knowing this about him scares him more than he cares to admit. That he now refers to Lan Wangji as "his Lan Zhan" in his mind...well, he doesn't think too hard about that either. 

"I mean it, Lan Zhan. Your brother is tremendously proud of you, and I know there is no one he would rather have succeed him than you.”    

"Thank you, Wei Ying." Ears tinged pink, Lan Wangji averts his eyes and brings his gaze down towards the packages set between them.

Wei Wuxian drags himself out of his melancholy and changes the topic because he can do something he can't take back. "Well, are you going to open it or just stare at it?"

"What is in these?" Lan Wangji tilts his head curiously. There is something about him in moments like these, relaxed, unguarded, and young, that evokes an unspeakable urge inside Wei Wuxian to make him smile.

His treacherous heart gives a little jump. "Why don't you open them and find out?" 

The tips of Lan Wangji's ears darken even more, if that’s even possible. Carefully he unwraps the packages, revealing three different kinds of osthamus pastries. “Wei Ying…”

“I would have made these myself, but I have been told by various disciples that what I make is utterly inedible and close to torture. I know they cannot replace your mother’s osthamus cakes, but I hope you like them.”

Wei Wuxian pushes the first package closer towards him and says, “These are from the town we went to for the night-hunt. There is this little old granny with a pastry stall right outside the inn where we stayed, and she sold these 桂花千层酥 (puff pastry with osthamus filling). Gosh are they good, flaky, and not too sweet. And then I remembered Yunmeng has our own osthamus cake - 藕粉桂花糖糕 - made with lotus root paste -"

" - You went to Yunmeng?"

"Huh?" Wei Wuxia blinks, then chuckles nervously with a sheepish scratch of his head. "No, but I sent courier to Lotus Pier last night, and Jiang Cheng had our fastest disciple deliver fresh ones to Caiyi Town just before dinner." He grins, waving his hand carelessly and dismissing the fact that he had used his sect connections for the sole purpose of expediating food delivery to Lan Zhan from across their regions. "Anyways, speaking of Caiyi town - of course, I couldn't forget your personal favourite, the traditional osthamus cake that Zewu-jun says you only allow yourself to have on special occasions.”

Lan Wangji takes a breath, a Lan precept already on the tip of his tongue. "One must not overly -"

"- indulge, yes, I know, I know, but this isn’t over-indulgence, it’s a special occasion! One only turns twenty once! Now you are truly an adult! " Wei Wuxian picks up a piece of the flakey osthamus cake and holds it out. "Have a taste!"

What happens next should have alarmed both of them, but Wei Wuxian only looks on with joyous anticipation as Lan Wangji leans forward and takes a delicate bite of the cake straight from his hand. Dark lashes flutter close against pale cheeks as he savours the taste quietly, giving in to this one moment of indulgence.

Wei Wuxian does not realize he has been holding his breath until he opens his mouth to speak again. "Is it - is it good?"

"Mn."

"You got a -" He hesitates, one hand hovering in the air, as he aborted the urge to go any further. "Uhm, you've got -"

Realizing his intention, Lan Wangji subtly swipes at the corner of his lips with the tip of his tongue, attempting to get rid of some of the sugar clinging there.

"It's still - uhm - here let me -"

It's not that he doesn’t know that if anyone were to walk in now, this would look very bad indeed, but it is as though some vicious force has possessed and overtaken his self-control. Wei Wuxian reaches out and brushes the sugar crumbs from the corner of Lan Wangji's mouth with his thumb, stroking his bottom lip in the process.   

Lan Wangji's eyes widen in shock, but he does not pull away.  Instead, he holds still and allows Wei Wuxian to finish.

"There. All decent."

Decent? A voice that sounds suspiciously like Jiang Cheng comments in his head. Is there actually anything decent about what you just did?

"Wei Ying.…” A warm hand catches his own.

Wei Wuxian lets him. “Happy birthday, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Wuxian! This time, the voice belongs to Madam Yu. This is your xiao-shuzi! What are you doing?! 

He pulls away. “Ah, right then! Onto part two!”

He pretends he doesn’t hear Lan Wangji sigh.

“There is…part two?”

"Well, of course! Everything comes in threes. You didn't think I was going to slack off on your birthday, did you?"

From the depth of his qiankun pouch, Wei Wuxian pulls out two ceramic jars. "Shh, don't tell Uncle."

"Alcohol is forbidden." Lan Wangji frowns.

"This isn't alcohol. It's plum cider," explains Wei Wuxian as spiritual energy flows from his fingertips, golden light coalescing into runes and talismans in thin air, wrapping around the shiny brown ceramic in his hand. Within seconds, gentle steam begins to ascend from the rim, carrying with it the fruity aroma of the beverage within. "Hmm, doesn't that smell lovely, Lan Zhan? I know nothing beats our Emperor’s Smile, but this is very delicious as well. No alcohol, I promise.”

"But what’s that one.” Lan Wangji points to the white ceramic jar that Wei Wuxian purposely neglects to explain.

"Ah…haha yes.” Wei Wuxian pushes the white jar behind him, attempting to protect it. “Alright, you caught me. This one is Emperor's Smile. I …couldn't resist. You won't tell, will you?”

There is at least 50% chance that Lan Wangji will spoil this night and make him copy lines. He is the disciplinary officer of Cloud Recesses after all. But even if Lan Wangji opts to punish him for breaking the rules, Wei Wuxian would not change any part of his current plan. It’s Lan Wangji’s birthday, and for just this night, they should be able to have to a good time. And if that means Wei Wuxian gets planked in the morning for it…well, so be it.

 Lan Wangji lets out a sign of resignation. “Just this once.”

He picks up the warmed bottle of cider just as Wei Wuxian pop open the cork of his Emperor's Smile. Two ceramic jars clink quietly in celebration. 

Worth it indeed.

 ~~~

 Wei Wuxian smacks himself on the forehead.

Emperor’s Smile! Fuck me!

So he may have drunk more than he should last night. But it really wasn’t his fault. He only had one jar. One! Back in the days, one jar could hardly get him started, but he hasn’t drunk a single drop of anything remotely alcoholic in almost a year, except on his wedding day when he was tipsy at best. Even before coming to Cloud Recesses, Madam Yu had banned alcohol for him, insisting that it was “practice” for when he eventually marries into the Lan family.

Man, living with the Lans is seriously making me lose my edge.

What happened after we started drinking?

Right, he had set off the firework talisman – the product of his all-nighter. The talisman was designed to ignite lights like dancing firebugs and butterflies, lingering in the snow-covered garden as though it were the height of summer. Everything had worked out perfectly. Lan Zhan had smiled…

Good…good he liked it.

But what happened next?!

Wei Wuxian wracks his brain, but he just can’t recall the details. He hadn’t slept properly in almost a week, constantly on the look out for danger and keeping the disciples safe. And on their last night out, he stayed up till dawn working on the firework talisman. Then he had made the brilliant decision to drink…

Of course he was gonna get fucked up! He should have anticipated this!

Fuck’s sake, what does it matter now? The rice is cooked. I need to find Lan Zhan and ask him –

Because for him to end up in Lan Wangji’s bed, under the covers, boots off, tucked in, means someone had to haul his dead-ass into Jingshi and put him there. It’s probably Lan Zhan, which is fine, because you know, they’re friends, and this doesn’t have to be a big deal. Alright so he got drunk, which means he might be sentenced to some unpleasant disciplinary action, but he’s a big boy, he can deal with it –

Wei Wuxian heads to the door of Jingshi, ready to flee from the scene of the crime. No - not scene of the crime – because there was no crime. He merely slept over. It was an accident! Nothing happened between him and Lan Zhan, nothing at all –

It’s not like they slept together in the same bed – I mean – it’s not like they shared a bed. No, Lan Wangji would never do that.

But if I slept here…where did Lan Zhan sleep? This is his residence, where – where could he go? Did he…did he…sleep next to me?

I have to get out of here.

Wei Wuxian yanks open the doors and runs headfirst into Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen.

Zewu-jun. The Sect Master of Gusu Lan.

His lord and husband.

Shit.

“Zewu-jun!” Wei Wuxian feels a rock drop to the pit of his stomach. “It’s not – it’s not what it looks like! I didn’t – last night – I – “

But Lan Xichen is smiling. He holds up a calming hand. “Wuxian, it’s alright. Wangji already told me everything.”

Behind his shoulder, Wei Wuxian catches sight of Lan Wangji standing there.

“He…told you?”

“Yes.” Lan Xichen walks into Jingshi as if nothing is wrong. “Alcohol is forbidden in Cloud Recesses but seeing that you did it in spirit of celebrating Wangji’s birthday, I’ll let it slide this one time.” Then, inexplicably, he winks. “Just don’t tell Uncle.”

“O-Oh, yes, thank…thank you Zewu-jun. I…ah,” Wei Wuxian scratches the column of his nose, feeling so thrown by the turn of events that it seems almost like an out-of-body experience. “I may have imbibed a little too much. I…I fell asleep. Sorry, Lan Zhan –”

Shit!

Nobody calls Lan Wangji ‘Lan Zhan’, and up until this point, Wei Wuxian has taken care to always refer to him as ‘er-di’ or ‘Wangji’ in front of other people and especially in front of Uncle and Lan Xichen. 

Lan Wangji too, tenses at the familiarity of Wei Wuxian’s address.

Yet, Lan Xichen merely chuckles. “Well, I’ll say. Emperor’s Smile is a very strong liquor indeed. Drink more cautiously next time yes? Or else, my poor little brother will have to sleep on the floor again.”

Wei Wuxian's blush intensifies. So Lan Zhan slept in the same room, but not on the bed. Thank the sky and the earth…   

“You know, I’m so pleased that you two have gotten along so well.” Lan Xichen continues to say. “It’s about high time that Wangji makes some friends his age.”

“Xiongzhang.”

“Fine, fine, I won’t tease.”

Wei Wuxian tries not to gawk. Everyone knows the Twins Jades are close and that Lan Xichen’s brotherly affection for Lan Wangji can only be rivalled by Nie Mingjue’s tolerance (read: indulgence) for Nie Huaisang’s plethora of shenanigans. But even so, Wei Wuxian could not believe the man could react so nonchalantly to his own husband waking up in his little brother’s bed.

Though perhaps…perhaps it’s not so much that Lan Xichen overly trusts and indulges his little brother, but rather that he doesn’t care at all for the man who is his husband.

Ones simply does not become jealous over something that does not matter to oneself.

The thought makes him cold.

“It’s good that you are both here,” Lan Xichen gestures for them to take a seat around the writing desk. “We have much to discuss. Jin Guangshan has finally revealed his ambition.”

The world is big, and Wei Wuxian is just one man. One boy really. That Lan Xichen has other priorities should not surprise him. He is small compared to all that Sect Leader Lan carries on his shoulders.

“Zewu-jun, is it really… the Yin Iron?”

Lan Xichen nods solemnly.

If he cannot earn his husband's affections, then he will have to settle with being useful. Wei Wuxian can do that. He can be useful, and that starts with tucking away his childish hurt. “How can we help?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes linger on him.

He does not see.

[asgardianmagicman]

No Safety in My Arms - chapter 9

A/N: I want to properly introduce everyone to a new character! her name is Michelle Daniels, she's a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with healing powers, and is the OC to my lovely friend Abigail ( @hiscyarika -- check out her Mandalorian fics if you're into that, she's amazing!) who has graciously given me permission to include her in this fic. expect to see more of her in the future! now, with that out of the way, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

read it on ao3 here, listen to the playlist here, find previous parts here!

       The familiar sensation of Aksel’s warm, wet tongue licking your cheek is what eventually brought you back to reality. Your hand came up to curl in the fur of his neck out of habit, and you opened your eyes a crack. Immediately you regretted the decision, groaning and closing them again; the light from your bathroom ceiling was only making the pain in your head worse.

       “Miss,” you heard J.A.R.V.I.S. say, almost as soon as it was clear that you were once again conscious. “I just want to inform you that Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, and Agents Romanoff and Daniels have just entered the tower and are on their way up here. I sent a message to Agent Daniels when you sent Aksel to fetch her, because she was not in the building at the time.”

       You were silent for a moment then, just trying to process everything the AI has said to you. Eventually, you mumbled out a thanks, eyes still closed and your uninjured hand still buried in Aksel’s thick black fur. It wasn’t too much later that Steve practically burst into your apartment, and you physically cringed at how loud his worry for you was. You could hear Bucky, Natasha, and Michelle following after him, and while you could hear their emotions clearly too, they were generally much more muted.

       “Hey! Are you alright? Can you hear me? Jesus, there’s so much blood, what happened?” The questions came from the captain rapid-fire, too quickly for you to answer even if you’d had the capacity to. Aksel, true to his training, made sure that Steve didn’t get too close or touch you, even though his intentions were pure, and you knew logically that the captain would never physically harm you.

       “Steve, you’re only making the situation worse,” Bucky cut in, voice quieter and calmer, though his concern for you was still evident to you because of your abilities. “Take a deep breath, Michelle will be here in a second, and she’ll be able to handle it, alright?”

       “Yeah…” Steve replied to his friend, softer than when he’d been speaking to you before, though he didn’t appear to move at all from where he was standing, blocking the doorway for everyone else.

       At that moment, you heard the sound of Michelle entering your apartment, calling your name calmly, and you knew she was solidly in her “nurse mode”, which you were thankful for.

       “Steve,” you heard Natasha say, trying to get the captain’s attention so he’d make way for Michelle, but it didn’t appear to accomplish that goal because, upon hearing Michelle’s footsteps stop outside the doorway, you heard her speak.

       “Captain Rogers, I know she’s your friend and that you’re worried about her, but I’m going to need you to move so I can tend to her.” The healer’s voice was firm but not impolite as she spoke, and you could easily imagine the determined look on her face. Even this seemed to fail the task of compelling Steve to move, because you heard Bucky grumble to himself, then a stumbling of feet as you assumed he pulled his friend out of the woman’s way.

       “Alright, sweetheart, can you hear me?” Michelle asked gently, now crouching down on the bathroom floor beside you. You cracked an eye open to look at her, watching briefly as she began to carefully remove her gloves.

       “Yeah,” you said quietly, closing your eyes again. “My head hurts, looking at the light makes it worse,” you explained; you didn’t want her to think that you were on the verge of being unconscious again, because you knew if she thought your condition was that bad she’d make you spend the night in the infirmary, and you would much rather spend the night in your own bed.

       “Okay, that’s fine. I’ve got to keep the light on for now, but as soon as I’m done I’ll turn it off and the four of us will get out of your hair.” The redhead’s words made your lips quirk in a small smile, and you agreed quietly. Truthfully, you didn’t mind Cap’s little gang (as you affectionately called them in your head) all being there, because you knew it was just because they wanted to make sure that you were okay, but being able to change into something more comfortable and finally go to bed was definitely an appealing thought.

       You laid motionless as the healer took your injured hand in her own now-bare ones, examining the wound as best she could as it began to heal beneath her touch, the muscles and skin neatly knitting themselves back together, as if nothing had ever happened to them in the first place. It was a strange sensation, not exactly painful, but not quite comfortable, either; you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to it.

       “That looked pretty nasty, but not bad enough to cause this much blood loss. What happened?” Michelle asked, releasing your hand and placing one of her palms on your forehead, making quick work of your headache, and any other damage you might have done on your way down.

       “All I remember is slicing my hand on the broken glass in the sink, coming back here to patch it up, and passing out after I sent Aksel to get you because I was bleeding more than I thought.” You let out a sigh and thanked the healer as she removed her hand from your head, opening your eyes in time to see her exchange a slightly confused look with the rest of the group as she pulled on her gloves once again.

       “That’s strange,” the redhead murmured, almost to herself. She was quiet for a moment as she helped you to sit up, then spoke again.                    

       “J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

       “Yes ma’am?”

       “Can you tell me what happened between when you notified me of the situation and when we finally arrived?”

       The AI was silent for a few seconds before he replied, which you knew was highly unusual. “I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am.”

       “Why the hell not?” Nat snapped, looking up at the ceiling with an irritated expression.

       “Because I was specifically instructed not to tell anyone. Mr. Stark has programmed me to keep any secret entrusted to me unless I'm explicitly given permission to share it otherwise.” All five of you stared at each other in confusion for several moments; none of you had known about this part of the AI’s programming, but it was a piece of information you tucked away for later.

       “Well,” Bucky eventually broke the silence. “Everything’s fine now, except for the mess on the floor, and I don’t think we’d be able to bypass J.A.R.V.I.S.’s programming anytime soon. I say we leave it be for now.” The super soldier looked around at the rest of the group, and when nobody offered up an argument, he turned back to you, smiling ever so slightly at you and extending his metal arm to help you off the floor, which you easily accepted.

       “C’mon, Tenderheart,” Natasha said affectionately, once you were steady on your feet and Steve was helping Michelle off the floor. “Let’s get you cleaned up and in something cozy. You can use my shower while the boys get everything cleaned up in here.” The look she shot Steve and Bucky left no room for any sort of argument, and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit.

       “Thanks, Nat.” You walked slowly over to your dresser, still a little unsteady on your feet, and pulled your favorite pair of pajamas from the drawer. After you had everything you needed, you turned back to Nat and offered her a smile. “Lead the way.”

       You walked across the common space and past the kitchen with the pair of redheads to get to the assassin’s room, passing Michelle’s room and bidding her goodnight along the way. You set your things down on the edge of her sink as you reached into the shower to start the water, but you looked over at your friend once again when you heard her speaking from the doorway.

       “How long do you think until Steve finally gets the guts to ask Michelle out?” she asked, a playful smirk plastered on her lips. You laughed then, leaning against the wall opposite the redhead.

       “He’s getting there, don’t rush him too much. He’s still rusty, it’s been over seventy years,” you replied, making the both of you laugh yet again.

       “If he asks her out before the end of the year, I’ll make you cupcakes every day for a year.” You wrinkled your nose at your friend’s promise, remembering the last time she’d tried baking. You were pretty sure it was the closest anyone had come to getting the fire department called to the tower.

       Natasha read your expression, knowing what you must be thinking, and quickly changed her statement. “Ok I’ll buyyou cupcakes every day for a year.”

       “From Gina’s down the block?”

       “Where else?”

       The bathroom was beginning to fill with steam at that point, so Nat stepped out of the door frame and back into her living room, leaving the door cracked for Aksel just in case. You showered quickly, not wanting to use up too much of Nat’s hot water, but also because it was finally hitting you just how tired you really were. Soon enough, you were all dried off and comfortably dressed in your pajamas.

       “Thanks for letting me use your shower.”

       “Any time. That’s what friends are for, right?” You couldn’t help but return the smile she shot your way. “You want an escort back to your room? The boys should have everything cleaned up by now.”

       You shook your head slightly, walking towards the door with Aksel at your heels. “No, I’m alright now. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

       Natasha nodded, stroking Aksel’s back lightly as he walked past where she was seated on the couch. “Alright then. Goodnight, don’t let the bedbugs bite!”

       You rolled your eyes at the words, but your smile never slipped, “Goodnight, Nat. Sweet dreams.” Careful to close the door after Aksel followed you out of the room, you made your way back to your own room, beyond ready to crawl into bed and sleep until either your canine companion or your alarm woke you up in the morning.

       As you approached your door, you paused for a moment, looking over at Loki’s apartment door. You wondered what he’d decided to do after dinner, but quickly shook the thought away; it wasn’t any of your business. It wasn’t like you were his friend or anything. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you entered your apartment, putting your dirty clothes in the hamper before promptly slipping into bed, blankets pulled up to your chin. Sleep came blessedly quickly.

[monsterfluffandstuff]

Dr. Elder (plague doctor variety 1) x Beatrix Galen (first person) Platonic

This is strictly friendly fluff and supernatural exposition(that could lead to romance in the future if i revisit these characters). Based on what was supposed to be a drabble for @fuckyouamanda turned into me being sleep deprived and getting a bit carried away with lore.

`~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We’d been driving for miles, trying to find this little cottage I was supposed to be staying at, a detour for raspberry tarts had gotten us lost. As the sun began to sink further into the night, the needle on our fuel gauge sank into the red. My driver for the trip, Damen, found a small station and hopped out to raise some help. I remember waving to Damen as he turned and mouthed that someone was coming to the door. I got out of the car and start walking off to the side of the station, to make a call and make sure my reservation hadn’t been forfeited. I couldn’t get signal and I moved further away, waving my phone around like a mad woman. Then I heard Damen yell and I turned to see his face was full of horror, his arms were waving. Everything got very slow as I felt the air leave my body. I didn’t feel the pain until I hit the ground, I heard a crack, and everything went dark.

 My eyes hurt when I try to open them, maybe I don’t want to open them, really. I’m so…tired. So, I drift back off and I dream, of a - person, no - are they even human? The figure is tall and slender with broad shoulders and flowing robes, they look like some illustrations that I saw in a museum in…I can’t remember where. But I remember this shape, the beaked mask with glass eyes. Am I dying? Is my brain throwing images at me of what I’ve seen? No, I only see them, the figure and their assistant.  

These odd visions persist, these waking dreams. Sometimes all I see is a ceiling covered in lovely swirling designs, but there is a voice. This voice has a deepness that is comforting but it lilts and flows as it reads me prose. I know this must be a dream as everything I hear is something I remember. There is Shakespeare, Austen, and even some excerpts from stand-up routines I love. Hearing “There’s a horse loose in the hospital” in the confused tones of the voice in my head makes it, oddly, more hilarious. It was also comforting. To think that I am fighting, on whatever subconscious level, is reassuring. If I ever properly wake up, I hope I remember this.

 ~~~~~~~

 When I wake again I am sore, but my eyes are more cooperative. The room is dim, but I am thankful for that. All around me, the walls are a mild mint green, as if they’ve faded from years of wear, the curtains are drawn, patterned in vines and sprigs of leaves. I feel as if I lay on a cloud, and as much as I want to know where I am, I feel no need to leave this place. I finally become aware of the I.V. hooked up on my left, at least they picked the easy arm.  Well, I assume they picked the easy arm, its hard to tell if they had any false starts as my arms are fairly covered in bruises. The bag is covered by a casing, so I can’t see if they have me on saline or something else. My arms are swollen so saline is a good bet, but that could be the bruising too. I try to wiggle my finger and find something in my left hand. A small red button on a corded white toggle. I don’t try to see where the cord leads because craning my neck is still too laborious. I use every bit of strength to push the button and I hear a delicate bell chime coming from the other side of the door.

 I don’t really know where I am but I’m more concerned about how I am. I’ve never been in a car crash before, but I feel like I’ve been dehydrated, crushed up, and reconstituted.  A nurse knocks and enters my room and she looks like some colorized version of those portraits my gran used to show me. All but her cap, as it bears a small black bird.

 “Ah finally awake, I see”

 I try to speak, I want to but my throat feels dry and scratchy, and so I cough and stutter. The nurse comes over and offers me some ice chips and I nod, feebly.

 “The doc will be in momentarily. He’ll explain everything.”

 As the door opens once more and the nurse exits, the figure takes her place. The mask is closer to a dark brown than the black in my visions. But it could be lighting. Damn these drugs must be phenomenal.

 “Ms. Galen, pleasure to see you properly awake. I’m Dr. Elder and I’m sure you have a lot of questions about-“

 I smiled, I smiled like a damn goof. It was the voice, the one that was so baffled as to the meaning of a teenage boy yelling scatter and smashing a “forty, what is a blasted forty?” on the ground.

 “You were reading to me, weren’t you? How did you know what I liked? How did you get into my dream?”

 I know I must sound delirious, but the doctor doesn’t seem to notice as they shuffle their feet a bit and sit down in the chair by my bed. I feel a hand on my wrist, checking my pulse. There is a faint light behind the eyes of the mask, like a dying glowstick in the dawn of the day after a rave. Blue, lovely blue. Like the old icebox Gran had when I was little, before she was sent away. She made this pie that tasted like blue skies and honeysuckle. I miss Gran.

 “Ms. Galen? Can you hear me?”

 I realize I’ve been drifting in and out, too many memories to ignore all of them, so I let a few nice ones sneak through.

 “Yes, loud and clear, sorry, Doc. My ears still work, at least. What happened to me?”

 The nose of the mask bobs down then back up, the glass portholes seeming to stare into me. I don’t really mind them.

 “Well, Ms. Galen-“

 “Oh please call me Bea, or Beatrix.”

 The nose bobbed again, the mask nodding.

 “Ms. Beatrix, you were in a rather nasty accident involving some improperly parked farm equipment, I’m afraid that you- you-”

 I peer at the mask, questioning.

 “I what, Doc? Is it my legs my spine, my arms?”

 In an odd sort of calculated panic, I start to wiggle everything, and though it is all sore, everything all seems to work. I reach for the cup of ice chips next to me and the doctor seems shocked. Obviously, there are no eyebrows to clue me in, but the shoulders, broad a they are, rise ever higher. The beak bobs side to side, ever so slightly, as if shaking in disbelief.

 “Listen, Doc, let me level with you, I feel sore but otherwise functional. I’d really like the rundown on what I’m in for- Oh, and Damen, is he ok? Is he here too?”

 “No, Ms. Gal- Beatrix. He was well away from the car when the accident occurred, he was unharmed. Your recovery will be extended, however you should regain most of the function in your extremities, your right leg was not broken but it hasn’t responded to stimuli as actively as your left. I’m afraid, it isn’t possible to transfer you to another facility as there was a terrible storm not long after you were brought in, and we aren’t currently able to reach anyone.”

 I nod as I take it in, he’s ignored my dream-based inquiries, so I guess I really did dream them. I must have heard his voice while I was out, and my brain did the rest. It was a bit scary, not having a way to let anyone know. But I realized, only my school would really need to know.

 “What kind of facility is this? And what exactly am I on for pain?”

 The mask bobs again, my imagination is much more vivid than I ever realized. The doctor rises to his full height.

 “This is a small clinic. Our purpose is to help our patients get to a place where they can move on. We typically only house about three to five patients at a time and usually we only deal with minor maladies. Currently we just have you with us.” He paused for a breath and poured me a glass of cold water to go beside my ice chips.

 “As for the pain, if you are having any just ring Lottie again and she will help you.” The good doc picks up my chart and hums.  “We have you on dilaudid, but your last dose should’ve worn off by now. If that is all, Beatrix, I’ll be getting on to some of my other duties that need tending. I will be back to see you though, I promise, you are our priority.”

 I nod, numbly, feeling there is something I’m missing. As the door swings shut I realize that I can, in fact, feel an excruciating pain in my right shoulder and hip, and I just know a headache is coming on. I ring for Lottie and ask for an icepack and something to eat, as I feel starved.

 There are worse places to recover, I suppose, than a comfortable room with a lovely view of- were those gardens? I wonder to myself, if the food is good. Back home when I was hospitalized the cafeteria had the best roast beef. Gran loved it, she joked that she visited me just to sneak food off my plate.

 But this was a clinic, I didn’t expect a large cafeteria or anything like what I’d known. As if by some universal alignment, a heaping plate of roast beef with gravy, mash, and veg, arrived for supper. I dig in and it tastes like back home. I use a cloth napkin, embroidered with another black bird, to dab at my mouth. That is when I realize it, and my fork clatters onto the plate.

 The mask is real. The glowing eyes. Real.

 Somehow this doesn’t faze me as much as I think it should, but I’ve seen stranger things. I dig back into my roast beef and wonder what tomorrow will bring.

 ~~~~~~~

The next couple of days blended into this calming routine. It turns out that I did, in fact, need a wheelchair for a bit, as my good leg got tired after short bursts of activity. But the physio seemed to help, even as old fashioned as the physical therapist was. A slim man with a handlebar mustache, that served in the army at one point; he went by Butch and always seemed to be smiling.

 I got to know Lottie too, and found there were even more of these clinics, dotted about the whole of Europe. No one ever explained why Dr.Elder wore the mask but I never asked either.

 True to his word, I did see the good doctor again. Quite frequently. It started with morning check in, then there were impromptu visits, a few walks/ rolls, around the grounds, when it wasn’t pouring. As there were no other patients, and communications were still down from the storm, I found Elder to be great company. I hadn’t mentioned the dreams again, but volumes of my favorite stories appeared on my night table, and some nights when I was too tired to read, but too sore to sleep, Elder read to me. He admitted to reading to me, before I’d woken up, saying it seemed to soothe patients. We would talk about which stories we liked best, what we had grown up with. He had an upbringing rife with old classics, but once brought in a book of poetry. The verses were completely new to me, and I loved them. Lottie later told me they were his, he’d written them about patients over the years, the good and the bad. Being a doctor takes a toll on your soul and he relieved his burden through his writing.  

 I began spending the bulk of my time with him and we fell into a comfortable sort of friendship, something I had failed at achieving with even my closest classmates in nursing school. I felt better, every day and I wondered if my accident had really been as bad as all that.

 The storm that had knocked out the phone lines was still coming in waves, and the fourth day of dreary weather in a row, I decided it was time to offer up some alternate entertainment. I went looking through my effects and found my laptop and my external hard drive full of movies and music. I switched it on and wondered why it hadn’t occurred to me to do this earlier. When Elder came up for a check in, I was watching John Mulaney, as I couldn’t stop thinking about the excerpts from my dreams. He sat down with me, and before we knew it we had blown through a good chuck of my stand-up.

 He tried to laugh along in the right places, even though a lot of it seemed to go over his head, but at the end he did seem to be thoroughly happy. We were just about to start on some animated movies when Lottie started banging down my door calling for us “chortling heathens” to come take supper in the dining room.

 I also got along with Lottie and Butch through all of this, but they seemed more focused on each other and that was just fine with me. I liked my time with the Doc, and he seemed to like it too. Even spending as much time as we did together, I avoided mentioning his interesting choice of mask. I mocked up a few jokes about taking safety a bit too seriously but decided against them.

 The longer I spent at the clinic the more I came to realize that there was most certainly something distinctly “other” about it, but there was something in me that didn’t need that to be acknowledged. I was still on vacation time and I was sending my brain on vacation too.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 After a time I was able to leave the wheelchair in my room and graduate to a cane, it was a cause for celebration. I was warned that I may need to use one intermittently in the long term, to help the healing along, and because I was showing signs of post traumatic arthritis in my right hip. I decided that once I was able, I would cover my cane with tacky stickers and sparkly duct tape. There are many canes like it but this one is mine, god-dammit.

 Elder complimented my cane when we went on my first stroll in the gardens. He said I seemed to be glowing. As we walked parts of the grounds that I didn’t dare roll through, Elder told me that the clinic and its grounds had been a dairy farm long ago. its small size suited their purposes just fine. They had planted all a manner of flowers and fruit trees to yield beauty and fresh produce in the right seasons. We came across a raspberry bush and I remembered my tarts.

 “Are the phones working, yet, could I make a call?”

 “I can check, but they are supposed to be up and running today, these ancient lines go down so frequently.”

I stopped and picked a few raspberries, just ripe, so perfect I could do without the pastry. I offered some to Elder, and he declined. It was time.

 “Doc, why do you wear it?”

 Elders shoulders hunched, and I could feel something change. A mild tension that had permeated the air between us, dissipated.

 “Well I never saw the sense in it, but now it seems I can never take it off.”

 I let go of a breath, relieved I weren’t hallucinating, but now very aware that something was most assuredly different about this place, and my new-found friend.

 “Have you tried, do you need help?”

 Elder shook his head and took my hand. He led me to bench along the path and we took a rest.

 “I can’t remember when I last tried, or when someone else last remarked on it. To our regular patients I look however they need me to. Whatever face will put them at ease. I’ve worn so many, I can’t remember my own.”

I patted his back with my left hand, minding the catheter still in my arm. I’d been on I.V just before our walk, a small transfusion of fluids was ordered, as I had been feeling very dehydrated and a bit dizzy.

 “Lottie does her best, as well. You surprised her a bit, as young as you are. The memories help her a lot, so she’s grateful you seemed to have some pleasant ones to draw on. This isn’t a clinic for normal patients, I take it you’ve realized that by now.”

 He sat silent for a moment and I motioned to speak.

 “My Gran was a nurse long before I was born. Helping people was her calling and she worked from the day she got a job at the hospital to the day I was born. She would have worked until they stopped her, but she had earned her pension, so she retired to enjoy her family. When I happened, my father was pushing forty, and she was almost sixty. I was the apple of her eye when he adopted me.” I started to cry but I didn’t waver for more than a second.

I told Elder about dad dying when I was ten, a fluke heart attack. Gran being sent away when I was eleven, my aunt taking over. Gran dying, within a year, alone, in some home, from some treatable illness. Running away and getting caught, being put into a group home when they saw what my aunt had considered a suitable accommodation for a twelve year old. But I muddled through, and I graduated. I went to nursing school, for Gran. I had finished my first semester and entered a stupid raffle at the summer fair. I won, courtesy of our local travel agency, an all-expenses paid trip to *drumroll* England. I was studying in Ireland at the time, so really it was just a hop skip and a jump away, but I took it. And now here I was.

 When I finished, he nodded and helped me stand.

 “Beatrix, I wanted to tell you the truth about this place. Our patients are, not quite here nor there. Some of them are with us for only a night but some have stayed for the equivalent of years. When they are ready to move on they do, whether that means going back to their house… or going ‘home’. Every once in while someone with a physical form finds their way here and we care for them as we would anyone else. But only once in a blue moon can someone see the mask. That is how Lottie came to be here, Butch has his own story. But that’s why these little clinics began popping up all over. More and more of us came to be, and we wanted to help as best we could. There are more and more people not ready to leave this world, so we help encourage them along.’

 It all made an odd kind of sense, and it is vastly more comforting to think that one has stumbled onto something benevolent, and otherworldly. You know, as opposed to being trapped by a strange sadist wearing a bird mask.

 “So this means, I’m dead.”

 “Not quite. You aren’t…yet. You were supposed to proceed along as usual but you were so-“

 “If you say full of life I’m liable to punch you in the arm.”

 He flinched away with a laugh and held up his hands in defense.

 “Well you are, for lack of a better word. Your body wasn’t supposed to last much longer, it has been put through so much. But you just aren’t ready to be parted from it. Or this world. So we kept you alive, the only way we could and we planned to tell you when the time was right. I could tell you saw the mask the moment you saw me enter your room. I just wanted to give you some time before you had to decide”

 “How are you keeping me alive? Do I have to decide to die or-”

 A small chuckle, not sinister, just a bit of an “oh boy, you wouldn’t believe” sort of noise.

 “There is an energy that we use to stay here in between planes, it was given to me when I was dying to prolong my usefulness during a time of great need. But I never wanted to stop helping, and I adapted. It is ambient within this world and easy to find if you know where to look. It comes from love, from happiness, from the basic components of life itself.  That is what has been in your I.V, what causes my subdued glow, and your budding glow as well.”

 “So my decision, as it stands, is between allowing myself to die and possibly pass on, or staying here, helping other souls cross over, like glow worm Charon in scrubs?”

 I thought for a bit, as we continued to walk. But I stopped Elder when we reached the tree bearing his name.

 “So if I stay, Does this mean I have to wear the bird mask?’

 This time it was a full blown laugh, I’d even go so far as to say, a chortle.

 “Not unless you want to. When I passed into this state, this is how people who were purported to be healers often dressed. So I chose it, thinking anyone who saw this form would feel comforted by it. Times have changed of course, and I can make others see whatever they like, but I’ve gone so long without really changing that I don’t know what may lay beneath, if anything does. For all intents and purposes, this is my face now. Elder was not my name in life, I didn’t remember who I was. But I knew I wanted to help. You would look however you liked, most likely how you look right now, but maybe with less bruising. And you don’t have to wear scrubs or dresses or anything-‘

 He stuttered and corrected himself.

 “Well, I mean, you can wear anything you like. You don’t even have to help, I’d just… I’d like it if you stayed” The eyes went down, and the beak was perpendicular to he ground.

 ‘Lottie is lovely and kind and she has been here for decades now, and we get along just fine. But I can’t read Shakespeare with her, and she isn’t much for comedy. Though I don’t always understand yours, I like it, and I’d like it if you’d teach me more about it, and even about the world. Lottie can blend in with the crowd, but I never venture out if I don’t have to, I feel awkward and out of time.

 “Butch is a sweet man but he keeps to himself, goes to the cinema with Lottie, he likes going through the motions of being an out and about human. That’s fine and dandy for him, and I hope he enjoys every moment of it”

He took both my hands in his and we looked into each other’s eyes as best we could. In that moment I swore I could see proper blue eyes peeking back at me.

 “But you, Beatrix, you make me feel like I’m not alone. You are the first proper friend I’ve had since I still had my own face. I don’t want to force you to stay, I know you have others to see in whatever comes next, but I don’t want to lose my friend. That’s why I wanted to prolong your stay here. I feel guilty for not having told you sooner but-“

 I put two fingers, close as I could get, to where Elders mouth would have been.

 “Oh hush, you old crow. Of course, I’m staying. Gran would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t do what she raised me to. And even without Grans watchful eyes over my shoulder… I would never leave a friend behind.”

 I was promptly lifted and hugged so impossibly tight, and yet, as I hugged him back I didn’t feel a single twinge of pain. When he reluctantly set me down the bruises were gone. His glow was a bit brighter, and I felt brand new.

 “Well, now I suppose we must tell Lottie”

 A loud happy chortle floated down from the clinics back door.

 “I already know, you two lollygaggers. Now, come on. Doc, nurse trainee, we have two new patients who need processing, and someone has to help me.”

[honestsycrets]

Speak Carefully

Girl, DarkHvitty going berserker about other men making inappropriate comments about his wife body and lusting over her (maybe after she gives birth, like, they talking about how her boobs look bigger and used be steep and proud, and wondering how they would be now since she is breastfeeding and what the baby would do to her boobs, her ass looking wide and full, what they would do to her if they were her husband, this kind of stuff)... *swoon*

Warnings

Kind of dark Hvitty? Not too bad.

A/N: So you asked for dark!Hvitty, you got some dark Hvitty… except, its not exactly the cheery scenario I think you were hoping for. Sorry for the late post.

The gods give, the gods take away.

Wise words said at a time where Hvitserk was not ready for them. He had been away, loosening his braids in favor of a long slicked back look as he grieved bitterly. You didn’t have a hair out of place.

You were still a beautiful mess. You swept the great hall in a gorgeous aqua blue dress, strands laced tight and beautiful waterfall sleeves accentuating a whimsical appearance. Pretending that every night, you did not roll on your side to gaze at an empty bassinet. Or acting like there wasn’t a wall built up between Hvitserk and you. Hvitserk was nursing a blaring headache over a pitcher of ale, resting his head upon folded arms.

“Is he asleep?” Voices of those finishing their ale say.

“Must be. Poor fuck.” Another Viking says. “I’s not everyday a King loses a son.”

Definitely talking about him. Hvitserk’s hand still drapes over his pitcher of booze, ignoring the bread of sweet nut and fruit you attempt to lay by his head.

“Not everyday a man has a fucking kitten of Freyja in his bed either.”

Behind his arm, his eyes pop back open. The bags under his eyes puff, red eyes taking in your sight as you walk back to gingerly weave some sort of beautiful blanket. Your hips spill over the chair, long hair braided along the side and curling neatly in small little curls down to your drastically widened hips. The men chide too, clanking their cups together.

“Yeah ha.” A Viking rasps in rich little huffs. “She’s filled out real nice. Don’t think he’s been drinking her milk up either. Her breasts are looking big.”

His hand clenches tight.

“Forget the tits, that ass can barely sit on that stool. That’s the best part!”

Hvitserk watches as your head snaps in the direction of the Vikings, only to be caught by one abruptly standing by the scooting of the bench. In his view he can only see your hand coming to your breast, trying your best to ignore them but the words are just too much. Hvitserk’s fingers flicker.

“You know what I would do if she was my wife!” Says a strong voice. “Quit mopin’ like a boy, grow some balls, bend her over and fill her back up like a husband ought to. That’s what I’d do!”

The old man takes a step forward-- towards where you were clenching your tapestry beater tight in your fist. You slip off of your stool, standing and beckoning back wordlessly. The drunkard sloshes forward, as unsteady as the liquidous ale in his cup.

“Ain’t that right baby? Your husband is actin’ like a bitch. I bet if he just asked you would bend over nice and spread that fat ass out for him.”

“I…” You slide on the other side of the tapestry, fingers slipping away from the heavy frame to the space where Hvitserk kept the other weapons. Just as you grip your hand around a sword you are cut off.

The shrill yell from your husband’s lips cuts that sentence shut. If you had any articulated thoughts, you no longer do. He fists the handle of the axe, launching it from its place beside his head clearly across the room, embedding with a nasty crack and a wet spritz of blood all over the neat tapestry you work on.

You’re momentarily shocked in place, not forgetting that Hvitserk was there as he launches himself over the table, darting out toward the offending group of Vikings with the sword kept religiously at his hip. A group of unprepared older men leave no real challenge for Hvitserk, crunching his blade into the stomach of one after another, after another. Disgusting fleshy pops burst through the room as you watch behind a tapestry. Unable to look but in the same breath, unable to look away as the viscous blood coats the heavy tables.

When you finally do escape from behind the tapestry, it’s to a repetitive hack! Hack! Hack! Hvitserk bursts through the men’s throats, separating head from body in each person. Then abruptly he spins around, dropping his splattered sword with a clatter. You take a warring step back.

“Hvitserk I didn--” Before you can finish, his lips cup over your own with a bruising eagerness. Hvitserk thrusts his arm behind your shoulders, pulling you in tight. He tastes of irony blood, the sweat he shed in his assault and liquified lust that boils over. Hvitserk drops down, thrusting your skirts over your ass, then higher to strip you of the dress in front of the thralls that rush to clean up the bloody corpses.

“My husband--” You try to intervene on whatever thought that Hvitserk was having. A million like you maybe? What happened just now? With these foreign men so intent on claiming a piece of you that they would take their chances on talking to their Queen in such a way?

Hvitserk shoves you back onto a wooden table, cracking your head when you realize that Hvitserk’s normally playful eyes are limpidly dark, catching your wrists above your head. “They thought they would claim you.” He finally presses his fingers against your clit, fingers pressing down hard against your clit in an unprepared action that has your legs knocking tightly together. You squeal softly as he immediately begins to pleasure your body, smacking your moistening entrance with a blood hand.

Then Hvitserk loosens his pants, fisting his cock to press his tip against your hole. With a small barking shout, he presses in hard and deep. The pace is brutally quick, replacing his hand on your hips to drag you onto his cock like a doll. He uses you like one of his thralls, fucking himself deep with every thrust. You gasp under him for some air but none comes to you with him pounding you so richly that even the heavy table was quaking.

“Hvitserk, Hvitserk calm down.” You tug at his hands.

“They thought they would take you from me!” He shouts loud enough that the walls are nearly weeping out. You could have too, if not for your shock in his words. He had been gone. He can tell that’s what you were thinking.

You thought he no longer loved you.

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @concretewaywardangel, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @Kirah34, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @titty-teetee, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @piebytheocean, @strangunddurm, @atequila, @rekdreams247, @justacrush, @ivarswonderlust, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @dylanowhyyien, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @huntingbears, @My-Little-Wolfe, @seize-the-droid, @Certifiedpoison, @hotshotstar, @deans–chevy–baby, @moondustmemories, @colourmeinblue, @ilvebeenabad, @squirtleandeeveearethebest, @rubyquartzshades, @queenmissfit, @calaena-banrion, @hallowed-heathen, @Kirah34, @lulura, @looneytunes20033, @Imamom-makingadifference, @sunlightdaniel, @neeadinghugs, @Funmadnessbadassvikings, @mblaqgi, @Natmors, @triumphantreturnofpies, @dmv49, @imavulcanatheart, @attorneyl, @nina2697, @iconicvaleria, @lovelynerdytraveler, @tierneygonzalez, @zabee113, @meganjudee, @nininstinct, @sdcyumyum, @ms-allenbrown, @pancake-blonde, @ivarswickedqueen, @starkiddreamer, @Orange Darko @austenkingmylady, @thisisparadisemylove, @pinkrockstar19, @jeowjungkook, @threewintersoldiers

[tommyhagen]

5% of a Fairytale: Clint Barton, Team Dad pt1

@taylortut, lol this one sort of just got away from me. Hope you don’t mind long prompt fills. I can pretty much promise they won’t usually be this long but I’d actually had the plot to this scene in mind for a long time. It’ll probably end up having to be more than one part. Hope you like it!!

Clint takes care of his sick bro and partner in douchebaggery, Tony. A retelling of the scene from Civil War including some canon dialogue. Seriously watch that scene again and tell me Tony isn’t trying not to throw up the entire time. You can’t.

Couldn’t help but make reference to Charles and Tony being best friends.

I don’t write deaf! Clint because I don’t think I could portray the struggles of a hearing impaired person with the accuracy it deserves. But he has ear issues that make him sensitive to loud noises but he puts his own discomfort aside when someone needs a dad.

TW: Vomit, Nausea, Dizzy Spells, Brief Nondescript Mention Of Death, Embarassing Situations

——————————————————-

Sam and Rhodey had been arguing for hours now. Or at least it felt like hours. Tony had only been catching every other word, anyway.

His head was pounding and the constant bickering had done nothing to help it. He was slumped back on a couch in one of the common areas next to Steve. He knew he wasn’t doing a great job acting like he didn’t need to be benched but he couldn’t help it. This on top of the meeting with the secretary? He didn’t think he could keep this up much longer.

That had been a disaster all on it’s own too. Tony hadn’t even reacted when the Secretary spouted off all his bullshit about the Avengers not caring. At the footage of New York he just looked away. When Steve commented on his unusual silence he’d just murmured something about the asshole not being worth his time. While that was true it was even more true that if Tony opened his mouth he might have thrown up. It still was, actually, and the stress was not helping. Steve picking up the scent of his Omega’s distress slipped an arm around his shoulders. A rare display of affection during ‘business hours’. Even rarer that Tony accepted it, leaning against him.

“Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor which is one more than you have.”, Rhodey retorted to Sam’s...something.

Maybe if Tony just ignored this all hard enough it would go away. Seemed to be what the others were doing. Vision and Wanda sat huddled together on the opposite couch. Natasha had been pacing the room nonstop and it made Tony dizzy to look at her. Clint was perched on the counter of the kitchenette. The obnoxious music from whatever game he was playing on his phone was only making Tony’s headache worse.

Tony rubbed at his temples and pressed himself tighter against his Alpha. Tony’s mouth was watering ominously. Steve rubbed a thumb along his bicep distractedly, reading the Accords and not happy with them by the acrid prickle of growing anger on his scent. Tony had always hated that and the scent of it now had him clamping a hand to his mouth. This was probably the literal worst time in the world to not be at his A game.

“So let’s say we agree to this thing. How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”, Sam shot back.

And what the fuck had Tony passed out and not realized it? LoJack? Was this even the same conversation?! Ugh, he couldn’t keep up. Whatever. He just had to get through this so that he could go lay down and sleep for a year. Whatever bug he’d caught was draining him. He woke up more tired than when he went to sleep.

“117 countries want us to sign this. 177, Sam, and you’re just like ‘Nah, it’s cool we got this’.”, Rhodey snapped. If Tony didn’t feel like there was a vice grip around his stomach he’d be smiling. He loved it when his Honeybear got feisty.

“How long are you going to keep playing both sides-“

“I have an equation!”, Vision cut him off.

Loudly. So loudly it startled Tony. At that, Steve’s hand stroking his arm slipped down to hold Tony’s reassuringly. He didn’t need any reassuring but Steve’s warmth was grounding and he clung to it like a lifeline. It helped, sort of. Well, he could vaguely follow the conversation now, at least.

“Oh, this’ll clear it up.”, Sam groaned.

Tony shot a nasty glance at him over his shoulder. Tony had created that beautiful mind of Vision’s so, yes, it would clear it up thank you very fucking much.

Vision ignored him, as always sensing the mood and responding accordingly. He continued, “In the eight years since Tony announced himself as Iron Man the number of enhanced persons has grown exponentially. During the same period the number of possibly world-ending incidents has risen at a commensurate rate.”

Steve set the Accords down beside him. His grip on Tony’s hand tightened. “Are you saying it’s Tony’s- our- fault?”, he growled, Alpha pheromones beginning to leak off him.

It took Tony much too long to notice that everyone was looking at him. Shit, that name was his name! So he was going to have to get involved in this no matter what. His hands were going numb and it felt like his feet were nothing but pins and needles. “Down, boy.”, he murmured to Steve. His voice must have portrayed at least a little of the hell he was in because Steve actually relaxed, picking the Accords up again and pretending to read them. His eyes never left the same paragraph.

“I’m saying there may be a causality.”, Vision clarified, but even he was starting to sound annoyed.

Tony desperately wished he were sitting next to him instead. Vi’s lack of scent would be so good right now. Tony was choking on all the wigged out distress hormones going around. He had to swallow back a sick hiccup. God, if he didn’t do something he really was going to throw up. He tried to bury his face against Steve’s shoulder as surreptitiously as he could. It hadn’t worked. Steve abandoned the Accords and pulled Tony closer to him, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Oh, God, Steve’s worry, although sweet, was just adding to the already stifling mix of scents.

“Our very strength invites challenge.”, Vision elaborated. How very philosophical. Tony couldn’t deal with that right now and closed his eyes leaning into Steve’s heat. “Challenge inflicts conflict. And conflict breeds catastrophe.”

Tony choked at how similar he sounded to Ultron and broke into a series of wet coughs. Steve was asking him all kinds of questions along the lines of how he could help and it was just making Tony’s head spin. He waved Steve off desperately.

“Oversight...oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”, he suggested. All Tony could take from that was that Vi was in favor. Of course he was. Part of him was Tony, after all.

“Boom.”, Rhodey agreed.

Natasha stopped her pacing in front of him. Thank god. “Tony”, she called. “Are you okay? You’re being uncharacteristically nonverbal.” Fuck. Now Tony had two Alphas fussing over him. The combination of Female Alpha and Male Alpha was not good. Tony gagged softly into his fist.

“It’s because he’s already made up his mind.”, Steve realized and the scent of his worry was just getting stronger. Tony had to get away from him.

He stood up and made his way more shakily than he would have liked to to the kitchenette. He had made up his mind, yes. The best solution was obvious but mainly he just felt too much like vomiting to participate. Maybe if he got something to drink? There was a bad taste at the back of his tongue.

Clint was watching him closely from atop the counter. He’d also been uncharacteristically ‘nonverbal’. When push came to shove with Avengers politics he usually just tried to stay out of the way. His only real opinion one way or another was that he was in favor of whatever got him home to his wife and kids safely. It startled Tony into nearly dropping a glass when Clint put down the phone with a soft, “Hey, Tony.”

Tony met his eyes slowly and wasn’t quite prepared for the warmth there. There was something about them that seemed far too knowing for Tony’s taste. He backed away slightly not knowing what from. Because as far as everyone in the immediate vicinity went, Clint was one of the ones he wanted to back away from the least. Clint was a Beta. His scent was comforting and good.

Clint hopped down from the counter and took the glass from Tony’s hands. “Here.”, Clint soothed and poured some water for Tony before handing it back.

Tony was far too out of it to question why a jackass- but a lovable one- like Clint was being so gentle. He took a long sip to try and drown the bile he felt creeping up his throat. It helped. “Boy, you know me so well.”, Tony said to Steve. He even tried for a casual lean and pulled it off. “Actually I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache.”, he revealed and gave Clint, whose phone was still chiming away, a look.

Surprisingly, Clint turned it off without a word, slipping it into his back pocket. He was hovering and Clint didn’t do that. If Tony weren’t relying on his scent to keep it together he’d have said something about it.

“That’s what’s going on, guys. It’s just pain.”, he snapped, finally starting to lose his temper at the scrutinization they were putting him under. What the fuck?! If Tony wanted to be quiet he could! “It’s discomfort.”.

Tony turned to lean against the sink. The urge to vomit was becoming a little too overwhelming for him not to have some sort of plan. God, he hoped it didn’t come to that. He took a suspiciously long sip of the water. “Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal?”, he forced himself to ask, doing his best to bullshit and ramble like normal. “Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”, he tried to joke. He had to take another long sip right after, losing any hint of nonchalance it might have had. They knew he was just talking to talk now.

“Hey.”, Clint tried again, hand at the small of Tony’s back.

Steve glared at him for it and Tony couldn’t tell if it was Steve’s scent or his attitude that was making him feel sick anymore. He moaned softly and his hand slipped down to his stomach. It wasn’t going to help but Tony had to do something to at least FEEL like he had control whatsoever over this.

Tony just had to force himself to be invested. Ignoring Clint, he pulled out his phone and projected the picture of the son of the woman from the State Department. He sighed...another Charles who he had let get hurt. “Oh, that’s Charles Spencer, by the way. Great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA had a floor level gig planned at Intel lined up for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul before he parked it behind a desk. See the world.”.

Tony had to stop to gag. And everyone had definitely heard that. Steve was on his feet in seconds and Clint caught hold of his elbow. Tony pushed him weakly off before continuing, “Maybe be of service. Charlie didn’t want to go to Vegas or Amsterdam which is what I would do. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where. Sokovia. He wanted to make a difference, I guess. But we won’t know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.”. Tony could barely get through the words. From frustration or sickness he didn’t know but he was crying.

[celestialprincesstrash]

Who You Are: Chapter 7

FanFiction.net

Rated: M

Genre: Drama/Romance

"Get Down!"

Lucy turned to see who was yelling but was met with a face full of Natsu's chest instead as he grabbed her around the waist and tackled her to the ground. Lucy's head hit the wooden floor with a hard thud and she soon heard a high pitched ringing in her ears, caused by the sudden explosion in the side of the guild hall. She barely heard Natsu calling her name and asking if she was okay; she nodded but couldn't do much of anything else at that moment. Natsu nodded with a grunt and a serious look crossed his face before he got up to go help the others fight off whatever was attacking them. Lucy lay on the ground and did a mental check over herself to make sure everything was still intact. She found that other than a raging headache she seemed to be okay. She opened her eyes and sat up to see a large cloud of dust and fog containing fighting mages, bursts of magic, and broken furniture. She turned over on to her hands and knees in an attempt to steady her body before standing up and through the layer of fog she saw a small foot stepping out of the fray followed by three pairs of regular sized feet. She looked up and just a little under ten feet away from her stood a small child and three adults surrounding the child in a protective formation. They wore white robes and golden hoods that billowed and whipped in the magic filled wind behind them. She couldn't get a good look at the child because it's hood was up but the adults all looked so similar that she assumed they must be siblings. They stood tall, two men and a woman, had high cheek bones, stark white hair, studious looking faces, and walked like they were made of raw power and could destroy her whenever they liked. The woman was thin and held herself with grace like a ballerina but agilely dodged attacks and quickly retaliated in a way that told Lucy, she was pretty, but dangerous. The first man was big and stocky, and must have been made of muscle. The second, however had close to the same build as the woman, he was lithe and agile, but he didn't even try to retaliate to those that attacked him. He simply dodged and kept moving, while looking back at the child in the center.

Lucy wondered what was so special about the child that they were protecting and attempted to stand to get a better look at its face, but accidentally slipped and fell to the floor with a thud. Suddenly four pairs of eyes turned in her direction, and when she looked up she locked eyes with that of the child. It felt like time had slowed to a stop and Lucy found herself captivated and unable to move. She felt held in place by a large pair of shiny golden eyes staring at her, unwavering. Looking into those eyes she felt something move around her. It was ancient and powerful; it was warm and heavy enough to taste it on her tongue and she heard a whisper move through the air in a language she couldn't understand but she felt the weight of what was said. Time came rushing back as she heard her name called from the fog. She turned to see Natsu with a look of panic spread across his face, and she looked back to see what was upsetting him but when she did the child and its protectors were gone.

Lucy stood up and brushed herself off before jogging toward Natsu to ask what was wrong but halfway there she was forced to dodge a fist flying through the air.

"Lucy?"

Lucy turned to find Gray and his arm attached to the fist that very narrowly missed her face.

"What the hell Gray?" Natsu yelled as he jogged across the room.

"Relax Ash Breathe, I didn't get her."

"Whatever, you alright Luce? Did they hurt you? I swear if they hurt you, I'll…"

Natsu ran his hands down her arms and did a once over to check for any potential injuries.

"Woah, Natsu relax. Why are you freaking out?"

Gray turned to her and looked at her like she had been absent for the entire battle.

"Lucy, are you kidding me?"

"No. What? You don't think I can take care of myself? Nothing happened."

"You were screaming…"

"I was what?"

Natsu decided to reenter the conversation after determining that she truly was, unhurt.

"You were just sitting there, staring at that kid. You were sitting there and you were crying and screaming. You scared the living shit out of me!"

"I-I had no idea. I thought-I mean, it all just felt so unreal. That kid, he was, I don't even know. I can't explain it."

Lucy looked around at the chaos that was beginning to subside and as the dust began to settle she noticed many of her friends helping each other up off the ground and towards the guild's infirmary. She couldn't help but laugh at the turn things had taken today. One minute she's listening to Gajeel and Levy bicker and the next her guild is being attacked by mysterious people and a child that messes with people's heads. She was giggling pretty badly when she heard Gajeel mutter under his breathe from the table next to them.

"Can't believe you're actually laughin' right now. There ain't nothin' funny about it."

It didn't take a lot of effort for Natsu's dragon enhanced ears to hear Gajeel brooding and he laughed a little along with Lucy.

"Aw, c'mon gear head. You gotta admit it's a little funny."

"I just don't think she has the right to laugh when she's the one that let them get away. She just sat there screamin' bloody murder and watched 'em walk away."

"Why don't ya just shut up."

"Come over here and make me!"

At that, a wicked grin spread across Natsu's face and he lunged toward Gajeel with a flaming fist. The two men continued to brawl and eventually accidentally dragged quite a few other guild members into it, including an injured but eager Cyrus. Instead of cleaning or treating their own injuries, Lucy's guild mates had decided to now fight each other. Typical.

Lucy made her way to the bar for a stiff drink, she deserved one after the day she'd had. She sat down and was almost immediately joined by a disgruntled Levy. She was sporting a few nasty scratches and Lucy couldn't tell if they were from the mysterious attacks or the guild. The boys fought pretty nasty sometimes and more often than not others got caught in the fray. The two women sat in silence, both appreciating the fact that the other was giving them some time to relax and get their wits about them. Lucy was well into nursing her second drink when Levy broke the silence.

"Ive been thinking."

"That's not exactly uncommon for you Levy, thinking about what?"

"The artifact. Those people, the ones that attacked us, they stole it."

"You're kidding!"

"I wish I was. Damn, I spent so much time researching it. Now I'll probably never get to know what it actually was or why it was so god damn important. You know who I really feel bad for though?"

"The poor guy that gets to go back to the magic council and tell them it was stolen?"

"It's like you read my mind."

Lucy looked down into her drink and watched the ice bob up and down. She couldn't help but wonder about the letter she had received that morning. They're coming for it. Was somebody trying to warn her? Then again, the letter had said they would come for her as well and here she was, sitting safely at the bar in her guild. She wrote it off as paranoia after an attack and asked Mira for another drink. She got a funny look, since even more than one drink was pretty out of the norm for Lucy but she just gave a pleading smile and waited patiently.

She spent the afternoon talking to an exhausted Levy, helping clean both the new and old messes in the guild, and keeping Natsu from starting another brawl with passing guild members. On her way home Lucy looked off at the setting sun and imagined what her mother would make of the day she'd had.

[dantediscoversfic]

Chapter 30: ‘Between the shadow and the soul’

I woke up panicked and drenched in sweat from yet another nightmare. In the dream I’d been walking on a railroad track and got my leg stuck between the wood slats in a sinkhole of pebbles. I saw a train approaching in the distance and tried to pull my leg out but it was like a cement block encased my leg and it wouldn’t budge an inch. Across the tracks, Ari saw me and came running toward me to help, only he didn’t realize the middle rail was deadly. I called his name over and over and screamed at him to stay away from the electric rail but the approaching train’s whistle overpowered my voice. He couldn’t hear me and my warning came too late.

Awake and shivering, I tried to shake off the residual fear coursing through me. I looked down at my legs, which were tingly and numb, but thankfully, still intact. I shook them out and turned over only to see my dad sitting in my comfy reading chair, with a book in his lap, dozing. The small reading light by the chair was still on and the dim blue light in my room told me it was early morning.

“Dad?” I croaked.

He woke up with a twitch and adjusted his glasses, which had fallen skewed across the bridge of his nose while he slept. “Oh, Dante. You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Okay. Better I think. You fell asleep in here?”

“I heard you crying out a bit in your sleep. Just wanted to make sure you were okay. Then I got caught up in reading these poems again and must have dozed off.” The book in his lap was the same Pablo Neruda one he’d read aloud to me the day before.

“What was I saying? In my sleep?”

“Just mumbling for the most part. And Ari’s name. You sounded scared.”

“Oh.”

“Do you remember what happened in your dream?”

“No, not really,” I lied. My face was already flushed but I felt it get even hotter. I knew he meant well, looking after me, but it almost felt like he’d been spying on me or like I was a baby he needed to watch over.

“Do you need anything? Tea? Breakfast? You barely ate anything but a few crackers and toast yesterday.”

I was surprised to find I was hungry, ravenous even.

“I’m starving, actually.”

“Good, that’s a good sign.” He touched my forehead. “It feels like your fever broke, thank God. I’ll warm up some oatmeal and take your temperature just to be sure we don’t have to take you to the doctor.”

“What time is it? Is it too early to call Ari?”

“It’s only 6:00am. How about you wait until after breakfast?”

“Sure, of course.”

“You sure you don’t want to talk about your dream? Was it about the accident?”

“Sort of. I’ve been having weird dreams a lot. Sometimes there’s an accident, sometimes not. But I don’t really remember them that well.”

“How’s your throat feeling?”

“Hoarse. But better than yesterday I think. It doesn’t feel like I’m swallowing a fire ball any more each time I take a breath.”

“Well that’s good, too. Here, take some more of this cough syrup.”

“Blech, it tastes so terrible.”

“I know. Just down it fast and drink this water right after.”

“You’d think in this advanced day and age of modern medical technology they’d have come up with something other than disgusting cherry poison flavor. Maybe I should forget astronomy and dedicate my career to inventing cough medicine that doesn’t taste like liquid death.”

My dad chuckled. “Well I can tell you must be feeling better if you’re planning to overthrow the cough medicine establishment. Yesterday you just drank it without a word. Now that got me nervous.”

I pinched my nose, drank the cough medicine as fast as I could and washed it down with a big glass of water. But the artificial flavor still lingered in my mouth.

���Uch, so gross. Can I break the no pop before dinner rule and have some ginger ale?”

“As long as we don’t tell your mother, I think some ginger ale for breakfast would be fine.”

“I’ll go down with you and help with the oatmeal.” I sat up in bed and a wave of dizziness crashed over me. “Oh boy. Maybe I’m not feeling so much better after all.”

“Dizzy?”

“Yeah.”

“Headache?”

“No, not really.”

“Nauseous?”

“No.”

“Okay, it’s probably just a head rush since you’ve been lying down for so long. You just stay in bed and I’ll bring breakfast up to you. K?”

“Okay, thanks, Dad.”

He leaned down to kiss my forehead and I hugged him tighter than I thought I was going to.

“Love you, Dante. I’m glad you’re feeling better today. You gave your mother and I quite a scare.”

“Love you too.”

“You know you can talk to us about anything, right?”

“I know.”

“Okay, good. I’ll be back up in a few.”

After breakfast I called Ari. I knew it was still early, but after my slew of disturbing dreams I couldn’t wait any longer to hear his voice. When he picked up with a groggy “hello?” I couldn’t help the relief that spread through my chest, releasing a tight knot I’d been holding onto for what felt like days.

“Morning,” I said.

“Dante? What’re you, my alarm clock?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d beat the early shift nurses and get the pleasure of your morning crankiness.”

“You sound weird. What’s wrong with your voice? Allergies again?”

“Nah, I got sick after I came to visit you. That’s why I didn’t call or anything yesterday. Got the flu I think.”

“Ugh, I hate the flu. The flu can wither up and die.”

“Agreed.”

“Night sweats?”

“Yeah.”

“Fever?”

“Yup.”

“Nasty sore throat?”

“You betcha.”

“Well you don’t sound like you’re about to keel over and die on the spot, so I’m cautiously optimistic you’ll survive.”

“Gee thanks.”

We both laughed. It felt good.

“How ‘bout you? How’re you feeling today?”

“Is it technically even day yet? It’s practically still dark out!”

“Listen, farmers wake up before dawn all the time. I’m trying to help you build a little character.”

“Yeah, just what I needed, a best friend slash rooster to wake me up at the butt crack of dawn every day.”

We both laughed again and I knew he wasn’t actually annoyed at me for calling so early.

“Did anything happen yesterday while I was in flu hell?”

He sighed. “They let me try out a pair of crutches but it was an epic failure. Looks like me and Fidel are going to get to be really good friends over the next six to eight weeks.”

“Fidel?”

“Oh, that’s what I’m naming my wheelchair.”

“You’re such a weirdo, you know that?”

“But that’s what you like about me.”

“Are you naming your casts too, then?”

“Yeah. Left leg is Che and right leg is Mao.”

“You’re sort of obsessed with communists. I’m a little concerned.”

“I feel like they’re a misunderstood bunch.”

“Just like you?”

“Just like me.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to name my cast too, then. I christen it Emma Goldman The Anarchist Arm Cast.”

“Excellent choice. And in honor of the books you brought me, I’ll name my arm cast Napolean.”

“Let’s just hope our arms and legs don’t try and overthrow our whole bodies.”

“I already feel like my legs are doing that. I’m about to write the Itch Manifesto. It’s like the Itch-olutionary War over here.”

“Ari’s Tale of Two Leg Casts: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

“This is for sure the worst of times. Definitely worst.” We both laughed, but I still felt a stab of guilt and had to bite back another apology that I knew was against his post-op rules.

We chatted until his nurses came in. I felt better after our phone call and thought I might be feeling up to visiting him but my mom didn’t think it would be a good idea in case I gave him my flu germs while he was recuperating and healing. I was secretly relieved when she said this. It’s not that I didn’t want to see him. I did. And didn’t. Because seeing him all laid up was really hard; joking on the phone was easier. And in person I didn’t trust myself to not blurt out the words to him that were bubbling up dangerously inside me. The words that I was afraid would change everything between us.

The thing is, realizing that you are hopelessly in love with your best friend is dizzying and terrifying and makes you feel a little foolish at the same time. Like you’ve reached the end of a Scooby-Doo episode when the big plot twist happens, and what a surprise, the unmasking moment reveals none other than the person who was right in front of your nose the whole time. So you smack your head and say “I knew it!” or “That was so obvious! How did I miss the clues?” and laugh at your ability to let yourself be so thoroughly duped.

Realize is not even the right word, because if you are being really honest with yourself, you knew the whole time but shoved the whole ‘desperately in love thing’ under the rug, couldn’t stare it in the face. Accept is maybe a better word, but it carries with it the weight of concession or contractual formality, such as:

These are the terms and conditions you must accept to move forward with a life spent loving your best friend (who happens to be boy, but that’s a whole other set of clauses and bylaws we’ll just gloss over for now).

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted to the School of Unrequited Love! Tuition may be paid in full heartache and/or fruitless daydreams about your best friend’s lips, eyes, hands, hair and other untouchable body parts.

Please accept me as I am.

Accept feels like such a small word, so full of compromise and acquiescence, when love feels the opposite. True love is boundless. Infinite. Yours for the taking, all you need to do is ask.

And the other problem with accept is that you can un-accept things, too. And imagining a life where I screwed everything up between Ari and I because I couldn’t keep my stupid mouth shut? Where I said the wrong thing and lost my best friend? That was unacceptable. So best to tamp it down, keep it hidden, leave everything unspoken, right? That’s what Ari would do.

The problem was, I wasn’t Ari. And once I got it in my head that I wanted to tell Ari I loved him (not that I was in love with him, mind you—that part was still sealed in the secret vault) it was all I could think about. I wanted so badly to say it because not saying it felt wrong. Stingy. Especially after he’d saved my life for goodness sake! I told my parents I loved them all the time. Saying “I love you” to them was as easy as saying hello or good-bye or what’s for dinner. I wanted it to be that easy with Ari. But I knew I was kidding myself. Nothing about being in love with Ari was going to be easy.

The flu laid me up for a few more days. I lost track of how many. I mostly slept. My dreams were a nightmarish jumble of storms, sadness, dead birds, broken legs, aliens, car accidents. In some dreams Ari would get hit by a car or bus or train and I’d cradle his body in my arms, crying enough tears to cause a flood that swept us both away. In other dreams, I’d be the one who was hit, but I usually woke up right at the moment of impact with a racing pulse and a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Except for the dreams where Ari’s body would find mine and we’d hold hands or press into each other impossibly close. Those dreams weren’t nightmares but I’d wake up with a knot in my gut just the same.

To pass the time when I wasn’t sleeping, my dad and I read poems aloud to each other. We were still working through 100 Love Sonnets by Pablo Neruda. Dad read each one in Spanish and then in English and we talked about how the differences in the two languages affected the rhyme, rhythm, nuance and meaning in each poem.

I was analyzing Sonnet XVII. “This is the part I don’t understand,“ I said. "He says: ‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved / in secret, between the shadow and the soul.’ But then a few lines later he says: ‘I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride.’ How can you love someone in secret and straightforwardly at the same time?”

“Those two things don’t necessarily cancel each other out. There could be a reason why a love affair has to be kept secret. Safety or societal expectations, for example. It wouldn’t diminish the feelings they have for each other.”

“But you wouldn’t want your love to be kept secret forever, would you?”

“No. But declarations of love don’t have to splashy, written in the sky by an airplane, for them to be meaningful and true. When he says, ‘I love you as the plant that never blooms/ but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers’—it’s going against the convention of traditional love poems like Shakespeare’s ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’, where external virtues are praised, like the color, shape, and smell of a flower and a lover. Here all that is hidden away, the flower has not yet blossomed or might never blossom. But that doesn’t make their love any less real. If anything, it deepens it beyond the artificial.”

“But what about the secret part? Isn’t that like lying? To feel all these things for someone and not be able to share it with them?”

“Well, maybe he’s saying not that their love is kept a secret, but he feels love deeply in a place that is dark and invisible and secret, in the soul. And even if love is hidden deep inside you, you still know it’s there, don’t you?”

“Yes, but who wants to keep all that feeling bottled up inside?”

“Well, not me.”

“Me neither.”

I liked talking with my dad about poetry. It was easier than talking about the accident or Ari or the move to Chicago. Or what would happen if I ever told him and Mom my secret.

“Who said ‘I love you’ first, you or Mom?” I asked.

“I did.”

“I thought so.”

“Did she say she loved you back?”

“She did. But even if she didn’t I would still have known how much she cared for me.”

“How?”

“Well, you know how in grad school we both had study carrels in the library and that’s where we met? Well, I got in the habit of leaving notes and poems for her at her desk. And she would leave an orange or a chocolate bar. In her way, that was her giving me a poem.”

“So you’re saying actions speak louder than words?”

“Sometimes. It depends on the person though. For some people, love is expressed through words and physical touch, for others it’s shown in action and doing kind, caring things. There’s no wrong or right answer.”

Later that day, bolstered by the talk with my dad, I called up Ari at the hospital, determined to tell him three simple words. I just wanted to get it out of my system, just once, and then we wouldn’t ever have to speak about it ever again. My heart was racing as the phone rang and I told myself to stop being a chicken and just blurt it out before we got sidetracked by our typical jokey-chitchat.

“I want to say something to you, Ari.”

“Okay,” he said.

The words lodged themselves in my throat, refusing to budge.

This was a terrible idea. This would ruin everything. I only had one month left with Ari before our move and if I said it, I knew it would just make the rest of the summer more awkward and confusing than it already was since the accident.

“What?” he said again.

“Never mind,” I said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” he said.

“I wish we could swim again.”

“Me too,” he said.

[themikeymonster]

ad verecundiam - p3

p3 of the timetraveling rots!vader au, in which the future sounds like a cheap holodrama, also known as oh god why wouldn’t this chapter end?! previously | presently | subsequently

Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi is already nursing a headache by the time he starts down the spiraling path that will take him to the belly of the Order's Temple. Spending most of the morning arguing with Yoda would be enough to give anyone a headache - though 'arguing' is perhaps an inaccurate way of describing it. 'Arguing' suggests that one is standing in opposition to another stance. He's still not sure that Yoda even has a stance on the so-called Sith they have imprisoned in the Force-proof cells far below the residential levels.

Perhaps it would be more accurately phrased as Obi-Wan has spent all morning giving a dissertation regarding why Vader should be listened to, and how Obi-Wan in particular should be the Jedi to accomplish such a task.

His stomach churns at the memory, threatening to evacuate the several cups of bitter tea he'd shared with Yoda during the ordeal. Obi-Wan grimaces, setting the hand that isn't pressed to his throbbing forehead over it in a placebic attempt to settle it. It's times like these that he regrets never having focused his studies on learning at least a few basic healing skills.

The Force, he reminds himself, is with him. That had been Yoda's final question to him before surrendering the datapad with permissions locked into it to give him authority - "think, do you, that the Force agrees? Feel, do you, that the wisest choice this is?"

"I can't say it is the wisest," Obi-Wan had said, "but it does feel like the right one. I can not believe we would be provided with this chance if it weren't meant to be taken."

Just in Obi-Wan's short years, the Order has seen many challenges and dangers. He has seen Yoda be grave and serious and grim, a stark difference from the strange and funny attitude that Obi-Wan, like many other younglings, had grown up with. But the grimmest face that he has seen does not compare to the way that Yoda looked at the end of their meeting.

"Dark, the Force has become of late. Related to Vader, it is," Yoda had said, looking toward the dawning Coruscanti sun and perhaps, for once, looking every century of his age. "Leave such darkness unchallenged, we must not. But also, wary you must be. Vigilant, you should be. Fall to it, do not. Understand this, you do, Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

"Yes, Master Yoda," Obi-Wan had said.

And yes, he understands it, but his resolve has not been weakened. Sometimes Obi-Wan feels as though Master Yoda knows him as well or better than Qui-Gon, despite the fact that he's worked closer and longer with his former master. He wishes he could tell if Yoda already knows of the silent vow he's taken regarding this task, and what he thinks of it.

Obi-Wan is not quite so brave or reckless as to ask him about it directly. Already, he knows that the rest of the Council have approached this situation with nothing but grave suspicion ranging to complete disbelief. Were Vader a Jedi Knight, it might have been different.

"Learned much from Qui-Gon you did," Yoda had said then. "Many times, disagreed you did, with Qui-Gon's decisions. Now a Knight you are. Now, make similar decisions you do."

"I don't wish to disrespect the Council, Master Yoda," he'd said. "But I don't think we can afford to spend time deliberating it."

Yoda, old and drawn and grim, had berated him then. 'Rash' and 'reckless' were words that he used, and yet still he gave Obi-Wan the key to securing Vader's cooperation, if not freedom. Obi-Wan is set upon his path. The Force is with him.

As it is with the so-called Sith down in the belly of the Temple.

The hallway that leads to what Obi-Wan can only call a 'cell block,' having visited so many of them over the years, is long and just wide enough for two to wield sabers side-by-side in the Form III. The Sentinels standing by see him coming from quite the distance, and Obi-Wan can immediately sense the difference from his previous visit. He is not expected, and so their attention rests on him, sharp and ready.

Obi-Wan reminds himself that he has business being here. He keeps his chin up and walks with a purpose, as he has done many times before on missions: shoulders even but relaxed, the datapad held with his saber hand, the other loose at his side. When he finally reaches them, he comes to a stop at a respectful distance and tucks his left hand behind his back before presenting the datapad to the Sentinel on the right.

Only training keeps his mouth shut around the need to say something to explain himself or smooth the way, watching the Sentinel look over the encrypted message impassively. Behind his back, his fingers worry at the edge of his sleeve; Obi-Wan reminds himself that he is a Knight now, and not some errant Padawan who both answers to and reflects upon a master - his mistakes are his own to make. Glancing over, he meets the eyes of the other Sentinel, and he smiles; immediately, he feels like it reveals every last one of his uncertainties to be easily read.

This entire situation feels very reminiscent of when he was an Initiate trying to impress a master at twelve standard.

Wordlessly, the right-side Sentinel passes the pad over to the one on the left, and stares at Obi-Wan with a critical expression. As he's already smiling, Obi-Wan commits to it, widening it and arching his brows to invite comment. The Sentinel gives none, but exchanges a long look with her partner before he hands the pad back over.

Obi-Wan accepts it, again with his saber hand, and after the door is palmed open, he folds in a shallow, obliging bow.

It's a clear shot from the doorway down the long row of cells, no corner or turns for escapees to hide behind. It's immediately obvious that he's not the first visitor today. He hesitates barely long enough to be noticeable - a nearly unforgivable lapse in decorum -  before stepping through the doorway.

On the floor before the cell that holds Darth Vader sits young Anakin Skywalker, his feet tucked beneath him and stacks of flimsi and datapads scattered in an array on the floor around him. Behind the cell energy field sits Vader, legs crossed at the ankles with his arms braced on his knees in a sloppy mockery of a meditative lotus. He towers over and dwarfs the boy, both physically and in the Force.

Obi-Wan isn't precisely hurrying, but he certainly doesn't move at a leisurely pace when he arrive at Mace Windu's side, who is standing at a respectable distance from the two. It would have been just beyond comfortable conversational range with any others, but neither Anakin or Vader seem to comprehend the concept of whispering.

A quick glance reveals the flimsi and pads to be Initiate coursework. It's currently being ignored in favor of trading barbs in pidgin - mostly consisting of Twi'leki and Huttese. Qui-Gon's attempt to hide Vader's origins will be for naught at this rate, Obi-Wan thinks with despair. Obi-Wan can forgive Anakin for losing his composure, but surely Vader was taught better? By his Sith master if none else.

The look that Mace Windu finally levels at Obi-Wan is startlingly similar to the look Qui-Gon gets when dignitaries begin to prattle on overly much. He feels slightly embarrassed at the implied familiarity.

"They've been going on like this for the last thirty minutes," Windu informs him around the fingers folded over his chin and mouth.

Windu whole state of general, nearly welcoming benevolence shouldn't rate anywhere near as upsetting as Vader's entire existence, but Obi-Wan finds himself feeling odd and jumpy. "On the same vein?" he wonders. He's fluent enough in Common Twi'leki, but whatever has been done to the language to marry it to Outer Rim Basic and Huttese means he's only catching the gist of it. None of it sounds very complimentary.

Windu hums a bemused affirmative. Together, they listen as a particularly nasty speculation about possible recreational activities flies between the two of them - from Anakin's mouth, not Vader's. Vader bares his teeth in a savage not-smile, and implies something about eating - Anakin? Or feeding him to something, given they both use Basic pronouns for themselves and not Huttese.

Obi-Wan sincerely hopes Vader didn't just threaten to feed his younger self to a Hutt.

"Master Windu," he says, gambling on Windu's strange moment of good humor, "I'm surprised to see you down here, and with Anakin."

If Windu feels insulted to be questioned by a newly minted Knight, he doesn't show it; his gaze is sharp and measuring when it focuses on Obi-Wan. Despite that, Obi-Wan has come under the combined pressure of censure and Mace Windu's piercing eyes often enough that his already ruined nerves give him a sharp kick.

"Qui-Gon's ward can be quite persistent," Windu says, relenting with dry humor. "While the two of you were gone, nearly the entire Temple lost power in the boy's attempt to access the Sith. Apparently, the electrical grid is much different than anything he's ever seen before."

That sounds altogether too much as if he's paraphrasing one of the boy's belligerent excuses. Obi-Wan feels his cheeks color with a strange mix of embarrassment and shame, as if he were responsible for the boy. "I see," he says weakly.

Windu dissects him for a moment longer before looking back to Anakin and Vader. Obi-Wan's arrival has been noticed, and Anakin is stacking his pads and flimsi with an exasperated scowl. Vader barely seems to notice, his entire attention clearly on Obi-Wan and Windu, though he's not looking directly at them.

Anakin clearly will never excel at the skill of subterfuge; Obi-Wan should have guessed as much given the heavy storm of Vader's Force presence - to say nothing of Anakin's own. There is no reason for Obi-Wan to know, but all the same, he doesn't think Anakin has had any training with the Force since he's gotten here. Yet already his presence is starting to bloom outward beyond his physical shell, taking the shape of the younger children of the creche who haven't learned to shield yet. Elusive as it is, its radiance is unsettlingly similar to Vader's, if inverse - brighter, and more clear.

To Void with it, Obi-Wan thinks; his personal feelings have no place in a mess this important. "Even so," he says, "It surprises me that he's be allowed."  

"Any concerns you could have held, the Council has held twice over," Windu rebukes flatly. "The Council does not - should not - champion ignorance. It was decided that controlled visits were better than allowing the boy to develope wild ideas."

Obi-Wan remembers that the Council had been entirely unwilling to hear Qui-Gon speak of Anakin as 'The Chosen One.' He wonders what Anakin did while they were gone to convince the Council otherwise; he can't see them permitting such a thing for any Force-strong child brought in at the end of their childhood. Or perhaps, he remembers, looking slightly higher, it was less Anakin and more Vader with his wild, awful warnings of the future.

"Watch yourself, Knight Kenobi," Windu continues, having followed his gaze. "Do not take the Sith or the Dark side lightly. Give either any ground, and you will lose all of it. It has claimed Jedi better and wiser than you."

(his lungs squeeze)

"Yes, Master Windu," Obi-Wan says, dipping into a bow. "Thank you. I will be mindful of your words."

The look Windu gives him suggests that he doubts it. "I don't agree Yoda's decision about this," he says plainly, cutting a look back to the Sith in the cell. There is no 'so-called' about it: any resemblance to a senior padawan on creche-duty has been swept clear away.  Behind the energy field, Vader stands, his red-gold rimmed eyes shining oddly from a dark expression one step removed from a feral animal baring its teeth.

Windu meets Vader's poisonous gaze, standing firm against the glowering storm of darkness. "I don't trust his words or his intentions," he says plainly. "There is no coming back from the Darkside. He should be kept locked away where he can do no further harm."

The two of them both seem bare seconds away from igniting 'sabers neither have in hand - Vader's lightsaber, in fact, has been locked away somewhere Obi-Wan doubts will be simple to reach. The tension is unnerving - Vader's dark presence clashing with Windu's quicksilver, disturbing the Force as their wills clash. Both are powerful Force users in their own right, and Obi-Wan almost wishes that the Sentinels at the door would forget their duty and come investigate the cause.

In this instance, it's difficult to tell who bares closer watching. Obi-Wan glances between the two - and then his eyes catch on the young boy between them:  Anakin stands in front of the cell, his coursework clutched in his arms, and his attention is on Windu and not the towering darkness at his back. His expression is guileless but his eyes are shrewd, and see far more than they understand.

It wasn't that long ago that Obi-Wan was in such a position - masters speaking over his head, not understanding their words but knowing the meaning was dire. Anakin seems to understand only too well that Windu condemns the man he might one day be to his very face, and Obi-Wan suddenly recognizes the look in the boy's eye.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan says with his voice pitched soft, as gentle but firm of an interruption as he can manage off the cuff and toward a Master. He doesn't look to the side to see how it's taken, watching on the boy caught between Vader and Windu. "If you're done here, you should go talk to Master Qui-Gon about any questions you have."

Anakin looks at him with those same shrewd eyes, and seems to see right through Obi-Wan's pretense. For a moment longer, he looks conflicted about it, as if he wants to argue on principle, but equally wants to escape how the tensions of the stand-off bare down and grind on his newly expanded senses. After another glance at Windu, Anakin clutches his materials like they might be snatched away and quickly ducks by, going out of his way to pass on Obi-Wan's side rather than Windu's.

The snubbing of a child does not even rate on Windu's list of concerns, but Obi-Wan's interruption has served its purpose: Windu no longer looks like he might at any second cut Vader down. Vader, notably, still stands like an animal that might bite a hand that seeks to give it aid.

"The Council," Windu says with a stony stare, "has decided it wise to investigate your claims, Vader. Do not mistake that as trust."

"No need to worry, Mace," Vader says. He speaks low and so barbed he must wish his words to become weapons with which to score bleeding wounds. "I am familiar with the workings of the Council and how it seeks to defeat itself at every turn."

Maybe it is within Vader's rights to speak to Mace Windu of the Council that way, given his past (or future), but Obi-Wan still internally reels with dismay. Could he not learn when it is wiser to hold his tongue? Must he attack anyone and everything that comes within his reach?

Other than Obi-Wan, apparently.

Mace Windu's expression is harsh; it's a glare that has cowed a dozen warriors and has furthermore caused at least a few lesser men to faint. Obi-Wan himself has wilted under it a number of times. Vader appears to not even notice it, and Obi-Wan struggles to match his composure when Windu's lasered glower turns toward him.

With the shallowest nod, Windu wordlessly takes his leave; Obi-Wan bows a bit deeper than he probably should, but he does so mostly to hide any relief that might be on his face. It's difficult enough for Obi-Wan to shoulder Yoda's disappointments; Windu's high expectations threaten to make his legs wobble like the harshest training exercises. He can only hope that with similar hard work and dedication, he will one day meet them.

Impatiently, Vader barely allows the doors to close behind Windu when he says, "Some things never change. Mace has never liked or trusted me."

"It is not relevant if he likes or dislikes you," Obi-Wan says - something Qui-Gon himself has said to him when Obi-Wan had voiced similar concerns. "He is a Jedi, and on the Council. If you were a member of the Order, he must have trusted you at least that much."

Vader's expression is sullen and dark, but for a brief moment it flickers - a lightning bolt of something less sinister, like regret, maybe. Whatever it is discomfits Vader enough that he drops his red-gold gaze and tilts his head so the unwashed tangles of his hair obscure his expression.

Mace Windu would have been correct to mistrust Vader, in any case, Obi-Wan thinks. He has Fallen to the Darkside, so far into it that he claims the title 'Sith Lord.' Saying so may satisfy Obi-Wan, but doubtlessly Vader would disagree, and it would be in bad tastes besides. He needs the man's trust and cooperation and won't gain them that way.

Obi-Wan finally steps forward to approach the cell, and Vader looks up, watching him with a sort of sideways wariness. Mindful of the fact that after so many long years at Qui-Gon's side, he can read tells in his master that few could even dream of, Obi-Wan is careful not to fold his hands or lift his chin the way habit would have him do.

"Well," he says plainly, "the Council has come to a decision, it seems." Hours of debate and discussion with Yoda earlier today have been for naught; the Council has already discussed and voted upon his responsibilities.

Vader's eyes and mouth both narrow into dangerous slits. "They've ordered you to help me, then," he says, a discontented, resentful grumble. Turning his back, he paces the cell with deliberate steps that he's clearly taken before, measuring length and breadth of it as if whimsy itself is the only thing keeping him there.

Taken aback, it takes Obi-Wan a moment to answer the accusation. "You should know they would not," he says, watching him.

"They would and they have," Vader says flatly. "Haven't they? 'There is no emotion, there is peace.'" He spits the words with such bitterness and resentment that it could have been a slap in the face. "How anyone feels about their decisions is not their concern. Feeling anything at all is to mean failure as a Jedi."

Vader, he reminds himself, is Sith, and so there should be nothing disturbing about his blatant derision for the Code - but it is. It's disturbing, and it plants a sinking sensation in Obi-Wan's gut. He remembers the harsh and unfair words he spoke against having Anakin trained after having met Vader, and hearing from the man's own mouth who he began life as. Clearly the original fault does not lay within Anakin.

"Your illuminating insight on the Council's inner workings aside," he says, "I have not been ordered to do anything. As a matter of fact, I spent the better part of this morning under the impression I was arguing your case to Master Yoda. In light of your delightful conduct in Master Windu's presence, I am beginning to wonder if it was the correct decision to have made. I do so hate to think I'm making the list of bad ones even longer."

Vader pivots, eyeing Obi-Wan suspiciously. "You did? But why," he wonders, furrowing his dark brow. "You don't even know me."

He somehow manages to make that sound like an accusation, as if that is somehow Obi-Wan's fault. "Well someone seemed to think it was the only way to save the Order," he says tartly. "If you'd rather be ignored, it may be wise to spout considerably fewer dire warnings of a dark future."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time the Force sends me hurtling years into the past," Vader says dryly. The storm has stalled, rumbling disconsolately but not longer flashing lightning; the dark snarl of Vader's face has softened to a moody pout. "You believe me, then," he says, returning to the front of his cell on light, Jedi-trained feet. He stops in front of Obi-Wan and searches his face, his own growing brighter and more eager as he surmises: "You'll help me stop everything from going wrong."

Obi-Wan looks up at him. "Did you really think I wouldn't?" he asks.

Vader blinks, and then falters as if taken aback. "I," he says, and drops his gaze. "I didn't know. I'd hoped so."

"Well," he says, and momentarily can't quite look at Vader. It takes a brief moment for him to recenter himself with the Force. Obi-Wan seeks the Sith's gaze and says, with all the confidence he has in the Force: "I fully intend to stop it from ever occurring, and to do that, I'll need your help."

"You always do," the so-called Sith says, a cautious curve to his mouth.

It's a quip that Obi-Wan would not have hesitated to level at Qui-Gon - though not with that strange soft look on his face - but he can't find any humor or relief in it. He is not this man's master, and with any good fortune at all, that aspect of the terrible future has been averted: he will never be Anakin's master either.

By the sound of it, for their sake, Obi-Wan should avoid becoming anyone's master.

He folds his hands into his sleeves. "Master Yoda has given me permission to pursue your intel," he says, even though they've spoken of this already. "It seems that half the Council would prefer that you were the master of the Sith that was defeated at Naboo. The quicker we work to prove otherwise, the quicker we can prevent your future from occurring."

Vader huffs incredulously. "I'm good, but not that good," he says. "I only had - I haven't been 'Vader' long enough to have an apprentice." He shakes off his surprise with a scowl. "This is just like the Council. They're wasting our time, Obi-Wan."

"You are a Sith," Obi-Wan points out. "Their concerns are reasonable, theories about possible apprentices aside." To be fair, it's only the Councilors who struggle to guess human and near-human ages, and have therefore based their suspicions on Vader's Force presence that seem to give that theory any credence. The Force says that Vader has experienced a great deal more than his young face suggests.

He looks particularly young at the moment with a moody scowl on his face.

"Let's focus on directing the Council's energies constructively," Obi-Wan concludes after a moment. "Where would you have me go to find proof that supports your story?"

"Proof?" Vader asks, scowl deepening. "I thought you believed me."

"I do," Obi-Wan hastens to reassure him. He does, against his better senses. "It's the Council's belief we're concerned with. Unless you want to remain locked up here for the next ten or so years, I need to find something I can bring before the Council to corroborate your story."

Vader seems to accept this, though far from happily. "Great," he says. "Like what? Around this time I was nine, remember? Qui-Gon was dead and you were my master."

Ignoring the residual revulsion he feels toward plain facts of Vader's future, Obi-Wan concedes the point. And yet - "There must be something," he says. "A galaxy does not just abruptly slide into darkness. Not even in ten years, war or no war. There should be signs - something we can find now." He unfolds his arms and steps away from the energy field. He isn't pacer by nature and does not, but it's difficult to focus with Vader staring at him like that.

"The Republic is current at peace - as much as it ever is," he says, the first point of contention. Certainly, systems and organizations get ambitious and greedy all the time - the only unusual part of the circumstances of Naboo's recent emergency was invasion staged during it. The use of droids - as much as an army - was also alarming, but security forces were a natural part of ambitious organization. Qui-Gon had been particularly uneasy during various parts of the mission, but Obi-Wan is certain that he's been looking into it while Obi-Wan has been busy with his Trials, and now Vader.

"Of course we have armed forces," Obi-Wan continues to himself. "Even when at peace, the Jedi can not be everywhere, or answer every concern of the Republic." Though there has been many times that the Jedi have been asked to, or sent places they had no right being. "But those forces exist primarily as relief corps, and work with the Jedi Corps to aid with disaster, and famine. They're mostly a deterrent to smugglers and pirates."

It would take time to arm and mobilize entire armies; there should be signs. Unexpected expenditures. Misallocated funds. An increase of industrial trade work, which all that was entailed in that: shipment of raw materials and storage of the finished pieces. A paper trail. The Order's Shadows, at least, should have heard whispers of military training. The ships it would take to send troops across systems would have to be built and fitted -

"The clones," Vader says, like he's surprised himself.

"Clones?" Obi-Wan echoes, turning back toward the cell. "What do you mean 'the clones?'"

"I mean, the clones," Vader says, as if speaking more emphatically will somehow impart more meaning. "Our soldiers. We led clones into battle against the Separatists."

"Clones of what?" Obi-Wan wonders, slightly stunned.

Vader frowns at him with reproach, and lifts a skeptical brow that gives Obi-Wan a horrible moment of deja vu. "Not a 'what' - a person," he says slowly. "Some Mandalorian. Jango Fett, I think you said."

For all the advanced medical science of the galaxy, cloning is and always has been a speculative fiction. A pure fantasy of drama holoists. "Time Traveling Siths and a clone army for the Republic." Obi-Wan says in disbelief. "Next you'll tell me Jedi themselves took to the battlefield."

"Of course we did," Vader says, surprised. "Why wouldn't we?"

For a long moment, Obi-Wan doesn't know how to answer that. "It's not the Jedi way," he says at last, unable to verbalize how wrong it is. "We have been sworn to uphold the Republic, but not through violence. Not on a battlefield. We are not soldiers, we are Jedi."

"We were needed," Vader says, short of a snarl. "Would you rather we have sat by a let the Separatists invade? Watched good people die? The casualties would have been in the hundred of millions! They were led by Sith."

Obi-Wan bites down around the words: like you? Vader either hears them anyway, or hears himself, because his words stall out in the middle of his tirade, the unpleasant darkness around him growing thicker and stronger even as Vader himself grows befuddled and conflicted.

"By Jedi-killers," Vader continues at last, but he seems unable to look at Obi-Wan, avoiding his gaze. "Before I ended up - here … they sent you to Utapau to fight General Grievous. It should have ended with Tyranus, but it didn't." He sounds personally betrayed by that. "I should have been the one. They should have sent me after Grievous. Or me with you."

Any padawan or knight can sympathize with those kind of anxieties, though Obi-Wan still can not envision himself as this man's master. He has often worked himself into a restless state, knowing that he needed to be at his master's side but unable by duty or otherwise to reach it. "And what happened to him?" he asks.

"I don't know," Vader says unhappily, head bowed; lower still, his towering Force presence darkening with threat: "I don't want to know."

There is nothing that Obi-Wan can find to say; even if he could find something, he's not sure he would say it. It's difficult to know what to make of the bleak future being laid out before in hints and implications. Despite the affection Vader seems to have held for his master, he's turned his back on the Order and that master both.

Vader seems to sense his unease; he comes out of the dark thoughts that have consumed him, peering at Obi-Wan with red-gold rimmed eyes, nearly feverish in their sincerity. "It'll be different," he says. "I'm so much more powerful now, Obi-Wan. I can save them with this - I can save everyone I've lost. We can save them. It won't come to what it did in the future."

The low twists and eddies of the Force are dark and cold, and cling to his senses unpleasantly. Obi-Wan doesn't shiver. "For everyone's sake, I hope not," he says with as much grace as he can muster. "And the best way to do that is to figure out where the threads are so we can cut them apart. Where and how would the Republic get their hands on clone soldiers?"

"Oh, you're gonna love this," Vader says, and tells him.

--