#but it’s true! like i cried for the entire day before my trial shift. every time i thought about the dishes i’d start crying

[excelsior9173]

laughing so hard, seeing a tiktok comment being torn apart on twitter for saying they had “dishes trauma” and.

as someone who worked in a professional kitchen doing dishes for a restaurant, that is actually traumatizing. not doing dishes at home, that’s fine.

but i genuinely cannot even consider setting foot in an industrial kitchen ever again. i tried once a couple years ago and had a complete nervous breakdown for the entire day before my trial shift. and then shutdown during my shift. and now i’m laughing because i apparently have legit, dishwashing related ptsd 😂 it’s a very stupid thing to be mentally fucked up over. and yet. i am a wreck. even handwashing dishes at home is upsetting and something i only do when absolutely necessary

[aminiatureworld]

Hiraeth

From the prompt to celebrate 900 followers.

Word Count: 1,314; Kazuha x gn!reader

It was so hard to think of Inazuma; it was so easy to remember Inazuma.

The claws of nostalgia were waiting in every budding tree in the spring, and in every golden leaf in autumn. Every breeze that brought with it a scent that was unplaceable and yet so familiar, every drop of rain that fell, unforgiving and unstoppable, every piece of slightly burnt fish cooked after a long, cold day at sea. These things were a beautiful sort of torture, keeping a memory alive, cruelly tormenting the exile with things he could no longer touch.

It was hard not to grieve, and Kazuha knew there was a great deal to grieve about. A friend gone forever, a land that had turned its back on him, friends, family, enemies, archons, people Kazuha would never meet again. Sometimes anger rose at these images; anger and spite which threatened to consume Kazuha from the inside. On those days he dreamt of plans to sneak back into Inazuma and find whatever resistance was active at the time. He would rush into battle, regardless of risk, he would find the Raiden Shogun and challenge her to a duel, he would avenge his friend’s death. Other days there would be grief, a waterfall of it. Tears, regrets, sadness, it would come rushing over the cliffs of Kazuha’s memories and then the exile would find himself wishing none of it had happened, wishing that he could’ve lived in blissful ignorance, in the land of his birth. Kazuha didn’t know which of these two mindsets was the most damaging.

It drove a wedge between him and the outside world, and Kazuha knew that. Still, it was difficult to find the energy to break that wall down, to cross the every widening gulf. What did it matter if he was alone. He was an exile after all, was that not to be his fate? Why should he continue to get hurt, continue to hide his sorrow, when he could just as much sit in the crow’s nest, the wind in his face, pretending like he was the only living person in the world. It was rather freeing to be alone after all. You could trust loneliness, it never changed after all.

So why was it then, despite all these promises, these wishes, these cynical proclamations, that people had still managed to worm their way into his heart? First it had been Beidou, that indefatigable captain who laughed despite it all and who never failed to read Kazuha, despite his cryptic poetry and his attempts to eat at the table farthest from the other sailors. Then it had been the sailors themselves, then the traveler, then the traders at whose ports Beidou did business. Slowly, surely, Kazuha began to find something to ease the longing, something to make the pain bearable.

And then he had met you.

How Kazuha loved you, loved with the sort of recklessness that only some sort of intimacy could create. You were a friend, you were more than a friend, you were something even more than that. You were the soulmate that young romantics liked to imagine right before they went to sleep, hoping their perfect half would somehow appear in their dreams. You were the person with whom Kazuha could have utter, total trust, the kind of platonic soulmate that was so few and far between. Yet his love for you also burned in different ways, as if his feelings for you couldn’t concentrate themselves in one aspect, one facet of love. Kazuha loved you utterly. Regardless of flaw, or temper, or good or bad, he loved you.

However if real love is supposed to fix every problem, then perhaps real love is simply overrated. For as much as Kazuha loved you, he could not stop the ache in his heart, the pieces of him that cried out for his homeland. Inazuma, there was always Inazuma. You never begrudged him his moments of loneliness, the fact that he couldn’t simply leave behind the only place that was his true home. You merely sat next to him, hand on his, breath tickling his hair as Kazuha leaned on your shoulder, mourning the homeland he’d surely lost.

It seemed selfish, to dwell so much on something in the past. Like he was dragging you and everyone else down, bringing something up that you surely didn’t care about that much. There were only so many platitudes a person could say after all, until it all became unbearable. Yet the days that he told himself he should no longer complain, the days that he promised to himself he’d keep it all locked away inside, you still managed to coax all the grief out of him. If Kazuha was unfailing in his longing, then you were unfailing in your kindness, your determination to listen, to tell him that he wasn’t being a nuisance. And slowly, things began to feel a little better.

The first time you had to go on a trip for a long period of time was a shock to Kazuha’s system. Who knew that something that looked so close on a map could be so far away? Mondstadt, as much as it shared a land border with Liyue, felt as far away as the moon. Every day was a trial, every night desolate. He missed your presence, your smiles, your warmth, your even breath as the two of you drifted off to sleep together. Kazuha hadn’t expected this to happen, and for two weeks he waited in bated breath, his every thought consumed by your absence, by the strange feeling of having an integral part of one’s life missing. He wondered if you felt the same way, if you lay awake at night in a Mondstadt in, wishing that he were besides you. He wondered if you needed him as much as he needed you.

The day that you came back Kazuha spent in tears. They started the moment your silhouette was spotted on the docks, mixing with the surprised embarrassment, the wonder of whether it was too much to run to greet you. It was as if he was newly in love again, and Kazuha didn’t know whether he relished the feeling or whether it made him uncomfortable. Ultimately he met you halfway, walking slowly, a dopey smile plastered on his face.

“Welcome back,” he declared. Then there was an embrace that no one could sure of who initiated, as the world fell into place again.

“I realized something while you were gone,” he revealed. It was the evening now, and the two of you were cuddling together in bed, relishing the feeling of limbs once more entangled.

“What is that?” There was something in your voice, a sort of excitement that hadn’t faded throughout the entire day.

“I realized that Inazuma isn’t the only place that I long for.”

“Oh?”

“When you were gone, it was like I was grieving two homes. The home that was long gone, and the home that I had just found.”

“That’s very poetic,” you giggled softly. Kazuha could sense the slight shift in your expression, as you continued. “But funnily enough. I also felt that way. I knew you were important to me darling, but I didn’t realize how important.”

“Despite all my, complaining? Despite how self-centered I can be sometimes?”

“Grief isn’t self-centered Kazuha. And you aren’t complaining by talking about it. I’d rather you cry in front of me every day than keep it to yourself. Okay?”

“Are you sure?” Kazuha couldn’t help the question.

“Of course I’m sure! Believe me, I know my feelings about you very well.”

“And they are?” Slowly the confidence, the candidness that Kazuha felt around you was coming back.

“Love, of course.” You leaned over towards Kazuha, kissing his gently on the lips.

There was very little conversation after that for a while.

[publickoccurances]

Female companions react to being severely injured while on the road with Sole.

Cait: On the road again. Not that she’d have it any other way. Being out here with Sole sure did beat being stuck in that cage in the Combat Zone.

“Where is it we’re headed again?” Cait grumbled as she fell in step with Sole. They walked so fecking fast.

Sole glanced over at their friend, giving them a cheeky grin. “Oh, just somewhere a bit spooky.” They teased.

Cait rolled her eyes and made a disgusted noise. Spooky? What could possibly be considered spooky in this fucked up world they lived in. “Oh come on, stop fecking about.”

Sole sniggered ever so slightly. “We’re headed to Salem Cait. They had the witch trials there, supposedly very haunted.” Even though it seemed ridiculous, Sole liked holding onto the thought of anything pre-war.

Cait raised an eyebrow. Witches? Haunted? What the fuck was Sole playing at here.

.........................

Cait kept her hand on her gun as they approached the Museum of Witchcraft. It was very unsettling. She didn’t like how quiet it was. “Sole this was a bad fecking idea I’m telling ye’.” She breathed, eyes darting around as she tried to catch her bearings.

“You’re just letting your fears get to you. Come on Cait, it’s just a museum.” Sole shook their head as they took confident strides towards the decrepit building. “I just want to see if they have any books or something left behind.”

“My fears are not-.” Cait was cut short by a horrific sight in front of her. “Holy fuck- he’s been torn apart.”

Laying in front of them was the corpse of what appeared to be a Gunner. They had been torn apart by something, their torso split open, one arm half hanging off. A terrible sight.

“What the feck could do that to someone.” Cait whispered through gritted teeth as she looked towards the entrance to the museum.

Sole took a deep breath and shook their head. “Hell I don’t know...but this is fresh. And Gunners never run alone- there could be people trapped inside.” They looked towards Cait. Despite how scared they were, Sole couldn’t just walk away if there was a chance there was any survivors.

“Shite.” Cait muttered. Sole was right. Gunners never worked alone. If she could have it her way they would just turn around and walk the fuck outta there. But she knew Sole well enough now to know that wasn’t an option.

It didn’t take the pair long to find a way inside the museum. The front door had been chained from the inside or something, but they eventually found a basement they could enter through.

The building was silent as they decended down the stairway. It wasn’t the normal kind of silence. It was more of an terrifying one. The kind that makes you think something is gonna jump out at you. But that wasn’t going to stop them.

“Whatever it is... it’s killed these guys as well.” Sole whispered as the pointed her gun towards more tore up bodies. These seemed fresher than the one outside. The metalic smell of blood filling the air around them.

“Yeah... I reckon a couple of hours at most.” Cait agreed quietly, looking up to notice a large hole in the ceiling. “Seems like whatever it is found a quicker way up than the stairs.”

Cait did not like this. Not one fecking bit. She was all for danger. But this. This was something else entirely.

Just as Cait was going to suggest they leave a rumble came from the floor above. Something big was moving up there. Something real fecking big.

“What the fuck is that?” Sole’s eyes were wide with fear. Suddenly this fun little trip was definitely not so fun anymore. They looked to Cait, giving a slight nod before slowly walking up the stairs.

Whatever was moving around up their was causing the unstable building to rumble. The floor creaked, the windows (that hadn’t already shattered) were shaking. Surely this place wasn’t really haunted?

“Listen Sole- whatever that is... I think we should leave.” Cait suggested, though she knew that Sole wouldn’t agree. If there was a chance of saving people, they would. So as they stepped up onto the ground floor she took a deep breath.

What happened next came out of nowhere. The pair had barely been on the ground floor before there had been a ungodly sound ringing through both of their ears. Whatever had ripped those people apart had spotted them. And it was mad.

“What the feck-.” Cait turned and her eyes widened. A Deathclaw. Shite. She was just about to take a shot even suddenly a giant claw had swiped at her.

Cait was thrown back down the stairs at the force of being hit. She could feel a large gash open in her abdomen, blood beginning to pool out of her. Fuck.

She could hear Sole screaming out for her. She could hear that monster letting out it’s horrendous sounds. But she was helpless. She couldn’t feel anything. Her vision going blurry.

“Cait! Cait!” Sole continued to scream. They were cornered. This monster had seemingly killed Cait. And now it was going to kill them. All they could do was keep pulling the trigger, keep taking shots. Keep fighting.

“S-Sole...” Cait gasped, finally regaining some function over her body. Her hand moved down to her injury. It was deep. She was bleeding. Bleeding out maybe? Fuck. Was she dying?

The commotion caused by Sole and the Deathclaw filled the building with gunshots and roars. Whatever was going on up there was intense.

Cait patted her pack desperately trying to open it. If she was going to die it was going to be on her terms. She took a deep breath, injected a stimpack directly to her injury. “Fuck...” She hissed in pain.

If she could just get up the stairs she could help. Help her friend. If she was going to die she was going to die fighting. Not bleeding out in a basement alone.

After a few deep breaths Cait managed to muster up enough strength to begin to drag herself up the stairs. Each step she pulled herself up cause her agony. But she was going to do this. She wasn’t going to die down there. Not while her friend was facing getting ripped apart.

“You fucking demon!” Sole screamed at the Deathclaw as they took cover behind a display case. “I’m gonna see you fucking rot for what you’ve done!” As if the Deathclaw knew what they were saying. But it was making them fight harder. Each shot they took landed in the beasts thick hide, but it didn’t seem to be doing much damage. Cait was the one with a shot gun, all Sole had was a pistol. They were fucked.

Cait could hear her friend fighting for their life and it seemed to create a new burst of energy in her. She dragged herself up the remaining steps, letting out grunts of pain as she did so.

The stairs were only the first hurdle. Now she was up them Cait had to somehow get on her feet. If she could just stand she could get a shot on that beast. It was in her sight now, but she couldn’t get it from down on the floor.

“H-hold on Sole... I’m gonna get this blighter.” She breathed out, shifting herself into a sitting position. “C’mon Cait... stop being a fecking flower- get up.”

Cait pressed her back firmly against the wall and with every remaining ounce of energy she had in her pushed herself to her feet, using the wall to hold her up. “Over here ye’ ugly bastard!”

Both Sole and the Deathclaw looked over in Caits direction. Soles eyes widening. “Cait! No!” They cried out helplessly as the beast charged Cait.

With a deep breath Cait cocked her gun. “Hail fecking Mary.” She breathed as the beast approached. And just as she was within its reach...

BANG!

The Deathclaw hit the floor, it’s body going limp. It lay there. Gapping hole in its chest. Cait had blown right through the fucker.

“Fecking haunted my arse.” Cait grunted as she slumped back down to the floor. “Sole get me the feck out of here before I bleed out. There’s no fecking way I’m dying before I get a chance to beat yer arse for convincing me to come out here with ye’.”

Curie: Being on the road with Sole was an experience Curie was thoroughly enjoying in her new human form. It opened up the opportunity for her to feel a range of emotions. And she had been making note of each one.

As they made their way along the dusty Commonwealth road Curie couldn’t help but have a slight skip in her step. Sole had promised to show her somewhere extremely interesting, somewhere that she would be able to learn so much.

“Ah Sole.” Curie began, her voice rather chirpy. “Why ave’ you kept where we are going a secret?” Secrets. This was another thing Curie was new to. She found them rather exciting.

Sole glanced to their friend and shot her a cheeky smile. “Because, the look on your face when we get there is gonna be priceless.”

Curie took a few moments. This was a new saying. How could the way her face looked be priceless? What would cause such a thing? Ah well. She was far too excited to question what her friend was saying.

“It as’ been a rather quiet day, no?” Curie commented as she looked around her.

This was a very true statement. Usually when they would make such long journeys like these each day would have some sort of setback. But surprisingly to the two of them it had been very quiet.

Sole nodded, a slight frown forming on their lips. “Yeah... you’re right.” They said quietly, glancing around. “Maybe a bit too quiet.”

One thing the Commonwealth had taught Sole was that you couldn’t trust the quiet. It may have sounded a stupid statement. But it usually meant that something was brewing. Something bad.

“Maybe we should take a break.” Sole mumbled. Usually they would ask Curie whether or not she would like a break. But right now they were deciding. There was a strange feeling in the air now. They needed to catch their bearings.

A exasperated sigh left Curie’s lips. A break now? She was becoming rather impatient. Ah! A new feeling to make a note of.

“Very well.” Curie nodded her head. “But a short one, yes? I am feeling rather excited for wherever it iz we are going.”

Sole gave a slight nod towards and empty diner they had been walking towards. “We’ll catch our bearings in there. Better make sure we have a bit of cover just in case.”

The pair made their way into the long since abandoned diner. There was no sign of anyone being there in a long time. The perfect spot to sit down, get some food in them and all together recharge before they got a move on.

Sole allowed about an hour to pass before looking to Curie. They hadn’t been able to shake that feeling that something was going to go wrong Since Curie had mentioned how quiet it was. It was making them uneasy.

“I think we need to be extra vigilant when we’re back on the road.” They commented casually, trying not to let on just how uneasy they were feeling.

Curie tilted her head ever so slightly to the side. “If you do not mind me asking... why must we be more vigilant?”

Sole shrugged their shoulders. “Oh no reason. It’s just you know how it is. When it’s quiet that’s usually a good indicator that trouble is gonna happen.”

This was not something that Curie knew. This was actually new information. And she was making a mental note of it. “When it iz quiet that means there iz a pozzibility for trouble.” She nodded.

Curie stood up, brushing off some of the dust that had fell on her since they had stopped at the diner. “Well my friend... I think it iz about time we get a move on, no?”

What neither of them had realised that the whole time they had been sitting in the cover of the diner a group of mercenaries had been scouting them out. And Curie standing up had given their sniper a near perfect shot.

“Yeah... yeah let’s get a move on.” Sole agreed. But before they could even get on their feet a shot suddenly zoomed through one of the windows.

Curie had been turning to look at Sole as this happened. But that didn’t stop the bullet from striking her in the neck.

“Fuck! Curie!” Soul quickly grabbed her by the waist, pulling her down under the cover of the walls before another shot could be taken. “Shit... shit...” They hissed, quickly applying pressure to the wound.

“I-I ave’ been shot...” Curie gasped. Suddenly she was feeling a range of new emotions she had never felt before. So many that she couldn’t even make a mental note of them.

“It’s gonna be okay... just... Curie tell me what to do.” Sole practically begged as they cradled Curie. They knew whoever had taken that shot was still outside the diner. But right now all they could think about was how much blood was currently pouring out of the bullet wound.

Curie was trying to take deep and slow breaths. She knew that were she to panic as well both of their lives would be at risk.

“You must- you must make us safe, no?” Curie looked into Soles eyes, her own filling with tears. “P-put my and’ on the wound... I will ave’ to keep pressure on eet until we are safe.”

Sole did as Curie instructed. They laid her down, taking one of her hands and placing it over the wound. “Just hold tight okay Curie... I’m gonna kill that bastard and then we’re gonna get you sorted.” Sole assured before they moved away from Curie, to draw any more fire away from her.

It was funny. As she laid there Curie felt peaceful. She knew that she had been shot in a very dangerous spot, and by the amount of blood she had lost she was well aware this could be it. Her life could very well be ending.

She had completely zoned out from the sound of gunfire. She forgot Sole was even there trying to kill whoever had shot her. This was what death felt like? Surely not? Curie had always heard people speak of death in such a negative way. Yet as she lay here she couldn’t help but feel happy.

Curie allowed her eyes to close. Memories running through her mind. A specific one was sticking out. And she didn’t hesitate to allow herself to relive it.

‘Curie! Curie!’ Sole called out, a cheery smile on their face as they entered her new laboratory. ‘Look at what I found for ya.’

Curie let out a gasp of disbelief as she looked at what Sole was holding in their hand. ‘It eez a vault tec Bobble Head?’ She couldn’t hardly believe her eyes.

‘Yeah but look!’ Sole grinned as they pointed to the labcoat the little figure was wearing. ‘It’s a medicine one... I thought you’d like it for you desk.’

A gift? For her? Curie had never received a gift before. And she could hardly hold back her happiness as she took the small figure into her hands

‘Thank you my friend.’ She breathed as she looked up at Sole.

“Curie! Curie!”

Suddenly Curies eyes shot open. She was no longer stood in her laboratory with her friend. She was laying on the hard floor, bleeding out.

“God... Curie don’t close your eyes... please.” Sole begged as they once again took over placing pressure on Curies wound. “We’re safe now yeah- I killed them.” Sole assured.

Curie managed a faint smile. “We are safe.” She agreed, her eyes meeting Soles. Such kind eyes they had. “I don’t believe zhe bullet as’ it’ a major artery...” She breathed. “Otherwise I would not ave’ woken up from that dream. You must patch me up my friend. And zen we may return home, yes?”

Piper: Piper couldn’t help but grin as her and Sole walked along. They were doing one of her favourite activities, following a distress signal.

Understandable this seemed rather odd to be a favoured activity. But Piper couldn’t help it. A distress signal meant one of two things: they were going to save someone or they were going to be too late but there would be a decent news story about what had happened.

She was just glad it was her and Sole out on the road together, following the beep of the signal.

“You know, I don’t think we’ve ever headed this far north before Blue.” Piper commented as she glanced around her. She didn’t recognise this area. This was exciting. Somewhere new!

Sole nodded their head in agreement, matching Pipers grin. “You know I think you may be right Miss Reporter.” They teased, giving her a playful nudge as they continued on their way.

Piper rolled her eyes. Yeah yeah. Back at it with the Miss Reporter. That was something Blue had got into a habit of calling her when she stated the obvious. It was all in good jest of course. She wasn’t really annoyed. In fact ninety five percent of the time she would go along with the joke.

“I’m willing to bet a night of drinks at the Dugout that the signal is coming from over there.” Piper joked as she pointed towards a stretch of the highway that had been turned into a rather rough looking settlement. It was surrounded by cars and trucks, looked pretty fortified from where they were standing.

Sole chuckled and nodded. “You know what Miss Reporter. I think you’re right.” They teased, giving Piper yet another nudge as they walked towards the settlement.

As the duo approached the settlement it seemed as though it was empty. There wasn’t any sign of people, ghouls or mutants. Not even a Bloatfly buzzing around. Strange. But not out of the realms of possibility.

“Maybe whoever it is got lost out here.” Sole commented as they checked the map on their PipBoy. “We’re pretty far out from anywhere. I know a few Minutemen are stationed close by- but if you didn’t know that I guess you’d assume you were all alone.”

Pipers eyebrows raised. She was impressed. Very impressed. Sole wasn’t usually this good at coming up with theories. They usually left that job to her.

“Well Blue... I reckon you might be on to something here.” Piper nodded her head in agreement.

They were getting closer now. There was still no signs of anyone. It was quiet as well. Sole was starting to doubt that whoever had set up the distesss signal was even still out here. It did seem a bit odd but they shrugged that feeling off.

The closer they got the louder the beep got. The distesss signal was definitely coming from one of the shacks situated out here. There was no doubt in either Sole or Pipers mind about that. They had definitely found the right place.

“Blue. I don’t think anyone is out here.” Piper mumbled, slightly disappointed in the outcome. She had been hoping for either a wastelander in need or rescue or at least something interesting she could make a note of. “Damn it, we really walked all this way out here for nothing?”

Sole frowned and nodded their head. “Yeah I think-.”

“STUPID PUNY HUMANS!” A mutant roared as they suddenly came barging out one of the shacks.

Well. This was going to be more exciting than finding nothing at least? That’s whag Piper was thinking to herself in that moment.

“Shit! Mutants! Duck down!” Piper called to Blue.

The duo dived behind seperate cars. It was the only cover they had from the onslaught of bullets the mutant was currently firing at them.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” Sole shouted over to Piper, an excited grin spread across their lips. “At least we didn’t walk all this way for nothing now, huh?!”

Piper shook her head. “Oh shut up and start shooting! I can hear more of them... if we don’t hurry up they’re gonna slaughter us!” Even though she was trying desperately to hide it, she was just as excited as Sole.

Piper had been right. There was at least five super mutants shooting at the two of them now. It was a good thing these pea for brains had terrible aim the reporter thought to herself.

What happened next neither of them had expected. One of the mutants had ran over, live bomb in hand. And just before it reached them it’s bomb had gone off. But this set off a series of events. The first being the car Piper had been using for cover also exploding, there had been a mine inside of it. The next thing to happen was the car explosion then setting off a series of mines.

The next thing Piper knew was she was laying in the dirt, caked in blood and grime, staring up at the sky. She couldn’t hear anything. Her ears were ringing. Holy shit. What had just happened?

Piper tried to push herself up, but to no avail. “My legs... I- Blue my legs! I can’t feel them!” Piper screamed. Though she couldn’t even hear herself. Her hearing was muffled. Her lower body numb. Fuck.

Where was Blue? Piper frantically turned her head, trying to catch sight of her friend. But nothing. All she could see was smoke and dust from the explosions. Was she still where she had originally been when hiding? Had the blast been strong enough to send her flying.

Piper began to panic. She couldn’t see Blue. They were dead. The explosion must have killed them. And now the mutants were going to come over and finish her off. Oh god. Poor Nat. She was never going to see her big sister again. She was going to have to fend for herself, the same way Piper had done when their dad had died. No. No! This was cruel. This wasn’t fair.

Just as Piper was ready to cry out for help something grabbed her collar. Fuck. She was being dragged through the dirt. Who the fuck was dragging her? Was it a mutant. Was she being taken by mutants?

Piper dug her hands into the ground. All she could hear was ringing but that didn’t stop her from shouting. “No! No! Blue! Blue help!” She cried out. Trying her hardest to fight against whatever was dragging her along.

Suddenly the dragging stoped, her back was pressed against sometbing metal. She looked up to see the familiar shape of a car. Only difference was this was smouldering and falling apart. Must have been the one that exploded. She couldn’t help but think how mutants had a sick sense of humour.

It was when Piper looked up some hope returned to her. It hadn’t been a mutant dragging her away. It had been Blue pulling her to cover. Oh Blue. She shouldn’t have doubted them.

Good news was her hearing was slowly coming back. She could hear gunshots as she watched Blue shooting from behind cover. They were still fighting. Still trying to save her. She couldn’t help the helpless feeling she had right now. But she knew Blue would do everything they could to keep her safe.

Sole suddenly slumped down, letting out some deep breaths. “That was the last of them.” They breathed, running a hand through their hair.

Just like Piper Sole was covered in dirt and blood. The explosion had been enough to knock them back, but Piper had been at the epicentre. It was a miracle she hadn’t been blown to pieces.

Sole looked at Piper, moving slightly so they could assess her injuries. Fuck she was in pretty bad shape. Her legs seemed to have taken the brunt of the injuries.

“Hold on Pipes... Im Gonna set off a flare.” Sole mumbled as they pulled out the flare gun Preston had given them. They knew there was minutemen in the area. Which meant help would be on the way.

Piper winced as Sole shot the flare up. Wait. That was good. She heard the flare. She wasn’t deaf. “Fuck- Blue.” Piper gasped. Now the initial shock was over she couldn’t suddenly feel the extent of her injuries.

Sole rummaged in their pack, pulling out a Stimpack. “Hold still.” They mumbled softly before injecting Piper. “Help will be on its way okay? We’ll get you straight to a doctor.”

Piper looked up at Blue, tears in her eyes. “Blue... Blue I can’t feel my legs.” She sobbed, the realisation hitting her that this very well could be permanent. “Why can’t I feel my legs? Are they still there?” She hadn’t even looked at them yet. She was too scared. And it was showing.

Sole nodded, moving their hands to her cheeks. “Don’t worry Piper... theyre still there okay? It’s going to be okay.”

Piper nodded slowly, letting out cry of pain as she lifted her hands. Oh god. Her hands. They were... well... they were barely there anymore. She’d lost half of her fingers and she hadn’t even realised. “Oh God Blue... we should have never come out here.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 18)

Azula had blown it. She had gone there to track them down and came away with nothing but heartbreak and repressed memories. She curls up on the bed and wonders how long it will take before they tire of her. Before they finally stop coddling her and demand that she gets on with her life. When they will tell her to get a job and stop taking up space in their infirmary.

And yet she can’t get herself out of bed. Fresh out of fury for revenge, she has no reason to do so. Nobody to get up for and, by Agni, she doesn’t want to get close to anyone. Not ever again. Not when they will be taken from her or grow to resent her upon finding out who she is. Hajime and Atsu were rare gems, she can’t imagine that she will come by anyone else who would be willing to accept her. She isn’t sure that she wants them to.

She knows for certain that they have no more compassion or patience for her a few days later when they inform her that they need bed space for several new patients. When they offer her only shrugs and pitying looks when she asks where she can go.

Life becomes so terribly unbearable after that. It was hard to cope with before.

Now, people don’t even look at her. They go out of their way to pretend not to see the pathetic, shivering, dirty woman asking for a place to stay or something to eat. They put an effort into taking no notice of the ratty woman infested in body with lice and in spirit with survivors guilt.

With any luck, she won’t be a survivor for long. There is only so much a survivor can survive before the instinct burns out.

There is just enough of a flicker of that instinct for her to seek out a job, a way to make some coin. But the people of Chin know her too well already; they know that she is crazed and dirty. They have no interest in working with someone who’d earned a reputation for hallucinating a healthy pregnancy.

She still feels the kicks.  She still hears the cries. She now knows...accepts that they aren’t real. But she still covers her ears.

They avoid her with all of the effort they put into avoiding those afflicted with disease. That is the company Azula keeps now. On occasion she talks to the lepers and those with smallpox. She keeps her distance mostly conversing from the opposite end of the alley, though she doesn’t particularly care if she falls ill herself.

They are nice enough but she doesn’t get attached; their time is short.

Go-Hara is her favorite among them. Her face is swollen and bumpy, her hands puffy and disfigured. She has less time than the rest of them. Allegedly, she has been afflicted with leprosy since early teenhood.

Not a soul has spoken to Go-Hara, so she claimed, not until her. “You’re not afraid?”  She had asked.

“Not at all.”

“I am a monster.” The woman had brought those puffy hands to her lumpy face.

“No more than me.” Azula had declared, though her rot and ugliness comes entirely from within.

Go-Hara had laughed, hoarse and unpleasant, more like a death rattle than a chuckle. Right after Atsu’s screams and Hajime’s last breath, it is the worst sound she has ever heard. “Pretty girl, you are. Pretty face…”

“So what?”

She laughed again.

“I’m not afraid of monsters because I’m one of them.” She had thought of Hajime of how he’d always reassured her whenever the doubts had crept in. She hurt all over again, thrice over.

“You don’t fear the disease?”

“I wish it would take me.” She had said. Azula knew that Go-Hara was worth speaking to when the woman laughed at this too. She still isn’t sure of exactly what was so funny about her death wish.

Today, she sits at the other end of the alley and tosses Go-Hara one of the mangos she had snatched from one of the traveling merchants. “Come closer.” Azula demands.

“I will not.” Go-Hara says again. Azula is still leprosy free and to no credit of her own. Go-Hara avoids close proximity with her as though she is the leper and not the other way around. The woman bites into the mago. “Very good. Thank you.”

Azula nods. Sometimes it is a silent day, they will just sit at opposite ends of the alley and enjoy having the company. When Azula finds herself staring up at the sky she knows that today is a silent day.

That is fine with her, she doesn’t have much to say anyways. But apparently, Go-Hara has different intentions. “Can I tell you about my family before they abandoned me?”

“Go ahead.” She is a seasoned listener after enduring so many after work dinners with old man Ojihara. It dawns upon her that she misses his irrelevant boyhood tales. “Please, go ahead.”

And Go-Hara does. It is very different from Ojihara’s tales. The old man was all logic and lessons--each of his tales ended with some sort of cautionary lesson; don’t go hippo-cow tipping because it isn’t as funny and lighthearted as many young folk think it is, stealing possum-chicken isn’t a funny prank either.

Go-Hara’s stories are all whimsical and nonsensical. Oftentimes they have no point and Azula wonders if they really happened at all. She supposes that, that is why she enjoys them so well.

Sometimes it is nice to hear about something so absurd that it has to be true despite such surreal overtones. She can very easily see a pre-teen Go-Hara making her way into a badger-mole den and causing a stampede of singing gophers.  

“Your turn!” She declares when her story is through.

“My turn?”

“Humor me. Tell an old woman a story. It doesn’t even have to be true.”

And because her time is so short anyways, Azula tells her a story. She tells her a story about a fire princess who could have been something remarkable.   Go-Hara mentions it to no one else. Azula hadn’t expected her to.

That day she learns that some of the best people are the shunned people.

.oOo.

Sokka isn’t sure what to make of it. He has been analyzing and overthinking their conversation for hours now. He is almost certain that she had implied, several times, that she is in love with him, or at the very least, that she is getting there.

And he thinks that, that is a fragile place to be with her.

He finds her in the garden again. He is fairly certain that she is just out there to be out there, he can’t imagine that the seeds would have sprouted that fast even with the palace’s rich soil.

“Hey.” He greets.

Azula turns her head. “You’re up early.”

He shrugs. “I get the prettiest views in the morning.”

“You’re welcome.” Azula replies.

“I was talking about the--”

“Princess of the Fire Nation?” She interrupts. “I know.”

He laughs, he is glad to find her in better spirits. Her gaze is fixed upon the gold-blue of the sunrise as it throws shadows over the garden. “We should add strawberries to the garden.”

“Strawberries?” She quirks a brow. “Next to the turnips? Sokka, that make no sense.”

“It’s your garden, you can arrange it how you want to.”

“Yes.” Azula agrees. “And I would like to keep the fruits with the fruits and the vegetables with the vegetables.”

“Or you can spice it up and lay it out in a fruit, vegetable pattern.”

Azula shakes her head. “I know that there aren’t any crops in the tribes but I think that it is common sense, that the fruits and vegetables are kept separately.”

“Can you say that with confidence?”

Azula nods. “I’ve traveled to various parts of the Earth Kingdom and have passed many farms. Not one of them arranged their crops in a fruit, vegetable pattern. It is because they know that that’s a ridiculous idea.” She adds for good measure.

“Alright fine, we’ll put the strawberries all the way on the other side of the palace. Happy?”

Azula shakes her head, “that is too much unnecessary walking. Optimally the strawberries would be placed…”

He had forgotten how carefully she likes to lay out every detail. How concise even some of the most trivial things must be. But then he might not have truly know that to begin with, he has only heard Zuko mention it on occasion.

“And that’s why it’s important to keep the strawberries near the watermelons.”

He flushes, realizing that he hadn’t been listening at all. Though he isn’t entirely confident that strawberries and watermelons have the same growing season. “Azula, can you answer something honestly?”

She nods.

“Do you even know what you’re talking about?”

She thinks for a moment. “Not entirely. Seukhyun usually helped me with my gardens. I can’t quite remember everything he was trying to tell me about it.” She pauses. “I suppose I can ask the palace gardner…”

“Or we can figure it out together through trial and error. Don’t you think that, that would be funner.”

.oOo.

She supposes that it could be. She’d had a nice time the last few times that he’d taken her somewhere new. Spontaneity isn’t exactly her first choice but it has its merits. “That’s a strange way of asking if you have permission to plant your strawberries next to my turnips.”

He bursts out laughing again. The sort of barking laugh that includes holding his hands to his belly until the fit passes. He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. She didn’t think it was that funny. “So is that a yes?”

Azula sighs, “fine. But only because I can shift the blame to you if my turnips don’t turn out well.”

It is quite therapeutic to do garden work. She thinks that if they had let her give it a try at the institution that she might have received it better. But then, she wasn’t exactly ready for something like that then. At that point, gardening was still entirely a peasant’s work. She supposes that it kind of still is. And she knows it by the curious looks she is given throughout the day, particularly when she re-enters the palace with muddy pants and dirt smudged hands and cheeks.

“New hobby?” Zuko asks.

Azula nods.

“I remember when you were burning things in the palace garden for being ugly.”

“My garden is going to be too pretty to set on fire.” She declares. “I have come inside for lunch and tea.”

“It’s almost ready.” Zuko smiles.

“Where are Mai and TyLee?”

“They went for a stroll around the capital. Where’d Sokka go off to?”

“He’s on his way inside.”

“You’ve gotten...close.” He notes.

“Yes.” She replies. “What of it?”

.oOo.

He shrugs as he sets out a few teacups, “I guess that it’s just nice to see that you’re making friends. It’s just…” he trails off. It’s strange. Surreal. Unexpected among other things. It isn’t the bad sort of strange and unexpected, not that he can see. In fact it is very much a relief to know that he won’t have to listen to constant bickering and mediate between she and everyone else.

Generally, she seems like she is doing significantly better.

“Did you finish reading it?”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots. “Almost.” He replies. Truth be told he has been hesitating to finish reading the journal. He knows already what is going to happen, he just isn’t ready for it. Doesn’t want to know the details and the how’s. Atsu is...was a sweet boy and he doesn’t want to flip the page only to find that he has died.

Agni, if he can’t even read it… He looks at his sister. At the scars on her neck and the very subtle bags under her eyes. He can’t even begin to fathom it.

She takes her teacup and cradles it in her hands the way she always had since they were kids. Sokka walks into the room and suddenly her eyes don’t seem so weary and tired. “I’m glad that you’re doing better.” He says finally.

Azula nods, “thank you.”

Sokka comes to stand in front of her, “you got dirt all over your face!” He declares boldly. “Let me just…”

She takes one look at his hands and grumbles, “Sokka, don’t you dare.”

Despite her protests, Sokka rubs the dirt from her cheek. By rubs, Zuko meant smears. He doesn’t just smear the dirt, Zuko thinks that he has added more to. His suspicions are confirmed at the crinkling of Azula’s nose.

“Zuzu, come here.”

Zuko steps closer. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he was expecting. She takes his sleeve, his lavish Fire Lord regalia and rubs her cheek clean. “Better, thank you.” She remarks.

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 20: Time Discovers Truth

Chapter 19

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Claire stood over Brianna’s cot, watching her chest rise and fall. She had no idea how she was supposed to sleep. She reached in and ever so gently rubbed her finger down her little cheek. She was so warm, so soft, so alive. She still hadn’t gotten used to her baby being warm to the touch.

Faith had been ice cold.

Even knowing Brianna was alive, she’d still half expected her to be cold. Hell, she’d expected her to be dead. Her warmth, her life, was a gift. One that she thanked God for every single day, every time she looked at her. 

But now…was she doomed to feel only fear and panic whenever she looked at her? The first weeks were disbelief, gratitude, and unconditional love. Would that forever be replaced with the constant thought of losing her?

Claire knew that epilepsy was quite treatable; epileptics often lived mostly normal lives. But that was in the year 1945. What was she to expect in this time? If her baby had had a seizure in 1945, she’d have rushed her to a hospital, they’d hook her up to machines, scan her brain, monitor her vitals all night. They’d know exactly what part of the brain was being affected, they’d be able to tell her if she’d grow out of it, perhaps give her pills when she was older. The best she could do for her in this time was herbs and constant monitoring. Children in this time died every day of things that were perfectly treatable in 1945.

How could she live with herself knowing that Brianna could have been born in that time, could have had access to the things she needed? Hell, she could have even not developed epilepsy to begin with. The birth likely would not have been nearly as deadly. Jamie had said, when the time comes, to promise him she’d go back. Well, the time had come, and she hadn’t gone back.

Part of her told herself that if Jamie hadn’t been so bullheaded and hadn’t fought at Culloden, if they’d fled together to live the rest of their lives in peace, they’d still be in this time. Brianna’s birth would have been just as terrible. So what truly should have been the catalyst to her going back? Jamie’s death, or the birth of her child? If Jamie hadn’t fought or had survived, and he eventually learned of her pregnancy, would his concern for their health have made him send them back anyway?

The fact of the matter was it was something they’d never gotten the chance to discuss. And either way, it was too late. Brianna was here, and she was sick, and Claire had to do something.

But what?

Claire covered her mouth to stifle a sob, so as to not wake her sleeping baby. She exhaled deeply, shakily. “Oh, my little girl,” she sighed. “What am I going to do?”

Just then, the door opened. “I thought I’d find ye like this.”

Claire finally looked up from the cot to see Jenny in the doorway.

“How is she?”

“She’s…she’s fine right now,” Claire said. “Her breathing is normal, her pulse is normal. She seemed a bit anxious when I last fed her but it’s…it’s normal to feel disoriented. After.”

Jenny nodded. “Ye ken about these…seizures?”

“Yes.”

“Will it happen again?”

“Most likely, yes.”

“There’s no way to stop it.”

Claire sighed, defeated, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, there isn’t. Not here.”

“What do ye mean?”

“Never mind,” Claire said quickly. Jenny crossed the room to join Claire beside the cot.

“She’s a beautiful sleeper, is she no’?” Jenny said, smiling down at her.

“Yes, she is.” Claire covered her mouth again, but Jenny caught her.

“Claire…” Jenny put her hands on her shoulders. “Ye said to Fergus yerself that…that it just happened. That it wasna anybody’s fault. Including yers.”

“But it is…it is my fault…” Claire’s voice faltered. “My body was unable to birth her properly. That’s what caused this…the same way my body couldn’t birth Faith…”

“Claire…”

“Perhaps I’m just…broken…” Claire sobbed. “I’m just…not meant to — ”

“Stop that right now, do ye hear me?” Jenny squeezed her shoulders firmly. “Ye lost yer wee Faith, God rest her poor soul. But Brianna is still wi’ us. And I won’t have ye talking of her as if she isn’t.”

“But if she has another seizure for that long, this young…her brain could just…turn to mush…” Claire wept, suddenly feeling nauseous. “She could be handicapped for her entire life. Because I couldn’t…because I didn’t…”

“That’s enough,” Jenny said firmly, but she pulled her quickly into a warm embrace. She held her as she cried into her shoulder.

“I let this happen…I let this happen…” she murmured, over and over.

Jenny hushed her, and soothed her, stroked her head, rubbed her back, but there was no consoling her. Jenny gently guided her to sit on the bed.

“How could ye have let it happen?” Jenny said, standing in front of her, hands on her shoulders. “You yourself took great care while ye carried her. Every precaution. Remember? Ye did everything ye could.”

“It wasn’t enough…I should have…I should…”

“You should have what, Claire?”

“I should have kept my promise!” she wailed.

Jenny processed for a moment. “Yer promise…to Jamie. The one ye told me about.” Claire nodded. “What do ye mean? How could that have changed anything?” Claire shook her head, wiped her face, and rubbed her eyes. “Tell me what ye promised, sister. Help me understand, I want to understand.”

Claire looked up into her eyes. She was genuine, she always was. Claire trusted Jenny with her life; she had even before she quite literally saved her life. In her eyes was all the care, fret, and love in the world for her, her sister. But though Jenny cast a warm light on those she trusted, she cast a cold shadow over those she didn’t trust. Claire had seen how it could be when she herself had yet to land in Jenny’s good graces. Jenny was deeply religious, superstitious. If she even believed her, who was to say she wouldn’t cast her aside, brand her as a witch, be terrified of her, never trust her again?

“Do ye hear me, Claire?”

Claire sighed. If Jamie were here, he’d want to tell her. He’d think that she deserved to know. And he would be right. She did deserve to know.

“Can you…can you check on her, please?” Claire said, her voice raspy. She cleared her throat. “Just…make sure she’s breathing alright.”

Jenny nodded and walked over to the cot, peering inside. “Aye. She’s braw.” She reached in and gave her head a tender stroke before looking up at Claire.

“I want you to understand, Jenny,” Claire said, wringing her hands. “But in order to do that I…I have to tell you something. Something that I haven’t told a single soul except for Jamie. Then he told Murtagh, with my permission.”

Jenny gave her a puzzled look and made her way back to the bed, sitting down beside her.

“You…you have to promise me that you’ll listen and let me fully explain everything.”

Jenny’s face was growing more and more troubled by the second, but she nodded. “I promise.”

“And just…remember that Jamie trusted me, totally and completely. He believed me and accepted it. He trusted me.”

“Alright.”

Exhaling deeply, Claire sat down beside Jenny. “Do you remember when I told you to plant potatoes? And you said that…Jamie told you I would tell you things?”

“Aye.”

“I told you to plant potatoes because I knew there would be a famine in Scotland, and I knew there would be a great deal of suffering because of the Jacobite uprising. I…I knew that the Battle of Culloden would happen. I knew your tartans and your books would be taken away.” Jenny said nothing. “I…I knew all of it because…I’m not…from this time.” Jenny’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “I was born on October twentieth in the year 1918. Two hundred years from now.” Jenny looked away, bewildered, fixing her gaze on the floor. “I was on holiday in Inverness in the year 1945, and I came upon the standing stones at Craigh Na Dun. When I touched the stone…I fell through time.”

Claire paused to let her process, and Jenny kept her gaze on the ground. “Yer telling me yer…from the future.”

“Yes. Believe me, I know how it sounds. But it’s true. I swear it on the life of my child.” Jenny’s face whipped up at that, incredulous and horrified. “You know I wouldn't say that lightly.”

Jenny stood up and paced away from the bed. “At Cranesmuir…the trial…”

“I’m not a witch,” Claire interjected, desperate, pleading. “I swear that’s not what this is, Jenny. Jamie asked me the same thing right afterwards, and that’s the day I told him the truth. I have a scar on my arm that they thought to be the Devil’s mark. It’s called a vaccine. It’s for smallpox. In my time vaccines make it so that you can’t contract certain diseases. So when he asked about it I told him.”

Claire pulled down her shift from the collar, revealing the small scar on her shoulder. Jenny stared silently at the mark, her eyes widening with horror.

She doesn’t believe me. She’s going to start screaming “Witch” any second. She doesn’t believe me.

“I fell through the stones by accident,” Claire continued desperately. “I didn’t do anything to make it happen, I didn’t conjure anything, because I’m not a witch. I was just…in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or perhaps the right place at the right time.” Claire smiled in spite of her uneasiness, trying to use her and Jamie’s love to put Jenny’s mind at ease. “I’ve come to think of it as the latter. Jamie…that day…he took me back to the stones. He…was prepared to let me go. To send me back to my time. He loved me so much that he was prepared to let me go. But I…I couldn’t leave him.”

Jenny was unreadable.

“I…I gave up everything to be with him. I…I had a husband in 1945.” She held up her left hand, showing the gold band. “I spent so long trying to get back to him that I hadn’t even realized that I’d fallen in love with Jamie. Until he let me make the choice between the two of them and I…I had to choose Jamie. I gave up my entire life to stay here with him. And he…he accepted me for who I was, even if he couldn’t understand it.” Claire waited for her to say something, but she still wouldn’t.

“Jenny, please say something…I don’t know what else to say…I had to tell you. Jamie was the love of my life, but you are my sister. The closest friend I’ve ever had. I owe you my life and the life of my child. I trust you so deeply, and I love you so much.” Claire stood up and stepped toward her. “Please.”

Jenny put her hands on her hips. “Well…it does explain a lot.”

“Do…you believe me?”

Jenny sighed and finally looked up at her. “I don’t want to. My head is screaming at me not to.” Claire swallowed thickly. “But my heart is telling me I should.”

“I would never, ever lie to you Jenny.”

“Well apparently ye have been.”

“I’m sorry…truly…but it was so complicated, and I didn’t want to frighten you or make you think I was a witch…but you’ve become this enormous part of my life. I couldn’t hide it from you anymore.” Jenny swallowed, and Claire continued. “What reason would I have to make this up? And you know me Jenny. If I were a witch don’t you think you would have seen by now? Don’t you think I…I would never have let anything happen to Faith, or Jamie, or Brianna?”

“The fits she’s having…”

“Not the work of the Devil. Jenny please…” Claire was starting to panic. “They’re not…my fault.” Claire’s voice broke. Of course they were her fault; they were the result of a bad delivery. But it’s not like she wanted it to happen. “It’s common for people to think that, but in my time we know them to be called seizures, a symptom of a disease called epilepsy. It’s just a dysfunction of the brain, it has no supernatural cause.” Jenny looked away again. “Jenny, please! You know me! How could you possibly think I would inflict harm on my child? On Jamie’s child?”

“Ye’re standing there swearing on the life of yer child!” Jenny shouted. “What would ye like me to make of that?”

“That I’m telling the truth,” Claire pleaded, stepping closer to her. “You know me, Jenny. Jamie knew me. I’m not…evil. You have to believe at least that.”

Jenny looked up at her again, assessing her for a moment. “No…I ken that, at least.”

Claire sighed with relief. “Then you believe I’m not a witch in league with the Devil.”

Jenny’s jaw hardened, but she relented. “Yes, I believe ye. Against all better judgment I believe ye.”

“You once said to me that love forces a person to choose. That it makes you do things you never thought you could do before. You said that of the love we both bore your brother. Surely the same applies for the love you bear your sister?”

Jenny sighed, looking at the ceiling as she did so, and then returned her eyes to Claire. “Aye. It does.”

“Thank you, Jenny, thank you…”

She went to embrace her, but Jenny took a step back. “Not…just yet.”

Claire stiffened and straightened. “Yes…I…I’m sorry.”

“My brother loved ye more than I’ve ever seen a man love a woman,” Jenny began. “It’d be easy enough to say ye’d bewitched him. But I ken my brother. He was pig headed and stubborn…but he was a good man. Honorable. The love he bore you was the purest I’d ever seen.” Silent tears slipped out of Claire’s eyes. “He knew in his heart that ye were a good woman, even after ye told him all this madness. Now we didn’t always agree…but if Jamie trusted someone then they were pretty damned special. And I knew that. I tried my hardest not to like you when ye showed up that first time at Lallybroch. But I knew. It wasna long before I’d grown to trust ye fer myself and no’ fer my brother. I started to see fer myself how ye were special.” Jenny seemed to be blinking back tears. “Now, I love you, Claire. I do. And no’ because yer my brother’s wife. That’s part of it, o’ course, but I love you now separate from all that. I love you because ye’re my sister. And I believe ye. But I canna help but feel as if I’ve been betrayed.”

“Jenny, I’m so sorry…truly. I wanted to tell you sooner, but it just never seemed like the right time. I promise you, no more secrets.”

“Swear to me, Claire. Nothing but the truth between us ever again. From you as well as from me.”

“I swear, Jenny. On everything I hold dear, I swear. Nothing but the truth. No secrets.”

Jenny nodded curtly. “Good.”

Claire smiled weakly, then strengthened her resolve again. “There’s…one more thing.” Claire sat down on the bed again, knowing this would be too difficult to talk about standing. Jenny didn’t move. “The promise I made Jamie. Remember before Brianna was born, I told you that being pregnant was a…a caveat of that promise.”

“Aye, I remember.”

“That promise…Jamie made me promise that if the time ever came that I…that I would go back through the stones. To my own time. Back to…my first husband. He said he wanted me to be able to go back to a man that loved me. He wanted to know I’d be cared for. At Culloden, I was afraid he would ask that of me. But he didn’t. He said he wanted me to…to take care of Fergus, and you.” Her voice broke as she looked up at Jenny. “For us to find…peace in each other. He wanted me to watch his nieces and nephews grow, to watch his namesake grow into his role as Laird.” Jenny’s eyes were teary as well. “But I knew…he would change his mind if he knew I was with child. The way the last birth had been…pregnancy is incredibly dangerous for me now, but it’s a danger that could be nearly eliminated if I was in my own time, with modern medicine. But I…I didn’t want to go. If he’d survived the battle, and I’d gone back…I’d never see him again. And even if he…didn’t.” She took a shuddery breath. “Lallybroch was my home. I couldn’t leave Fergus, I couldn’t leave you, Jamie’s family. So I…didn’t tell him about the baby. 

“And maybe I should have. Perhaps I should have wanted to go back. Brianna’s birth would have been almost painless, we never would have come as close to death as we did. She likely wouldn't have seizures, and even if she did, there would be doctors to help her. When I was laying there giving birth to Brianna, feeling my life…slipping away from me, so certain that she was already dead…I regretted it, so terribly. I felt guilty when we spoke of it before she was born…but in that moment I felt like the most horrible, selfish, wicked woman.” She paused to wipe the tears off her face. “Every day I’m…haunted by the thought of him watching me suffer that birth, watching Brianna suffer as she is now…and knowing that it’s because I lied to him.”

Claire covered her face with her hands, resting her elbows on her knees. Jenny finally moved, crossing to the bed and sitting down beside her. “I canna say if ye would have been better off in yer own time. Though, if I’d have known back when ye were in labor and I was pulling the bairn out of ye myself, I think I’d have thought so. But Claire…” Jenny put a hand on her back. “Having ye here…having the bairn here…it’s like having my brother wi’ me still. And I ken what I said, I love you separate from being my brother’s wife. That’s still true. It’s just…I canna imagine losing ye both at once. You…you’d be lost to us forever if ye’d…gone back. Right?”

“Yes,” Claire said, moving her hands from her face to under her chin.

“Well then…consider me a horrible, selfish, wicked woman myself.” Claire turned her head to look at her. “If it were up to me I wouldnae let him send ye back. The birth could have killed ye both, I ken that well enough. But if there was even a chance that ye’d both survive, which clearly there was, I wouldnae let ye go back. Pig headed brother be damned.” Claire smiled tearily at this. “I’m…I’m glad ye didna tell him. Lallybroch needs you. Fergus needs you. And…as much as I didna ken it at the time, I needed a sister.”

Fresh tears sprang from Claire’s eyes. “Can I…hug you now?”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Come here, ye great weepy fool.” Claire sat up straight and pulled Jenny into a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” Claire whispered. “Thank you, Jenny.”

Jenny sighed. “I always kent my brother would give me grey hairs early on,” she said. “But ye’ve certainly done a fine job taking his place in that task.” Claire chuckled, pulling away so she could look at her. “Are ye planning on telling Ian?” Jenny said, cocking an eyebrow.

“I was. I wanted to tell you first, but he should know, too.” Jenny nodded. “You can tell him, if you’d like.”

“I will, then.” Jenny glanced over at the cot. “Will ye ever tell Brianna?”

Claire followed her gaze, smiling at the sight of that bright red hair, the only thing clearly visible among the bundle of white blankets. “I will someday. When she’s old enough to understand.”

“Would ye…would ye consider taking her back wi’ ye, to see yer fancy healers?” Jenny said, keeping her gaze on Brianna.

Claire’s brows furrowed in thought. “I…I hadn’t thought about it. I’m not even sure if she could do it. I don’t…know how it works.”

“But if ye knew she could, and she needed to, fer her health. Would ye?”

Claire’s heart was being pulled in two directions, but she knew the answer. “If I knew her life was in danger, and that was the only solution, then yes.” They both kept staring at her. “But like I said…I don’t know if it’s possible.

“Right,” Jenny said, finally turning back to Claire. “I dinna ken why I asked. Maybe I…” Her voice trailed off.

“What?” Claire asked, looking at her.

“I don’t want ye to feel like yer trapped here. I ken what I said about needing ye here, and by God it is true. But if…Heaven forbid,” Jenny crossed herself. “The lass were dying, I’d want ye to take her away from here. Even if…even if it meant I’d never see either of you again.”

“Oh, Jenny.” Claire pulled her into another embrace. Claire was reminded of how Jamie had, too, been prepared to let her go, her and their child. She’d been carrying Faith when he’d made her promise. He’d have watched them both go through the stones, never to be seen again, if it would have saved their lives. And now Jenny pledged the same.

Frasers and their damnable honor.

Claire released Jenny and returned to Brianna’s side.

“Are ye goin’ tae sleep standing up, then?” Jenny said.

“I don’t think I’ll sleep at all,” Claire admitted. “I don’t think I should. After a seizure, breathing and pulse should be constantly monitored.”

“Then show me how to do it, and you can sleep.”

“Jenny, you have your own young children. You need your rest as much as I do.”

“Then we’ll take shifts. Same as we did when we were watching over you on yer deathbed. I’ll go first, then I’ll get Ian, then he’ll wake ye up and ye can watch her in the wee hours of the morning. And if anything happens before then, someone will wake ye.”

Claire smiled. “You’d do that? You and Ian?”

“Ye’re family. Both of you. I’ll go fetch Ian.” Without another word, Jenny was off.

Claire bent down and pressed her lips to Brianna’s soft, warm head.

“She’ll be alright, Jamie,” she whispered. “I swear to you. I will do anything to make sure that your daughter is alright.”

Then suddenly, as if in a dream, a little smile appeared on Brianna’s sleeping face. Claire’s heart nearly stopped. A single tear tear trickled down her cheek as she captured this moment in her memory and her heart forever. She knew full well that babies did not smile out of joy until after the first few months of their life, so there was only one other explanation.

“Hello, Jamie,” she whispered reverently, knowing in the very depth of her soul that he could hear her, because he was here with them, right now.

[honeymoonjin]

ten - ot7 x reader fluff

A/N: the final part to our numbers trilogy! Read the first part here - Seven, and the second part here - Eight. 1.9k. (i’m boo boo the fool and wrote this whole thing before realizing that i couldn’t call it ‘nine’ anymore oops) Life changes now that you and your seven boyfriends are parents.

---

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

Beaming down at the sleeping new-born in your arms, you can’t help but agree with Hoseok. After an excruciatingly long labor and a couple of days in hospital, you had returned home and spent the next week and a half in new-parent bliss with the boys.

The past nine months had been full of trials and tribulations. Seeing the boys anywhere outside the dorm became impossible as countless emergency meetings were scheduled on whether BigHit should let the public know you were pregnant. The thought even came up that you should get a paternity test for your baby so that only the ‘real’ father would be publicly known as the dad.

You cringe thinking back to that meeting. Hoseok had gotten all quiet and scared at the thought that he might not be able to be seen with you in public if he wasn’t the father. Namjoon, Jin and Yoongi had gotten heated to the point of yelling about how that would affect the group morale, Jimin and Taehyung left, telling Sejin that they would go on strike from the group if Sejin wanted to split them apart like that. Worst of all, your gentle Koo had started crying, hand clasped over his mouth and nose as his shoulders shook, letting out upset whimpers with every sob.

The pregnancy wasn’t all emotionally strenuous meetings though. There was an abundance of joy that kept you going in seeing your boyfriends prepare to be fathers. Still, to this day, the eight of you had a parenting-specific group-chat called ‘Operation Baby’, which had started out as a way for the members to give their opinions on baby clothes and nursery furniture since they weren’t allowed to be seen shopping for items like that. Now it was mostly used to designate whose turn it was to get up when the cries started at all hours of the morning.

There were some slight disagreements over time; Jimin, who desperately wanted to buy little color-coded booties and binkies, wanted to find out the gender but Namjoon was insistent that gender wasn’t something to designate a color, and that the sex of the baby didn’t matter, that you would love it equally no matter what. Jimin reluctantly settled for buying booties in every pastel shade there was (he teared up opening the massive cardboard box that arrived in your mail one Wednesday morning). One night, while he was a bit too drunk, Jin suggested that he should be the name for the father on the birth certificate since he was the oldest. Hoseok rebutted that it should be him since he had been dating you the longest, and a scuffle had broken out on your patio. In the end, Jin had won the battle, but with the caveat that he would get no extra rights over the others. That decision was one of the hardest you had to make.

Luckily for you and the boys, it wasn’t touring season. They had just finished the final leg of their world tour when you were reaching the end of your second trimester, and then they were allowed to have a one-month complete break before returning to work. Still, Sejin and Bang PD had decided it was wise to have them working on a new album for a while, at least over the later months of the pregnancy and after giving birth. They had been gradually increasing public appearances on a smaller scale to keep the fans entertained; a new season of Run! was airing, their mobile game had been a hit as expected, and they were taking the time to feature as guests on several Korean variety shows and be interviewed over Skype for some international news outlets. Put simply, everything had gone much more smoothly than you think anyone was expecting.

“Ah, I think Jimin wants to come in,” Hobi says softly, pulling you out of your musings. You glance up to see a shadowed silhouette wiggling around behind the clouded-glass of Namjoon’s studio. The man himself, Namjoon, was fast asleep on the small couch and you didn’t think he’d be waking up anytime soon. He lay there with his legs sticking off the end, his mouth dangling open and a string of drool gathering on the fabric under his cheek. Namjoon looked totally exhausted.

You nod and Hobi and he gets up quickly to let Jimin in, shushing him the moment the door opens. Behind him, Jungkook enters silently, waving to the infant in your arms cheerily and immediately running up to start wiggling her little chubby legs and tickling her tummy as she lets out little coos. With a hushed voice, Jimin questions, “how is our little Hana doing?”

You beam down at the little girl, letting her latch onto your pinky with her tiny sausage fingers, complete with the smallest fingernails in the world. “She’s happy. We’re trying to get her used to the sounds of the equipment running.” There was always a slight buzz in the air because of how much producing equipment was in here and the other studios, and you had read once that if you got a puppy used to certain noises then it wouldn’t bother them when they grew up. Surely babies were the same, right?

Jimin sighs out dreamily, coming forward to rub your back and give the baby’s forehead a kiss. “Can I hold her?” Instinctively, Jungkook steps back to give you two room.

“Of course,” you whisper back, deftly navigating the delicate body out of your arms and into his. “Where’s Dul?”

So, there was another thing. Not that long after you started regularly going to the clinic for checkups, your nurse found two heartbeats. The boys were over the moon – all the more babies to love; you couldn’t stop thinking about how hard it would be when they eventually had to return to work. But for now, you tried not to think about that and just enjoy your sweet little twins. Taehyung, who had twins in his family’s history, thought this meant he was the biological father. But then again, the family resemblance had become a bit of an ongoing inside joke. Your little daughter had Yoongi’s gummy smile, Namjoon’s dimples, and your nose. Her brother, older by sixteen minutes, had Jungkook’s glittering eyes, Jimin’s pillowy lips, and had already started twitching his nose like Jin. Nobody could deny that the little infants looked nothing like Hobi, and while you’d all joke around about it, you could tell it hurt him.

Jimin laughs breathily, bouncing the baby until she lets out a sweet yawn, bunching her fist up by her mouth, and promptly goes to sleep in her daddy’s arms. “We really need to come up with names already. One and Two aren’t going to be cute much longer.”

You fix him with a glare. “Excuse me! I don’t see you posting any better suggestions on the Operation Baby chat.”

He tuts you with a grin. “That’s because the last few options have been Thing One and Thing Two, Bob and Linda, and pussydestroyer69 and pussydestroyer420.”

Having been quiet for a few minutes, Jungkook reflexively blurts, “pussydestroyer420 and 69 are gender neutral, okay? I thought Namjoon would appreciate it.” He turns and gives the sleeping leader a baleful look. “I can never win.”

You reach up and pat his cheeks teasingly, standing up and stretching out your sore arm joints. “Anyway, whereabouts is my little son?”

Jungkook leans into your touch, wrinkling his nose in protest to your pats. “The kitchen. Jin and Tae are telling him how to make spaghetti Bolognese.”

You laugh softly, leaving the three boys sitting and the one sleeping in Namjoon’s studio, heading down the hallway to the kitchen. As you approach, you can hear an angelic low melody hummed by Taehyung, and the animated yet matter-of-fact tone of Jin describing how to properly dice onion.

You smother a grin, rounding the corner and taking a seat at the breakfast bar. Jin had apparently heard somewhere that it was important to speak a lot around growing children to increase their exposure to language, and had taken it upon himself to narrate his entire life in the past week to the little oblivious babies. He gestured passionately with the knife and his elbows as Tae kept a safe distance, bouncing the baby softly as it lay against his chest, head tucked into Taehyung’s neck. The humming had clearly sent your son to sleep; truth be told, the slow version of Scenery had your eyelids feeling heavy too.

Once he notices your presence, Jin sighs heavily. “Finally, you’re here! Your son isn’t listening to me!”

You smile, eyes crinkling. “In his defense, that knife would be fair too heavy for him to hold.”

“Weakling,” Jin mutters.

The humming stops. “You look tired,” Taehyung notes, tipping his head at you. “You and Yoongi were on night shift last night, right?”

You make a noise of affirmation and nod once. “Hana just wouldn’t settle. I think she’s going to be the trouble one of the two.”

“That’s true. This guy seems pretty easygoing.” You let yourself get lost in the sight of Taehyung snuggling your baby boy, Tae’s hand bigger than the infant’s entire back, but then Taehyung calls your name again. “Y/n. Go to bed, baby. We’ve got this; haven’t we, Jin-hyung?”

Jin scrapes the diced onions into the pan and smiles up at you, cheeks puffing. “Dinner’s still a couple of hours away. Get some rest, jagiya.”

As much as you want to savor every moment with your family, you’re certainly relieved to finally have a good reason to lie down. You give them both a soft kiss on the lips, and your baby several smooches on his chubby cheeks and soft head, before padding down the hallway to the only other person who’s still in bed.

“Yoongi,” you whisper into the dark bedroom, curtains drawn. The lump under the blankets doesn’t move. “Are you awake?”

“Physically,” comes the gruff reply. You grin and shuck your clothes quickly, leaving just your underwear on before slipping under the covers. “Hey, baby. How are the terrible two?”

“Taehyung and Jungkook are fine,” you quip.

“Ha ha. C’mere, I wanna snuggle.” You huff a laugh at the demanding way he asks for affection, but nevertheless shuffle into his grasp, letting him wrap his arms around you, planting soft kisses on your bare shoulder.

You hum in contentment at the sensation. “Love you, Yoonie.”

“I love you more.”

You tilt your head up and scrunch your nose playfully. “I love you most.”

His eyes are narrowed at the edges as he smiles. “Fine then, you win. Now let me spoon my beautiful wife and the mother of my children.”

Your eyes fly open. “What.”

“Uh.” Yoongi stammers. “Just, uh, ignore that wife comment. Shit.” You chuckle a little and lie back against the pillows, feeling a lazy finger trace circles on your skin. Minutes later, when you’re almost asleep, you hear him murmur into the silent room, “just pretend to be surprised when Hoseok pulls out the ring, okay?”

[hunter-the-sad-skeleton]

Pokemon Sword And Shield: Ace’s trials

Chapter 1: “A smile that stretches a MIL-E-o!”

Ace ran out of the house, panic flooding his systems. No. No, no, no, no, no!!!! Why’d he have to snap at Wooloo?!? Winter would be so sad if she came home and Wooloo was missing! Ace ran off, tripping over his own feet sometimes, looking around for Wooloo. He eventually settled on checking in the pasture; other Wooloo, maybe it went there! “Wooloo?!? WOOLOO?!? Where did you go?!?” Ace called out, panicking.

Ace was gulping down air like it was ice cold root beer on a hot summer day as he ran through the pasture. “Wooloo?!? Bud, come on, where did you go?!?” Ace called out, starting to tear up. Ace rubbed the tears away from his eyes. “Wooloo, I’m sorry…! Just please come back…!” Ace hiccuped.

Ace’s eyes stung as tears started falling down his face. “I’m an adult now, I shouldn’t-*HIC*-I shoul-I shouldn’t be-I shouldn’t be crying about a dumb Wooloo running off…!” Ace sniffled.

Ace flinched as a hand gently landed on his shoulder. “Is everything okay, Acey?” Milo asked. Ace turned away, wiping the tears away.

“Heya, Mi..! I-I’m fine, just lookin’ for Wooloo is all..!” Ace lied. Milo smiled softly.

“It’s okay to be upset, Acey! I can help ya find ‘em if ya want!” Milo offered.

“I….Are ya sure..?” Ace asked. Milo nodded.

“I can ask my herd if they’ve seen them!” Milo offered. Ace nodded eagerly.

“Yes please..! Wooloo means so much to my sister and I don’t want her to be mad at me for losing them..!” Ace accepted. Milo nodded, gesturing for Ace to follow, Ace doing so swiftly.

Milo called his Wooloo herd over and they came quickly. “Okay guys, listen up! We need to find a Wooloo! One ya guys don’t know personally, but it belongs to Acey here!” Milo announced. Milo turned to Ace. “Did they have anything to make them stand out?” He asked.

“O-Oh! Well, they have a uh...Blue uh….Um….Bandana!” Ace answered. Milo nodded.

“So keep an eye out for a Wooloo wearing a BLUE BANDANA!” Milo announced. The Wooloo herd nodded, speeding off to go search when they were dismissed.

Ace shifted nervously, eyes filled up to the brim with worry, tensing up slightly when Milo put a hand on his shoulder, but relaxing when he saw it was Milo.

“It’ll be okay, I promise!” Milo smiled. Ace smiled back half-heartedly.

“I know, I’m just...worried that Winter will get home before I do with Wooloo…” Ace winced. Milo frowned slightly.

“Ace, what are you?” Milo asked.

“What…?” Ace asked, confused.

“Ace. What. Are. You.” Milo repeated.

“Uh….A Pokemon trainer…?” Ace replied in confusion.

“What class of trainer?” Milo asked.

“Uh…….G-Gym Leader…” Ace replied shyly.

“And what do we Gym Leaders do for each other?” Milo asked seriously.

Ace sniffled, rubbing his face. “L-Look out for each other…” Ace hiccuped.

“Exactly! And I can walk Wooloo home with you in case Winter gets home before you find Wooloo so I can explain!” Milo smiled. Ace smiled, feeling assured that it would turn out okay.

“But,” Milo started. “In order to do so, I need to know what happened. Want to talk about it over some tea?” Milo offered.

“Oh, uh, sure!” Ace replied, surprised.

(About an hour and a half later.)

“And that’s when I ran off to find her, and now here we are…” Ace explained. Milo nodded, finishing taking a drink of his tea.

“I see. Wooloo wanted to help, but you didn’t need it and it kept bothering you, trying to help, and you accidentally lost your temper.” Milo nodded.

“It’s such a stupid mistake...I shoulda known that Wooloo is more sensitive…!” Ace groaned.

Milo scowled. “Ace, shame on you! It’s not your fault! Not entirely!” Milo set his mug down.

“But I yelled at it…” Ace whimpered.

“Yes, but that is a reasonable reaction!” Milo scolded.

“I dunno...What if it never comes back because it hates me…?” Ace asked.

Milo froze, dumbfounded. He knew Ace’s self hatred was bad, but never THIS horrible. “Ace, bug, no…! I’m sure Wooloo would LOVE to come home with you…!” Milo soothed.

Ace rubbed tears out of the corner of his eyes. “But I-*HIC*-I-I-I-I-I yelled at it…! I made it-*HIC*-I made it sad…!” Ace sniffled.

Milo got up, walking over and pulling Ace into a hug. “It’s okay, we’ll find them…” Milo hummed.

Ace’s limbs fell limp as he melted into the hug. “Milo, bud, can I...ask you a question…?” Ace asked.

“What’s up, bug?” Milo asked.

“A lot of people tend to not go to my gym and opt for others to take my badge’s place…” Ace started nervously.

“Okay…?” Milo asked, confused.

“Would...Would anyone care if I just...wasn’t around anymore…?” Ace asked, tears welling up in his eyes. Milo froze, feeling like time followed suit.

“Ace, bug, of course people would care!” Milo fretted.

Ace fell silent.

“People care about you, Ace! I know it seems like that’s not true since people skip out on your gym, but that could just mean that they believe that you’re too powerful to take on!” Milo encouraged.

“But what if it’s not that…?” Ace asked, tears spilling down his face.

“Then they’re…...They’re…” Milo started.

“They’re bugger all!” Milo blurted out. Ace froze in shock. This was unusual for Milo to speak in such a way.

“Milo…” Ace faltered.

“If they say that you’re bugger all, then they’re a bunch of minging plastered Chavs is what they are!!” Milo declared. Ace’s eyes sparkled like a pair of Amethysts left out in the rain.

“I…….” Ace trailed off.

“If anyone gives you any trouble and doesn’t seem to be letting up, give me a bell and I’ll be there in two shakes of a Wooloo’s tail! You can bet on it!” Milo insisted.

Ace was taken aback, aside from Winter, he’d never really had anyone who had his back-in such a passionate way, too! “I...Thank you Mi…” Ace stuttered. Milo smiled.

“Us Gym leaders gotta look out for each other, right?” Milo chuckled. The two were interrupted by a Wooloo running in and tugging at Milo’s shorts, asking him to follow.

“Whoa, what is it, Maple?” Milo asked. Maple tugged at his shorts again, bleating in urgency.

Milo got up, grabbing his backpack and following Maple.

“Slow down, Maple!! I can only go so fast!!” Milo called. Maple bleated in concern and urgency, stopping by a cliff’s edge.

“Why’d ya bring us out here, girl?” Milo asked, patting her head.

“Meee!!!!” Maple bleated nervously.

Milo looked down the edge, seeing that it led to a crevice that spanned across most of the pasture. “Wait, what’s that down there…?” Milo asked, straining to see what was at the bottom.

Ace looked with Milo, eyes shrinking as realization hit. “SKYLAR?!?” Ace cried out. The shape moved slightly, followed by a weak bleat.

“Oh my-bug, is that your Wooloo?!” Milo asked, panicking slightly.

“Yeah, I don’t know how she got down there!!” Ace panicked.

“Does she have a pokeball?” Milo asked.

Ace shook his head no. “No, we always assumed that she would stay put!!” Ace panicked. Milo thought of how to help Skylar get out.

“How can we get her out…?” Milo hummed. Ace looked around in Milo’s bag, finding a chord of rope.

“Here!” Ace said, holding it out.

“How’s she gonna grab on?” Milo asked. Ace frowned, before getting another plan.

“Maybe that’ll work..!” Ace hummed.

Milo looked over, seeing Ace tying it around his waist.

“Oh! That’s genius, Acey!” Milo beamed. Ace nodded.

“Okay, are you and Wooloo able to lower me down slowly?” Ace asked. Milo nodded.

“Yeah, Wooloo is known for being gentle!” Milo smiled. Ace nodded, slowly getting lowered down.

Ace touched the ground, slipping slightly but ignoring the pain, and he walked over to Skylar. “Hey bud, it’s okay, I won’t hurt ya…” Ace said softly. Skylar got up, limping over.

Ace took a look at Skylar’s leg, seeing that it got scraped and broken on the way down. “IS SKYLAR OKAY?!?” Milo called.

“NO, IT LOOKS LIKE SHE BROKE HER LEG!!” Ace called back.

“OKAY, I’M GONNA GO GET THE FIRST AID KIT WHILE MAPLE AND THE OTHER WOOLOOS PULL YOU BACK UP!!” Milo called.

“OKAY!!!” Ace called back. Ace picked up Skylar. “OKAY, I’M READY, GUYS!!” Ace called. Ace and Skylar slowly started getting pulled up.

Maple walked backwards, slowly pulling Ace and Skylar up, jumping as she felt a tiny electric zap hit the back of her leg. Maple turned around, spotting a Yamper, running off as the Yamper started chasing after her.

Ace shrieked as he started plummeting down at a fast speed, putting himself on bottom, preparing for impact with the cold, hard, stone floor of the crevice.

A snap sound was heard as the rope stopped falling just before Ace and Skylar could hit the ground. Ace opened his left eye, looking around him. “Is this the new world…?” Ace asked.

“Good catch, Obstagoon, now pull them up!” A voice commanded. Ace’s eyes shrank as he registered who the voice belonged to.

Soon, Ace was back up at the top with Skylar and he placed her down on the grass, settling down on the cool wet grass as soon as he could.

“Are you two okay? I’m lucky I got here when I did.” The voice said. Ace nodded.

“Yeah, we’re fine...Oh! Except for Skylar, I think she broke her leg..!” Ace panted.

He nodded his head. “Understood. Scrafty, go retrieve Milo. Tell him that Ace and Skylar are back at the top, safe and sound, okay?” He asked. Scrafty nodded, speeding off.

“Thanks for the help...I was almost an electric type gym leader pancake…” Ace sighed in relief.

“No problem, Ace. Us Gym Leaders gotta stick together, ya know?” He asked.

“Yeah…” Ace nodded. Milo came running into view, Scrafty hurrying behind.

“Acey, are you okay?! Is Skylar okay?!” Milo asked, worrying heavily.

Ace nodded. “All thanks to-” Ace started.

“Piers, yeah, he came by earlier today-just before you came by searching for Skylar-Said he needed me to find a recipe for a curry to help soothe an upset stomach for a Morpeko!” Milo nodded.

“I swear, that thing eats more than it should and KNOWS the outcome each and EVERY time…” Piers sighed.

Ace went to get up before wincing out loud and falling back down. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Piers asked.

Ace remembered back, hand darting to his right ankle, wincing as he made contact. “Oh, Bloody-” Ace stopped himself. “Heck…!” Ace corrected.

“Sounds like a sprained ankle to me.” Piers shrugged.

“Nah, it’s nothing, I’m fine, it’s just-I just got up too quickly…!” Ace denied. Piers’ eyelids drooped in a “B*tch, really?” sorta way.

“Alright. Stand up straight, putting ALL OF YOUR WEIGHT onto that ankle then.” Piers said. Ace’s eyes widened. “Well? Go on then. If you’re fine, as you so claim, go ahead and put all of your weight onto that one ankle.” Piers quipped.

“I...No! That’s a dumb idea!” Ace retaliated.

“So you admit you’re injured?” Piers raised an eyebrow.

“No! I’m fine!” Ace declined.

“So what’s wrong then? Scared?” Piers asked, crossing his arms.

“No, I just...don’t feel like it right now is all!” Ace snapped. Piers sighed.

“We can head back and then see if you’re ‘okay’.” Piers said, making air quotes as he said okay.

Ace shook his head no. “I’m fine right down here, thank you very much!” Ace peeped. Piers rolled his eyes, picking him up bridal style and carrying him back. “Hey! I can walk, ya know!” Ace objected.

“No, ya can’t, ya big baby.” Piers frowned.

(Inside.)

“Yeah, that’s a sprained ankle if ever I’ve seen one.” Milo nodded.

“See? What’d I tell ya?” Piers asked.

“Okay, sprained ankle, so what? I can still do stuff!” Ace shrugged.

“No. You need to keep off that ankle as much as possible until it’s fully healed.” Piers denied.

“But the Pokemon League starts tomorrow…! I can’t skip out again!” Ace frowned.

“I’m sure that if we explain, it’ll be okay!” Milo comforted.

“Who says ya need to miss the opening ceremony?” Piers asked.

Milo and Ace turned to look at him, confused. “I...Can’t walk, dude...How do I get there?” Ace asked.

“You recovered your Wooloo today, yeah?” Piers asked.

“Are you suggesting-” Ace started.

“No, I’m saying that if your very livelihood depends on you making it to the next opening ceremony, you need to have a ride pokemon, and you just rescued one.” Piers said frankly.

“Wait...But could it support my weight?” Ace asked. Milo nodded swiftly.

“Yeah! Wooloos are VERY strong pokemon! That’s why I use them as assistants for my farm work!” Milo approved.

“What, do I just saddle up Skylar, day of the opening ceremony and just ride in with flying colors?” Ace scoffed. The room went dead silent.

“Actually, Yes. Spot on.” Piers said seriously. Ace’s jaw dropped.

“Where would I get a saddle anyways?!” Ace asked.

“I have some spares!” Milo beamed.

“Oh, this is actually happening.” Ace gawked.

“Ya can’t skip out again, remember?” Piers smirked.

Ace’s face heated up. “There’s no way it’ll work…!” Ace sighed.

“Oh, there’s EVERY way that it’ll work.” Piers grinned.

“But I’ll look silly!” Ace whimpered.

“Ya got any better ideas?” Piers asked, leaning against the wall behind him.

“YES! ANYTHING BUT THAT!” Ace blurted out.

“Well, I always have a mudbray you could ri-” Milo started.

“Wooloo works fine.” Ace said blankly.

Milo grinned. “Wooloo it is, then!”

“Can’t wait to see it.” Piers smirked.

“What, at home?” Ace asked sarcastically.

“Nah. In person.” Piers snarked. Ace’s face heated up, turning a bright red.

“What…?!” Ace wheezed.

“Yeah, I’m turning up in person this year.” Piers smirked.

“Of course, the ONE YEAR I’m going with a sprained ankle!” Ace wheezed.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine!” Milo smiled.

“I’m never gonna hear the end of it…!” Ace groaned.

“It’ll be fine, you big baby!” Milo smiled.

“I hope so…” Ace sighed.

“Now then,” Milo said, getting up. “Let’s getcha home, yeah?” Milo said, clapping a hand onto Ace’s shoulder. Ace nodded, standing up before he was headbutted onto his bum. 

“Hey! What the-” Ace started, looking up and seeing Skylar in front of him. Ace nodded, using Skylar as a walking assist.

(Timeskip.)

“Lights are on...That means Winter’s home...” Ace winced.

“I’ll explain, don’t worry, bug!” Milo beamed. Ace went up and unlocked the door, hobbling inside.

“Bro-Bro, there you are! I’ve been worried sick!” Winted whimpered, hugging Ace tightly.

“I’m fine, sis...!” Ace wheezed, getting the air knocked out of him.

“Where were you?!” Winter asked.

“Excuse me? Winter?” Milo asked gently. Winter looked at Milo.

“Yeah?” Winter asked.

“Sorry about intruding, but your brother got hurt today, so he’s going to need to borrow Skylar tomorrow for the opening ceremony for the pokemon league, is that alright with you?” Milo asked gently. Winter nodded.

“Yes! If it helps my best big bro, it’s fine by me!” Winter allowed.

“Wonderful! Thank you so much!” Milo smiled.

“Why’d he get hurt?” Winter asked. Milo explained what happened and Winter hugged Ace tightly afterwards. “Oh, big bro...! You didn’t have to hurt yourself for Skyla...!” Winter squeaked.

“I didn’t want ya to get mad at me, sis...” Ace frowned.

“Well, you take the rest of the night off! I can handle everything else!” Winter said.

“Oh No.” Ace gulped.

(Tag list, feel free to ask to be removed or added!): @bccfggffbgv, @new-account-sam-christy-456, @anaanswersstuff

[sweetteaanddragons]

In Perfect Light

Finwe goes to Aman because if there is the slightest chance his people can find safety there, he owes it to them to look, but he spends the whole trip there wary and fearful, sure it’s some sort of trap.

That tension melts away the moment he sees the light of the Trees. It hits him like a peaceful wave, offering more bliss in one moment than the rest of his life combined.

He remembers his people, of course, remembers Miriel, but they’re a distant concern. They’ll be fine, he’s sure. Everything will be fine.

He’s reluctant to leave, but he tears himself away to go fetch his people.

The memory . . . concerns him a bit, once he’s out of reach of the light. He hadn’t thought anything could make his fierce, protective love of his wife and his people seem distant and small.

He had been overwhelmed, he convinces himself. He just needs to get used to it.

The idea of not going back to that light, of never tasting it again, is absolutely unthinkable.

(“Are we sure we should bring them here?” Ulmo asks. 

“They felt so much less pain here,” Nienna says through her silent tears.

“They’ll be safer,” Orome agrees.

“It’s already decided,” Manwe reminds him. “Do you defy our decision?”

Ulmo sighs. “Of course not. They just seemed to react a little strangely to being here.”

“They’re just not used to being safe,” Orome says. “They’ll get used to it in time.”

“ . . . Of course.”)

Miriel loves their new land as much as he does. Of course she does. Even if sometimes he catches the oddest look on her face, like she’s struggling to remember something and can almost reach it but can’t quite close the distance.

It’s not important.

Then she’s pregnant, and it’s one more quiet pleasure in a sea of many. He doesn’t worry when the pregnancy doesn’t go quite as expected. Everything’s going to be fine.

Feanaro comes into the world screaming. The noise is a shock to his system, and for a moment he’s overwhelmed. This is his son, he has a son, and he’s perfect, absolutely perfect, but suddenly all the healers have been jolted into concern for Miriel, running to her side, and something is wrong, wrong, wrong - 

Feanor calms eventually, and the peace steals back in.

Everything’s going to be fine.

After all, Namo has promised to bring back the dead.

Miriel refuses to come back.

“I’m . . . tired,” she says, shooting a sidelong glance at the Valar. “I’ll heal better here.”

Finwe doesn’t understand. There’s no light in Mandos’s Halls. How could she possibly feel better there?

But there’s no point worrying about it. 

He sees Indis singing and the beauty catches his eye even here in a world full of beauties. It eases some of the unpleasant uncertainty starting to curdle in the back of his mind.

And Feanaro needs a mother. The lack of one has hurt the boy, there’s no doubt about that. There can be no other reason for why now, even after he can speak so eloquently and doesn’t need cries to communicate, he sometimes still weeps.

(“Does this concern you at all?” Ulmo asks Vaire.

“Miriel says she doesn’t object to the remarriage.”

“That’s really not what I meant.”)

Feanaro knows his whole childhood that he is marred.

Everyone else is calm and happy and at peace. Everyone else trusts the Valar implicitly. Everyone else knows everything is fine.

Feanaro gets impatient. Feanaro rages and argues and shouts. Feanaro weeps for the mother that left him behind. 

Feanaro feels very, very alone.

No one else ever starts it. But Feanaro discovers that if he does, sometimes he can drag them into it too. 

If he grits his teeth and asks people nicely to call his mother’s name the way she wished it to be called, they smile vaguely and say, “Of course, if it matters to you.”

(Sometimes Feanaro thinks he’s the only person anything matters to.)

If he’s rude and dismissive and tries very, very, very hard to provoke a fight, sometimes he gets one. Their eyes will spark and their voice will rise, and for just a few moments, they’ll show something real, and he’s not alone.

If he shouts and screams at Indis and calls her every horrible name he can think of, she frowns faintly and asks him if he needs a healer or to sit in the light for a while. All the Vanyar are like that, refusing to be roused, and Feanaro knows it’s wrong to want so badly to touch everyone else with his corruption, but he still hates them for it.

If he shouts at Finwe and tells him he’s a horrible father that only loves Indis, Finwe’s voice will break with true desperation as he begs Feanaro just to tell him how to help him.

Feanaro knows it’s wrong, but somehow those moments convince him that his father really does love him far more than any number of the times Finwe tells him he does, calmly, eyes distant, words rote.

When he’s in his adolescence, he takes his first trip to Tol Eressea, where the light of the Trees is more distant and sometimes hidden in shadow.

For the first time, he sees the stars.

For the first time, he meets people who are already at least half awake.

For the first time, he wonders if maybe the problem isn’t that he’s marred. Maybe the problem is whatever has lured nearly everyone else into this dreamlike state.

He experiments. Is it the Valar? The food? The water?

The light?

(“Feanaro,” Ulmo says to Manwe. He doesn’t really have to say anything else.

“Aule says he’s very talented,” Manwe says stubbornly.

“Aule also says Feanaro threw a prototype at the wall of his workshop yesterday.”

“Aule does that sometimes.”

“Oh, yes,” Ulmo agrees. “My concern isn’t that he did it. It’s that all the rest of the Firstborn don’t.”)

Most art Feanaro sees is pretty and only that. There is something lifeless about it. Dull. 

Nerdanel’s statues are full of repressed passion, emotion that even she doesn’t quite seem to understand.

He can almost reach her. He can stir her up more easily than he can anyone else save his father, and he keeps thinking he can wake her up for good if only he says just the right thing.

It doesn’t work, but he keeps trying.

Maitimo’s temper is not half so short as his own, but his spirit burns intensely nonetheless. Of all his children, Maitimo is the closest to being fully, completely awake.

Makalaure is the closest to being entirely subsumed by the pleasant peace of the light. He’s too wound up in the music of the world, and the music here is a heady thing, ready to drown his second son in its delightful depths. The music Makalaure makes is beautiful, but sometimes it scarcely sounds like him at all. It sounds instead like he is only a conduit that the music is rushing through. It sounds like he is being hollowed out until he’s nothing but a vessel for its notes.

He drags the whole family out into the starlight and away from the Trees as often as he can, but he’s always especially sure to take Makalaure. He’ll shiver, away from the Trees’ warmth, complain and ache, and have mood shifts like lightning, but he’s there. He’s real. He’s not being born away somewhere where Feanaro can’t save him.

Nerdanel grows to hate the trips more and more. Her hands shake when she’s away from the light, and she snaps at him more and more frequently. 

“Why do you keep doing this?” she finally demands.

“The Trees - “

“Why are you so determined not to be happy? And even if you are, why do you keep dragging our children into it?”

“Because that’s not living!” he shouts. “It’s not real. Not like it is out here.”

“I’m going home,” she tells him flatly.

Weeks later, when Feanaro returns, she smiles and says it’s good to see him. She doesn’t seem concerned by their argument at all.

He had tried to rouse his first half-brother a half-dozen times, but it had never worked. His half-brother is as pleasant and blissful and empty as ever.

He never bothers with Arafinwe. He already knows how it will go.

(“Tyelkormo hunts with you, doesn’t he, Orome?”

“Yes,” Orome says warily. He thinks he knows where Ulmo’s going with this.

“Tell me, do you notice a difference in him the further you get into the Outer Lands?”’

Orome doesn’t want to admit it, but eventually he yields. “Yes,” he says. “I do.”)

Feanaro tries drawing the light of the Trees into gemstones. Maybe if he can capture it, he can study it. Change it.

Concentrated in the gem, it glows for him like never before, overwhelming even the fire within that so quickly burns it out otherwise. 

For three days, he sits unmoving, caught up in wordless ecstasy.

He only dimly hears the banging on his workshop door. His sons’ cries when they finally break it down. They way they go silent.

He turns, absently, and sees them frozen, faces slack.

He has one moment of half-clarity. It’s enough.

He throws a cloak over the Silmarils and breaks the spell.

He never goes near the gems after that without precautions. He quickly learns it’s best not to let anyone else near them even with those.

He understands for the first time why everyone else loves the light so much. He tells himself he still doesn’t want it. He drags his sons further and further away from its terrible peace.

He can’t help coming back to the gems, though, however carefully, for just one more taste of how it feels to be so completely without pain.

They have to leave. It’s the only option. All his studies have failed, and he’s losing Makalaure. Losing the twins. Losing Nerdanel. It’s the only way.

He stirs up a fight because it’s the only way to get anyone else to pay attention. He holds a sword on his half-brother and wonders, Would you even care if I pressed down? Would your wife? Would your children?

Or would they all keep thinking that everything is fine even as you bled out on our father’s floor?

The Valar care, apparently, even though he never goes through on the threat. 

Nolofinwe, on the other hand, speaks for Feanaro at his trial.

“There was no harm done,” he says lightly. “How could there be? Everything’s fine. I see no reason for Feanaro to have to go anywhere, particularly if it would upset him to.”

Feanaro wonders if it’s just his imagination that Manwe looks vaguely concerned. 

Apparently he’s not the only one stirring up trouble. 

Melkor destroys the Trees.

Feanaro would thank him for that if it weren’t for the rest of what Melkor does.

The world goes dark, and everyone else seems to go mad as terror crashes down on them after countless long years of really even feeling vague apprehension.

Feanaro stands in a ring of the Valar and listens as they try to tell him that the Trees should be repaired.

It’s chaos in the dark, but it’s real.

Feanaro laughs in their faces.

He does not laugh when the rest of the news comes.

(“I did say something was wrong,” Ulmo reminds Manwe.

“You did,” Manwe concedes. “But do you honestly think this is better?”)

His father is dead. His father is dead, just when he finally would have had the chance to really feel something.

When Feanaro gains control of himself at long last - and perhaps the Trees had affected him after all, because he feels wilder than ever before - he goes back to Tirion.

He gives him a speech about justice and revenge, about freedom and embracing this chance, about building anew. Some of the faces light up.

Most just look up at him with unfulfilled need.

Faces sallow and already sunken. Hands shaking. Minds cringing back from all this pain.

He feels it too, a bit. He knows.

So he says what he knows will grab them all. 

“The light still lives!” he cries. “It shines in my Silmarils! We go to get them back!”

The crowd roars with desperate approval.

He swears an Oath to retrieve that beautiful, terrible light.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he’s fulfilled it. He hopes that by then the Noldor will know that life without it is better. Hopes they’ll no longer need it, crave it, wrap every dream around regaining it.

Hopes his own need for one more glimpse will have faded away.

(“See how quickly they turn on each other without the light?” Namo says.

“They’ve forgotten how to deal with real emotion,” Ulmo says. “Of course they’re lashing out at each other. They’ve forgotten what pain is, and that other people can feel it.”

“We can’t let them go to Middle Earth like that,” Manwe says. “They’re not prepared.”

“Of course,” Ulmo says, and he lets Osse stir up a storm of rage. It is right, for Ulmo too weeps for the Teleri lost in that frantic lashing out.

He also makes sure the storm winds blow due east, back to the lands they never should have left.)

[early-sxnsets]

You Look Better in Person

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43275707

Chapter 8/10 of It’s A Handheld Disaster

Word Count: 3030

Chapter Summary: Simon and Baz's first encounter leaves them both awestruck.

BAZ

It’s a bloody pain in my ass, headache of a drive. I barely got halfway through before turning off my music and just focusing on what I’d say--how I’d react. It isn’t just getting Snow, it’s seeing him. An experience that’s completely new to the both of us. Somehow, despite him saying he’s the scared one, I find myself being absolutely petrified. I (only slightly) doubt he’ll reject my offer of help, especially since I'm driving up the country to get him, but I do suspect him to be hesitant of me nonetheless.

Oddly enough, I feel none of that fear towards him. No matter what, I’ll be there for him. I’m not quite sure what to expect, though. Fuck if any expectations I have for him matters, really.

I’d thought too much over the drive. Frankly, I think too much overall. That, I need to stop.

Staring at my phone mindlessly truly proves it, given I don’t have half a brain cell to coherently read the maps as they show me around the city. Eventually, though (through trial and error), I find myself going down the same street twice, trying to spot a local park that's apparently down the road. Google Maps yells at me, telling me I’m rapidly approaching my destination (over and over, between each condescending “Recalculation”).

My heart pounds faster with each rotation of my wheels, making my vision all fuzzy and warped. Exhaling slowly, I peer around and spot someone lying on a bench in the centre of the park, dressed up in a hoodie, sweats, and trainers. They seem to be hugging a duffel bag close, as if everything that's left is inside of it. I can’t quite make much out of them, with to their hood being pulled tight around their face and all, but I can tell that they’re alone.

Once parked, I shoot Simon a quick text, trying to swallow back my fear of what's probably true. That it is him.

i’m in the black volvo in the lot

Suddenly, the head of the person shoots up, then starts looking around as their body rises. I still can’t see their face, shadowed down by the harsh lamp lights, but they seem to be facing me.

That… must be him.

He pulls himself to standing, a slight hunch in his shoulders as he hauls the bag over his left one. He’s broad, and a solid height, too. When the light catches the few hairs spilling from his hood, they shine a deep copper.

Each of his steps feel like a lifetime. Exhausted, heavy stomps of his feet onto the ground as he brings himself closer until he stands barely a yard away from the car. Shamelessly, I stare out the window, wide eyed and barely choking out a breath.

He’s absolutely, unbelievably handsome. Square jawed, curly haired, and blue, blue eyes. He’s got a near rugby build, and a tired, barely existent smile pressing his freckled and moled cheeks into creases. He is, without a doubt, one of the most the most gorgeous humans I’ve ever seen.

His hand rises up shakily, nearly forming a wave as he struggles to keep a face in a readable expression other than wordless, overworked sadness.

My hand slides down my door, finding the lock without me looking and flicking the doors unlocked with a clear click. I watch as he hesitates at first, looking between me and the car a few times. The fluorescent lights flicker as he swallows, neck bobbing along.

Eventually, he relents and slips into the passenger seat without taking his eyes off me once.

At first, we just stare. Silent, carefully timed breaths fill the car as we just look over one another. I must look tired; I feel tired. He looks it, too.

I cut off my own words before I speak. I know he is tired. I don’t even need to ask.

The bag pressed to his chest loosens slightly, slumping down onto his lap as he swallows again. I can’t stop myself from watching him, heart thumping. It’s unreal--he must be unreal.

“Hey,” he whispers, the same shock I’m wearing mirrored onto his face.

SIMON

He’s so beautiful that I can barely think of words. Of all things I could say, of all things I should say, none of them weasel out other than “Hey”.

Granted, I have nothing better to say, given I’d probably be stupid and call him every word I’m thinking of.

I’ve never quite met a bloke who’s as pretty as he is. Slate eyes, brown skin, and ink black hair that starts at a widow’s peak, falling onto his shoulders in the slightest of waves. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, he seems alert and a bit shaken, a hand gripping the shifting stick that’s resting clearly on “P”.

I can’t quite think of anything else to vocalize. I’ve cried too much tonight, and it’s really fucking late. I need to rest… I just want…

“Why were you at the park?” He asks, suddenly dropping my gaze. It’s fine, though--my eyes drift back down to his narrow, bony hands, gliding movements over the shift. He pushes it into “R”, pulling the car out of the spot before turning, flicking to “D”, and going. His hands are like the pictures. It’s relaxing.

“Hm? O-oh,” I say quietly, fiddling with the strap of my bag. With a glance from him towards my buckle, I realize I missed a step. Fuck. I click myself in, continuing, “I’d told Davy I-I was going to Penn’s all weekend f-for a school project after our fight, b-b-but I told Penn I was gr-grounded.”

“So…”

“So I’m stuck,” I add, gaze shifting out the window and staying there. “Nowhere to go.”

He’s silent for a second, the only sound filling the air being the popping of rocks under the tyres. Once down the street, and another street, and then another, he finally says something.

“I’ve got somewhere,” he finally starts. When I look at him, he’s avoidant--eyes unwaveringly ahead, and hands gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles are pulled taunt. “It’s a bit far, though. You can nap, if you want. It’ll be some time.”

“Where..?”

“You’ll see when we’re there.” And with that, he’s silent again. Given the flatness of his answer, I don’t feel it proper to argue. Really, I can’t argue at all with the prospect of a rest.

So, I take it. I suppose I’m asleep for a few good hours before I’m jostled awake by the overwhelming, perpetually buzzing lights of a petrol station. It's still dark out.

I peer out to see Baz standing, glancing over his shoulder at the machine as his hands hold the pump. Instinctively, I pull my hoodie closer, finally getting a good look at him in some sort of full light.

Shit. He even looks good at the pump.

He catches my eyes briefly, staring back before quickly turning back away, and acting as if I don’t see him swallow sharply. I act like I didn’t see it either, especially not as he sits back in the car and looks towards me, but not directly at me. “Hungry?”

Always. “A bit.”

He wordlessly pulls up to the store of the station before turning back off the car. “Come on, I’ll cover you.”

Given I only have the little cash I had in my sock drawer on me, I don’t argue. Instead, I step out and follow him, glancing up once I'm entirely trailing behind him. He’s got a few good inches on me, which, frankly, makes me blush a good bit. Who gave him the right to be practically a supermodel?

“Get anything,” he says, and I do. Two bags of crisps, a bottle of chocolate milk, and a shitty, wrapped cinnamon roll. He just grabs a coffee, pouring an egregious amount of sugar and creamer into it before going up to pay. He doesn’t even flinch--just pays.

It feels odd. Looks odd. It’s like Aggie paying--a disregard of wealth beyond a comprehensive point.

Back in the car, he sips his drink, cringes, and waits until I’m buckled back in before going.

I’m up this time, and probably for the long run, as he starts driving again.

“So, where are we going?” I ask, twisting the cap off the milk and hearing the satisfying snap of the breaking seal. “I feel like I should allowed to know eventually.”

“London,” he responds borderline robotically, not bothering a look at me.

“Wait, fuck. London? Isn’t that--”

“Six hours, yes. You’ve slept for well over half the trip, don’t worry.” He risks a quick glance at me, and as if it were magic, I see him relax. His muscles drop the tension, and his seemingly permanent frown loosens to a genuine flash of concern. Then, as quickly as his composure went, it comes back. Like it was a flicker in his system. “Just rest.”

“How are you staying up?”

“Will power.”

I don’t stop the snort slipping out, biting my lip. “You really are a vampire, huh?”

His face relaxes back slightly, spreading into the smallest of smiles. “No, but that’d be more fun.”

I huff in agreement, letting myself grin along this time. “It would be, yeah.”

We fall silent again, but this time it’s a bit better. It’s an odd reminder that this, this Baz right in front of me, is the same one I’ve known for months. It’s just his flesh and blood--living and breathing body. A human.

I want to reach out and touch him, to see if he’s real. I nearly do so, but my mind stops me before my hand grips his. I think he catches sight of my reach, though, because the arm closest to me drops from the wheel, resting palm-up on the centre console.

Either it’s an invitation or a mistake. Both are something I’m dumb enough to work with.

My fingertips skate over his wrist first, glazing over the ridges where his veins sit. They ridge up, rising above the rest of his smooth arm and pumping below my touch. At first, he begins to retract before stopping himself and staying, opened up to me. A careful fingertip moves to trace the lines of his palm, my breath barely under control. He lets me have my time, and slowly yet surely, I settle my hand on top of his, fingers shifting until they’re locked between his.

His hand curls up first, holding tightly to mine, When I look at him, he’s lightly sucking on his lip, keeping his eyes trained forward as his thumb slowly slides over my hand.

If it wasn’t for the weight of the day, I might’ve started crying again. Instead, I find myself staring. I settle my head back onto the comfortable, leather headrest, eyes falling softly onto the sharp edges of his face. I trace them, thankful for each passing car of street light that illuminates the cabin just enough to let me see the details.

His eyes look puffy and dark, dark eyelashes falling onto his skin. His nose sits a bit high, and his brow seems aristocratic. His lips, at a natural downcurve, hang open in the slightest and look a bit shiny when he stops biting them.

He doesn’t put any attention onto me, but holds my hand against his comfortably, keeping the slow drag of his skin against mine. It isn't rough, like mine is, except for at his pads. They're calloused right at the tips.

I space out, watching him attentively until countryside fades into bright city lights, mixing with the creeping sun.

He pulls up into a lot, telling them the apartment number before the car climbs up into a space. Once parked, he lets go of my palm with a sorry look, glancing over me once before stepping out.

He doesn’t let me carry my bag, holding both his and mine in each arm. The walk is brief, and within minutes, he’s pushing a key into a small, comfortable London flat, letting me inside first.

The lights are all shut, and it's got the distinct layer of light dust to show it's been untouched for months. He confirms my sneaking suspicion even before I get to ask it.

“It's my aunt's,” he says away from me, settling my bag onto a chair and his on an adjacent one. “She travels in the winter to somewhere warmer, and leaves me a key to get away.”

“I know. I've followed you long enough, you know.” I'd smile if my cheeks weren't too weak to hold one.

After stealing a look at his blushing face, I drag myself to the bed, running a hand over the sheet slowly. The other side dips with Baz's weight as he settles down onto the edge, staring at the pulling sheets with his hand settling so close to mine.

I must be mad, because I reconnect my fingers with his on impulse.

At first, we're still. I'm standing, and he's sitting. We're statues, dimly lit by the outside life. He must not be brave, or maybe I just might be more stupid, because I'm the first to move. My fingers weave between his, hand pressing closer towards him as we remain in an odd silence.

I wish I knew what I was doing.

Even without a full mind, I know what feels right, and it's being as close to Baz as possible. So maybe I don't need to know exactly what I'm doing, I just need to know that it's good.

BAZ

I wish I knew what he was doing.

I know what I want. I want to wrap my arms around him and hold him close. I want us to bathe in the rising sun and forget everything else in the world.

I want his hood off, and I want my fingers in his hair.

I want it so bad that I stop thinking and I do it, reaching my hand out and slowly dragging the cotton-y cloth off. Out springs his hair, clearly darker in the faint lights, but sticking up and unruly. My hand hesitates, fingers hovering above his scalp before I feel his head tilt and rest against my palm.

It's thick. Unbrushed. Uses shit shampoo and probably rarely conditions.

Nonetheless, it's fantastic. I can barely explain feeling of just carding my fingers through it.

Simon's eyes fall only my face, dancing around before falling back shut. I can feel the rise and fall of his body with a heavy breath, making my heart nearly stop.

“Is this okay?” whisper, holding his head carefully. His curls bob with his nod, eyes still settled shut. “How… about sleeping?”

“What about it?”

“There's one bed, and a couch. I can sleep on the couch…”

He shakes his head, keeping against me. “‘M not shy,” he whispers as an odd invitation to share.

I'm definitely not the one to turn it down.

“Neither am I,” I whisper back, hand squeezing his. He just looks towards out touching skin, biting his lip while letting go to unlace his trainers. I take the hint to unlace my own shoes, settling them aside before tugging at the blankets. He shifts, allowing me to turn them down and slip inside. He doesn't follow, lying above the blanket.

“Aren't you cold?” I murmur, turning to my side. He mirrors, propping himself on his elbow.

“Rarely.”

“Why?”

He shrugs, heavy eyes falling back shut.

I want to prove it for myself.

My hand reaches out, fingertips settling hesitantly onto his cheek. Surely enough, his it’s well warm under mine.

His lashes are short, but a gentle contrast against his skin as they flutter back open. They lay on my hand, then my own eyes, lip sucking into his mouth as he bites it. He's dead silent as he extends his hand, meeting my cheek with his palm.

“You're freezing,” he lets out, nose wrinkling. His hand doesn't move away.

“Always am.”

“Damn, I'm sorry.”

Helplessly, my face falls into an open smile, shamelessly relaxing. “It's fine. It's just… how it is.”

His eyes rest back on mine, staying there as his fingers flatten down. Eventually, I feel his thumb rub back and forth against my skin, hand cupping me gently. Like I'm some prized possession of his.

“Is it cold in here? Does it bother you?” His hand moves up and slips into my hair, pushing it back with a slow drag. I feel my heart flutter, mouth parting open as I sink into the feeling.

“No,” I finally respond. There's so much to be said, but it feels like we're tiptoeing around it. A slow, languishing fight for affection from one another, and I don't quite know who's winning. “I'm rather comfortable.”

His head nods, my gentle grip falling out of his hair and settling onto his back. At a snail's pace, his hand slowly untangles from my hair and falls back to my face. As if I'd willed it to, his fingers rest onto my lips.

I risk a quick peck onto them, watching his cheeks flush at the motion. Yet, still, he's silent, keeping his fingers still.

I don't want to stop. I don't want to shut my eyes and rest, but as every second creeps on, so does my exhaustion. It isn't until my eyelids finally fall shut that I feel him scoot closer, arm draping around me.

He smells like cheap soap and chocolate milk. I wish I could smell him forever.

“You smell like cigarettes,” he tells me. His words burn like the guilt in my throat, still rough from the two I'd smoked earlier..

“Don't worry about it.”

A beat. Then, “I worry about you anyway.”

I don't know how to swallow that one.

Instead, I just keep my eyes shut, holding his still-linked hand tighter. “Don't worry about it now. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

He must be right in front of me. I can feel it--his slow exhale near my face. It's warm, and his forehead touches mine as he lowers it for a nod. “Sleep tight, Baz.”

[veliseraptor]

SUBMITTED BY @stripedroseandsketchpads​: So here’s this, in which Will Scott does not know what the fuck he is doing, and Lymond suffers, so…GoK in a nutshell, but more

Lymond had been missing for just over a day when Will Scott found himself in the thick of the woods near Threave. The company had split up searching for the outlaw, and Will had made the deliberate, desperate choice of heading off on his own, hoping to quell the public knowledge of his own failures with his search. For in the day before Lymond’s escape, he’d done insult to his superiors, spent time in the cellar that housed their prisoner himself, and finally been blamed (falsely, he could only hope) for allowing Lymond to get away through sheer negligence. That must all be set right, this couldn’t happen again. That the man must be brought to justice kept Will’s pace quick and his eye tireless in its search. The miracle was in his success. It was around midday, and a storm was gathering overhead, apt for the moment when a flash of something pale caught his eye and he saw a man, moving quickly though stumbling a little, through the trees—white shirt, what looked like golden hair. Will did not take a moment to consider that he would alert Lymond when he urged his horse forward, because quite simply, the man could not outrun him. At the pounding of hoofbeats, the nervous whinnies as the animal felt the storm’s wind and the beginnings of lighting crackling, Lymond turned, looked over his shoulder for a bare second, and ran.

Had Will been on foot, his adversary would surely have escaped, even with the injury Will had dealt him at his capture (his first capture; he’d have him again, surely). But the young man was correct in this most simple of judgements. He caught up swiftly as the wind roared and the sky rumbled low, slowing only a little when he was near enough to see the blood on Lymond’s shirt, on the side where Will rode. He pulled even briefly, and realized with confusion that he didn’t know how to stop him, thinking that if he went in front Lymond would simply dodge away. On impulse, Will reached out, grabbed Lymond under the arm, and with the aid of his momentum, threw him down. He succeeded in sending him crashing to the ground, and heard him cry out, in unison with an almighty clap of thunder. Will meant to wheel his horse around to claim his prisoner, but he’d not considered the animal’s fear of the storm. The chestnut, in protest, neighed wildly and by resisting Will’s direction, threw him, the reins slipping from his hands at the sudden shift in gravity.

Thus, Will landed hard in the dirt a ways from his would-be captive, and could feel hubris catching up as he listened to the sound of retreating hoofbeats, winded and generally aching, though he seemed largely unharmed. There was a brief time before he remembered Lymond, which made him shoot to his feet, sure he’d lost his quarry along with his mount and his sense of direction (a right mess, though it could only be so long before someone found him as they’d not gotten far). Instead Will found that he hadn’t moved, and walked over with more curiosity than trepidation. There was no reason, after all, for counterfeit. Lymond wasn’t stupid; he wouldn’t bother to attack Will when he had the chance to run instead.

He thought at first that Lymond must have struck his head falling, but he found the man conscious, breathing heavily and attempting to turn over on his back. He’d fallen on his bad shoulder—the one, Will realized, which he’d grabbed him by, and the damage was obvious. There was new blood blooming on the white fabric, and Lymond was markedly pale, grimacing as he made to stand. Will grabbed him by the collar, remembering his purpose, and pushed him back to the ground, at which point Lymond actually bothered to look at him, and say with a particular venom,

“Ah, Brutus, it seems you have failed again in your assassination.” If Will usually missed Lymond’s flourishes to speech, this one was plain, perhaps for his benefit in catching the insult and accusation.

“You think me the traitor?”

“I think you are the last of them to fall in line, and at present, the man to bring me back to hang, or leave me here to perish more speedily,” Lymond said, and now Will noticed a waver to his voice, something he would surely never admit to. When he let go of the collar, his hand was covered in blood. Too much, given bandage he’d had before, and it was spreading too quickly. Lymond didn’t try to fight him, which was the most alarming thing, though nor did he cease in his rambling—for that was what it was. Apparently injury impeded even Lymond’s eloquence. “Playing surgeon, are we now? Perhaps you’ve a dirk to speed things along?”

Will was now quite conscious of the fact that he was far from learned in any sort of medicine, and that whatever was happening to Lymond (whatever he had done) was doing so more quickly than he could muster a solution. He’d have to bandage it, but was distracted by the need stop the blood…he placed his hands over the place where it flowed, warm through the fabric of the shirt. When Will pressed down on the wound, Lymond did scream, briefly, and seemed to cut himself off into deep, ragged breaths. Probably, thought Will, to preserve his dignity.

“For the love of God, Scott, you’ve damned near sunk to murder but I’d not have thought torture was among your interests.” He realized that of course it was pointless, that he was doing everything wrong, but even so…

“No, I’m not…” This was not at all what was meant to happen, Will thought faintly, and wondered if he’d worsened things, or made them better. If someone found them soon enough, Lymond would be easy to re-capture. If no one did, he might die.

“Well, are you satisfied? Were you disappointed, perhaps, that I didn’t scream when you stuck the knife in to begin with? You’ve done nothing useful, certainly.”

“You’ve got to go to trial. I’m only helping for justice’s sake. Helping them. But I’m not hurting you.”

“I do believe I know better than you, young master, I—” Lymond gasped when Will sat him up halfway tried to take off the shirt, thinking to examine the damage. Surprisingly, Lymond helped to pull it over his head, with a hiss, and put his weight on his left arm to stay upright. He took a breath, recovered himself, and smiled thinly. “I have experience. As I am at your mercy, however, do what you will with your own workings or else leave me to rot or recuperate, as the case may be.”

The implication of the first part of Lymond’s statement—experience— and whether it was a lie, nearly threw him, but Will brushed it off near instantaneously rather than attempt to understand. Lymond didn’t matter: not his words, not his history, just that his life had to be preserved. Without looking at Lymond’s face, Will removed the old bandage entirely, useless, and tore an uneven strip from the bottom of Lymond’s ruined shirt. These were bad conditions, altogether, but there was nothing to be done. Will found, however, that he could not keep silent either in the presence of his new enemy, lest he be allowed to claim some victory.

“You know I did the right thing,” said Will, annoyed at how churlish it sounded to his own ears.

“You killed a very good friend of mine.”

“I didn’t kill him,” snapped Will, “and you don’t have any very good friends. You’ve no friends at all, just people who take orders from you.” Lymond laughed, rather cruelly for his position, as Will set to winding the fabric under his arm and around to the source of the bleeding. Surely that would help. It had to. 

“I will admit, the list dwindles. Brother, sister, company, lieutenant. All quite, quite down.”

“All of that,” said Will, “is your fault.” Lymond’s expression was an odd mixture of emotions, a flinty amusement.

“Every last bit? The most minuscule piece, my doing?” Will hesitated, before recalling that there was no trick when he knew the truth.

“Yes,” he answered firmly, “it is.”

“May I ask then, what possesses you to kneel before a devil incarnate and bind up his wounds, though no trespass be forgiven?” The ironic mirth was fading from him, as he looked worse off, which, though unsurprising, was some cause for concern. 

“Of course I don’t mean to forgive you.”

“Rhetorical, Mar—” he hissed through his teeth, and groaned as Will tugged the bandage a little tighter, careful, but with no regret for the pain, judging by his words.

“What was that?”

“I don’t want forgiveness.”

“No, you said… don’t ever call me that again.” Lymond looked upwards, blinking, but his features were strained.

“You’d prefer traitor, then? Foul wretch, villain, stabber in the dark?” Will felt his jaw twitch slightly, the accusations enough like his father’s before to hit home… as if he was a traitor to everyone in the world at once, though that was quite impossible. Wasn’t it?

“I could see well enough,” Will answered, grim.

“Aye, for the candle was thine, O bringer of light.” Distracted humor dissolved shortly into something closer to true anger. That it was half-subdued along with Lymond meant little. 

“And you put it out.”

“Indeed. My motives are plain. Yours are duplicitous, muddy, misinformed, and utterly selfish.” Will’s hands were clumsy with their work, more so when distracted. With care, he corrected, and tried to ignore Lymond’s half-sensible tirade. “If I am the worst of humanity that you can fathom, you’ve not seen much of the world. Not everyone has the privilege of becoming an outlaw for the sport of it, and to spite their parents. And very few are so lucky as to turn traitor without repercussions.” Lymond was speaking oddly now, distant, and it unsettled Will. “Very few,” he said, “I think none. How did you find our cozy little cell?” Will, at the end of his work, found he could no longer stand the barbs, and pulled far tighter than he thought he ought to, hoping to interrupt. It achieved more than the desired effect. True, Lymond cried out, teeth gritted, but his hand slipped from beneath him, and then, quite suddenly, he fell back in a dead faint.

Will sat there, nonplussed, for what was likely far too long before trying stir him, shaking his shoulder, and speaking insults rather than call his name with any tone of concern. Worryingly, it was unsuccessful, but the shoulder was bound, the blood not staining through quite so quickly. He was breathing, too, though a little shallowly. When Will found that he couldn’t rouse him, couldn’t move him, and had nowhere to take him to, he sat down, frowning, with his back against a tree and his eyes resting on Lymond, and waited. For someone to find them, for the sun to set, or the sky to open, or for Lymond to wake up and start distracting him again. Silence but for birdsong and the calming wind, after having heard so much of the man’s voice, was strange.

As dusk fell, hunger and thirst crept up, and Lymond lay still with Will glancing down occasionally, he was beginning to think it had been too long. Still the breathing, still the heartbeat, but aside from the briefest flutter of an eyelash a good while ago…nothing else. The sky had ceased in its violent discourses by this time, mercifully without having opened with rain, and Will was bored. He looked back at Lymond with some hesitancy, and rose, inspecting the canopy and hoping that someone would notice he’d not returned to Threave, as it was now late enough that they must have called off the hunt. That combined with the exhaustion of that day’s ride and the frayed nerves that came from interacting with Lymond made him whip his head around at the sound of rustling leaves — maybe far-off hoofbeats?— and momentarily abandon his post to several birds take flight from their places, quite far off. That was all it took. He missed movement behind him, and then his back was shoved against the trunk of the nearest tree. Lymond had him by the hair, Will too startled to go for his sword, and too close to make use of it. His onetime superior looked ready to collapse, pale as death, but entirely wakeful, and in the moment Lymond paused with the flicker of a smile across his face, Will realized he’d been feigning for some time. “I hope you do not learn,” he said quite sharply, “what it actually looks like when someone’s nearly dead.” With that, he slammed Will’s head back against the trunk, and Will scarcely felt himself fall, the blow leaving nothing but a burst of pain and sudden dark.

[fernwehbookworm]

Knight of Kandor- Chapter 11

I pace the cell. My whole life was avoiding discovery. I should have run when I first got the order to come to court. I should have run after I came to in the ward. I could still see the men cascading down from the roof that they just caved in. I could see my men drawing swords and fighting towards me. Flashes keep racing through my mind. Boots on cobblestones strike there way down the dark hallway. A torch brings light to me, light I had not seen for two days since they stuck me down here. Grim faces of palace guards greet me. I step away from the door as they unlock it. One snaps shackles over my wrists to keep my arms pinned behind me.

"Come on." The one with the torch says as he leads the way. The one behind me keeps a strong grip on my upper arm.

The journey back up through the castle seemingly takes forever. Servants stare and whisper. I hear a great crowd gathered in the hall before we even enter. Silence falls just before the doors open.  A wide path is cleared when the doors swing open. All three thrones are occupied at the far end. All three faces showing a range of emotion. The Advisers all sit below the royal family. My trial is about to begin. The soldier behind me forces me to my knees. With my arms restrained I almost fall on my face. I am tempted to keep my head bowed but I decide that I have nothing to be ashamed of. I was forced into this life but the very people passing judgment on it.

"Sir Kal El Ward, if that is your true name, you have been accused of high treason for crimes against the crown. Lying, sabotage, attempted assassinations, and attempt at corrupting the Queen-in-waiting. How do you plead against these accusations?" The queen's voice easily carries over the quiet crowd.

I look at Lena, she was still beautiful. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she would not meet my eyes. I look back to the queen. Resolve hardens in my chest.

"I am not guilty of sabotage, assassination, or anything else that would betray the crown. I chose long ago to fight for this country and do not regret that decision. I am guilty of only being a woman, forced into a life I never wanted due to Your Majesty's Royal Decrees. I am guilty of falling in love with the Queen-in-waiting but I never laid a finger on her. I will accept whatever punishment you choose but I choose to no longer lie so I will not accept all the charges against me." I force my voice steady and clear, everyone can hear it. They can hear that I no longer try to drop the tenor of it. The rest of my life will be short anyway, I might as well hear my own voice.

"Still those crimes you have been accused of are a death penalty." The queen's voice is sharp and knifes through me. They have no proof of any betrayal so only those I claim will kill me.

"If that is your wish, my queen."

"Wait, mother. This man... sorry, women saved my life. She saved Queen-in-waiting Lena's life also, multiple times. I do not know how the assassins managed to get inside the castle, but each time, Kal was throwing herself in harm's way. She never asked to rise through the ranks, I did that. Please show mercy." Prince Alexander begs of his mother. I almost want to hug him for his intervention. Lena remains silent, avoiding my eyes.

The Queen sits in deliberation, the advisers whisper among themselves. some moving up and down the table to share the whispered words. Whispers that could mean my life or death. Finally, Lady Catherine stands and ascends the dais to whisper in the Queen's ear. The Queen nods and dismisses her with a wave.

"My son and advisers seem to be of the same opinion. You are still a War Hero and you have saved Lena's life on more than one occasion. In return, I will give you your life, but a punishment must be made. Twenty- five lashes tonight. Then You will have three days to recover and leave. You are henceforth banished from the lands of Krypton." Gasps are mingled with mummers all around the throne room.  I finally bow my head.

"As you wish, My Queen."

"Guards, take her to the courtyard." The two men by me roughly grab my arms and pull me to my feet. I half walk, half dragged out of the hall. The platform in the courtyard is already erected. They are swapping out a noose for a lashing pole. One of my hands is unshackled to be redone in front of me. The heavy iron links between the two are stretched up above my head to be placed on a hook. It is so high that only my toes touch the ground, allowing my back to stretch to be completely exposed. Someone cuts away the thin shift leaving my front just as bare.

The crowd is reforming outside. I look up and can see the royal family on one of the balconies overlooking the entire ordeal. A man silently holds up a piece of thick leather to my mouth. I open and then bite down on it. This is going to hurt by I resolve to not pass out from the pain that is coming. If I did, they would just wait for me to regain conciseness before resuming. A practice snap of the whip almost makes me flinch.

"Begin." The queen intones.

The first lash feels like fire against my skin. I bite down hard on the leather. The second was just as bad as the first. By the fifth, I grunt with each one. By the tenth, tears stream freely down my face. When I look to find the only comfort I have in this world, she is gone. Lena left me to my punishment. How could I blame her, how could she love a woman who deceived her with every breath? Numbness sinks in then. The numbness of loneliness that does not allow you to feel anything else. Suddenly my arms are released from above my head and someone catches me before I fall to the ground. They lift me over their shoulders and carry me. Not to the cell like I thought, but up. Up to my own room and to my own bed. As soon as my head hits the pillow my body gives out.

When I come to it is still light. I lie on my stomach and something feels like it is pressing into my back. I try to sit up but a hand rests on my shoulder.

"Not yet Kara. We have to make sure the wounds close."

"Winn?" I ask.

"Yes, John is here too. He has already packed for you. Rest now." I fall back to sleep, and actual sleep this time.

The next time I open my eyes it is dark. Winn lies on the floor below me, John is asleep leaning against the wall. I feel tears form in my eyes again. I have to leave the only friends I ever had. I had to leave them and travel to enemy lands to live out the rest of my life, however short that may be. I sit up, my back screaming in pain, and move to the wardrobe. A pack is already there in front of it, John had actually got it ready. I dig deep into the back for my old tunics, the ones from before I came here. After I dress I also silently strap on my old dented armor, leaving the Luthor armor behind. Once or twice, both of the men stir but neither wake. With one last glance, I silently leave the room. Conner and Andrew are stationed right outside Lena's chambers, both avert their eyes when I glance over at them. The walk through the castle is long. but I head to the stables to get Comet. Two stable hands doze in a corner. When I enter they jump to their feet.

"I have come for my horse," I say when they look at me questioningly.

"You ain't gotta horse." says a gruff voice from a figure walking up from the back. A large man, almost as animal as the beasts he tames.

"The White War Horse. He's mine." I say

"Not no more. Queen's orders. That horse is now apart of the royal breeding stock. He will make some fine steeds." Anger flood through me, of course, she would not make my banishment easy. Of course, she would take away my last remaining friend.

"Can I at least say goodbye?" The man looks at me harshly, then softens.

"All right, I know the bond between horse and rider, but make it quick. I ain't gettin' in trouble for no wannabe knight." The man leads me to Comet's stall. He neighs as I approach. The stable master leaves us.

"Hey boy, be good okay? This will be better for you. Lots of hay and a warm stable. Plus looks like you will be getting all the horsey tail you desire." I laugh through the tears that started to fall and bury my face in his mane.  We stand there for a bit before I force myself to tear away. I know Comet senses my sadness and he tries to get close to me again, stopped by the stall door.

"No, you stay here. I need to go and you cannot come." Comet makes a sound that might have been a whine.

I turn my back. I hear him paw at the door, trying to get to me. I can hear his cries even outside the stable and it breaks my heart. Thank goodness it is dark because tears fall freely down my face. I walk to the main gate and the guard on duty lets me through with no questions. Everyone knows of my banishment at this point. The streets are quite as I walk. At the last gate, I have to wait until morning so I sit with my back against the outer wall. I chew on some more of the pain revealing leaves, my supply is dwindling quickly. I riffle through the pack to pass my time. John packed a change of clothes, a bedroll, flint, steel, a waterskin, some dried meats, hard rolls, dried vegetables, my healing herbs and a map of the kingdom with marked roads. I keep digging and find a small box. My soaps. I smile at that. John knew how much I loved these. In the box was something else, A pouch filled with coins, it was more than what I had from my pay. John must have added most of his as well. Winn may have helped also, knowing him.

At daybreak, the gate is raised and I leave Kandor, leave my only family behind, heading south to enemy lands.

I woke up on the last day Kara was allowed to be in the city. I do not know why I felt the need to see her leave but I had Jessica dress me anyway. I went down to the courtyard and waited. No one showed up. Then I saw Sir James walking across the yard, he spotted me also. He was sad, I could tell. He could not mourn the loss of a friend who had lied and was banished. Even if Sir James forgave his friend, the world, and Kara, would never know.

"She is gone, your Majesty." He says without allowing me to ask.

"When?" I ask, disappointment inexplicably rising in my chest.

"Early yesterday morning, long before the sun even rose."

"But Comet is still here. I saw him in the stables just last night." I try to protest, James shakes his head.

"Orders of the Queen. Comet is the crown's property. Kal left on foot with only what he could carry."

I try to swallow past the lump in my throat. I leave Sir James without a further word and go back to my room. Jessica follows just as silent. I cannot quite figure out my emotions. I used to be so sure of how I felt, nothing for the most part. Now ever since Kara walked into my life I was so unsure about everything. I was sad that she left secretly in the night, not being able to see her one last time. A part of me foolishly thought that seeing her leave would make my emotions clearer. I was angry at Mother for sending her away, banishing her to enemy lands. If they were enemy lands, a voice whispers in the back of my mind.

Alexander and I hurried to mothers study with the papers left by Mister Winslow. They held the only chance of sparing Kara's life. I do not know why I wanted to save the girl who lied to me but the fact that Lex wanted to save her too was all I needed not to question it. We found mother sitting calmly in her study, staring out the window to were the gallows were being erected for the already decided trial.

"Mother," Lex says with such authority that it actually makes her turn.

"Yes, my dear children? You look out of sorts. I know this has been harrowing but it will all be over soon." poison seems to seep off her words.

"We cannot kill Kal," I say.

"We can and we will." Mother turns her icy glare on me.

"No Mother, she has done nothing besides lie to the crown." Alexander retorts back.

"Nothing? She claimed to be a man and infiltrated my army. Who knows what else she could be hiding."  

"Mother, without any proof of anything else, we cannot hang Kal. Nowhere in the laws of the land does it say a knight must be a man, or a soldier must be a man." Alexander says levelly

"That matters not. No one but the scribes and us would know that."

"Mother, this is a human life! Not some dog that must be put down! Kal has done nothing but serve the crown!" I practically yell at her calmness.

"But has he?"

"What?" Alexander and I say at the same time.

"I have suspicions that Kal is not as loyal as he seems."

"What are you saying, Mother?" Now I was just as confused as I was angry.

"I have spies in Cadmium that whisper of someone inside our castle who works to remove our family from the throne. I believe this person is Kal."

"Why would you believe that?" Alexander asks, disbelief plain in his voice.

"How convenient is it that he saves the day three times in the short time since arriving here?"

"You are the one who requested him by name!" Alexander explodes.

"Because you praised him so highly. Oh Rao, her, you praised her so highly!" Never did Lillian invoke the god's name in vain. This was actually heated, despite Mother's calm voice.

"So what? Kal was put into our armies as a child spy and climbed the ranks in hopes of one day being sent to court to save the Queen-in-waiting time and time again, nearly dying twice?"

"I do not know, but I am looking for proof. Most likely he was approached by another spy and recruited."

"So now we are at not just one, but two spies." Watching Alexander and mother argue was like watching to warriors clash. It was dangerous to be this close.

"Why not? I have a whole network in Cadmium." Mother shrugs nonchalantly.

"We still have no proof." Alexanders completes the circle of this roundabout argument.

"We are not saying not to punish her. Just do not hang her." I say, finally finding my tongue to bring some reason to this argument.

Mother sits back in the chair and stares out the window again. An uneasy quite falls on the three of us.

"Very well. Banishment then. But you will protest the hanging in front of everyone. That way the people can see my justice and mercy for themselves. They can see the crown is fair to all."

"Yes, Mother," Alexander says.

He scoops up the papers and leaves the room, me right behind him.

Doubt still plagued my mind, even though Mother had no such proof. When we get back to my room, Donovan stands guard outside. Jessica stops to chat with him and I continue inside. I sigh. Jessica was so in love that it was cute. For some reason, it also hurt. Damned emotions were so jumbled I could not separate ones I felt for myself for those I felt for others. Jessica enters with a dopey grin on her face and sighs a more happy sigh than my own.

"Do not scowl at me," she says, much to my confusion.

"I was not scowling." Trying to school my face into a neutral mask.

"You are always scowling Lena. Ever since the trial."

"Am not." is all I can retort.

"Yes, you are." I feel like a child again and want to throw a tantrum but I flop on the bed instead.

"It is not fair. I do not even know what I feel and she was gone before I could even hope to figure it out." Jessica flops down next to me.

"You know what you feel, because if you did not feel what you feel you would not be conflicted."

"Excuse me?" I ask, trying to follow what she is saying.

"You still love Kara. You love who Kara is, not that she is a she."

"A woman cannot love a woman Jessica, it is not done." Jessica laughs.

"What?" She is doubled over clutching her stomach.

"You! 'It is not done.'" she mocks me with a deep serious voice.

"Jessica, it is not done."

"Yes, it is. Actually, it is very much among the common folks. Yes, it is frowned upon among nobles and royalty because most want heirs to each inheritance without making a mess of it." I look at her.

"You are lying to me and I do not appreciate it, even if it is to comfort me."

"Lena, please. Even you and I have participated in such activities, platonically."

"But that was just..." I trail off, unable to protest.

"But I do not love you, not like that."

"But many do. Lena just admit that you love Kara Ward." I roll away from Jessica's knowing eyes.

"I cannot. Not yet."

[deer-head-xiris]

Pat and Fives

I ended up putting more effort into this than I thought I would and I’m so tired I cried while writing my thoughts out. I’m exhausted so this may not be written very nicely because I can barely see enough to proofread properly BUT ANYwayY,  HERE Y’ALL GO

(Brief warning just for mentions of sex but nothing even remotely explicit)

Pat is a huge flirt, they’ll always be chatting up customers that catch their eye. Some may even stay the night, but none would stay too long, and Pat didn’t mind it that way.

Most of the locations Pat’s shop traveled to in the Clone Wars Era were Repiblic territory, and Coruscant was their most visited planet. So naturally, Jedi frequented as customers, and later, so did their clone troopers. Pat was well acquainted with Anakin even before the war, he was a favorite customer of theirs, and with the war starting, they got used to seeing clones around their shop. They got real good at remembering most of their names, too

After Fives and Echo both joined the 501st, they eventually got to visit Pat’s shop. And Pat being how they are, noticed that they were new and decided to have some idle chit chat while they cooked. Fives immediately stood out to them once they started talking. They couldn’t quite pin what it was at first, perhaps the tattoo or his clean-cut beard, or perhaps his wit and humor had gotten their attention, but they were hooked on him, and Fives to them as well. Still being new up on the front, he hadn’t encountered many other aliens up close aside from the Kaminoans. Pat’s bright colors, their charm, their warm, inviting smile, it all got him stuck in the same manner he had been to them. The mutual attraction, or “fascination” at the very least, led them to having what was supposed to be a one-night stand, just as most of Pat’s elicit encounters ended up. 

But whenever Anakin was in range of Pat’s store, he almost always brought his troops there for a bite, and Fives kept coming back every time. Pat got to hear about all of his and Echo’s adventures in space, all of their trials on the battlefield, every growing moment that crossed them as the months of the war passed. Pat got to see him and Echo become ARC troopers, to which Pat gave them all free meals to celebrate. Pat’s one-night stand turned into... many nights. 

Pat was no Jedi and had no oath to follow, but for their own personal reasons they preferred never to get too close to any one person. They would deny their own thoughts on it for as long as they could, but as much as they tried, they knew they were falling for him. Of all the people in the galaxy they could have had, their heart tugged the strongest toward the one who’s life was most often in danger. They worried about if he would still show up the next time they were near or if they would hear of his passing. Thoughts like this made them afraid of ever saying more on how they felt, they lied to their own feelings to keep themself from getting hurt. 

This went on, neither of them saying more than what was necessary. Then, Fives showed up alone one day after closing, unaccompanied by Echo or any other trooper for that matter. This wasn’t unusual for them at this point, Pat often let him in alone like this, but they could see there was something wrong. He had just gotten back from a mission, where Echo had perished. Fives wasn’t there for food, or for sex, he just needed someone to talk to. Pat got used to seeing new faces in different clone groups and missing some older faces, but Echo was someone Pat considered a friend. Hearing this news devastated them. Pat and Fives remained in each other’s company for the night until he had to report back.

Their encounters following this started to last longer, but feel shorter. Pat loved when he would visit, but dreaded knowing he would have to leave again in the morning. They wanted to ask him to stay, to run away with him and live somewhere far from the war, but they knew they couldn’t ask that of him. But perhaps, if the war panned out in the Republic’s favor, they could ask then. They continued keeping their deeper feelings sealed away, never speaking anything past an “I’m glad to see you again.”  

 Alas, it was Fives who took it upon himself to go a step further.

Pat’s travelling store had been stationed on Coruscant for an extended period of time, this being due to a perceived danger. Someone had Pat and their shop on a hit-list, and after nearly escaping with their life once, they were forced to take refuge on Coruscant for protection while the issue was settled. While they were a target in this fiasco, it had a much deeper web of influence than Pat would have anticipated. They couldn’t fathom what all was going on, they weren’t being given much information from the Republic other than “you’re being targeted, you must stay on Coruscant for protection until this is handled.” Pat’s business wasn’t hurt by this stay, but they knew they had some far off fans disappointed that they couldn’t visit their usual routes. They had a few clones assigned to guard their shop, and they’d rotate out every now and then. One day after closing when the boys would usually change shifts, to Pat’s surprise, Fives was the one to take over. He had gotten approval to stay assigned here as Pat’s bodyguard for the remainder of their stay, and Pat was ecstatic. This was the most time they had spent together at once. Fives was there during open hours, closing hours, and they cherished every moment. He was able to stay with them for close to two weeks when it was finally proclaimed safe for Pat to travel again, and Fives was called back to the 501st. Pat waved a sad goodbye to him from outside the doors of their shop, but as Fives was walking away, he turned back to Pat’s shop, stopping a moment before running back up to them. He kissed them on the lips, pulled them in a tight embrace, then whispered tenderly, “I love you.” Pat’s mouth was agape, their mind in a daze at the statement. They couldn’t clear their head enough to respond before Fives was off again in a hurry, leaving them standing alone. 

Pat decided right then that this would be it, they loved him and they wanted him to know. The next time he visits, they’ll tell him the most genuine “I love you too” that the galaxy’s ever experienced. They wanted to be his, for him to stay with them after the war, to live their lives together no matter the struggle. They wouldn’t lie to themself anymore.

Weeks pass, then a month, and a little more. Pat hadn’t heard or seen anything of Fives, or the 501st for that matter. Pat was sure it was because they were assigned to a long mission or couldn’t find the time to visit, this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. They had no reason to be worried until they had gotten word that the 501st had come back to Coruscant, but they failed to make their way over to their shop. Still Pat attempted to remain positive, sure that something was just preventing them from visiting immediately. Then one night, Anakin and Rex showed up at their store after closing. Pat welcomed them in with open arms, happy to see their friends of course. It wasn’t until after Pat had asked them, “Where’s my boy, he off saving the galaxy?” that they realized why the two were there. Rex held a helmet in his hands. It was not his own, but the true owner absent. Pat could see in their eyes, the dread of speaking the truth that Pat was coming to know. Their wordless response said it all, and Pat was undone. After giving the news, Anakin and Rex stayed for a while that night to make sure they’d be ok, but like all else, they eventually had to return to duty. Rex left Fives’ helmet in Pat’s care, feeling that’s where Fives would have wanted it. Their store stayed on Coruscant for a few days afterward, but it remained closed. The doors locked, the bright signs on the front unlit, the windows shuttered. It was a shell of its usual bright self, just as Pat was in the ship’s core. 

With time, Pat found the strength to continue on their store’s charted path. They put on a smile for all, though behind it they were broken. Nothing felt right anymore, their heart full of regret for never being able to tell him how they felt. Time would heal them, but it would take much, much time. 

Months pass once more, and after closing, someone knocked at their door. Pat shouted a quick “we’re closed” without looking, brushing it off as just another person who can’t bother to read a sign, but the knock persisted. Frustrated, Pat turned and went to the door, apparently needing to tell the person to their face. The door opened, and behind it was something entirely unexpected. He had the face of a clone, but his body was torn apart and replaced with robotics. He looked malnourished and pale, as if he’d been locked in a room for years. Pat’s frustration diminished, and they looked on to him in wonder. His eyes held familiarity, and his smile held remorse, yet he greeted them as a friend. Pat’s eyes widened as epiphany dawned on them, “Echo.. ” they whispered, tears forming in their eyes. “Echo, you’re-” They couldn’t finish their sentence, they didn’t need to. They pulled him into a hug, clinging to him for dear life as their joyous weeping commenced. They treated him to dinner in their shop, promising free meals for the rest of eternity as they talked about the time and events passed. They laughed together, and mourned together. Much had been taken from Pat in the chaos of this war, including the man they loved. But today, their friend had been returned to them, and they’d cherish this moment as long as time would last. Time- their long ally, and adversary. Unchanging and vast, time would continue on no matter how much Pat would protest.

Perhaps for just today, time chose to be merciful.

[elegiesforshiva]

Ghosts Pt III: AM Noir

Masterpost

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Sakura's departure from herself was a gradual, but inevitable one.  It started as a slow deterioration after Sasuke's abandonment. After her rape, the incline got steeper.  Then the war came and all of Konoha was spiraling into rich hues of blacks and reds.

Ino was MIA and it seemed like it was impossible to get her back—stuck in a sickening cycle where every moment was spent grieving the loss of her father much too soon after Asuma’s death.  Sakura had heard Tenten was even worse and she had trouble wrapping her head around how that was possible.

Ino's mother would constantly be sobbing, heavy with the burden of losing her husband and having a child that didn't know how to smile anymore.  And Ino couldn't stand the sound.  She took refuge at the Haruno residence, much to Mebuki’s antipathy, who never liked her much.  

Eventually Tenten attempted suicide and failed.  She was committed to the psych ward for a preliminary week but then failed the next evaluation and was retained there for another two more.  Sakura heard condescending whispers around the town every time she went out.  But Sakura knew it wasn’t her fault.  Because Lee had Gai and Hinata had Hanabi and Tenten had no one but Neji was still dead and the war just took too much from them.  

Sakura's parents started to go through another poorly timed rough patch and then there was only screaming at her house.  One day Sakura catched Ino lining her wrists with angry red marks in the bathroom, so she took all the money she had saved up and got a small apartment for the two of them.  Ino never thanked her and she still looked like she was 6 feet under, covered in mud and worms with her father, but Sakura never caught her cutting again and that's all that mattered.  Even when she found strange men and sometimes women leaving the apartment at late hours, Sakura swallowed her chagrin.   She would take anything over the red.

Ino's first authentic reaction was when Tenten's body was wheeled in on a stretcher during a nightmare shift at the hospital.  Her limbs had been torn open and there was blood everywhere.  Sakura thought she was dead for sure, her hands shaking as she poured chakra into the pale body.  Ino was in shock, body convulsing so bad that their medical team didn't even bother to ask her for help.  Sakura was certain she'd have been in the same position had it not been for Tsunade's presence anchoring her.

"What the hell happened?!" Tsunade had been furious. "She wasn't even on a mission!"

"There was an anonymous call to the hospital," a paramedic explained.  “We’re not sure what happened.”

It was later revealed that it was done by the hands of the Ame-nin that Tenten had been dating at the time.  He was also the one who made the call before fleeing.  Sakura wasn't entirely surprised because the few interactions she'd seen between them were uncomfortable at best.  She had hoped it was just the strain of a long distance relationship, but shinobi are known to foster unhealthy romances far too often.  The psychosis comes with the job.

"I miss him." Tenten said, a week into her hospital stay, mummified in bandages with a voice that barely slipped through the rot.  "Isn’t that the most pathetic shit you’ve ever heard?  He nearly killed me and I miss him."

Sakura ached all over from that.

"I wish Neji was here."

Sakura felt tired. "Me too."

Eventually, Ino stops bringing home different men and clings to one with amber eyes and blue hair.  His name is Jin and he was old enough to be Ino's father.  Sakura doesn't bother to point this out because she knows Ino’s mother is likely already giving her shit for it.  His smirk reminds her of Sasuke and Sakura's nightmares get worse because of it.  He has a short temper too but Sakura took comfort in the fact that he was only a low level chunin.  Still, she hears Ino crying in her room sometimes and the yelling was constant.  Sakura sees Jin eyeing her when Ino isn't around too and she doesn't know how to tell her best friend that she often fantasizes about killing her boyfriend.

"I don't like the way he talks to you," Sakura had said.

"Fights are normal in any relationship," Ino replied.

"He's abusive."

“He’s been through a lot,” Ino excuses.  

Sakura knows neither one of them buy it, but she imagines Ino must want to.

"You pined over a mad man for years." Ino said then.  She could see Inoichi's lifeless eyes stare back at her. "Just let me have this."

Sakura couldn't stand looking at his face after that.  Nor the screaming.  When she wasn't in the hospital, she wore herself out in the training grounds.  On the better days she would pass out there too.

"You look like crap, Sakura-chan." Naruto said one day, concerned.

"I feel like crap, Naruto." Sakura replied.

One day at one of Kiba's house parties Ino had gotten too high and her boyfriend too drunk, and he wrapped his fingers around her throat while in the privacy of a vacant bedroom.  But his belligerent screaming could be heard from across the house, giving him away.  Tenten was the first to reach them and she had snapped.  Then there was a kunai lodged in his jugular and Ino and Tenten had been stained with his crimson.

Ino was on the floor, screaming.  Tenten was next to her, rocking back and forth clutching a bloody kunai close to her chest, muttering something incomprehensible.  Kiba was cursing a mantra, "Fuck...oh fuck what did you...fuck oh my gods, what did you do?"

Sakura's fingers trembled as she tried to stitch the skin of a dead man back together with her chakra.  Maybe he'll wake up. She hoped, her hands red.

He didn't.

.

.

.

Tenten and Ino spent the night at the psych ward for an evaluation that she didn't think either of them should have passed.  But Sakura was partially thankful they did anyway because she was scared to spend even one night alone in the apartment. When she saw Sasuke's hawk tapping on her window that very same night, she remembered Jin’s smirk, and his throat cut open.  So Sakura took the letter and burned it on a candle’s flame.  She regretfully watched the paper uncoil in the wake of the embers devouring it.  And she caught the last few words of the note before it turned to ash.

I miss you.

-S

Sakura threw up in her white toilet bowl and took a kitchen knife to her wrists that night.  She didn't heal herself until the next morning.

 Ino and Tenten had avoided each other after that.  Sakura cried at night because she knew had it not been Tenten who found them, she would've been the one to kill the pathetic fuck.  And she almost wishes it was her who did it too because maybe it would ruin her and Ino's relationship but Tenten didn't deserve that.  Not after what she had been through.

There was outrage from the nin’s family and they threatened Tenten to be put on trial.  Had it not been for Naruto and Tsunade defending her, she would’ve been thrown in a prison cell to rot for at least 6 years.  Sakura was endlessly grateful that Lee started to keep his teammate company after that because she was sure Tenten would try to kill herself again.  Ino was quiet during the hellish parade and Sakura was probably the only person who didn’t pressure her to speak up about it.

Sakura and Ino started to sleep in the same bed the following weeks too because Ino would wake up in the middle of the night crying and screaming and it was easier to calm her down if she was right there next to her.  One time she woke up and asked where Jin was, that she had a horrible dream and needed to see him.  Sakura didn’t have the chance to respond before reality hit her frantic mind and she cried for her Otousan and Asuma sensei.   Sakura had held her and cried with her until morning.

"About Tenten," Sakura inquired later that day, handing Ino back a joint they were sharing.  She had been formerly opposed to such vices, mostly because it left one vulnerable to unexpected attacks.  But then everything became red and she didn't know how else to cope either.  So she covered the rooms with genjutsu and seals and got fucked up with Ino every other week.  "Are you mad at her?"

Ino took a hit before responding, exhaling with an expression that made Sakura think she wished it was her being burned to fumes and not the joint.  "I wish I could be."

 A month later Tenten made a second attempt to kill herself and Lee found her in time.  Ino finally started to talk to her again after that.  Sakura saw the guilt choking Tenten ease just a bit, but she still looked as exhausted and heartbroken as the day of Neji’s funeral.

Sakura had started to encourage Hinata to pursue Naruto with vehemence after that.  But whether it was for Naruto’s sake, Hinata’s, or hers—she wasn’t sure.   Soon enough, she caught them holding hands while returning from the training grounds.

For Sakura, Sasuke was everywhere and in everything. His gaze was red and drilled through her skin and bone, and she swears there are days where she feels him.  And she’s so sick of feeling things she didn’t want to.

She tried to escape it, driving her first into dummies as hard as she can, throwing herself in every new medical textbook she can find, drinking and smoking with the other girls and sometimes alone too, because Ino had finally moved out.  

You pined over a mad man for years. Ino had said.  And she wished it wasn't true.  I miss him.  Tenten had said, looking as dead as she felt.  And Sakura had known that feeling too well.  

Sakura was in etiolation, trapped in a winter she couldn’t shake off.  She kept thinking about the Uchiha massacre.  Because when she finally learned it all it made sense.  And she wept and wept for Sasuke’s burden.  Never before had she found her existence to be so loathsome until then—the sacrifice of a clan for lives like hers and her kaasan’s.

She was the last of Team 7 to be told the truth, and it was only a few days before the nature of Itachi’s last mission in Konoha was revealed to the public, apparently against Sasuke’s wishes but on account of Tsunade heavy with the guilt of Hiruzen’s choices and hoping to move forward.  She wanted to hate Kakashi and Naruto for withholding it from her for so long, but she owed Naruto her life and so much more, and Kakashi was often more of a parental figure than her own parents could ever hope to be.  He respected and handled her journeys through trauma better than any adult she knew.

But the knowledge of Konoha’s participation in Sasuke’s mourning left Sakura sleeping in gradients of terror.  Naruto was missing his right arm and sometimes his head too.  Kakashi was nothing but a black, charred corpse.   She saw Sasuke and he looked like God. ��He was armed, kusanagi in hand, cutting into her, drawing intricate designs into her organs.  Where's Itachi? He'd ask, his eyes as dark as the void she handed her heart to when she fell for a 12 year old boy who lost everything.  I want my niisan back.  Konoha stole him from me and I want him back.  And Sakura couldn’t say anything because he was right.  They stole everything from him and this was just deserts.  They deserved to die, hands stained with Uchiha blood.  But that doesn’t stop her from screaming herself awake.

.

.

.

It seemed like each year that went by had Konoha feeling less like home and more like a still, bleak painting that Sakura didn’t know how she fell into.  She started to have strange visions of black birds and their chirps reminded her of Sasuke’s chidori.  She saw them stained with red beaks.

Her clairvoyance does not stop her father from dying.  He had been killed in a grocery market with three others from a kunoichi who had snapped.  It was a pathetic way to go and a testament to the civilian lifestyle he lived.  The nin didn’t even make it to trial before killing herself too.  Sakura couldn’t tell if there was any justice in that.  

Sakura’s mother, who had always been prone to depression, shuts down after that.  Eight months later, Sakura found her dead on her bedroom floor the anniversary of her father’s birthday.  She was laying in her own vomit, with empty pill bottles scattered along the floor.  Sakura held her corpse in her lap and oscillated between sobbing and screaming harder than she ever had in her life.  

She doesn’t know how long she was sitting with her mother’s body in her arms, but eventually the neighbours had called the police because of the noise.  The next day, Naruto, Sai, and Ino helped shuffle through her belongings and empty the house.  

“Did she leave a note?” Naruto had asked.

“She is the note,” Sakura had replied.

Kakashi helped Sakura prepare the funeral and sell it.  And she supposed that was a grim fit.

 Sakura found it easy to convince her sensei (now Hokage) to let her join ANBU.  She was more than qualified, but she figured he’d put up more of a fight, knowing her interest was triggered with the events of her parents death.  She’s thankful he didn’t.

Sakura works with mainly groups at first, sometimes leading, but usually preferring to follow because then she can convince herself there’s less blood on her hands when a teammate goes missing.  She enjoys the solo missions the best, because she spends less time engulfed in paranoia without the weight of a whole squad’s lives in her hands.  

She uses layers of genjutsu on her enemies when she can, practicing and honing her skills, marking the value of her progress by the height of their screams.  She’s sickened and in pain and yet she’s ominously attracted to the sounds.  Sometimes she screams with them, and it makes her feel less alone.  She finds herself asking strange questions in the midst of interrogations before killing them.  What was your favorite toy when you were younger?  What’s your favorite weapon now?  What were your parents like?  Did they kill people too?  Did they hold you close and kiss you when you had a nightmare?  

Have you ever raped someone?  

She isn’t surprised when some men admit to doing so in the midst of tortured screams.  They repented to her as if she was their God.  And perhaps, in those moments, she was.

She relished in the horror in their eyes when she undid their belts, slid their pants over their hips.  “What’s wrong?” she would ask.  “Don’t you like it?”  Sometimes she played with their phallus, admiring the fleshy feel of them in her gloved hands.  Sometimes they even grew hard.  She loved watching those nin bleed out after cutting the appendage off with a kunai.  And on the days she felt sick with loss—heart barely beating inside a monochrome tomb—she castrated them with her hands instead.  Their screams were so high pitched in volume that she laughs while she cries because that’s kind of what she sounded like when her insides were mutilated by a stranger too.

One day it’s a young woman she pushes her blade into, her brown strands long and her eyes gold, struck with terror.  Sakura pet the girl affectionately while she bleeds out.  “Shhh...shhh...it’ll be over soon.” Sakura said, “It’s okay.  You don’t need to be scared.”  She rubbed the curve of her cheek, smearing the red over her face with tenderness, as if she didn’t just run her through with a blade.  Sakura had pushed her healing chakra into the trembling body of her victim, as she often does.  It helps to numb the pain as they die.  When she looks into the frightened eyes of the young woman, she imagines it’s her own face she is looking into then—imagines it is a younger version of herself she is killing.  

She pulls off her mask and kisses the girl’s sweat slick forehead sweetly. “It won’t hurt there.  He can’t follow you.”  Because Little Sakura is innocent and good.  Little Sakura is going to find some kind of peace, some kind of heaven when she dies.  And her parents will be there to hold her close and kiss her because she finally woke up from the nightmare of loving a boy with ghosts in his eyes.  Otousan will make bad jokes, and Okaasan will finally be proud because there’s no demons in her belly to purge.  And Sasuke will surely reign his terror in hell, far, far away from her.  In death, they’ll finally be separated.  In death, her head will not be muddled with his beautiful face, his haunting absence, his misplaced grief.

And what freedom she found—watching the kunoichi take her last breath before slumping onto the cold ground.  What relief.

Sakura held the body close and cried.

.

.

.

Sakura had enough sense to resign the next day.  She doesn’t go the hospital for two week, and every night either Ino or Naruto was in her bed, holding her, while she cried into their shoulder.  Ino never asked what’s wrong, nor did she lie and tell her it’s going to be okay.  More often than not, she cried with her too then made them both drink water together.  She doesn’t bother forcing Sakura to eat, because she never did when life was decomposing her insides too.  Naruto kissed Sakura’s head and told her that he loves her, that there are many people who love her and that will never change.  And Sakura knows it’s true but she also knows it doesn’t matter because love can’t kill the horrors that came with growing up.

Naruto visited her more often in general.  He talked about him and Hinata, and Sakura took refuge in their love.  It’s soft and warm, and Naruto’s smile is incandescent.  For most, romance had finally progressed from a morbid series of trial-and-error to things-are-actually-alright.  And Sakura is blessed with a vicarious and vital fulfillment from their peace.  And this is in part because she had to–she knew she’d never get that from her own broken heart.

And maybe she should have tried to fix it but she couldn’t be bothered. Relationships were unfathomable things because most of the time she still couldn’t figure out how to touch herself again without crying.  So she took the pressure off, lowered her expectations.  She didn’t have to be happy.  She just had to be functional.

Eventually, Sakura started to feel like she was.  Even the bad dreams started to come in more sparse.

 And then, he returned to Konoha.

 His presence had a way of dictating her every branch of mind and body, ever since they were little.  So naturally, hearing about Sasuke’s letter from Naruto sends her brain reeling out of her head and into a red sinkhole of every death she had ever envisioned by his hands.  She breaks the mug clasped tightly between her fingers. “What?”

Naruto flinches at the abrasive gesture, his eyes following the fine shards of porcelain as hot tea spills over her hands and onto her carpeted floor.

Sakura swallows hard and tries to name off the systems of the body to take her mind off of the memory of Sasuke’s arm plunging through her body.  Respiratory … Cadiovascular … Endocrine … Muscular … Skeletal…

Naruto is quiet, leaning into her couch with crossed arms.  He adorns a dramatic pout.  “Sakura-chan it’s been years.  I thought you said you got help with this.”

“It’s not that simple, Naruto,” she snaps, offended.

“It’s Teme.  I don’t get what’s the big deal, it’s been so long and he’s been doing so much to change everything, Kakashi even said so.”  Sakura wants to scream, but Naruto saved the village, saved her so she bites her tongue and focuses on his orange jacket.  Maybe she can absorb his sunny disposition by staring at the offensive brightness long enough.  

“I know, I know.”  She wants to brush him off but Naruto doesn’t know how to quit.  She wishes she could keep up with him.  But nobody shrugs off anguish like Naruto.  He was the martyr that never died—a God among humans.  

“Then you’ll come welcome him home with me, right?”  Naruto asks, persistent.  Sakura tries to forget what blinding heat electrocuting you feels like.  But the power of a Sharingan’s genjutsu isn’t praised without reason.

She clutches her forearms and makes an effort to impersonate someone who’s not on the verge of having a panic attack. “Look, I’m working on it.  But I’m just not ready, okay?”  She gets up then, eyes averted as she mechanically reaches for her wallet and keys on the kitchen counter.  “I’m going to go do groceries.  I need milk.”

“Sakura-chan…”

“I have to go, Naruto.  Help yourself to the fridge.”  She all but ran out.

Soon enough, Sasuke returns, and as if Sakura doesn’t struggle enough with Naruto, she finds his presence worming itself into the conversations outside of Team 7.

“I heard Sasuke’s back.” Ino says, taking a bite out of her dango.

Sakura strategically starts to sip her glass of orange juice, completely unprepared for this conversation, though she should have expected it.

“Coincidentally, you’ve been walking around with your chakra masked these past few days too,” Ino comments, nonchalant and knowing.

Sakura starts to gulp it down then.

“Relax, forehead,” Ino shakes her head at the spectacle.  “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.” Ino eyes her dango, sorting where to bite next.  “I do think masking your chakra is seriously overkill though.  He’s not going to stalk you.”

Sakura puts her glass down and makes a point to speak softer than she feels.  “You don’t know him.”

Ino quirks her eyebrow.  “You haven’t had a real conversation with him since you were like fourteen.  Chances are, you don’t either.”

“Thirteen.” She corrects.  Ino gives her an unimpressed look, as if to enunciate the point.

Ino is right, but she is wrong.  Sakura does know him.  She would always know him.  Even when she didn’t.  Sakura takes a deep breath then, inhaling and exhaling through her nose because she feels the tell-tale wave of nausea hitting her then.  “Well, better safe than sorry, I guess,” she mutters.

“What does ‘sorry’ entail, exactly?”  Ino takes a sip out of her lemonade.  “Mildly unpleasant small talk?”

Sakura shakes her head. “Sasuke doesn’t do small talk.”  She scratches at her thigh beneath the counter to keep herself reigned into reality instead of the sillhoutes in her head.

“Then?” Ino quirks an eyebrow.

Sakura shifts uncomfortably in her seat.  “I thought you said it’s fine if I don’t want to talk about it.”  

Ino looks at her inquisitively, and Sakura stiffens beneath her gaze.  The blonde sighs then, “Okay. You’re right.”  Sakura feels the tension leave her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” She dismisses while she checks her fingernails for blood.  All clear.

“I’m thinking of requesting more missions again.”  Ino says then.  “You should too.  I think we’ve both been cooped up in that hospital for too long.”

“Maybe.” Sakura finally takes a bite out of her own dango, now that the conversation has ventured onto more comforting territory.  She wasn’t hungry but it helped to keep her senses distracted.  “The hospitals are still always hectic though, I don’t know if they’ll let me.”

“You’re Sakura Haruno,” Ino says, working on her second dango. “Of course they’ll let you.  And maybe we’ll even be put on the same team.”

“They rarely put two medics on a team.  It’ll be a long time before we’re ever on a mission together,” Sakura says.

Ino shrugs. “You’re not just support.  You’re a front line hitter as much as you are a medic in the platoon’s rear.”  Ino says with a tinge of pride before finishing her glass.  “I mean, that’s why they put us together last time, isn’t it?”

“No,” Sakura snorts.  “When we were put on that team, you were the medic.  I was dead weight that wasn’t fucked up enough for the psych ward’s priority list.”

Ino is quiet now, eyes downcast.  And Ino’s never quiet.  Sakura feels a tinge of regret for responding so bluntly.

“I’ll ask Kakashi,” Sakura decides.  “You’re right.  I could use a break from the hospital too.”

[sending-the-message]

My first job by SirVoidberg

I remember how long it took to finally land my first job. At the time I was about seventeen years old, give or take a few months. School wasn't for me so I had dropped out a year prior to seek a life of creativity in music, writing, art and film. Of course, looking back now, I was an idiot to have dropped out. But this isn't a story about the dangers of not staying in school, no, this is about what happened at my first job.

Months had flown by and every day I would find another email saying that I wasn't quite what they were after. That euphoric feeling of seeing that little 're:' pop up in my inbox followed by a disheartening defeat. Over and over again. At this point my case worker at the work and income office set me up with a short hospitality course. There I learned how to make coffee, put together a half decent CV with whatever little qualifications I had, and in turn forced me out to go door-to-door in town to find anything.

Every day I would go to the next cafe, the next retail store, the next office, handing over my resume. Nobody wanted to hire some high school dropout. As I traveled deeper and deeper into town, I finally found something. Parallel to a main road was a side street that had a few cafe’s and shops that might have something. Halfway along this street, after many ‘we will call you’s’, I came across an old Cinema.

The place looked like it was stuck in the 70’s. Had that old school sign system outside where you would have to change each letter by hand whenever a new movie came in or an old movie was sent off. The lobby within was just as dated, with retro red leather couches along the walls and atrociously patterned linoleum floors, illuminated by faded orange lights.

I made my way in with a confident walk and went straight for the counter. Nobody was around, though it was the middle of the day, so I let my eyes wander as I waited to be noticed. Along with the main counter where you would buy tickets, popcorn, and candy there was also a bar attached. A beer while watching a movie? Now that sounded like a great time!

Suddenly a door behind the counter opened up and a young woman, dressed in a black and red vest uniform, jogged out. She apologized for the wait and asked how she could help me. My initial confidence dropped as I couldn’t help but check out how absolutely gorgeous she was. After a short pause I pulled out a CV and told her I was looking for work. Her face lit up, those emerald green eyes looking me over ecstatically. They were actually looking to hire! The place was very understaffed and a young person who has time was exactly what they were after. She gave me a form to fill out and said they would call as soon as they could.

+++

It wasn’t long, maybe a week, until I got the call to come trial. I got to know the other staff quite well, there were only a few of us after all. At first I was scheduled on for just day shifts, which was great as I got to work with Sarah, the girl who helped me get this job. We got along great, had amazing banter, and it just made every day a dream. As time went on one of the night staff resigned which opened up more hours which I gladly took.

My first night I was shown how to close up by David, one of the supervisors. It was pretty easy, usually only took one person to close the cinema while the manager stayed in the main office doing paper work. We only had six movies running, and everything was timed to finish one after the other, so you could go in and clean up one before going straight to the next.

As myself and David checked each cinema he began to tell me a story. Last year, while closing up, one of the female staff members had a terrifying run in with a ‘crazy guy’. They were waiting on the last cinema which had a few tickets sold. The last patrons finally left so she went in to clean up the spilt popcorn and check the fire exits. After getting halfway through the rows of chairs the staff member suddenly saw a man ‘physically crumpled’ under one of the furthest seats. They called out to them and apparently he just started screaming ‘My friends are coming! My Friends are coming!”

Immediately she ran away to get the manager, a large South African man, who quickly called the police. He threatened that if they weren’t here fast enough he was going to kill this screaming man. The police soon arrived but before they entered the cinema the man had sprung out from the chair and clambered down the rows of seats to the fire exit. They never managed to catch him, and the girl who was working there never did a night shift again.

Seeing as it was close to midnight I was pretty spooked by this story. The way David described how the man was crumpled under the seat really got to me. Each of the seats barely had enough room for a bag to be put under them, let alone a full grown man! Luckily for us, nothing too scary happened that night, and soon enough I was heading home on my pedal bike.

+++

A year had gone by and I had began working at the bar within the cinema. It was really cool learning how to make cocktails, pouring beautiful girls glasses of wine, and chatting with film lovers about what was showing at the time. The time I spent searching for my first job had paid off and I was actually loving life! I had moved out of my parents house, had a whole bunch of money saved up, and had made some great friends at the cinema. Plus I got to see all the movies for free.

Everything was going perfectly until something went horribly, horribly wrong. It was a cold Autumn night and I was waiting for the last movies to finish up. At the time it was just myself and Sarah working. She had made her way up the career ladder to become a manager. Because of this we didn’t really hang out and chat like we used to, it was a more professional relationship at this point, but that was fine with me. I was proud of her for getting that spot and she was way out of my league anyway.

While she sat in the office behind the counter I was standing outside the final cinema as the credits rolled. I nodded to each of the movie-goers as they left discussing their likes and dislikes of the movie. Finally the last couple was out and I began to clean up the chair isles one by one. I got halfway down when I noticed something under the furthest chair. Probably somebody’s bag they left behind. I pulled out my flashlight and clicked it on. It wasn’t a bag.

There was a man who had forced himself under the chair. His body looked uncomfortably twisted. Crumpled. My light illuminated his face which was upside down and staring right at me. He began screaming. “My friends are here, my friends are here!” His whole scrunched up body began to untangle as he screamed, not breaking eye contact. It took me a second to even comprehend what I was seeing before I quickly sprinted out of that cinema, tripped over the dark stairs while grabbing for my walkie talkie.

While running for my life towards the main office I tried to contact Sarah, but wasn’t getting through. That damn things were almost as old as the furniture and were prone to breaking. I looked back once and watched as this man, no, this creature was pouring out of the doorway into the main hall. It was like he had no bones and had to throw his arms and legs forward, rolling over himself to move. But his head and eyes just kept looking right at me.

I got to the office door and scrambled to put the code in. I messed it up a few times before finally getting it right. As I opened it up I looked back to see the man had picked himself up and was bolting straight for me. The door automatically locked behind me as I dove into the office, screaming for Sarah to call the police. I didn’t get an answer.

Slowly I pulled myself to my feet and walked down the fluorescently lit backroom towards the manager’s office. I called out quietly, but loud enough for her to hear me through the door. Still no answer. But I did hear movement. I called out once more and the sounds I could hear stopped for just a moment. Then all hell broke loose.

Both the door I had came in, and the managers doorway, began shaking violently. I could hear something slamming against the wood. Then I could hear her screaming.Sarah was screaming for me behind that door. That sound of her voice stuck with me. The only thing I could compare it to is an animal stuck in a bear trap. I’m ashamed with what I did next, and wish I had just picked up some kind of weapon and went to help her. Instead I just ran, I went straight for the fire exit attached to the back room and just kept running, I didn’t dare look back.

+++

Sarah went missing, and all the footage of that night vanished along with her. I was questioned by police, the press, and her family. Even if I told the truth I doubt anybody would believe me. I just made up a story, saying I had cleared out the cinema and she let me leave early. Following the disappearance I quit working there and didn’t tell a single person about what really happened.

The reason I’m only now just writing this is because of what I read in the newspaper this morning. Last night two people had gone missing, both were working at that very same cinema. I know it was that man, that creature, and ‘his friends’ that did it. I can’t stop thinking about that night, and those screams of Sarah as she cried for me to help. I’m going to get dressed and go to the police station and tell them the truth about what happened with me. They probably won’t believe me, if anything I’ll probably be detained as a main suspect, if not put in a mental home.

This is all entirely true, this really happened, and I’m so sorry Sarah. I’m so sorry I didn’t help you.

[possibilistfanfiction]

these are what they call hard feelings (of love)

[carm/elle, grey’s anatomy au (no one dies tho). they’re disaster kids who are also surgeons. yknow the deal.]

//

these are what they call hard feelings (of love)

guess this is the winter/ our bodies are young & blue/ i still remember everything, how we’d drift buying groceries, how you’d dance for me/ i wish i believed you when you told me this was my home —lorde, ‘hard feelings/loveless’

//

it starts like this: you get to work before the sun even rises, change into your scrubs, go on your rounds, perform an eight-hour operation, kiss another pretty girl, walk home after your twelve hour shift; you have a normal day, really, all things considered for a resident who works somewhere that has a winter for eight months.

it starts like this: it snows before the sun even rises, and that day you lose a child on the table, and her heart stops beating in your hands, and you tug elle to you in the on-call room because you can’t stop feeling the exact moment, and you kiss her roughly while you cry, and after you put on your beanie and light a cigarette and walk home in the snow, the ash burning in the dark, your delicate, extraordinary hands going numb.

//

most days aren’t so bad; you like pediatric surgery because sick children are both more honest and far less annoying than sick adults, and the teenagers especially are cool—jaded and clever and funny.

you also have a stellar surgical record, so most days are actually kind of great. when you have time to plan, when you know you’re going to be able to be perfect, it’s amazing. but then an eight year old girl comes in who ran into a tree while sledding in the park, who has broken bones and a small crushed chest and you’re across from elle in the operating room, her steady hands always steady, always lovely, as she tries to stitch up this tiny heart and tiny lungs but it’s not good enough. that day, neither of you are perfect.

//

‘what are we doing?’ elle sighs very quietly. you feel her sigh because you have your head on her chest so you can hear her heartbeat while the wind howls away outside. you’ve started spending more and more time together outside of the hospital; today you’re in her warm bed, fully clothed because you’d both been too tired for anything last night and honestly you didn’t mind. you’re getting less and less used to sleeping alone.

you shrug. ‘i thought we were just having fun.’

‘the past three times we’ve had sex you’ve cried.’

you grunt. ‘false.’

elle tries not to laugh—you can hear it—and you’re glad she can’t see your smile into her soft tshirt. ‘true, carm.’

‘well there’s no need to add insult to injury. first do no harm, right?’

she’s quiet for a moment, so that joke didn’t land. ‘i have feelings for you,’ she says after a while, very quietly, almost like her words are going to shatter something, like the soft, unbearable weight of snow after a night of it.

you swallow and your heart races because you have feelings for elle too—who wouldn’t? she’s smart and kind and beautiful, some kind of perfect version of a kate moss lookalike in a weird world where she ended up being a cardiothoracic surgeon. she makes you laugh and always brings you coffee when you have rounds together and you first started working in a clinical trial together a year ago and then—

‘i can’t,’ you say, even though you don’t want to. but you feel your broken wrists and countless black eyes and ribs that were bruised for years; you feel the kind of love your mother had for you—dark and rough and unforgiving and hateful. it’s confusing and your heart races and you’re scared; elle has never, ever, not once, raised her voice at you, let alone raised a hand. ‘i’m sorry,’ you say, getting out of bed because you feel her chest hitch and you really don’t want to see her cry. ‘i can’t.’

you start to dress and she doesn’t move and you don’t look back, you can’t look at her, because if you do, you’ll stay forever. 

‘i’m sorry,’ you say, again, and when you get outside the snow hasn’t stopped.

//

elle is, frustratingly and predictably, entirely professional and maybe even nicer. she never snipes at you, even when you make some underhanded comment. you think she seems sad, kind of, but elle is happy too—she’s always happy, always amazing with patients. it seems like she has something in common with literally everyone, and she can calm a room within a second.

it’s one of the reasons you liked her to begin with, when you were residents she’d immediately been beyond competent in the OR but also beyond competent interacting with people, which you’d admired even though you hadn’t want to. the first time you kissed was outside clinton’s, across the street at the market near the park, in the fall. you had run into her—you needed cigarettes and she apparently needed vegan sausage and couscous—and you’d never hung out with her outside of work but you were both tired and hungry and you got poutine and beers and then there you were, with your cigarettes and couscous, kissing on the corner under a streetlamp in october.

which was over a year ago, you realize, of kissing her all over the hospital and all over the city and on your orange fire escape on a tuesday evening and in her kitchen while she made you breakfast in the summer light.

you can sleep with lots of people, and you do, after you walk out of her bedroom in the middle of a blizzard—you’re a surgeon and you’re beautiful, you know these things. your hair curls softly and you have eyelashes from god and you have far too many pairs of blundstones and perfectly ripped skinny jeans and when you buy a girl a drink at the gladstone and let her take you home, it’s not hard. it’s not hard because it’s nothing—it’s a few moments of pleasure and then you put your boots back on. 

it’s not hard because you won’t allow that of yourself; you won’t allow yourself to build a life with elle—because that’s what you would be doing, going to work together, saving people together, going home and making dinner and playing with her cat and going to trinity bellwoods on the weekends and probably even letting her convince you to join the hospital’s softball team even though you’re the least athletic person you know.

you work with her, admire her hands and just how fucking smart she is, the way she remembers meilinn’s medical history even though she’d spoken to her for maybe four minutes almost eight months ago; the way she goes through each patient checklist in the OR before surgery like it’s the single most important procedure she’s ever done. you cut your hair in the spring and she smiles genuinely and tells you it looks lovely; you find yourself sitting with her at lunch every now and then. 

taking other girls home is easy; elle—her laugh and the way she chews on the tip of her pen when she’s concentrating; the way she smells like magnolias and the birthmark near her elbow—is hard.

//

your leg fucking hurts, in the kind of way that scares you because it reminds you of when you were small but also because you know that it’s distinctly not good. 

you’re kind of stunned, and it’s probably shock because you were just in a car accident and your uber driver is conscious and seemingly not critically injured when you check on him in the front. you struggle out of the car, but you get the door open. there are plenty of people around and you’re sure someone has called 911, which is good because your leg, when you look down, is sufficiently fucked, which means you only have a few more solid minutes of adrenaline. 

there are two kids in the car that hit you, though, and one isn’t waking up, and she’s bleeding out of her ear and she’s so small. this is, however, what you know best, so you have all of her vitals when the paramedics get there four minutes later. you insist that she’s taken to your hospital, and you try to let them go in the ambulance with her, but they overrule you when they cut your pants open and see part of your femur poking through your skin.

you’re on a significant amount of morphine when you get to the hospital, and after some top-notch scans, you’re relieved that you have some whiplash and bruises and a little gash on your forehead that needs seven stitches and a leg that will require surgery, but nothing else that’s worth caring about. 

elle, however, does not seem to know this news, and she comes rushing into your room in the ER while you’re waiting to go to the OR. 

‘whoa,’ you say, and she’s even prettier and softer and lovelier when you’re high. ‘calm down there, hurricane. i’m fine.’

she rolls her eyes and pulls up what you’re pretty sure is your chart on her ipad, scans through everything quickly, then sits with a very relieved sigh in a chair at your side. 

‘you scared me,’ she admits, and it’s the kind of thing that’s so tender and sincere you want to cry. 

‘just a few scratches.’ you wave your hand vaguely in front of you. ‘nothing to worry about.’

‘i had very little information when an intern told me a few minutes ago.’

you snort a laugh and you’re too loopy to even care. ‘interns.’

elle takes your hand, very unceremoniously, and it’s the first time you’ve touched in months. 

‘elle—’ you start, but she squeezes your hand and shakes her head.

‘just—don’t say anything now,’ she tells you, quietly. ‘i’m just glad you’re okay.’

‘yeah,’ you say. ‘okay.’

you doze off and then you have surgery to fix your leg and elle isn’t there when you wake up—you don’t blame her, because she was in scrubs and her labcoat when she’d been to see you earlier and she usually has big surgeries scheduled for tuesdays—but there is a huge bouquet of magnolias by your bedside and you don’t even need to reach for the card to know they’re from her.

//

you take time off of work to heal—you have to, and you’re bored out of your mind. you crutch around your apartment and order in a lot of food and amazon prime pretty much all of your toiletries for two weeks, and you’re legitimately about to go crazy when there’s a knock at your door.

it takes you a frustratingly long time to get there, but then you open it and elle is smiling, holding a huge bag of groceries.

‘when is the last time,’ she says, ‘you had a decent home-cooked meal.’

‘you could’ve called,’ you say, even though you’re smiling and you scoot back to let her in.

she looks guilty for a second, putting some really fancy-looking wine in your fridge. ‘i deleted your number.’

‘ouch,’ you say.

‘i wanted to drunk dial you,’ she explains. ‘like, a lot.’

‘who wouldn’t?’ you say, gesturing kind of in general to your admittedly sloppy and dark apartment and your unkempt hair and the same sweatpants you’d had on for three days now, and elle laughs, then goes to open your blinds. 

you go over to the kitchen island and get yourself situated on a stool before taking her phone and trying out her old passcode (562533, which really just spells LOCKED, which always made you laugh) and when it opens you smile. you put your number back in.

she gets back from your bedroom with a pile of laundry and you say, ‘let’s open the wine.’

‘trying to get me drunk?’

you gesture to her phone. ‘well i did put my number back in your contacts.’

she huffs a laugh. ‘i’m going to start this laundry while you shower, and then i’m going to make dinner, and then we can open the wine.’

‘buzzkill,’ you say, even though you’re already hobbling to your bathroom and you feel more alive than you have in months.

you have wine and the best friend chicken on this earth that night, and you want to kiss her, but elle makes you laugh with her awful impressions of everyone in 9 to 5 before you fall asleep. she’s just—she’s elle—because she sleeps on your couch and leaves you croissants and a cortado from ezra’s pound the next morning, the blankets folded neatly and wine glasses washed.

//

you start to text again, just little messages here and there, a lot about work and some about her cat and a thrilling few when she’s clearly drunk that she misses you. 

but you don’t see her until weeks later, when you get your cast off. you’re limping terribly, but it’s finally a little warmer, and you’d gotten a haircut and some new sneakers you desperately needed. you’re up to maybe sitting at the park and reading, but you want cigarettes and you can’t help but laugh when you spot long blonde hair and what you’re sure are perfectly tailored all saints jeans. 

‘hey stranger,’ you say, walking up behind her.

elle turns with a smile. ‘carm!’ she says excitedly. ‘you got your cast off.’

‘that i did,’ you say, paying for your cigarettes while she frowns. 

‘i hoped your brush with death might’ve stopped that habit.’

‘never,’ you say, winking before you follow her out after she rolls her eyes.

she sighs on the street corner and looks at her watch, then looks at you hopefully, even though you can tell she’s trying not to. ‘do you want dinner?’

‘only if we order like seven kinds of poutine and you buy me drinks.’

‘i’m so glad patients don’t run into you outside of the hospital,’ she says, and you elbow her with a fake glare before she laughs.

you eat and drink and she tells you about the new intern class and you’re set to get back to work in a week or so, so you actually try to pay attention to the tips she gives you. someone is singing terrible karaoke and really boring jays spring training news is on the tv and elle is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

'i was, like, really abused when i was little.’ you say it aloud and you’ve said it before, to a few therapists, but you don’t talk about it and you certainly haven’t talked about it to elle, who looks at you so softly you have to turn away. ‘that’s why i—you know, why i—couldn’t.’

she nods. ‘you broke my heart, you know.’

‘i’m good at that,’ you say. ‘broke mine too.’

‘fortunately for you,’ she says, leaning toward you a little but your chest still tightens, ‘i’m a world renowned cardio-thoracic surgeon.’

you laugh, really laugh, because otherwise you’re pretty sure you’d both start crying.

‘also,’ she starts, very solemnly, ‘i can’t promise everything, but i can promise that—i’m good, carm. i’m good and i won’t hurt you.’

you nod down at the remnants of your poutine. 

‘if you want,’ she adds softly.

‘okay,’ you say, and when you look up she looks a little surprised but really, really happy. 

‘yeah?’

‘yeah,’ you say. ‘yeah.’

she laughs this little delighted thing and raises the last sip of her beer in a little toast and then puts down far too much cash and gets up, then helps you.

you feel jittery when you walk outside, even though you’ve both certainly done this before. 

you’re underneath the streetlamp and you both slow and elle laughs. ‘we’re really going to kiss here again?’

‘first kiss 2.0,’ you say. ‘seems fitting.’

she shakes her head and then leans down, and it is. it is.

//

it starts like this: you walk to work, slowly but surely, on a warm morning that’s sunny but not too hot, and a child’s heart is in your hands but it keeps going, beating away, and you watch elle place stitch after careful, lightning-fast stitch, and you wait for her at the front doors, and you kiss a very, very pretty girl, and you hold her hand on the way back to her apartment, anything but numb.

[jilliancares]

A Royal Pain: Epilogue

Word Count: 2.2k

link to masterlist -> hey! you should check out the masterlist after this and see all the art people have made throughout the story!

ao3 or wattpad

EPILOGUE: Dear Dan,

I shudder to think of how many times you're going to read these words—whenever you're anxious or angry or sad. It makes me want to think very hard about every word I write, but then this letter would take a thousand years and we don't really have that kind of time. Instead I'll just write as I normally do, but if you're reading this right now, having just had a good cry or possibly thrown a torch at Charlotte's head, know that I love you and hope you find comfort reading this letter. The next time I see you I'm definitely going to scour your rooms to find all my letters and see how tarnished they are—evidence of how many times you've read them.

I hope you're not sulking around the castle currently, ignoring everyone and glaring daggers at anyone who happens to come across you. It wouldn't be so conducive to your professional image as a king, now would it? Of course, you’ve never been overly concerned with your image around the castle, so I can’t necessarily say I’d be surprised.

I told my family about us! Everyone was completely supportive. Dad had about a thousand questions and Mum (very subtly) started asking about what you thought about having kids. Martyn apparently thought we’d been dating this entire time in secret anyway. I’m glad it all turned out so well, I’d barely even given myself a chance to think about what would happen if it didn’t.

I don’t really have much time to write—I’m unfortunately very busy—but I wanted to tell you as soon as possible. By the time you get this you can probably expect to have another letter in the next few days.

I love you,

Phil

—

Dan very carefully refolded the letter once he was done reading it, tucking it back into the envelope it'd been delivered in. Phil was wrong. Or he was about one thing, anyway. Phil would never know how often Dan was reading his letters when he took such careful care of them like this.

He was right about everything else.

Dan huffed in annoyance, shifting uncomfortably and trying to stretch out his legs in the small alcove he was stuffed in. It was a new hiding spot he'd found, one where he’d yet to be discovered. In the past month and a half he'd managed to accomplish several of his king's duties, including yelling at his advisors (Alfonzo and Bentley yelled back), rescheduling his meetings as often as he scheduled them (to avoid actually going to them), and several other menial tasks that weren't worth the effort to actually think about.

When he wasn't doing or avoiding doing the things he was supposed to be doing, he was hiding. He found places where he couldn't possibly be bothered and busied himself with writing letters to Phil or rereading Phil’s old letters. Once through with that, he usually managed to struggle through a few chapters of a novel, barely able to concentrate on the actual characters and storyline. Even riding Alamo wasn’t quite like it used to be. While it was true that riding him was as exciting and joyous as ever, he was unable to shake the unease and sadness that seemed to tug at him no matter where he went.

Holding in a sigh, Dan looked out the window, letting his eyes groom over the land he owned. It still didn’t feel as if he was the king. He knew it to be true, and was aware of the fact that he’d been dealing out laws and punishments, arranging trials and satisfying citizens, but he still didn’t feel like a king. He felt like a child in big-kid clothing, simply pretending to be something he wasn’t—his pants dragging on the floor behind him and his sleeves falling miles past his hands.

He figured that, with time, being king would start to feel natural. That he’d stop thinking of himself as a prince and stop thinking that he wouldn’t possibly be able to do something, that his father would never allow it. Then, of course, he’d remember that he could do whatever the hell he wanted, which for some reason always seemed to result in him eating far too much cake and becoming horribly ill, which only ended in him clinging uselessly to the toilet with Cecily rubbing circles on his back despite his demanding her to leave. Rather than that whole fiasco, Dan would very gladly settle for living happily with Phil. He didn’t have to court women anymore, and he definitely didn’t have to marry one, which meant… Well, it meant that one day, if Phil even wanted to, of course… that they could get married. And then they could rule over Hirona together, the king’s duties shared between them. Their entire lives shared between them.

Dan swallowed thickly. Thinking all of this was ridiculous, of course, not to mention childish. It was far too embarrassing as well. He could never let anyone know that in his alone time he fantasized about being old and married with his boyfriend, lest he risk eternal mortification.

On the grounds below there appeared to be some small commotion with an arriving carriage, and Dan groaned, realizing he’d forgotten about yet another meeting. It was impossible to ignore and postpone all of the duties he had to attend to, which resulted in a few of them slipping by every now and then. Still, he wasn’t going to care about that just now. If it was really so important, someone could try a little harder to find him.

And so Dan closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the stone wall behind him. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, the sun lulling him into an almost-sleep where it seeped through the window, his chin on his chest, when Alfonzo was rousing him.

“Dan,” he said, shaking his shoulder, and Dan blinked sleepily up at him.

“God dammit,” he muttered, yawning loudly. He hadn’t expected anyone to know where he was hiding. He was beginning to wonder how they did such a good job of finding him when they actually needed him anyway. “What is it?”

“It’s—well, I think you should really just come and see.”

Dan scoffed. “I’m the king Alfonzo. I can’t just walk into a surprise.”

“Even for your birthday?”

Dan scowled. He thought that the date had managed to slip by without anyone noticing, but apparently he’d been wrong.

“Especially not my birthday.”

“Too bad.”

With that, Dan was being tugged out of the alcove, his cramped muscles aching in relief, and led through the corridors. He was in a sour mood, his scowl etched permanently on his face. Their journey was filled with a surplus of annoyed huffs and sighs on Dan’s part, and exasperated eye rolls on Alfonzo’s.

“The entrance hall?” Dan questioned. “What meeting am I forgetting about? Who am I meant to be greeting?”

Alfonzo, annoyingly, ignored him, and Dan’s nails pressed into the balls of his palms angrily, surely leaving dents.

“I don’t have time for this!” he erupted furiously. “If you don’t tell me—”

“Dan.”

Dan paused, feeling light-headed, and turned.

“Oh, fuck you!” Dan cried, and with that he was sprinting forward (cape billowing behind him) and flinging himself roughly into Phil’s arms, not finding a single shred in him that cared when Phil let out a pained “oof!”. He clung to Phil desperately, squeezing him as tightly as he could and gasping back tears as he pressed his face into his shoulder. “You’re the worst,” he whispered. “God, are you going to make a habit out of not warning me before you visit?”

“No,” Phil laughed, and his hands stroked leisurely over Dan’s back. “Well—because, I’m not entirely sure I’ll be visiting again.”

Dan felt his stomach plummet all the way to the floor, and he stumbled out of Phil’s arms, staring at him wide-eyed and scared out of his mind.

“I—what? What do you mean?”

It was terrible to break up with someone over letter, so was that why Phil was here? He felt too noble to do so in words, hundreds of miles away, and decided to come do in in person? Had he met someone else back in Leona, now that he was assured in his sexuality? Perhaps Dan had just been experimentation for him, and his supposed love had never been half as strong as Dan’s, or even love at all—just infatuation.

Dan could already feel the tears building up in his eyes, but he held them back, trying to save face. If Phil broke up with him he wasn’t going to blubber right there in the entrance hall. He was going to walk, standing tall and straight backed, until he was most definitely out of hearing range before he started sobbing.

Phil smiled softly. This is it, Dan thought desperately. It’s over. Oh fuck, it’s over.

“I don’t want to visit again because I want to live here, Dan,” he said seriously. Dan’s heart gave a decisive thump. “And I’d like to do it as—well, as your husband.” With that, Phil dropped to the ground, on one knee, and pulled a black box from his pocket.

Now, Dan couldn’t help holding back his tears, and he held his hand in front of his mouth in an attempt to stop himself from crying out.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Dan said, wiping his face with the back of his hand and stumbling in Phil’s direction, half blind. “God, yes! A hundred, million times yes!” He was laughing now, and Phil was too. He caught Dan up in his arms, hugging him close, and spun him around cheesily. Dan didn’t care, he was giggling and crying and kissing Phil all over the face. Phil kept trying to catch his lips, to kiss him back, but Dan couldn’t manage to stay still, instead pecking Phil on the eyebrow and chin and corner of his eye.

“I love you,” Dan whispered, and Phil finally managed to kiss him, murmuring that he loved Dan too onto his lips.

Dan hadn’t even noticed that they weren’t alone. Bentley and Alfonzo were standing off to the side, both looking entirely too pleased as they watched the scene before them. Cecily and Charlotte were clinging to each other excitedly, as were Cody and his friends, though they stood further back, watching reverently and quietly.

Suddenly, the door of the carriage from which Phil had arrived flung open, and out stepped his mother. Behind her was Phil’s brother, Martyn, and his betrothed, Cornelia.

“It’s ever so good that you said yes,” Mrs. Lester said, her clothes crisp and neat despite being in the carriage for God knew how long. Despite her professional appearance, her smile was genuine. “Otherwise we’d have to turn right back around and return to Leona.”

“Good for you, Phil!” Martyn said excitedly, charging forward and wrapping his arm around Phil, forcing him to bend down before rubbing his hair roughly. Phil protested, but Dan was distracted because Cornelia was approaching him and pulling him into a hug.

“It’s so great to finally meet you,” she said sincerely. Dan had met all the Lesters before, but Cornelia was an (almost) new edition. “We’re going to have so much fun together!”

“I was thinking an outdoor wedding,” Mrs. Lester was saying, standing somewhere in between Dan and Phil and looking back and forth at them eagerly. “Oh! And I know just the kind of flowers…”

“Dad couldn’t come yet,” Martyn was telling Phil, speaking over his mother. “But he said he’d nip down for the wedding!”

Dan was overwhelmed, though in a good way, and he met Phil’s eyes over the head of all of his soon-to-be extended family. They grinned at each other, and as everyone in the hall talked excitedly, Dan’s staff soon eased forward and mixed with the Lesters (Charlotte was already mid-conversation with Mrs. Lester about floral arrangements or cakes or something, while Alfonzo and Bentley were listening with rapt attention as Martyn told some embarrassing story about Phil, and Cecily was nodding eagerly to something Cornelia was saying). Dan sidled over in Phil’s direction. He was excited—beyond excited—but right now he was mostly just thankful that Phil was back. They were quick to wrap their arms around each other, tugging one another close and sneaking elated grins towards one another as people drifted over to them to talk, all wedding plans and guest invites.

“Oh!” Phil said suddenly, and he held out the box in his hand. In the commotion of it all it’d been forgotten, still closed and clutched tightly in his fist. He flicked it open, revealing a simple but elegant silver band fit for Dan’s finger. “I measured your ring finger while you slept, you know,” Phil informed.

“You freak!”

Though Dan acted annoyed and amused, he was actually overflowing with happiness as Phil slid the ring onto his finger, giving his hand a quick squeeze immediately after.

Phil pressed his face against Dan’s cheek, placing a kiss there before nuzzling towards his ear. “Ready for the rest of our lives together?”

“With you by my side?” Dan laughed. “I think I’ll be ready for anything.”

And like most fairy tales, ones with princes and kings and servants, dances and sword fights and weddings, they lived happily ever after.

~the end~

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wow! how was that everybody? did you enjoy it? was it the cheese factory of cheesy? doesn’t matter! epilogues gotta be happy and cheesy, american, swiss, provolone.

idk what im saying

i hope you all enjoyed the story!! it was so so so much fun to write and i’m glad i finally got this idea out of my head and into yours! i’m going to miss this universe but i’m very excited for the next one as well!! next saturday i’ll be posting the first chapter to my next fic, Cat and Mouse! i hope you’ll stayed tuned for that surprise - and since we’re so close, i’ll now tell you that this story has to do with superheroes and supervillains.

finally, i want to thank you all for reading and sending me messages about A Royal Pain and supporting me while i wrote it. i hope it stays with you for a while!!

that’s all folks!