#cue none of them going some to retrieve drinks later on

[pergaminaa]

Modern au:

The thirteen would totally get a ouija board and play with it. Well not all of them because some of them know not to mess with these things.

The instigators are both Asterin and Vesta. They’ve been out shopping and found an old shady store and decided to bring it for their girls night.

Sorrel: She refuses to partake because this is all kinds of wrong and she doesn’t want to get involved in that.

Faline and Fallon: they’re all over the board and they’re ready with a list of spirits to contact.

Lin: She’s indifferent for the most part but she’s kinda on board because why not? She fears no spirit or demon plus she’s usually hanging out with the twins so they’re similar in how occasionally unhinged they are.

Edda: She’s unsure but reason wins and she joins Sorrel in not participating because while she doesn’t really believe in these things she also doesn’t want to mess with it.

Briar: Similar to Edda, she doesn’t believe in demons and all BUT she joins the others because this can be fun.

Kaya: She’s so on board! Demons? Contacting spirits? She’ll be all over that even though she’s lowkey scared of these things but she doesn’t let that stop her.

Thea: She knows this is insane and honestly she doesn’t want to join but since Kaya is there and she can’t pry her away from the board she decides to stay just so she can keep an eye on her.

Imogen: She got peer pressured to join it was not her intention but she got roped into it.

Ghislaine: Told them all ‘hell no’ because she knows exactly what’s going to happen and she doesn’t want to be around that shitshow.

And finally Manon: She’s indifferent af so she stays because she’s not going to skip because of a couple of spirits. It’s not real anyway so what’s the big deal.

[brandwhorestarscream]

Jazz vs. Cryptid Seekers

Behold, a mini ficlet one shot thing brought in by weird thoughts about the cryptid seekers AU. Jazz is traumatized XD

The weapon detonates without a single shred of warning. Glowing, slimy fluid splatters his entire left side, nearly the same color as energon, though slightly darker. Jazz doesn't have more than a moment to react, opening a comm to report what he'd found, but it's too late. He blinks once and suddenly the floor is rushing up to meet him. He collapses, paralyzed, landing with a sharp bang. Everywhere the thick fluid has touched is numb and tingling, and he can't so much as twitch his digits. It's sticky and slimy like a glob of old oil, and a goopy rivulet dribbles down from his temple and streaks over his visor.

He's got his right servo planted on the floor and is pushing himself up when there's a loud, wet popping noise, and more slimy goo rains down on him from above. His right side goes numb and heavy and he collapses back to the floor with another clang. A third sloppy noise and something hits his chassis and bounces off to land in the thick puddle on the floor. He can't even move his optics to look around. Whatever these security measures are, they're potent. He's entirely unprepared to handle full body paralysis, only driven home by the blaring of emergency messages on his HUD, warning of immediate shutdown to reboot and flush the Invasive agent from his system.

He barely gets his comm online to send a distress signal when his vision clouds over and he's forced into stasis.

Some odd megacycles later, Jazz wakes to the unpleasant florescent lights of the medbay glaring down at him, and he's barely sat up for half a klik when Ratchet finally arrives to give him the typical cranky reprimand. Going on about how irresponsible and dangerous that was, how he had taken out three other mecha during the retrieval. The paralyzing slime had been collected and analyzed–thankfully it wasn't going to give him some dreadful virus, but that's no excuse! "-better be grateful, I had to completely flush your systems, so-"

A warning blipped to life on his HUD. Energon levels approaching 10%. As if right on cue, his primary fuel tank makes a loud grinding noise, and Ratchet stops his rant to give him a curious look.

Jazz chuckles good naturedly. "Gotta cube, doc? I'm wastin' away over here."

"I just topped you up a megacycle ago," already the medic is approaching with a scanner, checking his processing system for leaks or ruptures. The scan comes back normal. "That can't be right... hn. Drink up."

A glowing cube of precious energon is tossed at him. Jazz snatched it out of the air, breaks the corner with his denta, and happily began gulping it down. While he chugs the fresh fuel, Ratchet is staring intently at his scanner as it searches yet again for a breach.

"...So am I free ta go?"

Ratchet flicks one servo with disinterest, grabbing a second and third scanner just to double check. The results all come back the same.

"That slag you were covered in must have temporarily increased your fuel metabolism," he could bring that to Wheeljack and Perceptor later. Wouldn't be the weirdest thing to ever come out of decepticon scientists' crazy defense mechanisms. They were just lucky they'd been able to extract Jazz before he was discovered. "Come back if you experience anymore symptoms, got it? You're free to go."

Jazz thanked the medic and slid off the berth, happy with his clean bill of health and relieved to get away from the overbearing scent of antiseptics and sterilizing bleach. The mission was technically a bust and Prowl was none too pleased at his lackluster report, but it was good to be home all the same. The minibots teased him for getting caught in a 'con trap, and he laughed right along with them. A rookie mistake to be sure, but they were all thankful it hadn't turned lethal.

Less than a megacycle after being released from the medbay, his systems pinged him that he was once again low on fuel. He forwarded the information to Ratchet, dragged himself in for another scan, but everything came back clear. The energon wasn't leaking from any of his vital components, there were no breaches, nothing to suggest that anything was amiss. The science team was working as fast as they could on analyzing the strange slime weapon, but as of yet had no answers as to why he was digesting his fuel so quickly. It wasn't hurting him, really, so Ratchet told him to just stay on top of fuel consumption and keep his gauges in the green as best he could.

Easier said than done. He swallowed down five cubes in just as many megacycles, and the hunger pains were starting to make his whole body ache. It seemed like as soon as he finished refueling, his tanks were twisting and prodding him from the inside, demanding more. Sharp cramps and pinching pain had him walking gingerly around the base, and it eventually got to the point where he was so uncomfortable he slunk miserably into his berth to try and sleep it off.

Jazz wakes up in the dark to the sensation of falling, rolling right off his berth and hitting the floor with an utter lack of grace. The soreness of the fall is nothing compared to sudden, rampant nausea, and he's gagging before he's even managed to sit up. His tanks heave and his systems warn of an imminent purge. Oral lubricant fills his mouth and he dry heaves once, twice, clamping one servo over his mouth to try and keep it down. Primus no, not here, not on the floor, at least let him get to the wash racks!

He stumbles to his pedes but something makes contact with his shoulders from behind–and he realizes he's not alone. He's shoved back onto the floor, back on his knees, and an unfamiliar voice angrily demands, "Give them back!"

He orders the lights on through hiccups, his tanks rolling unhappily. His sensors don't pick up on anything, and he can't see anyone. It's not Mirage, he knows Mirage's voice.

There's the distinctive clack of thrusters on the floor and his spark constricts. Seekers.

How did they get in here?! Are they under attack? Why aren't the alarms going off? What-

His panicked thoughts are cut off and he lurches forward, half-processed energon and digestive enzymes flying past his derma, splattering his servos and the floor.

"Give them back!" A second voice demands.

He tries to turn his helm toward the direction of the voice, but the movement makes the whole room spin and he's helpless, collapsing onto his side, cheek barely missing the puddle of purged fuel. "Wh- Wha- g'oh…!" He groans and clutches at his midsection. His tanks feel like they're going to physically crawl out of his body. Another wave of nausea bubbles up and he purges again. Primus almighty, what had the cons done to him?!

"Give, them, back!" The tip of an invisible truster very, very gently toes the side of his face, tilting it up. He can't see the seeker, but he knows that voice. Starscream. He is so fragged. "We won't ask you again, autobot! Give them back or we'll take them by force!"

"Wh- What're you-" another glob of half-processes fuel flies out of his mouth and splatters all over the invisible pede. It drips down to the floor, and Starscream doesn’t even flinch. "What're you talkin' about?!"

"Don't play dumb," That deep voice… Thundercracker, maybe? Or Skywarp? He can't tell Starscream's trine apart. "We know it was you. We can smell them on you."

Jazz has no time to ponder what the frag that was supposed to mean, because something in his tanks twists, violently, and suddenly something is clogging his primary intake tubing. He chokes grandly, clawing at his chassis and back arching in pain. His HUD blares a red warning, a dangerous obstruction is damaging his aeration tubing and it needs to be purged, now. It wriggles it's way up his throat and his optics bug out helplessly, body thrashing against his will as something squirms it's way up his throat, and then into his mouth.

There's a sharp, shrill squalling noise; something tiny and moving and very much alive is in his mouth! He flips over to spit it out, horrified, and the tiny, slimy thing hisses at him. It's… a cybertronian, he thinks, but microsized and misshapen, stubby half-limbs and malformed plating. It skitters across the floor on all fours and all of sudden Skywarp is just there, plain as day, cooing as he kneels down to offer his servos to the teeny, tiny bot.

"Oh bitty, we were so worried!" He croons, gently cradling the tiny thing. "Here, come on, where it's safe."

He brings his palms up to his mouth, opens wide, and promptly pops the only half-developed sparkling into his mouth, swallowing them down in one gulp.

"That's better," Starscream appears beside him, glaring down at Jazz. He feels like he just lived through a grisly scene in a horror movie, still laying on the floor gaping at them. Just before Skywarp's teleportation spirits them away, he utters a grave warning, "Stay out of the hatchery, autobot."

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

ch. 2: A Safe Place to Land - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x nurse!reader

Summary: 2.1k words. After an unexpected breakup with her long-term boyfriend, y/n had one goal: to keep her head down and finish her travel nursing contract as soon as possible. That was until Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw derailed her plan entirely. Just as y/n finished picking up the pieces of her broken heart, Rooster came along and showed y/n what it’s like to be loved again–if only she’ll let him in.

Warnings: Rooster’s sweaty abs & tooth-rotting fluff

a/n: hi!! first of all–thank you all SO MUCH for the overwhelming support & love for this series! i’m so happy y’all are just as excited ab it as i am! the comments, reblogs, & tags really keep me going ❤️ enjoy & lmk what you think!

series master list | master list

After their date at The Hard Deck, Rooster and y/n started talking pretty often. Despite their busy schedules that hadn’t allowed them to see each other in person, they grew close. Late night phone calls and random texts throughout the day become a common occurrence for the two.

Rooster prided himself on being discreet and keeping his personal life separate from his work life, but he evidently didn’t have as good of a poker face as he thought he did. Between training sessions, during breaks, and even when he was out at The Hard Deck with his fellow aviators, he was often grinning like a fool while looking at his phone.

“You got a girl we don’t know about, Rooster?” Hangman teased from across the pool table and pointed his cue stick towards Rooster’s phone.  Rooster shot Hangman a harmless glare before tucking his phone into his back pocket.

“Not exactly…” Rooster trailed off. His non-denial had Phoenix and Payback raising their eyebrows and sharing a curious glance. Hangman, Coyote, and Fanboy wore matching devious grins while Bob sat in the corner with a small knowing smile on his face.

Rooster’s attention turned back to the game of pool after Hangman’s teasing, but his mind was still on y/n.

A few rough shifts back-to-back had y/n craving a break and some well deserved relaxation. Weeks of spending her days off binge-watching Netflix in between naps soon grew old, so she went out instead. Considering she’d be living along the California coast for the foreseeable future–at least until her contract was over–she decided to take advantage of the beach.

It just so happened that Rooster’s coworkers-turned-friend group were at the same beach that day, unbeknownst to y/n. After Maverick’s team building exercise months ago, trips to the beach and subsequent football games became a regular occurrence for the group of aviators.

y/n found a quieter uncrowded section of the beach to lay her towel down with her small bag and water bottle in tow. It didn’t take long for the warmth of the sun and gentle crashing of the waves to lull y/n into a peaceful nap before she even got a chance to open the book she’d brought along. An hour or so later, she was startled awake by someone shouting “Look out!” from the distance while a pair of thundering footsteps ran towards her. The glare from the sun as y/n opened her eyes from her nap momentarily blinded her and she missed the football flying straight towards her. The ball narrowly missed her, but her water bottle didn’t have the same luck. With a pathetic clunk the bottle toppled over and spilled water onto the sand around y/n.

y/n huffed, ready to chew out whoever came to retrieve the football but the words got caught in her throat when she looked up and saw none other than Bradley Bradshaw.

“Damn, looks like I owe you another drink, darlin’,” Rooster greeted, relieved to see the frustration leave her face once she recognized him.

“It seems so, Lieutenant,” y/n responded, her disappointment about her spilled drink quickly forgotten. y/n’s poker face fell short for the umpteenth time around Rooster as her sunglasses slid down her nose and she admired the very sweaty, very sexy pilot standing above her. The feeling was evidently mutual when y/n caught Rooster letting his eyes drag down her bikini-clad body. y/n cleared her throat to get Rooster’s attention again and he realized he’d been caught. He hoped his increasingly red-tinted ears could be blamed on the sun, but y/n saw right through him. The man was blushing.

Rooster recovered quickly though. Seeing as he’d already been caught checking y/n out, he saw no reason to hide his attraction towards her.

“You’re so beautiful,” Rooster exhaled. The man sounded whipped, and maybe he was, but he’d been dying to see her and let her know how he felt since the moment he watched her leave The Hard Deck. This time it was y/n’s turn to blush, practically swooning at the aviator’s admission. She hummed in appreciation and finally pushed herself up to a seated position before returning the compliment.

“Thanks, Adonis,” a cheeky grin spread across y/n’s face as she flirted with Rooster. She momentarily considered standing to be closer to his eye level, but he had her weak in the knees. Before Rooster could quip back, he was cut off by a distant shout.

“C’mon, Rooster! What’s the hold up?” Payback called out while waiting for Rooster to return with the football.

“I’m coming!” Rooster shouted over his shoulder, briefly and begrudgingly tearing his eyes away from y/n. y/n smiled as she handed Rooster the football, noting the way his fingers brushed across hers. Rooster maintained their eye contact for a moment longer, just taking in y/n’s features.

“Are you free tonight?” y/n nodded with a smile. “Alright, I’ll text you then,” a coy smile spread across Rooster’s face and he pointed the football towards y/n before jogging back towards his friends. y/n opted to read her book instead of taking another nap, but she didn’t get very far. She found herself looking up and staring at Bradley in the distance, appreciating the way he cheered when his team scored a touchdown and how happy he was.

In between football plays, Hangman caught Rooster staring back at the woman he retrieved the football from earlier.

“Is that the reason you’ve been smiling at your phone all the time?” the cocky blonde asked with a grin, gesturing towards y/n in the distance. Phoenix elbowed Hangman in the ribs, though she was curious herself. Rooster threw the ball towards Hangman, aiming for his face. Of course, Hangman anticipated the dirty throw and caught the ball with expert precision, giving him an unnecessary ego boost.

“Shut up,” Rooster quipped while failing to hide his smile.

Not long after y/n got home from spending a few hours at the beach, her phone pinged with a text notification.

4:32 p.m.   Hey, are you still free tonight? I’d love to get dinner together - Rooster 🐓

4:33 p.m.  Are you asking me on a second date already? You might lead me to thinking you like me, Lieutenant - y/n

4:33 p.m.   That’s the goal, darlin’ - Rooster 🐓

A soft smile played at y/n’s lips as she texted Rooster and ironed out the details of their date. She agreed to let him pick her up at six before they went to a beachfront restaurant Rooster thought y/n would love. By the time they wrapped up their conversation, y/n was left with just under an hour and a half to get ready.

Sure enough, Bradley knocked on her front door at exactly six o’clock. y/n expected they’d be leaving immediately, but her heart swelled when he stood at her door with a dozen roses in hand. If she wasn’t swooning before, she certainly was now.

The pair drove to the restaurant in Rooster’s old Ford Bronco. A comfortable summer breeze flowed through the open windows and soft music played over the speakers. The ocean view from the causeway was breathtaking, but that wasn’t the view Bradley was focused on. His eyes were on the road of course, but he couldn’t help the way they flitted towards his and y/n’s joined hands or towards y/n when she started humming along with the radio.

Just as Rooster promised, y/n loved the restaurant he brought her to. It was a little Mom and Pop diner that overlooked the ocean and according to Rooster, their burgers were legendary. It was far enough away from the base and main city that it was mostly frequented by the residents of the sleepy beach town it was located in, rather than tourists or Navy personnel, much to y/n’s relief. One milkshake, a basket of fries, and a burger later, y/n told Rooster that he was absolutely right: the burgers were legendary. The victorious grin that spread across the aviator’s face was infectious and eventually the pair dissolved into senseless laughter.

When their server dropped off the bill, y/n started to protest when Rooster reached for it and pulled his wallet out. The pointed look he delivered let her know there was no room for argument and the words died on her lips. y/n typically wasn’t a fan of other people paying for her things. She was a grown woman and made her own money, but more than anything, she didn’t want something as simple as paying for a beer or meal being held over her head by a guy. It happened too many times in the past–unfortunately in the recent past with her ex-boyfriend–but something told y/n that she didn’t have to worry about Bradley taking advantage of her.

The sunset painted the sky in striking shades of orange and pink above the horizon as Rooster and y/n took a walk on the beach after their dinner, fingers interlaced. The gentle rush of waves against their feet and the quiet breeze brought a unique kind of peace that only the ocean can. After everything that happened with her ex, y/n was dreading the move to California. Now? She wouldn’t rather be anywhere else in the world, she thought as she squeezed Bradley’s hand.

Conversation between the two flowed smoothly, just as it had at The Hard Deck and every moment since. After spending countless hours calling and texting each other over the past couple weeks, y/n would’ve thought they might run out of conversation topics, but they never did. Things were always easy with Rooster. Things felt right for the first time in a long time.

Rooster was too caught up admiring the way y/n looked in her sundress to notice she was gearing up to kick up a bit of water towards his shins in a teasing manner. The sea breeze had other plans though, as the salty droplets were soon redirected directly towards his face by a strong gust of wind. Rooster’s jaw dropped in surprise as the water slid down his face. y/n, also in shock, did a terrible job at hiding the laughter shaking through her body as her hands rested on her knees. Rooster got a devious idea of his own to get even. Before y/n could stop him, he scooped her up in his arms and began tickling her sides.

“ROOSTER! Oh my gosh, put me down!” y/n pleaded in between fits of laughter. Her gleeful shouts could be heard down the beach as the pair stumbled in the water. Bradley found comfort and satisfaction in knowing he could make y/n so happy. Rooster was relentless in his tickle attack, making mental notes of the spots y/n was especially sensitive. y/n’s sides started aching from all the laughter, but she was still smiling wide in between begging to be put down.

Rooster finally gave in and effortlessly spun y/n around before carefully placing her back down. His arms stayed gently wrapped around her waist even after he was sure she was steady on her feet again. In the suddenly quiet moment, y/n and Rooster both found their gazes flitting between each other’s eyes and lips. Bradley was the first to give in when he pressed his lips against y/n’s in a soft kiss. He was so careful with her as he gently caressed her back and supported her chin while his lips moved against hers. The kiss was far too short for y/n’s liking, so when they pulled apart to look into each other’s eyes and catch their breaths, y/n took it upon herself to initiate the next kiss.

y/n’s approach was far from gentle as she grabbed Rooster’s shirt collar to bring his lips level with hers. The kiss was passionate–all tongue and teeth and quiet moans. y/n crossed her arms behind Rooster’s neck to pull herself closer and the aviator followed her lead, tightly wrapping his arms around y/n’s waist to pull her flush against his chest. 

The kiss was good, like y/n curling her toes into the sand good. When the pair finally pulled away they were dizzy and breathless, their chests quickly rising and falling from the recent lack of oxygen. Rooster firmly decided exactly what he’d do with his last breath if given the choice; kissing y/n would be the most dreamy way to go.

a/n: as always, comments & reblogs are appreciated! xx

[themadlostgirl]

Treasure Hunt

*Some wholesome fun with a little Panlix tension to garnish*

~~~

We had new toys on the island. New to me anyway.

The Lost Boys and I crowded around the beach and stared out at the ship anchored on the horizon. Pirates.

Where they had come from or why there were here was a mystery to us. But one thing was for certain, they were certain to be fun. Peter ordered all of us back to camp while he spoke to the captain. Not that most of us listened anyway. We stuck around hiding at the entrance to the jungle to see what would happen.

A single rowboat came ashore with a trio of men. One was covered head to toe in tattoos, one was short and portly with a bright red hat, and the third I had to assume was the captain. He had a tall, dark, and dangerous look about him that I’m sure plenty of tavern wenches falling all over themselves.

“Holy shit,” the boy next to me muttered softly, gaze locked on the captain.

“Snap out of it, Teddy,” I slapped the back of his head, “What would Sanjit think if he saw you drooling over someone else?”

“I think he would understand.” Teddy shrugged, “Come on, even you have to admit the man looks great.”

“He looks good, I will give him that,” I peered closer, “Does he have a hook for a hand?”

“Nice,” Teddy grinned wider. I slapped him again.

Peter and the captain talked and argued before the captain and his men got back into their boat and left for their ship. Peter turned around and addressed us hiding in the trees. “You can come out now you disobedient tree stumps,”

Half of the boys fled at having been found out while the rest of us emerged. “So what brings them here?” I asked first.

“Youth and revenge, not the first time I’ve come across that salty sailor. Have to say, he has a lot more backbone as a pirate than he did when I first met him.” Peter said. “Captain Hook he calls himself now. Sounds much more fun than leftenant Jones.”

“Is the revenge he craves against you?” Felix asked. “I could see him blaming his brother’s death on you.”

“No. He’s upset about that for sure, but apparently the Dark One killed his lover and cut off his hand. That’s who he wants to get revenge against. Figured he would have more than enough time staying here while he concocted something. Idiot doesn’t even have a way back. It’s clear he didn’t think any of this through.” Peter scoffed with a smile. “His idiocy is our gain. Tell me, what do pirates always have?”

“Drinking problems?”

“Yes, but not what I was looking for.”

“Big hats.”

“No.”

“Terrible songs!”

“Treasure!” Peter snapped, “They have treasure!”

“Oh...that makes more sense.” I nodded. “What is treasure to us? Not like we have any shops to purchase things from using any of their shiny baubles.”

“True. But it means a great deal more to them.” Peter grinned. “Tomorrow morning, we’re gonna go on a treasure hunt.”

When we got back to camp those of us that stuck around informed the others about what had happened with Peter and the pirates. Many of them were excited about the idea of a treasure hunt. By the time dawn broke the camp was abuzz with anticipation.

“Morning everyone,” Peter greeted his camp, “Last night your fearless leader, me, snuck aboard the pirate’s ship and stole their chest of treasure right out from under their nose.” The camp whooped with cheer. Peter held up his hand to silence the boys. “I have now hidden it somewhere on the island. First person to find it is King for the day. That is...if any of you flopping codfish can find it.”

The boys jeered and raced off in all directions to find the treasure. I had started to run off with them when I remembered I didn’t have a weapon. Knowing the boys they would get violent and try to steal the treasure from one another when it was found. I needed something to defend myself with. I turned around to head back to the now abandoned camp.

I ducked into my tent to find a suitable weapon when I heard voices in the camp. I poked my head out and saw Felix and Peter were the only ones still around. I understood why Peter was still here but why was Felix?

“How long do you think they’ll be out searching for the treasure?” Felix asked Peter.

“They’ll search all day and probably into the night before giving up.” Peter laughed, “The whole time they’re digging around dark caves and in rotten tree trunks the chest is safely buried by the mermaid lagoon. None of them are going near there and even if they do none of them will think to start digging.”

“Maybe I should go dig it up then,” Felix said, “Let myself be crowned king for the day.”

“Now where is the fun in that? Let them struggle for a good while first.” Peter looked around the camp and I quickly closed the flap of my tent. I don’t think he would be too happy about my eavesdropping. “It’s nice to have some peace and quiet around here for once. The noise can get grating at times.”

“I understand that better than most,” Felix’s voice answered. “Even rarer that our Lost Girl isn’t hanging about. Seems she sticks around you more than usual.”

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Felix?”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious and she’s a good friend.” Peter said. “I still cannot believe that you and those other idiots thought that we were interested in one another. As if I would actually even want to be with her.”

Okay. Ouch. And incorrect! He was the one that assumed that I was confessing my love to him the night I came out to him and said he was okay trying to have a romantic relationship with me. We agreed it wouldn’t work out between us after I told him I was gay but this was needless slander. Got to keep up appearances for the boys I suppose. Can’t let them know he actually considered me at some point. However brief it may have been.

“Not your type, huh?” Felix joked.

“No…” Peter said, “Has a lot of traits I do like. She’s straightforward, bloodthirsty, knows how to have fun, doesn’t take any of my shit, which is refreshing,”

“What are you talking about? I don’t take any of your bullshit either.” Felix said, his voice rising a tad.

“I know, Felix, that’s part of the reason I like you too.”

The camp was silent.

“You know, makes you a good friend too, a great second in command.” Peter continued after a beat.

“Good to know,” Felix sighed. “I’m going to refill my canteen.”

“Felix--”

“What?” Felix snapped at him. The harshness in his tone made even me freeze and it wasn’t even directed at me.

“Nothing…” Peter’s steps receded, “I’m going to go watch the boys run in circles.”

“Yeah, you do that.” Felix muttered before trudging off.

I waited a few more minutes before poking my head out to make sure the coast was clear. That was something. Those two have more issues than I thought. If they could get a nudge in the right direction--no! No! I am not getting myself involved in their problems.

I grabbed the sword I had come to retrieve and fled the camp. At the very least I know where the treasure is now! I ran towards the mermaid lagoon. It was deserted of Lost Boys but I could see the ripple in the water of the mermaids lurking right below the the surface, waiting and hoping I would venture closer so they could pull me down and drown me. I only made that mistake once when I was very new on the island. They were very pretty and I thought maybe they would be friendly towards a girl. I was soon proven how very wrong I was when one of them pulled me under the water and the Lost Boys had to come in and rescue me before I drowned.

Scanning the sand I found a patch that looked like it had been pretty recently disturbed. I started digging with my hands until I felt the solid weight of wood. I dug around it until the very top was uncovered. How was I supposed to get it out by myself? It was firmly stuck in the ground and getting it free by myself would be near impossible.

Maybe I could just grab something to prove that I had found it and cover it back up. I dug my hand down into the sand for the latch and pried it open. Inside laid a wealth of gold coins, gems, jewelry, and other shiny baubles. I stuffed a handful of coins and gems in my pocket and slid a pair of shining, jewel encrusted bracelets onto my wrists. That should be enough. I closed the lid and covered the chest once more. I decided to mess with the boys while waiting for it to grow later and dropped random coins and jewels around the jungle so they would think they were heading in the right direction.

By the time night fell the boys had returned to camp despondent. Some holding up the coins and jewels I had strewn about with a small amount of disdain. Peter was back to his jovial self but looked confused at the boys holding coins. Surely he hadn’t let anything fall out when he stole the chest.

That was my cue. I strolled into the middle of the camp and raised my glittering wrists to the sky. “Bow before your queen!”

“What?” Peter gaped at me. “There’s no way you found the chest!”

“Oh but I did,” I dug into my pockets and tossed the remaining coins I had onto the ground. “That chest was so big and heavy though I couldn’t take the whole thing myself but I think this is sufficient enough evidence.”

“Wait, were you the one leaving coins and jewels all over the island?” one of the boys pointed at me, accusingly.

“Duh,” I rolled my eyes, “I needed to have my own fun.”

“Never let it be said that I’m not a man of my word,” Peter gave an exaggerated bow, “Our dear Lost Girl shall be Queen for the day...or at least for the rest of the night.”

Some of the boys cheered, a lot more of the jealous boys booed. I didn’t care. I basked in the attention and laughed with the others at the silly antics the boys did to entertain their “queen” like court jesters. It was all in good fun, Peter even fashioned me a crown of sticks and leaves.

I pulled him over to dance with me. “So,” I spoke up to be heard over the pounding music, “How long till the pirates find out you stole their treasure and come to hunt us down for taking it?”

“Who knows,” Peter shrugged, “it’s sure to be fun though.”

I laughed along with him as the night grew late and my night of queendom came to an end. The game would begin again tomorrow but with the chest in a new spot. Looks as if I’ll actually have to hunt for it this time. Not a problem, I liked a good challenge.

[sickficsies-and-whumpsies]

hi! can I ask sick yuji + megumi w/ caretaker!nobara? i was thinking like a stomach bug/high fever? their friendship dynamic makes me really soft <3

Hi!! Finally, a request for the power trio, I have been waiting for this hahah!!

TW: vomiting, fever.

1.7k words, Gen.

ーーー

“No. No. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Believe me, I feel exactly the sa一” a powerful sneeze cuts Megumi off, followed by a pained groan.

Nobara rolls her eyes, arms crossed as she watches her friend pull the blanket tighter around his own shoulders, shivering like a newborn kitty, eyes glassy and watery. She sighs.

“So you’re sick, and the other dumbass is sick too.”

A nod.

“And I’m the only one available to take care of you two.”

Another nod, reluctant. Nobara exhales, mildly annoyed. “Are you positive Yuuji’s sick? So sick that he needs any help at all?”

Megumi’s whole form shakes, and Nobara thinks he’d look adorable if not for the scowl on his face, thin eyebrows scrunched together. “I heard him vomit a little before you came here. He did it a few hours ago, too.”

“Don’t make it sound like I did it on purpose, and not because you sent your dog to get me.” she huffs, “Listen, I can’t and won’t go back and forth between your rooms, so you’re either coming to Yuuji’s, or I’m dragging him here.”

The boy pauses, pensive. “Get him here, please. My room’s cleaner, and his probably smells like puke by now.”

“So be it, then.” 

She makes a move to leave, but on the threshold, she glances back.

Megumi looks dead on his feet, it’s quite a worrying sight, in all honesty. His porcelain complexion has taken a deathly tinge, cheeks flushed of an unnatural red, contrast strong against the white skin. His hair is unusually down, bangs plastered to his sweaty forehead, locks soiled and damp. 

And everything about the shikigami sorcerer’s posture screams agony, the way he’s sitting on the edge of his messy bed, blanket draped over him, whole body hunched over, weak. 

“Will you be okay for a few minutes?” Nobara asks, suddenly aware that letting her friends die would be definitely frowned upon and sad.

“I,” he swallows, throat dry, “I think s-so.” He sounds unsure, but Nobara takes his word and leaves, hurrying to the adjacent room. 

She doesn’t bother knocking. The acrid smell of vomit hits her, making her waver on the threshold for a moment before she makes a jog towards the other end of the room and opens a window, letting the fresh morning breeze rush in and purify the environment. 

“Yuuji?” she calls then, moving towards the bathroom, “It’s Nobara. Are you okay?”

She peeks inside, door slightly ajar. With a yell caught in her throat, she immediately slams the door open, flinging herself at her friend, who’s lying next to the toilet, face pressed against the freezing tiles. He’s deathly still, and the nail sorcerer’s heart stops for a second. 

But then, Yuuji moans. She immediately drops to her knees, hands hovering uncertainly. 

“Yuuji? Hey?”

The boy doesn’t stir. Nobara gingerly extends a hand, patting her friend’s cheek delicately to rouse him, “Come on, you need to move to Megumi’s room so that I can take care of your sorry asses. Yuuji? Wakey-wakey, time to get up.” The lightness of her words isn’t enough to mask the edge of concern behind them. 

But, they do the trick. Yuuji slowly blinks, sheepish, a hand moving from where it’s laying, on his side, to his face, rubbing at it. “...Nobara?” 

“You sound like shit.” she hisses, “How much have you thrown up?”

He hesitates. “Six t’mes. Maybe mo’...” Yuuji croaks out, voice broken.

“Do you think you can get up with my help?”

“But... s’nice here…”

“It isn’t. The smell is terrible and the floor is filthy.” she bits, “Megumi’s sick, too. He hasn’t thrown up, I think, but he’s running a high fever. Speaking of which…” she gently presses a hand against Yuuji’s forehead, then his neck, and his forehead again, “You don’t feel too warm, luckily. But I need to keep an eye on you both and it’d be easier for me if you two were in the same room.”

“Megumi’s sick? S’he ‘kay?”

She smiles, sympathetic, “Better off than you, for sure. Come on, now, let’s get you up. We’ll take it slow.” 

With calculated movements, and so very carefully, Yuuji sits up, eyes squeezed shut as nausea washes over him like a tidal wave. Nobara keeps a strong hand on his back, and uses her other one to grab at Yuuji’s wrist and gently drag him upright, steadying him when he tilts slightly. 

“I stink…” the boy murmurs under his breath, cheeks heating up.

“I’m sure Megumi won’t mind if you use his shower. Let’s get going, he’s probably worried. I am too. Wouldn’t want him to die under my watch, you know?” she jokes, and Yuuji smiles, albeit briefly.

On the way out of the bathroom, Nobara extends a hand and grabs her friend’s toothbrush, handing it to him, “For later.”

The road back takes an embarrassingly long time, considering that the two manage to walk the ten meters of distance between one door and the other in almost five minutes, having to stop every step because of false alarms and dizzy spells.

“We’re back.” Nobara announces as soon as they step in. Megumi’s once sitting form is now laying on his side, legs bent awkwardly and dangling off the side of the bed. 

He really just fell there, huh? 

Nobara quickly guides Yuuji to sit on the opposite edge of the bed, and makes a dash to the bathroom to retrieve a plastic basin and a plastic glass of tap water. “Drink slowly.” she says, handing the items to her sick friend. 

He nods, grateful, and lets Nobara help him to sit with his back against the wooden headboard, a spare pillow supporting his lower back. “I’ll go fetch something for the nausea after I take care of Megumi, alright?”

“Dun need to speak to me like tha’...” he snorts, weak, “M’not a baby.”

“You are. He is, too. Now relax.” she says, and despite her words, the tone is soft, caring. 

Nobara walks to the other side of the bed, and wraps her arms around the cocoon of blankets that her friend has enveloped himself into, propping the teen up and with his head on the pillow. She then lifts his ankles, and sets his lanky legs on the bed. 

Then, one after the other, the blankets are gone, leaving Megumi’s shivering body exposed, him shaking like a leaf despite the fuzzy socks and jumper. The thermometer is already on the bedside table, and Nobara is quick to reach for it and slide it under her friend’s sweaty armpit.

It beeps after less than a minute. “39,9°C? Megumi, shit, what the一 you didn’t tell me it was this bad.” she cringes. 

Once she’s sure that the boy won’t roll off the bed with his shivers and little jerking motions, Nobara heads for the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinets hastily. 

“God bless, this is one stocked med-kit.” she hums to herself, “Hot patches, for Yuuji’s stomach. Then, hm, what’s in here一 oh, anti-nausea, good, and paracetamol suppositories...” she stops, eyes wide. “The ones that…? Okay, you know what, he can handle that on his own, none of my business.”

Her muttering is interrupted by the sound of Yuuji giving a strong productive heave, and another one, dry, judging by the lack of other disturbing sounds. Nobara immediately goes back to the bedroom, at Yuuji’s side in an instant. 

“Shh, it’s okay, try to breathe deeply.” She rubs soothing circles on his back as Yuuji dry-heaves and sputters, eyes bloodshot. She briefly glances into the basin, heart clenching as she sees the water he’s just drunk. “You’re fine, you’re going to be fine. I got you some anti-nausea meds, you can take them dry so you don’t have to worry about drinking anymore, okay?”

He gives a shaky nod, breath hitched. “S’rry, m’sorry.”

“None of that. Breathe through your nose, Yuuji, you’re fine.” The gentle hand on his back never stops moving, and it takes longer than he’d like to admit for the bout and panic to die down. He sinks back, head hitting against the headboard quite violently.

Nobara is quick to hand him a pill, with a pained smile. “Here.”

And Sukuna’s vessel takes it without further ado, swallowing it down with ease, eyes shut as he focuses on his breaths. That’s Nobara’s cue to extract a hot patch from the container. “I’m going to lift your hoodie and put this on your stomach, okay? It will help, I promise.”

He nods, and she’s rapid to apply the patch. “Give it a few minutes.” she says, and instinctively brings a hand up to smooth back his hair, damp. “Rest.”

Megumi hasn’t stopped tossing and turning, hugging himself for warmth, knees drawn close to his chest. Nobara sighs. She returns to the bathroom, taking the basin with her and quickly rinsing it in the shower. Then, she grabs a clean towel, and runs it under the stream of cold water. Heedless of the drops that fall onto the floor, she moves back to the bedroom, and gingerly sets the cold towel upon Megumi’s forehead, shushing him gently when he whimpers like a kicked puppy. 

“It’s okay, this will help you. Leave it on.” she says.

Then, she sets the basin next to Yuuji’s side of the bed. A quick look at the guy is enough to tell that he’s spent, conked out, and Nobara is gentle and swift when she moves him into a lying position, on his side, head facing the outside of the bed. He barely reacts, too out of it to wake up entirely.

Finally, Nobara retrieves the paracetamol, “Hey.” she calls, delicately nudging Megumi, “I need you to take one of these. I can help but frankly, I’d rather die.” she chuckles. 

Megumi, too, is too exhausted to do much beyond a tiny smile. “Later, m’tired.”

“...Fine. But if your fever’s not down by half a degree in an hour, you’re taking it or I’m getting someone else to do it. Your choice.”

He scoffs, shivering, “A’ight.”

She sighs. She could go back to her room and come back later, but frankly, she’d feel bad if something happened to her friends during her absence. 

“Move” Nobara says, and scoots in between her friends.

“Wasn’t aware m’room had b’come a hostel.”

“Shut it, you should be sleeping.” she says, side-eyeing Megumi with an amused smile, no real malice in her tone. Once she feels her friends relax and drift off, Nobara finally allows herself to rest.

ーーー

Let me know what you think of this, and if you have an ao3 hit me up so that I can gift this to you once I post it there!!

September 5, 2021.

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: 5,103 Gabriel x Reader Warnings: none! A/N: This is part of a series! Read Part 1 first!

Your name: submit What is this?

The first door standing open down the long hallway was obviously your bedroom, and Gabriel wasn’t shy about stepping inside. At first, he simply stood in the center and glanced around eagerly, bouncing a little on his feet as he surveyed the space.

Cas followed him in much more tentatively, but curious as to what his purpose was.

“This is it, huh?” He strolled over to the small desk in one corner and picked up an open notebook and some loose papers, studying them closely. Apparently, nothing there really held his interest because he abandoned them quickly and started sliding open desk drawers.

“This is—I think this is what humans would call an ‘invasion of privacy,’” Cas said.

“Gabriel, I really don’t think you should—” Cas tried to argue, but the archangel simply shushed him and opened the cover. He ran his fingers over your handwriting—the impressions were deep on the page and he liked the slanting, hurried cursive. “Ghouls in Minnesota, Vampire in New York, Werewolf in Arkansas… This is nothing but hunting notes,” he said with disappointment, flipping through the pages.

“What did you expect?” Cas asked him.

“Something with a little more insight into who Y/N is, perhaps,” Gabriel said, shutting and typing the journal closed again and replacing it in the false bottom of your drawer, kicking it closed with his boot. “Hopes, dreams, roots, deepest secrets… that sort of thing,” he said.

Cas’s brow drew down low over his eyes again. “Knowing Y/N, I seriously doubt you will find any of that in writing in here…”

“Well, that’s just wishful thinking. Best case scenario. I will just have to get creative,” he said. Gabriel spun and looked at the small bedside table. There was a novel sitting on it and he grabbed it, opening it to the bookmark. “Y/N is an avid reader, hmm?” he said, more to himself than to Cas. “This is an ambitious read.” He studied the bookmark which was a folded piece of paper. When he opened it, it was a printed photo of you, Sam and Dean, and Cas. Sam had his arm draped over your shoulders and all of you were smiling for once. Gabriel stared at it for a long moment and Cas watched his expression soften into a thoughtful, faraway look. Finally, he folded it up again gently and replaced it in the novel, leaving it on your side table just the way he had found it.

Next, Gabriel went over to the dresser and glanced at Cas with a smirk on his face. “You know, it’s strange but most humans keep their delicate underthings in the exact same place—top drawer—” he said, grasping the handle.

Cas slammed his hand into the drawer keeping it closed and Gabriel looked at him in surprise. “I really think you’ve done enough spying.” Cas’s voice and expression were stern now, but it only elicited a mischievous glint in Gabriel’s golden eyes.

“Spying? I’m just trying to get to know this Y/N better,” Gabriel argued, doing his best to sound innocent. “I mean, so far all I know is she’s related to the two meatheads and hangs around with you. And, though it may be a surprise to you, that doesn’t actually tell me anything I’d like to know.”

“If you want to get to know her, why don’t you just go visit her now? Or wait and meet her when she’s back.”

Gabriel gave Cas a skeptical look. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Sam and Dean will have no problem with me sniffing around their Baby Sister. They’re not known to be particularly suspicious or protective.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Especially after all those Dead Dean Days…”

Cas grimaced a little at the thought. “Well… you also saved them by facing Lucifer. They will not have forgotten that. You redeemed yourself, at least in part,” Cas said, tilting his head in his familiar habit.

The archangel looked surprisingly uncomfortable with Cas���s sincerity. “Fine. Enough snooping. Come on, brother,” he said, laying a heavy hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Let’s grab a drink and you can tell me all about losing your grace and what mortality feels like.”

Cas frowned, but he didn’t object. He was glad just to get Gabriel out of your room…

_ _ _ _ _ _

Several weeks later

You leaned your head back on the pillows and let out a frustrated groan. “UGH! Where is this doctor?!” you demanded.

Sam gave you a look. “I’m sure he’s on his way,” he said gently, trying to placate you.

You threw off your blankets and climbed out of the hospital bed onto your feet, moving a little hunched over as you rolled your IV stand with you.

“Whoa, whoa! Hey!” Dean jumped up and stopped you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I can’t stay in that bed another minute or I’m gonna lose it!”

“We’re not even sure if you’re going to get released today, so you might as well get used to the idea that you may have to stay in that bed for a couple more days,” he retorted. “So, get back in bed!”

You vehemently pointed a finger in his face. “HEY. You’re not my doctor! You don’t get to boss me around!”

Dean drew himself up to his full height and gave you a severe look.

You didn’t waver. “I’m not scared of you!”

This drew a laugh from Sam and when you glanced over he was shaking his head. “Y/N, please just at least sit down. I’m sure the doctor—”

“—is in!” As if on cue your doctor strolled through the door, you chart in his hand. He gave you a big smile. “Alright, Y/N. Hop back up on the bed again, would you? Let’s see how you’re doing.”

He hadn’t even examined your incision yet and the words were spilling out of you. “Can I go home today?” you asked urgently.

This elicited a laugh from him and he gave you an appraising look. “As soon as I know, you’ll know,” he said diplomatically.

You tried to be a good patient and sit perfectly still as he checked your incision but you couldn’t help fidgeting and chewing your bottom lip. The doctor straightened back up and crossed his arms. “Well, no sign of infection. Incision seems to be healing nicely, so—” “YES!” you exclaimed.

“SO,” he continued through a smile, “I’m going to release you but with very strict instructions. I need you to really hear me right now, Y/N. Okay?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes. I’m listening.”

“NO lifting anything heavier than a few pounds—you know what, no lifting anything, okay? Absolutes seem safer with you. And you are NOT to be doing anything physical for 3 more weeks, at which time you can start with some easy physical activity. Long walks, some stretching, that kind of stuff. And you will need to get another post-op check-up around then too.”

You nodded. “Okay. I got it.”

“Now, your brothers here ARE now in charge since I can’t be there to keep you in line,” he said, a knowing smile on his face. He must have overheard you and Dean from the hallway.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you argued.

“I’m not kidding. You need to let them take care of you. And you two,” he said, pointing at Sam and Dean in turn, “need to make sure she rests.”

A gruff laugh escaped Dean. “Easier said than done.”

“I know,” the doctor said. “I’ve been dealing with her for only about a month. You two have been dealing with her for a lifetime,” he joked, shooting you a glance.

“I’m right here, you know!” you burst out. “I can hear everything you’re saying!”

The doctor laughed and held out a hand to you. “Y/N, it’s been a pleasure to watch you recover. Now be well, and rest.”

This time you didn’t have anything snarky to say and just grasped his hand in yours and shook it. “Thank you. For… not letting me die and stuff.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re welcome. Gentleman,” he turned to Sam and Dean who both shook his hand and thanked him repeatedly. “The nurse will be in shortly to take care of that IV and check you out. Take care.”

You watched him go with a triumphant smile on your face. Sam and Dean both looked a little anxious, however. “Oh, come on, guys! He said I’m fine. We can go home!”

“You heard the doctor though. Seriously, Y/N. You’re on house arrest,” Dean said forcefully.

“Whatever. I don’t even care. Just get me out of here,” you said climbing down to your feet again. Soon a nurse came in and removed your IV. You kicked Sam and Dean out of the room so you could change out of your hospital gown for the first time in what felt like years. Another few minutes and you were stepping into the hallway, a huge grin on your face.

Sam shouldered your bag and gave you an appraising look. “You alright?” You were still a little hunched over. Straightening up completely still made you sore.

“I’m great,” you said. “Look! I’m wearing actual clothes!” You glanced down at the sweatpants and t-shirt you had pulled on. “Sort of.”

Dean couldn’t help smiling at you fondly while shaking his head. “You sure you don’t want me to go grab a wheelchair? It’s a bit of a walk.”

You scowled at him.

“I’m being serious, Y/N,” Dean said, the gravel in his voice deepening. “You’ve only done short walks around the floor.”

“There is no way in hell you’re getting me in a wheelchair.”

You managed to make it out to the Impala, though Dean had insisted on driving right up to the exit to pick you up. You slid into the back seat and sighed. “Oh, I missed you, Baby,” you said out loud, sinking in to the familiar seat and breathing in that particular smell that always made you remember road trips and hunts and late-night cheeseburgers.

Dean smiled at you in the rearview mirror. He lowered his voice and turned to Sam. “You talk to Cas?” he asked in an undertone.

“No. It still just keeps going straight to voicemail,” Sam said. “But he texted me again… to explain the origins of pineapple,” Sam said, a tight smile on his face. “It took like 30 texts.”

“What the hell is going on with him? He’s been weirder than usual.”

“Well, he has been trapped at the bunker alone for kind of a long time…” Sam said.

“He could have talked with us if he would ever answer his goddamn phone,” Dean countered, turning onto the highway. “Maybe he’s finally cracked.”

“Who?” you asked, leaning forward and resting your hands on the back of the front seat.

“Nobody,” Dean said. You scoffed.

“That’s convincing…” you said under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Why don’t you just focus on getting all healed up and let Sammy and me worry about everything else, alright?”

“You know, it’s weird, but my cells do that part pretty much on their own. It doesn’t require much conscious thought on my part. So, if someone has cracked—”

“Nobody’s cracked,” Dean said gruffly, hands steady on the wheel.

“You just said—"

“I just said nothing for you to worry about,” Dean said finally.

You let out a frustrated growl and changed tactics. “Fine. I’ll change the subject,” you said smugly.

“Thank you…”

“Any news on Gabriel?” you asked loudly, sinking back into your seat comfortably.

There was a long, silent pause from the front seat and you could see that Dean’s grip on the steering wheel had tightened.

Sam turned partially around, one arm on the seat back and looked at you. “You know there isn’t.” “No, I don’t know that. You two are obviously keeping something from me, so I think it is fair to assume you’re keeping other stuff from me too.”

“We really don’t know anything about Gabriel,” Sam said, sincerity written all over his face.

You chewed your bottom lip anxiously. Sam took in your expression. “Have you—seen him again?” he asked.

“No. No, nothing like that but since that happened, I just have this feeling—he said we would be seeing each other again and it’s like, in my core, I know that’s true.” You looked up and caught Sam’s eyes, they were steady on your face and narrowed slightly in concern. “I know that doesn’t make any sense and I know you and Dean said he’s gone but it’s such a strong feeling. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“I believe you,” Sam said. “For now, I guess we just have to wait…”

Many hours later, Dean finally pulled the Impala into the underground garage at the bunker and opened the door for you. Inside, an archangel and a graceless angel perked up as they heard noise in the garage. Cas shot upright and glanced over at Gabriel, who only smiled serenely back at him.

“Showtime!”

Cas gave him an apprehensive look and started off in the direction of the garage immediately. Gabriel followed, but at a leisurely pace, seemingly completely unconcerned.

But Cas didn’t know that this was mostly an act. There was a strange sensation in Gabriel’s chest and it was growing the closer he came to the moment when he would see you—meet you—for real this time, not in some mind dreamscape. He couldn’t even explain to himself why but he felt that this moment was going to change everything for him in some way—he knew no reason why that would be true. He had been fascinated with you since he first became aware again and had been thrust into some role connected with you… but he had this feeling, like a heavy block of cement in the middle of his chest sitting on top of his heart which was maddening in its oddity. It was like expectation and something more had solidified and despite all his trying he couldn’t shift it.

Dean pushed through the door into the bunker trailed closely by you, and then Sam hauling your bag and his own. “Cas?!” Dean roared. “Are you alive in here?”

Cas came hurrying around a corner in the hallway and his expression stopped all of you dead in your tracks. His blue eyes were wide and his face was quite pale, further making the shocking blue stand out.

“…what’s going on?” Dean asked. He was immediately reaching for his pistol.

“Don’t panic, but there’s someone here—”

“How is that supposed to make me not panic?!”

“Cas, do I need to get Y/N out of here?” Sam demanded over your shoulder, already trying to move around you to shield you protectively.

You were surprisingly quiet and Dean looked over his shoulder at you. Your heart was pounding in your chest. “Cas, who is it?” you asked quietly.

He only swallowed at the tightness in his throat and opened his mouth to offer some kind of explanation, but no sound came out. You felt like you didn’t really need him to answer anyway. You already knew.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

A second figure now came around the corner and Dean dropped his duffel bag where he stood, his fists clenched.

“Welcome home, Winchester Clan!” Gabriel said cheerfully, his arms spread wide.

There was just a stretch of tense silence between all of you which the archangel finally broke again. “Dean, if you wouldn’t mind just stepping a liiiittle bit to your right so I can—”

“What the hell are you doing here? How are you here?!” Dean demanded, his jaw tensing.

“That’s how you want to start this?” Gabriel asked, a grimace on his face. “Come on, Dean. I’m here to help. I’m not here to kill you over and over again. Not this time. I promise. Scout’s honor.” He made a small cross over his heart with one finger. Gabriel tilted his head, trying to look around Dean to get a better view of you, but it wasn’t necessary because the next moment you stepped around him slowly.

He couldn’t help the small smile that grew on his face. You found the golden light in his eyes staggering, just as you remembered it from your vision.

“…you,” was all you could get out. Sam and Dean exchanged a tense glance.

He bounced a little on the balls of his feet and slipped his hands into his pockets, actually the result of nerves, but he was hoping it just made him look nonchalant and nonplussed. “Me.”

“You’re—but you’re… What are you doing here?” you asked quietly.

“I told you we’d be seeing each other again, didn’t I? You didn’t believe me?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow at you. You didn’t answer, just peered at him intensely.

He inclined his chin a little as he studied you. “Here—” he said. He moved around Cas and started toward you but was immediately met with loud yells and threats from the Sam and Dean causing him to stop abruptly and raise his hands, palms out. “Guys, guys, guys! Would you two just chill? Really! After all we’ve been through… I’d like to heal what’s left of that nasty gunshot wound if Y/N will let me. Or are you opposed to that? Because she’s in a lot more pain than she’s letting on. I’m guessing she’s hiding it so you two won’t go all crazy protective over her for the rest of her life.”

“No, I’m not!” you argued. Gabriel gave you a skeptical look.

“I can feel it,” he said. When he spoke those words there was something almost desperate in them. “Let me heal you. Please.”

You swallowed hard at the nervous lump in your throat and stepped around Dean again, giving him a small glance. “It’s okay,” you said.

Gabriel stopped right in front of you and gently touched two fingers to your forehead.

You straightened up immediately and breathed in a deep breath, completely filling your lungs, something you hadn’t been able to do without pangs of pain since you’d been shot. Your shoulders relaxed and you gave him a grateful but perplexed look. “Thanks.”

“Welcome home,” he said again, but this time it was quiet, like it was only for your ears. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the fingertips that had just touched your skin. They felt strange, almost like the sensation when your foot falls asleep.

Dean suddenly interrupted the moment by pushing past Gabriel and heading toward the front of the bunker at high speed. Cas turned and jogged to catch up with him, wilting a little under the scowl Dean sent his way.

“Cas, you couldn’t have given us a heads up?” Dean asked angrily.

“You don’t think I tried? He broke every single phone I had and all the new ones I managed to get a hold of. And it’s not exactly like I could just fly over, is it?” he finished bitterly.

Sam stopped next to the two of them and dropped his duffel bag. “So… all those weird texts weren’t from you,” he said with sudden understanding.

Cas looked confused. “What? Weird texts? No. What weird texts?”

The Winchesters and Cas suddenly heard laughter behind them and turned to see Gabriel standing in the doorway with a satisfied smirk. Their expressions were stern.

“Oh, come on! That series of texts about the fuzzy toilet seat lid covers? The ‘bedtime thoughts’ texts? Pure genius on my part. You have to see the humor in this!” Gabriel simply watched as the muscles in their jaws twitched.

Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Goddammit. What the hell is going on?” He turned and looked to Sam who was still just staring in Gabriel’s direction with somewhat wide eyes.

“It’s really not that complicated, Dean. I was sent back to watch out for Y/N. And that’s really all I know.”

This caused deep wrinkles in both Sam and Dean’s foreheads. “Okay, first of all, your definition of ‘not complicated’ could use some adjustment. I would say a DEAD archangel coming back to life is pretty complicated. Second, why does she need anyone more than us watching out for her?” Dean growled.

“Well, seeing as she was just shot and almost died I don’t think I need to really answer that question,” Gabriel snarked back.

Dean’s jaw and fists tensed and Cas stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from attempting to throttle the archangel. Gabriel only smiled serenely.

“That wasn’t their fault,” you argued, having just appeared behind Gabriel in the doorway, feeling sick again because you knew your brothers were already blaming themselves. “It could have been any one of us.”

“But it wasn’t,” Gabriel pointed out.

You looked suddenly weary. “I don’t know why we’re still talking about this at all. I’m completely fine. Better than fine now that I’m magically healed me up. I feel like there are more important things we should be discussing.”

Gabriel raised a finger, like he had a sudden idea. “You’re right. Chiefly, I need to know everything about you. Your likes, your dislikes, formative childhood experiences, deepest darkest secrets—”

You crossed your arms over your chest and were about to snark something back at the archangel but Dean beat you to it. “Alright. That’s enough!” he growled. “You were supposedly sent here to protect her, not be a total creep. You’ve just met her and you’re already trying to invade her privacy,” he said gruffly, his green eyes piercing on the angel’s face.

“Well, technically I think he already—” Cas tried to stop himself but it was too late and your eyes snapped over to Gabriel as he winced and anxiously ran a hand through his hair. Your mouth was hanging partially open and your expression was incredulous.

“What the hell did you do?” you demanded. When he didn’t answer and only shrugged vaguely, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a frown, you turned to Cas again who was doing his best to look anywhere but in your direction. “Cas… Cas! Look at me!”

Gabriel spun and locked his eyes on Cas as well. “Brother, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll be quiet…” he said through his teeth, keeping a forced smile fixed on his face.

“We all know you aren’t good at lying, Cas. Even a lie of omission. Are you really going to lie to me? After everything I’ve just been through?” You purposely tugged on his heartstrings and walked toward him so he had no choice but to glance at you as you moved closer. “Cas, I almost died. And you’re not going to tell me what this archangel who is supposedly here to watch out for me was up to?”

Gabriel shot you a look that was both a little stunned and impressed. “That’s low,” he said. You raised your eyebrows at him and then turned back to Cas again.

You could see the internal turmoil crescendoing until it finally burst out of him. “He went through some of your things in your room. I tried to stop him but—”

“Dude!” Sam exclaimed, his jaw clenching with anger. Dean shut his eyes against the rising tide of rage and his fists tightened. `

Your jaw dropped open again and you turned back to Gabriel and away from a very conflicted-looking Castiel. “What the hell!?” you demanded angrily. “Haven’t you heard of privacy? What exactly gave you the right to go through my room?”

He looked a tinge guilty for a moment before rearranging his features into a questioning expression. “Well, I think I should know a little about my charge—”

You shot a glare at him that was piercing and Gabriel felt his throat tighten. “Your charge? Let’s get one thing straight right now… I’m not your ‘charge’. You do not get to boss me around or make decisions for me.”

Gabriel tilted his head and gave you a peculiar look. “Well… strictly speaking I don’t think that’s true… You see, I’m supposed to protect you which means that I get to decide—”

You interrupted him angrily. “No. No, you don’t get to decide.” You looked at Cas and your brothers who all looked pretty unhappy about what had just played out. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” As you started down the hall, you heard his footsteps following behind you and as you reached the door to your room you spun to face him. “What do you think you’re doing?” you demanded.

Gabriel looked around as if he was expecting you to be talking to someone other than him, but he saw no one else. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I’m just doing my job. You said you’re going to bed so I’m going to watch over you and—”

You angrily bit the inside of your cheek. “No. You’re not. You can stay the hell away from me while I sleep. You’re not setting foot in my room again.”

“Oh, come on! Y/N, please. You’re not really mad about—”

You turned abruptly and slammed the door in his face. Okay, so maybe you were really mad… “You know I can just appear in your room! I’m an archangel. An oak door isn’t—” The door whipped open again and you stood there fuming.

“Go away.” Your voice was quiet but Gabriel could easily hear the anger in it and for now he decided just to back off. You slammed the door in his face again and he sighed heavily, running a hand back through his hair.

Sometime later, Cas wandered down the hall and found Gabriel sitting on the floor, his back up against the wall just beside your shut door, his legs stretched out in front of him. Gabriel looked at him as he approached.

Cas didn’t say anything, just took a seat beside the archangel on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him and staring at his shoes. Gabriel broke the silence first. “Look how far I’ve come,” he said, his tone clearly sarcastic. “I used to lead legions and now I’ve been assigned as some kind of glorified babysitter and here I am, a fallen archangel, sitting on the floor outside her door.”

“You probably wouldn’t be sitting here on the floor if you hadn’t botched that meeting with Y/N so spectacularly,” Cas mused. To his surprise the archangel actually laughed and glanced over at him.

“Yeah, I think you’re right about that, Castiel.” Gabriel sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. “I have a tendency toward self-destructive behavior.”

“When I was an angel, I mean—with my grace, so did I,” Cas said. “Perhaps there is something about being so-called ‘immortal’ that makes us reckless with our own lives.”

Gabriel sighed again heavily. “Perhaps.”

Cas looked over at him and he could see genuine worry on his brother’s face. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine in the morning. She’s tough. Strong. But kind-hearted. She’ll let you make up for it.” Cas fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. “I see such a mixture of Sam and Dean in her.”

This only drew Gabriel’s brow down more deeply. “That’s what I’m worried about,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t know why I was sent to protect her, but I do know how reckless the Winchesters are with their lives. And all without a single drop of grace.”

Cas’s lips curved ever so slightly in a thoughtful smile. “Yes. But selfless.”

Gabriel glanced over at his brother and felt a pang in his heart for his graceless friend. “Do you miss your trench coat and suit?” he asked him.

Cas’s eyes lifted in surprise at the question and he glanced down at his sweatshirt, picking a piece of lint off the sleeve. “I do. But… it felt wrong wearing it somehow. Like being in a suit of armor while not on the battlefield.”

Gabriel nodded and leaned his head back against the wall. A few moments of comfortable silence passed before he broke it. “I’m sorry for being such a dick since I arrived. All the phones… all the lying… all the snooping. It’s strange to say but I had a level of-—anxiety,” he tilted his head in a question, not even entirely sure that was the right word for what he had been feeling, “about meeting Y/N. And I still messed it up.”

Cas sighed again and patted a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Tomorrow is a new day.” He climbed to his feet and looked down at the archangel, a strange sight sitting like a child on the floor during time-out. “Tomorrow. Goodnight, brother.”

[ending-with-stars]

Completely Professional (Seven of Nine x Reader)

Word Count: 2.7k 

Warnings: None!!

A/N: Listen up folks! It is absolutely CRIMINAL that there are no Seven x reader fics in this fandom (or really any x reader fics come ON Star Trek fans) and that needs to STOP. So, in the spirit of being the change we want to see, here’s a fic I wrote about a year ago that I decided to post with some nudges from @osmoticeel​ and @raktajinhoe​ (thanks by the way guys love ya). Enjoy!

“I’m just saying, I think she might have a thing for you,” Tom said, much to your displeasure, as he took a drink. You were sitting in the mess hall with Tom and Harry, some of the few people awake this early in the morning. You shook your head, sighing. “How could you ever know what she’s thinking about me?” You said, taking a bite of Neelix’s “scrambled eggs”and almost shivering at their slimy yet mealy texture. “I don’t know, Y/N, I think Tom might be right on this one. For once.” Harry said, eating a slice of replicated toast. Tom raised his eyebrows as he sipped his coffee substitute again. “Harry hasn’t been called down to engineering or the astrometrics bay in almost two months. You two are always working together, eating together,” “Because if I didn’t eat with her she wouldn’t eat at all!” You interjected, stealing Harry’s toast from his plate and taking a bite of it. He snatched it back and you smirked while chewing. “Still,” Tom said, giving you a look, “you have to admit you’ve noticed that Seven always wants to be around you.”

You didn’t want to admit it to your friends, but you had noticed. At first, it seemed like nothing. Seven would call you down to engineering sometimes to help her with power conduits that had blown out and with rerouting lines to the astrometrics bay. Now, as you looked back on it, you should have noticed it then. The former Borg would have no issues with rerouting simple power lines. You supposed it was a little bit naive for you to assume anything else. Over the past couple of weeks, she had been eating dinner with you, which may have been more your doing than hers. A few nights ago, in fact, it had just been the two of you in the mess hall, talking until the later hours. The other woman always had a fascinating outlook on problems. You wished people would give her more credit than she usually got for the development of her social skills. But as you looked at Harry and Tom, who both held looks of raised eyebrows and smug smiles, you decided to ignore your previous findings.

“We are just colleagues,” You said with finality, sipping your tea. Both of them sat back with exasperated sighs, Tom rolling his eyes. You laughed under your breath and caught B’Elanna walking over to the table, tray in one hand and coffee cup in the other. 

“Morning,” you greeted as she sat down next to Tom, who smiled as he put a hand on her back. “You two seem exasperated already. What’s the breakfast conversation been today?” B’Elanna asked. “We’re discussing Y/N’s completely professional relationship with Seven of Nine,” Harry said, crossing his arms. B’Elanna raised her eyebrows as she ate a bite of eggs, before making a face and placing her fork back on the tray. “What about it?” “That it’s anything but professional,” Tom said. “Well of course it is,” “Lanna, aren’t you supposed to be on my side here?” You asked through a little laugh. She shrugged, taking the half-eaten toast from Harry’s plate, smacking his hand away as he tried to retrieve it. “I see you two working every day. It’s obvious. She actually smiled when you told her a joke the other day.” “What?” Tom almost yelled. “And you didn’t tell me!” “It’s none of your business what Y/N does when she’s under my command for the afternoon. Plus, nothing’s gonna come from it anyway.” B’Elanna said so nonchalantly that it made everyone at the table give her confused looks. “Seven doesn’t know how to handle that yet, and Y/N is too scared to act on it.” “Hey!” “Oh please, even though you’re head over heels for her, you wouldn’t want to be the first person to make a move on a former Borg, would you? She would break your arm; either from getting you off her or pushing you up against a wall to kiss you.” You shrugged. “One of those sounds sort of worth it, don’t you think?” You said, getting snickers from the two men at the table. But you knew B’Elanna was right. It was safer, physically and emotionally, to repress any attraction you felt. As if on cue, your com badge beeped. “Seven of Nine to Lieutenant Y/N.” All of your tablemates raised their eyebrows, giving you smug looks. You rolled your eyes but smiled as you responded. “Y/N here.” “Meet me in Jeffries tube 12. I require your assistance on multiple overloaded power circuits.” She answered. “Understood, I’m on my way.” You climbed into the entrance of the Jeffries tube, closing the door behind you, and tried to calm the rapid heartbeat that had begun to pound in your ears. Get a grip, you told yourself as you deliberately crawled slower than normal towards the ladder. She is your friend, your colleague, it would be inappropriate, especially since she quite literally had no experience in anything of this matter. It felt like you would be taking advantage of her if you said something about it. So, you finally decided, that you would ignore this. It would go away eventually. Attraction always did. Didn’t it? You climbed down the ladder into the tall portion of the Jeffries tube, unconsciously straightening your hair and uniform before turning around. “Morning, Seven,” You said with a smile. Seven was facing away from you, working on one of the singed power conduits, scanner in one hand and sonic resonator in the other. At your greeting, she turned and acknowledged you. “Good morning, Lieutenant Y/N.” She said flatly before turning back to her work. “Can you begin repairs on conduit 15.4C on the opposite wall?” “Yes, I can.” You said, pulling out your own tools and kneeling next to the singed conduit. It was silent for a long moment, only the beeping sound of tricorders and the hum of the ship's engine to dull it. There had never been an awkward air between the two of you before. In fact, her formal greeting had left you a bit phased. Seven hadn’t referred to you as “lieutenant” in almost a month. It made your stomach clench and pulse quicken. The scanning from the background stopped for a moment. “Lieutenant, are you ill?” Seven asked. You paused and turned to look at her, confused. “No...why?” “Your pulse has been rapid for the entirety of our work today, over 3.1 percent above the usual. And your internal core temperature is two degrees higher than what is acceptable for human parameters.” She walked up close to you, inspecting your face with scrutinizing blue eyes. In them, you saw a hint of worry. “You are also perspiring more than normal,” she took your chin in her hand, looking into your eyes. “And your pupils have dilated. I believe you are ill.” You took her hand that was holding your chin and, careful to not let it shake, removed it from your face. “I’m not sick, Seven. It’s just warmer in here than normal,” you regretted the lie the minute it left your mouth. She gave you a slightly perplexed look. “The temperature has not changed aboard Voyager for approximately three weeks, four days and twelve hours. The Jeffries tubes are regulated even more so than the habitable portions of the ship due to the sensitive technology-.” In a moment of lost judgement, you put a finger on her lips to silence her. Both you and Seven froze. You lingered, wanting to do so many things at that moment. You didn’t need Seven to tell you that your pulse quickened; you could hear it pounding in your ears. And for a moment, you saw uncertainty flash across the other woman’s face, eyebrows softening ever so slightly. But both of you blinked, and the moment of weakness disappeared. You pulled your hand away and Seven straightened herself. “Sorry. I just knew that if I didn’t stop you that you would just spiral into all these dates and numbers.” You said quietly. She inclined her head. “Thank you.” “We should...get back to work.” Again, the two of you worked in silence. Tension seemed to fill the empty space. You looked behind you, wondering if the feeling of tension was mutual. You were met by a similar look from Seven, who blinked and shuffled awkwardly before turning away. In your work, you realized that the extent of the damage on this conduit extended down another level. “Seven, this conduit is totally burned down to the next level.” You said. She walked over to you and kneeled, shoulder brushing yours. She never did have a sense of personal space. “I concur. We will move down to the next level.” You sighed as you climbed down into the next level. It was not the tall working space that was above. You crawled on your hands and knees to the conduit, which was so burned that it sparked as you came over to it. “Damn, what happened here?” You asked, looking at Seven as she crawled towards the singed wall. She sat on her knees and pulled out her sonic resonator. “I was attempting to reroute the lines towards astrometrics. I allowed my mind to wander and misaligned them. It caused a chain reaction, leading to my calling you.” You smirked. “So, you got distracted?” You said, looking at her with raised eyebrows. She turned slowly to look at you. “Voyager’s power lines have never been efficient.” You nodded, laughing in your chest. She raised her eyebrows now, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Have I said something amusing?” “No, no, I just,” you laughed again. “I didn’t know you could get distracted. You’re pretty laser-focused when it comes to working.” “I allowed my mind to wander.” “That’s one hell of a wander.” “I have often realized that when I think of you that I cannot focus on the tasks at hand.” You froze for a moment before turning your head to look at her. “Me? You were thinking of me and THAT made you distracted?” You said in disbelief. She looked at you confused. “Correct.” “Why me?” “You are a very aesthetically pleasing woman. I have been attracted to you since I joined Voyager. I thought I had made that relatively clear over the past weeks. I asked Captain Janeway for advice on how to achieve that,” she paused, scrutinizing for a moment. “It seems it was not successful.” “No no, it was. I just....didn’t believe that it was true.” Seven looked at you confused. “Why would you not comprehend? Were my advances unclear to you?” “No....well, yes.” You answered after pausing. “Explain.” “Seven....I don’t know if you know that you are...really gorgeous,” “As are you,” She responded. “No, I mean you’re really gorgeous. And you don’t really....have a lot of human experience. So I never thought that you would be...attracted to me.” You said, trying to pick the best words. Seven looked at the wall for a moment, eyes flicking over something invisible, almost like she was calculating something. “Your conclusion is based on the human insecurity of physical appeal.” She concluded. “Well, yeah.” You sighed. Seven turned fully towards you now. “Human appearance is a factor within attraction, but does not fully encompass all of it. Humans also consider personality, humor, and intelligence. While I do find you physically attractive, I also find that your personality appeals to me. You are one of the few crew members whose company I enjoy. Your intelligence level allows me to have intriguing conversations, and I find your humor to be amusing while others tend to be crude or based in reference to things I do not understand. Simply put, you are an ideal romantic partner.” She finished, the last sentence said slightly softer. You blinked and felt the blood rush into your cheeks. “Why....why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?” You asked softly. She paused again to think. “I did not know if you would...return my sentiments. And since I am, as you put, inexperienced, I wanted to wait until I found the right time. However the time never seemed to come, so I created a moment when I could inform you.” You laughed out loud at that and received a look of confusion. “Wait, wait, did you do this intentionally?” You asked. Seven thought for a moment. “Yes.” She answered plainly. You laughed again. “You could have told me any time! At the dinners we had, on the holodeck, you even could have stopped by my quarters.” “Do you not recall the first time we met?” She asked. It was your turn to give a confused look. “Four months, sixteen days and seven hours ago. Lieutenant Torres assigned me to you to help remove the Borg enhancements that had been installed. It was three days after I had my connection with the Collective severed, and I had not gained my more....human appearance. The crew was still afraid of me. However, you showed me an amount of compassion that I had never experienced. Since then I have considered you to be ideal for my first romantic partner.” You blinked, eyebrows softened in affection. “Seven,” you breathed and put a hand on her shoulder. “It was in Jeffries tube 12 that we met. Humans consider locations of their first encounter to hold a certain sentimental value, am I correct?” You nodded. “Then I have created the ideal situation to tell you that I request to initiate a romantic relationship.” The butterflies that rose in your stomach did stop you from laughing a little at the bluntness of her statement. “Do you accept?” She asked, and for a second you thought you heard a tinge of a nervous edge. “Yes,” You said through a little laugh. An uncharacteristic smile spread across Seven’s lips, which you returned, before she jolted forward suddenly and kissed you. It was forceful enough, which didn’t surprise you, that you had to throw an arm out to brace yourself from falling over. Her kiss was stiff and rigid, lips frozen in a line.  Of course, you thought, she’s never done this before. You leaned forward and cupped her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, and moved your lips against hers. She responded tentatively, the smile still coming through the kiss. You broke apart; Seven leaned back in and gave a light brief kiss. “That...was very spontaneous of you.” You said, smiling widely. “Romantic relationships do require a spontaneous element. When I consulted Captain Janeway on how to begin the-.” Seven started but you cut her off. “Can we please not mention the captain right now? Please?” You said, tucking a stray blonde hair back behind her ears. She nodded, and you leaned back in and kissed her again. “I was wondering if we were going to have to send a search party in there after you two,” B’Elanna said as you and Seven crawled out from the Jeffries tube into the engine room. She looked over both of you, raising an eyebrow at flushed cheeks and messy hair, and looked back down to hide a smile. You smoothed your hair down as you walked the report over to B’Elanna, with Seven trailing behind you closely. “We fixed every burned conduit and reset the lines to normal.” You said as you handed the PADD to her. You felt a cold metal fingertip run along the exposed skin on the back of your neck and repressed a shiver. You poorly held back a smile and shook your head, as if to shake out the thoughts. “Alright, everything looks good,” B’Elanna said and placed the PADD on her console. “You’re done for the day.” You looked at her surprised. “It’s just past 1300 hours, the day’s barely halfway over.” You said. “I don’t need you anymore for today, and if you’re lucky the Doctor won’t need you either.” She answered, still typing. “But I,” You started, but Seven cut you off. “Lieutenant, I require assistance in the cargo bay. If you feel the need to continue working, that is.” She said flatly. You looked over your shoulder at her; she pursed her lips and shifted her stance, and that was enough to shut you up. “Sure, I would love to. Thank you, Lieutenant Torres. Seven?” You said, starting to walk out of engineering. Both of you walked side by side, towards the cargo bay, and smiled to yourself as you felt Seven slip her hand into yours.

[carrionxcamille]

Ribs of Friendship | Cam, Adam, Cece, & Winn

Timing: Happy hour, June 1st Location: Dell’s Tavern Parties: Camille, Adam- @https://walker-journal.tumblr.com/, Cece- https://thebickedwitchoftherest.tumblr.com/, Winn- https://packsbeforesnacks.tumblr.com/ Summary: An unlikely group get absolutely blasted! At the Sports Bar and get to know eachother over crude jokes and ribs. Just another Totally Normal day in White Crest.

Camille pretty much had a job, finally. Which meant she’d be able to start saving up for a deposit on a flat and could get out of the shitty motel with the vampire neighbors. A reliable supply of hot water, a proper kitchen, her own bedsheets. It was going to be amazing. First, though, she was going to do something spiteful and petty. Jace was going to rot in a prison cell for the rest of his life. There was a Sox game showing this afternoon at a place called Dell’s Tavern — they were baseball, that was all she knew — Camille was going to drink beer, eat ribs, and watch the game. Even though Jace didn’t even know she was alive and would have no idea she was spending her afternoon doing three of his favorite things, it was going to be very satisfying.

She’d been so excited she had even straightened her hair and put on a little makeup for the occasion. Sitting at a stool on the bar with a cool bottle of their cheapest beer waiting for her ribs, Camille was as happy as she’d been in weeks.

“Hey there.” 

Adam sidled into a chair next to Camille. A Sox baseball cap was perched precariously on a mop of the unruly brown hair. Wearing a sleeveless t-shirt with a suggestively shaped pair of baseballs under the phrase, “I’d Hit That,” and a much loved pair of worn jeans, the young man fit in well with the crowd. A lazily jocular edge to his smile hinted that Adam might’ve been pre-gaming well before the first pitch had actually been thrown.  “Enjoying the game?” Adam asked, despite his brown eyes following the soft lines of Camille’s oval face down past her lithe shoulderline, far more intently then anything having to do with baseball. 

Sports bars had to be one of Cece’s favorite places. Not because she enjoyed sports, but because she enjoyed the environment inside of them. The camaraderie, the excessive drinking, the excited energy of the place. Hell, Cece even enjoyed a good bar fight every now and again. She had convinced Winn to go out with her for the night, ensuring him that it was totally his responsibility to pay for the drinks. 

They met up outside of Dell’s. “Looking good, Runaway. I think ditching town gave you some street cred. You’re really nailing that Ponyboy look.” She patted his shoulder endearingly and opened the door into the bar. “How many drinks do you need to tell me about that whole shitshow?”

The only use Winn had for baseball was for metaphors, and even then, they were all played out. But everyone up north crowded around for Sox games, and Winn felt an obligation to go out and mingle (though, really, Cece didn’t have to convince him to drink). Ponyboy? “Took you more for a cowboy gal, Cec. But we’ll find you a nice ponyboy. Ain’t gonna be me, but don’t you worry.” It occurred to Winn, belatedly, she might not be referring to that kind of ponyboy, but he’d take the L. She might get a laugh out of it.

As they walked into Dell’s — where Winn was half-sure he was gaining regular status despite his relative sobriety compared to the rest of the barflys — Winn caught sight of Adam in his element: flirting with a woman who was older than him. (Though, even queer as a three dollar bill as Winn was, he could admit Adam had taste.) “I can tell you ‘bout part of the shitshow,” he said to Cece, “but I think it’ll be much more fun to push ourselves into that shitshow.” Was he about to badly wingman a straight Hunter for a laugh? Absolutely. If Adam couldn’t stick a landing, he didn’t get to stick it in. “C’mon,” he said, hand pushing on Cece’s back as he guided them to the disaster-waiting-to-happen.

It was a long time since Camille had gotten much male attention. Being married to a guy like Jace didn’t exactly do wonders for your self esteem — she knew she wasn’t ugly, but feeling attractive and wanted was markedly different from just acknowledging that you had a pretty face. This kid who sidled up to her at the bar — and wasted absolutely no time letting his eyes wander from her face to her breasts — was what, mid twenties? Sharp jaw, muscular arms. The crude t-shirt was enough of a shock to her system to get her mouth working — almost. “Uh—” Eloquent. “Me? Yeah. I mean, I don’t— y’know, I don’t really follow baseball but it’s— Yeah. It’s good.”

Christ, thankgod his face was nothing like Jace’s, or she might have some heartbreaking flashback to their younger years. His smile had always taken up practically his whole face back then. Camille sipped her beer, trying to process what was happening — what, was he just overly friendly? There were plenty of hot young girls around to chat up. In fact another one just walked in. What was happening? “What about you?” 

Broad shoulders shrugged at the question as Adam’s face beamed in a faintly flushed sunbeam smile. “Happy, Horny, Healthy, the usual,” he assured Camile, before putting one arm on the bar and leaning forward toward her a little. “Hey… so babe,” the young man’s smile and tone softened into a manner of conspiratorial intimacy. Adam’s bottom lip brushed against his upper teeth speculatively as his dark jasper eyes submerged below Camile’s neckline before eventually raising to meet her gaze again. “Maybe you’d be up for…”

“Yo Winn! Oui disaster nipples! Over here! 

The moment was broken instantly as Adam caught sight of someone he knew from the crowd, the footballer’s free arm waving insistently to catch the newcomers attention across the crowd.

“First off, I don’t think you and I are on the same page about Ponyboy at all.” Cece squinted, not sure she even wanted to know at this point. Not until she had more alcohol in her. “Second, I’m equal opportunity. People are lining the streets to get to me. I’m just disinterested.” With a shrug, she eyed the pair across the bar that she assumed Winn was pointing too. “You’re totally changing the subject. But why is Prom King flirting with that grown-ass woman? I’m guessing you know one of them?” As if on cue, the boy started waving his arms in their direction. Bingo. Of course Winn knew the hot jock. 

Cece pushed through the crowd to get to the two, eyeing the both of them suspiciously as she got up to them. She had no idea who either of them were, but was trying to assess the situation here. Did the woman need an out or was she welcoming of the company sidled up next to her? Cece offered a knowing smile to the woman before turning towards the guy. “Excuse me, sir. Don’t you have a science lab or high school playoffs coming up? Can I see some ID?”

“Yeah, I know him. But ixnay on the eavinglay ‘round him, alright? Promise I’ll tell you later,” Winn said. Given Adam’s attempted distance, Winn was almost surprised to see the other man wave. Delighted, but surprised. He sidled in next the other man, wrapping a loose arm around Adam’s shoulder and giving him a shake. Winn spoke loudly, turning the charm and cheese up to their maximum. “Aw, c’mon, Cece. Can’t you see he knows what he’s doin’? He’s shootin’ his shot! And who knows, maybe this lovely lady across from me digs the,” he snorted, remembering Adam’s own term for him that first night, “fuckable boybander vibe.” 

“Winn Woods,” he said, reaching around and in front of Adam to the woman to offer his hand for a shake. “I’m Adam’s gay best,” werewolf, “friend. I can tell you all sorts of,” fake, “secrets about the guy, before you make your decision. And if you pour your drink in his lap, I’ll be there like a real bro to towel him off.” He smirked, winking from behind Adam’s sight at Cece and the other woman. “And Cece, babe, I know you don’t know sports, but playoffs would’ve been, like, a month ago or more.” 

Oh god, that smile. That was Jace all over. The sight of it had made Camille melt, once upon a time. Admittedly it was not ineffective now, she felt her own lips curling up at the corners in a reciprocal smile. She blinked, surprised by the statement — he was… horny? Did people just admit to that these days? What was she meant to say? Luckily, there wasn’t much time for her to worry about what kind of response to offer because he barrelled forward, and she didn’t lean back when he leaned forward.

Would it be so terrible? To flirt a little with some handsome fool at a bar? Now that would really piss Jace off. She wanted to know what she might be up for. Again, though, her chances were dashed when he noticed a couple of friends. Camille shot the woman a wide eyed but bemused glance, trying and failing to stifle a laugh at her quip. He was young, of course, though to Camille the girl did not look much older, and neither did the other man. “Fuckable boybander vibe,” she repeated as she shook Winn’s hand, amused by how accurate of a descriptor it was. 

Very quickly she had all their names — how useful — and almost entirely forgot to introduce herself, lost in trying to keep up with everything Winn was saying. “Camilla W— uh—” Actually, yeah, she didn’t want to stick with Watkins. “Dugar.” Better. She could say Watkins had been her married name, if pressed. “Nice to meet you. All. Not the worst vibe, for the record.” She shot Adam a quick grin, really having no idea what else to do — very out of practice with the flirting. “I can — sorry, if you guys came to hang out I can go sit somewhere else, I don’t want to be in your way.”

“Sure.” Adam made reaching around behind to his back pocket into an excuse to brush an arm close to Camille. He retrieved his wallet and held it out for Cece’s pursal, the contents indicating that he’d turned twenty two on this past January 14th. “I’m legal,” he said absently while leaning forward with his I.D into a none-too-subtle pretense to give the blonde bombshell a once over...and then a second over...and around the third over seeming to remember that evolved homo-sapiens engaged in conversation sometimes. “But if you still want to drag me outta here, rough me up a bit…” He looked up into Cece’s green eyes with a submissive puppyish expression. “Definitely wouldn’t complain.” 

The hunter let out a long whistle at Winn’s statements, the bird-song lilt hinting at a life spent outdoors. “Towelin’ me off...” Adam replied in a thickly affected Tennessee drawl, “when y’ talk all hot and purty like that Mr. Lee,” he continued with a soft playful punch at the man-hip now blocking his way to the ladies. “... why, it nearly flips me ass-up.” 

However Camile’s protestation snapped Adam out of the banter. “Woah, woah Camilla.” He leaned back with both elbows behind him on the bar, craning his neck past Winn. “You’re the star of this party. You been in White Crest long?” 

Ah, the elusive bromance. A tale as old as time and a relationship with weirdly sexual undertones. Cece loved a good bromance. Winn cozied up in the chair next to Adam while Cece still stood between Camille and Adam’s seats. She had to admit, Adam at least had the charming thing going for him. Cece couldn’t decide between rolling her eyes at the dude or flirting with him. “You’re cute.” Cece reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “Make sure to treat me right in your dreams.” 

Apparently, Camille got the wrong idea that the three of them had come to hang out. “I agree with Troy Bolton here. We’re all in this together now. It wouldn’t be any fun without you.” She assured Camille that Adam was right and she should stay with the group. 

Confident that he was alright, Cece found the stool next to Camille and flagged down the bartender. She ordered beer for herself, pointing at the others. “Put in your orders. First round’s on pretty boy over there. Well, the farthest pretty boy,” she said, pointing past Adam at Winn. 

“Mmm, awright, sweetheart,” Winn grumbled, jokingly, into Adam’s ear, letting out an exaggerated groan when the other man ‘punched’ him. He had to admit he was mildly impressed at Adam’s quick turn from joking to… well, about as genuine as Winn was sure the boy could be in public. As Adam tipped his head back, Winn plucked the hat off of his head, throwing it, backwards, onto his own sweep of hair, ruffling Adam’s affectionately. Gotta give the boy a little more tousle if he was hopin’ to impress two women in front of him.

“They’re right,” he said, evenly. “We didn’t come here for this mess,” meaning Adam, “we came here for this mess.” He threw a thumb back at the taps. “And as my darling Cece has pointed out, I’m buyin’. Owe her, taken some of Adam’s for free… and haven’t seen you ‘round these parts, so I figure I’m payin’ it forward.” 

When Cece got the bartender, Winn rolled his eyes. “Beer, Cec? And here I thought you were a classy woman.” Then again, Winn told the bartender to get him ‘whatever,’ so he wasn’t picky or nothin’. Turning his attention to Camille, he smiled, “Picked a wild time to come into town, if you’re new here. I’d promise that the ocean wasn’t always black, but… that would imply that somethin’ wasn’t usually going down. And that,” he said, laughing, “would be the biggest lie I ever told.”

Camille was really having to focus to keep up. Three people was not really a crowd but it felt like it to her, especially with them all chattering away and asking questions. The way they all bounced off each-other made her miss her old friends. By the time she’d died Camille hadn’t really been close with anyone- trying to keep your crumbling marriage a secret could have that effect- but there were a few people from work she’d had this kind of easy back and forth with. She was unsurprised when Adam blatantly checked out the other girl of the group- that was young guys for you, attention span of a goldfish- and she was sure whatever appeal she might’ve held moments ago was now forgotten.

Still if they wanted here to stay… Well, there was no harm right? They were young and loud and here to drink and probably weren’t going to ask anything too invasive. She’d come here to have fun, a group would probably help with that. And more beer definitely would. Camille shuddered at the mention of the black ocean, “um, I’ll just have another one of these.” She told the bartender, lifting up her near empty bottle and draining the last of it. “Got here just over a month ago actually, in the midst of all that mad stuff with the, uh, mimes.” 

God this place was fucking nuts. “Grew up in Bangor though, so I was always hearing crazy stories.” Now she was one of them, she supposed. “Didn’t expect eyeballs out of my damn taps though, I gotta say that one really threw me.” 

“Yeah, fish eyes are used as bait a lot,” Adam said in an amiable baritone that could convey steady normalcy even if a very building they sat in was engulfed in flame. “They do it all the time in Cook’s Bay,” he claimed while making an order of his own. “Fucking crazy that a bunch of bait would get yeeted into the harbor same time as the big oil spill, its friggen Deep Water Horizon all over again. Hope all the fishing crews get compensated once a lawsuit gets through y’know?” 

Like many Hunters, Adam was charged with the preservation of the supernatural world’s secrecy, a delicate balance between making sure that humans were safe from supernatural threats and ensuring that paranormal communities were safe from the witch hunts and hysteria of ages past. A lifetime of assuring people that everything was perfectly normal even as Spawn rampaged through graveyards, churning rips in space-time disgorged eldritch horrors, and children went ‘missing’ in Trow dens had cultivated a warm soothing mien that invited everyone else around him to buy into the banal lie. 

Everything was fine. What a terrible oil spill. Wolves can’t be people. That’s crazy! 

“What made you decide to come to White Crest, Camilla?” 

Either Adam was crazy off his ass or he was purposefully moving away from the conversation of the eyeballs. With Camille’s back turned to her, Cece shot Winn a suspicious glance as if to convery, Who is this dude? He did a pretty good job trying to normalize the whole eyeballs coming out of water pipes though, so if nothing else he was either good at making up falsehoods or way too invested in explaining the supernatural away. 

“How does anyone end up in White Crest?” Cece interjected, accepting her drink from the bartender and taking a gulp of it before continuing, “A bit of bad luck and a dash of poor decision making.” Cece flipped Winn off, “For the record this beer was on special tonight. That’s hella classy.”

“You’d have to be on somethin’ to take that case,” Winn grumbled, and then, because it probably was a smart idea to lie to Camille, “I’m sure the fishers will fight the town for lettin’ off-shore drilling go on like that.” Winn reached around Adam as Camille’s eyes were on the game for a moment and twirled his finger at Cece, an implicit Just go with it. Regardless of the hard-to-explainability of White Crest this week, they couldn’t really lead with “Hi, we’re a witch, a werewolf, and a Hunter, how’re you today?”

“Don’t have to go on the cheap just ‘cause I’m paying, y’all, by all means break the bank.” There was a part of Winn that hated flashing money around, but that part was easily combated by the part of him that hated drinking cheap shit. And the beer on special was cheap shit. He tilted his head at Cece for a moment, considering, and ordered her another drink, something nicer (and, frankly, more alcoholic).

Fish eyes. Right. Camille sighed, aiming an annoyed glance at the sigil on the back of her hand. There was a time when she’d have rationalized it away like that, too. But then she’d come back from the dead and it was hard to ignore that the world was full of strange and terrifying things like re-animated corpses and whatever problem had eyeballs coming out of taps. Maybe their cluelessness was a good thing, she needed some normal in her life. “Right, fish eyes. No wonder it stinks so bad, crazy.”

She nearly choked on the first sip of her new drink when Cece made her comment, grabbing for a napkin to cover her mouth while she cleared her throat and recovered. “I hope not too much poor decision making. I—suddenly needed a new place, but I didn’t want it to be in Bangor because that felt like a step back.” Camille twisted the napkin up in her hands, but despite the tension to her body there was a smile on her face, “I just left my husband.” It was the first time she’d said that out loud, and even if the way they’d take the statement—a divorce—wasn’t totally right, it was close enough. 

A plate of ribs was set down in-front of her and she laughed a little, remembering why she’d come here in the first place. “Ribs, beer, and sports were three of his favorite things. I saw that this place was showing the game and figured I’d come here to spite him.”

“So you're free...niiiice,” was apparently Adam’s sole take away from Camille’s confession. His dark eyes followed the banter between Cece and Winn, letting the resident werewolf dude reach around him to make some random gesture. Winn made a twirling motion at Cece, which Adam didn’t understand the context of. 

Nevertheless, while Winn was doing that, Adam made his own addendum of sticking a finger in his mouth in slow suggestive rhythms for Cece’s edification, before gesturing with his head towards Winn and Camille before making the fingers of one hand frantically hump the other fist. This was concluded with the footballer making a heart to Cece, followed by two thumbs up. 

Confident that this pantomimed proposal of a foursome definitely helped whatever Winn had been trying to say, Adam turned his attention back to Camille as her food arrived. 

“I dunno, poor decisions can be... fun sometimes,” assured Adam with an innocent choirboy smile as he made progress on the drink that’d arrived for him. 

Clearly, Winn wanted Cece to roll with the mundane excuse. She wasn’t going to fight it. She had moved here for a regular life after all. That had all gone to hell in a prada purse about a month into it, but the idea had really been pure. She didn’t plan on ruining that for anyone else. Especially someone as seemingly innocent as Camille. The poor girl had no idea what she had gotten wrapped up in. Winn, Cece, and assumingly Adam weren’t crazy in the supernatural sense, but in a bar? Havoc could ensue. And Camille seemed to not only be caught in the middle of it, but had the spotlight shown down on her. 

Cece stared back at Adam as he… what the hell was he doing? Fingering his mouth? Cece held a confused look on her face before returning the gesture, using her middle finger in its place. He finished off with suggesting a foursome between the group. Admittedly, the company around was pretty attractive. Cece wasn’t denying Adam’s looks, the dude was hella hot. She was even starting to warm up to the guy. Definitely didn’t mean she planned on sleeping with him. “I think I like you Adam, just haven’t decided why yet.”

“Leaving your husband is just about the smartest reason I’ve ever heard someone move to White Crest for and I will drink to that.” The bartender dropped off the second drink that Winn had ordered for her and she winked over at Winn in appreciation, “Thanks babe! In fact, I'll double drink to that.” She raised both glasses and took turns taking a large drink from each. “Well, we need the ribs, then. If we’re going to do this right and really stick it to him.”

Winn listened with a counselor’s patience to Camille’s reasons for moving to White Crest. Something, maybe the way Camille was holding herself, made Winn cock his head. Her heart wasn’t beating faster — at least, not more than could be explained by proximity to Adam’s… everything. And speaking of Adam…

What was he doing? Winn wouldn’t deny mild interest in the way Adam’s mouth wrapped around a finger, and Winn wasn’t… opposed to sleeping outside of his usual range? So long as someone was fucking him with something, he could get off to a blank piece of paper if he tried hard enough. He smirked, rolling his eyes in Cece’s direction as she flipped him off. Good for her. Adam could use the blow to his ego, even if Winn was still half-sure part of his bravado was fake as hell.

But back to the more important company, “I agree with Cece. You’ve got a head start on us, Cam — is it alright if I call you Cam? Before you make any poor decisions, you’ve got to let us help you make a poor decision!” Wait, no. Adam would get the wrong idea. “Buyin’ you a lot of ribs, I mean.”

There was, admittedly, something almost attractive about the crude gestures Adam was making. In a college frat boy sense. He was hot enough to get away with doing stupid stuff. Camille exchanged glances with Winn and Cece. “I know I’ve been out of the loop for a while, but am I supposed to understand what he’s trying to say with all the-” She imitated one ofthe gestures poorly, and that was enough to snap the pieces together in her head. “Oh! Oh- yeah. No, yeah. I get it now. Wow- that’s- hm.”  She shook her head, dispelling the notion entirely. She hadn’t had sex in years, and it’d certainly never been that freaky. “I think I need to warm up a bit before making a decision that poor.”

She slid the plate of ribs a little ways along the bar so the others could grab one if they wanted, “uh- yeah. Cam is fine.” It was closer to her own name, in fairness. She laughed, raising a rib in a mock cheers, “well then, to my ex husband being miserable forever, and making poor decisions.” She gulped down a little beer then took a bite from the rib, grinning.

Adam raised his glass high and let out a loud woop that drew a few glances before the gaming-watching bustle returned to its collective inertia. “To Cam! May her ex get ulcers that make him piss blood in loneliness and may she forget his prick-ass forever!” With that merry invocation of divine justice, Adam added yet more alcohol to his system. 

“So,” Adam pointed to Cece and Winn with his free-hand, purposefully choosing to spare Cam the spotlight for a little bit. “What’ve you crazy hot kids been up to?” 

Cece liked this group, and it totally wasn’t just because of the beer and ribs. Well, it totally wasn’t any more than like half because of the beer and ribs. Camille led the charge, stealing Cece’s heart with an impromptu cheers using her ribs. Damn, Cece loved a good emotional cheers. Adam chimed in with his own addition to the roasting of Camille’s douche of an ex. “Dark, dude. I can drink to that.” Cece grinned, raising one of her glasses and finishing off the beer. She slid the empty glass across the bar and found the drink Winn had ordered for her as a chaser. “Get too into defamation and we may end up hexing the dude.” And if Camille gave Cece anymore reason to, then those hexes may just end up ringing true. 

“Winn here was just taking me out for a night on the town. He owes me.” The two hadn’t really discussed how Winn owed her exactly. The conversation about her tracking his whereabouts hadn’t naturally come up in conversation. “I make him pay a membership fee for my friendship.”

Winn nearly choked on his drink at Adam’s toast, masking his laughter by raising his glass to the rest of the group’s. “Hear, ah, hear?” he tried, voice coming out hoarse from the liquor burning at his throat. He shot Cece a glance that he hoped communicated ‘Don’t hex anybody without Cam’s permission.’ Though, given she was already on her second drink, he figured it would be forgotten by the time it came to actually hex the prick. (If hexes were, like, a real thing?)

“I definitely owe her,” he agreed, rolling his eyes at Adam’s ‘crazy hot kids’ comment. They were both older than him. Like, definitely more emotionally evolved. No matter Winn’s suspicions about Adam’s whole… deal. “I’m truly lucky for her friendship. I need the good karma that pickin’ her drunk ass off the floor nets me.” He gulped down more of his drink, winking across at Cece. “And don’t y’all have, like, a giant television at the house?” he said, nudging Adam. “Your moose brothers not want to watch the Sox? Too busy puttin’ up their socks on doorknobs?” This time, his wink was directed at Cam.

Though it was again a little more crude than the sort of company Camille was used to, she had to say she did not take any issue with Adam’s toast, going as far as to clink her own beer bottle against his before taking a swig. If only she could forget him, wouldn’t that be nice. Her gaze shot to Cece when she mentioned hexing, wondering if she actually meant it, if Cam wasn’t the only one here who knew about the weird supernatural side to White Crest. She even opened her mouth to ask, and then realized they were probably in mixed company and she didn’t want to come off as crazy, so just took another bite out of the rib in her hand.

Perhaps if she got the girl alone some time she could ask about it. In the bathroom or something, girls went to the bathroom in groups right? Yeah. “Oh god, socks on doorknobs?” Camille laughed, shaking her head. “People still really do that? I miss college.” Jace had done the whole frat thing of course, and she’d been in a sorority too, she could remember how damn near impossible it was to get time alone together. “That’s why you came here all on your lonesome, huh?” She teased, nudging Adam’s arm, “got something to prove to your frat pals.” 

“Yes we still do that,” assured the guy who lived in a house where socks and kinds of things were put on various types of knobs. “And I’m with a client actually,” Adam protested at Winn and Camille’s insinuations of being a randy stag goodnaturedly. “I’m here if they needs me,” 

Adam nodded to a figure seated directly across the bar from him on a couch. The ‘client’ was dressed in a full jacket with gloves, hood, hat, and sunglasses despite the heat, no skin showing. Gloved fingers, six on each hand, drummed absently on the client’s knees as their gaze drifted across the crowd in the manner of someone overwhelmed but nevertheless content to observe the jovial chaos in silence. 

“But at sundown I can be with whoever wants me,” Adam noted with a smirk to Camille before purposefully diverting the conversation away from his client. “So, you’re here now. Found work yet?” 

Two drinks in and Cece wasn’t mad about the company she had found herself in tonight. She wanted to argue Winn’s point about her drunk ass, but considering they met when he helped get her drunk ass home one night, she decided against it. Clearly he wasn’t letting her live that one down anytime soon. At least until Cece returned the favor. Problem was, she never turned down a drink. She may not leave the place stumbling off her ass but she was rarely sober enough to be the responsible one in a group. 

Adam had clients, huh? Cece could only assume it was a sex thing. At least until Adam pointed the client out and Cece shot them a strange look, “Hmm. That’s a weird kink.” She muttered. She caught that bartender’s attention and tapped at her empty glass, smiling when he nodded his confirmation that he had received the message. “I dig the whole serial killer vibes they put off. Very Jack the Ripper.” Cece took a drink from her new glass and listened as Cam dished more details about her life.

Client? Winn looked at the figure Adam had nodded to, considering the other man’s word choice. Sundown. In the loud thrum of the bar, it was hard to hear whether or not the client had a heartbeat, if Adam was helping out someone in the way he’d helped Lucas. For all the younger man talked about conflicts of interest, he had… far more supernatural friends than particular enemies, Winn felt. But now wasn’t the time to argue with Adam over his calling in life — especially not in public. Adam hadn’t talked to Cam for any reason other than his babe senses, Winn was sure. Otherwise, why would he have attempted to cover up the town’s… weirdness.

Cece was already on her third drink, so Winn felt he had to up the ante. Neither of them were driving home, right? Unlike the night they’d met, Winn could, you know, call a damn Uber. He motioned the bartender as he came back with Cece’s next drink, mumbling “Strong.” with a wink to the, admittedly pretty, man. Was Winn (probably) hanging out with a bunch of straight folks? Yes. Did that mean he couldn’t distract himself from the whole… Noah situation? Absolutely not.

Okay, Camille had a hell of a lot of questions about that client. Not that she had any right to ask them, or really any desire to know the answers — there was probably nothing good to be said about a guy dressed like that. Who kept their gloves on inside? Well, people who wanted to hide their hands. She tugged at the sleeve of her shirt to tug it down over that ugly sigil, and wondered if she should become a gloves person too. She hadn’t been here long, so it wouldn't be hard to establish them as part of her style. Cam forgot about the guy happily enough when Adam diverted attention back to her. “So the spell is broken at midnight? Would that make you Cinderella or the fairy godmother?” she teased, taking a drink. “Day manager at that theme park. Cryptic— no, Cryptid Corner.” Cam shrugged. “Not exactly the dream, but it pays better than being a shop assistant or something. I mean I just got it and I’m still on, like, a trial period, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. What about you two?” She gestured towards Cece and Winn. “Now that we know Adam works as a full time weirdo watcher.”

“They’re from outta town,” was the only detail Adam supplied in explanation of his client’s nature to those gathered. He definitely wasn’t inclined to explain just how much of an understatement that was. But thus far the “guest” to this dimension had abided by the deal to not absorb anyone’s biomass, which was mean that Adam could spend his evening flirting and generally get his boorish man-child act on instead of lowering White Crest’s tourist cred by filling a sightseer full of holes. 

“I mean… I can put on slippers and wings if that’s what you’re into,” he assured Camille with an easy smile. “Cryptid Corner… Is that the one with the mothman and all that?” he asked before the questions turned to Cece and Winn.

“I’d actually be quite interested in you in slippers and wings.” Cece shrugged, taking a drink from her ridiculously strong drink. She knew she had Winn to blame for that. But as long as she didn’t have to drive home tonight, she didn’t really care how much she drank. “Yeah, I think so. Supposed to have all those weird attractions. I think I talked to the owner of that place once.” Cece remembered chatting about the amusement park. It seemed like her scene, terrifying and exhilarating. Though she hadn’t had the chance to get out there yet. “Guess I’ll really have to check it out now that I have a friend that works there.”

“I work for the Medical Examiner’s office.” Cece explained, “I’m a toxicologist. Which is just a fancy word to say that I test urine and blood I collect from dead people.” Cece joked. She turned to Winn, suddenly realizing that she didn’t actually know what the hell he did. Aside from modeling in a past life.  

“There’s an amusement park in town?” Winn said, wondering aloud. “Jeez, for Smalltown, USA, this place sure does have everythin’.” Weird attractions? Weird for White Crest? Christ, what kind of horror show was Cam working at?

“Oh, me?” Well, this was awkward. What did he do? Oh Christ, did Winn have hobbies? Friends that weren’t werewolves or… well, Hunters? “Um, it’s the off-season, but I coach the high school team. For hockey.” He scrambled through his brain, searching for something, anything. “I modeled?” Wait, shit, not that. “Um, in Europe mostly.” Worse, somehow. Winn could almost feel the smirks building on Adam and Cece’s faces. “I got kicked out of school today, so I’m, uh, a bit… loose, with the job-slash-life-thing, right now.” He downed his entire drink in one gulp, gesturing to the bartender to get him another drink, now. Please.

“Only if you can actually wave a magic wand and change my life.” Camille muttered in response to Adam’s quip, swivelling a little on her stool to order another beer. She should be careful really, because she didn’t know this guy and her tolerance wasn’t what it had been in college. But screw it. If anyone could go through what she had and not crave being a little bit drunk, then they were probably nuts to begin with. “Yeah.” She perked up again with a new bottle in her hand. “Yeah, mothman and all that shit, terrible uniforms. Don’t get too hyped up about visiting, it’s nothing special.”

Dead people? Ah, shit. “So do you, uh— do you know Regan?” She toyed nervously with a lock of hair, hoping to god this wasn’t some strange set up because the doctor had spilled her secrets. She didn’t seem like the gossip type, but still. “I— met her. While I was out for a walk a few days ago.” That was fine, this was a small town, people were friendly enough to introduce themselves. Kicked out of school? Camille’s concerned teacher instinct kicked in, and she leaned across a little to get a better look at Winn. He didn’t seem lazy or like a troublemaker or anything — true her expertise was in much younger kids, but there might still be something she could do. “What happened? Did they give you a fair chance before kicking you out? Temporary expulsions? Reports, guidance counselor?” 

Resisting the urge to answer Camile’s quip with the insistence that his ‘wand’ was indeed magic and could change lives, Adam continued drinking but briefly frowned in thought at the mentions of a Medical Examiner led on into Regan being brought up. While it was always possible that this was a completely different ME office with a different Regan, Adam had a suspicion that this Dr. Regan Kavanagh, the world’s most confusing hunter-dating Banshee materialist.

Winn dropped the fact that he was a male model in Europe, causing Adam to decide that he wasn’t nearly intoxicated enough and order another drink. Sex-canyon V-line wolfmen coaching high school hockey like it was one of those sappy sports movies wasn’t something he wanted to process sober. 

Cece’s eyes narrowed towards Winn. He hadn’t mentioned anything about the college to her yet. Not enough alcohol yet, clearly. Luckily, Cam seemed to have asked the questions for the group. Not that Cece thought it was her business to get involved in Winn’s personal life. But she was a big fan of a little chaos every now and again. She could storm the campus and make a few heads spin. For funsies. 

“Oh, you met my boss then.” Cece smirked, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “Bucket of fun isn’t she?” From the looks of it, more people knew about the Doc than Cece thought. Apparently, despite Cece’s assumptions, the woman was pretty popular in town. But if Regan referred to any of these people as a friend before breaking down and accepting Cece’s friendship Cece wears going to dive off a bridge. “I love that girl to death, but she takes life a bit too seriously for my tastes.” Cece followed suit with Winn, downing her new drink in one gulp and raising the empty glass towards him in triumph. “Hell yeah! That’s the kind of energy I’m looking for tonight! Guys, I think we’re going to have some fun.”

“I am not drunk enough to talk about Regan Kavanagh nor my educational drama,” Winn said in his smoothest, most honeyed voice. “And we’ve got all the time in the world for me to come clean. So long as you don’t clean out my wallet.” He winked, slapping Adam on the back again. “I’m sure the golden boy and I can show y’all ladies a nice time. Though not that nice, eh Adam?” He elbowed the other man, trying to direct the conversation off of him — and Regan for that matter.R

After all, he hadn’t spoken to Regan since they’d sent that CVS on 3rd to a hell dimension. The less Winn thought about that, the better. Oh yeah, he was going to get blasted tonight. He deserved it. No one was driving home, they were pissing off an Uber driver with four different locations, loud chatter, and absolutely no filter like God and Stonewall intended. He may be the only queer person here, tonight, but it was Pride Month and he knew how to work a party, even in the straightest possible place. First thing? “Bartender!” he called, loud and long and stupid, “I need, uhhhhh, a drink for every percentage point you want me to tip you.” Hell yeah. Time to get stupid.

[peonybane]

Agape and Pragma: Chapter 1

Pairings: OT7 (BTS) x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Genre: Hybrid AU, Fluff, Angst, Sci-Fi, Smut (eventually)

Summary: Your entire world had be torn asunder by just one lab test. Time heals all wounds, but does it really? What will it take to feel whole again?

Warnings: Mentions of Alcoholism and depressive relapse, a mention of an instance of abuse.

Hybrid Types: Peacock Jin, Serval Yoongi, Golden Retriever Hoseok, Great Dane Taehyung, and French Lop Eared Rabbit Jungkook… with more to come.

a/n: Hope you all like this one! Also if you have not yet read it, please go back and read the Prologue for context, for well, everything.

<--- Previous (Prologue)

Three years later…

“Hoseok! Let’s go! Liam is waiting at the airport!”

“Coming!”

You stood at the foot of the stairs, tapping your foot, miffed. Well, as miffed as you can sound in heels. The other two were sniggering behind you, their suit jackets freshly pressed. Usually it was Taehyung that would run late, this time though, it was Hoseok for a change.

The thundering steps of the Golden Retriever Hybrid alerted you guys to the fact that he was, indeed, finally ready. He greeted his roommates with a smile, having finally finished putting himself together. You giggled as he showed off how spiffy he looked, with his dark golden hair (almost dark orange hair, really) styled around his floppy ears and his new suit jacket and shirt. 

You giggled out, “Alright, let’s go. Oh! And dogs in the back.”

Both of the dog Hybrids cried out in horror— one of them always won a great battle of rock, paper, scissors to sit in the front when you were the one driving. You would have none of that. Raising you hand, they fell silent. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t open the windows like last time? We’re picking Liam up and taking him to dinner upon his request. You think I’m going to let my nicely styled hair go to waste?”

Both Hoseok and Taehyung looked at you, guiltily. Jungkook on the other hand giggled, little bunny smile peaking through. You rolled your eyes then lifted your keys to eye level. “Fine. Hobi gets to drive there. And the windows can be down. But once we pick up Liam, I am driving and the windows are rolled up.”

The two dog Hybrids whooped excitedly. Hobi grabbed the car keys and headed out first, Taehyung close on his heels, not without his whip like tail smacking your hip as he made his way past you. 

You made a face, rubbing the sore spot. Jungkook made a face in sympathy, having been a victim to Taehyung’s whip-like Great Dane tail himself. Even though Liam was only going to be back in the town for a few days, you couldn’t wait for him to have a talk with Taehyung about the importance of him being aware of his tail, especially since he just got out of a tail cast… again.

Making your way to the car, Jungkook helped you (the dress making hoisting yourself in, a little bit of a challenge) in then passed you one of the jackets that was often left in there, not really sure who it belonged to. You slipped it on and pulled the hood up to protect your hair as much as possible. It wasn’t often that you did your hair anymore, so since it was such a special occasion you wanted to keep it protected from the Chaotic Twosome. As soon as you were buckled in, the dogs in the front seat rolled down the windows as they rolled out of the driveway. As very human as they were, it still made you giggle at how scent oriented they are.

The four of you were laughing the whole way to the airport, all excited to see Liam again. 

Not an hour later (living in the countryside has its ups and downs), the four of you were in the pick up area of the airport (you having left the borrowed jacket in the back of the car), excited to see your old friend. Almost 20 minutes later, Taehyung spotted him, having been the tallest. His tail started smacking into Jungkook side, making him shout. “Yah! Tae! Your tail!”

Taehyung had enough shame to look guilty before he started calling out for Liam. Upon hearing Taehyung’s bellowing voice (which scared an older couple who were also waiting for someone), Liam turned towards you all and waved back as he headed towards you, dragging his suitcase. Liam looked tired, but also happier. His once hollowed out cheeks having filled and his beard looked fuller, healthier. There was an unmistakable twinkle in his eye, tell tale sign of something wonderful had happened to him while he was away.

As soon as Liam was in launching range, both Taehyung and Hoseok launched themselves at him, enveloping him a crushing group hug. Liam just laughed, having braced himself. “If this is the sort of welcome I get from my over grown puppies, I need to disappear for months on end more often.”

Once Hoseok and Taehyung had gotten their fill of love, they let him go. Hoseok took his luggage and Taehyung helped him load it into the car while Liam walked over to Jungkook and you. He pulled Jungkook into a headlock first, both of them laughing as Jungkook managed to get free, continuing to lightly play wrestle with Liam as they bickered. Once they had gotten their fill, Liam turned his attention towards you.

He pulled you into a bearhug, one that you gladly returned. “Hey, Shortstack.”

“Hey, Beefcake.”

He pulled back and cupped your face, looking at your face intensely. You knew what he was doing, he always did it— he scanned your face to see if anything, or rather anyone, had healed your broken heart. After a moment Liam leaned back towards you and kissed you forehead. “I missed you, Shortcake.”

“I missed you, too.”

You smiled at each other before going to the car. The three Hybrids had already climbed into the back of the car, knowing that it was your turn to drive and Liam probably wanted some leg room after his flight.

Once they were all ready to go, you pulled away from the curb and the boys immediately began talking, filling Liam in on all the things he had missed out on.

Liam had been away for a year, helping a few hospitals in Africa set up a Hybrid wing. He spent the last week back in the country but had been staying at the HQ of the World Hybrid Health Organization, not only doing debriefings but also to make sure that he himself was healthy enough to come home.

It had only been in the last 5 years that it was discovered that there truly needed to be a Hybrid specialization in the medical field, society having thought that other characteristics other than the desired and the appearance would not be inherited (for example, broken tails had to have special care, some could be left alone to heal, while the care for others was vital as their spinal cords may extend into that extra appendage). There was a need for doctors to not only understand human medicine but also understand veterinary medicine just as well and be able to combine the different practices where there wasn’t automatically crossover. Some places were not as well equipped or as ready as others to handle the changing times.

Pulling up to the restaurant, the boys were more than ready, Hoseok having gotten them a reservation as soon as he found out Liam was coming home. The restaurant was called ‘Epiphany’ and it was a rather high end fusion restaurant that Hoseok frequented when he would have meetings with other investors, big shots, and the heads of charities.

Even though you were more than willing to park and walk, Hoseok insisted that they let valet park the car. For once, you complied, just as excited as the boys to finally to eat dinner (having forgotten to eat while working all day if it hadn’t been for Taehyung arriving home from the Kindergarten to remind you). Once you had pulled up to the valet parking and parked the car, in his ever cheesy manner, Hoseok was out the door and pulling yours open, offering you his hand with a flourish, going over the top cheesy with it. You rolled your eyes giggling, taking his hand. He took the keys from you and handed them off to the valet, taking the parking stub from him in return. 

Hoseok hooked his arm with yours, making you smile. Taking the cue, off to the side, Jungkook and Taehyung played rock, paper, scissors, duking it out about who would take your other side. Liam laughed as Jungkook won, looping his arm with yours, leaving Taehyung to sulk a bit.

While it was never desired or asked of them, they always felt the need to spoil you. For what reason, you weren’t sure, but it wasn’t unwelcomed.

They led you into the building where Hoseok detached himself from you arm to speak with the maitre d’. In the meantime, you allowed yourself a moment to gaze around the restaurant. It was certainly minimalist, but there was something cozy about it. Perhaps it was the light blue color theme or the smell of a home cooked meal.

Soon, Hoseok returned to your side where you all followed the maitre d’ to your table. Hoseok pulled out all the stops, having convinced his friend, Jin, to set them up at the Chef’s Table— for a discount, at that as well.

Taehyung took the opportunity to pull out your chair for you and you thanked him as you sat down. The others joined you and they all sat down as well. The maitre d’ gave you all drink menus and explained that the chef would be there in a moment to speak with you about dinner.

As the maitre d’ walked away, you looked over at Hoseok with wide eyes. “Um, Hobi?”

“Yes?”

“Just how many stops did you pull for this?”

“Not too many, I promise. Jin just owes me one.”

“Uh huh….”

You continued to eye him suspiciously before turning your attention to the drinks menu. Since you were driving back, you knew you’d opt for some sort of nonalcoholic cocktail.

A voiced pulled you from you deciding between the Sparkling Pear Punch and the Virgin Strawberry Daiquiri. “Well, well, look what the retriever retrieved.”

You all turned your attention to the man that joined your table. He smiled at Hoseok who returned the smile, and stood up to hug the man in the white chef’s uniform. You couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the man was. Especially with his striking blue hair, which you then noticed that his eyebrows were the same color as. As they hugged you noticed his hands, while covered in burns and cuts like any other chef’s hands, there were patches of blue and green discoloration that seemed almost iridescent. 

“Everyone, this is Jin, the owner and head chef of ‘Epiphany.’”

Everyone greeted Jin and Hoseok proceeded to introduce each of you. He shook hands with all of the men and when Hoseok got to you, Jin took your hand and kissed it, shooting you a wink. Immediately, a blush reached your cheeks. Jungkook giggled. Hoseok playfully scoffed, “The peacock strikes again.”

Jin replied, “Yah! You bring a lovely woman into my restaurant and expect me not to charm her? Just how big of an idiot are you?”

Jin proceeded to laugh, startling you a bit, not expecting such a high pitched sound, it sounded like windshield wipers, his voice box slightly altered by his genetics. Once Jin has calmed down a bit, he began speaking with everyone about what they’d like to eat. He explained that at his table, he’d design a meal from scratch for each person and often it would be a surprise. 

He finally left for the kitchen after getting an idea about everyone’s preferences. As soon as Jin was out of earshot, Hoseok looked at you with a smirk. “You look as starstruck as ever.”

“Oh, shush you. He just surprised me. Let’s be real, when was the last time I had my hand kissed by a complete stranger?”

The boys chuckled— you had a point. You continued, “Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bird Hybrid before, except for a couple of falcon.”

The maitre d’ returned with a tray of drinks, explaining that Jin had insisted that your drinks compliment your dinner. You knew you’d have to thank Jin later for having a lightly sweet mocktail brought out for you. Once the maitre d’ had left, Hoseok said, “Yeah, Jin is a rare one. The only way you can really tell that he’s a Hybrid from afar is the hair color and skin discoloration. Apparently, all of his body hair is iridescent, too. He also apparently doesn’t have any feathers. Which is weird for a bird Hybrid not even to have some feather sprouting through their hair. Though, once when we were drunk—“

Jungkook interrupted, “You mean when YOU were drunk, you lightweight.”

Hoseok shot him a dirty look before continuing, “He mentioned that even though he’s got no feathers, his back is litter in markings that look kinda like the eyes on a peacock’s tail. Besides, he’ll tell you that his Hybrid characteristics should be obvious considering his evident beauty.”

You all had a chuckle.

Quickly the conversation turned towards Liam, many questions inquiring about his work. Liam explained all about what he was up to. But… you felt like there was something he was hiding, because the moment he got excited about whatever he was talking about, he reeled himself back in, which was very unlike Liam. 

For a moment, you eyes landed on his left hand, specifically his ring finger, which was now sported a golden band. Just as you were about to open your mouth, you were cut short by Jin loudly announcing that dinner was served. 

For Hoseok, Liam, and Taehyung, he brought them all steaks, with sides and sauces that suited each of their tastes. You couldn’t tell who was more excited for their steak, Liam or Taehyung. For Jungkook, he brought over chicken salad. Despite being a French Lop Eared rabbit Hybrid, he could give his canine roommates a run for their money when it came time to going to a barbecue place. And for you, Jin brought over bowl of the fanciest mac n’ cheese you’d ever seen. Jungkook couldn’t keep a comment in about you and your child like palette. Oh, he was lucky y’all were in public, if this was back home you’d pull at his little cotton tail without a second thought.

As you all thanked him for the specially made dinner, Jin hushed you all and directed your attention to the grand piano in the center of the stage. At the grand piano, a man sat down, or rather a Hybrid. He was rather lithe, dark brown (almost black) hair was crowned by a pair of extremely attentive large ears, bands of the same dark brown and beige covering it. There were several piercings going through them. But there was nothing more striking about him than his sharp, cold eyes. There was a raging fire behind that cold exterior, just waiting to be unleashed.

He began playing, it was a slow tune, but immediately, you couldn’t help but be drawn to it. Slowly the melody picked up… the emotion behind it rose up and swelled. Not with happiness or pride. It was anger. Unbridled, wrathful anger. But that was just on the surface… below it, you could feel the pain and mourning. You knew it was there, because you had felt that before.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Taehyung reached over and wiped the tear that had escaped. You sniffled and apologized. Hoseok quickly changed the focus away from you, probably smelling your nerves. “Hey Jin, everything ok with Yoongi? He’s not play as well as he usually does.”

Jin sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, no. Between our landlord telling us to find a new place because he wants to change the condo to a hotel and Yoongi’s company rejecting all of his recent compositions, he’s just been more moody than usual. I dragged him here tonight so he didn’t just sleep and mope.”

You started eating as Yoongi switched to a different song, something much more suitable to the restaurant atmosphere, seemingly haven gotten rid of some of his nerves. Between bites you asked, “What you mean that wasn’t his best? That was… absolutely lovely.”

Jin smiled softly. “Well, thank you. I’ll be sure to tell Yoongi. Perhaps it will lighten his mood.”

You couldn’t help but blush a little at that. The boys chuckled and Jin bowed out, wishing you a good rest of your meal. 

Just as you were finishing dinner, Yoongi got up from the piano and headed towards the kitchen, but none of you really noticed, not with how Taehyung was retelling an embarrassing story involving Jungkook and a wedding he was photographing.

As dessert was being brought out, a small glass of Sparkling Pear Punch was brought over with your plate. You turned to the waitress, “Um, excuse me. There must be a mistake. I didn’t order a drink.”

She replied, with a small knowing smile, “Compliments of Mr. Min. Jin made sure it was nonalcoholic for you.”

Your brow scrunched up and she pointed your gaze towards the bar before she left, clearing away the last of dinner. Looking that way, Yoongi was leaning against the bar, his long banded tail flicking around about him as he held his own glass, looking in your direction. He raised his glass in your direction before taking a sip of whatever he was drinking, it looked like some sort of red wine. You felt heat return to your face and you raised your glass towards him before taking a sip yourself.

You were the first to look away. But as you did so, you immediately subjugated yourself to the teasing of your roommates. Of course you teased right back, enjoying their company. It been too long since you’d all been together.

^~^~^~^~^ 

A couple of hours later, you all were back home. A few showers later, you all piled into the living room, finally in comfortable pajamas, settling to watch a movie. 

As per usual, half way through any Ghibli movie, Jungkook and Taehyung were lightly snoring while Hoseok slightly wagged his take in his sleep. And you and Liam were still awake. Now looked like as good of a time as any. Taking the remote, you turned the volume down on the remote, still audible, but not too loud anymore as to not suddenly rouse the boys from dreamland.

“So, Liam. Who is the lucky, or I guess unlucky, love of your life?”

Liam blushed and began playing with the ring on his finger. “Can’t get anything past you, huh, Shortstack?”

You chuckled. “Stop stalling. Spill. You hardly spoke about anything important tonight.”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “After I broke up with Mikey, you know, cuz he didn’t want me to go to Africa, my drinking got bad again for a short while.”

You frowned. You remembered that fight. Mikey really lost his shit with Liam when he found out that he was going to Africa. Honestly, you didn’t blame Mikey for getting upset, because you felt the same. They had problems like any other couple but that was the final straw for either of them. As far as any of you were concerned, Liam never went back to drinking like he did back in college, back when it was really bad because of the loss of his parents. You didn’t realize that he gone back to that black thing to cope.

“Anyways, one evening in a village we were working with, I was drinking with the community leaders and well, it was getting out of hand. That’s when Deeba found me.”

A smile graced his lips. “She grabbed me and dragged my drunk ass away where she proceeded to yell at me to act like the doctor I am.” He laughed. “She would violently splash the water from her water bottle in my face if I so much as looked in the direction of alcohol. Even if it meant she didn’t get to drink as much as she needed to.”

He went back to twiddling with his ring. You couldn’t help but feel happy for him. He’d never been this soft for anyone. “We got married last week. Nothing big. Just went and signed the paperwork. No muss, no fuss. I don’t regret any of it. But….”

He turned to look at you, which disturbed Taehyung slightly, who mumbled confused in his sleep a bit before falling completely unconscious again. “Shortstack, listen. I’m leaving the house to you.”

You tilted your head confused. Liam continued, “Deeba wants to start a clinic in India for helping Hybrids and training medical professionals. I’m going with her. Which means… I don’t need this house anymore.”

“But this is your home. Where you grew up. This—“

“This is the house that my parents used to help all of those abandoned Hybrid children when the truth came out. This is the house I was raised in. And I much as I love you, as much as I love the guys,” he waved towards the three sleeping Hybrids, “my home died with my parents. This is just the house that was filled with love and will continue to do so… but with you as its heart and soul. Besides, with Deeba… well, she helped me forgive myself.”

Liam ran his hand over the scar on your upper forearm, the only one he caused, his eyes starting to drift off into the distance, welling with guilt. At first, he hid it so well, but when you confronted him about his drinking problem, he lashed out, throwing a vase at you. It was the first… and last time he ever hurt you. That’s how he knew he needed help… really needed to change.

You felt your eyes start to tear up. Taking his hands in yours, you leaned up and kissed his forehead. You knew that look in his eye all too well. He was determined to follow through with this. “If that’ll make you happy, I’ll take care of the house. And I hope you live your best life with Deeba.”

He smiled and nodded. “I will. Deeba is hellbent on turning me into a ginger Santa Claus with the way she cooks.” You both shared a laugh— Deeba was already well on her way to completing her mission. 

“Beefcake, if you’re not at least 20 pounds heavier the next time I see you, Deeba and I are having words.”

The both of you shared a good laugh, sort of waking up Jungkook, who just lifted his head, looked around then went back to sleeping. As you both calmed down, Liam turned a soft gaze towards you.

“Thank you, so, so much. Now, let’s get these three to bed.”

You both worked to lightly shake them awake, telling them to take themselves to bed. Jungkook was fine enough to walk himself to his room. Liam took Taehyung up to his room and you did the same with Hoseok. 

After getting Hoseok tucked in, you stroked his dark gold hair out of his face. He mumbled your name in his sleep, his tail lightly wagging under the sheets. You couldn’t help but chuckle before leaning down to kiss his forehead. 

You quietly stood up from his bed, walking back out into the hall. You sighed looking down the hall. 

Eight bedrooms. Seven, if you exclude the master bedroom. A large kitchen, designed to create the most soul warming meals for the greatest number of people. A living room large enough for dancing, for cuddling, for wrestling. Every room in this house has held near endless laughter, but also some tears. Every single with one a story. For those who came to this house to survive, there were some who’s story started in this house, for others, it was the last chapter before the new story in their lives would begin.

This mansion was Liam’s parents’ pride. They took in every abandoned Hybrid child, finding them loving homes that would accept them, both having experienced the pain of abandonment. Every single one being successfully adopted, both of which had prayed for themselves but had never been. This house had been filled to the brim with love, unconditional love— agape, and enduring love —pragma. 

You had big shoes to fill. That’s for sure.

As always, reviews, comments, asks, and tags are always loved! ~Peony

Next (Chapter 2) --->

Agape and Pragma Masterlist

Masterlist

All rights reserved. © Copyrighted 2019.

[transitverse]

28 degrees Fahrenheit, light winds and heavy snow

WORDS: 13,516 CHAPTERS: 1 CHARACTERS: Aubrey, Iloya, many many of Iloya’s relatives CONTENT WARNINGS: Vague discussion of trauma

Your name is Aubrey Still and you have no idea how to act at family gatherings. (or: Aubrey experiences Christmas for the first time, confronts some tough feelings, and has fun.)

Set several years in the past; Aubrey is near-fresh out of LoA and does not know how this works.

Sountrack: Low Poly Fallow - June LaLonde

"Are you doing anything for the holidays?"

You freeze on the spot. You've been waiting for this. It was only so long until someone asked, and you have to face the fact that you're spending your first truly free holiday season alone.

"No," you answer, dryly, and you intend to leave it at that, resuming the task of lacing your boots without making eye contact with Iloya. Unfortunately, from the corner of your eye, you can see them cock their head at you.

 "You should come home with me for Christmas, then. You know, if you do Christmas. It's fine, if you don't. I don't know what you do. If you do anything at all." They pause for a moment, and you're too busy trying to process the offer to speak, which they take as a cue to continue. "If you'd rather just avoid the whole season..."

"No! No, no. It's, um--" You're still lost for words, trying to separate the mixed feelings currently duking it out in your head. "I don't--I mean, I don't practice anything, but it's not that. I just--I haven't really... had anyone. To do anything with."

"You didn't do anything with your family?"

The words sting more than you hope your blank expression lets on.

"No."

"Well, all the more reason for you to come and visit mine, then." Iloya steps over and claps you on the shoulder with one hand, finally forcing your attention back to their face; a smile is plastered across it, and there's a twinkle in their eye, the kind you've come to learn means that they have their mind set on something and won't stop until they get it.

“I...”

"Come on! It'll be fun, I promise. We bring guests all the time. You'll fit right in."

There’s gonna be people. So many people. They don’t know you and you don’t know them and you don’t know how they’re going to react to you being… you. But you used to dream about this. Celebrating holidays. Celebrating anything. Being part of a normal family. And here it is: the perfect window into that world, presented to you by one of the only people you’ve ever deemed even remotely trustworthy.

You just want to know what it’s like.

A feeling of longing tugs at your heart, anxiety coils in your stomach, and you know there’s only one answer.

"Okay. Yeah. I can come with you, if you’re sure--”

“Of course I’m sure!” Iloya claps their hands together in glee. “I’ll give you the dates, so you can put your leave request in. I’ll pick you up--it’s a couple hours’ drive to my parents’ house.”

“Wait, am I supposed to bring, like--y’know, gifts or something?”

“Oh, God, no, don’t worry.” They almost laugh. “There’s so many of us, and you don’t know anyone. You don’t have to bring any gifts.” Thank God, because you barely know how to pick gifts for the people you see on a daily basis. “I’d say bring food, if you want, but I don’t think we’ll need more of that. Just bring yourself, and whatever you need to pack to stay for a few days.” Iloya flashes you a grin. “You’ll love it. I promise.”

When you look down at your shoe, you find you’ve tied the laces into an incomprehensible knot. You sigh, set to work unravelling it, and hope that that promise holds up.

***

One month later, you're tapping your fingers against your old duffel bag as the elevator descends through your apartment building.

Ice cold air and bright, white snow greet you as you exit the building; Iloya is, as promised, already waiting for you, and they wave excitedly as you make your way over to the car idling in the centre of the parking lot.

“Hey!” A blast of heat hits you as you wrench the passenger side door open and slide into the seat. “Just toss your bag in the back, there," Iloya instructs, and you do, careful not to smash the box of decorated cookies they’ve got jammed into the storage compartment of the centre console.

"Yeah, mind those. Feel free to help yourse-- Oh my God, no, you don’t get to taste them!" They sigh, with a look of genuine disappointment on their face as they kick the car into gear and pull out onto the road. "Well, I guess you can still have some, if you want them. There’s some other snacks and some sodas in the back. And if you don’t want those--” (you don’t; carbonation is that much worse when they’re all probably warm by now) “--we'll get you a drink when we get there. A hard drink." They shoot you a sly smile and a wink. "None of us will tell."

“I don’t drink.”

“Oh.” Iloya seems genuinely surprised, for a moment. Because you were a street kid. Because people with backgrounds like yours are always drinkers, right? “Well, that’s fine, too. There’s going to be plenty on offer. They really do stock the place up. There’s probably enough there to see them through the whole winter.”

You simply smile and nod. Inside, you’re busy frantically racking up the pros and cons of this trip and trying to decide if you’ve made a mistake or not. Strangers: not great. Booze: bad. Completely alien social scenario that you have no idea how to behave in or way to escape from: unfathomable, potentially disastrous. Your fingers curl tighter around the hems of your sleeves. This could go so, so bad so, so fast, and you don’t want to fuck it up--this, this thing you’ve been desperate for your whole life, this thing you have one shot at, because if you say something awful or lash out then they’re never going to want you back--

“Are you okay?”

You whip your head around to look at Iloya and only now realise you’re practically panting. It’s warm in here. Too warm.

“Yeah. I just… need to get this off.” You unclip your seatbelt for a moment to shed your coat--and it does feel better--dumping it in the back seat with your bag. Iloya watches you from the corner of their eye the whole time.

“Aubrey,” they say, softly, after a minute, in that tone of voice that makes you cringe, because you know they’ve clocked you, and you can’t worm your way out. “Try not to be nervous about this, okay? I know, yes, there’s going to be a lot going on, but you can step out if you need to. Nobody will judge you for that.”

You can’t bring yourself to make eye contact. The loose thread on the hem of your shirt is far more interesting.

“Aubrey?”

“What if they don’t want me there?” You lift your head, but look straight ahead. In the pause that follows, nausea finds a home in your stomach. “If I say something, or I do something, and it ruins everything--”

“Aubrey, baby, no. You won’t.” But you might. “Things happen, they’ll understand if you have… problems, you know. It’s not going to ruin anything. What are we going to do, turf you out onto the street?” That’s precisely what you were worried about, but Iloya… laughs at the idea, and it suddenly seems so stupid. “You’re going to be totally fine. Of course we want you there. You don’t have to worry.”

“Okay.” You heave a sigh as you sink down in your seat slightly and let your head loll against the window, watching the neon-smeared grey and white of the city fall away around you.

“Listen, other people have done far worse things than anything you might do.” They’re wrong. So wrong. You don’t tell them as much. Iloya swipes up another cookie and is only halfway through a mouthful before continuing. “One of my uncles tried to start a brawl, once, on purpose, with my cousin’s boyfriend, over a card game. I mean, throwing punches and everything, you know. Another of my cousins set the tree on fire, one year. You’re not going to drink yourself stupid, or start slinging fireballs around, or both, so we don’t have to worry about that happening again.”

Okay. That gets you. You laugh, if kind of half-heartedly.

“Yeah. No fireballs, I promise.”

“So that’s at least two things that are worse than you snapping at someone by accident, you know.” Well, they’re kind of right. You don’t have an argument that doesn’t make you sound more fucked up than you ever want anyone to know you are, so you don’t bite back.

“Okay. Yeah. Sure.” You sigh again and scrub at your face with your hands. “But, I mean--you can explain to them, right? If I…”

“Of course. I’ve got you.” They take their eyes off the road for a moment to look at you and smile with a warmth that rivals the car’s heating system. “Chill out, okay? This is supposed to be a holiday. It’s going to be fine.”

You lay your head back against the window and try to convince yourself that they’re right.

***

The drive is largely uneventful. Iloya treats you to a few more fun family anecdotes and a selection of seasonal tunes that you know half of the lyrics to by pure osmosis, having been bombarded by them since the second it turned December 1st. You cheer up and largely forget to worry for the rest of the journey.

The house you pull up to two hours later is fairly big--bigger than the high-rise apartments and tightly-packed units you usually see outside of work, these days, at least--and decked out in swathes of twinkling lights and garlands. The driveway is almost full, and Iloya's parking manoeuvre doesn’t leave much room for you to squeeze out of the passenger-side door.

"Sorry," they say, as you attempt to open the back door to retrieve your coat and bag without scuffing the adjacent car. "But the neighbours get cranky if we start parking on the street."

You can’t tell if it’s fear or excitement making your pulse race as you wind your way through the six other cars already parked up. Is it both? It’s both. You can hear voices even from out here; you catch a glimpse, through the bay window on the far side of the house, into a living room already full of guests.

Iloya barely has time to punch the buzzer before you see a shape moving behind the frosted glass window set into the door; it opens to reveal a short woman (blonde, elf-- half -elf, maybe--small, sharp features matching Iloya’s), who practically throws herself onto Iloya on sight.

"Hi, baby!" It's a miracle she doesn't spill the contents of the glass she has one hand around, while she drapes her other arm around Iloya's shoulders and ushers them into the house. "Come in, come in. And you must be Aubrey!" She swings around to face you, beaming away, and you bristle for the impending over-eager hug that doesn't come--fortunately, she settles for a pat on the arm. "I’m Julia. I’m Iloya’s mom. Come on, close that door, it's cold out there. Drinks?"

"You have that pear cider?" Iloya is already dumping their case down by the staircase, and you follow suit, dropping your bag beside it and trailing them to the kitchen.

"I stocked up, just for you." Julia laughs; she's already picking a bottle out from the impressive collection stacked up in the fridge. "Aubrey, what about you? We've got this, we've got beer, wine--red or white, take your pick--"

"Mom, she--"

"It doesn't matter if you're not old enough." Iloya’s attempt at rescuing you is swept aside; she looks back and winks at you. "What do you want, honey?"

"I don't drink," you answer, flatly.

"Oh, come on, it's okay. We won’t call the cops on you, I promise."

"I don't drink."

"That's fine," Iloya interjects--successfully, this time. "We have something without alcohol, yes?"

"Sure, if you don't want to drink drink. We've got some hot cider on the go, we've got eggnog, we've got regular sodas..."

"Hot cider is fine." That's safe. You know where you are with regular cider. 

"Coming right up." Julia pops the cap off the bottle in her hand and slides it across the kitchen island to Iloya, then plucks a glass from an array laid out on the countertop and fills it with a ladle from what is apparently an entire crockpot full of the stuff. "Here you go. If you want a top-up, feel free to help yourself. We’ve got plenty.”

"Thanks." You smile, and it... feels natural. Okay. This isn't so bad. A little intense, but not terrible. The cider is as bland as ever, but the smell has become familiar over the past few weeks, and provides a welcome comfort here. You try not to think about the loud conversation that you can hear from all the way down the hall as you tentatively sip at it. You make brief eye contact with Iloya, and they give you a look.

"I think we should get our bags upstairs before we join the party." Iloya straightens up and motions for you to follow them.

"Okay, but don't spend too long up there. You’re late! People want to see you!" Julia ushers you both out of the kitchen, and, drinks still in hand, you grab your respective bags and lug them upstairs to the small room that Iloya leads you to. Despite presumably being empty before your arrival, it hasn't been spared the festive treatment; garlands hang from the ceiling, tinsel coils around the frames of the two beds pressed against the walls, and it all shimmers in the glow of coloured fairy lights strung around the door and window frames. Iloya takes first pick of the beds and you sit on the other, dropping your bag without bothering to open it.

"Sorry about my mom." You don't realise you've been staring into your cider until Iloya speaks and grabs your attention. Their case is open, and they're pulling out the charging pad for their comm. "She doesn't mean to be pushy, or anything, you know. She really did just think it's because of your age." Pause. "How come you don’t drink, anyway?"

"Just... reasons." You look away again. You saw too many people make stupid mistakes, have things slipped into their drinks, spiral into the depths of alcoholism during your years bouncing between gang circles. You swore that would never be you. But you hardly have the emotional capacity to explain that shit right now. For a moment, it feels like the weight of an imminent follow-up question is hanging over you, but it never drops.

"That's fine. Just don't feel like anyone is pressuring you if they offer, you know. You can always say no." Several items of clothing have made their way out of their case and onto the bed at this point, as they continue to dig around inside for--you don't know what for--toiletries, maybe, based on the small, zippered bag they finally toss out.

"Sure."

Iloya glances back at you over their shoulder, then turns to face you.

"If it's too much, and you need to get out," they murmur, their voice soft as they lay a gentle hand on your shoulder, "just let me know. Or, you can just go. I'll handle it. Is that okay?"

You meet their gaze, and the look on their face makes you feel like nothing could ever go wrong again.

"Yeah. That works."

"Okay. Good." They smile, and squeeze your shoulder, and you're smiling, too. "Come on, then, we should go back down. Everyone probably wants to meet you."

It's hard not to let some of the apprehension come creeping back in with that expectation weighing on you, as the two of you head back downstairs. You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself. You're glad you did.

Everything hits you all at once when the door swings open. The room is heavily decorated with garlands and a very overburdened-looking tree, smells of alcohol and an indeterminate selection of scented candles, and you can count at least fifteen people on first glance.

You allow Iloya to take the spotlight, initially, hanging behind while they make a show of greeting each family member personally. Most of them are older; aunts, uncles, and grandparents. A few are closer to Iloya's age. Cousins, probably, and partners of. There's one or two who could feasibly be in their early twenties. A couple of kids that you didn’t notice on your initial sweep of the room. Attentions turn to you as soon as they're done with Iloya, though you're spared any lengthy personal introductions on account of the sheer number of people there are.

(You have to commit everyone's names to your headware. No fucking way are you remembering all of them organically.)

You finally circle your way around the room to a couch with some space left, where you and Iloya just about manage to cram yourselves in beside the other occupants.

"How's work treating you?" someone (Fabian, uncle, maybe mid 50s and one of the few people not dressed in an ugly sweater or something bright enough to be spotted a mile away in pitch black darkness) asks. "No bullets lodged in inconvenient places yet?"

"Not yet." A lazy smile rests on Iloya’s lips. "I’m fine. I’ve been doing a lot of comms work lately, actually. It keeps me out of trouble."

“Really? I didn’t think that was your thing. ”

“Because I have to base my whole career around being adept. Sure.” Iloya rolls their eyes, but there’s some gentle laughter around you. “Don’t you worry. I can still land a thirty-foot vertical and punch through kevlar, if I want to.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Aubrey can back that up for you.” You nearly choke on your cider when you realise Fabian is speaking to you, in your haste to swallow it and answer him.

“Um--” You have to pause to suppress a minor coughing fit, “--I--sure. I’ve seen them… do stuff. We’ve worked together on some jobs.” You have never once seen Iloya get close enough to punch anyone .

“See?” Iloya grins proudly. “One hundred percent true.” Fabian chuckles, and he looks like he could keep going--but he’s also looking at you .

"So, Aubrey, how long have you been there, now?"

"Like... ten months?" God, has it been that long already? "Yeah, something like that."

"Are they looking after you?" he teases, exchanging sly looks with Iloya.

"Yeah, yeah. I actually live with our co-worker Kaveh, now."

Someone else (Ade, elf, late 20s, red hair and a chiseled jaw and you tag a dislike note to him for what he says next) chimes in. "Oh. Is that, like, a--"

"Don't be gross," Iloya spits, before he can get any further. "They're not an item." So they know him. It's not the first time someone has made that assumption, and you clench your jaw, but let it slide. You've been here fifteen minutes. No lashing out, remember?

"I lost my apartment a while back," you clarify. "And I already lived with him for a while before… I, uh, had an accident--I got shot, and I needed someone to help me out for a little while."

"Shot?"

"Yeah. In my first month at work." There's a wave of murmured concerns and apologies. All you have to offer back is a shrug. "It's a job hazard. I lived." You leave out the part about it not being the first time.

"She's a real trooper." Iloya pulls you into a side hug. "Off the record, she made everyone else in her training group look like dogshit when she walked in. She bounced right back from that injury. She might work a little too hard." They look at you with--something--fondness, maybe, in their eyes, and you have to look away. You've been told that before. You're still coming to terms with it.

There's no such thing as working too hard, says a quiet voice in your head. You’re not reaching your full potential. You could be doing so much better, if you’d just--

You drown out anything else it has to say under a slug of cider and tune back into the conversation at hand.

“Are you from Maine, then?” It takes you a moment, again, to register that someone--Nikki (elf, young and lanky, bicolour hair, clearly a fashionista)--is talking to you.

“Oh. No, I’m from Minnesota. I just moved out here at the start of this year.”

“Yeah, I didn’t take you for a local.” Nikki sits back and grins. “How’d you end up out here?”

“I…” You shift a little in your seat. Easy, there. “I was getting away from… bad family things. I could’ve gone anywhere, really. I just managed to get this job lined up here, so, here I am.”

“Mmmhm.” Nikki nods sagely. “How’s Maine treating you? Better than Minnesota?”

You almost laugh. “Yeah. Yeah. So much better.”

“So you’re gonna stick around?”

“...Yeah.” You lean back, observing the room around you--the decorations, the happy faces, the abundance of drinks and snacks laid out across a room set up to welcome in any visitor that crosses the threshold--and nod, taking a slow drink of your cider. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

It’s easier than you expected to duck any unpleasant questions. Iloya helps to deflect any that they sense are pushing at the boundaries of your comfort zone, and the novelty of having a total stranger in the house soon wears off, largely letting you fade into the background. You’re content to sit, watch, listen. This feels like some kind of weird dream state that you’re going to get shaken out of at any moment.

It’s not, and you don’t. You stay there all afternoon, until talk of dinner reminds you of your next hurdle to jump. Julia and Lucas--Iloya’s dad (elf, only a little taller than you, brown hair and a short beard, just beginning to grey)--leave the room to set the table, and ten minutes later, everyone else is rising from their seats to join them in the kitchen.

“Loya.” They stop and turn, halfway to the door, and walk back to you when you nod for them.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t think I can eat right now.”

“...Okay.” Iloya nods slowly. “Well, did you… bring anything else with you?”

“Yeah. It’s upstairs. In my bag.”

“Okay. You can go and get that, and mix something up. That’s fine.” They turn to leave again.

“But that’s not, like--I can do that? That’s okay?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because…” You falter, there, because this is another one of those things that actually sounds really, really stupid when you say it out loud. “They’re not gonna--It’s not weird, or--”

“Hey, hey.” Iloya is back at your side, a hand on your arm that you can barely feel. “Don’t panic. It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m supposed to be--”

“No, no, no. You’re not supposed to be anything, except having fun.” They clap both hands on your shoulders, shaking anything else you had to say right out of you. “Nobody thinks it’s weird. People have dietary issues. It happens. Go on.” They let their hands slide from your shoulders and nod to the door. “Go get your Soylent. You can eat if you feel like you want to when the food’s in front of you, but I’m not having you go hungry if you don’t.”

You get the message. No arguments. Without a further word, you nod and slip away, upstairs, to retrieve the jar you have stashed in your bag. Iloya is hovering--waiting for you--by the kitchen door when you come back down.

“Hey.” They stop you just short of entering the room. “Are you okay?”

“...Yeah.” You breathe in, exhale deep. “I’m good.” Are you good? Maybe. It depends what happens when you walk into that room.

“Okay. Come on.” Iloya ushers you into the kitchen, where you’re greeted by a generous spread of food that’s materialised since you first arrived; bowls of salads and dips sit among plates of meats and bread rolls, with various other snacks and sides dotted about the counter.

You find that you go largely ignored--everyone else too busy loading their plates--as Iloya gives you a brief tour of the kitchen, eventually locating a suitable cup for you to mix in. When you’re done (and you’ve quietly tucked the jar away in the back of a cupboard), you quietly take a seat, and hope to God nobody notices you.

They do notice. People always notice.

"Aubrey, are you not having anything?" It's Nicolas (elf, uncle, broad-shouldered and bearded in a bright red sweater), looking across the spread at you expectantly. You resist the temptation to hide your cup away beneath the table.

"No," you answer, though it takes you a few seconds, and your voice is already faltering. "I just--I don't--"

"It's a dietary thing." Iloya cuts off your feeble attempt at a response as they drop into the seat beside you. "She has trouble eating, sometimes."

"You don't even wanna try anything?" Nicolas looks to Iloya, then back to you, that same expectancy still on his face.

"No." You shake your head, and then, as an afterthought: "Thanks, though."

"Alright. I mean, I don't think you're gonna miss out if you happen to change your mind later." Everyone's done some considerable damage to the little buffet in front of you already, but doubtless there’ll be plenty left, although the already-slim chances that you might still be down for eating some of it are dwindling.

You get asked the same question about your lack of food twice more before everyone’s heard it and is satisfied, and it makes you want to fall into a hole. So do the quips about how you’re missing out, like you don’t know that. Like it isn’t the reason you feel so shitty in the first place.

“God, leave her alone.” It���s not Iloya who eventually speaks out, like you expected. It’s Julia. “Ignore them, honey,” she continues, now speaking directly to you. “If everyone was like you, they’d be a lot easier to cater for.”

Protest erupts around the table; Julia merely smiles at the chaos she’s instigated.

Everyone is too busy defending their favourite meat and arguing over the virtues of the perfect salsa to care about what you’re (not) eating after that. Julia shoots you a sly wink across the table when you make brief eye contact, and a smile creeps onto your face. It’s becoming apparent who Iloya takes after.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t relieved when people start to filter out of the house. It takes long enough, after dessert, and drinks, and you’re not the only guests staying put, but the atmosphere is significantly less suffocating with most people gone.

After relief comes tiredness. You’re exhausted.

Iloya can tell as much, and gently suggests you take a break for a while. Your kneejerk reaction is to protest--you don’t want to miss out--but you know you need it, and you know that they know you need it, and so you don’t argue. You slip away upstairs and let a hot shower wash away the aches in your bones, and get so comfy with a movie in bed afterwards that you lose track of time until Iloya knocks on the door.

“Hey, stranger.” They smile affectionately as they poke their head into the room and see you still awake, the movie projected from your drone now paused. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhm.”

“Good. Do you mind if I…”

“What?” You look up again to see that Iloya already has their shirt lifted halfway up their body. “Oh. Yeah, go ahead. We share locker rooms.”

“I know! But it feels… different, at home, you know.” Iloya laughs, but you’re barely paying attention, anyway, as they start hunting for pyjamas; you close your movie and crawl across your bed, hanging over the edge of it to dig around in your bag for your meds.

“So, what do you think so far?” You have a mouthful of water and pills when Iloya drops the question, and you throw your head back like a seagull in your haste to swallow and give them an answer.

“It’s good. It’s… yeah. Good. I’m liking it.”

“See, I told you you wouldn’t have to worry.” And they’re right, mostly. Still, you bat them away playfully when they lean over and try to kiss your head. “Oh, now you don’t need me?”

“Shut up!” The smile on your face quickly breaks into laughter. “I’m fine right now.”

“I know, I know. I’m teasing.” Iloya flashes you a grin. “Anyway, come on. You looked like you were about to pass out when I walked in.”

You can’t deny that. Before long, the lights are out and you have the heavy duvet pulled right up to your chin, hands on your stomach, head rolled to the side with your cheek on the pillow. The lights around the window’s exterior still filter in around the edges of the blackout curtains, bathing the room in a faint, golden glow.

You’re out within minutes.

***

You're doing good handling all of the socialising. Like, really good. You haven’t made yourself look stupid, or completely alienated anyone. But it’s only been 24 hours, and you’re already starting to feel smothered. The kitchen is too warm. All the noise hurts your ears. You're tired and people keep trying to pull you into conversations and all you have left for them are disinterested mumbles and they're starting to get suspicious. You can see it in their eyes.

The door back to the hallway is blocked; too many people in your way, nixing any chance of a hasty retreat to the refuge of your bedroom. The back door, though, is clear.

Fuck it. You stand abruptly, and before anyone can ask questions or rope you into another discussion about a trid show you haven’t watched, you're out into the open air, pulling the door shut behind you.

It's cold. Really cold, and you don't have your coat, but you couldn’t have grabbed it even if you’d thought to. The best you can do is wrap your arms around yourself and have them churn out some extra heat. The outdoor space behind the house is relatively small and mostly paved over, home to a few plants in the soil and gravel around the perimeter and an outdoor dining setup. A thick layer of snow crowns it all.

And someone else is already out here.

God fucking damnit.

It's one of Iloya's cousins--you know this one--Marta (tall, half-orc-elf in xir mid 30s, well-kept; probably has a cushy office job), cigarette in hand, who makes eye contact with you for a split second before you look away again. Maybe if you ignore xir hard enough--

"Hey."

God fucking damnit.

You give xir one fleeting glance, but nothing more. Xe waits a moment for an answer, but goes on anyway when you fail to give one.

"It’s a little chilly to be out here without a jacket, isn’t it?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Alright. You smoke?" Marta offers the pack of cigarettes xe slips from xir pocket, raising an eyebrow and returning it when you shake your head. "So what are you out here for, then? All the fun's happening in there."

"I... needed a breather." You settle back against the wall, staring down at the footprints your boots are leaving in the snow. A fresh layer has just settled this afternoon.

"Fair." Marta shrugs and blows a plume of smoke into the air. "It gets crazy in there. Loya said something about you not liking crowds. Why out here, though?"

"There were... too many people. By the other door." Why are you saying this. Why are you telling this to a stranger. Why does it not feel scary.

“And without an extra layer?”

“That’s where my coat is. The hallway.”

"You couldn’t just ask them to move?"

"No."

“Why?”

“Just... because .” Marta, wisely, comments no further. For a minute, neither of you speaks. It’s so cold and every time the wind picks up, it whips away whatever heat you’d managed to accumulate, leaving you shivering again.

"Are you gonna be out here a while?"

You glance at Marta. "Why?"

"Because--" Marta looks down at xir half-burnt cigarette, "--I was gonna offer you my jacket, if you want it. I’m going back in, in a minute."

You stare at xir for a moment. Xe seems serious. That coat looks warm.

"I don't know how long I'm gonna be out here."

"Ah, fuck it. Just take it." Holding xir cigarette in xir mouth, Marta shrugs xir coat off and walks over to drape it around your shoulders instead. It’s two sizes too big and smells like menthol and it’s just as warm as you’d hoped.

"...Thank you."

"No problem. Just throw it back on the coat rack when you go back in. And don't steal my wallet." Xe flashes you a smile and a wink.

"I won't. I promise." You struggle to keep eye contact, still, but you smile back. This might actually be better than curling up in a ball and quietly having a meltdown by yourself. "Um, Loya might come looking for me. If you could just tell them..."

"Sure."

"And tell them not to come out here, or anything. I’m fine." You sigh, tip your head back against the brick, close your eyes. "I just... need to not talk to people. Anyone. Just for, like, ten minutes."

"So I should shut up, then, huh?" Look what you fucking did. Way to go, jackass.

"No! No, like--I--"

"It's fine, it's fine." Marta's laughing and you can't tell if it's sincere. Maybe? Maybe. Relaxed posture, easy smile, no trace of sarcasm when xe speaks. "I can back off, if you need some quiet time. It's cool."

"...Okay. But you can stay. Out here. If you want."

"Oh, don’t worry. I'm not going anywhere. They'll pitch a fit if I try and take this thing indoors." Xe tips xir cigarette. About three-quarters burnt. "You're stuck with me for a couple more minutes."

Silence falls over you after that, but it's comfortable. Marta finishes xir cigarette and gives you a parting nod on xir way back into the house, and then it's just you, and the snow, and the faint sounds of conversation behind you. You can’t even hear the traffic. The sky is the same shade of grey it has been all week, and somewhere behind the clouds, the sun is starting to sink, but the blinking lights strung around the perimeter of the house illuminate the yard; blue and yellow, red and green.

It's nice. Peaceful. You're not even scared to go back inside.

When you tire of the cold biting at your nose and ears and slink back into the kitchen, most people give you nothing more than a fleeting glance. You hang Marta’s coat back up. You reunite with Iloya, who gives you a knowing look and a brief hug. Maybe you’ll still need to go upstairs and veg out with a movie in a little while, but you're not on the brink of snapping anymore. You're good.

You've got this.

***

Christmas Eve is quiet--which is to say, nobody comes knocking on the door with (entirely unnecessary) gifts of food and drink. It’s just you, and the other resident houseguests; Lucas’ moms; Julia’s sibling, Petra, and their wife; Iloya’s cousins, Lin and Val, and Val’s boyfriend, Farid. You spend most of the day just existing together; you watch movies, you play games, you help out in the kitchen, prepping for tomorrow while Iloya’s grandmothers work around you for that evening. It’s a lot of people, still, but without being overwhelming. It’s nice.

You’ve been missing out on almost two decades of this, and you’re so fucking angry that it was stolen from you that take out your growing fury at Legacy on the vegetables Julia asks you to chop. It’s not quite the satisfaction you were hoping for, but it’ll do.

Iloya’s grandmothers serve up dinner at the end of the day, and you feel obligated to at least try some of the soup and pierogi. It’s good, you assure them, and it probably is, if it tastes anything like it smells. You stay at the table long after everyone has finished eating. And they’re all just… talking. About life. Sharing stories and reminiscing. You listen intently, but bite your tongue every time you almost let slip an anecdote of your own. The ones you think you could share would still raise questions that you don’t want to have to answer. The ones you couldn’t--you don’t want to think about them.

You barely even have a childhood to talk about. Legacy took it all from you--and now, it serves as a reminder that they still have one hand around your ankle. That, perhaps, they always will.

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. You look around the table at all of these faces, smiling, laughing, and think about the normal lives they’ve had, surrounded by people who care, people who love them, people who would never lay a hand on them. Why did they get that, and you didn’t? What did you do wrong?

“Are you okay?”

You jump when Iloya speaks, even softly. You blink down at them and hope that the seething jealousy in your mind wasn’t making itself known on your face.

“...Yeah. I’m fine.” You nod and sip your eggnog.

“You can go to bed, if you’re tired.”

“No! No. I’m okay.” You are tired, but--you look again, at all those faces. Smiling. Laughing. And you think about turning your back on it all. You could leave. Go sit upstairs, on your own. Maybe sleep. Maybe not. Let this carry on without you, either way. Probably feel shitty and cry about it.

You missed out on a lifetime of family bonding. Do you want to pass on it again, however fleeting? By choice?

Come on.

So you stay, and you listen to their stories. You can’t share your own, but being here for this is better than not. For a little while, you can sweep your old life away and pretend that this is all yours.

For a little while, you are happy.

By the time dishes are being cleared away, you’re half asleep propped up on the table. Iloya drags you upstairs, talk you into getting changed and taking your meds, and you manage to crawl into bed of your own volition.

This is good, what you have here. It’s good for you. No matter how hard your mind tries to tell you otherwise:

Right now, this is where you’re supposed to be.

***

“Aubrey.”

You open your eyes. There’s a person looming over you and you almost, almost throw them aside, but your brain catches up with itself just in time to recognise Iloya’s face beaming down at you.

“What?”

“Merry Christmas!” They kiss your forehead and then bounce away from the bed, allowing you to sit up and process the fact that… nobody’s ever said that to you with any sincerity before. Fuck, it’s too early to be having an emotional crisis--you’ve been awake ten seconds --but you kind of are. Iloya, oblivious (thankfully), is busy flinging the curtains open and flicking all the fairy lights on.

“I--Yeah. Um. Merry Christmas.” Your voice wobbles; the smile on your face is shaky, but genuine. Iloya turns and cocks their head at you.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah! I’m just, like--I’ve never, um--” You’re looking for the right words, and they’re not coming to you. “I don’t know. I haven’t… had anything to be excited for, so…”

You just woke up--you don’t need to start crying already, but you’re veering dangerously close. Iloya drops heavily onto your bed and pulls you into their arms. You hug right back--as tight as you can.

“Well, now you do. Hey, hey, watch it with those arms.” Iloya gives a little grunt of discomfort, prompting you to relinquish your hold on them. “You forget how strong these are, sometimes, I think.”

“I know! I know. Sorry.”

“No, no, you’re fine. Come on, we should get downstairs. I’d like to get in on breakfast while there’s still food left.”

“You think all of it is gonna get eaten?” Iloya stops, thoughtful, halfway through re-tying their hair.

“No. But the best of it will be. I’m not going to be the one picking at the bits nobody else wanted. Come on! Up!”

Iloya claps their hands; you laugh; a handful of pills and a comfy hoodie later, you’re in the kitchen, already a hive of activity, with the smell of fresh coffee and potato pancakes filling the air. Every new arrival into the room is greeted with enthusiasm and warm hugs. Iloya’s dad asks if you’re sure you don’t want him to “jazz up” your coffee, but doesn’t push you when you decline. 

Breakfast, it seems, is not just for those of you already on the premises. The doorbell is buzzing by 9:30, and every new aunt, uncle, cousin, spouse, and everything in between is presented with a plate and told to help themselves to the perpetual stack of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and all of the bread, meats, and more that you don’t even recognise that’s on offer. Maybe Iloya had a fair point about getting down here early.

(As for you: you barely make it through a single pancake, and find yourself apologising profusely for being unable to eat any more as you start to mix a cup of Soylent, instead. Nobody minds in the slightest.)

The atmosphere in the kitchen is… spirited, but the noise and crowd is a little too much for you this early, so you slip away to hide in the living room until breakfast is over. Other people start to spill over, once they’re done eating and have decided to get a headstart on drinking for the day. It’s not long before the kids start whining from the other room, and those still loitering around the breakfast buffet are ushered your way.

Watching the gift-giving session won't be so bad, you tell yourself. You've seen people exchange gifts before. Equally, you've been left out before. It's whatever. It's fine.

It's totally not fine.

It starts out okay. It's nice, actually, seeing people sharing and caring and all that shit when, for once, it doesn't feel like it's one of the few things keeping everyone from falling apart under the pressure of a hostile world, or some tense game of power exchanges. The energy in the room is genuine; the delight real, the thanks sincere. And everyone here is here because they want to be. Everyone here loves everybody else around them.

Which is exactly the problem. It gets harder and harder to watch. What was heartwarming when you started is now reminding you of everything you don't have. Yeah, they let you be here. But it isn’t yours. They aren’t your family, really. Nobody brings gifts for the outsider. You understand perfectly well: you are not one of them.

By the time everyone is finished, the floor is strewn with layers of discarded wrapping paper, and you no longer want the glass of eggnog that you’ve set aside on the nearest end table. Half of your brain is acutely aware of the jovial conversation going on around you, and the other half is trying as hard as it can to dissociate. You don't know which side you're rooting for. You're so preoccupied that you don't even notice Iloya get up from beside you, or sit back down, until they deposit something in your lap, and the weight of it pulls you back into lucidity.

"One more," they say, with a smile and a wink. You look down, and in your lap is... a present. Not too big, carefully wrapped in metallic red and gold paper with a wreath pattern on it that shimmers in the light.

"For me?"

"Uh, yeah. What do you think I gave it to you for?"

It feels a little bit like you've just taken a blow to the chest. You pick the object up, turn it over in your hands. It's heavy for its size, but soft when you squeeze it.

"Come on! Open it." Iloya puts a hand on your shoulder and shakes you gently--encouragingly. "Before the new year."

You almost can't bring yourself to do it. But you do. You just about manage to find a loose corner to pry the tape off from. It feels like the whole world has stopped around you, with no sound save for the ripping of paper as you tear it off of the gift with trembling hands.

There. It's gone. And inside...

...A sweater. You hold it up and let it unfurl from the tidy bundle it had been folded into. It's white, with red and blue stripes, and zigzags, and deer and snowflakes.

It takes about three seconds before you start to cry.

Iloya immediately pulls you into a hug, while the rest of the family laugh and coo sympathetically--you don't hear them, exactly, because you don't want to, and you wish you weren't crying in front of them, but it's a little late for that, now.

"Hey--Hey, baby, no." Iloya strokes your hair and you hug the sweater as close to your body as you physically can. "What's wrong?"

You don't answer. You can't answer. You shake your head.

"Do you want to step out for a moment?" Iloya's voice softens with the second question. You nod. They very nearly lift you up off the sofa and lead you out of the room, into the relative silence of the hallway. The door cuts off the voices in the living room as it swings shut behind you.

"Are you okay?" Iloya strokes your arm as you lean back against the staircase, still clutching the sweater with shaking hands, like it might cease to exist if you let go of it.

"You didn't have to get me this." The words tumble out of your mouth between more juddering sobs. "I--I wasn't expecting anything."

"What? It doesn't matter if I had to or not." Iloya rolls their eyes, maybe, you're not entirely paying attention, you can’t stop staring at this stupid sweater. "What am I supposed to do, leave you out? That's not fair."

"I--I didn't get you anything."

"That's okay. I told you not to worry about it." You're forced to look them in the eye as they wrap their hands around yours. "Aubrey. I didn't get you this because I expected something back. I got it for you because I wanted to. I'm not holding you to a blood pact over a sweater." For a moment, you study their face, and... it's hard to stay upset when they look so adamant.

But then everything overwhelms you again. The tears come back. Iloya pulls you into a tight hug and you cling to them as hard as you dare. Are you being too trusting? Maybe. You haven't been, in the past, at least not so far--not with Kaveh--but Iloya isn't Kaveh. Maybe this is going to bite you in the ass in a week, or a month, or two. Maybe you owe them. You don't know. You don't know and you can't know until it happens and that's the worst part.

How long do you have to not know for before the threat you've come to expect turns out to be nonexistent?

You stop, panting for air and hoping that you’re not dripping snot onto Iloya’s bare shoulder.

Maybe you don't owe them anything for a simple act of kindness.

Maybe it's fucking Christmas, and for once in your life, you don't want to be on constant high alert.

Maybe you're going to put your sweater on and drink your goddamn eggnog and have a decent fucking time.

It takes an embarrassingly long time to put yourself back together, but you get there, and when you do, you bite the plastic tag off your sweater and throw it on before showing your face back in the living room. It might just be the comfiest thing you've ever worn.

Nobody questions your absence, other than to ask if you're okay, now, and they're satisfied with the curt nod you answer with. You help collect the deluge of wrapping paper into a big garbage bag. You slam half the nog left in your glass and take a handful of pretzels when the bowl's passed your way, even if they are so dry you can barely make it past the third one. You force them down anyway and try not to choke when someone's joke sends you into an ill-timed fit of laughter.

It’s Christmas, and you are happy.

***

You flit in and out of conversations for the rest of the day. As one of the more technologically-inclined (and less inebriated) adults in the room, you find yourself helping the kids--Iloya’s nephews, Oskar and Jesse, and their niece, Rue--bust open and assemble their new toys. By early afternoon you have them flying minidrones around the living room--and the hall, and the kitchen, until one nearly clocks their grandpa in the head, and you’re banished to the yard. When the discomfort of the cold outweighs their determination to pull off mid-air stunts, you all pile back indoors for hot cocoa and movies, bundled up together on the couch.

(You try not to think too hard about what this reminds you of. That was a pipe dream with people you always knew you’d part ways with. This is different. This is real. )

Dinner is easier than you expected it to be. There’s more food than you’ve ever seen in one place before in your life, and you brace yourself for the things you know are going to be texture nightmares, but you’re too caught up in conversation to notice most of it. You don’t realise how much you’ve actually eaten until plates are being cleared away--like, eaten eaten--real, actual food, without fretting, without being acutely aware and having to talk yourself through the whole ordeal.

It feels good.

It knocks you for six, though. Everyone moves back to the living room for an interim before dessert, and you grumble about never wanting to leave that goddamn couch once you’re on it. Two other people laugh and concur with you, so you’re doing good. You’re saying the right things. They like you. Is it healthy to think like that? Probably not. Are you going to worry about it? No. Not right now. You’re gonna ride that validation instead.

The kids get a video game going--some generic party game setup with a holo projector--and some of the adults decide to hop in, too, despite their less-than-perfect reflexes after a few too many drinks. It’s all noise, and chaos, and when you’re invited up for a dance-off, you hesitate to accept. A tipsy Iloya pushes you up off the couch; for a fraction of a second, you feel like running.

But just a fraction.

Before you know it, you’re in the thick of it, and you guess that all of that combat training--the motion, the balance, the agility--translates pretty well to dancing, because you’re hitting every move and your score is skyrocketing.

That noise and chaos bothers you a whole lot less when you know it’s people cheering for you.

By the time the song ends, you’re shaking, and you’ve worked up more of a sweat than you would usually for a few minutes of cardio--but you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to wipe this big, stupid grin off your face.

You find room, somehow, for another round of food when the desserts come out, and for the constant refills of cider and eggnog. By the time you return to the living room for trivia games, you’re tired, too full, and too brain fried to answer a single question.

And you’re so fucking glad you came here.

***

By the end of the evening, you find yourself on the couch, pinned in place by Aubrey's sleeping body. After all the excitement, she finally crashed; you let her collapse into your lap and haven't had the heart to move her. She's had a long day. She needs the rest. All of the tension you see in her when she's conscious just fell away once she dozed off. It's cliché, but she really does look peaceful when she sleeps.

She seems so tired all the time, you think to yourself, as you sweep a stray lock of hair from her face. You hope she’s enjoying her vacation as much as you want her to be. Some people have been a little… forward, for her tastes, and you know her sensory issues have been an obstacle, but everyone has welcomed her with the open arms you knew they would. She deserves that. She deserves to feel like part of a family--one that doesn’t drive her to fleeing halfway across a continent.

Aubrey shifts slightly in your lap and lets out a quiet sigh. It almost sounds contented. Her eyelids--eye lid, singular; her cybernetic eye flashes in time--flickers every once in a while, but that's the only regular sign of life. You might be here for a while.

People are in and out of rooms, muttering small talk to one another as the evening winds down, but when a shadow obscures the light behind you, you look up. Dad.

"She looks wiped out," he quips, gesturing at Aubrey with the beer bottle in his right hand.

"She is." You look down at her again. "Today's been a lot for her. And she's not used to being around people so much, you know."

"I know. She likes to disappear." Pause. "What's her story, anyway?" he asks, after a second, his voice lowered slightly. "She's very... quiet. And that’s some chrome for a 19-year-old."

"I don't know." You purse your lips. It's half true. "She doesn't like to talk about it."

"Not even a little bit?"

"No. It's not my story to tell, anyway." You reach down for the bottle of cider you set down beside the couch earlier. "I'm sure she has her reasons, you know. If she wanted people to know about it, we'd know about it." Dad is quiet. You know he loves to dig into your friends’ lives and find out who they really are, but he’s also the one who raised you to respect people’s privacy--and he knows better than to argue.

"Do you want anything?" He opts to steer the conversation elsewhere instead. "There's still pie left, and you don't look like you're going anywhere any time soon."

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm stuffed. "

"Another drink?"

"No." You wave your bottle at him.

"You're missing out on games, you know."

"Then I miss out on games. Go on, get out of here." You shake your bottle in his direction again and he laughs, stepping back out of the way of any errant splashes of cider.

"Well, there's seats open, if she wakes up," he whisper-shouts back through the door as he leaves.

Aubrey does wake up, eventually. She has to, because you really have to pee, and having her dead weight on top of you is not helping.

“Aubrey. Baby. Hey.” You jostle her shoulder gently. Her eyes flicker, and when you lift your knees to prop her up, she reaches for the back of the couch to pull herself the rest of the way.

“Was I asleep?” she asks, rubbing at her right eye and dragging her hand down her face.

“Yeah. For a little while.” You knock back the last of your cider, and stand from the couch. Your legs ache, but you’ll live. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up, but I have to use the bathroom.”

“S’fine.” She stifles a yawn as you leave the room; when you return a minute later, she’s resting against the back of the couch, curled around a cushion.

“Tired?” She nods. “Maybe we should call it a night, then.” Even the muffled voices and laughter from the kitchen reveal that only a few people are still awake, if you listen closely. “Come on. Before you pass out again. I’m not carrying you if you do.”

(You would. She probably knows that, too.)

She’s out like a light again before she can even get into her pyjamas. You opt not to wake her a second time; you pull a blanket up over her and go through your own bedtime routine as quietly as you can. There’s not even so much as a rustle from Aubrey, even when you flip the light off.

Lying there, in the dark, you smile to yourself. As far as you can tell, today was everything you wanted for her.

Mission accomplished.

*** 

You wake, as you have the past three days, to the lavender room that’s not your own. You spend a few minutes staring up at the ceiling, flipping through the scant few social media notifications in your feed, before you hear Iloya shift in the bed across from you, and your attention turns to them, instead. Their head rolls to the side, and one eye pries open.

“Morning.” They stifle a jawn against the back of their hand and reach for their comm on the charging pad atop the nightstand. After only checking the time, they leave it in place. “Did you sleep well? You passed right out once you hit that bed.” (You notice, now, the fact that you’re still fully-clothed, and covered with a blanket rather than tucked under the duvet.)

“Was I that out of it?”

“Apparently.” Iloya chuckles. “I didn’t want to wake you up a second time. You already fell asleep on top of me, on the couch,” they clarify, when you give them a puzzled look. Okay. Sure. Social fatigue really must be catching up with you. You remember eating more than you ever thought possible, dancing, and being really bad at trivia. Things get hazy after that.

You move to sit up, reaching for the half-empty glass of water on your nightstand--yeah, it’s been there a couple days, but if you conked out last night then you didn’t take your meds--at which point your body decides to let you know it’s going to be a pain day. Not a terrible one, but you swear under your breath when you go to swing your legs off the edge of the bed and your joints ache more than you were prepared for.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m fine. Just… pain stuff. It’s normal.” You wave a hand dismissively in Iloya’s direction. Your whole body feels a lot more stiff than it actually proves to be, functionally, as you claw your bag towards you, hoist it up onto the bed, and whip out your pill box. Whether this is your punishment for skipping doses, the result of napping on top of Iloya or just an unfortunate coincidence is hard to say, but you keep your painkillers on-hand after stuffing the rest back in the duffel bag, just in case. Having knocked back your morning regulars, you roll back onto the bed and splay out across it. 

“Ugh. I don’t wanna get up.”

“You don’t have to.” Iloya stretches under the covers, and yawns without trying to hide it this time. “I don’t think we have anything pressing to do today. Hell, I think you’d have a good excuse to stay here even if we did. We can lie in.”

Chronic illness has its… perks. You guess. You give a single huff of laughter as you draw the blanket back up around yourself.

“No more relatives visiting?”

“I mean, maybe, but not until the afternoon, if they know what’s good for them.” Iloya chuckles quietly to themself. There’s a short pause, then: “You looked like you were having fun yesterday.”

“I mean, yeah .” You glance away, at the gap in the curtains, instead. “I… did. It was fun. And--fuck, I forgot--I never said thank you. For this.” Your gaze quickly flits back to Iloya as you tug on the sweater you remember you’re still wearing. “You didn’t have to. I just… yeah. Thank you.”

Iloya looks over at you lazily, a soft smile on their lips.

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s Christmas! And, what, your first one? Your first real one. How could I leave you out?” They shake their head. “Nobody gets left out. Not here. Listen, you can’t taste any of the food, so getting gifts really is the best part for you. But, actually--I’ve never seen you eat like you did yesterday. And you were so good with the kids. Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. You really don’t.  “I just wanted to join in. And kids are easy. I used to have a sis--”

Oh. Oh, no.

“...terrrr.” You can practically feel the colour drain from your face. You tried so hard not to think about this. You were doing so well.

“What? Since when?” Iloya sounds intrigued, at first, but the look on your face must make it very, very obvious that this is not a topic you intended to bring up. “Is she… okay?”

“Um.” You fidget with the edge of the blanket, doing your best not to curl up into a ball in the corner and wither into a husk. You can still see Nein’s face in your mind’s eye; hear her voice with perfect clarity.

It makes your fucking skin crawl.

“I--I don’t know. I had to leave her behind, when I… left. Home.”

“...Oh.” What is that? You refuse to look at them. Is that disappointment? That--assuming your cover story was real--you should have done more? Tried harder? Would you be a bad person for not taking her with you?

Are you a bad person for not bringing her with you?

“Sorry, I… didn’t mean to make light of it, or anything, you know. Do you not have any way to contact her?”

“No.” Your mouth is dry, but you drank all the water with your meds. “I had to… I couldn’t--I didn’t want my parents to find me, so--I--”

Fuck. Goddamnit. Fuck. You don’t want to cry, not again, but your best attempts not to aren’t good enough; you have to wipe away the welling tears from your right eye as the left one begins to sting.

“No… No, baby, come here.” You sit up reflexively as Iloya slides out from under the covers and pads over to your bed, where they sit and wrap their arm around your shoulders. You’re still trying really, really hard not to make a total mess of yourself, because your week has been so good so far, and the last thing you want is for this to sully the end of it. But it’s hard. It’s hard when you can remember holding her the way Iloya is holding you right now all too clearly.

God. Get a grip. What is wrong with you? You can’t be normal for one fucking week?

You cool down, after a few minutes of aggressively trying to think about literally anything except her. The worst of the burning in your left eye fades. Iloya slides their hand to your back and rubs slow circles against it.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

“S’fine. S’not your fault.” Part of you says that it’s not fine. Part of you wants to be angry. The part of you that doesn’t want to fuck up this fragile stability you’ve found for yourself is louder, even if only by way of fear. “It’s--I just--Yeah. I don’t know. I don’t like thinking about it.” That’s fucked, and you know it, and Iloya knows it, and they know that you know it, but they give you the pity of not outwardly passing judgement.

“Maybe you’ll see her again, you know. When she’s older.” You have so many things you could say to that, but you verbalise none of them and settle for clenching your hands into fists and nodding. Iloya kisses your temple and rises from your bed to smooth the sheets on theirs. “Do you want to go downstairs? Get some coffee?”

“Yeah. Sure.” You kind of don’t, but it beats hanging around in awkward silence up here. “Just let me, like… get these fucking jeans off. Sleeping in these things sucks.”

Having traded your jeans for some more comfortable sweatpants (but still swaddled in your sweater), you make the trek downstairs and into a more jovial atmosphere. It’s kind of grating, but, again, better than the tense atmosphere upstairs. There’s hot coffee, and Iloya’s dad is cooking up bacon and eggs. It feels like home.

The unwelcome memories fade from your mind, eventually. Conversation provides a distraction: a pod of gigagiants have shown up in Penobscot Bay, and Lin is doing you all the honor of giving an impassioned lecture on their biology. You offer to help out with some holograms; once everyone’s over the brief revelation that your eye isn’t the outdated, makeshift piece of junk a lot of people assume it to be, you’re pulling up all kinds of videos and reference images, and the two of you have one hell of a little presentation going. At the end, Lin stands and bows theatrically to laughter and applause from the other occupants of the kitchen; when she grabs your wrist and pulls you up to do the same, you don’t even flinch.

You barely think of Nein for the rest of the day.

***

Even the most merry of occasions can’t act as a ward against everything your mind has to use against you. You should have known that. (You did. You just wanted to believe otherwise.)

You wake, shaking and gasping, upright and to darkness. You can still feel the ice cold water pressing in on you from every angle; still hear the crashing of waves; see the debris looming over you and hear the dying groans of torn metal as it bends out of shape and descends upon you.

(Worse are the frictionless hands slipping through your grasp, the kicking, the streams of bubbles as air rushes from lungs and water floods them. There are so many of them. Too many. No matter how many you reach for, the water always carries them away.)

You sit, shivering, for a minute, staring over at Iloya. You kind of want to wake them. You kind of don’t. It’s not fair to disturb them. They don’t know how to handle this. You aren’t sure you want them to even try.

You can’t stay in this fucking room. You know that much.

Iloya doesn’t stir as you slip out of the room and down the stairs. The house is silent; you make it to the kitchen unheard, where you manage to pour a glass of water despite your shaking hands and sip from it slowly as you stare out of the window. The sky is clear tonight, and the snow glows under the moonlight. Your brain fills the silence with the hum of drones flying overhead and distant gunfire. You touched ground in places like this. You ran charges between the buildings the bombs didn’t catch, and you think about how easily you could cook up chemical grenades with what’s under the kitchen sink or rig IEDs under all the cars outside--

Stop it. Stop it stop it stopitstopitstopit. You’re just making it fucking worse.

You almost slam your glass down on the counter as you fold, bury your face in your hands and just cry. You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it in your head. You wish you’d stayed and kept acting out until they slated you. It’s not like you’d have remembered the abuse you got for it, in the end. You are so stupid.

You don’t notice that anyone else has entered the kitchen until you hear their voice.

“Are you okay?”

You whip around; standing before you is Iloya’s aunt--Petra’s wife--Sloane (dwarf, early 40s, short beard and long hair; some kind of technician, you don’t really remember). Ze stands in the doorway, lit by the fairy lights and bright blue holosign glowing on the wall beside hir.

“Um.” You straighten up, wipe your face down, try not to start sobbing again. It’s obvious that you’re not. Is it worth trying to pretend otherwise?

Sloane is at your side before you can decide how to answer. Ze joins you at the sink to fill the empty glass ze’s already holding, but keeps hir attention largely trained on you. You’re still sniffling pathetically when ze sets it down on the counter.

“Hey, hun. What’s wrong?”

“I. Uh.” You don’t want to look at hir, but something about the way the moonlight falls on hir face draws your eyes back. “Bad dream,” you mumble, eventually. “S’fine.”

“Are you sure? You look rough.” Sloane’s brow is furrowed into a look of concern, hir voice soft, and ze knows as well as you that you can’t just walk away from this one.

Yeah, you look rough. To say you feel rough would be an understatement. You choke back another sob and bring a hand back to your face to wipe at your eye with your sleeve.

“C’mon, come and sit down.” Sloane pats your arm gently and gestures towards the kitchen table. “Do you want something else to drink? Tea?”

“I don’t--I don’t wanna wake people up. Making noise.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Nobody will hear.” Sloane is already filling two mugs with boiling water.

“I don’t wanna keep you up.”

“Well, I’m already here. It doesn’t make a difference to me if I’m up one minute or one hour.”

“Did I wake you up?”

“No! No, no. You’re fine. Go sit down, hun.” Reluctantly, and still feeling like a fucking embarrassment, you shuffle over to the table and drop into a chair. “Now, what have we got… black, green, mixed berry, lemon and ginger--”

“You can pick. I don’t, um-- It doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“Lemon and ginger, then.” Sloane reappears from the depths of a cabinet with two teabags in hand, drops one each into the mugs, and carries them across to the table, where ze sits down beside you and turns hir chair towards yours. “You wanna talk about that bad dream?”

“Not really.” The images cross your mind again, briefly, and you decide that even thinking about it is a step too far. You open your eyes and stare into your tea.

“It can help, sometimes.”

“I know.” Don’t get snippy. Ze doesn’t know. Ze’s trying. “But talking about it doesn’t--it--” You struggle for a way to finish the sentence that doesn’t completely expose you.

“It doesn’t fix it?”

“No.”

“It’s not supposed to.”

“I did something bad.” The words just fall out of your mouth. You push your mug away and lean on the table, head back in your hands. “I did something really fucking horrible, and I hurt people I cared about, and I don’t know--how--when--if I’m allowed to stop feeling bad about it.”

The tears are just there, now, streaming down your right cheek. There’s shuffling--Sloane moving hir chair towards yours--and then hir arm is around your shoulders.

“Was it recent?”

“Three years ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen.” There’s a pause, a deep intake of breath, and then a slow sigh.

“Three years is a lot of time for things to change when you’re that young, Aubrey. We all make poor decisions at that age.” You’d laugh at how fucking absurd that is, applied to this situation, if it wouldn’t mean outing yourself. “I’m sure people have done worse.” You’ve personally done worse. That’s not a great comfort.

“I just--I just want everyone to know I’m sorry. I fucked up. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I can’t say it because I don’t know where they are now, but--” The words catch in your throat, stuttering, and it only makes your chest ache that much more. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to--to turn out like it did.”

“I know. I know.” Sloane’s hand settles on your shoulder. “It’s been a while, Aubrey. People grow and reflect on things. Maybe they’ve made peace with it by now.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because what you did was horrific. What you did went so, so wrong, and you should have planned for that-- God, if they had just listened --but you didn’t, and you saw the way they looked at you in the weeks that followed. Whether you meant to hurt people or not doesn’t matter. The fact is: you did. And that’s on you forever.

“I…” You try for an answer, but come up blank. You try again, and again, and again. Nothing that you could reasonably tell a normal person comes out.

So, instead, you cry.

You try to keep it quiet, because you don’t want to wake anyone up and draw even more attention, but you collapse in on yourself and you’re shaking and Sloane is leaning into you, pulling you into hir, a hand drifts dangerously close to your datajack and you smack it away without even thinking and you shouldn’t have done that but the hand settles back on your shoulder and ze doesn’t pull away from you.

You cry harder.

“It’s okay.” It’s not, but you want it to be--you want to believe that it is--so you say nothing. The hand on your shoulder squeezes gently. “You can’t let it eat at you forever, hun.”

“I know.” You manage to take a deep breath and lift your head. You have a case of the hiccups and definitely look like shit, even in the dark, but you try to maintain what’s left of your dignity as you drag your mug back across the table towards you and sip from it. The ginger makes your mouth tingle. “I’m just--I don’t know. I hate it. I think I’m fine, and then I have shitty dreams like this, and it feels real all over again.”

“We’ve all been there. Dreams make us relive the worst things sometimes, even if you’ve moved on. We can’t control them. And even if you’ve moved on, it can hurt! That’s normal. That’s just how brains are. Sucks to have ‘em.”

“Yeah. I know.” You give a genuine (if fragile) smile. Sloane smiles, too, and picks up hir drink, now satisfied that you’re not going to start weeping again.

“I’m sure it’ll get easier in time, Aubrey. These things tend to.”

“I know. I’m, um--” You pause to sniff and wipe your nose a bit, “--I’m trying. To get better about this stuff. And not get hung up on it all the time. It’s just… hard. ”

“I’m sure you’re doing a great job.” God, you needed to hear that. You didn’t realise how badly you needed to hear that. It nearly tips you over the edge again, but you take a big gulp of tea and a deep breath and manage to hold it together.

“Thanks. Like, really, I--thank you. For sitting here, and making tea, and everything.” You have to swallow back the lump in your throat. “You--you didn’t have to do this. You can go, if you want to. I don’t wanna keep you up all night.”

“Hey, that’s alright.” Sloane reaches over and touches your wrist gently. “I was already up, and you looked like you could use some company. This is more important than me losing a bit of sleep for one night. I hope you feel better soon.”

  The two of you sit in quiet conversation until you’ve emptied your mugs. You share a hug before you retreat back upstairs, to the warmth of your bed, but you can only be distracted so far. Questions that you can’t fend off still creep to the forefront of your mind.

Would any of these people look at you the same, if they knew the truth of your life?

Would they even want to know you?

You don’t want to think about it. But it’s all you do, until you finally fall back into an unsettled, restless sleep.

***

The house is relatively quiet on the day you leave. Packing doesn’t take long, though Iloya insists on smuggling out a not-insignificant amount of alcohol after initially being denied what was left over on the basis that it was being saved for the new year.

“Drive safe,” Lucas tells you both, as you’re exchanging farewells with everyone in the hallway. “Aubrey, it was lovely to meet you.”

“Thanks. And thank you! For letting me stay.”

“It’s been our pleasure having you!” Julia draws you in for a hug, and then: “You’re welcome back any time.”

There’s a deep, deep ache in your chest, and it’s not because she’s hugging too tight.

You hug everyone else, too, but only Sloane gives you a knowing look--one that you return--as you straighten up and step towards the door. Everyone’s waving you off, and you don’t turn away until you absolutely have to.

The driveway is clearer than when you arrived, offering plenty of room for you to swing the rear door of the car open and toss your bag into the back seat. You take one more look at the exterior of the house, in all its festive glory.

It’s pretty.

You’re gonna miss it.

You’re gonna miss all the people in it, too.

You slide into the passenger side seat--Iloya’s had the heat on full blast again, so the interior is already roasting hot. You surreptitiously wind it down a bit before the driver side door flies open and Iloya hops in.

“Good to go?” They grin at you as they lock their seatbelt in place and kick the car into reverse.

“Yeah. I’m ready to be at home.”

“I thought you liked it!”

“I did! I did. I liked it,” you assure them hurriedly. “I just… miss my apartment, and my bed, and everything. But it was good. I had a lot of fun. I, um--” You stumble over the next part. “--I always, like--I always kind of wondered what it would be like. Getting to do this kind of stuff. Like, holiday stuff, with family. And--” You tap your fingers against one another and draw in a shaky breath. “It was kind of everything I’ve ever wanted?”

Your voice breaks at the end. You try to disguise it by clearing your throat, but Iloya is sharper than that.

“Hey. Don’t start crying on me again.” As the car stops at the intersection at the end of the road, Iloya looks over at you, a gentle smile on their face. “Look. I’m really glad, okay? That’s exactly what I wanted. I wanted you to come and spend time with people who give a damn. You know, if you’ve never had a good holiday season--you deserve one. I know it got stressful sometimes, but if you enjoyed it, that’s all that really matters.”

There’s a car coming up behind you. Iloya glances both ways, then pulls out to the left. “And you deserve a real break! You work too hard and don’t relax enough, you know.” You still don’t have a response for that, so you mumble some vague, sheepish acknowledgement and turn your attention outside the car instead.

“So.” Iloya’s not done. “Are you game for next year?”

“What?”

“I mean, do you want to come again next year?” They look to you when you fail to answer. “Come on. You liked it! You got on with everyone! They liked you! And I’m pretty much guaranteed a room there, so we don’t have to find somewhere else to crash, you know.”

“No, no--I, um--” You laugh, kind of in disbelief, kind of in excitement, kind of in… relief? Let’s call it relief. “Of course I wanna come next year.”

“Good. So I don’t have to kidnap you, then.”

Both of you laugh, this time, and the smile sticks on your face as you gaze out of the window. A light snow has just started; big, thick flakes already settling on the previous snowfall and compacted ice on the sidewalks.

You found your place.

You are happy.

[iwritethingstoo]

Love Bites

A/N: This is for @deanwanddamons​ #deanwanddamons500followerchallenge. Hope you enjoy it!

Characters: Sam, Dean, Crowley, OMC Kern and Reader

Word Count: 2233

Warnings: Language, mentions of torture, vampires, blood, a bit of fluff

Prompt: You don’t know how long I have wanted to touch your lips and hold you tight (in bold)

Tags: @deanwanddamons​ @official-and-unstable-satan​ @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​

Rain poured down over you as you walked up to the entrance of Harvelle’s Roadhouse. You slammed the door open and stood in the entryway dripping water onto the floor.

“Hey, you look like shit.” You recognized the voice as Dean Winchester.

“You’d look like shit too if you went through everything I just did.” You shot back as you walked over to the table where he and his brother, Sam, were sitting. “It started off as a simple salt and burn.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Sam chimed in. “What happened?”

“If you would shut up and listen for more than two seconds, I was about to tell you. Now, then, where was I?” You paused for a moment.

“A ‘simple’ salt and burn.” Dean used finger quotes when he said the word ‘simple’.

“Is it a family trait?” When the boys looked confused, you continued. “Your inability to listen.” You sighed and regained enough composure to return to your story. “So I dig up the guy’s grave only to find out, he’s not actually in there. He’s in his wife’s grave….. one plot over….. exactly where I piled the dirt from his grave. So I have to refill the hole I just dug and do it all over again.” You stopped and downed the drink sitting in front of Dean.

“Hey.” He started to interject, but you held up your hand to silence him which, surprisingly enough, worked.

“So I get to the damn coffin. Just my luck, it’s chained shut. I get my crowbar from my car and break the stupid lock; finally get it open. Then, the salt container won’t open. I end up ripping the thing open; salt goes everywhere. One bit of good news, I still had enough to pour over the bones. I douse everything in gas and go to strike the matches, but of course they’re wet so they won’t light.”

“Why were they wet?” Dean looked completely engrossed in your story.

“Because they came out of my boobs.” Dean nodded knowingly. Sam, however, looked dumbfounded; opening and closing his mouth several times. You crossed your arms and waited for him to figure out how words work again. ‘This is gonna be good.’ When he finally spoke, he didn’t disappoint.

“What do your boobs have to do with the matches being wet?” He looked uncomfortable at his own question.

“Because swamp boob is a thing.” You paused, giving him a chance to rearrange his face, but he still needed more explanation. “All the extra digging made me sweaty.”

“I see. That makes sense now.” He quickly shifted the conversation away from your chest. “So what did you do without the matches?”

“I remembered that there was a mausoleum on the other side of the graveyard with lanterns, so I ran to get one. By this time, the ghost shows up to stop me. I manage to slip past him, grab the lantern and get back to the grave. I throw it into the hole and it crashes igniting the gas.”

“At least you got it done and you’re safe now.” Sam tried to encourage you.

“Oh yeah. I’m so glad to be alive right now.” You rolled your eyes at him and took his drink. He started to protest, but his cell phone ringing interrupted him. After several minutes of talking, he turned to you.

“You up for some vampire hunting?”

“Always.”

You pulled up to an abandoned-looking barn and hopped out of the boys’ Impala. You barged into the building, combat knife in hand, but the vamps were ready for you. Before you knew what was happening, you had three of them on you. Sam and Dean weren’t fairing much better, fighting two vamps each. You started kicking and slashing your knife almost wildly, managing to carve into one of your opponents and behead another. It became harder to breathe and you found your mouth open trying to suck in more oxygen as you continued fighting. The vamp you sliced open, slapped your mouth with a wet hand before calling for the others to retreat. They were gone in the blink of an eye.

You swallowed hard, the taste of metal in your mouth. You wiped your face clean, feeling for a wound and not finding one.The world started to spin around you and the rhythmic sound of heartbeats thumped loudly in your ears.

“Are you ok?” Sam put his hand on your shoulder and you quickly shrugged it off regretting the sudden movement as it made you feel nauseous.

“Son of a bitch got his blood in my mouth. You have to kill me before I turn into one of them.” You refused to look at either of the men now both standing within feet of you. How could you let this happen? You got sloppy and now you had to pay for it.

“There’s still a way to save you.” Dean’s voice pulled you back to the moment and you looked up at him, confused. “There’s a cure; a potion. We’ll have to work quickly though. We need the blood of your sire and it won’t work if you drink any blood.”

“I’ve never heard of a cure for vampirism. How do you know this will work?”

“We’ve done it before,” Sam looked to his brother. “for Dean.”

The three of you worked out a plan. You would find the vamps and retrieve the blood while the boys gathered the remaining ingredients. They argued with you about going alone, but you convinced them that you had a reason to go there and if things did go south, you were stronger now. You grabbed a syringe from the impala and took off after the vamps. It was easier to track them in your current state and it wasn’t long before you stood at the door to a mansion which opened revealing a woman standing in the entryway.

“We’ve been expecting you. Kern told us you would be coming.” She stepped to the side and made an inviting motion. You entered the building and waited as the woman closed the door. She walked past you and into a large entertaining room. As you followed her, you thought about the name she mentioned. Kern must be the vampire who sired you. You would have to repay him  for the slap in the face back at the barn. You looked around the room. There had to be thirty or more vampires in this room, but none of them were Kern. It looked like you had walked into a party with the lights dimmed and rave music playing. The thump of the bass was quickly giving you a headache. When you looked back, the woman you had been following had been replaced with a greasy-haired man.

“Thirsty?” He asked as he offered you a glass of what you were sure was blood. “Not as good as the fresh stuff, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

You struggled to think of a believable reason to decline the drink. The smell of it had your newly acquired fangs poking out from your gums. Your logical brain screamed at you as your right hand reached out and took the glass from him. Swirling the liquid like a fine wine flooded your senses with the rich smell. You had smelled blood before; hot and metallic, but this time was different. It was like dark chocolate and honey. Your body craved this liquefied life and you found your hand bringing the glass to your mouth.

Before it could touch your lips, a loud crash and bang brought you back to your senses. The room filled with a thick smoke that rendered your sight useless. You dropped the glass with a pang in your chest, but it didn’t last long. You focused on what you could hear. Did the Winchesters come after you? There was panic all around you; shouts of people trying to find each other and thuds as, presumably, bodies hit the floor. You coughed as you breathed in the smoke and stumbled with a sudden dizziness. The last thing you remembered before you blacked out, was your hands being tied together.

You opened your eyes and tried to blink away the blurriness. You could just make out a voice. It sounded oddly familiar, but you couldn’t place it; gruff and……. English? Then it clicked. You knew who that voice belonged to. You blinked again and shook your head. Finally your vision returned and you saw him. The man you didn’t think you would ever see again. Crowley; newly crowned King of Hell.

As if on cue, he turned and looked at you. Seeing you awake, he walked over and stood in front of you. It was at this point, you realized you had been chained up with your wrists bound together above your head. You struggled against your bindings to no avail.

“Love, it’s so good to see you.” He smiled. “It’s been a while, but I didn’t expect this kind of change. Fangs don’t really suit you.”

“You’ve changed too. Last time I saw you, you were still King of the Crossroads.” You looked at the room around you. “Where am I? Why am I chained up? Is this a kinky thing?” You blushed at the last question. You had always had a crush on Crowley even though you knew you couldn’t act on it. He was a demon for crying out loud. As a hunter, it was your job to eliminate his kind.

“My dear, I have work to do and I’m afraid you won’t like it. I need answers and you’ve become someone who can give them to me.” He held up a knife and examined it.

“What do you mean?” It took you a moment to realize that he meant torturing vampires for information. “Wait. Please, don’t. I can’t be of any help. I haven’t been a vamp long enough to know anything.” He gave you a quizzical look. “I was just turned today; I haven’t even drunk blood. You know I can’t lie to you.”

It was true. You could lie your way out of almost any situation, but for some reason, you had never been able to make yourself lie to Crowley and he knew it. He had taken advantage of this very fact once before to find out what the Winchesters were up to.

“I believe you, Love, but what can I do?” He lowered his knife and turned away from you.

“There’s a cure. Sam and Dean; they told me. I need the blood of Kern, the vamp who sired me, but I didn’t see him at the mansion. I don’t know how to find him.”

“I have heard of rumors of a cure, but……” He walked out of the room and returned several minutes later with a book in hand. “Yes, I found it.” He scanned the page. “This is actually quite easy. The hard part will be getting the sire’s blood.” He closed the book and dropped it onto the table next to you. With a wave of his hand, your arms were free and they fell to your sides. 

You took an unsteady step forward and tripped. You didn’t hit the floor, however, because Crowley caught you. You looked up into his eyes and down to his lips. You found yourself wanting to fulfill an impossible fantasy; to kiss him. An involuntary smile crept across your face as his arms wrapped around you.

“You don’t know how long I have wanted to touch your lips and hold you tight,” He said after a moment. “But that will have to wait.” He helped you back to your feet and took your hand.

After an hour of searching the imprisoned vampires and not finding Kern, you and Crowley headed back to the torture room. You slumped to the floor and held your head in your hands.

“I’ll be stuck like this forever. I’m so thirsty; I won’t last much longer. You might as well kill me.”

“You think after I’ve told you how I feel that I would give up on you?” You looked up at him; determination on his face. Just then, you noticed the body on the table behind him.

“That’s him. That’s Kern.” You stood up and all but lept to the table. “No, he’s already dead.” With this realization, you let your head drop.

“That doesn’t matter.” Crowley lifted your face to look at him again. “He doesn’t have to be alive. We just need the blood.” He kissed you quickly on the lips before running around and gathering ingredients.

You barely noticed what he was doing. You touched the tip of your fingers to your mouth. He had kissed you. Your heart fluttered in your chest. Time seemed to stop as you had another fantasy of you and him together. It no longer mattered to you that he was a demon; that he was the King of Hell. You just wanted him to be yours.

Crowley broke your daydream when he handed you a glass jar. “Drink up. It won’t be pleasant, but you’ll feel better soon.” 

“Just in case you're wrong, I want to tell you something. I love you.” You tipped the jar to your mouth and drank. 

“I’m not wrong, but I’ll tell you something as well. I love you too”

[hungline]

a brown piano settled on one side

pairing: yoonjin  genre: fluff, light angst, idol au, rated t  warnings: yoongi’s shoulder injury, mild swearing, making out, relationship discussions  words: 2720

summary: When Yoongi realizes that he won’t be in the hip hop group he was promised, he leaves BigHit. The kicker is that he comes back, but not as a trainee.

⇢ day six of yoonjin week 2019 

When Yoongi realizes that he isn't going to be in anything more than a generic pop boy band instead of the hip-hop group Bang PD promised him, he bids farewell to Namjoon and leaves.

His shoulder is messed up. He can't dance. And for the life of him, Yoongi can't sing. He is dirt broke in a big city far away from home and from his parents. He isn't very sure he could survive another week here without holding down three jobs at once ー which is near impossible due to his injury.

So it comes as a shock to no one really when Yoongi returns to BigHit as a producer instead. Well, no one except Namjoon actually, he was pretty sure he would never see Yoongi again just like what had happened with all the other members who left and never came back.

But Yoongi's here because there is one thing he knows for certain: he could never give music up.

He accepts the low pay and finds another job as soon as his shoulder has healed enough to let him perform some manual labor. No one in the company begrudges him for running out as soon as his allotted time in the studio is over and when he doesn't go out with them to lunch or dinner or for a round of drinks. Everyone there is pretty broke, even the CEO.

They can barely afford the tiny apartment they rent out for the trainees. There are only a few studios and all the equipment available has to be shared between the producers and composers equally, so they develop a schedule on who gets to use what on what day at what hour. It's tedious, but at least Yoongi has a system quickly figured out.

He works his two jobs and spends little time sleeping. His shoulder still aches from time to time, but nothing too bothersome now that it's mostly healed. He tries to focus on making music instead of the situation with the trainees, but it becomes hard to ignore when he learns about Kim Seokjin.

Now, Yoongi doesn't actually understand anything about putting together an idol group, but he's pretty sure that when you recruit a trainee, they generally are supposed to have an idea about what they are signing up for music-wise. From what Yoongi has heard from the other producers he’s gathered that Seokjin is a drama college student who was yelled at and followed into a bus when he on his way to class as a form of recruitment. Sure, he's attractive and pretty and polite and also pretty loaded if his nice clothes are anything to go off of, but Yoongi knows that Seokjin's musical background is lacking. He doesn't really understand why Seokjin became a trainee in the first place anyway.

Yoongi doesn't spend a lot of time in the training room because there is usually never a need for him to be in there when the trainees are practicing, but one day he's sent to retrieve the choreographer. He hesitates right outside the door when he sees the boys dancing in front of the mirror, but he pushes past the panic in his head and wipes his sweaty palms on his pants before he opens the door. His arrival isn't immediately noticed, so he allows himself to relax, and signals to grab Sooyeon's attention as soon as she looks in his direction.

She calls for a stop to the music and the trainees all turn to look at him as he approaches. Sooyeon gives him an unimpressed looked when he tells that she's needed in one of the studios, but she sighs and asks him to oversee the boy's practice while she's gone. He agrees even though he knows nothing about dancing and takes note of the time when she tells him to call for a break in fifteen minutes if she still has not returned. Yoongi nods then does his best to hide behind her as she introduces him to the trainees and leaves.

Namjoon is fighting back a smile as Yoongi tries to claim control over the situation and ultimately fails when he bursts into laughter. Yoongi can only frown at him, wondering in the back of his head if his pouting appears too childish for the boys in front of him to respect him properly. He turns the music back on anyway and restarts the track, smirking when Namjoon almost trips twice whilst going through the routine.

He checks the clock repeatedly and calls for a break when Sooyeon still has not returned after fifteen minutes. Immediately, he's swarmed by the trainees all trying to introduce themselves or talk to him. Hoseok is loud and bubbly and the only one who actually knows what they're doing when they dance. Taehyung is weird but kind and he's also from Daegu so Yoongi can excuse his weirdness just on that fact alone. Namjoon is still as smart as ever and now there's a young, new trainee named Jeongguk who follows him around like a duckling and makes Yoongi's heart constrict whenever he directs his wide-eyed stare at him. He's just too young to make this kind of decision, too young to really understand that the idol life is going to steal his childhood along with everything else.

Seokjin is quiet and so beautiful that Yoongi's breath catches in his throat once he gets a good look at his red, sweaty face. Yoongi keeps his mouth clamped shut and ignores the knowing look Namjoon is shooting at him as he shakes Seokjin's hand in greeting then uses the best authoritative voice he has to make them drink water and actually rest while they still have time. Seokjin lingers for just a moment before he sits beside Hoseok and strikes up a surprisingly quiet conversation between them. Yoongi leans back against the wall and checks his phone, doing his best to ignore the eyes on him and the prickling of sweat along the back of his neck.

When Sooyeon returns, Yoongi is more than happy to book it the hell out of there.

But he starts to see the trainees often anyway. A new boy named Jimin joins them after a few weeks and Yoongi is almost in awe of how quickly Taehyung takes a liking to him due to their same age. Namjoon is cocky, but the others clearly look up to him, and when a decision needs to be made, Namjoon is generally the deciding vote. Yoongi's pretty sure that if they make it, Namjoon is going to be their leader and he's going to be absolutely amazing at it.

Yoongi keeps them all at a distance, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for one of them to leave before they even have the chance of debuting. Except, even when Hoseok does end up leaving, he comes back less than two weeks later with apologies and a bruised ego as the company accepts him as a trainee once more.

Plans are quickly finalized within the company and BTS is formed. Yoongi is more than happy for Namjoon and the others and allows himself just once to go out to eat with them as a form of celebration.

They mostly talk about what kind of song their debut will focus on and he laughs when Namjoon begs for a song with many hip-hop influences. Yoongi promises that he'll do his best even though he isn't one hundred percent sure that he will be working on their debut song anyway.

It still takes him by surprise when Seokjin turns to meet his gaze and smiles at him before murmuring, "Any song you make will be amazing, Yoongiyah."

Yoongi bites his lip and tries to focus on not coming apart at the seams at the casualness of Seokjin's words. "Thanks, hyung."

Seokjin grins, his beauty almost too much for Yoongi's little heart to bear.

Namjoon coughs to get his attention and the moment is broken.

But Yoongi still thinks about it hours later anyway when he's in the studio. It's late, a little past midnight already and Yoongi has been fiddling with the piano for hours now. He’s been playing the same song over and over again, but it still doesn’t sound quite right to him. No one else but a few other producers are still here and none of them should be looking for him or the piano at this time of night either. Which is why he jumps when the studio door is opened behind him and turns around quickly, his fight or flight instinct kicking up a notch.

Except, once he sees who it is at the door, his adrenaline comes to a stalling halt.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Seokjin says, his voice barely loud enough for Yoongi to hear.

Yoongi shakes his head. "It's fine. I just wasn't expecting anybody to still be here."

Seokjin nods, biting his lips as if wanting to say something else. After a few moments of awkward silence, Yoongi decides to take pity on him.

"Do you play?"

"Uh, not regularly, but I learned how to when I was a kid. I haven't played piano in a few years though," Seokjin murmurs.

Yoongi raises a brow at him, surprised only because he was certain Seokjin would say no. He shifts on the bench and pats the space beside him, smiling when Seokjin wrenches himself forward as if in a hurry lest Yoongi changes his mind in the short amount of time it takes for him to move across the room. Seokjin hesitantly settles himself down beside him and turns his head to look at Yoongi, waiting for his cue.

"Let's start simple, yeah? Do you know 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star'?" Yoongi asks him, his hands already poised over the ivory.

Seokjin nods, his hands finding their place on the keys easily. Yoongi nods his approval and plays the song on his side of the piano first, focusing on his hands instead of Seokjin's much too handsome face studying him. When the song ends, Yoongi waves a hand for Seokjin to start, watching the way his fingers almost dance across the keys. He falters a few times, but he plays the right notes and once he's done, he looks towards Yoongi to gauge his reaction.

"You're pretty good, a bit rusty, but nothing a few sessions wouldn't clear up," Yoongi offers, smiling when Seokjin twines his fingers together nervously.

"You mean, you'll teach me?" Seokjin asks, his voice alight with hope and a quiet kind of thrill.

Yoongi shakes his head and rushes to explain when Seokjin deflates at what he thinks is denial. "I don't need to teach you anything really since you already know how to play. Think of it as tutoring lessons instead."

The elder nods, his hands back on the keys once more as he plays a few gentle notes. "How often could we hold these tutoring lessons?"

"Three times a week for the first month just to get you back in the groove of things, maybe? We can figure out how often we should hold them after that depending on your progress. How does that sound?"

Seokjin smiles. "That sounds good."

Yoongi hesitates but clears his throat and swivels to look at the gleaming ivory in front of them again. "I agree."

After that, they meet up around midnight and play three times a week as agreed. Seokjin falters only a few times whenever they start to learn how to play a new song, but he never gets a note wrong. He plays slowly the first time through and speeds up only once he is sure that he has gotten the hang of it.

Yoongi loosens up around him as a result. He's loved the piano since he was a child, but never found someone who cared enough about it to interact with him as he was growing up. Now, he's here tutoring Seokjin how to play. He catches on quickly and by the third week, Yoongi is more than sure that they won't need to meet up three times a week anymore.

(He steadfast ignores the way his stomach drops at not having this much alone time with the elder when thinks about the end of the month approaching faster and faster each day.)

When the month ends, Yoongi is playing the same song at the piano that he was when Seokjin first found him. This time though, Seokjin joins him at the bench without having to be coaxed forward and starts playing along with him. Yoongi smiles and turns to face him when the song ends, but freezes as he realizes that Seokjin is a lot closer than usual.

He should be shying away, shouldn't he? Moving and putting space between them lest his feelings get the better of him. Seokjin only stares at him though, something electric charging the tiny space of air between them.

Without meaning to, Yoongi moves forward and Seokjin rushes to match him. Arms come up around him and pull him closer to Seokjin's very broad and surprisingly firm chest. Yoongi can feel his pulse thudding in his ears and the sound almost drowns out Seokjin's charged question.

"Can I kiss you?" Seokjin whispers between them, their lips only a few centimeters apart.

Yoongi almost collapses in relief. "Please."

Seokjin smiles and before he knows it, their lips are pressing insistently against one another. Yoongi buries his hands into Seokjin's hair and tugs on the strands, groaning when Seokjin gasps against his mouth. He wastes no time in sweeping his tongue past Seokjin's lips, enjoying the way Seokjin clutches at him like he isn't sure how tightly he should squeeze Yoongi to him.

They're probably moving too fast, too quickly enough to be careful, but Yoongi can't help himself. He has wanted this for what feels like forever and now that he has the opportunity, he isn't going to let it slip through his hands so easily.

Seokjin is panting against him, pulling on Yoongi's shirt helplessly. He decides to be merciful and pulls away but never lets his lips leave Seokjin's skin. A delicate trail of open-mouthed kisses is formed down the elder's slender neck, except when Yoongi reaches his collar bones, Seokjin grips his wrist in what feels like a warning.

"No marks," Seokjin gasps, his face and neck flushed a pretty, dusky pink. "The companyー I, umー I don't think they'll... approve."

Yoongi stares up at him and grins, laughing a little under his breath. "Trust me, the company won't give a shit about who you're banging. Don't tell anyone, but Bang PD is bi. He won't hold this over your head like some kind of sword. You just have to be discreet and you're right, no marks."

Seokjin's eyes are wide, but the grin that replaces his shocked expression is a welcome one. "Okay. I won't tell anyone. But, uh..."

"Yes?" Yoongi asks, one brow raised as he sits back up. "Something else bothering you?"

"I just, um," Seokjin scratches the back of his head in hesitance before he inhales and decides to take the plunge. "Are we banging? I mean, I don't mind. I just wanted something, uh, more than that. But I wouldn't mind just banging either, don't make yourself uncomfortable because of me. Shit, I probably made this weird now. Sorry."

Yoongi can't help it. He throws his head back and laughs. Seokjin stares at him in confusion, but he plasters a smile on his face when Yoongi throws himself forward on top of him and wraps his arms around him.

"We can be whatever you want, alright? We don't even need to do anything more tonight if you want to be one hundred percent sure about it, but I wouldn't really mind some more kissing," Yoongi assures him. "I can even promise you that I won't change my mind tomorrow morning too if that helps. As long as I get some more kissing in, I'm down for whatever you want. That's reasonable, I mean. But kissing first, please."

Seokjin grins down at him, his ears steadily turning red as he laughs out loud. "I'd like that."

Yoongi arches up and presses a soft kiss to Seokjin's mouth. "Me too."

[softtm]

birthday dad

dad! Kang Daniel x reader

word count: 1102

birthday boy Daniel’s day with the little Kangs and you

hbd to my sweetest bby Danik even tho I’m late

okay so starting off imma introduce you to the little kangs aka the little balls of sunshine

we have Kang Yeonwoo who’s the oldest of them all at the age of 5, Kang Doyoung at the age of 3 and Doyoung’s twin Kang Doyeon who’s also 3

of course there’s also aka his wifey, biggest supporter and practically raised Daniel’s other two daughters Peter and Rooney when he was on tour

so to sum it up, Daniel + you + three smol Kangs + Peter and Rooney in a nice little cozy home

Daniel’s bday morning starts out pretty well actually, like you’re letting him sleep in, he has Peter and Rooney cuddling with the two of you and there’s no energetic kids up yet

he actually woke up on his own without an alarm and you all know how good that feels

when he’s greeted with silence he’s gets a little suspicious but enjoys the moment of silence cus that’s probably all he’s gonna get for the next few days

and he was actually right cus 5 minutes later 3 kids fly into his room and onto the bed disturbing Peter and Rooney while waking you up too

Daniel then proceeds to get attacked with kisses by all three little ones and ‘happy birthday dad!’s at the same time and all he can do is laugh and make sure that none of them accidentally fall off the bed

you on the other hand are just opening your eyes for the first time today and are tempted to let the 4 of them bond more but first you had to aw at the sight cus damn the kids attacking Daniel is cute

so you just cuddle with Peter and Rooney and make sure your kids don’t accidentally step on them like last time

when all the excitement finally dies down you shoo the kids off to go get dressed brush their teeth before you finally turn to your husband

‘happy birthday!

‘where’s my birthday kisses?’

‘didn’t you just get attacked by them’

‘but I still haven’t gotten one from my lovely jagi’

you internally cringe but give him a small kiss anyways cus who were you to deny the birthday boy

‘now get up, it might be your birthday but you still have to be a dad’

cue pouty Daniel

cue you giving him another kiss cus he’s so damn cute

cue one of the kids screaming because they can’t get their shirt on

timeskip to when everyone is dressed and getting ready for the day cus even tho it was Daniel’s birthday you still had to go to work so he gets to watch the kids

‘okay so you know where everything is and make sure you don’t give in to the kids and give them cookies’

there was no use in reminding him since you knew that he would give in anyways

but Daniel just laughed and gave you a kiss before you left

actually you didn’t have work today since you took the day off but Daniel didn’t need to know that you were planning a surprise party for him

so instead of heading to your workplace, you went over to the restaurant you rented out to meet up with Daniel’s friends (aka Wanna One, MMO trainees and Nu’est) so you all could decorate and get stuff ready

back at home Daniel was having a great time

his kids are the best distractions ever

legit for the next few hours he played with them, fed them snacks that you said not to and napped

like Daniel is really good with kids and his kids have personalities like his so he was having the time of his life

who knew Kang Daniel could be really good at playing hide and seek

he was a tickle monster for a while too, chasing his kids around the house and pretending like he was going to eat them

Yeonwoo being the responsible older sibling helped Daniel fed the twins at lunch even tho it was messy

like Daniel’s heart

so proud

by the time the clock hit 5pm, the 4 of them were passed out on the couch with the little sunshines on his chest

you came back home to this sight after everything was set up to retrieve Daniel and you like melted at the sight

reluctantly you woke them up after taking pictures and told the kiddos to get put on their shoes

Daniel’s still sleeping so you kinda just shook him but that didn’t work so you went with kissing his face til he woke up which usually works

told him that you were going out to eat like Panda Express or smth to celebrate his birthday and he wouldn’t even ask

kinda suspicious when you said you would drive cus he usually does it but shrugs it off

you two proceed to buckle in the kids and take you place in the front

of course you turn on twice and exo and practically force your children to listen to it while you two jam out

more like Daniel jams out cus you are a responsible driver

drive safe kids

and so you drive him over to the place where his surprise is and he’s like ‘???’ cus he thought y’all were getting Panda Express

and you’re just like ‘it’s your bday, we’re going for smth fancier’

and he’s like ‘awww you actually love me’

you punch him and take your kids out from the back before walking in

it’s all dark and Daniel is like ‘???’ again

‘uh I think we’re at the wr-‘

‘SURPRISE!!!’

thank god you were hold the twins cus Daniel would have dropped them

he’s kokoshook and just standing there so Seongwoo throws some whipped cream at his face

and the kids are confused too cus they didn’t know about it but are easily distracted by the other gummies that Jisung’s kid has so they run over there

Daniel finally grins and it’s like the most beautiful grin ever

‘AWWWWW YOU GUYS DO LOVE ME’

group hug

and then you start to party

more like eat and talk cus all the kids are there

actually no

the dads are drinking and the moms are taking care of the kids

it’s pretty fun

by the time you everyone leaves Daniel kisses you on the cheek and says ‘thanks for planning this’

‘I have one more present for you’

‘are we having another kid?’

‘hahaha no, but we are getting a dog’

‘REALLY?!’

cue another ‘REALLY?!’ from the kids too

yeah it was a pretty happy birthday

[valkyrie-echo]

Project Echo, Part 3: Chapter 6 (130 Days Later)

Part 3 Summary: Seven years after the events of “Part 2”, Avengers Tower explodes, fulfilling Bucky’s vision. All evidence points to Avengers Shadow-Ops leader Inessa Ryker, who is forced to seek out Bucky in hiding. Together they must determine who the traitor is in their ranks and if their friends are still alive- all while trying to survive deadly ambushes orchestrated by Sam Wilson and his hand-picked army. 

Chapter 6: 130 Days Later

Inessa released Bucky's hand and lightly pushed him away. She held her hands out to the side slightly and stared levelly at Heimdall. Bucky was fairly certain he could at least distract the warrior, if his abilities were comparable to Thor's. Inessa wasn't escalating the situation though, so he decided to take his cue from her, for now.

"You've made quite a name for yourself since you were last here, little one."

"The name was given to me, it was completely unsolicited."

"Oh no," he shook his head and kept the blade level, "you're confusing 'unsolicited' with 'unwarranted'." At last he lowered his blade, but the glower remained, "I know why you are here. They arrived yesterday in Muspelheim. You have no right to involve the nine realms in your schemes."

"Does that mean you turned them in?"

Again Heimdall shook his head, "I want your mission to succeed, little one, but not at the cost of innocent lives should the Allfather find out. I sent them on to Svartalfheim before their presence drew attention. You will need to find Fandrel and convince him to show you the path as he was once shown by Thor. King Odin ordered the Bifrost closed to all new business and trade until you are apprehended and executed."

Inessa let out the breath she'd been holding, "Good thing my visit here was old business then."

"Indeed." His expression softened slightly.

"Who are these 'new friends'? More allies?" Bucky wasn't afraid of Inessa's glare. He'd been reasonable so far, now he wanted intel.

Heimdall glanced over and sized Bucky up, "You brought James Barnes with you. The price for that is a high one."

"What's Sam going to do? Expel me from the Avengers then kill me?"

"Don't talk around me," Bucky commanded, "talk to me, or send me back to Earth. If you don't start answering my questions then I don't know how to help you, Inessa. Ignore me one more time and I will sit here and refuse to move." Juvenile? Yes. Was he serious all the same? You bet your ass.

Inessa looked to Heimdall, "Take us to Odin?" the keeper nodded and Bucky began to squat. She stopped him with a huff and a wave of her hand, "You can ask whatever you want between when we leave this room and when we step into the palace. If it's something I can answer, I will. Then you shut up and just follow the plan."

"Fine by me, I just need to know what plan to follow." he accepted a long cloak from Heimdall and began to tug it on one-handed. He remembered suddenly that his metal arm was returned and quickly straightened it out. The golden man watched him a moment before pulling a flask out of his pocket and tossing it to Bucky.

"You have been tortured and starved recently, your body is exhausted," Heimdall motioned for Bucky to drink up, "that will restore your strength for what is to come." Bucky eyed the flask wearily, sniffed at the contents, then took a hesitant sip, not even enough to taste it. "The whole thing."

He took a larger drink and shivered as it slipped down his throat. When he drank, the liquid tasted slightly sweet, like water mixed with some kind of berry. As soon as he swallowed it became ice cold and left his throat and stomach chilled. In comparison, his skin felt warm, almost hot. The more Bucky drank the more the warmth of his skin became a comforting heat that slowly spread to his insides. By the time he was finished Bucky felt no pain, no weariness, and no hunger. He felt refreshed, alive. To be frank, he felt better than he had since before he was even a Howling Commando.

Heimdall smiled at the expression on Bucky's face and glanced over at Inessa. She was making a point of not looking at her companion, "Can we get going now?" The young were always so impatient.

Bucky handed the empty flask back to Heimdall with his most sincere gratitude and the keeper of the Bifrost retrieved his sword from the controls, "We may go, little one. Keep your hoods up and your eyes down. It is not safe for Midgardians in Asgard right now." There was something beneath his words, a warning he couldn't give aloud. Inessa followed him without reservation, but it made Bucky uneasy.

Thanks to the Counsel of Yggdrasil they were in enemy territory- up shit creek with no paddle. It was open season on Inessa- maybe on him too. He had to stop being reactive and start being proactive. He tried to slip into the mentality of the Assassin, but Vision's words drifted back to him, "We need the Nomad". He adjusted his focus away from who he could kill to how he could help.

Inessa was focused on her target at the exclusion of all else, so he needed to take up the slack. From beneath his hood he peered at everything around them- the edges of the Bifrost could hide enemies underneath, balconies that they passed would allow for an ambush, bushes in the hills weren't the hiding place of a professional, but never overlook a civilian meaning to make a name for themselves. Bucky was also choosing his questions carefully, what would get him the most intel without wasting time?

"Who are your friends? I take it we're joining with them later?"

"We are, and I can't answer the first question."

Rather than waste time arguing, he moved on, "Sam says Steve and the others died in the explosion, but you say they were gone before that. Elaborate."

"I was in the Tower. Sam, Vision, and Wanda were coming in from another base, they weren't there yet. Things got too quiet, so I went looking around. None of them were there. I looked for their signatures in the Valley in time to see Natasha's vanish. Whoever has them took them away. Far away. That's how I know they're alive, that they were taken."

"Why was there a door covered in Nadya's venom?"

Inessa's body language was totally unknowable under the cloak, but her voice was a touch softer, "After I noticed they were gone someone pinned me down with that frequency Tony's buddy created. The room I was in was sealed off, Nadya tried to break the door down. I found the emitter and destroyed it, then got the hell out before the Tower went boom."

"Why were you smiling when we fell off the Tower?" That bothered him the most- that grin.

Her voice was hard again, "Something finally played out in my favor. There's nothing wrong with appreciating good luck."

"I felt the frequency. You shouldn't have been able to use your powers at all."

Inessa laughed, "Three years ago I had a friend hack JARVIS and edit the frequency. In case you didn't notice, the thing on my neck isn't inhibiting me either. The Shadow King on Niflheim and whoever took the Avengers used the old frequency. That's why we're here- looking for answers. Sam and his gang will never be able to hold me with what they've got. JARVIS doesn't even remember being hacked."

Bucky was amazed at that, "Who the hell is your friend?"

"Amadeus Cho, my lieutenant... Former lieutenant..." the mirth was gone from her voice.

"Is he with Sam's gang?"

Bucky glanced over and saw the hood nod, "Knowing him he joined to try and convince Sam to put me on trial or something. He's loyal, he'll try to catch me, not kill me. If they come this far." Now she sounded sad.

"Ask your last question," Heimdall advised. They were entering the shadow of the Palace.

"What exactly is the clue that brought you here?" She'd hinted at some things, but Bucky wasn't about to rely on guesswork.

"I've been helping Asgard with a problem for a while now. On my last mission, in Niflheim, the Shadow King used Tony's frequency against me. Trapped me in the Valley in Shadow form for two days before my allies here, Thor's Warriors Three, got to me. The Shadow King did something to my body, caused all sorts of trouble for me later down the road. It was the beginning of the end. When the Avengers were taken, that frequency was used again. King Odin is the only one who might know the unaltered frequency- Thor gave it to him a long time ago, we didn't think anything of it at the time. It began here, the trail leads here, so we start here."

"One last question," Bucky stopped on the threshold where the rainbow bridge of the Bifrost turned into golden tile. Inessa stopped too, "Before you knocked me out of the way of that creature, Muhammad was showing me something- the things that changed because I told the others about my visions. I didn't see what the last thing was- but I know you were involved somehow. What did you do?"

Inessa immediately stepped over the threshold and stopped by Heimdall's side. Bucky glanced at her fingers peeking out from beneath the sleeves- she wasn't just trembling, she was shaking.

"CLEAR THE THRONE ROOM!" Heimdall's deep voice cut through the chatter of the guards and nobles in the Allfather's court. Silence fell as the people looked to the speaker then promptly left through the nearest door. When the keeper of the Bifrost demands a private audience with Odin, he gets it. Fast. Especially since the murderer of the Allfather's only son and heir is on the other end of the bridge he guards.

Bucky peeked through the hood of his cloak, but he couldn't see far in front of them. All he made out were the bases of several alabaster columns. Judging by the echo as Heimdall spoke and the others departed it was a massive room, like the halls they'd walked to get to this place. He had the distinct impression that the moment he was free to look around he'd feel like an ant in the home of a giant. Bucky laid a hand on one of the knives in the belt of his old uniform. Hopefully someone had thought to keep the blades clean and sharp over the last five years...

"Who are these people?" An old, deep voice reverberated around them. He spoke softly and with a friendly tone, but if he'd shouted the impact wouldn't have been greater. There was no doubt in Bucky's mind that this was a leader used to commanding massive armies into battle (As if Thor's stories had ever left that in question).

"An Ambassador from Midgard and their escort, my King."

"Did I not order you to close the Bifrost?" the voice crew quieter, colder.

"Yes, my King, to new business. The Ambassador arranged for this visit several months ago."

When Odin spoke next his voice had returned to the more mild tone, "You must forgive a grieving father, Ambassador. My son was killed on your world only a month ago." he sniffled with false grief, "I am unwilling to meet with dignitaries at this time."

Whoever he thought the Ambassador was, it certainly wasn't Inessa, "Cut the bullshit." She removed her cloak and Bucky quickly followed suit.

He was right. He felt like an ant. Dozens of gleaming columns lined the throne room, holding up a golden ceiling high above. The room had been built to hold hundreds, maybe even thousands. The floors were golden tile, the walls rose-colored marble (or something similar), and light flooded in from every angle. It felt like they were standing in the center of a sunset. Roughly fifty yards away sat the king on a massive golden throne with a pointed spear-like weapon set into one arm. If Thor wielded Mjolnir, what kind of weapon would the King of Asgard keep for himself?

Odin himself was the perfect image of a warrior-king. He wore golden battle armor, bracers, and grieves. A helm and gauntlets sat on one arm of the magnificent throne. His platinum eye patch twinkled as he leaned in to take a look at them, then glare up at Heimdall, "Leave us now. We will discuss your treachery later, Heimdall."

"Yes, my King," their escort bowed and turned. He cast a quick, worried look to Inessa, but she kept her eyes locked on Odin. If she was going to keep facing down her enemies like this then Bucky really had his work cut out for him. Would a little subtlety kill her?

"Nadya Ryker, killer of Thor," he sneered, then glanced at Bucky and his metal arm, "James Barnes, the Winter Soldier."

"Nomad. I'm just Nomad now," he glanced at his comrade, "and I'm fairly certain she would prefer 'Inessa'."

"Cute," he hated Odin after just the one word. "What do you think you are doing in my presence?"

Inessa had a familiar look to her, but Bucky couldn't place it. What was she up to? "I came for information."

"I could kill you in an instant," Odin mused, "no one would question it. Not even Heimdall."

"You're going to answer my questions."

"Am I now?" Odin's eyebrows rose, "I would be interested to know your reasoning behind that."

She bristled slightly, but that familiar coolness returned almost instantly, "Because it's in your best interest to do so."

"How's that?"

She's bluffing? That was it, the familiar look. Inessa was a wicked card player, even when she was recovering from the trauma of what he'd done to her during her time in Hydra custody she could always manage a poker face. She hadn't been able to look people in the eye, or at any part of anyone really, but she'd kept a cool, even look whenever they played. She was doing it now, playing a game. He said a silent prayer to anyone listening that she had a good hand.

"Answer my questions- truthfully mind you- and I leave peacefully. Don't answer my questions, touch that weapon, and I melt away. You'll get to spend the rest of my lifetime watching over your shoulder and waiting for an attack." Odin's face was reddening, he wasn't someone used to being threatened, "Tell me, how long do you think you can stand to stay in the light?"

"YOU DARE THREATEN ODIN BORSON, KING OF ASGARD?!" He slammed a fist on the arm of his throne and stood. Bucky whipped out a knife and braced for an attack.

"No," Inessa kept her voice level and did not raise it in response to his rage. She was ready to make the gamble, "I dare to threaten the imposter who sits on his throne, Loki. I dare to threaten the Shadow King."

Chapter 7: 99 Days Before the Explosion

[gavinkblog]

The Hunger (MIT Part 90)

The combination of blood loss and magical assault was too much and Mongo fell unconscious from his wounds, Drogarth remaining by his side fighting the rest of the room.

Aranys swung off ladder into the fight with the butcher, Ulfgar blocked it's attack with his shield as Rincewind conjured Mordenkainen's Sword decapitate it. With the last foe defeated they made their way towards the sounds of a commotion coming from below through a hatch in the floor.

Ulfgar did a running jump down the hatch, landing into the room with Drogarth and the unconscious Mongo, the glow of ruins almost blinding. Instantly he joined the combat  to ease the pressure on his friends.

Keeda retreated to the runes circle and dragged the Ulfgar in with her she cast another spell and started to flay his skin as she had to Mongo. Then Aranys landed amongst them, more gracefully than Ulfgar just had.

The Trader's moved in on Keeda, Drogarth destroyed the last Orb with his axe, Rincewind jumped down to join everyone else and called his sword down to impale the wizard as Ulfgar buried his axe in her.

As she fell they felt as if her soul was drawn into the runes and then they saw a vortex of dark energy arc from surface to surface lighting up the whole room as it made its way upwards and out of the mill through the ceiling. The runes then failed and died apart from one in the centre that glowed faintly and benevolently.

Aranys tripped the final foe and when no one else stepped forward to deliver the final blow Rincewind  sighed and finished them with his ghostly sword, pinning him to the floor. Finally the room fell silent, a single runic glyph glowed on a talisman in the centre of the circle

Rincewind could see two sets of glyphs, one set dissapated, pure hunger and malice but beneath this set another set, Elven in origin and more beneveloent. He felt nature and energy.

Rincewind recalled that long before Southgate grew to replace them, this area was a wood inhabited by Elves. The expansion of Southgate had forced them out long ago. The original Elven circles still had power and he retrieved from the floor the talisman and put it round his neck in place of his amulet of protection, as he did this he felt his defences boosted.

They found that Keeda had maintained a notebook in the corner by her bed and reading it confirmed what they already suspected, she was crazy as a coconut. She talked of her flock, the acolytes eager for the mortals she would feed them, getting them into the mindset of the maw, always hungry and spreading famine though the town, she was guided by the great maw. Hunger itself. Allowing her to fulfil her life goal.

Aranys looked around the bakery, she noticed odd tools and vials with the bread making equipment, they were filled with various potions, some fizzing. Drogarth surmised that some were psychoactive drugs, other vials he was unable to identify the others but Mongo looked over them and told them he believed it was an extract of a rare root known as Gungnare root, used to induce hunger.

These "bakers" were adding the drugs and the extracts to the bread to make bread that would make those that ate it crazy and forever hungry. Mongo pocketed the drugs.

Upstairs they found a room that Aranys had missed earlier, an office with attaching storeroom. The office had documents pertaining to the running of the mill. They found the ledger and reviewed it.

A couple of points stood out, their main supplier seemed to be Ramaca holdings and they often sent large amounts of money to them. Mongo had heard of Ramaca, a wholesale food provider.

Outside they heard noise in the street below. Looking out the window they saw a group made up of the slum residents gathering in the dark with torches and improvised weapons, evidently attracted by the commotion and light show from the fight. They did not look in a reasonable mood and there were too many to get past.

WIth no time to discuss it they all leapt into action in their own ways.

Aranys jumped catlike onto the sails, Rincewind used his Arcane Gate teleport from the room and appear behind the mob into the shadows of the street. He dismissed his gate as soon as he was through but someone heard him behind them and they turned to ask him what he was doing, with some quick thinking he convinced them that he'd come to investigate too and promptly joined the mob. Immersed in their number the vibe Rincewind got from them was that the mill was the main source of bread for the whole slum and they were very agitated about it needing to provide them with food, now.

At the same time Mongo tried to follow Aranys onto the sails, he jumped with all his might and it looked like he was going to make it but his fingers grasped only air, an inch short of the sails...he hung mid air for a moment before falling to the street, landing on his feet in front of the mob bathed in their torchlight. Mongo grinned, as the door opened behind him and Drogarth and Ulfgar stepped out of the mill.

Mongo changed his grin to a look of confusion as one of the mob called out to him

Oi, you were getting bread too? Why were you on the sails?

I was trying to get bread and I was thrown in the air. and I hit my head and I dunno what happened

Why you wearing armour?

My job, protecting people.

Fair enough mate, here, who's that coming out the door...

I don't know, I'd like to find out.

Mongo walked forward and joined Rincewind within the mob.

Someone shouted a challenge to Ulfgar and Drogarth, asking what they'd done.

Ulfgar calmly looked at them and told them

We, killed them.

You killed the people running the mill?

Yes, they were making the poisoned bread

They made our bread we're hungry

Well go in there and make some

The crowd burst into a cacophony of noise

Hungry!...we're starving!...We need food!..where's the food!..I'm hungry!.My family needs bread!....They've killed the bakers how are we gonna eat?!

Rincewind used Ghost Sound project his voice to the other end of the mob and called out.

Hang on a minute, they said the bread was poisoned didn't they?

He nodded to Mongo who followed suit

Yeah! they said that they did, you're right!

Rincewind and Mongo carried on spreading this through the crowd, Rincewind with magic and Mongo by throwing his voice.

Drogarth and Ulfgar took this cue rather than pushing through this riled up crowd, they explained quickly that those making the bread had poisoned it so that bread wouldn't sate hunger.

Rincewind and Mongo carried on prompting the crowd

Yeah I have been feeling hungrier...

I can never have enough!

All I do is eat!

Soon the mob were voicing their belief that something was wrong with the bread.

They managed to convince the crowd that the mill could make bread still if they took it over. The Traders took their chance to leave the area as the crowd poured into the mill looking for ingredients. They headed back to the Pig's Bladder and let themselves back in and turned in for the night.

Next morning Mongo questioned the inn keeper where he got their food from, he said he got it from local producers due to their proximity to the farmers market. But he used Ungers Ale in the city to supply their ale, it was called Vin's Export made by a company of the same name. Mongo ordered some food and ale, believing he could devise a way of testing of items of food and drink had been tainted with what they found in the mill he headed out to get supplies to test his theory.

By mid morning he'd gathered what he needed and confirmed that the ale had the same chemicals and extract in it as the bread in the slum but the food at the Pig's Bladder, though the food was clean. The dose was small but continual consumption would cause a build up of effects, the victim getting ever hungrier and manic.

The Trader's headed that afternoon over to Unger's Ales in the town, a large warehouse near the south docks. They could see see a steady flow of wagons packed with barrels of ale in and out of the warehouse. They needed a sample so Aranys vaulted over the fence and made her way over to one of the barrels waiting to go into the warehouse. She grabbed it and phase stepped back to the group.

They pulled it into a nearby alley and Mongo applied his test which confirmed it was already tainted. They checked the barrel and found on it the stamp of Vin's Export, made in Port Steelwater, which they knew was a large Dwarven port far to the south

They decided to follow one of the empty wagons coming from the warehouse and tracked it back to the docks.

They followed it to a fenced off yard with a sign above it.

Ratchet Mallory and Foss.

The wagon headed past a gatehouse and over to a storehouse where it parked outside. It appeared that this was where the Vin’s Export was imported from Steelwater before going out to Unger’s Ales.

After a while Aranys noticed a young Dragonborne stroll out of the storehouse, an air about him telling her that he is in charge here. Scars on him showing that though his life was yet short, it had been a hard one. They decide to leave and return after dark.

Mongo researched Ramaca Holdings and found out it used to be called Veil Foods named after the owner Adress Veil. Also Unger's Ales was originally owned by it’s founder Unger until, a few years ago, he was bought out by Adress Veil.

Next he decided to look into Adress Veil. There were records of a wife named Geeta who’d died in childbirth. He also found reference to another company. Ramaca Havens which was a charitable entity with homeless shelters. Finally Ratchet Mallory and Foss were originally a stevedores union, that became a company that was later purchased by none other than, Ramaca Holdings. It was all connected, he just wasn’t sure how. He noted down the address of Adress Veil which was in the wealthier quarter of Southgate as it would likely come in useful.

That night the Traders returned to Ratchet Mallory and Foss. Aranys leapt the fence and headed to the storehouse, she noticed that light was leaking from under the door, the building had no windows. She listened and heard two voices inside complaining they could no longer go drinking because they could never remember which drinks they've spiked and which they hadn’t.

She returned to the fence and told the traders what she heard. Mongo for some reason decline Rincewind’s Arcane Gate as a way to silently bypass the fence and tried to cut the fence. His efforts were noisy and soon there were sounds of barking and running feet.

Mongo reached into his bag and pulled out a steak, he doused it in the psychotic drugs.

Rincewind used Arcane Gate to connect their side of the fence to the wall of the storeroom and he along with Ulfgar and Drogarth stepped in, appearing again within the yard, in the shadows beside the storehouse.

Aranys herself stepped back into the shadows away from Mongo.

A large dog appeared out of the darkness pulling along man who held onto a lead in one hand and a cudgel in the other.

Mongo threw the steak through the hole in the fence and the dog reared towards it, ripping the lead from it’s handlers hand.

Rex! No! Come back

He looked at Mongo as the dog noisily wolfed down the steak

You've cut a hole in the fence! I'm gonna mess you up.

It was them over there!

He pointed into the darkness

Pull the other one! Think I was born yesterday?

The man raised his cudgel and struck at Mongo.

Across the yard Ulfgar kicked the door to the storehouse in and Drogarth and Rincewind followed him inside where they caught two wiry guys in the act of spiking the kegs of beer.

Ulfgar looking impressive in the door way looked at them with threat and they dropped their equipment to the floor at once, a smell of urine filled the air. They offered no resistance as they were tied up. But more shouts were heard as others ran towards the storehouse.

Ulfgar filled the door with his significant presence as a pair of guards ran into view. The guards realised as they got close just how well armed and armoured this Dwarf was and decided better of their cause of action, skidding to a halt in front of him.

Errr we didn't know what they were doing we were just told to let them in 

and with that they scattered into the night.

Mongo easily dodged several cudgel blows before there came a growling sound behind the guard. They both paused to look and found themselves staring into mad eyes in the dark. In a flash the dog charged at the guard jumped through the hole in the fence barged past Mongo and disappeared into the night pursued by his dog.

In the storehouse Drogarth threatened the two poisoners.

I only need one of you to talk so who is it gonna be?

One of them managed a bleat before the other and Drogarth grabbed the second and dragged him out.

Ulfgar questioned the remaining one as cries of pain were heard outside followed by silence

What are you doing? Why are you spiking these drinks? Who told you to do this?

The Maw tells us to. Locktar the Dragonborne who runs this place. I don't know where he lives.... he'll be back in work tomorrow...err..maybe...err maybe not if you have damaged this place. Please let me go....?

[fishbuns-la-la-blog]

Sin City I

an admin koala au

summary: SPADE is an infamous mafia gang that works under a sex trafficking company called MONARK. Tension arises as SPADE begins cooperating together with another gang.

genre: Alternate Universe - Mafia, Romance, Explicit

word count: 2K

“You look perfect, Kyungja-ah.”

A petite, short-haired woman spoke, a smile on her face. Kyungja grinned back, arms raised above her head to put her pink hair into two small, twin buns.

“Thanks, Muan-unnie. I could say the same.”

Kyungja inquired, observing Muan's dress. It was a dusty coral pink, with lacy fringes on the sleeves that went to her elbows. Kyungja's dress was black, open in the back, that hugged her body perfectly, with black lacy sleeves long enough to cover her hands and the angry red split skin on her knuckles.

Muan cocked her head towards the dressing room door. Kyungja took one quick look at the mirror before following the older woman back into the lounge area, where the others were waiting.

Daemok wore a dark blue turtleneck bodycon dress, sleeves rolled up above her elbows.

Hana’s dress hung past her knees, decorated in golden chinese print and red silk, sleeves flowing past her hands.

Jiyeon wore a simple silky pink slip, that looked more like a robe and a dress.

Kimoto, who was fixing her makeup in front of a tall mirror, wore a simple black slip with a black patterned silk scarf wrap hanging around her back and elbows.

In a quiet building, the girls sat around a table. Daemok stood up, holding several manila folders containing what they assumed information about the heist that would take place later that evening. She rolled out a blueprint on to what looked like a presentation stand in front of the table.

“We'll enter here.” Daemok spoke, index finger pointing to the entrance area on the layout of the building.

“Jiyeon, you will take care of all the guards. The security room is located in the East wing.” She pointed to a small square on the blueprint that was labeled Security. “Then go back to the main ballroom and make sure no one leaves.” Jiyeon hummed. “Kyungja, you and I will be covering Muan as she retrieves all of the valuables. And Kimoto─”

She paused to make eye contact with said girl.

“─you're the getaway driver. And all of you, don’t forget your masks.” She flickered her eyes down to the table, each one of the girls entrusted with a simple vendetta mask.

Kimoto tapped her index finger on the table, her brows furrowed in though as she stared off into the distance past Daemok’s head.

“We all will have communication devices as well as weapons. Is everyone clear on their positions?” The leader asked, and after hearing everyone’s confirmations ─except for Kimoto’s─ she clapped her hands together.

“Excellent. Now let's run through the plan once more.”

10:57 pm

Wangshiha Grand Plaza, Seoul

The air was bitter and cold against the girl’s skin as they exited a sleek black limousine, one at a time. A red carpet, that was surrounded by shiny, golden barriers, was laid out in front of them, leading to the entrance of the Wangshiha Grand Plaza.

Daemok glanced over her shoulder at the girls, skimming her hand over the gun that was strapped onto her thigh beneath her dress. Jiyeon smirked at their leader, knowing she was thinking the same thing. As they entered the Plaza, they were greeted by men and women dressed rather richly, who attained gowns of fine silk and suits tailored to near perfection.

About an hour in, Daemok shook hands with a short, stubby man, who introduced himself as Tu Byungho. “I am the founder of this establishment. The Plaza has been in my family for many generations.”

Byungho smiled, turning his attention to Kimoto, who stood right next to Daemok. “It is an honor to be in the presence of such fine young ladies. What are your names, may I ask?”

Kimoto opened her mouth to say something, but she was cut off by the other girl. “I'm Dongwha, this is Nara.” Daemok bowed, Kimoto giving a harsh look towards Byungho.

"Excuse me, but I think we're going to go get a few drinks.” Daemok spoke politely, grabbing Ling’s wrist to drag her along.

“What do you think you're doing, Moto? You're going to blow our cover.” She said, quietly, but sternly.

Kimoto shook her arm out of the older girl’s grip, and the way her eyes darkened went unnoticed. “If something is wrong, tell me. Otherwise you're jeopardizing our goal here.” Daemok hissed, returning to her facade as she approached a group of wine-sodden partygoers.

Jiyeon had been wandering around the Plaza to pass the time, walking towards a man behind a round, marblestone desk shaped like a half-circle. The desk was wide enough to reach the walls that connected it to two side exits, on the left a hallway that lead to the hotel area, on the left the staircase that lead up to the grand ballroom. The Plaza building itself was made of beautiful marblestone, with shimmering gold chandeliers and other decorative things that were made of fine material.

Her heels clacked on the marble, and the man’s head turned upwards.

“Excuse me, do you know where the restrooms are?” Jiyeon lied, and the man pointed towards the left room. “In the hall right next to room 19.” He replied curtly. She mimicked a little bow, almost sprinting in the direction of the hall.

Jiyeon passed room 19, entering an elevator at the end of the hallway. She glanced down the buttons, pressing a fancy square button that was labeled Maintenance. Pulling the vendetta mask out of her handbag she placed it over her features.

“Jiyeon, status.” Daemok’s voice ran through the comms.

“Ridding us of our rat problem.” Jiyeon joked, pulling out her gun as she knocked on the door.

Moments later, the door was opened by a man dressed in what looked like a security guard uniform, Jiyeon aiming in the room and blindedly firing. There was a shout of agony, as she shoved her way through the door and took down the remaining guards.

Taking a seat in front of the cameras displayed on several different monitor screens, she began to type away at the keyboard. “I'm in. Security down, cameras are off, all set to cut the power.”

Kyungja was settled on a sofa where she sat beside Muan, who was looking around the room inconspicuously to make sure that the other girls were in their positions. Hana was close by, hand on her thigh right where her pistol was hidden beneath the fabric of her dress. Daemok was standing on the overhead balcony, and Kimoto was making her way outside with the excuse that she needed some fresh air. Jiyeon was presumably in the security room, preparing to cut off the lights at any moment.

Right on cue, the lights shut off immediately, causing an eruption of screams from the crowd in the ballroom.

Gunshots rang out, and Kyungja could make out Hana’s masked figure holding the gun up to the ceiling as Daemok made her way up the stairs to the balcony. It was about ten feet of off the ground, and there was a door on each balcony that lead past the marble wall that cut it off.

Daemok opened the door, which connected to the hallway. Kyungja and Muan were right behind her, covered by masks, the pink haired girl holding a gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Muan took the flashlight; the eldest leading the other two as she attempted to push open a door that lacked and outside handle.

“Jiyeon, get that door open.” Daemok spoke through their communicators.

"Working on it.” Jiyeon responded, the clicking off buttons echoing on her end.

“You’re in.”

The door opened just like that, Daemok shifting the pistol in her hands before taking slow, stealthy steps. Muan was the next one in, flicking the flashlight around the room in search of their target.

The light landed upon a glass case in the dark room that was surrounded by the familiar red and gold barriers.

In the glass case was a magnificent necklace, embedded with silver. A gemstone hung from the silver chain, the stone a shimmering blue in the shape of a teardrop.

“Here.” Muan whispered, handing her a the flashlight. Reaching under her dress she pulled out a pair of latex gloves, that had unfortunately left red marks on her thigh right where she had kept it concealed. Positioning the gloves on her hands, she carefully removed a little laser cutter device from her handbag. With precise movements, she cut a circle in the side of the glass case and poked in a round shard of glass that fell to the bottom, allowing her to reach in and take hold of the blue amulet.

The amulet was placed into a black bag by none other than Daemok, as Kyungja stood guard at the door, while the two eldest moved on to purloin the remaining priceless objects that were also poorly protected by glass cases.

“Kimoto, get ready. We have the valuables and we're heading to your position.” Their leader interjected. Kimoto was already in the van, face hidden behind her mask. The vehicle was pitch black, decorated with three white lines on the side.

She had been positioned behind the building, which was ridden of any marblestone. The bricks on the side of the building were old and crumbly, and there were two garage doors for unloading trucks. The door that lead to the inside was slammed open, the five girls trailing out. They nearly jumped down a short cement staircase, making their way to the van. Daemok got into the passengers side, along with Muan, Kyungja, Hana, and Jiyeon who slipped into the back. Daemok pulled one of the glittering jewels out of the bag. It was an emerald gemstone that had been carved to represent an ancient chinese dragon.

Hana swept her gaze around the room, shifting back comfortably in her seat. “Great job, everyone, that─”

She was interrupted by a loud curse, emitted from Daemok. “Oh shit!” Kimoto cocked her head to glance at the speaker, noticing the blue and red lights in her peripheral vision. At that moment, she slammed her foot on the gas, grasping the wheel with both hands, knuckles nearly turning white. Jiyeon had crawled into the very back seat to peer out of the windows. The prominent sound of police sirens was clear now. “They're right behind us!” She hollered.

Kimoto looked up in the rear view mirror, thoughts reeling as she returned her focus to the road. In one quick movement, she yanked on the wheel, causing the van to drift, smoke rising from the tires. It skidded into a narrow alleyway, dodging cars that were parked on the side of the street. The sirens behind them sounded distant, fortunately, the officers driving the squad cars hadn't expected the van to make such an abrupt turn. The van had nearly disappeared by the time they had backed up and began driving down the alley.

Kimoto rounded several more corners to make sure that they weren't being followed, before the made their way to the low-down part of Seoul. She parked the van in a rusty storage garage that was marked by spraypaint.

The girls filed out of the vehicle, racing across the street to enter one of the only lavish looking buildings on that part of the city. It was made of smooth, shiny steel, and it was completely unmarked.

As they entered their masks were out of sight, returning to their facades. There was a receptionist sitting at a front desk, a dark hairef woman who looked to be in her 50s, with an grim expression. She payed no attention to the familiar girls as they passed her by, entering an elevator in the hallway that held several fairly sized rooms. The girls’ chambers were located on the third floor, the only visible window in the stoic hallway at the end, which had metal blinds, making the MONARK Company building look more like a prison than anything else.

They took up all the rooms on the floor. Hana, Kimoto, and Jiyeon’s rooms were all on the left, with Daemok, Muan, and Kyungja’s rooms on the right. Kyungja and Jiyeon had the farthest quarters, Daemok and Hana in the middle, leaving Muan and Kimoto with the shortest distance to the elevator.

The ladies settled in for the night; Daemok having successfully hidden the stolen jewels in a secluded corner of her closet.

All except for a certain pink haired girl.