#does this deserve a start again a prologue tag….. maybe

[medi-bee]

when the stars are in time or sometthing

[typicalopposite]

PLZ READ TAGS FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS

𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙸 𝚃𝚛𝚢 𝚃𝚘 𝙵𝚕𝚢 (𝙸 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕)

BuckTommy Fic | M | Chapter 2/? | 5817 words

Prologue | Chapter 1 | ao3

I also made a Tommy Begins-esque tumblr story a little while back which ties into this fic, and since it won’t be added directly to the story I’ll share it here (killing two ideas with one fic… if you will 😂)

Parts: one | two | three | four of the backstory

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚠𝚘: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝… 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎

As soon as Tommy pulls Buck’s front door closed, every ounce of anger, all the annoyance, the jealousy—everything his mind had been so desperately clinging to up until this moment—dissipates. He doesn’t know what makes him feel worse: Tommy’s lack of anger that Buck had gone through such great lengths to uncover his past, Tommy not fighting him on the break up (regardless of the tears in his eyes, and the hurt on his face saying he desperately wanted to), or Tommy calling him Buck. 

Or, maybe they’re all equally combined in making it so the second that latch clicks, and he hears Tommy’s footsteps fade off down the hall, he immediately regrets everything. 

The intensity of it surges through his body and overstimulates him. He stands in the middle of his loft while the reality of what just happened—what he’s just done—comes crashing down onto him. He wants to scream, but he can’t breathe. He wants to chase after Tommy, but his feet are cemented to the floor. He squeezes his eyes shut, pinches his arm as hard as he can, and hopes this is just a nightmare and he will open his eyes, and have woken up. 

Instead, when he opens them all he sees is the closed front door. When he finally manages to break them away from that, he sees the flowers, the wine, and the card… He grips his phone in his hands… his fingers are already itching to call Tommy so he can beg him to come back. It was never supposed to come to this. Sure, he was upset… but not relationship ending upset. 

He feels so stupid, and hot-headed… he feels like an asshole… He feels like he definitely doesn’t deserve another second chance, or forgiveness for his once again loose and hurtful lips. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t call, and instead just goes back upstairs, and collapses onto his bed. 

He doesn’t think he really deserves to succumb to the tears building in his eyes, because he did this to himself; but if he does cry it out… at least the exhaustion it will bring might help him fall asleep. He needs to sleep; he has work in the morning. He doesn’t sleep, though. He just lays, curled around his pillow, and spends the night going through all of the pictures of them. 

What was supposed to be years, and years and years spent growing old together… now will only exist as yearly memories. 

Before he knows it his alarms are going off and he has no choice but to drag himself back out of bed. A pot of coffee, black, and an ice cold shower… do nothing to help the exhaustion. He doesn’t even change clothes before sulking out of his loft and down to his Jeep. The drive to the station feels like it takes an eternity. His head has never hurt this bad in his life. Not to mention…

…he now has to tell everyone he ended things with Tommy.

A new wave of dread, nausea, and exhaustion wash over him, and the amount of energy it feels like it is going to take to make himself get out and go face the music is far too great. He considers just driving back home; Bobby would understand.

“S’up Buck!” Eddie says, slapping the hood of the Jeep. Buck jumps so hard it causes Eddie to jump, too. “Whoa, you okay?” Buck looks out the window blinking slowly—because he is too tired to do much else—until Eddie starts to look concerned. 

“I– I’m fine,” Buck lies. “Just… tired.” 

“Tommy told me he was heading over there after his shift…” Eddie says, Buck tenses up, dreading talking about it. “The hell did he do when he got—You know what… I don’t want to know.” Eddie’s face relaxes back into his warm, bright smile—which has finally returned after months of it being nonexistent or just plain forced during everything that happened with Christopher. What’s Buck supposed to do, ruin that with his self-inflicted drama. 

No.

So Buck just goes along with it. He slaps on his best, cheesy, classic Evan “Buck” Buckley smile, laughs at Eddie’s discomfort from the images he put in his own head, and tosses all his woes and regrets into the negative thoughts bin.  He tiptoes around any mention of Tommy, he says the bare minimum when he must, he lies where it is necessary… 

He goes on about his day as if nothing—no major life-altering thing—has happened, and he makes it to the end of his shift managing to leave the team none the wiser about his relationship status. 

He does this for a week. 

Everyone has lives, and their lives are busy, so he plays on that and keeps them talking about themselves instead of him. Apparently Tommy isn’t too keen on sharing the news of their break up either, because he doesn’t mention it to Eddie or Chimney during their game on Thursday. Buck wonders how long he can avoid it; logically, as he gets back into his regular clothes (trying to not look at the picture of him and Tommy hanging up on the inside of the door he hasn’t been able to take down yet) he tells himself this was the last day. He hasn’t spoken to Tommy—not that he thinks Tommy wants to speak to him—and he hasn’t been able to get the courage up to reach out himself. He decides to break the news when he comes back to work. 

“What are you and Tommy doing tonight?” Chimney asks, stopping Buck just as he reaches his Jeep. Buck can feel the color drain from his face, so he keeps his back to him for a moment to compose himself. At least he remembers Tommy’s schedule for the near future so he is able to get out of whatever this invitation is with: “Oh—uh—actually Tommy has a shift today.” 

“I thought he said he was taking a couple days off,” Eddie interrupts. Buck is sure he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. His brain sputters to a stop rather than working on a back up plan, but before he is sure he has to come clean, Eddie snaps his fingers; “No wait, that’s right. He said he was taking time off after this shift.” 

“So you two finally have snagged a few days off together, then?” Hen chimes in, joining them at Buck’s Jeep. “He planning on taking you up to meet Mrs. K, yet?” 

Chimney lets out a dramatic Ooo; he nudges Buck with his elbow. “Those are the big steps, Buckley.” 

Buck tries not to react. 

They had made plans to take a trip up to NorCal to visit Tommy’s mom actually; before… everything. Buck has only spoken to her on the phone—never FaceTimed because she’s older and doesn’t like smart phones—because they were taking it slow. Tommy didn’t want to rush bringing Buck home to his mother; Buck didn’t push, his nerves always in hyperdrive at the thought of her not thinking he was good enough for her baby. 

Tommy’s an only child, and they are extremely close. It was such a big deal to him for her to meet Buck. Tommy swore she already loved him, and she made it seem as such the few times they had spoken. That’s all unimportant now, though… 

“Yeah— yeah, I know… right?” Buck says, a nervous (very unconvincing) laugh bubbling out of him. “We’re definitely taking some… big— big steps on our time off.”

Chimney narrows his eyes, and Buck is certain he is about to start asking questions. “I feel like this just pivoted into sexual territory,” he says, and Buck has to force himself to not sigh in relief. “And I’d very much love to not go there… so changing the subject—”

“Yeah, great… let’s do that,” Buck blurts before he can stop himself, nervously shoving his hands down into his pockets. 

“Uh huh,” Chimney says. “So anyway, do you have plans tonight?” 

Buck should say no. He should go home and get his head straight about all of this… he should consider calling Tommy… and if he decides to not—if he decides to stay broken up—he should figure out how he’s going to tell everyone. “I’m free,” he says instead. 

~~~

The bar is noisy and packed; it’s definitely doing wonders for Buck’s already pounding headache. He has to squint his eyes at the brightness of the dimmed lights just to navigate his way towards the table Chimney is frantically waving him over from. “Hey! You made it,” he says, moving further into the booth so Buck can sit. “Everyone else should be here soon.”

“Cool,” Buck replies. “Cool, cool, cool…” He swallows around the nausea that everything—the lack of sleep, the pounding headache, the entire situation—is causing. A young bubbly waitress comes up, pad waiting to take his drink order. “Water,” he tells her, and that’s enough to get Chimney curious. 

“You ok?” 

“Uh— uhm— yeah, I’m fine. Why?” Chimney cocks a brow, Buck knows why. “It’s just… I think I’m coming down with something,” he lies. “Figure I should avoid making it worse with alcohol.” 

Chimney keeps eyeing him like he’s not buying it, but Hen and Ravi thankfully walk in to distract him. Of course the distraction is short lived because both of them question his glass of water the second the waitress sits it down in front of him. “He says he’s sick,” Chimney fills them in.

“Buck’s sick?” Eddie asks, joining them. He furrows his brows at Buck, concerned. 

“I’m fine!” Buck manages to laugh. “I just feel like I could be catching something.”

“Keep it to yourself please,” Ravi says, letting Hen in before him so he’s furthest from Buck. “I can’t afford to get sick!”

Buck sighs, taking a sip from his water, and looks around the bar. “Is Bobby coming?” 

“Nah he and ‘Thena have the house to themselves tonight,” Hen replies. 

“Oh god… I don’t even want to think about what they’re doing,” Ravi quickly says, cringing. Everyone agrees. Buck kind of feels a little bit better. 

That is until he sees an oh too familiar body slump down on a stool up at the bar. What the hell… he thinks, as he watches Tommy order a drink from the bartender. No one else knows he’s there; the booth they’re in isn’t facing the bar… Buck was just looking around and happened to see him, and since he has not looked in their direction since Buck spotted him it’s likely he doesn’t know they are there either. 

So back to Buck’s original thought; what the hell… is Tommy doing here? He was supposed to have a shift… not that he owes Buck an explanation of his whereabouts… but still. 

Then some guy walks up to the bar, right to the seat beside Tommy; and Tommy looks at him and smiles. It probably shouldn’t make Buck’s blood boil the way it does… but it most definitely does. The next thing he knows he’s out of his seat and walking towards them. He thinks someone at the booth asks where he’s going; he thinks he hears someone ask if that’s Tommy; he thinks he is maybe just overreacting about halfway across the room…

Then Buck is spotted by the guy— he looks up directly at him, and he is very familiar. Buck stalls; it’s Sal. There’s a sudden relief in recognizing the person there with Tommy… not that it matters if he were on a—

Sal says something to Tommy, then grabs his face and kisses him. 

Buck feels like the wind is sucked completely out of him. Tommy jolts away from Sal and frantically turns around, locking eyes with Buck instantly. His eyes go wide and he scrambles to his feet and towards Buck, who is already walking back to the booth as fast as he can. He blinks back his tears and tries to not think about the many eyes on him (most notably from his team). 

Tommy catches him and grabs his arm just before he reaches the booth. “What?!” He snaps, bitterly. 

“You don’t understand— that wasn’t what it looked like!” Tommy cries, he sounds winded, or desperate. Buck is hurt enough (justified or not) that he doesn’t care either way. “Evan, please let me—” 

“Oh,” Buck scoffs. “So now it’s Evan again?” 

Tommy deflates, he lets go of Buck’s arm and stares at the floor. “That was— I’m sorry about that…” he says softly. 

There’s a split second Buck wants to just let it go. He was considering trying to fix things already… This is his chance, and Tommy is willing to talk, but he sees Sal watching them from the bar and the anger comes rushing back. “What’s there to talk about? You don't have to explain yourself, Tommy… it’s not like we’re together anyway, right?” 

“What?!” He hears Hen ask from the booth. 

“Since when,” Eddie adds. 

“Apparently long enough for him to already move on,” Buck says. Sure, it’s petty… but he’s having a hard time making himself care. He grabs his keys off the table, throws some money down towards the tab, and is walking towards the exit… leaving everyone watching after him in confusion. Everyone, of course, except for Tommy who is hot on his heels. 

“Evan, stop…” 

Buck ignores him for the most part, getting all the way to his Jeep before he finally turns around. “No, Tommy, you stop. Stop making excuses… or trying to make me understand. It’s— it’s pointless… I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Then what do you want to hear? I’ll tell you anything you want to hear!” Tommy’s eyes already look red even just under the dim street light. “You’re right, I was way too guarded about my life…” he continues. “So I’ll tell you everything: About Jay, about the army, about my childhood… I don’t care— I can’t— Baby, I have been losing my mind this past week… I can’t live like this—without you. Please…”

Buck feels like his heart is being ripped in two. “You sure seemed like you were living just fine without me in there…” he says, biting his tongue after. 

Tommy covers his face, Buck can hear him sniffling and whimpering behind his hands… he has never seen Tommy like this. It makes him want to grab him and hold him and apologize. He should be the one apologizing! The thought gets shoved back down by the louder, angrier ones. “I’m so sorry, I fucked all this up, I know that. But that was just Sal being an idiot!” Tommy says. “He thought it would make you jealous…” 

“So you let him kiss you to make me jealous?!”

“No! I didn’t know— Evan please…”

“Maybe you should… just stick with Buck,” Buck says. Tommy’s face falls more. He takes a step, his mouth falls open like he’s going to speak. Buck turns back to his Jeep, opens the door and climbs inside. “I’ll— uh… I’ll see you around.” Then he pulls the door closed and jams the key in and takes off, leaving Tommy standing there, dumbfounded. 

He spares one glance in his rearview mirror—catches Tommy just as he pulls a fist back and connects it with the light pole. 

~~~

It’s not like Buck has never been through a break up before. He’s been through a few of them, actually. Bad ones… This time shouldn’t be any different.

Except for the fact that there are a plethora of reasons this time is completely different. 

Everyone likes Tommy, for one. He has potentially been Buck’s only partner that not a single person in his life has disliked. His parents even like Tommy. (That is saying so much it makes Buck sick to even think about having to tell them it's over.)

There’s also the little (extremely significant) detail of everyone telling Buck to leave this whole mess Gerrard stirred up alone. Now, Buck has to face the fact that he, in fact, did the exact opposite, then used that as the fuel that ultimately blew up the relationship. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him when everyone tries to tell him maybe he needs to step back and reconsider this decision. It shouldn’t have surprised him when after all was said and out there they seem to sympathize less with Buck and more with Tommy. It really shouldn’t have surprised him—after he walks in to work the next day, and overhears Chimney telling everyone Tommy shattered his hand with that punch—when all eyes turn judgingly onto him. 

Doesn’t make it suck any less that it seems like no one is on his side. 

“Of course I’m on your side,” Maddie says, after he confides this to her. She reaches across the table to squeeze Buck’s hand. “I just want you to be one hundred percent sure this is what you want. I mean… you were so happy together.”

“And then I found out he was hiding stuff from me…”

Maddie’s face shifts, she tries to shift it back but Buck sees. She sighs: “Was he really hiding it from you… or had he just not told you about it… maybe because it was a difficult memory.” 

Buck scoffs and pulls his hand away. “But you’re on my side…” 

Surprisingly Maddie’s face doesn’t soften. “That’s not fair,” she says. “I can be on your side, and still point out the flaws in your reasoning, Buck.” 

And even if he wants to argue with that, he can’t. 

Hen and Chimney haven’t necessarily been avoiding him at work, but they haven’t necessarily tried to stop Buck from avoiding them—like they normally would—which tells him all he needs to know about where they stand. Eddie has remained neutral, but in remaining neutral he has distanced himself from them both. (Well… he has definitely distanced himself from Buck.) Bobby gives Buck that worried papa bear look everytime he sees him, but he pointedly doesn’t bring it up… 

Ravi is— At least Ravi is still Ravi. He blurts out needing to call in air support when they are at difficult fires. He asks if Tommy is still available for car problems, given everything… He asks when they are all going out again—Buck included—as if anyone wants to be around Buck at the moment. 

Regardless… Buck would have never guessed when the Buckley-Kinard divorce era finally happened (maybe a part of him always planned on this ending, like his relationships always do…) Tommy would be the one to be granted custody of the 118 family… his family. 

That jealousy that had taken root inside of him from Jay, begins to grow and blossom; logically Buck knows the rage he feels from it should be aimed at himself, but instead he turns it outward. He projects onto everyone around him who clearly sees Tommy as the fan favorite. Clearly no one wants to see Buck’s side of the story… Clearly they don’t care about him as much as they used to act like they did…

Clearly he is reaching. Logically he knows this. Unfortunately he is too lost in his own head to stop himself. 

Then the 217 starts to reach out. 

It’s about a week after the blow up at the bar. First, it’s a call from Lucy, asking him—demanding him, really—to talk to Tommy. “He’s a wreck, dude… just— I don’t know… Just consider hearing him out?” 

“Hear him out about what?” Buck snaps back. 

“About all of it! God damn, Buck, do you even fully know what you’re mad at him about?!” 

“I— what— what the hell is that supposed to mean? Of course I do!” 

She laughs, actually laughs at him and hangs up. 

Next it’s an older pilot, James McCarty, who comes into the station requesting to speak to the kid. He just wants him to know Tommy is starting to slack at work. He’s getting careless. Buck looks from McCarty to the team eavesdropping from upstairs. He feels his face heat up. “What am I supposed to do about that…” he asks, trying to ignore how bitter and petty he sounds. 

“Look, kid, maybe whatever you two had was one-sided… I’m letting you know what’s going on.” Buck tenses his jaw, pushes back the bile that statement brings, and how it reminds him of what he said to Tommy about Jay. “I guess I just figured he meant a little more to you than that, maybe I was wrong.” 

Buck itches to correct him, instead he stands firmly planted in place and watches him turn and leave. 

When reaching out to Buck gets them nowhere the 217 starts reaching out to the 118… and then the 118 starts trying to convince Buck to talk to Tommy; which only makes the anger grow despite the little voice in the back of Buck’s head telling him maybe he should listen to them. 

“Why are you acting so childish about this, Buck?” Hen blocks the exit to the lockers when he groans and tries to leave. “Stop getting so defensive, no one is attacking you… It’s a legitimate question.” 

“I really don’t want to do this, Hen…” Buck says. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest and leans back into his locker. Hen gives him that look; she’s not backing down either… they might be here a while. “I told you what I found,” he tries, and her glare intensifies. It’s true, in a last ditch effort to not be painted the bad guy in this Buck told them everything he found—ignored how grimey it made him feel to bring up Tommy’s personal business—and just stood there waiting for them to jump ship. It didn’t happen, of course… 

“Buck, all that proves is that you went digging for something to be mad about,” Hen sighs. “Look… I get it, okay? I’ve been there… feeling like you’re doomed to be unhappy in love… and then you find someone who is different. Someone who is good, and honest, and just too perfect to be real. So what do you do? You sit and wait for it to go south… and when it doesn’t you end up sending it there yourself.” Buck shifts his feet, looks at his hands instead of Hen… so maybe she won’t be able to read him like an open book… so maybe she can’t tell he knows she’s right. “Buck, you remember when you asked me what I thought the secret to happiness was?” Buck finally looks at her… “I really thought—I’d hoped you’d finally figured it out…” Then she’s gone, and Buck is left with that to weigh on his mind the rest of the night. 

It’s still on his mind when he walks back into the station for his next shift. 

Everyone is gathered around the engines, looking up to the second floor; to where Bobby and the captain of the 217 are having a very serious looking conversation. “What’s going on?” Buck asks, about ninety percent certain that conversation is about him. Everyone looks at him, no one says anything.

“Buck,” Bobby calls down, both men now looking at him. “In my office.” 

Captain Collier says something to Bobby then turns and starts down the stairs, eyes remaining fixed on Buck until he feels like he might come out of his skin if he doesn’t get away from them. He pushes through the small crowd and goes into Bobby’s office to wait. Bobby barks for everyone to stop being nosey; he sounds pissed… Buck dreads this conversation. 

Bobby walks in, shuts the door behind him, and slowly crosses the room to his desk. He sighs as he drops down into the seat, and motions for Buck to do the same in the chair in front of him. “I’m sure you already know what that was about,” Bobby starts, running his hands over his eyes tiredly. Buck nods. “Listen kid, I’m not about to tell you what to do; I can’t demand you go talk to Tommy. I do, however, think you should.” 

“Cap I—” 

Bobby throws a hand up, and Buck snaps his mouth shut. “Look I don’t know the full story, and it's not my business. I don’t want to play favorites; I’m not here to take sides. If you don’t want to be with Tommy… don’t be with him. I’ll set my opinion on that to the side and let you be a grown up and make your own decision. But Tommy is not the only one who needs closure from this; you do too, Buck.” 

“What— what do you mean?” 

“You’re letting this drive a wedge between you and your team,” Bobby says. “You have to have each other's backs out there and you are barely speaking to any of them.” Buck goes to say it’s more they aren’t speaking to him, but is met with Bobby’s raised hand again. “I want you to consider talking to him…”

Buck fidgets in the chair. “I doubt he wants to—”

“Buck stop… if Tommy didn’t want to talk to you he wouldn’t be grieving this hard over losing you.” 

“He— he’s grieving…” Buck says quietly. 

The look Bobby gives him is almost comical; it's so exhaustive. “Have you just been tuning everyone out who’s been trying to tell you that, kid?” 

Buck shrugs; he kind of has. “I don’t know why he’s grieving me.” 

Bobby groans: “I really didn’t want to get in the middle of this,” he mutters, before pushing himself to his feet and walking around the desk. “You ever think it could have something to do with him loving you? Or maybe that you actually do matter to him.” Bobby sighs. “You know… I was so happy to see you grow up in this relationship, given your history… but it seems like maybe it got a little bit too real— too serious— too grown up. So you turned and started running in the other direction ” 

“But— But he—”

“He what, Buck? Didn’t tell you about something from his past.” Bobby crosses his arms and sits on his desk. “Look, kid, just because you have no problem over sharing doesn’t mean everyone can. Sometimes things are too big, they hurt too bad… Did you ever think maybe he was planning on telling you one day? Bottom line is he didn’t owe you that information… and you let it sit and fester until it turned into a problem… and rather than fix it you got mad that people called you out on it.”

“Wh- what about him kissing Sal… he seemed to have moved on pretty—” 

“Again… did you even stop to think maybe you had it wrong?” Buck falters; he did think that… he didn’t really dwell on the thought long though. “Chimney said Tommy talked to them after you stormed out. It turns out Sal was in town, so Tommy took off a day earlier than he was going to, to catch up. He confided in Sal about the break up, and Sal suggested going out for drinks… Sal saw you were there, and thought maybe if he gave you a little competition… you would get jealous and take Tommy back.” 

Buck is… confused, if not dumbfounded… but mostly confused. “Kind of a bold move,” he says more to himself, but Bobby still laughs. 

“Yeah Sal’s good for making some questionable heat of the moment decisions…” Bobby says with a sarcastic laugh. “Kind of reminds me of someone, actually.” 

Buck can feel his cheeks heating up. “So— so your saying I should try to fix this?”

“I’m saying you should take a moment and look at this whole situation. Then do what you feel like needs to be done… whatever that may be.” He tells Buck to go home, and to take a couple days to get this figured out; that he wants it resolved and for Buck to have a clear head (and hopefully Tommy will too) when he comes back to work. 

Buck reluctantly agrees, and leaves, trying to avoid everyone and their curious judgmental stares as he walks out of the station. He climbs into his Jeep, feeling every bit like the terrible person he’s sure everyone thinks he is—feeling like he definitely deserves to feel like it, too. 

~~~

Buck spends most of the morning trying to work up the courage to call Tommy. It’s past noon before he finally manages it. The call goes straight to voicemail. He waits an hour and tries again. Again, straight to voicemail. Buck groans and collapses on his bed. Maybe he should just go over there…

Of course, Tommy’s not home. 

Buck contemplates just sending a text for him to call after he gets off… except when he gets back in his Jeep he drives straight to Harbor. He’s met out in the lot by Collier. “Damn, that was quick,” he laughs. “If I’d have known Nash would be able to get you over here that fast I’d have come to him to begin with.” 

“Uh… yeah, well…” Buck feels like his face is on fire. “Is— Is Tommy here?”

“Should be back soon,” Collier replies. “He is flying over Angeles Forest; got some calls about a possible fire… a ground crew already checked it out, we’re just following up. You’re more than welcome to wait for him here,” he offers. 

Buck should say no, if the glares around the station give any indication how the time will be spent… “Uh, yeah— yeah, sure, that would be… great,” he says instead.

Collier leads him into the station, towards where Lucy and Morris are sitting. The two are watching him and whispering to each other instead of their usual greetings—teasing jokes about how much Tommy talks their ears off about him. “I’ll let him know you’re here,” Collier says, gesturing for Buck to sit on the couch; both firefighters get up and leave the area as he does. 

Not even an hour passes before Buck is too antsy, awkward, and annoyed to stay seated. 

He goes to Collier’s office, knocks, and pushes the door open. “Hey listen I’m just gonna—”

Like a mirror of Bobby, Collier throws a hand up, silencing Buck. “Are we certain this isn’t a prank call,” he says into the phone, before lifting his walkie to his mouth and panickedly radioing Tommy, only to get no answer. “I understand— it’s just that I recently spoke to him, ma’am.” Buck wonders if Collier told Tommy he was at the station. “I want to be sure they are positive they saw a helicopter go down—” is the last thing Buck hears. 

Then he is moving. 

Away from Collier’s office, out of the station, across the lot to his Jeep. He doesn’t even put his seat belt on before he is driving in the direction of Angeles Forest. 

Buck throws the Jeep into park at the edge of the forest; doesn’t even lock it and slams the door closed behind him. He doesn’t even know what direction to go in. He doesn’t even know if they saw it go down in this forest, or in a forest at all… he just knows he has to find Tommy. 

He is running blind, he knows that. The forest is massive and his chances of getting lost are far higher than his chances of actually finding Tommy. 

But he has to try. 

He runs until he loses track of which way he’s going, or where he’s already been. Until the land is no longer flat that he is running on, and he is leaping over fallen trees and boulders and brush. Until his legs—specifically his bad leg—are burning and aching and ready to give out… but then he just pushes himself to run faster. 

And as if by some miracle… he finds the helicopter.

Off a little ways in the distance—just as Buck is almost ready to give up hope… or at least slow down for the sake of his legs—he spots it. Part of the propeller is broken off, the front window is busted out, the tail is snapped in half… and it’s caught between two trees, about thirty feet above the ground. “Oh god…” Buck gasps, faltering his running to take in the sight. The helicopter is tilting and the door has fallen open. “Tommy.” 

He is hunched over, seemingly unconscious… possibly worse—Buck can’t let his mind go there, not yet. He has to stay focused because Tommy is literally hanging out of the open door. All that is holding him in is a single strap across his chest.

Buck tries to pick up speed, but his legs are so tired; too tired. He screams at them—at himself—to go, move, run faster. He has to get to Tommy. He has to save him. He has no idea how… but he has to. 

“I— I’m coming!” He calls out to him, doubtful that it’s heard; between the noises all around them, and the fact that Tommy doesn’t appear to be alert, Buck is sure he doesn’t hear—

Tommy moves.

He groans.

“T- Tommy,” Buck gasps, barely above a whisper. He thinks there’s no way he is heard that time but still Tommy’s head lifts, his eyes instantly meet with Buck’s. His face is covered in blood and so swollen that one eye is completely closed; and yet he smiles. He looks directly at Buck and even from the distance Buck still is away from him, he can see the wave of relief that seems to wash over Tommy. Like just seeing Buck has made what is an incredibly dire situation into a simple walk in the park. 

He shifts his body, and the helicopter creaks. The limit that the tension being put on the belt can take is being tested. “T- Tommy! Tommy, don't move!” Buck screams; reality rushing back to him as he tries again to somehow get more momentum into his now limping feet so he gets there faster. 

“E- Evan…” Tommy calls out to him, and Buck suddenly loves his name. He swears he will call and thank his parents for giving him that name and even allow them to use it again. If he can just reach the trees and get Tommy out safe. 

Buck mentally pleads with his legs to move faster. He has no idea what he’s going to do; he will climb up to him if he has to, crawl across the wrecked helicopter and then carry Tommy down on his back… if that’s what it takes. He doesn’t care. He will do anything.

He’s so close. 

There’s another creak. 

A snap. 

The belt suddenly goes slack. 

It no longer matters how fast Buck runs… there is nothing he can do. Tommy falls from the helicopter—his hands frantically reaching around, trying to grab something to stop it—and he collides with the ground just as Buck reaches him.

My little tag list for this fic 🫶 @bucksxkinard @30somethingautisticteacher @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @girlwonder-writes … I think that’s everyone (let me know if you want to be added 🫣😂) hope y’all like the next chapter of angst!

[fireemblems24]

Why I Never Really Talk About Claude

Because there's nothing to say. As much as I hate to say it.

NOTE: I love Claude, and this is in no way meant to say anything bad about him, but Verdant Wind and how it handles him. I didn't tag him, but I want Claude fans to give me their amazing meta analysis and help me indulge in his character. So if you see this - no hate. Please send love.

Gronder Field was obviously a huge turning point for AM and Dimitri - and trust me, I'll definitely get to that - but ironically it was also an eye-opener for VW.

This game is four routes, and at first I tried to give all four their dues, but lately I've talked almost exclusively about CF and AM. With CF on hold until the other routes are also at their final chapter(s), it's become more apparent how little I mention SS and VW.

SS is obvious. It lacks a strong central figure. Rhea is MIA. Edelgard has no presence. Claude and Dimitri weren't supposed to be big characters here, and they aren't. Byleth is too much of a non-character (by design) to pull the weight of a route on his own (my SS is M!Byleth).

But what about VW? What happened?

Initial Impressions of Claude

Claude's writing, before any other character, got my attention. Edelgard I was already biased towards before even opening the game, fueled by her stark difference in design/unit type than other FE leading ladies and knowledge that her route had a split. Hilariously, Dimitri's the one I paid little attention too. But once I actually started the game and heard the characters talk and such, it was Claude who stood out the most.

Claude was witty, promising, and mysterious in a natural way and not the "yeah, sure" way I felt towards Dimitri's "darkness." 😅Edelgard turned out exactly how I expected (and not in a bad way); it was Claude who proved unexpected. It was his prologue dialogue I enjoyed the best, his class introductions that made me laugh.

But sadly that interest burned out.

Edelgard continued to demand my attention throughout part 1. I didn't always agree with her, but I did stay invested in figuring out what her deal was, what she'd do next, etc . . . She surprised me, intrigued me, made me want to discuss her ideas.

Dimitri blindsided me. He tore at my heartstrings without even trying. Ever since the Lonato rebellion, Dimitri got my attention and never let it go. His empathy and stark contrast with his revenge, the truth about his darkness, and so, so much more took him from "there's a third guy" to hands down favorite.

But what did Claude have going for him? Looks? Sure. A fun personality? Definitely. But what about plot, conflict, growth? Throughout part 1, I wanted to know more about what Edelgard planned behind the scenes and her ideals. And during that time, my heart ached for Dimitri as I watched a battle he kept losing and felt so conflicted about his desire for revenge.

What did Claude feel? What did he want? I still kind of don't know. Lack of prejudice between borders? Me too! But what does that have to do at all with what's happening in the game? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Gronder Field

Gronder Field made it just how apparent Claude and VW feels like an awkward third wheel.

During the cut scene, Dimitri and Edelgard had parts that made me (or would've made me) desperate to know what on earth was going on with them. Why is Edelgard invading everyone and, once again, trying to kill her classmates? If she's sad about it, why did she start this war? WTF happened to Dimitri? WTF is going on in the Kingdom? If I wasn't in the middle of it, I'd plan to get to CF and AM asap.

Claude says nothing interesting. Nothing intriguing. It's a throwaway line any character could've said about how this is such a bad class reunion. Honestly, it feels like he got dumped with the lines they needed for advertising because the other two were too caught up in having an actual storyline.

Throughout the game, there's moments that would've made me desperate to play CF and AM, but Claude really hasn't gotten the same treatment.

Claude Deserves Better

The thing is, I like Claude. Writing this reminded me what a fantastic impression he made initially. I love his drive for knowledge, the almost idealistic world he lives to create despite his world-weary character, and how he seemed far more mysterious than the other two (and still is frankly), and didn't get used as a tool to pander to the player self-insert nearly as much either.

But he's been given nothing to work with. Rhea, Edelgard, and Dimitri all have desperate stakes in what happens. Claude doesn't. Or it feels like he doesn't. Even more of the students and faculty have more going on than poor Claude. Things are desperate, emotional, full of conflict, growth, and action. This is what makes someone connect to a story, but Claude feels so disconnected that it's hard to invest.

VW feels less like a cohesive story that could stand on its own and more like a series of battles strung together. Claude has neither Edelgard's strong motivations and active presence nor Dimitri's strong motivations and dynamic development.

It's in the details too. In CF, people are fighting for Edelgard and the Empire. In AM, people are fighting for Dimitri and the Kingdom. In SS, people are fighting for Byleth, Rhea, and the Church of Serios. In VW, people are fighting for . . . Byleth.

I mean, even in FEH Claude doesn't get special treatment. It seems Legendary Edelgard got a giant advertisement video for her release, and Legendary Dimitri got his own mini-foreging bonds with full voice acting. Legendary Claude got nothing. Maybe he's not as popular are the other two (I've stayed out of the fandom outside of my blog for obvious reasons - so I don't really know), but maybe the reason he's less popular (I'm assuming) is because there's a lack of emotional resonance compared to the others.

Honestly, it makes me irritated. Claude has so much potential as a lead character. There's so much to work with, but the game just doesn't play to his strengths, doesn't connect his desires and goals to the plot, ignores Almyra, and has him remain distant from everyone - including the plot. He deserves better.

Claude Fans, I Need Your Help

That said, I know, for fact, I am overlooking parts of his character. Claude fans, please help! Send me your analysis of his characters, what you admire, what his faults are etc . . . (please just no spoilers post Gronder, if you let me know I need to read it later, I'll like it go back to it).

I'm playing all 4 routes at the same time, which means I'm doing monastery weeks back-to-back-to-back-to-back - which means lots and lots of supports all at once. It's impossible for me to retain all that information. There are definitely Claude moments I've overlooked and forgotten.

I also know, for fact, that when you love a character, you can write an entire essay off of one line of dialogue/scene (yes, I've done it 😅). Please send me those essays. I want more Claude love on here, because I'm quickly remembering how much I loved Claude.

[applejongho]

cherry on top | choi jongho

genre: fluff, realistic fiction, humor

character: starbucks employee!jongho

description: Jongho has an interesting run-in with a Karen during his shift at Starbucks.

word count: 2k

warnings: mild swearing

author’s note: jongho as a coffee barista was swimming in my mind for quite some time, so here he is. 

masterlist here!

There was something about that coffee stain on Jongho's employee shirt that made it impossible to get rid of. It was likely the mix of the ingredients that had stacked the receipt when it was printed, but Jongho couldn't help but feel she had somehow planned this as he scrubbed harder with bleach.

Jongho wouldn't have guessed the day to turn out as it did, but maybe he should have. Working with the public was always a gamble, but Jongho's optimism blinded him. Most customers were nice enough. Most customers gave a smile when he handed them their overpriced coffee. There weren't too many comments about his red and black hair, and he could shrug off all of them. The compliments were what he remembered.

The day started off normally - with Jongho's coworkers nudging him towards the mound of bagged coffee beans. "I could do it myself, but you just do it quicker, you know?" One of his coworkers had whined, twirling a piece of curly hair around her finger. "It" was picking up the bags of coffee beans to put into the grinder, and Jongho didn't mind it.  As he slung a bag over his shoulder with ease and glanced at her, he could swear her face flushed. Perhaps it was just the sun. The sun hit her face like that when he broke apples in half with his bare hands too. It was strange how the universe liked her like that.

After his bean tasks, Jongho took to the drive-thru of the coffee shop. He was told he had a nice voice, but he doubted he sounded that heavenly through a cheap speaker that hadn't been changed for five years. Nonetheless, Jongho enjoyed doing the drive-thru and taking orders. When there were multiple drive-thru lanes open, he would challenge his coworkers to see who could get through orders the fastest. This caused him and his coworkers to resent vans - vans almost always meant there was a large order - a sure loss, unless Jongho's fingers could learn to dance very quickly on the ordering screen.

Taking orders via the drive thru took up his morning, and then he was released for his lunch break. His coworkers had become accustomed to bringing him apples for the sole purpose of him to break them. He didn't mind, and it allowed him to be more comfortable with his coworkers because he could sometimes be shy. "Is that why part of your hair is red?" A coworker had asked him one day after he had broken multiple apples in a row. Jongho shook his head.

"No. Just red," he shrugged, ignoring his coworker's eyebrow raise. "I just like the color red." He thought he looked good with it.

But not everyone agreed - there were some customers that liked to point it out, like he had never seen himself in a reflection before. "You missed the roots," an older woman had told him at the register and gestured to his hair. Jongho added fifty cents to her order.

But for this day in particular, his hair was the reason for his downfall. For the latter half of the day, Jongho would be at the register. He yearned to be in the bar making drinks because it could become so mindless at points, but he was placed in front of the register before he could say anything. He assumed it was because he was the longest working employee out of the staff today, and Jongho vaguely remembered a newbie was working with him. He guessed the manager didn't want them at the register. The register wasn't much different than the drive thru, but there was something about actually seeing the customer or touching their cash or credit card that made it not enjoyable for Jongho.

About an hour into working at the register, Karen walked in. Jongho saw her and his stomach dropped. She looked exactly like a Karen should look: bobbed blonde hair with caramel highlights that were too dark, opaque and round sunglasses, an obnoxiously pink phone case, and a tacky red American flag shirt that said something about how America was blessed. Jongho knew he shouldn't judge people so quickly, but he had dealt with this breed of women before. He had to brace himself for the worst and the unexpected.

"Hello, ma'am," he said cheerfully when Karen got to the front of the line. Her dark sunglasses obscured her eyes, but she was clearly paying attention to her phone instead of him. She suddenly realized she was in Starbucks and lifted up her glasses. She took one look at Jongho's name tag.

"Hello, John," she said, and Jongho had to bite his tongue to keep from making a noise.

"Jongho," he said.

"John," she continued, and listed off her order, Jongho begrudgingly typing it in as she spoke. It's not that hard of a name, he thought to himself as he kept typing. Why was Karen's order so long? Jongho kept translating her vegan, dairy-free, blood-of-firstborn, extra-expresso venti iced coffee into the system until she stopped talking, and even then she wasn't done.

"So is everyone your age just dying their hair like that?" Karen said without prologue. "I'd never let my kid dye their hair like that. It's so unprofessional."

"Thank you," Jongho said, dodging the question and not wanting to provoke her. He hoped his cheeks weren't also red. "Here's your total. Cash or credit?"

Karen pulled out her purse, but not without clicking her tongue in annoyance. "You all really should lower the prices. It's too damn expensive."

Then make your own, Jongho wanted to reply, but he held his tongue. "I wish I could," he said with a smile. Karen frowned in return, and, without warning, dumped her entire coin bag onto the counter. Jongho yelped and scrambled to keep flying pennies and quarters from rolling off of the counter. In the corner of his eye, a coworker ogled Karen.

"I used the bills to buy my groceries, so I'll pay in coins," Karen yawned while Jongho threw himself onto the floor to make sure no coins had reached there. He got up, plastering on a fake smile. He hadn't had a customer like this in a long time, but if he could just get through her, everything would be okay. He reached for her quarters first and began counting dollars. He knew for a fact that his manager wouldn't have tolerated this kind of behavior from a customer, but Jongho knew he could be too soft at times. Besides, her jangling keys on her wrist glimmered and showed off their sharpness. He swore he saw her teeth glimmer as well.

"Hurry up," Karen said after a few seconds. "Count faster."

Jongho considered shoving pennies into her eyes. "Certainly," he said, and tried to pick up his pace. He could feel her eyes burning on his neck as he shoved the change into the cash register. He pushed her receipt over to her and eagerly began with the customer behind her, glad to be ridden of her.

But his escape was short lived. He heard a whine from the corner of the store and knew it was the Karen immediately. He was currently helping out a different customer, but there was no one else in line behind them. He'd deal with it after the customer if things escalated with Karen.

"Are you sure you made this correctly?" Karen snarled at Jongho's coworker, her nostrils flailing. The coworker looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. "This doesn't taste like how it usually does. Make it again."

Jongho wouldn't have done anything - customers asked for drinks to be remade frequently. But this was Karen, and upon further inspection, this was the new employee that his manager had talked about. He couldn't leave her hanging, it would be rude as an older and more experienced employee. Jongho finished ringing up the final customer and went over to Karen and the other coworker.

"Cherry head," Karen growled, and Jongho only raised his eyebrows. That was a new one.

"I'll make a new one, ma'am, sorry," he said, taking the drink from her. "I'm sure you were fine," he muttered to the worried coworker and was pleased to see her smile.

Iced coffee wasn't difficult, and with the lack of new customers Jongho took the time to make sure the drink was entirely accurate. It's not that she deserved a drink, it's that he wanted her out of the store as soon as possible. He even had the temperature right, and gave it a perfect dairy-free whipped cream swirl at the top before handing it back to her.

Karen ogled the drink for a moment, looking back and forth at the cup and Jongho. Then she threw the drink at him.

The whipped cream top hit Jongho square in the face and he could taste it. Then came the slow and cold trickle of the coffee down his apron and shirt underneath, and at that moment, he was so glad she hadn't ordered anything hot.

"I said I didn't want whipped cream!" Karen bellowed, but Jongho's choir practice had made him desensitized to loud vocals. He wiped the whipped cream from his face and looked at Karen straight in the eyes.

"Get out," he said coldly. "There's a Dunkin across the parking lot. They can have your coins." He paused for a moment, and then his mouth twitched upward. "My name is John, you can write me up if you want. I don't care."

"I will be," Karen growled, red-faced and clutching her purse at her side like Jongho was going to reach out and nab it. he couldn't believe Karen thought that she was the victim here when Jongho had a new fluffy white beard adorning his face.

"John's right," a third coworker said, coming from behind. He could vaguely hear his laugh under his voice. "We don't tolerate harassment on our employees. You're the one that could end up in trouble."

Karen stared daggers at this new employee, and Jongho was surprised she didn't jump over the counter to tackle him. "Good riddance, I knew Starbucks was going downhill anyway." She gave one last snarl at Jongho, who fluffed up his hair at her glance, before walking out of the Starbucks.

The three employees were silent, and then Jongho felt a towel touch his arm. "Oh my God, Jongho, I'm sorry," the third coworker said.

"I don't think I've ever been drenched quite as much as I am now," he said, accepting the towel. He began to dry himself off as best he could, but he knew his face and clothes were going to be sticky for the remainder of the shift.

"I think there's another apron in the back," the new coworker said, and then scurried off to get it before Jongho could say anything.

"I'm just glad it wasn't her that got absolutely wrecked by coffee," the other coworker murmured. "I think she might have cried."

Jongho nodded, still drying himself off. It was a terrible feeling, the coffee all over his skin and clothes, but now that she was gone, he couldn't help but smile. It was comical, how insane the public could be. "I hope John gets hell for what he did," he smiled.

"Absolutely," the coworker agreed, laughing. The new coworker arrived back with the apron, which Jongho gratefully took.

"Give me a minute to clean up," he told the both of them before going to the back to inspect the wreckage on his clothes and face. It could have been better, but it also could have been worse. He licked a part of the whipped cream that was near his lips and grimaced at the flavor. Despite it all, Jongho was amused at the situation. It kept him on his toes. It would be a funny story to share at a party. Jongho wrote a note in his phone to re-dye his red tips when he got home. Then, smiling, he returned to work.

[poisonedapples]

Prologue: Roman’s Fluffy Helper

Summary: Roman’s service dog Princess helps him with a lot of things. She gets his meds, helps him through panic attacks, and helps him be able to leave the house. What Roman didn’t expect was for her to help him make friends.

Pairings: Platonic LAMP, background familial Creativitwins

Warnings: Anxiety, food, mentions of panic attacks (though no one has one), mentions of epilepsy, swearing, some jokes about murder and death.

Word Count: 3,495

Notes: Something small I wrote in two days for the Service Dog AU, created because of this post I made. If you’re interested, you can always find some more stuff about this AU in the “service dog au” tag!

Virgil shared a few classes with Roman Sanders. 

He was in his first two periods, and the only student (other than Patton) that Virgil actually took note of being in his class. Though, that was because it’s almost impossible to not notice him.

Roman was a really quiet kid, one that teachers hardly ever called on and was always excused from doing presentations (lucky bastard). Virgil had only heard him talk a handful of times, and he wasn’t exactly popular either. The thing that really made Roman stand out, however, was the giant golden retriever with a service dog vest that followed him everywhere.

He’d seen dozens of kids go up to him asking to pet his dog, met with a lot of refusal and Roman leaving the class if it got bad enough. Usually he would only sit at his desk, quietly doing his work while his dog curled around his feet and didn’t make a scene. If Virgil wasn’t a loner himself, he’d go up to Roman and maybe strike a conversation. But the guy always seemed to be calm when he was alone, and Virgil sucked at starting conversations, so they never actually talked.

It was only a month into school when Virgil had his first conversation with him. And it was absolutely not his intention.

Virgil was checking his phone at his designated lunch spot when Patton slammed his lunchbox on the table. “Virgil!”

“...Yeah?”

“There’s a cute little puppy over there!” Patton pointed to the other side of the lunchroom, but Virgil couldn’t see what he was talking about from this distance. How far do those damn glasses make you see? “I wanna pet the good boy so bad!”

Virgil kept looking where Patton was pointing. “Is it the drug dog again?”

“No, it’s a different one!” Patton seemed to be vibrating with excitement where he was standing, jumping up and down with the biggest grin on his face. He seemed to be fighting a fruitless internal battle before he loudly announced “I’m gonna go pet the puppy so much!”

The moment Virgil realized what was happening was almost in slow motion.

First, he saw a secluded table away from all the others, right behind the table Virgil thought Patton was pointing to. There, he saw Roman Sanders eating his lunch, his service dog under the table just like how it was during class. Patton ran across the lunchroom to go to the secluded table, dodging any kids that got in his way. Virgil realized in horror that Roman wouldn’t be able to stop Patton before he dived under the table just to pet a dog. And doing so could fucking kill Roman.

Virgil sprung up from his seat and shoved everyone out of his way to get to Patton in time, no matter how many bitchy remarks the other students made. Roman didn’t have time to look up and notice Patton approaching before Virgil pounced on his friend, nearly toppling them both to the ground with the force of him smacking himself into Patton. The security guards looked at them both as if preparing to break up a fight, but looked away when it only seemed to be two guys being kids.

Roman may not have noticed the bubbly kid charging at him before, but he certainly did now, looking up to see Virgil and Patton basically wrestling each other.

“Patton, don’t pet the dog!” Virgil yelled.

“Awwwww, but why not!?”

“It’s a service dog, you can’t distract a service dog or you could literally kill someone!”

Patton relaxed in Virgil’s grasp, “...Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Uh…” Virgil and Patton both looked at the poor kid that almost got attacked, “Do you...need something? Or…?”

Patton’s eyes lit up. “Your dog is so cute! What’s his name?”

Roman smiled shakily to hide his flinch. “Her name is Princess.”

“Princess? I love it! What breed is she?”

“Golden retriever…?”

“She’s such a good girl! I love her, she’s adorable!”

“Uh, thank you.”

Virgil let go of Patton, but still kept a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t scare the poor dude, Pat.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I just really like dogs, and Princess is so cute and fluffy! I have two dogs of my own, but they’re a lot smaller, and I’d have a bunch of cats too if I wasn’t allergic.”

Roman’s voice gained a little more confidence. “Princess is the only dog in my house. My brother has a bearded dragon, though.”

“A bearded dragon sounds awesome! I don’t know much about reptiles though, and I’m always scared to hurt them because they’re so tiny. They’re super cute though!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind him, he really likes animals. I’m Virgil, and this is Patton.”

“Oh yeah! I forgot to mention that! I’m Patton, do you how do?”

Roman laughed, but didn’t mention the reference. “Roman.”

“You’re in my first two classes, aren’t you?” Virgil asked, “With Mrs. Jones and Mr. White?”

He nodded. “...Didn’t you like...yell at Mrs. Jones a couple days ago over assignments?”

“She’s a bitch and deserves to know it. Who the fuck assigns three giant-ass chemistry packets due in three days?”

Patton waved his finger at Virgil disapprovingly. “Now Virge, just because the homework they give is ridiculous doesn’t mean you get to cuss out a teacher.”

“I didn’t say I cussed her out.”

“I know you, Virgil.”

“...The detention was worth it and I’m not sorry.”

Roman laughed again, and Patton smiled so wide that Virgil thought he would start jumping through the roof. “Hey Roman, can me and Virgil sit with you? I’d love to keep talking!”

Virgil noticed Roman’s leg begin to bounce violently. “Uh, sure…”

“Great! I’ll get our lunches!”

“Do you have any, like...allergies, Roman?” Virgil asked. Anything I might have in my lunch that could accidentally kill you? I don’t wanna kill you. Patton already almost did that. Let’s not give a second close call.

Roman shook his head, so Patton walked back to their previous spot to get their lunches. Virgil took a seat directly across from Roman, and once he did, Princess rose up from her place at his feet and lied across his lap. Roman started petting her with both hands, and Virgil felt a sense of panic rise in him. Please don’t fucking die. “You okay dude?”

Roman nodded, but Virgil pushed just in case. “Do I need to get like...a teacher? Or the nurse?”

Roman shook his head, then took a couple deep breaths in and continued to pet Princess’ fur. Virgil kept watching him carefully just in case, but it felt awkward sitting at the table with no conversation or food to focus on. Instead, Virgil mindlessly searched through Tumblr for the thirty seconds Patton was gone, placing his own lunchbox and Virgil’s tray on the table with a smile.

Virgil put down his phone and instead started eating some of his food, but Roman didn’t talk for a while. Princess still had her head on his lap with his hands combing through her fur, and the more she laid on him, the more Virgil began to worry. Why is she on him?

Well...only one way to find out. “So, Roman…”

Roman lifted his head up to look at Virgil. “Yes?”

“What kind of service dog is Princess? What does she help with?”

Roman turned his attention back to Princess, but he still smiled a little, so Virgil considered it a slight win. “She’s a psychiatric service dog. She does a very good job of helping with my anxiety.”

“Oh, mood.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “You...have a service dog?”

Virgil’s face somehow became more pale than it already was. “Uh, no...I mean, like, I have anxiety too. Obviously not as bad as to have a service dog, but like...solidarity.”

Virgil took Roman’s second smile as an even bigger win. “Solidarity, I suppose.”

“How long have you had Princess?” Patton asked.

“About two years, I think. She was in training for a year, but she’s been my full-time service dog for this past year. I had another dog before her, but he’s retired now.”

Patton let out a loud horrified and upset gasp, “The poor baby! I’m so sorry!”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Not like that, no! Simba’s still alive, he just isn’t a service dog anymore! He keeps my grandparents company at their house.”

“Oh, good! He sounds like such a sweet puppy!”

“He is. I visit him sometimes, and he’s gotten very lazy, but he still jumps around and gets excited when he sees me.”

Patton covered his mouth with his hands excitedly. “Do you have a picture of the good boy, by any chance?”

Roman nodded and took out his phone. After a bit of searching, he tapped on a photo to show it to Patton and Virgil, causing Patton to gasp and squeal again. “Oh my goodness I love him! He’s such a good little puppy!”

“I would hardly call him a puppy anymore.”

“He’s an amazing puppy.”

“Just let it happen, dude. Pat insists every dog is a puppy.”

“They’re all babies!”

Roman smiled at the two bickering over his old dog, wondering if he should butt in with a witty quip of his own when Princess scooted off of his lap and back onto the floor. He definitely felt better now. Not completely calm, but nothing panic attack worthy. Right at the second he decided not to push his luck (saying what was actually on his mind was always harder around strangers, and he had just calmed down), the bell to signify the end of lunch buzzed through the entire school. Virgil stepped up to throw his tray away and Patton packed up his containers in his lunch box as Roman did the same.

“It was nice meeting you, Roman!” Patton exclaimed, holding out his hand for Roman to shake, which he did extremely stiffly and pulled away after only a second. Patton smiled anyway and didn’t seem to mind.

When Roman stood up to head out, Virgil came back and stood alongside Patton. “What class do you have after this?” He asked.

“Oh, uh...I actually go home after lunch. I do the rest of my classes online.”

“Damn, I wanted to bother you while you walked to class so I could skip gym.”

“Virgil, go to class!”

“It’s fucking gym, he doesn’t give a shit. I’m passing and that’s all that matters.”

Patton sighed but didn’t push it. It seemed he’d gotten used to it after this long. “Well, hopefully we run into you tomorrow, Roman.”

“Uh, actually…” The two looked at Roman and waited for him to speak. Princess pawed on his leg to warn him he was getting too worked up, but Roman ignored it this time. Definitely not his smartest idea. You can do it. Just say it. “...If you two wanna sit next to me, maybe, I wouldn’t really, uh...mind…”

Patton smiled, soft and reassuring. “We’d love that. See you at lunch, then?”

Oh hell yeah! “Yeah...see you tomorrow.”

Virgil walked ahead and waved a hand at Roman from behind. “See ya.”

“See ya, Roman!”

With that, Roman was left alone again, but this time he didn’t necessarily mind. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he couldn’t tell if it was from adrenaline or a sign of an attack, but he still considered it a win. No more sitting alone at lunch.

Roman and Princess walked through the crowd to exit the building through the main office. When he got into his car with Princess in the passenger seat, he took a minute to calm down before he started driving down the road. Princess stepped over to the driver’s side to comfort him one more time today, practically sitting on his lap and letting Roman comb his hands through her hair. The ball in his chest slowly grew smaller as his breaths became easier to take, though his arms still felt weak as they shook.

But yet, this kind of anxiety was worth it. Just this once.

When Roman did start driving, pushing Princess back to her side and taking off, he had a smile on his face the whole time.

***

“Yo, bitch!”

Roman groaned at the sound of his brother coming through the front door. “What!?”

There was no verbal response, but Roman heard the footsteps coming up the stairs before his bedroom door swung open. Remus posed dramatically in the doorway. “What’s up?”

“Just finishing up some online stuff, why?”

“Who was Mr. Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way and his friend Fluttershy?”

“...You mean the kids with me at lunch?”

“That’s the bitch.”

“Well, their names are Virgil and Patton, not whatever the hell you just said.”

“In my defense, of course the Raven Way guy is fucking Virgil.”

“What are you even talking about!?”

“Don’t worry about it!” Remus walked over to Roman’s place at his desk and threw his arms around him. Roman scoffed, but didn’t protest. “But why were they sitting with you? Do I have to commit murder? I know a guy.”

Roman tried his damn hardest not to smile. “Patton wanted to know about Princess, so we just...talked. It was actually quite nice. I even invited them to sit with me again tomorrow.”

“Roman Sanders? Making friends? Surely, you jest!”

“Says the guy who only has had one friend his entire life.”

“Janus is my ride or die and if you dare to insult him again, I’ll rip out your teeth and shove them up your nose.”

“You do that. Now get out, I’m working and you smell awful.”

Remus backed away with a gleeful smile on his face. “I rolled around in a giant puddle of mud!”

“Take a damn bath!”

Remus was out the door with a large slam before Roman could continue to argue. “I can’t hear you! But remember, if you need to bury a body, tell them you know a guy!”

Roman rolled his eyes and basked in the sudden silence. Princess looked up at him from his bed, and he couldn’t resist taking a small break to pet her. “He’s so weird, Princess.”

Although Princess couldn’t agree with her mouth, she absolutely did with her eyes.

***

A week had passed since Patton and Virgil started sitting with Roman at lunch. It had become his favorite part of the school day for more than just the ability to go home. He had friends. He was talking to people who he not only enjoyed talking to, but people who seemed to enjoy talking with him. Some people would consider only two friends too little, but Roman considered it the biggest of wins.

(His mom also seemed shocked but proud of him for socializing with people, so it was an even more amazing win than before now.)

Roman was perfectly content with his two friends. So long as he kept them, he would be more than fine. Sometimes his anxiety would act up and tell him that they’re only gonna leave him again, but he tried not to think about it. For right now, they were his friends. It was all that mattered.

What he didn’t expect was for him to get a third friend.

It was his fourth period class, right before his lunch where he was able to eat and have a good time with some company. He’d noticed the new kid that joined the school two weeks ago, but of course he never talked to him. He acknowledged his presence when the teacher introduced him, but that was it.

He was doing his math work when the new kid sat next to him. At first, Roman paid him no mind. Maybe he was getting distracted by the other students and wanted a more quiet place to work, or he liked how Roman’s table had almost no one sitting at it. It wasn’t until the kid spoke up that Roman gave him attention.

“Forgive me if this is too personal of a question, but how exactly did you train your service dog?”

Roman looked over at the kid. Oh yeah, hi, my name is Roman, what’s yours? “Oh, uh...some things I had to hire a personal trainer for, but I did some of the training on my own…”

“How long does it take to train a service dog?”

“Usually about six months, I guess...but it took me a year to make double sure she was ready.”

“Is she a medical alert dog?”

Why all the questions? “No, a psychiatric one.”

“Ah. I’m aware of psychiatric service dogs, but I have a little more knowledge when it comes to medical alert and seizure response dogs. However, I’ve never actually met someone who has a service dog. I’ve only done my own research out of curiosity, especially with my own disability.”

Roman got the courage to look up from his work at that. The kid had nerdy, square glasses over his eyes and straight black hair shifted to the right side of his face. Despite the fact that it wasn’t even fall yet and they lived in Florida, he still wore a purple hoodie that almost completely engulfed his body. The hoodie read I don’t look sick? You don’t look stupid! in white and purple letters, and on his wrist, a silicone band saying Alert! Epilepsy with a red medical symbol on both sides of the words.

Roman almost said Oh aloud. He’s not trying to be rude. He’s probably trying to find someone like him, especially if he’s new. Come on, Roman, be polite! And don’t freak out for once! “...You do have quite the epilepsy hoodie there.”

The kid looked down at his hoodie and smiled slightly. “Yes, well...it encompassed my kind of humor, and I am rather intolerant to the cold. Under this I have a Doctor Who shirt.”

“I, uh...don’t have any service dog shirts, but Princess has a lot of patches.”

“Is it alright if I look?”

“Sure, just...don’t pet her or anything.”

The kid waved it off. “Don’t worry, I know better than to get her attention.” He ducked under the table carefully, like any sudden movement would alarm Princess. He rose back up after a few seconds and gave his attention back to Roman. “She has a lot of Disney-themed patches. Where did you get them?”

Roman’s heart started beating faster. “...I actually, kinda, um...I made those ones myself.”

“You did a good job with them. They’re very intricate.”

“Thanks…”

“Oh! I apologize, I never actually introduced myself. I’m Logan.”

Roman gave him a nervous smile. “Roman.”

The bell rang, and everyone in the class started to pack up their stuff. Roman put his unfinished paper in his homework folder and stuffed it in his backpack while Logan did the same. When they both stood up, Logan addressed him one last time. “I have to go to lunch, but I hope we can talk another day.”

Roman felt that same desire come up in his throat. The desire to ask, to say something he usually would never consider asking. He couldn’t stand speaking to people, especially acquaintances, but Logan had a different energy to him. He was calmer, understanding, and a lot easier to handle than someone like Patton. Not to mention that his therapist did mention he can only get better if he pushes himself…

Princess didn’t alert Roman of a possible panic attack, so he considered that some kind of improvement. “Actually, Logan?”

“Yes?”

Come on. Do it. Say it. Three, two, one… “...Would you, uh...maybe wanna sit with me and some of my friends? Today?”

Logan’s face didn’t give him any hints to his emotions. “I would appreciate that.”

“I can...show you where it is, if you want?”

“Sure. I’d be happy for you to show me.”

The two walked out of the classroom, Roman and Princess in front of Logan to lead the way to the table. The two had a moment to situate themselves before Patton and Virgil came over, and with such a small table, Roman felt like the place was all the more crowded now. All the more welcoming.

Admittedly, a million times better than always sitting alone. He saw Remus staring from another table with those mischievous eyes, but he didn’t pay him any mind. When they were home alone, then he could bug him about it.

As always, right underneath his feet, Princess was curled into her ball, ready for any signs to jump into action. Instead, Roman looked at her under the table while the others went to get food. Apparently, he thought, you are a very good conversation starter when I need it.

“Good girl.” He whispered, although Princess didn’t seem to comprehend that he was talking to her. Instead, Roman took a mental note to give her a treat when they got home.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Behind Closed Doors

Keanu Reeves x OFC (Emma Mathers) A/n- Just a random AU I wrote way back when.

Summary- An AU where the Emma (OFC), is hired to take care of the Keanu Reeves' kids; twins Mathew and Poppy Reeves. Tension between a boss and his young employee rise, but nothing good is ever easy.

Masterlist (very incomplete by adding it here nontheless)

Warnings- Brief NSFW/SMUT mentions

Prologue

His hands, surprisingly rough, slid the length of her body, starting at the curve of her ass, all the way up to the supple contour of her breasts. Lips peppered hot, wet, open mouthed kisses to her chest, Keanu's rough scruff bruising her silken skin, "You taste so good," he mumbled, almost too taken by her to speak.

Emma's only response was a breathy moan as her head lolled back, her long dark hair brushing the center of her back. When Keanu's hands inched forward, his thumbs pressing into her pebbled nipples, the sounds leaving her plump lips grew louder and she ground on him encouragingly. "What do you want sweetheart?" His low, gruff voice, the one she'd grown used to hearing for months, though in a far different capacity, filled her ears. Drunk on him, Emma clumsily felt around his chest, eventually digging her nails into his shoulders.

She knew what she wanted, Emma, for as long as she'd known herself, always knew what she wanted. That very evening, straddling his lap, feeling his girth pressed against her longing heat, both their bodies begging for what had been months in the making, Emma still knew what she wanted. It was the same thing she'd wanted as she'd grown to know Keanu. But the only question was, how'd she even get there?

7 months earlier

"And you can start tonight?" His dark, whiskey eyes were practically pleading with her, and it was the first time that Emma considered that someone of Keanu's stature could be desperate. They were at his office at Arch, a sleek glass table separating them, and in his hand, he held a manila folder containing every piece of information she'd given him about herself, and probably what he'd had his people dig up too.

Emma hadn't expected to just be thrust into the job when she applied for it. Hell, she wasn't even expecting to get it, things hadn't been going her way lately anyway. If they were, she wouldn't even be sitting in Keanu's office, discussing the job she'd heard of from the friend of a friend's friend. But alas, she needed the money. In fact, she was desperate for it, and coincidentally, Keanu was in dire need of a nanny. "I……" Hesitating, Emma thought back on all the warnings her mother had given her about jobs like that; it starts with the kids and next thing you know you're cleaning the toilets. But still, what other choice did she have; thanks to her flaky roommate, she was out of an apartment, the job that she'd worked her ass off to get had miraculously gone to someone who was far more connected than she was, and student loans weren't going to pay themselves.

"Yeah," finally, Emma nodded stiffly, "I can start tonight." When that seemed to sudden, she added, "Are you sure you don't want……like a trial period, you know where I get to know them a bit, see if they like me? See if you like me?"

"Honestly," Keanu chuckled, closing the folder and standing from his desk, "I'd be surprised if you make it through the night. Poppy and Matt haven't been able to keep a nanny for longer than a couple weeks."

Well that wasn't alarming at all. Not. Trying to laugh it off the way he did, Emma followed his lead and stood too, collecting her jacket and draping it over her elbow, proceeding to follow Keanu out. "I'm sure they're perfectly sweet," she smiled tightly and though he couldn't see it, considering she was a couple paces behind as they made their way through the desolate shop, fear lingered in her hazel orbs.

"Oh! Don't get me wrong," Keanu carried on, holding the front door open for her as they left the building, "They're great kids," she could hear the pride in his tone as Keanu spoke of his twins, "Fun, adventurous, adorable. But they aren't too keen on new people, especially if they think that someone's just gonna pack up and leave one day."

Noting the drop in his tone, a clear indicator that he didn't want to press the issue much further, Emma frowned, remembering everything she'd pieced together on the internet. It wasn't much, considering how private he was, but what she could gather was that his girlfriend had split a year after they'd had the twins, leaving him to raise them on his own. It wasn't much, and Emma was positive that there was more than what was out in the open, but as she got into the passenger seat of Keanu's car, she could easily tell that he didn't want to get into it. So instead, she just buckled up and listened to him shift the conversation back to his five year olds, listing some of the things that he wanted her to know before meeting them.

"Daddy!" A pair of giddy, little voices, jumping with excitement, grew louder as the sound of light feet pattering on porcelain drew nearer. In an instant, two dark haired children came bounding towards Keanu, who was already crouched with open arms.

"We missed you," the girl, Poppy said, hanging onto her father's neck, planting a kiss on his bearded cheek.

"Yeah," Matt was the one to pull away first, though, it was to eye Emma suspiciously. "Who's that?"

At that, Keanu stood, lifting Poppy up into his arms when she refused to let go, and ruffling Matt's hair when he clung to Keanu's jean clad leg, "Pop, Matty, this is Emma Mathers, if things go well, she's going to be your new nanny."

Groaning, Matt hung his little head, slumping his shoulders, and simultaneously, Poppy's grip on her father grew tighter, she was clearly the more reserved of the two. "Another one?" Matt, who wasn't too smitten with the idea, solemnly looked up at Keanu, and Emma smiled faintly realizing how much the boy looked like him, "Why can't you just take care of us?"

Sighing quietly, "You know I do my best bud," hugging him closer, Keanu continued, "But sometimes I need help." And even though Keanu would never admit out loud, he craved some semblance of a motherly figure for his children. Someone who could be around more often than his sisters and mother, someone who could care for them the way they deserved when he couldn't do it.

"But what about grandma? She helps," still reluctant, Matt didn't dare to look at Emma, probably hoping she'd just disappear if he willed it.

"You know I like it when grandma helps, but sometimes it's just not possible for her to be with us," Keanu worried on his lower lip, searching for an argument that would convince his son, hesitantly looking to Emma so she'd give it a go.

Taking a deep breath, hoping it would miraculously chase her nerves away, Emma stepped forward, the heels of her thigh highs filling the silence, "Hey Matt," she sank down in front of him, "I'm Emma," and when nothing but dead silence only interrupted by shuffling feet followed, Emma continued with yet another nervous breath, "You know, I used to like it when my grandma babysat too. She'd make me all kinds of fun snacks. Does your grandma make you snacks too?" Tugging at the hem of his t shirt, Matt surprisingly nodded yes, still avoiding her gaze, "Really? That's awesome, what's your favorite?"

His voice was soft, his head remained down cast as he picked at the hem of his pale blue t-shirt, and he definitely had no intention of speaking more than he had to, "Chocolate chip cookies."

"No way!" Emma smiled brightly, hoping it would encourage Matt to do the same, "I love chocolate chip cookies, and it just so happens that I have a recipe for 'em, they turn out great every time."

"Really?" A glimmer of a smile twisted his lips, and out of the corner of her eye, Emma could see Keanu's hopeful look too.

"You know bud," he intervened, "If we let Emma stay, and you ask nicely, I'm sure she'd bake you some one day."

"Would you?" His dark eyes widened in disbelief and his expression wasn't one anyone could readily deny.

"I would love too," Emma giggled, glad that she'd won over one of the kids. Next, was Poppy, though, when she stood, trying to get a look at the girl's face so she could say hi, the child immediately buried her head in Keanu's neck. "Hey Poppy," Emma went on anyway, "I know that it's a little scary having someone new around but I promise that I just wanna be friends."

When, after a minute, Poppy didn't respond, Keanu offered Emma a faint smile, mouthing, "She's a little shy." They exchanged tight smiles once again, before Keanu craned his head to look at his daughter, "Pop, don't you want to say hi to Emma? She's really nice, and I'm positive you'll like her," when she shook her brunette head in an unspoken no, he coaxed, "Come on sweetheart, Matty likes her," and with the slightest redness in his face, he admitted, "And I do too."

Maybe it was the way he looked at her, or maybe it was the little school girl crush she'd developed through seeing him on television sometimes, but when Keanu said it, heat rushed to Emma's cheeks, all the way up to the tips of her ears and she could feel butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach. When Emma lifted her gaze again their eyes locked unexpectedly when for a second and just before Keanu turned his head away, she couldn't quite decipher his expression. Though, even after the moment had passed, the awkwardness in the air lingered, and Emma felt compelled to fill the silence, "It's okay," her forced smile faltered, "Poppy and I have a lot of time to get to know each other, "Right?" Searching for confirmation as she held her breath, she once again looked to Keanu.

"Yeah," he agreed, looking immensely relieved, "Yeah, lots of time."

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[dessarious]

The Angel of Death Pt35

Inspired by this Story Starter by @someone-ev

AO3   Prologue   Beginning   Previous   Next

“Fine. Would you tell us what you’re planning then?” Adrien’s voice was pleading and she didn’t understand why until she looked at Chloe. The girl was still obviously distraught. Tris just frowned at them both.

“Telling you puts us all in more danger. It’s best that you don’t know of my actions, especially beforehand. I’m going to do what I need to to keep the Miraculous and all of you safe. That’s really all you need to know.”

“Maybe we could help if you’d let us.” Chloe’s mumbled words sounded petulant and Tris just sighed.

“Chloe, I’m an assassin. Not only is helping me in any way illegal, I’m not about to pull anyone else into that life. Certainly not either of you. If I learn anything that affects you or your safety I’ll tell you. Otherwise it’s best you two pretend that yesterday never happened.” Their shared look told her that wasn’t likely to happen but hopefully they would just keep it between them.

“Fine. But if anything happens to you I’ll kill you myself.” Tris felt a smile tug at her lips at Chloe’s declaration. “If you’re not doing anything we’re going to have a movie and snack marathon the rest of the day. You should join so you can get part of the real ‘teenage experience.’” Adrien was bouncing excitedly beside her and even Chloe seemed happy with the thought for all she was mocking it. Tris thought about it for a moment. All her preparation was in motion and she didn’t have to check on anything, so why not?

“Okay, but only if I can use my own snacks. The ones you guys have have zero nutritional value and honestly just make me nauseous if I eat more than a little bit.” Adrien gasped in mock offense but Chloe just rolled her eyes.

“They’re not supposed to have nutritional value. That’s the point. But if it will get you out there on that couch with us, fine. Bring your protein bars or whatever other horrible tasting crap you have in here.” All of them had been making fun of her diet since the day she got there. It was carefully constructed to give her the nutrients and energy she needed to train and do her job. Taste wasn’t a factor and they seemed to take issue with it. It was kind of like them always asking her what she wanted. She didn’t understand why it mattered. Before she could respond however the two grabbed her arms and hulled her out into the living room with them.

“Movie night! Luka gets to pick since it’s Tris’s first time. Otherwise we’ll spend the entire night arguing over what to watch.” Chloe’s brusk words earned a raised eyebrow from Kagami but Luka just smiled and shrugged.

“Sure Chloe. So Tris what kind of movies do you like?"

"Don’t know. I haven't watched any since I was seven, and I don't remember much about those." And there was the pity and horror again. Everyone except Kagami was looking at her like she’d been deprived of one of life's basic necessities. It was going to be a long night.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐

Three hours and two movies later, Tris was wedged between Chloe and Kagami, Luka was on Chloe’s other side, and Adrien was sprawled across everyone's laps.

"I still don’t understand the point of this. It’s not educational in any way, and it didn’t even make sense most of the time." Luka and Adrien both looked highly offended.

“It’s entertainment! It’s not supposed to be educational because it’s how you destress. It’s just supposed to be fun.” Tris frowned at Adrien and would have argued with him but Kagami leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“I agree with you but the more you fight them on this the more of your time they’ll take up trying to prove their point. Better one night every few weeks than one movie every night until they decide you get it.” Tris shot the girl a consoling look. Every night? She was already bored out of her mind so if this became a daily occurrence chances were high someone would get stabbed.

“I guess these just weren’t my type of movie then.” The other three started making suggestions of different types of movie they could try next and Tris realized that probably wasn’t the best response.

“How about a compromise?” Kagami’s calm voice managed to make the others pause. “You three can watch for entertainment and Tris and I can critique the lack of realism and blatant factual errors. That way we all enjoy ourselves.” The boys looked absolutely betrayed but Chloe just shrugged.

“Only if you do it quietly so you don’t ruin it for the rest of us.” She stuck out a hand to shake and Kagami took it.

“Deal.”

“I can’t believe you don’t like movies. What is wrong with you two?” Kagami just shrugged at Adrien’s hurt tone.

“Escapism was highly discouraged when I was young. You have to deal with life and there’s no point putting it off with mindless drivel. All that does is waste time.” Tris was nodding along to the explanation. Using such methods to ignore your problems simply created more problems. She didn’t understand why everyone found that concept so hard to grasp.

“You’re both missing out. If you can’t enjoy life, what’s the point of living?” Luka’s question caused Tris to frown. There were millions of people around the world who didn’t enjoy life but still managed to be productive. Besides, once you’ve seen the worst of humanity and suffering, it seemed wrong to enjoy something that so many others can’t. She also didn’t deserve to enjoy life after everything she’d done, but that was another matter entirely.

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[yeoldontknow]

❧ check in tag

tagged by the sweetest angel @propinqxity to do this little tag. this is such a cute list of questions, and some of these i dont think ive been asked before. thank you so much for the tag and the tumblr crush mention lovely. you truly are a bright spot on this website and i mean that sincerely <333

going under a cut because im certain i will ramble ~

1. Why did you choose this url?

its sort of like a pun between yall dont know and the fact that, hopefully, sincerely, chanyeol does not in fact know that i run this blog lmao i changed to this after a long time of being bread-jinie and i wanted to rebrand. i will, however, do my best to never change URLs again because the masterlist switch over was a complete hassle

2. Any sideblogs? If you have them, name them and why you have them

i have a fic recs blog called @yeoldontknowiread. as to why i have it, i know it hasnt been updated in ages since ive been kind of on hiatus, but i think reading and sharing work on this platform is immensely important. i actually read quite a lot of fanfiction, and i try my best to share the things i read. im very very behind on recs at the moment cause i try my best to write something substantial for every recommendation i make. as a writer, i know exactly the kinds of thoughts and feedback on fics that make my heart soar so i try to put in the same energy to my recs. community is only fostered when there is reciprocation

3. How long have you been on Tumblr?

hmmm since april 2017. i actually had my 4 year anniversary this year and i did have plans for things but i got roped into real life things and couldnt celebrate the way i truly wanted to :(

4. Do you have a queue tag?

no but sometimes i think i should. i view tags as a library on top of my knee jerk response to things. most of my tags are just my initial thoughts or feelings at any given moment, so those take precedence over a specific queue tag

5. Why did you start your blog in the first place?

when i was getting into exo, i was reading fanfiction like crazy. i used to write fanfic quite a lot in other fandoms, but at that time i hadnt written anything in about 2.5 years. exo was the first re-introduction to that feeling of excitement and inspiration. after about 3 weeks of straight reading, i decided i wanted to write again. i wrote the prologue to hero in about two hours and tried logging into AO3 to post it. sadly i forgot all of my log in information because it had been years, and was getting frustrated. i really wanted to put it somewhere out of fear that id lose interest if i didnt do something with it, and everything id read had been on tumblr. so i made a tumblr just to put hero lmao i didnt have any mutuals. it was a blog with straight 0. i hadnt even created an account to interact with writers before that moment, i really thought id be a silent reader forever. but exo woke me back up and for that i am eternally grateful.

6. Why did you choose your icon?

the yours music video is...so stunning? like the colour theory throughout the whole thing is truly so inspiring and gorgeous. and this shot of chanyeol looking at the painting took my breath away, truly. tulips and the color of peach, like do you know how evocative that is? ugh

7. Why did you choose your header

my header was made by @jamaisjoons for my birthday this year because shes literally the most talented person when it comes to graphics. and this was so kind of her to do, i cried a lot

8. What's your post with the most notes?

uhm....either the body through time or truth i cant remember which but i checked recently and its one of those

9. How many mutuals do you have?

honestly at this point im not even sure. i know ive lost a bunch while i was on hiatus because i was basically a dead blog, and some people do dash cleanses. and im certain others have left, too, for their own reasons. still, i have a good core of friends though who are active and that is enough for me

10. How many followers do you have?

more than i probably deserve

11. How many people do you follow?

399

12. Have you ever made a shitpost?

uhm i guess? there was a time when nng was not updated and every wednesday id post the days go by music video in sadness and grief but im not a big shitposter. if i make a text post its usually a life update or me crying about chanyeol, theres no inbetween lmao

13. How often do you use Tumblr every day?

tbh i havent used tumblr that often, not since march i think. i used to use it many times a day, checking in on friends and stuff, but once i started focusing on my phd applications i was only here sporadically. i didnt make an announcement either, just let my blog run on queue so i wasnt totally gone. i think i was checking in twice a week or maybe once every two weeks to refill my queue and check mentions etc. but now that my interviews are done im trying to get back on here daily to reconnect

14. Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? Who won?

ive had my share of disagreements with people and any details about those situations shall remain as they are meant to: private

15. How do you feel about "you need to reblog this" posts?

in what context? like, you need to reblog this or your wish wont come true? or like, please reblog this to spread the word/spread awareness, etc? in the case for the former, i scroll right by. in the case of the latter, if im around and see someone raising a go fund me or some major event is occurring and i find a post with good sources or charities i will reblog. mostly though, the full extent my activism isnt really on this blog. its my escape from reality. my activism is usually placed on other platforms.

16. Do you like tag games?

i doooo!!! theyre so fun i love learning about my friends

17. do you like ask games?

i love those too! theyre so cute and usually a nice way to have interaction immediacy with people in the community

18. Which of your mutuals do you think is Tumblr famous?

no one. can we please abandon this notion of fame on tumblr? arent we all here to write about some dick and some smut and some fluff and then hang out together and log off? lmao tumblr isnt reality and followers/fame is so arbitrary on this platform, no one has any control over any of it

19. Do you have a crush on a mutual?

i am in love with so many people here. let me name a few:

@yehet-me-up @kyungseokie @jenmyeons @j-pping @jamaisjoons @inkedtae @kookdiaries @yoonia @dulcetvk @kithtaehyung @imdifferentshadesofpurple @ditzymax @sugaurora @sahmbtsficrecs @junghelioseok @yeojaa @augustbutwinter @joonscore @btssavedmylifeblr @cutechim @sunshinekims @kimtaehyunq @ouvuo @delhyun @exo-stentialism @sooibian @softyoongiionly @jinseunie @zibermuda @bratkook @1kook @luffles424 @xjoonchildx

and so many other people and mutuals that i am certainly forgetting. love is such an expansive feeling, and it encompasses platonic ardor and creative desire. i admire every single person listed for so many different reasons, and cherish and treasure them or what they provide to the community. love is such an important and broad experience. truly, i hope they feel adored every single day x

[ifliamsmile]

Days Gone; Dick Grayson| Ch2

summary: After Dick’s death, you faced the worst feeling during months: Grief. Day by day the pain grew inside your life and you had no expectations of being able to pass through that until someone appeared again bringing all of this down but still, a lot of things changed and even though you looked for answers, the turnaround that life brought you was gently welcomed.

pairing: Dick Grayson x y/n

warnings: angst.

prologue

previous chapter

wanna be tagged?

Living without Dick during these months has been the closest I got to hell itself. September, October, November, December and the last image of him saying goodbye still makes me wonder if it’s true the saying that god doesn’t give us more than we can take, because honestly, I’m not sure if I can take this any longer. 

I don’t know how much of myself have died in this time, but I surely can say that a little bit dies everyday, I get alright when the guys are around, Rachel, Jason, Donna, they tried to fix me and I feel a little less broken until I’m alone and lately..that’s all the time.

People often say that when someone dies, their image will fade away, bit by bit, from your mind, but it’s clearly an utterly lie, because Dick’s face only gets more and more real in my head, his voice and the gap in my heart everyday when I wake up and his side on the bed is still empty, yes..it is so  cruelly real to me. 

It was still morning, around 8 AM, when I got up. I took a shower and left to the closest coffee shop. I needed these caffeine doses to start my day, San Francisco was amazingly cold these days and coffee was more than necessary. 

Rachel loves it here, she was still asleep when I left and I couldn’t wake her up since she trained a lot yesterday, so I came alone. 

I ordered my doppio coffee and waited to receive it in the next county. 

“Y/n Grayson” the clerk called my name pointing that my order was ready. I’ve been using Dick’s nickname ever since we got married when we were younger, but hearing it would always remind me of him first. Because I always loved calling him like this when I was mad, or just pretending to be, I smiled to myself hearing my own thoughts. I was going to take a sip of my drink when I felt a hand on my shoulder and I instantly turned around to see who it was.

And for a minute, I wished I could have turned around slowly, because the image I saw in front of me made me dizzy, almost like I would fall on the ground. My hands shaked and the grip on the cup of coffee got loose.

I only realized that it hit the ground when the person in front of me looked down and so did I, following his look.

He had shaved hair and a scar on the side of his head which looked like a wing. And a look..this look that I would never forget, the same tiny and tight brown eyes that he had. I could only be crazy, maybe I’m seeing things, because this man looks exactly like.. Dick. 

He looked at me again, locking our looks and my legs trembled again.

 “Dick is dead Y/n, I’m sorry” 

“He got shot in the head, Y/n. I’m truly sorry. He’s gone” 

Bruce’s voice telling me he had died echoed in my head..it couldn’t be him, Dick died.

“Y/n—” the man spoke and hearing his voice was excruciating. Why does it sound exactly like my husband’s voice? “It’s me, Richard.”

No. Absolutely no. No fucking way.

“How's it even possible?” I spoke, almost inaudibly, shaking my head slowly, in disbelief.

“Can we talk?” he tried to reach my hand and in instinct I moved it away from him but maybe touching him was the only way to find out it wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me, so I did. I touched his hand and he was there, physically, in person, not less than that and for my relief: I wasn't crazy. 

My other hand covered my mouth and a lonely tear streamed down on my cheek, what was going on? I asked myself.

“Can we please talk? I— I need to talk to you.” he asked again and I nodded, still scared.

“Not here, please— I can’t” I snapped. I couldn’t do this here. He nodded.

“I have a place, can we?”

“Yes.” I said quickly, I needed to get out of there, I wasn’t ready for this.

--

Dick took us to a loft. It wasn’t far from where we were and took us almost 5 minutes to get here, it seemed so new, like he had just got here.

We got in the place in silence, no words were spoken since we left the coffee shop and I was still trying to breath and digest everything.

I entered what seemed to be the living room and he was right behind me.

“Y/n—” he said and I stopped. His voice calling me broke me in uncountable pieces, what did life expect from me? 

I turned around to face him and the tears took my vision again. 

“Richard.” I said his name.

“I’m here— I'm here, Y/n” he said and came closer. Dick took me into his arms and I cried my heart out.

He was back. 

I don’t know how many minutes I spent like this, crying on his chest, but he kept his chin on the top of my head.

“Look at me—” Dick asked “Please.”

I lifted my head and looked at him. He wiped my tears with his fingers.

“I’m afraid I’m truly crazy and hallucinating and—” I said.

“I’m not a hallucination, Y/n. You touched me, I’m real.” Dick said firmly but still soft, looking into my watered eyes.

“It’s too much for me to understand.” 

“Well, I’m not capable of explaining you a lot now, except for the things I remember, but I’ll try my best to make you understand, I promise.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Let’s sit here.” He led me to sit on the sofa in front of a fireplace, which made the place warmer.

I stood there looking at him, waiting to hear what he had to say, anxiously looking for an answer.

He half smiled looking at me, in his usual position, resting his elbows on his thigh, crossing hands.

“What’s so funny, Grayson?” 

“I thought that through all these months you’d have forgotten me.”

“Are you kidding me—You can only be kidding me.” I told him in disbelief 

“Alright, alright, I’m kidding. But the truth is..I don’t remember everything, to be honest, I don’t remember anything..But you.”

He looked at me and I couldn’t say anything, confusion took my look, I was perplexed, he didn’t remember anything.

“What happened in the night you died?” 

“I didn’t..they told me I got shot in an attempt to kill commissioner Gordon, the bullet that hit me was actually trying to hit him. They told me I lost a lot of brain tissue and my memory was compromised. So now I can’t remember anything and the only thing that’s alive enough in my mind for me to remember, it’s you.” He looked down.

“Oh my god, Dick..” 

“They call me Ric, Y/n..” they? Ric? what the hell.

“They?” I asked 

“The people who were treating me. The ones I ran off, my doctor..she was from the Court of Owls, she was trying to keep me there and my memory only got worse so I needed to leave,I— I couldn’t forget the only thing that remained.” 

“This is too much. I can’t imagine how you could deal with all of this.” 

“I couldn’t, I am not dealing, I’m running, I’m struggling because I can’t face it. But finding you is a sight of hope.” he said 

I got closer to Dick, Ric, It didn’t matter because my Richard was back. I hugged him and I couldn’t contain my emotion. He hugged me back, even stronger.

“I’m so sorry that you had to go through this all alone, It must have been terrifying.” I told him with one of my hands on his cheek.

“Would you believe if I told you that it feels a little better now?”

“Maybe, yeah” I smiled at him and he opened his bright smile. God, how I missed this, how missed him. “

“Sorry if I went into shock when I found out that you didn't die. I deserve some credit— You should be grateful that I didn't scream or run” I completed. 

Dick smiled. All the sensations that Dick used to cause me were still there, perhaps even more intense. The chill in the belly didn't seem to want to go away.

“Stop smiling, it's not funny at all”  That's what I said, he nodded and broke the smile, but the damn gleam in his eyes didn't go away. 

“Forgive me” Dick said, his intense, emotion-filled tone immediately caught my attention. His gaze held mine, in that familiar way of seeing the depths of his soul. Pure and intense. Sincere and...Passionate. 

I did not dare to interrupt him. Silently, I gave him the authorization to continue. 

“If I could have done everything differently, I would have found you before, just so I wouldn't see you suffer that way. It breaks my heart to see you like this and— to know that I am responsible. You are the last person in the world I would hurt, you know that. I would trade places with you without a second thought, if it were humanly possible.”

I pressed my lips together in a thin line and held a stubborn tear that wanted to escape from the corner of my eyes.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Richard, you got shot, you lost your memory and gratefully you still remember me.”

“Maybe now you see that all the times I told you you were unforgettable it was true.”

I smiled and looked down slightly shy.

“So cheesy, Grayson.”

“I didn’t come sooner because they were watching you.”

“They who?” 

“The court of owls”

“What— Why would they?” I was completely unable to understand this situation.

“That’s what I was trying to figure out before I left the clinic.” he sighed “Especially why they stopped watching you for three days. That's why I approached. I couldn't miss a chance. I've been trying to communicate with you for the past few months, but they just didn't give up. And I couldn't put you in risk, even if I had no idea what they wanted with you.”

I smiled at the end of his sentence.

“You have the incredible power of thinking about me even in the worst scenarios.” 

“Yeah, that’s your fault.”

“What?” I pretended to be mad 

“You heard me, that’s your fault that I can’t stop this, this unending feeling that no matter what’s going on, protecting you with my life will always be my duty. Your fault that I love you like this. Deal with this.” He had a sassy smile on his face and his sincerity made me melt.

I felt Dick's hands gently take my face, so I surrendered to the moment, because there was no reason not to. 

I let my touch feel his lips touching mine, and thanked the heavens for having another chance to kiss him. Because my flawed and ridiculous memory had almost forgotten how splendid it was to be in his arms, having his lips molded to mine, caressing every possible inch of her mouth. 

I had forgotten how wonderful it was to have Dick's strong hands caressing my cheeks, then reaching down to my neck and plunging into my hair, pulling it with the strength necessary to dictate the rhythm of the kiss and transform my desire into the purest essence of lust. 

I had forgotten the intoxicating sensation that it was to have Dick so close, that his perfume tame my nostrils, that his rigid and strong body made me feel protected from whatever harm the world might cause me. 

Because with Dick everything was complete. 

With Dick everything was just fine.

[ouyangzizhensdad]

19 & 25 for salty ask (￣ε￣＠)

What is the one thing you hate most about your fandom?

I don’t know if I can pinpoint one thing that I hate the most (except perhaps the easy answer of, like, the fact that people cannot keep CQL stuff out of the MDZS tags).

I guess that one of them would that like people take the “there does not exist a True Reading/a Single Interpretation to a text” to the dumb extreme of like “anything goes because I just need to say that that’s how I see it 🙃 and all of our readings are all equally Valid”. Please, you still need to be able to justify and support that reading beyond “well that’s just how I prefer to think about this/that’s My Interpretation 🙃” if you want to have any credibility when you say that these readings hold as much water as readings/interpretations for which we are presented arguments supported by what can be found in the text or meta-textual engagements with the text. I couldn’t just show up to the fandom and be like “Zidian is an allegory for the fall from grace and MDZS is rooted in christian ideology, actually” with nothing to support that wild thesis and just expect people to be like “well, I guess we all have different readings of the text, uh, how valid of you.”

But honestly I am Boo Boo the Fool to expect otherwise....

How would you end MDZS/Would you change the ending of MDZS?

That’s a good question because MDZS is such a beast of a book that it’s quite hard to tie it all off and chose what note to end it on. I guess as well that with the extras we have technically “two endings” in the sense of what the novel ends on and what the last extra ends on. And, uh, I’ll probably need to unpack both so let’s get into it (only I would turn a salty ask into meta)

Last chapter: “Wangxian part III”

So after meeting MianMian, Wangxian continue to travel to a small town in their efforts to go where the chaos is. WWX is playing footsie under the table at the wine shop, holding onto LWJ’s ribbon. In contrast to this domestic scene, suddenly:

One of the few sitting at the table gloated, “I knew Jin Guangyao had to plummet sooner or later with the things he did! I’ve been waiting for this day for so long, and now he’s finally exposed, hah! One’s deeds will be paid, one way or another—what goes around always comes around!”

The last chapter directly references the prologue, which is something I personally adore in writing, this idea of taking your story full-circle. The difference, this time, is that the villain to be despised as entertainment is not longer WWX, but JGY (I could have done without WWX explicitly telling us so in the text because it is pretty clear however I also know readers miss the most obvious cues so maybe that hand-holding is deserved).

Aside from gossip about JGY, the sects, and the sealing ceremony of the coffin containing NMJ and JGY, there is a moment where an unnamed youth raises a point about the yin hufu.

Suddenly, he heard a young man’s voice, “Then is the Yin hufu really inside the coffin?”

A cloud of silence fell over the wine shop. A moment later, someone answered, “Who knows? Perhaps. What could Jin Guangyao have done with the Yin hufu except for carrying it on him?”

“But there’s no way of telling. Didn’t they say the hufu has become just a piece of scrap iron? There’s no use for it anymore.”

The boy sat alone at a table, holding a sword in his arms, “Is the coffin really firm enough? What would happen if someone wants to see if the Yin hufu is inside or not?”

Immediately, someone raised his voice, “Who’d dare?”

“QingheNieShi, GusuLanShi, and YunmengJiangShi all sent people to guard the cemetery. Who in the world would have the guts to do it?”

Everyone expressed their agreement. The boy didn’t speak up again. He took the teacup from his table and sipped, as though he gave up on his idea. Yet, his eyes hadn’t changed at all.

Wei Wuxian had seen those types of eyes on many faces. And he knew that this definitely wouldn’t be the last time he saw them.

This continues the idea that the cycle that brought about the issues and conflicts in the cultivation world that fueled the story of the novel are not likely to disappear, and that once again it is likely that the “common wisdom” of public opinion will accelerate or allow such troubles to brew. 

After they leave the wine shop, LWJ and WWX share a more domestic moment. Amongst others, they discuss the song Wangxian. Through parallel imagery, the novel also reaffirms that LWJ and WWX have become a family by mirroring one of WWX’s few memories of his parents (”Listening to his nonsense, Lan Wangji only grasped the reins of Lil’ Donkey with Wei Wuxian on it and clenched the thin rope in his palm, continuing on their way."). As well, WWX suggests they go back to the CR with a casually comment about missing tianzi xiao which is in reality prompted by the fact that he knew LWJ would be worried about his xiongzhang and shufu since one of the man in the wine shop said that LXC had looked terrible during the sealing ceremony and another commented “What would you expect? In the coffin were his two sworn brothers, while his sect’s juniors kept on running around with a fierce corpse—they even need its assistance on night-hunts! No wonder he’s in secluded cultivation so often. If Lan Wangji still doesn’t go back, I bet Lan Qiren’s gonna start cursing…”. This shows how Wangxian are taking care of one another in their own way, which is very cute. 

WWX also provides an in-universe explanation for his bad memory: 

Wei Wuxian knew that ‘for once’ referred to how his memory was good for once. He couldn’t help but smile, “Don’t always be so angry about it. It was my fault in the past, alright? Besides, my terrible memory should be accredited to my mom.”

Wei Wuxian propped his arm on Lil’ Apple’s head, spinning Chenqing in his hand, “My mom said you have to remember the things others do for you, not the things you do for others. Only when people don’t hold so much in their hearts would they finally feel free.”

And then we get the final lines of the novel:

Facing the wind, Wei Wuxian squinted at Lan Wangji’s silhouette. As he criss-crossed his legs, he shockingly found that he could somehow manage to balance himself in such an odd position on the back of Lil’ Apple.

It was only something trivial, yet he looked as if he just discovered a new and interesting occurrence. He couldn’t hold himself back from sharing this with Lan Wangji, calling, “Lan Zhan, look at me, look at me now!”

Just like before, Wei Wuxian called his name with a grin, and he looked over as well.

From then on, he could never move his eyes away again.

I am overall pretty satisfied with this ending, although I wish the last few lines had a stronger thematic resonance, but hey, it is still a romance novel at the heart of it so it also makes sense that it finishes that way. I am sure that there is a case that could be made about how the ending could have been stronger or more impactful, but I do think that it is a perfectly competent one. There are of course more things that could be discussed about how the novel ties in a lot of plot threads, but it is interesting to me to focus on what MXTX decided to show in the ultimate chapter of the novel.

Last extra: “Dream come true”

This extra is basically the equivalent of a book adding another chapter after “and they lived happily ever after” in order to show you what that happily ever after could look like for these characters. If the novel had only had the tone of this extra, it would have gotten boring pretty fast. But as it is, as an extra, it is just this little delightful piece of fluff that also gives us more backstory about WWX’s infatuation with LWJ during his first life. It is sweet to the point of cavities, but hey nothing wrong with an indulgent fanfic being stapled at the back of a story. It’s my favourite extra and I love how the audio drama gave life to it.

“Be honest about whether or not you thought about me in the same way.” In a solemn tone, he spoke, “Rejecting me like that so coldly every single time—it really made me lose face, don’t you know?”

Lan Wangji, “You can try, now, to see if I would reject you over anything.”

The sentence so suddenly struck his heart. Wei Wuxian choked, yet Lan Wangji was still as calm as ever, as though he didn’t at all realize what he just said. Wei Wuxian put his hand to his forehead, “You… Hanguang-Jun, let’s make a deal. Please warn me before you say something so romantic, or else I won’t be able to take it.”

Lan Wangji nodded, “Okay.”

Wei Wuxian, “Lan Zhan—what a person you are!”

Tens of thousands of words were left unspoken, in exchange for endless laughter and hugs.

Well that wasn’t very salty, but 🤷‍♂️

Salty asks

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

The Devil’s Daughter: Prologue

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin​

Pairing: Bucky X Reader (soon), The Winter Soldier X Reader, Bucky & Reader, Natasha & Reader

Summary: Born to a Head of Hydra, you’re groomed from a young age to be the kind of leader the organization desires. Only time will tell if true monsters are born or bred. 

Warnings: Literally all of them. 18+ only and please read with caution if you’re triggered by violence of any nature. 

A/N: I talked about this fic for the first time almost a year ago. Then again a couple of months ago. A lot of you were excited for a super dark fic but I still had to sit with it. Then, as always, @wonderlandmind4​ whipped my ass into shape and here it finally is. 

I haven’t detailed out the TWs because, honestly there are a lot. This is a violent dark world as we’re deep into Hydra. The series, even this prologue, has plenty of moments of softness or where the good side of humanity shows - but again, Hydra. So please be mindful.

Also, this is a reader fic but she’s done a little different. I won’t say much more than that but I’m interested to see what y’all think. 

TAGS ARE OPEN

You’re eight years old. Your mother’s sobs snake through your open bedroom door - Mummy would always leave it cracked for you. Papa though... you can hear his hand strike Mummy’s face even in your upstairs room. 

“Please. Eric,” she begs through her sobs. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Papa growls. She always makes him so angry…

Her scream feels like glass shattering in your chest. You don’t know why you run from your room, why your small feet pound down the stairs. You do know he’ll be furious with you, somehow that doesn’t matter. 

“No Papa!” You scream as loud as your tiny lungs can manage, placing yourself squarely between him and your mother. 

His eyes sear into your matching pair. Rage and hatred so hot you think you may combust, a word you’d recently learned - Mummy had been proud when you told her about it. You’re afraid… But you won’t move. Instead, you lift your chin higher, will your back straighter.

“No baby,” Mummy’s trembling hand on your shoulder feels like a burden rather than a comfort. “Go back-”

“Catherine,” Papa lowers his hand, his expression shifting. 

“Eric, she’s just-”

“Was I speaking to you?” His tone isn’t red hot any longer, it’s cool as ice. A shiver crawls up your spine. 

“No I… I just…” 

“Come here, Catherine,” he opens his big palm and smiles at you, that warm Papa smile that makes you think of holidays and tickle fights. You step toward him, your mother’s hand limply slipping from your shoulder. He envelopes your small hand in his own and turns you to face Mummy. 

She seems to shrink, hands rising to hide her face. “Don’t.” Papa orders in a smooth tone. Immediately she obeys, eyes glued to the marble floor. 

“I want you to look at her Catherine.” You do… but… it’s just Mummy. Hurt and crying and scared, you don’t like it. After a moment you look away. 

“No. Look at her.” You know it’s not a suggestion. Slowly you force your eyes back to her cowering form. The moment drags on long enough for you to name all the colors in the bruises in your head. 

“What do you see?”

Confused you turn to Papa, “Mummy?”

“That’s who you see. What do you see?” Looking back at her you squint your eyes a little trying to see something else, like those funny books where you see different things when you shift your focus. No matter how hard you try though the image is the same. 

“What do we have no use for, Catherine?”

Oh… 

“Weakness.” That’s why Papa would never crack your door to let the light in. Why there was no checking for monsters under the bed or being afraid of spiders. Hydra had no use for weakness. 

“Exactly. This is weakness. Are you weak, Catherine?” At this your mother’s eyes shoot up, burning hot enough to rival Papa’s earlier look. 

“No.” You know the right word even if you don’t know if it’s the truth.

“And what will you do to prove that child?” You look up to your father’s face for understanding.

“I… anything, Papa.” When his eyes meet yours, a smile lifting his lips you feel afraid of him, truly afraid, for the first time in your short life. 

“Good,” he nods toward your mother, “hit her.” The words are said as if they’re nothing as if he told you to eat your broccoli or drink your milk…

“Wha-”

“You said anything,” there’s a sinister rumble in his voice. Yeah, you did but… you look to Mummy hoping she’ll help you understand but her eyes are on the floor once more. 

“Catherine,” Papa grabs your chin turning your face to him, “someone who cannot uphold their word is worse than weak, they’re a coward. You have a chance to prove yourself here and now. Are you weak? Are you a coward? Or are you worthy of being a daughter of Hydra?” 

Your hands curl into small fists, “I am not a coward,” even you knew that was a very bad thing to be. 

“Prove it. Show me how we treat weakness.”

Maybe it’s your father’s steady gaze, your mother’s unwillingness to look at you, or perhaps this darkness always lived in your bones, just waiting to come out. Regardless of the root of it, you take a step toward your Mummy, the woman who left your door cracked and cut your crusts off when Papa wasn’t looking, the woman who kissed your scabby knees and dried your tears… 

You raise your fists… And you hit her. Over and over again with your ineffective child’s fists, you reinforce bruises from your father. 

Your mother… does nothing. 

-

You’re eleven and your mother flips the light on in your room, waking you. Groaning you try to hide your face in your pillow.

“Baby,” her soft voice whispers. “Wake up,” she shakes you gently. 

“What, Mother?!” You snap. She hadn’t been Mummy since that night…

She’s used to the tone you take with her by now and isn’t the least bit phased. “Something’s come up. We need to go.”

You sit up and glare at her, “Go where?”

“The airstrip.” She’s grabbing your clothes, stuffing them into a bag. 

“Why?”

Her eyes settle steadily on you, “Your Papa’s orders. Would you like to call him and ask-”

“No,” you’re immediately up and changing. She should have just led  with it being Papa’s orders. Stupid as always. 

You make it to the driveway before you pause.

“Where’s Mason?” Your driver was nowhere to be seen. If Papa wasn’t here he always wanted Mason to be escorting you both for protection, he’d been very clear about that. 

Mother slams the trunk shut. “He said just us.” She doesn’t look at you. “Get in.”

You do, but doubt rises. She was up to something, you could feel it. As you head in the opposite direction of your usual airstrip your doubt turns to certainty. 

Looking at your Mother you note her rapid breathing, her white knuckles, the pulse thrumming in her neck. Fear. Weakness. 

“What exactly are we doing, Mother?”

Silence hangs for a few minutes before she speaks. “You deserve better than this Catherine. I should have done this years ago… should-”

“Papa doesn’t know where we’re going does he?” Your fingers fiddle the pager in your pocket. Mother says nothing. “Does he?” Your tone is the same cold one Papa uses when he asks something he knows the answer to. Pride tingles in you just a touch at the realization. 

“No. Listen to me, baby,” her eyes flit to you, holding more determination than you’ve ever seen in them. “I know this is hard for you to understand but… your Papa… he’s a bad man.”

Papa wasn’t bad. He was strong and brave and honest. All the things you wouldn’t expect her to understand. The weak always misunderstand strength, that’s what he told you. You don’t argue though. Your index finger presses the buttons. Papa would find you and sort this all out. 

“We-Hydra… this isn’t right.” She says nothing else. 

A half-hour passes before you pull into an old overgrown airstrip. There’s a small single-engine plane waiting, though there’s no one else in sight. Mother pulls up beside it and kills the engine. 

She gets out but you don’t move. When your door opens you don’t even react as her hands grab yours, your eyes glued on the dash. 

“Look at me, Kitty.”

“My name is Catherine.” You say through clenched teeth. Who did she think she was, trying to take you from Papa…

“Look at me.” Her tone is steely, it surprises you enough to cause you to jump a bit. 

You turn to her. She’s kneeling on the ground by your door, looking up at you. It makes you think of that night Papa made you hit her. 

“I’m sorry, Catherine.” Your brows knit in confusion. “I’m sorry I let him make you think that being kind is being weak, that love is weakness. It isn’t.” Her trembling hands cup your small face. 

“I love you more than anything in this world, that’s the only way I’ve made it through this. I don’t expect you to understand this now but when you’re away from all this evil you’ll learn. We’re going to be happy, baby. Please, please just come with me.” 

Something flutters in your chest. It’s not the disdain you’ve grown used to feeling for her nor is it anger. It’s the feeling you still get sometimes when she makes your favorite dinner or lets you stay up reading or… when he hits her… maybe… she was right. 

“Mum…” 

A bright smile bursts across her face. “It’s ok to be scared, baby. We can be scared together. We have to go now though.”

You glance at the plane, “Can you fly that?”

You’ve never seen this side to your Mother. “There’s so much you don’t know about me, Kitty,” with a wink she stands and steps aside to let you get out. 

No sooner do you than the sound of screeching tires hit your ears. Her eyes meet yours, terror filling them. 

“Run!” She grabs your hand and drags you to the plane. 

Regret squeezes your heart tight, “I’m sorry, Mummy…”

She offers you a weak smile as she flips switches to start the plane’s engine. “It’s ok. I love you, ok?”

“I… I love you.” 

The plane starts to jerk forward. “Get in the back and buckle up, Catherine. Now.” Her eyes are glued forward. 

You do as she says, stiffly sitting in a seat, holding your breath, unable to sort through the storm in your mind. 

It was true you realize, with unsettling certainty, you loved her. She was your Mum. Always gentle with you even when you weren’t the same back. But Papa… did you love him or fear him? Did you want to run from him? Was she right? Nothing made sense. 

“Buckle,” she barks glancing back at you. Automatically your hands move to lock in the seatbelt. 

The engines roar to life causing the old plane to shudder. Suddenly it jerks forward and you feel a bit of your fear slip away. If you were moving you could get away, maybe not forever but at least until Papa had time to cool off. 

Gunshots ring out and you scream, hating yourself for it. 

“Get on the floor, Kitty!” Mum yells back at you. 

You fumble with the belt but free yourself after a moment, falling to the floor. More shots ping against the metal but you can still feel the planes forward motion. As long as you could keep- A small explosion at the front of the plane draws out another scream. 

Smoke fills the cabin and you cough, feeling the plane stop. You should have known better than to ever hope. 

“Mum!” You cry out, smoke stinging your eyes. She says nothing, but you suddenly feel her arms wrap around you. Despite the smoke, you force your eyes open to look at her. Her face is covered in soot, red snakes down the side of her face, and tears carve a path under her eyes - from the smoke or sadness, you can’t know. 

“Always remember that I love you. Always remember that you are more than this. Always remember that evil won’t always win.” She pauses, coughing. “Promise me, you won’t ever forget, my girl.”

“Mummy,” you say, your small voice cracking. 

“Promise me,” there is power in her words now. 

“I promise.” 

“You’ll be better than all of them as long as you remember. I swear it.” She wastes no time after that. Her hands, sure and strong pull you toward the door, forcing it open just as you see flames begin to lick into the cabin. 

Some part of you knew what would play out as soon as you both made it outside. You knew you must have known. Even so… It all shocks you. 

Coughing and gasping for fresh air Mum drops you onto the ground as gently as she can. Hands immediately pull you away from the plane, you know these hands. Papa. 

There’s a small grunt from behind you as you know someone else pulls Mum from the plane too. Desperately you try to turn to her, needing to see, but Papa holds you steady, inspecting you. 

“Are you hurt?” He asks you. You don’t know if you hear more concern or anger in his tone. You shake your head no, eyes finally opening fully. 

His eyes are a dark green storm. There is no love in them, no compassion. 

It hits you then that he doesn’t care if you’re hurt because he loves you because you’re his daughter. He cares because you are his. His concern was nothing more than an owner wanting to protect his property. Something in you goes dark at this realization. 

He nods, gripping your upper arm so hard you know bruises will be there come morning and drags you across the tarmac. From the corner of your eye, you can see Mason with Mum in a chokehold, bringing her in the same direction. 

“Here,” Papa… no, Eric - he was no Father and certainly no Papa - says in an emotionless tone. 

Mason throws Mum to the ground in front of him. She falls on all fours into the dirt, coughing and gasping for air. Before you can think of going to her Eric throws you into the dirt beside her. You try to catch yourself, the heels of your palms skidding on the rough earth, stinging with pain. Mum throws herself around you immediately, your back to her chest. 

“Lie,” she whispers so low in your ear that you almost miss it. You nod, wanting her to know you heard, even if you don’t understand. 

Any breath she’d managed to catch all gushes from her as the sound of a boot crashing into her ribs sends you both tumbling over. She doesn’t even make a sound of pain you notice. 

Guilt floods you. All this time you thought she was weak. No one who was weak could take the beatings she did and continue to rise up, day after day. No one who was weak would have taken this chance or even still had the willpower to do so. Your mother was the strongest person you knew. 

Her arms release you, “Get behind me, Kitty.” You do as she says, crawling behind her legs as she rises up. 

“Catherine,” Eric barks, “stand up.” Tentatively you glance up at your mother’s defiant form and rise, standing just behind her.

“Come here,” he snarls. Mum grabs your arm as your feet move to obey. 

“Do not think of touching her,” Mum’s tone drips with rage. 

With a few long strides, Eric closes the space between you. He grips Mum’s chin, forcing her to look up at him. 

“And what will you do to stop me?”

You don’t understand the slow smile that crawls across your mother’s face but there’s something sinister in it. 

“Did you forget, husband?” She asks, her tone honeyed. In a flash she has him on the ground, a garrote appearing from nowhere, almost managing to slit his throat but he stops the cut with his hands, blood pouring from the wounds. 

“You wanted to marry a Spider,” she growls these confusing words. 

“Kitty,” you meet your mother’s ferocious gaze, “run.” 

You do, without hesitation. Past the burning plane you make for the fence, knowing you can scale it, just wanting to do right by your Mum - even if it was only this once. Just as your small deft fingers grip the wire, rough hands grip you, pulling you down. 

With all your might you try and hold on. When you’re forced to release you turn feral, kicking, screaming, biting, clawing, anything you can muster but Mason doesn’t loosen his grip. Bit by bit he drags you back to where Eric and Mum wait. 

For an instant you still, seeing Mum crumpled on the ground. She’d had the upper hand how… It didn’t matter, she said run. You begin to fight once more, desperate and wild. 

“Catherine,” Eric sighs, almost bored. “Please, you’re embarrassing yourself.” 

You’d almost never disobeyed this man. Even at only eleven, you realize it was because you were so scared of him, of what he could do to you. Right now though, you feel possessed. You don’t care. 

When he grips your chin to look at him, fingers sticky with his blood, you spit in his face with all the force your mouth can muster. You don’t know why. But it felt so good, powerful. 

Any surge of pride you felt flees when the back of his hand cracks across your cheek so hard you see spots. Mason drops you to the ground dazed. He’d never struck you, not like that. 

“Do you think that was brave, Catherine?” That cold tone making you shiver as he tilts your face up. You say nothing, just meet his eyes refusing to waver. A moment of rage flares across his features, warping them, he hits you again sending you tumbling to the side. 

“No!” Mum croaks from behind. 

Eric gently kicks you, rolling you onto your back so you’re staring up at him. If feels like you’re looking at a stranger, a monster that had been hiding in plain sight for so long. 

His scuffed wingtip rests lightly on your throat. Pointlessly you grip his shoe, trying to keep him from crushing your windpipe. 

“Stop this!” Mum screams. You try to look at her but the pressure increases. 

“It wasn’t brave. It was stupid. There’s a fine line between the two.” He stares at you as though you’re a bug and not his daughter. “Your mother thinks she was being brave. This is where dangerous miscalculations such as that land you - beneath the boot of those worthy of bravery.” He hovers for a beat more before lifting his foot. 

You roll over on all fours, coughing and gasping to fill your lungs with air. 

“Do you understand, Catherine?” You don’t answer, don’t look at him, just try to breathe. He sighs, “You will.” 

He grips you by your hair pulling you to your feet. Still, you scrabble against his hold, trying to break free. His free arm wraps around your torso, holding you flush against him. The fingers in your hair holding your head in a tight forward-facing position. 

“Look at her, Catherine.” You do. She’s bloody, battered, but in her eyes, there is still defiance. 

“It’s gonna be ok, baby,” she says in a hoarse voice. 

He releases you and nods to Mason. He steps over handing something you can’t quite see to your would-be father. You stay frozen in place staring at Mum, unsure of what to do. 

Grabbing your hand, Eric forces something metal and heavy into it. Even though you know what it is - have been taught how to use one, how to disassemble it, what the parts are called - you don’t want to acknowledge it. Maybe this is a bad dream and you’ll wake up if you just don’t look. 

Mum’s lips are moving, if there are words coming you don’t hear them. But you think you know what she’s mouthing, I love you. It’s ok. I love you. 

“Please,” the sob burbles from your lips. “Please, no.” 

“What do we have no use for, Catherine?” 

“Please, pa-papa. Please.” Hard metal presses against the back of your skull. Your heart which had been rabbiting in your chest stills. 

Fear flashes across Mum’s features before melting into a warm smile. She nods, mouthing, It’s ok, once more. 

“No.” 

The hammer behind you clicks back.

“If you do not value your life over that of this scum I have no use for you. Chose Catherine. Weakness, or strength.” You pull the hammer back on the small gun. 

Knowing he may kill you if you say the words out loud you move your lips to make two words clear, So sorry. 

“I love you, always.” 

They’re the last thing you hear before you pull the trigger.  

-

You’re 15. The person beneath your fists is starting to resemble a pile of minced lamb rather than the girl she is. Absently, you wonder if your mother had to do this.

Lifting her head in your hands you slam it against the ground until the crunch hits your ears. Standing you step away, turning your back on the lifeless body.

Madam B meets your eyes, giving an approving nod before turning and striding out of the room, effectively dismissing you and the only other girl left. 

“I think you fractured that one,” Natalia gestures to your left hand. “You’re not going to be able to get that tight enough on your own.” 

Ignoring her you try to get the wrap to stay in just the right spot but your left fingers aren’t quite following your commands. 

“Cat, just give it to me,” Natalia rips the bandages from your shaking hand. 

As she winds the stretchy fabric around your hand she glances up at your cheek, keen green eyes studying you. Feeling exposed you turn away. 

“Didn’t see Irina get you in the face. Been too long for it to be from the last time-”

“Let it go, Nat,” you push past her as soon as she’s done, pulling your ballet flats from your locker. Your two-month stints here were something of a refuge, you didn’t want to be reminded of your life was outside of this. 

“Stubborn ass,” she grumbles in Russian. 

“You’re one to talk,” you toss back. 

The two months pass too quickly, as they always do. You count down the days until you can return. The Red Room was better than the hell of home - of him. There you were strong, you were feared, you were formidable. Under your father’s roof, you were nothing. 

Two more months and you return. Per the schedule, you report directly to ballet. 

When the fourth girl crumples around hour five, Natalia looks to you, a smug expression on her face. Neither of you ever faltered. Since the age of 11, the two of you had always been the last ones standing, the victors, the marble ones.

Not today though. 

Her smug expression shifts to concern when she sees the grimace on your features. Each movement causes your body to scream, each breath a struggle. You know you’re going to drop sooner rather than later.

Sure enough, within the hour you hit the floor. 

“Get up,” Madame B barks. “Up!” The cane stings across your spine. You try but your legs falter. 

“I-I can’t.” Another lash. 

“Then you crawl out of here, and I do not see you stand for the rest of the day.” Two more lashes. “Go!”

You’re too tired to feel shame as you crawl on hands and knees from the room and down the hall to the lockers. Nor is Madam B’s order to not stand a hard one to follow, even as you shed your clothes and make your way to the showers. 

The water is so hot it almost stings but you relish the way it feels on your body, forcing warmth into the places that thrum with pain. You sit with the water at your back, your head to your knees until you hear someone else enter. 

It doesn’t really matter who it is, you intend to sit here until they make you leave but you look up anyway, shocked at who you see. 

“Natalia, what the hell?!” There was no way she broke, no reason for her to be here. 

“What?” She shrugs, wiping a bit of blood from the corner of her mouth. “It was boring without you.” 

For some reason, this makes emotion bubble up in you. Immediately you press your face into your knees again to keep from crying. Such childish nonsense. 

Natalia lays her hand on your wet hair. Slowly you swallow the lump in your throat and look up into her face. Sometimes, it was hard to study her - it would be easy to take the two of you for sisters, though you wondered if it was looks or demeanor that cast that illusion - right now was such a time because her face showed concern you couldn’t bother to feel for yourself. It was as though a different you, from another life, was looking at this version with pitty. You hated it. 

“Get off me,” you push her back and uncurl your body to scoot into the cold tile wall. Natalia just sits on the wet tile in her ballet gear, eyes glued to your torso, a slow rage building in her. When she speaks, her green eyes are almost black. 

“Who did this?” She doesn’t bother to hide her accent, the English words coming with a distinctly Russian lilt. 

Protectively you cover yourself as best you can, hiding the dark purple bruises blossoming across your right ribcage that had made it so hard to breathe earlier and angling your legs to shield the fingerprint bruises peppering your thighs. You feel so small. 

“Catherine…” You ignore her, willing her to go away. The Red Room was the place you didn’t have to think about him.

“It was him, wasn’t it? Your father?” Natalia’s voice is a low rumble. 

“Eric,” you correct her. You still called him Papa to his face - the one time you didn’t you hadn’t been able to move for a couple of days after - but you couldn’t bear to allow her to think of him as your father. 

She turns her head and spits before asking, “Why do you let him do this to you?” You turn a wicked glare on her but she doesn’t flinch. “I’ve seen you kill a grown man with your bare hands, Cat. You’re like me! You’re marble. If a man is foolish enough to strike us he should come away bloody.” 

“The Devil doesn’t bleed,” you say your tone flat. 

“The Devil is just a man,” she says, sliding down the wall beside you, “and all men bleed.” 

You let her wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull you in. Slowly you sink down until your head rests in her lap. She runs her fingers through your hair, a soothing gesture, a gentle gesture. It’s too much. Silently you begin to cry. 

A few more girls come and go. None say anything and none linger. You two were not the first to breakdown in the showers and you wouldn’t be the last. When the last of them are gone Natalia speaks again. 

“I’ll graduate soon.” You knew this, though the thought fills you with dread. Would you still come even after Nat and the others graduated? Would you graduate the same? You doubted it. 

She takes a deep breath before continuing, “When I do, I’ll come for you.”

“And do what?” You scoff. 

“We’ll figure it out. He can’t-”

“He can,” you cut her off. “He can do anything he damn well pleases.”

“He’s not god, Cat. Your fa- Eric isn’t-”

“You’re right,” you sit up and look at her. “He isn’t god. He’s the Devil, and you have no idea just how much power he-”

“You could tell me.” She’d asked before, years ago, but you told her you never wanted to talk about your life outside this place. Most of the time she honored that request. 

“He’s got enough pull that he can treat the Red Room like a boarding school, that should tell you enough.” 

She looks away, shaking her head, a scowl etched on her face. 

The door slams open. You both exchange a look, knowing it shouldn’t be another trainee. 

“Get up!” A rough Russian voice barks. Both of you move instantly to obey, the movement sends pain shooting through your bruised ribs and you double over. Natalia turns to you. 

“Eyes front!” Another voice commands. “Move out.” Natalia begins to move but you can’t manage it, still trying to force your lungs to work. The man tilts your chin up with the butt of his rifle. 

“Is the little princess deaf?” His hand cracks across your cheek. He doesn’t hit near as hard as Eric, you remain standing. “I said move.” Not wanting to risk a strike with that rifle you comply and head out of the locker room naked as a newborn. 

Madame B waits for you both in the training room, two sets of gear on the ground before her. She eyes you with clear disdain as she gestures to the gear. 

“You have ten minutes,” she turns on her heel and floats from the room. 

Quickly you get into the heavy winter tactical suits. Neither of you speaks as you take stock of the simple provisions and weapons in the duffel. Each of you grabs a knife and a flashlight. She takes what looks like a poncho in a little plastic pouch and you take a space blanket. There is little food but you split it evenly between you, filling your pants pockets, unsure if they’ll be taking the bag from you. By the time you’re done you hear the foots steps of Madame B’s return. 

“They’re waiting out front. Go.” You grab the duffel, expecting her to stop you. When she doesn’t you both march out in silence. 

The helicopter ride is frigid, short, and utterly silent. When you finally land it’s on the vast frozen tundra, twilight making everything seem alien. 

“Get out. Whoever makes it back moves on.” That’s all you’re told before the copter lifts up and away, leaving you and Natalia standing in a wasteland. 

The area around you for miles is flat, frozen, nothing. Far, far, in the distance, you think you spot a copse of trees. Clearly, that will be your best bet for now, not that it mattered much - it was clear that this wasn’t something you were both meant to walk away from. 

“I wondered why they never made us fight. I just thought they saw no point. But this... this is worse.” You look over your shoulder, her bangs whip in the wind as she stares into nothing. 

“Come on,” you say shouldering the bag. “We can make it to those trees before it gets too dark.”

The trees you saw are sad scraggly things that provide little to no shelter from the howling winds. Still, you both manage to fashion a bit of a break from bits you find on the ground and hacking at low branches. Huddling close behind your sorry shelter you assess your supplies - which included a map, marking your location. 

To make it back to the Red Room on foot would take at least a week and a half if not two weeks. Even if you closely rationed your supplies you’d run out in half that time - there was enough for one of you. 

“When dawn comes, you go,” you tell her after you realize. “Take it all and you should make it ok.”

“What?!” Natalia stares at you in horror. “No! There’s some way, we’ll figure it-”

“Nat,” you sigh, “there isn’t another way. Clearly only one of us is supposed to make it back and I’m already struggling. You have a chance to-”

“I’m not doing it.” The fierce determination in her gaze reminded you of a night years before and another impossible choice. Quickly you slam the door on the memory. 

“You have to. I can’t live with myself if you don’t make-”

“So I’m supposed to live with it?!”

You can’t help but smile, “I won’t die out here, Natalia.” 

“I’m pretty sure if I leave you in the goddamn tundra with no food or supplies you’ll-”

“He won’t let me die.” You sigh, “It would be a wasted investment.” You weren’t sure how keen you’d be on living when he found out you’d lost, let her live, and had to be rescued but you didn’t care. Natalia was your friend, the only real friend you’d ever had, and you would not let her die. 

“There’s likely a tracker on these clothes somewhere. Once I don’t move for long enough someone will come for me.” She studies you quietly. “You’ll make it back, graduate, and be fine.”

“No,” she says matter of factly, settling back down beside you. 

“Excuse me?”

“Net. Ora. Non. Nein. Méiyǒu-” 

“I get it,” you cut her off before the dead languages start coming up. “I assume you have an alternative plan?”

“Of course I do,” she smirks. That was Natalia, clever as a fox.

“If they will come for you there’s no need for me to waste my precious energy and trek all the way back. I wait and they take me too. Easy.”

“Except, they may not be taking me back to the Red Room, if my father-”

“And if he shows up I can prove to you that even the Devil bleeds. I see no losing here.”

She was wrong about that but it wasn’t the worst idea. You weigh the possibilities in your mind. 

Eric was not going to bother to come to this desolate local to pick you up, even in the helicopter. Likely he’d send someone for you, two to four people at most, one likely a medic. You also can’t imagine they’d be too heavily armed since they were assuming they’d be retrieving a half-dead girl. This could work.

“We may have to put up a bit of a fight,” you tell her. 

Her smile broadens, “I hope so.”

It takes them three days. 

To say you were both comfortable in that time wouldn’t be accurate but it honestly could have been worse. Other than the harsh elements it was almost like a holiday or like the sleepovers you’d seen girls have in movies. You ate, talked, shared a bit - though you never told her about your mother or Hydra or anything that may get her killed. When you heard the grumble of quads you were a shade disappointed. 

Instead of meeting the crew head on you wait where you’ve been camping. Forcing them to come to you. The team speaks loudly, unconcerned about who may be listening. Looking at Natalia you hold up four fingers. She nods in agreement. 

“Catherine?” A woman calls into the trees. “Are you able to hear me?”

“Over here,” you say, rising from your crouch. The woman studies you, clearly surprised to see you in such good nick. 

“We’ve been sent to collect you.” 

“Excellent,” you say in an unbothered tone. “We’ve been waiting for someone to come.” Natalia rises up beside you. The woman glances back to the two men with her - the fourth must be with the quads. They freeze as Natalia and you move forward.  

“Is there some kind of problem?” You ask as the two men fan out. 

“Not for long,” she says cooly. 

Natalia takes the man to the left. He’s surprised by her speed and in moments blood gouts from his neck. The woman raises her gun only to find your own knife planted in her temple before you rush the second man. 

He fires off a shot at Natalia, she dodges as you sweep his legs from under him. With his focus now on you shes able to come at him from behind. He rights himself, pivoting to attack her but you land a hard blow to his chest - clearly, they will not risk causing you harm. As he gasps she’s on him, her thighs locked around his neck and within seconds a blade protrudes from his eye. 

She jumps from him before he collapses and plucks the weapons from his body like a strange little carrion bird. You do the same to the woman before you both move to the first man. 

Peeking from the copse you see the fourth person, a medic as you expected, prepping a few things in a small trailer behind one of the quads, ears covered by large muffs. When he sees the two of you walk out, a little bloody and armed he staggers back before pulling a gun. 

“Don’t,” you say on a sigh. “Unless you’d like to join the others back there.”

“You should be-”

“Half-dead,” you cut him off, “I know. Can we skip to where you were supposed to transport me?” He looks between you both and drops his weapon. 

“Back to the Red Room.” Your eyes narrow as you take aim. His hands shoot up, “I swear it! It was the closest place we could triage you before transporting you home. We thought you’d be severely injured.” You lower your weapon and the man relaxes. 

You nod, “Toss your gun.” He does so, Natalia grabs it, tucking it into her waistband. “You wait two hours before you head back and-”

“Knock me unconscious at least…” He looks mildly ashamed. “If they know I let you go…” Well, he wasn’t wrong. You nod to Natalia and she heads toward him as you keep him in your sights. 

“One wrong move-”

“No tricks. I at least have a chance of staying alive this way.”

He goes down fast. Maybe someone would come for him and the others, or maybe they’d leave them to rot and he could make his way wherever. Either way, you had little hope for the man.  

Neither of you under the illusion that you could run, you leave him the medical quad and double up on the other. Whatever waited for you at the Red Room you’d handle. 

It takes several hours to get back. Seeing the terrain you shuddered to think of Natalia making the journey alone. 

Madam B stood in front of the manor house, arms crossed. When you and Natalia dismount she takes you in. You almost think you see her upper lip twitch, in a smile or disgust you couldn’t know. After exchanging a look you both follow her inside. 

She leads you to the sparring room, a place where you’d taken more than a handful of lives over the last few years. This didn’t bode well. Two left and only one should have returned. There was no way they’d expect you two to fight to the death now…

You’re distracted, trying to work out the logistics, you don’t clock the shadows moving. Natalia does. Pushing you to the ground she takes a hard blow to her abdomen. She staggers and you hop up grabbing and pivoting her away.

The assailant’s next blow grazes your shoulder. As they bring their arm back you grab it, yanking them off balance. Natalia, recovered, clocks them hard in the jaw, sending them back. You advance with a punishing kick to the solar plexus and they stay down. 

 There’s no time to think. Five other figures emerge from the shadows. 

All you can think about is keeping her alive. It makes every movement, every choice, easy. Whatever it took. 

Natalia and you had been training together since you were 11, you knew the other’s flow as well as your own, could read her body language like a well-worn book. Yes, you were outnumbered but it didn’t matter. Like marble dancers, you perform a brutal ballet until you’re the last two standing. 

In the back corner, Madame B watched, her stern expression lit by the single bulb that hovered in the space. The lights flare up. Back to back, you both blink rapidly trying to adjust. 

“That was lovely,” Madam B says, her face a mask of contempt. She pulls a gun from her waistband, “But only one can-”

Earlier, guns would have been too risky, you could have shot Natalia. Now though, you had a clear sight. In a flash, you pull out the pistol you’d taken from the woman earlier, and shoot the gun from Madam B’s grasp. 

“Enough,” you growl. 

“You insolent little-”

“Enough!” You can feel Natalia tense behind you. “The game is over. We both returned. It’s done.” 

“So the little princess thinks she can give orders now?” She spits. “You’ll never be a Widow.” 

You hadn’t been watching her hands. Bad mistake. A knife materializes from nowhere and buries itself in your thigh. The instant your aim falters she comes for you. 

Her strikes are quick and calculated, focusing on where she must have seen your bruises the other day sending waves of fresh pain through you. In nothing more than a few beats you’re sure you feel a rib snap. You cry out, the sensation of the bone under your skin awful. 

Natalia won’t be able to fight back against Madam B, you knew that. It was part of the conditioning the girls underwent, it was how they were kept in line. There was just you and this woman who, you suspected, didn’t give a damn if you died. 

The hatred that pours from her feels as though it’s been brewing for some time. Absently, as she pummels your body, breaking it methodically, masterfully even, you wonder what you’d done to make her feel this intensely. You’d been a good student, obedient, vicious, strong…

Suddenly she’s pulled back. You don’t even look just take the reprieve to try and breathe through the pain, your rib throbbing with each shallow breath you manage. Finally, you pull your focus to the scuffle happening a few feet away from you. 

Natalia…

You stare at her as she headbutts Madam B, sending blood gushing down the woman’s usually pristine features. Despite the successful blow, Natalia looks like she’s going to vomit, her expression pained. 

Looking to the left you see the gun you’d dropped. 

Willing your shaky hands to still, forcing a breath, you aim and fire. 

The stillness that follows is terrifying. You don’t dare look at Natalia, too scared the bullet hit her and not Madam B. Then you see the red bloom on the woman’s right hip. A painful breath escapes you in relief. 

Standing on legs you force to be steady you stalk toward them, pushing Natalia behind you. Madam B falters, then falls, gripping her wound. Her cold eyes land on Natalia. 

“You’re going to pay for that you little whelp.” Gripping the barrel of the gun you slam the butt across her face sending her sprawling. 

Something dark slithers to the surface. You feel it spread, swelling to fill your chest, slowing your heart rate to a steady thrum, clearing your vision to something clear and terrifying. 

Madam B tries to gather hear bearings lifting herself up on one arm. Before she gets far you kick her hard in the ribs, not even feeling the screaming pain in your own now. Your boot rests against her long slender neck, applying just a bit of pressure, gun aimed at her forehead. 

“She will pay for nothing. Are we clear?” Your voice is calm, almost bored. 

“You do not-”

“I asked you a question. I expect an answer.” Your foot presses harder causing her to cough. 

“Natalia will face no repercussions for what has happened here or on your misguided test. She followed my orders,” it was a lie but you knew it would have the proper effect, “so if you’d like to punish someone that would be me. Though,” a bit more pressure, “I don’t think you hold a high enough rank to truly enact any kind of punishment.” 

“You little cunt,” she hisses. 

“How tasteless Madam, I expected a higher caliber of insult from you.” Just a bit more pressure and she begins to squirm despite the gun leveled at her. “I’ll ask once more, are we clear?”

“Yes!” She rasps, eyes wide. 

“Fantastic!” A slow sinister smile crawls over your face as you remove your boot from her throat. She sucks in a breath and moves to sit up, your boot meets her throat once more resting lightly. 

“To be clear. If I find out any action has been taken against Natalia, I will come and personally skin you alive until you beg me to end your miserable life.” Her expression was all the answer you needed. You step back and she rises slowly, never taking her eyes off of you. 

Slow clapping comes from the doorway. Madam B’s posture straightens despite her injuries. You and Natalia turn to see the source. When you do your blood runs cold. 

“Behind me, Nat,” you whisper as Eric comes into view. 

“That was a spectacular performance my darling!” His green eyes are crinkled with what seems to be a genuine smile. There’s nothing of the devil inside showing now. In his well-tailored navy suit and cream shoes, he looks like any well-heeled London businessman. 

Pride rolls off of him in waves and you curse the little flutter your stomach gives. You hate the part of you that still, despite everything, wants to please him. 

“Don’t you think that was exceptional, B?” He bellows laying his hands on your shoulders. 

“Of course, sir.” 

“Thank you, Papa.” He whips a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes a bit of blood from your face. Turning you to face the others he rests an arm across your shoulders holding you close. Your skin crawls. 

“I have to admit, B, you haven’t slowed much at all.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Clayton.”

“Please, B, Eric is just fine.” You feel rather than see his gaze land on Natalia. Tension floods your body. 

“And you,” he walks forward a few steps, bringing you with him. “You were clearly born for this. Just outstanding. I have no doubt you’ll serve Catherine well in the future.” Desperately you beg Natalia to look at you, to understand how sorry you are, you’d never have her serve you never-

“Thank you, sir,” she bows her head slightly. When she meets your eyes there are so many questions you can’t answer. 

“Sadly, we have to cut this short. I have an early meeting. Thank you, Natalia, you’ve done so well.” 

“Yes,” you hold her gaze, “thank you.” 

“Always,” she nods. 

Eric turns you both away, leading you out. In spite of yourself, you lean into him for support, the adrenaline fading leaving your body aching. 

“Oh, and B,” he turns back. You don’t have to see him to feel the shift, to know the devil was peeking from behind the mask. “If you don’t uphold your agreement with my daughter, you won’t have to bother worrying about her threat. I’ll simply sell you for parts.” 

He doesn’t wait for a response before whisking you out of the house and into the waiting chopper. You never see the Red Room again. 

-

You’re 17 and the sounds from the party downstairs keep you awake even with the door closed. 

Though you weren’t entirely sure what was happening downstairs, the snippets of vile conversation, boisterous male laughter, and the distinct sound of someone in pain made your skin crawl. Even though you’d already scrubbed yourself raw after Eric had left you in your room - telling you he didn’t want to see your face until noon tomorrow - you were tempted to get back in the scalding water. Your burning arms begged you to reconsider, any more scrubbing and you’d likely be a bloody mess, that wouldn’t sit well with, Eric. 

It made you miss the Red Room. Nights there were so quiet, you never worried about who may come into your room or hear things you’d rather forget. It was, despite its purpose, relatively peaceful in the late hours. You hadn’t been back there in years and doubted your return would be welcome if Madam B still presided over the place. 

Finally, you give up any hope of sleep. Settling your headphones over your ears you busy yourself with reading, drawing, some of your lessons. In fact, you complete most of the week’s assignments by 3 am. Only then do you pull your headphones from your ears, listening for any sign of the party. It seemed dead silent. 

Your stomach growls. When Eric had left you, he hadn’t given you time to grab food from the kitchen and none had been sent up. Despite its persistence, you consider ignoring your hunger. But the thought of not eating until the afternoon… 

Silent as a shadow you slip from your bedroom door. Every few feet you pause, listening for any sign of activity below. Hearing nothing you head down the back stairs, furthest from Eric’s master rooms, making sure to avoid the two spots that squeak. 

The kitchen is ransacked and the smell of liquor and cigars hangs heavy in the air. Wrinkling your nose you open the refrigerator slowly, searching for anything you can bring up with you. Grabbing some roast beef, cheese and gingerly picking up a bag of crisps you turn to head back up. A groan coming from the front stair makes you freeze. 

Barely breathing you listen, stealing yourself for Eric to walk in and the hell that would follow. Nothing happens for several moments. Another low groan makes your hair stand on end. This wasn’t Eric.

You don’t know why you set the food down and walk the short distance to the entryway. All you can think is that maybe someone was hurt and maybe you could help. 

The sight that meets your eyes forces you to cover your mouth in order to keep from gasping in horror. 

A man is chained to one of the columns that support the second story landing. The metal links run from the column to a collar around his neck. It’s not long enough for him to lay down so he leans, sitting up, against the plaster - which you note is coated in smears of blood. In fact, the floor is covered with speckles of it and other fluids.

Bile rises in your throat but you force it down. 

Bruises are appearing all over his naked form. “Your turning violet, Violet!” The Willy Wonka line echoes in your head. You almost laugh at remembering a children’s movie in a time like this. Were you hysterical? 

Once more the man makes a pained noise, body shifting. Something on his left side catches the dim light. When you realize what it is, your jaw drops. 

Until this moment you could have convinced yourself that this man had angered Eric in some way, or possibly misstepped - some wayward agent being punished-  but now…

You’d only seen him fleetingly when you were 12. His work was mentioned in the history of Hydra Eric had you read. It had seemed impossible that one person could have done so much and you disliked the thought that you’d been fed a children’s tale. 

“Papa,” you’d been incredulous, “this isn’t real. This Soldier is impossible. I want the real story.” Eric had smiled at that. 

“No? You don’t think he’s real?”

“Of course not!” 

“We’ll see.” The next day he’d brought you to work with him. 

“I have a surprise for you.” Instead of the button that took you to his penthouse office, he hit another and a panel opened revealing many more sub levels. Selecting one the elevator carried you both down down down. 

When the doors opened the harsh fluorescent lights had hurt your eyes for a moment. You weren’t sure you wanted this surprise. 

You seemed to walk forever before he finally reached the right door. Much to your chagrin, it just led to another long hallway. 

Finally, he beamed down at you, “Ready?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, just wanting to get this over with. 

He opens the final door to a large room with a cage on the other side. In it sat a man. 

“Soldat!” Eric barked. The man jumped to attention, long hair hanging loose and a silver arm on his left side. Your father may as well have just shown you proof of the boogeyman, you’d have been less shocked. 

Now here was that same man, The Fist of Hydra, chained in your foyer. Beaten and broken in a way you understood far too well. 

Slowly his eyes slide open, meeting yours. Your heart lodges in your throat. 

That day, he’d had a mask and goggles on, you’d never even thought of what he looked like. Perhaps you expected just a blank mask, empty eyes, but no. 

Those eyes… They were screaming. 

His tongue flits out, licking dry cracked lips, breaking the spell you’d momentarily been under. Getting your breath and heart rate under control you glance in the direction of Eric’s rooms, hoping he was passed out drunk. 

You hold up a finger to indicate you’d be right back, hoping he even understood, and silently make your way back to the kitchen. This was stupid. So stupid. What was possessing you to fill a glass with water from the pitcher in the fridge, to grab the roast beef and what was left of the bread? Why were you doing this? Even as you make your way back to him you’re berating yourself. 

The Soldier’s eyes track you with unnerving intensity. When you approach his whole body tenses as though he actually feared you. It was almost a comical thought. This man assassinated JFK, why in the hell would he fear you? 

Because you’re Hydra, something in the back of your mind whispers. 

Kneeling an arms reach away you hold out the water. He eyes it warily. Understanding you take a sip before holding it out once more. Now he grips the glass in his flesh hand, drinking deep. When he finishes you hold your hand out for it. He gives it back.

You push the bread and meat toward him, your stomach growling loudly. His head cocks to the side, listening. You forgot how hungry you were. 

He gestures for you to go first, his expression soft. Shrugging you grab a couple of thin slices of meat and a piece of bread, folding it in half you take a massive bite, almost groaning in pleasure at the taste of food. When you swallow he does the same. 

Finishing your half sandwich you pick up the glass, indicating you were getting more water. He nods, making another sandwich. 

In the kitchen, you not only fill the glass but you grab the chocolate digestives too, they were your favorite. And, for good measure, you fill a second glass with milk. Something in your head still screams danger, but you just don’t give a damn. 

When you sit back down, you notice he left you half the meat and bread. You try to get him to take more but he refuses, though he does take the water. This time he drinks slowly as you finish your last two sandwiches. 

As you chew your last bite you notice how his eyes keep falling back to the milk. You smile, setting it between you. Gingerly you coax the biscuit package open, praying it’s not too much noise. It’s a success and you pull three biscuits out, holding them out to him. He takes them, though, he doesn’t eat them. 

You take your own biscuit and bite in, savoring the taste. Then you dunk it into the milk so it could soften the biscuit just enough. He watches you like he’s studying some strange practice. When you finish your first you gesture for him to do the same by holding up a thumb and covering your heart like you were swooning. You’d swear he almost smiles. 

He does exactly as you did, taking a bite then dunking. Your brows raise expectantly, clearly wanting to know his take. Now a small smile does lift his lips as he holds a thumbs up. It takes effort to not giggle, the situation was bonkers on every level, but what in the hell was normal in your life. 

The two of you make it through the whole pack. He eyes the now biscuitless milk. Picking it up you offer it to him. He shakes his head. You make an overly exaggerated pouty face and push it in his face. Again he smiles, finally accepting it. 

Once it’s done he puts it in your waiting hand. You nod, turning to go to the kitchen once more, doing away with the evidence. A metal hand grips your wrist. Fear jumps in your stomach until you look at his open expression. He swallows hard, brows knit, as though he’s focusing intently on something. 

“Thank you,” he croaks in a low whisper. Immediately your heart begins to race. You’d honestly thought he couldn’t speak, there was something worse knowing that he could, knowing that you didn’t hear him do so all night despite everything that clearly happened here. 

A noise from the sitting room makes you jump, the glasses, nested together, slipping from your grip, shattering on the hard marble tile. 

“What the hell?” A garbled voice asks. The Soldier’s hand is still on your wrist, both of you frozen by fear as Eric stumbles into view. 

The laugh that tumbles from him is nothing less than sinister. Your stomach flips. 

“Like father, like daughter. You have a taste too?” Even from four feet away you can smell the whiskey on him. “He’s good.” His eyes note your wrist in The Soldier’s grip, “Or did he have some of you?” Another blood-curdling laugh, The Soldier lets go of you. 

“I can’t blame you Soldat,” Eric grabs your arm pulling you to him. “She’s quite a well-bred bitch, isn’t she?”

“Papa,” you try to pull away, “stop, please.” It’s useless you know. 

“What? Don’t want me to join in on the fun?” He throws you to the floor in front of The Soldier. 

“You like to watch Soldat?” He asks before pinning your arms down. “Of course you do,” he sneers, “if I say you do.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at The Soldier, just will your soul into that distant place, just wait it out. Except the sound of metal snapping and the feeling of Eric’s weight being lifted from you bring you careening back into your body. 

Gasping you sit up, scurrying back until your hand meets a shard of the glass you’d stupidly dropped earlier. A cry of pain shoots from your mouth before you can think to stop it. 

With one hand The Soldier tosses Eric to the side, his head hitting the corner of the bottom stair. Cradling your hand you stare at the prone form of your father, the bit of blood trickling from his head, wondering if the devil could die so easy - until The Soldier blocks your view. 

Crouching before you he takes your bleeding hand in his, examining it. 

“First-” he clears his throat, “aid?” 

“Kitchen,” you answer in a disconnected voice, looking around him at Eric. 

“He’s… Not.” Ah, not so easy then. “Let me help?” You nod and let him help you up. 

He follows you into the kitchen. You pause at the cupboard where the silver and linens were kept. 

“There’s a tablecloth in there you could use. If you want to cover up.” You point to the right door. He nods and get’s a crisp white cloth out. Turning your eyes from him as he wraps the tablecloth around his waist you watch the blood steadily pool in your hand. You only know he’s done when he presses a white napkin into the pool with steady pressure. 

“Kit?” 

“Under the sink.” He looks behind you locating the sink and gently guides you in that direction. You stop by the island holding the cloth as he directed. After shuffling around in the cabinet he finds the kit and pulls it out. 

“Here,” he turns the water on. You don’t even flinch as the flow hits your wound. He grabs a few more napkins and turns the water off, gently drying your skin holding the fabric tight until the bleeding slows. 

“Might need to stitch it,” he says. You just shrug. He nods. Releasing your hand he grabs your waist lifting you up to set you on the island. 

It’s strange how efficiently he works to stitch and bandage your hand. Even more strange is how gentle he is. When he’s almost done you look back toward the stairs. 

“Still unconscious,” he says. 

“How do you know?”

“Can hear his breathing, no change.” Methodically he erases any trace of the mini-medical service he provided. You just sit dazed, wondering how he can hear Eric’s breathing from here. 

When he’s done you feel obligated to tell him, “When he wakes up he’ll take us both to task for this.” 

He shakes his head, “Doubt he’ll remember. Can make it look like he slipped in a bathroom, makes sense being so drunk.” It’s actually a pretty good idea. 

“But you’re not…”

“I can just go back before he’s conscious.” The thought makes your stomach clench. “Show me the right bathroom.” 

You lead him up the stairs to the other side of your large Kensington home where Eric’s rooms were. The corner of the vanity was actually sharp enough to account for such a head wound. 

“Ok, I’ll take care of it.” 

You hover as he retrieves Eric, bringing him into the bathroom. He presses the wound into the corner of the vanity to leave blood in the right and reopen it. Eric, to your surprise, doesn’t wake. Painstakingly, he positions Eric as though he collapsed there. It was almost art. 

Even so… you couldn’t help but be afraid.  

“He’s going to know,” your voice cracks, so pathetic but you can’t help it. “when he wakes up he’ll have my-”

“No. Where’s your room?” Unconcerned you lead him to it, blessedly on the other side of the house. He looks around the hall outside, seeming to make calculations. 

“I’ll stay right here,” he gestures by the door. “If he wakes and comes here I’ll take care of him.”

“You can’t, he’ll-”

“He shouldn’t…” He clears his throat again, you realize he speaks like someone who’s not used to doing so. “He shouldn’t do that to you…” 

“He does what he wants. You should know that.” 

The Soldier shudders and looks away, “Different.”

Suddenly a million questions flood your mind. Why didn’t he run? Why didn’t he fight back? Why let them do that to him? But you know the answers already, know they’re similar to your own. There’s only one thing you don’t understand. 

“Why did you help me?” He looks surprised. 

“You helped me.” He studies you. “What’s your name?” 

“Catherine.”

“You’re a good person, Catherine.”

A bitter laugh breaks from somewhere deep inside you. 

Good. 

He didn’t know that at eight you’d beaten your own mother right where he’d been tortured and raped tonight, he didn’t know that you’d killed her years later after she tried to save you from this. He didn’t know that you’d beaten girls to death with your bare hands and murdered people and felt nothing for any of it. He didn’t know the depths of darkness bred into you. 

The laugh shifts into a sob, you try to hold it down but it comes anyway. With a thud, you hit your knees, the carpet stinging a bit. 

This was absurd. All of it. The goddamn Fist of Hydra telling you that you’re a good person after you ate chocolate digestives, after stopping your father from… 

“Fuck,” you choke out. He sits on his knees across from you, reaching out his flesh hand. You take it, holding so tight it aches until you stop crying. 

With burning eyes, you finally look up into his. They’re grey-blue, though far from cold. What had Hydra done to this creature? 

He helps you to your feet, and you release his hand, somewhat regretfully. 

“I’ll keep watch. I swear, I’ll keep you safe.” He looks toward Eric’s room, “Even if only for tonight.”

“Ok,” you nod, turning to enter your room. Something takes hold of you, stopping your motion. 

Before your mind can protest you fling your arms around this man’s torso, holding on so tight. Tentatively his own arms wrap around you. A clear tremor shakes him but you don’t let go. 

No one had ever done what he had. All your life his men had known what he did, to your mother to you, and no one stopped him. Not a damn one had ever dared or cared enough to try. Until this Soldier. 

“Thank you,” you breathe. He looks a little dazed as he nods in acceptance. 

“Sleep well, Catherine.”

For the first time in years, you actually do.

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

Tag List 

(If you’re tagged it’s because you’re in my permanent tags or my Bucky tags. Please let me know if you’d like to be removed from this series.)

@mywinterwolf​ @disagreetoagree​ @breezy1415​ @peachthatdrinkslemonade​ @wonderlandmind4​ @stevehesaidabadlanguageword​ @buckysstar​ @for-the-love-of-the-fandom​ @siriuslycloudy2​ @wildmoonflower​ @cutie1365​ @this-kitten-is-smitten​ @nighttwingg​ @handplucked​ @jewelofwinter​ @whiskeywinter89​

[lokislytherin]

euphoria // vampire!jungkook

pairing: vampire!jeon jeongguk x human!reader

summary: you’re scared of vampires - until one saves your life one night.

word count: 1988 + 1808 + 2373 + 1798 + 1046 + 2113 + 1646 + 1569 +

chapters: prologue / chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / epilogue

a/n: tag yourself i’m jin ( @jungkooksbish​ when things have changed since you’ve last read this)

When you walk out of the bathroom, it's with a clean body and a clear head, and you feel much lighter because of it (you've lost blood, but whether you've lost any weight is still debatable).  Seokjin is still knocked out on the couch, but Jeongguk, however, is nowhere to be seen.

Worry sparks in your heart.  Where could he possibly be?

And then you see it - there's a rather large lump under your blanket.  You laugh softly when you gently lift the covers to find your favorite vampire, asleep and snuggled against your pillow.  At least you assume he's asleep - he's got his eyes closed, but like he told you before, he doesn't actually need any sleep.  

He deserves a rest - he and Jin both do, after tirelessly taking care of an unconscious you for the past few days.  You sit down next to him, careful not to wake him up.  In sleep, he looks so young, so innocent.  He's drooling all over your pillow too.

But that's alright - the sight of this peaceful Jeongguk makes your heart beat a little faster, and you feel all warm inside.  You really are in love with him, aren't you? Impulsively, you lean down and kiss his forehead.

Jeongguk's eyes snap open, but you hover over him, shamelessly ignoring the fierce blush lighting your cheeks.  He smiles mischievously.  "Y/N, have you been watching me sleep?" The sound of your heartbeat accelerating is more than enough of an answer for him.  "Next time, you could be a little more subtle when you pull an Edward Cullen, yeah?"

You laugh.  "Does that make you Bella?"

He snorts, but the smile stays on his face.  "I don't like Twilight, but if it makes you happy then I'll do it."

"You make me happy," you declare, "even if Twilight sucks."

Jeongguk nods, expression serious, but twinkle in his eyes betray the whole act.  "That was so cheesy, but I'll take it.  I'll take everything you have to give me, and I'll give you back twice as much."

You coo at him.  "You're so cute, Gukkie." He pouts.  "I'm older than you, Y/N.  You can't call em cute." You pat his head fondly.  "Whatever you say, babe."

Jeongguk sits up.  "Actually, uh," the vampire says, fidgeting nervously.  "can I kiss you now?"

You nod.  "Thought you'd never ask."

He beams.  "Good!"

You squeal as he pulls the covers over you, then his lips are on yours, soft but firm and better than anything you've ever dreamed of.  His mouth slots perfectly against yours, bodies melding together like he's a part of you that you've been missing your whole life but never realized.  He kisses you hungrily, like he's a man lost in a desert and you're a life-saving oasis, real and right there for him to take.  It's an entirely new side of him that you're seeing - or rather, tasting - and so different from the shy Jeongguk who stammers and stumbles over his words whenever you tease him.

You like it, this new side of him.  You'll love anything he has to offer you.

His hands roam your body, exploring every inch of your skin that's available to him, familiarizing himself with every curve and every edge.  You pull away with a whimper of a gasp when one hand slips under your shirt, freezing cold fingers against burning hot skin.

"Guk," you tell him breathlessly, "I need to breathe, remember?" You wonder if he's had any relationships before - his lips are one of the best pairs you've ever had the pleasure of kissing.  Your ex when you were sixteen was a total disaster - the first time you two kissed, he stuck his tongue in your mouth, and it took you less than a week to break up with him.  It took you months to get him to stop contacting you.

"Sorry," the vampire says, not looking sorry at all.  "I guess I got a little carried away." He notices the wrinkle of your nose.  "Sorry if that was bad, I've never kissed anyone before-"

Your eyes widen a little.  You couldn't feel any inexperience from that at all.  "It's not you, I'm just thinking about something else. You're really good at this." He looks good, with kiss-bruised lips and a minor bedhead.  He smells nice, too.  Like Jin's shampoo, you think.

"What are you thinking about?" He still hovers over you, propping himself up with an arm and toying with your hair with the other.

You shudder.  "My ex."

He frowns, eyes flashing possessively.  "Time to change that."

Before you get the chance to take another breath, he's claiming your lips again, pinning you down with his body and caging you against your own bed with his strong arms.  He presses himself against you almost desperately, and you take the chance to return the favor.  You slide a hand under his shirt, only to be greeted with cold skin, and ooooh, a six pack!

His abs are rock-hard, and you're delighted to feel something else rock-hard poking into your thigh.  The vampire shamelessly ignores it, sighing into your mouth when you squeeze his ass with a hand.

Something sharp pricks your lower lip, and your mouth involuntarily opens. You can feel blood on your tongue, and something wet and slippery slides into your mouth.  Of course: only Jeongguk would use his vampire biology to French kiss you.  You don't complain - it doesn't feel gross, but your train of thought disappeared the second he started kissing you anyway.

You're interrupted by a high pitched, drawn out scream.

Jeongguk breaks away, albeit a little reluctantly.

Seokjin is making grabby hands at the door - the witch has his eyes squeezed shut, and he can't see that he's still got a few steps to go before he can reach the door handle.  "Seriously, you guys?" He wails, traumatized.  "I just woke up, and you're making out? I can't even leave, 'cause this is also my apartment! Now I need to find some holy water to bleach my eyes out.  Y/N, you owe me a life's supply of fried chicken.  Get me that new Mario figurine while you're at it!"

He stumbles forward and grabs the door handle.  "Use protection!" And he's gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

Jeongguk grins, completely unabashed.  "Oops."

"I don't think I'm ready for that yet," you tell him.  "Not now, but maybe later."

Jeongguk smiles softly, reverting to 'sweet vampire boy' mode.  "That's alright, Y/N.  We've got plenty of time." He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead before grinning impishly.  "Definitely later." You like the way he says 'we' instead of 'you' or 'I'.  He's a keeper, that one, advises a voice in your head.  He'll be good for you, and you him.

"We've got time," you echo with a smile, "I like the sound of that."

"I think you'd like the sound of something else more." His tone is suggestive.

"Oh? What would that be?"

He grins.  "Me calling you my girlfriend, of course." Your eyes go wide.  "Well, only if you don't mind- do you want to be my girlfriend?"

You laugh.  "Babe, I think you already know the answer to that."

He shrugs.  "I guess we're dating now, lovely girlfriend of mine- hnng!"

This time, you're the one to pull him into a kiss, yanking him down by the front of his shirt.  

This time, it's a slow kiss, but no less passionate.  Kissing Jeongguk is nice, you think as he cuddles you under the covers.  His lips are kiss-bruised, shiny with spit, and he's marked you as his with a smattering of teeth-shaped bruises scattered across your throat.  He holds you like he has the world in his hands.

(When afternoon comes, Jin comes in to check up on you, finally deeming it safe to enter and exit mentally unharmed.  He finds you and Jeongguk curled up under the covers together, wrapped in each other's arms.  

Both of you look happy together - for once, you are asleep of your own free will and not out of sheer exhaustion, and Jeongguk looks exactly the same as he did all those years ago when they were neighbors, only Jeongguk is undead and much paler than he was before.  

It gives him an odd feeling of nostalgia - it reminds him of hot summer afternoons, a younger Jin watching over Taehyung and Jeongguk as they played until they fell asleep cuddled on the couch.  He wonders how Jeongguk would react if he know of Taehyung's current state: it wasn't a shameful secret, per se, but it was one with a heavy burden, one Jin would rather shoulder alone.

When he leaves, the door clicks behind him, a fond smile on his lips.  Even if he never finds the right one for him, he's glad two of his best friends have found safety and comfort in each other.  They're happy, so he'll be happy for them.)

[moonb-eam]

I loved the skate park one shot you did with Robbe and Eliott! It was adorable 😍. I can actually picture Eliott and Sander being friends! Or brothers / cousins as I have seen others say in the wtfock tag. I would love to see a Sander/ Eliott fic of some kind as friends or family! Maybe Sander could go to Eliott and Lucas for advice cause he thinks he really messed up and he has no idea how to fix this! Or something? ... I love everything you write and I just want to see them interact! ❤️

okay, here’s the dealio, anon.

i have so many other prompts to fill but since i first saw this ask i kept thinking about it. it just wouldn’t let me go, because firstly, i had no idea that people were talking in the tags about eliott and sander being friends or cousins, which blew my damn mind what a Concept

but secondly, one of the main reasons i started posting skam france fan fiction was as a coping mechanism for shit that was going on in the show that made me angry and sad

this is all to say, i took the prompt and wrote 3.7k with it ✨

hope you like 🧡

He thinks about him, and the charcoal in his hand slips, a slow, even curve that goes jagged, a thick black line breaking his canvas in half.

He wants to knock the canvas to the ground. He wants to tear it to pieces. He wants to ignite it with a match.

The skin over his eye still pulls, the bruise along his cheekbone still stings.

Everything fucking hurts.

Sander drops his piece of charcoal down to the easel and turns away from the canvas, running his hands up the back of his head and scrubbing them through his hair, not caring that he’s getting black fingerprints stuck in the bleached strands.

He can’t even draw. That’s been taken away from him, too.

Not taken away. There’s a voice in his head, a voice that sounds like rocks against windows and cracking ice. This hasn’t been stolen from you, you lost it didn’t you, you lost him, you lost your heart, you lost your mind—

He doesn’t stop walking until he reaches the far wall of the empty studio, leaning his forehead against cold glass, his body slumping forwards. He tries to take deep, even breaths, tries to find something to centre himself on, but when he closes his eyes all he sees is Robbe.

He dreamt about him last night, about the space at the base of his neck, right above his collarbone. He dreamt about pressing his face into that spot, surrounded by soft, warm skin and that clean cotton smell that’s always attached to Robbe’s clothes. He dreamt about feeling the vibrations of Robbe’s gentle laughter under his cheek, about Robbe running his hands through his hair and saying, Sander. I love you.

He woke up sweating, tangled in threadbare sheets, faced with the early-morning blackness of Antwerp. He’d wanted nothing more than to sink back into that dream, and to never leave it.

Being awake is a curse.

He takes another breath, pressing his forehead further into the glass and he’s listing off different shades of black in his head to try to find something to focus on, and it’s working, a bit.

pure black, onyx, eigengrau, xiketic

“Sander?”

He startles, knocking the side of his head against the wall as he stumbles back, whipping around to the studio doorway.

That French guy is standing there. The exchange student. The one with the annoyingly perfect blending technique.

Eliott, his brain supplies.

Eliott has one hand gripping onto the strap of his backpack and he’s staring at Sander with his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth turned down at the corners.

“Is everything okay?” He asks, then bites down on his lip, regretful, like he knows there’s only one possible answer to that question when you find someone collapsing into a wall in an empty studio on a Friday afternoon.

Sander blinks. “I didn’t think anybody would still be here,” he says flatly.

Eliott shrugs. “Yeah, well.” He gestures vaguely to the hallway behind him. “I had to finish some stuff and I needed lots of space for it…” Then he grins, bouncing on the spot. “And anyway I have to wait for Lucas. He’s coming here from the train station.”

Right. Lucas. The famous boyfriend back in Paris.

His name is Lucas, Sander heard him gushing to Greta one day in class, excitedly scrolling through the camera roll on his phone. He’s a science student, still in Lycée. He’s amazing. He’s so smart and funny, and he’s so thoughtful, but he doesn’t always let people know that.

Out of curiosity, Sander had craned his neck forward to see the screen of Eliott’s phone. And yeah, not bad. Cute. Really cute, actually, with wide, clear eyes and a full, teasing smile. But, personally, Sander has always preferred brown eyes over blue.

“Right,” he says to Eliott, and he doesn’t know what else to do, so he walks back to his easel, taking his canvas down and propping it up in the corner of the room reserved for unfinished works.

There’s the sound of a phone going off and Sander turns towards it, heart soaring, but he sees Eliott pulling his phone out of his pocket and he’s smiling down at the screen, rapidly typing out a reply, and Sander's heart sinks back down to the bottom of the ocean. He crouches to the ground and gathers his charcoal back into its box, securing it with an elastic band, his face burning.

What was he even expecting? Why would Robbe message him when he knows, he knows Robbe saw Britt’s Instagram post, and he heard Robbe was at that party which means he saw them together and he must hate him but that was what Sander wanted, wasn’t it?

“Hey. Sander.”

Sander glances up from where he’s packing his bag and Eliott is staring back at him, tapping his phone against his chest.

“I don’t want to be…prying. But you, uh, you seem like you’re having a hard time right now. So, if you want to talk about it, we can. Talk about it. And if you don’t want to, then…we don’t have to.”

Eliott is fumbling through this speech, giving it in stops and starts of heavily-accented English but he holds Sander’s eyes the entire time, and Sander has always respected straightforward people, but more than anything else, he’s struck by the care colouring Eliott’s words into soft pastels across the harsh white of the studio, the concern painted clearly across his face in shades Sander had forgotten existed.

He really doesn’t know the last time someone worried about him.

Apart from Robbe.

This is why, while Sander’s first instinct would normally be to make a lame joke or change the subject completely, instead he sits back on his heels, takes a deep breath and asks, “Did you ever…hurt anyone?”

Eliott tilts his head. “Because you tried too hard not to?”

“No. Because you meant to.”

Now there’s something dawning behind Eliott’s eyes, something that looks a bit like reluctant understanding. Or, perhaps, undesirable understanding.

Eliott asks, “Does this have something to do with that boy? The one that came at the end of class.”

For all that Sander’s brain has thought of nothing but Robbe, Robbe, Robbe for weeks, it’s nearly impossible for him to say his name aloud. “Yeah. Robbe.”

He doesn’t think he deserves to say it. The word is too sweet on his tongue. It tastes too much like the last time he said it, when Robbe was swaying towards him on his bar stool and flashes of blue and purple light were playing tag across his face and he was so beautiful, so delicate and so mesmerizing and somehow, impossibly, he was Sander’s.

He was.

Eliott sighs, and leans against the doorframe, his backpack sliding down his arm to the floor.

“It never works the way you think it will.”

Sander’s head snaps up. Eliott is staring at a spot just over his shoulder. There’s a faint line between his eyebrows.

“At one point,” Eliott says at length, “I didn’t think I could ever have what I have with Lucas. I didn’t think that sort of thing was meant for someone like me.”

“That sort of thing.” Sander echoes dubiously.

Eliott’s eyes snap over to him. “Love.” He says simply. “Being in love. Being loved. Without any, uh…” He waves a hand out, searching for the word. “Inconditionnel.”

“Unconditional.” Sander nods. “Yeah. It’s similar in English.” He sees a loose thread in the knee of his jeans and he tugs at it, tearing a hole open at the seam. He’s hoping Eliott will keep going, will give him something solid to latch onto, but he seems to be waiting Sander out now, like he knows Sander’s only given him the prologue to the story.

Sander wants to tell him. And he doesn’t want to. Because saying it aloud will make it more real, in a way. It’s as if, as long as the words stay buried inside of him, there’s still a chance that this is a dream Sander will wake up from, and when he wakes up he’ll be a different version of himself. One who’s normal and can love and be loved like a normal person and won’t have a built-in self destruct button.

“I…” He keeps his eyes fixed on the hole in his jeans, pulls harder on the thread. “I hurt him. Because I needed him to hate me.”

Eliott’s voice is very soft when he asks, “Why?”

“Because being with me…it was ruining his life.” The words feel dramatic coming out and Sander drops the thread, falls back onto his ass and throws his arms out, palms flat. “I know how that sounds, but it’s true. He was so messed up from kissing me that he…he said shitty things. He said he thought I drugged him, as if I could ever—and then, then, we, one night we went out and we…” Without even realizing it, Sander’s hand has drifted up to his eye. He lowers his hands to his thighs, digging into the muscle there. “Something happened. Something that was really bad and he got hurt and I. I can’t see him hurt like that. Ever again.” He drops his head to his knee, eyes shut tightly. “From the moment he met me, his life went to shit. I was ruining him. I was.” He doesn’t realize he’s crying until his voice breaks on the last word and there’s something wet sliding down to the tip of his nose and he wipes it across his jeans, coughing to try and mask the sound.

God what a fucking mess Sander has made. He’s fucked with everything good in his life and now he’s crying in front of a French guy he barely knows and it’s all just…a fucking mess. There’s no way out.

“D’accord.” Eliott says quietly from his post at the door. Sander hears him shifting on the spot, then his phone buzzing in his pocket, and for a brief moment, Sander hates him. He hates his buzzing phone, hates how Eliott gets to wait for someone and Eliott gets to message someone and Eliott will get to kiss someone today, probably. Someone he loves. Someone who loves him. The jealousy is a violent flash of lightning that surges through him, makes his fingers tremble.

It makes him spit the rest out coldly, bitterly, pure black tar from between his teeth.

“We were victims of a hate crime.” He says. “These two guys, they saw us kissing and they beat the shit out of us, left us on the street. And do you know what I did? I abandoned him. When he really needed me. I got back together with my girlfriend. I stopped responding to his messages. I let him see that we’re back together.” He laughs and the sound hurts on its way out. “He must wish he never met me.”

He’s expecting Eliott to leave at this, to realize this is way more fucked up than he thought it would be when he first decided to play the caring classmate. Maybe he’ll shoot Sander a look of disgust for good measure. What he’s not expecting is for Eliott to take a step away from the wall, a step towards Sander, his face marred with worry.

“Wait. What the fuck. A hate crime? Did you report it to the police?”

It sucks the lightning storm out of Sander’s veins, that worry. His head drops down on his shoulders.

“It wouldn’t do anything.” He says. I can’t, he doesn’t say. I’ve been in the wrong place at the wrong time before and it’s not good for me, he doesn’t say.

Eliott is shaking his head. “It would. Saying it out loud means it happened. It’s real.”

And fuck if Eliott isn’t tapped directly into Sander’s head. It makes him shiver.

“I’m so sorry.” Eliott says. “No one should ever have to experience that.”

Before Sander realizes what’s happening, Eliott is coming over, he’s kneeling down onto the floor in front of him and he’s pulling him into an awkward, long-armed hug, and he’s saying it again, “I’m so sorry.”

Out of every possibility Sander considered for this conversation, he didn’t imagine this.

It’s like his body can’t decide if it wants to pull away or fold in closer, locking up in indecision and leaving his arms hanging limply at his sides.

He hates that a relative stranger is comforting him like this, seeing him so broken and vulnerable, so laid bare, but at the same time it feels so fucking good to be held, to be looked after, that he doesn’t ever want the hug to end.

Then Eliott is the one pulling away, planting his hands on Sander’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, in a rush, “I shouldn’t have done that without asking. But it really looked like you needed it.”

Sander stares at him. He thinks his mouth might be hanging open.

Eliott squeezes his shoulders. “You need to know: what happened to you wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything to cause it, and you did nothing to deserve it.” Eliott blinks and his own eyes are wet. Sander looks down to break his gaze, everything feeling to raw and too wrought for him to handle.

All he can say is, “Yeah. Well. Maybe.”

“And you should know,” Eliott continues, “that you’re not helping him by deciding he’s better off without you. You can’t decide for other people what will make them happy. You can’t decide what’s good for them.” He drops his hands from Sander’s shoulders, and falls back, mirroring Sander’s posture. “I tried that, with Lucas. I tried to push him away because I thought he would better off without having to deal with me. I thought he wouldn’t be able to handle what being with me is really like.”

Sander shifts on the spot, a bit uncomfortably, because there’s that feeling again. It’s like Eliott can see the inside of his head, can take the tangled web of his thoughts and unravel it to something tangible. Flawed and tragic, but true.

“I didn’t trust him.” Eliott says. “I underestimated him, which is something I did a lot in the beginning.” A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “But he keeps surprising me.”

“How could I ever fix this?” The words pour out of Sander in frustration, curling around his face like smoke. “I’ve fucked up too much. Too much to be forgiven.”

“Robbe may surprise you, too.”

Fuck.

The very idea of it, of seeing Robbe again, of explaining himself to him, of Robbe forgiving him.

The very idea of being able to hold him again.

It sets Sander afire from the inside out.

“You need to be completely honest with him.” Eliott says. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he slowly stands from his spot on the ground, brushing off the back of his jeans. “And with yourself. You need to show him how you feel but you also need to tell him. You need to make it right. For both of you.” Eliott bends down to retrieve his backpack. “And Sander…” He pauses. “Maybe it’s not my place to say this, but I think you really need to report that attack. Together.”

Sander feels a bit like crying, and a bit like laughing, inappropriately enough. There’s too much happening inside of his head, there is always is, but it’s too much in a way that feels like being awake is necessary. It’s important.

“How did you do that?” Sander asks, staring up at Eliott. “How did you know exactly what to say to me? You don’t even know me.”

Eliott smiles, and it’s sweet and bitter. “Maybe, but I think we’re very similar, actually. I think we both try to…hm. Comportement autodestructeur.”

“Self-destructive.” Sander fills in automatically.

Eliott nods. “We are both like that, and it made us lose the best parts of ourselves. Lucas, he fought for me. He fought for us, and so we found each other again. I don’t want to imagine what it would be like for me if he hadn’t. I don’t want to imagine that for you either, if Robbe makes you feel the same way Lucas makes me feel. So. You have to fight for him. That is what I’m saying.”

Sander digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

“I don’t mean to—”

“No.” He cuts Eliott off, pushing himself up from the ground. He’s shaky as he tries to stand. “No, it’s. You’re right. I know you are. It’s just a lot.” He takes a long, deep breath, and he’s listing off shades of brown in his head for something to focus on, something to keep him from crumpling back down to the ground.

chestnut, raw umber, taupe, wenge, robbe’s hair, robbe’s eyes

“Hey.” Eliott’s interrupting him again, driving a wedge in front of the runaway train of his mind. “How about you come with me? You can meet Lucas. Get a drink with us, and we can talk. He can give you advice on how to be brave.”

Eliott’s grinning as he says it, a look in his eyes like he’s kidding but he’s also not, and Sander knows he’s not, because he actually could use some pointers on being brave right about now, when all he’s wanted for the last week is to disappear from the face of the Earth. To do nothing but go to sleep.

It’s so much more difficult, being awake.

“Will he mind?” He asks, sliding the strap of his messenger bag onto his shoulder.

If anything, Eliott’s smiles grows wider. “Nope. He’s been saying for weeks that he wants to meet my Belgian friends.”

Friends.

Yeah. Sander thinks he could really use some friends right now.

Eliott and Sander are outside of the school’s entrance for only a few minutes, watching the sun set and sharing a cigarette, and then there’s a tiny blur crashing into Eliott from out of nowhere, latching its arms around his neck and climbing onto his back, nearly knocking Eliott over with the momentum.

Sander flicks the cigarette towards the ground, and watches with a small smile forming on his face, what feels like the first in a long, long time.

“Eliott!” The blur cries happily, and then he’s speaking in rapid-fire French, his metropolitan accent managing to sound lazy and rushed at the same time, his vowels melting together to form one long stream of exclamations.

Sander manages to catch something about a nightmarish train ride, a desperate need to eat something, and then, when his feet are back on the ground and Eliott has turned around to face him, I missed you so much. My love.

They kiss, and it’s slow, soft and intimate and Sander looks away, taking a drag off the cigarette. He checks his phone but the only notification is from Britt, telling him that he left a sweater at her place, and she doesn’t want to keep it but she also doesn’t want to bring it to him, so he’ll have to drop by to pick it up himself.

Sander sighs.

I’ll come by tomorrow, he replies. He wants to tell her she can just give it away, or throw it out, he doesn’t care, but he can guess that for her, it’s for closure. Something she can do to tell Sander that she’s over it, over him, and Sander doesn’t want to take that away from her.

He owes her that, at least.

“Hello.” Another heavily-accented voice is saying to him, cutting through his thoughts. His head snaps up and the boy/blur himself is standing in front of him, offering a hand to shake. Eliott is next to him, an arm draped across his shoulders. “I am Lucas.” He announces, like he’s the king of France declaring himself to a pauper, and Sander already likes him.

“Sander,” he says, shaking Lucas’s hand.

“Eliott says you are coming with us for drinks?”

Sander shrugs. He flicks the cigarette to the ground and smothers it with the toe of his boot. “Yeah.”

Lucas squints at him, biting down on his lip. Sander tilts his head to stare back at him, not sure what Lucas is looking for, if he’s measuring him up to determine if he’s worthy to be Eliott’s friend, or if he’s trying to extrapolate on the inner workings of his heart just from what’s written across his face. Sander wonders if Lucas can read wasteland somewhere along the lines of his forehead or in the hollows of his eyes. When Sander woke up this morning, that was all he could see when he looked in the mirror.

Lucas must find something satisfactory in his appraisal, because he’s nodding, and Eliott leans close to whisper something into his hair and Lucas smiles, something soft and sad, and he says, “Ah, oui. D’accord.” He slips out from Eliott’s arm and steps froward, gripping onto Sander’s wrist. “Come on. You will pick the bar and Eliott will pay for the drinks.”

Eliott makes an indignant, protesting noise at this, but Lucas waves him off.

“It’s an emergency, Eli! We have to get him vodka and make a plan.”

Sander is staring down at Lucas, feeling a bit like he’s being pulled into a tornado. “A plan for what?”

“For how you will fix it.” Lucas says, as if it’s obvious. Sander throws a look at Eliott over his shoulder, wondering just how much of Sander’s private life he’s shared, and Eliott shrugs like maybe he overstepped but he’s not sorry about it.

Lucas is practically yelling into his ear. “We need somewhere with good food and cheap alcohol.”

And Sander, who’s thinking about being brave, being honest, being vulnerable and being able to hear Robbe’s voice, to press his cheek to that spot at the base of his neck, he points down the street, towards the centre of town.

“That way,” he says.

“Good.” Lucas says. He reaches back for Eliott’s hand, pulling him along with them. “Let’s go.”

[acourtofabsandillyrians]

Of Sun and Roses - Chapter Three

Find the character breakdown here

Find the inspiration board here

Complete masterlist here

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two

*NOTE: Anslo’s name has been changed to Glaston Ashryver. Turns out he is a real character mentioned by SJM, so he isn’t totally made up by me anymore :)

~~~

“Elysa,” a voice said softly from behind her.

Elysa hopped to her feet, keeping her back to her brother. She swiped the tears from her face and brushed the dirt from her dress. “Yes, Your Highness?” Her voice quaked.

“What’s wrong?”

She rolled her eyes openly only because he couldn’t see her face. Didn’t he know? She knew father ran everything by his son, especially news of this kind.

“I know you know,” Elysa replied softly, closing her eyes against the setting sun.

“Look at me.” A command. She had no choice but to turn towards Glaston. He looked disgusted to be out in the gardens, standing on dirt. He must have been ordered by their father to come talk to her.

“Elysa,” Glaston said, coming closer. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, the perfect diplomatic prince. “You knew this would be a task placed on your shoulders one day. It is the least you could do as one of Wendlyn’s princesses.”

She flinched back, stung. “How can you say that? Marriage is not a chore, it is a life duty. You males think the only thing we’re good at is making babies and being something pretty to look at when you come home from work.”

Elysa couldn’t remember the last time she’d talk back to a figure of authority before. She would never even dare to speak this way to her father or mother. But what was she thinking? This was the Crown Prince of Wendlyn! She could be killed for speaking this way, related to him through royal blood or not. Still, if she could talk this way to him, she might have been able to muster the courage to speak to her parents one more time before being ordered to her death sentence.

Glaston shook his head, at a loss of words from her outburst. He wasn’t used to her speaking this much to him. “I…Elysa, this is what you must do.”

“But why so soon?” She breathed. She was staring through him now. He had no answers of importance to her. “I’m too young. I’m not ready.”

“They didn’t tell you?”

She shook her head.

Glaston went to go sit on a nearby stone bench. He patted the spot next to him for Elysa to sit. “There have been some…happenings around Wendlyn. Some sort of force is the only way to describe it. Murders at night, but in such a large quantity it has to be some group. That was all we knew until recently we found this being and captured it…One of the guards told me its eyes were black. All it had was a ring on its finger, and we think that’s their group’s insignia of some sort. Anyway, the person—creature—only gave us cryptic answers, but we’re pretty sure it was someone responsible. That was all we got from it before it…” He trailed off.

Elysa knew the rest that was left unsaid. Before it was tortured to death.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she asked.

“The public is frustrated with the monarchy for not doing anything about it,” Glaston said, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“But we are, aren’t we? Doing something?”

“Yes!”

“But they don’t see it.”

“Exactly. They want to use your marriage as a distraction. To ease the public away from the crimes long enough for us to figure this out.” Glaston sighed. From beside him, Elysa could see the tension in his jaw, the stiffness to his posture. If this was taking this much of a toll on him, then what was it like for her mother? Her father?

Well, now she was stuck. Whatever hopes she had of approaching her parents to explore a different option were gone. Elysa took a deep breath, her lungs demanding it after she realized she’d been holding it. Again. “Okay,” she said, more to herself. “I’ll do it. Whatever it takes for you to figure out what is going on.”

She’d do whatever it took for her country, even if it killed her to think of binding her life to someone else. Glaston placed a hand on her shoulder, the farthest he’s ever gone to show any affection towards her. Too soon he drew back, stood up, and fixed his suit. Back to being the stiff Crown Prince.

He turned on his heel and left, leaving Elysa back to her blissful solitude.

She reached down and plucked a rose. Closing her eyes, she brought it to her nose.

~~~

The suitors all arrived within the week. As soon as the first one arrived, Elysa had hidden in her chambers and had her meals delivered to her rather than going down to the royal dining hall. She didn’t know if her suitors would be eating there with the royal family or not, but she didn’t want to take that risk. She resisted meeting them until her father or mother demanded that she do so. Though, for once, she was grateful to be a princess, if only because her chambers were large enough to house a small pianoforte. There were six public pianofortes scattered throughout the palace, and at least twelve rooms had their own personal ones. She was raised musically along with her siblings, always immersed in the sound of music. Once they reached sixteen, they weren’t required to practice an instrument anymore, but Elysa held on to her skill. She was by far the best out of her siblings at the pianoforte, and she enjoyed it the most, besides her mother who taught all of her children the skill.

A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie, and the piano made a hideous noise as Elysa’s fingers faltered.

“Come in,” she called.

Evalin came through the doorway, her expression unreadable. Her usually smirking face was grim, a sign of bad news.

“What’s wrong?”

Evalin looked down and wrung her hands. “Father wants you in the Great Hall. I believe all the suitors are down there to meet you, too.”

All the blood drained from Elysa’s face. “They’re all here?” she breathed lightly.

“Yes,” Evalin said, short and clipped, before turning back towards the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” Elysa asked, hopping to her feet.

“I’m not allowed to come with.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t—I don’t know exactly. Mother just said she doesn’t want me to have influence over you.” Her hands were shaking, and Elysa grabbed them, flipping them over. They were bright red and burning.

“Ev! Did she hit you?”

She pulled her hands away. “No.”

Mother never hit Evalin, as far as Elysa knew. She was their mother’s favorite. The only reason Elysa was able to tolerate the hitting was because she knew it was happening to her and not her sister. But now…this? All because Mother didn’t want Evalin to have influence over her actions around her potential future husbands? This was all her fault. Evalin was beaten because of Elysa.

“Fuck,” Elysa murmured, running a hand through her hair.

The corners of Evalin’s mouth turned up into her signature smirk. “Are my ears broken or did you just curse?”

Elysa gave her sister a shy smile, glad to have upturn the mood. “…Maybe.”

“And that’s the worst one of all!”

“Oops.”

Elysa gave a tentative giggle before Evalin joined in with roaring laughter.

There were tears streaming down each other’s cheeks by the time they calmed down. Elysa grabbed Evalin’s shoulders. “Go grab a chocolate croissant from the kitchen. Or two. Or ten. You deserve it.”

Evalin nodded, pulling her sister into a hug. “Thank you for making me laugh.”

“Thank you for teaching me curse words,” Elysa whispered onto her shoulder.

“Go meet some cute boys,” Evalin said, wiping her eyes.

Elysa scoffed but didn’t comment further. She didn’t need Evalin worrying about her any more than she already was.

~~~

Her father was waiting for her at the Great Hall doors. She approached him slowly, warily, in case he still wasn’t done scolding her for coughing in his face.

She bowed low when she reached him. “Your Majesty.”

Instead of greeting her, he shoved a piece of paper in her hands. “Here is a list of all the gentlemen’s names. Start on the left and work your way around the room. The names go in order.”

She took in the first two names—Duke Carmine Glascow of Fenharrow and Prince Rhoe Galathynius of Terrasen—before her father placed a hand low on her back and shoved her through the doors.

There was an audible gasp from all the men as soon as Elysa entered. Everything was silent as her gaze went around the room, eyes falling on at least forty gentlemen from around the world. They were all dressed in their finest. Elysa wasn’t even wearing her tiara. She curtsied quickly to cover her stumble of an entrance into the room.

She squared her shoulders, cleared her throat, and said, “Hello, gentlemen.”

~~~

Chapter Four here

Tagging: @yourlocalautisticoverlord​ @goldbooksblack​

A/N: Hope you enjoyed an early surprise Chapter Three! As always, let me know what you think and if you’d like to be tagged for future posts! Like, share, and reblog if you ever so desire :) xo, lovely day

[midnightechoes]

JACKETS - Chapter 1: Rift Hollow

A She-Ra and the Princesses of Power fanfic

Chapter: 1 of 36

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Catradora (primary), Pertrapta (secondary)

Summary: It's been a year since the Battle of Bright Moon (S1 Finale). The war between the Horde and the Rebellion has ground into something of a stalemate as both sides continue to search for ways to gain an advantage. Adora wants to be the hero the Rebellion deserves, but still wrestles with her feelings about the friend she left behind, who despite Light Hope's constant advice, she can't seem to let go of.Meanwhile, Catra has emerged as a highly successful 2nd-In-Command of the Horde, gaining the respect of her soldiers, and even, dare she say, making something of a life for herself. Yet everything always seems to come back to the friend she's tried so hard to forget.

Jackets is a continuation of She-Ra and the Princesses of Power after season 1. It does not take events of season 2 or later into account.

Read on AO3!

--

Hi! Welcome to the first fleshed out, multi-chapter thing I've written in years! I loved She-Ra and the Princesses of Power so much it's inspired this huge burst of creativity, so let's see how this goes! I'm not going to state how many chapters it'll be yet because I'm not exactly sure, but this will probably end up being pretty long.

I'll probably be adjusting and adding tags as I go and think of them. I'll also be using this section for chapter-specific trigger warnings.

Okay, so I know that in the summary it says that "Jackets" takes place a year after the Battle of Bright Moon, but chapter 1 actually takes place only 4 months after the Battle of Bright Moon. That's because chapter 1 is sort of a prologue.

Also, because there will eventually feature explicit sexual wlw content I want to make sure to establish that ALL CHARACTERS DEPICTED are over the age of 18. Speaking of the smut though, don't expect it like every chapter, or even every other chapter. "Jackets" is very story heavy, if you're just looking for non-stop sex it maaaaay not be the fic for you.

--

Adora was staring at Catra’s outstretched hand. The catgirl had one of her trademark smirks on her face, and Adora couldn’t tell why. Adora had been taken aback by Catra’s choice of clothes. A striking, dark plum colored suit with magenta accents and matching button down blouse. Her bowtie dangled around her neck, untied. Dirty tactics, Catra.

Since the moment Catra and Scorpia had arrived, Adora couldn’t help but fixate on her best friend. Ex-best friend? Friend-with-complications? She knew they were up to something, but so far the best Adora could tell, Catra had come just to tease her. And now this. The smirk had gotten bigger, exposing one of Catra’s razor sharp canines. For the first time Adora payed attention to the music that was beginning to play. A jazzy little ballroom number. Adora resolved herself and lifted her hand to meet Catra’s. It seemed that playing her game was going to be the only way to figure this out.

Presentation and ritual were important to the Horde, even in matters of celebration. There were no parties. No spontaneous dancing in the aisles. No raucous shanties spun out of nothing. Ballroom dancing was the liveliest the Horde allowed. Even then, they made you practice it until it wasn’t fun anymore. Except when Adora and Catra practiced together. According to their instructor, Essteare, they were horrible at it. Too much improvisation. Too much laughing. Too many erratic motions. Gliding across that room, swaying and spinning in Catra’s arms, were some of the only times away from Force Captain training where Adora felt truly alive.

Essteare would have been so proud of this moment. Adora and Catra, hands pressed together, free arms bent at 90 degrees behind their backs. Tight. Precise.

Adora hated it.

“I know you’re up to something. I’m going to figure out what,” Adora said as they slowly circled around each other.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just here to enjoy myself.”

“We both know that’s not true, Catra,” Adora huffed as she spun Catra away. She turned to receive the next dancer.

There was nobody there.

“Huh.” Adora blinked at the empty dance floor.

Catra slammed back into Adora, resting her head on Adora’s shoulder. “Just us this time,” Catra breathed. “Everyone else is gone.” In one smooth motion Catra grabbed and dipped Adora. Their faces were inches apart. Adora could feel every drop of blood she had flooding her cheeks. “Lucky them,” Catra hissed.

“Wait, what?” The statement smacked into Adora.

“They’ve managed to get away from you,” Catra scoffed as she twirled Adora.

Adora was trying to regain her balance. “They’re my friends! They- They wouldn’t-”

Catra slammed into Adora again, knocking the rest of her statement out of her. She grabbed Adora’s hands and led her into a slow waltz. “Wouldn’t what? Want to be around you? Want to be in the blast radius of the inevitable ticking time bomb that is Adora?”

“I- I try not to be,” Adora was struggling to focus. She was trying to pull her hands free, but Catra’s grip was iron tight.

“Even if they haven’t figured it out yet, they will,” Catra sneered. “Getting away from you was the best thing to happen to me. I have friends now. REAL friends, not just someone using me as an emotional crutch!”

“I’m glad you have friends. I’m happy for you, Catra, I really am.”

“People respect me now. They look up to me. The Horde believes in ME. All thanks to ditching you.”

Honestly, it was shocking how tight Catra’s grip was. Even if she was She-Ra, Adora wasn’t sure she would have been able to break free of it.

Catra pulled her in. Their bodies were pressed together. Adora could feel the heat coming off Catra. “Let’s face it, I’ve done the world a favor,” Catra whispered into Adora’s ear.

Adora pulled her head back so she could look Catra in the eyes. There was something sinister in her stare. Every word Catra said slammed into Adora’s chest. Tearing. Pulling. It felt like Adora’s heart had a python wrapped around it, squeezing the life out of it. 

“I don’t understand,” Adora airily breathed.

Catra let Adora go, and slowly backed away. The smirk had morphed into a wild grin. Almost feral. Almost evil. Catra’s claws were fully extended, soaked in red. Adora opened her mouth to plead with Catra to explain what she meant, but nothing came out. Just a huff of air, and a labored grunt. A blurriness was starting to creep into her vision.

It was then that Adora realized that she was getting light-headed. Her abdomen felt like it was on fire. She looked down. It took a second for Adora to concentrate enough to focus her eyes.

There was a giant gash in Adora’s stomach. Blood was gushing profusely from it. “Ca…Cat… tra,” Adora managed to push out as she collapsed onto the ground.

--- 

  Adora bolted up into a sitting position. Tears were pooling at the corners of her eyes. Her chest was heaving, unable to catch her breath. She ripped her covers off and patted around her stomach. No blood. No hole or gash. No claw marks. There was no chance that there would be. This was more just busywork to calm herself down.

It was working.

As Adora’s breathing slowed to normal, as she wiped away the sticky residue of tears around her eyes, reality started coming back into view. Her bed. Her dark room in Bright Moon Castle, lit only by the moons high above in the sky. Judging from their positions, it was around 3 in the morning. A cool breeze was wafting in through the open doorway to her balcony. The breeze hit Adora, drawing goosebumps on her skin. Adora spun her legs around and dangled them off her bed. She sat there, at the edge of her bed, intently staring at seemingly nothing.

This wasn’t the first time Adora had that dream. Sometimes it went that way. Sometimes it went in a much more pleasant direction. Adora craned her arm around and gently traced the four gashes that ran halfway down her back, starting from her shoulder blade. The other side of her back had a matching set. It had been four months since the battle of Bright Moon, and the scratches on Adora’s back still hadn’t disappeared. She had, for some time now, come to accept that they wouldn’t.

Scars.

She-Ra doesn’t scar.

At least, She-Ra never had before, or since, for that matter. What damage She-Ra did get never carried back into Adora. Except these. Adora knew that Catra’s claws were something to fear. She’d seen them glide through solid metal as one might run their fingers through water. She’d even been on the receiving end of a few nicks from them. Granted, those instances were met with Catra being beside-herself distraught with what she had done, not maniacal glee.

Adora kept telling people that they were a statement Catra was trying to send to her. That wasn’t entirely true though. Adora knew that. They were the punctuation to the statements Catra had told her back during their ordeal in the Crystal Castle. Adora still hadn’t told anyone about what happened there, not even Glimmer and Bow. The entire extent of hers and Catra’s friendship was something Adora tried not to talk about. She thought it would make things between her and her new friends messier than they needed to be. Which meant that the Crystal Castle ordeal was something that she’d kept to herself. 

She wouldn’t even know where to start at this point. Catra never summoned just one clear emotion anymore. It was this ball. Lumpy. Messy. That would press down on her chest and stick in her throat. Safer to just not bring it up at all than try sorting through it.

Not that she felt great about lying to her best friends. Then again, her and Catra apparently spent a lot of their lives not being honest with each other. Maybe this was just how Adora did friendship. The thought did something awful to the pit of her stomach. A strong gust of wind billowed in, causing Adora to shiver. Just enough to jolt Adora out of this pit of self-loathing that she had found herself in. A pit that she had spent far too many nights in recently.

Chances of getting back to sleep were out of the question at this point. Adora got dressed into a sporty tank top and workout leggings. As was becoming a frequent custom, if sleep wasn’t going to happen, Adora decided to do the one thing that still cleared her mind: training.

--- 

  All things considered, Rift Hollow wasn’t a strategically important part of the Horde. It was hours southeast of the Fright Zone by skiff. A small farming town, it mainly supplied food for a few of the security checkpoints along the southeast border of the Horde.

Under normal circumstances, reports of civil unrest in Rift Hollow probably wouldn’t warrant even a Force Captain making the trip, let alone Lord Hordak’s second-in-command. Catra wasn’t concerned with the problems of Rift Hollow, though. After the initial thrill of her promotion, the realities of the work set in. While unsuccessful, the assault on Bright Moon had been a great audition for Catra, but it had also left the Horde forces in shambles. These first four months as Force General had been dedicated to refortifying the ranks of the Horde’s army.

Catra’s personal project had been to put together a squad that she could trust. Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle were natural choices. Well, maybe not Kyle, but his inclusion was essential to get Rogelio on board. They’d seen minor field work before as Cadets, but today was their first big day as Rank Soldiers. Catra wanted to be on hand to see how they performed.

The transport skiff lurched to a stop near the entrance of the town. Catra stood below deck, looking over the status report on Rift Hollow. Above her Force Captain Octavia was barking orders at the squads. Catra rubbed the bridge of her nose. Even now as Octavia’s superior, something about that woman just grated at Catra. She couldn’t argue with Octavia’s effectiveness, though. She was just so damn annoying. Or maybe it was just that this trip had been annoying. Hours of traveling through the Horde countryside just to come yell at some farmers. Or maybe… Maybe it was just everything. Truth be told when Lord Hordak had promoted her, Catra mostly envisioned hanging out with Entrapta and Scorpia to come up with plans to take down those princesses, not… reports. Or staff updates. Or overseeing training.  

Octavia was finishing up. Catra let out a yawn before tossing down her notes and making her way up the stairs.

Octavia’s squad of rookies was tasked with securing the perimeter near the skiff and the entrance of the town. Catra led her squad of Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio into Rift Hollow. The townsfolk gave them a wide berth. Their fear was apparent. Catra enjoyed the feeling. They met with a local Horde security officer— a lanky, teal-skinned fellow named Norn— near the center of town.

At the sight of Catra, Norn stiffened up and saluted. “Force General! Ma’am? So sorry, we weren’t expecting you! Had we known that-” Norn started.

Catra waved him off. “Relax, Officer, you’re fine. I’m just here to make sure my newbies are ready. Now, what’s the latest?”

“Fourth day of protests. Most of the farmers have halted work entirely.”

“Can’t have that now, can we. Where are they?”

“Follow me, I’ll show you.” Norn led Catra’s squad through the town. Within a few minutes they were at the edge of the farmlands where a group of farmers were forming a pretty meager blockade and taunting the one Horde security officer already there. At the sight of Catra the farmers began yelling. The details of what they were saying were lost as too many voices overlapped each other.

Catra snapped her finger at Kyle. He lifted a horn up and pressed the button. A screeching sound filled the area, causing everyone to fall silent. Catra patiently waited until the horn died down. She had everyone’s attention. Even some of the townsfolk were making their way to see what all the common was about.

“Citizens of the Horde,” Catra began.

“You mean citizens of Rift Hollow!” a man called out from the crowd.

“ Excuse me ?” Catra growled. The man was easy to find, especially since as soon as Catra started moving forward everyone else moved away from him as if he was contagious. To his credit, the man didn’t back down. He did gulp hard as Catra bared down on him, so only but so much credit. “You’re first and foremost a citizen of the Horde. Got it?”

The man mustered all the courage he could. “I was a citizen of Rift Hollow long before the Horde. And I’ll be one after the Horde, too.”

Catra didn’t respond for a moment. She examined the man in front of her. Had to be in his mid-forties, easily. Without warning, Catra spun, jerked her arm up and connected with a backhanded slap that sent the man careening to the ground.

All of Rift Hollow ground to a halt. Dozens of pairs of eyes were trained on Catra. She flicked her hand in a couple of motions in the general direction of her squad. Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle began spreading out.

“Okay. Gonna say this one time,” Catra announced. “Thanks to these little fits, Rift Hollow hasn’t made its production quotas in two months. You WILL make your quota next month. If you don’t, the next visit will involve tanks. Got it? Now, for the rest of today I’m imposing a curfew, starting now! Everyone, go home. Anyone caught protesting, or out at all, will be disciplined.”

A couple of the farmers helped the man that Catra had struck up to his feet. Nobody was leaving. “We can’t be treated this way. We’re human beings dammit,” the man huffed.

“Yeah, stupid ones. Squad!” Catra called out. On cue Lonnie and Rogelio turned on their stun spears. Impressive weapons that had Entrapta written all over them. Kyle followed suit just seconds after them. Lonnie and Rogelio jammed the closest protesters, who dropped to the ground immediately in pain. 

Panic struck the town. People started fleeing in every direction. A few tried to fight back. Lonnie and Rogelio were making those few immediately regret their decisions. Even Kyle was taking control of his area. The Horde security officers were assisting.

Kyle was trying to focus on herding the citizens back to their homes instead of engaging in physical altercations. “Focus, Ky. Focus. You can do this. Just focus,” he kept chanting to himself. He came across a couple of surly farmers who didn’t much want to move or go home. “Re-return to your houses now, fellas!” Kyle yelped. They just glared at him. “Please!” he added. The two men instead began approaching Kyle. In a panic, Kyle jabbed out his spear. Sparks flickered as it connected with the first man, who fell over immediately. He swung the spear to the next man, dropping him also.

“Not bad, Ky!” Kyle assured himself. He spun around confidently, only to realize that another man had snuck up on him. The old man still seemed pretty spry for someone who looked to be in their seventies. He had a big pitchfork that he was rattling at Kyle. “Oh no,” Kyle whispered.

Meanwhile, Catra had her attention trained on the man that she had struck originally. He seemed determined to stand his ground. Catra smirked while one hand rested firmly on her hip. “Look at what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done?! I didn’t threaten a whole town! I didn’t sic guards on people to force them into their homes! I-”

Didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence. Catra’s claws slashed into his face. The man screamed out. He staggered backwards as his hand shot to his cheek, which was burning with pain. His legs were shaky as he tried desperately to regain his footing. There was no time, a front kick landed squarely into the stomach. Breath knocked out of him, he collapsed onto the ground. He was coughing, gasping, trying to do something to get air back into his lungs. Hordak’s second-in-command stood over the doomed soul and flashed her claws, her smile slowly creeping into an ever-widening grin.

A familiar screaming broke Catra’s concentration. Without even looking Catra had a good idea what she was about to see. The Force General let out a sigh as she spun around. Some yards away, Kyle was standing, a pitchfork plunged into his shoulder. Catra’s interest in the man she was assaulting waned.

Holding the pitchfork that was jammed into Kyle was the old man he had just encountered. Out of nowhere came Rogelio, jamming his stun spear into the old man’s side. Electricity shot through his body, causing him to collapse to the ground . All 6’7” of the stocky green lizard man towered over the elder. Terror washed over his face as Rogelio began cracking his knuckles one by one. Rogelio’s eyes were squinting at the man on the ground. His fangs were bared and an uncharacteristic rumble came out of him as he began stalking towards the old man when he felt something tug at his pants leg. Rogelio looked down to see Kyle.

“Rohé, sweetie please, don’t,” Kyle was able to force out. Rogelio reached down for the pitchfork wedged into Kyle. The prongs were almost half of the way inside of the wincing blond man. With one confident tug the pitchfork slid out of him, a couple spurts of blood followed. Kyle wailed out in pain. Rogelio grimaced at the blood trickling out. Thinking as quickly as he could, he tore the sleeve of his undershirt off and pressed it against the wounds. He gingerly scooped up the frail, barely-conscious man and cradled him in his arms.

Catra appeared next to them. “Rogelio, get Kyle back to the transport, and tell Octavia to get her squad over here!” Without hesitation Rogelio took off.

“Dammit, Kyle,” Catra sighed to herself.

--- 

  Before he even opened his eyes, the noises flooding Kyle’s ears were painting a picture. A rhythmic beeping that was keeping time with his heartbeat. The low hum of the various machines in the room. A hissing sound was sprinkling down from the halogen lights above him. Under all of it was a soft, constant scratching noise that Kyle couldn’t quite place.

Kyle ventured to pry his eyes open. It took a moment for his vision to come into focus. Everything was as expected. A Horde infirmary. Judging from the better than average state of upkeep, he was probably in Horde Command, the military city at the center of the Fright Zone, where Fright Spire, Lord Hordak’s base of operations, resided. Home.

Just to Kyle’s left was the source of the mystery scratching. Catra was sitting haphazardly in a chair, one leg dangling over the armrest while the other seemingly crumpled onto the ground. Every minute or two her tail would tap the floor. She hadn’t looked up yet from the paper notepad she was holding as she steadily scratched a pencil along it. From his angle Kyle couldn’t make out what she was doing.

“Whatcha drawing?” Kyle croaked.

“Drawing?”

“Oh, I thought you might be doodling something.”

“What am I, 12?”

“You used to love-”

“Reports, Ky. I’m filling out today’s mission report, which you missed the end of. Long story short, Rift Hollow is complying,” Catra gloated. She slowly pushed herself up and approached the side of Kyle’s bed.

“Nothing permanent. Doc patched you up good, even with Rogelio breathing down his neck the whole time.”

“He worries.”

“I know. I’ll go get him in a minute. He’ll be happy to hear that you’re up. Only reason why he wasn’t here is because I was getting worried he was going to pace a groove into the floor.”

Their conversation died down. They let an awkward silence pass over them for a moment before Catra patted Kyle on the shoulder.

“I’m taking you back out of the field.”

“What? No! I can do this, Catra!”

“Kyle, you let an old man wreck you on your first day! Look, I didn’t put any of the details into the report. This isn’t going to affect your permanent record.”

“Really, Catra, please, I’ll do better next time! I promise! I-”

Catra waved her hand in front of him. “This isn’t a debate. I even talked to Rogelio already. He agreed, you’ll be more safe here. We’ll find something else for you.”

“He’s my boyfriend, not my father! He doesn’t get to decide what I do and don’t do!” Kyle fumed. A fire was bubbling up inside of him and spilling over. This probably didn’t fit very well into the doctor’s ‘rest and recuperation’ plan.

“No, I get to decide,” Catra huffed, done with this conversation. “And I did. Kyle, on your first day you couldn’t even subdue a simple-”

“-Grandfather!”

Kyle hadn’t meant to blurt it out. Both of his hands immediately shot up to his mouth as his eyes bulged in his head. He could only muster looking up at Catra for a split second before lowering his gaze back down. She was silent, glaring at him intently. Her mouth was slightly agape.

He didn’t often win arguments with Catra. Kyle was pretty certain he hadn’t won this either. But maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t lost it either.

“What?” Catra floated out. It was softer and more inviting than anything Kyle had heard from her in months.

Kyle inhaled hard, sucking in as much air, and courage, as his lungs could hold. “I hacked into the digital records a few years back. I just… I just wanted to know where I came from. That’s when I found them. My family. Four generations, all farmers in Rift Hollow. I’ll be the first to not.”

Catra sat down on the side of Kyle’s bed. “What happened?”

“Don’t know. That part wasn’t in the file. Something... happened to my parents. And the rest of my family had to give me up to the Horde.

“I… I check in on them now and again. Just to make sure they’re okay. My family doesn’t even know I’m alive,” Kyle sniffed.

It lasted only for a brief second, but Kyle was sure he had seen it. A flicker on Catra’s face. The scrunching at the bridge of her nose. The soft frown. 

Compassion.

Just for that second, though, then Force General Catra was back. “You’re a Horde soldier. We’re your family now. The only one that matters at least.”

Catra patted Kyle on the shoulder again. “And that detail aside, I still have concerns about you out in the field,” Catra conceded. Kyle hung his head. Catra scratched the back of her neck. A friend, a loyal friend, was crushed. It was plainly written on his face. Catra didn’t want to leave him like this. She’s better than that.

Think Catra.

Think.

Ah-ha!

The germ of an idea bubbled into Catra’s mind. She looked over to Kyle and gently slapped him on the arm. “Forget fieldwork. You managed to hack into the Horde mainframe all by yourself?”

Kyle perked up. “Huh? Oh, yeah, why do you ask?”

 ---

  First came writing reports. Then came filing them into the computer. Catra knew it was probably faster to just write them on the computer in the first place, but she had an easier time collecting her thoughts through a pencil than she did on a keyboard.

It had been a full day, and these reports had taken her late into the evening. All that was left was Kyle’s. It was getting late, Catra could feel it in her body, which was calling for her bed. A cruel thing, really, seeing as how Catra knew that when she got there all she’d do is lie awake for hours, trying to pick out all the various hums and clanks of all the machines that kept the Fright Zone going.

Focus, or lack of focus actually, wasn’t helping either. Catra kept thinking about Kyle. Well, Kyle’s family.

Family.

Family…

Catra sighed. With a few clicks, she found herself in another program. A Horde directory. Only available to the highest ranking members. Something Catra only had available to her for four months now. She typed her name in and hit the little button with a magnifying glass. The results popped up, causing Catra to sigh yet again. Longer this time though. She allowed the sigh to deflate her as she slumped into her chair.

Oh, look, it’s your file. And hey, under “Known Relatives” it lists “None”. Just like the last three times you did this. You and None really need to hang out sometime and trade family recipes or something. I mean, you don’t have any, but maybe they will!

The Horde is your family. This is all you have.

[awkwardnessandbaseball]

Sorry for the delay, as I worked all day today, but here’s Chapter Two!!!

Once again, so many thanks to: @cspupstravaganza, @sherlockianwhovian​, and @lassluna.

Tag list: @quirkykayleetam, @squidvisious, @carpedzem (Message me to be added!)

AO3 if that’s your jam: Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7

I’d Pick You (and Your Little Dog, Too)

A Captain Swan Pupstravaganza Story

Summary: According to everyone in the known universe, Emma Swan’s dog is supposed to lead her to her soulmate. But she’s not even sure if she wants that. Soulmates are pretty idealistic, don’t you think?

Chapter Two:

Within minutes of receiving the call, David and Emma hop in the official Storybrooke Police vehicle and make their way to the park, Rascal and Princess taking up residence in their assigned seats in the back of the SUV. It’s really a good thing that there’s hardly any arrests in Storybrooke, or they’d never be able to share the car. There are a few part-time deputies who fill in here and there, but mostly it’s just the Nolan siblings running the town.

“So the caller said these dogs aren’t letting anyone near them?” Emma asks as they drive. “Did she say if they were growling or trying to bite?”

“I think they’re just too fast, playing ‘catch me if you can.’” David tells her.

They park across the street from the large group that’s now formed near where the loose dogs must be. Most of the canine companions are sitting calmly, watching the display, but some of the more rowdy ones are barking or pulling on their leashes, trying to play or get a hold of the dogs without owners.

Emma glances at some of the less well-behaved dogs and lets herself feel a moment of pity for their owners, because those must be some loud, rowdy soulmates.

“Emma! David! Over here!” They look towards the voice and find Granny, Ruby’s grandmother and the owner of Granny’s Diner and the inn down the street. After their parents' deaths when Emma and David were fourteen, it had been Granny who’d taken them in, allowing them to stay together and finish out high school in Storybrooke.

Granny doesn’t have a dog of her own, and the rumors are endless when it comes to the reason why. Some people say she had one, but she let it loose or gave it away to someone else, not wanting to know who her soulmate was. Others say she was never matched with a dog, but fell in love anyway – otherwise, how would she have had Ruby’s mother? The most vicious rumor Emma had heard was that Granny stole someone else’s soulmate away, and that’s why she was never matched with a dog.

It’s all ridiculous. Granny runs the diner and feeds nearly the entire town – human and canine alike – so whoever started any of those rumors is just thankless and mean. Plus, most of the stories don’t even make any logical sense.

Emma and David run to meet her, Rascal and Princess right behind them. Granny gives each of the dogs a treat from her seemingly bottomless pockets, then turns to the sheriff and her deputy.

“There are two loose dogs here,” she tells them.

“Yeah, that’s… why we’re here. We got a call.” David looks around and then calls out, “Attention! Storybrooke Police! Please clear the area!”

The crowd parts like the Red Sea, allowing David and Emma to walk toward the main area of the park. There are two golden retrievers sitting calmly on the other side, right next to the lake.

“They haven’t let anyone near them,” Doctor Whale whispers to Emma, far too close to her for comfort. “The bigger one thinks it’s a game and runs away whenever we get close. The small one nearly took Mr. Gold’s hand off.”

“He probably deserved it,” Emma mumbles, earning a small chuckle from Whale. “Either way, we’ll take care of it.”

Emma and David look at each other and instantly Emma knows David’s plan. They split up, Emma to the right, David to the left. Princess creeps along beside her owner, crouching down to keep her impact on the ground minimal, while Rascal hobbles along behind Emma, careful not to get under her feet.

The two goldens sit completely still as Emma and David inch closer to them. Emma thinks they might actually have a chance at catching them without much difficulty when suddenly Rascal bursts forward and tackles the smaller golden. Emma is shocked – Rascal rarely shows any interest in other dogs – and nearly yells his name, but it’s stuck in her throat. He isn’t trying to hurt the golden. He’s trying to play with her.

Emma turns to David, who looks just as shocked as she feels, just in time to see Princess tilt her head. She gallops past David to see what Rascal is getting himself into. After realizing that there’s no room in this play session, she goes to see what the other golden retriever is up to. So far, he hasn’t moved. He’s sitting and watching everyone watch him, looking proud somehow. Emma’s pretty sure he’s smiling. Princess sits in front of him and they stare at each other for a moment.

And then Princess does something distinctly not Princess-like: she reaches up with one paw and bats the other dog on the head. The golden merely tilts his head at her, then jumps up and pins her down. Princess lets out a growl and flips the other dog over, surprising him.

David finally finds his voice and laughs before shouting a command at Princess.

“Stay!”

Princess shakes her head once and stays put, allowing David to approach the two dogs. Emma sees him realize that he doesn’t have a leash with him. Princess and Rascal generally don’t wear them at the station, and they’d been in such a rush when they left that they’d both forgotten.

Shit.

Emma watches as David struggles with where to go from here. She’s still poised, ready to follow his lead, but they’re both at a loss for what to do next. Rascal stops playing and looks towards Emma for some sort of guidance.

“Come, Rascal,” she says. And he does, with the small golden retriever following closely behind him. Princess follows suit, and sure enough, so does her playmate. The four dogs lead Emma and David back to their police car with a very confused crowd staring after them.

“What the hell just happened?” Emma asks David as they climb into the car. David is silent as he places the key in the ignition. He drives two blocks, then pulls over again, out of the sightline of the crowd back at the park.

“I’ve never seen Princess act like that,” he admits.

“Rascal has only ever played with Princess. And that one time with Wolf, but that ended badly,” Emma shudders at the memory. Rascal, unsocialized as he was, tried to play with Wolf and only ended up angering the over-sized husky. It had escalated quickly but Emma was able to break it up before any real damage was done. Both dogs had walked away with small scratches and a puncture or two, but nothing life-threatening.

David stares at Emma but she refuses to look at him. She knows what he’s thinking, but it’s impossible.

“Maybe these dogs—”

“They’re stray dogs, David.” The phrase feels strange on her tongue. Those two words don’t match up like ‘stray cats’ or ‘abandoned gerbils’. “They don’t belong to anyone.”

He continues to watch her, waiting for her to come to the same conclusion he’s reached. And she has. She knows exactly what this means, but she’s just not sure how.

“One could say that we—”

“We’re not strays. Orphans are not strays.” Tears are welling up and she swallows hard, trying to keep her emotions under control.

Once they turned 17 and had wanted a place of their own, Emma started waiting tables at the diner and David cleaned kennels at the vet. It wasn’t pretty or glamorous, but it got them a shabby apartment and food on the table - food that wasn’t deep-fried in the kitchen at Granny’s. It meant they could take care of Princess and Rascal when they came along.

For half their lives, Emma and David have been orphans. Even as an adult, Emma feels the absence of a parent in the same way she did when she was 14. She struggles sometimes to remember her mother’s voice or her father’s laugh, but David always helps her to remember. He’s dealt with the pain better than she has. She still feels like a lost orphan sometimes, and he often has to pick her back up and remind her of how much she really has in front of her.

“Emma.” David’s voice brings Emma back to the present, to the situation at hand and the four dogs in their backseat. “Those dogs wouldn’t come to anyone else, and then they just suddenly decide to follow Princess and Rascal and come back with us, no chasing or even leashing involved whatsoever?”

“I know what happened, David, I was there. But my original point still stands: the dogs were loose. No collars, no tags.”

David sighs in defeat and starts the car again. When they arrive back at the station, Princess and Rascal show their two new friends to their bed and the four of them curl up together in what Emma can only think of as a Cuddle Puddle.

It’s ridiculously cute and it’s making Emma’s heart ache.

Loathe as she is to admit it, these dogs very clearly belong to David and Emma’s soulmates. The problem is that they don’t seem to belong to anyone at all.

************

After the excitement of the morning, it’s a normal, quiet day at the station. Emma spends far too much time staring at the large pile of fur in the corner of the room. The light gold fur of Rascal’s new friend is reflecting in the small bit of sunlight that shines through the window.

I guess you’re meant to be me, Emma thinks to herself. It’s no wonder whatever human you’re attached to didn’t want you anymore.

She feels a strange hole in her heart, as though she’s missing something – or someone – that she’s never had to begin with. If this is what having a soulmate feels like, she wants absolutely no part of it.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much of a say in the matter.

She can tell David’s feeling the same phantom pains. He’s hunched over his desk, focusing too hard on the paperwork in front of him, his grip on the pen just a bit too tight.

“I’m going to get some early dinner at Granny’s. I’ll be back,” Emma announces, unable to sit in the quiet room anymore. “Do you want your usual?”

David looks up from the desk in surprise as though he’s forgotten she’s still in the room with him. He nods once and then goes back to whatever he’s working on.

Out on the street, with Rascal as her only company, Emma instantly feels better. Being away from the strange reminder that she does in fact have a soulmate, they’re just… what? missing?... clears her head, and the pain in her chest eases to a dull soreness.

“Did you find the owners?” Granny asks as soon as Emma steps foot in the door. Granny’s never been known for being subtle.

Emma shakes her head, fighting off the tears that inexplicably well up in her eyes at the thought of the poor dogs back at the station without any owners. She places her takeout order and sips a Coke at the counter while she waits.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Lucas,” comes a voice from the door. Rascal’s ears perk up and Emma turns her head. She’s never seen the man before – a rare occurrence in Storybrooke, and now it’s happened twice in one day. He’s scruffy, in a nice way, and has an attractive amount of chest hair peeking out from the top of his shirt. He smiles easily at Granny, but she scowls at him in return.

“I’ve told you, everyone calls me ‘Granny.’” She smiles, but it’s one of mocking. “Because I’m so kind and grandmotherly.”

“Of course, ma’am. Apologies.” The man continues to grin despite the older woman’s eye roll. He places an order and walks towards the seats at the counter.

Towards Emma.

She tries not to stare, really she does, but she rarely runs into people in this small, sleepy town that she doesn’t already know. Who is this man?

“No need to stare, love, I’m not going anywhere.” The man smirks at her, raising an eyebrow. He’s got a slight accent, British perhaps, and Emma tries not to think about how sexy it is.

“Not your love,” Emma retorts with a small laugh. He laughs at her quick wit and then glances down at Rascal.

“May I um… may I greet your dog?” he asks.

It’s a strange question. Most people don’t ask, they simply stick their hands right in Rascal’s face. He rarely reacts at all, but he’s been known to give big, wet kisses to some of Emma’s closer friends. She trusts his judgement, especially after he’d been right about Neal from the beginning….

Emma nods, watching Rascal to see what he’ll do. He sits up straight and stares at the man with curious eyes.

The man bends his knees and crouches down so he and Rascal are nearly the same height. He doesn’t say anything to him, merely holds his hand out, palm up, for the dog to consider. Rascal does, sniffing it and then moving closer so he can sniff the rest of the man’s arm, and then finally his face. If the man is surprised by the dog’s behavior, he doesn’t act like it.

“Hey bud,” he says softly. “I don’t have one myself,” he says to Emma, and she thinks back to her conversation with David about people without dogs. “What’s his name?” Rascal is practically in the man’s lap now.

“Rascal. And um… I’m Emma,” she holds her hand out awkwardly for him to shake. He looks up at her and takes her hand, kissing it instead. She does her best not to roll her eyes at the corny move.

“Killian,” he tells her. “Killian Jones. I just moved here with my step-sister.”

Emma wants to ask if his sister has a dog, if he’s alone in his loneliness. But she doesn’t, if only because Granny calls out her name for her takeout order.

“Nice to meet you,” she tells him, pulling a reluctant Rascal out the door. Killian waves at her as she leaves, and she feels the pain in her chest inexplicably expand as she walks away.