#don’t be an asshole and learn to be at peace with your posts winding up where the fuck ever once you post them

[queen-beefcake-sqx]

hey can you tag patzagchilles? sorry it just makes me really uncomfortable

Totally op - I don’t tend to tag ships so if anyone needs any specific ones tagged, hit me up and I’ll tag best I can remember. Will get those tags on the posts from earlier.

(Also for that ship in particular I traipsed through three different types of tagging the ship which is also always a nightmare with ship tagging - so like, if I ever use a tag but there’s another one that’s popular/active/preferred, just let me know).

[namelesswolffreak]

"Boyfriends"

I've been working on this story concept for....3-4 years now and I've finally managed to work everything out to the point I'm confident in posting this little blurb of the main characters. So, I hope you enjoy and feel free to ask questions about them and their world.

Context: This takes place in a world of super powered people heavily inspired by MHA / Marvel / Miraculous. Waker (Way-kur) Atlas is Dare City's main hero who is put through quite a lot on a daily to weekly basis trying to beat the baddies and Cyrus Fauthrin is his infamous thief arch nemesis turned lover and best friend who causes trouble around the city just to get the Hero's attention.

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

The melancholy of the day was waning on Waker as he patrolled the quiet streets of one of Dare’s many neighborhoods which was quite unusual considering every seven seconds a villain was after his head. The sun was barely above the clouds, no one was really awake yet and the only thing that accompanied him was his footsteps as he jumped, hopped and skipped to the next platform he summoned under his feet. He happened to be bounding over Lay Wind Park, the foxes fast asleep in their dens to his disappointment, but the Hero Monuments were still a sight to behold in the early sunrise as they shone with brilliance in what little light was filtering over the surrounding hillsides.

The wind blew past his frizzed locks as he stood above the park near a tree in the shade, expression steeled and focused as he watched for signs of trouble as he waited for a certain someone to arrive. Today was uneventful and rather slow, the kind of day Waker preferred if he were being honest. Heaven knew being bored all day was ten times better than returning home to the countless kitchen sink surgeries he’d have to do with worn needles and his mother’s thread pinching into his skin as he sewed up bloodied wounds full of shrapnel and debris. Much better. The birds were chirping a happy, lazy song as they flew by on the breeze and the distant hum of an awakening city filled the natural ambiance of cicadas and crickets quite nicely as he watched and waited. He dare let out a sigh as the scene took hold of him fully, a warmth washing over him that he hadn’t felt in the recent weeks.

Which wouldn’t be for long as the rustling of tree leaves and a “Boo!” have him falling off of his platforms and hurtling towards the ground with an embarrassingly shrill scream.

“Waker!” A concerned voice follows as a blue blur dives after him.

Ground spiraling as he falls, Waker braces for impact, too late to conjure any platforms beneath him to break the fall so, he readies himself, waiting for the hurt and pain that would surely follow with some scrapes and bruises…………...But it never comes. He unscrunches his eyes and removes his arms from his head to see a blue, sparkling light surrounding him.

Irritation and embarrassment take over him immediately.

His face turns a copious amount of red as he’s carefully scooped up in pale arms that hold him close and, humiliatingly enough, in bridal style. Oh god no, he curses mentally, murmuring a soft “No…” into his shield of arms. This was so not how he wanted to show up in front of his partner after their long and grueling few weeks of not being able to see each other outside of villain fights and breaks in between their testing week.

The sudden warmth of a chest presses against his side and the delicate rhythm of a frantic heart race beneath his one hand as the other quickly grabs for his cape to hide his strawberry cheeks. There was no way in hell he was letting ‘he knew who’ see him in such a state, there was no possible way he could let the witch-like thief catch him like this. A brave hero didn’t get scared or spooked by rustling leaves and the word boo! Absolutely absurd! Though a voice in the back of his mind said he already had.

“You are such a fucking clutz, I swear.” And a huge scaredy cat, the blue-clad ravenette doesn’t say aloud, but his tone implies anyways. “I should take you to my ballet classes sometime, maybe then you’d actually learn some balance.” The comment only makes him clutch the soft fabric tighter around himself.

He’s loathing the thought of unveiling himself now, but he knows he’s been caught, his normally stoic or serious persona now broken and practically burned away as he knows his cape isn’t doing much to hide his warm face or the tenseness of his grip. Plans to forever sink himself into a hole where nobody could possibly ever find him again after this mess are shortly abandoned for now and gaining courage Waker swallows the huge lump in his throat and tries to cleverly reply. “H-hey, what’s a-....What’s up, Witch Boy?” And he knows the intended playfulness doesn’t go through as he’s met with a narrowed glare.

The other isn’t amused. “Witch boy, really? Did I actually scare you that badly that you lost a couple of brain cells?”

“Shu-shut up, Cyrus!” He defends as this “Cyrus” just sighs at him, though his stare more sly than pointed now.

“Get out of that stupid thing so I can see your face.” He says with a tremble in his voice that Waker can definitely tell is laughter, the prick. “Or I’ll totally drop you again.” And like hell he will, Waker knows, but he takes the threat seriously nonetheless and loosens his grip on the cape just enough to see the Ravenette’s brilliant and ever playful smile.

For a moment Waker just stares and admires him, those brilliant blues sparkling, no, literally sparkling as he says something Waker doesn’t catch. The sun is framing his face so perfectly in the light, highlighting those perfectly red cheeks he would love to kiss every morning, and the slight upturn of his lips as he smiles down in reverence at him, and the slow flutter of his lashes that compliment his features nicely. Though braided off to the side Cyru’s hair never fails to make him look so ethereal as the gentle morning breeze brushes back his loose strands. Waker swears it looks like its made up of space itself when he lets it go during the night time, convincing himself he can see stars within the strands when he stands beneath the moonlight. It doesn’t take much to make the hero swoon regarding his partner nowadays. Daydreams of peaceful nights alone on the couch watching movies together after his nightmares keep him awake and alert run through his mind, or the times Cyrus has saved him from getting beaten to a pulp and they spent hours talking over stitching him back together about nothing at all, and every single time Cyrus has stuck up for him at school, reminding him of the warmth this person carries with them and all the love and affection he’s constantly showered in when they’re together. It’s strange how much Cyrus has changed over the past few months from raging emo to ride or die friend, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. He doesn’t even try to stop the lofty sigh that escapes his lips as more dear memories cross his mind.

And Cyrus is all too quick to recognize that dumb look on his face.

“Oh, hell no!” Is the only warning he gets before being promptly dropped, this time no blue aura to save him from hitting the dirt below, landing with a thud. “Not this early in the morning!” Though Waker could have sworn Cyrus was sharing the same look with him not minutes prior.

“Ow! Why’d you drop me, asshole!?”

Cyrus cocks his hips as he floats there, his wide brimmed conical now covering his eyes in an intimidating manner, making him way more menacing than he should considering his current attire. “Oh please, don’t even act like you’re hiding that stupid look on your face, Idiot! I ain’t dealing with your whole sappy dappy act this early in the morning.”

By “sappy dappy” Waker knows exactly what he’s referring to and scowls accordingly. Apparently, holding hands and having morning cuddles while complimenting everything about Cyrus is considered sappy and lovingly disgusting. Well at least to some people, it’s called affection and admiration!

“It’s a look that means I like you, asswipe!” Waker shoots back, malice nowhere to be found in his tone though, barring more on playfulness.

“Do you think I’m in love with you or something!?”

And they then stand there -well float there- in silence, both looking each other in the eyes, narrowed brows testing the other to make the next move or say the next snappy comment. And for a moment it looks as if the words really have cut too deep, but Waker isn’t one to remain serious for long as his shoulders begin to shake, prompting the other to clutch his stomach and stifle a grin as their eyes water over with laughter.

“Oh, no, not me, I could never.” Waker quips, leaning back and hugging both his arms, not caring for the dirt now caking his suit. Cyrus is quick to come back with his own natural snark.

“Pfft, as if! Absolutely not. Me and you, the orange haired frizz ball who kicks my ass more than twice a week over that one time I stole a candy bar? You gotta be fucking with me!” He bellows, Waker taking note of the boy flipping upside down where he floats in the air, his face a contortion of joy and happiness as his ripped dress flows with the wind.

He finds the display rather adorable, recalling that such a thing only occurred by accident when the thief was getting emotional. His inept ability to control his powers never failed to amuse the Hero. The little wrinkle of his nose didn’t quiet his thoughtful admiration either as he blushed in between bouts of giggles.

"I wouldn't have time to be your lover anyways!"

“It’s only 6am, when can I admire my boyfriend so it fits within your busy schedule?”

And the laughter is immediately quieted, a heavy silence filling the air, even the crickets and cicadas falling victim to it. The world is waiting in bated breath as if listening to the drama unfold.

Waker holds in a breath. Oh shit, oh fuck, he really fucked it up this time! Way to go, Atlas, you really did a number on today!

…………

………….

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I just did-”

“It’s ok……” Cyrus breaths out, taking a long drag of air before finally finishing. “It’s….ok.” He manages to lower himself to the ground, dress falling at his sides, and crosses his arms in doing so. “We’re-I’m going to have to get used to it eventually.” He shrugs. “Right?”

There’s a weight to his words as Cyrus steps closer to the redhead that Waker recognizes near immediately. They’ve had this talk before, a talk that has led to a misunderstanding or two between them in the past and a verbal fight at that. The term “Boyfriend.” It was a touchy subject to say the least and while it had been a challenge for even Waker himself to start using it, it also seemed Cyrus was struggling to accept the lofty title. A long time ago before the two even met, the word had a different meaning to it for them both, but Waker had long since come to terms with it himself, but understood Cyrus’ hesitation in saying the word freely. He considered his next words carefully.

“I know you don’t exactly like the ter-”

“It’s not that I don’t like it Waker…..”

“I know, Cy, but.” Failing to put his thoughts into words Waker scrambles forward to catch Cyrus’ hands in his own, pecking each delicately, square on the knuckles, gauging his reaction whilst he does so. When Waker is met with a soft smile, he returns it, though his much softer and kinder in Cyrus’ eyes. “I shouldn’t have said it when you’re not ready. Just because I moved past it doesn’t mean you have.” Noticing his smile slipping he clumsily adds in, “And that’s ok! Really, it’s ok and I mean, and I love you and-uh, I get it and I mean I just say boyfriend because that’s what everyone else says, expects- wait no- I didn’t mean to phrase it like that uh-I don’t really get the need for a title for what we have anyways, like so dumb right!?”

Followed by more ridiculous rambling that has Cyrus covering his mouth trying not to giggle. It’s a nervous habit that has come to amuse the thief to no end. “And-it not like it means anything to us, its just there for other people so they know that um, we, us, you and I are an um item I guess wow that was cheesy and dumb and I am so sorry that you have to put up with me oh god I’m rambling and no, don’t look at me like that. I’m doing the thing again aren’t I-” Shaking with laughter again Cyrus has to put a hand on his shoulder to get him to shut up because he knows if he doesn’t Waker could go on well into the night and has before. It didn’t help that he could feel the tremble of the others fingers, realizing Waker was going to throw himself into an anxiety attack if he didn’t.

“Waker!” And Waker promptly closes his mouth, panic clear in his eyes that Cyrus quickly combats by brushing strands of orange out of his face and behind his ear. “Just take a deep breath.” And Waker does, following the instruction intently. “And let it out, slowly.” And Waker follows that too, looking that much calmer as Cyrus pulls him closer. “Slowly.” He rubs his thumbs over Waker’s hands. The trembling is still present, but less so. “There you go.” And doesn’t stop telling him to breath calmly until he feels Waker’s grip relax in his own.

Delicately and softly, each flyaway is combed back into place only to immediately pop out again, but Waker appreciates the sentiment anyways and Cyrus has no problem being given an excuse to keep combing through such lovely soft tufts. He loves the soft mane of fluff on his partner’s head that even since their first meeting has remained as untamed and wild as ever. -Such a shame he always ties it back when he’s on duty though- It just adds to the contrast between his actual self and hero persona, the sweet and endearing ball of anxiety vs the serious and battle ready hero of Dare city who couldn’t catch a break. And he wouldn’t be ashamed to admit to which one he preferred.

“You don’t need to tell me-er.” Waker quickly corrects, trying not to sound patronizing. “I don’t need you to explain yourself Cy. You-we don’t need to have a name if that’s what you want, that’s what I’m trying to say. Official or unofficial or whatever, I won’t treat you any different.”

“I know Waker. I…..I really want to call you that, just I-.......I just like what we have right now and-”

Waker just pecks him on the cheek quickly and pulls away to pat at a spot on the ground, looking longingly back up at him. A soundless “You don’t want to lose me.” goes unsaid as Cyrus complies, Waker taking the shorter one in his arms once more.

It wasn’t a matter of Cyrus being afraid to commit, though maybe it was, not even he was sure of what was going with himself anymore, but a fear that the wonderful friendship he’d built up with the hero would end or change or just not be the way it is now because they suddenly started calling each other boyfriends. He’s had it happen one too many times at this point, every one of his previous “boyfriends” changing everything once they started dating, acting as if kissing and romantic outings were supposed to be their only interactions from now on. They were no longer interested in the random silly things he found on the internet or just hanging out doing whatever, but were interested in using him, his body, parading him around and rubbing it in peoples faces, being denied having fun if it wasn’t their idea of “fun” and more. Cyrus' stomach curls remembering being ignored for weeks to months at a time because he wasn’t feeling up to being in bed with them or awkwardly sitting off to the side while his one boyfriend at the time showed him off to his friends and bragged. It was the same guy who he used to play videogames and eat cookies with on the weekends, talking about anything and everything…...It hurts him to realise there probably was never a friendship there to begin with. Just an elaborate ruse to get him into bed at some point.

And that was one thing Cyrus feared when they had held hands for the first time after awkwardly admitting to harboring feelings for each other after the high of a fight they were forced to join sides on. Never had the thief felt more relieved that his feelings were reciprocated, but also more scared that he had just ruined the one healthy relationship he managed to make in those many months spent together.

Cyrus removes his hat and huddles under Waker’s chin, placing his head right on his heart that gives out a steady, comforting rhythm and brightens when the taller of the two puts his head on him in return. No, Cyrus thinks, this is different.

A long silence falls between them as they cuddle in each other's arms, just watching the sun come up. Basking in each other’s presence, taking in the warmth of their bodies pressed together in this nice early morning, and relishing in the calm which was far and few in between with their double lives and they were thankful. There’s no need to exchange words now as a quiet understanding befalls them both.

It’s only after the sun seems to peak at the crest of the hillsides does Waker make himself heard again.

“Is that why you dropped me?” And Cyrus blinks for a quick second, processing the question before understanding and then playfulness cross his expression.

“No it’s because you’re a dunce.” He huffs. “And fucking heavy as hell.”

Waker chooses to ignore that last bit. “But I’m your dunce.” He boops his nose.

“Damn, straight you are.” And Cyrus retaliates with a kiss on his.

Boyfriend or just “friend who I like to kiss and hold hands with sometimes”, Waker loves him and Cyrus doesn’t doubt that for a second.

[chalkrevelations]

Word of Honor Ep 5, and this is a lot of politicking. (Although not as much as there will be.)

Due diligence, first: If you are NEW or JUST VISITING, this is a re-watch, so there are SPOILERS not just for this ep, but for the entire show. Scroll away and come back later if you haven’t seen all 36.5 eps and want to watch unspoiled.

Before we get to the politicking, let’s talk about what we’re really here for: Date Night For Our Pair Of Merciless Killers. I’m going float a theory about this episode. I’ve talked in previous rounds of this re-watch about how Wen Kexing’s thirst takes on a different dimension when we know his backstory and how he’s trying to get info about Siji Manor and confirm Zhou Zishu’s identity, as well as reacting to him as his one-time shixiong. I’m going to suggest that a lot of the sexual harassment in this particular episode – at least in the back half of it – is about diverting ZZS while he’s trying to figure out an op that WKX’s actual Ghosts were involved in. I think WKX is laying it on so thick here – constant come-ons and physical crowding and repeated attempts to touch ZZS that we repeatedly see ZZS step away from or actually push away - because he’s deliberately trying to make ZZS uncomfortable in order to distract him. More on this in a bit.

Re: the politicking. Straight-up, I’ll admit that I didn’t follow this aspect as close as I maybe ought to have on the first go ‘round because I was distracted by WKX’s thirst, just like ZZS is supposed to be (so, another point to you, show). I’m going to take this in basically chronological order to try to make sense of it: We open on Shenshen fighting Hao Tong and Lv Liu (ugh) to protect Ao Laizi, leader of Tai Shan sect, a lesser sect; the last two living Danyang Sect shidi; and the Danyang Glazed Armor. Shenshen chases Insufferable Grandma and Grandpa away but is kind of an asshole about wanting the Danyang Glazed Armor. He does a credible job of trying to maneuver them all into coming back to the Five Lakes Alliance at Zhao Jing’s place after Zhao Jing shows up with one of the Tai Shan disciples who ran to Sanbai Manor for help. Ao Laizi was not born yesterday and appears to outmaneuver him, although if you pay attention, Zhao Jing actually allows them to slip the snare. I have my suspicions that Zhao Jing wants the Danyang Glazed Armor to stay in the wind, where he’s less likely to be blamed once Ao Laizi gets knifed in the back and gets his newly acquired Glazed Armor took, which I’m assuming – knowing what I know about Awful Yifu from my previous watch – is the plan. This will end up being a big mistake for everyone involved. WKX then gets himself and ZZS invited to dinner at Sanbai Manor, where they get to sit at the head table with Chengling, Zhao Jing, Shenshen, and a dude representing Yueyang Sect, who is apparently Gao Chong’s favorite disciple, despite not being his head disciple, so you lose again, Deng Kuan, sorry. There’s a lot of ostentatious poetry quoting and bullshit toasting of each other at the head table, interrupting ZZS’s actual work of drinking. WKX attempts to feed ZZS by putting a prawn on his plate, which goes over about as well as you’d expect at this stage of their relationship, and which I now have to compare to the New Year’s dinner we’ll see in a later ep, at Siji Manor, which shows just how far their relationship comes. EVERYTHING about how awkward and uncomfortable this banquet is stands in stark contrast to that New Year’s dinner.

Cut to Mu Yunge – oh, this is the guy who was sitting in the back row of the cast during the WoH concert, when I couldn’t figure out who he was or why he was there instead of say, Wang Rong (Han Ying, my beloved …). We saw him earlier with the Five Lakes Alliance contingent that shows up to look vaguely horrified and tearful post-massacre at Mirror Lake. Now, he’s staggering along a deserted street after nightfall, running from Ghost Valley, who appear to be the legit deal this time, in the form of the Department of the Unfaithful. He runs into Ao Laizi and his charges (don’t they have a home to go to?), begging for help, before he gets yoinked away by a red banner that acts an awful lot like a tentacle. Ao Laizi goes running after him. BIG MISTAKE.

Back at the banquet, Shenshen appears to be disgracefully drunk (can none of these Five Lakes Alliance assholes hold their liquor? Damn.) and is busy berating Chengling about learning to drink like a man. There are a lot more weird sympathetic looks from WKX here, along with ZZS. Zhao Jing sends both Shenshen and Chengling to bed like 5-year-olds, and WKX takes advantage of his shameless persona to ask pointedly about the strapping young fellow who escorted ShenShen to bed (aka Song Huairen, Gao Chong’s favorite disciple from Yueyang Sect). There is literally no reason for WKX to need to know this, but it will help us, as the audience, to know it later. Cut to Song Huairen putting Shenshen to bed and leaving, and then we find out, surprise! Shenshen is not drunk! Is not sleeping! Is apparently going to get up and go skulk around secretly …. somewhere. Who knows? We don’t see him again until he has a chance to berate Zhao Jing, which is always a good time, even if Shenshen is insufferable. Pick your fighter, I guess. Back at the banquet again, we and WKX meet … oh. It’s This Guy, Yu Qiufeng, leader of Mount Hua Sect – remember this asshole, he’ll show up again, in various iterations – and his son, Tianjie. ZZS, meanwhile, wanders off, also acting disgracefully drunk, pretending to throw up in the bushes so the maids will leave him alone and he can drink in peace. I’m not sure why we act like WKX is the only shameless one in this marriage. Also, this is … actually not the last time he’ll resemble Shenshen in this episode, now that I think about it. Anyway, ZZS spots Yu Tianjie sneaking away suspiciously and follows him to some part of Sanbai where Tianjie sneaks in then chases out someone in dark robes with his face covered who looks suspiciously like Song Huairen, Gao Chong’s favorite disciple. The banquet gets interrupted by someone who sounds like Happy Ghost berating the Five Lakes Alliance, a maid comes screaming up the stairs, and we all rush out to discover Ao Laizi and two of his disciples, dead, hanging outside the front gate. This really is the worst party ever. Significantly, WKX takes a minute to look around the banquet hall, as if to see if anyone is eying him suspiciously. He does NOT follow everyone to the front gate, but instead ends up outside Chengling’s room when Chengling yells for his shifu because someone’s trying to get him. When they all run to Chengling’s room, WKX is faffing about outside, leisurely fanning himself and saying that surely that wasn’t Ghost Valley, because they were SUCH mediocre fighters and ran away the minute he started fighting. I JUST BET THEY DID.

OK, so, here’s the thing. Back in Ep 4, A-Xiang told Lovelace to take a message back from WKX to tell everyone to assemble at Sanbai Manor. I’m thinking that this time, this is actual Ghost Valley, that they grabbed Mu Yunge essentially as bait to get Ao Laizi, and then killed Ao Laizi and took the Danyang Glazed Armor, so that Ghost Valley is actually IN POSSESSION of a piece of the Glazed Armor, finally. They also, in the process, stole it out from under Zhao Jing’s nose, taking away his chance to have (probably) Xie’er go after Ao Laizi and get it. Ghost Valley then hung Ao Laizi at the gate and presumably menaced Chengling, either as a distraction or to make WKX look good or both.

So, we get Chengling back in bed and see ZZS tell him to go to sleep and not to cry because men don’t cry – thanks, Shenshen. I’ll be sure to remember that when you figuratively stab me in the HEART with your sad little face and crystalline tears later in the show. ZZS has a flashback to telling baby Qin Jiuxiao at Siji Manor basically the same thing, and I’m wondering if this is following Qin Huaizhang’s death? I don’t know, I don’t think we get enough info. ZZS then sneaks onto the roof to listen to Shenshen berate Zhao Jing, who supposedly discovered he had his own piece of Glazed Armor stolen during this ruckus. NOW, LISTEN. Was the dark-robed figure chased by Yu Tianjie actually Xie’er, “stealing” Zhao Jing’s Glazed Armor? Because we know, later, Xie’er wears the Tai Hu Glazed Armor as a necklace. It seems like a lot of trouble to go through, to make him actually “steal” it, when you could just give it to him and act like it was stolen, but Zhao Jing also didn’t know (I think?) that ACTUAL Ghost Valley was going to show up and create a convenient ruckus and an obvious scapegoat to pin the theft on. This is also where I’m unsure about which particular faction scared the shit out of Chengling. I’m assuming it’s actual Ghost Valley, who were “conveniently” driven off by WKX, because also in Ep 4, the Scorpions were told to assemble at Yueyang, not Sanbai Manor, and will make their kidnap attempt there in a later episode.

Anyway, we’re finally back to Date Night For the Merciless Killers, and ZZS chases WKX through the treetops, set to a romantic tune, until they arrive at what will turn out to be a crime scene, where WKX stops ZZS from walking into some Hanged Ghost-style Soul Winding Threads. ZZS remarks this must be the “real” Hanged Ghost, unlike the one at Mirror Lake, because A-Xiang wouldn’t have been able to kill the REAL Hanged Ghost. (SO CLOSE, my friend, but we know that the real Hanged Ghost got got in Ep 1. Although whoever was at Mirror Lake did have access to Soul Winding Threads, as Shenshen and his group discovered them.) At this point, WKX wants to know if ZZS is afraid of ghosts because he’s a VIRGIN, hahaha? He also starts getting up on ZZS, who walks away to continue his investigation of the tree with the Soul Winding Threads. Blood drips from a corpse in the tree down onto ZZS’s sleeve, and ZZS comments that blood “disgusts” him; I think there may be some significance to this word choice, as it correlates to his past breakdown over his work in Tian Chuang and his reaction to the deaths of the Four Sages of Anji - this is the metaphorical blood on people’s hands, including his own, literalized. Anyway, at this point, WKX cuts ZZS’s sleeve. I mean. :hands: He also tries to joke and bet about the identity of the corpse in the tree, who turns out to be Yu Tianjie. ZZS once again will not be diverted and keeps investigating this crime scene like the most devoted Fantasy Ancient China CSI ever. WKX rushes after him, saying that HE’s afraid of ghosts (implying that HE’s a virgin?) and getting right up on ZZS, enough so that ZZS physically pushes him away, as they reach a second body on the ground. Dark-robed, masked, turns out to be Song Huairen, Gao Chong’s (former) favorite disciple, who ZZS theorizes is the traitor who was after the Tai Hu Glazed Armor. There’s a repeated pattern here of WKX really pushing the sexual harassment and other diversionary tactics every time ZZS is working to figure out a piece of this puzzle, which might take him too close to WKX, up until the point when ZZS advances a theory that points away from WKX. ZZS is clearly working his way toward WKX, though, even with some of the wrong turns he’s making. The last thing we do in this ep is move on to the Zhao Coffin Home, where they encounter the Drunk Like a Dream incense and the Drug Men. On entering the place, ZZS pulls WKX back from more Soul Winding Threads, but he then pulls away when WKX tries to put a hand on his shoulder. WKX asks ZZS who he is, again, and it sounds like this time he’s asking more than what the face under the mask looks like. ZZS responds by asking WKX who HE is, and the way he says it – this is where I really begin to think he’s getting suspicious. You can see the wheels turning.

Final observation:

We get two SUPER SIGNIFICANT things at the end of this ep: There’s what I think is the first use of “Lao Wen,” shouted by ZZS in warning when WKX is wandering around high and the Drug Men show up. And WKX calls ZZS “Zhou Zishu” – not Zhou Xu – when he complains about being made to drink the Drunk Like A Dream antidote. ZZS notices.

[hoyitspaolo]

An Aquarius looked at his friends as they give him a send off. It's crazy that he's really doing this. To travel to the UK and be with her. His friends gave him words of encouragement and teasings here and there. They shared a couple more words until the PA system says that the plan is about to depart. They've been talking for months and this will be their first time actually seeing each other.

An Aries watched as his girlfriend sitting across from him, eating away her food. She finally looks up and gave him a look, and asked him what he was staring at. He shook his head and laughed a little.. "I just couldn't help but think that I am going to marry you someday, and I get to spend my life with you and grow old with you. And to do this with you, every day.." He looked at her and smiled. She chewed her food silently, then balled up a napkin and threw it at him playfully. Told him to cut that crap as she starts to turn red. They both laughed.

A Cancer stared down at the bouquet of flowers infront of him. He frowned. "What should I get for Allie?" he looked at his phone to look at the clock and frowned. 'Fuck it..' he thought. He knocked on the door, and she opened. She gasped as she finds him in her doorway carrying 6 different kinds of bouquets. He smiled at her sheepishly and said, "I'm sorry, I forgot your favorite flower, but I know how much you love flowers so I got you these..."

A Capricorn comes knocking at her door. "Sam, please? Let me in..." He keeps knocking. He looks around and watches as the rain begins to get heavy and the winds start to get really strong. Her door opens and she peeks her head out, and she looks at him. She opens the door for him and he steps inside, and before she could ask him what he was doing in the middle of the night, she was lifted up and felt his arms around her waist, pulling her into a tight hug. She relaxed and she holds his head.. She wasn't feeling all too well and his response was to be there with her.

A Gemini is arguing with a Virgo. "Me? A Coward. You don't have any right to call me that, when you put the victim card out and--" before he could go and finish his sentence, she stormed away. He sighed. He stood there and watched her as she is surrounded by her friends. He watches her as she laughs and smiles with them. Their eyes meet and she gave him a look. He frowned and he knew had to make this right. He gathered up his courage and approached the group and held her hand, and pulled her aside and he apologized for being an asshole.

A Libra placed his hands on her shoulders and stared deep into her eyes. "Listen to me, Lex. Can you really see yourself without me in your future? Be honest. I know I can't. I just want some confirmation that you still want to be with me. All of this. That you want this. I just really need your reassurance right now.." She places her hands on his cheeks and held him, comforting him and reassuring him that everything was okay.

A Leo watched as his soon-to-be wife walked down the aisle with her father by her side. The crowd was full in gasps and aww's. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he smiled at his best man. She is and always will be beautiful, but today she looked so radiant and glowing in her white dress. He felt some tears forming in his eyes. He lets out a sigh and pinched his eyes a bit. He was too embarrassed to show this kind side of him. Why should he care? He's about to share his life with her..

A Pisces stood with me outside the balcony. To think I would fly myself out to win her back, and it's been months since she moved away. I looked at Pisces as he lits a cigarette and smiled at me. "I know what you're thinking..." he chuckled, "why am I here, did I do the right thing? And buddy, let me tell you.. the fact that you acted on it and you wanted to win her back just shows you truly care about her. You make me, and the rest of the guys feel something.. envy? jealous? I don't know but we're here to show support. I hope wherever it takes you, you will find your peace." We places a hand on my back and he smiled, "you make this hopeless romantic learn to love again, bud.."

A Sagittarius remembered that it was their anniversary coming up, and he knew exactly what to get her. A couple months back, his girlfriend and him were window shopping and she saw the most beautiful necklace in an antique store. She wanted it so bad. She said it looked like her just like her mother's.. He remembered that. Fast forward today, he handed Ellie a box, and he smiled at her. She gasped. She pulls out the necklace. She looked at him all teary eyed, and he flashes her his goofy smile.

A Scorpio drove down the highway, swerving through traffic. His hands tight on the wheel. He looked over the rear view mirror, eyeing for the police. None. He let out a breath of frustation. He wasn't going to mess this up. He knew he was an asshole, but losing Bre? No. He wasn't going to. He wanted to make things right. He got a text from his bestfriend that she was at the club with her friends. He needed to see her. He has to... tonight.

A Taurus slowly takes out his phone and scrolls through. No messages. He looked over at his friends as they're all just chattering and laugh, he smiles at them but he knows he's not being paid any attention. He checks his phone again. He scrolls through his timeline and found out she posted something just a hour ago. He gets a little nervous. Suddenly his phone vibrates. It's her. He sighs in relief. "Brandon..?" His name gets called, he looks up. He laughs and smiles. Thank goodness she messaged him.

A Virgo sat upright from his bed and looked at his phone. If he gets up now and drive to San Antonio, he can catch her bus. He starts to get ready and keeps looking at his clock. He doesn't have much time. Rachel's transfer from San Antonio to Mississippi would take about another hour, so he has to make this right. He knew he messed up. He knew that he lashed out and tried to tell her that this was a mistake. He was wrong, he couldn't let this go. An apology even. He wants to make this right. He grabbed his keys and started to get in his car. Hopefully he won't be too late...

- The Reasons Why.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Prologue: Onset of Injury (Sy)

Characters: Captain Syverson, various OMCs

Summary: Sy’s POV, the night and the mission that ended his military career and set him unknowingly on a path to true love.

Catch up on all chapters right here!

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings:  Language, violence, attempted military talk, feels…

Author’s Note: Okay friends, most of what I know about military ops I learned from watching movies…so, this may not all be accurate. But I think most of the terms and jargon are in line, even if this mission wouldn’t necessarily go down like this.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

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@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Captain Logan “Sy” Syverson had done a hundred briefings like this one. They were going into a compound with some low level goons, mid-level players, and one big boss. Two teams. Two entrances. One exit. The roof. Air extraction. Minimal undesirable casualties. Five or six mid to high level prisoners.

“Alright ladies, here’s the plan. The compound is central city. Alpha team, we’ll get dropped off by transpo two blocks south of the front entrance, Bravo team, same for you, two blocks north of the back entrance. Bravo, you head east and down once inside, Alpha will go west and up. Standard flanking formation. Stay frosty in there. These guys aren’t cub scouts. They will shoot on sight. Do your best not to be seen. Once the lower levels are cleared, we work our way to the top where we should find the big Kahuna. Do your best not to kill anyone in a suit. Tac gear only, unless it’s your life or theirs. These guys have intel the brass wants. Supposedly.”

Heads were nodding. Lopez raised his hand. The other guys laughed, but Sy appreciated the respect.

“Ricky?” He pointed at him to accept the question.

“Sir, what about evac?” He stood tall and sharp. He was new to the team, but Sy liked him already.

“That’s a great question, and thank you for raising your hand. Take notes on teacher’s pet here, class.” Everyone including Lopez laughed.

“There’s a stairwell to the roof in the master bedroom. That’s the LZ for our helo. They should be less than five mikes out, so we shouldn’t have time to order pizzas or anything after we clear the compound. So once the call is made, you won’t have long to get up the stairs. The helo can’t stay grounded for too long without drawing attention. We will need to keep an eye out for unfriendlies off compound being warned about our presence, and for survivors. Listen, I can’t stress this enough. I know it’s not easy to kill. And I don’t encourage it if it’s not necessary.  But these are bad people and they would kill you, the man next to ya, your sister, your parents, or your dog if they could.”

Aika, Sy’s German Shepherd whimpered in the corner but was ignored.

“Kill them for your brothers. For your neighbors. For the children you don’t even have yet. Because what do we do?”

“We embrace the darkness and the suffering.” His teammates that had been there for a while repeated the first part of the sin-eater credo.

“And why do we do it?”

“So that our fellow man is free to live in peace.” they finished the mantra as they had so many times before.

“Fuckin’ A. We roll in one hour.”

~~~~~~~~~

The drop and the entry had gone off without a hitch. Sy's Alpha team were like shadows, the very finger of death for the unjust and evil in the compound. Everyone they encountered was quietly subdued, whether by strategically placed blades, silenced firearms, or in some cases, the literal snapping of necks. Bravo team was just as successful. But Alpha team wasn't finding many prisoners.

The real problem came, though, when they reached the top floor where the big kahuna was supposed to be. Everything had gone dark, even though it had been lit up like Christmas, the Fourth of July, and the Super Bowl all in one when they were making their approach to the compound. Someone had squawked. Raised a silent alarm. Something.

"This…this doesn't smell right, captain." Harztler voiced what was running silently through Sy's mind. "This level was like Times Square when we got here. Now nothing? It stinks."

"I can smell it, Jake. I don't like it." he activated his comms. "Bravo team, we are sitting ducks up here, what is your twenty? Over."

"Sir, we are wrapping up down here, and getting the targets ready for evac. We should be on route in less than ten mikes. Over."

"Push it to five if ya can, private. We don't like the look of this bedroom. Over."

"Is this the moment to be questioning someone's taste in interior design, captain? Over."

"Shitcan that disrespect, private, or you'll be digging latrines alone next time we have survival drills. Over."

"Understood, sir. Will try to push to five mikes. Over."

"That'd be best. Over and out." He signed off with Lopez, amused at the inferior officer’s joke, even though he couldn’t show it openly.

Hartzler has just started to suggest possible reasons for their unease when the sound of rapid automatic firepower rang out from one of the floors below them.

“Fuck.” Both men said in unison followed immediately by frantic shouts from Sy’s radio.

“*crackle crackle* we are taking heavy fire! Kominski is down! Lopez is hit! Alpha team! Captain, do you copy? Over!"

"I'm on my way, Fuller. Hang tight. Over and out." Sy said and looked at the men on his team, "Hartzler, you and Goldberg signal the Helo for evac ASAP and get to the roof. Schmidt, Freeman, you two come with me to back up Bravo team. We meet at the LZ in five. That's not a big window, gentlemen, we'll radio if we hit any snags. Clear?"

"Clear." a round of nods and affirmations came from the rest of the team. Sy turned for the exit to the room, checking his clip, and putting one in the chamber. Stakes were higher than ever.

The last three steps to the ground floor were half blocked by a slumped corpse. Kominski. Sy fought the emotion building in him as he remembered David showing him photos of his two young daughters, Charlotte, who was seven, and Renee who had just turned five. And his gorgeous wife Sasha. His high school sweetheart. He was distracted enough  by thought of the soon to be grieving girls, that he missed the pool of blood, Kominski's blood, on the black tile steps. His knee twisted unnaturally. And he could almost feel the protest of his muscles and tendons.

"Fuck! Mind your footing on these last few, boys." he winced, limping on toward the firefight. He signaled the men behind him to stay against the wall and follow him quietly until he gave the signal to attack. There were three men in tactical gear firing from behind a bar in the corner, pinning what was left of Bravo team in their position behind an overturned dining table. It was just Fuller and Lopez now. Sy took the opportunity during a slow point in the enemy's fire to enter, managing to shoot all three immediately, single handedly ending things.

"Alpha team, secure the area. Fuller, Lopez, what is your status?" Sy asked the men.

"Lopez is hit pretty bad in the leg. We've got a tourniquet in place. I am…uninjured. But our prisoners have been…neutralized by friendly fire." Well, fuck. That was the mission blown.

"Ammo?" Sy asked, frustrated.

"Depleted, sir." they hadn't planned for this.

"Fuller, you and Schmidt get Kominski up the stairs, pronto. We ain't leavin' him in this hell hole. Freeman, you watch their backs. Keep 'em covered in case there are any more of these assholes lurkin' around the place. Lopez, I'm gonna help you up them stairs. Can you get up?"

"I'll try, sir."

"Okay, roll out." Sy went to help Lopez to his feet. The boy wasn't hardly 160 pounds soakin' wet.

It was slow going, with Kominski and Lopez in tow, but they made it back to the bedroom just as the sound of the helicopter began to grow, and the roof began to quiver from the wind kicked up by the blades.

Sy made Schmidt and Fuller go first, as they had the biggest burden. Then Freeman, in case they needed another hand getting Kominski's body into the hold. His knee burned after the four flights he'd already done supporting Lopez, but the private had lost so much blood. He thought he'd have to carry him up this last flight to the roof. The boy was pale as a…sheet. He didn't let himself think of an apparition.

When he felt safe enough, and ready, he told Lopez the plan and hoisted him over his shoulder on his uninjured side. His knee protested angrily, but he proceeded, ignoring the pain, forcing it down with those emotions about the Kominski family.

Relief washed over him as he made the last step and his boot crunched against the loose pea gravel of the roof top. They were almost out of the woods.

Until a massive explosion in the HVAC unit knocked him off balance and took him down to his knees, Lopez's added weight a contributing force in what he was certain was now a broken leg bone given a very clear and distinct pop he'd heard even over the noise of the fire and wind. He had heard it from the inside. He thought  it would be the tibia, but his knowledge of anatomy wasn't anything to write home about. He dropped the boy with an agonized howl. The heat from the blast bit at his back as he tried to find the strength to stand. But he couldn't. His team was charging toward him and the private. And for once, he was overjoyed to receive help. Fuller and Freeman got Lopez under each arm and dragged him the few yards to the open hold. Schmidt helped Sy up as best he could, but the Captain was in excruciating pain.

"Captain, we gotta go. These assholes are gonna blow up their own property to get us. Come on. It's not far. You can make it." Schmidt let his CO lean on him all the way to the helo.

Sy noticed tied up in one of the bucket seats of the hold, a man in maroon silk pajamas and brown leather loafers without socks. An Iraqi, early sixties, hair and beard still dark black. Their primary target. Mostafa Kassab.

"Where'd he come from?" Sy shouted at Hartzler.

"He was hunkered down in that corner over there when we came up to signal the chopper." the sergeant lit up with pride. "Fuller told me their prisoners didn't make it. I'm glad we found Kassab up here, or the mission would have been a total waste.

As they took off, Sy looked from the covered body of Kominski to the prone form of Lopez, who was paler than ever and glassy-eyed. It was hard in that moment to think that even ten of Mostafa Kassab could be worth one of these men he was lucky enough to call friends.

As he examined his knee, beginning to swell and looking a much different shape than he ever remembered, he thought about what this could mean for him, as a captain, as a soldier…as a man. If he could even call himself a man if he had to take away the title of captain and soldier. This was his calling. He wasn’t sure how he’d go on if…but, he’d wait to think about that when he got back to base and the medic’s tent. After all, what was the worst that could happen? It wasn’t like he was hurt bad enough to earn a discharge letter…was he?

Up Next: Chapter One: Evaluation

[tinydooms]

Oh, and Rick and Jonathan, "pub"?

So I changed this to “bar” because I didn’t have an internet connection when I was trying to remember which prompts I’d received, but I think it works all the same: 

One Night In Cairo

Cairo, October 1922

Thievery was not the plan of the evening when Jonathan went out that fateful night. He only wanted to get a little jazzed after a stressful and frankly disappointing dig down at the Valley of the Kings. Ordinarily Jonathan enjoyed going on digs; they had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember, but this one had been ridiculous from the start, run by an egomaniacal amateur with more money than sense and with an entirely incompetant team of inexperienced posh boys. After only a fortnight in this difficult company, Jonathan had cut his losses and quit, taking the first train back to Cairo. It would have been easy enough to get onto another dig down in Luxor, but the thought of staying put didn’t sit well and so here he was, back in Cairo, turned up at Evie’s little Fort Brydon flat like some kind of prodigal son and feeling just as wretched. Hence, booze. 

It hadn’t always been like this, Jonathan thought glumly, sliding onto a stool in a not-quite-seedy bar at the edge of Old Cairo. Before the War he had loved excavation, taking his time cleaning artefacts on his parents’ digs, more than happy to muck in and unearth history. Even after the War, settling down at a table of ancient odds and ends had been immensely soothing. But now that his parents were gone, lost two years ago when their plane went down over the Red Sea, everything had changed. Jonathan had been knocked sideways by their loss. Without his parents there, the horrors of the War were creeping back and it was getting steadily more difficult to focus on work. And Jonathan wanted to work; it was the only thing that brought him peace. But he couldn’t. 

Jonathan ordered a double whiskey and knocked it back. The alcohol warmed him; that was better. He ordered another and leaned his elbows on the bar, looking around. 

The bar, though just this side of reputable, was teeming with Europeans, all of them probably on the prowl for the kind of run-down place containing mysterious sheiks and veiled maidens and romantic heroes that they read about in the pulps. Rich idiots like Dickie Fanshaw over there mixed with the supposedly lower orders. One of those sat just down the bar from Jonathan, a tall man with overlong brown hair and a glum face who leaned on his arm, spinning something between his fingers, refilling his glass from the bottle of vodka on the counter beside him. He looked as lost as Jonathan felt. 

Dickie Fanshaw wasn’t lost. He and his friends were already well-sozzled, though it wasn’t that late in the evening, and were singing school songs at the tops of their voices, uncaring of what the other patrons thought. Some things never changed. Jonathan had known Fanshaw at Oxford; the man was a git. The big man beside Jonathan gave them an irritated glace and poured himself more vodka. Jonathan snorted. 

“Bloody tourists, eh?” he said, and the man smiled without humor, a barring of the teeth. 

“Yeah,” he said in an American accent, and knocked back his drink. “Assholes.”

“Quite.” 

As Jonathan watched, the American spun his toy around again, letting it whirl to a rattling stop on the countertop. Something about it caught Jonathan’s eye. It was a strange trinket, obviously an antiquity, probably New Kingdom by the look of it: a hexagonal box with the cartouche of Seti I engraved on the top, and various symbols around its sides. Jonathan looked over its owner again.

He was a big man, tall and broad-shouldered with  a two-day beard, wearing clothes that were old and worn, but had once been of good quality. His tan bespoke of a lifetime out of doors. Some kind of laborer? No, that had been a decent suit when it was new. Sensing Jonathan’s eyes on him, the man looked over with a scowl that didn’t quite hide the misery in his eyes. 

“Interesting trinket, that,” Jonathan said, nodding at the little box. “Carnahan,” he added, holding out his hand. 

The American raised an eyebrow, but shook. “O’Connell.”

“Are you in the antiquities business, Mr. O’Connell?”

“Not since the War,” the other man said, knocking back another shot of vodka. The bottle was empty; how he was still upright and looking sober was beyond Jonathan. He’d have been unconscious by now. 

“Ah.”

So here was another veteran. Not surprising, really; Egypt was full of them. Jonathan raised his finger at the bartender and ordered them a round of drinks. Maybe he could get this bloke to sell him the thing. Evie would like it and maybe it was worth something. 

“You were with the American Army?” Jonathan asked when the drinks arrived. 

O’Connell shook his head. “Foreign Legion.”

Well, that was terrifying. Everyone knew the French Foreign Legion to be full of cutthroats and brigands, more rigorously trained than any other fighting force in existence. 

“That’s where you found that thing?” He nodded at the box again. 

O’Connell palmed it off the counter and stuck it in his jacket pocket. “You could say that.”

Not much of a talker, this one. Hm. Jonathan drank more whiskey; the room was beginning to be pleasantly hazy. O’Connell ordered himself another round of vodka and slumped against the counter. 

“Fuck,” he said to no one in particular. 

“Amen,” Jonathan agreed. 

“Fucking War. Stupid, stupid, stupid thing.” O’Connell ran a shaking hand over his face and Jonathan realized that he was well and truly three sheets to the wind. Maybe it would be easy to buy that thing off of the American. Jonathan was only a little tipsy in comparison.

“I say,” he began, and then a lot of things happened at once. 

Dickie Fanshaw swaggered up to the bar, calling out for more whiskey. None too sober himself, he stumbled and knocked into O’Connell, spilling the big man’s drink over themselves. O’Connell snarled, shaking vodka from his hands. Fanshaw looked him up and down. 

“You bloody idiot,” he said. “How dare you trip me?”

O’Connell raised an eyebrow. “You knocked into me.”

“Don’t be absurd; an Englishman never trips. What do you have to say for yourself, you ignorant lout?”

“Fuck off,” O’Connell said, turning away. 

Jonathan snorted into his glass; Fanshaw was a first-class bully and certainly no one had ever dared speak to him like this. For a moment he was speechless with outrage. Then, grabbing O’Connell’s arm, he tried to drag the American from his chair. 

“What did you say to me?” he shouted. “What did you say, you great lummox?!”

O’Connell shook him off like a dog with a rabbit. “I said,” he replied, his voice loud and succinct, “fuck off!”

Two of Dickie’s henchmen arrived, standing behind him, waiting to see what they should do. Jonathan drained his glass and sat back, rather enjoying the show. Whatever happened, it was going to be good. 

“How dare you speak to your better in such a way,” Fanshaw said, oozing disdain. “I ought to beat you for that.”

O’Connell rose to his feet, slow and dangerous. He stood a head taller than Fanshaw. “You’re welcome to try,” he said. 

Fanshaw, unused to being challenged, fell back a step. Unwilling, however, to give ground and with his friends waiting to see what he would do, he curled his lip at O’Connell. 

“Look at this great fool, gentlemen,” he said to his friends, “he probably learned this disrespect from his whore of a mother.”

Jonathan felt his jaw drop; that was low even for Dickie, and it was definitely the wrong thing to say. O’Connell’s face crumpled in on itself in rage; in a fluid movement he raised his fist and punched Fanshaw in the face, sending him flying into a nearby table. 

“Say that again,” he said, “I dare you.”

In the split second before Fanshaw’s friends jumped at him and the brawl started in earnest, Jonathan slid off his bench and brushed past them, heading to the door. As much as he wanted to see Fanshaw’s arse handed back to him, he wanted to do it from a safe place. And besides, now he didn’t have to spend any money on O’Connell’s trinket. The American hadn’t even noticed it being taken from his pocket. 

Fanshaw was screeching, blood streaming from his nose, and his friends were charging O’Connell, who started swearing and throwing them. A table smashed, then another, patrons scattering and the barkeep yelling. From his post by the door, Jonathan cheered O’Connell on, weaving a little with whiskey and bloodlust. Fanshaw had often said rude things about Jonathan’s mother, too, but Jonathan had never quite had the courage to do anything about it. 

It was not a fair fight; three against one, but O’Connell didn’t seem to be having much trouble. He swung his fists, screaming, hurling Englishmen around. With a tinkling of glass, Fanshaw went out through the window. 

“Serves you right!” Jonathan shouted at him as Fanshaw sat up, groaning. 

But it was time to go: police whistles cut through the night, and Jonathan had no intention of getting caught up by them. 

“Police!” he shouted into the bar (O’Connell deserved a fair warning) and walked away from the building. 

A street away, Jonathan paused under a gas lamp to look at the trinket he’d swiped from O’Connell. Maybe he was drunker than he’d thought, but he couldn’t read the hieroglyphs. Best get it to Evie. Jonathan walked off into the night, never thinking for a moment what he was about to unleash. 

[jornthur]

“Unshaken” Chapter 10

Originally posted: June 8, 2020

Arthur Morgan x Reader, Slow-Burn Romance

Summary: You save a mysterious man who is dying on a mountain. Finding out he has Tuberculosis, you use your knowledge and skills with herbs and natural remedies to save him from death and help nurse him back to health. As he slowly starts to recover, you can’t help but wonder: Who is this man? Why had you found him the way that you did, beaten and ill? Only time, patience … and perhaps love … will tell.

•••••

The first mile was peaceful, and Arthur looked around as the wagon strolled down a narrow dirt path through the thick forest. The trees were tall, the hilly landscape like the huge waves of the ocean. His heart almost skipped a beat when he recalled those monstrous walls of water when he was on board that ship. Never again was he ever going on another damn boat as long as he lived.

He took in a deep breath, the smell and feel of the fresh forest air overcoming and relaxing his senses. It felt so good to be out in the wild again, he had to admit. He’d actually found himself missing the familiar scent of wilderness, reminding him of all those nights when he’d been out on his own, hunting, camping, whatever the hell he felt like doing.

Arthur almost laughed to himself then.

He was still here … still alive … still breathing … And the rest of the world believed he was dead, including his old friends — or what was left of them. Anger began to simmer deep within his gut at the thought of Dutch, Micah’s betrayal, what they’d done to him and John, the rest of the gang. He squeezed his eyes shut, lifting his hand to tug at the brim of his new hat, trying to find comfort in the new gift. All he could tell himself was that Marston was safe. The boy was an idiot, sure, but when it came to his family and their safety, Arthur knew nothing would stand in John’s way.

A gentle gust of wind hit him, blowing back his hair and cooling what little heat had begun to grow in his cheeks from the anger he felt. Arthur let out a sigh, allowing the cool feeling to seep into his skin. Looking around, he took in the surrounding views. He knew he was somewhere far north of Roanoke Ridge, but he’d never been up this far before Y/N and Austin had taken him in.

The place was beautiful, he thought, taking in the towering trees around them. He’d learned a few interesting terms from Y/N’s herbalist books. He’d been drawn to those bookshelves of hers many times while he’d been cooped up in that cabin, if only to avoid dying from boredom rather than Tuberculosis. Turned out he’d ended up drawn to the knowledge.

There were so many kinds of trees he could now identify— Spruce, Cedars, Pines, Oaks, and very many Sequoia trees. These trees were extremely tall, forming a thick canopy of leaves far overhead, the sunshine piercing through them in rays, hitting the ground with glowing warm light.

The air smelled so fresh as well, and Arthur took in another deep breath, relishing the real cool feeling in his lungs and the fresh and unique smells around him. There was so much plant life growing up here, all kinds of colorful flowers and foliage dotting the thick green grass everywhere. Damn, this area was gorgeous.

Arthur reached up again and stroked the feather on his hat gently, the bristles soft as, well, a feather. He gripped the crown and took the hat off, lowering it to his lap so he could examine it further. The black leather was worn, but genuine, and he could tell it was made from real cowhide, examining the hundreds of skin pores scattered all over. He ran a finger over the brown braided leather tied around the crown of the hat, similar to how his father’s hat had the looped rope. The texture was rough, but also soft, little furs sticking up here and there from years of use.

Then Arthur looked at the feather, and he squinted, his brows drawing down tight as he stroked the thing with the tip of his finger. It was that of a great-horned owl, a primary feather from the wing, the black and gold colored stripes giving away its identity. He wondered, then … why an owl feather? Maybe it was just something her grandfather hadn’t thought much about, but sometimes a certain kind of bird feather in a cowboy’s hat had a meaning behind it.

Thinking back, he recalled Y/N telling him that her grandfather hadn’t lived ‘the best life.’ That he’d been some kind of wanderer. Arthur found himself being curious as to what exactly she had meant. A wanderer?

What kind of life had the old man lived that had her hesitating to tell him the whole story? And what of the feather?

A cough escaped him, and he lifted a had to cover his mouth, clearing his throat then.

Austin looked over at him with curious eyes, “You alright, cowpoke?”

Arthur couldn’t help but give a small smile as he turned his head to face the young man, narrowing his eyes at him, “I’m just fine, little feller, how ’bout yourself?”

The brother narrowed his eyes in return, showing that he was clearly offended by the term Arthur had used on him, “I ain’t ‘little.’”

Arthur laughed, “Why, sure you is, little feller. As long as you call me a cowpoke, I’ll keep callin’ you little. Sound fair?”

Austin grunted, “Not really.” He reached up to scratch at his cheek, then added, “But you kinda do strike me as a cowpoke.”

“Well, you strike me as little, boah,” Arthur said with a grin, his voice a low rough tone as he patted his chest with an open palm, “And it’ll be much worse if you ain’t careful, son.”

Austin grunted, letting out a huff as if he wasn’t amused with Arthur’s teasing in the least.

Several more moments of silence passed, and Arthur gently placed the hat back on his head.

“So she decided to give you our grandfather’s hat, huh?” Austin asked, his voice sounding a bit sour as he cracked the reins again.

Arthur looked over at him, noting the expression the boy had on his face. He didn’t look angry, exactly, but from his eyes Arthur could tell there was some kind of story. “What do you mean?” He asked.

Austin let out a long sigh, “Well, I know she told you it belonged to our grandfather, and he weren’t the best man when he was alive. I never wanted to touch the damn thing after he died.” He lifted his eyes to meet Arthur’s, “Kinda feels weird that you’re wearin’ it, s’all.”

Arthur took that moment as a chance to find out what he could, maybe the brother could give him some of the information he’d been wondering about. “Who was he?”

Austin let out a sarcastic laugh, “I don’t think that’s for me to say. If she didn’t tell you, I don’t think I should be the one to do so.”

Arthur’s natural instinct would’ve been to reach out and choke the bastard to get the information he wanted. It was a feeling he was used to whenever assholes gave him a hard time, but he could respect the brother for looking after his sister.

Another curious thought occurred to him then, and he couldn’t help but ask, “What were y’all doin’ before you found me up on that mountain?”

He could see Austin freeze up at the question, and the young man turned his gaze over to look at him, “You mean that night? We were travelin’ back from Emerald Ranch. Y/N needed to do a trade for some of the supplies we needed for the horses. We have a few contacts scattered here and there for supplies we need that we can’t get up here, and sometimes we need to travel a ways to get them.

“We were supposed to arrive home sometime in the late evening, but we ran into this strange man on the road. He looked odd, short gray dreads, green bandana around his head, weird old clothing. Said his name was William.”

Arthur stilled at that.

“But anyhow,” Austin continued, not noticing that Arthur had suddenly froze, “he was camping out on the side of the road near Moonstone Pond, and he had all these strange plants he seemed to be workin’ with. Of course, it grabbed Y/N’s attention and he invited us over, so she and I stopped to chat with him for a while.” Austin chuckled as he recalled the memory, “What was supposed to be a small chat ended up bein’ a two-hour conversation. I didn’t really listen to what they were sayin’ since I was wrapped up in a book I’ve been readin’. Eventually I had to pull her away since it was gettin’ late.

“When we were just about to leave, she mentioned a special plant that grew over by O’Creagh’s Run, must’ve been somethin’ they were talkin’ about earlier. I was about to say no, but she gave me this look. She has this thing that she does with her eyes, drives me crazy ’cuz I can’t turn her down when she does it.

“So we headed over there, and I stopped the wagon by the small lake so she could explore the area. I just hung out under a tree with my book to pass the time … That’s when we heard the sounds.”

Arthur lifted his head and narrowed his eyes, “Sounds?”

“Gunshots, shoutin’ — We was goin’ to leave the area as quickly as possible, but — well, Y/N could hear the struggles, fighting, a man in pain, and she couldn’t stop herself.” Austin paused, as if he were deep in thought, “We saw someone runnin’ away from the mountain before they disappeared into the trees. I didn’t really get a good look at the man, but it looked like he had dirty, long blonde hair … someone you knew?”

The fury that suddenly welled in Arthur’s chest didn’t surprise him in the least damn bit.

Micah.

That damned rat.

The rat that weaseled his way in and ultimately destroyed the Van Der Linde gang in such a short amount of time.

Twenty goddamned years of loyalty and service to Dutch, and the old fool had decided to listen and believe someone who’d just joined the gang not half a year ago, a man who’d only been out for himself in the end … Just like Dutch …

“Arthur?”

Austin’s voice interrupted Arthur’s thoughts and snapped him back to reality. “Yeah, sorry ’bout that, kid. Just thinkin’.”

Austin seemed to have picked up on Arthur’s mood, no doubt from the gravel Arthur felt in his throat from the emotion that had just been about to take him over. He couldn’t dwell on such things, not right now. What good did it do?

At that moment another thought occurred to him, “You didn’t want Y/N takin’ me in, did you?” He stated it as fact since he knew the answer, but he found himself wanting to hear what Austin’s response would be.

The boy chuckled darkly, looking straight ahead at the narrow dirt trail. “Honestly, when we heard the gunshots, I thought it was going to be a trap, an ambush of some kind. But Y/N … When we reached that mountain and found you laying on that rock, it was like she didn’t care about anythin’ else in the world but you.” He cleared his throat, “The whole time I was worried that she was going to get herself killed, being so close to a stranger. I feared that something terrible would happen, like you would have a knife hidden on you, or a friend of yours would come leaping out of a hiding spot and shoot her dead.” Austin lowered his head, looking down at his lap as if lost in thought, “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what I would’ve done had that been the case. Y/N is my whole world right now, and she matters to me more than anythin’ else in my pathetic life.”

Arthur’s eyes softened, almost finding himself sympathizing with the poor boy, but he continued to listen.

“When she insisted on taking you to our cabin, I nearly lost it. Watching her take you in and nurse you back to health every day, I couldn’t help but fear for the worst. I still thought you had something evil planned. Some monsters would go to any length to take advantage and trick people like us to get what they want, even if it’s hurtin’ one of their own.”

The boy was smart, Arthur admitted to himself. There were definitely men like that out there, and he should damn well know.

“But when she mentioned you had Tuberculosis, and I began seeing the signs from you, how truly sick you were — I guess … Well, I guess I noticed how stupid I was bein’ at that point — but I was too proud to admit it.

“After you showed your skills with the gun, I realized you could’ve killed us both whenever you wanted long before that point. The thought was scary, of course, but finally seeing that all you needed was a gun or your bare hands to take us both out and you never did? Well, I guess you can say my stupidity wore off a lil’ bit at that point.”

Arthur grinned, amused with Austin’s confession at how much of an idiot he had been for all the trouble he’d given him.

But could he fully blame Austin? The boy was just looking after his sister, and Arthur couldn’t do nothing but respect him for it. “Don’t hurt yourself too much over it, boah. You’re just lookin’ after her, I understand. In fact,” he leaned back and rolled his shoulders, stretching out the tension in his back, “I kinda like that.”

Austin acknowledged his statement with a small nod and a smile. “I love her, I really do. She’s family, and the most wonderful person I know.” He narrowed his eyes at Arthur and teased, “If you ever hurt her, though, I’ll make sure to shoot you square in the chest, got it?”

Arthur threw back his head and laughed at the threat, “If you say so. But don’t you worry — I ain’t got plans for that.” The fact that the young man had the courage to actually threaten him was truly entertaining, and Arthur couldn’t help but note how much smaller the man actually was compared to him. Arthur had a good six inches on him in height, and a whole lot more muscle, despite the fact that he was still sick. The boy worked hard, but they clearly didn’t eat enough for him to gain a whole lot of meat on his bones. He was about as contrasted as he could be compared to Arthur.

He was grateful Austin had finally swallowed his pride down enough in order to ask him how to hunt. They truly did need it, and he would do his best to teach them. It was the least he could do for him and his sister after everything they’d done for him.

The next several moments were quiet, minus the sound of Lily’s hooves hitting the ground and the tittering of birds high up in the trees.

“So what’s it like livin’ up here?” Arthur asked. “It don’t seem too bad.”

“It ain’t,” Austin replied with a shrug, “It was tough for the first few months, but we managed. Built ourselves a camp, then eventually built ourselves a cabin — then the stables for the horses and other animals.” He cleared his throat, “Of course it’s been hard, what with my lack of huntin’ skills, but Y/N absolutely loves it. She enjoys bein’ surrounded by all the wildlife and plants.”

Arthur found himself suddenly more invested, wanting to know more about Y/N and her passions. “And her garden?”

“She’s been in love with flowers since she was a tiny thing. When we came up here, she brought a few supplies that belonged to our mother, and she got to work on that garden right away.” He let out a small laugh, “What started as a small batch of flowers and herbs turned into a small estate of all kinds of plants. She’s been finding different herbs all over the place and replanting them here for the past three years. Every month it gets larger and larger. I’ll admit, it looks pretty damn beautiful.”

Arthur grinned. “That is does,” he agreed with a nod. It did indeed, Y/N’s garden was a pretty good size, and the colorful shrubbery was a marvel to look at, truthfully. He’d been able to see it out through one of the windows as he’d been recovering on that couch all that time …

“So how are you feeling, Arthur?” Austin asked, breaking the silence.

Arthur turned his head to look at him, “What?”

Austin lifted a hand to point at his chest, “Your TB, you were coughing a bit earlier, just checking to see how you’re feelin’ now?”

Arthur rubbed his own palm over his chest, “I’m just fine, you’re sister’s got some healin’ magic goin’ on with those herbs of hers.”

The boy’s laugh was loud and sharp, “Y/N has a talent with nature, that’s for damn sure. I swear she may be Mother Nature herself.”

The two men’s laughter echoed through the trees as they travelled further down the trail. A squirrel skittered across the ground, and Arthur watched it disappear into the thick foliage on the other side.

More time passed, until finally they reached a small clearing. Arthur lifted his finger to point over to a small grassy area. “That’s a good spot to start.”

Austin pulled back the reins until Lily stopped, bringing the wagon to a halt. He looked over to where he was pointing and lifted a brow, “Really? Doesn’t seem like the kind of spot wildlife would be, it’s too open.”

Arthur gave him a bewildered look. “Wildlife don’t always need to be in a particular spot in order for you to track ’em, Austin.” He said, his drawl annoyed, letting the young man know through his tone that what Austin had stated was completely idiotic. He got up and climbed down out of the wagon, walking towards the small patch, “This area’s got plenty of plant-life, tellin’ you it’s a good spot to start pickin’ up trails.” He narrowed his eyes as he placed his hands on his belt, turning his head as he took in the surrounding forest. “It’s perfect for grazin’, plenty of cover ’round here if they need it.”

Austin crawled out of the wagon, grabbing his carbine repeater. It was smart — even though they didn’t need it for killing today, it was better to be safe than get caught off-guard by any wild predators. He walked over to Arthur, and Arthur began walking slowly across the grass, looking down to examine the dirt. “Now whatchu wanna do is look for any signs, footprints, fur, dung, broken branches and whatnot.” He took several steps forward, crouching low so he could see better.

Austin did the same, crouching to help look around for anything they could pick up. “So look for those things, got it.” He said, crawling low to the ground.

“You also wanna be quiet as possible, don’t wanna draw any attention towards yourself or you’ll scare off anythin’ nearby. Same thing can be said about your gun.” Arthur looked over his shoulder at him, “You ever use a bow before, boah?”

Austin shook his head, “Only a couple times when I was young. We got one up by the cabin stored in the shed. Another thing that belonged to our grandfather, but I never touched the damned thing.”

Arthur huffed, amused at the other man’s stubborn nature. “It’s a useful weapon, kid, it can be used to make quiet kills so you don’t frighten off any wildlife in the near vicinity.”

The young man just let out a grunt, “I ain’t touchin’ that thing.”

Arthur just shrugged at the boy’s pride, “Up to you, but I highly suggest you start learnin’ how to use it.”

Over the next several minutes, they examined the grounds, both of them crawling quietly through the tall grass.

“Arthur?”

Austin’s whispered voice reached Arthur’s ear, and he turned to see him waving his arm, gesturing for him to come over. He made his way over, and once he was beside Austin the kid pointed at a few small hoof prints in the soil. He smiled, “Good job there, feller, now see if you can follow them.”

The boy nodded and did just that. Over the next half hour, Arthur continued to help him by pointing out other signs, such as crushed grass, a couple broken branches, and bits of fur here and there. The last sign was several strange marks on one of the trees twenty yards away. ‘Tree rubs,’ of course.

“This way,” Arthur whispered, leading them quietly through a few tall bushes.

Finally they reached a new wide-open clearing. This one had a small pond directly in the center, and in the distance, Arthur spotted the white-tailed buck grazing on some of the lush green grass at its feet.

For a moment, Arthur froze, recalling all the dreams he’d been having. The buck looked so similar to the one in his dreams; the size, the coat, the large antlers it displayed. Every single detail was precise.

Austin sat beside him, and Arthur felt rather than heard the boy lifting his gun.

At that moment, a doe and two young fawns appeared from behind one of the large boulders, the three of them approaching the large buck.

Arthur grabbed the barrel of the gun before Austin could aim the thing.

He watched as the doe came over to the buck with the two young close behind her, and the creatures nuzzled each other lovingly.

It was a sight that Arthur found himself lost in, and he couldn’t help but think of his own family, what was, what could have been, what might have been … If he’d only chosen a different life for himself …

What the hell was wrong with him?

“What the hell are you doin’, Arthur?”

Austin’s voice echoed his thoughts, snapping him back out from his mind. Arthur cleared his throat, “Let’s leave ’em be, kid.” He was going to leave it at that, but then he added “We promised Y/N, remember? Just trackin’.”

Austin gave him a strange look, but after a couple of moments he seemed to decide not to argue with him. “So what now?”

Arthur gazed at the family of deer a few seconds longer, then he flicked his gaze over to Austin, “I don’t know. I reckon we should head on back,” he turned to face the younger man, “You suppose your ready to travel back?”

Again with that strange look, what the hell was Austin seeing? Had Arthur suddenly grown his own pair of antlers? What was running through that boy’s mind?

Finally, he answered, “I guess so, I think I learned plenty today.” They both stood quietly and started heading back towards the wagon. Austin tucked the gun strap over his shoulder, reaching up to scratch at his cheek again. “I’ll admit that was actually quite fun. Thanks, Arthur. You’re a pretty great tracker, in all honesty.”

The compliment felt strange, Arthur thought, especially coming from Austin of all people, but he supposed he would take it. The boy was grateful, having learned something that would be incredibly useful for him and his sister when it came to their survival. “It ain’t no cake walk after this, boah. We still got a long way to go, trackin’ requires a lot of patience — an eagle’s eye.”

Austin nodded, giving him a small smile, “I suppose that makes sense. A lot of patience — kinda like fishin’?”

Arthur let out a genuine laugh at that, “I guess you’re right.”

2 Weeks Later …

Birds tittered high up in the trees, singing there own unique songs as the sun’s rays bore down on your back. The weather was absolutely gorgeous today, you thought to yourself as you knelt in your garden. You were in a cheery mood, humming softly as you pruned several of the herbs and flowers. You looked over your shoulder to see that Arthur was still relaxing on the porch swing, working on something in his journal. Writing or drawing? You had no clue, but you were going to leave him to his privacy.

The last two weeks had been quite the ride.

Arthur’s body was improving, his skin and muscles filling back out with each passing week. Even though his blood still showed signs of leftover Tuberculosis bacteria, it was clear his body was slowly but successfully fighting it off. You continued to give him treatments every other day, and he still took daily doses of honey per your instructions.

But despite the fact his body was getting better physically, you knew the herbs and medication still had a large impact on both his physical and mental state, so you still urged him to be cautious with his actions so that he didn’t overwork himself too much. It was crucial for him to stay in a calm state so his mind and body wouldn’t somehow become unstable.

He’d been sleeping a lot better. Every night you woke up to check on him, and Arthur was sleeping peacefully every time. Truly, it made you happy to see him so relaxed now. Ever since you’d sung that lullaby for him so many nights ago, that nightmare of his hadn’t seemed to come back. Though you still wondered who this John was, no matter how much it bothered you, you didn’t want to risk bringing anymore pain to Arthur.

For the past several days Arthur had been on his feet helping out around the cabin, whether it was doing chores or hunting with Austin, he managed to keep himself busy throughout the day. He was regaining the muscle and healthy tone he’d no doubt once had before, his face, eyes, and cheeks becoming full once more, and he was beginning to gain a tan from being out in the sun so much now.

Ever since you had given it to him, not once had Arthur ever taken off his new hat. Unless he was asleep or bathing, the thing rarely ever left his head.

It really did look good on him.

You had to admit, the man was absolutely stunning. Whenever he worked or did any kind of physical labor, you couldn’t help but watch those muscles in his body sometimes, how they moved and flexed beneath his skin, noting the healthy shine of sweat on his face, his neck, his forearms, and God help you, but sometimes he went shirtless when he worked, and it was all you could do not to throw yourself at the man. Push him to the ground and take him there and then —

What on earth was wrong with you? You shook your head hard, trying to perish those dirty thoughts from your mind. You weren’t exactly a plucked flower, but you’d read enough romance novels to give yourself plenty of naughty imagination.

Letting out a sigh, you plucked another dead leaf. There were so many scars across his body, old and new, but one stuck out to you the most. You recalled the scar you’d seen on Arthur’s chest, just above his left pectoral. There was no doubt it was a gunshot wound, the scar tissue around it having sunken down into the ruined flesh. It had long since healed, but the skin there was still pink, still soft, so it hadn’t been too long since it was inflicted on him. Again you wondered, what had happened to him? Who’d shot him? Why? The thoughts of possibility raced through your head, but going off his nature and what you’d seen of him thus far, you couldn’t come to a conclusion or even imagine why anyone would want to hurt that man.

Reaching out to crush another dead leaf, you smiled to yourself.

Arthur was strong … indeed he was a fighter.

You’d slowly been getting more and more comfortable with the thought of Arthur going out with Austin on his hunting trips, allowing them to start traveling out as far as they needed to go. Food was getting low, and finally you’d told the two boys that they could start hunting for game if they wished. You were proud of them both, for keeping to their word and staying safe.

You could tell your brother was improving with his skills thanks to Arthur, just last week they had managed to bring back a boar, and Arthur had told you that your brother had managed to track it down on his own, but Austin had admitted that he’d missed the first few shots, and Arthur had to kill the boar himself. The two had slowly been getting along, you’d noticed. It was more than refreshing to see.

Arthur had been helping Austin out with his aim several times over the last two weeks, the two of them practicing down by the stream in the late evenings.

You would stay back and watch to observe every chance you got. Honestly, you secretly wished it was you Arthur was teaching. To show you how to handle a gun, how to aim it, how to shoot. You had no idea how to use a weapon, so you picked up whatever you could from the two of them.

Your brother had recently started working with your grandfather’s bow, which confused you at first, since he’d always insisted on using his own carbine repeater. But then he’d explained to you that Arthur had told him it was a stealthy hunting tactic in order to capture more game.

Finally, you’d understood. Winter was slowly approaching, and it was more than important to learn how to use a much quieter weapon, especially when wildlife was so much more scarce during the cold parts of the year.

But — despite countless hours of practice — Austin hadn’t managed to get the hang of it, which worried you somewhat. Poor man, each time he tried aiming an arrow, the thing would wobble in his grip and the shot itself ended up with the arrow landing on the ground only a few feet away. No matter how Arthur instructed him, it seemed hopeless. At one point Austin had nearly thrown the thing into the stream, shouting something about how the bow wasn’t working properly. But Arthur had tested the thing for himself, and of course it worked flawlessly when he’d used it, the arrow finding its mark perfectly on one of the trees he’d been aiming for..

You’d found yourself strangely drawn to the weapon, you had to admit, though you weren’t quite sure why.

The bow itself was very beautiful. The long round limbs were made of dark maple wood, painted with some kind of glossy coating to protect the wood from wear and tear. The handle was wrapped in finely engraved black leather strips. There were several more curly engravings that ran along the weapon itself, and two small metal owl heads were placed at each end, the beaks holding the tight silver bowstring.

A part of you really wanted to try it out for yourself at some point.

The two men were planning on going on another hunting trip today, so it was going to be another quiet evening alone at the cabin for you. Strangely enough, even though you finally felt comfortable with them both being gone, you still weren’t quite used to it.

“How you doin’ there, Y/N?”

Arthur’s deep voice nearly had you jumping out of your skin. You leapt to your feet and turned around to face him. “Arthur!” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat, “I didn’t hear you comin’ over.”

Grinning, he let out a soft chuckle, “Sorry bout that, honey, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re fine,” you said, waving off his apology.

He looked over your shoulder at the plants behind you, “So what’re you doin’?”

You turned to look down at the herbs you’d been working on, “Oh, well I was just pruning some of the plants.” At his questioning look you added, “Sometimes some of the leaves or stems die and I need to take them off, otherwise it could cause disease and the nutrients inside the plants are wasted trying to feed what’s no longer alive. When I get rid of the dead pieces it allows them to focus on keeping the rest of the plant strong and healthy.”

Arthur nodded, though you had the feeling he was only pretending to understand what you were talking about in order to make you feel better, going by the confused look and his face; his eyes narrowed, his mouth her in a small grimace. “So these herbs,” he cleared his throat, “them what you used to treat my TB with?”

His curiosity nearly had you taken aback. Honestly, you hadn’t really expected him to care enough to ask such a question. “Yes,” you said, your voice soft as you looked up at him, “I — I gather pieces from them from time to time and make several elixirs and medications from their properties.” You pointed to one of the plants, “That right there is Ginger, it’s used as an antioxidant, which can help take care of some of the negative effects caused by most bacterias.” You pointed to several others, giving the names and explaining what each of them did.

By the time you’d named a few more, you looked back at Arthur, and his brows were drawn down tight, his hand rubbing at the side of his temple as if he’d gotten a headache. You nearly laughed, “I’m sorry, Arthur, I tend to get carried away sometimes.”

Arthur lifted a brow as if he were actually amused, “I can tell you really enjoy your work,” he said, a wide grin stretching those lips of his, “It’s really amazin’. You should be proud, honey.”

You lowered your eyes, feeling a blush creep into your cheeks, “Thank you, Arthur. I honestly wouldn’t know as much as I did without my mother’s journal. She taught me so much.” You voice nearly hitched, and you blinked several times in order to keep any tears from welling.

Arthur reached out and laid a warm hand on your shoulder in an effort to comfort you, “I’m sure she’d be real proud of you, Y/N.”

You couldn’t speak, so you just nodded in answer.

Several moments passed, and Arthur spoke again, “Austin mentioned to me that you ran into a man named William?”

Your head jerked up that that, surprised. “He told you about that?”

Arthur nodded, “The night you saved me from that mountain, told me you met an herbalist the same day. Quite a character.”

Your brows lifted, “You know him?”

“Yeah. Met him a few times, a long while ago, before — Well, before all that shit went down.”

“Language, Arthur!”

You both laughed, and he tipped his hat to you.

He was truly adorable, you thought as you smiled at him. You lifted your gaze to look at the hat. “So, how you liking your new hat, Arthur?”

Your question had him letting out a laugh as he ran his fingers across the leather brim. “Keep’s the sun outta my eyes, like you said,” he teased. His eyes softened then, those beautiful sapphire-emeralds seeming to stare directly into your soul. “Thank you, Y/N.”

His grateful smile alone nearly overwhelmed you, and you quickly spoke your next words before you found your idiot-self getting lost in his gaze. “I’m glad you like it. My grandmother made that hat for our grandfather when they were both young. It was … meant to stand for something … but he didn’t do it justice with the life he led. It needs to be worn by a good man. Someone like you.”

Arthur’s expression seemed to change at that moment, and you couldn’t help but notice the softness in his eyes suddenly grow hard.

•••••

A good man.

It was all Arthur could do not to lose himself then and there. To take the hat off and give it back to her immediately, to leave and never turn back even once. Dammit, he didn’t deserve to be here. He didn’t deserve the treatments he’d been given, all the hospitality, the food and shelter that Y/N and Austin had so generously given.

He wasn’t a good man, and he damn well knew it.

It was the second time she’d called him that, and he nearly had to bite his tongue. But what could he possibly say to her at that moment? That he wasn’t the man she truly thought he was? That he’d been a liar? A thief? A ruthless killer?

An outlaw …

Arthur did his best not to squeeze his eyes shut from the sudden pain that welled in his chest. What the hell was wrong with him? There was nothing he could say or do to get past the ache in his heart from those words.

For once, he was extremely grateful to hear that sill boy’s scratchy voice calling out to both of them.

Y/N smiled, looking over Arthur’s shoulder, “Austin, how are ya?”

Austin came jogging over, his face and clothes covered in dust and dirt from whatever work he’d been doing earlier. He stopped a few feet in front of them, “I’m doin’ just fine, sis,” he panted, nodding at Y/N and meeting Arthur’s gaze. “Hey, Arthur, so you ready for our next huntin’ trip?” The young man asked him, a naive yet excited smile spread across his face. Over the past two weeks he’d learned to enjoy the trips, getting to learn something new from them each and every time.

Arthur shrugged with a small chuckle, “That depends, are you?” He nodded at the dirt covering the boy.

Austin scratched his cheek, “Yeah, sorry about that, sir.” He brushed off the dirt from his clothes, “It ain’t nothin’, Just noticed the two of you over here and I wanted to see if you were prepared to head out.”

Over the last several days, Austin had grown the strange and somewhat annoying habit of calling him sir, and Arthur didn’t really know why. Was he trying to show some sort of respect toward him? Maybe after acting like such a dumbass over the past month, he might’ve thought addressing Arthur in that way would gain him redemption? It felt odd, and Arthur really wished he wouldn’t call him that, but he’d go along with it if it made the younger man feel better.

“Well, Austin,” Arthur said, clearing his throat, “Ready when you are, then.”

“Dandy! I found an interestin’ new spot I think we should go check out a ways up north, the wagon’s already loaded up and ready to go.” Austin stated, pointing over toward the stables where the coach stood, with Lily already attached to it. The boy was quick, Arthur thought. He must’ve been busy getting everything prepared while he and Y/N had been working on their own tasks.

Arthur lowered his eyes. On one hand he didn’t want to leave Y/N so abruptly, but on the other he needed to escape the tension that had suddenly risen in his gut from her words. A good man … how could he follow up that line with any further conversation? It hadn’t angered him, but he was tired of hearing it — from anyone. He gave a single nod, “Let’s head out, then.”

As Austin nodded and headed off toward the wagon, Arthur looked back over his shoulder to meet Y/N’s gaze, “We’ll be back soon, honey.” He said softly, winking and giving her a small grin. He hoped she wasn’t disappointed, but he needed to get out of there. Clear his head.

But she didn’t look upset. No, instead her eyes absolutely glowed as she gave him another one of her beautiful smiles. “Y’all stay safe, Arthur.” After a slight moment of hesitation, she returned his wink, “You keep Austin safe now.”

Her teasing helped the tension ease away somewhat, and he let out a chuckle, “Don’t you worry, I’ll keep him in line.”

With that, he headed over to join Austin on the wagon.

•••••

“So where we headed?” Arthur asked as Austin steered Lily up the narrow trail through the tall sequoia trees. He and the younger man waved farewell to Y/N with her returning the gesture as they disappeared around a large rock.

Austin lowered his hand, pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to Arthur, “There’s this new place I wanna check out, passed by it a few days ago while ridin’ Butch. Seemed interestin’.”

Arthur took the map and held it up, looking over a simple drawing of directions. They appeared to lead up north towards the larger mountains, further into the forest.

The kid pointed at a thick scribble he’d made on the paper, “That area right there, it’s right at the foot of the mountains between the trees. A small area of tall grass. I saw a family of elk there a couple times. If we can spot them again, I’m sure we can bring back enough food to last us for a month.”

What he said was true, one elk could last them quite a while. If they managed to kill one, they’d be set for weeks. Arthur folded the map back up and handed it back, “You seem to know what you’re doin’,” He said with a light laugh.

Austin shook his head, “Only a little, sir, it’s why I thought it best for you to come along on this one.”

Arthur shrugged, “You’ll get the hang of it soon enough, kid,” He reached out and patted the man’s shoulder. “I’ll look after ya.”

The younger man narrowed his eyes, “I don’t need no hand-holdin’, Arthur.”

Arthur’s heart suddenly skipped at those words, his smile dropping from his face as his eyes grew flat.

Those words … when had he last heard those exact words —

A memory flashed through his mind … Lenny …

He flinched, lowering his head as he reached up to tug down the brim of his hat, hiding his expression from the brother. The pain was almost unbearable … coming back to bit him in the ass once more.

The loss of his friends, of his family — it had only been a couple months, and the agony still felt just as sharp, as though it had only been yesterday when his life had completely fallen apart.

… What life, though?

Arthur nearly wanted to laugh at himself from the thought.

His family had meant everything to him, the bond they’d shared more real than anything else in the world.

But Arthur would be lying to himself if he’d thought what they had was any kind of real life. He’d spent the majority of his chasing a dream for a life he weren’t even sure about, along with the rest of the gang who’d followed over the years. He’d failed all of them. Hosea, Lenny, Kieran, Sean, Grimshaw, Mac, Davey, Jenny … they’d all had their own lives snatched away from them so abruptly.

They’d never had the chance for the life they’d so desperately fought for.

And the others … Charles, Sadie, Tilly, Mary-Beth, Uncle … Karen, Swanson, Trelawny … Where were they now?

The wonder of their whereabouts prodded his mind like a hot poker every single day. Even though he tried so hard to move on in hopes that they would do the same and lead normal lives, it was extremely difficult to do so. He only hoped they were all safe. They all deserved so much more after all the shit they went through in the gang.

And Jack, Abigail, John …

Arthur lifted his eyes to stare up at the sky, the sun’s bright rays peeking through the small clouds.

‘You’re my brother.’

Those words echoed through his mind, and he allowed himself a sad smile. He thought back to Sister Calderon, the words she’d spoken echoing in his head. ‘Take a gamble that love exists.’

Arthur wasn’t the religious type, but deep inside his heart he prayed for the sake of John and his family, for their safety, so that they may go on to live the lives they’d damn well earned.

John Marston. The man was a goddamn fool, but he loved Abigail and Jack, and Arthur knew he’d do anything to protect them. 

They were safe.

He knew, deep down in his heart something told him. They were out there.

Time passed by quickly, and finally the wagon stopped. Arthur felt the seat lift as Austin hopped out, and he shook himself out of his thoughts, realizing that they’d arrived at the foot of the mountains. Arthur looked around, taking in the small grassy clearing. He raised a hand to lift the brim of his hat, looking up at the base of the mountain, a tall cliff that encircled half of the area. The other half was enclosed by the thick forest of trees that towered over them, their green and multi-colored coming-autumn leaves providing cool shade to the tiny meadow.

“We’re finally here,” Austin said cheerfully as he rolled his shoulders, stretching out the stiffness in his limbs. He walked behind the wagon to grab his carbine repeater.

Arthur examined the area closely. Indeed, it was a great area for wildlife of all kinds. Plenty of grass, soft ground, perfect temperature, and shelter. He narrowed his eyes, noting a small cave opening at the base of the cliff. It was too small for a bear or cougar, so it was probably just a family of deer, he thought. Still, they had to be cautious. It was an unexplored area. He looked over his shoulder as Austin approached him from behind and stared at the gun he held, “You need to get a handle on that bow soon, kid.” He said teasingly.

“I know, I know, and I ain’t a kid!” Austin snapped, “I’ve been tryin’ but I’m just hopeless with the damn thing!”

Arthur nearly laughed at the blush that crept into Austin’s cheeks as he looked away, unable to meet Arthur’s gaze.

He really had been trying his best, Arthur did notice, but the bow was turning out to be the boy’s natural enemy. Either he weren’t a good teacher, or the bow was truly hopeless for him. Where was Charles when he needed him, Arthur thought almost sadly.

Arthur shook his head at the thought, then threw his hand up in the general direction. “Lead the way.”

Austin gave a small but nervous nod, stepping forward and leading them both across the grass towards the cliff. They crept slowly and quietly, staying low to the tall grass to avoid being spotted by any of the nearby wildlife. There were small sounds here and there as Austin examined the grounds, but they were mostly from squirrels or small rabbits. Since Austin only had the gun with him, they weren’t going to risk scaring off any larger game by shooting and possibly missing smaller targets. Arthur had taught him to be careful with such things.

Gradually they got further and further away from the wagon, and Austin led Arthur towards the foot of the cliff. “There,” the younger man whispered, pointing toward some hoof-prints that had been left behind in the ground. They created a trail, and the two men followed it, making their way around the cliff. Finally, the tracks stopped at the base of some large rocks that formed a small ramp towards the top of the cliff. Austin began to climb, and Arthur followed behind him, as quiet as they could possibly be.

Suddenly a small rock bounced down from atop the cliff, landing in the small meadow below, and Arthur looked up, spotting a small glimpse of large antlers just over the peak. “There’s one,” Austin whispered next to him, having seen them as well.

“Alright, get your gun ready,” Arthur whispered back as they approached the top. His heart was racing, but he forced himself to calm down as they reached the top of the plateau. The elevated area was covered in thick foliage, and the two men hid behind the thick shrubbery as they made their way over to a large rock that provided solid cover.

Austin slowly and quietly cocked the gun, peering over at the large creature nibbling on some of the grass by the cliff-edge. It was a huge bull elk, appearing to weigh at least seven hundred and twenty-five pounds. The creature was definitely large, larger than any Arthur had seen in a long while. The creature was magnificent, he thought. The meat on its bones could definitely keep them fed for weeks.

He looked over at Austin, noticing that the boy was breathing hard, creating too much noise. “Calm yourself,” Arthur muttered, “Elk can hear very well, take a deep breath and let it out slow.”

Austin did as he was told, closing his eyes as he did so. “Alright,” he whispered, then he slowly began scooting forward. He crouched carefully, propping the barrel of the gun on the tip of the boulder.

A small loose rock was knocked off as the weapon was adjusted, landing with a small crack on the hard ground. The elk snatched its head up, its ears perked in their direction. It looked over toward their spot, and before Arthur could stop what happened next, Austin quickly stood from behind cover and fired the repeater.

It was so quick, the kid having not given himself the proper aiming stance, and the recoil shot him backwards, the bullet missing the elk as it pinged off the one of the rocks several feet away. The creature jumped, bounding off quickly in the opposite direction. Austin lifted his gun and fired a few more rounds as it fled down the cliff.

“What the hell are you doin’?!” Arthur grabbed the man’s firing arm as the elk disappeared into the forest below, Lily whinnying and rearing in the wagon as the creature sped by her.

The boy grunted from the small pain of his fall, “I’m sorry, sir,” he grimaced as he stood slowly, “I thought — I thought it heard us, I wanted to try and get it before it ran away —”

“Of course it heard us, you goddamn fool!” Arthur snapped, anger boiling in his blood. “But it didn’t see us! Now the whole damn forest knows we’re here.”

Austin lowered his head, no doubt feeling ashamed from his actions.

“All you had to do was stay still,” Arthur growled, snatching the firearm from Austin’s grip. “Start headin’ down to the wagon. Ain’t no hope of gettin’ anything out here now.”

The boy didn’t say anything, only giving a small nod as he turned away and headed towards the rocks. It was more than clear the man knew he’d made a mistake, and Arthur was more than upset with him. The next few moments were quiet as they started making their way down the way they’d came.

As soon as they reached the meadow, Arthur halted in his tracks, placing a hand to Austin’s chest to stop him, “Hold on.”

Austin looked at him questioningly, “What is it, sir?”

Arthur didn’t answer as he skimmed his gaze over the tall grass. Something wasn’t right. It was way too damn quiet …

Just then, a massive wolf lunged out of the shrubs from behind, jumping up and catching Arthur on his left shoulder, its sharp teeth sinking deep as its claws caught his flesh.

“Arthur!” Austin yelled.

Arthur shouted in pain as the force knocked him forward, his hat falling away as the heavy weight of the wolf bore down on his body. The gun was knocked out of his hands, and he hit the ground hard. His heart began to beat fast as sharp snarling noises pierced his ears, sharp claws digging deep into his shoulders, Arthur cried out as his flesh was torn open, and he began to struggle, trying his best to flip onto his back. He wasn’t going out without a fight.

The massive gray wolf was unbelievably strong, but Arthur managed to grip the wolf’s head, crushing its skull between his hands as hard as he could until the wolf let go, jumping off his body momentarily. He looked over to see the gun lying on the ground just a couple feet away.

Arthur flipped himself over just before the beast made another attempt and leapt back onto him, its teeth bared for another bite as it aimed for his throat. But Arthur barely managed to block its target by taking hold of the wolf’s neck with a single hand, using the other to try and reach for the gun. Blood was seeping from his neck and shoulders, and his heartbeat began rushing throughout his entire body as the sharp teeth gnashed and snapped just inches away from his face, getting closer as his strength grew weaker.

He let out a loud guttural sound and gathered all the strength he had left, finally managing to grip the gun and swing it through the air, using the butt of the handle to knock the large beast off of him. He staggered to his feet, aiming quickly as he fired the weapon, hitting the wolf square in the chest just as it rushed towards him again. With a loud whine the thing fell to the ground dead, and Arthur’s head whipped around as he heard more growling.

Two more wolves had crept out of the bushes and had cornered Austin near the cliff. The kid looked absolutely terrified as the beasts stalked toward him, his body having frozen entirely.

“Austin!” Damn him if he was going to let another person die on his watch.

Arthur’s gaze began to spin as he aimed at the wolves. He cocked the weapon, but he was seeing damn near triple of everything around him. He was losing blood fast, and he nearly collapsed as he began to feel light-headed. With no other choice, he let out a hard huff, and with everything he had left he lurched across the grass and lunged forward, pushing Austin aside just in time right before one of the the wolves ran towards them.

The heavy creature tackled Arthur’s body hard, causing him to collapse again as the weapon was knocked out of his hands once more. The butt of the cocked gun hit the ground and went off, a sharp whine echoing through the trees as the stray bullet miraculously hit the other wolf. It ran off, leaving a heavy trail of blood in its wake.

As the last wolf held Arthur to the ground, he thought this was going to be it. He had nothing left, he felt absolutely nothing, his mind having completely turned off as his own blood seeped out onto the ground beneath him, his weak limbs refusing to move as his vision began to dim.

Suddenly, another gunshot went off, and he felt a heavy weight fall onto his body. It was soon pushed off, but he found himself unable to care as his heartbeat started drumming between his ears.

Arthur looked up at the sky, his breathing barely audible as he struggled to take in any air. Everything had happened so damn fast … He could hear someone calling out his name. A man’s voice, but who? A blurry figure appeared over him as a dark red haze began to creep in around his vision, or was that just his imagination? Something hard pressed into his shoulder, and the pain shot through him like a lightning bolt.

Flashes began going through his mind, each one followed by his slowing heartbeats.

Two crosses, placed side by side …

… A large buck, lifting its head as it gazed off into the distance …

… The sun, setting just over the horizon.

Arthur thought of watching the sunrise … the last time he’d had this ethereal feeling … back wherever he’d been. A sunrise, now a sunset …

He felt his body getting lifted … was he finally leaving?

Just before he closed his eyes, a long howl echoed through his head.

•••••

— To Be Continued

[sa-nemis]

a good person ⇨ sanemi/reader

Summary: Sanemi learns what makes a good person isn’t being good after all.

Warnings: none

Note: hi!! welcome to my writing dump ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ ..,, i don’t usually write a lot, so i wouldnt expect much activity on this page, but once in a while i get a burst of inspiration and for the first time in my life i thought i’d try publishing them somewhere. so thank you for stopping by, i hope this isn’t a waste of your time!!

(–☀–)

The first time you meet Sanemi is during his initial meeting of the pillars. He’s a whole lot of larger-than-life suffering wrapped up in an angry glare and jagged scars, you think. Somehow he seems awfully sadder than what his spiky exterior would let up. The other pillars tiptoe their way around him like he’s a time bomb chasing an end. 

Still it comes as a shock not just to you, but to everyone, when the impetuous sounding boy asserts himself in front of Oyakata-sama.

Kanae immediately recoils in dismay, her face harrowed and her lips spilling words of soft admonishment. She’s trying to perform damage control, but the damage that flows from Sanemi is almost irredeemable.

Even post-meeting, a couple of the more experienced pillars surround Sanemi and reprimand him once more for offending Oyakata-sama. He looks entirely different then compared to before, his shoulders wilting into himself and his head drooping. He looks a little like a kicked puppy, and that’s reason enough to explain why you'd like to edge yourself into the anti-Sanemi circle and take him by the hand, out and away from there.

But it's not like none of you know the feeling of losing someone you love. As a pillar, you know it more than anyone. And as much as Oyakata-sama hangs the moon in your eyes, you think that Sanemi doesn't deserve to be driven to the ground as a result of his grieving. Which is also to say, different people grieve in different ways.

His is just. Outrageously abrasive.

It takes a while for the circle to disperse. All the while Sanemi doesn't grumble a word, face flushed with regret. When it finally does disperse, Sanemi remains unmoving in the centre of it all, feeling like a kid anticipating another round of punishment that never arrives.

The view of his back seems awfully lonely. Broken, almost, with how the wisteria trees in the estate cast their mottled shadows upon him. He's just lost his best friend after all, so maybe that's exactly what he needs— a friend. You don't spare a second in taking quick strides toward him.

"Uhm. Shinazu-"

"What, are you here to laugh at me too? Tell me I’m acting like an asshole?" He barks and you fall back a fraction.

As he sizes you up, attitude still brash, you fidget with your sleeves. You have no idea what you should be saying, or if you should be saying anything at all— but the words spill out on their own.

"No! I... I just wanted to ask if you're okay."

Sanemi starts to cloud with anger but visibly balks as soon as he senses the worry and gentleness rolling off of you. Between that and your anxious eyes blinking up at him, there's not a lot he can justifiably get mad about. There’s a familiarity that washes over him; distant rumbles of laughter and intimacy. No, he could never get mad at you.

(–☀–)

There is a sweet memory attached to a certain summer. One of caustic burns and gentle touches, and all of the things that fall between the blurred lines.

Or maybe that’s just telling things too nicely. It goes a little more like this: Sanemi and you are both bloody and bruised to the touch, and when you finally make it to the Wisteria House, you fall onto the tatami and out of consciousness.

When you finally come to, it takes a second before everything seems to settle in place. There’s a splinter in your side, but you find that there are hot towels and medicated washes beside you, along with a note that informs you your wounds have been patched up. The family of this house are known to be efficient like that.

You turn and see that Sanemi hasn’t moved an inch from where he passed out. You contemplate his unusually peaceful features. Because no one else is watching and your patience is wearing thin you lean over and press your forehead against his. Warm.

Immediately his eyes burst open. You bolt up and almost scream. Only then do you realize that he’s exceptionally good at pretending to be asleep.

“What are you doing?” He sort of snarls.

You hesitate about telling him the truth. “...Making sure you’re alive.”

A blink, followed by a punch of laughter, “Pretty fucking weird, even for you.”

He looks up, gaze flickering absently over your features, your jaw, down to your collarbones, then up again. And then he goes to hold your wrists— tenderly, making you press your palm against his scarred chest where his pulse beckons too heavily to ignore. It’s equally hard to ignore the thrumming in your own chest and the surge in your brain that’s telling you to slow down before you implode.

“I’ve lost so many people,” he starts, watching you with melancholic eyes and the fragility of breaking apart. “I was so afraid of losing you too, back there.” 

You frown, “Sanemi. Listen. Nothing’s more important than you, okay?” You’re not going to let him put you above himself. That’s not the way you are, so you’ll say it as many times as you need to until he understands.

The next thing you know you are holding his face between your palms and pressing your lips to his as if to prove something to him. Your answer is him holding the back of your neck, leaning up into your face with a smile that makes you so giddy you think you’re either sick with the summer heat or terribly stupid in love.

(–☀–) 

The Ubuyashiki Estate is beautiful at this time of year, wisteria blossoms in their final spurts of bloom. They sit on the engawa in view of the garden, four platefuls of watermelon between them; a summer offering from Himejima to celebrate Sanemi's first year of being inducted as a Pillar. It’s been a while since you’ve seen all of them together, hasn’t it?

Sanemi looks brighter than he's ever had since he joined the slayer corps. That's what everyone says when the plates have been cleared and the teapots emptied. He snorts, a dismissive and mocking one, because how can he look brighter while hunting demons in the dead of night. 

While the world diminishes around him and he's still stuck, unable to move in its center.

(–☀–) 

It takes some convincing on your part before Sanemi agrees to go to the summer festival with you.

Actually, it takes a lot.

But here you are, yukata-clad, talking about all the ways in which you both can enjoy your time here. A gust of wind blows away the last dregs of summer, and your shoulders are bumping, just barely. But enough to entail two reticent souls that smell of street-side snacks and wisteria blossoms and sweltering heat, and each other.

As you follow the crowd down the maze of streets, Sanemi's hand steals into yours. Surprised by the sudden display of affection, you observe him, only to find that he has his gaze dead set ahead. He doesn't even spare a glance at you. His anxiety is palpable through his seams; but so is your elation. It ebbs and flows in threads that coil around your intertwined hands, locking them in a forever embrace.

You squeeze his hand back tightly, glad that it is yours to hold.

Ten minutes and lots of grumbling from Sanemi later, you’re both collapsed on the engawa of your estate, slippers thrown onto the garden haphazardly and wrists and limbs tangled into one another as you wait in quiescence for the fireworks to start. You’re counting the ridges on the scars of Sanemi’s arm while he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest.

When he finally speaks, his voice seems to disperse in the breeze.

“I'm not a good person. I don’t think I have it in me to be one." 

You tuck his hand under yours and gaze up at him softly. There are words that touch the tip of his tongue and then disappear, and it’s a few seconds before he builds them up again. "But I think... Knowing that- that there's someone there to shove together all the pieces I've broken off of myself, even if I'm not worth piecing back together, is a good feeling," Sanemi rubs at the nape of his neck and looks into your eyes for what feels like the first time, really. And in them, reflects all the lights that shine in the sky.

The noise of street traffic and children playing suddenly die down. You wonder how hard it was for him to speak those words. And despite the blood rushing to your face, you reply with a gentle conviction, "I think you're trying your best, and that's every bit worth saving, Nemi."

He eats up your knowing smile and returns with one of his own. It's a depiction of unabashed boldness and heated cheeks and fumbling hands, rough lips and noses bumping into each other. "I want you. I want you forever, if you’ll have me.”

Of course you will. Always.

[braincoins]

“But Socks!” you, as the convenient strawperson, exclaim, “as much as I’d love to read your Dragon Age stuff, I’ve never played Origins and/or Awakening! I don’t really know anything about Grey Wardens or the events of those games!”

Well all you had to do was ask, Convenient Strawperson-chan! ^_^ I know Grey Wardens play some small part in DA:I, which seems to be the game most people have played, but I’ll just start from the beginning. I’ll also be including personal headcanons that come up in Dragon Age: Schism, though I will mark them as such.

Under a cut for the sake of people’s dashes. Consider this a first post in a series. (I’ll answer questions that non-strawpeople want to ask, too!)

So, really now, what is a Grey Warden? Well, that depends on who you ask. To most people outside the order, the Grey Wardens are a glorious order of noble heroes! And why is that? Well, they’re immune to the darkspawn taint (which usually kills people) and so they can safely slay darkspawn! They’re also the only ones who can stop Blights!! ...though this last bit of information is often forgotten, given that Blights happen once every few centuries. 

If you ask me, the Grey Wardens are the biggest dick move in Thedas, which is actually part of why I love them. Here’s all the downsides to joining this “glorious order”: 

First of all, the Right of Conscription. Ferelden has it; not sure if other nations in Thedas do? Anyway, it means that Grey Wardens can recruit anyone at any time. In practice, they have to be careful how they wield this tool (especially in Ferelden), but the RoC has been used to save people from hangings or other deadly fates... on the condition that they become a Warden Recruit. So... didn’t want to be Warden Recruit? TOO BAD, YOU ARE NOW. And no, you don’t get a say in the RoC. 

Second of all, there’s the Joining. It turns out that, in order to become a Grey Warden, you have to drink darkspawn blood. And a bunch of other stuff in there, but really now, DRINKING DARKSPAWN BLOOD. You might recognize this as a stupidly dangerous thing to do, given that darkspawn blood KILLS THINGS. But your options are drink it or die, because the Grey Wardens present at the Joining will kill you if you try to back out after learning about this. If you drink from the Joining chalice, you also might die, but your name will be remembered as a Grey Warden at least? Even though you’re dead. And hey, if you live, you... become “immune” to the darkspawn taint, which is to say you’re already fucking tainted so it’s not like it can get worse. Want to know why the Grey Wardens don’t tell people they’re gonna make them drink darkspawn blood? Well, if they did that, people wouldn’t want to join, and we need Grey Wardens. 

Supposing you survive the Joining, there’s the shortened lifespan (10-30 years depending on your sources; my headcanon is just straight up 10-ish years) and the nightmares (that maybe you can learn to tune out). Again, they don’t tell you this until afterwards. Why? Because then people might not want to become Grey Wardens... yadda yadda.

Oh, and forget about having kids! It’s very difficult if not impossible to have children as a Grey Warden! 

At some point, even if you were able to tune the nightmares out, they’ll come back and there’ll be nothing you can do about it. That’s the first sign of The Calling. Because it turns out that the Joining is really just turning you into a ghoul, except very, very slowly. You’re getting close to Ghoul-dom now. Most Grey Wardens choose to die in battle against the darkspawn rather than waiting to be turned. It’s tradition. 

And if there’s a Blight going on? Oh, well, it turns out that the only way to kill an Archdemon is to sacrifice a Grey Warden. Why didn’t they tell you? DO YOU EVEN HAVE TO ASK NOW?!

The motto of the Grey Wardens is “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.” 

So what I’m saying is that Grey Wardens are SUPER TRAGIC BADASSES. They also wind up pretty cut off from their former lives, so the Wardens become their family. So, basically, SUPER TRAGIC BADASS FOUND FAMILY. I really don’t see how I was not supposed to love them immediately. 

They still have this reputation of “glory” and all that, but so many of their recruits were thieves or ne’er-do-wells saved from the gallows by the RoC. If you look at just the Wardens we have at the end of Awakening (and this is my list, i.e., the Wardens we have in Dragon Age: Schism):

The Warden (aka the Player Character): the Hero of Ferelden, but may have come from questionable backgrounds, depending on the origin you picked. Duncan might even have had to RoC you. If nothing else, much of Ferelden believed Loghain’s lies that the Wardens were traitors and murderers of beloved King Cailan, and that’s a hard thing to come out from under. In the case of Kivral, she’s a Dalish elf, and elves are... not exactly much beloved, the Dalish even less so, as they’re often painted as “savages.” 

Alistair: King Cailan’s half-brother, thanks to their father, King Maric, getting a little something in on the side (”You’re not just a bastard, you’re a royal bastard?”). Kivral didn’t put him on the throne, but you can if you want in your game. In any case, despite being the most experienced Warden in the group (he Joined six months before the PC), he prefers to follow and let the PC lead. Also in love with Kivral (again: my choice; you can romance someone else in your game), who’s head over heels for him. His mere existence is a threat to the throne. 

Nathaniel Howe: Son of Arl Rendon Howe, who backed Loghain and was, in pretty much all ways, a motherfucking asshole. Nate shows up trying to steal shit from the keep Queen Anora granted the Wardens, even though he insists he wasn’t stealing because it’s his stuff. The seneschal at the time wants to hang him. Kivral decided he’d undergo the Joining instead. Along the way, Nate learns about his father’s actions, comes to accept that, yes, his father was a sonuvabitch, and even pays special attention to non-noble/non-human companions, learning about the privilege he’s had most of his life.

Anders: When you first meet Anders, he’s surrounded by dead Templars and dead darkspawn. He swears forwards and backwards that the darkspawn killed the Templars and then he killed the darkspawn. REALLY. Even though he had run away from the Circle and was being hauled back there by those same Templars. In fact, a Templar shows up and wants to drag him off, but you can call RoC and recruit him instead. And also give him a kitten. 

Velanna: Dalish mage exiled from her clan, even though she was the Keeper’s first - i.e., in line to be the next Keeper. She’s trying to find her sister, and that’s the only reason she signs on with you. HATES HUMANS. HAAAAAAAATES HUMANS. SO FUCKING MUCH. HATES THEM. Not exactly a “people person.” Like, at all.

Sigrun: Casteless dwarf who joined THE LEGION OF THE DEAD. In other words, a fucking badass already. But she’s also this adorable ray of sunshine? Like... her life sucked so she made the choice to consider herself already dead and then you can get her to join the Wardens who are basically Dead People Walking, just on the surface. 

Oghren: One of your companions from Origins. A drunken, lecherous pervert of a dwarf, but he also unlocks the Berserker specialization for warriors in DA:O. He basically just shows up near the beginning of Awakening and is like, “Hey, I had fun killing shit with you and I wanna do more of it.”

Justice: Not in Schism, but mentioned in the notes: Justice is literally the Spirit of Justice who has taken over the corpse of a Grey Warden named Kristoff. In regular Dragon Age canon, Justice eventually leaves Kristoff’s corpse and hitches a ride with Anders, whose anger at the Chantry and the general treatment of mages turns him into VENGEANCE. In Schism, Justice departs back to the spirit world.

But I give you this list for a reason: thieves, exiles, casteless, apostates. These are the Great and Glorious Grey Wardens we’re dealing with here. Even Duncan, Maker watch over him, was a rogue and a thief before he became a Grey Warden and eventually rose to Warden-Commander of Ferelden. 

In the time period of Dragon Age: Schism, the people of Ferelden are still recovering from the Blight, from the death of their king, from Loghain’s claims of Grey Warden treachery, etc. Many generations before, there was a Grey Warden rebellion against the then-king, Arland, for his tyrannical ways. The Wardens were slaughtered - either by the king’s troops or by the demons that the Warden mage Avernus summoned in desperation - and the Warden Order was cast out of Ferelden until King Maric assumed the throne and allowed them back in. He even reinstated their Right of Conscription (though, again, you can’t just RoC anyone and everyone all the time; that’s a good way to get it - and possibly the Order again - revoked real quick).

So the Wardens are on shaky ground in Ferelden, where our story is set and centered (just as in Origins/Awakening). There aren’t many of them (see list above because - again, aside from Justice - that’s literally all of them in the entire country) and people are still sort of side-eyeing them. They have Queen Anora’s support, but even that’s shaky, especially while Alistair - who could have taken the throne in her place - is still alive and kicking. The leader of the Wardens of Ferelden may also be the Hero of Ferelden, but, in the case of Schism-verse, is also a “knife-ear” (as the slur goes), and not Andrastian (she’s not Fantasy Christian, basically).  

[fall-to-rise-98]

Divergent, Eric+OC

Kingdom Fall:  Amity Reject

Before choosing Dauntless at her choosing ceremony and becoming a true Dauntless member Amity-born Anna never felt accepted in her faction, but she took a leap of faith and learned fast how to make it through initiation. She took her aptitude test and got Divergent though, having shown an affinity for three other factions: Abnegation, Erudite, and Candor. Peace was something she wasn’t accustom to and she had been known to become violent at times, so that ruled out Amity. Dauntless was for the brave and courageous, which she could manage. Although some fears she thought seemed permanently etched onto her soul. Before choosing Dauntless Anna had also never known true love, then she met Eric. The cold, stone-faced leader of the Dauntless initiates. They butted heads from the moment they met with Anna’s sarcastic, cynical personality and his quick temper. It took some time for Anna to break through Eric’s metal armor and as dangerous as she knew it was to be near him, her being Divergent, it excited her all the same. Her life was at risk being around Eric, but this was what she wanted when she left behind Amity: the chance to finally be free. If she had to die eventually, just for the sweet taste of freedom, then she was determined to go out with a bang. 

A/N: Each post for this story may be short or long, depending on how much creative juice I can squeeze out. Each post may or may not be in order, just enjoy the ride. I will update as often as I can, since I am also writing another fanfic for Little Vampire on my main fanfiction account here  ⎯ https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13791424/1/Sweet-But-Psycho. Also, trigger warnings abound: vulgar language, physical abuse, mental abuse, adult themes (y’all know what that means), mentions of suicide (won’t go into detail), death, and of course  ⎯ violence. 

The Choosing Ceremony: Part 1

Raise Hell

Bored. 

Bored. 

Bored. 

Anna felt her eyelids trying to shut of their own accord, thought she chanted in her mind: stay awake, stay awake. 

Stay, a-fucking-wake. 

She wasn’t quite comfortable though, the position she was in. Wedged between her step-father (abusive asshole) and her mother (the lamb in the lion’s den) in a row of stiff, plastic chairs. Surrounded by smiling, juiced-up crowd of other Amity citizens. 

Fools, the lot of them. 

Hopped up on happy serum. Everyone always gets a dose of the sickly sweet, bright pink liquid once a week. It was a potent potion made to “keep the sins of anger at bay,” which Anna found absolutely ridiculous. 

It felt like a violation of free will. 

She happened to like the idea of free will. It was something she longed for and had wanted for many years. Especially when her mother Kimberly decided she wanted to settle down with the man who tormented them both on a daily basis, which Anna could not stand. At all. 

Sometimes she would lay in her bed at night, unable to sleep and covered in bruises, feeling sorry for her mother. Sometimes Anna thought her mother would have been better off growing a spine, just like she did. 

She didn’t want to accept the abuse any longer, especially after the incident almost a year ago on her sixteenth birthday. It was the most terrifying moment she ever experienced in her life. 

The night was rainy, but it wasn’t noiseless. She could hear the faint melody of the Amity sector. The shrill singing of small children, the merry laughter of adults. It was all outside of her house though. There was a different kind of noise inside her home, where happiness and joy seemed a million miles away. 

It was the sound of silence, a calm before the storm. The atmosphere in the house was thick and could not be cut so easily with a knife. A heavy, ominous presence hung in between the casual “pass the salt” or “how was school today?” chatter. No “did you have a good day?” 

No “happy birthday, sweetie.” 

Andrew sat at her left at the kitchen table during dinner, as quiet and menacing as a snake slithering in the grassy fields. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. 

Strike you dead, if by the look on his face. 

Something was getting under his skin bad and her mother was doing nothing except cowering in her seat to her right, trying to keep up a happy charade with a fake smile plastered on her face. It faltered often, but no one ever commented. 

No one cared enough to speak out and ask some serious questions. 

To involve themselves in our family drama, to help. 

Help was not something the Amity community usually gave out, from kindness of their hearts or just out of pure curiosity. Why does Anna keep to herself and always has a negative outlook on life? Why does Kimberly never talk to anyone? 

To everyone else, Andrew is viewed as an angel. A model citizen with a charming attitude and good soul. 

If only the Amity people would stop turning a blind eye to everything around them. Maybe the world would really be a better place. Everyone just might be able to get along. 

Then Andrew turned to her with a smile on his face, it was sudden and filled with dazzling teeth. He was a handsome man for his age, mid-forties with a head full of thick salt and pepper hair. Green eyes the color of jade, staring her down with malice. Hardened and angry. 

What had she done this time? She was being responsive to every question or comment, asked by either of them. Eating her dinner quietly otherwise, head bent down to avoid confrontation. It was a defense mechanism Anna knew worked best with Andrew and most of the time she tried hard to keep her step-father placate. 

This was how you survived in her house. 

“How was your day, baby girl?” 

What. 

The. 

Fuck. 

Anna snapped to attention, her startled dark-blue eyes meeting the amused expression on Andrew’s face. She was taken aback at the pet name, one she hadn’t heard him use in years, and glanced at her mother. 

She hesitated, a pause of breath which irritated Andrew. 

Kimberly was staring at her second husband with the look of a frightened animal, gaping mouth and teary-eyed. There was something in her eyes, all wide and watery, that made Anna’s blood run cold. 

It was a look she only saw once. 

The first time Andrew took his anger out on them. 

But that was then and this is now. 

Andrew was glaring at Anna now, slamming his knife down on the table. “When I ask a question I expect you to know the answer immediately and respond back to me. Have we not had this conversation before?” 

Her mother surprised her. 

She spoke out against Andrew, although as timid and small as the plea was. 

“Andrew, don’t. Please.”

Andrew turned away from Anna then, but Anna knew it would only be brief and the strike would be swift. Once for speaking out of turn, across the mouth. 

Twice for telling him what to do, on the hand. 

Three times for standing up to him, which Anna only experienced one time. 

It made her angry. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this. Her fingers gripped tightly to her silverware as she studied the scene before her. 

Prepared to either watch as her step-father descended upon her mother or step in between the two with the threat of a studded belt across the ass. 

Andrew was satisfied only mildly when Kimberly shrunk even further into her chair and raised an eyebrow, “Why not? You never said anything when I brought it up before. So I obviously assumed I had the right to ask Anna herself.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. 

What in the flying fuck was going on between these two? 

Something was off with both of them, a feeling of dread filling the pit of her stomach making it toss and turn the food contents she was previously piling down her throat. 

Though fear crept in there was also confusion and mild curiosity. Alarm bells rang off in her head though. Voices telling her to run away, get up from the table and run away, get away from the whole situation now. 

Kimberly glanced over at her daughter and choked on a sob, “Happy birthday. I love you, baby, I hope you know that.” 

She felt sick suddenly, then jumped to her feet at the feeling of a rough hand brushing her thigh. Anna felt the scream in her throat, but managed to keep it from filling the house. 

Andrew would not like that. 

It could have been a mistake. 

But he was grinning at her now, glancing from the expression on her face to the face of her mother. Kimberly felt anger course through her momentarily and she blurted out, “Stop it! Don’t you touch her like that.” 

In an instant, as fast as a lightning bolt appearing and disappearing, Andrew was on his feet with the knife and leaping over the table at Kimberly. 

Anna felt her vision blur for a moment, then go blood red at hearing her mother’s horrifying scream. She heard the plates fall from the table and shatter, heard the chair her mother was sitting in hit the ground with a thud as he tackled her to the floor. 

It filled her with absolute rage. 

Andrew had only intended on scaring Kimberly, threatening her with the knife against the throat, but enraged as Anna jumped onto his back he flung her off with ease. 

Then turned to her, a frightening smile on his face. 

The smile of a psychopath. 

“You see, I had a little talk with your mother the other night after dinner. It was really interesting. You left rather quickly, talking about how you were going to check up on a friend before bed. That was a mistake, you know. You have no friends.” 

Anna was winded, having hit the table with her shoulders which scraped it’s wooden legs across the oak flooring, and hitched a breath at Andrew’s words. At this point Kimberly was scrambling away, for the stairs, leaving Anna to fend for herself. 

Why wouldn’t her mother do something about this man? 

What was going on this time? 

“As you know your mother is 8 years older than I am and these past couple of years together have not suited her well. But you, my dear, have grown into a fine young woman and I feel it may be time for a change around here.” 

She scrambled to her feet, prepared now to defend herself until she couldn’t. 

This was one battle she wasn’t going down without a fight for. 

What needed to change was his ego, his pride. His sadistic cruelty. 

Andrew was faster, grabbing onto her legs as she started to run. He lunged at her like a football linebacker and they both fell to the floor. He laughed when she wriggled underneath him and fought to turn her on her back. 

“Come on, don’t you want to wrestle with your step-daddy?” 

Since then Anna began to train during her free time. Of course there was no use for gym equipment in Amity because of the farming business, but she had seen videos on her tablet (stolen from one of the Erudite-born at school) on how to build muscle and strength. 

Exercise videos that were played during health class, but not performed in the school. There was no physical education in her school that required actual physical labor. That was saved for after school. Chores, either at home or on the farm. 

She didn’t want to ever be put in that position again. Since that night Anna was preparing herself, physically and mentally, for the choosing ceremony. The choosing ceremony she was finally attending after six months of hard work and waiting. She would be free. 

She would finally be happy. 

Andrew was expecting her to remain in Amity, he had said so himself the night before, but Kimberly had not spoken a word in three days. 

Anna glanced back and forth between them both, hiding behind a curtain of pale blonde hair. It was freshly washed as of this morning and she was wearing tan shorts with a bright, yellow tank-top. She knew once she chose Dauntless she would be running towards the train with the other initiates, she always came to the ceremonies with her “family” and she loved watching the Dauntless run for the fast-moving locomotive. 

They were always shouting and screaming, but out of pure excitement. 

It was their new beginning and now it would be her new beginning. 

Although sitting quiet and stiff among the other Amity she was listening for the names of each new Dauntless initiate. 

Hardy, Ian. Candor.

Higgins, Samantha. Erudite.

Jonas, Zeke. Candor.

Larson, Holiday. Abnegation.

Maddox, Avery. Erudite.

Marsden, Jamie. Abnegation.

“Thatcher, Anna.” 

It was time. 

Her time.

[cagestark]

Better Late Than Never//1

And Merry Christmas to YOU

Aka I started another project that I will take twenty years to finish. But @starkerflowers prompts were just too fucking good.

About: With interest in his work waning, famous writer Tony Stark (under the pseudonym AE Potts) changes his entire public relations platform, which includes hosting a meet-and-greet contest where one lucky fan will get to spend the day with him. That one lucky fan is Peter Parker. Peter is 21. Will contain nff, alcoholism, suicide attempts, character death (not major), drug mentions, anxiety, anxiety attacks. 

Read here on AO3. 

-

Tony is awakened from a drunken, dreamless sleep by a tub of envelopes and small packages being upended over his head. He jerks upright with a shout from where he was slumped over his writing desk, upending the (empty) bottle of whiskey that had lulled him to sleep. Pepper stands over him, impeccable in every way he is not.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, pushing envelopes off of where they have pooled on his lap. “You could have taken my eye out, Peppercorn. What are you trying to do, perform Lingchi on me? What is all this?”

“Fan mail,” she says. Her voice is stern and unsympathetic. The first time she’d found him passed out drunk over his desk, she had panicked and nearly called for an ambulance. The next handful of times she had just covered him with a blanket and regarded him with sad eyes the next morning when she brought him coffee. But those were ten years ago. Not to mention, all in her first few weeks on the job— “Social media is revolting. You never answer fan mail, you never do Q&A’s, you haven’t done an interview in almost a decade.”

“Fuck this,” Tony mutters, opening one drawer. “Where’s my whiskey?”

“In your bloodstream, I’d imagine. Don’t brush this off, Tony. Sales are waning. We need to make some serious changes in our PR or I’ll be putting in my two-weeks’ notice.”

That gets Tony’s attention. Pepper hadn’t threatened to quit after his last book when he’d killed off one of the most popular characters (one of his personal favorites, may she rest in fictional peace) and the public had flipped their shit. She hadn’t threatened to quit years before that when she walked in on him hunched over his desk with a straw to his nose, three sheets to the wind on far more than just whiskey. She has the disposition of a mountain: unflinching and ever-enduring.

“You mean it,” says Tony.

“I mean it.”

His shoulders sag. He glances around the room: the mess, the junk, the empty alcohol bottles, the half-finished manuscripts. There’s a strange feeling in the back of his throat, acidic, like he might throw up. Or cry. When his mouth opens to say something sarcastic, something about not letting the door hit her on the way out if she expects him to play nice with the media, all that comes out is a broken: “I can’t lose you, Pep.”

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “You will. If you don’t make some changes. Okay?”

Maybe this is what it means to be balanced on a knife’s edge, where one way ends in pain and the other ends in terminal inconvenience. But he knows which one he has to pick. His whole life is just a big inconvenience, but pain? Tony has spent enough time with his hand flat against the stove’s burner to know that he’d rather die than feel it again, rather die than lose one of the only people left who can stand him.

He picks up the closest letter and tears it open, blinking heavily to clear his eyes. Pepper leans down to press a kiss to the crown of his head and then gags. “Take a shower, when you get the chance,” she mutters, smiling.

-

The letters start off by being good for one thing: his ego. Adoring fans have been writing to his penname and business address for decades since he put out his first super-hero novel, titled IRON-MAN. Pepper has chosen to give him recent fan-mail, considering he’s spent so long ignoring it that if he were to answer them in order of reception, he might encounter fans who didn’t even remember the letters once sent. Or ones who were dead.

They are all variations of the same thing. The handwriting changes, gentle feminine cursive to childish scrawling to neat block lettering, but the message is usually the same. DEAR MR. POTTS. I’VE READ EVERY BOOK YOU’VE EVER WRITTEN. I GOT YOUR NAME TATTOOED ON MY ASS. IRON-MAN IS MY HERO. I’VE NEVER READ PROSE AS LOVELY AS YOURS. WHAT IS YOUR SECRET?

At Pepper’s request, Tony drafts a generic letter to send in response, something about how he can’t respond personally to every letter but he wants them to know that he’s read what they’ve written and ‘holds it close to his heart’.

“It’s good,” Pepper approves. “Sign them yourself.”

“Good?” Tony says. “I was joking—this letter is trash. Anyone who knows me would see this for the sarcasm it is—”

“Then thank God none of the fans know you,” Pepper responds coolly.

She has a point. Tony has existed in relative seclusion since he first began publishing his works at 24. After twenty years, he’d managed to remain mostly anonymous. A pseudonym does most of the work, including non-disclosure agreements for his employees. Any time a presence is required, he sends Rhodey or Happy or Pepper even. Theory pages abound on the internet, sites devoted to finding out who the real AE POTTS is. Even though one picture leaked of him during the early 2000’s (a grainy godforsaken thing that didn’t even show his best angle), there were still some disbelievers. One popular conspiracy theory is that AE is Pepper, considering Tony stole her last name to use as his own.

Maybe that’s why his declining image in the media bothers her so much.

A week later, Tony’s hand has a cramp the way it hasn’t since he was a little boy learning to write his letters. Freehand has never been his specialty—it’s far too slow for the way his mind works, bounding a sentence, a scene, a chapter ahead. Signing so many letters is going to freeze his hand in a claw like position. He’s sure of it.

Then Pepper drops the next bombshell on him: the contest.

“It goes against everything I’ve been working so hard to do for the last twenty years,” Tony shouts at the zenith of their argument. “I do not want to be known! I don’t want the fame; I just wanted the goddamn fortune, is that too much to ask for?”

“Times have changed,” Pepper says through her teeth. She holds her own, spine straight. She hasn’t shirked away from his angry outbursts ever, not even when they were children growing up together in Manhattan. “I’m not asking you to do a 20/20 Special. I’m not asking for an interview on Ellen. I’m asking for you to meet with one fan. Have a goddamn lunch with them. If you can’t handle that, then you can kiss your fortune goodbye. Mark my words.”

Tony marks them. He fucking marks them, okay? When he’s drinking himself blind, locked in his office (good luck getting in now, Pep), they ring around his skull like a dime in the dryer. Sometime around dawn, she picks the lock on the door and mops his brow while he vomits in the tiny trashcan beside his desk.

“I’m not doing this to torture you,” she says with uncharacteristic tenderness. Her hand on his forehead occasionally rifling through his greasy hair is not what’s making his eyes prickle with tears—it’s the vomiting. Honest. He’s not that touch-starved. “You know that, right? I hate seeing you like this.”

“I know,” he chokes miserably, gagging again. So he agrees to the Willy Wonka Initiative. Pepper puts out the word that the infamous AE POTTS will be selecting a single fan to meet face to face. Anyone eighteen or older is eligible to participate, as long as they write a letter explaining why they should get it blah blah blah. A golden ticket might have been funner. At least then Tony might have had an excuse to wear the tacky purple suit and tophat.

In the meantime, Pepper reveals that she’s been having Happy screen his mail to only show him the happy letters—figures. His hate mail isn’t extensive, but it certainly exists, having increased exponentially since he killed off Natasha in the last novel.

FUCKING MYSOGINISTIC ASSHOLE, Cheryl from Newport tenderly writes. YOU HAD ONE GOOD FEMALE CHARACTER, AND YOU KILLED HER OFF. I HOPE ANOTHER WOMAN NEVER LETS YOU BETWEEN THEIR LEGS AGAIN AND YOUR DICK SHRIVELS OFF.

Tony thinks that’s pretty succinct. He posts it up on his desk propped up against the last picture ever taken of him and his mother. Killing off Natasha had been an idea he’d personally revolted against for months. Sure, it made sense that sensitive, strong Natasha would be the one to sacrifice herself in order to stop the villain from succeeding in wiping out half the universe. It made sense for a woman to be the one to give her life to protect others.

After all, hadn’t his own mother died trying to protect Tony?

The weekend after the contest drops on their social media platforms, Pepper texts to tell him that it’s being received far, far better than they might have ever hoped for. Already dozens of letters had been received, letters which must have been penned and mailed just hours after the news had spread.

Joy, Tony texts back.

I haven’t told you the best news, she says. That’s how Tony knows that the next news will be the worst news, absolutely the worst news of all. You get to pick the fan.

-

“Any letter catching your eye?” Pepper asks him over lunch in his office.

“They’re all the same,” Tony laments. Even his own ego can only take so much stroking. After a while, the fan mail has become mostly routine and lackluster, though he keeps opening it, keeps signing the response letters, keeps sending them out. “I’m going to end up picking one at random, Pep.”

“I don’t care how you pick,” Pepper says. “As long as you do—and as long as you’re ready to suffer with the consequences of your choice.”

“Suffer? God, I love the light you bring into my life. The unending optimism. The unparalleled faith and trust in me.”

Her eyes glitter even as they roll. “If you like me so much, you can buy lunch next time.”

Tony snorts, taking a large bite from his burger. “Gold digger.”

“I’ve seen your taxes, Tony. These days, there isn’t much gold to dig for.”

“Ouch, kill shot.”

-

The letter arrives only one week before the contest deadline. In the top drawer of his desk are three other letters from potential winners, mostly picked at random, sometimes because Tony likes their handwriting, sometimes because they say something funny that actually makes him laugh. When he opens up the letter from Peter B. Parker, he scans the first lines not intending to be impressed.

Dear Mr. Potts, Peter writes.

I’ve written you so many letters that it should be easy by now. I don’t know why my hands are shaking. Maybe I’m nervous because I know for certain that this one, someone will actually read.

I received my first copy of IRON-MAN when I was eight years old—yes, a little bit heavy for a kid that age, but my parents had just died unexpectedly in a car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in, and my uncle gave me his first edition. Iron-man’s story was one of the only things that got through to me as a kid. His struggle to come to terms with losing his own parents, his loneliness, his fear. The way he overcomes all of that and still goes on to do good…yeah. It meant a lot to a grief-stricken kid. Obviously.

Pretty much every birthday and Christmas, I end up receiving one of your books as a gift. My family and friends know me so well, I have nearly a half-dozen copies of AVENGERS (it’s one of my favorites). The things you write about are so close to my heart, so close to some of the experiences I’ve had in real life. My struggle with mental illness. My abuse and neglect. And the way you write these things makes me think…fear, I guess…that maybe you know something about them too.

I would love to get to meet you and talk about your incredible books. I’d love to get to know you. Not going to lie, as a fanboy, I’d probably be happy to just sit at the same table with you and have a meal. I’ll buy. We don’t even have to talk (okay I swear I’m not as desperate as I sound!). I’m sure you’ve received so many awesome letters, and I know that the fan you pick will be so, so lucky.

(Every letter I write to you, I ask if you could please return my book. It’s been five years since I sent it. I’m sure you don’t even have it anymore, maybe you threw it away from the start. But if you do have it, even if you don’t pick me to win the contest, it would mean so much if you sent it back. When I mailed it to you in Jan. 2014, my uncle was still alive. He’s gone now…anyway it’s one of the only things of his that I have left.)

Your fan always,

PETER.

PS: please disregard the last letter I sent…obviously.

Tony rereads the letter twice. He feels a swirl of emotion in his stomach, not dissimilar to the queasiness after a long night of drinking. This—this is what he sacrificed by being so closed-off from his fans. While he’d known that his fans were real and obviously human, a part of him had never felt the magnitude of it before. These are people with feelings and experiences. This Parker kid (a self-proclaimed fanboy) lost his parents too, and far younger than Tony had. In a car accident.

Maybe Peter hadn’t been there, hadn’t been in the car, hadn’t watched his mother parents go up in flames, but it’s still a tragedy all in its own right. And all at eight years old. Jesus Christ. This kid has been looking up to him for ten years and more, and he had no fucking idea that kind of dysfunctional altar he’d been worshiping at.

Tony goes into the private bathroom connected to his office and gags up—nothing. Drool. But it still leaves his mouth slimy, so he brushes his teeth until he’s spitting pink into the sink, and when he catches sight of the haphazard reflection in the mirror, he pities it. He leans forward to touch foreheads with it, auto-intimacy. Do better, some voice in the back of his head says, but it’s not his voice.

Happy picks up his cellphone on the first ring. Of the ninth call.

“What do you fucking want, Tony?” he hisses into the receiver. “I’m at the movie theater seeing that new Star Wars. You made me go out into the lobby—”

“Then I’m doing you a favor,” Tony says, cracking open the cap on a sparkling water. “Look, I have important questions, I wouldn’t have called otherwise. My fan mail—how much of it has Pepper kept?”

“Jesus, how should I know? Totes and totes full, at least—”

“Brilliant—”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? I’m missing the movie!”

“Didn’t I say you’re not missing much? I’m asking you because Pepper will make me do it myself: I need you to find specific letters from one fan: Peter B. Parker. Address is Queens, but he could be from anywhere. I’m also especially interested in acquiring a package he sent me in January 2014.”

“Christ, could you be any more mysterious?” Happy mutters. “Text me the details you bastard, I’m not missing another moment of Mark Hamill.”

-

It turns out that Pepper is not only a saint in all ways previously mentioned, but she is a saint in this as well: his fan mail from the last ten years has been saved and meticulously organized by month and year of reception. Happy comes to Tony’s office in the city the next day with a package, the outside brittle but address clear.

The writing is the same script as the letter newly received from Peter, though the handwriting has become more mature over time. Neater. Confined. No more hasty slant from an enthusiastic hand. The kid’s contest entry is in the top drawer of Tony’s desk—the previous potential winners are now the cherries on top of the reject pile. His stomach is heavy as a stone while he tears open the five-year-old package.

Out tumbles a pre-addressed package that was meant to carry the book back to its owner, back to Peter. Then, one first edition of IRON-MAN, the cover a little tattered, the spine creaky. Also included is another letter, torn from a spiral notebook. He opens it with shaking hands.

DEAR MISTER POTTS

I KNOW THAT GETTING A RESPONSE FROM MY LETTERS IS A LONG SHOT, BUT I’M REALLY HOPING THAT YOU’LL AUTOGRAPH THIS COPY OF IRON-MAN AND RETURN IT TO ME. IT IS MY UNCLE BEN’S…

It goes on to describe how his Uncle’s birthday is coming up and Peter hopes to give the autographed book to his Uncle. Tony reads with a heavy heart, knowing now that Tony hadn’t bothered even opening the package, hadn’t tried to sign it—and even if he had, Ben hadn’t lived long enough to celebrate his next birthday. What a son of a bitch Tony is.

For the first time in three months, Tony goes home.

Most days he stays at the space he rents in the fancy Manhattan building, the one that holds his office and Pepper’s own workspace as well as the other people who work for him (Happy, Beck, Rhodey). The mansion outside Manhattan belonged to Tony’s father and his mother. When his mother had still been alive, it had been a cold place that he had endured staying at for her sake. After his mother had died, it had been a torture chamber, or worse—a stale, suffocating tomb.

Then Howard had died and somehow left it to Tony (probably out of some misguided duty to ‘keep it in the family’). Tony made a personal habit to visit it infrequently and stay there even less often; but Pepper maintains it for him, has it cleaned, keeps it safe. Uses it as storage, Tony knows. For his fan mail.

It takes up three entire rooms, floor to ceiling clear totes labeled with months and years. Just looking at it makes Tony feel small, ashamed of how little he cared about interacting with his fans. It’s no wonder sales were down. Searching for Peter’s letters would be like looking for a needle in a haystack—but he has to do it, and he can’t let Happy bear the brunt of the weight anymore either. This is on Tony.

So he begins pulling totes from the room and scattering their contents on the oaken table and floors of the dining room. Five hours and seven totes later, and Tony still has no letter from Peter.

Pepper finds him at midnight. She comes bursting in through the front door—Tony can hear the sound of the door colliding with the wall from the force she’s used—shouting his name. The hysteria in her voice chills him to the bone. It’s worse than the tone she uses when Tony fucks up; this is the tone she uses when there’s a Tragedy, when something is Wrong.

She finds him in the dining room surrounded by letters, kneeling up from where he was slumped on the floor. He must be a sight, but she is one too, her hair a mess, her eyes red. When she sees him, all the breath goes out of her, one hand clutching at her breast as the other grabs the back of a chair for support.

“Jesus, Pep, what’s happened? Is it your father, another heart attack—?”

“Why don’t you ever answer your goddamn phone, you bastard!” She says through heaving breaths. “You don’t leave the office for weeks and suddenly no one can find you, you won’t pick up your phone—”

It takes a long moment for the pieces to connect.

“Oh Christ,” Tony says, chidingly. “What, you were scared for me?”

She slumps into one chair and puts her face into her well-manicured hands. Tony drops back onto his ass. He’s not a good man, not a sensitive man. The last woman who had cried in front of him was his mother, and look at all the ways he had failed her. But the longer he sits letting Pepper cry, the more it feels like bamboo shoots growing under his tender fingernails. Fuck it. He gets up, knees creaking, and goes to her.

They sit side by side at the dining table no one has eaten at in twelve years. Pepper leans into him, her thin shoulders shaking. Shame makes his own eyes burn, because he thought what did she have to be afraid of? But maybe she saw his car in the driveway of the unhappy home he avoids and assumed that he’d come here to Hemingway himself. Maybe she sat in the drive steeling herself to come into the sight of his body.

“I’m going through the fan mail,” Tony says at last.

“I can see that,” she says. Her scathing tone drips with tears.

“I’m okay, Pep,” he says. He’s not sure if it’s true. He’s not sure if he’s been okay ever since he blinked awake upside down and suspended by the seatbelt in the back seat of his mother’s Cadillac, glass littering the roof (and the roof had become the floor, then, see? Because they were upside down), the smell of gas and smoke in his nose). Maybe he’s not okay. Maybe it’s all a fucking lie, but he’s not going to off himself. Not when there’s a mystery afoot. “I promise.”

She nods, one damp hand reaching out blindly for his. It’s an awkward angle to hold hands at, but he doesn’t complain. And awkward or not, it feels nice to be touched in a kind, even platonic way.

“What are you looking for?” Pepper asks at last, wiping at the wet, swollen skin beneath her eyes.

“Why? You want to help?” Tony asks.

“Might as well,” she says. “I always do your heavy lifting, don’t I?”

-

With Pepper’s help, they find the first letter. Somehow the Willy Wonka Initiative has reversed until Tony feels like a kid, ripping open chocolate bars, desperate for a glimpse of gold. At dawn, a cry echoes in the dining room startling Tony from where he was slumping against a tote, dozing.

“I’ve got one, Tony!” Pepper shouts. She’s barefoot, her panty hose taken off and folded on the table, her sensible jacket removed and slung over the back of a chair. Her rumpled shirt and tendrils coming free from her ponytail reveal how much energy she’s been putting into this with him—maybe to make up for her emotional outburst earlier, maybe like a mother humoring a child’s singular beneficial interest. “From Peter B. Parker, address is Queens, same as before.”

“What’s the date?” Tony asks. He slips in a pile of letters from last August and nearly breaks his neck. Wishful fucking thinking.

“Last May. Here—”

Tony takes the letter and collapses in a chair, his lower back grateful for the support. He recognizes Peter’s handwriting as he tears the letter open, and he can feel Pepper’s presence over his shoulder, reading along with him.

This letter is different from the others. Tony knows it right away. The first indication should have been the date; Tony’s most recent novel dropped early May of last year. His most controversial work to date, with praise glorious and venomous in kind. Which way did the scales tip when it came to Peter, Tony wonders.

I know that you won’t read this. I’ve written you twice a year since I was ten years old, and you’ve never written back. I don’t blame you. I’m sure you’re busy—I guess I just needed to get these words down somewhere, so that they exist, so that somewhere there is a record of me after I’m dead.

Tony reads the rest in a dazed blur. At one point, Pepper’s hand lifts to press against her mouth, but still they read on, huddled together for convenience and then for comfort.

In the letter, Peter describes the tragedy of his uncle’s death and how he felt personally responsible, and how after months of guilt, when he’d read about Natasha’s sacrifice, he’d decided to take action. Against himself.

If someone’s death can do so much good in the world, Peter wrote with shaky script. Then maybe mine could too. I’m not deluded or anything. I know that I’m not a superhero and that I’m not fighting against some sanctimonious super villain. But I feel like if my death could make May’s life easier, then I have to do it.

“Jesus. Tony, don’t read this—” Pepper reaches out for the letter but Tony nearly rips it in half trying to keep it away from her.

It’s not just for May, Peter admits. I’m ready to stop hurting, too.

Peter signs off, for good. Only it hadn’t been for good—Peter’s most recent letter had obviously proven that, and hadn’t he written it himself? Ignore my last letter, obviously, he’d said. Something must have changed Peter’s mind, but one thing was clear: it hadn’t been Tony. Because Tony had been so self-absorbed, so tangled in his own grief and ego and addictions he hadn’t even read the letter. If Pepper hadn’t saved it, then it might have been destroyed, no record left of Peter’s words at all.

“Tony,” Pepper says. She takes the letter from his fingers and he lets it go. His hands are numb. “This isn’t your fault. Peter obviously was unstable—he’d just watched his uncle being murdered in front of him. No one in their right mind would read Natasha’s death and think that you were encouraging them to take their own life.”

“I know that,” Tony snaps. Lying. Then: “I’m not an idiot, Pep.”

Maybe the biggest lie of all.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 21 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Hello darlings! So, this chapter marks us getting through 10% of the story. Yay? Yay! We are so grateful for people who are following along and giving feedback. Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Fashion Week began with no major crisis in sight (well, except for Courtney’s pink hair).  

This Chapter: Someone gets fired, someone gets lucky, and the Galactica collection gets presented to the world.

***

Willam took a deep breath before knocking decisively on Detox’s door. To say that he was not excited about being summoned to an unplanned meeting with his boss would be a huge understatement. But here he was.

“Come in!”

Detox was on the phone when Willam entered. He gestured for him to sit, receiver still pressed to his ear. Willam obeyed, rolling his eyes internally. That was such an amateur power move. Oh, look at me, Mr. Big Bad Editor, I’m so busy and important.

Willam’s eyes drifted towards the window. OK! Magazine was on the 10th floor of their midtown building: not the best view, not the worst. Everything about this place was middling to Willam. Including Detox, who was now finishing up his oh so important phone call. In his ugly green sport coat.

Detox hung up the phone, then leveled his gaze directly at Willam.

“I assume you know why you’re here.”

“‘Cause I’m getting a raise?” Willam asked hopefully.

Detox trained his eyes on the ceiling for a brief moment before saying, “No. What did I tell you about Galactica and Miss Fame last week?”

“You said that there was no story and that I should drop it, but-”

“So why the fuck do I hear rumors that you’re still nosing around?”

Rhea. That fucking bitch.

“Because! I know you’re wrong!” Willam exclaimed. “You know that in all the years Galactica has been in business, there is not one tiny shred of bad press? Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

“Will-”

“I know she’s your friend, okay? And I don’t know what you’re trying to hide, but I will find it.”

“Great,” Detox said. “Find it for someone else.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re fired, Willam. Clear out your desk by the end of the day.”

Willam opened his mouth, then stood up in a huff.

“You know, when you hired me, you said that you wanted tenacious reporters who would challenge you.”

“I did,” Detox said, his tone bored as he opened a folder and began to scan through it. “I guess I changed my mind.”

“Fuck you, Detox!” Willam spat, storming from the office and slamming the door behind him. He strode down the hall to his own office, righteous anger rising as he went. There was a story, a good one, Willam was sure of it. And when he found it, he would make Detox eat his fucking words.

***

DETOX: Hey, I know you’re busy right now, but just wanted to give you a heads-up. I had to fire a reporter today who’s been poking around Galactica looking for dirt. (A futile effort, I know, but still annoying.) His name is Willam Belli.

FAME: Thank you darling. Don’t worry, my staff knows better than to talk to reporters without approval.

DETOX: Good girl. See you Thursday.

FAME: XO

***

“Hey baby.” Katya smiled, crawling on top of Trixie’s lap. He had come home from the second day of Fashion Week, practically collapsing into the bed the second he had opened the door. Katya had taken one look at Trixie, grabbed the phone, ordered pizzas from Trixie’s favorite place and found their collection of Disney films before Trixie had even kicked off his pants.

“Ouch, careful!” Trixie laughed, trying to move so he could shift Katya’s weight, taking the pressure off his stomach, but it only held him down. The two of them had watched Beauty and the Beast and then The Little Mermaid and now they were just lounging around, half-naked and lazily kissing.

“My big, strong designer man.” Katya leaned down to kiss Trixie’s cheek before pulling away slowly, her hand trailing down his face, gently caressing it.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” Trixie smiled, his eyes filled with love as he looked up at Katya.

“Even after you’ve spent the day looking at models?” Katya’s tone was teasing, but Trixie could see the insecurity in her eyes, which broke his heart.

“The most beautiful woman in all of the world.”

Katya leaned down again, kissing Trixie, her hands buried in his hair as she started to slowly rut against him.

Trixie moaned, letting Katya take complete control of their movements, letting her grab his hands and hold them above his head.

“Let me see you, baby…” he whined, but Katyas simply smiled, biting Trixie’s lip.

“Say it again.”

“I want to see you, please, let me see you.”

Katya laughed and straightened her back, Trixie keeping his hands above his head without her having to tell him. She pulled her shirt over her head, letting it fall to the floor.

“Please- Katya.” Trixie felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin, he wanted her so badly, wanted to be inside her.

“Sssh, ssh.” Katya smiled. She felt powerful, so beautiful, she felt like she could do anything as she looked into Trixie’s eyes, saw the love in them as she guided Trixie inside of her, took him all the way in before she leaned forward again, crashing their lips together.

Trixie moaned, drowning in the scent and feel of Katya. She rode him and he dug his hands into her hips and grabbed her perfect tits. Trixie felt pleasure crash over him and he finished with a roar, Katya slapping her hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

She sank down on his chest, giggling uncontrollably, panting with the aftermath of her own silent orgasm.

“Ssh, ssh baby, ssh, Pearl is home, ssh.” Katya’s laugh sounded like the sweetest music in Trixie’s ears. He felt drunk on happiness, sleepy and completely at peace with the world.

“I love you so fucking much” he groaned.

Katya gave him a wet, messy, final kiss. “I love you too.”

***

Pearl stood outside, leaning on the side of the building, a cigarette hanging from her mouth as she scrolled through her phone.

There was a light rain, more like a gentle mist, collecting in her hair and on the outside of her leather jacket, even as she clung to the side of the building, a narrow eave above her head offering little. Adore watched her, her own hair protected by a big fur hood, trying to stop her stomach from doing flips.

She’d known Pearl casually for a while now, and known of her even longer. She knew all the stories, was well aware of her reputation as a player and a heartbreaker, but Adore didn’t care about any of that. Especially when Pearl looked up, catching her eye as she strolled through the courtyard, the smile she flashed at her making her insides twist with excitement.

Pearl was fucking hot, and even though Adore felt like a basic bitch for pining after her, she couldn’t control herself. She wanted her. Wanted to taste her filthy smoker breath, wanted Pearl’s face buried in her pussy.

“Hey, Adore,” Pearl said as she approached.

“Hi Pearl,” Adore replied with a smile. “What are you doing out here?”

“I’m waiting for Max, Max Malanaphy.”

“Really? That’s dope.”

“You know him?” Pearl asked, head cocked.

“Not at all.”

Pearl laughed, which made Adore blush, lowering her eyes demurely.

“Do you want a cigarette?” asked Pearl, and Adore nodded, relieved for the distraction.

“Yeah, sure, hit me.”

Adore took one of the cigarettes from Pearl, placing it between her lips, patting her pockets to look for a lighter, but Pearl was already one step ahead.

“Let me get that for you.”

Adore could practically feel her stomach do backflips as she leaned in, Pearl’s hands so close to her face as she protected the flame from the wind. Adore knew it was dumb, knew it was embarrassing, but what was she gonna do? The heart wanted what it wanted.

***

Willam paced around the courtyard at Bryant Park, trying to look inconspicuous and casual, waiting for Courtney to arrive at the tent where Galactica would be showing that afternoon. He wore his press badge from last year, hoping that she wouldn’t notice the difference.

After fuming and pouting about being fired for almost a day, Willam had gotten down to business. He found Courtney’s social media accounts on every platform, following her and doing a deep dive into her posts going back several years.

He learned everything about her: her aspirations in life, the names of her family, her favorite foods and music and books, her college major, and who her friends were.

Random things that could be meaningless found grave importance, stored away for future use: that she was a vegetarian who frequented the kind of music festivals where basic white girls wore flower crowns, that her brother was a mildly successful Sydney-based drag queen, that her longest relationship in college had been with an insufferable-looking football player (he made a point to butch it up a bit today, as much as he could) and that she apparently had some kind of psychotic habit of eating kiwis whole, skin and all.

He felt prepared, armed with a bouquet of her favorite pink roses.

Luckily, the pink hair made it easy to spot her out of the corner of his eye, and as she climbed the steps towards the tent, he beelined straight for her, a big smile on his face.

“Hey there, I was hoping to find you here!” he exclaimed, holding out the roses.

She looked shocked and predictably delighted.

“Hi! What’s all this for?”

“Well, I know you’re probably having a stressful week, and didn’t want you to forget about me.” He winked at her, careful not to seem too soft or feminine. She liked cocky assholes, after all.

“That would be a bit tough,” she laughed, twirling her hair, inhaling the scent of the roses.

“I love the new hair, by the way. You look like a pop star.“ Willam knew that it was cheap to use her own hopes and dreams against her, but he was a little proud of himself regardless.

“Really?!” she asked, face lighting up with joy.

“Totally,” Willam said. God, she was putty in his hands.

“Um...are you coming to the show?” she asked, gesturing to the tent.

“No...unfortunately, I have to cover Naeem Khan. Maybe we could hook up later?”

“Oh,” Courtney bit her lip. “Well, I have the afterparty...I’d try to get you in, but only have one extra ticket and I promised it to my friend Tati. She’s a model, so it’s really important to her, and-”

“Loyalty is very important,” Willam said with a grin, and she gave a relieved sigh. He knew that showing up at a Galactica party would be risky--Detox would probably be there, after all, so better to stay away and work her from behind the scenes. It also probably helped for him not to seem too terribly eager. “But when am I gonna see you again?”

“Maybe Saturday?”

Excellent. Right into his trap.

“Um, sure. I was actually planning to catch this show in Brooklyn. There’s a band I love playing this little club in Williamsburg.”

“What band?”  

“You’ve probably never heard of them,” Willam said, chuckling softly before carefully saying the name of the weird Icelandic band that he’s been practicing in the mirror all morning. “Sólseturstríðsmenn--they’re this kind of-”

“I love them!” Courtney squealed, eyes wide. “Omigod, my and my best friend saw them at a festival a few years ago, I had no idea they were in New York!”

“Yeah? You should come.”

“That sounds amazing!” She glanced towards the tent, clearly anxious about work.  

“I know you probably have more important things to do than talk to me right now,” Willam said, hanging his head with false modesty. “I’m sorry to be hounding you at work, I just...I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

He was going too far and he knew it. But her face softened. Compliments were obviously the ticket.

“I, um...I’ll message you later, okay?” she asked, and he nodded.

As she turned to leave, he exclaimed, “Wait!”

“Yes?” She turned back toward him, her expression one of total naive innocence, and it almost made him feel guilty. Almost.

“I just...needed to see your face one last time.”

She giggled, then leaned forward to kiss him. Uh oh. This was escalating way too fast. After a slight, momentary panic, he took hold of her shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. Pulling away, he tried to assess if that had been the right move. She was smiling, her green eyes soft and dreamy. Perfect.

“See you Saturday.”

***

“Done!” Alaska smiled at the model she had just finished painting, and raised her hand, flagging down Fame who was walking around the backstage area of their Bryant Park tent.

“Yes?”

It was Thursday at Fashion week, and Galactica was one of the last shows to happen that day, which meant that everyone was trying their best to get it all together and end the day with a bang worthy of their brand.

“Approved?” Alaska had just finished with the first model, her hair and makeup all done. While a lot of other department heads would probably have left the actual makeup application to someone beneath them, Alaska loved creating, and never passed up on a chance to use her skills. Not to mention the fact that with their staffing nightmare, she wanted to make sure that she was as hands-on as possible.

Fame scrutinized the model carefully, then nodded.

“Looks good.” Fame said, then huffed slightly, fanning herself. “Violet!”

Alaska couldn’t help smiling to herself when Violet immediately appeared at Fame’s side as if by magic, Courtney on her heels, both of them looking like they belonged in Page Six, though they were in vastly different styles.

“Yes, Miss?”

“Can you please explain to me why it’s hotter than the surface of the sun in this tent? I’m sweltering.”

Courtney opened her mouth to reply, but Fame held up a hand.

“Don’t answer.” Fame flicked her wrist, clearly dismissing them. “Just fix it!”

“Yes Miss!” Violet exclaimed, then scurried off, pulling Courtney with her.

Fame’s attention was already gone, but Alaska continued to watch as Courtney leaned in, doing a very bad attempt at whispering.

“Maybe we should have told her to just take off her cape-”

The blonde was cut off with a squeal, as Violet pinched her, and Alaska shook her head, not envying them in the least.

***

“Trixie!”

Trixie felt his blood freeze as he heard Blu wailing from the other side of the tent, the noise cutting through everything, the entire room stopping for one, long, dreadful moment.

“Here!”

Trixie ran, Blu’s eyes filled with tears, the young designer standing beside a model who looked just as pale, her dress ripped.

“It all happened so fast-” Blu pointed to her busted zipper and torn seam, the fabric still caught in the model's heel.

“Shit!” Trixie exclaimed, surveying the damage to the dress, his hands touching the models hip.

“I-”

Trixie looked up, meeting the gaze of the young girl. She looked like she wanted to die, her expression filled with absolute mortification, and Trixie tightened his grip slightly.

“You’re okay.” Trixie held her gaze. “We’re fixing this, and you’re okay. Okay?”

The model nodded, and Trixie did as well.

“Gia!”

The designer was already at his side, the woman one of their fastest sewers when no one from tailoring was available. Trixie was grateful for her efficiency. He’d learned early on with her that she held up better than most under pressure, and boy had she been under pressure many times in this job.

“Blu, help her if needed, but Gia has this one.”

“Yes!” Gia wasted no time, moving the model a few feet before she grabbed her kit and got to work.

Trixie left her side, fairly confident that she had the situation under control but making a mental note to check back in a few minutes.

He resumed his final checks, walking around and examining every garment on every girl, making sure that there were no loose threads or unfinished seams showing, checking the styling carefully, giving out last minute instructions to his team.

He’d just finished speaking to Alexis when he looked up and noticed Violet gazing at the commotion wistfully.

Trixie smiled to himself; Fame had informed him over a month ago of her plan to move Violet to design, and after taking a look at her spectacular portfolio, he was 100% in favor of it.

Seeing how longingly she looked at them scrambling to get everything done for the show simply confirmed to him that design was where she was meant to be.

***

Fame took a deep breath, watching the models on the backstage monitors. No matter how many times they did this, she always had butterflies as if it was her first time. But objectively , she had to admit that she was more than satisfied with this collection.

Beside her, Raja let out a soft chuckle.

“What?”

“Well, it’s just...when you said you wanted to redo the whole collection, I thought you were nuts,” Raja said.

“I know.”

“But...I have to admit, this is a spectacular show.” Raja slipped an arm around her shoulders.

“I know.” Fame grinned wryly up at her, and Raja laughed, laying a kiss on her forehead.

Fame sighed happily, smoothing down her skirt, getting ready to step out onto the runway. Kim scurried over to her to touch up their makeup, making sure that they were as flawless and dewy-fresh as they’d been this morning.

After they were both powdered and fluffed and declared finished, Fame took Raja’s hand and walked with her to the head of the runway, waiting for their cue. She exchanged a happy glance with Raja before they stepped onto the runway. They’d done it again.

[lobotomy-maybe-bestie]

Hey what books did you mention in your latest uquiz? Thanks!

ok so they're all german books (bc german class)

edit: tw rape, murder, pedophilia

die marquise von o.... (heinrich von kleist, 1808) is a book about a lady who gets pregnant, figures she was raped while unconscious and posts an announcement in the local newspaper saying she will marry her rapist if he confesses because of social reasons (otherwise she'd be rejected from society). the rapist turns out to be this count who the marquise always saw as some amazing angelic person bc he saved her once in a battle. at first she is so shocked by this news she refuses to marry him but her father forces her anyway. then after a year she falls in love with him again and they marry for real. the moral is actually pretty good (don't idealize people) and the imagery is kinda cool but the story itself is big yikes and did not age well.

next, das haus in der dorotheenstraße (helmut lange, 2013 i think) is a story that is really really beautifully written and it's about a couple who has a house south from berlin. the husband is a reporter and gets transferred to london bc he's super good at writing about politics and stuff. his wife doesn't want to leave the house so he goes alone. they plan to have her fly to london but she doesn't come so he figures she just can't bring herself to be away from the house for so long. he plans to fly home, there's a volcano eruption that cancels all flights so he calls her and a man picks up the phone, asks who he is, he hears his wife laugh in the background and hangs up. then he spends the next few weeks? months? being really really shitty at his job so his boss calls him and he says that he just doesn't like london and would like to be transferred to ireland. his boss agrees. then there's a sort of maybe-this-happened endpart in which he goes back to the house, turns off all the lights and murders his wife before she can say anything.

woyzeck (georg büchner, 1837 but only kind of) is a drama, and i hate it so much. it's about this guy woyzeck. he's a soldier, but the money he gets from that is basically nothing, so he also gives haircuts and allows a "doctor" to experiment on him (in the play, the doctor makes him eat peas and nothing else for months but it's kinda implied that's not the first experiment woyzeck is in). his girlfriend that he would marry if he had the money is cheating on him because he's literally never home. he goes batshit crazy, buys a knife because he doesn't have enough money for a gun and brutally murders his girlfriend by a lake somewhere. now why do i hate this story? BECAUSE IT'S NOT EVEN A FUCKING THING! it's an unfinished work büchner left behind when he died and some assholes thought it would be cool to make it into a play. every single version of this story has the scenes in different order! it annoys me to no end

and finally, my favourite, so i can calm down from my rage about woyzeck, faust (johann wolfgang von goethe, 1808) (the first one cause there's two but we didn't do the second one) is a drama about faust who is unsatisfied with not knowing the answer to like every philosophical question ever and turns to witchcraft. the introduction is that this guy (said to be "the devil" in the text which is obviously untrue because there's other devils so "a devil" would be more accurate but since all the other devils are super stupid there might be more to him- my interpretation (that my teacher approved of) is that he's kind of the cosmic concept of destruction that has to exist as a consequence of creation) called mephistopheles makes a bet with god that he can get faust to do something stupid and condemn himself to hell. god is like pf whatever so mephisto gets to go to earth and tries to make your typical give-me-your-soul deal with faust. but faust is a smart bean (for now) and offers a bet instead: if mephisto can give him a moment of highest joy that he will never want to lose, he will die immediatly. mephisto agrees because making bets he can only lose is kind of his thing at this point. so they leave town and go do some stuff, one being faust gets a potion that makes him younger (and also probably extra horny). he falls madly in love with the first girl he sees on the street- the 14 year old gretchen. so romantic hijinks ensue and they eventually have sex. faust gives her a potion that makes her mom sleep so they can bang in peace but it accidentally kills her. also, gretchen's brother got wind of the affair, attempts to duel faust and gets stabby killed. faust and mephisto book it to a mountain party where faust learns gretchen is sentenced to death bc she drowned her newborn son. so they go back and faust attempts to rescue gretchen but she says no and gives herself to the judgement of god or whatever, is forgiven and mephisto drags faust out to go do some more stuff for the sequel. i love this book so much i stole mephisto's name.

this got way too long i apologize

[orcinusorca1617]

Favorite Star Wars Fics

REBELCAPTAIN

Floating, Sinking shuofthewind

Somewhere in her is the sinking feeling that they weren't supposed to survive.

[In which they all live, in a manner of speaking, and they keep going, in spite of the odds.]

[Post-Rogue One. Runs through A New Hope. Eventual Rebelcaptain.]

whetstone shuofthewind

They're finished with their first mission. Now it's just the matter of downtime.

[Part of the floating, sinking universe. Mostly just fluff.]

Restless jenniferjun1per

Jyn needs to sleep, but she can't seem to get comfortable.

You Still Are leralynne

The scar zigzags down her side, puckered white along the ridges of her ribs. Cassian’s fingers still the first time they brush over it. With her head on his chest, she can feel his intake of breath.

A Long Pause leralynne

“Be quiet!” Jyn hisses. “I hear something!” Cassian stills. And then slowly, very slowly, he lifts his lips from Jyn’s collarbone.

slowly, and then all at once caramelle

It's probably sheer stubbornness, Cassian thinks wryly.

Even so, it doesn't mean he's just going to leave her like that.

Or, the one where Jyn has a habit of falling asleep around the apartment, and Cassian develops a habit of carrying her back to bed, because he's a Gentleman, and a Good Friend.

There For You guineapiggie

They reach Yavin IV and Jyn has every intention to lock herself in the room they've given her and not come out ever again. However, someone strongly disagrees with that plan.

flight lessons ignitesthestars

“One hundred percent of the crashes I have experienced involved you, Jyn Erso.” K2 informs her pleasantly. “Given that no other flight experience I've been involved in has experienced an abrupt descent, I can only conclude that you - oh. You're bleeding.

Or, Jyn is slightly impaled and Cassian sees to her wound. Emotions are had.

Won't You Let Us Wander (series) angel_deux

Cassian came back for her. Again and again. After Scarif, that complicates things for Jyn, who's used to running | 13 part series.

Cuddling for Warmth leralynne

“Jyn is shivering,” K2 observes, with the kind of bland indifference only possible when one is a droid incapable of experiencing just how goddamn freezing this planet is.

Bloody Little Worms Kobo

Jyn Erso is accustomed to being jolted awake. Saw Gerrera shaking her awake at every hour of the night, keeping her on her toes; the rough shift from hyperspace to realspace rattling the frame of a ship; Imperial guards smacking their batons against iron bars; nightmares, images of her father’s last breath or the echoing smack of Cassian’s back against steel bars: Jyn is accustomed to those.

A white hot grip on her lungs? This marks the first time she’s awoken to that.

Closer muggleindenial28

"They don’t speak on the way down.

They don’t acknowledge the distant shrill screams of TIE Fighters and X-Wings outside.

They don’t think about how they’re not going to get out in time."

They make it off Scarif, but not without scars.

like real people do mollivanders

“I have an idea,” she says, mind whirling as she steps towards the room. “We need a reason to be here like this.” He follows close behind her and she can practically feel the tension washing over him. In contrast, the plan forming in her mind has provided her with a calm clarity. He closes the door behind them before she props it ajar/

They need to be caught.

Beach House lyresandlasers

“Never say I don’t support you,” Jyn lifted his head into her lap, cradled in crossed legs.

cover me, i'll cover you mollivanders

“Are you hurt?” he asks blindly, reaching for her only to snatch his fingers back as she lurches away. He forgets she’s like a feral animal when she’s injured, used to being the only person having her back. “Let me see,” he says, trying to force authority and calm into his voice, both to reassure her and take control of the situation.

Inside, he’s anything but.

I hear the revolution rebsrising

The babble sounds through the baby monitor, soft and quiet, but enough to wake two well-trained soldiers still adjusting to the safety of peace.

Bodhi's Perspective rebsrising

It’s a simple scene - and that’s what strikes Bodhi the most. They kiss like they’re going to do it everyday for the rest of their lives. And he hopes, not for the first time, that they have the chance.

We Can Turn Over and Start Again kyrdwyn

After Scarif, Jyn starts over, with a new mission, and an unexpected friend.

Fifteen Days clashofqueens

It's hard to hold on to a happy ending during a war, and in the final days of the Rebellion, Jyn might lose hers.

Lay Down My Shields katsumi

Jyn comes down with a strange reaction to a foreign plant, but it doesn't seem like a big enough deal to bother anyone with. That is, until she faints in the middle of the hallway.

Run to Me in the Rising Dawn katsumi

Jyn has never had anyone stick around before. The battle is over now, but the war rages on and Jyn is already preparing for the day when she loses Cassian, too. (She doesn't realize he's terrified of the exact same thing.)

the quiet we hold ithacas

After Scarif, Cassian wakes up broken. He and Jyn learn to fix each other.

We Should laurie2000ann

Jyn could have died trying to save Cassian and he’s pretty angry about it.

Let's Give 'Em Something to Talk About astoriamalfoys

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks her, a wry smile twisting his lips. Jyn ducks her head. “Nightmares or the medicine?”

It’s meant to be an easy conversation, but she says, “I was worried about you,” and his heart stutters to a staccato instead.

Han x Leia captainkitten

Important Thing of Awesomeness™ meets Dumpster Fire of a Human Being™

REYLO

we could plant a house, we could build a tree Like_A_Dove

Ben takes a deep breath. “It’s—it’s a project. Conceptual art. You wouldn’t get it.”

Rey presses her lips together to keep from laughing. She plans her next words quickly and carefully, determining what will get her the best reaction. “Really? Looks like you ruined a bedsheet to me.”

His reaction does not disappoint. “Get out.”

Parenthood (series) pontmercy44

What to expect when you're expecting the child of a rich, womanizing, alcoholic, unredeemable asshole? And what to do when the unexpected, improbable, irrational happens?

What She's Worth g_girl143

After being sent to train under his uncle in the Jedi academy, Ben Solo meets a youngling girl who would change the course of his life. An alternative universe companion fic for Claudia Gray's "Bloodline" novel. A scenario in which Ben Solo and Rey are fellow students of Luke's Jedi Academy and the events that led to the birth of Kylo Ren.

A Proposal by Any Other Name LucidLucy

Rey and Finn have been A Thing for a long time now. Since she was eighteen, to be exact. When Finn leaves on a trip to Europe for six months for work, Rey finally chases after him to Dublin to do what he seems to be putting off: propose. | Leap Year AU

If You Trust What's in Your Heart (What Better Can You Do) TheJGatsby

After the war, Rey likes to savor the peace on her own sometimes. Then she's not alone anymore.

Black Gloves, Orange Soup Solia

While the dwindling Rebellion starves, awaiting their chance to attack a First Order supply vessel, Rey is trying to keep busy repairing the lightsaber. As luck would have it, her Force-bonded rival Kylo Ren is knowledgeable on the subject and keen to help, but he is also very... distracting.

A Good Fall ohwise1ne

Ben Solo refuses to take a stunt double and pays the price when he breaks his leg filming his latest action blockbuster. His new physical therapist, Rey Sanders, seems to be the only person in Hollywood who doesn’t recognize the infamous Kylo Ren – and for some reason, he finds himself fighting to keep it that way.

A Royal Mistake reyofdarkness

Ben Solo (aka The Playboy Prince): Prince of Alderaan and tabloid sensation, never seen with the same girl twice.

Rey: Mechanic, blissfully unaware of Ben Solo's very existence.

Until Paige recruits her for a night servicing the Met Gala, host to a diverse class of guests, including royalty. It is there that a chance encounter gets Rey caught up in a pair of pretty eyes and a charming personality that she knows she should stay far, far away from. The universe, however, seems to have other plans. Hot Tip: Don’t look up your crush’s sex tape.

The End of a String Silvershine

A bridge still exists between the Supreme Leader of the First Order and the rebel known as Rey. As the connection winds tighter, the line between enemy and friend continues to blur, and Rey's loyalties are called into question. A force bond can bring companionship and support, but it's not without its dangers... or delights.

No Ill Will Castiloar

His face set into a resigned expression before tapping his phone with a final flourish, sending whatever excuse he made. She almost jumped when he squarely met her gaze. “Me? Your hostage? I’d almost think you like having me here.” Even with the congestion he managed to drop his voice low enough to make the quip weigh heavy.

variations on a theme of you disasterisms

"Who knows?" Luke darted a faint smile at Ben and Rey as they stewed in silence and disbelief. "The two of you might even learn to get along. Right, Leia?"

"Like a house on fire," the General deadpanned. "Complete with screams, flames, and people running for safety."

"Indeed." Luke's blue eyes twinkled. "There may be no survivors."

As Hard As I Try... KKetura

When her friends find out about her force bond with Kylo Ren, Rey finds herself more alone than ever. But in her forced solitude, she slowly discovers a better understanding of herself and the man to whom she's inextricably linked.

lying restless (as the dawn comes near) TheJGatsby

They have a tradition for nightmares.

you gotta stop doing that semi-hiatus

She caught herself right before the words ‘you gotta stop doing that’ slipped from her lips, saving her from having the explain why she randomly started talking to herself in the hallway.

Why Her? Aramenialys

Just one last battle. One. Then they can be done and put everything behind them. That was the plan. Then it's smashed to bits, and Kylo has to figure out how to come back from tragedy and form a new one. A short drabble/oneshot about Rey dying and (redeemed) Kylo learning to cope.

Quiet issueswithjedipedagogy

He wasn’t sleeping. She had caught sight of him in the darkness, blinking awake to the strange vacuum the bond created around her; the quiet focus on two souls that seemed to make everything else fall away.

Soft Things catmusing

Kylo Ren wakes up aboard a familiar and yet unknown ship. His body aches and it hurts to remember but there is Rey of light.

Aphelion ambiguously

Stranded on a barren planet together, Rey and Kylo Ren have only each other to help them survive.

Vulnerability and Soft Hair smallenoughtofit

After two years with the Resistance, Kylo Ren still lacks any real security or relationships outside of his tenuous whatever-this-is with Rey. And Rey still wonders what his hair feels like.

the remedy is the experience (i won't worry my life away) TheJGatsby

Rey gets sick, and she isn't very good at letting people look after her.

Proper Sleep tearoomsaloon

Much to her frustration, Rey can no longer properly sleep unless she's snuggled between Ben's glorious pecs

ad infinitum hyperphonic

for the prompt: Rey and Kylo telling Leia, Rey is pregnant. Leia had no clue.

any way you want it thegoodlannister

rey helps ben begin to work through the process of making decisions - even really simple ones - for himself. rehabilitation is a slow process in the aftermath of the mess snoke has spent three decades making of ben's mind.

It Will Come Back ReyloTrashCompactor

“Honey, don’t feed it. It will come back”

A Series of Firsts Tandy

Ben (or is it Ren?) and Rey sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love and then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage.

A story told in firsts.

Dark Prism whythokylo (OpalElephant)

Rey awakens again, except this time it's to a life she can't recall with a man she only knows as her enemy. My attempt at a long form, dark AU. (Formerly titled Aphelion)

A Few Small Repairs TourmalineGreen

Rey buried her face in her blankets. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t going to allow herself to feel anything. Rain was just water, and so were tears. It would all dry, in time. The storm would pass, and then she’d keep going. That’s how it always had been, and that’s how it was going to be.

She would be alright, after this. She would find a way, find something…

what ails you thegoodlannister

or: three times ben solo was sick and one time kylo ren was. unabashed reylo and even more unabashed hurt/comfort.

100 Ways to Say I Love You AquaWolfGirl

Taken from a list on Tumblr of 100 Ways To Say I Love You, 100 little oneshots leading up to Valentine's Day.

I'm always in this twilight (in the shadow of your heart) disasterisms

Coded on a secondhand datapad in a run-down motel room in Mos Eisley, deleted and never sent: Everything about us was a whirlwind.

Written on a scrap of durasheet in a Tion Cluster outpost, the words fading after a while into air and ghosts: You shouldn't have forgiven me for any of it.

Scraped into the bark of an oak tree on the Argazdan homeworld: You won't believe the dreams I have about you.

the one with the lust writing-reylo

She has bigger things to worry about than that.

The most pressing of which is reclining in her bed, shirtless.

“Can you move?” She asks, unwinding her scarf and shrugging off her huge jacket.

Milking It thewayofthetrashcompactor

“Rey.”

The voice was deep and familiar, rough with exhaustion, and echoed across the gap closed by the Force.

She ignored it, hunched over on the edge of the cot she'd been sleeping on. She wanted nothing more than to lean back and curl up into an unconscious ball again, but another voice, this one much closer, called her name again.

morning in the burned house disasterisms

Leia's not really surprised at all, to be honest, but, for the sake of his pride, she should probably pretend to be.

find a thread to pull, and we can watch it unravel again_please

The war is over, Snoke dead at Rey and Kylo's hands. The two of them find themselves feeling a bit out of place as the Resistance celebrates and decide that the answer is a bit of good old fashioned Corellian whiskey. Enjoyed responsibly, of course. And in private.

Because You're There disasterisms

Three years ago, Rey had not yet climbed Everest.

Presenting the first half of my fic/art trade with the lovely lilithsaur, based on her trash triplets x 2 universe. The gist is that there are three Solo boys— Kylo, Ben, and Matt (the character from Adam Driver's SNL skit)— and three Kenobi girls— Kira (dark Rey), Rey, and Daisy (undercover Rey).

Sword of the Jedi (series) diasterisms

“What do you think?” Luke asks his nephew. “She has potential.”

“She bit me, Master,” is Ben’s stiff response. “Any opinion I give would be biased.”

Or: Everyone is connected, even if, sometimes, it's just by the skin of our teeth. Even in the midst of darkness, still, luminous beings are we.

Reign OptimisticBeth

Alternate Ending to "The Last Jedi." Rey accepts Kylo Ren’s offer in return for the lives of the retreating ships.

Political maneuvering is not Rey's forte. She must adjust to life as the First Order's first lady, making friends and enemies along the way and indulging in sweet awkward romance with her Ben.  

Burgeoning Hope crossingwinter

#ShesPregnantAndHesDumbAndHasntLeftHisJobYet

miles from where you are mooncactus

After an argument over Star Wars fandom with a "gatekeeping, entitled monster" with the cryptic username of KyloRen, Rey finds herself stuck in a series of unavoidable video calls.

Prisoner orphan_account

Rey has been running all her life. She had known since she was a small girl that she was born with the powers that had been cursed and labeled evil by the galaxy. Running had worked for so long, that she was almost surprised when the bounty hunter Kylo Ren had caught her trail. But they might have more in common than they both originally thought.

Hand of Fate sweetestcondition

Rey is offered a choice at the end of Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi. This time, she takes the hand of Kylo Ren, grasping at the chance to transform the First Order from the inside. She hopes to create a Resistance from within, starting with the heart of Ben Solo. | feat. KoR, Kezzik

keep me in your clouded mind hi_raeth

Flu season has claimed its latest victim: Rey’s roommate, Ben Solo. But it’s fine. She’ll get him dressed, bring him to the hospital, and everything will be okay. Things are totally under control.

Except for the part where Ben has completely lost his verbal filter and keeps babbling about his feelings for her.

Exile Ernzo

The war is over and the First Order has fallen. Ben has returned home to face his consequences.

A story of Rey and Ben finding peace in the aftermath of war as Ben accepts his punishment.

made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter disasterisms

The First Order does not exist, what is dead stays dead, and they grow up together at Luke's Jedi Academy.

Or: The one where everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

(Then again, it's Ben and Rey, so maybe things hurt a little.)

A little ginger, a little honey Areah51

Rey is sick, and Ben shows up where he's not wanted, but in the end, we all need someone to take care of us when we're ill.

my wildest wind (come blow into my room) meritmut

“Would it have been so terrible?” he asks. “Staying?”

Could we have had this? she thinks, like she always does.

Non-consecutive ForceTime vignettes in the days, weeks and months after Crait.

Play to Win Enterprisingly

Ben Solo – aka KyloRen – is a professional gamer, playing the first-person-shooter StarKiller for the internationally ranked eSports team, The First Order. He’s made a name for himself as a ruthless competitor with a ferocious temper and top-notch skills that can’t be beat. That is, until a mystery player named ReyOfLight begins thoroughly trouncing him whenever they cross paths.

Unwell AquaWolfGirl

Jakku was cold, but nothing compared to Hoth. While staying at the old Rebel base, Rey catches a cold, and someone is a huge worry wart over the woman who denied his offer.

The One Where He Decides writing_reylo

He’s on the bridge and he’s alone.

The First Order are no more.

It only took him a year, carefully manipulating every weak mind he came across, emotionally manipulating the ones he couldn’t.  

Embers sciosophia

All the myriad things he’d been—someone who made her laugh; the warmth on the other side of the bed; her best friend—those things, Rey had buried.

Rey left Ben two years, three months, and sixteen days ago. But who's counting?

Interstellar Transmissions LovelyThings, ricca_riot

Rey’s interrogation at the hands of Kylo Ren triggered an awakening in the Force, as well as an unwelcome bond that links them across the galaxy and grows stronger every day.

What Stays and What Fades Away astra_inclinant

Her feelings for Kylo Ren are quiet, not acknowledged, but deeply felt. She cannot make peace with them and send them from her mind.

Or, everyone is emotionally stunted and no one has healthy coping skills.  

Our Heaven is Just Waiting FrostedFox

It's his turn to fall wounded before her, and her turn to decide where to go from there.

If only she could convince him to stay alive.

make it look just the way i planned TheJGatsby

Ben buys the painting on a brokenhearted impulse, and somehow it ends up being exactly the right choice.

(Based on the song Paint Me a Birmingham)

[drawacharge]

emperor’s new clothes

ok so hi. this has been sitting in my drafts for a .... while. and i’m gonna’ post it bc it’s long lmao. i also had an idea for a valentine’s day esque nsfw sequel to this but idk?? btw, just a warning-- this is in steve’s pov and billy’s pov is my comfort zone so if it sucks Sorry 

There’s something about almost dying too many times that makes the rest of the world around you seem minuscule. It makes school even more boring than before, it makes sleeping a distant memory, and pure, genuine laughter harder to come by. There are too many days Steve spends in class, the teacher droning on and on about Darwin and Natural Extinction Theory and all he wants to do is stand up and go, “Do you have any idea what’s out there? We’re in here, studying bullshit, and out there, right now, are things that wanna’ kill us, that know how, that will—“ but he doesn’t, because he signed too many legal wavers to count, because if he does they’d just throw him into a mental facility. So he sits and stays quiet instead, swallowing back all his anxiety and fear of the unknown and known, sleep-deprived eyes staring out the nearest window as if he expects something nasty with claws to walk on by.

Nothing ever does. Jane closed the gate.

Somehow, that’s worse.

Everyone else seems happy with the peace. The kids smile and laugh and ask Steve to take them to the arcade constantly. Nancy has never seemed happier, walking hand in hand with Jonathan. Jane has more freedom that she’s ever had, visiting her friends, learning about the world. Joyce and Hopper get closer every day, enjoying each other’s company, maybe even finding solace in it. Maybe that’s part of it. Maybe the kids use each other to deal with their shit. Maybe Nancy and Jonathan use each other too. They’ve all been through hell, the only difference was after it was all said and done Steve was the only one left completely alone.

He feels dead. He thinks, maybe, he’s felt wrong since the first time he took that bat to the Demogorgon, but this is different. Worse. He doesn’t feel like anything. He doesn’t feel angry, or sad, or even really scared, not anymore. There’s nothing there. And maybe that’s the only thing nowadays that actually scares him: the fact that nothing does.

It’s mid-January when he finally decides to do something about it. When the emptiness gets so bad he almost skips an entire week of school. When Mrs. Leery, his English teacher, calls him over after class and says, “Steve, your grade has been going steadily downhill. Is anything the matter?” with an expression so soft and concerned, that all Steve can manage is a tight smile and a, “Just tired,” before giving some half-assed promise that he’d try harder.

He does try too. He’s been trying since the beginning of fucking November. But he falls asleep when he should be reading Of Mice and Men, and it’s not even that boring of a book.  He knows something has to change, that something in him is broken and he needs to fix it before he’s nothing but some vague shadow of what he used to be.

Steve realizes just how he’s going to do that when he’s getting the mail one day. Billy Hargrove speeds by in his Camaro, probably going twenty over the speed limit, Tommy, Carol, and two other girls hanging out of the Camaro whooping, hollering, and laughing as the wind whips through them. Steve thinks he’s never seen a group of people seem so alive. He remembers when that used to be him driving, him hanging out the window, him laughing. It was a shallow happiness, perhaps, but it was happiness.

And he decides he wants that back

He knows where to start, and it’s not hard. Steve’s known Tommy since before puberty, and he knows that even if Tommy feels sorry for something he’ll never apologize first. Every fight they’ve ever had has led to Steve outside his door, an apology on his lips. Only then does Tommy apologize too and only then do they move the fuck on. Steve hopes that, even after a year of not speaking, that fact hasn’t changed.

He brings beer with him, just in case.

Tommy opens the door on the third knock and scowls when he sees Steve. Then he sees the beer and the scowl shifts, eyebrows raising in interest. “Want something?”

“To apologize,” he holds out the beer immediately, offers a halfhearted smile. “I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat that day. You were—“ in his own way “—you were trying to have my back.” And he really was, Steve knew that. Maybe not in the best way, maybe not in the nicest way, but he was.

There’s a long pause where Tommy just eyes him, like he’s considering, and then he reaches out for the beer and steps aside, wordlessly inviting Steve in. “Yeah, well… I coulda’ handled it better,” he’s grumbling, words half muttered. If Steve wasn’t an expert in Tommy Language he’d have to ask him to repeat himself. “I woulda’ been pissed if you’d said all that shit about Carol too, just—“ he takes a breath, starts walking towards the steps to the basement where they’d always hang out. “—I knew she wasn’t fucking good enough for you man. I knew she’d hurt you.”

And. 

That’s fair too, honestly. Tommy had known what kind of person Steve could be. How sensitive. How trusting. People assume their friendship had been shallow, but it really hadn’t been. Not always. Steve still remembered the way Tommy cried on his shoulder when they were kids and his dog was hit by a car. There was meaning there. Trust. 

They’re down stairs and Steve is cracking open two cans, holding one out when he goes, “Guess I should’ve listened to you,” before downing about half of it in one go. Tommy follows suit and wipes his mouth before glancing over his shoulder and then back at Steve, a grin pulling at his lips.

“How about I kick your ass at air hockey again? That always cheers you up.”

“Pretty sure that cheers you up,” Steve says, and Tommy laughs. “But sure, why not.”

Steve loses, five to two, but he feels like he’s won anyway.

Billy Hargrove quickly becomes his main problem. Of course, Steve knew he would be before he even found himself on Tommy’s doorstep. Billy did not like him, and the feeling was mutual. They had barely talked since the incident at the Byers’ and Steve was happy with that. He could handle the sneers and even the shoving during basketball. Billy had laid off the kids for the most part and that’s all that mattered to him.

Luckily, Tommy has more sway with Billy than Steve originally thought. He assumed their friendship was more symbiotic than anything. Billy claimed the crown that had been abandoned, and Tommy found it easier to follow than not. It was a familiar position for him, after all. But it seemed like a little more than that. When Tommy invites him over to eat with them that Monday, Steve’s actually surprised that Billy allows it. That he frowns, but otherwise ignores Steve, keeping his attention on the rest of the team. He doesn’t look at Steve again for the rest of lunch.

It’s not good enough.

For it to really be right, or this to work, Billy has to like him. Steve isn’t sure how to accomplish that, hell, he isn’t even sure if he wants to, but it’s necessary. 

He starts with buying them all alcohol. He pays for the booze, the weed, offers up his giant, empty house and heated pool. It’s how he woo’d Carol, even Tommy when they were kids ( minus the alcohol and weed ), and most of anyone else at school. He thinks it’ll work on Billy too.

It doesn’t.

Billy drinks his booze, and he smokes his weed, and he swims in his pool. But when it’s all said and done he still sneers at Steve, still ignores him at lunch, still checks him too hard at practice and mocks him in the middle of random conversations.

“He’s a fucking asshole,” Steve grumbles one night, laid out on the couch in Tommy’s basement. His head is in Carol’s lap and she’s playing with his hair. It’s nice. Not something he’s had since Nancy. He missed it.

Also, they’re all really fucking high. He missed that too. Getting high with his friends. 

“I’ve tried to be friendly, even after the bullshit he pulled--” 

Everyone knows that they fought. Or at least, they figured they did since Steve showed up to school that Monday looking like he got hit by a truck, and Billy showed up with a black eye and busted knuckles. It didn’t take long for the student body to put two and two together and guess who won. 

“I don’t think he’s impressed by money,” Tommy says from the floor. He’s leaning back against the couch, head on the cushion, and a joint between his lips. “I mean, he’s poor as shit,” he continues bluntly, “like Byers level poor.” Steve shoots him a look and Tommy holds a hand up in mild surrender. He doesn’t see why Steve is protective of them, especially after Jonathan and Nancy, but he’s gotten better about how he talks about them anyway. 

“Wouldn’t that make him like... want to be around it?” Carol questions. It’s a natural conclusion for three well-off teens to come to, but Steve’s learned enough over his last year of bettering himself to know that’s not always true. He thinks maybe Tommy has a point. 

“You should like. Be real with him.” He leans his head further back until the back of it is leaning against Steve’s knee. “I don’t think he likes bullshit.”

Steve thinks about that night at the Byers’ and how Billy seemed furious that Steve lied about Max being there. He thinks about Nancy going you’re bullshit and wonders if maybe she wasn’t that far off. After all, he spent an entire year pretending everything was okay, and before that he pretended like having absentee parents didn’t bother him. Hell, he still did that sometimes.

“No bullshit,” Steve sighs, and reaches for the joint when Tommy offers it out. “I can do that.” 

Tommy throws a party that next weekend. It’s his and Carol’s anniversary so they celebrate it in the way they know best: by making everyone else celebrate for them. They get booze and pot and set the house up so that all of Tommy’s mom’s breakables are hidden away. Billy arrives thirty minutes before the party dressed to the nines and with a keg. Steve wonders how he can stand wearing an open shirt in fucking January but doesn’t bother asking.

Six hours later the party is headed into the A.M. and Steve’s completely fucking wasted when he beats Billy as beer pong and grins like he won Olympic gold. Billy looks just about ready to kill him, and Steve can tell he’s significantly less drunk than him and wonders why since Billy always seems to get shit-faced at these kinds of things. 

Billy leaves to grab a smoke outside, and Steve-- in all his drunken genius-- decides this is the best time to approach him.

It’s not.

There’s something dangerous in Billy’s eyes when he sizes him up, something that reminds Steve of that night, something wild. He asks what the fuck Billy’s problem with him is anyway, and Billy grins in the kind of way that reminds Steve of a shark. He gets real close, encroaching on Steve’s personal space, and he can’t help but think about Darwin and the Natural Extinction Theory. How man is just stupid enough to kill itself. How, right now, Steve is the perfect fucking example of that.

“My problem with you,” Billy breathes, right in his face, smelling like beer and cigarettes, “is that you’re a little spoiled rich boy who’s used to getting everything he wants.” Steve opens his mouth to argue, to say that if he really got everything he wanted he’d still have Nancy and not nightmares. That he’d have parents who loved him and a father who didn’t think he was a failure. But, Billy continues. “And now, what? You’ve decided you wanna’ be king again, yeah? That it? Make Hill think you give a shit about him--”

“I do.”

“Bullshit,” Billy snarls, flecks of spit hitting Steve in the face, almost making him flinch. “Your girl dumped you for a freak and now you’re desperate for friends and fans again. So, here you are, making nice, buying them whatever they want just so they’ll like you--” 

“Fuck you,” he hisses back, “I’m not. I missed Tommy and Carol--” and he had, in the same weird way they had probably missed him. “--you’re just their baggage I have to deal with.” It’s fucked up. He knows it’s fucked up as soon as he says it, nasty and not what Steve meant to do when he came out here. And it gets him punched in the face.

No surprise there.

He probably deserves it.

Steve reels back, his jaw fucking aching, and Billy prowls in close, grinning wide like a great white, like he had that night. He must not expect Steve to hit back, because the punch actually lands and Billy looks fucking surprised when he rights himself. 

“Is that you’re fucking problem?” Steve demands, filling the space Billy had stumbled back out of. “You think I wanna’ be king again? That I’m gonna’ push you out--”

Billy laughs, “You couldn’t even if you wanted to.” But Steve thinks he’s wrong, and he thinks Billy knows he’s wrong. They were both charismatic, both handsome, but Steve was nicer. He was friendlier, more easy going, and at the end of the day that’s someone everyone would rather follow than someone like Billy. Some angry, aggressive, and volatile. Someone they fear. They both know it, and it’s clear on Billy’s face even when he says the opposite. 

“Newsflash, I don’t care about being king.” And he doesn’t, he actually really doesn’t. He just-- “I just don’t wanna’ be alone, anymore.” And it’s probably the pussiest thing he could have said. I don’t wanna’ be alone, like some kind of fucking girl. He expects Billy to laugh at him, to make fun of him, maybe punch him again, maybe shove him back and go inside to tell everyone what a little bitch Steve Harrington is. 

He does laugh. But it’s after a moment of surprise, and the sound is more dry than it is mean. “You’re a fucking piece of work, Harrington.” Billy sighs, and looks up at the night sky like there’s something up there beside stars before looking back down. “And I’m watching you.”

And with that, the most ominous thing Steve’s ever fucking heard, Billy saunters back inside. 

Only after the door has shut behind him and Steve tastes copper does he realize his nose is bleeding.

That Monday they’re all sitting at the lunch table when Billy asks Tommy if he’s seen the new Rambo yet. He hasn’t, and while Carol wrinkles her nose at all the violence, she admits that Sylvester Stallone is pretty hot, so she’ll tag along if they go to see it. Steve doesn’t comment, figuring if Billy’s inviting people then he’s not going. He’s thinking about taking the kids when Billy looks at him and goes, “You gonna’ come?” And Steve’s so fucking surprised it takes him a second to find himself and go, “Yeah, sure.”

That Thursday Billy eats his lunch like a man starving. Without thinking, Steve offers up his meatloaf and Billy stares at him like he’s crazy but takes it anyway. In response, Billy offers up his applesauce and he accepts it, feeling not like he’s won, but that he might be close. 

“I think he doesn’t eat at home sometimes,” Tommy says while Steve’s BMW is idling in the McDonald’s drive-thru. They’d been talking about Billy’s massive appetite, and how it even puts theirs to shame. “He eats my entire pantry every time he comes over.”

Steve frowns and thinks about it before he’s leaning back out the window and ordering two more burgers, fries, and nuggets. Tommy doesn’t comment on it, but he shoots Steve a look when they get back and Billy goes, “What’s with the extra food?” and Steve shrugs and replies, “Must of got the order wrong.”

A week later he’s driving Dustin home from school and figures something is wrong because the kid isn’t jabbering like normal. He almost looks like he’s pouting, eyes out the window. Finally, Steve can stand it anymore, “What’s up, man?” He never thought he’d be bothered by Dustin being quiet, but he is. 

With his arms crossed over his chest, Dustin purses his lips like he doesn’t want to say, but when Steve prods him he finally blurts, “Are you going to turn back into a douchebag?” And Steve’s, well, Steve’s caught a bit off guard because he definitely hadn’t expected that, figuring maybe it had to do with Max. 

“You used to think I was a douchebag?”

Leveling him with a look that says seriously? Dustin goes, “Uh, I didn’t think you were one, you were . Before Nancy you were all look at me I’m so cool, and you hung out with Tommy Hill, and now you are again and with Billy Hargrove of all people, and--” 

“Whoa man,” Steve breathes with a little laugh, “Cool your jets, okay? I’m not--”

“He kicked your ass!”

“I know.”

“And threatened Lucas!”

“I know!”

“Then what are you doing?” Dustin demands, fixing him with an incredulous look. “Did he knock something loose when he punched you? ‘Cause, like, he’s not a cool dude, and you-- if you hang out with him you might--” 

“Dustin,” he sighs, pulling up to the others’ house. Steve puts the BMW in park but doesn’t unlock the doors just yet. “I’m not... look, you’re right. I was probably a total douchebag.” Especially to a kid. “But I’m not going to just... change back, okay? I just... need people that aren’t kids or my ex to hang out with.”

“But we’re cool kids.”

He laughs a little, and it’s more fond than mean. “You are,” and okay, Dustin and the rest of the party are total dorks, but they’re cool dorks, and while Steve would never tell anyone that except Dustin, it’s still true. “But it’s not the same.”

And he thinks Dustin must agree on some level, because instead of immediately arguing he just pouts, taking a breath and blowing out his cheeks while he thinks. Then he finally he goes, “Fine,” before adding, “But if you start turning into a douchebag again I’m like totally gonna’ hit you or six El on you. Or something.”

Again, Steve laughs, “Man, if I start acting like that again I encourage you to hit me and/or six El on me, okay?” Dustin nods, seemingly okay with that deal, but just in case--

“Hey-- how about I take you and the other brats to the mall on Saturday?”

Dustin immediately brightens at that, “The one outta’ town?”

“Yup. You guys just have to ask your parents if it’s okay.”

“Totally! I’ll let the guys know! Hopefully Hopper will let El go too. Thanks Steve,” and then he’s hopping out the car and heading for his house with a quick wave as a good-bye. Steve waits until he’s safely in before driving on home.

The very next day Dustin tells him that Max’s mom said she can’t go unless Billy comes to look after her. “It’s stupid,” he huffs, “She’s safer with you than she’d ever be with Billy,” and even though Steve doesn’t disagree with that point he’s heard enough about Max’s parents to know there’s no arguing with them.

“Okay. Billy will come then.” And Dustin looks so fucking betrayed that he can’t help but laugh. “What? You want Max to come, don’t you?” 

A pause then, “Fine. But you gotta’ like. Keep his ass in line, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, shithead, I got it.”

Convincing Billy to go with him and six kids out of town won’t be easy, though.

He figures the next party coming up will be the best time. It’s right before Saturday, and Steve hadn’t planned on going for the sake of his pride, but a drunk Billy is a Billy more likely to accept Steve’s proposal. He was always nicer drunk. Okay, no he wasn’t, but... he may be more agreeable. If he’s drunk enough.

And friendly enough.

“A Valentine’s Day party?” Billy asks, nose wrinkling at the flier Steve had just stuck in his hands. 

“Singles party,” Steve corrects, and Billy somehow looks more disgusted.

“Those are a thing?”

“Well,” Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket, Steve shrugs. “Last one Lisa threw was like? When we were fifteen? Then she got into a relationship with Jimmy P, but they broke up in December, so--”

“So she’s throwing a singles party.Yeah, no thanks.” Billy pushes the flier towards Steve’s chest. “Sounds pathetic. I’d rather get wasted at the quarry.”

“That’s pathetic too.” He points out, “And at Lisa’s the booze and food will be free. Plus it’s mostly an excuse to get wasted, make out with people, then never talk about it come Monday morning.” That wasn’t a lie. Steve had probably kissed a countless number of girls the last time the party was thrown. Hell, he was pretty sure he kissed Tommy too, but that was three years ago and Steve decided he was too drunk to remember it. 

Billy barks a laugh and Steve thinks maybe he’s convinced him, “God, that’s fucking ridiculous. Why do you want me to go so bad?”

“Because, I want to go.” Okay, he actually doesn’t. It is pathetic. “But Tommy and Carol can’t go, and you’re single so--” he shrugs again, reaches out to nudge the paper against Billy’s hands. His knuckles are cut up again. It’s the second time that month and Steve wonders who’s the unlucky soul that's been on the other end.  “Okay. What do I get if I do?” 

“Pot?”

“I got pot, and Cali pot is better than Indiana pot.” Fair. 

In all honesty, Steve had no idea what to give him. He can’t think of anything so he settles for, “I’ll owe you one,” and a smile that promises just about anything Billy could want. It’s a good deal, so good that Steve’s almost nervous about making it. What kind of favor would Hargrove ask of him one day?

Billy, of course, brightens at the suggestion. “You’ll owe me one,” he repeats. “Alright, pretty boy, you got yourself a deal.”

[shaniahnoel]

Everything Has Changed: Chapter 8

Word Count: 2164

Warnings: Cuss words

Author’s Note: I feel like I have to explain myself to my anon inspiration as he/she seemed to really love Fearless (while still liking EHC). Since beginning it, EHC has been my favorite fiction to date and so I wrote a lot more. While Fearless is posted to where I’ve written, EHC posts are chapters behind what I’ve actually written. I just stopped posting because I felt like no one was interested and I lost my spark to get on here. 

Master List

Iris didn’t take to the motorcycles as well as Riley had. She’d had her ride with Fangs, thinking that she might be more comfortable with his larger frame. After riding with Toni, however, she realized that Fangs was a terrible driver. The quarry had a fair scattering of Serpent youth, and Iris lingered in her shadow. Fangs threw a possessive arm over Iris’ shoulder, while Toni linked arms with Riley.

“Clear attachment makes meeting Serpents a hell of a lot easier. I love them, but they can be assholes,” Toni explained. Fangs snickered in response.

“Way to state the obvious, Topaz. They both know Sweets.”

The Serpents sitting around on the couches didn’t look inviting as Riley and Iris approached, but the animosity lessened when they realized who her father was. Deciding the best course of action was to fake comfortability, Riley threw herself onto the nearest couch, leaving a gap so that she’d be in between Iris and other Serpents. Toni perched on the armrest while Fangs collapsed onto the ground in front of her, back pressed into her knees.

“Thinking of joining,” a Serpent asked Riley, piercing her with deep green eyes.

“I haven’t really thought about it honestly. I’ve always admired the family vibe here, though. It’s solid.”

Satisfied by her answer the girl turned back to her friends, leaving the four in their own bubble. There was a stretch of silence, broken only by a sneeze and the wheeze of the cushion as Riley brought her knees up to her chest. Fangs grumbled at the loss of her hand in his hair and turned around to face the girls.

“So, what could possibly have gone so wrong that you girls dove willingly into the Serpents den?”

“My best friend is an asshole. Clearly it’s genetic because so is Iris’ boyfriend.”

“Ex,” Iris said quietly, causing Riley to flip onto her knees to stare at her friend more directly.

“You’re done? Like done done?”

Iris nodded, water welling up in her eyes and Riley put an arm around her. The girl looked so broken that even Toni slipped a hand down to her shoulder. Fangs dug his heels into the ground, studying the small dirt piles forming as if they held life’s secrets.

“What happened?”

“I’m just done with his bullshit. The cheating, the lies, the double standards, it’s all bullshit.”

“He cheated again,” Riley asked, clenching her hand. This, she thought, was the ultimate problem in undefined relationships—Jake always argued it wasn’t cheating because they weren’t dating but got pissed if she talked to another guy.

“Well, yes, but that wasn’t what pushed me over the edge,” Iris answered slowly, and a small flicker of annoyance flared up inside.

“This has to do with Kieran and me, doesn’t it?”

Iris nodded, biting her lip. Riley sighed, rubbing her temple where a headache was forming.

“I have elective with the two of them, third period. Kieran went off about your fight over Fangs and Sweet Pea this morning. Kieran was on the usual rant against the Serpents, but then Jake brought up whether you’d screwed either of them. He said he didn’t think so, and then Jake suggested he make a move quickly to stake his claim…”

Iris trailed off as Riley pulled her phone angrily from her pocket, reading the apology for the first time. It sounded genuine, heartfelt, but all based on staking a claim. She exhaled slowly, breath hissing through her teeth.

“Is that all?”

“Well, I told Kieran that he didn’t deserve you at all. I also told Jake that I wouldn’t be with someone who talked about my best friend like that. He called me a bitch, and I told him maybe so, but I was no longer his.”

“Damn, and everyone thinks the Serpents are what’s wrong with the Southside,” Toni said, shaking her head in disbelief. Riley wrapped her arms around Iris, holding her until the tears had subsided once more. When she was done caring for her friend, she realized she needed to take care of herself.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said to no one, shaking her head as Iris made to follow her. Through an overgrown path in the woods there was a shallow portion of Sweet Water River. The days had grown colder, but Riley couldn’t resist the feel of water rushing past her. She rolled up her pant legs and discarded her shoes and socks. There was a rock only a few feet out from the riverbank, projecting out above the flowing water. She waded out to it, navigating carefully over the smooth rock bed, praying that her perspective perch was as dry as it appeared from land.

It shouldn’t have been so surprising. Kieran had been her best friend for years, she’d seen the way he was with other girls. Maybe it was just that she’d never expected it to come her way. She wasn’t the best friend he’d fallen for, but a means to attack the Serpents. What was his problem with them anyway? They’d never done anything to him. Or to her. Serpents had only cared for her, truly been there in her darkest moment. Thinking of the accident sunk her mood lower into the swirling emotion.  

She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there, only that her feet and butt had gone numb. The breeze caused her to shiver, but there was something cathartic about the experience. Her outside matched the inside and it seemed poetic. Maybe a little painful as well. Glancing down she realized that her toes had begun to turn a delicate blue—it wasn’t just an expression of literature, apparently. As she gently lifted herself from the rock to ease back into a standing position, the peaceful silence was broken.

“There you are,” Sweet Pea’s voice rang out. The sudden boom of his voice startled her out of her reverie and she jumped. Her numbed feet weren’t prepared and fled out from underneath her. She landed heavily in the icy water, shrieking as cold flooded into her clothes.

“Shit,” he cursed, and Riley turned to see him hurrying towards her, his feet surprisingly sure across the water. He bent down and scooped her into his arms; she pressed herself into his warmth, fully aware of just how cold her body had gotten. If he was uncomfortable, she couldn’t tell, his gaze stayed forwards as he winded his way expertly through the woods back into the clearing.

Most of the Serpents had dispersed, save Fangs and Toni who were right where she’d left them. Iris was leaned against Fangs shoulder, a small smile lingering on her face. Her toes ached as life started to flow back into them and her cheeks flushed as Toni stood up, looking concerned.

“She’s fine, Topaz. She just fell in the river.”

“You and rivers,” Toni said, shaking her head as she smiled in relief. “I figured that’s where you went, but you were gone a little while.”

“Just a lot to think about is all.”

“Did you decide who gets to stake their claim,” Fangs asked, barely flinching as Toni slapped the back of his head.

“Desperate much, Fogarty,” she attempted to tease, a tinge of sadness still in her voice. Sweet Pea lowered her to the ground and she stumbled to the couch, curling her feet under her. She tried to ignore the way the denim clung to her. Fangs slipped his leathers off and wrapped them around her, rubbing a hand down her arm briskly.

“She’s a popsicle, SP. Chill,” Toni said so quietly that Riley wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Sweet Pea fell onto the couch beside her, a scowl etched into his face. He sat as close as Fangs did, leg pressed against hers, but there was something much more preoccupying about his leg. Fangs removed his arm from her shoulder, but left it slung over the back of the chair. Riley fought against another shiver that threatened to rock through her.

“Nah,” Fangs said, finally answering, “I know that I’m a ladies’ man, plural, not a lady’s man.”

Riley snapped her fingers in mock disappoint. “Know any guys who are down for commitment and can cuddle without becoming sexually frustrated?”

Iris snorted. “I don’t think you’ll ever get that second qualifier,” she said.

“Fiiiine,” Riley mock pouted. “I’ll settle for someone who actually cares about me, not my body or the people he might piss off.”

She’d tried to keep her voice light, but nothing had ever sounded faker. Fangs arm twitched behind her but retracted. Sweet Pea’s arm took its place, curling around her. There was a protectiveness in the gesture, lost in Fangs’ play and Kieran’s possession. Sighing deeply, Riley remembered the days she was afraid to have a guy look at her. Glancing up at Sweet Pea she realized that she was still that girl, when the guy had eyes that seemed to see through her entirely. The shiver that followed wasn’t purely due to the chill.

“You need to go get changed before you die of hypothermia.”

“It’s not that cold.”

“Your lips are literally blue. Sweet Pea can take you home, he has his truck. You’ll turn into an icicle on a bike.”

“Where do you live,” Sweet Pea asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“Right off third,” Toni answered for her, giving him a pointed look. “Not even out of the way.”

“Out of the way for what?” Riley asked, but Sweet Pea ignored her.

“Alright, let’s go.”

 The ride was silent. Riley’s face flushed as she remembered the last time that she’d been alone with Sweet Pea and his truck. Another Serpent’s bike roared behind them, continuing to Sweet Pea’s house as they turned onto her street. When they’d walked to the vehicles, Riley had learned that Sweet Pea was only just far enough from her house to have a different bus. The gravel crunched beneath his truck and Riley groaned as she looked at the clock after taking in the empty driveway.

Sweet Pea turned to her expectantly.

“I forgot they were heading to Greendale. Mom said if I wanted to go, I needed to be home by 4.”

Sweet Pea laughed as he too glanced at the clock. “4:05, very punctual.”

“Oh shut up,” Riley laughed, pushing his shoulder. The smile on her face wavered uncertainly as he caught her gaze and held it.

“That’s a new laugh,” he said, and, unless her eyes were deceiving her, there was a faint flush to his cheeks.

“I only use it outside of school,” she said as dead pan as she could. Sweet Pea rolled his eyes, probably thinking that she was an idiot—a thought she wouldn’t have held against him. But then he laughed, not with any hardness or mirth, but with what seemed to her to be pure happiness.

“Where are you off to after this,” she asked, quickly regretting it as the carefree teen was replaced by the teenage gang member.

“Serpent business,” he said roughly. Riley deliberated a second, wondering what that mean.

“Be safe,” she said quietly, squeezing his tensed fist briefly before slipping out of the truck. The wind was freezing, but thankfully the heat of the truck had gotten her mostly dry. It wasn’t until she opened the door that he started the truck back up. She twitched back the curtain to watch him go.

In the next hour she had a scalding hot shower, chasing away the cold and questionable smell of the river and settled onto the couch to continue her rewatch of Criminal Minds. Three episodes in she went and locked the door between the garage and her house because, in the words of Jason Gideon, no one ever thinks to lock a door behind a locked door. It was dark before her stomach began to growl, demanding the food she’d forgotten to make. She was surprised to see that it was already 8:00 p.m. but it was no surprise that her mom and sister weren’t home yet. This trip to Greendale had been to visit the Asbury’s, longtime friends of the family. Her mom needed the support, but Riley had no interest in awkward small talk with their teenage son. Ellie would probably be staying over—they had a daughter a year younger who thought Ellie was the coolest kid she knew. Which, Riley thought, may be true.

As Riley cooked the noodles, she wondered if this was a glimpse into life after high school: binge-watching old shows and forgetting to eat. Not a bad future, she mused, but she wasn’t desperate to fast forward the two years. She jumped as the timer went off, making a mental note to avoid shows about serial killers when she lived alone. When she finished eating she cleaned up her mess and retrieved her bookbag from her room. Before she could start her work, there was a knock at the door.  

Tag List:  @ella-full-of-secrets @my-ships-have-sunk@54fangirl@everheart12@inspiredbynewt@poolpartyingwithjaws@southsidesserpent@lynniev @karleedaniels27 @the-greatt-perhaps @lilybellsworld @cherylblossom-komwonkru @oldestfairytale