#everyone snipping over who is the worst is missing the point

[king0fcrows]

Screaming over all the challenges to the narrative in the newest IWTV episode

I love that Lestat walks onto the stage with the intent to remain stone cold as he condemns Louis and Claudia--and instead leaves psychologically wrecked and guilty (he's literally swaying back and forth in the background as Louis and Claudia are sentenced)

Love that Louis' memory is reinforced as less and less reliable with every episode (that shot of him dragging pre-transformed Claudia's body like a rag doll, like a toy? goddamn.)

Love that Daniel is trying to call Armand (my poor wet meow meow, who has never done anything wrong in his life) on his lying bullshit in front of Louis

[stardustbarbarians]

The Devil Knows My Name

A Daniel Wagner / Samuel Kiszka fic

Summary: Sam and Danny travel the world together hunting ghosts. And Danny has a secret.

Tags: ghost hunting au, humor, horror elements, demonic elements, getting together, this is low key a buzzfeed unsolved au

Trigger Warnings: mentioned child abuse (explained in A/N)

Words: 8.8 k

A/N: Right off that bat: one of the locations Sam and Danny investigate is a real abandoned orphanage that had rumors of child abuse tied to it. Unfortunately, all of the claims mentioned about the place in the fic are real allegations. If that makes you uncomfortable, do not feel like you have to read that section as you won't miss any plot points. Outside of that, this fic is very lighthearted. I wrote it as a part of @hearts-hunger GVF Halloween Event, which I was not expecting to finish this soon (I picked prompt 15!). It was super fun to write and I hope you all enjoy! As usual, this fic is dedicated to @ofthecaravel. Title taken from The Garden by the Crane Wives.

+++

“I was reading the comments on our last video-” 

“A wonderful thing for your mental health, I’m sure.” 

“-and I couldn’t help but laugh.” 

“Oh? Why is that?” 

“Everyone seems to agree. They think you’re a demon.” 

+++

Daniel had known Sam for, like, ever. They went through grade school together, graduated together, even went through a failed band together, too. In fact, it seemed they did everything together. Mostly, it was on purpose; truly at this point it felt wrong to be somewhere without Sam at his side. But, becoming famous ghost hunters? That was an accident. Really, if Danny had known that ghost hunting would be their future careers, he never would have accepted that dare. 

“Come onnnnn! Ghosts aren’t real, anyway!” Josh lamented, attempting to shove his baby brother out the door of their house. 

“Yeah, you chicken,” Jake tacked on at the end, a knowing smile barely contained on his lips. 

“I am not a chicken!!” Sam roared, slapping Josh’s hands away from his back. There was a deep frown on his face that was somehow halfway to a pout. 

“We’re even letting you take Danny! Honestly, we’re being very generous about this whole ordeal,” the oldest brother continued, fighting off a laugh of his own at seeing Sam acting tough. Acting, being the key word. 

“Sure. And what are you gonna tell mom and dad when we end up shanked by some drifters protecting their territory??” Sam squawked, trying to get back into the house. But Jake and Josh had blocked the entrance, standing shoulder to shoulder in the doorframe. Sammy might have towered over the twins, but it was clear who was stronger out of the three of them. 

“Oh, please. There’s no vagrants at the Garnet house, just a bunch of teenagers doing drugs and shit there.” 

“And, I mean, you don’t have to take the dare…” Jake offered. A fake olive branch if there ever was one. The devious smile on his face betrayed his caring tone. 

“Yeah, and do your guys’ chores for a month?? I don’t think so,” Sam snipped, ripping the family movie camera out of Jake’s extended palm. 

“Uh, don’t I get a say in this?” Danny finally pipped up, watching in silence while the three Kiszkas bickered. 

“NO,” all three barked in unison. Danny shut his mouth so fast, his teeth clicked. 

“Like Sam would go anywhere without you,” Jake muttered under his breath. Sam shot him a fierce glare that only succeeded in causing the twins to implode into laughter. 

“You guys are the WORST!” Sam exclaimed before turning on his heel and stomping down the porch into the backyard. Danny was quick to follow, scrambling after his best friend and clicking on the flashlight he was given. 

Sam didn’t talk to Danny for a solid minute after his altercation with his older brothers. He was too busy cursing them under his breath and indulging in his temper tantrum. 

“This is the worst sleepover ever. Why did we even let them join in the first place??” Sam whined, the first words he spoke that weren’t muttered. That was how Danny knew he was talking to him. 

“Oh, c’mon. We were having fun with them before this dare,” Danny offered, his eyes watching the leaf-covered terrain for any rogue branches he could trip over. They were not exactly quiet as they trudged through the dried autumn leaves, each step sounding like static. 

Sam shot him a look that was halfway annoyed and halfway resigned. “Yeah, whatever. But they took it too far like they always do.” 

“Gee, I don’t know, Sam. Maybe if you hadn’t boasted very loudly about how ‘ghost hunters aren’t shit’, ‘they’re a bunch of pussies’, and ‘I could do that’, maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation,” Danny countered. It was all lighthearted, of course. Danny could never truly be annoyed at Sam. He did choose Sam, after all. 

“That’s because they are! They’re all acting for the camera and it just makes them look like a bunch of wimps!!” Sam had finally turned to face Danny, his pale face illuminated by the flashlight as he turned his expression to a caricature of the host of the ghost hunting show they just watched. “Huh! A creak in an old house that hasn’t seen maintenance since ‘Nam! Must be a g-g-g-ghost!!!” 

Danny couldn’t help his snort of laughter as Sam mocked the ghost hunters. He himself didn’t believe in ghosts, either. Especially the tv shows that claimed to always find ground-breaking “real” evidence every episode. If they had something to gain monetarily, Danny didn’t trust them. 

“Then why are you so scared to do this dare?” Danny baited, knowing it would get a reaction out of Sam. Sometimes he just couldn’t help but rile him up; it was easy and fun. 

“Ok, first, I’m not scared. I am rightfully cautious. Not only will we be trespassing, but we will be filming our crime,” Sam held up the camcorder in his hand and waved it a little, “and we don’t know if it will be empty. For all we know, there could be squatters in there who are a little too stab-happy!” 

“Says the one with the arrest record,” Daniel muttered under his breath, loud enough that Sam could hear. 

“Hey!” 

+++

“Are you rolling?” 

“For the hundredth time: yes, Sam,” Danny exasperatedly replied, adjusting his hand holding the camera. The hand strap was digging into his skin and he really just wanted to get this over with. He hadn’t felt good since they came upon the house when the woods cleared.

“Alright, snippy, no need for the attitude,” Sam shot back, giving Danny a look as he adjusted his long hair. 

Danny just rolled his eyes, signaling with a wave of his hand for Sam to hurry it up. They both had a few drinks before walking out there and Danny was starting to feel them. The last dare he got was to shotgun a beer and he wished he had chosen truth instead. 

“We’re standing in front of the Garnet house where it is said that William Garnet murdered his wife, Sylvia, back in 1956-” 

“God, everyone knows that’s just some stupid urban legend. There’s literally no proof anyone was killed here,” Danny lamented, tired of hearing about William and Sylvia Garnet. He’d looked into the real story himself. 

“Are you the host, or am I?” Sam snapped, an annoyed pinch in his face. “Start over.” 

“Nope. Keep going.” 

With a pointed, heavy sigh, Danny could see in the small LCD screen as Sam rolled his eyes. But, he continued anyway. “Because of that, the house has been abandoned since that bloody day.” 

“Because they moved out and couldn’t sell the house because of the location. Do you see how far away from a road we are?” Daniel had panned away from Sam to show the lengths of woods surrounding them. 

“You’re no fun, Daniel,” Sam whined, sounding like a child. Danny even heard his foot stomp into the cold dirt with his boot. “Let’s just… go inside.” 

Danny didn’t stop recording as they trudged around the house, looking for an opening they could slither through. He probably should’ve been less focused on filming Sam looking for an entrance and more so on helping him, but oh well. Someone had to hold the flashlight and also, it was a cool shot getting Sam tracing his fingers along the crumbling brick of the old house, looking up at the windows. His profile was perfectly illuminated by the light, making his jawline look sharper than usual. His misting breath was also being caught in the flashlight beam, looking like an apparition in its own right.  

They ended up having to climb into a window, Danny boosting Sam in. With a grunt of exertion, Sam was able to hoist Danny in. However, his foot slipped out from underneath him just as Danny’s torso passed the windowsill. So, instead of the graceful landing Daniel was hoping to pull off, he instead found himself on all fours in the dust of the dilapidated flooring. The abrupt change in position as well as the scraping of his stomach against the windowsill did nothing to help his alcohol-induced nausea. 

“Are you alright?” Danny asked, having to swallow thickly to keep his bile down. 

Sam groaned from underneath him, something that Danny hadn’t even realized until that moment. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Danny got up as quickly as his spinning head would allow him, offering a hand out to Sam as soon as he was stable on two legs. They both tried to brush the grime off of them, knowing that they would need to wash their clothes to truly be rid of all of it. 

“Alright, let’s be quick. If there’s anyone here, they would have heard that.” For the first time that night, there was a slight tremor to Sam’s voice. That was all the indicator Danny needed to know that Sam was more scared than he was letting on. That, and the way Sam’s hand had trembled in his own as he helped him up. 

“No arguments here,” Danny commented, scanning the floor with his flashlight to find his dropped video camera. Luckily, it was unharmed and still rolling, capturing the embarrassing moment of them falling to the ground, despite being about ten years old. But that was good old early 2000s technology for you. Once he’d found the camera, Danny passed the flashlight to Sam. It made more sense for him to hold it as he led them through the house. 

“Let’s just find the bedroom, ask a few questions, and leave. That should be enough to satisfy the twins’ stupid dare.” Sam seemed half distracted as he scanned the dark rooms around him. And, to be fair, the place was rather ghoulish and imposing. The walls showed exposed wooden slats behind the crumbling drywall, cracks formed all around the ceiling, graffiti stained the walls, and the odd trashed piece of furniture that you’re sure was a person in the corner of your eye decorated the space. 

In order to lighten the mood, Daniel quickly thought of a way to make Sam laugh. Though, “quickly” was relative as his head was still spinning a little. 

“The bedroom? Sam, you should at least take me out to dinner first.” The teasing tone Danny used just caused Sam to let out an abrupt bark of laughter and nudge his best friend with his elbow. 

“We both know you wouldn’t even need dinner first,” Sam jested back, a sly smile pulling at the corner of his lips. This was far from the first time their teasing had toed a line. They both silently acknowledged that line existed, and also acknowledged that it wasn’t weird to cross it with one foot from time to time. 

Danny had gotten the urge to shove Sam in the shoulder, but they were climbing the stairs. They were rickety and treacherous enough as it was; no need to add another risk. 

“Who’s body count is higher?” 

“Like it’s a bad thing-” 

Knock! 

Both boys froze in their tracks. They were about halfway up the staircase when it sounded like knuckles rapped against some wood. 

“Did you hear that?” Sam’s eyes were huge as he turned to look down at Daniel who was one step below. 

“Yeah. Sounded like it came from upstairs,” Danny truthfully answered. 

Sam let out another groan, his bottom lip finding itself worried between his teeth. It was a bad habit Sam had when he got nervous. “I really hope that’s a ghost and not some addict.” 

“You and me both.” 

Taking a steadying breath, Sam worked up the courage to continue up the steps. He was climbing them slower than usual, but that was to be expected. But, that did not help the very loud squealing of said steps. It really only made the squeaking worse and drew out the sound. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the top floor and were greeted with a liminal hallway. A dusty chandelier cried broken crystals and cobwebs, more graffiti scored the walls, the floor was littered with joint cones and cigarette butts, and the doors along the walls were all closed, but not shut entirely. All of them stood ajar which, for some reason, was more unnerving than if they were completely shut or completely open. 

“Let’s see what’s behind door number one, shall we?” Danny prompted, realizing Sam was frozen in fear next to him. Despite the flippant tone he was employing, Danny was feeling awful. His head hadn’t stopped spinning since he stepped onto the property and his stomach was still churning. He felt cold but couldn’t blame it on the late October weather. 

With a shaky smile and a nod, Sam reached for the door handle on his right and gingerly pushed it open. It revealed a similar decrepit state as the rest of the house, the LED light from their flashlight casting it in an eerie glow. It seemed they had found the bedroom, a four poster bed frame pushed against the wall with the whole thing covered in carved initials and names. More graffiti coated the walls, but it all seemed to have a theme. 

“Talk about sympathy for the devil,” Sam joked, tepidly entering the room and illuminating all the 666s and reversed crosses on the walls. 

“Please allow me to introduce myself,” Danny quoted, attempting his best Mick Jagger impression. That got him a laugh from Sam, even if it was just from how shitty the impersonation was. 

“Mick Jagger is rolling in his grave for that one.”

“Mick Jagger is dead? Has anyone checked the news??” 

Once again, Sam elbowed Danny in the side. A huge grin was on his face as he did it, so Danny counted that as a win. However, it was a short-lived victory. Just as Danny had found himself in the center of the room, he doubled over in pain. 

“Daniel? What’s wrong??” There was genuine concern in Sam’s words as he raced over to his best friend’s side. 

“I… I don’t…” he dropped the camera to the ground as he clutched at his stomach. It was as if he had just been punched in the gut by Mike Tyson as his nausea came at him with full force. 

Sam had grabbed the camera off the ground, a decision that would solidify their fates. Now armed with both the flashlight and the camera, Sam became the cameraman as he documented Danny’s sudden distress. 

He didn’t even know what caused him to look up. But regardless, as he tilted his head backwards, Daniel noticed a pentagram on the ceiling in black spray paint. 

“What’s going on?” Sam’s voice was shaky. And if Danny wasn’t trying his best to vomit all over the scuffed and dirty floor, he might’ve noticed the way the house seemed to shake around them. 

The footage of this moment would be shaky and just slightly out of focus. It was something Danny, as well as the rest of their audience, would clown him for for years to come. However, that was about the only funny thing about it. At the time, as Sam filmed Danny being doubled over and the house rattling around them, it was no laughing matter. You see, as Sam illuminated Daniel so that he could be seen, a dark shadow was cast behind him. One that seemed to slowly seep out of the shadow that Danny cast against the wall. Sam was petrified for a moment as fear gripped his mind and forced his muscles to turn to stone. But, as the shadow grew what looked to be claws, that’s when his concern for Daniel leaped into overdrive. 

His shriek of terror was the last thing the video they uploaded of that night would show. However, there was about ten more minutes of footage that only Jake, Josh, and Sam and Danny would see. It recorded the floor as Sam grabbed Danny’s wrist and bolted out of the house. It recorded the rustling leaves and their labored breath as they sprinted away from the house and back towards Sam’s. It also captured the sound of Danny’s misery as he threw up in the bushes, Sam frantically trying to soothe him but also get them to safety. But none of that made it into the video. 

+++

Their success happened seemingly overnight. It was a few weeks before their video got views over the double digits. But then, a famous reaction channel had used their video and suddenly, people flocked to it. Most people just commented on whether or not they thought it was fake, others commented on how hot they thought Sam and Danny were. But a good chunk of them, including the youtuber, were clamoring for more from them. It seemed a lot of people found them highly entertaining and wanted to see more of them. 

It was a complete accident that they became famous internet ghost hunters. That’s what made their job seem so surreal. Not only were they able to travel the country searching for ghosts and ghouls, but the world as well. They would get recognized on the street or in stores, being asked if they could take pictures with a wide variety of people. Suddenly, not just friends or family followed them, but complete strangers. Hundreds of thousands of people. Frankly, it was a little overwhelming. Daniel, and Sam, was just glad he had his best friend with him the whole time. 

“When is this video going out?” Daniel asked Sam with a sniffle, the two of them getting ready in their shared hotel room. 

“It should be posted in about a month,” Sam responded, staring into the mirror of the bathroom trying to get his hair to de-frizz. He had never really put that much effort into his appearance before, but they were now being scrutinized by hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people. So, Daniel stopped brushing out his curls and actually had a multi-step hair routine. 

“I was reading the comments on our last video-” 

“A wonderful thing for your mental health, I’m sure.” Danny interrupted, a crooked smile on his face before he blew his nose into a tissue.

“-and I couldn’t help but laugh.” Sam had finally emerged out of the bathroom and started to lace his boots. They were an old pair of Doc Martens that he’d owned forever and usually only wore for ghost hunting. 

“Oh? Why is that?” Danny was pouring himself out a dose of DayQuil, throwing it back as if it were a shot. He would have plugged his nose if it weren’t already stuffed. He hated the taste of both DayQuil and NyQuil vehemently, always making him gag despite how effective they were. 

“Everyone seems to agree. They think you’re a demon.”

Daniel had stopped himself short of pouring out another dose of DayQuil, the bottle still in his hand poised to pour. After realizing he was frozen, Danny forced himself to set the bottle down and face his best friend. He was sitting on the edge of Danny’s bed (it was closer to the door), struggling to pull his boot onto his foot. He really hadn’t seemed to notice Danny’s reaction to the accusation, too focused on cursing the tight boots that he stubbornly refused to loosen the laces on. 

“Oh yeah? And why do they think that?” The amusement in Danny’s tone was not manufactured, nor was the smile pulling at one corner of his lips. 

“Well,” Sam started with a grunt, letting out a satisfied sigh at finally getting his boots over his feet, “they seem to think that because you’re hardly scared in any of the places we go into that you must be a demon.” 

“Oh, so, because I’m not afraid of non-existent ghosts, I myself am a supernatural entity?” Daniel dryly questioned, shaking his head and returning to his previous task. 

“I mean, there is also that shadow creature that emerged out of you our first investigation. Should you be taking that much?” 

“I need a higher dose or else it won’t work,” Daniel flippantly answered, waving his hand in a dismissive manner before throwing back his second full dosage of the medicine. That one he could taste in full, the bitterness making him hiss in disgust. “That ‘shadow creature’ was just my shadow.” 

Sam handed Danny a bottle of water, watching the man down it before going to brush his teeth in the bathroom. “There was also that time you got a nosebleed the second you walked into a church. And we got it on camera,” Sam persisted, not one to lose an argument so easily. He had followed Danny to the entrance of the bathroom, leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed. 

“Eh wa thuh ead uh winer, am,” Danny rebutted, toothpaste foaming in his mouth and hindering his speech. Sam managed to understand him: It was the dead of winter, Sam. Danny spit out his toothpaste, brushing his tongue a little before going back to continue his argument. “It was drier than the Sahara in that old building.” 

“Ok, then how do you explain the fact that you were the only one who had their eyes roll into the back of their head when they were touched by that exorcist?” Sam shot back, kind of impressed at himself for remembering all of these instances off the top of his head. 

Danny rolled his eyes at that, a smile pulling at his lips as he shooed Sam out of the way so he could put his shoes on. “I thought it would be funny! What’s with the third degree, anyway? You’re picking on a sick and weak man.” 

“Yeah, those arms are just for show,” Sam countered, flicking him in the bicep. As a reaction to that comment, Daniel, on a whim, ducked down, grabbed Sam by the waist, and hauled the man over his shoulder. Sam started giggling and squealing at the act. 

“Still think they’re just for show?” Danny casually asked, pacing around while holding Sam as if he weighed nothing. He could not keep the smile off his face as he did so, enjoying Sam’s own laughter. 

“No! Now, put me down, you menace!!” Sam had managed between giggles, his hands lightly beating into Danny’s back. Truthfully, Danny hadn’t known why he thought to pick Sam up. It just crossed his mind and Danny decided to go for it. That usually seemed to happen when he took cold medicine and he hoped it wouldn’t bite him in the ass later. 

Instead of placing him back down on the ground, Danny threw him gently onto the mattress. Sam bounced as the springs took on his weight, and then Danny’s as he climbed onto Sam. They both continued to giggle, Sammy throwing his arms around Daniel’s neck as they came face to face with one another. 

“Hi,” Daniel breathed with a honeyed tone. 

“Hi there,” Sam responded, his tone equally as candied. They both wore matching grins as they searched one another’s eyes. But that was where they stayed. This was a fairly recent development in their dynamic, starting back about two or three months ago. They already spent a lot of time together back when they still lived in Frankenmuth, but doing this job was drastically different. Instead of hanging out for 12 hours out of the day, now they saw each other 24 hours out of the day. It was not hyperbole in the slightest to say that they saw each other the most out of any other human on earth. And that kind of time spent together, well it draws people closer. So, this development seemed… natural. But, neither of them wanted to make the first move for equally valid reasons. So, this purgatory-state they were in (comfortable enough to hold one another as they slept but scared to even think about kissing the other) was where they stood now. 

And people noticed. 

Sam let out a short, nervous laugh. “We oughtta get down there. The rest of the crew is waiting.” He relinquished his grip around Danny’s neck, patted him twice on the shoulder, and then slipped out from under him to go stand by the door. 

Danny sighed, disappointed in himself as he watched Sam fidget with his hands out of the corner of his eye as he put on his own boots. He wanted to take that plunge with Sam so badly, but he also knew that there were too many risks involved. For one, their job depended on their dynamic. Part of their appeal was the way they so effortlessly bounced off one another comedically. And the other: if they went south - which Danny had a feeling they would because of him - not only would their jobs suffer, but they would too. They had been best friends for life and Daniel did not want to risk losing Sam because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. 

Danny knew he had to do something. They couldn’t go into the shoot this way. So, as they walked out of their hotel room, Danny tapped Sam on the arm with the back of his hand and chirped “you’re it” before bolting towards the stairwell. Danny didn’t have to turn around to know Sam was racing after him, he could hear Sam’s laugh following him. 

+++

“Greetings Travelers!” Danny started their intro with a wave of his hand. Ever since they had started taking this job seriously, Danny no longer had to be behind the camera. Instead, it seemed his presence was demanded in front of the lens alongside Sammy. 

“And welcome to the Old Holy Family Orphanage in Marquette, Michigan,” Sam finished for Danny. They were standing shoulder to shoulder with the building to their backs, the structure illuminated behind them and looking just as imposing as it felt. 

“This one is right in our backyard!” Danny smiled over at Sam, never having to fake a single one for the camera if Sam was there with him. 

“Give or take a few miles.” 

“Like… 400.”

“That’s a pretty big backyard!”

The two of them broke out into laughter, despite the joke not really being that funny. But, that was their dynamic. No matter what, they would always laugh. 

“Alright, Dan the Man. Shall we get into the depressing history?” Sam had slung an arm around Danny’s shoulders, the touch making Danny feel all warm and fuzzy. It was a welcome feeling considering the cold darkness that seemed to seep out of the building behind them. 

With a smile that bordered on sad, Danny poised his pointer finger in the air and swirled it around, just as he did every episode. “Roll the tape.” In the final cut, this is the part where they would cut away to a voiceover of Danny with b-roll of the place they were investigating behind it. 

Danny slid his phone out of his pocket, the script he wrote containing his research saved there. No matter how large their audience would grow, Danny refused to let anyone else research the history of their locations. Not only did he want to make sure that he was respecting the lives of those who perished at these locations, but he also did not want anyone to weaponize and abuse the history just to make it seem like ghosts existed for their gain. Sam was the only one who didn’t seem to think he acted prissy over the whole thing. 

“So, the place was built in 1915 and funded by the Catholic church. Their idea was to take in only white kids and give them to white families-” 

“Racist bastards,” Sam cut in, his breath tickling Danny’s cheek as the man leaned in to see Danny’s phone. Daniel tried extremely hard not to think about how close Sam’s lips were to his skin. (He failed miserably, his blunder displayed in the form of a pink blush dusting his cheeks for all to see)

“Oh, it gets worse. Now, that’s where all the documented information ends on this place. So, we’re slapping a very general ‘allegedly’ on everything from here on out.” Danny made the mistake of looking up from his phone and into Sam’s eyes, their faces barely inches apart, his breath catching in his throat. 

“They don’t even have proper sources,” Sam commented in a theatrical disapproving tone, his eyes never leaving Danny’s. Danny could feel rather than see the easy smile on Sam’s lips. 

“Th-They - uh,” Danny cleared his throat before tearing his eyes away and back to his phone. “There are claims that Native children from the surrounding areas were ripped away from their families as babies and then ‘Americanized’ before being adopted to white families. They wouldn’t find out the truth of their heritage until well into adulthood.” God I hope they don’t include me being so flustered in the final cut

“You mean this was a residential school??” Sam seemed genuinely outraged at the news, his outburst causing Danny’s ear to ring. 

“Allegedly,” Danny responded, using his free hand to rub at the affected ear. 

“I say again: ‘Racist bastards!’” 

“I’m pretty sure calling nuns ‘bastards’ gets you sent to hell.” 

“Fine! That means I’ll get to fist fight ‘em while I’m down there!” 

Danny shook his head, laughing at his co-host and best friend’s theatrics. “You’re something else, Sam.”

“And by ‘something’ do you mean charming, handsome, and funny?” Sam batted his lashes while preening, tossing his long hair over his shoulder. 

“Sure… we’ll go with that.” 

Sam let out an offended squawk, causing Danny to giggle. He shot Sam a wink before continuing on with his script. 

“Once again, there’s not a whole lot more on this place besides a lot of stories with no real sources. However, a lot of adults who lived in the orphanage as children would report terrible living conditions and mistreatment by the nuns. One report claimed that a little girl who was staying in the orphanage got caught in a huge blizzard, then died of pneumonia after she returned to the nuns. And instead of burying her right away, they put her body on display in the lobby as an example for the other kids.” 

“Jesus Christ almighty. Like, dude, I’m genuinely so fucking mad that I can’t even think of a joke,” Sam fumed, his grip on Danny’s shoulder tightening. 

“Well, these are all alleged-” 

“I don’t care. Usually I feel bad annoying the ghosts we visit. But tonight? I fucking hope I piss these bitches off!” 

“If ghost nuns even exist,” Danny countered. 

Sam didn’t respond verbally. Rather, he shot Danny a long-suffering look that really told Daniel how thrilled he was over that particular bit of input from the man. Danny just laughed, tilting his head a little so that it was resting against Sam’s. Sammy still had yet to let his arm drop from around Danny’s shoulders. 

“Is that everything?” 

“One last little thing, and then we’re all clear to go in. We’re actually pretty lucky to get in here when we did. We’re the last group of ghost hunters allowed to investigate this place before they start renovations.” 

“Pfffff, why? From the pictures I saw online, it’s beyond saving,” Sam looked over his shoulder at the aforementioned building. Just the exterior of the place was in bad shape: the brick was covered in crawling ivy, spray painted tags providing the only color to the faded orange brick, and practically every window was shattered or boarded up with plywood. 

“The previous owner was bought out. Another company, who graciously agreed to let us go through with this investigation before they started construction, is gonna turn this place into an apartment complex,” Danny explained, slipping his phone into his pocket once more. 

Sammy’s mouth fell open, a knit in his brow that showed just how much he was in disbelief from that claim. And that was when he slid his arm off of Danny. Quick to follow the void of the affectionate warmth of Sam’s touch was the frigid and sinister grope of the orphanage. Daniel never before put stock into Sam’s bullshit “energy” of the locations they visited, but this one felt different. 

“Hope those renters don’t mind having demonic nuns as their roommates,” Sam jested, his light-hearted tone simply a ruse for him still reeling over the fact that people are going to live in the building that has rumors of child abuse attached to it. 

Daniel could not help the wheeze of laughter that squeezed out of his lungs. “Damnit, Sister Mary! I told you not to leave the light on at night!” Danny played along, hoping that his joking around with Sam would ease the dread beating in his heart. As unsettling as it was, that unease seeping into Daniel’s bones felt familiar. 

“I’m gonna start making you pay rent!!” Sam continued with a laugh, his smile brighter than the floodlight pointed at them for the camera. 

“Would you rather have a demonic nun or a creepy ghost child as your roommate?” Danny asked as they began to walk up to the entrance of the old orphanage. 

Sam hummed in consideration, his fingers tapping on his chin. “Honestly? The nun.” 

“Really?” That was not the answer Danny was expecting. Sam had a long documented history of not liking demons in the slightest. He was the most afraid of the “demonic” locations they visited. 

“Well, 9 times out of 10, the ghost kid is actually a demon in disguise, right? So, rather than having the stress of having to guess whether or not it’s an actual kid, I’d rather have a demonic nun lady who’s honest about her identity.” Sam enthusiastically waved his hands as he spoke. 

“So… you’d pick a demon?” Danny’s hopeful tone surprised even himself. 

Rather than listen to Sam’s response, Daniel was instantly hit with a ringing in his ears that tuned him out the second he crossed the threshold into the abandoned building. He felt as if the world was moving in slow motion, his senses all zeroing in on the dark energy permeating out of the very walls of the place. Darkness charred the edges of his vision as they focused in on something at the end of the hall, something that was watching them from behind a corner. It was insane, but Danny felt as if he knew this presence, as if they were someone he was familiar with in passing, but was not closely acquainted with. And that wasn’t even the craziest part. Danny felt as if this… thing’s… attention was squarely on Sam and Sam alone. 

“-aniel?” 

With a touch of his hand to his shoulder, Sam yanked Danny out of whatever state he was just in. Like he emerged from a body of water, suddenly Daniel’s hearing was back to full capacity and his vision was fully intact. As he turned his head to look into Sam’s rich, amber eyes, time was restored to the correct speed. 

Glancing back down the hallway once more, Daniel found nothing but a dark, liminal space with fallen plaster and wood pieces littering it. He shook his head to clear it, his curls hitting his cheeks. However, he was still left with the feeling of his brain being waterlogged. 

“Are you ok?” Sam’s words dripped with concern, his eyes even glittering with it. With Sammy’s focus on him, Danny felt better. As long as he was next to Sam, nothing bad would happen. He vowed his life. 

“I think you're right, I shouldn’t have taken that much DayQuil,” Danny joked, hoping it would distract a little from what just happened. 

“Do we need to stop? You don’t have to do this tonight if you’re not-” 

“I’m alright, Sammy, I promise.” Danny flashed his most charming smile towards his best friend. He knew it was manipulative, but he also knew that it was justified. What Danny had stopped Sammy from suggesting was the man doing the whole episode by himself. If Danny wasn’t there, Sam would most definitely get into trouble. Life-threatening trouble. 

With an uncertain sigh, Sam gave Danny a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. That translated to him that Sam didn’t agree with Danny, but he was dropping the subject anyway. 

“Alright. Let’s go into the nursery first. Apparently more than a few people have gotten voices on the Ovilus in there,” Sam dictated, pulling a flashlight from his pocket and clicking it on. The beam of cold LED light illuminated a flurry of dust particles that made Daniel want to sneeze just looking at them. Please let there be no asbestos in here

“And where is that?” 

Daniel’s blood turned to ice in his veins as Sam pointed his flashlight beam down the hallway Daniel had just been staring down. “Somewhere down there. To the left, I think.” 

The side that Thing was hiding

Daniel had to roll his eyes at himself. There wasn’t anything actually down there. It was probably just too much cold medicine making his brain weird. 

“Ready for a baby, Sammy boy?” Danny jested, a crooked smile pulling at the left corner of his lips. He fumbled into the pocket of his own jacket, clicking on the flashlight as soon as he got a good grip on it. 

“Only if it’s yours,” Sam replied, not missing a beat. Stunned, Danny turned his head to see Sam bounce his eyebrows at Daniel before trudging down the hall. For the second time in five minutes, Daniel found himself having to shake his head to clear it. Sam was going to be his demise, that he was sure of. 

+++

“One more time. If you want to talk to us, please say one of our names back to us! My name is Sam,” Sam paused.

“And I’m Danny,” Daniel finished without missing a beat. He was used to having to introduce himself to empty rooms. But this time, he could not shake the feeling he was being watched. And it couldn’t be blamed on the cameras pointed at them. 

“Da-an,” the electronic voice of the Ovilus device coughed out. That thing, allegedly, picked up on ghosts and spirits manipulating the environment and formed sounds in what was called “phonetic mode”. Most of the time it just sounded like a robot with a bad cough, but sometimes it would form some words that even Danny couldn’t deny. 

“Oh, that’s a first. It wants to talk to you, Daniel,” Sam taunted, a shit-eating smirk on his lips as he held the device out to Danny. With a roll of his eyes, Danny took the thing from Sam’s hand and entertained the “ghost” trying to talk to him. 

“You’ve reached Danny,” the man droned in an unenthusiastic tone. He tucked his arm around his middle and rested his arm holding the equipment on it. 

“Hello… bro-o-ther.” That same chilling feeling that had been rattling his bones since Danny stepped onto the property slammed into him in full force, as if Lake Superior herself had sent a titanic wave to drown him. He wasn’t aware of the way his eyes widened nor the way he froze in place as if Medusa glanced his way. 

With a weak smile, Danny tried to recover. “Josie? What are you doing all the way over here? Last I knew, you were still alive.” 

“In-n-n-fernal.” 

All of the moisture left Danny’s mouth. 

“Uh-oh.” 

If Danny didn’t know any better, he would’ve said the thing was laughing at him. 

“What do you want?” Daniel’s tone was cold yet sturdy, like a predator growling out a warning. 

Before the response came, Sam yipped in surprise, jumping about three feet in the air. He bolted over to Danny’s side from his spot across the room, tucking in against Danny’s arm. “Something just grabbed me.” His voice trembled on his tongue. 

“Sam.” Out of instinct, Daniel wrapped a possessive arm around his best friend and pulled him tight against his side. 

“What do you want from me?” Sam was attempting to be brave, but the way his voice wavered betrayed how scared he was. 

“Everything.” With each word it spoke, the Ovilus became clearer and clearer. It still maintained its robotic tone, but the thing was not spouting words clear as day. 

Perhaps it was the cold he was suffering from or too much DayQuil. But, no matter what you wanted to blame, the outcome remained: Danny slipped up. Again. 

“Like hell you are,” Daniel growled. At the same time the Ovilus did. 

“Daniel?” Sam’s meek voice squeaked out to his right. 

“Scared. Tasty.” 

Daniel pulled Sammy closer to his side out of a surge of protectiveness. His eyes were now rapidly scanning the darkness surrounding for any signs of danger or threats. 

“Demons feast off fear…” Sam whispered. Because he was so close to Danny, the man could feel his best friend shaking. 

That was when the Ovilus started to spew words in a different robotic tone. It sounded crazy, but it was as if the voice setting was changed on the device to make it sound higher-pitched. 

“MINEMINEMINEMINEMINEMINEMINEMINE-” 

“Sam,” Daniel interrupted, his eyes locked onto the doorway to the room they all stood in. The Ovilus was still repeating itself in Danny’s hand. 

“W-What?” Sammy’s tone quivered as it escaped his lungs. Danny didn’t have to look over at him to know his face was drained of blood and his eyes were as big as the moon. He’d been in enough places that scared the shit out of Sam to have that expression of his permanently etched into his mind. 

“I need you and the crew to get out.” It was a demand that left no room for argument. 

But, of course, Sam was the exception to that rule. 

“What?? No! I’m not leaving-” 

“Damn it, Sam! I’m trying to save your life! So for once in your fucking life, do as I say!” He snapped his head over to Sam’s direction as he screamed at his best friend. There was a large pang of guilt that stabbed him through the heart as he realized he’d made Sam cry. 

“Your… your eyes…” Sam trembled out, a quaking finger pointing at Danny’s face.

With a guilty sigh, Daniel kissed Sam on the forehead as he forced himself to soften his tone. “Please. Take everyone and get as far away from here as possible. I’ll meet up with you as soon as this is over; that’s a promise.” 

With a few rapid blinks, Sam nodded his head shallowly. Daniel, reluctantly, let go of Sam before the co-host grabbed their cameraman by the arm and bolted out of the door. He spared Danny one last frightened glance before completely disappearing into the darkness. Daniel prayed (the irony was not lost on him) that seeing his love in such a terrified way was not the last way he’d ever gaze upon him. 

“In love. Disgusting.” 

Daniel just scoffed. There was no way in hell he was going to be ashamed of what he felt for Sam.

“Attach. Sam. Still.” 

“I sent him out of range, you brainless bastard,” Daniel hissed, his eyes back on the doorway. It was the spot in the room where he felt that frigid darkness in the highest volume. He would be able to see it if he weren’t in this form. 

“Sam. Frightened. You,” it taunted. Daniel knew it was just trying to get in his head, but, fuck, if it wasn’t true. He’d seen that look of terror on Sammy’s face as he’d yelled at him. 

“I’ll take that over him being dead.” Daniel growled out, his jaw clenching so hard it could have shattered his teeth. 

With a clench of his fist, the Ovilus shattered into thousands of pieces in his hand. He paid no mind to the stinging pain he experienced as his skin dripped with the blood of his fresh wounds. 

“Enough chatter. Let’s dance, gingerbread.” 

+++

Daniel had found Sam pacing on the crumbling street in front of the orphanage. While he was a little miffed that Sam decided to stay that close to the building, he could hardly stay mad. He watched for a moment as Sammy plowed his fingers through his silky locks, or chewed on the skin of his thumb, or shoved his hands into his pockets. It wasn’t until Danny approached Sam (more like limped towards him) that the man even noticed him. 

Instead of the bone-crushing hug he was expecting from his best friend, Daniel was greeted with a face full of scalding, searing, divine, holy water. 

“Fucking SHIT!” Danny wailed, clutching his face with his hands as he doubled over in pain, his knees hitting the dewy grass beneath him. 

“YOU’RE A DEMON?!” 

Sam’s screaming accusation echoed off the surrounding houses and trees, a flock of poor, unsuspecting birds taking flight into the twinkling sky. 

Daniel, feverishly wiping the blessed water off his burning skin with the sleeve of his jacket, winced at the thundering volume Sam employed. Once he got as much of the water off of his face as he could, he looked up at Sam only to be met once more with a dousing of angelic H2O. 

“Mother- Could you quit it with the holy water, please?!” Daniel begged, more than a little desperation in his tone as he pawed at his scorching skin. He was convinced that his face was going to be bubbling with blisters. 

“You’re a demon.” It was a statement. A law of nature. What goes up, must come down; Daniel Wagner is a dirty fucking demon. 

“Yes,” Daniel sighed in resignation. There was no denying it now. Not only was Danny very visibly adverse to holy water, but he was pretty sure in the heat of the moment, he had fucked up and flashed Sam his true eyes. 

“Where the fuck is my best friend?” Sam growled through gritted teeth, his hand holding the holy water lifting up as if ready to strike again. 

“Right here! Right here,” Danny rushed out, shielding himself with his arms. 

“LIAR!!” 

“No, please! Sammy! Sammy,” Danny begged again, dropping his arms so that he could look Sam in the eyes. “It’s me. It’s always been me. I swear.” 

Danny wasn’t sure what it was, but Sam lowered the holy water. A breath of relief punched out of his chest, but the demon knew that this was far from over. There was still a righteous fury burning in his eyes and a set in his jaw that would have been extremely sexy if Danny weren’t so scared of losing Sam. 

“Prove it.” 

For a moment, Daniel didn’t know what to do. His mind floundered for a way to prove that the person Sam had always known as Danny was a demon. As he fumbled around his head, Sam deemed that he was taking too long and lifted up the holy water again. 

“WAIT wait!! Shit- the first time we ever had a sleepover! It was at your house, and- and- we stayed in your shared bedroom with the twins at first, but then we snuck down to the basement to play Clue at 1 am. We got caught because we played that Carole King record too loud and woke up your mom.” Daniel was talking a mile a minute, feverishly attempting to pour his soul, or, the demon equivalent, into his words in the desperate hope Sam would believe him. 

Sam thought for a second. But it was only for a second. 

“Not good enough-”

“NO! God, Sam, please! I swear it’s me. I-I don’t know what else I can do to convince you. But I swear on my life, I’ve always been this way. And, yes, I did trick you and lie to you the whole time, I don’t deny that. But, that guy who you travel the world with and laugh with and spend all your hours with? That’s me.” Daniel didn’t know when he started crying, but he frankly didn’t care. He was too focused on searching Sam’s face for any indication that he was getting through to Sam. 

His face was as impassible as stone. 

“Fuck,” Danny whimpered under his breath, hanging his head as sobs wracked his body. 

He was losing Sam. 

“I know you don’t believe me. Hell, I don’t deserve to be believed. But, please just… please just try. You’re… You’re my best friend. You’re the reason I trapeze around the world looking for ghosts, why I shower in cold water because you take yours so scalding it nearly burns off your skin, so I let you go first. You’re the reason I know all the words to Layla by Eric Clapton and why I learned guitar. You’re the reason I get up in the mornings… the reason I breathe, Sam; so that I have enough air in my lungs to crack a joke on the off-chance I get to hear your laugh. I…” The words caught in Danny’s throat as it closed in on himself, painful sobs hiccupping out of his mouth that he tried to stifle with the press of his hand. “I love you, Sam. And… And I’d rather be tortured by Satan himself than lose you. But, I know that I hurt you. And I know that you’re afraid of me. So… if you le-” He couldn’t even form the words, even thinking them too painful of a fate. “But if you turned around and never came back, well… that’s more than I deserve.” 

The night was perfectly silent, save for Daniel’s lamenting that echoed around him, as if taunting him. He was the worst demon ever forged in hellfire. Instead of feasting off of Sam’s soul and turning him towards hell like he’d been assigned to do, Daniel went and fell in love with the bastard. And there he was now, crying like a wimp because he thought he was going to lose Sam forever. 

He was coming up with plans on how to get himself exorcized by some priest when he felt a pair of hands grab his wrists and pull them away from his face. Before Danny could even process what was happening, a pair of soft lips crashed into his own. They were so, so warm. In fact, they felt like sunshine as they chased away all of the storm clouds thundering inside of Danny. 

Before he could really even savor them, the lips were gone from Danny’s. He’s ashamed to admit it, but the demon whimpered at their loss. 

“You’re Daniel.” Despite being spoken as a statement, Danny heard the question in Sam’s words as he rested their foreheads together. 

Danny didn’t trust his voice. Instead, he nodded in confirmation. That was all Sam needed. 

“I’m so fucking pissed off at you. And I will be for a very, very, long time.” 

Daniel could not control his cry of relief as it slipped out of his mouth. A fresh set of tears flowed from his eyes, these ones warm as they streamed down his cheeks. Once again, Daniel was able to read between the lines of Sam’s words better than anyone else; Sam wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Thank you,” he managed to breathe out. He wanted so badly to pull Sam into a crushing hug, but he also did not want to test his luck. 

“I have about a million questions for you that I expect answers for. Every. Single. One. Is that understood?” Sam’s tone was still steely, but Danny could hear his resolve start to crack. 

“Anything you want. I promise.” 

Finally, Sam let go of Danny’s wrists and wrapped his arms around him. That was all Daniel needed before he copied Sam and lunged at him with so much force, Sam was sent to the ground, landing on his back. He let out a grunt as he collided with the grass, but did nothing to remove his grip on Danny. The two of them stayed there for a length of time, god only knows how long. 

“I love you, too,” Sam whispered into Danny’s ear. Overwhelmed by that confession, Daniel burst into tears all over again. Sam said nothing, just stroked Danny’s back in a soothing manner as Daniel released all of his worries over Sam rejecting him. 

After he ceased crying, Daniel helped Sam up out of the grass. Despite it being July, the night was still cold. And Danny was still sick, something Sam would make fun of him for later on when he realized it. 

“I don’t think we’ll be able to film anymore tonight,” Sam posited, his hand finding Danny’s and lacing their fingers together. Daniel felt his heart leap into his chest at the action, a smile so wide on his lips it made his cheeks hurt. 

“Good thing we have access to it tomorrow night as well,” Danny reminded, swinging their interlocked hands as they walked back towards the car they drove there from the hotel. 

“So… if demons exist… does that mean…?” 

Despite his head tilting back in exasperation, Sam’s question only made Danny’s smile grow impossibly larger. 

“Yes, Sam.” 

“I KNEW GHOSTS WERE REAL!!!”

+++

@doodle417 @sammykiszkasunusedshoes @jmks-housewife @alwayssotiredbutneverofyou @ageoferin @etoilesnoor @ascendingtostardust @godlygreta @s0livagant @gretavanflowerpower @morganic-goods  @baguettejuliette @fan-girl-97 @gaby-gvf @age-of-nyahh @mzbrightside @myownparadise96 @xserenax-13 @sammysvanfeet @strugglingtodoshit @loofypoofy @chalametpwk @seventieswhore @razorbladekiszka @unfortunatelykristin @welightthefire @gretavanfleas @sammiejane22 @satanplayshisfluteforhim @starsasone  @writingcold @tearsofbri @teddiie @GardensGateDaisy @sparrowofthedawnsworld @angelbabyyy99 @whollyfreeamongststars @gretaswhore28 @l0rdoffli3s @kay-jordan @lightmyloverry @kenzie18 @gotavansleep @roosterbbradley @freckled-wonder @flower-power-anthem @Gabyvanfleet @Sarakay-gvf @Mamalikes-gvf @josh-iamyour-mama @st4rdust-ch0rds @fallonfatality @earthlysorrows @jessicafg03 @rossy1080 @hippievanfleet @spark-my-nature @hayley1623 @schleeble @gretavanflipflop @mehboihourz @jakeydoesit @BusyBeingTrash 

[captainsspnanon]

C2E68 - Reflections - rewatch

My brain is skipping around a lot today and this episode is once again encounter heavy, let’s see how far I can make it in before my head shuts down.

Did I literally have to look up how to search for things on twitter to see if Sam actually live posted? Yes. Did he actually live post? Not according to what I could find via searching. I’m disappointed, he could have copy/pasted to do them! If he DID do them and they just got removed or didn’t show via my searching, I’m even more sad.

Wait no they’re reacting like it’s real? Did they get taken down? Just not show via search?? OH WAIT I’m looking at the day the episode posted, June 24 2019! But it would have been June 20th! *researches* AH HA!!! I am now pleased. It does seem like there are still a few that are ‘missing’, unsure if not actually sent or if somehow lost to easy searchability. Had to snip these together, the search had them all out of order.

As Nott and Yasha keep watch, and Nott introduces the idea of thinking of what’s the worst thing that could happen, I did not put it together originally that as Yasha discusses being tortured and chained up and dying that way that it’s essentially what happened to her with the Iron Shepherds. (...she doesn’t have a lot of luck with people whose names contain ‘Iron’, does she?)

As I started this scene, I was thinking about how much I love the tower and wish that they had it for more of the campaign so that we could have more scenes in it (I will never get enough of the tower), but episodes like this really wouldn’t have such poignant and important moments if they had the pretty-much-guaranteed safety of the tower. In a sense, the dome actually is much more meaningful to the Nein, simply for how long they had it, and how it provides a relative safety while still needing watches due to uncertainty, whereas watches in the tower are usually unneeded. ….now I’m doing my Mansion = VM, dome = M9 thing where they are more scrappy and living rougher. I really wonder if I would like VM more if I was able to watch a lot more of their earlier play. I don’t think so, because the group really needed to grow in terms of home-game-antics versus live-show-antics, but I miss the fact that we didn’t see the early days of VM the same way we do with the Nein. ...I just live the Nein so much you guys. SO MUCH.

“What do you mean Caleb killed his whole family?” THIS. ENTIRE. SCENE. Chefs kiss, a million out of ten, no notes at all. Sam is doing a lot of heavy lifting but Ashley is coming in with some GREAT punches “I’ll be sure to use it in front of the entire group, I’ll sound trendy”. And of course, all of this capped off by just watching EVERYONE die repeatedly in the background. CONTINUOUSLY.

In all serious, this is by far pretty much the best moment of showing how, in all three campaigns, sometimes people forget who knows what – just because it’s been so long that they’ve been playing. Liam, by all rights, could have been annoyed with Sam from dropping a huge plot point of Caleb’s background, especially just completely offhand and with no way for Caleb to even take control of the narrative for a moment. But he doesn’t. There’s such a give and take, trust and understanding at this table that I think viewers repeatedly forget. Bowlgate would never have reached the level it did if people didn’t think that Marisha and Liam were actually upset at each other over it. I remember an argument in C1 between Keyleth and Percy where the fans were TEARING Keyleth/Marisha apart, and then in the Talks after Marisha and Taliesin were talking about how funny it was because they, out of character, were completely agreeing with each OTHER’S arguments and not their own. So when accidents like this happen, there are no hard feelings and fights off camera. MAYBE, at most, Liam may have reminded Sam ‘hey that’s kind of a big thing, can you make sure you don’t bring it up with anyone else until I do, in game?’, but I very much doubt that conversation was had. (plus it’s pretty damn obvious to anyone with eyes that Liam is clearly enjoying this more than anyone else with how hard he’s laughing the entire time.)

Even better is the whiplash from such a funny scene into Caleb and Beau discussing what comes after death. This is something where I wonder if Liam had wanted to have this conversation with Beau, or if he knew it would work very well after such a funny bit to immediately move into something very dark. Interestingly, Caleb never felt to me like a PC that really ruminated on what comes after death. I can see him thinking about it more once he finally lays to rest the idea of turning back time to save his parents. I wonder if this was an early moment where he started thinking about maybe not actually taking that final step and then having to think of an after life where his parents weren’t saved. Liam was so unsure of what he would do if presented the chance, even all the way towards the end of the campaign. We never really get a resolution of if Matt would ever have let it happen the way that Liam/Caleb planned, even if it was all nat 20s, and I honestly think that’s the best for the story. Let us not know, the same way that Caleb doesn’t know. It’s the most narratively satisfying to me – I would not enjoy a story where he failed and despaired for failing, and I don’t know how Caleb would progress in a story where he succeeded and then all of a sudden it’s on Matt – do his parents forgive him? Hate him? Where do you go from there? Ending with him accepting himself, accepting his grief and responsibility as well as his lack of responsibility, it leaves much more for Caleb after the campaign ends.

Omg I forgot Caleb talks to Beau about how he’s feeling so awkward with the situation with Nott!!! I’m not saying I ship Widobrave and I’m also not saying that I DON’T ship Widobrave, but the Caleb and Nott dynamic is of the best pairing dynamics in all three campaigns bite me. (I was about to say that the only one that came close was Vex and Vax, but then I’m like wait what about Caleb and Beau, and Beau and Fjord?? So okay, I guess THOSE are my top four dynamics) It’s fun thinking about how much Beau and Caleb hated each other at the beginning of the campaign, and now he’s asking for relationship advice. THE BEST.

For all of the fact that the Fjord and Caduceus dynamic is amazing, they actually don’t have a ton of scenes together that I remember. This one, acknowledging fear with a very small mention of the gods, was very sweet.

Wait wasn’t Frumpkin a cat? ‘Cause he explored the tunnels leading in? ...Yes! Because Caleb turned him from vulture to cat when they were staying at the store place! Eh, it happens occasionally. That’s how we got a flying spider back during the Iron Shepherds bit. (goddamn it I ALWAYS want to type ‘shephard’.)

Aww!!! A C1 reference I missed the first time around, as they’re talking about being very quiet on the metal bridge they make a few ‘clang clang clang’ references to Pike.

I actually really like this part of the Gibbering Mouther encounter because while it’s just continuously rolling stealth, it provides tension without really dragging down the game. It helps to have the physical bridge there but only seeing a part of it at a time. The group doesn’t know how many times Matt’s going to keep laying out maps, but it’s also not an interminable time with theatre of the mind.

(Liam going ‘where are you Vax?’ and Marisha going ‘dead.’ 10/10)

“Laura’s calling” I love this so much

Solid credit to Matt for planning this encounter. He was reasonably able to assume pass without a trace would help them get across easily enough, so there’s disadvantage when they are at the center of the bridge, there’s a rusted out plank (I wonder if that would have existed if Nott hadn’t been searching for traps, or if it was credit for the high roll), there’s a roper ensuring that some noise would be made just due to natural combat, without penalizing any players for their actions, Matt designed this so that there would HAVE to be a multitude of wisdom saves. Plus, while I’m not sure what the rolls are, either Matt is consistently rolling ‘bad’, or there is a higher chance that a PC just loses their turn, rather than leaps off the edge or attacks someone, so it also doesn’t feel super targeted. Out of the five build-up encounters of this area (spiders, lightning, zombies, this, and then mirror people) this one is my favorite. (though in all fairness I also completely forgot about the mirror people until I saw them on critrolestats, so….)

Interesting with the conversation with Liam about holding a spell as a reaction, I thought you could use a different spell for your reaction but you’d lose your held spell. I can’t find an easy answer on google though, so who knows. I’m pretty sure he wanted to use feather fall. Whether it’s accurate to rules or not, I think I would have ruled that he could cast feather fall, but lost the slow spell including still losing the spell slot for it. (then again, Matt consistently rules that you can’t move for a held action, but RAW you can, from what I can tell) Also I feel like he’s ruled differently about this later on. Ah, mechanics. So not my forte.

*later*

*grits teeth* I must not scream about my bullshit coworkers. I must not vent about my coworkers online where, even though this is an anonymous site, there is always the slight possibility that they will find the posts. I will ONLY say through teeth clenched so hard that they might crack, wonderful to know that you can take a month and a half to get me information that I needed (which other people were getting on my back about not being completed and I had to keep reminding them that I cannot make the decisions you make), but now that you need information from me – in a SIGNIFICANT amount of detail – you’re getting all pissy that I’m saying it might take me a week to do. You know, after all the shit that I have to do with my regular work, PLUS the fact that you only just got me the info *I* needed, and updating what I need to do will take time! But no, you get to send multiple high importance emails and give me shit that I can’t get it to you fast enough.

*screams*

Okay, with that vent done and to deal with all that shit tomorrow at work, time to get back into an awesome encounter. Which I think is almost done? Just time for the Laura/Travis/Matt interaction about player agency that I will talk about once it hits.

And there it is! In fairness to Travis, the message from Laura was not ‘do this’ and he was saying no. It was preceded with an ‘if’ (though the wording details are of course unknown). While him refusing to do something that Laura tells him directly to do is a sheer dick move, the fact that in the moment he is uncertain about if the ‘if’ factor qualified, or if her plans would have changed, the fact that there was a delay, I can understand his motive. Especially because he didn’t have Jester do something else, he had her hold her action, which then, assuming Laura clarified, he could then ask Matt to do whatever it was.

On the other hand, once again, fantastic table. Sam gets clarification multiple times that Travis is not doing what he was requested to (done in a humorous and exaggerated effect, but also still clearly checking in and bringing it to attention – likely that this was a choice he disapproved of but didn’t want to come right out and say it). After Sam does his spiel (I SWEAR that word should have an H in it somewhere, fuck spelling), Matt, having very clearly picked up what Sam was putting down, gives Travis another opportunity for clarification. Is Travis, being given clear instructions, disregarding a player’s agency because she was not there. And this is the moment that Travis clarifies the ‘if’ that Laura had originally given him.

Now, I’m not one to over analyze microexpressions (I mean, yes I kind of am, shut up), but when Sam starts his bit, you can visibly see Matt 1) turn to completely face Travis, 2) get a more serious cast to his face, and 3) start to open his mouth, only to allow Sam to finish before he goes to Travis for clarification. There’s a lot of situations at the table where I wonder what would have happened if a moment went differently, or what a conversation would be off screen, but here, I don’t really need to imagine much. If Travis had refused, if he hadn’t clarified the ‘if’ statement, I would lay solid money down that Matt would have told him that Laura’s judgement ruled, regardless of what Travis wanted to do. It wouldn’t have been mean, hell it probably wouldn’t even have been Uncomfortable, but I cannot see Matt do anything except put his foot down in this moment.

Luckily, all that ends up being not needed because the delay was enough time for Laura to text back and confirm that it was no longer an ‘if’, she wanted to do the action, and Travis IMMEDIATELY went along with her choice. This is also why I don’t really consider this too much to be Travis trying to take away player agency or anything like that. As soon as there was the confirmation he instantly and without hesitation had Jester do what Laura said. The only reason he even hesitated in the first place is because he was still unsure of what she wanted to do.

Huh, something I missed on the first watch, why does Matt have the mouther try to bite Jester? I think he just forgot that it wasn’t it’s turn, unless it’s got a reaction which allows it to make an attack whenever a creature comes within range? I’m usually not nitpicky about Matt’s DMing, I’m surprised that I’ve got a few things poking at me this time.

(Sam having written dumb things about Laura or said by ‘Laura’ on his flask, only to update it to super nice things once Jester saves Nott. Sadly critrolestats only has one image, but it has “Sam is a genius” “I eat farts” “Laura Buttley” and “I heart thick ass tentacles”. Rewinding a bit to count bridge sections, there was also mustace and beard, “ass without a trace” and I THINK “dicks are dumb”, “Travis you motherfucker”. Sadly, youtube comments don’t have them listed, and Flando’s comments were more general. LOL never mind. Coming back here from the second half of the episode and it’s all gag stuff again. Drawing of a penis, the traveler wuz here, other stuff I can’t make out.)

“Thankfully, Nott and Jester didn’t spend enough time in the chasm’s grasp to experience its blinding spittle, which does exactly what it sounds like. Had anyone dropped to zero hit points by being bitten by the chasm, they would have dissolved into the chasm and become another set of eyes and whispering mouths amongst it.” HOLY FUCK CRITROLESTATS. I did not know that, and I feel like I didn’t need to know that. Holy shit we could have gotten a permadeath! I mean, unlikely considering that it didn’t do too much damage and the party had a billion ways of getting out of there (dimension door, misty step, thunder step, polymorph anyone into something that flies, etc. etc.) but still! COOOL AF.

Once again, giving full credit to Matt for the design of this encounter. He has Jester and Nott end up one segment of bridge down at the end of the bridge, so the encounter is almost finished. But! The players were technically in the ‘center’ of the bridge, and I just went back to review. It took five bridge segments for the players to reach the first ‘center’ of the bridge, and then the one that they are on right now is the sixth section. By all accounts, there should be five more sections of bridge that they have to travel along. But, in terms of interesting encounter, five more sections with a banished roper and just continued stealth rolls AFTER the badass moment of Jester jumping down and dimension dooring? Then it can just become tedious, with more of a desire to just finish up the section and move ON, rather than actual tenseness from the encounter. So Matt, by having such a flexible design, allows the encounter to end significantly earlier which feels good both for viewer and for player.

Oh hey the whip! Don’t they give that to Fjord when he loses his powers?

AH! I’d forgotten about this speak with dead moment so figured it wasn’t important (why do I do that, I’ve clearly forgotten very awesome moments and things) and it’s when they first get the name of the Laughing Hand! Very specifically also mentioned to be The Undying too, nice foreshadowing there. Once again, Sam being way more in tune than he likes to portray outside of the game, immediately recognizing the relationship to the King.

Caduceus/Taliesin asked very good questions here (and Matt is generous with allowing a redo for a question that didn’t quite work), but a tiny part of me wishes that he’d used the last question about asking about Nott’s flask. Granted, asking how to survive the mirror chamber and being told ‘don’t continue’ is AWESOME AS FUCK and incredibly atmospheric, but imagine the laughs!

Interesting that they do find footprints which I am assuming to be Obann, because I thought Obann essentially ended up tricking them into clearing out the tombs for him. Hmmm, I guess not. Wiki doesn’t specify it at all. Maybe the party mentions it as a concern that they had and I took it for fact? Or I’m mixing up facts from a different section, or possible different campaign entirely XD

Thought I was gonna finish this today in a shockingly fast two day rewatch, but with an hour left my focus is shot. Let’s see if I can finish it tomorrow and have a three day turn around!

LOL nope instead I had a week from hell with basically no sleep so now my sleep schedule is all fucked up. AND I started getting pain in one of my teeth yesterday, so I probably have a cavity. T.T But at least I’ll finish this today, so still technically only three days of watching? Just….with a week break inbetween XD

I wonder why Fjord was able to touch the mirror and only see a glimpse of movement, whereas Yasha touched the mirror and was immediately pulled through? I mean, in game reason. I’m pretty sure the Doylist explanation was that Matt was building tension (and very successfully!). Perhaps the creatures were waiting to see what happened?

This map is truly amazing. Once again, it’s technically a ‘simple’ map, just walls at weird angles and then mirrors, but because of that simplicity it makes it distracting and jarring with all the reflections. Definite proof that a good encounter doesn’t need a fantastic map – with this one so simple and the other one literally just chunks of a bridge at a time.

While the concept of this encounter is very fun, especially with the additional puzzle aspect, I don’t find it as engaging as crossing the bridge. The creatures make look like the other PCs, but there’s no mechanical benefit to the deception, which would have been fun. I think my ranking would be bridge, lighting chamber, zombies, reflections, spiders.

Ah! I forgot about the music trick to get through the door! Very very clever! I wonder if Matt would have still had that as a requirement if they’d never heard the music through the statues. I’m assuming not, and he would have a different method of getting through.

Always a fan of the little after-conversations before the streaming wraps. Especially when Travis tries to weasel information out of Matt. (Oddly, I find in C3 that Matt is more willing to share information after a session.)

[mossflowermouse]

This is a gift for @ah-nakin as part of the @starwarssecretsanta exchange - I hope you like it! Massive thanks to @lilhawkeye3 for organizing this, it’s been so much fun <3

(1.5k. In which Obi-Wan’s padawan and grandpadawan kids decide he needs a rest, pretty much everyone agrees with them, and nobody in this lineage is capable of doing anything without being Dramatic about it.)

Anakin and Ahsoka have been plotting something.

Not that there’s any real proof of it, mind you – they’ve become far too careful with their schemes lately to actually risk him overhearing anything – but Obi-Wan’s seen them trading glances, and he knows that look. At the very least, it means mischief. At its worst, well, quite a few officials are still scratching their heads over how anyone had managed to divert two-thirds of a parade plus cheering onlookers through the middle of the Temple last Republic Day. Although in fairness to the two of them, that one hadn’t been entirely their fault. It would have been resolved far more quickly had Master Yoda not chosen to interpret “please help” as “please help Anakin and Ahsoka” and gone to assure a bemused steward that of course this was the correct route for the parade, keep going you should, enjoying it the younglings are. 

(Mace had eyed Obi-Wan a little suspiciously when he’d informed the Council of that part. Obi-Wan had given his friend his most innocent I’m-a-responsible-Jedi-Master look in return; after all, his intention in going to Master Yoda had been to get the misunderstanding cleared up. And if it hadn’t been, Mace can’t prove it.)

Now, though, his padawans seem to be taking steps to avoid including him in their newest plot. Which means he’s almost certainly the target.

Ah well. Whatever it is will most likely be a nuisance, but a harmless one. There’s no point worrying about it now. Obi-Wan has more pressing matters to address, like the stack of paperwork he really ought to make a start on before the Council meeting at noon, and then there are a few odds and ends to check with Anakin about, and then –

There’s a knock at the door. He knows before answering it that Anakin and Ahsoka are standing outside, their familiar Force signatures bright with amusement. Well then. Perhaps he won’t have to wait that long to find out what they’re up to after all.

The first thing Obi-Wan sees as the door slides open is Anakin’s grin, which more or less confirms his hunch; Ahsoka is out of sight.

“Anakin. I wasn’t expecting to see you up this early. What brings you here?”

Anakin smiles innocently at him, which is never a good sign. “Well, Ahsoka and I were talking, and we think you should take more days off. Starting today. Take a break, Master, it’ll be good for you.”

Obi-Wan wonders, a little guiltily, if he’s misjudged his padawan’s intentions. “I appreciate the thought, Anakin, but I really can’t take today off. There’s an awful lot to sort out while we’re still on Coruscant, so…”

He trails off, suspicions returning in full force as Anakin’s smile widens. “Oh, don’t worry, Master. We’ve got everything planned out.” This is definitely what they’ve been scheming about, then. Obi-Wan wonders if he ought to have a bad feeling about it.

And speaking of we – Obi-Wan narrows his eyes. “Anakin, why is Ahsoka hiding in the corridor? We all know I know she’s there.”

Anakin steps back from the door and gestures to his left, inviting Obi-Wan to take a look. He does. Standing in the corridor and trying desperately to look serious is Ahsoka, wearing a set of Obi-Wan’s robes and a cloak that trails on the floor and a – he squints at the piece of orange fabric stuck to her chin – is that meant to be his beard? It’s awfully scruffy. And rather hastily made, from the looks of it. He blinks a few times in confusion.

“I’m going to be you for the day!” Ahsoka announces. “So you can rest and you don’t have to worry about missing anything.”

Obi-Wan really doesn’t think that’s how this works, but he’s prevented from saying so by Anakin chiming in again. “That’s right. Look, Master, the resemblance is striking. Nobody will even know the difference.”

Obi-Wan stares pointedly at Ahsoka’s montrals and terrible fake beard, then raises an eyebrow at Anakin, who just snickers a little. Before Obi-Wan can rebuke him, though, Ahsoka fixes Anakin with a look of mild disapproval, rubs her temples wearily, and says “Anakin” in an uncannily precise imitation of Obi-Wan’s Coruscanti accent. If he’s being honest, it’s a little surreal.

“Now, Snips, don’t tease Obi-Wan,” Anakin chides. Obi-Wan’s not sure he’s ever heard him sound less sincere. “But she’s right, you know, Master. We can handle everything.”

This is a little ridiculous. “Anakin, I have a Council meeting today - ”

“Don’t worry, Master, we already knew about it,” Anakin interrupts cheerfully. “Ahsoka can manage.”

Ahsoka, who if Obi-Wan recalls correctly was complaining about having to attend so many long briefings just last Taungsday, nods confidently and gives him a reassuring smile. “We’ve got this, Master Kenobi. Just relax!”

“Ahsoka will be there right on time for the meeting, won’t you, Snips?”

Obi-Wan can’t believe this. They can’t be serious.

He looks at them again and sighs internally. No, they are.

***

“ – and I checked with Cody and he told me you didn’t have anything urgent to sort out for the 212th while everyone is on shore leave, and that just leaves your meeting, and we’ve already got that sorted out, trust me, so – ”

“Anakin. I believe you. And I already said I’ll take the day to relax, you don’t have to keep trying to convince me.” It’s…mostly true, though Obi-Wan’s still planning to get a little of that paperwork done once they’ve left to go and cause chaos.

Anakin beams, basking in the success of a plan well executed. “That’s great, Master. Oh, I almost forgot! One other thing before we go – Ahsoka, that cloak’s way too long, you’d better leave it here.”

Ahsoka’s face lights up; clearly this part was planned, because right on cue, she shrugs out of the cloak with a level of exaggerated melodrama that rivals her grandmaster. Obi-Wan’s honestly a little proud to see it.

Anakin picks up the discarded cloak, wraps it around Obi-Wan’s shoulders with a flourish, and steers him firmly back into his room. On his way out, he calls over his shoulder, “By the way, Cody took your ‘pad earlier, so you’re not wriggling out of a day off by doing paperwork either. Relax, Master!”

So even Cody has joined the conspiracy against him. Obi-Wan will admit the betrayal stings a little. He sinks into a chair and resigns himself to a day of doing nothing in particular.

Two and a half cups of tea and half an hour of meditation later, Obi-Wan’s decided this might not be so bad after all. Though he ought to comm someone to explain. Yoda perhaps. Or – no, Yoda will just laugh, better to speak to Mace. And maybe make sure Anakin and Ahsoka don’t cause too much of a disturbance in his absence.

***

“Good morning, Padawan Tano,” holo-Mace says, completely deadpan. “Can I help you with anything?”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to turn the comm back off and throw it across the room; instead, he settles for giving his friend a deeply unimpressed look almost uniquely reserved for Anakin at his most irresponsible. “Mace. If this is meant as revenge for helping them with Republic Day…”

The corner of Mace’s mouth twitches, subtle enough that most would pass it off as a flicker of the holo without a second thought. “Certainly not, padawan.” Yes, it absolutely is. “You seem frustrated. Is there a problem?”

Obi-Wan huffs with exaggerated displeasure that entirely fails to make Mace look even a little bit sorry. “I was planning to explain my absence from the meeting and apologize in advance for anything Ahsoka and Anakin might get up to, but it seems there’s no need. Just how many people did they rope into this, Mace?”

Mace chuckles, dropping the act. “The rest of the Council, Skywalker’s droids, and I expect half your battalion will be in on it too by the end of the day. If you insist on working through every spare minute you shouldn’t be surprised when people notice it, Obi-Wan. They’re only trying to make sure you look after yourself.”

“This seems like far too much effort just to get me to take a day off. You could have just asked.”

“Perhaps,” Mace admits. “But it was funnier to see what Tano and Skywalker would come up with. Although I may regret saying that in a few hours.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, smiling fondly.

The same smile returns early that evening when his padawans drop in, Ahsoka now sporting an even more ridiculous fake beard and Anakin carefully balancing three cups of tea. Obi-Wan invites them both to sit down and gently straightens Ahsoka’s new beard – made by Quinlan this time, apparently, and it covers half her face and is longer than her lekku and honestly, where did Quinlan even get the time to make this? – before taking a seat again himself. As Anakin passes out the tea and Ahsoka excitedly begins to tell him about what Master Plo said to her in the Council meeting, Obi-Wan realises he’s quite intrigued by the inevitably chaotic details of their day. Particularly since with the rest of the Council enabling them this time, nobody can falsely claim he’s responsible for any of it. 

He takes a sip of his tea and settles in to listen.

[flyingchiclets]

Missed a few week due to discouragement but back on the horse we go. Not much progress on previously posted WIPS but there’s been some other luck (depending on who you ask). I volunteered to write @rimouskis some disappointed!Geno and/or angry!Sid fic after a devastating loss to the Devils, and while I want her to have first dibs I’m pretty pleased with what I’ve got so far. It’ll eventually go to AO3 (same username as here). Working title is “A Captain and his Alternate”, so a snip from scene one. Second fic is from when I was trying to push myself to write using a prompt from a festival a month and a halfish ago. Title is the prompt number, so nothing more nothing less on it. Fics under a cut, no warnings needed.

“A Captain and his Alternate”

“I see you yank his leash, I don’t like.” Zhenya shakes his head. “Don’t do again.”

”All right. May I tell him goodnight?”

Zhenya inclines his head and leans on the entryway of the kitchen to give him space but let him know he’s being observed.

“Remember what we talked about.” Mario says softly, gesturing Sidney over and looking at him expectantly. Sidney reluctantly moves and makes a face as Mario rubs behind his ears. He doesn’t want to lean into it, even if it does feel good. Too good - shit. He was supposed to have more time. “Goodnight Sidney. Zhenya.”

“Goodnight Mario.” Zhenya says, waiting until the door is closed again before he huffs a sigh out and looks at Sidney with a deep frown. “Sid… tell me what happen.”

“I barely pushed him and he fucking dove.”

“It was hard push. He saw chance to be sneaky with ref and take. I’m worst at bad stupid penalties, at least let Laffy draw stupid - you supposed to take care when I’m gone.”

“I know!” Sidney hisses and flattens his ears back with a low growl. “Do you have any idea how hard it is being off the ice-”

“I’m know!” Zhenya points jerkily at his right knee, much stronger than it was two weeks ago - but still nowhere near play ready. “Too well. You know how hard I fight to get you A? To promise Sully you do good and you help?”

“The refs gave the game away.” He’s got his shoulders up to where his human ears would be if he had them and silently curses his fate. “It’s not my fault-”

“If you know refs making shit call you make them make good ones! You -” Zhenya groans as he struggles to find the English words. “Ah - change attack, how is call?”

“Strategize?”

“Yes, use different strategy.” Zhenya shakes his head wearily. “You can’t react like angry kitten.”

“Jesus Christ, Zhenya, it’s bad enough that Philly calls me that.” His fists are clenched and his ears are flat. Zhenya’s normally beautiful mouth is ugly now. Spitting hurtful, ugly words instead of laying soothing kisses. “Now I have to put up with it from you too?”

“Listen to what I’m say!” He slaps his large palm against the doorframe with a loud huff. “You make stupid decisions Sidney, everyone so happy you back and we lose! We last in Metro now! You want they take alternate from you? I’m not know what you think, how you feel, you won’t let me help!”

Sidney flinches from the sound of his hand and straightens instead of shrinking back. He flexes his claws and curls his fluffed tail nervously, trying to make himself seem bigger. “I’m angry, okay? I came back and I blew it.”

“You better than that! I’m expect better!” Zhenya scoffs at him. “Don’t flex claws at me, I’m last person to hurt you. I’m so disappointed with you.”

“You think I wanted us to lose?!”

“You never want us lose, I don’t want either. But referees stupid and you not play smart!”

“Stop yelling at me!”

Zhenya sighs wearily and nods, lifting his palms. “I’m sorry I yell. Just expect better - because you better.”

Prompt 192 (for a kink fest, but this scene doesn’t involve any form of sex): Centaur!Geno X Sid (small liberty taken: Geno is a horse shifter that can shift human, centaur, full horse)

“C’mon, EJ said he wanted to give me a tour. Have you already had one?” Sidney asks as he links their fingers and leads Geno slowly back downstairs.

“Not a full one, just barn.” Geno walks easily with him and pauses at the foot of the stairs when he sees EJ with a scrapbook in hand and seated at the kitchen table.

“Perfect timing. I wanted to show you guys what I found when I was cleaning my office up.” EJ jostles the book and gestures them in. “Tour immediately after, promise.”

“Aw, a scrapbook?” Sid asks as he slides into a chair on the longer side of the table so Geno can sit next to him. Sid links their fingers again once he sits and watches EJ open the cover of the book to show a carefully sealed page with a small horseshoe mounted on it. Tidy handwriting, presumably EJ’s mother’s, is underneath it.

‘EJ’s first shoe’

“Your family’s always been nuts about horses, huh?” Sid asks, smiling and looking over at EJ.

“It definitely runs in the family.” EJ grins wryly and turns the page to show a few Polaroids painstakingly held to the cardstock by the corners. “That’s me having my first shod.”

Geno’s heart is hammering in his chest, and he swears his hand is dripping in Sidney’s as EJ points at his skinny childhood self in miniature, holding still while his father is crouched down and talking to him in a bid to distract him while a farrier works on shodding his hooves. Sid’s expression shifts when EJ mentions ‘my first set of shoes’ and he does the math, and he looks at the young centaur in the photos and back to EJ.

“You’re a shifter?” Sid asks softly, leaning forward so he can look more closely at the pictures - one of each hoof being fitted for shoes and another of them being nailed in place. Geno figures it should be time to break the silence, and chuckles a little bit. “EJ you such small, cute colt. What happen?”

“Yeah, I mean - both my parents are, it runs in the family.” He turns the page again, showing himself a little older and taller, still lanky, standing between his parents with all of them shifted. His expression darkens when Geno takes a dig at him. “Rude, man.”

“G.” Sid tsks and nudges him, making a face when he realizes how clammy his hand is. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine.” Geno promises, absently letting go so he can wipe his hand on his pants. “Is no big deal.”

“I thought horse racing was horrifically abusive?” Sid asks as he seems to let the pieces fit together. “Not that you’re cruel-”

“It is. I’m trying to prove a point that it doesn’t have to be.” EJ grins a little bit and blushes. “Geno was teasing me yesterday that the trainers I have here massage the horses. They’re athletes too, they need care for their muscles.”

“That’s so great though, no wonder you’ve been doing pretty good in all the races.” Sidney says and looks back to the book as EJ turns the page. Sid’s expression wilts into one of adoration at the picture of EJ, human, clinging to his father’s shoulders and standing up on his back - both of them are blurred from his father’s pace. “It explains a little bit.”

“I get that a lot.” EJ laughs and hands the scrapbook over, letting Sidney and Geno flick through without even flinching at his more ‘teenaged awkwardness’ photos. “The ranch is kind of a little retreat for myself, too. Other shifters in the league who aren’t out swing in sometimes. Even non-shifters, too. If they’re worth a damn.”

Sidney laughs and blushes as he shakes his head. “Thanks, EJ. We’re flattered.”

Geno involuntarily winces and feels his skin heat, but he soldiers on and gently gives Sidney a nudge. “You have mouse in your pocket you not tell me about?”

EJ winces as well and looks apologetically at Geno - as though asking ‘you want me to stay?’

“What?” Sidney asks, looking up from the scrapbook and at Geno with the gears clearly spinning in his head.

“I’m shifter.” He’s trying to keep his voice from wobbling too much but it’s hard with how intently Sidney is staring at him. “I want to tell you, I just-”

“It’s been ten years,” Sidney hisses as hurt streaks across his face, expression incredulous as he puts his head in his hands. “Geno.”

“I’m sorry, Sid. That’s why come out here, invite too - I want to tell you.” He reaches his hand out and gently rests his fingertips on Sid’s knee while keeping his touch light. “...We talk about future, joke about kids, and I don’t want to hide from you.”

As always thanks for reading, feel free to send me prompts through asks or a message! I do love a good chatfic and the challenge of blitzwriting on demand.

[pixieposts]

Bad Things Bingo

AO3

The first fill I did for my BTHB card was: Mouth Stitched Shut!

TWs: Description of injuries Blood Referenced PTSD symptoms

Fjord paced the dinning room again, the same way he had every day for the last month. If he wasn’t pacing then he was searching, and if he wasn’t searching than he was training. Anything to trick his brain into believing they were making some kind of progress towards getting Caleb back.

“You’re going to wear a groove into the floor.”

“We should just go get him”

“He’s in literally the most secure place in the Empire Fjord, you remember how well that went last time.”

“We got out, didn’t we? He’d do it for us!”

“I’m with Fjord on this one” Beau growled from the where she was sitting with her feet up on the table “we managed it last time, we can do it again.”

“We barely managed it last time” Jester corrected her, taking her hand gently “we could totally have died in there, we almost got stuck.”

He felt the frustration burn in his chest; they were missing the point! Beau was the only one who got it, the fact that they knew how bad the place was made it even more important that they go.

“Yeah, and how do you think—”

Before he could finish his sentence, there was a familiar popping sound from the front hall. They looked at each other briefly before jumping up and bolting for the door. Standing in the hall were three figures, well, two were standing while they held the other up. Fjord summoned Star Razor immediately, stepping closer to the trio.

“Wait” Eodwulf’s voice was rough, almost desperate “please, we cannot stay, or he will notice our absence.”

They stepped forward, pushing the unconscious Caleb towards him as he dropped Star Razor back into the ether. He caught Caleb, wrapping an arm tightly around him and supporting his weight as he slumped against Fjord's chest.

“Please, we got him out as soon as we could, help him.”

“Wha—” Beau started forward, but before she could reach them, they had disappeared again.

Fjord paused for a moment as the air settled, Caleb’s scarf fluttering slightly on the hook it still occupied. Caleb stirred slightly against him, and he tightened his hold automatically, leaning to lift Caleb into his arms.

“Fucking hells” Beau cursed, and Fjord couldn’t help but agree.

Caleb looked awful, deathly pale with deep bruising around his eyes. He was lighter than usual, the bones of his hands clearly defined. It looked as though his nose had been broken and reset at least once, and there was dried blood all over his face and in his hair. The worst part by far though… the part that made Fjords stomach flip in distress and disgust, was his mouth.

Someone (he was sure he knew who) had stitched it closed with some kind of rough spun black cord. Nine neat X’s all the way across, with more blood dried all around it, and dark bruises around each of the punctures.

There was a gagging noise from beside him as Beau looked Caleb over, and a horrified gasp from Jester on his other side. He turned, looking them both in the eye to make sure they would follow, then made his way to the happy room. He laid Caleb on the couch as gently as he could, worried about any unseen injuries he might have hidden under the tattered clothes.

“Beau, get Caduceus… Jester, grab the healers kit from the kitchen, would you?”

They ran off, Beau towards the garden and Jester back down the stairs, as Fjord got Caleb as comfortable as he could. He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over Caleb’s shivering form, and tucked his messy hair back behind his ears. Heat seemed to radiate off his skin, and Fjord worried about the possibility of infection. He felt a tug in his chest, a tight sort of pain at the sight of Caleb lying like this. They had been through a lot together, literal death a few times… but there was something particularly difficult about seeing just how much he had been through alone. He hadn’t had any of them to help, no one to lean on or turn to… they had failed him.

Jester got back first, kneeling next to him and popping open the kit. Fjord reached in, grabbing the sharp gauze scissors that were kept in there.

“Oooh” Jester whispered “good idea Fjord! The kitchen scissors are way too big for…for…”

She trailed off, going pale as the reality of Caleb’s issue hit her yet again. Fjord rubbed a hand down her back soothingly for a moment before turning back towards Caleb. He took a breath, steadying his hand as he slid the thin scissor blade under the first X, relieved to see that it fit… though just barely. He was too nervous to try and cut the center of the X, so he settled for just snipping the threads individually. He was halfway through the second one when there was a pounding of feet from the hallway. He held his breath as Jester jumped up, throwing open the door and shushing the others. Caleb didn’t need his hand to slip and add another scar to this new collection. He felt Caduceus and Jester settle next to him again and heard a horrified gasp that he recognized as Veth. Beau was whispering now, explaining what had happened he assumed, but he ignored them. It likely only took a few minutes for him to finished snipping through the cords, but it felt like much longer as he worked from one end of Caleb’s mouth to the other. Jester took the scissors from him and handed him a pair of tweezers automatically. He nodded his thanks and set to work carefully removing the now-loose strings.

Caleb winced as he tugged the middle ones out, brows furrowing in discomfort. Fjord heard himself apologizing, whispering nonsense as he kept going. The others were silent now, watching as he dropped the blood crusted strings to the floor. Finally, finally, it was done.

He sat back, moving on reluctant legs so that Jester could start healing the re-opened punctures. He watched with relief as they closed over, and the other bruises and cuts faded into nothing. Caduceus had stepped in to help as well, healing unseen injuries along Caleb’s torso and limbs, frowning in concern. Once they had done all they could, they stepped back, nodding to the others. They all crowded around the couch, and Fjord reached out, gently pressing a hand to his forehead. The fever he had felt before was gone, and Caleb’s face had relaxed.

“Now what?” Veth asked quietly “he’s still out…”

“He’s been through a lot, maybe we should move him to his bed?” Caduceus mused, looking at Fjord.

He felt a slight shock at being so directly asked what to do… but he shook it off and nodded at Caduceus.

“Yeah, yeah that seems like a good idea… at least he’ll be more comfortable.”

That decided, they stepped back and allowed him space to scoop Caleb up again as gently as he could. Despite his care, Caleb stirred in his arms, eyes fluttering open with a grimace. Everyone froze for a moment as Caleb stared at him, blinking slowly.

“H-hey there Cay… you can go back to sleep if you want, you’re safe now.”

Blue eyes, hazy and confused, stared into his for a moment more before Caleb nodded once, turned his face to press against Fjords shoulder, and shut his eyes again. Fjord stood still as his breathing slowed and evened out, half of him glad that Caleb trusted him enough to fall back to sleep… and half even more concerned about just how much he had gone through in order to be this out of it. He led the group back down the stairs, pausing at the library door so Veth could slip past and open it for him, then open the door to Caleb’s room as well. As he walked in, Veth pulled down the sheets and laid out extra pillows, watching him with concern as he laid Caleb out and pulled the blankets up. He caught her eye and nodded, forcing a tight smile onto his face which she returned. If there was one thing they agreed on, it was keeping Caleb safe and comfortable.

They filed back out of the room, leaving both doors ajar automatically and heading for the dinning room again.

“I’ll go make some tea I think.”

“Wine, definitely wine” Beau added, following Caduceus to the kitchen “to drink… not to make, um...”

The rest of them sat around the large table, expressions ranging from stoic and concerned, to just plain sad. Fjord took a deep breath, sighing as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. There was nothing else they could do right now, they just had to wait for Caleb to be up and ready to talk.

“This sucks, it just really really sucks you know?” Jester glared at her sketchbook “I am going to send Astrid such a mean message when I figure out what to say.”

“At least they brought him back” Veth ventured “but… yeah, definitely send her something mean… yell at her in infernal or something.”

“I would like to go pay them a visit” Yasha said, her voice that dangerous level of quiet “go and thank them for everything they did.”

“Well, I guess we don’t really know that they like… actually did any of it right? Maybe it was all Icky-Thong”

“Doubt it.”

There was another space of silence as Beau re-emerged with two bottles of wine and a plate covered in glasses. Fjord took one with a nod, sipping slowly at it as Jester went back to writing, occasionally showing the page to Veth. They had been sitting there, talking quietly and trying to calm their nerves for just over an hour when they heard it.

A scream, blood curdling and terrified.

Fjord and Beau were fastest up, both out the door towards the library and Caleb’s room. They burst through and Fjord felt like his heart would break. Caleb had stopped screaming, a hand pressed firmly over his mouth as he sat up in bed with his back to the corner, eyes wide in the dark. Beau lit a candle on the desk as Fjord approached the bed slowly, hands outstretched.

“Alright, you’re alright Cay… we’ve got you, you’re home. Just—just breathe with me okay?”

Caleb stared at him for a moment, fear evident in his face before moving his hand and copying Fjords slow, even breathing. Veth climbed up onto the bed, reaching a hand out questioningly. Caleb seemed skittish but reached a shaking hand back to her slowly. Fjord sat on the edge of the bed, trying to calm his own racing heart as Beau let out a sigh from where she was leaning against the desk. Caduceus walked in, setting a cup of tea quietly on the bedside table and offering Caleb a small smile.

“Perhaps we should ah… take turns saying hello? I think we might be a bit overwhelming all at once.”

“Good idea” Yasha stepped forward, patting Caleb’s knee lightly before whispering a soft “welcome back” and heading out into the library.

Slowly the others did similar, making sure not to move too suddenly, until it was just Caleb, Fjord and Veth left in the room. Fjord watched Caleb the whole time, concern growing like a buzz in his head. Caleb hadn’t spoken a word since he had woken the first time… the only sound he had made was that ungodly scream.

“Is that okay?” Fjord indicated the space next to Caleb on the bed, waiting until he nodded before moving to sit there “Can I get you anything? Does anything hurt?”

Caleb shook his head, but looked down, worrying his bottom lip until it started to bleed and Fjord put out a hand to stop him.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you—are you upset that we didn’t get there faster? I’m so sorry Caleb, we tried but that place is hell to get into and—well you know that I guess—I… I’m just so fucking sorry you had to go through that again.”

Caleb looked back up at him, shaking his head slightly, and Fjord felt his chest constrict. Of course he would be upset with them, they had left him with that monster. Left him to suffer and be in pain all alone again. Caleb seemed to read his expression, because his eyes went wide and he shook his head harder, placing his free hand on Fjords knee and squeezing gently.

“Talk to me Cay, tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours” Fjord pleaded “I want to help.”

Caleb sighed, focussing on where his hand met Fjords leg for a moment. Fjord could tell by his expression that he was trying to decide on something. Eventually, he nodded to himself and looked back up at Fjord. His expression was… almost apologetic, and Fjord was confused.

Until he opened his mouth.

Fjord felt nausea rise in his stomach instantly, followed very closely by a wave of unimaginable anger. Fjord had been angry before, had felt that surge of heat that lead to a particularly good punch or the end of an enemies life… but he had never felt anything like this.

“Veth… go get Jester, quickly”

“What? Why? I thought they--”

“The fucker cut out his tongue Veth”

Veth gave an indignant shriek that made Caleb jump and curl in on himself, mouth snapping shut. Fjord reached out without thinking, wrapping an arm around him and rubbing up and down his arm. Veth’s whispered apologies where the only sound for a few minutes before she climbed off the bed and headed for the library. Fjord pulled Caleb in tighter, squeezing his bicep gently.

“It’s gonna be okay Cay, we’ll get this sorted out, you’re gonna be okay.”

Caleb had stopped shaking by the time Jester poked her head around the doorframe, concern on her face. The look she gave Fjord told him that Veth had explained what was going on already, so he sent her a tight smile. She walked in with much less energy than she usually would have, perching on the bed the way Fjord had initially.

“Hey there Cay-leb” she singsonged quietly “do you might if I take a look? I’m totally sure that me and the Traveller can fix you right up, but I just need to see the um… the damage.”

Fjord felt Caleb go still next to him, and then the light movement of him nodding slowly before he leaned away from him. Relief washed over Jesters face and she scooted closer, carefully concealing whatever negative reaction the sight of Caleb’s tongueless mouth caused in her. She inspected it for a moment, then nodded slightly.

“Oookay, the Traveller totally says we can fix this up… but it might be sort of uncomfortable, okay?”

Caleb sent her a look that clearly indicated that he was already uncomfortable, so this couldn’t be much worse. She smiled at him, a softer version of her usual beam, and laid her fingertips against his cheek.

“Promise my hands are like super-duper clean.”

He closed his mouth but nodded. Fjord could have sworn he could feel the nervous energy coming off Caleb. He moved close again, setting a hand between Caleb’s shoulder blades. Caleb’s eyes darted to him, and he could see gratefulness there… but also fear. Fjord frowned slightly, Caleb wasn’t afraid of pain, he had never shied away from it before… And he had definitely never been nervous about healing. Something was wrong, it set Fjords nerves on edge, either some kind of instinct or just having spent so much time around Caleb made him certain this was—there was something very wrong.

As the pink and green glimmer of Jesters magic started, the fear in Caleb's eyes only grew more pronounced. His hand flew out and clung to Fjord's knee as his breathing picked up speed. Fjord rubbed his back, feeling at a complete loss as he watched the panic set in. Caleb’s heartbeat was pounding rabbit-fast beneath his skin, his pupils dilating in too-wide eyes. Not knowing what else to do, Fjord set his free hand over where Caleb’s was clinging to his knee. Caleb gripped it tight, and he squeezed back when Caleb’s nails bit into the skin of his palm. After two minutes the glimmer faded and Jester pulled her hands away. There were tears on her cheeks now as Caleb flinched away from her, still breathing too fast. Fjord sent her a grateful look, and she sniffled as she responded with a sad smile.

“I’m sorry Caleb” she whispered as she stood up “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Caleb was shaking now, shifting back towards the wall with Fjord's hand still clutched in his own. Fjord turned to Jester and shook his head.

“You’re alright Jes, I don’t think even he knew… you know he doesn’t mean it”

“I—yeah I totally do, I just don’t want him to be like… scared of me” she looked at Caleb, then back to Fjord “I’m gonna go, let him calm down and stuff”

“Okay, thanks Jes.”

She left, closing the door behind her with a soft click, and Fjord turned to fully face Caleb on the bed. The semi-darkness of the room cast him in shadow, tucked away in the corner like he was, blue eyes glowing in the candlelight. Fjord shifted forward slightly, moving into Caleb’s space and taking his other hand gently.

“Can you talk to me Cay?”

Caleb opened and shut his mouth a few times, before shaking his head with another violent shiver. Fjord could see easily enough that Jesters spell had worked… but the panic was still in his eyes. He chewed his lip for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“Okay, that’s alright darlin’ you don’t have to talk. Let’s just breathe a bit yeah? Nice and slow” Fjord demonstrated and smiled when Caleb started to copy him “there, just like that. Squeeze my hands if you need to, I’ve got you.”

It took the better part of a half hour before Caleb was calm again, his hands loose in Fjords. Fjord smiled encouragingly at him, earning a small smile in return.

“That better?”

Caleb nodded, then looked down at the bed. Fjord could see the colour rising in his cheeks and held back a sigh.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about Cay, you’ve been through hell again… there was no way to know how you would react.”

Caleb looked up at him with an expression that, to Fjord anyway, clearly said he surprised and confused by Fjord picking up on why he was embarrassed. Fjord just smiled again, feeling his own expression soften as it so often did around Caleb.

“We spend enough time together; I know what you’re like.” He chuckled as Caleb glared half-heartedly, lips pursed in a familiar annoyed expression “Don’t give me that face, I’m right and you know it. Now c’mon, you should eat something if you’re feeling up to it.”

Caleb nodded, allowing Fjord to support him as they stood up. He went to open the door, only to feel a slight tug on his other hand. He turned to find Caleb standing very close and tried to slow his heartbeat. Now was not the time for silly infatuation, Caleb was going through enough. He focussed on Caleb’s expression, on the subtle way his eyebrows quirked, the tightness in his jaw.

“They won’t mind Cay, they’re just glad to have you back same as me. We were worried sick while you were gone and… well, if you’re not up to talking yet then don’t talk. We’ll make it work right?”

His jaw relaxed, and Fjord felt the brush of the familiar scar across his palm.

“We understand each other”

Caleb’s eyes widened minutely, and he seemed to be searching Fjord's expression. For a moment, he was certain he had given himself away… but as usual the moment passed, and Caleb just nodded. The others had moved from the library it seemed, but once they got into the hallway the sound of hushed voices reached their ears. Caleb’s hand slipped from his as they reached the entryway, and Fjord fought down a disappointed sigh, leading the way in. The others were clustered around the table, most sitting in chairs, but some sitting on the table in stead. They looked up uncertainly, tentative smiles all around (other than Caduceus, who wore his usual serene expression). Caleb shrank back slightly, bumping into Fjord's chest in the process.

“Good news Jes, it worked.”

“That’s super awesome Caleb, I’m glad” her smile still wasn’t quite it’s usual brightness, tempered by the apologetic look in her eyes “I really am sorry I scared you though, really.”

Fjord watched as Caleb shook his head smiling ruefully, he didn’t blame her of course. Fjord figured he was probably still blaming himself for whatever that bastard Ikithon had done. The concerned looks had returned to everyone’s faces when Caleb didn’t immediately respond. Fjord steered him towards the table, pulling out a chair next to Cad and smiling encouragingly at him.

“I’m starved, I’m gonna grab something for both of us from the kitchen.”

“I’ll help” Beau said immediately, standing to follow him.

He looked back over his shoulder to see Caleb watching him, brows furrowed and hands fidgeting in his lap. He felt a tug of guilt in his chest, but he pushed it down, he was just getting lunch… not abandoning him with enemies. Beau’s arm crossed his vision, shutting the door and blocking his view of the dinning room.

“What the fuck happened?”

“No idea… well—” he paused “I have some theories… but he hasn’t confirmed anything.”

“Has he said anything since he freaked out at Jester?”

“Nothing, and I don’t plan to push him to do so.”

She stared at him, sharp eyes searching his face as he crossed his arms and frowned. He meant it; he wasn’t going to push Caleb. Clearly, he had been through enough, he didn’t need them pressuring him too. Beau seemed to come to the same conclusion, sighing and turning to grab some food out of the icebox.

“Fine, yeah. He’ll talk when he’s ready I guess.” She handed him a plate “and until then I guess we just—”

The door to the kitchen flew open with a loud crack, and Caleb stood, eyes wide and face pale. Fjord set the plate down and stepped towards Caleb.

“Cay…”

Caleb just shook his head; he was shaking all over again and Fjords heart sank at the sight. What the hell had Ikithon done to him? Beau took the plates and stepped past them, whispering a quiet word to Caleb as she did.

“What happened?” Fjord asked, stepping closer slowly “Cay?”

Caleb swallowed and looked behind him, towards the table where the others were still sitting. Veth was standing next to where Caleb had been, holding his spell book and component pouch. Fjord furrowed his brow and turned back to Caleb.

“Want us to put those away for a while?”

Caleb gave one jerky nod, wrapping his arms around his own torso protectively as his eyes wandered back to the book he had loved for as long as Fjord had known him. Fjord wondered just how many times a persons heart could break on another’s behalf.

“Alright, come sit down and try to eat something… I’ll go put them away.”

Caleb looked back at him, blue eyes full of an awful mix of sadness and gratitude. Beau came back over, tugging Caleb over to where she had sat the plates and sitting with him. Fjord made his way to Veth, who held out the book and pouch sadly.

“I… thought he would be happy to have them back… I found them in the front hall after Eodwulf and Astrid poofed.”

“It’s not your fault, he usually would have loved it… whatever Ikithon did this time around really fucked with him” he paused, settling a hand on her shoulder “you did a kind thing Veth, I think he just needs some comfort right now, no one does that as well as you.”

She gave him a weak smile but headed over to where Caleb and Beau were sitting. He left the room, pausing in the hall to try and decide where the best spot to put them away. He made his way into the library, scouted out a spot high up enough that Caleb wouldn’t notice it without actively looking. Temporary contraband stowed away, he found himself moving immediately back to the dining room. There was a pull, stronger than even his usual pull towards Caleb; some deep-rooted instinct that was yelling at him to get back there.

He needs you.

----

A week went by, and Caleb still wouldn’t speak.

Jester and Veth were beside themselves, trying to coax him into it as kindly as possible, while Yasha and Beau had taken to trying to work with him. Admittedly, working with him looked different for each of them.

Yasha would sit in the quiet with him and learned to respond to a lot of the non-verbal cues he had developed; they had taken to spending the afternoons in the garden with Cad, who also seemed fine to just let Caleb sit.

Beau took a more… active role, vocalizing anything that the others hadn’t picked up on yet, and having conversations with him despite being the only one talking.

The one habit they had all picked up, without exception, was coming to Fjord when they weren’t able to understand or help Caleb themselves. When he spaced out and couldn’t be contacted? Fjord. When he would start to shake around anything arcane? Fjord.

When his eyes went glassy and his breathing picked up, and no one could calm him? Yep, Fjord.

Not that Fjord minded, he had taken to sleeping in the library in fact, just to be sure that he was there when (not if: when) Caleb woke screaming.

The screams and incoherent Zemnian babbling in the dark of the night were the only sounds he had made.

Fjord worried, he worried about Caleb’s sleep, and he worried about Caleb’s eating (he wasn’t doing enough of it, in Fjord's opinion). He worried about the awful, banded scars around his wrists, and the tiny puncture scars around his lips. The scarring didn’t seem to hurt, but Fjord had never liked seeing new ones on the wizard to begin with.

They had quiet moments too of course, Fjord would sit with Caleb pressed against his side while they read or go for little walks around the neighborhood. As long as Fjord was there, Caleb seemed calm. He tried not to look too deep into that fact, this wasn’t the time for it.

Near the end of the first week, Essek came by. Luckily, Beau caught him at the door and seemed to go over everything with him. The concern on his face was visible even from the other room as he immediately stopped floating, popped his bag into existence, and hung up his mantel before coming in.

“Good evening everyone, I hope I am not interrupting?”

There was a general call of greeting from the others assembled there, even Caleb looked up and offered a small smile. Essek came and sat down, searching Caleb’s face for a moment before smiling sadly at him.

“It is good to see you back Caleb, I am sorry I did not come to say hello sooner.”

Caleb smiled back and shook his head in a way that said Essek shouldn’t worry about it, which he seemed to understand.

“I brought… well, I brought a few things over, but I worry this may not be a good time for them now…” pale purple eyes turned to Fjord questioningly, and he shrugged. The only way to find out was to try. Essek nodded, reaching into the bag and pulling out a stack of three books. He laid them tentatively in front of Caleb, who eyed them curiously. Fjord felt his heart skip at the sight, Caleb looked almost like himself again.

“This one” Essek taped the first book “is a rare history of the Dynasty, before the Calamity” he shuffled the book off to the side “this one… you may not like right now, but please feel free to hold onto it as long as you like. It is a book of Dunamancy, higher levels than we had been working on before.” He paused to see how Caleb would react, and the whole room seemed to hold its breath.

But… Caleb picked it up, examining the inlaid title for a moment before turning to give Essek another tentative smile.

There was a collective release of breath, and Fjord rubbed his hand up and down Caleb’s spine briefly in congratulations. Essek was beaming, or as close to it as he ever got, and he reached out to tap the last book. It was plain black leather, well made but with no title across the front.

“This one… well, it is nothing quite so exciting I suppose, but I noticed that your secondary notebook seemed to be getting full last time we were together. The paper is not spell quality, but as a journal or for note taking before transcription…” he trailed off, cheeks a darker purple than usual and eyes locked on the cover of the smaller book.

“Thank you.”

Caleb’s voice shocked the room, it was rough from disuse, and quieter than usual. But he was looking at Essek, smiling at him, as he traded the magic tome for the empty notebook. He fought back a frown at the way Essek’s face brightened as he nodded. Caleb looked down, the rounded tips of his ears going red as he pulled the book to his chest protectively.

Fjord didn’t get jealous, he didn’t.

He just… maybe he did a little bit.

----

Three more weeks, it had been a month in total since Caleb came home.

Things had improved, at least a little bit.

He still didn’t speak most of the time, still woke in the night screaming, and hadn’t cast so much as Dancing Lights. But... most of the time is not the same as always, or never. He spoke to Fjord in the night, when he couldn’t sleep, and Fjord would sit holding him the same way he had that first day. He told him of his nightmares, a few snippets of what had happened to him bleeding through into his unconscious mind. It hurt to hear, but Fjord listened.

One such night, Fjord sat with his arm wrapped snug around Caleb's shoulders, and his free hand clenched in both of Caleb's, humming softly as he came back to himself. It had been a bad one, Fjord knew that by the way Caleb had hidden from him, tucked deep into the farthest corner of his bed and barely visible in the dark room.

“I... I am sorry Fjord”

He still whispered most of the time, and Fjord's name sounded more like a prayer than anything else.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for Cay, you know that”

“You say it, but I--” he stopped, hand twitching slightly around Fjords “I still... I am not--”

“You’re not who you were when they took you?”

“How can I be?”

“Without magic? Or with the added nightmares? Or because talking is difficult?”

Caleb shrugged against him as if to say all of the above and Fjord nodded.

“I get that, but here’s the thing Cay” he pulled away slightly, so he could look him in the eyes “you’re still you. I know you don’t feel like it right now, but that’s alright. You didn’t feel like you when you met Veth did you? Or when you met us, all covered in mud and just looking for any excuse to run off.” He leaned it, resting his forehead against Caleb's “I still see the same good man I saw back on the ocean, I still see the ridiculous genius who can backwards engineer magic he didn’t even know existed weeks before. You’re still here darlin’, I see you, you’ve just hidden for a bit” he smiled slightly as Caleb's cheeks darkened “no one blames you for tucking yourself away, and we’ll be here when you’re ready to come back to yourself.”

He leaned back, giving Caleb more space to think over what he had said. His thumb was tracing little swishing movements against the inside of Fjords wrist as he thought, until he finally spoke again.

“If I cannot?”

“Then we’ll help you figure out who this new Caleb is, and love you just the same”

Caleb's lips parted in a little “o” of surprise, and Fjords heart seemed to constrict in his chest as the surprise shifted into a small, grateful smile.

“Danke Fjord, truly”

“Anytime sweetheart”

----

Something shifted after that night, some fearful part of Caleb seemed eased. He tried to talk more, spent more time out of the house with the others. He even started casting again, small spells like Dancing Lights and Find Familiar at first... but that was something. Frumpkin had been overjoyed to be back with his master and followed Caleb everywhere. The mood of the house had lightened extraordinarily, Caleb’s growing happiness infecting everyone. He had picked up the Dunamancy book, and read through it in a day, even making notes on which spells he wanted to discuss with Essek later. Fjord had come to terms with the fact that once Caleb was feeling more himself, their nighttime talks would end... along with the comfortable closeness that they had developed.

Simply put, Caleb wouldn’t need him anymore.

That thought was bittersweet, because of course he was overjoyed to see Caleb healing, talking, casting... doing all the things that made him happy and made him feel like himself again. But if he was honest, and he could be honest with himself at least, he would miss the way Caleb turned to him when he was looking to be understood, or comforted...or held. He would miss that quiet intimacy of always knowing what he was thinking.

Of course, he mused as he flicked through one of the few fiction books they owned one evening, he would still know most of the time... the thing he would miss would be the ability to act on it. The chance to reach out.

He sighed, turning the page and debating just heading to bed early. He would have to start sleeping in his own room again, he supposed.

“May I join you?”

Fjord looked up and smiled, nodding at Caleb as he smiled back. He settled on the couch next to Fjord, who balanced his book on his knee and threw one arm over the back of the couch. Caleb shifted close, book in his lap as he leaned over to peek at what he had been reading.

“Fairytales?”

“Wasn’t in the mood for history, and you know your magic books are incomprehensible to the rest of us” he teased, turning to look into eyes that only looked more magical up close “so, fairytales it is”

“A good choice” he said quietly, reaching out to tap the page “though I never thought you were much of a romantic”

“I could be, if the opportunity arose”

“It has not?” there was a teasing tone to his voice now, matching the little smirk “I am surprised”

Fjord shrugged, there wasn’t much he could say here without just completely giving himself away... if he hadn’t already. Caleb searched his face, and his expression softened before he shifted to lean against Fjords side and opened his own book. They read quietly for a while, the soft sound of pages turning and the crackle of the fireplace the only noise. Maybe he could still have this after all? Caleb seemed just as comfortable as he had lately, maybe these quiet moments could continue.

“I... have been thinking about what you said” Caleb whispered, his hand stilling on the page “about seeing who I am now” he clarified.

“Oh? Do you have some ideas?”

“I think I am... who I was, to a point” he shifted to look up at Fjord “but I have been thinking...”

“You’ve always done a lot of that” Fjord teased, letting the fondness slip into his voice

“Ha-ha” Caleb poked his thigh and rolled his eyes “I mean specifically about—about changes, and how much this has shown me about what I want to be”

“And what is that?”

“Yours”

Fjord stared; eyes wide as he processed the statement. He had to have misheard, or Caleb meant something else or... but Caleb was smiling at him, waiting as the gears turned in his head. Caleb was giving him the same look that Fjord knew he wore when he knew exactly what was going on in Caleb’s head.

“Mine?”

“Yes, if you’ll have me” he stated, rather than asking.

“That wasn’t a question”

“I know”

Bright, sparkling warm joy bubbled in his chest and he found himself smiling along with Caleb as he leaned in and rested their foreheads together. They sat that way for a moment, before Caleb tilted his head forward and captured Fjord with a kiss. Fjord slid the hand that had been on the back of the couch up into Caleb's hair to cup the back of his head as one of Caleb’s hands came to rest against his jaw. The warm slide of their lips had Fjord's head spinning, and by the time they broke apart he was sure he had forgotten how to breathe. Caleb smiled at him fondly, thumb stroking his cheekbone lightly as he spoke:

“Then we understand each other.”

“We always do.”

[xbunnybunz]

Flowers Between Ribs [Sans x Reader]

Summary: Papyrus is cooking downstairs and Sans is asleep. Of course, you would take this opportunity to stick flowers in his ribs... You did not know he was sensitive there.

Genre: Fluff

Date: July 21, 2016

-----

It was an unusually peaceful day. A comfortable yet rare silence had settled in the humble abode of two skeleton brothers, which was usually bustling with noise and strange misendeavours. The sun was just starting to set, and the hues in the sky cast their light into the house. Gradients of the fading twilight slipped past the curtains and washed over the room, bathing it in it’s palette of orange, pink and purple watercolor.

You would soon attribute the odd spell of quiet with the absence of a certain boisterous skeleton-

“SANS, WE HAVE RETURNED WITH THE INGREDIENTS FOR DINNER!” Papyrus kicked the door open, almost sending it off of its hinges.

The door bounced off of the wall with a splintering ‘CRACK,’ and would’ve slammed back into Papyrus’s armful of groceries if you hadn’t jammed it open with your foot.

Whew, that was a close one. There were eggs in there.

“AND I BROUGHT A GUEST! (Y/N) IS STAYING FOR DINNER AGAIN TONIGHT!”

You poked a head around Papyrus’s towering frame and peeked inside the familiar house. As always, it was relatively clean, leave for a sock in the corner. (Which was bombarded with sticky-notes.) You visited Papyrus and Sans on a regular basis, and knew this place better than the back of your hand. Scanning the room, you realized that something was missing- or, to be specific, someone.

“Hey Papyrus, do you know where Sans is?” You ask as you shift the brown bags in your arms, and walk towards the kitchen. Papyrus follows close behind, scanning the room as well.

“WELL, IF HE ISN’T IN THE LIVINGROOM, HE MUST BE SLEEPING UPSTAIRS.” Papyrus set the bags down on the counter and placed his hands on his hips, “THAT PILE OF LAZYBONES.”

You chuckled and plopped your share of groceries on the counter as well, snatching a particularly light paper bag off the table. “I’ll go wake him up, then! You better get started on cooking Pappy!”

“AH , YES. I SHALL BEGIN CREATING MY WONDROUS SPAGHETTI! HM, SHALL I USE GLITTER GLUE OR PUFFY STICKERS TODAY?” Papyrus thought out loud to himself.

As you slipped out the door, you couldn’t help but shudder at the skeleton’s strange sense of taste.

Sure, Papyrus may be sweet, but unfortunately that didn’t make his cooking any more palatable than a third grader’s macaroni-and-glitter art project.

Still, you were kind of thankful he sucked at cooking- it was what strengthened your bond with the brothers so much. Whenever you were free, you’d come by their place and give Papyrus some cooking tips (“GEE (Y/N), THAT MAKES QUITE A LOT OF SENSE. I THOUGHT THAT WHEN PASTA CAUGHT ON FIRE, IT MEANT IT WAS SPICY; ISN’T THAT WHAT THE COMMERCIALS MEAN BY ‘FIERY HOT?’”) while also preparing nice meal for the three of you. Of course, you’d leave room for one or two bites of Papyrus’s self-proclaimed “MASTERPIECE SPAGHETTI, NYEHEHEH!” which seemed to satisfy everyone.

With the bag delicately pressed to your chest, you tiptoed quietly upstairs toward Sans’s room, faintly hearing the telltale signs of light snoring. Luckily, he had left his bedroom door slightly ajar and unlocked, making your job a lot easier. (You knew Sans couldn’t be awakened by the mere sounds of knocking, and you didn’t have the adequate tools to lockpick.

(NOT THAT YOU LOCKPICKED.))

You shouldered his door open quietly and were greeted with the sight of his room- something people could politely describe as… organized chaos. It wasn’t often that you came up to Sans’s room. Perhaps you’ve been in and out of here once or twice when you were sleeping over and needed extra pillows, but that was done rather quickly.

You never really paid attention to anything (except for the odd flashlight-lamp-contraption on his dresser.) Taking a closer look at the room now, you notice many odds and ends you're surprised you didn't spot before. A dusty treadmill, heaps of clothes and stray socks littering the floor- and… A hurricane of a mess. Literally.

Typical Sans.

Stepping over the oddities strewn across the bedroom floor, you make your way over to a sleeping Sans, peacefully snoozing away while sprawled on his back. The corner of your lips quirk up a bit further upon hearing the faint clanging of pots and pans downstairs, along with the occasional “NYEHEHEH!”and you figure Papyrus  is entertaining himself: you'd let Sans catch z’s for just a little longer.

You plop down next to Sans’s bed and rest an arm on the edge of the mattress, propping your head up on it. Your eyes latch onto his chest, rising up and down at a slow and steady pace. No nightmares this time, huh? You let out a small exhale and give the sleeping monster a small lopsided smile.

Despite his endless slew of lame jokes and easygoing attitude, you knew Sans always had a torrential wave of thoughts consuming his mind- in both sleep and his waking hours. At one point, you had gotten worried enough about his worsening eyebags and asked if he was alright, only to receive a broad and somewhat conventional reply. You begrudgingly changed topics, taking the hint- but pressed him for answers once Papyrus called you up begging for help at 7AM on a Saturday.

You had dashed over there with a bad case of bedhead and mismatching socks, assuming the worst- only to arrive and find Papyrus in desperate need to use the only bathroom in the house- which Sans had fallen asleep in while brushing his teeth. “no need to get so pee-ved, can’t a guy get some bath-room to himself for a bit, heh?” “Sans,” You huffed “Look, we can tell something is bothering you- and it must be pretty bad, to lose sleep over.” He shifted from one slipper-clad foot to another, eyes darting away from you.

No response.

You sigh and place a hand gently on his arm, furrowing your brows at him. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to, but take care of yourself, okay? We can’t have you injured for small things that could’ve been helped, yaknow?” Sans chuckled and lightened up considerably as Papyrus came out of the bathroom, looking much more calm.

“hey, eye’m bagging you to let this go, (Y/N).”

“SANS!“

And that concluded your semi-serious conversation about Sans’s health. You knew Sans was only avoiding a direct answer to save you and Papyrus the trouble of being worried, but there was a nagging feeling in your mind that there was something more than that. Something that he was… Protecting you two from?

Your eyes travel from his rising chest to his ivory face, completely relaxed despite the constant grin that was plastered from cheek to cheek.

From afar the bony surface seemed flawless and smooth, but up close you could spot small imperfections. Chips on the surface, tiny indentations, ridges and occasional scratches decorated his face, and you found yourself struggling to keep your hands to yourself. It was strange how these small markings could be argued to be unattractive- but to you, be so entrancingly unique and beautiful.

It made Sans who he was.

Your stare catches on parts of his exposed lower ribs, a result of his white shirt and unzipped blue jacket riding up during his tossing and turning.

Your cheeks betray you and flush a deep red rivaling Papyrus’s cape, and you hurriedly avert your gaze elsewhere. It was then that you remembered what you had brought into the room with you, and an idea popped into your mind.

Smiling coyly, you pick your head up and dig a hand into the brown paper bag, careful to subdue any obnoxious crinkling. You pull out your hand. In between your pointer finger and your thumb was a dainty little flower with vibrantly colored petals and a thick, robust stem.

After you had gone grocery shopping with Papyrus, you spotted a flower vending cart next to the park you two passed to go home, covered from wheel to canopy with beautiful, multicolored flowers of all variety.

“GO AHEAD, HUMAN. I SEE YOU HAVE TAKEN A LIKING TO THE PRETTY WEEDS.”

Papyrus gestured for you to go with a wide and genuine smile, but you were too busy cringing at the unintentional jab to really notice.

“I SHALL WAIT FOR YOU HERE UNTIL YOU HAVE FINISHED LOOKING! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM EXCELLENT AT WAITING! AMONG OTHER THINGS OF COURSE.” You wondered if bringing up the incident where he could barely wait for the bathroom would be appropriate, but bit your tongue.

Instead, you tossed him a grateful smile and went to pick out a handful of snipped daisies, bluebells, bleeding hearts and carnations.

Chuckling at the memory, you twirled the powder pink carnation between your fingers and eye Sans’s uncovered ribs. You honestly had no idea what to do with the snippets of flowers, and had only bought them in the spur of the moment. But now, you had an idea Would he feel it? He was asleep… This could be payback for that time he stacked ritz crackers on your forehead as you napped on the couch- needless to say you got a faceful of saltine cookies once you awoke. (“aw, come’on (Y/N), don’t be mad! I’m crackerin’ up over here!”)

Carefully, you slipped the smooth, dark green stem of the carnation between his second to last rib. Seeing that it stayed put, you felt a burst of happiness and immediately worked to place as many as you could in the exposed expanse of his bones.

Selecting a line of deep red bleeding hearts, you nestled those on the innermost part of his fourth to last rib. A cute daisy followed, placed snugly next to the bleeding hearts. You decorate his outer false ribs with baby blue bluebells and tuck some red carnations comfortably against the tip of his Xiphoid Process, grinning to yourself. Lines of fresh white daises and bleeding hearts dangle from his floating ribs, and you can’t help but admire your handiwork. The vividly colored flora somehow both complimented and contrasted perfectly against Sans’s milky white bones, framing the already strong and alluring structure with a collection of complimentary daisies and bluebells, gradiented red and pink carnations, and elegant yet sharply colored bleeding hearts.

After a few moments, you catch yourself staring and shake yourself out of your stupor. Glancing inside the brown paper bag, you are confronted with one more healthy-looking daisy sitting alone at the bottom. Removing it from its confines, you stare blankly at the garden in Sans’s ribs, wondering where to put the final flower.

Finally, you decide to place it with the other daises, but- Accidentally, your fingertips brush along Sans’s costal cartilage, and static shoots up your arm.

Oh, geez.

He was unexpectedly warm for a skeleton, and insanely smooth.

Your hand instinctively draws back as you sharply inhale, eyes darting up to Sans’s face. Fortunately, he was still asleep- although a strange bluish hue had dusted his cheeks. There was no way...

Was he… Enjoying that?

A shiver travels up your spine as you hear him give an almost inaudible but throaty groan, and you press your fingers to your lips. You didn’t ever really have a chance to find out what monster anatomy was like- but it was rather odd to you that ribs of all places could be a potential erogenous zone. Slowly, you lower them back onto the same spot and wrap the pads of your fingers around the bone, giving a longer, harder rub.

The response is immediate. Phalanges curl into the bedcovers and metacarpals twist into bedsheets.

Sans arches his back with a whimper and brings his ribs into your palms, reminding you of lesser dog and his keening.

Except this one moans.

Sans unconsciously bucks into your hand and gives a crescendo of a guttural moan, sending your heartbeat sailing and skin crawling. Your head whips towards the bedroom door to make sure Papyrus hadn’t heard and come up to check on you, and once you were in the clear, you yanked  your hand away despite the tingling in your fingertips that urged you on.

Well, attempted to. Your eyes widened into saucers when you feel boney fingers- the same ones that were grappling at the bed a few seconds earlier- wrap themselves around your wrist and hold you in place- if not pulling you closer.

Sans gazed at you with one half lidded eye, a lazy but knowing smile licking at his usual cheesy grin. “mornin’.” You gulped and flushed red. Caught. “I-It’s more night than morning, but…” Your eyes followed his gaze to the small flower show in his ribs, and when you glanced back at you with a grin and a raised eyebrow, your blush reached the tip of your ears.

“I-“ You rushed to explain yourself, but found yourself tripping over your own words, “T-The flowers looked pretty and- and your bones were there and i thought it'd look good and alsobeacuseoftheritzcrackersthing-“ You visibly deflate with  complete and utter embarrassment, wishing you could either turn sink between the wooden floor boards or turn into one of the many heaps of clothing on his floor.

“it’s kind of like a garden.” Sans smiled at you, his long fingers still wrapped firmly around your wrist.

You mutely nodded, avoiding his gaze.

“the only thing im missing are butterflies in my stomach, but you already give me those.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the comment, and your pupils rapidly dart to-and-fro, intensely staring at anything BUT Sans. Ohgoshthiswasembarassingwhydidyouthinkitwouldbeagoodideaatall-

“hey”

You feel the metacarpals around your arm pull you forward so you were practically on the bed with Sans. Before you could part your lips to protest, another set of fingers brushed along the breadth of your jawline and firmly but gently grasped your chin and turned you to face him.

“look at me.”

He was so close- maybe just a little more and- Sans plucked the daisy you forgot you were holding from your hands, tucking it into your hair.

“don’t think I don’t know what you were doing, kid.” Sans chuckled mischeviously, the laughter coming from deep within his chest. Maybe it was just your imagination, but was his left eye glowing cyan…?

“I, uh-“

“(Y/N)!” A loud voice called from downstairs, “THE PASTA WAS COOKING TOO SLOWLY SO I PUT CANDLES IN THE POT TO MAKE MORE FIRE INSIDE.” Silence follows. “THE CANDLES HAVE DISAPPEARED.” More silence. “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL MAKE ANOTHER BATCH!”

As you opened your mouth to respond, Sans stopped you with a finger to your lips. “let’s finish what you started, hm? you might wanna keep quiet."

His eye flared

"my room's right above the kitchen."

[kinktae]

bitchin’ || pt. 4 (M)

↳ PART OF MY REWIND SERIES

The 80s were a time of choices. Which perm was right for you? What color neon would you wear next? None of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with Jeon Jungkook.

pairing: fratboy!jungkook x reader

word count: 5k

genre: 1980s au, eventual smut, e2l

warnings: multiple smut scenes, science talk, banter, jealousy, alcohol & LOTS of colorful 80s slang lmao

A/N: This fic was inspired by To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. Thank you to @junqkook for letting me use her likeness!

OFFICIAL PLAYLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10

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PART FOUR

“Ouch! Watch it, Yara! You’re stabbing me!”

Yara released her grip from the striped material of your sweater, letting it fall back down against your torso.

“I’m sorry… Is your personal tailoring experience not luxurious enough? Did you want some sparkling water? Some Crystal Light, perhaps?” The petite girl quipped, eyes narrowing.

You pressed your lips together, holding back the snarky remark that was wanting to come out from between them. You really weren’t in any position to complain. Yara had gone to the trouble of coming up with both your and Jungkook’s costumes, not to mention the fact that she was missing her scheduled viewing of Saved By The Bell just to help you get ready — truly honorable act on her part.

Shutting the pair of scissors with a sharp snip, your best friend placed them down onto the bathroom sink decisively, clearly satisfied with the holes she had carved into your oversized red and green sweater.

“What do you think? I can smear some more brown eyeshadow on the sweater if you want.”

Turning towards the mirror, you let your eyes fall over Yara’s handwork.

When Yara said you were going to be Freddie Krueger you should have expected that there would be no half-assing on her part. Jungkook was right in his assessment that the two of you were similar. Yara, although sometimes indolent, was absolutely unstoppable when she set her mind to something.

“It looks great. You went above and beyond as always.” You flashed her reflection a smile.

Reaching for the hat that sat on the counter, Yara plopped it onto your head, a satisfied grin finding her as she took in the completed look.

“So are you ready?” She inquired. “Tonight’s the big night. You nervous?”

“A little…” You confessed, shrugging. At your words, Yara adjusted your hat slightly.

“Don’t be. We went over the game plan last night, remember?”

Keeping still until your best friend’s creative vision for your hat was completed, you let out a sigh.

“Yeah.”

It should be easy; smile, hang onto Jungkook’s arm as if he was your life support, and be sure to kiss him somewhere everyone could see. Piece of cake. Totally.

Sensing a weight behind your tone, Yara offered you an encouraging smile, her hands finding yours.

“You’re gonna have a totally kick-ass time, I’m sure.” She enthused.

“As long as Jungkook doesn’t sneak off to go bang his ex and leave me alone. I don’t know anyone who is gonna be there.” You sulked, before tapping a finger against your chin in contemplation. “Then again, it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. If he and Kiri get back together, I can finally stop pretending to date him.”

At your words, Yara’s eyebrows furrowed as if to tell you something you had said hadn’t sat well with her. Before she got the chance to express what that was, however, a loud series of knocks rang out.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” You mused dryly causing Yara to laugh.

“I’ll go let him in, you stay here and try on the socks.” She ordered as she walked out, slamming the bathroom door behind her, leaving you without a choice.

You were curious however, ears tuned into the greeting that was just outside the door as Jungkook came in. Slipping on one of the socks, you brought it up to your knee, tugging at the fabric until it was no longer bunching around your ankle.

“What the hell? You cropped the shirt yourself, didn’t you? I told you I was gonna cut it for you.”

“Chill out. What’s your damage? I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to cut my own shirt.”

“Yeah, nice going, dipshit. It’s fucking crooked!”

You let out a sigh.

Your best friend and fake boyfriend could not be left unattended for even a minute without needing you to play referee, it seemed.

Pushing the bathroom door open, you poked your head out, “Children, children, let’s play nice–”

Jungkook’s head turned to you, expression softening from the irritated glare he was offering Yara just moments ago. You hardly noticed, however, too captivated by what he was wearing to pay the gentle way he looked at you any mind.

He was in a cropped white jersey, the number 10 plastered across his chest in blue just above the ragged seam of where the shirt ended, exposing inches of the lower half of his firm stomach, causing your face to flame.

Low on his hips was a pair of blue sweatpants, the ends of them tucked into his high top Chuck Taylor’s that were similar, if not the same, to the pair you had been planning on wearing.

Johnny Depp would surely be proud of Jungkook’s rendition of Glen Lantz, you decided. He even wore the same pair of silver headphones around his neck.

You cleared your throat, finally pulling your eyes away from your pretend lover’s torso.

“Wow… that’s crooked.”

“Hah! Told you.” Yara pressed, pleased at your assessment.

“Remind me why I put up with the two of you again?” Jungkook frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, unaware of the way it caused his already short shirt to ride up further.

Pulling yourself from the bathroom altogether, you walked over to the couch, plopping down onto it as you began to put on your other sock.

“Sick costume, nerd.” Jungkook praised, eyes fixated on you as you moved. “You’d make a hot serial killer.”

“Yeah, well, don’t cream your pants.” You teased, flashing him a grin.

“I can’t promise anything tonight. I’m a frisky drunk.” He winked back, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Ugh, barf me out. You’re the first on my list when I finally crack and go full homicidal.” You informed him, causing him to chuckle.

“Pleasure and pain. You really know how to get me going, Y/N.”

Yara was leaning up against the kitchen counter, quietly watching the two of you with increasing intrigue. Taking in the way the sides of your eyes creased in amusement as you continued your banter with your so-called fake boyfriend, she suppressed a smirk.

“Well…” Yara finally spoke up, a sly look on her face, “as endearing as I find your warped, semi-abusive way of flirting with one another... I have a show to catch so if you both could just hurry it up—”

“Woah, woah, woah, we’re not flirting.”

“Get real, as if I’d be flirting with him.”

Yara could only laugh at the way you both denied her accusation immediately, words overlapping with one another in unison.

“Whatever. I’ve got fake blood in the bathroom. Jungkook follow me.” She brushed the two of you off.

The costumed boy flashed you a funny look before ultimately trailing after your best friend.

Chewing on your bottom lip in silent contemplation, you let yourself ponder on your best friend’s words.

That wasn’t flirting, was it? No, that was just you and Jungkook’s usual playful banter. Sure, maybe the two of you had gotten more comfortable with one another as the days have ticked by, but it wasn’t as if it was anything more than that, right?

Lately, you had been catching yourself growing somewhat excited about seeing Jungkook, even though you saw him nearly every day. Somehow having the messy-haired boy in your life had become routine.

Having Jungkook by your side felt normal as if you wouldn’t mind it if things were always this way. And that scared you.

Shaking your head, you began to put on your shoes, tying up your laces solemnly.

The moment you held your event and Jungkook and Kiri were back together, things would go back to the way they were before. You didn’t want Jungkook to be someone you were going to miss, but it seemed like with every lopsided grin he threw at you he was cementing himself into your life more and more.

This business venture of yours was looking out to be more costly than you initially anticipated.

But as Jungkook and Yara walked out of the bathroom chatting excitedly, Yara’s hands stained and Jungkook’s jersey now smeared with fake blood, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d be willing to pay the price if it meant that this warm feeling in your chest would last just a little while longer.

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“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jungkook asked you, hand gripping yours tighter.

You tried your best to meet his eyes. It was difficult considering how dimly lit the room was. Fitting though, considering this party was Halloween themed.

“Yes. You’ve asked me that four times now.” You told him loudly, trying to be heard over the loud sound of Michael Jackson’s Thriller playing throughout the house.

“I dunno, you’re not saying anything. It’s, like, freaking me out.” He admitted.

“I’m just… observing.”

“Observing what?”

He watched as your stare fixated itself on the beer pong tournament that was occurring across the room, excited shouts coming from several people as one of Jungkook’s brothers scored a point.

“Gorillas.” You said, finally. “In their natural habitat.”

Jungkook laughed, enjoying the way your nose scrunched up at them.

“Hey now, did we say before we got here?�� He tutted disapprovingly, waging a finger at you. You followed the digit with the frown.

“Yeah, yeah, I promised no judging the common folk. This is how the intellectually lesser entertain themselves, I remember.” You sighed out, gaze flicking up to catch the amusement in Jungkook’s eyes.

The costumed boy nudged his shoulder into yours; he liked it when you joked around with him like this. It made him feel like you were comfortable around him and that you might even enjoy his company.

“Do you know what you need?” He began happily.

“I do not but my answer is already no.”

“A drink.” He continued, ignoring you.

Suddenly, you were yanked forward, Jungkook leading you by the hand towards where you assumed the drinks were.

You hadn’t been at the party for very long, but already the social interaction had exhausted you. Jungkook was far more popular than you had previously concluded; the two of you could hardly take two steps before running into someone who wanted to say hello to the frat boy attached to you.

It was daunting in a sense – the concept that every person that came up to him was going to leave the interaction with the impression that you were Jungkook’s girlfriend. Perhaps guilt wasn’t the right word, but something about the way the party’s attendees glanced down at yours and Jungkook’s intertwined hands caused your stomach to flip and neck to grow hot.

So you kept to yourself mainly, letting your socially confident boyfriend do all the talking. You didn’t mind, really; it was somewhat remarkable the way Jungkook could handle himself in a social situation. He had a way of acting like every person that stopped to chat was important.

As Jungkook and you made your way into the large fraternity house’s kitchen, you wondered if it wasn’t acting at all and if he was just that nice of a person.

“Righteous costume, JK!” A disembodied voice called out from somewhere, clearly directed at Jungkook.

You hardly had time to decipher where the voice had come from before an outrageously good looking boy draped in a white toga came forward, pulling Jungkook into a hug.

“You finally cut your hair. Looking good, Tae.” Jungkook laughed back, patting the handsome man’s back affectionately.

You watched their interaction with interest. This wasn’t acting, as far as you knew. Judging by the way Jungkook’s laugh has grown higher in pitch, something you had noticed occurred when he was genuinely happy, you knew you were witnessing genuine friendship, not just polite socializing.

“And who is this lovely lady who, might I add, looks killer? Pun totally intended.” The model man mused, eyes flashing your way.

You felt heat prickle at your cheeks.

“Taehyung, this is my girlfriend Y/N, Y/N this is Kim Taehyung. He’s head of our finance committee.” Jungkook introduced the two of you, causing your eyes to grow wide.

So this was the guy Jungkook had told you about. The guy who could help you throw your event.

Taehyung let out a scoff, “Seriously? That’s how you introduce me? The finance guy? I’m also your favorite brother, could’ve opened up with that one.”

“Taehyung’s my Big. He’s taken me under his wing or whatever.” Jungkook explained, running a hand through his dark hair.

A nervous giggle escaped you, taking Taehyung’s extended hand into yours to greet.

“Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.” The mulleted man grinned, causing one of your eyebrows to quirk up in surprise.

“You have?”

Taehyung put his hands up defensively, not noticing the way Jungkook’s expression had fallen beside him, “All good things, don’t worry. The kid talks about you nonstop—”

“Hey! So Y/N has been thinking about throwing an event here on campus, isn’t that right, babe?” Jungkook interrupted suddenly.

The arrival of the new pet name caught you off guard for a moment, before remembering that you and Jungkook were meant to be a couple after all.

“Oh yeah, Jungkook mentioned something like that to me. Tell me about it.” Taehyung said.

You stood silent for a moment, realizing that this moment was the one you had been anticipating all week long.

Relaxing your shoulders, you grinned at him.

It was now or never.

“Yeah! So the event is called STEM for FEM. I’ve got all kinds of games and pamphlets prepared. It’s basically meant to show girls that no matter what people think, there are in fact opportunities for us in the more traditionally male-dominated fields. It may be a steep road, but it’s one worth taking. And they’re not alone. There are programs out there that girls can reach out to. They offer all kinds of support; emotional, educational, financial—“

Jungkook reached for a cooler that sat by his feet, pulling out a beer. You didn’t need him for this. This was precisely what he had watched you practice into the mirror over and over; you were ready.

Popping open the can, he took a small sip, a small smile creeping on his face as he watched the way the fire in your eyes spread, your pretty lips wrapping around the words that you carried in your heart wherever you went.

“That’s radical, girl. It sounds like you’re really passionate about this stuff, huh?”

Jungkook caught Taehyung’s reply once he walked back over to you guys. He had gone off to make you a drink, figuring that cranberry juice and vodka would ease any sales pitch nerves you might have.

“Yeah, I am.” You smiled. “I’m a biology major myself.”

You tore your eyes away from the blond boy to take the red solo cup he was offering. Bringing the cup up to your nose, you sniffed it experimentally.

“Do you have a sponsor?”

You were grateful that you hadn’t taken a sip of your drink yet as had any liquid been inside your mouth you surely would have choked on it.

“Oh, uh! Not yet!” You squeaked out, causing Jungkook to fight down a chuckle.

“Because Beta Tau Sigma happens to be under our campus philanthropy quota and we’d love to support a cause like yours.” Taehyung offered, causing your heart to soar.

“Really?” You gaped.

“Sure! Just swing by anytime this week and I’m sure we can work out the details.”

This was happening. The event you had poured your absolute heart and soul into planning was actually going to happen… holy shit.

“Wow, that’s just… wow!” You replied, breathlessly. “Thank you! Thank you so much, seriously. I can’t even begin to thank you enough…”

Taehyung shook his head, clearly amused, “No need to thank me, it’s a worthy cause. Besides, think of it as a thank you.”

“A thank you? For what?”

“For dating my brother. You’re the reason he comes home every night grinning like an idiot after all.” He grinned cheesily.

A smile broke out onto your face despite yourself, but the good atmosphere didn’t last for long, as a hand finding yours caught your attention.

“Alright, alright, enough sappy shit.” Jungkook urged, cheeks tinted ever so slightly pink.

Much to the blushing boy’s chagrin, Taehyung reached over to rustle Jungkook’s long looks.

“I’m just teasing.” The blond laughed. “By the way, any chance you’ve seen Hobi?”

“No, why?”

“Dude is totally wasted. Heard someone say he was gonna jump off the roof into the pool.”

“The house doesn’t have a pool?” Jungkook blinked.

Taehyung flashed him a look as if to say ‘exactly.’

“Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Y/N. We’ll talk soon, yeah?” Taehyung asked.

“Absolutely.” You nodded.

“See ya later, man!” Taehyung called out through a crooked smile before slipping back into the crowd of people that lay just beyond the kitchen.

An excited squeal erupted from you, your hands reaching out towards Jungkook as he reciprocated your enthusiasm and embraced you in an elevated hug.

You let out a laugh, carefully holding onto the cup in your hand so as not to spill it before he set you back down.

“You did it!” He cheered.

“We did it.” You corrected.

“I didn’t do anything?” Jungkook looked at you in bewilderment.

You shook your head, “Not true. I would have never met Taehyung if it weren’t for you. Thank you, meathead.”

Jungkook looked at you warmly for a moment, knowing that despite the cruel nickname, your sincerity was genuine.

“Cheers, nerd. To a deal well done.” Jungkook said decidedly, holding out his beer.

Bumping your cup into his can, you took a swig of your drink, grimacing as the overwhelming taste of vodka made its way down your throat.

“Taehyung was awesome.” You began once you had downed a few more sips of the liquid poison. “I don’t know why I was expecting some ape-like barbarian.”

“Probably because of those gorillas you just saw over at the beer pong table.” Jungkook joked. “Yeah, Tae’s great. He’s a Legacy too, so everybody here loves him.”

You stared at him blankly, clearly not understanding the term.

Jungkook sighed, “I mean he comes from a long family of Beta Tau Sigma alumnae. His older brother Seokjin graduated last year—”

“Wait, Seokjin? You don’t mean… Kim Seokjin… our lab professor?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Yep.”

“No way! But he’s so…” Your eyebrows furrowed, struggling for the right word.

“Smart?” Jungkook assumed flatly.

You fought back a smile, “I was not gonna say that.”

“Mhm, I’m so sure.”

“Anyway,” You smiled, poking a finger into Jungkook’s chest, “I had no clue you liked me so much.”

“What do you mean?”

“You talk about me? I’m the reason you come home grinning every night?” You recalled Taehyung’s words.

You watched in amusement as Jungkook visibly tensed.

“W-Well, duh. You’re my fake girlfriend, I mean, it would be weird if I didn’t do any of those things...” Jungkook defended, eyes narrowing at you suddenly. “Quit gloating.”

“I’m not gloating.” You smirked.

“Yes, you are. I can see it in your face. You’re a gloater.” He said decidedly, moving to make himself a drink.

“How very dare you! I am nothing of the sort.”

“Admit it, Y/N. You relish in my misfortune.” He poured some cranberry juice into a cup, clearly moving to recreate your drink.

“The fact that I relish in your misfortune has nothing to do with this.” You waved off quickly, sending the two of you into giggles.

You somehow managed to down your cup, flashing Jungkook a grateful smile as he began to make you a new one.

You were admiring the way Jungkook’s shoulders filled out his jersey when another voice made itself known, pushing its way into the kitchen.

“Kookie, is that you?”

It was Kiri. The way Jungkook jerked around immediately, eyes as wide as saucers, told you that much.

Turning to where Jungkook’s eyes were fixated, you came to find a tall and leather-clad girl, her curled hair unmoving as she strutted forward. You couldn’t hear anything over the hum of the music playing throughout the house but you’d imagined you would hear the sound of her bright red heels rapping against the tile floor if it were quiet.

Her top was black and off the shoulder, and it dawned on you that she was dressed as Sandy from Grease.

You watched in silence as Jungkook nodded at her, a grin on his face.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. Thought you were avoiding me.” Kiri smirked, teeth on full display.

“Avoid you? Never.” Jungkook teased.

Suddenly, a weird feeling bubbled in your stomach as you watched the two interact.

Strange. Must be the vodka.

“I’ve just been busy, I guess.” He shrugged, clearly trying to play it coy.

At his words, Kiri’s eyes flickered to you, causing you to freeze.

“So I’ve heard.” She said simply. You smiled at her awkwardly.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook jumped into action, “Y/N meet Kiri. Kiri meet Y/N, my girlfriend.”

“Y/N L/N, right? I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Kiri admitted, eyes shaded with something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“You, uh, have?”

“Of course!” She smiled, although it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I like to keep tabs on all the girls in Greek life… or I guess in your case, have had Greek life in them.

You blinked.

Jungkook eyes quickly moved to you. Crap. He knew Kiri well enough to detect a catty comment from her no matter how innocently she presented it. You were smart; he was sure you had caught exactly what she was implying.

For a moment, no one said anything. Jungkook gripped his cup tighter, wondering if he should say something to ease the nearly palpable tension.

However, before he got the chance, you smiled, cocking your head to the side.

“No worries, I get it. You wanted to scope out your ex’s new girlfriend, right?”

Jungkook let out a breath, realizing that you weren’t looking for any kind of conflict.

You could tell you words pleased Kiri with the way the side of her painted lips turned upward.

“So, Jungkook told you about me. How flattering.”

“Actually, he hasn’t said a word.” You smiled.

You took a step forward; it wasn’t anything aggressive or confrontational, but it was enough to capture Jungkook’s attention.

“Let’s just say I also like to keep tabs on things involving those that go inside of me.” You lowered your voice, sending Kiri a small wink.

Jungkook must know you pretty well too because he also knew that your comment wasn’t nearly as lighthearted as you made it out to be. He fought back a grin.

Kiri straighten up suddenly, “So what are you two dressed up as? A dumb jock and dirty Waldo?”

‘Well, she’s certainly not being subtle anymore.’ Jungkook thought dryly.

“Freddie Krueger and Glen Lantz. Like from Nightmare at Elm’s Street.” Jungkook answered, no longer bothering to uphold a pleasant tone.

“Is that so? I don’t watch horror movies.” Kiri shrugged.

“I know you don’t.” He reminded her.

“So did you come alone? Or is there a Danny Zuko somewhere that you’re matching with?” You asked casually, not liking the way your insides churned every time Jungkook and Kiri spoke to one another.

“He’s over there by the booth. He’s in charge of the music.” She replied, polished finger directing you where to look.

Sure enough, across the room on an elevated platform was a DJ booth, the man who was operating the device sporting a leather jacket and greased hair.

A gasp fell through your lips as you took him in, recognizing him immediately.

“That’s—” You cut yourself off immediately, turning away from him. “...so cool! Him being a DJ and whatnot.”

Kiri nodded cautiously, clearly catching on to the way you had changed your tune suddenly.

“You know what, I think Jungkook and I are gonna head over to the dance floor. But it was really great meeting you, Kiri.” You told her, reaching for Jungkook’s hand.

Your fake boyfriend sensed your urgency and took your hand comfortably.

“Nice seeing you.” Jungkook called out to her breezily as the two of you began to walk away, not bothering to give Kiri another glance.

Your heart was pounding but you tried your best to look nonchalant, knowing Kiri was probably watching the two of you leave.

As you reached the dance floor, you allowed yourself a sparing glance around to make sure that Kiri was out of ear’s reach before you wrapped your arms around Jungkook’s neck and began to sway your hips.

Bringing your mouth to his ear, you spoke, “Kiri is dating Eunwoo.”

Jungkook sent you a look, “Yeah. I know.”

You shook your head as Jungkook’s hands found your waist, keeping up with your pace.

“You don’t understand. Eunwoo is Yara’s ex.”

“Wait– Really?”

You nodded.

“Great. So he’s banged two of my girlfriends then. I swear to god, Y/N, if he tries to get into your pants next I’m gonna kick his ass into the next decade.” Jungkook grunted. You laughed.

“I just don’t understand. I swear he was in love with Yara just last week. He used to slip love notes under our door for her, you know. I even didn’t know he was in a frat?” You frowned.

“He’s a new member. He was just initiated a little while back. Fucking prick.”

That made sense. From what you had gathered tonight, everyone within Jungkook’s fraternity seemed quite friendly with one another— it didn’t make sense that an active member would betray Jungkook like that.

“You handled that very well, by the way.” Your pretend lover spoke suddenly.

“What? Kiri? Whatever, I’ve dealt with worse girls in high school.” You shrugged easily, hand finding itself running in Jungkook’s hair.

He had mentioned once that he needed a haircut but it seems as if you had successfully managed to talk him out of it. You like his hair like this.

“She was trying to use an intimidation technique that Gamma Alpha Tau uses on possible pledges.” He explained. “I promise you she’s not always that…”

“Snarky? Judgmental? Standoffish?” You offered, quirking up a brow.

Jungkook rolled his eyes, “I just mean she’s usually better behaved than that.”

“Right. Well, either way, this is a good sign.”

“What is?”

“Her hating me. Just means she’s jealous and then we’re one step closer to closing your half of the deal.” You enthused.

“Speaking of the deal, I believe you owe me a kiss, Freddie.”

Jungkook’s words took you by surprise and as much as you wanted to wipe that slick grin off his face, you knew he was right.

Humming, you let go of his hair, moving closer so that his nose was brushed up against yours.

“Your move, meathead.” You urged, letting your bottom lip brush against his teasingly.

Pressed up against him like this, you could feel a low rumble erupt in his chest.

“You teasing me?” He mused lazily.

“Didn’t you say you liked your pleasure with some pain?”

If Jungkook had a reply, you didn’t catch it in time as his mouth found yours, distracting you from any trivial thoughts weighing you down.

Something was intoxicating about the way Jungkook kissed you; he wasn’t rushed or in any hurry, but the way his mouth moved against yours made your chest pound as you brought your fingers up to pull at his hair.

Maybe it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the sound of Rick James in the air, but when his hand found your jaw and his tongue ran itself along your bottom lip you happily obligated, whimpering as his tongue moved against yours with the same fervor as the kiss you shared on your bed.

Jungkook was trying his hardest to hold back, he really was, but with the way your fingers pulled against his scalp, he felt himself start to grow greedily, grinding his hips against yours.

A whimper left your mouth and before you could make left from right, Jungkook broke the kiss and turned you around, pressing his chest into your back.

Heat rocketed to your face as you were suddenly reminded that you were in a room full of people, kissing Jungkook like this.

Your worries were soon eased as he began to press a trail of kisses down your neck, causing you to sigh.

“Wanna blow this popsicle stand? I’ve got a bottle of Malibu in my room with our name on it.” He murmured into your neck.

For a moment, you wondered if you should say no. If Jungkook kept touching you like this, especially with alcohol in your system, there was no guarantee what you’d do.

You let out a squeak as Jungkook’s tongue found your neck, the hot muscle dancing against your skin.

Letting your eyes roll over the room, you froze as they met a familiar pair.

Kiri was stood by the DJ Booth, eyes fixated on you two, her stare cold and unmoving.

Suddenly, a feeling came over you. It felt hot and not in the nice way Jungkook had been making you feel. You hardened your stare, holding her eyes. Was this why Jungkook kissed you? Did he know Kiri was watching?

Sensing the way you had tense against him, Jungkook pulled away from your neck.

“Something wrong?”

Fine. If Jungkook wanted to put on a show for her, then you were happy to assist.

Instead of replying, you turned your head and answered with your mouth, kissing him in a way you knew Kiri wouldn’t be able to ignore.

“Let’s get outta here.” You breathed as you broke the kiss.

Jungkook’s eyes were dark, eyelids low as a positively devilish smirk crept over him.

Following him as he lead you out of the room, you couldn’t help but glance behind you, the sides of your mouth curling up as you met Kiri’s glare once more.

[jadekitty777]

On Your Six, Chapter 3

Day 3: Parenting for @taiqrowweek

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Mind

~

Early on in his career, Qrow had come to value the strength in listening.

He knew for every omega who walked through his door, he was a step in their healing process. It didn’t matter at what point in that process he was treading into; everyone came needing something. A sense of control. A desire to feel beautiful again. A need to shake off shame. No matter what it was, every reason was understandable and downright defensible.

But he knew his deed didn’t always end at the tip of a needle. Sometimes it wasn’t what was on their skin, but what was in their minds that weighed the most. Those were his talkers. The ones who felt so hurt or overcome by what had happened to them, they had to tell their story to someone.

So Qrow listened. He listened to the Mistrialian baker who tried to escape his abusive relationship by drugging his alpha one night and escaping into the night as the word Disloyal was overwrote. Erased Rebel as he was enraptured by the Rights Activist from Mantle who handed out self-funded newspapers all dedicated to lining out the inequalities among the dynamics. Nearly cried with the elderly Valian spinster who had been trafficked from her home in Vacuo decades ago to became the fourth wife of a rich proprietor as he made sure Owned could never be seen again.

Now today, he was turning the word SLUT into art as Tai recounted the love story that dared him to engage in one of society’s most taboo acts.

“So there I was, dragging my feet out of the ER at 2 AM, feeling like the worst parent in history as Yang bawls in my arms. I was so distressed, I couldn’t even remember where I’d parked and just started going through the rows.” They were sitting today. Tai cross-legged on his bed and staring out the window while Qrow sat behind him. “That’s when Summer called to me. She remembered I was one of the patients just going in as she got off her shift. She asked me what was going on and I told her how the doctor who’d seen us kicked me out for wasting his time over some diaper rash. And you know what she did?” A smile uplifted his tone. “She looked between me and Yang and said, ‘No parent spends five hours in the ER over nothing.’ Then she took my arm and led me back inside. Snapped at the staff to give her a room and saw to Yang herself. I couldn’t believe it. She’d just come off of a twelve-hour shift. She had to of been exhausted. But that was the kind of woman she was. When she saw someone who needed help, she put everything else aside to do it.”

A hiss breathed through the other’s teeth as Qrow lined over the base of the T, tailing the ends to look more like the trunk of a tree. “Were you right?” He prompted, hoping to distract him.

“Yeah. Yeast infection.” Tai puffed up proudly. “Nothing a bit of prescription cream and some TLC couldn’t fix, but it still felt so validating to be told my worries weren’t just in my head. It was the first time since Raven left that I felt I really could do this on my own.” That uplift was back, overlayed with fondness. “But, it was Summer who reminded me that just because I can, doesn’t mean I had to.”

He moved his pen higher, maple leaves beginning to bloom along his back. “How’d it happen?”

“Well, so, they called me in a few days after that night for a check-up. When I got there, I found out Summer had arranged things to make sure she was the doctor attending us. She had told me at the time it was just normal for her to touch base with anyone who came through ER that she had looked after. That it made her happy to see her patients doing well.” He barked out a laugh. “She was such a liar! She didn’t tell me this until later, but apparently the only reason she did it was because she thought I was cute and wanted to see me again.”

Tch, what a brat. Qrow scoffed, doggedly ignoring the had he been in her position, he absolutely would have done the same.

“We started talking and joking around. One thing led to another and suddenly she was asking me out for coffee! I was so shocked I almost fell out of my chair. But… I said yes. And, it was the best decision of my life.”

He couldn’t do this. He jerked back and turned off the pen before the shaking in his hand ruined his work. “Sorry. Hand’s cramping up. Can we take a break?”

Oblivious as ever, the omega gave him one of those stupidly bright smiles that he hated because it made his heart do weird things. “Sure.” As they slid off the bed and Tai took the opportunity to stretch, he asked, “How about tea?”

“Yeah, I’ll go put on the pot.” Qrow didn’t even get two steps before a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“Nope. You’re resting.”

“But-”

“Relax. I got this.”

Then Tai wandered right into his kitchen like he owned the place, leaving him with no choice but to throw up his arms and take a seat. Qrow watched him go through the motions, turning to fill the kettle. From this distance, the word that had once been etched into his skin was completely unreadable, overtaken by a mismatch of new marks in various states of healing.

A perfect reflection of the man who bore them.

Regret dropped like a stone in his stomach, feeling sick as the omega took care of him over a lie. He lowered his head and took his punishment in the form of a simple question, “So when did you two get serious?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean Sums and I?”

“No, I meant you and me.” Qrow snarked, because he hated himself.

Tai set the pot on the stove, the burner sparking to life. “I knew we had a forever connection the day you offered to eat all the yellow Starburst from the bag and leave all the good flavors for me.”

Well now he was resentful and insulted. “Yellow is the good flavor.”

“Mmhmm, keep telling yourself that.” He started tearing open a pair of tea packets, dropping one each in the mugs. “Anyways, promise not to judge me too much?”

“For what, your love life or your weird issues with Starburst?”

“Qrow!”

He held up hand as a peace offering, leaning back. “Okay, okay. I promise.”

Tai eyed him suspiciously for several seconds before finally saying, “We bonded four months in.”

“FOU-” He cut himself off and took a breath. He seemed to have to do this a lot more lately. “I mean, that’s not so bad.”

“Good save.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone. “Look, I thought I was going too fast too. But when I would sit down and think of my future, I just could see her in it. Summer was a piece of me I didn’t even know I was missing. And when I found out she felt the same about me we decided, fuck it! Who cares about what everyone else is going to say? We knew we wanted each other.”

On display as he was, Qrow’s gaze fell to the spot on Tai’s neck where the two scars lay. The imperfect ovals were layered atop one another right in the juncture of his shoulder and collarbone, cutting through his scent gland. Similar to a snake’s fangs, alpha incisors had a hollow part, allowing them to release a bit of their musk during the bite which would then inject itself into an omega’s glands and permanently alter their scent.

Staking a claim.

Granted, with the tattoo he couldn’t smell even a hint of either Raven or Summer any longer. But back then, he could imagine how pungent it had been. Even if the new smell wasn’t a dead giveaway, the pinker shade of the fresher one was a big neon sign that drew the eye. There wouldn’t be any hiding it, even if the couple had tried.

Which meant they absolutely became the gossip of every corner on the street. Summer being well off and Tai being abandoned and annulled didn’t help matters in the slightest. He already knew what people would have thought, well before the brand was ever made.

He frowned. “Even knowing you’d get the worst of it?”

“Tch. Tell me something else that’s new.” Tai snipped, rolling his eyes. “You know, I could have been a perfect little omega. Quiet. Thoughtless. Unopinionated. Or I could have also spent the rest of my life as a part of the Single’s Forever Club. Risen Yang alone and never looked at another Alpha again. And you know what? People would still have shit to say about me. That’s what happens when society’s rigged against you.” He smacked his hand down on the counter. “When does my happiness matter?”

That stone still in his stomach was only getting heavier. “Sorry.”

The fire burnt out as quickly as it was there, and Tai only shook his head, mumbling, “Forget it. It’s whatever right?”

“It’s not. It’s fucking wrong.” He said with more fury than he meant to.

Tai’s smile was tired and defeated. “If only more people thought like you.”

The kettle whistle blew, effectively ending their conversation. It wasn’t long before Tai was taking his seat across from him, their mugs steaming on the table before them. Idly, Qrow traced the rim of his with his index finger, trying to think of something to say.

His focus shifted when a hand was suddenly being held out before him, clearly asking for something. “Uh?”

“Give me your hand.” Tai demanded.

His brain moved sluggishly, but when he understood what the other was offering, his face went redder than his eyes. “I, uh, need to drink my tea?”

“You’ve got a left one for that. Come on already.”

“It’s fine. It’s not that-” Any argument he had slipped away when he tried pulling his hand further away, only for the omega to reach over and snag it.

The simple touch was like electricity zinging through his muscles, leaving him helpless to resist as Tai laid his arm across the table. “You’re such a big baby.” He teased as he rolled up the cuff of Qrow’s shirt, pressing the pads of his fingers along the length of his forearm.

When the massage started, Qrow absolutely melted. While he hadn’t been entirely honest, it would still be true to say that he was probably working his way into an early case of carpal tunnel with how much tension built from his shoulder down to his wrist during his work. He sighed, slumping over the table as the other made his way up past his elbow. “I hate you.” He mumbled, face pillowed in his other arm.

“Yeah, I’m the worst.” Tai replied cheerily.

Gods, if only that were true, then maybe he wouldn’t love him as much as he did.

~

“I wish you could have met her.” Tai told him a little after sundown.

Qrow hummed questioningly, not pulling his eyes up from the midribs he was painstakingly adding onto every leaf. He felt like he was performing some sort of a balancing act, sitting on the edge of the recliner so he was close enough to draw while also trying to keep out of the beam of his scroll light pointed at them from his nightstand, since the weak 40 watt overhead just wasn’t bright enough to work with. There was a reason he never tattooed after dark.

“Summer.” Tai clarified, reminding him exactly why they were an hour behind. “You woulda liked her.”

He almost laughed at how inane that statement was. “Doubt that.”

“Really! She was sweet and a little shy. A bit of a rebel too. And I mean, she moved to Vale ‘cause she knew she could help more people in need for cheaper than the high end hospitals she could have worked in would charge.” He glanced over his shoulder as Qrow re-inked. “You gotta let that Atlesian stigma go, man.”

There really was no good way to answer that, so he didn’t bother trying. Gods only knew what Tai would have thought of him, if he found out the real reason they never would of gotten along was because Qrow didn’t believe he’d be able to resist his instincts a second time around. The ones that screamed at him to show Tai he was the more worthwhile mate, even if that meant delving things into a fistfight.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now.” The omega said when he caught on that he wasn’t going to get a response. “At least you’ll have a chance to meet Ruby. I warn you though, you’re totally going to fall in love. She’s got so much energy to her, like you wouldn’t believe. She giggles so much too, it’s the cutest little sound. And-! And…”

Pausing, Qrow flipped off the pen. “Tai?”

“S-Sorry.” He rubbed a hand over his face, clearing his throat loudly. “It just, hurts. Not knowing how they’re doing.” His voice broke. “I miss them.”

Not sure what else to do, he silently pressed his forehead against the base of Tai’s neck, mindful of his back as he wound an arm across his middle in a loose hug.

Knew, without a doubt, that it wasn’t nearly enough.

~

A year ago, when Qrow was working outside of Mantle for a spell, a client he’d never forget walked through his door. He was unusually broad-shouldered and buff, just like Tai. Yet, it wasn’t his physical attributes that truly made him stand out. It was the omega’s confidence.  He had a stride to him that exuded self-assurance and a stance that yielded pride.

It threw him completely off his game, as he was used to playing the role of consoler. Yet, as the omega held out his hand to shake, Qrow found himself wanting to compete against him. “You’re Harbinger. It’s a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot.”

“Only good things, I hope.” He replied, his grip firm and unyielding. “And you are?”

“Clover Ebi.” That name rang a bell, but he couldn’t place why. “And they were. You did a rebrand for a buddy of mine who lives over in the orange district. I was hoping you could do the same for mine.”

That brought some air to his sails as he found himself on more comfortable ground. “Yeah, ‘course I can. Why don’t you take a seat and I can get a gander at what I’m working with?”

“That’s the thing…” For the first time since he walked in, some of that boldness faltered. “If I show you, I need you to promise me not to freak out.”

Well, now he was really intrigued. “Come on. It can’t be that bad. Wait – it’s not on like, your ass cheek or something right?”

“You’re as crude as Robyn warned me you’d be.”

Qrow perked up at the name, remembering her as the outspoken journalist he’d looked after during his first stint in Mantle.

Clover placed a hand over his left bicep. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s under this.”

“Okay then, what’s the proble- Oh, shit.”

His heart rate jumped from resting to cardiac arrest in record time at the sight of the brand – not a harsh word like so many others had been forced to bear, but a simple, cursive script of the man’s own last name. The mark of someone who was in service of the Atlas military.

Which meant he was probably being set up right now.

“Fuck!” Qrow stumbled backwards, looking around wildly for a weapon. An exit. Anything.

“Hey, it’s okay!” Clover followed after him, albeit at a slower pace. “Come on, you said you wouldn’t freak out.”

He picked up an umbrella, holding it en garde like his sister used to with her katana. “We’re way past that, buddy. So, what is this? A trap? Are a bunch more of you about to bust through my wall to take me in?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Will you just – put the umbrella down!”

He came within striking distance – so Qrow struck. A fast swipe at his face.

Clover didn’t even look as his hand shot up to catch it. With strength he wasn’t even trying to hide, he yanked the makeshift weapon right out of Qrow’s grip and tossed it over his shoulder. He caught the fist that came next, boxing him into the corner so that he didn’t have room to move. It was an oddly uncomfortable feeling, being pinned down and powerless.

But while the hold was solid it wasn’t tight, nor was Clover’s face aggressive. “Can you calm down, please? I didn’t come here to turn you in. I came here because I want your help.”

“Why?” He barked back. “You chose to take that mark. Feeling regretful now soldier boy?”

The omega’s expression shifted darkly. “The only thing I chose was to fight for my kingdom, because I believe in protecting the people. This mark is something I have to bear, if I want to pursue that goal.”

His hands slid off, giving Qrow some breathing space. As he stared at the other, suddenly it came to him. “Wait. Ebi. I knew I recognized your name. You made headlines recently. You’re the captain of Tin Jimmy’s specialty squad.”

It had been a huge sensation, an omega taking a leadership position like that. It was practically unheard of and people talked it up like it was a sign of the ‘changing times.’ But he had brushed it off as another one of the kingdom’s typical publicity stunts. They always had something or the other going on to turn the people’s heads – because if everyone was looking at Atlas, no one would see anything else.

“I don’t get it. Why?” His brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it.

“Because I represent something larger than just a captain of a team. I represent hope. The worst thing for us is when no one’s talking. And I sure got them talking.”

That made sense. Nothing changed if no one was having the conversation. Still… “Rebranding could get you decommissioned. Negative PR be damned.”

“Well, as they say: Sometimes you got to risk it all for a dream.” Clover said with a quirk of his lips. “So, will you help me?”

It was one of the most needlessly reckless decisions he had ever made, but he did. In two, relatively short sessions, they were done. He slept with one eye open every day in-between, but when they finished and Clover was instead urging him to keep his contact info (“Just in case you ever get in trouble.”), Qrow felt oddly at ease. Like maybe he truly did make a friend in all this.

He never questioned why the case never hit the news – but if he left Mantle a little quicker than normal, well, that was his business.

Now, as he hit dial on that old contact, he could only pray Clover at least was going to keep this part of his word.

He picked up after the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey soldier boy.” Qrow started, trying to sound casual. “It’s Harbinger.”

A beat. Then, “Oh. Oh! Uh, two seconds okay?” There was a muffled bit of a noise and a faint, “I’ll be right back. Gotta take this.” A bit more shuffling and background noise as Qrow assumed he left the room, then Clover’s voice was back in his ear, surprisingly frantic. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Sorry, it’s not an emergency call.” He replied.

The omega let out a sigh of relief. It felt oddly nice to be worried about. “Oh thank Gods. So then, what’s up?”

“I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.” Qrow said, unconsciously pacing around his box-in-the-wall apartment. “Might be a longshot but, you got any connection with OPS?”

The OPS, or Omega Protection Services, were a kingdom-to-kingdom association that talked big about how they were dedicated to the proper care of the omega brethren in need. While in some veins of their work that was true, like funding lobbies for better rights in the system or providing financial support to those in trouble, it was equally true that under the table the organizations were fed big money from the reformatories to turn over a revolving door of clientele.

The biggest contributor of which was the Crisis Department. It was no secret that a death of a bond mate was devastating to an omega and there was a small percentage of those who became non-functional after the loss. Therefore, any omega known to have recently lost their mate was visited by an OPS agent. If the agent found the omega to be in such an extreme state, it was customary that the widow would be sent away for rehabilitation and any children would be rehomed either with known family or into a foster family until the parent was well enough to care for them again.

The key words being a small percentage. However, according to statistics, almost a quarter of all widowed omegas were in need of ‘reformation’. A percentage that went up or down depending on what kingdom was involved. Vale, their home country, was the only one underperforming on those numbers. By all accounts, Tai never should have gone to a reformatory at all.

The issue was the OPS agent assigned to the omega was from their alpha’s home kingdom. Which meant the agent that knocked on Tai’s door was from Atlas, the kingdom boosting the highest reformatory count by almost double any other one. They also had one of the strictest policies on how they rehomed children. Rather than even consider familial connections, they fostered all of them, claiming it would provide a more stable environment without the potential of an omega in probation from seeking them out and ‘influencing’ their young one’s minds before they were fully well.

All this to say it was almost impossible to know where Tai’s kids were unless he could talk to someone on the inside.

“I know someone who works out of there.” Clover said, before prying almost teasingly. “Why? Who are you looking for?”

Qrow realized too late that he probably should have expected this. “Don’t get any ideas!” He squawked. “I’m… trying to get some info on my niece. Nieces, actually. Just wanting to make sure they’re doing alright.”

“Oh.” Just like that, Clover was all business again. “Yeah, I can swing that. Just gonna need their names and ages, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find them. The names of their sires helps too.”

A sense of relief spread through him. “Yeah I can get that to you. I’ll message it.”

“Perfect! Should have something for you in a few days, okay?”

“Thank you Clover.”

“Anytime.”

It was only after the call ended and he’d written out the requested information, that it hit Qrow.

If he disclosed all this, it really wouldn’t be much further of a stretch for Clover to locate his own information alongside it. All these years on the lam potentially wasted in one single text message.

He flopped onto his bed with a groan, mussing a hand through his hair as the weight of the decision nettled him. Yet, as his thumb moved over to erase everything, his gaze unconsciously fell to his nightstand, where the pages of Tai’s designs were still resting. Thought of all the pain his friend still had to go to finish them, coupled with all he bore before this. Wouldn’t just a day of solace be worth it?

His thumb moved back up.

Sometimes you just had to risk it all, right?

Qrow hit send.

~

Tai smelt his anxiety the moment he walked through the door.

“Everything alright?” He asked, looking about the room as if he expected to find a portion of it on fire.

“Yeah, yeah.” Qrow assured, doing a very bad job of actually appearing alright as he fidgeted with his necklace. “I just have something I wanted to show you. Come here.”

“O…kay?”

Tai followed him over to his bed, sitting down beside him. It was more comfortable than the stiff plastic of the mismatched dining chairs at least, but now Qrow was also realizing it was painfully intimate. As he sat there, fighting the urge to just shove his scroll into the other hands, he realized maybe he should have planned this better. “So, I know this guy from Atlas, right? Someone on the higher end who has a lot of connections. And well, I asked if he might be able to check in on your daughters.”

“What?!” The omega gripped onto his arm, a sort of manic desperation dancing in his eyes. “Qrow, are you serious?”

He nodded, plucking his scroll off the nightstand and swiping over to his photo album. “Yeah and he was able to get me this from their file.” He handed the device over, seeing the way Tai eyes went wide. The photo was reportedly back from January, taken on some sort of outing the family had been on. The two girls were sitting in a sandbox, Yang pushing sand into a yellow bucket with her hands while Ruby watched her, biting on the end of the shovel that her sister probably should have been using.

“They’re with a beta family. An older couple whose kids have already left the house.” Qrow rambled as his friend just continued to stare at his children. “It’s a real nice place. Both the girls have their own rooms and there’s a backyard for them and everything. And the expense reports are showing their getting a nice, balanced diet and toys and even some learning, uh, things. Books and flashcards and all that fancy shit. And, well, uh – T-Tai?”

Tears dripped from the man’s chin, hitting the display of the scroll. “Yang’s in pigtails.”

“What?”

Tai lifted his head, eyes swimming. “I couldn’t get her to let me brush her hair most days, let alone put it in pigtails.”

“Tai…”

The omega brought the device to his chest, as if it was a suitable replacement for the children he’d rather hug. “And look at how big Ruby is now. She’s sitting up all on her own now. Probably walking.” He sobbed, a wretched, terrible noise that burst from something aching to his very core. “What else have I missed? Ruby has to be talking now. I didn’t even get to hear her first word. And Yang’s old enough to be in kindergarten – I should have been there to take her to her first day. But I wasn’t! I wasn’t there for any of it!”

Something in Qrow’s own heart shattered listening to the father’s anguish and he surged forward, gathering Tai up. Pulled him into a tight embrace as if it could protect him from all the hurt he had to bear.

“It’s not fair.” Tai cried into his shoulder. “It was awful enough, losing Summer. But then those OPS bastards came into my house, took one look at my marks and said I was unfit to raise my own kids! I felt so humiliated.” He clenched onto fistfuls of Qrow’s shirt, shaking hard enough he might just fall apart. “It’ll be almost two years by the time they give them back to me. They took those years away from me and I’m never getting them back!” He heaved over another sob. “What if they don’t even remember me Qrow?”

He ran his fingers soothingly through the other’s hair. “No one could forget you Tai. Not with that big, stupid, sunny smile a’yours. Those girls’ll take one look at it and go ‘there’s daddy!’. I just know it.”

It earned him a watery laugh that only delved into more tears. If he could have, Qrow would have torn up all of Atlas to find those pups and bring them back to Tai right then and there. As it was, there was little else he could do but hold him through it.

When the cries eventually turned to sniffles, Tai pulled away to wipe at his face. He looked a mess, eyes bloodshot and blotchy and red. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to lose it on you like that.”

“Think I should be the one saying sorry.” He cast a guilty glance to his scroll, which had fallen onto the bed at some point. “I just thought – I don’t know what I thought. Maybe I wasn’t.”

“Oh, no! Qrow.” Tai pat his knee reassuringly. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much it means to me to see them. To know you did all this for me.” He cast his gaze away, sighing. “It’s just, some days I feel like I’m drowning. There’s not a day that goes by I don’t think of my girls. Worry about them. But if I’m too emotional, suddenly I’m ‘too unstable’. So, I’ve been trying so hard to hold it together.”

Qrow’s jaw clenched. Becoming a professional arsonist was sounding better and better every day. “You don’t have to, not with me.”

“Heh. Even if I cry every day?”

“Cry every hour, if you need to.” He made an aborted gesture towards Tai’s hand. Touched his forearm instead. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you. Alright?”

Tai had no such inhibitions, his other hand laying down over Qrow’s, squeezing gently. “Thank you. I know I haven’t said it nearly enough, but I really do appreciate everything you’ve done. I don’t know how I would have gotten through these past few weeks without you.”

“You would have.” He said, doubtless. Tai was strong inside and out. He’d always admired that about him. “But, I’m glad I can help.”

Anything was worth bringing that smile to his face.

As if on cue, one stretched across Tai’s lips as he said, “I’ll pay you back one day, promise.”

One day, maybe Qrow would tell him he already had.

[dimigex]

Healing Hands Chapter Six (YamaSaku)

Chapter six is finally available! You can find the full story here on AO3 and FF as well, but here’s a snippet (more below the cut). 

As Sakura navigated the darkened streets toward the hospital, she took stock of how much she'd had to drink. The truth in Kazuko's words rankled more than she cared to admit, both the implication that what they'd been doing was a mistake, and that Sakura needed to sober up before using medical ninjutsu. True, she'd drunk a couple of beers and as many shots over the night, but hours had passed since then. She didn't feel impaired, but his accusation was worth considering.

As irritating as it was, Kazuko had a point. Sakura could be needed at any moment for Anbu. If she were well and truly under the influence, someone would die on her watch. There was no one else to shoulder the burden of caring for the worst injuries. Sakura didn't have a backup waiting in the wings like Tsunade had. Vaguely, she wondered how her mentor had balanced her love of sake with her responsibilities.

Ignoring the question for now, Sakura slipped into the serene lobby of the hospital. The difference in the atmosphere between when she'd left earlier and now couldn't have been more pronounced if someone had staged it. The frenetic pace of doctors and nurses rushing into rooms had diminished to quiet footsteps and softly beeping machines. The staff were more likely to be gathered around the desk than the exam rooms, while their patients, no longer in need of urgent care, slept. No where near the urgent environment she expected to find.

Though Sakura knew that she wouldn't have been paged for a minor injury, she felt a stab of annoyance after the day she'd had. Hurrying through the halls at a clipped pace, she spoke to no one, intent on her destination. The walk had sobered Sakura further, and the memory of what had almost happened between herself and Kazuko kept trying to push to the forefront of Sakura's mind. She quashed down the questions as a problem to solve another day. Sakura couldn't deal with the fall out from Kazuko; tonight, she had an injured shinobi to take care of.

The near silence that permeated the shinobi wing made the skin on Sakura's arms rise in gooseflesh. On the other floors, there was a constant hustle and bustle of patients and nurses throughout the evening. Here, it was silent as death. When Sakura had left for the day, none of the beds had been occupied. Now, there was at least one critical patient. Brilliant fluorescent light beckoned from the end of the hallway.

Pausing, Sakura drew a deep breath and released her worries about Kazuko and what might be on the other side of that door. She had trained for this. Only the patient mattered; there was no room for more mistakes. After removing every ounce of emotion from her features, Sakura pushed the door inward.

There were three people in the room, but Sakura only had eyes for her patient. An unfamiliar woman stared back from the bed, surprisingly conscious; that was a good sign. A shock of bright green hair fell across her face, partially obscuring unfocused, golden eyes. She swiped the strands away and grimaced. Chiasa, one of the few nurses assigned to Anbu, stood beside the bed prepping an IV line. Bags of fluid awaited Sakura's approval.

"Haruno-sensei," the familiarity in the rough voice surprised Sakura. She turned to the third person in the room, frowning as gloved hands came up to remove the porcelain cat mask. Sakura missed a step, stumbling over open air when she recognized Yamato.

The spattering of blood across Yamato's chest plate warned Sakura that the man had been in battle. Even so, she wasn't prepared for the mess beneath his mask. Yamato's left eye was swollen almost completely shut, angry red streaks darkening toward purple on the skin. A gash followed the curve of his prominent cheekbone, ending in a busted lip. Dried blood flaked from his chin.

Sakura nearly reached toward the man, then caught herself. If Yamato had been the reason that she'd been called to the hospital, he would be the one in bed. Shaking off her surprise, Sakura tossed her bag onto the small table beside the nurse and dug out her stethoscope. "What do we have?"

"Concussive injuries," Chiasa answered, taping off the needle she'd inserted into the woman's wrist. Sakura spared a single glance for Yamato, curious why he hadn't been the one to speak. "Splintered wrist, probable internal bleeding."

"'m fine," the woman on the bed mumbled, golden eyes glaring over Sakura's shoulder at Yamato. She fought into a sitting position, body swaying with the movement. "'didn't need to come."

Stepping forward, Sakura placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and guided her back to the bed with as little force as possible. "I'll be the judge of that," she interrupted. "Now, do you know where you are?"

"Obviously at the hospital," the girl snipped. The anger previously directed at Yamato shifted to Sakura, and fire entered the woman's voice even though she looked one strong breeze from falling over. "I know that my name is Saiyo. Go ahead, and hold up your fingers. I can do that trick too."

"Saiyo," Yamato warned, but Sakura waved him away. This was far from her first time dealing with recalcitrant patients. She'd treated Kakashi after all. Rather than meeting Saiyo's sarcasm, Sakura accepted a pen light from the nurse. After a grudging nod, Sakura thumbed the woman's eyelids wider..Her pupils were sluggish, but they responded to the light's influence and shrunk as they should have.

Sakura nodded to herself, that too was a good sign. "How long has it been since she was injured?"

Chiasa remained silent, so Sakura turned back to Yamato. The man paused the drumming of fingers against thigh and glanced at the clock. "Approximately twelve hours."

Frowning, Sakura studied Saiyo. Except for the poorly splinted and wrapped wrist, the girl looked in far better shape than Yamato. At least, on the surface. The fact that Saiyo was conscious and presumably walking after the injury was another good sign. "Did she lose consciousness?"

"She is sitting right here," Saiyo groused, pushing back into a sitting position to glare at Sakura. The movement jostled her injured arm, and the girl winced. "You don't have to talk over my head. You can talk to me."

"Would you know if you'd lost consciousness?" Sakura asked, failing to keep the annoyance from her voice. She'd had one hell of a day already, and she didn't particularly feel like convincing an entitled brat that she needed medical care. "I assumed that your captain would have been able to view the situation more clearly than you might have."

Saiyo scoffed under her breath. "I'm Anbu, not some genin too busy mooning after a boy to do my job. I don't need someone to watch my back."

Memories of Sakura's genin days and chasing after Sasuke burst through her mind and mingled with the earlier, almost mistake of Kazuko. Hot shame washed through her stomach, quickly obliterated by anger. She forced a breath into her lungs and reminded herself that she'd taken an oath to do no harm, at least not at the hospital. She opened her mouth to respond.

"Enough," Yamato growled, voice sharp enough that Sakura involuntarily straightened like he'd been able to read her thoughts. She had heard Yamato use that tone with Team Seven, mostly directed at Sai and Naruto, but she remembered it well. The man let out an exasperated sigh. "Stop acting like a child, or I'll pull you off active missions until you learn to keep a civil tongue."

Sakura expected Saiyo to grow angry at the reprimand, but spots of color appeared on the girl's cheeks. She swallowed her retort, then erased the emotions from her face. If Sakura hadn't known the same tricks, she would have been impressed. Yamato ran a hand through his hair, and Sakura realized he wasn't wearing the head protector she'd always seen him with. Vaguely, she wondered where it was when he nodded toward Saiyo. "She lost consciousness briefly, no longer than a minute, I'd say."

Humming under her breath, Sakura wondered how much healing ninjutsu Yamato's team had at their disposal on missions. She and Tsunade had discussed the need of medical nin on every team that left the village, but Sakura was no closer to making that dream a reality. Obviously, Anbu needed that knowledge more than most, but everyone could benefit from it. How many shinobi did they lose in the field that even a medic still in training could have saved?

Turning her eyes back to Saiyo, Sakura examined the girl's wrist. The splint and wrapping were messy, imperfect by medical standards, but adequate for what they'd probably had to work with. A long piece of fabric lay next to Saiyo's hip, presumably a sling that Chiasa had removed before Sakura got there. She couldn't help but wonder who had stabilized Saiyo before the team came back to Konoha. Had Yamato done it? Was there anyone on the team besides Yamato and Saiyo? Sakura realized that she knew precious little about how Anbu missions worked.

Sakura shook the thoughts away and brought her attention back to the beeping machines beside the bed. Chiasa had gotten everything hooked up and prepared for Sakura's arrival so they could jump straight to treatment. Saiyo's blood pressure and heart rate were slightly elevated, but neither was surprising with the injured wrist. Her oxygen saturation was near perfect, pointing to healthy, undamaged lungs from whatever had happened. Sakura would check everything with chakra, of course, but Saiyo appeared to have gotten away lightly. Sakura almost laughed at the idea that a concussion and splintered wrist were considered insignificant in this line of work.

"I can't promise that this won't hurt," Sakura warned as she stepped closer to the bed. Saiyo ground her teeth together, either against the expectation of pain or to hold back another biting comment, then nodded.

Exhaling, Sakura focused chakra in the hands hovering just above Saiyo's damaged wrist. She eased the flow against Saiyo's chakra, felt resistance, then pushed harder. Saiyo grunted, her body jerking at the invasion, but Sakura hardly noticed. Her mind was already sorting essential information from unimportant distractions. She ignored the bruises, cuts, and aches in favor of checking Saiyo's internal organs for bleeding. Anything that felt out of place was a warning sign that Sakura couldn't afford to miss.

After ensuring that nothing substantial had affected Saiyo's internal systems, Sakura moved to the girl's wrist. The two larger bones had been realigned before being splinted, a feat that impressed Sakura and made it easy to encourage regrowth. What would have taken months for a civilian would be completed in a matter of days with chakra's help. The complex, tiny bones nearer to the fingers needed to be shifted ever so gently to the side-a sharp gasp from Saiyo tugged at Sakura's concentration but she forced herself to continue, picturing the carefully inked pictures that Tsunade had made her study.

Sweat popped out on Sakura's forehead as she realigned the pieces like a puzzle, but she hardly noticed. Maintaining the delicate flows of chakra required every ounce of her attention. The edge of alcohol in her system made it more difficult than it would have been otherwise, but it was nothing Sakura couldn't handle. One slip up here could be catastrophic; she had to maintain focus until the end.

Content that the wrist would heal on its own soon, Sakura focused her attention toward Saiyo's skull. Concussions were tricky to diagnose on the best day, impossible on the worst. The loss of consciousness, sluggish pupils, and slurred speech were enough to suggest that Saiyo had one. Even the woman's combative nature could have pointed to a concussion, but Sakura thought that was more personality than injury. Rather than looking for bruising indicative of a concussion, Sakura checked for active bleeding inside Saiyo's skull. The girl's brain would repair itself far better without Sakura's interference unless it was life or death.

Content that she'd done everything in her power, Sakura released her chakra and opened her eyes. For a moment, her vision doubled with exhaustion. She had the vague sensation that her knees might collapse, but she held herself erect despite the weakness that warned that she'd pushed herself too far today. Saiyo groaned and sank back against the pillow, face ashen.

"I've stabilized your wrist," Sakura began, running her tongue over too dry lips. Even talking felt like a struggle, though she knew the sensation would pass. "It should be good as new in a few days. There were no signs of internal bleeding, but I want to keep you for observation overnight to make sure we didn't miss anything."

Sakura braced herself for an argument, but Saiyo closed her eyes with murmured agreement. Sakura frowned. Chakra healing took some of its energy from the patient, but Saiyo had been overbearing only a few minutes ago. Now, she looked completely spent. "Saiyo? How are you feeling?"

When Sakura didn't get an answer, she glanced at the monitor. Saiyo's heart rate had dropped significantly, much closer to the range that Sakura expected of a physically fit shinobi. She doubted that removing pain from her wrist would have created such a dramatic effect. Had she missed bleeding somewhere? "Let's run-"

"She's fine," Yamato interjected, stepping closer. Sakura spun to face him and immediately regretted it when the room tilted at the edges. Yamato's demeanor had changed. He practically bounced on his toes with unspent energy now that he knew Saiyo would live. Sakura opened her mouth to question him, but Yamato spoke over the words. "She took a soldier pill, and they fade quickly. In a day or two, she'll be back to her normal, moody self. Thanks to you," the man added as an afterthought.

A low growl left Sakura's throat. "You didn't think that we might need that information?"

"How do you think she got here with a broken wrist and concussion?" Yamato snorted humorlessly in the back of his throat and shook his head. When he saw Sakura's expression, the man moderated his tone. "Anbu is a different world; we push our bodies past their limits all the time."

"And, I'm the one left picking up the pieces," Sakura shot back. Anger rolled through her in waves that she didn't fully understand. Regular shinobi used soldier pills sparingly, only in life and death situations. The stimulants inside each capsule could keep someone going for up to twenty-four hours, but then, their body would more or less shut down for the next two days to recover.

Embarrassment followed quickly on anger's heels. Sakura should have asked if Saiyo had taken anything, she should have surmised the effect of stimulants on the girl's blood pressure and heart rate. She'd been too tired to do a thorough examination before jumping to healing. Tsunade would have punished Sakura for such a slip up, making her do charting instead of seeing patients for weeks.

Unaware of the self-deprecating thoughts in Sakura's mind, Yamato's mouth curled into a condescending smile. She'd never seen that expression on his face before. "Anbu rarely have the luxury of a medic on the team."

"Yeah," Sakura agreed, internally grumbling over the old argument. Yamato would never convince her that things in Anbu didn't need to change, and she would probably never convince him that they should. Sakura was too tired to argue the point tonight, and she didn't know enough about the organization to critique it well. Not yet, but she planned to find out. She'd push Kakashi for more information as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Turning back to Chiasa, who had been quietly making notes in Saiyo's file, Sakura nodded. "Go ahead and start the fluids, we'll try to flush some of the stimulants from her system. And, you'll page me if there are any changes?"

"Of course, Haruno-sensei," Chiasa murmured, already reaching for the fluids that she'd laid out before Sakura arrived at the hospital. The woman's quiet, efficient manner put Sakura at ease.

"Thanks," Sakura began, pausing when a sound drew her attention. She turned to find Yamato replacing the cat mask over his face. The loss of familiarity left her uncomfortable. True, she only saw a portion of Kakashi's face, but somehow just the shadowed brown of Yamato's eyes was different, like he'd pushed a barrier between them. She arched one eyebrow. "And just where do you think you're going? You were injured as well."

The man shook his head, adjusting the black compression glove on one arm. "I'm only here because of Saiyo. And, unlike her, I actually am fine."

Sakura rolled her eyes. "I'll be the judge of that."

Yamato shook his head again, then bent to scoop his pack from the ground. Sakura hadn't even noticed it there until now. "I have been doing this long enough to know when I need the hospital and when I just need a hot shower. Today is the latter, and I have a report to make."

The man dipped his head in an almost acknowledgement to Sakura's silence, then raised his fingers to chest height. Before she could think of a convincing argument, Yamato shunshined from the room. Despite his injuries, Yamato was probably right. His body would heal on its own, and Sakura didn't have much chakra or energy left to put into another healing. She looked at Saiyo, already lulled to sleep by the exhaustion of healing and her body coming down from the stimulant.

As much as Sakura wanted to analyze everything that had happened, she exhaled that urge in a long, measured breath. She needed rest; tomorrow would be soon enough to sort through all these problems.

(Don’t forget to check out the rest of this chapter and story at the links above on Fanfiction and A03)

[thephantomofthe-internet]

And the World goes Soft

Steve Harrington x Reader (Future AU)

Words: 3,730

Warnings: Blood mention, injury mention, insecurities, general fluff

Author’s Note: I was inspired by a fanfiction that I can no longer find :( but it was a Steve as a bartender fic, I would tag the potential writers but I don’t want to bother them, but when I find it the world will know!

Masterlist

When Steve walked into your shared apartment, he looked like absolute shit. He’d worked a devil’s double-he closed the bar and then opened it only a few hours later. You couldn’t remember him coming to bed the night before, and you’d left before him to make it into Gary Garden Court mall’s Sears to open the makeup counter. You both had the opening shifts that morning and while you knew that your shift would pay you basic minimum wage to deal with stuffy older women all trying to buy orange lipstick and bringing in their young daughters to have mall makeovers before school dances. Steve, on the other hand, would get paid less than minimum wage to lift heavy cases of beer and liquor, prep the rail for the night shift, and still serve the saddest drunks in the world their three beer lunches.

By the way he threw down his gym bag, the shift was gruesome. The bags under his eyes were blotchy blue and purple and heavy, his eyes dull and lids sagging over his pupils. His hair was greasy and hidden under a blue baseball cap. His work bag stunk like grease. By the looks at him, he probably had to step into the kitchen as well. You dropped your thin paperback on the couch and swung your feet onto the floor.

“Did Anthony not show up again?” you asked, standing to meet him in the doorway. You pressed a kiss to his temple. He was sweaty. They must have been busy, mornings were usually pretty safe. That was the only reason Steve picked up the shift, his co-worker Hannah had practically begged him to cover for her.

“He was two hours late,” Steve sighed bitterly. Anthony was the worst guy in the kitchen, he was always either late or absent from work, but because he was the general manager’s nephew he never got fired. “I had to do the whole kitchen put away while Mike opened up everything.”

“I’m sorry baby,” you smiled sadly. He skin and hair smelt of fryer grease. It was a pungent odour that you were very used to. Steve shrugged half heartedly. He reached over his head and pulled off the olive crewneck sweatshirt he’d thrown over his uniform. The sweater was ancient; he’d had it since high school and was more than showing its wear and tear. Steve winced audibly, pulling an arm behind him to clutch at his lower back.

“Did you hurt yourself at work again?”You asked as he pulled off the other sleeve and dropped the sweatshirt on top of his bag.

“Yeah, heavy wing boxes, no help.” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“Did you tell Mike?” you asked, taking the hat off his head so he didn’t have to lift his arms over his head again.

“Nah, no point, I won’t die.” You furrowed your brow. Steve always acted tougher than he actually was; years of putting other’s safety above his made him constantly put himself last on his own list. It made you sad to watch him wear himself down for shitty managers and co-workers who cared more about filling their own pockets than taking care of one another.

“You should go take a bath, soak your back.” You said, reaching down to pick up his work bag. Steve nodded, hobbling towards your shared bathroom. Once the door shut, you picked up his things. You felt terrible for him. He did so much for you to make life easier for the pair of you. You knew that he still didn’t think you should’ve left with him. He had all these ideas about who you could be, who you should be. But what he didn’t understand is that none of that really mattered to you. You didn’t care about big fancy college degrees or the Harrington family wealth or trust funds. You cared about Steve. Steve made you happy. You could be living in absolute shit with him and you’d still be happy. And your little studio apartment made you happy, with its cool teal glass brick pillars and the big windows facing out into the busy street. Living in downtown Gary wasn’t exactly the little haven you’d expected for your life, you’d selfishly imagined your own little box build house in the suburbs, with uniforms lawns and pastel doors. You wanted the life your parents had made you, a safe space for kids to grow up. But you knew in your heart that even the safest, quietest small towns in the world weren’t safe.

You heard the water start and you turned your attention to the mess Steve had left behind. You threw his work bag under the coffee table under the window, where it belonged, and turned your attention to Steve’s sweater. It was ancient, but you knew that it was Steve’s favourite. It comforted him when he was upset or had night terrors. He wore it whenever he wanted to feel a bit of security. You examined the fabric. It was beat-the neck had a chunk of fabric missing, showing the fleece underneath, the sleeve cuffs had holes and seams along the arms had holes in between the seams. You felt bad for the thing. Steve tried to take care of his clothes the best he could, but he couldn’t sew. Hemlines would fall and Steve would just throw the shirt into the back of his closet until he was desperate for clothes. He’d buy a whole new pair of jeans if he ripped the knee open. You found the piles of forgotten shirts when you moved in with him and had taken on the slow process of fixing them all. Steve never really seemed to notice. Every time he went for an old shirt do some work in and found it hemmed, he merely shrugged it off, blamed it on his memory. Get your head beat in enough times and you start to lose some things. Steve couldn’t remember most of elementary school and most of the fire at Star Court mall, the combination of drugs and the concussion he’d gotten fucked up his brain for a summer.

You were determined to fix the sweater. You wandered to your desk, pulling out the broken swivel chair and opening the drawer. You had a few spools of thread in your sewing kit; the basic black and white, along with a red and a navy blue. You kept the kit in the back of your desk, although a couple spools of pastel pink, purple, and green thread rolled around up front, leftovers from high school home economics. You didn’t have the exact colour to match Steve’s sweater, so the pastel green would have to do. You grabbed that, along with a needle and the pink scissors from the cup of pens on the top of your desk. You brought your supplies out into the space zoned out as your living room. There were three holes on the right cuff and one small hole on the right sleeve, and one hole on the left cuff and one hole on the right sleeve. The left sleeve was much for wear than the right, one wrong hook of the thumb and the whole cuff could be taken off the sleeve. You focused on that sleeve first.

You wouldn’t bother with pins to hold the material together; you’d simply do a free stitch. You cut off an arms length of thread and slid the needle through, knotting the ends together. You started with cuff, since it would be the easiest. You stabbed the needle into the fabric, bobbing through the material in a straight, basic stitch. It took you all of two minutes. You’d gotten quick at hand sewing from fixing up Steve’s wardrobe. You didn’t want to make a big deal of it, mainly because Steve would feel bad about you taking care of him. He liked to feel self-sufficient, and he was but everyone needed a bit of help once and awhile.

“Baby?” you heard Steve call from behind the closed bathroom door.

“Yeah?” you called, knotting off the green thread once, then twice. You snipped off the excess thread and stabbed the needle into the couch, the excess thread hanging off the eye. You knotted it off and started in on the sleeve, turning it inside out.

“Will you come and sit with me? I’m lonely.” Steve called. The bathtub you had barely held him, but he still tried to get you to join him in there every time he took a bath.

You sighed through your nose “Alright, baby.” You collected up your supplies, bundling them in your arms and padding your way into the bathroom. You kicked Steve’s work clothes into the hall as you opened the door, a silent reminder to wash that shit later. His clothes stunk. Steve looked like a poorly done piece of origami, crumpled up in the tiny white tub. It was barely five feet in length and Steve was a strong six two, his legs hung out of the tub in the open air, his torso pulled into the hot water. He’s steamed up the mirror and made the whole bathroom humid. You flipped down the toilet seat and dropped your supplies on the counter top.

“Baby, come sit with me…”Steve whined, his head low in the tub, only his hair visible.

“I am sitting with you,” you chuckled. You had taken to doing a ladder stitch up the open place in the sleeve. It wasn’t as though the seam had ripped, the sleeve had simply been surged shut and the surging had come up and pulled away. It was a cheap sweater. You struggled to pull the needle through the other side of the fabric; it was thick and the needle was hooked at the end, which meant that it hooked on every loose bit of fluff on the material. You stuck your hand through the cuff to grab the needle and push it back in to make the next stitch.

“You’re too far away…” Steve complained quietly.

“And our tub is too tiny,” you replied “When we can afford a bigger place, we’ll get one with a nice tub. Then we’ll take as many baths as you want.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep…” Steve chuckled. You sat in silence for awhile, long enough to finish off the left sleeve and start in on the right. Steve didn’t seem to notice the sounds of scissors snipping or the thread unwinding from the spool. He hummed quietly to himself. Sometimes he’d sing when he thought no one was listening. He had a nice voice; you wished he’d sing more. But his quiet humming was comforting. It reminded you of driving around with him on the nights he couldn’t sleep. He’d drive in silence for awhile, the radio playing softly, and whenever a song he liked came on he’d hum along. You’d fall asleep in the passenger seat some nights; you hand on his arm to remind him that you were still there. You’d wake up to hear him humming along to Chris de Burgh or Stevie Nicks as the station began to transition from the smoother songs to the morning zoo crew shtick. You remember waking up to the sunrise and forcing Steve into the passenger seat when you realized how long he’d been driving. There were mornings when you didn’t know where you were anymore and you’d have to figure out where the hell you were. Still, you’d let him sleep as you winded your way back into Hawkins. He only seemed to be able to sleep with someone there with him. Driving became his move after he got worried that calling you at two in the morning was upsetting you. It didn’t bother you at all, but the phone ringing early in the morning more than upset your parents. Sitting with Steve in the tub felt like those nights in the car, or on the phone, not so much talking so much as checking that you’re still there and that he was still okay.

“What’re you doing over there?” Steve asked. You heard the water slosh and watched as Steve’s legs slipped back into the tub and his head pop out from over the tub’s ledge. You smiled shyly, lifting the sleeve of his sweater. “What’re you doing with my sweater?” He seemed perplexed by you having it. Steve still wasn’t used to people wanting to take care of him. He was so used to being self sufficient that letting people take care of him was still foreign to him.

“I’m fixing it. It’s all ripped and worn to shit.” You turned your attention back to your sewing. You’d finished patching up the right cuff and had turned your attention to the last rip. You flipped the sleeve inside out and jabbed the needle into the fabric.

“You don’t have to do that, I can fix it.” Steve replied awkwardly, sinking low in the tub again.

“I know you can, but it’s no issue for me,” you said “Besides, I’ve been fixing your shirts for months now.” Steve frowned, looking down at his chest. He didn’t like to be care taken for, it made him feel small and useless. It reminded him of when his mother would burst into his room and start picking up after him, muttering over how ungrateful and lazy he was. He never asked for her to do that, he never expected it, but it was a constant reminder that he wasn’t good enough. That he was still too much of a child to take care of himself.

Steve was silent for too long. You knew in your heart that helping Steve wasn’t always easy. He didn’t accept help like other people did, he was too brave to ask for it and too cowardly to admit that he ever needed help. He wanted to be brave, to take care of himself without anyone else’s help. And he did that, every day without comment or complaint, but it hurt to watch him struggle sometimes. He struggled to hard to be the bigger breadwinner in your house. He was still on your ass to quit your job and go to school. In his mind, he could handle it on his own. But you both knew, even if he wouldn’t admit it, that extra shifts at the bar wouldn’t keep a roof over your head without you working too, it was just too expensive to live on minimum wage, even in a shitty neighbourhood in Indiana. You wouldn’t pretend that it wasn’t brave of him to declare that he could handle it, it was almost romantic, but you were just as brave as him and you wouldn’t watch him break himself apart to give you a life only marginally better than what you already had.

“Baby…you know that I don’t do things for you because I don’t think you can do them, right?” you asked. Steve was silent for a moment. You heard him shift in the tub. The room was starting to go cool, the fog on the mirror fading away. The water in the tub must be uncomfortably cool. You wished he’d turn on the water and add a bit more to the tub, to at least add some sound to the room and warm it up again. You were starting to get cold.

Steve sighed quietly “I know…”

“Do you?”

That was a hard question. Harder than Steve had expected. He wanted to believe you. He did trust you, more than anyone else in the world, and he almost always believed you. But he wasn’t so sure on that one. He still felt like such a child so much of the time. He was still so young, most of his coworkers were older than him, and the ones his age only worked part time and went to college. Half of them still lived at home with their parents too. Most people who he met either took pity on him or outright judged him. When he mentioned that he lived with his girlfriend out here, one of his coworkers asked if she was pregnant. If he’d gotten kicked out. He was still viewed as too young for the life he was trying to build for himself. His father still thought he was coming back. He’d get on the phone after Steve’s mother every couple months to ask when his little experiment was done. He didn’t understand that this wasn’t an experiment, this was life now. That he wasn’t coming back to take some entry position at the company, where he could get shit on by his father in a corporate scenario as well as at home. That he was going to make it on his own. And Steve was determined to make it, and to make it with you.

“Honestly?” you nodded, hoping to god that he’d actually admit a feeling. “I’m not used to people trying to help me without asking for something in return. People usually want something from me. And then there are my parents…”

“I understand,” you sighed softly, stabbing the needle into the material and setting it on the toilet seat. You stood and walked over to the tub, sitting down on the cold tile outside the tub. “All I want to do is help you. I know you can’t sew and I can, so I just wanted to do something for you. I know that this is your favourite sweater and it needed a bit of mending.”

“I can sew…” Steve muttered awkwardly. You looked behind you to see him pouting like a child, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It was strangely adorable, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh yeah, I have the scar on my leg to prove it.” Your hand came to touch the jagged scar on your calf. You’d been hurt in an attack, the onetime Steve let you anywhere near the monsters he willingly threw himself at, and came away with a massive wound four inches long and deep. Steve had promised that he could patch you up and had done his best to clean and stitch the wound shut. It never got infected, thank god, but it didn’t heal even or flat. The scar was still lumpy and dark in spots. You were proud of the little scar, but you could tell that Steve was still a bit ashamed of what he’d done to you. You watched as his face changed, defeat flashing in his deep, warm eyes.

“Hey,” you reached out and took his hand “I like my little scar. You saved my life that day…” Steve gave you a small smile.

“I made a mess of it though…” he whispered to himself.

“No, Steve,” you squeezed his hand in yours, turning your full body to look at him, leaning your other arm on the ledge of the tub. It was a bit strange having such an earnest conversation while Steve was buck naked, you worried that he felt overexposed with you watching him. You held his gaze. “You didn’t mess anything up, you saved my life.”

“You would’ve done the same for me…”

“I would have, happily, and that’s because I love you.” Steve still smiled like a little kid whenever you said that you loved him, it was so sweet and earnest that you couldn’t help but smile back just as sweetly. “And when you love someone, you do stuff for them. And so me fixing things up for you isn’t me judging you or thinking that you can’t do it, I know you can, it’s just me trying to help you however I can.”

Steve nodded hard “Okay…” he replied softly. You watched him carefully, trying to find cracks in his expression. He seemed genuine in his acceptance, his smile stayed firmly in place.

“So will you let me finish the damn work without pouting?” you chuckled, reaching for your work. You’d left the needle end out too far. The second you grabbed the sweater, you jabbed your hand. “Ow!” you yelped, pulling the sweater in your lap and your hand up to your mouth. It was only a pinprick, but the bit of blood seeping from the wound made your stomach churn to look at. You didn’t like blood, you’d seen too much blood in your life to last you a lifetime. You’d seen Steve bloody and battered too many times to last a lifetime. Steve grabbed your hand away from you, pressing a firm kiss to the wound and held it there.

“Be careful,” he soothed “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“It’s just a flesh wound, Steve, I’m fine.” You tried to push yourself up again, but Steve pulled you back down. “Lemme get a Band-Aid, I’m not gonna leave I-”

Steve pulled you down to his level. You stumbled, but caught yourself on the mildew stained tile. “Thank you, baby,” he craned his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You smiled, running a hand through his hair.

“Anytime, baby,” you mused “Now, finish off your bath I wanna eat and I won’t wait around for you to stop playing princess.” Steve let go of your hand and you turned your attention to your tiny bathroom mirror. You pulled it open, pulling out the box of bandages. You pulled one out and pulled off the thin, wispy paper, wrapping the latex around your fingertip. You heard the tub begin to drain and felt damp, pruney hands wrap around your middle.

“I like your hair…” he pressed a kiss onto the side of your head. You pulled his hands away, reaching for an old towel off the rack and shoving it into his chest.

“You’re soaked, Casanova, dry off before you ruin the whole bathroom.” You chuckled, turning on your heel and pushing out the door. His hands had left two marks on your stomach, cold on your skin.

“Save me some of that pizza from last night!” Steve called, turning his attention to the door to watch you go. You laughed, pulling the door shut behind you. “I love you!”

You stopped in your tracks. Hearing him say that could still make your heart speed up. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head slightly. “I love you too, doofus.”

[fmufmu]

Somebody else. (M)

[Can you write about enemies to lovers with minsik tysm ❣️]

a/n: unedited, wanted to get something out because i missed you guys and this also does dip at the end. maybe a rewritten ver. at some point!

               Being locked in a cupboard makes for interesting conversations

               Being locked in a closest makes for interesting conversations, or maybe, no conversation at all.

You don’t know why Minsik and yourself don’t get along. You’ve butted heads since you joined h1ghr as a producer. Maybe it’s because you’re polar opposites; Minsik is extroverted and loud and you’re just . . . not. And of course, arguments would bloom and suddenly the studio or the conference room or anywhere that Minsik and you would be becomes a battlefield filled with nasty jabs and petty insults that usually result in you storming out.

The worst part is you both were friends. Not great or close but you were friends and it was nice. Minsik was the first person to make you feel welcome, to take you out for dinner, to listen to your music and critique it. You’d even go as far to say that maybe there was even a spark between you both. That was the first few weeks of working at h1ghr and suddenly now, you can’t even go five minutes without trying to rip into each other like wolves.

               And now, sat across from Kwon Minsik, the bane of your existence of the last few months, you wonder just how long you’re going to be sat in the closet for. The light above you both flickers and you sigh heavily, pulling your legs up to your chest and letting your eyes focus on your sneakers. Your back is leant against the lock door (thanks Jay. Or maybe Haon. Or maybe Junwon. It was one of their stupid ideas.) and Minsik leant against one of the leaning supply racks, pulling at the threads of his jeans. Your eyes catch each other, and you look away quickly, sighing once more.

               “We’ve been sitting here for the last twenty minutes and you’ve sighed at least a hundred times since we’ve been in here.” Your eyes find Minsiks and a smirk falls onto his lips. “You’re having the time of your life, right? Not regretting it at all, right?”

               “I’d prefer to be home right now, thanks.” You say to him, frowning. “Not sat with an arrogant asswipe.”

               “You can talk, y/n.” Minsik snips at you, rolling his eyes as he flicks some dust off the floor. “You’re just as arrogant with your shitty indie beats. I’m surprised you don’t regret it.” A chill pricks down your spine. This is how it starts – with a comment that’s flippant that jabs you in the stomach and fills your stomach with anxiety and annoyance.

               “Regret it? What the fuck? You think you’re better than me?” You say, sitting up properly. “You have two distinct beats and use autotune on your voice. The only thing you need to worry about is when your fifteen minutes of fame will be over.” It starts.

               “My fifteen minutes? What about your fifteen minutes, y/n? You’re just another pretty face, y/n.” Minsik shoots at you, letting out a humourless laugh. Ouch. You’re not just a pretty face, you’re talented. More talented than Kwon Minsik.

               “Eat shit you jack-off.” You say, kicking out your leg and hitting his shin. “You don’t know shit about music and your last album shows it.” You bite down your on your lip and Minsik laughs, kicking your shin back.

               “And your only ep does?” Minsik laughs at you. You’re face goes hot and a flush runs down your body. “Jesus Christ, thank you, y/n for gracing us with an EP consisting of five songs that are, quite literally, shit.” You suck in a deep breath. That’s not true. It’s not true, you tell yourself. Okay sure, you’re EP was slightly rushed, and the collaborations could’ve been better but – but that’s not fair for Minsik to say that.

               “You piece of shit!” You say, raising your voice. No, you won’t let Minsik get under your skin, even if he is right now. You’re better than this. You swallow hard and lower your voice, saying; “Get off your fucking high horse. You don’t know shit about what I do and what I produce.”

               “Right, and you do right?” Minsik leans forward. “I’ll give you a tip y/n, to be successful in this kind of industry, you have to have some talent. Not just good looks.” You hate him. You shaking with anger as tears fill your eyes. Who the fuck was Minsik to speak to you like this?

               “I am talented.” You say, angrily. “I have more talent in one hand than you have in all your body.”

               “You know,” Minsik says. “When Jay told me he’d signed you, I asked if it was a pity thing. Because how can someone so fucking untalented get into a company like this?” You sit back, stunned. “I thought maybe you were blackmailing Jay –,”

               “ – how fucking dare you –,”

               “ – or maybe you’re family is rich, and this is how you got to be where you are –,”

               “ – you fucking –,” Your fists are balled up completely by this time as you stumble to your feet. “How fucking dare you even think that I fucked anyone to get where I am! I worked hard for this position! I worked my ass off in college and now!” You’re not going to cry. You’re not going to let Minsk’s words, words that you read each and every day when you see articles about yourself, affect you. He was only saying this to get a rise out of you.

               “Am I fucking wrong!” Minsik stands up. “Because from where I’m standing, I’m fucking right! And everyone else seems to think so! Don’t regret things you do, y/n, it’ll make us all look bad.” Regret things? The only thing you regret is ever thinking that Kwon Minsik wasn’t a complete jerk-off.

               “The only reason you’re famous is because you’re hot!” You yell at him. “That’s the only reason you’re where you are! Without your looks, you’d be a nobody living in a semi-basement. You’re nothing in the grand scheme of things! All you do is write shitty songs about your ex who you cheated on looking for sympathy so – so drop dead!” You clap your hand over your mouth as your eyes go wide.

Minsik visibly flinches at your words, letting out a scoff.

“Right.” Minsik says, shaking his head.

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t –,”

“ – you meant it.” Minsik says, “Every word. Fuck you, y/n.” If you weren’t angry before, you sure as hell is now. You’re positively radiating with anger, fists clenched, and your throat filled with a million and one things to say.

“You’re not allowed to get mad at me when you’re the one always coming for me!” You blare out, furious. It happens too fast, the way you can’t help how you shove Minsik back against one of the shelves. “You call me cheap, worthless, talentless!” Tears fall from your eyes and the hits against his chest slowly stop. “And suddenly I say something you’re acting like this!” Your hands push against his chest.

“Y/n . . .” You wipe your face, shaking you head as Minsiks face turns to something you’ve never seen before: guilt. He looks guilty like he never considered that you had feelings before right now.

“No.” You sob, looking away from him. “You deserve this.” You turn your head back to Minsik. “You deserve everything that ever happens to you because you’re the biggest piece of shit. I worked hard to get where I am and -  and –, ” Minsik hugs you. He takes a step and envelopes you with both arms, your head pressed into his t-shirt. Kwon Minsik, the guy who’s never liked you for months, hugs you. You both don’t say anything. You don’t move. The light turns off and leaves you both in the dark.

“Remember the company party when you first ever joined?” Minsik says, into the darkness. “You got pretty drunk and you told me you thought I was cute. I remember I was about to come into the studio, and I overheard you say that you regretted what you said, and I was hurt. I didn’t want you to regret it.” You don’t speak. You move your arms slowly, letting them hang around his waist.

“Oh.” You remember that night. You remember being nervous and drinking too much. You remember the club, the comfortable seats, the bass the boomed underneath your feet, the taste of champagne in your mouth and how the shots were getting easier and easier to digest.  “Minsik.”

“I’ve never seen you cry before.” Minsik says. You can’t see his face in the dark as you pull away. “I didn’t . . .I went too far, right?” You let out a small chuckle.

“Yeah, just a little.” You bite your lip. “I wasn’t too nice either.” Minsik is still close, his arms are holding your waist, unmoving. It feels nice, something you never think you’d associate with Minsik. What the hell is going on right now?

“What now?” You can feel his breath fanning against your face. “What now, y/n. Where do we go from here?” You’re not thinking straight. With all the crying and yelling, you’re not thinking straight. Minsiks hand against your face is soft and you’re not prepared to feel his forehead against yours.

“I don’t . . . I don’t know.”

“You won’t regret this, right?” Then Minsik is kissing you. Softly with his lips pressing against yours and as he pulls away, you grab his face and blindly kiss back harder. Your stomach flips a million and one times as your hands hold his face, moving to his neck. It’s a frenzy, you’re quickly pressed against the door. Minsiks’ body pressed against yours the best feeling in the world as he holds you tightly. His leg moves between your legs and you’re quick to pull away, breathless, foreheads touching.

“Minsik . . .”

It’s not until the door swings open and Minsik and you stumble out into the hallway with Woojae looking shocked. You’re just as shocked, the last forty-five minutes, too much has happened. You look between Minsik and Woojae and push away yourself from Minsik with a nervous laugh, smoothing down your t-shirt. You don’t know what happened right now. You’re – Minsik and you? You’re supposed to hate him. You are.

“Uh.” Woojae says, blinking between you both. “Jay told me to let you out.” Minsik looks sheepish.

“Thanks.”

“Kinda seems like you both were busy.” Woojae says, eyeing between you both. You’ve never wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole completely.

“Can you give us a minute, please?” Minsik asks.

“Happily.” Woojae moves like the speed of lighting down the hallway, shaking his head. You turn back to Minsik who looks at you, almost shyly. You suddenly feel just as shy as him. A moment passes as you stare at him.

“So.”

“So.” Minsik says back. “Can I – let me make the last few months up to over some coffee?”

“That – us kissing was an expectation.” You say, biting your lip. “It – it was nice, but we have, you know, we have time to make up on. Because you did hurt my feelings. And I know I hurt yours as well.” Minsiks’ hand finds your and they tangle together, your heart skips a beat.

“Baby steps.” Minsik says. “Maybe coffee?”

“Coffee is a good start.”

[wolfpawn]

The History Books Forgot About Us and the Bible Didn’t Mention Us

Summary - While reading a detailed summary of Tom Hiddleston's past lovers, his first one finds herself reminiscing. Based on the song “Samson” By Regina Spektor, lyrics are at the bottom. 

She didn’t know why she did it. Usually, she avoided any mention of him, it was easier that way. But this one time, she did and it still hurt to see those gorgeous blue eyes looking back at her. He had become far more distinguished and bespoke, not the floppy-haired goof she fell in love with. She flicked through the words, the names of many beautiful and famous women and pictures to boot sprawled on the page in front of her, there was even two or three names of people that were not famous, his long arm around them, both canoodling together. She looked as the dates went back to the mid-2000s, then stopped. No mention of her. She never thought there would be and would not like to be known to the world, but it hurt too. She had existed, she was part of his life, for three and a half years, they were together, happy and in love, now, she was nothing. Biting her lips together, she looked at the box on her wardrobe. Getting up from her seat, she walked over and got out the decently sized container and opened it. It was covered in dust. She put it on there when she moved in four years previously and never put anything on it, so dust settled over time, something there was a slight irony in. She brought it to the bed and wiped off the dust before gently opening it. 

The contents were just as she had left them. Their years of not being used or touched meant they were in good condition. In part, she was glad it was before the more computerised era, when photographs still were more popular. She smiled at the fuzziness of a lot of the pictures, taken by drunk students on college nights out, some at family events, two even were attempts at selfies before they were even called such but there was one common theme to them. They were of her and Tom. 

They met in Cambridge on a quiz night. She and her friends had arranged it to pay for a society trip. It was in the closest bar off-campus and a lot of other students went for something to do. Cambridge had a lot of students wanting to show their knowledge over a pint, it meant everyone and everyone was there. She was in charge of collecting the answers between rounds. There were guys everywhere, from sports teams to the quieter societies. She was collecting the answer sheets when her fingers touched those of the guy handing her the page. There was a spark before she ever looked at him through their touch. She had been already looking to the next table in hopes of getting them to ready their sheet, but the tingle up her hand made her turn to see the most gorgeous blue eyes she ever bore witness to. His auburn curls bounced as his head moved and his smile was beaming. It startled her. ‘Oi, Hiddles, let the lady get on with her job, she won’t like you if you tease her too much’ one of his friends, Mark, she would later learn had jested. Tom let go of the card with a soft sorry before looking, less than subtly at her, his eyes showing his approval of what he was looking at. For the rest of the night, the pair eyed one another any time they were within view of one another, their friends urging them both to talk to the other. When he approached her at the end of the quiz, chosen from his table to collect their second prize, his friends urging him to do so. 

“Your prize.” She handed him the £50 voucher for the local off-licence.

“Thank…” He read the voucher. “That’s an interesting prize.”

“We’re students. The only thing more valuable than booze is books.” She joked back, unable to stop herself blushing as his voice made her feel more lightheaded than she would care to emit. 

“I...well, that’s true yes.” He chuckled. His laugh was different but she liked it. “I can hardly argue that when I am half sloshed. Listen, I don’t mean to sound rude and you can tell me to toss off if I am being a twat but…” He watched as she added another piece of paper to his voucher before walking off. 

From their vantage point, her friends informed her that the guy she had been oogling all night had taken her number smiling.

It was not long before the texts started, Tom Hiddleston, commonly called ‘Hiddles’ by his friends. Studying classics, Eton educated, sweet, a bookworm and an avid lover of theatre. It was no surprise he was on the DramSoc team. They met, not for drinks, which startled her slightly, but for lunch. He stated he wanted to get to speak with her more and the college bar was loud and busy. He also wanted to be sober, to not make a twat of himself, he later informed her. 

Before long, they were officially dating. He spent considerable time in her apartment and her in his. Their friends, though two different groups, got used to seeing them together. They rarely got home at weekends, but when they got home for Easter holidays, they spent so much time texting and talking, it was clear to their families they were smitten. She was Tom’s first. First girlfriend, first time, not his first kiss though, but at nineteen, that was hardly surprising. 

Summer came and they forewent going back to their families and went and found an apartment that they shared with Mark, his girlfriend and Sam, another girl from her course. They juggled shifts in different small jobs to pay to stay there, their parents helping with the rent. For the rest of their time in college, they always were seen together outside of college-related activities. When she needed to go to France for six weeks for her course, they missed each other no end. After four weeks, the loneliness became too much and he surprised her by coming over. She remembered him walking up behind her in the street and terrifying her. Sam told him where they were staying and where they would so he could surprise her. That, Sam told her, was revealed years later by Tom in an interview. He never mentioned her name but he did mention it was his first girlfriend. She didn’t know what to think about that. 

After college, they moved into a small dingy apartment together in London. It was tiny and less than perfect but it was their first place that was just theirs. They spent most of their time there but also wandered into the countryside for some time in silence and calm. There they lay on blankets and looked at the night’s sky, stars glistening above them. 

When Tom applied to RADA, he sat looking at his computer, wondering if it was the right thing to do. She told him it was right for him, she pushed him to follow his dream to go on stage and help him to prepare to speak to his stoic father on his less than approved choice of further education. She did everything she could to help him all through it. The night before he was due to start college, he got in late from his waiting shift and cursed that the barbers were closed when he finished. She took his hair and cut his curls a little just to neaten them. Tom was topless, a slice of toast in his mouth as she did it with a pair of scissors entirely unsuited to the task. When he turned his head for a moment at the sound of a bang from a neighbouring apartment, he caused her to snip a long curl too short. For a moment, the pair stared silently at the curl before they both erupted in giggles. It was not possible to see the short strands in the mess of curls. In jest, she took the snipped curl and placed it in a small plastic bag that housed a spare button in one of her jackets. Tom, who had a polaroid camera as a result of a joke present, took a snap of the two of them. She taped the hair and the date to the back of the photo. ‘Wait and see, this will be worth a fortune someday. You are going to be as big as Branagh or Stewart, I know it.’ She meant it fully. She knew he was something special, that was why she pushed him so much. Tom brought her to him and kissed her. For the rest of the night, they were in one another’s arms, small whispers of love and copious kisses swapped between them. 

But life started to show them that perhaps they were not meant for the same things. Tom got a few small parts in productions. He was starting to get attention from other girls. She knew she could trust him but she also knew that it hurt her more than she could admit to see him pretend to be close to other women. It started to play on her slightly. When the auditions started, she pushed him to go, then secretly wished he would not get certain ones. Looking at herself in the mirror one day, she realised it was hurting too much. There was never a chance she would ask Tom not to continue to pursue his dream. Her problem was hers. It took another week but she finally spoke to Tom. She knew she had to ensure he never thought he was at fault. Seeing his eyes show his emotion as she spoke the words she wished she did not have to say broke her heart all the more. They both cried that night. He begged her to not leave but she knew she had to. He pleaded with her to tell him what he could do to change it but she said more and more that it wasn’t him, it was her. She tried to break down her hangups, but she couldn’t. Tom asked that they just spend one last weekend as a couple. They did. In one another’s arms, she swore it was not him, that she wanted him to wow the world with his talent. 

Moving out her things crushed her. Tom was busy with college so he was not there for the worst of it. Some of her favourite moments they shared, she put carefully into a box to bring her. The box she was looking into sadly at that moment. The polaroid in her hand. On the back, the curl still there. 

She tried to find happiness through time after. She dated multiple men but 99% of them never got past the first date. No one could fault her for trying, but the longest lasted only four months. No one mentioned it anymore. She had tried but no man ever made her feel like Tom did. Her career was good, she spent her life going around the world, translating for all sorts of things. She had seen everywhere she ever wanted to see, though some places came with a pang of sadness having previously been there or planned to go there with Tom. She wished sometimes that they had stayed in touch but she needed the clean break. She wanted to show him the places she went but she didn’t have the means to contact him again. She regretted that now. 

Placing the box back on the wardrobe, she knew the day would come that she would need to get rid of that box but she couldn’t, not yet. Maybe someday. She looked at the article again. The extensive dating history of Tom Hiddleston, from confirmed girlfriends to rumoured flings and hookups, all of them listed, many worthy of a photograph. But nothing of her. 

She glanced over the words of the article, all filled with an adoration of this English Gentleman, polite, respectful, handsome. This wasn’t news to her, she knew it from the start. The hoards of adoring fans who loved him without falter were mentioned. 

But she loved him first. 

Samson Lyrics 

Lyrics You are my sweetest downfall I loved you first, I loved you first Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth I have to go, I have to go Your hair was long when we first met Samson went back to bed Not much hair left on his head He ate a slice of Wonder Bread And went right back to bed And the history books forgot about us And the Bible didn't mention us And the Bible didn't mention us, not even once You are my sweetest downfall I loved you first, I loved you first Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads But they're just old light, they're just old light Your hair was long when we first met Samson came to my bed Told me that my hair was red Told me I was beautiful And came into my bed Oh, I cut his hair myself one night A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light And he told me that I'd done alright And kissed me 'til the mornin' light, the mornin' light And he kissed me 'til the mornin' light Samson went back to bed Not much hair left on his head He ate a slice of Wonder Bread And went right back to bed Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down Yeah, we couldn't destroy a single one And the history books forgot about us And the Bible didn't mention us, not even once You are my sweetest downfall I loved you first

[everlarkficexchange]

The Change

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 59: Growing up Peeta started loving her. It was a gradual thing that happened throughout his childhood and into his teens. But something changes when he hits puberty. Her scent has heightened, he can spot her from miles away. He gets a bit possessive. But the biggest thing is when his body starts to heat up and even just the thought of you gets him hard for days. He finds out the family secret of his werewolf genes, something his parents thought passed him. How can he go by with his day and be with her without scaring her away by humping her because of his heat. [submitted by @animekpopxx]

  Rated M: for language and “adult-y” situations.

  Tags: Underage. No-Games AU. In Panem AU. Tags/Warnings will be added accordingly. Un-beta. All mistakes are mine. 

  Author’s Note: I really tried to write this as a one shot, but since the quarantine brought my husband and kids to work/do schooling from home, I’ve been busier than ever… and I really wanted to have something to post before the exchange was over. So here’s the first part of this story, around 2500 words.

  As always, thank you to the moderators of the Exchange, you ladies are terrific as usual. Thank you to @animekpopxx for her awesome prompts, I swear your prompts are my catnip and kryptonite rolled into one. 

Heads Up, there’s no verbal interaction between Everlark in this chapter.

Stay safe, everyone. Enjoy! 

Chapter One:

  Is ten fifteen in the morning when I start feeling feverish and thirsty. We’re in the middle of a social studies test, and I can’t keep from squirming in my chair, shaking the whole desk everytime I try to hold on to it for stability. 

  I catch the teacher’s eye and wince when she screeches in her affected accent for me to stop twitching. 

  I try to tell her I can’t help it, but before I get one word out she’s flying upon me from her own desk at the very front of the class. 

  “Mr. Mellark, you have exactly 5 seconds to—“ she gasps when her cold hand grasps my shoulder like a crow’s claw. “You’re burning up, Mellark!” She sounds concerned for a Capitolite, but by the way she extracts her bony hand from me, I have to think I must be burning through my thin cotton shirt. “Why did you even come to school if you were so sick, boy?” She snaps eyeing me suspiciously.

  Against my better judgement, I roll my eyes. “We have a test, Ms. Greer.”

  “A note from your father would’ve suffice.” She snips.

  “I didn’t feel sick this morning.” I explain, embarrassed when my voice cracks lamely and the other kids try to hide their quiet chuckles, so the teacher doesn’t turn on them. The boys in my year have already grown into their adult voices, and some of them even have facial hair. Not me. I still sound and look like a baby. “I don’t feel sick right now.” I almost whine, which actually disproves my statement, because I’ve never whined about anything; whining it’s a sure way to get on my mother’s bad side, so is the first thing we Mellark’s learn to suppress and avoid at all costs. 

  Ms. Greer huffs impatiently, “Well, you have a terribly high fever, and you’re starting to sweat all over the place, Mr. Mellark. I’m going to have to ask you to go home until you are well again. The last thing this district needs is some epidemic tearing everything apart.” She sniffs out the last phrase, probably more concerned about missing her fat paychecks every week she stands here feeding us Capitol propaganda that’s supposed to pass as schooling, than actually worried about the district’s well being. 

  I try to protest about the missing the test, but this time Ms. Greer rolls her eyes and waves me off, saying that I can make it up with a two page report on coal production and its impact in District 12’s economy… as if she herself doesn’t know that our local industry is a joke, District 12 is still the poorest district in Panem, even after the Reformation a few years back, when the Capitol dissolved the Hunger Games and promised to open fair Inter District negotiations. It never happened, at least not with us, yet the whole country uses our coal. 

  Ms. Greer’s glaring at me though, so I pack up and start shuffling out of the classroom, only stopping to grab a note she hands me to bring to the front office. 

  As I footslog to the door, strange things happen that startle the shit out of me: first, a rush of smells like pine needles, sun and wildflowers invade my nose leaving me disoriented and frenzied; is a combination like nothing I’ve smelled before, but somehow, instinctively my eyes lock with the gray orbs of Katniss Everdeen, who somehow I know in my bones is the owner of the aromas filling my nostrils— I already knew she was sitting there of course, I deliberately chose my seat so I could steal glances at her long, dark braid, during class, but… I’ve never stared at her so boldly and openly, and for a moment I think she is staring at me with some interest… concern, maybe? It’s gone as soon as her gorgeous eyes fly away. That’s when the third thing happens. I growl deep and low at her dismissal, a possessive and animalistic sound that rumbles in my chest, making the rest of our classmates stare at me… great! As if the other kids need any more reasons to giggle and whisper behind my back.

  I’m the shortest boy in my class; I still have what can be considered as baby fat in this District, holding on to my thick frame, and while my older brothers are wrestling champions, I’m too heavy and uncoordinated to wrestle myself. Is not that I’m at any risk of being bullied or anything, I learned to be witty and funny a long time ago as a self preservation mechanism, and everyone likes me well enough, but I still don’t want to give anyone any munition to use against me.

  Yet, I can barely control the noise rumbling in the back of my throat, an worst of all, I’m fighting this unbearable urge to stomp to Katniss’ desk and plant myself there until she turns her eyes back to mine and acknowledges me. 

  She scowls at her notebook and rubs her nose with her knuckle. There’s a spike of some strange smell— reminds me of discomfort, I think— mingling in with her original scent, and that’s what finally makes me snap to reality, and force my legs to trudge to the office to get me an official excuse for missing school for the next few days.

  I’m loathe to admit it, but I’m itching so badly all over my body, I’m glad Ms. Greer kicked me out of class for having a fever. I don’t feel sick, but the itching is just killing me, and I want out of my clothes now… maybe a layer or two of my skin as well, but that just sounds kinda gross. 

  To my surprise, when I arrive home, Mother’s hands stay put at her sides instead of flying up to scoff the side of my head for skipping school, as if I where stupid enough to come home if I was skipping for real. She looks at me oddly though, almost like she’s sad or disappointed I came down with this fever. 

  Father on the other hand, looks mildly alarmed for a moment, but after feeling my forehead, he cups my face and pulls the skin under my eyes downwards with the pad of his thumbs, tilting my head around like he’s checking their health. Then his thumbs let go of my cheekbones and hike up the skin over my upper lip, bearing my teeth to him. He tilts my head again studying my mouth like I’m some prized pony he’s hoping to buy. His thumbs slide the length of my canines and then prods the tip for sharpness. An uncharacteristic blank expression takes his face, then he nods seemingly done with his examination or whatever he was doing; he lets go of my face and asks in his usual, quiet voice, “Are you hungry?” 

  My stomach growls in response. I’m surprised at the sudden feeling of voracious appetite unfurling in my belly. “Yeah.” I mutter, watching him pin the school note to the board by the bakery door with all the operational permits, just in case someone comes asking about me missing school. The Hunger Games might be abolished, but school attendance is still compulsory and any unauthorized absences are punishable by hefty fines, no one can afford to pay.

  Father points at the dining table with a thick finger, and I sit down heavily in my usual chair. I’m very surprised when out of nowhere, my mother plops a plate heaped high with food— mostly fresh stuff too— but I ignore the serving of vegetables and the freshly baked roll, in favor of the few meats lining the plate. I know Mother keeps certain meats she can reheat and repurposed in other meals, so it’s disconcerting seeing this abundance in front of me.

  I only pause to look up at my parents standing side by side near the wall, watching me eat with some strange interest.

  “Eat, Peeta, before the food gets too cold,” My mother orders without her usual verb when they notice I’m staring back.

  I dig in unceremoniously, inhaling first a piece of goat meat, then a pigeon leg, and lastly a bite of fried squirrel that somehow makes me growl as soon as my teeth sink into the morsel. There’s an overwhelming taste of pine needles and flowery woods mixed in with the savory flavor of the squirrel; my mind is suddenly full of images of a long, dark braid swishing against a brown leather jacket. 

  “More squirrel!” I demand in a grunt. 

  My father’s eyebrows arch for a second, and again my mother is the one to bring a piece of meat, no bigger than the pigeon leg I just ate, and tosses it on my empty plate. 

  I throw myself at it like a savage beast.

  “After you’re done eating, you can go lay down.” Says my mother flatly. 

  Well, now I’m worried! 

  My eyes snap at my parents, anxiously. “Why?” I ask cowed. 

  The last time my mother encouraged any of us to rest during a work day was… never. They did send my middle brother to stay with our aunt once; he had chicken-pox. My brother got to stay in bed for as long as he wanted, until he wasn’t contagious anymore and Mother dragged him back home. 

  My father sighs, “So you can sleep off your fever, son. You can’t handle dough while you’re sick. We could get fined for a safety code violation. If the peacekeepers think you’re working while sick, we could get in a lot of trouble.” 

  “Oh… okay.” I’m relieved. But I still have to ask, “And you’re both alright with that?” 

  My mother snorts. “Eat up, Peeta. Then go to bed. We’ll see how you do in the morning.” She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head, dislodging a few blonde hairs from the tight bun at her nape. She leaves the room muttering to herself something about not being ready for any of this shit, leaving my father to stare at me alone. 

  We just stay there, mutely watching each other for a second. 

  “You like the squirrel meat best?” He asks, awkwardly pointing at the piece of food still clutched in my fingers. 

  “Yeah. I mean, everything is tasty, but this stuff is just great.” I take a big bite out of my piece to illustrate, and as soon as the flavors invade my mouth, I shudder involuntarily, even body parts that usually lay dormant during meals stir at the thought of the huntress this particular animal came from. 

  My father makes a noise at the back of his throat, then he asks, “How are you feeling? Any weariness? Tiredness? Lethargy?” 

  I shake my head, “Nah. I actually feel great. I feel like I should be outside chopping wood, or running laps for wrestling practice.” It’s true too, even the itchiness driving me insane earlier, is gone. 

  Father’s eyebrows arch, “Wrestling, huh?” 

  I shrug and go back to finish up my lunch. It’s the first time I’ve actually voiced my interest in the sport, but I don’t know why it should come as a shock? After all, everyone in town knows Mellark’s are somewhat legacy wrestlers. 

  “Well, we can figure it out if you still feel so energetic after your nap.” Father says before making his way back to the bakery, leaving me to my own devices. 

  I finish up my meal, returning to the icebox the vegetables and bread I didn’t eat, then wash my plate and put it away. Sick or not, Mother would throw a fit if there is a dirty dish in the sink when she comes back to the apartment. 

  I lay down, not expecting to find sleep since I’m so wired up. I’m tempted to fetch my sketchbook— really, it’s just a bunch of scrap paper I’ve put together in an ancient folder I keep under my mattress— and draw for beat, but I’m a 16 year old boy… lay in bed, idly. My mind wanders back to the stupefying smell I’m convinced belongs to Katniss Everdeen, and as usual, thoughts of her lead to stirrings in my nether regions, only this time my body heat increases to furnace temperatures, my mouth goes dry as a bone, my skin itches like crazy and I’m trembling with aching want like never before. 

  I don’t understand what the hell is wrong with me, but I only start to panic when my dick starts swelling in my trousers, and it keeps growing and growing and growing, until the crotch of my pants feels like it’s shrunk three sizes on my body. I tear at the buttons until the fly is open and hastily try pulling myself out of my boxers, but goddamned near impossible to do, and I desperately shove at bottoms freeing myself after squeezing and twisting like a maniac. 

  I’m a little disturbed at how purple and swollen my dick looks. There’s some kind of protuberance bulging at the base of my cock. I’ve never noticed it before, and I’m freaking out it may be some nerve end or some of those tiny veins that pop when pressured… I silently beg the universe my I didn’t break my dick while pawing at it to pull it out. I’m still pulsing with want, and my brain is screaming to go back to remembering the aroma of pine needles and freedom that’s Katniss… but at the same time, I can’t unsee the strange meaty ring at the base of my dong. 

  I bring my fingers to it apprehensively. I’m curious, so I poke it and hiss at the zap of pleasure I felt as soon as my fingertips grazed the turgid skin. 

  I chance another touch, just to see if I can recreate the sensation, and moan pitifully at the feeling. The head of my cock bobs dripping precome. I close my eyes and wrap my hand around myself, so I don’t have to look at how angry red my penis is. Images of Katniss come unbidden into my mind’s eyes, and before I know it, I’m pumping my fists and groaning like a wounded animal, lost in sensation. 

  I can’t keep a rhythm to save my life, but as soon as the heel of my hand makes contact with the strange, swollen ring around my cock, my body jerks violently; I double over at the waist, gasping, “Katniss!” Just as cum starts pouring out of me like a fucking fountain.

  I saw a kid in school convulsing once, it scared the shit out of me then, and the way I’m twitching and spamming in bed right now, vaguely reminds me of it. I wonder if this is what it would feel like to convulse? 

  My cock is still spewing ribbons of semen in every direction, but my erection keeps hardening and swelling; I try pinching the head of my penis to staunch the flow of cum to no avail and I’m getting anxious and scared enough, I consider calling my father for help, but the mess in my bed is embarrassing, and I can’t stop eyaculating. Suddenly, out of nowhere my mind is conjuring up memories of that sweet smell of Katniss’. 

  The phantom smell of pine and flowers tickles the roof of my mouth and start panting into my pillow. I’m lightheaded and out of breath, copious sweat covers my entire body and an overwhelming need to squeeze the base of my cock takes over my body. My hand wraps around the weird protruberance above my pelvic bone and I fucking howl on contact. 

  My vision goes dark, and I only have one more thought before passing out: “I have got to hide this filthy mess from Mother.” 

  To be continued…

[ashiversary]

One, Two, Three: Stuck As Second Best

Candela knows Blanche well enough to understand that Noire always comes first. Every time, in an instant, without question. So it’s no surprise that Noire is chosen as Mystic II.

So why does it still hurt so much?

@spiritedandloyal says: Happy 4th Ashiversary!!!! Have a MysticIII!Candela AU <3

AU Overview: Lucifel Bonded with Moltres, Carl never had his accident or a falling out with Spark, Noire and Blanche reconciled in their late teens, and both Noire and Candela are on Team Mystic. Click here to read on A03.

“Candela, if I offered you the position of Mystic III, would you accept it?”

The words rang in Candela’s ears, and not in a good way.

Three. Mystic Three. As-in-not-their-first-choice, as in not-their-second-in-command, as in your effort wasn’t enough, you’re not loyal enough, not trustworthy enough, not enough, never enough-

“Oh. I suppose you chose Noire as your assistant?” She asked dumbly, knowing that it wasn’t an answer and already knowing what Blanche will say.

“Yes.” Blanche gave her one of those little side glances, expression difficult to read even for Candela. “…I know the two of you don’t often see eye to eye, but-”

“No, no, darling, makes sense.” Candela cut off whatever Blanche is going to say. She didn’t want to hear them justify all the reasons why they had chosen their twin over her. She didn’t know why she held out hope that maybe she could stack up against her significant other’s other half. She should have known better from the start. Stupid of her to try.

For a moment, she thought maybe her bitterness had sunk into her tone, because Blanche’s brows furrowed. But then they paused, wavered. Uncertain.

“Do you require time to think before-”

“No!” Candela jumped in, somewhere between mortified and grateful. “Yes, my dear, I’ll accept the position. Thank you for choosing me.”

Before Candela could dig into herself for nearly making Blanche think that she didn’t want to be as close to their side as possible, Blanche smiled. It was faint, just a curve of the lips with the corners twitching up, but it made Candela’s heart flutter.

She would do anything to keep that smile around. Even if it meant… well, everything Candela’s been through so far.

And so Candela kept her face pleasant as the elevator approached their destination, even though Blanche had just slapped her across the face with a reminder that you will never be someone’s first choice. She felt like crying, really- like screaming and sobbing and hitting things, but she didn’t let that show.

Blanche took her hand and squeezed it, their PDA-shy equivalent of a kiss goodbye, and Candela was grateful because she wasn’t quite sure she would appreciate being kissed just then. Blanche left for a meeting on the second floor, and Candela punched in the number for the gym.

Knock knock, knock. 

“Candela?”

Blanche’s voice was quiet and strained. Tired, maybe.

“What do you want, Blanche?”

Candela’s response was definitely harsh. She’d been stewing in her anger all evening, and it was the kind that ran too deep to be set free with a few punching bags.

There was a pause before Blanche asked “Are you going to come to bed tonight?”

Oh. Right. Tonight was her turn to be Blanche’s personal heater. Because unlike most significant others, she had to share with Blanche’s twin.

“When’s the last time you actually had to come find me, instead of the other way around?”

A shorter pause this time. “You’re upset with me?”

“Maybe.” She snipped.

“C’mon, Candy, don’t be passive aggressive about this, it’s not-”

The last of Candela’s restraint snapped at hearing Noire’s voice. She grabbed the nearest object and threw it.

“STAY THE FUCK OUT OF THIS, NOIRE!”

The decorative throw pillow thunked against the door with enough force to make the nearby artwork rattle against the wall. There was a pause, during which she was sure the twins were whispering to one another, and then one set of feet padded off down the hall.

“Noire has left.” Blanche announced. Candela didn’t respond. “Candela, open the door, please.”

Candela didn’t move.

“Candela, don’t make me override the lock, please. I don’t wish to have to do that.”

Candela sighed.

“Go be with your precious twin, lovely. I’ll be fine.”

“You are,” Blanche hesitated, just for a second. “Precious to me as well. Please let me in so we can discuss this properly.”

Candela was quiet for a moment, emotions swirling inside her like one of Articuno’s storms of legend- chaotic and disorienting, cold and burning all at once. She didn’t want to. But she never could say no to Blanche.

She stood up and crossed to open the door.

Blanche’s breath left them in a little gasp when Candela opened the door, like they’ve been hit in the gut. Candela realized she must look terrible; puffy and red-eyed, smeared make-up, bloodied knuckles and rumpled gym clothes.

She couldn’t find it in herself to care.

Blanche murmured a thanks as they entered and shut the door softly behind them. They didn’t reach for her, nor say anything. They just watched, gaze calculating as always.

“Yes.” Candela said finally.

“Yes..?”

“Yes! I’m upset with you!” Blanche’s face dropped. “And you’re not the only fucking one!”

“With Noire too?”

“No, darling, I’m perfectly fucking peachy with them. Everything is fantastic.”

Blanche was quiet for a second.

“Did you want to be my assistant?”

Candela stared at her, mouth agape.

“Wait, wait- are you serious?” She asked. “Really, darling? Was that not obvious?”

“Not precisely.”

[The worst part, Candela realized, was that they were being honest.]

“I’ve spent the last month working my ass off to try and impress you! I did all those reports! Took extra notes in meetings! Reminded you of events and brought you food! I beat Instinct II’s ranking!”

Now it was Blanche’s turn to be stricken speechless. Candela realized that she is shaking, not with fury or sorrow, but with something that blended both into one and the same.

That feeling, she realized, is heartbreak.

“I know you’re not the greatest with reading people, Blanche, but- how in Arceus’ name did you miss that?”

“I didn’t miss it.” Blanche retorted. “I just assumed that it was your typical ambition fueling you. I didn’t… you didn’t tell me you were vying for the assistant’s position.”

Candela fumed. “Did Noire tell you they wanted to be your assistant?!”

Blanche had the decency to look slightly abashed. “…No.”

“Exactly!” To Candela’s mortification, she realized hot tears were already spilling out of her eyes. “And that’s just it! It always is!”

“That I chose my twin over you?” Blanche asked, a hint of a snarl in their voice.

“That everyone chooses somebody else over me!” Candela snapped, whirling around. The crack in her voice, the weakness, horrified her. “I am NEVER somebody’s first priority!”

“Candela-”

“Four older brothers! You think I was ever anything but the leftover? The fifth wheel? And I’ve never escaped it! Ever!” Her voice cracked on a sob. “And then I had to go and fall in love with the one person who I would throw everything away for and they would still always have someone more important!”

“Candela…”

“Everyone in my life has someone more important. Everyone. You have Noire, Carl has Spark, and my family disowned me. And it’s not fair.”

“Life has never been fair.” Blanche murmured from behind her. They seemed calm, if Candela ignored the frost spreading across the nearest windows.

“No, Blanche, I mean that it’s not fair of me to blame that on everyone else.” Candela said, and the worst of the anger suddenly drained out of her, taking her strength with it. She slumped to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest and pressing the heel of her palms into her eyes like it would block the flow of tears.

Blanche hesitated before speaking, and Candela pressed on. “I’m not dumb, Blanche. I’m the common variable.”

“Oh.” Blanche sat on the floor next to her. “This is an issue of self-worth.”

“No shit.”

A silence hung over them.

“You were Professor Willow’s first assistant to be chosen.”

“Yeah, yeah, and then you beat me at every test.”

“And you beat me repeatedly in battle despite disadvantageous type match-ups. That is not what we’re talking about. Willow did choose you first and you know he didn’t make that choice lightly.”

“That was just one-”

“And once sets a precedent.” Blanche insisted, reaching forwards to brush Candela’s bangs out of her face. Their fingers were icy cold and Candela flinched automatically. Their hand left and she wished she could call it back, but she felt tired and heavy and weak.

“Darling, would it have even changed anything?” She asked. “If you knew I wanted to be your assistant, before?”

Blanche was quiet for a minute. Stock-still, but in the way a frozen river was: all the turbulence of intense thought kept beneath a shell of serenity, with no way to tell if the ice was thick or thin. Candela watched their eyes, the way they flickered and glanced over her, the minute micro-expressions that didn’t reach the rest of their face. She was searching for something in those troubled green irises. She didn’t know what she was looking for.

Blanche sighed.

“I will not lie to you and pretend that you could ever eclipse Noire in the scope of my general priorities.” Blanche murmured. “But Noire is… a part of me. An extension, like a limb. Like Articuno is. I am not complete without them.”

“I’m going to kick your ass all the way back to your therapist if you keep talking like that.” Candela threatened, but there was little heat behind it. Resignation had replaced rage a while back; after everything Blanche had endured, no one expected them to be fully independent.

“My point is,” Blanche continued, “That after Noire, you are my first priority. My best friend, my romantic partner, my ally in battle. To count Noire against your importance would be like counting Articuno.”

“Don’t.” Candela sighed. “Don’t try and make it out like Noire doesn’t count. I will always come in third to your bond and your twin. That’s… I knew what I was getting into with this. Don’t pretend you should change for me. I wouldn’t want you to if you could.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Blanche asked.

“I would, and it would be selfish, and I would regret it forever!” Candela snapped. “Trust me, dear, I’ve spent enough nights awake thinking about it.”

A cool hand rested on Candela’s knee. She wanted to put her own atop of it, but her own hands were gross with tears and snot and split knuckles from hitting punching bags too hard, and Blanche deserved better than that, so she didn’t.

[She was so sick of not being good enough.]

“Let me re-frame what I was going to say.” Blanche said after a long silence. “Just because you are not my first priority does not mean that you are not critically important to me.”

Maybe it was just her imagination, but Candela swore that the frost-burnt symbol over her collarbone grew colder with the words spoken, a reminder of the crest of Articuno branded on her skin.

“It is no secret that if something were to happen to me, Noire would not make for a good leader. Not even for a short duration of time if I were, say, injured.”

“They’d be out for blood, you mean.” Candela snorted.

“And then presumably glued to my bedside, yes.” Blanche agreed. “Which is why I need you.”

Candela paused at that. Blanche didn’t elaborate.

“You’ve lost me, darling.”

Blanche sighed. “I am… not proficient in heart-to-heart conversations.”

“I know that, babe. But I was following up until then.”

Blanche groaned. They took a long minute to find their words.

“If something serious should happen to either Noire or myself, the other will not be in a state fit to handle Team Mystic. That is the responsibility I am entrusting to you as Mystic III.”

“…I think I get it.” Candela said finally.

“Do you?” Blanche said. Their freezing cold hands grasped Candela’s jaw and lifted her head to face them. Blanche’s eyes held a startling intensity normally reserved for battle, but they were as green as the sea. No hint of Articuno’s icy will- just Blanche. Always Blanche.

“Team Mystic is my greatest responsibility. It is my life’s work. It is lives, people and Pokémon alike, balanced on my shoulders. Its upkeep and prestige are of utmost importance. The team’s well-being is crucial to the balance of this city and of this region. And when something happens to me, which I have no doubt it will one day, I am entrusting it to you. Not to Noire. Not to anybody else. You. And Articuno agrees with me. This is what I meant by making you Mystic III. You are not a backup for Noire. You are your own person, and I love you for that.”

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. It wasn’t what she hoped for. It wasn’t quite enough to heal her aching heart. But at the same time, it was so much more than she dared to dream of. Maybe more than she deserved. And it’s honest and true, and it came from Blanche.

She lunged forwards and their lips met, sudden and a bit messy. Blanche gasped into the kiss but returned it eagerly, still cradling Candela’s face in their hands. She could taste her own tears in the kiss, salty and sharp, but Blanche didn’t seem bothered by them. She could hardly find room to breathe but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, grounding herself in the feeling of cool lips on hers, cold and yet still so animated and alive. Blanche, gorgeous Blanche, intelligent Blanche, witty, clever Blanche, proud, snarky, brilliant Blanche- she was theirs. Not their first priority, but theirs nonetheless.

“Je t’aime, ma feu bleue.” Blanche murmured as they broke the kiss. Their foreheads were pressed together. Blanche’s hands cupped her cheek and wiped away tears with their thumbs, Candela’s own hands tangled in their white locks. “Come sleep with me?”

Part of Candela wanted to say no, that she needed time and space to process this. But she doesn’t. She’d already given up so much just to be with Blanche: her family, her old team, her pride. It would be ungrateful to waste a second of it, she thought- “I don’t know, darling.” She offered them a smirk. “I think maybe I deserve a hot shower first~”

-and Blanche’s mischievous smile reminded her why it was all worth it to be in second place.

[reynesofcastamere]

Splintered Perspective [β]

(A/N: For reference, any fics I write that aren’t related to my main series will be marked with [ β ] in the title. I may just have to make a masterpost to organize these at some point. Anyway,the prompt for this was: ‘How Rex or some other person from Ahsoka’s past would react to her being enemies with benefits or in a relationship with Maul.’ I decided to go with multiple POVs for the fun of it. And so I didn’t break myself with The Sad. Poor Rex T_T. Perspectives are not in chronological order. Mentions of past Ahsoka/Barriss. Warnings for dehumanization, mentions of torture, death, violence, some ableism and possible misogyny.(Maybe? Your mileage may vary.) Unbeta’d.  ) Being one with the Force is...not exactly what she had been taught to expect. Barriss Offee is part of everything, all at once. Those in the Light, living and dead, she is all of them, and yet still herself, in a manner of speaking . Time is no longer such a rigid concept, nor is there any particular sense of urgency. What has happened was meant to be, and the future...Is forever shifting, ripples overlapping in a still pool. Which is why it comes as such a surprise when she can feel Master Plo’s disapproval like a storm on the edge of breaking. At first, she cannot determine what has woken his ire, but slowly the images come into focus. Ahsoka.

Barriss no longer possesses a heart, and yet she cannot deny the lance of bittersweet pain through her chest. There is relief that her friend is still alive, but also regret and something bordering on envy. A feeling that only sharpens when she notices the tattooed Zabrak that Ahsoka currently has pinned down. Wait. She knows him. Not personally, but...He is a Sith, a murderer, a monster. Why is Ahsoka-brash, kind, clever person that she is- smiling at him?  It is possible that she is misinterpreting this. Both of them appear rather bruised and a touch bloody, and the lack of lightsabres doesn’t mean-She misses the words exchanged between the pair of them, but...The kiss is unmistakeably passionate, bordering on obscene as the Force crackles around them. Somehow, this is not the worst of it. When they part for air, there is a...look, shared between their eyes, and Barriss experiences true dread. Long ago, she and Ahsoka had-been close. Intimately so. As much as anyone could be, following the Order’s mandate that attachment was forbidden. She’d harboured dreams then, of maybe and one day...But no. Too much had happened, and her rosy illusions had been cruelly shattered. Somehow, watching this unfold hurts worse. Because there is something genuine beneath the crude physical attraction on display. Master Plo does not say a word, but his righteous indignation is so strong that it is a miracle he does not physically manifest in front of them.

Her dearest companion does not belong in the Dark, with this...creature trapping her in his coils, dripping venom into her thoughts. Barriss can only hope Ahsoka will extricate herself before it is too late.

=====

The failed apprentice. A wretched vermin who simply refuses to die. Not for much longer. Darth Vader’s gaze narrows as he reviews the incident reports. A decade of nothing but the occasional annoyance and whispers from the dregs of the galaxy, and only now does Maul scurry out from beneath whatever rock he has been sheltering under. Why? There is no grand plan, no great advantage in breaking into an Imperial prison. Especially one that contains such...unimportant occupants. Then again...The swathe of carnage and destruction left behind had been almost a direct path between the Dathomirian’s entry point and the interrogation chambers. Not a calculated assault, but an act of rage and desperation. Vader had felt it at the time, how the Dark Side had howled and torn at itself like a half-crazed beast. And then there was the fate of the interrogator: Hands cut off, abdominal perforation, shattered jaw,and eyes torn from their sockets. He had suffered a great deal, however briefly. As for the prisoner with him- Records list a female Togruta, mid-to-late twenties, with blue eyes and orange skin. Possibly Force sensitive, but difficult to determine due to her physical state upon capture. The prisoner hadn’t been in possession of anything resembling lightsabres, but had been carrying a wealth of assorted small armaments. It couldn’t be. She died back when...We found her sabres among the graves. Anakin Skywalker is long dead, but sometimes his ghost is loud enough to be heard over the multitudes that inhabit Vader’s hulking, monstrous shell.

Graves required someone to dig them first. Which meant that either some unknown individuals had come along and taken pity on a multitude of strangers...Or that the survivours had done the work themselves. Yet, if Ahsoka Tano lives, and was temporarily imprisoned, it still does not explain the identity or methods of her unlikely rescuer. She was sent to capture him on Mandalore, why would Snips-? Why did she leave us? We needed her when Padme- The room around him warps and buckles in a single, furious moment of clarity. She chose that...animal. That thing, Oh, but she’d been richly rewarded, hadn’t she? One only had to look at the risks her...protector had taken just to secure her freedom. Approval and utter disgust war within him as he rises. So be it. Sentiment has already destroyed them, and it will be his pleasure to finish a task that should have been resolved long ago. Traitors to the Empire must all be purged.

===== Rex should probably be angry. Ahsoka is certainly looking at him like a shiny expecting a stern lecture for breaking regs. Instead he just feels...tired. He can’t be mad at her, not really. Maybe if he’d stuck around longer or managed to make contact more often, this wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe it would have. Maker knows his trio of Jedi could never stay out of trouble for long, and that war makes for strange alliances and even stranger...pairings.  Still, he has to ask, because he knows her, knows the depths of love and compassion that make her who she is, beneath the layers of soldier and spy.

“Is it serious?” Ahsoka fidgets with her lekku a bit. “I don’t know.” A long pause as she inhales. “It keeps happening, and...I want to murder him half the time, Rex. The problem is that he likes it.” The expression on her face perfectly sums up her opinion on that little tidbit of info. He might have laughed, under different circumstances. Instead, he takes her hands in his. “We’ve known each other for a long time. I might not understand why you’re doing this, or how it works-” He absolutely does not need to know the mechanics, as there are not enough drugs or alcohol in the galaxy to purge the associated mental images. “-but I trust your judgement. And your ability to slice his horns off and hang him from his ears over a pit of rathtars if he pushes you too far.” Rex grins, silently offering to be her backup should that ever happen. Kind of a surprise it hasn’t already, since Maul never karking shuts up and Ahsoka’s patience has a set limit for windbags. Her eyes are wet when she hugs him tightly. “You’ll be the first person I call, Captain. And I’m sorry.” He knows she’s not just apologizing for this, not with their history. “I’m sorry too, Commander.” Rex murmurs, hugging her back. They can stay like this for a while longer. Her superiors are just going to have to wait. He might not be such a ‘good’ soldier anymore, but he knows damned well how to be a good friend. And that’s what they both need, more than anything. People that will survive the disaster long enough to see it end, and come out smiling.

=====

“When I warned that you might be tempted by the Dark Side, I did not expect it to be quite so literal.”

“Master.” “Then again, I suppose there is a certain appeal. Ventress was certainly a...passionate opponent. Lovely sense of humour, too. I suppose you don’t get much of that with your-No, I suppose you are the better half in this equation.” “Master Kenobi.” “Come now, we haven’t spoken in ages, surely you can indulge your grand-master’s curiousity.” “You did not break comm silence after years of letting everyone think you were dead just to call me about my sex life.” “Well, no, but it is an unexpected bonus. How does that work, exactly?” “It sounds like you’re angling for a demonstration.” “Oh Maker, no. I’m not that eager to find out.” “Good, because I don’t particularly feel like dealing with him if he decides to drop everything just to hunt you down.” “Ah. He’s...still upset about that, is he?” “You have no idea.” “Well then. To business. And Ahsoka?” “Yes, Master?” “It is good to hear your voice again. Do take care of yourselves.” “You too, Master Kenobi. And don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

“One last question: When should I expect great-grand-padawans?”

“OBI-WAN!!!!” (A/N: Yes, I had to end with levity. Especially considering the characters involved. To clarify, Anakin isn’t upset because he has any sort of romantic inclination towards Ahsoka. It’s general Darksider possessiveness/jealousy mixed in with a lot of anger and some guilt. Looking after Ahsoka’s wellbeing was ‘his’ job, so far as he’s concerned. And now it’s apparently been usurped by That One Asshole. Also, if anyone’s going to recognize that level of...obsessive regard, it’s gonna be the OG Skywalker Drama King. Many thanks to the anonymous person who requested this, both for the prompt and your compliments. Cheers!)