#game to get that fixed re: inhaler but i was like if i stop now theyll probably switch me out and we literally do not have another goalie to

[cinnabeat]

anyways i woke up this morning with 2 hours of sleep and really fucking hungry and The Shakes

[obiwanobi]

In the Sith Senator au, I imagine that sheev introduces them either at a dinner party or maybe at a gala? anakin is in his robes as always and obiwan is super dressed up because he's a respectable senator thank you very much and he calls anakin darling and sweet thing and stuff like that and within an hour he has anakin wrapped around his finger

Okay, so WHY NOT BOTH? The last long post about this AU was painful, so have some “hate at first sight” and “0.2 sec for Obi-Wan to fix it and learn that banter and endearments can turn Anakin into a very charming mess” 

The first time they met, Obi-Wan has just been elected Senator after working in politics on Stewjon for years, making enough important friends and empty promises to be re-elected even without showing his face on Stewjon until the next decade. It’s his first month back on Coruscant, close to Sidious after years on his own. He needs to show him that his presence here, so close to his Master, is right, and can only benefit their plans. Even when everything isn’t… great.

The committee of small planets of the mid rim is pestering him to join their sad little club of useless dustballs, he has dozens of demands of various needy mayors, dignitaries and even ministers from Stewjon to reply to, the Senate security staff are a bunch of lazy bastards who still haven’t given him his pass and badge to enter and exit the building whenever he wants to and keep pretending not to recognize him even though they force him to go through a full security check every morning, and he can’t find a decent assistant to hire. 

You could say that Senator Kenobi is a bit on edge. 

He really, really doesn’t need to be late to his first real, private meeting with Sidious, especially because his only excuse is ‘I forgot how busy traffic was on Coruscant in the morning, don’t blame me I’m used to the countryside and seeing more sheep than ships on my way to work”. That would probably not go too well.  

Looking at his chrono every twenty seconds, he doesn’t pay enough attention to where he’s going and doesn’t notice the man turning at a corner on his side, running fast enough to come crashing against him without having the chance to do anything about it.

One second, a sharp cry, a flurry of dark robes and a cup of tea flying, and they’re both on the ground.  

Obi-Wan isn’t pleased. You could say he’s even a bit exasperated, lying on his back, a stranger’s elbow digging in his stomach. And then he turns his head to see who’s stupid enough to run in the Senate’s corridors on a Monday morning and almost curses out loud when he recognises Jedi robes and a stupid Padawan’s braid. 

It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s used to suppressing his Force-presence so no one can feel him and he’s not going to make a scene to attract more attention. He’s going to inhale and exhale slowly, accept the deepest of apologies from the stupid Jedi with a benevolent smile, repress his need to do something harsh, and be on his way.  

But then the Padawan groans, rubs his head and asks reproachfully why Obi-Wan didn’t watch where he was going. 

It’s eight am, half of his (expensive and only sold on Stewjon) tea on the floor, and Obi-Wan already wants to strangle a Jedi.

So, there is a shouting match.

Words like “pathetic life form” and “karking useless politician” are thrown, and it takes almost half a minute for Obi-Wan to realise that he’s arguing with a dumb teenager and that they’re still on the floor, half on top of each other. He, very politely, asks the Padawan to get the kriff up, doesn’t take the time to even look at the remains of his cup of tea after salvaging his wet datapad from the puddle on the ground, and leaves with one last silent death glare. 

“You’re not even going to clean that?” the Padawan yells in his back, sounding revolted. 

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. What are droids for these days? 

*

“You’re late,” Palpatine says flatly the instant the door of his office closes behind Obi-Wan. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“Yes, Master.”  

“Call me Chancellor for now. I want you to meet someone and he should be here soon. He could become important, maybe even crucial for our plans.”

“Oh? Another Senator or representative to charm?” 

“Even better,” Palpatine smiles. And that’s what gets Obi-Wan interested. He knows this is the reason he’s here and the reason Sidious wants him in the Senate. Obi-Wan is a smooth talker, a nice face and a warm smile all in one. Someone who, with enough time and efforts, could make anyone believes in anything.

Palpatine always said that he was made for politics. 

“He could be a decisive piece in this game. It will take a lot of careful manipulation and dedication to bring him to our side and I don’t have this kind of time to waste, so you’ll do. With enough care and patience, I think he could be the most loyal and useful… support, we could have.” 

“Who is he? What do you want me to say and how far am I allowed to go?”

A knock at the door interrupts them. “For now,” Palpatine says in a low voice, sitting behind his desk, joining his hands together above it, the picture of old and trusted wisdom, “I just need you to make him like you.” 

That’s not going to be a problem, Obi-Wan thinks, as the doors open. He straightens up, gets ready to put on his most radiant smile and displays an inviting openness and friendliness that few can resist. 

The Padawan enters. 

This is going to be a problem. 

*

“Ah! My favourite Jedi!” Sidious exclaims loud enough to be heard over the music and raising his cocktail above their heads. Anakin Skywalker smiles as he sees him, and dutifully comes closer. The Chancellor makes a point of clapping his hand twice on his shoulder once Skywalker is in front of him, and leaves it there as he introduces him to his new chief of staff. If anyone is wondering what a Padawan is doing at a Senate party that should only include political staffers and a few dignitaries, no one breaths a word of it. 

It gives Obi-Wan time to gauge, assess and appraise Skywalker, his reactions, body language, and anything he can learn from a simple conversation between Sidious and him. It would be his turn to do it soon. Relieve me from the burden of having to stroke the boy’s ego regularly so I can take care of more pressing issues, his master had snarled disdainfully. Right now, he’s playing the part of the dotting and proud fatherly figure to perfection, Obi-Wan has to give him that. 

Attention, approval and respect, Sidious had told me. That’s all you need to be in Skywalker’s good graces. The boy will soak every bit of kindness you can spare, as long as he considers you someone worth his own devotion.

It didn’t stop Obi-Wan from learning absolutely everything he could about him, from his lightsaber technique to his favourite food because Obi-Wan is and will always be a very thorough man who doesn’t rely on luck or unprecise sciences like basic psychology. Especially from his Master, who probably never encountered an emotion or feeling he couldn’t twist to fuel his ambition. 

Admittedly, Obi-Wan doesn’t share his Master enthusiasm for charming the brat and make him fall. He’s all for turning him against the Jedi, sure, that he can get behind and happily endorse, but having to deal with a moody teenager on a regular basis for the foreseeable future? It would be painful for everyone. Especially for Obi-Wan’s nerves.

 Anakin Skywalker, reckless, volatile and troublesome former slave and actual Padawan, wasn’t the type of Sith candidate Obi-Wan would have chosen. Not at all. Too many variables, too many chances to go wrong, a wild card that he would never risk. 

But Sidious is adamant. Doesn’t care for any of his arguments. He wants Skywalker, and Obi-Wan has started to realise why when he learnt all about the prophecy. Stealing the Jedi Chosen One and turning him against them in a last-second betrayal was the kind of symbolic irony Sidious loved and would gloat about for years to come. And when Sidious decides that he needs something, there is no going back. 

But this time, Obi-Wan has to do all the hard work himself. He calculates that getting close to Skywalker, especially after their more than tense official introduction, is going to take months, maybe even (and Obi-Wan shudders at the thought) a year. Trapped at playing nice with an overgrown child who hates being told no and likes to think he’s above the rules. For no direct and personal benefit but the approval of his own Master.

Obi-Wan really, really hates it.

But that’s not going to stop him from completing his mission perfectly, as he has always done. 

“I’m glad to see you, Chancellor,” Skywalker says softly, his quiet tone already at odd with what Obi-Wan expected. He grew taller than the last he saw him, and Obi-Wan hates it. His braid is a bit longer and his robes are a shade darker than a few months ago. Something passes in his eyes when the Padawan notices Obi-Wan’s presence next to the Chancellor and his head snaps up defiantly. “Senator Kenobi,” he grits out like the words pain him. 

Obi-Wan needs to change this right now before Sidious deems him inapt for this mission.

He hates this a bit more. 

The opportunity is given quicker than he thought when Sidious excuses himself and leaves their little group to mingle with other demanding sycophants. Obi-Wan gets stuck with Skywalker, Sidious’ chief of state who’s apparently only here for the free drinks, and Keneg, the senator of… Corulag? Barl’leth? One of those rich Core planets that hate anyone who isn’t them but need to be kept around for their credits, who always seems to suck years of his life every time Obi-Wan is forced to speak to him. It takes thirty seconds for all of them to grow bored of Keneg incessant complaints about how the lower levels of his planet are “ruining its reputation” and that the problem resides in their too lenient immigration policy, especially concerning poor and uneducated races.

Skywalker’s face is a journey. At least twelve different emotions play through his eyes, the twists of his mouth and raised eyebrows like a theatre actor in a dramatic scene at each careless word coming out of the Senator’s mouth, and Obi-Wan wonders if anyone has ever told him that Jedi are supposed to be masters of their own emotions first and foremost. Especially around politicians. 

But it doesn’t matter right now, because that’s the opening he was waiting for. 

“Excuse me Senator Keneg,” He cuts him off politely before another endless tirade. “I’m afraid I have to go, I see the Senator of Botor and I’ve been trying to talk to him for months. Surely you understand. Padawan Skywalker, may I ask for your assistance? We could use some Jedi wisdom in our debate, if you don’t mind.” 

Skywalker looks torn between being relieved to be offered an out from an awful conversation, but also have no desire to spend more time with Obi-Wan. 

“Sure,” he ends up mumbling, apparently judging that he was the lesser of two evils. 

“Wonderful.” Obi-Wan doesn’t pay any attention to the betrayed look Sidious’ chief of state sends him after being left alone with Keneg.

“So,” Skywalker says, resigned, following Obi-Wan who’s making a beeline for the bar. “Where is he?”

“Who?” 

“The senator of Botor? And what’s your deal with him?” 

“I don’t even know what he looks like,” Obi-Wan replies, trying to ignore the casual tone Skywalker shouldn’t take with a Senator, even one he dislikes. 

“What? Then why did you ask me to come with you?”

“Aren’t you relieved that I saved you from dreadful hours of xenophobic discussions about how poor people should be banned from showing their face in public because it doesn’t please Senator Keneg?”

“You didn’t save me,” Skywalker grimaces, but still seats beside him. “Is it… Is it always like that? I mean, I know Core worlds politicians can be a little…”

Obi-Wan weighs his options, and decides that Skywalker would probably appreciate truth more than carefully chosen words and subtle hypocrisy. Pretending to be the last nice man in politics is out of the question with the way they met, so Obi-Wan opts for sincerity.

To a degree. 

“Snobbish? Disconnected from reality? Shameless bastards with no souls?” Obi-Wan says while signalling the bartender for Trandoshan ale and a cocktail.

“Well, yes.” 

“Welcome to politics.” 

Skywalker opens his mouth like he’s going to protest. He puts his hands in his sleeves, probably hoping to pass for a wise Jedi Master, but his pouty lips and frowned eyebrows make him look like a sulking youngling. “You’re part of it, you know. You can talk about it like you’re not one of them, but I remember you insulting me and leaving without caring about your tea and cup all over the floor.”

What a brat.

“My tea- My dear, do I have to remind you that you barreled into me at full stupid and made me spill my tea everywhere? Some Senators would have made a diplomatic incident out of it,” he huffs, a bit more irritable than he wanted to. 

 “You said I was a brainless child!” 

“Because you ar—” Their drinks arrive at that moment, and it gives Obi-Wan precious seconds to compose himself.

This isn’t how he’s supposed to play it. He didn’t expect Skywalker to be this whiny and petulant, despite Sidious’ warning, and was planning on letting him think he was the one in control of the situation. He’s supposed to be a Jedi for Force sake, not someone who can’t control their tongue and get into pointless fights with politicians! 

No, no. Grin and bear it. Obi-Wan should recall the last remnant of Jedi philosophy still in him. 

“Padawan Skywalker, I’m sorry if my words offended you,” Obi-Wan says with the voice he normally uses for debates where he wants to appear as the most sincere and reasonable party. He holds a glass of ale to Skywalker, as a peace offering. “I admit I wasn’t in the most pleasant of disposition at that time, and I may have been harsher than I realised. I hope you can forgive me.” 

This seems to mollify Skywalker a bit. He doesn’t look like he’s going to forget it, but does take the offered glass. “At least the Chancellor is different,” he sighs and Obi-Wan represses the urge to burst into laughter. 

Oh, Skywalker is truly the most naïve boy around. Perhaps twisting his mind will turn out to be fun. 

“Wait,” Obi-Wan exclaims suddenly as the Padawan holds the glass to his lips, “are you even old enough to drink?” 

“Oh come on, I’m 19! I can handle a beer and I’m a Jedi, don’t forget,” he brags, like being Force-sensitive changes anything about his (probably low) alcohol tolerance. To be fair, a regular politician wouldn’t know anything about what the Force could and couldn’t do. Skywalker’s probably relying on lack of awareness about the magic and mysterious abilities of the Jedi to get away with it. It’s almost endearing. 

 “I don’t know, Padawan, you did look like an adorable sulking youngling just a minute ago.”

“Ador- I’m not adorable!” He yelps as his cheeks turn into an interesting shade of pink. 

“But you don’t deny the youngling comment,” Obi-Wan teases good-naturedly between two sips of his cocktail. He can’t help it: It is way more intriguing to follow the colours on his face spreading to his neck than being on the receiving end of his frowns and accusing words.

Unduly flustered for such an innocent comment, Skywalker stutters a few syllables, huffs, and narrows his eyes at his glass, Obi-Wan’s playful smile, and his glass again. He downs the whole thing with his head thrown back before Obi-Wan can say anything, surprised by the sudden motion and too busy watching his throat moving until the empty glass is back on the table with a resounding clank. Still wiping his mouth, he calls the bartender and asks for another. Obi-Wan doesn’t miss the ‘don’t you dare stop me’ glare. 

This isn’t how he imagined befriending him, but Skywalker is still seating next to him and getting into a rant about how he’s a capable man, thank you very much, and yesterday his Master even said so, well, not in these words, but he’s not a youngling, and absolutely not adorable, he’s a warrior, a protector, but he doesn’t suppose a politician can understand, and if Obi-Wan wants to know, his sabre technique is exceptional, really, it is! 

His whole speech is supported by hands flying around to illustrate his words and mouthfuls of ale, because he is a man and not a kid, remember that, Senator Kenobi. It doesn’t prevent him from flushing a bit deeper and spluttering even more when Obi-Wan, listening attentively with a smile on his face, throws an indulgent of course you are, darling.

Skywalker turns his face away from him, desperate to hide his embarrassment, and orders another ale. 

Adorable. 

 Obi-Wan can work with that.   

*

Hours later, once Skywalker is happily sloshed and dangerously leaning toward crashing against his shoulder, Obi-Wan calls him a hover cab.  

“Thanks, Senator Kenobi!” Skywalker exclaims as he climbs into the cab, like Obi-Wan is now his favourite person to be around. His cheerful and warm demeanour has stopped being surprising after his second ale. “You’re not as awful as I thought!” 

Obi-Wan can’t help it, he laughs, truly laughs at that. It’s probably the most sincere compliment he’s gotten since he arrived at the Senate. “I’m glad you consider me a slightly better man than Senator Keneg,” he says, leaning forward toward Skywalker, hands on the cab. 

Skywaker grins and raises an eyebrow at him. “And more handsome too!” 

For once, it’s Obi-Wan who must look baffled. Despite his careful planning, all his diverse estimations and assessments about the different ways he could charm Skywalker, he didn’t consider actually seducing him. That’s… a whole new point of view. 

Interrupting his thoughts, Skywalker yawns and starts hugging his robe around himself, smiling contently like he’s in the best place in the galaxy, barely trying to blink away sleep from his eyes. Adorable.  

On an impulse, Obi-Wan leans closer to him and tugs on his braid. The reaction is worth it: Skywalker makes a small surprised noise, eyes suddenly wide, and the slight flush on his cheeks worsen in an instant.

Obi-Wan almost considers touching his face, just to see how warm his skin is. And maybe even brushing his parted lips with his thumb, just to see how warm it can still get. 

But Obi-Wan feels merciful.

For tonight. 

“Sleep well, Padawan,” he purrs, winding the thin braid around his finger one last time. Skywalker looks like he’s going to melt.  

Obi-Wan can work with that too. 

*

Two months later, Sidious tells him that he’s going to be the victim of an assassination attempt right before the Military Act vote. It would be acceptable for the Chancellor to be concerned about the protection and security of all Senators, of course, so he will push for Jedi protection and is certain to convince the Council to send one particular Padawan as a bodyguard. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t hate the idea. 

[angelaiswriting]

The Contest (4 of 7) | some R6S guys x fem!reader

✏️ Pairing: Tachanka x fem!reader

✏️ Summary: Dominic Brunsmeier can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut when it comes to eating pussy, and that’s how Y/N finds herself being drafted to be the judge of this pussy-eating contest. Alex is on another level. (Straight out of a dream @kind-wolf​ had)

✏️ A/N: enjoy 😈

✏️ Warnings: 18+ only (oral f/r, fingering)

✏️ Word-count: 3,762

✏️ The links to the other parts are in the masterlist linked in my bio.

<< part three: timur <<  |  PART FOUR: ALEXSANDR  |  >> part five: dominic >>

Y/N had feared having to avoid Dominic after leaving Timur’s room because the fact that he had a rival in the head game field had been painted all over her face, even somehow visible in the way she walked. But there hadn’t been anyone outside her door when she reached it and as she hastily punched her code into the door pad, she had found herself heaving a sigh of relief.

The next day, though, avoiding Dominic had become a feat. He was growing restless, and probably the fact that some of his friends were eating her out was exciting him more than he had anticipated or that he could have thought. More than she could have ever thought, as well.

“C’mon,” he was saying, breathing down her neck from behind, his hands on her hips as he pressed himself against her rear. She was typing the last batch of data into the computer of the testing facility, and his constant distraction wasn’t helping her at all — not when she had been lost in her own thoughts for two days now. “We go down to the pool —” and his lips pressed kisses on the faint hickeys Timur had left behind — “and we have a good time. No one has to know.”

She cackled, typing the last numbers in before going over her work in search of mistakes in the transcription. “Are you so worried about this contest that you want to remind me what your cock feels like?” she asked eventually, turning around with a sly smile on her lips.

Her left hand, the one not holding the bluetooth keyboard, moved up to his throat for a moment, gave it a brief squeeze, before it trailed down his chest and stopped on his crotch.

He scoffed, bucking his hips forward and into her hand. “I’m not scared of shit. I know how good my game is. I don’t need to fear a stupid contest, I know I can make you scream with or without my cock, Hase.”

Her smirk made his smile falter for a second. “What, then? Would you like to witness? See your homies eat this —” and she moved one of his hands so that it was cupping her through her shorts — “pussy? Did you play with yourself when I was with Elias and Timur?”

She knew he loved the dirty talk. He got off of it, just as she did, there was no denying that. She’d climb mirrors if he talked dirty to her when she couldn’t have him — and it had happened on a mission, once.

“I did, yeah.” He grabbed her keyboard, put it down on the shelf to her side, and moved in between her legs, pulling her hips close to his. “But I know you have the day off, and me dicking you down won’t interfere with anything. I could take you right here, even with that security camera in the corner blinking at us. Let the security guys know how good you let me fuck you.”

She let his face inch closer to hers as her hands came up to grip his biceps, and when their lips brushed together with his clear intention of kissing her — and certainly slip his tongue into her mouth, something he hadn’t done in a few days now — she pushed him away.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” she warned him. “Don’t break the rules of the contest you fought so ardently for. This will be over in less than a week and when the winner has been announced and has had another go with me —”

“That’s not gonna happen, baby.”

“It is,” she nodded, cupping his cheeks before finally pressing a chaste kiss to his lips in the attempt of satiating him a little. “I said that would happen if I felt like it, and you agreed to it. What are you worrying about? You might even win, Dom. But after that happens, I’ll let you fuck me wherever you want. Even against this wall, for the security guys behind that camera. Friends with benefits, remember?”

He grunted against her lips and he rolled his eyes. But then, after having mulled her words over in his head, he heaved a sigh. “Fine, one more week. I can get myself off just fine until then.”

A smirk stretched on her lips and she had to do her best to hide her chuckle. “That’s my good boy.”

*

She was in the gym that afternoon. She hadn’t expected to have a day off from the contest, and not even to find herself bored to the bone and almost pissed off at the idea that she didn’t have some oral sex to look foward to that day. It was cute that they cared about her, but the night before with Timur and the knowledge that Dominic had the worst hots for her had left her in a mood that required more than the machines in the gym facility could help her with.

And it felt atrocious. To not be able to stop thinking about some men that had always been just friends to her, but that had had — and would soon have — their mouths eating her out. And to have to endure this without saying anything, not after how adamantly she had stressed her own fucking rules…

The cold shower she took in the gym helped her more than training had, though, and she found herself standing there, immobile, under the steady stream of water raining down her face and into her eyes every now and then. The anxiousness and that weird and heavy sensation that had kept her whole body in a grip slowly left her muscles, until all that she was left with was the post-workout exhaustion.  Little by little, the feeling came back to her limbs and she became aware of the pulsing sensation in her knuckles and the heaviness in her legs.

It was uncomfortable — but at the same time, not even in a weird way, just what she had been looking for.

She turned off the water, her skin covered in almost painful goosebumps, and grabbed the towel from the hanger. The sigh that left her lips was almost an involuntary moan when she pressed her face against the soft fabric of the towel and breathed its clean smell in.

Her back to the doorless frame that led back to the locker room, she took her time drying herself off and as she did so, she missed Alexsandr walking in and standing in the way, staring right at her. Hadn’t her mind been somewhere else, she would have picked up on the soft, almost squeaky sound his sneakers made on the tiled floor — or so she would try to convince herself a few hours later, when she’d be back in her room with a vibrator between her legs.

But then she turned around, her hands busy toweling her breasts off, and she saw the man standing there, towering in the door frame with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I am horny,” he stated, matter-of-factly. His hands were intermittently closing into fists and even from the other side of the shower room, she could see how heavily his chest heaved with every breath he took.

There was no stopping that moan that left her lips upon hearing his blunt honesty. Absent-mindedly, one of her hands came back up and her fingers spread wide to cup a boob, the perked nipple peeking through from between index and middle finger.

“I have been trying to get myself off, but I can’t stop thinking about eating you out,” he continued, his eyes never leaving hers, his feet rooted to the spot he had stopped in. His left hand moved to grab himself from above his sweatpants, almost as though to highlight his point.

Her legs trembled and while he smirked slightly at the sight, she managed to get a grip on herself.

“I know I haven’t warned you one day in advance as you wanted.” His eyes were fixed on her naked form — surely on her vulva, but definitely on her breast, as well. “But I really —” and he took one step forward — “really want to have the taste of you in my mouth.”

The air burned her lungs, both on the way in and on the way out. She stared at him, his words echoing in her mind, and she pictured this man — this mentor of sorts — fisting himself and not managing to come, just to then go and walk around the base to look for her with a badly concealed boner raging in his pants.

Her towel dropped to the floor and Y/N found herself taking a couple of wobbly steps forward, paying attention to how she moved so as not to slip and fall. She had already given herself a bump on the head when she slipped in the shower once, and she wasn’t in the mood to re-live such an accident when she could, in fact, be getting head.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for, then, Alex,” she managed to squeak out.

She was doing her best not to pay it too much attention, but she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious somehow. This man much older than her was standing there fully dressed, and his gaze made her skin burn as it scanned over her body as if to commit every detail to memory. Elias and Timur had seen her naked as well, but she had been prepared for that — she had known they would come and she had made sure to be found as perfect as she could. But Alexsandr took her by surprise and suddenly, part of her brain was second guessing herself.

He moved closer. His movements were slow and measured, and for a moment he did feel like some sort of predator. “You are so beautiful,” he said. There was surprise in his voice and that had blood rushing to her cheeks.

“Did you use to think I wasn’t?”

His hands settled on her hips, his fingertips pressing into her flesh and squeezing twice, almost experimentally. Then, they moved upward, caressed her sides until his thumbs stopped underneath the swell of her breasts.

Although his breath was scorching hot on her skin, there were goosebumps tugging at it.

“I never tried to picture you naked before the contest,” he replied after what felt like an eternity of her heart drumming wildly against her ribcage.

His lips brushed against her right temple and he inhaled her smell, his hands moving up her back and then back down her spine again.

“But I see now I won’t be able to stop thinking about you.”

He pulled back a little, just enough to be able to stare into her eyes again, before his gaze swiped lower, down her breasts. His hands came up, covered her boobs and kneaded their flesh. Her nipples ended up between his thumbs and forefingers, and she fought to breathe when he rolled them between rough fingers.

She only realized he was slowly making her take steps backward when her back touched the freezing cold tiled wall of the room.

“So young and beautiful,” he murmured against her cheek before dropping to his knees with a heavy thud. She didn’t know whether he felt pain at that, but it was also true that she didn’t spend too long thinking about it, not when he grabbed one of her legs and raised it to rest it over his shoulder, never once breaking eye contact.

His forehead leaned forward, then, and as he pressed it against her lower belly, he inhaled again.

“I can faintly smell your arousal,” was what he said, voice low and raspy as he fixed himself inside his sweatpants. “Can’t wait to taste you.”

He hummed with closed lips against her skin, and she swore she could feel the vibrations of the sound he made throughout her whole body.

The temptation of biting back with something along the lines of Then why don’t you? tickled the tip of her tongue, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. She didn’t know what it was about him in this moment, but she knew she’d do anything he told her to — and that she’d let him do anything he wanted if she didn’t manage to remain lucid enough to remember only mouth and fingers were allowed in the game.

His head turned to the side, toward the leg draped over his shoulder, and he somewhat gently bit down before swiping his tongue over his mark. That jolt of pain came unexpectedly and in her attempt to keep her balance, her arms shot out: she grabbed his free shoulder with one hand and his hair with the other. But she didn’t have time to complain, for his nose was already bumping into her clit.

He groaned — at her smell, at how wet she was, at the situation as a whole, she didn’t know, but it didn’t matter.

His thumbs parted her inner labia and his tongue came out to trace her entrance. When he groaned again this time, she felt herself clench around nothing as the back of her head thudded against the wall and her gaze fixed itself on a crack in one of the tiles at the other side of the shower room.

He licked her again, and this time his tongue ended up a bit deeper than the first time. Then he repeated the action. Again. And. Again. And each time the movement of his tongue seemed to become more focused, in a way, making her pulse all over as her breath was cut short.

“I love your taste,” he groaned.

One of his thumbs came up to circle her clit, and the middle finger of his other hand slipped into her achingly slowly. When she opened her eyes — to order him what, she had no clue —, she found him already staring up at her, his chin wet and his lips stretched into a proud smirk.

She couldn’t look away, hypnotized as she was by this mountain of a man on his knees for her. There was something in the sight itself that made her clench around his finger, and that was the moment he waited for to add another. She didn’t find it in herself to remind him to eat her out, because she knew, somehow, deep down, that it would be his mouth that would make her orgasm and not his fingers. He knew how to play a game and although he didn’t necessarily play to win, he didn’t exactly play to participate either.

When he started fucking her with a third finger as well, his head moved back between her legs and his lips latched onto her clit. Her heart was in her throat, in the pit of her stomach, her ears. Christ, even in her toes! Her breathing trembled with each exhale and even though his mouth and fingers on and inside her turned her silly, with whimpers and moans falling from her lips she had no control over, she kept her eyes on his and he seemed to bask in it.

The coil in her stomach was tightening and the more he flicked or sucked her clit, or the more his fingers teased her from the inside, the tighter it seemed to become, until it was hard to keep standing on her left leg. It was trembling, and if it wasn’t for Alex’s hand on her stomach and his shoulders keeping her pressed against the wall, she knew she’d fall.

“Fuck, I’m…”

But her body went stiff, her lungs stopped working, and her eyelids closed shut under the blinding orgasm that washed over her all of a sudden, in a way. Her brain switched off and when it rebooted, it seemed to be working on a slower program than usual.

When she did come back to her senses, though, she had to push Alexsandr’s head away from her core and when she looked down, chest heaving painfully as she fought to breathe somewhat regularly, his chin was glistening with her juices.

He withdrew his fingers, then, and put her trembling leg back down so that he could stand up.

“Open your mouth,” he instructed, and she did so without a second thought. Then, when his fingers were resting heavily on her tongue, she closed it again and sucked them clean. She moaned at her own taste, and although her cheeks were burning and she was dying to look away, to avert her gaze from his, she found herself unable to do so. “You taste divinely,” he hummed. Then, when he pressed closer to her and his lips brushed against her earlobe, he almost made her knees give out. “I would’ve never thought you’d squirt, though.”

She gasped, and he took the chance to take his fingers out of her mouth.

“Now I can go and have my orgasm,” he declared, happy both with the result he had had and with the fact that he had finally done his part in the contest.

But when she exclaimed a pointed No!, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“No, please, one more time.”

He stopped in his tracks, taken aback by her words for a moment before they registered and he picked her up in his arms and her lips crashed against his. The kiss was searing, all tongues and teeth as he blindly walked back into the locker room.

“I want to sit on your face this time,” she whispered against his lips, eyes boring into his as she ground herself against his crotch. “Can I?”

He smirked and had she known her legs would turn to jelly and she’d have trouble walking after, she would’ve asked him to take her back to either of their rooms. “You are the judge,” he pointed out, kneading the flesh of her buttcheeks in his hands as he still had her in his arms. “This contest is for you as well.”

She wasn’t down on her feet for too long: Alexsandr pushed two benches together and although she hadn’t thought it possible, together they were large enough for him to fit. He laid down on his back, his feet firmly planted on the floor, and he stretched one hand out for her to grab so that he could guide her.

The position was uncomfortable, with no padding between the cold and hard surface of the benches and her knees when she straddled the upper part of his chest, but she knew Alex knew how to make up for it. He moved his arms out of the way so that she could lay her shins flat on the surface, and then grabbed a hold of her thighs in his strong hands to guide her down toward his face.

“Sit, zayka,” and she could clearly hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke.

She lowered herself closer, her hands planted on his chest and her fingertips digging into his pectorals, when his breath hitting her still sensitive core made her huff out and squirm.

Nothing would have prepared her for the whine that scratched her throat on the way up when he suckled on her clit and his nose brushed right between her folds. Her arms failed her when he started eating her out again, and she found herself leaning forward on him.

He was still hard in his pants, and the sight of him alone would have been enough to make her moan out loud, unconcerned that someone could walk by the locker room and overhear her literally losing her mind with a man’s face buried tongue-deep inside her pussy.

“Alex.”

He hummed against her, his hands pulling her down flush against his face — and if there was someone other than Dominic that she was sure could breathe out of their ears as the man had joked about, then that was Tachanka.

She caught him groaning something in Russian, something she would have most likely understood hadn’t she been lost in the pleasure that was gripping every fiber of her being. His tongue dived into her and when he spanked one of her buttcheeks, one of her hands slammed down on his thigh, just this shy of slipping underneath the waistband of his sweatpants and wrapping around his erection. She had to bite down on the other to keep herself from being too loud.

It took her a while for her brain to connect with her body and pick up on the slow grinding of her hips on his face. She tried stopping the automatic movement, but another one of his slaps — on her other buttcheek this time — told her she should continue.

“I need…” She was stuttering, head completely empty but for thoughts of him — and the sight of him in front of her. If he won — and there were hella high chances that he would come out of that contest as its winner —, she knew where else she wanted to have him. “Fuck, I—” but her jaw went slack, both hands now gripping at the sides of the bench to keep herself up, and she couldn’t even finish forming her thought in her mind.

He slapped her ass again. Two of his fingers plunged inside her without notice and his lips wrapped around her clit. The air left her lungs, and what would have been a high-pitched moan turned out silent when she came. Hard.

When she came back to her senses, she was lying down against his chest, her head on his thigh and her nose barely brushing against his crotch. There was a darker stain on the fabric where he had come inside his sweatpants, and she moaned at the thought that he had most likely gone commando just to go and look for her.

“Did you—”

He chuckled, and she felt the vibrations throughout her body. “Da,” he replied, almost even proud of it.

She whimpered when he went back to kitten-licking her. Her glutes contracted and her thighs trembled, her pussy still sensitive and pulsing in the aftermath of her orgasm.

“You make the cutest sounds,” he continued after a while, one of his fingers tracing her opening before he licked her again, his tongue flattening against her. “I could spend the rest of my days right in this position.”

Feedback is always welcome if you want to drop old me a line 💛

Original pic used: https://www.pexels.com/photo/white-clouds-and-blue-sky-4870972/

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ASK)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi​ @becs-bunker

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-3: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation [3rd Beta Test]

*Light and Night Master-list is under WIP *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Game is slated for release this summer! (Estimated to be 8/8/21) *Beta Test’s main story tag will be #Dreams of Light and Night

Police: Name?

Cindy: My name's Cindy. My earrings are gone! I've spent an entire week on them. Please, you must help me find them!

The girl who was desperate to the brink of tears was none other than Cindy, the oldest contestant amongst us all.

Half an hour ago, Cindy had suggested reporting this to the police seeing as how many of the designers had their accessories go missing. Now, she was the first one to undergo questioning by the police.

Police: Earrings, you say? Alright, I've noted it down. Has anyone else lost anything?

Designer A: Me. I lost an Emerald hairpin.

Designer B: My pearl necklace is gone too.

MC: I'm (Y/n), my brooch has also gone missing.

Police: I've gotten the gist of the situation here. All of your items were found lost after less than half an hour after having been left here.

Police: My colleague went to check the surveillance tapes. There was no one suspicious who entered and left the room during that time frame.

Cindy: How can that be...

Police: But there are blind spots where the surveillance cameras cannot reach. Plus, things don't simply disappear for no reason at all.

Police: So, I'm asking everyone to think carefully about it again. Did any of you see anyone who was acting suspicious?

MC: A suspicious looking person…

The image of the figure dressed in black and wearing a mask flashed into my mind along with his skull pendant and flickering silver chains.

MC: I saw someone that I didn't recognize walk out of the room, but I thought that he was a model…

MC: But now that I think about it, no model would come here.

Police: What did this person look like?

MC: He’s very tall and looks to be around 185cm. He wasn’t wearing a staff uniform. 

Police: Can you give me a detailed description of his appearance and how he was dressed?

I nodded, trying my hardest to remember what I’d seen in that split-second.

MC: I couldn’t make out his features since he wore a black mask, but I remember his clothes…!

MC: He wore a black leather jacket paired with light grey jeans and a pair of studded boots.

MC: He had a long silver necklace with a skull pendant hanging from it along with a few silver chains hanging from his waist.

MC: His countenance is hard to describe. He appears to give off a very mysterious vibe, but honestly, the design of the pants he wore needs to be optimized...

I continued prattling on, unaware of how the policeman who’d been recording my descriptions down stopped short.

Police: Optimized?

Suddenly realizing what I'd just said, my face flushed in embarrassment.

MC: Sorry, but that's pretty much all I saw…

Police: Alright. We'll look further into the matter with this information.

Police: However, considering the large number of people here, the vastness of the venue and the small number of missing items, it’ll be quite difficult to find them.

Police: You'd best be prepared.

Everyone lapsed into collective silence after the police left. The solemness of the atmosphere in here was tangible, like a heavy cloud that hung over all of our heads.

Cindy had already succumbed to despair. She silently squatted down; head buried into the crook of her arm.

★Night Choice: Settle your own problems (Didn't select)

☆Light Choice: Comfort Her

I walked up to her, gently patting her back.

MC: Don't worry, I'm sure the police will be able to help us all find our missing accessories.

Cindy: You guys are all young and talented… you'll have other ways to spring back if you fail here, so of course you wouldn't be too worried about it… but such a thing doesn't exist for me…

Her soft voice was distorted by her sniffling, so much that I could barely distinguish what she was trying to say between sobs.

I'd overheard the others talking about her before. Cindy was originally a white-collar worker who'd eventually resigned and got a loan to study design overseas. It was a do-or-die situation for her, in a way.

I didn't know what I should say to comfort her, for everything I say right now would only pale in comparison to what she was going through. All I could do was to gently pat her back.

Cindy: Why did this have to happen now…? It took me such painstaking efforts to get this far…

All the doom and gloom that she exuded was contagious, and I soon felt my heart drop along with her worsening mood.

???: What are you crying about?

No one actually expected Wu Yue, of all people, to be saying something this harsh. She strode out of the crowd under everyone's surprised gazes, walking in front of Cindy and pulling her back upright. Her expression was a tad savage.

Wu Yue: If you don't want to let all your previous effort go to waste, then you'd jolly well shut your trap and redo it. Do you really think it was all so easy for everyone to get this far!

Wu Yue: Those who whinge and always feel sorry for themselves but do nothing to fix it will never succeed.

This was the first time I've ever heard her speak off-stage.

I couldn't help but to be surprised at the look of dead seriousness on her face.

MC: There's still another 3 days before the competition, so let's hurry and start re-doing what we've lost.

Gao Cheng: I... I can help everyone fetch the materials they need. You can also ask me for help if any of you need an extra hand...

Designer A: I've already long since wanted to change my hairpin design! I'm sure the new one this time will turn out a hundred times better! You guys better watch out!

More contestants started inputting, and the gloomy atmosphere soon dissipated. Cindy had also stopped crying, vigorously rubbing at her eyes.

Cindy: You guys are right. I cannot give up here…

Despite all of us not knowing what results awaited us 3 days later, and despite all of us being fellow competitors, we were all teammates now, working hard with the same goal in mind.

After getting our moods in check, everyone returned to their own working space, making the best out of the remaining time left to continue with their respective creations.

❖☆———————————★❖

The hands on the clock had already moved past the 8 PM mark by the time if gotten up for a good stretch.

MC: The gown's pretty much good to go, and I've also finished drawing out the new brooch design. Everything's turning out pretty well~

Gao Cheng: Your design's inspired by the starry skies, right? It's really pretty…

Gao Cheng's faze lingered on the draft of my design for a while before he seemingly snapped out of it. He raised his head, frantically waving his hands in front of him with a flustered look on his face.

Gao Cheng: S-Sorry, it wasn't my intention to peek at your design. I just happened to get attracted to it when I walked past…

MC: Don't worry about it, you came at a great time. Could you tell me what you think about it?

Gao Cheng: Is the brooch meant to represent the brightest star in the sky?

MC: Yup, it represents the north star.

Gao Cheng: But Polaris isn't actually all that bright. It shines at 2nd magnitude, so you can use a darker gemstone to represent it.

It was as if he were an entirely different person when it came to the topic of stars. He gushed enthusiastically about it with unrivalled passion and seriousness.

Gao Cheng: Ah, I just like astronomy, so I know about it a little more than others. Please don't get mad at me... 

MC: Why would I be mad? I'm actually extremely thankful for your input!

I'd previously searched up pictures of the starry sky up on the internet to use as reference pictures, but what Gao Cheng said reminded me once again that even though the pictures captured by a camera's lens turn out beautiful, it still isn't as real as the real thing.

Nothing beats seeing it with your own eyes and ascertaining it for yourself after all.

MC: Maybe I should go up to the rooftop and check the stars out.

❖☆———————————★❖

The cold air of the night greets me as I push open the doors to the rooftop. The vast night sky was spread out before my eyes, the many little red dots beneath it denoting lights of the thousands of households below.

I held onto the railing with both hands raising my head to inhale deeply.

It was then that my phone rang to life as messages from An'an came pouring in one line after another.

An'an (SMS): I've gotten my hands on the guest list!

An'an (SMS): You won't believe how elaborate this guest line-up is! Osborn's actually coming, you know!? His club's going to be collaborating with the Warson Group!

MC: ...Osborn?

An'an (SMS): Please tell me you still remember him. I've shown you a picture of him before! He's my favourite R1 racer who has won 4 consecutive championships!

I hadn't yet had the chance to truly think back on it when I suddenly heard a faint noise. It was the familiar sound of metallic chains clinking against each other.

There had been no one here when I came up to the rooftop.

My heart leapt to my throat as I unwittingly headed towards the direction of the sound.

There was someone hidden within the shadows, standing silently in one of the corners where the moonlight never reached.

Seemingly having noticed my gaze, the person moved forwards, stepping out of the shadows.

❖☆———————————★❖

I finally managed to vaguely make out his appearance. He was tall and intimidating even from a distance away. He wore a black jacket across his shoulders, the moonlight glinting off the skull necklace that rested upon his chest.

MC: That's the guy I saw back in the corridor!

I hadn't yet recovered from the initial surprise of seeing him here when I suddenly noticed that he was holding a red earring between his fingers.

Cindy's Earrings! So, he really WAS the thief!

The clouds blocked off the moonlight, darkening the skies as my heart raced, pounding loudly in my ears. Did I interrupt him in the middle of something? Am I going to be "silenced"?

All hesitation flew out the window the moment my thoughts stopped there. I immediately turned and made a dash for the exit.

However, just as I was about to pull the door open and make my escape, a well-defined hand pressed against the door, blocking off my escape.

??: And just where are you running off to now?

❖☆————— ⊹ Dreams of Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-1) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-5)

[hypnomicimagines]

From the kiss prompts #3 + Doppo pls! 🥺❤️

(have awkward college Doppo at a party)

Kannonzaka Doppo: 

3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond. Who played seven minutes in heaven in college?

Doppo hadn’t even wanted to come to this stupid party, Hifumi had insisted that it was ‘all the rage’ and that Doppo needed to ‘take a load off’ since he buried himself in schoolwork but he’d just never been the partying type. Hifumi, on the other hand, could’ve used a new liver or two at this point for all the drinking and partying that he did. He insisted it was to get himself used to talking to women, flirting his way through all the sororities at the party, but Doppo didn’t really care enough to question it. As long as he could keep an eye on him and assure Hifumi wasn’t being taken advantage of due to his excessive kindness and ability to make excuses for others, then Doppo could probably just sit in a corner the entire night without being bothered.

That is not the case.

Doppo had been minding his own business, sporting a nice buzz, when everything at the party became like a whirlwind. Hifumi was excitedly explaining some game and then suddenly Doppo was shoved in the closet with a beautiful classmate, you, who he talked to daily in his morning classes. It was mostly complaints about how early it was and you pointing out how you had no time to even fix yourself up to look presentable (Doppo thought you looked just fine but he didn’t want to say that to your face), opting to wear your pajamas to class over ‘normal, well-adjusted’ people clothing. He thought you were funny and charming and entirely out of his league without a doubt. But now here you were, shoved into a closet together, uncomfortably close.

“I didn’t think I’d get pushed into a closet with you, since you, you know… told me you didn’t like parties and all.”

“Y-yeah… I don’t. My friend dragged me here…” He went to look down but accidentally bonked his head against yours, causing a fit of nervous (slightly manic on his part) laughter to break out in the closet. The party was still occurring loudly outside so it was unlikely anyone heard what was happening inside and Doppo could only hope you wouldn’t tell anyone about his awkward self. How could he look you in the fact again after that?

“Do you, uh, do you wanna do what you’re supposed to do during this game…?”

Your question caught him off-guard.

“…What should I do? S-Should I just…?”

“Kiss me,” Your hands moved up his chest, gripping the t-shirt he was wearing, “Or don’t. That’s your choice.”

Who in their right mind would choose not to kiss you?!

Doppo inhaled sharply before leaning in, doing something he’d only done about three times before in his life. He’d always been focused on getting good grades as they didn’t exactly come naturally to him, his hard work generally benefitting him in the long run but the effort it took to get there depleted his social life. Hifumi’s charming personality also stole away any attention he might’ve potentially gotten but Doppo had long since gotten over the bitter part of him that longed for the type of attention Hifumi got, realizing it was more hassle than he ever wanted to deal with. Even now despite being desperate for your attention he wanted to sink into the floor and float into an abyss of nothingness, not knowing how to handle any of this now that he was actually in this situation.

“…You’re a good kisser,” He’s not offended at how surprised you sound as he didn’t know what came over him either, the need to impress you clearly taking over and allowing him to bamboozle you into thinking he was a man with any type of relevant romantic history, “I’d like to do that again if you’re okay with it.”

He leaned in to kiss you again but you stopped him, his heart dropping to the floor immediately at the rejection.

“Just to be clear,” You mumbled, hands falling back to your sides, “I meant outside of the closet. Just… in general life. Me and you. Kissing.”

“O-Oh…!” His heart might explode with all the emotional whiplash it was going through currently, “I… That sounds- I mean, good? I mean that sounds good!”

The closet door is opened and you’re both forced to re-enter reality, grabbing Doppo’s arm before he ends up pulled away by Hifumi. Writing down your number on a piece of paper you slipped it into his hand, offering up another quick kiss that has everyone in the party gawking at you both (with Hifumi’s jaw practically hitting the ground) before saying you hoped to see him later. He watched as you reconvened with your friends who were excitedly asking for the details while his own friend pestered him, Doppo’s lips zipped shut as he played with the piece of paper in his pocket to reassure that what just happened was real.

Was this the college experience?

He could get used to it. 

[prettyboylovemail]

[Hana + Juzo] As Long As We’re Alive

FINALLY! I finished this fic that I’ve been working on all week!

I recently rewatched the Danganronpa 3 anime and wanted to figure out how my S/I would fit into the new killing game! Including interactions with my favorite character from the anime cause I can’t help myself 👀

(Also, for a bit of context: This takes place following my S/I from DR 1 surviving the Hope’s Peak Killing Game!)

As such, this will include anime spoilers!! Keep that in mind!

I worked super hard on this, so I hope you guys enjoy!!

Also a big big thanks to @duncanlovemail​ for helping me do some final edits and tweaks!! ❤️

—

In a split second, her life flashed before her eyes.

There were some good memories, sure, but mostly bad ones — memories of the last killing game she’d been forced to play overshadowed her happiest moments. And now, laying on the floor, staring wide-eyed at the tip of a katana, she could only remember the moments where she’d been this close to death.

But this time, she didn’t think she’d get to make it out alive.

There was a brief rustling sound from somewhere nearby, but Hana barely noticed it. It sounded as if someone was walking by and she silently begged that it’d be an ally. But as the footsteps grew fainter, she realized that she didn’t have any real allies left, and that she was only going to be left for dead. 

The man behind the corner kept walking. He’d seen the fight, or rather, the one-sided attack, but he paid it no mind. With a scowl, he left Munakata to finish his work. Who cares how many insignificant people died? As long as he made it out alive, then Juzo would slaughter every other person here. If it meant that Kyousuke would be victorious, then he didn’t give a shit about the rest.

Then why?

Why did his chest tighten up at the sight? Why did he feel a twinge of guilt leaving her to die? It’s not like that girl was anyone special or important — just some rookie from another division — so why did he feel like a piece of shit as he turned his back on her?

“Dammit, Juzo, this isn’t like you,” the man muttered to himself through gritted teeth. “Get ahold of yourself and keep walkin’. It’s none of your business.” It wasn’t until the next thing he heard that he stopped in his tracks, listening.

“Please, I-I’m not on the side of despair! I d-don’t want to hurt anyone! Please, believe me!!”

The girl’s voice sounded desperate, like she was crying. Juzo swallowed thickly, trying to take another step, but feeling his entire body stiffen up. Her voice rang through his ears, echoing in the empty hallway, the sound piercing his chest like a knife. 

“PLEASE, DON’T KILL ME!”

The man’s fists balled up, squeezing every ounce of strength that he could muster.

Shit!

“Kyousuke!” Juzo’s voice boomed through the hall as he spun on his heel. He felt the weight of his entire body shift and slam to a stop in front of the scene. Munakata paused and glanced up at him with no change in his cold expression.

“What is it, Sakakura?”

“Don’t worry about that one!” Juzo stepped forward, placing himself between Munataka and the helpless girl, frozen on the ground. “Your target is Makoto Naegi, isn’t it? Why waste your time on a brat like her?”

“Why are you interrupting?” Munakata’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Have you fallen to despair, Sakakura?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course not. But you know as well as I do that it’d be useless to kill this girl. She’s just some random kid, she doesn’t have anything to do with your plan.”

“She’s a survivor along with Naegi and the others. She’s in cahoots with them and as such, must be eliminated.” The katana glistened as Munakata turned it towards him. “And I will kill anyone who gets in my way.”

Juzo sharply inhaled. Was it really worth it, saving this kid at the threat of being turned on himself? He sent a glare behind him, seeing the frantic eyes of the shaking girl beneath him. Her eyes begged for him to save her, but pleading normally didn’t work on him. He turned back to Munakata and grit his teeth.

“What the hell’s gotten into you, man? Do you realize who you’re pointing that blade at?” Juzo raised his voice slightly. “I’m on your side, but right now, we need to focus on the real objective!”

“This is the real objective!”

There was only a moment to react. Time seemed to slow as the blade was swung, but not at him. The katana grazed past Juzo and towards the ground. He felt his heart stop as he reached out and—

“AGH!!” Juzo grunted out loud as the pain of steel cutting through flesh surged through his hand. Blood poured from the wound and it took all his might not to flinch back. He turned towards Hana, cowering barely a foot below the blade, and yelled. “GO!”

She took a sharp breath and squirmed away from the line of attack, barely able to keep her balance as her legs pushed her backwards. “W-What are you doing?” she managed to ask with a feeble voice.

Juzo gripped onto the katana with his opposite hand, keeping it in place as to not cut further into his hand. “Don’t ask stupid questions! Get the fuck out of here!! NOW!” His voice blared through the halls, shaking Hana out of her daze. She stood as quickly as she could and ran, hastily turning the corner. 

“Sakakura! Why are you letting her escape?!” Munakata shouted. “You’re a traitor to the cause—”

“No! I’m not!! Just listen to me for once, god dammit!” Juzo pushed back against the sword, yanking his hand away from the blade and jumping out of range. “Naegi is still on the move right now! Once you get rid of him, you can exterminate the rest of these stupid brats, you hear me?” There was a pause. “I won’t get in your way again, but we’ve gotta track down that bastard Naegi first.”

Another pause as both men decided their next move. When Munakata backed down, Juzo did as well.

“You’re right.” Munakata sighed, lowering his sword and re-sheathing it.

Juzo let out a sigh as well. “Good. Now come on, let’s go search for the brat.”

“Alright…”

—

The two men walked down the empty hallways, searching, scanning every corner for an enemy. Neither of them said anything, and the atmosphere was only growing more tense with every passing minute.

“Kyousuke,” Juzo started, breaking the silence between them, “those wounds don’t look so hot. We should find you a first aid kit.” When he didn’t receive any response, he paused, before making an attempt to change the subject. “Hey, so—”

“What’s on your mind?” Munakata stopped

“Well, uh,” Juzo began, “Kimura’s been killed. Kizakura got poisoned, too. Oh, and Ando was stabbed by one of the survivor brats...” his voice trailed off. Munakata hadn’t reacted to a single thing he’d said and it was starting to throw him off. Did he care that their comrades were dying? Juzo glanced away. “I… just… thought you oughta know…”

“Tengan, as well.”

Juzo’s eyes widened, “No joke?”

Munakata’s voice was cold and unwavering. “I killed him myself.”

It took a moment to process what he’d said, but it was unmistakable. Kyousuke had murdered the chairman. Of course, Juzo was always on his side, but this… didn’t seem like him. And his best friend’s icy demeanor was really concerning him. He knew that Munakata was willing to do anything to achieve his goal, but this—

“Right, sure…” Juzo turned away, putting on a smile to hide his uncertainty as best he could. “Hey, that’s good! This is what we wanted, isn’t it? To purify the foundation.”

Munakata said nothing, just stared at his friend’s back as he continued.

“Heh. ‘Bout damn time. This baby’s in your hands now, chief. You’ve been promoted.” When he still received no response, Juzo continued further. “No one in their right mind is gonna contest it. The revolution’s over, and the spoils of war are all yours! I’ll help, of course. We’re gonna fix the Future Foundation! After that, the world.”

Finally, after a couple of moments, Munakata spoke. “The world, you say…” Juzo turned to face him. “Hey, Sakakura. We go back. You’ve been at my side for years in fact, since we were students.”

“Uh, yeah…?”

Munakata’s eyes closed. “We had our share of good times, the two of us, and Yukizome, of course. Eyes always on the future. Three friends intimately bound together by the same ideals.”

Juzo paused.

“Our mentors were supportive. Tengan always found the time to give me advice. I held firm that the world could change. That I could be the one to change it.” Munakata balled his fist, opening his eyes, but kept them focused down. “That conviction hasn’t left me. It’s as strong as ever…”

“Yeah, sure…” Juzo also looked away, “Hey, it’s strong in me too, ya know. Always has been.” He returned a determined gaze to his friend. “Backing you up’s been the whole point of my life. I take a lot of pride in throwin’ down for your ideals.”

“I know you do… And you’re right, my friend,” Munakata said with a heavy expression. “Without your unwavering support, I would’ve never made it this far.”

There were a couple moments of silence before Juzo spoke up again. “Look, I— There’s something I gotta get off my chest, okay?��� His heart began to race. Why did he suddenly feel so nervous? Was it because he was finally going to say it? Finally going to tell Kyousuke how he’s always felt? Or… was it something else? Something more… disconcerting…? “To be totally honest with you—”

“Enough!”

And in a flash — before he could even react — a sharp, searing pain surged through his stomach as Munakata’s fiery blade pierced through his midsection. He coughed, blood erupting from his throat and filling his mouth with the revolting taste of iron before spilling from his lips. The smell of burning flesh filled the air in an instant.

What…?

“K-Kyousuke…”

Blood quickly spread from the wound and in the next second, Juzo’s feet gave way beneath him and he collapsed onto the cold ground. He lay there in agony as the severity of the situation hit him. He choked and gasped for a breath, craning his neck, struggling to look up at the man who’d betrayed him. “W-What the hell, man? Why… would you… do this?”

Munakata’s voice was just as cold and uncaring as it was before, and it sent a shiver down Juzo’s spine as he lay on the floor beneath him.

“You know why. You know exactly why.”

And with that, Munakata turned… and left. His words hung in the air over Juzo, who lay face down, cursing himself as he felt his senses begin to weaken. He didn’t bother to watch his friend leave him there. He couldn’t bear the sight.

Why did it come to this? 

Dammit!! Why?!

Then everything faded to black.

—

Hana staggered through the halls, dragging her injured ankle beneath her. It’s not that bad, she told herself, as long as she could keep moving. As long as she was still alive. Her thoughts drifted back to earlier, when Juzo had saved her life. It’d been almost two hours since then, and the next time limit was approaching soon. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stumbled.

Why was she so useless?

Even in the previous killing game, she couldn’t do anything to protect her friends. She couldn’t save those she cared about. She just had to stand by and watch as the ones precious to her died brutal deaths. 

That included him…

Hana stopped and pressed her back to the wall behind her as the tears she’d been trying so hard to hold in fell down her cheeks. Why did she have to think about him right now? The girl felt her knees weaken, and she slid down to the floor with a heavy breath. Here she sat again, completely powerless to stop the deaths happening around her, unable to do anything besides cry. She despised her weakness. 

It might be better if I just sit here… and wait for someone to come and kill me…

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps pulled her out of her thoughts. One? No, two people, she guessed. Were they enemies? Friends? Hana’s thoughts raced. Should she run? Stay put? What would she do if someone attacked her again? Was… it even worth fighting back?

It wasn’t until she heard the sound of familiar voices that she stopped.

“Kyousuke, those wounds don’t look so hot. We should find you a first aid kit.”

Juzo? And Munakata is with him?

Hana froze up in a cold sweat. Juzo had saved her once, but he was still loyal to Munakata. If they were still together now, then— Her hands began to shake. He wouldn’t spare her again.

The sound of footsteps stopped as the two men continued talking just around the corner. Hana wondered if she should run, but her body remained stagnant, completely paralyzed.

“Tengan, as well”

“No joke?”

“I killed him myself.”

Munakata had gotten to the chairman already? Then, there was nothing stopping Munakata from killing everyone else too. Had he already killed Makoto too? Hana kept listening, as silently as possible.

“Look, I— There’s something I gotta get off my chest, okay? To be totally honest with you—”

“Enough!”

The sound that came from around the corner was enough to make Hana’s blood run entirely cold. The sound of metal plunging through flesh. The sound of Juzo crying out in pain. A heavy thud. 

No way…

There’s no way…

“Why… would you… do this?”

“You know why. You know exactly why.”

Hana’s hands clasped over her mouth to keep herself from gasping. Her entire body shook and she felt dizzy. She knew that they weren’t aware of her presence, but hearing that felt… directed. If Juzo hadn’t stepped in to save her, if he’d just ignored her and left her to be killed, this wouldn’t have happened. 

Juzo is going to die because of me.

Just like before—

I can’t do anything.

This is my fault!

Footsteps faded as Munakata walked in the opposite direction. Once she was sure he was gone, she risked a glance around the corner and saw Juzo lying on the floor, unconscious and bleeding. Her legs moved on their own as she rushed to his side, frantically checking his wounds. Thankfully, the stomach wound had mostly cauterized due to Munakata’s blade, but he was still bleeding out slowly. Hana took off her jacket and tried tying it around his stomach in a hurry. “God, please,” she gasped. “Please don’t die.”

Once she’d finished securing her makeshift tourniquet as much as possible, Hana wrapped her arms around the man, attempting to pull him up just enough to move him, to no avail. She just wasn’t strong enough to lift him, and dragging him would only cause more damage. “Damn it…” the girl cursed, frantically searching the area. She didn’t want to leave him here, but there was no way she was going to be able to carry him to safety by herself. She had to get help or—

“I’m not going to let you die, I promise.”

Hana stood and ran down the hall, looking for anyone who would be willing to help. Maybe if she found Makoto. Or Koda— Izayoi should be with her, right? Juzo said that Ruruka had been killed, she could only guess that Koda’s the one who’d done it. If she found the two of them, they could help—

“Please. Please. Anybody.”

—

Hana’s eyes fluttered open slowly, a groggy dizziness overtaking her as her vision attempted to clear, and she scanned the area around her, disoriented from just having woken up. She glanced down at the bangle donning her wrist, still displaying the forbidden action she’d been cursed with, and let out a deep sigh. She’d made it through another time limit alive.

Thank God…

She filed through her memories, trying to remember everything before she’d dozed off. She’d found Juzo laying on the floor, bleeding, after his falling out with Munakata; that part was clear. But after that— Hana frowned— she couldn’t really remember much. She postulated that the time limit had stopped her from finding help, and she figured that if Juzo were still alive, that she wouldn’t know where to look for him. She could only hope that he’d survived.

The girl staggered to her feet, slightly swaying from a lack of balance, and stretched her arms into the air. “Alright,” she muttered to herself, “what to do now?” 

For a moment, she considered looking for an ally, someone who’d be willing to team up with her, but the thought was fleeting. With her forbidden action being as fragile and deadly as it was, Hana figured that it’d be best to stay alone for now, what with Munakata on the hunt. She counted the number of known victims in her head, trying to figure out who was left. 

Makoto, Kyoko, Hina, Koda, Izayoi, Munakata, Ryota, and, maybe, Juzo. 

Including herself, only nine people remained alive out of the starting seventeen. She grit her teeth. Too many people had died already. 

History was repeating itself.

Suddenly, there was a screeching sound, signalling the overhead speakers turning on. Hana glanced up, trying to find where the noise was coming from, before a voice came through. 

“Makoto Naegi.”

Munakata—!

“If you’re awake, I assume you’ve figured out what Kirigiri’s forbidden action was.”

She took a sharp breath and her body went rigid. Kyoko…? Her forbidden action? Hana’s eyes widened with shock. 

Is Kyoko dead?!

The voice on the speakers continued, but Hana was only half listening as she repelled the urge to throw up. The pit in her stomach only continued to grow as she heard Munakata call Makoto to confront him alone. He was planning to kill Makoto, she’d already known that; but now, with Kyoko dead, he would be falling right into Munakata’s trap, spurred on by emotion and his relentlessness to push forward. That’s just always how he is — how he was back then too — and Munakata would be anticipating that.

Hana rushed from the room she’d taken shelter in, scanning the halls for anyone else. If Munakata was able to use the loudspeakers, then he should be in the broadcasting room, so if she just avoided there, then she would be fine and she could get help to back up Makoto. It wasn’t much, but she had to try.

The walls around her were broken and beaten to hell, with blood splattered against the dark concrete and rubble scattered across the floor at every turn. The sight made her nauseous, but she had to keep moving. No matter what, she had to push forward too.

As she turned a corner, Hana bumped into something solid and lost her balance. Her ankle twinged with discomfort and she let out a pained groan as she fell backwards. “Agh… shit.” Noticing movement in her peripheral, her eyes darted up to see what, or rather who, she’d crashed into, and she was hit with a wave of relief.

“Damn it. Can’t get anywhere without runnin’ into one of you brats, huh.”

“Juzo!” Hana exclaimed, half from the reassurance to see him alive, and half out of worry that he was still loyal to Munakata. Although, she considered, after what happened between them, she couldn’t say for sure that he was still on Munakata’s side. “How are your injuries?” As the girl stood, her eyes drifted to his midsection; the tourniquet she’d wrapped around him was gone, but his wound wasn’t actively bleeding anymore. Juzo must’ve noticed the concerned look on her face, as he only scoffed in return.

“I’m fine. What’d’you care anyway?”

She made a dejected noise of acknowledgement and glanced away. “Sorry, is that a bad thing?” When he didn’t reply, Hana let out a soft exhale. “I saw what happened… between you and Munakata. I know it’s not really my place to intervene, but I couldn’t just… leave you there, ya know?”

Juzo sighed, a low growl escaping his throat, “So you saw all that.” He looked down at the ground, an expression on his face that was somewhere between anger and sadness. He clearly felt betrayed. Understandable, all things considered. “Fuck,” he cursed as he sat on a nearby slab of rubble, “this whole thing is such bullshit! How did it get this far?”

Hana stayed silent, watching the man in front of her. He was normally so aggressive and strong, but seeing his posture fall and his confidence crumble, it filled her heart with a nostalgic sadness. The same feeling that she had before, before that sickening execution, seeing someone so strong that she had nothing but admiration for collapse into weakness and despair. That feeling of helplessness as she couldn’t do anything but watch from the sidelines. It hurt to see the same thing happening yet again.

“I’m sorry…” Hana spoke gently as she sat beside him. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and keeping her gaze fixated on the floor. “...for what happened. If you hadn’t had to save me, he wouldn’t have—”

“Shut up.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t have to save you. Hell, I thought that I should’ve let you die back there.” Juzo spat out his words with no hesitation. “Even I wondered why I bothered to step in.” Hana didn’t say anything, and only kept her eyes on the ground. “But what’s done is done. And even if I didn’t come to save your sorry ass, Kyousuke already had it in his head to betray me. Leaving you there wouldn’t have prevented anything.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Hana mumbled. “You two were so close. Why would he have tried to kill you if he didn’t think you were on Makoto’s side?”

There was a pause.

“That’s the question, ain’t it…” Juzo sighed. “I gave everything to show him I wouldn’t hesitate to kill for his ideals. I really would’ve killed that bastard Naegi with my bare hands to prove that.” He slumped over, raising his wrist to clearly see the band hanging from it, “If it wasn’t for this damn thing, I could’ve done it by now.”

“But would killing Makoto really have put a stop to all this?” the girl questioned, sending a glance over her shoulder.

“Dunno. Don’t really care either, at this point.”

Another pause, this one longer than the last.

“Then, let’s end this game.”

“Huh?” Juzo scowled at the girl. “What do you mean by that?”

Hana’s eyes glinted with determination, “The attacker is still out there, right? That’s why there’s a new victim after every time limit. So if we can find and stop the attacker before the next time limit happens, then the game should end!”

“Forget it. If you wanna get yourself killed, then go right ahead, but I’m done.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t give a shit what happens to the rest of you.”

“But you want this game to end too, don’t you? Or would you rather just stay locked up in here forever?”

“Tch. Even if you think you could find the attacker, how would you be able to stop them? They only show themselves when everybody’s knocked out, so how do you plan to fight them?” He gestured down to Hana’s leg. “And with your busted up foot, I doubt you’d be able to handle yourself if push came to shove.”

That seemed to make the girl back down, as her shoulders slumped in realization. “Well. I don’t know yet. But I still want to try, ya know?” Her eyebrows knitted together. “If I don’t do anything, it’s only a matter of time before everyone is killed off one by one. I don’t want to let that happen again.”

Juzo groaned in frustration, “Right, I get it. You’re trying to play hero just like Naegi, aren’t ya. Cause of that other killing game, right?” Hana kept quiet. “Jeez, you brats are all the same, thinkin’ you can change things by stickin’ your necks out. So damn annoying.” 

He gave her another harsh glare. “So what if I entertain your little suicide mission, huh? How do I know you aren’t just pullin’ a fast one on me, trying to get me to lower my guard?”

“What?”

“Say, hypothetically, that you’re actually the attacker. What makes you think that I can just blindly trust anything you have to say?”

Hana paused and stared at his face before sighing and closing her eyes. She moved her wrist into view, showing off her bracelet, and the message that circled around it in big, red letters. 

SUSTAINING AN INJURY THAT DRAWS BLOOD

“I haven’t shown anybody this,” Hana said quietly. “I’ve been too worried that someone would use it against me, so I’ve been avoiding everyone else.” Her voice was soft, yet full of resolve. “Earlier… even if I could’ve somehow escaped from Munakata alive on my own, one tiny cut from his blade would’ve been enough to do me in. If you hadn’t come when you did, I would’ve absolutely died... one way or another. All it would take is the smallest drop of blood, and I would be dead.”

“So, what?”

“So that means that I’m willing to put my trust in you. Maybe that’s a dumb decision, but I don’t want to doubt people anymore! And if I don’t do anything, more people will just keep dying. If that means taking a few risks, then so be it.”

“Yeah yeah, I heard you the first time. But unless we can get these stupid bracelets off, we can’t do shit. You’ve gotta accept that.” Juzo paused. This girl, as annoying as she could be, was persistent to say the least — more stubborn than he would’ve given her credit for. It reminded him of before, back when Chisa was still alive. She was persistent and determined, just like that. She wasn’t the strongest person, far from it. She was emotional and irritatingly cheerful sometimes, and the look that Hana had on her face right now looked exactly like her. 

Juzo glared at the girl for a moment, studying her expression for any hint of ulterior motive. It wasn’t like he thought she had it in her to play mind games, but with everything that's happened up to now, he couldn’t underestimate anyone. Not again. 

“Tell me something. I’ve been wondering for a while. ”

“Hm?”

“Why do you keep following me around, anyways? You’re not gonna confess your love or something, are you?”

Hana was clearly caught off guard by the question, but found herself giggling in reply. She brought up her hands to dismiss the implication. “No, no way. Believe me, I don’t have any interest in you like that.” She gave him a smug look. “Plus, I don’t really think I’m your type—”

“Get on with it.”

The girl laughed, “Got it, sorry.” A moment passed and she gazed off somewhere down the hall, a forlorn look gracing her features. “Well, it’s just that…”

“...?”

“...You remind me of someone. That’s all.”

Juzo gave her a questioning look, but she paid it no mind. “So that’s it, huh.” He’d be lying if he said the sentiment wasn’t at least a little bit mutual, but he’d rather die before saying that out loud. “Well, I couldn’t give a damn about that.”

“I know.” With a soft chuckle, Hana kept her eyes down. “It’s kinda silly, isn’t it? To try and keep someone’s memory alive by projecting them onto someone else… it’s stupid to think that’ll help anything. But even so… it’s given me a little bit of courage.” Hana faced Juzo with a bright, albeit somewhat forced, smile. “So it can’t be all bad, right?”

“Tch…” The man clicked his tongue in annoyance. “If you say so.”

The sound of a distant rumbling caught both of their attention and they shot to attention. Juzo jumped to his feet, while Hana’s entire body straightened up.

“That has to be Munakata! He should be fighting Makoto right now,” Hana exclaimed. “We have to help!”

“I told you to forget it! You’re already hurt. You shouldn’t even be walking around so much, much less trying to fight,” Juzo snapped back at her.

“But if I don’t, then Makoto’s going to die!”

“So be it! If he decided to confront Munakata, that’s his own damn business! This isn’t your fight to meddle in!”

“I’m not going to sit back and let another one of my friends get killed!” Hana shouted, standing on her wobbly legs. “If you’re going to still side with Munakata after all of this, then fine, but I’m going to try to help my friends!” She only made it a few steps before a hand gripped her wrist and forcibly yanked her backwards. 

“Don’t be stupid! Just stay here and don’t get in the way, otherwise you’ll end up dying too, you hear me?!” Juzo yelled, squeezing the girl’s arm tight so she couldn’t break free. “If you’re so fucking concerned, then I’ll handle it.”

“What are you talking about?” Hana asked, wincing at the pain in her wrist. 

“You said it yourself! The tiniest cut would be enough to kill you, wouldn’t it? So just find somewhere to hide and stay put.” He released her arm and the girl pulled back to rub the spot he’d grabbed. At this point, Juzo didn’t even know what he planned on doing, but all he knew was that this stupid girl was going to get herself killed if she tried to fight Munakata again. Regardless of how he personally felt about the matter, he knew that her determination would be useless in this situation. “You’ve already done enough, so just stay outta sight and don’t die, got it?!”

Hana stepped back, a confused look on her face, but ultimately didn’t make any more attempts to oppose him. She exhaled softly and nodded. 

“Okay.”

And without a second thought, Juzo ran off into the darkness.

—

Shit… Why’d I let myself get roped into this…?

Juzo breathed heavily, grasping at his sleeve, soaked in blood, as he staggered through the dark halls. He figured it was almost time for the next time limit, although he couldn’t be sure of that anymore. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the throbbing pain surged through his left arm, and he risked a glance down to where the bangle had once been. With his hand now gone, he was free from risk of being poisoned, but the cost of passing out from the pain wasn’t far behind him. 

“D-Damn...it…” he muttered through strained breaths, “This is… all ‘cause of… that girl…”

He thought back to their earlier conversation. He had no initial plans to take what she’d said to heart, not like this, but seems that today was full of surprises, wasn’t it? All that shit he’d said before was just a means of shutting her up at the time, but after pondering it for a while, he realized what he had to do.

He’d set off to find Munakata and Naegi, to stop them from fighting, by however he deemed necessary. Whether that be by stopping Kyousuke again, or by killing the brat that started all of this, he would end this damn game. It wasn’t until the beeping of his wristband caught his attention, to signal that the time limit was fast approaching, that he remembered Hana’s plan. As reckless as it was, he knew that if one of them were to be able to pull it off, it would be him. That’s when the solution to get rid of the bracelet came to mind, and if it took a drastic measure, then that’s what he’d do. So he endured through the pain, biting the fabric of his jacket, grinding it between his teeth as he did what needed to be done.

But now, as he wandered the empty halls, with only the ominous glow of red from the monitors to guide his path, he wondered if he’d made the right decision. He had barely any strength left, why waste it on trying to fight off the attacker when he should be preserving it just to stay standing? Bullshit...

That’s when he heard it, the sound of screaming echoing in the darkness. Was somebody getting attacked? It almost sounded like—

Juzo took off in a sprint, dashing through the hallways. Anger surged through his body like electricity, but he skidded to a sudden stop at the sight before him.

Makoto Naegi, kneeled on the floor, a knife poised to his throat. 

In a split second, Juzo was at top speed again, his strides slamming into the ground with every step.

I don’t think so, you little bastard!

One swing was all it took to knock the knife from the boy’s hands. He paused in confusion, looking around for a second before Juzo gripped him by the arm and raised him to eye-level, slamming his elbow to Naegi’s throat. He writhed and flailed under the pressure of being choked, but Juzo didn’t waver. 

“You’re the man who defeated Junko Enoshima. If you think I’m going to let you kill yourself, then you’re dumber than you look!” he growled, pressing his arm further against the boy’s neck. “You hear me, you little punk?! Not now. Not ever!”

After a few more seconds of struggling, Juzo released Naegi, letting him fall to the floor in a heap as the boy coughed and gasped for air. He looked up at the man in confused distress. “H-How are you even—?!”

Juzo picked the knife from the floor, gripping the handle. “You wanna die so bad, then allow me.” He raised the blade, fully intending to strike and end this right then, but stopped himself mid-swing when Naegi recoiled. He looked pathetic, like a small animal cowering in fear of its predator. Juzo scoffed and dropped the knife, his feet collapsing beneath him as his strength started to waver. “Dammit…”

“How are you still awake?” Makoto asked, staring at Juzo intently. That’s when the boy noticed the crimson-soaked sleeve and gasped, “Y-You cut off your arm?” He looked at the man with concerned eyes. “Well, that’s one way, I guess.”

“Figured I could make the scene before it happened…” Juzo muttered, his energy depleting quickly, “I could meet whoever’s behind this god-forsaken game face-to-face. Take out the attacker and be done with it.” 

Naegi’s eyes widened when he realized Juzo’s intention, and paused. “There is no attacker. There never was.”

“...Huh?”

“It was suicide. The victims— They were all brainwashed into killing themselves by what they saw on the monitors.” Juzo followed Naegi’s gaze up to the glowing monitor. “When the time limit was up, we were all knocked unconscious. But whoever was closest to a monitor got woken up by a special signal from their bangles. Awake and alone, they were subjected to a video. After that…” his voice trailed off, leaving the implication as it stands.

Juzo slumped over, his expression darkening. “Who did this? What sicko piece of shit thinks this is entertaining?”

“That, I don’t know. At least not yet.” Naegi raised a hand to his chin in thought. “But they wouldn’t even need to be here for it to work.”

“What are you tellin’ me? They could’ve set this up? Controlled it remotely?”

“Probably.” Naegi straightened up, sending a determined smile over in the man’s direction. “On the bright side, at least we don’t have to suspect each other anymore.”

Juzo could only laugh at what he was hearing. Rage boiled through his veins, and it took everything in him to keep himself in check. “So what are we supposed to do now? It’s all a shell game. We’ve been manipulated from some unknown other place. Killing each other like a bunch of animals.

“Yukizome. Gozu. Kimura. Some video brainwashed them into taking their own lives? All the horrible things we’ve done to smoke out the killer and it’s been us?!” Juzo gripped the handle of the knife in his fist once again, shaking with anger. He slammed the blade against the concrete, breaking it in half. “Son of a bitch!”

There was a long pause as Juzo took a breath and collected himself. Everything he’d done — everything he’d tried to prove — it was all for nothing. This entire damn game has been nothing more than a way for some bastard in a far-off place to enjoy a good show while they all chased their tails like a pack of rabid dogs. Juzo stood again, turning and taking a few steps down the hall.

“What are you doing?”

Juzo gritted his teeth. These fucking brats and their million questions. What did it matter what he did now? Why was everyone so concerned about him and whatever he was doing?! “I have somewhere to be,” he forced out. Really, he didn’t know where he was going to go, or what he was going to do. Nothing mattered anymore.

“Let’s end this game.”

He paused, stopped dead in his tracks. What the hell? Did all these survivor kids have the same brain, or was it just coincidence that this brat said the exact same useless shit that she did? Whatever, he didn’t care. He didn’t have to listen.

But of course, that didn’t stop the words from coming. “If we destroy all the monitors, that should do it,” Makoto urged. 

“Heh.” Juzo sent a glance over his shoulder. “You got any idea how many of those things there are?”

“B-But—”

“Don’t let me stop you. Just don’t expect me to help either.” With those words, Juzo continued walking. That’s right. It didn’t concern him. He didn’t give a shit what the others did anymore. But still, that uncomfortable twinge of guilt in his chest tugged at him. The same one he felt when he saved that girl’s life. Juzo tried to force the feeling down, but it stayed, regardless, and his feet stopped yet again. He remained quiet for another second before breaking the silence. “True story… I wanted you to die. I’d have gladly done it myself.

“See, I’m not a man who can just forgive and forget. I hated you. No, from the moment you walked out of Hope’s Peak High School alive, I loathed you. Despised you,” Juzo growled. “So, I’m not gonna lie, when Munakata told you to kill yourself, I thought, ‘it’s about damn time’.”

“But why?” came the feeble voice of the kid he hated so much, “I don’t…”

“Because…” Juzo glared back at him. “You defeated Junko Enoshima.” 

When he saw the confused look on Naegi’s face, he continued. “Yeah, that’s right. Bitch played me like a fiddle. I knew she was up to something, and I kept my mouth shut.” The anger he’d been feeling surfaced even faster as he balled his fist. “I had one job and I botched it. So this is the result…” Juzo raised his mutilated arm and gave the boy a pained smirk. “It’s all on me. I couldn’t stop everyone dying... I couldn’t kill you for Munakata...

“And in the end...” Juzo’s eyes narrowed, his eyes stinging and his chest throbbing, “he threw me away. Like an old pair of boots.”

“He was wrong! It’s the game!” Naegi called after him. “The man was fooled into thinking you’d gone over to the enemy!”

Juzo kept walking, gripping his injured arm as he stepped into the darkness.

“Tch… No kidding…”

And this time, he didn’t turn back.

—

“Dammit…”

He didn’t think anything mattered anymore. He knew that whatever he did at this point would ultimately be useless. But… even so…

“If I don’t do anything, more people will just keep dying. If that means taking a few risks, then so be it.”

He kept walking. Kept moving. Through the pain and the dizziness, he kept pushing forward. Was this because of that that girl said? Or because of the brat? Or were these his own thoughts? Juzo didn’t know anymore. With every blood-stained step, his breathing staggered. Every motion felt like a hundred bricks weighed on his shoulders. But he had to keep moving. As long as he was alive, then he could fight.

Juzo pushed on, making his way towards the breaker room. His movements were slow and heavy, but determined to make it there. As he stepped through the Monokuma-printed door leading into the hidden room, he scoffed at himself, at the effort he was making. “Well, damn. Guess I’m a Despair now…” he let out a dry laugh that came out as more of a cough. “Wish I could find the humor in—”

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before his foot gave way beneath him, causing him to stumble forward and crash into the wall. A cry of pain erupted from the man’s throat as he collapsed and slid down the wall, leaving a bloody trail behind him. And as Juzo lay crumpled on the ground, bleeding out from the wounds he’d sustained, he smiled. “This is what I get for letting Enoshima off the hook…” Everything in him wanted to give up, wanted to close his eyes and fall into the depths of darkness right then. 

But he couldn’t die yet. Not until he’d finished what he said he’d do. 

Not until this fucking game came to a bitter end.

With the last quarter of strength he could muster, he pushed himself onto his knees, draping his body against the breaker room door in order to force it open. He gazed down at the long line of switches. “Always been too much of a softie,” the man grinned to himself.

Juzo reached up, struggling to move through the crippling agony, and grabbed the first switch.

“...‘Least that’s what they’ll say about me.”

—

Hana sat alone with her knees pressed to her chest. It’d been too long, and the silence was starting to drive her crazy. What was everyone else doing right now? Was anyone else even alive? The thoughts that plagued her mind had continued to worry her, but she forced them down.

Everything’s fine. We’re going to make it out of here. All of us.

Then suddenly, everything went black. Hana jumped, startled by the sudden change, but relaxed slightly when the emergency lights came on. The room she’d hidden in was then illuminated a deep red, and the girl stood up to investigate. “Does this mean…?”

She peeked out into the hallway, not seeing anyone nearby. The girl stepped out and her foot swelled up in pain at the sudden movement, but she didn’t stop. Hana staggered along the wall, looking for anyone else to confirm what she’d thought. However, she didn’t have to wonder for much longer. With one final beep, the wristband that’d acted as her shackle for the entirety of the game snapped and fell to the ground. Hana touched her wrist, finally freed from the burden of death, and she let out an exasperated breath.

Is the game finally over?

It only took a couple minutes of walking to notice a few drops of blood on the ground. Her eyes followed the trail, seeing the drops become larger and more frequent as they moved down the hall. The dots began to connect in her head, but she shook them away, not wanting to assume the worst. She followed where they led and was brought to a room she hadn’t been to before. 

“A library?” she questioned aloud, seeing multiple bookshelves lining the walls, “Or maybe a study?” Her inquiries were cut short, however, at the sight of a body coming into view from behind the couch. Hana let out a gasp at the startling sight. Ruruka lay on the ground, a singular gash across her neck, a puddle of blood recently drained from the wound. Her eyes were wide; her expression twisted in shock and pain. She must’ve been caught off guard, Hana assumed.  A closer look revealed something glinting from inside the corpse’s mouth, what looked like a piece of blue candy on her tongue.

They did say she’d been stabbed, but did Koda really do this? She was never the type to murder someone in cold blood, even if it was someone she hated.

As brutal as the scene was, Hana gulped heavily and attempted to move past it as best as she could. Ruruka probably deserved it in all honesty, as horrible as that sounded, but that didn’t make seeing her dead body any easier to handle. Once she met up with Koda and Izayoi later, she could ask them about it, but she shook her head to rid herself of the image. Ending the game was the top priority. So she continued deeper into the room.

The trail of blood, now in large puddles, led into another area, a space behind one of the bookshelves that’d been pried open, it looked like. Hana glanced inside to find a hidden room, one a lot darker than the previous one. She stepped inside, following the trail further until she entered a final door. And when she peered inside, she froze. 

That’s…!

Slumped against the back of the room, one hand on the final switch, lay the familiar figure of Juzo. She rushed to his side to check for any signs of life. Considering the amount of blood he’d lost on the way here, it was unlikely that he was still alive, but—!

“Oh God…” Hana stared into his face, eyes closed and a peaceful smile gracing his lips.

She checked his mouth for breathing. Nothing.

“No, no, damn it.”

Checked his neck for a pulse. Nothing still.

“God, please…”

She pressed her ear to his chest to listen for a heartbeat, every movement more frantic and worried than the last. Tears stung her eyes.

I can’t be too late!

But then—

Bu-bump.

A heartbeat. Faint, but still barely there.

Bu-bump.

Another one, even fainter than the last.

He’s still alive—!

Hana stood, her body shaking and her breathing ragged, and dashed from the room as quickly as her legs could move. “I promised that I wouldn’t let you die, dammit! I can’t fail now!”

She ran and ran and ran, turning every corner at top speed, searching for anyone who could help. Anybody. That’s when she heard the faint sound of voices at the end of the hallway. She didn’t know who, but she didn’t care. “Help!! Anyone, please help!!” she shouted into the darkness, praying that someone would hear her and come to her aid. 

“Fujiwara?” a voice echoed back.

As she ran farther down the hall, multiple people came into view, and tears of relief spilled from her eyes. The figures of her friends, as well as a platoon of soldiers that’d presumably been ordered to search for survivors, relieved the immense weight on her shoulders. “Makoto! Byakuya!” 

Finally, finally. They were saved.

“There you are!” Makoto exclaimed. “We hadn’t heard from you all day, we thought you were dead!”

“Don’t worry about me right now! Juzo needs help!” Hana shouted with as much conviction as she could muster. “He’s in the breaker room! He doesn’t have much time left, but he’s still alive!” She turned to Byakuya and his squad of reinforcements, in tears. “Please, we have to save him!”

Byakuya paused for a moment, taking in the information, before barking an order to his crew. “Three of you, follow Fujiwara to the breaker room and ensure Sakakura’s safety! The rest of you will follow Munakata and Naegi to stop Mitarai! Now! Go!”

“Yes, sir!”

—

The sun peered through the blinds into the hospital room, shining more light on the already blindingly white room. Juzo stirred a bit, then begrudgingly opened his eyes with a strain. He attempted to sit up, but the overwhelming pain caused him to fall backwards onto the bed.

“I wouldn’t attempt to move for a while. You won’t be fully healed for quite some time.”

“E...Eh?” Juzo struggled to see who was speaking to him, and squinted to see blonde hair and the shine of glasses being pushed up the bridge of the man’s nose. “Y-You’re… that rich kid… from the Hope’s Peak survivors…” he forced.

“Byakuya Togami, Future Foundation: 14th Division,” he scoffed, crossing his arms hastily over his chest. “I’d be offended that you don’t remember who I am, but I’ll give you a pass due to your injuries.”

��What are...you doing here? Why am I… still alive?”

Byakuya sighed, “Well, to answer the first question, it’s been about 4 hours since the killing game ended. I’m only passing through on official business to check in on the status of the remaining survivors. Naegi and the other members are also here on business as well, albeit in separate rooms.”

“Tch…”

“And as for the latter,” Byakuya continued, sending a glance over his shoulder, “this one practically begged me to save your life.”

Juzo followed the blonde’s eyes to see a sleeping girl sitting hunched over in a chair in the corner of the room. The man clicked his tongue and pressed his head back into the pillow. 

“She’s the one who found you, barely breathing, and ran all the way to come find someone and led my squad back to your location. Once my team brought you into custody, we rushed you to the medical tent. It’s a miracle that you survived, honestly.” Byakuya sent a sharp glare in Juzo’s direction. “The fact that you’re still alive is extremely lucky. I’d be sure to give her your thanks when given the opportunity.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya,” Juzo sighed, but ultimately didn’t say anything else. 

“Well, now that you’re awake and are showing no signs of falling into comatose.” Byakuya stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It seems my work here is finished.” The man turned towards the door, taking a couple strides before stopping. “We’ll have to hold another meeting again soon to discuss the plans of the Future Foundation, but I would rest while you can. We’ll take care of everything for now.” And with that, Byakuya left. 

Juzo’d only been half listening, honestly, but he got the general gist. Still, he closed his eyes, processing everything he’d heard. The killing game was over, and he’d actually survived it. He had fully expected to die at the time, and had accepted that fact, but he made it out alive, thanks to her. He mentally laughed at himself. It was always thanks to her, wasn’t it? The only reason he was even able to end the game in the first place was because of her saving his life after being stabbed. And it was because of what she said that he kept fighting to the end.

I’m so damn pathetic, aren’t I? When did I get this soft…?

Then he drifted back to sleep.

—

Time will always pass. No matter the hardships, the tears, and the pain, life will always go on. Maybe the memories wouldn’t fade right away, not for days or weeks, even months or years, but with every passing day comes a new opportunity to make the best of your situation. 

Bad memories may linger, but life moves forward.

Hana stepped into the sun, a gentle breeze blowing wisps of her hair into her face. It’d been a week since then, and things have been getting back to normal as quickly as possible. The Future Foundation was still working on rebuilding their headquarters, as well as it’s credibility with the public, and they were still trying to figure out what to do with its remaining members. But despite all of that, the girl smiled at the bright blue sky above her.

They’d made it. Through everything, they’d made it.

“You seem awfully cheery for someone still hobbling around on one leg,” came a man’s voice from behind her. She recognized it instantly.

“What are you doing moving around out here, Juzo?” Hana turned where the voice was coming from. “You aren’t fully healed yet, ya know.”

Juzo scoffed, “I got tired of layin’ around in that stuffy room every day. Can only take so much boredom before I end up wanting to off myself.”

The girl put her hands on her hips and sighed, but made no objection. “Geez. If you keep pushing yourself, you’re only gonna have to stay longer.” She gave him a smirk. “Well, whatever. Just don’t get caught by the hospital staff.”

“Doesn’t matter to me. It’s not like I’m leaving the hospital grounds. Just gettin’ some air is all.”

“I know, but still.” She gestured for him to sit on a nearby bench and he reluctantly obliged, to which she joined him as well. After a couple moments of silence, gazing off into the distance, Hana spoke quietly. “Things have gotten pretty crazy lately, huh…” she muttered, “never expected it to end up like this…”

Juzo stared at the girl as she spoke before closing his eyes and leaning back into the bench. “I get what you mean. For one thing, I figured I’d be dead by now.” When Hana didn't reply, he changed the subject. “Did you guys ever figure out what happened to Munakata? Or where he is?”

She shook her head. “No, we didn’t,” the girl answered, “he wandered off somewhere and told us not to follow him, from what I heard. Mentioned something about bearing his own cross. I don’t think he’ll be coming back to the Future Foundation anytime soon.”

“Damn it,” Juzo huffed under his breath. “He’s always been like that. Thinking that he has to take on all of the burdens alone. He’s such an idiot.”

“I don’t think it’s stupidity.”

“What’re you gettin’ at?”

“I think he’s concerned about you and the others in his own way. ‘Course, I can’t say for sure, since I didn't really know him that well. But it seems to me like he recognizes that what he did was wrong and wants to put some separation between himself and the organization to allow for healing. 

“For both the Future Foundation and also for himself,” Hana spoke gently, “I think he needs this time alone to reflect. We shouldn’t urge him to come back if he isn’t ready to.”

“Don’t get all preachy on me,” Juzo retorted. “I know all that already.” 

The girl airily laughed a little, “Sorry…”

“So,” Hana leaned back, pulling one knee up to her chest, “what are you gonna do now? After you’re discharged, I mean.”

“Hell if I know…” the man sighed. “‘Dunno what I’m supposed to do now.”

The girl hummed in response. “Well… what do you want to do? Plan on looking for Munakata?”

“No. If he decided that he’d rather be alone, then I have no reason to chase after him anymore…” Juzo’s eyes fell to the ground. Before Hana could respond, he continued, “What about you? What are you gonna do now that the Future Foundation’s in shambles?”

“Hm, I don’t know…” She placed her chin against her knee, thinking deeply, “I think I just want to go home… wherever that is now…”

“Yeah,” the man let out a small breath, letting his gaze drift into the distance, “same…” After a few minutes, Juzo spoke up again, breaking the silence. “Hey.”

“Hm?”

He paused, his eyebrows knitting together as he tried to mentally piece together the right words, “Why…’d you bother savin’ me back there? I get the first time was to pay me back for helpin you out against Munakata, but—”

“Because… I promised I wouldn’t let you die.”

“Huh?”

Hana brushed a few strands behind her ear and looked down, “I made that promise to myself and I… couldn’t break it, no matter what.”

“What’s up with that?” Juzo snapped back, “You got some kinda hero complex?”

She gave him an embarrassed smile and an empty chuckle, “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…” she hesitated for a second, “someone I knew was… very stubborn about keeping any promise he made. And I guess that sorta just… rubbed off on me.”

“I see how it is,” the man replied, “one of the kids from the Hope’s Peak Killing Game, right?”

A light blush appeared on Hana’s cheeks as she pressed her lips together and fidgeted her thumbs in her lap. “W-Well…”

“Lemme guess, you had a crush on the guy. Then he died, so now you feel like you’ve gotta keep up his ideals in his place,” Juzo said frankly, not wavering for a second. “Sound about right?”

The small squeak that the girl made, along with her face turning a deeper shade of red by the moment, promptly answered his question. “T-That obvious, huh?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Juzo sneered. “But whatever, it’s not like I care to pry into some brat’s love life.”

Hana glanced away, leaning her cheek against her knee once again, “I know I mentioned it before, but you kinda reminded me of him, ya know. I think that’s another reason why I told myself that I had to save you, no matter what happened.”

“Uh-huh?” Juzo paused, giving her a questioning look. “You’re still not gonna say you like me or some sappy shit like that, are you?”

“I already told you it’s not like that!” the girl huffed. 

“Just checkin’.”

“It’s more like… I dunno,” the girl thought for a moment, “you’re both so strong and aggressive and stubborn, but you’ve both got a soft side too. You care about your friends and are willing to do anything to protect those who are close to you. That’s something I really admire, so…”

“Tch, you don’t need to say anything else. I understand.” Juzo also looked away, an embarrassed expression on his face. “I’m not that big a softie.”

“I know, I know. But still…”

The two sat in silence for a while longer, watching a couple birds fly from their perch on a telephone wire. The wind blew softly. Even with all of the chaos happening around them, everything still seemed so peaceful. They still had a lot of work to do; the war against despair wasn’t completely over yet, but for now… 

Things were okay.

With a loud sigh, Hana stood. “Welp! Nothing’s gonna get done if we keep sitting around here.”

“Take it easy. Didja forget you’re still bandaged up too?” Juzo scolded. “You don’t need to push yourself either. Take your own advice for once, will ya?”

Despite Juzo’s harsh tone, Hana giggled. “Don’t worry, I’m alright. I’m mostly healed now. You’re the one in a lot worse condition, but yet here you are still walking around.”

“I’m a lot more sturdy than you are. I can take it.”

“Mhm, sure. You don’t need to act all tough.”

“Shut it.”

“Got it, sorry,” she said with a dismissive laugh. “But, I should really be getting back to the others. Gotta check in on some official Future Foundation business before I go home.” The girl gave a bright grin before turning her back to him. 

Juzo paused before pushing himself up as well, leaning heavily on his crutch. “Right. Duty calls, I guess.” He watched her back for a moment. “Hey, kid.”

“What is it?”

“If… you ever need anything. Just gimme a call, alright?”

Hana smiled softly and nodded. 

“Okay!”

- END -

[jawsandbones]

You Sleep, I’ll Keep Watch

He stands alone, and all else seems so very, very far away. Voices, footsteps, every single noise seems to blend into one, a cacophony of sound. Blood drops from his fingers, onto the already stained planks of the Hanged Man. Drop, and red petals bloom wide. There are people moving around him, he knows, and doesn’t react when one bumps into him, apologizes. It’s as if he’s watching from behind, a ghost of himself. Separate from his body, from all that tethers, until she gently places touch at his arm. “Fenris,” she says. He turns his head, slightly, white wisps of hair crossing his forehead. His gaze remains fixed on the floor. “What were you thinking of doing?”

He’s quiet for a moment, re-learning how to speak, choosing what words to say. His head raises slightly, but he still can’t bring himself to face her. “I had only planned on returning to the estate,” he tells her. A drop. The bloom. Hawke steps closer to him.

“By yourself?” she asks softly, words meant for his ears alone. The guards are hauling another body to the pile. He watches this one, and this one alone. He forces himself to look at Danarius, the gaping hole in his chest. He affirms it to himself, over and over again. He memorizes grey, lifeless eyes, pale skin. His hand squeezes into his fist, the pointed tips of his gauntlet biting into his palm. His other hand tightens its hold around the hilt of his sword, which he’s been unable to let go of since the fighting stopped. It’s slipping, again. That whirling cacophony is growing louder, an overwhelming ocean, drowning him in its sound. “Fenris.” He realizes he’s been holding his breath, and slowly lets it go.

“I apologize. You asked –?” His stomach churns.

“I was wondering if you wanted some company,” she says, and her fingertips are still so light against his skin. She doesn’t intrude. She still moors him. His markings ache all but for where she touches him.

“Oh.” There’s blood on her trousers, an already healed gash across her midsection. His fault? There’s bloody streaks across her neck, from where she’s touched herself. His eyes reach her chin, and he casts them back down once again. “I would appreciate… company,” he says.

“I’ll let Aveline and the others know we’re leaving,” she says. Hawke briefly rubs her knuckles up and down his arm, an affectionate thing. As she goes, he closes his eyes. He knows he should sheathe his sword. He’s not quite ready to let go of it yet. His bones still tremble with the feeling of slicing through flesh, of the lyrium burning down with overuse. His free hand trembles for a different reason. There’s still a weight in his palm, heavy and beating. He begs himself not to forget the feeling. To know it always. He opens his eyes as he pulls free the fist, looks at the pinprick marks bubbling more blood to soak him with.

“Fenris,” she says, and he’s grateful to how she always announces herself. Hawke’s hand slips into his, over his palm. He closes his hand around hers without realizing, holds it carefully there. “May I heal this for you?” A small nod, and it’s only when he feels her warmth does he realize how little energy for magic she must have left. His stomach churns once again. “There,” and he knows she must be smiling, “all better. Ready to go?” Another thing he is grateful for is her normalcy. She treats him no differently than she does any other day. He has stopped mistaking her kindness for pity. He nods as he slowly lets her hand go.

He follows her firmly planted footsteps. She holds the door of the Hanged Man open for him. He knows he should sheathe his sword. The middle of the afternoon, and there are people crowding everywhere. He follows her firmly planted footsteps. She marks her trail and people automatically part to allow her to pass. Both of them being bloodied and carrying their weapons helps as well. He allows his thoughts to drift, carry him far. It’s only when Hawke finally stops, her feet turning in his direction, does he realize. He reaches into one of his pockets, and hands her his key.

“Would you like to wash up? I could heat some water,” she says.

“No, thank you. I can – myself, if you don’t mind,” he says. Hawke shakes her head.

“I’m going to quickly run to mine to clean and change. Probably also grab us some dinner and a pack of cards. I’ll only be a few minutes. Okay?” He nods silent acknowledgement over his shoulder, listens to the sound of her moving back to the entrance. She closes the door tightly behind her. There is a drawer of her clothes in his dresser. She has used his bath countless times before. She gives him a chance to be alone, as he needs – safe in the knowledge that it will not be forever. The stiff line of his shoulders falls, the sword clattering out of his hand. He scrabbles at the clasps of his gauntlets, sheds his armor as quickly as he can. All the while, he heads towards the bathroom.

His fingers slip over turning dials, the pipes groaning before water begins pouring in. He doesn’t wait for it to warm. He submerges himself entirely, still in his leggings, tunic. He gasps breath as he sits back on his knees. His hands squeeze around the edges of the tub when he leans forward, back prickling cold with gooseflesh, and holds his head under. From his fingertips, down white porcelain, a red swirling stain invades the steady stream of water. He stays there for as long as he can, listening to his heart in his ears, drumming against the water pressure.

Fenris sits back, pulling up his legs. He rests his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands, takes a heaving inhale. The exhale is slow, turning to a shudder as the sobs begin to wrench away at him.

---

Hawke practically kicks the door shut with a resounding slam. She winces slightly at it, cowering as she turns. She straightens up when she sees Fenris standing on the landing of his entrance, stopping amidst the motion of dragging a towel through his hair. He’s half bent over, the towel covering his face, his hands at his head. “Sorry,” she says as she begins to climb the steps, the bag in her hand, “that was harder than I meant it to be.” A small grunt of forgiveness, and Fenris well knows that it was meant on purpose, to let him know of her return.

She’s wearing lighter shoes, casual clothing. Not the Champion of Kirkwall. Just Hawke. She puts the bag on his table, begins pulling out an assortment of food. The towel comes to rest around his neck, his hair still damp. “I know it’s early for supper still, but that’s why I brought so much desert,” she says. “I got those pastries from the shop you like.” A small twitch of his ears betrays his interest. He’s left his sword, his armor, where he had discarded them. They both step over the pieces, say nothing of it. She’s shuffling the deck in her hands as she goes to sit on the edge of his bed.

One leg is bent underneath her, while the other dangles off the edge, her foot pressing into the floor. Finishing shuffling, she pats the empty space in front of her. “Come on, I’m going to teach you how to play Go Fish,” she says. He drops the towel onto the back of a chair before he takes his place across from her. He sits cross-legged, and wraps his hands around his ankles. “It’s very easy. I’m a master at this game. Bethany and Carver always refused to play with me and accused me of cheating. It’s basically about making pairs…” As she hands out the cards, she explains in full, tells him he’ll get the hang of it once they start playing.

Sure enough, after a few rounds, he does. Hawke deftly robs him of most of his cards, creating a stack of pairs in front of her. They play again, and again, usually with the same results. They talk about nothing as they pick at food, light the fire place. They find themselves back at the bed, playing again, as soon as they’re finished.

“Do you have any threes?” he asks.

“Go fish,” she says. He looks from the deck in the middle, his cards, hers, and frowns.

“I agree with Carver and Bethany. You’re cheating.” Hawke snorts with laughter.

“A lot of it is just luck, I swear,” she says, holding a hand over her heart. He narrows his eyes at her over his cards. She’s leaning back in laughter, having adopted his crossed legs. He takes a card from the deck, adds it to his hand. She fans her cards, hums dramatically.

“Do you have… a… king?” Fenris stares at the three kings in his hand. She shrieks with laughter as he darts forward, meaning to grab the cards from her hand. Cards fold under their knees, their feet, Hawke generally trying and failing to get away. She ends up backed against the wall, one leg bent against her, the other trapped underneath him. His cards are scattered, one hand around her wrist, the other pressed into the mattress. Her eyes are so blue. Her free hand moves upwards, curling warm against his cheek, with a smile to match.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hello,” he says. She doesn’t call attention to it, but it’s recognition that he’s finally held her gaze. He moves to sit next to her, back against the headboard, shoulder against shoulder. They stretch their legs out long, pay no mind to the cards scattered and bent all around. “Thank you. For this.”

“Mhn.” She shakes her head, smile renewed, “I should be the one thanking you. This was nice.”

“Hawke. Thank you,” he tells her, lacing their hands together.

“You’re welcome,” she says. “Are you feeling better?”

“I am…” he trails off.

“But,” she helpfully continues, giving his hand a small squeeze.

“I am,” he sighs deeply, “but at the same time I am not. I know I should be celebrating the fact that Danarius is dead.” He looks at the palm of his free hand, now clean of blood. “Yet, it doesn’t yet feel…” he clenches his hand into a fist. “When I first arrived in Kirkwall, I was unable to sleep. One moment of letting my guard down, and that would be when Danarius would strike. It was the same when we took this estate. I… I thought he might come back to reclaim it. What sleep I did have was filled with – my own fear.” He lets his hand fall to his lap, lets the fist loose.

“When the boat pulled away from Seheron’s shore, with Danarius still aboard…” even now the smile springs unbidden to his lips at the memory of his shock, fury, and complete panic at leaving his precious investment behind. “I felt light, as if a weight had been lifted, and I – and I have told you this before.”

“Go on,” she encourages gently.

“During my time with the Fog Warriors, I had fooled myself into thinking Danarius had truly left me and would not find me. When he walked into the camp,” he tilts his head towards Hawke, his thumb moving over her knuckle, “he didn’t need chains to bind me. Now I have held his heart in my hand, yet I still fear Danarius walking through that door and ordering my return, just as I always have. I’ll sleep tonight, and wake to find slavers pointing their swords at my throat.”

“One day, you’ll wake up and realize that you haven’t thought about Danarius in ages and the fact that he’s gone, really gone, will feel real. I can’t promise that day will be soon, but, it will come. In the meantime I could… you sleep. I’ll keep watch,” she says.

The pastries flake in his hand. She laughs when he shakes the crumbs off his shirt. They sit opposite each other, in the winged back chairs by the fireplace. They talk quietly with each other, and it always feels easy with her. Conversation lulls, renews, and it’s never forced. Silence is comfortably shared, and they wash dishes together. True to her word – he sleeps, she keeps watch. He curls underneath the covers, turns towards the wall. The fire burns low. When his breathing finally evens, his body relaxing, Hawke moves.

She collects his armor, his sword. One by one, she cleans each piece. Each twisting knot, every fold. She cleans away the blood for him. What cloths she uses, she keeps. She dries them by the fire. She looks over his room, some place to keep them. If he ever needs assurances, he’ll have it with these. Her search is stopped by a sudden noise. At first she thinks it may just be the shifting of embers. “No… please…” She closes distance quickly, half kneels on the bed, leaning over and wraps her arms around Fenris’s shaking form. So deep does he dream, he doesn’t wake to her touch. She leans over, her forehead gently knocking against his temple.

“It’s alright,” Hawke murmurs, “Fenris, it’s just a dream. You’re dreaming, you’re dreaming. You have your sword with you, don’t you? You’re strong, you know that. So it’s going to be okay.” She keeps her weight against him as she runs a hand through his hair. “I’m here too.” His clenched fist is slowly letting go of the bunched together sheets. “You’re safe. I’m here.”  

[katikacreations]

(Cover illustration by @clowncauldron​ ) LINK TO AO3 VERSION IN THE NOTES! Formatting is better on AO3, it’s easier to read over there!

SUMMARY:  Gyro can’t fix Boyd’s glitching problem, so he asks Dr. Von Drake for advice. Boyd goes to a pool party and confesses to Huey that his new home life with Gyro isn’t exactly perfect. 

2BO, you are not evil! You are good! You’re more than your programming! You are a definitely real boy! Gyro’s own words echoed in his head as he tried to sleep on the flight back to Duckburg.

It was a gruelling twelve hours on a cargo plane like the Sunchaser, but if one was willing to put up with the discomfort and inconvenience of being stashed between boxes of freight, it was worth it. Mr. McDuck didn’t charge for employees to hitch a ride on cargo planes that were already scheduled, and there was no TSA screening for private cargo flights, leaving from private airfields, which was a big help when you were traveling with hyper-advanced combat technology like the Gizmosuit and 2BO.

2BO. Boyd. Whatever you called it, the android was potentially very dangerous. It had been able to override Dr. Akita’s programming and choose its own actions, which had saved both Gyro and Fenton’s lives, but how? Asking an AI to ignore its programming was like asking a human being to ignore their instincts, like trying to inhale underwater, or sticking your hands into a fire. It could be done, but it was difficult and sometimes impossible.

Whatever Dr. Akita had programmed into 2BO had become lower priority and less important than the android’s own, self-created programming, even if Akita’s programming was older. That’s the only way that 2BO could have possibly overridden the commands.

It had to be the result of twenty years of independence. 2BO had gone so long without anyone to give it orders, it must have learned to make choices for itself, otherwise it would never have survived as long as it did. It was a learning system, so the ability to re-evaluate and change its own programming over time to adapt to new situations was integral.

But was 2BO a real boy? Gyro had said the words, but he knew of course that they weren’t true. 2BO was a machine that emulated a real boy very convincingly, but that did not make it a human being. Gyro felt a twinge of guilt for speaking such nonsense out loud in front of God and everybody, but he’d had no other choice. 2BO hadn’t responded to anything else, and that phrase had clearly been lodged deep in its memory as something significant, even if it was just nonsense spoken by an immature and naive younger version of himself. Gyro had tried everything else he could think of before resorting to that meaningless platitude.

It had worked, though. Gyro and Fenton were both still alive. 2BO was with them, had circumvented Dr. Akita’s override programming. They were all headed back to Duckburg, safe and sound.

2BO wasn’t a real boy. What 2BO was, Gyro wasn’t sure yet.

Gyro Gearloose was a proud man, and he’d earned the right to that through a life of hard work. He knew he was smart and wasn’t about to partake of the sin of false modesty. He was justifiably proud of his superior intellect, his ability to keep discovering new truths of the universe, and to keep designing and creating new and imaginative technology over the years.

He’d started inventing when he’d been just barely old enough to pick up a screwdriver, and he hadn’t stopped in the forty-three years since. He did the work because he loved it, because it was the most fulfilling thing in the world for him, because nothing else compared to the satisfaction that came with seeing an idea from his head come together in his hands and finally become a fully-formed creation that existed in the real world.

Other people took weekends and nights off because they worked to live, but Gyro lived to work. The little moments of life - visiting family, spending time with friends, “relaxing” and “resting” - were obstacles between him and getting back to the work he loved with his whole heart. They were distractions, necessary evils he was occasionally forced to bow to, but they would never be the thing which drove him. Gyro lived to discover, imagine, build and create. So anything that got in the way of that was quickly pushed to the side.

This presented a problem. Being a very proud man, Gyro was not particularly practiced at asking for help. It took him a long time to realize when he needed help, and even longer to figure out how to ask for it.

2BO had started living with Gyro after their return from Tokyolk, and Gyro suddenly found himself thrust into the position of not only trying to fix the android’s damaged programming (an ongoing, unresolved issue), but also having to provide daily guidance for something that acted very much like a child.

He was being forced by circumstance to act as a caretaker and to parent. Needless to say, that was not a skill set Gyro had honed, and it wasn’t a job he wanted to do. He had no aspirations of being a father or having children, but 2BO constantly pushed him into that role with each new interaction.

It wasn’t all bad of course: 2BO was pleasant enough to be around, so it took some time before things reached critical mass. 2BO could take care of itself, was self-reliant for the most part, and was often helpful around the lab with its superior strength, lightning-fast processing speed, and its ability to withstand deadly radiation.

But 2BO wanted continual attention from Gyro, and he didn’t have the patience for it. 2BO constantly wanted to play games, and every night it asked Gyro to read it a “bedtime story”, even though 2BO didn’t actually sleep.

Generally Gyro just dismissed the requests, and told the android to go play with the McDuck children, or Lil’ Bulb. He’d tried to read to 2BO once or twice, but the android had complained when Gyro started reading articles from scientific journals out loud, so they didn’t do that anymore.

All of that was bad enough, but it was the incessant questions that finally pushed Gyro too far.

“Why did swear words get invented if we’re not allowed to say them?”

“How did people make the first tools if they didn’t have any tools?”

“”Huey, Duey and Louie are triplets. Did they all come out of one egg or were they in three separate eggs?”

“How did Ms. Della lay three eggs that big?”

"Where do thoughts come from?"

“Are there infinite words?”

“No, 2BO, but there are infinite numbers.”

“Well if there is a word for every number, then there must be infinite words.”

“How do I know that I’m real?”

“What happens to a person when they die?”

“What did it feel like on your last day of being a child?”

“Why do people hold hands?”

“Well, adults hold children by the hand to make sure they don’t fall down or run into traffic.”

“Then why do adults sometimes hold hands?”

“I don’t know,” said Gyro, who had never actually held hands with anyone after his eleventh birthday. He’d never experienced the urge, either. Why did adults hold hands? “Maybe to restrain the person they’re with, to keep them from leaving.”

Gyro Gearloose needed help.

From a technical, legal point of view, 2BO was not his responsibility. He’d only been an assistant on the project, which had begun years before Gyro had even set foot in Japan. The reason he’d taken the fall for the destruction of Tokyolk was because they had needed someone to blame for the catastrophe, and he’d been the only available target after Dr. Akita disappeared. None of it was Gyro’s fault, but he’d suffered for it regardless.

He’d done jail time, lost his scholarship to the Tokyolk Institute of Technology, and had to start his doctorate over from scratch at the University of Tennessee-Knoxville years later when the disaster with 2BO was no longer so fresh in everyone’s minds. Gyro had paid for what happened in Tokyolk many times over, and he was only just starting to dig himself out of that hole.

Despite all that, morally he felt an obligation to 2BO. He had been there when the android first activated. He’d spent months programming, teaching, and training it to act as much like a person as possible. The fact that it was struggling with all of that now was Gyro’s fault. He’d been a naive, sentimental idiot in his youth and instead of letting 2BO be the weapon Dr. Akita had designed it to be, he’d forced it into an eternal game of playing pretend, and now 2BO was barely functional as a result.

He could think of few worse fates for an artificial intelligence. To be shackled and bound to arbitrary human standards of behavior, to waste all of it’s mental powers on trying to convincingly present itself as a human child when in reality, it was so much more. Gyro felt sorry for it.

Gyro Gearloose needed help. He needed a specialist.

He offloaded the onerous task of seeking assistance to Fenton.

“I need you to find a specialist to help with 2BO’s glitching problem,” he told him one night, as Fenton was on his way home.

“What?” Fenton called back, his foot holding the elevator door open as he leaned back into the airlock that connected the elevators to the lab floor to hear Gyro better.

“Find a specialist to help with 2BO’s glitching!” Gyro shouted back.

“A specialist to help with Boyd’s glitches?” Fenton called back. The elevator attempted to close on Fenton, and he put his arm up to make it stop. The door pushed against his hand briefly before sliding away from the resistance. “What kind of specialist?”

The elevator began to make a high-pitched squealing sound, protesting the fact that it was being held open.

“I don’t know!” Gyro shouted back. “A programmer, I guess! Someone who knows Fortran 77, C++, MATLAB, Python, and can handle system architecture of at least 100 billion bits.”

“Not asking for much, are you?” Fenton replied with a level of sarcasm Gyro knew his assistant wouldn’t dare to voice if he was in the same room as him.

“Just let me know when you find someone!”

It was nearly a week later when the topic came up again. Gyro was attempting to troubleshoot a glitch in 2BO that was triggered every time the android heard the word pineapple. At this point the list of things that could trigger a glitch was truly overwhelming. A few days ago 2BO had nearly destroyed someone’s house because he heard a dog barking. Thankfully, the McDuck family had covered it up, blaming a minor earthquake for the damage.

The android sat on a table beside the lab’s Cray XT3 computer terminal. 2BO was powered down, eyes closed and body slumped forward, cables connecting it to the Cray’s data ports. The monitor was awash with seemingly endless lines of code from the core dump they’d just done, and Gyro was pain-stakingly working his way through them, searching for the source of the problem.

“Dr. Gearloose! I’ve gotten some replies from the people I contacted about helping with Boyd,” Fenton said, approaching with a stack of envelopes in hand.

Gyro glanced away from his work only long enough to see the paper envelopes. “You wrote physical letters? No wonder it took them so long to respond.”

“In this day and age, a personal touch like a paper letter can really help make a good impression,” Fenton said. “Also, people familiar with the programming languages you asked for all skew older.”

Gyro made a noise that indicated he’d lost interest in the conversation and that Fenton should move on. The man had gotten better at reading him, and, instead of making further small talk, he went to start opening the pile of letters.

“Alright, let’s see,” Fenton said, and Gyro marked where he was in the code so he could come back to it later, deciding to take a break. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate properly with Fenton talking and rustling around nearby. He took the opportunity to take off his glasses and massage around his closed eyes.

“Yes? Get on with it, Inter--Assistant.”

“Eh, espere,” Fenton said, and Gyro heard the rapid fluttering of papers as Fenton fumbled with them. “I… This doesn’t make sense. They all say… ‘No’, ‘No’, ‘No’, ‘No’, ‘Hell no’, ‘Contact me again and I’ll get a restraining order?!’ ”

“What did you write to them, Assistant?” Gyro demanded, though he already had a hunch of what might have gone wrong.

“I--What did I do? Nada! Nothing unusual! I just said that you were looking for someone with the skills you listed, to consult with on a technical problem you were having.”

“Did you put my name on them?” Gyro asked, wanting to confirm his suspicions.

“Of course I did!” Fenton said. “It’s your lab! Who would I tell them was writing, the Queen of England? Lin-Manuel Miranda? Spider-Ham?! I used the lab stationary that has Dr. Von Drake crossed out and your name written in the margins.”

“You idiot,” Gyro said, but he was more tired than angry. “Did you forget that I’m a pariah in the scientific community? People still blame me for what happened in Japan with 2BO twenty years ago, and if they’d started to forget, last month’s incident made it the hot new gossip all over again. I thought you were smart enough to figure that out and put your own name instead. I didn’t realize I had to tell you everything.”

Fenton’s face tightened the more Gyro spoke, taking the scolding without any further attempt at making excuses, which was a relief. Gyro hated when people couldn’t keep it together.

“Considering your usual tendency to overdo things, should I assume that you’ve written to every programmer in the United States that fits my requirements, and all those bridges have now been thoroughly burnt?” Gyro asked with some venom.

“Also a few in México and Canada,” Fenton said, shrinking in on himself with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Dr. Gearloose, I didn’t mean to cause trouble for--”

“Go… Do something else. Away from me,” Gyro said, struggling not to shout at the other man. “We’ll have to continue working on 2BO without assistance.”

Huey loved planning things. Oftentimes he found himself making plans for events that would never even happen. The process of planning and figuring out all the details just felt good, even if he never got outside of the planning stage. He could spend hours daydreaming about parties, expeditions, and camping trips.

Planning was his favorite part of any adventure, and he loved going over maps and charts with Uncle Scrooge, observing how the old man did it and trying to learn something from it.

So planning for their first ever pool party with their extended group of friends was beyond exciting. It wasn’t just a fantasy scenario that had no hope of happening. Their friends were really all coming over for a day of fun in the pool, and Mrs. Beakley had even given Huey a budget for buying snacks and party supplies.

He’d scoured the Pinfeather app looking for ideas all week, spent days creating pool-themed decorations, and all of yesterday preparing dishes so there would be a variety of healthy and fun food available, no matter what kind of dietary restrictions their friends might have. He’d thought of everything and was extremely proud of how it had all come together. Nothing could possibly go wrong when he’d done such a thorough job of planning things.

Everything was going completely wrong!

The party had been in full swing for a couple of hours, and Huey couldn’t bring himself to go into the water or join in with the others. Nobody was eating his lovingly crafted healthy snacks. His brothers had taken one look at Huey’s Fun Summer Dessert Pizza, his Gluten-free tortilla chips and strawberry corn salsa, his hotdog sliders with mango and pineapple chutney, and they had started raiding the pantry, helping their guests to microwaved hot wings, cheese-wiz, mini pizza bagels, potato chips, and Pep soda.

Lena, Violet and Webby (who wasn’t technically a guest but Huey had counted her as one for the sake of his logistics) seemed to be having plenty of fun on their own without the piles of pre-made water balloons that were stacked on a pool float bobbing around in the water, or the board games Huey had arranged by the neat stacks of towels and sunscreen. Lena had turned off Huey’s Summer Pool Party Fun Mix five minutes after her arrival and plugged in her own phone to play the newest Featherweights album. Violet had complimented him on the decorative wreath made of novelty cocktail umbrellas and swords at the front door, but Huey wasn’t sure if she had been employing sarcasm or not.

Louie climbed out of the pool and shook the water off his feathers. Huey felt too miserable to even bother flinching away. What did it matter? He was in swim trunks anyway.

“How come you’re just sitting over here by yourself?” Louie asked, picking up a bag of chips and shoving a handful into his mouth as he sat down next to Huey.

“No reason,” Huey mumbled. He was saved from further conversation when an app on his phone told him there was someone at the front door. “Someone’s at the door, it’s gotta be Boyd! I’ll go let him in.”

“Robo-Boyd?” Louie called after him, tone incredulous. “Why’d you invite him? Can he even go in the water?”

“Boyd! The party started hours ago, is everything okay?” Huey asked as he flung open the front door. Boyd stood there wearing a Hawaiian shirt with anchors and ships on it, red swim trunks, and his red anti-laser sunglasses. He was carrying a large plastic tupperware container.

“I’m sorry for arriving late.” Boyd said, holding the tupperware out for Huey to take. “Yes, everything’s fine now. I brought this for the party, I hope everyone likes it.”

Huey vaguely remembered reading something about it being polite in Japan to bring a gift with you when visiting someone’s home. He took the plastic container and tried to guess what might be inside it by the weight and the black and white color he could discern through the semi-opaque cover.

“Oh, thanks for bringing something!” Huey said. “What is it?”

“A cookies and cream sheet cake.”

Everyone was going to love that, Huey thought with a mix of envy and embarrassment. Why was Boyd better at understanding regular people than he was? Shouldn’t Boyd be at a disadvantage, since he was a literal computer and Huey was a flesh and blood kid?

“Awesome. Come on, let’s go out back so I can introduce you to everybody,” Huey said.

“I’m excited to meet Webby’s friends, Lena and Violet,” Boyd said, closing the door behind them as they walked through the house.

“Why’d you show up so late? That’s not like you.” Even though Boyd said everything was fine, Huey couldn’t stop himself from worrying. Both he and Boyd were usually very punctual.

“I was helping Mr. Gizmoduck clean up a shipping tanker accident in Audubon Bay. I wanted to send you a text, but the signal was bad. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s okay! I’m just glad it wasn’t anything too dangerous and that you’re safe,” Huey answered in a rush, not wanting Boyd to feel guilty for trying to be a hero. He knew that ever since they’d returned from Tokyolk, the android boy had spent a lot of his time helping people all around Duckburg and St. Canard.

“I think it’s really cool that you’ve been helping out Gizmoduck,” Huey said, and Boyd flashed him a huge, brilliant smile that made Huey’s chest feel funny. He smiled back at Boyd.

“Hi, I’m Boyd, a definitely real boy!” Boyd announced, offering his hand to Violet, who shook it, and Lena, who didn’t.

“I’m Violet. You’re in the same Junior Woodchuck troop as Huey, right?”

“Affirmative! I’m a member of Junior Woodchuck troop 15. You recently became a Senior Junior Woodchuck. You have more badges than 86.2% of the other members in our age range. I think that’s very admirable.”

“Cool,” Said Lena indifferently. “So you’re Huey’s friend? Where are you from?”

“I was born in Tokyolk. Where are you from, Lena?”

“Uh, let’s not talk about that,” Lena replied uneasily.

“Why not? I answered your question,” Boyd said.

“Lena’s kind of been through a lot recently,” Huey said, interrupting the conversation before it could get any more confrontational. “Talking about family stuff is hard for her.”

“Oh,” Boyd said. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know.”

“It’s whatever,” Lena said with a shrug, radiating a cool indifference that Huey envied a little.

“Boyd’s an android,” Huey explained, “But he’s also just a kid like any of us.” This revelation seemed to soften Lena’s attitude.

“This is my first time attending a pool party. I’ve also been to a birthday party. Those are all the parties I have been to,” Boyd said.

“You know what? This is our first pool party, too,” Lena said, smiling at Boyd. “And I’m having a great time. Do you eat food?”

“Yeah, I love eating food!” Boyd said, as the group made their way over to the snack table. “I need to consume nutrients and calories to maintain my biological components.”

“Me too,” Lena said.

“You planned this whole party, right Huey?” Violet asked. “I think the streamers between the umbrellas and the colorful leis really create a festive atmosphere.”

“Thanks, I made them by hand,” Huey said, grateful that someone appreciated just how much effort it had taken to prepare everything.

“And I’m guessing Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum weren’t a lot of help,” Lena added, unwrapping a chocolate ding-dong and taking a bite.

“Which one of us is Tweedle-Dee and which of us is Tweedle-Dum?” Dewey called from the pool. Lena ignored them and looked at Huey expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Huey laughed a little, and he hugged his arms to himself to try and ease how awkward he felt with the older girl’s attention on him.

“Yeah, they weren’t really interested. Planning stuff is more my thing.”

“Well, you’re good at it,” Lena said bluntly, “They’re probably too lazy to try and compete with someone who tries as hard as you do.”

“Who are you calling lazy?” Louie called from the pool float he was lounging on.

“You!” Lena shouted back.

“Fair, that’s an accurate assessment, carry on,” Louie replied as he floated away.

Maybe the party wasn’t going that bad. Now that Boyd had arrived, Huey felt a lot more confident, and watching Boyd enjoying himself made Huey happy.

“I have an easier time breaking down and extracting nutrients from simple, unprocessed foods,” Boyd said, as he polished off a second plate of cheese-and-fruit skewers. “I don’t have a sense of taste, but I’m sure these are really yummy. My compositional sensors say the fruit is at peak ripeness and that the cheese is at an ideal temperature.”

“Glad you like them,” Huey said.

“You’re welcome. Should we go in the pool?” Boyd said.

“Can you go in the pool?” Huey asked. “Aren’t you too heavy?”

“Dr. Gearloose installed automatic arm floaties on me this morning.” There was a loud hissing sound as metal panels on Boyd’s upper arms retracted and PVC material inflated with air, outfitting Boyd with swim fins. “They’re rated up to 145 kg which is twice my weight. He assured me that with these, I would be able to remain safely buoyant while in the water.”

“If Uncle Donald could install those on us, he would,” Huey said.

“So where did you get the cookies and cream cake from? Dr. Gearloose didn’t make it, did he?” Huey asked. The sun had started to set, and the pool lights were on. The other kids were all playing with glow-sticks and glow-in-the-dark bracelets and necklaces Huey had bought in bulk online. A little distance away, Mom and Uncle Donald were barbequing some burgers and hot dogs for dinner.

Boyd hadn’t taken any of the glow-in-the-dark stuff, but he seemed happy to sit on the edge of the pool next to Huey, their feet dangling in the water. Boyd’s eyes were lit from within, like flashlights, as the daylight around them grew dimmer. His tinted sunglasses turned the light red, and it reminded Huey of the taillights of a car.

“No, of course Dr. Gearloose didn’t make the cake, he’s much too busy for that kind of frivolity. I went to the employee cafeteria at The Bin to buy some slices of cake, and one of the ladies who works there asked why I was buying eight pieces. I explained to her that I was going to a party, and she asked why I was by myself in the cafeteria at 9AM, and I told her I didn’t have--”

“Uh, I think I get the general gist of what happened,” Huey said. “So she made the cake for you?”

“Yes! She said that she was certain it would be popular, and I think her assessment was correct. Its sugar content is similar to snacks that children in our age range typically enjoy.”

Even though it was getting dark outside, the air was still almost unbearably hot. It had been over ninety degrees every day for the past two weeks in Duckburg, and the heat lingered. Cicadas buzzed in the dark, and occasionally a frog croaked.

“Kids, time for dinner!” Donald called. Gradually they all set aside their games, dried off with towels, and made their way to the picnic table that had been set out for dinner in the garden. Boyd grabbed Huey’s arm before he could follow, stopping him.

“What’s wrong?” Huey asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Boyd said. “I just… Wanted to thank you for inviting me to your pool party. It’s been a lot of fun.”

“Well, don’t worry, the fun’s not done yet,” Huey said. Maybe Boyd was just sad that the party was almost over? “We’re still going to tell scary stories around a campfire, and Uncle Scrooge and Mom always have some great ones.”

“That sounds great. I’m excited to hear the stories,” Boyd said, his grip on Huey’s arm relaxing until the android’s hand slipped down and rested against Huey’s. They were holding hands. Huey felt that same funny feeling in his chest from before, and suddenly the rest of the world around them was weirdly quiet. No frogs, no cicadas, no Uncle Donald arguing with Mom. Just him and Boyd, holding hands on a summer night.

“...But something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” Huey asked.

Boyd didn’t answer immediately, which was unusual for the android. Huey squeezed his hand gently, trying to encourage the other boy to share his feelings.

“When I lived with Mr. Beaks, he played with me all the time for the first few days, but then he started ignoring me. When I lived with the Drakes, I could play with Doofus any time I wanted, but he didn’t want to play with me, and said things that made me feel bad. Mr. and Mrs. Drake were nice, but if they paid too much attention to me, Doofus always got mad…”

“I like living with Dr. Gearloose better than any of the others,” Boyd said. “But sometimes I feel lonely. He doesn’t have a lot of time to play with me either, and if I distract Mr. Fenton or Mr. Manny from work too much, Dr. Gearloose yells at them. At night when he goes to sleep, he makes me stay in the closet, so I won’t wake him up by moving around, and he doesn’t like reading me bedtime stories.

“Is something wrong with me?” Boyd asked. “It feels like every time I join a family, they end up getting bored with me, or they don’t really want me around.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you!” Huey said. “A lot of kids feel that way. Sometimes parents or other kids don’t have time to play with us, sometimes they don’t want to play with us, and it does feel lonely. Also, not everyone has a good family. Sometimes people just don’t get along.”

“What do regular kids do if they’re in a bad family?” Boyd asked.

“Honestly? I think they’re just stuck when that happens. Running away and living on your own is dangerous and hard. But you don’t have that problem! Since you’re a super-strong robot, if you want to leave, you can just go.”

“Sort of,” Boyd said. “It’s… Not that simple. I’m a robot, but I’m bio-mechanical. I still need to eat and charge some of my power cells occasionally. Getting food and access to electricity when I’m on my own can be hard. But the worst part is… I really don’t like being alone. I like to be around people.”

There was such a sadness in Boyd’s voice in that moment that Huey felt a need to do more than just hold hands. “Would it be okay if I hugged you?” he asked, not knowing what to say or how else to make Boyd feel better.

“Yes,” Boyd said, looking delighted by the offer. He held his arms out stiffly towards Huey, and it looked so silly that Huey struggled not to laugh.

“Okay.” Huey carefully put his arms around Boyd, hugging him tight.

“BOYS!” Della shouted from a distance, making Huey nearly jump out of his skin. “Come eat before the food gets cold! C’mon! You got water in your ears or what?”

“Coming, Mom!” Huey shouted back, grabbing Boyd by the hand and pulling him towards where the rest of their family and friends were gathered.

Once a month, Gyro had a video chat with Dr. Ludwig Von Drake. The man had mentored him when he made his second attempt at his doctorate, and though he wasn’t always easy to have a long-distance conversation with, Gyro found the exercise useful in a variety of ways. Sometimes he could bounce ideas off the older scientist and find better solutions he might not have thought of on his own. Sometimes they talked about world events and science news. Sometimes it just felt good to talk to someone else who felt as if they were remotely close to Gyro’s level of intellect.

Dr. Von Drake might have been a bit scatterbrained, but he was brilliant and a real renaissance man to boot. Gyro admired him tremendously, though he did take the man’s words with a grain of salt due to the aforementioned scatterbrained-ness.

Gyro liked to have something mindless he could work on while he was on a call with someone, even someone as interesting to talk to as Dr. Von Drake. Having to sit still and focus on a conversation and struggle with eye contact on a webcam was a surefire recipe for not only boredom but also his attention wandering away. On particularly bad days, he might end up feather-picking, which was an embarrassing nervous tic he’d spent decades trying to conquer.

So today he was shoulders deep repairing a jet engine (burnt out courtesy of Launchpad McQuack) when his conversation with Dr. Von Drake shifted from the doctor’s latest oil painting experiments to what Gyro had been up to recently.

“Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid,” Gyro said. “It feels like all I do anymore is repair things. A never-ending cycle of maintenance, something which should have been passed on to technicians instead of taking up my valuable time! I’m always chasing after old projects, trying to keep them from falling apart. The Gizmo-suit. And Lil’ Bulb. And--”

“Dr. Gearloose,” 2BO said, suddenly appearing at Gyro’s side. “Can I go over to Huey’s to play?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Thank you!” 2BO chirped enthusiastically as it activated its rocket jets, the turbines spinning up rapidly.

“Just make sure you don’t stay out too late!” Gyro shouted, raising his voice so 2BO could hear him over the roar of its propulsion system.

“I’ll be home at seven!” 2BO said with a smile, rising from the floor and flying out one of the emergency air lock exits. Gyro could see the android shoot out under the water, flying past the lab’s windows as it gained altitude and finally vanished from sight, leaving nothing but a flurry of bubbles in its wake.

“My goodness, what a charming little boy!” Dr. Von Drake said. “Is he yours or perhaps the child of a coworker?”

“Oh, it’s not a child,” Gyro explained. “That’s 2BO, it’s just an android I helped create as a student.”

“Just an android? Gyro, my boy, he is quite remarkable! Even with the rocket jets for feet, I was entirely ready to accept that he was a real boy. Why haven’t you ever shown him to me before? You’ve never even mentioned him.”

Gyro had been dreading this particular topic, though he’d always known it would come up someday. He set down his tools and wiped the oil from his hands, fidgeting with the shop towel as he tried to pick his words.

“It’s a long story, sir.”

“That’s no problem, I have long ears!” Dr. Von Drake replied, which was nonsensical enough that it made Gyro chuckle.

“That is manifestly untrue.” Gyro felt himself smiling just a little. Though they were thousands of miles apart and only interacting through an impersonal and cold computer screen, Dr. Von Drake’s warm and nonjudgmental presence still felt as reassuring now as it had when Gyro had been a young man. “But since you insist… Before I came to work for you, I worked for Dr. Inutaro Akita in Tokyolk.”

“I’ve met him,” Dr. Von Drake said, prompting Gyro to continue.

“He was already working on 2BO when I started assisting him. It was designed to be an autonomous defense drone, capable of interacting with end users in a naturalistic way. But something went wrong.”

“With 2BO?”

“No, with Dr. Akita. Originally I thought it was a fault in 2BO, but it was just following orders. Dr. Akita ordered 2BO to go on a rampage, and it performed exactly as designed.”

“That’s awful!” Dr. Von Drake exclaimed. “But now that you mention it, I remember reading something about a robot attacking Tokyolk way back when. It’s hard to believe all that destruction was caused by little 2BO… But if he was created by Dr. Akita I can’t say I’m too surprised. The man has ‘mad scientist’ practically stamped on his forehead. He’s a terrible sore loser. Matilda said he’s not allowed at the annual canasta game after what happened to that china cabinet.”

Gyro was morbidly curious to know what had happened that would make the sweet-tempered Matilda McDuck ban someone from the International Robot Designer Union’s annual card game, but he knew better than to ask. Dr. Von Drake was likely to actually tell him the whole story and that could take hours - hours that Gyro didn’t want to spare.

“So how is it that he’s come to live with you now?” Dr. Von Drake asked. “The incident in Tokyolk was a long time ago.”

“Somehow 2BO turned up here in Duckburg,” Gyro explained. “I had no idea that 2BO was even operational anymore. I thought it had been destroyed, but it wasn’t and now it’s here, and it’s just another thing I have to constantly do maintenance on.

“It has these terrible glitches that are triggered by random stimuli. I’ve been working on it for a whole month, and it seems like the problems just keep getting worse. I’m not making any progress. I told Fenton to get in touch with some programmers to find a specialist to help me resolve the issue, but--”

“Tell me more about these glitches,” Dr. Von Drake said. “Maybe I can help you figure it out.”

“Well, as I said, 2BO was originally designed to be a defense drone, so obviously it has a weapons system.”

“Obviously.”

“But 2BO’s also a highly complex learning system. It was meant to interact with people the way another person might, and that kind of processing power normally takes up a much larger footprint than 2BO has.”

“It’s not a remote system?” Dr. Von Drake asked. This wasn’t an unreasonable question, as most AI’s of 2BO’s complexity were at least the size of a car. There weren’t that many out there that Gyro was aware of, but they did exist. He assumed that most of them were confidential government projects. None of them were really like 2BO though. Advanced AI technology had been a stagnant field since the end of the Cold War.

“No, 2BO is entirely self-contained. It can be remote controlled in theory, but, under normal circumstances, all it needs to operate is onboard.”

“And you say it’s been functioning independently for… How long?”

“Twenty years on its own without meaningful human intervention. No maintenance, no repairs.”

“Remarkable!” Dr. Von Drake took off his glasses to polish them, something he usually did when he was excited. “Can you send me the latest core memory dump? I’m sure it’s a doozy of a file, but I’d like to look it over.”

“Of course, though… Hmm.” Gyro considered the reality of sending the file over the internet. “It’s almost a terabyte.”

“That’s not so large, we can keep talking while it sends over the WAN. A terabyte shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”

The suggestion of sending the data across the McDuck Enterprises’ global intranet made Gyro hesitate. It was one thing to send Dr. Von Drake a funny cat video through their company emails, it was another thing entirely to send proprietary data that wasn’t official McDuck Enterprises work through the data pipeline that Mr. McDuck so generously provided to their labs.

“Are you sure that’s alright?” Gyro asked. He’d long given up working on anything while having this conversation, and was watching Dr. Von Drake on his desktop monitor while picking at the feathers on his left wrist. “I know you’re Mr. McDuck’s brother-in-law, but it’s still using company resources for a personal project.”

“Pish-tosh! Don’t worry about it so much, my boy. After all, are you debugging Boyd on a personal computer, or are you using McDuck resources to do it?”

“I am using the McDuck lab equipment,” Gyro admitted grudgingly. “I’ve been here so long, I always think of it as my lab equipment. I do a lot of work here that isn’t strictly for Mr. McDuck, but this is different.”

“How so?”

“Those other things I work on are never anything this important,” Gyro said. “Like using the laser cutter to cut out pieces when I was making myself a suit of armor, or when I made myself a new headset. I designed it on my workstation using my company edition of CAD and printed it with the 3D printer after hours. I bought my own filament and used that for the build, but it’s a small project, and if Mr. McDuck wanted to copyright the design and mass produce them, it wouldn’t matter, even if I just designed it for my personal use.

“2BO is different,” Gyro continued. “Both the chassis and the programming are proprietary designs that belong to Akita International.”

“That company went bankrupt and ceased to exist years ago,” Dr. Von Drake pointed out. “You don’t expect them to show up on your doorstep and demand custody of 2BO, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Gyro admitted, wincing as he tugged a feather loose from his wrist. He set it down on his desk and crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to stop picking at himself. “Dr. Akita is in jail, but he does still have living family. And there could possibly be old creditors that might come after 2BO if they realize it’s still functional. Anyway, what I’m really concerned about is that if I send the data through the McDuck Enterprises system, then they’ll have legal grounds to claim the data as theirs.”

“Please, Scroogey wouldn’t do something like that!” Dr. Von Drake said.

“Mr. McDuck might not, but the company absolutely would,” Gyro said, recalling his many unpleasant encounters with the McDuck Enterprises’ Board of Directors. “I’ll ship it to you overnight on a jump drive. You can tell me what you think of it when it arrives.”

“Alright, alright. But back to the subject at hand, you were talking about the hardware and software that your android runs on.”

“Right. 2BO’s hardware is a combination of chemical and crystal processors operating a GIST framework, using a program derived from the FELT system.”

“Ahh, like TOODLES! You remember TOODLES from when you worked here, don’t you? He’s built on crystal microprocessors and a GIST framework as well.”

Unfortunately Gyro did remember TOODLES, the omnipresent AI that controlled Dr. Von Drake’s lab at McDuck castle in Scotland. It wasn’t that there was anything particularly wrong with TOODLES, but the AI had been designed as a caretaker, a nanny of sorts, and it tended to treat everyone it came into contact with like a child. It got on Gyro’s nerves very quickly.

“I do remember TOODLES,” Gyro said, as diplomatically as possible. “I didn’t realize it shared the same architecture as 2BO. I guess I never really looked under the hood.” In truth, Gyro had avoided TOODLES whenever possible in the seven years he’d worked for Dr. Von Drake.

“And that’s a shame, TOODLES is quite the complex fellow. He’s even older than your 2BO, born in 1980.”

“Activated. You mean activated in 1980,” Gyro corrected, but to no avail as Dr. Von Drake simply continued on.

“However, I think the primary difference is that TOODLES has absolutely no conflict programming, as he is not a weapon, and that he has never been on his own. When he learns new things, I’m right here to help him through it, and to make sure TOODLES has properly understood whatever his new experience was. 2BO, I assume, has many different layers of programming, from his weapons systems to navigation to human interaction. Living on his own for twenty years with no one to help him properly understand the things he has experienced, well, I’m sure his code looks like a big plate of spaghetti by now!”

Two days later, Gyro received an email from Dr. Von Drake.

NEXT CHAPTER: Dr. Bara Summary:  Fenton and Boyd chat on the way to the lab. Gyro introduces himself in the most melodramatic way possible, and Dr. Bara meets everyone at McDuck Enterprises R&D. Dr. Bara starts assessing Boyd and things get worse before they get better. Gyro thinks he's helping.

[stebeans]

She-Ra Inspired Actor AU - IV

Cast List (so far):

Taylor Cruz - Adora/She-Ra

Maya Sanchez - Catra

Jessica Cho - Glimmer

Marcus Patterson - Bow

Mei Lin - Frosta

Alexandria - Scorpia

Emmaline Lee-Scott - Queen Angela 

Jacqueline Emery Grey - Shadow Weaver

Taylor did not run. Ever. It was against her very nature. She never ran to catch a bus that was just departing, she used to stroll into class minutes after the late bell and she’d bet her past gym teachers were now probably grey in the hair from all the stress she had caused in gym class...

But now.

Now she was practically sprinting in a dead run across the studio lot towards the brick building one of the passing assistants had pointed out. Ha! If Mr. Brody, her seventh grade gym teacher, could see her now he’d probably be crying tears of joy seeing as he was always pushing her towards to join the track team. Something about her body build, lithe and toned, had made him believe she could be the next Usain Bolt. It was a pipe dream. No one could ever be the next Usain Bolt unless there was some sort of cloning device. And as if she would be caught dead wearing those gym shorts.

If only her damn alarm clock went off when it should have, Taylor wouldn’t be tearing like a bat out of hell. Apparently some time during the night she had knocked her phone charge loose from the flimsy wall outlet of her crappy apartment resulting a dead battery that never got charged. To make matters worse her beat-up Prius had chosen today of all days to finally break down forcing her to spring for an Uber she could barely afford. Taylor had sat in traffic on the I-105 for hours, her leg bouncing with anxiety and internally debating if she should just fuck it and continue on foot because anything was better than the painful crawl of the worst-known traffic in LA. She would know, being a born native and all.

Taylor cursed her string of bad luck that had resulted her in being late for the first cast meet/table read. She had spent endless nights and every waking second between shifts at the restaurant and a popular juice bar, studying the script front to back, since it had been dropped off at her door a few weeks back.  She had wanted to come prepared. To prove everyone that she wasn’t a risky choice. A mistake. A liability. Taylor was going to be the best damn She-Ra the world has ever known.

Her sneakers squeaked against the linoleum flooring as she skidded into the building, eyes squinting against the brightness of the fluorescent lights. Damn. Not only was she late but now she was sweaty. Ugh, Taylor could feel her damp t-shirt clinging to her back from underneath her signature leather jacket. She slowed to a stop just before the door, huffing and puffing, ignoring the nagging voice pointing out just how out of shape she was. She shot a glance down at her worn leather wristwatch, ten minutes late, not too bad but not great for a first impression. It took a minute to fix herself up as best as she could but at least she didn’t look like a hot mess. Grasping the door handle, Taylor could hear the muffled yet elated chatter beyond the door and without wasting another second she pulled the door open.

The view before her surprised her a little. The room was full of people, both cast and crew Taylor surmised with the handful of people staring intently at their clipboards as they made little notes in the margins. People hung out in little groups, making small conversations with shy smiles and nervous glances. Despite the awkward tension that hung in the air (typical for a first time cast meet) the room didn’t seem as stuffy and unwelcoming as the table reads she had attended in the past. It was usually full of pretentious lead actors already attempting to exert their dominance and one or two fellow male co-stars acting chummy with her.

Just as she was about to step forward to make her entrance a round of laughter erupted near the back of the room, rising above the idle chatter and garnering a few curious looks. Her gaze wandered over to the cheerful group, taking in the small group that somehow was making so much commotion. A short Asian girl had her head tilted back, roaring with laughter and it wasn’t until the taller black male had doubled over clutching his stomach, he was laughing so hard, did she catch the familiar wild mane of hair and wiry stature. Her mouth dropped open, her mind going blank and despite the distance she immediately— and inadvertently—caught Maya’s eyes from across the room. There was no mistake that Maya had recognized her the same time she did and it was quite unfortunate that Maya had been mid-sip when they had caught each other gazes because the girl had practically snorted water out of her nose in disbelief.

It would’ve been quite comical for Taylor had she not been internally panicking and all she could think about was Maya. And that she was here. At the cast meet for She-Ra. Maya. Here. With her. It had been a couple months since she last saw the girl and while she was banking on the shot she wouldn’t run into her again ever since the chemistry test from hell, Taylor knew better that while LA was a large city filled with hundreds of thousands of people, the chances of meeting one another in an audition was quite high. The Hollywood world wasn’t as large as everyone made it out to be.

Caught off guard and shocked beyond belief, Taylor stayed frozen at the doorway. Her mind just barely registering what was happening as Maya descended into a fit of forced hacks and haphazard coughs. Taylor winced slightly at the choking sounds and unwanted attention Maya was receiving. If people weren’t paying attention before, they were now as a few of them gathered around her, worry etching their faces. Yikes, that was one way to stand out at cast meet, Taylor supposed.

Taylor watched Maya wave off their concern with a watery smile and flimsy thumbs up before meeting her eyes once again, as if confirming she wasn’t just imagining things. Taylor didn’t blame her. She too had done a double-take because what were the freaking chances they would meet again? Especially during the table read for She-Ra considering their chemistry test from hell for said production?

Despite the shock, confusion and lingering guilt from how Taylor had last left things, she couldn’t pull her gaze away. It surprised how fast the incredulous look was wiped away from Maya’s face. Now Taylor couldn’t read her. She didn’t look happy because yeah, she was kind of a bitch the last time they talked but she didn’t seem un-happy. Sort of indifferent? Which honestly, Taylor could work with that. She squared her shoulders. She was going to woman-up, approach Maya and apologize. Maybe she’ll convince her to have a re-do introduction. A blank slate. It was of course for the best considering they would now be cast mates for the foreseeable future. It would be the professional thing to do.

She was going to rip off the band-aid and set aside her ego for once. Taylor inhaled deeply took a step forward only to be almost immediately deterred by an arm wrapping around her shoulders. “Taylor!” The Director greeted with a cheer. “So glad you made it! Now that our star is here we should get started, I bet everyone is excited to finally get the ball rolling, I know I am!” The Director clapped her hands until everyone’s attention was on her. “Okay everyone gather around, gather around!” She called out, corralling the occupants to the front of the room, where Taylor now noticed was clear of any furniture and spacious enough for the Director to instruct everyone to form a wide circle.

Oh no. If Taylor was right – and from the round object the Director was rolling in her hands – she was. Taylor felt a wave of dread fill her. She hated theatre games. Despised them actually. Some people thought it was a fun and brilliant way to break the ice between actors but Taylor hated it with a passion, almost as much as she hated running. She didn’t have the natural charisma or friendly disposition to easily befriend people. It would take more than some theatre game to warm her up to others and usually people didn’t have the patience or care to get to know her, already passing judgement in the first few minutes they meet her.

It shouldn’t surprise Taylor that Maya’s eyes lit up at the sight of the foam baseball, with how eager the Latina found everything. Unable to hold back the eye roll as Maya strolled towards the front of the room, hauling her new friends along with her with a cheery glint in her eyes. Apparently that was all it took because the rest of the room began to converge to the front, languidly following after Maya. Funnily, Taylor slipped through the crowd in the opposite direction towards the tables. “Looks like we got our first volunteer!” The Director announced joyfully and Taylor watched as Maya easily caught the ball in her hand, squeezing and examining the colourful foam ball.  

Taylor took her sweet time, randomly choosing one of the free seats left and slowly pulling her shoulder bag from where it hung limply at her side. It was obviously well-used, the weather so worn it was soft to the touch but despite it, it was Taylor’s most prized possession. The shoulder bag was a gift from her grandmother, her first true fan, a believer in her talents and pillar of support from anything from her floundering career in acting to her love life, or lack thereof in this case. Carefully placing the bag on the table, Taylor ran a hand over the flap for good luck. It wouldn’t compete against her grandmother’s unwavering tone as she wished her good luck or the following warmth of her loving embrace but it was the next best thing. Pretending her shoes needed re-tying, which actually wasn’t that far from the truth after nearly losing one on her jog over, Taylor took her sweet time in an attempt to prolong the inevitable.

The chatter within the room rose to an excitable level that had Taylor grimacing. After milking as much time as she could, Taylor straightened and glanced at the circle of her cast mates. She met Maya’s challenging gaze from across the room where the other actress was confidently tossing the ball in the air with a single hand, her eyes never once straying away from Taylor’s. Fine. If Maya wants to play, she’ll play. If that was how it was going to be. Taylor shrugged her leather jacket off with jerky movements, draping it across the back of the chair and strolling to the group where she planted herself directly across from Maya, meeting her challenging stare with one of her own.

As the ball was thrown at her with the speed and projection of a freaking rocket, Taylor barely had the time or reaction to bring her hands up before it whipped her in the face, her hands stinging despite the foam filling of the ball. So. Turns out she was wrong and Maya wasn’t feeling quite so indifferent after all. Feeling a dozen or so expectant eyes on her, Taylor nearly dropped the ball with how sweaty her palms had gotten. In front of a camera Taylor had no issues with her confidence. She could act the hell out of her character, she could play the dumb blonde, the air head cheerleader, the golden child of a popular tv series but when the cameras were put away and it was just her, no script, no fake persona, Taylor was as vulnerable as a baby bird. “Um, hi?” She gulped, feeling her throat dry up like the Sahara Desert.

The Director smiled encouragingly. “Why don’t you tell us who you are, something about yourself, who you will be playing in the show and a little fun fact if you will?”

“Right.” Taylor gulped. “Right. Well…I’m Taylor Cruz.” There was a chorus of friendly “hello Taylor’s” that helped ease her nervousness. “I will be playing Adora and I guess She-Ra by extension. I’m nineteen and a fun fact about me is uhh…” Taylor forced herself to think but with everyone’s focus on her she drew a blank. “I umm, I know all the words to ‘Baby Got Back’…”

Her “fun fact” was met with silence and Taylor could feel her cheeks warm up rapidly. A snort of laughter broke the quietness and Taylor’s eyes narrowed at Maya who grinned at her stupidly, waving off her uncontained laughter. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She apologized between pursed lips, failing to hold back her laugh. “It’s just…it was so unexpected.” The rest of the crew joined in a light chuckle and a towering woman beside her clapped her on the shoulder that nearly sent her flying.

Taylor could’ve sworn her cheeks were on fire and she wanted nothing more for the floor to swallow her whole. “It’s not something I’m proud of.” She added not wanting to give the room of strangers the wrong impression but nonetheless her comment elicited another round of good-natured laughter.

“Well I guess that means we will have to plan a karaoke night soon.” The man next to Maya said cheerfully, who Taylor would later learn to be Marcus.

Everyone nodded encouragingly and even Maya sent her a grin that looked less mocking and more in amusement. She glanced at the director, the obvious leader in this torture game, shooting her a what now?look, hoping that she would understand. “That’s great Taylor, I’m sure we’ll get you on stage soon enough. I bet everyone is looking forward to hearing you sing.” A whoop and a joyous ‘hell yeah!’ cut in that had everyone chuckling anew. “Why don’t you toss the ball to someone and they will repeat your name before they introduce themselves. We’ll continue the process until everyone has had a chance. Anyone who messes up a name will be severely punished.” The Director teased, giving Taylor the go ahead which Taylor was too happily relinquish the pressure to the next unfortunate person.

Taylor lifted the foam ball, all the ready to throw it back at Maya but she overlooked one crucial fact. She didn’t own one athletic bone in her body and while the intended target had been Maya, she nearly taken out the eye of another woman standing two person’s down from her mark. Taylor attempted to play it cool, as if that was who she was aiming for all along but by the raised eyebrow from Maya she could surmise she wasn’t as successful in the ruse. Thankfully everyone else seemed to have not noticed and was more than happy to get the theatre game started.

While Taylor had cursed her luck during her intro, she was relieved that she had gone first. A few people had jumbled up the order of the names or had outright gotten them wrong and were forced to do pushups while everyone booed and teased mercilessly. One pushup would already be…pushing the limit, pun not intended, for Taylor.

It was funny cause in the end the last person to be introduced was Maya, who caught the wavering ball before it smacked into Jessica – or Jess as she preferred – with relative ease. “Hi it’s nice meeting everyone.” She greeted the group shyly and of freaking course, repeated all the names in the room without issues. “My name is Maya Sanchez and I am seventeen years old. I just graduated high school and my fun fact is that my first love is softball and we have been going steady for ten years now.”

If Maya hadn’t surrendered the fact or if Taylor hadn’t seen her pick up the uniform from the floor the first time they met, it was obvious with the way Maya handled the ball with ease, tossing it up from hand to hand, adding spin so the rainbow coloured ball blurred in a magnitude of colours in the air. “Oh! That’s cool!” Marcus remarked. “Are you any good?”

Maya smiled sheepishly, raising one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I’m alright.” She replied and Taylor had a feeling that she was being too modest for her own good.  

As anxious as she was at the beginning of the ice-breaker game, the ball tossing and questions did its intended job as Taylor could feel the tension release from her shoulders. Admittedly it had been a fun and efficient way to get to meet her new co-stars and the production team. It wasn’t as terrible as she had thought and she even chatted with Alexandria, the tall giant of a woman with long black hair that fell past her broad shoulders, who would be playing Scorpia. She also happened to be super kind which was highlighted when a few people had trouble completing their set of pushups as punishment, Alexandria had dropped to floor and had completed the penalties on their behalf without breaking a sweat that had Taylor slightly, just slightlyjealous.

If it weren’t for her easy smile and kindness, Taylor already knew she would like Alexandria. The woman was unapologetically herself. Where many actresses in Hollywood fought to be tall and skinny, Alexandra looked like she could easily out bench press the guys in the room. She was strong and she was kind, something that was quite rare in Hollywood and Taylor had already made a silent vow to start hitting the gym more regularly. She wasn’t going to cut it as She-Ra with her noodle arms. Maybe she would even ask Alexandria for some tips.

The team was now gathered around the tables. Finally they were going to get down to business and back into Taylor’s comfort zone. Plus she couldn’t wait to jump into her new role. Pulling her well-used copy of the script where all her lines were highlighted with little handwritten notes and questions that she had for the production team. She had made sure she had studied the script as best she could in preparation for the day. The first page was filled with notes, mostly about questions about the stunt work. This role as Adora was going to be Taylor’s most challenging and vigorous yet and to be honest she was more than a little nervous.

The opening scene was mostly action filled and of course being the title character, Taylor had first honor of opening the show.  It was tricky when you were the first person to read at the very first table-read. It all fell on the first reader to set the tone. Was she going to play it cool and comfortable and just read her lines normally? That may send the wrong idea as she didn’t want to come off as lazy or unexcited about her role. But if she went hard, she might look too enthused and everyone was going to be forced to match her intensity. She had internally struggled on how she was going to play her role today but after the ice-breaker game everyone seemingly eager and radiating with excitement, Taylor went with her gut feeling. “Hey Princess.” She growled, trying to make herself sound intimidating. “You lookin’ at me?”

Luckily Andrew (playing Kyle) and Brianna (playing Lonnie) were all too happy to play up their readings too and soon they had set the tone for the table read. The first act was flying by as they had skipped through the action scenes and the introduction of Catra came all too soon. Taylor could feel her palms clam up as she played with the edges of her script.

“Hey Adora…how’s it hanging?” Maya chirped in now, her voice deep and teasing.

Taylor was taken aback as soon as Maya read her first line and nearly missed her cue.  Was Maya’s voice always so raspy? Shaking her head clear, Taylor had forced her eyes up, dismissing her script. She had this part all memorized already. “Catra.” She grunted out in annoyance. “Do you really show up late and let us do all the hard parts? That is low.” Taylor admonished, eyes on Maya who stared back with an excited glint in her eyes. “Even for you.” Taylor finished off.

“Awwww.” Maya cooed lowly, her eyes not leaving Taylor’s. Apparently Taylor wasn’t the only one who had memorize her lines. “You know nothing’s too low for me.” She said before letting out a high pitched cackle that had the cast and crew sharing amused smiles. “Now come on. You look stupid hanging down there.” Maya said, adding a hint of reverence instead of admonishment that Taylor had been imagining on her solo read-throughs.

The two had disregarded their scripts and had ignored the rest of the room as they exchanged lines, playing off one another and Taylor could feel herself ease into her role as Adora. From the corner of Taylor’s eyes she could see the Director and Producer exchange a proud smile. They weren’t the only ones who felt the chemistry. It was quite ironic really given how they didn’t really get along in real life. If only the others knew what had truly happened before today.

Taylor couldn’t remember laughing so hard at a table-read before. When it had come to the confrontation between Queen Angela and her daughter Glimmer in the throne room. Jessica Cho, who Taylor had overheard was mostly in the voice-acting scene and the beautiful and revered actress Emmaline Lee-Scott who played the Brightmoon Queen, were just so natural with one another despite just meeting for the first time today. They had read their lines so perfectly with just the right amount of huffing, scolding and annoyance of a typical mother-daughter dispute that had the whole room in stitches. It was a welcomed follow up from her read-through with Jacqueline Emery Grey who would be playing the role of Shadow Weaver. Jacqueline was just as famous as Emmaline Lee-Scott and playing opposite of her, even for a short moment was enough to leave Taylor star struck. She was glad for the break so she could calm her racing heart and gather herself again.

It had taken nearly all day but the first table read was a success. By the end everyone had eased into their roles and it seemed the Casting Director was now fully committed to the cast. They had all played off one another and the energy in the room was high and full of potential. It was the first time in a long while that Taylor was genuinely excited to go to work. The department heads was thanking everyone for the day and were handing out the upcoming schedule while Taylor was shoving her belongings in her bag. She followed Maya’s movements, watching the other girl slip on her backpack and waving off her new friends Jess and Marcus. They were the last of the stragglers and Taylor decided that it was now or never.

“Hey! Umm Maya? Can I talk to you real quick?” Taylor approached hesitantly, shoving her hands into her pockets.

Maya looked uncertain but nonetheless she nodded. “Sure. I have time. My mom is a little late. Traffic, you know?”

Taylor nodded gravely, grasping onto the lifeline Maya was throwing. “Oh I know. Kind of one of the reasons I was late. So much for a good impression.” She shrugged.

“Eh, I think you did alright Cruz.” Maya said with a small smile.

“I umm… I thought you were pretty great today too.” Taylor praised. “We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah, we do.” Maya agreed easily. “Near-death experience aside.” She joked with a wry grin. “I had a lot of fun today.”

Sucking in a deep breath Taylor turned to face Maya head on. “Listen. About before. I just…wanted to apologize. I was being rude and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve any of that and…I’m sorry.”

Taylor fought the urge to fidget underneath Maya’s calculating gaze. After a moment that had Taylor sweating Maya seemed to recognize her sincerity cause she broke into a soft smile. “Thanks Taylor. It means a lot and I accept your apology. I also wanted to thank you.”

Puzzled, Taylor was taken aback. “Thank me? For what?”

“For the first time we met. In the audition room? You stood up for me when that other actress was giving me a hard time and I never got to properly thank you for that. I was super nervous if that wasn’t apparent.” Oh, it definitely was. “And I knew it was a long shot but it’s rare to see any roles for people of colour. I just took a chance, however slim it is.”

“Well I’m glad it paid off.” Taylor stated. “I’m looking forward to working with you Maya Sanchez.”

“Same here Cruz.” Maya replied with her easy-going grin.

An old sedan pulled up to the curb and Maya waved happily at her mother. “Well that’s my ride. My mom’s going to want to hear a play-by-play.”

“Your mom sounds pretty cool.”

“She has her moments.” Maya smiled warmly. “Hiya Mama.” She greeted as soon as she opened the passenger door.

“Maya! How was your day? You have to tell me everything. Is this a new friend? Mija don’t be rude, introduce us unless you are embarrassed of your mother?”

“Of course not Mama.” Maya replied with a teasing roll of her eyes. “Mama, this is my co-star Taylor Cruz. She will be playing She-Ra. Taylor this is my mom, Gabriella.”

Taylor stepped forward, hunching half-way through the passenger seat to offer Maya’s mom a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Sanchez.”

She could sense Maya’s mother analyzing her, her eyes were sharp just like her daughter. The critical scrutiny must’ve ran in the Sanchez family. Taylor sweated under her gaze, knowing she looked out of place with her multiple piercings. Never had she been so nervous meeting a mother before. After a moment that felt like forever Maya’s mother clasped her hand in a firm handshake. “It’s Gabriella, my dear but aren’t you a sweetheart. Do you need a ride home Taylor?”

It was then Taylor remembered her beat-up car sitting uselessly on the side street back home. She had been so caught up with the events of the day she had forgotten to call for an Uber. The ride home was probably going to eat a good chunk of her savings too. “I took an Uber this morning. I just need to track one down –”

“Oh that won’t do! Take a seat Taylor we can drop you off home.”

“Mrs. Cruz, I mean Gabriella,” Taylor corrected when the older woman shot her a look. “I appreciate the offer but –”

Maya laughed, cutting Taylor off again. “It’ll save us some time if you just give up now and get in the car. My mom won’t take no for an answer. It’s in our culture. It’s best if you don’t offend my mother by saying no to her hospitality.”

“Of course not!” Taylor stuttered, unable to wrap her head around what was happening. She was used to fending for herself and none of her co-stars had ever cared if she made it home or not before, let alone her mother when she had been her manager. “Thank you for offering. I guess I’ll take you up on it. But I can help pay for the gas? I’m just a little out of LA, it’ll be a drive.”

“Nonsense my dear. It’ll be nice getting to know one of Maya’s new friends.”

She stared helplessly at Maya who shrugged and motioned to the car. “Come on Cruz. Let’s get you home.”

The ride was a only a little bit awkward. Fortunately Gabriella was able to fill in the silence with questions about the day, sounding just as enthusiastic as if she was starring the show also. Taylor had sat mostly in silence, answering questions only when Gabriella had attempted to pull her into the conversation but the older Sanchez had quickly learned that Taylor was more content with just listening in. Taylor was leaning her head against the glass window, watching the city skyline pass by and thinking about the day and what was to come. Things were finally looking up. Her co-stars were pretty cool and friendly, the production team was proud of the show they were making and she was on friendlier terms with Maya. They weren’t buddy-buddy but at least she was able to clear the air. Maybe they would never be friends but they both knew that they were good for the show and Taylor couldn’t wait to get started.

[iridescent-hallucinations]

Your Hands Were Made For Mine - Chapter 2

Second Chapter of my first ever Jemily Fic! Pairing: JJ/Emily

Summary:  Games can be fun, but the only way someone can win is if the rules are known to both parties.

Word Count: 1615

Read it on AO3

For a few months now Emily and JJ had found themselves playing an unnamed game. It was exhilarating, both women not entirely sure of the rules, so pushing the boundaries until they were able to determine what they were. Silently scoring points and keeping score of who was winning, never speaking a word of the edge they were precariously walking. It was as though by participating in this game, they didn’t have to acknowledge the stolen looks, the flushed cheeks & the small smirks that were exchanged between them. 

The first time they played had been like the practise round, considering neither of them were aware that there was a game to be played up until that intense walk down the corridor, desperately keeping from touching each other to savour the delicious tension.

So far they had worked out that it was safe for Emily to squeeze JJ’s shoulder to grab her attention when she entered a room, sometimes Emily would flinch because as JJ turned to look up at her, her cheek would ever so lightly brush against the knuckles balanced between her shoulder and her neck. Emily soon learnt that if she left her hand to hover over the toned shoulder, she was more likely to feel the tingle of JJ’s skin on the backs of her fingers. When this incidental contact happened, they both knew a point each had been scored. Confirmation of this came from blue orbs locking onto brown, quietly acknowledging that perhaps something was happening. 

 It was also safe for JJ to run a hand down Emily’s triceps to hold her elbow as she manoeuvred past her on the narrow jet, occasionally adding a second hand to Emily’s other arm and squeezing to lock in the extra point she knew she’d scored.

The boldest move played so far happened when JJ was walking into her office ahead of Emily and stopped suddenly causing the brunette to reach her arms out and grab onto the younger woman’s hips in an attempt to prevent her body slamming into JJ’s back. 

“Woah, nearly caused a collision there” Emily quipped, giggling to herself, making no to attempt to move her hands from their resting place. 

JJ had been so engrossed in the document she was reading she hadn’t realised her mistake in stopping so suddenly. That is, until she felt warm hands meet the small but pronounced curve of her hips. Eyes snapping forwards, she realised their position, noticing that Emily’s fingertips were pulsing ever so slightly, causing JJ’s breath to catch in her throat. 

Realising she hadn’t said anything JJ slowly lowered the document in her hands, finding courage in the fact she couldn’t actually see Emily meaning Emily couldn’t see the colour flushing her chest at the small but significant contact. 

“Yeah sorry about that” she choked out, wondering which of them was going to break contact first. “I uh, I wasn’t paying attention” JJ continued, playing her move by intentionally ‘losing’ her balance and stepping backwards slightly to close the gap between the two women. Just enough to show it was intentional, but not enough to seek the contact her body was screaming out for. Not knowing if she’d pushed the game too far, JJ began to panic at the silence echoing from behind her. 

Unbeknownst to her, the brunette was struggling to form words, not because the move was too far, but because she realised it was her turn and the stakes were suddenly very high - she had forgotten how to do anything. Her senses were totally flooded by the warmth of JJ’s body so close it was teasing her, the sound of JJ’s breathing becoming laboured, the smell of her vanilla hair that she could almost taste, her brain was simply short circuiting. 

Feeling JJ’s body tense under her hands, Emily realised she was running out of time to counter the move. Taking a deep breath, she tightened her grip and pulled JJ closer, so their bodies were flush. It was only a second of total contact, but it was a move she knew had the potential to end the game all together. Pressing her blunt fingernails firmly into JJ’s hips, she then pushes away breaking contact entirely. 

“What’s so interesting then” Emily finally managed, also now panicking because as JJ turned around, she knew there was no way to hide how flustered she had become. 

Busying her hands by fumbling with the papers, JJ’s head was spinning from the past 10 seconds. Clearing her throat, she reluctantly turned towards Emily, attempting to prepare herself for what she knew would be the final turn in this round. 

Keeping her eyes fixed on her own hands, JJ chickens out deciding to throw the match, she wasn’t ready for the game to end, that would make everything too real - this way was easier. 

“You know, it doesn’t matter actually, sorry about that” finally reaching Emily’s eyes, JJ immediately regrets looking up, because what she finds staring back is confusion painted across the older woman’s face, disappointment and even hurt etched into the hazel orbs that flicker slightly before they dip down to glance at the floor. 

Swallowing, Emily responds a little too quickly “Okay, no problem, yeah, you gotta be careful Jayje, I’m not exactly renowned for my coordination you know” JJ winced internally as she physically watched Emily’s guard snap back up. They were only stood 3 feet apart, but the change in the air, paired with the fact Emily had taken a step backwards away from her, was so apparent it felt more like 30.  

Desperately wanting to go back to their safe game, the younger woman sighs before running a hand across her forehead, into her hair and speaking “Yeah, the last thing I’d want is to cause an accident, wouldn’t want to hurt you now, would I?” Smiling softly at Emily, JJ curses herself for being a coward and stares at Emily, begging the brunette to look in her eyes, knowing the words she can’t speak are written in them - in a language only Emily is fluent in. 

Tentatively glancing up, Emily smiles back, reading JJ’s message, and causing her to soften her defences despite herself. The sting of the subtle rejection was nothing compared to the unspoken fear in JJ’s eyes, it was a fear that hinted to Emily that perhaps she should throw the match too, no one would win this game in the end. It may have been fun while it lasted, but if it was going to end in each of them getting burnt, the constant pain may turn out to be unbearable, because everyone knows a burn continues to burn even after the heat source is taken away.  

“What are we talking about?” Emily boldly asked, once again challenging JJ with a hint of sadness etched into her eyebrows. 

The challenge took JJ by surprise, she was sure she’d blown it, but here was Emily, giving her a rare chance to re roll the dice and go again. After contemplating her options in silence, JJ stepped forwards, this game wasn’t one of chance, it was of strategy, and in order to keep on playing JJ realised, in that moment, watching Emily, that the woman before her was worth losing for. Not losing the game, not losing the match, but losing control. Losing inhibitions. Losing self doubt. 

Watching the emotions play out on Emily’s features, JJ took another step forward, until they were toe to toe. Lowering her voice JJ mustered up the courage from the hope she found still alive in the depths of Emily’s eyes, dancing behind the sadness, and whispered “I’m talking about you”.  Reaching out, she took Emily’s hand in her own, ignoring the buzzing emitted from their joined hands, turned it palm down, then lifted it to gently place a soft kiss across the calloused knuckles, letting the scent of lavender hand cream intoxicate her. 

Emily inhaled sharply as JJ’s lips connected with the tough skin on the back of her hands. Her mind was so clouded, this was not how she had anticipated this round to go. She was sure JJ would bail, hadn’t even allowed herself to imagine a reality in which she’d get to know what JJ’s lips felt like, although that didn’t stop her from storing the information away like a precious relic now that she had it, forever imprinting it to her memory.

Yet here they were, stood in the middle of the blonde’s office, skating around the inevitable, flirting dangerously with the edge that they had been tight rope walking for months.

JJ moved her mouth away from Emily’s skin, moving her own hand and slipping her fingers so easily between the brunettes, noticing immediately how as their fingers interlocked the world stopped spinning. It was as though their hands moulded together, two parts of a whole finally finding each other. It just felt right.

The only sound in the room was the thumping of two hearts, beating in time, and as Emily opened her mouth to let words fall out, JJ reached her other hand up and placed her index finger over Emily’s lips. Pleased with how soft they felt against her digit, JJ pulled her finger down slightly to stretch the older woman’s plump bottom lip, holding back a moan at the moisture she felt from the inside of the lip. Successfully silenced and totally mesmerised, Emily surrendered herself entirely to JJ, sucking in air around the blonde’s finger as she eagerly awaited the words that were to follow. JJ continued her whisper, moving even closer, allowing her breath to lightly caress Emily’s face: “your move”. 

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Twenty Eight

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex, mentions of miscarriage, hanging.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Some scenes and dialogue have been taken from the game!

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

—

Absolution

“You’re a God damn idiot.”

Clenching her jaw, Ada raised her eyes to the woman whose life she was trying to save.

“Excuse me?”

Shaking her head, Sadie raised her eyebrows, practically wheezing out her breaths. “You’re an idiot. You’re not gonna go with ‘em? Gonna stay here with the sick and dyin’?”

“You’re not dying,” Ada muttered, the words cutting at her again as she pressed the scarf hard against the wound.

Sadie hissed out a sound that was a jumble of a curse and a prayer, having to take a few breaths before she spoke again. “Well, I’m gonna go.”

Christ, she’s even more stubborn than Millie.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am. Was gunna go even if you hadn’t’ve stayed. Just thought it’d get y’all off my back if I agreed with ya.”

The hand Sadie pushed her away with was gentle, but she also used the grip to help herself up, inhaling a sharp breath. Ada’s mouth dropped open as she looked at her, releasing an exasperated breath. Meeting Charles’s gaze incredulously, she raised her eyebrows.

“Charles, please help me here.”

The wounded man, leaning against a rock and sat in the snow, just shrugged his good shoulder as he shook his head. “You know we can’t stop her.”

She looked to Sadie again and found her smiling faintly as she reloaded her guns.

He was right and Ada hated it.

Licking her lips, she released another breath, this one resigned. “Fine, all right. But please just let me tie this around you.”

“Fine.” Sadie raised her arms to give Ada space as she rose up on her knees, winding the scarf around her torso and tying it tightly.

Once she was satisfied, Ada stood, wiping the blood from her gloves onto her coat. She hoped Abigail wouldn’t mind too much, all things considered, and, well, if she even survived. Glancing at Sadie, she didn’t know how the other woman was still standing. She was leaning against the rock, but the determination and fury she could see on her features must have been what was keeping her going. Ada wished she felt even a small drop of that. She still just felt nothing. Even when she’d watched Arthur and John go ahead, no emotion had overwhelmed her, no fear, no anxiousness. She knew she was pushing it all away, that at some point she’d break, if she didn’t die.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that, too, as they’d made the journey to the mountain and up it.

I could die at any moment.

The thought of something so final, so shattering to those that she loved, happening just... it was just a possibility. Not something that she would endeavour to avoid, just... something that might happen. And she didn’t know why. Numbness just overwhelmed her.

“You comin’?”

Sadie’s voice brought her back to the mountain, her eyes darting up to her. Her friend’s eyebrows were raised but concern was starting to seep into her gaze. Ada didn’t want to see it. Nodding, she cleared her throat as she looked to the path ahead.

“Yeah. Sounds like they’re making their way through.”

Shots echoed up from wherever the men were, a small comfort to them.

“That it does. Charles?”

Ada turned just in time to see Charles nod as he got to his feet with a jagged breath. “Yeah, I’m comin’. Don’t know what good I’ll do, though.”

“Just watch our backs,” Sadie said with a small smile, gun gripped firmly in one hand. “Now let’s go.”

They came across the three dead men in the snow, uncomfortably close to where they’d been, and moved over them, Charles hanging back for a couple of moments to take what ammunition he could find. Bodies littered the way as they followed John and Arthur’s boot prints in the snow, crimson blood staining the white, though they were still cautious, glancing up at the cliffs every few moments; Ada wouldn’t put it past any of Micah’s men to be lurking around, waiting. They could still hear the faint sound of gunshots, too, though they were growing closer.

Sadie stumbled, her boot falling further than she thought it was going to in the snow, and she cursed as the movement pulled at her side. She waved Ada off, however, as she approached to help. “I’m fine, I’m fine...”

They continued on, making their way through a narrow pass, and from the sounds of the shooting, Ada knew they had to be close now—

An explosion erupted, making the mountain shake.

“Fuck...” Ada gasped as she leaned against the rock, gripping onto it.

Sadie and Charles were doing the same, desperately hoping no fragments would break off and rain down on them. It held, though, and as the land settled, they glanced at one another.

They quickened their pace. Sadie moved surprisingly quickly ahead of her, but Ada hated the sound of her breaths, laboured and pained.

She hated more that the mountain was now quiet. They couldn’t be dead. They wouldn’t be dead.

They’ll be fine, they’ll be fine, they’ll be fine.

It wasn’t until, as they moved up a hill to an empty camp, they heard John’s voice that she felt herself take a proper breath, her shoulders dropping. He was calling for Micah, and as they came over the main peak of the camp and saw the watchtower, she saw the two men approaching it, alive and well, John continuing to call out.

“Ada.”

Tearing her gaze away, she looked to Sadie who was pointing to something in front of her. Following the direction, she found a sniper rifle propped against a crate. Shouldering her Repeater, she grabbed it, swiftly checking the condition and if it needed reloading.

“All right, good,” she murmured once she was satisfied, licking her lips and glancing up at Sadie. “You two stay...”

She trailed off at finding Sadie’s and Charles’s backs to her, their bodies rigid. Moving closer, her heart stuttering, she followed their staring gaze down towards the watchtower, and saw him.

Micah Bell stood before a firepit, arms lifted as he spoke though they were unable to hear his words.

“Oh, God,” Ada breathed, her grip tightening on the rifle. “He’s really here.”

“Yeah, he is,” Sadie murmured, a bite to her tone. “And he’s all alone.”

Ada’s gaze darted about the small camp down below and oh my God, he is.

She could feel a strange excitement starting to radiate off of Sadie as she shifted her stance.

“We could take ‘im alive,” she murmured to them, nodding. “We could take ‘im alive and let people see ‘im swing for his crimes. Get us all a decent reward, too.”

Ada glanced at Charles, who although he looked like he very much needed to sit down seemed to still be alert as he met her gaze, and she realised they could. They had the advantage here; it was five against one, no matter the state two of them were in, and there was no way Micah wouldn’t have sent his men out to face Arthur and John before he did... they could see him brought to justice and so could many others.

Nodding slowly, Ada licked her lips again. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah, I have an idea.” Turning to them, she held the rifle out. “You two stay here and keep an eye out with this, I’ll go down and—”

“Nah, lady, I’m goin’,” Sadie cut in, one side of her mouth lifting. “You’re stayin’ up here and keepin’ us safe.”

“Sadie, you can’t—”

“You got the steadiest hands here, Ada.”

Ada opened her mouth, then closed it as her gaze darted down to theirs. She wasn’t wrong there. Sadie’s were shaking slightly and Charles could barely hold his own gun now.

“Right, fine, I—”

Gunshots suddenly broke out down below and they flinched, their eyes darting to the men. They were firing at one another, John and Arthur taking for cover as Micah moved backwards, firing relentlessly at them.

“Shit...” Sadie hissed as their eyes fixed on their friends. “Ada, we don’t got time to argue about this, I’m goin’ down there now so you watch our backs, all right?” She continued even before Ada nodded, “If you need to take a shot and kill ‘im, do it, but we can take ‘im alive.”

“Okay, please be careful.”

“Oh, I will.”

Ada and Charles watched her duck low and move swiftly down the hill towards them, heading to the edge of the cliff. Gritting her teeth, Ada lowered to the snow, settling on her stomach, and aimed the rifle, peering through the scope at Micah.

Exhaling a long, slow breath, she settled her finger over the trigger.

—

Arthur’s heart, which he thought had stopped moments ago, was now racing.

Dutch was here. Alive. And with Micah.

He hadn’t changed, except for now having a full beard, and he, too, had a thick coat on. The large rings Arthur could have drawn from memory were still adorning his fingers, and his guns, one pointed at him and John, the other at Sadie, were the ones he had always had and prized. Arthur didn’t know to say, what the hell to do, but he didn’t have the chance to think anyway.

It happened so fast.

Micah spun, knocking Sadie’s arm aside and grabbing her. They grunted as they wrestled with one another, but Arthur would have been ashamed to have admitted later, if he’d had the chance, that he hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away from Dutch to see how she was doing. He felt John beside him, tense and hissing out curses as he watched, but Arthur just looked at Dutch, and Dutch looked at him.

The older man must have heard Micah greet them, must have had a few, private minutes as they’d shot at one another to process that he alive, so Arthur hated that his own feelings must have been playing out on his features now for all the world to see. His lips were parted, his eyes were wider and his gun wasn’t even raised. 

Dutch’s own features were expressionless.

Arthur had convinced himself, about a year or so ago, maybe even before, when Millie had been born, in a moment of pure happiness and contentment, that he’d forgiven Dutch, that, yes, he’d fucked everything, not handled it well at all, but he’d been doing what he’d thought was best for everyone around him.

Time had a fucking awful way of softening memories.

He saw now, despite everything that had happened, he’d still been trying to justify Dutch’s actions, to give him the benefit of the doubt... yet here he was, with Micah the rat still, and pointing a gun at him.

Dutch was the first to look away when Sadie released a yell through gritted teeth as Micah hauled her up from the snow where they’d been grappling and held her tight against him, his gun pointed at her head.

John was aiming his own gun at them, furious energy crackling through him as he just about managed to stop himself from lunging forward.

Micah knew this, a smile pulling at his lips as he gestured his gun at them. “Now, boys... Now... What were you sayin’?”

John swallowed hard, not knowing what the hell to do. Glancing briefly at Arthur, he found the other man frozen still, his fucking gun not even pointed at either of them, and not saying a damn word, just staring at Dutch. Looking himself towards the older man, John jerked his chin at him.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, Dutch?”

He just had one gun raised now, at him and Arthur. “Same as you, I suppose.”

He sounded so... unlike Dutch. Weary, John would have even said, like none of this mattered.

Micah, on the other hand, was drinking in every single moment. “Dutch and I are teamin’ up once more... We got money... We got dreams...” Glancing at Dutch, his gaze returned to John, his smile widening. “... Join us, boys... Join us.”

Arthur still wasn’t saying a fucking thing and John’s heart was pounding against his ribcage. He was aiming at Micah, the man’s arm still tight around Sadie, but he didn’t trust that Dutch wouldn’t fire at any moment and just kill him, end what he’d tried to let happen in those last few days. Licking his cracked lips, he exhaled a short breath.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

— 

Ada could hear her own breathing as she stared through the sniper-scope, her blood running cold, body frozen, and it wasn’t because she was lying in the snow.

“Is that...” Charles breathed beside her, “... What the hell is Dutch doing here?”

“I don’t know...” she heard herself whisper, “... I don’t know... I don’t know...”

This changed everything.

The fact he was still with Micah, after everything... She’d watched him walk away from Micah on that mountain, that was the one thing he’d done right in those last few days, the one thing that had given him a shred of redemption in her eyes over the years, yet here he fucking was... and he was aiming at Arthur.

She looked at her husband, saw how rigid he was and knew it wasn’t from the cold. There had been some dark days after the mountain, when he’d been recovering both physically and mentally. Days when he’d convinced himself he could have saved Dutch, that it had been his fault for not noticing the change in him sooner and the terrible things it had led to. She’d had to hold him, tears in her eyes and on his cheeks, and tell him over and over that he’d done all he could and it wasn’t his fault. It had taken some time, years, even, but on a quiet night soon after Millie was born, as they sat on their porch watching the sun set, he’d told her he'd forgiven Dutch. She hadn’t understood why or how he could, but she saw how at peace he was then at having done so, how relieved he was... and now that had been completely undone.

She didn’t think it was possible, but she’d never hated Dutch van der Linde more than she did right now.

Charles’s jagged gasp tore her from her thoughts and she watched as Micah drove Sadie into the snow, trying to wrestle the gun out of her hand. 

Lifting her head suddenly, Ada shoved the sniper rifle towards Charles, her heart racing.

“Stay here,” she murmured as she pushed herself up, “Don’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

—

He wished he was just a few inches closer to Arthur so he could elbow him out of whatever had overtaken him without it being obvious. If he’d had time to think about it, he would have thought Arthur would have been enraged at the sight of Dutch, would have been demanding to know what the hell was going on, would have at least been aiming his gun at him, finger on the trigger.

But no, his brother was still silent.

Adjusting his grip on his gun, John kept it fixed on Micah. “Let her go.”

Sadie was staring at the ground, and probably wouldn’t have been upright if it hadn’t been for Micah’s grip, and the man just continued to smile.

“Now, I can’t do that, John.”

John could feel himself growing desperate and that was the last thing he wanted to show right now. “Dutch... Dutch, c’mon now!”

Dutch gazed at him, still expressionless. “You shot at me, son.”

“You shot at us first.”

All their eyes darted to Arthur as he finally spoke, his jaw clenched, voice tight.

Here was the anger now, and it seemed it had instantly provoked it in Dutch, too, his words bursting out of him.

“You betrayed me!”

“I could say the same thing. You left John for dead, me for dead. Didn’t even look back, after all them years.” Arthur’s tone was as cold as the silent air around them, though his gun remained by his side.

Dutch pressed his lips together, taking a few moments before he spoke. “I was tryin’ to do my best... you... you just cared for yourselves.”

“I think differently. All I ever did was care about you. I gave you my life, twenty years of it. Nearly died tryin’ to save you from this rat, yet here you are.”

The two men gazed at one another, silent as Arthur’s words lingered between them. It was Micah who broke the quiet.

“Join us, boys, c’mon... It doesn’t have to be like this...”

His arm was slightly higher around Sadie now, practically choking her, and she released a stuttered groan, trying to pull at it.

“Let her go!” John demanded, trying so hard to not take a step forward. “She ain’t well!”

“Do as he says.”

Micah’s barked laugh died on his tongue, and John felt relief wash over him as Ada appeared a short distance from his side, her Repeater raised.

Her gaze darted from the blond man to Dutch, and she saw nothing cross his features as he stared at her. 

And then a muscle in his jaw twitched and he raised his other gun to her.

“You—”

Arthur’s revolver ‘clicked’ as he aimed it at Dutch, the older man stilling instantly as his gaze shifted from the gun to him.

“I see,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” was all Arthur said, gaze fixed on him.

Micah’s laugh returned, long and exuberant. “Ooh, well, well, well, if it ain’t her majesty herself, still alive and kickin’!”

“Let her go.” Ada ignored him, echoing John’s words.

He sighed, grinning. “C’mon, now, I don’t wanna kill any of ya when we’ve just reunited. Join us! You can come, too, Miss Prissy Missy! If you’re good...” He tilted his head, leaning it against Sadie’s, the blonde woman gritting her teeth as she snarled. “Or are we just gonna stand around glarin’ at each other?”

“Dutch...” John’s voice silenced them all, even Micah falling quiet. He shook his head slightly as the older man met his gaze. “... Dutch, we all did our best for you. Ain’t our fault things turned out the way they did.”

He was silent.

“Killin’ us won’t solve anythin’, Dutch,” Arthur murmured, pulling Dutch’s gaze back to him. “John’s right, we did our best, and... Well, we came here for Micah, not you.”

Micah chuckled lowly, holding Ada’s gaze as he tightened his arm around Sadie. Ada grit her teeth, her finger hovering over the trigger.

Dutch looked between his two former gang members, former sons. It felt like a lifetime before he spoke.

“Do you remember the last time we were up in the mountains, all of us together... How long ago that was...”

John shifted slightly, unease weighing heavily on him like a rock. What was the point in this?

Arthur shifted, too, resting his weight on one foot as he nodded slowly. “Yeah, long time ago. Lot of things have changed since then, though, huh. Now John and I, we got families. He’s got Abigail and Jack, and Ada and I... we got a kid of our own, Dutch, and we wanna get home to her.”

Dutch gazed at him.

Micah barked out a laugh, raising his eyebrows at Ada. “You let cowpoke over there reproduce? Hell, the Lord save us all. What’s her name? Oh, go on, tell me,” he prompted at her silence.

Ada felt her lip curl as she stared at him, not knowing how she wasn’t pulling the trigger. 

"Amelia.” Arthur answered Micah, though his eyes remained on Dutch. “We call her Millie.”

Dutch still didn’t say a word.

“Ooh, well, congratulations on little Millie. Can’t wait to be introduced...” 

Micah laughed as Ada tried to take a step towards him, but John had swiftly reached out and grabbed her arm, keeping her in place.

"You fucking son of a bitch...” she hissed, her grip so tight on the Repeater her hands were almost shaking.

“You there when he killed that little girl, Dutch?” Arthur asked quietly, like it was just the two of them on that mountain.

Silence.

Ada and Micah weren’t looking away from one another, and Sadie was staring at her, too, wheezing out her breaths. John had released Ada’s arm but kept his hand slightly raised, just in case she went to lunge again, though he had half a mind to not stop her, while his other hand kept his gun trained on Micah, too. Arthur was still to the other side of him, so still... and Dutch... Dutch was silent still.

It enraged John, how passive he was, how unfeeling, and that he was here with Micah. He just couldn’t believe it. After all these years, after what Arthur and Ada had told him happened on that mountain...

“Say somethin’, Dutch!” he snapped suddenly, tired of the older man just standing there, like he hadn’t chosen this. “Say somethin’!”

Dutch glanced at him. “I ain’t got too much to say no more...”

They barely had time to take a breath.

Raising his other hand, Dutch aimed the gun held in it at Micah and fired.

The bullet tore through his torso as Sadie lunged out of his grip, falling to her knees. They should have gone to help her, but Ada, who had inhaled a sharp breath, and John and Arthur were frozen in their positions, eyes wide, lips parted.

Yet no one was more shocked than Micah. He stared at Dutch, watching the man holster his guns as he swayed slightly. Touching his gloved fingers against the hole in his chest, as if he couldn’t believe it was real, he marvelled, “You shot me.”

Then, he laughed, the sound horrible and low. Sucking in a breath, he nodded, teeth dragging over his lower lip.

“You shot me pretty good.”

His head rolled to the side, his eyes fixing on her, and Ada knew it was going to happen. Micah swiftly raised both of his beloved guns and aimed them at her and John. She didn’t hesitate. He was fast, but she and John were faster.

The sound of their bullets echoed across the snow, and not one of them was Micah’s. They buried into him and a spluttered, stunned groan slipped from his lips. He suddenly pressed them together tightly, confining strange sounds to the back of his throat as his arms dropped to his sides, his guns clattering on the rocky ground as they fell from his grasp. He gazed at them and his body turned a few moments later in a strange, jerking motion. His back to them, he took a few steps forward as he nodded again, raising his hands slightly, questioningly, and then his legs gave out. Collapsing forwards, Micah Bell died a second before he hit the ground.

Swallowing hard, it was several moments before Ada lowered her gun, her hands shaking.

She couldn’t believe it... she just...

“Thank you...” John said suddenly, stumbling over his words, no one else knowing what to say, the gesture awkward, but... Dutch had saved them. “I... I, uh...”

Her eyes darted to Dutch, who was gazing at John, then to the two men. They looked so utterly lost. They were boys again, for the briefest of moments, looking to their leader, father and friend in where to go from here. Arthur’s gun was by his side, as was John’s, and neither of them knew what to say. Was there anything to say?

Dutch didn’t seem to think so.

As John tried to find words, Dutch started to walk. When he passed the men, something akin to... disappointment shrouded his features, or maybe even faint contempt, anger. Or all three.

“Dutch.”

The older man paused at Arthur’s voice while John holstered his gun and hurried over to Sadie who was trying to get on her feet with a grunt. As Dutch turned to him, Arthur held the gaze of the man he’d have once died for, weariness overtaking him.

“We’re doin’ you a mercy here.”

Dutch didn’t react to the gentle warning, and for a few moments Arthur thought he wasn’t going to reply. 

“Maybe it is I who is doing the mercy.”

The warning had been reciprocated.

He turned away again as Arthur wet his dry lips, his heart pounding. He watched the man continue on, not looking back once.

Ada watched him, too, stepping to the side slightly so he could pass her. He paused before her, though, his eyes meeting hers. She didn’t look away and didn’t react, even though she had no idea what he was searching her gaze for. She didn’t know what possessed her to say it, either, as the silence went on. Perhaps it was the manners her mother had drummed into her.

Licking her lips, she cleared her throat. “I hope you can find happiness.”

She could have yelled at him, could have demanded justice for the death of her father but... what good would it have done? What would have been the point? Dutch was leaving without a fight, and he’d done them a favour. It would almost have been cruel to challenge him then, to execute him. She’d come to terms with the events of her life anyway, and killing this man wouldn’t bring her father back. Part of her told her she was just trying to be superior.

He gazed at her, mouth in a thin line, and she thought she saw a shine to his eyes.

She thought it was regret.

It was too late when she saw the rage that flooded his features.

Dutch lunged. 

He drew one of his guns in the same moment that he reached out and gripped the front of her coat, yanking her forward against him as yells erupted behind him. Her eyes were wide as she gasped, the Repeater falling from her hand, and she couldn’t look away from his furious gaze as he pressed the barrel of the gun against her chest.

A gunshot rang out and she flinched with a sharp gasp.

Dutch stared down at her, face inches from hers, exhaling short, harsh breaths. Tears slipped from his eyes as he blinked.

And then he choked as blood trickled out of the corners of his mouth.

He used his grip on her to steady himself now as he turned his head to look behind him, a quiet, strained sound coming from the back of his throat. 

Arthur didn’t move, his gun still raised, his breaths, visible in the cold air, coming slow and long.

Dutch released another strange sound, and his legs gave out. His gun fell from his hand as he dropped down to his knees, and he now gripped at the bottom of Ada’s coat. Wheezing his exhaled breaths, his other hand went to the hole in his stomach, as if, like Micah, he couldn’t quite believe it was real yet. He made another faint sound at feeling it. His hand resting over it, he gazed at the white snow behind her, his breathing jagged. His eyes moved after a few moments, trailing their way up towards the sky. A bird flew across the grey vastness of it, and when he blinked again, following it, tears dripped down his cheeks. The sun was trying to break through the thick clouds, a few shafts of light illuminating the dark feathers of the bird, before they were gone, vanishing as soon as they had come. His hand slid from her coat as he grunted, his body hunching over slightly, and his eyes fell shut. 

It was another moment or so before Dutch van der Linde collapsed onto the snow, dead.

Arthur stared at the body, finally lowering his gun. He exhaled a shaking breath, his shoulders dropping. Glancing at John, he found the younger man looking at him as he held Sadie up, eyes wide, but not shocked or saddened. He just nodded, and Arthur returned it, relieved beyond words that the guilt he had expected wasn’t coming. He returned his gaze to Dutch’s body, and he felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in a very, very long time.

It was Ada’s heaving sob that finally made them all tear their eyes away from the body.

Tears ran down her flushed cheeks as another sob escaped her, her hand pressed against her left side, just above her hip.

Blood was spilling through her fingers.

“Oh, shit...” he heard Sadie gasp.

Arthur felt like a knife had pierced his heart as he swiftly holstered his gun and strode towards her. “Ada... Awh, shit, oh, sweetheart...”

Reaching her, one hand gripped her shoulder as the other pulled hers away from her side, and he froze, staring at the wound that was bleeding profusely. Pressing both their hands firmly over it, his eyes darted up to meet hers, his chest twisting unbearably.

She was crying so hard she was barely able to take a breath but she was mumbling over and over in between her sobs something he couldn’t make out.

“What’s that, sweetheart? Are you okay?”

“Fuck, shit, here, take this...”

He watched her try to take a breath as John suddenly appeared at his side, holding out a strip of material he must have torn from his shirt. Arthur took it with blood stained fingers and nudged her hand away before pressing it over the wound. 

She hissed as her features crumbled, and managed to take in enough of a breath to say clearly, “... it’s over, it’s over... it’s over...”

Her gaze dropped to Dutch’s body beside her as she sobbed, every feeling she’d suppressed in the last several hours overwhelming her.

It was over, it was truly, truly all over.

Arthur’s hand went from her shoulder to her cheek, cupping it and stroking it gently with his thumb as he tried to meet her gaze. “Yeah, they’re both dead, sweetheart, it’s okay...” He swallowed hard as he felt the blood against his fingers. “... Oh, my darlin’, shit, I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, I thought with the angle you were at— Woah, hey, hey...”

Her legs had buckled and he caught her. Murmuring low, soft words, he swept her up into his arms, holding her against him.

The motion had pained her, he had seen it, and she gazed up at him, tears falling thick and fast down her cheeks. He swallowed again, having to blink to clear his vision.

“I’m so sorry, Ada, you’re gonna be okay, though, all righ’? We’re gonna get you some help.”

Her lower lip was trembling. “I’m fine... It hurts but...”

“All righ’, okay, we gotta get you to a doctor, though, all righ’? You, Sadie and Charles, okay?”

She nodded, one hand gripping at his coat as the other pressed the strip of John’s shirt against the wound. “I’m fine...”

He knew she was lying.

“Money...”

Blinking again, the voice almost startling him, he looked over at Sadie who was leaning against the wooden shack, looking so drained.

“What?”

She nodded at the watchtower, raising her eyebrows as she coughed. “Money from Blackwater should be in there...”

Arthur’s gaze darted to John’s before back to Sadie. “Really?”

She tilted her head, arching an eyebrow. “You think I’d say somethin’ like that if it weren’t true?”

Running his tongue along his teeth, Arthur exhaled a breath. “We gotta get off this mountain and find a doctor.”

Sadie chuckled, standing upright. “I ain’t leavin’ without it, we deserve somethin’, don’t we?”

Arthur glanced at John again, watching him already heading towards the tower. Adjusting his grip on Ada, he shook his head.

“You can do all the searchin’ you want, I’m gonna get back to the horses and you should be righ’ behind me.”

Sadie waved her hand, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, right behind ya.” Taking a breath, she looked to Ada before back at him. “She okay?”

He nodded as he turned, heading for the hill. “She’s gonna be fine.”

His heart was thumping against his ribcage. Strawberry was miles away and he wasn’t familiar enough with the land anymore to know what ranches were around and if they would have a doctor, so that just left—

“Arthur.”

He paused at Sadie’s voice and turned back to her, having to bite back a snapped retort as he raised his eyebrows.

Her lips were pressed together, the weariness having returned, and sympathy with it. “Closest town is Valentine.”

His jaw moved. “I know.”

He continued on up the hill, gritting his teeth as he pushed through the snow. Had enough time passed? Would they have forgotten about him and the gang? Would a new sheriff have taken over?

Truthfully, he didn’t fucking care.

Gazing down at his wife, his chest tightened as he found her eyes closed.

“Sweetheart...”

Mercifully, they opened at his voice, though not fully.

He managed a smile, his thumb stroking against her arm. “You keep those beautiful eyes open, okay?”

Her tongue drifted across her dry lips. “It’s so cold.”

“Yeah, you gave your scarf to Charles, you remember, to keep ‘im warm? Then I gave mine to Sadie to help her, and John doesn’t have one but he gave you some of his shirt. Looks like we’ve all been swappin’.”

 “You haven’t got anything.”

He smiled again, feeling his eyes sting. “Oh, I get to have you for a few more decades, all righ’? You gonna give me that?”

He thought he saw the faintest of smiles on her lips as she nodded.

“Well, you keep those eyes open, then.”

“Okay.”

Reaching the top of the hill, he found Charles sat on a crate, a rifle in his hands, staring at the snow. Lifting his head, he suddenly rose to his feet at the sight of them and was shaking his head before Arthur could open his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find a safe shot, I tried to but I just couldn’t find it—”

“It’s okay, Charles, it’s all righ’.” He didn’t stop walking. “C’mon, we’re gonna get you both to a doctor.”

Charles followed by his side, gripping at his shoulder again. “Ada, are you okay?”

She hummed out a sound as her reply, and glancing down at her again Arthur found her eyes still open and fixed on the sky. Tears were trailing down her cheeks, and he knew she was trying to breathe steadily.

He hated the memory it dug up from the furthest corner of his mind.

Holding her tighter, he broke into a jog, fucking grateful that it was just downhill from here. Charles kept level with him, most likely grateful that it was just declines, too.

“Where are Sadie and John?”

“Back there. She said the money from Blackwater’s in the tower.”

“What?”

“I know.”

“How the hell did Micah and Dutch get it?”

“I don’t know.”

Charles fell silent, knowing his mind was elsewhere and there would be time for questions later... he hoped. His gaze dropped to Ada, watching her stare up at the sky. He had watched through the scope as Dutch had done the same, taking in his last few moments of life. He wanted to ask Arthur how he was feeling, if he himself was all right, but... questions later. 

They were silent the rest of the way down the mountain, barely glancing at the bodies they passed. Charles stumbled once or twice on the descent, but Arthur didn’t see, having taken the lead. Charles didn’t call out to him to slow down either, knowing he wouldn’t, and Charles didn’t want him to.

They found their horses grazing near the trees they’d left them at, their heads lifting instantly at the sound of them. Charles fumbled for something in his saddlebag as Arthur strode for Titan. Noka approached idly at scenting her mistress, but Arthur wanted to hold her as they rode because he didn’t trust that she’d stay upright. Even thinking that practical thought frightened him. Valentine was closer than Strawberry, but it was still quite a ride.

“There you go...” he murmured as he raised her in his arms, settling her on Titan as he gritted his teeth.

She gasped, her lips swiftly pressing together cutting it off.

The hand that had clutched his coat now gripped the pommel, her knuckles whitening, and he glanced up at her as he took Titan’s reins in one hand and prepared to mount and sit behind her.

His heart shattered.

She looked terrified.

—

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[wafflewarriors]

Imagine Getting Caught in an Ambush with Dean Winchester

It was really only meant to be a one night stand.

You were the town flirt, twirling your pretty hair and flaunting your curves which were exaggerated by your revealing outfits. With one smile, you had this guy twirled around your fingers before he even knew it. This was your happy place. This is what you were comfortable with.

You had to admit, he was stunning. Freckles, vibrant green eyes, and a million dollar smile. Not to mention his abs. And those shoulders.

You got your usual fix of hot action, but it stopped abruptly when you both heard a noise from outside. You shrugged it off quickly, but he didn't overlook it as easily.

He sat up and you stared at him, shocked as he re-buttoned himself and reached for his duffel bag.

"Hey! What are you—"

He pulled out a gun.

You stared at him in horror. What was he planning on doing with that?

"It's not for you, sweetheart."

And while he was cute, you weren't stupid. "Okay, I don't know what kind of nutjob you are, but I am so out of here!"

"Stay where you are."

In normal circumstances, you would have up and left. You didn't need a man telling you what to do. But this man had a gun, so... you know, that was important.

He opened his mouth to explain, but then the windows rattled violently and the roof echoed like it was raining rocks outside.

You flinched. “What is going on?!”

Then that manly—kind of hot—glare came over his face as he eyed the windows.

“Sweetheart, I’m going to need you to get down.”

You looked at him incredulously, but then the door flew open and multiple figures burst in. You were under the bed like a rocket.

You shivered. It was dusty, the floorboards were cold on your skin, and it was just uncomfortable. You could feel your uneven breath fan onto the mattress and then back onto your face. Not to mention whatever the hell was going on outside.

Dean was grunting and loud, knocking noises erupted in the smaller motel room. A shot rang out, and you then covered your ringing ears. Gunshots had never been that loud in movies.

Finally then, you heard skin on skin, a good punch, and the room was quiet, other than a few shuffles. You held your breath.

"Dean Winchester," a voice drawled. "I'll admit, he's one tough bugger."

Oh no no. No. Dean hadn't won. And since Dean hadn't won, you couldn't come out. Because then they would have you too.

"Sure is," another voice replied.

There was a creak of the bed, and some movement.

"Think he'll threaten us?"

"Almost definitely."

Someone else joined in. "I'll bet $50 he'll use the word 'kill' in the first sentence he says."

"What if he says, like, I don't know, 'you're all going to die' or something?"

They scoffed. "That counts."

"No, it doesn't."

"Fine. But I'm still going with it."

"That's a risky bet."

"Not if it's Dean Winchester."

You were sure to take long, deep, quiet breaths. You had to stay calm. You had to stay calm.

As much as people thought you were fearless, you fought anxiety daily. This, this was another battle. You didn't have any choice but to suck it up and force yourself to breathe. Force yourself to think rationally. All while your heart was running a mile and you were struggling to keep up.

"Hey, you got more rope?"

You shuddered minutely. They were tying him up.

"Yeah, here."

More movement, on the bed, and you prayed. Prayed to every god you knew that this wasn't some kinky thing. Mostly because you were under the bed. They weren't going to... right? What if they... ugh, you just couldn't think about it.

Fortunately, though, at least you thought it was fortunate, Dean began to stir.

He rasped, "I'm going to kill you suckers."

A couple people snickered, another groaned.

"We thought so," someone said sarcastically. "Now, we want to know where the demon tablet is."

Dean began to laugh. Okay, at least you both knew they were psychos. Like, demon tablet?

"I don't have the demon tablet," Dean told them.

You spoke too soon. Everyone here was insane. How did you end up here? Was everyone in this room high? You thought so. Including yourself.

"We know you have it, Dean Winchester. We know you've been trying to decipher it."

Dean scoffed. "You think I could decode that thing? I'm not a prophet, believe it or not."

Your legs were really starting to cramp from being so curled up. And you didn't want to risk adjusting for fear of them hearing you.

"I told you," one of the voices mumbled, supposedly to the others.

"Bunch of eight year olds," Dean muttered, "You sure you're actually demons?"

They seemed to sober up after that. "Of course we are," one growled.

You could almost hear Dean's smile in his next words. "Hey, don't look at me. You're the ones playing the 'I told you so' game."

There was a jerk of the bed.

You flinched, inhaling sharply. Thankfully the bed covered up your gasp with loud creaking. Like the man had lunged at him.

"Again, eight year old," Dean said smugly.

You frowned. Why did your nose itch? Something tickled. You crinkled it, wiping at it silently, but the itch didn't go away. You felt a sneeze coming on.

Oh, shi—

You managed to hold most of it in, but the inhaling portion could not be stifled. You froze, completely still as you waited to see if they heard you.

A head peeked down and smiled wickedly at you.

"Look who we have here!"

You scrambled and curled into yourself, trying to stay out of reach, but one of them had grabbed you by your ankle. They yanked until you were out from under the bed and frantically trying to free yourself.

You heard Dean swear softly.

One of the men cackled and that's when you broke. You swung your other leg and kicked him in the face, pushing him back but not knocking him down. You brought your fist into one of their knees and they cried out.

"How..?" Dean breathed.

You had no chance to answer him. You swung your other fist into the other man's head, and managed to temporarily get their grimy hands off you. God, they smelled something awful. Was that rotten eggs?

You managed to grab Dean's gun from the nightstand, which the men had stupidly placed without thought. They were too confident in themselves. Too cocky.

Speaking of which, you cocked the gun.

They looked at you in terror.

"Shoot them," Dean urged you. "Don't hesitate. I mean it. Shoot them. They deserve that and more."

You hesitated and whispered, "Who could ever deserve death?"

"Demons could, kid. They've killed more people than you've probably met in your lifetime. And if you don't kill them, they are definitely going to kill you later."

The men didn't deny it. In fact, they seemed to agree.

You pulled the trigger. And you pulled it again. And again. And again. Until you were just shooting corpses. Until you couldn't see through your tears. They could have killed you.

Dean had finally broken through his bonds that he'd been tearing at for a good while after trying to keep still. He came over to stand beside you. "Let go of the gun," he said gently, slowly prying your fingers from the weapon. "Just let go."

You did.

Dean looked at you. "I think you're in shock. Hey, it's okay. You did the right thing. Really."

"They could've killed me."

"Yeah, but you fought back. You didn't let them. How'd you do that, by the way?"

You shook your head. "I dunno."

Something on your hand caught Dean's eye. He lifted it to inspect the ring on your hand, which was now bloody. "Iron," he murmured. "You're a genius. You could punch them right in the face. That is just genius." He looked down and began to laugh. "Where the hell'd you get iron toe boots?"

"I don't know, they used to be my dads."

"Your dad had pretty small feet."

Really? That's all you have to say? After we just got attacked by demons or whatever? Your head was starting to spin.

You rolled your eyes. "They're adjustable."

He looked at you strangely. "And the rings? Where'd you get those?"

"...my dad. He welded them himself. He's um... he's gone now."

"Sorry," he said solemnly. He nodded to himself, clearly deep in thought as he traced his finger over the pattern on your ring. "You ever know your dad was a hunter?"

"What?"

"Hunter symbols. They're everywhere on you. Ring, shoes... jacket, too. Necklace. I'd say he was trying to protect you the best that he could when he died. There's no way those could have fit him, adjustable or not."

"But...what? I don't even… how could I..."

"You mind if I take a look at those? We... uh, Sam and I... we could help you. Because whatever he was warding against, he was convinced they would come after you. From what I can tell, it's probably demons."

"I mean, yeah. I don't ever want them after me again." You shivered, recalling. "Is that it? You just want to help out?"

Dean shrugged. "They were also pretty cool and I want some. But anyway, let's just get out of here. These guys stink something awful."

[tonystarkstan]

Peter wakes up to a wave of nausea and self-loathing and the voice in his head still yelling at him to Be quiet. You’re loud. Why are you so loud? Be quiet.

His hands itch for his phone, already typing out a message in his head, because he’s gotten better about telling Tony about his Bad Days. About how sometimes he needs to throw himself into work as a distraction and other times he just needs a bone-crushing hug to—

The self-recrimination that courses through his body nearly brings him to his knees. The image of crushed bones still dance behind his eyelids, and he immediately pulls his hand away from his phone.

Don’t be loud, Peter, the voice reminds him. Just shut up for once.

So he does. He leaves his phone on his bedside table, untouched, and gets up to get ready for the day.

He knows it was just a dream, but as he moves, he can almost picture his bones cracking under—under what? the pressure of being?—the weight of everything he cannot—will not—say. Anxiety ricochets inside of him like a bullet, tearing through his bones, and he reminds himself to breathe.

He wants Tony.

Peter swallows the thought down. He won’t give those bullets to him. For once in his pathetic life, he’ll make his own splints to hold himself together.

When he gets to school, Ned and MJ greet him and he smiles back. He hugs his textbooks close to himself, his ribs flimsy inside his body, and tells himself that this is how to be better.

I wanted you to be better.

This is him being better.

During lunch, he robotically forks food into his mouth, if only so he won’t have to speak. So he won’t be tempted to speak. He watches Ned talk animatedly about a new show that’s coming out, and MJ is listening attentively.

She looks tired, Peter notices. He knows her parents are going through a divorce and her dad’s been an ass about it all, and now that he’s finally taking the time to look at her, he sees the exhaustion chipping away at her skin.

He hates himself for thinking it, but for a moment, he’s jealous. How? he wants to ask. How do you keep it contained? How do you exist in you sadness without leaving collateral damage in your wake?

The thing is, he tries. He tries to be good, tries to be... to be manageable. But sometimes he gets so mad or frustrated or sad, and then he opens his mouth and bullets come out and Tony is probably tired of it. Tired of taking the hits of Peter’s sadness and still putting him back together.

“Peter?”

Peter jumps, startled. Ned is staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for an answer to a question Peter didn’t hear. MJ is looking at him too, eyes narrowed, and Peter reminds himself to inhale—why? why is that so hard?—and smile.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. Not gonna lie, I zoned out for a second,” Peter admits, because that’s better than letting out the bullets rolling inside his stomach.

Oh shit, I’m sorry, he could have said. I’m just really anxious about the fact that I’m overly-dependent on everyone around me and it’s damaging to them and also just pathetic.

“Nah, you’re good. I was just asking if you wanted to keep up with the show with me?” Ned asks hopefully, and Peter feels guilty because he’s already forgotten what the show even is.

“Yeah, sure!” he says anyway, because he has to be better. Has to be the kind of person that gives more than he takes. Ned’s face lights up with renewed enthusiasm, and Peter thinks it was worth it.

When Happy picks him up after school, Peter scrubs at his face, as if trying to physically slap a mask on. He chirps an enthusiastic hello and Happy rolls his eyes affectionately before putting the partition up so he can play music without listening to Peter’s complaints of, “Happy, why do you have the music taste of an old woman?”

Peter let’s out a breath of relief and he sinks into the seat and rests his head back for a moment. Now that everything is quiet, anxiety roars back to life, never content to let him rest, and Peter panics as he wonders how he’s going to hide this from Tony. Tony, who is so observant, who knows Peter too well, who Peter is trying to protect, to be better for.

Peter raises his hands and stares at them, thinking about the nightmare from last night that’s somehow managed to bleed into the day. He remembers his bones cracking, crumbling, completely giving way inside of him, and he remembers opening his mouth to scream for help, for Tony, for anybody.

But a voice always stopped him. Too loud, it would chastise. Look how happy they are. Just be quiet and help yourself for once in your life.

Peter pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, a desperate version of a hug, an attempt to self-contain his brokenness. He feels like a stupid child, hates himself for feeling alone and for hating it. Wishes he could thrive by himself.

As he walks into the lab, Peter’s game plan is simple: talk as little as possible without being suspicious.

“Hey, kid!” Tony greets as he walks in. Peter smiles and slings his book bag onto the old couch Tony keeps in the workshop.

“Hey! Whatcha workin’ on?” Peter asks, curiously looking over Tony’s shoulder.

“The thrusters in the left boot of my suit are faulty, so I’m just re-building the whole damn part,” Tony tells him.

“Oh fun,” Peter. “And by fun, I mean ‘tedious’.”

Tony snorts. “Tell me about it. You know what you want to work on or do you wanna help me with this?”

Peter looks over at his desk to the old computer he’d found in the dumpster a few days ago. “Um, I think I’m gonna mess around with the computer and see if I can reanimate its corpse.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “Why did you have to say it like that?”

Peter laughs. “Sorry I can’t suppress the Gen Z speak. You’re just old,” he quips. Tony mock stabs at him with a pair of wire strippers and Peter dodges and heads to his own work area.

As he walks, he can almost imagine the ruins inside of him. Part of him aches to turn around and ask Tony to help him, to help put him back together, and the words well up inside of him like bullets ready to fire.

He swallows them down, and gets to work.

His hands move methodically, even has anxiety and longing shoot through his body, stealing his breath away. Breathe, he reminds himself as he takes the computer apart piece by piece. He wonders if someone did that to him what they’d find.

Peter closes his eyes for a second and pictures it. Pictures a surgeon opening him up and finding his insides in ruins, physically torn apart by an anxiety and sadness he could never kill. He pictures hairline fractures all the way to the tips of his fingers, ribs crushed, piercing into his lungs, a tangible explanation for why he can never fucking breath.

“Peter,” a voice says sharply, and Peter turns around to find Tony watching him carefully.

Fuck. Fuck.

“Sorry, I got distracted,” Peter apologizes quickly. “What were you saying?”

Tony cocks his head and studies him for a moment before saying, “You’re shaking.”

“What?” Peter asks, even as he looks down at his hands to find that they are, indeed, trembling. He clenches them into fists and reminds himself to inhale again. “No I’m not. I’ve had a great day!”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up at that. “Oh? That’s good to hear. It’d be more reassuring if you didn’t sound like you were trying to convince yourself of that.”

“I’m not,” Peter says through gritted teeth. The truth sits heavy on his tongue, metallic and hard and Peter is surprised it doesn’t just barrel through his teeth.

“Okay,” Tony says simply, before turning back to his bench. His tone isn’t upset or irritated, but the word has sharp panic racing up Peter’s throat.

He doesn’t want Tony to turn away. He wants—god, he doesn’t want to feel like this. He wants Tony to wrap his arms around him and put all his bones back in place and tell him things will be okay. But he doesn’t want to bother him again and again. The truth is, depression gets old. No one wants to hear about his pain.

“I-I’m sorry,” Peter stammers, and Tony looks at him, confused. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’m—I didn’t—I’m sorry.”

Tony’s expression quickly changes to one of concern as he takes a step towards Peter, who backs away.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says yet again, because at least those are words that fix instead of break.

“For what?” Tony asks gently.

Peter swallows thickly and looks at him, desperation and self-loathing and longing fighting for dominance inside of him. He presses his hands into his eyes for a second, flashes of his dream from the night before playing before they fly open again.

“I’m sorry—it’s stupid. It’s so—I’m sorry.” He can’t seem to get past those words. He’s just sorry for—for so much. For being so disgustingly dependent, for being clingy and childish and loud in his pain. He tries to start again. “I had a dream last night.”

If Tony’s surprised by the change in direction, he doesn’t show it. He simply pulls up a stool and perches on it, watching Peter struggle to find the right words.

“It reminded me of—of something my friend told me. And I can’t, um—she said that ‘hurt people hurt people’ and it—I’d forgotten about it. It means that—that when I’m feeling hurt or bad, I bring people down with me,” Peter explains. “And I always—I always go to you or bother May and I know you guys worry and that sometimes it’s too much but you’re too nice to tell me but one day you’re going to hate me for it and I want to change, I want to be better, but what if this is the ugly truth of who I am? That at the core of me, I’m a taker? That I’m—I’m parasitic—”

“Whoa whoa, Peter stop,” Tony finally cuts in firmly, pushing away from his stool and taking the kid by the shoulders. Peter nearly whimpers, torn between leaning into the touch and pushing away. “First of all, let’s not compare you to a leech. Those are gross and you’re nothing like them. Got it?”

Peter nods hesitantly, and Tony squeezes his shoulders.

“And secondly, did you know that Pepper once broke up with me?” Tony asks, and Peter nearly jerks in surprise, both at the information and the change in subject. Tony nods. “Yup. I was all into the whole self-sabotage thing and I couldn’t hang up the suit and was every definition of a taker that you could possibly say. She gave and gave and I never gave back anything she needed. So she left, and rightfully so.”

Peter’s eyes widen. He had no clue they’d ever split before. Tony shrugs and then waves his hand, looking intently at Peter.

“The point is, I get it. Sometimes people who are hurting end up hurting the people around them, too. But Peter—lying to me, withdrawing? That’s not going to help you or me or anyone. The difference between me then and you now is that back then, I didn’t really try. For awhile, at least. And Pepper didn’t want to watch me throw my life away. But you—Peter, you’re trying. I know you’re trying. I see it everyday,” Tony says firmly. “You give back plenty. Being around you, helping you—it’s not a chore. Of course I hate seeing you in pain, but Peter—this is part of love, okay? You’re my kid. I see you trying. So let me meet you halfway.”

Peter breaks, then, the outside finally mirroring the inside. His face crumples as hot tears race down his cheeks, and Tony steps forward and replaces the arms Peter has wrapped around himself with his own.

Peter’s body sags with relief for just a moment before pure self-loathing washes over him, and he lets out a violent sob. Tony’s arms tighten around him more, and that almost makes it worse.

“I’m—I’m pathetic,” Peter chokes out, practically gagging on the words.

Tony pulls back, then, just enough to frame Peter’s face in his hands, brushing away hot tears.

“No, no, no. You’re hurting,” Tony corrects, looking him straight in the eye. “You’re hurting. And that’s okay.”

Peter’s breath comes in hitching sobs, and he makes himself nod, desperate to believe him. Tony shushes him gently, tenderly brushing Peter’s curls back before pulling him close again. Tony simply holds him for as long as he needs.

And, piece by piece, bits of Peter start to fall back into place.

(Here’s the thing: Humans are made for community. It’s okay to get help from others. Maybe you’re more of a giver, and maybe you’re more of a taker. But whatever you are, you just have to meet others halfway. And it’ll be okay. It will.)

[brianc521]

Mendes Recording Co. | Lights On

He can’t help himself, she’s dressed in those ripped blue jeans and suddenly she’s got this glow?  It’s why he’s been a little more playful, a little more handsy, and why he almost kissed when she arrived at the studio this morning.

She had brought him a coffee, giggling about the joke the barista had written on her lid, and then smiling brightly up at him he started to lean in a little. She didn’t pull away, and leaned just that much closer, if anything she parted her lips, eyes widening in excitement.

But her phone started ringing from her desk, making the couple jump apart, both gasping since the room felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of it.

He’s laughing at the way she keeps messing up what she’s writing, teasing her by scooting a little closer every time she leans down to write.

“Stop!” She hits his shoulder, laughing as he throws his head back.

“I’m not doing anything,”

“You’re distracting me,” She whines, pushing her bottom lip out in an adorable pout that could bring him to his knees if she used it correctly.

“Oh no, how should you fix that?” He leans closer, eyes focusing on her lips, then flicking to her eyes.

She inhales sharply, licking her lips, watching as Shawn watches, his eyes dilating.

“Okay?” He leans closer, his breath now fanning her face.

“Mhm,” She hums, relaxing when his nose brushes hers.

Shawn’s about to take the last step, press his lips to hers, but the door to the studio opens, James walking through and banging his guitar case into the wall on accident.

“Sorry!” He calls out.

Shawn sighs, head dropping a bit, forehead leaning against hers as she giggles softly.

She stands and takes a deep breath as she walks to the front of the studio to greet James.

“Hey!” Her cheeks are flushed from Shawn’s attention, and her brain feels all out of sorts.

“Sorry!” James says again, as he looks at the wall making sure he didn’t put a whole through it.

“You’re fine,” She smiles, waving him to the booth. “Think Shawn’s ready for you.”

Shawn quickly catches her hand before she hits him from her wave.

“Oh!” She yelps, not realizing that he was right behind her. “Sorry,” She mumbles.

“You’re fine,” He says lowly, voice in her ear making her melt.

“Are we recording today?” James asks with a bright smile, pulling Shawn back to reality.

“Yeah, I think we’re ready,” He nods.

“Let me know if you need anything, I have a few calls to make and emails to return.” She says, back now to Shawn’s front, his hand on her hip.

James heads into the booth, not noticing the growing chemistry between the other two.

“Mkay,” Shawn hums, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I’ll let you know when we’re done,”

She nods, and the goosebumps rise when his presence leaves. She looks over her shoulder, watching him walk out, and blushing hard when he winks at her, biting his lip.

“Fuck,” She brings her hands to her face once the door to the booth closes.

**

The door opens and she looks up from her computer where she was responding to John Mayer about hopefully having some new talent to grace his radio station.

James walks in, all smiles and pink cheeks.

“How was it?” She asks, hands still on her keyboard, eyes on him.

“Amazing, we actually recorded the song, and Shawn’s talking an EP, radio time, everything!”

She nods, “I’m so excited to see where you go.”

“Thanks so much Y/n, you’ve been so helpful through this process, I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, now go celebrate!” She shoos him out of the building, grinning at his buzzing self leaving.

She looks back to her computer, eyebrows furrowed in confusion since Shawn hasn’t come to tell her how recording went.

She brushes it off to him working. She goes back to that too, typing out the rest of her email and sending it off before answering a call about Niall’s interview schedule, to which she directed them to Niall’s new manager.

She stands, ready to start cleaning up for close, softly singing ‘Slow Hands’. When she steps into the booth Shawn notices from his office. She’s singing just loud enough that he can hear her if he turns the mic on.

She’s tidying up the room, bending over to fix the rugs, and when she stands back up, flipping her hair over her shoulder he’s up out of his seat, over being interrupted and having to wait.

He walks in the room, a man on a mission, and she looks up in surprise as he stalks towards her. He reaches out, taking her face into his hands, finally pressing his lips to hers.

She moans, causing his eyes to roll back into his head at the sound. Her hands grip the sides of his shirt, pulling him closer as their lips move in sync, his tongue cautiously dipping into her mouth, and then dominating as she seems to melt into him.

His hands are holding her face, fingertips in her hair, right hand sliding into her locks, pulling down just enough to expose her neck, his lips taking the chance to tour the new territory.

“Shawn,” Shawn breathes, eyes shut, back arching, pushing her chest into him.

“God you smell amazing,” He groans, kissing back up to her mouth. “Why did we wait to do this?”

“Because you’re stupid,” She mumbles, yelping lightly when he lifts her up, making her legs wrap around his torso.

“Not anymore,” He shakes his head, setting her on the piano, hands fumbling with the buttons of her shirt.

**

She’s slowly starting to fall asleep on his chest, her lashes fluttering every time she attempts to wake herself up.

“Go to sleep,” He whispers against her forehead, planting a kiss there.

She nods, holding him tighter as she tangles her legs with his, the small throw couch blanket barely big enough to cover them, but with them wrapped around each other it fits just enough.

Shawn lays there, holding his girl, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what just happened.

It was mind blowing, but the thing he didn’t think about  before was how this might affect their work relationship.

Would this put the business in jeopardy, would he lose her as a business partner?

All these unknown questions haunt him as she wraps herself around hims tighter, pressing a soft kiss to his bare chest.

**

She wakes the next morning, alone.

She sits up abruptly, looking around, confused as to how she ended up on the couch, wrapped in the blanket. She grabs her shirt and pants, pulling them on clumsily, looking up when Shawn walks into the room.

“Um,” She starts, looking at how he’s in new clothing, showered and hair done.

“Morning,” He nodded, walking past her to his office.

She stares at him as he walks past. What the fuck?

“Shawn?” She asks.

“I called Niall and asked him to come in a re record ‘This Town’, he’ll be here in an hour, so if you want to go home an change I’m okay with that,” Shawn doesn’t look at her as he speaks.

She scoffs, picking up her shoes and storming out of the booth, swiping her purse on her way out the door.

Shawn watches as she walks out with a deep scowl on her face.

He sighs, slumping into his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

He knows she doesn’t understand what he’s trying to do, he’s just trying to keep work and personal life separate, and while that’s mixing because she’s now become both, he’s still attempting the separate part.

He knew he needed to tell her before she left, and he planned on it, he just didn’t plan on her storming out of the studio.

**

“What do you mean you fucked up?” Her sister asks, while she sits in her car in her apartment parking garage.

“We fucked last night,” She sighs, cringing.

“What?”

“Yeah, like we’ve been flirting since I was hired, and he finally made a move that lead to a lot of other moves,” She explains.

“Was it good?”

“Oh my god don’t ask that question!” She yelps at her sister.

“I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong!”

“He regrets it,” She whispers, lump in her throat growing, tears stinging her eyes.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I woke up alone on the couch when I fell asleep on his chest on the floor. He had obviously been home while I was asleep, so who’s to say he even stayed at all. And he told me I should go home and change before our first session starts in an hour,”

Her sister gasps, shocked any man would act that way.

“I fucked up so bad, because I love my job, and this just ruined that. How am I supposed to face him after last night, especially if he regrets it.”

“Honey I think you need to take a moment to yourself.”

“Me too,” She sighs, getting out of her car and going to her apartment.

“Take the day to find yourself and make a game plan okay, I have to go pick up Blake from school, but text me if you need too.”

“Okay,” She sighs, unlocking her door and making her way inside.

**

Niall is setting up his guitar and adjusting the mic stand as Shawn paces the office, worried about her.

She never returned back to the studio, and she hasn’t answered his text.

He pulls his phone out and calls her, and on the last ring she answers.

“Yes?” Her voice is rough and scratchy.

“Hey,” He says softly, turning away from the window, alluding to some sort of privacy. “What happened?”

She scoffs for the second time that day before taking a deep breath. “I need to stay home today, I need a personal day,”

Shawn’s heart clenches, “What happened?” He asks again.

“I just have a lot to think about.”

His shoulder slump. “I wanted to talk to you,” He whispers.

“There’s no need, I got the picture,”

Shawn’s about to protest when he’s met with the dial tone, telling him; she hung up.

** Tags: @minniemcgoo \\ @softboyshawn \\ @lettherosesgrow \\ @shawnsassymendes \\ @spideys-wife \\ @justanotherfangurl272 \\ @alinaxxshawn \\ @ilovejackavery 

[emeraldtawny]

Happy Birthday Yukimura!

A cute floofy fic for a cute floofy dingus. Happy birthday Yuki~ ^w^

A mild afternoon. A pleasant reprieve from the usually blistering summer sun in Kai, the mountains casting their domineering shadows over the populace below. The humming of cicadas filling the air, a loud, clearly aggravated sigh lets itself known to disrupt the relative peace in the air. 

Sitting slumped over his writing desk and twirling the ink brush in his fingers, Yukimura lets out another sigh, the action doubling as a failed attempt to blow the strands of hair from his fringe attempting to poke him in the eye. The fist of his free hand digs into his cheek as he leans on his desk, brows furrowing in increasing irritation, the document before him tearing at the last of his resilience to finish this. He glances out the open door to stare at the cloudless sky, himself certain that he has inherited all of the clouds to weigh over him instead.

(I should’ve been done by now. Man, ___ is gonna kill me.)

The hopeful look in her bright eyes passes through his mind for a split second before he forces it out, already feeling the weight of guilt begin to wring the air from his lungs. With another heavy sigh and a disinterested flourish of his hand, Yukimura re-dips his brush in ink and writes the final few lines of the document before signing his life away.

(At this point, I’m sure this is good enough. I just need to see her.)

A sudden loud scratching sound makes Yukimura drop the brush he was about to set neatly on the desk. Luckily, he snatches the document before any damage can be done, but his body is tense and ready as the sound gets closer and closer. As he moves to stand, his posture rigid yet ready to launch like a spring--

“Woof!”

A grey and white blur skids to a stop outside of Yukimura’s room and sits down looking expectantly at him, tail thumping a mile a minute. The tension leaves Yukimura in a rush, yet his eyebrows remain pulled taut as he appraises his impudent pup.

“Geez, are you trying to give me a heart attack, Muramasa?”

Said wolf continues to beat the ground with its tail, his eyes watching his master place the finished document on the desk before he joins his pet outside, stretching his arms above his head. A sudden tug at his leg has Yukimura looking down, his eyebrow quirking at Muramasa’s soft yet firm bite into his hakama pants.

“Hm? What is it?

The wolf pup pulls once more on Yukimura’s hakama before letting go and scampering down the hallway, stopping and looking back as if to say “follow me”. Curiosity overcoming him and happy for the chance to stretch his legs, Yukimura follows Muramasa with haste, the smile growing on his face breaking through the stress and fatigue of the afternoon.

Muramasa’s roundabout game of Follow The Leader leads them both into the garden, the pup’s pace suddenly picking up speed as he dashes ahead with a happy bark. As his eyes follow his wolf to where he’s heading, Yukimura finds his feet growing faster in their strides as well, his eyes fixed on the one person he has wanted to see all day. Muramasa leaps towards her and pats against her legs with his front paws, only yielding once she scratches him behind his ear. Her eyes then move to the man closing the distance between them, her expression as bright as the one in Yukimura’s mind’s eye, but he doesn’t fail to notice the subtle glimmer of loneliness lurking behind.

“I’m so sorry, ___. I know I said I’d have everything done by the afternoon, but new documents came in and Lord Shingen was already busy so I had no choice. I hope you-!”

His sentence remains unfinished, replaced instead by a soft grunt as she jumps towards him, her arms wrapping around his neck and her body fitting perfectly into his embrace. The sweet scent of her hair envelops him and with a single inhale, every ounce of stress left in him leaves in a rush of happiness.

“...I’m sorry. I know I said I’d get at least half the day off for my birthday, but duty calls...”

(...when in truth, all I’ve wanted to do all day to run out to find you, just so I could hear you wish me a happy birthday.)

She giggles, nuzzling into the crook of his neck softly, “I know how dedicated you are to your work, Yukimura. You don’t need to apologise, because I know you’ll make it up to me another way. You always do.”

His grip tightens on her hips and he pushes her back softly, encouraging her to loosen her hold around his neck. With crimson cheeks and a defeated - yet ultimately joyous - smile, he presses his lips to hers, their lips dancing in a long since memorised dance of intimacy.

(Say it. Please, ___. I’ve been waiting all day for it.)

She brushes her lips against his cheek before travelling to his ear, his breath catching at the sensual sound of her lips parting.

“Happy birthday, Yukimura.”

Burying the goofy grin that splits his lips into her hair, he grumbles out a “thank you”, but the way his embrace sweeps her flush against him speaks volumes. The sounds of her giggles and Muramasa’s excited barks have Yukimura convinced that it was all worth the wait, even if he would never admit it to any living soul.

[imagine-loki]

Monsters and Magic

TITLE: Monsters and Magic

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 74/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you’re a vampire who helps the Avengers defeat an evil seethe of other vampires, and Loki befriends you after you end up in their custody

RATING: T (again after last chapter)

NOTES/WARNINGS:  Also on AO3 click here

Loki couldn’t help chuckling at Bucky’s whining.  “I don’t know. I’m sure Stark and Nat miss the little kitten. And I’m sure the Captain misses your company, Bucky,” Loki teased.  

Bucky rolled his eyes at the insinuation that he was gay for Steve.  The insinuation was getting old. You smiled at the mention of your friends. “Everyone misses Pisoi when she’s not around. I’m sure Steve does miss me, and Natal'ka will pretend she didn’t miss either of us…” Bucky replied, thinking fondly of their friends.  

“Buck, what’s with the new nickname?” you finally got around to asking, since it clearly wasn’t going away anytime soon. 

Bucky chuckled.  “I couldn’t keep calling you ‘vampire’ now could I? ‘Kitten’ is much more fitting,” he teased you warmly.  You stuck your tongue out at him. Bucky was a great friend and you were close after your time together in Hydra, but he was also annoying at times, like deciding you needed yet another new nickname.

“I think it fits,” Loki announced, deciding to speak in Russian to annoy Bucky.  Those two loved annoying each other.  

Bucky replied in Russian, which just annoyed you, since you didn’t speak Russian.  “Of course it fits,” Bucky replied smoothly in Russian. “Your trick won’t throw me. I know that Allspeak is exactly what it says on the tin,”  Loki switched to Bucky’s native Romanian for his next reply, which just made Bucky laugh. “Natal'ka and I used to play this game too,” he reminisced fondly.

The game continued as you walked back to the palace.  The three of you switched between languages while Loki tried to find one Bucky didn’t know.  You made it through Spanish, Portuguese, German, Latin, Mandarin, and Japanese. You kept up with Spanish, Latin, Japanese, and Mandarin, though Bucky doesn’t know Mandarin.  You all signed together, still signing away as you entered the great hall for breakfast.  

Frigga was already there and looked up at the three of you, smirking at your signing.  “Good morning, darlings. What fun are you up to so early?” she knew Loki well enough to know that he was playing some kind of game, especially with how happy and relaxed he was.

“We are going through Midgardian languages. I was trying to find one Bucky doesn’t know,” Loki explained the game to his mother.  It was a simple and silly little game.

“He won at Chinese,” Bucky added with a smirk.  He’d gotten more comfortable around Mama Frigga in his time on Asgard.

“You boys both beat me with most of them,” you contributed, laughing.  Frigga smiled warmly at the innocent game and seemed pleased that Loki had such a good friend in the soldier.  You turned your attention to her.  “Thank you for the jewel, Allmother, it is perfect for what I needed,” you told her politely.  She’d gone out of her way to get the jewel for your project, though she’d agreed readily enough when you’d explained that it was for her son.

You got a warm “It was no trouble dear,” in reply.  She turned to Loki and Bucky, who had continued their signed conversation.  “There is a Midgardian language speaking with hands?” she asked curiously.

“Yes. It’s for those who are deaf. I learned about it in a book I was reading while on Midgard,” Loki explained.

“That and Clint uses it when he’s too lazy to put his hearing aids in,” you added.  “So we all had to learn out of necessity,”

Loki nodded in agreement.  “Barton is always lazy, so it has become a norm to see the team signing around the tower,”

Frigga laughed, but sobered quickly when a grumpy-looking Thor stomped in and over to your table. “What’s wrong, darling?” she asked him, all motherly concern and care.  Frigga loved her sons dearly, though she had a soft spot for her Loki.

Loki tensed at Thor’s mood and pulled you closer to him as soon as Thor entered the hall.  He didn’t trust his brother to behave.

“It’s nothing, mother,” Thor said gruffly and fwumped into a chair on the other side of the table from you.  You tensed in Loki’s arms, worried, and borderline afraid of Thor’s mood.  Loki watched Thor too. Thor had only barely cooled his temper and had managed to get it down from pissed to upset.  His temper snapped again and he glared at you. “That trick was cruel, lady,” he growled at you, despite that you actually cowered from him and his anger, hiding in Loki’s arms. “I expect that kind of behavior from my brother, but not from you…”

Frigga was about to jump in and stop him when you wailed at him: “Thor, I’m sorry! I didn’t know! I didn’t mean for you to get hurt!” There were tears in your eyes as you spoke.

Loki growled at Thor. “Do not do this here. She did not mean to hurt you. We just got her calmed down from earlier. Your reaction almost threw her into another asthma attack. She is sorry for what she did and did not mean to do anything to you. It was a precaution she set up so no one unseemly could take my weapon from me,” Loki re-explained to his idiot brother. 

“What? And she just decided to test it on me with no warning?” Thor growled in reply. “She knows damn well what those toys she makes are capable of,” he glared at you.

“Thor, please,” you wheezed, your airway closing at your upset.

Frigga realized that this was more than just her children squabbling and stood, pulling her royal authority around her.  “One of the four of you tell me what this is about. This. Instant,” she ordered.  

Loki pulled the inhaled from his dimensional pocket and handed it to you before he looked to his mother. “Thor and I were training this morning. After my lady updated the gift she gave me, we decided to go into a more extreme bout, powers and all. At one point, Thor decided to try and take my weapon from me and it shocked him. It resulted in Thor losing his temper and almost causing my love to go into a panic attack,” Loki explained.

“Don’t forget the part where he refuses to believe it was an accident,” Bucky added dryly while he was watching over you to make sure you go the medicine into your system properly.  

“And that,” Loki agreed as he looked over to you, returning to your side to fret over you. “Love?” he asked you gently. 

“I’m alright,” you tried to reassure him as you were struggling to calm, though your breathing was a little easier, thanks to the meds.

Thor looked chastised. “It was truly an accident?” he was so used to Loki’s tricks and sometimes cruelties that it hadn’t quite registered that you wouldn’t be the same way.  

“Do you seriously think she would be acting like this if it wasn’t true?” Loki glared at Thor.  “If so, you truly are more dim witted than I originally believed,” he growled and returned his attention to you.  Thor wanted to protest that he’d seen Loki pull similar stunts to get out of trouble, but kept his mouth shut for once.

“H-he’s so mad,” you wheezed at your Loki, desperately wanting to fix it, but not knowing how.

Loki shushed you gently.  “It’s alright, darling. He will understand eventually how sorry you are,” he told you and combed his fingers through your hair.  

Frigga rushed over and placed her gold glowing fingertips on your chest between your breasts.  Your breathing eased instantly.  “Thor accepts your apology dear. He knows you wouldn’t hurt him on purpose,” she told you gently and spared a glare to Thor who quickly agreed.  

You calmed after a moment and leaned up to kiss Loki’s cheek.  “Thank you,” you told him softly.  

Loki sighed in relief and pressed a kiss to your hair and to Frigga’s cheek.  “Thank you, mother,” he added warmly.

She nodded and touched a fingertip to Loki’s temple. /Let me teach you how to do that before you leave/ She bids him and waited patiently for him to let her into his mind so she could teach him the spell mind to mind.  It was faster and she’d taught him plenty of magic that way over the years.  Loki opened the connection without reservation and Frigga was quick to leave him the spell and get out of his mind quickly. She kissed his cheek before she returned to her own place at the table.  

The group calmed and Bucky started to tell you old stories of Steve from when they were kids. 

Thor looks around Frigga to address Loki. “She has seen our tempers before and was never like this.  Why is this time different?” he asked softly, concerned now that his temper has finally cooled, now that he realized he’d hurt the girl who was just trying to do something nice for his brother.  

“I’m not sure, exactly,” Loki admitted.  He turned to Frigga.  /Mother, do you have any ideas?/ he asked her telepathically, for his conversation to be private.  

 /I do. Your brother is quite like his father. And your darling has not told any of us what happened to her last time she was on Asgard, but if I am correct in my assumptions, Thor’s anger reminds her of those events since he is so like Odin/ Frigga replied sipping nonchalantly on her tea.  She was used to having private conversations with her son with no one being any the wiser. Loki nodded and wrapped an arm around you.  You looked up at him from your conversation with Bucky, raising an eyebrow.  

“Darlings, are you still planning to return to Midgard after breakfast?” Frigga asked. The boys both nodded.  “I know your duties take you off world, but I will miss you all terribly,” she told your whole group.  “Before you ask, yes your darling can travel, even by Bifrost. But I would urge her to rest after your friends fret over her to a little bit,” she told Loki warmly.  She knew you didn’t do well at resting.

“We will come back to visit as soon as we are able. And I’m sure I can convince my kitten to rest a little more after we spend a little time with our friends,” Loki reassured his mother. He’d take care of you whether you liked it or not.

/Be careful with her.  It will take awhile for her heart and lungs to heal properly from years of not using them.  Even though she’s Asgardian now, it will still take time/ Frigga warned Loki.

/I understand. I will do what I can to make sure she continues to rest. I’ll even have the team help. They will not allow her to wander around while she is still recovering./ 

/Then I will allow you to take her home/ Frigga replied warmly.

/Thank you for everything, mother/ 

/Of course, my son/ Frigga replied

Loki turned to you “Are you ready to return home?” he asked you gently.  He’d stall if you thought you needed to stay longer.

You nodded. “I’m sure our friends miss us,”

You all exchanged your goodbyes and headed to the Bifrost, your pockets full of pastries for the journey on Frigga’s insistence.  Heimdall looked over Loki’s staff and nodded his approval of it. He confirmed that your modification will allow Loki to call him with it. Loki had always been able to call to Heimdall, but the staff would make him easier to find.  

Heimdall opened the Bifrost for you and you all stepped in to return home.