#he stacked the rings on the tower thing and then clapped for himself

[grichel]

called baby2 “my liege” instinctively just now.

[emile-hides]

H*lding H*nds Imagines

I am once again making content for me and me alone because I have an unhealthy obsession for BNHA blond boys

BNHA Blond Boys X GN!Reader h*nd h*lding moments

Characters: All Might, Present Mic, Fatgum, Twice, Aoyama, Ojiro, Kaminari, Bakugo, Honenuki, Monoma, Mirio

All Might

Knuckle brush

You handed him things before

Stacks of papers to grade, coffee after a long day, a napkin when he goes into a coughing fit

But something about this time turns his face a deep red

He withdrew quickly, in a jerking manner that dragged more attention than you’re sure he meant it to

He cleared this throat and thanked you quietly before shuffling off

It took a few moments to really set on you

You’d made contact

Such little contact you’d barely even felt it

He was cold, his skin rough and calloused, wrinkled and dry

How you managed to notice so much with such brief contact is astounding

And also incomparable to how much he noticed

He’s thinking about it all day, glancing at where the contact was made, shuffling, flushing to himself, holding his knuckles to his lips

Do it on purpose next time you hand him a stack of papers and he’ll drop them

Present Mic

In a crowd

It’s LOUD

You and Hizashi are trying to get home after a live show

The crowd is huge and still hyped from the concert

The quarters are tight, the space is limited, and without his towering hair spike it’s hard to keep track of your loud blond

Eventually a strong clasp from a hand horribly decorated in rings, fingerless gloves, and black nail polish claps on your wrist as your continued to be pulled though a crowd

When the world finally starts to calm and you have room to breath his hand slides to connect to your palm

Fingers intertwine with yours as a series of “Y’all good?”s start, followed quickly by an excited narration of the chaos that just ensued

He’d taken your hand so causally you barely even noticed

The two of you walked in a much calmer crowd, hand in hand, as Hizashi randomly picked bystanders out of his vocal range and made up their life stories to tell you

Fatgum

Big hands

You laid idly on the couch in Fatgum’s office, the interns long sense gone home

A pile of paperwork blocked your view of your hard working hero as he sat at his desk

You slumped and slid off the couch, boredom rising as you phone lie dead on the table nearby

A loud groan drives a “Just a bit longer, gumdrop” from behind the piles of unfinished work, a bit longer could be years for all you cared

Sliding across the hardwood floor on your back, you found yourself beside Taishiro’s desk, looking up at him from an angle you were rather use to

He was focused, with a smile still on his face as he worked, writing with one hand, the other causually turning Takoyaki in the grill built into his desk

You sat up, watching quietly. He was typically pretty observant, but he may not yet have noticed your approach

When his hand stopped turning and released, you took your chance

Both your hands snatched his wrist, sitting up a bit to rest yourself on his lap, you examined his large palm

He chuckled, “What’cha doin’, cupcake?”

His hand was massive in your own, enough to make anyone feel like a child. It could engulf you, hold half your torso and still have a pinkie to spare

You pressed on his palm, he hummed and returned to work, leaving you to admire as you pleased

His knuckles were scarred, several gashes and scrapes from punching at materials harder than even his fat could handle

Old burns from cooking, white spots on his finger tips from a time before he learned patients

You leaned back on him, holding his hand in your own, and watched him work

He seemed much more blissed from your company

Twice

Not enough hands

Jin’s a very physical person

He hangs off you every chance he can get, coddling and loving on you

He finds it annoying

So it’s not surprise as you two settled down for a movie night he was instantly on your lap like a cat

He lays over you like a blanket, limbs tangled every which way, head on your chest, looking at you more than the movie

One of your hands lay idly by your head, that one he has his own over, fingers tangled messily, almost uncomfortably

His other arm trapped under you, a hug from below, resting also uncomfortably against your spine

Leaving your free hand to tangle in his hair, a rare sight to have his mask off, though it probably wouldn’t last the whole movie, it should be cherished until then

When you notice his staring at you more than the screen, you choose to join him

You slide your hand from his hair to his cheek, he leans into it with the most lovestruck puppydog look a man his age could muster

He then starts to fidget around, moving like he’s stuck

It doesn’t take long from there for him to start getting frustrated with himself, splitting an argument for two between just him

You gently lift his head to regain eye contact and ask what’s wrong

He nearly starts crying

“I want to hold your cheek too but I don’t have enough hands!!”

He’s not willing to remove your hand from his hold or pull his other arm out from under you to compromise his own needs

He does eventually start crying over his lack of extra limbs to love you with

Aoyama

Standing ovation

Roaring applause rippled thought the auditorium

It wasn’t a big show, or a big stage, but it was your first written play, and seeing it go over so well was enough to bring a tear to your eyes

You joined the audience in standing to applause as the actors took the stage for the final bow

Only the lead, your star, wasn’t there with them

You blinked once, twice, three times before panic set in

There’s no way Yuga Aoyama would miss the chance to stand center stage in a spotlight. If he wasn’t on stage something must have happened

You tried your best not to look around too fervently, not wanting to startle anyone else

When a hand clasped yours

“And let’s not forget the playwright~✨”

Before you could question how he said that with his mouth, you were dragged onto the stage by your previously mentioned star, with his own mic in hand you don’t remember giving him

He held your arm up above his head as he runway walked his way along the stage, you closely in toe

You were going to go on stage eventually but you’d planned to be a lot more quiet about it, when more people had left early not wanting to sit though the applause

But instead, here you were, center stage, hand held high like you’d just won a boxing match by your own and only Aoyama

How he could stand being this bright all the time way beyond you

For now though, it was rather nice 

Ojiro

Lost and found

You stepped out of your class stretching, ready for a well deserved lunch break when you heard your classmates muttering

“Isn’t he from the hero course?”

“What’s he doing?”

Being nosy wasn’t usually your strong suit, but the mutterings has peaked your interest

You followed the eyes of those speaking to find a blond boy sitting in the floor of the hall, knees pulled to his chest to keep his legs from disrupting the flow of traffic, with his tail resting over his feet to protect them from being stepped on

He smiled and gave a light wave to your class as the dispersed

You alone approached him, curiosity peaking. Why was he sitting out here in the hall?

When question he very sheepishly answered, “I, uh.. I got lost on my way to class”

There was several things wrong with that

Number one being, he’d been at this school half a year now. He has one classroom, a big classroom, in the hero course. It’s not easy to miss??

Number two, it was noon. Lunchtime. He has one classroom. How long had he been lost???

These questions had answers and he was, while slightly embarrassed, happy to share he had, in fact, been lost all morning. Not just in finding his class, but also in finding the exit to the building, any teachers he knew, or his phone to call for help

You began to feel sorry for the guy, as this seemed to be a common occurrence in his daily life

With a sigh, you offered your hand to help him up

It was lunch, for all courses, so surely he’d see his hero course classmates in the cafeteria. No one turns up Lunchrush’s food after all

He smiled and took your hand, lifting himself from the floor with a thankyou

“I’m Ojiro, by the way. You are...?”

He was rather polite to talk to the entire walk, his grip on your hand was soft, gentle, and his smile never seemed to waver

Kaminari

Swing yer partner round and round

“Oh this is my JAM!”

Mina excitedly turned up your shitty little radio before kicking herself up off the floor, grabbing Sero all in one quick motion

The two danced horribly off beat, you quickly guess Mina had never heard this song before in her life, just wanted to get moving

“Come on you two, it’s dance break time!”

You found yourself enraptured with her energy, already forgetting the homework you all were doing

Kaminari took your hand much like how Mina took Sero’s and began to dance just as off beat and spuratic as queen pinkie had

You laughed, stumbling with every step, same as the others, the giggling energy filling a previously silent room

Denki’s fingers dug into your knuckles as he smirked, suddenly spinning on his heel and dragging you with him

The two of you became a tornado in your tiny dorm room, barely keeping from knocking into your tea table as you spun like a couple of children

You could hear Mina cheer and laugh, a brief glanced told you Sero was recording this silly moment

You looked across the way at your dance partner

Spinning, laughing his head off like this was the most fun he’d ever had, eyes closed, caring not for his surroundings

You decided to let go

The momentum sent you both toppling, you safely into Mina, who was more then ready to catch you

Denki got the much less desirable aforementioned tea table, which sent him toppling backwards over the also aforementioned homework

If you all could have laughed any louder, you would

Bakugo

Sweaty hands

You always knew when Bakugo was going to hold your hand

He may think he’s smooth, wiping his hand on the pocket of his pants before reaching behind himself to grab at you

But you’d always notice

It was a good indicator you were walking too slow for his liking, or the area up ahead was crowed, or that he simply felt you were too far away

You couldn’t initiate holding hands, when he didn’t actively want to be in contact he’d keep his hands shoved deep in his pockets

So you just had to wait for him to wipe himself off and reach for you

You were free to wrap yourself around his arm whenever, though

He’ll look pissed, but won’t say a word

And if you move away, he’ll wipe his hand on his pants, and offer it to you, a silent plea for you to come back

Honenuki

Magic hands

You stretched out over the couch of the 1-B common room with a whine, the rest of your class in a similar state

Training was hell today, sparing with class 1-A was never a joke, and with Monoma egging the whole game up to be more than it should have been, it all just escalated to a point you all wish it hadn’t

“Alright, next.”

Honenuki, a godsend, your blessed angel, helped Tsuburaba off the second common room couch, his typically wide eyes closed and relaxed as he wobbled his way across the room

You happily took his place, stretching out on your stomach before your classmate with the magic powers of massage

His hands pressed into your back and you instantly relaxed, letting out a low hum as you snuggled the pillow under your chin

Honenuki returned your hum, his hands pressing into all your tenses spots, almost instantly releasing them from their knots

You’d probably have fallen asleep, if it wasn’t over so fast

He had the entire class to get though after all, though he hated to rush an art form

You took his hand as he helped you stand, the actual minute of his touch enough to wobble your legs

Kissing his knuckle and thanking him for sharing his magic, you found yourself plopped peacefully on the couch beside Tsuburaba

Honenuki chuckled at you as he called next, happy to be of service

Monoma

He’s showing off

You’d known for a while now Monoma didn’t know how to shut the fuck up

He’d brag about anything, over anyone, to everyone

He’d always loudly bragged about how much better his class was, how much stronger his friendships were, how absolutely amazing his partner was

You being said partner didn’t make said bragging less annoying

The two of you had been together less than an hour and he was already boasting about your perfection to all who would hear

Some genuine, loving, almost gaggingly sweet comments

Others just to rub it in the face of class 1-A as much as possible

A week into this relationship and people were starting to think you must be come kind of god with how Monoma spoke about you

You’d been on two dates with the guy

Now here you were, holding his hand on the walk to class, and regretting every step

As every single person who passed must take note of the fact you were holding his hand

And also must be aware how blessed he is to be holding your hand in return

And really you started to understand the concerned look Kendo gave you when you told her you’d agreed to date Neito Monoma

Still his words were genuine, no matter how they came across, and he truly had a million and one things to say about you

So you could hold though the embarrassment his overexcited bragging may cause

He just wants to show you off

Mirio

Quietly

You sat by his bed side, holding gently to his limp hand

Moments ago he was inconsolable, crying and screaming his lungs out

His quirk gone

His teacher gone

Everything he worked so hard for seemed to vanish in an instant

His grip, still so strong, had left your hand bruised, circulation cut off

It wasn’t a concern you really had

Sleeping, his pain was still so obvious

Bags under his eyes, dried streaks of tears still down his keeps

And your hand still tightly gripped in his

What would happen next, where he would go, who you all would become

They were all problems for the future

Tomorrow you could work on a solution

Tonight, you could hold his hand

[teamhappyme]

a series of promising events (1/5)

aaron hotchner x female! reader

word count: 7.9k :)

a/n: hello hello hello! this is my first hotch fic, and the first of three parts (edit: it’s actually 5 now lolol). it’s going to cover 8 (maybe 9?) events over the course of several years, so it needed to be broken up in the most rational way possible. this is my baby, and has been in the editing process with my lazy brain since september. please, please, please, let me know if the timeline or anything is confusing to you! i have a tendency to under explain things (as my profs will testify to), and i don’t want y���all to be confused. i hope whoever stumbles across this enjoys!

also, big shoutout to @winterscaptain, you are a gift to the world, tali. i am in love with the ajf universe, and that shit inspired me to polish this piece up for the tumblr verse to see. 

alright friends, here we go.

link to part 2: here

**** 

June 2005

You wouldn’t forget your first day in the BAU for as long as you lived. It was forever ingrained in your memory, the good, bad, and embarrassing moments all stored away. Stored away that is until Derek Morgan decided to dredge it back up as you passed your six month mark on the job. 

Derek, Prentiss, Reid and yourself were finishing up paperwork in the bullpen after an unusually slow friday. You were usually the first one done, earning a groan from the doctor across from your desk. They all envied your English degree and professional writing skills. 

“Hey bobo,” The nickname Derek had assigned to you was named after your alma mater, and extremely annoying. “Remember your first day, when I tricked you into doing Prentiss and my paperwork for almost two weeks?” You shook your head, not having to look at Morgan to be able to hear the smirk in his voice. “Do you think I could trick you again?”

7:47. Thirteen minutes earlier than you needed to be. Yet the room full of agents you were supposed to join was already filled. You liked these people already, they were punctual and functioned in the morning. 

You pushed one of the glass doors open with your ballet flat, juggling your box of office supplies while keeping your crossbody balanced on your shoulder. The sound of fingers pounding on keyboards, phones ringing on loop welcomed you into the BAU. Along with a shove to your back, causing you to lunge forward. You felt something cold run down your back, cursing yourself for wearing a white blouse.

“Are you alright?” You looked up to find a tall mop of brown hair and big brown eyes looking down at you. “Well, I’m a little damp.”

He nodded while looking at your box full of sticky notes and pens. “You must be y/n l/n. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. We’ve been taking bets on what time you’d arrive. And you beat us all with your extreme punctuality.” You laughed. “Sorry to let you down. It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.” You extended your hand for him to shake, but he just stared at your extended limb.

“Yeah, he doesn’t do that sort of thing.” The new voice came into view, shaking your hand that was meant for Reid. He was tall like Spencer, but was lean with a smile on his face. Confident. “I’m Derek Morgan. When JJ told us the new recruit graduated with an english degree, I expected someone with tweed elbow patches and big round glasses.” 

“You’re an english major? Statistically speaking, only three percent of the agents that have been recruited for the BAU didn’t have any background in law enforcement or field experience.” This wasn’t the first time you’d been questioned at the FBI for being a liberal arts degree profiler. Your english degree and your fresh age of twenty five left many people to dismiss you through your time in the academy. But you got used to it. 

“Sorry to disappoint your stereotypical profile of an FBI agent,” You started, shifting your weight between your feet, now uncomfortable and a little embarrassed in front of your new co-workers. 

“Oh I didn’t mean it as an offense. I-” “He’s a genius, but he lacks some social cues. You’re the first girl he’s been around that’s his age in the workplace.” Morgan added and Reid elbowed his ribs. You covered the smile on your face as the two of them started to quietly bicker. 

“Let the poor woman go and settle in at least before you harass her.” A brunette woman in a black pant suit came walking toward you. She had a stern face while looking at the two men, but when she turned to you, her face softened into a smile. “Special Agent Emily Prentiss. You do not understand how happy I am to have another woman out in this bullpen.”

You laughed as she led you to the empty desk across from Dr. Reid’s. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Thanks.” You placed your box down before taking the place in. “I’m supposed to meet with SSA Hotchner,”

“Agent l/n,” All heads turned to the man descending the stairs into the bullpen. He was taller than the other two, and that was saying a lot since they practically towered over you. He had a clean boys haircut, paired with a suit and tie. No question that this was the unit chief you were to report to. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner. Welcome to the BAU.” He shook your hand before looking at the others. “JJ’s ready to debrief in the conference room.”

And just like that, the three agents sprung into action, leading the way to the board room. “We can go over the particulars when we get back from Nebraska. You ready for your first case?”

His face didn’t change, no change of tone in his voice. He lived and breathed for the BAU. Until you noticed the wedding band on his left hand. It was always the first thing you looked for when you met someone new. It was shallow and patriarchal, you knew, but it was instinct. And it put you at ease knowing there was someone out there he was doing this for. Someone he didn’t have to hold this demeanor around. 

“Ready.”

“Funny. But if you have any other insults to give, direct them to the head of the english department at Bowdoin. Mention that you’re talking about y/n l/n, with the 4.0 GPA.”

Prentiss led a slow clap as Derek shook his head. 

“I think that’s what the kids are calling a ‘mic drop’.” Spencer added and you couldn’t help your laugh. “Alright kid, why don’t you get out of here before we inevitably find ourselves back.”

You turned off the lamp on your desk and grabbed your crossbody and backpack. “Have a good weekend guys. And Reid,” He looked up, and you laughed as he pushed his hair out of his face. “Please recite the old testament for these two if they mock me while I’m gone.” He gave you a mock salute as Prentiss flipped you off on your way to Hotch’s office. 

In the six months you’d been here, these three people you shared the bullpen with had quickly become the siblings you never had. Morgan acted as your annoying older brother, constantly picking on you and Reid. Not only were you the newbie, but you were now the youngest, only a year behind Spencer. Emily Prentiss on the other hand, was the protective older sister you always dreamed of. She was confident and held her own against the male dominated team, but knew when to be soft spoken and caring with victims and the team when needed.

And then there was Dr. Spencer Reid. The smartest person on the planet, in your book. Sure, he was a little socially awkward and didn’t know when to stop listing off all the stats he knew, but you understood. He was consistently the youngest and smartest person in every classroom he walked into. There weren’t many people that wanted to get to know him without bullying him or picking apart his eidetic memory. Despite the problematic first encounter you shared, the two of you stuck together considering your combined intellect and young age. He taught you the ins and outs of the BAU, and helped you get accustomed to D.C. Although, Spencer himself hadn’t really ventured out into the city in the four years he’s been here. So the two of you tried to see as many things as you could in the rare weekends that you weren’t working a case. You worked your way through a third of the smithsonian's, and saw the Declaration of Independence. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a little emotional while looking at it. Spencer had called you a nerd, and you didn’t mind one bit. 

You walked up the steps to Hotch’s office, case reports in your hand from this week. The blinds were open, you could see him working through the stack of files on his desk. Despite the exhaustion written all over his face, his sport coat was still on, tie still impeccably tight around his neck. Even when he was in private he kept up the put together facade.

You knocked on the door, and heard a quiet ‘come in’ as you twisted the door knob. “L/n,” “I have my case reports from this week.” “Just place them on my desk.”

“How much longer are you here for?” He let out a sigh while closing the file in his hand. 

“Another hour or two.” You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to the punch. “And before you offer to stay and help me, I don’t need any help.”

“You just don’t want to listen to me singing Coldplay under my breath.” He huffed out a semblance of a laugh. A month into your bout here, Morgan had accosted you on the jet on the way home from Milwaukee. None of you had slept in three days, and you were currently enthralled in your new mp3 player and Coldplay's newest album ‘X&Y’. After the third song, a paper cup was thrown at the back of your head, followed by a ‘I’m trying to sleep, bobo’ from Derek. It was a habit of yours that you had yet to kick. 

“That’s part of the reason.” “I knew it.” He opened another file, and you took that as a cue to wrap up the conversation. You rummaged through your purse, looking for the blue envelope you sealed this morning. 

“Um, I also wanted to drop this off. It’s for Jack, you mentioned he was being Christened this weekend.” You placed the card on top of the pile of paperwork, your cursive handwriting on top. “I was going to get him a stuffed animal or some type of toy, but he’s only three months old and wouldn’t know the difference. This check may be the penny that helps you guys afford Harvard.”

A real laugh escaped his lips now, as he picked up the card. “Thank you, y/n. You didn’t have to do this.” You smiled. “I know, but I wanted to. He’s a cute kid.” 

He looked at the framed picture of Jack on his desk, then back up to you. No one else had mentioned the Christening after Hotch first brought it up. He was quiet, and only liked to talk about his family if he initiated the conversation. You could tell you were the only person who had reached out like this, with a simple gift. 

Hotch had been the hardest person to get to know in your time here. Despite Morgan saying there are no secrets kept among the team, you knew these people had their demons. And Hotch certainly had enough both professionally and personally. You didn’t want to push the professional boundaries, but you always wanted to be present in the lives of people that you shared time with. To let them know you were thinking of them, and cared for them. It was probably your most damaging personality trait.

“I’ll let you finish your work so you can get home at a reasonable hour. Tell Haley I said hi.” He nodded. “I will y/n. Have a nice weekend.”

****

December 2005

You pride yourself in the fact that you haven’t shot your weapon in the year you’ve spent with the BAU. It meant that you were successful at connecting to these people’s emotions, despite the asterisk next to their name labeling them as a serial killer or sadist. Guns were there to protect you, and they were always the last result. But as you pulled up to a log cabin in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania, you had a feeling your record was going to be broken.

The team was working a case where six bodies, two adult males and four teenage males, were found mutilated, along with a cut from sternum to belly button. It was the first case you worked that had no female victims. A small victory, in your mind. But, it was also the first case you worked that the profile of the unsub fit a sixteen year old girl, who had most likely been assaulted as a young child. When children were involved, the team acted differently. They were failed by the people that were supposed to care for them, they were consistently hurt with no one to turn to. And as a result, they would spend the rest of their lives paying for it. 

You, Prentiss, and Hotch got out of the suburban, strapping the bullet proof vests onto your bodies. Thanks to Garcia, you had found the unsub’s location once she turned her cell phone back on. A cruiser pulled up behind you guys, two more cops falling out. 

“Prentiss, you take the two officers down with you to the exterior basement access. L/n and I will take the main floor.” Hotch ordered as he pulled his gun from his holster. 

You could feel the anxiety rising in your chest, but there was no time to calm it down. You barely had enough time to strap on your vest. 

“Ready?” Hotch looked at you before taking another step toward the cabin. You nodded, pulling your own gun from it’s holster. “Ready.”

You followed him up to the front porch, announcing yourselves before kicking the door in. You cleared the living room as Hotch cleared the dining room and bathroom, leaving you both to meet up in the kitchen. 

That was where you found her. You saw her first, hiding half of her face behind the rifle that she had pointed at you. She was trembling, dried tear streaks left on her cheeks. She was petrified. 

“Stephanie Moore?” Her grip on the gun tightened at the mention of her name as you heard Hotch’s footsteps get closer. “My name is Y/n L/n, I’m with the FBI. I don’t want to hurt you Stephanie, but I need you to put the gun down.”

Hotch joined you on your left, both of you directing your weapons toward the young girl. “I did what I had to do to survive. They took everything from me, every last shred of dignity I had. I wasn’t going to let them kill me.” You never thought it would be possible for your heart to break while listening to an unsub. But this tiny girl standing in front of you, with her whole life ahead of her, it just hit you too hard. 

“I know you did, Stephanie. You were so brave and so strong. Not many people could survive what you did.” She started to loosen her grip on the rifle, you were getting through to her. “I’m here to help you. I want to put an end to all of this.”

You glanced at Hotch and he gave the slightest nod, giving you the okay to take a step forward together. “I couldn’t let them get away with it.” Ever so slowly, the gun started to lower in her hands. 

“You’re doing great. Just a little lower and this will all be over.” Before she could completely lower her weapon, you heard the storm door to the basement slam shut. 

Stephanie jumped, raising her weapon back up in her hands.

“You said you were here to help me!” She exclaimed, the gun pointed at you as Hotch took another step forward. “I am Stephanie, but other members of my team are trying to help the boy you took.”

Fresh tears started to fall down her cheeks and you knew you were losing her. “Y/n,” 

He whispered to you and she moved the gun from your chest to Hotch’s. “Shutup!”

“Stephanie, hey, look at me,” She shook her head, continuing her stare at Hotch. “He’s in on it, he has to be!”

“He’s not! He’s my boss, trust me, Stephanie.” You heard the safety go off, and before her foot landed as she took her first step towards Hotch, you emptied two rounds into her chest. He rushed forward as she fell, kicking away her gun and checking her pulse. Nothing. 

You lowered your gun as your breathing increased, looking at the lifeless sixteen year old lying in front of you. A hand covered your mouth as you realized what you’d done. 

You killed her. 

You remembered what it felt like to be sixteen. Struggling to find your identity, wanting so desperately to be noticed by someone. For anyone to reach out and help you. 

But you took that away from her. You ended her life before it even began.

“Are you guys okay?” You heard Prentiss come up through the basement, but your eyes were closed as she entered the room. “We’re good. Y/n took the shot.”

Hotch stood up and dared a look at you, taking in your grief stricken state. “Did you find the boy?” 

“Yeah, he’s gonna be fine.”

Before Emily could greet you, you ran to the corner of the room, heaving up whatever was inside your almost empty stomach. Your throat burned as you threw up for a second time, vaguely registering two people calling your name.

“You’re okay, y/n,” Prentiss approached you, gently resting a hand on your back. You coughed a few more times before a towel was being rushed to your side. “It’s okay.”

The whirring of more sirens forced you to open your eyes and straighten up from your sick position. Prentiss had eyes filled with concern, not letting go of you until you gave her a slight nod. She handed you a water before she exited the house, letting two uniforms in. They went straight to Hotch, asking questions and looking over the body before their eyes landed on you. You felt exposed, like you were the one lying lifeless on the ground for all to see. You took a few deep breaths to get your breathing under control, and tore your gaze away from Stephanie. 

Hotch finished his conversation with the officers before walking over to you. “Hey,” He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but flinch. “It was a clean shot, but protocol states they have to take your gun and badge as well as give a statement to IA.” You nodded, taking your badge from your pocket. “They’re gonna take you back to the station and do an interview. This should all be wrapped up in a few hours. We’ll meet you back there, alright?”

You glanced up at his big brown eyes, warm as they bore into yours instead of their usual slanted nature. “Okay.”

The two officers escorted you to their patrol car, taking your badge and gun before you got in. You felt naked without them, like you were a nobody wandering the streets looking for someone to help, or looking for someone to help you.

It was a good thirty minute ride to the station from the cabin, and when you got there a detective from IA was already waiting for you. They led you into an interrogation room where they already had Section Chief Strauss hooked up through video call. Great. 

The questions they asked were pretty straight forward, nothing that couldn’t be answered by a crime scene report from the technicians. But the government insisted on interviewing cops involved in shootings, just in case it wasn’t legal. As if anyone wanted to deal with the psychological repercussions of taking another’s life. 

It took them nearly an hour and a half to get through the interrogation. In part due to you almost throwing up a third time as Strauss asked you to repeat the moment you shot Stephanie. They gave you a few minutes to regroup, some ginger ale and crackers from the vending machine to help settle your stomach. They took your fingerprints last, letting Strauss finish up with the bureaucratic discussion.

“That’s all for now Agent L/n. We’ll debrief tomorrow morning when you’re back in Quantico.” “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

They led you out of the interrogation room and back through the lobby leaving you at the conference room your team had been set up in the last three days.

The white boards were still littered with images of the victims, crime scenes, and the unsub. Piles of evidence were scattered along the table, and you tried to resist looking through them again. You knew if you went through the images of the mutilated boys again, you wouldn’t survive the emotional turmoil. But you needed to know that you made the right choice, the only choice to prevent more families from going through the same pain and suffering as the Corbins. 

You turned to the white board, glancing at the first victim. Connor Corbin was fifteen years old, on the varsity soccer team, and involved in musical theatre. He was cousins with the teenager that abused Stephanie. She targeted all the men in her abusers life, letting them know what he did to her. Wanting them to understand the pain she’d had to endure because of their ignorance.

You looked through the rest of the victims, the abusers two younger brothers, father and uncle were among those killed. The boys were only twelve years old. You brought a hand up to cover your mouth, remembering meeting their mother on the first day you were here. JJ was the one to speak to her, as the communications liaison, most people trusted her with being the most empathetic. That fact was up for debate, in your opinion. She was a wreck, and JJ needed help comforting her from Morgan. But you understood, boy had you understood. Her whole family was killed. 

“Y/n,” You jumped, startled by the new voices in the room. Hotch, Spencer, and JJ had arrived back at the station. “Did they clear you?”

You nodded as Spencer walked over to you. “Yeah, Strauss just wants to debrief again tomorrow morning.” “Of course she does.”

Section Chief Erin Strauss is a hardass and not the biggest fan of the BAU. “Did they give you your piece back?” Your hand immediately flew to your left hip, void of your gun and holster. “No, I completely forgot about it.” You went to move toward the door, but Spencer laid a hand on your forearm. “It’s okay, I’ll get it.” He gave your arm a comforting squeeze before leaving the conference room. 

You spared a glance at Hotch as you started cracking your knuckles. “JJ, why don’t you call the airstrip, tell them to get the jet ready.” “Yes sir.”

In an effort to keep your mind busy, you started to take down the pictures from the white board, erasing all Reid’s notes in his barely legible handwriting. The boy had three PhD’s, yet couldn’t figure out the concept of penmanship. 

“Are you alright?” “Fine.” You pulled an empty manila folder out, stuffing Connor’s pictures in. “You don’t have to clean this up for them.” “I know.”

He sighed. “Y/n, stop.” His voice was stern now and you dropped the files. “I asked if you were alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alright, Hotch?” You crossed your arms over your chest, letting a breath out. “We found her, we saved her from hurting anyone else, and we brought closure to Mrs. Corbin. Case closed, the BAU gets to go home.”

Your eyes started to water but you refused to bring your hands up to wipe them away. You wouldn’t let them fall. “We’ve all been where you are right now.”

“I’m confident that you’ve never felt what I’m feeling before.”

“Try me.” He didn’t flinch, his hands remained in his pockets, stare heavy on your own. 

“When JJ presented this case to us, that two teenage boys and their fathers had been murdered, it was a no brainer for all of us to take it. Two twelve year old boys dead, two more teenagers missing, how could we not take it? But then we got here, and we met with the victims' families, we learned the boys' backgrounds, the unsub’s profile.” You scoffed, not sure who you were angered with at the moment. “This girl was raped by a seventeen year old boy and his father for two years, and we’re still supposed to treat her like a monster, like Tim Vogel?” You shook your head. “I’m not condoning what she did, but, can you blame her? And then we went in, and she had a gun raised at us. I would’ve been able to talk her down, I know I could’ve saved her if she didn’t have the gun.”

“But she had a gun.” You nodded. “She had a gun and it was raised at you. And I didn’t even flinch to take the shot. All it took was two seconds for me to forget her pain, her trauma, and reduce her to a sick serial killer.”

Even though that’s what Stephanie ultimately was, you didn’t want to accept it. Because she was a person before she went through all that pain, she was someone’s daughter, who was involved in gymnastics and softball, and had stuffed animals scattered across her bedroom. God, were you ever going to forget what she looked like?

“Feeling guilty about taking someone’s life is a good thing. It means your human, that you care.” Hotch freed his hands from his pockets, taking the file you packed out of your grip. “You’re not like them, y/n.”

You dared a glance at him as you felt more tears spring to the surface. Those big brown eyes could tell a story all on their own, and right now, they were pleading for you to believe him. You would try. 

“Got the goods.” Spencer came back in, your gun and credentials in hand. “They really had the audacity to I.D. me, as if we hadn’t just worked a case with them the last seventy two hours.” 

He got you to laugh, which served you enough cover to wipe your eyes dry. And out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw a rare smile cross Hotch’s face. 

But Aaron knew there was more to your guilt than just this little girl. He was the leader of this team, it was his job to know the people he was in charge of like the back of his hand in order to keep them safe. And in the year that you’d been here, he noticed how reserved you were. Too reserved and too broken for a twenty-six year old. How you took on the giver persona to hide the fact that you were terribly closed off to others and your emotions. You would be the first to offer help, to be a listening ear, or lend your shoulder to cry on. But you never accepted it from anyone. Not that you had to, until today. 

When Hotch started to notice you and Spencer growing closer at the three month mark, he was excited. Proud, even. He knew you were struggling with the gruesome cases (he knew you threw up after every crime scene, despite your best efforts with barf bags and travel size mouthwash) and hoped you could share your burdens with the young doctor. But it seemed like they only grew in time, like the smile on your face. Hotch just hoped you knew your limits.

“Gather whatever else you guys need for Quantico. Wheels up in thirty.” Reid nodded for both of you as Hotch left the conference room, presumably to find JJ. 

“Everything okay in here?” He asked as you continued to empty the white boards, this time at a faster pace. Of course he had noticed the red rim on your waterline and the red tip on your nose. Spencer could read you better than anyone else, regardless of being a profiler or not.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just talked through the case.” His feet stayed nailed to the ground, yet his eyes continued to stick to the back of your head. You sighed and stopped moving, turning to face him. “Spencer, I can feel you boring holes into the back of my head.”

He had a sheepish smile and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. We have copies of all this back at the office, I already faxed it over to Garcia. Why don’t we spend the next twenty eight minutes searching for a good burger before the flight home.”

You smiled. “Okay. As long as I can get a vanilla shake, too.”

****

May 2006

Growing up, you always wanted an office job. A boring nine to five with your own cubicle, a script to follow when your phone rang and a customer needed help. You’d have a generic wall calendar pinned on the particle board, sticky notes littering your monitor screen, and maybe a few pictures of pets and future family. It was safe, predictable, and what you were constantly told all you would be capable of.

Now, as you’re sitting on the FBI owned jet with your six special agent coworkers, you can’t imagine living that life you once dreamt of. 

It was nearing two a.m., and you were two hours into the flight home from Los Angeles. Reid was passed out on the couch, Prentiss and JJ in the same state of mind in the cluster of four chairs, legs spread out. Morgan and Rossi were sitting across from one another, each listening to their own playlists. And by the way Rossi was tapping his fingers against the arm rest, you knew it was some genre of opera. 

This left you in the back of the jet, staring out the window as you passed over Nebraska. You always had the map up on your screen, wanting to know every state you passed over. No matter the case, you always looked forward to the plane ride. It calmed you, oddly enough. 

“Not tired?” Hotch took the seat across from you, handing you one of the two cups of tea. “Plane rides are too exciting for me to catch any sleep.”

You took a sip of the hot drink and your face scrunched out of instinct. You never liked tea, but you tried it again and again when people assured you that it would calm you down. It never worked. 

“You could just say no,” He added and you smiled. “I know. But my taste buds may change one of these times.”

He took a sip out of his own cup, no change of expression on his face. You couldn’t help the chuckle that left your lips and his eyes narrowed on you. 

“What?” 

“Well, you may enjoy the taste, but it seems like it’s calming chamomile effect has never worked on you, either.” “We’re not supposed to profile each other.” 

“Then don’t even think about rattling off excuses of why I’m not sleeping.”

He looked down at his cup, slowly nodding his head. “Well if you don’t want to talk about what’s really bothering you, because I know it’s not sleep, I can bore you with Jack’s sleep routine we have to stick to.” You smiled. “You know that I’m the only one on this team that would actually be interested in Jack’s sleeping routine. Hell, anything with that chubby little baby would interest me. Bring it on, Hotch.”

It was no secret that Jack Hotchner was your favorite person on the planet. Not only was he the chubbiest little nugget you’d ever seen, he was the result of two of the strongest people you knew. 

The first time you met Haley, she was six months pregnant with Jack, begging Hotch to leave the office early for a date night. You made the afternoon walk up to his office, dropping off some files for him to sign when you first saw her.

“Come on, Aaron. This baby is going to be here before we know it, and who knows the next time we’ll have any alone time will be.”

Before he could respond, you knocked on the open door. Both of their heads snapped over to you, and a red blush of embarrassment spread across your cheeks. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. Just dropping off some reports for you to sign off on.”

You smiled at the petite blonde woman while placing the files on the desk. “It’s okay l/n. This is my wife, Haley Hotchner. Haley, this is Agent y/n l/n, she started about a month ago.” She smiled back at you, extending a hand to shake. 

“It’s nice to meet you, y/n. I’ll leave the agent part out, it makes you sound like a robot.” She said and glared at her husband before placing her hand back on her growing belly. You laughed once you heard Hotch let out a breath, knowing he wasn’t offended with her joke. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” The smile only grew on your face as you looked at her, admiring her own belly. “Congratulations on the baby. It’s always exciting to bring a baby into the world.”

“Thank you. If only my husband thought going out with me was half as exciting, he would’ve been gone a half an hour ago.” “Haley!” He was more than surprised that she would speak so cavalierly while at the office, especially around someone he had barely gotten a chance to know yet. But the two girls only shared a laugh.

“Hotch, why don’t you go. I can hold things down around here.” “Y/n, it’s not your responsibility to. And quite frankly-” You dropped a file to the desk, boldly interrupting your bosses statement. You were only acting like this because you knew his wife deserved half the attention he gave to this place. “It’s a friday night, and your beautiful, pregnant wife is asking you to go to dinner with her. JJ and I will be here if anything comes up, I’ll even redirect your calls to my desk.”

“I like you.” Haley said with a smile, gently squeezing your shoulder. “She means business.”

Hotch let out a sigh, reluctantly grabbing his briefcase and punching a few buttons on his phone to make sure his calls went to you. “You or JJ call me immediately if I’m needed.”

“Promise. Now go have fun.” He gave you the smallest smile as he grabbed Haley’s extended hand to him. “Thank you, y/n. I owe you one.” Haley said as they exited his office. But you weren’t looking for a favor in return. You did this to make them happy, and you always felt better when those that surrounded you were at their best.

But Haley did end up paying you back. She asked you to babysit the first night her and Hotch went out after the baby was born. Apparently, she was impressed with your background in social services that Rossi had drunkenly let slip at the office christmas party. And only you would get excited to babysit a poopy baby, for free. And you continued to do it as many times as they needed you to.

You earned a smile from the reserved unit chief, and raised a fist in the air. “I’ll have to add that to the team tally sheet. I’m now tied with Reid for the lead in making you crack a human expression.” “Doesn’t matter who’s in the lead, you’re all behind Jack.” He quipped back and you returned his smile.

You looked back out the window of the jet, the view of any terrain was quite literally clouded. You could see the moon reflecting on the puffy clouds, and you knew then and there you could be converted to a night person if you could look at this view every night.

“I wanted to check in with you, about Randall Garner.” You looked back to your boss, eyes glued to your own, an earnest gaze in them. “With what happened last time-”

“Last time it was a sixteen year old girl. This time it was a psychotic father who was torturing his child. There’s a broad spectrum.”

“So you don’t feel guilty about taking his life?” The way your stomach flipped at the mention of your actions merely hours ago should have worried you more than it did. 

“Of course I feel guilty.” You quipped back, and quickly looked around to make sure you didn’t disturb anyone else. Hotch didn’t even flinch. “I didn’t take this job to play God. I wanted to help people, I wanted to stop people from getting hurt. To be on the other side of the heartbreak.”

Before transferring to Quantico, you worked as a social worker in Brooklyn for three years, straight out of college. You saw first hand the horrors and trauma that came with being in the foster system, and you wanted to help children going through the same situation you had. 

This became your life, even after you escaped it. And one day, it became too much. You needed a fresh start, to make a change and help people from a different platform. And with your degree in English, and minor in psychology, the BAU seemed to be a perfect fit for a new career. 

“Why did you leave DCFS?” It irked you to no end how his voice stayed so calm when he was clearly agitated. Especially since the silky smooth tone had talked you off an emotional ledge one too many times.

“Why are you interrogating me? Strauss said it was a clean shot, that she was proud to have a man like that dead and accounted for.” A direct quote from the ever emotionless section chief. If only she had any field experience, she would understand what this job was like. “Besides, I’ve been here for a year and half. You should have my file memorized by now.”

“Half of your file is sealed. Strauss must have a soft spot for you.” You actually laughed at that. Strauss most certainly did not have a soft spot for you. She was however under orders from the Attorney General of New York to keep my file sealed, no matter my employer. 

“My sealed file has nothing to do with the actions I took tonight.” You uncrossed your legs now and turned your body to face him. This conversation wasn’t ending any time soon. “If I needed help grieving this process, I would ask for it, Hotch. I’m fine.”

He wanted to believe you. More than anything else, he wanted to believe that you had found a routine that helped you forget the daily horrors you saw. But he knew that you were the last to leave the office every night, he knew you drove home with the light on in the backseat of your car every night. Deep down, he knew you weren’t fine. 

“We don’t ever truly know the people we work with. Despite the fact that we say there are no secrets in this unit, we all have our own demons we hold onto. I know you’re not fine, y/n.” You let out a strained laugh as you started tapping your foot anxiously against the ground. 

“I do though.” For the first time tonight, Hotch had no idea what you were talking about. His furrowed brow only made your throat tighten. “I know every single one of these people’s secrets. They confide in me because they know about my past with DCFS. Everything I knew was confidential, and it ate me up inside not being able to tell anybody the horrors these children go through.” You ran a hand through your hair; the flood gates were open. You feared there would be no turning back now. “It started out as me just wanting to get to know them. I wanted to be liked, and I wanted to trust my coworkers. And then overnight, I became Father l/n, sworn to secrecy by the Parish of the FBI. I’ve become a suggestion box, papers filling me up to the top and no one is coming to empty me out. 

“But I can’t even be mad at them,” I said as my eyes started to water, remembering what Spencer said to me two months into our friendship. “Spencer told me I’m the only person that’s ever listened to his problems without suggesting that he see someone to talk to. He said I was the only person that’s ever laughed at his stuffy jokes without making fun of him. I can’t be mad at them for confiding in me in their time of need. But I’m just,” You tried to smile as a tear rolled down your cheek. “I’m just really overflowing.”

Aaron Hotchner was lucky enough to have never experienced a heartbreak in his life. He met Haley his junior year of high school, she was his first and only girlfriend, hurling him into a life of love and happiness, sparing him any pain from loving someone too much. But as he watched you break in front of him, feeling so overwhelmed by the responsibility to be everyone’s rock, to be everyone’s source of light, he experienced his first heartbreak. And he was sure he never wanted to feel it again.

“So confide in me.” You didn’t think his tone could become any softer. His baritone voice had already been strained to keep from waking the others, and he somehow became even softer. But you shook your head, quickly bringing your hands up to wipe the tears that fell down your face. “Why not?”

“Because you’re the boss. You have all of us to worry about when we’re in the field. You have Strauss breathing down your neck, waiting for one of us to screw up.” He rested his elbows on his knees, slightly leaning toward you. “Most importantly, you have Haley and Jack that need you to be their confidante. That beautiful family needs you to be there when you’re not here.”

“Y/n, if you can’t come talk to me when you’re drowning in your own thoughts, I’ve failed you as a boss.” He sighed at your continued silence. “I can’t force you to open up. But I can’t watch you give and give and give without earning a reprieve of your own.”

So the two of you sat there, in a deafening silence, as you counted the seconds passing by. You were both too stubborn to pull away first, because that would be admitting defeat, and this conversation would end then and there. You counted to one hundred and eighty seconds, three minutes, when you finally got tired of staring into the endless brown eyes of Aaron Hotchner. 

You thought carefully about what you were going to say, what you would reveal in the magic that covered the two a.m. air. And no matter how hard you tried to in those one hundred and eighty seconds, you could not keep your eyes from watering.

“I grew up in foster care.” You started, scanning his face for any judgements. You weren’t going to find any. “The last, and most permanent foster parents I had were horrible. It was basic shit that happened to every kid in foster care, nothing scandalous enough to get them to be turned in. But their birth son,” You swallowed, trying to resist the urge to pick your fingernails. “He moved back in with them when I was fifteen. He was a loser, and he started to take a share of the subsidy checks. I heard him in the living room one night with Charlotte, one of the younger girls that lived there. She was only twelve, and I found him pinning her to the couch, a knife to her throat. And I just snapped. I lunged at him, knocking him off of her. It’s all blurry now, except for when I stabbed him in the throat.” My hand scratched at the side of my neck, subconsciously finding the spot I stabbed him. “He died before the ambulance got there. Charlotte and I both gave statements, and it was ruled as self defense. But the statement still lives in my file, and with some convincing, I got Strauss and DCFS to keep it sealed.”

In all honesty, Hotch didn’t know what to expect when you decided to open your mouth. But he never would’ve guessed this. Not from the doe eyed kid that never forgot a birthday, that got everyone a donut and coffee on Monday mornings. Not from the kindest person he worked with. 

“You know that took a lot of courage to get out, so it would be nice if you could say something.” You started to panic, wondering if he saw you as a monster, as a killer.

“You were the oldest one there, weren’t you?” Your eyes widened, how did he know that? “You grew up quick and took on the role of the parent for those younger kids. You wanted them to be safe, stay innocent for as long as they could.”

You finally tore yourself away from his gaze, starting to become too strong. Baby steps. 

“None of us had a family. I tried my hardest to shelter them from those people and make a family out of the five of us. And it worked. Because all four of them still reach out and tell me how successful they are.”

“But they don’t feel like your family.” You had a sad smile and looked back up at him. 

“Do you ever stop profiling?” He mirrored the smile you gave him. “No, they don’t. But I was old enough to understand that they needed each other more than I needed them. Besides, I found a pretty weird family to take me in.”

You earned another laugh from Hotch as you made a check mark in the air, referencing the team tally. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, searching through the cash and cards he had in there. 

“What are you doing?” He pulled out a thin wallet picture and turned it over to you. It was of him, Haley, and Jack on his first birthday. “You’ve got more than one weird family to belong to.”

He extended the picture to you, but you shook your head, the anxiety forming a pit in your stomach. “Hotch, this is your family. I can’t,”

“You can. And this family wouldn’t be half as happy as they are in this picture if it weren’t for you and everyone on this team.” You smiled down at the picture, Jack had frosting from his birthday cake all over his face. You reached out and took it between your fingers. “You’re a giver, y/n. You wear your heart on your sleeve and exude more empathy than we know what to do with.” You let out a laugh as you pulled out your own wallet now, tucking the picture in one of the plastic sleeves. “It’s time you learned how to accept the love you give.”

It was deep, too deep to be coming from your boss on the private jet at two in the morning. But he was more than just your boss, and they were more than just your team. And this job, boy this job was so much better than sitting in a cubicle, answering questions from a recited list.

****

[ask-purpled-and-blued]

Blued

This was not how he expected his afternoon to go.

It started out normal enough. With him making sure the caves around Area 51 were mob-proofed so he could start planning out some expansions.

He didn’t have a lot planned and wasn’t aware of any ongoing conflicts. So it came as a total surprise when he looked down at chat as saw the string of death messages.

(—This one’s got some heavy injuries and claustrophobic stuff. It’s got some L’Manberg war events. Mind the post’s tags and reply if it needs more.—)

Poor Tubbo. He was getting wrecked by like half the people on-world.

Purpled knew that conflicts on the SMP got a little too heated at times, to the point where items despawned because they’d been ripped from inventories and left ungathered.

So he shot Tubbo a whisper asking if there was anything Tubbo was missing. He’d check his chests and give Tubbo some armor and tools, least he can do.

Tubbo_: YES PLEASE FOOD AND HARMING

He could do that. He respected Tubbo’s apparent need to avenge himself.

He had plenty of stacks of baked potatoes and he’d done a few fortress runs for blaze rods. He brewed two sets of splash Harming II before he whispered again.

Purpled: just harm II?

Tubbo_: whatever you can spare us big man.

Us? Purpled checked the tab list again and sure enough, four people had crossed back into the SMP.

He felt like he was starting to piece things together.

Purpled: is something going down today?

Tubbo_: yeah! Eret, Tommy, Fundy, Wilbur and I are fighting for our independance

Tubbo_: :D

Purpled: ...

Alright he knew for a fact that everyone in that group except Eret was broke as hell. His friends were about to get fucking obliterated.

...

Fuck it.

Purpled: I‘ll throw in some heal II and gapples if you can wait for them.

Tubbo_: I’ll come by through the sewers when they’re ready

—

If Purpled was being honest, he didn’t know if helping his friends oppose Dream was the best idea.

That being said, he did not move from where he sat perched on a chest in his section of the sewers.

Said chest was filled with food, healing II and harming II pots, blocks, enderpearls, clean bows and every other thing that Tubbo texted him frantically that they were running low on.

At the moment they were apparently being fired on and were taking cover in Tommy’s- in the Embassy.

When Purpled saw that message he offered to take the sewers to the Embassy and do a drop-off. Tubbo agreed.

So now Purpled’s running through the sewers with a bunch of items and clad in full enchanted netherite. Having left his pets sealed in Area 51 with his valuables and nonessential tools.

He’s climbing up the ladder and pulling the chest up behind him, only to almost get shot in the face by Eret.

“No no no no no! Purpled’s with us and he’s got us stuff!”

Tubbo’s pulls Eret back and helps Purpled pull the chest up.

“What a way to welcome an ally.”

“You’re helping us?” Wilbur asks with a reasonable amount of suspicion.

“Won’t pretend that I believe in whatever you’re fighting for but at least trust that I’m here for Tubbo.”

“I’m vouching for him. He’s trustworthy!”

There’s still mistrust but he didn’t expect them to clap him on the back and ask for his input. The nod he gets from Wilbur and the acceptance from Tommy are better than nothing.

—

He’s with Tommy and Tubbo as they try to snipe Dream’s forces from Punz’s tower. He’d been hesitant to follow Tommy’s lead but it was the right call. They were untouchable at this height.

Seeing Dream, George, Punz, and Sapnap all retreat was a hell of a boost to moral.

—

He wanted to ask why the fuck Eret hadn’t just given them the gear up front instead of equipping it mid-war, but benefit of the doubt. Maybe he thought they’d be better equipped.

Though if they had then Purpled might not be here crouching down these stairs behind Tommy.

It was a bit of a squeeze to get down there and the room itself a was bit crowded.

Purpled took a couple steps back when he didn’t see his name on a chest to give everyone else some room-

“What’s this button do?”

And was slammed between a block and the wall as a piston extended

There’s a moment where it’s just pain, his friends shouting, and his communicator ringing out what can only be death messages.

Then the piston retracts, Purpled splashes himself with Heal II, and he slams his netherite pick through the blocks behind him.

Eret’s speaking, everyone’s shouting through an open VC. He can hear Tommy’s words over the whoops of victory.

And as he splashes down a second Heal II and a Speed II, he hears the exact moment of silence when they realize he survived.

He doesn’t stick around to let them be five for five.

He tears up the stairs and drops a water bucket behind him.

He needs to get to the surface. He needs to stop tripping on the steps. He needs to stop shaking.

He needs fresh air he needs space he needs to breathe.

And he manages to claw his way out of the staircase, slams blocks down behind him even if he can’t tell if they’re following.

He lays there with his back on the grass and his aching chest to the sky. The healing has mended him enough to function but he takes out a third bottle. Rolls over onto his stomach so that he can try and sit up enough to drink this one and heal his insides some more.

Then there’s someone standing over him pointing a stone axe in his face.

“Did you know?”

He knows it’s Tommy before he even sees it’s Tommy.

“Are you another fucking traitor?”

Purpled doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he ignores the axe in his face and starts swallowing as much of the potion as he can.

“Tommy, Tommy for Christ’s sake look at him and tell me you think he’s a traitor. He looks like he got ran over by the camarvan.”

He’s well enough to actually sit up and look at himself.

His armor’s majorly cracked all over, some bits he can feel poking against his skin. His hands are all sorts of fucked up from how he pulled himself along.

His potions are top notch though, because he feels almost good as new.

“You shoulda seen the wall, it ended up worse off than I did after that.” Is the best he can come up with at the moment.

Tubbo helps him up and Tommy goes to shout at Eret and Dream who rang a VC.

—

It’s all so quick after that.

An ultimatum, explosions, confusion.

Purpled trying not to stumble as Tubbo pulls him along a narrow hallway to Tommy’s bunker.

Purpled trying to breathe normally as Tommy plays a music disk in the tiny bunker and Wilbur talks about surrender. He’s not sure if he’s winded or if there really just isn’t enough air in the room.

Negotiations, a duel, Tommy’s loss.

Being led back to the walls as Wilbur mourned and Eret got insulted. Fundy reading poetry.

—

His heart’s not in it when Tommy reveals what he did. When they’re scrambling for a book and quill and Wilbur’s elects himself.

But he laughs with the rest as Wilbur dunks on Dream in an official document.

As he gets promised a medal and a title of honor for his efforts during the war and is passed the book to sign.

It doesn’t feel like a victory, both because it technically isn’t and because he’s not sure what he’s won.

He has a heart to heart with Tommy before he walks off with Tubbo. Picks himself up, salutes his president and goes to bring DogChamp back up to the UFO and seal it so he can sleep for twelve hours.

—

Life is good, after that.

He works on his base, hangs out with the other L’Manberg people, starts a potion stockpile.

Oh, there’s that.

He makes it a habit to keep himself armed and prepared even if he doesn’t look it. People are constantly provoking each other even if it’s technically a time of peace, and he’d prefer not to be caught off guard ever again.

And he also ended up getting that medal Wilbur promised him. A “Purpled Heart” given for his material contributions to the war efforts and for being heavily wounded in battle.

He’d rather be able to strip mine again, but he accepted the medal anyways.

—

There’s no way he could’ve known what this country would do to itself in the coming months.

A couple acts of kindness and a show of loyalty did not sign him up for that, and yet he’d face it anyways.

They all would.

He doesn’t know if it was meant to be, but some nights he sure as fuck wishes it never was.

He doesn’t dramatically declare that in a room with a button, though. At least he’s got that on them.

[thegoldenavenger]

Stony librarian au(I love adorable librarian tony)

So! This turned into semi-horror instead of the domestic library shenanigans you probably wanted! Sorry! Warnings: horror/surreal themes. Unbeta’d. 

The library is mostly dark, just the lamp as Tony sorts through things at the check in desk.  It’s after hours and while Tony loves his job, he can admit that he enjoys these dark, quiet moments quite a bit.  

This library used to be one of the old townside houses his father used to own, but Tony gutted it, renovated it, filled it with books and movies and loanable equipment, and opened it to the public and though he’s wise enough to let Pepper run the thing it is still his. It’d been the one cathartic thing he’d allowed himself, after his father’s death. 

So during the day he’s running around making calls and writing emails and chasing down people who don’t want to listen to reason as he tries to wrestle his father’s company into something resembling an ethically sound forefront of innovation and during the night he runs his hand over the spines of well loved, well treated books. 

When he was small his father would chase him out of the study library nook, as if Tony were too stupid to know how to treat things with respect or like Tony was better suited somewhere else then in his father’s line of sight.  When Tony did manage to sneak his way in, he was always terrified of lifting the heavy books off their shelves as if he’d disturb some great relic. 

Walls of classic literature were for show, Tony had learned growing up. You spent money or rare editions and then stored them so the embossed spine could be seen but you didn’t touch them. It was so, so different when he went to his friend’s house and Tony was treated to homely shelves of pulp fiction, and sci-fi, and kid books all stacked together.  Rhodey’s mother dog-eared a harlequin as she stood from her arm chair to greet Tony. 

Rhodey had given Tony his copy of the Lord of the Rings, and after that The Twin Tower and it’s Rhodey’s precise hand that has underlined and highlighted the passage that makes Tony always, always remember that even darkness must pass. That when the sun shines, it will shine clearer. 

So yes, Tony builds a library out of the bones of his past and yes it means something. It means something to walk the aisles after dark and smile at the full book carts.  It fills Tony with a sense that he’s done this thing right, at least. 

After hours doesn’t mean the library is empty, there’s a cleaning staff Tony keeps well-paid and happy, so he’s not terrible surprised when he hears footsteps echoing in the foyer of the library. It’s a bit late, maybe, but nothing unusual. The library still feels like safety, and it continues to do so for all the time it takes for Tony to turn a corner to see a shadow bent over the books at the front desk. 

It’s not any of his employees, he makes a note to memorize them and their names, not any of his friends, or anyone else he recognizes. 

The person at the desk is rifling through the books, flipping to the spines and then placing them back on the pile. They are broad shouldered and tall, and Tony’s hands flit to his pockets like he might summon a weapon to confront this... Tony doesn’t know. Robber? 

“I’m not finding it!” The man says and Tony jumps. 

“Can’t see anything here either--maybe it’s in the drop box?” Another voice joins in, and Tony blinks a couple times as another person pops up from behind the counter.  This one is illuminated by Tony’s small desk lamp instead of silhouetted.  He’s thin, sharp jawed, with a flop of dark blonde hair and blue, blue eyes that widen as they meet Tony’s. 

“Who are you?” The man asks, standing straight up. 

The other man whips around, just as startled. 

Tony raises his hands, placating, then scoffs at himself because he’s the one who is supposed to be here. 

“I can ask the same thing! What are you doing in my library? We’re closed, lights off, no visitors.” He flicks his hands as he talks, claps them as a statement and watches as the two intruders jump. 

“We’re looking for a book.” Says the dark haired man. “This is a library.” 

The blond puts his face in his hands. 

“We haven’t had anyone return anything like that.” Tony says, affronted. “We don’t even have anything like that in our system.” He looks, affronted, at Steve who had found a moment to introduce himself and his friend. 

“Someone could have slipped it into your library without you knowing, it’s slippery like that.”

“It’s a book,” Tony says, “Books aren’t sentient creatures with willpower.

Bucky, Steve’s tall, dark, and intimidating friend, scoffs.  

“Well, maybe someone turned it in as a trick then, but it definitely should be somewhere on this property.” Steve says, giving Bucky a look. 

“I’ve already checked through all the returns today, unless someone dropped it through the drop-box the last couple of hours.” 

Steve looks at Tony, with his wide, wide eyes, and Tony huffs. 

“Look, let’s go check I’ve got the keys for it, and if it’s not there you can get me some coffee and tell me more about why you’re looking for a haunted book like some Youtube Ghost Hunters.” Tony says and heads for the door.  Steve and Bucky follow.

“We’re Seekers, not Ghost Hunters.”

“Bucky!”

“Well, he should get it right, not--” There’s a muffled thump and Steve hissing “Shut up!”

Tony lets a smile spread over his face, comfortable in the fact that they can’t see him.  Maybe they’re misguided idiots looking for views for their blog or whatever the kids are into these days, Tony doesn’t know, but it was a fun anomaly while it lasted. 

The drop boxes are located outside the building, conveniently located so people can drive up and drop their books if they don’t want to stop in.  Tony puts his key into the closest one and unlocks it, pulling the flap open. 

Tony pulls three books out, all children’s books. He raises an eyebrow at Steve and Bucky as he hands them the books to look over.  Locking that box he turns to the next and opens it to find it empty.  

“Right, so where is this haunted book?” He asks, gesturing dramatically at the empty darkness inside the drop box.  Bucky actually sticks his head into the thing before accepting Tony’s verdict. 

Tony shuts the drop box, locks it and then puts his hands on his hips. “Alright, you owe me some coffee and an explanation.” 

The explanation is better than the coffee but only because the coffee is tepid and stale. Tony isn’t sure he believes Steve and Bucky’s account of a book that, what, eats people? Disappears them? But it’s an amusing tale and seeing Steve’s face get all worked up when Tony teases him is definitely reason enough to be here. 

In fact, Steve is much more entertaining than the tale he’s trying to weave.  The shiny dullness to his hair, the freckles Tony can see now that they’re being illuminated by ugly florescent lighting, his big blue eyes and the thick eyebrows scowling at him. 

“Are you even paying attention?” Steve hisses. 

“What, yes, yes.  Hundred years of murder history.  Secret shadowy nightmares. Very believable.” Tony nods just to watch Steve’s cheeks heat up with red. 

Steve’s hands are lithe and his knuckles strong as he sets his coffee mug down on the table with a clack! He pushes himself up, bending over the table to get in Tony’s face and yell.  He’s pretty short, Tony notices.  If Tony wasn’t resting his chin in his hands Steve might still be looking up at him instead of down. 

Bucky sets his fork down long enough to yank Steve back into his seat and say, “He’s goading you.” Before he goes back to shoveling greasy diner eggs into his mouth. 

Steve crosses his arms and huffs, sitting back into the booth. 

“If you weren’t gonna listen, why’d ya wanna come out for coffee?” Steve mutters, and it takes Tony’s brain a whole second to reboot because that was an accent oh yes it was. 

Blinking to clear his head, Tony replies with the same steadiness he’s been showing in the face of Steve’s tall tales. “I’m a librarian, I’m pretty much obligated to check you out.”

“If you weren’t so--” Steve starts but Tony doesn’t hear him because Bucky just snorts coffee all over his empty plate. 

It takes that interruption for Steve to actually process Tony’s (lame) line and his cheeks erupt from pissed off pink to really embarrassed red. 

Bucky coughs into his napkin, the coughs resolving into loud, husky laughter, enough for waitress to come by all concerned and glass of water in hand.  Bucky waves her off and looks at Tony with the most amused expression on his face, a total deviation from the stone wall Tony has seen most of the night. 

“Good luck with this one, pal,” he says, patting Steve heavily on the shoulder. 

Tony ends up paying for the coffee and Bucky’s eggs, because Tony doesn’t think internet sleuths actually have much income, and because the story was worth the bill. 

“Make sure you return those books, or you’ll miss our due date,” he calls after Steve and Bucky’s receding backs.  He can hear Bucky start laughing again, under the noise of exasperation Steve makes. 

Tony actually hopes they do come back, and not just because he wants the kids books he left with Steve returned. 

This was a fun night, he thinks as he returns to his home. It was definitely going to be The story at lunch time gossip with Pepper and Rhodey.  Tony locks the door behind him, flipping on the lights and slipping out of his shoes.  He shrugs off his coat and hangs it, then loosens the tied around his neck. 

He thinks they might have words about him not calling the cops on a couple of B&Eers, which reminds him, he should have asked how they got in the library in the first place.  The doors were still locked when they’d left to see the drop boxes and he hadn’t heard any windows breaking. 

Tony resolves to ask when--if he sees them again.  

He continues with his nightly routine, showering, brushing his teeth, dressing for bed, cleaning his nails. He grabs his briefcase and drags it to the couch, where he turns on the flat screen for some background noise.  He pours the rest of the green smoothie he’d made that morning into a glass and takes it with him to the couch where he opens his briefcase. 

He always spends a couple of hours catching up on emails before bed, and he reaches into the case to grab his laptop but his hand rests on something else. 

He pulls his hand out, and he’s holding a heavy, perfect bound book. 

That had definitely not been there this morning, he thinks before he puts it on the coffee table. 

The books stays in his briefcase.  Tony does not read it, he’s not stupid. 

Okay, Rhodey isn’t stupid, and Tony’s smart enough to call him the moment he stopped internally freaking out about the book.

“Don’t read it man, don’t be that guy.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course not.”

“You’re reading it right now aren’t you?”

“Of course not, I’m not stupid.”

“Really?”

“Really. But, like, I might in the next fifteen minutes. It’s just right there! You know I have poor impulse control, honey bear!” 

“Control yourself man!”

Tony controls himself long enough that Rhodey can slap the book out of his hands when he bursts into Tony’s apartment like the cool-aid man.  Rhodey’s mom didn’t raise a fool, so the books gets wrapped in Rhodey’s sweater, wrapped in a bag, put into another bag, then locked back in Tony’s briefcase.  He’d have thrown it into a fire too, if Tony hadn’t insisted they save it for Steve and Bucky.  Mostly Steve. 

“Who are they?” Rhodey asks, and though Tony wanted to save this story for Gossip time he relents and fills Rhodey in on the hours of Tony’s life he missed. 

“You are. The worst.” Rhodey says. “This shit never used to happen to me before I met you.” 

“Yeah, but you love me anyways.”

Rhodey makes a frustrated noise but doesn’t deny it. 

Tony and Rhodey wait at the library all day for Steve and Bucky to show up.  Tony keeps making Rhodey guess which vaguely suspicious duos are the Monster Hunters in question, just to laugh behind his hand when Rhodey inevitably guesses wrong.

The briefcase is heavy in Tony’s hand, and he thinks if he stops talking he’ll want to rip the book out and read it. 

“Oh wait, no I know exactly who you were talking about,” Rhodey says, his flat voice resigned. Tony looks up and sees Steve and Bucky beelining towards the library’s entry way. 

Tony stand from the bench and waves invitingly towards the two men. 

“Hey! No late fees for you!” Tony calls out as they get closer.  Bucky doesn’t laugh this time, but Steve’s face still gets red so Tony chalks it up to a win. 

“Tony, what’s that?” Steve asks, pointing at Tony’s hand. 

Tony and Rhodey both look down to see Tony’s hand gripping the bag Rhodey had stuffed the book into. 

“Jesus, Tony!” 

“What, I didn’t? I don’t remember opening the case! It was locked! You’d have noticed me unlocking it!”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Steve interrupts. 

“I’m the best librarian, I found your book!” Tony says brightly, lifting up the bag. He’s already trying to unwrap it, but Bucky’s hand shoots out, closing over his with a surprising amount of strength. 

“Not here.” He says, gruffly.

“Holy shit,” Rhodey says under his breath. 

“I know, right?” Tony says, grinning widely at his friend. 

Steve ends up dropping the children’s books back into the drop box and they all hop into an old car and drive to a motel a few minutes away.  Tony complains about the vehicle the whole time, from the rust patches in the paint job, to the air pressure in the tires that he can feel is just too low, to the sound the car makes as Steve shifts gears.  

“Get a hold of your guy,” Bucky orders, eyes on Tony’s drifting hand through the sun visor’s mirror.

“He ain’t my guy,” Rhodey insists fervently, as he grabs Tony’s hands and yanks them away from the book. “I don’t got a guy, why does everyone think you’re my guy, Tony?” 

“Maybe ‘cause you’re always holding my hand?” Tony turns his grip so he’s clutching Rhodey’s fingers instead of shaking. 

He hates being out of control. It’s why he stopped drinking. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all your fault.” Rhodey says, but he keeps Tony’s hands steady for him, like he always does. 

The motel is cheap, and Tony thinks he might actually break out in hives just walking into the rented room, but he keeps quiet because he’s finally allowed to bring out the book. 

He blinks and Steve has snatched it out of his hands. 

“This is definitely it,” Steve says and Bucky nods as they both look over the black cover.  There are no words embossed on it, front or back or spine.  It’s just black leather, and cream pages. 

“So what is it?” Rhodey asks. 

So Steve and Bucky tell Rhodey what they told Tony last night, and this time Tony actually listens. 

“The last time someone had this one, they disappeared.” Bucky says.

Rhodey’s hands fist, and Tony gives in and sits on the bed, even if the comforter is tacky. 

“Finding these things are so hard,” Steve complains, “If we can locate one, usually it’s already in the hands of someone who is dumb enough to try and keep it.”  He looks approvingly at Tony. 

“Trust me,” Tony says, raising his hands, “I’m done with the disappearing acts.” 

“These things have a way of getting their hooks in you,” Bucky says, his arm reaching up to rub at the empty sleeve at his side. “You shouldn’t be alone for a bit.” 

“Thanks for coming to us,” Steve says, and he reaches out to touch Tony’s wrist. 

Tony thinks that might be a better reward than not disappearing. 

“Here’s my number.” Bucky says, handing Rhodey a sticky note. “Call if anything weird happens. 

Rhodey nods, all cool like, but Tony knows if he were to put a hand to Rhodey’s cheek it’d be heated. 

Tony, despite thinking Steve is kind of cute, is ready to put the incident behind him, but he doesn’t complain when Rhodey decides to stick around. To observe him. 

Tony is glad of it, when strange shit keeps happening around him. 

He’s swipes toothpaste onto his toothbrush and runs the head of it under the faucet then starts to brush his teeth. 

And then Rhodey asks him what’s taking him so long and he blinks and his mouth his foamy, and his gums hurt, and so does his hand where he was gripping the brush. Did he lose time? He’s probably tired.

But then, he gets up from watching TV with Rhodey and goes to the kitchen. He asks if Rhodey wants anything, grabs a second beer even before Rhodey asks for one and head back to the living room, but Rhodey already has a beer and the channel has changed. “I got thirsty waiting for you to finish.” Rhodey says offhand, as if Tony had gone anywhere but straight to and from the kitchen.

It’s at his day job that it gets really weird, though.  Tony finishes an email then stands to head to the employee break room.  He doesn’t need to, but he likes getting coffee there.  It’s a nice way to say hi, to stay connected to those who work under him. 

The halls are empty as he makes his way to the break room.  He can’t even hear people working behind the office doors.  There’s no one in the meeting rooms he walks by, no one by the water coolers.  He pushes the door to the break room but there’s no one there, either. He tries to focus on getting his coffee, but his hands are already shaking so he skips it and goes for water instead. 

On the way back he peaks his head opens a door leading into marketing but there’s no one there.  All the desks are empty. He takes a turn into accounting, but it’s just florescent lights. He pushes open another door, then another, and it’s all just empty desks and harsh lights.  It’s several twists before he even realises that this isn’t how he had the offices decorated.  He always stressed the importance of natural lighting and comfortable spaces but the decor has turned into colorless carpet, narrow plastered walls and yellow flickering lights.  Endless doors opening to vacant cubicles and abandoned office equipment. 

Tony has never been one to call out when in trouble, so it’s just his thudding heart and rasping breaths to accompany his footfalls as he runs through the building trying to find his way out of the labyrinthine office and damn, that thought really makes him want to laugh out loud, even though he knows it’d be strangled. 

He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, types in the number he’d already memorised by the time Rhodey had slipped it into his pocket, and hopes that somehow it connects. 

There’s a dial tone, and then-- “Rhodey?” 

“Hah, yes! I mean, no, I’m not Rhodey, but I’ll set you up on, like, a coffee date with him if you can get me out of here!” 

“Tony?” 

“Yes, ding ding ding! It only took you two guesses! Amazing--” His breath hitches in the middle and he stops running in order to stop himself from making any more weird, vulnerable noises. 

“Tony, is that you, what’s going on?” And that’s Steve’s voice, oh good!

“Yeah, I’m--does this thing have face time or? No, listen I lost in an office building. My office building? But it’s not, I did not authorise this floorplan! I’m a madman but I’m not malevolent I would never pair--” He makes a strangled noise, “Emotionally void and tasteless paintings with god! damn! fluorescent! lighting!” 

The yellow lights flicker obstinately at him. “Yeah fuck you, too!” He yells. 

“Tony, calm down, take a breath what did you say? A void?” 

“A labyrinth. No one’s here. Haven’t even seen a Minotaur.” He laughs again and he knows it’s shading hysterical. 

“Oh, shit,” The phone pulls away from Steve’s mouth and his voice goes fuzzy as he talks to presumably Bucky, and Tony heart flies to his throat.

“Hey, hey, what do you mean ‘oh shit’ come on. Steve? Steve?!” 

“I’m here, keep walking.” Steve demands.  Tony listens.  He walks.  He listens as Steve talks to him about what he’s doing, he walks past empty water coolers and dead plants.  When the connection hisses Steve tells him to turn and Tony does.  

“Bucky is pissed you called his car a heartbreaker, that’s his baby.” Steve says and Tony forces a laugh. “I only said it because it’s true. The paint job was breaking my heart!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony hears Bucky in the background. 

“I’ll show you a real ride once--” He breaks off as he opens another door to another empty room. Steve makes a choking noise that has Tony smiling despite everything. “I’ve got cars,” He says instead. “Like a hobby.”

“Sounds like a rich man’s hobby.” Steve offers.

“Sure,” Tony agrees. “But I’ll take it if it means I don’t have to worry about your friend’s death trap breaking down.” 

“I like bikes better,” Steve admits. 

“You ride?” Tony asks. 

“Here and there,” 

Tony gives silent thanks for the image of Steve in motorcycle leathers.

“I like bikes, too. You know Fujikawa?”

“Know ‘em? Those are the best damn bikes--”

“Well, I’ve got a couple--”

“Of course you do!” 

Tony laughs, delighted. “I can do better than that, too.”

“What, you’ve got a flying car hiding somewhere?”

“Not yet,” Tony says, “But I can introduce you to Rumiko.”

“Ru--Rumiko? That’s-- She’s, but!” She’s the lead designer at Fujikawa Industries is what she is, and Tony is so, so glad to have met her in this moment. 

“Yeah, she’s great. We’ll have lunch, it’ll be a ball.” 

“I’m holding you to that,” Steve says, “I won’t have coffee with you again if you’re just making this up.”

“You were planning on having coffee with me again?” The thought warms Tony’s chest straight through his heart.  He can feel the grin on his face. 

“Well. I gotta check you ... out, or---” 

Tony laughs, startled, then laughs harder because he can hear Bucky hacking up a lung in the background. 

“Shut up! Never mind, offer rescinded.” 

“Too late!” Tony crows, “You can’t take that back! You said it! I’m holding it right here, by my index card. I’m signing it out, it’s set in stone, buddy, you’ve got yourself a date.” 

“You have a date?” Pepper asks.

Tony whips his head around so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.  The phone drops and Pepper rises from her seat at Tony’s desk. “Tony?” 

“Holy shit, I’m out!” 

Steve’s voice comes out tinny through the phone. 

“Tony, are you okay?” Pepper’s smile has taken on a shade of concern.

“You’re real, right?” Tony asks, before bending down to pick up his phone. “Steve, I found Pepper, I think I’m out!” 

“Okay, I’m going to call for an ambulance,” Pepper says, frowning. 

“No, I’m fine! I’m great!” 

Steve’s voice sounds generally approving, though Tony isn’t really listening to him right now. 

“You’re delirious, I think.” 

“No, I have a date!” He exclaims, and Pepper just shakes her head.

Steve and Bucky investigate ever corner of the spaces Tony inhabits, and they find a folded page in his night stand that Tony doesn’t remember.  The paper is think, and the only thing printed on it is an old looking wood cut of a silhouette. Looking at it sends chills up Tony’s spine, but after Steve and Bucky take possession of it the weirdness stops, so that’s fine.  Tony is good to put the incident behind him and focuses instead on figuring out how to get Steve to follow him on a plane trip to Japan. 

“What is it, Tony?” Steve’s voice is groggy, but Tony doesn’t feel bad for waking him. 

“Thought I saw a shadow outside my window.”

“You did not.” Steve says, matter of factly. 

“You don’t know that.” Tony says, smile quirking around his mouth. 

“You’re the worst.”

“That’s true.” Tony grins, because he can hear Steve shifting around, getting up. 

“Fine, I’ll be there soon.”

“Actually, it’s gonna take you about eight hours.” 

“What?”

“Yeah, you see, I’m kind of in Japan.”

“I’m not going to Japan, Tony!” 

“Aren’t you, though?” Tony says, and yes! He’d timed it right because he can hear the knocking at Steve’s door.

“Tony, what did you do?” Steve whines. 

Tony grins and takes a sip of the tea Rumiko had brought out for him.  On the table between them is a crumpled napkin with a spider imprinted on it, something slipped into Rumiko’s things without her noticing.  

“We’re going to Japan,” Bucky says, his voice muffled through the connection. 

“Tony, what did you do!” Steve’s whining takes a panicked edge to it. 

“It’s fine, Steve.” He says, then addresses Rumiko, pointing at his phone. “I told you, Rumiko, I know Weird Stuff experts. Everything’s gonna be fine!” 

“Seekers!” He hears Bucky yell. 

“RUMIKO?” Steve yells.

Rumiko puts her head in her hands, but she’s laughing. “You’re lucky I like you,” she says. 

Tony smiles, winningly and turns back to the phone, “You can buy me coffee when you get here.” 

[imitheous]

Long Drive | Graves & Miranda | Part 2

After four more hours on the road that, frankly, felt like an eternity, Graves pulled into the parking lot of a Cracker Barrel, somewhere in the middle of Virginia. He cut the stereo and jostled Miranda with his elbow. "Hope you're hungry," he said as his stomach loudly growled. Quickly taking the keys out of the ignition, he threw the door open so he could get out and have a much-needed stretch. "It's lunchtime, let's go." He closed his door and after making sure Miranda was following him, headed up the steps and into the kitschy storefront that served as the entrance to the restaurant.

Since waking up from her nap, the drive over had been full of the Hermes siblings scream singing along to various playlists, as well as Graves chattering her ear off about everything he just had to show her while they were in town.  The closer they got to Myrtle beach, the more Miranda found herself getting excited to see all those things her brother was raving about, though she didn't voice it, instead opting to roll her eyes with a smile on her face.  As Loretta pulled into the parking lot, Miranda wasted no time in getting her bag and sliding her flip flops back on, hopping out of the truck before Graves finished his stretch.  "Thank gods, that breakfast sandwich was not as filling as I wanted it to be.  I need actual food, not that gross egg crap that place was selling." Following his lead, Miranda found herself distracted with all the random stuff laying around, having never been to a restaurant like this before.  Having to be practically dragged towards the dining area by Graves, she quickly looked over the smaller knick knacks, already knowing she was most likely walking out with another bracelet or two to add to her collection.  "I'm confused, I thought we were in Virginia.  Why do I feel like I'm in the deep south somewhere?"

"Gods, yeah. Rest stop food is garbage." He held up two fingers to the hostess when he was prompted, and trailed behind her after corralling Miranda from the shop. When she placed menus on the table and told them a server would be at their table shortly, Graves thanked the hostess and slid into a seat. He chuckled at his sister's question. "Because we're at Cracker Barrel, Monty. Some folks may prefer it's full name: Cracker Barrel Old Country Store. It's the gateway to the southern states, and a road trip staple. Y'never been here before?" He asked, even though he could see the answer in Miranda's face and grinned. "You're in for a treat." He shook out his hands, still stiff from clutching the steering wheel for hours; under the table, his left leg had started to bounce uncontrollably - an outlet for all the nervous energy he was feeling. He glanced at the menu, already knowing what he was going to order.

Miranda didn't even bother looking at her brother at his question, knowing the dumb grin that was on his face just by the sound of his voice.  "Oh yeah, the LA girl whose only lived in major cities? I'm a huge Cracker Barrel fan, how'd you guess?" Her own voice dripped with sarcasm, though her eyes lifted from the menu to flicker around their environment.  The rocking chairs, fireplace, and random items strewn throughout the dining area only seemed to support both their claims.  "It's a type of vibe, that's for sure." She joked, eyes going back to scan the menu.

Graves drummed his fingers on the table in time with the bouncing of his leg. "That's perfect," he joked right back with her. "Makes the Cracker Barrel gift card I got you for Christmas even better."  A waitress showed up to the table, wearing a floral apron that reminded Graves of curtains and it took all he had not to laugh as he ordered chicken and waffles with extra bacon on the side. He passed his menu to Miranda so she could stack them up. "Oh, and can I get a coffee? That'd be swell. Thank you, ma'am." He smiled brightly at the waitress, laying his accent on a little thicker than normal, already sure his sister would poke fun at him for it after she ordered.

Hearing Graves, she gave an exaggerated fist pump in response, but the waitress walked over before she could sass back.  At the sight of the atrocious apron the girl was wearing, Miranda quickly raised her menu to cover her face, a terrible attempt at trying to hide her amusement.  Her amusement only grew when she heard how heavy he was laying on the accent, rolling her eyes before collecting herself enough to lower her menu again.  "Shit, please make that two coffees." Quickly rattling off her own order, she closed the menu with a small clap as the pages slapped together, stacking it on top of Graves' for her to take.  Her eyes followed the waitress as she walked away, turning to give him a look of disbelief when she was far enough away.  "What. The fuck is she wearing? I've seen fucking lampshades that are hotter than that get up."

He had made the mistake of taking a large gulp of water as Miranda relayed her order to the waitress and now, as she compared the other woman's get-up to a lampshade, Graves immediately regretted that gulp. Sputtering, he shook his head, trying not to do a spit take. "A lampshade, " he wheezed, thumping his chest with his hand to offset the water that hand gone down the wrong pipe. Accent still heavy, he added, "That's the ugliest damn lampshade I ever did see ." Graves gestures around the room; all the servers were similarly outfitted in ugly aprons. "I think it looks like it belongs on an old lady's couch. Like, that's some good ol' couch fabric right there." Though he was laughing, his fingers continued to drum the table and he scanned the restaurant nervously.

While she had expected him to laugh at her comment, Miranda didn't account for the fact that he would take a drink right before she began to speak.  Not being able to hide the snort as he wheezed, she just watched with a raised eyebrow as he tried to get himself back to normal.  "You good?" She finally asked, but clearly he was fine as he continued speaking.  Glancing around the room, she realized that indeed everyone was wearing the same apron and shuddered.  "Gods, I've never been happier that I don't work in the food business."  Turning back around, she finally turned her full attention to her brother since they walked in.  She hadn't thought much of the tapping when it had first started, but mixed with the nerves she could see bubbling out of him, the humor drained out of her as she leaned towards him. "Everything okay? You look like you're waiting for someone to come tackle you through the table or some shit."

"Oh yeah, it's the worst. I can't picture you as a waitress. Someone would be rude to you and you'd threaten them in a beat." Graves quipped, distracted as their waitress returned to pour them cups of coffee and place down a small bowl of creamers. When she walked away, he immediately dumped several packets of sugar into his mug and began stacking the unopened creamers into a shaky pyramid. At Miranda's comment, he cracked a smile. "Yeah, no, yeah. Everythin's fine. Just a lot of bottled up energy after drivin', y'know?" He lied,  clutching his coffee mug and attempting to calm his jittery demeanor.

“Oh totally. I’m not putting up with that shit.” Miranda straightened herself when their waitress came back, flashing a charming smile of her own as she delivered their coffee. While Graves started jabbering again, she busied herself with making her own coffee, snagging a creamer from his makeshift tower. Indulging herself with a sip - which was mediocre at best, though she wasn’t expecting much, she swallowed before calling him out.  “I don’t understand why you even bother lying to me anymore. You know that I can tell easier than like...anyone else back at camp.”

"Hey!" Graves protested, both to her accusation and to the creamer theft. Adding another creamer to replace the one Miranda had taken, he shrugged one shoulder at his sister. He wrapped his fingers around his mug of coffee, focusing on the pleasant clink of his rings against the ceramic as he clutched it. He shrugged again, "Everything's fine, Monty. I don't keep secrets from you." Quick as he'd told the lie, he accidentally bit the inside of his cheek and a metallic taste filled his mouth. Instant karma, he thought as he took a sip of coffee and wrinkled his nose, not meeting Miranda's eyes.

The additional lies were met with a dead pan stare.  "Yeah, normally you don't, for this reason."  She took another slow sip from her mug.  "You fucking suck at it, Gravy."   Letting out a quiet sigh, she placed the mug back down before leaning forward again.  "Look, it's fine if you don't wanna tell me, I'm not your mom or whatever.  You're just totally killing the vibe right now, you're about to shake the entire table if you keep bouncing like that." She knew that Graves knew her just as well as she knew him, and that he would see this as her way of trying to move past the topic for his sake.

He took another sip from his mug and forced his leg to stop bouncing, before smiling sheepishly at his sister. "Nothin' food won't fix though, eh?" At her mention of 'mom,'  his eyes lit up and he pulled his phone from his pocket, texting Cass an update on their progress. While Graves was preoccupied with his message, the waitress returned with their food, placing their meals on the table. "Thank you ma'am!" He called belatedly, finishing with his phone as she walked away. His stomach was churning even as he looked at Miranda, holding his fork up in a mock salute. “C'mon, dig in."

Miranda watched him immediately get absorbed into his phone and rolled her eyes, half un-surprised and half in disbelief.  Leaning back against her chair once again, she just went back to her coffee.  When the food arrived, she put her nearly empty cup back on the table, gave the waitress another signature Hermes child smile, then turned her attention to her sandwich.  Looking back up at Graves when he spoke, she raised a fry along with him before taking a bite.

A few minute passed and the siblings dug into their respective meals; to Graves, his food was tasteless, the weight of the conversation he wanted to have with his sister taking a toll on his taste buds. It took another mouthful of syrup-covered waffle that tasted like dust for him to set his fork down and take a drink of water. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. "Um, actually...I have something I've been meaning to tell you."

On the opposite, Miranda was enjoying her food, not drinking as much water as her brother. She occasionally glanced up at him, only to see him looking more and more shitty as time went on. While debating how to bring up the question of her taking over the drive, he finally spoke up. Miranda lowered her sandwich, and took a long sip of water before responding. “Oh really? I had no idea.” She said sarcastically before growing more serious to match him. “You look you’re walking into a firing squad, what’s up?”

Graves ducked his head, a sheepish smile breaking through the worried expression he had been wearing. "How do I say this..." He muttered, before finally settling on, "My family isn't really...normal?"

Miranda blinked once, slowly, then again as she processed what Graves just said to her. After minute, she snorted into her cup before taking another sip. Placing it back on the table, she shook her head, clearly amused. Her eyes glanced quickly before leaning in and lowering her voice. “We’re fucking children of a god? None of us are normal, Cabrón.”

"Okay, fair. We're a bunch of weirdo demigods," he let out a laugh, realizing how little he had thought this conversation through despite all the stressing over it he had done. "But like...so is my gran?"

Miranda’s hand paused with her cup halfway to her mouth, and her face clearly showed how much that last statement confused her. “Your grandmother...?” Her hand lowered, the cup making a loud noise as it connected to the table, but Miranda didn’t even notice thanks to her brain spinning. “But...okay.  How does that work? Like, for you I mean?” Another blink, it was clear she realized how little sense her questions made, but wasn’t sure what exactly she was trying to say.

With a pained smile on his face as her cup clattered to the table, Graves nodded slowly. He was silent for a moment, giving Miranda a moment to sort out her thoughts. "Uh," he cleared his throat, twisting one of his rings. "It's...I'm...uh, huh. Let me start again? Do you know what a legacy is?" He looked a his sister hopefully, still fidgeting with his ring. It was one half of the set he always wore, this one emblazoned with a finely etched cornucopia, while the other bore the symbol of a spoked wheel.

Her eyebrows furrowed at the word legacy, her brain trying to place it.  She vaguely registered the term, having heard it around camp in the past, though she wasn't quite sure what it meant.  "I've heard of that before? But what the fuck does it mean?" Even though she asked the question, her brain was starting to put two and two together, especially when her eyes drifted to the ring Graves couldn't stop messing with.  Miranda always assumed that Graves had received as some kind of gift or reward for something in past, not thinking too much about the symbol of Tyche that was engraved into the stone.  Her eyes began to flicker between the ring and her brother's face, starting to put two and two together.

"It's like...when you're descended from a god, but that god isn't your parent - if that makes sense?" Graves looked at Miranda hopefully, watching the gears turn in her mind as she looked at his ring. "So, like, if I had a kid," he made a face at the idea, pushing onto his explanation, "they'd be a legacy of Hermes. Not a full demigod, but, still not fully mortal. That's what my mom is...and me, I guess, but it's a little different for me? Since Hermes is also my dad...I, uh, I feel like I'm doin' a shit job explainin' this." He paused, lifting his mug to take a drink of coffee and grimacing at the now-cold liquid.

Miranda immediately shook her head when he criticized his explanation, though the words were lagging about a minute behind as her head wrapped around it a bit more. “No, I kinda get what you’re saying...I think.” Normally, her response would be way more sarcastic at her brothers expense, but her brain wasn’t functioning properly at the moment. For a moment she thought about Spencer, as the term legacy was starting to latch to a separate conversation she had with the unclaimed girl, though she never really asked for an explanation of what it meant back then. “Yeah, I think I get it.”

The coffee cup clinked as he set it down a little too close to his spoon. Graves cringed a little, looking back up at Miranda. He shrugged one shoulder and began fiddling with the creamers on the table again; his nerves, as always, manifesting into more energy than he knew what to do with. Without looking up, he blurted out, "It's Tyche." Graves cleared his throat, his expression sheepish as he looked at his sister, though at this point, he assumed she had figured it out. "I'm a legacy of Tyche."

The clanging of the cup made Miranda cringe a little, the two siblings reacting to the noise at the same time. Silence stretched between them as she watched him fiddle with the creamer cups, still sorting through the last lingering confusion in her brain. As Graves blurted out what she was already piecing together, she nodded. “Yeah, the rings make a ton of sense now. I always thought they were a reward gift or something like that.” Her eyes lifted from the creamer up to his, and hers narrowed slightly in curiosity. “What does that do for you though? Like, do you have any other abilities or...?”

"Nah, they were my gran's. She gave them to me a few years back. Before college," he explained, making a face. The monster attack that had both ended his college career and led to his arrival at camp seeped into the front of his mind; he pushed it away, putting the creamers down and picking up his fork to stab at his food instead. Slowly, a small smile worked its way across his face. Graves nodded. "I do, yeah. Y'know, I wasn't kiddin' all the times I said I was lucky. I don't fully know how it works but I've got some tychokinesis, just like the Tyche kids at camp."

Miranda thought for another minute, flipping through all the times Graves had said he was pretty lucky. The frequency of those words made her roll her eyes. “You’re such a shithead, no wonder you haven’t ended up behind bars yet.” She smirked at him, but then realized how long he’s kept this secret from her and frowned. “Does anyone else know?”

Graves let out a laugh at Miranda's eye roll. "Luck has nothing to do with it, I'm just that good," he joked. As she frowned, he chewed his lip, reluctant to answer the question. "A couple people. But I wanted to tell you first, swear. It just...didn't happen that way." He began to list them, drumming his fingers on the table again, "The first person to find out was that Athena girl I fought at Fight Night? Ramona? One of her powers is ability sensin' and that caught me off guard. So I told Blue too, since we were fightin' her together and it might've helped us win. And then...I told Tai. I was drunk and braggin' and it was stupid." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking everywhere other than Miranda. "I think that's it? I don't know. I wanted to tell you first but...my family told me to keep it a secret because of some old history that I don't really know about but the cat's out of the bag now, I guess."

The frown on her face only deepened as the list of people to know before her started to grow.  There was a flash of something that ran through her - maybe hurt for him waiting as long as he had? She wasn't sure.  Regardless, the reasoning for Ramona and Blue finding out was sound to her, especially the prior.  As for Tai...well, she always knew her brother was dumb, double that when he was drunk.  She let out a small sigh, looking down at her plate, picking up and twirling a fry in her hand, eating it was the last thing on her mind.  "No yeah, you can't do anything against people with specific ass powers. Power sensing? Who comes up with this shit?"

He watched her fiddle with a french fry and almost sighed. Graves had hoped that spilling his secret to Miranda would have taken the weight off his shoulders but no, it was still there. He rolled his shoulders back, instinctively, the motion blending into a shrug at the question. "Honestly, that's some OP shit. You get strategy and the ability to know what fuckin' powers someone might throw at you? And we get....lock-pickin' and criminal tendencies?" He joked, flicking his eyes upward, "Thanks Dad." It was as if he couldn't bear to sit still, as Graves picked up a sugar packet and began to shake it, giving his hands something to occupy themselves with. He looked at Miranda again, "I'm sorry Monty, I wanted to tell you before anyone else found out."

Despite herself, Miranda couldn't help but laugh at his joke.  "Yeah really, what the fuck, Dad? But also, thanks for the coffee? That's pretty sweet."  Her eyes raised again when he started shaking the packet, then up to his face when he apologized. She let out a sigh of her own, dropping the fry back onto her plate.  "Why are you sorry?  It wasn't your idea to start telling people."

"Fair point, I'll take iced coffee any day." Graves exhaled a laugh through his nose. "I know, but I figured if I was going to start tellin' people, I'd start with you. And then it was a little out of my control. I think," he laughed dryly. "That I built it up in my head and it was this huge fuckin' deal. I don't know. My gran told me to be careful who I told but...it doesn't seem like it's that crazy? The more I think about it, I don't know, man."

Miranda’s features softened at his explanation attempt, and reached a hand out to grab the one still fiddling with the sugar packets. She gave his two quick squeezes, a smile growing on her face as she did. When they started speaking through hand squeezes, she couldn’t fully remember, but it was something that never failed to calm the two siblings when their minds got ahead of them too much. Hopefully it had the same effect now. “It’s okay, Cam. Thank you for wanting to tell me first though.”

The last shreds of Graves' worry faded away as Miranda squeezed his hand. He repeated the gesture, matching her smile; her reassurance had been what he needed. He nodded, "Of course, hermana. You know I tell you everything." Graves ducked his head, hiding his smile. When he looked up, his eyes glinted. "Do you want anything else to eat? Or...do you want to go raid the store for some shit? I think I have a coupon in here somewhere..." He fished his wallet out of his pocket, pretending to look through it for a minute before brandishing a scrap of paper and passing it to Miranda. "Oh here it is, see? It says children of Hermes get that good good five-finger discount."

Miranda held onto her brother's hand a little longer as he spoke, her smile becoming a bit more genuine at his words.  However as usual with their relationship, it instantly changed to one of amusement as she dropped his hand to accept the paper he handed her across the table.  "Oh, nice manito.  No expiration date, I think this ones a keeper." She joked, pretending to read the paper as she spoke.

Stuffing one last fry in her mouth, she stood up, refolding the paper and tucked it into her own pocket.  Pulling her wallet out of her bag, she dropped a random amount of 20s onto the counter - even she was above dining and dashing.  "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go explore whatever the fuck that gift shop is."

[octothorpetopus]

Dancing In The Dark

minnesotamemelord on AO3

"Mom, I swear to god." Eddie waved away his mother's hands, which were fiddling with Eddie's bow tie for the thirteenth time that evening (he counted).

"Fine, fine. Just trying to be helpful." Sonia Kaspbrak stepped back to look at her son. "Oh, my beautiful boy. You look just like your dad." She wrapped him in a hug so tight his vision went dark around the edges.

"Come on, Mom, Bill's gonna be here any minute." Eddie pulled out of his mother's arms and straightened his jacket. He looked good. Real good. For who he was trying to look good for, he couldn't have said, but he was trying nonetheless. His mother moved to brush a lock of hair off his forehead when the doorbell rang mercifully. Eddie kissed her quickly on the cheek and sprinted away before she could make any more adjustments. He slammed the screen door behind him and smiled admiringly up at Bill, who was shifting from foot to foot nervously on his front stoop. "C'mon, let's go before my mom tries to rope us into taking pictures." Bill gave him a look of mock horror and followed Eddie to the Jeep in the driveway. Eddie had mowed lawns and walked dogs for months to afford it, and he took care of it with the diligence of a mother taking care of a child. Bill slipped into the immaculate passenger seat.

“H-h-how’re we going to f-fit e-e-everyone?” Eddie’s car was a five-seater, which was not going to work for the six remaining members of the Losers Club. Luckily, he had thought of that.

“Stan’s getting Ben and Mike. We’ve just gotta get Richie.” Bill grinned as he buckled his seatbelt.

“Let’s go g-get Trashmouth, th-then.”

Richie lived close enough to the high school that he could have walked if he wanted, but he insisted that there was no ‘style’ in walking to prom. Eddie countered that a beige Jeep was not particularly stylish either, to which Richie responded that Eddie’s mom’s beige Jeep was stylish, which left Eddie more confused than insulted. Eddie jogged up the front steps to the Tozier residence and rang the doorbell, which was one of the ones that chimes like church bells when you ring it instead of a simple ding-dong. Muffled voices grew louder as a formless blob approached the door, barely visible through the frosted glass windows, and then the front door was thrown open. Eddie almost fell down the steps, and would have, if Richie hadn’t grabbed him by the arm and dragged him inside. The reason for his sudden bout of vertigo was, of course, Richie. Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier had, seemingly overnight, become hot. Really hot. Not that Eddie was attracted to him in any way, but… objectively. Hot with a capital H. His hair, which was usually a mess (Eddie had once picked a leaf out of it), was slicked back carefully, and for the first time in all the years they had known each other, Eddie could see all of Richie’s face. He was wearing what was presumably his father’s suit, but it fit him perfectly. What Eddie might have described once as lanky had transformed into a sort of lithe grace. The only thing that told him that this was, in fact, the Richie Tozier he knew was his glasses, held together with more adhesive tape than actual screws.

“Come on, Eds, my mom wants pictures.” Eddie dug his heels into the carpet, grinding Richie’s purposeful march to a halt.

“Bill’s waiting in the car, and-”

“Just one picture?” Richie fixed Eddie with a kicked puppy gaze. Eddie couldn’t say no. For some reason, he’d never been able to say no to Richie.

“Fine. One.” Richie pulled him into the living room, where Maggie and Wentworth stood, a Polaroid camera in Maggie’s perfectly manicured hands.

“Hurry up, Ma,” Richie whined as he slung an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, fixing the camera with an easy smile. Eddie couldn’t help but smile too. Richie was like that, totally infectious in everything he did. It didn’t matter if his jokes weren’t funny, you laughed anyway because he was laughing. You smiled when he smiled, and when he was happy, it was like sunlight flooded the room even if there were no windows or it was nighttime. The film came out of the camera with a soft whrrrrr, and Richie snatched it before it had a chance to develop.

“Thanks, mom. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Be good, Richie,” she warned, but grinned when he kissed her cheek. Wentworth clapped his son on the shoulder and smiled too, the same wide and easy smile as Richie’s. Richie steered Eddie back towards the front door, and they exited into the cool May night.

"Aw, come on, I gotta sit in the back?" Richie complained, but it was superficial. Richie always rode in the back of the car, or on the back of Eddie's bike when they rode double.

"I-i-it's just for a f-few m-minutes." Bill greeted Eddie with a high-five.

"We meeting Haystack and the others there?"

"Yeah. Ben's mom wanted to take pictures even more badly than yours did."

"Y-you guys t-t-took pictures w-w-without me?"

"Be glad you avoided it," Richie reassured Bill. "We'll get pictures when we get there." Bill flipped on the radio. Queen sang "You're My Best Friend", and Richie crooned along. As with everything else, it wasn't long before Eddie's wobbling voice joined him, followed by Bill, who never stuttered when he sang and in fact had a very nice voice.

Derry High School looked mostly like it always did, short of the hand-painted banner hanging over the gym doors that said A NIGHT IN PARIS. The only thing that could've told you that it was supposed to be Paris was a seven-foot Eiffel Tower in front of the photographer and the pink tissue paper over the fluorescent lights, casting a rosy glow into the gym. It was, in a word, underwhelming, but Eddie still shivered in anticipation. He'd had both dreams and nightmares about tonight, but now he was here. There was no more fighting and no more hiding to be had.

"Not bad," came a voice from behind them. Richie, Eddie, and Bill spun around to see Stan, Mike, and Ben behind them. Mike was the one who had spoken, and he looked fly as hell. They all did. Ben had already begun to lose weight, and although he was not yet the Adonis he would one day become, he looked happier. More confident. Eddie was proud of him. He was proud of all of them for making it this far.

"Who's ready to paaaaaarty!?" Richie cried in his Movie Announcer Voice.

"Beep-beep, Richie," Stan said, rolling his eyes.

"You beep-beep, Stan, it's prom. It's time to fuckin' party." And then Richie took off into the fray, leaving the rest of the Losers to try to catch up with him. They found him by the snack table, downing a plastic cup full of orange, vaguely opaque punch.

"Richie, that's almost definitely spiked."

"Yeah, Eds, and so what?" Richie refilled his glass. "Drink up, boys, for tonight, we rise!" Drinks were passed around. Everyone except Eddie and Bill took one.

"Someone's gotta be there to drive your drunk asses home," Eddie said when Richie asked him why he was being a pussy. Richie rolled his eyes and punched Eddie's arm.

"Lame."

"Responsible."

"Same thing."

"I can have plenty of fun without getting wasted, Richie."

"Yeah, but you can have even more fun if you do." Richie waggled his eyebrows suggestively, although what exactly he was suggesting wasn't immediately clear to anyone.

"Enough, Rich, just do what you want." Richie's shoulders sagged.

"Fine. Sorry."

"It's fine. Are we dancing or not?" Richie brightened at the mention of dancing. He was a deeply atrocious dancer, not that Eddie was much better, but he loved it in such a way that no amount of insults or protests could get him to stop once he started. Richie grabbed Eddie's arm in one hand and Ben's in his other, and dragged them towards the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the gym. He began to twist and bounce in a way that someone who had never witnessed Richie's dance moves might have thought he was having a seizure. Eddie swayed from side to side, occasionally moving his arms. Mike shook his head as he looked at them and the other three, none of whom were doing particularly well either.

"White people," he muttered. The band played one upbeat track after another, and the night faded into a blur of neon lights. At one point, Richie took Eddie by the hands and pulled him into a quick and messy two-step.

"You gotta loosen up, Eddie-Spaghetti!"

"I hate it when you call me that."

"No, you don't." No, he didn't.

Still, it was prom, and most people who go to prom bring dates, so it wasn't long before the band played a slow song, specifically dedicated to all the lovebirds out there. The losers eyed each other for a moment, then broke down laughing, hardly able to drag themselves to a table in the corner.

"I need a smoke break." Richie pushed himself away from the table and patted his pocket, where he had presumably smuggled a carton of cigarettes. "Anyone care to join me?" His eyes flicked momentarily towards Eddie, although Eddie couldn't have smoked even if he wanted to.

"None of us smoke, Richie, why would we-"

"Sure. Why not? I've got nothing better to do." Eddie stood up, interrupting Ben.

"Cool. Cool." Richie smiled that little enigmatic smile of his, and he and Eddie left the gym, finding a place to sit outside the school's loading dock. Richie sat on a stack of crates and clumsily lit a cigarette. He turned his head up to the sky and blew out a long stream of smoke, almost silver against the black night sky. Eddie didn’t particularly like being around other people who were smoking, but when Richie did it... god, he was beautiful.

“So... is prom everything you thought it would be?” Richie asked, breaking the comfortable silence that settled between them.

”Let’s see. All my friends getting drunk? Check. Half-assed decorations? Check. The same ten songs on constant repeat? Check. Yeah, pretty much.” Richie chuckled.

”Prom’s not for people like us, y’know?”

”People like us?”

”Losers.” Richie didn’t mean it as an insult, it was what they called themselves, but it hurt nonetheless. “It’s for the shiny crowd, the people with the perfect hair and the perfect grades. The kids that are going to be presidents and movie stars. We’re not shiny like that, Eddie.” And then Richie smiled, but it was almost sad. “But who needs diamonds when you’ve got steel? That’s you and me, Eds. We’re not the coolest or the most interesting, but we’re tough. And that’s cool too.” Eddie was quiet for a moment.

”I mean, diamonds are the strongest substance in the world, but-“

”You’re ruining my metaphor.”

”-but I get the point you’re making. And honestly, I have to say, that was kinda poetic for a boy whose nickname is Trashmouth.”

"Beep-beep, Eds." Eddie sighed.

"Yeah. I know. And you're right. But..." Richie's head perked up. "What if we could make it for people like us?" Richie narrowed his eyes.

"What the hell do you mean?" Eddie leaned over and whispered in Richie's ear so quietly Richie hardly caught it. "Are you serious?" Eddie nodded, his eyes wide with excitement.

"You in?" Richie considered for a moment, then dropped his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his foot.

"Hell yeah. Let's do it."

Back in the gym, the music was once again pumping. Their friends had disappeared from the table, with no evidence that they'd been there except Mike's suit coat draped over the back of a chair and a pile of crumbs where Ben had been sitting. Richie and Eddie shared another look and burst out laughing.

"Come on! We gotta go!" Richie hissed, and took Eddie by the hand, pulling him for something like the fifth time along behind him. They ran through the gym, laughing like maniacs, their legs pumping like the end of the world, until Richie tripped and took Eddie down with him. They hit the floor hard, and Eddie felt the arm he'd broken once upon a time twinge underneath his body. He used his other arm to push himself up, and his heart stopped when he saw Henry Bowers bearing down on them, accompanied by two of his new goons (the old ones were either dead or had graduated- having been held back a year had not been good to Henry Bowers).

"Going somewhere, faggots?" He snickered loudly as Richie brushed himself off and got to his feet.

"Fuck off, Bowers. Just for one night." He offered a hand to Eddie, which he took gratefully.

"You going to find a place to fuck?" Richie's jaw clenched, but he held his tongue. Eddie was also grateful for that.

"Just leave us alone, would you?" Eddie pleaded, but Bowers ignored him.

"So is Wheezy your boyfriend now, Trashmouth?" They were loud now, and more and more people were turning to look at them. Not, unfortunately, any of the chaperones, who seemed more focused on people from literally having sex on the dance floor. "You suck his dick? Huh? Or is he more the submissive type?" Richie was growing angrier by the minute. Eddie wasn't sure he'd ever seen Richie more pissed off in his life.

"Shut your mouth, Bowers."

"Or what? Actually, maybe I should. I don't want you getting the wrong idea." Now he was right in Richie's face. "Some of us don't swing that way, Trashmouth. But I'll tell you what- I'll be quiet if your boyfriend here," he said, acknowledging Eddie for the first time, "admits that he's a queer." And that was when Richie punched Henry Bowers. They were in close quarters, so it wasn't a particularly good punch, but it shocked the hell out of Bowers so bad that he stumbled back a few steps, clutching his nose, which Richie had managed to make bleed.

"Oh, you're dead, Tozier. DEAD!" He screeched and lunged at Richie, nailing three rapid-fire hits to Richie's left cheekbone. His father's class ring, which he had taken after killing him, left deep cuts in the freckled skin of Richie's face. He had Richie by the collar now, and was winding up for an apocalyptic uppercut when Mrs. Davies, one of the chaperones and Eddie's new personal hero, took notice of the fight.

"Mr. Bowers!" She bellowed, storming towards the crowd that had gathered around them. "Unless you want to be held back again, you will put him down!" Henry looked back and forth between Mrs. Davies and Richie, whose bleeding face was already beginning to bruise. Finally, he released Richie with a sneer, shoving him to the ground and retreating out the front doors of the gym, trailed by his thugs.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy-" Eddie knelt next to Richie and held his face in his hands. "Motherfucker. We gotta get you fixed up, and the next time I see Henry Bowers, I swear to god I'll-

"Shut the fuck up, Eddie. Let's get out of here." Richie got to his feet, and he and Eddie pushed through the people, ignoring the quizzical stares and curious glances their friends and strangers alike gave them.

The nurse's office was next door to the gym. Richie tried the door handle. Locked. He turned to leave, but Eddie stopped him, fumbling in his pocket for something.

"A-ha!" He exclaimed, and pulled out his key ring. He tried a couple different ones, to no avail. Finally, he found a key that fit in the lock and turned it. Richie heard the soft thunk of the lock sliding into place.

"You have your own key to the nurse's office?" Eddie shrugged.

"I get sick a lot. Eventually, the nurse just decided that I should be able to get in on my own so she wouldn't have to come every time I came in. Which was a lot. Also, my mom kinda demanded it."

"That checks out." Eddie hit the lights and Richie took a seat on one of the counters.

"So, what the hell was that about?" Eddie asked as he dug through the cabinets, collecting supplies.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Bowers has basically called us queers every day for the last ten years. So why'd you pick today to punch him and get the hell beaten out of you?"

"Why? Do you think I shouldn't have?"

"I mean, it was very badass, I'll give you that. Up until the bit where he almost killed you."

"You're exaggerating, Eds."

"Don't call me that." Eddie sat down on the swiveling stool in front of Richie and poured some rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball. "This is gonna hurt." He dabbed gently at the series of cuts on Richie's cheek. Richie's knuckles went white as he clutched the counter, but he didn't so much as whimper. "I just don't get it."

"I don't know, Eddie, I'm drunk, he was being a douchebag, I decided to be a moron. Isn't that what always happens?" Eddie didn't respond as he pressed a few butterfly bandages onto the wound. "He went after you." Richie said softly.

"Huh?"

"He went after you. I was cool until he started picking on you."

"Richie, Henry Bowers has called me a queer and a faggot and every other name in the book almost every day since he learned those words. I don't get why that upset you so much."

"I mean, are... are you? Queer, I mean?" Eddie studied Richie silently. He was being serious, for sure, but Eddie had never been asked that question before. Not even by Bowers.

"Does it matter?" He asked after what seemed like hours. "Would you still be my friend?" Richie smiled, a different kind of smile than Eddie had ever seen. It wasn't sad, but it was sincere. And there was something else in it, something Eddie had only seen almost five years previous, in the way Ben had looked at Beverly.

"I'll never stop being your friend, Eddie." Richie's voice cracked, but his eyes were clear as he took Eddie's hand and squeezed, a gesture that was familiar among the group of friends that had become a family.

"Good." Eddie held up an towel filled with ice from the freezer. "Hold this on your face. It'll keep the swelling down." He hadn't, at any point, actually answered the question.

An hour later, the two of them returned to the gym. Bowers was gone, and most everyone had gone back to dancing like nothing had happened. Eddie noticed a few drops of Richie's- or maybe it was Henry's- blood on the gym floor. Their friends were sitting dejectedly around the table in the back corner, but they all sat up when they saw Richie and Eddie approaching.

"Are you okay?" Ben asked.

"Yeah, fine. What are you losers doing?" Richie was back to his usual self, Eddie noted.

"I mean, you getting the shit beaten out of yourself kind of dampened the mood," Stan said in his usual deadpan tone.

"Lame. I'm fine, guys." Still, Richie sat. Eddie took the seat next to him, and they all sat in gloomy silence.

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" Mrs. Davies's voice carried over the band, which went out with a jerk. Little by little, a silence settled over the assembled students. "I have here in my hand-" she gestured with a manila envelope covered in glitter, "-the results of your votes for prom queen and king!" A cheer went up, then the room was silent again. Mrs. Davies cleared her throat. "Your Derry High School prom king and queen are... Greta Keene..." Greta tossed her hair over her shoulder as she smiled and waved from the stage. Mrs. Davies placed a delicate plastic tiara on her head. "And..." she looked at the paper quizzically, but seemed to decide that it was legitimate. "...Bill Denbrough." It was so quiet in the room you could hear a pin drop. Literally. A pin dropped off Mrs. Davies's dress and it was fully audible. Then Ben started clapping, loudly and enthusiastically, his pudgy hands creating a sound that was almost deafening in the gym. And then Stan joined him, and Mike, and Richie, and Eddie. Ben rose hesitantly to his feet, but fueled by the cheers of his friends (and only his friends, everyone else stood in stunned silence), he approached the stage and allowed Mrs. Davies to place the crown haphazardly on his head. He smiled awkwardly for a moment, then jumped down and hurried back to where his friends were still cheering.

"What j-just happened?" He asked, more confused than anything.

"What do you mean?" Richie asked, and took a conspicuous sip of his drink. "Nothing happened. Eddie and I certainly didn't break into the ballot box and switch the votes." He and Eddie shared a furtive glance.

"Are you serious? Do you know how much trouble you could get in?" Stan asked, but he was grinning.

"Y-you guys are th-th-the best."

"No shit. Now, can we get back to dancing, please? I'm getting a little bored, and Mr. Prom King over here oughta show his face on the dance floor at least once."

The rest of the dance passed in a blur of moments so odd, Eddie thought maybe he'd dreamed them. Stan rode on top of Ben's shoulders and poured drinks into his mouth from nearly three feet away without spilling a drop. Richie stole Bill's crown and spoke in a cockney accent for several minutes. He and Mike ended up in the DJ booth, and Eddie had to say that he looked right at home. However, like all parties of its kind, it burned out around eleven, and the Losers said their goodbyes. Bill, being the only other sober person there, offered to take Stan, Mike, and Ben home, if Stan would let him sleep on his couch, which he would. That just left Eddie and Richie. Eddie felt oddly apprehensive about driving Richie home, although he'd done it a hundred times.

"You're really quiet," Richie said, about a minute in, his words not fully slurred, but still obvious that he was far from sober.

"Just tired." Eddie never moved his eyes from the road.

"Is this about what I asked you earlier? Because I was stupid and wasted and I think Bowers gave me brain damage."

"Don't joke about that."

"Look, don't worry about it, Eds."

"Don't call me that!"

"Fine, fine." Richie slumped down in his seat and pouted. "We did the right thing with Bill, right?" Eddie considered momentarily.

"Yeah, I think we did. I think we proved that it's not just shiny people who can have fun at prom."

"Huh?"

"Never mind." Eddie flipped on the radio. Richie sang along, even less in tune than he had been earlier.

"Workin' on our night moves... trying to lose the..." he trailed off as he forgot the words.

"Awkward teenage blues," Eddie finished, his voice high and clear.

"Yeah. That's it." Eddie pulled into Richie's driveway. The house was dark. "You know, your mom'll kill you if she finds out you got drunk." Richie didn't respond, and when Eddie turned to look at him, he leaned forward and kissed Eddie. It wasn't a good kiss. It was sloppy and drunk and Richie's lips tasted like smoke and booze and sweat. But even so, Eddie didn't break the kiss. He didn't lean into it, either, but he didn't move to stop it. "Uh... sorry." Richie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That was dumb." He cracked a smile, but Eddie just stared at him, dumbfounded. "Really fucking stupid."

"No." It took Eddie a moment to realize that it was himself that had spoken. "Not stupid."

"Not... stupid?"

"Well... maybe a little." Richie smiled for real now.

"I'll see you, Eddie." Richie unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door.

"Wait!" Eddie grabbed Richie's arm. "Do you... maybe... want to... dance?" Richie stared at him.

"Yeah. That sound nice." Eddie cranked the radio louder. It was Springsteen's "If I Should Fall Behind". Eddie took one of Richie's hands in his, and ever so softly placed the other one on Richie's shoulder. Richie's other hand slid around the small of his back. They swayed awkwardly in the headlights, their feet scuffling on the concrete of Richie's driveway, Bill's crown still glinting on Richie's head. When the song was finished, Eddie kissed Richie's cheek and got back in the car. He drove home and went to bed, and they never spoke of that night again. But years later, when Richie and Derry and senior prom were long forgotten, whenever Eddie heard Springsteen's voice singing that song, he felt a twinge in his arm that had been broken once upon a time, and he had a vague and blurry memory of a dance and a clear, starry sky.

[clownsgobeepbeep]

Winter Wonderland

@post-itpenny As you suggested, some baby Rowan in the snow~

Hopefully it’s good and I got everything right ^^’

Winter time usually meant snow time, and that was exactly the time that it was.

Sure, it had stopped snowing, but all around was a cloak of snow that had fallen the night before.

“It looks so beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you.”

Inside the home that was a refurbished and expanded lighthouse was a couple, both sitting on a large floor pillow that had warm blankets over it. The two were snuggled nicely against each other as the tiny wife took a sip from her mug with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Stop it.”

“Okay.” Atlas then nuzzled his nose into the back of  his wife’s head, taking a sniff of her sweet scent. “Are you actually gonna go out?”

“Yeah.”  Ula nodded as she continued to gaze out the window they sat right by, a sight of snow right in their backyard. “Snow’s stopped, so might as well take the chance.”

“I guess.” Atlas shrugged before Ula set her mug down, turning her body to face and embrace him. 

“Who’s doing it today?”

“I could.” Atlas answered before glancing down at the plate that was beside Ula’s mug, remembering that they had eaten the cookies that they had made the night before. “Do we still have cookies?”

“Yet another reason for me to go out.” Ula booped his nose before pulling away and standing up; she straightened the ‘oversized’ shirt she wore as nightwear before pulling up her fuzzy socks. “I need to make more cookies.”

“So, you’re doing it.” Atlas watched as Ula walked away and she replied with a nod before disappearing into the hallway of their home. 

Ula hummed to herself as she continued on her way, smiling once she reached a bedroom with a closed door. She invited herself in after quietly opening the door, approaching a crib that was adorned with softly glowing fairy lights. The woman peeked inside, a warm spreading in her chest once her eyes landed on the peaceful features belonging to a baby.

“Rowan.” she initially whispered, receiving no reaction from the baby who continued to sleep. “Rowan.~”

Once again, the baby gave no reaction and only twitched one of his fingers that grazed against the white rabbit plush beside him.

“Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?” Ula softly sang to the baby who now shifted his head in the slightest bit. “ In the lane, snow is glistening.~”

Little Rowan soon stretched out his legs and arms, right before his green eyes blinked open to look up at his mother drowsily.

“A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight.” Ula continued as she reached into the crib, Rowan now with his head on her chest as she sang to him. “Walking in a winter wonderland.~”

Rowan blinked his eyes once again as one of his small hands rubbed them, and he was now able to clearly look at his mother who rubbed her nose against his.

“Gone away is the bluebird. Here to stay is a new bird,” Ula smiled, noticing how Rowan’s features changed from tired to emotional. “He sings a love song, as we go along. Walking in a winter wonderland.”

Soon enough, tears pricked the corners of Rowan’s eyes. But before the tears could pour out, Rowan hid his face into Ula which made her give a guilty laugh.

“I’m sorry my little candy apple.” she pet his head before turning around and seeing Atlas standing at the doorway with his own mug of hot chocolate. “He’s awake now.”

“Good.” Atlas smiled before approaching his little family, then kissing the top of Rowan’s head before doing the same with Ula’s lips. “You want some oatmeal Rowan?”

At this, the baby looked over at his father who chuckled to himself.

“Oatmeal with freshly picked berries?~”

Rowan excitedly bounced in Ula’s arms before she handed him over to Atlas.

“Well now that the little fawn’s awake and you’ll be feeding him, I’m gonna go change so I can make some quick trips.” Ula pulled Atlas down so that she could plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. “Do you need me to get anything?”

“I don’t think so.” Atlas shook his head “You just go and buy your paint supplies. And cookie supplies.”

“Mkay. The axolotls should still be sleeping, so just let them be.” Ula then pinched one of Rowan’s cheeks which made him giggle. “And since there’s layers of snow, you should take Rowan out to the yard.~”

_____________

“Okay, let’s try this one more time.”

Atlas gave a bit of a laugh as he stood in front of the diaper changing station in Rowan’s room, a small sock in his much larger hands. Rowan was currently laying on the station, his diaper not being the one that had been changed but rather his onesie that had been switched out for a snow suit.

“Let me see your foot.” Atlas told Rowan, knowing very well that the baby understood. Time after Rowan was born, Atlas and Ula learned the hard way that their small one already had a sense of smarts.

Rowan lifted one of his legs, wiggling his toes which made Atlas smile and reach down to finally put the sock on. However, Rowan immediately lowered his foot and giggled to himself, once again having fooled his father.

“I’ll give you a cookie for each sock you let me put on you.” Atlas offered, but he soon shook his head. “I take that back. I don’t want last time to repeat.”

Rowan tilted his head as he sucked on his pacifier. He blinked up at Atlas who gave a sigh of defeat, Rowan’s striped sock being tossed to the side.

“I wish Ula was here.” Atlas groaned to himself before looking through Rowan’s shoes and finding his little, brown boots. “But she’s not here, so I gotta handle this. Right Rowan?”

His son then gave a small shug, rolling over onto his side but then onto his bottom so that he could now sit up and look at Atlas. He blinked once again before tapping his feet, Atlas grabbing one of the socks again.

“Okay, one more time.” Atlas smiled at Rowan who bounced his legs, this time allowing his father to slip on his socks and boots.”Now one more thing.”

Atlas reached into a drawer before pulling out small, pink mittens.

“Your grandma Vega made these for you.” Atlas presented the pink mittens which he then slipped over Rowan’s hands. “And they match with your nose.”

Atlas then picked up Rowan, holding him close to his chest as he made his way over to the living room where the door to the backyard was. He slid open the door and stepped out into the snow that made Rowan eye the area in pure curiosity.

“Careful now.” Atlas set Rowan down on the snow which the baby immediately dug his mittens into.

Rowan sat on the snow as he examined it, even scooping some up and bringing it to his mouth. He has however then stopped by Atlas who crouched down and grabbed his arm.

“You shouldn’t eat that.” Atlas informed, but he soon thought to himself momentarily. “Well, it’s fresh so-”

Without any hesitation, Rowan shoved the handful of snow right into his mouth which made Atlas’ eyes widened. Rowan turned to Atlas, then giving him a smile before he dug another hand into the snow.

“Hey!” Atlas caught his attention. “How about we make a snowman? One that looks just like your mommy?”

Rowan nodded before placing his hands behind him and his legs out, waiting for Atlas to show him how to make a snowman. He saw how Atlas dug into the snow, cupping some in both of his hands before making a miniature ball that was bigger than Rowan’s hands.

Atlas then repeated the action, this time making a smaller ball that he placed right onto the first one.

“Now you try.” Atlas grabbed and dragged Rowan over to the space between his legs, then taking hold of Rowan’s hands which he helped guide. “Grab some snow, and form it.”

He and Rowan worked on shaping the snowball which was obviously smaller than the other two, and soon the baby presented his tiny creation.

“Good job!” Atlas proudly announced, Rowan gleefully bouncing on the snow before following Atlas’ hand that pointed to the stack of snowballs. “Now put it on top of this one.”

Rowan did as he was told, then turning to Atlas with hopeful eyes that warmed Atlas’ heart.

“Good job again.” Atlas pet the top of Rowan’s head, making him clap his hands before scooping up more snow that he formed into a snowball. “Ooh, that one’s pretty small. Are you starting with the head?”

Rowan shook his head before tapping his own chest.

“Oh, it’s you!” Atlas chuckled before Rowan nodded, placing the snowball right next to the first stack so that he could make another ball.

Atlas watched Rowan continue this process, soon enough making a third stack which larger snowballs that towered over the other two stacks.

“And who’s that one?” Atlas asked before Rowan patted his leg, Atlas replying with a gasp. “It’s me? That looks great! Now all we need to do is add the small little details.”

The man reached over and grabbed some nearby twigs, these being inserted into the snow-Atlas’ head. 

“Just like my antlers, see?” Atlas pointed to his antlers that Rowan admired, just like every other time. “Now we should go look for some stuff like berries. We could use a red one for your mom’s nose.”

The baby gave a nod before he got on all fours, crawling on the snow as he attempted to search for anything resembling his and his parents’ faces.

Meanwhile, Atlas walked over to a section under a tree that lacked leaves. All of the leaves were scattered on the ground, some surprisingly still vibrant which were the ones that Atlas picked up. The green ones would be perfect for his and Rowans’ eyes, but he needed a different color for Ula.

That was when he found a leaf, or more like the leaf found him for it had just fallen onto the top of his head. He grabbed and examined it, smiling widely when he realized that the color was a perfect match for the shade of Ula’s eyes. It was a beautiful leaf, he almost felt bad about using it for the snow-Ula and felt like he should keep it instead.

“Hey Rowan, do you think this one looks like-” Atlas turned and expected to find Rowan still crawling on the snow, but he was met with nothing. “-mommy’s eyes…? Rowan?”

Surprisingly, Atlas finally caught sight of Rowan who popped out from under the snow with a head now covered with it.

“Oh Rowan.” Atlas attempted to hold in a laugh before approaching his son. “Come here-”

Immediately, Rowan ducked and burrowed into the snow which made Atlas’ eyes widen for a moment. However, Atlas cleared his throat in order to remain calm.

“Rowan, come on! We gotta go inside to get some of grandma’s cookies!” Atlas spoke loudly so that the baby would hear him under the snow. “There you are!”

Once again, Rowan popped out of the snow and stared at Atlas who remained in place so that Rowan would not flee again.

“Mmm, do you smell the cookies?” Atlas motioned to the door leading inside, but Rowan shook his head before heading towards Atlas who now only looked at a lump of snow moving towards his direction. His son popped out once he was in front of Atlas, so the latter reached down but found that it was too late when Rowan ducked into the snow and disappeared again.

“Rowan!” Atlas exclaimed before releasing a deep breath. “Alright...at least I know that he’s in the backyard and not really lost.”

In that moment however, Atlas heard a pop that made him tilt his upwards to see Rowan casually sitting at the very tip of the backyard shed.

“Rowan, no!” Atlas now felt a bit panicked, rushing over to the shed where he saw Rowan swing his legs. “Rowan, just-”

But then, Rowan disappeared with a ‘pop’ once again which made Atlas take a deep breath.

“Okay, okay. Keep your cool Atlas, he’s probably just...with the snow-family. Or…” Atlas scanned the area, Rowan nowhere in sight. “...he could be...somewhere.”

He searched the area once, and then twice. Rowan was still nowhere. Perhaps he would appear the third time.

Nope, not even that time.

“Hm, I wonder wherever Rowan could be…” Atlas pretended to ask himself as he now wandered inside the house, eventually coming into the kitchen where he saw that a cupboard was slightly open. “I really do wonder.~”

Ever so cautiously, Atlas approached the cupboard before swinging the door open with a triumphant ‘a-ha!’. In the end, he only gave a frown upon seeing Samhain huddled inside the cupboard and on top of a cereal box that was now squashed due to the cat’s weight.

“Not here either.” Atlas grumbled before leaving Samhain and shutting the cupboard, then hearing movement… “In the fridge?”

His eyebrows raised in confusion, but his face then turned into one of panic.

“Oh no, please don’t be in there.” Atlas whispered as he ran over to the fridge, the door being forced open to reveal nothing but a mouse; a mouse eating a small cube of cheese that had been accompanied by a plethora more. Had he been someone else, this would have been a total surprise. But Atlas was married to Ula, so this was completely normal.

So, Atlas shut the door and let the mouse be, then bringing a hand up to his mouth to chew on one of his nails. His eyes glanced up to the clock hanging in the kitchen. Fuck, it was basically an hour if not more since he last saw Rowan. Oh no, this was just like the time a baby Davey disappeared out of his arms and into a tank of sharks.

Except this time, there was no shark who was secretly Ula. And there was no baby in sight, no trace of him.

“Oh shit.” Atlas bit his lip. “Ula’s gonna kill me.”

That was when Atlas heard something, a dash of hope setting in him until he looked out one of the front windows. He felt as his heart dropped upon the sight that was Ula’s vehicle driving and parking in the front, hands going to tug at his hair in true panic.

Shit. He should have used the help of the axolotls. But then again, not even he could catch a whiff of Rowan’s scent.

“Ula’s really gonna kill me this time.”

_____________

Ula turned her car key before pulling it out, admiring the small pumpkin keychain for a moment that then lead to her opening her door and getting out.

Her heels sounded against the ground beneath her as she circled around the car and opened the trunk, hearing a door open at the same time. From behind the opened trunk, Ula took a peek before a smile came onto her features.

“Hey Atlas.”

“Heeey, Ula.” her husband greeted her, forcing a smile which she was oblivious to. “You’re here...early.”

“Oh I know right?” Ula conversed before taking out a box that she placed into Atlas’ hands. “I stopped by our parents’ houses. Your mom gave me cookies, as always, for Rowan. My mom gave me some clam chowder and some plushies for Rowan.”

“Nice.” Atlas nodded, wanting to go back into the house as soon as possible.

“Speaking of,”

Shit.

“Where’s Rowan?” Ula grinned before walking back to the seats of her car and reaching into the back ones to reveal a rocking horse, or more like rocking deer. “Look at his new toy!”

“Wh-where’d you get that from?” Atlas asked as he discreetly eyed the house. 

“Well, I bumped into-” Ula then stopped herself before grabbing Atlas’ chin and making him look at her now stern expression. “What’s wrong?”

“What? What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”

“Atlas.”

“Okay, okay.Ula...I didn’t want you to get mad or upset but…” Atlas gave a sigh of defeat. “I forgot to ask if you could get me one of your Sea of Emotions drinks,  but you’re here already so…”

“Oh! Well that’s alright. I’ll go get you one and whatever else you need.” Ula smiled, this making Atlas give a smile of relief. “Just help me unload these things first and then I’ll run to my cafe real quick.”

“How about, I unload these things and you go to the shop?” Atlas coughed before Ula gave him a strange look.

“Uh, I think I’ll stay and help.” Ula gabbed the wooden deer before making her way towards the front entrance.

“Ula!” Atlas immediately stood in between his wife and the door. “There’s something important that I need to tell you. Really important.”

“What, what is it Atlas?” Ula groaned with a stomp of her heel. “Why are you acting so strange? Let me through!”

“Ula, wait!” Atlas called behind Ula before hearing her gasp, and he honestly had no idea what to expect.

“Atlas,” Ula spoke before setting down the deer. “Look!”

“What?” Atlas looked at what Ula saw, a sigh escaping him as he finally felt relief.

“He looks so cute.” Ula cooed at the sight that was Rowan sitting with his back leaned against Mana who had his tail wrapped around the little one. However, Mana was not the only one there for Kala and the rest of the axolotls were all relaxing in a protective nest around Rowan who was far too focused on the television that had somehow turned on. What Atlas also couldn’t figure out was how the axolotls got out of their room which was closed.

“Rowan, mommy’s home.” Ula kneeled down before petting all of the axolotls, Rowan turning to her before he extended his arms out with his hands doing a grabbing motion. Ula naturally picked up the baby and held him close.

“So,” Ula looked over at Atlas. “What were you trying to tell me?”

“Oh! Uh.” Atlas slightly shrugged. “Just that we started watching The Mummy without you. Hope you’re not mad.”

“Of course I’m mad.” Ula joked before kissing the side of Rowan’s head. “Watching a movie before I get here is so mean.”

“Yeah, guess it is.” Atlas nervously laughed before he was handed Rowan.

“Well, I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go put this deer in Rowan’s room so we can continue getting everything from the car.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll help out in a bit.” Atlas watched as Ula walked away, his attention now on Rowan who stared up at him with big eyes. “Mom doesn’t have to know what happened. Whatever it is happened. Okay?”

Rowan blinked at his father once, then giving a nod of agreement before laying his head on Atlas’ shoulder.

[suitedblue]

Can we send you prompts??? If so - what about Teddy’s first love and then then fading away and then like... he sees her/him years later??

Children. That’s all they were. That’s all he was. Naive to the hardships of a heart.  Easily connected because of proximity. Same classes. Same friends. Shared laughs and shared meals. Playful shoves, an arm thrown around a shoulder; pulled in close. Flickering touches of fingers nearly grasping at each other -- too shy to clasp hands together. Smitten. That’s all they were. That’s all he was. Both families grew to know each other better. It was what was supposed to happen. A united front. Legacy families.  Embraces grew a little tighter, the talks grew a little longer. Long nights out, strolling along the riverbank together. Messy make out sessions in a dark corner of an already poorly lit pub. The first time. Exploring each other’s bodies, discovering a lust. Deeper affection than he previously thought possible. Promises of tomorrow and of each other. She was always on his mind. A sense of happiness that made him float never ending what a life they could have together she made him soar, by merlin he was flying he was in Love. One sided. He could see a life together. He had never been able to do so before with anyone else. The maturity of an old soul getting older. Of growing old, and of seeing her in their home. Big windows, white kitchen, of her making breakfast, that intoxicating smile, a life and a path he thought was going to happen. Realizes how cruel she can be. Well aware of his devotion to her and how she toys with the emotions all embroiled in years of being together. He wants to talk - set things clear. She presses him against the wall - that intoxicating smile, a batting of eyelashes, a coy hand pressed against his chest. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. All he wants is her. And then she’s gone. He loves too hard. He loves too easily. He thinks about her often at first, and then time, while it doesn’t make things better, puts some distance between everything. His thoughts about her linger. They run into each other from time to time. Old friends. Focused on his career. Both were on diverging paths the moment they met, but for a singular moment, they had gotten to the fork in the road together. Gone again. This time for longer. Life goes on, and he closes himself off. It’s easier to deal with now. Not just love, but the pain. And work. Enjoys himself in work. He is him when he works. A slice of a younger man. Of a happier man. Of a young boy who is naive with the heartaches of the world. Still young - doesn’t feel like it. One day he gets a letter in the mail. Marriage. An invitation. Not to him, but it’s still a surprise. Hadn’t thought of her in years except for the occasional passing memory. Doesn’t know what to feel - isn’t sure what he’s supposed to feel. He is sincerely glad she is happy. Has found her happiness. But is he weary? Is he jealous? What about all the love he had given her? He goes anyways. Sits in the back. Quiet among familiar faces. Watches her father walk her down the aisle. Watches her say her vows. Watches the other man shed a tear. An exchange of the rings, and then it’s over. She walks hand in hand with her husband back down the aisle. Cheers and loud clapping. He stands, and she sees him. It is only for a few seconds, but their eyes lock, everything pauses, and he thinks of the life he had imagined for the two of them. He smiles at her softly. Leaves a small present with the towering stack of gifts. His is tucked neatly away in a corner. A card with the inscription inside: I hope your happy ending was everything you needed.

[karmabansheenz]

Do I Stay or do I Go Now?

Well, everyone, this is it, my first ever Fanfic. I’m a Guy Ritchie super fan and I, like most, am obsessed with the character dynamics between Ilya, Solo, and Gaby.  As I attempt to pay homage to this, please forgive any faux pas! Trigger Warning: Fiction contains attempted sexual assault.  

1960’s

Napoleon Solo Ilya Kuryakin Gabriella ‘Gaby’ Teller

Who am I?

I’m an orphan. My Father was a Nazi rocket Scientist and my Mother – I don’t speak of her.  

I am not proud of my lineage, not many daughters of the Nazi regime are.

I don’t like to go on about myself and neither do I particularly enjoy talking of the past. Therefore, all you need to know is that in the pursuit of trying to locate my Father I was recruited by one Alexander Waverly of the British intelligence agency and have now somehow found myself embroiled within a covert operations team alongside a devastatingly incorrigible American CIA Playboy, Napoleon Solo and a giant brooding Russian KGB Agent, Ilya Kuryakin.  

Our codename; U.N.C.L.E.

“My, my Gaby.” Waverly tutted, jutting his short chin out as he admonished me, “We are particularly disinterested today I might say.”  

He wasn’t wrong, he was never bloody wrong but I refused to take the bait, instead, I simply folded my arms across my chest lounging further back in the dark leather armchair.  

Beside me, I felt Ilya tense, not one to approve of my ever being anything but the soft feminine creature he so yearned for me to be.  Unable to resist I, therefore, took a deliciously long, sweet time altering my crossed legs.  Fingers suddenly struck, ticking against his pressed grey trousers. It was a dead giveaway that I’d be successful in agitating him and only happy to further the strain I cocked my head and slipped the end of my pencil into my mouth.  

Napoleon’s sharp kick to the back of my chair startled me as I slid against the linoleum floor.  

“What?” I asked him doe-brown eyes wide.

“You know what. Take pity on Peril.”, the almost permanent natural quirk to his lips made it hard to take him seriously.

“Don’t speak for me, Cowboy.”  

I rolled my eyes at the deep gravelly growl.  

“Don’t do this, don’t do that.” I mimicked his surly monotone. “Can’t you ever have fun?”  

“It’s nice,” interjected Waverly in his overly dry clip, “to see that after two successful missions you’re still all such good friends. Now if you don’t mind,” the slap of a stack of folders hitting the desk echoed around Alexander’s office, “back to business.”  

I took the top folder scanning the front page of the dossier, paying particular attention to the small polaroid attached.  

“William Chisholm,” The ice in Waverly’s glass chimed as he swirled his whiskey around, “Philanderer, business tycoon, madman. Quite standard statistics for a man with naturally sadistic tastes. Rumor has it he’s grown tired of kidnapping and trafficking women for fun and now has decided that biological warfare is more ‘his thing.’”

“Sounds like a real swell guy.” Napoleon drawled rising and releasing the top button of his shirt as he helped himself to a drink. “So, what's the plan?”

“It's delightfully simple really.” Waverly’s eyes met mine. “He’s very, very partial to a particular type of woman. And we, well we just seem to have exactly what he's looking for.”  

“No.” Ilya stood his chair crashing against the floor. “Absolutely not.”  

I took the whiskey from Napoleon's outstretched hand and shot it back. “When do we start?”

Ilya took a menacing step towards me and ignoring him I stacked my feet up on Waverly’s desk, empty glass shaking in Solo’s direction for a refill. Waverly cocked an eyebrow at me and I smiled,

“Well...?”

***

“Let's run through this, again shall we?”  

Ilya towered over Napoleon, “I. Don't. Need. To. Go. Through. It. Again.”

Solo pushed on unperturbed. “Gaby and I will attend the event together in the pretense of being Husband and Wife.”  

“You are not-”

“Oh, for god's sake Ilya.” I turned from the window overlooking New York City’s grandeurs skyline, my small foot tapping against the plush mustard carpet. “It’s a good plan, Solo and I will-”

“You should be My Woman.” the big blond Russian barked.

“Yes, yes,” I waved my hand at him, “Because it worked so well the last time, we played pretend.”

“Face it Peril,” Solo fitted his sapphire cufflinks, adjusting the sleeve of his tailor-made shirt, “Once again our Little Iron Curtain Girl has the right of it. You couldn’t even standby and be mugged next to Gaby. How do you think you’ll behave when the entire goal is to try to have her accosted?” he slanted an eyebrow, expertly knotting his bowtie even without the use of a mirror.

Ilya’s huge hands curled into fists at his side. “I do not like this plan.”

“You don’t have to like it.” I sighed lifting my thick brunette hair over my shoulder as I turned my back to him. “Now, zip me.”  

Napoleon saluted me with his glass as he left the sitting room.  

“Gaby,” I felt the hairs on my neck spark to life as his large index finger pressed against the top of my spine, skimming down, dipping into the low curve of my back before he pulled at the zipper, quickly covering once exposed skin.  

I could feel the heat of his body behind me so close pressing inwards without moving. I turned, sliding the string straps of the dress up and over my shoulders as I craned my neck all the way back, just to look up at him.  

“Gaby.”

“It’s time.”  

I smiled at Solo’s perfectly timed call, feeling Ilya’s long fingers slide from the back of my neck where they’d briefly tangled into my hair.  

“No garter this time?” I quipped up at him. His light grey-blue eyes were sad as he reached into his pocket pulling out a large engagement ring with a familiar centered pearl, surrounded by diamonds.  

“No.” He took my hand, sliding the band onto my finger and this time I let him. “I will be listening.”

I smiled feeling my bottom lip tremble with a sudden stab of fear. “As usual.” was all I managed as we gathered to leave.

Ilya again balled up his fists, “I will be able to hear her Cowboy. But you, you do not let her out of your sight.”

Solo bristled, his pretty ego so easy to rattle, “Christ Peril, you think you’re the only one who cares about Gaby?”  

“Not out of your sight Cowboy!”

Napoleon wrapped the white minx coat around my shoulders and nodded at the Russian, suddenly utterly serious. The intensity of the moment made the fine hairs on my arms prickle.

I rested my tiny hand on Ilya’s wide chest, feeling the quick thud of his heartbeat, pearl winking from the overhead lights. “I will be fine Ilya. I’m a big girl.”

***

Solo pressed against me as we swayed to the live orchestra at the Charity Gala. It was always the same, deranged men hiding behind mountains of good deed diversions.  

“Spotted him yet?” Napoleon's warm whiskey-scented breath tickled over my ear and I moved to tuck my head under his chin scanning faces around us as he waltzed me across the floor. I spied ‘him’ suddenly striding down the main stairway, a stoic blond porcelain doll upon his arm.  

“Gaby?”

“Mm-hum.” I made the affirmation in my throat gently taking over the lead in the dance to turn Solo back the way we’d come.

“Well done.” he smiled down at me. “Ready?”  

I wasn’t, not really but when did that ever seem to matter?  

Dressed head to toe in red I knew I was hard to miss and though I was small, I was not oblivious to the desire to ‘protect’ that that brought out in most men. William Chisholm's character profile was simple. He liked a good chase and he certainly enjoyed taking things that didn’t belong to him. Therefore, in order to bait our trap well, Napoleon and I were really going to have to sell this sham marriage.  

My back now to the target I felt Solo’s hand slid down drifting over my backside. I reached behind me and gripped his wrist. “Naughty boy.”

“But Darling,” he drawled his middle American accent thick like honey. “It’s simply impossible not to misbehave when you look like this.”  

“But Darling,” I cooed, “This is not the time.”

His dark blue eyes flashed along with his smile and probably for the first time, this close I really, clearly understood what that azure gaze could do to a woman when you had its full attention.  

“It's always time.” he teased filling his hand and squeezing.  

I turned it up, giggling and slapping at his tuxedo covered shoulder. “Not here.”

His hand trailed upwards cupping my face and I turned away in a spin but was quickly pulled back and dipped over his strong arm. “At least play fair Mrs. Jones.”  

Laughing as he set me back on my feet, I noted eyes on us. Happiness did that, it drew people like flies, sucked them into its web. A few even softly clapped as he kissed my hand and led me from the dance floor deftly plucking two champagne flutes from a passing waiter. “To us.”  

I clinked glasses with him and sipped coquettishly.  

“Careful now.” he chuckled catching my chin in his thumb and forefinger, dipping to press his mouth against mine. My lips tingled and my knees wobbled as his tongue swept along my lower lip. I let my eyes shine; wasn’t sure I could have stopped them. “Shall we leave early?” he purred his gaze flicking quickly to the left.  

“I would hope not.”  

I pressed my fingers to my lips in feigned surprise, drawing away from the unfamiliar voice.  

Solo turned to face the cause of our interruption, shifting slightly so his body was between me and our Mr. William Chisholm. “Excuse me I don’t believe we’ve met.” He extended his hand, “Theodore Jones.”

Chisholm took it, his dark green eyes never leaving my face. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jones.” Releasing Solo’s hand, he sipped from his own glass, eyes raking over me. “And who might this delightful creature be?”

‘Theo’ moved backward his hand again at my lower back, “Ah, allow me to introduce my beautiful wife, Olivia.”  

William took my proffered hand his thumb grazing my knuckle's as he pressed a lingering kiss. “Wife?” he glanced back at the porcelain doll. “Yes, I have one of my own though I must admit she seems rather dull compared to yours.”  

Solo cleared his throat, pressing me possessively against his side.  

William’s smile thinned. He was by no means an unattractive man, wavy black hair, tanned skin, fit build. But knowing what I did, I could see it. The underlying darkness that sequestered his inner demons.

“How have I never met your acquaintance, before now?” he inquired casually, too casually.  

Before Napoleon could answer I excused myself feeling both men's eyes on me as I weaved through guests in the pretense of needing the powder room. After touching up my lipstick and tucking away a few loose curls of hair I reentered and helped myself to a new glass of liquid courage.  

I was unsettled. I felt like I’d stared into the belly of the beast, and it had rattled me.  

Strolling through the wide corridors of the gallery I finally stopped before an abstract painting of two bodies intertwined. I drained the flute I held and reached for another, fingers colliding with Chisholm's.  

“Please, allow me.” he raised the glass, licking off the droplets that had spilled over the rim before handing it to me.  

I took it, trying to make every movement exaggeratingly slow. Through shuttered lashes, I stole a peek up at him and was pleased to watch his nostrils flare.        

“Where have you been hiding Mrs. Jones.?”    

I turned my back on him facing the painting once more. “Olivia, I insist.” Sensing him move rather than seeing him, I assumed he’d come to stand directly behind me.  

“Not Livi? Or Liv?”

His breath brushed my bare neck and I snorted into my champagne. “You insult me, William.”

“How so?”  

Looking back over my shoulder at him I again sipped my drink, “Do I look like a Livi or a Liv to you?” The question hung in the air, I felt the heat of it and cleared my throat putting space between us. “Besides I’m sure my husband told you of our recent adventures abro-.”

“He did,” William interrupted, “But I would prefer to hear your take on matters.”

I smiled, obviously wanting to make sure our stories matched I obliged him stepping slightly further away each time I felt him reach for the small of my back. “Is your curiosity quite satisfied?” I ended.

“No.” He breathed his movement more determined this time as he caught my wrist. Startled and playing the role I needed to, I tried to pull away. “Not at all I’m afraid.”  

I eyed him nervously.  

His smile flashed, predator-like. “I know your type Olivia.” he jerked on my wrist dragging me against his body. “You like to play at being in charge, but that’s just because someone hasn’t taken you in hand properly yet.”  

It was a risky move but I went with what my instincts told me as his hard mouth crushed down on mine. Reeling back I slapped him, immediately covering my mouth with my hands in shock.  

His eyes were alight. “Oh yes, I know your type indeed.”  

“I have to go.” I stammered.  

“Where are you staying?” he caught my upper arm, “Answer me.” his voice, though quiet, cracked like a whip.  

Impeccably timed as usual ‘Theodore’ appeared around the corner with my fur coat in hand. “Darling, there you are.” he slid me back into the minx, “We’re going to be late.”

“Another engagement?” Chisholm feigned polite interest.

“I’m afraid so.” Solo smiled.  

“Let me extend an invitation to you both to join me at my home tomorrow.”  

I pressed into Napoleons side averting my eyes from William. Letting the men speak, though made sure enough that Chisholm could see my shaky hand clutching at my husband's jacket lapel.

“It’s a little get together. A celebration of a job well done for tonight's event. I won’t take no for an answer.”  

“Well if that’s the case,” Theodore Jones quipped and the men shook hands again, “We’re staying in room 308 at the Waldorf if you would like to send the information over. Sadly, I must insist we leave now though.”

Knowing that Chisholm would expect further contact, I purposefully denied him interlocking my hands around Solo’s elbow as we nodded our goodbyes and slipped from the venue.  

***

  “Why must you always insist on behaving like this?”

I rubbed my head in my hands eyeing the half empty bottle of vodka sitting in front of me. It had been a long night, Napoleon made sure we had stayed out in case we were being followed.  So, of all the wonderful thing we could have done in New York City, we’d attended the god-awful opera for appearances sake and now, well after midnight, all I wanted was to drink myself to sleep.  

  “More importantly,” I complained, “Why must you always insist upon making me drink alone?” I shook the vodka at Ilya, “Besides, this is my room. So, I will drink how I like. In my room.”

 “You are like a little girl.”

Swigging straight from the bottle I waggled my finger at him.

  “Hey!” I cried out, dumbstruck as he moved suddenly, snatching it out of my hand and striding straight across the room, begin emptying the rest of my vodka down the bathroom sink.  

I flew after him, slapping my hands against his back and shoulders. I might as well be hitting a block wall for all the notice he took. One steely strong arm held me off as he poured out my only hope of a good night's sleep. “Stop!” I yelled resorting to yanking at his shirt.  

Finished he swung to face me his eyes a stormy grey. “I will do it.”  

I chewed on my bottom lip backing away from the raw heat of him, even as I stubbornly lifted my tiny chin, “Do what?”  

  “You. Know. What.”          

  “Pfft.” It was an un-lady like snort, my eyes daring him, “You had your chance in Istanbul and you didn’t.”

His face was stony as he towered over me “Do not speak to me of Istanbul.”

  “Why?”  

His palm struck the wall beside me. I didn’t even flinch.

  “Why Ilya?” I purred finger jabbing him in the chest before trailing down lower, “Is it because you liked it?”

His jaw ticked, “Stop.”  

My finger hit the ridge of his belt buckle, “Ilya?”  

He was staring at my hand, resting above the seam of his trousers.  

“Is it because you like to listen to me?” Tick, tock went his jaw again. “Did you want to watch me?”

Squealing I found myself suddenly tucked under his arm as he carried me from the bathroom. “What are you doing?!”  

Huffing as my elbow found his abdomen, he juggled his hold on me until I was face down staring at the ugly carpet of the suite's bedroom. I could feel the restrained violence in him. Actually, folded over his thighs I could feel all of him.  

His hands on my shoulder and hip pinned me and then he branded me with one.  

I couldn’t even cry out, or gasp.

The second one was harder, sharper and mouth open against the side of the bed I sucked in a breath at the third before coming to life. “Ilya stop it!” I scrambled to free myself from his lap, fists clutching at the bedding and his trouser leg. “Stop Ilya!”  

Four – Five.  

  “Ilya!” my blood pounded in my ears.  

Six.  

I screamed and he released me so suddenly I fell onto the carpet on all fours. Scrambling away I sat against the wall, hissing at the tenderness of my backside, ending up on my knees.  

  “Bastard.” It was a sob.

His eyes lifted from staring at his hands as if they didn’t belong to him, to my face and I read the regret in them, and... something else entirely.  

  “Russian Bastard.”  

Shame flickered across his aquiline features and my gut responded in kind. How long had I taunted him, teased him, goaded him into putting his hands on me?  

I had wanted him too and knew him well enough that nothing would have driven him to touch me like his anger would. We'd worked side by side for well over six months and other than wrestling in a hotel room in Italy he had only ever really touched me with his eyes. He didn’t think he was worthy of me; he didn’t think he was enough.  

And here it was, my moment to tell him, he was.  

And I couldn’t do it.  

On his feet suddenly he paced before me, long legs eating up the limited space in the room. Hands plowing through his thick blond hair before he froze in place, staring at the door to the room.

  “No.” I whispered.  

He made to move towards it and I grabbed one large hand in both of mine. “Ilya.” He looked past me still at the door, “Please,” I begged softly, “Please don’t leave me here on my own.”

The plea hung in the air between us. I pressed my forehead against the backs of his knuckles. “Please.”

And then...  

Finally, his strong long fingers wrapped around mine.  

***

“Good Morning.”  

Solo’s voice was irritatingly bland as if finding his partners together abed was nothing out of the usual. Granted we were both still completely clothed I was however fully curled atop the huge Russian like a happy kitten.  

Ilya’s arms that had been wrapped around me dropped away as the curtains were opened and sunshine stung our eyes. As we moved away from each other the Americans eyebrows did suddenly arch in surprise as I wiped quickly at the corner of my mouth and he spied the corresponding wet patch on Ilya’s shirt.  

The envelope in Napoleon's hand was waved in front of my face. I snatched it from him, broke the seal and scanned the contents as he dropped into one of the suites armchairs.  

Snorting I flattened it against Ilya’s chest in disgust.  

  “What?” Solo smiled drolly.

I looked up at Ilya watching his expressionless features as he read the letter and then reread it. “I don’t like it.” was all he said after a while and handed it over to the American.  

  “Oh, for god's sake,” I quipped heading towards the bathroom, “that's all you’ve said since we arrived!” Shutting the door, I slid back against it to the floor, my hands were shaking.  

  “So, it’s a different invitation than we were expecting.” Solo called out, “But it’s still an invitation.”

  “Oh wow,” the Russian drawled, “Love your logic Cowboy.”  

I pressed my face into my hands, I wanted my mother and that gross juvenile desire only fueled the rise of quickening anxiety I'd begun to experience. Splashing cool water on my face I flushed the toilet for effect and returned to the room, leaning against the wall as casually practiced, as I could.  

  “We go then?” even I was impressed with how disinterested I sounded.  

Napoleon's fingers drummed on the armrest.  

Ilya stared at me, I stared at Solo, Solo stared at the ceiling.  

The clock in the room ticked, ticked, ticked.

  “We go.”

***

  “You never cease to surprise me, Gaby.” Waverly signaled for the waiter as I removed my enormous white circled glasses and folding them placed them carefully in my handbag.  “Tea?” he asked.

I shook my head.  

  “Very well. Just the one tea then.”

I waited until we were left alone again.  “Thank you for coming to meet with me.”

  “Yes well, you didn’t really give me choice.” he cleared his throat and busied himself with his cuffs.  

I forced a smile.  

Again, we waited for the waiter to finishing serving Waverly his tea.

 “So?”

I watched people on the sidewalk outside the café, I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him when I made my shameful admission. “I can’t do this.”

The teacup clinked loudly as it hit the saucer on the table but I bravely continued,  

  “It's different this time. I just, I can’t.”

Alexander took a deep breath, leaning on his elbow’s he stapled his fingers in front him peering over them at me. “But I’m afraid Gabriella, that you and I both know, you don’t have a choice. Do you?”

I snapped my eyes to his and was shocked at the sadness there, it was genuine.  

  “Somethings different Waverly.”

He lent back, resumed drinking his tea and mused. “I’ve never lied to you Gabby. So, I won’t start now. He’s a dangerous man, but no worse than the dangerous men you’ve faced before. Remember who your uncle was?”

Remember who my uncle was? What a hellishly absurd thing to say, how could I possibly forget?  

Me? His innocent, pretty, little, trusting niece.

Waverly read the change in my expression and held up his hand, “Forgive me.” was all he said and we resumed a collective silence.  

  “He sent us, well I should say, my husband, this, this morning.” I slid it towards Alexander.  

I didn’t watch him read it; I had already memorized it.  

Mr. T Jones,  

I delightfully request your presence tonight at a rather intimate gathering at my home.   All I ask is that you bring your lovely wife with you of course, along with a very, very open mind.

R. Chisholm

Waverly pushed it back towards me, “What did he say when you met with him last night?”

  “He invited us to a party, a celebration to mark the end of the charity drive I assumed.”  The silence stretched out, “I’ve read the dossier, I’ve read his file, I know what he’s capable of. You all know, yet you all expect me to somehow walk in there as bait while you search for files.” Silence still, I was beginning to become agitated. “Me, my body, myself – for what? For paper? For documents?” I’d started to hiss.  

  “Gabriella,”

 “No!” I slapped the palms of my hands on the table. Wavery looked bored. “If I do this. If I do this thing for you, it is the last assignment Alexander. The last!”

He was lazily nodding, more so to keep the peace. I was drawing lots and lots of very unwanted attention.  

  “Say it.” My eyes dared him to refuse.  

  “Yes.”

I unpacked my sunglasses. “Say it properly.”  

Waverly crossed his arms and sighed. “Very well Miss Teller. After the successful completion of this assignment, I will release you from the task force, codename UNCLE.”

***

My Hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My mascara wouldn’t stop running. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding.  

I needed a drink.  

Startled as I left the bathroom and found Solo again in the armchair of my suite, I didn’t have time to paste on my normal bored façade.  

  “Where is Ilya?” I rushed out panicked that he too might see me in my current vulnerable state.  

Solo, ever the gentleman, was quick to pour me a drink, and then another. “He’s busy playing with his Russian tech.” his long slender finger wiped at my cheek coming away black.  

I hadn’t even realized I’d begun to cry again.  

Wrapped up suddenly in Napoleon's arms I felt him kiss the top of my head, “It will be over before you know it.” He rocked me slightly as my breathing softened, “We may even get to dance again. You danced divinely Mrs. Jones.”

I laughed, soothed by the natural confidence Solo exuded. “For a chop-shop girl?”

He pulled back to look down at me eyes sparkling as he winked, “For a chop-shop girl.”

The suite door suddenly crashed open and desperate to hide my very real fear from Ilya I flew back to the safety of the bathroom as he advanced quickly on Napoleon.  

  “Now Peril, it's not what it looked like!”

From within my sanctuary, I heard the sound of splintering furniture, followed by plenty of huffing and grunting.  

Fine, I thought, just fine. Let them tear the place to shreds. They’d been acting like caged bears with sore heads ever since we arrived, it would do them both good to burn off some steam while I somehow got myself together.  

***

  “You’ll never get in.” Solo mocked.

  “I will.” Ilya was dusting the sleeves of his tuxedo as we emerged from the Mark X Jaguar and Solo handed the keys to the awaiting valet.  

  “No. You won't.”  Napoleon retorted

  “Watch me work Cowboy.” At the last minute, the Russian disappeared leaving just the two of us to be received at the front doors of the mansion. Wealth had never impressed me, Alexander Vinciguerra had tried to dazzle me with his enormous fortune in Italy, and I was even less moved as I stood in the ridiculous chandeliered foyer of William Chisholm’s ‘home’.

A home had to have a heart and I knew enough about this one's owner to know that wasn’t possible.  

  “Theo!” The booming cry came from down the hallway. “So good of you to join us.”  

The men heartily shook hands and I pressed tighter against Solo’s side.  

  “So good of you to bring your little wife too.”  

He gestured for us to follow him and I kept step with ‘Mr. Jones.’

  “You picked our curiosity with your strange invite William. We weren’t quite sure what to make of it, were we Darling?”

I smiled, shaking my head. “No, it was very vague.”

William laughed; it was forced. “Well you can’t go around advertising your personal life when you’re an upstanding citizen like myself.  I couldn’t quite risk openly inviting you to a swinger's party, having just met you.” His eyes never left my face as he spoke. “How would I know if you’d go straight to the papers, invite in hand.”

At the mention of swinging my heart dropped to my stomach, my fears confirmed and I pulled sharply on Solo’s arm, “Theo, we should go.”

  “Now see here,” Solo began squaring off with William “This is absurd, I-”

  “Mr. Jones, I specifically requested an open mind,” the quick clip of shoes told me at least three men were approaching us from behind. “I’ll be so disappointed if you tell me you’ve left that behind.”  

I peered over my shoulder at the same time as Solo, acknowledging the presence of the three large suited men. The message was clear.  

  “I suppose, err that is, there is no harm in a married couple broadening their horizons.”

William clapped Theodore on the shoulder, “Yes indeed! Well said Mr. Jones.”  

We followed Chisholm into the next room, Solo having to drag me the rest of the way.  

  “If it was good enough for the Romans and the Greeks!” William declared pushing red wine glasses into our hands, “It’s good enough for me.”  

I turned my back on the debauchery before me, cheeks flaming from the site of half-naked men and women openly coupling in front of one another. Gulping at the wine, Solo’s hand had ended up pressed against my abdomen and I could feel the tension in him. Being a handsome, quick-witted Playboy was one thing but this was too lewd, too base. I knew he disapproved.  

Seeing the stricken look on my face William countered, “Perhaps a quiet alcove for a gentler immersion?”

I allowed myself to be led and sat docilely beside Napoleon.  

  “Theo, let me properly introduce my wife, Tatiana?”  

The demure porcelain doll from the night before had been replaced by a lively half-dressed one that happily trotted over, arms wrapping around her husband as her eyes undressed mine. Although nowhere near as tall, her sharp facial features reminded me of Victoria Vinciguerra. I disliked her immediately and by the tightening of Solo’s hand on my knee, he’d made the unpleasant comparison also.  

  “Darling, are they here to play?”  

Napoleon cleared his throat as she moved towards him and not even having to act my eyes filled with tears. I didn’t want to see this; this sort of thing wasn’t for me.  

  “Olivia?” my husband called as Mrs. Chisholm suddenly perched on his lap and began to undo his tie.  

  “I’m fine.” I stammered, glancing around. I needed to get this over with, fast. “Where are the facilities?”

William gestured to the other side of the room and without delay I made a beeline for it. I didn’t dare look around until I was outside in the hallway again.  

Trembling, I was so far out of my depth.  

Thankfully alone, I slid past the obvious powder room making my way quickly up the stairs looking for a study. All our intel had said was it was in the left wing but so far the only bedroom after bedroom lined the hall.  

I was beginning to panic; I could feel the bubble of it rising up threatening to choke me as I opened the final door - to the master bedroom. Heat flashed behind my eyes, there were no more rooms to check.  

Hands against my heaving rib cage I stole one last look around the master bedroom, a tiny sliver of light I hadn't seen before winking under an internal doorway, into which - was a study.  

I had never shaken so much or worked so fast in my life. The bottom drawer was locked and running my hands under the desk I hit a secret compartment, my fingers touching the cold metal of a key as the sound of the outside master bedroom door closing reached my ears.  

I don’t know how I managed it but the key was back in place, papers folded and tucked in my purse and I was standing at the far side room, a book, hastily plucked from the wall to wall shelves, open and in hand as Chisolm entered.

Mask in place I turned slowly.  

  “Can I help you with anything?” he asked nonchalantly leaning against the desk I had been rummaging through only seconds before.  

I took a deep settling breath, “Books comfort me.”

He smiled lazily, “I think you were more comfortable downstairs than you want to admit, Mrs. Jones.” He crooked a finger at me. “Come, show me what novel was more interesting than getting to know me better?”

I obeyed, handing him the book and he briefly eyed the cover before placing it on the desk. “Emily Bronte. She has a unique way of describing love.” he mused as he lifted my hand to cradle his tanned face. “Will you haunt me I wonder?” he turned me suddenly, roughly, unzipping the back of my dress.  

I went numb. I had what I needed, clutched stupidly between my hands, by all accounts the job was done but my limbs started to go cold with the realization that this time there may not be any escape.  

  “Theo?”  

Chisholm’s lips pressed against my shoulder urgently as he took the purse out of my hands throwing it to the floor and yanked my dress down to follow it. “Where’s Theo-” I cried out as his hand tore into my hair, scattering pins as he wrenched me back to face him.  

  “It seems your husband can’t handle his wine, Mrs. Jones.”

In any other circumstances, I might have found it funny that once again the great Napoleon Solo had been easily incapacitated by another spiked drink, instead, my teeth chattered. “William,”  

  “Shhh, shhh, shhh.” His hand was still fisted in my hair as he lowered his forehead to mine, “Looking at you I think I do finally understand what drove Heathcliffe mad.” His teeth crushed against my lips as he forced his thick tongue inside my mouth.

Everything in this moment was predator verse prey and as the prey, I froze. William laughed amused as I screamed suddenly pinned underneath him on my back. Stars burst in my vision, as after successfully raking my nails down his face he struck me, hard and the back of my skull bounced against the floor.  

I fought to stay conscious, “Stop - stop – stop-”  

And then... he stopped.

Over-aroused by my terror Chisholm hadn’t heard the large blond Russian enter the room, he didn’t have time to feel the long blade slip deftly in between the back of his ribs. All he had time for was a wide-eyed stare a question on bloody lips as his head hit the carpet beside mine.  

Ilya ridiculously casual, rolled the dead man off of me, shucking his impossible shoulders out of his jacket and then dressing me in it.  

 “Ilya.”

He brushed the hair from my eyes watching where I pointed and gathering me in his arms, stooped to pick up the discarded purse before leaving the room. Exiting the mansion from a side door I soon found myself tucked inside the back of the Jaguar, large hands holding the sides of my face. “Gabby, look at me. You will wait here.”  

I shook my head at him. “Ilya,”

  “You will wait here and I will be back how Cowboy says, Lick it Spit.”

I didn’t have time to correct him, he was already gone.  

***

    “Gabby, stay awake.”  

Solo’s drawl sounded foggy in my ears.  

  “I’m sorry Gabby.”

I must be in shock, Napoleon never apologized.  

***

   “Gabby, wake up.” -  Ilya’s curt clip.

  “I suppose a thank you is in order.”  - Solo.

  “No.”

  “That's twice now you’ve saved my ass Kuryakin.”

  “Three times, if you count Istanbul.”

Solo chuckled beside me. “Well then, damn. I guess I really do love your work Peril.”

***

Too much to drink Ilya had told the concierge as he carried me through the lobby and knowing our room number and how often I requested room service for a ‘top up’ I guessed it was an easy sell.  

  “Ilya.”

His steely blue eyes were at my level as he knelt beside the bed and removed my shoes which after everything were still absurdly on my feet.  

  “I don’t want to talk Gaby.”  

He was angry. Very.  

  “Ilya.” I touched his cheek, “I’m sorry.”  

Unplanned, it had come out in a sob and unbelievably I watched the Russians eyes redden.  

“No, I’m sorry.” he croaked his accent even thicker than usual, “I should have been faster. I was too slow.”

Hot tears streamed down my face, he and I both knew he’d been just in time but I couldn’t form the words. I couldn’t reassure him that somehow my body had remained unmolested. I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat because it was so clear now. Clearer for me than it had ever been before.  

As soon as we had arrived at the mission, all I had wanted was to be safe in Ilya Kuryakin’s iron curtain embrace. Whenever I was scared or unsure, he called to me, like a lighthouse to a lost ship looking for port.

He was my church, my sanctuary. He was, home.  

It wasn’t practiced, it wasn’t restrained. I threw my arms around his neck, pressing my lips against his. Fervently. Urgently.  

Months of unspoken sexual tension exploded, utterly engulfing us both and hands that I had witnessed committing the most violent of acts suddenly touched me like I was the most precious object in the world.  

Softly, tenderly Ilya worshiped all of me showing me wordlessly how much he cared and how much he loved.  

Crying out against each other's lips at the end, he crushed me to him, as if he wanted to take me inside his body and unable to resist, I kissed him, and kissed him and kissed him.

And kissed him.                                                                                                       

***                             

Sitting down to breakfast the next morning, Russian on my left, American to my right I stopped buttering my slice of toast as Alexander Waverly entered the dining room.  

The folded newspaper tucked under his arm looked larger than normal and following my gaze he sighed,  

  “Yes, well I suppose I can’t say it was a total disaster, considering.” he jostled the paper to make a point. “But killing the man wasn’t really necessary, was it?”  

Cutlery clanged onto the table from both the left and right of me and sensing his error in judgment Alexander took a quick step back. “Fine then,” he held up his free hand, “What's done is done, Lads.”  

Sighing Waverly looked down at us all, his ragtag group of ‘professionals’. “I guess you’ll be saying your goodbyes then Gaby?”

My left hand pressed quickly overtop Ilya’s to stop the sudden ticking fingers on his thigh, large pearl winking from the overhead lights,  

  “No Alexander. No, there won’t be any goodbyes.”                                                                                

[fire-the-headcanons]

In the corner of her eye, the boy leaned toward the girl and whispered something. The Grimm girl replied at full volume, “She’s staring at you because you’re wearing a gods-damned cape, crow.”

Well, there’s no need to call anyone names. Summer scowled at the girl before returning to her magazines.

Follow the Beacon Summer—First Impressions

[a.k.a. The Disasters finally meet each other and it obviously doesn’t go that well]

[Link to Masterpost]

“Promise you’ll call every weekend,” her mom demanded, holding her tighter. “You’ve got an entire CCT tower in the middle of campus. No excuses.”

“I promise!” Summer said returning the gesture. “And I promise to keep my room clean, and get along with my teammates, and not harass the headmaster, and every other thing you’ve said this week. Mom, we’re only like an hour away. Less if Balt can take you the whole way.”

“Geez, can you imagine if we’d actually gone to Shade?” Tai complained with a good-natured smile as his dad finally let him go. “Fly safe.”

“I am a professional.” Balt straightened his tie. “And you too.”

“Do you think Azraq will be able to talk Saturday?”

“Without you pranksters around I’m sure his workload will get a lot lighter,” he said. “But we need to head out now. Unless you two want to take the ferry back to the island.”

“All right, all right.” Her mom handed over her other suitcase. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” Hands full, Summer headbutted her mom’s shoulder before following Dan and Tai toward the shuttle that would head to the Academy. Students were already lining up to stow luggage in the hold, or to board on the top deck. Their parents and Balt headed for a slightly smaller ship swarmed by younger students, headed to Patch and Signal.

“I wish Zaff were here,” Tai muttered, yanking one of his suitcases over a crack in the concrete.

“Me too.” Summer pressed her tongue between her teeth. Leaving home didn’t scare her one bit. Getting partnered with complete strangers? Terrifying. 

Dan elbowed her. “The three of us just need to stick together.” She glanced at Tai behind his back, sharing a brief look of concern. He’d almost been taking their breakup too well.

It didn’t take long to get everything stowed, and then they were some of the last ones on the ship. Students of every year packed into every corner of the vessel, most of them wearing or carrying their weapons. Summer was glad she’d left Gungnir hanging from her belt.

“It’s so crowded,” Dan complained, ducking under the lance of another first year.

“There’s room back here,” Tai said, squeezing past some older students and heading toward the back of the ship. There was a lot more space away from the windows… or maybe people were trying to avoid the girl wedged in the back corner of the ship. She sat on her weapon—a massive black tube with a handle at one end that seemed far too small for the rest of it—and scowled at the floor like she wanted to set it on fire.

“So what is your plan for dealing with Ozpin?” Dan asked, leaning against a decorative strut. “Since you promised not to break into his office.”

“Well, he’s a government official, it doesn’t seem like the best idea,” Summer said, dropping onto a bench and setting Gungnir in her lap. “We barely got away with it at Signal and an Academy will have better security.”

Tai nodded. “We’re hoping if we can see who he’s meeting with, it might help us figure out what he’s doing.”

“ ‘Long as you don’t miss classes and bring the team down.”

“Shut up!”

The ground hummed as the ship rose smoothly into the air, and over near the windows some of the other first years oohed and ahhed. Summer had seen it all before, plenty of times—the four of them had gone to a few summer camps at the Academy.

The girl in the corner grunted, swearing viciously under her breath as the ship banked.

“You okay?” The boy sitting next to her asked, looking up from his book.

“Shut up.”

Summer realized what was so off-putting about the pair—their battle gear was all black, red, and white. Grimm colors. Though, it matched their red eyes and black hair.

The boy shrugged and slouched over his book again, part of his costume falling over his shoulder as he did. It took Summer a second to realize, but he was wearing a cape.

She was instantly jealous. Growing up—dreaming of what her Huntress battle gear would be like one day—she’d always wanted a long flowing cloak like Lady Pimpernel, or the Grimm Reaper… But she’d never had the confidence to actually do it, sticking to her signature white hoodies instead.

The boy looked up—maybe he’d sensed her staring at him, but their eyes met and Summer felt her face grow warm with embarrassment as she gave a small, awkward wave. He gave a tentative half-wave back, and Summer busied herself checking over Gungnir’s ammunition. 

In the corner of her eye, the boy leaned toward the girl and whispered something. The Grimm girl replied at full volume, “She’s staring at you because you’re wearing a gods-damned cape, crow.”

Well, there’s no need to call anyone names. Summer scowled at the girl before returning to her magazines.

“Making friends?” Dan muttered under his breath.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Is that a SDC Guillotine?” Tai asked suddenly. 

The girl stared at him, one hand moving to rest on her seat. “Why.” It wasn’t a question, more of a demand for information.

“Uh… ‘cause they’re cool, and not available to the public for another three months?” Tai said. “Are you two from Atlas?”

“No.”

Tai blinked, apparently weighing whether it was worth the effort—or risk—to continue the conversation. For reasons unknown, he decided it was. “...Mantle?”

“No.”

Summer decided she did not like this girl.

“Professor Carmine gave us our weapons,” her brother—he had to be related to her somehow, right? They were practically identical—took his turn to scowl at her. She wilted, even more shocked by him taking their side than they were by her rudeness. “We’re farmhands from Anima, we tested in to the school.”

“Where did a couple of farmhands learn to fight?” Dan asked, a sour note in his voice, and Summer turned to stare. What on Remnant was that for? 

“The...village huntsman…” Crow stammered, shrinking. “Uh, he… taught a lot of the kids, in town—”

She jumped in before Dan could jam his foot any further in his mouth, hoping to smooth things over.  “He must be glad you got into a Huntsman Academy.”

“He’s dead,” the girl snapped.

The rest of the ride passed in awkward silence. Crow returned to his book—when he shifted, Summer caught a glance at the cover. They’d used that history textbook two years ago at Signal...hopefully Dan hadn’t noticed. 

As soon as the ship landed, Dan made a beeline for the exit. “Can you believe that?” he demanded, glancing back to make sure the pair were out of earshot.

Tai blinked, one hand on the rail of the stairs leading down toward the hold. “Believe what?”

“Zaff’s stuck in Atlas so two rubes from Mistral can play dress-up?” Dan snarled under his breath, boots clanging on the metal steps. “What’s the admissions board doing?”

“...Oh.” She hadn’t thought about it that way. “You didn’t have to snap at them like that…”

“Whatever.” He yanked his luggage off the pile. “They’ll probably drop out before second semester.” 

“First years, please leave your things in the ballroom and make your way to the auditorium!” A short man with a large blond moustache directed traffic on the main path. Older students flowed around him, away from the landing stage and toward the dorms.

Dan continued as the crowd thinned. “They should give priority to people that want to go to their own kingdom’s school.”Summer scowled, but it wasn’t worth it to push the issue. Dan wasn’t very easy to talk to when he got in a mood.

It’s like he’s more upset than Zaff was.

The three of them stacked their belongings together, and followed the other students toward the giant circular building. Upperclassmen flooded up the stairs, but Professor Mesánychta and a faunus that Summer didn’t recognize directed the first years out onto the floor.

“Hi, Professor,” Tai called out, and Summer waved from around his shoulder.

“Mr. Xiao Long, your father warned me you three were coming,” she waved them past with a smile.

The interior of the auditorium was even larger than the other hall had been, though the floor was smaller. Seats ringed the walls, completely full of the older students. A stage had been wheeled out, giving the first-years a decent view of the teachers standing on it.

The babble of voices died down as Professor Ozpin stepped forward and cleared his throat. “To our returning students, welcome back. Remnant thanks you for your continuing commitment to protect the people. To our new students, welcome. You have walked a long road to reach these halls, and it will be a long road that takes you through them. Though you all have many different origins, you now share one destination—but remember, the road does not end on graduation day. You must always keep moving forward.

“Tonight you will all stay in the ballroom. Tomorrow, you will complete your initiation. I suggest you all get some rest. Welcome to Beacon.”

Summer clapped along with the other students, glancing at her friends. Tai was grinning up at the stage like he was ready to take on the entire wilds by himself, but next to him Dan was still glaring into the crowd. A heavy feeling of dread settled in her stomach. I wish Ozpin had said something about our teams…

Next Chapter: Raven—Rock and a Hard Place

[alexander-donovan]

mob mentality | alois + alex

@alois-the-real-boy

[[ Alois isn’t here because he wants to be, because quite frankly, there isn’t really anywhere that he wants to be, at any given time – and dish duty is hardly an exception. But lucky fucking him, one of his late night dalliances has earned him punishment in the shape of extra chores, because already being on dual janitorial-hunting rotation isn’t punishment enough. His resentment is boiling over, probably downright palpable to any empaths nearby, as he takes steaming-hot dishes out of the far end of the machine to stack into lazy, haphazard towers. As much as Alois wants to slam down each mismatched piece of dinnerware in his ire he’s already learned his lesson about the havoc that wreaks on his ears, so he slides them into place with a care that doesn’t jive with the tautness of his jaw.

The gaggle of teenage girls loading the machine at the other end are driving him fucking nuts. They’re dropping plates and silverware in with hardly a care, and Alois is nearly vibrating out of his skin with the cacophony. One of them laughs – this horrendous, high-pitched sound that finally pushes him over the edge. He whirls around with venom on his lips, but the movement sends a plate sliding from the polished fingertips of his left hand and crashing to the floor. Alois claps his hands over his ears at the sound as the assortment of girls start to titter nervously, but all of that is cut short when a voice rings out over everything, presumably the Elite on duty from the authority in his voice. The timbre of it is low enough that it smooths Alois’s bristling, and with a sharp exhale he stoops to start scraping the splintered pieces together with his left hand, trying to avoid eye contact. The last thing he needs is to provoke someone into adding even more chores on top of the trifecta he’s got. ]]

[Alois looks particularly tense today. Granted, ever since he’d set foot in Calyset, he’s looked tense, and Alex has gotten the impression over the passing weeks that tense is sort of this one’s default. But though he’s been stoic, quiet, guarded, he’s not been problematic, by any means. Well... unless you count the frustrated messages Alex keeps finding in his inbox from Elites of other houses who’ve found Alois in... compromising positions in places that he shouldn’t be, at hours that he shouldn’t be. More than once. 

It’s been equally as frustrating for Alex, but mostly because he can’t even begin to express how much he doesn’t give a fuck, who his house members are fucking, nor where, nor when—so long as they aren’t putting themselves or anyone else in harm’s way—do they not all deserve at least a modicum of privacy? He doesn’t care if blondie is a player or not, so long as he’s showing up to training, treating people with respect (Alex included), and generally not being a dick.

Maybe Alex finds it easier to empathize because of Alois’ more stoic nature. Alex is guarded and quite serious himself, so maybe cutting him some slack comes easier than the more... grating personality types—namely, the Delmas. Charming as they may be, they do tend to announce themselves to the worlds a lot, and rather unnecessarily. With the exception perhaps of Cambie.

He watches Alois start to clean up, a muscle in the side of his jaw twitching noticeably. He catches the gaze of one of the other civilians, and projects an unspoken order for them to help, which they do with a small sigh, but no hesitation.

The room is quieter now, thank God, and when Alois stands again, Alex takes up a spot nearby.] 

Doing alright, Van Asch? [he projects into the young man’s head.] You seem broodier than usual. 

[coffeebeandragon]

Sweet Dreams a TRR AU

This a The Royal Romance sort-of AU. I had an idea for a series and decided to give it a go. Hope you like it!

Chapter 2: Leather

Pairing: MC (Naomi Summers) x Drake, MC x Liam

Word Count: ~2700

Warnings: Mild swearing, NSFW

Tag List: @fluffy-marshmallow-heart, @drakesensworld

Catch up on Chapter 1: Secrets in Paris

LEATHER

“You need to sober up.” Liam put a coffee and some saltines in front of Drake. “We’ll be landing in ten minutes.”

“She could be anywhere.” Drake groaned into his hands. “Paris is a huge city—”

“Not as big as New York” Maxwell chirped from the corner. “And we found her there.”

“That was a one in a million encounter.”

“Little Blossom is one in a million.” Maxwell looked up from the in-flight phone. He had excused himself from conversation to use it, something about ‘urgent matters’. Liam was too distracted to inquire what Maxwell’s definition of ‘urgent’ was. Maxwell went back to muttering into the receiver, so Liam turned his full attention on Drake.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Liam put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder even though Drake tried to shrug it off. “We’re all upset by this—”

“Upset?” Drake took an angry bite out of the crackers, before spitting it out into a napkin. “I’m upset that you’re feeding me this garbage. I’m not upset about Summers, I’m fucking pissed. How could you do that, Li? You were supposed to protect her.”

“I am protecting her.” Liam sighed. “We’ve gone over this, Drake.”

“She’s definitely not safe and now she’s missing and all because Tariq…”

“I know he stepped out of line.”

“You call trying to rape a girl ‘out of line’?” Drake smacked Liam’s hand away from his shoulder, harder this time. “Something could have happened to her! You’re lucky I was there—”

“What do you mean, ‘you were there’?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. She’s gone.”

Drake shot straight out of his seat and slammed the bathroom door. Everything went quiet, until Maxwell popped over to Liam and sat down, looking the most concerned Liam had ever seen him. It would’ve been excruciating, like looking at a puppy getting kicked, but Liam was already getting kicked by his best friend.

“Maxwell… does it…” Liam cleared his throat. “Does it seem like Drake is having an extreme reaction to Lady Naomi’s absence?”

“Ya know, Li…” Maxwell shifted his eyes down. “I think we’re all just really tired, and they’re really close friends you know.”

“Yeah I know.” Liam went over all the events in his brain, trying to remember them together but he couldn’t. He was so focused on the stupid events and getting Naomi to like him that he couldn’t remember anything. “You know I asked him to look after her for me?”

“Why? Didn’t think I was up to the job?”

“It’s not that, Maxwell… It’s just, I don’t know. I have this feeling that maybe this is all my fault.” Liam himself wasn’t even sure was ‘this’ was, but it was starting to feel worse by the second. “I’m sorry to bother you with this. You’ve been great.”

“We’re gonna find her.” Maxwell shoved a couple crackers in his mouth, chewing haphazardly. “Naomi’s smart, she should be easy to find. In fact, I already have a lead.”

***

Naomi woke up a little hungover and more than a little heartbroken. She went over into the living room where Sierra was already nursing Bartie. It was nice to have someone around, some to talk to, after it all. She opened her mouth to speak, but then the phone rang and Sierra yanked up her shirt and handed Naomi the baby, dashing off to the bedroom. Naomi put Bartie in the high chair, played peek-a-boo, got him a bowl of cereal. It was a few minutes before she heard his mother’s footsteps again.

“Who was that on the phone?” Naomi stacked cereal on Bartie’s tray in a little tower. He loved to knock it down and do it all over again. “Bartie keeps destroying my towers. Godzilla baby!”

“No one.” Bartie clapped his hands when his mother strolled back into the kitchen, smiling as usual but with a little crease of worry etched in her forehead. “Do you like scrambled or over-easy?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.” Naomi ruffled the baby’s hair and stood up quickly. “Do you mind if I use the phone?”

“It’s in the other room.” Sierra waved a spatula over her shoulder. “I’m gonna eat without you if you don’t make it quick. A mama’s gotta eat.”

Naomi didn’t say anything as she slipped into Sierra’s bedroom. A crib, a bed, a dresser— still no family photos. The phone sat on the edge of the nightstand. A perfect picture of Sierra and Bartie smiling at a café, no father at all. Naomi opened the phone to the last called number, listening to it ring in time with her nervous heart.

“The call you have made cannot be completed as dialed.”

“Damn it.” Naomi set the phone down. She was sure she heard Sierra talking to someone. And that weird sound last night, it almost sounded like a man’s voice. Not Drake but familiar. She had definitely heard a ‘Drake’. She could be crazy, but it was even crazier that this woman was letting her stay and she seemed so familiar... What had she said about Cordonia? Everything was starting to get a little muddled. She shouldn’t have done it, but she couldn’t stop. She had to know who Sierra really was.

Flipping open the phone, she scrolled straight down the photos. Baby pictures, memes, everything in order… until she got to the bottom. Sierra, so young and gorgeous, in a baby pink ballgown. She was on a worn-in leather couch, smiling, her cheeks rosy. She knew that couch. She started at the phone until her memories took over. That kiss, then another, then another. A shirt being pulled up ever so slowly…

***

The morning of the Beaumont Bash. The cleaners had cancelled. The help had cancelled. Totally normal, right? Except they were having a party later that day. Maxwell and Bertrand had been arguing nonstop. Naomi tried to focus on cleaning, arranging flowers with Drake, but the shouting got louder and louder.

“Just don’t listen to it.” Drake was pushing stems around. “Hey, I’m getting pretty good at—”

“Dammit, Drake, we need to talk about the other night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned and went to the other vase, but Naomi followed him. “Come on, Summers, we can’t be doing this.”

“We’re talking.” She sidled up to him, purposefully moving closer to him, like she was looking at the flowers. “Totally innocent.”

“Nothing about you is totally innocent…” He turned toward her, his brown eyes boring into hers, his jaw set. She could almost feel the pure want in his eyes, staring into hers. He took a ragged breath and moved his hand to the same stem she was holding. She wanted to press into him, but she couldn’t get any closer without it being obvious. His pinky moved to stroke the inside of her palm, so slowly. Her heartbeat sped up to match his as he breathed out. “Summers, we just can’t—”

“We’re going to the store!” Maxwell burst out of the study and they jumped apart. “Need some more champagne! You know I like to get down!”

“And napkins, Maxwell.” Bertrand trailed him sternly, carefully closing the door behind him and locking it. “We actually need napkins.”

“Need anything while we’re out?” Maxwell grinned at them. “Candy? Condoms?”

“Maxwell!” Bertrand scolded, while both Drake and Naomi blushed at the floor. “That is highly inappropriate!”

“It’s from a movie.” Maxwell frowned. “Get with the times! They know I’m joking.”

“We’re fine, Max.” Naomi tried to fix her face into something casual. “Have fun.”

Maxwell and Bertrand left without another word. Drake had carefully moved himself to the other side of the room, but Naomi trailed after him.

“Hey, did you see that?”

“Us almost getting caught? Yeah, I saw it.” Drake frowned as Naomi smiled mischievously. “Oh god, what’s that look for?”

“Did you see how Bertrand locked the study door? This whole thing is weird, you know?”

“I’m just here to help.”

“You’re here for the free whiskey.” Naomi grinned and grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards the study door. She got down on the ground and pulled a bobby pin out of her hair, twisting it to jimmy the lock. “Are you gonna stand there or help me?”

“I’m just here to watch… Uh, keep watch… You know we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You can admit you like it when I’m on my knees.” She grinned up at him as he blushed, but didn’t say anything. Finally, the door popped and swung open. “Aha! See? Easy!”

“Alright, you first then.” Drake held the door open for her, ushering her inside before clicking it shut. “You’re a real James Bond.”

“Does that make you a Bond girl?” Naomi grinned, before heading over to the bookshelf. “You think they have a secret passageway in here?”

“If Maxwell had his way, then sure.” Drake rubbed the back of his neck. “We probably shouldn’t be in here.”

“We’ll just tell them we got lost. It’s gonna be at least an hour. Shopping with Maxwell is… Let’s just say you would hate it.”

“Heh. You’re probably right…” Drake looked at her again, with those brown eyes. She could feel them on her back even though she couldn’t see him. She knew his eyes were tracing over the back of her. She smiled to herself at the thought. “Hey, Summers…”

She turned back around to realize he was right behind her. She could feel him towering over her, his breath on her ear as he bent to kiss her neck. She felt an electric pulse go through her whole body as his lips met her skin.

“Drake…” Naomi looked up at him through her lashes, at his square jaw, the stubble lining it, his brown eyes, his broad shoulders. She let her hand creep up his arm until her fingers were tracing his Adam’s apple then tangling up in his hair. She licked her lips, feeling his dick press onto her thigh, so hard. His eyes dark with lust. She breathed onto his jaw, the whisper of a kiss. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you, Summers. More than anything in this world.”

She pushed her lips to his, without thinking, unable to bear another second without his mouth on her. She opened up to him as he explored her mouth, gently biting and sucking on her bottom lip, his hands roaming over her body, over her hips and ass. She moaned quietly into his mouth, feeling him smile through the kiss at the sound. He knew she wanted this. She knew he wanted this.

Without another word, Drake pushed everything on the desk onto the floor with one sweep of his arm. He lifted her up onto it as he raced to lift her shirt off somehow never breaking their kiss. Naomi could feel her heart pounding in her ears. Her hands trembled over the buttons on his denim shirt. She felt one hand behind her trying to undo her bra and the other tangling up in her by the nape of her neck. Finally, she pushed him away and he was breathing hard, only in a tight t-shirt now, his eyes trailing her up and down, as she slowly slid her arms out of her bra straps. She wiggled out of her jeans and turned around as she pulled off her own underwear, excruciatingly slow.

“Do you like it?”

“I think I’d better get a closer look.”

Then, in one motion, he scooped her up into his arms, placing her on her back on the couch. He hovered over her, pulling his shirt over his unbearably slow revealing his rippling abs to her one by one. She saw a flicker of something blue, before her eyes fluttered shut. His mouth was trailing hot and wet down her neck, over her collarbone, finally finding her breast and popping a nipple in his mouth while he gently pinched the other one. He went lower and lower until he found her, ready for him, before he dove into her folds with his tongue and pleasure exploded in her body. He kissed and licked her as she moaned, her hands going through his dark hair.

“Please, more.” At that he went even slower, teasing her, before pressing a finger right at her entrance. She wiggled, dangerously close; it was so much, his mouth, his hands, then he finally put his finger in, moving in and out, and then pumping faster until she came apart around his fingers and she cried his name out. “God, take me, Drake!”

He came up and kissed her so she could lick her own juices from his face, grabbing his length and guiding him over to her. With that, he entered her in own swift motion and they both cried out at the feeling of being whole, being finally together. He moved inside her, peppering her face with kisses, increasing his speed gently until he felt her nails on her back and her breath so fast and so shallow. He put his hand on her neck gently, so he could lift up and see himself pushing in and out of her. How beautiful she looked taking it. He felt her start to tighten around him so he kissed her again, before growling.

“That’s it, baby. Come on.” He pumped in and out of her mercilessly before she came undone again. Then he groaned, spilling himself inside her, refusing to move. They held each other on the leather couch, so close, so together, in absolute bliss.

***

Focus. Focus on right now. She looked back at the phone. Sierra on the leather couch. She wondered if her experience on the couch had been as good as hers. She smiled and then wiped it away. She had to focus, not get stuck in daydreams. It could’ve been any couch right? People had leather couches everywhere. She was seeing things. She wanted to see that couch right?  Naomi stared at the photo until her eyes started to hurt. What was happening?

“Eggs are done.” Sierra called into the room from the kitchen.

“Coming!” Naomi set the phone down, exactly as she found it, and went over for breakfast. Sierra was already seated with her plate, airplaning food into Bartie’s mouth. Naomi looked at her own plate, suddenly feeling sick. Eggs weren’t a great hangover food. “Thanks for the eggs.”

“You should have my brother’s eggs.” Sierra didn’t look over. “He loves breakfast food.”

“Tell me more.” Naomi pushed her eggs around with her fork, still watching Sierra, worried she didn’t know her well enough to start asking prying questions. “About your brother, I mean. There aren’t many pictures in here.”

“Well he’s not exactly a snazzy dresser.” Sierra rolled her eyes. “He’s a simple guy, but good, you know? He really means well.”

“Does he help with Bartie?” Naomi tried to sound casual. Not ask anything about any couches or pictures or anything suspicious. “Is he in Paris?”

“He, uh, went to college in America so I don’t hear so much from him anymore.”

“That’s too bad.” Naomi took a bite of egg, then pushed her food away. She normally loved eggs. Maybe it was because they were scrambled. Just didn’t look right. “I don’t hear from anybody either.”

“Alone in the world, huh?” Sierra smiled kindly and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Right beneath her ear, was a little blue fish tattoo. It was practically a sliver but incredibly detailed. It was beautiful. The longer Naomi looked at it, the more she couldn’t unsee it. “Staring at my tattoo?”

“Its gorgeous.” Naomi swallowed., pushing memories back down. “Something special about the fish?”

“My brother and I used to go fishing with our dad.” Sierra sighed happily wiping Bartie’s chin. “He has one, too, my brother, on his ribcage. His is a lot bigger than mine, but—”

Naomi ran out of the room, straight into the bathroom and threw up, but all she could see was that fish tattoo hovering over her on that leather couch.

“Are you okay?” Sierra called after her. “Too much wine?”

“Something like that.” Naomi wiped her mouth off. Hoping it wasn’t what she was starting to suspect.

[wolf-in-a-suit]

Soul tax

Show: Supernatural

Summary: So your in hell! Not actual hell, but considering your annoying coworker Kevin and a soul draining boss, that would give Lucifer a run for his money, it's as close as it get's. How are you going to survive corporate purgatory? And why is there a new rich customer asking for the help of an intern? Well, find out...

You sighed, for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. The busy clicking of your coworker’s fingers, dancing over his keyboard, was the lullaby threatening on rendering you unconscious. Never before, had you been so grateful for the wall of blinding computer monitors separating your desks, but here the annoying things gifted you with a secluded fortress. A bastion against the boredom of corporate life, you - or rather your brothers - had subjected yourself to. So, you continued to try to look busy, 'researching' on your favorite music website. Who knew, the insurance company you worked for could get a client from the music industry any day now, you were just preparing for any eventuality.

Bam - the door flew open and you, along with your heart, jumped into the air. Funny, you had never realized how utterly terrifying the appearance of a boss could be, you would rather go two rounds in the ring with a Vendigo, than face the sharp gaze of your supervisor. Once your guts had settled back into their respected places, you switched the screen with two clicks to the numbers you were so busy working on. Then you turned, to face cooperate doom personified, and were greeted with - a deserted hallway. Weird. Kevin your coworker, was too engrossed into the exciting world of paperwork to pay any attention, or care for that matter. Shapeshifters couldn't turn invisible right? "Are you actually going to get some work done, today?" A sneering voice erupted from behind the mountain of paperwork. 'Shut up, Kevin!' was the first thing shooting through your mind, but of course, an interested intern couldn't say that. So, you settled on the next best remark: "Yeah, right away."

See, that would teach him! You really had to hand it to the normal folks, this was just hell. The hunter life seemed like a walk in a flower field compared to the stacks of paper threatening to bury you here! Anger burned in your stomach, just thinking about your brothers. "Sorry kiddo but you're the responsible one, so it's perfect." Dean’s clap on your shoulder was followed by a wink. Going with the family motto: Offence is the best defense you started: „But Sam was a-" Sam’s voice seemed unusually rushed while cutting you off: "And we're both far too old to apply as an intern, it would look suspicious." To his credit he writhed a little under your smoldering glare. Dean on the other hand, seemed unimpressed. "You don't wanna tip the shapeshifter off, right?" And thus your contract for eternal - one month - suffering was signed. "Today!" The tower of paperwork had grown even more. Oh, how you wished that Kevin was the shifter... That would be so much fun. Bam- this time you didn't react to the door barging open, some draft insisted on gifting you with a possibly fatal scare every ten minutes today. Apparently your survival skills had dulled, this much was clear, when instead of a gust of air your boss, in all her imposing glory rushed into the room. When her sharp eyes focused on your computer screen, currently advertising the newest training trends, her neat shoes clicked to a stop at once. 'Busted! What is she doing here?' According to her neatly plucked eyebrows, just now meeting on the bridge of her nose, she wasn't about to hand you the employee of the month award. Your body tensed, a rabbit preparing to be swallowed whole, though to your surprise the snake didn't bear its fangs, instead: "There is an important, very wealthy-" here her eyes glazed over almost lovingly, as if talking about her boyfriend "-customer, I need help with." With the air of a privet, subjecting himself to a possibly fatal mission - all for the glory of his homeland - Kevin rose from his seat. "So ___, come along!" Pluck, Kevin’s weight falling heavily back into his chair would have been music to you, if you panic hadn’t started to wreaked havoc in your chest. You had no idea how to help! You were just the intern, the glorified doormat of any company! Did they now expect you to take on responsibility, as well, as making coffee? "Mam, do you really think I'm the right person for...?" She scoffed dark hair whipping on her shoulders. "For whatever reason, the client requested the presence of an intern." If your inner alarm bell hadn’t bleared before it now was Quasi Modo having a nervous breakdown in Notre Dames bell tower. Clack, clack your bosses strides echoed down the corridor an urgent beat to them. You simply followed, entering the meeting room meekly behind her. The sight that greeted you there was enough to freeze your whole body.

"Ah how lovely, fresh blood." There, sitting both proudly and relaxed at the same time was none other than Crowley. His devious smirk was accented by his black suit and blood red tie. You settled on the most eloquent and suave approach to handling the situation like a pro: Starring at the demon dumbstruck.

"Not the most extroverted flower in the pot, hmm?" His white teeth gleamed and your boss made a sound probably supposed to be a laugh, while nudging you -rather forceful- into the direction of your 'client'. "Well, ___ here is new and you’re her first client: Stage fright, all part of the rooky year experience." She clapped your shoulder in a seemingly jovial manner, but the tightening of her grip, with nails as sharp as claws, wasn’t lost to your aching flesh. The demon’s eyes followed while you were being ‘respectfully’ manhandled into a seat across from him. His dark eyes gleamed with mirth at the prospect of the Winchester sister being served to him on a silver platter. "So Mr. Johnson, I think you will love our offer of..." but you would never know what exactly was so tempting in making a deal with the devil. Which was for the better, as you had no idea who would claim the soul of whom in this tank full of sharks. "Mrs. Smith, I would prefer your esteemed-" he pressed the word, emitting all it’s sweet juice "-intern here, to handle the hard work." The smile fell, as your boss smelled deceit but was soon replaced with an even broader smile. "Mr. Johnson, surely you want someone familiar with the work to handle your case, in order to avoid any mistakes." Shark teeth shone brightly in the dim light of the room. When Crowley reached out you almost jumped him. Judging by the mocking sideway look he cast you, your murderous intention wasn't lost to him. He didn't deter, however and grasped your boss’s hand.

"I would rest easier if I knew your delicate fingers to not be bothered with such trivial matters." Such foul sweetness was placed into each syllable that you felt the need to empty your lunch into the trash can, next to the desk. The bastard even had the audacity to stroke the woman's hand, while silently enjoying your reaction immensely. "Furthermore, everyone needs to start with some client and I so do love helping people learn from their mistakes." The dark charm rolling over your boss did the rest: "Of course Mr. Johnson, thank you for giving our intern this possibility." All caution and businessman ship forgotten, she almost floated out of the room. Clack, the door fell shut leaving you, glaring at a very satisfied demon. You couldn't keep your eyebrow from climbing farther up your brow. "Johnson? You gotta be kiddin' me!" The king of hell, simply regarded his nails. "Well, I suppose some of that Winchester charm has rubbed off on me." "What do you want? What are you planning?" At this Crowley feigned a hurt expression. "Darling, you wound me! Am I not allowed to visit you at work? I am merely a concerned-" "Like hell you are! Now spill!" He halted in his theatric pose, a hand on his nonexistent heart, and regarded you for a moment. The former mocking quality of his dark eyes froze and an unsettling expression crept into them. "You're just like moose, always looking for the great agenda. But did you ever consider the fact that..." Here, he leaned in, far too close for comfort "... I'm just enjoying seeing you squirm?" He leaned back and continued in a relaxed fashion: "One of the merits of being a demon, is seeing a certain hunter jump each time a door flies open." A roar escaped you "You little son of a..." The demon ignored your outburst and activated a button on the table. "Mrs. Smith, I believe your intern needs help here." His eyes drifted up to you, gesticulating and waving to him: ‘Please don't do this to me!’, but the sadistic expression stretching around his features, spoke volumes about the nose dive your day was about to take. What a day! Crowley had taken every opportunity, and you meant every opportunit, to make your live miserable: Asking for the most complex contract, an exact calculation of every financial way his investment could play out were just love tabs for him. Each time you dared to deviate from your task, mostly by throwing curses at him, he simply called for your boss like a lap dog. At the end the Chi Wawa thanked him for his patience with the untrained intern. You facial muscles still felt sore for trying to hold a smile at that. What had you ever done to deserve this!?

"Hey, Zuckerberg how is going?" Dean greeted, while you were busy throwing the heavy warded door to the bunker with too much force back in it’s place. Sadly, it simply drifted shut with a click. So much for therapeutic, anger reducing, door slamming. You spared your brothers an unamused look, while muttering something about ‘planning to kill someone’. Slam, the door to your room, wasn’t as fortified against a twenty-something’s fury. Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and silently agreed: Whatever it was would settle itself, they put a good amount of distance, between themselves and your room, for good measure. After all, they didn't want to be over bearing brothers! Without changing your clothes you fell into bed, vowing to kill both Crowley and Kevin. The tortured faces of your soon would be victims, lulled you into a restful slumber.

You woke up to the heavenly smell of coffee and the soft sound of a strumming guitar. Carefully opening one eye, you were greeted by the sight of a tablet, laden with croissant, jam and an apple on a stool right next to your bed. “What the actual, …” How did your brother’s get through your closed door. A few moments later, nursing your first cup of coffee you started to wake up. With that came the realization that this wasn’t a very Dean, or Sam-ly fashion of showing support. ‘But who?” That’s when you registered who was singing on the record: "I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees."

The next minute was filled with you, spluttering, trying to emit coffee from your lungs. When you finally calmed down you sat on your bed, a little shell shocked, but soon a small smile stole itself on your features. To the seemingly empty room you said: ”Well, thank you Mr. Johnson!”

[littleoldrachel]

Tenth chapter is up! Read it here on ao3, or here on ff.net, or under the cut. 

Dedicating this chapter to @totally-aced-it for being the sweetest cheerleader <3 100 Ways to Say I Love You

Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Previous |  chapter 10/100 - “I’m sorry for your loss.” | Next Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x Tw for graphic description of a panic attack, discussion and memories of child abuse, references to disordered eating and self harm, grief

It's not often that Sirius is bored at work – there's usually so much to do and learn that he's focused and occupied from the moment he clocks in until he's forced out of his desk in the evening by his supervisor. But today is not one of those days; instead, he's half-filling in a crossword from yesterday's copy of the Guardian, and half-texting Remus, his computer screen idle before him.

Consequently, he jumps out of his skin as Akilah appears at his shoulder, silent in spite of their heeled, steel-capped boots. They drop a thick folder on to his desk, and it's the slapping sound that makes him sheepishly fold up the newspaper. Akilah rolls their eyes, tapping a ringed finger on top of the file.

"Good job on that submission, Sirius," they say, "you've got yourself a client."

Sirius jerks up, seizing the folder and flipping through it excitedly, "seriously?!"

"Siriusly," Akilah says with a cheeky grin, cackling as Sirius sticks his tongue out at them. "Are you gonna manage this on top of your big magazine deadline?"

"Watch me," Sirius says, with more confidence than he's used to expressing – but he means it. He finally feels like he's found his footing at Queerllustration; he's stopped feeling star-struck around his idols, having realised that they are just as nerdy and quirky as he is, he's been out on a pub crawl with all of his team and had a blast, and he's had nothing but positive feedback on everything he's submitted thus far. Even the prospect of running two big projects at the same time feels like a fun challenge rather than overwhelming – he is neither bored as he was at school, nor overwhelmed like at university, and the change couldn't be more welcome.

"Well, if you need anything, you know where I am," Akilah says, and Sirius grins, glancing over at Akilah's warzone of a desk (sketches, fabrics, magazines littered everywhere, half-full mugs of coffee surrounding their computer monitor like guards), "but I trust your judgement." Sirius' heart swells at their confidence in him, because is there any feeling in the world as good as being respected by someone you hold in the highest regard?

Speaking of – he glances back at his phone screen, which has three new notifications. One is a bunch of likes on his Instagram post of his latest coffee art (he might not be a barista anymore, but making patterns in steamed milk is fun, alright?), and the second is Remus' guesses at the crossword clue he'd sent him. He studies the crossword for a moment, realising with unsurprised amusement that Remus is correct, as per usual, and sends him an affectionate 'nerd' in return.

The third –

Oh.

It's a Facebook message, which is unusual in itself, because nobody in their right mind prefers Facebook Messenger to WhatsApp. But it's the sender of the message that makes him pause.

Regulus Black (1 New Message)

Sirius stares at the notification for a few seconds, which blinks back at him, flashing with new messages at alarming rate. Then he shoves the phone away from him, and it lands face-down at the edge of his desk.

He breathes.

For a few minutes, he manages to ignore the niggling sense of anxiety; he flips through the new folder without taking any of it in, he tries to edit a fight scene but frustrates himself with his inability to draw fucking hands, he continues sending memes to Remus, allowing him to take control of the conversation.

(Remus is… struggling, there's no two ways around it. Sirius hates the fresh scratches he sees on Remus' wrists, hates the tired and empty look in his eyes, hates the way Remus talks about himself as though he's shit on the bottom of someone's shoe. He hates that Remus still has to fight to leave his bed each morning, that he can't face work without having violent panic attacks, that he lurches between forgetting (read: not caring enough) to feed himself and eating everything in sight).

(And yet. Things are improving: once upon a time, the scratches would have been gashes, the bleakness of his expression would not have lifted, the self-deprecation would have been all that left his mouth. And Remus is trying – Sirius can see how hard he's trying, and it fills him with the fragile kind of hope that he wants to lock away in a tower to keep it safe. When Sirius asks about how he's really coping, he can see the struggle in Remus' mind, but Remus is fighting, and he is more open than he has ever been before about the reality of the situation).

(Sirius is sort of embarrassingly proud and concerned and grateful all at once).

His phone vibrates again, and Sirius clicks on the notification without thinking – expecting it to be Remus again. Only it's not, and the screen switches to Messenger before he can rectify this horrendous mistake.

Regulus Black: Sirius. I know you do not want to talk to me. I understand that sentiment. But this is of the utmost importance, and I do not have another way of ensuring that this news reaches you. I implore you to believe me that this is not the way I would prefer to tell you this, but again, this is urgent.

Regulus Black: Uncle Alphard has died.

Regulus Black: I am so sorry, brother. I know how much he meant to you.

Regulus Black: It was very sudden. The doctors say it was a stroke. Mother and Father – well, you can imagine what they are saying.

Regulus Black: I am sorry. I know that probably means very little coming from me. But, he was my uncle too. And I am sorry.

Regulus Black: In his will, Uncle Alphard has left everything to you, Sirius. Mother and Father are livid and are doing everything they can to get their hands on the fortune. But it belongs to you. One of your friends – MacKinnon - is a lawyer, I believe? Perhaps you can arrange something with them against Mother and Father. It is not important now, but I thought you should know sooner rather than later.

Regulus Black: There's something else. Mother and Father have sunk even lower than I thought possible and have barred you from attending the funeral. I do not know what they will do to you should you show up anyway. I will of course give you the details if you wish to come.

Regulus Black: You do not need to respond. But Sirius, please do not be alone. Please take care of yourself or let someone take care of you. I know this news must be very hard for you. But you were important to Alphard, and he would want you to take care too.

Sirius – he – he doesn't –

Sirius has a plethora of talents, but languages have never been among them – and for a while, he feels like he's had a passage of Mandarin placed in front of him, because the words? don't? make? sense? But then he realises it's more like he's reading an obnoxiously academic text, because he understands the individual words, but together it's like a riddle.

When he finally comprehends, it's like all the force of a brick wall crashes down on him – only it must be a set of walls stacked like dominoes, because it keeps happening. Every blow is crushing, every breath is harder and harder to reach because he's buried under mounds and mounds of rubble.

"Sirius," he hears, but it's muffled, and he is fading fast. There's even more pressure on his shoulders and he moans, shaking it loose – it's too much, too much, too much –

There are voices – beneath a rushing in his ears and the sounds of his choked gasps for air, people are calling his name and there's movement everywhere, but Sirius is drowning, drowning, drowningdrowningdrowning –

Something touches his neck this time, and he howls, jerking away violently, causing something to give way beneath him and he thumps down, knocking what little breath he has out of his lungs.

"Right, everybody out!" Someone shouts and claps their hands, and Sirius presses his hands over his ears as he continues to fight for breath, because it's all so loud, why are they being so loud? There's some kind of animal too – something is making an awful groan, as though it's been mortally wounded, and Sirius wants to sob at the sound of its distress, because it's appalling.

(When he's six, his father takes him hunting for the first time. Sirius loves what felt like dressing up in the fancy riding gear and is so excited to be on a horse again. But then the hunt begins, and Sirius watches a dog ravage a pheasant, his father's hand clamped on his jaw to keep his head from cringing away from the violence. Tears course down his cheeks as he pleads with his father to make it stop, "please daddy, I'll do anything," cries that are harshly silenced when his father backhands him hard, and spat, "I don't know why I'm so disappointed that you're as useless at this as everything else." When Uncle Alphard drops by later that evening, he is livid at the blotchy bruise across Sirius' cheekbones. Sirius can feel the phantom sensation of Alphard's gentle hands holding him in a rare, safe hug, can hear his voice explaining that under no circumstances are Orion's actions acceptable).

"Sirius."

Words are far too hard right now, and the only sounds he seems capable of making are pathetic whimpers, but he recognises that someone is trying to reach him from where he's trapped – someone knows he is here and suffocating.

"Sirius, you're perfectly safe. You're at work, you're having a panic attack. Can you open your eyes? I want you to see that you're safe."

Sirius is shaking his head violently before the person has even finished speaking, because he don't think he can cope with seeing the world in ruins as it now must be (or worse, the world as it was before, because if it's not in tatters, if it's just his world, how is he supposed to deal with that?).

"Okay. Okay, eyes closed then. I'm not going to touch you," they say, and Sirius feels tears smarting at his eyes. (He can't tell what he wants, because on the one hand, the thought of people – strangers, unknown people – laying hands on him makes him want to hurl, but also, he's an incredibly tactile person and the thought of a warm hug right now makes him physically ache with need).

"We're just going to breathe together, okay? That's all you need to do, and I know it's hard, but you just need to listen to me, and follow me, okay?"

The voice begins to count, and with it, Sirius loses all concept of time. After a while, and what feels like a thousand ragged, counted breaths, he becomes aware that the keening injured animal is in fact him, and the sound cuts off mid-wail. He feels overwhelmed – the combination of embarrassment, anxiety and grief have overtaken his utter panic, but it's still too much.

"You're doing so well, Sirius, that's it. Let's keep breathing a bit longer."

Obediently, Sirius continues to follow the counting breaths (what else can he do?), and slowly – achingly, excruciatingly slowly, he begins to return to himself. He can feel the smooth coolness of the floor beneath him, he can see vague shadows through his scrunched-up eyelids, he can hear the relative quiet of the office, save his noisy breathing and the computer monitors humming. He loosens his grip around himself ever so slightly, and when he doesn't drift apart, he forces himself to open his eyes on the next count of eight.

(When Sirius is eleven, he hides out at Alphard's apartment, which is smaller and drabber than the extravagance of Grimmauld Place, but feels more like a home than anywhere Sirius has ever known. Alphard insists that he teach him to cook, because "one day, little man, you're going to get out of that godawful house and family, and you're going to be free to live how you want to live… but you're going to need to be able to feed yourself!" It's the first time that anyone has expressed belief that Sirius is capable of something more than being a Black, and Sirius has never felt so hopeful and valued before).

It's dazzlingly bright, which hints at how long his meltdown has lasted, and he shrinks back into the shadows under his desk (how did he end up under here?). His muscles are throbbing from being held taut for so long and don't want to support his body weight, so he falls back with a soft thump. A coffee-brown hand reaches out and clasps around his wrist with a gentle tug, preventing him from thwacking his head against the ground.

He pulls himself back up, even though everything in him wants to lie down, curl up and cry. Akilah's concerned expression comes in to view, and Sirius feels another surge of shame at his behaviour.

"Hey, no, Sirius," Akilah catches his mortification, because of course they do, and opens their arms out for a hug. Sirius crawls forward, still humiliated but physically hungry for human contact, and allows himself to be swept in to Akilah's warm embrace. He closes his eyes against their chest (and a tiny part of him points out the enormity of the situation, because Akilah is awkward about their chest and the way it protrudes even under binding), and grounds himself against Akilah's heartbeat. "What happened? Is it the project?"

Sirius shakes his head, feeling a wave of fresh panic rise so fast that it's predatory, and he has to swallow down bile before he can speak. "I don't – um- I can't –" Words are much too much right now, and Sirius fumbles around for his phone, before shoving it in Akilah's direction instead, because the thought of having to say it out loud would mean acknowledging the truth in Regulus' messages, a truth which is too terrible to bear. They hold it steady as he shakily unlocks it, and Sirius can't watch as they read, doesn't want to see the moment they get it.

(He feels it though, because Akilah lets out a barely perceptible sigh and tightens their grip around him).

"What can I do?"

The compassion in their voice overwhelms him, and he feels a hot prickling at the back of his eyes. "I don't kno-w," his voice cracks, and he squeezes his eyes tighter shut, even as tears leak out.

"That's okay," Akilah says immediately, "do you want to go home?"

Sirius nods, even though he's not sure what he wants, but home means his friends and safety, and surely that will feel better than crouching under a desk with his employer.

"Is there someone I can call? I don't want you to be alone, and…" Akilah trails off as Sirius taps at his phone screen again, deliberately not looking at Regulus' messages, and switches it to the WhatsApp conversation he'd been having before – all of this. "Okay. Okay. I'll give them a call," they say, and Sirius feels himself relax the tiniest amount for the first time.

(Nothing is okay. Nothing. He is simultaneously empty of all emotion and overflowing with how overwhelmed he is by it all).

He's not sure how he gets from work to home, because he shuts his eyes again, forces himself to think about literally anything else. When he next opens them, Akilah is speaking and he's been burrito-wrapped in a blanket on James and Lily's couch. The lighting is soft and unobtrusive, the television is on but almost inaudible, and the cushion he's resting his head on is one of the smooth, velvety ones. He can appreciate what Akilah's trying to do, even if he can't feel any gratitude because of it. He vaguely remembers that Lily has a late shift tonight and that James has parents evening, but he doesn't mention either of those things as he's persuading Akilah that they can leave now. It sucks more of his energy than he expected to convince them, and he feels – numb.

He manages to hold it together for as long as it takes to feign half-smiles and reassurances that yes, I'll be fine, my friend will be here soon, I'll call you if there are any issues, but the second Akilah leaves, he's floating again, stitches coming apart at the seams, and he wraps his arms around himself again, pressing his face against the soft cushion until it's hard to breathe.

(Sirius has known for years now, and years of shouldering this kind of secret have worn a tired and heavy ache in to his chest. It's something that is so fundamental to him, no matter how much he wishes it wasn't, and yet, it's not all he is. But he knows his family won't see it like that. Then, one day, when he is fourteen and Alphard has just set a tagine dish before him, he cannot hold on to it any longer, and it comes spilling out of his mouth: "I'm gay." Alphard blinks at him, then smiles broadly, and says "okay. "Thank you for telling me. I love you, Sirius" before spooning a generous helping of couscous on to Sirius' plate. "More couscous?").

There's a knock at the door a little while later, but Sirius doesn't really hear it – or rather, he hears it but cannot register its significance. He huddles himself in to a tighter ball on the sofa, because if he loosens his grip for even a second, he is going to crack and fall apart and lose entire pieces of himself, and there is no coming back from that, he can't, he can't, he can't –

"Padfoot?" There's another knock at the door, and Sirius knows that voice, its familiarity would usually send butterflies fluttering in his belly and warmth around his heart. But not today, not now, not when he feels so incredibly numb and empty and hopeless, nothing can penetrate, nothing can help him.

"Padfoot, I'm coming in now." Sirius blinks and wonders fleetingly how much time has passed since that first knock. He doesn't open his eyes again, instead he squeezes them tighter shut as the door opens, as though he can force himself to wake up out of this nightmare.

Soft footsteps pad in his direction, but he is barely aware of them – he's barely aware of anything on a physical level. He's trapped inside his mind, disconnected from his body, and he knows that his fingers are tingling with a burning ferocity now because his entire arm is dead, but he cannot make himself move it – he doesn't know how anymore.

"Hey," the voice is incredibly gentle, like a wave lapping against the shore. Sirius wills himself to open his eyes. It takes the longest time for his body to get the memo, but when it finally does, the kindest of faces swims in to view. Their eyebrows are knitted in a concerned frown, their eyes are sad and crinkled, mouth turned down at the corners. He knows the name to this face, but his mind is so disconnected that everything's just foggy.

They continue talking, keeping their movements slow and obvious. Sirius lets the white noise wash over him like a tide, and keeps breathing, breathing, breathing. Eventually, it's like the world begins to come back in to sharper focus – shapes around the lovely face gain definition, the words being said make sense to him, and a name floats to the forefront of his brain: Moony. Remus.

"M'ny," he mumbles, and Remus stops talking immediately, moving close enough that Sirius can extract an arm from his blanket nest, reach out a hand and touch his chest.

"Pads," he says, equally softly, and within that single syllable is a multitude of empathy and support.

"Can you-" Sirius reaches for Remus' hands, but his dead arm sends a throb of stinging pain up to his shoulder, and his limb flops uselessly.

With one hand, Remus begins massaging his arm, beginning at his fingertips and working upwards. It sends tiny sparks of pain darting through him, but the sensation is strangely grounding, pulling him back to himself. Remus presses his other hand to Sirius' cheek, and the warmth of his palm seeps through the numbness, thawing the ice that has taken control of his mind.

It takes forever, but eventually, Sirius can wiggle his fingers without pain, and he immediately twists his wrist in Remus' grip, so that their hands slot together like jigsaw pieces. The grounding it gives him makes him sigh inwardly with relief – even more so when Remus shuffles closer, pressing their foreheads together. Sirius closes his eyes, breathing in Remus and all the comfort his scent brings, their lips so close they could kiss, only for once, Sirius has zero interest in kissing him.

Eventually, Remus presses a kiss against their entwined knuckles, and gently slides his fingers away. "I'm going to make us some tea, and then I'm going to cuddle the shit out of you. That okay?"

Sirius nods, even though it's not, and nothing will be okay ever again. Every breath he draws is one that Alphard cannot, and will not, ever again. It's like a knife twisting in his chest.

(He has to count deep breaths whilst Remus is out of the room, pleading with himself to not spiral once more).

Two mugs are placed on the coffee table with a light clunk. A warm weight settles next to him, and he doesn't even open his eyes, crawling blindly in to Remus' lap and pressing his face in to Remus' soft stomach. Remus runs his fingers through Sirius' hair soothingly, drags the blanket tighter around him.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Remus says quietly, and Sirius screws his eyes shut so viciously, it hurts, because those words. He knows people mean well by saying them, but what good does being sorry do? It's as meaningless as sending thoughts and prayers to the victims of a natural disaster – it's a nice gesture, but useless in the long run, and it is always about them, it's not really about the victim. And so, Sirius has always had a complicated relationship with those words – one that is part resentment and part exasperation –

And yet.

When Remus says it, it's different. Because Remus understands the weight of those words, having known his own fair share of loss in his life. And the way Remus says it isn't in an oh-what-a-shame-now-let's-talk-about-me sort of way, nor in a I-feel-so-bad-for-you-right-now way; it's entirely compassionate and empathic and full of the kind of love that Alphard had shown him – one that's unconditional and boundless and pure.

Sirius swallows all of these thoughts down hard, and opens his eyes again, twisting his neck to meet Remus' concerned eyes. He nods simply, cannot smile, and Remus links their fingers together once more.

"You don't have to cope with this alone," Remus says gently but with a firmness that steadies the sick, anxious feeling in Sirius' gut. "You are never alone, but especially not in this."

The tears threaten to return, and if he begins to cry now, he fears that he will never stop. Instead he turns his face back in to Remus' lap, allowing him to continue the head massage and start up a monologue about the impending Bake-Off finale.

"Don't leave," Sirius manages, what feels like hours later, once Remus has entirely wrung out an in-depth analysis of each contestant, before deciding that Ruby's firey-ness reminds him of Alice, and so is his favourite to win.

Remus squeezes him even closer, "never." He presses a kiss in to Sirius' hair, and Sirius feels himself welling up at the tenderness of it. He's not sure how much longer he can keep fighting the tears, though he's not even sure anymore why he's fighting them, he's not ashamed of these emotions, and he knows that Remus would encourage letting it out.

(Somewhere in his scar tissue, however, lies the memory of his pet dog being killed in a car accident, and being forbidden to cry, which has ingrained in him an expectation of punishment for expressing grief through tears).

Soon, James and Lily will be home, and even though he knows Remus has informed them both of the situation, their gentleness and comfort will be overwhelming. He snuggles closer in to Remus' lap, and almost smiles when he hears Remus' stomach let out a small growl.

"Hungry?" he says, in a voice that is scratchy with pent-up emotion, poking Remus fondly, and the other man squirms a little.

"When was the last time you ate something?" Remus counters, and Sirius frowns. Remembering a detail like that seems like it would waste all of the energy he's focusing on breathing and not crying, so he shrugs, because what does it matter? "Sweetheart, you need to eat."

Sirius shrugs again, not wanting to snap at Remus, but can't he see that he doesn't give a shit?

Remus sighs and says, "what if I make a stir fry? Something quick and simple?"

Unable to muster any strong emotions around anything food -related, Sirius shrugs yet again, which Remus seems to take as assent, because he makes to get up. Sirius involuntarily curls closer around Remus, his heart clenching at the thought of being alone again.

"Hey," Remus says so gently that tears spring to his eyes again. (Or maybe all this kindness is the tipping point on how long he can refrain from weeping). "I'm not leaving. You can come with me." He waits for Sirius' reluctant nod before moving again, this time pulling them up together.

Once in the kitchen, Sirius leans his weight against Remus' back, where he's chopping carrots, courgette and pepper in to strips, and wraps his arms loosely around his waist. He closes his eyes, and focuses on the sounds of slicing and sizzling, the smells of soy sauce and frying garlic, the feel of Remus' soft flannel on his cheek.

Eventually, the gas is switched off, and Remus turns with a hum, wrapping his arms around Sirius. "Ready when you are, love," he says softly, but makes no move towards dishing up, instead just holding Sirius like he's something precious and loveable.

The front door opens with them still standing before the hob, and James and Lily sweep in to the room, wearing identical expressions of protective worry. Sirius braces himself for what will surely be a barrage of affection and concern, but to his grateful surprise, they simply join the embrace in silence. Sandwiched between his three favourite people, Sirius cannot stop himself – the relief and the anguish well up inside him, spilling out of his mouth in a strangled sob, as tears begin to stream down his cheeks. As one, his friends draw closer to him, allowing him to collapse his entire body weight against them as he begins to choke on his emotions.

(His grief is sharp and thorny and comes on all sides – every breath he draws, it snatches from him and replaces with barbed wire and spikes that it plunges in to his lungs – it hurts, it hurts so much. There is no pain like this – nothing his parents said to him can compare to the blood-spattered mess his grief is reducing him to –)

(And God, it's never-ending).

Time must pass because his throat is dry and raw from the gasping, wretched sobs that have been ripped from it, and the front of Remus' shirt is entirely sodden with his tears and snot and saliva, and he aches all over from curling into himself like this. But he doesn't feel any of it. He feels nothing except the huge gashing hole where his peace and his contentment once were; now there is only anguish and pain. But eventually his body cries out in surrender, and his sobbing ceases all at once.

"Padfoot?" James says, very softly, gently touching the nape of Sirius' neck. When Sirius doesn't flinch away, he moves his hand up in to Sirius' dark curls, running his fingers through the tangles soothingly. Lily stands with a stiff difficulty, but Sirius doesn't raise his head to track her movements. Instead, he presses further in to Remus' chest, even though the dampness is awful, and Remus is probably sick of him –

"Sirius," Lily has returned, and Sirius lifts his face slightly to see her holding a washcloth. He closes his eyes, allowing her to wipe his eyes – his make-up is long-since ruined, but the warmth of the flannel soothes his sore cheeks and gets rid of the gross stickiness. When she's done, she sits back, looking more helpless than he's ever seen her – Lily is fiercely capable and dependable, and the sight of her looking so unsure is – frankly – terrifying.

Sirius takes a breath, and looks at James, who seems equally lost. With the two people he's come to count on most so powerless, he feels the ground begin to crumble beneath him, but he's saved from slipping through the cracks by Remus (because of course he is).

"Food. Bath. Bed. Cuddles. In that order. Non-negotiable."

It's rare for Remus to give orders – he is much more a follower than a leader, and Sirius means that in the best way, because there is nobody he'd rather have as a deputy. But the unusualness of the situation means that when he does take command, everybody snaps to attention immediately.

James hops up and begins reheating the stir-fry, whilst Lily makes them tea – peppermint by the scent of it. Remus helps Sirius to his feet, keeps an arm around his waist as he guides him to the sofa, and allows him to crawl back in to his lap. Minutes later, James and Lily come in with four steaming bowls and mugs. The heat of the bowl on his lap is uncomfortable, and the smell makes his stomach roll, but he knows that none of his friends will let him get away without eating, so he lifts a noodle wrapped around a carrot to his lips, and chews without tasting.

He manages half a bowl before he feels uncomfortably full and pushes the bowl away with a scowl. He knows he's being a bit of a brat, but he feels like he's earned it right now. Remus looks a little sad at the amount left in the bowl, but he doesn't push for more – it's just as well.

True to his word, Remus takes him in to the bathroom, and runs a bath in James and Lily's ridiculously big tub. He holds an Intergalactic bath bomb beneath the stream of hot water, because he knows that it's Sirius' favourite, and Sirius stares as the water swirls in to sparkling navy blue, glittering colours whirling across the surface. Remus leaves as Sirius undresses, but returns once he's in the water, and keeps up a steady stream of meaningless chatter. Sirius half-listens as Remus babbles on about the upcoming US elections, the dogs he saw today on his walk to work, his new medication and its side effects… the other half he is careful to keep on the water and not the intrusive memories that are attempting to barge through his mind.

But the warmth of the water is doing the trick. Sirius can feel the heat seeping in to his aching muscles, loosening the knots that have formed, and he relaxes just a fraction. And then a little more.

And then suddenly, Remus is stroking his hair back from his face, and the water is only lukewarm and he's so incredibly tired. Remus holds up a fluffy towel for him to step in to, and then hugs it around Sirius. They stay like that for a few minutes, just breathing, and it's nice and intimate and tender, and Sirius has to go and ruin it all by shivering, doesn't he?

Remus immediately whisks him to his bedroom, where a pair of fluffy pyjamas are waiting atop his pillow, and Sirius slips beneath the covers gratefully, his head heavy and groggy and sad. Remus presses a kiss to his damp hair, and then makes to leave, but Sirius growls, snagging his wrist, and yanking, so that Remus stumbles on top of the sheets.

"You want me to stay?" Remus says, as though the way Sirius is tugging the duvet around him isn't evidence enough, and Sirius refrains from rolling his eyes, if only because it would use his final scraps of energy.

"Obviously," he murmurs, and Remus smiles. He joins Sirius under the covers, and their limbs immediately tangle as Sirius curls around him. Remus wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Sirius pillows on to his chest, and it's so very nice and warm and safe.

"Good night, Padfoot," Remus whispers, as Sirius' eyelids close for the final time that night.

"G'night, M'ny," he slurs back, and swears he feels a kiss press against his cheek before he's off to the stars, floating in a galaxy of dreams and memories.

As peacefully as he slept, and as lovely as it is to wake up being spooned by Remus, his breath tickling the nape of Sirius' neck, the warm glowing contentment he feels pops like a balloon the second he remembers.

Remus is awake the moment he sucks in a choked sob, rolling him in to his arms and allowing him to weep in to his chest.

"It's not fair," Sirius manages, after what could be a few minutes, could be an hour. Then he feels like an idiot for saying so, because Remus knows that better than anyone. "It's not fair that he's gone and they're still here when he was a better man than – than –"

"I know, love," Remus says softly, but he lets Sirius throw his temper tantrum against his chest as he holds him, because he truly is a saint and Sirius does not deserve him.

There's a knock at the door, and Sirius freezes, before burrowing beneath the covers and tucking himself in to Remus' squish. The logical part of his brain – which obviously hasn't woken up yet – knows that it's just James and Lily, and they won't give a shit that he's tear-stained and sleepy. But the bigger part just wants to be left alone, so he doesn't emerge when Remus says, "come in," in his lovely, gravelly sleep-voice.

"Morning," James says, and the sound of mugs being placed on a hard surface stirs Sirius' interest – coffee? Tea? Water? He's so thirsty that any of those would be a dream. He pokes his head out of the covers, spies the coffee mug and launches himself towards it.

"Hey," Remus says, smiling fondly at Sirius' antics, "I would have passed that to you, you know?"

Sirius shrugs, settles himself against Remus' side, and carefully balances the mug on his knees, taking a sip even though it's scalding. Remus cards his fingers against Sirius' scalp - a sensation that usually makes him sag with pleasure, but today barely registers through the foggy grief-exhaustion-anxiety-sadness haze he's under.

"What's the plan today?" James asks, and the question is obviously directed at Sirius, but Sirius struggles to focus - it's all meaningless chatter to Sirius, because his world has shifted forever, why hasn't everybody else got the memo that everything is utterly wrong without -

"I'm at school until half five this evening," James tries, "and Lily's working till seven-"

"But I can swap shifts with Dirk, Sirius, if you'd like me to stay."

Sirius is already shaking his head, because the thought of being such a burden to either of them is unbearable - he cannot handle that sort of guilt on top of his already overwhelming load. (Even if the thought of being alone with his thoughts for a whole day is also unbearable - he will deal).

Remus clears his throat, "I have a day-off today. I can be here all day if you'll have me. Just need to get Alice to feed Winky," he says, and Sirius feels the relief like a shield, protecting him from the awfulness of his own mind. James and Lily seem similarly relieved, and Sirius feels a surge of both love that they care so much and irritation that they don't trust him to be alone. (His head is a fucking mess, and he's too tired to examine his conflicting emotions).

In lieu of having to come up with a verbal response, Sirius leans in to Remus' touch, and forms lazy half-signs, 'stay with me. Please.'

Remus murmurs, "always," quiet enough that even though James and Lily are watching intently, it's an intimacy that's just for the two of them.

Silence falls and Remus plays with Sirius' hair and Sirius' coffee cools and Alphard is dead.

(These are the facts, but they feel more like knives through his chest).

There's something else that needs to be said - Sirius can see it in the way that James and Lily, as in sync as ever, keep exchanging glances full of worry. But neither of them say a word, and the silence stretches longer and bigger and worse. Eventually, when he can't stand the tension anymore, he spits, "if you've got something to say, then say it, won't you?" It's harsher than he intends, and James flinches, but Sirius can't bring himself to feel guilty for his bluntness. (If things were different, he would be beating himself up for being so shitty towards his closest friends. Then again, if things were different, Sirius wouldn't even be feeling so numb to it all in the first place).

It's Lily who asks the question that they're all itching to, because Lily is the bravest of them all.

"We were just wondering when the funeral is, Sirius?" No matter how gently she asks it, Sirius' heart still shatters in to a thousand tiny shards, and it hurts - it hurts so much, how can she just say it like it's not rending the world in two.

Remus seems to sense something, because he reaches out and catches the mug just before it falls off Sirius' knee as he shifts violently, blindly lunging for something - anything to make it hurt less. He shoves his face into his knees, hugging his legs to his chest as tightly as he can, and he breathes, the raggedness of his broken heart still aching with every inhale.

There's a hand on his shoulder - too large for Lily's, too warm for James' - and even though everything in him wants to shrug it off, it grounds him enough that he can find the words to say to his knees, "it doesn't matter. I'm not allowed to go."

The grip on his shoulder tightens abruptly. "What the hell does that mean?" says Remus sharply.

"My - my parents don't want me there."

"When has that ever stopped you from doing anything?" James says incredulously.

"This is different," Sirius insists, "Reg says - they've barred me, and -"

"Barred you?"

"What the actual fuck," hisses Remus, and Sirius looks up in surprise at the venom in his tone. The hold on his shoulder is hard enough to bruise (and Sirius would know), and Remus mouth is a grim slash. "How the fuck are they so fucking evil, I will kill them-"

"Moony-" James says pointedly, but Remus shakes his head.

"They know how special Alphard is - was - to Sirius - they are doing this on purpose, and I cannot -"

"Moony."

"Don't Moony me, Prongs, how dare they bar him - this is so fucking unfair, that's-"

(Remus has removed his hand from Sirius' shoulder, but it's now shaking with how hard his nails are clenched into his palm, and Sirius would rather a thousand times that it was him Remus was hurting).

"Remus." Remus finally falls silent at James' I'm-a-teacher sternness, but still glowers defiantly. "Do you think this is helpful?" He nods his head at Sirius, who suddenly becomes aware that his cheeks are damp.

Remus has the grace to look ashamed as he deflates. Keeping his movements as obvious as possible, he moves back to Sirius' side, taking up his hand and twining their fingers. "I'm sorry," he says softly, and Sirius nods distractedly - he doesn't even know why he's crying, and he's more concerned with where Remus' nails have dug into his palms. Remus raises their joined hands, uses the pad of his own thumb to wipe Sirius' cheeks, and it's so tender it stings the raw edges of Sirius' broken heart.

James moves to Sirius' other side, and Sirius leans tiredly against his side - it's not even eight am and he just wants to sleep until he wakes up from this nightmare. Lily tucks his feet into her lap, shuffling closer, and for a moment, Sirius' sniffles are the only sound.

Eventually, James breaks it - "We can find out where they're - um. Where he'll be buried. And then we can go and pay respects. I know it's not the same, Pads, but -"

"Yes." Sirius says, unable to meet anyone's eyes, because he's terrified he'll see Alphard's disappointment that he can't even bring himself to stand up to his parents on this one small thing. Instead, Remus presses a kiss to his temple and Lily squeezes his leg gently.

"I'm proud of you, love," James murmurs, "we all are."

"For what?" Sirius says bitterly, "Alphard's the bravest man I know - knew. This isn't-"

"Having the courage to make yourself a priority is brave," Lily says fiercely.

James nods in agreement, "if you went to the funeral, you'd be seeing your abusers again. You'd be understandably anxious about that, and about making a scene, and you wouldn't get to actually say the goodbyes you need to. I know you know this."

"Sometimes self-protection is the bravest thing you can do," Remus says quietly, and Sirius closes his eyes. He wants to take their kindness and force his mind to accept it - to shove it at the voice that calls him a coward and shut it up because it's wrong, dammit.

But he's so tired and sad and empty, and the combination is too much for one person to manage. He curls into Remus' lap, facing away from the world's compassion that he can't quite convince himself he deserves. Remus returns to stroking through his hair in silence whilst Sirius wallows, and eventually James and Lily have to leave with kisses and well-wishes and the promise that they are only a phone call away.

(Sirius isn't alone - not emotionally, and certainly not physically - but he's alone in the intensity of this feeling. It's an exhausting, constant wave of grief that continually shudders through him, and it wears him down to the extent that he's slipping into a restless sleep once more).

It's Remus who phones into Sirius' work, explains the situation with a levelness that Sirius could never have managed, and arranges for compassionate leave. It's Remus who alerts their wider group of friends to the circumstances, details what he needs from each of them - knows what he needs from each of them - and responds to the overwhelming tidal wave of well-wishes. It's Remus who sits in silence with him for hours at a time, willing to listen when Sirius feels like talking (which isn't often, especially in the beginning), and ready to talk when Sirius' head is too loud and overwhelmed (which is often).

The next few days are not a blur. Sirius remembers them in sharp painful detail, and every breath aches like an old wound. He does his best to keep busy - he and Remus go to Richmond Park, trample through the snow-laden fields, walk as far as Remus' aching bones will allow. Remus takes him to the newest exhibition on Aboriginal art at the RA, and he wishes that his mind felt less foggy to appreciate its beauty and individuality. The two of them bake cookies - gingerbread shaped like dreidels - and binge the entirety of One Day At A Time and completely sort through Sirius' wardrobe.

It helps to keep himself occupied, because it prevents the memories from forcing their way through, though not even the sight of Remus with flour on the tip of his nose is enough to lift Sirius' spirits.

He's not sure why it hurts so much – he hasn't seen Alphard for a year, at least, and even then, their relationship has shifted from a paternal one to something like distant friends. The closeness had fallen by the wayside (and doesn't Sirius just loathe himself for allowing that to happen?) when Sirius had found friends he could rely on and a life he loved.

And yet it hurts so fucking much.

Perhaps it's the fact that he used Alphard's money to escape and rebuild his life afresh, without once going to actually visit his uncle and tell him how grateful he is. Perhaps it's the niggling voice in his head that whispers that Alphard knew about the abuse but still did nothing to remove him from it. Perhaps most painful of all, it's that in spite of the awfulness of his upbringing, his memories of Alphard are among his most nostalgic, but recalling them in a world where Alphard lives no longer is unbearable.

He finds himself going to text Alphard when he stumbles upon a recipe Alphard would have loved. He has to force himself to put down the scarf he's unthinkingly picked up for Alphard's Christmas present. He thinks of him when he hears Vivaldi, and when he passes bouquets of red flowers, and when he sees a deer frolicking through the fields, and suddenly his memory is everywhere.

(And it's unbearable).

(He's so, so tired).

Remus doesn't leave. That thought is the one that Sirius wakes up and lies down to. Every time he reaches for him, Remus is there before the thought has even fully formed. Every time his breathing becomes too tight and everything too much, Remus has his hands clasped in his own and is counting steady exaggerated breaths. Every time he begins to cry and doesn't know how or whether he'll ever stop, Remus holds him close and lets him sob in to his stomach, offering nothing but kindness and love and support.

And it should feel suffocating – like having an overly-attentive shadow, only… it's actually the biggest comfort he can imagine? Having someone who knows him so intimately means that he doesn't have to put into words how terrible he feels - because Remus gets it, and he gets him. James and Lily are, of course, wonderful, but it's Remus, and it's always been Remus, and there's nobody else Sirius would rather have by his side. Remus validates him and supports him and loves him unconditionally - and he knows any of his friends would do so too. But it's Remus.

(He spends a lot of his time wrapped around Remus' warm body, hands clasped together, Remus massaging his shoulders and neck, scratching his scalp, it's all Remus-Remus-Remus, and the tactile side of Sirius that craves physical contact is in bliss).

(Even if nothing else is).

[hamlet-writes]

Double Jeopardy- Part 1

Harvey Dent heaved himself up the last flight of rickety steel stairs, regretting his choice of hideout for the third time that week.  The derelict apartment complex had been abandoned for years, and the homeless had flocked to it like rats before he had arrived.  Now it was silent and empty, save for the constant drip drip drip of water damage that had been omnipresent for his entire tenure, and the flocks of pigeons who roosted stubbornly in its open-air windows (luckily for him there were no other winged animals roosting there.)  He stumbled with a heavy sigh to the door of his hideout, shoving it open and flipping the switch on the wall next to it.  The lights flickered miraculously to life (they had a 50/50 chance of working on most days,) and the sputtering electricity illuminated a before-unseen figure sitting calmly in his chair, studying the head of his cane with a smug expression. "Well, it's about time you arrived!" the green-clad man exclaimed. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show."  In an instant Harvey had his gun in his hand, aiming it straight at the intruder. "Who the hell are you?!" he growled.  The man chuckled, irritatingly calm for someone with a gun pointed at him. "Ahh, I'm disappointed Harvey," he said, clucking his tongue. "We've met before, albeit under different circumstances.  You were to be the one prosecuting me before I was declared unfit to stand trial- don't you remember?" "Nygma," Harvey realized.  Edward rose from his chair with a flourish, laughing. "So you DO remember!" he said. "Delightful!"  Harvey cocked his gun, scowling at the man in front of him. "How the hell did you find us?" he growled, reaching for his coin. "A simple matter, really," Edward said, ignoring the gun aimed his way in favor of admiring the enormous window overlooking the city. "I have a way of finding out things everyone seems to think I shouldn't know- besides, this place was almost obvious.  Look at where we are, Harvey!  Hmm, I wonder if you even realized it when you picked it out.  This building is smack-dab in the center of the doorway of Gotham- to the right you can see all of her dark corners, nestled away in Crime Alley, and to the left you can see Wayne Enterprises, her crowning glory!  With your bifocused tendencies, you would have to be right in the center." "Congratulations, you found us," Harvey said, advancing on the shorter man.  Edward turned to face him just in time to find the end of his gun shoved forcefully against his forehead, pinning him to the wall. "Give us one good reason why we shouldn't kill you right now," Harvey growled. "Well, for starters you'd have an AWFUL time getting all that blood out of the carpet, although I don't suppose you care much about looks," Edward said, chuckling. "But the reason I'm here is to make a proposition." "A proposition for what?" Harvey asked, rubbing his coin with his thumb. "Why, for a collaboration, but of course," Edward said with a smug laugh. "You've proven yourself to be quite the up-and-coming player these last few months, but you very nearly got caught last night.  You need someone with a plan, and I need someone who can demand his presence be noticed.  We get rich quick, and then we move into deeper waters.  It's a win-win situation." "You make a compelling argument," Harvey admitted. "However, you broke into our home and risked exposing us to the Bat.  So, heads we accept, and tails we blow your damn head off."  The coin flew skyward with a fateful ring, and both men watched its descent with baited breath.  Harvey caught it in a deft hand, and Edward cringed slightly as he opened his palm to reveal the answer. "Looks like it's your lucky day, kid," Harvey said, pulling his gun away and flicking the safety on before tucking it back into his pocket.  Edward released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and laughed, clapping his hands together. "I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, partner," he said, flashing a smug grin. "Just you wait and see." TWO WEEKS LATER "GO GO GO!" Query yelled, firing off three pot shots over her shoulder that sent Batman temporarily diving for cover.  Civilians scrambled out of the way as Edward and Query dashed through Wayne Memorial Plaza.  Echo roared across the snow-covered cobblestones in their getaway car and screeched to a stop in front of them (right on time, Edward noted with a hint of satisfaction.)  Query put on another burst of speed, sliding across the hood and throwing herself into the front seat. "C'mon!" Harvey called as he threw open the back door.  The sound of boots thundering across the cobblestones behind him was enough to motivate Edward- he slung the bag of cash off of his shoulder and chucked it into the back before diving in after it, landing with an oof! across Harvey's lap.  Echo floored it before the door had the chance to close, peeling out of the plaza and out into the crowded streets.  Cars swerved out of their way as they screamed down Main Street, honking and telling them exactly what they thought of the quartet's driving.   "We lose 'im?" Query panted, sticking her head out the window to look behind them. "I think so," Echo said, not taking her eyes off the road.  All four of them screamed as Batman landed with a thump on the rim of the open back door. "Stop the car!" he demanded. "I think the fuck not!" Eddie objected.  Harvey's coin sailed through the air, and he caught it in a deft hand. "Sorry Bats," he growled. "Today's just not your lucky day."  With a snarl he fired two shots directly into the symbol on Batman's chest.  His eyes widened in surprise and he lost his grip on the doorframe, disappearing from sight.  Edward shot forward, grabbing the handle and slamming it shut before craning to look out the back window, just in time to see Batman tumbling head-over-heels down the street.   "Lost him!" he exclaimed, then fell back onto Harvey's lap, laughing exuberantly.  After a moment he realized what he was doing and collected himself, looking up with a testing glance.  Harvey started down at him with a look of bewilderment, unsure what to do.  The coin sailed through the air, and Harvey leaned back in his seat, neglecting to push Edward off of him.  Edward in turn neglected to extricate himself, grinning widely and running a hand through his hair. "Where to, boss?" Echo asked, choosing not to acknowledge the elephant in the room.   "Drop us off at the back entrance to the penthouse," Edward said. "Then take the car and drive it across town and switch it out for one at that drug house before you meet up with us.  Police won't notice it's missing." "Aight," Echo said, gliding down the streets leading towards uptown Gotham. - Edward and Harvey sat cross-legged on the plush green carpet of the former's luxurious penthouse.  Towers of hundred dollar bills reached towards the high, arcing glass ceiling, and were ever-growing as the two counted out their ill-gotten prize.  Edward hummed contentedly to himself, nimble fingers deftly sliding each individual bill into its place.   "Not bad at all," he said with a delighted laugh as the towers rose. "At this rate we'll be ready to move on in a week or so, my friend!" "Move on?" Harvey asked, fumbling with the stack he was sorting. "Well, yes," Edward said. "That was what you originally had in mind, wasn't it?" "We, uh," Harvey started, clearing his throat. "Yeah. Originally." "That doesn't necessarily have to be the case, of course," Edward said. "I think we can all agree that this partnership has been quite fortuitous."  Harvey's coin pinged as it sailed upwards, landing in his outstretched palm.   "Nygma," he said. "Hmm?" Edward asked, not looking up from his work.  Before he knew what was happening Harvey leaned forward, grabbing him by the chin and turning his face towards him before pressing his lips roughly against Edward's.  Edward's eyes widened in surprise, and he dropped the wad of cash he'd been counting in his shock.  Harvey tried to pull away with a look of embarrassment, surprised when he found that Edward had a hold of his tie. "Well, why didn't you just say so?" he purred before pressing his lips to Harvey's.  One hand pushed itself against Harvey's chest, forcing him to the floor and sending their carefully sorted stacks of money fluttering into the air around them.  Edward smiled against his kiss, snaking his hands up Harvey's body and, when he didn't stop him, pressing them to both sides of his face.  Harvey's hands roamed, one worming its way into Edward's hair, the other finding its way to his waist and pulling him even closer.   Finally the two were forced to break apart, gasping to catch their breaths. "Very fortuitous," Edward panted, laughing to himself.  Harvey somehow managed to flip his coin, glancing briefly at the result before grabbing a handful of Edward's hair and rolling so that he was on top of him, pinning him to the floor.  Edward's heart fluttered as their lips collided with renewed fervor, his hands drifting downwards to his partner's collar.  Painfully slowly, he loosened Harvey's bicolored tie, sliding it off with a deliberate motion and tossing it to the side.  Pulling out of Harvey's kiss he smirked mischievously, trailing his lips teasingly down the sensitive red skin of Harvey's neck, smiling when Harvey tightened his grip on his hair.  He ran his hands languidly down Harvey's body, taking his time in undoing the buttons of his suit jacket and sliding his hands inside, pressing them slowly and deliberately against the small of Harvey's back, who wrapped his entire arm around Edward's waist, pulling him closer and purring his approval.  Edward stopped his descent, pressing his lips purposefully to the hollow of Harvey's neck and grabbing a fistful of his undershirt, one leg drifting up to wrap around his waist. "Bet we're having better luck than Bats right now," said Harvey breathlessly.  Edward broke away, laughing. "I bet you're right," he said.  The two of them took a deep breath before diving back in, Harvey smashing his lips ardently against Edward's. It was at that moment that Echo and Query decided to let themselves in. "Hey boss, whaddo you want us to-" Echo began, then stopped in her tracks. "Oh.  Well.  Uh..."  Edward and Harvey completely ignored them, preoccupied. "We'll...We'll come back later," Query said, clearing her throat and grabbing her partner's arm, pulling her back into the hallway. "Told ya so," she hissed triumphantly. "Yeah yeah, I'm gettin' my wallet out, just hold your horses..." Echo said, fishing around in her coat.  The two of them disappeared from sight, until Echo popped back through the doorway, hurling a handful of condoms at the happy couple before running like hell after Query, sniggering loudly the entire time.