#he was planning it for months. he tried his damnedest to stop people from finding the truth. he knew tf he was doing

[bison-appreciation-club]

i thought there were some things in history that everyone could agree on, but i've just read a book suggesting that the sand creek massacre was justified, so obviously not

[libraryofgage]

I hope you don't mind but I wrote a little something lol

Also please ignore typos hfjkds

---

Eddie is driving, of course. He'd drive everyone crazy with his fidgeting if he didn't. He's still fidgeting a little, his fingers tapping the wheel along to the music in his head instead of what's playing on the radio. His left leg is bouncing, barely brushing the bottom of the wheel. His teeth are digging into his bottom lip, the copper-taste of blood creeping into his mouth.

He should have noticed sooner. He should have realized what was happening long before....well...

Before Dustin's frantic phone call and Robin's shaking video call and the group chat that had been collecting dust for the past three years (last used to plan a virtual birthday party for Steve that eventually fell through because of life, which leaves a bad taste in Eddie's mouth even now).

And now he can't stop thinking about it, about his text chat with Steve being untouched for three months. He wasn't even the one who sent the last message. That had been Steve, congratulating him on another tour and asking how the newest album was coming along. Eddie had meant to answer, but he got distracted and it slipped his mind and and and

And nothing. How many times did he see a funny animal and think of texting Steve about it? How many times did he almost send Steve a meme? How many times did he find himself working on that damn album, staring down the lyrics of the title track of an album dedicated to Steve in his heart (like he didn't always dedicate them to Steve and Wayne in his heart anyway), thinking about Steve and his hazel eyes and sunny smile and those two freckles on his cheek?

And now? Now Steve has been radio silent for a month, not even talking to Robin or Dustin for four weeks.

And that's a problem.

"He could be dead," Erica says from the last row of the van, her voice clipped and cold as Eddie's hands tighten on the wheel.

"Don't say that," Dustin hisses.

"We're all thinking it, and if we don't talk about it now, we won't know what to do if it's true."

She's right, of course. Erica is always right, especially when it really hurts. Eddie forces himself to take a deep breath as they pass the sign welcoming them to Hawkins. The sun is slipping below the treetops now, casting shadows and orange light across the road as Eddie forces his foot off the gas pedal so they don't get pulled over.

When Eddie left Hawkins, he never looked back. He chased after a future that nearly escaped him with such single-minded focus that he barely remembers the drive out of his hometown. But he does remember that it didn't look like this.

Hawkins always had a few farms and homes on the outskirts, people who wanted to be surrounded by forest or make a living on pumpkins. When Eddie left, those houses had been lived in; bikes were haphazardly left strewn across lawns, fields of crops were carefully tended, people sat on porches with sweating glasses of lemonade and iced tea in their hands, and lights streamed out from the windows.

Now, those houses and fields are in an unbelievable state of disrepair. Some have smashed windows, the fields of crops are dug up and wildly overgrown, and every single house is dark. If he weren't so sure this was his dimension, Eddie would wonder if they'd somehow driven into the Upside Down when they crossed the town line.

"Uh, that's weird, right?" Dustin asks, nose practically plastered to the window as the town passes by.

Every building is dark. The sun hasn't even properly set, but the streets are empty and the town is dead. It's eerie, sends shivers down Eddie's back, makes his hair stand on end. His jaw clenches, his grip on the wheel tightens, and he tries his damnedest to not imagine the worst case scenario.

He doesn't have to hold off for long as he turns down a residential street. Before his brain can force images of demogorgons attacking Steve to the forefront, an actual demogorgon rushes from behind a house ahead of them, petal-mouth flared wide and teeth on display as its roar forces something Eddie had once buried to flare to life.

Amid the screams from the back and Robin suddenly grabbing the wheel and jerking it to the side so avoid the demogorgon, Eddie somehow remembers to slam his foot on the brakes. The tires squeal painfully, the car drifting sharply and perfectly angling them to face the demogorgon head-on.

Eddie's throat is straining, and he doesn't know why until he realizes he's also screaming. His heart is pounding against his ribs, and his brain has started chugging into over drive. How is he going to get the kids out? How is he going to get Robin out? Who's going to tell his bandmates and his agent that he fucking died the one time he visited Hawkins?

And then he notices a figure (a boy, achingly familiar) sprinting out from behind another house, sliding between the car and the demogorgon, bat raised and swinging with ease. It catches the demogorgon in the stomach, tearing through skin and muscle and sending it sliding back a few precious inches. A shot rings out a second later, the demogorgon's head jerking back. A second shot follows, and the demogorgon's head explods, viscera and a few teeth splashing across the windshield.

The boy with the bat, wipes away some of the gore, turns to another house, and waves a hand. Eddie is already rolling down the window, getting it open just in time to hear the other shout, "Thanks, Ms. Dithers! I'll see you on Sunday for book club!"

Eddie follows the direction of the wave to see an older woman in the upstairs window of a house. Her hair is gray, her glasses are huge, she's wearing a nightgown, and she's reloading a shotgun as she smiles. "Don't mention it, Steve, dear. You'd better bring those Savannah bars again, or I won't be letting you in the door!" she calls back, waving kindly at Steve.

With one more wave, Steve turns to the car. He locks eyes with Eddie first, and Eddie gets the joy of seeing them light up, Steve's whole demeanor suddenly shifting into something bright and happy as he hurries over to the open window. "Hey, guys!" he says, "What brought you down? How come you didn't call ahead? I'd've told you about the curfew."

He leans on the door like it's easy, like he isn't a breath of fresh air Eddie didn't even know he needed. He smiles just as easily, and Eddie is breathless. He definitely couldn't speak for the fucking life of him.

"You didn't answer your fucking phone, dingus!" Robin shouts, barely managing to get her seatbelt off before she's launching herself out of the car. She jumps the hood in a moment of unprecedented grace and crashes into Steve's arms.

She spurs everyone into action, like she made them realize Steve is real and alive. The car shakes as everyone else piles out, surrounding Steve and pushing until he's forced to take a step back before he trips. Despite that, Steve looks...overjoyed.

Eddie tries to be a little calmer as he exits the car, desperately hoping his hands aren't shaking like he thinks they are. He can feel himself on a precipice of something. He's teetering over the edge of a cliff he can't name; or, well, a cliff he doesn't want to name.

And then Steve meets his eyes again, and Eddie is lost in hazel. He's doomed by freckles and sun-kissed skin and a smile that's just for him. He's trapped by warm hands pulling him into a hug, the subtle smell of hairspray, the inescapable stream of Steve, Steve, Steve coursing through his brain.

How the fuck is Eddie supposed to walk away again after this?

okay but a like post-series fic i want that's like: steve harrington being the only man left in hawkins fighting monsters

and not like a 'everyone died, last man standing' way but just. they beat it back, the story ends, nice little tie-up and neatly concluded, eleven loses her powers because their world is completely cut from the other. and life goes on. eddie (yes, eddie lives au don't fight me) goes off with his band, robin-nancy-jargyle off to separate cities for college. the kids go to high school, graduate high school, and scatter across the country. joyce and hop buy a beach house far-far-far away from goddamn hawkins indiana.

steve though. steve stays. he does it too without comment, takes all their calls telling him all these amazing things. the years pass. the calls are fewer and far between. he's mostly in contact with only dustin and robin. except robin's out of country doing some crazy temp job in some remote country, she never catches him at home right now so just leaves him messages. and it takes a couple of weeks for dustin to realize he hasn't gotten steve on the phone.

frantically he calls around "have you heard from steve???" except the most people talk to steve anymore is like phone calls during holidays and holy shit what could have happened??

and what if it's back?

cue everyone who can in that moment, rushing back. eddie hopping on a flight from fucking london direct to indianapolis somehow, heart in his throat. he manages to meet hopper in the airport and they pick up max and dustin at the bus station.

they get to hawkins that is even more different that what they left. a smaller town, a town that shuts down completely when the sun sets. it's creepy and deserted.

except for the fucking upside down monsters of course.

and they're in their stupid little rental in front of this demogorgon and they're screaming but then the thing just goes splat on the concrete and steve fucking harrington is blinking owlishly at them.

"Oh, hey guys!" he calls jogging up to the driver's side window. "Wow, what brought you back down this way? You should have told me, I would have told you about the curfew!"

turns out steve just forgot to pay his phone bill that month, didn't even realize he was missing calls and he's been fighting monsters the entire time because actually they WEREN'T cut off from the upside down at all and he's just been casually fighting monsters for the remaining hawkins residence—the whole town knows now and steve's the guy you call when you have a monster problem

sidebar: WAYNE still lives in hawkins, and he and steve are best friends, eddie munson you are gonna LOSE YOUR MIND

[traitor-on-board]

June 1994

“Terry…” “He likes it. Look”

Carol had to chuckle at her boyfriend. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, letting the big yellow citrine pendant dangle above the little bundle she was holding in her arms. Tiny hands were trying to grab the triangular gemstone but it was just out of reach. “You’re just teasing him”

Terrence hummed in amusement and lowered his arm so the baby could get a hold of the shiny pendant. “… I can’t change your mind?”

“… No…”, she leaned back against the headboard “This isn’t about us, Terry… it’s about him”

“You… would make a great mom, Carry”

“The clan isn’t a great home for a baby. And there’s nowhere else for us to go”

Terrence had his eyes trained on the only a few days old child “I could get a job…”

“What are we going to do until you find someone who is willing to employ a teenager with a criminal record as long as he is tall?” Carol lowered her voice when she saw that the baby was falling asleep, holding on tightly to his new treasure.

“… We can come back and pick him up when he’s older, right?”

“Probably… It’s the right thing to do”

“Give him a choice?”, he carefully detached the chain from the pendant to leave it with the baby “We never had that”

“And now look at us…”

“You know what I see when I look at you”

“Not what the rest of the world does, that’s for sure”, she leaned against him when he scooted closer to put one arm around her shoulder “… They’re going to come and check on us soon”

“You want to leave now?”

“I’m fine Terrence. I can go” She handed the baby over to him so she could get out of bed and dressed. Terrence stayed where he was and just looked down at his son. Carol was physically and surprisingly mentally ready to just climb out of the window and disappear into the night, leaving their child in the hospital without even a note to give an explanation to the nurses. Terrence wasn’t as ready. For all his usual reckless behavior, which had caused all this to happen in the first place, he felt like this was something he would regret.

Reginald and Right were still waiting outside after having helped Terrence to sneak in. Carol rejected all of the boys’ advances to help her and walked away without looking back. Without ever looking back.

November 2010

“Oh! He-hello, Carol. How are you doing today?”

“Save it, Reginald. I heard you talking”

“… oh…” the brunet man started to fidget with his golden necklace nervously. The leaders’ wife was really the last person he wanted to inform about his intentions. “Well… We should talk about it”

Carol crossed her arms and squinted her eyes at the other people gathered in the dimly lit room. There were quite a few… She sighed. This was inevitable. “What is your plan and what do you need?”

The group was stunned into silence while Carol shut the door behind her and sat down on an empty chair.

“That easily?” Reginald was still standing next to the door and couldn’t believe his luck.

“Yes” She would’ve left it at that but apparently the others needed an explanation as to why she of all people was immediately on board with this. “He’s… changed. Maybe the old Terrence will come back if someone takes that role away from him”

“Slim chance”, Right, Reginalds’ husband, remarked “But a chance”

“Exactly”, Reginald sat back down between the two “In order to demote him we need to show him how many people we have on our side”

Carol listened to the other Toppats’ planning and scheming to dethrone her husband. A slim chance… but a chance.

January 2011

In the past months there had been several heists, a lot of them impulsive decisions, quite a few not ending well…

It was already late at night when they decided to confront Terrence on the bridge, where he usually was. Just not today. They found him quickly though. Wallace contacted Carol when he saw the chief go out onto the balcony. The wind pulled at their hair and clothes as Carol, Reginald and Right stepped outside.

Terrence was sitting on top of the railing at the end of the extended platform, not a position his wife wanted him to be in for this kind of conversation. “Terrence”, she walked down the few steps with Reginald while Right stayed at the door, with quite a few other Toppats behind him “We need to talk”

“… I know”, the brunet didn’t seem to have any intentions on moving from his spot, he didn’t even look at them “I overdid it, huh?”

There was a short but still uncomfortable silence. “Yeah… Let’s call it that”, Reginald took a deep breath “We believe that you are… unfit to lead the clan any longer, Terrence”

“Ye were fine before” Right remarked from his spot and Toppats around him nodded. “Exactly. This much power isn’t good for you, Terrence. For both of us”, Carol placed a hand on Reginalds’ shoulder “We all talked about it and we decided that Reginald should be our new leader” “But I’d be happy to have you as my Right hand, you were great in that position”

During their speech Terrence had turned towards them. Now that everyone was quiet, waiting for his response, he sighed and took of his hat. His yellow eyes looked strangely tired in the cold moonlight. “You want to demote me back down to a Right hand man instead of throwing me off the ship?”

“We never planned to do that!”, Reginald was shocked by his friends’ words “This isn’t a hostile takeover, Terry. Please”

“Maybe not. But it’s how it always ends. Look at how Randy Radman stepped down voluntarily and then got stabbed in the back. Literally”

“That murder was not condoned by the clan! Nobody is going to be thrown off this ship. Get down from there and step away from the-“ Carol had started to close the distance but stopped when his top hat fell to the ground, revealing a pistol in his hands. “… Terry?”

“I won’t take that offer, Reginald” “… I’m sure we can work out something else then”, this was not going as they hoped but he would do his damnedest to keep this exchange from escalating “What do you dislike about my offer?” “I failed as a leader, Reg” “That is not… entirely true”

“You don’t need to stay in the clan. We can leave”, Carol held out her hand “We… could go back. And be a family” He looked from her determined expression to her hand and then over to the small crowd. She followed his gaze until two pairs of amber eyes found a citrine pendant on one of the younger Toppats. “It’s far too late for that, Carry…”

“It’s not. We can go-!”

Terrence cut her off “There is only one way for someone like me to go. But I won’t leave my dearest treasure behind” He raised his hand with the pistol, finger curling around the trigger. Carol was frozen in place and Reginald opted to throw both of them to the ground right when a single gunshot rang out. The pistol fell to the ground. There were gasps and running.

Carol pushed Reginald off of her and looked over to her husband. Or rather where he had been. Right stood at the railing “I… I shot his hand” That was a reasonable decision… She leaned against the railing to her left and looked at the ocean far below them. It was so dark down there, she didn’t even notice that her vision went blurry.

Both Reginald and Right apologized and tried to comfort her but there was only one sentence that stood out to her at that moment. “

“It’s not loaded”

“… why, Terry…”

[spectraspecs-writes]

Korriban - Chapter 95 (Bastila, Carth)

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 94. Chapter 96.

CW: Lime

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma @strangepostmiracle thank you for reading, you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

———–

“… so it’s pitch-black, right, I can’t find my pants anywhere, and there’s something growling outside my tent.” I recount the story to Carth, both of us sitting on containers in the cargo hold. Passing the bottle of Tarisian ale back and forth. Carth laughs, as well he should, it’s a funny story. In hindsight, anyway. “I’ve got my T1 unit’s head in my lap, I was trying to upgrade its sensors so it could get a more nuanced readout to find the exact thing that was outside my tent!” He laughs again, tears starting to come out of his eyes. “My tent mate is closer to the entrance, she’s sitting there in a panic, because she knows this is her fault --”

“Why the hell did she take that egg in the first place?” he says between laughs.

“I told her it was a bad idea, but did she listen to the ecologist? Noooo - God forbid Tania ever admit she was wrong about something. But I was like, you’re a freaking anthropologist, you should have realized how taboo it was in the local culture to take one of those freaking eggs! Screw your breakfast - you’re about to be dinner! And I’m sitting there like, you are not taking me with you. But we are both frozen until we see the tent flap open and this giant nose pokes in.”

“Oh, shit!”

“Right? And I panic, I just chuck the droid head, Tania screams and ducks, but now I’m sure I just pissed this thing off even worse so we’re both screwed. And now Tania’s screams have woken not only the rest of our team, but the Mandalorians who also made a camp in the ravine. You know, the same Mandalorians she had antagonized earlier? And I wasn’t about to save her ass again - if Arus wanted to fight her, at this point, I didn’t give a shit.”

“Man, you’re heartless!” he joked.

“This was the tenth time in half as many days she had threatened my life with her bullshit - even I have my limits! And by the way, this was not the last time we were in life-threatening situations on this mission. But after this time she was far more willing to actually listen to me. But anyway, so the Mandalorians were pissed and Arus was out for blood, but first he had to take out this animal, which was too huge for even a Mandalorian to take out alone. He gathered a few of his men and they took care of it in no time. I finally managed to find my pants so I finally get out of the tent to get a good look at this thing, and it is. Huge. Arus split the meat with us and there was still way too much. Afterwards he was still a bit thrilled by the kill so Tania thought it was fine, but then she got cocky and tried to play it off, got in Arus’ face again, but he was having none of it. He looked her dead in the eye with that Mandalorian intimidation glare and said ‘I should have known you were behind this.’ And her face drops. He’s like ‘Is it your goal in life to challenge as many combatants as foolishly as you can?’ Calling her out big time. ‘And for what, this time?’ So she goes into her bag and pulls out the egg. Arus takes it and smashes it on the ground. And you’ll never guess what happened next.”

“Tell me.”

“The egg? The one that almost got us killed? Was made of WOOD!” Carth breaks down hard, cannot contain his mirth. “A Sith scout team had been there earlier, a bit of a rival of mine, and thought it would be a fun prank on me to swap out one of the eggs with a wooden one. He told me about it later, but he had just planned to frustrate me. When I told him he almost killed me with that shit, he never stopped apologizing.” I take the bottle from Carth. “And that is my worst story. What have you got?” I ask as I take a drink.

“Nothing that good,” he says, “You’ve got me beat.”

“Oh, come on, no war stories where you got screwed over hard? No piloting lessons where you came out of a nebula upside down?”

“My life has been boring compared to yours, if that story is any indication.”

“Hey, I have plenty far more mundane stories - that planet was just a wild ride from start to finish. If Arus was here, he’d tell you the same thing. Albeit, he and I did have different definitions of wild.”

“I thought you had just crossed paths with him - did he hang around for the rest of the scouting trip?”

“That was the first time we met him, but he kept finding excuses to hang around our campsites. The shameless flirt that he was, I’m amazed he never just came out and said he was into me.”

There’s that face of his again. He gets so uncomfortable when I make off-hand mentions of former partners. “You don’t need to be jealous, Carth. The very nature of a scouting fling is that it’s temporary. The few times something has gone on longer than a single mission we quickly got sick of each other.”

“I guess,” he shrugs. Is there… something else on his mind?

But before I can ask, Canderous comes in behind us. “Hey, Rena,” he says. to get my attention.

“Something up?” I ask.

“We’re kind of in the middle of something, Canderous,” Carth says gruffly.

“And ordinarily I wouldn’t interrupt,” he says before looking back at me, “but Bastila wants to talk to you.”

Oh joy and rapture. I scoff. “If she wants to talk to me so bad she can come see me herself.”

“What happened?” Carth asks.

“Long story, I’ll tell you later,” I shake my head. “I’m not going to her, she’ll have to come to me.”

“She won’t,” Canderous says, “not this time, but I can tell if she doesn’t say what she needs to say she’ll never forget it.” Oh yeah? “She regrets that things aren’t working as smoothly as they could between the two of you.”

“Bastila regrets something?” Well there’s a shock. “Jedi princess admits a wrong?”

“Look, I get that you’re upset with her, I understand,” he says, trying not to get angry at me, “and you’re right, she needs to keep her nose out of your business.” At least he’s on my side. “But she’s as proud and as stubborn as you are and admitting something like this is hard for her. Would you just let her say what she has to say?”

I sigh heavily. “Fine,” I say and I stand up. I set the ale down on the container. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” Carth says.

I follow Canderous to the port side quarters, where Bastila is sitting and meditating. When we cross the threshold she opens her eyes and sighs. “Canderous, you didn’t need to do that.”

“Like hell, I didn’t,” he says, “You’re not the only one who can read the tension in a room. Now, I don’t care if you two want to talk this out or use your fists, but I’m not letting either of you leave until that happens.”

Oh, for God’s sake. I’m pretty sure I could take Canderous in a fight but that’s the wrong way to go here. I idly look around the room before feeling Canderous’ glare on me and look at Bastila. “If you try talking to me about giving into my emotions again, I’m gonna throw up.”

“Our conversations on that topic have a tendency to end abruptly, so I wouldn’t be surprised,” she says.

“Well, it’s not exactly my fault that happens, is it?”

“No, you’re right. I do share fault for that,” she sighs, “I admit I have questions, and perhaps a Master could have addressed them all with the proper wisdom, but I never should have brought them up here. And not with you.” Canderous shifts behind me, and Bastila must be reading him. “It’s not solely about you, Canderous,” she says, before turning back to me, ”Or even about you and Carth. It’s… “ She stops, orders her thoughts, and starts again. “Part of my purpose on this mission was to guide you in the way of the light; to help you avoid the temptations of the Dark Side. But I fear I've failed in that task.” What makes you say that? I haven’t fallen to the Dark Side. I’ve done nothing but help people for the past two months, even before I knew her. “I don't think I'm the proper Jedi to guide you. I am no Master. You should have remained with the Council.”

“I have no idea where this is coming from,” I say, “Even if you take Carth out of the equation - and that’s an argument we’re not having again, because there is no way you can without being hypocritical and you know it - I haven’t fallen to the Dark Side.”

“The fact of the matter is that I have never possessed much skill at controlling myself,” she says, “With the bond that joins us, it seems I have even less. You have maintained the path of the Light Side, yes, but it has been in spite of my influence, not because of it. It is increasingly obvious I am unable to guide you properly.” She sighs again. She feels very anxious and upset. “I think��� I think I may have made a very big mistake. I simply hope that you are not the one who pays the price, ultimately, for the fact that I can't help you enough.”

There was definitely an apology in there somewhere, even if it wasn’t in so many words. But we still disagree on a major point and if she — “This has nothing to do with our respective relationships, I assure you,” she says. Reading me again. “As Jolee is the closest thing either of us have to a Master, he has been kind enough to consult me on these matters, and I have come to the conclusion that we should both let the matter lie.” Hey, I’ve been willing to do that. But that means her concerns make even less sense.

“Honestly, I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” I say, “I mean, I already had impulse issues, so a lot of what you’re feeling might be me influencing you rather than the other way around. This bond works both ways, right?”

She smiles softly. “That’s a kinder response than I deserve,” she says, “And I can see there is wisdom in your words. Perhaps you can help me then.”

“On the impulse front? I’ll do my damnedest - so long as you don’t start building droids in the middle of the night. That’ll be lesson one - don’t do that.”

She laughs a little. “I will leave that in your capable hands,” she says, “Hopefully this will all work out, for the both of us. And for the sake of the mission.”

“Good!” Canderous says suddenly, “And with that settled, you are free to go.” He moves away from the door and lets me leave. Glad that’s over with, Carth and I really were in the middle of something. He seemed more bothered by the interruption than I was but that’s probably because he had something to say and Canderous broke his train of thought.

Carth’s still in the cargo hold, like he said he’d be. He’s taken his jacket off. Hot damn, he’s got some strong arms. It’s a good thing he keeps that jacket on all the time, otherwise I’d never get anything done. He’s also moved so that he can lean against the wall. He looks at me when I come in. “Everything all right with Bastila?”

“Yeah, she‘s agreed to stop being nosy in my personal life,” I say.

“Oh, because you’ve never been nosy in our personal lives,” he says sarcastically.

“Yeah, but I’m also not a hypocrite,” I say, “For weeks she’s been riding me about the Dark Side and my feelings for you, and the whole time she’s got the same thing going on with Canderous. So yeah, naturally I was quite pissed about that.”

“You’ve had feelings about me for weeks and didn’t say anything?”

I shake my head and sit back down next to him. “Somehow I knew that would be the part you heard,” I say, “In my defense, I’m not accustomed to making the first move. Every other time it’s been someone thinking with their crotch sick of beating around the bush with me. And it was different before anyway. This is different.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“At the moment?” I say, “Good different.” He smiles at me. I love his smile. He’s just so soft. When he actually gets soft, that is. “But anyway,” I say, “Before Canderous came in, you wanted to say something.”

“Oh, you could tell, could you?”

I scoff and take the ale from him. “It doesn’t take Jedi powers to read you, Carth, believe me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Oh, excellent, it’s play time. “Well, listen, beautiful, I don’t need to take this abuse. I get enough female Jedi bashing from Bastila, thank you very much.”

“Oh, I get it, there’s something between you and Bastila.”

He sputters, like I’ve caught him completely off-guard. “What? No! I mean… no! Don’t be crazy!”

“So someone would have to be crazy to like Bastila, huh? I’ll have to tell her that!”

“Oh, no, you don’t!”

“Or better yet!” Better idea! “I’ll tell Canderous! Oh, Canderous?”

“Don’t you dare!” he says playfully, “I’d have to shoot you down first, and I’m not kidding!”

“Sure, sure,” I say sarcastically, “You’re all talk, Carth, and you know it.”

“And just what would you do if I wasn’t?” I open my mouth to answer, but he stops me before I can. “No, no, wait, don’t answer that,” he says quite wisely, “I don’t want to know.” He shakes his head and smiles, sighing. “Anyway… as fun, uh, as this is, I do have to talk to you about something serious. Really serious.” It must be if you’re stopping the game.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. What has my Bunny Man in distress?

“I’m uh… I’m concerned about you. I’ve been keeping these thoughts to myself, mostly, but with this… if we… “ Find your words, Carth. “I think it’s time I say something.”

“What’s this about?”

“It’s about you,” he says, “I’m worried about what might happen to you.” Well, this is the second time that’s come up in conversation today, but somehow Carth’s concern feels more genuine than Bastila’s. “You have a lot of courage, and the fact that you’ve remained strong is amazing, but there’s even greater danger ahead. I think you might be setting yourself up for a fall. Maybe at the urging of the Jedi, I don’t know… but you’re definitely going to become a target.” I can feel a lot of pain from him. He tries to block it from me, I’m not sure if that’s an accident or on purpose, but I can feel it, anyway. “If, uh, if I’m going to find some purpose beyond taking revenge on Saul, then it’s going to have to be in protecting you.” Protecting me from what? He’s seen me fight - what does he think is out there that I can’t handle? “I don’t know why, but I think some terrible fate is waiting for you. I think the Jedi Council knows it, too. And I don’t want it to come to pass.”

“You think the Jedi have thrown me to the wolves?”

“Don’t call it up to my paranoia just yet.” I wasn’t. Carth has a good - and attractive - head on his shoulders and I trust his instincts. (Well… most of the time. His instinct to not trust me was obviously wrong.) “Something isn’t right. I blamed it on you, before, but I… I think the Jedi didn’t tell us everything.” Which is hardly out of character for them . “If I’m going to live past Saul, I need you to, as well. Let me protect you… from yourself, from the Sith, from… whatever, you have to let me try.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate it,” I say seriously, “but… you’ve seen me fight, you’ve watched me in action. I don’t need that kind of protection. Why are you doing this?”

“Because…” he says slowly, and with difficulty, “... because I never got the chance to save my wife and son. Because I didn’t stop Saul when I had the chance. Because I finally have the chance to do it right. You are an extraordinary woman… you make me think that maybe I might have some purpose beyond revenge. I don’t know whether it means anything to you… but it does to me.”

Oh, my God, this is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. ”It means a lot to me, Carth,” I say, “Thank you.”

He smiles softly. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll do my best.”

I just… can’t stop looking at him. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. How much I love him. Ever since Taris. Ever since I woke up in that mangy apartment. He’s always been there for me. And it was only a couple days ago that I really realized that I love him. Maybe I just didn’t want to think about it. As a scout you get used to being part of a tight-knit group of people for a few months, a year tops, and then you split and never see each other again. The few times I stuck with someone for longer than one mission, we were dating, and like I said before we would always and very quickly get sick of each other. You start to notice little things that didn’t bother you before but suddenly they’re all you notice. Chewing with their mouth open. Feet that smell like death. A grating voice. And for whatever reason you just can’t live with it anymore.

I’m going to miss this group a lot when we split. Oh, they’ll say we won’t. I know one of them will say, “no, we’re a family, we’ll always be together.” But I also know from experience that it doesn’t work like that. Bastila will go back to the Council. Juhani has a lot to work through on her own. Mission is still a kid with her whole life ahead of her. Zaalbar has a government to lead. Canderous will go wherever Bastila goes. It’s anyone’s guess what Jolee will do. Leaving me and my droids. The way it’s always been. The way I’m used to.

But with Carth… Loving him means I’ll want him to stick around. And maybe he will, maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll want to, but he’s still a Republic soldier, he may not have a say in where he goes. And if he doesn’t want to stick around, it’ll hurt, sure, but it would hurt worse if he stays. Because I know what will happen then. We’ll get sick of each other. That’s how it always happens. We’ll have a few months of passionate sex and casual flirting before we each drive the other crazy. I don’t want that, I don’t want to get sick of him. But we have nothing in common beyond this mission. We‘re close due to circumstances. It’s happened to me at least a dozen times before. And I don’t want it to happen again.

But I love him. And as much as it could hurt me, I wouldn’t stop loving him even if I could. This feels so different than anything I’ve felt before. Like it’s… right somehow. And I don’t want to mess up a good thing. It makes me nervous but it’s a good nervous.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks me softly, taking another drink of ale.

“I’m… “ I start to say slowly, “… really glad I met you.”

He smiles at me. “I’m glad I met you, too,” he says in that same soft voice. He gets close to my face, just like before. His eyes close. And it doesn’t take a Jedi to know what’s going on, I’ve seen it all before. And I want it. He kisses me gently.

And he doesn’t stop kissing me.

One. Another. Another, pressing his lips into mine. Continuing what we started in the cantina. But no one will bother us this time - I reach out with the Force and close the door to the cargo hold. Carth notices but doesn’t stop or say anything. And I don’t want him to. I want this. He takes my head into his hand and I lean into it. His other hand brushes mine and I take it, our fingers locking together. And between kisses he whispers softly, “I love you.”

“I love you,” I whisper back. And he kisses me again, And again. And again. I unfasten my belt and my lightsabers clatter on the floor. He pulls me closer and I loosen my tunic a little. I can feel this. I want this. More than anything I want this.

Somehow, I know this is a bad idea. If this goes bad it could ruin our entire relationship, either as friends or more than friends. This is the point of no return. And hoping for shit has gotten me in trouble when things don’t work out. But this also feels so, so right, more right than anything has this whole time. He’s right, things have been a little off somehow since Taris. The Jedi adding me to the Endar Spire at the last minute. I’m an ecologist, why did they need me? The Jedi accepting me for training - Master Vandar said I was a special case? What did that mean? The Star Map on Kashyyyk seemed to recognize me, when I’ve never been to Kashyyyk in my life, much less down on the surface. There have just been so many little things that seem to add up to a great big something, but I’ll be damned if I know what it is. But as crazy as things have been, and as crazy as they might get, Carth will still be here. Carth will still be Carth.

I come close, wrapping my legs around him, and he holds me. Which is a great feeling and we haven’t even done anything yet. As he runs his fingers through my hair, I feel loved, so loved, more than I’ve ever felt before. Even if this doesn’t last, and I hope to God it does, it will still be the best I’ve felt my whole life.

--------

He holds me close after. Which is not only sweet, it’s also great because the cargo hold is a lot colder than you’d expect. I wrap myself up in his jacket and cuddle closer. “Have I mentioned how much I love this jacket?” I say.

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” he says, smiling. And then he sighs. “We should probably go to bed,” he says. 

“You mean sleep here or go back to our bunks?” I ask, “Because that would be a horrible idea.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“For one thing,” I say, trying to look at his face, “I can guarantee you Bastila already knows about this because of that damned Force bond. If she’s spending the night with Canderous, she’ll hem and haw and stew about this despite her promise to shut up about it. But she won’t need to say anything because Juhani will also be there. She’ll be disappointed in me and go on and on about the Dark Side and Jedi attachments so Bastila won’t have to. Mission will try to be my girlfriend and goad me into telling her what happened like we’re two teenage girls at a slumber party. And she really doesn’t want to know.” I know these girls. I know all of that is exactly what would happen the minute I walk into the starboard quarters. “When you go back, Canderous will --”

“You’re right, that is a horrible idea,” he says before I can even finish, because he knows as well as I do that Canderous is going to be insufferable, as a man, as a Mandalorian, and especially as a matchmaker. He’s been trying to put us together since Dantooine. “But we can’t exactly sleep in here, can we? They’re going to come looking for us in the morning. Besides the fact that it’s cold as hell in here.”

“We can grab some blankets from the emergency supplies,” I suggest, “Or we could get dressed again.”

“Let’s grab the blankets,” he says quickly, and he starts to get up to grab them from the plasteel cylinder.

“You slut,” I tease, “If you wanted to see me naked you could have asked sooner.”

He comes back to me with the blankets and drapes one around my shoulders, over the jacket. “It’s not just that,” he says, “Or the fact that you look damn good in my jacket.” He spreads one blanket on the floor, sits down on it and pulls me close again, lying down. He kisses me, and runs his fingers through my hair, sending goosebumps rippling through my body. “I just…” he starts to say softly, sweetly, “…like how this feels. And I don’t want it to end.”

I curl in closer. “Me neither.”  

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 59

There were three communities that didn’t need much rebuilding and one that needed extensive rehab. And I wasn’t very welcome in any of them. How would I know this? Because, ALL of the population of ALL three were at Hilltop in the beginning, at some point on another. And while Daryl had promised that I wouldn’t be subjected to the abuse of their collective feelings of disappointment and irritation with me, and I’m downplaying it trust me, he couldn’t be with me twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Not that he didn’t try his damnedest.

I spent my days getting used to my bow again. Soon, my Simon target was fully beheaded, and I had to grin as I made a new one. Sometimes I took Judith with me, sitting her on a blanket at my feet, telling her stories about Carl as I notched arrow after arrow and kept an eye on any danger that might try to sneak up on us, walker or human. She was walking now, and I would take her hand in mine, fold the blanket and sling my bow over my shoulder as we took our time getting back to the rest of the world.

She came with me to visit Negan on most days, even once he’d been removed to a more secure spot. I’d sit by him as she toddled around and I hoped he found some measure of peace from our time with him. On the visits that we were alone, he’d touch me more often. Taking my hand and kissing the knuckles, or leaning in to smell the side of my neck. I knew, once we returned to Alexandria, that he’d be the first real visitor to Morgan’s cell and he wouldn’t be able to get as close to me as he did in Hilltop, so I savored it as much as he did.

We knew it wouldn’t last. The quiet, the ease of our visits, but we also knew that we both found comfort in them. Negan’s lips brushing my neck, my fingers linked with his, such simple signs of affection, yet we knew what they brought to each of us. Pain. Whispered threats. And the dirty looks. When I was alone with him, I could care less about what was being said or who was shooting those damn looks my way. And then I’d leave, and the strength of his presence was gone, and I’d have to walk with my chin up and back straight as though I could give a shit.

I did though. It hurt me to know that people I barely knew thought so little of me. It hurt worse to know that the people who did know me, and quite well, seemed to share those same thoughts. Unlike my brush with falling apart from those days before meeting Negan, however, I didn’t fight feeling it. I was wide open and I owned my emotions. I cried when I felt like crying, and as Daryl and my family were learning quickly, when I was pissed they knew it now.

“Damn it, Dad,” I was glaring at him as we sat together discussing what came next. He wanted Daryl, and me clearly, to head to the Sanctuary and get it back on track. “You promised.” Not just visits with Negan, but damn it, I just got back to seeing Judith every damn day. “How the hell is this supposed to work? Plus, don’t you need all fucking hands on deck at Alexandria? You said that it was a mess that needed rebuilding.”

I knew that Daryl’s eyes were on me. I also knew that Michonne, Maggie, Glenn, Carol, and Ezekiel were watching me intently. Too fucking bad.

“Jessi,” Dad was using his patient parent voice and I nearly growled at him. “Honey, you know the place better than anyone here.” I shook my head. “You do, I can’t put one of the former Saviors in charge, not yet.”

“I barely left-” I stopped, feeling Daryl tense. Shit. “I wasn’t really given much free reign, Dad.” Not until I was ready to run away from him, I added in my head. I sighed. “I don’t know his people, I don’t know what they fucking did there.”

Daryl’s arms wrapped around me, trying to calm me down. “Jessi,” his face was practically buried in my hair. “We can go and get an idea of what needs done. We’ll visit Alexandria as much as ya want, I swear.” I wanted to fight free, but I knew that he was trying to compromise. Trying to make me see that fighting against it wouldn’t help my cause at all. And so I relaxed into his touch and sighed again.

“Fine.” I agreed, looking up at Dad with hard eyes. “What are we expected to do?”

What we were expected to do, I learned quickly, was determine who was trustworthy and how to tame those who would undoubtedly fight back. Daryl and I were supposed to take stock of the Sanctuary and learn not just what it used to be, but what it COULD become now. And so, with me at his side, dealing with the reports and people that Daryl didn’t have the patience to contend with, we started to reteach Negan’s people how things had to be from here on out.

Corn ethanol fuel, that was the plan for the Sanctuary. No one seemed to want to hear that we didn’t have nearly enough fertile ground for crops. And Eugene as a constant presence wasn’t exactly welcome for me either. Dad tried, during my trips to Alexandria, to remind me that Eugene was intelligent and he had helped win the war. Sure, thought, but you keep forgetting that I care for Negan and that smart asshole could have killed him with that backfiring gun. And, there was that memory of why I ran away from Negan, the fear that another Eugene would come and as his newest girl, I’d be expected to entertain him.

I helped where I could. Learning that the majority of Negan’s people were go with the flow types. They transferred their loyalty strangely easily, and I had to hold back an absolutely hysterical laugh when they tried to kneel for Daryl and then Dad. Once they were told those types of displays were no longer necessary, most of them fell in line quickly. There were hiccups. People not feeling safe when Daryl insisted the walker security line be killed for good. People fighting against the more open, no points, system of being fed and clothed. These were easily squashed, mostly. Daryl’s biggest issue was his discomfort in leading this way.

Nights were spent explaining that he had to understand it from their point of view. They’d been here, some of them at least from what they’d told me, for years. Negan had kept them safe. He’d given them jobs and security. Learning that he was gone AND that all the rules and ways they’d learned to live were different wasn’t an easy thing to get used to. Daryl would counter with the ones that had easily changed, and I’d point out that most were Negan’s true soldiers, the ones that were leaders because they could sense the change in tides. When you’re looking at grunts, or even the lower totem Saviors, you’re looking at people who want stability, change is hard.

I fell back into mediating easily. It was natural for me. As was hunting, which Daryl and I did regularly. Mostly for his sanity, because being trapped behind the walls of a huge brick building was never going to suit him easily. I rested easily in knowing that Daryl, and not me, would eventually be asking Dad for a reassignment. He hated it here as much as I did, even if I was growing used to navigating through the people’s issues and finding solutions to the rising problems.

So we’d hunt. Sometimes just to get away, and other times as we left to visit Alexandria. Daryl never let me go alone. I tried to tell myself it was because he wanted to check in with Dad. I tried to convince myself that he wanted to keep me safe, even if I was more than capable of it myself, or that he wanted to see the progress in rebuilding our former home. I even tried, as he and I sat with Judith and watched her paint and listened as she told ME a story, that he wanted to visit with her. But, I could feel his eyes on me as I walked to the cell that held Negan, and all those illusions I’d try to build in my mind for his presence here with me would fade and I knew. He was here to make sure I didn’t release him, that I didn’t stay behind with him, that Negan never got to know me as intimately as he already did again.

It took around eighteen months to rebuild and for us to all be back in the flow of things. The Sanctuary wasn’t in perfect order. Not even close, but it was better. As long as no one wanted to stay in any of the rooms that held the broken windows. Windows that were gone thanks to gunfire from a war that never had to be. The crops, still not nearly enough, were growing, but for how long? And the corn ethanol was being produced as it could be.

Alexandria was almost better than it had been. Wind mills, flowing water, and rebuilt homes along with crops of their own and a new hope filled the air. I didn’t check on Hilltop or the Kingdom personally, but regular reports and updates came in over the radios or in person. We were getting back to normal, or most of us were.

Daryl was chafing under the strain of leadership and having to walk the same path that Negan had walked. He begged me, more than once, not to remind him of whose apartment we lived in. Not to mention that I’d slept in the bed, that I’d made love in the bed, with anyone other than him. He chafed at the reminders of Negan, and I chafed at the absence of him. This wasn’t right. Not the building, not Daryl’s body on those sheets in this bed. Nothing was right, even if the flow of life continued, everything felt wrong.

[itsmyfandomandilikeit]

I'm 26 arcs into Worm: The Stick Up Brian's Butt

So I'm listening to the We've Got Worm podcast and they keep talking about KingBob, the guy on reddit who really related to Alec and ended up understanding him (and by extension Aisha) far better than most of the other readers.

I haven't really gone into this on this blog, I've been reading Worm for like six months now and I don't update that often, but throughout this read I've been the KingBob to Brian. It's gotten to the point where I actually took a few mental health breaks from reading Worm. I know a lot of people thought Brian was boring and dumb. I'm almost done with Worm now and I feel like the inclusion of Brian this story elevated it, for me, from a fun superhero story to something intensely personal, something that was almost a struggle to read. I know from spoilers that Brian's part in this story is almost over. He isn't my favorite character (Dragon) or even my favorite Undersider (Aisha) but I felt like I should write something before this is over. It wouldn't be an honest blog otherwise, as infrequently as I post.

But Kuno, you say. You're a 22-year-old white female engineering student. Why the hell is this the character you relate to?

For a collection of dumb reasons that add up to a large part of who I am. From the time I was eleven to the time I was about twenty-one, I had night terrors. Seven times a night sometimes, I dreamt vividly of the people I loved getting hurt, hurting me, getting killed, killing me. My students and pets melting in my hands. My mom and I clutching each other on the freeway as we're stopped in traffic, a terrorist approaching our vehicle with a shotgun. We don't make it. The dreams made life almost impossible. Seeing people during the day and being absolutely certain they would die before I saw them again. It didn't matter how many times I saw them come back okay. They never would.

I'm afraid of everything. Every missed phone call is a sudden death. Every text message brings terrible news. Every possible situation brings danger, but if my friends go, I can't let them go without me. Something could happen. They'd be safe as long as I could see them. If I was looking at them, everything would be okay. Some child psychologist I spoke to at a young age noted I was a "natural leader". To this day, I lead because I am a control freak. I am afraid of what would happen if I let someone else be in control.

Interlude 15 fucked me up.

My fatal flaw extends from this. I'm terrified that people will see me as weak. I dated a boy on my robotics team when I was in high school. I treated him like shit in public because I didn't want anyone to think I cared about him, even though he was my boyfriend. What would they think of me if they saw there was a person I treated as an equal? Horrible things. I became a better girlfriend to another boy, years later, because someone mentioned to me they thought I could be a good girlfriend, and that it was rough, calloused girls who were the weak ones. It was the perfect two sentences to convince me that for people to see me as strong, I had to be a good girlfriend.

In the We've Got Worm podcast, Scott and Matt always mention that each of the Undersiders brings the team down somehow, their inputs to every situation silly or stupid. I was confused. I always thought Grue's avoidance of conflict, always taking the slow, deliberate path, was the right way to go. Then I realized that, to many, this behavior indicates brokenness. Maybe they're right.

Yeah so I said I'd talk about the stick up Brian's butt in arcs 25 and 26. I don't think he has much to say for the rest of Worm so here we go. I'm building off a lot of what the WGW guys say, but I think I can take it a little farther.

So in arc 10 the WGW guys point out that Brian resists letting Taylor back on the team until the precise moment when it becomes apparent that everyone else wants her back, when he suddenly changes tactics to talking about how they "need her for offense". They make the imo correct deduction that this is because he's afraid of looking weak. Everyone knows Taylor likes him, so, logically, to be Stoic Leader Man he should want her to go away. He needs permission to want her back on the team. Once he has that permission, he is all for it.

I know that sounds convoluted but trust me as a person with exactly these issues this makes perfect sense.

Arc 11, Brian has still not decided to be Taylor's friend again. This is because she's on the team to be offense. Their friendship doesn't help nobody's offense. When Lisa calls him and tells him he needs to lay up on her, that to be her friend would be good, he goes directly to Taylor's house and declares them... best friends. Because Lisa has given him permission to do so.

I hope you're following because I'm aware this is stupid.

In arc 12, I'm gonna veer a little to the side. Let's talk about Brian's second trigger, just so that I can educate the public on exactly how this came around. Keep in mind that trigger events happen from a long period of a specific type of stress coming to a head. And that Brian's previous trigger happened from feeling like he maybe couldn't help Aisha for a long time, and then suddenly being hit with the fact that he definitely couldn't help her.

Arc 1: The Undersiders save Taylor who was saving them from Lung Arc 2: Brian punches Rachel for attacking Taylor Arc 4: Taylor gets blown up by Bakuda, Brian sits in her hospital room and stares at this for presumably a while Arc 5: Taylor looks like she's been hanged, having fought Lung again Arc 7: Taylor and Rachel are attacked by the ABB, Brian shows up late. Taylor is attacked later the same day by Sophia, Brian shows up pretty late. Taylor propositions the boy, he tells her he thinks of her like he thinks of his sister. I am 100% certain at this point, looking back, that this was an early indication that the second trigger process was starting towards a lack of ability to keep up with Taylor. He wasn't just saying he thought of her like he would think of her if they were related, he thinks of her like Aisha specifically, the one his power is attached to. His little brain is drawing the equivalences already. Arc 8: Broken spine, betrayal, yadda yadda Arc 9: Sophia attempts murder because it's Tuesday Arc 10: Brian pretends to not want Taylor to come back Arc 11: Brian does his now-classic "walks into room/why is Taylor injured/maybe she should not be doing this" routine Arc 12: Repeat of arc 11, except now he starts stumbling over her name. He tells her she should have let her people die. If there's a point onscreen when he realizes there might be something going on, this is it.

Point is, this has been stewing in the background since as early as arc 1 and as late as arc 7 but probably actually started in arc 4. It wasn't out of the blue, it was the logical culmination of the entire story's events thus far from Brian's perspective.

Arc 13: Yeah, you know what happens here. In the final chapter, he tells her he thinks about her too much, but even though he received a new set of superpowers and a vision from aliens telling him that he probably loves her, the vision is definitely wrong and he just feels like he can't keep up with her.

She's been attacked by everyone. Lung, Rachel, Bakuda, Sophia, Armsmaster, Leviathan, the Merchants, Mannequin. He doesn't want her to keep fighting, he feels he needs to be the one to do it. At the same time, he knows he's not powerful enough. No one power is enough to deal with all of these threats.

No single power.

But he doesn't love her. That would mean he was weak.

He doesn't even agree to have dinner with her in 15. He allows it to happen because Aisha set it up. She knows what's going on, and she has given him permission to have this.

Aisha had to be the one to give him permission because his previous powerset was for her, and now it doesn't work with her, either. At the same time as his second trigger was stewing under the surface for Taylor, he was losing his power's connection to Aisha because their powers didn't work together and he kept being forced to forget she exists. He had lived for her before, and being Super Big Brother was exactly what Brian wanted to be. Now, Aisha doesn't want to be lived for. She wants to be her own person.

Brian spends the next several arcs simply living for Taylor.

I strongly suspect that the side effect of Brian's power is that it makes him pathologically need to be 100% responsible for others. No matter how dumb everyone's plans are, he always has to be there. No matter how stupid it is, Coil told him being a villain will allow him to get his sister back. No matter how dumb it is, he tells Taylor she has to sit out running from the Nine in arc 13 because she might be tired. He pays for it.

Brian's powers will probably never actually allow him to get over Taylor Hebert. It's like Taylor and bullies. No amount of therapy or time will get Brian's shard to let the fuck go.

So when the girl whom you are physically incapable of not thinking about leaves and goes to prison and tells every single person on the planet exactly how weak you are, who goes to an even more dangerous situation where you cannot follow her, what can you do?

The only possible thing. Try your absolute damnedest to pretend you never knew her.

You walk out of that meeting with the most powerful people in the world because she is there. You go find yourself somebody else. Another girl. Taylor hated her little boobs? This girl has big boobs. Taylor can't stay away from violence? Cozen seriously appears to have never even seen a corpse.

When Taylor comes back, Brian greets her with the new girl on his arm. He tries to shake her hand. Time has passed. There's nothing between them any more.

The next day, Grue is presented with the choice of pushing back against Taylor and standing with the new girl, whoever she is, or supporting Taylor. He chooses Taylor.

Of course he does. The situation calls for it. The situation has given him permission.

[thewritewolf]

Eating Habits Chapter 14: Baby Steps

Marinette is freaking out since the student spring fashion show is coming up soon. Chloe finds healing in her own way. 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Marinette’s foot tapped a rapid tempo as she watched the final preparations for the dry run of the spring show from her chair near the changing rooms. She wasn’t sure what it looked like from the seats, but backstage it was a sort of ordered chaos, not unlike backstage at the Jagged Stone concert a few months ago. Except, this time the stakes were far more personal.

Her nerves were shot to pieces, but that was about what she expected. This show was the culmination of everything she’d been working towards for the entire semester. Her fellow students had pulled out their best work as well and it was all she could do not to rush to her pieces and do even more last minute adjustments.

A hand settled itself over her knee and stilled her fidgeting. She blinked up at Adrien who was smiling at her patiently, wearing one of her spring outfits. Crouching down in front of her, he brought his eyes level to hers.

“You must think I’m freaking out over nothing,” she said, hunching her shoulders and looking away. “I know, this isn’t much compared to… um, everything else we've done, but…”

“No, I don’t think that at all,” Adrien replied, touching her chin to gently guide her gaze back to his. “It’s your first real fashion show with a bunch of people giving their all to make an impression. People are watching now, people whose opinions are listened to in the world of fashion.”

“You’ve only gotten better at these pep talks over the years, kitty,” Marinette said dryly.

“Let them watch. I know for a fact that you are one of the best designers here, if not the best. And I’ll be right here for the entire time, doing my damnedest to show off your amazing work. They’re going to see you just like I see you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “As the amazing.” A kiss to her temple. “Wonderful.” Her cheek. “Talented.” A chaste kiss to her lips. “Designer who is going to rock the entire fashion industry to its core.” His hands left her knees and took her hands. “And I’ll be right there, cheering you on every step of the way.”

Between the nerves and the stress and his sweet words, it took all of Marinette’s will not to turn into a crying mess right then and there. Instead, she hugged his neck and whispered thanks into his ear.

As he pulled away, she first noticed the lack of his warmth. Quickly following that was the realization that he had grabbed her coffee.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, sweetie,” Adrien said, taking a large sip. “I told you no coffee or energy drinks till the show is over. We both know that they make you more anxious than you usually are and only barely help.”

“But… tasty…”

“I’ll make you a fruit smoothie when we’re done, I promise.” He took a few steps backwards and gave her a very Chat-like wink before tossing the remainder of the cup into the garbage and taking his place in the line up.

Marinette crossed her arms and grumbled to herself. “Stupid boyfriend, trying to have my best interests at heart…”

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

Marinette clenched the fabric of her skirt in her hands, desperate to release any of the nervous energy she was holding onto. Meanwhile, Alya reached for a macaroon. Halfway toward getting it to her mouth, Alya noticed Marinette’s distress and raised her eyebrows.

“You wanna talk about it, girl?”

Marinette dragged her eyes away from where Tikki and Trixx were chasing each other in the kitchen, and looked at her friend. “Actually, if we could talk about anything but the upcoming show, that’d be great.”

“Are you sure? Talking it out might help you get some of that frustration out.”

“At this point, it’s just me over thinking things. I’m happy with where my designs are, but I keep imagining them in my head, looking for anything that could go wrong.” She sighed and buried her face in her hands. “I just… need to think about something else.” Poking out from behind her fingers, she asked, “So how’s work?”

“Oh they’re about to send me out of country on some dangerous missions. But it’s all to bring the truth to the people, so that’s all that matters, right M?”

Marinette’s eyes widened and her hands ceased her fidgeting to instead cover her mouth, which had opened into a small ‘o’. “Really?!”

“No.”

All the tension that had suddenly appeared in Marinette’s shoulders vanished as quick as it had appeared. She leaned across the couch to smack Alya. “Not cool, Al! You really worried me!”

“Sorry,” Alya replied with a snicker. “But nah, they’ve still got me doing local news stories. Which isn’t so bad, Paris is a pretty interesting place after all. Even without the supervillains.” Alya took a deep sip of her glass of red wine, a constant companion of their girls’ night in days. “And don’t get me wrong - I get why they don’t want to give the big, juicy stuff to the newbie reporter.”

“But…?” Marinette prompted when Alya starting staring into space, biting her lower lip.

“But… I’m starting to get restless again. I feel that energy from back when I was doing the Ladyblog - always something to do back then! An akuma to track down, a victim to interview, puzzle pieces to put together.” She absently swirled her wine glass. “A lot of freedom too...”

“You’re getting that look again.”

“Look?”

“Mhm. Your game face. You want your next big challenge.” She gently shoved Alya’s shoulder. “And go for it, Al! You can still do your job while having something on the side. A passion project or something.”

Alya considered this with another sip of her wine.

“You might be onto something there, girl.” She nudged her with her elbow. “But hey! Talking is only part of what we came here to do. How about we start up a bad rom com?” Marinette groaned. “Oh, hush. You’re basically a living rom com anyway, with how you and Adrien are.”

While Marinette sputtered and tried to argue, Alya cackled as she ducked out of Marinette’s reach to put the dvd in.

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

“How I missed Paris,” Chloe sighed as she stepped outside of the fashion boutique, carrying two large bags of the latest styles. “You should see some of the things I saw Americans wearing. Ridiculous, Adrikins. Absolutely ridiculous.”

Adrien chuckled as he fell into step beside her, the padding of his comfortable shoes drowned out by the confident clicking of Chloe’s heels. “So that’s all you missed while you were abroad, Chlo?”

Chloe peered at him over her large sunglasses. “Coy isn’t a good look on you. But no,” she added after a moment, “I suppose I missed the people too. You. Kagami.” Adrien watched her patiently and eventually she groaned and stamped her feet. “Okay, fine! Even Alya, Nino, and Marinette.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” Adrien said, giving her a thumbs up. “They’re certainly warming up to you too.”

“Right. Good. Not that I care, or anything.” Chloe sniffed and walked just a little bit faster. Adrien fought down a smile - he could recognize Chloe running away from her feelings any day of the week. Which is why he was surprised when she slowed down again, just before they reached her living space. When she spoke, it was more of a whisper. “So mom called again.”

The smirk he’d been wearing vanished in an instant, a serious expression replacing it. “What did she want this time?”

“Same as usual,” Chloe replied while swiping her card at the gate. “She was asking when I’d be coming back. It’s getting harder to tell her that I won’t be.”

“You’ll have to eventually,” Adrien said patiently. “You’ve already put it off for more than six months now.”

“Duh, Adrien. I get that part.” There was venom in her voice, but it was half-hearted and gone by the time she continued. “But knowing that and actually doing something about it aren’t the same thing.”

“You’ll get there eventually,” Adrien said, putting a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “And it’s alright to be scared. She dominated your life for a long time. No one is expecting you to get over that overnight.”

“Yeah… I guess…”

“If you want, I can be there when you call.” Adrien brightened up and said, “And you can invite Kagami too! She’s got a lot of experience at telling parents to back off, so I bet she’d be willing to give a few tips.”

Chloe smirked. “You might be onto something there. If I freeze up, maybe she can even take over and chew out dear old mom for me.”

“There’s the spirit!” Adrien held up his hand. “High fives for spunky Asian girlfriends!”

Laughing, Chloe managed to high five him. “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.” They stepped into her apartment. She stopped and frowned at the air. “You know what I just realized?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s not just about taking out the toxic people in your life. You need to add good people if you want to heal.” She smiled at him. It was a rare smile on Chloe - there was no smugness, no spite to it. Just honest joy and peace. “I’m glad you’ve been in my life all these years, Adrien. Even when I didn’t deserve it, you were always a good friend.”

She hugged him and after a moment of hesitation he returned the hug.

“That’s the thing, Chloe. You always did deserve a good friend. You just didn’t realize it.”

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

Adrien as Chat Noir slipped in through their shared balcony after a long day hanging out with Chloe. He was emotionally spent after doing all he could to help his old friend and at this point all he wanted to do was curl up next to Marinette and go to sleep.

That plan had a slight hiccup when he looked up to see Marinette walking around in a circle, staring at one of her outfits for the spring show. It was actually one of the ones that he would be wearing, but the important fact was that it had been finished weeks ago. Specifically because it was so easy to get the measurements done.

“Hey, kitty,” she said absently, never once taking her eyes off of the outfit.

“Hey, love bug.” He walked behind her and put his arms around her waist, tucking his chin on the space between her shoulder and neck. This close, he could practically feel her exhaustion, from the way her body was sagging a little, to how her eyes struggled to stay open even as she focused on the task at hand. She needed sleep, even if she pretended like she didn’t. “Whatcha you looking at?”

She sighed. “Just… going over all my pieces for the show. Again. I need to make sure everything is perfect.”

“Hm…” he made a show of peering at the spring outfit. “Looks perfect to me. Why don’t you give it a once over in the morning, huh?”

“No, no, that’s alright. I might as well get it done now.” She squirmed a little against his embrace, but didn’t really try to escape.

Changing tactics, Adrien said, “Well, I’m going to bed. It was a long day today… I could use some cuddles.”

“Uh-huh,” Marinette replied distantly. Her focus was entirely on the mannequin in front of her. “Go to bed, I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Well, I didn’t want to have to do this, but…” Quickly changing his grip, Adrien picked her up in a princess carry. Marinette squeaked in protest as she was carried to the bedroom.

“Adrien! I’m-”

“-driving yourself crazy trying to find non existent flaws? I agree completely. Besides, you’re practically dead on your feet.”

“I am not,” Marinette said with a yawn. Her already feeble struggles had turned into her resting her head on his chest, eyes fluttering as she tried to keep them open.

“Mhm. If you really want to worry yourself sick again, you can do that in the morning.” He gently set her in bed and pulled the blankets over her. “Claws in.” A flash of green light later and he was crawling in beside her. “But for now - sleep.”

“No, I don’t want to,” she said, but she was already clinging onto him, eyes shut and face buried into his chest as she drifted off to sleep.

Adrien listened to her steady breathing as he stroked her hair, feeling himself follow her into unconsciousness.

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. 

Warnings: Humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, dub-con.

Words: 1800+

Beta: @ilikaicalie  

-

“No way!” You close your eyes. This has to be a nightmare.

“You’re the only person who made it to the hotel. We’re all snowed in until morning, no one can get a flight out. You’re going to have to staff him until I get there. His schedule is pretty light compared to what it usually looks like. Half his meetings were canceled because of the storm.” Pepper rattles into the phone. She’s only a year or two older than you but she’s your boss’s boss. She’s Sam’s executive assistant, in charge of the entire assistant staff and she’s had it out for you since you started four months ago.

“I don’t think I can do this.” You gulp, shrugging your jacket off. You deliver mail and push the coffee cart around the building, the lowest rung on the corporate ladder.

“You don’t have a choice.” She snips. “You think this is what I want? I’m going to end up paying for this, even though it’s not even remotely my fault. I can’t control the weather...look I’m going to send you his schedule.  Just make sure he’s on time. He’ll let you know if you’re doing something wrong, believe me. Just keep your mouth shut and do what he tells you to do. Whatever you do, don’t cry. He hates it when people cry.”

“Why would I cry?” You regret answering the phone and you already know the answer to your question.

Sam Winchester is a real son-of-a-bitch and everyone knows it.

To say his reputation proceeds him would be a gross understatement. He’s smart, successful, ruthless and above all, focused. You’ve worked for Winchester and Singer for six months and have yet to encounter him.

You’ve never even directly spoken to him, never seen him in person other than the monthly reviews he conducts with the entire company in attendance. Even then he’s just a man on a stage.

“I’m emailing you right now. Keep a copy of the schedule on you at all times.” She pauses to take a breath. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, I’m listening. Have the schedule on hand, keep my mouth shut, and try not to burst into tears.”

“Just don’t fuck this up.” Pepper is as over-worked as everyone on the executive level. You can’t really blame her. This job is her life. “You need to check in with him tonight. Just knock on his door and ask if he needs anything. He’ll send you away, but he expects a check in just to be sure.”

“Okay.” You nod to yourself in a windowless hotel room. “I can do this.”

-

The elevator rises slowly to the penthouse floor of the Ambassador Hotel. It’s nearly midnight and his flight arrived only an hour ago. He was in Tokyo last week and was rerouted during the storms in Boston.

You knock twice on his door, waiting with bated breath and hoping he won’t answer. You’re about to leave when the deadbolt turns and the door opens to reveal Sam Winchester with a cell phone up to his ear. He pauses for a moment, looking you over head to toe before opening the door the rest of the way and walking away chattering to whoever is on the other line.

You stand in the hallway, unsure if the open door is an invitation. On cue he turns around, eyes narrowing as his nods his head.

Already off to a rough start.

Shutting the door behind you, you follow him into the living room, standing awkwardly, waiting for his call to end. When he finally hangs up, he presses his phone against his chest, staring at you like a zoo animal. “Pepper said you’re the only employee here?”

“Y-yes.” You choke out. “I was visiting family in New Mexico, so I flew in from-”

“We’ll have to make due I guess.” He cuts you off. “You have tomorrow’s schedule?”

“Ahuh.” You hold up your phone, forcing a smile.

“Ahuh?” He tilts his head. “I prefer actual words. Yes or no.”

Your cheeks flush hot, embarrassment settling in.

“Yes, Mr. Winchester.” You correct. “I have your schedule. Pepper asked me to check in and see if you need anything tonight.”

“No. I don’t need anything.” His stare is unrelenting. “Do you have something more appropriate to wear tomorrow?”

His question takes you off guard as you look down at the sweatshirt and jeans you’re currently wearing. “I, um, yes sir.”

There’s a nauseating combination of shame and anger settling into your gut. He really does live up to his reputation.

“Good. You better go. We have an early start tomorrow. I won’t need you until after the gym. I’ll be done by 6:15 and I expect you to be here.”

“Yes, sir.” You nod, looking at anything but his face. You’re an ant under a microscope, already feeling the heat.

“Good. You can go now.” He pulls out his phone, hits a number and begins speaking to someone in Japanese as you high tail it out of the room.

You don’t cry until you’re in the elevator. The doors shut as you fight back the urge to turn into a sobbing mess, instead of wiping away a few tears and composing yourself.

Three hours of sleep is all you manage. Between your nerves and being afraid you’ll sleep through the alarm, you’re up and showered at four and dressed by five.

Clutching a portfolio in your arms you step off the elevator. There’s a full-length mirror at the end of the hallway and you stop to make sure you’re presentable. You thought you’d be manning a promotional table during the conference, planned on wearing khakis and a pullover. You brought exactly one business professional outfit that you haven’t tried on in a year or two. It’s a plum-colored sleeveless sheath dress that’s tighter than you would prefer. It looks good but perhaps a little much for this trial by fire.

“This is as good as it gets.” You whisper, giving yourself a final look before finding Sam’s room.

You knock and he answers immediately, holding his glasses in hand.

“You’re late.” He quips, turning around to gather his suit jacket and briefcase.

“I,” You stop, checking your phone. “It’s 6:15.”

“In my world on time is late and early is expected.”

“I’m sorry.” You’re horrified. “I didn’t - I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want an apology. I want you to do better next time.” He eyes settle on your bare shoulders, then tick down to rest of your body. It’s a quick glance but you catch him. “I have files in the living room. Please make sure everything is in order and ready to go. Pack it all up, we don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

You wordlessly scamper around the room, carefully collecting half used notepads and countless pages of legal discourse that you couldn’t understand if your life depended on it. When you turn back around, clutching his files in your arms, he’s leaning against the doorframe between the entryway way and the living area, watching you intently.

Your cheeks burn hot. Sam is handsome, there’s no arguing that fact, but he’s also notoriously difficult to work for. You’ve never once heard even a whisper that he mixes business with pleasure. If anything he’s known for being controlled. Everyone’s heard of his type, high-level business execs that are uptight beyond belief.

But the way he’s looking at you...no. It’s in your head.

“I’ve got everything.” You nod, shoving the files into your leather bag.

“Good, I want to get down there early.” He checks his watch and strides out of the room without another word and you’re left scrambling after him. Instead of heading to the public elevator you took earlier, he turns in the opposite direction to head toward the private lift his penthouse room offers as a perk. You stand beside him as the doors close and he pushes the button for the ground level.

He turns toward you, looking concerned. “I asked you to wear something business professional.”

“I-” The humiliation continues. “I am. This is all I brought with me.”

“I see.” His eyes narrow.

“Would you like me to go grab a sweater to wear over it?” You ask softly.

“No.” He purses his lips, head tilting ever so slightly. “I wouldn’t be able to tell how tight your dress is if I couldn't see your panty line.”

You nearly choke on your own spit. Letting out a nervous cough as your breath speeds up. You force yourself to look at him, trying your damnedest to determine what this is. Is he coming on to you? Just a perfectionist who’s so caught up in the details that the outline of your lace underwear crosses some sort of invisible line?

“I didn’t realize you could see. I’m sorry.” You stare at the floor, praying to God this day ends quickly.

“Don’t be sorry.” He commands tone calm and even. “Take them off.”

The world stops. All the oxygen evaporates out of the room.

Your eyes go wide, shooting up to meet him and his expression is unreadable. In a split second, your body reacts against your will, heat blooming between your legs, shame tightening in your chest.

You wonder if he’s like a predator able to smell fear. Does he somehow know what kind of effect this will have on you? Is it the way you called him sir, or how quickly you responded to his commands?

“You want me to…” You can’t finish the sentence but he doesn’t need you to.

“Take them off.” He repeats.

“Right now...here?” You whisper.

“Yes.” He confirms, reaching out to take the bag from you.

You hesitate, but only for a second before reaching under your dress and hooking both hands in your panties. The elevator is nearly at the first floor, and sweat breaks out over your entire body at the idea of being caught.

Stepping out of your panties you hold them up, looking at him like a deer in the headlights. There’s nowhere to put them, you didn’t bring a purse, the conference is in the hotel so you left it the room. But Sam casually plucks them from your hand and stuffs them into the pocket of his suit pants as the elevator reaches the lobby and the doors slide open with a ding.

“Try to keep up.” He hands you back his briefcase, your messenger bag of files, and steps out into the general population as you follow.

-

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[geeky-writes]

Pieces of Echoes Chapter 26 Preview

Behind? Catch up on AO3/ FFN 😊

“JARVIS, is Natasha at home?” Steve asked as he opened the notebook, flipping through the well-worn pages.

“Yes, Captain, Agent Romanoff is in her apartment,” JARVIS answered.

“Good. Can you call her, please?”

A few seconds later Natasha’s face filled the monitor, dressed in the clothes she often wore when she danced. She had told Steve a long time ago that ballet was one of her outlets, much like painting was for Steve and building things was for Peter, and he was proud that she had been able to get back into it lately.

“Hey, Cap, what’s up?”

“Um… I was wondering… do you have a few minutes?” Steve asked. He held up the notebook, clearing his throat. “I’m thinking that we need to start some training again, try and get back into… things, but… I’m not—I’m not quite sure if I can… do it alone. At least, not yet, so I was wondering—”

“Steve, it’s okay,” Natasha interrupted, giving him a soft smile. “I can be up there in ten minutes, does that work?”

Steve huffed as he nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Don't mention it,” Natasha said. “See you then.”

To pass the time while he waited, Steve padded into the kitchen, preparing two large mugs of the jasmine tea that he knew Natasha enjoyed. For how tired he was coffee would have probably been more useful, but he hadn't yet been able to bring himself to even touch the coffeemaker, ever since—

Well, ever since.

“Agent Romanoff is on her way up, Captain,” JARVIS announced once Steve finished preparing the tea.

“Thanks, JARVIS.”

He had just taken a seat at the kitchen table when Natasha breezed into the room, heading directly for her mug of tea.

“Mmm, jasmine,” she said, blowing on it before taking a small sip. “My favourite.”

“I thought I remembered that,” answered Steve. “I’d offer to make you something more substantial, but I’m afraid—well, I haven’t really been cooking all that much, since—since—”

Well, ever since.

“Steve, it’s okay,” Natasha said quietly. “You don't need to explain yourself to me, I understand.”

Something about the tone of Natasha’s gravelly voice, and the gentle way that she patted Steve’s hand in comfort—much like the way Steve had seen her do so many times for Peter—caused all of Steve’s internal floodgates to open and he suddenly burst into tears. And being the wonderful, kind, and compassionate person that she was, Natasha simply sat with him, occasionally squeezing his hand as he cried himself out over the next several minutes, finally getting up to retrieve some tissues from the nearby bathroom when she was certain that Steve could handle her leaving.

“I’m—I’m so sorry!” he sobbed, blotting at his puffy eyes with a tissue. “I didn't call you up here to watch me cry into my tea, I just—I just—”

“Steve, I said it’s okay,” said Natasha. “It’s not good to keep your emotions in check all the time. I know you're trying your damnedest to be strong for Peter and that’s admirable, but it’s not healthy for you in the long run, and I personally feel that it’s okay for Peter to see that you’re struggling too.” She gave him a rather sheepish grin as she took another sip of her tea. “Or, at least that’s what Sam’s always saying. I know it’s a lot easier said than done sometimes.”

“More like all the time,” Steve muttered, still scrubbing at his eyes. “I just—I just feel like I should be able to get past this agony at least a little, you know? I mean, I've lost people before, during the war, but—it still hurts so much that sometimes I can’t even breathe—like the very air itself is trying to choke me, and—”

“Steve, this was your husband,” Natasha said. “And it’s only been three months, I’d honestly be worried about you if I thought you were moving on already. You're a widower and a single dad now, it’s gonna take time for you to adjust to that. And that’s completely understandable.”

Fresh tears welled in Steve's eyes, and he shook his head. “I don't know if I’ll ever adjust to it,” he admitted. “I mean, I drag myself out of nightmares each morning—if I even sleep at all—and find that there’s no relief in waking. And I’m trying—I’m trying to do what I keep telling myself that I need to do, but I just—I just don't know how. And poor Peter, he never really stopped having his nightmares, even before—but lately they’ve gotten so much worse again, and I just don't know how to help him. I mean, just the other night he woke up screaming like he was being attacked, and I ran into his room to find him scratching and picking at his arm. And when I asked him about it, he told me that he’d been dreaming he was back in the cave and hooked up to some kind of medicine drip that was making him see things.”

“Oh my God, the poor kid!” Natasha exclaimed. “That’s horrible!”

“Yeah, it really was,” Steve agreed. He curled his hands around his mug, feeling the heat burning into his palms. “And the whole time I was trying to comfort him, he kept repeating, ‘it’s not real, Papa, it’s not real. Uncle Bucky says that I need to wake up’. Almost as if he knew it was a dream, but he couldn't quite figure out how to get out of it.”

“Uncle Bucky?” Natasha asked, confused. “He doesn’t mean Barnes, does he?”

“I guess, I don’t know who else he would mean,” Steve said sadly. “But I think it’s a bit of a stretch for Peter to be calling him ‘Uncle’ when Bucky tried to punch him in the head the only time that he saw him.”

“Yeah, you’re right, that doesn’t make much sense,” murmured Natasha. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I can’t imagine how scary that must have been.”

“Yeah, it was pretty awful,” Steve said, shuddering. “I was just glad that he didn’t manage to break the skin on his arm, but he was so scared and confused—” He paused, looking intently at Natasha. “And I haven’t told anyone else this. Peter asked me not to, I think he was embarrassed, so if you don’t mind—”

“Of course, you don't need to worry about that,” Natasha assured him. “I’m just sorry you had to go through it alone.”

Steve hung his head, sniffing. “I just feel so useless, because I can’t seem to help him like I should. I’m his father, but… I just can’t seem to plan my way out of this. I can’t seem to figure it out.”

Natasha was quiet for a moment. “Sometimes there just isn't a plan, Steve. Sometimes, and I know you're good at this because I’ve seen it, sometimes you just need to rely on your instincts. And that’s okay.”

Steve ran his fingertip around the rim of his mug, contemplating Natasha’s words. His Army superiors had always taught him to trust his instincts, and he had passed along that knowledge to both the Avengers and to Peter. But Steve was a master strategist; he always had been, even before the serum, and it was so hard for him to admit that there were just some things that he couldn't strategise his way out of.

“Where’d you get to be so knowledgeable about this stuff?” he asked, trying to smile. “I doubt that they taught very many classes on compassion in the Red Room.”

“No, no, they absolutely did not,” Natasha said with wide eyes. “Compassion was considered worse than a four-letter word in the Red Room.” She paused to take a sip of her tea, setting the mug down carefully. “I actually learned it from you guys. Well, maybe a bit from Fury and SHIELD, but mainly from you guys, ‘cause you know, it’s Fury.”

“Ah yes, I think I understand,” Steve said, his smile widening ever-so-slightly.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” Natasha said with a smirk. “So, I pretty much came from nothing, and then I was trained to be a ghost from the time I was old enough to write my name. Just an assassin, mindlessly following orders. I didn't understand what it was like to have real friends, to have… a family, until I got to the Avengers. You guys became my family, and I—I’m so much better now because of it. Better than I ever thought I was capable of being.”

“And we’re better for it too, Nat,” Steve managed through his tight throat. “All of us are, and so was Tony.”

Natasha gave him a wink as she drained the rest of her mug. “Well, I’m sure Tony had his moments. Now, you mentioned something about starting up some training sessions?”

Taking the hint, Steve opened his notebook to a fresh page. “All right, let’s get to work.”

They ended up spending the next three hours planning out training exercises, both for the individuals and the team as a whole, with Steve making sure to include some exercises for Peter as well. He had begun joining the rest of the team on some of their training sessions right before—well, right before—and had proved himself to be quite adept at meshing right in, so adept that while Steve was in no way ready to call his young teenage son an official Avenger, he at least knew that Peter could definitely hold his own if it ever became necessary.

“Well, I think we got a lot accomplished this afternoon,” Natasha said once they were done, absentmindedly chewing on a pizza crust left over from their hastily ordered lunch. “This is a great start, Steve.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Steve said. He got to his feet, gathering up the pizza box and the empty drink glasses. “Thank you, Nat.”

Natasha gave him a smile as she patted his arm. “You're welcome. And don't forget, it’s okay to ask for help sometimes. You're not in this alone.”

“I know,” answered Steve as he let out a heavy sigh. “I think I just tend to forget that sometimes. I mean, I know our jobs are more dangerous than most, I guess I just never thought—” He broke off, not wanting the tears to start flowing again, he’d already taken enough advantage of Natasha’s patience and sympathy. “I just never thought that—”

“Steve, it’s okay,” said Natasha. “I’m not sure any of us ever thought all that much about it. Tony was… always so full of life, it just doesn't make sense.”

“Yeah, he was,” Steve said. Right up until the second he wasn’t.

“Okay, so we’ll start this schedule next week, then?” asked Natasha.

Steve gave a nod. “Yep, on Monday. Right after I take Peter to school.”

“All right. I guess I’ll see you then, if not before.”

Steve walked Natasha to the elevator, not exactly feeling what he would call “light”, but definitely better than he had been that morning. Unfortunately, almost as soon as the doors closed behind Natasha the heavy sadness he had managed to push aside during their work came roaring back with a vengeance, nearly bowling Steve over with its intensity.

He could plan all the Avengers’ training sessions that he wanted, but it still didn't change the fact that the team was now one member down.

And in Steve’s eyes, they were down the most important member. Tony had always been what Steve liked to call the heart of the Avengers, and he still had no idea how in the world they were going to survive without their heart.

No one can live without a heart, Steve thought miserably as he made his way back towards his bedroom. Especially not me.

Stepping inside the bedroom, Steve’s eyes were immediately drawn to the huge painting hung on the wall above the bed, the painting he had presented to Tony as a wedding gift. Tears stung Steve’s sore eyes as he remembered that wonderful day spent at Coney Island, how happy and full of life they all had been, he, Tony, and Peter, celebrating Peter’s birthday.

What a razor-sharp contrast to the misery he was in now.

“JARVIS, is Peter doing okay?” he asked.

“Master Peter’s vital signs are within his normal parameters, Captain,” answered JARVIS. “He is currently attending his chemistry class.”

Well, at least there’s that.

“All right, thank you.”

“You are most welcome, Captain.”

Suddenly exhausted, Steve picked up the arc reactor and collapsed onto the chair, pressing the reactor to his chest and closing his eyes. He had about ninety minutes before he had to pick Peter up from school, so… may as well see if he could catch up on some sleep, even if he never seemed to like what he saw while there.

But as he felt his exhausted body sinking slowly towards unconsciousness, even more disturbing thoughts flitted across Steve’s mind. That nightmare of Peter’s that he’d described to Natasha had occurred only two nights ago. It hadn't happened again since then, and Peter had begged Steve not to tell Sam about it, but Steve couldn't help but be worried. As bad as Peter’s nightmares were it wasn’t normal for him to try and hurt himself during one, and Steve was now living in near-constant fear that it would happen again. And with Peter’s strength still increasing as he grew, Steve was also afraid that he wouldn't be able to stop him.

Not to mention the fact that Peter was suddenly claiming a connection with Bucky, of all people. The last time Steve had seen Bucky he’d been barely coherent, holed up in his padded room at the mental hospital where he’d been living ever since he took a swing at Peter. Tony had insisted that Bucky be removed from the Tower immediately, and Steve had relented, not wanting to risk Peter’s safety again.

There was no way Bucky could have been communicating with Peter when he couldn’t even take care of himself.

I need to get Peter some help, Steve thought miserably. I can’t do this alone. Not anymore.

The absolute last thing that Peter needed, was for Steve to fail him again.

The full chapter will post on Monday, July 29th 😊

[egoiistas]

may i feel, said he (19)

first | tag | ao3 | ffn 

[co-written with @tsaritsa]

a/n: mmmm that was a long break wasn’t it? let’s go ahead and jump in! there are some important notes on the ao3 author notes that you should totes check out! enjoy!

Warnings: Sexual Content ™, cursing, roy being cute af Words: ~8.5k || Rated: M - Royai 

Chapter Nineteen, in a minute

Summer arrives and officially, Riza is no longer his student.

Throughout the months, he’s tried to rationalize the pros and cons of jeopardizing her academic career from her perspective. A better grade? A decent fuck? Or a nice basket of both with a bow on top? His worst case scenario had always led him to the conclusion that if there was an ulterior motive, then she’d leave as soon as her grade was administered. If this was an elaborate, painstakingly cruel ruse, she would know him by now and have every advantage over him, forevermore holding this over his head because of a thoughtless impulse. She would know that he had unwittingly fought for what they shared, exposing himself freely, and that he’d never be the one to hold it over her. That cool façade in the beginning of the year had never collapsed so quickly and he would have fallen for the trap; hook, line and sinker.

Yet, his fears remain as unfounded as they ever were.

Time passes.

The newborn summer days swiftly turn into sweltering, humid weeks and in those weeks, he wakes with her at his side more mornings than not - passing by uneventfully, comfortable just existing in each other’s presence, finding solace indoors with air conditioning, lazily planning day trips to the countryside and never going.

Their heated, explosive start has transitioned into something that simmers comfortably now.  They’re turned into an average couple, falling asleep in the middle of movies or ignoring them altogether for a bit of naked reprieve, swapping one heat for another. The root of any of their short-lived arguments usually stemmed when either of them were hungry or tired or both. It’s bizarre to Roy how easy it is to just ...be.

During one idle afternoon, he wonders on the the microcosm of their relationship, built up in these walls. In some ways they had come to rely on the self-imposed rules, and moving beyond those parameters into something that resembles a normal relationship was going to come with its own set of challenges.

This is the one and only detail that simultaneously vexes and excites him when he thinks of Aerugo. The walls that constrained them would be knocked down now and they would free to roam around an island, holding hands if they so dared. And he would. But the real test in question was the structural integrity of their relationship on mostly neutral ground - with her and him finally as equals.

In the days before they embark, the photo of a time past resurfaces on the surface of his dresser. A younger him and another woman that he’s been trying his damnedest to forget, even jumping dangerous chasms to do so. He doesn’t exert much effort into deciphering it’s whereabouts or the delayed journey it took from his old box of mementos to finally arriving on his dresser. The why is not important in the wider scheme of things.

And as the day arrives that they set off for another country entirely, Maes reassurances him that her answer is still “no.”

With that response, he departs with a lighter weight on his shoulders that perhaps this trip can be just about a celebration between friends, family, and the sun. Perhaps he can aid her in lifting some of the weight off her own shoulders. Not forgetting, but enjoying herself as her own person and coming out forward for all that she’s been through in the years.

Already, he sees excitement beyond the surface of her eyes as she boards a plane with dissecting curiosity and hints of dread when the aircraft bumps. The window seat proves to be the optimal choice and her eyes hardly tear away from looking outside to the stretching landscape up until the vast ocean comes into view.

This restrained curiosity doesn’t change when they get on the ferry that’ll take them to their last stop. Immediately she’s drawn to the outside deck, eyes wide and bright as she drinks everything in. San Clavel shifts from a distant formation, to an outline, and then to a shimmering, bright beacon as the sun reaches its zenith.

Upon seeing the approach on the island, he checks the time on his phone and sees a message that should have been seen earlier. “We have… a slight problem.”

Completely and utterly enthralled since first sight with the ocean, Riza hesitates and rather reluctantly tears herself from the balcony edge of the ferry. She takes one last cursory glance, as if the azure water would disappear the instant she looked away, and a smile of endearment appears on his face.

She squints looking up at him with the sun in her eyes, her hand flat over her forehead to try to see. “What kind of problem?”

Roy takes off his sunglasses and places them on her face. He decides it’s best to rip the plaster off quickly here. “Well, there are some guests we weren’t - well, I wasn’t expecting that are showing up.”

“Oh.” He can’t see her eyes anymore because of the reflective glass, but her smile drops. “Is that so?”

“My mother,” Roy confesses. “And some of my sisters.”

“Your mother,” she parrots back monotonously. Her poker face is practically bullet-proof without the nuances of her eyes to clue him in. “Is that what you were worried about?”

“I- what?”

“I was half expecting you to tell me the trip was cancelled.” Riza slides her arm around his waist and leans against him, looking out across the water once more as the ferry begins to dock. “I can’t say I blame them for being curious. I know you said we would visit them next week but-”

To say he’s blindsided would be somewhat of an understatement. “Yeah, for a few hours, not days.” He can’t help the petulance that creeps into his voice. “The whole point of this trip was spending time with you. Preferably with us naked for hours on end.”

She snorts a little at that, tucking her head slightly against his chest to hide her face - the faint pink tips of her ears betray her regardless. “Yes, well, that too. But you’ve met my dad. It seems fair.”

“No offense but I feel like you’re getting the short end of the stick when it comes to meeting the in-laws.”

To her credit, Riza doesn’t outwardly react to his slip of the tongue beyond adjusting her posture - the hand that had been resting comfortably against his hip flexes. From his position, her ears are bright pink now. “A family who clearly think the world of you? That’s hardly grounds to say they’ll be terrible to the people you choose to introduce them to.” Her tone is a little too measured, but nonetheless she draws back to look at him better, her hand instinctively raising to push the hair from his eyes. There’s a bright, nervous smile on her face - one that he knows is reflected on his own as well.

“Though, maybe hold off on talk of in-laws until I get the chance to actually meet them for myself,” she teases. “I’m sure it won’t be as bad as what you’re imagining.”

Roy will swear until he’s black and blue that he kisses her to stop her teasing - but that’s not the truth, not entirely. Out of the two of them he’s most certainly the one who is more practiced in dealing with emotions, and certainly the more likely out of the two of them to wear his heart on his sleeve.

There was always an undercurrent of emotional attachment with any of the women he had slept with, regardless of whether the relationship was serious or merely fleeting. Riza was meant to firmly be in the latter camp, a terrible means to the end for the itch that begged to be scratched. Instead, he had taken her out for breakfast the morning after, and offered her an open invitation for more if she pleased. He has the tendency to take the mile when he’s only meant to have an inch, and in hindsight he was already in too invested in a hookup that should never have happened.

So, it is difficult to not apply the same logic here. He knows Riza well enough to know she’d have no problem in telling him if he were wrong, but the fact that she doesn’t even seem to hesitate at an off-cuff mention of a more distant future with him, and even goes so far as to tease him - Roy knows exactly why his heart is beating in triple time. He deepens the kiss and pulls her close to him; Riza makes a noise of contentment, curling her hands around his neck, fingers burying themselves in his hair.

Her nails scratch pleasantly against his scalp, and Roy hates himself for drawing back after a few blissful moments; even more so when Riza instinctively follows to close the gap. Her blush has abated somewhat, but her lips curve up into a secret smile, full of promises for later.

Instead, she contents herself with leaning back into his chest, rearranging his arms over her; he pulls her firmly against him and she hums in contentment,

“Why are you nervous about us meeting?” Riza asks after a moment. Her confidence in knowing the root of his anxiety is something he’d ordinarily want to pay greater attention to, but -

They’re a lot. Fiercely overprotective to a fault. I was selfish, and we’re dealing with those choices.

The truth is a little simpler than he wants to admit though. “There’s a right way about introducing you to all of them and this holiday wasn’t meant to be about that.”

“What’s the right way then?”

“With a bit more preparation.” He cranes his neck and checks his watch. “She just sent me a text that her plane comes in around four this afternoon.”

Riza twists to see his face, her mouth dropping comically open. “You’d better give me a summarized version then. Good thing I’m a quick study.” She pushes the sunglasses back, catching in her fringe.

He drops a kiss on her temple, guiding her back indoors. “It’ll have to be on the road once we pick up a car.”

When they finally disembark from the ferry with their luggage, Roy thinks they might have been blessed by the gods. In the terminal he can see no familiar faces and he feels himself relax. The company he’s ordered a taxi from on to take them to their lodgings is on the other side of the terminal and sweat is already glistening on his forearms from the heat of the midday sun. In his head, he begins conjuring an outline of how to breakdown who’s who and how to detangle the enormity of his unconventional family. It would take several hours to cover in its entirety and time is not his ally here.

“First things first,” he tells her as they move from the building into the forecourt, following painted yellow strips directing him towards the southern end of the terminal, “I call her my mother but she’s my aunt by blood. When I’m in trouble I’m Roy. When I’m really in trouble I’m boy. Otherwise I’m papito. She might pretend not to understand a lot of Amestrian, but it’s all lies. She just likes to be contrary and difficult because she can.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Anyway. For the most part we have a good relationship, but she’s never quite forgiven me for leaving Central. She…” he falters here, wondering if it is worth the pain to get this next piece of information out. “I think she took my and Greta’s breakup harder than anybody involved - myself included. She has a bad habit of not thinking before she speaks and I don’t want to put you-”

Riza’s hand covers his on the handle of his luggage and he slows to a halt, looking at her. “You’re very sweet, you know,” she tells him. “I know I haven’t been the most mature in regards to her but-”

“Hablando del rey de Roma.”

That coarse, near nasally call has always carried easily over crowds of people, and in the cavern-like forecourt, it bounces against the nearby walls and sunroof. He looks in the direction beyond Riza - the wrong one, because Chris’s manicured nails-cum-talons dig in sharply into the shell of his ear and pivots his entire body from where he stands to face her. From where she materialized is still unclear to Roy. His sisters titter and crowd around him unhelpfully. He hears several different sentences at once as he receives one hug after another. “You’re looking buff!” “No, he’s looking thin! Do you have eyes?” “You need a haircut!” “We’ve missed you!” “I’ve missed him most!”

Finally, the girls scatter when Chris swats them away and in the same carrying voices tells them, “All right, all right get back.” Her face is serious and grave as she looks at him. It’s that same intimidating face that lectured him when he did something stupid or dangerous or both. Roy  doesn’t say anything because he expects the signature arm cross, tapping foot, and demanding to know why hasn’t he called more often?

Instead her arms extend out and up as Roy takes half a step back. “Mi niiiiño!” she sings, an unmistakable happiness in her expression as she grabs his face and kisses each cheek. She hugs him tight and he returns it in kind, shelving the initial skepticism. “How I’ve missed you, papiiito.”

Then she shoves him back and crosses her arms. “Why haven’t you called, boy?”

Ah - there it is.

“I’ve been a little busy…” Not totally untrue, but somehow Roy doubts that will cut the mustard here. “But I should be calling more often.” He looks to the side and Riza, by some miracle, is still there and only a few steps away from him with their luggage. In fact, she has the strangest  grin plastered on her face. “But,” he continues, “since you’ve managed to get the drop on me…” Roy walks next to Riza who has suddenly changed in expression as he hugs her from the side. “This is Riza,” he says expectantly and after a moment of only faint chatter from the terminal, he adds. “My girlfriend.”

The girls look at each other and one by one he can see their lips curve upwards into coy smiles. They come closer, prowling like lionesses. The barrage of greetings begin with one at a time hugs and kisses as if handshakes were old fashioned.

“So you’re Elizabeth!” says Sofia.

Riza manages to turn her body to face Roy as she’s passed from one sister onto the next. “Elizabeth?”

“I gave you a code name.”

Her grin is knowing. “So they knew?”

“Some knew.”

“They knew?” Chris asks from the end of their man-made barrier of ladies. “Why is it then that I had to find out through other channels?” She glares between Sofia and Roy.

“Some knew,” Roy insists. “I couldn’t remember who I did and did not tell and you are all in deep shit for not warning me about this.” He inclines his head as subtly as he can in the direction of his mother.

“Roy. Please. You’ve kept Riza from us this entire time! Please, please we want to know everything.” Isabelle says.

Chris urges everyone to be prying banshees in an airconditioned car. It’s a welcome reprieve from the hot midday sun, although the subdued attitude of his mother is unexpected - and worrying.

As well as Sofia and Isabelle, Phoebe and Karina are also a part of the welcome wagon. They crowd around the two of them inside the car, waving off Riza’s protests about wearing seatbelts.

“He hasn’t told us anything about you, you know,” Isabelle laments, tying her long blonde hair into a high ponytail. “All I got told was he was seeing a very pretty woman and if I said anything to Mama we’d never get to meet you at all. So tell me everything - how did you two meet? What do you do? How long has this been going on?”

Riza giggles a little nervously at the onslaught. “Not a terribly exciting story, I’m afraid,” she begins. “I worked in the university library overnights and he would come in and make a mess of the private study spaces. We got to talking after a while and…” she gestures to the scant space between them, “Here we are.”

The disappointment from his sisters is hilarious: they seemingly deflate back into their respective seats, shoulders dropping.

“To be honest though, Roy hasn’t told me much about you guys either. He’s told me your names but it would be nice to finally put faces to them as well.”

It’s a good distraction from the other questions posed - an excellent one, actually; as Riza slowly makes her way through this small fraction of his family. His mother remains quiet, seemingly happy to watch the events unfolding with a curious eye. He lets his mind drift, gaze sliding to the view outside which shifts from the town centre to higher up, wide expanses of yellow-white sandstone spotted into the lush green hills. He fiddles with her hand in his own, and when Karina catches his eye with a knowing smile it’s hard not to beam in response.

The trip goes quicker than expected, much to his relief, but the girls won’t take ‘no’ for an answer when it comes to showing Riza the villa they’ll be staying at with Chris before letting them disappear for the afternoon.

“We’ve had a long trip from East City-” he tries.

Phoebe shoots him a withering look. “We’ve had a long trip from Central too,” she reminds him none-too-gently. “Honestly, when’s the next time you’re going to come around, let alone with Riza in tow? Last time you didn’t even bother to let us know you were in town! You owe us.”

He doesn’t have much of an argument against that, and from her new position being volleyed between his sisters, Riza nods in deferment. She winks at him from across the room, mouthing something he can’t quite make out. He moves to join them; they’ve taken her out to one of the balconies and are pointing out different parts of the island but from behind him -

“Boy,” Chris calls.

Heart sinking, Roy stops in his tracks, and dutifully makes his way back to where his mother sits, overlooking the bay. “Watch her,” he signals to his sisters, and Karina’s fingers flutter in dutiful acquiescence.

With the sun favoring the other side, there are more shadows in the parlor he’s beckoned to. The motherly air to her has vanished and her face is serious. Lips are thinned, her brow entertains no amusement and a hand on her lap and the other propped on the high table she sits next to, expectantly. A seat isn’t offered to him; instead, she nods to the door to make this conversation more private and he complies. It shuts with a soft click and the sounds of excited conversation become muffled and indistinct.

Chris is quiet. He imagines she’s choosing her words, perhaps even predicting his own, and if pensive could be deadly, then she might be the only one in the world who has mastered it. She shifts in her seat, crossing one foot over the other, and her fingers rest on her many rings, twisting them over and over. Until, finally, she takes in a drawn breath.

“What are you thinking?” She asks him. Each word is enunciated and calculated in a low and gravelly tone;  a night and day difference from her earlier greeting.

“Well.” He chuckles bitterly. “I’m thinking it’s been a long trip. The weather, the sun, the beach is gorgeous.” He walks towards her and she is unflinching in following his movements. “You’re looking well and the girls look well too.”

“Don’t you play coy with me. You know what I’m talking about, bringing her around here.”

He pulls the accompanying chair out from the table and takes a seat. At this level, the light shifts out of her eyes as if to perpetuate the gravitas of the situation on her behalf. “I’d prefer if you didn’t refer to my plus one like she was a disease. She’s here at my behest, as well as Maes’ and Gracia’s.”

Her only answer is a half-chuckle that sounds somewhere between a hah and a hmph. “My boy, you can prefer, refer, request whatever you want.”

“Then, what’s the problem here?”

“She’s twenty-one, Roy.”

His eyes close as he sighs. His fingers slowly ball into a fist.

“Did it ever occur to you how’d that look? Que va decir la gente? Or rather, what are they already saying? ‘He went off and got someone younger.’” She scoffs, rolling her shoulders back. “I’ve raised you better than that. Think of the example you’re putting on for the girls.”

“It’s more than that, believe me.”

“Ah, si?” She is mocking, sarcastic. She’s daring him to prove her wrong. And she is wrong - he knows this emotionally, more so than anyone else in this room. But no matter which way he would spin it to her, it would still sound the same to her: appearances are everything at home. “How selfish. Ask yourself what your reaction would be if the girls came home with an older man?”

He meets her hard gaze in equal strength. “If you’re wanting to lecture me you can do it another day, I’m not in the mood for it now.”

“No, now is the time since you decided to cut us out from your life when you moved. You are never around anymore and quite frankly I don’t know much of you since you left.” She is measured, near hissing. “Stop thinking with your dick for once, pendejo, and use that brain of yours-”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. His heart rate elevates; he feels it in the constriction of his throat. “Ya, okay?” He swallows the simmering emotion, the telltale prick of budding tears. “I have told you time and time again - endlessly - about why things didn’t work out before.”

“You’ve given me crumbs,” she says unsympathetically. “While she’s given me entire loaves, crying at my doorstep, hoping you would be reasoned with.”

Sighing, he says, “Why can’t you come to terms with this? Respect this decision that was made years ago? Or at the very least, have trust in me that what I have to say has more to do with the truth than whatever fabrications she’s feeding you?

“I’ve told you that relationship was toxic and brought out the worst parts of me. What will it take for you to understand?”

Chris thinks for a moment and it gives Roy the opportunity to release tense muscles that were winding themselves up again from the conversation. “Did you bring her because she’s pregnant?”

A hand runs down his face and mentally he apologises to Riza. “No.”

She hums, intrigued. “Do you love her?”

Yes.

The letters pop in his head; glowing, neon letters illuminating in his mind’s eye. He does not say it. His lips curl in to stop them from giving away the smile at the thought of Riza and love and the warmth that suddenly radiates in his chest. Pensive, he tries not to give any facial cues but his mother knows him far too well and she sighs, letting a hand fall to the table.

“How?” Chris asks, almost exasperated. “Where-” And then that word chokes and dies in her throat because it dawns on her immediately, because Chris Mustang is smart and sharp and where else would he find a woman of Riza’s age to be around him long enough to catch feelings? The color drains from her face watching him as he processes his own revelation - because the only thing more scandalous than this is if she was pregnant. “You were always so, so smart, but also so, so incredibly dumb sometimes, mi amor.

“You are toying with more than just your life here, but permanently with hers.” She gets up from her seat and her words are somber. “Make sure it’s worth it.”

He’s left in the parlor by himself, to his own thoughts; knuckles to his mouth.

The subject of his thoughts enters the room and softly crosses to where he sits. He perks up in his seat and his heart skips a beat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she greets him; her brows dipped in concern and she takes a seat in Chris’s chair. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” It’s a terrible attempt but she humours him nonetheless.

“Because you’re just sitting in here by yourself.”

“I just needed a moment of silence after being ambushed.”

She quickly moves out of her seat. “I can go if-”

Roy grabs her hand to stop her. “Don’t be silly,” he says softly.

She nods, slowly settling back in the chair - hands connected over the table. “What did you two talk about?” she presses after a moment, when he falls silent once more.

“Oh,” he says, stopping the circles he was rubbing on the back of her hand. “She was ripping me a new one for not introducing you earlier, for not calling.”

“What an awful son,” she teases. “And an awful brother from what your sisters were telling me.”

“I should probably go talk to them.”

Riza makes a face. “Actually… I came in here only because they were going to head into town for some food to keep in the house. They figured we would want to get settled first. I may have strongly suggested it. Karina was kind enough to back me up.”

“That’s right. You haven’t even seen the inside of where we’re staying, have you?”

“No, but I imagine it’s like any house with four walls and with rooms.”

He smiles knowingly, standing from his seat and an extending a hand for him to lead her. “Let me show you why I like to leave Amestris.”

With a slight hint of confusion, she takes it. After some quick goodbyes from his sisters - Chris is notably absent - they walk in comfortable silence to just a few houses down where the ocean waves hitting the shores becomes a little bit more audible.

Roy unlocks the door for her and her eyes widen as she takes in a breath.

Riza darts inside, taking quick strides between the rooms, jerking her head back towards where he stands, half-questions-half-incredulous-noises leaving her mouth in a garbled mess.

Yes, Roy splurged this time - but how could he not? There is something intensely satisfying about being able to elicit a reaction like the one she is giving him, to enjoy how she enjoys it. By the standards of his peers this villa might not be the fanciest, nor the most kitted-out, but Roy knows Riza doesn’t care about outward appearances. He chose it for the age and history of the stone walls, for the way it overlooks a portion of the island, and yet remains tucked away from the other villas in the area.

After he moves the luggage into the master bedroom, he asks into the house: “Just four walls with rooms, is it?” When he doesn’t receive a response, he finds her in a sun-filled study on the second floor, skimming through the book spines on the bookshelves.

Her mouth is slightly ajar. “You’re quite the schemer, aren’t you?”

Roy leans on the doorframe, arms crossed and feeling triumphant in his choice. “I’d prefer the word charmer.”

A reluctant grin appears on her face as she turns back to him. “You keep this up and I’ll be effectively spoiled. Surely, you understand that.” Her grin is infectious.

“Then my plan is working.”

She chuckles, shaking her head at him, and that tension from before simply evaporates. “So, schemer-charmer, what’s the itinerary for the day?” She absent-mindedly asks flipping through a book.

“Itinerary? That sounds so severe.” Roy pushes himself off from the door frame; overjoyed when she follows behind him as he opens the windowed white doors to the master bedroom’s balcony.

“You know what I mean…” She trails off and Roy feels his breath leave him from the view too. It truly is stunning - from the ocean to the lush green of the trees, the yellow-white sandstone fortifications bisecting the island cleanly in two. East City had its charms, but San Clavel was a blatant seduction by comparison.

Roy points out, “Now you can ignore me to look at the ocean from here.”

“Stop,” Riza warns playfully, darting her eyes between the ocean and him. “It’s not my fault I’m not well-travelled.” She stretches up on her tiptoes to kiss him - briefly, he supposes, from the way her hands rest only lightly on his chest. But her lips on his creates a tide of emotions Roy doesn’t anticipate. Hands on her hips, he pulls her flush to him, thrilling in the way she grinslaughs against his mouth, relishing in the contended hums from her throat. He is content to be, like this. Truly. Hours could pass, or even days - and yet how he is right now, a little sweaty and overheated, is where he wants to be.

One of his hands slides down over the curve of her arse, inadvertently hiking up the flimsy material of her sundress. His wandering fingers move too lightly against her skin, and she gasps, body instinctively moving away from the ticklish sensation.

She mouths against him “one minute” before ducking into the bathroom and door quietly shutting behind her.

Roy turns back to the balcony and walks out onto it proper, inhaling the sea breeze. The red carnations that dance around the sandstone pillars of the villa greet him as he steps outside. He’s missed this terribly, too. The temperature straddles a certain perfection of warmth with just enough wind to roll off the heat from lingering on his skin. In the distance, the ocean shifts below him, a mesmerising blue that softly crests until it blankets the alabaster coast; its surface is broken into fractals of light from the late afternoon sun, reflecting lazily like pieces of jewels over the water. The view is a welcoming sight and something about it breathes sunshine into his soul.

Years have elapsed since his last visit, and yet, San Clavel seems timeless; untouched by modern architecture common in Amestris and locked in a perpetual season of summer.

The air, the view, and the entire island may have remained static, but change was now a certainty for him. He looks out to the sea now with a different mindset altogether than even just hours before. He is far from the formative years of his youth, and the time he had spent here previously, saturated in alcohol, smoking Clavileño cigars, drunk on overconfidence and basking in his immaturity. Though, now he’s not so sure how much of that has changed.

“Interesting.” He hears behind him. “I can’t tell if you’re brooding or just enamored with the sight.”

A quick smile appears on his face as Riza rests her hands over the stone balustrade. There must’ve been a witty response to her tease but blown away by the wind when he manages to drink in the sight of her in the sundress. From where she stands, the midday sun hits her from behind, encasing her in a halo that filters drown from her hair into the soft white of her dress. There’s still a ghost of a grin on her face, and he’s tempted to bridge that space between them once more to kiss her, to see if the sheer warmth she’s radiating might transfer to him, even if only a little.

If he thought the sunlight on the water was mesmerizing, then the sunlight on her - the sunlight was made for her.

Her hair glows golden as it sways and brushes her pale skin. She puts a hand up to her face to stop her hair from flowing wildly with a squint in one eye.  The white dress hugs all the right places and somehow an ethereal aura surrounds her.  Roy composes himself, collecting his slightly ajar jaw, and eyes her up and down. “Well, enamored by the sight now.”

She grins at his response. “It’s beautiful out here,” she says finally. “Thank you for bringing me.”

Roy inclines his head in acknowledgement, his fingers drifting over hers; as if on instinct, her hand flips over to meet his, palm to palm. It’s a simple enough gesture, borne from repetition as much as affection. It tugs at his heart in a pleasant way. Tucked away in her words isn’t an I’m sorry, not quite - but an acknowledgement that goes beyond just saying thank you.

“You are very welcome,” he begins, shifting his weight to rest against the balustrade fully, pulling Riza into his space a little more. “This would be nowhere near as fun if you didn’t come.”

Her hands slide up his forearms, over his shoulders and curl loosely around his neck. She smells faintly like his soap and blinks demurely under dark lashes. “You take pleasure in me gawking at things, do you?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Riza flushes visibly, immediately. There’s an attempt to push away from lightly but he holds her in place and she stays. “All this natural beauty and instead you’d be a slave to your phone, waiting desperately for me wake up.”

“I would be,” he tells her, enjoying how his honesty throws her for a moment. It is the truth. He would’ve still attended - Maes would have had his guts for garters otherwise - but at best he would only stay for a few days, and certainly not make a meal out of this trip, surprise family be damned.

“I’d be very demanding, you know,” Riza tells him matter-of-factly, tongue poking out to wet her lips briefly. “Video calls as soon as I wake up. A million souvenirs. That sort of thing.”

“If that’s your idea of demanding, how about a quick refresher?” Her eyebrow lifts momentarily, urging him to go on. “You storming into my office about a grade? Now that was demanding.”

Scandalized, she says “If I can recall correctly - and I do - there were ulterior motives for that changed grade. It was well warranted given the circumstances.”

Roy adjusts his hands on her hips, the thin material of her sundress rising a little once more as he brings her closer to him. He officially loves this dress. A finger lifts her chin. “I beg to disagree, avecilla. Not that I don’t appreciate the fact that we’re on the same page nine times out of ten, but I’d be a little disappointed if all you asked for was a call. In fact...” He pushes himself up from the balustrade. Riza cranes her neck a little to continue meeting his eyes. It’s perfect for what he wants - his hands leave her hips, and instead cup her jaw fully, thumbs resting against her cheekbones.

Deliberately, he kisses her temple, and then the other. Her eyelids follow, then her cheeks. He intentionally ignores her lips, barely grazing against them as he opts to leave soft, unhurried kisses against every part of her face bar her mouth. Her fingers twist themselves against the shirt he’s wearing.

“You’re mean,” she tells him breathlessly, brown eyes fluttering open after a kiss that skirts the edge of her cupid’s bow. “You never mentioned what’s going on today.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“A dinner. Nothing important.” With his mouth brushing against the edge of her lips, he says, “It’s basically tradition to be late to these things anyway.”

“I think you’re lying-” she responds, nearly cut off as he takes her lips onto his own. She tastes sweet as she always has, but the sound from her throat hints at something more mischievous. Any items on any itinerary ever is eviscerated by what is in front of him: Riza, his Riza, in a sundress and slowly eroding what sensibilities he still has left.

“Mi reina… you wound me. I would never,” he answers coyly. The aftershocks of their kiss still thrums on his lips. He feels electric, fizzing with the knowledge - the freedom - that he could have her here, that he could potentially love her here as her fingers grasps his shirt and she gasps over his fingers. She would let him, he thinks, with the way her lips seem to brush against him with the lightest of pressure, barely enough to feel but more than enough to tease. It’s beyond tempting to give into that baser desire, to have her as he wants her; but here he stills, thumbs drifting over her now-flushed skin.

He can feel the words on his lips, waiting to be said. There’s simply so much he wants to say to her, to tell her, divulge in her, that words fail him here. He hasn’t the faintest clue of where to even begin.

“Mi reina?” Riza asks, a flirtatious smile curling her lips upwards. “I guess that would make you ‘my king’, no?” She chews the inside of her lip, thinking. “Mi…”

“Rey.” He finishes for her. He doesn’t usually have a possessive streak a mile wide but for this nickname, Roy might make an exception.

“Quite a promotion you’ve been given, sir.”

Roy chuckles darkly - a reminder that she knows him well too. He tilts her head back slightly, enjoying how her eyes flit between his gaze and his mouth rapidly. “I think it’s deserved. An upgrade from the previous one you gave me.”

Riza swallows, focusing on something beyond his face. “The ones that I..?”

He tilts his own head to the side, to her exposed skin and in between kisses on her neck he tells her, “Back in East City. With your father.”

Understanding crests over her face. “Was I wrong?”

He pulls his head back. “No.”

“Because I happen to like that one,” she tells him, drawing back from his grip after a moment. “Still feels weird saying it though.”

“Then practice.”

Riza’s reply is shot out automatically with only a lick of her lips to prime it. “Make me.”

“Make you?”

She tightens the grip on his shirt, pulling him closer to repeat herself in his ear. “Make me, sir.”

Static screeches in his brain for a moment and he looks at her, amused, and she, so daring as she dons the smallest smirk on her face. “I think you and I both know I can make you say many things.” He breathes out through his nose, slow and deliberate.

“That was then.” She bites her lower lips. “This is now. In a completely different country.”  

“Is that right?” A brow flits up in her small act of defiance. His gaze drifts down to the thin straps straps of her dress and looks back at her; blood pounding in his ears. Riza takes a cursory step back and he steps forward. She seems to understand, quick study that she is. Wordlessly, he begins to unbutton his shirt and she never takes her eyes off him as she walks backwards towards the bed. She stumbles a little when her calves hit the edge of the mattress, releasing a tiny gasp, and he takes this opportunistic moment of her distraction to coax her onto the bed.

She moves deeper into the bed on her elbows to give him space to join her, and he does as his belt hits the floor.  

There is something deep and dark about how he likes her like this. Riza doesn’t show lust in an overt way: flushed skin, lips a brighter shade of pink, almost entranced when she sees what she wants... or perhaps it is him that’s been entranced by this very look the entire time. One loose strand of hair curls over her shoulder - perhaps by design - and Roy leans in to hungrily kiss her, situated in between her legs; hands roaming up her legs and he feels the goosebumps rise on her skin, under his fingertips. His kisses consume her, drinking greedily from her like a man dying from thirst. The straps of her sundress are pushed to the side as his hands shift up to her neck, thumbs splaying across her pulse point. She’s breathing hard when he pulls back.

“Take it off,” he orders quietly. To elicit a quicker response, his hand dips in between her legs, ghosting over the fabric of her smallclothes. Without needing to ask twice, she sits up and they both work to get the sundress over her head and he helps in freeing her of her bra.

Riza lies back down and is a sight against the sheets. Creamy thighs beckon to him like a ship to wreck, but instead he lets his fingers drift along her torso, up over the bones of her sternum and collarbone. He studies the edges of jawline, committing it to memory, before tracing the outline of her lips with his index finger. She trembles underneath his touch, and whimpers when his other hand slips under her underwear, slipping into slick folds. His fingers are coated in her sex with a single stroke. “Excited, are we?”

“I love a good menacing walk towards me,” she jests, grinning and arching her back as he toys with her.

“Tell me what you want, avecilla,” he murmurs against her lips, barely exerting pressure.

“That would be too easy, sir,” she manages between sighs. Her fingers fumble over the button of his trousers and he takes satisfaction in the fact that he’s reduced her to this state: hips gyrating in the hopes of some change in tension. She brings her palm to her forehead, mouth open and gasping.

His hand pulls back from her completely.

Riza opens her eyes in curiosity, concern or both and his fingers tug at the edge of her underwear. Her hips move up carefully to help him remove them: first through one leg and then on the other, he holds her leg as he glides it off her, kissing her calf gently.

“You have to tell me what you want. I could have you on your back and fuck you so slowly you’ll be begging me to let you come. Or should I eat you out instead, or fuck you so hard into the bed that everyone at dinner will know exactly what you’ve been doing and not just because you’ll be walking funny? Or if you really want, do all of the above and not recover until tomorrow?”

His fingers place her leg down with delicate care next to him. “But until then, we won’t start.”  

“Fuck you,” she manages in a sigh.

“Clearly. But how?” He moves in closer to her again and she watches him inch closer to her face. He closes his eyes, mouth hovering over her lips just so that they brush against each other as he speaks again, softer this time. At this distance he can feel the heat of her skin under his. “Avecilla, you have to tell your boyfriend how you want him to fuck -  you.”

-------

They finally arrive when the sun is melting into the ocean; its bright orange remnants are painted across the sea and gives everything else a deep red-orange hue.

Roy takes a moment to survey the view before him. Aerugo on a good day really didn’t disappoint, and San Clavel was certainly no exception to that rule. Despite the earlier heat of the day, it was getting cooler now and out of instinct he pulls Riza closer when she rubs her arm from a wandering breeze that passes through.

Riza hums in gratitude, casting a quick complementary glance at him, before she’s pulled back again to admiring the venue. It’s a converted battlement: the familiar white sandstone forms a parapet overlooking the eastern side of the bay, before dropping down into a garden seemingly overgrown with roses in every shade and hue of red. Beyond is where most of the party guests are congregating, on a raised terrace that hugs a large hall. The exterior is covered in dark green ivy, looking classically timeless rather than unruly.

Strings of fairy lights guide them towards the center of the terrace with a view of the sea, no doubt intending to create a glowing effect when the day’s light was finally extinguished. Soft, instrumental music plays from a quartet tucked away somewhere - a vast change from the stereo system and an mp3 player playlist manned by one of the cousins - behind round tables topped with plates and silverware and intricate flower arrangements for centerpieces. They are decorated with pristine white cloths that blow lightly with the breeze and the chatter around is light and pleasant.

Riza shivers again and she scoffs. “I think I underestimated how cool it would get.”

“Do you want me to go back for your cardigan?”

“No, don’t be silly. You can’t leave me alone with these people.” She points an index finger at him. “Not again.”

“They’re not so bad.”

She looks away with a noise that neither affirms of contradicts his statement. Roy grabs her hands, looking down at her with a smile. “I can understand that you’re anxious, but I’d also like this to be for us. It’s not every day we can do this without looking behind our backs and I have to say, I’m a little excited for it.”

Riza looks down to where he’s rubbing circles over the back of her hand and she laces her fingers with his, squeezing. “You’ve been giving this a lot of thought?”

“Have you not?”

She grins and turns away slightly like she does when she’s been caught red-handed. “It might’ve crossed my mind once or twice, yes.”

He smiles back at her and nods over to the bar set up from a market stand. “Then why don’t you go get yourself something? If not for the nerves but to help with warming you up.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “You’re being awfully thoughtful today.”

“As if I’m ever not.” He pivots her shoulders as she cracks a laugh and he waves her on.

She hesitates for a moment, turning her head back towards him. “What do you want?”

He takes pleasure in making a meal out of admiring her; the affected way her gait has changed for the moment more than anything else. As if she could read his mind, Riza blushes a deep red. “Surprise me,” he tells her finally.

Roy watches as she disappears into the small crowd. It’s later than the start time but true to fashion, people are still trickling in. Some greet him with a courteous hug and a kiss on the cheek but thankfully, no one stays for a proper conversation as they make their way to the stars of this whole event.

Maes and Gracia stand near the parapet with a group of people around them. They are positively glowing in spite of the backdrop of the deepening sunset. Elicia is the most entertaining part of that picture, however - for every kiss and hug that’s transferred between the adults above her, Roy watches as she demands her own set. Maes is dutiful to the point of smothering, and her squeals of protest about his scratchy beard carry far over the gardens.

It’s a far cry from the family he knew three years ago, and he couldn’t be prouder of them for what they’ve endured and risen up from. He’d never tell the two of them out loud for fear of Maes’ ego never recovering to a normal size, but if he could get something even close to what they had found in each other, he’d consider himself lucky; amongst valued peers and someone to share successes and trials with.

Part of him thinks he may have found it; a smaller part of him whispers that he’s been wrong before. He’s even less sure about how to even approach the topic with her: they haven’t discussed it in any serious capacity and he’s loathe to bring it up in a space where she isn’t on equal footing with him.

The conversation with his mother from earlier floats to the forefront of his mind.

Large, neon-colored letters. Yes.

Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe it really was that simple.

Behind him, he can hear approaching footsteps and the warmth in his chest reemerges as her hands wrap around his torso. Contently, teasingly, he says, “I thought you were going to bring me a surprise.” His last word is tapers off in emotion and volume as he notices the contrasting difference in skin tone on the arms around him. The breeze picks up once more, carrying a fragrance from a guiltier time. The warmth ices and turns into a quick-drop feeling of dread from his throat to his gut.

She doesn’t resist when he jerks himself out of the embrace, but her dark eyes are still locked on him, amused. Hand on her hip, she stands there in a red dress complimenting her deep, sun-kissed skin and dark loose ringlets of hair; the matching blood-red lips curl up into a self-satisfied smirk.

Greta sighs dramatically. “I am the surprise.”

next

[carmenlire]

Comin’ Home

read on ao3

He remembers the first time he saw him, the man who would change him, the man he would tumble head over heels for before he quite knew what’d hit him.

Hazel eyes that saw too much and a frowning mouth that he’d been helpless to resist.

It seems like so long ago now and he’s almost stunned to realize that it’s been five years since he knew a world without his Alexander.

His own mouth turns down as he reminds himself, Alec. Not his Alexander, not his anything.

Not anymore.

Still, that long ago memory wraps around him, makes him wish that he could go back to that Karaoke bar in Queens and start over.

Well, he thinks with a faint grin, that first night had been perfect.

He’d been in town for a few months working on his next record and his friends had taken him out for his birthday. The karaoke bar had been hilarious to them and he’d been deep enough in his cups to humor them.

He forgets the song he’d chosen now. All he knows is that he’d looked up during the instrumental bridge and lost every single goddamn thought in his head except who are you?

Meeting those thrice-damned hazel eyes had left him speechless and the man had noticed. Even from a distance, he’d seen Alec’s expression turn equal parts surprised and coy and it had seared into him, the invitation and challenge blatant in his stare.

Finishing his song in a rush of mumbled words and off-key notes, he’d jumped off the small stage and hadn’t even winced as his shoes tried to stick to the grimy floor.

No, he’d made his unerring way to Alec and the two of them had spent the rest of the night together. And boy, he thinks now with a shake of his head, he’d never heard the last of it from his exasperated friends.

He remembers having a drink or six at that final bar and dancing clumsily in a space the size of a doormat. He hadn’t minded, though, not with Alec pressed so close against him so that they stole each other’s breath.

That had been the beginning and what a start it had been.

Opening his eyes to see fields pass him in a blur, he feels like he’s suffocating. The past three months weigh like slabs of cement on his shoulders and it’s taking everything he’s got to keep going.

If only he could go back. If only that was allowed.

Sighing, he turns to his song book and tries his damnedest to forget about the one man he can’t stop remembering.

--

Blinking up at the pitch black ceiling, he sighs before sitting up. He reaches over and turns the lamp on and the light is harsh in the quiet room, makes him wince.

He scrubs his hands over his face before he lets them fall between his knees. Staring down at the floor, he feels empty.

The hotel carpet is an infuriatingly neutral shade of beige and it makes him want to break something. It makes him want to grab a match and set fire to every memory that plagues him, that denies him sleep even when he’s been up for a while day at this point and has an event in a few short hours.

He wishes fervently that he could burn every bridge that leads to him to ash until there was nothing but smoking rubble and no way back to the man he can’t stop thinking about.

Maybe then he would know peace. Maybe then he could move on.

Instead, he stands up on unsteady legs and goes over to his suitcase that’s propped open. He snatches his song book and goes out to the balcony that overlooks a city he can’t quite remember the name of this late.

London, he thinks with a yawn that cracks his jaw. Maybe Edinburgh.

Sneering, he tosses his song book on the little table and sits down, barely registering the chill. It doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that it’s not New York and he’ll carry that conviction for a few months more until he can’t any longer.

He writes his feelings out. The gnawing ache of where Alexander used to be, the regret that he pushed him away-- that he was too much or not enough or, fuck, he’s still not sure.

This whole song book is a requiem to their relationship and it makes the back of his throat burn, the jeering realization that Alec’s still his biggest muse no matter that they haven’t talked in six months.

There was a time his boyfriend would’ve found him when he was in one of these moods-- when writing was his only focus, when he could ignore everything if only he wrote one more line. If he concentrates, he can feel the phantom sensation of arms wrapping around his neck from behind, stubble scraping his throat in a gentle move that made him shiver with want, with the knowledge that he was never safer than when he was in Alec’s arms.

That’s over now, though, and Magnus has no one to blame but himself. He has no right to Alec now, not after everything he’d done.

Tears sting his eyes but he blinks them back with furious desperation. Turning back to his song book, he writes another song about his love and runs from his demons until the sunrise burns them away for another day.

--

Stepping off stage, he hands his mic pack to a crew member. He still hears the fans screaming for another encore and it’s a rush like no other to know that on the other side of the stage are thousands of people, each desperately wanting a piece of him.

It’s everything. It’s all he needs.

Before he goes back to his room for the night, he goes out. He has a favorite bar in this city and he finds his way there by memory. The velvet rope is released as soon as the bouncer catches sight of him and his mouth curls into a cocky grin.

The music is loud and the sea of strangers are friends waiting to happen. He dances with a dozen people, sliding through embraces, never staying with one person for longer than a single song.

He drinks. He loses track of how many shots he does but when he looks up, the breath is stolen from him. His glass lands on the bar with a thud that’s inaudible through the bass of the DJ and he starts toward a figure that towers over everyone else.

In his haze, he bumps into people but he pays their indignant expressions no mind. He has one focus and his eye can’t leave this particular prize.

When he catches up to the man, he grabs his arm and spins him around.

Bile squeezes his throat.

Because it’s not Alec. The stranger has the same build but his eyes are green and he’s wearing a shirt that his Alexander would never be caught dead in.

Apologies spill from his mouth as he stumbles out of the club, nausea suddenly building.

He has no idea how he makes it back to his hotel for the night and he doesn’t much care. The room itself is almost too much for him and he’s struck for the millionth time-- the goddamn billionth-- by a memory that brings him to his knees.

He and Alexander in a hotel room that looks suspiciously like the one he’s in now. He remembers neon lights flashing through the window and how they could barely kiss because they were smiling too much.

They were so damned happy.

Alec had visited him on tour and he’d been so fucking surprised to see his love when he’d walked off stage after a sold-out concert. He’d barely registered what was happening before Alec had hauled him close for a searing kiss that had made his toes curl in his designer boots. He’d grabbed the lapels of Alec’s blazer and hung on with everything he had.

With a sardonic laugh, Magnus makes his way to the drink cart by the window. He pours a few inches of whiskey and throws them back with a harsh swallow.

His everything hadn’t been enough.

Fury lights him up from the inside out and he feels like a supernova that’s imploding on itself. The crystal glass shatters against the wall, leaves an ugly brown stain dripping down it’s perfectly mundane visage.

He doesn’t spare a thought for his neighbors. They can go fuck themselves.

His head hurts but it’s nothing compared to his heart.

Alec broke his heart. He crushed it under his goddamn heel and as he rubs a hand over his chest, he wonders if it’ll ever start beating again.

It’s been nine months tomorrow since he walked out, since Alec left him.

It’s for the best, he thinks but he doesn’t even believe it.

Falling into bed, he hopes tomorrow is better.

He doesn’t believe that either.

--

Hailing a taxi, his mind spins with memories and plans and the little speech he’d rehearsed. He’d left all of this things at his apartment. Not even taking the time to change or unpack, he’d immediately darted down to the street to get a cab.

His tour wrapped up two days ago and it’s been hell waiting to get back to the city.

The past few months have been hard-- harder than the first nine months and that’s something he’s loathed to admit.

It’s been a year since he last saw Alec and his resolve is thick as iron.

On the road these past months, he’s realized something and he wants to run himself over for not knowing it sooner.

None of it means a damn if he has no one to share it with. He was so empty before Alec and the man after Alec is a stranger, brittle and cold with his heart locked under the most steadfast of keys.

The only person who can unlock it is in this city, probably working on his legal briefs or depositions or whatever other paperwork it was that got him hot under the collar.

Their last fight rings in his ears and as he watches his favorite city pass in a blur, he tries to get a grip on the wave of regret that squeezes his throat until he feels like he’s choking.

He’d been so busy with his own commitments, with plans for his next tour. He remembers thinking it would be the biggest yet, his best yet.

He’d come home from an impromptu dinner with label executives where they’d had a few too many celebratory glasses of champagne to find Alec in a suit-- Magnus’s favorite with the silk accents.

His bow tie was undone and the first few buttons were too, so that a delicious sliver of skin was revealed.

Magnus had been so focused on the image of one of his favorite Alecs that it had taken him far longer than it should’ve to notice that his boyfriend wasn’t smiling in greeting, that he wasn’t leaning in for their usual kiss.

That he had a bag packed and sitting quietly next to his feet.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he’d murmured and moved close to kiss Alec and lure him to their bed.

“I’m done, Magnus.”

The words had sent an icy shiver up his spine and he’d suddenly felt unmoored.

“What,” he’d asked dumbly and he’d felt two inches tall as his boyfriend leveled his infamous stare on top of him.

It was cold and felt like a dagger to the heart. Magnus had never thought he’d be on the receiving end of such an expression.

“I had my yearly gala tonight. I won lawyer of the year for my work on the Valentine case. I was late to the goddamn event because I was waiting for you and I sat by myself at a table of couples making your excuses.”

As soon as Alec had started talking, Magnus had closed his eyes in awareness. Jesus Christ, he’d thought to himself.

The biggest night of Alec’s year. His biggest honor yet in his career. His biggest achievement to date and the person he'd wanted by his side was Magnus but he'd been too busy listening to executives sing his praises to check his phone, to see the missed calls and texts as they changed from confusion to concern to bitter resignation.

He tries to ignore the knowledge that simmers between them about Magnus's preoccupation lately. All the missed dinners, the canceled dates, the rushing away from the apartment on Alec's days off come crashing down on them, plopping right in the middle of the two of them, a chasm Magnus can't cross and one Alec won't.

Not now it seems and Magnus tries to stave off the devastation that realization brings, that he's too late and that he took Alec for granted in a way he never meant to, in a way he couldn't barely conceive.

“You knew,” Alec says quietly and Magnus will give him credit, it’s not accusatory. It’s just fact. “You knew how important this was to me and you promised you would be there. And you weren’t.”

Magnus remembers stepping forward in a rush, grabbing Alec’s arms and sliding his hands up until they came to rest on either side of his neck.

“Darling, I--”

“No, Magnus.” Alec had cut him off and gazed at him with eyes that Magnus only now saw were brimming with so much hurt that it was a wonder they both didn’t collapse under the impact.

Alec’s voice had been quiet yet firm as he’d continued, “No. You promised. I’ve been with you for four years. I’ve been with you every step of the way since that fucking bar in Queens but when I needed you, you weren’t there. Your work was more important and I respect that--”

Breaking off, Magnus’s heart had broke as he’d seen his boyfriend close his eyes and try to get his breath. “I do. Your career is important to you and you’re loved by millions for it. But none more than me, Magnus. I respect you putting your career first but I can’t be with someone who cares more about their label than they do me.”

Moving closer to Magnus for the first time all night, Alec had cupped a hand over Magnus’s cheek. Swallowing hard, he’d continued, “I love you, Magnus Bane, but I’m not enough for you. And right now-- and for longer than I'd like to admit-- you haven't been enough for me, either.”

The words had been a blow and Magnus had reeled at the truth in them. Hanging heavy in the air, he’d looked up to meet Alec’s eyes and felt his heart being crushed to powder.

“I can’t do this anymore. Maybe later, when you have time for me. Call me when the guy who sang so off key to One Direction because he couldn’t stop staring at me is back. Until then, we’re over.”

Alec’s mouth had ghosted over his in a pathetic parody of a kiss as he’d whispered, “Goodbye, Magnus.”

Alec had been left standing in their apartment, alone, as Alec grabbed his bag and left without a backward glance.

Magnus had left for tour the next day and it’s been the worst 365 days since.

Now he’s back in town, though, and he’d promised himself weeks ago that he would stop wallowing. Alec hadn’t left his side the entirety of the tour and tour itself had been nothing but an inconvenience.

His heart hadn’t been in it. He felt empty, used, and a piece of him wonders if he won’t still be less than enough for Alec.

He has to try, though. He needs to take a chance and hope that Alec’s feelings haven’t changed in the last year, that they haven’t soured from bitter acceptance to anger or God forbid, apathy.

Magnus doesn’t know how he’d go on if that was the case.

The cab pulls up to the curb and Magnus looks down at a text from his second favorite Lightwood to confirm he’s at the right place. He’s granted access to the fourteenth floor and knocks on door 1453.

The wait is only a few seconds but it feels like an eternity passes before the door sweeps open to reveal a sight for sore eyes.

The best damn sight in the world.

When they’re eyes meet, electricity singes between them. Neither one says anything for a moment, Magnus finding his voice gone, all those pretty words vanishing now that the weight of reality has descended upon him.

He’s startled when Alec clears his throat, when he takes a single step back in a move that makes Magnus grieve for lost opportunities.

Instead of slamming the door in his face, however, he opens the door wider and jerks his chin. He’s sporting a faint grin but it’s mocking-- both of them, Magnus thinks-- and it’s overwhelmed by the shadows under his eyes.

Still, his words make his heart seize in hope and he promises himself-- both of them-- that he won’t waste this chance.

“Welcome home, Magnus.”

[melodyalanaroster]

Study Session

Alana crossed the Anteros grounds and made her way to the dormitory. As she entered the building and walked the halls, she couldn’t help but think about the last time she had spoken to Alexy. Her anger had boiled over and she told him and Rosalaya that she was cutting them off. They looked so pitiful when she walked away... Even going so far as to send her a barrage of messages in a futile effort to get her attention. But, she had other things to worry about. They had greatly disrespected her and the one she loved most on multiple occasions, so, she was done. Of course, when she told Armin about it, he wasn’t too happy. He begged her to be more forgiving to his brother, but she reminded him of what had happened and told him she couldn’t handle it anymore. After a while, Armin stopped talking about his twin, and focused on the games they played. She hadn’t spoken to Alexy or Rosalaya since then. She told Priya and Castiel not to bring them up around her, she even avoided Leigh... Despite seeing him depressed as she passed him on the street one day...

So, when Morgan invited her over to his dorm for a study session, she was a little caught off guard....

It only took one knock on the door before Morgan opened it. “Hey Alana.” He smiled. “Hey Morgan. Thanks for inviting me.” She greeted as she stepped into the dorm and set her backpack down. “I’m surprised you took me up on my offer...” Morgan admitted as he and Alana took seats at his desk and pulled out their notebooks. “I know it’s a little unorthodox to not cut you off if I’m cutting Alexy out... But, you’re an innocent party in all of this... So, you don’t deserve punishment...” Morgan looked down. “About Alexy... He’s been really upset. First he lost you, then Rosalaya.” Alana looked confused. “What do you mean “then Rosalaya”?”

Morgan began explaining what he knew had happened between Alexy and Rosalaya. The miscarriage, the fight, the separation, and Alexy’s spiral into depression. Alana looked down. “I didn’t know. I saw Leigh a while ago, he looked completely distraught... I’m sorry that that happened... I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy...” Morgan looked at her. “Listen, I don’t know your full reasoning behind cutting them out, but I do know that they need you...” Alana clenched her fists. “But why? Why should I? I come home and make what I’ve become plain as day and they immediately jump on me. They stopped talking to me before I joined the R.D.R. I needed them to talk to while mom was in the hospital and they weren’t there. They abandoned me! Then, when I did come back, they made it very clear that they disregarded the one thing I asked them to do while I was gone! They tossed Nathaniel aside like he was garbage, despite knowing what he had gone through... They were so adamant about getting me with Hyun, even though they knew I only want to be with Nath... And don’t get me started on how they were trying to pour drinks down my throat... I’ve needed help! I’ve needed them to be my friends, and they couldn’t be bothered to do that. So... Tell me Morgan... Why? Why should I help them now?” Morgan thought for a few minutes as he looked down at his notes. “Because you’re a good person.”

Alana looked at him for a while. She didn’t know what to think. She knew they were both right. “Morgan, you say I’m a good person... A lot of people say that. But, I have friends who have been there for me for most of our lives, despite us all being apart. Viktor and Severina have been my best friends since Pre-K. We’ve been through thick and thin. They know what’s going on in my life and I know what’s going on in theirs. Both of them have made a great point to me... That point being that I’ve been trying to save the world for most of my life and that for once, I need to save myself. I’ve been constantly sacrificing myself for the well being of others. I’ve done it for them, Alexy, Rosalaya, Castiel, Nathaniel, Armin, Lysander, my mom, and for innocent people who I didn’t know until I was getting them to safety... Hell, I’m still doing that for Nath... But here’s the difference... The people I keep around know that my help goes both ways. Viktor, Severina, Armin, Lysander, Priya, Chani and Castiel all listen to me. They give me reasons to care about them... And because of that, I want to be there for them. Nathaniel is the love of my life. He has saved me so many times that its difficult to count them... In big ways and in small. Hell, even my high school bully, Amber, has become someone I care about because of how she treats me. All Alexy and Rosalaya have done since I got back is take. They never once lent me their ears. They didn’t give me a chance to talk to them and try to catch up. No... Instead, it was “Let’s party! Let’s get Alexy a boyfriend! Then let’s get you into a relationship! Go Team Hyun! Forget Nathaniel, he’s trash! Get yourself someone better! I’m Pregnant!”... I can’t do it anymore... I’m supposed to be finding a sense of “normalcy”... But, instead, I’m watching over Lyra’s and Nora’s training, I’m helping my boyfriend and his sister with their problems, I’m getting hit with an avalanche of questions from my mom’s fans, I have a fearsome reputation to uphold around the Black Tower, the Prime Minister wants me to go to Parliament and give my input as to how this country should be run, I have several big events to organize, as well as my “peace time job” to focus on. My time here is supposed to be the beginning of an ultimate act of self care... And I’m still getting ripped to shreds. Something had to give, so I cut them.” Morgan looked at her, shocked. “Alana... I’m so sorry. I had no idea...” “ That’s why I’m explaining it to you. I know you weren’t around for all the big stuff. I know you don’t know what I’m dealing with. Hell, very few people outside the Tower do. You think I don’t want to be there for them? I do. They were two of my best friends. It hurt to cut them off like that... Regardless of how easy it looked to the rest of the world... It hurt like a bitch to do it.”

Alana grabbed her water bottle out of her backpack, opened it and took a swig. “For fuck’s sake, I’m twenty three years old. I’m supposed to be going out with friends and having fun. That’s one reason why my apartment is so big and cool because it was built for me to entertain. But, no, instead, I’m doing my damnedest to stay away from the Black Tower and am spending most of my time either preparing for life after graduation, doing anything that classifies as a “Fuck You” to Azrael, or sitting around alone...” Morgan looked puzzled. “But what about that party in Yeleen’s dorm?” Alana put her water bottle back in her backpack. “I had barely just gotten back and it was one of Rosalaya’s wild schemes. It sounded like a great change of pace for me. The party itself was rather fun... I just had much more of a one track mind then than I do now...” Morgan raised an eyebrow. “From what I can tell, you’ve never had a one track mind. Even when we first met, I could tell that you try to be everywhere at once. You tried to help everyone around you be happy. That’s one reason why I like you. You do your best to be kind. Which is why it shocked me to see you cut Alexy and Rosalaya off like that.” Alana looked down and sighed. “After everything I’ve gone through... Everything I’m going through... Something had to give. I mean, for heaven’s sake, Alexy’s become a “Fair Weather Friend”. He’s either focused on himself, or focused on you. He only came to me whenever he needed or wanted something. No “fun shopping trips”, no “casual times at the cafe”, no walks in the park just chatting about random things... The last time he and I talked, he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise!” Morgan looked annoyed for a second. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Nathaniel lately. Do you spend much time with your other friends? Other than the ones you have inside the Tower? Because, if you don’t, that makes you one hell of a hypocrite.” Alana raised an eyebrow. “I play Overwatch with Armin at least once a week. The reason why I’m not spending much time with Castiel right now is because he keeps hitting on me. I’ve been TRYING to hang out with Priya more, but she’s had a lot of group projects lately. I hang out with Chani outside of class at least once a week... Hell, just recently, we marathoned Good Omens. I try to write to Lysander at least once a week, if not once a month... I even try to see Amber at least once a week, but as she’s an upcoming model, her schedules are more erratic than mine. As for Viktor and Severina? We text and video chat all the time. They’re the CEO and CFO of a multinational, multi-billion gold, tech company, so I can’t see them in person all the time, but we have plans to hang out when Detective Pikachu comes out and we’re talking about going on a trip after I graduate. Oh, and about my friends inside the Tower, I make damn sure to spend time with them that isn’t training. Is that enough proof for you?”

Morgan looked down at his notes and sighed. Alana closed her notebook and put it in her bag. “So, for Alexy and Rosalaya to get back in your good graces, they need to make an effort to have you in their lives? Despite the fact that they’re both severely depressed and don’t have many people to turn to? If they abandoned you when you needed them, wouldn’t you be more inclined to help them now?” Alana’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “You know what Nathaniel and Castiel do when they can’t reach me? They go to the Black Tower and make damn sure I know they’re there. And if I’m not there, they fucking find me. You know what Alexy and Rosalaya have done to try to get my attention? They’ve attempted to text me. I’ve passed Alexy several times on campus, and he has NEVER tried to walk up to me! NEVER! If they really needed and wanted me back in their lives, they would storm the place like everyone else does!” Alana stood up. “Even when I was at my lowest, I still tried to reach out. I called people, I video chatted, I wrote letters, I did SOMETHING. Now, if they make it to where I can’t ignore them, then I will be forced to face them. But, I’m tired of being the only one to truly make any moves.”

Alana grabbed her bag and began walking towards the door. “Alana, wait.” Morgan called. Alana shook her head. “I think I’m done studying for the day. It’s a blow off class for me as it is. Again, thanks for inviting me over. Have a good day.” She sighed as she left the dorm.

As she left the dorm rooms, her mind ran over what had just happened. The significant other of one of her ex best friends invited her over to their dorm to study for a class that everyone knew she didn’t need to study for. He then told her that Rosalaya had had a miscarriage, which is why she was trying to talk to her and why Leigh were so depressed and the Clothes Shop had been closed. Alexy innocently brought up adoption to Rosalaya, which caused her to lash out, which resulted in an argument so bad that they cut each other off. “I’m sure he was trying to be helpful, but from what Morgan said, Alexy did it the day she lost the baby. Which was a really stupid move.” She muttered as she entered the Quad. She then thought about what Morgan had just tried to do. He had tried to convince her to talk to Alexy, despite knowing that she had cut him off. She knew that he was probably thinking about how much of a selfish wretch she was at that very moment, and she was wondering if he’d be right. Alana reached into her pocket, pulled out her earbuds, put them in her ears, flipped through the music on her phone, picked a good song and began walking off campus.

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Honestly, this was overdue. I’ve needed to address the fact that Alana doesn’t talk to or see Alexy and Rosalaya for a while. I know this one is mostly dialogue, but it was necessary for Alana’s Canon. Yes, this presents an entryway for Alexy to get back into Alana’s life. There will be a sequel to this. I just have to write it.

[scurvgirl]

A Path Forward

Previous | Masterlist | AO3

More Seeker of Rebellion AU! I feel like I worked on this forever. Well over a month at least. Work is kicking my butt, y’all. 

Sylmae, Nimronyn, Daern’thal, Melarue, Merith, and Henne’thel belong to @justanartsysideblog

Warnings for: Alcohol

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“They’re arguing again,” Verethrin sighs, plopping next to Ash. She looks up from her food to see the young, aspiring Keeper looking not so young anymore. Heavy bags hang under his eyes and his scales have taken on a purple-ish hue as he continues to recover from the battle.

“What about this time?” Ash asks, sipping on more of her soup. Memae, Mamae, Merith, Melarue, and Henne’thel have been in talks for the last week - discussing the future and what they need to do. At least they have agreed they’re formally allied now, but that of course brought up more issues that Ash is not supposed to be privy to. Except Verethrin had been included in the talks as all of the Keepers have taken a shining to him. He needs to learn how to be a Keeper, after all.

“Location for the city,” he replies, snatching a piece of her bread. The third day of talks had ended in the agreement that they needed to settle a city. Problem is, none of them know where a city should be settled. So far, Ash’s input has not been requested. It takes all of her self control to not walk into that aravel and proclaim her knowledge. She needs to practice self-restraint and...trust in her mothers.

“That is a big question to answer, they should be talking about it,” she says.

“It’s ridiculous, they should be asking you,” he grouses. After that first bout of arguments, he had found her on the outskirts of the camp, lying in the grass, staring up at the stars, wondering about how different they were from her time. They didn’t speak for a while, but then she sighed and told him in an uncharacteristically soft tone her story. She told him about her time and her mother and nanae. She told him why she had rushed into the camp to save everyone and why she understood his pain so well. He told her stories of his family. By the end, they were both in tears.

“To be fair, I don’t really know anything about city planning.”

“But you’ve seen cities! None of us have - none of them have,” he argues, but she shrugs.

“I need to earn their trust back, it doesn’t just happen overnight.” As much as she wants to walk into that aravel and proclaim she knows what to do, how to help, she can’t. She wasn’t invited into the talks and so she’ll remain outside, watching and being with the clans.

Verethrin gives her a long look that makes her want to laugh. His frustration mirrors her own, but he seems to be handling it like how she wants to handle it. Which does nothing to stem her own desires to storm into the aravel and demand to be heard. His reactions make her wonder if this disposition is the result of being so young to lose so much, to see so much tragedy.

“If they want my opinion, they will come for it. At some point, you stop sticking your hand into a hot pot,” she says.

“We can’t stay here much longer,” he whispers, “our food stores are low, and the surrounding land isn’t going to offer enough for all of us. We need a solution, sooner rather than later.”

Ash sighs. She knows and dual desires build within her. She knows what’s best is that they find a place to settle and soon, so they can start planting foods. But she also knows that if she storms into the aravel and proclaims this and says that they need to settle where she thinks is best, no one will listen.

But perhaps….

“I can’t go in and say anything and be heard,” Ash says in a measured tone, “but...you could.”

“What?”

“You are privy to the talks and while I suppose you’re there to learn, you can propose ideas. Memae and Mamae are still cross with me, but they’ll hear an idea from you.”

“But I don’t have any ideas!” He argues. Ash grins mischievously and shrugs.

“I do.”

His brow furrows until realization strikes him, “You...that’s brilliant, Ash.”

“Alright, here’s what you need to say….”

She details to him what she knows about cities. She was telling the truth when she said is no expert in city planning, but Verethrin was right too - she knows more than they do in this moment.

They spend two hours going over everything Ash knows about cities. From Verethrin’s questions, she knows more than she initially thought. She can even draw structures from memory - the water mill from the village she lived in when her magic surfaced, Skyhold’s walls and battlements, and even the ubiquitous windmill. She doesn’t give the drawings to Verethrin right away, they would definitely know the suggestion came from her if he presented the drawings. But the pictures help illustrate the necessity of flowing water, a defensible position, and enough land to grow enough food to store.

Ash doesn’t care where they find these things, but the location needs everything for it to work long term.

The next day, Ash is helping reset wards when familiar footsteps sound behind her. Her ear twitches and finishes with the current ward before turning to her memae, cocking her head slightly.

“I thought you were in talks all day,” she says, daring to broach the subject.

“I thought the same thing, but then young Verethrin came forward today with some much needed insight. He was a deciding vote to find a river in a valley rather than settling in the mountains. We were all very impressed with this insight,” she says and Ash tries to keep her face as flat as possible.

“Oh, that’s good.” She bites her tongue to stop herself from asking anything else lest she give herself away.

“Da’len, I know you gave him the ideas,” Memae says, voice stern and Ash curses.

“Memae, I can explain -

“Good job.”

Surely Ash misheard? “Did...wait, you’re not mad?”

Memae shakes her head, a proud smile spreading across her face, “A few months ago, you would have stormed into that aravel, demanding to be heard. But today you were clever and expressed your ideas in a way that would increase their likelihood to be heard. You did well.”

Ash stops and considers her mother for a moment. She’s grown taller than Nimronyn when she is in elven form, slight but her power still radiates off her. Still, there are moments when it’s almost as if Ash feels larger and displaced. Strangely, this is not one of those moments. It’s been a long time since her mother looked at her like this, with pride. Ash hadn’t realized she missed the expression so much until now.

She blinks then smiles, “I want to help. Verethrin did bring up a good point, though. Why wasn’t I included in these meetings? Regardless of what’s happened, I do know the most about cities.”

Nimronyn sighs and shakes her head, “It was not my or Sylmae’s decision. We wanted you there for that very reason, but….the others disagreed. We didn’t think it was wise to tell them your story.”

“And by others, you mean Melarue and Merith. Or really mostly Melarue, that...would be like them.” She hates that she has this adversarial relationship with Melarue. It’s ridiculous in her mind, and it hurts in her heart. She thinks it could be remedied if she told them the truth, but it would hurt them, and after all this time....she doesn’t want them to hurt, even if their not knowing hurts her in turn. But then again, they are different here. Who knows if this Melarue could ever love Mama like her nanae did? They certainly don’t seem able to hold any affection for Ash, they barely respect her...if that. She’s avoided them since that night, opting to eat away from the clan if they make an appearance, which is most of the time.

“It seems, whatever time I am in, people want me to be smaller. It’d be easier for them if I wasn’t this tall, this broad. It would be easier for you all if I didn’t feel so big, if my emotions were smaller and more easily contained. But I am not smaller, and I’m tired of apologizing for being who I am,” she says, feeling bitter and wronged, and tired. She was an outsider as a child, a vashoth surrounded by good little human children. A mage surrounded by good little Andrastians who were scared of her. A Saarebas to the Tal-Vashoth they came across, and then the Inquisitor’s child who couldn’t have anything in common with the other children in Skyhold, of course. And then here, she was burdened with knowledge and a history, a name and languages they did not know. Everywhere she has gone, she hasn’t fit, and they have done their damnedest to shrink her into this better mold. A less Vashoth mold, less magical, shorter, slighter, less opinionated and less passionate.

“Da’len!” Memae cries, clearly distraught as she rushes to Ash and takes her face in her small hands. “You are perfect the size. You have made mistakes but those do not define you. I love your passion, and so what if you’re tall? Your mother is taller and bigger and no one wants her to be smaller. It would be easier if you didn’t rush off into danger...but I am coming to realize that is who you are. Let us help you, da’len, so when you do...you come back.” As she speaks, she gently tugs Ash down until their foreheads rest against each other.

“You are my daughter, no matter what. I love you so much and I want you to be safe and happy. It pains me to see you struggle like this.”

Ash’s heart twinges, “Does it hurt you to see others so furious with me?” She can’t help whisper the question. She has felt so alone as of late. Verethrin’s clan is nothing but grateful to her for her intervention, but Merith’s clan and her own have been eyeing her. Her own looks at her as if she is fragile and might break since they know. But Merith’s...so many see her as this reckless, dangerous person with little regard for others. She may be reckless, she may run into danger like her mother says, but careless for life? None of them understand just how much she values life after seeing so much death.

Memae grows stiff, “I will not suffer anyone who disrespects you, da’len. That said, I was serious when I said you are not to have as much influence in the clan as you did. You need to learn that your actions have consequences.”

“I know, I just…” she tries for the words but they’re not there. Memae knows how she feels, the Ash has never been good at disguising her emotions. Instead she sighs and looks her mother in the eye with a knowing look, “Rivers are better than lakes.”

Memae smiles then takes Ash’s hand, “I will remember that. Now, I smell dinner and it has been too long since you have eaten with your people, da’len.”

**

In two days, the little council consisting of Memae, Mamae, Merith, Henne’thel, Melarue, and Verethrin settle on the location to build. There is a mountain range several hundred miles from here that is so remote that the clans rarely travel there. Reportedly, the journey can be quite fraught with dangers, but by all means the destination sounds heavenly. In the center of the mountain range is a valley where two rivers converge before flowing father down the mountainside into the ocean.

Memae reports that this valley is replete with glittering wildflowers and gentle-natured spirits. It’s far and the journey may be hard, but it is worth it. Ash agrees with the decision and some of the stress eases. She did what she could and managed to not upset things further. Even if Melarue and the others still give her sidelong glances - she helped, there’s forward motion.

There is time. She has to remind herself, and there is. There is time to learn and grow strong to weather the storm approaching.

Before they take to the skies, she and several others are tasked with warding the aravels together to sync with Nimronyn and Merith who will be flying them all there. Henne’thel will remain in her elven form, tending to the needs of the people for the weeks long journey.

Ash cuts her hand and murmurs her spells as she draws the wards in her blood. The others are doing the same. It normally wouldn’t require blood, but with the worry over the safety of the trip, everyone is taking extra precautions.

It’s been a mad dash to pack everything up and to make sure they have as many rations as possible to last them. Ash knows she can go for a long time without food, but she doubts many of the people here have had to endure such a terrible thing. For which she is glad. If it comes to it, she will ensure the people are fed, even if it means she is not.

Launch day arrives. Ash helps coordinate the aravels into the proper flight formation. It’s actually pretty interesting how everything locks in together with the warding and flight runes. It seems that there are still days that amaze her when it comes to the use of magic. The aravels form what she views as a magical levitation puzzle. Each hones into the magic of the keeper and then somehow, lift off. It’s probably, no, she knows it’s more complicated than that, but it’s how she understands it.

They are taking on a different flight formation. Instead of having the keeper at the front with trailing aravels, Merith and Nimronyn are sandwiching the mass of aravels with Memae on top and Merith on the bottom. The magical flight pattern holding everything together is stronger this way, and it allows for a more spherical shaped barrier to form with the keepers acting at the poles for the magic.

Taking off with this pattern is more difficult, however. Memae takes off first, her great wings slowly and steadily propelling her higher into the air. Ash and everyone else who is not in a draconic form are inside their respective aravels, monitoring the exchange of magic. The air swells with power that Ash recognizes as Memae’s. With an incredible show of power, Memae singularly lifts all of the aravels in the air after her. Bit by bit, all of the aravels rise up to her. Mamae makes a low sound of concern as they climb, but Memae is strong and steadfast. The aravels remain airborne as enough space between them and the ground forms for Merith to at last take flight.

The air shifts as Merith eases into the air and shoulders half of the magical weight of the aravels. Ash strides to the front of the aravel when she feels the shift. The ward on the wheel glows faintly, beckoning her. She places her hand over the ward and adds her energy to the magical array. Blue fire crackles outside and arches upward, coasting over the barrier that is being boosted by every single aravel. Her fire mixes with the myriad of magic, creating a radiant rainbow display of a barrier. The magicks fuse together, strengthening even as they help buoy the hurdling caravan.

Now set, Memae and Merith begin their forward motion. To better places, Ash thinks, to a home.

**

“We haven’t had much time to talk since I’ve arrived,” Henne’thel says as Ash renews one of the wards on her aravel. She is leaning back in a chair, her Keeper’s armor still donned just in case of a crisis, a steaming cup of tea in hand. Ash arches a curious brow at her.

“I suppose not. A lot’s happened,” Ash says, hiding her nervousness. She has avoided Melarue and most of Merith’s clan if possible over the past four days, keeping to her duties to renew the wards and to relay information to Memae when it’s her turn. She’s been rather keen to avoid more criticism, she’s still feeling more fragile that she is comfortable with and she would rather not have a break down while they’re thousands of miles in the air, hurdling through the Dreaming to a place she’s never seen.

“Yes it has. I wasn’t surprised when your clan called mine to discuss this route. It’s been clear to me for awhile. But the elder Keepers are a stubborn lot,” Henne’thel says, tilting her head slightly. “You did the right thing. It scares them, you know, to see someone so young do something so…

“Reckless?”

“Brave. Sure, it could have been planned better - but they could have spoken to you about it too. They could have worked with you instead of trying to prevent you from doing what you saw as necessary. And it was necessary. You kicked ass, you charged into that camp and showed the Empire they can’t get away with it anymore.”

This is certainly not what Ash expected and it makes her smile, “Thank you. Though, Melarue has a point, I made us more of a target with my actions -

“We were already targets,” Henne’thel says gravely.

Ash nods, “Thank you! I feel like sometimes I’m the only one who is taking this threat seriously, well, me and Verethrin and his clan. Part of me doesn’t regret at all what happened, it forced everyone to open their eyes to what the empire is.”

“Your mothers may disagree with me, but I agree with that part of you. Almost dying, almost getting people killed, is just that - almost. Be more careful in the future because our enemies will be more careful, but I can’t regret a mission that saw the liberation and salvation of so many.” Henne’thel rises and steps over to a crate. She pulls out a large decanter, the steaming cup of tea forgotten as she produces two other cups.

“Want some?”

Ash quirks a brow, “Is that…?”

“Alcohol, a brew made by a more southern roaming clan my parents liked to trade with.” She uncorks the bottle and pours a cup, offering it to Ash.

She takes the cup and samples the brew. “Mm, nice.” She slams the rest back, the alcohol burning nicely down her throat. Oh, she missed this. She wasn’t ever a big drinker, but she enjoys it. And after everything…she can use something to help her loosen up and forget at least for a little bit.

**

She drinks a lot.

It didn’t start out with the intention to get drunk. Ash figured it would just be nice to drink with a friend after everything that has happened. Some levity seemed to be in order.

A little levity turned into a lot when Henne’thel started playing her bipa and Ash dancing on the topside of Henne’thel’s aravel. A few others joined them and a few other instruments were added into the mix. Ash twirls around and lets the music flow through her just as the alcohol flows through her body.

“Ash?” A familiar voice says and she turns out to see Verethrin, eyes wide as he watches her swaying body.

“Vere! Come dance with me!” She snags his wrist and ushers him closer to the center of the aravel. She turns him around and steps along with the music. She laughs and twirls and feels lighter than she has in...months. Years maybe.

Verethrin has two left feet that Ash decides some loosening up. She grabs a bottle, note a different bottle from the one Henne’thel start her on, and pours him a full goblet, dark droplets of wine spilling over as pours.

“Loosen up!” She shoves the goblet in his hands then twirls away with the music. She claps her hands and loses herself just a bit in the music some more. The music soars and Verethrin seems to finally finish his drink because he’s with her, twirling and dancing with her.

She only stops when a familiar figure float down to the aravel, twin braids flopping next to his face while Reverie sits upon his shoulder. Daern’thal’s gaze finds her and she feels her heart drop from lightheartedness to concern. They haven’t spoken much, if at all since that night.

Ash swallows and walks to him, knowing she’s drunk, knowing she’s not elegant or eloquent or whatever it is she should be. It doesn’t matter.

Her eyes turn sad and apologetic, and the air around her reflects that as she speaks, “I’m so sorry for putting you and everyone in danger. I never wanted, I never want that. I love you and our people, and I want to help so much.”

He pauses and then sighs before Reverie speaks, “You disobeyed the Keeper.”

She shrugs, and she knows it’s a bigger deal, but, “My name literally means one who seeks rebellion, I’m doing the best I can.”

A prolonged pause stretches before them, even the music stops as everyone watches what Daern’thal decides to do. Surprising everyone, he walks past Ash and her heart falls. He really won’t forgive her? He has to know she’d never purposefully hurt him, ever. She turns to watch him as he grabs her current bottle. He meets her eyes as he takes a long swig then sets it down.

“I know, and that’s why I forgive you,” he finally says softly, then he turns and smiles, “Is this a party or what?” The others laugh and start playing again but Ash doesn’t resume dancing. Instead, she smiles sweetly and pulls Daern’thal into a tight hug. A puff of air leaves him as she holds him fast.

“Thank you,” she says in Qunlat. His arms come around her and Reverie leaps up onto her horn to dangle by her ear.

“We’ve missed you,” they whisper, still in qunlat.

“Me too, friend.”

**

Ash wakes with a dull thudding in her head, making her groan and turn into her bed more thoroughly. The world is hurting her, she must escape it.

“Ah, she finally rouses,” Sylmae screams. Alright, she’s probably not screaming, but it’s screaming to Ash’s ears.

Ash groans loudly and shrinks as best she can into the bed more. Her mamae bangs loudly about the aravel and it’s only because she know that her own voice will hurt her sensitive ears that she doesn’t tell her mamae to kindly stop.

She knows she stayed up entirely too late, drank too much, and was very irresponsible all things considered but really. She is young by everyone’s standards here and it has been so very long since she just let herself be.

She had danced through the night - with Verethrin, with Daern’thal, and even some of Merith’s clan had wandered over! She danced with some of them as well - singing terribly and dancing so much her feet now throb.

It was levity she needed, really they all needed it. The world isn’t actively ending, which is a thought that has been hard to internalize. At least, until last night. The stage is still being set, but that’s just it - it isn’t set yet, and she can’t, she shouldn’t, spend every moment of her life living in fear of when the sky is going to fall.

As Mamae clangs about in the aravel, however, Ash feels like at least the ceiling is falling.

She issues a short groan and snatches a pillow to hold over her head. The bed dips as Mamae sits next to her. She reaches over and sticks a steaming cup of tea close to Ash’s face, or as close it can get with the pillow in the way.

“We will need you today, da’len. Drink this and feel better.” Mamae is using her nice tone of voice, the one way to cajole Ash into doing something she doesn’t want to do. But it also means that she will persist until Ash does whatever Mamae wants done. She sighs as she realizes she won’t be getting back to sleep any time soon. Slowly, Ash turns, removing the pillow as she tentatively sits up. She doesn’t spare her mamae from a glare, though, as she takes the tea and sips it.

“Ugh!” It’s foul! Absolutely disgusting, so bad it makes her flinch and grimace.

“Take a few more sips, it’ll cure the hangover.”

“I’ll take the hangover, this is gross.”

“Da’len, we need you aware and able,” Mamae says with more force. Scowling, Ash sips at the tea. It gets worse and worse, but she drinks it until it’s three quarters empty. She passes the mug back to Mamae, still grimacing.

“I can’t have any more.”

“That should be enough,” she says, taking the mug from Ash before turning back to her, her demeanor suddenly very serious. “You will need your strength for the next several days, we are going to be in a dangerous part of the Dreaming.”

Ash frowns, “If it’s so dangerous, why don’t we travel around this part?”

Sylmae shakes her head, expression grave, “The area is so large that it would take entirely too long to go around. No, we must pass through it.” With that, Mamae pats Ash’s knee. “Now, get up, put your armor on and grab your spear. Join me on the deck.” She leaves Ash to herself then climbs out of the aravel and onto the top deck.

It’s strange that Mamae is so worried about this stretch of Dreaming. Yes, it’s the job of parents to worry, but this feels like it goes beyond that. Taking care to be prepared, Ash braids her hair back and secures it behind her horns in twin braided buns before stepping into her armor. Glittering green scales shed from her memae cover the front of her armor, marking her as Nimronyn’s daughter. She paints vitaar in a rectangle across her eyes and brow ridge, murmuring a spell as she cuts her finger on the tool to enhance her eyesight.

By the time she joins Mamae on the deck, her hangover has disappeared and she is alert, ready to face whatever it is that has Mamae so spooked.

Journeys are usually filled with ambient, pleasant noises - music, the clambering of clanmates, even singing and the clanging of pots as rations are cooked. The flight so far has been no different, but as she takes her place next to Mamae, she notices the disturbing lack of noise. Not to mention the ominous grayness of the sky. She’s never seen the Dreaming like this, the closest she’s seen this was back home in her dreams when a stray demon would invade her dreams. Even though, there was not the same level of heavy sense of foreboding plaguing her. Ash was a lucky mage when it came to demons, they tended to stay away from her. Looking back, she thinks that perhaps Nanae had something to do with that.

Nanae isn’t here, though. And while she has heard of demons in this land, she has yet to see one. Staring ahead as the sky darkens, Ash feels like she is about to see one after all.

Memae and Merith angle themselves, perfectly in sync so that all of the aravels turn with them and they catch a current of the Dreaming. Their speed increases, making Ash grateful she pulled her hair back.

A chilling wind breezes past the aravels, through the barrier. It slithers down Ash’s spine and prickles at her mind. Her fire sparks naturally at her fingertips, making her tighten her grasp on her spear.

The Keepers catch the current and soar higher before turning and following it down, down...down, until they are heading straight for a writhing mass of black energy. Ash’s throat grows dry and her heart begins to hammer as she feels it reach out to them. It is a tentative pull at emotions, dark feelings that she has worked so hard to control.

“Mamae...what is it?”

“What should have been a Keeper, but corrupted instead,” Sylmae whispers, “Desolation.”

[zirawrites]

companions react to a reader who is always there for them and comforts them whenever they're feeling vulnerable/hurt/sad.

To quote Taylor Swift… “Honey I rose up from the grave, I do it all the time.” Ya fave fic writer Zira is back with another reaction! I finished my last summer classes, I’m home from England and ready to start being active again. I apologize if I’m rusty, I haven’t done a proper reaction in nearly six months. But I’m tryn’ for y’all!!!!

What really got me back in to reactions is reading some awesome fanfics recently. So as always, my inbox is open and I’ll be working away on my AO3 account for my first full-length fic!

TRIGGER WARNING: This post briefly mentions suicide in Preston’s reaction.

Cait: Before Cait met Sole, she only saw herself as someone who deserved the shite hand she was dealt. Almost immediately after they left the combat zone, it became apparent that Sole didn’t just see Cait as a companion: they really cared about her. Whenever Cait threw a bottle against the bar to pick a fight, Sole was there to defuse the situation. After Cait got them thrown out of Diamond City for calling Myrna “a right ol’ synth fucker,” Sole didn’t get frustrated (probably they were just relieved neither were arrested). Even in her darkest hours of getting sober, Sole was there to stroke her hair and keep her hydrated while she shook in bed.

It took time, but eventually Cait got used to Sole’s gentle touch and soft words. In fact, sometimes Cait acted out just to feel Sole brush the coarse hair from her sweating forehead to place a chaste kiss on it. Cait learned to bite her tongue over minor things like a drifter from Goodneighbor rudely asking for a shag, which pleased Sole. It made the moments Sole embraced her bruised and bloody body after a fight that much sweeter.

Codsworth: Being a Mr. Handy didn’t exempt Codsworth from the woes of life. In fact, the poor robot was probably the most likely companion to be frazzled in Sole’s company. Every time Sole ran too fast or used their fist over a silver tongue in tough situations, Codsworth blew a fuse. Well, not really. He was General Atomic’s finest, thank you very much. The reason Codsworth let Sole get away with so much mayhem was because he knew they always soothed his aching metallic heart after the fighting was over.

When Codsworth was stressed over being dragged along on a dangerous quest, Sole would stop in the shadows of the city and place their hand on his metal side. They let him rant about how foolish they were being. Weren’t they afraid of raiders? Radscorpions? Rogue synths? He would ramble on, his shaky words eventually trailing off as Sole’s thumb ran over the rust stains on his paint. They would tell Codsworth that they always came back unscathed, didn’t they? Codsworth would sigh and say that was debatable, but he trusted their judgement. How could he stay cross with his master/mistress?

Curie: Since becoming a synth, Curie would get overwhelmed with the new emotions she felt. The others in Sanctuary would poke fun at her for constantly overreacting, but Sole knew she just needed a little more tender love and care. When Curie was mad, she was beyond consolable. She would stomp around Sanctuary with balled fists and snap at the slightest transgression (a moment of silence for Sturges asking Curie to help paint the workbench). If Curie was wrapped up in a romance novel Sole had snatched her from a mission, she would curl up under the blankets and sob in to a box of pre-war tissues. For someone with such grace and poise, Curie was a wicked hurricane of emotion.

Sole could always get her to calm down with a voice of reason. They would remind Curie that the characters in her novels weren’t real. That you can’t solve every injustice in the world. And sometimes an innocent Sturges really did need help painting. Curie would take some deep breaths, and occasionally asked Sole to hold her hand. After thinking the situation over, Curie was back to her normal (albeit odd) self, and Sole would prepare for her next confusing emotion to surface.

Danse: Unfortunately for Danse, he really thought he could hide away his emotions. He had a terrible habit of scrunching his unkempt eyebrows when frustrated. If Danse was hurt by someone’s words, he ducked his head down for a few moments to fight back tears. For someone who guarded their heart so closely, Danse was in some ways an open book.

Whenever Danse needed to be vulnerable around Sole, he would try his damnedest to use words. Instead of shrugging his pain off, Danse would grit his teeth and talk about a depressing failed mission or recent nightmare. His favorite response from Sole was when they leaned in to listen closer and he could feel their breath on his neck. He wasn’t the cuddliest in the Commonwealth, but just seeing Sole being attentive to his needs put him in lighter spirits.

Deacon: Everybody’s favorite Egg Man was the hardest companion to crack. Deacon went out of his way to make sure Sole didn’t notice his sour mood. There were times a situation exasperated him, and he’d slip up to make a soft sigh. But those moments were rare. Usually if Deacon felt upset, his first instinct was to crack a joke. He needed other people to laugh as if his life depended on it. Maybe then they wouldn’t see his lips quiver. His posture stiffen. The grey cloud forming over his head.

However, that didn’t mean he didn’t always let Sole in. When his partner pried enough, Deacon would sit them down to vent. Sole would keep a respectable distance, but occasionally placed a reaffirming hand on his shoulder. Minor physical contact, but all of their attention on his story. Just knowing that Sole gave a shit was enough for him to collect his thoughts, boop his partners nose, and tell them it was time to get back to work. He was truly an enigma.

Dogmeat: The lucky German Shepherd had the most attentive master in the world. Sole knew what every individual bark or whimper out of Dogmeat’s mouth meant. When he couldn’t find an irradiated animal to chase on their walk? Sole would start sprinting to Red Rocket truck station for him to go after them. A crack of lightning during a rad storm? Sole was already on the ground supplying an ample amount of bully rubs. There was never a moment the dog felt unloved. After all, Sole was constantly reminding him that he was a good boy.

Gage: The first few times Sole tried to calm Gage down they were met with a prompt, “Aw, fuck off, boss!” Gage really only had one emotion, and it was anger. He took the longest to warm up to Sole, especially because whenever he did show his softer side it made him feel… vulnerable. Gage couldn’t punch his way through a heavy heart.

Whenever he did tell Sole about his childhood, he would stop every few minutes to make sure they were listening. Despite Sole’s initial assumption, Gage did like the occasional physical touch. When Gage was in a mood, Sole would run their hand down his arm or give his hip a light bump. He would blush, and Sole tried their best not to smile like an absolute idiot at their triumph. Gage always scoffed at his Overboss going soft on him, but it did keep him out of a few unnecessary bar fights.

Hancock: Mayor John “Puppy Dog Eyes” Hancock. Hancock never wanted to bring down the mood, but he felt completely comfortable sharing his feelings with Sole. His favorite tactic Sole used was when they ran their finger tips up and down his arm while he wore his coat. Hancock never relished in Sole having to touch his scarred flesh, but the feeling of Sole’s fingernails over the fabric of his favorite outfit was strangely calming. 

Hancock always had a flair for the dramatic, and Sole used this to their advantage to calm him down. Whatever exaggerated story he had to complain about, Sole always offered a crazy solution. Were raiders trying to extort money from the Goodneighbor drifters? The two of them should sic the entire Minutemen army on them. When Hancock was insecure about his ghoulish appearance, why didn’t Curie just whip up an anti-ghoulification serum? Sole’s antics always made Hancock chuckle, and then purr when Sole gave him an affectionate squeeze. They reminded him the two of them had time to sit down and think of a plan, and worrying didn’t exactly help his “King of the Zombies” reputation.

MacCready: Unbeknownst to MacCready, his boss had seen through the tough guy act at The Third Rail immediately. But over the course of their friendship, MacCready learned to let his guard down. He was more emotional than he let on. Every time MacCready broke down in front of Sole, he was reminded that he wasn’t alone. Most of MacCready’s rough nights were losing sleep over Duncan. Sole would lay down next to him and talk about their plans for pre-war Shaun. About how Nate/Nora insisted on homeschooling, but they wanted to send him off to private school. How they hoped he inherited their light freckles and sense of humor. MacCready would start to talk about how Duncan had his eyes, and then the conversation would go off from there. As long as Sole kept MacCready calm and distracted, he was able to relax his rugged shoulders and drift off to sleep. 

Preston: Despite his soft demeanor, Preston is battling an arsenal of demons. When Sole learned about his suicidal past, they made sure that they always approached his low mood swings with care. Sole knew those types of feelings don’t always immediately go away, so they made sure whenever they talked to Preston about his depression in a safe space. It sometimes was the chambers of the Castle, or even at the picnic bench behind Sanctuary. Whenever Sole wanted Preston to feel loved, they took the time to get him alone and really listen to his troubles. Whenever Sole squeezed his hand and told him they were proud, Preston couldn’t hide his swelling chest.

Piper: It was no secret that Piper was high-strung. Not only did she have a business to run, but there was a little sister always nipping at her heels. Sometimes the responsibility got overwhelming, even for Diamond City’s greatest reporter. During the times Piper felt like the world was crashing down, Sole got Nick or Ellie to babysit Nat. They would turn on the radio, grab a bottle of (albeit cheap) wine, and let Piper unload on them. The reporter would pace around her office screaming about a false lead or uncooperative interviewee, then take a gulp of her drink. This would go on until Piper felt a little buzzed, and she was forced to retire to the couch.

That was when Sole would soften the mood. Sole would play with Piper’s hair or hum a pre-war song that made Piper sigh in to her friend’s shoulder. “Damn, Blue,” Piper sometimes whispered. “Life’s always a little lighter with my favorite popsicle around.” Her jests didn’t phase Sole, who returned their friend’s joke with an elbow to the arm.

Nick: Nick only likes to show his ruffled feathers around Sole when they’re alone in the office. He’d lean back in his chair, hang his hat on the nearby rack, and blink up at his partner with concerned yellow eyes. Sole knew that was Nick’s way of saying he needed some reassurance that the world wasn’t going to blow up (again).

During Nick’s vulnerable moments, Sole would try to talk about anything positive. Literally anything. Maybe Dogmeat had sat still for his weekly bath, or Shaun drew them a fridge-worthy picture. Nick’s posture would visibly relax, and he would get lost in some happy news for once. Sometimes he wouldn’t notice Sole was trying to calm him down. When he occasionally did catch on, Nick would never call Sole out. Instead, he’d add an anecdote of his own, like how he caught Ellie humming his favorite song as she cleaned the office.

Strong: Strong was easy to piss off, but just as simple to calm down if you knew the right thing to say. Whenever Strong got upset it was obvious to even the dumbest supermutant. He would try to get a rise out of Sole by calling them weak, or charging out ahead of them during a fight. To settle Strong down, Sole just needed to tell him in layman’s terms he wasn’t completing his mission. They couldn’t find the milk of human kindness if he kept acting out.

Strong never actually sought real emotional advice or showed any signs of being discouraged, but if he did Sole would be ready with open arms.

X6-88: Just because X6 is reserved doesn’t mean he doesn’t share his feelings. In fact, X6 is blunt about everything, including his current state of mind. Whenever X6 comes to Sole and says his morale is low, Sole reminds him of what an asset he is to the Commonwealth. How strong his passion for making the future safer helps Sole’s own optimism. When X6 feels useful, he almost always feels better. There was even an occasion where Sole almost heard X6 thank them for a pep talk.

[a-fools-jester]

Falling Forever

"We're falling forever, we're far from together tonight The light at the tunnel is a runaway train The stars that we wish on are only airplanes The love that we're chasing is a heart break away Cause we're picture perfect in a broken frame" -Alex and Sierra, Broken Frame

The team comes home and Tony struggles to balance raising a teenager and dealing with their betrayal.

Chapter 1: We’re Falling Forever

Tony could not deny the shock that ran through his veins when he opened the door and saw who was standing on the other side. In hindsight, he should have listened to Friday. [“Sir, I really should warn you before you open the door-” Friday had tried, but Tony didn’t care who was on the other side, only how fast he could make them go away so he could go back to the medical ward and make sure that Peter was breathing. He muted her and told himself he’d feel guilty later for doing that to her. She'd come so far in her development that Tony learned the hard way she was capable of having her feelings hurt. And harboring a grudge. Cold showers at 5 am while on the way to a meeting? Not fun.] So needless to say he walked up to the door without any idea for the shock he was in for, his breath leaving for a second as he saw a familiar set of blue eyes. 

“What are you doing here?” Tony demanded- or that was what he'd planned on doing but his voice raised hardly more than a whisper, eyes belying the emotions coursing through every atom of his body. He couldn’t have expected the pulsing ache that went through him as he saw Steve Rogers standing there in front of the door with a duffel bag in hand and a baseball cap on, looking at him with those hesitant baby blues that used to show Tony the way home. Steve looked different, his bright eyes muted, his stance taking up less space than they'd used to before, back when… 

His time on the run must have taught him a few things about being invisible and trying to make yourself smaller to avoid conflict. Tony wondered if Steve suddenly felt like he did- unseen, unheard, invisible to everyone he came across, on the run from something that couldn't be outrun. Did things like this even affect the great American hero? Steve shuffled around a bit before he answered, taking in the sight of Tony as if he’d been away from him for a hundred years and not little more than half a year. “It’s... the day that we move in. The Accords-” The Accords. Of course. Tony had fought tooth and nail to keep the Avengers free and to amend the Accords so that they would be less of a rigid contract with a genie and more of a terms of service that could easily be tiptoed around if they knew what they were doing. It recognized enhanced individuals as humans who deserved rights and it was a way of giving them rights while also ensuring that these individuals were willing to work within the guidelines the government set for the protection of all people. And today was the day that the entire team of Avengers was scheduled to go back to the Avengers tower, staying under Tony’s “guidance and observation until further notice” as per the contract to make sure nobody would go rogue again. To make sure that nobody would break the rules and cause more destruction than necessary, they put Tony as the makeshift leader of the group that until now had been composed of him, the War Machine (Iron Patriot), Vision, and- unofficially- the Spiderling that Tony took under his wing. Until Steve earned the right back, Tony was technically in charge of the entire team. Which, of course, would mean absolute horseshit because it wasn't like any of the Avengers really gave a shit what Tony had to say when Steve Won't-Rest-Until-Justice-Is-Served Rogers was in the same room with his moral compass and his ability to detect evil a mile away. “Right, of course. You’re obviously here, where’s the rest of-” Tony didn’t say the word Avengers, didn’t dare to taste the bitter poison of the word, and he didn’t know whether he should call them your team instead or if that was something Steve Rogers would find hurtful. Tony just wanted to get out as fast as possible, everything else came in second. Steve seemed to understand though because he nodded. “They’re on their way from the van, sorting out baggage and belongings,” he responded and Tony nodded absently, looking around. “Okay, great, so Happy will sort all of you out with your own rooms and whatnot, Vision will be over the moon to be helpful after being restless for last few days, so if that’s all I’ll just-” he pointed behind him to show that he was going to bounce without saying it. “Tony,” Steve said with a sigh. “Please don’t… shut me out, I’m-” “No,” Tony cut in before Steve could go off on a sentimental rant about this. “No, we’re not doing this right now. We can’t do this right now because I have to go back to the medical ward right now- don’t take this personally, Cap, I’m fucking elated you got your head outta your ass but I have a boy upstairs that went sky-diving without a parachute and while tied to a boulder, so I really have to go.” Steve’s eyes were confused before Tony turned around and resolutely did not look back. If he looked back he might forget how to breathe, forget everything he'd forced himself to learn in the past few months, like he isn't coming back and he isn't mine and never really belonged to me like I belonged to him. Peter was just as Tony had left him: unconscious, arms covered in bandages, breathing with an oxygen tube in because he was hardly breathing when Tony found him. The silence of the room was a stark contrast to the rest of the tower and the dull blue and gray colors gave the room a melancholy feeling. Tony sat back down on the seat he’d been occupying the entire time that Peter had been here, watching the boy’s chest rise and fall slowly. If he didn’t watch him breathe, Tony worried that he might stop. If Peter stopped, Tony would too. As he stared at Peter on the hospital bed, Tony’s thoughts began to wander to the part of his mind he tried to keep closed off, full of crushed dreams and overflowing guilt and heaps of trauma from decades' worth of betrayal and mistreatment. The fact that the Avengers would now be living in the same building hit him in the gut, a slow, steady thrum of blinding panic filling his lungs like ice water until he couldn't breathe, suffocating him. 1, 2, 3, 4… 1, 2, 3, 4… Inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale. For god's sake, let's not do this right now, alright? They’d be staying here. He’d see them every day on his way to get coffee and when he was going to his room or going to his car. He’d see them, all of them, and he’d remember the events he’d been trying his damnedest to avoid thinking about. They'd look at him with venom and hatred that he deserved. They'd spit vitriol that would always hit too hard because of who they came from, because in the mouth of anyone else it was okay but from his friends? His family? They would always be sharper than glass on their tongues. And he'd come apart like clay in the hands of a careless child. There wouldn't be enough of him left after that, wouldn't even be enough shattered pieces for him to try and pick himself back up. A dozen, a gross, and a score- he mentally recited, trying to center himself with numbers before he kept going down that route and lost himself completely. He couldn't do that right now. He couldn't be selfish right now. Peter needed him. All of them would be living together again for the first time in what felt like forever. When he’d agreed to this part of the Accords he really hadn’t given it thought, agreeing just for the sake of agreeing because it meant that the Rogues would be free again. People he once considered family would be free again. And he hadn’t quite comprehended what it meant until now. His heart sped up in his chest, images of the way the arc reactor sputtered out in his chest back in Siberia flashing in his mind. Too fast, too fast, too fast, his mind raced, thoughts shooting like fireworks around his brain. He couldn't stop remembering everything he'd been trying so hard to forget. -plus three times the square root of four- He remembered the blood in his mouth, spilling down the back of his throat, lips throbbing from where Steve's bruised knuckles had connected. He remembered that those same porcelain knuckles had once carded through his hair with the utmost gentleness, eyes loving, voice soft as magnolias and tender as dawn. He remembered the way Steve used to pull him against his chest, pressing his lips against a place in Tony's neck that always made him go weak in the knees. -divided by seven- He remembered Steve hovering over him like a reaper with a shield in his hands and a savage look in his eyes that Tony had never quite seen before, his eyes singing a song of death and ruthlessness. It was something feral and untamed, something as controllable as a hurricane and as easy to subdue as a storm. Tony raised his arms up then and he had a choice to make: blast Steve Rogers to hell with the repulsor or let him bring the shield down. If he fired that blast, if he activated the lasers, if he decided to use his suit for one last fatal blow, he would have been the only one leaving that bunker alive. -plus five- He didn't fire the blast. Steve brought the shield down against his arc reactor instead and in the end, it was Tony that was left behind in the unforgiving bunker, unable to breathe, no way of finding his way back home. Alone and cold again, as usual. Steve left as if they weren't… As if what they had wasn't… -times eleven- When Tony got back home, he'd found Rhodey waiting with his arms open just like all those years ago back when it was a desert and not an icy terrain. Searing heat and not frigid cold. Afghanistan and not Siberia. The Ten Rings and not Steve. The one thing that stayed the same is that no matter how ragged and broken he was, Rhodey was there to pick him back up from the ground in spite of his own paralyzed legs. So Tony got to work, distracting himself, working himself to the ground, trying to perfect the EXTREMIS formula. And when he managed to get it to a stable and more reliable formula, he tried it on himself first and then gave it to Rhodey to make up for the legs he'd gotten hurt because of Tony. -is nine squared - "Now you can lose them a thousand times and they'll grow right back," Tony had joked. They were invulnerable, and it reminded Tony so much of a certain super-soldier he had to keep himself from grimacing every time he remembered the man who had laughed with Tony in bed one night and was gone on a search for the past the next. With the strength of the super-soldier serum coursing through his veins, Tony suddenly understood how it felt to not have to cower in front of others. He understood how it might feel to finally have that power and go fuck you to anyone who wanted to shoulder him around. It was a power and a responsibility he had to learn how to properly harness so he didn't burn from the inside out or burn half the universe away. -and not a bit more. "Sir?" Tony heard through the haze in his mind and he blinked, taking in the scene of the hospital room. Belatedly, he realized he was gripping his own thigh and released it, forcing himself to take a few breaths like he'd practiced before. Lucidity came over him like rain against paint, spilling colors and sound back into Tony's brain. The heart monitor beeping, the smell of lemon-scented cleaner, the feeling of the chair under his legs. He was okay. Everything was okay. Peter was still asleep, but Tony wasn't alone in the room anymore. He met Happy's eyes and stood casually, hands in his pockets. "Happy, just the man I wanted to see!" he said with a fake cheer in his voice as he walked over to the other man. "How did our team of rogues react to being housed once more in the same building as the horrible bloodsucker Stark?" Happy rolled his eyes. "They were confused why you weren't there, Rogers debriefed them, and they went on their merry little way. I came here to ask about the kid. And about you." Tony laughed, pointing a finger at Happy. "You, my friend, care a lot more about him than you let him know. You always act like you'd rather be anywhere but with him but we both know you've got a soft side, Hap. We both know he's grown on you. He does that, the little shit. Can make anyone love him, I swear he is not human, he's some seductive… innocent…. thing." "Eloquent as always, sir," Happy replied, not responding to his claims and looking at Peter instead. "How long till he wakes up?" Tony shrugged, taking his own pulse inconspicuously. "No clue. Probably tonight if the universe doesn't completely hate me." Happy walked to the table and made himself some coffee before he took a seat in front of Peter. Tony walked over to the window seat and plopped himself down, taking a sip of the coffee Happy handed him. Neither of them spoke as they sat there, watching Peter and listening to the steady beat of his heart. The hours passed by agonizingly slow, but when Peter finally opened his eyes he almost wept for joy. "Oh sweet mother Maria, Peter, how do you feel?" he asked, finding himself with an armful of shaking spider boy. He couldn't even resist it- he was too relieved to push the kid away and besides, he just bounced back from his first real near-death experience. "You almost gave me a heart attack, you know that? Fighting on a goddamn plane without telling me again - I swear, I'll never let you out of my sight again after this. You're benched until I'm sure you're smart enough not to go on planes to catch assholes using magic which means that they could fly and you can't, got it? You can't just- After Rhodey, I mean, I- For god's sake, Peter, you could have died." Peter nodded into Tony's neck, holding Tony like he was scared that the older man would leave him if he let go. He still felt like he was falling when he closed his eyes. And the way that the piece of broken metal had landed on him reminded him too much of the fallen building, which already gave him nightmares. "I'll be alright. I'm sorry, sir, I'm so sorry. I didn't- ah, I mean, you know- I didn't think that they would-" and he sighed in frustration when the words wouldn't form quite right, stumbling from his tongue rather than flowing easily like he wanted them to. "I didn't think about the possibility that they'd blow the entire thing up. I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. It won't happen again, I promise. Please don't be angry." Tony tried to keep up the act of being angry for a total of five seconds before he crumbled under Peter's soft eyes looking into his own with a mixture of repentance, hurt, fear and hope. Honestly, he wasn't even that mad and the relief far outweighed any anger he felt about Peter's stupid stunt. "Alright, I'll assume that the whole this-" Tony gestured to Peter's bandages and tubes, "-is enough to teach you a lesson. But if you do this again, I'm going to be pissed beyond belief." Peter melted back against the bed and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Stark. You're the best." "Thanks, I've been told very many times and they're all very right," Tony responded, loving the laugh he got from Peter, loving the way that Peter looked at him as if he was the best thing in the world. Maybe, just maybe, things might be okay. "Oh, and heads up, the Avengers are now… in the building, so try not to faint if you see Captain America in the kitchen at 6 am drinking green tea and whatever garbage healthy stuff he eats." Peter's eyes didn't widen with excitement like Tony expected though, instead, they averted and Peter nodded solemnly. "Oh. Okay." He didn't meet Tony's eyes for a while but Tony decided not to think of it, pulling out his phone and typing up some updates to Peter's suit that he had in mind so that they would be better prepared to deal with a situation like this in the future. Apparently, one parachute wasn't enough. He'd have to install more ways to ensure that Peter would survive from falling from an aircraft- which wasn't exactly something they taught in the hefty parenting books Pepper bought him. - Tony decided early on that he would not be the one tiptoeing around his own house. Not this time. So he simply continued on with his daily routine and didn't pay much attention to the fact that each of his previous friends- turned enemies- turned technically subordinates were now in the same building as him. For the most part, they seemed to avoid him as well. He'd only seen them in passing and he'd shared a brief nod or conversation with each, almost always small talk, never about anything which could threaten the fragile peace they had. Sam was the one that tried to initially talk to Tony, leaving him a book on self-help and panic attacks that Tony promptly shoved into the deepest corner of his walk-in closet. Rhodey was the one who Tony spent most of his time with, training with him, bouncing around some ideas, doing whatever they both decided to do. Even if said thing was playing board games or flying around the city and throwing water balloons. It was about being together, not about what they were doing together. Or so Tony said to Rhodey when he would complain about the activity. Or other times, it was Peter beside Tony, tinkering with him in the lab, sitting beside him for a meal that Tony couldn't say no to if he wanted to set a good example, talking science with him or persuading Tony to help him build Lego sets in spite of Tony's attempts to complain and explain the word "reputation" to him. Peter was a constant source of warmth for Tony, always happy to see him and be with him even if Tony was hardly a pleasant person to be around most of the time. Still, Tony found himself caring a lot for his "ward" he still didn't really know how he came to have- it was an accidental adoption brought about by circumstance, really. When May had died and left Peter with no other suitable guardian, it was all Tony owed Peter to give him a house and food and a stable source of income. Of course that, somehow, came with nights spent worrying over the little hero and driving lessons that almost gave Tony a heart attack every five seconds and days spent doing nothing but ended up being enjoyable nonetheless even if all they achieved was finally finishing a movie marathon. And that was enough for Tony. Everything was less important compared to that. Of course, that was not taking into account the looks he got from the others from time to time. He tried to ignore it, he did, but sometimes they were so transparent that he wanted to turn around and snap. But he didn't snap and he kept a lid on his temper and he made sure not to be affected by the looks of confusion and anger and regret and contempt on their faces. Steve Rogers was the worst though because Tony knew what his facial expressions meant even if he could only use the tips of his fingers to trace them. Tony saw the wistful look in his eyes, the regret, the shame, the frustration he tried hard to push down. But most painful and disturbing of all, Tony saw the longing in his eyes when he leaned forward- to touch, to reach out- before he stopped himself. Steve Rogers was a bruise and he made Tony ache just looking at him. There were too many things to be said between them, too many words that had built up and turned sour on Tony's tongue because he'd bitten them down too long. There was a conversation to be had about trust and secrets and betrayal. About putting your hands on your lover and leaving them to die for someone else without so much as a goodbye and not turning back even when they called your name- as a plea or a curse didn't matter, if they whispered it or snarled it was irrelevant. If you loved that person you should at least have the decency to spare them a parting glance before you closed the door behind you. But when Tony looked into Steve's mournful eyes, all the words clattered against each other until all remained was a jumble of letters and vowels and white noise in Tony's brain. So he said nothing except "good morning" and "good evening" and " bless you" and "excuse me" and "goodbye". He said nothing about arc reactors flickering out in his chest or about videos watched in Siberian HYDRA bases that showed a murder that had been kept secret from him or about the long shadow that Bucky Barnes cast. Steve didn't try to talk to him either. It was always "morning, Tony" and "hey, Tony" and "bye, Tony" and "night, Tony". So Tony focused on making sure Peter was capable of keeping himself alive when Tony was gone for longer than 5 minutes and that his inventions were used for good things like giving the sick and dying a second chance at living a normal life and giving the incapable the means to even out the playing field. "Tones," Rhodey called and he looked up from his phone to look at him. And then beside him, where two people stood with ridiculously bright smiles that felt a bit out of place for 6 in the morning. "You got a few visitors looking to book a room." Bruce and Thor stood there, looking like friends that just got home. It struck Tony how they were both actually happy to be there, with their smiles and gentle eyes. Tony didn't hesitate before he got up and walked over, placing a hand on Bruce's shoulders. "Bruce, are you okay? How have you been?" he asked, opening his arms up when Bruce moved to embrace him without missing a beat. "God, I missed you. Where have you been, man?" "I was on this planet called Sakaar for a few years as the Hulk and then Thor showed up there so I guess he sorta woke me up? And then we went back to Asgard to fight his sister who was trying to kill everyone and he lost an eye and the entire planet burned so we're here now with a lot of Asgardians," Bruce explained and Tony struggled to take in everything he was rambling about. Was Bruce high? What the actual hell were they talking about? Thor nodded, agreeing with everything Bruce said as if he'd just said something perfectly sensible. "Yes, and my father died as well and my sister Hela broke my most cherished hammer. And a crazy old man cut my hair off. Ah! And my brother Loki is here with us and also needs a place to stay for the next few days until he finds somewhere more suitable and acceptable. He has proven his goodness, Man of Iron, and I assure you he is no enemy. His hand was forced when he attacked Midgard, verified by our trusted Heimdall, who sees all and knows all the events that go on within the universe. He has been freed from his spell though, so I can assure you he will not be a threat any longer." Tony watched as Loki stepped from the shadows, hands clasped behind his back, looking far less evil and perhaps a bit more charming now that he was wearing a warm blue outfit and a smile that reached his eyes rather than bearing a sneer and a murder stick. "Hello, Anthony." "Tony's fine," he responded with a small smile. And that was that. "Everyone else calls me that, so… I don't know, welcome aboard, I guess? You know most of the old Avengers here, I'll assume, because we were all trying to take you down: Cap, me, Natasha, and Clint. The new ones are Vision, Rhodey, Spider-boy aka Peter Parker who's in his room, um… Bucky isn't here right now, there's Wanda, and… Wilson." Tony finished pointing at each of the ones he mentioned before he looked at Loki, who was giving him a puzzled smile. "I could give you either the seventh or eleventh floor, up to you. Which do you prefer?" Loki frowned, crossing his arms in front of him. "You are offering me shelter?" "You said you needed a place to stay, Loreal, so tell me which you'd prefer so I could have it set up by dinner." Loki blinked at him, baffled by the welcome he'd received without Tony missing a beat. He'd expected that he'd need to beg and barter to receive shelter from a man he threw from a building, but instead he was greeted with a "Tony's fine" and told to pick which floor he'd prefer, not questioned about who controlled him, how, or asked questions to verify the credibility of his story. It was quite odd, but with a gentle prod of mind magic, Loki figured out the answer lay in the strained relationship between Tony and the rest of the previous Avengers who now stood there with either confused, curious or distrustful looks on their faces even if none of them spoke up about Loki's stay. How curious. "I would prefer 11th if the choice is actually a choice." "Of course the choice is a choice, I'm not here to dangle options just to pull them away last minute for shits and giggles," Tony said, before raising his hand. "Fri, you heard? 11th floor, personalized furniture, whatnot. Give him the Thor or Bucky deal but make it match the files I have on hand for him to be better suited for him. Leave a magazine for him to be able to customize it." "I'm on it, Boss," Friday responded. "Alright, so… Thor, you're the top floor and Bruce you're the first basement level. Is this still okay with the two of you?" At their nods, he flashed them a thumbs up. "Nice to have the two of you back, I'll have some more things ordered for you. Friday is my new AI, so you can ask her for anything you might need or if you need to contact me." "Mr. Stark can I go to the museu-" Peter walked in and froze, eyes widening when he saw the two men he hadn't met before. "Mr. Stark is that-" "Thor and Bruce Banner and Loki, yes it is, kid, go nuts," Tony said, clapping him on the back and pushing him towards the three. Peter stared at them all in awe, eyes wide with wonder as he approached them. Tony thought he looked like a kid that just went to a candy store for the first time, smiling as Peter fawned over all of them, excitedly rambling. "Hi! I'm Peter, or uh, Spider-man. It's nice to meet you, sir," Peter gushed to Thor, looking at him. "Say, your hair is a lot shorter than the news says it is. Did you cut it? I like it better like this, with a little lightning thing on the side. Do you still have your magic hammer?" "I'm afraid I do not, for it was destroyed in a death-match with my eldest sibling, Hela who was bent upon destroying our planet." "Oh, okay. Mr-Dr Banner! Hi, I'm Peter. I read all of your works and journals and I loved all of them, especially your articles on biochemistry! I'm a huge fan, my school holds an honor day for you, Mr. Banner, sir," Peter said as he shook Bruce's hand, who stood there blushing, visibly flustered as Tony flashed him a smile. "You're a hero amongst scholars and- and an Avenger too, which is so awesome when you think about it. The Hulk is the coolest thing ever! It's an honor to finally meet someone who helped revolutionized modern science." "Finally meet someone who revolutionized modern science?" Tony muttered, crossing his arms. "Wow, way to go for the pride, kid. Right in the arc reactor." "Uh, thank you very much, that's very kind of you, Pete- Peter. You've read all of my works?" Tony nodded. "Yep, he read yours and wouldn't shut up about all your theories and discoveries for weeks. He's a huge science nut and did the same thing for my journals and all that jazz though so I wouldn't let it go to your head, Brucie." "Wait- is this, I'm sorry, I have to ask because this is all pretty... confusing. Is he your son? How old is he? 12? How long were we gone?" Bruce finally asked the question that had been bubbling in his mind from the moment he saw Peter walk in and Tony flashed him a smile that Bruce knew to be rare and had to be earned. It was genuine and unfiltered, which begged the question of who this kid was and how he'd managed to earn Tony's affection. There was a murmur of agreement among the others in the room, and Tony looked at them to see they were all waiting for an answer. Seemed most of them wondered but none had dared to ask. He shrugged. "It's a long story. Son? Technically, yes, because his last legal guardian died and that left me to take him in. You were gone a few years, which is good because a shitstorm is what you missed if we're going to be brutally honest. Avengers broke up, then they were legally mandated to come back here under my ever-so-watchful eye so they came back here a week ago. There's really no need to recap all that, you could google it if you want to see us acting like street punks at 7/11 fist-fighting to claim their turf. Press called it the 'Civil War' if you're interested." "Broke up? What, like the Beatles?" Bruce asked, looking around to meet Clint's eye, who nodded jerkily before turning back to his oatmeal. "You guys broke up?" "I'm 15, not 12," Peter replied with a frown, walking over to Loki and giving him a smile. "Hi, Mr. Loki, I'm Peter. I heard a lot about you." Loki internally winced. The only thing this small child could have heard was how Loki went into a rage and tried to destroy Midgard with his army of chitauri and got beaten into the ground, defeated. Or perhaps how he was Thor's less important and less powerful brother, a simple god of mischief, adopted Jotunn son of two Asgardian gods. "Did you?" "Yeah! Can you explain how your- uh, it's called cider, right?- works? Is it something you inherit from your parents? Can I learn it? Do you think you can show me how the cider works?" The silence around the room was almost hilarious because nobody, not even Stark, could have expected that those were the words that Peter was going to say. There was something beautiful about a kid's charm and innocence and naivete, and though Tony would have scolded him any other time for asking a murderous magic man to teach him magic, he couldn't bring himself to do so when he saw the brightness in Loki's eyes that looked ridiculously close to watering. Thor was giving his brother a soft smile, unseen by either Peter or Loki, and the rest of the Avengers couldn't even bring themselves to look away from the scene playing out. "It is called seidr. I could explain it further if you… wish," Loki responded, visibly caught out of his depth by the curiosity and genuine interest in the boy's eyes. Tony returned Peter's beaming grin, happy that his geeky son would get to do whatever geeky stuff he wanted. The kid loved fantasy and sci-fi after all, so learning magic from an actual god must be a dream come true for him. From the shadows, Tony saw Cap with a small, sad smile on his face before he turned around and left the kitchen. Tony knew he'd be going to the gym by the tense set of his shoulders and the way he walked like his fists were itching for something- anything- to make contact with until his mind stopped its course of destruction. Tony watched him until he turned a corner and disappeared.

Read it on Ao3!

Tagging:

@parkrstark @avengingbefore7 @arachnaboy @losingmymindtonight @seszter @friendlyneighborhoodgyffindor @mia-the-dork @theironspiderman98 @trans-boys-blog

[damn-daemon]

Healing and Heartache (Part 3) - Nick Jakoby x Female Reader

See Part 1 here See Part 2 here

A/N: Ohhhhhhhh my gosh, you guys. I am actually super nervous about how this one gets received. I’m not really sure how far into the ‘reader’ background you’re supposed to go, and the writer in me just kinda got really carried away. But personally, I love it and I hope you will too.

Warnings - no smut, language, angst, overuse of sake

Sometimes, happiness is not so hard to believe in.

You lose all track of time in that little restaurant. Admittedly, you had not planned on spending that much time with Nick. With the next day off, you had hoped to find a comfortable position in your bed before the real soreness kicked in, but once Nick got comfortable, you realize his is pretty great company. He can purposely be charming and funny, and damn it’s been a while since you’ve had a good laugh.

“Wait, wait,” you say, hand held up, noddles dangling dangerously between you and the bowl. “You seriously garden?”

Nick nods, mouth full. He offhandedly mentioned earlier how much easier it was eating this way. You thought he meant without the tusks, but he might have meant the chopsticks too. He wielded those things like a pro.

“Compost too.”

“Now you’re shitting me,” you say, feeling your eyebrows comically rise to your hairline. He chuckled deeply, like the sound was emanating from his chest. It was a nice sound.

“I shit you not,” he replied with a grin, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Actually, there’s no shit at all. It’s mostly weeds and bad vegetables from my garden.”

For some reason, that line really gets you. It’s just the right amount of nonchalant to make you lose it. You drop your noodles back in their bowl and have to cover your mouth a moment until the laughter subsides. 

Nick thinks your laughter sounds wonderful. The fact that it’s directed at what he’s said rather than at him or what’s been done to him makes it all the more beautiful. He had almost started to dislike laughter before you. Now he’s starting to remember that there’s something beyond the petty hate. 

“You might be one of the strangest orcs I’ve ever met,” you admit, playing with the remaining food. “But, hey, credit where credit is due. I don’t garden. Can’t keep anything alive to save my life.”

Nick leans in, as if he doesn’t want anyone else to hear, and for a moment you marvel at the different patterns on his skin. You hadn’t thought orcs were capable of indicating anything with their skin color, but you could swear Nick looks slightly flushed. You eyeball the empty glasses at the table. There were a lot more than you remember drinking. 

“I hate to tell you this, (Y/N),” he whispers, “but you work in a hospital.”

“Well, if a cucumber comes in with pulmonary edema, they better not give him to me.”

And there you go again, laughing. There are tears in your eyes. It really brings out the color in them, and Nick decides that he likes them. They’re so expressive. Not like his. Orc eyes have evolved for a predatory nature. They didn’t crinkle when he laughed or have this strange ability to twinkle when something was on his mind. Other races thought human eyes weren’t much to marvel at. Nick though they were wrong.

“Ow,” you mumble as your back spasms against so much effort. Your body would be a killjoy.

“Are you okay?” Nick asks, voice all concern. That was more than what you got at the hospital. It was mostly ‘what were you thinings’ and ‘are you crazys’ there.

“Yeah. No. I will be,” you manage to say, stretching your back ever so slightly. “In case you didn’t notice, your race is incredibly strong, and apparently they don’t take well to waking up with strangers on top of them.”

Nick’s ears twitch. “Uh...look, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to that.”

You smile. “Not what you think, I promise. This orc came in, not breathing, no pulse, nothing. I did the first thing that came to mind. Hopped right on the gurney and stared administering CPR. Turns out, last time he was conscious, someone was trying to kill him. So, when he sees me applying very uncomfortable pressure to his chest, he’s got no problem forcefully relocating me to the parking lot.”

Taking advantage of the brief silence, you shove more ramen in your mouth, not caring in the slightest that you look like a glutton, mostly because you are one. “Guess I should be grateful he didn’t punch me. I’ve had more black eyes than I can handle. You’re actually getting to see me in relatively good condition.”

You’ve almost finished your bowl when it occurs to you that Nick has been silent the entire time. Slowly, you glance up, and your gaze meets a stare of utter disbelief.

“What?”

“You did all that...for an orc.”

Nick had been enjoying your company, honestly it was probably one of the best experiences he’d had in some time, but he’d be lying if he said he had no doubts about you. There was always a voice in the back of his mind, whispering things. People are only nice because they want something, this is all going to end in a prank, something like that. It was his defense mechanism, that paranoid part of his mind protecting him when everything inevitably went wrong. It can’t hurt as much when he sees it coming.

But right now, that voice has gone completely silent.

“Of course I did,” you say, almost offended by the notion of the answer being anything else. “The people who come through those hospital doors, they aren’t human or orc or dwarf. They are my patients, and I will never do anything short of my damnedest to make sure they get cared for, that they don’t die without every possible avenue being exhausted to save them.”

And just like that, Nick has irrevocably placed all his trust in you. It won’t occur to him until later that night, when he can’t sleep because all this thoughts revolve around this conversation, but in your hands, right now, is more than he has given anyone in a long time. 

You take a breath as Nick remains quiet. You’ve done it again; you’ve gone too far.

You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I, uh, I don’t mean to sound so...extreme. It’s sort of an automatic reaction these days. The number of times I’ve had to explain myself to people over giving a damn about someone who isn’t human is...infuriating really. So, I’m sorry if-”

Nick places his hand on yours across the table. You’re not sure if it’s the touch or that determined spark in his eyes that cuts you off.

“Never apologize for doing what you do,” he says in a stern voice that sounds so unlike him. “Do you have any idea how many humans I know who would defend others races like that, without a moment’s hesitation? I can count them on one hand, and that includes the orcs, dwarves, elves, what have you who would do the same. You have what the world needs to become a better place. Don’t be sorry for that.”

You turn your hand over in his.

“You have it too, you know.”

Nick shakes his head. “I don’t know about that.”

He tries to pull his hand back, but you hold it in place, insisting he meet your gaze again. That determination is gone, you see, because when the subject is about him, there’s always so much doubt. No one has ever given him reason to be confident about himself. Old men in suits would argue he was hired for diversity, not for skill, not for competence even. To them, he was a poster boy for a liberal agenda, not an orc who just wanted to do what he believed was right, despite all the odds. 

It was so wrong.

You squeeze his hand. “I do.”

You don’t know it yet, but something has transpired between the two of you, a deeper connection that at some point in your life you had given up on ever knowing.

Some time later, the waitress has placed the bill on the table, a not so subtle hint to hurry up and get out of the restaurant. You snatch the paper away before Nick can get his hand on it, and smile at the slightly annoyed look on his face.

Your eyebrows raise slightly. “How much sake did you drink?”

Nick looks at the table. Most of the glasses had been cleared. He hadn’t meant to drink much, but when you first arrived, his nerves would not calm. It wasn’t until the conversation had really taken off that he had been able to sit back and enjoy himself. However, the sake still flowed and he still drank it. It didn’t seem so bad.

“I didn’t drink that much.”

You bite your lip, reexamining the placement of the decimal point. “Yeah, okay, you stay there, maybe drink a little water, and I’ll go pay the bill.”

But Nick is not about to have that as he moves to stand. “Hey now, I’m an orc, remember? We can handle our alcohol better than hu-”

And there it is. The look. You knew it very well from your college days, that wide-eyed, sudden realization that you clearly should have stopped drinking at least five drinks ago. Sake wasn’t known for being strong, but this sake was, which was why you ate here as much as you did.

Of course, Nick hadn’t known that.

You stand and put a hand on his shoulder as he sways slightly, barely choking out “-mans.”

“Okay, big stuff, sit back down,” you say, pushing lightly on his chest. He practically collapses in the booth. “I’ll come back for you when I’m done.”

One payment (and mental negotiation that you won’t go to the mall this month) later, you and Nick are standing on the sidewalk, squinting at the last light of the day. You herd him slowly to your truck, opening the door for him like the chivalrous woman you are.

Unlike most under the influence guys (and girls) you have dealt with, Nick clearly understands that he is in no position to find his vehicle and drive it home for the evening. That’s a breath of fresh air you hadn’t realized you needed.

You hop in the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys slightly. “Alright, so where do you-”

As soon as the engine turns, orcish music blasts over your speakers.

You hit the power on your radio so fast, you think that maybe Nick didn’t catch it. But you refuse to look over to check.

The brief silence feels like an eternity to you.

“...you listen to orcish music?”

“Well, no, I-”

“I’ve never met a human who liked it. Well, besides the ones who like to hang with the Fogteeth at their clubs.” You glance over at Nick, and he manages to look a little sheepish. “Not that you seem the type.”

You roll your eyes, pulling out onto the street. Nick lamely mumbles his address. The cab is silent. 

Guilt starts to eat away at you. He hadn’t meant any harm, and honestly, you can’t blame him for asking.

“It’s...it’s not that I listen to it often, and certainly not them,” you say eventually, referring to the particular band on the radio. “They’re tryhards who think if they say fuck the police every other line, they’ll become some kind of lyrical legends.”

There’s a beat.

You blink and sigh. And there you went and did it. The whole point was to make it look like you didn’t have some strange fascination with orcs. Good going.

There was just something about Nick that made you want to just spill your guts every five minutes.

You aren’t sure if you love or hate that.

Nick leans back in his seat, looking at you and feeling remarkably sober all of a sudden. “Do...do you speak orcish?”

He watches you glance between him and the road multiple times, fighting some mental battle over what to say.

“A little...a lot,” you admit, shrugging. “Look, part of the reason Cedars-Sinai accepted me is because they needed someone fluent in orcish to help them with patient care.”

Nick blinks slowly. “That’s not something they teach in school.”

Not in high school certainly. None of the teens had ever wanted to speak his language. Everyone wanted to learn elvish. In certain colleges, there were courses, but a medical student was hardly the type to add that to their already busy schedule. It was a language that was difficult to learn as it was, and usually hard to pronounce for anyone who wasn’t an orc.

“I didn’t learn it in school,” you say, sighing. “It’s not that I’m...ashamed or anything. It’s just that when people find out, it brings up more questions than I’m willing to answer is all.”

He gets it. Oh, does he get it. Questions were all he got for months as he was trying to become a cop, questions about every aspect of his life that certainly weren’t part of the normal requirements. He liked getting to know people, not being interrogated about what he thought about a particular event and if it made him angry, or why he liked this band and did he know they said terrible things against cops. Of course he knew. He hated that song. It was never ending. 

“I won’t ask,” Nick says earnestly. “But, if you ever want to tell me, I’ll listen. People tell me I’m good for that, at least.”

There’s something in the tone of his voice that depresses you, and you can’t help but feel like you owe him the story as your chest starts to tug again. What he said to you back in the restaurant was probably the greatest thing anyone has told you since...well, long before you came to Los Angeles. 

“My dad was a farmer,” you start, choosing to focus solely on the road. “He hired only orcs as farmhands. I always assumed it was because they were stronger, made for a faster workday, stuff like that. I, uh...I must have spent hours out there with them, each and every day. Sunrise to sunset, I’d be throwing tiny bales of hay right alongside them. They taught me the language, that way I could listen in as Tommy complained about his wife nagging at him or Walter talked about how he was going to retire in one more week. He never did.”

Nick’s eyes widen slowly as he listens to you confess your childhood to him. He can hear it in your voice, can see it in the way your lower lip quivers ever so slightly. This is something deeply personal, something few people ever got to hear. 

And you were telling it to him.

He gulps, the nerves suddenly returning.

Your eyes take on a different look, he sees. The distant, glazed look of a woman caught in a memory.

“One day these punks from town came over. They were the kind of people who were never going anywhere in their lives, you could tell from one look. They started messing with the farmhands, going on about how useless and ugly they were, how they’re taking jobs from good, hardworking humans. But, of course, they don’t fight back. An orc attacks a human, he’s bound to be run out of town like he’s some feral dog.

“And that’s when my dad comes into the field. He was never the most emotional of men. He’d respond to I love you with a grunt. But he steps right in front of those orcs, his guys, and points a shotgun at those boys. And he tells them ‘these are some of the hardest working men I have ever had the privilege of meeting. I can walk away from them and trust that everything will be okay. I can leave my daughter with them and know that she is safe. I can’t do that with the likes of you.’“

Now you’re crying again. You miss your dad so much. He had the emotional range of an old school cowboy, but he never tried to crush your dreams, and he never spoke poorly of anyone who did not deserve it.

“When he died, five orc clans came to his funeral. Five.” You shake your head. “I’ve never seen the likes of it before.”

And then after, your mom fired all the orcs and hired those same punks who dared think they were better, but you don’t mention that to Nick.

The truck falls silent as Nick absorbs everything you said to him. Your father reminded him very much of his, a hardworking, stand up guy who was both respected and hated. It seems they both had died before their time. 

He wants to do nothing more than reach for your hand and hold it, to show you he’s here and he cares that you told him, that you opened yourself up to him and bore a part of your soul that you clearly keep so close.

Instead, he just mumbles, “Thank you.”

You finally pull up to his house. It’s small and has only one level, but it’s far better than your cramped apartment. He’s got a yard, a small porch, and...

“Well, there it is,” you say with a small smile. “Your garden.”

There’s something about the look in your eyes, the curve on your lips as you stare almost lovingly at the garden on the side of his house that prompts Nick to say it. Either that or it’s the sake.

“Do you want to do this again some time?” he blurts, slightly unnerved by the sudden confusion on your face. “I mean, maybe not me drinking so much that you need to drive me home, but everything else that is.”

He just wants you to say yes, because suddenly he’s so afraid he won’t see you again after today.

“You mean, like a date?”

Oh.

Oh that was what he asked for, wasn’t it?

A date.

Oh.

OH.

He rubs the back of his head. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be that. You and I can just hang out together, somewhere, doing...something.”

Smooth.

You lean in, grinning. “Like a date?”

Nick blinks. “If you want to call it that. Are we calling it that?”

And you laugh, but Nick can tell it’s not at him, not really. There’s a warmth to it, like happiness is bursting out of you and this is the only way you can express it. He finds it calming. 

In perfect orcish, you reply, “It’s a date, then.”

Okay, guys, I’m crying. Please be kind. 

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