#he’d grin and say I don’t need weapons I just need two fingers

[irisintheafterglow]

invisible string (gojo x you)

summary: the story of the first time megumi used ten shadows.

wc: 3k

cw/tags: fluff to angst/comfort and back to fluff, canon-typical violence, mild language, mentions of kidnapping, weapons (gun, knives), established relationship with pet names (babe, baby, sweetheart)

note: coparenting megumi? coparenting megumi. something about little megs at a dog shelter is just so cute to me but then yk we gotta have the soulmate-tie-object angst/comfort because it's impossible for me to write solely fluffy jjk content hope you enjoy!

likes/reblogs/feedback are appreciated <3

“Alright, Megs. Let ‘em rip.” You nod reassuringly despite the hesitancy riddled on his face. 

“Are you sure I’m not going to hurt you?” His voice is small, different from his usual boredom. For the first time in the two years since you’ve met him, Megumi was scared. He was scared of causing you harm, and for good reason. Even though he was barely taller than your hip, Satoru believed it to be a good idea to tell him that, in the future, he could grow to become the next god of the Jujutsu world. It made the boy slightly nervous, then, to unleash something that he wasn’t a hundred percent sure he could control. “I’d rather test with Satoru in case something goes wrong.” 

“You want to test with him or test on him, bud?” You smirk at his pursed lips and frustratedly furrowed eyebrows. It was no secret that he’d rather see your boyfriend get hurt than you, even though nothing could touch Satoru since he mastered unconscious activation of Infinity. “If you really want to, we can wait for him to get back from his mission, but that won’t be for another few days; I’d really like you to try out the technique with at least one of us with you, but it’s ultimately up to you.” You never wanted to push him into something that he didn’t want since he was already caught in a delicate balancing act. It was hard enough having the Zenins’ prized technique and even harder to prioritize relatively mundane spelling tests. If he were with his power-hungry relatives, you knew education and training would go hand in hand, but he’d also be taught that strength equals worth. That’s not shit you nor Satoru wanted such an inherently good kid to be learning. 

He bites the inside of his cheek in contemplation and you can see the gears turning in his mind. “I don’t know how to…say it.”

“You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to; you just do the thing with your hands.” You squint against the sun hanging high in the sky, bathing in the warmth that radiated from the school’s courtyard. An idea crossed your mind of bringing Megumi inside where there’s less light, but he stops you before you can say anything. 

“No, it’s not that. I know how to do it, but I…don’t.” His eyes avoid yours in shame and you kneel down in front of him, taking his hands in yours. “I don’t know how to connect with them and I don’t know how to fix it.” You smile softly and gently ruffle the spikes of his hair. 

“It’s okay, really. Let’s get lunch and then we’re gonna make a pit stop before we come back; does that sound alright?” He nods and the tension in his shoulders dissipates. “Go get your bracelet.” 

He groans in protest. “Do I have to? It’s all the way over–”

“Megumi.”

“Fine.” His little steps run up the stairs in the direction of his backpack and you glance down at the shining black ring on your right hand lightly glowing with Cursed Energy. It was a gift from Satoru that you received a few months prior and a third of a shared present between you and Megumi. 

“As much as I love you, it’s way too early to get married.” 

“What? No. I wouldn’t propose using something as boring as that.” He shakes his head adamantly as Megumi inspects his gift with all the care of a scientist analyzing radioactive material. For all you knew, maybe it was radioactive. With a sly grin, he takes your hand and slides the ring onto your finger. “Look closer. I didn’t get it just ‘cause it’s shiny.” Your eyes narrow and you gasp when you see the faint aura of blue Cursed Energy imbued in the ring. “See it?”

“Why does it do that? It’s not a weapon, is it?” 

“Wait and see,” is all he whispers before he takes the beaded bracelet from Megumi and slides it carefully onto his wrist, cinching it securely. “Alright, Megs. Tell me what you see.” 

“It’s a bracelet,” the boy deadpans as his eyes flick up to Satoru’s boredly. 

“Well, no duh, it’s a bracelet. Tell me all your practicing hasn’t been for nothing.” Satoru gives Megumi one of his rare serious expressions and you see the lightbulb flicker to life in Megumi’s brain. His eyes narrow in concentration on the bracelet and his mouth opens in realization. Satoru’s eyes shine in determination as he asks the boy what he sees.

“What color–”

“Blue. Light blue, like the sky.” 

“Mhmm, good!” Your boyfriend hums triumphantly and pulls out a chain he must have been hiding under his shirt. Slung on the chain is a single black pendant glowing the same color as your ring and Megumi’s bracelet and you smirk in understanding. 

“You’re putting GPS on us? Didn’t know you were the stalker-type, babe.” You admire the ring and stick your tongue out teasingly when Satoru’s expression becomes defensive. 

“For the record, I am most definitely not that type.” A flash of amused skepticism blinks across Megumi’s face and you both catch it. “I’m not! I’m simply giving the people I care about a way of contacting me if something were to go wrong and they need me.” He crosses his lanky arms across his chest, huffing an indignant exhale. 

He’s so cute when he acts angry. “Oh, when we need you, hmm? What about when you need me to get you toilet paper at three in the morning because you didn’t check before going to take a–” 

“I’m still here!” Megumi’s slightly panicked voice pipes up and you can’t hold back your laughter any longer, doubling over and covering your teary eyes with your hand. Your boys start laughing with you, Satoru chuckling defeatedly and Megumi smiling a little nervously. 

“So, what? We hold these and talk to you like walkie talkies?” 

“No, that’s what phones are for. If one of these breaks, everyone else’s will too and I can use the Cursed Energy it releases to track where you are.” 

“How will you know which one of us broke it?” 

“There’ll be a significantly larger release of energy, or so I’m told.” 

“Does it repair itself afterward? Or will I have to get a new one every time you forget a towel in the shower?”

“No, and I forgot to mention that these are for emergencies only. Dangerous emergencies only.” Your face falls and the big picture hits you like a semi-truck. He wanted you two to be connected to him at all times with essentially a direct SOS line to the most powerful human on the planet. He wanted to be able to save you, even if you couldn’t reach him through technology. The fact that he needed to think about this felt like several hundred needles in your soul. “But!” His serious aura is gone in a snap. “I’m already with you all the time so these will probably just become redundant.” 

“Thank you, Satoru. This is really thoughtful of you.” You reach for his hand and give it a squeeze, the melancholy smile he shoots you making your heart ache. “Megs?” 

“Thanks. I’ll get strong soon, though, and then I won’t need it.” Your boyfriend breathes a subtle sigh and smiles sadly. 

“That’s exactly the point, buddy.” 

From that moment onward, the ring stayed on your finger at all times, even when you showered or went to bed. It was there as you drove to lunch with Megumi, there when you called a friend for a last-minute favor, and there when his voice quietly asked from the backseat where the pit stop was going to be. It was there when his little hand wrapped around your pinky while you walked up the steps of the shelter, and there when you gave the front desk your name. The rich darkness of the band glittered as you were led outside into the yard and met with the cacophony of barking dogs, and stayed there while an attendant brought you two enormous Husky-Shepherds. 

“What are we gonna do with them?” He hesitantly stands behind your legs, peering at the animals sprinting about the play area. 

“We’re gonna help you make a connection, Megs.”

When the two dogs first enter the field, they bolt to the other side and back multiple times. After they seemingly run out their excess energy, they make their way to you and Megumi, who reaches out a cautious fist for them to sniff. He laughs softly when they affectionately lick his hand and nudge their heads against his body. Despite being huge compared to the little boy playing with them, the dogs were incredibly gentle and obediently brought back the ball whenever he threw it for them to fetch. At one point, he turns back to look at you with a grin brighter than the sun as the dogs race across the grass for the ball. You watch him observe the dogs in awe when they play-fight, tumbling over each other and lightheartedly nipping at each other. In the short time that you’re there, Megumi creates a game with them where he creeps around the perimeter of the fence; when they inevitably follow behind him, he jumps into a funny stance and the dogs leap away playfully, tails wagging faster than helicopter blades. You take a video and send it to Satoru, hoping it makes him just as happy as it was making you. 

When the time comes for the attendant to take the dogs back to their kennels, Megumi has both his arms wrapped around the dogs’ necks and his head buried into their thick fur. You crouch next to him, rubbing his back while he kisses each dog on the forehead and commits their faces to memory. 

“So are they going to be adopted?” He asks on the walk back to the car. 

“They are. They’re gonna go home with one of the shelter’s volunteers who just so happens to be my friend from middle school. When I told her you were working on Ten Shadows, she invited us to meet them to better understand what it’s like having dogs.”

“I liked it.” His dark eyes twinkle more than you’ve ever seen before. “I like dogs.”

“I’m glad; I really am. Do you wanna get ice cream and try out your technique again at school?” He gives you a fierce nod and you smile, opening the door as he climbs into the back of your car and immediately grabs hold of his stuffed wolf. 

To your surprise, he continues to talk about the dogs even after you leave the shelter. 

“Would you ever get dogs like them?” 

You can’t help chuckling at the earnest hope in his innocent eyes and you wipe ice cream from his chin with your thumb. “Why, you want me to get dogs so you can play with them all the time?”

“Yep.” He takes another confident spoonful of ice cream. The sun finishes its descent over the horizon as the sky rapidly darkens. You can see the moon in the reflection of Megumi’s eyes. “Do you think Satoru would get dogs like them?”

“Satoru can barely take care of himself, Megs, much less two other living creatures.” Cool night air breezes past your face while you finish the last of your ice cream. 

“He takes care of you and me.” 

“That is true. Though, sometimes it feels like we’re taking care of him, huh?” He snickers, meeting your gaze contentedly before his eyes flick over your shoulder, to something behind you. His eyebrows furrow in suspicion. 

“Do you know him?”

“Who?”

“That guy. He’s been watching us for at least ten minutes.” You don’t look back at what Megumi sees yet, not wanting to raise unnecessary alarm. Instinct tells you something is wrong, but not your sorcerer instincts. You sense no immediate threat from Cursed Energy, but can detect the malicious aura from miles away. 

“Cursed Energy?”

“Not that I see.” 

“That’s weird. Is it okay if you finish your ice cream in the car?” He agrees wordlessly, eyeing the figure behind you that now walked closer as you turned to face it. 

The man looks at you with a revolting sneer and nods to another person you’d seen lingering by where you and Megumi were eating. There were more men now, all with an equally predatory expression that made your skin crawl. Before you can grab Megumi’s forearm and start running, a hand darts out with a knife. You dodge it easily, but the momentary distraction takes your focus away from Megumi. One of the men grabs him and you scream only to be cut off by a rough hand over your mouth. You wiggle out of your assailant’s grasp and kick back hard and he goes tumbling down the sidewalk. Autopilot takes over while you take down each attacker until the sound of a readied gun makes you freeze, cold metal pressed against your back from someone you didn’t sense. 

You catch sight of Megumi struggling in one of the attackers’ grips and shake your head, pleading with him to stop so he doesn't get hurt. He does, eyes wide with anger as you try to slow your racing pulse. The men were using Cursed Tools, you realized, but had no Cursed Energy which is why you couldn’t sense them coming. With sudden death at such close proximity, you couldn’t do anything but wait for an opening to attack. 

“This the one?” The man holding Megumi shoves him forward and it takes all your willpower not to grab him and kill everyone within a three mile radius. 

“Yeah. That’s the kid they want.”

“What do we do with his little babysitter?”

“Kill ‘em. Get rid of the body.” 

You have half a second to concentrate as much Cursed Energy as you can to your back before a bullet collides with it and you fall forward trying to push back against the energy-infused metal struggling to pierce your skin. With a pained cry, you successfully reject the bullet but it knocks the wind out of you, your forehead hitting the sidewalk while you futilely try to pull yourself up. Head spinning and barely able to summon any amount of Cursed Energy, your hand against the concrete gives you an idea. 

“Megumi, my ring!” Your voice sounds hoarse but he understands, throwing his hands together in the position you’d been helping him perfect for a week. You can’t tell who the screaming is coming from; but, in an instant, a gigantic white dog is tackling your assailants while an equally large black dog goes for the throat of Megumi’s captor. In that opening, the boy rushes forward, sliding the ring off your finger and smashing it to pieces. The beads of his broken bracelet clatter to the floor at the same time his technique wears off, the huge dogs returning to black voids. You grab Megumi and stumble to your feet, forcing as much Cursed Energy as you can physically create into your hands while your back hits a wall. 

Not that you need it. 

A telltale wave of vibrations hits your ears and your shoulder sag in relief when he finally takes form between you and the surrounding ring of men. 

“Hiring mercenaries and kidnapping? That’s low, even for them,” is all he says before he’s moving faster than you can blink, and in seconds he’s cradling your face gently while the men groan in agony behind him. Your arms are locked around Megumi, holding him close to your body, but you don’t realize that you’ve slid to the floor with your back against the wall. Satoru briefly checks Megumi’s face but returns to you when he deems him safe. “Hey, babe. You can let go of Megs now; I think you’re strangling him.” 

“Oh, shit. Sorry, baby.” You let your arms drop but Megumi’s arms stay squeezing around your torso, like you’d disappear if he stopped. “I hope I didn’t steal you away from something important.” 

“Nah, I was finished anyway. I was souvenir shopping, in fact. I found a very delightful pair of socks with pandas on them that I wanted to get Yaga.” You chuckle and his hands brush stray hairs from your forehead. “Thanks for keeping my kid safe, sweetheart.” 

“Our kid,” Megumi murmurs against your chest and Satoru turns a shade pinker. “You didn’t almost die trying to make sure I wasn’t kidnapped.” 

“You almost died?” Electric blue eyes dart to you in alarm and you tiredly shush his worries, reassuring him that you did not, in fact, almost die. 

“It was just a gun with Cursed Bullets. Not sure why they brought that if they were only trying to take Megs.”

“Probably thought he’d be with me.” Your boyfriend draws his mouth into a tight line and you lightly punch his shoulder. “Ouch, what was that for?”

“Stop thinking like that. I didn’t get hurt because you weren’t here. If it meant making sure he was safe,” you glance down at the boy curled into your body, “I’d get hurt like this a thousand times more.” 

“Alright, let’s get you both home before that becomes a possibility.” His arms effortlessly snake under your back and legs, lifting both you and Megumi off the ground and pulling you close to his chest. The familiar, roller coaster-drop feeling of warping envelopes your body and you close your eyes. 

When you wake, two pairs of arms wrap around your body as Satoru’s stretches over both you and Megumi, whose arms are firmly wrapped around your torso. A bright blue eye lazily winks open. Of course, he’s awake. You hush him before he says anything, glancing down at the sleeping boy between you both. He nods but his voice is still a loud whisper. 

“I’m so damn mad I missed his first Ten Shadows.” 

“It’s okay, babe,” you say as your thumb brushes over Satoru’s cheek and you think about Megumi playing in the yard with the two huge dogs. 

“I doubt it’ll be the last time he uses it.”

[1] New Message - Volunteer Announcements

Today at 12:07 P.M

We are proud to introduce our Shelter Volunteer of the Month: FUSHIGURO MEGUMI (7 yrs old)

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[drabblesandimagines]

Cuffed

Leon Kennedy x reader, Valentine's Day nonsense

I just really liked this gif*

You let out an annoyed huff, craning your neck back as far as humanly possible in the hopes that somehow this time you will be able to see the lock on the handcuffs you’re trying to pick.

It’s embarrassing – taken down by a scientist with a metal suitcase who’d swung it wildly in defence, rather than putting his hands up above his head as you’d so kindly requested. His antics had sent your gun flying out of your hand and skidding across the linoleum floor and by the time your fingers had grazed the handle of the dagger holstered at your hip, the suitcase had met the side of your skull, sending you toppling down, ears ringing.

You don’t think you fully blacked out, but it was enough of a blow to stun you, knock your earpiece out – all topped off with the scientist taking the handcuffs from your side and locking your wrists above your head, around some sort of metal grill.

He’d even had the gall to say sorry as he did it, before picking up the suitcase and running out of the room.

It’s fine, you’d reassured yourself once the room stopped swimming as much, you’ve got a lockpick hidden away in your watch. That first step had been hard enough – feeling blindly for the small dial on the side with your fingers to pull out the thing but you’d succeeded in the end, so surely you’d triumph here as well… right?

You don’t know how long it takes, but eventually you feel resistance, indicating you’ve finally managed to locate the lock itself. Great - now all you need to do is get through the pin mechanisms and you’ll be free, and you won’t even have to mention any of this to Leon-

Dink.

The sound of the lockpick hitting the floor as it slips from your grip is a kick in the teeth.

You aren’t granted time to commence a pity party as a beat later the door opposite is kicked open to reveal Leon, gun poised, finger on the trigger, looking mad as hell. His face relaxes a little at the sight of you, but he’s still sure to scan the area before he deems it clear, clicks the safety on and holsters his weapon. He holds a finger up to his ear and you hear a faint beep.

“Condor One to Roost. Hummingbird acquired – we’ll head to the evac point shortly.”  

Leon strides over as he speaks to HQ, before finally crouching down in front of you with a smug grin and a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Hi…” You trail off, embarrassed about your predicament.

“Well, this isn’t exactly where I was expecting to receive my Valentine’s Day gift, but you’ve definitely surprised me.”

Your face burns at the implication – you two keep it as professional as possible when on assignment together, but something about your current situation has Leon unable to resist. You attempt a half-hearted kick out at him in protest, but he stills your thigh easily with a hand.

“It’s not funny, Leon!” You retort, tugging at the handcuffs in frustration. “The target got away with the suitcase and-“

“Easy, I got him. He’s in custody, goods secured – much like you.”

“I’m not going to hear the end of this, am I?”

“Uh-uh, sweetheart.” He shakes his head, before grasping your chin with gloved fingers and begins to check over you for injuries – a purple bruise already blossoming on your temple. “How many of me can you see?”

“One.”

He holds up his other hand. “And how many fingers?”

“Three. Look, can you just get me out of these now – please?” You pout, but he’s enjoying being the tease a little too much to concede just yet.

“It’s on the agenda. What’s the date?”

“14th February.”

“Good. Otherwise known as?”

You roll your eyes. “Valentine’s Day.”

“And who’s your Valentine?”

“Well, he won’t be if he doesn’t uncuff m-“ Leon cuts you off, pressing his lips to yours – a soft, slow and sensitive kiss. You don’t even realize his hands are now above your head until there’s a soft click and finally your wrists are freed from their confines.

“You were saying?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither was you scaring the shit outta me when you dropped off comms, sweetheart. Come on.” He wraps an arm around your waist and helps you to your feet. “We need to get you checked for concussion.”

“Really?” You frown, though you do feel a little light-headed now you’re standing. “It wasn’t that hard of a hit.“

“Well, there’s a definite dent on that suitcase we confiscated, so I think we should play it safe.”

“Fine.”

He presses another kiss to your lips - this one a little more fierce, and pulls away only slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Leon smiles and retreats, but keeps a hand on the small of your back as he bends down to pick up your discarded gun and handcuffs. He proceeds to offer the gun back to you and you murmur a thanks and holster it, expecting to be handed the cuffs next, only for him to tuck them away into one of his many pockets on his pants and start to usher you out of the room.

“Wait, those are mine too.”

“I know.” He replies in an amused tone.

“Then why are you keeping them?”

He laces his fingers through yours, brings it up to his lips to kiss. “Let’s just say they’re going to come in very handy for my Valentine’s Day gift later.”

--

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[slashmagpie]

“Pearl? Why are you in my house?” 

Pearl blinks up at Bdubs from where she’s sandwiched between the wall and the waterstream, curled up on herself in the narrow space. “Somebody destroyed all the lights in my base and now it’s full of mobs,” she says bitterly.

“It wasn’t me!” Bdubs cries, raising his hands.

“Well, I didn’t think it was you, but the way you just said that’s making me think—”

“No! I’d never! I swear!”

“...I believe you,” she says after a moment, and Bdubs feels himself relax. “Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t really feel like…” She gestures in the direction of her house.

Bdubs nods. “Oh, sure, for sure,” he says. Then, “Should we invite Joel over? His house got blown up too.”

“Ah, yeah, probably. Good idea, Bdubs.” She fumbles in her pocket for her communicator, eventually fishing it out. The screen is cracked. Her fingers shake as they tap against the glass. 

“Are you okay there, Pearl? You look a little…” Bdubs forces his hands to tremble. 

She glances up at him, face scrunching in confusion, before she lets out a small laugh. “Just the adrenaline, y’know.” She grins. “I’m red. It’s great.” 

“If it was anyone else, I’d think they were being sarcastic. But with you! With you, I’m pretty sure you’re being serious!”

She giggles, hitting send on the message and shoving her communicator away. Bdubs doesn’t feel his own buzz; it must have been a whisper. “You know,” she says after a moment, “I’m a little surprised.”

Bdubs blinks. “Surprised about what?”

“That there’s still three of us.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, I’m a little surprised, too! I thought for sure Joel would die today. For sure.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Oh, no, never. But between you and me… that guy’s kind of a loose canon!” 

She snorts. “Throwing stones from glass houses, there, Bdubs?”

“Surely I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mhm.” She pauses, eyes glancing down to where her fingers pick at a stray thread on her hoodie sleeve. “That’s kinda what I mean, though. Joel doesn’t live here, and you’re making friends with half the server, I’m surprised I’m not spending tonight alone.”

“Pearl…”

“What?” She snorts. “I know how these games go, Bdubs. People don’t stay loyal. Not for long, anyway.” She glances up at him, eyes half obscured by her hair. “People like Joel, people like you? I know how this ends.”

And Bdubs—

Well, he can’t pretend he doesn’t know what she means. Can’t pretend he doesn’t remember Impulse yelling as Bdubs’ arrow had found home in his throat. Can’t pretend he doesn’t remember Etho backing away when Bdubs had tried to get just a little too close. Can’t pretend he didn’t fight when he promised he’d run. Can’t pretend he hadn’t taken advantage of his broken home. 

…He can’t pretend he doesn’t remember telling Martyn about their plans, or planning to do harm to Etho. Can’t pretend he doesn’t cross his fingers behind his back every time he makes a promise, just in case.

But at the same time, he remembers—searching for Cleo in a castle she’d been too dead to return to, pushing Lizzie to her death for a life he’d never received, taking two hands in his own and vowing to face the end as four instead of two, for once, for once in his life, choosing three and being pulled apart because of it—

Bdubs lets out a breath. “Pearl, hey, no,” he says. “I told you, didn’t I? I’m your weapon.” He gets down to his knees, lowers his head before her, feels her gaze burn into the top of his head.

“Bit late for that,” she says. “I’m my own weapon now, mate. Don’t need you to attack for me anymore.”

“Well, no—but—” He looks up at her. “Pearl. I’m yours. I promise.”

“Right. And you’re Martyn and Etho’s too, huh? We can share.”

“I’m using Martyn!” he protests. “That’s—that’s all it is—I’m usin’ him because he’s the first red and he knows his stuff! And Etho—”

“I don’t mind about Etho,” Pearl interrupts. “Like I said, I know you guys have your little thing going on. I don’t care about that.”

“I set a trap in his base,” Bdubs blurts.

Pearl blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

“I set a trap in his base. Tripwire hook.” He grins. “Right outside the bedroom. I—I think I got Grian, in the end? But—could have been Etho. I coulda—could’ve been Etho.” He swallows.

“And you’d have been okay with that?” Pearl asks, smile gone from her face, expression suddenly very serious.

“I—after I set it, I went up to them. Had a chat. Lied the whole time. I coulda—coulda told him. I didn’t.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” she stresses.

She sounds dubious. Bdubs can’t blame her. He feels sick, swallowing back the bile that’s building in his throat.

“I—Pearl.”

“Bdubs?”

“I learned my lesson, Pearl. I learned—don’t put all your eggs in one basket! Because—because either they die, and then you get left alone, or—or it gets you killed, and you die. You gotta—I have two hands. I can be loyal to multiple people. But then I learned—when you do that? People aren’t loyal back. They don’t trust you anymore. Nobody else…” He laughs. “I feel like I’m the only one who can trust people like that anymore!”

“So…” She frowns. “So you’re making friends with everyone so you don’t get betrayed or left alone?”

“Exactly.” 

“And you know none of us are gonna trust you for doing that.”

He swallows again. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you’re doing it anyway?”

“Well, what else—what else am I supposed to do? I can’t… I can’t go back, Pearl. That’s… I can’t go back. You know how it is.”

“…Yeah,” she says quietly. “I’m—I want you to win, Bdubs,” she says. “Out of everyone—I want it to be you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So… You better not make me regret this.”

He blinks at her. “Regret what?”

She bows her head to him. “I’m your weapon,” she says, an echo of his earlier words. “And a bit more of a dangerous one at that.” Her smirk leaks back into her words as she glances up and winks at him. “So use me well, alright, Bdubs? I want you to win this.”

Bdubs’ heart is in his throat. He swallows it back down. It burns.

“I’ll do my best,” he promises. 

The door slams open, startling them both out of their skin.

“Hey guys—uh. What are you doing?”

“Oh, for—Judas Priest, Joel, learn to knock!”

“You invited me over! Or, Pearl did—hey Pearl.”

“Hey,” Pearl says. “Come on in! Sleepover at Bdubs’ time.”

“I can’t believe this is the last of our bases left standing. It’s, like, the worst one.”

“Hey!” 

“There’s no space in here!” To punctuate his statement, Joel slumps down against one wall, kicking Bdubs in the ribs as he does so. Bdubs grunts. “See?”

“It’s definitely not the most spacious…” Pearl acquiesces.

“Anyway. What were you guys doing before I came in?”

“Swearing loyalty,” Bdubs says. 

“Oh.” Joel blinks. “Do you need me to do that? Because I’m a Mounder for life. Loyal to the end.”

Bdubs and Pearl glance at each other.

“Somehow I actually believe him,” Bdubs stage-whispers, and Joel squawks in offence as Pearl barks out a laugh.

“No, I think you’re good,” she says. Leaning her head back against the wall, she says, “This is probably our final night.”

The three of them are quiet for a moment.

“Well,” says Joel. “We gotta make it to the end then, don’t we?”

He’s looking at Bdubs. They’re both looking at Bdubs. 

Bdubs nods.

“May the best Mounder win,” he says solemnly.

Joel grins.

[augustinewrites]

“hey,” you murmur, shaking alhaitham’s shoulder. “you need to get up soon so we can–”

“i only run if i’m being chased.”  

you frown as he turns away from you. “but studies show that morning jogs–”

“i am well aware of what the studies say, and i am electing to ignore their findings.”

“well, i’m a doctor, and i’m telling you that running is good for you. it increases mental focus and productivity–” 

your gaze turns hopeful when he finally lifts his head from the pillow, uttering the words, “against medical advice.” 

“haitham,” you pout. “what’s the point of me finally staying the night if we can’t do fun things together in the morning?” 

“if running was what you had in mind, then this is going to be the first and last time you stay over.” 

you grumble something mean under your breath. alhaitham grumbles back, an i love you too, followed by a let me sleep, woman. it’s the weekend.

“fine,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “then i’ll just go over to cyno’s place and see if he wants to join me. he’s probably a much better jogging partner than you anyway. he’s so fast that he once helped the traveler escape from the heart of a crumbling pyramid.”

you let that bit of information turn over in his mind, leaving the bedroom and grinning triumphantly when you hear him curse, the bed creaking as he gets up. 

satisfied, you turn into the bathroom–

–to find someone already in there, about to help themselves to the geothermal mud mask you’d gotten from inazuma. your shocked gaze meets his and—

you both scream. 

“who are you?” you question, grabbing a copy of sapiens, which would be an effective weapon if you intended to bore him to death. “what are you doing here?”

“me?” he asks incredulously. “i unfortunately live here, so who are you and what are you doing here?” 

“oh, good. you two have met.” 

you both whirl around to face him, hands on your hips. “haitham, who is this?”

the stranger makes an offended noise. “alhaitham, do be sure that your escort keeps the details of our living arrangement to themselves.” 

“escort?” you gasp, alhaitham plucking the book from your hand before you can throw it at this strange man. “i am a doctor!” 

the stranger looks you up and down. “so…alhaitham didn’t pay you to sleep with him?”

you each size the other up equally scrutinizing squints, the acting grand sage pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing tiredly. “this is my roommate, kaveh.”

wait, you’ve heard that name before. gossip about akademiya alumni spread like wildfire in sumeru. you snap your fingers, pointing at him. “oh! i know you. you’re that architect who went broke funding his own project.”

“not broke, per se,” he sniffs, turning away from you rather indignantly. i am temporarily prudent.”

you look to your boyfriend, who shakes his head slightly and mouths, don’t ask.

then he tells kaveh your name, that you work at the bimarstan, and that you’re seeing each other. 

anyone else would have simply take he’d said at face value, because the scribe didn’t dance around points or over-complicate his explanations. he wasn’t exactly one to joke, either. 

but the broke architect immediately doubles over, laughing so hard that his face is the shade of a zaytun peach. “now there’s a lark! you with a— with a—”

“a significant other? yes.”

his laughter quickly dies as alhaitham winds a possessive arm around your waist, looking between the two before meeting the scribe’s unflinchingly flat gaze. you watch as his prior amusement dropped from his face, only to be replaced by disbelief. 

kaveh drew a breath and pressed his hands together. “when you say those words, what do you mean by them? 

alhaitham expression was inscrutable as always, but the corners of his lips were curved upwards the slightest bit. “i could not have oversimplified it more. if you require more detail, perhaps we could discuss it over coffee at puspa cafe?”

“only if you’re paying,” he answered testily, to which the scribe rolls his eyes. 

“of course. if the matter of payment were up to you, we’d just be thieves.”

kaveh sent him a rude gesture— one completely unbefitting of someone so respected within the akademiya.

then alhaitham returned it. 

the blonde turns on his heel to leave with a huff, stomping through the house and slamming the door behind him. alhaitham moves quickly, locking it behind him.

“are we not going to join him?” you ask, watching curiously as your boyfriend saunters back toward the bedroom, a satisfied look on his face.

“nope. he left his keys here. so if you want to do something fun,” he nods his head toward the bedroom. “now would be the time. cyno and kaveh can wait.”

and, well, you can’t say no to that, can you?

[s3mi-ch4rm3d]

can we stay for a while and listen for heaven?

A/N: my first fic !!!! i wrote this between the hours of 1 and 4am so i hope its not shit asjkffjkd

please please please reblog, comment and like !!! if you have any feedback please feel free to drop it too (:

"You’d told him earlier that this building was his home. You were wrong – he fights the urge to say it now. To chant ‘The four walls have nothing to do with it. My home isn’t this house, it’s you. It’s here, in my arms’ until his throat runs dry. "

desc; veteren!reader x simon riley. he comes home on leave after a (kind of) disagreement. all fluff, some non-sexual nudity (a soft little affectionate shower scene). should be fairly gender neutral!!

"Hear the storm dances outside Something set free is running through the night And the dark awaits us all around the corner But here, in our place we have for the day Can we stay a while and listen for heaven?"

Simon “Ghost” Riley, more weapon than man, almost falls to his knees weeping at the sight of you.

You stand, some thirty-feet ahead of him, holding a pistol aimed at his head with perfect precision. Hair wild and sleep-tousled, one of his shirts hanging to about mid-thigh, eyelids drooped and eyebrows furrowed in confusion, lips forming a perfect ‘O’ and he swears to whatever divine being still watching that one day he’ll be brave enough to marry you. 

He’d poetically liken himself to a man returning home from war, but the simile cuts a little too close.  

You lower the weapon, flick the safety on (he narrowly bites back the urge to praise you) before launching it towards the sofa and launching yourself at him. He ignores the burning in his injured side and returns the fervour, arms finding your waist with practised ease. After almost fifty hours awake, Simon allows himself to feel the exhaustion that permeates his bones. He sinks into you – into your warmth, your scent, your love. He fears he’ll never be able to let go again.

You somehow detach yourself enough to blink up at him, eyes still half-lidded. “You’re back,” you whisper, voice so roughened with sleep that he can only make out half the syllables, “thought you were comin’ back next week?” 

“Sorry, darlin’. Should’ve given you a heads up.” He hates how fatigued he sounds, even to his own ears, but he can’t keep up the act. Not with you. 

“Nonsense, Simon Riley.” Your nose scrunches, voice mimicking severity. The way your mouth sounds the shape of his name ringing through his head like a stricken bell, “This is your home, too. You know you don’t need permission to come back.”

He doesn’t know, not really. Especially not at the moment. He’d half expected you to shove him back out the door duffle still in hand if he were honest. After almost two weeks of not speaking, of dodging calls and ignoring texts, he figured he’d deserved it. The knot of guilt begins to twist his stomach. 

You must sense his hesitation – reading him like a book always was a favourite pastime of yours – because you press your face back into his chest, squeezing him briefly before releasing him.  He barely has time to mourn the loss of your warmth before you’re hooking your pinky with his, intertwining your fingers. 

You lift yourself onto your tiptoes, face hovering just a few centimetres away from his, before you whisper.

“You’re not getting into our bed smelling like shite, Si. ‘M hosing you down." 

He watches as the corners of your lips turn up into one of your signature lopsided grins and before he can stop himself he’s leaning in to kiss it, mask be damned. Since there are no merciful gods left, you duck out of the way before his mouth can stick the landing, letting out a squawk of laughter as you swipe out of the way of his arms. He finds his lips mimicking yours beneath the fabric. 

“You’re not kissing me til you brush those fuckin’ teeth, either. Dirty man.”

“I thought you liked the way I taste, love.”

You snort, pinky latching onto him again, leading him towards the bathroom of your darkened house. Reiterate your previous statement by muttering a “filthy man” under your breath. The radiance of dawn spills through the closed blinds as the sun begins its endeavour across the sky once more. Simon follows dutifully behind you. 

Your unoccupied hand fumbles before finding the string of the light switch. You give it a firm tug and cool light blares into the room. Simon barely has time to hiss before you’re tugging it off again, encasing the room in darkness once more. You hum softly, murmuring apologies as you lead him to the toilet seat. 

“Sit. I swear I have fake candles somewhere, I’ll find them.”

An objection rises in his throat, although he obeys instantly, perching on the lid of the toilet. He watches in the low light as you flit about the room, rummaging through bottles and loofahs and sponges before letting out a small “aha!”. 

You methodically disperse small, white discs around the room, clicking them on as you go. Warm light flickers throughout the room, much less overbearing than the beacon overhead. You turn to face him again and he lets out a sigh through his nostrils. You’re far too endearing like this; completely dishevelled, all soft smiles and teasing words. 

He can see it with a bit more clarity now, the way worry has been eating at you. In the dim 'candle' light, he notices the state of your lower lip, chapped and bitten, and the smudges of blue that frame your eyes. The knot that sits at the base of his stomach twists again, digging in, and he tightens his jaw to stop himself from spilling I’m sorry’s like a mantra.

“You planning on washing your clothes as well as your body, babes?” 

Your voice pops the bubble of his self-pity. He blinks thrice, grateful for the mask to hide the downwards tilt of his lips. He attempts to sound breezy as he replies, though it comes out with more bite than he’d like. Typical. 

“Figure it’s the quickest way to stop smelling of ‘shite.’”

It’s your turn to sober yourself as you cast your eyes over him, eyebrows furrowing. You must catch it; the way, however subtle, his body responds to his injury – hunched slightly to one side as if trying to curl protectively around it. He straightens his spine at your scrutiny. 

“You’re hurt,” you whisper, voice so tender, as you take two slow steps towards him, “your side?” Your eyebrows furrow, hands absently reaching for him. 

“It’s nowt, darls. Just some bruising. I…” He rolls the request around on his tongue. He swears it burns, to ask more of you after you’ve given so much. “I need a hand. Can’t really… bend. Sorry.”

Your reaction is immediate. You drop to your knees in front of him, hands reaching for his laces, face set in gentle determination. 

“It’s no bother, handsome.” You’re quick to soothe, to reassure. Always so quick to give him what he needs. He softens like warm butter. “Get started up there, and we’ll meet in the middle.” You toss him a cheeky wink, face still tinged in a trace of worry. 

Never one to deny you anything, he does as he’s told. Starts with his mask – easy enough. He’s too tired to have any reservations now, especially when you’ve spent so many nights devoted to tracing his scars with your lips. He unhooks the straps and slips it from his face, drops the piece of fabric onto the bathroom counter next to him. 

His shirt is… a little bit trickier. He struggles to lift it up above his head, but he manages it soon enough. On his own, despite your assurances that you can help with that, too. He’s a stubborn creature. 

Meanwhile, you’re dutifully and methodically working off his boots. He’s seen those hands broken and bruised, snaked around the grip of so many guns. He’s in awe of their softness; the duality of hands once soaked in blood, now working so gently to undress him. 

True to your word, always, you meet him in the middle. Soft hands ghost over the mottling of bruises littering his left side, shades of purple and blue deep and rich. You frown, casting your eyes up to meet his. Your teeth go to bother your lower lip again but he leans forward to intercept, covering your mouth with his own. 

You hum absently into the kiss, feel the graze of his hand against your jaw, the soft exhale through his nose. You both stay like that for a moment; making no move to deepen the kiss, keeping it light and sweet and oh-so tender. 

You disconnect, your frown banished. He watches through his lashes, eyes half-lidded with relaxation as you stand back up, hands moving to the hem of his your shirt. Simon reaches to help, you swat his hand away. 

“Ah-ah! Just sit back and enjoy the show, Riley. I don’t give ‘em out for free.” You wink, cocky grin rising to your lips. God, he has it bad for you.

“Show me how it’s done, love.”

You put him to shame. Lift your shirt off with one confident sweep of your arms. His hands twitch with the effort to keep them by his sides. The rest comes off just as easily, barring your fluffy socks. You almost end up flat on your arse, cheeks flushed as you slouch against the bathroom counter repeating ‘stop laughing, Simon Riley, or so help me God–’

A few moments later and you’re both in the shower, standing under a stream of water just below scalding. He hisses as the jets hit him, rolling down the planes of his back, slowly loosening the knots along his spine. You’re standing so close, nearly pressed against him, and this time he doesn’t stop himself from slipping an arm around your waist. Your bare forms merge and he feels like a ship returning to harbour. He feels tethered.

You’d told him earlier that this building was his home. You were wrong – he fights the urge to say it now. To chant ‘The four walls have nothing to do with it. My home isn’t this house, it’s you. It’s here, in my arms’ until his throat runs dry. 

The way you tilt into his grasp, your arms winding so naturally around him, slotting against him so perfectly makes him think you already know the words by heart.

After a few minutes, you break away. Simon is just breathing out an objection by the time he notices the loofah in your hands. You squirt a splodge of soap onto it and a wave of your signature scent fills his nostrils. His objections die on his tongue. 

You work the soap into a lather before gently taking one of his arms, eyes flicking up to meet him for a moment in a silent question. He answers with a nod and you get to work, systematically massaging away the layers of grime and dirt. You work in small circles down his arm, scrubbing his armpits and washing the grit from beneath his fingernails with precision, before moving onto his other arm. 

And so the time passes; both arms, across the chiselled plains of his broad chest, down to his navel, spinning him around so you can work your way up his back. Then you’re onto his legs, his feet, before you move on to washing his hair. 

He has to stand facing away from you (much to his despair – you look so focused, your tongue almost poking out in concentration), head tilted back to give you access to the top of his head. Still, you stand on your tiptoes, rubbing and massaging the shampoo into his scalp with firm but doting hands. You hum as you work. 

He’s flooded with warmth at the depth of your devotion. 

Hours or seconds pass by, simultaneously too much and too little time, and you’re done. You guide his form back around to face you, rising up to place a sickeningly sweet kiss to his lips. His body is sagging as the exhaustion finally drapes over him like a well-worn blanket. He blinks to keep his eyes open.

“Your turn?” He murmurs, voice a jumble of syllables. 

“Mmh, I’m okay, babs. We need to get you into bed,” you hum. His eyes close for half a second and by the time he’s opened them again, the shower is off and he’s wrapped in a soft towel. 

“Our bed?”

You huff out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, Si, our bed.”

Pinkies entwined, you lead him once more. Sunrise is fully upon you now, a kaleidoscope of peaches and tangerines spill through gaps in the curtains to bathe the bedroom in pinks and golds. You guide Simon Riley, now far more man than weapon, to his side of the bed. The man barely makes it to a horizontal position before reaching for you -- a request that you happily oblige. 

You settle against him with the same practised ease, curled against his uninjured side, head tucked against his clavicle. He hums beneath you, arms slotting into their designated space around your waist. 

A few moments pass. You’re certain that he’s already asleep when his voice, deep and full of timbre, cuts through the tranquillity. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, his large hands dragging up the notches along your spine. “‘M stupid, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t– you don’t have to, Si. I get it.” You exhale against his collarbone, arms tightening around him. “It was a bad time. I didn’t mean for it– it just came out. I get it.”

Simon murmurs in disagreement, but he returns the motion. Arms squeezing your sides like he needs an anchor, something to hold on to. 

“I shouldn’t have ignored you. I was a coward. I–”

His head turns, lips grazing over the crown of your head. His eyebrows furrow and he freezes for a moment before whispering, voice so quiet you have to strain to hear it. 

“I feel it, too. I can’t– I can’t say it, but I feel it. I do.”

You feel the corners of your lips twitch up involuntarily. This absolute muppet of a man – watching you all evening like you’d hung the stars one by one, like you were some divine creator, some source of eternal beauty that could make the angels quiver. You bite back the urge to laugh, and instead tilt your head upwards, graze your rough lips across the underside of his jaw. 

You whisper back, trying to pour as much love and devotion as you can fit into three words. 

“I know, Si.”

[luimagines]

He Tries to Impress You Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1

Part two will include Hyrule, Sky and Time.

Content under the cut!

Hyrule

“Soooo....” You poked his shoulder with an innocent look to you face. “Mr. Legend says that you can do magic.”

Hyrule flushes slightly. “I swear he makes it to be cooler than it really is. It’s just something I’ve always been able to do. The other guys can all harness magic in one way or another. I don’t know what the big deal is.”

You grin wider. “You say that, and I get that’s where you’re coming from, but you’re the only one that doesn’t need something to do it.”

“Something?” Hyrule raises an eyebrow, amused. “What’s a something?”

You huff jokingly. “You know! A something! An item! A tool, a weapons a weird pine cone looking thing or something shiny! But you don’t need that stuff... Right?”

Hyrule can feel a little bit of pride in the way you’re getting excited over this. He’ll never understand why the group seems to place importance on this skill of his but he supposed his Hyrule is wrapped as it is. There’s a lot he doesn’t understand and he doubts he ever will.

“Right.” He agree, smiling brightly. He can almost see stars in your eyes by how excited you get at the concept.

“Show me?” You wiggle in place. “Please?”

Hyrule snorts. “It’s not that impressive unless it’s on a grand scale. But that’s reserved for battle.”

He snaps, getting bits of electricity to web between his fingers. It’s a small party trick that he likes to show new people before he shows off something much larger and grand. He remembers that moment with the Captain before they both took down a swarm of remaining monsters together.

You gasp excitedly, grabbing his hand without notice. “No way! How did you do that!?”

Hyrule pauses, his brain screeches to a halt. Your hands are very soft from what he can feel on his fingertips. He knew that he was sweet on you but he can feel his heart get caught in his throat at they you seem to stare at him wonder.

“Do it again!”

Hyrule does it again without thinking, completely entranced by your expressions. If you would smile like that at him every time, you could tell him to jump and he’d ask how high.

He was worse off than he thought.

He clears his throat again and moves so he can hold your hands instead. It catches your attention enough where you stop looking solely on where the magic came from but onto his face at last. Hyrule smiles, trying to fight his blush at how well this was going for him. “I swear I can do other things.”

You get more excited. “Like what?”

Hyrule thinks for a moment. A lot of the spells he knows are offensive instead of defensive and will hurt you if he tries them. There’s his Life spell but he doesn’t really have any injuries and it’s just the two of you right now. He hums and tilts his head this way and that.

He smirks.

He pulls away from you slightly and chants the familiar words. His vision shifts and he shrinks.

He can hear you scream in delight and clap. When he opens his eyes again, you’re much bigger than he is and look positively enamored by this very small concept. 

“Hello!” He calls out. But he knows you won’t understand him. No one ever has. “You’re very pretty.”

“Oh...you’re so cute. I think I love you.” You coo at him, catching yourself a moment to late. “Oh-! Um! I mean-”

Hyrule can only laugh. “It’s ok. I think I love you too.”

But you won’t know that part.

Sky

Sky tried to stay on his feet as monster were coming in the left and from the right. There was very little that the Master Sword couldn’t take down.

Sky smiles fondly at the memory. Fi would have loved each and everyone of the boys in the group. He’s sure of it. Which is why it hurts when some of the talk of their distain for the blade or perhaps- it was merely a bad time of their life like the Rancher mentioned.

Even so, none of them had the connect he did to holy blade. Sky isn’t entirely sure what to think about that.

He cuts down the bokoblins from an area he’s already forgotten. He knew it was mentioned but who knows at this point if they’re not going to have monsters coming in from the in between time periods and be a mix of either.

Sky takes a breath and readies a spin attack.

He sees you in his peripheral and there’s more monsters coming up on the far end of the field.

Sky frowns, not wanting to see you get overwhelmed by the threats. He raises his sword skyward- lighting collects by the blade in a move that he’s all terra familiar with.

He strikes down and sends the beam your way.

It misses you by a hair- taking out the monster you were fighting in the process and scaring away the monsters that were already aproaching.

You stand there, slack jawed and slowly turn your head to look at Sky.

He pauses. Should he... have not done that? Did you not know that was an option? It’s not something he likes to do all the time. It always managed to make his arm feel weird and the lighting scars from Demise left an ugly scar.

Sky waves.

You wave back robotically before you turn your head again to see the carnage left over. You give Sky a thumbs up.

A laugh barks out of the young hero before he can stop it and he jogs to where you stand frozen on the battle field. “Enjoy the show?”

You shut your jaw with a small click and point to the sword in his hand. “...Could that thing always do that?”

Sky looks down to where he holds the blade. “To my knowledge, yes. I‘ve always been able to do that move with the Fi.”

“Fi?” You ask.

Oops. Sky bite in the inside of his cheek. He didn’t mean to let that slip. That was on accident.

You don’t seem to take notice of it. Before Sky can blurt out one of his most trusted companions on his journey of herodom, you point at the next group of monsters that approach. “How long can you do that for?”

Sky shrugs. “A few more times before my scars act up.”

Your mouth opens but you shut it again. “Ok- nevermind. Don’t do that.”

Sky smirks and does it to next group

You yelp, now actually seeing it in action and jump behind him, keeping your hands on his shoulders. “Warning!”

He snorts, putting his free hand on yours. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“...Yeah...” You say breathlessly. “No kidding... No wonder all you guys talk about it....Can it do anything else?”

“Of course.” Sky acts offended on behalf on the blade. He lets the moment take a breath before he smirks and bumps his elbow with yours, hoping to earn cool points. “Do you want to see?”

“Yes!”

Time

Time had realized very quickly that he had a slight problem.

He wanted your attention on him and only him. Time never considered himself a jealous man nor would have thought that would have feelings of insecurity this late into his life- and yet here we are.

Time watches you interact with the boys with a small smile on his face. At least he can see that you enjoy their company and they make you happy with their youthful antics. It’s something he knows can’t fully keep up with even if he tried.

But- that doesn’t change the fact that you hardly give him the attention he desires. Something ought to change that.

Time also never considered himself a show off- something that the boys occasionally tried to get him to indulge him. However, he’s never felt a need to do so. Admittedly, even now he’s still not sure if those are the means to get your to notice him. It would seem ingenuine to his person.

Until it begins to rain cats and dogs at least.

The storm is unprecedented and causes the dirt underneath their feet to be unsteady and slippery. Many of them try to run only to land on their butts or faces.

His armor would be his downfall in moments like this. If there would be any lightning his very life could be at stake. But then he sees you helping Hyrule get back to his feet, ushering Legend under the cover of the jacket you’ve lent.

Lightning strikes in the distance. He needs to get everyone under cover and get out of his armor. 

“There’s a cave this way!” Wild calls out, holding his hand over his eyes to keep the water out in vain. 

Twilight is quick to follow suit, picking up Wind and Four and holding either one in each arm. Time follows them as quickly as the terrain would allow him to go. The cave is colder and stone from the entrance to the pitch black back- but it’s dry.

Time sheds the metal from his body as fast as he can. As the others file in, Time finds himself doing a mental head count. Wild, Twilight, Four and Wind entered before him. Hyrule and Legend follow soon after, both covered in mud and sopping wet but unharmed as well.

More lighting strike and for some odd reason, Time feels compelled to head back out there- sans his armor.

Warrior and Sky head in last- the scarf and sailcloth held them both back from entering with the others. 

Time undo's the last of the claps and looks around once more. The clouds have it difficult to see out into the open despite it being only three in the afternoon.

Sky coughs and begins to rid himself of his layers like everyone else. “We’re missing one...”

Time runs back out.

Frantically, he begins calling out your name, just barely being able to hear himself over the thunder. Lightning strikes closer- hitting one of the trees and exploding it on contact. The pieces rain in a fiery array of painful reds and blacks.

You scream.

Time turns on his heel to head toward the sound.

When he gets to you- he sees that you’re trapped between one of the larger pieces of the tree- flame holding on strong despite the torrential rain- and another tree you seemed to have attempted to take shelter under once you were separated.

Time doesn’t hesitate to rush forward and grab the flaming piece of wood, hauling it away from you. “Come on. I’m getting you out of here. You’re going to be ok.”

You nod numbly, taking his hand. Effortlessly, he hauls you up into his arms and takes off the way he came. Lightning continues to strike around you and tree continue to be caught on fire and explode but Time makes it back to the cave without a hitch- even if he feels marginally winded. And he’s definitely going to feel his back and hands tomorrow- but for now, everyone is safe.

“Old Man your hands!” Legend cries out in horror.

It’s only after he’s set you down at you notice them as well and gasp.

“Believe it or not, I barely feel it.” Time responds, going so far as to wipe them on his pants.

“Don’t! Don’t do that!” Wild flinches.

You stare at him in shock and awe. “You saved me.”

He reaches out and pats your head, trailing his hand down the side of your head with more tender than he realizes. “Of course. Didn’t think twice.”

You gulp and take his hands, avoiding eye contact. “Come on. This will hurt later. We have to take care of it.”

Worth it. Time sighs and lets you pull him along. At least you’re safe.

Part 3

[marshmellowrio]

Flight of the Night | Chapter 5

A/N: Enjoy the last part of this scene.

Word count: 1.3K

“What’s your story, then?” Cassian says with a jerk of his chin in Feyre’s direction.

She straightens. “I was born to a wealthy merchant family, with two older sisters and parents who only cared about their money and social standing. My mother died when I was eight; my father lost his fortune years later. He sold everything to pay off his debts, moved us into a hovel, and didn’t bother to find work while he let us slowly starve for years. I was fourteen when the last of the money ran out, along with the food. He wouldn’t work—couldn’t, because the debtors came and shattered his leg in front of us. So I went into the forest and taught myself to hunt. And I kept us all alive, if not near starvation at times, for five years. Until…everything happened.”

I sit back in my seat, letting the words sink in. She was so young, younger than I was while enduring a vaguely similar situation. Teaching herself to survive. A new-found respect for this young fae finds its way into my mind, she already had my respect after what I heard from Rhys, but this…she has earned our respect twice-over.

“You taught yourself to hunt. What about to fight?” Cassian breaks the silence as he braces his hands on the table. “Lucky for you, you’ve just found yourself a teacher.”

A small smile graces my lips. Cassian might be a born leader, but he’s such a passionate teacher as well. He’d do good teaching more than the odd apprentice once in a few hundred years.

“You don’t think it sends a bad message if people see me learning to fight—using weapons?” I almost scoff at Feyre’s words. Damn the Spring Court and their old ways of thinking. No female should be denied the chance to learn how to use her body to defend herself or others.

Mor’s voice is venomous enough to make me look at her. “Let me tell you two things. As someone who has perhaps been in your shoes before.” She continues as Feyre takes in the atmosphere in the room. “One, you have left the Spring Court. If that does not send a message, for good or bad, then your training will not, either. Two,” a flat hand is placed on the table, “I once lived in a place where the opinion of others mattered. It suffocated me, nearly broke me. So you’ll understand me, Feyre, when I say that I know what you feel, and I know what they tried to do to you, and that with enough courage, you can say to hell with a reputation.” Feyre’s eyes lift to mine as I nod at her. She needs to understand that no one will judge here, we all have our pasts, and we will all heal. “You do what you love, what you need.”

I see her consider, the way her eyes move away from Mor’s to stare at the table. Gears turning in that pretty little head of hers. She lifts her gaze to Cassian’s, “I’ll think about it.”

“Let me know if you need some help, oh mighty warrior.” I wink at Cassian, but it is Azriel that responds.

“No novice wants your help in combat, Lyss, you are brutal.” I pout at the statement, even more so as Cassian nods in agreement.

My hand raises to my heart, and a grin starts cracking through my innocent facade. “You wound me, Az.”

Feyre suddenly states to Rhys, “I accept your offer—to work with you. To earn my keep. And help with Hybern in whatever way I can.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, where did this come from?

“Good,” he merely replies. “Because we start tomorrow.”

I raise my eyebrows, while Feyre sputters. “Where? And what?”

Rhys interlaces his fingers and I recognise the more formal stature, we’re talking business now. “Because the King of Hybern is indeed about to launch a war, and he wants to resurrect Jurian to do it.”

My gaze snaps to Azriel, seeing him observing a very still Amren. When? When has he figured this out?

“Bullshit,” Cassian spits. “There’s no way to do that.”

Mor groans, “Why would the king want to resurrect Jurian? He was so odious. All he liked to do was talk about himself.”

“That’s what I want to find out,” Rhysand says in return. “And how the king plans to do it.”

“Word will have reached him about Feyre’s Making. He knows it’s possible for the dead to be remade.” Amren contributes her thoughts.

“All seven High Lords would have to agree to that,” Mor counters. “There’s not a chance it happens.”

“If there’s one way, there is bound to be another way.” I say in response.

Mor continues after nodding at me, “All the slaughtering—the massacres at temples. You think it’s tied to this?”

“I know it’s tied to this. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for certain. But Azriel confirmed that they’d raided the memorial in Sangravah three days ago. They’re looking for something—or found it.” Azriel nods in confirmation and shrugs at Mor when she looks at him.

“That—that’s why the ring and the finger bone vanished after Amarantha died. For this. But who…” Feyre breathes out. “They never caught the Attor, did they?” I shiver at the dread in her voice, another creature she had to face while still human. I can almost feel her pain.

“No. No, they didn’t.” Rhys says quietly, as if not to scare her off. He turns to Amren, “How does one take an eye and a finger bone and make it into a man again? And how do we stop it?”

Amren frowns. “You already know how to find the answer. Go to the Prison. Talk to the Bone Carver.”

I suck in a breath and I hear Cassian and Mor utter in unison. “Shit.”

“Perhaps you would be more effective, Amren.” Rhys says calmly, cornering a beast.

Amren only hisses back, “I will not set foot in the Prison, Rhysand, and you know it. So go yourself, or send one of these dogs to do it for you.” Cassian grins back, earning a snap of Amren teeth in return.

Azriel shakes his head at the two. “I’ll go with Lyssa. The Prison sentries know me—what I am. And he likes Lyssa’s gifts.” I clench my teeth as he avoids my gaze, he knows I don’t like being volunteered for something I don’t trust. And the Bone Carver it ranked quite high on that list.

“If anyone’s going to the Prison,” Rhys says before I can deny Azriel’s proposal, “it’s me. And Feyre.”

“What?” Mor demands, hitting her palms flat on the table, leaning her weight on them.

“He won’t talk to Rhys,” Amren says to us, “or to Azriel. Or to any of us. He might like the gifts Lyssa leaves him, but we’ve got nothing to offer him. An immortal with a mortal soul however…” She stares at Feyre. “The Bone Carver might be willing indeed to talk to her.”

All of our gazes turn to the young immortal in question, assessing her next move.

“Your choice, Feyre” Rhys says casually. And I believe him, if she says no, we’ll find another way. We will all try.

“How bad can it be?” Her response shows she has no idea what she’s up against in this immortal world.

“Bad,” Cassian only says.

A/N: Let me know what you thought in the comments! If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!

Taglist: @inloveallthetime @mybestfriendmademe @blackgirlmagicforever

[mariaofdoranelle]

Don’t Hold Your Breath

Rowaelin Month masterlist

@rowaelinscourt

I hate to post this this late, but I had a weekend from hell and this was the only time I could find to finish this fic and post it. I started writing it a while ago, after being overly excited with this prompt by @dailyau and @yellowmagicalgirl

Warnings: none I think? It’s a little Sleeping Beauty-ish

Words: 1,8k

“I can’t say I wasn’t expecting your visit, Rowan.” Maeve drawled, holding the teapot herself to pour them the infusion. “Still, it’s been so long since I last had an old friend over.”

Rowan held his vessel, using his ice magic to cool his tea. Every movement he made was carefully nonchalant. If Maeve sensed a single rise in his pulse, she’d use that against him somehow.

His family was about to start a war against her, after all.

“Our friendship hasn’t been the same since you tried to kill me.” He gave her a sneering grin. “Was Remelle your last attempt? Or did I miss something?”

Maeve’s mask slipped for a second, allowing him to see her glare and the cold fury it held.

Remelle, Maeve’s spy. She barged into Rowan’s room ready to kill him, but now her weapons must be somewhere by the foot of his bed. He was more than ready to get rid of her, but not while she still had information his family could use.

“Straight to the point, eh?” Maeve’s tone was disdainful, her condescending mask slipping back on. “I know you have a message from your clan, just as you know I’ll have to kill you.”

“Will you?”

It took nothing more than a second thought to break the stained glass adorning Maeve’s walls. The wind burst into the stone castle, Rowan’s magic tearing her throne room apart with wind alone, ripping luxurious tapestries with sharp edges of broken glass, making her lackeys in animal form so scared they ran away, leaving their Queen alone.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, while he sipped his tea. It was too sweet, unfortunately. Rowan looked up, observing with no small amount of pride that while he had obliterated Maeve’s throne room, the two of them didn’t have a single hair out of place.

He sipped some more to hide his smug smirk. The amount of power you have is directly proportional to the difficulty you’ll have controlling it. Rowan hadn’t shown off his skills like this in a few decades, but it looked like he was still sharp.

“You know I’ve demolished castles stronger than yours alone.” Rowan’s tone was relaxed, and he leaned back on his armchair. Everything about him portrayed the words he didn’t say: you know you can’t kill me.

Maeve plastered on a strained smile, her jaw clenched. “Cocky, aren’t you?”

“Just realistic.”

“And I’m assuming I can’t convince you to work with me.”

“I have no need for more money or titles. I’m not turning my back on my family.”

“What about your mate?”

Rowan stiffened, his pulse picked up. He heard it right, Maeve’s knowing smirk wouldn’t be so big otherwise. But she was toying with him, she had to.

He was a prince. He had more money than he could count. He loved his duty as a general. Rowan never, ever thought he’d be so lucky to have a fated mate. There was a limit to what people could be born with, right?

Rowan’s erratic heartbeat and quickened breaths were too loud to hide from Maeve’s Fae ears, and he could barely register her watching him with a wicked gleam in her eye.

“You’re lying.”

“This discovery was an accident. I was looking for her, but the only thing I saw was you.” Maeve drew lazy circles with her finger on the armrest, her smirk predatory. “Let’s say I have unfinished business with her bloodline, but I’m too busy to deal with that now, with your family nagging me all day long.”

“Stay away from her,” Rowan warned, but his voice had a shaky tone that was rare to come out of his lips.

He had a mate, and Maeve was the only way to get to her. Somehow she was wanted by the most vile person Rowan knew, and he had no way to warn or protect—

“We could make a bargain, of course.” Maeve took a sip of her tea. “You could stay out of my way during this war, and we’ll deal with your mate after.”

Abandon his family, and in return receive the greatest happiness ever known to some rare chosen Fae, the ones blessed enough to have a mate. Rowan got up and took a step back, feeling dizzy all of a sudden.

Maeve’s smile grew. She knew she had him.

“Do you, Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle, accept to be kept away until your lips touch your mate’s?”

He blinked, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Did Rowan have any guarantee he’d kiss his mate while being kept away? Mate. What did being kept away entail?

Mate. Rowan had a mate.

But Maeve wanted to kill him, and there would be no mate if he died from blindly agreeing to a bargain.

“That’s some sketchy wording, Maeve.”

She smirked, her darkness surrounding him. “Take it or leave it, Whitethorn.”

He’d have to be kept away, and would only be free when his mate kissed him. Rowan was sure this meantime wouldn’t be comfortable, the same way he knew he wouldn’t know peace until he found his mate, now that he knew he had one.

“I’ll do it.”

And that’s when Maeve’s darkness engulfed him.

~~

“Do I look like a sexy version of Queen Maeve?” Lysandra checked her reflection on her phone and twirled around the renaissance fair’s First Aid Station Aelin was working at.

Using shape-shifting abilities to do cosplays should be considered cheating, but Lysandra’s magic was so rare they didn’t have rules for that.

“I don’t think The Ancient Queen’s dresses had that kind of cleavage, Lys.”

She booed. “The judges will love it.”

“I’m sure they will.” Aelin rolled her eyes. “Just take off the fangs and pointy ears.”

“Oh, come on!”

Aelin sighed. Sometimes Lys got so excited with her shapeshifting abilities, she forgot that races aren’t costumes.

“I’m going to expose you on Twitter if you don’t take it off.”

“Fine.” Lys shape-shifted into the exact same form she had before, but without Fae traces. “Do I look good as a human Faerie Queen now?”

“You look amazing. Now go away.”

“Ouch!”

Aelin gave her friend a pointed look. She was on call as the renaissance fair’s nurse, ready to assist the visitors. And instead of enjoying the event, Lys had been at the same dull place, chatting with Aelin for hours.

The stone castle was open for visitors for the first time after being unused for 400 years, the fair being in its gardens while people took guided tours inside. Aelin thought it was cool at first, but now she felt an unusual tug in her chest every time she came to work.

All she knew was that Prince Rowan Whitethorn’s disappearance was the last straw to start the war that killed Queen Maeve, 400 years ago.

The Royal Family made sure Prince Rowan was remembered, but Aelin always wondered why they kept Maeve’s castle closed for so long. Until she felt that strange tug in her gut.

Aelin!

The shout came as a warning before Ress, from the security team, barged into the First Aid Station.

“There’s an unconscious body inside the castle.”

Aelin jumped from her seat, grabbed her medical bag and hopped on the golf cart waiting for her. It wasn’t as fast as an ambulance, but the faster a four-wheeled vehicle could go inside an event like this.

“Did you call an ambulance?”

As qualified as Aelin was, there was only so much she could do outside of a hospital.

“A visitor did,” Ress replied, “but you can get there faster.”

After a small ride and two long sets of stairs, Aelin didn’t find a patient, but the crowd that gathered around one. Ress pushed them aside to let her inside the room, and she thanked Mala the security team had kept the visitors away from the patient.

Tending for an unconscious person with a crowd was chaotic, to say the least.

Aelin ran the patient’s way, kneeling by his side. He must be a cosplayer, given the clothes.

Lysandra gasped near her. “You need to save him. He’s too hot to die!”

Aelin stiffened. “What are you doing here?” she snapped while checking the male’s pulse. Or lack thereof.

Ress raised both hands in surrender. “She was with you for so long, I thought she was a patient under observation!”

Aelin rolled her eyes and started the compressions, the heel of her palm against his sternum in the rhythm of the song inside her head. He. Got. My. Heart. Beat. Skipping. Down. 16th. Avenue.

“Which Whitethorn do you think he’s cosplaying?” Ress asked Lysandra in the background.

“I don’t know,” her friend replied, “they all look the same to me.”

After thirty seconds of CPR, she pinched the male’s nostrils closed, sealing his open lips with hers to give him a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

When she placed her hands to restart the chest compressions, she felt his rib cage expanding.

Unconscious Hottie was breathing. Aelin’s shoulders dropped in relief.

In a matter of seconds, his breathing was normal. Way too strong, considering his previous state. His eyes blinked way too fast.

A recovery this quick could only mean his blackout was caused by magic.

Aelin left the CPR position and sat by his side, just helping him be more comfortable while the male came back. If he still needed medical assistance, only a magical healer could help him now.

“My mate,” he breathed.

The Fae slowly sat up with Aelin’s support, but he didn’t seem to mind his own fragile state. His eyes were blown wide, aimed at her, his breath ragged.

"How long hath I waited for thee, my soul’s mate?" the silver-haired Fae asked with a desperate, longing gaze.

Aelin was kneeling by his side, her mouth hanging open. God, this cosplayer was good. But how did he get back to his role so fast? People can’t fake their heartbeat stopping, right?

“Hey, is everything alright?” She squeezed his shoulder. “What happened? Did someone poison you?”

The male didn’t answer her. Instead, despite his weak limbs after the incident, he kneeled before Aelin. He bowed his head and raised the sword strapped to him with both hands, the same way people were portrayed making vows in very old paintings.

“As a prince of grace and dignity, I, Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle, doth pledge to thee my love, my sword, and my service, from this day forth. Even when this world is forgotten, a mere whisper of dust between the stars, I shall hold thee dear in my love."

Holy rutting Mala.

Aelin’s mouth fell open, a wave of coldness spreading from her core and numbing her thoughts. She was always ready for the unpredictable, but did he… did he just—

“Ae.” Lys cleared her throat. “Did this total stranger just propose to you?”

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[catchyhuh]

Well part 6 made it obvious that besides French and Japanese Lupin can talk at least in English, Italian, Russian, Spanish, German, Turkish, Korean and Dutch (gosh, he's good, I'm jelly).

What languages do the others know? I have some headcanons about Goe, but I'm curious about your ones!

well, the short of it, for all of em really, is: “do i need to learn this language to continue living for the next month? yes? ok let’s learn some conjugation.” so it’s less about which specific languages and just HOW many they know so much as how do they go about the process of learning/how do they USE the language once they’ve learned it so. IT’S A LOT

and uh also they all tend to default to japanese but you probably knew that LET’S GET INTO THE LOT

jigen:

jigen knows the least out of all of them, mostly because he. does not talk to many people. he’s an unintentional perfectionist about it in just that one sense; if he’s communicating, he wants to be SURE he’s understood, no room for misunderstanding

of course, that doesn’t mean he’s a slouch. i’m sure he can still speak, listen to, read AND write at least ten more languages than you and i can, minimum. BUT STILL, he just doesn’t want any room for misinterpretation, none whatsoever. so usually, he lets someone else do the talking, or he attempts to get by with whatever he and the other party can understand. it’s kind of funny because his stubbornness with this means a lot of times the gang will purposefully leave him to flounder, because THAT’S WHAT HE GETS FOR NOT WANTING TO REMEMBER SOMETHING AS SIMPLE AS “no ice in my drink please”

because of this, he’s most proficient in READING in other languages. there’s no need for input on his end, and he can get a hang of sentence structure AND the words themselves, so there’s no embarrassment later. so particular about these things

fujiko:

the only one who can speak a language better than she can understand it being spoken to her. like jigen, she mostly learns by just reading it, (sometimes by rereading a book she already knows, so she already has an easy guide to go off of) so trying to decipher someone TALK talking at a conversational speed is. a different beast

uses the whole multilingual thing as more of a novelty than a necessity. like it’s a party trick to her. like she's a translation dictionary in the flesh! ask her how to say purple in danish! wanna know the word for cookie in malay? if you want to know how to say “penis” in 30 languages, fujiko will frown and go “c’mon. grow up." ...but she'll still answer since it’s actually still just ‘penis’ in like five different languages anyway,

this is mostly because she weaponizes the “you don’t think i can understand x language, but yes, i can, and i can hear you calling me stupid while i’m standing right fucking next to you. you will regret this in time”

goemon:

absorbs foreign languages the fastest, which is hilarious because he’s always the most stubborn about wanting to just speak his first language. i mean it’s goemon, you probably saw this coming! 

has since softened on the concept, not because of a “loosening of his personal principles,” but rather, he saw how damn DIFFICULT it made things for the average person he interacts with for two seconds of his life. it was initially easy to hold onto it, until he saw the poor waitress grin apologetically and say she was so sorry she didn’t understand. then he softened. a BIT. if you know even a smidge of japanese he’s expecting it from you. 

wore a t-shirt that said COOL GUY in big, obnoxiously american letters once for a disguise. burnt it when the operation was over. lupin has five pictures of it. goemon allows the records to exist because he is, objectively, a COOL GUY

zenigata:

the funny thing is you’d ask him about it and he’d get kind of sheepish. like, yeah, he knows (he pauses to count on his fingers for a second) 23 languages but he’s not REALLY good at most of them it’s just like a thing for WORK it’s not like he’s REALLY got them down--

again, it’s the fault of that freakish hypercompetence that comes up for rule of funny. if he’s just getting off the plane and he realizes he’s left his gloves at home and is desperately trying to find a pair, no, he can’t get through in the slightest. but if it’s LUPIN involved, oh buddy if there is an ELEMENT of DANGER AND/OR LUPIN, he just breaks out entire sentences with almost perfect pronunciation and everything, to the point the other people in the room wonder if he was faking his issues earlier. and the answer is no, he wasn’t, he just didn’t have the proper motivation. NOW he does, and NOW he can speak fucking perfect indonesian, just because!

also kind of sort of treats it as a party trick the way lupin and fujiko do if he’s in a good enough mood (but you actually do get hints of that in the show, like that one little part 3 bit!) so that’s fun

[elvenbeard]

20677

“What happened in 2067?” Kerry asked.

“Hm?”

V, still somewhat zoned out, needed a moment to register fully what he had said. It was oddly quiet in his apartment, as if the city hadn’t fully awoken yet either. Nibbles dozed on her favorite pillow on the sofa and the sun was shining, dust swirling in the light. Everything seemed strangely peaceful, normal even… as if there was anything normal about having Kerry-fucking-Eurodyne casually lounge in his bed after an emotional rollercoaster of a day and night yesterday. Yet, with all that had happened over the past two months, V grasped at every semblance of "normal" he could.

“I mean… don’t have to tell if ya don’t wanna,” Kerry added, sitting up properly now, and moving to join him at the edge of the bed, “Was just curious.”

He had every right to be… V had grown so used to being silent about his past, his private life, that it had become quite hard to open up when prompted. Even with people he felt safe around. To a degree, his silence felt unfair towards Kerry, whose life had been on public display for decades – more or less accurately depicted. He literally carried his past on his sleeve, but even if he didn’t, by Johnny’s presence alone V already seemed to know so much more about Kerry than the other way around.

Kerry trailed a finger or two down V’s spine, making him shiver in a pleasant way. A caress of something he had almost forgotten about, at least for a moment taking his mind off his uncertain future. Reminding him of where he once had been and how far he’d come, who he had become since then.

“Ah, the tattoo…” he realized.

“Guess you can put two and two together ‘bout mine,” Kerry said with a sad smile, looking to the floor for a moment, “2023… hell of a year.”

“Pah, he can talk,” Johnny scoffed somewhere in the back of his mind, but V decided to not humor him right now. Honestly, he doubted Johnny really meant what he said half of the time. They weren’t so different after all, in that regard at least: hiding their hurt behind sarcasm and snark…

This thought alone made V want to spill his entire life’s story right then and there. But no matter how much he wanted to do it just to prove Johnny wrong, spite wasn’t strong enough a weapon to break down the walls he’d built up around himself. As much as he’d set himself free in 2067, it had somehow also marked the beginning of a downhill race – sure, with a few peaks in-between, but the overall trend hadn’t been that positive in hindsight. There was little glory in his past, and he dreaded the moment he’d have to come clean about his time with Arasaka. Not in the sense that he regretted having worked there, he still didn’t and probably never would… but not being sure at all about how Kerry would take it.

As if he could hear his thoughts, Kerry looked back up at him, almost expectantly, but V still didn’t know where to begin, or what he was even ready to share.

“Could say 2067 for me was what 2023 was for you, in a way,” he decided to say, lame as it was as a reply, “Something ended, and something new began.”

Deep down he knew Kerry would understand. You didn’t get a year and wings tattooed across your whole back if it didn’t hold significant meaning, usually even in a painful way. Yet all that had happened then seemed so minor and unimportant to what was happening to him now… If he made it out of it alive, he’d have to get the six covered up with a seven.

He realized he’d been quietly staring at his own intertwined hands for a little too long now, abruptly turning to look Kerry in the eyes again. The thin golden rim around his gorgeous, piercing blue irises gleamed in the morning sunlight and the sight took V’s breath away for a moment.

“As I said, no need to tell right now. Or ever,” Kerry repeated softly, lips then curling into a cheeky grin, “Like me a man with secrets. Somethin’ to look forward to unravelling further down the line.”

V’s heart first jumped then sunk at that notion.

“Kerry…” he hesitated, voice barely more than a murmur. Then he sighed.

“In 2067… Felt like I was at a point of no return then. I thought I’d never be as scared and lost again as I was that year. But now…”

He hesitated for a moment.

“Ironically what scares me the most is knowing exactly what I’ll have to do next. My path is clear, seems to be set in stone, I didn't have that certainty back then… but at the same time it’s like I’m ‘bout to walk straight off a cliff.”

Kerry looked him in the eyes intensely, and V wanted to believe he recognized understanding and sympathy in his expression.

“I’m not gonna say I understand even half of whatcha goin’ through right now,” Kerry said and scooched a little bit closer, their hips and thighs touching now, his arm around V’s back. Kerry sighed, and his face was so close to V’s, his breath brushed past his cheek and neck and chest. Had he wanted to, he could have counted all his freckles, reminding him so much of the stars in the night sky he’d always been so desperately looking for as a kid.

“You asked me yesterday if I was sure about this. Us,” Kerry said quietly, “Knowin’ what’s potentially gonna come.”

V’s heart was beating so hard, so fast, as if it wanted to climb out of his throat.

“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking slightly, grasping at his own fingers even more tightly now, shoulders tense. Then Kerry pulled him closer, just a tiny bit, less than an inch really… but it was still somewhat startling and unexpected. Kerry wasn’t shy about touch, that much was clear, and V was still somewhat overwhelmed by it now and then. But this now was different, subtle, soft… and he liked it a lot.

He looked back up at him.

“Still no doubts,” Kerry then said, gently and firmly at the same time. V was frozen in shock for a moment, but the warmth of Kerry’s smile started to melt his tenseness away, little by little.

“Thing is… ya never know what’s gonna come. Sometimes you just gotta take the leap and hope for the best. Take all chances you can, cause life’s only gonna throw so many at ya.”

He had a point. All he could really do was continue moving forward. No matter how much he wanted to put off the inevitable, it would arrive sooner or later.

Kerry tilted his head slightly and smiled, and V couldn't help but do the same, heart beating hard and fast again. Fuck... it was way too soon to say "I love you", but in this moment he was certain that this was exactly what he was feeling. He hadn't fallen so hard and so fast for someone in a while, hadn't even thought he'd ever be capable of it again.

"Guess the odds of us ever meeting and ending up here were pretty slim, too," he then said instead.

"Nothin's impossible if you set your mind on it. You've shown me as much, and I'll keep it in mind for sure..." Kerry smiled as he leaned in to capture V’s lips in a soft, warm kiss, his hand reaching out to hold V's, the sun embracing them.

Maybe it was worth risking it all, if on the other side of the abyss waited a future with more of this. And even if not… V was certain, whatever time he had left, he wanted to spend it at Kerry’s side.

[aarcanechaoss]

Fast Trust

Masterlist

There was a gun to his head.

Warnings: gun

Notes: chaos chaos chaos chaos jjk x bsd / Choso x Ichiyo

Set after Shibuya but imagine like most of that DIDNT happen Gojo is good, Yuji took control back from Sukuna faster than expected and Nanami and Nobara are uninjured.

There was a gun to his head.

A gun to his head while water slowly rose around him-them.

“Want to tell me why you’re in Yokohama?” A woman… something cold shuddered through him, there was so much power in those words alone… cursed speech? Just her energy? “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m here with the Jujutsu Sorcerers from Tokyo.” He stated without another thought. “Satoru Gojo can vouch for me.”

The pressure of the gun pressed against his skull lessened slightly but it was clear she didn’t trust him. Not when they were alone underground with sea water rising slowly.

“The hell are you?”

“I’m half human, half curse.” The truth fell from his lips faster than he could stop it.

At least she finally pulled the gun away, the water that had been slowly rising seemed to falter as well.

“I’d ask how that’s possible but I don’t want to know.” She said with a laugh. “I can’t say shit I’m not exactly normal either I suppose.”

Choso turned… and had to look down.

Down at the woman who barely reached his collarbone and who was still very much holding her gun- though he had no idea if it was a weapon embued with cursed energy or not… her presence was startling enough.

“What do you mean?” He asks. “Because you have cursed energy?”

“Yes and no.” She shrugged. “Anyway you didn’t answer my question- why are you in Yokohama?”

“Gojo and the others are convinced Mahito and Geto are hiding here.” Choso frowned.

“They wouldn’t be in the port then- all the curses here report in when a new curse shows- it’s how I knew where you were before you ask.”

“The curses report in?” He’d never heard of that before.

“So long as they don’t kill innocents or children we don’t care what they do and they seem to appreciate it.” She shrugged again.

A stray thought passed his mind, Jogo would have liked Yokohama if he’d known this. Choso pushed that thought away- Jogo was dead, Sukuna had killed him after force feeding Yuji ten fingers.

If Choso hadn’t left Yuji after a flux of memories come forward he wouldn’t have been taken over… thankfully Yuji adapted quickly and there was no major casualties par Jogo and those human sisters Geto (Kenjaku) had kept around.

“Tokyo and Kyoto don’t seem to have thought about that.” Choso states instead.

“The higher ups are old fucks who only care about their image.” Her nose scrunches up in an adorable way… adorable? “I’m Higuchi by the way.”

He blinks, surprised by the change in attitude towards him.

“Choso.” He replies instead. “Is Higuchi your surname?”

“Yeah. I kind of have two first names for different workplaces.” She grins before snapping her head towards the tunnel ahead of them. “We should head back before the sea water fills this place up.”

“Two? Sounds confusing.” He said as they both turned to walk back the way they came.

It was weird, how easy the conversation suddenly felt considering she had just had a gun to his head.

“Eh sometimes- more for people who know about both but it also keeps unwanted attention from both sides.”

“Ah.” He stalls for a second before asking. “You uh switched your attitude towards me quite fast?”

“You told me the truth.” She said like it was all the answer he needed.

“I did but… oh I did answer before I really thought about it, is that your cursed technique?”

“Nope. And I suggest we speed up or I’ll actually have to use my CT.”

She was fast.

Maybe it was because she was wearing pants versus his robes but still- she’d reached the entrance and heaved open the door before he could even attempt to open it for them.

The door shut behind them with a loud clang and thud.

“Big sis!” A voice called from across the way where a car sat, humming quietly.

“Ah shit I forgot he was here.” She tutted. “Tell Gojo that if those Curses have managed to sneak into Yokohama his best bets would be the old warehouses along the port not the tunnels.”

“Thank you… Higuchi. I’ll let him know.” His mouth went dry for a moment as he looked her over properly, the dim tunnel lights not having done her service at all.

Pretty golden blonde hair, brown eyes that had a hint of amber while the fading sun shone by them and a definitely far more healthy complexion than his own.

“Be there in a sec Tachihara!” She yelled over at him, noticing that he began to creep their way.

So not a blood related sibling then.

“Where might I-we get in contact with you? While we’re still in Yokohama I mean.” He said quickly.

“Gojo and Nanami should have mine and Mori’s information since we’re the main sorcerers here. Otherwise I work at the Port Mafia if there’s any emergencies ask for Ichiyo Higuchi.”

“We’ll alert you to anything we find.”

“Good I’d appreciate it. I don’t like when shit fucks with my city.” She grinned. “I gotta go. See ya Choso.”

“Goodbye.”

Was it embarrassing to admit he wanted to know more about this woman? Perhaps Yuji would understand why she had intrigued him without telling him much at all.

More importantly… did she like flowers?

[aegon-targaryen]

Zelink Week Day 2 - Forbidden

read on AO3 | read on FF.net | @zelinkcommunity

Major TOTK spoilers below!

Link flexed the fingers of his Zonai hand and tried to remember the last time he’d obtained a Light of Blessing. If he didn’t need the powers that came with it, he would take the whole limb off just to make it stop hurting. Would he still be her knight, then? He had the vague sense that someone had trained him to fight lefthanded before the Calamity, but as usual, he couldn’t recall who.

It didn’t matter. He could still close his fingers around his broadsword and draw it forth, stepping out into the hollow heart of the Dueling Peaks.

Ganondorf’s imposters had all been empty and cold-eyed and alien. The woman waiting inside the metal cage was different. She wasn’t trussed up in that white Zonai dress Link knew she would hate. Instead she wore her beloved Champion’s colors and dove-grey cloak, her hair clipped back from her face and shining like a golden halo in the morning sun, looking just like the day he’d lost her.

And she was smiling at him. It was the wrong smile, girlish and carefree, not the marvel Link had kept tucked into his heart as far back as he could remember. Of course the enemy could never understand what it meant to survive what she’d survived and emerge glowing on the other side.

“Oh, Link!” she trilled. “You came to save me!”

The voice was wrong too. So was her unguarded posture. Even if Link had never found that pool of tears on the Akkala shoreline—the last gift she left him as she ascended, screaming, to the sky—he would have seen straight through this façade. Yet he found himself rooted to the spot even so.

“Well, aren’t you going to get me out of this cage?” the imposter wondered.

Link did not move.

“You’re him, all right. Blond and dumb as rocks!” She twirled away in a sunburst of crimson magic and reappeared at his side, still grinning, the choppy golden hair he’d cut himself brushing the hood of her cloak. “Don’t you have anything to say, Link?”

Her fingers slid around his Zonai wrist, burning everywhere they touched.

Whatever her intention, she went flying before she could execute it, slamming into the bars of the cage and sliding to the ground in red Yiga leathers. Her two companions burst out of hiding and charged.

Instead of retreating like they wanted, Link barreled forward recklessly, sliding right past one Yiga’s guard and falling upon the other. His sword flashed up—hooking through the center of the Demon Carver—then down, raking across the man’s arm and wrenching the weapon from his grasp in one movement. Kicking his legs out from under him for good measure, Link whirled to ram through the last Yiga’s attack with his shield, sending them both tumbling to the stone, his fist connecting with that masked face again and again.

Only Penn’s arrival brought him back to his senses. Link lurched away and let the Yiga scurry off, clutching at his shaking, gloom-cursed hand. That’s not me, he thought in horror. I’m not cruel. Zelda, I don’t know who I’m becoming without you.

“You all right, partner?” Penn asked, looking Link up and down as he handed over a pouch of Rupees.

Link nodded blankly, but he sat there a long time after the Rito left, wind threading its cold fingers through his loose hair. He thought of a warm bed, a slow morning, a body that didn’t hurt all the time, and Zelda sleeping safe and sound beside him.

Finally, he gathered the courage to touch the ring on his second finger.

Mineru appeared in a shower of blue-green light, the limbs of her construct clinking as she faced him. “Yes, Link?”

“Dr—draconification,” he said, stumbling over the big word in his small voice. “You called it forbidden. That means…she wasn’t the first.”

“Or so the stories would imply,” Mineru agreed. “The details have been lost to time.”

Link had always suspected the dragons were far from mindless beasts—Naydra had even lingered at the Spring of Wisdom as if to thank him for freeing her from Malice. Yet she, Dinraal, and Farosh circled Hyrule endlessly and pointlessly, never resting, never going anywhere. Had they been people once, too? Had they made the same sacrifice as Zelda?

Clutching his legs to his chest, he looked up at Mineru and voiced the question he’d been avoiding for weeks: “Can it be reversed?”

“Oh,” she sighed, her metal face emotionless, her voice full of grief. “I’m sorry, Link, but…not to my knowledge.”

He hid his face in his knees.

“She was certain of her choice,” Mineru told him gently. “She told me that she had more faith in you than in anything else.”

A river of agony flowed from Link’s right shoulder to the tips of his fingers. He made a sound at the back of his throat, choking on the brutal reminder of those final, gasping moments beneath the castle, when he’d let Zelda fall into a place of no return.

He hadn’t even gone to see her, except as an insect on the earth while she soared far above his head. Link had faced his own death; he’d faced the Calamity that caused it; he’d faced the shattered remains of Hyrule and found his place in it, even after losing so much else. But he truly and fundamentally did not think he could face this.

Nonetheless, he would have to. Over a century ago, Zelda had collapsed in the ashes of their burning kingdom and told him she’d sacrificed her childhood for nothing. He could not let the same be true of her humanity.

.

.

.

The Light Dragon screamed, twisting violently enough to throw him off his feet. Link clung to the sword he’d been born to wield and smothered the echoing protests of his own heart.

“It’s me!” he cried out, the deafening wind swallowing his weak voice. “It’s me, Zelda, you can let go—”

She silenced him with another roar. By some desperate miracle his boots met the soft earth of her golden mane. Even the perfect shape of the Master Sword’s hilt felt like nothing under his nerveless Zonai fingers, but there was another sensation: that of the sword reaching for the lost phantom of his real hand, reaching for the center of him.

And Link was ready. He was still ready, no matter how much it hurt.

Despite his terrible strength, he tried to be gentle—yet still Zelda screamed and writhed, and her pain drove the voice from him. Link poured everything into the blade instead: his apologies, his precious memories, all his broken-hearted love.

She yielded, relinquishing her hold, and it was over. Link raised the Master Sword towards the boundless sky, tears sliding down his face as it passed on Zelda’s final message.

By the time he opened his eyes, he wanted to burn the world down. He wanted to take her place. He wanted to tear apart everything that had ever hurt her: with this sword or any other, with his own teeth and nails if necessary. Better yet, he wanted to be back in their bed the morning before it had all gone wrong, when he still had a chance to keep her safe.

But some failures could never be undone. Link had learned that while kneeling in the sunlit waters of the Ash Swamp, remembering his own death.

He balanced between Zelda’s glowing horns, sheathing the sword so he could smooth down the moon-white fur that had been parted by its blade for so long. “Thank you,” he whispered shakily. “I—it’s going to be okay. I promise.”

She had fallen quiet, turning in a wide arc towards the Temple of Time. Link watched the green fields roll by beneath them, the tiny shapes of his brave friends at Lookout Landing, the flock of geese flying in perfect formation across the shimmering wetlands.

He loved Hyrule, he really did; for a long time, he’d considered the whole wild expanse of it his home. But that was before he’d entwined his life with Zelda’s. Now home was her face lighting up as she made a discovery, her hand cradling his scarred jaw when they kissed, the certainty that he could tell her anything and she would never turn away.

Link wouldn’t turn away either. Zelda was still there inside the Light Dragon’s wide, frightened eyes. He knew it because he felt safe and stable and calm, everything he hadn’t felt in the presence of the enemy’s imposters. He sensed her the same way he sensed his phantom arm—too much a part of him to ever be truly lost.

“We’re going to be okay,” he insisted, wishing the words didn’t feel so empty.

.

.

.

After that, Link went to see her as often as he could. He cleaned her back of loose scales, shot the Aerocudas who tried to approach, and spent hours curled up in her mane, talking to her when he could manage to find words.

The best he could say was that she was aware of his presence. Sometimes her eyes shifted towards him, and sometimes his desperation sought recognition there, but the brutal truth was that Zelda had lost herself. So the sky and the silence were all they had—all they would ever have, until the end of Link’s short mortal life left her alone again.

He held that thought at the forefront of his mind as he stood before the Demon King with the Master Sword in hand, amplified by its union with a piece of the Light Dragon’s horn.

The enemy had knocked the Sages out like an afterthought, and his strength kept growing, even as Link’s waned. Everything hurt, and his legs trembled with exhaustion, and there was nothing left for him at the end of this. Lose hope, lose the fight, someone had told him once, but he had forbidden himself hope that day in the empty place between the Dueling Peaks.

Anger, though—Link had plenty of that.

He had never been so fast or so savage. The Master Sword was afire in his hand, blazing with Zelda’s sacred light. The Demon King billowed at the peak of his crimson power, but every one of his counterattacks seemed pitiful, so pitiful that Link saw fear in his enemy’s eyes as he swallowed the secret stone.

Link hadn’t wanted to die, the first time around. He had clung to the Master Sword, to each breath, to the sight of Zelda’s wildflower-green eyes, and he’d fought so hard that he woke up a century later to find her again.

Now—trapped in the Demon Dragon’s maw, bleeding along the razor’s edge of its fangs—he was still fighting, because he could hear her call, and he could feel her piercing through the corrupted sky. When Link let himself plummet into the golden clouds, she caught him, like he’d failed to do all those months ago.

He pressed his face into her mane as she shot upwards. His sides were wet; his head spun; he tasted gloom with every breath he took. The enemy stormed after them, an undulating nightmare of mindless rage. He was always so big, and they were always so small.

But Zelda had come for Link.

And as he rose to his feet, drawing the sword she’d forged for him, he realized he had been hoping all this time. He would go to his grave hoping, no matter how much it hurt, because he loved her too much to stop.

She caught him again and again, until their nemesis roared in final agony, until his ruination faded into the beautiful dawn, until Link—trailing Rauru and Sonia’s blessing like a falling star—finally returned the favor.

At the water’s edge, Zelda opened her eyes and found him. Clutching at the miracle of his flesh-and-blood right hand, Link’s breath caught around a sudden terror that this was a dream, or another lie, one he didn’t think he would survive.

Looking just as confused, Zelda climbed shakily to her feet, making sense of the birdsong and the clear blue sky and the shapes of the Hyrule she knew. And then she tipped her face up to the sun, letting it shine upon the smile that had saved Link from his silence, conquered the Calamity, and carved her path home to him through the millennia.

Only when they were tumbling to the grass in each other’s arms, laughing and crying, did he let himself think: It wasn’t for nothing.

It never had been.

.

.

.

[takeyourcyanide]

Ceaseless

(Soul Eater Fanfiction)

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Violence and Gore

Characters:

Franken Stein, Spirit Albarn, Marie Mjolnir

Word Count: 3 164

Summary:

Though nothing could truly ever quell the churning hemispheres of his brain, he’d take whatever he could get. Whether that be nicotine, or some egregiously opulent perfume.

Notes:

Not beta read. I also hope my writing isn’t becoming one-note. Perhaps I need to switch it up a little somehow. I don’t know how much I like this, but I’m working on another one.

……

Stein leaned against the large, grey pillar standing father away, and on the right side of the silver double doors to his laboratory, a cigarette hanging between his two, torn lips. He allowed the bitter smoke to continuously burn the back of his throat with no end, flowing downwards and entering his lungs, pleasurably lingering within them.

The ashes present on the lit end of the cigarette sluggishly slipped off, landing and spreading about on the concrete flooring below his still feet.

He could feel the sensation of the nicotine from his sixth cigarette flooding his brain, seeping into his blood stream, stirring in his stomach, and enjoyably clouding, yet clearing his fogged mind - and if not clearing, then making the shouting match in his head easier to ignore, even if only by a small margin. He’d take whatever he could get.

The light reflected by the malevolently grinning moon stretched far outwards, blurred and just as fuzzy as his head. He had forgotten his glasses inside.

Stein felt the urge to scan the area around himself, the striking feeling of people’s eyes upon him, perhaps they were marching up to him, hands reaching to strangle him. He merely moved his eyes, glancing beside himself, as despite that inclination, his body would simply not move. He almost felt as though he wasn’t allowed to. A part of him did not want to. He was unsure as to why it happened.

“Stein?” A whiny, masculine voice interrupted Stein’s… Well, he didn’t really have a proper train of thought, did he? That track had been derailed before he was even born.

Long locks of crimson hair entered his view, as well as a generic, yet classy black suit and tie. Simultaneously heavy and flighty footsteps sounded throughout the gradually cooling Nevada desert, hitting against the concrete of Stein’s laboratory.

“What’s up? It’s been awhile,” Spirit held up a hand and waved a little, attempting to make some form of small talk with the unresponsive Stein. It seemed as though there was more on his mind than meaningless chatter, of which he knew Stein disliked.

Spirit chuckled, presumably attempting to break the awkwardness of the silence, switching randomly between a polite smile and a pursed frown.

“Uh,” the weapon began, scratching the back of his head. “Where’s Marie?”

Stein begrudgingly and slowly pointed towards the massive doors, morose-appearing eyes burning holes into Spirit’s shaken soul.

“Inside?” He asked for clarification, head nodding in the same directing as Stein’s pointer finger.

Stein allowed his arm to fall beside him, as more and more of his cigarette burned to crisp, crumbling into floating and falling ashes.

“She must be watching you like a hawk, huh? I’m surprised she let you out here,” Spirit forced out a laugh, shoving his hands into his pant pockets.

“Why’re you here?” Stein mumbled a barely audible and unhurried sentence, as though he was carefully thinking about how to speak and what to say, muffled even further by the cigarette in his mouth, which was practically gone, only releasing little puffs of smoke from his oral cavity.

“Well-“

“Did Lord Death order you to come here?”

Stein’s eyes were wide - unnervingly wide and suspicious, seemingly finding every movement, every breath the scythe took to be conspicuous - to be evidence of some sort of premeditated attack. He did not blink, he did not move, the cigarette’s fire no longer burned as Stein let it fall from his lips onto the ground.

“Sort of. I also wanted to check on you-“

“Check on my stability in order to determine whether or not I’m useful to the academy and Lord Death’s agenda?” Stein rushed out, his words a little slurred and shaky. His fingers strangely twitched, though the rest of his body maintained its position against the pillar.

Spirit released a deep and solemn sigh, stepping a little closer to Stein, only for the meister to tense up.

“How are you, Stein? Seriously,” he inquisitively tilted his head, his eyes holding a concerned and sincere glint within them.

‘He really is a decent actor,’ the scientist thought to himself.

Stein glanced around his unorthodox “yard,” observing the clanking and artificial squeaks being produced by one of the robotic mice he had built.

“Why are you hardly talking?” Spirit questioned, his eyebrows furrowing as that previous frown his mouth had been contorting into returned once again.

Stein moved his eyes back to Spirit’s face, of which appeared to be almost.. disappointed. Did he want him to speak that badly? He really wanted information out of him. He was certainly going to use whatever he could acquire to his advantage.

Once more, an exasperated sigh rocked the death scythe’s body, as he turned on his feet.

“I’ll check on you again later,” he spared a parting glance behind himself at the unmoving Stein. “You’re strong. The strongest person I know. Remember that Stein.”

Spirit sounded so vulnerable and genuine, which left Stein disappointed himself, as not even such encouraging words from Spirit could quell the tornado hurling his brain around on loop.

His former weapon-partner disappeared into the darkness of the night, the stars doing nothing to illuminate his figure.

……

Stein cautiously and robotically turned his body to face the steel doors, trudging towards them and opening them with an eerie and cacophonous creak.

He had stood out for another five minutes or so after Spirit had taken his leave, taking in the lurking scent of cigarette smoke, as he basked in his own mixture of hollowness and pure and unadulterated anguish.

“Welcome back, Stein,” Marie gazed at him with a kind smile, sitting on one of

The two sofas, a cup filled with steaming tea in her hands. “I made you a cup of tea,” she pointed towards the mug on the wooden coffee table. “It’s still really hot, though, so be careful. I already burned my lips.”

Stein looked between the two sofas, unable to decide whether or not he wanted to sit beside her or simply sit alone.

“Why don’t you take a seat?” She patted the cushion next to the one she was sitting on. “I’ve got something really sweet to show you.”

‘Really sweet? Is that some kind of euphemism? What is she gonna do, rape me? It would be the perfect time do as such - while I’m vulnerable,’ he pondered, cautiously making steps towards the sofa opposite to the woman.

Marie chuckled in confusion and slight amusement. “Why do you look so… apprehensive, Stein? I was just going to show you all of the get well cards your students have been sending you.”

‘Was that a lie?’

Stein grabbed the cup of tea Marie had poured for him, closely examining the liquid held within the mug.

“What are you doing?” She asked, an eyebrow raised. “Oh, and where are your glasses?”

Stein peered up from the tea, which had been warming his frigid face and hands, his eyes narrow with what had stricken Marie as being an ever-brewing suspicion of her.

“I didn’t poison it,” her bright smile was replaced with a more serious, yet gentle look, as she stared at him directly in the eyes.

Stein placed the cup down, his movements sloth-like and still apprehensive and cautious, as though he were expecting to be slapped for doing so.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to drink it. I only made it in case you’d end up wanting some,” Marie assured the meister as he silently observed her.

“How about I show you the cards?” She suggested, retrieving the short pile from off of one of the side tables. “Would you like me to give them to you? Or perhaps I could sit beside you, if that’s okay?”

Marie was met with more silence and a few glances here and there, as he looked around the dimly lit room.

“Hm… Would you prefer if I just decided? Usually you like to make the decisions, but it’s fine,” she chuckled. “Actually, how about I just read them from here? Yeah… that’ll work.”

Stein looked almost frightened - a face she was sure no one had ever seen on him before, perhaps not even himself - and she didn’t want to worsen anything.

“I don’t want to read anything,” Stein spoke up, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Oh… Why not?” Marie lifted her head in response, carefully placing the cards onto the coffee table.

“Just don’t.. Not right now.”

What was the point of reading a bunch of lies? They probably felt obligated, or were told to write them - or maybe they even wanted something from him.

When would they learn that flattery would get them nowhere?

“Well, that’s all right... How long has it been since you’ve last eaten?” She stood, heading towards the kitchen.

“Don’t know,” he replied. “What month is it again?” Stein sounded disoriented, out of his element even.

“It’s October,” Marie opened a cabinet, retrieving a little bag of potato chips. She was sure he’d refuse to eat anything substantial in… whatever state he was currently in. It was highly likely he’d even deny the offer of just one chip.

“Here,” Stein flinched backwards the very moment she outstretched her arms, presenting him with the bagged snack. “It’s okay,” she chuckled. “I wasn’t going to smack you or anything.”

Stein lifted his arm in small bursts, accepting her offer, placing it in his clothed lap as he stared down at the food.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Marie tilted her head just as Spirit had, speaking in a soft, inquisitive manner.

Stein lightly shrugged his slumped shoulders, raising his head to gaze up at his partner.

The blonde scooted closer to the sofa, closer to the area directly beside Stein. He intently watched her every step, every twitch of her eyes and extremities.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

An unpleasant sensation rushed throughout his body, one familiar to him, for it had seemingly taken over him entirely as of late. A million nonsensical thoughts bolted around aimlessly in his skull, the only few he could make sense of being; ‘What is she planning?’, ‘What does she want?’, ‘Why does she want to sit next to me when there’s another couch over there?’.

Stein couldn’t make sense of whether or not he was indifferent to her choice of seating or completely and utterly paranoid of it. Perhaps both simultaneously?

Marie continued to stare expectantly at him, awaiting some kind - any kind of response. But Stein couldn’t make any sense of the incessant rambling attempting to evacuate from within him.

“I’ll just sit down, then,” She rested against the plush back of the sofa, relaxing into it with shut eyes and a smile.

Once she separated each eyelid from the other, she turned her head, facing the male to her left. Her smile quickly devolved into a visible frown, as she observed the darker patches of skin underneath his eyes, how unkempt his hair was, and how little he seemed to blink, examining every minute detail possible, always on guard. The odor of cigarette smoke was always one he carried with him, but it was more potent than it had ever been in that moment.

“You know you’re safe here, right, Stein? You’ll be okay,” She nodded her head, speaking in the kindest, most compassionate voice she could muster.

“I know you’re only saying that so I’ll believe you,” he emptily stated, glaring at her.

“Believe me?” Marie straightened her back, fixing her posture as she sat upwards.

“Yes. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but there’s no point in lying anymore. I know what you’re doing.”

Marie sighed, even more deeply and full of consideration than Spirit had, as she peered down at her hands, appearing rather conflicted.

She opened and closed her mouth, quiet sounds escaping her. “I promise you, I’m not ‘doing’ anything. I would never intentionally harm you, or any of our friends for that matter,”

“Why should I believe you?” Stein squinted his eyes, strung out and wildly fluttering his eyes about the room.

“Have I done anything yet?”

“No, but that could just be so I’ll trust you.. You want to gain my trust and utilize it your advantage. Of course, you wouldn’t tell me if you were doing that, though…”

Marie resisted the urge to attempt to physically comfort her meister, to get any closer to him than she already was. She was lucky she even managed to sit side by side with Stein.

“I hope you can learn to trust me,” she began quietly. “You deserve to have someone there for you that you can trust.”

Stein’s eyes bulged from out of their sockets, his jaw hanging slack. “What?”

“I think you deserve that,” she giggled in response to his shocked facial expression. “What’s so surprising about that?”

“Why?” He murmured, unable to take his confused eyes from off of her tender ones. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not, I can assure you,” she generously grinned at the man. “And you’re my friend, my meister. Of course you deserve to be able to put your trust in another.”

Stein, taken aback and dumbfounded, moved his gaze from Marie and to his hands, curling them inward and outward, almost as if to check if he were even alive.

‘She seems genuine.. but she can’t possibly be, right? Why are they all so good at acting sincere? Like they care? What’s the point? What do they want? Is it sex? Is it to hurt me? Why? Because I hurt them? Did I? I did. But I can’t help that they’re test subjects.. That’s just how I view them. Everyone only wants the same things.. But no, she’s right. But is she? She wants me to lower her guard so she can do.. I don’t know what she wants to do. Why is she even here again? Oh, yeah, she was ordered. She’s gonna poison me. She’s here to satisfy her own desires. Incentives. Wait.. what? I can’t fucking… Just shut up.. Is she even real? Where’d the real Marie go? Is this the real Marie? Is this a demon trying to drag me back down to hell? But I’m already there. What is she and why is she here? No, no… I’m being stupid again. She’s real, she’s alive, I’m alive. Am I? It doesn’t feel like it. Oh, my God…’ Stein appeared frazzled, his hand attempting to yank out his hair, perhaps even his own scalp. His eyes were still bugging out of his head, as they held a look of pure confusion, annoyance, paranoia, and misery all put together - a concoction leaving him desiring to rip out his own intestines and stomp on them repeatedly, to lay in a puddle of his own blood and make snow angels in the dark, metallic liquid.

He just wanted quiet. He just wanted to know what safety felt like, what peace felt like. That was all he ever wanted.

He wanted to just give in.

“Hey, it’s okay, Stein. What’s wrong?” Marie’s previous control over herself vanished as she placed a hand on Stein’s taut back, stroking up and down, leaving him to jump away from the touch. “I’ve never seen you so jumpy before. It’s like there’s two ‘yous’ sometimes.”

“Go’way,” he muttered involuntarily, not even realizing the words had slipped from his lips.

“Go away?”

“Huh?” Stein fervently blinked, turning his head in every which direction. Everything was closing in on him now. “Please..”

“‘Please’ what, Stein?” Marie held her hand in the air, uncertain of whether she should try to soothe the male or not.

“I don’know.. Jus’.. Just…… Can’t speak..”

“That’s okay, I don’t mind.”

Blood beaded upon the surface of Stein’s bottom, chapped lip, much to the worry and displeasure of Marie.

“Oh, Stein,” she cooed sympathetically, reaching out and grabbing him. He writhed, desperately trying to get away from her, not having been prepared for such contact, though Marie did not budge. “You gotta stop chewing on your lips, dear. That’s not good.”

He eventually stopped fighting her affectionate gestures, allowing her to hold his head down in the crook of her neck, being overcome by a bubbling, and all-consuming emotion he couldn’t handle. He’d never felt anything so strongly before.

It was a paradox, truly. There was a part of Stein that enjoyed and welcomed danger, and another part of him that was steering him currently, shouting at him to run from Marie’s supposed generosity, for she’d take advantage of how wide open he was in some way. He didn’t know how or why, but he knew she would.

“It’s all right, Stein. Relax. You’re safe,” she said, languidly scratching at his surely aching scalp, smoothing over his disheveled hair.

“‘M not,” he garbled into her skin, of which was leniently coated in her habitual perfume - some sort of floral mixture.

“You are with me. Maybe not with yourself at times, but you are with me,” Marie noiselessly and serenely reassured Stein, wishing to herself that the poor guy’s body would become just a little less stiff.

“Spirit came,” Marie held back a snicker at the random comment, a hand rubbing up and down his back once more, massaging the rigid muscles underneath.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. I don’t think he likes me much. Didn’t talk enough,” Stein spoke under his stuttered breath.

“I think he likes you,” Marie drawled. “Even when you don’t talk a lot.”

“No, no. I don’t mind it. But he was disappointed.”

“I’m sure he was just worried.”

“He’s just reporting back to Death. It’s business. I think he’s got shit in here somewhere to listen and watch. Or you. Or both.”

“I, Marie, do solemnly swear that I have not done or am doing anything of the kind,” she raised her right hand, a small smirk present on her visage.

“Being serious,” Stein grumbled.

“I know, I know. I just wanted to lighten the mood a little,” she apologetically elucidated, patting him on the head.

“Don’ feel good. You know. You’ll use it,” he whined exhaustedly, sinking further into Marie’s grasp, despite the fact that doing so left him feeling so utterly worn and even agitated.

“I know, dear. It’ll be okay.”

“When?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, earnestly, and even a little sorrowfully.

Stein wanted to trust her, he really did. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to believe her, to put his trust into her, he was always stopped by the ceaseless static. What was silence like? Was it nice? He was sure it was.

Stein ignored the expected whispering and the breathing, the stomping sounds, he ignored the short and tall, dark and blurred shapes. He tried to focus, instead, on the flowery scent illuminating from Marie. It was calming in a way.

Though nothing could truly ever quell the churning hemispheres of his brain, he’d take whatever he could get. Whether that be nicotine, or some egregiously opulent perfume.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

Good Boys Should Know Better

Also on AO3 (comments & kudos there are much appreciated!)

cw: implied/referenced torture, blood and injury

“Please sir, I’m sorry,” Jason’s voice cracked, his throat raw from screaming. He tried to push his broken body deeper into his corner, his bare feet slipping against the blood-splattered photos that littered the floor, hundreds of photos of Batman and his new Robin. “I’m sorry for everything,” he cried. “Please don’t punish me again. I’ve been a good boy like you asked. Please sir, please.”

He should’ve learned months ago that begging was useless. Joker just kept on humming his happy little tune as he strolled closer, his hands clasped behind his back, a twisted red grin stretched across his bleached white face. Jason struggled against his bonds, tugging with every ounce of his dwindling strength at the rope and barbed wire wrapped around his forearms as terror descended upon him again. That tune... that goddamned tune... clawed against the inside of his skull like nails on a chalkboard. He was so frightened of what was about to happen that he would’ve puked if he had anything in his stomach.

Two Arkham orderlies with their stone cold faces took their places by the door, looking bored while they waited for their employer to have his fun. When Joker finally stopped in front of him, Jason ceased his pointless struggling. He slumped against the wall, softly whimpering as he submitted like a whipped dog with his tail tucked between his legs. It was easier to just surrender, to obey.

Joker grabbed a handful of matted black hair and yanked him forward, dragging his skinned knees through the sea of photos.

“Why?” he cried, as Joker dropped him in the center of the room. “Why, why?” he begged as the pair of orderlies took hold of him. “Please tell me what I’ve done wrong sir. I’ve tried to be good, I swear.” He was too weak to fight the orderlies as they strung him up on the hook hanging from the ceiling. He dangled helplessly like a slab of raw meat awaiting the butcher. “Oh God, not again,” he sobbed, his entire body shaking with panic. “Please not again.”

Joker had his back to Jason as he leaned over a workbench, fingering through the dozens of implements that were neatly arranged on its wooden top. Jason knew most of the implements—knives, saws, hammers, pliers, crowbars—and the memory of their touch made his heart leap in his chest, into his throat. The fear strangled him, and he began to cough, tears streaming down his battered cheeks as he gasped for breath.

“We’ve had this conversation before, remember kid?” Joker said without turning. “Tsk, tsk. Bats really lucked out when I snatched you up and gave him an excuse to replace you and that thick skull of yours.” A few harrowing seconds later, Joker returned to Jason, concealing his chosen weapon in a gloved hand behind his back. “What was he thinking, taking a loser like you under his wing? I say he owes me a big thank you, wouldn’t you agree my boy?”

Joker’s words cut deeper than any of the knives on that that table. It was easy to forget the lessons he’d learned in this room when that old boy, the scrappy street kid who fought alongside Batman, was always waiting on the edge of his consciousness, ready to creep in and try to take over. But that boy was a miserable failure, such a disappointment to his “father” that he was abruptly replaced and forgotten. He had to remember that he was nobody now, just a discarded plaything left to rot in this house of horrors; and the only person in the entire world who cared for him was standing before him. Jason desperately needed—no, wanted—to please him.

“Yes sir,” he answered softly, his tear-filled voice barely more than a whisper. He hung his head in shame at the sniveling coward he’d become.

“Why am I punishing you, you ask?” Jason winced as Joker took his chin in hand and lifted his head. His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost tender, but there was no mistaking his twisted intentions when Jason looked into those bloodshot green eyes of his. “Let’s review this one last time, shall we? And do try to pay attention. You know how your Uncle J hates to repeat himself.”

Joker grabbed the filthy bandage that was wrapped around Jason’s head and tore it off. Jason shrieked in pain as chunks of skin and clumps of hair that clung to the bandage were ripped away from his scalp. Blood and pus dribbled down the side of his face from the infected wound where the bullet had grazed his skull. Joker stabbed a long, boney finger into the hole in Jason’s head. “Because good boys know when they’re supposed to die.”

[cr0g-0]

Writing from me?? Real and shocking.

Part of something much longer to write hggh-anyway the shadows :3

Wc-2603

Tw-Death, Gore It is crucial to plot

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Lullaby of Hell's Shadows [Was I just a commodity?]

----------

The loud clang of metal echoed through the woods as the brunet stumbledback, a cut stinging across his nose as he panted.

“Wilbur! Your form is atrocious! Do you expect to win a fight with that type of form? Let alone against a highly trained, mature human??” The ravenette scowled, glaring at her son as he stood, heaving with his hands on his knees..

The sword was too big.

The boy blinked any tears away swiftly as he looked up to his mother and straightened his form. “Sorry mo-”

“It's Kristen, Wilbur. Say it correctly or we’ll be out here for another hour training. Am I clear?”

The boy took a deep breath in. “Yes Kristen. I understand.”

They had been training for years but the training was already far more rigorous than he had been used to over the nine years of his training that had started when he was just six. His mother told him he had a great purpose. One that would aid them both in having a better life than…

He cringed a little as he looked around the woodsie area he had called home for fifteen years of his life.

Glancing back down at the ground, he noted the shadows curling around his ankles and tugging at them. Guess it was time for another awkward and rant filled dinner.

His stomach growled at the thought of food and he wasted no time scuttling to the wooden hut, resting his sword amongst the thick and tall grass before he entered the hut and rushed over to the table. He pulled the chair out and sat down.

His mother reentered the room with two bowls of presumably potato soup.

Apparently it had been his mothers favorite dish back where she had come from.

She settled down at the table with a sigh and looked over at Wilbur.

“You are destined for great things my son…”

Oh boy. Wilbur’s all time favorite. A dinner time lecture which ended in Wilbur feeling anger, hatred and guilt towards his cruel and foolish father who had betrayed his mother and him and how he had totally fucked over his life.

His father would pay though. Soon.

“Your father could have fathered such a noble and wonderful son…it is too bad he will not be able to fully appreciate the weapon you have trained to and have become.”

Wilbur’s heart swelled with pride, a grin spreading across his face wide before he quickly hid it from view as he slurped the warm and smoothe soup. His mother was proud.

“However…I am worried. You’re becoming sloppy with your form and the beginning of the autumn harvest is to come soon which means winter will come and…?” She looked at Wilbur expectantly for his answer.

There was a small, sad sigh as Wilbur ran a finger over the grains in the wood and took a deep breath.

“And it’ll be too snowy and cold and the king won’t be outside and easy to find for a duel…I know.”

Kristen slammed her spoon in her own soup.

The boy flinched and his breath caught in his throat for a single moment as he quickly looked to the ground submissively. Mom didn’t like eye contact for lectures. Maybe it was because he cried during each one pathetically.

“But you don’t know Wilbur.”

The brunet barely bit back a wince and just kept his head low as tears filled and spilled from his eyes.

“You tell me you know all these things and you tell me you’ll prove to me you are able to handle yourself. You’ve promised to ensure I ge-we get back at that cruel and disgraceful king.”

“Yes Kristen.” He spoke up finally though his voice was on the verge of cracking as it was most times mom lectured him about how he needed to be faster or he’d fail, how he needed to parry and strike smoother or else he never stood a shot at beating a king-

He was a failure though. He couldn’t even defeat his own mother for primes sake. How was he to prove his mothers name proud? To show that he could do something that would make her happy instead of disappointing her?

“Good. Now-“

Wilbur cut in. “I’ll clean the dishes and then make sure to keep guard tonight.” He kept his eyes low. Mom always liked when he kept his eyes low. Said it would hide his intentions from others.

“Oh.” She sounded pleasantly surprised. He heard the creak and sound of wood being shoved back before she walked over to him and planted a kiss on his head. “Alright well I’ll see you in the morning then dear.”

He nodded, concealing the momentary burst of warmth that spread through him as he scooped up his bowl and cup before gathering his mothers up in his hands.

He placed them into the basin before roughly scrubbing at the insides of them, watching the slurry dissipate into the water.

He took them out and shook them off to get them dried before setting them on a rag so they could drip dry. He glanced over his shoulder at the door and he grasped the glass in his hand a bit tighter.

The moonlight that shone through the entrance glimmered its pale cold ray. The lingering autumn leaves littered the ground as footsteps marched toward it.

Wilbur paused by the doorway and looked off towards where his mother rested. He fidgeted and for a moment his body pulled away from the outside.

But that allure of luxury…that temptation of a life his mother and him hadn’t had before….

He held his resolve and bounded out of the house, grabbing his sword on the way out.

His bounding footfalls echoed throughout the moonlit forest, the birds all silent aside the owls who crooned to their young.

The leaves below his feet crinkled with each step as he continued his race through the woods. He didn’t care if it took a night or a day or a week or a year-

He was going to be at the palace to kill the king no matter what.

The cries of wolves pierced the night as he shoved aside anything that got in his way. He was on a mission-he wouldn’t be slowed by shrubs and branches and roots that curled around the bases of each tree he passed.

Each step, no matter how tired he was, brought him closer to his destiny. To a fate that would bring his family peace and joy.

He leapt over a fallen log, his boots crashing to the forest floor. Shadows curled up and around where he had landed before dissipating. The sword in his hand was heavy but he wouldn’t slow.

Slowing would be weak. He was no longer going to be a weak fool. The thought put a smile onto his face as he kept a steady pace.

As he went further though, the woods gradually began to thicken-their trees growing larger and more challenging to navigate through. The roots and shrubs growing into more of an issue.

Suddenly he was slowing down to avoid each obstacle, trying desperately to get over the annoyingly large plants. The animals of the forest had began to quiet substantially and he was beginning to worry.

He came across another log and groaned, throwing his head back into the night before sighing. Who knew this was so fucking hard? He’d have mom teach him how to do these things when they had a castle.

He shoved his sword into its sheath and began to clamber over the wooden obstacle, his legs and arms straining to pull and push him over it. He favored to roll over the side to make his life easier.

Big mistake.

He let out a shout as he tumbled over the side and began to roll down a hill, curling up to protect his head as his body hit branches, nettles, rocks and all leaves as he plummeted down to gods knew where.

He yelped as he crashed into something which made a garbled noise before the noise went away and Wilbur was left…

He opened his eyes and glanced around cautiously before letting out a gasp which he quickly covered.

He was left in the palace gardens.

He got up and dusted himself off as fast as he could, making sure he was free of any clinging dirt before he unsheathed his sword. He’d find the king and be done with it.

He began to traverse the garden, taking a stealth approach to avoid being seen by anyone.

Although there wasn’t really…anyone around. That was perplexing. Still-he’d take it.

He crept around bushes, corners, small trees-anything that kept him hidden as he listened out for voices.

He really didn’t want to wait till morning-he’d for sure get caught and executed and if that didn’t happen and he got sent home he’d be executed by his mom…

He really didn’t know which was worse.

He reasoned his mom.

He kept going as he looked about, his eyes wild as he went from any subtle movement in the area before he heard a faint yet audible sigh and he froze. He listened again, this time much closer as he approached.

He peered through a bush and had to stifle his gasp as his eyes grew wide at the sight of the king.

King Philza.

The guy looked…really weak….

That thought prompted him to narrow his eyes as he looked at him in curiosity. He could just…go up from behind and stab him.

He chewed on his cheek. That was dishonorable though. Everyone deserved a fighting chance-even if they were a shitty guy who left him and his mom out in the cold.

So he stood up from his place in the plants and gripped his sword tight as he could before stepping out. He puffed up his chest and took a deep breath.

“Enjoying the night King Philza?

The king's body jolted, having clearly not expected anyone to be around-much less Wilbur.

Good. Maybe the old man would have a heart attack before they had to duel-

“I uh-I suppose-” The blond turned around, a nervous smile clear on his face. His eyes looked kind and fatherly. He looked like he would barely hurt a fly.

His heart grew bitter and pained. He hurt his mom and him. He may look like a good father but he had screwed his mother and him out of a life of royalty.

That crime was unacceptable.

“Tell me old man-do you know who I am?”

King Philza stood tall and he shook his head. “I don’t believe I do. Although-if my assessment is correct-” The king chuckled, still smiling and looking too okay to be seeing a stranger with a sword in his garden.

“I’d assume you’re here to assassinate me right? Dual for my throne? To burn my palace to the ground and kill all?”

Well that had been unexpected. “I uhm-” Wilbur’s grip on his blade loosened, the blade tipping to the dirt.

The King laughed again. He laughed again as if his assasination. His death would be funny.

“Mate you’re like-fifteen?” The voice wasn’t patronizing as he had expected. It was sad and kind. “A fifteen year old shouldn’t be trying to kill-you shouldn’t even need to kill. Put the sword down and we can talk ok?”

That offer was tempting. Wilbur felt himself drawn to the king. He was everything Wilbur wanted from his mother and everything he had dreamed about for a father.

But…But this man had-he had taken what his mother was owed…he was made to finish this for his mother.

His grip on his sword hilt tightened again and he grit his teeth.

“No. You took my mothers rightful throne. And for that?”

He glared at him before charging him.

“You’ll burn in hell!”

Wilbur lept at him, his sword arching above his head as he swung it toward the wide eyed king.

His target artfully evaded before drawing his own blade.

Metal clashed on metal as Wilbur was taken aback by the sheer strength of the seemingly old king.

He pushed back against the ornate blade as hard as he could before he stumbled back. The man took another swing at Wilbur and he yelped, just barely ducking in enough time to avoid his head being chopped clean off.

King Philza didn’t slow though as he kept up his relentless and brutal attack until Wilbur and backed himself into a corner.

A tree at his back and a King who was far more experienced than he was.

He wished he could give in. From the falling and running earlier to now he was thoroughly exhausted and if he had to do anymore of this he may flat out pass out…

But he kept going because then his mothers training would have been for nothing.

He slashed desperately at the king’s side and he felt a brief joy in his heart as he heard a cry of pain from his enemy.

That was short lived as a cold blade plunged straight into his heart, his eye’s shooting wide as he stared at the king, his body going limp.

He stumbled to the ground until he was laid out on his back, the leaves under him splattering with blood as he coughed it up.

His eyes began to blur with tears and the inky black of unconsciousness. Crouching above him was King Philza and he felt the king shift his body up a bit. He looked sad. Guilty. Distantly, Wilbur wondered how his life would have been if he was his father.

He reasoned he’d be happy. King Philza would be a good dad.

His body began to feel too heavy and numb and before long he felt his eyes droop and suddenly he was gone.

—-------

Philza looked at the deceased boy in his arms, running a hand through his unkempt hair with sad, tearful eyes. There was no doubt he was Kristen’s boy. No doubt in his mind in the slightest.

He sighed as he gently set him down against the tree and removed his sword. He re-sheathed it and closed his eyes tight, mumbling a prayer to the gods before reopening them. “Rest well child…I’m sorry…”

There was no response but a part of him had hoped that maybe he could be a god. A god who could revive those lost at his hands. He wished he could change that.

It wasn’t a proud moment to attack the child but he wanted to protect himself. He had to. For the sake of his child. He had taken him in and gods knew he wouldn’t let the baby lose a parent again. Especially one that actually wanted him.

He glanced to his bloodied side. Thank gods the kid hadn’t fucked him up to bad. He pressed a hand against it and hissed out in pain before keeping the pressure. He needed to get this settled before an infection.

He turned his back to the body before heading back into the palace. He had a busy day ahead.

—----------

The shadows rose up from the ground, dripping up as they growled and grumbled as they snuck toward the body. The shadow grew into a large beast and gently grabbed the child into gentle claws that oozed the black of night before another hand came up.

In it laid a flower crown that was gently placed around the child's head before both disappeared back to the earth.

The only thing that remained was the bloodied sword.

[erinsworld]

I missed Snippet Saturday, but considering there is still a little time left to the day, I'm going to call it Snippet Sunday instead.

This WIP is a couple of years old now, and one I'm back working on now and determined to finish.

I'm not sure of this part. If it fits. The focus of the fic is Mac and Jack. But I needed a way for a letter to get to Jack (currently still hunting Kovac), and I thought who better than Sarah? But I may have overwritten? Maybe? I'm going to have to wait until I finish the rest of the fic to see if this takes away from the contents of the letter that Jack received and the focus of the story.

Sarah is halfway up the boarding ramp of the transport when she suddenly stops. She abruptly turns around and looks straight at him, the expression on her face one he can’t quite figure out as she walks back down the stairs and straight for him.  

Jack’s guard is immediately up.

Not that it hasn’t been lower than Defcon 2 in the two plus years that he’s been on this godforsaken hunt. But something has her attention and he’s not taking any chances. He never has where she is concerned.

He nonchalantly folds his arms across his chest, right hand wrapping loosely around the grip of his gun that’s tucked in the front of his TAC vest as he surveys the tarmac.

He and his men have been working out of this particular Forward Operation Base for a month or so now as they chase leads and he’s come to befriend and trust each of the soldiers stationed here. But Jack hasn’t lasted this long in the game by becoming complacent.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asks, the words out of his mouth as soon as she's close enough to hear them. He shifts his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to spring into action as his eyes survey the landscape, cataloging every detail, looking for that one thing out of place and that doesn’t belong.

“Stand down, cowboy,” Sarah tells him. She places her hand gently on his forearm, thumb brushing softly back and forth against his skin and already he can feel his muscles start to uncoil, fingers unfurling from around his weapon as his body relaxes.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” she continues. “But I know if I don’t give you a heads-up before you see it, you’re gonna lock down this entire base and activate every unit here.”

“Surprise?” Jack grins. He drops his free to her waist and pulls her closer. “You left me a surprise?”

Sarah laughs. It’s bright and airy. A beacon of light in the darkness that has clung to him these past years. Warmth blossoms in his chest, fills him with feelings he never thought he’d allow himself to feel again.

Or be able to act on.

“Not from me,” she corrects him. “From someone who wishes to remain anonymous until you open the letter that I left on your bunk.”

“Letter? Like… pen to paper, actual letter? Who writes those anymore? Sarah…”

Jack’s brow furrows in thought, lips pursed in a thin line as all his concerns come rushing back.   The concern quickly giving way to fear for his family. Because they are the only ones who he can think of who would send a personal letter, a message that can’t be hacked and that is much harder to trace or intercept, to him via Sarah.

“Jack… Jack, relax,” Sarah soothes, catching his gaze and giving him a nod. “Really… I’ve got your back. If I even suspected, even a little bit, that it was anything serious, I would tell you outright. I would never keep that from you. It seems… personal, but not bad news.”

Jack nods his head as he inhales a deep breath. It shudders in his chest. The exhale is just as rough, and it takes him a couple more breaths to convince his body, his heart, of Sarah’s words.

“I know that… I know you would,” Jack tells her. “It’s just—”

“Being away from them like this is hard. I know,” Sarah says, her voice full of understanding.

“Yeah. Harder than I thought. Miss ‘em like crazy.” Jack drags a hand roughly down his face as he takes another deep, steadying breath. “So… who is it from?”

“That, I’m not telling you,” Sarah teases, punctuating her statement with a playful poke to his chest.

“Sergeant Dalton, sir…” Jack’s gaze turns to the soldier approaching them from the plane. “We are wheels up in 2 mikes.”  

“Copy, private,” he acknowledges, and turns his attention back to Sarah. “Looks like that’s your cue.”

“Looks like.” She raises her hand and cups his cheek and Jack leans into her touch. “Until next time.”

“Until next time,” Jack whispers, turning his head and placing a kiss on her palm.

Sarah turns on her heel and heads back across the tarmac. She only gets a few feet before once again she’s turning around and walking back towards him and Jack raises an eyebrow, head tipped in curiosity.

Sarah stops right in front of him. Stands toe to toe as a smile that Jack can only describe as wicked slowly curls her lips. She cups her hands on either side of his jaw and leans close.

“And for the record,” she whispers, and Jack’s eyes slip closed as her breath ghosts hot against the shell of his ear. “I do have a surprise planned for you… and it’s going to knock. Your. Socks. Off.”