#i had the usual sense of being Carefully Managed Like a Possible Bomb but i no longer want to claw off of his face so it's getting better!

[red-talisman]

Okay jc is the baby of the family, but not really. Nhs and lwj have really spoiled baby brothers attitude, but jc has an elder brother complex in my opinion and this makes me insane. I don't know if it's because he is the sect heir or because of his family dynamics. But these are my thoughts, yours?

With the understanding that I can only speak to CQL (the novel wasn't to my taste, personally, so I didn't get far in it) I am FASCINATED by your idea because I have a very different interpretation of my own!

For context, I lack the relevant cultural elements, so I don't think I can comment knowledgeably on some things? But I, who has some very similar personality traits to JC, am the youngest of 4 in a family dynamic that's similar enough to the Jiangs that, more than once, I had to pause CQL and touch some grass outside. 😅

Personally, I read JC as the Quintessential Youngest Child (TM) in the sense that, like:

He kinda takes his older siblings' support for granted, which is a) common for younger siblings, who have never known life without siblings, and b) JC's strongest and most immediate form of emotional support (since he probably can't/won't connect much with the other disciples and his relationships with his parents are rather fraught). It also means that where he might be more suspicious of other people, he often doesn't even question his own siblings (read: WWX) even when faced with evidence that maybe he should. It's a specific kind of naivete that I expect to see more often from younger siblings who have internalized an "us vs. the world" kind of dynamic.

Which also means that we youngest sibs can be ABSOLUTE DISASTERS when we lose that support, or think we've lost it. (JC being a little bitch during Lan indoctrination was a mirror of me when one of my older sisters started dating boys, how dare she have a life of her own that didn't involve me in every aspect!!! Clearly this means I have to be a passive-aggressive bitch about it!!!!!)

The jealousy, born from insecurity, of seeing older siblings be more liked/talented/etc than you, which you're too young to understand is the result of differences in age and maturity with the accompanying personal growth. No, it's clearly because You Suck.

....and then compound that inferiority complex with the pressure of being The Heir. In my family, I was the child of both parents while my siblings are half-sibs via my father; my mother was not unlike Yu Ziyuan in terms of her Expectations For Me, but my Jiang Fengmian-esque father favored his eldest son. So you push yourself to overachievement and hold yourself to an impossible standard to Prove You Matter As A Person. But JC, who is an accomplished cultivator in his own right (e.g. he developed his golden core a year early!), is in the shadow of a brother who's a legit genius, so what efforts might have 'worked' in other families won't work here. ('Worked' is in scare quotes because this isn't a healthy perspective to have, obvs.)

And when you're the baby sib, you're never not the baby sib, and damn but this can give you such a complex lmao. I don't know how many times I've had to remind my siblings and surviving parent that I'm an adult, I've been an adult for a long time actually, I'm allowed to make decisions about my own life, and I am in fact capable of saying Grown Up Things. It's infuriating! But when you get angry about it, it's just a sign of your immaturity! So then you're labeled as too sensitive, too reactionary, can't you just calm down... Look, at the risk of self-projecting too much, I'm just gonna say that I don't always like JC or agree with his decisions, but holy shit does his character land on some real personal places for me lol. ANYWAY, WWX's refusal to tell JC about the golden core exchange sounds to me, as a baby sib who clearly overidentifies with JC, like, "I don't trust you to make the right decision for yourself, so I have to do it for you, even though we've survived enough things by now for you to have proved yourself an adult capable of making your own choices." But the golden core thing is enough of A Thing to unpack that I'm just gonna leave it there with the clarification that this isn't actually meant to be a value judgment on WWX's action either way.

Also, 'mixed households' in regards to children who are adopted vs. blood-related can have some super complicated emotional dynamics, but this point starts getting into some cultural stuff that I don't feel I understand well enough to try digging into, especially with how horribly messy Anglophone fandom has been regarding the nature of WWX's place within the Jiang family.

SO YEAH ANON that's kinda the main points of my take on why JC Is Family Baby Whether He Likes It Or Not and some of why WWX Has Permanent Big Brother Disease lmao. I try to stay grounded in what I think I see actually on the screen and how it impacts the characters, but of course it's inevitably informed by my own experiences, for better or worse.

But that doesn't mean your take isn't just as valid or maybe is even based on the same points, I could totally see that happening depending on what you mean by 'elder brother complex.' ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ

[bloodfromthethorn]

Friendly Fire

Mac tries very hard not to make mistakes, because whenever he does, people always, always get hurt.  An army days fic.

Part thirteen of the July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge.

Also on AO3.

..

Despite what a lot of people seemed to believe, Mac did make mistakes. It didn’t happen all that often because he was viscerally aware that a lot of what he did was dangerous to more than just himself and that meant that you goddamn checked your working, but he wasn’t infallible. When he’d been younger, those mistakes had usually been small things, like falling out of a tree because he’d misjudged the distance between two branches or not picking up on his father’s mood quickly enough to avoid a lecture, but there had been some big blowouts too. The football field was probably the crowning example, but it wasn’t the only one.

Then he’d joined the army and been sent into the desert and suddenly the idea of making a mistake went from ‘possibly dangerous’ to ‘will almost certainly cost lives’. It was around that time that he started triple checking his working, just to be sure.

Which made it all the more horrifying when he did finally screw something up badly enough to get someone hurt. And, just in case that wasn’t punishment enough for his own stupidity and hubris, of course that someone would be Jack. Of fucking course.

..

He dug through the rubble like a man possessed, tearing open a gouge on his hand as he did so but not faltering for even a single second.

“Jack!” He didn’t dare raise his voice too high just in case any hostiles had survived the blast, but he needed his Overwatch to answer him. Since the wall had come down, he hadn’t heard a peep. “C’mon Dalton, you’re not going out like this. You do not get to die on me.”

He scrabbled for a moment against a chunk of sundried stone just a little too heavy for him to comfortably shift, then was rewarded with the smallest sliver of desert camo. More carefully, he tossed aside some of the smaller bricks, uncovering a gloved hand to go along with the arm he’d first seen. From there it was the matter of moments to clear the rest of Jack’s body, quietly thankful with each new revelation that at the very least he was still in one piece. Bruised and bloody, but whole.

And still not waking up. Maybe Mac wasn’t so relieved after all.

“Jack? Dalton? Can you hear me?” He felt for a pulse, gusting out a pained sigh when he finally found it – a little too fast for his liking, but strong all the same. “Thank god,” he breathed quietly.

There was blood around Jack’s eye from a gash on his forehead, with more dripping from a split lip, but otherwise he looked remarkably alright. No doubt his combat gear and dust coated skin was hiding a multitude of bruises and possible broken bones, but at the very least he wasn’t in danger of bleeding out. Or- well. A thought suddenly occurred to Mac and he spent the next ten seconds wrestling with Jack’s vest to get at his stomach to search for any signs of severe internal bleeding, not relaxing until his search turned up nothing more than unbroken skin.

“Okay,” he said more to himself than his unconscious partner. “We’ve got to get out of here. Stayed too long as it is.”

A glance around didn’t turn up anything he could conveniently use as a litter. He was thoroughly unwilling to leave Jack’s side while he was so defenceless, particularly when hostiles might be closing in, so that meant they were doing this the hard way. He started by untangling Jack’s rifle and making sure the safety was on before setting it carefully on the ground beside him; Jack would be giving him hell for messing with it, but if that was an argument he wanted to have then he was just damn well going to have to wake up and have it, wasn’t he?

Next came the man himself. Even though Mac was technically classified as a non-combatant, he’d still had to go through Basic with all the other recruits, so he’d done plenty of fireman’s lifts before. None of them had really prepared him for the added weight of responsibility he felt as soon as Jack was on his shoulders. He’d always considered their partnership to be two-way: Jack protected Mac and Mac protected Jack right back. It had never really felt this literal before though. Normally his protection came in the form of defusing a bomb before it went off, not bearing the man’s limp weight as they moved through hostile territory when at any minute a bullet could come their way.

But now wasn’t the time to be frozen by indecision and fear. Certainly not when he had to contend with the not inconsiderable weight of Jack and his gear, and then had to juggle his rifle in his free hand. Now was the time for action.

Without stopping to overthink it, he hitched Jack up a little higher and took off in the direction of their Humvee.

..

No doubt he made a hell of a scene pulling into camp and skidding the vehicle to a stop beside the medical tent, but by that point he was far too wound up to care. Jack hadn’t so much as stirred once, and while his breathing and heart rate were holding steady, Mac could feel his skin crawling with the awful sense that maybe something was critically wrong after all.

As soon as the Humvee came to a stop, he was on his feet and shouting, summoning the random assortment of medical staff who happened to be both in earshot and available. On the other side of the ‘road’, a handful of signalmen poked their heads out of the communications tent to see what was going on. Mac barely spared them a glance – all he cared about was getting Jack inside and to help as quickly as humanly possible and then finding somewhere quiet so he could have a breakdown in peace.

To that end, he hauled Jack back up onto his shoulders and met the medical staff halfway, breathlessly explaining what had happened. A gurney was unceremoniously shoved in front of him and he carefully tipped his charge down onto it. The second Jack was down, the staff were pulling him away, whisking him off for an examination inside. He took half a step to follow, but was immediately blocked by one of the nurses.

“Sir, are you injured?”

Mac barely spared the Private a glance, trying to push past but getting stopped by a firm hand on his chest. “No, I’m fine, but he’s my Overwatch, I have to-”

“Specialist,” the nurse said sharply, moving with him to keep him from getting past. “Your partner is getting the best care he can. If you’re not injured, you’ll need to report in. Only medical staff and patients are allowed past this point.”

A prickle-hot wave of frustration raced through Mac at being denied access to his partner, but it was almost immediately chased away by a wash of cold when he properly registered what the man had said. ‘You’ll need to report in.’ Of course that’s what he needed to do – standard protocol and all that. Theoretically he was already in violation of his orders by not having turned on his heel the instant Jack was in the hands of the medical staff, although he was pretty sure he could be forgiven in this particular instance.

But even then, he needed to report in. He had to walk up to his commanding officer and explain that because of his own stupidity and carelessness, he might just have gotten his own partner killed. Jack wasn’t well liked by the Brass, exactly, but he was certainly well respected and now Mac had to walk up to the Major and explain just how badly he’d fucked up. And then, assuming that didn’t get him transferred or demoted or fucking arrested, he was going to have to walk into the barracks filled with Jack’s friends and hope that none of them decided revenge was a dish best served hot. The Brass might not like Jack too well, but the men sure did.

Well, at least he had one thing going for him: since they were in the FOB and not the main operating base, he wouldn’t have to report directly to the Colonel. Small mercies.

“Specialist?” The nurse was saying, apparently alarmed by his sudden freeze. “Are you injured?”

“N-No,” he managed when he finally managed to find his voice again. The nurse didn’t look convinced, so he repeated himself more firmly. “No, I’m fine. You’re right, I need to report. Just- Look after him, okay?”

The nurse’s severity and concern fell away under a blanket of reassurance, his expression turning soft. “We will, don’t you worry. I’ll make sure someone lets you know when he gets moved to the ward, okay? You’ll be able to visit him then.”

Barely clinging to the present moment, all Mac could do was nod. The nurse gave him an appraising look, but whatever it was that Mac was projecting apparently passed muster because he nodded sharply and backed off, giving him one last glance before ducking into the tent and disappearing. For a long moment, Mac just stared at the spot where he’d been in the hopes that if he waited long enough, his brain might kick into gear before he had to face the Major.

Of course, it didn’t happen.

In a daze, he backed up from the entrance to the medical tent, glancing about in sudden self-awareness but finding himself mostly alone. The few people he could see appeared to be going about their days as normal, not paying him the slightest bit of attention.

Right. Things to do. No matter what had just happened, he was still on duty. He had work to be doing.

With a firm mental shake, he forced himself to climb back into the Humvee and drive it over to the much more suitable parking lot. He procrastinated for a few minutes then, sorting out his and Jack’s stuff and making sure the equipment he’d collected earlier that morning was still secure. It already felt like a thousand years ago. That done, he checked the vehicle in with the mechanics and headed to the command tent to face his fate.

..

Mac had never had much cause to interact with Major Torres beyond receiving the occasional direct mission brief or having to give an in-person report when a mission went sideways. Both cases usually ended up being pretty stressful affairs, either because there was a lot on the line or because Mac had to own up to some hare-brained scheme that would probably have gotten him court marshalled twenty times over if his skillset hadn’t been in such high demand. The result was that almost all of Mac’s recollections of the Major were coloured in shades of concern and unhappiness, despite the man himself having never done anything particularly bad to Mac himself. On the contrary, the man had been ridiculously forgiving of some of the shit Mac had tried to pull in the past.

Nonetheless, as he stood in front of him now, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly small.

“So you arrived in Sakini at 1300 hours?”

“Yes sir.”

“What was the situation on the ground?”

“At first, quiet. There were a couple of locals around, but they didn’t appear armed and they didn’t visibly react to our presence at all.”

“At first?”

Mac swallowed, willing himself to keep his thoughts in the right order. The last thing he needed was to add ‘filing an inaccurate report’ to his list of transgressions. “Jack – Sergeant Dalton – went out to do a survey of the area. I stayed back in the vehicle. When he deemed it was clear, he called me out while he set up on the roof of a building in- the town square, I guess.” He pointed at the appropriate place on the map, well aware that the handful of buildings hardly constituted a town, much less one in possession of anything resembling a square, but the building Jack had chosen had good sightlines and that was the main point.

“You went looking for the IED.”

“Yes.”

“Did you encounter any resistance?”

“No. The locals all kept out of my way, but not so much so I thought they were actively avoiding me. More like they just didn’t want to get involved in our business.”

“But you did find a device?”

“Yes sir, but not for an hour or so. It had been tucked into the gap between two buildings and blocked off with crates. Just getting to it took longer than it should have done.”

Torres’ expression twisted in something that might have been sympathy. Two US soldiers alone in possibly hostile territory for over an hour was never the start of a happy story.

“Once I did get to it,” Mac continued, bracing himself, “I was able to disarm it pretty quickly. The device was well hidden, but not particularly well built. It had a single failsafe, but compared to a lot of what we’ve been seeing recently, it was surprisingly basic.”

Evidently, his opinion was not welcome; the Major’s face darkened. “If that’s the case, then why is one of my men in the infirmary following an explosion, Specialist?”

He ducked his head on instinct, shame and fear washing over him afresh. It didn’t matter; what had happened, happened, and beating around the bush now wasn’t going to change that.

“Because I messed up, sir,” he said honestly. “The device was successfully disarmed, but before I could pack it up, Sergeant Dalton alerted me to hostiles closing in on our position. One of them must have been watching Sakini in case we showed up. There were too many of them for Jack to safely deal with alone and they were between us and our transport, so I came up with a plan to funnel them into a small space, and then trigger the explosion. It seemed like our best shot of taking them all out at once, so Jack agreed.”

Torres nodded, but didn’t interject with his own opinion.

Mac cleared his throat. “I needed a minute to rearm the device, and we needed to make sure they all got into position, so Jack acted as the bait. He took a few pot shots at them to get their attention, then made a run for it. Thankfully, they followed. I planted the device at a weak point on the building’s exterior, armed it, and retreated.”

“Dalton didn’t have time to clear the building?”

If Mac had been a little more dishonest – and perhaps less certain that he wouldn’t immediately get caught in the lie – he might have said yes. It still put him on the hook for blowing up his Overwatch, but it still felt a little less like a crushing failure on his part. But that wasn’t who Mac was, and even if it had been, it certainly wasn’t who Jack was, and the second he woke up he’d be asked to give his own account of things. The only way forward was the truth, no matter what it might be.

“Actually, he made it out okay. Things appeared to have gone perfectly but… I wasn’t watching my back, sir. I thought that all the hostiles had entered the building and I wasn’t careful enough. One of them managed to flank me. He was yelling something – I don’t speak Arabic – and dragging me back towards the building – I fought him, but…”

The memory flashed back to him, a warm hand painfully tight on his arm, the hard barrel of an assault rifle jabbing into his ribs, and neither of those things as scary as the IED he was being hauled towards. He’d tried to say something, tried to struggle, but the man had been huge even if he hadn’t had a gun to back him up. Mac hadn’t stood a chance.

Fortunately, Torres seemed to read into what he wasn’t saying. “Dalton doubled back to help you.”

“Yes sir.” His voice sounded small even to himself.

“And he got caught in the blast when he came too close to the building.”

“Yes sir.”

A pause. “Were you hurt in the explosion?”

Mac blinked in surprise, caught off guard. In truth, once Jack had gone down and stopped answering his radio, it had never occurred to Mac to even think about himself. “Uh, no sir. The man holding me was – he was between me and the device, so he caught the worst of it. Knocked him out, I think.”

“You think?”

“I- uh. I knew Sergeant Dalton was hurt. I was more focused on getting to him and getting him out than I was about the hostiles.” He knew it sounded bad even as he said it. He tried his best to look sheepish, but all he really felt was bone-deep weariness. He wanted this to be done. “I’m sorry sir.”

The Major shook that off, unconcerned. “With your Overwatch down, Dalton should have been your priority. EOD aren’t trained to be combatants.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but Mac was hardly about to argue with the man. Besides, he doubted it had escaped notice that he wasn’t wearing his sidearm; he’d been given one as part of his kit and told to carry it with him whenever he was in uniform, but after about a month of working with Jack, he’d felt safer leaving it in the Humvee instead. He wasn’t confident that if there was a hostile in front of him he’d be able to shoot them anyway, so carrying around a loaded weapon was more of a liability than anything. Jack didn’t agree, but he hadn’t pressed the issue.

“What happened next?”

“I found Jack buried in the rubble. He had a visible head wound and he was unconscious. When I couldn’t wake him, I carried him back to our vehicle and came straight here.”

Torres nodded slowly. “Do you have anything else of note to report?”

“No sir.” He held still, waiting for his verdict. He could personally point out about twelve different things he’d done wrong, and every single one of them added up to Jack in a hospital bed. If it really was anything worse than a concussion…

If it came to that, there wasn’t anything the Major could do to Mac that he wouldn’t deserve.

“Alright,” the man said, his voice heavy and drawn. “I take it you know that I’ll have to report this up the chain. Circumstances aside, catching your own teammate in a repurposed IED blast isn’t going to look good and that’s before we even get to you getting ambushed.”

“Yes sir.”

Torres sighed, looking momentarily softer than he had any right to after the shitshow he’d just heard about. “For now, the most any of us can do is wait for Dalton to wake up so he can give his own report. We’ll go from there. In the meantime, I’ll send some men out to Sakini to work on clean-up; you go get washed up. You’re off rotation until your Overwatch is back on his feet.”

The very idea of having a shower and going to bed felt utterly heavenly – just thinking of being gifted such a reward after what he’d done made something in Mac balk. He straightened up, trying to make himself look firm. “That’s not necessary, sir. I’m still fit for work.”

Torres paused in surprise, then gave him a quick look up and down. “You’re asking for another Overwatch?”

Mac hesitated, but didn’t back down. “Not permanently, sir. I know Sergeant Dalton’s tour is conditional. But while he’s in recovery, if there’s work that needs doing then I’m happy to do it.”

The Major didn’t look entirely thrilled by the idea, but he wasn’t turning him down cold either. Mostly, he seemed thoughtful. “It sounds like you were pretty close to an explosion yourself. You’re sure you’re in good shape?”

“I mostly caught the blowback, sir. Made my ears ring, knocked the wind out of me. Nothing serious, nothing permanent.” It was true, too. He really had gotten off incredibly lightly given the severity of the situation, and he could mostly thank the man who had been trying to kill him for it. He’d ended up acting as a surprisingly effective human shield, in the end.

Slowly, Torres nodded. “Okay. I’m going to ask you to get a medical check-up to confirm you’re as okay as you say you are, but if that comes back clean, you can keep working. As it happens, one of our other EOD techs – Garcia – is shipping out in the morning, and his Overwatch doesn’t have a new partner yet. You know Corporal Lee?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. You can stick with him until Dalton’s back on rotation. Check in with him directly to get your instructions, clear?”

“Clear, sir. Thank you.”

“Good. Now, go get that check-up and find out what’s become of your partner. You know he won’t be happy about you working with someone else.”

Torres said it lightly, sharing something of an in-joke that Mac was only half party to. Jack had never properly explained the nature of his deal with Torres – and the Colonel above him – to extend his tour with some provisos, but he’d got the impression that there had been a lot of shouting involved. Honestly, he’d been glad to steer clear of it. Apparently, though, it wasn’t too much of a sore point with Torres anymore and Mac was grateful; he’d hated to know that Jack had put so much on the line for his sake.

With a clear dismissal, Mac saluted, then turned on his heel and headed back to the medical tent. He avoided the emergency area this time, electing instead to go into the space just beyond it that was set aside for the standard check-ups that active soldiers were routinely subjected to.

Stupidly, it wasn’t until he was gestured towards an unoccupied booth that he realised his palm was still coated in dried, flaking blood. In everything that had happened, he’d completely forgotten about the minor wound. Not that there was anything to be done about it now. It wasn’t like he could hide it and besides, it really was only very minor. It shouldn’t pose any threat to his ability to work.

When the doctor made it round to him, he suffered through the indignity of the exam with little grace, too worn out and drained to make small talk. Fortunately, the doctor seemed to understand his mind was elsewhere, because he maintained a solid professional demeanour throughout and didn’t prod when others might have done. He cleaned out the slice in Mac’s palm, agreeing that it wouldn’t need stitches, and carefully checked his torso for any signs of major damage. Finding none, he signed off on Mac’s duty form and gave him back his shirt.

“You’re Dalton’s partner, right?” He said, just as Mac finished getting dressed again.

Mac’s eyes snapped up to look at him. “Yes. Is he- Is there news?”

The man shot him a reassuring smile, flapping a hand to soothe his obvious concern. “Everything’s okay, calm down. He took a hell of a knock to the head, but there’s no signs of critical damage. We’ll be keeping him in for a few days for concussion and cognition checks and the like, but from what I’ve heard, he got off remarkably lucky. He’s sedated at the moment, but I think they’re planning to bring him around in the next hour or so – you can go and sit with him if you like?”

He made a vague sweeping gesture in the direction of the main ward, an obvious invitation, but despite his desperation to see that his partner really was still in one piece, Mac hesitated.

The last time Jack had been injured – a bullet graze over the meat of his shoulder that he seemed annoyed by more than anything – Mac had planted himself at his partner’s side and refused to budge. It had felt like the right thing to do; Jack had always made a point of sticking around whenever Mac was ill or injured, and the least he could do was return the favour. Besides, sitting and chatting with him was a lot better than continuously replaying the moment when the bullet had caught him, his cry of pain and surprise. Jack had certainly seemed to appreciate the company while he waited out the required bedrest portion of his recovery.

But that had been then, when Jack had been wounded by a bullet Mac couldn’t possibly have done anything about. Now, he was laid up with a head injury because Mac hadn’t been smart enough to watch his own back for all of five minutes and had ended up luring his partner into an explosion he caused. On every possible level, Jack’s injuries were his fault.

There wasn’t the slightest chance that the first thing he would want to see when he woke up would be Mac’s face.

He became distantly aware that he’d frozen in place and the doctor had started to eye him critically, so he slapped on what he hoped looked like a relieved smile.

���Nah, that’s okay. I don’t want to disturb him if he needs the rest. Besides, I’m knackered too.”

To his credit, the doctor managed to keep whatever he thought about that off his face. Instead, he offered an obliging smile. “Of course. You’ve had a rough day too.”

Mac nodded, then a thought occurred to him. “Can you let me know, though, if- If something happens?”

No matter how much Jack might not want to see Mac, the only way Mac would be able to not bear seeing him is if he knew that the man was going to be okay. He needed to know that his own stupidity hadn’t done worse than what he already knew about.

“Of course. You’re set up as his base contact anyway, so you’re supposed to be kept in the loop.”

He hadn’t known that Jack had done that, though in hindsight it made sense. He’d done the same the day after Jack had decided to stay on after all. Still, the very thought of it now, when Mac was just about the one person in the entire FOB who Jack shouldn’t be relying on to be there in times of trouble- It stung.

He buried the sensation as best he could under a wave of fatigue and hopped down off the examination bed. If he was going to have a breakdown over this, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be here.

“Is that everything?” He asked the doctor, wanting to be done and away from here.

He smiled. “That’s everything, Specialist. You make sure you get some rest before shipping back out tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to see you back here any time soon.”

“Sir yes sir.”

With that done and a form confirming he was ready for active duty clutched tightly in one hand, he scooped up his and Jack’s packs, as well as Jack’s rifle which he still hadn’t had time to return, and marched back out into the blazing sunlight.

..

The first few times Jack woke up, he spent the few minutes of consciousness he had in muddled confusion. There were bright lights and lots of sound, then pale blue moonlight and muffled voices, then light again – through all of it, he couldn’t have said where he was or what was happening. Everything was too distant and vague to grasp, and fatigue had sunk its claws deep into his mind, dragging him back whenever he dared to try to push ahead.

He couldn’t give up though. He might not know what was going on, but he was sure that there was something he was forgetting, something important. Whatever it was didn’t matter – all that did, was that Jack needed to wake up and get to it.

It wasn’t until he finally blinked himself properly awake that he was able to put some logic to the flashes he’d caught before. He was in a hospital bed, with the slowly undulating fabric of a tent above him – the FOB. That certainly made sense, given that he felt like he’d been hit by a truck, but it didn’t really explain the why of that whole situation and no memories seemed ready to spring forth from the depths of his mind to enlighten him.

Christ, what the hell had happened to him?

He crawled his hand over the scratchy bedding, searching for a call button and ending up surprised when he actually found one. Any higher tech than the stone age was normally reserved for the MOB, and since he was in a tent then he clearly wasn’t there. Shrugging it off as unimportant, he hit the button and waited.

A nurse appeared between the screens around his bed less than twenty seconds later. “Sergeant Dalton? Back with us this time?”

“This time?” He muttered, then regretted it when his throat rasped horribly over the words. Clearly he’d been out for a while.

Understanding brightened in her face, and she stepped closer to retrieve a cup of water from his bedside table and present the straw in front of his face. Uncomfortable as he was, he was pretty certain he could have held the cup himself, but it hardly seemed worth the argument when she was willing to do it. Besides, having a beautiful woman feed him by hand was hardly going to be the low point of his day.

When he was done, she returned the cup to its place and pulled out his chart. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling? Any pain?”

“Headache. Feels like I got run over. What happened?”

Her eyes flicked towards him, measuring. “How would you rate the severity of your headache on a scale of one to ten?”

“Four. It’s fine. What happened?”

She pulled a penlight out from the pocket of her scrubs and leaned in to examine his pupils. He let it happen with increasing impatience, long since aware that trying to rush medical staff when they were intent on checking him over was a losing game. Better to let her get it out of her system before pushing too hard for answers.

“Pupil response is normal,” she said after a moment. “It looks as though your concussion is clearing up nicely. Unfortunately you’re still in what we would consider the danger period for head injuries, so you’re going to be staying with us a few days yet for monitoring.”

That was annoying as hell, but with no idea what was wrong with him, he had no scale of what was reasonable. “Sure, fine, whatever. Can you please tell me what happened? I don’t remember getting hurt.”

Truthfully, he didn’t remember much of anything.

She hesitated, but she must have seen the determination in his eyes because she folded without further argument. “You were hit by falling masonry following an explosion. I don’t know the details beyond that. Your partner brought you in.”

His partner-?

Mac!

A rush of memories suddenly hit him, so sharp and fierce that he actually sucked in a hard breath in surprise. The IED in Sakini, hostiles closing in, an utterly insane idea from Mac that just might be crazy enough to work – and it did, right up until he heard a scuffle over the radio, Mac’s voice tight with stress saying, let go of me, we can’t go in there, there’s a bomb-

He hadn’t hesitated for a second to race back in the direction he’d come.

“My partner-” He said wildly, coming to life all of a sudden as cold terror rushed through him. “Mac- Is he- What happened? Where is he?”

Something had to have gone wrong. If he was alright then he would be here, teasing Jack for being so muddled and letting him see with his own eyes that he was unhurt. That was what they did.

The nurse’s hand pressed down firmly on his shoulder, forcing him back down from where he’d tried to jackknife upright. “Sergeant! Please, stay calm. Your partner is completely fine. Specialist MacGyver, right? He’s okay. No injuries.”

Jack’s wild eyes found hers and latched on, seeking truth. “He’s okay?”

“Yes. I promise you. When he brought you in, he wasn’t injured. He had a physical to clear him for duty and came up clean. You’re the one we’ve been worried about.”

There was a lot there that he needed to process, and most of it seemed beyond his exhausted mind, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. Mac was okay. That was- well, honestly, that was far better than he had any right to expect given the nightmare situation they’d been in, and the fact that apparently Jack had just checked out and left the kid to deal with it, in hostile territory no less. God, he owed him a beer.

But if he’d been sought medical clearance, then that meant… “He’s back on duty?”

The nurse nodded, evidently surprised by the question. It was standard practice for uninjured soldiers to rotate as needed around their teammates’ injuries, and if Mac really wasn’t hurt then there was absolutely no need for him to be sitting around the FOB twiddling his thumbs. But, then, ‘standard practice’ had never been their way of doing things. Thanks to Jack’s very carefully worded agreement with the Brass, the pair of them should have been free to turn down any requests for temporary reassignment.

Then again, Mac didn’t seem the type to pass on a call to duty, particularly if there were lives on the line.

He nodded slowly, letting that knowledge settle inside him. Mac was alive and uninjured, if not exactly safe. Jack was – apparently – alive and relatively okay. A win all round, really – so why did he feel like something had gone horribly wrong?

“Okay,” he said slowly, then again more firmly. “So, doc. Give it to me straight: how am I doing?”

..

Jack had kind of assumed that Mac had been absent when he woke because it was clearly the middle of the day, which logically meant that he was off-base somewhere. That was perfectly understandable and given the circumstances, Jack could understand why he’d done it – Mac hadn’t known that Jack was finally going to wake up after all and since he’d apparently been in and out for three whole days, it wasn’t surprising he’d not elected to sit around, bored out of his mind. Still, that logic fell apart just a little bit when night fell and no blond bomb nerd appeared at his elbow.

He knew that Mac was his contact, which meant he must have been informed that Jack was awake and talking and yet- He went to sleep that evening with no visitors.

He slept in the next morning, unintentionally, so if Mac had stopped by before heading out then he would have missed him. He almost wanted to ask one of the staff, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the kid hadn’t been by at all and that… That didn’t feel right.

It wasn’t that Jack thought he was owed Mac’s time or attention or anything like that, but he’d kind of thought that he’d get it anyway. The last time he’d been stuck in the hospital ward, he hadn’t been able to shake Mac off for more than a few minutes at a time, no matter how much he’d pleaded with him to go back to the barracks and get some proper sleep. Any time one of the staff had tried to chase him out, he’d planted his feet and refused to be moved. It had been touching, in an odd kind of way, a clear demonstration of Mac saying ‘If you’ve chosen me, I’ve chosen you too.’

Now- Now it was different, and Jack was pretty sure that wasn’t a good thing.

Some careful questioning – and an outright demand for an explanation from Major Torres when he showed up to get Jack’s report – had brought some things to light, but made others even murkier. For one, Mac had actively requested to remain on duty. After what had happened last time, that was a big red flag in its own right. He did at least have Lee watching his back, someone who Jack knew to be a crack shot and clever with it, so he probably wasn’t getting himself into too much trouble, but still.

Torres had also made it clear that their failed mission was not being received particularly well by the higher ups. When pressed, he’d alluded to the fact Mac had – apparently entirely willingly – painted himself right into the corner and placed the blame directly on his own shoulders. Jack hadn’t been able to keep himself from swearing aloud. Goddamn self-sacrificing idiot. He’d tried to make it clear that Mac hadn’t been to blame for what happened, and Torres seemed inclined to listen to him, but the details of his report did match up squarely with what Mac had said. The only difference was that Jack wasn’t about to start playing the blame game.

All signs pointed to something being very, very wrong with his partner.

When that evening rolled around and there was still no Mac, Jack had been about ready to climb out of bed himself and hunt the git down. In the end he was spared the trouble by a surprise visitor – just not the one he’d been expecting.

“Jackie! You’re looking- well, a bit shit, honestly, but much better than before.” Corporal Lee – Ryan, to basically everyone who had known him for more than five minutes – stuck his head through the break in the screens and offered him a wide, toothy grin.

“Thanks,” he shot back, grimacing at him then stopping when it pulled at the colourful array of bruising he knew was adorning his face – and most of the rest of him, come to think of it. “What are you doing here?”

Ryan slipped through the screens to stand beside him, casting a careful eye over his injuries even while he waved a careless hand in dismissal. “Your boy got a splinter that I’m making him get checked out. Thought I’d stop by to see you since I’m already here.”

White, electric panic shot down Jack’s spine. “Mac’s hurt?”

“No, no, he’s fine! Yeesh, calm down. It really is just a splinter, I promise, cross my heart. If he was anybody else, I wouldn’t have made him come here but I swear to god, someone needs to teach that boy he’s not immortal.”

The words were clearly meant in jest, but Jack felt the pit of worry in his gut that had opened when he woke up without Mac beside him suddenly yawn wider. Mac had never been particularly good at putting his own safety on his list of priorities, and if he really was blaming himself for Jack’s injuries, then there was a good chance he’d be acting downright reckless.

“He’s been giving you a hard time?” He asked, just to make sure.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Honestly man, I have no idea how you do it. I’ve been driving myself hoarse telling him to keep his goddamn head down and I’ve only been working with him a few days.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he said, hoping his levity covered the ice crawling through his chest. Goddamn it Mac, you don’t get to do this. “You two have any trouble?”

“Nothing worth reporting on. More IEDs than I ever wanted to see in my life but that’s kinda par for the course, right?”

“Tell me about it.”

“But other than that, it’s been pretty quiet. Word got around that your boy took out ten hostiles on his own, so maybe the T-men are all too busy trying to stay out of his way. I sure fucking would if I were them.”

That did actually pull a smile out of Jack, despite everything. The situation was definitely FUBAR, but it was about time someone other than him realised the sheer elemental force that was a pissed off Angus MacGyver. For a skinny little bomb nerd, he packed a surprising punch.

“You haven’t seen the half of it yet.”

“You have no idea how horrifying that is to hear, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, you said he was here, right? In medical?”

Ryan rolled his eyes, smiling. Clearly he wasn’t distracted by Jack’s meek attempts at feigning disinterest. “Yes, he’s about twenty metres that way, and yes, I will tell him to come and see you as soon as that pretty blonde nurse stops flirting with him. I thought he was gonna come yesterday, but he ended up just crashing. Not sure he’s been sleeping all that well.”

The last was said with a quiet, gentle concern, the type of tone that made Ryan one of the most popular soldiers on base. He might be a devil in a firefight, but he was genuine and he cared about the men he served with well beyond what he was officially required to do. Jack was, not for the first time, very glad that this was the Overwatch Mac had been transferred to.

“Who does, in this place? Can you remember what your twenties were like? I’m glad I didn’t spend mine in this hellhole.”

Ryan shuddered. “I don’t think I was ever that young.”

“Me neither.” They shared a look of weary amusement as Ryan patted a warm hand to his shoulder and kicked off from where he’d been leaning against the bed.

“I’ll go make sure your boy doesn’t escape without saying hello. You take care man, okay? We’ve missed you in the barracks.”

“Not sure anyone’s ever missed my snoring before,” he shot back with a smile, then sobered. “And hey, thanks man. For watching out of him. There’s no one else I’d trust more.”

“Don’t sweat it. You’ve pulled my ass out of the fire before. You just rest up and let me take care of your bomb nerd for a bit.”

..

Mac knew that Ryan had only really been making him come to medical to prove a point and that it was all in service of trying to watch out for him while Jack was laid up, but he still found himself pissed off by it. He wasn’t a child in need of someone to pull out his splinters – he’d been perfectly capable of doing that since he was five. Besides, Ryan hadn’t even tried to pretend it wasn’t payback for Mac ignoring his warnings earlier that morning and momentarily ducking out of his sightline to check out a suspicious rock pile.

There hadn’t even been anything buried under the rocks – it was just a false alarm. He’d been back under the protective watch of Ryan’s scope inside of a minute.

All of this to say, he was pretty sour about the whole experience. The nurse was incredibly patient with him, raising an eyebrow at Ryan when he cheerfully explained the problem like he was a parent dropping a kid off at daycare. The attitude had not helped matters. Regardless, she’d sat him down and pulled out her disinfectant and tweezers, and hadn’t reacted at all to Mac’s stormy expression.

It was a waste of his time, and more importantly hers. There were soldiers here with real, actual injuries that needed tending to and here he was taking up space and resources for a ‘wound’ he had scarcely even noticed. Still, he was here now and it wasn’t like Ryan wasn’t going to give him shit for it if he didn’t stick around, so he stayed where he was, feeling worse with every passing minute.

The splinter was hardly difficult to find, in inch long fragment of wood sticking haphazardly out of the inside of his wrist. Too shallow to cause any real damage, but long enough to itch something fierce. It had taken all of Mac’s willpower not to scratch himself raw on the drive back. The nurse hummed in sympathy when she saw it, but didn’t take the opportunity to make a comment that would so visibly have been unwelcome. She simply disinfected her tweezers and got to work.

The process hurt, but it was superficial. More frustrating was the agonising amount of time she spent examining the wound, trying to make sure she’d removed every last bit of debris before she let him go. He knew that it was literally her job to thorough and that he’d live to regret it if there was something nasty still lurking under his skin, but he couldn’t help his own impatience. He’d done everything he could to avoid the medical tents in the last few days and now he was stuck here, no doubt metres away from his Overwatch.

The urge to give in and seek Jack out was almost overwhelming now that he was actually here.

He’d been told that he’d woken up and didn’t appear to have suffered any neurological effects from his injuries or from his extended sedation, but Mac couldn’t trust that until he saw it with his own eyes. If he hadn’t been so sure that Jack wouldn’t want to see him, he’d have been at his side as soon as he heard the news. As it was, Jack hadn’t asked for him so he’d stayed clear.

Ryan reappeared just as the nurse was smoothing a dressing down over the small gash. “Dalton’s a tough son of a bitch, huh?”

Mac’s head snapped up to look at him. “You’ve been to see him?”

“Yeah. And, as it turns out, I think he’s pretty surprised that you haven’t.” Ryan raised his eyebrows pointedly, somehow both a question and a condemnation. Mac was in no mood to answer either.

He shrugged. “I’ve been busy, and he’s been sleeping.”

“He’s not sleeping now.” Mac bit his tongue to clamp down on his response to that. Fortunately, Ryan didn’t seem to need one, because he continued, “He’s asking to see you. If you’re done here?”

The nurse, packing up her things, nodded amiably as an answer, then bid them both goodbye and left. Mac somehow felt more exposed with her gone and nothing else to distract Ryan’s attention.

He wanted to refuse. The only reason Jack would be asking after him is if he wanted to tear him a new one for being so uncompromisingly shit at his job that he’d nearly killed his partner, and Mac just didn’t think he was solid enough to take that right now. But, really, that didn’t matter. If Jack wanted to chew him out, then it wasn’t like it was anything Mac didn’t one hundred percent deserve. He’d have to face the music sooner or later and he stubbornly refused to be a coward about it.

“Okay,” he said instead of trying to find an excuse. “Lead the way.”

Brave face or not, apparently he was a coward in the end anyway, because he hesitated at the very last hurdle; it had taken Ryan physically pushing him forwards to get him past the screens surrounding Jack’s bed. The view that greeted him was- not unexpected, but hardly a pleasant one either.

Jack was awake and blinking at him, which was a vast improvement on the unconscious slump he’d worn the last time Mac had laid eyes upon him, but his face was also a patchwork of blues and purples, softening to a sickly yellow at the edges. He looked – well. He looked like a wall had been dropped on his head.

He opened his mouth with absolutely no idea what was about to fall out of it, but it didn’t matter because Jack immediately cut him off.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

It brought Mac up short. “I- What?”

“Me getting hurt. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Jack-”

“No, shut up, listen to me. I know you and I think I’m finally getting some idea of what’s going on in that idiot head of yours because you told Torres that you were to blame for all this. Isn’t that right?”

“Well. I am.”

Jack huffed, visibly annoyed, and Mac had no idea what he was supposed to do in this situation. He’d expected anger, shouting, not whatever this was. “Goddamn it kid. This isn’t on you, of course it isn’t. Why would you even think that?”

He’d apparently meant it as some sort of rhetorical question because he blanched when Mac put up a hand to count his mistakes on his fingers. Jack spoke before he had the chance to start.

“No, don’t actually answer that. Forget I asked. Look, whatever moon logic you’re using to blame yourself for this? It’s nonsense, man. And no one else is going to tell you that because they don’t know, but I was there, okay? I was there the whole time. And I’m telling you right now that you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Distantly, Mac felt his body trembling. This wasn’t what he’d expected.

“We were in a shit situation, and your quick thinking is what got us out of it. I’m the one who was stupid enough to run towards an active IED even when I knew it was about to blow. And even after that, when the person who’s supposed to be watching out of you was out for the count, you kept your shit together long enough to get us both home without any further injury.”

Mac blinked at him.

“You saved my life, man.”

That was too much. He hissed, flinching at the absurdity of it. “I nearly killed you.”

“Nah, I did that. My mistake, not yours. And besides, I’m fine – couple of bruises ain’t nothing.”

“You were coming back because I was in trouble. Because I couldn’t look after myself for three minutes.”

Jack was shaking his head and Mac wished he’d stop because it looked like it hurt, and he couldn’t bear any more of Jack’s pain right now. “We were surrounded by hostiles Mac. It’s my job to keep an eye out for them so you can keep your eyes right where they need to be, and even I thought they’d all gone into that building. Anyone outside of that was trying to keep out of sight and you had no way of knowing you needed to be watching for that kind of threat. That’s what I’m here for, remember?”

Unable to find words to refute him, Mac just shook his head adamantly.

His Overwatch’s gaze turned soft. “Hey, man, c’mon. You’ve got to know that you didn’t have any control over what happened, and the bits you did, you did great. You got me out of there all by yourself. So what’s going on man?”

Mac hesitated, feeling torn open and raw, but somehow still entirely safe under Jack’s eyes. When he said nothing further, Mac felt himself deflate. “I’ve never-” He stopped, retried. “I didn’t come out here to hurt people,” he managed quietly. “All I’ve tried to do is disarm IEDs and limit the destruction and then this time…”

“This time you were the one setting the bomb.” Jack’s voice was level, understanding and without judgement.

“Yeah. And, of course, not only do I manage to-” He bit off the end of that sentence, his breathing ragged. “I also nearly killed you.”

He was aware that there were tears welling in the corners of his eyes, but he honestly couldn’t have been sure what emotion they were trying to convey. He just felt overwhelmed.

Jack put out a hand, setting his fingertips lightly on Mac’s elbow, the only part of him he could reach where Mac was keeping his distance. “That was the first time you killed someone,” he said calmly.

Wordless and bereft, Mac nodded. One of the tears slipped free.

“Ah, kiddo,” Jack breathed, leaning over a little further to grab Mac’s arm properly and pull him closer. Laid up as he was, he couldn’t offer much of a hug, but he was able to settle for tucking Mac into the curve of his arm and settling him there. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you hear me? I’m so sorry that you were in that situation at all, but you did everything right. Those men- They would have killed you and me and everyone in that village without hesitation, okay? I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you were protecting people Mac.”

Exhausted, overwhelmed, and with no way of voicing any of it, Mac just clung to Jack with a desperation he’d be self-conscious about if he was anyone else. Jack shushed him softly, running his hand up and down his back, and it was only then that Mac realised he was crying.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled wetly, not sure himself if he was apologising for Jack’s injuries or his own meltdown.

“Ain’t got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t. I’ll keep telling you as long as you need to hear it hoss, but this wasn’t your fault. None of it.”

They stayed like that for a long time. Mac felt himself starting to come together again just a little, still raw and hurting but able to breathe again. It was imperfect, but it was still somehow the best he’d felt in days. When he pulled back his head to look at Jack, he found his Overwatch smiling at him.

“There you are. Had me worried for a moment.”

“Sorry.”

Jack snorted. “If you insist on apologising, you could at least have the decency to do it for something that actually deserves it. Like, say, driving Ryan up the wall with your reckless behaviour?”

Mac’s eyes dropped, flushing. Jack just laughed at him, warm and relieved, absent of any actual anger. That part would probably come later, but it was obvious to anyone who looked that Mac wasn’t going to be able to withstand that sort of attack right now.

“Damn it kid. You’re okay though, right? Not hiding any injuries or something?”

“No. I should be asking you that. You’re the one who nearly died.”

“I’m not that easy to kill, brother. And besides, I had you watching my back. I knew you’d get me home safe.”

Mac’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think unconscious counts as safe.”

“I’m awake now, aren’t I?”

“Jack.”

Unable to help himself, Jack ruffled a hand through Mac’s mop of hair, laughing when he chirped in alarm and rapidly backpedalled out of reach. “I’m going to be just fine Mac. Quit worrying about me. I’ll be back on duty and driving you crazy over the radio in no time at all.”

When it came, Mac’s smile was a careful thing. “Can’t wait.”

“Me neither kid. Me neither.”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Love Isn’t Always On Time Part Thirty Seven

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: Not Beta-Read.   Also if you’ve asked to be added to the tag lis and I haven’t, I’m sorry! This is my sideblog and I can’t reply to messages without it being my main (if that makes sense) so just shoot me either an IM or a message on my inbox and I’ll add you I hope everyone’s doing well :) Warnings: Some cursing? Summary: Call me old-fashioned, but I thought three people standing at a bar, all wearing sunglasses and baseball caps may stand out a little. 

The twenty minutes that had followed the broadcast had been status quo for the last two years of my life, and had been the modus operandi in my time with the Howlies - “Grab your shit, we need to be out of here in twenty.” New mission, new parameters. But there were new lines now that we were in danger of crossing. Any actions that we took to go after Bucky wouldn’t be sanctioned by General Ross, by the UN; everyone would be watching us way more closely now.

Steve was tracking down what he could on recon when it came to Bucky; Sharon had promised to feed back what she could without suspicion and while keeping her head above water with the investigation. The image of Bucky was everywhere - a collar pulled up around his neck, a black cap fitted over his head, but he looked directly at the camera.

Sam and I were waiting at a coffee bar as Steve made contact with Natasha; the bombing was on every single channel, everyone around us was talking about it. I kept my head down as much as I could, feeling conspicuous even in black baseball cap and sunglasses. Call me old-fashioned, but I thought three people standing at a bar, all wearing sunglasses and baseball caps may stand out a little. “Something is off about this,” Sam grumbled, “After all of the trouble he’s gone through the keep his head down for the past couple of years, there’s no way he’d slip up just to attack the Accords and then get caught out like that.” “Unless some HYDRA asshole got to him and he’s been reactivated,” I offered quietly, “Or it’s not him at all. Remember that mask ‘Tasha had when we were in D.C.? He could be framed. And he’s already been forced to do so much, wouldn’t be implausible that he’s been made to do something else.” We quieted down as Steve came back in; I could tell from the tightness in his jaw that the conversation with Natasha didn’t go the way he wanted it. “She tell you to stay out of it?” Sam asked. When Steve didn’t answer, he tacked on, “Might have a point.” "He’d do it for me,” Steve pointed out. “In 1945, maybe. I just want to make sure we considered all our options. The people that shoot at you usually wind up shooting at me. And this one hasn’t spent that much time since she splashed back down in the 2000s,” Sam tacked on, nodding in my direction. Steve caught my eye over the top of his sunglasses, and I averted my eyes. “If you have reservations about this, Wilson, have them, but don’t drag me into that,” I argued softly. Sam grunted in turn, quieting down as Sharon settled in beside Steve. “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everybody thinks the Winter soldier goes to their gym. Most of it's noise. Except for this. My boss expects a briefing, pretty much now...so that's all the head start you're gonna get,” She relayed, passing Steve a file. “Thank you,” He mumbled. “And you're gonna have to hurry,” Sharon warned. My blood ran cold when she added, “We have orders to shoot on sight.”

--

“I don’t like this,” I said quietly, glancing up at the building. Sam was stationed on the roof, and I was keeping to the alleyway of the building, waiting on a rented motorcycle that Steve and I had driven over on. Steve looked at the cowl in his hands. We didn’t have the time to contemplate, but I couldn’t shake the feeling in my gut. “Stay out here, keep to the comms, fall back unless I tell you,” he repeated. I pursed my lips and give him a tight nod, averting my eyes to the street. Steve cupped my chin, forcing me to look at him. “It’s safest this way,” He reminded me gently. “I know,” I mumbled, “Just... Go, and be careful.” Steve pressed a kiss to my forehead before he fitted his cowl on, buckling it and heading inside. I watched the door shut behind him before I looked up to the roof at where Sam was peering down at us. I gave him a wave, signalling that Steve had gone inside. “... I’ve got German special forces approaching from the South,” Sam warned. I grimaced, leg shaking impatiently. “Come on, Steve,” I mumbled, waiting for him to open the comm, to give the all clear to come up, something. I didn’t get that. What I got instead was the sound of gunfire, yelling. I kept my eyes on the sky, waiting for a signal from Sam or a call from Steve. What I did see was Bucky jump from one roof to another, then another  person jump after him. I brought my hand up to my ear. “Sam, what the hell is that?” “It looks like a cat man!” Sam yelled back. “A fuckin’ what?” I asked, unable to help a delirious laugh. “They’re heading for the sidewalk,” Sam warned in place of another answer, “Southwest corner!” I started my bike up, pulling my helmet on and pulling the visor down as I sped in the direction Sam mentioned. I could see them - there was Bucky, Steve, and another figure running at an unreal speed. “They’re heading for the underpass,” I groaned, picking up speed. I wasn’t sure what was worse at this point - Bucky jumping carelessly into oncoming traffic, the unidentified CatMan chasing him, or the fact that we still had German Special Forces on our tail. Even in my time in the 40s, even the recon mission in Roessel hadn’t presented me with so many opportunities to die on the spot. German Special Forces had largely paid me no mind, and I used that to my advantage, focusing my energy on defensive driving, diverting other vehicles from the chase, offering Steve and Sam space and cover where I could. I managed to follow Steve’s order, hanging back until Sam flicked the CatMan toward a detonation and fell back onto my bike to keep the both of us from getting caught under the fall of rubble that Bucky had set off. I would’ve taken a harder fall if it hadn’t been for Sam’s wings. I pushed off of the ground, hurrying out of the artificial light with Sam and spotting Steve and Bucky where they’d finally come to a stop with War Machine. “Stand down,” Rhodey warned from behind the visor. Sam and I brought our hands up, crowding closer to the others as German Special Forces closed us in. Bucky and Steve turned their heads to see who else he could possibly be addressing; I saw recognition wash over Bucky’s face in a quick, painful wave before he turned back to the matter at hand.

I would’ve moved closer, but there was Sam’s hand on my shoulder, carefully anchoring me in place to stop me from doing something stupid, like breaking into a run when there were god knows how many guns pointed at us. Part of me didn’t care. Bucky was here, he was in one piece, he saw me and he knew exactly who I was. But I also wasn’t the only one in the line of fire, and one stupid word or step out of line could spell even worse consequences for all of us. I cast Sam a pleading look despite this, and he gave me a small shake of his head. I kept carefully quiet as I watched soldiers shove Bucky to the ground and cuff him. Across from them, CatMan retracted his claws, reached up, and pulled off his helmet. My eyes widened at the sight of Prince T‘Challa. It took everything in me not to fight the cuffs being put on me, not to argue as I was strong-armed toward a vehicle with Sam and Steve and Prince T’Challa. “Shouldn’t he be getting a limo?” Sam muttered as we were nudged into a van. I shot him a look, fighting the smile that pulled at my lips. We were fucked, and we knew it. The Accords had been signed, we were way out of jurisdiction; we had gone essentially gone rogue. The ride was fairly quiet. Until, “So, you like cats?”

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[enkelimagnus]

A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 7, 3038 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

Vax makes it to Whitestone....

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

Vax makes it to the cabin on a rainy afternoon. Vex is busy sketching out some areas she thinks need clearer trail markers and deciding where to implant emergency contact boxes, when she hears an engine running and a vehicle getting closer to the cabin.

She peeks from the window, her eyes catching the gleaming metal of her brother’s motorcycle. She immediately bolts from her seat at the table, startling a napping Trinket, and opens the door. She runs down the stairs and into her brother’s arms.

He’s just had time to take off his helmet, long dark hair held in a low ponytail for the road. She hugs him tightly, his leather motorcycle jacket smelling like hide and patchouli. She’s missed everything about him.

For a while, they stand there, hugging each other. There’s no one around and no use in pretending they don’t love each other right now. It’s been much too long. Vex remembers when a single day without him was torture. Now it’s usual. That saddens her somewhat.

“Welcome to Whitestone,” she grins. “How was the road?”

“Dreadful,” Vax rolls his eyes and grabs his bag, letting go of her to start walking back into the cabin, away from the rain and the cold. “This place is… ghostly, really.”

Vex huffs. “It’s not that bad, come on,” she mumbles. He’s right though.

Whitestone, especially in the sort of rain that’s currently falling, is ghostly. White stone walls and overturned ship-like buildings, with people that stare at strangers like they’re time-ticking bombs… Ghostly. In the time she’s spent here, she’s only started seeing the shadows and the phantoms.

“Is that the little munchkin you’ve called your Trinket?” Vax asks as Vex closes the door of the cabin after him.

He puts his back down next to the bed, heavy boots walking carefully towards Trinket. She’s put him in his crate so he would get used to Vax’s presence without threatening him, or himself.

“Yup,” she nods. “He’s young, but… he could be a good companion,” she points out, her voice as innocent as possible.

Vax looks up at her. “You’re taking on a companion?” He asks, with a raised eyebrow. He thought she never wanted to, especially after Saundor. That’s what she’s told him many times, after all. No companion, she’s not bringing something innocent into this, she’s better off being a hunter. Alone and fixated on one enemy. Dragons were her original choice. Fey her second. She doesn’t want the permanence of companionship… At least she didn’t. Before Trinket.

“I’m not sure yet,” Vex shrugs, trying to escape his gaze. “But… I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and he’s perfect. He’s going to grow big and strong, and protective. And he’s… I’ve grown attached to him.”

Vax shrugs off his jacket and sits down at one of the chairs, looking around the cabin. His eyes glide across the small kitchen, the bed, the fireplace, the ladder up to the lookout and the door to the bathroom. He hums.

“This is… cozy,” he points out.

Vex chuckles. “Very different where you spent the last few days, I imagine?” She asks teasingly.

“You’re a ranger, not a sorcerer with an amazing business,” Vax points out. “I am not expecting the same thing.” He shrugs. “Besides, this is nice. Warm and comfortable.”

His eyes fall on her again and she feels the scrutiny in them. She can’t hide a single thing from him. She was never able to.

“You look… tired, but good,” he says after a moment. “I’m guessing you resolved a problem, recently? You have that… satisfied smug look on you. But not the one from right after it. The couple-days-old one.”

Vex rolls her eyes at him but doesn’t deny it. It’s not worth the trouble. “We had a barbed devil. Killed one for sure, the ranger here before me. Probably more. I had sensed it a while ago, but… I had trouble finding help.”

Vax raises an eyebrow and Vex proceeds to give him the rundown on everything that has happened, on the people of Whitestone and their lack of wanting to talk to her, on Pike and Grog.

“Gilmore tried to contact the local rulers to get a teleportation circle added to the city,” Vax explains once she’s done. “He didn’t manage to find anyone. There are no rulers in Whitestone, as far as anyone knows.”

“It seems they all died in a horrific massacre a few years ago. It’s impossible to get anyone to give me details about it,” Vex shrugs. “But why is Gilmore that interested in Whitestone? There’s nothing for him here.”

Vax chuckles, crossing his legs. “You live here. I like to come and see you.” His smirk is telling.

Vex chuckles back. “I see… He loves to dote on you, doesn’t he?”

“What can I say?” Vax shrugs. “I deserve it.”

Vex absolutely agrees with that. She appreciates Gilmore for many things, but the most important is how he treats her brother. He might be the very first person to take care of Vax the way he deserves, to spoil him. And he’s the first person that Vax doesn’t stop from spoiling him.

He’s had powerful lovers before, in Syngorn or in other places. Vax is handsome and charming in his own grumpy way, and Vex knows first-hand how sometimes, the disgust Syngornians showed towards the two of them could easily turn into sexual curiosity. But Gilmore doesn’t want Vax because he’s a dirty half-human. And that changes everything, including Vex’s appreciation of the man.

“You sure do, brother,” Vex hums and turns to pour them both a cup of coffee. “I’m afraid there isn’t much for you to do here. You can potentially make nice with the people in town and snoop for me?” She asks.

“Is that why you asked me to come?” he answers. “To spy for you the information you can’t get?”

“I asked you here because I missed you,” Vex stares at him. “And I don’t like being away from you for too long. But if you can… Ask a few questions while you’re here, I’d appreciate it greatly.”

“Fine,” Vax shrugs. “But first, I need a lay of the land. Any information you haven’t given me yet. And an idea of whether some of the wealth around here could be redistributed to the people. No rulers means there’s probably chests of gold and jewels some of these folks could use.”

“Two temples. The one of Pelor is in the cemetery, outside of town. They don’t seem to have anything you’d want, but they might have some ideas of who the richest families used to be. I saw some pretty impressive mausoleums around there,” Vex starts. “The second one is in town. Temple to Erathis. I’ve heard about some empty noble houses, and there’s the castle, but it’s been years. I think all of the possible left behind wealth was promptly redistributed already.”

Vax raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, deep in thought.

They stay like this for a moment until Vex huffs and stands up. “Come on,” she smiles. “Let’s go into town and get some supplies. They’re announcing snow later this week and we need enough to be able to survive out here for a while.”

Vax rolls his eyes but stands up, grabbing his coat. Vex gets ready to go as well, thick coat, quiver and bow and the keys to the truck. She pets Trinket goodbye and they get into the truck, starting the drive down.

The heating is on in the cabin of the car and Vax waits about two minutes before turning on the radio. He hums under his breath the pop songs that blast out of the speaker, letting go of his grumpy goth image for once. She’ll never tell anyone that he knows the lyrics to Brit Nayspears’ entire discography.

She points out some trails as they drive past, things that have been causing her issues, the campsite that will hold the local wilderness survival adventure once summer comes around. Winter months are much calmer for rangers than summer ones are, but she’s still looking forward to seeing what the sun looks like reflected off of the Alabaster Sierras peaks.

Vax seems interested. He always does. He listens to her and that’s one of the best things about him. They end up dueting over some song on the radio, at first only humming and mumbling the words. By the time they drive through the city gates, they are scream-singing. Vex can’t stop smiling.

The cold bites as they slam the doors shut and walk away from the previously heated cabin of the truck. They’re not the only ones out for supplies. There are other trucks with crates and bags in the parking lot.

The covered market stands two blocks from the parking lot. Its roof is like an enormous overturned ship and white stones rise from the ground to meet the wood, providing a tall and breathable marketplace underneath. It’s cold still, there’s no use in trying to heat the entire volume of the building. It would only waste spell and components, or wood if they were trying to do it magicless.

They start going through the stalls, grabbing a lot of root vegetables and things that will not perish too fast. If they’re stuck in the snow, Vex is hoping to have a few days of fresh and non-canned food before they have to resort to the cans, but she knows it’s not that easy.

For the meat, she’ll go hunting. There’s no need to bother herself with purchasing beef or anything of that nature. Her freezer can hold at least one deer carcass. She’s measured it. It’s not really a surprise, anyway. The cabin was built as a safe haven for long winters and snow falls. There’s a couple of emergency mattresses rolled up under her bed, enough to allow a couple of people to sleep, albeit uncomfortably, if they’re stuck with her during a storm. It’s a refuge. And a refuge can hold at least one deer carcass.

“Do I really have to carry all of this?” Vax whines as she places a small cart over his arms.

“If you weren’t here, I’d need half of this. So you’re gonna pull your weight,” Vex shrugs.

Vax rolls his eyes. “You invited me, remember?” He calls out as she walks over to get some more potatoes. Neither of them really mean the bickering, but it feels good to do it.

There’s a light chuckle behind him and he turns around, trying not to spill over the contents of the carts he’s carrying. A few feet from him stands a young person with dark brown hair that shifts to white streaks around the temple. They’re watching him with quiet amusement.

“Older sibling?” They ask with a smile and a raised eyebrow. They look tired, and the smile is a little shaky.

“Twin, actually,” Vax replies. “She’s the ranger for the Alabaster Sierras outpost. I’m visiting,” he explains quickly. “Vax’ildan. Would shake your hand but…”

They nod. “Your hands are busy, I get it. I’m Cassandra. Whitestone native. And I know what siblings can be like.” Their eyes are sad.

Vax tries to keep an inviting and smiling face, but it’s not exactly natural to him. He’s not used to this. Out of the two of them, Vex is the charming and open one. She’s the one that gets information, food, good prices and extra help from strangers.

“So you’re the person to ask if I want to know what to do around here in the winter months?” He asks, trying to add a bit of a flirty undertone to his voice.

Cassandra chuckles. “I don’t know. I’m not really a tourist guide, but… The trails can be fun in winter if you’re into cold hikes. Your sister can probably be more helpful than me for this,” they point out. The flirting does not seem to be landing.

“You’re probably right,” Vax shrugs. “I was just… I did some research before coming here, but there’s so little information about this town online…” He explains. “There’s a website, but it hasn’t been updated in what? Five years?”

He’s not lying. The only updated information comes from the TWC website that he knows Vex is somewhat responsible for keeping up to date. The rest is at least five years old. It’s as if the town has stopped evolving and living since then.

Cassandra stiffens slightly. “That’s weird,” they mutter. For some reason, Vax doesn’t believe that it is very weird to them.

“Is there anyone to talk to about that? Like a heritage association or a city council or something?” Vax is trying to fish for information, and hopefully it’s not too obvious.

“No,” Cassandra shakes their head. “There’s no one like that. Whitestone is not… This is not a good city for mass tourism, it’s not a good city for outsiders.” Their jaw is set. “You won’t find anyone to help you, and I’m sorry. But that’s just how it’s been for the last few years.”

“Since the massacre, right? The De Rolo massacre?” Vax pushes a little. “Vex, my sister, told me about it.”

Those words make something ripple underneath Cassandra’s dark eyes, pain and sadness and many other emotions that make Vax feel like he’s just kicked a hornet’s nest. If they were closed off to talking before, they’re now screwed shut, lips tight, ready to flee. And flee they do.

Cassandra takes a step back, shoving their hands into the pockets of their blue coat with uncomfortable determination. It all screams of a deep desire to escape. “Listen, I have to go. It was nice to meet you, Vax’ildan. Good luck with your stay in Whitestone.” They say before sliding away in a hurry.

Vax doesn’t go after them. There’s one thing he knows, and that’s not to run after people who are trying to escape you. He’s been through enough situations where the roles were reversed, and he doesn’t want to be a threat. He’s here to be a charming, smiling person, to get information from people for Vex.

And fuck. He just failed miserably at his first attempt. That entire interaction was a mess and Vax really thought he would be better than this. But Vex wasn’t exaggerating when she talked about the closed offness of the inhabitants of Whitestone. And maybe he'd overestimated his own charming abilities.

Vex comes back eventually, raising an eyebrow at his slightly frustrated face. “Something happened?” She asks curiously.

“I was talking to this person. Cassandra, they said? Dark hair, white streaks around the temples,” he describes.

“I’ve seen them a couple of times before, around some of the temples,” Vex points out. “The one time we talked, they seemed to be in a hurry.”

So that’s a common attitude then, not just something he’s caused. That’s a little bit of a consolation. He recounts the conversation to Vex as they start walking out of the covered market to put their haul into the back of the truck. They have a couple more things to do in town.

Snow starts falling lightly while they’re on the drive back. Vax takes the time to call Gilmore for a few minutes, unsure of whether his cell will have service back at the cabin if there’s snow covering the Alabaster Sierras.

Vex keeps her eyes open the entire trip through town for red hair and antlers. She worries about Keyleth. If she was close to the fiend, as Vex suspected, she is probably not doing good at the moment. She doesn’t know exactly the depths of enthrallment, and how far it changes someone to care for fiends. She hopes it’s not deep enough that the druid is now broken with grief.

But she is nowhere to be seen. Vax hangs up on Gilmore as they turn off of the biggest road and up the mud path that leads to the cabin. There’s a good ten minutes of drive left, maybe even more with the growing wetness of the ground. They’re going to be very thankful for both the fire and the supplies. Vex is glad she decided to go today.

“So what do you think of Whitestone, now that you’ve experienced some of it?” She asks, eyes darting for barely a second to Vax on the passenger seat. He’s looking at the snow like its falling is a personal offence.

“The people are… lovely,” he starts. “But there’s something not quite right in the air. I…” He looks over at her for a moment before looking away. “I admit I thought you were a little paranoid when you were telling me about it.”

Vex’s jaw tightens and she nods slightly, a controlled, small motion.

“You don’t have a great track record at being alone in the woods,” he points out. “You’re doing much better than the last time though. And I can see what you meant, about the heaviness hanging over the city. About the unsaid horrors. That… de Rolo massacre story. That Cassandra person looked quite spooked.”

Vax breathes out as the cabin comes into view at the end of the path. “I’m gonna stay for a little while, if you don’t mind. I don’t like leaving you alone like this, especially with this whole mystery.”

Anger lurches in Vex’s chest for a second, her vision tunnelling, her hands tightening their grip on the wheel. She can handle herself. She doesn’t need Vax to save her again, she’s not going to make the same mistake again. For a moment, it’s all she can think. How dare he come to her rescue again when she doesn’t need him?

But she does need him. Not to save her. But she needs him around. She doesn’t do great without him, they’re a team in all the ways that matter. Having him here right now is the best she’s felt since she arrived. It’s hard for her to reconcile with that anger at his worry but…

She gives him a small smile. “It’ll be nice. Close-quartered but nice.” She nods and parks the truck in front of the cabin.

[parischangedher]

fall into me, my love.

Summary: I rewrote the end of Housekeeping! In my world, Ray never calls, Ziva answers his question, they go to the bar and decide to stop wasting so much time. Closing one chapter and preparing to start anew.

AO3

Word Count: ~2.8K

Prompt: This is based on a post by the lovely @saraluvstiva! It’s a tad different from what you suggested (a little heavier than a casual convo), but it mostly aligns I think. Hope you enjoy!

@saraluvstiva imagined a scenario in which Ray never called, they went to the bar, reminisced about their growth and their relationship--“a sweet little time...both closing their previous chapters (or considering it) and looking to [possibly] the future chapter with each other.”

Hope was a dangerous thing.

There was a reason he never let himself think about her like that. Not seriously, anyway. And not in a very, very, very long time.

“I’m not talking about movies, Tony. I’m talking about you. She cares.”

He had reverted back to the standard old lines, then, and scoffed about how they were partners and teammates who had each other’s backs. Those lines were good. They protected him and their relationship. He told himself for years that anything else between them would be unthinkable. Inappropriate. Comical, even.

Yeah, right.

Her words, simple yet bold, took hold in his mind and wouldn’t let up.

They hit him when he was woefully unequipped to fend them off as he usually did. There was a crack in his armor, in the wall he built around himself to protect the both of them. It had been breaking slowly, really, ever since they brought her back from the dead in Somalia. It almost shattered completely after he was shot a few months ago and faced the prospect of dying without ever telling her. He was more fragile than ever these days, too, since falling out with EJ and painfully watching his partner hurt over another, undeserving man.

And so, when he heard EJ talk about her like that, the possibility of more seeped through the cracks and into his heart. It coaxed his feelings to the surface, fully awakening what he had known yet staunchly denied for years.

He loved her.

Admitting it to himself was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Give him a burning building, a terrorist, a raging gunman, or a bomb on a timer—fine—he could handle that. That was easy—relatively. But love? The old Anthony DiNozzo didn’t do love.

There was just something about her—the complex dichotomies of softness and strength, of love and hurt, of anger and loyalty—that fascinated him, pulling him to her like gravity. She was an enigma that only he seemed to truly understand; and damnit, he wanted to spend the rest of his life unlocking the key to her soul. She made him better, too—pushing him to open up and grow up, never taking his crap, molding him slowly into half the man she actually deserved.

Despite how hard she tried to hide it, he knew she had strong feelings for him too. He could see it in the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention—adoringly and longingly, as if imagining a world in which they could actually be something. He felt it in the way she stole soft and lingering touches, standing closer than necessary on an almost daily basis; and he heard it when she talked to him—sometimes concernedly, sometimes flirtatiously, sometimes even annoyedly, but always with love.

Denying how he felt about her was making less and less sense to him by the minute these days. He was filled with regret for wasted time and, still, fear of damaging their bond. But most of all, he was filled with a deep-seated ache for her. For all of her. And for the first time, the latter was starting to win.

Hearing EJ’s words was the final nail in the coffin, if he was honest with himself. They were validation that it wasn’t all in his head. They gave him hope—and with it, a touch of recklessness, encouraging him to ignore the fear for once and play with the fire that is Ziva David. It had been about seven years, after all. If not now, then when?

“Agent David. Do you really consider me to be…in your life?”

His eyes glistened with a mix of hope, boldness, and vulnerability. He watched her carefully as she processed his verbal challenge, seeing how she’d react—if she’d push them closer to the edge or rein him in.

She tilted her head ever so slightly, taken aback by his question. Instinctually, she opened her mouth to disarm the situation, as they usually did whenever the other got too close to the truth.

The look of adoration in his eyes made her pause, though. Ray’s communication and commitment issues served as a strong contrast to the man in front of her, who listened to and supported her whether or not she asked.

She was tired of waiting seven weeks for a man who claimed to love her, when the one she could not live without was standing right in front of her. She was tired of being treated like an afterthought. She was tired of it all. She was so tired, in fact, that she decided to cut the double entendres and answer him honestly. He deserved that, at the very least.

“I do.”

His smile grew brighter, then, and she couldn’t help but return it. He reached out and softly grazed her arm. It was fleeting, another test. A small thrill ran through her as she wondered what had gotten into him, and she raised her eyebrows in silent question.

“Let’s go get that drink.”

---

“Admit it. You never liked her,” Tony teased as he downed the last of his beer and gestured for another. They sat in a corner booth in a dimly lit bar that neither frequented. On some level, she hoped he chose it exactly for that reason—to make sure they weren’t interrupted by someone they knew, or to mark the beginning of…something. Of them. Maybe.

“Who?” she asked playfully.

“EJ,” he replied, calling her bluff by the look on his face.

“Oh. Her.”

“Yeah, her. You didn’t exactly welcome her with open arms. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Let’s just say that I am glad she is gone.”

“Why?”

She hesitated briefly, contemplating, before she responded.

“She is not good enough for you.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Maybe she was right after all.”

“Right about what?”

Tony smiled a bit nervously and took another sip of his drink as Ziva waited, watching him closely with that look. He could just tell her about the movie aspect of the conversation. It wouldn’t be a lie, really, and it would keep them safely within their bounds. But he was sick of the games, of the walls. Plus, he was a little bit tipsy.

He decided to go for it. Throw it out into the open. Play with the fire.

“When we were at the safe house, she said that you care. About me.”

"Wow, such an astute observation by a brilliant, brilliant woman,” she said, rolling her eyes. Tony chuckled at her brashness, reminiscent of how she was when they first met. But he said nothing, wanting to hear her real response.

“Of course I do, Tony,” she said eventually with a soft smile on her face. “You are my partner.”

“Right,” he said, deflated.

“And sometimes,” she continued breathily, finally feeling the effects of her third drink. “You are even my friend.”

“Wow,” he said, cracking a smile and accepting her amended answer—for now. “I’m honored.”

“You should be.”

He laughed, and she did too.

And, he was.

“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

“We have indeed. It is a miracle, really, given how intimidated you were when we first met.”

“I was not!” he exclaimed, knowing full well that she was right. Not that he’d ever admit it. “If anyone was intimidated, it was you.”

“Tony,” she said amusedly. “I know you.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “I suppose you do.”

She shot him a genuine smile; a happy and peaceful look graced her features.

“Seriously though, Tony. I think we’ve both grown quite a bit.”

“We most certainly have,” he laughed. “Remember when you secretly tried Air Guitar?”

Her mouth dropped. “How did you know about that?!”

“When you uploaded it later that night, my computer saved a copy.”

“Oh, sure it did. Just like it autonomously saved those bikini photos, yes?”

“Exactly,” he replied, winking at her.

“You also posted your ass on that stupid website.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, cringing at the memory. “But, you rated it.”

“A 2.”

“A 5, if I remember correctly.”

“Only if you shaved.”

They laughed, enjoying their banter. She took another swing of her drink, reflecting on how far they’d come over the years—how close they’d gotten. When she had first arrived at NCIS, she thought he was a womanizing goofball, a hormonal teenager in an adult’s body—albeit, an attractive body. As the years went on, though, he snuck by her well-built defenses and managed to take up residence inside her heart. She still wasn’t quite sure how he did so, as no other man had been able to break into her life like that.

And now? After everything they had been through together, she was tired of pretending. She knew she loved him, and that he knew too. They basically admitted as much back in Africa—him to her face, and her to the journals she kept in her office. They’d been dancing around each other for years, backing away whenever someone got too close. Part of it was, of course, not wanting to jeopardize their partnership.

But truthfully, she knew that was bullshit.

She was scared. She was scared of losing him. Everyone she had ever loved up to this point died, sometimes even in her arms. He was the most important person in the world to her, and the thought of something happening to him because of her was almost too much to bear.

But then, something did happen to him. He almost died. And it had nothing to do with her.

She wasn’t even there to protect him.

That night had shaken her to the core; it forced her to question all the reasons she had been keeping him at arm’s length, never letting him in for more than a few blissful moments. She still tried to distance herself and make it work with Ray; but, she was reminded of her losing battle whenever she saw him looking at her like she was the only thing on Earth that mattered.

The fear of him dying without ever telling him the truth had finally eclipsed her fear of losing him.

She wanted to stop pretending, finally. She suspected he did too, based on their interactions today.

They just couldn't waste any more time.

“I have a question.”

“Shoot,” he answered. “Figuratively, of course.”

She giggled. Actually giggled. God, how he loved that sound.

“Of all the ones we have worked on together, what has been your favorite case?”

“Oh, tough one David,” he grinned.

“Really?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “We, uh…we make a good team. There have been a lot of good ones.”

“True,” she said, smiling softly.

“If you force my hand, though, I’d have to say Paris. It is a magical place,” he said with a flirtatious lilt in his voice and a knowing smirk.

“I should have guessed,” she replied. “I loved…Paris, too.”

He raised his eyebrows at her comment; she returned the gesture.

“And you?”

She bit her lip, debating whether she should tell him the truth. This was her chance. She was still scared, but she was also a little drunk by now, and hell, she honestly wanted him to know.

She wanted him to know everything.

“Well,” she began with a small smile on her face. “I liked them all. Or, most of them, like you. We make even the toughest cases enjoyable, when we work together.”

He smiled, opening his mouth to respond before she cut him off.

“But, to be perfectly honest with you,” she continued, boldly meeting his eyes. “My favorite was when we were under covers.”

"I think you mean undercover.”

She clucked her tongue playfully and softly touched his hand, drawing small circles and shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Tony’s eyes widened at her openly flirting with him as she smiled suggestively. He hadn’t seen this side of her, directed at him, in years. His mind was going a mile a minute trying to process it and what it meant for them. If it meant anything at all.

Taking one look at her eyes, though, he knew it meant something. It meant something big. Her eyes always spoke the truth—when it came to him, anyway.

She was pleased with herself. She managed to tell him while still giving him an out, if he wanted. She spoke their coded tongue.

Doing cartwheels in his head, he grinned back at her and boldly turned his hand over to take hold of hers, interlacing their fingers. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he wanted to do that.

He saw a flash of fear and surprise cross her eyes before being quickly replaced with something that could only be described as contentment.

“I wonder what it would be like if we did that again sometime. Went undercover, I mean,” he said, testing the waters with insinuations and metaphors just as she did. That was their language. If they were to even begin talking about the possibility of them, they both knew this was the easiest way to do it. At first, anyway.

She opened her mouth but said nothing at first, thinking of the best response. She felt the room’s temperature rise as he reciprocated her subtle advances and pushed her further.

She would not be outdone.

“I’d like that. We would be…good at it, too.”

He raised his eyebrows with a sly smile on his face.

“I don’t think your boyfriend would like that very much.”

“Ray? Oh, he is done. As soon as I talk to him, I am ending it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She looked at him more seriously now, with a hint of curiosity.

"He isn’t good enough for you.”

She smiled, touched by his admission.

This was it.

The dance was ending.

---

“You didn’t have to walk me home, Tony. I am fine.”

“I know you are,” he replied. “But, I’m a DiNozzo. We are gentlemen.”

She laughed, sarcastic comment on the tip of her tongue. She held it, though, not wanting to ruin the moment.

He pulled her a little closer, then. Her arm was tucked into his as they walked down the cold sidewalk, street glistening with the light of the stars and the snow flurries that started to fall.

“I had fun tonight.”

“Me too,” he said honestly.

As they approached her apartment, his heart raced faster. With EJ gone, Ray practically a done deal, their earlier conversations and the buzz in their systems, it seemed the perfect time to ask, if he was ever going to do so.

Would it ruin everything?

Or…would it be everything?

What the hell. He loved her.

He wiped his clammy hands on his coat and took the shot.

“I would, uh, like to do it again sometime. If you want. For…for real.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him, a silent question in her eyes.

His own tried desperately to answer.

Yes.

“After you break up with him.”

Understanding flashed across her face, to be quickly replaced with a dash of fear. He could see her wheels turning.

He could feel his own fear rising as he watched her. She saw it, though, and immediately softened her gaze, comforting him.

Placing a hand on his chest, she felt his heart race.

She smiled softly, making her choice. It was time to stop the game.

“I’d like that too.”

“Well then,” he said, letting out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “It’s a date.”

She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, her other hand moving to his neck. His heart beat even faster as her touch lingered on his skin, leaving its mark. Claiming him.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She held his gaze for a moment, delicately caressing his face before starting the ascent to her door.

“Ziva,” he said loudly.

She turned around to face him, at the top of the stairs now.

“Yes?”

“I’m happy you’re in my life, too.”

She nodded, smiling as she recalled their earlier conversation. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Good night, Tony. Text me when you get home.”

“I will. Good night.”

She lingered a few moments more, staring into him before stepping inside.

In all of the years they spent working together, that was the first time she asked that of him. It wasn’t at all necessary—they both knew it—but it was loving. Another metaphor.

He could get used to this.

[wickedbarnes]

Guns and Roses (Pt. 2) | John Wick x Reader

Part 1

SYPNOSIS: After the little visit from the new flower shop downtown, John slowly finds himself on edge and being haunted by a certain innocent girl.

THEME: Non-con. Dubcon. Obsession. Dark!John x Innocent/Naive!Reader. Abduction. Lots of smut. Don't read if any of these make you uncomfortable. 18+ readers ONLY.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Slight mention of violence.

John hadn't find the time to visit her yet. And days passed by, he had grown irritated by the fact without him noticing. He was easily angered but then again, he was like a ticking time bomb ever since his wife died. When Helen Wick was sent six feet underground, she took the man that John once was.

A whole different version of him was left behind. A version of him that shook his enemies to the core. Because if John Wick was already known to be brutal, the man who he is today was worse than that now. And somehow, that alarmed some people.

Some of them believed he was losing a few screws. But they weren't bold enough to be loud about the rumor. They didn't want to take any chances. Last time someone uttered the name of Helen Wick and used it to push John's buttons, they had their head cut off. The slow way. After that, no one was brave enough to do what the last guy did.

And somehow, his pal, Aurelio noticed how John was always so antsy and on edge as if one tap on his shoulder would cause him to have a killing spree.

"John, you need to take it easy." He sighed and poured the man a drink. The assassin grumbled and leaned back on his seat broodingly.

"I am taking it easy." He reasoned out but he knew Aurelio wasn't buying any of that shit.

"I'm not stupid, man. I notice how you seem so... I don't know, seem so... irritated. Like something's been bugging you. Do you wanna tell me about it?"

"There's nothing to tell." By the tone of John's voice, Aurelio raised his arms up in defeat.

"Okay, but you gotta push yourself, man." He sighed and took a sip of his drink, "You can't mope around forever. You need to do something. Go out, find someone new, figure a new hobby. Stop restricting yourself, John."

John gripped the glass tightly as his mood worsened by what Aurelio was saying but a voice inside his head told him that he was just doing what any friend would do during a hard time.

"I'm perfectly fine with how I'm doing. I got a job, I book bind, I keep myself busy. I'm good to go." John answered which made his friend sigh deeply.

"John, you're holding yourself back and it's so evident. Stop doing things that you feel is what you need to do. Do the things that you want to do. I know for a fact that you don't want to go back to being an assassin nor does book binding give you enough benefits now but you're doing them because you feel somehow obligated."

John stayed silent as Aurelio's words began to register inside his head.

"You still have some years left, man. Don't waste it. If you want to socialize, do it. Don't hold yourself back. Jesus, if you want to hook up with thousands of bitches, do it! No one's telling you no."

John took a huge swig of his drink.

"What I'm saying is, I know Helen wouldn't have wanted you to live this way. She would've wanted you to move on."

John sometimes hated how right Aurelio was. He sometimes hated it when he makes a point and that often happens. But his words did got himself thinking.

Would Helen be happy with the man John has turned out?

He already knew the answer to that but John can't bring himself to accept it. Without another word, he got up from his seat and decided to call it a day before he drove back into his empty shell of a home.

It wasn't even dark out yet. But John found himself being utterly exhausted. Maybe it was because of his recent mission the other day. Sighing, he craned his neck a bit and felt the kink that had been bothering him for a few days. The bruises on his body didn't help either. He somehow remembered how Helen would tend to his wounds everytime before he retired. How she'd treat every cut and every bad bruise that was etched on his skin.

But now he needed to make do and do all that himself.

Or maybe someone could still do it for him? Would that girl have the same touch as Helen had or would it be more comforting? Would it be- No. No.

John shook his head and tightened his grip around the steering wheel. This was one of his everyday struggle now. Ever since he visited that damn flower shop, John finds himself thinking about her every now and then. Even when he willed himself not to, that girl was sneaky enough to slip through his mind yet again.

The assassin would sometimes compare her to Helen. There was no doubt she was younger than him and even younger than Helen. If John wasn't mistaken, maybe he was twice her age. And he hates how he likes that fact.

He never found himself being attracted to women who were much younger than him. But after seeing her, John finds himself debating whether he'd make an exception for that.

The daisy he tucked safely in the pocket of his coat was placed neatly and safely on his nightstand. Why? He has no idea. But at the same time, he does. The daisy was as delicate as she was. And John wanted to grasp that sense of delicateness and purity in his hands. He wanted to cherish it somehow. And so, every morning when he wakes up, he'd check to see if the daisy that fell from her hair was still there where he placed it.

He relaxed everytime he sees it.

"Get your shit together." He'd tell himself. But just as he did, he found himself driving by the familiar flower shop. And if John had the chance to kick himself right in the balls for parking on the side of the road, he would've.

He should've walked away. He should've drove back home but his feet had carried him inside the shop where he found himself entering, the bell ringing as he opened the door.

There weren't many customers inside but John had noticed there was quite a change the last time he had been here. There were more chairs and tables and John noticed how there were baked goodies being served to the customers.

His attention was taken when he found her walking out from the back of the room with flour smeared on her cheek. Today, she was wearing a pastel pink, puff-sleeved dress and her hair was let loose, letting it pool down her back in beachy waves. She looked absolutely adorable. Stunning, even.

And John found himself admiring the color pink on her.

"Oh, hey!" The girl greeted her with a bright smile on her face, "Haven't seen you around. Have you been taking good care of your cactus?"

John chuckled and stuffed his hand in the pockets of his jeans as he nodded.

"Yeah, I finally got the hang of it. It's looking pretty healthy, thankfully."

"That's great! If you want more, just tell me and I'll give you a discount." She'd say, whispering the last part to him as if she was afraid someone would hear and be offended that she offered John a discount.

"Oh, I'll keep that in mind for sure."

"So, what can I get you today? Finally managed to turn this into a little café. And thank God I don't have to do it all alone now." John turned his head to see a girl just about her age serving coffee to the couple on the other side of the room.

"This place looks great, really." John complimented her and began to look over at the pastries that were placed on the display counter.

He wasn't a big fan on sweets but John didn't want to be rude and come here just to chat with her although he wouldn't mind that one but. But a voice in his head convinced him to at least buy one of her baked goods and have a taste on something that she made herself.

"I'll just have a blueberry muffin and some coffee to go, sweetheart." John would say after some time, not meaning to call her another pet name. He internally punched himself in the face for that and somehow hoped she didn't catch onto it or at least find it weird.

But he was relieved, a bit ecstatic when he saw how her face blushed slightly to what he just called her. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning at the fact that he now knows he somehow has an effect on the girl.

She'd nod her prettt little head and wrote his order quickly on the notepad she had.

"How would you, uhm, like your coffee, sir?" She asked, looking up at him with those adorable fucking doe eyes and John had to clench his fist to stop himself from reaching over and caress her cheek while she looked up at him like this. As if she was ready to submit whatever he wanted her to submit.

"Black. No sugar, no creamer." John answered as the bashful girl in front of him nodded her head obediently and John smiled faintly at how she took in every word he had said.

"This'll be done in a minute or two. Find somewhere you can sit and I'll serve it to you." She smiled and John thanked her for her service and immediately gave her his pay. But as she began to prepare his order, John slipped in a generous amount of cash and put it inside the tip jar that she had before he walked over to a vacant seat near the counter where she worked.

He knew she could've easily just called her name so he could get the order himself since that's how cafés usually work but since she offered to serve his order herself, how could John possibly say no to an offer like that?

It only took a few minutes before she walked over to his table and placed his order down carefully in front of him. John's eyes were focused on her, as if he was taking in every bit of her features inside his mind, as if he was trying to memorize every crevice of her body, every freckle or mark that she had on her skin and by the looks of how her cheeks had blushed yet again, John knew that she knew he had been staring at her.

"Will that be all, sir?" She asked somewhat shyly and John chuckled at her bashfulness. She looked adorable. Too adorable. And not the kind where he wanted to pinch her cheeks. It was the kind where he wanted to push her up against the wall or caress her inner thigh just to see what kind of reaction she would get.

"That'll be all, sweetheart. But I suppose it wouldn't be too much of me if I ask for your name?" He asked politely, not wanting to come off as creepy or too intense. He wouldn't want to risk blowing up his chance in knowing the name of the fairy-like dame such as herself.

"O-Oh, uh..." She bit her lip down nervously before she answered, "Y/N, sir. Y/N Y/LN."

"Y/N." John whispered to himself as if he was testing what her name would sound like rolling off of his tongue, "Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm John. John Wick."

Y/N smiled faintly at his name and held the circular tray close to her chest.

"It's nice to meet you, John. Hope you enjoy your meal." She'd say and with that, she went back to the counter and began to serve the other customers that came in. Whether they wanted to try out her new pastries and coffee or needed assisting when it came to flowers.

John didn't waste his time nor his money and began to dig into his muffin and surprisingly, he found out how much he liked it. The muffin wasn't too sweet nor was it too bland. It was just right for his taste. He could never finish the muffin that Helen made back then. They always came out too sweet. Sometimes too dry. Even the coffee he ordered managed to taste better than the one he drinks at home.

The assassin seemed pleased that he managed to finish everything he had ordered. Not only that, it gave him more reason to stop by the shop more. Either he wanted to try Y/N's other baked goods or just for her, only he had to know.

Unfortunately, he had to live early. He had a mission to get to tomorrow and he couldn't risk going without getting any proper sleep. So he begrudgingly stood up from his seat and made his way to the door but not before turning back and sending Y/N a smile and a wink.

The tint of pink reappeared on her soft ample cheeks and John chuckled as she bit her lip and looked away, probably too embarrassed to even wave goodbye at him.

But either way, he was satisfied with how his day had ended.

That night, John went into a blissful sleep. He could swear he smelled the strong aroma of black coffee, could see the flowers loitering in a familiar looking shop, could taste the blueberry muffin he ate earlier.

He could also feel the gentle touch of a certain girl that did nothing but just drive him crazy these past few days. He could feel the fabric of a pastel pink dress brushing against his knee and the giggle that belonged to someone that had daisies in her hair.

This was the first time that he had dreamt of someone apart from Helen and her death. This was the first time he felt warmth radiating in his body. It was the first time he had dreamt of her.

And slowly but surely, he could feel Y/N leaning in, her soft cherry glossed lips brushing against the shell of his ear that only caused him to grip on his pillow tightly.

"John. Wake up, John." She'd whisper just as John heard the familiar beeping of his alarm clock. He fluttered his eyes open and immediately turned it off.

It was 5:30 AM. Sighing, he slowly sat up and turned to look at the daisy that sat perfectly on his nightstand.

And maybe, just maybe, in his groggy state, John picked up his wife's bracelet and placed it inside the drawer before closing it, leaving the little daisy and the cactus Y/N had gifted him on his nightstand.

He smiled at the view. It looked refreshing. But somehow, there was a feeling settling in his stomach that stirred the guilt in him a bit.

Because that was also the first time he had put away Helen's bracelet somewhere where he couldn't see.

But soon enough, the guilt died down as quickly as it came.

TAGS: @a-really-bi-girl @fanficsrusz @fairylightsandchai @pinkzsugar @edgiestwinter @paanchu786 @meetmeinthematinee @baphometwolf666 @fortheloveoffanfic @thesadvampire

[renaxwrites]

Eleven

.05 - Girl Almighty

synopsis: the number Eleven had always appeared in milestones of your life. it was a constant, and you didn’t know why. but you would soon find out when you study abroad in japan and meet Him.

pairing: tsukishima kei x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of death, depression

masterlist: here :)

a/n: this honestly was such an endearing chapter to write. we finally learned what happened in y/n’s past, and her bond with mizuki grows strong. also, for this chapter and the next, I’m doing a lot of cultural research to try and incorporate it in the story, and it feels really cool to be exploring the culture! hope you guys enjoy this one 🥺💕 yes I cried at one in the morning finishing this and what about it

previous || next

Her light is as loud as as many ambulances as it takes to save a savior.

Sleep. School. Practice. Home. Repeat. Soon, you were nearing the end of September without even knowing it. As the weeks had flown by, the tension between you and Tsukishima had only grown. Only, it wasn’t a ‘bad’ or ‘awkward’ kind of tension. It was more like a ‘something-is-happening-between-us-but-neither-of-us-know-what-it-is-or-how-to-address-it’ kind of tension.

As if the universe was tired of this ‘tip-toeing around each other’ crap, a special event was coming up that was definitely going to stir the pot. The Harvest Moon Festival.

“Tsukiiiii! Are you excited for Tsukimi tomorrow?” Yamaguchi teases. Tsukishima knowingly groans.

You look up from your camera, contemplating whether you should keep the last shot even though Tanaka photo-bombed it. “The moon-viewing? You guys do the festivals here, right?”

Yamaguchi nodded. “Yeah, it’s kinda ironic, isn’t it? The festivals usually fall around Tsukki’s birthday, so we usually do a joint-celebration! But this year, it’s a little earlier, so we won’t celebrate his birthday at the same time, but it’s still exciting!”

Tsukishima peers down at your camera, pressing the delete button faster than you can react. “Shouldn’t you know about it? You are Japanese, right?”

Pettily, you recover the photo from the recently deleted section. You were going to delete it anyway, but you just wanted to spite him. “I did celebrate, but I’ve always wondered how much more authentic it would be to celebrate it in my mother’s home country. It sounds like a lot of fun!”

Yamaguchi realizes you haven’t gone to the festival before, so he cheerily invites you to come along with him and Tsukki, to which Tsukishima replies, “My mom would probably force me to drag her along anyway. Might as well.”

His statement and tone implied that he didn’t want you to join, but you felt his gaze on you with a slight glimmer of hope in his eyes.

You agree, but are quick to come to a devastating realization.

“But I don’t have anything to wearrrrrr!” Cue two clueless-looking boys not knowing how to react.

Upon hearing distress, Yachi comes dashing to your rescue. “Y/N!! I heard your cry! I’m actually going shopping tonight for a new festival outfit, did you want to go with me?” She really was a savior at times.

You throw your arms around her in gratefulness. “You’re an angel! I would like nothing more than to accompany you! I’ll just text Mizuki to let her know where we’ll be…”

Yachi ponders for a moment. “Actually, do you think she would mind coming? I don’t want to bother her at all, but my mom’s staying late again, and I like having an adult’s second opinion…”

Fortunately, Mizuki was more than happy to bring you two to the downtown shops later that night. Once practice was over, you and Yachi bid your farewells to the boys and met up on the street corner, with Tsukishima trailing behind. Mizuki began to wave from under the streetlight, letting Tskishima know that dinner was already made, and that you won't be back too late. And so, the three of you were off!

                                 ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Although your current location was quaint and serene, downtown was the opposite. There were endless amounts of shops, stands, and everything in between. Shoppers were bustling about, kids were frolicking in groups, and the smells of various foods wafted in the air. The energy in the downtown district was definitely lively and contagious.

Mizuki took a deep, content breath and turned to the two of you. “Alright ladies! I have a few shops in mind, so we can stop by those first just to ease into it. Let me know if you need anything! If you want to even stop for a snack, I certainly won’t hold you back, not when it smells as good as this! Alrighty, let’s goo!!”

The first shop was very quaint, but you were a bit clueless as to what you should be looking for. Good thing Mizuki and Yachi was there to guide you! You apparently were in search for a yukata, a more informal traditional robe that is similar to a kimono, but not quite. Great! Now that you knew what you were on the hunt for, how were you supposed to decide what color or pattern? Every shop you stopped by were overflowing with more patterns, colors, and combinations than you can possibly imagine.

By the third shop, Yachi had already picked hers, and was currently being fitted. She chose a radiant yellow, decorated with white carnations and pink morning glory flowers print.

“You look like a ray of sunshine, Yachi! Yellow definitely suits you,” you and Mizuki shower her with praise, causing her to flush pink.

You laugh as you admit, “This must be what prom dress shopping feels like, haha.” The two ladies curiously look at you, and you’re quick to explain how back at home it’s a huge deal to find the dress, since prom is the most anticipated formal event for American high schools.

Needless to say, the pressure of finding one that spoke to you began to worry you. You bring your hand to your locket. Mizuki noticed this, then eyed your locket for a brief moment.

“I think I know the perfect one that would go along with your locket. We’ll stop by once Yachi’s fitting is done,” she offers you a warm smile to calm your nerves.

Once Yachi’s outfit was purchased, the three of you head to a shop that was in an easy-to-overlook nook. The second you step inside, you’re greeted by two eager women, ready to meet your requests. You browse, but begin to feel a bit of gravitation towards the back of the shop. The invisible force brings you to a halt. In front of you is an absolute masterpiece.

The overall color was navy blue, as dark as the night sky above. But the design was what made it stand out. The yakuta was sprinkled with constellations, and thousands of silver stars were scattered around the fabric. Around the waist was a deep red obi, a wide silk sash designed with light moons and stars lined all around it.

You were speechless. It was perfect.

Mizuki looks over and finds you with your jaw slightly agape, looking entirely mesmerized.

She turns to the women and tells them, “That’s the one for her.” And they get to work on your fitting.

During your fitting, Yachi went to buy a couple of snacks for you to share, leaving you and Mizuki alone, with the two women helping. You raise your arms over your head as they measure your waist. Suddenly, you catch her drying what looks to be a couple of tears.

“What’s wrong, Mizuki? Are you alright?”

She tenderly looks over and chuckles, wiping another tear that managed to escape.

“It’s nothing, really. I just always wondered what it would be like to go dress shopping with a daughter…” she looks down at her hands, wringing them deep in thought. “My sons are wonderful, and I wouldn’t give them up for anything in the world, but I always loved shopping with my mother, even if it was buying a mere hair accessory. Her calling me beautiful... and, I don’t know...it kind of felt like that for a moment.”

She looks up at you and smiles. “You haven’t been with us for too long, but I speak for both myself and my sons when I say we are grateful that you’ve been led into our lives.”

You jump off the pedestal and tackle Mizuki into a tight embrace. “I’m glad I came, too.” She hugs you back, and you look at each other, and suddenly burst into laughter at your tear-stained faces.

“Alright, that’s enough baby tears. Now, get on up there so we can see the finishing touches,” she gently urges you. Just as the last details were being made, Yachi comes back, just in time.

She does a dramatic gasp. “Y/n, you look beautiful! It’s like all the stars wanted you to wear them!” She almost drops her snack out of pure shock, but manages to catch it.

Mizuki helps her carry them and agrees. “She’s right y/n. It also matches your locket color perfectly. I can see that it’s important to you, so it’s like both a piece of home and a piece of here going hand in hand.” Even the two women who fitted you were quick to offer their praise.

You look down at your outfit and tenderly put a hand on your locket. “It’s perfect.”

                                  ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The three of you drop Yachi off at her house, and once you were sure she was safely inside, you and Mizuki begin your trek home. There’s a comfortable silence between you two. The stars in the sky were glistening and drowned you in tranquil light.

Mizuki thoughtfully looks over at you. She’s carefully thinking of something she wants to say.

“Is there a story to the locket?”

You stop in your tracks and look up at the stars twinkling above you. The moon’s serene appearance gives you the courage to respond.

“This is the first gift my parents gave me, on their official wedding day. And now it’s the first and last thing I look at every day. It’s one of only things remaining from them that I own.” You look over to find sad eyes.

Mizuki’s eyes were not viewing you in the sense of pity, which you have always gotten for the past year. Instead, she was looking over with the most wholesome look in her eyes, wanting to help and protect you.

That encourages you to go on.

“My mother and father went out on one of their weekly date nights. They liked to go out on Friday nights to get ice cream down the road. They’ve done it since even before they got married. It was normal. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

You choke up.

“Almost a year ago now. My parents were on their way home. They got hit by a drunk driver. Eleven at night. I open the door to complete strangers telling me that their passing was instant, that there was nothing that could be done. November eleventh was the day that my life fell apart.”

You look up at the stars again.

“My relatives took care of me for the rest of the year. I wallowed in depression. Hardly moving, hardly eating. Hell, it even hurt to breathe. Knowing that my dad wouldn’t pop his head in my room just to tell me a joke to annoy me on purpose. Knowing that my mom wasn’t there to drink tea with me while she told her favorite childhood stories. Knowing that I wouldn’t see them dancing in the kitchen to their cheesy love song. Knowing they weren’t there.”

Your eyes are so clouded with tears your vision is extremely blurry, but you manage to lock eyes with her in understanding.

“My relatives thought it would be a good idea for me to transfer somewhere new for the start of high school. I had always wondered at the beauty of my mother’s home country. The way she would light up whenever she mentioned something as simple as the cherry blossoms floating in the breeze, or how the stars seemed to shine differently. Well, she was right about that,” you chuckle at the thought.

“So here I am, in Japan. Here to discover myself, but more importantly, I’m here for them too. I know they are always watching me from above, but this locket keeps me grounded at times when I need them the most. It reminds me of the times we’ve had. I think of the future they wanted me to strive for, it pushes me forward. I would give anything to heal the heartache, to fill up the emptiness of their missing presence. But I know they want me to be happy. It’s why I was brave enough to travel to a new place I’ve never been to, because in the end, I know I’m not alone. This locket reminds me of all that.”

More comfortable silence follows. Mizuki puts a warm hand on yours.

“Y/n, you are the bravest soul I have ever come to meet. If fate is what brought you here, then I am glad for it. You have such a bright, intelligent, endearing and determined soul. And I know for a fact that your parents are looking down on you right now and are smiling at the sight of their brave little girl persevering the odds. And there is absolutely nothing in this world that could demolish the love your parents have devoted to you. You really are special, y/n, don’t you ever forget that.”

The two of you embrace once more. You check the time, and the lateness caused the slow trek to a brisk walk back home.

It was Eleven o’ clock.

There’s something happening here. I hope you feel what I’m feeling too.

taglist: @jiminslonglostjams @fantasymirror @shewastheriot @lukes-princess @iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire @its-bnha-babe @desi-studys @shootooooo @noya-senpai-imagines @animefan7420 @anpancari @tsukkx @cadabby @thoebe-fly @it-was-just-a-ship

[isitgintimeyet]

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Previous

I hope you have all had a great Christmas and wishing you a Happy New Year. After a short hiatus last weekend, this story is now back, picking up where we left them

Hope you enjoy. Thanks for all the feedback on this story. I do appreciate it.

Thanks as always to @mo-nighean-rouge, @happytoobserve, @wickedgoodbooks for all their support.

16. A Considered Countermeasure

‘It wasn’t until ten years ago that they replaced trial by ordeal with trial by lawyer, and that was only because they found that lawyers were nastier.'

Terry Pratchett - The Fifth Elephant

It was a bleary-eyed Jamie who made his way downstairs the next morning. The night had been a mixed bag as far as he was concerned. The good points were obvious -- naked Claire in the shower, quickly followed by naked Claire on the… well, not quite on the bed. They hadn’t managed to get that far, more like naked Claire on the patch of carpet just inside their bedroom.

Totally spent, Jamie had crawled into bed and succumbed to a deep, almost comatose slumber, only to be woken by Claire’s elbow nudging him in the ribs and mumbling in a sleep-filled voice that his son was awake and needed tending.

William’s demands had disturbed Jamie’s sleep twice more. With a clean nappy and a full belly, he had seemed to be looking for physical comfort from his father. Sitting on the rocking chair, Jamie had cuddled the baby against the bare skin of his chest until William’s whimpering ceased and his eyelids closed before gingerly placing him back in his cot, handling him as carefully as an unexploded bomb and tiptoeing back to his bedroom to spoon Claire once more.

Jamie couldn’t help but smile at the memory of his and Claire’s shower damp bodies joining together. Their passion so great that even the two yards to their bed had been too long a distance to bridge. He rubbed his hip through the thin fabric of his sleep shorts, wincing slightly. Carpet burns were an occupational hazard with ‘al fresco’ passion, but well worth it. He wondered if Claire’s knees had suffered the same fate.

He could hear Claire pottering about in the kitchen over the sound of the radio playing a Spice Girls’ track. She was oblivious as he opened the door and stood there watching her gyrate her hips in time to ‘Wannabe’ as she stared into the fridge. William studied his father over her shoulder, a slightly furrowed brow denoting, in Jamie’s mind, the baby’s bemusement at their Sassenach’s antics.

Having clearly found what she was looking for, she shut the fridge and spun around.

“Zigazig ah -- oh, Jamie, you startled me. How long have you been standing there?” She handed a chilled toy to William who immediately put it in his mouth and began to gnaw ferociously on it.

“No’ long, Sassenach, jes’ enough tae enjoy the cabaret with ye shaking yer booty.” He yawned and stretched. “Why did ye no’ wake me up?”

“We thought we’d let you sleep in. It must have been quite a tiring night for you, what with William and everything…”

“Aye… everything…”

Jamie took William from her. “And ye’ve changed him too.”

“Yes, all fed and watered. I think he’s teething. That's why he wasn’t too good in the night. Look how red his cheek is… and the dribble. That teething ring’s been in the fridge so it’s nice and cool on his gums.”

“Plenty of dribble, right enough.”

Jamie glanced at his bare shoulder, now sprayed with a layer of William’s drool. He lifted the baby above his head and stared him in the eye. “Ye’re a wee tyke, are ye no?”

William took the ring from his mouth, smiled and watched as a line of drool slowly descended onto his father’s face.  

Claire laughed. “Go and take a shower. Then you can go and get those croissants that John likes so much. We may well be owing him big time.”

“Geneva’s still not rung. She kens the bairn is fine. She kens exactly what I want to talk to her about. Christ, I’m going tae try her again.”

Jamie handed the baby back to Claire and stalked out of the kitchen.

************

William, safe in his father’s lap, stared solemnly across the table at John. No amount of face pulling could induce a smile as he chewed his teething ring.

“Have ye no’ a smile fer yer Uncle John, William?” Jamie asked as he wiped the baby’s chin. “Ye ken him well.”

John grinned and waggled his fingers, with no acknowledgement from the baby.

“Claire reckons he’s teething.” Jamie spoke apologetically to his friend.

“No ‘reckon’ about it, he is teething. Trust me, I’m a doctor.” Claire playfully punched Jamie’s arm.

John laughed. “Don’t worry, Jamie. William’s wise to be suspicious when there’s lawyers about. So, tell me again, what did Geneva say when you spoke to her?”

Jamie sighed. “Weel, she wouldna confirm or deny anything about moving. She did say that there were changes with the PR company she works fer and that she would let us know as soon as there was anything to tell. But if she thinks I’m going tae sit back and let her take ma son away without a fight, she is sorely mistaken.”

Instinctively, Jamie pulled William closer to him and kissed the soft red down on his head. The baby squirmed against his father’s arms, trying to break free from the tight embrace. Jamie relaxed his hold and William immediately stilled once more, now content in his father’s lap, let his teething ring drop to the floor and began to try to fit his fist into his mouth.

John studied their interaction over the rim of his coffee mug. An unknown feeling crept over him, settling in his stomach. Mixed in with his usual, deeply hidden lust and longing for Jamie came a sense of… John struggled to identify it… of yearning and even broodiness. That image across the table from him -- the familiar muscled body and strong features of the man John had known, and longed for, for years but now in a different, and possibly even more attractive role, as a father.

John was momentarily overwhelmed by the depth of this emotion. He wanted to be part of this picture, to be part of this family. Not to replace Claire, he liked and respected Claire and realised she was a worthy partner for Jamie. It was just sometimes so hard… he wanted what Claire had got. Perhaps it was time he reevaluated his life style, looked for something more substantial that his meaningless flings, found a partner, a home, maybe even a baby.

John blushed as he realised how intent his stare had been. He shrugged and tried to make light of it. “Poor little chap, being told to smile at a strange lawyer when you’re in pain. I certainly wouldn’t want to.”

John paused and pulled a small notepad from his leather messenger bag. He flicked over a few pages before finding what he was looking for.

“Right, so, I had a quick chat with Ned Gowan after you rang last night. He said to tell you that even though he was giving advice to you through me, he, most generously, wouldn’t be billing you for it. And that he hoped that he won’t be seeing you in his office any time soon.”

Jamie grimaced. “Me neither, John. So, what’s the score?”

“Well, it’s not the simplest, but, if Geneva does decide to move away and take William, there are things you can do. If she wants to move abroad she definitely does need your consent.”

Jamie gave a slight sigh of relief.

“Wait,” John continued. “That’s for outside the UK. She can move away in this country without your consent-“

“That’s no’ right. I am his father. I should have some rights.”

Jamie passed the baby to Claire. He leant forward in his chair and ran his fingers through his ginger curls. He screwed his mouth up in disgust at his perceived view of the legal system.

“And you do. In this case, Ned would apply to the courts for an emergency Prohibited Steps Order to stop the move or delay it significantly. What Geneva would probably do then would be to apply for a Specific Issues Order to allow the move.”

“And the courts would have tae decide?”

“Yes.” John nodded.

“Weel, I’m sure they’d be in favour of the mother.” Jamie’s shoulders fell perceptibly.

“Not necessarily. They would be considering William’s best interests with any move, not any career advancement of Geneva’s. And the fact that you have joint custody and…”

John looked across at the baby on Claire’s lap. William was watching his father intently.

“... and are a hands-on and fully involved father would certainly be included in their decisions.”

“So, what do we do now?” Claire spoke quietly, placing a reassuring hand on Jamie’s knee.

“Now,” John replied. “We wait. We can’t do anything until Geneva says something. And remember, it’s not even definite yet.”

Jamie wiped his hand across his face. “Ye ken she’ll be willing tae take this all the way, to the courts if need be.”

“She didn’t go to court before.” Claire reminded him.

“Aye, But that was different. She kent she would have tae lie on oath then. There’d be no lying involved this time… jes’ Geneva going all out tae get what she wants, as per usual. And with her mother backing her up all the way.”

John glanced at his watch. “You don’t know that yet. Look, don’t worry about it yet. We have plans in place. And now, I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“Hot date, is it, John?”

John reddened slightly. “Yes, actually. Well, just a date, nothing serious.”

He thought about his earlier feelings of yearning and broodiness. Time, perhaps, for a change.

***************

Jamie tried to push any thoughts of Geneva from his mind and enjoy his weekend with William.

The parent and baby swimming session was a real success as far as Jamie was concerned. Initially a bit grumpy as his father got him ready, William gradually relaxed once in the water, enjoying the freedom of movement and not even minding as the water splashed around his face.

At first, Jamie had felt a bit out of place in the predominantly female group but quickly forgot that awkwardness as he focussed on his son. He was occasionally aware of female eyes on him, their gaze raking over his body. But this was generally fleeting as the mothers quickly turned their attention back to the babies.

Driving home with a sleeping William in the back of the car, Jamie reflected on the success of the swimming lesson. He hoped this would become a regular activity, one that Claire could share, perhaps every fortnight when they had William on a Sunday — Jamie’s stomach suddenly turned over unpleasantly.For how long, though? What if Geneva…? He couldn’t bear to think of that possibility.

It was ironic, he told himself. When Geneva first told him that she was pregnant, it was almost the worst news he had ever received. Only the death of his mother had been a bigger blow. He had never asked, or even contemplating asking, Geneva about an abortion, but just wished, with all his heart, that the situation would somehow magically disappear. It was only when he heard the foetal heartbeat for the first time that he felt a warmth towards this new life. A warmth which increased and expanded into this deep, deep love.

And now… now, the thought of William not being part of his life was almost more than he could bear.

He didn’t mention these worries to Claire. It was as if, by saying them out loud, he was making them a reality.

***********

On Monday evening, Jamie had just put William -- freshly bathed and clad in a Winnie the Pooh sleepsuit -- in his cot for the night, when his phone rang. Jamie stepped into his bedroom to answer it.

Geneva’s voice was crisp and business-like.

“Hello. Is William doing ok?”

“Aye, he’s champion. Jes’ gone tae sleep now. Nae problem. Why are ye ringing?” Jamie asked nervously.

Geneva hesitated for a moment. “I thought I should tell you straight away. I’ve been offered a promotion at work… it’s in Manchester.”

[forever-your-soldat]

I Can't Hurt You

Don't worry about your requests, I'm still doing them. This just popped in my head and I couldn't resist writing it.

Warning: angst, character death, blood, mentions of torture, mind control, suicide(?), violence

Y/n isn't sure what happened. First, she was standing next to Wanda, fighting off the HYDRA agents, but what she, or any of the rest, wasn't expecting was one of the agents would be an enhanced, another one that had powers similar to Wanda, only somehow, he was stronger.

The moment she blinked, the whole field disappeared and she was inside the building. "You are Maximoff's girlfriend, correct?"

She's not sure how or why, but she answers with a nod and a man walks toward her; the enhanced. He's well built, dark brown orbs staring at Y/n with blue swimming behind them.

The man smirked widely but Y/n finds no malice, no anger. She can't move and her mind just focuses on the man. "You know the weaknesses of the Avengers, yes?" Again, she nods, compelled to answer and she doesn't struggle.

The man walks around her, studying her as he unravels her mind, but decides not to delve too deep before he stops a few feet in front of her. "Go back to the jet, go home and hide." He orders. "You won't tell them about me. Wait for my instructions." He tells her and the next time Y/n blinks, she's being shaken frantically, laying on the ground, back in the field with Wanda calling out to her.

The worry on her face causes guilt to flare in her chest, but it diminishes soon while she stands. "We've got to go." She whispers softly, dragging her girlfriend back to the quinjet with her. "Y/n, what's wrong? What happened?"

The brunette had stopped her just as they were about to step on to the jet. Y/n turns her eyes back to Wanda, brows furrowed as she shook her head. "I don't... I don’t know. I just blacked out for some reason." She mumbled confusedly, trying to dig deep in her brain for what could have happened, but she's forced to stop and shakes her head. "Let's go home."

Wanda watches carefully, gripping her girlfriend's hand before she allows them to head back to the jet.

It was weird. She was fine just minutes ago, but when Wanda found her again, she was laying on the floor, yet had no injuries on her.

She seemed shaken up, but aside from that, nothing was out of the ordinary, though she did sense something different in her girlfriend. As much as she tried not to use her powers without permission, there was a strong aura that was surrounding Y/n that she couldn't seem to be familiar with.

As the team headed back, Y/n sat straight, rigid as she looked around, her eyes analyzing each of the Avengers and Wanda's anxiousness was starting to grow.

Usually, Y/n would try to sleep after a tiring mission like that. But right now, she was on edge, as if something was about to come after her if she even dared to blink. Her entire posture was showing that she was still alert even after the battle and it unnerved her girlfriend.

"What's wrong, Y/n?" Sam questioned when he saw the look she was giving her, but she merely squinted and shook her head. "Nothing." She mumbled before going quiet for the whole trip.

The falcon said nothing, shrugging it off as he went to nap before they arrive back to the tower.

Natasha was able to sense something wrong, too. Her observation skills picked up on Y/n's sudden change of behavior. She would check for exits and then to the team. Her fingers twitched every now and then as much as she tried to keep them still.

She and Wanda shared a look, but the young witch only shook her head at the question she wanted to ask.

When they get back to the tower, Y/n wastes no time in hurrying to her room, ignoring the weird look from Steve and the comment made by Tony when she just passed by them.

"What's up with her?" Bucky asked in confusion but no one was able to answer him. Sam just shrugged while Steve shook his head. "Probably just tired. She'll be fine after sleeping it off." Tony waved dismissively then excused himself to head for the lab.

Wanda was going to go after Y/n, hoping to talk to her, but Natasha stopped her, wrapping a hand around her wrist before pulling her aside. The younger woman saw the look on the spy's face before she asked. "You were closer, can you tell me what happened out there?"

Wanda could only sigh as she rubbed her arm. "I'm not sure. She was fine, and when I turned away for a few minutes, she was suddenly on the floor. She wasn't responding for a good five minutes and just stared at nothing. Almost like..."

She had trailed off, the memories of what she did the first time she encountered the team flashing in her mind. "Like when you made us see our fears."

Natasha's eyes fell to the floor, brows knitted in concentration as she tried to understand how that was possible. "Go check on her and try to see what's in her head."

Wanda's eyes widened at the order. "But I can't-"

"I know. But right now, it's for precautions, and I'm giving you permission to do so. You're not going to hurt her. Just try and see what's going on in her head." Natasha explained, giving the young witch a meaningful look and she hesitantly agrees, biting her lip when she's finally let go and went to look for her girlfriend.

Her mind is buzzing. It wasn't possible for Y/n to be under her power. She's never done that. She's been in control for years. But she was sure that there was something there.

Carefully opening the door, Wanda peers inside, being quiet as to not startle Y/n. She finds her, sitting on the floor, by the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest and the sight breaks Wanda's heart to see the woman she loves curled up, looking small to the whole world.

She was immediately by her side, arms wrapped tightly around her. "I'm here. You're okay." She whispered softly into her ear when Y/n leaned into her. "Something's coming after me."

Of anything Y/n could have told her, this was not one of them. Being trained in SHIELD, she was never one to fear the people after her or anything else. She was careful, yes, but not afraid. So hearing her now, admitting that something was there in a voice that only held fear and desperation made her worries increase tenfold.

They both stayed like that for majority of the night. When Y/n finally allowed herself to fall asleep, Wanda carried her to bed, tucking her in before she looked at her face, brushing her hair off her face before she cupped her cheek, caressing it with the pad of her thumb before her powers slowly manifested and her eyes glowed red.

But when she tried to search her mind, something was pushing her out. She gasped as she was forced out and flinched as she pulled away. Her eyes scanned over her girlfriend’s sleeping face before she slowly got up, not wanting to wake her, before she silently escaped the room and searched for Natasha or Tony.

But in Y/n’s head, she was back in the HYDRA base, standing in the middle of the room with the enhanced seated before her. He was looking around whilst Y/n watched him. She stood a few feet away, almost like a guard, making sure the man would be safe.

“It’s nearly midnight.” He mused and Y/n followed his gaze, though unable to see the time on his watch. He then lifted his eyes, the almost black irises flashing and he grinned darkly.

“Kill them. Annihilate the threats to HYDRA.” He ordered and Y/n’s whole body grew rigid before she gave him a curt nod.

“Hail HYDRA.”

The moment Y/n’s eyes open, she knows that she’s alone. The room was cold and the door was cracked open. She rose from the bed and reached inside her nightstand to grab her guns and knives. She changed her clothes and grabbed a dark colored jacket before she slipped out of the room. She made sure that no one would be able to see her, keeping check on the corridors and using vacant rooms in case someone was around. She made a detour to the armory and grabbed one of Bucky’s riffles and a few bombs, tucking them safely in her pants whilst the riffle slung over her shoulder.

She had to draw them out. And she knew exactly how to do it.

When she exited the Avenger’s tower, she surveyed the area before she went over to the blind spot at the side of the tower, planting the bombs there then hiding so she won’t be seen when they go outside.

The moment the bombs go off, she hears the ruckus and she prepares the riffle. Tony is first to arrive, dressed in his suit and checking the damages. Steve and Natasha are there soon after, then Wanda.

She’s panicking. When the explosion went off, she went to look for Y/n, but she wasn’t there. Y/n takes the first shot, aimed at Natasha because Tony would be difficult to handle due to that damn suit of his and Steve would be able to shield himself.

Even if Natasha was quick, she knows how to attack her. The moment the first bullet goes, another two follow and one of them manages to hit her shoulder, making her grunt. Steve quickly reacts, trying to locate where the attacks are coming from and Tony finds her heat signature through FRIDAY.

“Y/n, what the hell?” He yells in disbelief. But she doesn’t respond and all eyes are on her as she jumps down from her hiding spot and opens fire. The first is aimed for Natasha again, then to Steve.

Bucky is running outside with Sam later on. Their eyes widened to see the cause of the problem, but they aren’t given a chance to say anything as she starts shooting at them. “What the fuck?” Sam yells when he goes off the ground, glancing at Tony.

“Y/n, what is going on?” Steve demanded, not wanting to hurt the woman. Her face is void of emotion and soon. she’s throwing another bomb at them.

Wanda makes a shield in front of her and Natasha. Bucky is luckily far enough to avoid getting hurt while Steve uses his shield for cover. But the moment he’s distracted is enough for Y/n as she runs at him, disarming him and tackling him to the ground before she throws punches right at his face.

It dazes him the first few times, but on the fourth, he snaps back before he tries to wrestle his way out of her hold. Tony makes a warning shot near her, but she doesn’t relent, only swiping out another gun and aiming at him; his arc reactor.

When he realized it, it was a second too late and he starts falling. Sam quickly goes after him, catching him before he crashes to the ground. Y/n has jumped away from Steve at this moment, not aiming her gun at Sam and she manages to shoot at his wings with pinpoint accuracy.

“Y/n, stop! We don’t want to hurt you!” Bucky shouted at her, but she was continuing her assault on Sam’s back, each bullet hitting the jets on his back and Natasha moves despite the pain on her shoulder and Bucky jumps in front of Sam, using his metal arm to deflect the bullets.

Natasha aims for Y/n, trying to read her pattern, but she finds none. If they weren’t on opposing teams, she would have been proud. But right now, Y/n was being a problem for the team and she needs to top.

Steve is back on his feet, his cheek bruising and a cut was on his lip. “Why are you doing this?” He asks her and her dull eyes meet his for a brief moment.

“You are a threat.”

Those words struck confusion to them all. “What are you-”

“You’ve been a problem to HYDRA. You need to be terminated.” Their eyes widened and Natasha looks at Wanda in alert. “She’s under their control. But how?” Bucky questioned when he readied his riffle, keeping Y/n in his range but refusing to fire.

Tony grunts from where he’s laying. “FRIDAY, check for her brainwaves.” He muttered and the AI makes a small noise. He watches when Y/n fires at Steve again and she’s dodging the attacks that Bucky has trained on her legs. He was trying to immobilize her without hurting her too much, but she was quick on her feet.

Natasha is able to get close enough with Steve’s help, disarming her and thinking that it would be better to fight her in hand to hand combat. But she was injured, and Y/n knew exactly how to deal with both her and Steve.

It was one of the reasons Y/n was in the Avengers. She was skilled, tactful, critical. She knew how to act in the field. That was probably why HYDRA targeted her.

“There’s an unusual pattern in her system, boss.” Tony tries to better understand what was happening in the state he was in. “There are no foreign objects on her, but there is a different energy source in her nervous system.”

Wanda is frozen at the sight. Y/n was  single-handedly tearing them apart. Sam and Tony were on the sides, unable to move from the damage Y/n caused and Steve was growing weak, too. Y/n managed to grab his shield when he threw it at her and used it against him.

Natasha tried to lock her legs around her neck and pin her to the ground, but Y/n caught her footing and prevented it from happening, her hands gripping at her legs as she tried to throw her off but Bucky was able to grab her arms and locked them behind her.

The woman grunted in irritation before she shifted, tipping herself forward, kicking one leg under Bucky as she slammed Natasha to the floor, effectively freeing herself before she stood back up and threw a punch to the Winter Soldier and dropped her leg on Natasha’s stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

Soon enough, Y/n was facing Steve, a new gun in her hands that was aimed for his head. He was too tired to get up. His body was whining with each movement yet his brain was screaming at him to move. She wasn’t able to shoot though.

Red enveloped Y/n’s hands and soon, her eyes were on the witch. She was looking at her, trying to force her way into her brain and to fight off whoever was inside her girlfriend’s head.

It makes her falter, pain shooting up her head and her grip on the gun loosens, much to Steve’s relief. But the unknown enhanced is able to regain control. And now she has new orders.

Get rid of her.

Her feet are moving and she’s walking in Wanda’s direction. “Y/n, please. You have to fight him.” Her girlfriend pleads, her powers still trying to reach her and she catches a glimpse of what she sees.

Y/n stops a few meters away from her. She sees the conflict in her eyes, the exhaustion and she’s determined to get her girlfriend back. “Y/n, you’re stronger than him. You can do this.” But Y/n fires, close to her feet.

She’s unfocused.

Wanda tries harder.

“I love you, okay? I’m here to help you but you need to let me in.” Y/n’s hand goes to her head, and she’s trying to clear her thoughts as they keep jumping back and forth.

But she raises the gun again. The barrel was pointed to Wanda’s head yet she doesn’t move, simply watches her as she smiles softly.

I know you won’t hurt me.

Y/n’s hands shake. Her finger rests on the trigger and she hesitates. The man is yelling at her to shoot, but Wanda’s voice lingers in the back of her head. But despite that, he had a strong hold on her. She couldn’t shake him off.

When she meets Wanda’s gaze once more, the brunette sees the apologies, the sorrow, swimming inside them and her eyes widen when she hears her thoughts after not hearing them the whole time after the mission.

I love you. I’m sorry.

There’s a loud bang and Wanda’s heart stops. Y/n falls to the floor and the gun falls from her hands. Everyone on the team’s eyes widened in shock at what they’d witnessed, but Wanda falls to her knees, her hand falling on Y/n’s limp form, gripping her arm.

“Y/n, moya lyubov...” Her voice cracks because Y/n just felt cold to the touch.

Blood was quick to pool under her head and their hearts wrench at the sight of their friend and the sound of Wanda’s pained cries as she holds the body of the love of her life.

Steve’s head lowers, tears in his eyes as he tries to wipe the image from his mind. Bucky walks over to the witch, grimacing before he kneels next to her and closes Y/n’s eyes before he pulls Wanda into him, letting her cry her poor heart out at the loss of her lover.

The team is filled with grief, rage, and heartbreak.

They do their best to track down the man that caused Y/n’s death. And when they do, they make sure he pays. Wanda tells them that she would deal with him and they let her.

And when they finally corner him, bind and restrain him, she looks at him dead in the eyes, her own glowing red as her power surges through her veins.

“I will not grant you the mercy of death for what you did.” She hissed, the red crawling at the man’s skin as he struggles. None of them move, all just watching while Wanda did the job.

“You’ll stay awake, no matter how exhausted you are, no matter how much you plead to rest. You’ll be on the brink of death, but never there and you will suffer.” She tells him and he screams, thrashing in his place.

But his agony does not compare to the void that made itself permanent in her heart. It reminds her, that no matter how strong or powerful she was, she was never able to save the people she loved the most.

And though she claims that Y/n could never hurt her, it pained her, knowing that Y/n would no longer stand and live next to her.

[mychemicalrachel]

Right Now

Part One

Read on ao3!

Part Two; The Talk

Time doesn’t stop for accidents.

That’s what his dad used to say. Sometimes they were words grumbled irritably, or sighed, or shouted. It didn’t make much sense to Buck at the time. It was just one of those things parents say, like “raining cats and dogs” or “it’s five o’clock somewhere.”

Time doesn’t stop for accidents.

“It means that the world doesn’t stop turning just because you made a mistake,” Maddie had patiently explained to him once. “Accidents happen, but life goes on. It means you have to just keep going.”

Time had certainly felt frozen within the confines of the hospital, but as soon as they step outside, the bright light of day hits Buck and he realizes that while he had been inside with Eddie, the world had been spinning without them.

And still now, it turns around him.

The ride of the firehouse passes in silence, but inside Buck’s head there is anything but quiet. He wonders what the hell he’s going to say to Christopher.

He needs to be honest, as honest as possible, but reassuring. Though his own thoughts and fears are screaming a thousand what ifs, Buck knows he has to push those down and remain optimistic. More than just for Chris, but for himself. He doesn’t want to imagine the dark places his mind will go if he allows it.

When Athena pulls the cruiser to a stop next to Buck’s jeep outside the station, she turns the car off but neither of them moves to get out.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says.

Athena nods. “You need me to wait?” she asks. “I can take you to Eddie’s.”

The word yes is on the tip of his tongue. There’s a part of Buck that wants to scream it. He wants to push all of this off onto someone else, make it someone else’s responsibility, someone else’s problem.

Eventually he says no, because he knows that if he accepts the ride, she’ll offer to come inside with him. She’ll offer to break the news to Chris. She’ll offer anything he needs.

And he’s afraid he just might take it.

A slim hand reaches across the small space to rest on his arm; it’s smaller than his, but it feels so much stronger.

“You call me if you need anything,” she tells him.

He nods.

“Buck,” she says, and waits until he looks up at her. Then she repeats, “Anything. I’m serious.”

He swallows down the emotions clawing at his throat again. “Thanks, Athena.”

And then he flees the car before she can offer anything else. Already, it feels like she’s given so much.

One of the trucks is out, for which Buck is thankful because it means half the crew is gone. He can see the rest upstairs in the kitchen, can hear the crack of balls knocking together on the pool table, and someone distantly laughs at an unheard joke.

He wonders if anyone told them about Eddie, but realizes that it doesn’t matter. He knows their names and faces, has worked beside them on occasion, but the people here aren’t his family, not like his own team is. Hen and Chimney are probably already back at home, recuperating from a long shift, maybe making plans to visit Eddie again in a day or two. Buck knows already that he’ll be making the trip again tonight.

The showers are empty; another small blessing Buck is ready to take for granted. He turns the water as hot as he can stand and lets it pour over him, staining his skin a furious red.

He wishes he could stop time, rewind it, save Eddie from ever putting him in this position, because as scared as he is right now, he’s also pissed. At Eddie, at himself. He feels like a bomb and when he explodes, it’ll endanger anyone standing too close.

It was unfair of Eddie to ask him to be Christopher’s godfather in the first place. As much as he loves Chris, would do anything for him, he feels helpless. During the tsunami, with the water all around them, Buck’s instincts had kicked in. They had told him to grab Christopher, to not let go, to hold him as tight as he could.

But this… this is so different. There are no instincts for this. He’s not sure he’s strong enough to hold Chris together, no matter how tight he holds.

At the time, signing the papers to become Christopher’s legal guardian in an emergency was a safety net. But now it didn’t feel like a net; it felt like a noose.

“Fuck!” Buck yells and before he can even think, his fist is flashing forward and connecting with the wall. A speck of blood shines on the tile and he looks down to see the split on his knuckle. It washes away in the spray of the shower, and with it his anger seems to disappear.

None of this is fair. Not the fact that Eddie might die, that Chris might lose his only remaining parent, that Buck has to be the one to tell him. It’s not fair that Buck might lose his best friend. He wants to scream and yet his chest feels so tight he can barely breathe.

It takes a few more minutes before Buck can bring himself to leave the shower, and a few minutes longer to put on his spare clothes. The smell of smoke still seems to linger in his nose.

The entire drive to the Diaz house, Buck tries again to think of what he might say. He grapples with all of the usual condolences, but quickly pushes them aside when they all sound fake coming from his mouth. By the time he’s stopping the Jeep next to Carla’s minivan, Buck is no closer to a plan than he was an hour ago.

Then again, Buck has always done his best work diving in blind and making it up as he goes along.

He lets himself in with the spare key Eddie had given him long ago. It’s well worn, hanging snugly next to the key for his own apartment, but this time the metal feels heavier in his hand. The sound of quiet voices leads Buck toward the kitchen and as he nears he can smell something tomatoey wafting over from the stove. He realizes he hasn’t eaten since this morning, but the smell of it just makes his stomach churn.

Christopher is leaning back in a chair at the kitchen table, a yellow pencil in his hand that he waves around to accentuate whatever point he’s currently trying to make. He’s so like Eddie in that way, always talking with his hands. Carla sits opposite him, her chin resting on her hand, listening intently.

There’s a small smile on her face that freezes when she looks up, spotting Buck. It’s a miracle he thinks that she manages to keep it at all, though it turns stiff.

Christopher notices and twists around in his seat. “Hey dad,” he says, but the words die on his lips. A smile stretches across his face and Buck’s heart breaks just a little bit more. “Buck!” he exclaims. He starts to grab his crutches, but Buck steps closer.

He runs his fingers through Christopher’s curls, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “Hey, buddy.”

Carla catches Buck’s gaze and quickly stands. “I made some spaghetti,” she says. “Chris has already eaten, but it can be warmed up easy peasy for later on.” She makes her way around the table and Buck has a brief moment’s worry that she’s going to offer to stay, and then he’ll say yes. But she simply says, “I guess I should be heading home. Call me if you need anything.”

And just like that, Buck and Christopher are alone. Carefully, Buck sits down opposite Chris. All the time he spent trying to figure out a good way to say this and still, Buck is empty-handed. He has no idea where to start or end.

Christopher swings his legs under the table and asks, “Is Dad here yet? I wanted to show him the grade I got on my math test. Look.” He shoves a paper toward Buck, a gleaming red A+ on the top. Buck feels pride and dread swell in his chest. He braces himself.

“You know what your dad and I do for a living, right?” Buck asks. “Being a firefighter, all the stuff it entails.”

Christopher nods and settles Buck with a dumb look. “You fight fires. It’s in the name.”

Buck laughs. “Yeah, that’s right, buddy. And, you know, you’ve learned about fires. How dangerous they can be.”

Again Christopher just nods.

Buck hates himself, every single cell in his body, for having to tell Chris this.

“Well today, something happened at work. Your dad got hurt.”

There’s a silence as Buck lets Christopher process this. The pencil in his hand falls to the table. Tears swell behind his glasses and Christopher’s shoulders start to shake. “Daddy’s dead?”

Shit.

“No!” Buck moves quickly around the table, scooping Chris up in his arms, pulling him into his lap. Shit shit shit. He definitely should have started with that. “Chris, buddy, no. Your daddy is okay. He’s not dead. I’m so sorry I made you think that. No, he’s alive, Christopher.” He is the absolute worst person in the universe. He rocks Christopher back and forth.

He holds Chris until the crying calms down and he asks, through hiccupped breaths, “He’s okay?”

“Yes,” Buck says, “yes, he is okay. I promise you, your dad is okay.”

Buck wants to rewind time, he wants to try all of this again and make it better, make it right. But time doesn’t stop for accidents and it certainly doesn’t rewind. He holds Christopher closer to his chest.

“Where is he?” Christopher asks. “I want to see him.”

“Of course,” Buck says, because this, at least, he expected. “We can go see him. He’s in the hospital right now. But buddy,” he shifts the boy on his lap, trying to look at him and really make sure he understands what Buck is about to say. “Do you know what a coma is?”

Christopher shakes his head. His cheeks are as red as his glasses and his eyes still glimmer with tears.

“A coma is when the body goes to sleep so that it can focus on healing itself. Right now, your dad is asleep so that his body can focus all of its energy on him getting better.”

Christopher sniffles and seems to accept this. “How long will he be asleep for?”

Buck curses the tears that prick at his vision, the lump that arises in his throat. “I don’t know,” he admits.

“What if he doesn’t wake up?”

A part of Buck wants to be angry, another piece sad, but overall he can’t blame Christopher for wondering because he had been asking the same fucking question this entire time.

Now, he pushes all of those doubts and fears he had aside. He musters up all of the strength he has to look into Christopher’s big brown eyes that look so much like his father’s. “You and your dad are the two strongest people I know,” he says. “I know that he’s going to do everything he can to come back to you because he loves you more than anything in the world. And you… well, you’re Superman, right?”

Christopher looks doubtful, but he nods slowly. “I’m Superman.” Then he raises his arms to return Buck’s hug and says, “You’re strong, too.”

He chuckles and tries not to cry. He needs to be strong for Christopher, but right now, he’s not sure he’s ever felt weaker.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Side Effects ch.5 (baon)

Summary: Edge has had time to think while he’s convalescencing, but the real struggle is not going out of his mind. Lucky him, Stretch is there to help.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Collars

CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge was weary of television.

He didn’t mind it in general as entertainment. He watched it often enough curled up with Stretch in the evenings and occasionally let it play in the background as he did chores. Like anything, it was perfectly acceptable, within reason.

That was before television became his main source of entertainment.

Sitting more or less trapped on their sofa by the weaknesses of his own body, his casted foot still settled into its pillow nest, his options were frustratingly limited. He was thoroughly sick of news that he couldn’t really affect, frustrated at watching cooking shows demonstrating recipes that he couldn’t currently experiment with and likely wouldn’t have the time once he returned to a full day’s work.

(and he could barely stand the kitchen right now, still spattered with faded red paint that couldn’t be completely scrubbed away, his sanctuary tainted by the memory of kneeling on the floor with his unconscious brother in his arms)

What he wanted was a sense of normalcy. He wanted back into his carefully created routines, their designated route interrupted only by Stretch barreling into them and often through them with his cheery enthusiasm for the new.

He wanted to be back at work, confidently handling the Embassy’s affairs rather than being forced to trust it was being appropriately managed without him.

That was all bad enough, but being forced to email the director of his YMCA program that he wouldn’t be available for this week, possibly the next, was a straw very close to breaking his back along with his leg. He already gave his group less attention than he had in the past, taking on fewer duties as he spent more time with Stretch.

Something was going to have to change and he was still coming up with a decision on what.

The door opening interrupted his thoughts and Edge glanced up with shameful eagerness, his ready greeting dying on his lips as Stretch stalked in wearing an entirely different outfit than he’d left in that morning. Well, he had been grumbling about boredom, hadn’t he. He could hardly complain when the Universe chose to dump a mystery into his lap. “What happened to you?”

Stretch glared at him, the tint of orange to his gaze both a warning and an intrigue. “bruno happened to me. you’re gonna have to send someone else next time you need a special order. look at me!”

Yes, yes, Edge was definitely looking and what he saw was only a confirmation of what he already knew: Bruno was an excellent tailor.

How and why could wait, for now Edge only wanted to appreciate the view. Stretch’s new khaki trousers were fitted, the snug line falling neatly from hip to ankle and far more appealing than the track pants he normally wore. His button-up shirt hugged his ribcage, emphasizing his slimness, and exchanged his usual bright orange with a deeper shade pinstriped with brown. Even though it was untucked, instead of messy it only seemed casual, particularly with the hint of white t-shirt peeking through the opened collar, teasing at a normal concealed collarbone. His jacket was unbuttoned, acting as a frame for the scenery. Even his shoes were different, loafers instead of untied sneakers. All in all, it gave Stretch’s lanky frame an air of compact litheness that was overwhelmingly appealing.

Edge honestly didn’t care how Stretch dressed, his love for him wasn’t conditional on his fashion sense. That certainly didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy a feast when one was laid out for him.

Saliva welled in his mouth and Edge swallowed hard, ignoring the huskiness in his voice as he asked, “I take it Bruno convinced you to try on something new?”

“convinced me?” Stretch scoffed. “more like strong-armed, bribed, and blackmailed! it was either this or take the bus naked. i didn’t even have a sheet this time.”

Curiouser and curiouser. “Why would you be naked?”

“that would be because bruno stole my clothes.”

A beat passed. “I’m sorry, he what?”

“he stole them!” Stretch snarled. Sparks of fiery orange magic spangled from his fingertips and Edge struggled to keep his expression placid despite how utterly delectable Stretch looked in his temper. One broken leg was enough. “look, i don’t want to relive the experience, i’m gonna go change.”

Edge was quite sure he didn’t say anything. He was positive his expression didn’t so much as flicker, no indication whatsoever of how much he desperately wanted to protest.

But Stretch stopped halfway to the stairs, his sockets narrowing. “you want me to leave this on.”

“I’m sorry?” Edge tried for confusion, already knowing he was failing and miserably at that.

“you like it!” Stretch said accusingly.

There was a distinct possibility that his answer was going to dictate the course of the evening. Edge chose his words with the care of a one trying to decide which wire to cut on a particularly volatile bomb. “I always like you, no matter what you’re wearing...but you did already endure his tactics. It might be worth wearing a little longer, if only to see if it’s truly comfortable.”

That pointed gaze sharpened, eye lights once merely tinged orange brightening like a flame. Edge was reminded of a nature documentary, a warning that looking away from a lion might invite an attack.

Suddenly, one side of Stretch’s mouth quirked up in a languid smile, his tongue gliding briefly across his teeth. “you like it.”

That easy drawl sent a tantalizing shiver up Edge’s spine. “I do,” he confessed.

His risk proved worth it as Stretch almost prowled over to him, that rare gracefulness usually only seen when he was dancing and enhanced by those clothes as he said, husky low, “baby love, if you want me to play dress up, you only ever have to ask.”

He settled into Edge’s lap, winding long arms around him. Edge hissed through his teeth at the teasing wriggle, catching his hips to still him. Uselessly, Stretch’s smirk widened, his sockets hooded as he leaned in to brush their mouths together, pulling back before Edge could deepen it.

“oohh, what’s that i feel?” Stretch crooned. That squirm bordered on cruel, his tailbone grinding into Edge’s shorts. “i’m thinking you actually want to play undress, dontcha?”

Words escaped him. Edge was never as clever at verbal sparring as his husband was, anyway. All he could manage was a low growl, reverberating in his chest as he cupped Stretch’s chin in a rough hand, holding him still as he leaned in to take that perfectly mocking mouth.

A knock at the door stopped him a bare inch away, close enough for their breath to meet.

Stretch groaned, his head drooped. “seriously?”

“Ignore it,” Edge suggested breathlessly. He caught hold of Stretch’s hips in both hands, raising his own slightly as he lightly ground Stretch’s pelvis down against him. A low gasp came as his first answer but his second was disappointment as Stretch squirmed away, sliding to his feet.

“wow, really? who are you and what did you do with my husband,” Stretch said dryly. “sorry, babe, we ain’t hanging from the chandeliers yet.”

Edge could only watch the sway of Stretch’s hips sadly as they walked away from him, shifting his own in a vain attempt to stifle the heat settling there. His desire cooled considerably as Stretch’s voice floated from the opened door.

“hey, sans.” Stretch held an equal measure of surprise and wariness. Not entirely untoward, Sans wasn’t one to simply stop by for a visit. Whenever Sans showed up, he tended to bring along a gift of ulterior motives.

“heya, stretch,” Sans said, easily. “edge home?”

As if he didn’t already know.

Stretch snorted. “not by choice, come on in.” He held open the door and Sans strolled in, pausing to kick off his shoes at the door before Edge could loudly remind him. Stretch’s sockets widened, his gaze catching somewhere around the height of Sans’s chest. “hey, nice bling! getting some new decorations for the old place, huh?”

To Edge’s surprise, Sans’s eye lights slid towards him, almost warily. “thanks.”

Then he turned Edge’s direction and he was forced to catch his breath.

Sans was wearing a betrothal collar.

Collars served many purposes in Underfell, blatantly identifiable and allowing for little leeway when their warnings were ignored.

They were used to quantify familial relationships, status; a collar acted as a declaration. When Edge was Captain of the Snowdin guard, Red wore his collar, a statement of warning that any aggression directed at Red would be met and returned tenfold by not only Edge, but every guard in his command. Not that it had been entirely necessary, issues of HP aside, Red was more than capable of handling himself, but the statement was important.

A betrothal collar, in Red’s colors no less. Now this was an interesting development.

He did not mistake the wariness in Sans’s expression, the caution as he shuffled closer. Edge was years away from Underfell, but he doubted he would ever forget proper etiquette, not after having Red ramming it into his skull for most of his lifetime. In this case, the correct response was to ignore it. “What can I do for you?”

He didn’t think he imagined the slight tension easing in Sans’s shoulders. It was very nearly insulting; what was it he was expecting Edge to do? Challenge him to a duel? Demand to know Sans’s intentions towards his older brother’s virtue? Because that was a barn door long since opened and whatever horses left inside to run away were likely escaping into a different idiom.

Certainly Sans had issues of his own, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t appropriate for Red. Frankly, it was probably the only way a person would be appropriate for him. What Sans could give his brother was what Edge always wanted for him: a companion to keep him from being alone.

From seemingly nowhere, Sans pulled out a thick folder, offering it to Edge. “red asked me to give you this.”

“how is red doing, anyway?” Stretch shut the door, hands that were feeling for his hoodie pocket grudgingly sliding down to his trouser pockets instead.

“eh, you know red,” Sans said and there was a certain weariness in his grin that Edge understood all too well. “hangover won’t keep him down. between him and paps, i’m kinda hoping they both keep away from any whiskey behavior.”

To his credit, Stretch only nodded, offering no indication of the scene in their kitchen last night. “yeah, maybe they’ll let you call the shots for a while.”

“that’d sure lift my spirits.”

Edge only took the folder wordlessly, ignoring their version of coded speak. He was already aware Red was well. Alongside a reassuring message from Sans, he’d gotten a text from his brother in the wee hours of nothing more than a picture of a traffic light, shining green. Red indulging his sense of humor was nearly as reassuring as any message, as was this folder. Edge knew without looking what it was, flipping it open to the first page to see his brother’s incident report, written by hand in an obscure language from the Underground, the same one he forced Edge to learn as a child. “Did you read this?”

Sans scratched at the back of one leg with a sock-covered foot. “you asking if i did or if i can? cause the answer is yes.”

At his other side, Stretch leaned over his shoulder, peering down. “is that written in wingdings? holy shit, i haven’t seen that in years!”

Edge didn’t have a single qualm in flipping it closed to shield it from Stretch’s gaze. “i’m sorry, love, it’s a security briefing.”

That scowl said the state of his evening was teetering into dangerous territory again and Edge wondered sourly if he had Red to thank for it. He wouldn’t put it past him to send Sans over at right this moment simply to amuse himself.

“is it about the california?” Stretch asked, coolly. “cause, red said he’d let me know what happened.”

“he didn’t forget, either, honey bun. he did promise.” Sans plucked another report out of the air, holding it out in offering. “i won’t lie, it’s a little redacted, but he said you deserved to know what happened.”

“thanks,” Stretch said, the tightness around his mouth easing. Protest rose to Edge’s mouth as Stretch took the slimmer folder that Sans offered, left unspoken. If Red thought Stretch needed to know, then he would and nothing Edge said would change a damned thing. Especially if there were promises involved. “and don’t you start calling me that, it’s bad enough when the gremlin does.”

Sans shrugged. “can’t promise, but i’ll try. red kinda rubs off on ya, ya know?”

“yeah, no, i don’t wanna hear about you rubbing off. that why you’ve got the new accessory?”

Sans only tapped the folder with one finger. “don’t think i need to tell you that’s top secret. don’t get red into any shit blabbing, okay? not even your therapist, pretty.”

“yeah, yeah, i got it, no twitter announcements...wait, did you just call me pretty?” Stretch’s head jerked up indignantly, mouth dropping open in his outrage.

Very carefully, Edge didn’t react; he knew a distraction when he heard one.

Sans’s grin widened. “dressed like that, yeah. better’n honey bun. see you later, alligator.”

He didn’t wait for the return sentiment of the crocodile, wandering over to slide his feet into his shoes before shortcutting out.

Stretch only set aside his folder, muttering beneath his breath about gremlins and their cohorts. It turned back into a smile quickly enough as he turned to Edge, his voice a throaty purr as he said, “speaking of pretty things, think we were in the middle of something, pretty.”

And oh, it was tempting. But there was something Edge needed to do first and that report was a pointed reminder. He held up a hand as Stretch leaned in, halting him, “Wait. I’ve been thinking today. We need to talk.”

Stretch reared back, all that seduction collapsing into a lopsided smile, “welp, no good thing ever started with that. what are you cooking up and can’t it sit on a back burner for a while?”

Much as he mourned to see that desire dwindle away, Edge shook his head. “It’s important.”

Stretch’s smile wavered, fading. To Edge’s shocked horror, tears rose in the corner of his sockets and Stretch promptly came up with the very last thing Edge expected him to ever blurt out, desperately, “please don’t leave me!”

Edge only looked at him in flabbergasted surprise, watching as those tears spilled over, falling droplets dampening that new shirt. “What? Of course I’m not, why would you even think…we’re married! I promised you forever, I still have some time to give it!"

“well, don't start off with ‘we need to talk!’” Stretch snapped. “everyone knows what that means!” The flow of those tears didn’t ease and Edge took hold of him by the shoulders, giving him a gentle shake.

“I am not everyone. And nothing means more to me than you, do you understand me? Not my job, not any security reports, not even my damned kitchen. You. All right?” He couldn’t say his brother, but that was all right. Stretch would never ask for it. He pulled Stretch into a hard embrace, holding him tightly as if his arms could force away the tremor running through his husband. His husband. His.

Stretch nodded, his chin digging into Edge’s shoulder as he sniffled. “sorry, babe. i just...sorry. i know all that, i just panicked. so what…?”

“What I wanted to tell you was I scheduled a meeting with Asgore to be taken off the security roster permanently.” Stretch shifted in his arms and Edge let him go, allowing him to draw back to meet Edge’s gaze. Gently, he cupped Stretch’s face in his gloved hands, smoothing his thumbs over those angular cheekbones, wiping away dampness. “Truth be told, I should have done it a long time ago. You were right, I can’t handle being on two teams and the Embassy needs to train more Monsters to take care of security.”

“so...no more trips without me?” Stretch asked slowly.

Edge hesitated. “Love, I want to be able to promise you that, I do. But--”

“no, don’t.” Slim fingers settled over his mouth, silencing him. “it’s okay, babe. i get it.”

“Do you?” Edge couldn’t help asking. Listening to Stretch begging him not to leave had left him shaken. He couldn’t doubt Edge’s love for him, he couldn’t--

A warm mouth replaced those fingers, gently coaxing and Edge couldn’t help sighing into that soft touch. Stretch’s hand dropped to his, drawing it up, settling it over his sternum where his soul pulsed softly, its warmth seeping through.

“yeah, i do,” Stretch murmured, “wanna let me prove it?”

Some hours later, Edge was more than convinced of not only his husband’s belief in his love, but also that his new wardrobe was even better when tossed carelessly to the floor.

They were still on the sofa, Stretch sprawled out sleeping across his chest while Edge drowsily stroked the delicate place where his ribs attached to his spine when his phone caught his eye, sitting innocently on the coffee table. Reaching out, he could barely touch it with his fingertips, dragging it closer until he could pick it up.

The contact he wanted to message was the second on his list.

congratulations on your liability

For long moments there was no reply and Edge started to set his phone aside, debating on whether he wanted to sleep or persuade Stretch to wake up again when his phone lit up with an incoming message.

just jealous cause mine is in a collar

It was followed by a complicated array of punctuation that formed a picture of a middle finger.

Edge held back his smile, having no doubt that Red would be able to see it if he didn’t, and offered a middle finger of his own to whatever hidden cameras were surely in their living room. If his brother was perverse enough to be watching, that was, and there was a thought to haunt his nightmares.

His brother’s little dig wasn’t true and even if it was, Stretch’s comfort zone was the important thing. He could respect Red clinging to Underfell’s ways when it came to Sans. He didn’t need the same.

He didn’t.

Gently, he slipped a knuckle beneath Stretch’s chin, lifting it enough to steal a sleepy kiss that slowly warmed, deepening. Without looking, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table to join the unused television remotes. Tonight, he was hoping for a different kind of entertainment.

-finis-

@constantly-tired-reader made art of Stretch in his new duds! Look at him in all his sulky glory!!

[kittinoir]

Could I request a fic with the prompt “It's three in the morning.” for Ladrien please? Thanks!

Adrien had had this dream before, but it usually wasn’t this aggressive. In the dream, Ladybug somehow knew who he was and showed up in his room, so in love with him she couldn’t stand to keep her own identity a secret. It usually ended with kissing and getting woken up by Plagg complaining he was ‘talking in his sleep again’.

This time, instead of kissing, Ladybug was shaking him roughly by the shoulder and Plagg was no where in sight.

“I’m sorry, Adr - Mr. Agreste,” she murmured. “But we have to go.”

“Go?” Adrien repeated. Who the hell was Mr. Agreste? His father’s room as a whole other floor up. “It’s three in the morning.”

“There’s an akuma,” Ladybug explained. “I can tell you more later. Right now, we have to get out of here. She’s coming for you.”

Adrien was having a harder time than usual focusing with her face this close. “But I haven’t done anything.”

“I know,” Ladybug said with forced patience. A small crease appeared between her brows, which he knew meant she was nearing her wits end. It normally took three puns to get to that point. Apparently ‘Adrien’ was more vexing than Chat Noir, which was less comforting than he’d imagined it’d be.

But Ladybug’s words finally sunk in. Adrenaline dumped into his system, bringing him fully awake, his heart racing as he tried to reconcile what was happening. Ladybug was here to save him, because there was an akuma that was after him (again). She didn’t know he was Chat Noir, and he was wasting time while the akuma closed in.

“Maybe I can hide?” Adrien suggested as he climbed out of bed. He hated to imply that he might be afraid of the akuma to her, but duty came before love - much to his own chagrin.

“This place is too big,” Ladybug said, assessing the windows. “Not very defensible. Plus, it’s like a beacon; she’ll come straight here, just like I did. It’s better to get you some place - oh.”

Ladybug had stopped analyzing the defensive capabilities of his room and turned back around, stopping dead in her tracks upon coming face to face with his Ladybug pyjamas.

Had Plagg been near-by, Adrien would have cataclysmed himself. As it was, Adrien fought for the inner peace being a teenaged model had helped him hone over the years. Some looks were stunning. Other’s were not. And he had to pretend to like it either way. The pyjamas had been a prank, a joke Plagg had slipped into one of his camembert orders - except they were actually really comfortable. And they weren’t Gabriel brand, so really, the pros just kept out-weighing the cons.

At least until right now.

Model-calm was no where to be found as Ladybug’s gaze travelled from the tips of his toes all the way up to what Adrien could only imagine was an extremely red face. A thousand excuses jumped to mind, but he couldn’t sort them enough to get a single one out.

“Huh,” Ladybug said with a small laugh. “We match.”

He hadn’t thought it was possible to fall anymore in love with her, except that it kept happening. “I guess we do.”

“Ready to go then?”

Adrien nodded, following her to the window as Plagg disappeared into his pocket. He could go with her now, and as soon as she had him safely hidden, he could sneak off and transform. He’d done it before; tonight would be no different. It’d be fine. Super fine. He had this under control.

Ladybug abruptly wrapped an arm around him, pulling him tight to her side as her yo-yo arced for the rooftops. Adrien felt heat flare across his cheeks again as he automatically held on to her, and he was glad for the cool night air as they left his room. More than anything, he hoped she couldn’t feel his heart pounding through the thin material of his shirt.

“So, the akuma?” Adrien said over the wind as they swung through the streets. “What happened?” Wow, this was way less terrifying as Chat Noir.

“I…I can’t say too much,” Ladybug said carefully, “But…the reason I was able to come so fast is because the akuma may or may not have been a direct result of something I did.”

“Something you did?” Adrien repeated. Sure, he’d caused akuma’s before, but he couldn’t imagine her doing anything of this scale. 

“I kind of interrupted a rival of yours when she was trying to sabotage you for tomorrow’s Gabriel show during my patrol,” she said. “Veronique? Anyway, she’s on her way to end the competition once and for all.”

A thousand thoughts raced through Adrien’s mind, but only one mattered: the fashion week locations weren’t on their patrol route. And just as suddenly, he realized ‘Ladybug’ must not have been there as Ladybug - but her civilian self had been. And the only people still working this late were the models, designers, and his father.

“I can’t tell you more than that,” Ladybug said, oblivious to the bombs going off in Adrien’s head. “Too risky. But don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you, Mr. Agreste.”

Mr. Agreste. That suddenly made sense now - and excluded the models. To a designer, twenty five of which had been picked as up-and-comers to feature pieces in his fathers’ show, he would be ‘Mr. Agreste’. 

“Adrien,” he said, the only coherent thing he could manage right then. “You can just call me Adrien.”

“Adrien,” she repeated softly as they finally came to a stop. He realized belatedly they were on the Eiffel Tower, outside Gustav Eiffel’s office. An effective hiding place, if he’d ever needed one.

“Who’s dealing with the akuma right now if you’re here?” Adrien asked as Ladybug ushered him inside.

“Chat Noir has it under control,” Ladybug said. Adrien turned, ready to tell her that illusions must be part of the akuma’s powers - except she was biting her lip, meeting his eyes for a mere moment before glancing away. She’s lying, he realized. Why?

Because she came straight to me when this happened. Because concern for my safety came before anything else. Because the boy she likes is…

“I’ll be back soon, Adrien,” Ladybug said, backing towards the door. “You’ll be safe here. Bug out!”

And then she was gone, free-falling into the sea of lights the were the city streets. 

“You know, in thousands of years, you’re the only Chat Noir who’s mastered being in two places at once,” Plagg said as he slipped from Adrien’s pocket. “I mean, I always knew you were special, kid, but, wow.”

“Ha-ha,” Adrien said. “Very funny.”

“Well, aren’t we going?”

“In a second,” he said. “I want to let her get a bit more of a head start. The last thing we need is for Ladybug to see Chat Noir appear from the same office she just stashed Adrien in.”

And, if he was being perfectly honest, Adrien needed just a few more minutes to come to terms with the fact that Ladybug, the girl he was in love with, was someone he’d been working closely with for the past few weeks. Someone, he imagined, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from recognizing as soon as he let himself think about it. 

[a-very-fond-farewell]

The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 18/?

University AU: “Negative Space”

[ok so, self projection is a bitch, but I am petty to myself on a regular basis so it’s ok]

[title is from the Japanese concept “ma”, which Wikipedia describes as:

“a Japanese word which can be roughly translated as ‘gap’, ‘space’, ‘pause’ or ‘the space between two structural parts.’ In traditional Japanese arts and culture, ma is more carefully defined as the suggestion of an interval. It is best described as a consciousness of a sense of place, with the ‘intervals’ suggested often being more than simple gaps, instead focusing on the intention of a negative space in an art piece.

Ma is not necessarily an art concept created by compositional elements, such as the literal existence of a negative space. Instead, the intention is often to create the perception of an interval in the viewer experiencing the elements forming an art piece, making maless reliant on the existence of a gap, and more closely related to the perceived experience of a gap.

Ma has also been described as ‘an emptiness full of possibilities, like a promise yet to be fulfilled’, and as ‘the silence between the notes which make the music’.”

Fun fact: “ma” also means “but” in Italian, which is what usually follows whatever intrusive thought may plague my mind. Eg: “I may be useless now, BUT just you wait until I get some dopamine to get me through this shitty times.”]

*

Wei Ying never asked for much in his life. He’s content with cleaning classrooms and toilets and nobody can beat him at wiping the marble floors if he works hard enough. Granny Wen, his supervisor, is slightly impressed with his ability to make the wood shine for ages to come. His nephew Jin Ling sometimes comes to check on him when he’s done with senior classes or cram school in the evening, and together they sit down and listen to whatever his older friends in music production came up with during the day. Jiang Cheng occasionally would ask him to keep him company while he grades papers and they bitch about ZiXuan and his inability to dote on their sister. The cafeteria ladies are always nice to him and they give him extra congee because they worry for his questionable consumption of spice products.

He’s fine, really.

So why can’t he stop wandering over to the science building these days? Looking for a clean board to use, for an equation to finally solve? Even if in the end he just takes the chalk in hand and simply stares down at the inky surface in front of him, unable to write. His mind working on a software too advanced for the hardware that constitutes his brain.

Thirteen years. It has been already thirteen years and yet it feels like yesterday, or like it never happened at all. Like it has yet to be. Time blindness is a bitch to deal with, yet dyscalculia and ADHD makes a joke out of you when you love math on a visceral level... but you burned too bright too fast and now you function on no data and with an even shittier signal. Having a burnout at 23 should have taught him humility instead of pride, but Wei Ying has always worked out of spite and certain habits are difficult to forget.

Couldn’t put the number in the right order, switching digits left and right since he was young? Fine. Numbers were concepts anyway, entire civilizations working their magic without even knowing what “zero” stood for. A brain steaming with a million ideas per second? Good. New connections brimming with ideas he could use to better the world.

It worked fine until he let himself down. Until he became a useless empty lighter, a wet match tossed out, carbon monoxide in the air.

Dropped out before finishing his very ambitious, highly dangerous for his psyche, thesis project. Aunt Yu never forgave him for that, not after paying for his advanced classes, not after trusting Uncle Jiang and supporting him despite his many flaws. What good is being first of your class every year, poster child of a teaching system done right, graduating bachelor at 21, if you can’t finish your master at 23 and get your PhD at 25 and start teaching by 27 and drive yourself insane in the process?

Wei Ying dropped out and didn’t finish his master, didn’t enroll in the teaching program, and let everyone down. His Uncle and Aunt looking down on him, whether out of pity or shame. Jiang Cheng may have been the one leaving him behind, but he used to be the one saying “you should have tried harder”. YanLi worrying over him when she should have focused on her career first. Jin Ling growing up with stories of his uncle “not being worth the money put into his education”, taught to not disappoint and make his family proud. The Jin side, that is.

And now the kid comes crawling in defeat to him instead of Jiang Cheng after bombing a test in high school. And they chat of what he would like to do and how much he likes sports and how much he despises the idea of getting a scholarship for that and being called stupid or something by his classmates. And he cries when he thinks Wei Ying cannot see him as he leaves the campus late at night.

Wei Ying didn’t even want to solve that impossible theorem he fixated on in his early twenties. His thesis project was inconsequential in the great scheme of things and his professor only wanted him to be his one trick pony in the end. No. Wei Ying wanted to teach math in elementary school, hell... even in kindergarten. He wanted to change the approach to the subject. Because numbers cannot be taught like language is and there are many ways to teach how to sum up digits and divide quantities and there are no rules on how to make sense of space either.

But how can he teach when even time eludes his senses?

Something that nobody can define, but certainly most perceive as linear... but not him. Not since his brain fried up in his attempt to function like a normal human being.

After thirteen years nothing has changed.

Until one day he hears something else aside from his usual intrusive thoughts and burdensome memories. A melody so quiet he almost mistakes it for the wind, coming from the music building.

He walks slowly, night surrounding him like the embrace of a friend as he makes his way to the traditional musical instruments room. The one where Jin Ling’s friends meet sometimes as they wait for the younger boy to join them. Wei Ying holds his breath as he spies through the gap of the door left ajar, neon light slicing his face like moonbeams as he peeks in and recognizes Jin Ling’s friends and another figure sitting on the ground, guqin on their knees.

But before he can lean in and breathe in the vibrant sounds all around, the door opens and music theory Professor Lan finds Wei Ying clutching his mop for dear life.

They said the man could see colors within the notes, that he despises language outside of his class or office and that only his brother, the history of art TA, could convince him to talk every now and then.

If numbers were created to measure space, Wei Ying firmly believed music had been invented to make sense of time and count its seconds in rhythm and notes, pauses and beats. Yet, time seems to stretch to a stop as the janitor focuses all of his attention on professor Lan’s stern face and his heart quickens its pace.

Wei Ying takes a rushed breath and dives right in with a weird sense of hope pumping in his veins. A small, timid voice whispering that life is not made to be atoned, but to move on and grow.

One step at a time.

“I’m Wei Ying, Professor Lan. May I listen while you play?”

Yes, maybe it will be enough just to let time flow at its pace.

Whatever rhythm that may be.

*

[some hcs down below]

WWX does not magically solve the math theorem. he may or may not help kids figure out how to use numbers on the long run tho. no, he will still work as a janitor and there’s nothing wrong with that.

yes, LWJ is autistic and stimms and finds WWX’s honesty soothing. yes, you can add your hcs on the matter. he has synesthesia, but more on the grapheme-color side of the deal than anything else and he sees certain letters/numbers/notes in different colors. people think he can see colors in music, but they misunderstood and thought he could recognize different hues while listening to music instead of reading it.

JC has grown since his uni years and doesn’t resent WWX anymore. he teaches astrophysics as a TA and doesn’t pressure his brother to pick his studies up anymore. WWX has mixed feelings about this: he feels he’s a lost cause, to the point not even his brother spurs him to best himself anymore, but he is grateful for the patience anyway.

LXC is the official LWJ translator of the campus along with their cousins SiZhui and JinGyi. he bonds with WWX and JC over how tired they are, seldom staring at flies roaming above them in the cafeteria bc none of them can even move. he lives on caffeine and regrets, but he’s getting better as he develops a love for his plant babies and tries to not let them die on a daily basis.

Wen Ning and Wen Qing are little overachievers and adrenaline junkies, hence their competitive streak on their way to their third master degree just for funsies. they scare people with how driven they are, but the juniors love them.

NMJ is the one to go to if you need to get away with murder, but JGY will actually be the one helping you dispose of the body. the fact that they both work in criminal law is somewhat both reassuring and disquieting. they hate each other and yet cannot stop hang out, they are close to 40 and need the rivalry to keep going anyway. nothing beats a good nemesis. not even sex. maybe.

NHS has failed his entrance exam to become a nurse too many times to count, but he is determined to see the end of it. even if he could potentially work in the family business, but he doesn’t know anything about managing an empire of bricks and he doesn’t care. if NMJ could run away, well, so can he.

MianMian is Wei Ying’s bestie and has the biggest crush on JGY’s sister A-Su the kindergarten teacher, but since they are childhood besties she doesn’t know how to approach her. she is Jin Ling’s idol and a certified boxer and refers to herself as a useless bisexual. Wei Ying boxes with her sometimes, she always win.

YanLi is an equestrian mum, but in the best way possible: she coaches children for shows and teaches them horses should be loved and feared equally and that if you want to shoot arrows from a running horse you should always, ALWAYS let go of the stirrups the moment the beast gets too unhinged to ride. JC fears her, WWX is only glad she didn’t train police dogs for a living.

ZiXuan actually loves his wife, but WWX and JC question his career choices and the fact that he’s a retired lawyer spending his family fortune while he’s a stay-at-home dad and does all the housework. WWX and JC believe he should give their sister a better life and work his ass off to deserve her, but he does make amazing rice cakes and keeps up with Jin Ling’s studies and is very supportive of his dreams.

A-Qing and Song Lan are siblings and sometimes bring JC food from the campus cafeteria where they both work at, while Xiao XingChen and his carer Xue Yang work with LXC for a project on accessibility for visually impaired visitors of the local museum. JC and LXC work to make Song Lan and Xiao XingChen fall for each other, but the youngsters are too protective to let them play matchmaker so easily.

[this is all for now. please, if you want, add your own headcanons!]

[sunshinelikesstarwars]

Paths of Life 7

AO3 - FanFiction.net

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - ?

Peli had led Omera to a cluttered room after lunch (it might have once been a waiting area, but only one chair wasn’t completely buried under old scrap) so the baby could have some quiet to sleep. The room had a window, so Omera was able to keep an eye on the repair work. She smiled at the scene.

Winta was watching the mechanic and her droids work on the strict condition that she touch absolutely nothing and not talk too much. Dutifully, Winta held her hands behind her back, rocking up on her toes when she wanted to get a better look at something. Her daughter had warmed up a bit to the mechanic herself, enough that she didn’t immediately try to hide whenever the older woman spoke directly to her.

Omera shook her head. Being so shy wasn’t much of a problem in a small fishing community where no one was a stranger, but it would make some parts of living on the move and always meeting new people interesting. Then again, Winta would be less inclined to wander off on her own in new places, so there might be a benefit to her shyness as well. As long as they were in danger of bounty hunters, it would be better to stay together.

Pressing her lips together, she looked down at the tiny green child in her lap. She could quite honestly say that this was not the direction she’d seen her life going. Leaving the quiet life of a fisher behind to run off with a bounty hunter? That was the stuff of romantic dramas.

Those dramas didn’t usually feature navigating child care with another parent, though. Or any consideration for the slightly daunting task of finding a way to contribute monetarily while always on the move. Or how to progress a relationship when the bounty hunter you ran off with was intense, socially awkward, but very gentle to those he cared about. Or how to handle the heart of a man so very durable in some ways and so very fragile in others.

No, the romances that featured bounty hunters were full of dashing, suave, eloquent heroes rescuing their loves from distress, saving the day against all odds and flying off into hyperspace. Very little actual bounty hunting was done. No one wondered how they were going to get their next few meals. Those dramas tied off with a nice clean ending, no loose ends, but plenty of romantic tension.

She huffed. That part was true for her little “story.” Tension? Yes. In the quiet moments; in the strong, steadying hands on her waist when she stood up too fast, giving her an excuse to grab his arms, both of them lingering past any risk of falling; when she managed to get him to sit down and tell stories (age-appropriate ones) to the kids after they ate dinner and were winding down for sleep, and she held his hand in both of hers as the children slept, twining their fingers together and wondering when, or if, he’d be comfortable taking off his gloves; when he stood a bit closer than was probably necessary as he taught her how to shoot a pistol, his hands remaining on her shoulder and hip after he had nudged her into position, the warmth of him barely noticeable from the scant centimeters between them but there nonetheless (and she wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that he hadn’t touched her like this before, when he was training the villagers to shoot).

If he wasn’t a Mandalorian, she’d know exactly how to act, how to respond. It involved a great deal of kissing and a fair amount of away-from-the-kids time. But he was Mandalorian. He was committed to it, too, and that meant making it work, which meant communication and maybe a bit of experimentation and patience.

Which was pretty difficult with two children underfoot, especially when one of those children was currently being hunted for unknown reasons. It wasn’t like they could just hire a babysitter and take a night for themselves, though.

As she tried to puzzle through that particular problem, she was distracted by the Mandalorian walking back into the hangar. Winta ran right over to him and started bouncing around and pointing at various things, presumably telling him all about whatever it was mechanics did. He nodded at her, then looked around. Winta pointed to the waiting area and Omera waved at them through the window.

She tried to stand without waking the baby, but almost like he sensed that his guardian was near, he woke with some bleary blinking and confused cooing. She huffed at his grumpy little face and stroked his forehead with one thumb. His brow unfurrowed (as much as it could, anyways) and he grabbed at her hand. Such a calm child. As a baby, Winta had always cried after she woke up from naps. This serenity was a nice change of pace. She carefully arranged the blanket to hide the child again, being careful of his ears.

Peli had walked over to the man as Omera had rewrapped the baby, talking to him and gesturing to the ship. Winta smiled at her mother as she came out of the waiting room but stayed next the Mandalorian.

Omera noticed that Winta was now trying to copy the man’s stance, shoulders back, arms crossed, going so far as to try to keep her face in a very stern expression (in what could possibly be considered an attempt to mimic his visor) as the adults talked, and Omera was very, very proud of herself for not laughing.

She wished she could see the Mandalorian’s eyes, to see what he thought of his little copy-cat without letting Winta know what they found so cute and making her embarrassed. He did glance slightly down at Winta, then shifted a bit to put his hands on his hips. Winta hurried to mimic him.

Ha. He knew. He thought it was cute, too, she would bet, from the slight tilt of his head towards the girl. Omera even heard one of his little huffs of amusement as she came up beside them.

She held out the child for the Mandalorian to take, which he did, very gingerly. The child made some happy noises and the man bounced him a little, which made the child laugh.

Peli just raised an eyebrow at all of them with a smile and shook her head. “Anyways, the majority of the work is done. There’s some things that need a bit of time to set, but by the time you get back from your job, you’ll be set to go and then some.” He found a job, then. Good.

The Mandalorian said a quick “thank you” and strode off to the ship‘s ramp. Omera and Winta followed close behind, Winta actually racing forward to launch into a lecture about the different kinds of wrenches a person could use.

On the ship, the Mandalorian had set the child down with Winta, who was continuing her “lesson.” The man was searching through the box again, the one he’d been looking in before he’d left to find work. While he looked for whatever he needed, Omera took the meal she had saved for him out of the very small cooler unit and walked to his side.

He eventually found what he was looking for and stood up.

“Here,” she said, holding the foil-wrapped food out before he could say anything. “We got you lunch.” He looked at the food, then back up to her. “It’s just a burrito of some kind. I figured you wouldn’t have a chance to eat anything while you were out, and Peli had one of the droids go get us all some food so we could stay out of sight.”

Slowly, he took the burrito. “How did you pay for this?” he said, turning the food around to see all sides of it. It brought to mind how someone might examine a bomb, wary and curious.

“I used a bit of our savings. You were right about people accepting Imperial Credits here.” His grip tightened. “Careful!” she said, reaching out to tug his fingers away. He relaxed a bit and there was a bit of an awkward pause as they both stared at the now slightly squished burrito.

In that pause, Omera wondered if he was keeping himself from saying anything about her using her money, although she hoped he’d gotten the hint from “our savings.” She’d like for them to work together with their money. It was a conversation that needed to happen, but maybe not right before he left for a job, so she held her tongue.

At length, he managed, “Thank you.”

Or maybe he was just surprised that she’d gotten him food. Some of the strangest things left him in quiet contemplation, things she found boringly normal, like when she kept bringing him food. (He had cooked them all dinner once on that grassy planet. It had become obvious to Omera why the only food stored on his ship had been no-prep ration bars. She had not asked him to cook since, and he had not offered. She was now trying to think of a way to give him lessons without somehow insulting him.)

She smiled at him. “Of course. I’ll let you eat.” She walked back down the ramp of the ship, herding the children off as well. Winta picked up the baby and pointed at some soldering the mechanic had done so the he could appreciate it. The baby, being a baby, had about as much appreciation for soldering as one might expect and was starting to squirm in Winta’s arms. Omera chuckled, then looked around the hangar. Peli seemed to have stepped out, maybe to give them some privacy. “Winta, let him run around for a bit.” The child was soon waddling around, Winta herding him away from anything dangerous while she now told Omera what she’d learned. Omera listened, a bit bemused; Winta had never shown any interest in mechanics before they left. Was this and the interest in flying because of the novelty of it all, or because she actually had a desire to learn these things? Whatever the case, it kept her daughter busy, so she’d appreciate it while it lasted

A few minutes later, the Mandalorian came back outside with something in his hand. He took a moment to look down at the children, who were now giggling at something, and Omera would have bet anything that he had at least a small smile on his face.

He turned to her. “The job I got shouldn’t take more than a day or two,” he said right off the bat. Blunt, as always. Omera had no frame of reference for how long bounty hunting usually took, so she just nodded. He held out what looked like a small comm link. She took it and examined it as he talked. “It’s a two-way comm.” He held up another, identical comm link. “I’ll have the other one. Don’t comm unless it’s an emergency.”

Right. Hard to be sneaky when a comm link was going off. “Will you comm me when you can, then?”

He seemed surprised by her request and didn’t answer for a few moments. She wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking, if he was just unused to checking in with a home-base on a job or genuinely surprised she wanted to talk to him. She looked over at the kids and waited.

“I will try.” He sounded confused, which really only meant that he had a slightly less purposeful tone than usual.

“It’s just…” she started, trying to think of how to articulate her feelings so he wouldn’t be frightened off or even more confused. “We’ll miss you.” Hm. Of course the children would miss him, but that’s not the reason she wanted him to comm. “I’ll miss you. I like talking with you.” She didn’t doubt that he’d probably say very little over the comm (he spoke very little in general), but if she couldn’t have him beside her, having him through comm was better than nothing. “And I want to know you’re...well, maybe safe isn’t the right word. Alive?” She considered it, then nodded. “Yes. I want to know you’re alive and coming back to us.”

He was, again, quiet for a while before nodding. “I’ll try to comm before nightfall, maybe in the morning. Jobs are...unpredictable at best, but I’ll try.” He reached out a hand and brushed his fingers against her wrist, sliding them down to hold her hand. Feeling brave, is he?

She gave him a smile before looking to see if the children were watching. They weren’t, so Omera quickly pressed a kiss to one of the cheekbone-like ridges on his helmet. “Thank you.”

Then Winta ran over to them, squealing about something, and the Mandalorian dropped her hand. Oh, well. Little steps.

A few more minutes and he said it was time for him to meet his contact. He walked to one of the hangar doors that led out of Mos Eisley and Winta followed him out, chattering the whole way.

Omera scooped up the little one that was trying to waddle after them. “Hey, now. Let’s get you some food, okay, little sleepyhead?” He cooed and his ears perked up, and she wondered how much Basic he could actually understand. She suspected he was very good at not understanding them when it came to things he didn’t want to hear. (Like so many children.)

Winta came back, saying the Mandalorian and another man had driven off on swoop bikes, and Omera recruited her for the feeding of their smallest family member.

—

The sound of a blaster jolted Omera awake. She looked around frantically—she was in the berth on the Razor Crest, the little one waking up at her side.

Where was Winta?

Where was the Mandalorian?

She fumbled trying to pull the comm out of her pocket—no messages. She wasn’t sure what was going on, so she wasn’t sure if it warranted a comm to her occupied bounty hunter. What if there had been misfire from a blaster, or something equally non-urgent?She kept the comm in her hand, though, just in case.

She heard the voice of a person she didn’t recognize, though. What was going on? Had Peli brought in a new customer, maybe a friend? Or maybe they were about to be robbed at gunpoint.

She slowly left the berth, scanning around the ship’s lower level. Winta wasn’t in sight. She also hadn’t run up the ramp to explain the sound of a blaster; actually, Omera couldn’t hear her daughter at all. Strange, now that Winta had decided to follow Peli everywhere she could and ask as many questions as possible. Omera decided not to call out, seeing as there was an unknown person with unknown motives who might hear her.

The rifle the Mandalorian had picked out for her was leaning against the wall and she picked it up. Better safe than dead.

She strained to listen to the conversation outside. She couldn’t understand the unknown voice, but Peli was saying something rather loudly: “Now there’s no need to be pointing blasters at people. We can be reasonable.”

Someone was pointing blasters at someone else. Possibly at Winta.

This qualified as an emergency.

But how to comm without alerting the attackers to her presence? And how to keep the baby safe?

She remembered the sliding door of the berth—she could shut the baby in there so he would be safe. And the comm? Hm. Could this comm send text messages? Yes, short ones, it looked like. A quick message—quick to write, quick to read. She sent “DANGER” and hoped he’d understand. Then she tucked the comm away and turned to the baby. “Hush now,” she whispered, willing a smile to her face. “Be very quiet. We’re going to play a hiding game, alright? You hide here. Winta will come find you.” And she shut the sliding door, hoping the child had understood and would stay put.

Alright. Time to figure out what was going on.

She kept her rifle at the ready as she crept over to the door so she could peer out.

A young human or near-human man, dressed much too nicely to actually be from Mos Eisley, was casually pointing a blaster at Peli. Peli had herded Winta behind her and was trying to talk the man down. One of the pig droids had been shot and was smoking on the ground, and the two others were nowhere to be seen.

Was the man alone? Were more of his associates waiting out of sight? Was he trying to rob them? (He was dressed very nicely, looked well fed and clean; he didn’t seem like a desperate thief.) Or was he here for the child?

Omera listened as he spoke. He planned on taking the child that was with the Mandalorian, since “Mando” had made it so easy for him, and her heart went all of kinds of frantic. They had only just arrived on Tatooine, very unexpectedly, and no one had seen them, right? Except...he seemed to think it was Winta, from the pronouns he used and how he was telling her to come over to him, how the bounty said dead or alive, and he’d be fine with either.

Taking deep breaths, Omera brought up her rifle and aimed at the man’s gun-wielding shoulder. Disarm him, at the very least. Element of surprise. No one was taking her children. She waited for the right moment.

He seemed to be losing patience, now. He shot the ground near Peli’s feet, angry, yelling at Winta to come over or he’d shoot the mechanic.

Peli was glaring at the man like she was trying to melt him into slag with her eyes, keeping the girl behind her. Omera was beyond grateful to her.

And then Winta ducked under the woman’s protective arm and said, “Okay. Just please don’t hurt her.” Ah. Her brave daughter, afraid for herself but brave to protect others. Omera was proud and terrified all at once.

But if Winta was near the man, she was in danger of being caught in the crossfire, and that was unacceptable.

So Omera pulled the trigger before Winta could reach the smirking man.

If the man hadn’t shifted to grab the pair of binders on his belt the moment she fired the rifle, the blaster bolt would have hit his shoulder. Painful, disarming, but nonlethal. As it was, the bolt hit his chest and he fell to the ground with a cry, his blaster firing as he fell. Peli cursed and dove out of the way of the stray bolt, and Winta ducked into a ball with a screech, arms over her head

Omera kept her eyes on her target. He did not rise again.

With a sigh, she lowered her rifle. That was not how she wanted that to go.

Winta slammed into her side and Omera carefully held the gun away from her daughter, still partly on edge for any unseen assailants.

A flash of moving metal out of the corner of her eye had her shoving Winta into the ship and pulling her gun up again.

She was very surprised to see the Mandalorian in the doorway, his cape still swinging from his sprint into the hangar, his blaster out. Omera smiled in relief and put down the rifle, setting it down. After looking around the hangar, the man’s gaze stopping momentarily on their motionless assailant, the Mandalorian holstered his blaster.

As soon as Winta saw that the Mandalorian had returned, she ran down the ramp and threw herself against the man, sobbing. He seemed surprised at the girl seeking comfort from him (so was Omera, to be honest), but he gently put one gloved hand on her back and the other on her head, petting her hair as she cried. He was obviously unsure of the specifics of what happened, but didn’t seem in a rush now that the danger was nullified.

The baby cooed from behind Omera, and she turned to see him looking tired and a little grumpy at all the noise. (How had he opened the berth door?) She grabbed the him and followed Winta.

From what she could understand from what Winta was trying to say, Winta had seen the Mandalorian drive away with this man for the job. The young man said he’d learned the Mandalorian and a child he travelled with were a greater prize than the bounty he was sent to find. He had seemed to think Winta was the child in question, and that the two of them would be much more impressive than a single mercenary.

Feeling rather worn out, Omera reached them and joined the hug, leaning against the Mandalorian’s armored shoulder. He took his hand off of Winta’s head to wrap around her, holding her closer. The little one patted Winta’s hair, just as the larger man had, cooing softly. Omera looked up to the man’s visor with a small laugh. The Mandalorian looked at her for a moment, then tilted his head so that the brow of his helmet rested against her forehead.

She grew very, very still. Closing her eyes, she let her head press back slightly against his and let out a sigh. This was the closest she’d ever been to him, pressed close head to toe. And while it certainly wasn’t the kind of kiss she was used to, it gave her that same fluttery feeling, the same warmth, the same peace.

It wasn’t the most comfortable embrace, considering all the beskar and children involved, but all of them were safe and together. It was perfect.

[emma-nation]

Within You - Bloodbound AU - Chapter 13

Summary: One year after defeating Gaius, the gang has finally found peace… Until a tragic incident awakens the ultimate and most dangerous threat they ever faced.

Genre: Angst/Adventure/Romance

Rating: T - Warning for violence and language

Lysimachus

Demetrius' blood was the most lethal weapon in the vampire world. No one could survive its power, not even the First Vampire herself. When his body hit the floor, Lysimachus could barely feel it. In truth, he could barely feel anything anymore. Within seconds, darkness was consuming his mind and soul completely.

The last thing he was able to see was Rheya escaping through the dark sections of the museum. Screaming and shouting suggested Kamilah still tried to go after her, only to be stopped by Amy.

"I-It'll be okay," he felt a warm hand holding his face. "Everything will be okay... I promise."

That was Katherine's voice. So calm and soothing, but also frightened and mournful. If only Lysimachus could touch her one last time or tell her how he truly felt. He tried to reach her hand but his arms wouldn't follow his commands.

"Katherine, I..." he coughed, black blood gurgling inside his mouth. "I..."

"Brother!" Kamilah cut his sentence as she joined them on the floor. Lysimachus felt a few tears dropping on his forehead. "Please... you can't leave me again..."

"Sister, kill me. Please, don't let me die as a monster."

"Hunter..." even Priya Lacroix seemed to be deeply affected by his imminent fate. And Lysimachus could swear that was impossible for the fashion designer. "Stop this bullshit. You saved me, we'll find a manner to save you too. Won't we, mortal?"

"I'm holding on to that."

The poisonous blood had already taken most of the veins of Lysimachus' body and his skin had acquired a grey coloration. He forced one last smile before feeling his conscience and his heart were being completely swept away, turning him into a Feral. He couldn't explain what happened next, but a sudden explosion on his chest made the pendant of his new necklace shatter in a million pieces. The blue light it contained involved all his body, starting some kind of healing process.

"W-What..." Lysimachus' pain started to ease and he didn't feel so cold anymore. He was even regaining some of his conscience back. "What's happening?"

"Get some rest, sweetheart," Katherine kissed his forehead and stroke his hair. "I'll tell you later."

For the next long hours, he had a restoring sleep. In fact, Lysimachus couldn't remember sleeping that well in ages. In his dreams, he was back to his home in Egypt, where he and Kamilah were having their usual spats over a feast. But differently from reality, his mom and dad were also there. They were together at the table. Happy and celebrating, as a family. More people appeared there too, Katherine, Amy, some of their friends and a few children running across the room.

"Time to wake up, lazy," Katherine's voice called him, in an attempt to wake him up.

"Five more minutes..." he complained. "Please."

"Five more minutes? You've been sleeping for over twenty-four hours!"

Against his will, Lysimachus forced himself to open his eyes and sit down. He glanced down at his stomach, to the spot where Rheya had stabbed him. The injury was mostly healed, but how he survived was still a mystery.

"This is what I went shopping for. I went to the Fae Realm," Katherine broke the silence. "The necklace contained Lady Thalissa's magic. Her power was able to overcome the darkness inside your body and bring you back to life."

"Katherine..." Lysimachus searched for her hand, enlacing his fingers with hers. Tears started rolling down her cheeks. It was the first time he actually saw her crying.

"This is why I gave it to you in first place, because I knew you'd do something stupid. For a moment, I feared it wouldn't work. I thought I'd lose you forever."

"I had to save you, I couldn't let Rheya do what she was planning. God, I don't even know what that would've Turned you into."

Katherine rested her head against his chest, holding him tightly. Lysimachus kissed her forehead and they shared a very long moment in absolute silence, only enjoying each other's company.

"I'm starving," he finally spoke. "I feel completely worn out."

"That's right," Katherine brushed some hair from her shoulder, exposing her neck. "Lacroix said I should give you some of my blood, that it'd help to speed your recovery."

"She did?!"

Katherine nodded in response. Lysimachus chuckled at the information, then he carefully traced her jugular, applying a soft and delicate bite. He tried to do it as painless as possible, drinking only enough to regain some energy.

"Are you okay?" He healed the puncture wounds on Katherine's neck. "Do you feel any different after consuming Rheya's blood?"

"I'm fine. Being human it doesn't affect me, unless she had killed and Turned me."

"Thank god, I was so worried."

Lysimachus pressed his lips on Katherine's. She deepened the kiss, parting his lips with her tongue and then she finished by nibbling on his lower lip.

"Oh, I forgot. Kamilah asked to update you about the last events as soon as you woke up."

"What happened?" He asked, concerned. "Is it bad?"

"I don't think so," Katherine shrugged. "But some big changes are coming to your world."

Indeed, big changes were coming. As Lysimachus looked himself in the mirror after a shower, he could see something had changed. There was a new power, a new force inside him.

----------

Amy

"Okay..." Priya paced anxiously around the room, together with Lester. They both glaring at Adrian. "Hunter's gonna make it, the Nighthunters managed to carry him out through the side entrance, but the cops are coming inside at any moment. How the hell are we going to explain this?"

"You mean Adrian betraying us and forgetting to mention the First Vampire was around, ready to kick our asses?" Lester angered.

"I'm sorry, but you two didn't witness how powerful and manipulative that woman can be."

"Adrian, babe... in case you've forgotten she hijacked my brain!"

"This is no time for accusations," Kamilah interrupted their discussion. "We need a cover up story immediately."

"Like the doors automatically closed after the bomb warning," Jax suggested, "and we got trapped inside?"

"And how did Lysimachus got stabbed? His blood is still all over the floor."

Amy watched the scene in silence. Her psychic powers were keeping the doors closed until they settled an arrangement. The Council Of New York could never find a way to solve their conflicts in a pacific manner, whoever was sitting on its six chairs. There was never an agreement. There was never peace. They were always on the edge of a war against each other, against their own species. She walked to where Lysimachus wounded body previously was, the bloodied dagger was still there, lying on the floor. The Nighthunters didn't dare to touch it, not without properly protection. It affected them harder than the others. Amy kneeled down and held it in her own hands, something in what was left of that black poisonous blood attracted, called for her...

"No fear, child," she heard a voice deeply inside her mind it, "embrace it."

The tip of her finger touched that toxic blood, but surprisingly it didn't cause her any harm or pain.

"Amy!" She heard Kamilah screaming distantly, as her mind was being pulled into a void.

A man, wearing a white tunic waited for her in a mindscape, with a soft smile on his face.

"Granddaughter, we finally meet."

"A-Are you..." she opened her mouth to ask, choking on her own words. "Demetrius."

"I've been waiting for you for centuries."

"Why am I here?"

Demetrius approached and touched her shoulders slightly. Different from Rheya, he didn't gave her chills. His touch was warm and made her feel secure.

"Amy, I have seen your journey. I have seen your path ahead," he spoke. "It's your mission to undo the original sin that birthed so much pain and darkness and bring a new era to the world."

"An era of peace?" Amy asked. That was always Rheya's main purpose, to unite vampires and mortals. A purpose that got lost in the middle of so much power and sorrow.

"It will be your choice to make. A choice that will change the world forever."

"W-why me?"

"You're the first Bloodkeeper in history to be Turned. The fusion of the two lines. Rheya's vampire blood in her human descendant. The sap of the tree in the blessed chalice. At last."

The prophecies, they finally made sense. Amy could finally see it, it was Demetrius all along, trying to guide her into her journey through those dreams and visions. She tried to speak again, but she started being attracted back to the real world. She could hear Kamilah calling her name.

"I am honored to have met you, Granddaughter."

Those were the last words Amy heard from Demetrius before everything vanished and she was back to the museum, in a shock state.

"Amy," Kamilah shook her body, "talk to me. Oh my god, you weren't supposed to touch this blood! It's..."

"It's okay," she was finally able to speak again. Somehow she knew exactly what she was supposed to do next. "He won't hurt me."

Her wife was kinda puzzled by this last part, and even more by what she was about to ask.

"Let me handle it? The situation with the police and the reporters?"

"What? Adrian will call some of his contacts, they will help us to come up with a cover up story."

"Kamilah," Amy held her hand tightly, with the same confidence Demetrius had when he touched her. "Not anymore. I will make it right, I promise."

She couldn't say no, they were out of options. Kamilah exchanged a glance with Adrian, who approached too, confused about what was going on.

"Adrian, I didn't come to your company for nothing. There was always a reason behind it. You believed in me that day, can you believe me now?"

"Yes," he encouraged her. "I can. Go ahead."

Amy opened the doors and the police rushed inside with heavy armory, inspecting everything and checking out each one of them. After concluding the entire group was clear, they forced them outside to search the museum for the rumored bomb. The press immediately started to take pictures and ask questions.

"Do it," Kamilah stood by her side. "It's time."

"I'll speak," Amy announced, loud and firm. The reporters surrounded her, asking a million questions all at once. "I'm Amy. Amy Sayeed. You all know me as Kamilah Sayeed's wife. But now you're about to know the truth. The truth about me, about all of us."

"Kamilah," Priya snarled, "what the fuck is this girl doing? Make her shut up or she'll cause us a lot of trouble."

"Lacroix, chill out."

"When I came to New York, I was just a normal girl trying to find a job, trying to figure myself out. When Adrian hired me, I discovered something. A new world. A world hidden in the shadows, causing years of pain and conflict."

"What is she talking about?" The reporters murmured to each other. "What does it have to do with the bomb?"

"For years, thousands of years, there have been two worlds. The world of day and the world of night. Your world... and ours. But it's time we ended that division. It's time we stopped living in secret. It's time this endless cycle of blood and pain comes to an end."

Amy revealed herself to the hundreds of cameras in front of her, exposing her red eyes and fangs and encouraging the others to do the same. Everyone started to follow her lead, even Priya and Lester.

"That's right. We're vampires. But we're not going to live in the shadows any more. It's time we come into the open. Time we put old conflicts behind us. It's time for a new era to begin. An era of peace and reunification."

----------

Kamilah

4 weeks later

Only one word could describe the last few weeks, Hell. The whole world wanted to know about the secret vampire society in New York. Kamilah didn't have a single minute of peace and privacy anymore. Especially being the oldest vampire in America, the one that walked the Earth for over 2000 years, witnessing all the changes, fighting wars and leading revolutions. Journalists and paparazzi followed her all the time.

Adrian became their main spokesman, giving hundreds of interviews and exposing details about their history. But no one had became so popular as Amy, especially among the youngest mortals. She was now some sort of role model, being photographed and worshipped everywhere she went. Her face was present on the magazine covers and on TV, her followers on social media also started to increase on a daily basis.

Amy could easily handle that celebrity life, but not Kamilah. Using that new revelation and Rheya's actions as excuse, she decided to take a break from Ahmanet Financial and stay away from the spotlights for a while. At least, locked inside her penthouse she was safe and sound from questions like...

"Kamilah, you were Cleopatra's cousin," a first reporter shoved a microphone right into her face as she left the car, "can you tell us more about her?"

She ignored him, following the way inside the building. She lost the count of the unknown information she had already revealed about her cousin and the disagreements they had in a distant past. A female reporter continued to follow her.

"Kamilah... what's the secret of your hair? There are hundreds of YouTube videos trying to achieve this level of smoothness!"

"I call it good genes."

A third reporter emerged out of nowhere, before she entered the elevator.

"Kamilah, the question everyone has been asking... you're older than Jesus Christ. Have you met the Lord... in person?"

She simply rolled her eyes, and pressed the button. Once she was back home, she could finally breathe.

"Rough day?" Amy asked from her laptop, while drinking a cup coffee with Beruthiel on her lap.

"A woman can't even buy supplies for her future garden without being harassed with unwanted questions and pictures!" Kamilah complained, making her wife muffle a laugh. "I like this new era... in parts. Some parts I truly hate."

"Guess what? They're making a movie about us and out of all people they invited Lily as screenwriter. I refuse to be part of any projects that traitor is involved!"

Since Rheya's sick game, Amy had ended her relationship with her best friend. She didn't want to see, or even hear, Lily's name.

"Amy... come on. It's a silly thing, you should forgive her. Rheya did that on purpose to cause conflict between you."

"Kamilah," Amy stood up from the chair, "you have no idea of the things I watched inside her mind, okay? How could she hit on you? Or have those disgusting fantasies? She was my best friend!"

"I see," Kamilah approached her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I still think you should talk to her, get to know how she truly feels. Rheya can be extremely manipulative and you know it, better than anyone."

Amy sighed in response, still not fond of the idea.

After the night at the museum, Rheya had disappeared completely. Adrian was still alarmed, contacting vampires from every part of the world but no one had seen any signs of the First Vampire's presence anywhere.

"I have a surprise," Amy announced, showing Kamilah her laptop screen. "I'm organizing an event. A huge event. It's a concert to bring together humans and vampires. There will be musicians from both species. There will be a food buffet, as well as a synthetic blood bar. The best of both worlds, in one place, during a whole night. I spoke to Adrian and he totally approves it. He thinks it's a good manner to end any misinformation we're bloody killers."

"This is a great idea," Kamilah read the flyer and embraced her wife from behind, pressing a kiss on her neck. "You're getting popular, famous, quite influent and powerful... I love it."

"I wouldn't do this without you, Kamilah. When we first met, I was just a girl, scared and insecure. You made me a woman. You always believed in me. You made me better."

"No, you made me better. How can I be so lucky to have you, huh?"

They shared a long and passionate kiss. Kamilah looked at the flyer again. A strange sensation erupted inside her chest. She was afraid, concerned about something, yet she didn't know what.

"Amy, you didn't detect Rheya's presence around anymore," she asked, "did you?"

"No," Amy told. "I was just speaking to Adrian, he still found no traces of her. I also used my powers to try to locate her but... she vanished."

Kamilah hoped she was right. But that feeling something dark was lingering in the air wouldn't go away.

----------

Lysimachus

2 weeks later

A lot changed in everyone's life in over a month. Though Lysimachus wasn't present when Amy made the revelation to the whole world, he wasn't free from the fame and spotlight. Clothing lines wanted hire him as their model. Girls screamed his name wherever he went to. Things only intensified when Adrian announced him as one of the candidates to lead Raines Corporation, after he gave up on his position to run for Senator and dedicate himself to the campaign.

Those weren't the only changes in his life. Being stabbed with that deadly dagger had consequences too. Every magic had a price and he was paying it for staying alive. A part of Demetrius remained inside him, granting him some new powers and abilities to be explored. So far, Lysimachus discovered he could enter Ferals' minds and control them.

That wasn't the worst part, Death became a part of him too. He'd often experience visions and dreams with those who already left this world. Amy's help and some training put that under control, but when the deceased person still had ties, unfinished business with the living, he'd see them around all the time.

"So..." Lysimachus deflected a blow of Katherine's sai as they trained together, "it has been six weeks."

"Since you got stabbed?" She furrowed her eyebrows, trying to find an opening in his defenses.

"That too. It has been six weeks you're staying in New York. In my apartment to be more specific."

"Well, maybe I'm not bored yet. But if you want me to go..."

Katherine was finally able to disarm him, pointing the sai to his chest. Lysimachus threw his hands in the air, indicating surrender.

"This is not what I meant. Isn't it easier to admit we're..." he lowered his voice, whispering the next word, "dating."

"Are we?" Katherine smirked. "I mean, now you've got tons of women at your feet. You're rich, famous, successful. Why would you want to settle down?"

"Because I want you. It's you that I love, Katherine. Why is it so hard for you to accept it? We have this thing going on for over a year now and we never talk about it."

She silenced, not giving him any response. In that moment, Lysimachus was sure he had ruined everything between them.

"Okay, I'm sorry," he apologized, walking away to the shower. "Forget what I said."

"No, wait," she called him back. "I... I feel the same. l Iove you too, but it's complicated."

"Because of what? The deceased woman who's constantly following you around? Who was she? A girlfriend, fiancée maybe?"

"I knew it'd be a matter of time until you discovered it with these new powers. I was planning to tell you at the right moment. She was my best friend, like a sister to me. And my whole world."

They sat down and she told him the entire story. Katherine and her best friend, Ava, were born only a month apart. They grew up together, having a really close friendship. Until the night Ava got murdered in the middle of the night by a creature, while they were camping at the desert. Katherine never stopped blaming herself, turning into a lonely and closed woman, who was unable to feel much of anything or create attachments with another person. When she finished, she was sobbing.

"Amy has been helping me... she showed me how it'd have been if I had died instead, but it wasn't enough," she wiped off her wet cheeks. "Then she keeps shaping that monster and I kill it inside my head, over and over again but... it doesn't go away. It'll never go away."

"Katherine, she's not moving on because you're not moving on. It's not the monster you have to kill, it's these bad feelings inside you," Lysimachus placed a hand over her chest. "You gotta let her go."

"What's keeping her around? Can't she forgive me?"

"No, actually she wants you to forgive yourself. She wants you to live, to fully live again. To smile, sing, have friends and a family. That's what she wants."

She leaned her head to the side, resting it on his shoulder.

"I'm trying," Katherine said. "I'm really trying. Would you help me?"

"Of course," Lysimachus kissed her forehead. "If you let me."

"Are you really giving up on all those women... for this one?"

"You mean the most amazing and beautiful woman I've ever met and also the one who saved my life? I totally am."

----------

Amy

The day of the concert had finally arrived. Amy went to the location very early in the morning to make sure everything was going according to the plans. She monitored everything, to the artists' arrival to the organization of the buffet. Without the financial support of Adrian, Kamilah and Priya, as well as their influence, that event would never be possible. The money raised from the tickets sale would be going to multiple charity organizations.

However, an early encounter with Lily was almost enough to ruin her mood for the rest of the day.

"Hey," she heard her ex-best friend voice behind her, while she inspected the synthetic blood bar received from Japan, "can we talk for a minute? I mean, this is a thing we should be doing together."

"No, it's not. It was my idea. Alone," Amy didn't even bother to turn around to face Lily. "I have no time right now, Lily. I'm sorry."

"Amy... will you ever be able to forgive me?"

"Someday, in a century maybe. If by then you've already stopped having a fetish on my wife. You were supposed to be my best friend and you betrayed me!"

"Amy, it's over already. It was only a stupid crush, but I realized it wasn't even real. It isn't worth losing your friendship for that. I'd do anything to fix it."

"You'll have to try harder," Amy stared at her with a cold gaze and followed her way. After all, she had other priorities at the moment. "Bye, Lily."

People started to arrive, crowding the huge concert venue. From the backstage, Amy watched proudly as vampires and humans started to interact and wait for the performances. Many journalists waited to enter her private room to interview her. She received them, one by one, answering some short questions. By the time it was over, she went to a VIP box with a privileged view of the concert, reserved exclusively to herself and her friends. Everyone clapped as she came inside.

"Come on, guys," her cheeks were on fire. "I wouldn't have done it without you. All of you."

She forced a smile when her eyes stopped at Lily. Kamilah had saved her a seat by her side in one of the comfortable couches. Amy grabbed a drink at the bar before sitting down.

Her wife had a mischievous smile on her face, while her brown eyes aimed at her twin brother, who was standing nearby with an arm around Katherine's shoulders.

"Hey, Amy. Remember what I always say? That I've been many things in my life, but it took finding you to make me a wife?"

"Yes," Amy nodded. "I can't get tired of hearing you say that."

"One thing I had already accepted I'd never be was a sister in law. But it's finally happening, after almost 2066 years of existence."

"Oh! So we're official now?" She glanced at the new couple. Katherine hid her face in embarrassment. "It was about time!"

"Our first event as a couple," Lysimachus confirmed. "The pictures are already everywhere. It's too late to have second thoughts. Right, Katherine?"

"Who's having second thoughts?" The Nighthunter punched him playfully.

"It calls for a toast!" Lily attempted to join their conversation.

Everyone silenced, looking at each other awkwardly, expecting someone to answer.

"Why don't we go down to the floor for a while?" Amy suggested, being uncomfortable to be around her former best friend. "The two of you, me and Kamilah?"

"Sure," Katherine agreed. "Let's get going. I can't even remember the last time I attended a concert."

Before leaving, there was one last thing that came to Amy's mind. She approached Adrian and asked:

"Where's Priya, by the way? Last thing we need is a scandal."

"Oh," Adrian pointed to the stage area, laughing. "Too late for that. Last time I checked she was already causing one, she got caught making out with one of the musicians."

----------

Kamilah

When Kamilah thought about having everything she wished for, that new life was exactly what she had in mind. Together with Amy, she planned to a small garden at the rooftop of her penthouse, as it felt rather empty. That would be a good start to gain experience, before doing something big in their house in Hamptons.

The first thing to do was to install a modern, complex and eco-friendly irrigation system. Amy watched in silence as she studied the blueprints.

"So when are they coming to install it?" Her wife wanted to know.

"They?" Kamilah raised an eyebrow.

"The workers."

"I'm installing it myself. Do you think you can help me?"

When it came to handwork, Amy was not the most talented person. She was too clumsy for all of that. An early experience, when Kamilah started to set out the first plants in the soil, was enough for them both to know she'd be better stay away from the garden.

"I'm a disaster," Amy lamented, wet and cover with mud from head to toes. "I hope I didn't kill all your new plants."

"Me too," Kamilah joked. When the girls eyes filled with tears, she realized she had taken it seriously. "Amy, no. I was joking!"

"I know I am, Kamilah. Look at you, you're so naturally talented at everything and I couldn't even press some buttons without fighting the sprinklers and rolling on the mud."

"Hey, I may be a good gardener, but you have your specialties too."

"Do I?" Amy raised an eyebrow. "Because I feel I suck at everything, most of the time."

"Okay," Kamilah involved her in her arms, without minding how dirty she would get too. "Let me see... you're good in the kitchen."

"Yeah, but I spend more time cleaning the mess than cooking the dinner itself."

She was thoughtful for a moment, thinking of more items to that list.

"You're a great vampire and fighter. In centuries I hadn't seen someone to adapt the vampire life so easily and learn so many skills in only a few months."

"I only had those advantages for being she-who-shall-not-be-named's granddaughter," Amy huffed. They both had agreed to not mention Rheya's name, or Gaius' name, anymore. "Otherwise I'd be like... my ex-best friend."

"You're angry at Lily now," Kamilah spoke. "But you're an amazing friend, listener, advisor and now, a good leader."

"Leader?"

"Amy, not every 24 years old girls will organize such a big event as you did. And that day at the museum... you handled the situation with... she-who-shall-not-be-named so well."

"I almost got your brother killed. If it wasn't for Katherine..."

"If it wasn't for you, she'd probably had killed me in that game. I saw when you moved the bottle. Also, if you hadn't stopped Serafine, all of us and those mortals would be dead too."

Amy stopped crying, but she didn't seem fully convinced of her talents yet.

"You're the best Marketing Director, everyone in the company says that. But most of all, you're the most perfect wife. I learn so much from you everyday."

"Oh my god, you're gonna make me cry again."

Kamilah cupped Amy's face, bringing her lips to hers. Amy placed her hands on her waist, bringing her closer to her body. Kamilah's mouth descended, placing kisses all over the girl's jawline and neck.

"Kamilah," Amy broke into a laugh when they parted, "now you're dirty too! We both need a shower urgently."

"There's another thing you're great at, you know?" Kamilah looked at her and raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"Oh really?! Well, but we can't take long. I need to be at the concert venue in a hour."

"In this case, we can save it for a celebration, after the concert."

Now she could finally see the accomplishment in her wife's eyes too. Being in the middle of the crowd, at the event she organized. They first stopped at the synthetic blood bar. Kamilah had heard about it previously, but she never intended to visit Japan to try it. She had some... problematic businesses in that place. In fact, she was surprised by that courtesy of The Five.

"Not like real blood," she concluded, "but it can satiate me for a while."

"I think it tastes great," Lysimachus added. "For someone who's spend most of life without drinking human blood, that should do."

They clicked their glasses before finishing them. Kamilah could tell how happy and accomplished her brother was too, even after going through such a traumatic experience at the museum.

"So, will you accept the position at Raines Corporation?" She asked, hopeful to hear a positive answer. Having Lysimachus back to New York was everything she wanted.

"I don't know yet," he sighed. "I miss my life in New Orleans but... after almost dying, I feel I should spend some time with my family too. I think I'll accept it, but not permanently."

Lysimachus stopped for a moment, pensive before adding:

"It's up to Katherine too. If she agree to stay, I'll stay."

"Oh! This is actually more serious than I thought..." Kamilah smirked, nudging her twin playfully.

"Kamilah..." Lysimachus cheeks went red. She broke into a laugh. "Can you not?!"

"I didn't want to say it in front of everyone, but congratulations, brother. Katherine is a good woman. I couldn't be happier for you."

"Thanks, sister. We still have a long way to go, but I like how we're progressing so far."

They turned around, observing as Amy playfully pulled Katherine to take pictures with her. From when Kamilah met her brother's girlfriend for the first time, she could already noticed the difference Amy's presence had caused in her life too.

"Look at that," Kamilah smiled at the sight. "She's such a natural in bring the best in a person's life. Isn't she?"

"Definitely. Katherine has changed a lot since she and Amy started hanging out. I remember how she also made me better when I first came to New York, we became friends even when I was trying to use her to get information on The Council."

"I think we can finally consider ourselves lucky."

The next song was announced and as the first notes started playing, Amy pulled Kamilah by the hand to the middle of the crowd.

"Sorry, guys," she said. "I'm gonna need my better half for this one."

Kamilah wrapped her arms around her waist, as she slowly moved to the rhythm. She recognized the song. It was one of Amy's favorites.

"This was one of our songs when we started dating," she had her eyes closed, enjoying the music. "It seems like yesterday."

"I could never forget," Kamilah whispered in her ear. "To many years to come?"

"No, to an eternity."

She turned around, kissing Kamilah for some long minutes, while the music played in the background. Time seemed to have stopped in that moment. It was the moment Kamilah realized everything was really going to be okay. They were finally in peace. And ready for what came next.

When the performance ended, they had a short interval before the next one started. Not long after they rejoined the rest of the group at the VIP box, somebody knocked the door.

"I thought we were done with interviews?" Amy furrowed her brows confused.

As soon as she opened the door, a cold breeze filled the room. It send shivers down Kamilah's spine, making every bone and every muscle freeze in place. She glanced at the others and could tell they were experiencing the same sensation.

"Congratulations, Bloodkeeper," Rheya entered the room with the same arrogant posture as always. "I had to come and see your accomplishments with my own eyes. In only six weeks, you managed to do what I never could, unite vampires and humans."

[rocket-remmy]

Zombody Knows|| Lydia and Remmy

A meet and greet. Sort of.

Lydia took her wine to her seat in a small booth in the back of the Seven Selkies. This place was still a little too human for her tastes, but secrets lingered in these walls, and it was the perfect inbetween for someone as lost as this Remmy person. They weren’t fae, Lydia knew that much, but they were also lost, and now possibly even in danger. She shrugged off her fluffy pink coat, setting it behind her as she spotted Remmy. At least the individual she assumed was Remmy, based on their appearance on social media. Waving to catch their attention, Lydia smiled in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you,” she greeted, her eyes sparkling. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Remmy was uncertain. They’d met a lot of people from online recently, and while Lydia seemed rather nice and formal, they couldn’t help the unsettling feeling in their stomach as they made their way to the Seven Selkies. They’d opted to dress a little nicer than usual, though that still wasn’t saying much, but they did put on their one pair of jeans without holes in them. And their nice jacket. It didn’t help settle the weird feeling in the pit of their stomach though. Something told Remmy, after this meeting, things were never going to be the same again. They didn’t know why, but that was the thing about intuition, wasn’t it? It was always just a feeling. They paused just outside the bar, before taking in a deep breath and heading in. Someone waved them over and Remmy could only assume it was Lydia. “Hi! Um-- yeah, it’s nice to meet you, too!” they said. She was a very beautiful woman. Older, for sure, but her skin almost seemed to glow and her eyes were sharp and dark. Remmy sat across from her, hands folded into their la. “Oh, um-- just a ginger ale is fine. I don’t really...drink.”

“Ginger ale it is,” Lydia agreed amicably, standing up to get one from the bar, she returned shortly with a can and a glass ful of ice, and handed it to Remmy. Her eyes skimmed Remmy’s clothes, skin, eyes, for the tell tale clues that made this a little easier for the both of them. Including the very definitely attached arm. “I heard you and Blanche managed to figure things out somewhat. How are you feeling about it all?” Warming up gently to a conversation Lydia knew from experience was never easy. People became… so attached to their human identity, in a way that struck her as painfully cultish. At least Remmy seemed… open to the idea. 

“Th-thank you,” Remmy said, taking the glass from Lydia. They poured some into the cup, noticed their hand was shaking a bit. Set the can down, using the table to stabilize their grip. “Oh, um, yeah! We talked things out. We’re good again. I just, um--” they paused, “I guess I’m feeling confused. I don’t know why anyone would want to hurt me. I-I try to be nice, I would never wanna hurt anyone on purpose! Even in the military, I-I went into bomb tech because it meant I could help people, instead of hurt them.” They paused. “Also still a little freaked out about an arm--” stopped, looked around, quieted their voice, “you know...growing back.”

Lydia listened, intently and carefully, as Remmy talked. As Remmy leant in, and murmured, she smiled sympathetically. “I think I would freak out too, if that were me. Especially as you mentioned you’ve only just learned about magic and vampires? I guess this is all very new to you.” She sipped at her wine, shaking her head. “There are… people, although that is a very generous word for what they are, who don’t care. They don’t care that you are kind, or sweet, that you risked your life to save others. They just care about one thing. Remmy, darling, am I right in thinking that you have a scar from being bitten, at some point?”

“So, it’s like...not a normal thing, then, is it?” Remmy said, a little defunct. “Yeah. And apparently there are people that can turn into bears?? And like...people with bird’s as reflections. Like...it’s all a little overwhelming.” They shook their head, still holding the glass tightly. “But-- why? Why would someone wanna hurt someone just because of-- because they’re not human? I don’t…” Remmy trailed off. They supposed it was the same logic behind racism and prejudice and hatred. It never made sense to them. They looked up. “A bite…?” they asked. Scrunched their face, trying to remember. The memory was fuzzy at this point, it had been their first field mission, after all. “I mean...there was this one time...a really kinda like...weird looking guy. I can’t um-- disclose details. But he looked-- not right. He um...he bit me on the shoulder. Why’s-- why’s that important?”

Lydia smiled at her descriptions, wondering who Remmy had met so far and why. “I can only imagine,” she agreed, her eyes flicking to Remmy’s tight grip of the glass and back up. “They’re zealots, who erroneously believe humans are the superior species.” Lydia leant in as Remmy described their bite, nodding carefully. It sounded short, and not drawn out. Not vampire. “Because I also imagine that - well, you were in the military - there was an event, recently. One that was so bad you couldn’t believe you survived. When you woke up after, you woke up ravenous. Am I right? There’s no shame in it.”

“That’s...I’ll never understand people that think like that…” Remmy muttered, a bit sadly. Hands twiddled on the glass, fingers wrapping around it. They hadn’t even drank any yet. Their hand unconsciously tightened around the glass when Lydia spoke up again. Talking about an incident. Remmy suddenly felt cold and clammy and cramped. Was the booth always this small? Their eyes stuck on the ice floating in their glass. “I don’t--” they started, but their voice stuck. “Remember. I can’t-- remember.” It was the truth. They had an inkling about what happened. They remembered things in flashes. They remembered the guilt that stabbed them every time they thought about it. Was this why? Was it because they weren’t human somehow? They’d survived because of some freak accident? All their friends had died because-- they didn’t get to finish the thought. The glass shattered under their tightening grip and soda poured onto the table, ice scattering, glass tumbling down. “Shit! Sorry! I-I’m sorry!” they stuttered, shirking back in the booth, reaching for napkins. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-- I-I’m so sorry.”

Lydia jumped up, so that none of the ginger ale spilled on her dress, but pulled out a packet of tissues and began to mop up the mess quickly. “Remmy, Remmy, it’s fine.” She signalled one of the wait staff, committing to a bigger tip. “I’ll get you a moment. I was a little thoughtless in my question, I’m sorry I upset you.” Quickly, the glass and ginger ale was wiped up, and every last escapee ice cube retrieved, and Lydia was true to her word, getting Remmy another drink (and also giving the Draugr a little space to soothe themself before returning). “Better?”

For having just shattered a glass on her, Lydia was being rather calm. Remmy was thankful for that, at least. They scooted back, let the waiter clean up the mess, eyes boring holes into their lap. Too embarrassed to look up. They lifted their hands to run them over their face, but paused when they noticed little chips of glass dug into their palm. No blood. They started picking them out, their leg bouncing a million miles an hour. This was more stress than they’d prepared themself for. They wished Moose were here. They stopped all their movements, suddenly noticing how frantic they felt. The doctor said when that happened to count to ten and take deep breaths. Remmy closed their eyes. Counted to ten. The breaths didn’t seem to do anything, but when they opened their eyes again, their skin was no longer vibrating. They no longer felt the need to bolt from the booth. They picked another piece of glass from their hand. Winced a little when Lydia came back. “I-- sorry…” was all they said again. “Th-thanks…”

“Don’t apologise to me,” Lydia replied, waving it away just as she looked at Remmy sympathetically. “I got carried away, and should have been more considerate. The least I can do is replace your drink.” She slid it over the table to Remmy, before folding her hands together. “We don’t have to continue this if you’re not comfortable.”

Remmy looked over at Lydia, swallowing heavily. “O-Okay. I, um--” they looked down at their hand. Thinking about that day, thinking about what happened...it hurt. It was an incredibly painful memory, and the doctor’s-- even the military advisors-- had said it was probably for the best that they couldn’t remember. But Remmy was lost now. “Do you know?” they asked quietly, looking back up at Lydia. “What I am? I just-- I don’t wanna be in the dark anymore. About...all of this stuff. I don’t wanna endanger my friends and the people I care about b-because of what I am o-or if someone comes after me. I can’t-- I can’t risk them like that.”

“Yes,” Lydia replied instantly, honest and kindly. “But listen to me first. You are not the risk to them. The existence of hunters is not your fault. I don’t want you to feel guilty  because of what you are, Remmington. This isn’t some terrible secret, alright? Especially considering, well.” Lydia pressed her lips together, before leaning in, and meeting those sweet, dead eyes with her own piercing ones. “I believe you’re a draugr. More commonly known as a zombie. But you are nothing like the human portray you to be.”

Zombie. Zombie. ZOMBIE!? Remmy’s mind was working over time. Zombie!? Was that even possible? Zombies were real!? And they were one? It didn’t make sense. It made perfect sense, but it didn’t make sense. Remmy’s whole body seemed to freeze. So they were dead? They had died? Had Remmy died when-- “You’re sure?” they asked, surprisingly calm. They didn’t know what else to say. Did they believe her? What reason would Lydia have to lie to them? Did that mean they were a monster? How did that even happen? “I’m a-- you’re sure?”

Lydia paused a moment, waiting for Remmy to think it through, to consider it, before replying. “Reasonably sure. Very little can regrow a limb that fast. Darling, I can’t lie to you - that’s a quirk of my species as much as your arm is a quirk of yours.” She sipped at her wine, wirling it around calmly. Her skin prickled as she felt a fae walk into the bar, but said nothing about it. Lydia had all the time in the world to meet and befriend fae - this moment with Remmy was pivotal. “But you tell me - what do you eat?”

“Species? What species are you?” Remmy immediately asked, then bit their lip. “I-I mean, sorry! Is that um-- is that rude to ask? I don’t know...what’s okay and not.” But having the focus not on them, not on the word zombie, felt nice for those few seconds. The thought that they wished they hadn’t come here crossed their mind, but there was no going back now. “I...normal things? I have been craving like...raw meat and…” their voice trailed off. Cow brain. Not specifically cow brain, but the brain of anything. Cow was just the easiest and cheapest to buy. “The doctor’s said it was...it was just...the meds changed my appetite, th-that’s all…”

Lydia laughed, light and breezy as wind chimes, at Remmy’s questions. “It can be, but I don’t mind. The secrecy is just to keep everyone safe, considering there are so many malicious people around, so I am trusting you to keep this to yourself. I’m a fae.” A little trust, Lydia knew, went a long way. As Remmy answered their question, Lydia tilted her head, frowning slightly. Of course the military knew. It was a sickening thought, but that was hardly her problem. “Remmy, it is normal. It isn’t, well, it isn’t human, but it is normal. The doctor was wrong.”

“Fae? What’re fae?” Remmy asked. There were almost too many questions floating around in their head. Why could they find it so easy to believe Nora was a bear and Taylor was a bird and Morgan was a witch, but the idea of them being a ‘zombie’ made their mind scramble at the thought. “How-- how do I know if someone is a hunter? Or wants to hurt me or people like me-- us?” they asked, subconsciously skirting past the statement. The doctors couldn’t be wrong, they were doctors. Why would they lie to Remmy?

“We’re varied,” Lydia replied truthfully. “It’s a good question. We share a dislike of lies and a love of mischief. Although you must never call us it, we are humans call fairies. Each of us have different traits, like an affinity to the elements, or in my case, the ability to inspire artistic creativity.” Sighing, Lydia leant forward. “You don’t. They are wolves in sheepskin, cruel and deceptive beings. This is why we have to be so secretive.”

“Oh, okay,” Remmy said quietly, “not um-- got it. That’s-- that sounds really cool, though. I wish I could inspire people like that...I met a really nice guy who does architecture and he’s like a professional and does art and it’s really good and I wish I could be like that and-- s-sorry, I’m rambling.” They finally took a sip of the ginger ale, but it did little to calm them or satiate the dryness their mouth had been developing. Looked up when Lydia leaned forward, eyes wide. “They...that’s...that’s horrifying….” 

“No need to apologise, darling,” Lydia replied warmly, sipping at her wine. “I can’t make someone technically skilled at anything. I provide an antidote to writer’s block.” Phrasing it in these human ways made bile clog the back of her throat, but that was how you reached people, after all. Her eyes dropped with sympathy at Remmy’s lost expression. “It is, its why I wanted to warn you. I don’t know much about draugar beyond what I’ve told you, and what I’m sure you’ve deduced for yourself. But I wanted to keep you safe, in this small way, if I could.”

“Oh, well, that’s still really cool! You get to help people!” Remmy said, finding small moments of relief when they weren’t talking about them. They tried to sip the soda again, but found it just as satisfying and pushed the glass away from them on the table. “I, um….th-thanks. For warning me. I-- I’ll be careful.” Was the booth getting smaller somehow? Why did Remmy feel so squeezed? Like walls closing in? They swallowed. “I, um-- appreciate you m-meeting me. Can I like, um-- ask you more questions if I have them? Like...online o-or something?” They paused, looked around, then back to Lydia. “I wanna keep other people safe, too.” Though, admittedly, it felt real nice to have someone looking out for them in this way, too.

“You’re welcome,” Lydia replied, watching Remmy curiously. Somehow they seemed more nervous and fidgety now than they had even moments ago, and when they spoke, it was clear they wanted to leave. “Yes, of course, and don’t feel obliged to stay here out of politeness, either. As long as I have your word you’ll keep my species confidential.”

“Of course!” Remmy immediately said, their voice raising a few pitches. They bit the inside of their cheek. “No, of course! I-I would never tell anyone! Ever, I promise!” They said hurriedly, stiffening in their chair. “I-I understand needing to like...keep parts of yourself secret for safety! I do. I won’t. I promise.” They looked around the bar again. “I-- I’m sorry. I don’t wanna be rude...I um...I have a service dog. Usually. With me. I didn’t bring-- cause I wasn’t sure if-- and like he’s kinda big and-- I th-think I would like to go home, though...um…” they trailed off again, fingers tapping on their thigh. “I-- thank you, again. F-For everything. It was um-- really nice of you to talk to me, Lydia. I won’t f-forget that.”

“Thank you,” Lydia replied, finishing her wine to clear the bile, and humming in contentment as she felt the promise settle in her belly. “Oh, by all means. Take care of yourself, Remmy. And please, if we meet again, don’t hesitate to bring your service dog.” She stood, to bid Remmy goodbye. “You’re more than welcome. Goodbye, Remmy, and don’t be afraid to reach out.”

Lydia was much nicer than Remmy had anticipated. Not that they didn’t think she’d be nice, but sometimes you just never knew. And while Remmy always hoped for the best in people, it was nice to be right every once in a while. The woman genuinely just wanted to help, and that feeling of comfort settled in Remmy’s chest on top of the words “zombie” and “draugr”. A problem for later, when Remmy was home and safe. “Goodbye, Lydia. I’m glad I met you!” they said quickly, but smiling truly. Remmy reached out to shake her hand before turning to leave, reaching down absently to pick another piece of glass out of their palm. If they’d thought life was strange before, they supposed that now, if what Lydia said was true, it would never be normal again. Remmy looked back one more time over their shoulder at Lydia before pushing the door open and rushing home.