#i feel like i drew her belly too up maybe ill fix it

[axel-tiredstudent]

Kushina for my au :D

[bumpsandpushes]

I was reading your story about birthing in a college class (love it soooo much) and was wondering, would yoy do like a version of it where reader does leave the class, and makes it to the quad to give birth there, maybe trying to meet up with her partner instead of getting to a hospital?

ooh, I'd love to do a remix of that one, sounds like it could also satisfy a couple of other prompts I've received! This was probably your inspiration for asking but just in case you've never read it (or if someone else reading this hasn't), this sounds a lot like Overdue with No Extension by @bellyloveerotica, another fantastic fic!

(I've got a similar blurb that fulfills a lot of the same prompts that I'm going to post tomorrow but this is the superior one imo so I'm posting this first)

Tags: clothing birth, public birth, fluff (kinda)

Word Count: 1911

Your chemistry prof was the kind of hardass who didn't tolerate lateness, extensions, or anything else that would imply that you have an existence outside of his classroom. One example of these strict policies is that if a student walked in late or left early, he would stop lecturing and stare at them until they found a seat or walked out the door. Of course this drew the attention of every other student as well, though your more sympathetic classmates tended to fix their gaze down at their notes until the staredown ceased.

Now you had never asked about his policy about students going into labour in the middle of a lecture, but the suggestion that you had any priorities other than Chemistry 201 was unlikely to go over well. However, getting up in the middle of his teaching and stumbling your way to the door was probably going to be less disruptive than pushing out a baby during the lecture so you were going to have to take the risk of getting out of the lecture hall before it was too late.

Pretending to continue typing up your notes, you pull up a messenger tab on your laptop to send a quick text to your partner about being in active labour. They immediately call you and you're so grateful you put your phone on silent before coming to class because you didn't want to draw any attention just yet. You text them again, warning them not to call while you're still in class.

💖Lover💖: im omw rn, dont worry!!

💖Lover💖: jsut keep breathing and ill be there soon, i love you!!!

You try to keep your face impassive as you respond to their frantic messaging, telling them not to cause a scene and to just wait outside your classroom until you can find a good moment to slip out.

You: Just wait outside of my lecture hall, I'll meet you in the corridor in a minute

💖Lover💖: are u serious?? how far apa rt are the contractions???

You haven't been able to properly time them through your panicking, but they're not very far apart at all and they hurt really badly. You're trying to pack up as discreetly as you can while texting your partner about the pain, bracing as you feel your belly tighten with your next contraction.

You: Idk, they're pretty close together now

💖Lover💖: but ur water hasnt broken yet, right?

The contraction is an intense one, stealing your breath and drawing all your focus within you before you can respond. You press your palms against your bump and it's rock hard. The pressure builds in tandem with the pain, reaching a new peak that you've never felt and it makes you feel like your baby is just going to slip out of you the second you move. You can feel the pain slowly begin to fade as the contraction ebbs, but the pressure abruptly disappears with a pop, leaving you confused.

You shift in your seat and register two new feelings–that a new, worse kind of pressure has settled low in your hips; and that your sweatpants are wet. You run your hands down your belly and feel that the bump is much tighter and lower, no longer as round as it was when you walked into the classroom. The baby's head is engaged in your pelvis, stretching you open wide.

You: You jinxed me :(

💖Lover💖: what hte fuckk does tht mean?????

💖Lover💖: babe?? did your water break??????

You ignore their increasingly panicked texts as you slip your laptop into your bag, no longer caring about being discreet when you slip out of the classroom. Thankfully you sat at the back, so you stand up and quickly wrap your sweater around your waist before anyone can catch a glimpse of the growing wet spot between your legs.

The professor stopped speaking as soon as you stood up and his eyes are fixed on you coldly. Unfortunately, your escape plan is thwarted by the shifting in your belly as soon as you stand up, gravity pulling your baby's head lower into your canal and making you grunt under your breath. You hold your tote bag in front of you to hide your soaked sweatpants and you take a step forward, waddling to accommodate the feeling of the head between your legs.

Between your flushed face and wobbly gait you're sure a number of your classmates can tell what's going on, but you keep your eyes focused on the door and your partner's anxious face peering through the window. You groan with each step, the twisting of your hips bringing the head lower with a trickle of fluid every time you move. Your contractions seem to be coming much faster without your waters acting as a cushion in your womb and you have one hand supporting the bump as you waddle as fast as you can. The pain is beginning to worsen again and you feel the urge to squat and bear down right in front of the blackboard. Thankfully, your partner opens the door for you and you're able to slip through before you're doubling over into their arms.

They shuffle you away from the window, rubbing your back soothingly. You can hear your professor start speaking again but that's quickly drowned out by your ragged breathing and the pounding of your heartbeat filling your ears. Leaning all of your weight against your partner, you widen your stance to relieve some of the pressure you're feeling in your hips.

"No, no no, stop," they stammer, trying to pull you fully upright. "Don't push, not yet. We can get you to the university hospital, we're not far."

Ignoring your whining, they begin to tow you down the hall past gawking students, cradling your bump with one arm as they push people out of the way with the other. Each step feels like the baby is going to slip right out of you but you manage to stumble alongside your partner and into the bright sunlight of the quad.

"Mmm-mmmmmm.... wait," you groan, pausing on the steps of the building as another contraction begins. Your partner is looking back and forth between you and the parking lot, unsure whether to support you or try and get you to safety. You moan again and they give you their hand to squeeze, breathing deeply along with you. Despite their pleas you can't stop your body from its primal instincts and you feel your walls tightening as the head gets closer to your entrance. You press your head against their shoulder, rocking your hips as you try to fight your urge to push your baby into the world.

Your partner is tugging you towards the parking lot and you follow as fast as you can, keeping your legs spread apart with a hand pressed between them in a futile attempt to hold the baby in. You make it halfway across the grass before the next contraction overwhelms you and you know that it's too late to go anywhere. You stop in your tracks, your spread legs and low center of gravity keeping your partner from pulling you any further. They turn to face you and see that you're squatting down, slowly trying to get to your knees.

"Don't- ohhhh fuck!! Don't try to...uhhnnnnnnn... get me somewhere safe, it's too late!" You can't help but to whine as you give up on getting to the car, resigning yourself to giving birth right where you are.

Their hands settle on your waist as they help you kneel, finally giving in to what they always knew was going to happen. They get on their knees in front of you and let you wrap your arms around their shoulders, keeping you steady as you focus on pushing. You can feel their fingers skimming your bump searching for the drawstrings on your sweatpants, slipping a hand into your waistband to check you.

A finger reaches your folds just as you begin to feel the sensation of being stretched and they look incredibly alarmed. You spread your thighs wider and it feels like the head is pressing against your vulva, causing you to bulge without actually stretching your slit. Your partner slips their finger into you very shallowly, eyes tearing up as they feel the hair on your baby's head in their attempt to stretch you. They slip a second finger into you and spread you open just as you bear down again, causing a sliver of the head to slip through.

You shriek at the sudden burning sensation and your partner massages your pussy as it stretches around the head, applying even pressure to the straining skin. All of the students on the quad are staring at you, some of them are probably recording you as well, but you can't bring yourself to care about anything other than what's going on in your little embrace as you both work to bring your baby into the world.

"Th-uhhhhhhh... baby's coming ouuuut! Hnnnghhhh... hmmmmmm... you need t-ooooohhhhh... to catch it!," you say raggedly and you feel your partner nod and kiss the top of your head.

You can feel yourself getting louder the more you push, the head slipping down into your partner's hand as you bury your face into their neck. Biting against their collarbone is barely muffling your vocalizations and their encouraging words are the only thing you can hear over the sounds you're making. When you try to shift your hips you can feel your partner's hand against your inner thighs as it cups your baby's head. It feels incredibly sticky, your sweat and all those juices soaking into your sweatpants as you give birth into your clothes, but the alternative of getting naked in the middle of campus isn't great either.

The ring of fire is overwhelming now and you can feel your cunt throbbing as the massive head stretches you out. Your partner's massaging of your lips is now causing you more pain than relief but you're too overwhelmed to speak so you just pant and moan against their skin until the next contraction. Despite your hopes, the baby's head doesn't emerge quickly once it has fully crowned and you feel it slip out of you inch by inch and into your partner's waiting palm. Their voice sounds choked up by awe as they press kisses against your face but you can't make out the individual words as you continue to bear down.

Your next push is the worst one yet, you groan with effort but you're not able to get the shoulders out, leaving you stretched wide open. Another contraction hits you and your partner gently turns the baby's shoulders as you bear down. You can feel every second of the burn, each minute movement of your baby and of your partner's fingers skimming against your swollen and aching cunt. One shoulder slides out of you, then the next, and finally your partner catches your baby as it fully slips out. You have to pull down your waistband so that your partner can get the wailing and squirming baby out of your sweatpants. Exhausted and relieved, you collapse against your partner and they bring the baby to your arms. Now that you're holding your child in your lover's embrace you're glad you decided to call them for help; even giving birth in the quad would be better than in chemistry class alone.

[cinnamonrusts]

sparda twins -- reactions

The Sparda twins reactions that you're pregnant with not just one, but two of their children.

DANTE-

You paced the bathroom several times as you gnawed on your thumbnail. Your eyes did not leave the plastic stick that was sitting on the edge of the sink near the toilet. The packaging read that results would be ready in five minutes, but the wait had it feeling like five hours.

Dante had left on a run for some take out and you knew that it was all the way across town, so it left you some free time to figure out your "little" situation. You hadn't told him anything. How could you? The two of you were not in an exactly "family friendly" business. Last thing Dante would need to worry about was a mini Sparda.

You had enough of waiting and snatched the test from the counter. Your eyes narrowed as they fixated on the single horizontal pink line, but widened when it turned into a plus. The blood in your body ran cold and your throat grew dry. It was as if the + sign mocked you and your stomach felt sick. You knew it would happen, Dante called himself the pull out king. Yeah - fucking - right, and this proved him to be very wrong.

The evidence needed to be disposed of, so you wrapped it several times in some toilet paper and shoved it in the trash can. Dante hardly took the trash out and it would be unlikely that he would decide to scour the garbage, so you felt safe. Now all you would have to do is just keep it a secret until you decided how to approach it.

It didn't last long and soon Nico was on the other end of the phone. She let out a happy, "'Eller!" but was greeted by a loud sob along with unintelligible babble. "Woah! Woah! [Y/N], you gotta repeat yourself. I couldn't make out a damn thing! You okay?" the brunette asked, concerned. "I'M PREGNANT!" your sobs now made sense. "Oh, shit," she replied. "Yeah, oh shit is right."

"Did you tell Dante yet?"

You scoffed, "No. I don't think I can," as you spoke on the phone in the kitchen, your eyes fixed on a photo on the fridge of you and your devil hunter boyfriend. The two of you looked so happy and Dante's smile was so bright, the vibes that radiated from the picture kind of gave you some assurance. Maybe Dante would react well to the news and maybe he'd give the same smile of glee at the idea of being a father.

"But you're going to have to at some point. How you goin' to explain a giant belly here in a few months?" Nico was right, there was no way around it. You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes tight, "Could you maybe -- I dunno, take me to the doctor?" Nico replied, "I'll be there in a jiff!"

Just as you hung up, Dante walked in with two large bags that smelled of Chinese food. "Food is here and beer is in the fridge!" he waddled into the kitchen and his happy expression turned to one of concern when he noticed you looked upset. "Hey, darlin', you alright?" he set the bags down on the floor and slid to your side, his arms around your waist. His musk along with the heavy smell of greasy Chinese food almost threw you over the edge and caused you to gag. You placed your hand on his chest to prevent him from getting closer. His brows furrowed as he tried to understand what was wrong but the loud horn of Nico's van interrupted. "I'm going out with Nico. I'll be back," you brushed past him, grabbed your coat, and dashed out the door.

You were able to take a breath once you jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. Your head rested on the back of the seat and your eyes closed, "Thanks for the ride." Nico placed a hand on your thigh and nodded, "No problem, girlfriend."

Several hours passed and you weren't home yet. Dante's mind raced with different things he could've done to make you so upset. Was it because he hadn't taken the trash out? He would do that soon. Was it because he hadn't shown his appreciation for you relationship lately? He would go tonight to get you some flowers. So, the man did just that. Dante took the overflowed trash out. Then he made sure to hurry, so, that he would be home before you. Dante chose a bouquet of white roses and a goofy card. The card had two hot dogs on the front who held hands with smiles on their faces. It read, "Hot dog! You make me happy!" Dante got a kick out of it and figured you would too. The devil hunter wrote a quick, cheesy blurb in a scribbled mess and signed with his name plus a heart.

He opened the door and was surprised to see you in a chair near the entrance. You seemed to be in a trance and were startled by Dante’s sudden appearance. “I got you these!” he handed his gifts over but his happiness was dropped when you didn’t seem very happy to receive them.

“Dante, I have something I need to tell you.” you found it hard to keep your eyes on his. “Well, here it goes---,” your nose inhaled, then exhaled deeply, “I’m pregnant.”

Dante’s face was void of emotion before he burst into laughter. You grew angry and your facial expressions matched it. “That’s a good one, babe. Whew!,” he clapped his hands and winced a bit with his hand on his side, “Ow! That laugh made me pull a muscle.”

“I’m serious, Dante. I’m pregnant.” you reiterated. “With --- emotion?” he asked as his eyes shifted side to side.

“What? No! With a baby!”

Once Dante heard it for the third time, he realized it all. He was going to be a father and you were going to be the one who would usher in another lineage of the Sparda bloodline. Dante rushed to your side and took a knee as he kneeled beside you. His palm immediately made its way to your stomach as he pictured the life that was within. “Hey there, little buddy.” You cleared your throat into a closed fist which drew his attention to your face. Your right hand raised slowly and you twiddled your two first fingers in the air with a small smile.

That same grin that shined in the photo on your fridge grew across his lips. Both of his hands grabbed either side of your lower torso and he stared at your stomach. “You mean, there’s two of me in there?!” His expressions were warm and overjoyed, relief crashed over you as this situation turned out better than you thought. 

“I’m gonna really need to get outta debt.”

VERGIL-

Your body spoke to you and told you that something was going on. Every morning you felt ill and you could devour anything in sight until nausea overtook you. Lady asked if there was any possibility that you could be pregnant. A snort left your nostrils, “Impossible. Vergil and I don’t have sex enough for that to happen.” your mate was normally not home, you often slept in an empty bed more than one occupied by his strong body. But anytime he was, the act of intimacy could tear the walls down of his brother’s building. He was a focused and controlled man, he knew what he needed to do to prevent another child in his life. You were okay with that, your job was not one that was prime for being a parent. So, there was no doubt in your mind that this was nothing but a simple stomach bug.

“I don’t know, all your symptoms point to it, [Y/N]. Maybe you should take a test,” she attempted to reason with you and you eventually gave in.

The entire time you played it off as just something you did for Lady so that she would get off your back about it. You sat on the closed toilet lid and held the test loosely in between your fingers. The box read that it would take about ten minutes for a result, so you avoided looking at it until roughly around that. But your heart dropped into your stomach when the test did not read negative, but positive. “Shit --- Lady was right.” your cursed and your head dropped between your knees as your mind raced.

Vergil just found out that he had a son, Nero, and now you would throw him the information that he would have now an infant on the way. It was a conversation that you did not want to have. Vergil was a reserved man who did not show you his emotions often or expressed them publicly. You knew he loved you but it took quite sometime for him to open up to you about the fact. He put back his one track set mind toward power and made you a priority in his life. However, he had issues with being around his brother, son, and the other’s -- so he often went off on his own. You learned that this was something he wanted and you did not want to force yourself to go with him always. 

So, this news would not be easy to break to him when he would return in about a week. With the test clenched in your hand, you opened the door to leave the bathroom to only be greeted by Lady who was leaned against the walls with arms crossed. “So, what’s the prognosis?” she pushed herself from the wall and followed you as you pushed past her. You tossed the test into the air with your fingers and she caught it, “What do you think?” you answered before she was able to see for herself. The female was shocked to see that she was correct but didn’t want to say that she told you so.

You were about to slam your room door shut but her boot stopped it, “What’re you going to tell Vergil?” Your back was turned toward her and you faced the window as you observed the rain that pattered against the window. “Fuck if I know. How do you tell someone like him that he’s going to be a father... again.” Lady was silent, you turned on your heels to face her, “Exactly.”

Lady took your hand in hers and gave you a comforting smile, “Hey, he won’t be home for like what-- another week? Let’s get you to the doctor, we’ll figure something out.” You smiled faintly in return, “You’re a hell of a lady, Lady,” she batted her eyelashes, “Oh, I know.~”

A Week Later --

Lady was in your room with you and the door was closed, the two of you spoke of your plan of how you would drop the bomb on your half demon boyfriend.

“Do you really think Vergil will accept it?” you asked just as the white haired man opened the door, “Accept what?” he asked coolly. Lady closed her mouth and first looked at Vergil, then to you, “I’ll just let you guys have some alone time,” she slinked past the Sparda man and closed the door behind her. His gaze never left you and his strong features were unmoved.

You attempted to embrace him as you wrapped your arms around his neck but he gave you a slight push away before you could place a kiss on his cheek. “Will you tell me what you were talking about?” You bit your lower lip and hesitated to confess to him. Vergil took hold of your chin with his fingertips, “Speak.”

You swallowed hard, his blue eyes did not waver and they were just so beautiful that you couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I’m --- pregnant,” you whispered. It was like time moved to slow motion, Vergil observed each syllable that came from your lips. Pregnant? Pregnant. Pregnant.

 A twitch in Vergil’s furrowed brows caught your attention, it proceeded to twitch several times before he closed his eyes and released his grip on your chin. “How?” You shrugged, “I thought we were careful every time, even with our more adventurous hookups.” He didn’t speak and just listened, “Why?”

“Why?” you repeated, “That’s what happens, Vergil. I can’t really make it anymore clear.” As per usual, you couldn’t read him and his thoughts were a mystery to you.

“So, I’ll be a father once again. At least I’m currently aware of this one.” he sighed.

“Two,” you interjected. It was as if you could see his ears perk up when you mentioned a number higher than he assumed. “Two? Another set of Sparda twins...” he was quiet before you could see a small smile on his lips. Vergil called for you to come to him, which you obeyed.

He wrapped his right arm around your upper half. His left hand rested on your stomach with a loved filled touch. His chin rested on top of your head as he imagined what they looked like and what life would be like in several months.

He thought to himself, maybe -- just maybe -- he truly deserved a happy life, despite all the things he had done. He now felt a stronger urge to want to be around you, the babies, and even Dante more. 

“Do I deserve this happiness, [Y/N]?” 

Your hand rested on his that was still on your stomach, “Of course. You always have.”

[five-rivers]

Secret saturdays prompt

The secret scientists and/or argost finding out Zaks s1 finale secret. The show did a 6 month time skip and never showed us /how/ they came to find out.

Zak got sick when they came back from Antarctica.  It wasn’t something particularly foreign to him.  Traveling all over the world meant that he picked up a lot of bugs.  It was an occupational hazard.  Or, well, not occupational, exactly, because Zak didn’t get paid for what he did, but...  

Yeah.

(Maybe he should get paid for this.  He did a lot of work, if he was being honest.)

Usually, though, nothing he got was this bad.  Mom theorized it was because he overused his powers.  Dad thought it was just the stress and the shock- Both things that could impact an immune system.  Doyle kept making jokes about bottled water, because, yeah, that was the problem.  

Not.  

A cold was something he could deal with, though.  A nice distraction, even, from having to figure out the implications of the Kur artifact lighting up when pointed at him.  

(Maybe, he hoped, Kur was an inherited title, and when he defeated Kur-controlled-by-Argost, it jumped to him.)

(Maybe it was just broken.  It wasn’t like Doyle was all that spiritual.)

(Maybe it lit up whenever it was near someone with Kur-like powers.)

(Maybe Kur was living in the back of Zak’s mind and any minute now-)

(Maybe...  Maybe Zak was Kur.)

Except, the universe had abruptly decided to hate Zak, because the illness was also screwing with his powers.  Every so often, they’d just turn on out of nowhere, not even doing anything, and it would hurt.  Like in the ice caves with Doyle, when he was flooded with more spiritual energy than his body could safely handle.  Like when he overused his powers in Antarctica.

It really wasn’t conducive to the whole ‘ignoring it’ thing he was going for.  

Mom opened the door to his room, and he groaned as the light hit his eyes.  “Hey,” she said, maneuvering around the door with a tray in her hands, “how are you feeling?”

“Bad,” said Zak.  

Mom put the tray on the table next to his bed and took his temperature.  “Still high,” she said.  “Do you feel up to eating?  I have soup.”

“Okay,” said Zak.  He sighed and rubbed his eyes and frowned at the gold reflecting off of them.  He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his powers off.  With another groan, he forced himself into a sitting position.  “I’ve been having weird dreams,” he said, taking the spoon.  It felt heavy.  

“Oh?  Like what?”

“Like...  There’s something moving around outside, in the woods, and I think it’s Fisk, but Fisk and Zon are with me.”  He poked the soup, breaking the thin skin that had formed on top of it.  “You’d think I’d be having dreams about that but...  I don’t know.  It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” said Mom, ruffling his hair.  “You should probably take a shower next time you get up.  You’re all sweaty.”

“Okay,” said Zak.  

.

“I’m worried,” said Drew.  “I think there’s something supernatural about this illness.”

Doc looked up from the culture they’d taken of Zak’s throat swab.  “Really?” he said.  “You don’t think it was a pathogen he encountered when he went into the Antarctica cryptid to fight Argost?”  

Both parents shuddered.  They could still hardly believe they’d let Zak do that, even if the fate of the world was in the balance. 

“He’s dreaming about the prowler,” said Drew, before reciting what Zak told her.  

“That could be a coincidence,” protested Doc.  

“You know,” said Doyle, entering the room with a bag of chips and his hair plastered to his forehead with mud, “after all this, I’m not sure I believe in coincidences anymore.”

“No food in the lab!” shouted Doc, pointing an accusing finger at Doyle.  

“Jeez, dude, lighten up.  What’s the worse that could happen?”

“You could ingest a deadly chemical,” said Drew.  

“Oh,” said Doyle.  “Yeah, I guess that would be bad.”

“Did you find the prowler?” asked Drew.  

“Nope,” said Doyle.  “Not hide nor hair, even with Jurassic overhead.  But what I did find...”  He made a face.  “You know the river?”

“Yes, Doyle,” said Doc, “we are in fact aware of the river we live next to.”

“Yeah, cool.  All the fish are dead.”

“What?” asked Drew, raising her eyebrows.  

“Dead,” said Doyle.  “Belly-up.  A lot of the plants near the water aren’t doing so great, either.  I’d stock up on bottled water if I were you guys.”  He took a sip from his own bottle of water, as if to prove a point.  “Now, what were talking about when I came in?  Do you think this prowler has something to do with the little guy being sick?”

“Yes,” said Drew.  

“Maybe,” said Doc.  

They looked at each other.  

“I think we need more help,” said Drew.  “He’s not getting better.”

“Grimes and Lawhorn?”

“They do specialize in paramedicine.  They’re even working on a cure for everything.  Unless you think this is neurological, in which case we should call Dr. Bara again.”

Doc made a face.  “Not after what happened last time.”  More than half of the house was still in ruins.  

“Hm, I don’t think Grimes and Lawhorn will be that happy to see us, either,” said Drew.  

“They weren’t hurt that badly,” protested Doc.  “Arthur just likes to exaggerate.  They aren’t even O-positive!”

“Even so,” said Drew.  “But, yes, I think we should contact them.”

.

Zak stirred as Fisk picked him up.  “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, sleepily. 

“Hrry nn thhn yueeep.”

“It’s fine.”  Zak sat up a little so he could rest his head on Fisk’s collarbone.  “Where are we going?”

Fisk answered, and Zak nodded sagely.  

“I’m really sick, huh?”  He closed his eyes and let himself go to sleep again.  

.

“Miranda, Arthur, we didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well,” said Arthur, “after that whole think with skunk-stripe’s mirror-world double, they’re kind of on edge when it comes to tall stuff, here.”  He nodded at Fisk.  “They asked us to monitor.”

“We also wanted to discuss what happened in Antarctica,” said Miranda.  “Your report felt... incomplete.”

“Right,” said Doc.  At least they’d ironed out a cover story before coming.  “We’d like to take care of our son, first, though.”

“Of course,” said Miranda.  “We’re in no hurry.”

.

“Hey, there, buddy, how are you feeling?”

“Dr. Grimes?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

Zak blinked slowly.  “Better.”

“Good!” said Grimes.  “We weren’t sure if that would do anything, but there we have it.  Seems like you picked something up from Kur after all.”  They spun in their chair and didn’t notice how Zak cringed at the name.  “Had to give you an Ancient Sumerian protective amulet.  Not easy to get those right!”

“Oh,” said Zak, who had been wondering about the thing tied around his wrist.  “Cool.  Where are Mom and Dad?”

“Talking to Miranda and Arthur.”

“Oh,” repeated Zak.  “Why’re they here?”

“They wanted to talk about Kur,” said Grimes.  “I heard you beat it and Argost both!  That’s impressive.”

“Thanks,” said Zak, fiddling with the amulet.  A spike of pain went through his head, and with it came a sense of movement, images of a forest, the outside of Lawhorn and Grimes’s home.  

... What?

“Hey, Zak, are you okay?” asked Grimes.  They said something else, but Zak didn’t hear him.  

“Something’s coming,” said Zak.  

Grimes rolled their chair to the door and pulled it open.  “Saturdays!  You kid is being ominous!”

.

Arthur frowned as he watched Doc and Drew leave the room.  He wasn’t good at reading people, but-

“They’re hiding something,” said Miranda.  

“I think you’re right, buns,” said Arthur.  

Miranda rolled her eyes.  “I can understand you not remembering my name, Arthur,” she said.  “But if you call me that again, I’m going to hit you.  With something heavy.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your circuit boards in a twist.  What do you think they’re hiding, though?  Why hide anything?  Like, they told us the parts they screwed up on, letting Argost getting away and all.  What could possibly be worse than that?”

Miranda frowned and rubbed her lower lip.  “They aren’t the type to lie to make themselves look good, Arthur.  There’s something else.  The timing of Zak’s illness...  They would lie to protect each other, to protect their children.”

“What, do you think short stuff was poisoned by Argost or something?  Not that it’d be out of character.”  

The idea that Argost got away with Kur, or at least that he had the Saturday’s under his control...  That was scary.  But it had to be the second one.  Argost was patient, but not that patient.  There would be wide-scale destruction.  

If he was threatening the Saturdays into working for him by holding the kid hostage, that was bad enough.  Even if it probably felt like a consolation prize from Argost’s perspective.  

“No, it wouldn’t,” said Miranda.  “We’ll have to look into it and hope Lawhorn and Grimes can find a solution.”

“We can do more than that!  We can go back to their house and see what they’re giving Argost!”

“Arthur, no.  We don’t even know if that’s what’s happening.  We can’t just break into their house.”

“We can,” Arthur argued, crossing his arms.  “You just don’t want to.”

“These are our friends,” said Miranda.  “I was only giving a possibility.  They might not be hiding anything at all.  They could just be worried about Zak.  I know I am.  Besides, Drew has her mercenary little brother guarding the place.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Arthur, waving his hand, “whatever.  I don’t want the kid hurt, either.  We’ll talk to them again when he’s better, maybe they’ll change their story.”

Arthur was about to elaborate on this when a rotund, three-legged, three-armed creature with far too many eyes tore through the walls.

.

Zak gasped and reached for the Claw.  Which he didn’t have because he was still in his pajamas.  His head pounded.  The talisman wrapped around his wrist burned.  Dad and Mom stepped between him and the monster, and Fisk pulled him away, to the side of the room, out of the line of fire.  

“Who dares to take my prey from me?” growled the creature.  “Who dares to come between me and Kur?”

“Azag,” breathed Zak.  He didn’t know how he knew this cryptid’s name.  He just did.  

“The Sumerian sickness demon?” asked his mother, brandishing her sword.  

“Kur,” said Azag, all of its eyes fixed on Zak, “the flesh you wear now is weak, and I will take great pleasure in watching it fail you, in watching it trap you, oh Kur, great king of the cryptids.”

“Stay away from him,” said Mom.

“Or else,” said Dad.

The monster started laughing.  Then it was hit from behind by one of Arthur’s energy discharge weapons.  It hissed and righted itself.  

“Do you think I fear his mortal servants?  Fools!”  It lunged for Dad.  

“No!” shouted Zak.  His powers flared and the talisman burst into a hundred tiny pieces as he forced himself into Azag’s mind.  

(Too familiar- Had he done this before?)

“Can’t,” he panted, “hold for long.  Hurry!” 

Grimes snatched a bottle from a cabinet, and a syringe from a drawer.  “Just hold it a minute longer, Zak.  If this is what I think it is-”  They didn’t finish the thought as they filled the syringe with the liquid from the bottle.  

Then he plunged the needle into the creature’s stony hide.  It screamed, the sound and pain echoing through the connection Zak had made with it.  His vision went white.  He felt his eyes roll back in his head and his knees go out.  

Nothing more.  

.

“What was that?” asked Miranda, staring at the melted remains of Azag.  

“Disease demon,” said Grimes, giddily.  “Lawhorn and I always theorized- I’m so glad I was able to test it!  The panacea!  I wonder what diseases it represented and how they’ll be affected...”

“Whatever,” said Arthur.  “I’m more interested in what that was.”  He pointed at Zak, who had collapsed and was currently being fussed over by his parents.  “You two have a lot of explaining to do.  And you’re going to start with why that thing was calling him Kur.”

[rex101111]

For a glass of Cactus Wine

Summary: Migelo does both his duties at the fete, one to the Empire, and the other to his kids. 

Rating: T

Fandom: Final Fantasy XII

Well! Been a while since I wrote something substantial, but @sevi007 has been doing a live blog of this game, thus reminding me how much I love it, and so here’s a fic depicting the one missing scene in this game I really wanted to see, also to give Lizard dad the content he deserves. Enjoy!

Seeing Arcadian troops stomp in the halls of the Royal Palace made Migelo want to crawl right out of his hide. It’s been two years since those bastards in their tin plates stomped into his home and his city and still he could only barely keep his anger in check at how disrespectful the whole lot of them were.

Leaning on pillars built centuries past, wiping their feet on rugs that took months to weave, pointing and laughing like children at art that they would never understand the importance of. If he heard another one of these piss-drunk bureaucrats call one more thing in this palace “quaint” he’s going to use that same thing to break it over their heads.

Still, years of experience in burying his feelings and opinions about his costumers helped him plaster a smile on his snout. This was simply business, he was providing sundries and food for an event, like he’s done dozens and dozens of times over his long career.

“Watch that crate!” He yelled out to one of the servants, “it’s got wine in it, worth more than ten of your lifetimes! Handle it with a bit of care why don’t you?” The servant sheepishly apologized and asked for help from another servant as Migelo turned his gaze elsewhere, “dear girl, you’ll break your back like that!” He went to a maid and corrected her posture and how she held her tray of food, “there we go now, better?”

“Thanks Migelo.” The maid smiled gratefully, before her face turned sour, “these imperials get nasty when they’re drunk, they keep asking me to run back and forth for all sorts of nonsense.” She sighed harshly, “probably just want a peek up my skirt.”

“You let ol’ Migelo handle them, Meina.” He soothes, turning her to a different direction, “empty that tray and take a break for ten minutes, I’ll have someone else make sure they don’t notice you gone, yes?”

She went off with a smile and Migelo continued like that, his time cleaved cleanly between ordering servants this way and that soothing fraying nerves. This fete needed to go flawlessly, with the consul himself attending every hand on deck needed to give it their all and then some. If the pompous royal left this evening with a good opinion of his food, he might transfer said opinion to the rest of the city. If he did that, maybe his boys and girls could have more room to breathe.

He looked ruefully over the staff, some of the younger ones he’s known since they were children, helped them train for applying for work in the palace. Rabanastre was a small city, everyone knew everyone, and that only became stronger as the plague and the war ravaged the place. Seeing these kids, his kids, running around like cockatrices with their heads cut off for the sake of their invaders made a lick of fire burn in his gut, no matter how hard he tried to douse it.

Worse of all was that he knew he was delaying the inevitable, he had an invitation to answer soon, and the longer he ignored the worse things would get not only for himself, but everyone else living in Rabanastre.

He took a few long breathes, practiced his best servile smile in a nearby plate, pictured the smiling face of every single child under his care in his mind, and went off to sit at the right of the eldest living son of Emperor Gramis, Vayne Carudas Solidor.      

The consul was deep in debate with the others sitting at his table, something about tax rates and territory dispute that went right over Migelo’s head, but as soon as the old bangaa drew close enough, as if he could hear his footsteps over the rancor of the room, Vayne stopped talking and turned his head to meet his gaze.

“Ah, Sir Migelo, so nice of you to finally join me.” He motioned for one of the nearby soldiers to pull back the chair at his right side, “please, sit.”

With practice ease, and complaining stomach, Migelo bowed in apology, “I hope you would forgive me, Lord Consul, I had so many things to fix and move, my responsibilities nearly made me forget your most gracious offer.”

“Think nothing of it good Sir,” Vayne waved off easily, “We should all wish to have your work ethic Migelo, so we could accomplish our own work half as well.” Vayne complimented him smoothly as Migelo finally sat, the others at the table nodding sycophantically, before beginning to pour the store owner a glass of red wine. “But, let me remind you that I asked of you to refer to me by my first name.”

Taking the glass with all the grace he could manage, Migelo bowed his head again with an outwardly warm smile, “ah, forgive this old lizard sir consul, I still feel ill at ease referring to one of your station so informally.” The other reason was the only people he called by name were his friends and his kids, and Vayne is not, would never be, either. “Perhaps I’ll manage that better,” he made a show of laughing from his belly, “with a bit of fine Arcadian wine in my system, eh?”

“Of course.” Vayne’s sharp eyes and sharper smile made Migelo feel as if he were strapped to a table, “please, indulge as you please, we have all night after all.”

Nodding, Migelo started to drain his glass, and had to fight his gag reflex with every gulp. Arcadian wine made you feel like someone was trying to prove something to you, too rich, too fruity, too damn much. Seeing the people around him gulp this stuff down was aggravating as it was confusing, you could stuff as many flowers into a bottle of Slaven piss as you wanted, it was still a drink of cold piss.

Decades of honing his poker face in the interest of more returning costumers made sure none of that disgust was visible on his face of course, to any casual observer Migelo savored every drop of the expensive Slaven piss, finishing his glass with a pleasured sigh. “Ahh, what an excellent, uh, flavor profile! So full of life and character!” He turned to the consul with a toothy grin, “How’s about you give me another to loosen my tongue?”

“You are a man of great taste, Sir Migelo.” Vayne complimented, smiling thinly as he filled the offered cup before filling his own. “I’ve heard Dalmascans do not have a high opinion of my home’s signature brew.”

“Bah.” Migelo scoffed easily, “children with no experience on their tongues Lord Consul, nothing to be offended by.” He internally grits his teeth, he heard some of the younger men voice some of their very loud opinions about Arcadian wine in a place where a couple of soldiers could hear them. It ended well for absolutely no one, and he was only glad to make sure his kids didn’t see or hear it. “We Dalmascans are very proud of our own drinks, I think you would see it would make sense to be a bit defensive.” He took another gulp, “pardon m’candor, of course.”

“Indeed.” Vayne nodded, finishing his own glass, “and you have a great many things to be proud of, I’ve heard a fair share of good things about Dalmascan cactus wine.” He looked at Migelo with a gaze that made his scales itch, “have you tried it before?”

He was almost insulted the man had to ask, “o’course I did lord consul!” He tried to be casual about it, but a bit of hometown pride seemed to seep in every other word, “Cactus Wine is easy to brew in large amounts, made from Cactoid fruit and the sands are absolutely littered with the little buggers, it’s what you order when you have something to celebrate or as a victory drink.” Migelo could go for an entire barrel of it right now. “It’s a…simple drink. Simple but hearty.”

Vayne nodded politely as the bangaa went on, before he took the bottle of his expensive wine and looked at it quietly, “…I suppose there hasn’t been much call for it, lately.”

Migelo nearly swallowed his tongue, for all his talk of taking in all of Dalmasca’s hatred onto himself, the consul seemed adept at choosing words to inspire said hatred. “Y-No, Lord Consul, not a lot to celebrate.” He quickly recovered, smiling again as he waved his glass about, “b-but fret not! Us Dalmascans find reason to celebrate no matter the weather! You’ll have your taste of cactus wine before long don’t you worry!”

“Why wait my friend?” Vayne said smoothly, Migelo barely exerting the restraint he needed to stop himself from cursing the consul out on considering himself something he is not, “I have found myself a few bottles for this grand occasion.”

Migelo was stopped short, he had double checked every scrap of food and drink meant for this fete, triple checking the alcohol in particular, and he was sure there wasn’t a drop of cactus wine in the whole palace, he figured the imperials wouldn’t want to touch the stuff. “Y-you did? F-from where lord consul?”

“From the palace cellars of course.” He replied, motioning with his hand to another maid, Kayta if Migelo remembers right, who held a very familiar clay jug in her hands. “If one kind of wine isn’t enough to call me friend, perhaps two would suffice.”

Migelo held Kayta’s conflicted gaze for a moment, before he turned to Vayne with a doubtful expression, “the cellars my lord? Those haven’t been disturbed since the war ended! Who knows what kind of vermin have found their way to the stores?”

“I had my men carefully inspect each bottle.” Vayne assured, which only made Migelo more ill thinking about what Imperial soldiers considered inspecting. “Please, do not be reticent, I find myself curious what a man of your expertise has to say about the difference between one wine and the other.”

Kayta poured Migelo a glass with a sorrowful expression, Migelo soothing the girl as best he could with a smile only she could see, and the bangaa took a long whiff of the drink, before slowly draining his glass.

Cactus wine was sweet, almost sweet enough you could give it to a child without them puffing their little face. Its taste was subtle, airy, doing nothing more than what a wine ought to do and made your face and belly warm. It was cheap drink, cheap enough that working folk could indulge in it without endangering their pay over-much.

It was Dalmasca to the last drop, warm and honest.

“So, sir Migelo?” Vayne inquired when the bangaa finished and had not said a word, “how is your home’s brew compared to mine?”

He was quiet for a few more moments before he turned to the consul, “I must admit to having a bias sir.” He put the glass back down on the table gently, reaching over to grab a grape nearby to soak some of the alcohol in his system, “I’ve been drinking cactus wine since I was a whelp, y’see, it’s a drink for the heart as much for the stomach nowadays.”

Vayne chuckled good naturedly, “well, now you have me curious.” He picked up his own glass and motioned for Kayta to fill it, the girl nearly tripping over herself to bow as she poured without spilling it on him. He took a careful sip…and stopped, an emotion Migelo could not name fliting across his face. “…it tastes…” The consul was quiet for a moment, the rest of the table perfectly silent to await his judgment, “…honest.”

Migelo released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, allowing himself the tiniest amount of pride as he looked at Vayne, “Dalmasca knows no other way, Lord Consul.”

“Pritas.” Vayne looked at one of the people sitting at the table, some peacock in a stuffy red shirt with a pencil moustache, “you should try it, I am certain people in Archades would flock to try this, exotic yet gentle on the tongue.”

Pritas hurriedly motioned for Kayta to pour him a glass, and no sooner than he had a drop of it he was nodding enthusiastically, “y-yes Lord Vayne! You are absolutely correct; everyone will want a bottle of this for any price!”

Migelo, despite his mood and the alcohol in his system, found himself smiling at the sound of it, feeling someone patting his shoulder. “Migelo, after the fete be sure to grant Pritas here the information for whoever you get your cactus wine from, they’ll find more business than ever.”

Migelo could picture the family of brewers in his head, nearly jumping for joy at the chance that fell into their laps, a contract to sell cactus wine halfway across Ivalice. He then imagined their faces when he told them to which half of Ivalice the wine would go. He imagines the shock, the outrage, the sorrow.

He imagines the table with one more chair then they needed, the extra gathering dust for two years now.

“Yes, Lord Consul.” He said as calmly as he could manage, looking into the face of a man whose night has gone exactly as he had planned, down to the last detail, painting a smiling on his snout. “Thank you for this opportunity, I’m sure they’ll see this as a chance to build their life back up to how it was…” He could feel his lips curling over his teeth. “…before the war, that is.”

Vayne’s face drew downwards slightly, an almost robotic motion, “yes, the war has devastated both sides long enough,” He squeezed the shoulder he was holding, in a move meant to be reassuring, “it is past time we helped each other back onto our feet.”

Vaan crying into his shoulder, cursing and yelling and screaming every curse he knew. Penelo holding him tightly as she sobbed. Fire in the sky, visible from his window.

His home, under siege and under iron boots.

Migelo bit his tongue, brought to mind every orphan he and Old Dalan have struggled to keep fed and working and warm, and managed an impossible smile, “yes…way past time…Lord Consul.”

Vayne shook his head with a fond smile, and poured Migelo another cup of Arcadian wine. Migelo drained it without tasting a drop.

(Not long after, barely an hour after, he sees his boy in chains and his girl crying for his freedom, and all the wine in his veins is cold and freezing.  

As they dragged his boy away, as his girl fell into the arms of Kayta as she sobbed, Vayne Carudas Solidor came to him, smiled, and clapped his shoulder.)  

[writers-thoughts09]

True Mind, True Heart

Act 1 Chapter 2 (Part 1)

Title: True Mind, True Heart: Act 1 Chapter 2 (Part 1) About 5.7k words Pairing: Zuko x OC (or reader idk, mind you this is like a mega slow burn fanfic so i hope you’re okay with thaaaaat). I don’t own Avatar or the character’s except my OC. Rating: PG, maybe some 13 later on Warning: Mean Zuko, uuuuuh i think that’s it. A/N: I’m so sorry for the majorly late update! I’m doing my best I have a lot planned for this story and I plan to finish this, I hope you guys will follow Lila’s journey with me! :) <3.  I apologize if the fight scenes are choppy and unclear, I’ve never written or broke down a fight scene in writing before. I might go back and fix this later. Tomorrow I’ll post part 2. Anyway without further adieu enjoy the read :)

|Prologue| 1 | 2 part 1 | 2 part 2

*

Act 1: Salvation

The sunset was quite a breathtaking sight to see if someone were to take the time to stop and stare. With the sun warm and low on the horizon, lovely rays of orange light sprawled softly across the sky, creating pink orange and yellow hues. A gradient of shades, begging to be admired. The white clouds that slowly rolled by basked in the mix of colors as they too took some of the sun’s golden tinge. Of course, no one was around to witness this natural piece of art since everyone was busy going about their business, especially on Prince Zuko’s ship.

For hours Lila sat silently in her dingy quarters, no hitch detected in her breathing. Quiet and still like a swamp with dark murky water. Untouched and motionless. Ever since Prince Zuko’s morning lessons, no one’s asked for Lila’s assistance with anything, so, for the remainder of the day, she’s been in her room.

If anyone, say Iroh, were to see her meditating, they would’ve thought she looked exactly like prince Zuko during his meditation sessions. Mimicking what she remembered the night she brought him his dinner Lila sat with her back straight, eyes closed, accompanied by nothing except deep breathing. Even though she imitated the prince’s form and tried to follow Iroh’s teachings from this morning’s lesson, it was like there was a block between her and her element. Like her fingertips would come so close to grazing that certain feeling but were still out of reach from fully grasping it. No matter how hard she’d concentrate to connect with that energy lying dormant inside her, nothing worked.

But finally, after sitting on the uncomfortable floor for who knows how long, Lila began to feel an inkling of that same euphoric peace build within her body again. It was similar to what she felt earlier above deck but slightly different. It was softer, less…magnetic as it ebbed the presence of her emotions away. Specifically, impatience and frustration when lieutenant Jee came knocking and interrupted her a while ago.

With meticulous breaths, Lila drew a smooth inhale in through her nose, filling her lungs, traveling down, expanding her belly, and gently expelled the air from her mouth, the water in her cup rippling in sync. Her heart maintained tempo with her breathing, which was strong and consistent as each beat pulsed through her being.

Though her body was at ease, patience evaded Lila’s mind, blinding her progress as she huffed in irritation. Eyes still closed she shifted her bottom for the umpteenth time. Soft like a feather but sharp like a beak, she drew another breath in, doing her best to maintain what little connection she felt with her element while keeping her frustrations at bay. Just when she was about to exhale, that breath turned into a yelp when a loud boom exploded from beyond the ship.

Like the snap of a rubber band, Lila’s concentration was broken yet again as her eyes flew open. With a start, the sudden noise made Lila jump and pull a small amount of water, which she didn’t notice as she stood up in alarm. Confusion and fear clouded her as she listened for what could’ve possibly made a noise that loud. It sounded like a flare, but Lila wasn’t so sure. “Is it an ambush?...No it couldn’t be; we haven’t had any problems or run-ins with anyone for a long while.”

Lila’s thoughts were going in circles as she rushed to her drawer to grab a fresh piece of cloth she cut up weeks before, tied it over her marred eye before reluctantly opening the door. Silently, a tawny-colored iris peeped down the metal hallways, no benders or guards in sight. However, even if they weren’t down below they might’ve already been above deck when whatever it was went off.

Noiselessly and carefully, with nimble steps like an alley cat, Lila crept through the corridors and up the familiar set of stairs. Mangled fingernails trailed along the metal wall to aid her lack of sight. Once Lila climbed up to the main deck and felt fresh air ruffle the fallen curls from her bun, Lila’s suspicions were confirmed. A bright naval flare signal was falling far out in the snowy distance. She watched, her good eye following its downward path, musing to herself, “Where did it come from though?”

Noticing the absence of prince Zuko, Uncle Iroh, and their men who were usually out and about above deck around this time, Lila glanced around the empty ship then turned to the command tower. Squinting her good eye Lila’s gaze raked up the length of it and stopped at the observation deck’s balcony. As clear as the golden sky she caught sight of the Prince. Half of his scarred face obscured as he peered through the telescope attached to the railing in front of him. Although she couldn’t see gauge what he was feeling, she was certain he figured out what or who signaled that flare and was already directing his next course of action.

When suddenly that same foreboding sensation from before when they first saw the beam of light, roiled around her chest and stomach, leaving Lila uneasy. Why? Well, she didn’t know what to expect. Was it the avatar? A false alarm? She didn’t know and not knowing left a nasty taste in her mouth.

After Prince Zuko finished barking orders at his men, solar colored eyes caught a glimpse of the curly-haired servant below seconds before he continued looking through the telescope. The girl stood by herself with half her face covered, the setting sun illuminating her tanned skin, and looked up at him with -what he could detect- nervousness. Prince Zuko didn’t know as to why nor did he care. The entirety of his focus on capturing the Avatar.

A brown eye fluttered as Lila snapped from her thoughts. Hurriedly she turned and hastened down below to the kitchen. She knew now was not the time to get distracted from her work. Earlier the chef told her he was ill and asked Lila to fill in for him tonight. She agreed though something told her he was lying. Through the maze of corridors and staircases, a passing conversation of a few men could be heard as they rushed by.

One man bumped her shoulder as he hissed, “hurry, we have to dress the Prince, the Avatar’s hiding place has been found. We’re going to the southern water tribe.”

Lila’s eye widened as her breath hitched at the mention of her mother’s sister tribe. If the Avatar is truly alive and has been hiding there for the past hundred years…worry gripped her heart over the safety of the tribes' native people. Although prince Zuko hasn’t engaged in many battles with other ships or neighboring nations, the Fire Lord’s son was a wildly stubborn and determined boy who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Lila didn’t doubt he’d probably leave a trail of chaos in his wake with no regard for the consequences or how it’d affect the lives of others.

Once she entered the empty kitchen Lila rolled her sleeves up and got to preparing dinner, the red dye of her uniform reminding her of the clothes she wore as a child in the palace. As she cooked, she blinked back thoughts she knew all too well. Red uniform

Screams of fear echoing in the palace gardens

A girl in royal garbs

“You’re useless.” ... “Holy-ow!”

A sudden stinging pain roughly pulled Lila from the haze of old memories. In her stupor, Lila didn’t notice how close the knife was while cutting the spring unions and managed to slice her pointer finger. Quickly, the girl staggered away from the kitchen counter, removing the steaming pots and pans with her uninjured hand, and flitted about the kitchen looking for anything to stop the bleeding. She checked all the drawers, cabinets, and pantries as bright red blood continued to ooze over her finger and onto her hand. The throbbing and stinging continued to intensify making Lila bite her lip in pain as she tucked her finger beneath her thumb. Unable to find any clean rags or towels-

“My eye cloth…”

A tug on her heart stopped her search momentarily.

To her, that cloth was like a barricade of some sort to Lila. Sheltering the small girl from being reminded of it…the day she lost-

In summary, her eye patch was the only thing that blocked out the reality of what happened that day. Regardless of how vulnerable she felt without the cloth now was not the time or the place to start feeling insecure or hesitant, she knew that. There was work to be done; rice and meat filleting.

With the cleaning basins for the dishes nearby Lila went toward it to clean her finger and avoid food contamination. It should’ve been cleaned and refilled now that it was close to dinner time. Ready to dunk her hand in the water and wash her bloodied wound she stopped abruptly. The whole bucket was still dirty from lunchtime. Bits and pieces of rice, chicken, and other scraps floated about in the water. With a rough sigh and a curl of a plump lip, Lila closed her eye for a moment.

“I can’t catch a break,” she groaned lowly. Never again was she going to fill in for the chef.

Still, she was a servant…what could she do? Nothing. Before she could change her mind, Lila briskly grabbed the knot of the cloth from behind her head and pulled it free, a few strands of curls ripping from her bun. The milky white of her blinded eye on full display, free of any covering but chained to inhibition. Gloomy hands of her past groped and reached for Lila, but she slapped their searching palms away as she began wrapping her wound. Gentle but sure fingers tied the end of her cloth into a firm knot and she inspected her handiwork with a wistful smile. The memory of her mother’s soft hands dressing the wounds of a child rolled like a movie, replacing the ones Lila usually remembered.

“Lila, you fell again?”

The playful timbre of her mother's low voice filled their backyard. Lila’s childish eyes bubbling with tears raised from the cut on her knee as her mother calmly squatted in front of her fallen form.

“I didn’t mean to mommy. The tree was in my way,” cried her indignant daughter. Laughter rang from her mother, a white bandage appearing in her dark hands, 

“Of course, but you also have to be careful where you’re stepping too, my love.” Knowing her mother was right but still unhappy with that answer, Lila huffed out a sniffle. Tenderly her mom cupped the back of her daughter’s freshly scraped knee and began lecturing, “Here, let’s teach you how to fix wounds, big girls are good at that-”

“Big girls like you, mommy?” A squeaky voice interrupted.

Nuna glanced up at her daughter’s question. Brown innocent eyes that held such curiosity reflected in Nuna’s blue ones she just had to laugh.

“Yes Lila, big girls like me and you.”

Lowering her newly wrapped finger, Lila’s lips fell back into a straight line. She had no time to get lost in her thoughts. Deciding to try and cover her eye with her hair, her uninjured hand pulled her hair free from the fire nation styled top knot. Onyx curls tumbling down the length of her back in one fell swoop, kissing the top of her hips. The overwhelming urge to moan in relief had goosebumps tickle Lila’s spine as the tension of her tight bun dissipated almost instantaneously. She brought her hands up under her hair and aggressively massaged her scalp, both eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Ahh, yes…” A soft groan rumbled from the back of her throat.

“Ahem.”

“Oh, my goodness!” She gasped.

Whipping toward the kitchen door, hands tangled in her roots, the men from earlier in the hallway were standing there watching her as if they’d found an earth kingdom stowaway. Though the more she watched them with increasingly flushed cheeks, the more she realized they were staring at the eye. Tanned hands flew from her scalp to shake her curls and obscure their sight, but it was futile, they already saw the clouded pigmentation. Involuntarily closing her eye, the servant girl clasped her hands over her stomach and curled into a bow.

“Um, hello,” Lila stuttered but caught herself, remembering her place. Kind professionalism coating her soft question, “how may I be of service to you?”

The man who she heard speak in the corridor collected himself faster than the rest and cleared his throat before announcing,

“We are close to our arrival of the southern water tribe and Prince Zuko has requested your presence to dress him for the capture of the Avatar.”

Alarm colored Lila’s features when she recalled the last time she was alone with the prince. Streams of tears and memories he unintentionally triggered that night played before her. Swallowing down the building discomfort in her throat, Lila straightened up and schooled her worry lines into a controlled smile. She had to remind herself, “The Prince didn’t know.”

Apparently, for the men, Lila’s forced smile mixed with the ghastly mismatched color of her eyes was too much to handle, unable to hide their distaste. Faster than she could stop it, a pang of offense and hurt yanked at her heart, but she managed to stifle and shove the feelings away as she gave another trained bow. Though a question did come to mind.

“I beg your pardon, but may I ask why he requested me specifically? He has never requested this of me before,” words mousy.

Her question only seemed to cause the man to grow irritated, his eyebrow ticking in impatience as major attitude gripped his words, “The prince claimed to be displeased with our services in preparing him. Now, would you please stop talking and do what prince Zuko has asked of you? He’s waiting.”

“What about the food-”

“Servant girl, what did I just say?” The man angrily snapped.

With a flinch, Lila mumbled, “My apologies,” before bowing one last time.

Throwing an “Unbelievable” over his shoulder, he and his two companions turned to leave the kitchen.

His snarky tone made Lila frown and furrow her brows. Oh, this girl had no idea of the colorful range of words Prince Zuko used to describe him and his men! Comparing them to fire ferrets! Ha, the nerve of that prince! On top of a bruised ego, the man now had to deal with a servant who couldn’t even see right and didn’t know when to be quiet and simply serve! Lila watched them exit the kitchen, soft frown still intact as she cocked her head to the side.

With them gone, Lila moved the last bits of uncooked food away from the fire as she rushed to the prince’s quarters. With one hand on the wall, Lila hotfoot it through the twists and turns of the dim-lit hallways and up the main stairs. The frigid wind stung her cheeks, her servant's uniform doing nothing in keeping her warm as she speed-walked toward the command tower. However, it did help now that her hair was unrestrained, long curls shielding her arms from the nights southern cold. All but running into the tower, warmth immediately licked at her body. The fire emanating heat and light from the wall torches eased the stiffness of her shivering joints. Her relief was short-lived when she remembered that Prince Zuko’s room was still a few floors up. With a pout and a whimper, Lila began jogging the rest of the way toward her master’s room.

Once she reached his metal door, a winded Lila lifted her bandaged hand and softly knocked, a throb of pain shooting down her finger as she waited. Like usual, the gravelly voice of the prince commanded her to come in.

Using both hands, the petite girl turned the large cogwheel and pried the door open. Identical to last time, she peered into his room, took one cautious step in and hesitantly called out,

“You’ve requested my assistance, Prince Zuko?”

Mindful of the eye, Lila discreetly pushed some hair and hid it from view. The reaction of the men before told Lila it’d be better to keep her disability hidden if it was that distracting.

“Yes, come quickly. I want to be ready by the time we reach the southern water tribe.”

Judging from the clam raspy tone of voice, Lila concluded that The Prince wasn’t angry and carefully entered, closing the door behind her.

Near his meditation table, Prince Zuko stood like any fire nation soldier would with the usual scowl on his lips. As Lila inched in front of him she could already see that the straps holding his fire nation armor together were tied in all the wrong places. Being alone and in such close proximity to the brooding prince, Lila felt her nerves begin to quake. No way did she want a repeat of last time, anxiety sprouting from her chest. The tension was palpable in the room. The lack of conversation didn’t help either as she thought of what Prince Zuko and his men might do to the people living in that tribe. Though she’s never been to the northern or southern water tribe, they were still her mother’s people, thus making them part of her kin.

“Will they do what the fire nation did to my village, too? We didn’t even have the Avatar either and they still ravaged my village.”

In an attempt to silence her thoughts, Lila gingerly grabbed the chords holding the chest piece of his armor together and set to work. Her eyes trained solely on his battle wear. Cautious of her injury Lila made sure to keep her finger from touching him. Any bump or jostle hurt. Though her fingers, minus her pointer, were moving, her mind remained on the tribe's native people.

Zuko looked straight ahead as the shaky but lithe digits of the servant – Lila, was it? - untied and retied the straps in the correct places. The reason why he called for her specifically was that he figured she’d know how to do this from her years of servitude at the palace. Before his banishment, before that fateful day. As thoughts of his family started to prod the strongholds of his mind, Prince Zuko didn’t see Lila peek up at him from the side of his shoulder until he heard her low voice fill the thick quiet of his room.

“What’re you going to do to them?”

Like an arrow, sharp and precise, prince Zuko’s stare shot to her own, making Lila’s eyes widened in surprise. She expected him to be looking straight ahead if he were to answer her.

Breaking eye contact with him, Lila looked down and closed her blinded eye desperately hoping he didn’t see it as she went to fix the strings behind him. Erratic. That’s how Lila’s heartbeat felt. But yes, Zuko fully saw the milky hue of her eye. He too had a similar reaction like the three men, but not one of distaste or disgust. Just surprise, but he soon discarded what the feeling once he processed what she asked.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern, servant.”

Cold with an edge of warning. That’s all Lila could sense wrapped around his heated words. Especially when he said her name. Now onto the left shoulder greave, Lila peeked at him again. He was looking straight ahead, his face taut with contemplation? Lila couldn’t tell. With a beat of hesitation, she licked her lips. She could already tell he was beginning to lose patience. If she were to say another word, she didn’t doubt he’d snap. Her brain was telling her not to say anything, she was walking on thin ice that was melting fast, but her mouth felt differently.

“May I speak Prince Zuko?”

“No, you may not. Finish fixing this and go. I don’t need to hear what you have to say,” Prince Zuko snapped in restraint.

All while arguing with herself, Lila moved to squat in front of him and began tying the laces of his shin guards. She did not want to witness another fire nation attack on any village again, especially when innocent people are involved. Though she felt if she were to talk out of turn, prince Zuko would surely lose his patience and probably punish her. Besides, what could someone like her do, realistically? No one has ever listened to her. She has no voice, but still. They are my people, too. I have to try.

Opening and closing her mouth Lila fought to push the words out.

“The water tribe did nothing-”

Unnaturally warm hands cut through her sentence and seized her wrists as she was forcefully pulled up from the floor and against Prince Zuko’s armor-clad form. Strands of curls unintentionally tangling in his grasp. Chest to chest, with Zuko holding her wrists and hair between them, he glared down at Lila. Fear radiated off her body in waves. She felt way too exposed without her eye patch and a dull ache throbbed from her finger when her hands bumped against his armor. White and brown eyes flickered between golden ones before looking around the room to avoid his stare, but to no avail. Calloused fingers laced with hair firmly, but not painfully, gripped her jaw turning her face to his, thumb pressing into her cheek.

Patience completely evaporated, Prince Zuko ground out, “I told you not to speak, didn’t I?”

With shuddering breaths and petrified eyes, Lila could only nod faintly. Paralyzed by his overwhelming build the words on her tongue melted, sliding down her throat. Releasing her jaw, Prince Zuko let go of her wrists, strands of hair snagging on his fingers as he dropped his hand. Lila winced from the sudden plucks of her curls. Shaking the hair off he rubbed the bridge of his nose, shut his weary eyes and sighed,

“Finish the last shin guard and leave.”

No reply came from the young girl as she dropped and tied the shin greave. A slight tremor in her hands. Once she was done she stood up with her head hanging low.

“I’ve finished Prince Zuko, do you require anything else before I go?”

“No.”

Long hair cascaded over her shoulders as Lila bowed. Rising back up she somehow managed to calmly exit the prince’s quarters, his eyes narrowing on her retreating form the whole time. With the loud thud of his metal door closing, both Lila and Prince Zuko let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding.

Lila had half a mind to go to uncle Iroh’s room and talk with him about what his nephew was planning to do. Talk with him about how the Prince was nothing like what Iroh describes him as but decided against it since he was most likely napping. It was hard for her to believe there was kindness in the Prince’s heart when all she’s ever seen from him was anger and rage. You could see his brutality and hate in the way he bended, too. Once she exited the command tower the sun was still hanging onto the horizon, waiting for someone to look at what it created, but a thick mist now covered the expanse of the water the ship navigated. When out of the blue, loud crackling emanated below the ship. Lila ran to the front and hunched over the edge of the railing to see what was going on.

Squinting through the mist, she saw the ship’s hull was no longer sailing on water but breaking and cracking through solid ice. Snapping her head up Lila saw the ground splitting toward the water tribe’s village! One large jagged fault traveling right through the middle of it. Prince Zuko’s ship rammed through the iced floor like it were a piece of paper. Lila couldn’t help but panic internally, they were coming extremely close to the water tribe!

“If this ship doesn’t stop we’re going to run right through!” she gasped in horror.

From what she could see in the vapory haze, the southern water tribe was quaint. A wall made of snow circled the tribe, acting as a barricade. Small igloos littered within. From behind, the sound of the Prince and his men’s shoes clanked across the deck toward the front of the ship, preparing to disembark. Anxiety, fear, and apprehension swirled within her. This scene hitting way too close to home for her liking. She never signed up for this, well she didn’t sign up for this at all, but still. The three years she’s been on this ship she never really thought about what capturing the avatar looked like or being there to see it. All Lila knew was she didn’t like where this was headed at all. The prospect of the past repeating itself right before her eyes scared her.

When she turned to watch them pass Lila’s eyes caught prince Zuko’s for a brief moment. Again, he found nervousness swimming in her stare, and again, he didn’t care.

Finally, the ship came to a halt with an ominous screech. Powerless, Lila watched with bated breath. Her eyes flitting between the native people down below and Prince Zuko’s men. She swore her heart was going to pop out of her chest from how hard it was pounding it almost hurt. Suddenly the hull of the ship dropped, turning into a makeshift ramp, a loud thud resonating in the air. The ship's metal easily overpowered the tribe's barrier, the snow crumbling as it gave into its weight.

Faintly Lila could hear a feminine voice yelling for someone to get out of the way. The shrill scream making Lila’s heart drop and then kick up in speed, assuming the worst. It felt like her feet were bolted to the floor as she helplessly watched the Prince and his firebenders disembark the ship. Visibly shaking, Lila leaned over the front of the ship again to see, legs feeling like they were going to give out any moment.

From her spot, she could see Prince Zuko and his guards disembarking and a young water tribe boy with war paint coating his tanned skin, belt out a war-like cry as he charged up the ramp at Prince Zuko. The boy’s weapon of choice, a water tribe club, raised high over his head. He was easily overtaken. Lila winced when the Prince’s leg side swept the boy's club out of his hand, then kicked him in the face, sending the boy flying off the side of the ramp and into the snow. Lila could hear Iroh’s voice in the back of her head talking about how he knew his nephew wasn’t as corrupted as his other family members, but what she was seeing now proved otherwise. He was unlike what Iroh always tried to tell her. The Prince was brutal.

Zuko continued walking down the ship as if nothing happened. His steps were powerful and determined. The people of the tribe huddled up in one big group, trepidation and terror embedded in all of their blue eyes. With the men of the village off to war, Zuko was unsurprised to see the ones that remained were the women and children, except for the war-painted boy if you’d count him as a man. However, the longer no one spoke the more time was wasted in capturing the Avatar. The silence was so tense Lila felt it up on the ship. Zuko stopped in front of the crowd, his eyes sizing up each woman and child until his glare stopped on this one girl holding onto the arm of an elderly lady.

“Where are you hiding him?”

When no one spoke, both Lila and the young girl gasped when the banished Prince roughly pulled the elderly lady from the girl’s grasp.

“He’d be about this age? Master of all four elements?” Zuko demanded, shaking the woman by her for emphasis.

Again, no one answered him, they were all stunned in silence and fright. After a beat of quiet, Prince Zuko carelessly shoves the old woman back into the young girl’s arms. Both water tribe women gasping. Lila watches worriedly, praying up above that this village will be spared from the fire nation’s fury. Even from the ship, Lila saw the Prince tense up in frustration and knew what he was going to do next and whispered “no,” as he launched a wave of fire inches above the villager's heads. The women and children screamed and cowered before him.

“I know you’re hiding him!”

Below her, Lila saw the water tribe boy free himself from the snowy confines he was kicked into, the majority of his face free of paint as he picked up his club and ran at Zuko once more with another loud battle cry. At the last second, Zuko turned toward the annoyingly loud boy and dodges the boy’s attack, flipping him over his head when he swiped at the Prince. When he hit the ground Zuko punched another blistering fireball at him. Luckily, the tanned boy gathers himself rolling away from the blast, swiftly retrieving a boomerang that was strapped to his back and throws it at the Fire Lord’s son. It surprised both Lila and Zuko with how fast and strong he threw it, the air whistling as it narrowly missed the Prince’s face. Even where Lila was standing the boomerang would’ve whacked her in the face if she didn’t duck in time. All the while her eye followed the boomerang’s path. The boy was stronger than he looked.

“Even without bending,” Lila hopefully thought, “he’s handling himself well against the Prince. Maybe…this village won’t be ransacked.”

A growl erupts from the Crown Prince’s throat before he can shoot more fire at the irritating boy who just won’t quit, a little water tribe child cries out,

“Show no fear!” Throwing a fishing spear made of bone at his opponent. Again, he charged at Zuko, the spear positioned like he was going to run him through, but the Prince was prepared. “He lacks training,” Zuko gathered, easily breaking the spear in half with his wrist guards. He then snatched the bone rod from the boy’s hands, poking him repeatedly in the head with the butt of it until he fell on his bottom, and broke it in half again before throwing it to the ground.

On the ship, Lila’s eye followed the boomerang as it curled back around and headed back to the owner who threw it. With her eyes still on the weapon, she gradually turned and watched it spin at dizzying speed before it slammed into the back of Prince Zuko’s helmet with a loud thwack. Her eyebrows quirked in surprise as she wondered if the water tribe boy planned for that to happen, but her face fell when she saw the Prince standing menacingly over the boy’s fallen form. Fire jet out from his tightly clenched fists, the orange embers creating a dagger-like weapon.  

For a moment, Lila feared for what Prince Zuko would do to him, but surprise quickly overtook her as another younger boy, maybe about twelve or so, with a bald head and peculiar clothing zoomed through the middle of the fight out of nowhere riding on the back of a penguin. In the child’s hands was a staff as the penguin flew right under Zuko’s feet, sweeping his legs out from under him. The young servant girl gasped when the Prince fell over, the village children cheering for the child all the while. The said child sped past the kids sending up a wave of snow splattering them all in the face, their cheers ceasing for a moment at the unexpected smattering, but continued yelling anyway. At this point, as much as Lila was concerned over the fate of the water tribe, she didn’t know if it was morally okay for her to laugh at the ridiculousness of what just happened.

Still, relief filled her heart knowing that Prince Zuko’s plan of capturing the Avatar wasn’t going according to plan. No village, town, citadel, or nation should be destroyed in finding the Avatar. Her heart and mind were conflicted. Although she did want the Prince’s banishment to end, she didn’t think this was the right way of doing it. She remembered the stories her father told her about Fire Lord Sozin killing all the airbenders to find and end the Avatar cycle.

Briefly, Lila faintly heard the kid happily greet the boy and girl, their names being ‘Katara’ and ‘Sokka’, with Sokka dryly thanking the child, who she heard him call ‘Aang’, for coming. Lila’s eyes flicker between Prince Zuko and Aang, both of them assuming a defensive fighting stance as Zuko’s men circle Aang, closing in on him. Suddenly the kid swings his staff, and with each swing, he sends snow at the guards blowing them away. With the Prince being the last one standing Aang sends another blast of snow at him, but he was unmoved, uncle Iroh’s firebending lessons paying off.

“Looking for me?”

Processing everything the child managed to do in under ten seconds, Lila’s brows furrowed. He managed to disarm and beat all of Prince Zuko’s men like it was nothing just by throwing snow at them. At first, she thought he was a waterbender but he didn’t move like one. His fighting style was different from what her mother tried to teach her and different from what she’s seen earthbenders and firebenders do. It was unlike anything she’s ever seen. On top of that, the arrow on his head and the unusual choice of clothing he wore was vastly unfamiliar from the clothes in her hometown and the fire nation. Her eyes widened in realization. No, this child couldn’t be- Prince Zuko voiced her incredulity, the snow Aang bent at him melting off his shoulders and fists, “You’re the airbender? You’re the Avatar?”

~

A/N: OKAYYYYY!!! Just so you know I want you guys to keep Zuko’s “Contemplation?” face in mind. There’s a few things I want you guys to catch in part 2. Sorry if it was slow paced. I hope you enjoyed it and please excuse any grammatical errors. Have a blessed day! Chapter three may come later cuz I have a zuko request I want to write!

Taglist (If i missed anyone PLEASE let me know :))

@bangtanboyswriting123 @bookedforevermore @agentsofblinks @lilmou5ie @eury-dice3 @shephard17895 @duh-dobrik @yourlivewire @luleck @oraclebirds

[doritopaw101]

Arc1, book 2: Chapter: 10

It had been two weeks since the death of Brokenstar and the exile of his followers. Shadowclan was rebuilding, they weren't completely back to normal but they were doing their best. Best they could considering the circumstances.

'Once they are at their best, they'll be back to picking fights with us in no time' Icefire thought. They remembered hearing the news that Marshshadow had went to the moonstone and was grated nine lives and became Marshstar making Blazefang her deputy.

It was more shocking when they came to see his kits, Badgerfang in tow:

-Flashback-

"How do you feel sweetie?" Icefire said softly, keeping his kit nicly wrapped in his warmth

"My chest hurts" Bearkit whimpered

Icefire licked his daughter softly "I know dear, I wish I can take it away and make it better"

Bearkit nuzzled into his fur "I love you"

Icefire felt his heart warm "I love you too my little cub"

"Icefire" Thymeroot mewed "That's enough" the black tom looked just as sad as Icefire did

He gave Bearkit one last lick "Get some rest dear"

Thymeroot brushed herself against his flank as he left, it was a comforting as she could in this situation. Icefire quickly made their way to the nursery but was suprised when he bumped into Graystripe, even more so when he caught the faint scent of Silverstream and Silvertide.

"What did I say about the scent?" Icefire lowly hissed. Only relaxing when he figured Willowpelt was asleep. The Riverclan scent was faint but Icefire was not taking chances.

"Silverstream distracted me" Graystripe replied, lashing her thick tail

"Mouse-brain, even pregnant he has that on the brain" Icefire rolled his eyes "We're having a talk later" he pulled a mewling Flamekit closer to his belly to nurse.

"You're not any better"

"Shut it" he grabbed some lavender from his nest that Nettlemist left "Here, wear it"

Graystripe did just that. She perked up "Uh...Icefire?"

Icefire drew his tongue away from Violetkit "What?"

"I smell Shadowclan"

Icefire shot up, his tail wrapping around his litter.

Nettlemist and Embereyes poked their heads in. "Icefire?" Nettlemist looked hesitant

"Why do I smell Shadowclan?"

"Marshshadow, Blazefang, and Badgerfang are here for you and your...kits" Embereyes replied "They'd like to enter the nursery but would rather you come out to them"

Icefire curled his lip and was about to demand they come here but he glanced at Goldenflower and Frostbite. Goldenflower was protectively hovering over Waspkit and Hornetkit and Frostbite looked ready to kill anyone who'd dare harm her newborns, Snowykit, Whitekit, and Lightkit.

"Fine," he nosed his kits upward "Help me carry them, Goldenflower could you watch Sunnykit, Rosekit, and Shrikekit?"

Goldenflower nodded "Of course"

Icefire picked up Violetkit while Embereyes grabbed Flamekit and Nettlemist grabbed Cloudkit. He spotted the three Shadowclan cats near the leader's den, Bluestar and Redtail close by with Yellowfang not to far off looking like she was making small talk with his daughters and grandson.

He set Violetkit firmly between his paws "Hello Marshshadow" no point in trying to be nice in his opinion

"Marshstar" she corrected "I've gotten my nine lives from Starclan and Blazefang is my deputy, you look well Icebelly"

Icefire nodded "It's Icefire now" he only really moving his tail when Flamekit and Cloudkit were sent down in it.

"They're adorable Icefire" Badgerfang commented

"Isn't one missing?" Blazefang asked "Cubkit was it?"

"Bearkit and she's ill and why does that matter?" Icefire growled, he glanced at Marshshadow's chest "What's with the necklage?"

Marshshadow glanced at Bluestar "Did you not teach him the necklace traditions of the clans? The golden ones? The flower ones?"

"I understand the golden and flower ones" Icefire snapped "What's with the vine with the rock in the middle?"

"It's a piece of the moonstone Icefire, I wear it for two moons after I receive my lives from Starclan" Marshstar's tone was fierce whether she meant to or not

"Whatever, all collars to me" Icefire replied with a roll of his eyes "Why are you here and not dealing with your clan and fixing it back up?"

"I've been doing checks on all of Brokentail's offspring, he's being held away from our camp, blind, and heavily guarded" she lowered her head slightly "they are my kin too Icefire"

"I'm well aware Marshstar, Flamekit looks just like Blazefang" Icefire drawled "Why don't you say what you're really here for and not waste time?"

Marshstar sighed "I worry for the kits sired by Brokentail here in Thunderclan, maybe it would be best if they were raised in Shadowclan with their kin"

"So you want to take my kits from me?" he hissed, pulling his kits closer to his belly "I blind and take one of the basturd's lives and this is the thanks I get" he flashed his golden tooth a bit

"That's not what we're saying Icefire" Badgerfang mewed softly "We're concerned for their well-being"

"We don't think Thunderclan is right for them especially the two kits that take after Brokenstar in appearance from what I'm told are Bearkit and Violetkit" Blazefang said bluntly, her gaze was on the kits

He glanced at Yellowfang who wore an emotionless look. Icefire then glanced at Bluestar and Redtail "And you two agree with this?"

"Until proved otherwise Icefire, this is your call and only yours" Bluestar stated, tail-tip twitching "I'll stand by the whatever choice you make"

"Yellowfang?"

"Make your choice kit, not my say" the older molly said, her voice calm

"Redtail?"

"Laws for half-clan kits state that the dam's clan gets priority especially for cases where rape was involved" Redtail said, his ginger tail lashing "It was designed to protect the victim" Redtail stared down at Marshstar "Is there something you're trying to say about the law Marshstar?"

Marshstar bared her fangs "I approve the law of protecting the victims Redtail" she stated firmly "However, cats can be short-sighted and no kits should suffer because of the sins of the parent" she took a small step "Dewflare had another litter before she left and even for the litter she had before, I'm doing my best to make sure they won't be blamed for what their parents did"

Icefire thought of how Beepaw, Roachpaw, and Flypaw were adjusting to this new life style after having the clan at their paws before. They had Dewflare's love, attention and care, what he never got, what he got was being misgendered, raped and insulted. He knew he shouldn't resent them but at the same time, what did they have they he didn't to even Dewflare's love.

"They are still nursing"

"We have some queens who'll nurse them, Fernshade has offered"

"No" Icefire lashed his tail "They are my kits, they aren't leaving me just because of your pathetic concerns"

"Icefire" Blazefang barked "This isn't about you and what you want, it's about the kits and what they need to live normal lives"

"They are too young, how about you let them decide when they're older" Icefire growled

"How old?" Marshstar questioned

"Four or five moons is the standard" Redtail stated "They'll be sent for a moon and see how they fair there"

"One moon in our camp can compare to the other moons here?" Blazefang countered

"Like the laws say, the dam gets priority" Redtail replied, seemingly bored of the conversation "You act like they kits sire was this great cat that should equal chance and not the monster that raped an apprentice"

Blazefang growled but Badgerfang nudged her "Don't"

"You didn't do the standard" Marshstar mewed, her gaze on Bluestar "You gave them up to Riverclan when they were three moons correct?"

"It was a harsh leaf-bare with little food, Stonefur and Mistyfoot would have died otherwise, this is leaf-bare as well, quite honestly Marshstar they shouldn't leave til there apprentice age"

"Why'd you give them to Riverclan then?"

"I don't have to explain any of my choices to you" Bluestar replied, her voice cool "You're on the way of being chased from my camp with your tails between your legs"

"Marshstar stop" Badgerfang advised "It's better than nothing, take it cause I'm assuming that's all Icefire's offering, right?"

Icefire nodded "Glad to see you know me well Badgerfang"

-Flashback ends-

He had time to calm down, sparing with Bluestar did wonders. It would be at four moons they would go to Shadowclan and at six moons, they would decide.

He's honestly just fine knowing Brokentail was overthrown and wouldn't hurt anyone ever again. He felt more free than he'd ever been. His name change fit him honestly. It helped the fierce feeling he held since taking down Brokentail and Clawface. It the moment he requested for a golden tooth and was granted.

Larkpaw and Seedpaw received their warrior names the day after the battle: Larkwing and Seedspots. Lichenpaw and Smokepaw had showed enough skill to earn their warrior names: Lichenstrike and Smokefur. It was honestly amusing watching Lichenstrike try to beat Sandstorm, she managed after a while. He's pretty sure Chestnutclaw only went easy because Bluestar was watching.

Marigoldpaw's training was given over to Sandstorm since Nettlemist expressed that with more warriors, he wasn't needed and Marigoldpaw deserved better training, Sandstorm was all too happy to gain another apprentice especially her little cousin.

Icefire carried his rabbit over to the fresh-kill pile, Lichenstrike carrying her shrew.

"How's Cinderpaw?" the golden molly asked as she dropped her catch

"Doing well the last I heard from Deadfoot" Icefire replied "They're improving well, should be back soon but it'll take time"

Lichenstrike smiled "I'm glad"

"As am I" the voice was of a cat he'd been avoiding since Cinderpaw's accident, Mossthorn. He didn't want to face their wrath, using any excuse to not be in camp.

Icefire kept his eyes on the ground, his nerves growing knowing Mossthorn's stare was on him.

"Lichenstrike, why don't you go find Sandstorm or Smokefur?"

Lichenstrike sounded nervous but obeyed "Okay"

Icefire refused to lift their head, Mossthorn did it for him "I'm not mad at you Icefire"

he snorted plainly "You should be"

"Did you push Cinderpaw on the Thunderpath?" they asked

"Of course not!"

"Then I have no right to be mad at you"

Icefire finally met Mossthorn's gaze, there was nothing but calmness and concern.

"They've been doing alright, it could've been alot worse"

"I know" Icefire mewed

"How's Bearkit?"

Icefire sighed "Not any better, Tulipkit's joined her, they need food"

Mossthorn rested their tail on his back in comfort

"I'm scared" he admitted "What if she..."

"Do you trust your healers?"

"With my life, I just don't want to lose her, I'm trying so hard to be better than Dewflare and here I am dumping them on Brindleface cause I just couldn't sit still"

"They love you Icefire" Mossthorn mewed "They've said so proudly, Brindleface doesn't mind from what I've seen"

Icefire flicked his tail "Don't know why they're proud of me"

"You're doing great and I'm sure Goldenflower or Frostbite would've told you if you did something wrong in parenting"

"Like what Robinwing does?"

"Especially that" Willowpelt hissed "I had to nurse Ravenkit when Rosetail couldn't"

Icefire snorted "Thanks Willowpelt"

"Anytime" the pale gray queen replied "You're doing fine Icefire, better than I did when I had Darkstripe"

"Is he a kit of Leopardstorm or Tiger-roar?"

Willowpelt shook her head "Archeye of Shadowclan, not the first time the clan disapporved of me, if it wasn't my blood it was my choice of mate"

"Blood?"

"I'm not clanborn, raised alongside Redtail and Spottedleaf by Ambershine and Torndust, blood means nothing"

"Ain't that the truth" Icefire smirked

A sudden yowl made Icefire, Willowpelt, and Mossthorn jump. The yowl came from the nursery, Brindleface's yowl.

Icefire rushed over to the nursery entrance "Brindleface, what's wrong?"

"Ashkit, Fernkit, and Cloudkit are missing!" they said franticly

Icefire's heart dropped "What?" he looked around "Where did they go?"

"I don't know" Brindleface replied "I had them all down for a nap and closed my eyes for a bit then they were gone"

Icefire looked around the den, he spotted a kit sized hole near his nest "They left through here" he called "We have to find them"

"What's going on?" Brackenpaw mewed

"I heard yelling" Lynxpaw added

"Cloudkit, Fernkit, and Ashkit are missing, can you two help me find them?"

Brackenpaw and Lynxpaw nodded

He and the apprentices quickly headed for the entrance to camp, knocking past Robinwing and Larkwing.

"Icefire!" Sandstorm called "Wait up, I want to find them too"

"Keep up slug" they snapped "It's snowing"

The snow was getting thicker and thicker as they trud through it. Icefire ignored the snow pushing into his face, he had to find the kits.

"Why would they leave in the first place?" Brackenpaw asked

"I don't know" Sandstorm said "Why did they have to chose now to go missing"

"And Cloudkit's white so it'll be even harder to find him" Lynxpaw realized "I can barely see you Icefire"

"Focus on any moment" he said "Anything"

He felt his pads scarp rocks, he ignored the inevitable blood. He had to stop for a moment to get his barings. He spotted movement near a tree, a vole. A sudden ball of white pounced on it.

"Cloudkit!" he called rushing over to his son

"Icefire, badger!" He ignored Sandstorm's yowl, his kit was the only thought in his mind. The badger, large for one appeared out of no where and rush at Cloudkit. He slammed into the badger head on, taking the bite meant for his son.

"Lynxpaw!" he hissed as he tried to free himself from the badger's hold

"I got him" she replied

He saw Sandstorm leap on the badger's back, biting with enough force that the badger opened its jaws. Icefire struck the badger across the muzzle as soon as he was free, Brackenpaw rush forward and bit into the badger's neck. The badger roared with pain from all sides, the black and white creature bucked up suddenly throwing Sandstorm off and threw a swing at Brackenpaw earning a painful yowl from the golden brown tom.

The badger seems to have enough and ran for it, shoving past a bleeding Brackenpaw.

Icefire rushed over to the injured apprentice "Brackenpaw? Are okay? Can you walk?"

"My paw hurts" he replied, he slowly go to his paws "I think I can walk?"

"Lynxpaw?" Sandstorm called

"I'm with the kits" The golden and black apprentice replied, the three kits safely under her, Cloudkit had the vole in his mouth

"Good" Icefire mewed as he padded over "Are you three injured?"

The kits shook their heads.

"Let's get you three back to camp" he glanced at Sandstorm "Sandstorm, help me carry them. Lynxpaw, help Brackenpaw"

Lynxpaw nodded and padded over and help her fellow peer stand up.

"Cloudkit, cling to my pelt" Icefire mewed

His son nodded, his jaws shut to keep his vole from falling. Icefire picked up Ashkit while Sandstorm picked up Fernkit. The group quietly made their way back to camp.

"Ashkit! Fernkit!" Brindleface cried as they ran over "I was so worried"

"Papa!" Icefire heard his other kits mew

He placed Ashkit down and let Cloudkit climb down to his sisters.

Bluestar padded forward, a stern expression on her face "Why did you three leave camp? Did you know how worried you drove your parnets?"

"We wanted to help Bearkit and Tulipkit" Fernkit mewed

"They needed food" Cloudkit added, holding up his vole "We got it"

Bluestar sighed "You three had good intentions but you worried the clan when you disappeared and you could have frozen to death" she glanced at the vole "You did well catching this and I'll allow you to give it to Bearkit and Tulipkit however you three will take care of the elders for a while"

"Okay" they said

"Brackenpaw!" Lionheart rushed over to nuzzle his son "What happened to your paw?"

"It's fine dad" the apprentice growled "The badger got me while I was helping Icefire and Sandstorm"

Lionheart rounded on Icefire "Badger?"

"Lionheart" Bluestar warned

Icefire fought not to flinch with that intense stare "We found the kits, turns out we got there just i time"

"Who's idea was it to go out in the first place?" Lionheart asked

"Mine" Cloudkit mewed proudly "Papa taught us to follow our gut when helping others"

"How fitting" Lionheart sneered, he whipped back at Icefire "So this all your fault"

Icefire gaped "How is this my fault?"

"Who taught this roach that 'follow your gut' was a good idea? Certainly not Brindleface"

"Don't call my son a roach" Icefire hissed "and I never told him to go out of camp"

"Might as well have and you just had to take my son and niece with you"

"I never forced them to go with me" Icefire hissed

"It's true, me and Lynxpaw wanted to help" Brackenpaw added

"Don't defend this curse Brackenpaw, this cat should've never been allowed in the clan to begin with"

"Lionheart" Bluestar growled

"I'm right Bluestar" Lionheart retorted "Ever since he came here, we've lost Thrushpelt, Featherwhisker, Sweetheart, Rosetail, Spottedleaf, Cricketsong, Dappletail, Adderkit, Leapkit, and why did Palepaw die?" he hissed "Because Brokenstar wanted the kits Icefire bore-"

"I didn't-"

"Quiet" Lionheart hissed

"Lionheart" Leoaprdstorm growled "Stop talking"

"No and I'm not the only one who thinks this. He's nothing but a curse with the death he brings and the brood his kitted"

"Lionheart" Bluestar hissed even louder than before

"No, he's an awful cursed little worm who attacked Graystripe the night before he entered the clan and his a horrible father, pawning his kits on poor Brindleface, news flash Icepaw if you didn't want to care for them you should've gave them to Marshstar"

"Give kits to the clan of the sire who raped him?" Mossthorn snapped

"Spottedleaf was killed because of him, in my opinion he deserved-" Lionheart was cut off when Tiger-roar hit him across the face

"Take a walk you heartless mouse-heart"

/

"Are we taking it back or just passing by?" Icefire asked Redtail. This was the frist patrol he had been on in the last three days. He gave Brindleface a break despite their protests. He only really left camp because Tiger-roar convinced him, the older tom had been one of the only cats to keep him sane.

"Leaf-bare is almost over but it isn't gone, we need as much prey as possible" Redtail replied "No more skin and bones"

"Those fish-faces don't deserve it if they are just going to lay on it all day" Amberpaw added

"They just waste it honestly" Ebonypaw mewed

"Let's make this quick and simple" Tiger-roar advised, tail-tip twitching "We don't want more death"

"Or look like cowards" Nightshade growled "Not like Thrushpelt, at least Rosetail could get things done" She spat out Thushpelt's name like bile.

"Of course not" Amberpaw mewed, rolling her eyes "Redtail knows what he's doing"

Redtail raised his ginger tail for silence. Icefire saw a Riverclan patrol coming over. Oakjaw was leading it, he saw Suneyes, Leopardclaw, Mudbelly, Condorpaw, Lakepaw, Vixentail,Grasswhisker, and Frogleap.

Redtail padded to the edge of the slope they were standing on. "These lands belong to Thunderclan" he spoke loud and proud, no sign of fear.

"That's a laugh" Suneyes cackled

"R..Redtail we're outnumbered" Smokypaw stuttered

Redtail seemed to ignore all replies "Stand down it will not end well for you"

Oakjaw's ears were pinned to his head "Never" he hissed

"Death is their wish" Amberpaw drawled

Redtail walked to the patrol, they made way for him. The tortie stopped and turned back and hissed "Thunderclan attack!"

They all obeyed.

Icefire bit into Grasswhisker's shoulder and dug his claws into the tabby's shoulder. He tossed the fish-dung like bones. Sending the tom tumbling to the side, sliding with the mud. Amberpaw pounced, Grasswhisker bit the tortioseshell molly's ear and began another brawl.

While his sense of hearing went through the sky with horrid ringing sounds, his sense of feel didn't change. He stepped to the side, Condorpaw hit the ground face first, his upper half skidding with the mud with his lower half in the air.

Icefire smirked as he pinned the fellow albino down. "Not bad" Icefire chuckled "But you'll have to do better than that Condorpaw"

Condorpaw coughed "Not my fault my eyes were acting up" the younger tom was slashing his back legs with his lower claws. He didn't really hurt.

"Excuses Excuses" he purred, he'll admit he likes to toy with his opponents, Condorpaw was no different. He got off him "Go"

Condorpaw nodded and dashed away into the fray. Vixentail was fighting Ebonypawpaw. Leopardclaw and Nightshade were locked. Tiger-roar was in a brawl with Lakepaw Suneyes, and Mudbelly.

Icebelly spotted Redtail and Oakjaw dooking it out. Oakjaw had Redtail pinned down at one point "Give up Redtail"

"Never" the tortie tom spat

"Just as stubborn as your leader" Oakjaw growled

As Icefire struck Frogleap across the nose, he noticed a large rock start to fall towards the deputies. He rushed as fast as he could to warn them but it seemed Oakjaw noticed as well. The gray tom's throat had been slashed open but with the last of his energy she shoved Redtail out of the way. The loud screech of pain and crack of bones rang through the clearing.

Icefire went to Redtail's side, the tortie's wounds looked deep. "Redtail?"

Redtail stared at the rocks that had Oakjaw buried underneath. "I cut through his throat and yet he-". Redtail stood up with a jolt "We're ending this now"

Icefire followed Redtail as the deputy leaped up on a smooth but long rock. "Oakjaw is dead!"

The Riverclan cats froze at the news. "Retreat!" Leopardclaw called

The patrol cheered as they watched Riverclan retreat.

"Everyone head back to camp" Redtail mewed, he was still on the rocks, close to the water. His paw looked broken

"I'll help him to camp" Tiger-roar sighed

"You'll need the help with that stuborn cat" Nightshade added

"We should have a feast" Amberpaw purred

"I get the squirrels" Ebonypaw laughed racing the tortie back to camp. Most of the patrol following. He followed close behind the apprentices eager to return to his kits but Icefire had a feeling, Raveneye wasn't with them and seeing Goosefeather gazing to the direction of Sunningrocks definitely added to that. He doubled back to Sunningrocks, well as fast as he could with a limp leg.

He saw Redtail but he also saw Tiger-roar and Nightshade, they said they were going to help him. It remined him all too well of Thrushpelt's death, he wouldn't put it past Suneyes to have been the one to kill him.

He spotted Raveneye close by but said nothing.

"That was awesome, didn't need help either" Redtail purred

"Only because you had me,Icefire, and Tiger-roar to back ya'll up" Nightshade hissed, she wasn't exactly wrong. Tiger-roar and Nightshade were Thunderclan's best warriors beside their sister, Chestnutclaw, and Icefire apparently. Some cats could argue he was giving Tiger-roar a run for his name.

"That was reckless Redtail how could you even agree that was a good idea when we were outnumbered and the apprentices could have died" Tiger-roar's lip curled in a snarl.

"We won but at the cost of death" Redtail replied "Oakjaw, he saved my life"

Nightshade unsheathed her claws, her green eyes narrowed "What a waste"

"Tiger-roar? Nightshade? what is this?" Redtail growled

"Just as the stars told" Goosefeather mewed in his ear

"You plague this clan, too soft" Nightshade spat the last part like a hairball

"I'm the true leader of this clan, I won't make it soft" Tiger-roar added, his long front claws out "You get a choice, leave or fight"

Icefire's felt his heart drop, another cat with lies, how could he have been so stupid?

"Leave?" Redtail said like these two cats were crazy

"I'll get Pouncepaw, Amberpaw, and Lightpaw for you Redtail, just leave and don't come back" Nightshade mewed, she was closer to the tortie.

"Make your move Redtail" Tiger-roar said simply "I will become deputy of this clan, by any means nessasary"

Redtail seemed to be realizing something when his amber eyes widen in shock and horror "You two planned Thrushpelt and Rosetail's deaths didn't you?"

"Smart"

Redtail's eyes narrowed "He was your brother! He helped raise you as did Rosetail"

"Prices have to be made for greatness" Tiger-roar said, he started circling the tortie tom "Come on Redtail, you know you won't win"

"What will happen?"

"The deputy spot in free and I or Nightshade will be picked"

"And if Bluestar chooses someone else?"

"They will be 'dealt' with" Nightshade sneered "Tick tock Redtail, wouldn't want to end up like Thushpelt or Featherwhisker"

"What do you mean by that he killed himse... you two killed him with a snake?!"

Tiger-roar laughed "I applaud you Redatail"

Redtail noticed Icefire and Raveneye for a moment but said nothing about it. "Starclan may take me but you will never win" Icefire knew Redtail was telling him and Raveneye to avenge his death. Redtail launched himself at Tiger-roar. Leaping onto the great tabby's back, going for the neck. Nightshade bit into the tortie's leg and threw Redtail off. The dark brown tabby grabbed the tortie with one powerful arm, dragging Redtail across the rocks. He slashed Redtail's throat with ease.

Redtail wheezed as blood gushed out but then something more rotten happened.

Nightshade shoved Redtail off the rocks causing Redtail to fall into the river. He heard Redtail's low screech as he was being washed away. He hoped Redtail died from his throat wound before he hit any rocks. He knew why Nightshade did that, no blame could be placed if Redtail fell into the river.

Icefire had flicked a bush with his tail in his panic. Tiger-roar raised his head, Raveneye slammed Icefire down. The two crouched low and began moving, as soon as they could they ran as fast as they could back to camp.

Blackfoot saw the rise and fall of Russetfur's pelt as she breathed. He slowly padded into the nursery, it looking clean and soothing than it had in the past moons under Brokentail's rule, it took him back of his own kithood. He saw Dawncloud curled up with Ratkit and Snowkit resting near her head and Cloudykit and Hemlock-kit asleep in her tail.

His eldest, Foggyclaw was already dozing off. Her belly plump with one of the last litters Brokenstar would sire. Aside from her, Goldenmint, Marshstar, Blossomhaze, were the last cats to bare any of Brokenstar's kits, the clan only really knew that because Blossomhaze had been keeping track. Dewflare's new litter: Adderkit and Fangkit were being nursed by Fernshade with her own kit, Ravenkit.

He knew Blazefang would rather forget that her own brother had no problem mating with her but she had the evidence forever with the birth of her son, Timberkit. The tom was small for a kit, he was missing a front leg and was sickly. Not like Marshstar could forget either, still expecting and dreading the birth.

He didn't think he'd have kits again since bringing Elderpaw to the clan but things happen. He had a new litter to worry about. His and Russetfur's. He slowly rested a dark paw on her side "How are you?"

"Sore from being on rat duty" She replied, her nicked ear twitched "Your daughter and son have been causing a ruckus, glad I had Darkflower and Dawncloud to help"

He looked and saw two kits who looked just like their mother, Rowankit and Cedarkit, two moons old and causing chaos for all. "Little monsters they are" she mewed, licking his cheek, he flinched slightly which Russetfur noticed.

"My bad"

Blackfoot sighed "It's fine, it's just.." he trailed off

"That's the tamest reaction I've seen when someone likes the Broken scar"

This thing on his left cheek, it would forever follow him and make him remember the lowest point in Shadowclan's history.

"Whitethroat still feels bad for hissing at Crowcloud and the chicks"

"She already forgave him" Russetfur replied "Should've saw it, she refused to let him sleep by himself had to drag Littlecloud over"

He curled up with Russetfur, grooming her ears softly. "A new era for us all" she mewed sleepily

"It will be good" he replied letting sleep take him

/

Blackfoot yawned as he woke. He crept out so he wouldn't wake anyone. His eyes stung as they felt the sun's rays. He gazed at the fresh-kill pile that looked more full that than it had in seasons. Blackfoot grabbed a toad and sat near the warrior's den. He felt at peace and less destructive than he had ever been.

Things in Shadowclan had been somewhat peaceful.

The clan was somewhat smaller since the clan was mostly made up of Brokenstar's elite. Pineshadow and Crowcloud had a choice to leave the clan but they chose to stay. Crowcloud had her litter of three: Garlickit, Sloekit, and Twilightkit and Pineshadow also had her litter of two: Foxkit and Larchkit.

Clawface's body wasn't taken to the grave yard. Marshstar had the body run over by monsters then they buried the remains. In Shadowclan burying the dead was deemed a big dishonor but when it was a vile cat it was the rule to do so, he was dishonorable in life so he will be dishonored in death.

Cats wanted to be renamed: Marigoldcloud took on the name Goldenmint in honor of her brother Mintkit and Hollowheart took the name Darkhollow.

He felt a tail rest on his shoulder, he turned his head to see his sister.

"You're up early" Fernshade's tired mew called. He heard a yawn from Whisperleaf, Lizardstripe had gotten her good in the right eye.

"Yeah, my body thought I should be awake" He nudged his toad at the two mollies. Whisperleaf snatched it and began to eat.

"Shadowclan honestly seems better" Fernshade muttered leaning against him

"Let's hope it sticks" Blackfoot replied

He spotted Slatepaw, Sootpaw, Copperpelt, and Elderpaw padding out of the warriors den. His son, Slatepaw, and Sootpaw were usually a night owls like the rest of the clan but they had their moments like everyone else. Copperpelt honestly preferred to do stuff in the day time. He wasn't the only one: Littlecloud and Goldendusk preferred to do things in the day time.

Speaking of Goldendusk, he felt the golden tom rubbing himself against him.

"Missed you last night" Goldendusk purred softly

Blackfoot rubbed his check against the golden tom's "I was with Russetfur and the kits"

"How are they?" Fernshade asked, licking her paws

"Great" he replied

"More kits for our smaller clan" Goldendusk added

Marshstar was changing Shadowclan for the better but there was one thing she wasn't going to get rid of, which was understandable. Marshstar had her own elite, it wasn't necessary but Shadowclan had founded this rank and it was rare that a Shadowclan leader didn't have one.

Raggedstar didn't have an elite, thought it was unnecessary and looked how that worked out.

Marshstar's elite was small but the clan had gone down since the exile of Brokenstar's followers, she had: Tangleburr, Russetfur, Fernshade, Badgerfang, and Blackfoot. He was a little surprised that she chose him but didn't decline the offer.

He felt Goldendusk nip his ear gently, he smirked at the golden tom. He looked to the right and saw Blazefang padding over. They bowed to their deputy.

Blazefang flicked her thick tail to the camp entrance, she made the signal for five cats, she then made a straight line on the ground. She wanted a patrol near the Thunderpath.

Blackfoot nodded, he signed [I'll join]

Goldendusk and Fernshade did the same thing. Whisperleaf shook her head, the torbie yawned.

Blazefang let out a low hiss at Cinderfur and Sootmask, they padded over. Today would be good.

The night of the gathering was as chilly as always, the cooler it was the more calming it was for Icefire as strange as it was considering what had happened. Tiger-roar had said that Redtail had fallen into the stream and they've been looking for the body but needed help. They did find Redtail's body, the tortie had been caught between some rocks.

Sandstorm, and the rest of Redtail's family had been understandably heartbroken.

-Flashback-

Icefire flicked the last of the mud from his paws. He watched Tiger-roar drag the tortie's body as they made their way back to camp. He and Raveneye joined the search party so they wouldn't look suspicious. He did notice Nightshade wasn't around.

He ducked his head as they walked through the gorse tunnel. The rain was just now starting to clear up but the mud was still there of course. The clan turned their attention to the arriving cats.

Raveneye was glued to his side, he'd been more silent than ever.

Tiger-roar tossed Redtail's body close to where the highrock was.

Sandstorm, Birchstep, Brindleface, Lightpaw, Amberpaw, Leopardstorm, and Pouncepaw dashed to Redtail's body. Lightpaw, Amberpaw, and Pouncepaw were sobbing in Redtail's fur. Sandstorm was crying a paw-step away, Birchstep holding her close. White-eye and Willowpelt walked over to her.

"A..auntie...Gr..grandma" Sandstorm murmured

White-eye pulled Sandstorm and Birchstep close. Willowpelt hugged Lightpaw and Pouncepaw. Redtail had appeared beside Icefire, not speaking but just gazing at his family mourning him.

He felt Raveneye gripping his tail, the black tom's own tail was flicking back and forth. He didn't glance over to Tiger-roar, worried the older warrior would suspect him or Raveneye.

He noticed that unlike the others, Redtail's wounds weren't healed.

"Bluestar" Robinwing called "Who'll be deputy now?"

"His body isn't even cold yet" Sandstorm hissed. Featherears got in-between the two mollies.

"A deputy needs to be named" Smallear said

Bluestar didn't look up from Redtail's body "Tiger-roar will be the new deputy of Thunderclan"

Icefire shared Redtail's outrage but felt more awful knowing he was the only one hearing Redtail's screeching.

-Flashback ends-

Riverclan and Shadowclan hadn't arrived yet, but Windclan was already there. Duskstar gave Bluestar a respectable nod, Deadfoot seemed to engage in conversation with Bluestar like old friends.

Tiger-roar took his place on the deputy rock, proud and regal.

Icefire spotted Weaselwhisker and bounded over to meet him. "Hey Weaselwhisker" he mewed, he yearned to nuzzle the brown tabby but he remembered that this was a gathering. Raveneye almost didn't want him to leave and was sticking to the medicine den.

"Hey Icefire" Weaselwhisker replied "How are you? How's your family?"

"I'm alright, Violetkit, Flamekit, Sunnykit, Rosekit, Shrikekit are okay, Cloudkit gave me a scare and Bearkit...has greencough"

"Oh I'm so sorry to hear that" Weaselwhisker seemed to want to show affected too.

"How's Cinderpaw doing in Windclan? Your family okay?" Icefire asked, changing the subject

Weaselwhisker chuckled "They're a easy learner that's for sure, Deadfoot kinda has his paws full though, Stagleap and Wrenflight are fine, Wrenflight's new litter are doing well"

Icefire smiled "How's being a big brother treatin ya?"

"They bite my tail if they can't find Wrenflight's" Weaselwhisker replied "Harekit is kinda glued to Cinderpaw and Poppykit had to be removed from my leg so I could come to the gathering, Dandelionkit's kinda shy"

"Cinderpaw has plenty to tell me when their back, anyway how's Morningflower and the kits?"

Weaselwhisker chuckled "Morningflower's alright, the kits are getting hectic"

Icefire chuckled "Really now?"

The brown tabby sighed "Brairkit's the ring leader of their antics"

Icefire purred with amusement

Rabbitwhisker toke a risk, he lifted the white tom's chin with his paw "She said she wants to see you though, after the gathering"

Icefire smiled "I will, it's been awhile"

"Also Juniperleaf brought some kits to camp"

"He did what?"

"Yeah"

Icefire was trying to calm the shock when two different smells hit his nose, Shadowclan and Riverclan.

"Finally" Weaselwhisker growled "I thought I was gonna freeze"

Icefire did his best to calm and shrugged "I prefer the cold"

"That's because you have fluffy long fur" Wetfoot called "Not like us short-furred cats"

"Though that fur must be a pain in green-leaf" Appletooth added

"It would, feeling hot all the time" Badgerfang finished

The three Shadowclan cats were as snappy as ever but looked happier and more fed than they did in Brokenstar's time.

"How have you three been?"

"Great" Appletooth smiled, her longer canines made it hard for her to show emotion but she managed to make it work "Taking care of Snakekit is work but I love him"

"How do you Shadowclan cats mange to eat and talk with those teeth?" Weaselwhisker asked in pure curiosity

Wetfoot chuckled, he traced his own fangs with a claw "Make sure they don't get too long to the point where you can't eat or talk, some have longer fangs than others though like Apple and Badger here"

"Runs good in my family" Badgerfang shrugged "How are you Icefire?"

"I'm fine Badgerfang, it's fine" he said stiffly 'soon they'll leave'

Icefire felt a pelt brush past him "Hello, Frogtail right?, Darkflower's brother?"

The black tom nodded, he then signed [Badgerfang is right, your eyes are beautiful]

Icefire smirked [Why thank you kind cat of the night]

"He's just like Blossomhaze" a black molly with ginger markings added "Looks just as attractive as a snowy crow"

"Excuse me?" he said baffled, out of all the insults he's been called, a crow has never been one.

"Oh right sorry need to explain in Thunderclan: crows and ravens are viewed as very beautiful birds in Shadowclan, I was complimenting you not insulting you"

"Flirting more like Turtleshell" Appletooth mewed gruffly "Stick to basics"

Marshstar let out a yowl for attention, the moonstone necklace still around her neck. The gathering had started.

"Duskstar you wanted to speak first" Marshstar mewed, stepping back and letting the older leader speak.

"Thank you Duskstar, Windclan has been alright these past moons, leaf-bare is fading and new-leaf begins which I'm sure we're all thankful for" Duskstar mewed

The cats mewed in agreement. No more hunger, greencough, or shivering pelts.

"Windclan has been blessed with kits: Marigoldwing has given birth to Bristleclaw's kits: Graykit, Grasskit, and Rock-kit , Appledawn has given birth to two kits: Dawnkit and Sunkit. Rabbit-tail and Sorrelflight has also given birth to: Birdkit, Windykit, and Hollykit. Also five kits were brought to Windclan and have been named Flowerkit, Softkit, Pinekit, Crystalkit, and Blossomkit"

"Those five are the kits Juniperleaf brought" Weaselwhisker mewed

"I have more siblings" Icefire sighed 'Better from him than Dewflare, at least I know he won't fuck them up, we are certainly having a talk next time I catch him'

The cats of Windclan cheered the new kits.

"Stormstar" Duskstar backed away "You may go"

The gray tabby tom padded forward, he looked tired but tried to wave it off. Icebelly hadn't been to Riverclan in a while and honestly it was for the better considering what happened recently and Riverclan's fish problem, he doubted he'd be safe around the camp with cats like Blackclaw and Suneyes around.

"The fish is flowing well in Riverclan" Stormstar began "Our nursery has new additions: Flameshell, Greenflower, and Sliverstream are expecting, Mistyfoot has recently that their litter of three: Primrosekit, Pikekit, and Perchkit, as well as having a new warrior in Shadepelt"

Icefire's jaw dropped 'Why wasn't I told? What is it with my sisters not not telling me shit'

Stormstar bowed his head "We also mourn the deaths of Cedarpelt, Lakeshine, Echomist, and Oakjaw, may Starclan welcome them"

A brief silence went through the clearing in mourning.

"Marshstar" Stormstar backed up

Marshstar padded forward, her head high showing her scared right side which revealed more teeth and her scared eye that left her half-blind. "Shadowclan has been well these moons, we have new warriors in Prickleback, Batwhisker, Copperpelt, Lizardswipe, and Muddyclaw"

Shadowclan cheered the new warriors.

"We have nothing else to report other than we sighted a fox on our territory and chased it off, from what I'm told it went into your territory Bluestar"

Bluestar understandably didn't look pleased with this news "Perfect" his leader said through gritted teeth. Bluestar padded forward, her blue eyes showing nothing.

"Redtail has died, Tiger-roar has taken his place as deputy" Bluestar mewed, Stormstar looked ready to spit something but Bluestar beat him to it "Riverclan had nothing to do with it, Redtail had lost too much blood and fell into the river"

That shut Stormstar up.

"My patrols have been picking up the scents of Brokentail's followers, I shouldn't have to tell you all to be cautious"

Marshstar's ears were pulled back "Bluestar, if you'll allow me I could send some of my warriors to help track them down"

Bluestar glanced at Marshstar, it wasn't a furious look but it wasn't a thankful one either. "One or two Marshstar, if your warriors take any prey there will be consequences"

[thelionshoarde]

Voltron legendary defender, Shance, "Hey Beautiful. Oh $hit, wrong beautiful!" (You don't have to censor the swear if you're comfortable using it)

THIS IS SO LATE, but your prompt inspired an au where the galra never pick up the kerberos team and now shiro has to deal with being back home, not being as over adam as he thought he was, sick again for the first time in a while, and with the WHOLE WORLD now aware of his disease because sanda is a dick! And also most definitely some adorable shance. (or at least, i consider it adorable. there will be duck videos!!!) a thousand pardons for the tardiness, i kept waiting until i finished the whole fic but i’m hella slow and i just keep ADDING THINGS instead

anyway, this is JUST the scene with your prompt in it lol

psa: i focused mostly on ms rather than polio when researching for shiro’s disease, but 1) i need to do a lot more research and 2) i have no personal authority or experience over this topic (tho i do have some experience with chronic illness), so while i am trying to be respectful and realistic about what shiro in this circumstance might be dealing with, please remember that i know nothing about anything, thank you

“Hey, Captain!” called a grinning engineer, coveralls down about her waist. “Good to see you up and about!”

Ah.

Shiro let his shades fall down, slapping against the sides of his nose with gentle pressure. He angled a grin and a wave, and said, “Hey yourself,” and was content to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket and amble on over toward a big beauty all by herself on the far side.

He had been hoping not to be recognized.

More than that, he had been hoping not to be recognized in direct correlation to his disease. It wasn’t as though it weren’t a part of him, obviously -- he had to deal with it, he had to adjust the world around him to factor it in. It was there, always. But there had been a reason he’d kept it so under wraps. Shiro preferred when it was only ever acknowledged as an afterthought -- he wanted people to see him, not some version of him distorted by sickness.

At least the ‘ships were still beautiful and the summer breeze nice. He made it through the rest of the ‘yard without incident, taking a slow, curving path toward what looked to be a Corona Class vessel. Bulky, heavily shielded, made to withstand longer bouts of radiation than most of the fighters. Her cargo bay was a massive belly on the back half of her fuselage; she had to be hell on turns. And she was just as beautiful close up as she’d been at a distance. Even with his sunglasses on half of the ‘ship was a glare of sun on metal too bright to see through. It didn’t bother him; he knew a good freighter when he saw one.

Shiro came to an unsteady, grateful stop in the shadow of her nose, trying to ignore the way the world had slowly started spinning lopsided on its axis on the way over. He really should have brought his cane, but also: fuck his cane.

“Hello gorgeous,” he called up to the cockpit, nearly as bulbous as her cargo bay.

To his surprise, a voice called back: “You flatterer!”

Startled, Shiro took a step backward and nearly lost his footing, muscles not quite responding how they ought. Damn. He hadn’t realized there was anyone here. The ‘ship had been quiet the whole way over, and -- oh.

That was a torso and head rearing up from the cockpit, the top of which was apparently popped.

Shiro hadn’t been able to tell with the sun shining through the quartz glass at this angle. Ohhh shit, Shiro thought, embarrassed, as the person leaned down over the side of it and laughingly said, “I could say the same to you, Captain! I did not expect to see you here.”

“I didn’t mean you,” Shiro muttered, but he had a feeling his voice had carried with the wind because the shadowy blob nearly twenty feet overhead snickered a little. So Shiro said, louder, “I was talking to the ‘ship. I can’t even see you.”

“Just a minute and I can fix that!” the voice said, cheerily enough.

Shiro squinted through his shades, still embarrassed, and watched as the figure disappeared back into the ‘ship. The cockpits on freighter class vessels were only released for maintenance or in the case of critical emergencies out in the black. That high up in the air it wasn’t feasible to get in and out of in anything less than zero-G. A moment later and the cargo door dropped open with a creaking groan beneath the ‘ship’s high-mounted tail.

Shiro considered turning around and wandering off the way he’d come. But --

He had left the apartment because he couldn’t stand to be there, trapped. He had never felt trapped inside a spacecraft, though, even one that was grounded. And what was one person versus a whole Garrison full of them, which he’d have to traverse again if he wanted to leave. He’d been stopped only once on the way out here, yes, but there was no telling how many might stop him a second time.

And besides. He was pretty certain he wasn’t going to be able to make the walk without issue, if the numbness spreading through his shoulder, now, was any indication.

Fuck, this was awful. What was the best option here? Suddenly he felt tired all over again, weary and worn down, hating how something once so simple had become so complex. He’d just wanted to see the damn spaceships. Fuck this relapse, and fuck himself for not putting on the damned pump when his doctor had told him to.

“Hey, Captain!” the voice called once more, peering out at him, crouched absurdly halfway down the lowered ramp. “Do you want to check my girl out or not?”

The grin smudging against the corners of his mouth in response to that casual, boasting question was all the reason Shiro needed to feel better about staying right here, at least. Hands in his pockets, Shiro carefully ambled on over to the back half of the ‘ship, working hard to keep it natural looking. “Corona Class, right? I recognize the body type, but I didn’t realize there were any still in active use. There were only, hm… three? Before I left for Kerberos.”

“Yup. Helen’s the last one standing. And she’s been refitted, too, so she’s super sexy. I bet you’ve never seen anything like her.”

Snorting, Shiro finally came around aft and put a cautious foot up on the heavy metal of the cargo door, converted into a ramp here where it had thumped into the ground. “I bet I haven’t,” Shiro agreed peaceably enough. He always enjoyed it when pilots were a little in love with their ‘ships. Somehow it made him trust them more.

“Come on, come on, get up here! I never thought I’d get to show off for Captain Shirogane, I’m about to pee myself in excitement here, come on.”

“Whoa,” said Shiro, brows skyrocketing and finding a hand thrust down to help him up the ramp. The sight made something tighten inside his chest, and it was on the tip of his tongue to protest that he didn’t need any help, thank you, he knew his way around a fucking freighter. But then he followed that hand up to the man it apparently belonged to and recognized him.

“Oh,” said Shiro, startled. “You’re -- Ensign Maine, right? From the uh. The press conference?”

The ensign had risen from his crouch and come to stand sideways, staring back into the belly of the ‘ship. His hand was wiggling in impatience, and considering his past experience with this particular ensign, Shiro had the sudden, strong impression that it hadn’t been held out in deference to Shiro’s potential delicacy, and instead simply because he was eager to get Shiro in and started on the tour and this was the compromise to coming down, grabbing Shiro by his jacket, and hauling him bodily up the ramp.

Huh.

Shiro was about to go ahead and take that hand, because he could probably use the help even if he didn’t want it, and this kind of offer was far more palatable than his first assumption. But at the question, the ensign squawked, swinging around to face him. Standing farther up the incline as he was, it put him taller than Shiro, and his eyes were dark and wide, mouth gaping open in ridiculous, dramatic affront. “Maine,” he said, indignant. “That -- totally not my name, oh my god. Have you thought -- ? Agh! And all this time I’ve been so excited that I actually talked to you and you didn’t even know my name, what --”

Shiro reached up and snagged the ensign’s hand in his, tugging hard, just to get him to shut up. And also maybe because he wanted to. Just a little. Smirking, Shiro said, “I still remember you. Sorry I got the name wrong. What is it?”

He would have looked for himself, but for whatever reason this ensign seemed determined to make it impossible to see the damned name sewn onto his clothes. He was in orange again today, but this time it was a dirty coverall, the upper portion shrugged off to revealed toned biceps and forearms and what appeared to be a firm chest beneath a too-tight white undershirt. Happily, it was still just bright enough on the ramp that Shiro hadn’t had to take off his sunglasses, so the guy wouldn’t be able to tell where Shiro’s gaze was lingering. He let himself appreciate the way the ensign’s bicep bulged like a softball as he took Shiro’s weight, standing firm.

Nice.

“McClain,” said the man, now grinning down at him. It was a very white grin, big and bright in a lean, handsome face, and Shiro finally reached up to twitch his sunglasses atop his head, because Ensign McClain was officially pretty enough for eye-candy and -- yep, those eyes were blue, dark and a little wicked with that glint in them.

“Nice to meet you, Ensign McClain,” Shiro said.

McClain waggled his brows and drew Shiro a little closer, up half a step onto the ramp. “The pleasure, Captain,” he teased, “is all mine. Trust me on that one.”

[bee-kathony]

Fraser Memorial | Ch. 1 “Sutures”

Thank you @sassenachwaffles for being my beta on this chapter and thank you @jules-fraser for approving of my pictures and indulging me as I started another fic! 

2015 | Scotland

The emergency room had been quiet all morning, only three people had come in with minor injuries that were fixed in minutes. My fingers ached to suture someone’s skin, fix a broken nose... anything that would take my focus off of my ex.

Frank Randall had cheated on me. Simple as that.

But it wasn’t simple, he was my fiancé, we’d been together for six years and had plans. Hopes and dreams that involved us buying a house, getting married, children… he ruined them when he slept with one of his students. A history professor at Oxford University, Frank had wooed me in my last year of school. He was a new professor and I was smitten with the teacher.

I should have known that something like this could have happened.

I was once the student, crushing on their professor, hoping he would ask to see me after class so we could talk those extra five minutes without anyone else around.

It’d only been three months since I found out he was sleeping with her and in that short time I had relocated to Edinburgh to get away from him and my shattered dreams. Thankfully the hospital accepted my transfer. It was rare that they would take on a resident from another hospital, especially since I was English.

I glanced down at my watch, only ten minutes had passed since I’d last checked it. Sighing, I ran my hand through my mass of curls, getting my finger stuck in a knot. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” I cursed, yanking my hand and managing to make matters worse.

“Ye need scissors?” Geillis, a fellow resident, asked from behind the nurses station.

I huffed, “No, thank you. I’ve almost,” I pulled a bit more, “Got it!” My hand came free and only a few loose strands drifted to the white tiled floor.

“Ye ever think about cutting it? Yer hair?” Geillis pointed to my bird’s nest.

Shaking my head, I pulled my hair tie off my wrist and started putting it in a messy bun, “I would look horrific if I cut my hair,” I laughed, tucking loose bits into the bun. “They would stick out even more, if that’s even possible.”

“Aye, yer probably right.” She laughed and then we both turned our heads to the emergency room doors that were now opening with a bang. Finally.

A man with a slight limp walked through the doors, holding up a very large red headed man who appeared to be doubled over in pain.

“Mine!” I called before Geillis could and raced off to meet the men, leaving Geillis’ shouts of complaint behind me.

“How can I help?” I asked, my eyes taking stock of what was before me. The larger man’s face was twisted in pain, and his hand was clutching his opposite shoulder. Dislocated. There was also blood, and a lot of it, running down his arm.

“This idiot here thought he could lift a box of about forty-five bottles of whisky, clumsy dolt.” The blonde man laughed through his words, “Happened walkin’ up the stairs. Smashed all the whisky o’ course.” I chuckled lightly to myself, clearly the man was not too concerned about his friends pain.

“Come with me, we’ll get you set up in a bed and I’ll take a look at that shoulder.” I led the two men who slowly followed over to the row of beds. The large man laid down, wincing as he fell back against the pillows.

“You’ll probably want to sit up and not lean on that arm.” I instructed and moved my fingers in a ‘come forward’ motion.

“Aye, I think it’s broken.” The red haired man said, groaning as he sat up in the bed.

I laid my hand gently on his shoulder to assess the damage, it was in fact dislocated. This would be an easy fix. “It’s not broken, only dislocated.”

“Only,” he laughed and I looked into his eyes for the first time to find that they were the brightest blue I’d ever seen. Caught off guard, I shook my head slightly and turned my attention back to his shoulder.

“I’m going to pop it back into place, it’ll hurt but then feel a whole lot better.” I placed my hands firmly on his arm and he nodded, gritting his teeth and looked straight ahead.

Applying pressure, I forced his shoulder back and then up and it made a sort of popping noise as it reset. The man grunted but then let out his breath, looking down at his shoulder to see it good as new.

“Ah Dhia, it feels a thousand times better, thank ye Sassenach.” He smiled up at me and I felt my belly do a little flip.

“You’re welcome. It really wasn’t very — wait… what did you call me?” I shot my eyebrows up at him. I’m pretty sure that ‘Sassenach’ was not a very nice name to call someone.

The man blushed, his ears turning pink as he met my gaze full on, “Och, I didna mean it in a bad way, of course not, yer English are ye no’?”

“Well, yes I am.” I crossed my arms in front of me and waited for further explanation.

“So…” he drew out the word, “’Tis only a way of calling ye that, yer an outlander, lass. Please dinna take offense because I truly didna mean to offend ye. ’Tis only I dinna ken yer name.”

I looked down at my chest where my name tag should’ve been but it had somehow fallen off during the day. “Oh, I’m Claire. Claire Beauchamp.” I smiled and then I remembered the man’s friend and turned my head to him as well, offering him the same smile.

“This is Ian, my brother-in-law,” the man pointed to his friend with the limp, “and I’m Jamie. Now that we ken each other’s names maybe ye could attend to this blood that hasna stopped drippin’ out of my arm?”

I cursed under my breath. Christ, I had completely forgotten that he had been bleeding. His eyes were a distraction and his Scottish lilt was rather enchanting. Of course, I knew that by moving to Scotland, I would in fact hear plenty of Scottish accents but there was something in the Highland-lilt -- something about the way he said ‘Sassenach’.

“Jesus! I’m sorry,” my cheeks turned red and I moved over to the cabinet beside the bed, quickly pulling out what I would need. Definitely sutures, bandages, antiseptic and tweezers to pull out any remaining glass.

Once I set up the tray and had it arranged neatly, I rolled the small cart over beside the bed. “Hold out your arm please.”

Jamie lifted his arm, and I sucked in the air between my teeth, there was a large piece of glass sticking out. I normally had a strong stomach but sometimes, there were things that put me over the edge.

“Jamie, yer doctor’s afraid of blood. I told ye we shoulda gone to the other hospital,” Ian laughed and put his hand on Jamie’s back.

“I’m normally fine, blood doesn’t make me ill but seeing that,” I looked down at his arm again, “has made me just a wee bit nauseous.”

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. If ye throw up, I promise to make sure none of that hair on top of yer head gets in the vomit.” Jamie laughed and I would have hit him on the arm if he wasn’t injured.

“Thank you,” I said sarcastically and turned to grab the antiseptic and cloth to clean around his wound before I dislodged the glass shard.

While I cleaned his wound, Jamie didn’t complain, only pressed his lips tightly together and put on a brave face. “This may hurt,” I said in a soft tone as I held my tweezers near the glass.

“Just do it, lass.”

The glass came out easily enough, and thankfully it wasn’t very deep into his skin but he would definitely need sutures. I laid the shard on the tray and grabbed another cloth to clean him and this time Jamie let out a little yelp as the antiseptic touched his wound.

“Can deal with a dislocated shoulder but not a little sting?” I mused, smiling up at him as I continued to clean the remaining blood.

His arm twitched slightly but he didn’t pull it back, “Och, the stinging is verra painful, Sassenach, dinna make fun of me!”

“He’s a big baby, Claire, dinna listen to him,” Ian chimed, “He cries in sappy romantic movies too, don’t ye?”

Jamie glared at Ian, but there was a slight mischievous glint in his eye.

“I dinna cry, I have allergies,” Jamie grumbled, puffing out his chest a little.

I grabbed the needle and threaded the suture through the small hole and brought it to his skin. “I have allergies too, you know like when I watch ‘Titanic’ and Jack dies, somehow I always get allergies during that scene,” I joked, which earned me a nudge from Jamie’s other hand into my side.

“Dinna joke about ‘Titanic, Claire, ’tis verra serious, their love was forever.” He laughed and I had to admit to myself that he was very interesting. Jamie was such a large presence, one wouldn’t think at first glance that he was into romantic movies and even cried during them.

“Seems like ye’ll be awhile,” Ian said, “I’m gonna go and grab a snack out of the vending machine, ye need anything, Fraser?”

Fraser? Surely not…

I waited until Ian had walked away before asking Jamie what was currently making me freak out.

“Fraser? That’s your last name?” He jumped slightly as I poked him with the needle and began to suture his wound.

“Aye, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, to be exact.”

“As in… Fraser Memorial… the name of this hospital?” I paused my work on his arm to look up into his face.

Jamie’s ear’s turned pink again, “Aye, well ’tis no’ like it’s me who owns the hospital. That’d be my Da Brian. One day though… it’ll be mine.”

He was practically my boss and here I was picturing late nights cuddled up next to him on the couch watching ‘Titanic’ and crying.

“So it’s named after your dad then? Kind of odd to name a hospital after yourself, aye?” I resumed suturing his wound, nearly done.

“Och, no. It’s named after my older brother Willie.” He replied, looking down to watch the needle go through the last bit of skin and I clipped the end and tied it off. “He passed away when I was a lad.” I watched as I saw his blue eyes go gray and his smile faded for a moment. “He had cancer.”

My hand lingered on his arm, offering comfort, “I’m so sorry Jamie. Was he treated at this hospital?”

“Aye,” his voice trembled, as if he was remembering his brother now, “My father partnered with a man and bought the hospital a year after Willie died. Then they renamed it for him, to remember.”

I bandaged his arm in silence, not quite knowing what to say, what could I ever say to that?

“You’re all done.” I tucked in the end of the bandage underneath, “You need to clean the wound daily, and for the first couple of days you’ll need to change out the bandage, some blood seeping through is normal.” I assured him, and looked over to see Ian returning with bags of crisps and candy in his arms.

“Och, yer finished? I had to go to three different floors to find what I wanted.” He groaned and offered Jamie a bag of crisps.

“Thank ye, Sassenach. For healing me wi’ yer wee hands so well.” Jamie grabbed my hand and placed his lips on the back of it. I could have sworn he heard my heart beating frantically in my chest.

“No problem at all, anything for a Fraser,” I laughed, hoping I didn’t sound like I was trying to suck up to the owner’s son.

“Will I need to come back to get the sutures taken out?”

“Oh, yes! Come back in about three weeks and I’ll take them out for you.” I only prayed that when he returned I would be on shift.

“Aye, three weeks then, Claire.” Jamie smiled and turned to leave with Ian, who was munching on a Snickers bar, going on and on about how stupid Jamie was to lift that heavy of a box.

My eyes never left the back of his head as I watched them walk away and just before they turned around the corner, Jamie’s eyes met mine and he grinned, setting butterflies loose in my belly.

Present day

I checked my reflection in the mirror, applying one more coat of mascara before I decided my make-up would just have to do for the evening. My dress was a simple black, that hugged every curve and line of my body. Just the way my husband liked, or so he showed me.

“Sassenach!” He called from the living room, “Are ye ready? We dinna want to be late!”

“Such an impatient man,” I fussed, grabbing my coat from the bed and slipping it on over my shoulders. Jamie was waiting for me, his arms crossed, looking down at his watch.

“I’m ready. I swear it!” I smiled and kissed him on the cheek as he turned his face to press his lips to mine.

“Don’t!” I pulled back, “You’ll mess up my lipstick and I don’t think you want to wait around for me to fix it.”

“I’d love to mess up yer lipstick, Sassenach. And that wee dress of yers too,” the color of his eyes turned into a deep blue, “but yer right, we must go.” He sighed, frowning as he settled for a kiss to my forehead and took my hand, leading me to the door.

“Are you nervous, Jamie?” I squeezed his hand as we walked to the car parked on the street.

“Aye, a wee bit.”

“Your speech will be great, I know it.” He stopped us before we climbed into the car, his hands slid down my body to rest on my hips.

“’Tis a big responsibility, bein’ an owner of a hospital.” He squeezed my sides making me jump, “With my father retiring and all, I ken it has to be me but I just worry I willna be good at it.”

Not caring about my lipstick or the stain it would leave on his lips, I pressed forward and closed our mouths together. “Jamie Fraser, you’re the bravest man I know. You’re ready for this, your father has trained you well. Besides…” I smirked, my hands sliding down over his arse, “I can’t wait until I can say I sleep with the boss.”

Jamie laughed and pressed his lips to mine again, “I love ye, Sassenach. Truly, I do.”

“And I you, Jamie. Now let’s go! It’s bloody freezing out here, and I need those heated seats!”

He let go of my hips and opened the passenger door for me. The entire drive over, his hand never left mine - I squeezed it off and on, a matter of habit, to remind him I was there. I was always going to be there, I was always going to be his biggest supporter.

The tension was seeping out of his body. No normal person would have known that, but I knew James Fraser, and I knew just how big of a night this retirement gala at Fraser Memorial was going to be.

[i-am-arcana-trash]

Lovely Hands

I have so many feelings for Laurel, so I wrote about her meeting Julien for the first time also based off that terrible comic I drew.

Pairs: Julien/MC (Laurel)

Pronouns: She/Her

CW: Swearing, mostly fluff, SFW

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a long day. Asra left early in the morning for another trip, as they hugged goodbye he whispered sweet thoughts into Laurel's ear.

'Even apart we'll still be under the same moon.'

'You really liked that sparkly crystal I brought last time, I'll get you another in a different color, maybe two so we can keep them close.'

Laurel smiled into his shoulder before gently pulling away. They looked at each other for a long moment before she leaned over planting a kiss on each of his cheeks. 'Safe travels...'

With a flick of her wrist, a stream of pink magic settles over his form and he grabs her hand planting a light kiss to the palm, smiling into it. 'That spells always keeps the sea sickness at bay' he murmurs. She grins 'well yeah, you have never been good on ships, you always go green, just a little something to make traveling easier'

Asra smiles radiantly at her and gently releases her hand, his eyes flashing something Laurel can't quite read. He speaks softly 'Ill be back before you know it, don't forget me.' 'You know I never could' she murmurs back and watches his form walk away from her little shop.

They never spoke on feelings, Laurel didn't really think she deserved them. And besides Asra was always affectionate with people, his kisses for her we're no different than the ones he gave Auntie Ophelia. So instead she would watch him leave, aching in her chest.

The day had passed by quickly, with the spring season upon them, everyone needed their potions to help crops grow, keep allergies at bay or to find out if their new romance was the real deal.

As the sun set she helped Auntie Ophelia close the shop before the kind older woman yawned. 'Laurel I think it might be time for bed for me, these old bones aren't what they used to be'

'Do you need any help?' Ophelia waved her off, 'I'll be fine, you mentioned earlier we were running low on red flame ferns, my friend on the south end should have some, it's a beautiful evening, go enjoy it I'll be fine'

Laurel adjusts her hip bag before she feels Ophelia's open the pouch, placing coins in it. "There's some extra there, grab some dinner for yourself, also put this on.' She wraps a long scarf around her neck several times. Laurel scowls 'its too warm for this Ophelia.'

'Nonsense' the older woman quips and pat's her arm, 'Off you go, don't be out too late.'

Laurel signs as she is gently pushed out the door and places a cross-me-not spell over the door.

The streets are quiet, couples milling about, the marketplace a glow with lanterns in all kinds of colors. The baker is closed for the day. 'Ugh I'd love some pumpkin bread' Laurel thinks to herself 'I'll wake up early tomorrow and get some.' But continues on her path to the South end of Vesuvia.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She's been on the South end plenty of times. Her boots scuff against the cobblestones as her thoughts drift to Asra, wondering how the trip has gone so far, hoping he's eaten enough, wondering if he's staring up at the moon too.

Her thoughts are interrupted by loud laughter, she sees bight lights on a side street, and a delicious scent wafting in the evening breeze. Her belly rumbles and she decides that now might be the best time to eat.

Pausing at the door she reads the sign over it 'The Rowdy Raven' she smirks a little at the name, cute.

She notices a raven on a nest nearby and reaches into her pocket, she always keeps treats for Vesuvias animals and places a few berries in the nest, gently stroking the soft feathers of it's back before making her way into the bar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inside is warm, the smell of beer is strong. Scanning for a seat, she notices a few open spots at the bar and makes her way over, pulling off her scarf. As she untangles it from her form she accidentally bumps into something, or rather someone. She jumps back, eyes wide. 'Oh no I'm so sorry, are you okay?'

The person in question laughs gently, curly auburn hair falls over one of his eyes and he smirks wide 'No harm done my dear, I shouldn't have gotten in the way of a woman on a mission.'

Laurel turns to the side to let him through, but he doesn't pass her, instead his steely grey gaze roams her face before settling on her lips and then back up to her eyes.

Her pulse quickens ever so slightly, though her expression remains neutral. Suddenly he shakes his head and walks away, dark boots clicking as he makes his way to a far table with several other men.

She scurries to a far stool at the bar and orders dinner and some sort of fruity alcoholic concoction. She doesn't know what it is, but it's sweet and bubbly on her tounge. Unknown to her, from across the room, the man from before watches her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Making his way to the table with 4 steins of Salty Bitters, he passes the drinks to his companions.

'Aye mate, who is she? some long lost lover from your torrid affairs overseas?' Julien flushes under the question 'I've actually never seen her before in my life, but.....' he peeks over his shoulder at Laurel, she's pulled out a small pad of paper, scrawling over it, her cheek smooshed in one hand, rings glittering in the candlelight as she doodles.

'Dont get your hopes up, look at her face, she's got bitch written all over it, she'll grind you up my friend and probably use you for a spell or something.'

Julien bristles, he's never been a fan of the term bitch, but beyond that, when she bumped into him, the concern in her voice was real, she didn't brush him off or get angry. When he looked in her eyes, they were almost unreadable, but he saw a flash of insecurity as he looked at her.

Julien decides that maybe he could get a win-win senerio, steepling his fingers, his eyes glimmer with mischief. 'Let's wager then, my drinks for the night are on you if I get her to dance with me, also her meal. If I lose I pay for drinks'

The three howl before the blonde man across from him sticks out his hand to shake on the wager 'You'll be scrubbing dishes to pay off tonight mate!'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laurel tenses when she feels someone slide into the stool next to her, she's on her third drink of the night, her curry dinner completely gone.

She turns her head slightly realizing it's the man from before. He motions for the barkeep and whispers to him before he turns more fully to face her. His jacket is off, his white shirt unbuttoned revealing a defined expanse of chest, light red hairs, his sleeves rolled to the elbows.

He smiles at her and offers a hand 'I don't think I caught your name before.' She eyes him warily before turning away 'because I didn't say my name before.'

His grin falters slightly and he drops his hand back to the bar 'and what does a guy gotta do to get on a named basis with you?'

She feels a blush crawling up her neck, she wills it away and closes her eyes before fixing him with an icy look. 'Do you want to die?'

His expression changes then, suddenly his confident air drops and he shifts a little closer blush creeping up his face and murmurs a few inches from her face 'Does that mean I'll get to feel your lovely hands around my neck?'

Her jaw drops, usually that worked wonders for getting over interested folks away from her. Instead he seems to enjoy the prospect of her hurting him. The blush covers her face and she sees his eyebrows raise slightly, he looks smug.

Bristling she sighs but she doesn't get a negative aura from him. If anything his aura is teasing and gentle. She fixes him with another look, downs the rest of her drink and mutters 'It's Laurel.....'

He smiles at that 'I'm Julien and I was hoping you might do me the kindness of a dance, just one and I'll leave you alone the rest of the night, heck I'll even pay for your meal and drinks.'

She eyes him, insecurity taking over, this feels like a trap, one she's been the target of far to many times. Some guy says cute things, she let's her guard down a little, turns out it was some big joke at her expense, she leaves disappointed and her resolve to keep everyone at bay grows even more.

She freezes when she feels a hand on her chin, turning her face to fully meet his gaze Julien's face is gentle 'One dance, no funny business, just, you look like you'd be a worthwhile dance partner, usually I have to dance with one of those idiots.'

Julien gestures over his shoulder at his companions, they all are watching with great interest and Laurel feels a blush in her face again. Ugh these drinks were not helping her keep a cold exterior.

Minutely Laurel nods, and gently takes Julien's gloved hand in hers, he smirks as he guides her to the center of the bar, there is no real dance floor but the jaunty tune from the band forces people to create space, a twirling collection of bodies and heat.

Julien is in fact a good dancer, his long legs might give the impression of a gangly colt, but his movements are as sure as a mountain goat on a sheer cliff face. Julien can't stop himself from grinning over her head at his companions, their jaws hanging, as he spins her through the steps.

As the song comes to a close he hooks one of her legs around his hip, dipping her as he supports her low back, he notices the long line of muscles in her neck and for a moment has to wrestle with the idea of burying his face there, tasting the salt of her skin.

As she stand up against him, his senses return and instead he become acutely aware of the woman in front of him, her chest presses firmly to his, her lips parted slightly as she takes a few heavy breathes, a few beads of sweat hang at her temple. Her palms are pressed to his bare chest and he feels himself flush under her gaze, his heart beat rapid. Gently she pulls away from him, bowing slightly. 'Thank you for the dance....' she then turns quickly grabbing her stuff from the bar and makes a hasty exit, face bright red all the way to her ears.

Julien is dumbstruck for a moment before he turns back to his friends, they all stare at him wide eyed. He absently traces where her hands had settled on his chest and he sighs, his head swimming with sensation. Her muscles under his hands as he guided the dance, the little noises she made under her breath as they moved. He leans on his elbows, and he chugs the last of his Salty Bitters before smirking at his companions, 'I believe I won the bet gentlemen, pay up'

Outside in the ally way, Laurel tries to calm her breathing, her heart is rushing a million miles a minute, and the cool air removes the heat from her skin. She leans against the wall, trying to steady her shaking legs before she hears Julien's voice 'I won the bet, pay up'

Her heart sinks, once again she was the butt of a joke and anger wells up in her chest before her walls come back up.

It's late she realizes, too late to get the red flame ferns from Ophelia's friend so Laurel makes a slow walk back to the shop, she decides to get up early tomorrow, get the ferns and pumpkin bread for her and Ophelia for breakfast.

Unbeknownst to her, Julien peers down the street, he watches her leave. He notices how the moonlight shines off her short hair and watches her hips sway as he feels a deep sense of longing.

'Next time...next time I'll definitely touch her head.....'

[harinezumiko]

Maybe you could write some really angsty pearlnet?

Oh man, so many fics of mine fizzle when I try to write dark enough angst. Have something a little bit angsty, though!

Summary: Garnet is young and new, an experience never before seen, and Pearl is nothing but old news. 

Excerpt: Pearl envied. 

It was an ugly feeling, wrapped in insecurities that she didn’t like to let on. Rose Quartz was enamored with that newness, and Pearl resented, too. And wasn’t that feeling worse?

Garnet followed her often, and Pearl dutifully helped her learn her way around their secret bases. The new Fusion held Pearl’s arm for support sometimes, and Pearl felt her hair stand on end. She didn’t know why. She didn’t know why Garnet didn’t just walk with Bismuth, but she was glad she didn’t walk with Rose this way.

Even if it meant she couldn’t walk with Rose alone, herself.

Garnet carefully phrased requests rather than questions, and Pearl hated that, too. That she could learn so quickly. The others didn’t learn like Garnet did. She didn’t think Garnet knew about Pearl’s ingrained need to answer things, to respond when prompted, but she suspected that was why Rose had told her not to ask questions. She should have been grateful. 

Instead she resented. She tried to smile and be pleasant, because Garnet deserved that much, at least. It wasn’t the Fusion’s fault. She wasn’t a bad person, just ill-timed, in the way, infuriating, superior...

That was the worst part, Pearl thought sourly. Garnet was better than her at all but swordplay. This beautiful accident was strong, could command three separate elements badly, and while she needed help with her unsteady legs, she could see the future, she could shoot down plans before they went sour--

She was perfect.

Pearl wasn’t. 

Pearl scowled while she oiled her rapier in the clearing, cleaning dirt and grime from a recent raid from the blade so she could ask Bismuth in good conscience to repair it if it needed it. There didn’t seem to be any significant nicks in the blade. 

“It’s bent,” Garnet offered helpfully, “Three degrees.”

“I could’ve guessed,” Pearl grumbled, then, realizing her mistake, looked down at her blade again and resolutely ignored the other Gem. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me. I might’ve stabbed you.”

They both knew Garnet was too quiet for that.

“It was a calculated risk,” Garnet said softly, drawing her lip between her teeth briefly. “I--Pearl, I know you don’t like me.”

“That’s not it.”

“You’re always angry with us--me.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“I want to fix it,” Garnet insisted, and Pearl wanted her to leave, but she didn’t say so. “You’re--you’re angry, and jealous, and it’s going to get one of us killed.”

Pearl stopped her work, raising icy blue eyes to meet Garnet’s mismatched trio. “I will not get either of us killed,” she said cooly, “And I’m not jealous.”

They both knew that was a lie.

Garnet said nothing, wrung her fingers in front of her. She drew in a shaky breath. “You are,” she said, and Pearl wondered which accusation Garnet was thinking of. “And I want to fix it. I don’t want any of this.”

“You can’t.” Pearl sheathed her sword, noting the blade’s reluctance to take to its sheath. She really would have to take it to Bismuth. “Not as you are. Not as I am.”

“I want--” Garnet started, and Pearl leveled a glare her way. She shut her mouth. It was too soon. 

“Everyone wants something,” the renegade said flatly, “I want things, too. But I won’t get them. That’s life. We don’t get what we want, Gems have to fight and earn what they get.”

The Fusion was quiet a minute longer, and Pearl turned to go. She could see Garnet’s knees trembling, knew she should offer a hand, and didn’t. Not right now. She would apologize later, but it wasn’t the time. 

“I just want to be friends.”

Pearl didn’t think she’d heard that right.

It hurt her heart, and she turned to see Garnet’s wide eyes brimming with tears, but Pearl couldn’t bring herself to fix it. Guilt gnawed at her belly, another ugly feeling, and something in her chest fluttered. But she shook her head.

“I don’t have time for friends. Maybe after the war.”

Pearl didn’t think she would survive that long.

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Try to be Everything

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Jai Courtney/OFC (Roo) Warnings: Language Rating: PG13 Length: Short Story Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: The title came from Marianas Trench’s song Perfect - in a way, it very loosely inspired this part. 

Read  House of Blues & Can You Not?

"Honey, be honest." Jai watched as Denzi threw a ball across the back yard for the bouncy dog to chase. "Am I crazy for doing this?"

"What? Crazy? Fuck no, Boomer." She laughed at such a question. "Look how excited he is!"

Earlier in the week, Jai had taken Denzi to the shelter to browse the selection of dogs. After an hour of learning about each dog they had met, Denzi insisted on the bouncy little Doxle named Dorito. The light brown dog had the biggest personality Jai had ever met, friendly with the right combination of spunk. Yesterday afternoon, Jai and Denzi returned to pick up their new little friend.

When she had arrived, the sight of the dog bounding around the yard had been a somewhat pleasant surprise. Being gone for a little over a week, a few things had changed – naturally. Dorito being the biggest and possibly best change.

"The joey's had a bit of a rough week." Jai pulled a cigarette from the red package on the patio table.

Going without saying, Denzi's rough week had been partly due to her leaving. She'd asked for a break and Jai had given her just that, but she could have at least explained to Denzi that she'd be going away. Escaping one morning, while he was at pre-school hadn't been her best plan.

"What did you tell him?" She asked jutting her chin in Denzi's direction.

"The truth." Jai shrugged, taking a drag from his cigarette. "A version of it, at least."

Watching Denzi chase after the dog in the yard, she sighed in attempt to keep back the next question. Jai would never talk ill of her to Denzi.

"He thinks you're away for work." Jai spoke, as if reading her mind. "Denzi is smart, eventually he'll know something is going on."

"So, let me guess, the dog was a distraction tactic?"

Jai flicked an ash into the tray sitting on the rail next to him, sucking air between his teeth. "It's been working. The joey is obsessed and he hardly talks about anything else."

"Nice plan."

"You're sure?" Jai questioned, laughing when the short legged dog stumbled a little trying to stop in order to get the bright orange ball.

"A dog is good. Plus, it's good for him to have a tiny bit of responsibility."

Jai had promised Denzi a dog under a few conditions: Denzi had to help feed the dog. He had to play with the dog at least two hours a day – wearing both dog and child out, and finally if they were going to keep a dog then Denzi had to follow every single rule given to them by the shelter. No rough housing, no hitting or screaming at Dorito, and absolutely no sneaking him any type of food unless an adult said it was okay.

24 Hours in and already Dorito seemed to be absolutely relaxed and happy to be in his new home. The three year old was placed in the shelter when his former owner had passed unexpectedly; she knew how it was trying to find your place after something like that. The light brown blur whizzed by Denzi barking and yelping with excitement as the little boy tried to throw the ball as far as he could.

"He adores you for this, you know." She smiled, nudging Jai in the side with her elbow. "A dog, you're the greatest dad in the universe."

"I just want him happy, ya know? The joey's a good kid and he deserves to have all the things that make a little boy happy." Jai would give Denzi the world, if Denzi asked for it and truly felt he wanted or needed it.

"I know you would, you big softy." She giggled, leaning into him.

"He uh, he wanted you there too, you know." The words tumbled out before Jai could stop them.

In no way was he trying to make her feel like shit, okay a little, for what she had done. If that is how she ended up feeling, then it wasn't entirely undeserving.

"Oh." Her smile faded and her joyful giggle seized. Adverting her gaze to her feet, she swallowed a forming lump.

This was a consequence of her actions. There was nobody to blame but herself. She could try to blame Jai, saying he could have called, but why? He wasn't the one who had asked for a break and then slipped away.

"What happened, it shouldn't have." Jai's jaw was firmly set. His arms were folded across his chest and his eyes brooding. "I don't know what's wrong with us, but I want to fix it."

"What if we can't fix it?" She glanced up at him, her bottom lip between her teeth and her eyes seconds from being tear soaked.

"Nothing is ever that broken, you can't try to fix it." Jai cleared his throat. Hesitantly he took a step closer to her, his gaze kept straight ahead. "Come on, Roo. Can we at least sit down, as adults, and try?"

"What if we weren't supposed to be together? What if we were always meant to be the best friend? I mean we argued a lot less." She scoffed and tried to force a small smirk.

Jai squared his shoulders and shook his head, "I don't believe that for a second." Glancing sideways at her, he studied her from the corner of his eye. "We are great as mates, but we're even better when we're more."

"Are we? I treat you like shit. I treat everyone who loves me like shit. Why would you want to subject yourself to that?"

Calling across the yard to Denzi, to watch where he threw the ball, Jai turned and paused. A light shade of gray clouded his blue eyes, a concerned look crossing his handsome features, his jaw held clenched.

"Why do you do that? Put yourself down. Babe, you're not a bad person." he offered. "You are one of the most caring people I know, you care so much that it scares you and you panic."

"Really?" She returned his gaze with a skeptical look. "Is that it? I'm such a bleeding heart, I can't control my emotions and I let them run me?"

A slight shake of his head, Jai rested his elbows on the wooden rail of the deck. In the time that they had known one another, Jai had paid attention enough to know when she was scared.

"Part of it, yeah." He nodded his head forward. "It's okay to be scared, I've been fucking terrified.  I don't want us to end up hating each other or having a ton of fucking regrets, because of something stupid. At the same time, I don't want to watch you with someone else and I don't want to be with someone else."

Scared? Jai?

Could have fooled her.

If he was as terrified as he said, he did a fantastic job at hiding it – Mr. I Love You and I'm All In.

There is was, in the open. Once again, Jai had taken the lead in saying what he was feeling. Whether or not she followed suit, he didn't really care right now. The pattern they had fell into, with the fights and discontent, was absolute shit and it had to change.

She'd asked for a break, Jai had been more than okay with her taking it, but now he wanted her home. A week and three days wasn't truly a break, it was hardly enough time for a normal person to sort anything out, but the truth was Jai was miserable. Maybe that was the problem? Maybe he needed her more than she needed him?

"This doesn't mean you have to come back or anything," Jai picked up his words. "I don't want to make it sound like I'm trying to pressure you."

A change of pace.

Wringing her hands, her back rested against the rail, mind swimming with scenarios and outcomes of a prolonged relationship with Jai. Over the last week, she had thought about Jai, about Denzi, and their place in her life almost constantly. The father and son were a huge part of her life, no matter how she tried to view it. Life without them had been okay, almost six years into this and she couldn't imagine not having Jai around.

Her biggest fear, as cliche as it would sound, was the nagging worry of Jai leaving. If he got bored or things got rough. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she managed a slow still breath. "Do you know what my issue is?"

"I'm all ears, babe." Jai encouraged, glancing over to make sure Denzi and Dorito were safe. The pair were sitting under the swing set, Denzi happily scratching Dorito's belly.

"It's silly and very childish, but I'm always scared of losing people. I don't want to go back to that place, it's not pretty and I hate that version of me." Her voice was quiet. "What if you get bored with me? Or something bad happens and I'm left alone, again?"

Shit!

Why hadn't Jai saw that coming? It was a rather obvious issue, coming from her.

How could he promise that he wouldn't leave her? He didn't have a crystal ball and he couldn't tell the future. Gently squeezing her arm, Jai spoke up. "You do know that if I decide this isn't what I truly want, I'll tell you first."

"What about when things get serious? Are you going to want more than a casual live in girlfriend?"

Of course! Who did she think he was? His dream of four kids still stood. If she were part of that, the dream became even more appealing. In the past, Jai hadn't been the greatest at expressing that desire. If she weren't up for it, then having Denzi was enough.

"We'll cross that off the list when, if, we get to it." Jai replied calmly. "Would being married with kids be that bad?"

"Oh, Jai. I want kids, I do, but I can't put myself through that." She shook her head, shoving her hands in her pockets and rocking back and forth on her heels. "I was losing my mind and he just left. He decided having an affair was better than dealing with it and..." She drew in a deep breath, slowly exhaling. "You have no idea what's going on, do you?"

"Not really." Jai frowned.

Out of all the events and details Jai knew, this was one of the three – maybe four- things that she'd never shared. The time and conversation had never arose before now. Biting her bottom lip, she blinked, turning to face Jai. Head high, she opened her mouth, this was better if she didn't think.

"When I got married, I was pregnant. I was far enough to know I didn't want to do it alone and I was stupidly in love, or so I thought." She scoffed at the idea. "I had what is called an incomplete miscarriage, it was around 14 weeks or so. Anyway, I had to have a very minor procedure and everything was fine. Well, not fine...oh fuck I'm rambling again."

"You never told me that." Jai stood still, allowing this new information to process. "I had no idea, oh shit. Roo."

"No!" She held up her finger to stop him. "No, it was a long time ago and for a long time, I thought it was my fault or I had done something to deserve it. I didn't, it was just something that happens. Okay? Okay, I'm good. I'm okay with it, now. It's not fair to not tell you, so there it is."

"Okay." Jai nodded feeling like a weight had been attached to his head. "Well, thank you. I think? For telling me."

"And what if we get married what about Denzi?" Jai gave her a rather confused look, after a loaded confession, she goes straight to concern for Denzi? "Do I adopt him? Does he stay yours and only yours? Do you want me to be his mom?"

If they were in that situation, Jai absolutely wanted her to adopt Denzi. Before they could finalize that, they had to get in some time being a couple. Not only a couple, but a couple who weren't at one another constantly. When and if the time came, Jai would only allow her to adopt Denzi if it were something that she truly wanted.

"Roo, this stuff is years away. We don't need to stress over it." Jai cautioned, attempting to ease her mind. "All we need to worry about, in this moment, is that you don't need to be scared. I love you, Denzi loves you, and if you want to be with me then I'm fine taking it as slowly as you'd like."

"Thank you." She offered a rather dashed out smile. "I'm sorry for all of this ranting. I'm sorry for the tantrums and for being a bitch, too. I'm sorry for walking out and for taking out my personal issues on you."

I'm Sorry.

Two words Jai hadn't expected to hear from her, not in full sincerity. Hands shoved in her pockets, she tucked her chin in to her chest, blowing out a loud breath. A sincere apology wasn't easy to come by, not at first. Jai had become the victim of circumstance, to no true fault of his own.

"You know, I wish that I could take it and that be it." Jai spoke up, his eyes locked on Denzi. "Sorry? It's nice to hear, but Roo, it's not something that a few words can smooth over and everything be okay."

"I know." Her voice was hushed.

"Okay, good. I want to accept it, but I can't. Not yet." Jai rubbed his hands across his face. He needed more than a few words, although they were a start. "I can't just let you walk back in like nothing's happened. You've hurt me and you've hurt Denzi, what am I to do?"

[stilitana]

born of a burial | 9k | completed

Daisy is reborn, daughter of a coffin. (Wanted to fill in the scene where Jon takes Daisy up on going out for drinks, and then it sort of got away from me and grew from there.)

"There were bad people in the world – she'd cut her teeth on plenty. Jonathan Sims was not, she didn’t think, one of them. Not yet. He was something else which equally demanded to be hunted. Which demanded it all the more. A monster – a thing that hurt others without bearing them any ill will, without intent. A thing that hurt by existing. A helpless thing that hurt because it was in its nature to destroy.”

 "How can I teach her / some way of being human / that won't destroy her"

-Margaret Atwood, Two-Headed Poems

 Nothing was anything and then she was in a place where there was no light and never would be again. It would not let her forget that there was once light, and this was the true suffocation – to know what had been lost and be unable to hope of regaining it. Unable to hope for anything. There was no up or down, only pressure from all sides. Her blood and breath dragging themselves through her coffin-body like heavy-bellied beasts, panting, broken legged. She could not cry. She could not hope. Buried in the darkness, she found herself, a girl she had once been and would never be again, so many selves left behind. And better for it. What had she done for the world? Bloodied its face. Spat and clawed and kicked. Hadn’t always been that way – or was the hunt in her nature all along, from the first, inevitable? There was no hope. 

And then there was. And then there was a voice. (There were so many voices, but none of them stayed or drew nearer, only faded into the rumbling of the great earthen tomb.) And then there was a presence. She couldn’t see him, not at first, her head held in place, pinned like the rest of her beneath the weight that was just shy of unbearable. 

Fitting, that here in the buried her only company was another monster. Maybe this was where they both belonged. A mercy to the world, to rid it of themselves. To lie here side by side, entombed. 

There were bad people in the world – she'd cut her teeth on plenty. Jonathan Sims was not, she didn’t think, one of them. Not yet. (He was a funny little odd-looking man with strange manners and on first sight she had not known what to make of him, had almost hesitated to decide he needed to die. Almost.) He was something else which equally demanded to be hunted. Which demanded it all the more. A monster – a thing that hurt others without bearing them any ill will, without intent. A thing that hurt by existing. A helpless thing that hurt because it was in its nature to destroy. She knew this. Had seen this. Him in her dreams, all eyes. All awful eyes that skinned and scoured and saw clean through to the bone, saw everything and raised not a finger, all annihilating light and merciless sight and damning angelfire. Unblinking. 

But it didn’t matter here. In here there were no dreams. In here he was what he was and she heard it in his voice – scared, small, clinging to his last dirty ragged scrap of hope with mad determination. And she thought, he might save me. If anyone could get out of here, it could be him, and maybe he’ll take me with him. 

Did she deserve to leave? Did it matter, when she knew that no matter what the answer was, she would not have the strength to sentence herself to this particular imprisonment? Not even to rid the world of two more monsters. 

“Daisy,” Jonathan said, his voice a breathless whimper. Something brushed her little finger and she might have flinched had she been able. As it was she could only stare blindly and hold rigid, suck stale dusty air into crushed lungs. 

It was his hand – he wanted to touch her hand. And Daisy forgot about monsters. And the little girl she carried around inside of her (as entombed within her hunt-ruined body as she was in the buried) broke and rattled the bars of her ribcage and strained to reach him. She moved her fingers with a pained gasp and linked them with his and he sighed and made a hitching, choking sound. 

It took hours to turn her head to look at him, and in the perfect darkness she would not have been able to see him at all had his eyes not been such as they were. He was already half-turned toward her and she met his gaze in the dark, could feel the moment it happened. A faint prickle in her mind, the fuzzy static presence of his watching, seeing. Not intrusive, not forcing its way in like the dirt which periodically filled her mouth, just there. There was no light there to glint off his eyes and they emitted no light of their own, and yet she knew they were there, like two hungry sucking magnets, the way a prey animal can detect the gaze of a predator with a sense other than sight, uncanny tingling. 

Outside, she might have bared her teeth at him, and she knew he would have looked down, cowed and apologetic. Here the hunt was quiet and she knew he could no more alter the strange power of his eyes than she had ever been able to silence her own bloodlust. Outside, the distinction would not have mattered. Would only have served to confirm what he was: a monster, something to be gotten rid of. Here it was just him. Here it was him and she was so madly deliriously glad that it was him that for a moment she forgot she couldn’t breathe. 

And then he said something decidedly human. And then he denied everything she had known to be true about the both of them and their monstrousness. And then he told her, “We all get a choice. Even if it doesn’t feel like one.” 

It was the furthest thing from comfort. It was a terrible thought. If true, then – then nothing was anything again, then all her life she’d been wrong, then her black and white world was a fantasy, then there was no getting off the hook, then every second would mean self-denial and sacrifice and perhaps unbearable choice against forces beyond comprehension bent on making her will a string to pluck in a sick melody, then – she didn’t know if she believed him, not yet. But she could tell that he did. At least in that moment, he did. And she placed her faith in his believing. 

He led her through the buried, out of the coffin and into the light and the sound of a dozen tape recorders, their overlapping wash of voices and soft static like the rustling of hundreds of insect wings. 

They looked around as though newly born and then the door opened and there stood Basira, a dark figure wreathed in light. Daisy lurched out of the coffin, tried to climb out and stand, but only flopped uselessly over the side. Jon tried to hold her up, but he was not so steady-legged himself and only slid down beside her when he caught her arm, and there they sat leaning against the coffin, tangled together and staring up at Basira, whose face was a mutiny of emotions she quickly schooled into obedience. For a moment she was blank and stony and Daisy stared up at her with something like reverence, and from her dry cracked lips came the name like a prayer tripping off a sinner’s tongue, “Basira.” 

Basira’s composure slipped and something too raw and naked to name twisted her face. She strode into the room and knelt beside them, arms reaching out to Daisy and then hesitating, so that her hands hovered on Daisy’s dirt-streaked arms, barely touching. “How?” 

Daisy glanced at Jon, who had picked up one of the tape recorders and was frowning at it, a crease on his brow. His hair was so full of dirt she couldn’t make out where it was gray. “Something about a rib,” she mumbled. 

Basira opened her mouth, glanced between the two of them. Jon cast a pleading look at her and while Daisy knew Basira had never been one to give in to pity when there were pressing questions to be answered, she set her jaw and said, her voice firm and steady, “Let’s get you two away from this damn coffin.” 

She wrapped Daisy’s limp arm around her shoulders and began to stand. Daisy pushed up, expecting to rise smoothly, her muscles still retaining memory of their former strength but not the strength itself, evidently, as she rose only half a foot before her legs gave out and she slumped back down. 

“It’s been months, Basira, you might need to – I don’t know if she should go to the hospital or not.” 

“Hospital?” Daisy rasped. “I’m -- I’m fine. Just give me a moment.” 

“You were in a coma for about that long. You woke up just fine,” said Basira. 

Jon frowned. “Well, I think we both agreed that wasn’t exactly normal.” 

“Right. But you’re not the only one who’s got a patron, are you?” 

“No, but--” 

“So you’re saying she won’t heal like you did?” 

“I don’t know , Basira. I don’t -- just to be safe, maybe we should call--” 

“I’m fine ,” Daisy growled, bracing one trembling arm on the side of the coffin as she tried to haul herself up. 

“Please stay still, Daisy, you’re going to hurt yourself. I was only in there for three days and I don’t feel much like standing right now.” 

“That’s all well and good for you,” Daisy said. “You were puny anyway, you can just sit on your arse all day talking to recorders.” She kicked one of the recorders away in a sudden fit of emotions too messy to deal with on their own, so she focused on the anger. Not the helplessness, the grief, the mortifying relief of being outside. The recorder skittered across the floor an infuriatingly short distance from her weak kick. Jon winced and reached out belatedly as if to stop her or grab it before shrinking back, hands knitting together at his chest. 

“I’m going to get Melanie, get – help. You two stay right here. Don’t move. Just – just don’t move,” Basira said, glancing at the two of them as though she could fix them in place with her gaze. There was fear in her eyes as they darted behind the two of them to the still open coffin. She stood and slammed the lid shut before rushing out of the office. The chatter of the recorders once more ate up the silence. 

Jon exhaled shakily and stretched his legs out in front of him, kneading his thighs with one hand, the other still clutching the recorder. Daisy watched his knobby fingers stroking the plastic in what she assumed was a self-soothing tic he probably didn’t realize he was performing. It might have disturbed her, before. Might have seemed another manifestation of whatever awful inhuman nature sat waiting to take him over. Now it was just him. 

She didn’t realize they were sitting practically in each others laps, pressed together from their shoulders all the way down to their legs, until he pressed softly against her. She was too shellshocked to be surprised (hadn’t he always kept a stubborn bubble of personal space, flinched away from contact?) and too fatigued to push him away (she wouldn’t have tolerated his touch either, not before). She realized she didn’t want to. If he left, she would lose herself. The room was too big, the air too light. She would dissolve, she would dissipate, vanish. She pressed back against him and saw the small, tentative smile on his face as he ducked his head, dirt falling from his lowered lashes. 

“Hope she brings some water,” Daisy said. 

“Could go for something a little stronger, myself.” 

It wasn’t very funny, all on its own, but she found herself shaking with laughter that her parched throat and ill-used vocal chords struggled to produce. It was an awful, ragged sound, but she couldn’t seem to stop. He blinked owlishly up at her, filthy and lovely and looking at her with shy uncertainty, as though unsure whether he was being laughed with or at or if she were having a breakdown, and then his smile widened and he started to laugh too, a shaky breathy thing, and then the two of them were sat there on the ground howling and holding each other, laughs giving way to sobs which turned back into laughter again. 

“Jesus Christ, you didn’t mention they’d lost their minds .” 

They both looked up at the doorway through tear-blurry eyes to see Basira and Melanie staring at them with mingled horror and concern. 

“What happened?” Basira said. 

“His fault,” Daisy said, trying to point at Jon and managing only to nudge him with a loose fist. “He’s a fucking riot, you know that?” 

Jon grimaced, rubbing at his eyes and struggling to breathe through his laughter. “Am not.” He hiccupped and both of them stopped laughing abruptly. It happened again and Daisy broke out in gasping peals of laughter while he gasped for air and kept laughing helplessly while tears wore clean tracks through the dirt on his face. “It’s not funny,” he moaned, wrapping an arm around his middle. “It hurts .” 

“Are you two somehow high?” Melanie said. “Or did something in that damn coffin knock you over the head so hard you’re delirious?” She narrowed her eyes and looked at Basira. “It’s them, isn’t it? You did – make sure? It’s not something else, like they didn’t get replaced, or--” 

“I think they’re just very, very tired.” 

“I’ve seen some disturbing things in my time. Hell, this week alone. But this?” 

“Just help me get them out of here,” Basira said, coming forward and wrapping one of Daisy’s arms around her neck. “Get her other arm.” 

“They’re filthy,” Melanie said, though it was more of a dry observation than a complaint as she took Daisy’s other arm. 

As they lifted Daisy, sudden panic gripped her and she struggled weakly. “Don’t -- where are you – stop.” She twisted her head around to look at Jon, who remained sat on the floor staring up at her. “No,” she said, reaching one arm out to him. 

Jon’s breath hitched. “I-it’s okay, Daisy. We got out, you’re safe now.” 

“I don’t want – to be alone.” 

“We’re not leaving you,” Basira said. “Just getting out of this office is all.” 

“No.” 

“You’re confused, Daisy. Just let us help you,” said Melanie. 

Jon reached up, gripped the edge of his desk, and hauled himself to his feet with a wince and a quickly stifled gasp of pain, several alarming pops accompanying the movement. “All right, I’m -- we’ll all go.” 

Basira looked at him with open concern and confusion and it ripped something in Daisy’s chest to shreds, to see this open shock at her weakness writ large across her partner’s face. “What happened in there? What did they do to her?” 

Her head was spinning. There was too much air in the room and none of it was getting into her lungs. There was a hole in her head and her skull was empty and her head was too light and it was going to topple off her neck. The pressure all around had been relieved too suddenly, and like a diver with the bends her chest was going to burst. All of her splattered all over the room. The pressure without had been relieved but the pressure within was building to breaking. Steam pipe whistling and buckling under the strain. The room was a blur, smears of light and color and sound, the hiss of tape recorders. The groaning of all the weight in the world kneading her into a shape of its own choosing. Her body a crime scene, sight of violence acted out and upon. Her blood hot and sluggish, back of her throat burning with bile. 

Someone was saying her name. Someone was saying don’t know, panic attack, hospital, put her down. Someone had their hand on hers, fingers laced. That was familiar, that was grounding. She clung to that hand, a lifeline. Familiar pattern of scar tissue, smooth in some places and textured in others. She held on. 

 Basira sat in a hard plastic chair beside Daisy’s hospital bed. She must have been giving everybody a hard time, because they’d given her something “to calm her down,” and now she was full of fog. A numb, hazy feeling. Not exactly pleasant, but she couldn’t drum up the presence of mind or the energy to fight against it. 

Basira sat very close, head bowed, face set. Daisy watched her thinking and fancied she could see the coiling knot of thoughts twisting in her sharp mind. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Basira said. 

Daisy managed a half-smile. Basira sounded so business-like and brusque, as though she’d asked where they should get takeaway. Daisy knew it wasn’t meant that way. It reminded her of Jon. Basira wasn’t nearly as socially inept, but they both had similar ways of disguising uncomfortable emotions. Jon’s way was to be a prickly, pretentious bastard, while Basira tended towards the safety of pure pragmatism. 

“Not really,” Daisy said. Wasn’t that right? It had been months – things had changed. Six months she’d lain in that coffin. Half a year of her life, gone. Half a year of Basira’s life that she’d missed. What could she be sure of? 

Nothing. 

So maybe not much had changed after all. There hadn’t been any guarantees for a long while. 

Basira nodded. “If you do – just let me know.” 

“What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Whatever you were doing out here, it was more interesting than what I’ve been up to. Eating dirt and lying still.” 

Basira’s look hardened. “Things have been – well. We don’t have to talk about it right now.” 

“Why not?” 

“You need your rest.” 

“I’m well enough.” 

“You can’t stand without help.” 

Daisy kept herself still and neutral, her voice level. “I’ll get better.” 

“I’m sure you will,” Basira said, but her eyes were looking at something Daisy couldn’t see, and her voice came from far away. 

“I will.” 

Basira looked at her, blinked as though clearing fog from her eyes. She nodded and took Daisy’s hand, turned it over to study her palm, tracing the lines on it. It tickled. Daisy held still. Basira yawned. The clock on the wall ticked, the secondhand wearing the night away. Basira yawned again and Daisy forced herself to say, “You should get some rest.” 

Basira shook her head. “Don’t want to leave you alone.” 

Daisy scowled. Misery made her feel weighted down, impossibly heavy. She had nothing to say to that. If Basira left, she wasn’t sure what she’d do – disappear, maybe. 

There came a soft knock on the doorframe and someone nervously cleared their throat. Both women looked up at Jon, who stood hunched in the doorway, the hall light pooling in around him. “I just thought I’d -- how are you doing?” 

“They’re treating her for dehydration. Wanted to keep her overnight, said she can probably be discharged tomorrow. They’ve referred her to a physical therapist, as well.” 

Jon took a faltering half step forward, his voice brightening. “Well, that’s -- that’s good news, isn’t it?” His hand gripped the strap of his shoulder bag. “Which therapist? If you don’t mind me asking, I just – maybe I know them.” He shrugged and laughed, once, quietly. 

“Don’t remember,” Basira said. “I’ve got it down.” 

When she made no move to check, Jon said, “Ah. Good. Probably not the same, anyway. Well. I just thought I’d...see how you’re doing.” 

“Don’t really know how to answer that,” Daisy said. 

Jon nodded. “I understand.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. There was something tense and tightly coiled about him, his gaze sharp and darting, a jittery energy radiating off him. He’d showered and changed into clean clothes but still looked frazzled and disheveled, which was nothing new, really. “I can – go, then, leave you two – I just wanted to see, you know, they wouldn’t let us all crowd around earlier, so I thought – ah, Melanie went home, said she might pop by tomorrow depending on how things are looking. I tried to catch Martin, let him know you’re back, because I thought he’d -- you know,” Jon said, motioning in the air with one hand as though trying to conjure the right words. “But -- busy. I’m sure soon as he catches a break he’ll be by.” 

“Jon. It’s okay,” said Daisy. “You don’t need to micro-manage hospital visits. Besides. Martin and I hardly know each other.” 

“Right.” He shifted his weight, wincing. His knees were shaking. 

“For Christ’s sake,” Daisy said, though there was no venom in her words. “Sit down, would you? Making me nervous just looking at you hovering there like that.” 

Jon exhaled. “Are you sure? I can leave. Earlier, it seemed like you wanted me to – but if not, I can--” 

“Sit. Down.” 

“Okay,” he said in a relieved rush, and sank clumsily into the other chair on the side of the bed opposite Basira. 

“Are you okay?” said Basira. There was something wary and calculating in the way she said it as she studied him. 

“Me? Fine, fine. You know, tired. The usual.” 

“Maybe you should go home and get some sleep then,” Basira said. 

“I will.” 

“Read a statement lately?” 

Jon looked down. “Why do you ask?” 

“Just checking. You’re jumpy. Can’t tell if that means you have or you haven’t.” 

“Right. It’s not as though there might occasionally be other things for me to be ‘jumpy’ about than how long it’s been since I read a statement.” 

“Don’t be petulant.” 

“Then don’t -- fine. Sorry, that’s -- fine,” Jon said, running a hand through his hair, stopping when his fingers met a tangle. His face softened. “I just thought you might like some rest yourself, Basira,” he said quietly. “And if you do, I will stay here until you get back. That’s all.” 

“You don’t have to...” Daisy broke off with a frustrated sigh, glaring at the hospital bed sheets. 

“No, we don’t. We want to,” Basira said. 

“It’s really very normal, Daisy, to not want to be – I mean, after that, to want – it's good, I think, that you want people around.” 

“Not used to feeling like a burden,” she said. 

“You aren’t a burden,” Basira said, and what her voice lacked in warmth she made up for with certainty. “That’s not how this works.” 

Daisy twisted her hands in the sheets. “What if something happens. Something comes after us, and I’m -- like this.” 

“We’ll deal with that when we have to. And Daisy, you’re not...I know you. Don’t go thinking you’re not good for anything just because you’re not exactly in fighting shape right now. Nobody’s just expendable like that. You have much more to offer than muscle, and anyway, this isn’t the force. It’s not all about burning yourself at both ends just to prove you’re worth something. You already are, just by being here. So...let yourself rest, and get well.” 

Daisy glanced at Basira, then down. Basira slid her hand forward and rested it on Daisy’s and for a long quiet moment, Daisy studied their interlaced fingers. 

Jon cleared his throat and stood, unfolding his bony body from the hard chair like a painful, arthritic accordion. “I’ll -- let you two have some privacy.” 

Basira rolled her eyes. “How do you manage to make the slightest thing sound awkward?” she murmured. 

“It’s a gift,” he said, all stuffy self-protection. He looked at Daisy. “Take care, Daisy. Get some rest.” 

“You too, Sims.” 

He gave her a thin-lipped smile and hoisted his bag over his shoulder, nodded to Basira. “Really, if you do want to go home and take a rest, or want me to bring you something, please, just ask. You know how to reach me.” 

“Thanks, Jon. Hey. You go home, all right? Not back to the archives. You need rest, too. Don’t know what we might be up against here soon, can’t have you nodding off on your feet.” 

“You make it sound like I’m a battery, or something.” 

“I’m serious. Go home. Sleep.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, and left the room, closing the door quietly and carefully behind him. 

Basira sighed. “How much you want to bet we find him at his desk tomorrow, drooling on a pile of statements?” 

“Does he even have anywhere else to go anymore?” 

“I -- I guess I don’t really know.” 

Daisy squeezed Basira’s hand lightly with what little strength she could muster. For a moment they were quiet, and then Daisy began to speak, voice low and halting. “There were other people. In the coffin. I didn’t see anyone, or get near them – just heard voices. In the beginning, I heard them. But then, after a while – I don’t know if it just got too close in there to hear anymore, or if we got further from each other. There came a point where I – I couldn’t move anymore. Even if I’d wanted to. There was just nowhere to go. And I couldn’t hear anyone at all. It was almost better that way. You could almost think it might be – peaceful. If you could lie still and just...drift off, dreaming. But no. It wouldn’t let you. There was nothing, Basira. Nothing to fight, no way to make it hurt like it was hurting me. You just had to take it. I haven’t felt helpless in...a long time. I realized in there that everything I’ve done, I’ve...I’ve done bad things. Some really bad things, and given up a lot, all to not feel helpless. And where did it get me? It didn’t save me. It didn’t make me strong. All of it gone, stripped away, just like that, and I saw how worthless and stupid it had all been, all of it, all of the – the blood, the pain, the killing. The anger. Anger was nothing in that place. I was nothing. Or at least, I wished I was. Worse than nothing, I was completely powerless. I always thought that Sims was weak, you know? I thought a lot of people were weak. But it took him to get me out of there. In there, it was – weak or strong, it didn’t mean anything, not when you’re alone, really alone like that, and unable to move, or even breathe. I needed someone. I hate needing – except for you. Except for my partner.” 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Basira whispered, squeezing Daisy’s hand, her other hand going up to smooth down Daisy’s hair. Daisy held very still and allowed the soft touches. The gentleness felt dangerous, more dangerous than violence had felt in a long while. It made her vulnerable, it was against her very being – but she held still and clung to the feeling anyway, because she wanted to. Because it was important. 

“Isaac was in there. My – my partner.” 

“I remember.” 

“He was in there,” she said, swallowing a lump in her throat. “He -- he still is. He’s been there so long now, so, so long, and – when will it ever stop? If somebody doesn’t -- but I can’t. Just thinking about it, I – I can’t, I can’t, I won’t go back.” 

Basira made a soothing shushing noise, kept stroking Daisy’s hair. “Nobody is asking you to.” 

“But he – all of them – god, Basira, to be trapped in there, and never – and that’s just one coffin, how many other fucking things like that are out there? Are sitting in storage at the damn institute, right now?” 

“I think it’s best not to think about it.” 

“How can we not?” 

“Maybe we’ll find a way. We’ll keep our eyes open, see if anything – we won’t give up on them. But what Jon did – that's not the way, Daisy.” 

“He thinks he deserves it. All of it. Because of what he thinks he’s becoming, he thinks it doesn’t matter, how badly he’s hurt. Did you ask him to go into the coffin?” 

“What? No, Daisy. I had no idea he was going to--” 

“Really?” 

Basira paused, her hand stilling on Daisy’s hair, and Daisy held her breath, a cowardly, pathetic part of her wishing she’d held her tongue, if only to keep Basira close and appeased. Then Basira resumed her gentle stroking. “I was away. I think – I suspect that might have been on purpose. I don’t know. Not on Jon’s part – he's not pulling any strings here, not so far as I can tell. No. Elias, maybe. Or something else. No, I didn’t ask him to. I told him not to go in. Melanie, on the other hand...yes, I think she had a hand in helping him. But Jon makes his own decisions.” 

“You believe that, don’t you? That we have a choice?” 

“Y...yes. I – yes.” 

“I want to make a choice, Basira.” 

“Oh?” 

“I don’t...I can’t keep on like I was, before the coffin. I won’t...still be me, for very long if I do, I don’t think. The hunt, it...I don’t want to give myself to it. Lose myself in it. I could. It would be...so, so easy. And maybe it would be better, for all of you – I'd be strong again, I could protect you. But I wouldn’t...be me.” 

Basira made a soft sound then and leaned in closer, holding Daisy as best she could, awkward as it was with the odd angle and the hospital bed and the IV line in the way. “Are you sure?” she whispered. 

“As sure as I can be. Yes.” 

“Then -- then I’ll do whatever I can.” 

“Thank you, Basira.” 

“Of course. Of course.” 

“Before, I – I didn’t think of it as a choice, so much. Jon – he said it was. In the coffin.” 

“He did?” 

“Yes. He said it was, even if it didn’t feel like one.” 

“Oh.” 

“You have a choice, too. And so does he. I wish – I want to – I just have this feeling that by stepping back, I’m making that choice harder for the rest of you. I know he’ll think he has to – has to keep going. Keep becoming the Archivist. He’s all talk, you know – he can say a thing like that and think it applies to everyone but himself. And you. You have a bit of that too. Not self-destructive like him, not at all, just – just a momentum. But maybe you don’t have to keep – keep playing whatever game you’re playing. What is it you’re doing, Basira? It’s that Elias prick, isn’t it? What’s he got you doing, what’s he convinced you of?” 

“I’m not like Jon, Daisy. I’m not just throwing myself into danger without any clue why or what for. You just have to trust me for now.” 

“I do.” 

Basira leaned down and pressed her lips to Daisy’s forehead, soft and firm pressure, warm and gentle. Daisy let out a shaky breath and let herself be held. Perhaps she was a coward after all, for allowing herself to be appeased so easily, for not pushing out of fear she might lose even this, what little was left in all the world of things worth living for. She had been a hunter, yes, but she had always been a scavenger, too. Selfish and possessive of scraps. So she said nothing and sat very still and let herself be held. 

 Daisy hesitated for a moment outside Jon’s door. She couldn’t make out his semi-muffled voice rising and falling the way she could when he was reading statements, so she knocked once and let herself in. 

He was sat at his desk, the surface of which was a scattered mess of papers, mugs, and at least two whirring tape recorders she noticed at once. He lowered the papers he was holding and blinked up at her, quickly smoothing over a vexed crease between his brows. She knew at once she had interrupted him. 

“Hello, Daisy. What can I – can I do something for you?” 

“Yeah. Was just wondering if I could hang out in here for a bit.” 

“Oh.” 

“Just got quiet out there, is all. Melanie’s gone to--” 

“Therapy, right.” 

Daisy raised a brow and Jon winced, tapped the papers on his desk to straighten them, smoothing his finger down the edges to ensure they were aligned. “Sorry. I really don’t mean to—” 

“It’s fine. That’s right. And Basira’s...busy with something. So. Mind if I hang out in here?” 

“No, of course not, I was just—” he swallowed, and she tried not to watch too closely the way his throat bobbed, how it stretched the scar where she’d once made to slit his neck. “Just about to read a statement. But it...can wait?” 

His reluctance was obvious, but that he’d offered at all took her aback. It was almost considerate. Not a trait she tended to associate with him. 

“No, go ahead.” 

His shoulders sagged a bit with relief, but he tried to keep his expression neutral. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. I just want a little company, I don’t need you to entertain me. Just pretend I’m not here.” 

“It’s just – I know some people don’t like to listen. The statements, they can be – I don’t want to – make you uncomfortable.” 

“Statements don’t bother me. Nothing in there more gruesome than anything I’ve seen. And you won’t make me uncomfortable.” 

“Ah. Okay then,” he said, looking down at the papers, dark eyes locking onto the page. 

“Even if you do start to salivate when you hear those recorders click on.” 

Jon looked up at her, stricken. “I what?” 

“Like Pavlov’s dog.” 

“I do no such – how would you even know—” 

“Kidding, Sims. That was a little joke. You just looked a little peckish was all.” 

Jon gave her a pained look that almost made her pity him. Almost. Instead she just cracked a small grin. “That’s not funny,” he grumbled. 

“I’m only teasing.” 

“I don’t...get much teasing these days.” 

“No, I guess you don’t.” 

He looked small and lost for a moment, sitting in that big chair behind the huge cluttered desk. Then he tapped the papers against the desk again and checked the nearest recorder. Unnecessary, as far as she could tell. Force of habit, probably. Or maybe he liked to pretend it might not already be running, waiting for him to feed it something awful. “Right. Would you like a chair?” 

“No, I’ll stand. Stretch my legs.” 

He nodded and cleared his throat, and then without further preamble, began the statement. 

Daisy leaned her head back against the wall and looked at the drab ceiling tiles, letting Jon’s voice wash over her without focusing on the words. His voice was not soothing on its own except for the fact that it had been the one to call out to her in the darkness, the one to guide her back into the world. He was familiar now. And she was fond of the familiar. A weakness, maybe. But hardly chief among her weaknesses, frail as she was, so she let herself indulge in it. 

After a few minutes of politely avoiding staring at him, she began to watch him as he read. He was caught up in the statement and didn’t notice her gaze, might have forgotten he had an audience entirely, judging by how enthralled he was. He wasn’t putting on a voice, exactly, but it was definitely something – some slight alteration that still managed to convey the character of the statement giver. He was more animated when he read than she’d have guessed. Not that she’d ever thought about it before. But if she had, she might have imagined him sitting still and straight-backed in his chair, a look of aloof detachment if not outright judgement on his face. Instead his face was alive with expressions mirroring the reactions of the statement giver, his hands gesticulating now and then for further emphasis. It was the furthest thing from dignified. She found herself grinning again. 

Daisy leaned her head back and closed her eyes, and before long she opened them again as Jon said, “Statement ends.” She watched him blink and lick his lips, and she supposed that this might be the part that could, conceivably, make a bystander uncomfortable. Not that she was a great judge of what might discomfit the average person. It was just that Jon was blinking a haze from his eyes with an expression that was somehow both pensive and sated, but still wanting. 

“What do you make of that then?” he asked, looking at her, all himself again, or at least as much himself as he ever was, a crease between his brows. 

“Don’t know. Why?” 

“Oh, well, I just thought...never mind.” 

"You think it's got to do with the hunt?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure."

“Hm. Don’t know. Could be. But it could be a few other things, too. I’m not the one with the encyclopedia for a brain.” 

Jon gave a dry snort of laughter. “If only that was – but no, I’m not sure either. More questions than answers, as always. I should stop expecting otherwise, really, I have only myself to blame for any disappointment, but – well.” 

“But it still...feels good?” 

“Sorry?” 

“Reading statements.” 

“I don’t know if good is how I’d describe it – frustrating, maybe? It’s just this endless looping of leads and dead-ends.” 

“Never mind. I was just thinking – I guess I shouldn’t compare them. The eye, the hunt.” 

“Oh. I didn’t realize we were talking about – well.” 

“I’m not surprised. Can’t imagine how that would give anybody, you know, sort of a high. Just reading.” 

“It’s...well.” He cleared his throat and scratched his neck. His discomfort was obvious, but she wasn’t about to give him an out just yet. “It can be...different, when it’s...when I’m asking someone, getting it...directly. Then I suppose you could maybe compare it more...accurately, as a sort of...rush. In a way, it still – it's probably nothing like hunting. I imagine the adrenaline alone must be – but. It’s sort of like scratching a terrible itch that never really goes away? Like...like a tic, in a way, I guess, I mean, you can try and stop it, but you’re only ever putting it off, it’s going to just keep getting worse until the compulsion is overpowering, but then – that's not exactly fair, is it? No, I don’t think I like that comparison, it’s...” He broke off with a self-conscious laugh. “Can you tell I’m trying very hard   not  to compare it to hunger? I'm afraid that might just be the best I’ve got by way of analogies, though. Or – did you ever smoke, by any chance? That might be — but I hardly like the implications of that, do I,” he muttered. 

“It’s okay. Not everything is like something else.” 

“Oh. I – suppose not,” he said, sounding unsure. 

Daisy pushed off the wall and stretched. “Come on. When was the last time you got out of here for a little while, did something other than work? Basira and I are grabbing drinks. You should come.” 

“Oh. Oh, no, I – really? I, ah...I do have a lot of – I don’t know.” 

“It’s just drinks, Jon.” 

He exhaled. “Okay. Let me just get my coat.” 

Daisy watched him rise from his chair with a wince, packing papers haphazardly into his bag. She was surprised he’d agreed. Pleased, but surprised. She’d thought she’d have to fight harder than that, and in truth, she hadn’t felt much like fighting, might have just let him go on hunching over his desk all night. But then – maybe it had been a while since anybody had asked him to come out. 

They walked towards the front entrance together, shoulders brushing amiably now and then. The receptionist had gone home already and the halls were empty. “Basira, she – she's okay with me tagging along, right? I mean, she knows?” Jon said as they pushed open the doors, as though it had just occurred to him. 

“Quit worrying,” Daisy sighed, taking the steps carefully and ignoring how Jon hovered at her shoulder. He could be as bad as Martin, honestly. Worse, because he was so emotionally stunted and socially inept that his fussing could come off as plain insulting rather than just mildly annoying. 

Basira greeted them at the bottom of the steps, linking her arm with Daisy and giving Jon a guarded once-over. “Headed home early today, Jon?” 

“Oh. Of course,” he said, glancing at Daisy before sidestepping and looking around, as though unsure of which direction to make his escape in. “Turning in early, that’s right -- be seeing you.” 

Daisy sighed and hooked one finger around the strap of his bag. Even weak as she was, it didn’t take much effort to tug him closer. “Don’t be stupid,” she muttered. “He said he’d join us for drinks.” 

Basira raised a brow and quirked her lips. “Really now?” 

Jon glanced back up at the institute. “I really should probably leave you to it.” 

“Not at all,” Basira said. “You’re welcome. I’m just dying to know what Daisy said to get you out of that office, is all.” 

“Wasn’t hard,” Daisy said, as they began walking, Basira slowing her natural quick pace to accommodate Daisy’s easily fatigued legs. Jon walked along at her other side, shoulders hunched, clutching the strap of his bag and alternating between staring holes in the pavement and casting cagey glances around at random passerby. 

“God. I hope I’m not intruding on anything,” Jon muttered. “I really can just go back, no hard feelings.” 

“Jon. If you want to go back, nobody’s stopping you. But the only reason I’m going to tell you to do so is if you keep making excuses and acting like you’re about to have a heart attack. Otherwise, you’re all good,” Basira said. 

“Right. Sorry. Listen to me, apologizing, I sound like – but you’re right. So. Do you two...do this often?” 

“When we’re not in the middle of working to avert apocalyptic rituals, you mean?” 

“Right,” he muttered. 

“It can be tough to make the time. But everybody needs a break now and then, let off a little steam. Otherwise you’d just lose it,” Basira said. “So...try not to bring up work tonight, yeah? Or else you’ll have me thinking about it all night.” 

“Yes, of course. No work talk. Got it. Er. Nice...weather?” 

“Was that a joke, or your honest best effort at friendly conversation?” Basira said. 

Jon huffed indignantly, his tone waspish when he replied. “I’m not exactly bursting with non-work related conversation topics right now, in case you hadn’t noticed.” 

“Oh, I’ve noticed, believe me.” 

“It’s not like you’ve ever been much for idle chit-chat yourself, you know.” 

“Hm. Not that you know of.” 

“Well, go ahead. Enlighten me, Basira.” 

“There he is – see, soon as you stop moping, there’s that snotty bastard with the stick up his arse back again. Touching, really.” 

“I guess some things never change.” 

“I guess not.” 

“I’m still waiting for proof of your conversational prowess,” Jon said, one hand twirling in the air in front of him, his voice tight and controlled, consonants snapping with crisp precision, and there’s almost relish in his tone, as though he was warming up to a once comfortable pattern having fallen by the wayside, and Daisy wondered for the first time what it was like in the institute between people she had either never met or never known well, before everything started to go wrong. Had they all gone out for drinks then, before the terror? 

“You can be such a dick, you know that? Is that how you get your kicks, or can you just not help yourself?” 

“You started this. I hardly have a monopoly on – on dickishness.” 

Daisy snorted and Basira barked out a laugh. “I’m not going to make it through tonight, am I? Oh, say it again, would you? We’re not even drinking yet.” 

Jon fixed her with a prim glare, face dark with a blush, though there was something tugging the corners of his mouth up. He opened his mouth to reply, no doubt with something biting, but then he faltered, watching the two of them smile and laugh, hesitantly, carefully, as though even this little momentary happiness was a stolen thing that could be taken. And he let it pass. 

 Daisy never let herself get drunk. She’d done so only once and had since then abided her limits. She knew how to be satisfied maintaining a mild buzz and resisting going any further, so she sipped her beer slowly. Basira had never been much of a heavy drinker either, but she had no reservations about getting tipsy, and became pleasantly chatty when she did so — not like some of the maudlin or aggressive drunks Daisy had known on the force. Pleasant might not have been what those who crossed her would call it — maybe acerbic wit was more accurate — but it was pleasant chattiness to Daisy. 

They found a corner booth to commandeer and the two women sat across from Jon, who scanned the pub once they sat down, particularly eyeing a couple of men playing pool across the room. He relaxed somewhat after a few minutes once they all had their ale, for the most part keeping his attention on their little table. 

“So,” he said, fidgeting with a napkin, “what do people talk about these days outside of work?” 

Basira scoffed. “Good question.” 

“Don’t always have to be talking,” Daisy said. 

“What, you mean you just sit here in silence?” Jon said. 

Basira shrugged. “Can’t force good conversation.” 

He squirmed in his seat, tearing the napkin at even intervals to create a fringe down its length. “That sounds...uncomfortable.” 

“Only if you make it be,” Basira said. 

Jon muttered something inaudible in reply, and Basira scowled. “What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“I hate it when you do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“That. Mumble something nasty and act like you didn’t say anything.” 

“If you didn’t hear me, what makes you think it was something nasty?” 

“Well, wasn’t it?” 

“No.” 

“Then why—” 

“Just a bad habit, I suppose.” 

“Andthat. Cutting me off.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“And that, most of all. The snide non-apology. That one really pisses me off.” 

Jon scowled down at the napkin. “If my mere presence is so intolerable to you, then you should have just let us go our separate ways back at the institute, like I tried to do, so that this wouldn’t happen.” 

“Lighten up, will you? You can be real dramatic, you know that?” 

“Well what do you want me to do, sit here and nod along while you – pick at me?” 

“I’m not picking on you, I’m just saying.” 

“There’s a reason I don’t do – this.” 

“What, go out? Try to hold normal human conversation?” 

Jon winced, tried to hide it by glaring at the greasy tabletop. “Are you trying to get under my skin, or is this your idea of pleasant conversation?” 

“Maybe. You just make it so easy, is all.” 

“Quiet, both of you,” Daisy growled. “Enough bickering.” 

“Sorry,” Basira said, not sounding like she meant it much. For a few moments they sat in silence. It was companionable and pleasant enough to Daisy, but the longer it wore on, the twitchier Jon looked. He took several gulps of his drink and dabbed his finger in the ring of water left by a glass on the table, drawing swirls. Basira watched the billiards game going on in the corner. 

“So, Daisy,” said Jon, clearing his throat. “How’s therapy?” 

Daisy shrugged. “Frustrating. Awful. Slow.” 

“There’s no rushing recovery, healing happens at its own pace,” he mumbled, still swirling the water around with his fingertips. 

Basira snorted. “What are you, a motivational poster?” 

“It might have been, actually. Don’t remember exactly where it came from.” 

“You said you thought you might know her. The PT,” Daisy said. 

“Oh. Right. I was really just – looking for something to say, I didn’t really think I would. But it’s a small world, you never know.” 

“Why?” 

“Why...what?” 

“Might you have known her.” 

“Oh. Well, we had to do some therapy after Prentiss. We – Tim and I, I mean. You both missed that, thankfully,” he said, with a dry laugh. “It was, ah. Well. You can imagine.” 

“Worms, right?” Basira said. 

Jon nodded once, sharply. “I guess you were there, at the end.” 

“You and Tim. That’s why you matched,” Daisy said. 

“Pardon?” 

She raised one finger and traced a small circle on her own cheek. “Scars.” 

“Oh. Yes. But he – how'd you put it – made them work?” 

Basira frowned, then seemed to place what he was talking about. “Right, I did say that.” 

“That was when he thought we were – you know.” 

“Oh, god, yeah.” 

“What?” said Daisy. 

Basira sighed. “When I first started bringing him tapes, Tim made some dumb comment about thinking we were – seeing each other, or something.” 

Daisy snorted. “Seriously?” 

“That was our Tim. Always on the cutting edge of humor and office gossip,” Jon muttered, his voice bitter but a fond smile tugging at his lips. It faded quickly. 

“He took me aside, next time I came in, and apologized, actually. Said he hadn’t meant to make me uncomfortable, he just couldn’t resist a golden opportunity to – how'd he put it – give you hell?” 

“That’s -- not surprising. I know we said we’d play along, at the time, for secrecy’s sake, but honestly, that’s...what I figured it was.” 

“Really?” 

“Knowing Tim? Yes. And, I mean, I just think it’s pretty obvious we wouldn’t -- I mean – it was just a little ridiculous, you know.” 

“I can’t tell if I’m being insulted or not,” Basira said, bemused. “It was so ridiculous we might be seeing each other that you just assumed it was your employee giving you shit?” 

“Well -- yes.” 

Basira regarded him with detached, impersonal curiosity. “Did I hurt your feelings, when I said that thing about the scars?” 

“Did you – what? Hurt my feelings? No. What?” 

“At the time, I remember wondering if that was a little harsh. Keep in mind I didn’t know you so well back then. But you didn’t seem to think anything of it.” 

“Well, I didn’t. So, no worries,” Jon said, waving a hand dismissively. “Aside from, you know, the pain and all, it didn’t really affect me like I suspected it had Tim. Not that he was overtly vain, exactly, just, you know. So if anything I think I was just glad to hear it, for his sake.” 

“Hear...what?” 

“Well. He always did have such luck with his own way of getting information. And he seemed to enjoy himself. It was...useful.” 

“You mean flirting?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hm. Yeah, I don’t expect it really slowed him down at all, really. It’s all about the attitude, you know. How you carry yourself. It wasn’t that they looked any different, really.” 

Jon fidgeted with the napkin, folding and unfolding it. “Can we – talk about something else?” 

“Oh. Of course.” 

Jon’s gaze slid around the room and settled on a man sitting by himself, staring into his drink. His lips parted and he said, “That man there. His mistress died two weeks ago. Heart attack, unexpected, she was only thirty-one. It’s difficult to mourn someone you never should have loved in the first place, especially while hiding it from your wife. She only began to suspect he was having an affair once it ended. He tells her he stays at work late so that he can be alone, walk, drink, grieve. That’s irony, isn’t it?” he said, blinking and refocusing on Basira. 

“That’s...disturbing and a definite invasion of privacy, is what it is, Jon.” 

“Right. Sorry. Can’t help--” 

“Maybe you can’t help knowing it, but you can keep it to yourself, can’t you?” 

“Oh. Of course. I’m sorry. You...didn’t want to know that.” 

“Who would?” 

“Right. It’s just – it always seems interesting, for just a second at least, to me, suddenly knowing something where before there was nothing. I forget that – of course it’s not, not really.” 

“It must be hell at the movies,” Daisy said. “Or reading.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Doesn’t it ever spoil the ending?” 

“Oh,” Jon said, and laughed, the sound a bit forced but amused all the same. “That...hasn’t been a problem. In fact, I don’t think it’s much interested in fictional things.” 

“That’s something, at least.” 

“Yes. It’s the little consolations in life that make it all so worth it.” 

Daisy cracked a grin and he smiled sheepishly back at her, as though equally gratified and uncertain about being the cause of her amusement. 

 It should not, probably, have surprised Daisy that Jon was a lightweight. It was a good thing, she supposed – the last thing he or any of them needed was to get too attached to drink, and if his tolerance was any indication, he was not. As they left the pub, Basira’s cheeks were flushed and her laughter free, but her legs still steady as she hooked her arm through Daisy’s and helped her down the step. Jon stepped down gingerly behind them, face flushed and his gaze both fever-bright and unfocused. Or at least less focused than usual, which given his typical intensity, was not necessarily so disconcerting. He followed along behind them, watching his feet as though he might trip on thin air, and rummaged in his coat pockets. 

“What are you doing?” Basira said, turning around at the sound of a lighter flicking. 

Jon cupped the flame with one hand and lit the tip of the cigarette in his mouth. “What’s it look like?” 

“You know, everyone keeps mentioning you quit, but I’m not seeing it.” 

“I did. I just – never want it as much as I do when I’ve been drinking. They go together.” 

“Ah. So you’ve quit except for when you really feel like a smoke. Sounds right.” 

“Just let me have this in peace. Jesus. It’s like you care about my health or something all of a sudden.” 

Basira rolled her eyes. “Those things’ll stain your teeth.” 

“Like I give a goddamn,” he muttered. 

Daisy laughed and Basira tugged her fondly closer. There was a cool breeze stirring the muggy late-night air and brushing her hair back from her face. There was air and space and even in the night, the lights of cars and streetlamps and storefronts, the lights in all the windows where people were still awake. Her legs ached, she was ready to fall into bed and straight to sleep. She was tired and sore and weak and the blood was quiet in her ears and she never had to hunt again. She was not so foolish as to think that she deserved this – but she was alive and selfish enough to have it anyway. For however long it lasted. She was not foolish enough to think it would be for long, but while it was, she would sink her teeth in and hold on.