#i had to do like a several hundred feet loop to get to the family mart right across the street from my hotel

[the-firebird69]

All these concepts and ideas and things we want to do are time sensitive. We have to raise the army and do the work and raise it by doing these projects you can't raise it by having a war yeah you do that too. But for real if we missed the opportunity max might we take companies and they're taking back some things the WWF WE and shortly the UFC and we can't really do those but that's an excuse we can't really do Ferrari we say and that's not right. We need to go ahead and start doing this we are experiencing sloth in our own and it is a sin i'll tell you what I cannot stand it any more you have to get on your feet and start fighting these people here. There's no way around it it's something you've waited for your whole lives is to stop them permanently if you don't fight them you're going to harm someone because what we do is get people out of the way and pull them pull them out rip them out go in and stop them by snuffing them out and that's how we're saving your people. You're doing the job and day to day stuff to keep groups from going out and doing things but we need to transition and then those groups will not be there and this idea our son and daughter had of going out and finding people who are affected by say Orange County choppers and you move it in the area you don't move far and people who are in the area might have been us who left and were affected or assigned and people who are tied to them are assigned there is the tie that we need but it's a direct tie to a very specific project and that will grow. And the object is to take that facility and that area and we'll keep doing it elsewhere. Doing that particular project right now it's very hot and they're too large but you do get the idea that will have hundreds of those no we're talking about people having issues at like a local grocery store like our son did in California he was near he was near work at storm and there is a white neighborhood and they gave him a ton of **** and if you had to live in some area like that and you had a problem all the time at the grocery store and they don't relent by the way and there's other people with you we want to hear from you in your story we want you to work that grocery store as an attractor obviously it was too long and there's something wrong there and people get hurt they fall over they get shade chased out of the place they have to move and really we need to know and we will assign to you and you'll see why it's hot it's a good reason and you'll be promoted and you'll be running something very very nice we want this to go ahead and the people who are off plant would be assigned to it and signed on as the people down here are and it's going to happen now we have a ton of it but it's very specific the people who are affected in that area we want them to be hired first and we want you to come forward for the assignments if you've come in and you're bring your friends into the loop into your professional military ring and that's ours. This is a terrific idea so we're going to post we want our people on board and he's saying thank you in advance and it's the best decision you'll ever make you need to have closure with these idiots and it's the best thing to see them in action and to shut them down. Knows it too

Knows it too

Thor Freya

I wish you luck on your project all and I wish you would be assigning yourself you don't have to wait for someone to make the assignment out you have a peculiar spot in this 4 or 5 of you that were there or several families you should report in and say I want to do this project and present it and he says that he wants one family to go to Frank Castle Hardcastle with some friends if you would with an idea for one of these projects he's a leader and he gets it going on Earth and he wants you to be brave and say that Zeus requested you to do so and Hara and I'm sending it in now so it first comes first serve

so it first comes first serve

Hera we will let you know what the project accepted is the first not where or who or name. Zues

I accept the mission and I'm waiting for the call and if it's a teams that's great some of you have experience that's great if not that's great I prefer the last one but if it's not then we're going to go faster and we'll have a system in place they can use but it is not a prerequisite. I hear that we're getting calls and I'm going to get on it and start accepting missions we're going to do more than one probably more like 1000 so God bless and thank God for this idea.

frank Castle hard castle

frank Castle hard castle

We are human beings yes and we love our people and our friends and this idea is perfect and it's gonna help us greatly it's another breakthrough it says it's by hammering on these people and we know it is. We're gonna help you with your senior car cena not senior and we wanna purchase it and we think we we should buy it and hold onto it people are not going to treat it well and we're not going to touch it or do anything to it and it should go in a museum and it will once we start making the car and we let John Cena have it but they probably take it and try and threaten it so if everything blows over and Pete's comes back he can have it back and that's what we say.

Olympus

I'm gonna not try it solved it to them but they wanna keep the car intact the way it is and in the museum so everyone can see it. There's a time in my life and I was having a lot of problems and the max was setting me up and he got really scared from when I was doing but really you guys are very derogatory and mean and hateful and you don't know what you're talking about. This car is extremely fast and I caught it on film will it build it too it's not Max Carr and you're a complete wimps and fell on me tons of times. I'd like to make this car and put in production or a kick car but jeez nobody wants to do it and he says maybe we could use the name and make a joint venture and I'm in I'm into that kind of thing. So he's gonna try BG is just sitting there other people might wanna do it and I know him he's not that bad we have our fights he says what's the problem and I said shut up for crying aloud couple wrestling matches in the garage is not a big deal we wouldn't be in there too long but really he is suggesting a redesign but we think that they can do it.

john cena

We wanna do something that is top notch and this is it this is a ghost car and that's what it is and we wanna call it the Cena it's a nice name. It means something in Asian languages. It's a positive thing if we were to purchase it we could make an agreement that we can copy it and I might just copy it as it is and change the way the window opens and closes and lessen the mountain of glass that's not a big change you have to have a roll cage and and open up the vents in the rear that's not a big deal either you cut a hole and put a vent in they make them for a super cars. Other than that I wouldn't touch anything and he says it's true too the controls the cockpit the engine the chassis and really it's on a new stingray. Was built around I think 2017 and he says that's right. And they changed the dates and all sorts of things this guy next door is a postnicity **** and does not have it and he's ruining us it's not big enough John Remillard. Really it sounds stupid the way he says it. We want to get going on this we're better or worse we need some help and Tom C is willing to try and we need to possibly get John Cena involved if not and he sells it and I think I might try and buy it first because he probably just sit on it if we don't it will approach him later and ask him about the name and sponsorship. And really sponsorship's important if he drives a cena and we're making it it will sell and we need them. And I hear how fast it can go and it's crazy a lot of it's the wheels they're nice and big. And the air intake is insane it's new and later be a bigger motor and a hall that's made in a factory and it would be made to be making tons of them and really fly cars are going to look like this soon enough and we'd be a pioneer. I wanna be remembered forever something happens or not per

the Rock

We have this thing going on we need to have our knees set right but we're gonna go ahead yeah that's how it is and we are going to try and launch this vehicle as ours we're going to try and purchase it and we hear it's only it's for sale it's only a couple $100,000 and so we might go in and ask if he's still willing to sell it and there's an ad we found and he says why don't you call up and ask to sell it is my car and you're my mom and you've never had anything nice like this recently that I designed and it's true and you're my auntie I don't think you've ever had anything like like that cutting edge and good stuff you guys usually do so we're gonna try and do it and it really is stuff we do

kamilla

We see that they're into it but we don't know if they can swing it but they're famous for it and people who do it usually get harmed and they don't care at this point but actually I don't think that they can get a hold of it.

Thor Freya

We might work with BG and it's a group that is dedicated to it and he would learn some stuff and he's interested so we might call him up and having John Cena in the loop is not a bad idea at all and the name is cool it looks like a cena it really does and we yeah we have to change the window kind of get trapped in there it's funny.

biden

We designed the window is kind of stupid we designed the window and it's kind of stupid and we didn't really do it that way in verbose no we did but it was really cool it just looks cool it just doesn't work great and you still end up getting stuck on the thing so we think that they can do it and really we don't care about a car right now it's a good idea and we can monitor it and we understand what they're saying we're kind of idiots as a matter of fact we might start making these it says just shut up you're not going to do anything and I'm not going to sit there and try and get you to you're not going to do anything so sit down don't do anything and let them do it if they're going to do it. Yeah I just see what you're saying it's kind of like a competing but I don't care to do it so why don't you just make a deal that you'll get a few a bunch and they probably won't be able to make that many at first or they have kids and they can send you a kit and so many kids I mean really this is a difficult job you can try it out you might not want to do it. I do agree that it's probably that way if they're making a kit at first I can always make the car so I probably help him get it going on

john r

I made a whole statement and we're going to post it on the next posting .

Terry C.

Olympus

[dsandrvk]

Wednesday, August 9 - Heimey Island, Iceland

Yesterday was a sea day, which was lovely and relaxing, although we did manage to do a few things. Our team did poorly in trivia (although we continue to be in the middle of the pack, so some other teams are even worse), and we went to a couple of talks. One was on puffins, as we were to almost certainly see some today (we did). We capped off the evening by being the winning team to guess the most truth tellers at Liars Club! None of the definitions to the words seem plausible, so it really is a game of luck.

Today, however, we arrived at our first stop in Iceland - Heimey Island. This is a treeless, windswept speck of volcanic rock just south of the "mainland", and has the largest breeding colony of puffins in Europe. We were fortunate in that they usually head back to the Atlantic in mid- August, once the chicks fledge, and so our timing was perfect.

We had booked an lndependent tour with a local company, and it was great. Our guide's family has been on the island since Viking days, and he knew just about everything about the island, and was able to make it both informative and fun. We had luckily just missed a three-day music festival and 20,000 visitors and he apologized for the mess, which was still cleaner than any American city. He was also the owner of a replica Viking double house that he had bought from the local government after they couldn't take care of it. He has restored much of the interior, and put life-like mannequins around to add atmosphere. His brochure for the place asks "which Viking will show up next?", since he makes them during the winter. As he pointed out, in Iceland everyone needs a hobby to get through the winter. Some of the tours from the ship went by the outside of the houses, but only our tour was allowed inside.

We drove out to the south end of the island, which was once separate but has been joined to the main part of Heimey by volcanic action. The cliff at the top is considered to be the windiest spot in Europe, but it was calm this morning. This is also the area of the puffin colony, and we saw lots scattered on the hillsides and coming in for landings. They tend to make several passes when they have fish before actually touching down, and make large loops back out to sea. I took most of the pictures with the real camera so they're not included here.

We made several more stops around the island including to the caldera of the most recent volcano (and eruption). In 1973, a fissure opened up spouting flames, and before it was done, the island had grown an additional 2 square kilometers, 417 houses had been destroyed by the lava, and the harbor wound up better protected from the easterly winds by several hundred feet of lava. As a result, there is now a mountain in the middle of the island that wasn't there before, called Eldfell. It was a tragedy for the island to lose so many buildings, and the island was evacuated for quite a while, so the fact that most people later came back and live here still speaks to their perseverance.

We finished off our tour by driving down the main street which had a surprising variety of places to eat, considering the size of the town (2600 residents). The tour took only 2 hours, but we drove all the outlying roads and saw most of the sights - it's not a big place. Puffins are the main draw, and most things here have a puffin theme, including the signposts and this somewhat unfortunate hat that a fellow tourist was wearing.

We then set out on our own to climb Eldfell, along with most of the other visitors to the island (or so it seemed). The "mountain" is only 200 meters high, but parts of the trail are steep and full of roly-poly cinders, so it seemed higher. The views from the top were outstanding, as we could see the last little volcano to appear from the sea to the south (Surtsey) as well as the one on the mainland that grounded planes all over Europe a few years ago. By now the wind was picking up and although it was sunny, it was fairly cool. We headed back down, but chose a different route near the bottom that took us through several neighborhoods before ending back at the harbor.

We also had time to walk over a visit the Black Stave church, which was a gift from Norway to celebrate a thousand years of Christianity in Iceland. It was modeled on one in Trondheim, and the wooden details are amazing. It is a special building for an island with no trees or wood, and has a lovely setting by the water.

If we had had more time we could have walked more around the island, but our tour had taken us to most places, and we feel lucky we had such great weather (again). Tomorrow we are headed to Reykjavik and the forecast is for rain most or all of the day. We will adjust our plans accordingly when we get there and see.

[01tsubomi]

things i like a lot about japan so far: 

-on a trip-by-trip basis train travel is easy, efficient, and takes me a lot farther than i would’ve been able to get on my own in america! 

-even my little residential neighborhood is totally walkable with tons of convenience stores and shops, little parks scattered around, and a big train station within easy walking distance

-all businesses are making the shift to reusable shopping bags (”eco bags”)! you bring your own and tons of shops sell cute ones. obv there’s tons of single-use plastic still but this is the standard 

-this is an obvious one but every single convenience store having a variety of tasty/filling meals, sandwiches, snacks, and pastries 

-whatever product you’re buying (hand towels, bath mats, coin purses), there’s a cute version readily available to buy too 

things i do not like about japan so far: 

-the sky is completely dark by 6 every night

-if you miss a crosswalk or a turn while walking somewhere you have to turn around. streets aren’t laid out in a way that makes rerouting easy at all (which kinda makes sense in the suburbs but even in downtown tokyo? was not prepared for this at all) 

-everybody jokes like “you don’t like michigan’s weather? it’s okay wait 5 minutes it’ll change” but i legitimately haven’t had a day here where it hasn’t started raining out of nowhere 

-it’s not only heat-hot in the summer but crazy ridiculous humid hot. there are a lot of products that help with it but i keep getting home and trying to make the shower colder only to find i’m showering in tap-cold water already 

-trash sorting system 

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (07b)

word count; 7053

summary; as the tragedy of the chemical fire begins to wind down, the aftermath leaves the entire team in shock, and in need of a little comfort.

notes; this is the second half of part-7, I just know you guys are going to love it by the end.

warnings; minor character deaths, reference to panic attacks, vomiting, chemical fires.

Finally, the dam broke, and you tried to hold in the tears that wanted to release, the boy on the sheet twitching aggressively in his unconscious state as his body struggled to keep functioning. Your hands felt heavy as you pressed your hand over the neat stack of cards, dragging your hand over the pile and spreading it out to display all of the colours, before your fingers were brushing over what you were certain was the first of this colour card to be issued yet today.

A black card, feeling ominous in your hand, the weight of the card feeling more like bricks as you lifted it up, and you allowed yourself to shed the first tear. You didn’t want to tell Thomas, to let him know the real extensions of what you were seeing, but there was nothing for this boy that you could do. He wouldn't make it to a hospital or into surgery, his injuries were far too extensive, and so you let your legs stretch out from in front of you, the black card looped around his neck as you tried your best to make him comfortable.

The wipes you used were soothing instead of antibacterial, cooling skin that had been destroyed by flames, red and bleeding as you tried to soothe him, wiping away the traces of his injuries to try and clean him up.

There was a hope, that family was coming for him, that you were cleaning him up for a reason, helping him to look more presentable as you wiped traces of black ash and dust from his skin, all mattered in brown-red stains and sweat, tears under his eyes, and you removed it all.

It was moments like this that you had to remind yourself why you did this job at all, working along him carefully all the way to his fingertips as you wiped him down, adjusting the torn shreds of his clothes around him to hide the extent of his injuries as best as you could once you’d padded the deep slashes across his torso, bandages already beginning to seep through with red, but you adjusted his shirt down to over them. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it was radically better than it had been.

Tanned flesh was beginning to lose colour and his body motions were beginning to grow fatigued, and once you had adjusted him as best as you could, you were simply left to wait, sitting by the young boy’s side, and whispered reassurances into his ear with every twitch he made, sometimes resurfacing long enough to feel his pain, back arching and screams of pain leaving his lips, and you bit back tears, before letting them flow freely once again when his pain carried him back a state of illusion.

You loved this job, because in 99 out of 100 cases, it worked out. You helped pregnant women escape elevator shafts and father’s life long enough to see their baby born too, and you helped kids escape a life they didn't want to be in, and have the courage to create a new path. You helped nurses of amnesia patients escape burning rooms when they’d given up all hope, and you saved the elderly from suffocation on the gas leaks within their own homes.

You were damn good at your job, but sometimes, there were moments like this one that made it all that much harder.

Making a mental note of where you lay within the chaos, you hauled yourself up onto your feet, families weaving around as they all made to seek out their family members, and you were glad to notice that less and less people were being removed from the building. As you weaved through the channels made in the grass, the green stands worn away under multiple foot and wheel prints into muddy dirty tracks that would take weeks to fix, you made your way towards the ambulance you’d arrived in.

The weight of your body was heavy, every footfall feeling like it weighed you down more and more, your arms hanging by your sides, and you knew that tomorrow you would be riddled with pain and aching muscles, the over-exertions, everything from fixing up simple wounds, to hauling around men who were 200lb of pure muscle to help move them into recovery positions or lift them onto stretchers when they were too weak or injured to do it themselves, workmen who were twice your size, and the strain was making itself known.

You were numb, for now, and it was a sweet and blissful relief to know that the racing of your heart was creating enough adrenaline to dull every pain you had. Well, except for the headache that had been throbbing behind your eyes for hours now and making you feel a little nausea, but you could handle that, as long as you were able to finish this day without anything else. You must’ve dealt with over a hundred people at least, possibly more, the workload doubled with Newt too, and you were ready to crash into your bed, dreading the hours of shift you still had remaining.

The flames were beginning to be tamed, the blue tint to the smoke was fading as the chemicals were burned away, thick clouds of black smoke as the orange glow died down, beginning to be extinguished. There wasn’t much equipment that you had needed before, and yet now, you were grabbing ahold of a heart rate monitor and an oxygen tank, the mask to match it, and one of the stretcher pillows that had been discarded to the front of the ambo’ to make more room on the trolleys.

Hooking the monitor under your arm, you moved it to sit comfortably balanced on your hip, before you were letting out a sigh, your fingers hovering over the drawer of medicines and needles that you hated going into. Newt had stuck a small skull and crossbones sticker over it, one that had an eyepatch and a pirates hat on it, a joke between the two of you after you’d gone through the drive-thru at McDonalds on the way back from a call only a few weeks ago, getting a collection of pirate stickers in a happy meal box.

That drawer was only ever dug into if all options were out, if you were simply trying to relieve some of the pain that a patient was in, because they were in agony, and wouldn't make it to the hospital. Enough to bring down someone's pain levels, to let their heart relax, because once their brain stopped fighting to keep them alive and hiding the pain, they often didn’t drive too long after that.

Swallowing thickly, the jars within rattled a little as they clinked against one another. Shifting through and turning them in your hands, you found the container labelled with the medicine you were searching for, a fresh needle in a plastic packet, and you held both of them in your other hand, adjusting the equipment in your arms as you hopped down from the vehicle once again.

Slamming the doors back shut and waiting to hear them lock behind you, your eyes flickered over the scene. There were still a lot of police officers; operating crowd control, handing out water bottles and guiding members of the family through the crowd. You would give it time, not injecting the poor boy with the medicine until it all became too much for him, giving him the best chance for his family to get here before he passed, but you couldn't wait long.

Your feet dragged a little as you walked, toes scuffing against the muddy grass, and you were beginning to lose all strength, forcing yourself to go on, muscles clenching to keep them tight before you dropped everything you were holding entirely. Arriving back at the scene, the boy was panting rapidly and lightly, eyes moving beneath closed lids and jaw clenched so tight you worried he would crack his teeth, fists clenched by his side as his body remained rigid.

Placing down the kit gently, you let out a little sigh, his eyes cracking open to turn to look at you as he heard the sound.

“I-It hurts!”

You swallowed, knowing there wasn’t much more you could do as his voice cracked. He was covered with burns, and there were clear signs of internal bleeding as the organs beneath charred skin went solid, there was bruising along his body in many places from the broken bones under his skin, and with the wheezing he let out, never quite able to catch his breath, you were certain that the cracked ribs had punctured one of his lungs. “I know, kiddo, I know.”

He cried out again, a wet sound as he coughed, his entire body jerking at the sensation, and you cupped a hand behind his head, fingers finding the sticky wetness of warm blood at the base of his neck as you tried to rock him forwards, letting him cough until splatters of blood were hitting his lap and the plastic, splattering a little across you as he wretched, his entire body trembling.

When he finally managed to stop the movements, he was even more out of breath than he had been, and you lay him back down, using a glove-covered thumb to wipe at the corners of his mouth and clear away the blood and spit mix that had accumulated there. He had wretched, several times, though no bile had risen, his body reacting in every way it could now as organs began to fail and shut down one by one, and you hated that there was nothing anyone could do but sit here on watch.

Minute felt like an eternity as you hooked up the heart monitor, turning the volume down to soft beeping, as not to disturb anyone else, an uneven and erratic rate with a blood pressure concerningly low, and you were glad that the average eye couldn't read these figures, because it read like a horror story in a medical professionals eyes.

Just as you finished hooking the boy up to the machine, an oxygen mask sitting over his face, fogging up lightly inside as he took gasping breaths of the raw source, you felt a shadow fall over you, covering your eyes from the light before you were looking up.

The mother, you could tell immediately, from the sullen look in her eyes, and she didn’t look at you, her gaze sweeping over the boy who lay beside where you knelt, before she was turning, a quick call to her husband, and just like that, you were crowded by family. There were three younger siblings, and he seemed to be the eldest of them all, a pre-teen with tears already in her eyes as she looked at her brother, a child who couldn't be older than eight staring in confusion as they tried to grasp what happened, and a toddler, a fist knotted in their father’s jumper and balanced on his hip.

Sinking to her knees beside her son, she didn’t sob or scream, she simply let out a shaky breath, lifting her hand to brush dark curls out of his face, looking down at her eldest child as he began to slip away again. Setting the youngest down, the toddler wobbled on unstable legs to their mother, sitting down in the grass beside them and reaching a hand out with useless babble to place a chubby hand onto the boy’s arm, squeezing a little and cheering as they lived within a bubble of innocence, unaware of what was happening.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?”

A deeper voice, the father, and you turned, nodding your head to him and shifting yourself to pick up the needle, tearing off the plastic top and producing the needle from inside. “I’m just going to give him a shot of morphine, and then we’ll talk.”

He only nodded, watching as you lifted the container, pushing the tip of the needle through the rubbery covering and drawing back on the syringe carefully to fill the needle with the approximate amount, tapping the tip and checking it over once it had the right dosage within it. Finding a spot on his arm where there was still enough intact flesh to find a vein, you pressed your finger down over the pale skin, the blue vein underneath disappearing for a second, refilling weakly but marking its place, and you lined the needle up.

An uncomfortable pang shot through you as you injected the needle into his arm, pushing the pad of your finger down against the handle of the needle until all of the medicine had been unloaded into his veins. It took a few seconds to travel, and you watched him, studying his reaction to be sure, before all at once his muscles loosened and he sagged with relief into the plastic tarp as the pain finally faded away, fingers flexing around his mother’s as he squeezed with what little strength he had left.

Standing up and wobbling a little, the father followed you a few steps away from the group, and he glanced back over his shoulder to his family, hands sticking into his pockets, before he was letting out a heavy sigh. “My boy, he’s not going to make it, is he?”

“No, he’s not.” You whispered, and the man only nodded, a slow exhale from him as he processed that news, before tears were building in his eyes, and he began to crumble a little. “I gave him a shot of morphine, it’s slowed down all of his functions now, and taken away his pain. He can’t feel it now. I wish there’s more I could have done, I’m sorry.”

“My wife saw the news, saw the explosion. She was so worried, straight away.” A twist of guilt moved through you, making you sniff a little as your own lower lips wobbled, and you tried to choke down tears. “I told her she’d be okay, and that he was just an intern. There was no way he was close enough to the real stuff to be badly injured.”

“My friend found him, carried him out about fifteen minutes ago. Gave me enough time to let you get here to say your goodbyes.”

“You tell your friend ‘thank you’ for me, and for my family.” You nodded, knowing how much it would mean, and he finally let his tears slip free, making it harder for you to contain your own emotions. “He’s the oldest of all four, I don’t do much for a job. I’m just a mechanic, and his mother works at a supermarket, but he was going to college. He studied biomedical science, he was going somewhere.”

You grimaced, an unstable breath sucked into your lungs, before you were blinking quickly and looking away. There was bile rising in your throat, your hand gripping at your stomach to try and contain it. “I’m going to go now, and let you say your goodbyes. I’ll return soon, okay?”

You both knew what ‘soon’ meant, and he nodded, stepping away to talk to his wife, and a look seemed to be all that was needed to communicate between them, before the first of a loud cry was leaving her lips, and that was your breaking point. You shouldered through the people, mumbled apologised on your lips, you did feel bad for pushing through them all, but you could barely choke down the vomit rising within your guts before you were stepping out of sight, hunched over at the waist as you let it go, hand reaching out for supper as you found the tree.

Nails scraped against the bark, the pads of your fingers stinging at the rough pressure, and you shuddered as you heaved, throat stinging and eyes watering as you struggled to even breathe. It felt unending, time warping around you as you realised it had only been a half-hour since the boy had been delivered to you, and that he wouldn't make it to the hour marker.

A hand came down to rub at your back, and you gasped for breath, wiping the back of your hand, covered by your sleeve across your mouth and taking a moment to yourself. When you were finally able to stand back up, stomach feeling a little more stable as you tried not to think about the dying boy lest your nausea return, you twisted to find the person who had come to comfort you.

"Officer Paris." Your words couldn't get any higher than a whisper, and even that cracked, and his hand fell back down to his side as you wrapped your arms around yourself in comfort.

“Saw you take a sudden dash, got a little worried.”

You nibbled on your lower lip, a foul taste lingering in your mouth, and he offered up a water bottle for you, a weak laugh on your lips as you accepted it with a whispered ‘thank you’. As you took deep swigs, forcing yourself not to gulp as you slowed your racing heart, you watched as the fire teams began to load the equipment back into their trucks slowly, all the work they could do having been completed by now, and you knew that there was still a lot of work left for you to do before you’d get to follow after them.

“Everything okay?”

“Not really.” You whispered, screwing the lid of the water back on and holding it to your chest, using the cool liquid within to try and focus your senses. “We’re going to need a coroner down here. I know there’s some up in the building, but we have a kid, he’s not going to make it.”

“I’ll find one for you, okay?”

You appreciated the gentle tone of his voice, lowering your head to rub gently at your temples with one hand. “I should get back, we need to start getting people out of here.”

You could hardly focus as you walked back to your stations, everything seeming to slip from focus into some kind of daze as you tried to focus on what you were doing. You retrieved your bag, scooping it up from the floor and swinging it over your shoulder. There were coloured cards waiting to be collected, torn plastic bases and litters of water bottles in the mud, as well as lost personal belongings that had been forgotten in the rush.

Many people were still crowded around, waiting to be excused and waiting to get rides in an ambulance, the reds fading away into a majority of only green and yellow cards waiting, and you praised your lucky stars that you had only needed to give out one single black card today, because you weren’t sure that you’d even still be standing if there had been any more.

Flexing the fingers of your hand slowly, you focused on the sensation, head rolling from side to side, before your shoulders followed, and you loosened every single muscle you had for a tranquil moment, before setting to work. The sun was already beginning to fade on the day now, moving towards the horizon as the lighting dulled, hours having passed between caring for patients, and your first call was to begin getting people signed off.

Leaving your bag in the flooring of your seat in the ambulance, you collected a stack of forms and papers, as well as pens, taking them with you as you began to make your rounds of anyone who was left. As long as they were sentient enough to fill out discharge forms after you ran a final assessment, you could let them leave on their own as long as they had somebody with them, family or a friend, even just a neighbour or coworker, but it helped to clear out the crowds.

Newt joined you after an hour or so, having done his last assessment with the final patient, all the fire trucks being long since left, leaving police cars and vans scattered around, ambulances coming and going, and you had to ensure not to focus on the black vans with wide embossed lettering that brought a more sombre mood. Newt seemed to sense your pain, because he disappeared for a small while, returning not long after, and as you packed away equipment, the family you’d helped were now gone, the equipment you’d left with them was loaded back into the ambulance, and where words failed you, the look your friend gave you said it all.

He knew how much you’d suffered, he knew it would only cause more pain to go over and gather the equipment once the boy’s body had been cleared, and so he took care of it for you. A crew of policemen were on clean-up, as well as that of volunteers, only the shining lights of headlights and camera crew leftover as the light began to fade into darkness, and the scene was somewhat clean.

Lost belongings were piled into large plastic boxes with the police, and you filled out what felt like a bibles-worth of paperwork with the coroners, signing your name so many time your signature now just looked like a scribble rather than your name, before you were finally collapsing down into the somewhat uncomfortable cushioning of the ambulance’s passenger seat.

Silence took over your both, and as the truck started up, you left your head sway back into the headrest, eyes slipping shut as the rumble of the vehicle lulled you into as much relaxation as you could get.

As the adrenaline began to die down, you were able to feel the ache in your body, the pain that was seeping into every fibre of your body, every nerve and cell, exhaustion taking over. Raising a hand up to cover your mouth as you yawned, Newt chuckled softly, leaning over and patting your knee, before he was changing gears, and twisting on the radio to fill the cabin with the sounds of the classical music radio.

The trucks were parked away neatly within the garage bay when you arrived, the main doors up to anticipate your arrival, but the space was unusually empty, though it was understandable. After cells, members of the team could often be found milling around, sitting at the squad table and chatting, or working over the truck to check and clean equipment, filling the silence with laughter and jokes as they got along, but as you hopped out of the vehicle the second it was put into park, you were met with silence.

The echo of your door slamming shut reverberated around the empty foyer, Newt’s soon following, before he was rounding to your side, a sad look in eyes that normally sparkled brightly, and he let out a sigh. “I’m sorry about the kid. I really thought we were going to make it through the day without a black card today.”

“Did the coroner’s say anything about inside?”

“I didn’t even want to ask. We did everything we could, everybody did.” You swallowed thickly, nodding your head, and letting Newt loop an arm over your shoulders to pull you into his side, your head falling to his shoulder, and dragging your aching feet underneath you as you followed after him towards the locker room. You were stained with dirt, blood and grime, and you hoped the water was hot enough to soothe you and wash away your worries, already thinking about the muscle-relief body wash that you had hidden on the second shelf in your locker. “We could get in touch with the hospital, and see if everybody is okay?”

“You could call that hot doctor.” Newt squeezed you a little, a humourless laugh leaving you as you caught sight of his smirk, little energy to reciprocate the joke, but appreciating the way he lifted the mood nonetheless. “What was his name, again? David, Denny?”

“It’s Derek, and you know that.”

“Derek, that’s right.” He sighed, dreamily as he pushed open the door to the locker room, and the smell of multiple body-washes as well as the lingering heat from steam, signalling that the rest of your team had already been through the room and cleaned themselves up. Grabbing the towel and the bag of toiletries from your locker, you kicked off your boots, flexing your toes as your feet were liberated, and letting your socks follow. You were too lazy to even scoop your clothes up from the floor, stripping down to your underwear before wandering away to the shower, and closing the curtain.

Removing your final garments, you reached a hand back out of the closed stall, dropping them to the floor beside where your towel was hanging up, and twisting on the shower. Across the room, in the men’s showers, you heard Newt let out a loud and dramatic groan, a giggle on your lips as he did.

“I have never appreciated hot water more.”

“Speak your truth, Newt.” You teased, hearing his laugh as you stepped under the stream of water yourself, face tilted up into the spray and eyes closing, letting yourself be ridden of the day’s stresses. You didn’t want to look down, and see the colour that the water would run, you didn’t want to see any of it, the blood or the mud, you just wanted to let it all disappear, without having to acknowledge any of it again. Keeping your eyes closed, you reached for the wash-proof bag, unzipping it and feeling inside, fingers dancing over the bottles within to tell their shape.

Shampoo first, scrubbing through the tresses of your hair to remove the built-up grime, feeling the ponytail you’d put it in all slip away, the dull pain on your scalp soothing as your fingers massaged gently through your hair, pressing into the sore flesh, and you finally let a satisfied noise of your own bubble up. The squeaking of the doors on the other side of the room signified that Newt was finished long before you were, padding of wet feet, and as you moved onto the conditioner, you could faintly hear the slamming of his locker through the water as you washed the strands.

You didn’t hear when he actually left, the thundering of the water as it ran over your heart, the pounding of your own heartbeat inside of your head, but you sensed when he had left, the room feeling a little colder when you were alone. If a few stray tears escaped you to be washed away by the water when you scrubbed down your body and let the herbal soak absorb into your muscles, then nobody had to know, letting them be shed in honour of the boy who’d lost his life while trying to improve it.

You worked slowly and silently, wrapping the towel around yourself, and finding it a little easier to breathe as you wiped a space free in the steamed up mirror with your hand to be able to see. It was like a weight had been lifted from your chest, leaving you able to take your breaths more smoothly, less ragged and strained, and your headache was beginning to fade. You felt better for being clean, your entire body aching but a little more relieved and nowhere near as tense, and you sighed, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

It was hard to forgive yourself sometimes when you lost a patient, it was never easy to watch someone die, but you’d done everything you possibly could to make it easier, and thanks to your team, he’d seen his family before he passed, and that was a blessing that made everything feel easier to bear.

Taking care of your skin and running a comb through the towel-dried strands of your hair, you were almost falling asleep as you dried it. The repetitive humming of the hairdryer was enough to make your eyes close and mind stop spinning, coming to a halt as everything began to slip from consciousness, your muscles feeling heavy for an entirely new reason, and you jerked yourself back away several times.

Following it all, you grimaced at the taste in your mouth, the bitter aftertastes of your physical reaction to the day still lingering, and so you were generous with the dollop of toothpaste you served yourself as you scrubbed lazily at your teeth and rinsed out your mouth. Scooping up your clothes and pulling on your spare set, you shoved everything grubby and used into your bag to take home, swapped with your fresh clothes, but you didn’t get dressed entirely.

Deep down, you knew that Vince wouldn’t mind if you slacked on your uniform just this once, and so for comfort, instead of pulling on another smart button-up uniform shirt, you went for your hoodie instead, the worn logo of your college in the top corner as it faded, a hole in one sleeve that your thumb would fit through, your hair pulled from underneath the collar to sit limply around your shoulders.

You didn’t care for boots, either, two pairs of socks to keep your feet warm, before you were pulling the sleeves down over your hands, and wandering away to the main room, to try and find your team, and seek reassurance and company within their presence. It was unsettling quiet in there too, only the sounds of Newt’s pen tapping on the table as he worked silently on the puzzles in the newspaper, and the sounds of the almost muted television that Thomas was staring at, one of the older ‘Star Wars’ movies playing on the screen, but from the way he was staring at it, you knew his mind was miles away.

There were only seven in the room, including yourself. Gally and Chuck were playing chess at the kitchen counter, Newt doing the puzzles and Thomas watching television, and Brenda was sitting at the other end of the table with Minho, the two of them each with their headphones in and listening to music, but sitting close enough to one another to seek comfort, and your lips flicked up a little, happy for them, taking it at their own pace. You weren’t sure where everyone else was, but logically, you would assume that they would be sleeping the day away.

Moving across the room, you reached immediately for the kettle, ruffling Chuck’s curls as you passed by, and he huffed under his breath, but a smile was on his flushed cheeks as you glanced back at him, a friendly wink for his complaints, before you were filling the tank up under the tap. Once it was clicked on and beginning to boil, you began to search through the cupboards for what you wanted, smiling as the ingredients came together.

Placing a pan on the stove, you flicked the flame onto the lowest setting you could get, and adding milk to the pan to begin to warm through, without boiling over. Opening up a bag of marshmallows, you popped on into your mouth, chewing at the squishy treat happily, and opening up the cupboard filled with assorted mugs, finding your favourite.

As you found the one you searched for, you placed it down on the counter, before another was following, and another, until there were seven mugs lined up in front of you, all mismatching in size and colour, some with pictures, patterns or writing. A generous spoonful of chocolate powder into the bottom of each one, your personal collection of hot chocolate ingredients, but you were willing to share just this once.

With a splash of boiling water, just enough to dissolve the powder, you topped each one up with the milk as soon as it began to froth around the edges, heated all the way through, and leaving a gap at the top. A sprinkle of marshmallows on the surface of the steaming beverage, and a spray of whipped cream into a pretty swirl, you decorated the top of each one with a few more marshmallows and a dash of chocolate dusting.

They weren’t perfect, there were drips of chocolate and cream along the edges, and they certainly weren’t anything you would serve at a restaurant, but as you placed one down in front of both Gally and Chuck, the looks on their faces were more than enough to confirm that they didn’t care about the appearance.

There was surprise on their features, brows raising as they looked between you and the hot beverages, whispered ‘thank yous’ as their fingers wrapped around it, pulling the mugs towards themselves and staring down at them, small smiles taking over. Minho had the same reaction, and Brenda stopped her music long enough to wrap you into a tight hug as you offered one to her, before Newt was sighing out happily, his head rolling back to look up at you when you'd placed a mug down in front of him. He’d given you a cheesy grin, and told you just how much he loved you, before taking a large gulp, and cursing a little as it burned his tongue, but not letting it deter him from repeating the action, and getting a print of whipped cream along his upper lip to be licked away.

Taking the last of the drinks to be given away, you made your way over to the couch. Thomas had seemingly had the same idea as you, a jumper on and the hood pulled up over his head to hide his face, and he jumped as you placed a hand onto his shoulder. You squeezed in apology as he turned to look at you, the sombre look on his face lightening a little bit as he tried to offer you a smile, twisting to face you a fraction more.

Rounding the edge of the couch to hand him the drink, surprise flickered over his features, before he was taking it into two trembling hands, and bringing it up to his nose to sniff lightly. He poked his tongue out, fishing a marshmallow and a scoop of whipped cream from the top, and he hummed contentedly at the flavour.

“Thank you.”

His voice cracked as he spoke, and you hoped the smile on your face didn’t look too pitying, only able to nod your head as he stared up at you, blowing on the steamy liquid as the cream melted, and your fingers rubbed gently at his shoulder where you still held on, before your hand was sliding away, stepping back a little, and his eyes snapped up from the drink to you, brows furrowing, before he was reaching a hand out, wrapping around the wrist that had been closest to him, and bringing you to a halt.

“Will you sit with me? Please?”

“Of course, I will. Let me just go and get my drink, okay?” He paused in releasing your wrist, fingers unwrapping slowly, and he took a sip of his hot chocolate as he settled back into the cushions. Grabbing at your drink, Newt watched as you went, his brows raising as you caught his eye, and you shrugged, the porcelain hot in your hand as you held onto it, almost enough to burn, and you switched to gripping the handle, swirling it a little to mix the melted cream into your drink.

Sinking down into the couch beside him, he shuffled a little closer, your legs folding under you until his thigh was pressing to your knee as you faced him, mug placed down on the table, and he leaned forwards, matching the positions, before he was running a hand over his face, and letting his gaze find your own.

“Are you okay, Thomas?”

“Not really.” He mumbled, looking completely and utterly exhausted, and you felt sorry for him, true empathy surging through you, and propped your head up on your hand, elbow on the back of the couch, as you looked at him. “You know, I think you lied to me. I think you told me what I needed to hear in the moment, but I don’t think it was the truth.”

You sighed, a short exhale as you tried to find words, and his lips flicked up at the sides, head dipping for s second, before he was looking up shaking his head slightly.

“I’m not mad. You knew what was best for me. I needed you, and you didn’t fail me. Thank you.” He whispered, the words just for you, and your lips pursed, feeling a little flustered at the way he stared at you; earnestly, eyes searching your own. “Will you tell me what happened, though?”

“You don’t want that, Thomas.”

“I do. Please, just tell me about the kid.” His request was desperate, and there was a silver lining to the incredibly dark cloud, thunder and lightning swirling within, and he choked down the lump in his throat as your shoulders sagged.

“He went comfortably. He didn’t feel a thing. I promise.” His eyes closed, a shaky breath let out, and his face screwed up a little as he tried to hold in his tears. He sniffled, before letting out a weak sigh, knowing that he was failing, and as he blinked, his lashes came back wet, a large tear falling along pale cheeks, before another was following. “His parents, they saw it on the news. They came right down, and his mother held his hand as he passed. He got to see his siblings, and his mom and dad. He didn’t die alone.”

He let out a weak cry, and you heard the shuffling at the table, the rustling of the papers as Newt moved, but his chair didn’t scrape across the floor yet, clearly waiting to judge whether or not his best friend needed him or not first.

“His dad was so proud of him, Thomas. He was the oldest of four, he was making all of them so proud, and thanks to you, he passed on peacefully.” Honey eyes that were encased with red opened up to meet your gaze, lower lip wobbling a little as he released it from where it was held between his teeth, and in this moment, he was weak. He wasn’t the lieutenant of the team, he wasn’t a leader or a fighter, he was just a man who’d experienced a tragedy. “You saved him, Thomas. You made his last moments something peaceful and meaningful.” You paused, waiting a second longer, letting him calm himself. “He told me to thank you, on behalf of his family.”

“He did?” You nodded, and his lips flicked up at the sides, a hint of a smile. Lifting a hand, you wiped away his tears, brushing your fingers over wet skin, before you were cupping one of his cheeks in your palm, and his eyes fluttered shut, leaning into your touch as he let out a shaky breath. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

He smiled, softly, twisting his head to press more into your touch, and you swept your thumb over his face, tracing soft and damp skin, the pad brushing lightly over the upturned tip of his nose, and his face scrunched up a little at the ticklish feeling. “How do you always know just what to say to make me feel better?”

“I don’t know, it just comes to me, I guess. What you need to hear, it’s always just the truth.”

“Thank you.” He mumbled, lashes fluttering as his eyes remained closed, relaxing into your touch, and the cushions on the other side of you dipped. Glancing over your shoulder, you chuckled a little as Brenda sat down, leaning over to wrap an arm over your waist, her head coming down to rest on your shoulder, and she turned the volume on the movie up, cuddling into you a little as she sought out comfort too, a chuckle on your lips as she did.

You shuffled, sitting to face her a little more, and Thomas moved with you, keeping his face tucked into your hand, before Newt was following. On the other side of the couch, Newt slumped down, patting Thomas on the back lightly, before kicking his feet up on the coffee table, and reaching across to take Thomas’ hot chocolate, the brunette completely unaware of the theft that had taken place. Gally sat in the armchair, and Minho sat on the edge of the couch, arm stretched out along the back of the couch behind Brenda’s head, and Chuck sat on the floor.

Nobody said anything, nobody needed to, as you all simply watched the movie that had been chosen, letting the day be washed away as you served out the rest of your shift, ready to go home, and let a bad day be washed away by many more good days to come. Pulling your hand back for just as second, Thomas let out a noise of discontentment, his eyes cracking open to peer at you, a frown forming on his lips.

Lifting up a little higher, you pushed his hood down, adjusting it around his shoulders carefully, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you as everyone else watched the movie, leaning in just an inch, nothing noticeable, but enough to keep the bubble between you both, and your fingers laced into his hair.

A rumbling of bliss left him as your nails scraped lightly at his scalp, playing lightly with his hair to soothe him, the strands still very faintly damp from his shower, and he simply stared at you, head tipping into your hand as his body began to loosen of tension.

“I got you, Thomas, don’t worry.”

He didn’t respond, the first genuine smile you’d seen since the beginning of the shift being offered to you, his eyes closing, and he lifted a hand to wrap around your wrist delicately, fingers smoothing up along the back of your palm, resting over your hand and holding it lightly as you played with his hair. Turning your head to the movie, your attention was split, between what was happening on screen, and more overwhelmingly, with the intense feeling of belonging that was flooding you, never having felt more welcome than you did right now.

[wordsablaze]

Trust Fall

day four, where damian’s improvised escape route is creative but also a literal nightmare for dick...

A/N: some day i’ll write about my faves without hurting them. but not today. whumptober prompts: “do you trust me?” / pushed

-

It’s not that Dick is scared of falling. 

Of course he’s not, he grew up in a circus and spent his days soaring through the air as he flung himself from one pair of hands to another so he’s more than accustomed to dropping and catching himself. 

But it’s different when they’re on patrol.

He hates watching his siblings throw themselves across buildings just as much as doing so fills him with pride. They’re good at it, they’ve all been trained well and it’s satisfying watching them land their jumps perfectly, but there’s still a part of Dick’s heart that will never get over the fear watching his family fall, the fear of watching someone else he loves plummet to their death.

He’d just never expected to experience the reverse. 

And it’s almost poetic how it’s Damian sharing that experience with him, the one person he’s scared for the most. Because Damian is small and he is far from fragile but he is a child and Dick is constantly terrified that his line will snap or his foot will slip or his hands will fumble and he’ll end up falling. 

But no. 

It’s Dick who ends up falling. 

The case they were solving had led them to a series of weapon shipments and opened up a trail of weakly hidden smugglers. It hadn’t initially taken long to figure out who was organising everything but the masterminds were a lot smarter than the men they’d hired to carry out their dirty work and it’s several weeks before Nightwing and Robin manage to intercept an incriminating meeting. 

Of course, the meeting is on a rooftop.

And a particularly tall rooftop at that. From a business viewpoint, it’s ideal: it’s away from prying eyes and means that whatever they discuss is less likely to be accidentally discovered by a guard or a resident or a rival spy. But from a vigilante viewpoint, it’s a pain: it’s difficult to access, staying out of sight is far harder than usual, and there’s almost nowhere to go if things turn sour. 

Almost nowhere to go, because vigilantes are nothing if not creative. So when their hiding spot is unfortunately discovered - not because they’d been unprofessional but because a stray cat decides to have some sort of crisis right next to them - there’s no choice but to be creative about their escape.

“Do you trust me?” Damian quietly asks as they back away from the men glaring at them, so quietly that it takes Dick a moment to realise the question had been asked at all. 

“With my life,” Dick replies honestly. 

He thinks he sees Damian smile one of his extremely rare and shockingly genuine smiles but he doesn’t get any time to appreciate how precious it is because his feet are suddenly separated from the ground and his field of vision shifts from the city skyline to the faint line of stars in the sky. 

“No!” he shouts, but it’s too late. 

Before he can even think of grabbing onto the edge of the roof or anything in the vicinity, gravity has done its job and yanked his head backwards, downwards. He can feel his body flipping over itself, catching sight of the cars parked below him before he rights himself in the air and scrambles to find his grapple gun. 

The wind screams past his ears as he falls but he can’t hear it over the taste of his heartbeat anyway. He should be compartmentalising because come on, he’s a professional and he’s trained for this his whole life, but he can’t think and he can’t find his grapple and he’s falling and falling and falling and he wonders if this what his parents had felt like, if they too had wished they could just stretch a little further, if they’d watched the boy they love stand tall above them as they fell and fell and fell and-

There.

He almost sobs as his fingers latch onto the right part of his belt and aims almost blindly at where he thinks is up. The grappling hook latches onto something but his appreciation is once again cut short as he finds himself being pulled sideways and slammed into a building, the unrelenting brick knocking all the air from his lungs in a way that will surely leave an impressive set of bruises later. 

It takes him far longer than it should to realise that he can’t stay dangling on a building all night. Eventually, when he can hear car horns and distant shouting instead of just his own frantic heartbeat and muddled echoes of memories, he lets his head fall against the brick and lifts a hand to activate his comms. “Robin?”

Mercifully, Damian replies almost immediately. “I’m waiting at the back entrance.”

There are a hundred things Dick could say to that but in the end, he just sighs. “On my way.”

He scales down the building on autopilot, nothing mattering until he sees Damian leaning against a door, looking almost bored with the whole situation. If it weren’t for the way he all but launches himself at Dick as soon as he’s in sight, it might have seemed like pushing his brother off a roof hadn’t affected him at all. 

“Are you okay?” Dick asks, looking over Damian for any injuries even as he nods. “Are you sure? How did you get down? Did any of them hurt you?”

Damian pulls back only enough to meet Dick’s worried gaze, his arms still firmly looped around Dick’s stomach. “There was a small vent in the east corner, I escaped through it easily but you would have been too tall.”

Oh.

Dick smiles, ruffling Damian’s hair. “You did the right thing, Robin. That was smart, and impressively quick thinking.” He waits until Damian’s shoulders relax and the guilty frown fades from his face before adding: “I totally understand why you did what you did today but please, please never do that again.”

He doesn’t think Damian knows how his parents died and it’s unlikely that he’s aware how the fear of falling still haunts his nightmares so many years later but there must be something telling in his expression because Damian nods quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers solemnly.

Again, Dick smiles as warmly as he can. “It’s okay, Robin, I love you.”

They use the fact that the men who’d spotted them on the roof are probably on their way down after them as an excuse to move on and head back to the cave for their reports, but Dick would be lying if he said he doesn’t pointedly avoid taller buildings for the next couple of weeks.

-

dick please admit that you have trauma so your siblings don't accidentally make it worse--

-

thanks for reading !! masterlist | dc sideblog: @batfamvibes

[passivenovember]

Stolas.

--

Birds were a motif throughout his childhood, the cyclical narrators to never-ending summer nights. They provided shadow and structure and healing from the Tancred yellow sun above when his days were full of fantasy and lemon-pineapple ice pops, and Billy grew up knowing not to be afraid.

His grandmother said crows were guides and protectors, ancestors and benevolent spirits. Every kind person in his life turning into a winged beast as they slept, astral projecting so that they may always watch over each other in a loop of kindness that had no beginning and no end.

His grandmother said a lot of things that Billy never understood but, sitting by her side as she created potions and elixirs that made his tummy feel bright and warm, Billy knew she was right. He should feel safe far below the spread of their wings because they were the keepers of knowledge, the bridges between worlds. If Billy played his cards right, ate his vegetables and learned his starter spells, and bled kindness around all who knew him; the birds would help him in his greatest hour of need

That's how he met Stolas.

The first time, and then so many after. On windy afternoons when the breeze whipped red welts into the skin under his t-shirt. When Billy road his bike to get away, pumping his tiny little legs down back hills, feet lifting off the pedals as the road sloped dangerously beneath him. It's a wonder his shoelaces didn't get caught any other day but that one.

It might have been fate. Billy's grandmother believed so strongly in that.

Or it might have meant nothing. Wrapped in a flurry of coincidence, as Billy was too young to understand that there are no accidents, even where actual accidents were involved. When the wheel jerked out from underneath him and Billy fell headfirst onto the road. He slid ten feet across the asphalt without a sound, scraping and planting rocks into the plush, pink skin that stretched itself over his bones.

When Billy finally stopped moving, the sky was cloudless. Bright blue, the line of the trees tussling in the wind reminding Billy that he was alive.

Alive and bleeding, clutching his shin in two hands.

That's when a dark black shadow fell to the ground beside him and a million things ran through his mind at once, each fighting for their moment in the speaker's chair.

The first was that Billy had no protection.

No charms or warding candles, which he doubted would be of much use in his clumsy, inexperienced hands. The second was that his grandmother often knew when trouble had caught up with him and would teleport in to make sure that he was alright. That he wasn't too shaken up to hop on his bike and ride home, before it got too dark to see the road.

The third was what her face might look like, and what her lips might say, when she saw the demon. The little shapeshifter staring at Billy with two beady, sharp eyes. Windows travelling between Billy's tear streaked face and the pool of red dripping to the ground beneath him.

The moment felt cosmic, with energy sparking in the air.

Billy felt like he had been running for a hundred miles. "What do you want, demon?" He asked. With a loud and clear voice, as grandmother had always instructed him.

The bird let out a gentle, soft laugh. "I am not demon." It said.

Billy tugged his blood soaked knee closer to his chest. "You're the color of a demon." He prayed to the goddess for protection, flinching away as the bird hopped a few inches closer. "You're shadowy. And you're speaking inside my mind. And my tummy feels like stone cold soup, sloshing around--"

"Have you ever seen a demon, child?"

Billy shook his head. "My grandmother conjures and binds them. She helps the people in town without them knowing, only I'm not allowed to go into the attic when she does her rituals because--"

The bird hummed. "So you've never actually seen a demon?"

"No, but I help gather the materials. Salt and elixirs. My mommy makes potions to ward--"

"Ah." he bird muttered slyly. "So you are a witch."

That sent a chill down Billy's freckled spine. "How could you tell?"

"Smell like one." The bird pecked at a passing leaf on the ground. "Sharp and smoky like a budding Forrest fire. Are you alone in the world, child?"

Billy thought of his mother and his mother's mother. Generations of women who had come before. "I have a family, but I'm the only boy."

"But you're a witch."

"A conjurer. Yeah." Billy shrugged. "My mom says we're warlocks. That's what boys are called. Warlocks, because we get out magicks from the maternal goddess, and--"

"How do you know you didn't conjure me?"

Just the thought made Billy feel like a bag of mixed beans, the kind that grow into magic bean stocks. "I couldn't do that."  Billy tried to stop his cheeks from getting warm. "I don't even know how to cast a ring of protection yet."

"Salt. Four candles to represent the four great winds. Boreas, Notus, Eurus, and Zephyrus." The bird concluded.

Billy didn't understand. "How do you--"

"Salt protects from malevolencies and so do familiars." The bird hopped closer.

Billy let him, fingers twitching against his split knee to stop from reaching out. The air felt heavier, in that moment. Not like a weight but like a blanket, warm and safe, as the little creature landed on Billy's shoe and pecked at his laces.

The bird's wings felt like fairy kisses. "Would you like a familiar, child?" The bird asked.

Billy had heard of such a thing before. His grandmother had several in her collection; spiders, because they were clever, and cats, because they were cunning.

Clever and Cunning, a potion meant to better serve their masters.

Billy wasn't sure he believed in all that, for he had always thought that to have a familiar was to have a best friend. Someone to share your life with.

Billy wasn't sure he'd ever get to share his life with anybody.

The little bird cocked its head to the side and Billy had to know, "What if I can't trust you?" He looked away, toward the trees. "My grandmother said that demons try and take things from you but they want to be let in first."

"I told you, child, I'm not a demon."

"Billy." He said. "My name's Billy. I'm eight years old." The bird would be smiling, Billy thought, if he could. "Do you have a name, little guy?"

The creature didn't answer.

It, instead, hopped to the ground, kicking rocks away with its charcoal talons. Stretching its toes in the late afternoon sunlight.

"You did summon me, you know." The creature said after a while. "Not with your power so much as your need."

Billy didn't understand. "How did you know I--"

"I'll tell you what." Billy listened, leaning forward as the bird flapped its wings. "I'll tell you my name. One of the easiest and most sure fire ways to banish a demon is to call it by its name, so. If I were a demon you'd have all the power, here."

The bird stopped to peer at him, its beady eyes filled with wonder. "Isn't that what you want, child? Power?"

Well. Yes.

And no.

Billy shrugged. "What I really want is a friend."

The bird considered him for a while before finally, finally, chuckling. "Well, in that case you can call me Stolas."

"Stolas." Billy repeated, trying not to feel discouraged by the way his mouth tripped over the word. He grinned anyway. "I think we're going to be great friends."

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 58

Title: Scared.

Warnings: angst, profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty, @ocfairygodmother, @ocappreciation​

Link on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860450/chapters/80937475

She finds him in the kitchen. Standing in front of the coffee bar in a pair of Under Armour sweats that sit impossibly low on his hips and his hair and the back of his shirt visibly dampened by sweat. She’d been stirred awake by the profound need to vomit; morning sickness hitting her hard and quick and finding her throwing off the comforter and rushing for the washroom. For forty minutes she’d stayed there; on her knees in front of the toilet with her cheek resting on the cold porcelain of the lid. It had taken longer than normal for the nausea to pass; accompanied by profuse sweating and the horrific dizziness. And she’d just begun to return to normal and had been in the process of splashing cold water on her face and brushing her teeth when she’d heard the front door click open. When he hadn’t come upstairs, she’d gone in search of him, shoving her feet into a pair of slippers and one of his hoodies.

“What are you doing up so early?” Tyler inquires, when she wraps her arms around him from behind. “ Not like you to be up before the kids.”

“Woke up to an empty bed. Thought I’d come down and check on you.” Her hands slid around to his stomach and slip up to his chest; lingering briefly on broad, hard muscle before retreating to his hips once more. She rests her forehead against his back; enjoying his familiar scent -mixed with the slight tinge of perspiration- that clings to the slightly dampened cotton of his t-shirt. “You worked out? Already?”

“And went for a run.”

“Must have been pretty damn early when you got up.”

“Still dark out. Tried to fall back asleep and when that wasn’t happening, decided to get up and start the day. I didn’t want to wake you up; all the tossing and turning I was doing.”

“Are you feeling alright?” Her hands move to his shoulders, gently kneading the muscles as she presses a kiss to the middle of his back. “ You’ve been getting up crazy early every day for a week now. Don’t you think maybe you’re going a little too hard? With the heavy lifting and the running and…”

“My body feels fine. Couple extra aches and pains and some stiffness, but nothing major. Nothing I can’t handle. I’ve felt worse, that’s for sure.”

“I just don’t want you pushing it, okay? Don’t go past what your body will let you do. I know sometimes you get really into it and you’re in a zone and it’s really hard to stop, but…”

“Didn’t we talk about this?” He turns to face her; leaning back against the countertop as the coffee brews and the kettle boils. “A week and a bit ago? About me not pushing the limits? I said I’d listen to my body. And I am.”

“I just worry. I know what you can be like; when you really start going hardcore with things. I mean, I get that you feel like you need to be bigger…”

“I WANT to be bigger. I don’t feel I need to be. We talked about this.”

“I know, and I’m just reminding you that your skills and your ability to keep us safe? They are not tied to how big you are. I just want you to realize that, okay? Before you totally start busting your ass because you think one has everything to do with the other. It doesn’t. At all. And I don’t want you forcing yourself to get bigger and hurting yourself and…”

“Esme…” He smooths her hair away from her cheeks; looping wayward strands behind her ears and then cradling her face in her palms. “...I’m fine. I’m just trying to maintain. That’s it. You know how hard that’s been; trying to keep weight and muscle on. Ever since...well, you know.”

“I do know. It’s been a challenge; getting back to where you were and staying that way. And I am totally onboard with that; you maintaining how you are right now. Because it’s the healthiest you’ve been. In years. I just don’t want you feeling that you need to be different. Bigger. I don’t want you thinking I want you to be that way.”

“I don’t think that. I’ve never thought that. I know you don’t give a shit; big, small, muscles, no muscles. I know none of that matters to you.”

“It’s not that it doesn’t matter. It does, in a way. Because I want you to be the healthiest you can be. But I love you ALL ways. Your size means nothing to me.”

A grin plays on his lips. “We’re talking over all size and not below the waist, yeah? Because I seem to recall you saying...many times...how much you enjoy the fact I have a huge…”

“You just HAD to go there. You just had to turn around and make this weird. You damn well know what I was talking about.”

“I make it weird when I start to get uncomfortable. You should know that by now. It’s only been twelve years and…” he consults his watch. “...one month…”

“And thirteen days,” she finishes. “What? I keep track too, you know. You’re not the only sappy one in this house. And why DO you get uncomfortable? Shouldn’t YOU know by now that you don’t have a reason to get like that? That I’m the last person you should be that way with.”

“I do know all that.” Pushing his hands through her hair, he allows the dark, silky stresses to slip between his fingers; palms skimming over her shoulders and down her upper arms before sliding around to the small of her back. “ Just sometimes I can’t help it. Guess it’s just years of being that way with other people. Sometimes the past comes back. No matter how far I feel I’ve gotten away from it. What’s the saying? Old habits die hard?”

“I was thinking more ‘you can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” she teases, then gives a yelp when he brings his palms down on her ass cheeks in a ringing slap. “You know, that shorter hair? How blond it looks? Totally hides all your gray. My old man doesn’t look so old anymore.”

“Fuck you, Esme.”

“I wish you would actually. The one morning I wake up really wanting it? You’re nowhere around. Sadly, I had to take matters into my own hands.”

“You didn’t.”

“I so did. I’m sorry, husband. I didn’t have a choice. You have no idea just how badly I wanted it. And when I woke up and you weren’t there…”

“You’re kidding me right now. You’re not being serious.”

“One hundred percent serious.” She gives a dramatic pout. “Sorry.”

“Why didn’t you wait until I got home?”

“I didn’t know how long you were going to be! Some things can’t wait. A pregnant woman’s hormones? They can’t wait. Sorry.”

“You’re bullshitting me right now.”

“There’s two things I for sure never lie about. Sex and orgasms. And seeing as you couldn’t give me the sex…”

“I could have given it to you when I got home. But you couldn’t wait, so…”

“I think you’re underestimating just how bad my hormones are right now. I know it’s been a while, but do you remember how bad things got? During my first trimester with Brookie and Takota?”

“Just with them? You were brutal with all of them. And with them and Millie, I couldn’t really do much about it because Dhaka kicked the ever loving shit out of me. Twice.”

“You held your own. You found ways. But let’s put it this way; combine all my pregnancies together and that’s pretty much how out of control my hormones are.”

A slow, sly grin spreads across his face. “Really? ‘Cause when you’re not pregnant, you’re pretty out there with how much you need and want. I’m older now. I don��t know if I can keep up with pregnant lady hormones.”

“Why do you think I have a whole drawer of sex toys? Take some of the strain and pressure off you.”

His eyes narrow. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

She remains stone faced for several seconds, then bursts into giggles when he scowls and attempts to step away. “I’m kidding! I’m totally kidding, babe. Totally. No!” She wraps both arms around his torso when he tries to side step her. “You’re not going anywhere! I was joking! I didn’t mean to insult you. Or your penis.”

“You hurt it’s feelings.”

“Want me to apologize to it?”

“Do you want to apologize to it?”

“Would it offend your penis even further if I said ‘not right because I’d probably puke all over it’?”

“He acknowledges that as a perfectly acceptable reason. But he also says once you’re feeling better…”

“Once it passes, I promise I’ll be very nice to him. But right now? Right now I need the penis owner to hug me.”

“I don’t know…” he chides, and wraps both arms around her much smaller, slighter frame. “...I guess I could do that.”

“You DO love me.” She perches herself on the top of his feet and curls her arms around his neck. “Although the way I’m feeling? It doesn’t feel like love.”

A palm moves to the back of her head, cradling it to his chest. “I take it you really didn’t wake up horny?”

“No. I didn’t. I woke up to puke. A lot.”

“I’m sorry, Me. That you’re feeling like shit. And for being the reason you ARE feeling that way.”

“You should be sorry. You and your penis and your talented sperm. And your stupid handsome face and your stupid blue eyes and your stupid voice. All the stupid things I can’t say no to.”

“Can’t? Or don’t want to?”

“Both,” she admits, and then giggles against him when his hand slips from the small of her back and travels down to gently squeeze an ass cheek. “I’ve never been able to say ‘no’ to you. It’s a blessing AND a curse, I swear.”

“Well, for what it’s worth…” he drops a kiss on the top of her head, then crooks a finger under her chin and tilts her face up towards him. “...I’m sorry you’re feeling like shit. And that it’s my fault you are.”

“Technically, it’s both our faults. I can’t hold you solely responsible. And I guess it’s a small price to pay; for bringing beautiful little humans into the world. If you ask me, we’re doing society a favour by sharing our genes. We make really cute kids.”

“I can’t argue with that. But is it really a surprise? We’re not exactly hideous.”

“Speak for yourself. You’re the looker in the family.”

He frowns. “I don’t know what the hell you’re seeing when you’re looking in the mirror, because when I look at you? Hideous does not come to me. You are definitely the hot one.”

“I think you underestimate just how good looking you actually are.”

“I think you overestimate how ugly you are. Wait….that did NOT sound right.”

“No, it didn’t,” Esme laughs. “But I know what you were trying to say. I think.”

“Let’s just agree that we make awesome looking kids and that it’s scientifically impossible for us to have ugly ones.”

“I can definitely agree to that.”

“And I am sorry.” Once more cradling her face in his hands, he presses a soft, brief to her lips, followed by one to her forehead. “That you’re feeling like crap. Any better now?”

“A little. I don’t feel like I should be taking up permanent residence in front of the toilet. And I meant what I said; about not caring about what you look like. And how your size has no correlation with the skills you have and the things you can do. You do know that, right?”

“I’m trying. To force myself to realize that.”

“Just be careful,” Esme pleads, as she runs her fingernails along his forearms as his hands linger against her cheeks. “Don’t over do. I don’t want you hurting yourself. I’m not nagging. I’m just worried.”

“Nothing to be worried about,” he assures her, and kisses her a final time. Much deeper and longer; fingers locking together at the base of her neck as she stands on her tiptoes and leans her body into his. “I’m fine,” he promises, and pecks the end of her nose. “If I feel like I’m pushing things, I’ll stop. I’ll even give you permission to give me a kick in the ass if you think I’m going too hard. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” she agrees, and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin before retreating to the island and sliding onto one of the barstools.

“I’ll make you some of that tea. Maybe that’ll help. Think you can handle eating something?”

“Maybe. What are you going to make me in my delicate condition?” Reaching for the Ipad that sits on the countertop, she slides it towards her; pressing the home button to bring the screen to life and immediately checking her email.

“I’m not a rookie. I know what you can and can’t handle.”

“We’re not talking about sex, Tyler. We’re talking about feeding a horrifically nauseous pregnant woman.”

Grinning, he places a steaming mug of tea down in front of her and then drops a kiss on the top of her head. “And you say my mind is always in the gutter.”

“We don’t have seven kids and one on the way for no reason. Save to say your mind isn’t the only dirty thing you possess. Anything interesting happen while you were on your run? Anything exciting?”

“If you’re asking if I saw Mark, no, I didn’t. And it’s probably a good thing because I definitely would have killed him.”

“Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but I’m glad you didn’t see him either. Last thing I need is you in jail for the rest of your natural born life. I don’t quite feel comfortable bringing my children into that kind of environment.”

“You could always come visit me alone,” he chides, and drops a mixture of crackers onto a plate. “You know, for conjugal visits.”

“How romantic. Getting railed with a guard right outside the door. What’s more of a violation of privacy? What ruins the mood more? That or knowing one of your seven children could come running in any second?”

“For the record…” he opens the fridge and pulls out a block of marble cheese and a bag of grapes. “...my mood is never ruined.”

“That’s because when you’re in the sex zone, everything else ceases to exist. You practically forget you even have kids.”

“My dick forgets I have kids. He’s running the show. I don’t get a say in it. My brain shuts down. I just go along for the ride. And boy, can give you an awesome ride.”

Rolling her eyes, she pushes the ipad away and reaches for her mug; clasping it in both hands and blowing a stream of steady air onto it hopes of cooling it down. She watches him as she sips cautiously at her drink; noticing the way the muscles in his arms twist and bugle with even the simplest of movements. The veins more pronounced and the sleeves of his tee -once fitting with room to spare- now tight around his biceps and through the chest and shoulders. Within the past two weeks alone he’s stepped up the frequency and intensity of his workouts; no rest days and the weights much heavier and two hours in the gym now partnered with an hour run along the river. And while she admires not only the view and his consistency and commitment, it also worries her; the fallacy that his skills and his ability to protect his family are directly tied into his size. Mark’s appearance has only fed into things; turning Tyler’s need to be bigger and stronger into near obsession.

“You know…” she carefully broaches the topic once again. “....you’re built exactly like you were when we first met. And that was a good look. A VERY good look.”

“I put on that five pounds, And more. Nine in total. Doesn’t sound like much, but…” he slides the plate of food in front of her. A mixture of various crackers and cheeses and a handful of grapes; the lone breakfast she could tolerate and stomach during the beginnings of all her pregnancies. Until medication became the only thing that helped with keeping any water and liquid down. “...it’ll take a lot to maintain it.”

“Just have to keep eating like you have been,” she says, and selects a piece of cheese from the plate, nibbling at it as he moves to the coffee bar and begins preparing a mug. “You’re up to what? Five meals a day? High calorie, high protein?”

“Probably go up to seven soon. Maybe add in a few smoothies throughout the day.”

“That’s a lot, don’t you think? That’s what you were during back in Colorado; after we got back together. And you went into that whole lumberjack stage.”

“For the record, you called it that. Not me. And you didn’t complain about it at the time. You said you liked that look; me being thicker.”

“I did. I DID like it. It was a change. But things are different now.. YOU’RE different. You’ve been through a lot since then. Your BODY’S been through a lot. Not to mention you’re older. That was a long time ago. Millie wasn’t even in school full time yet.”

“So because I’m older it means I have to just let myself go? Get fat and out of shape? A dad bod? You should know that’s not me; I’m not the type to just around on my ass and not do anything. I’ve always kept in shape. Even when I was a fucking mess and living in that shack.”

“I know it’s important to you; keeping in shape and being healthy. And I’d never stop you from doing it and I’m not suggesting you shouldn’t stay with it. . I just…” she drums her fingernails against the countertop. “...it sounds like you’re going into a bulk.”

“Maybe a little bit of one,” he says with a shrug, and slides into the stool across from her; coffee mug raised to his lips as he regards her. “Why? Is that a problem?”

“No. It’s not a problem. It’s just…” Sighing, she takes a bite out of one of the crackers. “...I am trying so hard here. To navigate this as carefully as possible. Because I don’t want you thinking I’m nagging or attacking or…”

“Just say what you want to say. What are you worried about? I’m not going to lose my shit. We can have a conversation without that happening, can’t we??

“Usually. Eight times out of ten.”

“Just say what you want to say, Me. I won’t get pissed. Just say it.”

“I’m worried about you. I’m worried that Mark showing up is somehow putting it into your head that you need to be different. That you need to be bigger and stronger and…”

“I do need to be stronger.”

“You’re already strong. More muscles does not equal strength. You know that better than anyone. You’re the gym lover, right? You know more about this stuff than I do. Muscle mass does not equal physical power. Look how strong you were in Dhaka. The first time around. You were built EXACTLY like you are now. Look at the things you were able to do. Especially in that apartment. You were there all by yourself and you had to take down all those guys on your own.”

“I was armed.”

“Until you weren’t. Then you had to rely on your physicality, right? You didn’t have a choice. You had to trust in your skills and the strength you had. And it worked out really well, don’t you think? You got rid of all of them and got Ovi out of there.”

“That was all skill, Esme. Not strength.”

“It was a mix of BOTH. You were strong, Tyler. You were insanely strong. I saw what you were capable of. And you were built exactly the same way you are now. So if you didn’t need to be bigger and bulkier then…”

“I was also younger than. Almost thirteen years younger.”

“And at the risk of pissing you off, you were also an alcoholic and addicted to Oxy-Contin. Wouldn’t those have hampered you? Made you even a little bit weaker? You’re clean and sober now. That’s all out of your system. So if you’re just as big now as you were then and you don’t have addiction issues now….”

“I’m almost fifty fucking years old. You really think I’d stand a chance in that apartment now?”

“Yeah. I do. I do think you’d stand a chance. Probably even a better chance now. Because your mind isn’t all fucked up on booze and pain meds.”

“No it’s just fucked up in other ways.”

“That has nothing to do with this. You had PTSD then, you just didn’t realize it. Or maybe you did and you were just ignoring it and self medicating yourself. Numbing everything. Tyler, you already had the problems you do now. They were already there, babe. It just took a lot of extra fucking trauma to bring them out. Do you really think you didn’t have PTSD already?”

“I’ve never thought about it.”

“You’ve always had it. You’ve had it since you were a kid. Just no one ever gave a shit to get you help for it. And then Austin got sick and…”

“We’re not talking about that. We’re not talking about him.”

“I’m just saying other things happened. And they kept piling up and piling up and it took that fucking prick Nathan to really bring everything out. Those things were always there. It just took something to bring them to the surface.”

“Yeah, it only took getting shot in the back and getting fucking tortured. Hell of a price to pay, don’t you think? To make everything come out? Some fucking psycho slicing my face open and sticking his fingers in the bullet hole in my back. Threatening to rape my wife and my little girl and kill my entire family.”

She frowns. “What are you talking about? You’ve never mentioned that before. Threatening to…”

“I remember, Esme. I remember what happened in that storage locker. Everything he did, everything he said. Everything he told me he’d do to you and the kids.”

“When did this happen? When did you start remembering all that?”

“Couple months ago.”

“A couple months?! And you’re just telling me now? Why didn’t you say something? Why would you keep that from me?”

“I didn’t want you to know. The details. I figured it was just better to keep it to myself. What good does it do? You knowing that stuff? Why should we both be fucked up because of him?”

“What? You think I wasn’t already fucked up? You think seeing you that way didn’t screw me up? I was the one that was there. In the hospital. I was the one that was there when you got out of surgery and I was the one that got you the help you needed and busted my ass to get you sent back home where you’d be more comfortable and you’d heal quicker. That was all me. You don’t think that didn’t fuck me up?”

“I’m sorry it did. I’m sorry…”

“No,” she holds her hand up in a plea for silence. “ I don’t want you to be sorry because you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t deserve what happened to you. It wasn’t your fault Nathan was a total fucking sociopath. But I WAS there, Tyler. I was going through it with you. Who HAS been going through it with you. And you should have told me. That you were remembering. You owed me that.”

“I don’t owe you shit, Esme.”

“Really? So everything I did and everything I went through and all the times I fought for you meant absolutely nothing? Is that what you’re saying? That that meant fuck all to you?”

“I never said that. That’s NOT what I’m saying.”

“It’s been twelve years and in some ways you’ve changed, and in some ways you’re still the same. One day you’re a totally different person and the next you’re right back to who you were. When we first met. You go right back to being that guy that put all those walls up to keep everyone out. It’s like two steps forward and a whole bunch of steps back. Why? Why do you do this? Why do you go back to being HIM?”

“Because that’s who I am. That’s who I’ve always been. You’ve just been so caught up trying to make me something I wasn’t to make yourself feel better. Had to change me right? So you could live with yourself for making the decisions you did when it came to me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. I didn’t change you. You wanted to change. I didn’t force you. I didn’t demand that you change for me. I didn’t hold a gun to your head and make you become a family man. I didn’t…”

“You were pregnant with my kid. What did you want me to do? Let you walk away? Take my kid with you? Did you really think I’d let you do that?”’

“Holy fuck,” she scoffs, and pushes the mug away with enough force for tea to splash over the rim. “So this is what it took, huh? Almost thirteen years for you to finally tell the fucking truth. I asked you. After Dhaka. I asked you if it was what you wanted. If I was what you wanted. And you were so fucking convincing. I bought it. When you said it was. I actually fell for it. And in the end it WAS all just a bunch of bullshit.”

“No. It wasn’t. It wasn’t bullshit. I wanted you to stay. I wanted a life with you.”

“Because I was pregnant. Because you felt it was the right thing to do. Because you were trapped.”

“I wasn’t trapped. And it wasn’t because you were pregnant. I wanted you to stay BEFORE that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before? Why did you wait? Until I told you about Millie. Until I said I’d leave and never bother you again? Why didn’t you before that if I was what you wanted?”

“Because I almost fucking died and I was trying to heal and I was fucked up. I wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind. And maybe I was scared. Because I was feeling all the things for you. Because I’d just met you and suddenly I’m feeling shit that I’ve never felt for anyone in my entire fucking life. I went from wanting to kill myself to having something...someone...to live for. I’m sorry if I was a little fucking overwhelmed.”

“You? You were overwhelmed? I put my ass on the line on that bridge and stuck my fingers in your fucking neck! I stayed there! I stuck around and did everything I could to keep you alive! You were overwhelmed?”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have. Maybe you should have just got your ass on the helicopter and left. Like everyone else did.”

“Yeah…” she slides off the stool, and angrily shoves it against the island. “...maybe I should have. Considering you just spent the last twelve years building a life based on a FUCKING LIE!”

“That’s not what I did. That’s not true. That’s not…” he captures her by the wrist when she attempts to stomp away, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. “...where are you going?”

“I need to be away from you. I can’t be here. In this room. With you.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t walk away. If you walk away...”

“Let go of me,” she orders, and struggles in vain to yank her hand out of his grasp. “Let go. Now.”

“I’m not letting you walk away. Not until you listen to me. Not until you…”

“I’m done listening to you. You’ve said enough, don’t you think? What do you want to do? Hurt me some more? I don’t think that’s even possible. Because what you just did….what you just said...what you just admitted to…”

“I never lied to you. Ever. Not about us. Not about you.”

“You just did! You just told me that the only reason you even had me stick around was because I was pregnant. Because you felt obligated to keep me around. Because you felt some sense of duty.”

“I never said that. That is NOT what I said.”

“I asked you!” She manages to yank her hand free, and instead of fleeing the room decides to confront him. Standing between his splayed thighs and jamming her finger into his chest as tears coarse down her face. “I asked you so many times in the past twelve years! I asked you to tell me the truth; I asked you to tell me if you only wanted me to stay because I was having Millie. How many times have I asked you that? Tell me.”

“A lot.”

“Every time you said ‘no’. You said that you asked me because you loved me and you wanted a life with me. You wanted us to be together and have a family.”

“And that’s exactly why! That’s exactly why I asked you to stay.”

“It was a fucking lie, Tyler! You said I wanted to hear. What you knew would keep me there. You never meant a fucking word of it. It was all a lie.”

“No. It wasn’t. None of that was a lie. It’s the truth. I never lied to you, Esme. Not about that. NEVER about that.”

“You just told me! You just said ‘you were pregnant with my kid, what did you want me to do?’. Those words just came out of your mouth!”

“But I didn’t mean them. I just lashed out. All I heard was you say that I haven’t changed and I was still the same and I lost it. I snapped. And unfortunately that’s what came out. But it wasn’t the truth. Everything I said to you back then….about wanting to be with you and wanting a life with you and wanting a family...THAT was the truth.”

“Twelve years. Twelve years and seven kids. And it was all built on a fucking lie.”

“No. It wasn’t. None of it was a lie. You? Us? None of that is a lie. Stop…” He once more grabs her in an attempt to keep her from leaving; fingers curling around her bicep. “...I’m not letting you walk away. Just stop.”

“Leave me alone,” she pleads. “Please. Just leave me alone. Just let me go. You need to let me go, Tyler.”

“I can’t. I can’t do that.”

“You have to. You have to let me go..”

“Esme….”

“Please,” she begs, and tries to peel his fingers away from her arm. “Please just let me go.”

He finally relents; releasing his hold on her and holding his hands up in a show of surrender. Struggling to hold back a flood of tears of his own as he watches her flee the room; heart breaking just a little bit more with every step that takes her further away from him.

******

Tyler gives her a chance to cool down. Nursing his coffee while counting down the minutes on the digital clock on the stove; time passing agonizingly slow as he fights the urge to rush upstairs and pull her into his arms and kiss her until they’re both breathless. Then drop to his knees and grovel for forgiveness. He calls Desi and asks him to come and take the kids for a couple of hours; giving very little details but letting the uncharastically frantic tone of his voice do all the talking for him. And when he finally lets himself into the master, he finds her standing at the side of their unmade bed; an open suitcase and a pile of messy clothes sitting in the midst of the rumbled and tangled sheets.

He closes the door behind him, then cautiously approaches. Resisting the urge to stand behind her and place his hands on her shoulders and instead retreated to the dresser; leaning back against it with his arms crossed over his chest and fear quickly spreading through his entire body. “What are you doing?”

Esme doesn’t look up from the task at hand. “Packing.”

“I thought you were going to leave that stuff until the night before we leave. We’ve still got four more days.”

“You’ve still got four more days. I’m leaving. Today.”

His top teeth dig painfully into his bottom lip; biting back a ‘like fuck you are’ and instead offering, “Where are you going?”

“Home. There’s seats on a flight that leaves in four hours. I’ll call Andy on the way to JFK; see if he can pick me up at the airport.”

“Andy left Australia about three hours ago. He’s flying in for the wedding, remember? Your son’s wedding.”

“Then I’ll take a cab. Or I’ll call Estelle. I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it.”

His palms rub at his forearms, attempting to fend off the chill of dread that travels through him. “It’s kind of hard not to. You’re my wife. You’re pregnant with my kid.”

“Just let me worry about that, okay? It’s kinda my body. Not yours.”

“What the fuck is that supposed mean?”

“It means it’s my body. I’m the one carrying this baby. Not you. I’ll take care of it.”

“Take care of it as in make sure it’s okay or take care of it as in…”

She angrily tosses a pair of jeans into the suitcase. “I would NEVER do that to you. You think that little of me? That I would do something like that?”

“No. Of course not. I just…”

“Where’s the kids?”

“Desi came and got them. Took them out for breakfast.”

“How’d you convince him to do that?”

“I told him that some shit was going down and I needed to take care of it. That I needed to bust my ass and make things right.”

“I’m surprised you were so honest. What happened? Use up all your bullshit over the past twelve years? Had nothing left to give? Must have been tiring; keeping the lie up all this time.”

“Esme, stop. I never lied to you. Not about you. Not about us. Not about our life. I’ve never lied about any of that.”

“Our whole marriage has been a lie! Every year, every month, every week, every day. Even every fucking hour.”

“You can’t tell me you actually believe that.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. It’s kind of hard to trust anything you hear after you’ve found out your entire life...or a huge part of it...has been nothing but bullshit..”

“None of it was bullshit. I didn’t mean what I said. Downstairs. I didn’t mean….”

She finally turns to face him; hands clutching a t-shirt. “Was any of it true? Any of the last twelve years?”

“It was all true. Every day. All of it. It was all true, Me.”

Giving a derisive snort, she tosses the garment into the suitcase. “Don’t call me that. Things were good when you started calling me that. Things were great, actually. And I loved it; that you had this little nickname for me. Don’t ruin it, okay? At least give me one thing to hold onto.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You got seven beautiful children out of your lie, Tyler. At least something good came out of it.”

“Okay, you know what…” He finally approaches the bed, snatching the sweater out of her hands and dropping it into the suitcase; picking the latter up and angrily tossing it into the corner of the room. He’s desperate. Frantic. Needing to make that last ditch attempt to keep everything together. He won’t survive if things fall apart; at least not mentally. Losing her means he loses his entire world; the person who taught him what love TRULY is. It’s patience and it’s acceptance and it’s sacrifice and it’s sometimes painful as hell. And it tears him up inside; the thought of his world without his entire world in it. “...you’re going to listen to me. Whether you want to or not. Because I need you to hear what I’m saying. Esme…” he lays his hands on her shoulders, squeezing as hard as her body will allow him to. “Look at me. Please look at me.”

She shakes her head; chin remaining dropped to her chest.

“Please,” he begs, as his hands move to her cheeks; palms cradling her face and fingers pressing into the delicate skin as he tilts her head up towards him. “Just look at me. Don’t do this. Please don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He’s never heard her voice like that before; tiny and broken and lost. The hurt that he’s dealt her has struck extremely deep; the devastation and the heartbreak profound and reaching right into her very soul. Not even in the worst of times had he seen her like this; when she’d kicked him out and they’d spent six months walking on pins and needles around each other while desperately wanting to fix things and not knowing where - or how- to begin. She’s cried many times in front of him; tears of joy and anger and frustration and fear and horrendous grief. And he’s always been able to comfort her and ease some of the pain; his arms able to give her the solace and the escape that she both craved and needed. But it’s far beyond that; no lingering embrace or stroking of hair or whisperings of love will do the trick this time. It’s him that’s caused this; the shimmer of tears in her eyes and the trembling of her body and the look of pure devastation and loss that registers on her face.

“I don’t know either,” he admits. “And I don’t even know what to say. I just know I need you to listen to me. To whatever I DO say. Can you do that? I need you to do that. Please, Esme. Just listen, okay?”

She offers a feeble nod.

“I love you. I have always loved you.”

“No. Don’t you say that. Don’t make it worse. Don’t screw things up even more by keeping up the lie. If there was ever a time for you to be honest with me…”

“I AM being honest with you. I have never...EVER...lied about this. About you. About us. About our life.”

“I asked you, Tyler. More than once. Even after you brought up getting married. I asked you if it was because you actually did want me, or if you felt obligated to be with me. Because of Millie. I ASKED you.”

“And I told you the truth. I didn’t want to get married because of the baby. If there’d never been a baby...had you not gotten pregnant...I STILL would have wanted to be with you. I wanted to get married because I loved you. In a way I’d never loved anyone. That I didn’t even think was possible.”

“So you’re saying Millie had nothing to do with it? The fact I was having your daughter?"

“I mean, yeah, she did. In a way. I wanted us to be a family. I wanted it to be you and me and our kid. Because I knew we could make something of it. Don’t you think it was some kind of sign? If Dhaka couldn’t kill us, maybe things were meant to work out.”

“So if I hadn’t been pregnant…”

“I would have still wanted to marry you. I didn’t ask you to come to Australia because of Millie. I asked you because I didn’t want to lose you. I’d just found you. I wasn’t going to just let you walk away like nothing ever happened.”

“I gave up everything for you,” she snarls. “My entire life as I knew it. I gave it all up. And for what? For you to lie to me for twelve years? To base our entire life together on bullshit?”

“That’s not what I did. I didn’t lie to you. Our life hasn’t been bullshit. What I said downstairs? I didn’t mean it. THAT was bullshit.”

“Then why did you say it? If you didn’t mean it…”

“Because I lashed out. Like I’ve always done. Because all I heard was how I’m still the same person. I’m still the guy I was when we first met. The enormous alcoholic, drug addicted fuck up.”

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t think you’re that person at all. You haven’t been him in a long time. I didn’t mean…”

“You think what I said hurt you? How do you think that made me feel? I have busted my ass to give you a life. A GOOD life. I changed everything about myself. For you. And yeah, I needed to change; I needed to get my shit together and clean myself up. For once and for all. No more slip ups, no more going back to bad habits, no more running. And that’s what I’ve been doing for the past five years! I have done whatever I could to be the man you needed. That you DESERVE.”

“You are that man. I didn’t mean to say you’re not. That’s not what I meant; that you’re the same guy you were.”

“But that’s what I heard. You weren’t the only to give things up, Esme. You’re not the only one who had to adjust to a whole new life. I know the way I was living was pretty shit, but that’s all I knew. The job, the booze, the pills, hating myself, wallowing in my own fucking self pity. Do you think it was easy for me to just stop being that way? To just give up everything I knew for something else? Something totally different?”

“No. I know it wasn’t easy. I was there. With you. We went through all of it together. We helped each other adjust. I mean, we started living together and we barely knew one another. We were having a baby yet we were still learning about each other and trying to make a life together.”

“And that was pretty fucking scary wasn’t it. Jumping into all that and not even really knowing one another.”

She nods in agreement.

“ Everything said it shouldn’t work. That it WOULDN’T work. We were both pretty messed up. Some ways it was the same, some it was different. All the cards were stacked against us. All of them. And we somehow made it...US...work.”

“We had to put the effort in,” she reasons.

“And it was hard, wasn’t it. Nothing was easy about it. We pissed each other off, we disagreed on a lot of things, we had to get used to living with another person. It was damn hard. Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” She finally reaches out to touch him; running her fingertips along the neckline of his t-shirt; intently focused on a single loose thread in an effort to keep her emotions in check. And he immediately feels the change in the room; the pronounced shift from having to beg and plead to save his life to having to do damage control. The tension in her body releasing; shoulders relaxed and the tears in her eyes not as prominent and the way she finds it easier to look at him.

“Do you really think if I was lying that I would have put that much work into things? That I would have given everything up for you? For US? Do you honestly think I wouldn’t have run? Like I’d run from everything else before?”

“I never thought of it that way,” she admits.

“You came into my life and turned my whole world upside down. Second I saw you on my porch, I knew that was it. That things were going to change and that there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do to stop it from happening. And you know what? I didn’t want to. Stop it. And that alone? That should have been enough to send me running.”

“Why didn’t it? Why didn’t you run?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“It would have been so easy. All you would have had to do was tell Nik you’d take the job and then not even show up. Although, I guess that would have made no sense; you would have lost out on a pretty big pay day.”

“Honestly, the money wasn’t even the first thing on my mind. It was there, but it wasn’t the most important thing. Which is weird, considering that’s all that job ever really meant to me. The pay out.”

“So why did you show up? If the money wasn’t the most important thing…”

“I wanted to see you again. I guess I wasn’t that annoyed about it after all; Nik bringing someone there.”

She manages a small smile.

“You were different. You didn’t give a shit about where I lived or what it looked like. You didn’t seem to care about the booze all over the place and the pain meds right out in the open. You didn’t seem to notice I was huge fucking mess.”

“You weren’t a mess. You were hurt. You were holding onto a lot of things. A lot of pain. I could see it; in your eyes. I’ve always said that; you say more with your eyes than you do with your mouth. I knew it when you looked at me; when we were talking after Nik went outside. I knew that people didn’t really know you. That they didn’t really ‘see’ you. That they never took the chance or the time to.”

“You did. You took the chance.”

“I guess I realized you were different too. From everyone that I’d met while on the job. You weren’t like the rest of them. You weren’t loud and obnoxious and bragging about your kills the second I met you. I couldn’t handle it; guys proud of all the lives they’ve taken and not shy about sharing the gruesome details. They GLOATED about that stuff. And the worst part? They thought I’d be impressed by it. That I’d somehow find it attractive and throw myself at their feet.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t bring out my kill sheet right after I met you,” he chides.

“You’ve never been like that. You’ve never taken pride in what you’ve had to do. You’ve never killed because you wanted to. You killed because you had to. I guess I got that impression right away; you were quiet and soft spoken and like I said, your eyes. They gave a lot away. About who you really were.”

“And that didn’t scare you?”

“There was nothing to be scared of. You may have had your demons, but you were pretty good at keeping them contained. I knew they weren’t something I had to be worried about. You weren’t going to hurt me. You didn’t have it in you.”

“And you could tell all that just by my eyes?”

She shrugs. “You have very expressive eyes. Why did you show up, Tyler? In Fitzroy Crossing. If it wasn’t really the money…”

“Like I said, I wanted to see you again. Girls like you just show up on my doorstep. Figured that was a sign; someone like you just walking into my place like you owned it. And when you didn’t pay attention to the disaster it or I was…”

“You weren’t a disaster. If you were, I never would have gone along with Nik’s plan. I would have ran long before you did, believe me. Had it been anyone else? Any other merc? I wouldn’t have taken that job. You were different, Tyler. In a lot of ways. And especially didn’t hurt that you looked like you did.”

“You would have been really disappointed if Gaspar had still been in the game. Nik called him first.”

“I for sure would have ran. That...HIM...that would have been a ‘no’ from me. I guess I’m lucky. That you even came home that day.”

“I actually briefly considered killing myself. About half an hour before. Something told me not to.”

“I’m glad. That it did. Because if it hadn't…” she looks away, tears once again brimming in her eyes. “...we wouldn’t have any of this. This life, Our kids. Us. We wouldn’t even have existed. And I don’t know about you, but I’m glad we do.”

Smiling, he loops strands of hair behind her ear. “So am I.”

She turns her tear filled eyes back towards him. “I’m sorry, Tyler. I never meant to hurt you. When I said what I did, about you going back to who you were, I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I didn’t mean to say you WERE him. I just mean that you always go back to certain things. Like hiding stuff from me. Because you think you should protect me from it.”

“I should have told you. About Nathan. Remembering the things that happened. I don’t know why I do; revert back to keeping things from you. I guess I am trying to protect you. I guess I figured one of us was already fucked up because of what happened, why should the other one be?”

“But it’s not protecting me. When you hide stuff. It does this. It causes problems. Way more problems than what would exist if you just told me. After everything I’ve been through in the past twelve years, there’s pretty much nothing I CAN’T handle. And I was there too. Five years ago. The aftermath of it. I was the one there with you. And believe me, I’m just as fucked up as you are. Seeing you like that? Seeing you in Dhaka seven years BEFORE that? You have no idea what it’s done to me. The things that are STILL in my head. I can’t get them out of there. And I need them gone. I need them out.”

Laying a hand on the back of her head, he pulls her into his embrace. An arm wrapped tightly around her waist and her fingers tangled in her hair as she buries her face in his chest. “I’m sorry, Me. I am so fucking sorry. That you had to see what you did. That you had to do those things.”

“It’s not your fault,” she sobs. “It’s never been your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. You couldn’t have stopped what happened. I chose to stay. I couldn’t leave you there, Tyler. I couldn’t. I wasn’t leaving you on that bridge.

He attempts to gently shush her; palm moving to the middle of her back to rub in slow, soothing circles. “It’s okay. Everything’s alright now. YOU’RE alright.”

She turns her face up towards him, tears spilling down her cheeks as her entire body violently trembles. Voice terrified and frantic. “I’m not alright. At all. I am so far alright. And I need to be. I need to be alright.”

“You will be,” he assures her, and uses gentle fingertips to clear away the droplets glistening on her skin. “I’ll make sure of it. You’ll be okay. Right now, I need you to calm down. I need you to calm down and just breathe.”

“I can’t…”

“Yes you can. And you need to. For that baby. You need to settle down and breathe and…”

“I need help. I need help, Tyler. I need to get rid of this. This Dhaka stuff. In my head. I want it gone. You need to help me. Please help me.”

“I will. You know I will. As soon as we get home, I’ll call Doctor Klein and I’ll get you to see him, okay?”

She nods.

“It’s going to be okay. YOU’RE going to be okay.”

“I can’t breathe. I can’t…”

“You need to calm down. You’re thisclose to a panic attack and you need to settle down. Just breathe.”

“I CAN’T! I can’t breathe. It hurts...my chest…”

Muttering a string of profanities, he forces her to sit on the edge of the bed and then clasps her face in his hands. “Listen to me, you’re having a panic attack. I need to try and breathe, baby. Just breathe. I’m going to get you some meds, okay? You’ll be alright.”

“It really hurts...I can’t...take a breath.”

“I’ll take care of you.” He presses a kiss to her sweat slicked brow. “I’ll be right back. Just close your eyes and try to breathe. Can you do that?”

She nods.

Hurrying into the ensuite bath, he tosses open the medicine cabinet and begins violently rummaging through the contents. Various items tumbling off shelves and landing with a clatter in the sink; his own hands trembling and his chest feeling tight and uncomfortable. The blame and the guilt already screaming in his ears; silently berating himself for being the cause of not only her pain and her anger, but kick starting her ‘fight or flight’ response. Had he never said the things he had...had he never lashed out and even insinuated that he’d kept her around solely because she’d been pregnant with Millie...if he’d only…

He clutches the edge of the sink with enough force to crack his knuckles and turn his fingers white. And he drops his chin to his chest and briefly closes his eyes; forcing himself to push all of his own fears and worries and guilt and regret out of his mind. Needing to hold it together for her; be the shoulder to cry and the steadfast support and ‘the rock’ that she needs him to be. And when the sobbing and the gasping for air in the next room becomes even louder and incessant, he locates the bottle of anti-anxiety meds and asthma inhaler -prescribed to her for such events- and rushes back into the bedroom.

“It’s alright now,” he attempts to comfort her, and drops to a knee in front of her and shakes the inhaler before popping the cap off. “Here….take this...take it…”

Her hand covers his as he holds the device to her lips and she inhales shakily when he administers the dose.

“You need to take some meds, okay?” His hands tremble as he fights to open the bottle. “Just a couple. They’ll help. They work quick.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, you're having an anxiety attack. You’ll be okay. Just…”

“No!” she interjects, and when she grabs his arm it’s with enough force that her nails cut into his flesh. “Something’s wrong. With the baby.”

The invisible vice tightens around his lungs. “What?”

“Something’s wrong, Tyler.” Her face contorts with pain, her other hand clutching at her stomach. “Something’s really wrong. With the baby.”

“Okay we’ll get you to the hospital and we’ll get you checked out. We’ll get you looked and the baby looked at…”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish the sentence; both of her palms now covering her stomach as she cries out in agony.

[heliads]

Troubled Waters Chapter 5: Forgotten City

Strange happenings are starting to plague Beacon Hills. Scott McCall and his pack have always been able to defend their hometown no matter how dangerous the threat, but they may need the help of mysterious newcomer Y/N L/N.

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Scott stands alone, a million thoughts rushing through his head. Y/N has betrayed them, again. It seems like he’s stuck in a loop- he trusts her, she lies to him. He trusts her, she lies again.

Scott’s friends tell him that it’s not his fault she got away, that she had all of them fooled, that he needs to stop blaming himself for not being able to stop her. It doesn’t matter, he knows it’s his fault anyway. He was on guard, he should have been there to keep her safe and securely with them.

Yet, Scott’s still thinking about what happened. He had listened to Y/N’s heartbeat every time she spoke of the naiads, and she had never once lied. She did truly want to take them down, and save her people- but then why would she run?

Regardless of Scott’s musings, the outside world is going from bad to worse. The bodies of dead fish and small sea creatures litter the beaches, far more than normal. None of them seem to have any wounds or reason for death, yet hundreds of them lay dead on the shores, dying from some internal cause that worries Scott and his friends.

The waters, too, are facing unrest. More often than not, Scott and his friends have walked down to the lakes to see the water tinged a dark crimson, the waves washing scarlet and staining the shores. It’s as if the seas have run red with blood.

The scent of saltwater surrounds the town as the wind brings in the sea air. It’s a constant reminder to Scott and his friends that something is not right, something that continues to worsen and twist until it will destroy the town.

Eventually, Scott has had enough and he calls for a pack meeting. They’ve tried learning about the naiads and questioning them, and nothing has worked. Now, it’s time to take matters into their own hands and seek out the naiads themselves. Deaton has used his abilities as a druid to come up with some concoction that will allow them to breathe underwater, and so the pack finds themselves at the shore’s edge.

They slowly walk into the waves, letting the water close over the heads. At first, panic sets in. What if Deaton’s magic doesn’t work? What if Scott and his friends all drown? Scott forces himself to push away his fears and takes a deep breath. Instead of getting a mouthful of water, Scott finds that he’s able to breath normally. 

A few feet away, Kira speaks, her voice distorted by the water. “You know what, I think I’m crossing scuba diving off of my bucket list. I think I’m all good with deep water experiences.” Scott laughs at that, grateful to his friend for helping push away his concerns.

They’ve only gone a short distance into the water when a figure approaches them, swimming with purposeful strides through the water. Scott realizes it’s another naiad, who speaks once he gets close enough to the pack. “What are you humans doing here? Turn back now.”

Scott closes his eyes briefly, opening them to reveal the scarlet glow of an alpha. “We’re not all human. We need to speak to whoever made the decision for you to come to Beacon Hills.” The naiad considers the pack briefly, then nods and gestures for them to follow him.

Soon enough, Scott and his friends find themselves on the outskirts of a city. It’s built of great stone blocks, with algae and barnacles studding the surfaces. It appears desolate and ancient, as most of the buildings have collapsed or feature broken and cracked blocks. The naiad leads them to one building in the center, one with a massive domed ceiling. As they enter, Scott realizes that several chunks are missing from it, and the broken ceiling allows beams of light to cast dim shadows on the stone floors.

Another naiad comes out to greet them, this one in metal armor that reminds Scott of the images of ancient Greek warriors they had seen in the mythology books. The naiad looks ageless, as if he could be either in his early twenties or early twenty thousands. A crown encircles his head, a dark metal long since blighted by rust. Scott realizes dully that this naiad must be the one in charge, the king of this desolate city. He speaks with a conniving voice that makes Scott shudder.

“So, you’re the ones who’ve been asking about us.” Scott finds the courage to answer the naiad. “Yes, we’d like you to go back to your old territory. You taking over Beacon Hills is hurting our friends, and we are here to protect our town.” The king laughs. “You think you’re in any position to threaten me?” He leans forward, suddenly interested. “Actually, I’ll make you a deal. According to the traditions of our people, visitors are allowed to be granted requests if they can prove their worth in a duel.”

Scott looks at the naiad, confused. “So, you want me to fight you and if I win, you’ll leave?” The naiad smirks. “Of course. Oh, and when you lose this duel you will die. That I can promise you.” Scott steps back. He looks at his friends, all of which are staring at him in the same stunned silence. The king looks bemused. “So, will you accept my offer? It is the only way to get us to leave your town. If you win, of course.”

Scott’s mouth feels dry. Even if he’s an alpha werewolf, he still doesn’t like the idea of taking on this king. He straightens his shoulders, trying to give off the aura of confidence he doesn’t quite feel, and opens his mouth to speak. “I-” He is interrupted by the doors of the building being flung open. Another figure steps in, dressed in similar armor to the naiad standing before Scott, except her armor is gold where his is darkened black.

She strides purposefully down until she’s standing next to Scott and his friends, facing the naiad. “I accept the challenge on behalf of Scott and his pack.” With a jolt to his heart, Scott realizes that this newcomer is Y/N. He looks at her in shock, and surprisingly, more than a little admiration. She looks powerful in her armor, eyes flashing the bright sapphire of the naiads as he challenges the king of her own people. He realizes she looks so confident because she’s finally in her element. This is the city and the home of the naiads, this is where she belongs.

The king looks angry to see her. “You cannot be here! This is our land now, and what’s more, this is their fight.” Y/N just shakes her head, a satisfied smile slipping across her face. “I am Y/N L/N, descendant of the house of Amphitrite and true heir to the throne. I shall challenge whoever I wish.” The naiad looks stunned, and Scott notices that he seems almost nervous, as if he hadn’t wanted Y/N to be here.

As he’s taking all of this in, Scott realizes he can’t let Y/N volunteer to fight instead of him. “You can’t do this, Y/N. This is our problem, I have to be the one to solve it.” The king’s eyes glint with ice, evidently pleased to see the discord between the two former friends. “They will have to approve of you accepting their place in the duel, you know. Tradition decrees that, and I don’t believe you have the majority in your favor.” 

Y/N throws a glare his way, and gestures for Scott and his friends to follow her a distance away from the naiad. Scott is the first to speak. “We can’t let you do this, Y/N! We were the ones who came down here, and you shouldn’t be risking your life for our goal.” She shakes her head. “I need this to happen for my family and my people. Besides, who do you think has the best chance at winning against him- you, who found out about the existence of naiads a week ago, or me, who’s been training for this almost her entire life?”

Stiles points a finger at Y/N in agreement. “I mean, she’s not wrong there.” Y/N nods. “Look, I’m your best bet at beating him. Are you going to let me do this or not?” Scott sighs, but relents. “Fine. Let’s tell him.”

The king does not seem pleased that Y/N will be challenging him, but in a split second his face changes from glowering to the usual cocky smirk. “Excellent. I suggest that we duel in one hour’s time, at the city center. Unless you’re not ready?” Y/N just brushes his attempts to unnerve her aside. “Sounds perfect.”

Scott and his friends are able to walk with Y/N until the city center, at which point the naiad directs them to stand at the side, away from the fighting. The rest of the pack leaves to go to the sidelines, but Scott can’t resist and stays with Y/N for just one moment.

“Thank you, Y/N. We couldn’t do this without you.” Y/N smiles at his words, adjusting the sword in her hand and a few straps of her armor. “It’s what has to be done. And Scott? I just wanted you to know- I didn’t want to leave you that day. I just realized that my family would most likely be hurt by the new clan coming in, and I had to make sure they were alright. I didn’t know if you would let me go by myself, so-” Scott finishes her sentence. “So you left as soon as you could.”

Y/N looks at him with saddened eyes, but Scott just nods. “I understand, Y/N. You did what you had to do. It’s alright.” She looks relieved, but her calm attitude changes when the naiad shouts out from across the center that the duel will be starting. Y/N grips her sword, doing last minute preparations. “Wish me luck.” Scott touches her shoulder comfortingly. “You’re going to win this. I know you can.”

With that, Scott is ushered away from her and back to his friends. As he stands next to them, he watches as Y/N faces the king across the dueling ground. They raise their swords in salute, and then stand, ready to fight. A signal is given, and the two opponents charge towards one another. As the sound of steel crashing against steel echoes through the air, Scott draws in breath, suddenly nervous. The fight has begun.

tag list: @savingprivatecass​ @lolychu​ @linkpk88​

[homeformyheart]

simply be mine - adam du mortain x f!detective (twc)

author’s note: i needed to write a fluff piece after my last fic, “cottage by the sea,” and got inspiration while listening to a couple songs (see prompt line below) for a new years’ eve party fic. i hope you enjoy!

copyright: all characters, except my oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles  – adam du mortain x f!detective (regina bishop) rating/warnings: 14+; descriptions of drinking  word count: 3.1k based on/prompt: “only girl in the world” by rihanna / “one and only” by adele summary: adam struggles to understand why anyone would care about human new years’ eve traditions, but when he finds out regina enjoys them, he finds himself intrigued.

simply be mine

when regina walked into the warehouse living room an hour before the agency’s new years’ eve party, she was pleasantly surprised to see unit bravo somewhat dressed up, even if they were standing around brooding like usual. she was both surprised and excited that she was invited to attend as well, without having to be someone’s plus one, even though she had been assured by both nate and farah that they would’ve invited her. she giggled internally at the memory of farah practically jumping off the walls of the warehouse living room in excitement, yelling what seemed like a hundred words per minute about going shopping and getting ready together.

she quickly learned that the rest of unit bravo hated attending agency work functions and avoided them as much as they could. however, everyone was “strongly encouraged” to attend the new years’ eve party, which she gathered from both morgan and adam that what the agency meant was “we better see you there or we’ll give you the worst cases next year.” she thought they were probably exaggerating a tiny bit, but let it slide.

perhaps to make up for the fact that they’d have to spend the night in a brightly lit and loud room for several hours with colleagues they didn’t care for, regina found that unit bravo had already started pregaming before she arrived, and they pregamed hard. she saw firsthand the sheer amount of alcohol they needed to consume just to feel a little buzzed.

another rare upside to being human, regina noted, a couple of shots of any brown liquor and she was good to go. of course, she only managed one shot of nate’s vintage prohibition-era whiskey before he snatched it away and started lecturing her on its rarity and history and had to settle for farah’s tequila.

“regina, do a shot with me!” farah practically screamed, bounding over to her with a half-empty bottle of tequila and limes in one hand and a pinch of salt in the palm of her other hand.

“who taught you how to do a tequila shot?” she asked incredulously as farah poured a generous shot for them both and handed her a lime.

“i looked it up online!” she said with such a proud look on her face that regina could only smile fondly at the person who had become her best friend on the team.

they both knocked back the shots and cringed, the salt and limes providing little relief to the burn; regina could only assume it was maybe ten times worse for farah. but then farah drained whatever was left in the bottle and let out a loud whoop before wrapping regina up in a big hug.

“i am soooooooo glad we get to celebrate with youuu!! you are the best person on this teammmmmm, after me, of course,” farah shouted and regina couldn’t help but laugh.

adam raised an eyebrow. “you mean she’s the best human on the team, don’t you, farah?”

“nopeeeeeeeeeeee. regina’s the bestttttttttt of us and you can’t convince me otherwiseeeee,” she said in a singsong voice, much to everyone else’s annoyance.

“hey farah, why don’t you put on some pre-party music?” regina suggested. farah’s eyes lit up and she sped away and disappeared before regina could blink.

she felt adam’s large presence behind her, casting a figurative shadow over her in the living room. the room was softly lit by the chandelier farah herself had selected, much to morgan’s annoyance. regina let herself lean back slightly without actually touching adam’s chest, knowing it would tempt him to wrap his hands around her waist.

except he only kept one hand hovering near her hip as he said in a low murmur, “you really shouldn’t encourage her, you know.”

the corner of her lips twitched as though it wanted to break into a smile, but regina knew adam wouldn’t appreciate being teased about being a ‘stick in the mud’ considering each member of unit bravo took their turn throughout the day telling him to lighten up.

“you know she’s not going to stop, so just let her have her fun,” she winked as a familiar song started vibrating through the walls, followed by farah’s vocals. “we’ll be heading out soon anyway.”

morgan let out a sound that was a cross between a loud huff and a growl as she stomped outside, cigarettes in hand.

“i want you to love me, like a hot ride,” farah sang out as she appeared in the living room, twirling gracefully as she leaped over the table to land in front of regina. “be thinking of me, doing what you like.”

regina laughed as adam sighed loudly, intending obviously for them to hear, before he walked over to where nate was leaning against the bookshelf with a glass of wine. she immediately missed the warmth of his body behind her, or rather, the tingle she got in her spine from the prospect of his touch. she took a long sip of her whiskey, willing herself to actually enjoy tonight and not dwell on the lack of progress between her and adam.

“come on, regina, sing with me!” farah grabbed her hand and started twirling her around, whatever was left of the whiskey sloshing out of the glass and on to the floor.

“want you to make me feel, like i’m the only girl in the world,” regina belted alongside farah, throwing her head back. “like i’m the only one you’ll ever love; like i’m the only one who knows your heart.”

farah grabbed the wine bottle on the table by nate before he could intervene and put it to her mouth like a microphone. “only girl in the worlddddd,” she crooned, before collapsing into a giggling fit on the couch, bringing regina down with her.

despite wanting to roll his eyes at farah’s antics, even nate couldn’t help but smile at how cheerful his family was and how nice it was to celebrate the holidays together.

“we should get going soon,” he said, finishing his glass of wine.

“no, wait, regina’s not dressed!” farah said, immediately standing and pulling regina up with her.

“what are you talking about? i am dressed,” regina protested, motioning toward her tailored dress pants and blouse.

farah wrinkled her nose. “oh honey, no. this is a fancy party and you need to dress like it. come on!” before she could protest further, farah had dragged her back toward her room.

* * * * * “you know, regina might appreciate it if you partake in some new years’ traditions,” nate said quietly, glancing over at his longtime friend, who was staring out the window.

adam looked over at him with one eyebrow raised. “and what traditions would that be?”

nate smiled mischievously. “well, the one that seems to be really popular among humans is kissing someone at midnight.”

nate could feel adam’s shoulders tense a fraction of a second before he saw the physical movement itself. “that is an impractical and inane tradition. i would think the detective to be above such childish antics.”

now it was nate’s turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “and i think she’d appreciate the romantic gesture. it’s not childish to want to ring in the new year with someone you care for.”

before adam could retort, the sound of heels clacking along the hallway and the gentle swishing movement of fabric drew his attention toward the only thing that was capable of unraveling centuries of carefully architected walls with a single glance. regina appeared in the living room, farah’s arm looped in hers, dressed in a strapless black floor-length gown with a sweetheart neckline and slit that went all the way up to her mid-thigh.

adam’s eyes followed the length of the slit; the creamy complexion of her skin drawing him in. his gaze traced the way the fabric clung to her curves, dipping at the waist before cupping her chest. her hair was styled in soft waves to one side, leaving her collarbone and neck exposed. he didn’t realize his eyes were continuing to trace the delicate lines of her neck and jaw, before they landed on her red lips. they were lighter than blood and yet, just as, if not more, enticing to him.

he watched as the corner of those luscious lips quirked up into a smirk, which seemed to snap him out of his trance. his gaze shot upward to meet her teasing blue ones, not realizing that his feet seemed to move of their own accord until he was standing right in front of her.

“can i help you, commanding agent du mortain?” regina said, the low and sultry tone of her voice sending warmth south in an unfamiliar, but not wholly unpleasant way.

adam’s throat suddenly felt dry – an odd, human-like sensation that made him pause, until he realized that regina was suddenly very close. too close. he inwardly begged his legs to take a step back, but they wouldn’t budge, and he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to anyway.

“your… dress. it’s impractical. what if you were to get attacked?” he said slowly after clearing his throat, clasping his hands behind his back.

regina smiled and gazed up at him knowingly, a look that was both infuriating and intoxicating. as though she could read every piece of his soul back to him and love all of him anyway.

“don’t worry, i have my volt gun strapped to my thigh, see?” she reached for his hand, her touch sending a jolt up his arm that would worry him for medical reasons if he were human, but instead was stoking a deep primal urge within him as she moved it toward the back of her thigh.

the familiar rectangular gun was firm underneath his fingers and even though regina had let go of his hand, he held on, not quite allowing himself to graze her skin, but feeling her body heat at the tips of his fingertips all the same.

“besides, i know you all will be keeping an eye on me,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him. adam could hear the flutter of each lash against the air and found himself wondering how they’d feel against his skin as she kissed her way down his chest.

“of course, i— i mean, we, won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, moving his hand back behind him, flexing it once before resuming his stance.

“well, i only care that you are keeping an eye on me, commanding agent,” she said, giving him a flirty wink before putting on her coat and following farah out to the car.

adam let out an audible groan and rubbed his face with his hands. nate clasped a hand on his shoulder and he looked over to see his best friend was smirking at him.

“it’s okay. but if you’re going to pretend like there’s nothing between you all night, then you won’t mind if we all take turns dancing with her, right?” his smile only widened as adam’s mouth parted in stunned surprise. “come on or we’ll be late.”

* * * * * adam stood, tense and rigid, in a corner of the ballroom near the balcony doors with morgan, who ducked out every so often when the lights and sounds got to be too much, while nate and farah took turns dancing with regina. it baffled him how an entire room full of trained agents could let themselves potentially be compromised by partaking in such celebratory activities. even his own team, although he would admit only to himself that they needed the break.

farah loved the upbeat songs that allowed her to twirl regina around as fast as she could, and he wondered how regina could handle what must be incredibly dizzying and nauseating for a human. and then there was nate, who took advantage of the slow ballads and classic waltzing music sprinkled throughout the evening, to lead regina around in simple box steps. it was very unlike adam to care what his team did during events like this, as long as they behaved themselves, but something about how nate would lean in every once in a while to say something and make regina laugh made him want to crush every glass in sight.

he crossed his arms and glared at the back of nate’s head, knowing he was doing this to antagonize him, somehow. he felt his gaze unwillingly soften, however, whenever he felt regina’s eyes glance over at him. he quickly looked away when he realized she was walking toward him, surveying the room as though he was being vigilant.

“not fond of dancing?” she asked, the words coming out in soft gasps as she sought to catch her breath.

“i don’t see the point,” he said quickly, the defensiveness in his tone catching even him by surprise. surely, he didn’t need to explain himself.

“sometimes things don’t have to have a point to be enjoyable,” she offered, her voice pleasantly cutting through the din of the party. “and i really like dancing.”

regina let out a soft hum as nate arrived and handed her a drink. she drank it gratefully, giving nate a gentle smile that made adam grit his teeth. morgan appeared next to her and swiftly took regina’s drink, finishing it despite her half-hearted protest.

“so, regina, what is your favorite new years’ eve tradition?” nate asked, hiding his smile behind his glass of wine and ignoring adam’s pointed glare.

“oh well, i always like how excited everyone gets and parties like this are definitely fun,” regina answered, pausing for just a moment to look down at her glass hesitantly before continuing, “but the best one is of course getting to kiss someone at midnight.”

“it’ll be midnight soon, do you have anyone you plan to kiss yet?” morgan asked, slinging an arm around regina’s shoulders. “i’m free at midnight, if you’re interested.”

adam cleared his throat. “that would be unprofessional, agent.”

morgan brought another cigarette to her lips. nate stopped her hand with the lighter and motioned to the balcony. “let’s get some air, morgan, and leave these two alone.”

“sure, if you think that means he’ll actually kiss her before i do,” morgan snickered, too soft for regina to hear but it was obviously directed at adam.

a soft romantic melody started playing over the speakers; a love ballad that regina was familiar with, judging by the way she started humming along and swaying gently in place.

i don't know why i'm scared i've been here before every feeling, every word i've imagined it all you'll never know if you never try to forget your past and simply be mine

regina blinked at adam’s sudden appearance in front of her, his large figure towering over hers and blocking the chandelier from her sight.

“you like this song.” it technically wasn’t a question.

“um, i guess?” she asked, puzzled.

“you should dance,” he said, his hands itching to reach for hers.

regina tilted her head to the side and looked up at him searchingly, her blue eyes delicately framed by her long dark lashes. “are you asking me to dance?”

he pursed his lips into a thin, straight line. “you would need a partner, and seeing as no one else is around, i can… dance with you. if you’d like.”

her eyebrows shot up in surprise. she was not expecting adam du mortain to willingly admit to asking her to dance. she quickly looked around and noticed that most of the agents had gone out on the balcony to watch the fireworks.

she smiled and tucked her hand gently into his and led him to the dance floor. they settled into a swaying rhythm as regina wrapped her arms around his neck. adam hesitantly placed his hands on her waist, and a sweet heat bloomed throughout her body, making her feel flushed.

“i thought dancing was pointless?” she asked teasingly after encouraging him to shift his weight between his feet to match her movements.

adam lowered his head, as if he didn’t want anyone reading his lips or hearing what he was about to say. “with you… it doesn’t seem that way.”

regina shook her head fondly. “you continue to surprise me, commanding agent.”

i dare you to let me be your, your one and only i promise i'm worthy to hold in your arms so come on and give me the chance to prove i am the one who can walk that mile until the end starts

“i hope so,” he muttered quietly. “i have lived over nine centuries, yet every day with you seems new and uncertain.”

regina was afraid to ruin the moment by saying anything and decided to step closer and rest her head on his shoulder instead. she smiled when his hands tightened around her waist, bunching the fabric in a way that she was sure would leave wrinkles.

“10…9…8”

her head shot up at the sound of the crowd outside counting down the last few seconds to the new year. “i didn’t realize it was almost midnight, we should go join everyone.”

adam’s green eyes bore into hers and she was close enough that she could see little specks of gold reflected in them from the chandeliers and ornate décor throughout the room. “you… you want to kiss mor—ahem, someone at midnight.”

“7…6…5”

“oh, i didn’t mean anything by it,” she said quickly, giving him a reassuring smile. she tried taking a step back only to find that adam was holding her tightly in place.

“but it’s a tradition you enjoy.” it was a statement, but he was looking for confirmation while trying to maintain his composure despite his heart hammering so loudly in his chest he thought regina would be able to hear it.

“4…3…2”

she dropped her hands from his shoulders and let them rest on his chest, fiddling with the lapels of his jacket nervously. “oh well, i— i suppose with someone i care for, yes.”

the final second and cheers from the balcony faded into the background as adam leaned forward and touched his lips lightly to hers; they were softer than he imagined, even with the layer of faded lipstick between them.

regina’s body instinctively arched closer to his as she sought to deepen the kiss, her hands scrambling for some part of his shirt she could hold on to. she barely registered that it was over all too soon as adam pulled back, her head spinning from the kiss in a good way.

“happy new year, detective,” he whispered hoarsely, resting his forehead against hers briefly before stepping back and walking away.

regina touched her lips to savor the pleasant tingling feeling the kiss had left behind. happy new year indeed.

* * * * * mentions:  @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @pearlsandsteel; @gloynporslen; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart; @writer-ish; @fhauvilles;

[pikapeppa]

FenHawke &Varric friendship fluff: History

I was casually playing DA:I the other day and wandering around in the Hissing Wastes, and I got inspired to write some friendship fluff between Fenris, Rynne Hawke and their beloved BFF Varric. Set in my Fenris the Inquisitor universe.

~1700 words; read on AO3 instead.

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

Fenris trudged over to the fire and sat next to Hawke with a groan. “I have finally succeeded in beating the sand out the creases in my clothes,” he announced. “For now, at least.”

Varric huffed. “At least you didn’t wear boots. I’m pretty sure I had enough sand in mine to build a castle.” He eyed his own bare feet in disgruntlement, and Fenris smirked; seeing Varric without boots on was a very rare occurrence. 

“Told you to wear sandals,” Hawke said without looking up from the tattered book in her lap.

Varric gave her a long-suffering look. “When have you ever seen me in sandals?”

“There’s no better time to start,” Hawke said. “Bare chest, bare feet — it’s a natural pairing, like peas and carrots.”

Despite her jocular tone, she didn’t lift her eyes from her book. Fenris eyed her curiously. “What are you reading that has you so preoccupied?”

She finally looked up, and her amber eyes were wide and bright with interest. “It’s the journal we found on that poor dwarven fellow who got bitten by a spider. It’s pretty incredible, actually. I mean, sad because he died, poor sod,” she said quickly, “but incredible what he was figuring out.” She turned to Varric. “Did you know there was an entire dwarven house that purposely left the deep roads to set up here on the surface?”

He shot her a chiding look. “Have you ever seen me write anything much about the Orzammar dwarves?”

Her smile became sheepish. “Er, no.”

“Then that’s how much I know about a dwarven house leaving the deep roads to set up on the surface,” he said dryly.

“All right, fine, it was a stupid question,” she admitted. “But listen to this: this Paragon Fairel fellow took his house out of the deep roads before the First Blight to hide some incredible weapon he invented, so the rest of the dwarves would stop using it against each other. Before the First Blight! That’s how many years ago now?” She frowned. “Wait, when was the First Blight again?”

Amused, Fenris answered her question. “In -395 Ancient.”

She batted her eyelashes. “Maker’s balls, you’re so smart. No wonder I married you.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “All right, so some dwarves settled on the surface over a thousand years ago.”

“Yes, but that’s not all,” Hawke said. “It sounds like they were prepared to fight a dragon even before they left the deep roads. The fellow who wrote this journal found an inscription and translated it like this:

From the Stone, have no fear of anything,

But the stone-less sky betrays with wings of flame.

If the surface must be breached, if there is no other way,

Bring weapons against the urtok, and heed their screams.

She looked at Fenris and Varric with wide eyes. “Urtok means ‘dragon’, according to this. And ‘wings of flame’? That can only mean a dragon too, right? They knew before they breached the surface that there would be a dragon to contend with. How did they know that?”

“A good guess, maybe?” Varric said.

Hawke lifted an eyebrow. “But if they had never left the deep roads before, how could they even guess at what they’d find on the surface — and with enough accuracy to know they’d find a fire-breathing dragon?”

Fenris tapped her knee. “Perhaps they knew already of the archdemons, even if the First Blight had not yet happened.”

Her eyes grew even wider. “Shit. You’re right. Maker’s balls, I didn’t even — I never thought about the archdemons breathing fire underground. Do you think they breathe fire underground?”

“Probably,” Varric said. 

She stared at him incredulously. “That’s insane.”

Fenris scoffed. “After everything we’ve seen, with the Titans and those ancient Sentinels at Mythal’s Temple and falling into the Fade, you think that a dragon breathing fire underground is insane?”

“I have to agree with the elf on this one,” Varric said.

Hawke burst out a laugh. “Listen to the two of you! Such grizzled and jaded men of the world! Maybe I’ve just retained my sense of childlike wonder.” Her smile widened. “Or maybe I’m just an idiot.”

Fenris tsked. “A very beautiful idiot,” he said, and he pinched her waist.

She squeaked in amusement and smacked his hand. “You certainly know how to flatter a girl. But really though, think about it: the entire history of this thaig, lost until now. And the Shaperate doesn’t know about it, or covered it up on purpose.”

Varric gave her a funny look. “Since when are you so preoccupied with dwarven history?”

“It’s not just dwarven history,” she said. “It’s… I don’t know.” She twisted her lips ruefully. “It’s rather fucked up how many people have lost such huge chunks of history, isn’t it? The dwarves, the elves… everyone who isn’t Chantry, really.”

“The Chantry is also unreliable with their history,” Fenris said. “They struck Shartan from the official Chant.”

She pulled a face. “Ugh, you’re right. That’s so fucked up, though. Everyone is so bloody casual with their histories. It’s so…” She trailed off with a frown, and Fenris eyed her with a pang of affection. Hawke was by no means the idiot she said herself to be, but it was unusual for her to get this pensive about history in particular. She tended to favour a happy-go-lucky focus on the present or the future, preferring to reserve her mental energy for discussions of magical theory instead of history.

She looked up at them with a little frown. “Even family histories or personal histories. There’s so much shit we can forget. I was named after a great-aunt or a grand-aunt or something, for example, but fuck knows who she even was anymore. Not that that’s any great loss of information, I don’t really care who I was named after. But at the same time, how can we say now what’s going to be important or not a hundred years from now?”

A rather melancholy silence ensued, which Fenris wasn’t sure how to break. He was starting to feel a bit melancholy and pensive himself. Hawke was right, after all; he, for instance, knew nothing more of his own family history than what Varania had told him at the Hanged Man several years ago. As he and Varania had never again contacted each other, it seemed that that was all Fenris would be fated to know.

“Oh balls,” Hawke said suddenly. 

Fenris looked up to find her face crumpled in apology. She sidled closer to him and took his hand. “Oh, Fenris, I’m sorry. I’m being an ass, aren’t I, talking about this family history shit?”

“No, it’s…” He trailed off before he could say it was all right. His lost memories would never really be all right, but they were also no longer the gaping wound that they once were. “I’ve made my peace with my lack of history,” he said instead. “You know this.”

She winced. “I know, I just… ugh, I’m sorry.” She looped her hand through his elbow and hugged his arm. “I’m being so boring and mopey.”

Varric chuckled. “You really are. You and the elf here trading roles for a while?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Fenris said dryly. 

“It really isn’t,” Hawke chirped. “No one but Fenris can fill the role of ‘most gorgeous elf in Thedas’.”

Fenris eyed her chidingly. “It is impossible for you to fill that role. You’re not an elf.”

She widened her eyes playfully. “Nothing gets past you, does it?” 

Fenris huffed in amusement, and Varric chuckled as well before speaking. “Well, I can cheer things up a little. At least we don’t have to worry about losing any of our history.”

“What do you mean?” Hawke asked.

“I mean that we have a perfectly accurate and compelling historian right here.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Fenris chuckled, and Hawke barked out a bright little laugh. “You’re talking about yourself. Of course you are.”

Varric did a little bow from his seated position. “You can both thank me anytime.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “For what? Making Hawke a notorious Thedas-wide celebrity?”

“No!” Hawke retorted. “For painting me as a charming hero and not the complete fool that I am, of course!” She shifted over and hugged Varric around the neck. 

He patted her back and smirked at Fenris. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll make you look good too in all of this Inquisition shit.”

Fenris sighed. “I appreciate the sentiment, I suppose.”

Hawke smiled sweetly at Varric. “When you write about the Inquisition, can you put in the story about how Fenris and Sera almost knocked Krem out with a stale cookie when they were on the roof that one time?”

“No,” Fenris said hastily. “Absolutely not. That was an accident!”

Varric ignored him. “It’s already written down, don’t worry,” he said to Hawke.

Fenris grunted. “Then you ought to include the time that Hawke asked Bull to teach her to throw a proper punch and nearly sprained her wrist on his unarmoured chest.”

She laughed and poked his thigh. “Hey, that’s unfair! Bull’s tits are so hard they might as well be armour. Dorian should have warned me!”

Varric snickered. “Don’t worry, I’ve got that one written down as well.”

Hawke clicked her tongue. “Well, in that case, you have to include that time that you tried to gamble against Solas and lost so badly that he took mercy on you by not taking your coat and your boots.”

Fenris snorted, and Varric pulled a face. “Aw, now that’s just mean to bring that up,” he complained.

Hawke giggled. They continued to tease each other with favourite stories of the past, both recent and remote, and Fenris smiled to himself as he listened to their laughter and their tales. In the grand scheme of things, the ties between a human mage, a Tevinter elf and a surface dwarf were too humble to survive the fickle nature of history and time. Not all histories were important enough to be written in the pages of a Chantry tome or carved in lyrium into the walls of Orzammar, after all. 

But as Fenris listened to Hawke and Varric laughing and exchanging tales and playful jabs just as they used to do ten years ago, he realized that even the most humble of histories could be infinitely precious. 

[jackidy]

To Star Lake - Chapter 1

Rating: T Pairings: Todoroki Shouto/Sero Hanta Characters: Various Universe: Howls Moving Castle Au 

Summary: A day of impossibilities starts with a mystery man, with mismatched eyes and cold hands, rescuing him in a dark alleyway as he attempted to go about his business and the pet name sweetheart being said a little too tenderly. It ends with another stranger cursing him in his own store after telling them to leave.

Things like this don’t happen to people like Sero Hanta.

 AO3 Next Chapter 

---

One stitch, two stitch, three stitch, more.

To most people, his life would be considered mundane, the continuous monotony of sewing embellishments to hats, fingers long since calloused from accidental stabs, his only freedom from his work the small window in his side studio where the view was often blocked by the smoke from the steam trains as they thundered past. Most people would complain but not him, within the predictable nature of his job he found comfort, a sense of tranquillity that kept him grounded.

Sero pauses his sewing as another train thunders past, hand automatically reaching for the small tray of beads before they clattered to the floor. He’d made that mistake before, he wouldn’t be making it again in a hurry if he could help it, unable to forget the months he spent finding small glass beads stuck between floorboards, still not fully convinced he’d managed to collect them all even now.

One stitch, two stitch, three stitch, more.

“Work hours are over now, Sero, why don’t you leave with us today?” Sero looks up at the voice, eyes blinking rapidly in an attempt to make them focus, finally focusing at Urakaka before smiling fondly at her. Always diligent on keeping him included, bringing him tea and lunch whenever he forgot to pause with his work, she worked harder than she needed to. He can’t help but adore the woman.

“Sorry, I want to finish the details on this one before I go.” Sero smiled apologetically, knowing he wouldn’t rest as easily if he didn’t at least finish the detailing on the leaf tonight. Urakaka would understand, she always did even if she would frown at his constant need to work over hours. He took pride in his work, never growing tired of the way his customers eyes would light up upon finding the perfect fit, it was worth every minute of overworking himself. “If you could put the door on the latch and change the sign to closed for me though, I might pick you something up from the bakery.”

He teases, grin growing at the look on his manager’s face, watching her retreat into the main work room as he set about working again, humming to himself as the post work chatter began. Two more leaves and then he’d done and can visit Kaminari at the bakery, hear the typical lecture on how he needs to get out more and meet people all the while oblivious to the attention they were getting from patrons.

 One stitch, two stitch, three stitch, more.

It’s easy to ignore the clamour of feet and voices, Sero barely catching the name Shouto, eyes flicking from green felted wool to the window, squinting at the shape in the distant wilds ambling along the horizon and into the ever-present mist. “Must be nice,” Sero sighs to himself, to be able to walk through the wilds, without responsibilities to friends and family weighing you down.

“Stop distracting yourself” He mutters to himself, the voices of his co-workers steadily getting quieter as they left the work room, talking excitedly of a half-frozen wizard who stole the hearts of those deemed beautiful to fix his. He’d entertained the fantasy once, of being swept off his feet by an impossibly handsome wizard and stolen away into the night but he’d quickly abandoned the thought of it.

Shouto stole the hearts of those considered gorgeous, Sero having heard enough rumours to know that gorgeous was an adjective nobody would use for him. Plain, boring, safe. Never the first choice and he’s half sure he wasn’t the second either, with his too wide smile and eyes just short of being too beady, he’s well too aware of his flaws.

One stitch, two stitch, three stitch, knot.

Checking over the knot repeatedly, Sero gently tugs the last leaf, satisfied by the resistance and lack of movement, the hat finds its temporary home on the hat stand. He should start another one, maybe, hand reaching for the straw hat meant for Miss Shiozaki before bringing his arms up to stretch. Urakaka will know he worked overtime and Kaminari, despite any claims otherwise, will be nothing short of annoyed if he was late for meeting up with the other.

A crack and pull of taut muscles, he winces at the noise, taking a mental note to take more breaks to stretch as well as improve his posture whilst working. He’d both seen and heard how years of sitting hunched had ruined his mother’s back, Sero didn’t mean to repeat her mistake if he could help it. Shaking stiff legs, he stands, fingers looping into the set of keys before reaching for both his hat and bag behind the door.

Lock the door. Meet with Kaminari. Buy something for the staff for tomorrow. Come home before nightfall. It was a simple plan, Sero running it through his head at least once more, pausing at the shop mirror to adjust his hat, grinning wider at his reflection before the insecurity crashed like a wave into him, smile faltering before pulling the brim down. Don’t be ridiculous, he thinks a little bitterly, nobody is going to look at you, heading for the door with a sigh.

A click of the lock and a rush for the stop that was completely unneeded. The bus was late. The bus was crowded. He’s not sure why he expected any different, the post work crowd mixed with the summer heat souring his mood considerably, half hanging out of the door in a bid to stay cool, relaxing at the cool breeze from the river only to tense again when he heard the trumpets and the cheering crowd.

It was the parade today, how could he have forgotten that? No wonder the store had been busier than usual this past week. Departing from the bus, he weaves through the crowd, hating it more and more by the second until he found himself in the alleyways, letting out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Maybe he should have called ahead and stated he wouldn’t be coming. The bakery would be full, there’s no way that Kaminari would have the time to be able to slip away for their usual chat by the kitchens whilst the blonde was on break. No, Kaminari would make time for him, the blonde fool always did, Sero would just make the visit shorter than planned. It would be a decent compromise between the argument currently echoing in his head, sighing in relief as the inner argument finally quietened.

Only to pick up again at the sound of footsteps. They’re just trying to get through the crowds, he tells himself, ignoring the way his pace quickens, feeling the heat more than ever when the footsteps still follow despite several ways they could have turned. Of all the times to be finally noticed by someone, why did it have to be in a dark alleyway where nobody would hear him shout for help should he need it?

Just keep walking, just keep walking, he mentally repeats, stalking forward with such determination that he failed to notice the new arrival until a cold, why was it so cold, hand touched his waist, Sero pausing at the calming voice that spoke a little too loudly and clearly for it to just be Sero to hear. “There you are, sweetheart, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Sweet…what?

Sero finally looks up from the pavement, finding a man not too much taller than himself but all too unfairly handsome. White hair, mismatched eyes and a scar that would be memorable to anyone who had seen it before, if only Sero had seen it before. Opening his mouth to ask what was happening, Sero barely gets chance to open his mouth before the other speaks again, eyes focused on something behind them more than on Sero. “Where are you headed to?”

“The Bakery?” Why did he reply with a question? Sero hoping the mystery man hadn’t noticed only to catch the small, amused smile at he looked forward again and began walking, cold hand still on his waist, directing him where to go. Why was this happening to him? Things like this didn’t happen to him, Kaminari? Sure, that was believable but not to Sero.

Handsome strangers didn’t save him from potential muggers and hold his waist like a lover might, handsome strangers didn’t spare him a second glance if they had even given him one to begin with. The grip on his waist tightens slightly, Sero biting back an undignified noise as the hand seems to grow colder, their walking pace increasing before his rescuer finally states his apologies. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apoloGISING?!” His voice raises a few octaves as the stranger takes the hand closest to him, rising into the air after a forceful step from his mysterious companion, eyes glancing down at the rising heat and light of blue flames. Oh…Oh god, what…what was that?! First time any attractive pays attention to him and this happens, he’s going to die. He’s going to either burn or fall to his demise in the arms of a man who had no business holding Sero this close in his arms.

“Relax your legs and start walking.”  He’s instructed firmly, grip on his waist and hand relaxing slightly as Sero attempts not to panic, the series of events that lead to this moment playing in his head clearly and rapidly as he made a foolish bid to make sense of it all. He was being followed, a handsome man saved him, someone had thrown fire at them, he was now floating in the air in the arms of the handsome man. “Focus for me, legs stretched and walking. You can do it.”

He can do it. He can do it, Sero not one hundred percent sure he should feel this elated to hear so much confidence in him from a stranger, attractive or otherwise, in something as seemingly impossible as walking in the sky. Yet, today had been a day of impossibilities becoming possible. Extending his legs, he hits solid ground where he expects nothing, the fear of falling replaced all too quickly with the sheer elation of the breeze in his hair, seeing the crows beneath him that seemed unaware of the pair above them, the ice hand on his wait and the inferno holding his left hand.

Things like this don’t happen to Sero Hanta.

A firm chest presses against his back, breath on his ear as whispers “See, you’re a natural.” Is this supposed to be romantic? He doesn’t have enough experience to know, cheeks burning so brightly he doesn’t even bother to try and convince himself that the other hadn’t noticed, the hat maker simply nodding in response to the compliment not trusting himself to speak and not make a fool of himself.

It’s over all too soon, too soon for Sero’s liking at least, the upstairs balcony of the bakery coming into view and ever closer, Seron already missing the feel of ice on his waist as he’s safely deposited on the balcony, handsome stranger crouching on the railing still holding his hand. “I’ll draw them off, so stay here a little while before heading out just to be sure.”

“I will.” He replies perhaps a little too confidently, feeling the scrutiny of mismatched eyes before lips press against his knuckles, Sero standing frozen as the rosy hue of his cheeks bloomed a deep crimson. This had to be some joke, right? A cruel joke that would have the culprit appear at any moment to laugh at him, to loudly proclaim that they had gotten him. Things like this didn’t happen to him, didn’t happen to someone with a face as plain as his, random men don’t just sweep him off his feet, quite literally in dark alley-

“That’s my Hanta.”

What.

His hand is released then, Sero watching dumbfounded as the man strands straight and falls backwards off the balcony, Sero running to the railing in a flustered panic only to find nothing out of the ordinary. No body of a man, only tables filled with young families and couples, no screams of horror just the cheers of a happy crowd and those excited over the slow progressing military parade.

How…How did he know his name?

---

“Hey! Are you listening to me Hanta?”

The air beside the kitchens is warm but not unbearable, the air sweet with cakes and pastries accompanied by the sour undertones of the yeast from all the unbaked dough, it would make him hungry if his thoughts weren’t too occupied by something, no, someone else. Just who was the man? How did he know his name? Should he not be more crept out by the previous events of the past half an hour than at ease? The sensation of butterflies in his stomach having not yet passed.

“Huh?” He meets the concerned yet annoyed look on Kaminari’s face, blinking slowly, earning himself a frustrated sigh, the blonde’s legs swinging back to kick the crate they were sat on, feet meeting wood with a dull thud. “What were you saying, Denki?”

“You’re hopeless,” Kaminari sighs, fiddling with his thumbs as he fixed Sero with a stare that was a little too intense for his usually care free friend. “I know he saved you but you really need to be more careful, what if it was Shouto? You’d be heartless and I’d be down one best friend.”

Sero snorts at the other mans over dramatics, running a hand through his black hair, scratching the back of his head with uncertainty. Sure, Kaminari had a point, but the chances of Shouto, seducer of the beautiful and eater of hearts, ever looking at him was so slim that the fact Kaminari had even entertained the idea made him laugh. “He only does that to pretty people, Denks, I’m hardly gonna attract the attention of the mailman never mind a supposedly handsome wizard.”

“Did you or did you not just get saved by a handsome wizard who floated you onto my work balcony, kiss your knuckles and then refer to you by your first name, without you telling him it.” He hates it when Kaminari makes a point, hates the smug little look on his face when he not only knows he’s right but that Sero knows he’s right. He hates the fact he gains a little confident boost from it. Whoever the wizard was, Sero was going to be living on this high a little longer than he probably should. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

They fill the rest of the time with idle chatter, the sound of Kaminari rambling about his latest exploits seemingly not distraction enough to keep thoughts of the white haired wizard away but enough to quieten them to a dull thrum in the back of his mind. His new neighbours cat that keeps breaking into his flat, the upcoming changes in menu, the tired yet fond news he’d recently become an uncle. The subject of conversation never last too long in one area and Sero is thankful, Kaminari’s rapid fire topic changes require near all attention in order to follow cohesively.

“Your order is done, Sero.” A soft voice halts the conversation, both looking to the kitchen doorway to find Koda stood holding a box, perfectly presented and held shut with a violet bow. As quiet and as perpetually shy the baker seemed to be, he had a way with packaging, Sero standing and receiving the box of tartlets with a brilliant smile and a thanks.

Watching him retreat back into the kitchen, Sero turns to Kaminari, only to find him frowning at him for whatever reason. “I should really get going, before your boss gets mad.” The mystery man had told him to wait a while before leaving but surely forty-five minutes had already surpassed that time limit, doubting whoever had pursued them would remember Sero’s face, if they had even seen it to begin with.

“Be careful,” Kaminari’s hand grips his forearm, firmly but not too tight, from still present on his features but now underlined with worry. It’s strange, almost out of character, remembering several moments from when they were younger when the blonde could have been more concerned about their well being but had never been. “Soldiers in the bakery keep talking about the cremation wizard and you’ve had a weird day and-“

Sero cuts him off with a flick to the nose, laughing at the way the other’s face screws up into annoyance, eyes trying and failing to focus on the end of his nose. “Meeting two wizards in one day? I doubt it” Sero snorts before sighing at the still present worry in the other’s face. “But I’ll be careful, don’t worry Denki.”

---

The sun has finally sent by the time he arrives back at the hat shop, balancing the box of tarts in one hand as he locked the door, the tension he didn’t know he was carrying instantly draining away as he placed the box on the counter along with his keys, about to turn the light out when the bell above the door jingles. Hadn’t he just locked that? Sero blinking with confusion as the man just stares at him with something akin to bemused amusement.

 “Sorry, sir, we’re currently closed. We’ll be open again tomorrow morning at nine if you’d like to return then.” He’s tired but not too tired to not be civil, not yet at least, simply hoping this stranger would be like every other strange man he’d met today: polite and entirely helpful. He might not work out front often but both his mother and Mina had made sure he could at least navigate the social norms of customer service without aggravating every customer that walked through the door.

 The man ignores him, turning on the hell of his foot with a low whistle as he takes in the state of the store, the hats ranging from the everyday casual to occasions of grandeur before finally landing on Sero. “You sure know how to pick them, kid.” Why was he smirking at him? Who the hell was kid because Sero could just tell the other man wasn’t talking about him.

It’s a mixture of this and the events of the day that urge him forwards, stalking past the latest mystery man to enter his life today to open the door a little too roughly, the bell clanging as opposed to ringing. “The door is over here, sir. We are closed.” He barely makes the effort to keep his voice calm, annoyance seeping into his voice with a curt tone as his fixes the man with a firm glare. 

Just leave already, he thinks waiting for a response beyond faux, over dramatic surprise, the man straightening up and Sero feels something change, the air hot and stifling like it had been in the alleyway hours ago. “You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to say that to me, brat.” It’s the only warning he gets, Sero only allowed a moment of fear ridden confusion before that same blue fire from before engulfs him.  

[rohad93]

Worth the Fight: Chp 6

Luz spent the next few days on her guard duty stewing, trying to decide exactly how she feels about Amity Blight. She waits on bated breath for two days for Bump to inevitably come to her, tell her to scram, that Amity told him about everything that happened in the archives, but he never does.

She can still feel the sting in her cheek when she thinks about that afternoon and anger threatens to bubble up, but she can also still clearly hear Amity’s voice echoing in her head.

‘You don’t know me!’

Never has there been a truer statement she thinks; she knows absolutely nothing about Amity Blight.

She thought she knew at least one thing, and that was that Amity was certainly the arrogant, vindictive type that would go running straight to Bump the moment they returned to the manor, but she didn’t, and Luz is left knowing even less than the nothing she did before, now all she had was questions.

She’s still angry, the insults, the slap… but she can also admit that she was hardly being sensible or kind herself, and she definitely egged some of it on, trying to get a rise out of the noble, which was not the mature thing to do, and she ended up getting exactly what she wanted in the end.

She sighed to herself, running a hand through her hair. She should apologize, Amity was right of course, she doesn’t know her circumstances or anything about her, certainly not enough to go around throwing out accusations, just as Amity doesn’t know her, but the memory of the stinging in her cheek and the insults hurled at her are still too fresh to allow it right this moment.

Luz would hardly consider herself to have a big ego, much as she liked to play the overly confident for laughs, especially considering who her teacher was, but she still had her pride and it would not allow her to apologize yet, not when just as many hurtful things were said and done to her.

She doesn’t see Amity again before her day off, even with no proof, she just knows the other woman is avoiding her, she doesn’t mind that at all, the only thing she could possibly say to her at this point would be an apology, and she isn’t ready to face her yet. She doubted she would get one in return, she is a noble after all.

She tried to put a halt on that thought, jumping to conclusions like that is part of what got her into this mess to start with, despite all the evidence she’d gathered from previous experiences in dealing with nobles over the years that tell her otherwise, she had always prided herself on keeping an open mind, how many times had she been looked down on because of her ears?

She stood in the stables, in the empty stall she had claimed as her personal space, and shucked off the black tunic, bearing the Blight family crest and tossed it at King, asleep in the corner.

She chuckled to herself as it landed on his head, making him sit up. She grinned as he shook it off and gave her a look that couldn’t be translated as anything but annoyed.

“Sorry,” she laughed, hardly sorry at all as she pulled on her own, violet-colored tunic and cinched her sword belt around her waist, her weekly payment of a hundred and eighty silver secured safely next to her sword as she looped the leather into a knot.

She needed a chainmail shirt, Eda had never been willing to buy her one, since she hadn’t really done much fighting herself, but she planned on it now, and the last thing she wanted was to do was be run through by a pike or a sword the first time she entered a tourney or a duel.

“Come on, Bud!” She took off out of the stables at a run, she needed to get out of this place for the day and as quickly as possible. She could hear King’s large paws slapping the ground in a trot as he followed along behind her.

Her sword and coin pouch rattled against her hip as she ran out of the gates, giving a wave to Jerbo, who waved back as she jogged by. His day off was tomorrow, so she would have gate duty with another guard, none of which liked her at all, but that was a problem for tomorrow, she was going to fully enjoy today.

The city is full of people all moving from one place to the next at any given time, going about their business, barely paying her any mind except to move out of the way as the two barreled down the busy streets of Bonesburough in an excited rush. She can do whatever she wants today, so standing still and watching the world slowly move by without her is not on her agenda for the afternoon. It’s as though she’s been building her energy stores for the past several days and she feels fit to burst with all of it swirling around inside of her.

She made a direct beeline for the smithy. She still hadn’t had a chance to explore much of the city yet, so it was easy for her to get turned around, but the towering pillar of smoke she could see in the distance showed her the way to her destination.

She could smell the burning wood, coal, and metal by the time she turned the corner, the shop coming into view and immediately she spotted Viney out front, shoveling coal into the billowing furnace, the sleeves of her tunic rolled up to her elbows and leather apron on, protecting her from most of the errant sparks.

“Hey, Viney,” she called out with a grin as she trotted up.

The witch stood and turned to her, face hidden behind the metal plate mask.

"Well, hey stranger," she flipped the mask up and grinned. "I see you haven't been impaled yet," The blacksmith chuckled as Luz stopped in front of her.

"Not yet, but it’s still early into my knight career…” Luz grinned.

“True… what is that?” Viney’s eyes went wide as she looked down at King, who blinked back at her.

“Oh, this is King, he was here with me last time, though I guess he did go with Eda while we were in the shop,” she admitted.

Without warning, Viney stepped forward and knelt down to be face to face with the demon wolf and held a hand up. King tentatively sniffed the appendage before snorting and allowed Viney to reach up and scratch the space between his ears and horns.

“Isn’t he handsome!” she said, making the beast seem to puff up with the praise and Luz rolled her eyes at him.

“He’s something,” she mumbled to herself, smiling.

“You have a lupus infernum as a pet?” she looked back up at Luz as she scratched behind one of King’s ears.

“A what?” Luz cocked her head at the name.

“Lupus infernum, a hell wolf, they’re a rare species of monster that roam the wilds in the far north. Usually, very, very hostile…,” she hummed, turning back to King, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the impromptu pampering, tail thumping on the ground.

“Well, he’s more of a companion than a pet, and he was already traveling with my mentor when I first met her, she said he just kind of showed up one day, injured, she patched him up and he just kinda stayed." Luz shrugged. She'd never really questioned the beasts’ presence, besides, he was good company.

"I imagine having him around is useful when you're traveling out in the wilderness," Viney said as she climbed back to her feet.

“He is… when he wants to be,” she chuckled, reaching down to pat his head.

“So, what can I do for ya?” she crossed her arms and turned to the human.

“I need a mail shirt,”

“Well, we got ‘em, come on in, and have a look.”

Luz followed the shorter blacksmith inside and she showed her what she had. She picked one up, testing its weight in her hand, they were heavier than she had expected.

“I think this will work.” she nodded.

“Hundred silver and it’s yours,” Viney said and Luz nodded, counting out the silver pieces from her bag and handing them off to Viney.

When the deal is done, she wasted no time pulling off her tunic and slipping on the chainmail shirt, it hangs heavily from her shoulders as she moves about, pulling her tunic back on. She’s definitely going to have to get used to it.

“Do some training in that and before you know it you’ll forget you're even wearing it,” Viney promised.

Luz and King hung around the shop a while, Viney even showed them a few things around the smithy before they spotted a group of the Emperor’s soldiers making their way toward the forge and Luz decided now would be the perfect time to go. She waved to Viney as the two trotted away, back through the crowded city streets.

It seemed that life in the city never stopped, Luz had yet to see a day where the streets weren’t filled to the brim, especially the market.

She could hardly think there were so many vendors all shouting to be heard over each other and trying to grab the attention of the people passing by.

One vendor did catch her attention though, sort of.

King grabbed the edge of her tunic between his teeth and was dragging her in the direction of a witch selling large chunks of meat hanging from hooks in his stall, and Luz rolled her eyes at the beast.

“Okay, okay, but don’t get used to this!” she warned him as she negotiated a price for a thick slice of some kind of meat, she doesn’t even need to know what kind, it’s not like she’s going to be the one eating it.

She got a fat, juicy strip of shiny, red meat for a price that was much lower than she had expected, but she figured the large demon wolf at her side had a lot to do with that. She thanked the vendor and turned to King, who was looking up at her with wide, rust-colored eyes, and drool dripping from his maw, forming a puddle at her feet.

“Ready?” she asked with a grin, shaking the meat and watching as King’s eyes never wavered from it, his whole body shaking in anticipation.

She chunked it up into the air and watched, grinning as he jumped up and snatched it up in his jaws before he quickly chomped it down and swallowed.

“You’re a glutton,” she laughed, scratching his head.

“Luz!?”

The human looked up at the call of her name and found herself staring back at both Willow and Gus.

“Willow, Gus! What are you guys doing here?” she turned to the two with a smile.

“I was on my way out of the city to collect some ingredients with Gus, I didn’t realize you knew him.” the witch smiled at her.

“And I didn’t know you knew, Willow,” The apprentice archivist laughed. “What are you doing in the market?” he asked.

“King and I are just enjoying our day off.” she smiled, gesturing to the beast. Both Willow and Gus looked at him with wide eyes, taking an unconscious step back from the demon wolf still swallowing the remnants of his meal. “It’s okay,” Luz assured. “King is a friend.”

Her assurance didn’t seem to do much as King looked up at them as he ran his tongue across his muzzle and the pink spots of blood now staining the white fur around his upper lip.

“Uh…” Gus stood behind Willow, peeking out at the beast.

“I promise, look.” She knelt down next to King and wrapped her arms around his fluffy neck and gave him a squeeze, ruffling the thick mane-like fur that protected his neck and he let her.

The two witches looked at each other, unsure, Willow slowly stuck out a hand. King gave it a tentative sniff, much the same way he had Viney before giving it a small lick, which prompted Willow to slowly, carefully run her fingers over the bridge of his nose.

He closed his eyes and allowed the soft scratching, which made Gus finally move out from behind the apothecary and with a shaking hand, reach to scratch the spot behind King’s left ear, which made his tail thump approvingly on the ground.

“See?” Luz smiled up at them. “He’s my pequeño bebé," she cooed, rubbing her face in his fur.

"Your what?" Willow blinked at the words.

"Ahh, sorry, pequeño bebé, my little baby," she laughed, finally extracting herself from the wolf and standing up.

"There's nothing little about that." Willow pointed at the demon wolf, which made Luz chuckle.

"What language was that?" Gus looked up at her with wide, amazed eyes.

"Oh, uh, my mom called it 'Spanish'," she explained with a shrug.

"Is that a human language?" Gus is looking at her with wonder in his dark eyes.

"I guess so, yeah." She shrugged again. She'd never heard witches speak it, then again, other than her mother she'd never heard another human speak it either.

"I didn't know humans had their own language…" He pulled a pad of paper from his pocket and started jotting down notes.

"Do you have plans for today or would you like to come with Gus and me to pick herbs in the woods?" Willow asked.

"Yeah! We could use a knight and her companion at our side!" He gestured to her and King.

"Yeah, sure!" She grinned. she couldn't remember the last time someone her own age had invited her to do something with them; probably never.

They talked about all kinds of things as they made their way outside the city walls toward the nearby forests.

Guss and Willow have lived in Bonesburough their entire lives, and know the city backward and forwards, and have also been friends nearly as long.

In turn, Luz told them about all the different adventures she'd been on with Eda and King over the last five years, which suitably impressed them.

"I don't think I could ever have what it takes to be a knight, but that sounds amazing. Excitement and adventure around every corner, never knowing what tomorrow might bring." Willow was looking at her with a bright smile as they walked through the woods, carefully picking different plants as Willow pointed them out.

"Well, I definitely like the idea of adventure and excitement, though I would like to live in one place again,… but what I really want to do is protect people from monsters… the beastly kind and the people shaped ones…," Luz trailed off, breaking eye contact with Willow to look off into the forest, which made the witch frown.

"There's no shortage of either," Willow agreed with a frown as Gus looked at their new human friend with concern.

"So, what's it like in human towns?" The younger witch asked, which successfully brought Luz out of her thoughts.

"Huh? Oh… uh, I don't know." She shrugged as she reached out to scratch King's head.

"You don't know?" Willow cocked her head to the side in question.

It occurred to Luz as they talked, that most of the witches she's encountered who have anti-human sentiments have all been older, usually at least forty or older. She's never really had an issue with anyone younger, and the more time she spent talking with Gus and Willow, she realized no witches under that age have ever even seen a human outside of her. She can't even remember herself the last time she's seen another human, probably not since her mother died seven years ago, and she can't remember a time before that either. As far back as her memory stretched, it had only been her and her mother.

What does it mean, she knows for a fact there were other humans on the Isles because the older witches know her on-site by her ears; so where are they?

She and her mother had lived alone on the edge of the woods away from any other settlements, she’d always told Luz it was for safety, but she’s not really sure now, and her mother has been gone a long time, so she isn’t going to get any answers on that front.

"How can a human not know what a human town is like?" Gus questioned with a frown.

"I spent the last five years traveling across the empire with Eda, and before that, I lived alone with my mom on the edge of the woods," she explained.

"Wow, your mom just let you leave home to travel around with Eda to become a knight?" Gus asked, amazed by that.

"I started traveling with Eda because my mom died…," The silence that followed her response is deafening and expected, but there's really no other way to say this fact. "It's okay though, it's been a long time." she smiled at them, but even in their short acquaintance with the human, they can tell that it does not reach her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Luz." Willow frowned and Gus nodded.

"Thanks, but, really, it's okay, it's been seven years, I trained with Eda and I'm well on my way to becoming a knight… even if all I'm doing right now is playing guard for the Blight family…," she grunted, rolling her eyes.

"You're working for the Blight's?" Willow questioned, the surprise in her voice is clear.

"You know them?" Luz cocked a brow.

"Their youngest daughter, Amity and I are childhood friends, she visits me at the apothecary when she's able to, which isn't very often but…," she trailed off as she saw the sour look on Luz's face. "I take it you've met her?" Willow chuckled.

"How can you be friends with her? She's so…." Luz pursed her lips, searching for the right word, and several raced to the tip of her tongue, but none of them are very nice, even though she promised herself this morning that she would try to be more open-minded in regards to the youngest Blight daughter.

Willow just chuckled at her.

"Amity can be… intense, at times. Did the two of you argue about something?" Willow wondered aloud.

"You could put it like that…," Luz trailed off before explaining her and the youngest Blight's interaction at the archives several days ago.

Willow winced at the tale and Gus gasped.

"Yeah, knowing Amity, I'd say you touched a nerve... Not that the things she said were any better, but she's actually very nice, I promise," Willow said.

Luz grunted.

She'd believe it when she saw it.

She spent the majority of the afternoon rummaging around the forest with King and the two witches before finally making her way back to Blight manor by early evening.

The sun is starting to dip toward the horizon, slowly, but surely, though it’s still warm and she's already a little sweaty under the chain mail, so a little more couldn't hurt.

The Blight's had a training yard set up near the guard barracks, near the house beneath the third-floor balcony.

She's going to take Viney's advice and get some training in.

King plopped himself down into the hay of their stable stall to nap, while she makes her way to the training yard.

~ ~ ~

Amity sighed to herself.

She feels like a prisoner in her own home.

Even if she had been confined to the manner before while her parents were away, she had at least been able to go places escorted by a guard, but ever since her altercation with their newest guard, Luz Noceda, she can't stand the idea of running into the woman again.

Not so much because she finds her boorish and crass, though she certainly does.

No, mostly, she feels ashamed.

Amity had never raised her hand against anyone before in her life, and to be honest she had surprised even herself after her hand had made contact with Luz's face.

But, what the other woman had said had really struck a nerve somewhere deep inside her, for multiple reasons.

The foremost being that Luz didn't know the first thing about her, and had absolutely no right to judge her, which had lit a raging fire in her gut, one that had quickly been doused in cold fear at the dark look that had fallen over Luz's face the second the shock of her strike had worn off.

For a long moment, she had expected the other woman to hit her back, but she hadn't. She'd simply picked up her books and walked away.

Amity didn't get her at all.

She also feels guilty.

Guilty for slapping her, and where she was adamant in Luz having no right to judge her, she had done the same thing had she not? Hurled baseless accusations she had no way of knowing we're true or not.

She'd been cold and hostile to the woman from the moment they had met, and she can admit now, while she's still annoyed that Bump won't let her leave the manor grounds unescorted, Luz running into her had been an accident and could have happened to anyone.

She grumbled to herself as she walked down the long, empty halls of Blight manor, dress swishing around her ankles with the quick movement.

She needed some fresh air, she hadn't even been to her favorite spot by the pond she'd so dreaded the idea of coming face to face with Luz, and knowing that an apology is owed… on both parts really, but she doubts she can count on one being returned by the uncouth warrior.

She scoffed to herself. She was doing it again, foisting her preconceived notions on a person she did not know at all. This whole affair had put her in a bad mood for the last four days.

Even her siblings seemed to be staying clear of her, perhaps being able to sense the dark cloud hanging over her.

At least there was that. She wasn't sure she could handle the twins and this crisis of conscience at the same time.

Blights do not apologize, but unlike her parents, Amity believes she has enough consciousness to know when she is in the wrong and when she needs to make amends.

Though, knowing and doing, are two very different things; her pride is a very hard thing to ignore.

She quickly moved up the stairs to the third floor. The balcony from there always provided a lovely view of the nearby sea. It was especially breathtaking at sunset or sunrise, she could definitely use the relaxing atmosphere right now.

It's still quite warm when she stepped outside onto the balcony, but there's a breeze that tousled her hair and makes the mid-summer heat more bearable, the few clouds that seem to be rolling across the sky and occasionally covering up the slowly sinking sun also help.

She leaned on the wooden railing and stared out at the sea, watching the sunlight sparkle off the distant waves in flashes of orange and pinks.

It helped release some of the tension in her body, and she closed her eyes, setting her chin in her hand. She can smell the faint salt that lingers in the breeze from the ocean even from here.

She's all but ready to fall asleep standing up when a loud 'thunk' makes gold eyes pop open and glance around.

The noise comes a second time, and now she can follow it.

Down below her, in the training field that was available to the guardsmen, is Luz.

The human doesn't see her from down there, naturally. She's not even turned to face her.

She's facing a training dummy, sword drawn and held in the ready position. One Amity has seen many times in illustrations of the sword-play books she has read cover to cover multiple times.

Despite her still mixed, negative, feelings about Luz, she can't help but watch. The art has always fascinated her.

The other woman is standing rock still in front of a dummy, it hardly looked like she was breathing, but then she dashed forward, and in one fluid motion strikes through one of the dummy’s straw arms, cleaving it away from the rest of the body with the smooth strike before she bounced backward, movements seamless as she put distance between herself and her stuffed opponent, sword raised again and hopped to the side, perhaps as though avoiding a mock strike.

The moment her foot touched down, she is again moving forward, ducking under the dummy's remaining, stretched out arm and pivoted on her foot a swift pirouette that made Amity dizzy just watching, and in a flash of metal, the blade falls, sundering the entire dummy in two at the chest.

Wide gold eyes blinked at the demonstration of skill.

It seemed at least some of her accusations the other day were baseless.

Luz is certainly not graceless, far from it.

If anything, she moved as smoothly as water in a stream, seamless, smooth.

She watched as Luz sheathed her blade and wiped the back of her arm across her forehead.

She frowned to herself as she stepped away from the railing, hands clenched into the fabric of her dress skirt.

She always told herself that she would be a bigger person than her parents. and it's time she finally practiced what she preached.

[lovelikedestiny]

Happy Birthday @gildingthemoon!!!

I wish you a wonderful day to celebrate and all the best in the world! <3 Today belongs only to you and I hope a lot of people tell you what an incredible human being you are!

I want to gift you with a small, fluffy, happy TOG-oneshot and thank you for being an amazing beta who fights against all errors in my drafts and is delighted by the German sayings I still use unintentionally! I’m very glad to have ‘met’ you! I hope you’ll like the oneshot and you’re grinning like a honey-cake-horse as we say here ;)

*throws a big hug at you* <3

The little things

Under the midnight blue velvet of the night in the empty streets of Malta Joe looks like a celestial being and Nicky feels himself enchanted by his appearance. By his wide, flashing smile, those warm, deep eyes which are surrounded by lovely crinkles and radiate so much emotion that Nicky sometimes has the feeling his heart couldn’t cope with the amount of happiness Joe’s very existence has gifted him with.

When they're out and about and the sun makes Joe's golden skin glow and kisses his silky-soft curls with warm rays, turning his eyes into obsidian and onyx, just so much more precious than all jewelry in the world, Nicky occasionally forgets how to breathe. Of course, after more than 900 years, he knows what his love looks like and knows him better than himself, but that doesn't change the fact that Joe is still beautiful. Beautiful and a constant at his side, who always manages to lead Nicky out of any darkness back into the light.

A cheerful, warm constant that walks by Nicky's side tonight and is the most beautiful thing Nicky has ever seen.

He promptly stumbles over the sidewalk and staggers a few steps before he manages to get hold of himself, hears Joe giggling behind him and has to grin too.

They’re not totally drunk. 

The pleasant warmth in his stomach and the feeling of lightness confirm Nicky in his conclusion and he tightens his grip on Joe's hand as the latter helps him regain his balance. They are only slightly drunk, if at all. Drunk? No. Tipsy! That's the word Nicky was looking for. They're tipsy, he states with satisfaction.

"Careful, my heart," Joe says with a chuckle. “We don't want you to fall on your pretty face. It would be a real shame if you’d hurt yourself today. I like the blue shirt.”

"Really?" Nicky asks, lips curled up into a small grin, pulling Joe a little closer, who willingly follows the movement.

"Really," Joe says grinning and lets his eyes slide so clearly over Nicky's appearance that he thinks he can feel Joe's gaze like a delicate touch. “It accentuates your eyes and your shoulders. And those pants…” He flicks Nicky on the ass. "... also emphasize an area of ​​yours that is very close to my heart. I could easily come up with ideas.”

Nicky shudders when Joe looks at him from below through his eyelashes with a look he knows all too well. Heat surges through his veins and he smiles mischievously and nudges Joe's nose. "I hope they are good ideas."

"Hm," Joe hums approvingly and hooks his fingers into the loops of Nicky's belt to pull him closer. "Very good ideas."

It's so easy to tilt his head, angling it just right, and put his lips on Joe’s who has already moved towards his mouth. Flowers of red fire bloom behind Nicky's closed lids, shooting stars of silvery light and suns of golden embers.

He enjoys the passion that surges through his veins, a steady stream that has never stopped flowing since Nicky first kissed those soft lips, which can enthusiastically recite poetry, are twisted in concentration while drawing, can smile so warmly that Nicky's heart glows, showing him how much Joe loves him when they get lost in each other's bodies amid sheets and pillows.

Nicky is convinced that they are doing good in the world. They protect the innocent, they are their shield in battle and their sword when they cannot hold one themselves and he believes in what they are doing. Just as much as he believes in his family, in Joe. But even if they can make a difference in everyday life with their good deeds, there is something essential that should not be overlooked.

The little things.

Like the sultry air that dances around them through the warmth of the day and the dark sky in front of whose midnight blue canvas the moon shines large and silver. Like Joe's elegant artist hands, which he could feel blindly and which lie firmly and securely on his hips and pull him closer to the glowing, muscular body. Like the fruity taste of good wine on Joe's tongue and the salty sweat from dancing on his lips. Like the familiar tickling of his beard on Nicky's chin and the soft texture of his curls, in which Nicky buries his fingers and elicits Joe a rumble, which Nicky catches and tastes in his mouth.

It's those little things that should be cherished.

Distant laughter causes them to break the kiss, and Nicky tries to fight the urge not to pounce on Joe again when he whines softly and tries to hold on to Nicky.

Some time ago it wasn't even possible to hold Joe in public or simply to interlace their fingers. And even if there are still people who make the world more terrible than it could be, Nicky is infinitely grateful that in most countries he is allowed to kiss the other half of his heart. To kiss Joe and laugh and dance and live with him.

As soon as Nicky thinks that, Joe starts humming and grabs Nicky's hands just to rock them gently back and forth. His eyes are soft with tenderness and Nicky can feel his heart cramp from the affection he feels towards Joe.

Even though they have been together for more than nine hundred years and Nicky knows Joe better than himself, there are still new things they learn about each other. New habits that they develop, new preferences that they discover. In moments like these, when it's just the two of them in their own bubble of peace, Nicky finds no doubt about their relationship, their solid bond that binds them invisibly and is as strong as ever.

Of course, he is much older than most people on this planet and accordingly has a lot more experience, but uncertainties still exist. It is not uncommon for Nicky to lose himself in thought because nagging doubts about a decision he has made corrode him from the inside. They make mistakes in their jobs doing good because they are human. Everybody makes mistakes.

Joe is the only thing in Nicky's long life that he never doubted. An indispensable support that gives him security, just like Nicky will always have Joe's back.

Because Joe is his heart and soul.

Too many words to say and too few words to express how Nicky feels about Joe are on his tongue, so Nicky joins Joe's humming before he starts to sing softly.

Nicky has no problem with being the center of attention, but he prefers to disappear into the background and watch everything from there. If you overlook him or he does not attract attention, others tend to underestimate him and his abilities and he has already used this to his advantage several times.

Joe is the only audience Nicky will ever need, and the knowing flash in Joe's eyes and glowing smile are the only applause Nicky really wants.

Although he and Joe often sing songs together - evenings when Nicky cooks and Joe assists him while they use a wooden spoon as a microphone and Joe starts swinging the kitchen towel while dancing are one of the best - Joe stays silent.

Swaying them gently, Joe's whole focus is on Nicky, who continues to sing a song as old as time itself, tied to precious memories that only they and no one else share. Nicky sings for Joe like he often does when Joe asks him to or he sits down in the kitchen while Nicky can't get rid of a catchy tune while cutting vegetables.

Nicky sings for Joe because Joe is the song that springs from his heart and is embedded in his bones.

As he turns Joe around, Joe laughs exuberantly and the sound reverberates in Nicky like the precious echo of a long-forgotten chiming of a bell.

"I love it when you sing," Joe says, releasing Nicky to give him a little applause, for which Nicky gives an exaggerated bow. It is not easy to stay on his feet, but since the alcohol doesn’t exist that long in their body due to their healing, Nicky doesn’t worry too much about his balance.

"I love you," Nicky replies and Joe dramatically presses a hand on his heart.

"People call me the poet, but it's your words that take my breath away, habibi." He winks at Nicky and Nicky is pretty sure that he looks back with a stupid grin.

Nicky doesn't know if it's such a good idea to climb the rock at the side of the street, but before he can change his mind he has reached the top and looks down at Joe, who is watching him with amusement.

"I could take your breath away with something other than words," he says bluntly, enjoying the effect it has on Joe. Joe swallows hard, blushing slightly, which Nicky doesn't even need to see to know it's happening. Just like the dark fire that makes Joe's eyes burn.

"Is that a challenge?" Joe asks roughly and bites his lip with a grin, causing Nicky to almost fall off the stone. He catches himself in time, but would have had no problem with falling into Joe's arms.

"A promise," he corrects smirking and Joe takes a step towards the stone and tilts his head back slightly to meet Nicky's gaze.

"Are you being funny tonight, Mr. Al-Kaysani?"

"With such good company, indeed, Mr. Di Genova."

They both giggle like silly teenagers and Joe raises an arm in the air and paces up and down in front of the stone like he's on a stage. “Standing like a Greek God on a rock,” he begins to recite. "Moonlight pouring over you and you have a beautiful..."

"Cock," Nicky finishes deadpan and Joe gasps and runs into a nearby street lantern.

"I didn't mean to say that!" He protests with a meaningful smile on his face and helps Nicky jump more or less graceful off the stone.

"You thought it, I said it," Nicky says and blinks innocently at Joe, who laughs and sways slightly.

“We complement each other perfectly, huh? Such an extraordinary coincidence.” Joe nudges him right in the side where Nicky is ticklish and the snorting laugh bursts out of Nicky inexorably as he tries to turn away from Joe.

“Didn't you read the contract? A perfect match has to be guaranteed in order to be in a relationship for nine hundred years,” Nicky says snickering and Joe pretends to be amazed.

“I had no idea about that! I always leave paperwork to you.”

Nicky nods, playing seriously. "Furthermore, the contract requires that I enjoy a cuddle at least three times a week."

"Phew, luckily I have received the world cuddler Award."

"I know. I can rightly confirm that you truly deserve this title."

It is uncertain what the night will bring them, they have made no plans. Nevertheless, the random brushing of their hands and the lingering of their pinkies on the back of the other’s hand are certain indications of what the rest of the night might look like.

"I don't need any more than confirmation of my love."

"You deserve all the acknowledgment in the world because you are expensive."

"Expensive? Do you mean ‘worth it’? ”Joe frowns. “Or was it precious? Who knows what we oh! That was an alliteration!"

"What?" Alliteration sounds a little bit like alligator in Nicky's mind, and he really hopes Joe hasn't seen one. "What was what?"

“An alliteration, you know. When we want words which...haha! Another one!”

Nicky follows Joe's gaze. "Where? Oh, that's just a cat."

"Ah, Nicolo." Joe shakes his head slightly and laughs softly to himself.

"What is it?" Nicky doesn't remember saying anything funny. "Do you want to share your thoughts? A nickel for your thoughts or whatever they say."

"I think it was a coin for your thoughts. Or dollars?”

Nicky has to snort and Joe starts laughing too. "It does not matter. We could continue this conversation at home.”

"Continue it at home?" Joe repeats indignantly. "Nicolo, we were in the middle of a conversation about stilistic means!"

"Okay, uh...if you’re able to come up with another alliteration, I'll do the thing with my tongue at home," Nicky says without thinking, completely relieved of the worries the world has in store for them, through Joe's mere presence and Malta as their retreat.

Joe laughs and raises his eyebrows. "The thing with the tongue? Ya amar, I have no idea what you’re ta- oh. Oh.“ When Joe understands, he stops abruptly, eyes widening. “Lima? Do you mean...Do you mean Lima?”

Nicky nods and keeps walking, grinning, causing Joe to pull himself out of his freeze and rush after him. "Do you really mean Lima? Oh my god, you can't just say something like that and keep walking!”

"So you are not interested?" 

Joe almost chokes. “Not intere...Nicolo! It is impossible that I am not interested in it! The thing with your tongue, Lima, sweet heavens! That was...that was…” Joe seems to remember Nicky's condition and squints his eyes in concentration. "On it. How much time do I have?"

While Joe is thinking hard, Nicky indulges in the serenity of strolling and reaches for Joe's hand, which Joe withdraws and places on something else.

"Yusuf?"

"Yes?"

"That is not my hand."

"Oh sorry, I guess I got a little confused in the dark," Joe says, grinning, but doesn't take his hand off Nicky's ass.

It’s the little things, Nicky thinks by himself as he watches Joe muttering under his breath and then throwing Nicky a beaming smile when he has an idea for another alliteration. It’s the little things that make this imperfect world so perfect. 

[mrs-hatake]

i guess i’m just a playdate to you

Pairing: Kakashi x Reader

Genre: angst

Warning: mentions of character deaths, open and ambiguous ending.

Word Count: 2825

A/N: aaaanndd i’m back with more angst! this is inspired by a kakashi edit on tiktok by alyez_ and i LEGIT got all teary eyed after watching so i just HAD to make you guys sad as well lmao.

p.s: Y/E/C = Your/Eye/Color

p.s.s: not proof read

They say that time heals scars but the person who came up with that obviously never lost the person he loved and cherished the most for if they had, then they wouldn’t have said such a careless thing. 

You were strongly reminded by that quote as you stood amongst hundreds of Konoha villagers in anticipation for Kakashi’s coronation as Konohakagure’s sixth Hokage. 

Everyone had been surprised by the news but they were happy to have such a strong and responsible man as a leader, to no longer feel weak and unprotected but safe and even feared by other villages. Everyone was excited for this day.

But not you.

You were saddened by this.

Suddenly, those around you cheered and applauded as loudly as they can as Tsunade, the former Hokage, stepped onto the podium to address the villagers with a formal goodbye.

Your heart squeezed tightly once your eyes spotted Kakashi standing in the distance, face hidden behind his mask but his eye held no emotion in them. 

There was a lump in your throat and you tried to swallow it away but your throat was as dry as sand paper, making it painful for you to swallow. 

Tsunade’s words fell on deaf ears as tears filled the corner of your eyes and, without even knowing it, you were pushing yourself out of the crowed and somewhere far away from the coronation. The last thing you heard was the crowed screaming and cheering as Kakashi stepped onto the podium next to Tsunade.

-

You’ve been walking for hours. How much exactly, you weren’t sure. All that you knew was that your feet were moving for a very long time and soon you found yourself along the outskirts of the Naka River and the sun setting into the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant shades of red and oranges, reminding you of that special day you don’t think you’d ever forget. 

It was the day of Rin’s funeral and everyone had gathered to bid the young Kunoichi goodbye.

Although you were a regular civilain and didn’t understand the severity of the loss or the sacrifice she had made, you understood the tragedy the village was facing, especially your childhood neighbor Hatake Kakashi.  

Kakashi had wandered off towards the end of the funeral and didn’t bother to stick around for the aftermath of the event. 

Knowing how much Kakashi had suffered and the people he had lost in his younger days, you bit your lip in worry as you set off to find him.

Eventually, you found him sitting on a cliff overlooking Konoha, the sun was setting in the distance and it cast the village in an orange hue. 

The young boy had his knees pulled up and pressed to his chest while his chin rested on his arms atop of them. 

You were positive that there were no words that would comfort the boy so you did the next best thing, you sat next to him with your arm around him and listened to Kakashi as he silently cried.

A tear escaped and rolled down your cheek at the memory but you quickly wiped it away and continued in your aimless walk.

There were rustling sounds coming from one of the bushes in the distance that made you stop in your tracks, your heart beating loudly in your ears in anticipation. Holding your breath, you slowly inched forward and was startled when a small white rabbit jumped from within the bushes.

Your shoulders sagged and a shaky exhale escaped your lips. The small white rabbit stared at you in curiosity, it’s small red eyes blinking up at you.

You offered the harmless creature a small smile but it jumped off deeper into the forest. You watched after it and remembered an early morning similar to this encounter.

When Minato and Kushina died, the entirety of Konoha were in mourn. But no one experienced such a great loss like Kakashi. Right when things were finally starting to get normal and Kakashi had the opportunity to experience what having a loving family was like, his parental figures die, one in battle while the other after giving birth. 

Your eyes never wandered off of Kakashi as you followed him through the woods. You knew that Kakashi would run off faster than the speed of light if he wanted to but you were glad that he was allowing you to be close to him. Though, that didn’t mean you didn’t worry over the boy. 

He had just returned from evacuating the villagers into safety after the sudden attack of the Kyuubi when the former Hokage had informed Kakashi of Minato and Kushina’s deaths.

Kakashi had no reaction. His eyes didn’t well up with tears, he didn’t let out a cry of anguish, not even questioning the Hokage. He just accepted their deaths and walked out of the office.

You had run into him as you were helping your father clean up your mini market when the silver haired teenager walked by. Your eyes lit up and you were about to greet him with a bright smile but when you noticed his hunched form and his hands buried deep into his pockets, you knew there was something wrong.

You quickly ran off to catch up with Kakashi and when you were within reach, you griped his shoulder and turned him around to face you. The sight that greeted you shook you to your core. His eyes were filled to the brim with tears and his cheeks flushed a deep red color. His mask was soaking wet at the never ending tears cascading down his cheeks.

“They’re gone.”

Harshly, you rubbed your eyes to will the memory away.

You’ve known Kakashi since you were a little girl and for as long as you’ve known the silver haired man, he had always been stalked by tragedy. Wherever he went, whomever he had cherished and valued, tragedy would clutch its greedy fingers on them and snatch them away from Kakashi. It happened with his biological parents, his best friends and then with his parental figures.

It was too much for the teenager and it made perfect sense why he ended up joining ANBU. 

“You can’t be serious.”

It had been two weeks since Minato and Kushina’s deaths. The village of Konoha continued on with their lives while the third Hokage returned to his rule.

It was early morning and you were manning the cashier at your father’s mini market. It was a slow and boring day with nothing to entertain you other than a trashy Shinobi magazine with a ‘Top 10 list of the Hottest Shinobi in Konoha.” clutched between your fingers.

It was so quiet that you were about to fall asleep when the door opened and the bells signaled the arrival of a new costumer. Your sleepy expression turned into one of joy as Kakashi walked in and stopped in front of you.

“Kakashi!” Your lips turned upwards into a bright smile, “What can I do for you?”

The teenager said nothing, his hands deep in his pockets, as his eyes scanned the shelves of chewing gum and cigarettes behind you.

“I’m joining ANBU.” He said simply. His voice so quiet that you were certain you misheard him.

You were a civilian and you didn’t know much about the Shinobi world but everyone knew of ANBU. Knew the excruciating and intense training Shinobi went through in order to be masterful and be higher in ranks.

Your smile faltered, “I’m sorry?”

Kakashi’s visible brown eye met yours, “Danzo recruited me to join ANBU.”

Before you could say anything else, Kakashi had turned around and exited the market, leaving you in a stunned daze.

Quickly, you snapped out it and followed after Kakashi.

“Oi, Kakashi! Wait!”

But the boy continued on walking.

Angered, you ran up to him and took hold of his shoulder and forced him around to face you, “What are you doing?”

Kakashi avoided eye contact and said nothing. Your angry aura and the hurt in your eyes ineffective to him.

“Are you seriously joining ANBU or are you playing some mean joke because it isn’t funny.”

“I’m serious.” His eye met yours and you were surprised by the harshness in it. Never in your life had Kakashi looked at you that way. It was so sudden and unfamiliar that you dropped your hand from his shoulder and took a step back.

“It’s dangerous.” You whispered and all that Kakashi could do was shrug his shoulders at you.

“I can handle it.” He said in his quiet, monotone voice.

“You could die!” Your voice grew louder, as if it could somehow explain to Kakashi how stupid joining ANBU was.

He said nothing though and slowly blinked at you. 

When you had nothing else to say, Kakashi turned around and walked away.

Tears rapidly filled your eyes before they rolled down your cheeks as you watched Kakashi walk away from you and, possibly, never coming back.

You hadn’t seen nor spoken to Kakashi for the next twelve years after that day. Your entire routine was thrown out of loop as you lost sleep worrying over Kakashi and fearing for his life. You became so depressed that you couldn’t continue working in your father’s mini market and almost dropped out of school had it not been for Gai who visited you one night to inform you about Kakashi’s well-being. You remember breaking down in his arms, relief suffocating you at knowing that Kakashi was alive and well. 

You didn’t get to see Kakashi until your second year as an elementary school teacher for the civilian children of Konoha. It happened by accident really. You were tidying up the class and preparing for the day’s lesson plan when you had spotted the taller and stronger looking man through the window.

His face was still hidden behind his mask and his right eye was still hidden from sight. He was followed by three children who all had different hair colors; one girl had long pink hair while the two other boys had blonde and black hairs respectively.

His appearance stunned you into silence and you would’ve left the classroom to follow after the man had it not been for your students walking in and announcing their presence.

The second time you saw Kakashi was another coincidence. School had been let out early and you didn’t feel like going home just eat. Instead, you went to Ichiraku’s Ramen shop for lunch.

“I’ll be sure to drop by again!” You called over your shoulders, a melodic chuckle escaping your lips, when you suddenly bumped into someone.

Large hands strongly gripped onto your shoulders to balance your footing and to prevent you from falling, “I’m sorry! I should’ve wa-”

Brown eye met Y/E/C in a startled yet dumfounded expression.

“-tch where I’m going.” You trailed off.

Seeing Kakashi up close was messing up with your head and your heart was beating so loud you feared that it would stop. 

“It’s fine.” His voice was deeper but it still had the quietness in it. Vaguely, you remembered Kakashi’s father having a similar tone of voice.

“Hurry up, Kakashi! You’re paying!” The shouts of a blonde boy sitting on the barstool interrupted your thoughts and the two of you jumped back.

“I should go.” Kakashi stated and rubbed the back his neck.

All you could do was nod your head and watch him walk into the ramen shop. Something deep inside of you told you that won’t be the last time you’d run into the most powerful Shinobi and you could feel a small smile crawl its way across your lips in anticipation.

Things between you and Kakashi were great. Your friendship rekindled and your bond grew stronger than ever. However, Kakashi still kept his distance. And, as an adult and having heard of the risks of the Shinobi lifestyle, you understood and accepted Kakashi’s cautions, especially knowing what kind of childhood he suffered.

And when tragedy struck again with one of his students (you eventually learn as Sasuke) took off with a dangerous rouge Shinobi, you were there for Kakashi.

You were even there when Naruto left Konoha to train with his mentor and Sakura interning for Tsunade, and comforted Kakashi during his loneliness.

And right before the beginning of the Fourth Great War where Kakashi had snuck into your apartment and begged for you to stay safe and wait for him, his brown eye wet with unshed tears, you did as your told and sealed the promise with a kiss to the cheek.

So it made no sense for Kakashi to return to apartment one day after the Great War with his expression resembling the very same one when he had told you he was joining ANBU.

You already knew Kakashi was going to say something you weren’t going to like by that expression alone and you were already shaking your head ‘no’ before he could even say anything else.

“Y/N, listen to me-”

“No!” You shut your eyes tight, not wanting for whatever it was Kakashi was going to say to come true. 

You heard him deeply sigh through his nose and soon felt his strong arms wrap around you, “I’m sorry.” He whispered softly into your ears, in hopes to calm you down, “But I’ve been chosen and they need m-”

But you didn’t want to hear what Kakashi was saying so you walked away from his embrace, “I need you!” You spat harshly, tear streaks on your cheeks.

“I was there for you. During everything, not out of obligation but out of love and you left me to join ANBU. That broke my heart, Kakashi, did you know that?”

The silver haired man didn’t. He said nothing as he watched you run your hand through your locks of hair, making it appear messier than its usual kept style.

“I was alone and depressed. I was scared that i would never see you again.” Teary Y/E/C met his briefly before looking away, “And when I finally moved on and things became normal, you’re back in my life as if nothing happened.” You chuckled humorously.

“And I was there for you when your kids left, I was there for you when literally died, even if only for a couple of minutes, and I waited for you during the war. And when it was finally over, when I thought that we’d finally live our lives like everyone else and finally be together, you want to throw all of that to be a Hokage!”

You were panting and your eyebrows furrowed in sorrow. The tears stopped falling but your cheeks were still wet. “I would be fine if you said you’re going to be Hokage and I could be there for you a-as a friend - maybe something even more if you’ve ever felt that way towards me - but you tell me that you can no longer see me.”

It wasn’t meant as a question, though Kakashi answered nonetheless, “To keep you saf-”

“I don’t give a shit!”

Silence met your ears and once you were able to calm down, You had asked Kakashi to leave.

That was a week ago and you haven’t seen Kakashi until earlier today. 

When your feet halted their movements, blood staining the soles of your feet and your toes in pain, you finally stopped walking at the end of Naka river. 

The sun had completely set and the forest was eerily quiet. You weren’t sure how far away from home you were though, you didn’t care. You just wanted to be as far away from the ceremony as possible.

Sitting down on the grass, you wondered how differently your life could’ve been if you had run into Kakashi outside of the ramen shop. Would you have fallen in love with a civilian that you’d eventually marry? You’d probably have at least two of his kids by now running around your tiny little home. Would you have let them join the Academy if they had asked you to? Probably not.

Maybe you and Kakashi were never meant to be. Your love from your childhood well into your adulthood could’ve been one sided after all. Though, there were moments where you believed Kakashi loved you as much as you did. Maybe not during his childhood but you’ve seen it in his adulthood. The way  he’d look at you when you thought you weren’t looking, those brief touches and him always visiting you after returning from a dangerous mission. You were positive that he loved you when Kakashi had been to your apartment and told you to stay safe before the Great War all those months ago.

Exhaustion settled into you and your eyes soon grew droopy. Resting against a tree, you entertained your mind of thoughts of Kakashi retiring from the Shinobi life and spending the rest of his days with you as you welcomed the cold embrace of sleep.

[third-rail-vip]

Unexpected Guests

Summary: 

Ivy gets a surprise visit from a bored Piper while she's recovering from her injuries from Forest Grove.

MacCready runs an important errand in Goodneighbor.

What's a week off from adventures without a chance to catch up with old friends over drinks and maybe get a little bit of gossip?

Notes:

This is a bit of a self indulgent split pov fic.  I’ve had a chance to drop in some character backstory and separate Mac and Ivy and let them talk to other people about each other too.

Rating:  Teen

Word Count: 6456   [AO3 link]  [Then I Met You - Series Link]

Ivy woke with a start, chest caught in a tight knot from the blinding flash relived behind her eyelids.  Still clutched in her fingers from before she drifted off was an old photograph, faded by the centuries, but lovingly maintained.  It showed a perfect nuclear family; a smiling husband--dark-haired, handsome and square-jawed--his arms wrapped tightly around the waist of his wife, her rich brown curls perfectly framing a serene expression of absolute love towards the baby cradled in her arms.  

Nate, Nora and Shaun Carroll - October 20th 2077 was written in neat looped script on the back - the precious memento had been pressed into her hands by Codsworth as she set out for Concord.  Ivy could remember peeking through the blinds of Rosa’s living room - still recovering, still hiding from the world - and seeing them take that photograph.  The laughter and the sweet ridiculousness of their Mr Handy attempting to take it first before they resorted to a neighbour.  

Her dream wasn’t of that moment though.  It was of thundering knocking at her door, of propellers whirring deafeningly overhead, of Nora’s hand in hers dragging her up the hill to the vault, of her throwing more military legalese at the gate guard than Ivy could wrap her head around until the man let them pass.  It was of being held tightly in the arms of a near-stranger as the light from a rising mushroom cloud burnt itself onto their retinas, and of a baby screaming in its father’s arms.  

Ivy owed the Carrolls her life.  Not that the debt mattered much to the frosted dead eyes that stared back at her through thick glass when she fell coughing and half-frozen from her own metal tomb.  It was in the ruins of what had been her sanctuary, that she promised Codsworth that she’d do everything she could to find the boy and bring him home - to whatever kind of a home this world had to offer.  

Sliding the photo onto her bedside table, Ivy checked her pipboy:  6pm.  Shit, when did that happen?  Last time her eyes were open it’d been 11.  

The dull thrum of conversation from the Dugout’s evening crowd drifted through the thin walls, punctuated occasionally by the proprietor's booming laugh.  Even that was drowned out in the wake of the incessant knocking which shook the door.  

Her sleep-clouded eyes indignantly took in the lamplit room, wondering why her partner had put up with the banging as long as he had - MacCready’s patience was infinitely shorter than hers at the best of times - but her surroundings were severely lacking one mercenary.

For a moment she wondered if it was him at the door, but he never knocked.  Well, not unless he thought she might be changing.  He’d learnt that one the hard way; wandering in on her in her underwear, the poor guy had been so caught off guard that, instead of running his smart mouth, he’d turned tato red and nearly smacked his nose on the door when he spun back around.  

Ivy pulled her flannel shirt into a more respectable position and swung her legs off the edge of the bed - bare skin instantly goosebumped by the touch of cold air, she dragged the blanket to cover them.  As a second thought, she lifted her pistol off the bedside table and tucked it under the blanket, pointed at the door.  

“Who is it?” she called across the room at the now incessant knocking.

“Blue, it’s me.  If you don’t open up soon, Vadim is gonna think you’re up to something disgraceful.”

Piper Wright.  Diamond City’s version of trouble incarnate - if you were a corrupt official at any rate.

“It’s open, no need to bust out those fancy picks.”

“I would never,” the reporter grinned at her, slamming the door and leaning back on it.  

In Piper’s hand were a couple of beers – they were probably warm, and flat, but there wasn’t much more to be hoped for two hundred years after brewing.  She raised an approving eyebrow when Ivy withdrew the gun and tucked it back on the table.  

Hazel eyes, keen with the spark of a bored investigative journalist took in the dingy room;  rifles tucked under the bed, packs stowed by the unused chest of drawers, notepads strewn across the table next to a full ashtray and some nuka cola bottles, and a discarded pile of blankets on the sofa where the occupier had kicked them off.  Piper frowned, but resisted the urge to lean closer and read the notes.  

“So, Blue, what’s kicking?”

“Ha. Ha.”  Ivy rolled her eyes, sticking her bruised and swollen ankle out from under the blanket.  “You know, not much at the moment.”

Piper ditched the beers on the coffee table, then on second thought used one of them to prod the blankets out of the way from MacCready’s makeshift bed on the couch.  With some effort, she helped Ivy hop over to sit in the space she’d made while she took the armchair.  Passing Ivy the blanket beer, Piper kicked her feet up onto the table and twirled her own bottle in her hand, watching the flat liquid regain some of its fizz before taking a sip.  

“I heard a rumour you were back in town.  Thought I’d check in on you, see if there was any news from Nicky.”

MacCready had promised to check for her when they got back to Diamond City, but the meeting had yielded little more than Mac’s frayed temper snapping at Valentine.  Followed by a surprise apology from the mercenary.  Maybe that was the gossip Piper had come for.

“I’m sure you’d have heard before me if there was,” Ivy huffed.  

Passing Piper the photo of the Carrolls, she sank back into the cushions of the sofa and hugged her knee to her chest.  “No, not a damn thing.  It’s hardly surprising, if anything, my memory’s getting fuzzier.”

Piper stroked her fingers across the glossy picture, a sad smile half-tugging at her lips.

“They look so happy.”

“They were.”

“Still nothing?”  She glanced up at Ivy.  

There was less hope and more resignation in her eyes every time she asked the question.  Back when Nick took her case, both he and Piper had tried to talk her through ways of recalling information, even small details, ways to look past the trauma.  

None of it had worked.  

“Just the voice.”  Smug and malicious.  Calling her the backup.  “His face is still just blurry.”  Even though he’d leant right in and tapped on the glass like Ivy was a goldfish.  Bastard.

“It’s not your fault, Blue.  You’d already been through so much.  That kind of trauma--”  The look Piper gave her ached with pity, despite her attempt at an encouraging smile.  “You found - you rescued - Nick.  If anyone can help, he can.”  

“I made a promise, it just doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough.”

“You’re doing so much!  We got the article out there.”  

Ivy shifted uncomfortably.  “All that’s gotten me so far are commiserations.”

“I know saying you were his mom didn’t sit right with you--  I should have warned you.”

Piper reached out and squeezed her hand - it was an apology that came every time they saw each other following that first interview.  A more extreme attempt to make it up to her, had been the trip across to Boston Common which had resulted in them fleeing to Goodneighbor back in October.  

“I don’t know if you noticed, Blue, but this world is kind of selfish.  Honestly, I think people will be more likely to help this way.”

“I know… I know.”

“By the time we’re done, there won’t be a person in the Commonwealth who doesn’t know who Shaun Carroll is.  We’ll get him back, I promise.”

“Thanks, Piper.”

The reporter awkwardly cast around for something else to do, and settled on straightening out the notebooks; eyes that didn’t miss a thing, skimmed the scribbled maps and notes that Ivy had carefully taken down as Mac tried to describe Mass Pike from memory.  

Ivy flicked the book shut when that questioning gaze fell on her.

“Not to bring up the elephant in the room…” Piper tried a subject change instead and nodded to Mac’s ‘bed’ on the sofa. “But weren’t you meant to be ditching the hired help once you found Nicky?”

“I never said that.”

“So what?  You’re keeping him around because you like the stink of cigarettes and, I can only assume, wet dog.”

“Piper Wright, play nice!  I know you aren’t his biggest fan, but MacCready watches my back.”

“He watches your butt, Blue.  Or what is it you Brits say?  Bottom?  Bum?”  

Ivy tried to sound outraged but she was laughing too hard at the plumy queen’s english that just left her friend’s mouth.

“Piper, he does not.”  

Liar.  She bit her lip, unable to keep the colour from her cheeks.

He did watch her ass, she’d caught him more than once.  Sometimes he wasn’t even ashamed of it, although it was far more fun when he was.  And maybe she did put a little more sway into her walk now and again, or lift with her back instead of her knees every so often. But what was the harm in that?  

“I should have expected you’d stand up for him.  My sources tell me you two showed up in town with him carrying you like a couple of honeymooners.”  The reporter crowed smugly.  

“Because of my leg!”  Ivy cried, responding to Piper’s dramatic spouting of mock-marriage announcement headline, with a playful shove.  “And I know your ‘sources’ are Danny.  I saw him gawking.”

“Speaking of Danny, he said your mercenary--”

“Not my mercenary--”

“Whatever.”  She raised an eyebrow.  “Danny said he saw MacCready head out this morning.  Didn’t see where he was headed though.”  Piper paused, scrutinising her between sips of beer, before her expression softened again.  “You don’t know where he is, do you?”

“I’ve not seen him since first thing when he said he was going out.  I never even thought he might leave.”

“Leave,” Piper scoffed and chugged the last of her beer.  Slapping her hands on her knees, she sprang to her feet.  “You know what you need, Blue?  A distraction.  And something stronger than beer.”

After making Ivy swear she’d get up and showered, and watching to make sure she downed the last of her own beer, Piper left in as much of a whirlwind as she’d arrived, with a promise that she’d be back in twenty minutes with a change of clothes and Ivy had better be ready.

--x--

Nothing says welcome like the stench of urine soaked garbage, MacCready had once complained to Ivy on one of their trips back to the inner city settlement, but despite the ever present smell of tomcat, Goodneighbor still felt like the closest thing to home he’d found in the ‘wealth.  He wouldn’t go so far as to say he got no sidelong looks, but fewer than any other settlement he visited, and at least these were somewhat based in fact.  

Despite the ache in his head from where a board had hit him, his dumb yet ingenious - if he did say so himself - plan to return to the re-supermutant infested library had paid off.  Stowed safely in his pack was a pre-war map that covered the whole area around the Mass Pike Interchange.  With it, they could plan a route to take on the Gunners without a repeat of their last disastrous attempt.

MacCready had slipped past the raiders and the mutants en route across Boston, tracing a route that he knew by heart from the months he’d spent there before meeting Ivy.  It was late afternoon by the time he sauntered through the gate to Goodneighbor, whistling past the cigarette hanging from his lips.  Other than the surly presence of the neighbourhood watch, the streets were quiet;  the night owls weren’t up yet and the day drinkers had already shambled off to the Third Rail to dull whatever pain they kept tight-lipped about.  

That meant he wouldn’t have to wait for a quiet spell to drop in and see Daisy.  It’d been too long since they’d stopped by Goodneighbor and he had a pile of caps burning a hole in his pocket, just waiting to be shipped back to the Capital Wasteland.  Not to mention a desperate hope for news from home.  

“MacCready, long time no see.”  Daisy leant across the counter of the discount store, beaming when she saw him.  “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about our little corner of the Commonwealth.”

“How could I forget about you, Daisy?”

“Nice try, kid.  Don’t think I don’t know why you’re really here.”

She reached under the counter and produced a lockbox which clicked open with a key kept around her neck.  MacCready grinned, its contents might be cargo precious to no one but him, but Daisy understood.  

He took the letter that had been locked safely away, dragging a thumb over the crayon doodles that covered the envelope before he tucked it securely into his breast pocket to read later when he got a moment of privacy.  

The old girl had always been good to him, ever since he staggered into Goodneighbor without a cap to his name, a wild look in his eye and Gunner blood on his face.  She’d treated him like family with no explanation other than he reminded her of herself when she was younger – a fuck up too, he’d guessed at the time.  

On the anniversary of Lucy’s death, after more than a skinful, Mac had broken down and told her everything.  Daisy let him cry it out, never passed judgement, and once his sobs had settled she told him the caravans owed her more than a few favours, handed him a pen and paper and said write to your boy.  I’ll get it to him.

So now, more than six months later, MacCready paid her back as best he could - by dealing with trouble - and she kept him afloat with a lifeline home.

“Here on your own?”  

“Yeah, the boss is laid up.”

The word ‘boss’ tasted odd on this tongue.  It’d been a while since he’d used it to anyone other than strangers.  It hadn’t felt like Ivy in a long time, but it was easier not to try and fumble his way through that explanation.  

Carefully checking they were still without an audience, MacCready emptied out every last cap he had - digging deep into his pockets and tipping out bags to make sure every last one was accounted for.  Daisy wrapped them tightly in fabric to stop the telltale tinkle of metal on metal, adding more as he discovered them squirreled away in various places.  

“Laid up, huh?  Sounds like there’s a story behind that,” she chatted idly.

“Just ran into some trouble on the way to take out some old trash.”   Trouble, with any luck, they’d avoid next time.

“Gunners, huh?”  Nothing got past Daisy.  “Those boys might not be the brightest, but they’ve got numbers.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Daisy.”

“And what about your boss.”  

Nothing got past Daisy.

“She sprained her ankle.  Doc says she’s got to keep the weight off, that’s all.”  His explanation appeared good enough for now.  

Next for the package were two envelopes; battered from being repeatedly crammed in pockets before anyone could see him writing, opened and reopened as he added more news while waiting for his chance to get to Goodneighbour and send them off.  One was covered in messy scrawl addressed to Carys, the other he’d lovingly and carefully addressed to Duncan and was filled to the brim with adventures he wished he could tell his son in person, and a promise that daddy would be home soon.  

“Anything else?”  Daisy asked, taking the toy car out of his hands and wrapping it with the caps.

MacCready patted his pockets down and felt the hard glossy sheen of a photograph that had remained stowed in his duster for longer than he’d care to admit.  

On their first trip to the library for Daisy, Ivy had found a working camera and he’d damn near blinded himself with the flash.  After some ill advised chemistry experiments, her and Sturges had managed to develop a single unscathed picture;  he was squinting, caught off guard by the sudden light, and tucked into his side was Ivy, smiling over at him like she wanted to laugh.  The look had recently started to make the air catch in the back of his throat.  

He turned the picture in his hand, half of him wanting to send Duncan something more than words or toys to remember him by, but the other half didn’t want to let the picture go.  

“Wait.”  

Taking the cap stash back from Daisy, he removed 200 and tucked them back into his pack - it was about time he stopped hiding behind their initial arrangement.  As much as he hated debt, he disliked the idea of Ivy thinking he was just there because she paid him, more.  

But speaking of debt.

He sighed and pulled out another 300.  At least he could finally afford to pay off Whitey’s tab in something other than favours, even though he’d rather send the extra caps home.  

“Before you go wandering off with the look of a man who’s lost at cards, I’ve got a little something to send along to Duncan,”  Daisy smiled.

She produced a couple of packs of gumdrops and one of snack cakes, and, most impressively, a pristine teddy bear.  MacCready stared, speechless.  Daisy had obviously gone to a heck of a lot of effort to clean up the toy and get it into good condition.  He’d never have admitted it when he was a kid, but he’d have killed for something like that.  

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep back the threat of tears at the thought of Duncan’s face lighting up at the sight of it, and instead ducked around the counter to press a sloppy kiss to Daisy’s temple.

“You’re a doll, you know that right?”

“I know.  Now get out of here.  I’m sure you’ve got plenty more important things to do than entertain an old ghoul.”  

Barely making it out of the doorway on his debtors traipse to the Third Rail, Daisy called him back.

“I think you forgot something.”  She slid the photo across the counter to him, but had the grace not to tease him.  “You be careful out there.”

--x--

“Gunners.”  Ivy swayed gently on her barstool, carried on a breeze of cheap vodka and weak beer.

The Dugout Inn was a whole world away from the far shadier, but infinitely friendly Third Rail.  That evening the bar was filled with its traditionally grumbling clientele, mostly spaced so that they wouldn’t be forced to interact with anyone they hadn’t specifically come to see.  It was about as congenial as her old Metro commute - although commuters these days were more likely to eat you than glare if you tried to force them to converse.

The pair had been getting scornful looks from the second Piper half-lifted Ivy out of her room and to the bar, and that was a good few hours, and a bad few drinks ago.  

Dragging the sleeve of her rather too large t-shirt back up onto her shoulder, Ivy knocked back another shot of vodka and pulled a face at the burn in her throat - she’d assumed it would ease with regular applications of the spirit.  Her theory was not panning out.  

Piper grabbed Ivy by the knees and twisted her so they were facing.  The sharp movement nearly knocked her own shot flying, luckily the practiced hand of Vadim - who had learnt from the number of spillages caused by Piper’s over excited limbs - caught the drink before it had a chance to topple.

“Are you nuts, Blue?  Why the hell would you go after Gunners?”

“Shh shh shh.”  Ivy patted at her friend’s mouth, bemused at her lack of understanding.  “They were bothering him.”  

Realisation slowly dawned across Piper’s as one hand fished around for her drink, eyes not leaving Ivy’s.

“It’s those big bastards from Goodneighbor, isn’t it?  Damn, Ivy, you’re running around on that mercanar— mermenar—” Piper growled at the word that refused to untangle from her tongue.  She threw back her rescued shot instead and tried again.  “That merc’s vendetta?  You remember you hired him, right?”  

“Yes, I remember I hired him.  It set me back 200 caps.”

“Out of a grand.  You sold that shiny laser rifle, remember?”

Ivy patted more frantically at her friend’s mouth in an attempt to stop her loudly spilling any more secrets, especially money related ones.  

With the stalls around the market closing and the rumbles of another encroaching winter storm bouncing off the stands outside, a fresh wave of patrons huddled into the muggy gloom of the increasingly packed Inn, bringing with them a cold, damp breeze that channeled straight to the bar each time the door opened.

“Miss Wright!”  

This latest wave had apparently washed up Doc Crocker, who greeted Piper from somewhere behind Ivy.  The man was a disconcerting sight at the best of times, smiling away like a used car salesman from under a pair of goggles he never seemed to take off - apparently not even in the darkened bar.  He beamed across at Piper while he waited to be served.

“Doc.  What brings you here?”  she asked with the strained patience of a woman who had probably had this conversation many times before.  

“Well, I must admit to a small vice,” he tittered away to himself, as though answering questions they’d not heard asked.  “A quick drink after work!”

“And the jet,”  Piper muttered into her glass so only Ivy could hear.  

“You have marvellous bone structure.  Beautiful…”  Suddenly Ivy was trapped like a rabbit in headlights under the focus of those bug-eyed goggles.  “But not perfect.  You should stop by the Mega Surgery sometime.”  

The surgeon picked up his drink and wandered off to the couches to comment on somebody’s nose.  

Ivy prodded at her cheekbones and gave Piper a bemused look.  “Well that was charming.”

“Oh, he’s harmless, Blue,” the reporter chuckled, reaching across to smush Ivy’s cheeks.  “Aren’t you tempted by a little nip and tuck?  Impress your mer--”

“Stop it or I will push you off your stool.”  Ivy muffled through her forced pout.

“Come on, Miss Kendrick, a statement for the press…  You can’t tell me you’re helping him for no reason.”

Piper didn’t see it, but MacCready was in trouble, Ivy knew that much for sure, but the extent of which was anyone’s guess.  Trying to work out what was going on with the guy was like trying to put together a thousand piece jigsaw of throwaway comments, far off looks and names he’d whisper as he tumbled out of bad dreams, except she was missing the lid and all the pieces were baked beans.  

“I’m helping him because he asked.  That’s basically all I’ve been doing for people since I defrosted, isn’t it?  Build me a house, fetch me this paint, get that body out of the water supply.”  Ivy ignored the horrified look on her friend’s face and topped up their glasses.  “Isn’t it enough that he asked?”

“For you maybe, Blue.”

“Do you want me to call back Crocker?  See if we can get your eyes fixed?  Your hunger for a story is making you hallucinate, Miss Wright.”

“Fine.  Go after your Gunners if you must.”  She raised a shot with Ivy and waited for her to drink.  “All I’m saying is when you get round to it, the sex better be worth it.”

Ivy choked, spluttering on the alcohol that threatened close off her airway.  She turned, slack jawed to her friend, fully aware from the hairs pricking up on the back of her suddenly overheating neck, that the entire queue at the bar had turned to look as well.

“Piper--”  A hoarse chastisement was all she could manage.

Vadim’s booming chuckle cut across the bar before Ivy had a chance to gather herself enough to clamp her hands over her friend’s mouth.  The women managed to glare him away before he was able to comment.  He strolled off, still laughing to himself, to serve the last waiting customer - one of Diamond City’s security guards, a rare sight without a helmet on.

Poor MacCready had already been the butt of far too many of the bartender’s jokes about the amount of time she’d spent shut away in their room.  Mac had given up trying to explain himself and by day three of her convalescence he was practically running through the bar to avoid the insinuations.  This was going to make things a thousand times worse.  

Their reprieve was short-lived; Vadim reappeared with two glasses of good whiskey and a smirk that threatened to split his face in two.    

“From a not-so-secret admirer.”

The bald security guard, who was obviously the sender of what Ivy fully intended to be her last drink of the evening, made no move to come and talk to them.  He just raised his glass and gave them a nod - his expression unreadable behind dark glasses.  

Ivy and Piper raised their glasses and nodded in return before huddling conspiratorially.  

“You’re going to give me a reputation, Piper Wright.”

“Renting a room for a week with that mercenary is going to give you a rep--admittedly I’m not helping...”  She gave Ivy a cheeky little grimace.  “Ugh, Blue, why is there nothing interesting to write about?  McDonough is shutting me down at every angle.  So much for freedom of the press.  I just want a decent story!”

Still hovering nearby, the bartender seized his moment to make a bid for 15 minutes of fame.  It wasn’t happening.

“So, Piper, you have finally decided to come publish Vadim’s latest tale of heroism, yes?”    

“That’s not news, Vadim.  We all heard about the nudity.  And the coolant.  Earl spread that one faster than a town crier,”  Piper snorted.  

“See what I mean?”  she sighed when Vadim had been successfully shooed away to the opposite end of the bar.  “All I get are people telling me stupid stories like that.  Whenever I publish the real deal.  The truth about what’s going on in Diamond City, everyone looks at me like I’m mad.”  

There was something so miserable about seeing Piper dejected.  Stuck in a room filled with her critics, not even managing to get a hint of gossip out of her friend.  Ivy hadn’t been out drinking with a girlfriend since college, and the more she thought about it... Piper had braved this place with its bad beer and bitchy clientele to keep her company.  The least she could do was throw her a bone, after all, two centuries is a long time to go without gossip and a giggle.

“You got me thinking and I have a very serious question.”  Ivy downed the rest of her whiskey, which in hindsight was not supposed to be drunk that way.  

Piper perked up in an instant, leaning in close as Ivy beckoned her forward until their foreheads were practically touching.

“What is it, Blue?”

“What if sex changed in the last 200 years?”

Piper’s snort was worth everything Ivy was going to have to endure.  It was the loudest, most undignified, joyous noise, and set Ivy off cackling too.  

“I knew it!  I knew it!”

“What?  Shut up, I’m asking for a friend.”

--x--

On the other side of town, it was getting to that time of night where MacCready needed to catch himself before knocking ash into his whiskey and picking up his ashtray for a drink.  A good time of night.

“Not me, brother.”  Hancock shrugged, leaning back on one of the tattered sofas in his rooms in the State House.  “You think I go around paying off tabs?  You’d drink me out of house and home.”

“You know it wasn’t that kind of tab.”  

Mac shifted uncomfortably, glancing across at Farenheit, who lurked in the gloom, leaning against the doorframe, her unimpressed expression lit by the glow of a cigarette.  He’d been convinced it was Hancock when Whitey refused to give him a name.  

“I know, but I’d rather Charlie didn’t have to dispose of too many Gunner corpses either.  They might decide it’s actually worth starting shit.”  MacCready might have earned his place as a friend of the mayor, but Hancock wasn’t going to risk Goodneighbour to the Gunners.  “Sure you aren’t missing the obvious?”

“Positive.  She wouldn’t have,” he scoffed.  “Ives had way too much of Charlie’s swill to remember my tab.”  

“I should be insulted,” Hancock drawled, without the slightest hint of offense taken.  “Your doe-eyed vaultie talked Charlie into coughing up 400 caps for my warehouse job.  You sure she was as drunk as you remember?”

“You shoulda seen her at the Rexford,” MacCready settled back into his sofa, wrapped in the warm embrace of a whiskey induced haze, a far away smile sneaking onto his lips.  “One minute she’s swaying on her feet, the next she’s got old Fred to offer 500 caps for a trip to Hallucigen.  She just smiled and told him it was hazard pay.”

A lazy grin spread across Hancock’s face.

“What?”

“Nothing, man.  Just nice seein’ you something other than drunk or sour.”  He got up and meandered over to the cabinet, fishing out a bottle to replace the whiskey they’d finished - an action that didn’t fail to get Mac’s attention.  “How is the new job working out?”

“Hope you’ve got enough of that to go around.”  Without bothering to lean forward, he toed his empty glass across the coffee table for a refill.  “Hate to admit it, but i’m actually enjoying the work.”

The ghoul raised an eyebrow at his mucky boots draped across the wood, but filled his glass anyway before kicking his own feet up.  “Just the work hmm, nothing to do with the company?”

You don’t know the half of it.  

MacCready had been doing a damn good job of keeping things professional - harmless flirting didn’t count - but admittedly it was getting more difficult, and a badly timed return to their room had only complicated matters.  In a matter of seconds, keen eyes usually trained to spot weakness and danger, had read details of his half-naked partner’s life that he hadn’t earned the right to see.  She had three tattoos - knowing Ivy they had stories behind them, a couple of old bullet wounds had left superficial scars across her upper arm, not to mention the surprisingly distracting dusting of freckles.  

All things he shouldn’t hope to study slowly and in infinitely more detail.  

“The work is good.”

“Ha.  I knew it.  Don’t tell me, don’t tell me,” Hancock chuckled.  “She’s not as sweet as she seems.  You’d never have stuck around otherwise, not unless you got to play bad influence.”

“She’s an angel.”  MacCready smirked at the nickname that used to be taunt.  He shook his head as an irrepressible grin cracked across his face.  Damn whiskey making him loose lipped.  And damn half-empty pack on Mentats - the ghoul was on the ball today.  “But you should see her pick a lock.  Those hands--”

It had come as a shock, but a heck of a pleasant one, that Ives could work a lock faster than some professionals he’d run with.  But the image that caught in his head was the way she dragged her teeth over her bottom lip when she concentrated, deft hands delicately coaxing the locking mechanism open.  

Once he’d cockily asked her if she could do it blindfolded and without missing a beat she’d told him she could do a lot of things blindfolded - it had made for a distracting fight through the rest of the raider camp.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth and concentrated on lighting his cigarette to avoid making eye contact with Hancock.

“Hey, distractions are good, man.  You gotta enjoy your time on this earth,” the ghoul shrugged.  “I admit, we half-expected to see you back here by now.  The boys had a sweepstake on how long it’d be before that sweet boss of yours sent you packing.”

Of course they did.

“Oh yeah, who’s winning?”

“Yours truly.  Everyone else thought you’d be back by now.”

MacCready laughed.  If you asked around Goodneighbor about him, most people would tell you “good shot, bad attitude”.  Didn’t matter if they’d met him or not, word travelled fast and reputations tended to stick.  He’d been a defensive son-of-a-- well, his attitude hadn’t won him any popularity contests.  

“Sorry to disappoint but you’ll be waiting a little longer for your payday.  We’ve still got jobs planned.”

“I heard you were looking to make a move on the Gunners.”

Mac had given up long ago being surprised by the things Hancock heard on the grapevine.  

“That’s the plan.  Why?  You’ve not had any more trouble from them, have you?”

“Not since you left.  They’re watching, but then they’re always watching.  It’s the super mutants that are giving us more trouble these days.  Gotta say, we miss your gun on the defences.”

MacCready grinned.  What little work he’d managed to get out of Goodneighbor, despite his Gunner background, had been from people seeing him in action during those raids.  Although drifters and drug dealers didn’t bring in the steadiest or best paid work.  

Leaving Goodneighbor with Ivy had been a longshot, but then again those were his specialty.

“Any news from home?”  

Daisy wasn’t the only one who knew what drew him back to Goodneighbor so often.  

MacCready fished the latest letter from his breast pocket, running a calloused thumb over the doodles on the envelope.  “Carys says he’s ‘pretty stable’ - whatever that means - and he misses his daddy.”

She’d said other things too, mostly shit he didn’t understand like the boils had spread from his axillae and groins, but she was keeping an eye on them and they weren’t causing more issues.  Yet.  And that Duncan was still on his feet, but it was taking a lot of physio and he was hating it.  He throws the kind of tantrums baby you would be proud of, MacAttack.  

“And he still wants a puppy.”

MacCready bowed his head, the bridge of his nose pinched tightly between his finger and thumb, like that was ever gonna stop the tears prickling his eyes.  Carys - or the ‘lone wanderer’ as she was known to people who never bothered to get to know her better - was the only doctor he’d trust anywhere near his son.  She and her wife hadn’t hesitated to open their home to his little boy, to look after him while MacCready headed north.  But Carys was never one to mince her words.  She’d told him in no uncertain terms that leaving the Capital Wasteland meant that there was a risk Duncan could die without him there.

“So.”  Hancock wasn’t one to mince his words either.  “You made any progress on that cure?”

“You think I’d be sitting here getting drunk with you if I had?” he snapped, then sighed.  “Without Sinclair’s password it’s fuh-- it’s pointless.”

Trust issues and desperation were an ugly combination, but he’d had them in spades when he’d landed in the Commonwealth.  Sinclair and his partner had looked no better than kids wearing pots and pans as homemade armour.  Freaking useless.  There was no way he was going anywhere with those amateurs, but that hadn’t stopped him trying to beat them to the prize, only to realise he’d never get through security without a password - one Sinclair had neglected to mention when they proposed the team up.  The hoards of ferals were just the icing on the cake.  There was no way in hell he was getting in there alone.  

On the brightside, if there was one, there was no way they’d have made it through those ferals if he couldn’t.  So the cure was still there, just waiting for him to find a way in.    

“You know what I’m going to say, but I’m going to say it anyway.”  Hancock took a long drag of his cigarette then folded his arms, black eyes studying MacCready intensely from under the shadows of his hat.  “You were saving caps to hire some guys to get you into that lab, but you’ve got a partner who - from what it sounds like - would help you for free.  What’s stopping you asking?”

“I nearly got torn apart last time I went there.”  

He slammed his glass down, a wave of amber liquid sloshed across the wood.  Shame reared its ugly head as he tried to forget that he had tried to get Ivy to Malden.  And he’d lied to her to do it.  But that was before she was more than just a job.  His alcohol fogged mind drifted back to the tears that spilled from earnest brown eyes when she told him she thought she’d got him killed.  

His voice cracked, “I can’t watch it happen again.”

MacCready stood suddenly, the room giving an indignant whiskey induced spin.  Once his eyes could focus again, he checked his watch: 1am.  “I should get back.”  

At the door he turned, remembering his manners.  “Thanks for the drink, Hancock.  Sorry about the…” - he waved vaguely - “everything.”  

“No harm done,” Hancock smiled calmly.  He was always hard to rile, not to mention better at holding his drink than the mercenary.  “Hey MacCready, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

—x—

It was late - or possibly early - when MacCready finally made it back to the Dugout.  On the brightside, he was in one piece, having luckily skirted round any trouble while crossing Boston under cover of night.  On the downside, he looked like he’d swum up the Charles rather than walking - the storm that had finally broken when he was halfway back, and even the brim of his cap was sagging under the weight of water.  

He found his partner fast asleep, still fully dressed - in clothes he didn’t recognise - curled up on top of her covers.  She hadn’t even stirred when he kicked the door shut.  The bottoms of her feet were grubby like she’d been out of the room barefoot - must be what Vadim looked so entertained about when he wandered through the bar.  

Smiling to himself, he dragged a free corner of the blanket over her before kicking off his boots, ditching his sodden coat and hat and collapsing back onto the couch.  If his luck remained, maybe he’d sleep through any potential hangover.

[crispyjenkins]

Hullo, you said you’ll take prompts? I’ve never asked anyone here before but could you maybe write Ahsoka and her (too many) parents? Like Plo,who is very wise, anakin and Padmé who she flees to if she needs cuddles, obi wan who she goes to to play strategies games with and maybe if she’s upset (if you want you can also thrown in her visiting Obi because she’s upset and Jango teaches her some fighting stuff and obi shows her how to make it a healthy meditation thing) Just Ahsoka and family fluff

(i uh. accidentally put this in my jangobi fix-it ‘verse ‘cause i’m soft for senator Obi and i hadn’t done anything with Ahsoka yet, and it’s very found family-focussed anyways. Obi just like. collects children. Anakin wasn’t even the first. gonna call this the hunger ‘verse because reasons. sorry this took so long! it super got away from me)

  Ahsoka supposes she shouldn’t be surprised that Anakin takes them to Naboo as soon as they drop the clones off on Coruscant, but she’s thankful for it anyways. They haven’t had leave in months, and though she’ll miss Rex and the others, she’s so tired she wants to cry, and would like nothing more than to curl up with Padmé’s handmaidens for a long kriffing while.

  And, as if the Force is blessing her for being patient, Obi-Wan is there to greet them in the hangar on Theed with Padmé, rich green robes certainly giving the former Queen a run for her money.

  Obi-Wan takes one look at Ahsoka, stumbling down the shuttle ramp, and opens his arms; she takes the invitation full-heartedly and crashes into him despite the numerous guards surrounding the landing party. Chuckling deep in his chest, Obi-Wan wraps himself around her, and his robes are even softer than they look.

  “Hello there,” Obi-Wan laughs softly. “Miss me that much?”

  She pulls away just enough to smile up at him. “We thought you were still on Coruscant.”

  He snorts and pats her head, sending Padmé a good-humoured glare. “I’m quite sure I told Massere Amidala to tell General Skywalker that I would be on Naboo during his leave,” he says, and Padmé laughs, with a hand on Anakin’s elbow to pull him over to join them.

  “Senator,” she says loftily, as Anakin rolls his eyes, “you should know better than to trust subspace communications that far into the Outer Rim.”

  Ahsoka grins and lets Padmé whisk her away from Obi-Wan to give her a hug of her own. Anakin sniffs jealously, and it’s almost funny how long he’s held onto his puppy crush, especially with Sabé standing just a few yards away with an amused expression. Padmé either doesn’t notice, or ignores it outright, and holds Ahsoka indiscriminately with a soft murmur of,

  “It’s good to see you, Snips.”

  “You as well, Massere,” she replies happily, sending a smug smile to her master when Padmé kisses the top of her head. 

  Anakin surprises exactly no one when he rolls his eyes again and loops an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders; despite his disgruntled expression, Obi-Wan still lets him, and Ahsoka thinks Naboo had been a very good idea indeed. 

- 

  She finds Obi-Wan in the gardens of the Naberrie household the next morning, where Ruwee and Jobal had been kind enough to house her and Anakin while the Queen sorts out guest quarters in the palace. Apparently her master had given Padmé all of half a cycle's notice before arriving on Naboo, and the court had been wholly unprepared for a war hero to be staying with them.

  It's still early enough that the humidity hasn't set in for the day yet, and Ahsoka doesn't bother changing out of her soft sleepwear before joining Obi-Wan in the centre of the garden; there's already a second meditation mat laid out across from where he kneels near a fish pond, with a Togruta focusing crystal sat between them. 

  She tries not to disturb him as she settles onto the mat, folding her legs into a full-lotus before easing into her own meditation. 

  Anakin is a good master, and she's thankful to be his padawan, but he can't meditate for kark, and Ahsoka is thankful Obi-Wan is more than happy to fill those needs when they see each other. 

  Which is more often than she would have expected, considering the war, but if there's one thing Obi-Wan can't do, it's keep out of trouble. The senator is driving Anakin spare, and Ahsoka is all too happy to watch it happen. 

  She must have projected the thought further than intended, when Obi-Wan's presence brushes against hers in amusement. He never asks to enter her shields, even though she would probably let him if he did, and it still amazes her that someone with so much control could have been sent away by Master Yoda. 

  She releases her confusion back into the Force and allows the hum of the focussing crystal to draw her back on task. Such thoughts could wait. 

- 

  They have three ten-days of leave before the GAR wants them back on the front lines, and after the first night, Padmé's Queen sets them up in adjoined chambers in the palace. They aren't the standard guest quarters, which are currently occupied by a few foreign dignitaries — and a “friend”, Padmé had said with a suspicious twinkle in her eye. 

  But her and Anakin's rooms are in the same hall as Padmé's remaining handmaidens, and Ahsoka doesn't even spend her first night in the palace in her own bed, having stayed up so late talking that they let her stay over.

  The next morning, she meditates with Obi-Wan before breakfast, and then spars with Sabé and Rabé; she wonders where Anakin has gotten off to when she doesn’t see him until lunch, because she has it on good authority that Padmé had spent the morning with Obi-Wan.

  After reminding herself that it isn’t her job to know where her master is 24/5, Ahsoka takes a nap in one of the courtyards, tucked under a flowering tree and wrapped up in one of Rabé’s cloaks. It’s a little more humid than she’s used to after so many months in space, but the temperature is perfect spring warmth, and she happily loses a few hours there doing absolutely nothing. 

  The sun is only just beginning to think about setting when she senses someone approaching the courtyard. She reaches out with the Force, hoping it’s Padmé or one of the handmaidens, but she doesn’t recognise the Force signature that stops in the little archway across from her tree.

  Frowning, Ahsoka pushes herself up and finds a young boy watching her with brown eyes slanted in suspicion; he’s oddly familiar, for how much darker his skin is than most of the palace Naboo.

  “Who’re you?” the boy asks with a slight accent that is decidedly not Nabooian, and a glare that Ahsoka swears she recognises. 

  “I’m a guest of Padmé and Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka says, noting with surprise that the boy perks up at Obi-Wan’s name. 

  “Are you a jetii?” he asks. At her confused silence, the boy makes a swishing motion with an arm and Ahsoka has to laugh. 

  “Am I a Jedi?”

  He nods vigorously and finally steps into the courtyard properly, though he stays several paces away, and she tries not to be disturbed by the blaster strapped to his thigh; they’re at war, after all. 

  “I’m an apprentice, yes,” she says, trying to look as non-threatening as possible; if he’s a friend of Obi-Wan’s, Force knows where he managed to pick the boy up from. “My name is Ahsoka.”

  “I’m Boba. Are you a general?”

  He inches closer as Ahsoka laughs again. “No, but my master is!”

  Boba perks up even further, but it doesn’t click for her until he excitedly asks, “You fight with the vode?”

  Well, when you lay it out that obviously for her. 

  “You— You’re Jango Fett’s kid?”

  His smile immediately disappears back into that glare that of course looks familiar, she’s seen it hundreds of times on the faces of her men— “Why do you say his name like that.”

  “Um, no reason,” she quickly amends. “I was just surprised. A lot of my troopers have mentioned him, but I’ve never met him.”

  “Obi’s still mad at him about the vode, he tries not to get involved.”

  Ahsoka frowns, at both the nickname (he never lets her call him ‘Obi’), and the implication that Obi-Wan has known him that long. She had always thought he only got involved in the war because of Anakin, but if he personally knew Fett...? It certainly raises more questions than answers.

  “Are you here to visit Obi-Wan, then?” she asks, instead of any of those questions, and is pleased to see Boba start to relax again. 

  “Yeah, buir was helping him with something. I don’t know what, though, I wasn’t allowed on that mission.” He scrunches his face cutely, and Ahsoka laughs as she gets to her feet; if her quick math is right, he can’t be older than eleven, though she still isn’t clear on the clones’ aging cycle. 

  With this in mind, she doesn’t offer her hand as she would to the temple younglings, but still smiles down at him and gestures for the hall. “You wanna go find Obi-Wan and ask, then? I’ll teach you how to give him tooka-eyes until he can’t say no.”

 Boba gets a sly little smirk then, and Ahsoka wonders if she won’t instead be learning from him. Force, Naboo had been a great idea.

Mando’a— jetii: singular jedi vode: brothers/comrades, specifically the clone troops buir: parent

Other— massere: gender neutral address of high respect, specifically those in government or of cultural importance