#i have never thunked a thought in my entire goddamn life

[tennessoui]

i really am just so excited for part two of the roadtrip au and knowing it might be from obi-wan's perspective??? seeing obi-wan fawn over anakin while anakin dotes on him?? i'm losing my mind.

hey!!! bless!!!! i know i said it would be part 1, part 2, part 3, but i started writing part 2 and it's like already 2.2k long and they're just in Pennsylvania so i think we should all start thinking of this story as part 1 (finished, posted), ARC 2 (very long, is in segments, depending on what people wanna see and what road trip shenanigans i can think up), and part 3 (tbd)

anyway here's the 2.2k (squick: a/b/o, mpreg)

“Uh, sir? Are you...alright?”

That’s the gas station attendant. Obi-Wan barely resists the urge to thunk his head on the side of the bathroom stall. The only thing stopping him is how absolutely unsanitary it would be, and he already feels dirty enough. He pulls a few more squares of toilet paper from the dispenser and wipes at his mouth.

Of all the pregnancy symptoms he hates, he thinks morning sickness is the one he hates the most. And it’s the one that seems to be, for some reason, sticking around the longest.

He’d never even known how much of a misnomer morning sickness is, but it’s not like it’s only happening in the morning. He’ll feel nauseous halfway through the day, mid-afternoon, early evening.

His doctor and close friend at the hospital, Bant, had assured him this was normal and nothing to worry about. But it’s hard not to worry about it, especially when he lives with an Alpha who worries about everything.

“Just fine, thank you,” Obi-Wan says politely as he flushes the toilet and leaves before he can watch his breakfast spiral down and disappear. That’ll only make him feel even more sick.

The girl wrings her hands as she watches him wash his, and he has to take pity on her. She can’t be older than eighteen. “Morning sickness,” he tells her, placing a hand on the virtually unnoticeable swell of his belly.

“Oh!” she says. Obi-Wan fights the urge to grimace when he sees her eyes dart down to his unmarked neck. He knows how it looks. He knows how it sounds. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s quite alright,” he says. It’s not, but it is. Obi-Wan doesn’t want to have this conversation, doesn’t want to talk to this girl anymore. They’re passing through a small town in central Pennsylvania. He’s a pregnant, unmated, thirty-eight year old male omega. A rarity. A talking point. He doesn’t want to talk to her, he wants--

There’s a loud knock on the door to the bathroom. “Obi-Wan? Are you alright? Is there someone in there with you? I thought I heard voices. Obi-Wan? I’m coming in, Obi-Wan.”

Anakin.

Obi-Wan gets halfway through drying his hands before Anakin’s there, crowding him against the sink and nosing at his face and neck.

“Sir, this is a bathroom for omegas only!” the gas station attendant protests, but Anakin growls at her.

As much as the pregnancy has made Obi-Wan lose parts of himself to his Omegan side, it’s been ten times worse for Anakin for some reason. As far as Alphas go, Anakin’s always been a thoughtful, respectful one. Quick to anger, perhaps, but never violent or suspicious.

Now it’s like everyone in the world has done something to personally offend Anakin. Everyone but Obi-Wan.

If he didn’t feel such a burning, unignorable need to get to Seattle, Obi-Wan would have called the whole trip off weeks ago.

But he couldn’t then and he definitely can’t now, not when they’ve both taken the time off of work and Obi-Wan’s let his doctor know he’ll be out of the state and they’re already in Pennsylvania.

He’ll just let Anakin do whatever he needs to do to feel alright with taking a pregnant, unmated omega across the country. It’s not as if it’s a hardship to put up with all the scentings and hugs and looming and protectiveness.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Which just makes Obi-Wan feel even more guilty, the way he’s using Anakin like this. His dearest, closest friend, who is helping him in such an amazing way, and every time he touches him, it’s all Obi-Wan can do to not arch up into the touch.

He wishes he could blame it on the pregnancy hormones, the way his instincts are going haywire to keep an alpha--any alpha--close. But it’s not. It’s Anakin. It’s the fact that Obi-Wan is hopelessly, irreversibly in love with the alpha.

The touches and the scenting don’t mean what he wants them to. It doesn’t mean anything, the way Anakin pushes his shirts and sweaters to Obi-Wan’s chest and watches him put them on. He’s an observant man, his alpha. He knows Obi-Wan likes wearing his scent now that he’s pregnant. It’s comforting.

So even though it doesn’t mean anything at all, the way Anakin’s hands roam over his waist and stomach and hips as he growls at the poor gas station attendant, Obi-Wan has to fight to not push back into the touches, to not scent him in return.

He’s afraid once he does, he won’t be able to stop. The thought of it, of marking the beautiful, strong, virile alpha with his smell, is too addicting to ever risk trying.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just a bit of morning sickness,” he says lightly, touching Anakin’s chest gently. “She was just checking up on me.”

Anakin glares at the girl and starts to herd Obi-Wan out of the bathroom. “Not hers to check up on,” he mutters, hands latching onto Anakin’s hips and guiding him through the aisles of brightly colored chips and candy.

Obi-Wan thinks that for both of their sakes he should remind Anakin that he’s not his to check up on either, but he doesn’t want to, not when he can pretend for a little bit longer.

“I think I would like to lie down in the back for a bit,” he says, holding his stomach. “Just until we get out of this state.”

Anakin agrees immediately, like he knew he would. “Okay, Obi,” he murmurs, opening the car door for him. They’d laid down their suitcases in the wells behind the two front seats, and Anakin had thrown a couple of blankets over the entire area to make a sort of makeshift nest for Obi-Wan to sleep in should he want to.

They’ve only been driving for four hours, but Obi-Wan already wants to. He’s painfully on edge.

He hadn’t understood how hard it would be to convince his hindbrain and body to leave the safety of their apartment, but all he wants now is to nest somewhere safe for him and the baby. It would have been impossible to do this without Anakin.

“Alright,” the alpha says. “Um. Wait. Here.”

He shucks off his sweatshirt, a faded college one that Obi-Wan’s been coveting with his eyes since Anakin had put it on this morning. “Oh, dear one, no,” he forces himself to say anyway. “It’s December. You need a sweatshirt.”

“I’ll turn up the heat,” Anakin holds it out insistently, stubbornly. “Take it, come on.”

Obi-wan can only make himself hesitate for a second more before he’s snatching the soft fabric that smells like sunlight linen honeydew out of his hands and holding it greedily to his chest. “Alright.”

Under the weight of the alpha’s watchful eyes, Obi-Wan crawls into the backseat and curls up with his head diagonal from the driver’s seat. He thinks it’ll be nice to wake up and see Anakin’s profile whenever he wants to without additional shifting.

“Oh shit,” Anakin curses suddenly. “I was going to buy a coffee.” The alpha pauses, clearly torn between going back inside and not wanting to leave the omega alone in the car. But Obi-Wan knows Anakin, and he needs his coffee.

“Oh,” he says as if he’s just remembering something himself, “can you get me one of those bananas on the counter? I think they’re good for babies.”

That, obviously, changes everything for Anakin who straightens instantly. “Bananas are good for babies,” he declares, nodding his head before narrowing his eyes. “Would you...can I lock the door? I won’t be long. Just for safety.”

Obi-Wan blinks and purses his lips to stop his little smile. His alpha can be so silly. Safety. In the middle of the afternoon in rural Pennsylvania. “Okay, alpha,” he agrees before he even realizes that he really shouldn’t be calling Anakin alpha. Especially not when the other man always reacts so strongly to it.

Case in point, he thinks to himself sadly as Anakin’s hand spasms on the car door handle before he slams it and hustles away, almost at a run.

With a long sigh, he flops back down into his nest and squirms until he gets comfortable. There’s a pillow close to his hand that he hugs to his chest when he realizes it’s Anakin’s pillow from his bed at home. It smells amazing, a mix of both of them together.

Ever since he’d told the alpha he was pregnant, Obi-Wan’s fallen asleep in Anakin’s bed more often than not. It’s a comfort thing, one that Obi-Wan feels intensely guilty about. Surely if he keeps being so clingy and whiny and Omegan, Anakin will get sick of him.

And this is just the beginning of the pregnancy. He knows rationally that Anakin loves him as a friend, a brother, but how long is that love going to last if Obi-Wan can’t get a handle on his goddamn hormones? Anakin hadn’t signed up for any of this. It’s not even his pup. How much is Obi-Wan willing to put him through just because he can’t imagine a life without the alpha in it?

Wouldn’t it be the best thing for the both of them to cut their losses now? Bail and Breha had told Obi-Wan he could move in with them for the duration of the pregnancy if he needed to. The only thing that stopped him from saying yes immediately had been the hope that Anakin would be willing to stay with him, keep living with him even after he’d fucked up so much.

And the alpha, by some miracle, hadn’t left, hadn’t moved out. But Obi-Wan can’t shake the thought that he will soon, that this will all get to be too much. Obi-Wan’s omega whimpers at the back of his mind at the idea that one day the alpha will be gone.

The scent of distressed omega fills the car as Obi-Wan feels his bottom lip start to wobble.

Alright, the influx of hormones that are wreaking havoc on his emotions is probably the pregnancy symptom he hates the most. But morning sickness is still up there, too.

He sniffs into Anakin’s college sweatshirt and tries to think happy thoughts. He shouldn’t make Anakin worry about his emotions when he’s already spending so much time worried about his physical health.

How much is Obi-Wan going to take advantage of Anakin’s kindness?

The doors unlock with a beep, signaling his alpha’s return to the car.

It doesn’t take Anakin even a second to catch onto Obi-Wan’s recent spiral of emotion, but at least he won’t know why unless Obi-Wan tells him.

“Obi?” he asks frantically, as soon as he opens the car door. “Obi, are you alright? Did something happen? Did someone see you--?”

“Put the coffee down before you spill it,” Obi-Wan instructs after peeking out of his sweatshirt haven. “I’m alright, Anakin. It’s just the hormones. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Anakin shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

The statement pulls a wry smile from Obi-Wan. “Oh, I can think of a few things,” he murmurs, touching his belly with a pointed, gentle hand. Before Anakin can say anything about that, he continues quickly. “I was just wondering about something, I’m fine, really. Really.”

And then, knowing he shouldn’t but also knowing it’ll distract Anakin enough from this line of questioning, he tilts his head back to expose his neck and says, “Can we drive, alpha?”

The coffee cup still clutched in Anakin’s hands bursts open under the force of his grip. He really should have put it down.

Anakin curses up a storm as he shakes the hot liquid off of his skin, and Obi-Wan sits up worriedly. Anakin was bothered so much by Obi-Wan calling him that that he accidentally hurt himself. No more, the omega resolves. He can take a hint.

“Are you alright?” he asks, grabbing at Anakin’s hand to examine the red skin.

“I’m fine!” Anakin yelps, jumping away. “I just--I’m just going to go wash this off. Um. And get more coffee.”

He slams the door shut, and Obi-Wan wilts as he watches him go. He can’t even follow after him because Anakin’s locked the doors with his car key. He’s done enough already.

“Oh baby,” he tells his stomach. “I don’t think I’m ever going to have that alpha figured out.”

The baby is still and, of course, silent, but Obi-Wan takes comfort in their presence anyway. They can’t leave him. Not yet, at least.

Gingerly, he maneuvers his way out of his nest so he can reach his messenger bag he’d left in the foot of his passenger seat. It takes some finangling, but finally he’s able to fish out his headphones. As he resettles into his nest, surrounded on all sides by Anakin’s scent, he notices the bunch of bananas thrown in the driver’s seat.

Obi-Wan snorts at his silly alpha, but can’t deny that he’s touched at the same time.

It’s extremely easy to find the track he wants to listen to, what with how often he listens to it these days. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that can get him to fall asleep.

He pulls up the downloaded homemade album Anakin had given him for Christmas four years back. When he presses play, his alpha’s deep melodic voice spills into his ears.

“Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote, the droghte of March hath perced to the roote…”

Of course he can’t be sure, but he’s fairly certain he’s asleep by the time Anakin comes back to the car.

[rouiyan]

𝘔𝘠 𝘗𝘜𝘊𝘒 𝘐𝘕 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘎𝘖𝘈𝘓 [ 𝘭.𝘥𝘩 ]

⧏ hyuck’s installment of the keep your cool collective ⧐

synopsis: you’ve decided that the boy in ‘66’ is yours.

✧ ice hockey player!hyuck x (fem.) reader x ice hockey player!jeno + best friend!renjun

✧ genres : fluff, minor angst ✧ word count : 2.3k ✧ disclaimer : swearing

✧ author’s note — finally my brain had the gall to pull through with this idea but i'm left with the realization that all my hyuck fics are just him simping for u.

hyuck internally sighs, his head ringing and ankles sore, as the buzzer goes off, signaling the end of the third round. he’s almost elated, even though he’s sure his team hasn’t won, by just the fact that the game is over. hyuck is by no means sick of ice hockey but lately, the mere idea of it drives him into exhaustion. as he turns to expect the disappointed stare of his coach, he’s surprised when he’s met with a halfhearted smirk. weird, the coach should know more than anyone how lazily this game had played out. but then, as an afterthought, he checks the scoreboard and realizes with an oh shit, that they were tied with the opposing team, somehow.

his line of vision is parting from the board when he makes unfortunate eye contact with the person entering the rink. your hair is pulled back with a pale pink scrunchie and your outfit is a certified mess of oversized hoodie and sweat shorts upon white sneakers. he can quite literally feel the heat that is quick to rush to his cheeks, unfailing to hide his flustered state. he knows he looks stupid but he still can't help but stare and ogle at new and blatant eye candy as she crosses the threshold into the cold space. half your figure is  now covered by the wall that separates the stands with the rink though it doesn't matter because he's still equally enamoured by simply your presence. 

"hyuck, why you staring at y/n?"

hyuck can only wince inwardly as he stutters out, "that's- that's y/n?" it seems unfair that renjun's been hoarding such a pretty specimen to himself. "like your best friend, y/n?"

"yeah, what about her?"

"br-bro, you never mentioned that she was pretty."

"hey, don't even think about it. you're the last possible person i'd set her up with. plus, she's with jeno, they went on a date after practice last time, remember?"

there's an underlying disappointment in donghyuck's tone when he's only able to produce a soft, "oh," because frankly he doesn't know why he's so worked up over someone who he's never even met and that's also dating one of his close teammates. amidst his confused trance, he almost fails to notice his coach call for a pre-game huddle.

he ends up tuning out most of it, now distracted by how jeno keeps glancing back at you and making funny faces, you returning them with the! cutest! little expressions he has ever had the pleasure to lay his eyes upon. the rest of the game is played out with enthusiasm on his part, even going so far as scoring in two more points. he's quick to doubt the truth but donghyuck knows that it's whoever that girl is in the front seats that's making him outdo himself.

the game ends and his team wins, claps and cheers at how the game had turned around in their favor, but donghyuck reverts into a sulky demeanor as soon as he's off the rink and into the locker rooms. he notices jeno, being quick and almost feisty with the other boys that are taking too long for his liking in hogging the showers. donghyuck assumes it has something to do with the (gorgeous, wtf) girl that's waiting on him for a date. hardly fair, he thinks, if only he'd met you earlier by chance, he knows he'd definitely have the ability to charm you out of your wits. after all, he's smart, his face is undeniably agreeable, his sense of humor is top notch, and well, what's not to like?

instead of getting closer to you as he so hoped he would, he ends up becoming more familiar with the routine disappointment, and yet delight, at seeing you show up after practices, games, and eventually, team gatherings outside the rink. he's okay with it, he thinks. but it becomes frequent, even, that you show up out of the blue, with the invitation from jeno, and he's starting to lose his cool when it comes to the simplest of interactions. being included in a conversation with you was no problem, as long as he wasn't talking. eye contact? bearable, but not for more than half a second. and the utmost unfortunate luck for the boy if you ever asked him to pass you a fork, or a spoon, or a goddamned napkin. 

he's not so sure anymore, one sullen night, that he could ever make you his, even if he was gifted the chance. when you're not by jeno's side, you're by renjun's, and if that isn't telling enough about how uncomfy you feel around everyone else, he wouldn't know any better. but even laying within the deepest, darkest parts of night, the screen on his phone displaying your more recent instagram post of you on jeno's back, a sun setting beach painted behind the two of you, he finds his heart yearning to know more about you. he knows you're not one to reach out, to make friends unless in a situation that calls for it, so he supposes now is as good as a time as any to shoot his shot, at being friends.

he braves himself for this hefty task. his breaths are ragged and his heart is already hammering a deep crater inside his chest at just the thought of following through with his plan. his fingers are shaking and his pupils are twitting at about the same pace and it appears that none of his bodily functions seem to be within his control anymore. but before he can press the button, his door is thunked wide open with a hard force, the handle even going so far as to lodge itself neatly into the wall that's now been broken through. donghyuck's mouth is hanging ajar but he's barely surprised to see that the culprit of such heinous and costly action is jeno. lee jeno. 

donghyuck makes swift and subtle actions to shove his phone underneath his pillow but when he takes a good look at the boy's face, he realizes that he didn't need to be so discrete in the first place. jeno's eyes are swollen, and not in the way that suggests he got into a big manly manly fight and came out the victor, but in the way that looks as if his three cats died, all at once, and he'd taken it upon himself to cry for each of their mothers respectively. 

the same eyes rove about the room before settling on the bed, his body following suit but moving as if it were part of another entity entirely. the mattress sinks down low with his body weight and he repositions himself so that he's laying down comfortably, his legs still hung over and down the side. donghyuck can hear jeno's ragged breaths, not unlike his own a minute ago, and he wonders what hell of a day the boy had had to render him into this state of numbed consciousness. but before he can even form the question that sits at the edge of his mind, jeno's voice reverberates lowly in the silence of the room.

"she broke up with me," donghyuck blinks purposefully, "something 'bout how she thinks she might like someone else, fucking bastard."

"is she the bastard?" donghyuck tries to disassociate his feelings from his words and come across as...helpful in lifting his friend's mood.

jeno chuckles, "no, hyuck, she's not the bastard. bastard's the guy who has her heart. i'm glad she told me though, she's never been one to hide things."

"yeah, would've been worse if she dragged it on, huh."

"yeah, a lot worse."

donghyuck's voice almost gets caught within the confines of his rationality, "did she tell you who he- the bastard is?" he sighs inwardly, knowing that this was none of his business whatsoever, but the desire to know seeps into his thoughts. 

jeno sighs as well, "no, not really. she said it was some boy on the team though, might even be you now that i think about it."

"oh," is, yet again, the only thing he is able to produce. 

the new revelations seem to give life to donghyuck. the mere idea that there's a possibility of interest in his direction is something that he thrives off of. mundane tasks like washing the dishes are now enjoyable hobbies, no actual brain work, head empty, thoughts of you exclusively. when it comes to practice, you're no longer there, your presence reduced to hushed talk between the boys and renjun, asking him if you really are the reason jeno's been so out of it, letting easy pucks into the goal left and right. hyuck is relieved, though, that he gets a break, a step back to rethink his crazed emotions. maybe it really was just simple infatuation. maybe it was just because he hadn't gotten laid in awhile. or even just the fact that he's been hanging out with the boys too much and that the first girl he set his eyes on in days ultimately became the protagonist to his daydreams. hell, he is especially glad that you decided it wasn't worth showing your face at the rink for the time being for jeno would've been downright devastated.

that whole paragraph of feelings is bluntly disregarded and thrown off track as he enters the corner cafe a few blocks down from his house and is met with you waving your hand excitedly at him and motioning for him to sit with you. he doesn't hesitate, of course, but makes sure he takes slow and deliberate steps to the window booth you're sitting at just to make sure he at least gets in four deep breaths before he is inevitably subjected to not breathing in your presence.

"hyuck, it's been awhile, i hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable or anything," your face morphs into an expression of realization as it hits you that calling him over was entirely to satisfy your own hopes and dreams. the boy sitting across from you, smiling lightly, might as well be feigning a pleasant disposition, grossed out by the girl that dumped his friend just because she thought she was interested in someone else. by the end of this thought, your voice is reduced to a timid pitch, "you can leave if you want, it's all good."

"actually, i think that it'd be more uncomfortable for you if i left." he feels his heart constrict at the sight and the knowledge that his words enlightened your composure. you take it upon yourself to start some light conversation, not wanting to disclose the reason you'd called him over in the first place just yet. your heart picks up pace, rivaling hyuck's own, and you can't help but think of the sheer likeliness of the luck you'd just encountered. just as you decided to brave up for once and not take advantage of your best friend setting you up on one too many blind dates that were just, too artificial for you, the boy whom you had taken a liking for had shown up before your eyes, breezing through those glass doors as if it were a sign for you to just take charge. 

"and i was telling him-"

"are you free friday?"

"what? oh, what?!"

"i'm asking if you're free friday."

"i- i mean yeah, i have practice at three, but i'm free afterwards."

"let's grab dinner together then."

"oh shoot, okay, like with the boys? 'cause i could ask them if they're down."

"no, i was hoping it could be just us. like a date."

"so, hold the fuck up, you're asking me out on a date?"

"yeah, why…? am i not allowed to do that? is going out on a date with me gonna break bro code or something?"

"n- no, nothing like that. it's just...you can't possibly be serious."

"oh, trust me, i'm dead serious."

"...holy shit, i'm in."

donghyuck fucks up big time at practice, his cheeks are way too hot and he's sweating gallons per second. his jaw is clenching and unclenching in hopes that the action might make him a little more attentive while on ice but instead, he finds his eyes roving over to your figure in the stands far more often than he'd like to admit. he thinks, no he hopes, that jeno is okay with the fact that you're not here for him but rather the 'boy on the team' he'd unknowingly referred to a few months back. hyuck knows, though, that renjun is definitely not okay with it, the aforementioned boy throwing just as many glares at hyuck as hyuck's many glances towards you.

practice is over long after he hoped it would be but you're patient and supportive nonetheless. his eyes crinkle and his smile widens as you sidle into him for warmth in the cool air of the ice rink. hyuck solves this by removing the hoodie from his own, accustomed body, and gently tugs it over your shivering one. he thinks he handles the wave of adoration that consumes him pretty well, even able to ease the corners of his lips down a tad bit. "you're cute," you pull at his cheeks and suddenly things are not so easy to handle. 

donghyuck does eventually get used to all the sneaky shit you pull just to get his ears red and shy smile blossoming, but he knows he'll never get used to the sight of you in the stands, adorning his spare 66 jersey with everything else fading, and fading further away until it's just you and him, and him and you.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — i hope you find someone that holds you in such high esteem as hyuck does in this fic, i'm sure you deserve it <3

[clickbait-official]

mbc

from @artwitch28's headcannons

masterlist

tw: implied/referenced abuse, depressive themes, and transphobia

---

Endeavor was a stuck up little bitch.

Not that a lot of people knew.

Oh well. He’ll get his revenge one day.

Touya sighs, setting his keys on the counter.

“Keigo! I’m home!”

The house was big- airy, if that was a word. Birdboy hated closed spaces. Touya couldn’t blame him, either; he couldn’t stand anything that looked like his “training” room.

There was a thunk upstairs as Keigo ran down to greet him.

“How was work? How was Dad?” He asks.

“Dad”, Atsuhiro Sako, was Touya’s adopted dad. They worked together under their agency, the League of Heroes. The League of Heroes were made up of heroes who were told they were villains, or considered outcasts.

“It was alright, Big sis Magne started asking people if they wanted interns.” Touya responds to his fiance.

Keigo comes up behind him, hugging him and wrapping his wings around Touya.

“Hmmm. Did you look for an intern, dove? You could get your brother~”

“I didn’t think about it, no. But there’s Toga already. Did you?”

Touya can feel Keigo smile into his shoulder.

“There’s one with a bird quirk.”

“Oh, I see.” Touya smirks.

His stomach rumbles as he does.

“Aww, does my little birdie need some food?” Keigo says, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll go get you some.”

He grabs his hand and leads him to the kitchen.

They look through the fridge, then the freezer.

“Chinken nuggets?” Keigo asks, after a beat of silence.

“You did not just reference that, again.”

And Keigo laughs, loud and clear. Touya thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard.

God, he’s in deep, isn’t he?

They sit together at the counter while they wait for the food to cook. They don’t talk for a bit, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Speaking of Shoto, how’s the family? Rumi’s been talking ‘bout Fuyumi a lot.” Keigo says, taking the pan out of the oven.

“Oh my goodness- remember that crusty kid I was talking to you about? He’s dating Natsuo.” Touya deadpans, and Keigo bursts into giggles.

“God, he could do so much better! And he chose the crustiest kid on this side of Japan!” He rants, Keigo staring from across the table.

“Hana’ll kill you for that.”

Touya sighs again, knowing that he was right. “Yeah, I know. I still don’t know why Natsuo chose her crusty brother, but he’s happy. And it gets him out of the house, too.”

Keigo nods. “Away from Endeavor.”

“Away from Endeavor.”

They sit for a while in silence at that. Touya knows Keigo used to idolize Endeavor, and he knows why.

God, out of all people, couldn’t Keigo have a good childhood?

At least he’s not hurting now.

The sun has fallen, and they’re laying on their bed.

The moonlight filters through the curtains. Keigo’s been asleep for a while now.

The slightest breeze drifts into the room.

If we lived in a harsher world, we’d be so much more cruel.

Oh, what a beautiful night to be alive with you.

---

Touya brings Keigo into the agency. He’d been curious about how it worked- the League was unprecedented.

Touya hoped he’d want to join too. He wouldn’t mind his soon-to-be husband patrolling with him.

Hero work is a dangerous game to play, after all.

The League of Heroes’s building is not very intimidating. It’s survived thunderstorms, 52 mental breakdowns (not by the same person), and now the prank the entire League is in on.

It’s time for the hero charts.

Showtime.

It had taken so much bribing, from the poor intern that worked for one of the higher ups, to one of the higher ups themselves.

Touya could only hope it was worth it.

Oh, it was worth it.

On live television, in front of nearly the entire world, Enji Todoroki, known as Endeavor, had gotten massively pranked.

First, it was the glitter. Then, the water balloons and the rainbow slime. After that, it was the chicken and the three fire extinguishers.

And of course, copious amounts of cheese.

And it was all filmed. It was all broadcasted to a live audience.

Oh- and everyone knew who did it.

But there was no evidence.

God, Touya loved trashing Endeavwhore (and that’s an insult to sex workers).

It was the night after when Twice suggested something Touya had never thought of before.

The night was young, fireflies just beginning to come out. They were on the balcony, drinking and catching up like family would.

“Hey,” He said, “Why don’t you sue him? Get your bro outta that place and over here.”

Twice was a genius.

Twice was a goddamn genius.

Headlines were all over the place. “Endeavor gets sued?” “Enji Todoroki- an abusive piece of shit?” “Endeavor loses custody!”

God, the journalists were having a fucking field day with this. Touya can’t blame them, though.

The day was beautiful. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and little kids were running around outside. Keigo was sitting next to him, listening to his music. Touya finished up some paperwork to finally, finally get his siblings out from under Endeavor.

Thankfully, there was enough evidence to prove he was at least neglectful. People could finally see just how much of an asshole he was, and how high his civilian casualty and endangerment rates are.

There was one teeny, tiny, thing.

The Commission.

The only reason Endeavor was still in the top ten is because of that fucking Commission.

God, he hated the Commission. The things they did to Keigo, the scars that still remain on his psyche.

Fuck the Commission.

It just- It made him so angry. The way Toga and Spinner were treated, how Twice wasn’t able to get help until he became a hero- God, he hated it.

And he didn’t even know how bad it was! He was sheltered from Quirkist attitudes. Well, as sheltered as you can be, living with Endeavor as a dad.

He only knew a little bit of how much they had suffered under this system. He knew there was something more to how Twice always stayed in his hero costume, or how Magne avoided that one part of town. How Toga stared at that one schoolyard for a little too long before walking away.

And he hated it. So, so much.

Fuck the Commission.

---

It’s Touya’s first free day. The hecticness of moving all of his sibling’s stuff into their house was crazy. Who knew that keeping a house was so hard? Not him, that’s who.

So, like any rational person, he goes out to catch up with a close friend.

He had met her during his time at U.A. Her name was Hana Shimura. They bonded through their shitty parents. She was the older sister of the crusty fuck, Tenko.

Why did Natsuo decide to date him? He'll never know.

Somehow or another, the conversation went from how their days went to when Tenko got his quirk.

“Yeah, he decayed the dog! Thankfully he froze up after, so I got Mom. If he didn’t freeze up, I’d be dead.”

The way she had said it- so casually...She probably was terrified at the time.

“There was a UA student that helped him, too. Oboro? I think that was his name...Anyway, Oboro really helped him! He’s kinda a father to him, if I’m being honest.” She went on, telling Touya how proud of Tenko she was.

How he had become a search and rescue hero, which he already knew, and using his quirk he had helped so many people! Because he can decay the debris trapping civilians and rescue them!

They walk down the street, still talking about their siblings and generally how life was going.

They were gonna meet up with Twice. There was a new restaurant that he noticed during his patrols.

Touya heard it was pretty good from Fuyumi and Rumi.

It looked pretty nice, too. He’d walked by it a few times.

“So how is Twice, anyway? I don’t hear much from him these days.” Hana says, pushing open the door to the restaurant.

“Guess you’ll find out, huh?”

Twice is sitting at an empty table in a corner. He was smart enough to change out of his hero costume, just like Touya and Hana.

He lifts his head as they get closer to the table.

“Hey guys! How’ve you been!” He greets them as they sit down.

“Good, good. We were talking about my brother, Tenko.” Hana says. Touya nods in agreement.

“And also how he got to be a hero, too.”

“Did I ever tell ya how I got to be a hero?” Twice asks them, barely containing a smile.

He never told them, well, not Touya.

Turns out, when he was having trouble with his Quirk, one of his doubles went and got a hero license. At the time he was barely of the streets, so he became a hero, joining up with Mr. Compress and Magne to create the League of Heroes.

Because why not? It kept him off the streets and he could help people like him.

A win-win for Twice.

Touya hated how his weird uncle was treated before he became a hero.

Because he was a person, like anyone else. Just a person.

So why was he treated so differently? Why didn’t people help him when he needed it?

God, Touya was so tired.

---

It’s late one night. Touya is alone with his adopted father.

“Dad, why’d you decide to be a hero?” He asks out of the blue.

Atsuhiro’s eyes mist over, and Touya worries for him. Touya’s told him all about the horrific shit he’s gone through, and he can’t help but wonder if he had gone through something horrible too.

Atsuhiro takes out a silver locket, and gently pries it open. He points at the picture inside.

“Look! It’s them…My perfect little family... That’s them! There’s my little girl, and the most beautiful person to ever exist. There they are…”

It’s silent for a moment, the only thing one could hear were the cicadas far away from here.

Touya opens his mouth, “What...What happened to them?”

“A hero. He didn’t care for protocol. He killed- He killed them! And no one believed me…” Atsuhiro trails off, looking down at the floor.

Touya can’t help but feel sorrow, too. He could’ve had a mom, another sister...

He really needs to stop adopting people.

He can’t imagine the pain Mr. Compress must’ve been in. To lose a lover, a child? Oh, it must hurt- so, so much. To lose what was essentially a part of you?

Oh, it hurts to even imagine.

“...They’re really pretty, Dad.”

“They...were both so beautiful in this picture. Toga reminds me of her, y’know? They are both so pretty, so grown-up, and have that same sense of humor…”

Touya’s not sure to who he’s referring to, but nods anyway.

Who’s he to question grieving old men?

“And the days fly by so fast now, I can’t help but feel as though I’m supposed to be insulted by it. But I can’t bring myself to care anymore…It hurts, Touya, it hurts. Sometimes...I can hardly bring myself out of bed...I feel like a ghost…”

It’s silent for a moment, before Touya speaks.

“Dad, I think you need to get help. This isn’t normal. And…I think they’d want you to be happy too, Dad. Don’t you deserve to be happy, too?”

“...I don’t know.”

“You don’t...know?”

“I don’t think I am. But...I want you to be happy. And Tenko, and Hana, and Twice, and Magne...But it’s so tiring, being happy. And I don’t know what to do!”

His sobs seem to echo through the building.

“Come on, Dad. Let’s get you help. You can get some rest.”

He leads Sako back to his house, Atsuhiro being half-asleep by the time they get home.

Mr. Compress takes the spare bedroom, and falls asleep as soon as he hits the pillow. Keigo notices Touya, and walks over to him.

“Heya dove~ How was your day?”

“Worrying. Dad...Dad needs some help. He’s got some shit going on...He’s so tired, Kei. We need to get him therapy or something.”

“Oh, baby…” Keigo whispers, but Touya is too tired to hear.

He falls asleep in his fiance’s arms, safe and sound.

---

The house is abuzz with activity when Touya wakes up. Keigo’s laughter echoes around the place, filling the air with a sense of home.

What a beautiful way to wake up.

Touya gets dressed and walks downstairs. Keigo’s in the kitchen, talking amicably with his sister, Fuyumi. Dad was smiling fondly at the sight, picking at his food. Natsuo was talking on the phone with someone, blushing a little.

Keigo turns towards him, and oh, he was so handsome.

“Good morning, dovely~”

Unbelievable. It was too early for puns.

“Ugh, no. Don’t ever make puns this early. Dad, you doing okay?”

Atsuhiro looks over at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I’m doing just fine, sonny boy~”

“God, it’s too early for this shit. Keigo, get me some coffee, will you?”

“Language!” Fuyumi scolds.

Eventually the coffee is made, and tables cleaned. Breakfast is done.

Keigo helps set up an appointment with Fuyumi. She’s a part time therapist, part time substitute teacher.

Touya takes a deep breath. One day, Dad will be okay. He’ll be alright.

Time for work.

It’s a beautiful, sunny day when Touya goes on patrol again. This time with Magne and the new intern, Toga.

He already knew somewhat what the girls had gone through.

“Good morning, Magne, Toga.” He greeted them.

“Good morning!” Toga says, and then they go off.

Touya’s stuck in his thoughts as they walk to a coffee house while on break. He listens in as he reaches for the door.

“Yeah, my parents threw me out cause they didn’t think I was a girl.”

“My parents threw me out, too! I had to run away, they didn’t like my quirk very much...I got lucky, and Mom became my mom! That’s how I became a hero! How did you, big sis Magne?”

“Mr. Compress saved me from one of those fucking creeps. He let me stay with him for a while, and helped me get back on my feet. I decided to be a hero then, to help people like me.”

They sit down at one of the tables, still talking about their lives. Touya takes a bite of his muffin.

Ah, life was alright, if just for a little while.

--- requests & asks are open! (request em here) ---

@kirililbb

[phobiadeficient]

would you believe i got two of these in the upwards of thirty requests in the inbox

(warnings for aggressive and possessive behavior, all entirely consensual)

-

Scout was perfectly aware of the fact that he was in this mess because he didn’t know when to shut up and when to leave well enough alone. He knew that. He was aware.

Because that’s the thing, it was so easy—hell, so fun to get a rise out of any given member of the team. Engie, Heavy, Soldier (assuming he could get away again before Soldier could catch him and make him do push-ups or some shit), any given member of the team was so fun to piss off. It was just so much more entertaining to piss off the Alphas in particular.

And for the life of him he just couldn’t seem to get Sniper to crack.

It had started with just annoying the man, then truly trying to get on his nerves with assorted jabs and pranks and other minor problems. And then it had escalated, and he figured, well, what better way to rile him up than to flirt? That would really drive him up the wall.

And it took him probably longer to notice than it should’ve, the fact that he wasn’t just interested in Sniper in regards to pissing him off, but also just interested in Sniper. But he figured it out, and leaned into it further.

Just words, at first, then standing much closer than he needed to, lingering touches to Sniper’s shoulder, his arm. Winking, leaning past him to get things, spending time in Sniper’s sight line between matches. No response. No rebuttal.

Finding Sniper off away from the team, out of sight, and flirting more overtly. Picking lint that didn’t exist from the collar of his shirt, visibly giving him once-overs, making idle filthy comments and jokes that would be enough to make even Medic blush, probably.

He caught a tightness to Sniper’s jaw, a flushed tint to his face, his grip on his gun going white-knuckled before he turned away to ignore Scout some more.

And still spending the rest of his time with the same quiet ease and confidence as always. Never bothering with the ridiculous dick-measuring contests the other Alphas tended to get into, ignoring the squabbling like he was above it all. God, it got on Scout’s nerves. He’d show him.

This was one of his more harebrained ideas, to be honest. He didn’t tend to, uh, “take care of himself” on base anymore after a firm complaint about how the Omega scent spreading through the base put just about everyone on edge. He tended to just take a ride out to some boulder landmark a mile or so out from base to handle it, maybe grab something to eat on the way back.

But this time in particular he’d had the whole mood of it ruined by how goddamn hot it was, and one too many cars driving by, and finally the fact that at one point he blinked his eyes open and noticed a big fuckoff spider on the windshield crawling steadily towards him.

So he’d given up and resigned himself to being frustrated and out of sorts all day, but then on the drive back in he’d seen the glint of the barrel of a rifle in the watchtower and gotten an idea.

It wasn’t as bad as in a closed room, but he knew he still would have to take a shower and change his clothes if he wanted to seem at all presentable, he knew his smell was probably strong, heady.

He climbed the ladder with the widest smirk he could ever recall having, feeling just a little bit giddy.

“Hey, Snipes,” Scout greeted once he was up. Sniper didn’t even turn to look at him, raising a hand in a careless wave before returning it to his gun. A pause. “What’s up?”

A nothing sort of hum, and silence again,

“...What’re you doin’ up here?” Scout asked more outright, hands shoved in his pockets, still grinning.

“Watch duty,” Sniper replied dryly. “Soldier seems to think we need to. Only way to get him to pipe down is to do a shift every now and then and come up with nothing.”

“Uh huh.” Scout took a few more steps forward. “Must be wicked boring.”

Another hum that didn’t say much of anything. Scout rolled his eyes, moving forward further after a second.

“Might be nice to, y’know, have something to do,” he said, tone suggestive.

Another hum. He resisted the urge to grit his teeth, moving to lean just to one side of Sniper.

“...Like, this just seems wicked boring is all,” Scout shrugged.

An exhale from Sniper. “Scout, go get your kicks somewhere else, awright? I’m not in the mood for your—“

He stopped talking. Inhaled, exhaled. His brows were furrowed. Scout watched him sniff once, twice, casting off to one side, then finally he looked at Scout, visibly shocked.

He saw Sniper’s throat bob with a swallow. He tried to keep his smile in check.

“Not in the mood for my what?” he prompted.

“Really?” Sniper asked, tone not as firm as Scout had come to expect. “This is your idea of how to get a rise out of me? This?”

“What do you mean?” Scout asked faux-innocently. “I’m just standin’ here. What, you want me to leave?”

Sniper was staring at him. His mouth was a hard line. “This isn’t going to work,” Sniper said, voice flat.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, I dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” Scout replied easily.

“This stunt of yours. If you think it’s that easy to get me jealous, you’ve got another thing coming.”

A pause, then Scout’s eyebrows furrowed. He’d been trying to make Sniper a lot of things, but jealous wasn’t really one of them. “Wait, what?”

“No, I get it, awright, you have no idea what I’m talking about,” Sniper scoffed sarcastically, glaring back down his scope. “Just bugger off already, mate, I’ve got work to do. And even nonsense work is better than any of the buggery you decide to throw at me.”

“No, wait, I’m being serious here, why the fuck would you be jealous?” Scout demanded.

Sniper exhaled hard enough to almost qualify as a sigh. “You just want to rile me up with this and the other flirting nonsense,” he mumbled. “You try to get me hot and bothered and upset, knowing full well you won’t go through with it, then you run off to work it out of your system with your Alpha in town and probably laugh it up the whole way there.”

A beat. “My what?”

“Your ‘secret boyfriend’, in town,” Sniper drawled, making air quotes. “The one you got once the blokes got on your case about stinking up the whole bloody base twice a week.”

Scout blinked. “Wh... what? I’m not taken, man. What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Sniper turned his head to glare at him. “Mate, you want me to believe you’re not bonded when you head off base on the weekly for hours at a time and hog the only phone on base all the time?”

Scout pulled down the collar of his shirt. “Uh, yeah. You see a mark here? I head off base to get fast food and I call home to my brothers and Ma. I don’t have some civvie guy. You’d fuckin’ smell the guy, wouldn’t you?”

Sniper’s eyebrows were furrowed again. “Can’t ever smell much except the seven other blokes we work with and the nine we kill for a living, to be honest,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, well, no. I’ve been single since before I worked here. Whole fuckin’ time.”

“No partner? Not even a casual type?” Sniper asked, eyes narrowing.

“No, not even a one-off kinda situation, not for like, months.”

Sniper stared at him. And this entire conversation was stupid as all hell, but on the other hand, Sniper was staring at him, and something about the slope of his shoulders told Scout that he was at least a little bit upset, and that made Scout’s pulse pound, blood heat, face flush.

“Then why do you keep—“ Sniper started to ask, and cut himself off. “You...”

Sniper stared at him for a long few moments. Rose to his feet. His rifle clattered just a bit as he set it down against the wall. For some reason, it made Scout’s heart skip a beat.

“This whole bloody time you’ve just been trying to get a rise out of me,” Sniper said, not a question, a statement of fact.

Scout swallowed hard, nodded, paused. “I mean, yeah, basically,” he agreed. “Uh. Yeah I dunno I just, I figured...”

How was it that he suddenly couldn’t seem to make his brain and mouth work at the same speed? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Sniper was a good bit taller than him, and his voice had gotten awfully low for a second there.

He tried again. “It was just that I thought you’d—“

“Thought I’d what?” Sniper asked, voice hard, and it made Scout shiver, then a moment later he finally caught the slightest amount of Sniper’s scent—

And it was just that usually it was buried under everything else, everyone else on the team and the other team and gunsmoke and blood and heat and dust, and now he could finally smell it clearly enough to pick out that Sniper was—

Pissed off was a word he could use. But underneath that there was something heady, and it made him feel almost dizzy.

“Thought you’d figure it out sooner,” Scout said quietly, and wished his voice wasn’t so squeaky.

The sound of boots thunking hard against wood as Sniper moved to close the distance between them.

Scout backed up on instinct, a flare of intimidation crossing his nervous system like a gust of wind, and in a moment he was boxed into the corner of the watchtower, and the smell of anger and something else was so strong now it made his whole head spin.

And Sniper leaned in and down, nosed in against his neck, and he breathed in long and deep, exhaled slowly. Scratched stubble against Scout’s jaw as he tilted his head back up to align his mouth with Scout’s ear, and it made Scout jerk, hands snaring in the front of Sniper’s shirt. His pulse was pounding hard, and he knew it had to be obvious how much of a mess he was.

“Would you rather we make our way back to the base or my camper before I rip you apart,” he asked, voice low and steady, “or should I just fuck you here?”

“Here,” was what Scout tried to say, but the first few attempts came out as whines, and finally he gave up and moved to latch onto Sniper’s neck, starting to fight with the buttons of the other man’s shirt.

Sniper’s hands gripped him around the waist, hefting him enough to lift and bodily pin him against the wall with a curse that sounded like it was halfway to a snarl. Scout helped to support his own weight with legs around his hips, distracted from his half-frantic efforts to get Sniper naked by hands groping their way up his thighs and a hum of approval against the side of his head, breath hot on his cheek.

And then Sniper was kissing him, hard, leaving no room for breath or hesitation, demanding access to his mouth rather than asking for it, and this intensity was just so new that it made Scout’s pulse hammer. And Scout’s hands faltered, from trying to get Sniper’s shirt off to clinging at it helplessly, to trying to inhale enough to make any kind of sound that would let Sniper know just how good this all felt, and it very much didn’t work.

A hand at his belt, yanking it open hard enough to make Scout almost wince, and then similar rough motions between them before Scout was bodily shifted in such a way that Sniper ground forward hard against him, echoing Scout’s pleased groan.

“Fuck,” Scout managed in the centimeter of space between them, only for it to warp into a muffled moan as Sniper claimed his mouth again, one hand sliding down the back of Scout’s pants and gripping one cheek in his hand, humming appreciatively.

Then his hand shifted, trailing down further, two fingertips teasing between his cheeks like a promise. “You’re a bloody mess,” Sniper rumbled against the corner of his mouth, and it made Scout flush up to his ears, because god damn it, but he was right. He was probably practically soaking through his briefs. And he went to complain, to say well, if he would get the hell on with it, but Sniper rolled his hips forward again and his hand moved further down and all at once his index finger slid up to the second knuckle all in one go and it made him jolt, keen, head falling back to thunk against the wall. “Loud, too. Don’t know what else I expected from you.”

Then there was another finger teasing at him, making his breath stutter, making his eyes flutter shut, and immediately following that, a growl that rumbled through him and shook him like an earthquake.

“Look at me,” Sniper demanded, and he did, couldn’t help it, and there was fire there behind Sniper’s gaze, something furious and possessive and fucking hot. It simmered down a few notches as Scout tried his damndest to rock forward against him, making more pleased little noises. “I don’t have a rubber on me.”

“I’m on suppressants,” Scout said, “just, c’mon. Quit teasin’.”

“Needy thing,” Sniper murmured, and his teeth—ever-so-slightly sharp, enough that Scout had noticed it—scraped just so against the sensitive skin of his neck below his jaw, down further until Scout practically whimpered. “Bet you’d practically beg if I asked you to.”

“Don’t you make me,” Scout warned, and wished he could’ve said it without his voice wavering, and felt heat flare through him as Sniper just chuckled, and his hands withdrew enough to heft Scout bodily.

And then he was on his back on the floor, and Sniper was at his neck, pulling him free of his pants and gripping briefly at the bulge at the front of his briefs, making him jolt and gasp. And he wasn’t even free of his damn socks and shoes as he kicked off his pants and moved to wrap his legs around Sniper, pulling him down closer, closer still, breath coming uneven through parted lips. And Sniper had to position teeth over his windpipe like a threat to make him pull back, at least enough for Sniper to get his own pants down, and then Scout was back again, trying to hook Sniper back in, get more, still more. Anything.

“I’m ready, c’mon,” Scout urged, and would be ashamed later of how whiny he sounded, because in the meantime he was overwhelmed with sensation at the feeling of Sniper teasing at him with subtle rolls of his hips, not quite enough force to slip in, just enough to make him want it. And then when he did push in, Scout had to bite his lip to quiet the moan that tried to tear free of his chest, had to close his eyes against the onset of sensation as he tried to sort out everything enough to be coherent.

“Good,” Sniper praised lowly, and continued to roll his hips just so, being such a fucking tease that it was kind of driving him insane but at the same time this felt too good to stop for even just a second.

And even as he rolled into something like proper motion, it made Scout keen, squeezing his eyes shut, because god damn it, he could still tell Sniper was holding back. He had a grip behind Scout’s knees, pushing them up towards his chest, and his expression was screwed up in concentration, and it felt so good but it wasn’t what he wanted, he wanted harder and faster, he wanted Sniper to tear into him already.

And he squirmed against Sniper’s hands, voice fraught with groans and choked words, and Sniper smirked down at him. “Impatient,” he chided breathlessly, and Scout arched and gasped against a series of much harder thrusts only to practically whimper at Sniper slowing back down again a moment later. And that was when Scout realized he really was trying to make Scout beg.

And like hell he would.

Instead, he drew Sniper down and in with a kiss, with gentle nips just below the jaw, only to hook an arm up over his neck and roll him bodily to one side with the strength all that running and jumping ended up giving him.

And he only took a second to appreciate the view of Sniper laid out beneath him looking rumbled and a little dizzied before he planted his hands on Sniper’s chest to pin him in place and started to ride him like he was absolutely made for it.

It took a bit for Sniper to get his head together enough to start rolling up in time, groaning out praise and running appreciative hands up Scout’s thighs. And Scout very much enjoyed the visual of Sniper’s head rolling back when he sank as far as he could go and just rocked slightly, sighing with pleasure at the feeling of it.

“This is my show now,” he panted down at Sniper, feeling a thrill all the way up his spine at the idea of having him laid out like this so easily. “I’m in charge.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Sniper teased just as breathlessly, smirking again, and Scout scowled, determined to fuck that smug look off his face.

But he was also getting close, and the need to save his pride and the need to finish were both crowding into the forefront of his mind and grappling for his attention, and Sniper slid one hand to start pumping at him like he meant it and the other to rake nails down his thighs and actually he was starting to get worried that he wasn’t going to last like this.

And it was a haze, a blur, the rush of blood in his ears and pleasure up and down his back and his own hard breathing, his own uncontrollable stammering, saying c’mon, c’mon, just fucking knot him already c’mon—

And then oh, fuck, did he. Sniper rolled his hips up hard, took hold of Scout’s waist in a bruising grip and yanked, and then he was being knotted and filled up and he’d find the energy to be embarrassed later about the half-yelp half-whimper that tore free of his throat at the feeling of it, and he came hard into Sniper’s hand.

And he teetered but managed to catch himself before he fell over, just barely managing to keep himself propped up in the wake of it, fucked practically out of his mind and left dizzy in the wake of it. Eventually Sniper managed to coax him into relaxing forward, head pillowed on his chest, both of them just breathing heavily and trying to pull themselves together.

He saw Sniper fumbling out of the corner of his eye to pick up Scout’s shirt from where it had landed, cleaning off his hand, and he would’ve complained if he had the energy for it but instead he just groaned. Sniper glanced down at him, free hand petting through his hair. “I’ve just made it all the more likely that you‘ll waste my time trying to get a rise out of me, haven’t I?” he mumbled, sounding slightly annoyed.

“Rise, no,” Scout murmured back, managing a little wink. “Ride, absolutely.”

And little did Sniper know that the slap on the arm he got for his joke would be counted as a win for Scout, too.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

WIJ Prompt: Choice

(Features @untilthepainstarts‘s Graham, who was due for a win, I think)

CW: Trauma response, dissoci@tion, PTSD/flashback, referenced noncon, noncon touching (in a flashback), dehumanization, conditioning

The @whumpmasinjuly prompt for Day 9 is Choice, and this is for that promp!

Tagging Danny’s people:  @slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @spiffythespook, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @astrobly, @slaintetowhump

Graham was cooking breakfast, humming to himself along with some shit pop song on the radio, wearing just a pair of soft pajama pants he’d hauled on as he rolled out of bed - for once, for once, he was up before Danny Michaelson was and Graham Pierce had decided he was going to make the most of the moment and cook Danny a decent breakfast.

Lev had already come and gone, the swiftest kiss to Graham’s cheek on his way out the door. The love of Graham’s life had had a whole string of good days, while Danny was visiting, and the easy settling of a hand on Graham’s shoulder, brush of lips against his stubbled cheek, the soft I love you on his way out the door... all of it had Graham feeling pretty fucking good.

It was just he and Danny this morning - Lev was going to something-something-museum-something with a friend of his, no calls except for emergencies, although Graham checked the GPS app that connected their phones, just now and then.

Just a reminder that he knew where Lev was, that his Lev-blip was settled firmly on his radar, safe and sound where he belonged.

Graham had cooked up a couple of sausages, getting a bit of animal fat in the pan, and tossed in eggs to fry as he heard the first stirrings from the bedroom. Danny was all long limbs between them last night, between them in every possible way, and Graham grinned to himself. It’d been a good night, although all things considered, he was a bit sad Nate couldn’t make this trip. 

Nate was like him, in a lot of ways that Danny and Lev weren’t. It’d been nice, to get on so well with someone else who spent as much time watching as he did. 

Graham had just cracked the eggs into the pan when Danny came out into the kitchen, shuffling in his pajama, scarred torso and arms more on display than they normally were. Usually Danny never let himself be seen shirtless with any light on, or with the sun through the blinds like it came in now, giving everything a pretty golden hue.

“Mornin’, Danny,” Graham said cheerfully, picking up a knife to cut up a bit of melon, the chef’s knife slipping through the pale orange flesh and gray-green skin with ease. 

Danny mumbled something that sounded like -ed.

“Hm?” Graham turned, and found the point of the chef’s knife pressing lightly, just barely, against Danny’s torso where he stood suddenly too close for comfort. “... Danny?”

He knew before Danny moved again that he wasn’t talking to Danny at all.

“My name is Red,” Danny whispered, and dropped to his knees with a thunk that made Graham wince as they hit the tile floor in the kitchen, tilting his head back to meet Graham’s eyes - and fuck, the sickening emptiness in the warm blue, it was an emptiness that Graham had seen too many times - as he slowly leaned forward until his throat touched the blade. “I belong to you.”

Graham’s breath hitched, caught in his throat. 

Fuck.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said, each word falling out in a nervous rush. His hair was mussed up from sleeping still, the red lines cut into his face a little faded in the golden light of morning. Graham pulled the knife back, but with a little less finesse than he’d like and winced when he saw blood well up, just a bit, where he’d pricked the skin by accident. “I shouldn’t... shouldn’t have, um, have slept in. I’m sorry, I can be good-”

“Danny, no-”

“My name is Red,” Danny said again, more insistently. A kid trying to pass a test, Graham thought, his heart pounding as he set the knife carefully down next to the half-cut melon on the cutting board.

Lev had been gone for less than an hour and already the morning had gone to hell without him here. Graham’s eyes drifted to his cell phone... he could call Lev, get him back here to help - but Lev had been looking forward to this museum thing for months. And it wasn’t really an emergency, was it? Not yet. Not if he could pull Danny out of it.

“Right. Sorry-... uh, Red.” The name felt all wrong on his tongue, it made him think of when they’d first traded names, he and Lev, and Graham had stood by while Lev looked Danny up and saw all the news reports, realized that Lev’s online therapy buddy was actually kind of some local celebrity in his part of the States for what he’d survived, and Lev had said, softly, I’m so glad I never made the news.

“When you’re bad,” Danny said, sitting back on his heels, looking up at Graham with eyes that saw someone else entirely, frightened and wanting only to placate whatever he saw in Graham’s face, in his eyes, “You say you’re sorry and you get hurt so you won’t do it again. Pl-please... please h-hurt me. So I won’t, um, won’t sleep in again-”

“Jesus,” Graham muttered, and Danny flinched back. “No, no, you’re okay, it’s okay, uh, Red. You’re not in trouble. I’m... I’m not going to hurt you.”

He’d expected relief, maybe, or some kind of awful gratitude for mercy, or some shit like that. Instead, Danny’s eyes welled up with terrified tears and he slumped forward. “N-no, please, I have to-... I can learn, right here, you don’t, um, you don’t need to put me down there, I don’t want to go in the dark-”

There are worse things than pain. Graham knew that well enough, didn’t he? After what he and Lev and Niels had lived through, he knew that sure as he knew anything on earth. There are worse things than simple pain. 

And whatever ‘down there’ meant, whatever the ‘dark’ was, Danny was more scared of that than he was of the idea of being hurt.

He thought of the phone again. He could pick it up, call Lev, and get someone here who probably knew what to do better than he did.

Or... he could make a different choice.

Graham swallowed, took a deep breath, and then said quietly, “Stand up, Red.”

“No, please, no no no,” Danny whimpered, and leaned forwards, nuzzling into the front of Graham’s pajama pants, almost desperately gripping onto the fabric with his fingers. Graham’s stomach lurched a the hint of pleasure he still felt even through the horror of the moment. Fuck, what kind of monster could car more about the pleasure than how fucking awful this is.

He knew what kind of monster, though, did he? He’d known a goddamn monster pretty fucking well before he’d ever known that was what Martin was.

“Please, I can be good, I’ll try harder-”

“No.” Graham kept his voice firm only through sheer willpower. “I said stand up, Red.”

With a shaky exhale, a hiccuped sob, Danny pushed himself slowly to his feet, hunched shoulders. He was smaller than any man his size had any right to be, always working to take up as little space in a room as he could.

Graham leaned over without taking his eyes off Danny’s face to turn off the stove before the eggs burned, then put a hand to either side of Danny’s face. “We’re going to go sit outside in the patio chairs, all right, Red?”

“P-Patio chairs...?” Some kind of foggy confusion made its over Danny’s - Red’s - face. The scarred-up redhead couldn’t bring himself to argue, but Graham knew he was looking at someone who wasn’t in this place and time, who didn’t know why Abraham Denner would be asking him anything, let alone to go out on furniture that didn’t exist in the space Danny currently existed in.

“That’s what I said. Now come.”

Graham felt like shit scraped off a shoe, but when he took Danny’s hand, the tall man gripped on and allowed himself to be led. Graham ignored his own hunger pangs, still strong even despite the horror he was working through, and made his way to the sliding glass door, pushing it open to let a bright ray of sun inside that had both of them blinking and wincing.

Danny’s hand might have tightened in his, just a little, as the warm Australian spring air hit his always-chilled skin. There might have been a bit less fog in his eyes. 

Graham was willing to bet his morning on it - and he didn’t look back at the cell phone, at his way out of this, as he settled Danny into a chair and sat himself down next to him. 

Danny sat, trembling, staring uncertainly out at the brilliant blue sky. 

“Wh-when you’re bad, you say you’re, um, you’re sorry-”

“Which you did, love,” Graham said, gently, and watched Danny shiver and curl into himself. 

“I don’t... I don’t want to go in the smokehouse, Abraham-”

Jesus fucking Christ. The what now-

“You don’t have to, Danny-”

Danny closed his eyes and let out a soft, broken sob. “I don’t-... never think about before, there is no life before Abraham, I know-... I know my rules, I’m sorry, I know them, my name is Red and I belong to Abraham Denner, I’m a good dog, I can be-... I can be a good dog for you, just let me try, um, try harder-”

Graham had to get him to stop or he was going to lose his shit right here and now, too, let Lev come home to the both of them absolutely fucked. “Sorry. Red. You said you were sorry. I know you know the rules, I know you’re-... fuck. I know you’re, um, a... fuck, fuck fuck fuck, a good... dog. Just be quiet now.”

Danny’s mouth shut with a snap.

“Listen. You said you were sorry. So now we’re sitting out here, in the light.”

“In...” Danny licked at his lips. “In... in the light,” he repeated, almost plaintively. “Not... the dark?”

“Not the dark,” Graham confirmed, and took Danny’s hand again. “You’re not a bad dog, Red.”

Danny’s whole body shook with a shudder and he nodded, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Thank you for saying I’m not a bad dog, Abraham,” He whispered. “S-Say thank you for every gift you are given and every breath is a gift Abraham is choosing to give you-”

“There you go. Good, um... good boy.”

He was going to be fucking sick all over the patio if he had to say it again.

They sat there for a while - a few minutes, half an hour, who knew - before Danny’s eyes closed, stayed that way. A few minutes more. Graham waited it out, pulled on all the patience he had. He had to hope he’d picked the right option, not calling Lev, hoping light would chase away what had made Danny scared of the dark. 

Danny’s eyes flickered back open again, warmly blue, and he turned his head slowly to look at Graham, blinking a little, surprised. “Graham,” He said, as if testing the name, not sure it would fit. “Graham, why are we... did I-...” He looked away, frowning. “Did I lose...”

“A bit of time, yeah,” Graham said, gently. “But that’s all right. Here you are, now, yeah?”

“I’m so sorry,” Danny said, his cheeks bright red, burning with shame. 

Graham had had about e-fucking-nough of the men in his life feeling shame like this over things they’d never had a choice but to suffer. He squeezed Danny’s hand, gave him a smile, and when he pulled lightly, Danny stood up and the tall man folded himself onto Graham’s lap like a child, let Graham put his arms around him and hold him.

“Don’t be sorry,” He said, keeping his voice low. Danny’s head leaned slowly against his, the short, wavy red hair mixing with Graham’s longer blond. “But hey, look at that, got you out of it, didn’t I? First time without Lev.”

Danny huffed laughter next to him, soundless and uncertain, but there. “You, um, you’re right.”

“So let’s call it a good day, starting now, yeah, love?”

"Right. A, um. A good day. Starting now.”

A good day as soon as Graham could rinse his own mouth out with mouthwash until saying good boy and bad dog had been cleaned to nothing but mint and emptiness.

But fuck it, he wasn’t going to let himself dwell, not with Danny in his arms, willing to lean into him, to be touched, back to being Danny again. 

No, Graham Pierce didn’t get a lot of wins, when it came to the men who loved him. He’d take every victory, no matter how slight, with all the thankfulness he had to give.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

AAAAA YOUR LATEST WRITING WAS SO GOOD!!!! But now it has me wondering if we could perhaps see some Sooga being a rough service top at Kohga’s command? Like- Kohga is still in charge, but he’s ordering Sooga to rough him up and fuck him and stuff like that!

Definitely??? Been WAITING for this ask.

Kohga had a tough time coming to terms with stuff lately. Stuff like no longer having a god to worship, getting along with royals, and if that wasn’t enough, he was in love with his second command. He knew Sooga was different than any other man he had been with, but Kohga had come to realize just how bad it was. Kohga was in love with him. Not having HEAVY feelings for him, but thinking real long term stuff here. Kohga never knew what he’d be like if he was in love. It was weird. He wanted to fling himself at Sooga, demanding he wed his ass immediately. But he knew life wasn’t like a fairy tale. Marrying his second in command would change a lot. It’s why Kohga had to really be sure. Had to test Sooga. Kohga looked up from his magazine (sometimes a guy just had to look at nude dudes), and sighed. Something new. Something he NEVER trusted anyone to do.

“Sooga!”

Sooga popped his head into the door, like a trained puppy.

“Yes Master Kohga?”

“Come in here for a sec. I need you.”

Sooga walked in, shutting the door behind him. He got onto one knee in front of Kohga, bowing his head. Ever ready to serve.

“Yes, My Master Kohga. Your wish is my command.”

“I’m bored, and I’m horny. Unless you have objections, I wanna play with you for a while, Sooga.”

“Yes, Master Kohga. Shall I-”

Sooga made the motion to take off his clothes, before Kohga held his hand up, halting him.

“We’re doing something...different. I trust you now way more than I did at the start of all of this. So, I’m….I’m gonna do what YOU tell me to do.”

They were both clearly uncomfortable. Kohga hated being bossed around, and Sooga was ever eager to obey Kohga’s commands. Sooga looked around, as if he was waiting for someone to tell him this was a joke. The only joke here was just how bad of an idea this was.

“Master Kohga? Are you...feeling well? Do you need a hot tea? Perhaps let me rub your feet?”

“That actually sounds really-okay no, wait, stop distracting me here.”

“Yes, Master Kohga.”

“No no no, don’t-”

Kohga sighed as he put his face into his palm. God dammit. This was bombing already.

“Look. Look. Just. Okay. I’m going to let you take the lead, okay? Whatever you wanted to do with me, let’s do it. If I’m uncomfortable, I’ll make you stop. But that’s what I want. What YOU want.”

“But...I want what you want?”

“Dear god just cut off my balls, Sooga-”

Sooga was too obedient, too soft. He needed a BIT of a nudge. Kohga sighed, forced himself to breathe.

“Sooga, listen. There has to be SOMETHING you wanted me to do for you, something we haven’t done. So, let’s do it. Really, it’s okay. If anyone’s going to do it, it’s gonna be you. Just, do what you feel like. I’m here, I’m ready, let’s go.”

Neither moved, neither spoke. It was weird, it was bizarre, and Kohga’s reasoning for it was just as odd. Sooga gave a soft nod.

“Okay, first thing I want. Your honesty. Is this something you want, or is this something you’re telling yourself you want?”

“I signed up to blow my load, not get a load off my chest.”

But it WAS what Sooga asked for. Kohga grumbled as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Alright. Honestly? Both. This is weird, out of my comfort zone, but I trust you enough to try this with you. So, I...your call, I guess.”

Sooga put his hand on top of Kohga’s, squeezing.

“I’m honored to be trusted with you. To be able to have so much responsibility. If it suits you, we may take things very slow, very careful. Nothing too much so soon.”

“....You ever done something like this before?”

“When I was a younger man, before I even knew of the clan, I had something to do with the son of a stable hand. It’s nowhere near something this serious, but I feel as though I can do enough to satisfy you regardless.”

Okay, so Sooga wasn’t a TOTAL virgin, that was good at least. Sooga helped himself up to his bed, and hesitated. Where was one to start with such a momentous task? Kohga was about to flip shit, ready to call this whole thing off, when Sooga lifted him, right onto his lap. His mask thunked against his own, and he could tell he was smiling.

“Apologies for my hesitation. You make it quite difficult to think, given your endless studliness.”

“You’re literally trying to charm the pants off of me. I can’t believe you, Sooga.”

Kohga knew he was letting Sooga take over, but he couldn’t help himself as he held onto his chin, lightly stroking his chin. Just how Sooga liked it, his pretty boy. Sooga accepted it for a moment, before he recalled that HE was supposed to make Kohga feel flustered. Kohga quickly found himself underneath Sooga, who was keeping his body over Kohga (what with those big, strong arms of his), as he slowly started to grind himself into Kohga’s crotch. Someone was already at half mast, and Kohga could feel every inch of it.

“Master Kohga, may I kiss you?”

“Let’s change that a bit, Sooga. Instead of saying may I, say ‘I want’. Try it out.”

“I...want to kiss you.”

“Not bad. Only next time,”

Kohga grinned, pushing his mask up a bit, just to reveal his smirking lips.

“Say it like you REALLY want it.”

Sooga couldn’t help himself. He clumsily pushed aside his mask (revealing a bit more of his face than he intended), and pressed his lips against Kohga’s. His lips were eager, excited, ever firm against his own. Sooga’s grinding turned firmer, quicker, clearly motivated by the idea that he could REALLY get what he wanted. 

And Sooga was a greedy, GREEDY boy.

“I want to stuff my cock in your mouth.”

“Wow, look at you, not a single stutter. Someone’s getting better~”

Sooga adjusted himself, taking his cock out of his clothes, and pressing it right against Kohga’s face. Kohga kept opening his mouth, ready to accept it, before it was clear that Sooga was messing with him. He was just smearing his girth against his face, hand holding the top of his head.

“But first, I want to put your hair down. I want something to pull on.”

Oh poor Kohga was swooning. He was still a top, but goddamn Sooga was earning his right to man the helm. Kohga un did his hair tie, letting his big, curly mane flow freely. Sooga was pleased, given how he grabbed a fistful of it, and nearly yanked him onto his dick. Kohga would normally be offended by such crass behavior, but he was a bit distracted. Kohga had taken quite a few dicks before, but Sooga was a big, big boy, and the length of his cock not only stretched his cheeks, but hit right at the back of his throat. Pair that with the fact that Sooga had a good, firm grip on his hair, and Kohga’s head was too full of lust to scold Sooga properly.

“You’re VERY good at this, Master Kohga. Very, very good at this.”

Even his dirty talking was getting better. Sooga sat on top of him, pulling his head back and forth on his cock. And Kohga, like the champ cock sucker he was, kept his eyes right on him the entire time. Kohga could sit here all night honestly, showing Sooga just how good he was at taking a cock, when he slowly peeled him away. Sooga was really throbbing now, and it took a lot of restraint to not command that he be given more.

“I want you to open your mouth again.”

Didn't take a genius to figure out that Sooga meant he wanted his balls sucked on. Kohga gave the tip of his dick a quick smooch, before obeying, softly suckling on one of his balls, before moving to the other. He repeated it, over and over, nice and slow, just how Sooga liked it. In fact, he was doing SUCH a good job, Sooga’s hand had held onto the wall, and the grip to his hair had loosened. Steam was practically coming out of his ears, and his body was fighting the urge to shake all over. Kohga was just too good. Sooga pulled him away yet again, making Kohga pout. Though, he couldn’t fault the guy, Kohga’s mouth had brought strong men to their knees plenty of times.

“I...apologize, Master Kohga. Just one moment.”

“You were about to bust, huh? Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re saving that load. My my, Sooga, and here I thought you’d be at a total loss of what to do with me~”

Kohga gave his balls a quick peck, not at all minding the smears that stained his mask. Sooga was such a fun boy to play with, Kohga could stay down here forever. But he just had to push his poor Sooga.

“Having said that, what’s the next plan, big boy?”

Sooga finally found his breath, looking down at Kohga. He wasted no time coming out with his next thought, driven by lust and curiosity.

“I want to be inside of you. I want you to cum around me as I do nothing but please you.”

Translation? ‘I would love to just fuck your ass’. And Kohga DEFINITELY didn’t have any objections. 

“You definitely wouldn’t be the first to say that. Alright, let’s see how well that third sword of yours does~”

“....I have two swords, master Kohga.”

“God you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Kohga loved Sooga, really he did, but holy shit did he miss the plot sometimes. He decided that getting RAILED was more important than explaining himself, so he just let Sooga flip him on his belly, enjoying how Sooga’s hands on his ass felt. They were big, firm, just how he always pictured they’d feel.

“Is this comfortable enough for you?”

“Plenty. But then again, I’m always comfortable with you.”

Kohga pushed his butt right against the throbbing gerth, and he nearly swooned. Oh, this was going to be FUN. The second Sooga recalled that HE was supposed to be in charge.

“M-master Kohga, should’nt I prepare you?”

“Sooga, my ass has handled plenty, literally. Besides, I can’t wait for you.”

He lifted his hand up to pat Sooga’s cheek.

“Not when I’ve thought about this before.”

“I...pardon?”

Kohga turned his head, meeting Sooga’s gaze.

“I’ve thought about you fucking me. Thought about you pulling my hair, and fucking me right into the sheets. I thought of your cock LOTS of times. Just once, I want you to take me, Sooga. I’m at your mercy.”

Sooga stared at him for a moment, as if he was puzzled. Then, something clicked in his little samurai. Sooga yanked at his lower clothes, not taking the time to properly take them off, before he put his weight on Kohga’s back, and shoved his dick, right inside his ass. Sooga cupped his face in his hand, and started to buck into his Master. His voice was lustful, his grip was TIGHT, and it was driving Kohga all types of mad.

"If that is something you wish, then it is something you shall receive. I'll fuck you. I'll fuck you until you can only think of me, and me alone."

Kohga opened his mouth, greedily accepting his big, firm fingers. He muttered against them, only smearing more drool against his nice, rough palm.

"S-shit Sooga! Didn't know you had it in you!"

"You have quite a bit in YOU, Master Kohga."

Kohga wanted to laugh, but Sooga seemed fueled by his own words. Not only did he start to fuck his ass harder, but his teeth clamped right onto his neck. Shit that hurt. And it hurt GOOD.

"F-fucking SHIT Sooga, that's it, bite me, nice and hard!"

He got just what he wanted. Sooga’s teeth roamed from his neck, to his shoulder, and each bite punctured his chin, drawing just a bit of blood.

"Am I pleasing you, Master Kohga?"

"Almost. Wrap your legs around me, you can fuck me nice and fast."

Sooga obeyed, and before Kohga knew it, he was getting jack hammered right in the ass, nice and fucking fast. Sooga's tongue grazed alongside his cheek, and Sooga nearly growled his next order.

"Say you love me. Say it."

Kohga giggled. He turned into SUCH a cock hungry bimbo when he was getting it good.

"I LOVE my Sooga. My big, handsome Sooga, who's gonna cum right in my ass. Isn't he? Isn't he gonna stuff my asshole full of that creamy cum?"

Sooga maybe ACTING the top, but they both knew who was really pulling the strings. And that's why they worked so perfectly together. Kohga chuckled as he pumped his own cock.

"You're balls are SO full of cum for me. I tasted it. You're SO ready to unload into me. Fuck my ass like a goddamn toy, and cum. Inside. Of me."

His voice made it sound like an order, and like any order, Sooga obeyed it. He came, and he came hard, swearing right into Kohga's ear. Kohga touched himself eagerly as he felt the cum being forced inside of him, pulse after pulse bringing more waves of cum. And Kohga LOVED it.

"Oh….shit. You're still going. Oh FUCK you're still cumming, you dirty boy!"

Sooga grabbed two handfuls of his plump ass, digging his fingers into his flesh.

"Cum for me. Tighten around me."

It didn't take long for Kohga to do just that, muttering as he furiously milked his dick for all the cum it was worth. Kohga collapsed on the sheets, sighing in relief. He was laying in a puddle of thick cum, Sooga's cock not quite done unloading into him. They sat there, panting, stiff with exhaustion. Then Sooga finally became Sooga again.

"M-Master Kogha! I-i hurt you! Your skin is bruised-!"

"Down boy, down. I like it this way. I liked it, really. Now, whenever I look in the mirror, I'll be reminded of just this moment. Of the moment you ravaged me like an animal, and pumped me full of your cum."

Sooga seemed freaked out over that too, stammering.

"I-i didn't pull out of-oh. Oh I came right inside of you. It's spilling right out of you-"

Kohga chuckled, toying with his far too sensitive cock.

"Go on, I'm listening. Tell me how I'm lookin~"

"You...you aren't repulsed?"

"Sooga, no. I love you, and people who love each other, sometimes stuff cum in each other's asses. I liked this, I liked it with you. You did REALLY good for your first try. Not perfect, but good."

Of course that got his attention. Sooga ALWAYS wanted to know how he could improve himself.

"Did I say something wrong? Move too fast?"

"No, I liked the dirty talk, really. And trust me, you CAN'T go too fast for me. I mean you should smack me around more. Open my mouth with your fingers, maybe spank me, nice and-ahh!~"

Sooga suddenly brought his hand down, open palm smacking across his ass. 

"Better?"

"Shit yes….though, practice makes perfect, Sooga."

"Of course, Master."

Another slap. Another. Another. Each more swift and more hard than the last. It was then that Kohga realized; Sooga passed the test with absolutely flying colors.

[cockasinthebird]

Ahhh I love your work. 🥰🥰🥰❤️❤️❤️❤️😍😍 Ok au where Steve and Billy break up so Steve gets really drunk at a party and Billy has to go pick him up and basically take care of him the rest of the night, so Steve doesn’t like choke on his own throw up or do something dumb

Dear anon,

THANK YOU, I love you too!!! Which is why it pains me to say that.... I’m so sorry. This got SO SAD and I promise I didn’t intend for it to! But it just came out this way, and I hope you can forgive me!

-

Billy's not entirely sure what the fuck Steve is doing here.

Had he even been invited? Carol sure as fuck hadn't asked him to come, maybe Tommy did just to tease Steve; dangle his lost popularity in front of the dethroned King Steve, in hopes that he would be dumb enough to show up, to then just be ridiculed for having even had the thought that he was actually welcome around here anymore.

Billy nearly dropped his jaw when he saw Steve arriving earlier, but when their eyes met, his ex-whatever had quickly looked away and run off to probably grab the first drink in reach.

Maybe he's regretting breaking up with Billy? Not that there really was anything to break up, they were just having fun, just fucking around, literally. Which only makes the entire situation even more infuriating, the more Billy thinks about it.

There wasn't supposed to be any feelings or emotions or all that girly crap, just two guys blowing off steam together!

So when Steve asked him, “Why do you keep treating me like this?” and demanded an explanation as to why Billy continued to bully and agitate him so, all he could say was,

“What the fuck are you talking about, Harrington?” and really put pressure on his name there, as if to drive home the point that they're not beyond that.

And Steve had cried, not a big sloppy mess, but tears rolled, and he shouted that they were done for, then drove off before Billy could even gather enough thoughts to be coherent.

That was three days ago, and he really hadn't heard a single sound from Harrington since then, seen no hide nor hair of him till tonight.

Now he sees him everywhere he goes; no matter which room he moves to, Steve's there, looking back, eyes hooded and dark with all the alcohol he's swimming in, some even staining his nice polo shirt. Tommy had at one point earlier gone up to Steve, grinning wide and talking shit, but Harrington seem unbothered by it all.

Steve sits in the middle of a long couch, surrounded by people all with their backs turned to him, and as he swings back another of numerous beers, Billy finds himself staring like one would at a particularly morose painting, wondering what it all means, even though it's clear on the surface level and doesn't run that deep.

He himself stands leaning over a cute, short brunette, her hair falling down over her large breasts, a manicured finger playing with the buttons of Billy's open shirt. He's got an arm resting against the wall above her head, and even as she smiles all flirtatious and talks to him about something something parents not home something, he can't look away from the way Steve stares back.

There's too many thoughts in his head that even the alcohol can't wash away; things he wants to say to Steve, things he wants to do to Steve.

And he doesn't move till Steve does.

Limbs inept as he rises up from the couch, accidentally bumping into a girl who glares daggers at him, to where Steve mumbles out a sloppy sorry, sorry, before tripping a bit over the others legs as he tries to squeeze out from between the sofa and coffee table. But even as he goes through all the obstacles of a full house, Steve never looks away from Billy as he walks in his direction.

When he gets all too close, Billy looks away- can't stand being this close to Steve anymore, a torturous thing that he came here tonight to forget; to hopefully drown himself in pussy, or find a nice big dick, but all of that is impossible to look for when fucking Harrington is present in his life this way.

After counting down from five in his mind, Billy turns to look in the direction Steve went, just to catch the front door closing, and he immediately pushes off of the wall, abandoning the busty brunette here with now a shocked expression across her face, as he gives chase for another dark haired beauty.

Outside Steve fumbles with his keys, standing by the first car he found.

The music goes low as the front door to Carol's house slams closed, and Billy stands underneath the light of the veranda, hands deep in his pockets as he braces himself for the chilly evening air sweeping in from the woods.

“That's not your car,” he calls out to Steve, who jumps a bit at the sudden voice.

Steve looks at the white Ford that he's spent nearly a minute trying to get into, muttering about why the fuck doesn't the key fit. Then he looks at where Billy has stepped down the stairs and is making his way over.

He huffs out drunkenly and moves to the next car, a dark green Honda and tries again.

“Still not your car.” Billy stands now only a few feet away, watching with a slight frown at how Steve continues to shuffle over the sidewalk to the next car in a long line.

And counting from here, there's a good seven cars more to go or so before they reach the BMW.

“What are you doing here?” he asks and finds it maybe a tad bit amusing how frustrated Steve grows.

“What's it look like?” Steve slurs back and tries a key that isn't even for any car in the world, but rather his front door. “I'm trynna get home.”

“Not at this pace you won't,” Billy mocks and shrugs a bit. “Try the next car.”

Steve doesn't argue, probably can't, and he moves on to a dark blue camaro.

But before he gets to have a chance of scratching the nice, expensive paint job, Billy interrupts with, “Here, let me try.” And fishes up his own keys from his back pocket.

Almost like magic, Billy's keys works wonders, and the passenger door opens up to allow for Steve to stumble inside.

Billy takes long strides to the other side and lands with much more stability in the drivers seat.

“This... this isn't my car,” Steve says with the purest form of confusion, as if he's just woken up from a coma thirty years later to discover all sorts of new things. He touches the leather seat, opens and closes the glove compartment, looks between the front seats into the back, yeah it's definitely not his car.

“No, it's my car,” Billy speaks all matter of fact, firmly so as to ensure that Steve understands what's happening.

He looks over at the other; almond eyes squinting through the darkness and haze of inebriation, and Billy's heart beats uncomfortably, if he were to tell the truth for once. He wants to reach out, brush away the bangs that falls down Steve's forehead, kiss those bumbling lips, caress the moles on his cheek, his chest, his legs.

“Why am I in your car?” Steve mumbles and looks out the window, away from how Billy is caught wanting.

“I'm taking you home, put on your seat-belt.”

The car roars as he sparks it alive.

“Why?” Steve asks but doesn't hesitate to do as told, although with shaky hands that could be from the alcohol or nerves.

“Because you're a drunk mess and I'm a goddamn fucking saint,” Billy grumbles as he pulls out from his spot and onto the street.

“Oh so now you decide to be nice to me?” Steve laughs without joy and thunks his heavy head against the cool window.

“I have my moments.” Billy grins, but refuses to let silence fall upon them, because that's when there's time to think, which is the last thing he wants right now. “So, why did you come tonight?”

The tense energy here palpable as Steve thinks too long on his answer, which spills out carelessly, “Because I wanted to see you,” and there's almost a sob.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington-” Billy groans and rolls his eyes, but Steve cuts him off,

“Don't call me that,” with a more apparent sob now.

“I can call you whatever I want.” The hand on the wheel tightens. “Princess. Dickhead. Amigo. Pretty boy.” And he steals a quick glance at where Steve stares out the window; street lights flashing like stars in his wet eyes.

“...Steve,” a whisper not meant to be heard, and perhaps it doesn't.

The silence between them is painful. Billy bites at his nail to hopefully keep himself from blurting out all the wrong things. Steve snivels occasionally, his breathing labored.

Driving from Carol's place to Steve's feels like it takes years through uncertain darkness with no saving grace, no light at the end of the tunnel, a vast eternity in where Billy keeps fighting his own inquisitive thoughts.

Because why is he doing this? Why is he helping out Steve, who was the one to end whatever it is they had going on? Why is he looking at Steve's lonely hand?  Wanting to reach out and hold it. His own hand aching for the touch, like a childish need to play with the flame of a lit candle. So he grips the steering wheel harder till the strained skin hurts.

Till they pull up into a driveway that isn't empty. A black, sleek, shiny Cadillac sits all prideful in front of the grand house.

And it runs freezing cold down Billy's back, eyes pinned to the slumbering windows, hands still choking the leather.

“Are... are your parents home?!” he hisses out.

Steve moves as if he was just abruptly awoken, and blinks hard to still his focus. He leans towards the dashboard to peer out the front window and sees his father's car.

“Oh, yeah, they showed up some hours ago. Took me out to some fancy restaurant for dinner, but...” Steve slumps back into his seat and moves to get comfortable. “They still don't know how to talk to me.”

Billy finds himself in the same situation now. He watches how twisted Steve's expression is; a distressed pull of the lips and an anguished brow knit together with tales of distant parents and a lonely childhood. And maybe Billy is starting to understand a few things about Steve.

Who pulls his knees up to his chest to hug himself, shrink a bit, fleeing whatever is undoubtedly coursing through his mind.

A sight that makes Billy sigh, loudly in exasperation, and then backs up the car.

“W-w-what are you doing?” Steve stumbles through his tears as he realizes they're now driving away.

“I...” Billy starts off with, eyes hard on the road and both hands on the wheel. “I don't know.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just-” Billy stops himself from raising his voice too loudly, and takes a deep inhale as to calm down, refusing to meet the way Steve is staring. “Just... don't worry, ok?”

Although he's drenched in worry himself, uncertainty dripping down the back of his neck as his own nerves heats him up unbearably so.

Neither of them talks at all as they drive through the woods, underneath the cloudy skies that threatens with rain; teases with a few drops here and there upon the windshield.

And somehow they end up by an open field - more specifically the location for the 4th of July fair that stood loud and colorful a few months back. Billy hadn't been thinking of any place in particular, rather he was spending all his mental power to not think at all, lest he'd start having doubts about... everything.

“Did you... did you bring me out here to, what, beat me up?” Steve sounds legit scared, and it hurts to hear.

Like a thousand paper cuts across Billy's heart, and he cannot keep back the anger that bubbles up at something so ludicrous. “No I'm not gonna fucking beat you up! Jesus!” he growls out through gritted teeth, which doesn't exactly help his case.

For Steve holds an unblinking stare aimed at Billy, expectant of only the worst things, which probably isn't completely unfair, because he hasn't exactly been... nice lately. Or ever. And even though Billy often refuses to apologize and feel bad for his behavior, it's a challenge to stay an asshole at times like these.

Because even if his father is all too present in his own life, he understands the lack of parental love that probably makes Steve the way he is. And he feels pity. Which is gross and unfamiliar, but it sits so strong around his bleeding heart. Which just makes him angry, and lash out, then fight the regret and... start all over again.

“Get in the back,” he demands, but as soft as he can, of course.

“What?” Steve asks with brows raised to the sky, eyes wide in... shock? Disbelief? Something that might be a sign of distrust and anxiety.

“Please?” Billy tries but it feels horrifyingly wrong on his tongue – like he was mispronouncing some foreign name.

“Why?” Steve remains in his seat, curled up like a depressed child. Which... he might just be.

And Billy groans out his irritation and rolls his eyes, but he tries to say it in a nice way, “Because, I can't take you home like this, and we can't go to my place because... yeah, and we can't exactly go to a motel anywhere this way either.” He pauses and hopes that Steve catches on, but alas he remains in confusion. “We're going to sleep in my car, so get in the back.”

Steve still doesn't move. Disbelief clear in his expression, and maybe it takes him a bit longer to process everything due to the countless drinks he's been pouring in tonight, but when Billy gives a somewhat kind nod towards the backseat of the camaro, Steve finally moves between the seats.

Billy follows right behind, and sits as far away from Steve as possible, who sits like a ball of despair against one window, and god fucking damnit it feels like watching a puppy get kicked, how pathetically Steve whimpers with his face buried in his knees.

“Fucking... come over here,” he grumbles out and spreads his legs.

The poor wounded puppy looks up, brown eyes wet and hair a complete mess, and he hesitates.

“Come on.” Billy pats the spot between his thighs. “We'll keep warm if we sit closer.”

It proves enough of a friendly invitation, as Steve moves closer, slowly, as if he's approaching a sleeping dog wearing a spiked collar and muzzle, waiting for it to try and bite.

But all he's met with is a soft hand that goes through even softer hair, as Billy gently pats him on the head and allows for Steve to settle in between open legs and against a warm chest.

They don't speak, for what is there to say that one won't remember and another will regret? The only coherent and recognizable emotion that Billy can find in the tornado of feelings is anger. A fury that isn't technically Steve's fault, and directing it at him would only be unfair, because he isn't the one struggling with his own feelings towards another guy. No he's ardently clear about it all, which spills from his lips as he falls into slumber against the beating of Billy's heart.

“Billy?” he whispers and closes his hand around the unbuttoned shirt.

“Yeah?” And Billy knows what he's about to say. He fucking knows it; won't be the first time someone has been that foolish.

“I think I'm... in love with you...”

He can feel Steve's heartbeat go rapid where their bodies are pressed rather awkwardly together. And Billy sighs through the nose. The muscles in his jaw twitch, a lump grows in his throat, and he looks out at the stars in search for a world where everything is better. Where everything could be.

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

[vigilantesanonymous]

and the thing is, i’m not scared anymore (part 1)

In which you are a healer being held against your will by the First Order. There are legends swirling around the galaxy of a great Sith healer, one that can bring a man back to life, all without Jedi power. But to you, you’re just a girl stuck on a planet with nowhere to go, left to rot there for the rest of your life. That is, until a cocky and utterly charming Resistance pilot crashes in to save you. (So kinda like Tangled but make it Star Wars. Only kinda though.)

word count: 1869

***

This would be no easy mission, but Leia had full faith in her favorite fighter pilot. A girl, a healer, stuck on a planet in the unknown regions. That kind of power didn’t belong in the hands of the First Order, and Leia had reason to believe that this girl could be extremely beneficial to the Resistance. She explained this as she gave the final details to Poe about the mission. And the tiny detail that C-3PO was the only droid unit that had the coordinates, so he would have to come.

“So where are they keeping her exactly?” Poe asks as he stands across from Leia.

“We have reason to believe that she’s being stored on Volik.”

“The planet that was supposed to be a resort for all the Empire higher ups? Wasn’t that abandoned a while ago?”

“Exactly. It makes it the perfect place to keep her. No one residing there to discover her, but the First Order has extensive knowledge of the ins and outs of the planet. We think she’s being kept here, somewhere in this valley. Are you up to the challenge?” Leia asks him, a glimmer in her dark eyes.

“You know it General. I won’t let you down.”

And with that, Poe takes the Falcon and heads towards the unknown region, Chewy and his trusty droids along for the ride.

*

“Best seven out of ten?” I ask the mouse droid at my feet. PS-C4L beeps at me and swirls around my feet before heading in the opposite direction. “Okay! Then you come up with something better to do!”

The room they keep me in is modest, and not all that uncomfortable. But it’s the same room I’ve been locked in my entire life. Same grungy walls, same earthy smell from the dirt outside that I’m forbidden to touch. Books are stacked in neat piles near my bed- they cover all kinds of topics, from healing methods of different cultures to maps of the solar systems I’ve only ever dreamed of going to. A modest kitchenette (since I earned the privilege of being able to cook for myself at age 15), and two barred windows. My only glimpses into the outside world- a few vines have managed to crawl up the wall to poke in my window, that’s about it for living life forms aside from me in this room. From what I’ve gathered from Stormtroopers gossip, I’m stored in an old security outpost for what was supposed to be a resort for the richest of the rich in the Empire. Hence why I don’t have any of the bells and whistles that resort goers are supposed to have here in my quarters.

Somehow the little mouse droid squeaked his way in here, and the Stormtroopers who keep watch over me have just been too lazy to catch it, so I’ve made it my friend. Well, the closest thing I guess I can get to a friend. I’ve tried to talk to the Stormtroopers who keep guard over me, but mostly they just ignore me. They insist that they are unauthorized to talk to “the asset” (me), and that I have to call them by their serial coded names. I know their real names- James and Zara- but they get really angry if I call them by their real names, especially if there are other people around. The last ones whose names I learned were restationed, so I just keep to myself.

Unsure of where PS-C4L went, I resign to sitting up by the window and watching the outside world. One of my favorite things to do is watch as the ships go by. The last time I was on a ship was when I was a toddler, so it fascinates me to think about flying, and what it feels like. Today is a relatively quiet and humid day, so no ships are zipping along the horizon. Just a few troopers are down in the space I like to think of as a courtyard, just milling around. That is, until one of the taps the shoulder of the other, desperately pointing at the sky. A ship is coming in, but one I don’t recognize. “That’s no First Order ship,” I whisper to myself. Suddenly the Stormtroopers start scrambling to get their weapons and start shooting. I perk up, watching as the ship easily takes out a group of them on the ground.

“Whatever you do, keep the asset safe!” One of the troopers yells to my guards at the door as they run by. I can hear the thunking of their boots as they descend rapidly down the stairs to the courtyard.

Suddenly all I can hear is the pounding of my heartbeat. Are they- could they be coming for me? I sink below the window, breathing heavily. I could be saved! Or captured and sold off somewhere else. I’ve never been outside my little outpost, never even allowed to go outside for a short walk around the courtyard. What if I was taken somewhere worse, like made a slave for one of the Hutts? I shivered just at the thought of it. Scrambling up, I scoured the room for any kind of weapon I could use if I needed to defend myself and my eyes fell to - a frying pan. “Well, it’s the best thing I’ve got,” I say to PS-C4L, who has reappeared in all of the commotion. 

“I think we’re close!” I hear someone call from down the hall. “Goddamn, these things are everywhere!” Blaster shots echo off the walls in the hallway, followed with the sounds of clattering armor and grunting troopers that have fallen. 

“Stop right there!” One of the guards calls, holding up his blaster, but he’s instantly shot and crumples to the ground. After the din of the fighting, the usual quiet and background noise of the jungle is deafening in the eerie silence.

“That the last of them, 3PO?” 

I hear the mechanical creak of a biped droid coming closer. “That is correct, Commander Dameron. The only other life forces I can sense around us besides you and Chewbacca is the girl inside. We should hurry, they will send in reinforcements, I’m sure!” 

A tall man with dark hair and dark eyes peers at me from the slats in my door. “Hold on Sweetheart,” he calls to me. He stands back, and I hear the lock for the door explode, and the door shoots open. 

I hold the frying pan in front of me defensively. “You’re not a Stormtrooper,” I say, just barely a whisper. “Who are you?” I glance between the two of them, unsure of what to do. “Whoa, is that a Wookie?!”

It whines at me cockily, making the man roll his eyes. “Oh, give it a rest Chewy, she’s scared out of her mind.” He slides the blaster back into its holder, motioning for the Wookie to do the same. 

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” I spit out, trying to muster any confidence. 

“We are members of the Resistance, here to rescue you!” The gold droid cries happily. “General Princess Leia will be quite delighted to see you! That is, if we get out of here alive of course.”

“3PO,” the dark haired man sighs wearily. This droid must annoy him a lot. The more I look him over, the more flushed I can feel myself getting. He’s tall, with dark sparkling eyes and messy, fluffy dark curly hair. He’s obviously not used to the humid climate of the planet, since his cotton civilian shirt is clinging to him where he’s sweating. “I’m Commander Poe Dameron, leader of the Black Squadron and on the side of the Resistance. But you can just call me Poe.” He holds out his hand to me, and slowly I lower my frying pan and take it. “The Wookie is Chewbacca, and the droid is C-3PO.” His hand is damp with sweat, but I feel like a current has run through me at his touch. I murmur my name to him shyly, making him smile. “Well, now that we’ve all been formally introduced, let’s get ya outta here.”

“Leave?” I squeak. 

“Yeah,” he nods, “Let’s leave. Y’know, before the First Order comes and blows us all to stardust.”

“Yeah,” I nod in agreement. “It’s just- I’ve never been outside this room before and I’m just really nervous, you know? Like what is it like out there, what if there’s something scary, or something that’s gonna try to eat me like the stories with the dark lore creatures and-” I sputter at a million miles a minute, but Poe cuts me off with the confused gaze he’s giving me. 

“They’ve never let you out of here before?” I feel like time slows around us, and it’s just me staring into his dark eyes. They soften a little, the cocky spark replaced with something more genuine. 

The moment is shattered by the chips of another droid coming from the band on Poe’s arm. “Alright, that was BB-8; we’ve got movement. We’ve gotta get out of here, they’re less than ten minutes away.”

“Oh dear!” 3PO wails. “I’ll be sold off as a servant droid if I’m lucky!” 

Poe pulls me along with him out into the hallway, breaking into a run with the others trailing behind us. We make it out to the courtyard before more Stormtroopers appear. “Great,” Poe says sarcastically. “More of these.” 

“Leave the asset here! Do not damage the asset! Repeat, do not damage the asset!” One of the command leaders barks to the others. I yelp as shots from blasters fly by me. 

“You know how to use one of these?” Poe yells to me over the din. I realize that he’s trying to shove a blaster in my hands, but I don’t know what to do. 

“No!” I cry back, terrified. 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything!” he says cheerily, pushing it into my hands. “Now shoot!” 

I scramble along behind Poe, trying to get one of my many frenzied shots to actually hit something instead of zinging past the troopers following us. Only a mere few yards from the ship that they used, and then- I hear Poe grunt and clutch at his side in pain. Luckily the shot had grazed his torso and didn’t get anything important, but it still grazed him pretty good. Blood started to bloom onto his shirt from his side. I look from him to the blaster in my hand, and shoot the first Stormtrooper I see in the head before tugging Poe up and into the ship. The door pulls up just in time, the sound of blaster shots pinging on the outside of the ship. 

“You can’t fly like this,” I say to him. He’s sat down on the floor, me kneeling next to him and trying to assess the wound as well as I can with him covering it. He’s bleeding badly, but Poe shakes his head. “I’m the pilot, I have to.”

“There’s no other pilot?!”

Chewbacca roars as he runs down the hall towards the pilot's cockpit. “Oh fine,” Poe winces. “Get us out of here, Chewy!”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Paper Thin Glass || Morgan & Nicodemus

Nic and Morgan are fine.

@bountybossier

Maybe going to Quarter was a bad idea. Morgan watched her spare bills dissolve into a pile of coins, feeling the loss even though she’d yet to lose a single game. She gathered them up in a velvet bag she’d once kept for crystals and other spare alchemy bits. There was still a smooth amethyst stuck in the corner. Morgan didn’t have the heart to throw it away. None of the game titles looked familiar, and neither did the townies, a mix of college students, eager kids just reaching the age where their parents let them run amok for a few hours, and nostalgic thirty-somethings like herself. Or like how she was supposed to be. Would always be? Stars, Morgan hoped she’d be able to mature beyond her looks at some point, maybe actually figure some shit out. Right now she couldn’t even figure out if meeting up with Nic was a good idea or not. He was a hunter, after all, and things hadn’t gone amazingly when she’d told Kaden. But Nic was different. Nic knew how to be gentle with his hands already. Nic already used some kind of discretion with the creatures--fuck, the people he went after. And it would mean something that she had trusted him before, wouldn’t it? Morgan continued to pace the aisles, leaning up on a console for Mrs. Pac-Man for lack of anything better to do. Sitting and waiting seemed to sad, but she felt like she was kidding herself acting like she belonged here too.

It was odd. Spectacularly odd. People were trusting him. Opening themselves up to him in ways that Nicodemus was not at all familiar with. He had to wonder what that said about them when his was the ear they went to. He was good at listening, good at following through. However, listening and understanding were wholly different actions. Oddly enough, the more time he spent in White Crest, he was starting to differentiate between the two. Maybe that was why he never stopped moving. Standing still meant everything eventually caught up and in the absence of tangible footsteps, thoughts ran rampant. He couldn’t entirely blame it on that. He kept busy in White Crest. Took bounties in between honest hearts and dead money. It was complicated, he told himself. As he wiped the blood from his lips and stayed up to make sure Skylar got home safe from wherever she went, it was complicated. His dark expression lightened some as he walked in through the neon-rimmed doors of Quarter. People glanced at him and parted away from him. Morgan was here somewhere and she wanted to tell him something. The conversation they had with death on the other side of a makeshift barricade hadn’t left him. Every time he took up another snowglobe and a bottle of holy water, he stopped. To think and breathe. But sometimes what makes things better is more like a snow globe. He hadn’t finished it. The glass felt too flimsy in his hands. He caught sight of Morgan and made his way toward her. “Hey, Morgan,” he called out as he slowed. “Lose any money here yet?”

Morgan jumped to her feet at Nic’s arrival. She didn’t know if she should keep some distance between them, how long before he would sense what she was? And what was going to come next, exactly? What ‘getting ahead of’ this was there? They were sort of friends, she died. She had faith in him, and maybe that would matter and maybe that wouldn’t. A terrible, morbid way, Morgan found herself wishing they were in that basement room again. Things were, while life-threatening, pretty simple. All the bullshit went aside in the name of surviving together. And everything they’d talked about...well, they had to survive. They knew enough not to hurt each other over any disagreements. Now, though...now was different. “Hey!” She called, a little too brightly. “Not yet, but--” She shook her bag. “I’m ready to observe this time honored tradition. I never actually got the chance to when I was a kid.” She found herself edging against the console until it was poking her in the back. “Um, what about you? Ever a secret Pac-Man champion back in the day? Or Space...Shooters?” She didn’t actually know the name, but maybe if she made enough small talk she’d figure out how to explain she was dead, and maybe a little lost.

The hunter couldn’t tell if it was his own near-inability to be social or something in the water, but the situation felt off. Maybe it was him. Nicodemus hadn’t exactly felt anywhere near the proximity of alright in weeks. But Morgan seemed bright. A little brighter than the last time he had seen her. Granted, that had been a near-death experience. Anything after that would likely be brighter, he reasoned. It wasn’t just the neon. The brightness of the place made his eyes ache and his head pound, but he held fast. “I didn’t either,” he said as he glanced at the machines. He only had ever seen them in passing when his grandfather took them into town and that wasn’t all too often. He remembered the line of parents and their kids whenever the local pizza place finally got a Star Wars machine in the early nineties. He had asked to stop, mouth open and eyes wide. He had never seen so many colors. One glance from Samson had him quieting down. He never mentioned it again. All he ever saw of that machine was a passing glance. He blinked back out of the memory and looked at Morgan. “My, uh, grand-père wasn’t real big on this kinda shit or...fun in general, I guess. Yours?” Smiling didn’t have a place in the old Bossier home. Samson made sure of that. “Ol’ Pac-Man and I didn’t really get acquainted until...hell, Nashville? Few years back.” He snorted and shook his head. Looked at the Pac-Man machine with a strange sort of childlike appreciation. “Can’t really say I’m much of an eighties kid if I never really lived it, y’know?”

Nic looked at the machines with the same sad, mystified confusion as Morgan did, as if they were still behind locked doors and reinforced glass, treasures that never found their way into either of their hands. Whatever map of safety, of comfort, of a few quarters and free time to spare that seemed so effortless to all the people around them, they’d never been granted the key. Seeing the space between Nic and all the everyday good the people around them took for granted, Morgan wondered if he could understand what her existence was like after all. Had he tasted his own numbing tide between the family who had lied and mistreated him? Did it feel so fucked and so essential at once, to keep reaching through it? “Hey, that’s more than I can claim. Maybe you can show me the ropes.” Her brightness faltered as she spoke, a bulb that had been left on too long and turned tired and flickery. “Always wondered if I was missing out, you know?” Her voice caught and she had to remind herself to take deeper breaths when she spoke. Again. “But there’s uh….there’s some not fun stuff I feel like I gotta tell you too. And um...I don’t know. Something nice before seemed like a good idea when we were talking, but I feel mean about it now. So, maybe it should be your call…” She scraped her foot against the side of the machine, unable to look Nic in the eye anymore. “Kinda surprised you haven’t figured it out yet.” They were standing close enough, but maybe it really was too crowded for him to get a read on her. Or maybe Nic had started to hope for more good, and he couldn’t see that he’d put his chips in the wrong place yet.

There was a hollow look to Morgan’s eyes that Nicodemus reckoned his own matched. The arcade was full of life and noise, but around them, it turned to static. That bright edge to her seemed to dim. Or maybe that was the headache that was steadily beginning to pulse between his temples. It was strange ground to tread as he looked over the machines and listened to the clink of coins. It differed so greatly from the clink of bullets or the thunk of a knife as it struck wood. He didn’t know what life Morgan had led to make her a stranger to such things as well. In truth, he didn’t know the lives of many. Steadily, steadily, he began to learn. Long ago, he had exorcised the thought from him that he was the center of any universe. Or that it revolved around anyone. The universe didn’t care who walked in it. Lived or died in it. It was people that gave a shit about that, he thought, as he stepped out of the way of someone interested in the machine he stood in front of. “Sure I can,” he said with a slight lift of his brow as he turned his attention to Morgan. “How hard could it be? Yeah, I still wonder about it. The missin’ out. A lot of shit in town makes it feel that way. Especially...Especially lately.” He had a goddamn home now. Every machine in the room was an unknown object that he wasn’t certain how to navigate.

His senses rustled in his head like dried leaves. Someone nearby wasn’t what their human skin showed. A beast by learned terms. He didn’t care. He was there to meet with Morgan and that was it. Nothing else. Especially when something seemed to be weighing on her the way it was. Caught up in her throat. The faintest crease of concern slid between his brows. “Not fun stuff,” he repeated. He didn’t know what gave him the notion but a feeling seized his gut. One that worried if she began to talk about whatever it was where they stood, without any sort of buffer of merriment, that it might go poorly. And Morgan, for all the misdirected kindness and consideration she showed him, didn’t rightly deserve that. “Figured out what? That you ain’t really feelin’ Pac-Man and more of a...a BurgerTime fan? Sure we can find that around here.” It was a poor attempt at a deadpan but Nicodemus went with it as he started to walk in pursuit of the machine. “...Ain’t got nothin’ figured out until you tell me, Morgan. And you take your...your own time with it, alright?”

Morgan looked up at Nic, eyes wide and filming over with unshed tears. She understood the kindness he was giving her: the gift of relief, of pre-emptive forgiveness. He might not later when she told him everything, or as much everything as she dared, but he wanted to. He wanted everything to be okay for her. And stars above, between the town coughing up eyeballs and Deridre’s mushrooms, and Remmy, and everything after, it felt like things hadn’t really been okay in so long. Happiness wasn’t a given for anyone on this earth. Even when Morgan had her bright, living hope, she had only expected a balance to be paid, an equal measure of everything. But lately it was hard not to suppose that the scales tipped in favor of suffering, like some perverse extraction for a sorrowful beast. She could never dream to be happy forever. But oh earth beneath her feet, she wanted to feel okay. She flashed Nic a watery smile and dragged some sunken thread of brightness from the dregs of her spirit. “BurgerTime, huh?” She sniffled, bouncing on her heels. “Now you really gotta show me that one. I’ve never even heard of it!”

The machine was off against the wall right next to Dance Dance Revolution. Morgan sidled up and fed her quarters. The 8-Bit display came to life, orienting them with all the pieces, and the lonely little chefman who had to climb his way up and down the little labyrinth to make everything stack up just right even for all the peppers chasing him. Morgan sniggered and gave it her best shot, making it three levels up before she lost all her spare lives. There was something strangely desperate about the enterprise. Morgan wondered if she was simply too sad in un-death to appreciate something like this. Maybe it was too late to learn what all the fuss was about after all. She turned to Nic with a warm grin all the same as “Continue Game?” flashed on the screen, a timer counting down from a minute underneath. She handed him the change he needed, splaying the quarters against her fingers so they shined. “Okay, so that was weird, but kind of fun. I wanna see the next level up from the master, though, if you think you got it in ya?”

Nicodemus wasn’t sure what he had said, how it had landed with her, but the look in her eyes made his throat constrict. Shit. Had he said something wrong? Talking wasn’t his strong suit by the longest mile and he braced for impact. There was a reason he was a man of few sounds and even fewer words. What place did talking have when there was work to be done? Fifteen years of minimal words on his end has rusted his lungs over, among other things. The twenty years after it hadn’t done him any better. He could run forever but when it came to speech, a few sentences could exhaust like nothing else. But then she smiled at him through whatever it was she was going through and for a moment, he felt that maybe it was alright. The people he spoke to in White Crest didn’t exhaust him and if he felt hopeful, he thought maybe it went both ways. Why that mattered to him, he wasn’t sure, but he kept it close. Offered Morgan a thin smile of his own as he nodded. “Ain’t never heard of BurgerTime? Hell,” he said as he rubbed at his jaw. “Yeah, we’re makin’ a stop there.”

The closer they got to the machine, the blurrier his vision became. It was just a fucking arcade machine and yet looking at it had him sliding his fingertips against one another. A nervous tic. A memory played out, of a twenty-something year old who didn’t know how to handle other machines. The machine had cracked under his grip and in a beat, he was gone. He likely wasn’t meant for such things. A decade or so later, he looked at the same machine. Jesus Christ, he was about to cry in front of a BurgerTime machine of all things. He blinked back into the space beside Morgan when she spoke to him, his vision clearing as he swept it away. “It is pretty damn weird, but hell, people loved that shit,” he said. He took a moment to glance at the room. “...Guess they still do. Well, don’t mind if I fuckin’ do.” Maybe it wasn’t too late. He detached himself from that thought as he took the quarters and set about to his own game. With the precision and focus befitting of a hunter, he messed it up. The second level saw his demise from the peppers and he huffed loudly as the Continue Game appeared. “Maybe BurgerTime is bullshit,” he said matter-of-factly as he folded his arms. “Chef’s real shit as his job. Think he might get fired...” A moment of silence passed as he breathed in, glanced at Morgan to affirm the strange concoction of emotions that swelled in him. Made his tongue feel heavy. “But it was fun though, right? I had fun.”

Morgan could only guess what had happened to Nic to keep him on the outskirts of the world, but she felt a bittersweet kinship to him as he looked at her with a mix of feeling that almost mirrored her own. She wanted to launch herself into a hug at him, to have some epiphany that would make something better. Not everything, just their pasts, or this moment, with Nic trying his hardest for her and Morgan sitting on the truth, burying her secrets, lying with her passing normalcy. She nodded, too stiff in the throat to say much else. She’d had fun, yeah, but it was all so fleeting and terrible-- “I died, Nic.” She didn’t have enough air in her to make the words intelligible; the sound was a garbled, rattling mess. She always forgot that when she went stiff with anxiety. Morgan bit her lip, fighting back tears, and said it again, clearly so there’d be no mistake: “I died. April twentieth. I was...getting ice cream with my friend. I wasn’t supposed to. There was this evil ghost after me, she’d already tried to get me at the grocery store, but I did. And then there was a multi car collision and my foot got caught on some string and a pole of rebar went through me and stuck me in the ground and I died. And my friend…” Her voice rattled away again. More air. “My friend wanted to save me.” She slid up the edges of her cuff, showing him her scar. “I was in so much pain I didn’t even realize they’d done it. And then I died. And then I woke up again.” She finally met his eyes, lip trembling. Did she have to ask him? Please don’t kill me? Can you still see me here? I’m right here. I’m here and I don’t know what to do.

The dead ain’t meant to walk, Nicodemus. The dead are dead and meant to be kept as such ‘less it’s Rapture. Samson had never called him by a nickname. It was Nicodemus or nothing. It was profound, the moment he looked at Morgan and listened to what it was she told him. I died, Nic. She had died and was there to tell him about it. There to experience the flashing neon and clinking coin of Quarter. Him of all people. A hunter raised on putting down the beasts and deceased that roamed the swamps of Louisiana. Demons. If it wasn’t for her magic from that night with the vampires, he wouldn’t have known there was anything different with her. Anything...off. Shit. The only thing that had registered to him as being off was how kind she had been to him. He wouldn’t have known kindness if it looked him in the eye and said as much. Morgan had died and she told him how. Looked at him with something he knew to be related to fear. Skylar had looked at him the same way as she laid out her secret, her life. He didn’t know what he had done to earn such honesty and his jaw tightened. It occurred to him, in silence, how terrible it would have been to not hear it from Morgan. It would have meant that she wasn’t there anymore. The snowglobe he made for her would sit on a shelf and gather dust. The stillness of it in his mind’s eye unnerved him. It wasn’t hard to imagine a bounty being there and then gone. If she was hungry and he had never met her, he wouldn’t have hesitated if they crossed paths. Pieces from both a past and current puzzle tried to fit awkwardly together. It made his head ache and his eyes dry. His eyes lowered from Morgan’s as he briefly looked away. “Okay,” he said with a nod. His eyes slid back over to her. “It’s, uh, okay. It’s okay, Morgan.” He struggled to find words, as if he might string them around a bracelet and just hand it to her, be done with it, but they kept clattering and he took in a breath to steady himself. “I’m sorry that that...happened to you,” he said carefully. “But it--It don’t matter to me. That you died. I’m not gonna...” He trailed off. She had seen what he was capable of, what he could do when it was necessary. She had also encouraged him to consider something beyond that and the way it was, that sounded louder in his head than any gnashing of teeth. He didn’t know how to reconcile the two but he spoke anyway. “I’m not...Shit. You’re okay.”

The smallest of sobs bubbled past Morgan’s lips. She nodded, understanding, and slid into his chest. She hadn’t wanted his mercy and Nic hadn’t wanted to give itl, not because he wasn’t kind, but because they didn’t want the world to be so fucked and cruel that she would need it in the first place. What kind of place would ask Nic to kill her and call it the natural way of things? What balance was there in configuring themselves in opposition when their hurt seemed to resonate in similar patterns. No matter what she heard from anywhere else, Morgan couldn’t believe that Nic was made just to hurt people like her anymore than she was meant to hurt those like him. “You’d think after this long, I’d get better at saying it,” she mumbled. “And I don’t want to hurt anybody, Nic. I don’t want to be someone who does that for no good reason, I don’t…” She sniffled. She didn’t need to justify her existence. Every morning she showered, she reminded herself, I want to be here. I want to be myself. I am here. I am okay. I am, I am, I am… But it was different coming from Nic, from someone who was taught to see things where there was just sad, dead people trying to hang on to whatever they had left. And how different was that from him or anyone else struggling in this sad little town?

Morgan pulled away, sniffling. “Sorry. I should’ve asked if you were, you know, a hugger or something. We can, you know, go somewhere else. Um...I like ice chips. The cold is a nice change of texture.” She looked up at him, reaching down into the seed of herself that had survived, something that might be called good. “You’re okay, too, Nic. You really are. I--I trust you with this. With...me.”

It wasn’t the force of her hug that nearly had him scrambling. Physically, Nicodemus hadn’t moved. Not an inch. Something like sickness gathered in his belly, the phantom thought of what his grandfather might think screaming like tires in his head. It had been a long time since he had given a shit what that filicidal fuck thought about anything. It wasn’t with spite that he awkwardly patted Morgan’s back. It was with a morbid likeness to understanding but not quite. Not entirely. How many times now had he been forced to become something else than what he was? With a mind not his own? More times than he was comfortable with. It wasn’t the same at all, not really, and he knew it. Shit, Morgan had died. Maybe it was...Holy shit, he might have been empathizing. That was the word and it fit oddly between his teeth. “Figure you don’t,” he said. Oddly enough, he had started to wonder if that was the case with most people. A dangerously soft thought, a hopeful one. He preferred the burn of whiskey to the sweetness of honey. It was more honest. Even with that thought tightly in hand, he believed Morgan. Both had an equal chance to take the other out when they were stuck in that basement. Instead, they talked. They had been too tired to do anything. Maybe they still were. Maybe friendship was being too tired to be worried about anything and simply share a few thoughts. “Told you before that I...I ain’t gonna hurt you or nothin’. Just be careful and shit.”

It was the most he could offer. The most he could say. Protection wasn’t exactly what he did. He chewed on that before he nodded at her, unsure of what to say, and loosely folded his arms around himself. He couldn’t help the snort of a laugh that came out of him. Her mention of ice chips set off a lightbulb that prompted him to reach into his jacket pocket. When he opened his slightly scarred palm, a small snowglobe sat inside of it. Encircled in sparkling flecks of white sat a single tombstone. “Timin’ ain’t great on it and I kept fuckin’ up the bigger one but I finished this one....” He handed it to her with a frown that turned into a faint smile. “...Yeah, sure, we can go get some ice chips.”

Morgan gasped when she saw the snowglobe. Nic didn’t really give himself the credit he deserved. It was small enough for her to cup in one hand, painted and filled like the cemeteries of White Crest on the softest January day. One tombstone on a little hill, guarded by what looked to Morgan like the winter bones of a willow tree. Six little branches and their offshoots spread over it like so many arms. Morgan gave it a gentle shake and watched the flakes swirl and dance, one side, then the other, fluffy and sparkling, just like her first snow. “Oh, it’s perfect. I love it, and so will my girlfriend. We used to have all these little nick-nacks around the place, but they broke recently. The house doesn’t look the same without it, and--Nic, you even scored details in the bark and in the design on the little grave--” She looked up at him again, her wet eyes filled with wonderment. “I knew it was going to be perfect before but this is wonderful.” She cradled it to her chest with both hands, lest she lose her sense of the snowglobe and drop it. It was kind of funny, such a little thing to get so worked up over, to feel almost happy for. But in the glistening water that carried the snow gently back to ground, she saw some future spectre of another winter, of snow she wouldn’t feel but might still share in. Maybe when she dove into the mounds that gathered next to the sidewalks in the park and under sleepy graves like this one, it wouldn’t melt away but stay whole and perfect on her cheeks. Maybe come winter she would still be someone who was kissed and loved. Maybe she would feel more of other things, maybe she wouldn’t have to remember I am. “I appreciate this like nothing else.” She held his gaze good and hard so he knew it wasn’t just a little thing of glass and plastic and slipped it safely into her bag. “You pick the place? Ice chips aren’t exactly, you know, exclusive fine dining.”

The details were what Nicodemus excelled in. What he made a living off of and was damn good at picking out. It made the difference between a bounty and something else. Something with lesser value and as he considered it in those terms, he winced. It didn’t feel right. Whatever feeling right even was anymore. As Morgan pointed out every line and spare thought he had decided to put into the small snowglobe on a whim, his long withheld perception slowly became eclipsed. Because Morgan’s joy and appreciation couldn’t be valued as something less than. It couldn’t be. Not with the way his frown went lopsided. It didn’t bother him that he had broken the first two tries with shaky and frustrated hands. In time, it would pass over and he might be blinded again, but he held onto it with what he could for the time it lasted. Knuckles white with tension. The same way she held onto the snowglobe like something precious. Maybe he wouldn’t crack it. He could have laughed. That odd hopeful thought again. He couldn’t blame it on the White Crest water. He already knew what was in there and he hated it. Nicodemus huffed a laugh through his nose and rubbed at the back of his head. “Shit. Took a few tries, but sure, sure,” he said gruffly. An unsure smile peeked out as he shook his head and stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. “Think the guy at the deli might look at us funny if we get big ass cups of ice? Don’t think we’ll find a better deal anywhere else.” A low laugh rumbled through him and broke him out of the dirt he settled into. Hell if anything he ever did before went so appreciated. He hadn’t cared for it then. It was just a job. It was just surviving. Maybe living was borderline crying over a snowglobe in a place that thrived off nostalgia and years wasted. Dead or alive, they would make do with what they held in their hands. As sure as the sun came and went.

[trained-trainwreck]

game over!!

Smoke. That was all he could see for malms out to the horizon as it billowed up in thick plumes from the valley floor below. When combined with the eerie orange glow of the flames lashing out at the sky from below, it was as though the spectre of death spread its inky tendrils to every corner of Gyr Abania. So choked with ash and soot was the air that every gasping breath scorched his throat and lungs as his body desperately fought to keep him standing. He’d been fighting for so long now that he’d lost track of time. How long had it been? Thirty minutes? A bell? Maybe more- without the sun it was impossible to know. All he knew for certain is that his limbs were so heavy there may as well have been lead weights hanging from his wrists and cermet in his boots. At long last his legs gave out and he collapsed into a sitting position in the dirt.

     Everyone in Eorzea knew it was only a matter of time before the Empire retaliated after Ala Mhigo’s largely successful uprising, but no one expected it to come this swiftly...certainly not this aggressively. The relative peace that had settled over the Ghimlyt Dark was little more than a prelude to the symphony of destruction that was to come. Somehow, despite everything, the Empire had managed to not only recover from the series of blows delivered to them by the Alliance but counterattack with such overwhelming force that they shattered the Alliance’s fortifications in the Dark and swept back into Ala Mhigo to wreak their terrible vengeance upon the people of Gyr Abania. Though only barely reformed, the Fists of Rhalgr had tried in vain to put up some kind of resistance across the steppes and they too were swatted away like gnats.

     There had been twenty of them when he first joined the mob hastily assembled to defend some of the outlying villages while the people evacuated, but those numbers dwindled rapidly. Too few. Too little training.

Too goddamn weak.     Only a few had stayed with him when the others decided to save the few wounded they could as they fled back toward the west. She had wanted to stay as well- the blonde one with fire in her eyes and lightning in her fists- and it took no small amount of shouting and arguing to convince her otherwise. The weak would have need of the strength she possessed to see them through to the border. Eventually she relented and grumbled something near enough to ‘good luck’ before rallying her people to depart. A pleasant enough notion, perhaps, but a pointless one: both of them knew exactly how today was going to end.

A storm of blood.

     The time since had been a blur, a smear of fists and steel that all ran together into one big muddy blob of unrelenting carnage that had only just ceased. This reprieve, he knew, would not last. His head thumped against the sturdy pole behind him and his gaze drifted skyward, toward the great purple and white banner flying above him. Tattered and scorched though it was, that banner was the most visible act of defiance his group had been able to display and they were certain it would draw the Garleans’ ire. Scores of broken Imperials in varying states of dead and dying around him and his now long-dead comrades were proof enough of that theory. All he could do now was sit and wait for the next wave.

He didn’t have to wait long.

     Again the enemy presented himself, but not the way he’d expected. Instead of the thundering footfalls of a horde of men and machines, he heard only a single man approaching. His footfalls were even, measured, unhurried; it was as if he had all the time in the world to take a leisurely stroll across the killing fields. He drew in another deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes as the footfalls drew nearer and nearer before coming to a stop only a few short yalms away.

“Disappointing.” That voice made his skin crawl. He opened his eyes and turned toward the source. The man who stood before him was towering, even by Ala Mhigan standards, and adorned in Garlean armor that may as well have been painted with blood. It wasn’t the armor or the almost porcelain paleness of his skin or the shoulder length blonde hair billowing in the wind that he found the most striking about this man, though. It was his eyes. Blue, piercing, and...completely devoid of the spark of life. “I had hoped to find my friend amidst this carnage, yet all I am met with is a half-dead animal.” The Garlean heaved a weary sigh and turned to leave.

“And surrounded by your all-dead pals, asshole.” He grunted, braced himself against the pole, and slowly pushed himself to his feet despite his body’s many protests. “I don’t know what they feed you limp-dicked whoresons in Garlemald, but it makes smashin’ your fuckin’ skulls in real satisfying.”

     This apparently gave the Garlean pause. When the man’s attention fell upon him again, he noticed something of a spark flickering in the darkness of those eyes. For several long moments did his foe stand rooted to the spot and he could feel himself being judged as something less an enemy and more livestock at an auction. It was in this moment that the realization of who this person was struck him like a levinbolt from Rhalgr’s own hand. This was no imperial noble or princeling playing at being a warrior. No, the man he found himself standing in opposition to was none other than the butcher of Ala Mhigo- Zenos yae Galvus. He should have felt the creeping stranglehold of dread slithering up from the pit of his stomach- any normal man would- but instead he felt fire stoked anew course in his blood.

“This country bores me. These people bore me.” Zenos took a few short steps to his left and now stood directly in front of him. One hand lowered toward the contraption hanging from his hip, which rotated with a whirr and came to rest with a dull thunk when Zenos’ wrist came to rest casually atop it. He could only assume this man had decided which implement of death would be the end of one more sick animal. “Hardly sporting, but I suppose you’ll do.”

     Every fiber of his being was burning from a combination of exhaustion and what must’ve been a dozen injuries, minor or otherwise, but he wouldn’t let himself show it. There was no room for weakness. Not here. Not now. “And you call me a rabid dog?” He scoffed, pushed through the pain, and forced himself into his stance. “Sick bastard.” Zenos remained motionless, a statue with his eyes squarely fixated on the man he had decided would be prey. Both of them remained in this state as the world fell away around them, consumed by the all-devouring jaws of complete focus. He forced himself to draw in a long slow breath through his nose and exhale through his mouth, to feel the world around him as he and the ebb and flow of the battlefield became one. Memories flashed in his mind’s eye as he breathed in again, reliving the briefest of moments from battles past and catching glimpses of the warriors who took part in them. Tiny pools of aether scattered around him came together to form rivers that wound their way to the swirling tempest of power at the very core of his being.

     Rhalgr. You and I have rarely spoken- I’ve never known or needed the words. The rivers built in intensity, crashing against the shore of his soul. But I need them now. Grant me this one request, Destroyer: grant me the strength to crush the invader before me. Rivers became torrents became floods that overflowed and warped the air around him in a shimmering haze of his aether. And if you do not listen? He drew in one final breath. Everything he had left, every onze of energy he could muster, was going into this one fight. There was no other option.

Then to hell with you. 

     Stone splintered beneath his feet as he lunged forward fueled by the very aether of the battlefield itself. He could almost feel the spirits of his ancestors driving him onward, filling his body with an unnatural strength the likes of which he’d never known. In an instant he was upon his foe, feet planted, hips rotating, driving through his shoulders to pour everything the man he was into his fist as he focused entirely on driving it straight through the Garlean who had yet even begun to move. Earth trembled and a mighty clap of thunder filled the air around them as he drove his strike home, certain that it had landed clean. Then came pain, white hot and racing up his arm from his fist as the dust began to clear and he cursed under his breath. Not only was Zenos not crumpled on the ground at his feet, he’d simply absorbed the blow with one hand.

     He created separation, exhausted beyond belief but unwilling to give up the fight, and surged forward again. A hailstorm of blows followed, snapping kicks, tight hooks, and punishing straight punches from every angle that he could create. Not a single one of them got through the red armored Garlean’s effortless guard and his body began to break down. Zenos slipped under one hook and he saw what he thought was an opportunity. He shifted his feet wide apart, dropped his rear shoulder, and snapped his hips to drive all of his weight into a savage right uppercut...straight into his opponent’s armored elbow. His wrist buckled, then shattered. The followup left hand was caught in a mailed fist and crushed with next to no effort. Zenos’ expression never wavered throughout. In agony, without the use of both hands, and on his last legs he knew the end was near. Surrendering was out of the question. Not here. Not to him.

     With a bellowing roar, he closed the distance between them again, planted his right leg and lifted his left- a desperate feint at this point- then dropped his left leg back and threw everything he had into his right leg aimed squarely for Zenos’ ribs. He connected cleanly, but not hard enough- Zenos trapped his leg against his side with his right, then delivered a devastating chopping blow to the knee that shattered bone and crumpled him immediately. He lay there in the dust, groaning in agony, as the victor took stock of his prey.“Valiant,” spoke the Garlean in that flat tone, “but pointless.”He glared up from his prone position, unable to even lift himself from the ground.“I’ve seen that look before. In my friend’s eyes.” Slowly, Zenos retrieved one of the blades from its scabbard. “Curiosity gets the better of me.” He canted his head ever so slightly to the side. “What is your name?”

“Ehren,” he spat with all the venom he could muster. “Ehren Ahyfend.”

“I shall remember you then, Ehren Ahyfend, as one who entertained my hunt if but for a moment.”Zenos raised his blade. Ehren, determined to remain defiant, held his head high. There was a flash of silver.

Darkness.( @spiral-seeker thank you for the ask! I got a little carried away. Also @hellocatemonster for the mention )

[sailorchiron]

Michael Guerin Week 2019

Here it is, my humble submission to Guerin Week Day 1!  This one-shot is a side fic to a longer college AU that I’m trying to finish before I start posting it.  

Raise Your Glass

Read on Ao3

Michael was surprised to see Alex and Maria on the doorstep when he came home.  A very drunk Alex.  And a very drunk Maria.  It looked like they’d both been laughing until he walked up...but it was clear that they’d both been crying at some point, since both of them had eyeliner all over their faces.

“Alex, DeLuca, what’s...what...why are you outside?”

Alex looked up but was too drunk to hold his head up and it hit the door with a hollow ‘thunk.’ “I’m not actually sure.”

Maria giggled, which dissolved into the laughter that only happened when you’re too drunk to realize life just isn’t that funny.  “His keys--” She couldn’t continue, she was laughing too hard.

“Alex, where are your keys?”

Alex was laughing under his breath, but was getting teary.  “On the counter.”

“The counter?  Like, the kitchen counter?”

“Yah.  Next to my phone.”

Michael smacked himself in the forehead.  Maria was still laughing.  “DeLuca, how fucking drunk are you?”

“So drunk,” she laughed.  “Zoey’s new boyfriend is a bartender.”  She snorted.

Michael rolled his eyes.  He’d always liked Maria’s roommate.  Until now.

“But you’re here, now, so you can let us in.”  She gave Michael that sweet, sultry smile that had boys eating out of her hand.  “Right, Guerin?”

“Why should I?”

“It’s the polite thing to do!” Maria answered brightly, still giggling.  

Sighing, Michael pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Right.  I should let two drunk people into my house at 3am on a random Thursday.”  He looked down and saw that there was no laughter from Alex anymore.  Just tears.  He’s such a weepy drunk.  “Fine.”  He patted his pockets.  His truck keys were still in his hand, but his house keys-- “Fuck, Alex you have my house key, you picked it up from me at work before you went out.”

“Yah.”

Maria was still laughing, and she shoved Alex with more force that she intended and he bumped the wall beside the door.  “Sorry, sorry,” she giggled, breathless.  “He lost his keys somewhere.”

“So you’re telling me,” Michael began, trying desperately to control his temper, “that you came and got my keys because you couldn’t find yours, then proceeded to lose them.”

Alex hiccupped. “Yah.”  

Michael watched Alex rub his eyes, smearing his makeup and turning himself into a literal hot mess.  Why is he still hot when he’s crying and gets eyeliner all over his face?  Probably because everything about Alex was endearing, and pretty much everything about Alex was hot.  Even when he deserved the award for Most Annoying Boyfriend of the Month.  “Come here.”  He held out his hand and hauled Alex to his feet when he took it, using a little telekinesis for assistance since he wasn’t helping himself stand up at all.  “It’s okay, don’t cry.  You’re going to be so embarrassed when you’re sober.”

“I know.”  He sniffled.  

Michael smiled despite himself when Alex melted against him and pressed his face against his neck.  “‘M sorry.”

“Yah, you owe me.”  He took a deep breath, and made a decision.  “How drunk are you really, Maria?”

“Really drunk.”

“Are you going to remember this in the morning?”

She was laughing again, and slumped over on her side.  “I d-d-doubt it.”

“Perfect.”  Michael closed his eyes briefly, picturing the deadbolt on the inside of the door before he turned it.  He tried the door, and Alex had locked the knob, too.  It took less than a thought to twist it, and he opened the door.  “Okay, DeLuca, get off the ground and go in.”  He watched Maria laugh and fail at standing until he was annoyed before offering her a hand.  “Here.”  He had to use his powers to help her drunk ass, too.  

But considering that she and Alex had picked his drunk ass up off the floor before, he couldn’t really be too pissed.

“Okay, in the house.”  In another life, carrying two stumbling drunk hotties into his apartment would be an achievement of some kind.  In this life, it just meant that he was going to be fucking tired during lab tomorrow.  Or, well, today.  Once he got them both through the door, he closed it and locked it behind them.  Alex had left the kitchen light on, so at least he wasn’t blind.  Sure enough, Alex’s keys were next to his phone on the counter.  “Why didn’t you come get your own keys and your phone before you went to the party?”

“I don’t know,” Alex answered on a drunken sob.

“Oh, fuck, Alex don’t cry any more, jesus fucking christ.”  Michael steered Maria into the living room and onto the futon.  “Don’t move, DeLuca.”

“I’m fine.”  She waved at him.  

Michael rolled his eyes.  “Come on, Alex, let’s see if you can make it to the bedroom.”  

“Okay.”  

As they were moving (slowly) down the hallway, Alex asked, “How’d we get in?”

“You know how, Alex.”  He had to laugh at the comically dramatic realization moment on his face.  “Oh, you used--”

Michael slapped his hand over his idiot boyfriend’s mouth.  “The spare key in the flower pot.”  I really should put a spare key in the flower pot since Alex loses his keys all the fucking time.  He laughed more at the devastated confusion on Alex’s face as he tried to process that they didn’t have a spare key in the flowerpot.  “Don’t think about it, your head is going to explode.”

“Okay.”  

Michael sat Alex down on his side of the bed, and knelt to untie his shoes.  “How long were you here before I got home?”

“I don’t know,” Alex answered, and Michael could still hear tears in his voice.  

“It’s okay, baby, don’t cry anymore.”  He pulled Alex’s boots off and stood to help him lay down.  “Here, get under the blanket.”  He watched Alex turn on his side to face him, and was glad makeup stains wouldn’t show on the dark blue pillowcase.  “I’m going to go check on DeLuca.”

Alex nodded.  “Okay.  I love you.”

Alex’s tiny, drunken announcement tugged at Michael’s heartstrings, and he smiled.  “I love you too.  I’m going to put the trash can by your head, okay?”

“Okay.”  

Michael kissed his forehead before he went back out the living room.  He always kissed Alex on the forehead if he left him to fall asleep.  If Alex left him, he kissed Michael’s cheek.  They had little routines that made them both feel safe.  And he loved Alex with all of his heart and soul, and wanted him to feel safe all the time.

“Okay, DeLuca,” Michael started, but stopped when he saw that she’d stretched out and fallen asleep.  “Well, that’s one problem taken care of.”  He pulled the blanket off the back of the futon and draped it over her.  “Let’s hope you really don’t remember this shit in the morning.”

Hungry, Michael pulled a box of leftover Mexican food out of the fridge and ate it cold.  It was carnitas enchiladas, and Alex would murder him for eating his dinner, but he kinda didn’t have a right to be pissed after tonight.  As the adrenaline of the ‘just get shit done’ impulse passed, he started to shake with after-the-fact panic.  He’d spent years, years, making sure no one knew about his abilities.  Alex, Max, and Isobel were it.  And he’d been specifically hiding it from Maria since they’d met three years ago.  Alex had promised never to tell Maria, and he’d kept that promise.  And I decided to just open the goddamned door instead of calling a locksmith.

Granted, they didn’t have the money for a locksmith, not unless they wanted to dip into their savings.  Alex wouldn’t have begrudged him the money, though.  He understood that Michael did not want anyone to know about his alien abilities.  Still.  They worked while they were going to school, even though they both had full-ride scholarships and grants for books and supplies, because they never wanted to have to rely on anyone but each other, and that meant socking money away for the future.  But Michael couldn’t even blame his lapse in judgement on that, he was just too fucking tired to deal with his drunk friends and decided to say ‘fuck it.’”

For better or for worse, what was done, was done.

Tired and dirty (he worked as an after-hours mechanic, the money was fantastic and he had the entire day for class and studying), Michael took a shower and crawled in bed next to Alex.  He was snoring quietly (Alex only snored when he was drunk) and he snuggled up against his back, putting an arm around him.  A bigger bed had not changed that they slept glued to each other (but neither of them wanted to go back to sharing a twin bed in a dorm room).

“Michael?”

“Didn’t mean to wake you up, baby,” he answered, kissing the back of Alex’s neck.  “You okay?”

“Hm.”  Alex was quiet for a while.  “Thank you,” he whispered, sounding sleepy.

“For letting you into your own house?”

“For everything.  Love you.”

“Love you too.”

When Michael woke up, the bed was empty, but he could hear the shower.  He groaned and looked at his phone, it was only 6:22, they’d been asleep less than three hours.  “I can’t believe Alex is upright,” he grumbled to himself.  Alex didn’t have class until noon on Fridays.  “I don’t even have to be up until 9.”  

He must have fallen asleep, because he was kissed awake by a damp and fresh-smelling boyfriend a few minutes later.  Michael couldn’t be mad, how could he ever be mad that Alex was kissing him?  “How’re you even awake?”

Alex laughed softly.  “I had to pee, and I was such a disaster I took a shower.”

“How hungover are you?”

“I haven’t puked but my head his pure misery.”

“Serves you right, losing my keys and locking yourself out.”  He lifted his arm so that Alex could snuggle into his side.  “Sleep for another couple hours?”

“Mhm.”

The next time he woke up, it was to his alarm, and Alex complained bitterly through very communicative disgruntled noises, but got up when Michael insisted.  Even though Alex had class later than Michael did, they usually got up together on Fridays.  That also usually involved sleepy wake up sex, but not when one of them was hungover.  Or both of them, that happened often enough.  They got dressed, and Alex took a peek at his hair while they both brushed their teeth and decided it was a beanie kind of a day.  Michael’s was comically disheveled, and he put on a baseball cap.

“I hope DeLuca is awake, since I’ll have to drive her back to her place before we go to campus.”  Zoey lived close enough that they could, and often did, walk back and forth from their apartment to the house Maria shared with Zoey and two other girls from the performing arts department. 

“DeLuca is awake,” came a miserable groan from the futon.  “Is there coffee?”

Alex and Michael both laughed.  “I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”  Alex headed over to the bright coral Keurig machine that Isobel had gifted them when they’d gotten the apartment at the end of freshman year.  “There’s Advil in the medicine cabinet.”

“How are you awake this early?”

“I have a really nice alarm clock named Michael who kisses me when I’m tired and bitchy.”

“Gross.”

“Go wash your face, DeLuca, you look like a trainwreck.”

“Fuck you too, Guerin.”  But she hauled her carcass off the futon and went to wash her face and get the Advil.

Michael got the fancy vanilla creamer Alex and Maria liked in their coffee out of the fridge.  He only used it because it was cheaper to use the same thing they did.  Right.

“Okay, so I’m assuming you let us in last night,” Alex murmured when Michael set the bottle on the counter by the coffee maker, brushing a kiss across his cheekbone.  

“You were pretty confused when I told you there was a key in the flower pot.”

“We should put a spare key in the flower pot.  Sitting on the front step drunk isn’t the best way to impress our neighbors.”

“Yah, no,” Michael laughed.  He took the coffee Alex offered him along with a kiss.  “Any idea how long you sat there?”

“What time did you get home?  We left the party at like 2am.”

“So you sat on the porch for an hour.”

Alex laughed ruefully.  “Not my proudest moment.”  He turned his head when Maria came back into the room.  “Michael says we were on the doormat for about an hour before he got home.”

“I guess we’ve done more embarrassing things.”  Maria took her coffee gratefully.  “How did we get in, anyway?”

Michael blanched and choked on his coffee.  

Alex pounded on his back and answered, “Apparently there was a key in the flower pot that I didn’t know about.”

Maria eyed them both skeptically.  “That’s bullshit.”

“What?”

“There’s no way Michael would ever let you go out without knowing there was a spare key.  You lose your keys three times a week!”

Alex looked at Michael.  Michael looked at Alex.  They both looked at Maria.  Michael sighed.

“I’m just going to have to hope that after knowing you for three years, and because I’m the person who you trust to take care of Alex, that you will keep this secret behind your teeth.  You can’t tell Zoey, you can’t tell anyone.  Not even your mom.  It is literally a matter of life or death.”

Maria’s eyes were wide.  “What fucking kind of secret do you have, Guerin?”

Knowing she’d drop it if he demonstrated with any other object, Michael lifted her mostly-full coffee cup out of her hands and placed it gently on the counter without spilling a drop.  While she was staring, he looked over her shoulder and she turned around to see him fold the blanket and settle in on the back of the futon.

“You...have abilities,” Maria breathed.  “You have telekinesis.”  She was outraged a moment later.  “What the fuck, Guerin!  You know I’m psychic, why didn’t you tell me?”  She narrowed her eyes at him.  “Or have you been fucking with me with your powers for three years?”

“No, I haven’t fucked with you.”  Michael set his coffee down.  “But this is not like your gifts, Maria.  No one can know.”  He hoped she could see just how dead serious he was.  “There can be no good outcome of some official government agency finding out about me because I’m a famous psychic whether I want to be or not.  Or fuck, a crime lord.  I want no one to ever know.  If you tell someone, you won’t just be putting me in danger, you’ll be putting Alex in danger too.  Please, please promise me you will not tell a soul.” 

“Who else knows?”

Michael pointed to his boyfriend.  He was leaving his alien siblings out of it.  

“So, just Alex?”

“Just Alex.”

“Just me.”

“I guess there was no way you could hide it from Alex.”  She frowned, eyebrows furrowed.  “Have you ever used your powers around me?”

Michael nodded.  “To keep you from dropping shit on moving days.  And last night to get your drunk butt off my doorstep because you were 115 pounds of dead weight at the end of my arm.”

“112, thank you very much.”  She cocked her head.  “You’re going to have to explain your fears to me when I’m not hungover, but I swear I will not tell a soul.”

“Thank you.  I’ll give you the full, unabridged edition of why no one can ever know I’m psychic later tonight.”  Michael wasn’t sure he believed her, not because Maria wasn’t a great person and pretty trustworthy, but because he wasn’t sure she could understand the reasons behind the level of terror he had, and wouldn’t think it was ‘that big of a deal’ if she let it slip.  I’ll just have to really, really impress her with how fucking serious I am.

“Really, Maria, please.  For perspective on how serious Michael is, I’ve known for three years, and I never told you.”

“Huh.”  She brightened.  “I feel like I’m part of a really exclusive club, now.”

Michael saluted her with his cup of coffee.  “Welcome to the party.”

[the-real-anywolf]

Destiel Advent Calendar 2019

Title: Welcome to the Black Parade

Tags: Dean Winchester/Castiel, Destiel, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Rufus Turner, Bobby Singer, Angst, Forgiveness is the Name of the Game, Explicit Sexual Content, Inspired by Song Lyrics, Happy Hanukkah

Summary: Dean Winchester has walked hand-in-hand with death his entire life. When it's time to lay his weary head to rest, will he finally find peace?

Written by: @eyesofatragedy67​ (Eyes_of_a_Tragedy)

Notes: Somewhere in the process of this advent calendar, Frankie said, "Can day 22 be Hanukkah related?" and we all went, "Yeah! That's a great idea!" And then day 22 sat with a note… Hannukah… for what felt like forever. There was a group chat conversation about the fact that none of us are Jewish and really don't know much about the holiday. But I snagged it anyway.

This fic is not a Hanukkah story, and honestly is the merest of nods, but I do think it's important to acknowledge it. For those of you who do follow the beliefs, I wish you the happiest of Hanukkahs! Please don't kill me.

This story is inspired by the lyrics of "Welcome to the Black Parade" by My Chemical Romance. It's a song about death and how it affects those left behind. But it's also full of power and life. It holds strong personal meaning for me, and screams Dean Winchester in my head.

I hope you enjoy!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890575

Day 22: Welcome to the Black Parade

The sky was a bruise of grey and green, and that sickly yellow you only saw on damaged skin. Dean Winchester was parked at Rufus's cabin, crashed out on the hood of his trusty sidekick, legs dangling in front of her grill, waiting for the floodgates to open.

He needed the rain on his face, the water pelting his skin, cleansing him, absolving him of the guilt he carried. He needed the mask of it. To hide his tears.

It had been years since he'd felt this loss, years since he'd grieved the son of a bitch who'd moulded him into the soldier he still was, to this day. But the years had been long, and so much had happened. And if Dean was being completely honest with himself – hell, with anyone – he'd admit that the man who had appeared in the bunker wasn't as much of a monster as he'd made him out to be in his mind.

Fuck knew John Winchester hadn't been a perfect father. And Dean was well aware of the fact that he carried some serious baggage, due to the years of abandonment and neglect, while his dad had kicked around – saving people, hunting things.

The family business created a rift between the Winchesters that leaked like a sieve.

But Dean and Sam had come through okay. They were strong together, had done good in the world. Until Chuck came and fucked it all to hell.

Talk about some A+ parenting.

As the skies rained down on him, Dean let go. He let himself mourn the loss, again, of the man who had shaped his life. Thought back to the times that weren't awful, though some would argue they were few and far between.

He railed against the wind, lungs burning molten rage; then his throat locked up, nothing but stilted exhales escaping.

Eyes still closed, he felt a soothing presence close in. Hands gripped the outsides of his knees, hips moving between them. Dean threw his arm over his face and gulped in a ragged breath.

"Hello, Dean." That rumble of comfort was everything he needed.

Dean pushed himself up and wrapped himself around his angel, burying his face into Cas's neck, where he smelled like honey-sweet lightning.

"You're going to get sick if you stay out here much longer, my love," Cas whispered into the freckles dotting Dean's cheekbone.

Fuck, what had he done to deserve this man? He had no idea why Cas always came back to him, but he was done fighting it. Done getting in the way of what they both wanted. He'd be damned if Cas's name got added to the list of Dean Winchester's Greatest Misses.

He looked into the storm of Cas's eyes. "I love you. I love you with all of the words I've never said, for all of the years you've stood by me, all of the shit you've put up with…" Blue lit up his sky. "Cas, I'm ready."

The honey melted away, leaving ozone and fire in its wake. Cas tugged his hips closer, hauling him off Baby's hood. Dean wrapped his legs tighter around Cas's waist, relinquishing some of the weight, as Cas carried him into the cabin.

They made it as far as the fireplace before Dean tugged Cas down into a desperate kiss, nipping at his lips. Sunshine burst on his tongue, all warmth and fresh green growth after the rain.

Hands tore at his clothing, drenched t-shirt plopping to the ground, soaked denim falling to his feet. And then his angel was kneeling before him, unlacing his sturdy leather boots and peeling off his socks so he could step out of his jeans.

Cas was his savior, divinity defined.

Dean carded his fingers through that thick, dark hair and stroked his thumb over the shell of Cas's ear, looking down at the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"Cas…" he whispered, shivers racing down his spine.

And Cas – the beautiful, crazy genius – ran his hands up Dean's exposed skin, over the cotton that was his last barrier, and stripped him bare.

Blade-calloused fingertips caressed his hips, teased over his soft midriff, perfectly chapped lips following their path. A flick of tongue over the tip of his cock almost brought Dean to his knees.

And then it was all wet heat surrounding him, the gentle brush of stubble against sensitive skin, and Dean fumbled to hold on.

One hand tangled in his lover's hair, he reached the other out, grasping for purchase and something to ground him. The heavy thunk of an object hitting the floor only briefly distracted him.

"Oh, Cas," Dean moaned, living in the feel of his angel's mouth on him, full of worship.

Teeth lightly grazed their way up his shaft, and Cas pulled off, leaning back with glazed-over eyes. Dean wiped at the moisture at the corner of his mouth, then brushed his thumb over the angel's lower lip.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Sunshine." And the light that shone behind those stormcloud eyes was more radiant than the stars.

"Dean." Cas looked up at him with wonder, then surged up to plunder his mouth. They kissed with all of the passion they'd repressed for so long.

And Dean groaned as Cas gripped him tight and jacked him like they didn't have until the end of time to finally love each other true.

***

"For cryin' out loud, Bobby. It's not that I'm not happy for the two of them. I mean, it's about damn time that fool of a son of yours got his head out of his… but that's my fireplace they're defiling! And my menorah on the floor! You'd think they could show a little respect."

Bobby pointedly did not glance in the direction of Rufus's living room, did not need to see his boys finally taking that bull-headed last step.

"Let them be, ya’ idjit. They've given everything for this moment. And, yeah, I don't want to see Dean's naked ass, or what the angel's packin' either. But this is their place now, and we're the intruders."

Rufus reached for his bottle of Johnny. "Do you think he knows?"

Pushing an empty glass over to his friend, Bobby nodded. "He knows. He's finally letting himself have the life, the love he's always turned away from. Maybe it's not orthodox, but this is his heaven. And he's finally free."

He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, fighting back the grief for the sacrifice his boys made. If they could carry on, grab their peace by the throat and run with it… well, they'd goddamn earned every minute.

Bobby picked up the glass, now two fingers full of amber liquid, and raised it in a toast. "Happy Hanukkah, you damn drama queen."

Rufus clinked his glass to Bobby's and replied, "Merry Christmas, you old coot."

Their grins turned to grimaces as loud thumping started from the other room.

Your memory will carry on...

End Notes: I wanted to play with the idea of fathers. Some of you might not be thrilled with my portrayal of John here, but this is coming from a place of serious contemplation for Dean. And I liked the idea of him shedding the darkness and hurt he's carried for so long, that in his personal heaven, he's free of that burden and can finally fly unafraid.

I love the idea that he's open to love, in all of its myriad forms. Because without John Winchester, who knows if Dean would have had Bobby Singer as his surrogate father, Rufus as his crazy uncle, Cas as his guardian angel?

I wish you all a wonderful holiday season, and truly hope 2020 brings you amazing things!

[krumbine]

Karen Finds a Hobby

Find a hobby, they said.

Explore your interests. Expand your horizons. Enrich your life.

With gritted teeth, Karen heaved.

White knuckled grip.

An axe blade whistled through the air.

WHUUUFF!

The axe lodged deep into the purely decorative wall dividing Karen’s kitchen from her dining room. Karen swiped a rogue strand of straight blonde hair off her face and looked at the half-buried blade. She gave the handle a tug but the axe didn’t budge.

Great.

At first she wasn’t sure the axe would even work on the wall. Now she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get the axe out of the wall.

Karen felt like screaming.

So she did.

As she screamed, she grabbed the rubber grip of the axe with both hands and yanked furiously. The axe shifted, wiggled, and finally pulled free. The force of Karen’s pull sent her tumbling backwards, tripping over a rug, and falling to the ground.

The axe spun weightless for what looked like minutes before crashing down, blade-first, right towards the delicate features of Karen’s 32-year-old face.

The blade thunked into the wood floor, a centimeter from where Karen’s head had been. She blinked as a blind rage boiled in her belly. She grabbed the axe handle and rolled to her feet.

Another furious yank and the axe came up out of the floor. Karen squatted down and inspected the splintered gash in the wood. She ran her fingers across the cut. The wood floors had been less than two years old–a massive upgrade from the cheap beige tile her house had come with.

She and Conrad had endless arguments about the wood floors. They bought the house with the intent of piecemeal renovations. Conrad had been agreeable at first, but each time they talked about price, he pushed her to consider a cheaper option.

Wood floors weren’t cheap.

Karen insisted that if the whole plan was to upgrade, then what the fuck was the point of upgrading to cheaper aesthetics?

***

“My house is my hobby.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you haven’t seen it, but it’s definitely a fixer-upper. The only things worth saving are the walls, and–actually, nevermind––”

“Oh?”

“There’s this one wall––it’s not structural or anything–it divides the dining room and kitchen. I can’t fucking stand it. I said when we bought the house, this wall comes down. I always wanted the open floor plan but Conrad wanted a cheap house. Okay, fine––we buy the house but the wall comes down.”

“The wall never came down?”

“The wall never came down. Like a goddamn analogy for my life.”

“Metaphor.”

“What?”

“The wall––it’s a metaphor. An analogy is more of a literal comparison––you know, nevermind. How do you feel the wall represents your life?”

“How does it––it’s a wall. It keeps blocking me from the things that I want. Just like Conrad.”

“Mmmh.”

“And his goddamn puzzles.”

“His puzzles blocked you from what you wanted?”

“That’s not what I mean–you’re just––he needed an entire room dedicated to them. Storage, multiple tables, and don’t get me started on the framed puzzles he hung on the walls. I said to him––go ahead, do whatever the fuck you want, just keep it in puzzle room.”

“Most people have rooms dedicated to their hobbies.”

“Sure. But then it started spilling out. On the kitchen table. In the living room in front of the TV. He set a card table up in the bedroom!”

“Do you resent Conrad for his hobby? Do you feel like he’s shoving his hobby in your face?”

“I have a hobby. My house.”

“Karen, the problem with treating your house as a hobby is that eventually the floors are done. The cabinets are refinished. The bathroom counters replaced. And then what are you left with? Tearing all apart and doing it over again? A hobby should take you out of yourself. Enrich your life. Distract you from reality.”

“That’s what I get from my house.”

“What was the last book you read?”

“Who has time to read anymore?”

“Did you ever puzzle with Conrad?”

“I have my own hobbies.”

“You have your house.”

“It’s my hobby!”

•••

Karen took a long sip of a red wine as she leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at the only thing between her and her open floor plan.

The gash in the wall seemed unfairly insignificant.

The axe was clearly not the right tool for the job, but it was what she had. She had found it in a corner of the garage, no idea why Conrad had it in the first place.

More importantly, it had felt good to swing the axe.

Enrich your life. Distract yourself from reality.

When that blade sliced through the air, a second stretched into minutes. Dopamine flooded Karen’s skull. Electricity shot through her extremities.

The ultimate distraction.

It might not have been the right tool to demolish a wall, but it had proven to be a hell of a lot of fun.

•••

An hour later, a good chunk of the damned wall had been hacked away and Karen sat on an overturned bucket, axe handle against her thigh.

She switched from wine to water as she worked to catch her breath.

•••

“I think the problem is that you’re letting all of these anxieties overwhelm you––”

“Last I checked, that’s what anxieties do––”

“And if the house is a source of anxiety, it can’t be a very good hobby.”

“The house isn’t the source of anxiety. It was Conrad.”

“Be that as it may, you need a distraction. A happy little distraction. You need to balance your life so the anxieties don’t overwhelm.”

“I thought that was why I was talking to you.”

“What other things interest you?”

“Why do you always go back to that?”

“You’ve never given me a thoughtful answer.”

“Wedding. Husband. House.”

“Surely there’s more. Talk to me about your job.”

“Fuck me. Aren’t we at an hour yet?”

“Let me ask one more question?”

“What?”

“Why do you keep referring to Conrad in the past tense?”

•••

The axe had absolutely been the wrong tool for the job. But it was a hell of a lot of fun to swing.

Karen was convinced her therapist had been wrong. She had felt zero anxiety as she hacked away at the wall and she had felt so distracted that the hour had passed in a blink of an eye.

She looked past the remains of the wall and into the dining room where a large, red cooler sat in the corner.

A spark of enlightenment tickled Karen’s brain.

Shit, maybe the therapist had been right.

The wall wasn’t the key. It wasn’t even the house. Everything had been an anxious mess until …

… until Karen had swung the axe.

Demolishing the wall wasn’t the hobby. Swinging the axe was.

The axe had always been the common denominator in the “happy distraction” formula.

The wall. Conrad. Her therapist.

Swing the axe.

Expand your horizons.

Chop-chop-chop.

Enrich your life.

Hack away.

Embrace a new hobby

What a happy little distraction.

###

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jordan Krumbine is a professional video editor, digital artist, and creative wizard currently quarantined in Kissimmee, Florida. When not producing content for the likes of Visit Orlando, Orlando Sentinel, or AAA National, Jordan is probably yelling at a stubbornly defective Macbook keyboard, tracking creative projects in Trello, and animating quirky videos with LEGO and other various toys.

Leave a dollar in the Tip Jar: https://ko-fi.com/krumbine

Short stories: https://bit.ly/2XY5D7I Books on Amazon Kindle: https://amzn.to/3bsqK5Y YouTube: https://bit.ly/2W41nSG Twitter: https://bit.ly/2VH0Vbu Facebook: https://bit.ly/2VpnylZ LinkedIn: https://bit.ly/2xnmk1e

http://www.krumbco.com

[marrella-splendens]

some story bits

so I realized some of y’all really liked the writing snippets I had been sharing lately, so maybe against my better judgement I’m going to just share the most recent few chunks I have written, so that you have some delicious context for my gay alien adventure bullshit

---

it looked almost like somebody had taken a soup can the size of a small aircraft and kicked its guts out, smearing shattered slivers of cold metal across space, twinkling in the sunlight. she thought mostly that it looked very old. a cylinder? really? that was some old-school tech. and here it was, most definitely dead. she approached carefully, keeping a safe distance, trying to gauge the extent of the damage. whoever kicked the guts out of this particular soup can did a pretty good job; maybe only 40% of the exterior remained intact, or at the very least still connected together in what seemed like its original configuration. what remained was a neat array of solar panels and various antennae, but that was surface stuff. she wanted to get at that gooey center.

she thrusted her craft a bit closer, careful not to disturb the debris field too much. she prodded her fingers in the air, starting up a spectral scan to see what she was dealing with. it was a good first step, before you had to get too close and touch anything. by now she figured she had enough muscle memory to do it in her sleep. she hoped she’d never have to do that. it was against safety regulations.

there was a considerable amount of data to analyze. as the onboard computers hummed away, she herself had trouble parsing the mess in front of her. certain components were stripped off, dangling in space, tangled together and torn at odd angles, her ship’s lights casting odd shadows further down. this didn’t look like an ordinary impact, but just to be sure, she requested a schematic from hq. a few seconds later a holographic and decidedly intact version of the sat appeared on her display. she prodded at it to get the exploded diagram, and looked back and forth at the real deal in front of her. things were definitely not as they should be; that much was obvious.

the comms link crackled open. “hey scout, everything okay? just noticed you nabbed the specs for that old wreck.”

“yeah yeah, okay but weird,” she replied, cringing a little. she didn’t like having to use comms. “looks a little busted up but I wanna get a closer look, if that’s alright?”

a slight pause, then, “fair enough, just be sure to get a prognosis soon; we got a tight schedule to keep.”

“copy that,” she said. she wouldn’t need very long to get a proper report to send back to the scrappers. it certainly looked like it was gonna be scrapped, one way or another. her console let out a little chime, and she frowned. something in there had an unfamiliar spectrum. not entirely unheard of, but it was enough to make her start to sweat. something felt off, but this was too interesting to pass up. she wasn’t gonna send along an incomplete report.

slowly, almost daintily, she nudged her craft in the direction of the anomalous signal, using several grabber arms to push aside loose material in her way. several chunks of metal clunked against the hull, one even bouncing off the clear bubble surrounding her, making her jump. the signal, however, got clearer. it was getting darker; the only illumination now coming from her ship.

but even in that meager light, she could see it. something very dark, metallic, almost… slimy? was it a meteor? no, far too smooth to be a meteor. it was deep in there, hidden between various defunct components. she was certain that this was what had crashed into the sat, and why she was here. the spectral scans were still a bit confused. the pit in her stomach deepened but she had a job to do, and she dug her way in closer.

there didn’t seem to be a clear line of impact; no single path it could have taken to find itself in its current position. like it had wormed its way in there. like it was there on purpose. she got the distinct feeling that she was seeing something new, and that was terrifying. more terrifying was that she’d have to call this in. over comms. god dammit.

“hey uh,” she began, not a good start. “I’ve got something really weird here; could use a second opinion?” she started the necessary procedure to send her data back, but a smattering of red lights on her console stopped her in her tracks.

“no communication line available or open,” said a pleasant computerized voice, from somewhere beside her. “opening line of sight recommended.”

but she did have line of sight, behind her. she wasn’t that deep in; there would be comsats that could pick her up right here, surely. she had just used them, after all. but no, nothing. she’d have to back out; try again. she gently nudged on the thrusters to take her clear of this mess. she was just about done here anyway.

a puff of cold gas erupted from an rcs node, but stopped itself short with an alarming thunk, just as half her console lights turned red or completely off. her skiff started backwards, bumped into something outside her vision, and stopped. her heads-up display wasn’t functioning, but a couple remaining lights and that familiar electric humming told her that her main circuit wasn’t busted, and life support was still functional. unfortunately, nothing else appeared to be.

she tried desperately to remain calm, and remember her training. that didn’t really happen though, so she panicked, flicking toggle switches back and forth, hoping that maybe something would respond. she didn’t dare attempt a full reset of her power supply; there was no assurance that it would come back on if she turned it off. so she was stuck. it was just her in this bubble, until her air ran out. speaking of which, she eyed her helmet, strapped in next to her. she pulled it free, fidgeted with it a little. it wouldn’t necessarily save her from an explosive decompression event, but if her air ran out, her flight suit could keep her going a little longer. and it gave her an out. if she dared go out.

her eyes remained fixed on the object, in the center of her vision. she had been crying, she just noticed, and her tears detached and floated a little ways in front of her. she swatted at them, rubbed them into her flight harness before they caused any further unexpected fucking problems. she didn’t break eye contact with the object. at this point she was sure it was to blame here. “if this is aliens,” she said quietly to herself, “I’m gonna lose my entire shit.” no better theories came to mind.

her eyes were locked. before, it had seemed, she was focusing due to panic, and a lack of anything else to do. but she realized that even if she tried, she could not pull them away. she continued to cry, her eyes beginning to sting. almost without thinking, she pulled her flight helmet over her head, breaking eye contact for a painful fraction of a second. more tears welled up, as she fumbled with the latch, trying to find a seal, as more tears broke away and floated around her head annoyingly. she couldn’t do much about them at this point; barely noticed them.

she began to realize that she could feel them. eyes, not hers. directly ahead. keeping her steady and focused. burning into her. a pressure, like they were forced up against hers, but she couldn’t see them. nothing but that unchanging shiny black surface. but they were there, she knew. she could feel them. she couldn’t stop crying. she was so very very stuck.

her vision grew hazy. she never thought it would end quite like this, but isn’t that why she came up here? to die? or was it to live? she forgot. could barely think about anything but the pressure and pain, now pressing around her entire skull, squeezing the thought from her. did anybody back at hq know she was stuck? it would take them hours to make it here, if they knew to come. they would just think she was late, probably.

she saw them. oh god, she saw them. two eyes, like hers. against hers. black pupils, like awkward angular slits in deep red irises. nothing else. then something snapped and she was gone.

---

the pressure was gone, the pain gone. but she couldn’t see a goddamned thing. she was still in her flight suit, which was a small comfort. she tried to move, to turn on her headlamp, but she couldn’t. oh well, perhaps that was wishful thinking. but yes, she definitely seemed to be restrained, somehow. she couldn’t feel any straps or bonds holding her, but she could wiggle her fingers, her toes. she could move herself a little bit, so she wasn’t paralyzed. she could even move her head around, but that did nothing, because she couldn’t see. she felt bizarrely calm, and rested. but disoriented, like waking up from an overly long nap. she took a few deep breaths.

she couldn’t hear much of anything. it was strangely silent here. there was a slight crinkling from her suit when she moved, but the sound was dulled, mostly coming from its interior. she felt something beneath her, some sort of surface. she tried to tap on it, but didn’t feel anything solid, only a sort of increasing resistance. a force field? oh god, it was aliens, wasn’t it. humans, at least no humans she knew of, possessed that level of technology, though she suspected they might be at the edge of it. nothing like this though.

she cleared her throat to speak, in a sudden burst of unexpected courage. “pardon me? hello?” she felt dumb, saying it. felt like somebody in a movie. she didn’t have any better ideas though.

for several minutes, nothing happened. she kept her breathing as steady as she could. she didn’t know how much air her suit had left, so she was going to assume it was something worth conserving. she wasn’t gone yet, at any rate. she would stick around as long as she could. suddenly, she could feel something else. she wasn’t entirely sure how she could feel it, besides she could. not unlike earlier, but not painful either.

regardless, she was certain she was no longer alone. she still couldn’t see anything though. she spoke again, almost surprising herself. “hello? I’m sorry, but I can’t see you. somebody is there, right?” she almost pleaded for mercy, but stopped herself. she didn’t want to make any assumptions.

there was a strange noise in front of her, the first time she heard anything besides herself this whole time, actually. it sounded, remarkably, like speech. not human speech. that probably should have alarmed her, but it didn’t. in fact, somewhere inside her, she could almost understand it. not the words, not exactly, but the meaning. something about light. a response, then.

slowly, very slowly, the pitch darkness around her began to abate, giving way to a still very dark greyness. but now she could see her. her? she wasn’t quite sure how she knew that, of all things. but there she was, outlined in the murkiness. a surprisingly humanoid figure; four arms, two legs. a halo of messy hair around her head, unbidden by gravity. what looked like extremely sharp teeth, glinting gently in the dark. and those eyes. those beautiful red eyes, no longer pressing into hers, painfully, but looking, just looking. maybe even concerned, but this was an alien, so how the hell was she supposed to tell. but she felt it, maybe. a hesitation.

the alien spoke again, clearer, louder this time. the words unfamiliar but fitting into her mind as speech, not random noise. “ûnnoth, ûtköghëd?” she asked, her voice raspy. I’m sorry, are you hurt?

at this point, she didn’t bother questioning her ability to understand. she was very far out of her depth. “no, I’m not hurt,” she began. reconsidered. maybe she didn’t really care how they could communicate like this, but she wanted to find out, anyway. she realized she might be in the middle of a first contact scenario - very likely was - and wanted to get more information if she could. if it mattered. “actually, though, I am curious how we can talk to each other like this. I’ve never, well.” she blushed, out of fear or embarrassment or something else, she wasn’t sure. “I’ve never spoken to somebody who was not a human before. so...” she trailed off. glad to know she was at the top of her conversational game right now.

well you see, she began, her words unfamiliar but ringing true in her mind regardless, we have some special tech for that. just so, she said, tapping the side of her head. implants. yes? also, and she turned to the side, slight trepidation radiating from her, I have studied what I can of your languages. to some extent.

“oh,” she asked, suddenly curious. “really? I wonder what that would sound like.” and after a second of consideration: “sorry, not to be mean or anything. I just want to know. I’m sure it’s fine!”

she turned back to face her, red eyes impenetrable. “ǔ sfîk ingliss, ës? aî khan sfîk litl ingliss, vot nat sô gud.” she pointed to her teeth. “thîdh get in vê. nat gud at lif saunds. hǔvans al lokhî, khan ǔs lifs thû sfîk vith.” she stopped, and caught her breath. her teeth did, in fact, get in the way. she wasn’t sure if that made her unlucky, though. just different.

admittedly, that was extremely cute, but she held back laughter in case it would be misinterpreted. “your english is just fine, don’t worry. but you can switch back if you’re more comfortable.”

yes, yes, I think that might be best. she made a head movement that might have been a nod, or something along those lines.

“so,” she began, worried about breaching a potentially uncomfortable subject, “I do not know where I am, and I cannot move. I don’t suppose you could… elaborate on that.”

oh! she said, with a sound that seemed like genuine surprise. yes, I am sorry, just basic precautions you understand. this is quite a situation. quite a situation! I’m afraid I cannot disclose many details to you, I’m sure you would understand. but you are safe, I have made sure of this. she looked at her intently. I’m sorry for detaining you like this. when your craft approached, I panicked. you see… she trailed off, reconsidered. I had to make sure you were not a threat. I can see now that you are, at the very least, not an obvious one. but I cannot be fully sure. I apologize in advance, but I may need to keep you here for some time.

she took a second to process this. “that makes sense, but as you might have noticed, I was in contact with my company just prior to…” no, she was not going to say “abduction.” even if that’s what it was. “prior to this lovely visit, and it would take them a while to realize I might be in danger, and hours more for them to send a crew here to rescue me, but they will come here eventually. I agree that this is, as you put it, quite a situation, and I worry it would become quite more of a situation if this-” she tried to gesture around but only wiggled, “was discovered.”

the alien backed away slightly, two of her arms grabbing on to unseen handholds behind her, and her head turning to look at something apparently only she could see, with her long hair lazily following. oh kind human, you have no reason to worry. I am not sure how much you gathered about my vessel when you first approached it, or if you even knew exactly what you were looking at, but you may have noticed that it is much larger in here than it is out there, so to speak. similarly, time is very much compressed. we are in no rush. in fact, you had been sleeping for some time; after I… gathered you from your craft, I, well. she turned back towards her, an unfamiliar expression on her face. I am sorry but I may have dosed you. just a little! I promise, it was not much, you just seemed terribly upset and I was concerned that could be a problem. you probably feel a bit calmer now, I imagine, yes? and the rest helped, I hope. it didn’t show on her face but the sensation was very apologetic. she was still getting used to that.

and drugs did make sense. she was indeed fairly calm, and in fact wanted to stay that way. she was still worried, though. but this was going a lot better than she originally thought it might. and she had time, apparently. this was good. even better was the fact that her eyes were starting to fully adjust to the light.

her surroundings were still fairly obscured; she imagined there wouldn’t be a lot to see even in full light within these soft dark curves, like velvet, with very few indications of functionality besides the occasional place to grab on to. her companion was, unsurprisingly, the most interesting thing (or person, in this case) in the room. she had noticed how large she was before, not in any sort of imposing way, but certainly more bulky than she was herself. now she could see the outlines of muscles on her arms, which formed unfamiliar configurations beneath her skin, which appeared to be made up of tiny dark blue scales. from the gaps between the scales grew fine black hairs, which were thickest around her head and back, and if she looked closely she could see patches that had been delicately braided with the help of dark purple crystalline beads.

the fact that she had four arms had been pretty obvious at first, but her hands each had six fingers, with a second opposing thumb on the other side. practical, she thought. the rest of her body was either out of view or hidden behind her clothing, which seemed to consist of a loose wrapping of dark fabric which waved gently at her slightest movements. her face was undeniably alien, with large red eyes with triangular pupils, and several rows of sharp protruding teeth underneath a large, flattish nose. somewhere in her tangle of hair were nubs of skin that might have been ears, but it was hard to tell.

maybe it was the drugs, but she had to admit, this alien babe was incredibly attractive. nah, that wasn’t the drugs. that was good taste. regardless, she felt a little overdressed. that is to say, claustrophobic. “hey so uh, can I take my helmet off? partly because I can’t move much at all and also I don’t know if it would be safe. would it be safe?”

oh, right! she replied, with a chittering noise that seemed to pass for laughter. I’m sorry, it had honestly slipped my mind. yes, it would be safe. we breathe basically the same stuff, and I scanned you for the usual bugs and immune problems either of us might have. at least breathing the same air should be safe, yes. I just didn’t want to remove your clothing without your permission; I was going to ask but I got all caught up playing interrogator. more laughter. sorry, that’s a bad joke. you can take your helmet off if you want.

suddenly she could feel the restraining fields around her arms weaken, and she moved to take her helmet off, fumbling with the latch. her ears popped a little as she pulled it off, but besides that, she was not in any immediate distress. she took in a tentative breath of air. hrm. it tasted smoky, and metallic. and somewhat minty. weird. “thank you,” she said, quite earnestly.

it is no trouble, kind human. in fact, there’s hardly any reason to keep you stuck there anymore, is there. I am sorry about that as well. she waved her hand vaguely in her direction, and the rest of the fields fell away.

ah, she could move again. she reached below her, felt the actual surface there, which was about as soft and spongy as she had imagined it to be. “I have to admit, you have a much nicer spaceship than me. by a long shot.” she reached up and pulled her hair tie out. “I’ve no use for this at the moment, to hell with it.” to hell with safety regulations, to be specific. but these were exceptional circumstances, she was sure.

more cute alien giggles. it would seem we are both bending the rules. she ran three hands through her considerable mane of hair. but it seems, we’re both quite in the thick of it now. she climbed her way across a nearby wall, settling in beside her at a comfortable distance. more personable now. less imposing. this is indeed an interesting situation. you see, by taking you here, by even having this conversation, I am almost definitely breaching at least one galactic treaty, and as you could probably imagine this puts me in quite the predicament. sort of a difficult situation. tell me, she said, fidgeting slightly, what is your name, kind human? I feel impolite at this point not knowing. I understand entirely if that is not something you are willing to divulge.

“it’s maria,” she said, wondering why she hadn’t thought to introduce herself earlier. she had been somewhat caught up in the whole alien thing. she was still somewhat caught up in it. “what about you, kind host?”

she slowly blinked. flower, she said. though, maria suspected, that was only the meaning of it, because of her implant. the word she had spoken was “adsun”. it was a pretty name.

“well, adsun,” the alien name rolling ungracefully off her tongue, “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. if you were a human I would probably shake your hand, but I’m not quite sure what is appropriate here.”

adsun wiggled, obviously quite delighted. oh, oh I am familiar with this! we do not do it ourselves, no, but I admit I do have some human cultural knowledge, and, well, I have to say I have been wanting to try it, and now is just the perfect opportunity. it would be an honor, maria. she stuck out a hand, reconsidered, and offered her other hand on the same side, seemingly unsure which would work better.

“cool cool, hold on a sec.” she was going to shake hands with an alien. an alien girl, for that matter. she was very glad for the calming effect these drugs had on her. she would need to ask about those later. for now, she popped one of her flight suit gloves off, letting it dangle at the cuff, and wiped her gross sweaty palm on her leg before leaning in and giving adsun the best approximation of a human handshake her shy sheltered ass could possibly muster. which, based on her wiggly reaction, was probably a good one. she couldn’t help but notice how soft and fuzzy adsun’s snakelike skin was.

oh! exquisite. yes. thank you, maria. she let go, moved away slightly. considering. in her ship, with its time-bending effect on reality, she probably had plenty of time to sit and think. she couldn’t help but envy her for that. I don’t suppose… and you’ve really been so kind to me so far, very patient, and I appreciate that very much, but perhaps, if you would indulge me just a moment, we could, well. my version of a handshake, I suppose.

maria nodded. “absolutely, though I can’t say I’m coming into this with the sort of knowledge you do.”

she pointed to her forehead. we put our foreheads together. that’s basically it. but only if you want.

in lieu of a spoken answer, maria pulled herself up to adsun, placing her forehead against hers. it was… very warm. wow. she barely resisted the urge to touch her hair, but that wasn’t worth the risk right now.

adsun let out a rumble, like a low purr. oh maria, how you indulge me. thank you.

“no problem at all,” she said as they parted. “now we can get down to business. I feel like you might want to explain more about that whole, you know, galactic treaty thing. that you are probably breaking.”

oh, yes, of course. she shifted her position, fidgeted. well, you humans are, for now, though I cannot foresee what might happen in the near future because of this, but for now you are quite sheltered. you occupy a certain quasi-official status as a galactic civilization, but as you have been, well, mostly uncontacted, that status is provisional until you can join the rest of us at our level. she turned, scratched an itch on her back. I do not mean to imply, kind maria, that this “level” I speak of is a technological one. no, I simply am referring to whether or not you are active members of the galactic community. ideally, contact is made around the time a civilization is able to effectively travel or communicate with nearby civilizations. this is done in as careful a manner as possible. until such time as the community at large is willing to make ourselves known and contact you on an official level, you have a provisional protected status. no contact is to be made beyond the major official one. ideally.

as you can probably guess, what is occurring right now is technically a form of contact, and this puts me in a lot of trouble. you, however, are in no trouble at all. that does not necessarily make this easy for either of us, though. and I am sorry to have put you in this situation. she looked maria dead in the eyes, now. truly, I am. because I have to admit now, that this was all quite on purpose. I am sorry. she looked away. embarrassed. upset. you see, there are certain exceptions in the treaty, that allow… well. very one-sided affairs. for purely scientific purposes, you understand. most pre-contact species have a history of purported alien abductions or appearances, and you humans are no different, and while most of those cases for most of us can be explained away as the misinterpretation of the mundane, some, I must admit, are real. it is allowed, to a certain extent. as I said. for scientific purposes. this is, quite obviously, not that. I apologize. she backed away now, folded a pair of arms together. worried.

maria needed some time to process this. “so this isn’t for scientific purposes.”

no, no. these days we can study you from quite a distance, if we want. which we do. to keep tabs. we do our best not to pry into small details, to respect privacy, but it is in the interests of the galactic community to make sure you are safe from interference. and also. well. to make sure you are not a threat.

“so, do you think we are a threat?” she asked, trying not to let the worry bleed into her voice. probably not succeeding.

silence, for a minute. no, she began, slowly, but we are not sure. perhaps mostly, you are a threat to yourselves. I do not mean to insult you, kind maria. but humans have not been very kind to humans. we are torn, to some degree, between respecting our distance and letting you do your own thing, and also keeping you safe. the consensus, as it almost always tends to be, eventually fell towards stepping back. observing from a distance. waiting to see how you do. not interfering. she shook her head, seemingly upset. I do not subscribe to that particular mode of thought. I admit, I am fond of you humans. you have the potential to be strong friends. in the future. but you have been going through quite a rough patch. for quite some time. we are told to stay impartial, always impartial. I cannot remain so. I suppose I am at fault, for that. if one can be said to be at fault for caring. even so, I felt like I had to do something. so I came here.

“you came here, and you found me. of all people!” maria laughed. “why? I mean it seems clear you want to do something, and I certainly appreciate that. I absolutely agree that we are being unkind to ourselves. it is…” she tried to find the right words to say. she didn’t feel like having a political rant in front of an alien, not just yet anyway. “it is supremely unbalanced. and physically, the danger up here is considerable. my job, as you could probably have guessed, is to try to reduce that danger. I came to this busted satellite to assess its potential for scrap. either way, we need it out of orbit. we need so many things out of orbit. our work, as they say, is never truly finished.” she looked at adsun, searching for something in her stoic expression. she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. but something else clicked in her head, at that moment. “you wanted to find a scrapper, didn’t you? one of us?”

adsun made a hand gesture; agreement. just so. not you in particular, obviously. just the first person to come by. to see what had happened to this thing. suddenly, a wave of concern came off of her. oh, just to be clear, I did not destroy this satellite. I would not have made matters worse, I assure you. I just waited for one of sufficient size to get put out of commission. as you said yourself, the work is never truly finished, and I did not need to wait particularly long. I wiggled my ship in here the moment I noticed I had a way in. but I did take you on purpose. and I am sorry I had to restrain you like I did. I know my remark about interrogation was a joke, but, and she turned towards maria, closer now, I do in fact wish to ask you some questions. I think the proper word would be… an interview. yes. just so. up to you, of course.

“wait, so…” the pieces were starting to come together. somewhat. still many missing, but a pattern was becoming clear. “you aren’t here to do science. but you… you’re a…”

I am a journalist, adsun replied, finishing her sentence for her. just so. perhaps not what you were expecting, yes? I am here to make a case to my people. to the community, so to speak. a case for assistance, even if mild. perhaps an accelerated plan towards contact. an intervention. I am still not entirely sure what is to be done myself. but I figured sitting back and watching would not be entirely beneficial. I wanted to speak with one of you. and I have already learned so very much, kind maria. I understand this is so very much to ask of you, but it would be my utmost honor to use you as a source, to help build my case, such as it is.

“I uh. sure, yes.”

before you respond, I, oh. she had not expected such a sudden response. are you sure? this is not something to enter into lightly. I do not know if this would get you into trouble due to the treaty or not, and as for your own human laws, I am most certainly unsure. this is unfamiliar territory. she shifted slightly. fidgety again. nervous. also you should know that the dose I gave you has long worn off. I would not have asked of you something of such gravity unless your mind was as clear as possible, but if there is residual stress you can delay your answer. either way would be fine.

it did in fact come as a surprise to maria that she had been clearheaded for some time now, at least as far as her body was concerned. she was much more calm than usual, but perhaps the cozy dark silence of this craft was doing her some actual good. and sharing space with adsun was not as frightening as she might have thought. slight panic began to rise up within her, but she settled it down, took a few deep breaths.

this was, she knew, extremely dangerous. this whole situation was. but for the first time in a long long time, she felt something like hope. like something could change, like she could actually begin to help. it was worth the risk. and she felt a spark of bravery growing within her. one she had been trying to kindle for so very long. she reached over and gave adsun’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, hoping desperately that it would not be taken poorly. that soft purring noise seemed to imply she was in the clear. “kind adsun,” she said, “I’ll do it.”

ah, very good! potent waves of happiness washed over her. we have so much to discuss. let us begin.

[xsparklingravenx]

Shadow Mine 5

Title: Shadow Mine

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Characters: Hank, Connor, Fowler, Sumo

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,263

Summary: It's a dead end. With no leads to go on, Hank and Connor find themselves lost in their investigation, nothing left to do but return home. Instead, Hank tries to get through to his partner and help him through the intricacies of personhood. It's a long road ahead of them, and is this only the calm before the storm...?

AO3

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

Hank was starting to wonder if this day was ever going to actually end.

It was late, the sun having set by now. Jeffery Fowler sat in front of him, looking down at his tablet with narrow eyes, his mouth a thin line. Hank’s report was on there; paperwork was no longer done on actual paper anymore, but that was how it was now. When Hank had been young, everyone always said that everything would be electronic in the future. Sometimes, he forgot that he was living in that future. Even his own partner was wire and plastic instead of flesh and bone.

“So the long and short of it is,” Fowler said after he’d spent a good five minutes going through Hank’s work, “we’ve got sweet fuck all.”

“Pretty much.” Hank replied. His shoulder was aching something awful. Was it time for his pills yet? Had to be. “I mean, we could’ve had something, but you thought it’d be a good idea to put that fire cracking piece of shit Gavin on the case too. I thought you wanted ‘the best’, not, ‘the bottom of the fucking barrel’.”

“Reed’s a good detective,” Fowler said, but Hank could practically hear ‘when he wants to be’ hanging in the air after the statement. “This isn’t a game, Lieutenant. You know how this is going to look if we can’t solve it? We’ve got a good man dead and an android gone too. Everyone’s on high alert.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Hank said, barely biting back his anger. “Shit, Jeffrey, we’ve got no damn motive. All we know is her model number and vaguely what she looks like, but there could be a hundred other androids out there that are her spitting image. Dammit it, this is gonna do more harm to them all as a whole, public ain’t gonna take lightly to this.”

Hank didn’t know much about Markus other than what he’d seen on TV and what Connor had told him, but he had to admire the dedication that he’d put into the immense task of fighting for his people’s rights. An incident like this was only going to be one big ugly mark on everything his revolution had stood for, was only going to damage the message Markus had been sending. Fowler leant forward on his desk, chin on his linked hands, and sighed. “The analysis on the bullets found in both Glennister and Zack is still in progress, so we’re hoping there’ll be a match on the gun to help us find the suspect. In the meantime, we’ve got jack shit to go on. Go home, Hank. There’s nothing else we can do right now.”

Hank scoffed. “No way. This ain’t over, Jeffrey, there’s gotta be something—”

“If there was, I’d be working your ass off on it. You’re still injured, Hank, you shouldn’t even be here. Get the hell out of my office and go home. I’ll call if anything comes up.”

Hank genuinely wanted to fight him on it. Logically, he knew he was right, knew that there really wasn’t anything to be done, but damn if it didn’t still piss him off. How could one android manage to kill not one, but two members of the DPD and still manage to evade them?

It was easy to blame Gavin, but Hank knew that the AX400 would have probably escaped even if the detective hadn’t nearly gotten himself killed by running out into traffic. Emotions had been high, and because of it Decker hadn’t noticed that the AX400 had never left the scene. There’d been no warning that she’d been there. Hank had assumed that forensics would have scoped the area out before actually starting any kind of investigation. None of them had been ready for a chase.

He left the office and found Connor at his desk opposite Hank’s, flipping his coin up and down. Hank had asked him why he did the tricks once, and Connor had given him some longwinded explanation about recalibration alongside other android jargon that Hank didn’t understand. It was bullshit anyway. He thought that Connor did it because he enjoyed the rhythmic action of it, an act of deviance long before he’d officially broken out of his programming.

A cup of coffee was on Hank’s own desk, still steaming, freshly made. Hank grabbed it by the handle and took a careful swig. It was black, perfectly to his liking. It burned a soothing path down his throat. “You made this?” he asked.

Connor wasn’t listening to him. His eyes were focused on the coin, watching it as he went up and down. “I don’t understand.” he said. “First a human, now an android. It makes no sense. Why would the type of target change? Has the MO changed?”

Clink. Clink. The coin hit his fingers and he threw it in the air again. Again. “She was angry, I think.” Clink. “But also, she held so little regard for her own life. When she ran into the road, I don’t think she was attempting to get Gavin to follow her.” Clink. “No. She was just trying to escape and she didn’t care if she died trying.”

Hank didn’t speak, just kept his mouth shut for once. Connor’s eyes stayed on the coin the entire time, tracking it up and down. “If she doesn’t care for her own life, that suggests she has little to live for. But why take the lives of law enforcement? Why attack and kill her own people? I can’t understand it. I feel like I’m…”

“Hitting a wall?” Hank suggested, putting the coffee mug down in front of Connor. “Yeah, I get that. I’m feeling the same way.”

The thunk of the coffee mug diverted his attention away from his coin. He looked at the steaming mug, and then closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair. When he said nothing, Hank decided to pursue a different line of questioning. “You made the coffee for me?”

“I thought it was better than you returning home to a bottle of alcohol.” Connor said, keeping his eyes closed. “I checked it myself before serving to make sure it matched the coffee you usually make for yourself at home.”

Hank suddenly regretted drinking it. “You put your goddamn fingers in my coffee for a taste-test?”

“No.” Connor’s lips quirked upwards slightly. “But I would be lying if I said I hadn’t considered doing so, and we both know you can apparently tell when I’m not being entirely truthful.”

Well, that was a relief. Hank took another swig, and then sat in his chair. “So tell me Connor,” he said. “What the hell possessed you to run out into that fucking road today?”

Connor’s eyes flicked open again. He was leant so far back in his chair now that he was practically reclining. Staring up at the ceiling, he folded his arms across his chest. “My chance of catching the suspect was far lower than successfully rescuing Gavin, so I chose the option with the better prospects.”

“Okay, great. Glad to hear what your programming thinks.” Hank said. “Now let’s hear what you were really thinking.”

Connor blinked several times in succession. Hank couldn’t see his LED from this angle, which made it more difficult to gauge just how stressful Connor found the question. He rarely showed his emotions on his face. “I was thinking that I would regret it if I let Gavin die there when I knew I could save him. I didn’t want to feel that way. But I…” Connor frowned. “I was scared.”

Hank raised his eyebrows, but waited. It was human nature to want to fill silence with chatter. If he left it long enough, he hoped that the deviant in Connor would respond to that want, and lo and behold, he did. “I realised that by saving Gavin, I would be putting myself in a great deal of danger. When I ran into the road, I kept thinking, will this be the last thing I do? Will these cars be the last thing I hear? See? I’ve died before, but I didn’t really understand it then like I do now. My predecessor—the Connor that died in Stratford Tower—was he scared too?”

Hank remembered Connor throwing himself in the way of that gunfire, the way Hank had thought he might have survived only to pull his body up off the ground and find him riddled through with bullets. Though he knew Connor used to be able to back himself up infinitely, he’d never thought of the separate Connor’s as different beings, not like how Connor differentiated them now.

But was it so unlikely that the Connor sat before him was not the same one he’d met in the bar? The one that had held Hank hostage had been entirely different to his Connor despite sharing the exact same memories. What a chilling thought. He wasn’t drunk enough for this kind of chat.

“Fear’s a good thing, son.” Hank said, realising that Connor was not looking for an answer to his question. He’d dealt with him for long enough now to recognize the cues that Connor gave off, how to respond to him in a way that Connor would respond back to. Right now, he was unsure in a way only an android could be, still dealing with emotions that were new and complex. “Fear’s what keeps us alive. You were scared because you thought you might die, and that’s normal, Connor. The fact that you ran out into that road to save someone else even though you were scared? That was bravery. Fucking stupid and I could have killed you for it, but credit where credit’s due.”

Connor sat back up in the chair, leaning forward, his hands on his knees. “I think I needed to hear that.” he said softly. Mission accomplished, Hank thought. “What did the Captain tell you?”

“That we’ve got nothing and we should go home.” Hank sighed. “We’re still waiting on results and shit to come back, so I guess he’s probably right. You ready to head on back?”

Connor cast a longing gaze at the terminal on his desk. “No.” Hank said. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re not staying here to work yourself half to death over information we don’t have. We are going home to get some food and rest.” he paused. “Well, I’m going to bed. You’re going to do whatever it is you androids do when you’re tired.”

“I don’t get tired.” Connor said. “It’s impossible—”

“Connor,” Hank said, standing up. “Don’t fight me on this. We’re going.”

Connor looked like he wanted to argue the point, but he relented. “I’m driving?”

“Yeah, you’re driving. I don’t see me behind the wheel anytime soon.”

--

Sumo was waiting for them when they got back, ready to jump Connor as soon as they got through the door. Hank left them to their reunion and refilled his bowl for him before heading back to his room to change. Getting dressed one-armed was an absolute bitch. He couldn’t wait for it to heal.

When he went back to the kitchen, Connor had left out his pills for him. He was in the living room now, talking gently over the phone with someone. Hank caught wind of the words pepperoni and sausage and couldn’t help but laugh. If someone had told him this time last year that he’d have an android in his house ordering him pizza, Hank would have told them to put the bottle down and move on.

Hank downed the pills and leant on the doorframe. “What’s this?” he said. “You sure you didn’t hit your head when that AX400 shoved you over?”

Connor, who had taken up residency on his claimed side of the sofa, shook his head. “I ran a diagnostic after we returned to the office. I’m fully functional.”

Hank wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not. Connor often intentionally made it difficult to tell. “You say that, but here you are, ordering pizza. I was just going to chuck something in the microwave and then head to bed, you know. It ain’t like the pizza’s more healthy than whatever I could have made in five minutes.”

A beat. Connor looked rather sheepish. “I just thought it would be easier. If it isn’t to your liking, I can always cancel—”

“No, no, don’t do that.” Hank cut in quickly. “I was just saying, I thought it was weird. Usually you’re in there cooking up a storm out of whatever you’ve decided to bring home this time, I never even get a look in anymore. Always healthy and never fun, bleugh, I thought this was my house.”

“You still eat it though,” Connor pointed out. “Anyway, I decided that it would be more beneficial to the both of us if I ordered in. So I did.”

“Oh I get it.” Hank said, and he was grinning now. “That’s a fancy way of you trying to say I couldn’t be bothered. Don’t worry, Connor, you can say it, I’m not going to judge you.”

Connor crossed his arms, clearly offended. Hank outright laughed at him. “Go get changed,” he said. “I’m tired of seeing you in that uniform. It’s like work being at home with me and I just want to forget about what we don’t know right now. Also, I don’t know if you realise it, but the blue bits can get fucking obnoxious in low light. It’s giving me a headache.”

What Hank really wanted was for Connor to dump the jacket entirely. As far as he knew, most other androids had gotten rid of their uniforms already. Connor, however, still bore his model number and Cyberlife branding like a badge of pride. Why, Hank couldn’t figure out. Was the jacket that important? Or did Connor not yet feel like he’d integrated enough to remove it?

He came back in wearing a grey, long sleeved shirt and a black pair of trousers. It was the plainest outfit combo Hank had ever seen, and yet it was a miracle he’d ever gone that far. One time Hank had told him to get changed and he’d come back sans jacket but still wearing the exact same getup. When Hank had questioned him on it, he’d just said something to the effect of, “It doesn’t matter what I wear,” and ended the conversation at that.

“You ever gonna buy yourself some other outfits?” Hank asked.

Connor glanced down at himself. “Clothes are expensive, and it isn’t as if I need a surplus of different shirts.”

“Yeah, but don’t you get bored?”

“No.” Connor replied bluntly. He sat down and turned the TV on. “I’m going to go into stand-by, so feel free to watch what you want.”

Hank gave him a look. “I thought you said you weren’t tired.”

“I don’t get tired.” Connor said, echoing his statement from earlier. “I just need to stop thinking for a while. I don’t get headaches like humans do, but I feel like there is a great deal of stress on my system. It’s unpleasant.”

“Not gonna stick around for the pizza you ordered?”

“I can’t eat it regardless. And I’d rather not see the calorie count of every slice.” Connor’s smile was a sardonic thing. “If you need me, just shake my shoulders. I’ll wake up.”

“Right.” Hank said. “Wait, you’re gonna just do that sitting up?”

Too late. Connor’s eyes flickered unnervingly and then fell shut, his body going rigid. Sumo padded over from the kitchen, sitting in front of him and wagging his tail. “Christ almighty. Yeah, you’re not getting any pats out of him right now, Sumo, kid’s a fucking statue.” he paused, prodding Connor in his side as a test. Yep. He wasn’t moving anytime soon. “Does he always do it this way?”

Sumo cocked his head, and then pawed at Hank’s leg. “What? What’s up, boy?”

More pawing. For such a big dog, Sumo could sure act like a puppy when he wanted to. His doorbell rang at that moment, signalling the pizza. He sighed and got up. “Alright Sumo, give me a minute.”

The pizza wasn’t delivered by an android, like Hank was used to, but an actual human for once. Times really were changing. Connor had paid in advance, so as soon as the pizza was in hand, Hank was heading back to the living room.

Where Sumo had stolen his seat and curled up next to Connor.

“Oh, so these are the new sleeping arrangements.” Hank said, shaking his head. Connor hadn’t wanted a bed, or even a room. He was content with leaving his pile of limited clothes in Hank’s room and chilling on his side of the sofa when he wasn’t busy. “I was wondering why there was so much dog hair on my couch. I swear, what’s he done to make you love him so much huh? It’s all the petting, ain’t it?”

Sumo looked at him expectantly. Hank flipped the pizza box open and took a slice from it. “You want it? Come get it.”

Sumo looked back at Connor, and then laid his head on his leg. “Oh wow. Now that’s a damn sight. Probably for the best, he’d kill me if he found out I let you snack on pizza.”

He ate two slices of the pizza before calling it a day. Connor had ordered something too large for even him, and he was just one man on his own. He put the remains in the fridge for the morning; they’d make for a good snack on the way to work.

The Whitfield files were still on the floor by his kitchen table where Connor had left them. Hank retrieved them and chucked them on the side to be forgotten about. It sucked, but the dead shop assistant would have to wait. “Alright, Connor, Sumo,” Hank announced. “I’m heading to bed. Don’t fuck anything up, hear me?”

Sumo barked his affirmation. Connor, who was still deep in stand-by mode, said nothing.

Sleep came easy after the day he’d had. He would have been content to be late to work in favour of his bed, except he was rudely awakened by his phone going off by the side of his bed. Damn, he knew he should have put the thing in airplane mode.

He grabbed it off the side and fumbled for the accept call button. His shoulder was killing him again. “What?” Hank said blearily, not even giving the caller ID a look.

“Morning to you too, Hank.” Fowler’s voice was tinny down the line. “Where the hell are you?”

“In my bed, enjoying some well deserved sleep.” Hank replied. “What the fuck are you doing calling me at—” he checked the time. “—what the hell? It’s barely past seven, I’m not even late!”

“Another cop’s been killed.” Fowler said, his voice clipped. “The media’s got hold of it, it’s all over the fucking news. I’ve got the android she was partnered with going apeshit and everyone’s losing their goddamn minds. I need you, Hank.”

Hank closed his eyes, a heavy sigh in his throat. “Human this time who died, huh?”

“Yeah. We’ve scoped out the scene, the AX400 is gone. I’m sending you the location, you know what to do.”

He hung up at that. Hank opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, and contemplated handing in his badge. “Fuck this all to hell.”

[nightblogofficialbook]

Chapter Sixteen

Also available to read at Tapas.io!

“Quiet,” he ordered immediately as I spun around, pointing a single finger. All thoughts of speaking ceased, and my mind became foggy and strangely empty. I couldn’t move.

Mason walked past me to the window, taking a careful look outside, thinking. After a few seconds he withdrew from it, muttering something about Greg and having enough time. The fog in my head was beginning to fade, and I put all the willpower that had come back into trying to move my fingers, to do something. He cast another look and I was locked tight into place.

“I suppose I have enough time to give you an explanation, since none of this is your fault and yet everything is your fault,” he said, taking off the jacket he was wearing and laying it on the floor. “You were never supposed to have shown up, if you hadn’t he never would have gained so much power and things wouldn’t have become so goddamn complicated. Greg wouldn’t have royally fucked up either.”

Something in me snapped and the fog was blown away. “You’re working with Greg?!”

He arrested my mind again. “I employed Greg. You see, we have like-minded ideals.” He made me stand on the coat.

But you’re his best friend! I try to say with all my might, somehow knowing he could hear me.

“That brat is no friend of mine,” he growled, his demeanor dropping from a strange aloof calm to rage. “I was forced into his servitude from the moment I was born--no, before I was even conceived! My family has been under his for generations, forced to give a damn by his stupid ancestor! I never had a choice! Maybe I wanted to do something else with my life! But I was never given that luxury. All because of that stupid Blood Pact.

“The world will be much better without it. Our existence will be much better without him. Like always, someone else had to be caught in the crosshairs of his mess of an existence. Greg had a soft-spot for you, since you had no idea and, like us, you had no choice. But unlike him, I’m willing to do what’s necessary. But,” he paused, again looking as if listening for something, “I’m going to make sure he suffers from it.” There was a sharp pain in my neck once again as Mason bit down and began to drain the rest of my blood.

HELEN!!

Zain’s voice sounded incredibly faint in my head despite the sheer force it rang with. Not a second later the door had been shattered open, revealing the voice’s owner himself. His gaze froze on the scene before him; Mason was still clamped onto my neck. It was as if time had frozen, an endless pause before anyone resumed.

“Mason…” Zain’s voice was quiet, vulnerable. He couldn’t believe what was happening in front of him. “What are you doing?”

Mason had release his grip on my neck, still keeping a hold on my limp and numb body. It was strange, I knew this was bad, but I didn’t seem to care. My mind was numb.

“Killing your Bride, of course. What did you think I was doing?”

No. No, this can’t be right, something’s not right here.

Zain took a step forward. “Mason-”

“Ah!” A hand closed around my throat, stopping him immediately. “Not another step, my lord.”

Dmitri appeared in the broken doorway. “Zain, what is--Helen!” Zain held an arm out to stop him from making a move, his eyes remaining fixed on Mason with rising panic.

“Why?” he asked, and I heard it. The crack in his voice, the thing he’s always been afraid of. The fog in my mind began to lift a little.

“Do I really need to answer that? Surely you heard it all from your little harlot here. I know you’re always listening, don’t pretend you’re not.”

“Mason, just let Helen go and let’s talk-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit Dmitri!” Mason snarled his way. “You of all people should know how I feel about this!”

“It’s not what you think,” Dmitri tried to plead. “Mason,  you don’t have the whole picture, if you listen-!”

“I don’t have the whole picture?! I’ve been planning this all from the getgo right in front of both of you! I’m done being his nanny, I’m done with our families, our entire species, being in constant servitude to them!”

“Mason-”

“You could have told me,” came Zain’s quiet voice. “You could have told me how you felt, I could have answered…”

“What difference does it make?” he growled back, and Zain flared.

“What differ--you’re my best friend! It makes all the difference in the world, Mason!”

The fog was lifting further, but thankfully he hadn’t seemed to notice yet. I was aware that soon I would be able to move.

“Mason, please listen, the Blood Pact doesn’t work like that-”

“That’s bullshit Dmitri, you know very well the kind of command he has over our kind!”

“That wasn’t him, that was his father’s--!”

In the split second I felt my body and mind return full control back to me I flung my arm as hard as I could into Mason’s crotch, hoping Zain had caught on to what I was about to do. Mason doubled over and released me; I stumbled away as there was a loud bang behind me with a gust of wind. Zain and Mason were wrestling violently on the ground where I had just been standing. The room felt like it was beginning to rotate when I tried to stand up; I had lost so much blood now.

“Here, Helen,” I heard Dmitri’s voice, and his arms carefully pull me up. “We need to get you away-”

“No,” I protested suddenly. Something urgent was telling me I need to stay, that even though my life was currently in danger, if I left now it would be worse.

“Helen-”

“I can’t leave his si-”

A mass of body hit the both of us and sent us flying across the room. I stifled a scream that nearly made me pass out as my rib was knocked out of place again. Zain clambered up with a groan, nursing a limp arm, and Mason, out of breath, took a hold of me again.

“If any of you,” he breathed heavily, “take ONE MORE STEP, I will snap her neck. I swear I will.”

“Weren’t you going to kill her anyway?” Zain spat blood from his mouth. “You’re not going to do it, Mason.”

But then a smile formed on his face. “I thought of a better idea, instead. An ultimatum, if you will. There’s worse things I could do than kill her. And I think I know just the thing.” He raised his other hand to his mouth and bit it. “She’s looking a little pale, isn’t she? Lost quite a bit of blood. Might do some good to replenish that, wouldn’t you say?”

“NO!” Zain lurched forward and stumbled, looking terrified. Mason growled and squeezed my throat a little more.

“What did I just say?!”

“Mason, don’t do this to her!” Zain pleaded.

“Or what? You’ll order me into submission?”

“You know very well if I had that power I would have used it already!”

“I don’t care,” he spat. “I’ve made my decision, of my own accord, and I’m sticking with it. Now it’s time to make yours. Either you choose for her to die, or you let her be turned by me. Either way, you’re going to die anyway. So what’s it going to be?”

Zain was frozen with desperation, his internal struggle on full display; I could read him like a book. He was trying to think of a way out of this, a way for us to both walk away safely. Dmitri was knocked out, he couldn’t help. Zain is injured, and I’m close to fainting. There was no way out that wouldn’t kill him right now.

“Bottoms up, princess,” Mason said, seeming almost angry as Zain’s head fell. “Looks like you get to be spared today. You should be honored, being a vampire isn’t so bad.”

I squirmed as I saw his cut hand come close to my face, keeping my mouth clenched shut. I didn’t know what was supposed to happen if someone else tried to turn me, but it seemed like my consent wouldn’t matter in this situation. And Zain would die. If Mason turned me, Zain was going to die. I don’t want him to die, I don’t want anyone to die…!

“Mason stop!”

The voice that echoed so quietly seemed so loud. Everyone froze as we stared at the shattered doorway.

Wendy stood there, her steel grey eyes firm and blazing with determination, her chest heaving from the hurried run she was just in. She had a knife in one hand at her side.

“What are you doing, Wendy?” Mason growled. She swallowed.

“Stop this, Mason. Put--put Helen down and leave her alone…!”

“Go back to your room, you’re not supposed to be out.”

She shook her head, and lifted the knife with trembling arms. “I-I won’t let you do this anymore, not to Helen, I won’t…”

Mason’s eyes widened and he dropped me to the floor without a second thought, taking a step towards Wendy. “Put that knife down!”

Zain lunged immediately, colliding once again with him while Wendy remained at the doorway, still with the knife raised in uncertainty. For a moment Mason got the upperhand, pinning Zain down and punching him repeatedly, until Zain finally caught his fists and managed to reverse their positions at last.

“You were my friend!” he shouted at him. “My best friend! I trusted you!”

“Yeah?” Mason said, his eyes darting to the side for a moment. “Well...maybe you should be careful how much trust you place in people.”

Dmitri was suddenly behind Zain, his eyes sort of glazed, and hit him over the head. Mason scrambled up and lunged towards me. I didn’t have any time to react; he shoved his cut hand directly into my mouth.

“NO!”

Mason was thrown off me with little resistance as he suddenly gasped and spazzed. There was as thunk from the doorway as Wendy fell to the floor. I tried to spit the blood out of my mouth, but it seemed no use. A hot, burning sensation filled the inside of my mouth and traveled down my throat, growing warmer and warmer and warmer until it was so hot I thought my throat would shrivel up in ash.

There was another cry in the room; Zain was clutching his throat too, as if it was burning him as well, and had to steady himself. I fell to the ground as my vision left and there was a loud ringing in my ears. Voices seemed to fade in and out, the searing pain was slowly spreading to my body until I couldn’t feel anything else. I wanted to die, I wanted this to end. Please, someone make this end…!

There was a cooling sensation that pierced my shoulder, and it began to spread quickly. It felt wonderful, and cleared my mind. Zain, no, what are you doing...I’ve lost so much blood already, if you take any more I’ll really die…

And then the coolness entered my mouth, washing away the searing pain, traveling down my throat, putting out the fires that had formed all throughout my body. Something tugged at me as it did, pulling me away from the pain, and into the dark like I had experienced once before.

Memory upon memory flashed before my eyes. Three young children meeting for the first time, one who was shy with red eyes. The same three children playing together, causing problems, laughing, getting scolded, the red-eyed child’s eyes were now green. Each flash they grew older, looking a little less happier and livelier as more and more responsibilities were put on them. Mason listened while Zain talked about his fears, was there for his father’s funeral, and again for Mason’s father. There was so much they had been through together.

And then I saw the same man, holding my limp body in his grasp, my blood dripping from his mouth. A wave of sheer betrayal fell over me in a fury. He was my best friend...my best friend…! I trusted you!

I trusted you!

When I opened my eyes there were tears running down my cheeks, though they didn’t feel like mine. My body felt cool and somewhat numb, like I had finally broke from a fever. Zain was on the floor, holding me up loosely in his lap with his head over me  in his knees, trembling.

My voice cracked once I found it. “Zain…?”

The shaking seemed to increase, and a contorted noise escaped. I knew what this was. I had been there before. The distraught, the feeling of your world crashing down around you, the loss of everything and wondering if anything is worth the effort anymore. The empathy overtook me.

Without another thought, I wrapped my arms around his head and hugged him. A second later, more by instinct it seemed than anything, Zain’s arms lifted and wrapped around me, holding on tightly. I squeezed back, feeling my own tears fall down my cheeks as he clung to the comfort I was offering.

The next thing I knew I was waking up again, this time in a different room. There was a weight across my legs, and I opened my eyes slowly in an effort to make the blurring disappear faster. The whole place felt like it was swaying, there was a strange kind of tilting sensation like I might slide out of my bed, but eventually it all calmed down a bit and I could see.

Zain sat in a chair next to the bed, quietly sleeping with his head across the blanket over my knees. There was a bandage around his head and his arm was in a sling. His eyes, closed, looked sunken in and dark. I let my eyes close again. A dreamless sleep greeted me, and I could not be more grateful for it.

The longest night of the year ended with the break of dawn.

Want to support the author? Don’t want to wait for more?

Purchase the whole book here!