#i just drafted a piece that makes me want to roll around in glass shards on fire

[haedraulics]

PLS MORE SHERLOCK HOLMES YAOI YOUR ART IS SO SPOT ON

OF COURSEEEE 🫡🫡🫡🫡 holmes yaoi art and fic (very good fic!) is genuinely the adhesive holding me together rn. please have this

[kohanayaki]

Caught in the Middle (Steve Harrington x Reader x Billy Hargrove) Ch 8

Holy shit, it’s been so long since I’ve looked over this story! I found a half completed draft of this chapter in my old files and had a sudden influx of inspiration to finish it. At the very least I wanted to release this chapter, even if I don’t end up continuing or finishing this story. Thank you to everyone who’s read this trainwreck so far <3

LINKS: CH 1  CH 2  CH 3 CH 4 CH 5  CH 6  CH 7 CH 8

_______________________________________________________

Ch 8 .:Three Runaways and a Russian:.

“Hopper?”

The surly man turned to you with a look of equal surprise.

“(Y/n)? What are you doing here?” Hopper asked, eyes narrowing, “Hold on, aren't you supposed to be in school?”

“Aren't you supposed to be at the police station?” you countered.

He sighed in exasperation and shook his head.

“Listen, kid, I don't have time for this,” he said.

“Well what are you doing?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said crossly.

“Uh, that doesn't look like nothing,” you said, pointing over to the Slurpee machine where a man with dark curly hair and glasses was inspecting it in wonder. He was handcuffed but still held a large empty cup in his left hand, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the frozen drink move in circles on the inside of the machine.

“He's an extremely dangerous criminal,” Hopper said, “I'm. . . transporting him.”

“Okay, then why is Joyce here?” you asked. She was standing next to the unfamiliar man trying to show him how the dispenser worked. At that moment she turned to Hopper only to make eye contact with you.

“(Y/n)?” she said, eyes wide.

“Hi Mrs. Byers,” you waved awkwardly. What the hell was going on here?

“You got her mixed up with this too?” Joyce chided Hopper, her expression hardening as she walked over.

“I didn't get her mixed up in jack shit,” Hopper said incredulously, “She just doesn't know how to mind her own business.”

“Yeah, I'm right here, guys,” you said in annoyance, “And sorry if I 'intruded' but you're in a 7-11, not your office, so if I see a guy in literal handcuffs I'm going to poke around because that's suspicious and you know it.”

Upon seeing you point at him the man in glasses smiled at you, waving as much as he could while his hands were restrained. He then went back to fiddling with the Slurpee machine and you walked over to him, taking the cup from his hand.

“You have to press down on it,” you said, holding the lever down and filling his cup with the cherry flavor. You stuck in a straw and held it out to him which he accepted with a wide grin, nodding his head.

“What's your name anyways?” you asked him.

He just tilted his head, spluttering slightly as he turned to Joyce.

“His name is Alexei,” Joyce clarified.

“Hold on, does this guy not speak English?” you asked in disbelief.

“Uh, n-no,” the man said, able to read some context from the tone of your voice, “No English.” His words were followed by him speaking in a foreign language and making gestures with his hands.

“I'm sorry, where the hell did you find this random Russian guy?” you turned to Hopper for an explanation.

“Top secret police business,” he said, frowning, “Butt out.”

“So I'm not allowed to know about this 'top secret police business' but Joyce is?” you crossed your arms.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Hopper raised his voice.

“I'm just implying that some favoritism is being applied when it comes to breaking your precious rules,” you scoffed.

“Trust me, kid, you have no idea what the big picture looks like right now, okay? A lot of shit went down when you were gone that you couldn't even begin to imagine. This is dangerous.”

“I'm not a kid anymore so don't call me that,” you glared, “And if this is so dangerous then don't I deserve to know?”

“No,” Hopper said coldly, “Now listen to me and drive your ass back to Hawkins High before I have you turned in for truancy.”

His words made the situation painfully ironic when you all turned towards the front of the gas station as the roar of an all too familiar engine rang out. Billy's blue Camaro skid to a harsh stop as he climbed out of the driver's seat, running over to the door as he saw you through the glass. Once you got over the initial shock your mood soured as Billy made his way inside.

“(Y/n) I have to talk to you-”

“Save it,” you glared at Billy, cutting his sentence short, “Hold on, did you follow me?!”

“Please just hear me out,” he said, a rare crack of desperation in his voice, “Listen I'm-”

“What? You're sorry?” you scoffed, “You're not sorry. You clearly didn't give a shit about me from the beginning, so if you think everything's going to go back to the way it was after some half assed apology then think again.”

“What the hell is this?” Hopper asked Joyce off to the side.

“Lover's quarrel,” Joyce whispered back, “Just let them talk it out.”

“Well if you won't let me apologize then what the fuck do you expect me to do?” Billy said in frustration.

“Nothing!” you shouted back, “Don't talk to me, don't talk about me, just move on to your next little conquest and you'll forget all about this in a week.”

You felt a sharp pang in your chest as the words left your mouth. You didn't want to believe them but you felt like it was true. There was no changing Billy Hargrove, and even if there was, why would you of all people be the one to be able to do it? You weren't anything special, but Billy felt the exact opposite.

He didn't get the chance to say anything back, though, because at that moment the sound of a second car engine was heard as you saw Steve's car pull up to the gas station.

“Oh, you've got to be shitting me,” you groaned.

Steve was panting as he ran inside to the gas station, barely catching his breath before speaking.

“(Y/n), I wanted to-”

“I'm sorry, I thought I made it clear that you two are the last people I want to talk to right now,” you said coldly.

“Wait, hold on, what's going on here? Why aren't any of you at school?” Joyce asked, coming to the realization it was 12:34 on a weekday.

“I broke some stupid guy's nose, it's a long story,” you mumbled, “What I didn't expect was these two idiots following me.” You glared at them, trying to put as much distance between you two as you could.

“I was worried about you,” Steve said, causing Billy to roll his eyes.

“Oh please,” Billy scoffed under his breath.

Steve's expression hardened as he turned to Billy.

“Hey, you don't get to say shit,” he said, “You're the one who led her on and made her cry in the first place.”

“Led her on?” Billy's voice rose as he go in Steve's face, “Listen, pretty boy, if I remember correctly I beat the shit out of you a little less than a year ago. You asking for a rematch?”

“Yeah, maybe I am,” Steve glared, “Because I'm sick and tired of you treating my friend like shit.”

“Oh, 'your friend', huh?” Billy chuckled, “Bet you wish you were more than that, don't you, Harrington?”

“Both of you cut it out!”

Something in you snapped as you forcefully separated the pair, keeping them on opposite sides of the isle. Silence blanketed the rest of the convenience store as you spoke.

“I never asked for either of you to follow me here,” you said, feeling a wave of emotional exhaustion take you over, “As a matter of fact, I asked to be left alone, so you two need to get that through your thick fucking skulls because this is seriously the last thing I need right now.”

Alexei just stood innocently by, wondering what all the yelling was about and if he could do anything to help.

Through all the commotion none of you noticed the way Hopper was staring out the convenience store window, his stomach dropping as he saw a tiny figure on the road drawing nearer. Upon closer inspection he could see the silhouette of a man on a motorcycle.

“Get down,” Hopper said suddenly, not taking his eyes off the man.

His words made you freeze, all your senses on high alert as you could feel something was wrong.

“Wait, what?” Steve said in confusion.

“I said GET DOWN!” Hopper shouted, pulling you and Joyce to the floor just as a gunshot rang out and the windowpane shattered into pieces. Shards of glass fell onto your shoulders as you ducked behind one of the isles and panic quickly settled in.  

You could feel Hopper dragging you further away from the door, your body frozen in fear.

“Listen to me, you need to get the hell out of here, all of you,” Hopper said.

“Hopper, what the fuck is going on?” you asked, your hands shaking.

“I don't have time to explain,” he said quickly, “Joyce, get them to Murray's house as fast as you can.”

“What about you?” you said, “If you think we're leaving you here like some shitty action movie you've got another thing coming.”

“I'll buy you some time,” he said, “And besides, he's after me, not you, but that doesn't mean he won't shoot you if you get in his way. Do you understand? Get out of here!”

Before you could say anything back Hopper was thrown back against the wall by a muscular man in a leather jacket. Joyce immediately grabbed you by the arm and started pulling you away along with Steve and Billy. You could hear them yelling but it felt like you were hearing things underwater. Your heartbeat pounded rapidly in your ears as you turned around, every nerve in your body shouting at you to run.

Your heart nearly stopped as another gunshot rang out in the store and the tile cracked beneath your feet as the bullet landed a mere few feet from where you'd been standing seconds earlier.

“Don't you dare, you son of a bitch!” Hopper growled as he tackled the man to the floor, getting a few solid hits in. The man grunted as his back harshly met the ground, his head slamming into one of the shelves. As Joyce turned you around again to get out you could only pray that Hopper would be okay.

“There's no way we can fit everyone into one car,” you said as you neared the exit to the parking lot, “Where's Hopper's police van?”

Joyce looked off to the side.

“Oh, um, it's. . . on fire in the middle of the woods.”

“It's what?!”

“I promise I'll explain everything to you once we're safe,” Joyce said, “Right now we need to figure out how to get everyone out of here.”

You turned over your shoulder and winced as the man landed a solid hit to Hopper's gut, knocking the wind out of him and making him stumble back into a rack of chips. Hopper grunted in pain but immediately fired back with a punch of his own, his right swing hitting the man square in the jaw. Hopper took the chance to follow up a knee to the man's gut, knocking him down with one last hit, although he knew he wouldn't stay down for long.

As Hopper struck him down you caught a flash of silver fly out of the man's jacket pocket and skid across the floor. You stared at the keys for a moment before your gaze flew up to the Harley parked outside the gas station.

'This is a stupid idea,' you told yourself, but in the moment it was the best you could do.

“Take my car,” you said to Joyce, tossing her your keys, “I'm jacking his ride.”

Joyce, Steve, and Billy looked at you like you'd just sprouted wings.

“Oh no you're not, it's way too dangerous,” Joyce said, incredulously, “He'll be close enough to shoot you if you make a run for it now.”

“I'll go around the outside,” you said, “If Hopper keeps him distracted I can make it.”

“Have you ever even ridden a motorcycle before?” Billy tried to reason with you.

“As a matter of fact I have,” you said, your eyes narrowing. You didn't mention the fact that it was just one time with your dad years ago but hey, you were a fast learner.

“Just trust me on this,” you said, “Think about it, even if we do manage to get out of here he'll catch up to us in no time on a motorcycle. If we take his transportation away he won't be able to find us again, or at least it'll make it harder.”

Joyce swallowed hard, shaking her head.

“I can't believe I'm about to let you do this,” she said.

“I'll see you in ten seconds,” you promised, “Get everyone in the car and we'll pick up Hopper on the way out.”

“Be careful,” Steve said, and despite you still being mad at him the life or death situation compelled you to say:

“You too.”

And with that, Joyce started to lead everyone outside to the parking lot towards your car.

You forced down any doubt you had in your mind and took a deep breath before running towards where Hopper and the man were fighting. You slid to a stop as you snatched the keys off the ground and made a break for the front of the store.  

The man seemed to notice what you did as he snarled and reached for his gun, but Hopper was too quick. In one swift movement he knocked the gun out of the man's hand grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, throwing him as far away from you as he could.

You thanked Hopper silently as you put the keys in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. Your heart pounded in your ears as you leveled yourself on the motorcycle. You spotted Hopper out of the corner of your eye as he sprinted towards the store front, Alexei practically flying behind him in his grip. The Russian let out a small yelp as Hopper threw him unceremoniously into the backseat of the car, his body sprawled across Billy and Steve.

“Floor it, Joyce,” Hopper huffed, scrambling into the passenger's seat.

She didn't need to be told twice. The smell of burning rubber drifted past you as the tires squealed, all the passengers forced backwards at the force of the sudden jolt of speed.

You leaned into the turn as you moved to follow the car, daring one last glance over your shoulder at the man in the leather jacket. He threw what remained of a shelf off of his shoulders as he staggered to his feet, his expression terrifying as he stared you down. With a deep breath you turned to the road, quickly catching up with your Jaguar and leaving the infuriated man behind.

“Woah woah hey, my fucking car is still back there!” Billy shouted as you sped away.

“Really, that's what you're concerned about right now?!” you shouted over the wind, tempted to reach around the car and slap him. Your focus was forcefully pulled back to the road as you felt the cycle waver, quickly adjusting your weight as you tried to get use to the feeling. You were suddenly acutely aware of the helmet you weren't wearing. You took a long draw of breath in through your nose as you tried to calm your buzzing nerves, your knuckles white as you gripped the handlebars.

“Alright, Hop. You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?”

Taglist: @in-my-dreams-2000 @ggclarissa @iris1697 @5sosxgrethan @ohnoniella @sarcasticalphaofthelooserspack @aspiring-fangirls-world @wow-im-so-tired @hopesxxhigh @justanothercrazyassfangirl @too-many-lanes @whimsylavender @bish-ima-clown @amarachoren @mosiacbrokenheartstf @mcuvlxgs @xapham @metuel18 @immirandaq @nellaphine @multi-madison @gingertalksshit @jojo-buttercup @kyberhearts @mvdelaine @minnie-marvel @caitlin-rose28 @zandaleekrz @r3inventedd @void-fire-rose @macymafia @wanna-be-idle @newtsshelbys @kimmydespell @weyheyokay @r4ttusr4ttus @cynthianokamaria @spookyartisanmuffineggs @youcanstandundermyamberella @ashadowoftheforest @shrektiledysfunction @arithatonegirl @banannie25 @daddyuwuss @truthdaze @supervoldejaygent @gigi-maria-argu @dolan-mendes @mavix @reflectionsofyouruniverse @angelsarefalling @billyhargrovescigarette

[c-rose2081]

Through the Rubble

—

It started and ended with Mal.

Mal, Maleficent’s only daughter. Mal who so desperately wanted to follow in her moms footsteps; to become the most evil of them all. Mal who was far to soft inside to ever be truly be cruel or heartless.

Mal; the girl who failed to defeat Maleficent.

Audrey, like the rest of those at the coronation, stood in petrified horror. She could see all that was going on, but couldn’t move a muscle. There was a scream caught in her throat still; one which the Dark Fae had oh so gleefully silenced. Mal and her little friends stood face to face with a monster. And were there such a thing as happily ever after, they may have succeeded in overpowering her.

But life was cruel, and Maleficent was evil. The magic wand in Mal’s grip shattered to a million pieces. It wasn’t built to be held by someone of Dark Fae blood. The VK’s were powerless. And as Maleficent transformed into a dragon with a mighty roar and scream of triumph, the walls of the Palace came tumbling down. Audrey was caught in the chaos like everyone else, but unlike everyone else, she somehow lived.

It was pure luck — a miracle, honestly — that she wasn’t crushed or suffocated when the walls collapsed. She was instead trapped in a den of darkness and mortar dust, the magic which held her limbs in place gradually wearing off. Through the cracks, water gently trickled down from a rain that had begun falling. From these trickles the Princess drank, spitting out the coppery blood which lingered on her bit tongue, and washing away the taste of brick and sand. It felt like forever before she was able to move again, and even longer until she had full control over her body.

Audrey began to dig herself from the rubble when she was strong and well rested enough. A few times she had nearly been crushed by her own tunnel, and another time she had screamed when a lifeless hand brushed against her exposed thigh. The hand could’ve belonged to anyone really, as the skin was already hard and cold like frost. Audrey swallowed thickly and kept moving upwards, through the dark maze of stone, rebar and glass. She couldn’t risk another collapse by trying to identify who had touched her. What good it would do anyway other then make her heart hurt? By the time Audrey broke through into the fresh air, heaving and sweating from endless crawling, scuffling and shifting of rubble, a chill night had fallen.

Pulling herself out of the pile with a squeak of pain and a grunt of effort, Audrey skidded down to the floor on her side. The once polished marble was slick and muddied with rainwater; the roof was completely gone, exposing the grand foyer to the dark, dreary sky. Clouds mixed with billows of ash from fires all around Auradon, the horizon painted a vicious, burning red.

Beast’s Palace was no more. Maleficent had taken the whole place down with her, leaving behind only lumps of undefinable dust. Audrey sat atop a rather large block, squinting through the night to see if she could spot anyone; a survivor, even just a body. But as she had been, everyone attending the Coronation was now stuck under several feet of debris. How she had managed to get out herself, the Princess wasn’t sure. Somewhere down there, Chad, Grammy and her parents slept on. And Audrey felt tears leak from her eyes as she imagined it.

Shaking her head and swallowing those emotions for the moment, Audrey began picking her way further into the mess. In her hazy brain, she could still imagine how the room used to look. She could see the beautiful alabaster pylons and the heavy velvet blue drapes. She could still see the glisten of golden chandeliers above, and hear the echo of voices.

This place was now empty, and filled with ghosts.

Shaking the vision of what had previously been here, Audrey made her way towards where she recalled seeing Mal and her friends last. She didn’t see any bodies, but then again they could’ve been swept aside or taken someplace else by Maleficent. They could still be alive; Audrey wouldn’t be the wiser. But she didn’t care about Mal, or her little friends. She didn’t care about anything other then falling to her knees and digging through the dirt with her bare hands.

It felt hopeless after only a few minutes. Her fingers and nails were bleeding, but Audrey continued to sift. She was pushing away blocks, cutting her palms on glass, and leaving red fingerprints all over the floor. She was ready to give up, her emotions hot and burning in her throat as she began to cry. But then her bloody hand wrapped around something small, and a cry of triumph left her throat.

A wood fragment.

It was insignificant, and shaped like a small elongated diamond. The outer edge was painted ivory white, while the interior glistened with natural wood and gold flakes. Audrey cradled the shard like it was the most precious thing in the world. And to her, alone in a rubble pile with the world burning around her, and the dead sleeping somewhere under the ruined castle, it was.

Audrey continued her search with fervor. Day in and day out, hour after hour, she sifted and moved the palace by hand. For nearly two years, as Maleficent set up her dominion in Auradon and the world was ruled by villains, Audrey stayed in the ruins. She barely ate or slept; her back and shoulders developed a permanent hunch from crawling around on the floor. Audrey’s once healthy physique deteriorated. She went just a bit mad, searching, praying, uncovering bodies and reburying them with a little prayer but nothing more.

But with each magic wand fragment she found, the fire of hope burned brighter within her.

Two years rolled into three, and three into four. Audrey, unrecognizable, continued to live amongst the rubble. The remaining walls were covered in vines and foliage, and animals made homes in the nooks and crannies of the piles. Audrey was dying slowly, but she continued to dig. Her weak bones couldn’t lift much anymore, and her back couldn’t hold her upright. Her coronation dress was brown where it was once pink, and her hair had gone long and now kissed her tailbone.

It was on a rainy afternoon that Audrey found what she was looking for. It was nearly washed away in the storm, and had the former Princess not been looking for it, all hope would’ve been lost. She scrambled on her knees, catching the tiny white paint chip with shaking, bony fingers. Her wide brown eyes stared at the flake in disbelief as she ghosted her thumb against its surface.

Holding the fragment to her chest, Audrey crawled her way back to the small den she had carved for herself. Here, on a piece of her own skirt, the other fragments lay waiting.

“...please work,” Audrey rasped, having lost her voice a year before to a rather bad case of pneumonia, “please work,”

Dropping the paint fleck onto the pile, nothing happened at first. Audrey was heartbroken, but gasped and grinned widely as there was a brilliant flash. The wand, in all of its beautiful splendor, wove itself back together before her eyes. The cracks disappeared, and a sturdy ivory shaft was left behind.

“Thank you,” Audrey whispered to the thing, picking it up in her hands as the magic thrummed through her, “you can fix this, can’t you? All of this death and destruction?”

The wand wasn’t sentient, but Audrey held it to her ear as though listening. She had gone just a bit insane, searching for all those years. Loneliness and longing had tainted her heart and mind black, “please help me fix this. I know you can,” she told the wand desperately, taking the handle in her hand and waving it, “please work for me. Bibbidi-Bobbity...Boo,”

And with a flick and flash, everything went dark.

Late night lit doodle from my drafts. Thought about time travel and such.

[moon-u]

Jean kirstein x reader || aot

Title : wings of freedom

Pairing : jean kirstein x reader

Chapter summary : it is during a perilous mission that they realize how precious time is

Notes : I wrote this overnight and was very tired, but I absolutely wanted to finish it and post it ASAP. I was hanging out on YouTube and I came across an edit on jean, it prompted me to write this

__ ☕︎ __

We were in the field, in the middle of a perilous mission.

Soldiers were dying, and the shrill cries echoed incessantly in our ears.

It was such a horrible sight that we had before our eyes. Our comrades, who had promised to offer body and soul to embody hope within its walls, disappeared one after the other.

What was going on? Is this a nightmare?

Why doesn't it stop? Is there even an end to this massacre

My gaze was empty of emotion. I was holding myself

right there, looking at our friends, our acquaintances, the people we had known for almost 5 years, suffering, crying, screaming in agony ... begging ... so that it wasn't their last day. Their last smiles, their last breaths, their last thoughts.

He was praying, what's the point? Was there even someone to have faith in? If so, why are we sending these demons who have decimated hundreds of thousands of lives in front of other human beings while wisely biding their hours within these walls. Serve four hours for these giants devoid of feeling, all that we were. Cattle to be hunted.

My mind suddenly woke up, bringing me back to harsh reality. Even though all of this was unfolding in front of my eyes, there was still hope. We won't lose like that. I wouldn't lose like that by doing nothing

My legs finally began to move, causing me to run at full speed on the high roofs. I had to fight. I have to fight.

My three-dimensional gear carried me through the air, making me feel light, powerful. Eliminating as many titans as possible on the way, about thirty were slaughtered with my blades glistening with hot blood.

We had been ordered to withdraw to a base in order to draft a new strategic plan. Given that fighting without a specific plan brought nothing but victims by the hundreds on the counter.

Once the plan was in place and hesitantly approved by everyone, I turned to return to my strategic position. This plan was really very risky, but the best we had on hand so far. The only hope we hung up on. Most of the best soldiers were either seriously wounded or dead like heroes.

"Do you really think we have a chance of winning against them ?? I'm telling you, we would have a better chance of surviving by retreating"

I automatically stopped my steps when I heard his hopeless words. Is that how everyone saw the situation. To retreat because it was risky?

"face it ... this humanity no longer has any hopes that it clings to, you made it obvious"

The soldiers nodded at his words.

"It's a beautiful speech you have there kirstein" I said without emotion, my eyes fixed on the floor. The people around me moved away from me, creating a space, a bule around me. "I did not know that we had a good talker within our ranks"

"they all agree with my words though"

"Do you want to get killed too? Is that really what you want y / n?"

"yes" I said, looking up at him, looking him in the eye, "I don't mind getting eaten alive if that means dying for a good cause"

"How can you think of yourself as soldiers by giving up like that? By influencing a whole regiment of fighters on top of it. Shits like you ,are hoping to have a good life without lifting a finger to get it, that's all what matters ... Do you think you can hope for a future by thinking this way?

I walked slowly towards him

"You say there is no more hope and we have to make it obvious, but here within these walls, as long as we live, that hope is us. How can we hope for a future without fear if hope itself gives up the fight for unnecessary reasons?

"go ahead" I said "follow him if you really want to. Anyway a soldier who fights for no reason is already dead after the first step on the attack ground. Personally I will fight until the end. go away while i fight for your comfortable and loving life, i am not afraid to sacrifice myself for a better future.

“I looked up, looking at them all one by one.

"after my death, and only after my death. You can come to my grave and tell me that there is no more hope, that I was wrong. That I would have fought for nothing, perished for nothing" I said fixing my gaze on his chocolate eyes

“I'd rather die this way than give up without fighting to the end. I would push my limits like It was taught me so well in these five years

“Watch me die and go. Or… follow me and fight. In the name of your families, of your dead comrades, of your desire for revenge, of your ardent hatred towards these vile creatures. Fight for a reason or give up for no reason. Dying here or there, there won't be much difference anyway.

"Me y / n f / n, I would fight body and soul. As I promised during my first initiation, such as the salvation that I made that day in the name of this humanity"

I left the room without letting any glance at the person who was looking at me now, watching me go, wide-eyed and open mouth in shock at my words.

With my three-dimensional gear, I roamed the streets eliminating as many titans as possible. Blood was on my head from these vile things. There were still no soldiers. So I really used my saliva in the wind, what a waste of time. I eliminated ten of them before landing on a roof to change my blades. One of my blades was stuck in my gear and I was taking too long. Much too long. In the current situation, no soldier could afford to stay more than five minutes in a fixed place, as open as a roof. It was almost suicide.

I had almost managed to sort it out, when a gigantic hand grabbed my waist, sending me up into the air. A twenty meter titans held me in the air, erasing all gravity from my suspended body. My blade had fallen. I couldn't die now. I haven't eliminated enough.

He led me quietly to his large canines full of blood , to devour me. I took a last breath, closing my eyes, thinking the pain would be more bearable this way. I automatically reopened them when I heard a familiar sound. Three-dimensional equipment. Someone was coming towards me. He was followed by a hundred people flying in the air.

He sliced ​​off the titan's finger taking me with him in the air, pressed against his chest. He made us enter a building breaking the window. We were rolling on the ground, with some shard of glass below us. I stood up, looking at my savior. Jean kirschtein.

I looked at him in surprise. My words had finally served.

"don't look at me like that. It's just that you found the right words to talk to the herds of cowards that we were 10 minutes ago" he said ruffling his jacket, sending the few pieces of glass on the ground.

I gave him a slight smile, proud of myself.

So I had succeeded

"Hey, I saved your life, you could at least thank me, you-"

" thank you so much "

"you know I said it just like that" he said scratching his neck

"you will appreciate it later kirstein we have no time to-"

"why kirstein eh?"

"That's your damn last name"

“Well for the record my parents spawned me with a name,” he said sarcastically.

I sighed and walked over to the window, I needed to get my blade. I was ready to let go of my three-dimensional when a hand grabbing my wrist stopped me

He slammed me against the wall, smashing his lips against mine. His hand passed over my cheek, stroking. He pulled me by the waist, pressing my body against mine. He deepens the kiss. He nibbled on my lower lip, and his tongue entered my mouth, dancing a fierce struggle with mine. I was still eyes wide open, shocked, and motionless in the face of his strong grip. After a while my eyes danced firmly enjoying the possible last kiss I would receive from a man before I died in battle

He pulled back a tiny bit, grading his hand on my waist and his hand on my cheek. He was looking me in the eye, with a slightly choppy breath from the hot kiss he had started.

"Kirstein"

He pecked my lips quickly, silencing me.

"Shut up. I absolutely wanted to do it before I died. So on the one hand it's your fault I'm here" he said in a humorless tone "I was a coward earlier, but like Usually, your words opened my eyes ... you always had the right words to give hope "

He was heading for the windows smashed by our shattering entrance.

"So this is your last wish?" I said watching him go

He turned around "Truly .. it's one of my last wishes" he chuckled "if I would have completed the list entirely you wouldn't be standing here fully dressed" he gave me a smirk.

He was about to jump

"Jeans"

"don't get killed"

He didn't turn around, his back facing me. He stood there for a few seconds, before jumping up and activating his gear. Flying it through the air.

More than return to combat now.

In the end, all our efforts paid off. We got rid of these monsters one after another. Once back, soldiers came to thank me for spitting in their faces all these words which had lit them in the darkness into which fear had plunged them.

I had not seen kirschtein again. I was looking for him without really doing it. Glancing around as soon as a boy looked like that horse's head.

I got up then, heading to my dorm before curfew. I was walking peacefully through the halls, when a strong grip on my wrist made me follow the person who had dragged me behind her.

Given the dim light, I couldn't clearly see who was dragging me, but I could clearly recognize who I was looking for by their scent. He ended his way in an empty room, lit by a single, insignificant little candle.

"Kirstein-"

He kissed me again, like this moment, but with a lot more passion. Pushing me against the wall. The room was silent, and only a few noises were heard, those of our lips meeting.

The kiss was coming to an end, he pressed his forehead to mine, panting. We had lasted well over three minutes.

"I didn't know horses kiss so well" I said mockingly

"tch. You just messed up everything f / n"

"I…" He reconnected our lips a second time, silencing me, then looked at me with a smile.

"Tell me" I said walking away, "do you do one last will, or ..."

"y / n f / n" he said with a sigh, "you never noticed did you?"

"You never noticed .. how I was obsessed with you" he confessed looking at the ground.

"It's creepy jean" I said smiling

"You can't help but ruin the mood, eh?" He said chuckling "in truth I myself hadn't realized all this, how much I wanted you. always believed it was pure admiration as a soldier. It's true you were always the best at anything you did. After jealousy followed, when I saw you often hanging out with jeager and his groups of clowns. Then love. earlier, for the first time. I felt a greater fear than dying eaten by these beasts. I saw how determined you were. And seeing you go"

"seeing you leave .. I thought that would be the last time I would see you. That's what made me change my mind. I didn't want to see you die without my being able to time to call you mine "

"I was so scared" I saw a tear about to fall from her beautiful eyes.

"I noticed that time was our most precious thing right now. And even though it's limited. I want to use it up with you."

"I love you" he said with a sigh "and until today this is the biggest evidence I have been confronted with" he said looking at me

I kept silent about his confession. Jean kirschtein. Stood in front of me. Redness visible on his cheeks. Admitting that he loves me.

"I-"

"If you want to reject me, do it quickly. Please. It's embarrassing enough like that and-"

This time, it was I who interrupted her, fixing her lips to mine. I ran my hands behind his neck, pulling him closer, He slid his hands against my waist, hugging me tightly.

He pulled back looking at me with the biggest smile ever

"I guess that means yes," he scolded me to himself, supporting me against his chest. Take me in deep admiration.

[fuckyeahscienceparty]

hey if ur taking requests for writing...., what abt angsty among us idea- reports a body and like.. engie attends and it turns out medic was killed? and then hes heartbroken and really sad and angry at spy for killing medic? obviously u dont have to do this but the among au had me thinking about a ton of angsty scenarios lol. have a good day!!

i'm always takin requests! it may take me a while to get there but i will try my damndest to get it done at some point!

i actually had part of this in my drafts when you originally sent this ask but it's been reason enough to finish it, i think. i hope you like it, even if it's a bit messy :>

-

Per Aspera Ad Astra

In which an imposter experiences the loss of someone he loved and wasn't supposed to.

-

As Dell heard the emergency meeting alarm blare over the intercom and red lights flashed overhead, he looked up from the mass of wires he'd agreed to rearrange for Medic, furrowing his brow.

Odd. Spy hadn't made it clear to him that he was going to attempt anything that day and he knew for a fact that he himself hadn't made any sabotages since last week.

Then again, he'd noticed that this crew in particular had no qualms against using the emergency meeting button for more trivial things. Someone probably just wanted to get everyone's attention to look at some weird space bug that hitchhiked from their last stop on Pollus a few weeks ago or something along those lines. Standard procedure at that point.

He packed up the wires he'd been holding back into their panel before making his way out of electrical and towards the cafeteria, readjusting his goggles over his eyes to make sure nobody would find him out.

When he'd arrived, he could practically physically feel the shift in attitude of the rest of the crew since that morning, mentally noting that Medic was currently the only one of them missing.

"Tex, there you are. You uh. Might want to sit down for this one, lad," Demo said gravely, all the other crewmates' mumbling amongst each other dying down instantly as Spy stood to the side of the table, having said nothing ever since he himeself had arrived.

"Uhm. Sure, ok. Shouldn't we wait for Doc first, though? If it's actually important he should probably be here," He said, a confused smile coming to his face. Demo physcially winced.

"See, that's the thing, it's. It's Doc, he's..." Demo trailed off, Sniper moving to put a hand on his shoulder.

"He's?..." Engie frowned, having to take a moment before he realized what he'd meant.

It took another moment for the dread to set in.

"No. No, that- that's impossible, I- I just saw him like 30 minutes ago. I agreed to do one of his tasks for him while he finished cleaning the medbay so we could finish up for the day," He stuttered, looking anxiously between all the other faces at the table. None of them could meet his gaze even through his goggles, Spy in particular insisting on staring out the large window that peered into the vastness of space around them instead.

...Spy.

Spy said he wouldn't touch him- said he'd let him find a way to deal with all of this effectively and without having to kill this particular crew. Especially Medic. He said- no, he promised he wouldn't.

Engie's anger soon started bubbling inside of him, tightly clenching his fists that he oh so desperately wanted to sucker punch a certain other imposter in the face with. But then came the second realization of what he'd done and he felt his arms go slack again.

Medic was dead.

"...Where is he?" He finally whispered out, somewhere between heartbroken and seething.

"Medbay. Demo, Sniper, and I called for the meeting as quick as we could and did not get the chance to move his. Corpse," Soldier said, standing up straight and visibly uneasy at the mentioning of Medic's dead body.

Engie slowly nodded.

"Ok. Did you fellas, uh. Did- did you contact Pollus yet?"

"Not yet. I was gonna after the meetin's over. 's gonna take us a while to get there tho, at least 2 weeks," Scout said.

"I see. Did you three uh. Did you see anything?" Engie asked Demo, Sniper, and Soldier, all of them shaking their heads.

"Pyro, Heavy, 'n Scout were on comms because they were finished with tasks already and all three of 'em say they didn't see anyone go into Medbay after you left."

"...what about you, Spy? Been awfully quiet the entire time. And you don't have an alibi," Scout squinted. Spy scoffed.

"I was also finished with tasks, I've been in my quarters for at least 2 hours. You can even roll back footage on the cameras."

Pyro pressed a button on their suit, the small speaker on their chest panel letting out a soft 'kshh'.

"...he does have a point. Cams don't lie."

"What if he used the vents, though?"

"You really think this pansy's gettin' in any vents?"

"...Aight, fair point."

"I do not think we have enough information to make decision," Heavy sighed, every looking to each other in a vague sense of agreement.

"Skip vote, then?"

"Yeah, I think that's for the best."

"Alright lads, be on alert, then. If you see anythin' suspicious, y' know where the button is," Demo sighed, patting the plastic cover that protected the emergency meeting button.

Everyone mumbled out affirmations before getting up to head out, Pyro staying behind to raise their hand.

"Ay, what is it, Py?"

Kshh. "...who's taking care of uh. Y'know. The body."

Engie squeezed his eyes shut briefly.

"I'll do it."

"Tex, no, we couldn't ask you t-"

"Demo, it's fine. I'm not a child, you don't need to baby me. I can deal with it."

"If you're so sure..."

"It's fine. Really. You go make sure everyone else is doin' ok, lord knows they'd need it," Engie smiled softly, giving Demo a pat on the arm.

Demo's eyes still showed worry but he nodded, reciprocating the gesture before hurrying into the direction of nav where everyone else went.

Spy turned to leave but Engie stopped him, shifting his goggles back to his forehead.

"...Why did you do it?" He asked softly. He could've sworn that he saw the slightest break of stoicism on Spy's face but perhaps it was just the awful fluorescent lighting of the cafeteria playing tricks on him.

"You were taking too long. It was getting risky for us to be here. I thought it better to end it sooner rather than later," He said, any trace of emotion leaving as quickly as it came as he turned his head. Engie had no response.

"Remember what they did to us. To you. Just because one treated you kindly does not mean others will."

Silence.

"...Don't sabotage anything tonight. They'll get suspicious. Be prepared to leave this ship in a week's time, without the Medic they'll fall apart. Do I make myself clear?"

Still nothing. Spy frowned.

"I said, do I make myself clear, Dell?" He asked again, not even bothering to mask the threatening tone in his voice this time.

Engie squeezed his eyes shut again.

"...Yes. Yes, you do."

"Very well. I will see you in the morning," He said, moving so that Engie's hand no longer rested on his shoulder and starting to make his way to hallway that led to crew's personal quarters.

Spy paused to look back, a feeling that could almost be described as pity overcoming him. He sighed.

"...Get over it. You only knew him for less than 8 months, anyways," He said softly before leaving Engie alone, footsteps echoing against the metal floors of the ship.

When he felt he was ready, Engie made his way to the Medbay with full expectations of what he would find there.

He just. Didn't expect it to hurt so much.

Medic's body lay on the floor in between the scanner and the large computer it was attached to, his normally bright cyan suit soaked in red and a sizable gash made into his back. There was a broken test tube that had fallen out of his hand a little ways away and one of the lensed of his glasses had been cracked, most likely from the impact of falling onto the floor.

Engie took in a deep breath before carefully sitting him up against the nearest wall, preparing himself to find something to clean up the blood that hadn't managed to be absorbed into his space suit.

He wasn't used to Medic being so.. quiet. Lifeless, if you would. He couldn't remember a single time he'd felt a pain in his chest as intense as this.

It was then that his anger suddenly came back, barely being able to contain himself before he turned around and ended up making a decently large crack in the monitor.

He tried to control the emotions that came flooding after, tried to keep himself from feeling this way over this one human when he'd aided the destruction of countless others, but when he felt himself shaking, he fell to his knees, a sob escaping him.

He shouldn't have gotten attached. He shouldn't have, it wasn't like him- like an imposter to get attached, and yet here he was, crying on the Medbay floor as blood soaked into his already red suit and glass shards clinked against the desk as they fell off piece by piece.

Serves him right for believing in humans, he guesses. Serves him right for having the audacity to care.

...what a stupid decision, that was.

[dorotheajanegilmore]

Agent Z

A Bucky Barnes Fanfic

Just found this old fic in my drafts folder. Would you guys like a new Bucky Barnes fanfic?

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at the girls nervous stature. “Would you relax. Unfold your arms you’re making it obvious.”

“There’s nobody here Buck.” She retorted and continued to rub her cold arms, now speckled with goosebumps as the cold New Jersey air blew over them.

“Alright then no need to worry. Just live a little would you, Porter?” Bucky sent her a wink and began to climb up the timber fencing.

It took Sam a lot of convincing before she finally agreed to go on this one mission. She was no Avenger, hell she had never even been to the gym. But Sam knew she had the skills. She had grown up hacking school computers and rewiring equipment. Now she helped the Avengers track bad guys behind the scenes and even invented a new security software that searches all of the internet to pull bits of coded information that helped them take out three hydra bases.

Zara Porter stood at the bottom of the fence, looking around anxiously, just waiting to get caught. She looked back up at Bucky to see him holding out a metal hand to her. She didn’t exactly trust the wooden fence and decided to take it. He pulled her up with such force that the sudden jolt of heavy weight caused Bucky to fall from the fence and pull Lorelai with him. He landed on the wet grass with a thud and she landing on top of him, her head hitting his chest.

“Sorry...” He groaned out. “Sometimes I underestimate how strong I am.”

She rolled her chin over the soft black hoodie he was wearing until she could see him. His blue eyes met her brown ones and he smirked at her, double shrugging his eyebrows suggestively at their position.

“Before you say anything else, Pervy, just remember who has the extraction location and code word from Sam. I will not hesitate to leave your ass here.”

Bucky nodded and she smiled. She gave him a small tap on the chest before placing her palms on the dewy grass to push herself up.

“Remind me why Sam asked you to come with me again?” Bucky Inquired as he brushed the various strands of grass from his elbows.

Zara sighed and folded her arms once again. “Because Wanda was busy probably.” She shrugged.

“Seriously? Can you just catch me up and give me a bit of info. No joking this time.” Bucky raised a brow at her, telling her that he genuinely wanted to know why she was involved.

“Because I was the one who hacked the security system here. When Sam and Steve were trying to find you, pre-airport bust up, they hired me to hack some files to find you. The other day when going through those files I found that there was still some sort of device here that was giving of signals. Sam wants us to check it out.”

Bucky nodded and muttered a quick thanks. He was more focused on scanning the location. The grass they had fallen on was part of a much bigger field surrounding the army base and a few smaller cabins.

They were caught of guard as the sound of creaking metal sounded throughout the field. Both of them shot to look in the direction of the sound and saw the main door to the army base opening as two soldiers stepped out.

Bucky grabbed Zara’s hand and took of running, pulling her with him for the second time today. He pulled her in front of him and hid her behind the first cabin. He stood just in front of her to peer around the wall.

She knew she need to keep quiet, but just as Bucky watched the men walk towards them a wasp flew onto Zara’s arm and she let out a squeal.

Bucky looked back at her to see her scrunching up her face, trying her absolute best not to scream out in pure fear. He furrowed his brows at her and whispered “Swat it away!”

“No! That’s disrespectful to Hope.” She whisper yelled back and he narrowed his eyes at her. He watched the guys pull out cigarettes and knew he had some time.

Bucky crouched down on the grass beside her leaning back against his knees. His metal finger came up and gently swiped the wasp from her bare arm. The wasp flew up into the air and disappeared into ten elements.

In a soft tone with a gentle smile Bucky asked “Now was that so hard?”

Zara shurgged and finally relaxed and leaned her cold back against the cabin wall. “I guess not.”

Bucky looked down at his hand to see the wasp had left a stinger. The bastard tried to sting me - he thought to himself. He sideeyed Zara And decided to keep that information to himself.

“Yeah were both safe thanks for asking.”

Sam shrugged and looked at Zara. “Girly you alright?”

“All good.” Zara replied monotone, bored from waiting around for so long.

“There we are then.” Sam shrugged. “What do you want Bucky? I’m getting ready for extraction.”

“We haven’t even gotten into the building yet. These two hydra ass’s have been standing here smoking carton after carton. Can you send redwing 112?”

“Sure thing.”

Three minutes later Sam’s favourite little weapon was flying in, bypassing all security cameras (which Zara had hacked and disarmed anyway) and hovering above the hydra operatives disguised as soldiers. Redwing shot out a sedative-filled darts at each soldier, piercing their necks and rendering them unconscious.

Bucky pressed his earpiece and asked Sam to have Redwing scan the building for heat signatures. Sam told him that the building was clear and they were safe to enter.

“Let’s go.” Bucky held out a hand for her and she took it. He pulled her to her feat and gave her a smile. “Try to enjoy this. This is a fun one.” He then took of running towards the base. Zara ran behind, silently cursing herself for getting involved.

The pair made it to the basement where Zara began to trace the signals with her phone. The red dot on the screen showed where the signal was coming from, which evidently was right where she was standing.

“Bucky...” She whispered, too scared move let alone talk loud. Bucky was rifling through boxes, unable to hear her. “Bucky.” She said louder.

“Little busy, Zar.” He shrugged her off. He emptied that box and turned around, seeing her frozen frame his eyes widened and panic surged through him. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “It’s under-“ Before she could finish her sentence the floor caved in and she fell through the ground.

“ZARA!” Bucky screeched. Without thinking he ran to hole in the ground and dived in head first. He was free faking for what felt like forever until he landed on his side on solid ground, covered in rubble.

He began ripping up piles of concrete and bricks surrounding him, yelling her name. “OH GOD. OH GOD OH GOD.” He hadn’t felt this kind of emotion in years. Sure, he worries about Steve and obviously he was concerned for Sam (even if he hid it well) and his other teammates but not enough to throw himself into the danger zone.

He had only known her for a short amount of time, less than a month, but he knew that Sam cared for her very much. She and Wanda are good friends and of course she had other friends and family that love and care about her. He couldn’t let them down, he couldn’t let her down. He didn’t want to admit it but, he also cared for her.

He cut his flesh hand pulling up boards and heavy blocks, he strained his back trying his best to lift a chunk of cement even Steve would’ve struggled with, he sweat through his clothes as adrenaline rushes through him 50x the normal person.

Just as the first tear left his eye, realisation hit him that he may have just lost a colleague to his own poor negligence. He should have responded. He should have kept better eye on her. What was he thinking bringing along a start up Agent. She was briefed on the safety protocols and evac situations but he didn’t think to cover falling through the floor!

“I’m ok...” Came a weak voice from behind him. Bucky span around and saw Zara’s brunette curls ruffled amongst some dry wall. Her torso was lodged under a filing cabinet while her legs covered in shattered cement and brick. Her chest and face was covered in hundreds and thousands of pieces of shards of glass, many of which piercing her skin.

He ran to her side and lifted the cabinet from her. She flinched but was then able to take a deep breath. She tried to pull herself up but had hurt her back from the fall.

Bucky’s heart aches as she let out a wicker of pain. “Shshsh it’s okay, I’ve got you babe.” His hands went to her sides as he lifted her, then finally he got a good grip on her back and hoisted her up.

Bucky held her in his arms as he looked around for an exit point. Seeing that they were helpless, he looked down at the pain filled look on the woman’s face. “This is probably the wrong time to say this but, could you tell me the extraction code word.”

“Wiener soldier.” She couldn’t help but crack a smile as she said it.

“Ha ha.” Bucky shook his head. “Now’s no time for jokes Doll. What’s the word Sam told you?”

“That was it Buck...” She paused, trying not to laugh as it hurt too much. “Wiener soldier is the code.”

“Fantastic.”

[divineluce]

Tickled Ink || Darwin & Luce

Timing: May 6th, 2020

Location: Ink, Inc.

Tagging: @wardinasrani

Notes: Darwin comes in to get an old tattoo touched up and Luce is happy to provide. Not a single heterosexual character was involved in the making of this chatzy.

Tapping her stylus against the edge of the desk, Luce stared at the design on her computer for a long time. It was as good as it was going to get, honestly. The design wasn’t one of her favorites, but the girl who had requested it was very insistent on it. She wanted a half realistic, half geometric butterfly with geometric pieces kinda flying off the geometric side. Had Luce argued with her that it would make an awful piece? No, of course not. She liked getting paid. But, it was going to be a fucking awful time. Booting up her printer, she set the stencil to start printing and wandered out of her room to the lobby. Rory was walking a client through paperwork, but she waved at him all the same. “Your 3 o clock, the butterfly girl? Yeah, she had to reschedule.” The receptionist said. Rolling her eyes, Luce sighed. “Figures. I’ve still got that booking at 6 though, right?” She said before confirming that her evening was booked up. Ugh. She’d put all that fucking work in just to have the girl flake on her. Better for her to get cold feet about it now than when she was getting it zapped away with a laser, though. As Luce scrutinized the schedule, the bell to the shop jangled loudly and she waved offhandedly.

Getting lost had become part of Darwin's daily routine by now. Inevitable when he was still so new to the town, but a hassle nonetheless. On the bright side, it often lead him to discover small little gems, and this time his wandering had led him to stand in front of a small tattoo parlor. “Ink Inc., mh? Catchy, if a bit uninspired.” Yet the place looked clean enough. Darwin lifted his shirt, just enough to glimpse at the faded tattoo on his hip. How long had it been since he'd gotten that protective symbol? Ten years? Twelve? Time, and one too many scuffles with stubborn demons who just wouldn't go back to their own dimension had taken their toll on the ward, to the point where now it had probably lost all its protective properties. Darwin looked at the parlor. “Guess it's time for a little update,” he mumbled to himself before opening the door and just strolling into the parlor as if he owned the place. Without sparing a glance to the woman in the lobby, his eyes drifted immediately to the drawings hanging on the wall. A good protective tattoo needed to be perfect to be effective, so Darwin took his sweet time studying the sketches and pictures. Good lines, a firm hand. Definitely professionals. Nodding to himself with satisfaction he finally turned to the woman, studying her with the same attention he'd given to the works on the wall. Lots of ink on her skin, too, which meant she knew her way around tattoos. His mind made up, Darwin waved at her with a dramatic flourish. “Greetings! I'm here for my appointment.” He had no appointment, of course, but someone probably did, and Darwin was willing to bet their design wasn't nearly as essential as updating his own protective ward.

Luce was no stranger to people coming in and straight up ignoring her-- usually it was because they were too nervous, sometimes it was because they were on their phone, which was hilarious and stupid. But this dude waltzed in like he owned the place, staring at the different art displays around the main lobby. Leaning against the reception desk, she watched as his eyes focused on a couple of her own designs. And when his gaze turned to her, Luce folded her arms across her chest, her sleeve tattoos on prominent display. She met his eyes with an unyielding, unimpressed stare of her own. If this was meant to be some kind of sizing her up thing, she’d been through this before. So many shitty big ass biker dudes had thought that she was some kind of hack, that she couldn’t handle being a tattoo artist. But, they changed their mind real quick once they were in the chair. At his words, Luce lifted an eyebrow. “Mhm, three o clock right? I’ve got your design all drawn up. You wanted the butterfly on the lower back, right, Julia?” She said, her lips curling into a grin.

“Yes, three o'clock, quite right, sorry I'm a little late. Glad you can accommodate my-” Luckily for once in his life Darwin actually managed to listen to what someone else said and he stopped himself in time. He couldn't help but frown a little. He could understand the Julia, many people had described him as flamboyant and Darwin himself had used worse fake names than that, but... “I like to think that if I ever were to get a tramp stamp I'd be able to come up with something more original than a butterfly. Maybe a Barghe-- A wolf skull, with flames coming from its eye sockets and an elaborate rose growing from its mouth.” Sarcasm and indignation wrestled on his face for a second, and then he settled for a short sigh as he took out his phone and glanced at it. “Well, it's already 3.15... I'm guessing Julia stood you up. Care for a replacement?”

“Oh, but it’s a very pretty butterfly. With shards of glass everywhere. Very cute. Sure to bring all the boys to the yard.” Luce said, her grin growing at the man balking at the idea. “Oh, yeah, something as original as a flaming wolf skull and a rose?” She said and tilted her head to one of the art pieces on the wall behind her-- the rose wasn’t growing from the wolf’s mouth, but the wolf skull had fiery eye sockets and was surrounded by roses. She’d done it for Ulf shortly after he’d told her about his wolfy heritage, just to keep it around. “Mhm, fair point. You got a name, not Julia? I’m Luce.” She said, holding out a hand for him. She liked the opportunity to work with someone who could be taken down a peg. Or, at the very least, someone who she could have an amusing back and forth with. Having a chatty client made it more fun when she stabbed them full of needles and ink.

Darwin glanced at the piece and let out a long sigh, burying his face in his hand. “Alas, there goes my new tattoo. Can't have something so similar to another one, imagine the embarrassment if we ever attended the same cocktail party.” After what he deemed an adequate dramatic pause he grabbed Luce's hand and bent down in what looked like a kiss to the hand. His lips never touched the woman's skin, but the smile he flashed up at her oozed charm. Or at least, that's what he liked to think. “Darwin Asrani, it's a pleasure.” He gently let go of Luce, but his eyes lingered once more on her art. “I like your style, and I'd hate to walk out without taking a little bit of your talent with me. Since my first idea was already taken could I bother you for some touch-ups instead? And perhaps we could schedule something new and original for my next visit. I'm thinking a well-dressed dinosaur drinking the blood of his enemies from a fancy teacup. That way people will know that I'm majestic, refined and dangerous.”

“Oh, no. I’m sure it’d send everyone into a panic to be seen with the same tramp stamp. Whatever will people at the country club think?” Luce said with an exaggerated fanning motion, as though she was some kind of fainting Southern belle. When he reached out to grab her hand, she stared at him, both amused and very much ready to knee this man in the face. But, he never kissed her hand-- which, good fucking thing. Anita, kissing her hand? Totally fun and gay and great. This rando? Sexual harassment. As he looked up at her, Luce pulled her hand away and shook her head. “Luce, can’t say the same.” She said, but her tone was joking. This guy was batshit, but in the fun kind of way. She could fuck with that, no hetero. As he continued to spout out bullshit, Luce couldn’t help but laugh. “Sounds like you’ve got a real winner of an idea there. But why not up the ante and make him drinking straight up poison out of the cup? You know, to show that you can’t be fucked with. Go big or go home, you know?” 

“Can't say the same yet,” Darwin corrected her with a confident smirk. “I'm sure you'll find plenty of pleasure in stinging me over and over while I'm on that torture chair of yours.” Truth be told, he appreciated the woman's quick wit: it would be a great distraction. Darwin was no stranger to pain, but he wasn't too keen on it either, and he wouldn't be able to face himself if he started to whimper like a whiny puppy once she had her tools out. Good conversation would help with that, maybe he'd be able to leave the parlor with his dignity, as well as with a retouched tattoo. Darwin stroked his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Poison it is, but it'll have to drink it from a bendy straw. Otherwise all the boys will be too intimidated to really come to my yard, and that would be a tragedy.” He nodded solemnly, and quickly added “But that seems like the sort of design that would require a couple of drafts at least, we can't rush art. So for today I think I'll just have you work on what I already have, if that's alright?”

“Someone thinks highly of himself. But, you’ve got a point there. Not as sharp as mine, but a point all the same.” Luce said, matching his smile with one of her own, with a wink thrown in for good measure. “Oh, in that case, we should change it to a milkshake glass. Just to really make sure the boys aren’t confused.” When the conversation turned to the real reason he walked into the shop, she leaned against the wood of the desk and scrutinized him, trying to see if the art in question was anywhere visible. But, it didn’t seem like it was the case. With a nod, she drummed her hands on the counter top. “What sorta shit are you looking to get done? Cover up, touch up, extension of your piece? I can roll with anything, just know my next appointment is in a couple of hours. So if it goes long, we’ll have to schedule a second session.” She warned, knowing that some people didn’t like the idea of having to come in twice to get work done. But, that was the price of a walk-in. 

“Cherry milkshake, then. It'll look like blood. Plus, it's my favorite.” Darwin said that last part as if he was sharing some deep personal secret. Which wasn't that far off from the truth, only Bertrand and a couple more were aware of his sweet tooth. Then his whole posture changed, and the hint of a playful grin on his face made way to a serious expression. “I need it to be perfect. Two, three, take seven whole weeks if you need to, but it has to be flawless. Matter of life or death.” Namely, his own life or death: relying on a defective protective tattoo had cost more than a couple hours of time to members of his family that were too careless to care. Quickly he lifted his shirt up, letting Luce look at the tattoo on his hip. The size of a closed fist, it was a protection symbol that'd been passed down his family for generation, each Asrani adding his own personal touch. Sanskrit symbols formed a small circle surrounding some other runes intertwined together. The Sanskrit prayer protected his mind from demonic invasions, the runes made it harder for them to interfere with his own magic during the summoning. It wasn't pretty, but it was effective, and any magic user worth their salt would recognize it was more than just some ice-breaker to use in a bar to pick up guys: while the full scope of the tattoo might be a mystery, it was obvious it had power. Or used to have: the black ink was faded with time, and a small scar that suspiciously looked like a claw mark had touched, albeit barely, the edge of the tattoo, interrupting some of the lines. “Do it well, and you’ll have my official permission to call me Julia till the end of time.”

Normally, if a dude decided to flash her in the shop, Luce would have wasted no time in kicking his ass out the door. And Ulfric had even let her get those brand new swords, just for that purpose. But, when her eyes fell on the intricate design, the symbols written in either Arabic or Sanskrit-- the two were difficult to distinguish between with her untrained eyes-- and the very distinct rune that the letters formed… Luce knew exactly what this was, even if she didn’t know the specifics regarding it. This was a rune of protection and a very well done one at that. Her eyes widened as she took in how intricately and cleanly the line work was executed. The attention to detail was exquisite. “Done. Come on in to my room, we’ll get started right away.” She said, leading the way back to her private room of the shop. Her room looked just the same as ever, neat and organized, the large rolling toolbox that she used to hold her equipment tucked in the corner. The walls were decorated with a few shelves that had a couple candles, a polished citrine crystal, and some of her artwork. A pinboard, refreshed with new stencils filled one wall, the prices written on the edges of each paper. Shutting the door behind her, Luce pushed up the sleeve of her t-shirt, showing him the intricate geometric pattern she had tattooed on her skin, the center of which featured a very specific rune, one of fire and power. “You showed me yours, I’ll show you mine. The line work is incredible-- where’d you get it done?”

Darwin was usually good at keeping his reactions under control. Or rather, he often overreacted, but that was a choice, not a mistake. This time though the flash of surprise hadn't been planned, nor was the deep interest as he studied Luce's tattoo. He even raised his hand, one finger extended to trace the symbol on her arm. Luckily, he managed to stop himself in time. “That is remarkable.” While he wasn't an expert on elemental magic, fire was often a component in his rituals, and as such he knew enough to recognize the rune for what it was: authentic. Darwin wasn't sure of the specific purpose of it, but he knew it was... Some sort of catalyst, perhaps? Either way, that rune meant Luce either was a magic user, or knew someone. “What does it represent, exactly?” After a beat, he realized that answering her question with one of his own would not satisfy her, so Darwin quickly added. “Mine is... You could say it's something of a family tradition, really. The design has been passed down for generations. I added my own personal touch to it, because I firmly believe that, ah... Tattoos should be tailored to oneself. Otherwise they're just scribbling on skin, absolutely useless.” Again, a brief pause, where he cleared his throat. “As an ice-breaker, I mean. Obviously.”

When Darwin moved to trace the image etched into her skin, Luce’s eyes narrowed. Apparently this dude was a big tactile kinda guy. Whatever. She could let it slide, just because he seemed to think it was impressive. But, he stopped himself. Good for him. “Thanks. Drew it myself, and had one of the boys do the work. It’s impossible to tattoo yourself from that angle. It’s one of my foci, I use it to give myself a little extra oomph.” She said, rolling her sleeve back down to cover that specific area of her tattoo. Even to those who knew about magic, she had designed her rune in a way that made it nearly indistinguishable from the geometric pattern that surrounded it. A person would have to be familiar with magic and the symbols concerning fire to understand. And, even then, there were more than a few normal humans who walked around with runes they didn’t understand tattooed on her skin. “Hm.” A traditional rune of protection? She could understand why some people would want such a thing. It didn’t tell her anything about what kind of magic he did, only that he was in the business of keeping himself safe rather than channelling additional power. Interesting. “Very nice. And you know I can understand that. Tattoos are an extension of yourself. Family tradition or not, you should express your own personality within it.” She said with a nod before returning to her more businesslike demeanor. “A touch up for that bad boy of yours won’t be easy, but I do good work. I can guarantee nice, clean lines.”

Someone who knew what a focus was and used the right plural for it. If Darwin hadn't been so gay he would have fawned himself like an excited school-girl. Instead he settled for an impressed nod and another smile. He was dying to know more about her, to learn how much she actually knew, what she did... But it was dangerous: for all Darwin knew his family would eventually look for him, and he couldn't just trust the first magic-inclined person he met. Well, second one, but Winston spoke like a newbie, Darwin doubted they had any ties to the Asrani. So, in order to protect himself, Darwin decided for it'd be best to bring the focus back on the reason he was here, and luckily Luce seemed to share that idea. “Oh, I don't doubt your ability. What's more, you seem to know how crucial precision is with this kind of design, so... Just tell me where you want me and please, be careful. I'm ticklish.” Not one to usually follow orders, this time Darwin got himself into the mind frame of listening to each and every instruction she'd give. Then again looking at the various tools in the studio reminded him of exactly why he'd put it off for so long. Stupid needles. A sharp ceremonial knife across his arm never scared him, the pain only lasted a second and then he had rituals to focus on and distract him from it, but the chair of a tattoo-artist meant he'd have to feel each and every single sting. Safety be damned, he needed the distraction. “So, an extra oomph. Amber stones just weren't doing it for you? Most practitioners I've met tended to favor something less...” Traceable? Recognizable? “Permanent to channel their magic.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Lie on back and I’ll get everything started.” Luce said, gesturing to the chair between them. “Take your shirt off too, can’t have it getting in the way.” She said as she got the needles, ink, and a fresh pair of gloves on. The business of touch ups wasn’t too difficult, not usually. But on something that was this precise, this delicate, she needed to make sure that she had everything just right. “Trust me, I know. It took a while before I found the right artist to do my sleeve and I made sure the guy’s hands were just as steady as mine. Precision matters for work like this.” She said as she pulled her long hair back in a ponytail. Snapping on some fresh gloves, she noted the apprehension on his face as she pulled out the tools of the trade, the individually packaged needles that sat on a sterile tray, her machine poised at the ready. Setting up her machine, she took out a spray bottle of sterile solution and wiped down the patch of skin that was to be her workspace. “Let’s get started, hm?” She nodded, switching on her machine. The familiar humming vibration filled the room and she set to work, tackling the biggest area of faded skin and ink first. “I’m not like most practitioners. Besides. My symbols blend in with my designs. I hide them in plain sight. Distract with the main design to keep the attention away from the purpose.”

Darwin did as he was told, taking off his shirt and carefully folding it before taking his place on the chair. He wasn't too concerned with the shirt itself, it was more an excuse to buy some time: just like the last time the sight of the needles made his knees a little weak and his face just a tad paler; he hoped she wouldn't notice. When she started the pain wasn't that bad. At first. But Darwin knew how these things went, it would only become worse, so he decided to just focus on Luce's words instead, drinking them in. “Smart. Misdirection is often a magician's best friend.” He tensed his stomach in discomfort, and he noticed that she seemed to anticipate that and stop her work, which put his mind at ease: she really was a professional. “Besides, in my experience the times you need... Ah, an extra oomph, as you put it, are often the times when you can't afford your focus to be swatted away. A crystal can be dropped, a tattoo... Not so much.” Again, he flinched, doing his best to hide the grimace behind another smile. “I could think of at least a dozen times that tattoo has saved my life, it's nice to know the bad things'll have a harder time getting into my head.” He bit his lip, suddenly deep in thought. Then he looked at Luce. “So, let's say I designed another one, maybe something to help with channeling... How much would you ask to make it all discreet and pretty-like? I got a feeling I'll need some extra power in this town, but I can’t give up on style.”

While she was focused on her work, Luce considered being able to read her client’s body language a part of that. She’d tattooed her own sisters, after all, and the two of them hated needles more than anyone she knew. Which is why she paused every so often, checking the man’s expression, making sure that he never went pale and that he remained alert. She nodded at his comment as she wiped away some of the ink from the skin with a paper towel, clearing the area so she could continue over the delicate, intricate letters and symbols. But, internally she frowned at the idea of being called a magician. That was Bea’s thing. Not hers. “Exactly. It’s always nice to have it on hand. Or rather, on shoulder.” She joked. She watched him flinch and paused, lifted needle away from his skin. She didn’t want to ruin his… rune. As she continued her work, his words played around in her mind. Dozens of times, hm? That explained the wear and tear on it. But, getting into his head-- what did that mean? Someone try to take his memory, like her sister did to August? Or did he mean something else. Hm. “Channeling? Depends on what kind of thing you’re channeling.” She said, pulling away to look at her handiwork from afar. Nice. “For the elements, I use the old alchemical symbols. They blend in nicely with my style. Sacred geometry.” She said, tilting her head to the pinboard with some of her designs were displayed. “For other things… I could hide it in a landscape, imbued with power. Or in the gilded edges of a neo-traditional mirror. It all depends on what you’re looking to channel.”

“Elements, huh? So I was right, you really are a Firecracker.” Darwin said with a small shrug, one that he immediately regretted. “For me it's usually safer to stay away from flames, but most rituals draw power from the elements, I thought I recognized something.” He grew silent, his brows furrowing. What was he looking to channel? Truth be told, the potential of a new tattoo hadn't really crossed his mind before now, but he had to admit, it was a brilliant idea: before running away he'd always had another ritualist to help out, but ever since he'd escaped he'd been on his own, and tangoing with demons was a dangerous hobby, one that took a lot out of him. If he could pick one thing to improve in his spell casting, what would it be? Finally, after a long pause, he murmured, more to himself than Luce. “Stability. That's what I need. An actual anchor for my power. Ever felt like you're a breath away from casting the perfect spell and then something goes wrong and all that energy you collected just slips away? I can't afford tha- Ouch! Careful, there!” Oh yeah, now he remembered: the part over the bone had been the worse, even when he first got the tattoo. He steadied himself and focused on the conversation again, humor the only coping mechanism he had left while at Luce’s mercy. “Whatever design I come up with, I'm sure you'll be able to fit it into our fabulous dinosaur. No one would look for a power rune there.”

“You know it.” Luce said, flipping him off, the alchemical symbol for fire on full display on her finger. For all he knew, she did other magic, focused in other spells. But, that had never been something she’d wanted. Fire was in her blood and it was all she wanted to study. All energy, all life on Earth depended on fire just as surely as it depended on the other elements. His mention of rituals, they didn’t give much away in the nature of what he did. Everyone did rituals-- the coven did circles and rituals all the time, to strengthen their ties to the earth and to the magic within themselves. But, stability. That was an interesting one. “Hm.” She said with a nod. She’d felt that sensation once before, only once. Messing with creating a fire so hot, so blinding, that it barely felt like the flames that she was so used to controlling. In that moment, power beyond her imagination was within her grasp. Only for it to slid away. At his protests, Luce laughed, “Don’t be a child.” She said, but used a gentler hand as she tattooed over his hip. Steady hand, steady pokes.“Mm, of course. I could work it into the scales of the dinosaur, or maybe even into the monocle on his eye. He’s got to have a monocle.”

“Easy to say when you're not the one being poked to death,” Darwin mumbled, slowly raising the hand on the opposite side of his tattoo to flip her off. Normally he'd never resort to such crude gestures, but he'd learned to adapt to the person -or creature- in front of him, mimicking their habits in order to better anticipate their movements, their attacks, their plans. Also, he was in pain, he was allowed a slip in style. Despite his protests, he stilled himself, doing his best to suppress every small shiver and tremor and, more importantly, every chuckle: flipping someone off was one thing, but going into a giggling fit would wreck his reputation as well as his tattoo, and he definitely hoped to stay in contact with Luce. “Of course he has a monocle, what kind of uncultured swine do you take him for? And I'll name him Bertrand II, after my...” Demonic pet? Too personal, too soon, who knew how she'd take it. “...Familiar.” Hopefully she'd mistake that hesitation for another reaction to the tattooing process, but even then, Darwin realized he wouldn't be able to keep twisting the truth without focusing 100% on the conversation, and her needle was distracting at best. “I refuse to burst into tears on your chair, so... How about some music? To take my mind off the damned buzzing? I'll take anything, as long as it's loud and I can sing along. Yes, I sing, feel free to swoon.”

“You say that like I haven’t sat in that chair for hours myself.” Luce snorted, gesturing to her elaborate sleeve tattoos. He didn’t need to know about all her other tattoos-- those were reserved for the lovely ladies she took to bed. “You can talk to me about being poked to death when you get a rib tattoo or three.” She said. A hawk and a peacock, for Nell and Bea. Though they wouldn’t know that. No, they just thought the matching tattoos across the sternum was all she had for them. The pause in his voice didn’t go unnoticed and Luce arched her eyebrow as she continued to trace the linework. “Your familiar, huh? I’m sure he’ll be touched by it.” Iggy new that she wouldn’t ever be getting a tattoo of him, that was for damn certain. “Gonna cry? This is so sad, Alexa, play Despacito.” She said, leaning back in her chair as the little gadget lit up and the musical stylings of not the Justin Beiber version filled the air. With a grin, she set back to work, humming quietly to herself as she drew. Darwin, huh? Just what kind of spellcaster was he? She supposed she’d just have to find out another time.

[emberbent]

Book 2: Air | Chapter 4: Bending Embers

“Idiot,” Yanyu scoffed. She was a mean-faced woman of indeterminate old age; though she wore civilian clothing, her long, gray queue and sharp, precise movements gave her away as having had Dai Li training. She cast a disgusted sneer at the Avatar, who was held fast to a chair with hand-shaped cuffs made of unforgiving stone, entranced. “I can’t believe she fell for it.”

“I can’t either,” the Org lackey grunted. He sat beside the chair on the floor, taking a rest with his arms curled around his bent knees. He’d lit the fireplace to stave off the chilly late-autumn draft that had swept into the room. “Name’s Nobu, by the way.”

“Can’t say I really give a damn what your name is,” Yanyu replied airily. Then, with more force: “You know what I’m here for.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nobu rolled his eyes. “Hang on a sec.” He yanked his radio out of its holster on his belt and held it up to his mouth. “Agent Tanaka to Command. Avatar has been captured and is ready for transfer, over.”

The response was immediate. “Very good. See that she is brought to me in one piece. Over.”

“Wilco. Over and out,” Nobu said into his radio. Hauling himself up into a standing position, he twisted a couple times to the left and right, cracking his spine. “Man… I’m getting too old for this.”

“Oh, please,” Yanyu spat. “Don’t talk to me about being old. I want my money.”

Nobu stood firm. “You know the deal. We get her transferred, and then you get your cut.”

Yanyu rolled her eyes. “Fine.” Then she looked again at the pacified Avatar, eyes open but unseeing, face still. She produced from the inside of her robe pocket a little vial of thick, black liquid. “Let me give her more of this before we take her.”

“What is that?” Nobu inquired, squinting at the substance.

Yanyu uncapped the vial and, with a hard curling of her fingers, removed the sludge and let it hover in the air for a few seconds. “Insurance,” she smirked. “Gave her some of this when she was a kid just in case. This’ll help her stay nice and quiet on the trip.”

With a slow, tight twist of her hand, she propelled the wobbling blob toward Shinza.

“Open,” Yanyu instructed.

She obeyed. The sludge brushed her bottom lip.

Hey. Hey! Wake up! shouted a familiar voice in Shinza’s mind.

Her hand twitched. 

“Hurry!” hissed Nobu. “She’s coming out of it.”

Shinza! Wake the fuck up, you’re in trouble!

“No she’s not,” Yanyu replied arrogantly. “Shinza… you are a good, quiet girl.”

Korra’s palm was hot and hard as it struck Shinza’s face. “Wake! Up!” 

Shinza bolted upright, dazed, as she found herself in the spirit room with Korra. “What…?”

“You have to wake up,” Korra urged. “It was a trap. The Org and some bitch named Yanyu are kidnapping you. Get up.”

Slowly, stupidly, Shinza looked at her hands, her arms. Realization dawned on her. As if piped in through an old-time intercom system, a voice came to her: “You are a good, quiet girl…”

She was awake now.

“I can help you, but you have to fight. Ready?” Korra urged.

On the physical plane, Shinza’s eyes shot open, glowing white with the force of Korra’s guidance. A howling wind kicked up around her, throwing furniture around the room as if it was all made of paper. The earthen cuffs crumbled away and she stood up from the chair. 

“I am no such thing,” Shinza bellowed; the wind was deafening, but her voice rang out above it, bolstered by Korra’s voice layered behind it. With a sharp jab, she shot a blast of fire at Yanyu’s head.

Yanyu swiftly ducked and rolled, grounding herself in a solid horse stance and sending her foot downward, hard. The cement slab beneath their feet broke into shards like brittle candy, shredding the carpet above it; Yanyu directed the shards inward, aiming to capture Shinza’s legs. Narrowly, Shinza leapt upward on a current of air, the cement scraping at the leather of her boots. Behind her, Nobu snuck up and wrapped his arm around her neck, cutting off her airflow with the crook of his elbow. Flailing, Shinza kicked both legs out high, striking Yanyu in the jaw in an attempt to wriggle free. Nobu flexed his bicep. Shinza saw stars. He snared her wrists behind her back and wrestled her to the ground, stomach to the earth with his knee hard on her back.

“Stop fighting!” Yanyu commanded over the cutting wind. Gesturing with her hands, she summoned the crumbled earthen cuffs; they reformed and flew toward Shinza, stony fingers curling--

Shinza uttered a deafening howl. The gale picked up with sudden, ferocious force and sent Yanyu and Nobu both across the room in different directions, their bodies thudding against the walls. She got to her feet. Nobu, fazed and angry, bolted upright and lunged for her. In a split second, Shinza’s eyes went to the fireplace. Her hand shot out, summoning the smoldering embers forward. Then she thrust her fist at Nobu, sending them into his eyes.

Nobu screamed, clutching at his face and falling to his knees. The smell of charred flesh permeated the room.

Behind her, Yanyu drove her bony knuckles into Shinza’s spine. Once, twice, but before she could land the third blow, Shinza whirled around, catching Yanyu’s arm in her grasp and twisting until she heard a loud pop. Yanyu yowled defiantly, her hard green stare daring her to continue. Shinza yanked her other arm forward, gripping it hard and twisting at the shoulder so Yanyu couldn’t move.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Yanyu growled.

Shinza snapped her arm with a nauseating crack. “You will never block anyone’s bending again.”

In the recesses of her mind, Korra whooped and hollered triumphantly, and then slipped away. The white glow receded from Shinza’s eyes, and the gale subsided. The room was in shambles. Yanyu lie passed out on the floor, and Nobu crouched near the crooked bed, wailing, blinded, burned.

“Why? Why would you do this?!” Nobu cried. 

Shinza sank to her knees near him. “Would you really have let me go if I’d asked politely? I don’t think so. I don’t believe you would have reasoned with me.”

“The Avatar is not reasonable,” Nobu argued miserably. “You’ve proven that today.”

“I’m sorry you see it that way.”

“I don’t see anything now because of you!” he spat viciously, lunging at her in rage but toppling, unwilling to remove his hands from his blistered face. He sobbed. “It wasn’t supposed to go this way. I was supposed to turn you in, collect my bonus, and retire.”

Shinza studied him. Greying at the temples; muscled, but he probably had to work harder to stay fit than he used to. Maybe he had a wife and grown kids. This was just a job to him - one with a good pension, by the sound of it. Nothing personal.

“What do you really think of the Organization?” Shinza inquired. “Of the Avatar?”

“I don’t know,” Nobu sniffed. “I don’t care anymore. Leave me alone.”

Shinza’s gaze narrowed on him. Was he really letting her go? “Okay then. I’m walking away.”

“Go. Get a head start before I change my mind. Just know the big man won’t be pleased when you don’t arrive. He’ll send out another crew, a better one, and they won’t treat you well.”

“That’s fair,” she said. Then she turned for the door, stepping carefully over Yanyu’s prone body and opening the door. With one foot over the threshold, she turned back. “By the way, the healers in Republic City are top notch. They’ll fix you up.”

Nobu scoffed. Shinza stepped into the chilly air, sticking her thumb and index finger into her mouth to whistle for Xia. But before she could make a sound, the ground rumbled beneath her feet. Shinza turned back to see the pointy end of a shard of concrete leveled at her face. Yanyu directed it with her feet and sent it forward. Shinza ducked, but the corner of the block caught her shoulder, ripping her clothes and the skin beneath it. An ugly black bruise began to form immediately. Shinza growled furiously, cocking her fist--

A plume of sweltering flame blasted through the doorway, missing Shinza but engulfing Yanyu, as Xia drove relentlessly forward into the building, arching upward in a loop like a roller coaster once she’d cleared it and doubling back to reign more fire. 

“Shit,” Shinza murmured. The inn began to burn around her. “Oh, fuck.” 

Xia made another loop and slowed down just enough for Shinza to throw herself onto her back. Before she knew it, they were speeding into the air as the inn was consumed by flames. In the distance, she heard police sirens.

Reeling, Shinza clung tightly to the dragon. She’d managed, just barely, to wriggle out of her own kidnapping, but she’d had to physically maim two people to do it. Her dragon had just committed murder by arson. The Organization, she knew, would be out for blood. She could already see the propaganda flyers littering the streets of towns across the globe: Avatar brutally murders her opposers. 

The visceral feel of Yanyu’s limbs snapping in her hands pulsed in her head like a sick heartbeat. The stench of Nobu’s charred flesh was embedded in her clothes - a smell she’d never be able to wash out. 

Clinging tightly to Xia’s back, she planted her palm firmly onto the slick, scarlet scales, closing her eyes and communicating with gratitude: I couldn’t have gotten out of that without you.

_______

They touched down in a town a comfortable distance away from Gaoling. Shinza parted with Xia, wearily found another inn, checked in, and immediately collapsed on the bed. Though she slept hard, she dreamed a familiar dream: black sludge oozed out in sticky tendrils from her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. But this time, she let it flow, watching it collect itself into a neat blob and flow back into its little glass bottle.

In the morning, she felt as if she’d been hit by a Satobus. Bleary-eyed and sore, she made her way to the bathroom, noting the ugly blue bruise and the throbbing, bloody scrape on her shoulder. Her reflection stared back at her, hollow-eyed, pallid. Her freckled face was framed by a tangle of dark hair. There were no mirrors in the Eastern Air Temple; with the exception of the pond in the early, tranquil morning, she hadn’t seen herself in months. Shinza scarcely recognized the woman she saw. In her own mahogany eyes, she saw exhaustion, anger, sadness, and what Shinza could only describe as freedom. Though she smoke and char from the inn in Gaoling still clung to her skin, and though she could still hear Yanyu’s yowling and the snapping of her bones, she felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her. Carefully, she cleaned the wound on her shoulder and bathed. She’d lost her bag, she realized with a sigh, and reluctantly slipped back into the soiled and torn clothes she’d arrived in. 

Then, with a growling stomach, she went out in search of food. A block down from the inn was a noodle house; Shinza stopped in and slipped into a booth. A waiter came by to attend to her - a young man with a tapestry of tattoos covering both arms.

“Morning,” he greeted, clearly pretending not to notice the state of her clothes. She had a feeling he wasn’t one to judge. “What can I get you?”

“House special, please,” she replied. The young man bowed and returned momentarily with a steaming bowl of fresh noodles drowning in fragrant broth. Her stomach rumbled again as she unsheathed her chopsticks.

“Anything else I can get for you?” he inquired.

“Actually,” Shinza paused, studying his tattoos as surreptitiously as she could. “Will you tell me where you got your ink?”

“Pretty sick, huh?” He took a moment to admire the intricate, colorful designs on his skin. “Old man Guo hooked me up. He does it old-style with a poker, not metalbending. He’s over on Shi Street and Main.”

“Thanks,” Shinza replied, and tucked into her noodles.

_______

Shi and Main was a short walk. Guo’s place would have been all but invisible to those not looking for it, save for the wooden sign that had fallen off its little hooks on the awning and sat leaning against the outside of the storefront. Shinza entered and found a man - old, indeed - perched on a stool behind the counter, apparently asleep.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you Guo?”

As if he’d been awake the whole time, he smiled brightly, toothlessly. “Oh, yes, that’s me. How may I help you?”

Shinza peered at all the artwork that lined the walls, some of it on old-style parchment scrolls, some on paper. Not a measure of wall was without a drawing or a painting. Spirits, beasts, curvaceous women, and poems in elegant calligraphy abounded.

“I’d like a tattoo,” she said. “A big one.”

With the enthusiasm of a child, Guo stepped off his stool and hobbled around the front counter. “What strikes your fancy?” he inquired in his thin, airy voice. His cloudy eyes traveled over the torn fabric of her shoulder.

“Don’t ask,” Shinza said flatly. Guo met her gaze and winked. Then she rolled up the sleeve on her opposite arm. “Are you familiar with the red dragons of the Island of the Sun Warriors?”

The process took nearly eleven hours, but meditating with Lo Sang for months on end had prepared her both for the wait and for the pain. The pain was intense and prolonged and entrancing; once Guo had sunk the inked needle into her skin for the last time, he carefully and reverently cleaned her skin and gestured for her to take a look in the full-length mirror nearby.

The tattoo consisted of strict, uniform linework and painstaking, meticulous shadow stippling in pure black ink. It started at her clavicle, where the likeness of Xia’s head breathed fire toward Shinza’s heart; the dragon’s body extended down the entire length and surface of her arm, ending with the detail of Xia’s tail wrapping delicately around her fingers, over her scars.

“It suits you,” Guo said, admiring his work. “Your spirit companion will be quite proud.”

“How do you know I know this dragon?” Shinza inquired casually. 

Guo peered up at her and offered another toothless smile. “We have long awaited your return, Avatar,” he whispered. “Go in peace.”

Guo refused to accept the last of her money, claiming no payment was greater than to be allowed to tattoo her. Shinza cast him one last inquisitive look before closing the door behind her and whistling for her dragon.

_______

@chromecutie @hetapeep41 @jaymzbush @newyorkerqueen @my-remedy-is-euphoria

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Reliving An Old Nightmare - Chapter 9

<= Chapter 8

Summary : Snatcher learns more about his current situation, featuring an insolent brat. Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337299/chapters/54869914

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Hello! Here's the ninth chapter! First of all, a huge "thank you" to Krekka01, who corrected it!

I hope you'll like it, and I can't wait to publish the next chapter already! (I still have to write it first, ahaha)

Happy reading!

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Chapter 9:

Snatcher had always found teleportation to be one of the easiest ways of moving around his forest. It had been one of his many powers as a ghost, though he had had to eat a few dozen souls before he could use it; however, teleporting as a human, using the kid’s alien technology, was very much different. First, it wasn’t as “fast” as his own method, since he had the time to feel his body moving very quickly in an empty space, yet without the usual draft caused by the movement. Second… it was an extremely awful sensation, contrary to his own teleportation technique.

As soon as the transportation ended, his body violently hit the floor, leaving him lying down on something soft, eyes shut. His mind was hazy from the sudden shock while a wave of pain engulfed him. Why did he have to suffer so much? Hadn’t he had enough already? With his injured hand and legs, it was-

The spirit stopped thinking immediately as a horrible thought came to his mind: he couldn’t feel his legs anymore!

-“Snatcher!” The child’s voice broke the silence and helped him to clear his fuzzy consciousness. Alarmed by his lack of sensations in his lower half, the shade slowly opened his eyes. A groan left his lips; he felt like someone was hammering his brain, again and again and again. His vision was blurry and the room was dark, yet he could still perceive the brat’s silhouette next to him.

-“Snatcher, are you okay?” she asked again, in a much more anxious tone. Her loud voice intensified his headache and he raised his right hand to silence her.

-“Yeah, yeah, shut up, I’m still alive...” He managed to keep an “unfortunately” to himself, even if it would have been pretty funny to say, considering his own situation. However, his entire body froze as he caught sight of his hand. It was purple… Just like his old one, the one he used to have when he was dead.

Ignoring the sharp pain, he straightened up and took a better look at himself: he was no longer in his old human body! He lowered his head; no wonder he couldn’t feel his legs anymore! He didn’t have any at the moment! Just the old purple tail, like usual.

The spirit couldn’t help but laugh at the thought: as if things had been usual lately! But, finally, he was back in his old spectral form.

-“Oh, thank God,” he said, both groaning and sighing at the same time, more than relieved. He tried to float again, moving his tail at the same time but stopped immediately when he felt something unpleasant. It… hurt.

“What the…?” he thought, confused. He tried to move his tail again, only to wince when the pain increased from the movement. Ghosts weren’t supposed to feel pain! Yet, here he was, clenching his spectral teeth. What was happening? Next to him, the kid was watching him silently, probably oblivious to what was going on in his mind. But then, his vision cleared up.

They were in the child’s spaceship, in the main room more precisely. The room was dark, only illuminated by a single screen. Now that he had regained his spectral body, he could see things perfectly, even in a poorly lit room. The ghost examined his surroundings: the floor was covered in shards, all coming from broken screens. When he first came into her spaceship (back when he made her sign the death wish contracts), he had always seen them on, showing things in a language he couldn’t understand. Now, they were all broken, except for one of them, which was the only thing preventing the room from being pitch-black. But the screens weren’t the only damaged things. Most of the glass balls on the mezzanine were shattered as well, and the green ladder had fallen to the floor. The doors were off, not displaying the usual lit drawings. The instrument panel was damaged, too, and one of its pipes had detached from it, hanging on the side from where it was supposed to fit. All the indicator lights were off, just like the panel in itself, more generally. A burnt smell emanated from it, a clear indicator of it malfunctioning.

And regarding what was outside of the spaceship… it was only a pure black void, nothing like the space he had been able to see through the window pane before. There were no more stars, no more visible planets… Just nothing. Snatcher couldn’t help but feel intimidated by it.

-“Hey, kid,” he started, still looking around them, “you threw a party here or what?”

The child snorted, while her face softened, leaving most of her worry behind.

-“Pff, no,” she replied with a small laugh, before continuing with a more serious tone. “Well, it’s because of the Time Rift. This one is much more powerful than the usual ones, and it’s a little too powerful for my ship.”

The ghost turned to the girl, staring at her with a perplexed look.

-“What do you mean ‘it’s too powerful’?”

-“Well…” Her eyes fell to the ground as a wince appeared on her face. It was enough to tell Snatcher that whatever she was going to say wouldn’t be good for both of them.

-“Remember when I told you someone had used a Time Piece to create this pocket dimension? Well, it’s not supposed to happen. There have been theories about that, back on my home planet, but no one had ever actually managed to create anything like this. My ship isn’t made for that kind of situation.” She pointed to the broken control panel and continued. “I was in space when it happened. I was able to enter the Void before the Rift closed itself, but not without breaking things in the process.”

It was a little too complicated for the spirit to understand. While he could learn and recite entire law books, this was a bit too abstract for him. He had been stuck for years in his forest, far from any technologies other than what he had seen from his victims. It was no wonder he had trouble understanding what she was saying, even though he could grasp the main ideas most of the time.

-“So…” he replied, gesturing to the window, “The Void? That’s where we are?”

-“Yeah. It’s a little hard to explain, but…” She was about to continue but interrupted herself as she seemed to realize something. “Wait, what about your hand?”

The ghost simply laughed at her.

-“Kiddo, I’m a ghost again. Spirits can’t be hurt,” he said, omitting an “only in very specific situations”.

-“Are you sure?” The ghost didn’t get the time to answer as she came closer and took his left hand in hers to examine it. In any other situation, Snatcher would have smacked her hands away, telling her that she must be dense to insist that much; however, as soon as the child touched his hand, a pained cry escaped his ghostly lips.

-“Ouch! Ouch, ouch!” The brat lifted her head to look at him, surprised by his reaction. But the shade was even more shocked than she was.

Ghosts weren’t supposed to feel pain. And that’s when Snatcher realized that he had been able to feel the softness of the floor, to smell the burnt scent of the damaged control panel. He shouldn’t have been able to. Dead people lost their senses of smell and touch. So, if he was back in his old body, why did he still feel them? Why did he feel pain in his non-existent legs and in his spectral hand? This didn’t make any sense!

-“I thought ghosts didn’t feel pain?” retorted the little girl with a cheeky smile.

-“Oh shut up, will you!” He took his hand back, inspecting it. Just like his human hand, there were red stripes, and his purple skin was bluer than usual. The shade had never seen anything like that, in both his life and afterlife. This wasn’t good. Spirits weren’t supposed to be affected by such injuries. Was his spectral body still linked to his human one? He couldn’t see any other explanation, yet it didn’t make much sense either. Why would his bodies be linked to each other? The ghost had no idea what to think at this point. Time travel had never been something he was good at and it was much worse when it came to space-related subjects.

-“For starters, why am I back in my old body? Aren’t we still in the Time Rift?” he asked, frowning in confusion.

-“It’s…” She grimaced, trying to look for words. “Let’s take care of your hand first, I’ll explain after that.”Snatcher scoffed at her :

-“Take care of my hand? Kid, I’m dead. What exactly do you want to cure?” His tone must have been a little too sarcastic to the hat-wearing brat, as she pressed his hand back into hers, causing the shade to freeze instantly, clenching his teeth not to let any sound come out. He glared at her, though it did little to intimidate her, as she just smiled innocently.

-“You brat…” he grumbled, before giving up, too tired of everything to fight back. “Okay, fine, let’s take care of a hand that shouldn’t need it!”

The kid smiled at him even more and let go of his left hand.

-“Great! Come with me to the kitchen!”

The ghost lowered his eyes to the broken ladder beside them. How was she going to get up there if there was nothing to-

He didn’t get the time to finish that thought as the kid gathered speed and rushed forward. She jumped on the wall and caught the ledge of the mezzanine as if it was nothing. Right, she could do that. How could he have forgotten about her weird abilities? She sure was a strange kid, though he supposed he prefered that rather than a crying and useless one.The little girl turned back to him, gesturing him to follow her:

-“What are you waiting for?”

The ghost simply rolled his eyes and let his body leave the ground, floating higher and higher. The pain intensified in the meantime, but he did his best to ignore it, let alone show it at all. He had had enough of people pitying him like the dumb prince he used to be. It didn’t take him very long to join the kid on top of the mezzanine. She then opened the kitchen door and shifted on the side to let him enter. The room was dark and it was even messier than the last time he had been there. Usually, plates lied around, barely cleaned up. The sink was always full of dishes and the fridge wasn’t even properly closed! But now… plates were shattered on the floor, the contents of all the kitchen cupboards were splattered everywhere, the paintings had all fallen to the floor, and the fridge was completely open. All the lights in the room were off, and the shade could see the broken glass of lamps on the floor. His own face was the only source of light in this pitch-black room.

-“I know you have a problem with cleaning, kiddo,”Snatcher remarked, “but it really seems like a hurricane hit your spaceship.”

-“You’re not very far from the truth, honestly,” Hat Kid replied, smiling sheepishly. “When my ship entered the Void, it was pretty… intense. It shook everything up.”

-“Again with that ‘Void’ thingy?”

-“I’ll explain, I promise! Just…” She took his injured hand again, though much more gently than before. “Come here.”

The hat-wearing brat led him to a wooden crate, one that was in the same place the last time he could remember. She let go of his hand once again, and ran to the sink, trying to open the tap. However, she facepalmed when no water came out of it.

-“Ugh, of course, no power, no water!” Her frustration made Snatcher smile; seeing that was the best thing happening in his day so far. Though, said frustration didn’t linger long on her face, as she seemed to have an illumination. She clapped her hands together and started to look for something in the cupboards, throwing behind her whatever didn’t correspond to what she was searching for. The ghost almost got hit, but quickly avoided the object that was thrown at him. He was about to complain about that but he was cut short as the kid brandished something proudly.

-“Ah-ha!”

It was a bottle of water. The ghost’s confusion increased even more.

-“Uh��� You know I don’t need to drink or eat in that form, right?” he questionned, wondering if the child had gone even stupider in the last few minutes passed in his company. She ignored him and picked up something that was lying in one of the corners of the room: a saucepan. The proud look on her face intensified and she smiled even more as she fiercely put the pan on the crate. The shade was just staring at her, trying to understand what she was trying to do, in vain. It was only when the girl filled the saucepan with water that she facepalmed herself once again, this time with both hands, groaning lengthily.

-“What now?” Snatcher couldn’t help but feel more and more annoyed with the present situation. He crossed his arms, careful not to touch the injured part of his left hand.

The girl lowered her hands, looking at him with eyes suddenly full of inspiration.

-“Wait, do you still have your powers by any chance?” she asked.

-“Uh…” That was a very good question, one which he didn’t know the answer yet. “What for?”

The little girl pointed to the saucepan filled with water.

-“If we want to cure your frostbite, or at least make it less painful for you, we have to put your hand in warm water. But since my spaceship has not much power left, I can’t heat up the water. So… I was wondering if you could do that with your powers?”

That… did make sense. Or, at least it did in that extreme nonsense that was their whole situation. He shrugged; he could still try. Though, he couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious; he could feel and smell things, even though he shouldn’t be. What if he still didn’t have his powers? He could float around like before, yes, but that didn’t mean anything. At this point, it was hard to be surprised.

-“I guess?” he answered, unsure.The kid took the saucepan and held it up for him to place his uninjured hand underneath. The shade closed his eyes and tried to produce a little flame. It was one of the easiest things he could do usually, so if he couldn’t do that now… that meant he would truly be defenseless. He tried to focus as much as possible, searching for any source of power still left inside of him. Just when he was about to think there was none left, he felt something. There were still some traces inside. He felt his hand heating up and he reopened his eyes. The room was now illuminated by a purple flame, right between his hand and the saucepan. The kid was staring at it with admiration, before lifting her eyes to meet his.

-“You still have them!” the girl cried out. “That’s amazing!”

The spirit scoffed, looking elsewhere. He wasn’t used to be flattered, and he could feel a mix of unease and pride developing inside of him.

-“Pff, you find that amazing? Wait until we fight again, then you’ll be impressed.”

The little girl giggled,and soon, silence fell between them. A few minutes passed, during which the kid dipped the tip of her fingers in the water to check the temperature. After a while, she nodded and put the saucepan back on the crate, careful not to spill anything.

-“It shouldn’t be too warm. Put your hand inside, I’ll get paper and pencils in the meantime.”

Paper and pencils? What for? As if it was the time for colouring! The hat-wearing kid seemed to see his confusion, however, and added:

-“It’ll make things easier to understand. I mean, I could explain what’s happening in details if you want, but it’s going to be pretty complicated.”

The ghost rolled his eyes, more than exasperated. Well, she was right; all that time travel stuff was too abstract for him to understand, so he supposed that her idea wasn’t as stupid as he first thought.

-“Yeah, okay. Go fetch for your colouring book or whatever.”

The girl then left the room, not before promising to be back as soon as she found them. The shade wondered if she would be able to find them, considering there was no light in the ship, except for that screen in the main room. He supposed there had to be some power left to charge it, but then again, it was something he wasn’t familiar with.

Now left alone with his thoughts, he let his mind wander as his eyes examined the room once again. Even when it was less… messy, he couldn’t help but wonder how the child had managed to survive until now. Every time he had come to her spaceship, he had always thought that if he wasn’t the one to kill her, she would die on her own by her negligence; however, the kid was still very much alive at the moment. Snatcher guessed that she probably had more than one trick up her sleeve. He really hoped that it would be the same for the situation they were in, because they surely needed it. At least, the ghost was back in his spectral form, which made him feel much, much better. In his human body, everything was so foreign, so weird. Now, even if he still felt sensations, he felt much more comfortable. Another good thing was that he still didn’t feel his “afterlife coldness”. After his death, he had always felt cold. When people died, they kept feeling things related to the way they perished, and Snatcher was no exception. Though, at the moment, he felt nothing like that in particular, which was quite a relief. It only reminded him of that moment, spent alone for days, months, years, he didn’t know.

He shook his head. There was no use in thinking about it now. He tried to focus on the warmness around his left hand. At least that was pleasant. He closed his eyes, letting his consciousness rest for a while. It was the first time in days that he could truly rest, and he would be lying if he said that it didn’t feel good. He really needed this.

It continued for a few minutes and then he heard quick footsteps coming in his direction. Snatcher reopened his tired eyes. Well, on the bright side, he did get at least one chance to rest, which was still something.

The door opened abruptly, as the child ran into the room, joining Snatcher as fast as she came in. She was holding something in her arms and put it down violently next to the saucepan, making the crate shake by the sudden shock.

-“Now we can talk!” she said, out of breath, probably because she rushed to come back. She spread out what she had just brought: coloured pencils and white sheets of paper. She then picked something up from the floor, handing it to Snatcher: candles. He lit them up and the kid placed them next to the sheetsSnatcher let out a sarcastic laugh once everything was set up.

-“Well, finally. So, this ‘Void’ thing you keep talking about, what is it?” he asked, leaning against the crate, as the brat took a light blue pencil in her hand. She put the nib down and started to draw, forming a circle on the surface.

-“This is where we are,” she said, writing something in the centre of the circle, in a language Snatcher was unable to read.

-“You know I can’t read what you just wrote, right?” It took several seconds before the kid frowned, realizing her own mistake. She then handed him her pencil.

-“I can’t write in your language. I can only speak it. Write the translation underneath, it says ‘Time Rift’.”

Snatcher stared at the pencil for a while, frowning as well before a scoff left his lips.

-“Kid, I’m left-handed,” he retorted in a mocking laugh, nodding to his hand underwater as he spoke. The kid closed her eyes and took a deep breath, now frustrated again. The ghost grinned at her, enjoying her distress. However, his fun ended when the kid handed the pencil back to him, insisting:

-“Well, try and become right-handed for a few minutes, because I really can’t write as you do.”

Both glared at each other, as a dominance fight started again between them. Unfortunately, Snatcher was still too tired to resist, and eventually took the pencil in his right hand. The object felt foreign in his hand as he tried to find a good posture.

-“One day, I will kill you,” he promised, mumbling in a low tone.

-“I know, I know, you’re my BFF too,” she simply answered, completely unaffected by his threatening promise. The shade put his wrist down on the crate and tried to write what she had just told him, right under what she wrote earlier. The nib shook a bit too much as he did so, since the action as more than weird to him. He still managed to form the words and handed the pencil back to his contractor, not without showing his discontentment, which was fully ignored.

They repeated this process for a few minutes. The kid added a purple circle, which she labelled “Master Timeline”, and wrote “Void” between the two circles. She then linked the two circles by two arrows, one yellow and one red, and added a crude drawing of a Time Piece next to them.

-“There!” said the little girl triumphantly.

The spirit only looked at the drawing with a frown on his face. He didn’t understand a single thing in this diagram.

-“So… do you mind telling me what I’m looking at, exactly?” the shade requested, irate.

-“Do you mind being patient for once?” she retorted, more and more annoyed with him.

She sighed and placed the tip on her pink pencil in the “Master Timeline” circle and started to explain, in a much more serious tone:

-“This is where we were when it happened. It’s the world as we know it, or at least the main reality we were in.”

-“Wait, there are other realities?” asked the ghost in bewilderment.

-“It’s a whole new subject, but yeah. It’s not important for our situation, though. What matters is that someone used a Time Piece to create a new dimension,” she continued, passing the pencil over the yellow arrow several times. “This dimension took the form of a Time Rift, the one you were teleported in. And the reason you’re back as a ghost now is because we’re not inside of it anymore. Following everything so far?”

The shade nodded, doing his best to understand what she was saying. He had to admit that the drawing did help him to grasp the explanations. The hat-wearing girl spoke again, this time pointing the “Void” with the nib of the pencil:

-“Now, you have to imagine that those two dimensions, ours and this one, are parallel to each other. And you have this ‘gap’ between them, as if they were two different things, far, very far from each other. Okay?”

-“And that space in the middle is the ‘Void’”?

-“Yep. It’s like very big and very small at the same time. The laws of physics don’t apply there, so you could make several steps and have moved forward by a mile, just like you could walk for hours for nothing. It’s very different than what we’re used to in our own dimension. But it’s only theories, as the Void would kill anyone spending more than one second inside without protection.”

Snatcher squinted. This was a bit too abstract for him, though he supposed that it wasn’t too important at the moment.

-“The Void is the empty space between all Time Rifts and all realities. Usually, my ship uses… warps in the Void to enter Time Rifts, because it’s way less risky that way. As I said, the laws of physics don’t apply there, and my ship isn’t made to resist those distortions very long, especially when they’re too different from our laws. So it’s better to find passages that are similar to our own reality, so my ship can handle the trip safely. But…” she gestured to the room with a sad look on her face. “As it was an emergency, I had to enter the Void as fast as possible. As you can see, it wasn’t without consequences.”

-“Wouldn’t it have been better to wait for those ‘warps’ you told me about? I mean, if just entering this void-y place caused so many problems for your spaceship…”

-“Well…” Her eyes fell to the floor as she continued. “That would have been the smartest choice, yes. But time isn’t consistent between all dimensions. One second can correspond to a year in another reality, and… we kind of have a countdown problem, too.”

The spirit felt his fear coming back to life, as he saw the child avoiding his eyes, with a worried expression painted on her features.

-“What do you mean by ‘countdown’?” he asked, already afraid of the answer.

The brat remained silent for a few seconds as if she was trying to gather the courage to speak again. Eventually, she pointed out the “Time Rift” circle once again.

-“There are two kinds of Time Rifts. Most of them are stable and don’t cause too many problems. Others, not so much. This one is part of the unstable ones. And…”

-“And?”

She was definitely uncomfortable, and Snatcher’s insistent question surely didn’t help. But, when she found the courage to talk again, Snatcher felt his non-existent heart stop beating and sink into his chest.

-“All unstable Time Rifts are bound to implode after a few days, at least in best-case scenarios. This one is no exception. We have four to five days until the Time Rift collapses, taking everything inside it in the process. The thing is… I can’t fix my ship fast enough. There’s too much damage, and even if we’re not killed by the Rift collapsing, the oxygen reserves of the ship won’t hold very long after that. Though I guess it’s more my problem than yours, since that… you’re already dead, you know.”

Snatcher’s body froze as he tried to process everything, one fact after the other. A feeling of dread settled over him as he slowly realized what the kid was saying.

-“You mean… That we’re stuck here no matter what?” he asked quietly, not wanting to believe that everything was vain from the start. It couldn’t be!

And all that because his ex wanted to live in the past again?! She had just doomed all of them!He was interrupted in his train of thoughts as the kid replied to his question.

-“There is another way out of here.”Those words were enough to catch the ghost’s interest right away, as he straightened up immediately.

-“What is it?”If he had thought the kid was uncomfortable before, now it was very much different. She didn’t seem to know what to do with herself, as she hunched her shoulders, looking everywhere but where Snatcher was. She knew something and it was bad. Even the stupidest person in the world could see that. But what could be worse than either dying with a whole dimension or remain alone in a spaceship with a little girl’s corpse for eternity? Though, the latter would be very appealing in any other situation.

-“What. Is. It?” he pressed, looming over a small body in a way he hoped threatening, even though he knew better.

She took a deep breath and replied quietly.

-“We have to find the Time Piece used to create this dimension. It’s the only way to reverse everything. That’s why I was searching for time anomalies in the first place; since it’s not supposed to be here, anomalies tend to appear near it.”

The ghost felt like this solution was nothing compared to what she had just told him before. That was all they had to do? Piece of cake! However, the look on her face told him there was much to this story than just finding the Time Piece. And, after thinking about it a little, he quickly understood why she was making such a face.

-“Oh God. It’s in there, isn’t it?” he asked with a groan.

The child nodded silently, understanding instantly that he was talking about Subcon Manor.

-“I knew it!” He hit the crate with his fist, pure rage engulfing him entirely: “It’s her, I knew it could only be her!”He clenched his spectral teeth, wanting nothing more than to kill something at the moment. He felt the water heating up around his hand, only to realize he was the one warming it up in the first place. Reluctantly, the spirit tried to calm himself; he didn’t want to burn his own hand since it would probably be affected by it in his physical state. His own magic wouldn’t burn him, but boiling water would.

The hat-wearing brat shook her head.

-“I don’t think Vanessa is the one who used the Time Piece,” she affirmed, yet in an unsure tone, probably more because she feared Snatcher’s reaction to her claims.Said reaction came almost instantly:

-“Are you kidding me?! Of course she did! She’s the only person who could want to use it!”

-“No, what I mean is… I don’t think she even has the knowledge to use it to create a whole dimension. No one on my planet did, and yet we do know how Time Pieces work.”

The shade stopped moving. A feeling of anxiousness settled over him, as he started to understand what his contractor was implying. He stared at her, both bewildered and confused, as he rephrased her assumptions:

-“So you think… someone else is behind all of this?” he questionned, gesturing to everything around them. The little girl shook her head once again, and continued, in the most serious tone the ghost had heard coming from her:

-“I do think she is involved… but I also think she’s not the mastermind in what’s happening.”

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Hehehe, sorry, I ended the chapter on a cliffhanger again! I hope you're still interested in this story! I can't wait to see your theories about the next chapters.

Until then, see you and take care! :)

=> Chapter 10

[fanonorcanon]

Sebastian & F!Hawke (Past Handers)

Una Hawke stood frozen staring at the statue of what had once been Knight-Commander Meredith. How someone could be so tyrannical, so careless of others lives she didn't know. A part of her wanted to take her staff in hand and see if the statue would shatter. But the thought of red lyrium in shards and pieces possibly being picked up, perhaps even being smuggled away was enough to stop her.

“Is everything alright, lass?”

“Oh, Sebastian. Yes, everything is fine,” Una lied easily.

“You forced her hand and made her kill her lover. I doubt that 'everything is fine’” Fenris growled.

“You of all people wanted him alive? After what he'd done?” Sebastian argued.

“All he did was kill your precious Grand Cleric. Someone would have done it eventually. How can you see the other parts of Kirkwall, all the suffering people and say that the Chantry is justified in keeping that absurd amount of wealth to themselves? I disagree with his methods certainly but something did need to change,” Fenris said.

Una wished they wouldn't argue. It'd been hard enough to just get through the day.

“That's enough now, boys,” Isabela said in a honeyed tone.

“Can't you people leave her alone?” Varric sighed. “Head on home, Hawke. We'll deal with this,” he said, waving her off.

“Thank you, Varric,” Una murmured. She gripped her staff tighter and made her way back to the estate.

The loss of Anders still stung. It had been months ago and Una had done her best; going through the motions, putting on a happy face. It seemed to satisfy most people, save for Sebastian. He'd accused her more than once of 'simply paying lip service’ when the subject of Anders’ betrayal came up. As it often did if Sebastian had anything to say about it. 

Una lay back in the bath. The water had long gone cold, any bubbles dissolved. None of it bothered her. She heard a commotion downstairs but was certain that it was just Sandal having fun.

“Messere, please. The Lady does not wish to be disturbed!” Bodhan said. 

Una sighed.

“Sod it, if I want to see my sister, I'm going to,” Carver spat.

Una hustled out of the bath and wrapped herself in her favorite robe. She sat at her vanity and tried to look busy, she was reaching for her hairbrush when Carver burst in.

“Brother. A pleasure as always,” Una plastered on a smile.

“Stop making that face. It's weird. You don't have to pretend, you know. Not with me.”

Una let her face relax, the frown coming easily. “Thank you, Carver,” she murmured.

“So whose head do I need to knock around?” 

“No one,” Una huffed.

“Yet,” Carver said with a smirk. “That stuffy Prince still bothering you? Seems no matter how many times people argue with him he won't see reason. Bet he thinks of old Elthina when he’s wanking off.”

“Carver Aristide Hawke!” Una groaned.

“What? I wouldn't put it past him,” Carver chuckled.

“He is strangely obsessed with her.”

“You're smiling,” Carver said smugly. “All it took was insulting Starkhaven's royalty. When is he gonna fuck off right back there?”

“Not soon enough for you, clearly,” Una snorted.

“I don't like him. It wasn't right what he made you do.”

“He didn't make me do anything, Carver,” Una sighed.

“I don't believe that for a second.” Carver rolled his eyes.

“Anders forced my hand just as much as Sebastian.”

Carver passed Una his handkerchief before she even realized that she was crying. She thanked him and dried her eyes.

“Go on and blow your snotty nose with it. I know you're just dying to,” Carver teased.

Una blew her nose loudly, taking pleasure in Carver's noises of disgust.

...

Una was slumped back in her chair nursing a bottle of wine from Fenris when a visitor arrived.

“Shall I send them away, Messere?” Bodahn whispered.

“Depends, who is it?” 

“His Highness of Starkhaven, my lady.”

Una polished off the rest of the bottle while Bodahn waited patiently for her answer. 

“Send him in. Along with a bottle of whiskey, please. I daresay I'll need it.”

“As you say, Messere,” Bodahn nodded.

Sebastian entered the study and stood by the fire. His posture was rigid and he held his hands behind his back. If Sebastian had noticed her shabby appearance, he chose not to mention it. From the lines on her face, to the dark circles under her eyes, it spoke much to what Una Hawke had endured. After several false starts where he opened his mouth only to close it and shake his head Bodahn entered with a bottle of whiskey along with two glasses that he set down onto the side table.

“Thank you, Bodahn. Feel free to retire for the evening, you deserve some rest,” Una said.

“Thank you, Messere,” Bodahn replied, shooting Sebastian a glare on his way out. 

“I don't think he likes me very much,” Sebastian said haltingly.

“Not many people do,” Una snorted.

Sebastian's cheeks went red. “I came to apologize, Hawke.”

“Whatever for?” She asked as she filled two glasses with whiskey. Una sipped from one and handed the other to Sebastian.

“I shouldn't,” he protested.

Una pressed the glass to his chest. 

“Drink.” Her voice stern and brooked no argument.

He threw back a mouthful and made an expression Una couldn't quite name.

“That's Starkhaven whiskey,” he murmured.

“Is it?”

“I'm getting off track, I came to apologize. About Anders. After everything that happened, I was still so blind in my need for vengeance. I thought I'd put that behind me after the people responsible for my family's murder had paid with their lives. You deserved better than to… I have prayed on it ever since that day and though I hadn't meant to, it was manipulative. That position I put you in. I can't apologize enough, and I know that words from a foolish man mean little when you've lost a loved one-”

“Drink,” she repeated, just as sternly as before.

Sebastian gulped and nodded. He took small sips, savoring the taste that reminded him of home.

“I'm tired of thinking about it,” Una said wearily and sat back in her chair. “I've put him out of my mind. Just another chapter in 'The Tale of the Champion’, ended.”

“You can't mean that!” He yelled.

“You're not making this any easier, Sebastian. Just leave it alone. I don't want to have this conversation anymore with anyone. If that's all you came to say, you've said it and now you can leave.”

“I know better than most what burying your feelings does to a person,” Sebastian said quietly. He finished his glass and set it back on the side table. “Thank you for the whiskey. Be well, Hawke.” 

She had fled the city at the behest of Varric. Under cover of darkness on a draft horse. ‘Best to hide in plain sight’ Varric had said; a wise plan. As to where she'd go, she had not decided. She felt a lot freer than she'd been in years. No obligations, no responsibilities other than the welfare of herself and the horse.

“You need a name don't you?” Una murmured to herself as she ran her fingers through the horses mane. “Suppose I do as well. How about Ruby?” The horse nuzzled into her hand. “Ruby it is. Audra for me, I believe.”

...

She'd begun traveling years ago and had wandered the furthest reaches of Thedas; beyond the uncharted lands south of the Wilds, beyond the lands north of the Anderfels. Life was simpler as ‘Audra'. She was free to roam, beholden to no one, no longer duty bound to a city beyond saving. She found herself wandering back to the Free Marches. Perhaps she missed the only family she'd had left. The friends she'd been to hell and back with. Varric was easy to find and he was able to point her towards her former companions. Her heart somehow led her to Starkhaven.

The city had a splendor Kirkwall could never hope to match; buildings crafted of marble and granite, shops were clean and bustling with lively people. 

Audra settled on the outskirts of the city and found herself falling into familiar habits, albeit not her own. It started with selling potions to get by. Then it was making remedies by request. The progression to healing the sick or injured seemed natural; perhaps too natural. She dreamt of Anders every night now. His resigned and mournful expression when she'd killed him. How his fingers brushed her cheek and he thanked her even as she sunk the knife into his chest. Audra thought she'd run out of tears only to be mistaken the nights she jolted awake thinking she could undo what she'd done. A life of service seemed an inadequate penance but she would set herself on that path all the same.

Several months after settling into her clinic a member of the city guard arrived at her door, his head bloodied and eyes unfocused. She healed the man and thought that was the end of it but before the week's end she had the city magistrate knocking on her door.

"Is there something I can help you with serrah?" She tried to keep her tone polite and even, though in her heart she was stricken with panic. 

"You're the healer?" He asked with a frown.

"Yes, I am," she said slowly. "Are you in need of aid?"

"Not myself, no. There's an illness in the castle. And it's spreading. If you're half as good as my son says then you'll be able to sort it out."

"Your son?" 

"He's a city guard," the magistrate replied proudly. "He said you healed him. Not just his head but his leg as well. It was an old wound. He'd thought it would never be the same, but he's got a spring in his step thanks to you."

She blushed and nodded. After she gathered a few things they were off. The magistrate brought her to the servants living quarters first. They were wracked with fever, chills, coughs and sores. After thoroughly healing five of the ill servants, Audra was growing weary.

"Magistrate, serrah, I need rest," she said. 'Or lyrium' her mind supplied, though she knew better. The people of Starkhaven were distrustful of magic and very superstitious. It was enough that they had accepted her aid. There was no need to remind them of her 'abnormality' by downing potion after potion just to finish the task at hand.

"I'll alert the seneschal and he will find a room for the night. We cannot afford for the illness to spread further."

"The Prince," she found herself saying, "is he well?"

"Quite. I'll return shortly."

Audra breathed a sigh of relief. Though she and Sebastian had not parted on the best of terms she did not wish him ill. The seneschal greeted her kindly but she could see his distress.

"Are you alright, seneschal?"

"It's my wife. She's with child but she's ill like the others. The magistrate said you need rest. But as soon as you're able, please heal her. I can't bear to lose her." 

His desperation was plain to see. Audra couldn't help but think of Anders; how often he had pushed himself to heal just one more person. 

"Will you take me to her?" The words left her without a second thought.

"I'd greatly appreciate that. Even just assessing the condition is more than I'd hoped at this time," the seneschal said and wiped his eyes.

…

His wife's condition was worse than she'd feared. The illness was robbing the mother of the capability to nurture the growing life inside her. Audra felt sweat gather on her brow as she poured her magic into the woman. Even as she felt the room sway, she pressed on. When Audra finished the mother had color back in her complexion and the baby wriggled energetically once more. The seneschal wept and thanked her profusely. 

"Do you mind if I sit down a moment?" Audra tried to even out her breathing. 

"Of course, anything you need." The seneschal gestured to the divan by the wall. 

Audra made it four steps before she collapsed in a heap on the floor. The seneschal hadn't even had time to catch her.

…

Prince Sebastian walked past his chambers, only a single bodyguard- Ainsley- in tow, and onto the seneschal's chambers. The seneschal's wife was unwell and though Sebastian himself could do little to help, he wished to extend the man any and all services in his employ.

He knocked on the seneschal's chamber door and waited. Graham rarely left his quarters this time of night, opting instead to be by his wife's side as much as he could. Sebastian waited several more minutes before he tried the knob. 

"Seneschal Graham?" Sebastian asked. He heard a scuffle of feet and let Ainsley enter the room first.

"Did this woman harm you, seneschal?" Ainsley asked, his hand ready to draw his sword.

"Absolutely not!" The seneschal seemed cross at the simple implication. "She healed my wife but she collapsed shortly after. I haven't been able to rouse her and she's heavier than she looks."

Sebastian stepped closer to the woman. Much of her figure was obscured by the dark billowing fabric that could only generously be referred to as a dress. Sebastian tore his gaze from her attire and onto her face. If it wasn't for the woman's long mass of golden ringlets, Sebastian could have sworn the woman was Una Hawke. She was softer in the face, more scars, even a burn along the side of her neck.

"Her name, Graham?" Sebastian asked.

"Audra I believe, your majesty."

Sebastian picked up the woman and carried her to one of the guest quarters. She was at least twice as heavy as Una -or at least the Una he remembered- had been, but he'd no trouble carrying her. He sat by her bedside until he grew tired, vowing to return in the morning before his princely duties.

…

The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that the woman was Una. Sebastian had wheedled the information of her whereabouts the last time he met Varric after he'd become the Viscount of Kirkwall. All the dwarf had said was that she'd returned to the Free Marches. 

He'd instructed a maidservant to watch over her and to send a runner to him if the woman woke. He'd gotten no news of Una waking throughout the day and decided to take her lyrium potions. 

He dismissed the maidservant and left Ainsley by the door. As Sebastian sat at her bedside he gazed at her body. She was as beautiful as he'd remembered. He'd never told her of his infatuation; it seemed inappropriate since she had been with Anders then. The regret he still carried over his hand in Anders' fate had faded over time but looking at Hawke now it stung anew. He wanted to tell her how sorry he still was. He didn't dare hope that she'd forgive him, or even attempt to rekindle the easy friendship they'd once had. As Sebastian watched her chest rise and fall he longed to reach for her hand but resisted. He doubted she'd even want him touching her so familiarly. Instead he laced his own fingers together and waited on in silence.

Hawke began stirring in her sleep some time after midnight. She thrashed against the covers murmuring apologies. Sebastian's heart ached to see her so unsettled. He laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Hawke, rest easy," he murmured. 

Her eyes opened and they had a wild look about them. "Sebastian?" Hawke asked breathlessly. 

"It's nice to see you awake, Hawke. Gave us quite a fright passing out like that."

"I'd hoped we wouldn't cross paths," she admitted slowly. "Not because I didn't want to, it seems silly now. I didn't want you to see me looking this way."

Sebastian frowned. "Collapsed from healing people? How could you have known you would?"

"I'm not as fit as I used to be is all," she mumbled.

"Hawke, I hold you in high esteem regardless of your shape."

"Oh," she replied blankly.

"I um, I've brought lyrium potions. And an additional offer if you've a mind. I would do well to have a healer at court. Especially one of your talents. Would you consider coming to work at the palace?"

Hawke's eyebrows shot up.

"The lyrium potions do not hinge on your acceptance of the position!" Sebastian added hastily. "You've done a great service for my people. And not just yesterday if the rumors are true."

"Healing people… For quite some time now I've considered it a calling," she said softly.

Anders, his mind reminded him. It should have come as no surprise that the mage had had such a profound effect on her. They'd been lovers, and nearly more. Varric had sought to twist the knife in him deeper and told him that Anders had meant to wed Hawke. 

And in a single-minded fit of rage Sebastian had taken it all from her. The more he'd prayed on it the more he did everything he could to invite her rage. He deserved no less. She hadn't lashed out at all and that had been so much worse. Even now he still sought penance. Though as he stood at her bedside his traitorous thoughts ran wild with the hope that maybe after all this time she'd finally forgive him.

"Sebastian?" Hawke asked.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright? You seem… unfocused."

"As you can imagine, I often have much on my mind. Starkhaven needs a deft hand to rule it," he chuckled.

"Apologies your majesty," she murmured. "I should finish healing the ill here. If they are willing."

"Why would they be unwilling?" Sebastian frowned.

"Aren't Starkhaveners distrustful of magic?"

"Who told you that?" He asked, seeming somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

"That little bastard," she huffed.

"I beg pardon?"

"Varric. He's always told me that they abhorred magic!"

"I think he may have been trying to keep you in Kirkwall, Hawke."

"Well, I really showed him, didn't I?" She smiled gently.

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

D’Un Nouvel Oeil: Chapter Eight

Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven

ORADOUR-SUR-GLANE, HAUTE-VIENNE, FRANCE FEBRUARY 1944

Shortly after sunrise, Scully gives up on sleeping any longer and pulls herself out of bed, Mulder following behind her. She hangs a sign on the cafe's front door, informing her patrons that the restaurant will be closed for the day, and with Mulder by her side, she begins the long walk out of town to her mother's farm. Apprehensive about what she'll find when they get there, she's silent for the entire journey, and Mulder, wisely, does not push her to talk.

She's relieved to see, as they approach the farm, that the animals are all still in their proper places: Philippe the draft horse is in his paddock along with the goats, the chickens are pecking about the yard, and when Scully peers into the barn, she sees that the farm hands have already gotten a start on the morning milking, even without her mother there to supervise. She and Mulder take stools and settle in to help at once, and for a brief time, Scully simply concentrates on the task at hand, trying not to think about the fact that yesterday, Maggie had been sitting on the stool Mulder now occupies. Her mother's absence is a constant knife in her side, a loss felt so keenly that it makes her physically ill.

With the milking done, Scully arranges with the farm hands to make sure that all of the tasks once done by Maggie will be taken over, that the animals will get fed and watered, the cows will be milked, the eggs will be collected, and Philippe will be brought into the stable on cold nights. And finally, when she can put it off no longer, Scully ventures cautiously into the farmhouse.

As expected, the soldiers have torn the place apart inside, looking for any evidence that could provide them with insight into the workings of the Resistance. It's all in vain, of course: Maggie never, ever wrote anything down, never received notes or messages, never kept physical evidence of any sort in her home. Her role had been, quite simply, to provide food and shelter for anyone passing through who might need it, and she had only ever been alerted to the imminent arrival of refugees by word of mouth.

"It does give me a small bit of pleasure," Scully tells Mulder, looking around at the wreckage of the kitchen, "imagining your commander and his men going through all this trouble and not finding a single thing. I'm sure they expected a treasure trove of labelled maps and ciphers and lists of addresses of other safe houses." She bends and begins to gather up shards of shattered china. She retrieves a pail from where it lies on its side in the corner of the room and begins to deposit broken plates into it, and as she turns to continue working, she notices that Mulder has not joined in. Instead, he's standing in the kitchen doorway, looking around at the wreckage. The expression on his face is far too easy to identify, and setting the pail down, Scully goes to him.

"Mulder," she says softly, taking his arm, "none of this is your fault."

"It's my commander that's done this," he says, eyes full of shame. "My father's best friend. And my countrymen who helped him."

"That doesn't make you responsible for it," Scully insists. "If you hadn't come running out here last night, things would have been infinitely worse. Without your warning we would have been caught completely unaware and my mother never would have gotten away in time." She squeezes his hand. "And most likely, I would have been arrested, as well." He drops his head, giving a small nod of assent. "Now come on. Help me get this straightened up."

Together, they clean up the broken china and glassware. A few of Maggie's grandmother's good plates have only broken into two or three large pieces, and Scully saves these, in hopes of gluing them back together later. The receipts and invoices that have been torn out of the writing desk are gathered up, organized, and re-filed, and the letters from Bill, Charlie, and Melissa go back into the desk drawer. The pantry has been looted, and all of the wine is gone, but in the cellar, pushed far back on the shelves, Maggie's fruit preserves remain untouched. Scully will not need to come up with new fillings for her pies. It's a small enough relief, but today, she'll take whatever she can get.

Upstairs, clothing has been torn out of wardrobes and drawers and scattered all over, and they fold it all back up carefully and put it away. Maggie's jewel box lies on the floor, the lid torn off by the hinges and the contents gone, but Scully knows well enough that anything of real value had long-since been packed away and tucked into a bag of clothing and identification, set aside in preparation for just the sort of hasty departure she'd had to make last night. The full-length mirror in the corner of Maggie's bedroom has been shattered (out of spite, as far as Scully can tell- did they think there might be hidden messages behind the glass), and she carefully sweeps up the shards. All of the duvets and pillows have been torn, and feathers cover everything like snow. Scully saves the ripped pillowcases and duvet covers for use as bandages.

It takes most of the day, but finally, the inside of the farmhouse is put to right. As the sun nears the horizon, Scully stands in the kitchen doorway, staring listlessly across the room at the sink, thinking of how, just yesterday evening, she'd stood right there with her mother, washing dishes and talking, never guessing their world was about to come crashing down around them.

She'd give anything to return to that moment.

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

Scully feels as though she's moving through an impenetrable fog as February passes into March. Her days and nights are taken up almost entirely by work, many of her mother's responsibilities now falling to her... but being much too busy suits her just fine.

The busier she is, the less time she has alone with her grief.

Still, no matter how late into each night she stays up, there simply aren't enough hours in the day to get everything done, which is how she finds herself, one evening, teaching Mulder the finer points of how to bake a pie.

"It should be even, all the way around," she tells him, as he tries to roll out the bottom crust for a cherry pie. "Right now, your edges are much thinner than the center." It's the kindest assessment she can manage: in truth, his first attempt at a crust is a lumpy, uneven mess, a little three-dimensional map of the French Alps in pie crust, full of hills and valleys and patches of flour that he hadn't managed to mix in thoroughly enough. Mulder frowns at his own work, then glances over at Scully's crust, which is perfectly level, a uniform consistency throughout.

"I don't know how you do that," he grouses, balling his own dough back up and trying to mix in the bits of flour.

"Practice," Scully says. "The pie crusts I made when I first learned were every bit as lumpy as yours."

"Nothing wrong with a few good-sized lumps here and there," Mulder murmurs, abandoning his pie crust to nuzzle at her neck, running his hands over the swell of her hips. A little shiver goes through her and she giggles... but within seconds, she remembers why she shouldn't be giggling, and sobers instantly. Mulder backs off at once.

"I'm sorry," Scully whispers, but Mulder shakes his head.

"No, I'm sorry, Scully," he says. "I know you don't want-"

"It's not that I don't want to, Mulder," Scully says, cutting him off. "It's just that... I feel like I can't let go and relax, no matter what I do." She sighs. "I can't stop thinking about it, and I feel like I don't have any energy left over for everything else. Not as busy as I am."

"Have you ever thought that maybe you're doing too much, Scully?" Mulder asks tentatively. She shakes off the thought with a toss of her head.

"What did I stay behind for, if not to help people?" she asks. Mulder doesn't answer, and after a moment, she looks up from her crust to see him trying- and failing- to conceal a look of dejection. She realizes immediately what he thinks she's said, and dusting her hands off on her apron, she reaches out to touch his cheek, bringing his gaze to hers. "I don't need to stay for you," she tells him, "because you would have come with me if I had left." His face relaxes, and he smiles at her. "Yeah, I would have," Mulder agrees, and kisses her.

Mulder is definitely right about her doing too much, however, and that becomes apparent as March draws to a close. She is tired all of the time, more exhausted than she's ever been in her life, and it's no surprise to her at all when she begins to feel ill, as well. For a handful of days, she's barely able to keep anything down, and every evening, as soon as the cafe is closed, she retreats to her bed, sleeping harder than she has since her mother's departure. She's preparing to do just that on the last Saturday evening in March when the knock comes.

Mulder is at the sink, washing dishes, and she's just finished locking up. The pounding at the back door makes both of them jump. She's not expecting anyone, not tonight, and it's with great caution that Mulder opens the back door to reveal...

...Byers. Alone. Scully grabs him by the arm and pulls him roughly into the kitchen.

"Is she all right?" she asks, the moment she's got the door shut and locked. "Is she safe?" Byers smiles, and Scully's sense of relief is so acute that for a moment, she's actually lightheaded and has to grasp the counter to remain standing.

"She's in Switzerland," says Byers.

"Switzerland?" Scully says, confused. "I thought you were taking her to Spain!" The plan for an escape route for either of them has been in place since the beginning, should they ever need it.

"We tried to," Byers explains, "but there were too many checkpoints. It got too risky. We had to backtrack and go east instead of south. We were able to get her on a boat across Lac Leman. She's got her papers and enough money to get on a plane to England. She asked us to tell you that she's going to contact your brother's wife in America and make her way there as soon as she can... and that she loves you, and she'll see you when all this is over. I'm sorry it took so long for me to get back here to tell you," he says, looking apologetic, "but we had to be careful and move slowly, and then we lost a lot of time when we had to turn around and change direction. But I promise you, your mother is safe, we stayed on the shoreline watching until the boat docked on the other side, and-" It's as far as he gets before the emotions raging through Scully are just too much, and she collapses into embarrassingly loud sobbing. Or, at any rate, she thinks, dimly, that she ought to be embarrassed; in reality, she doesn't care. She crosses the kitchen and seizes Byers in a hug, gratitude overwhelming her beyond coherency.

"Thank you," she gets out, barely, "thank you so much...." And she's overcome again. Byers pats her on the back

"It was nothing, Scully," he says. "We were happy to do it. But listen, I can't stay, Frohike and Langly are waiting for me north of town, we need to meet our contact, so...." Scully is dimly aware of Mulder taking her arms, freeing poor Byers from her grasp.

"Go on," Mulder tells Byers, giving Scully a squeeze, holding her close. "Thank you for coming to tell her- to tell us. It means a lot." Mulder moves out of Scully's grasp just long enough to shut and locks the back door after Byers, then turns back to Scully, putting his arms around her again. "Come on, Scully," he says, his voice tender, pulling her across the kitchen, towards the stairs. "Let's get you up to bed, all right?" Words are still beyond her, but she nods, and allows him to lead her up to her bedroom.

She can't stop crying, no matter what she does. It's as though the stress of the past month, the horror of not knowing whether or not her mother was safe, had built up and built up, and now, knowing that she's all right, everything is coming out all at once. Scully sobs until finally, she has to run to the washroom to be sick (not an uncommon occurrence, these days), and it's only then that she manages to calm herself.

When she comes back from the washroom, Mulder is waiting for her, a glass of cool water in his hands. She accepts it gratefully, taking a long, slow drink, and then smiles at him, at his unsure expression. He looks as though he's unsure of whether or not she wants him there- and she finds that the very idea of him leaving right now makes her want to start crying again.

"Please stay with me," she says softly. "I know I haven't been very... very present, these last weeks. I've just been so scared. I'm sorry that-"

"Scully, you have nothing to apologize for," Mulder interrupts, taking her hand. "I understand. I just wish you would have leaned on me a little, let me be there for you, instead of holding me at arm's length. I wanted to comfort you."

"I'm not very good at leaning on people," she admits, smiling slightly. "I don't like needing help."

"I've noticed," he says. "And I know you don't need my help, Scully. That doesn't mean I don't want to give it to you."

She takes him to bed, then, for the first time in a month, and allows herself to believe that, just maybe, everything will be all right now.

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

It's three days later when she finally connects all the dots.

She's stacking clean towels and bedding in her linen cabinet when her gaze falls on the pile of cotton pads on the lowest shelf... and suddenly, she knows the reason for the exhaustion, for the nausea, for her rapidly changing moods, swinging from one extreme to the other with little to no provocation. She does a quick count in her head and swears out loud.

She sinks down to sit on her bed, clutching her lower belly as though she can feel what's going on inside, even though she knows full well that it's much too early for any sort of outward sign. She curses her own idiocy: how could she have been so distracted to miss all of the signs so thoroughly? She's a doctor, for the love of God! More than anyone else, she should have been able to figure out what had been going on!

Regardless of how long it's taken her to figure things out, her next step is clear: she needs to tell Mulder. The idea doesn't fill her with any sort of dread; in spite of the stories she's heard through the years of unmarried women and girls who have been abandoned by the father of their child, she knows full well that Mulder is not that sort of man. She's not entirely certain what his feelings towards children are, but she knows beyond a doubt that he will stand by her.

No, it's not Mulder's reaction that concerns her. The person she truly dreads telling is not on hand to receive the news in person, but one day, Scully knows, she'll have to find out.

It's not quite enough to make her relieved that her mother is gone... but it's close.

She decides not to wait to break the news to Mulder. He shows up in the cafe at the start of the dinner rush, as usual, and eats a sandwich before retreating into the kitchen to help her get through the day's work. She follows him back, and finds him already wrestling with the ball of pie dough she'd mixed up earlier in the day, rolling it out into a very uneven lower crust and trying to place it into a pie tin.

"I need to talk to you," she says. "I know you're supposed to meet Spender for cards tonight, but can you stick around after I lock up? Just for a bit?" He's immediately concerned.

"Of course," he says. "Is everything all right? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she assures him. He looks as though he'd like to press her for a more satisfactory answer, but doesn't. He returns his attention to the mess he's making in the pie tin. "You know that the holes are supposed to go on the upper crust and not the lower one, right?"

"I'm filling them in, don't worry," he promises. As she watches, he pulls some dough off of the ball on the counter, flattening it into one of the tears in his crust. "It'll be covered with fruit anyway, right? No one's going to see it." As much as she'd like to argue, Scully knows she doesn't have time- and it won't do any good, anyway. Shaking her head and sighing, she returns to the dining room.

The rest of the evening passes quickly. The cafe is blessedly busy, and Scully doesn't have much time to worry about the conversation that's coming as soon as she's closed up for the night. But when the moment finally does arrive, when she's locked the front door, brought back all of the dirty mugs and dishes, locked up her earnings for the day in the safe, and hung up her apron, she suddenly finds herself unaccountably terrified.

She doesn't think Mulder will be horrified, doesn't think he'll leave... but what if she's wrong?

Mulder picks up on her nervousness right away. "What's going on, Scully?" he asks. "Have you heard something from your mother?"

"No, it's not that," she says. "There's no easy way to say this, Mulder." And almost immediately she proves herself right, her powers of speech failing her, her carefully-worded, well-thought-out revelation forgotten as she stands there, arms crossed tightly over her sore, tender breasts. She raises her eyes to his, begging him to read her mind somehow, to know what she needs to tell him without her having to say a word.

And miraculously, he does.

"Scully," he says softly, "are you pregnant?" She holds his gaze for a moment longer; then, closing her eyes and looking down, she nods.

The silence seems to stretch on and on, and Mulder's face is completely unreadable. He looks as though he's been clubbed over the head, it's true (and in a way, he has), but beyond that, his expression leaves her with no clue as to what he's thinking. She wills herself to speak up, to say something, but she can't... and after a moment, it becomes unnecessary anyway. Mulder crosses the kitchen suddenly and quickly, pulling her close to him, wrapping his arms comfortingly around her.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice muffled, his face pressed into her hair.

"As sure as I can be, at this stage," she says. "I feel like such an idiot... I'm trained in medicine, I know the signs, and I missed every single one of them. I put everything down to stress, to worrying about my mother... but then none of the symptoms went away after Byers came to see us, and then... I knew." She draws back and looks up at him. "Are you angry, Mulder?" He looks at her like she's lost her mind.

"Of course I'm not angry," he says. "It's maybe not the best time, I'll grant you, but... come on, Scully, you can't tell me you haven't at least thought about this, about what it would be like." She relaxes into a smile. Of course she's thought about it, but distantly, as a possibility that didn't even bear dreaming about, under their current circumstances.

"I have, Mulder, I have, it's just...." She shakes her head. "Not like this. Not while everything is so uncertain, and certainly not before-" The word "marriage" sticks in her throat. "My mother will be horrified if she finds out, Mulder. I don't care how much she adores you, she's a dyed-in-the-wool Catholic and this will break her heart." Mulder nods and pulls her close to him again. She can only guess at what's running through that unpredictable mind of his... but somehow, what he eventually comes out with is no surprise at all.

"Scully," he says, drawing back to look at her, "marry me." Her eyes widen for a moment; then, shaking her head, she laughs. His face falls. "Ouch. Not quite the reaction I was hoping for." Scully gets herself under control, quashing the giggles as best she can.

"Oh, Mulder," she says, taking his hands in hers and squeezing them. "It's not like I don't appreciate the offer, believe me. But I don't want you to marry me because you have to."

"I know I don't have to," he argues. "I want to."

"But I don't want this to be the reason," she insists.

"Don't think of it that way, Scully," he says. "I'm not. It's not a reason to marry you. It's an excuse."

His words melt her heart, and the temptation to say yes right then and there is all too real. But this is something she needs to think about- and something she needs to give him the chance to think about, as well. There's every chance he'll decide, after closer contemplation, that maybe it's not something he's ready for after all, and she doesn't want him beholden to a promise he's made at an emotional moment.

"How would we even do that, Mulder?" she asks. "Your government has forbidden it. It's not like we can just march up to the town hall and demand to be married."

"I'm not talking about a civil ceremony, Scully," he says. "I'm talking about going to your church and having the priest marry us. He'll keep it a secret. Nobody else has to know."

"But it wouldn't be legally valid," she argues. "A civil ceremony is the only kind the state recognizes. The French government wouldn't care that we were married in the eyes of the church."

"But would your mother care?" he asks gently. And he's got a point, she knows he has. Her mother would not be at all bothered, as long as the priest had given them his benediction. "Just think about it, Scully," Mulder urges her. "We could even tell her we got married before you got pregnant, if you want. There's no reason she has to know any different." He hopes, just for a moment, that she'll say yes, right then and there, but he knows her well enough to know that that's not how she operates. He will need to be patient.

"I'll think about it, Mulder," she promises. "And one way or another... thank you."

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

The first weekend in April brings with it an event that Scully has been helping to plan for over a month... and one that seems almost appropriate, given the question that's been weighing so heavily on her mind. Her neighbor, Guillaume Bertrand, who owns the butcher's shop right next to the Cafe Pequod, had approached her not long after Christmas with a proposition. His eldest daughter, Sophie, had just informed her parents of her intent to marry her longtime sweetheart, and Guillaume had proposed to Scully that, in exchange for hosting a small wedding lunch, he would provide Scully with several choice cuts of meat, free of charge. She had readily agreed. When he'd heard about the upcoming celebration, Mulder had somehow produced several bottles of very nice wine to be served at the wedding lunch- under the condition that Scully claim that they are a gift from her.

Aside from the wedding party, there seems to be a larger than usual number of German officers and soldiers in the cafe today. The weather is just beginning to warm up, and with the sun shining and a hint of spring in the air, everyone is relishing the opportunity to get out and enjoy the day. Scully worries, at first, that there could be problems and tension, with so much of her dining room taken up by the Bertrand family and their guests, but so far, there's been no trouble at all. Even when Guillaume Bertrand, his face flushed red with the impressive amount of wine he's consumed, begins singing- loudly- in French, the German soldiers merely laugh, tolerant of an old man's joy on the day of his daughter's marriage.

Scully makes a run to the kitchen for a tray of pastries, bought for the wedding party by a German officer in a particularly generous mood, and when she returns to the dining room, she sees that Mulder, sitting at his customary table, is no longer alone. With him is Jeffrey Spender, the childhood companion he'd warned her against, and several other officers she doesn't know. Mulder catches sight of her and waves her over.

"Mademoiselle Scully," he says, in French, as she approaches, "please let me introduce my childhood friend, Jeffrey Spender. We grew up in Berlin together." Scully reluctantly offers her hand, and her skin crawls when Spender kisses it. She's extremely glad when he lets go.

"Such a pleasure to meet you, Fraulein Scully," says Spender, in German. "Fox talks about you so often. Might my friends and I sample the coffee he raves about so much?" Scully pastes a look of polite confusion onto her face, turning to Mulder, who translates the request into French. She nods in response.

"Put it on my tab," says Mulder. She brings the coffee quickly, electing not to remain at the table as Spender and his companions drink. She heads back to the kitchen, wishing she could just remain there until Spender and his friends are gone. She doesn't like the look of him at all. But unfortunately, the sound of rising singing calls her back to the dining room almost immediately, and she comes running with her heart in her throat.

"Allons enfants de la Patrie, Le jour de gloire est arrivé!"

Guillaume Bertrand, standing up now, holding his almost-empty wineglass aloft, has made the switch from singing innocuous folk songs and lullabies to singing the one song likely to get him and his family thrown into prison- or worse.

"Contre nous de la tyrannie, L'étendard sanglant est levé!"

The sound of "La Marseillaise," unsung in France since their defeat at the hands of Germany, stirs something in Scully's heart- but only for a moment. Sophie and her mother are pulling desperately at Guillaume's arms, trying in vain to make him sit down, but he responds by jerking his arms out of their grasp and climbing up to stand on his chair, instead. Scully is seconds from going to him, distracting him somehow (possibly with another bottle of wine, if need be), when suddenly, Mulder stands up and calls out to Sophie and her mother.

"Mademoiselle, please, let him sing," Mulder insists. "Patriotism, love for one's country, is a beautiful thing to see. And besides," he smiles, "your father has a beautiful voice." Guillaume grins brashly at Mulder and continues his song, his wife and daughter cautiously returning to their seats.

"Entendez-vous dans les campagnes Mugir ces féroces soldats?"

Scully feels tears pricking at her eyes, and before the entire cafe can catch her crying, she turns and retreats to the safety of the kitchen. She leans against the butcher's block, taking deep, steadying breaths, love for Mulder, for his bravery and his determination to do the right thing, coursing through her.

She could not possibly have asked for a better man. She owes him an answer, and there is only one answer she could give.

The hinges on the kitchen door creak, and Scully turns to see Mulder standing in the doorway, looking concerned.

"Scully, what is it?" he asks. "Are you all right?" Nodding, she crosses to him, sinking willingly into his waiting arms. She lets him hold her for a moment, until she's mastered her tears, and when she looks up, his gaze is inquiring, worried.

"Yes," she says, and a look of wild, uncontained happiness overtakes his handsome face.

"Yes?" She nods, beaming.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, I'll marry you."

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

On a beautiful April Saturday, exactly one week later, Scully closes the cafe at noon, hanging a sign on the door apologizing for closing early. She steals upstairs and changes out of her work clothes, exchanging her flour-dusted skirt and blouse for a clean, simple dress of light blue. Mulder arrives at the kitchen door minutes later, his uniform clean and pressed, and together, they set off through the back streets of town.

The priest is waiting for them when they arrive at the church. Scully has not told him the reason (or, as Mulder insists on calling it, the excuse) for their hasty wedding, but she assumes he's guessed, though if he knows, he hasn't shown himself unwilling to help them. He's known Scully since she was a little girl, and has known her mother longer than that, and there is not much he wouldn't do for her family.

The ceremony is quick and simple- no witnesses are needed, they've decided, since the marriage won't be legally binding anyway- and no rings are exchanged. They leave the church with no outward sign that anything has changed... but in her heart, Dana Scully feels completely new.

Next Chapter  >

[khymer-vulture]

Iiiittt’‘ssss June 10th! You know what that means!

It’s Rachel Gardner’s birthday!

There’s a theme for the 60 minute challenge in the Discord, the theme is Summer. Ray’s birthday is also in the summer, why not both? :D

Set in between Covering Our Tracks and Captivate

Summer, the most sweltering time of the year.

 It sucks, not only was it hot, but it seemed almost every place Zack and Ray came across, it was filled with people. From the obnoxious behavior of each individual, it was all mostly tourists, visiting new places for a change of scenery during the season. God, they got on Zack’s nerves. Ray would softly sigh as she placed a hand on top of Zack’s to help him erase the need to use his scythe. Sure, she found them annoying too, but cutting them down indiscriminately would draw too much attention.

 Zack was hot and frustrated and needed a damn place to cool his head, he had tried everything to keep himself from overheating without making himself look like a huge target. Taking away his hoodie was out of the question, and he refused to roll up the sleeves, but he was fine with unzipping it. Zack didn’t argue too much about having his pant legs rolled up, Ray eventually came to learn that it was mainly Zack’s upper torso that’s been burned. After all, she had to roll them up for him, because he’d do such a botched-up job at it.

 Thankfully, the tourists often booked in mid-to-higher ranked places, so finding a shelter from the heat wasn’t too bad. Some motels wanted to question Ray, but the two would go to the next until one gave her a key as soon as money was flashed. Finally, a place to rest, and take advantage of some A/C.

 “Hurry the hell up and turn the damn thing on, I’m cooking in my own damn clothes, here!” Zack shouts.

 Impatient as ever, Ray knelt to the indoor A/C unit to adjust the temperature at a more comfortable setting, then set the speed of the fan, and she could hear the device quickly turn on. Then came the sound of Zack flopping onto the bed, exposing his bandaged torso out from his opened hoodie, he must be so relieved to feel the cool air against his body.

 “Fuuuck, how the hell to people stand this god damn heat? It sucks!” he complained.

 Ray sat herself on the bed next to Zack, “Hmm, all sort of reasons. Kids are out of school. People go on vacations. Others like to go to the beach…”

 Zack raised a brow, how she talked made it seem like she was about to say something else.

 “…and?”

 “O-oh…um…and I guess camping too…no, that probably counts as a vacation,” Ray stumbled on her words, her cheeks were becoming rosy.

 “Pretty sure you were gonna say something else,” Zack said as he rolled onto his side.

 Ray was tight lipped for a moment, then shook her head, “I-it’s selfish…it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

 “Spill it.”

 If Zack wanted answers, he wanted them now, and not a runaround. Ray knew this as she sighed to herself, then shyly looked to the man.

 “…My birthday too. It’s tomorrow…” she quietly said.

 “That’s what was so hard to say? Jeez…” Zack mumbled as he lightly shoved the girl, “Speak up sometimes…”

 “I’m sorry.”

 “Yeah, yeah…” Zack said, then lightly pat her back, “Um…happy early birthday, I guess? I don’t really have anything to give you, my bad.”

 “That’s fine, as long as I’m still with you, that’s a perfect gift for me,” Ray replied.

 Zack then lightly covered her face with his hand, that comment made him slightly flustered, “Come on, don’t go saying stuff like that, fuck…”

 Rachel shook herself free as she playfully flopped Zack’s hood back over his face, that action caught the man off guard for a moment, he never expected her to retaliate at him like that, but Zack couldn’t get mad, it was kind of funny to see someone like her act boldly.

 “Oh, look at you being all tough now,” he teased. Then he thought of something relating to the topic, “…I was born in the summer too, probably a little later than you though…I don’t really know the exact day…just a guess…”

 Rachel was intrigued and listened to what he had to say, “Is that so? Exact or no, it’s still something…”

 She remembered some of Zack’s information was on a sheet when the two were in that tower, but it had been so long, she couldn’t recall if a supposed birth date was on there or not.

 “When do you think you were born?”

 Zack thought for a moment, “It’s…definitely late July…I can remember that, because the days start to get much hotter…the 24th, I guess?”

 “I see, I’ll remember it then…I’ll be sure to get you something,” Ray replied, rather sweetly.

 “Better be a new knife or something, you still owe me one…ya know?” Zack murmured, as he lightly scratched the back of his head, “…seriously though…I’m just pulling your damn leg, you don’t have to bother getting me anything.”

 She probably would anyway, it was how she is.

 Eventually, Zack rolled himself off the bed and onto his feet. He slipped his hoodie off and tossed it to the girl, “Wash that real quick, I’m gonna hop in the shower and head back out…”

 “Just this?”

 “What, you want me waltzing around with no clothes on?” Zack remarked with a sarcastic grin.

 Boy, did Rachel’s face turn a deep shade of red before burying her face in his hoodie, Isaac couldn’t hold back a laugh as he began his walk to the bathroom.

 “Ha! I’ve never seen you turn so red, fucking priceless.”

 He was messing with her, it wasn’t the first time Zack teased her, but it was the first to make her blush so red.

 Ray huffed to herself and got up to do the small favor for him, since it was just one item, it didn’t take too long to wash and dry in the machines. She did feel slightly drained from walking around in the heat, and secretly wished she had the endless stamina like Zack. What could she do? She was still young. Rachel sighed to herself and decided to close her eyes for a bit, a little rest would do some good.

 It did take Zack a while to finish with his shower, there was the pain in the ass task of removing his old bandages, actually taking a damn shower, then the task of putting new wrappings back on. When he finally stepped out, he felt the immediate draft of the other room hit him, maybe they set the temperature down a little too much. Nothing his hoodie wouldn’t fix, the man walked up to the machine in the room’s laundry closet and pulled out his slightly warmed jacket.

 Zack can see through the window that the sun was in the process of setting, at least he won’t have to suffer in the unbearable heat.

 “Alright, I’m heading out…”

 No answer.

 Isaac raised a brow as he turned his head to Rachel, he quietly walked up to her and lightly poked the girl’s cheek - still warm.

 “Huh…knocked out…”

 It was going to be a simple errand, though, he never told Ray what it was, that was for the best anyway. Zack grabbed his disguised scythe and headed out the door, he made sure to close it quietly behind himself.

 Zack didn’t know why he was doing this, a supposed “errand” was actually him figuring out what the hell to get Ray for tomorrow. He shouldn’t care, but he didn’t know why he was so damn compelled to do it. Maybe it was the possibility of making her smile improve? Yeah, he’ll go with that. Nothing too sappy or anything, that wasn’t Zack’s motif.

 If he could piece anything from his less-than-stellar memory, she did like flowers, but it was too damn hot for flowers to last. Animals, was another, but no way in fuck he was going to fetch a live one. A doll of an animal maybe. Didn’t they have cakes involved too? No way he could steal a whole damn cake.

 This was too damn confusing.

 Whatever he would come across that he can steal, or looks like something Ray might like, then he’ll take it.

 He did spot a claw machine of sorts, possibly something to grab the attention of tourists and fleece them of their money. It did have potential items Zack could steal no problem, a simple smashing would do. He scanned his surroundings before he gripped onto the hilt of his scythe and swiftly slammed it against the glass. Zack reached in and grabbed whatever his fingers clasped and made a quick run for it.

 One side of himself told Zack what he was doing was stupid yet his more destructive side was having a field day in smashing and stealing things. The side he listened to was quite obvious.

 Zack hid himself for a moment, then glanced at his potential loot, it was a small teddy bear. He brushed off any remaining shards of glass off the false fur, then stuffed it into his hoodie. Good enough, he thought to himself, and quietly slunk into the shadows. The man eventually made his back to where him and Ray made their temporary residence. With no hassles at all, he’d call it a good night, a tourist would most likely be blamed for his bit of vandalism. As Zack walked past the vending machines next to the motel, his mind began to tick once more.

 Sure, he could smash it open, but why would risk the two having to ditch their brief moment of comfort and sleep in the muggy outdoors? Fuck that. Isaac quietly walked up to one of the machines, pulled a sleeve back, and slid his hand through the retrieval slot. He was glad his arm was slender enough to reach whatever he could pillage, he knocked down a few bags of candy and snacks, then scooped them all up in his arms and into his hoodie.

 That should be a decent amount.

 Isaac slowly turned the doorknob to their room, and peeked his head inside. Rachel was still sleeping on the bed – perfect.

 The man quietly made his way into the room and propped his scythe onto the wall to be used for another day. Getting his loot out of his hoodie without waking Ray was the hard part, every bag wanted to crinkle from each movement Zack made, he wasn’t the delicate type, but he did manage to get them all out and propped onto the nightstand next to Ray’s bed. Zack stared at the small pile of goodies he had gotten specifically for Ray, and for her birthday nonetheless, then pondered why he was so driven to get her such trivial things.

 One assurance was for her smile to change, but maybe it was something more than that. Maybe he felt like Ray at least deserved someone who gave a damn about when she was born, and he was absolutely sure Rachel’s own family didn’t care much. Fuck it, she earned it.  Zack may have sworn to kill her one day, but at least he wanted her to have some joys in her life – die with no regrets.

 Isaac brought a hand up and gently ran his fingers through her hair before he decided to go to bed himself.

 The next morning, Rachel was the first to wake up, yet she didn’t feel a familiar warmth beside her like she normally did. The girl looked to see Zack was snoozing in the other bed beside hers, she was confused for a moment, then turned to see something beside her nightstand.

 Candy, snacks, and a small teddy bear.

 Ray moved herself to sit on the edge of the bed and picked up the small plush animal, then quickly glanced over to the sleeping man. So, that’s what he was doing while he was out? He got her gifts for her birthday, and chose to sleep in the other bed to keep her from waking – almost like a surprise.

 She felt herself give a soft smile as she held the bear against her body, for a blunt man like Zack, it was a sweet gesture. Ray stood up and walked over to Zack’s bed, she knelt down slightly as she gave his covered forehead a tender kiss of gratitude.

 “Thank you, Zack…” she whispered.

 Maybe when Zack’s supposed birthday came around, she’d like to surprise him too. He may act like he’d be opposed to it, but she knew he’d probably he very happy about it just like she is today.

[civilorange]

Ooh have you written some swan queen fics? If so, could you share them with us? Pretty please

I have, though I’ve neverposted any of them—I stopped watching OUAT right after season 3, I think?Whenever Emma went back in time and brought Marian back. I stopped after that.I did start writing something for themost recent season—when Regina split in halves—but I never really did anythingwith it. I love Regina, she is like one of my favorite characters—and I mightactually watch the upcoming season with the whole shake up plot.

But, for anyoneinterested, I’ll post some of my Split-Queen story—would this be something ya’ll’dlike to see actually done?

It starts on a Tuesday.

A Tuesday that she wentthrough believing was a Monday.

Now, it isn’t impossiblefor the days to get away from her—no, not impossible, but unlikely. Almost no one notices the fumble half-way through ameeting, but that could be drawn down to the fact that the meeting consists ofimbeciles and ingrates—and Emma Swan. Who is sometimes one, sometimes theother—but usually neither, despite what Regina likes to say with an exasperatedeye roll.

“Since the weekly meetingis in two days,” she begins, already dismissing them in her mind—letting Jacobfrom human resources, and Charles from accounting drift away, “We’ll look overthe budget then.”

“Tomorrow,” Emma pipesup, though Regina can tell she isn’treally listening.

“Excuse me?”

“The weekly meeting istomorrow,” now green eyes havelifted, crinkling slightly with the half-grin given to accompany them, andRegina feels—something—as idiotic asthe vagueness is, it doesn’t seem to matter because there’s no way in hellit’ll trip past her lips.

“It’s on Wednesday,” thebrunette doesn’t hedge, but her browshave drawn down.

“And today is Tuesday.”

She doesn’t like how concerned Emma looks now, nothingserious or too noticeable, but it’s in the way her chin tips and her handsspread out on the table. Jacob and Charles have already left—having taken theirdismissal to heart—and everyone else has filed out behind them, not really tooconcerned with discrepancies of what day of the week it is.

“Of course,” she says,smiling slightly, because of courseit’s Tuesday; after all, she picked Henry up for school yesterday, and makepaella for dinner—hadn’t she? Any attempt at recalling the events of the priorday leave her with a fluttering haze of static, like they’d simply vanished.  “Of course it’s Tuesday; my mistake.”

The admission of beingwrong doesn’t startle Emma like it might’ve a year or two ago, because Reginaisn’t afraid to be wrong, not around family. Not around Emma.

“Everything alright?”Emma’s stepping around the table, fingers pressing against the wood, otherhovering almost awkwardly like she wants to reach out, but is stopping herself.

She always stops herselfnow, like touching is some taboo that had wormed its way into their lives.

“Everything’s fine,” saidwith a smile that’s all white teeth and red lips, but Emma nods, and returns itwith a smile that’s a little more genuine. They stay there, existing in thesame room for a little while longer, before they part—Emma drifting away, andRegina pulling inward.

Everything’s fine—right?

Right.

.

.

Crash.The windows shatter inward, the shards of glass suspended in the air, twistingand spinning until they fall like dangerous raindrops to the ground. Clink, clink.

The old woman who livesnot in a shoe—not in this land without magic—but a small one room cabinstartles from where she had fallen asleep in her armchair.

The old leather creaks.

The wind outside howlsand screams and tears at the curtains to her suddenly glassless window.

“Oh dear,” a voicedrawls, curling like a grin at the edge of every silken word.

If a tree falls in thewood and no one’s around to hear it—does it make a sound?

Of course it does.

If an old woman who livesnot in a shoe, but a cottage, is torn to pieces—does she make a sound?

Oh, absolutely.

.

.

The sun’s particularlyinsistent when her alarm blares—bright, and cheerful, and all manner ofannoying.

Regina’s usually already awakeby the time her alarm sounds at five thirty—one part insomnia and two parts aninternal clock. Occasionally, there’s the irrational worry at the edges of hermind that she isn’t quite sure where she is—sometimes when she leaves thewindow open in winter it feels like the bitter drafts of an empty stone castle.

Sometimes in the summerthe freshly cut grass smells like the field just outside a stable.

Exhaling long enough thatshe can physically feel the pressure on her lungs she throws back the coversand makes her way to the en suite. The water takes too long to warm, the mirrorfogs too quickly, and there’s a haziness that lives just inside her skull—awarbling discomfort that pulses and threads through her nerve endings.

Henry’s at Emma’s butthere’s an almost ingrained need to scramble eggs in a pan that she’ll neveractually eat herself. It’s the tick whirrof the pilot flame, the close hum of the refrigerator.

Her mobile buzzes and sheclicks on the screen to see a text from Henry—up on time, ma made omelets. Love u xo xo

It makes her smile, makesher forget the weariness she’d been feeling since she woke up—and almost makes her miss the muddy footprints in the foyer.

They’re small, andalready dry, and Regina tries to remember when she’d made them—it had been raining yesterday, and lastnight, but she swore she’d cleaned up the floor when she’d gotten home.

Nearly late already, shesteps over the two prints and out the door.

.

.

Emma’s acting strange.

She’d brought Regina theusual fare for lunch—a salad and a ginger ale—and had sat in silence for thelongest time. Usually the mayor had to actively encourage Emma to breathebetween thoughts—as she skittered from topic to topic.

It was an unusual kind offondness that had crept up on Regina at first—how easily annoyance melded andmolded into something like tolerance, and then affection.

Regina watches how greeneyes flick to her, and then down to the chicken sandwich that she knew grannyhad probably fostered upon the sheriff. The battle axe had fallen head firstinto health foods the last week or so—even Regina was hesitant to try some ofher healthier dishes.

Regina opened her mouthto ask what was wrong—

“There was a murder lastnight.”

Oh.

“Oh,” brilliant,succinct—Emma looks up at Regina’s lackluster response. The mayor delicatelyclears her throat. “Who?”

“Old woman who lives in ashoe, if you’ll believe it,” pause—one moment, two moments, “Of course youbelieve it—why wouldn’t you?” Rushing out words before filling her mouth withmore chicken sandwich than necessary.

“Caroline Cudharlow,”Regina says, tapping her fork once before putting it down. “Cause of death?”

“You know how theseinvestigations are,” Emma tries for casual, but ends up with that nervous rushof explanation that just invites more questions. “Don’t want to rule anythingout too soon, you know?”

One moment, two moments.

“Emma.”

Green eyes blink, brow tucking,before she relents. Fingernail scratching absent patterns into the Styrofoam ofher take away container. “Her heart’s missing.”

Regina feels the itch atthe back of her throat that just invites agitation—a shiver up the spine, auneasy pressure in her chest. She doesn’t like feeling like she had once—likeevery conversation was an accusation in disguise, but Emma has been acting cagey, and this is the only explanation Regina canthink of. “Do you think that I—.”

Emma interrupts quickly,“No, no—God, of course not, Regina.”

Running hands throughblonde hair, Emma looks more tired than Regina realized—it wasn’t bags underthe eyes, or anything adamantly physical, but it was just the air about her.

“Missing like—actuallymissing.” Emma tries again, but scowls and picks at her French fries. “SomeoneTemple of Doomed her.”

Frown, the mayor exhalesloudly, “Is that a sex thing?”

“A sex thin—no,” shakingher head, and popping a fry in her mouth. Emma chews thoughtfully, making sureto point out how well she’s waiting to talk—until her mouth isn’t full.“Someone literally took her heart—like, the old fashioned way. With a bone saw,or whatever.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Regina murmurswhile imagining it—she doesn’t have to pretend very hard to get the visual.Bloody fingers plucking and digging, tearing at floater ribs and throughmuscle. The hah-hew of a saw chewingthrough bone, little flesh of marrow coughed up into the air. Itching at herpalms, she can’t help the phantom feeling of blood under her nails.

[remnant-chronicles]

Dust Stars

Stella Smoothie was as busy as ever during the summer months, the line would wrap around the shop and down the street. Alabasians enjoyed a fresh and cold smoothie when the air was as hot and sticky as it was that day. Sitting underneath the orange decorative umbrella was a woman in her mid twenties; sipping on a apple-blueberry-banana concoction. Her dark-red hair clashed with her blood-red eyes, something she hated growing up. She had her hair tied up in a ponytail so it would avoid sticking to her sweaty neck as she swiped her scroll vigorously upward. Her name was Faith Vermelho, leader of team FRST – an advanced guard to King Tris, the leader of Alabasia. Occasionally she would look up with her eyes squinting in the bright sunlight as people walked by, she was waiting for someone. She graciously picked up her cup, her pinky finger raised, and sipped her smoothie. She then patted her mouth with a pink napkin and placed it gingerly next to the cup. “You know,” came a voice from behind Faith that made her jump slightly, “I can't tell if you're always like that, or if it's just an act.” Faith turned around frowning at the person who commented and saw her teammate Serina Lapir. She was wearing her usual getup: a dark-blue, medium length battle skirt with silver and black greaves, chest plate, a pair of gauntlets on her arms and a single pauldron on her left shoulder. Her dark, blue hair was held in a ponytail and her dark, pumpkin colored eyes were cold and calculating as she watched Faith take another sip. “You should know that it's from being part of the King's audience during his dinners and get-togethers and that we have to maintain manners even when we're out in public.” explained Faith as she took another sip, she continued, “Forget about me. It's like an oven out here and you're dressed like there's a war going to start at any moment.” “It's better than looking like you've been held back a dozen times at Mantis.” said Serina coldly as she pointed out Faith's outfit which was similar to the the type of uniform that was worn at their primary combat school, just different colors: white high top sneakers, blue knee socks, a dark-red plaid skirt, black arm socks, and a black sweater vest with red trim. “What? I like this style!” defended Faith as she rolled up her sleeves a bit. “Still,” continued Serina as her armor tinkered and clanked as she shrugged her shoulders. “Come and sit down for a bit,” said Faith, cutting Serina off, “The others still aren't here yet.” Serina sat down and crossed her arms and stared at the people inside the cafe. She would eye them as they walked out carrying their cups, and some carrying pastries. “Why don't you get something for yourself?” asked Faith, following Serina's gaze. “No.” she said simply. “I know you want something.” insisted Faith as she smirked, “Go on.” “I said no already. Leave it.” said Serina harshly. “You're looking a bit peckish, if you ask me.” said Faith as she pulled out her wallet. “Well I didn't ask you.” said Serina as her face started to redden a bit. “I have to look out for my team,” said Faith as she pulled out some money, “Here just take it. Don't worry about owing me later. Go on” Serina begrudgingly took the money after a moment and stomped her way toward the inside of the cafe; her armor clanging loudly with each step. Faith sat back and pulled out her scroll again and began scrolling with her thumb absentmindedly when she heard her name being called out. “Hey, Faith!” called out a female voice. She turned around and smiled as her teammates Rin Grau and Tessa Braun. Rin was Faith's friend that she knew the longest. They had met while at Andromeda Academy (their secondary combat school ) and had been nearly inseparable since; they always had each others backs no matter the situation. Rin was wearing her usual outfit, which was ninja-like in appearance with black shin guards and forearm guards with silver lining, a grey chest plate, and thin pauldrons. Underneath the armor was grey tight pants and a tight cross over jacket adorned with a black hood. Her silver hair shined brightly in the light as she kept her cerulean eyes squinted to see in front of her. Next to Rin was their final teammate, Tessa "Tess" Braun. Being nearly two years in FRST, Tess was still the newest member in the group. She was quickly drafted into the team after Rin witnessed Tess stopping a robbery at a bank – taking down six men all by herself in mere seconds. Her smile reached her canary-yellow eyes as she saw Faith standing up and waving; her dark brown hair being jostled in the breeze as she waved back. In her short time on the team, Tess highly considered her like family, even if Serina scoffed at that idea. She was wearing her typical daily attire of a sleek business suit fitted with a dark brown tie. They sat down next to Faith and began talking while Serina plopped down a few seconds later with a bright green drink in her hands. “You know,” said Rin as she pulled out her scroll, “I heard a rumor that the king might venture outside the walls soon.” “Really? Where'd you hear that?” asked Tess as she looked up from fixing her tie. “Overheard a meeting when I was making my way to the west garden."said Rin. "How long has it been?” asked Tess. “Since the King ventured outside the walls? It's been a while. The prince was still a child.” said Serina as she fished a cherry from the bottom of the cup. “That long?” asked Tess, remembering that the Prince just celebrated his nineteenth birthday. “Yeah. I remember those days like it was yesterday.” said Faith reminiscently. “Those were dark times indeed.” said Rin nodding her head. She continued after seeing Tess' confused face, “We technically don't talk about it, more like 'not really allowed' because of King Tris' wife.” “That makes sense,” agreed Tess, “Didn't they say it was an assassination attempt meant for him?” “I wouldn't trust anything said. Once information becomes a rumor and starts spreading around, it becomes so diluted and muddled that the original story becomes lost in a perilous void.” said Serina gloomily. “I bet you're a real riot at parties, Serina.” teased Rin while Faith and Tess laughed. “Jokes aside,” said Faith, “This one sounds serious. Expect a summons soon. The tournament is coming up fast and preparations for transport have to start. This is a damn big deal.” “How far is Vytal from here?” asked Rin. “Considering that Tris wants to travel via motorcade, it's actually not that far from here. Maybe three or four days with limited stops for rest.” said Serina. They sat in silence for a few moments before Faith pulled out her scroll and started swiping on the screen before all of theirs started ringing simultaneously; catching Serina by surprise and making her spill her drink. “It says that we're needed back at the castle.” said Tess looking up from her scroll. “Well then,” said Fatith as she stood up and stretched, “Let's go.” “Wait,” said Rin as she stood up as well, “What happened to you Serina?” “Ugh...Nothing.” she said as she tried to wipe her spilled drink off of her front. “It looks like 'nothing' is all over you.” teased Tess. “Oh shut up!” Serina snapped back to a laughing Rin, “Just go ahead, I'll meet you there.” Faith, Rin and Tess walked together toward the castle that was located at the back of the city atop of a rather large hill. The castle itself was the tallest point in Alabasia standing hundreds of feet over all other buildings. It was a stark contrast compared to the surrounding buildings in the city, which were varied in colors from blue to yellow and everything in between. The castle itself was a bony-white in color lined with blue incandescent edges that flashed slowly. Ships could be see arriving and departing from time to time carrying important people and secretive shipments. FRST worked directly and lived in the castle alongside King Tris as his personal guard. They escorted him anywhere in the kingdom he needed to go, and protected him inside the castle walls. BOOM! An explosion rocked the street Faith, Rin and Tess were walking on that sent shards of glass, pieces of rubble, and people flying. Running out of the smoldering store that had just exploded were four masked individuals carrying large black duffle bags. They were all wearing the same outfit which consisted of dark-gray long-sleeved shirts, black armored vests and baggy black cargo pants and military style boots. They were shooting behind their backs blindly at anyone who was making an attempt at following them. People were ducking for cover as dust fueled bullets were whizzing past their bodies as the the thieves ran down a narrow alley with Faith, Rin and Tess quickly taking pursuit. “Go left!” ordered Faith as she saw two of the burglars turn left at the end of the alley. Rin and Tess banked left as Faith ran straight towards the other burglar. All of a sudden, Rin stopped dead in her tracks. Tess looked back in confusion. “What're you doing? They're getting away!” she shouted. Rin shook her head as she arched her back and her eyes grew wide. In an instant, she disappeared from behind Tess and reappeared in front of the two burglars causing them to stop in their tracks and raise their guns; their barrels glowing ominously. “How the-” said one of the burglars in surprise, but was cut off when Rin bashed him across the face with her bow. Tess dove out of the way as the body flew past her and slid on the ground in a crumbled heap and looked at Rin who motioned at something behind her. She looked around and ducked just in time at the burglar that she was dealing with swiped at her with a rather long, red blade that had transformed from his gun. “Oh! You're crafty one, aren't you?” giggled Tess as she raised her hand. A peculiar blue glow emanated from her palm and the burglar's knife zipped from his hand to Tess'. Her palm glowed again and the knife started to hover over it. She then angled her arm behind her head and smiled as she sent the knife whizzing straight into the burglars foot; pinning him on the spot. He yelled in pain as he tried to move but couldn't as his foot was firmly staying in place. Tess walked forward and raised her arm again and let out an electric pulse that made him fall backwards in an unconscious pile. “You're a sadistic one, you know that?” said Rin as she walked up to Tess. “No, that's Faith.” laughed Tess, “Speaking of, let's find her. She might need us” Rin nodded her head and followed Tess as she pulled out her scroll to find Faith's ping on a tracker app that she downloaded. Meanwhile, while Rin and Tess took care of their problem, Faith was in pursuit of the three remaining burglars that were trying to escape. She dodged bullets as they whizzed past her, deflecting a few of them with her halberd. “Oh no you don't!” she grunted as she took a leap forward to try and trip one of them. One of the burglars merely skipped over the curve of her halberd and twisted in midair and pointed his gun at a defenseless Faith's head. Her eyes grew wide as she saw a flash of light from the muzzle. She closed her eyes and prepare for what was coming, but nothing happened. She opened her eyes and, to her surprise, saw a lancer wiggling in the ground with the burglar's sleeve impaled in the ground. Serina aimed a well timed kick at the trapped burglar's head and knocked him out. Faith slid belly down on the ground past the body and twisted herself around to see Serina sprinting toward her; her eyes glowing. “Found you.” said a huffing and puffing Serina at Faith. “Took you long enough.” said Faith as she took Serina's extended arm and helped herself up and picked up her halberd. “One of them is getting away!” said Serina, pointing at the last burglar that hopping onto a motorcycle to get away. “I.” grunted Faith as her palms flash a bright shade of lime green, “Don't. Think. SO!” She threw her arms over her head and brought down her weapon with a mighty yell. The energy in her palms transferred to the blade and shot out in a beam of light toward the burglar. In an instant, the bike exploded so violently that a shockwave formed and broke all the windows of storefronts, restaurants, and apartments all down the street. The burglar was launched in the air and landed in a tree; his clothes smoking. “Shoot a damn gun at me,” said Faith quietly as her aura flashed on her body as it weakened slightly, “You're lucky I missed.” Rin and Tess caught up a minute later, Tess uttered a low whistle as she looked at the damage. “Wow, Faith,” said Rin as she eyed down the street, “All the way down...The windows.” “Yeah, that's gonna be expensive.” said Tess. “Whatever,” said Serina as she wiped sweat from her brow, “It's over now.” “Yeah, and the police are arriving.” said Rin pointing behind Serina. The Alabasian authorities pulled up in their cars and vans and stepped out. They wore white uniforms to symbolically show that they were pure of heart, and only sought out justice for the good of the people. Their belts only had a gun and a baton to aide them in certain situations. “We'll take care of it from here, ladies. Thank you.” said the lead officer as he walked over to them. “Don't worry, love,” said Faith as she walked up the officer and brushed his cheek with her thumb, “We already have.” Serina picked up her weapon, and held it at her side as FRST began to walk towards the castle once again. There was no doubt that news of this attack will spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom.