#i know fandom's a pretty forlorn place at the moment

[larrylimericks]

31Dec22

The year’s end had nearly drawn nigh, But Lou sent us out on a high! The content was smokin’— He’s shirtless! He’s tokin’! In pics deffo meant for his guy.

[drhu0806]

8 – “Give me that, before anything happens.”

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 (fanfiction) Characters: Astarion, Tav/custom player character Rating: G Warnings: none

“What have you done?”

Astarion is disgusted, scandalized, truly horrified. The mantle that hangs from Kainé’s shoulders is in tatters, shredded and mangled, a far cry from the elegant article it once was. He thumbs the end of it in his hand in disbelief.

“Did you end up in a fight with a murderous onion chopper? You look as though a wyvern tried to chew you up and just spit you back out.”

Kainé grimaces, sheepish. “There was… some trouble…”

“Clearly.”

Taking a step back, he takes the rest of her in, eyeing her critically. “And while we’re on the subject of clothes, my dear, can we talk for a moment about everything else you have going on?”

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, darling, you’re gorgeous. But sometimes it helps to look the part a bit more, hm? It seems like every time I look at you, your shirt is some level of ill-fitting or torn, and for some reason you always have holes in your trousers. I know we’re in almost constant peril, but it really wouldn’t hurt to keep up appearances.”

She laughs, but it’s weak and forced, and Astarion senses that he’s misstepped somehow. “I suppose you’re right, I do look like a mess, don’t I?”

“Wait, Kainé, I’m not saying you’re a slob by any means—”

“Oh, I know, and you know I really would love to have clothes that I don’t ruin constantly, it’s just… I don’t really have that option.”

“What do you mean?”

She picks at a small tear in her shirt, one of many across a number of her casual clothes. Kainé doesn’t have many; while there’s been no shortage of abandoned, unused clothing in their travels, for some reason she gives away most of what they find to the rest of the party. Astarion himself is in possession of more clothes than he’s had in quite some time.

Kainé gives him a smile, forlorn and small. “I’m a tiefling, Astarion. It’s not exactly easy to find clothing that works for us.” She points to her horns. “You would not believe how hard it is to find a shirt that slips over my head easily.”

He suddenly remembers when Wyll was first turned into his devilish form, the hours of consulting with the tieflings in the party, the numerous times they’ve had to untangle his horns from his shirt. At the time he’d found it hilarious but...

“There’s also the matter of this lovely little thing…”

Turning to her side, her tail whips into prominence. “Tough to find pants that are comfortable enough to fit around these bad boys. Not a lot of tiefling tailors out there so… Growing up I never had a lot of clothes that fit me in general, and I never learned how to sew, so it would usually be really baggy shirts or trousers with holes just punched into them. Dresses were actually pretty nice, just not practical to wear often.” Kainé shrugs. “It was fine for a while; no point in having nice clothes I’ll just end up ruining from all the work I was doing.”

It isn’t the first time Astarion’s said something he shouldn’t, but it is the first time in a long while that he’s genuinely regretted it. No matter how hard she tries to shrug it off, he can hear the years of childhood shame behind her words. Little, seemingly inconsequential things he’s noticed during their time together come to mind: the slow, meticulous manner in which she puts her shirt on in the mornings, the times where she shifts uncomfortably in place, pulling at her trousers when she thinks no one can see.

He’s never denied that he’s been one to preen and pick at his own appearance; even his plainest clothes were carefully tailored to his tastes. But he’s always at least had good options to start with; what must have it been like, to not have that choice at all?

“Give me that, before anything happens,” he mutters, gesturing at her torn cloak. “And the rest of your free clothes as well. Gods forbid something rips in an unfortunate place at the worst time.”

“Wait, all of them? Why? It’s just my cloak—”

“Less questions, more clothes please! I don’t have all day!”

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

Later, when Kainé returns to her tent, she finds her clothes returned, laid out individually. She’s about to curse Astarion out for leaving her a mess until she picks up the first shirt. She runs her fingers over it, feeling out curves that weren’t there before, outlining the trails of crisp, cleanly stitched embroidery. Without a second thought, she switches out her attire, and she’s immediately struck at how much easier it is to slip her head through the collar, the way the shirt actually conforms to her rather than sagging loosely at her sides.

She kicks off her pants and shimmies into a returned set, practically giddy that for once her tail doesn’t catch as she pulls up the waist. Not caring whether anyone sees, she hums to herself as she dances a little in place.

One last item remains: the mended cloak. The repaired article looks almost as good as new; Kainé marvels at how neat the needlework is, how the threads seamlessly blend into the existing pattern. Yet when she reaches the collar, she pauses as a new addition catches her eye.

A small white flower is sewn underneath the collar. She recognizes the shape all too well: a white moonflower, her favorite. Kainé wraps herself in the cloak as if it were a blanket, burying her face into the embroidered design.

“Oh, good, you’ve already tried them on.”

Astarion appears at the mouth of her tent. “I was hoping I could catch you to make sure everything fit, though I’m sure my skill is perfectly good enough to—Why are you looking at me like that?”

Without saying a word, she rises and embraces him. He’s caught off guard, his arms held out as he scrambles to figure out what’s going on. Eventually he comes back to himself, returning her embrace and holding her close.

“Well, I guess that means everything fits just fine.”

[set-phasers-to-whump]

the rhythm of the rain keeps time

prompt: storms

whumpee: neal caffrey

fandom: white collar

i feel like it’s been a hot minute since i’ve written wc and i can’t believe how much i missed writing these guys! this was a lot of fun to write and i hope that it’s alright to read! (title from jet pack blues by fall out boy, which has been sitting on my list of song lyrics to use as fic titles since i was like, 15)

Not even a minute after Neal has left his house, a boom of thunder rolls across the evening sky and a heavy rain begins to pour down. Neal keeps walking anyway, despite the storm, pulling his hat a bit lower on his head in an attempt to keep some of the rain off his face. 

The only thought on his mind is the Burkes. While turning around and going back inside, back into the warm, dry air, does sound pretty damn good, he knows he needs to get to their house above all else. He doesn’t know why, exactly. All he knows is that he feels bad, achy and hot with a pounding head, and Peter and El are usually good at fixing things. Ergo, he needs to go see them. 

Neal continues walking through the heavy rain, wrapping his arms around his torso in a rather useless attempt to stay warm. Truthfully, he’s pretty sure he’d been shivering even before it started raining, but if he’d been shivering then, he’s positively trembling now. He doesn’t think he has ever been this cold in his entire life. It feels as though the cold rain has soaked right through his skin and into his bones, like it’s freezing him from the inside out. He tries to walk faster to escape it, but only trips over his own feet, scraping his palms red and raw against the sidewalk when he falls. 

Neal pushes himself back up, wavering on his feet as a sudden rush of dizziness overtakes him. It passes eventually, and he continues walking, determined that he must make it to the Burkes’ house. As soon as he gets there, he knows that everything is going to be okay. He just has to keep walking. 

So he does. He walks, and walks, and walks, and wonders whether the Burkes’ house has always been this far away. At some point, he’s stopped really registering the cold. He wonders whether that might not be such a good thing, but can’t bring himself to care. 

He’s still shaking, and his footsteps take him all over the sidewalk and occasionally cause him to step off of it and down onto the edge of the road. He trips and falls at least three more times, though he’s not really keeping count. He thinks maybe there are holes in the knees of his pants now, which is a shame, since he’d really liked this suit. His shoes, too, have got to be ruined. He’s stepped in several ankle-deep puddles and can feel the water sloshing around inside them, but doesn’t have the strength or dexterity to get them off and get the water out. 

After an eternity of walking and stumbling and freezing and still feeling bad underneath it all, finally Neal sees the Burkes’ house. The lights are on, glowing invitingly, and he hastens his pace, nearly plowing down an old woman who is stepping into a taxi.

“S-sorry,” he manages to stutter out through his chattering teeth, but the word is so quiet he doubts that the woman had heard it at all. 

Going up the steps is one of the hardest parts of his entire journey, which up until now has not taken him on any great changes of elevation. His legs are trembling beneath him, and with every step he takes, he manages to bang his shoes into the stairs. He almost falls more than once, but manages to save himself by gripping onto the railing for all he’s worth. 

He’s fairly exhausted by the time he reaches the top step, and for a second he simply leans on the door and tries to catch his breath. He’s here. And Peter is here, and so is El, and Satchmo, and maybe there’s a fire in the fireplace, or maybe they had something warm for dinner and there are leftovers, or - 

The door opens, and suddenly he’s falling over the threshold, and all he thinks is not again, but before he can hit the ground, someone’s arms are wrapped around him, pulling him back up. 

“Neal?”

“H...hey, Peter.”

---

When a shadow appears on the doorstep shortly after eight, Peter’s a little cautious. Who on Earth would be showing up to his house in the middle of a thunderstorm without advance notice?

He opens the door slowly, a look through the peephole not revealing much in the dark of the late evening, and promptly is reminded of the one person who is the most likely culprit to show up at his house in the middle of a thunderstorm without advance notice.

He catches Neal’s soaking, freezing, shaking form before he can fall to the floor, quickly pulling the door shut behind him. “Neal?”

“H...hey, Peter,” Neal whispers, and Peter can hear his teeth chattering. He has about a million questions running through his head, and no idea which one to ask first, so for the moment, he forgoes any kind of conversation at all and simply shuttles Neal to the bathroom. “You wait here,” he instructs, settling Neal down onto the lid of the toilet. Neal complies easily, looking slightly lost but mostly relieved. 

“What’s going on?” El asks, as soon as Peter steps out of the bathroom. She looks past him, and is then immediately stepping around him and into the bathroom. “Neal, sweetie, are you okay?”

Peter looks on as Neal nods. “Jus’...needed t-to get here,” he says. “Knew I’d be...be okay then.”

El turns to look at him then, a soft expression on her face. “Peter -”

“Towels,” Peter replies, and El nods. 

After a quick trip upstairs to their bedroom and the linen closet, Peter makes his way back to the bathroom with a stack of towels in his arms. Sitting atop them is one of his old Academy t-shirts and a pair of flannel pajama pants, both of which he is hoping will fit Neal well enough. 

Peter pauses in the bathroom doorway with the towels and clothes in his arms. El is in the middle of bandaging scrapes on Neal’s palms that Peter hadn’t even noticed. Neal seems to barely register anything, but he does smile at El gratefully when she finishes. Peter takes that as his cue to enter the bathroom, setting the stack down onto the counter and looking at Neal questioningly.

“I...I got it,” Neal says, sounding about as determined as he can given his current state. Peter elects to believe him, and he and El clear out of the bathroom to let Neal extricate himself from his soaking-wet suit. 

“Do you think he walked here?” El asks, as she and Peter lean against opposite sides of the bathroom door to wait for Neal. 

A particularly loud clap of thunder rattles the windows as Peter says, “I wouldn’t doubt it. The way he looked...how badly he was shaking...he had to have been out in the rain for a while.”

El shakes her head. “He said he needed to get here.”

“I know,” Peter replies. “I just don’t know why.”

A few minutes later, Neal emerges from the bathroom. He looks a little out-of-place in pajamas, and his hair is sticking up in several different directions. This, frankly, worries Peter. He’s never known Neal to let his hair get messed up, even on the worst of days. 

“How do you feel?” El asks, as she and Peter each wrap an arm around Neal’s shoulders and guide him to the couch. 

Neal shrugs. “Not as cold,” he says, though he’s still shaking. “Still bad.”

“What do you mean, ‘still bad’?” Peter asks. He and El let Neal sink down onto the couch, and he grabs the blanket draped over one of the armrests, draping it over Neal’s shoulders. 

“I felt bad, before. ‘S why I came,” Neal explains. 

“Bad how?” El asks. 

“Just bad. Achy and hot and my head felt funny. ‘M not that hot anymore but everything else...” Neal trails off. 

“You’re probably sick,” Peter says, feeling slightly exasperated that Neal had put himself through the ordeal of walking to his house in a storm because he felt bad. Did he not realize that he had a phone?

“I guess,” is Neal’s reply. “Knew you could help.”

El and Peter turn to each other at the same time, both wearing similarly fond - if exasperated - looks. 

“Of course we can help,” Peter says. “But, you know, you could have just called me.”

Neal raises his eyebrows and says, “oh,” as though the thought is just now occurring to him. “Are you mad?”

El sinks down on the couch next to him. “Of course we’re not mad,” she says. Neal turns his head to look at Peter, who moves to sit on Neal’s other side. 

“Of course not,” Peter echoes. “You’re always welcome here, and I’m glad you came to us for help instead of suffering on your own. Even if you did end up causing yourself more suffering in the process.”

Neal nods, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. He’s almost stopped shaking, Peter notices, which he takes as a sign that he and El can move from unfreezing Neal to getting him some help with his sickness. From what Neal had said, it’s most likely just a fever, which is a relief, because making it better does not require a trip to the drugstore in this weather. 

Peter and El both stand up at nearly the same moment. “We’ll be back,” El promises, and Neal nods, the rather forlorn look on his face brightening up considerably when Satchmo comes down the stairs with a cheerful jangling noise and promptly curls up at his feet.

Peter and El head into the kitchen, where Peter grabs some tylenol and a thermometer, and El makes a cup of peppermint tea. They return to the living room with their items to find Neal nearly asleep, still sitting up on the couch. Peter gently shakes his shoulder, and Neal opens his eyes. “I was gonna sleep,” he says, rather petulantly. 

“You can sleep in about two minutes,” Peter promises. “But you came here because you’re sick, so we’d like to help you out with that before you crash on our couch.”

“Okay,” Neal agrees, keeping his eyes open. Peter presses the thermometer to his forehead. 

“101.3,” Peter reports. “Nothing worrying, but it’s probably a bit higher since you’re still a little wet.” He hands Neal the tylenol, and El passes over the cup of tea. Neal swallows the pills dry, makes a face, then cautiously takes a sip of the tea, his hands wrapped firmly around the mug to absorb its warmth. 

Neal makes it about halfway through the tea before setting the cup back down onto the table, lying down curled on his side, pulling the blanket securely over himself in his new position, and promptly falling asleep. El and Peter share another look, all fondness this time, before turning off the living room lights and retreating to the dining room table, where they can sit and watch the storm rage outside, have some tea themselves, and talk about the conman-turned-something-like-family that is currently asleep on their couch.

thanks so much for reading this fic! fun fact it is my 100th fic posted to ao3 :) it’s somewhere around like my 140th on here which is not exciting but yeah. cannot believe how much stuff i have written? insane. anyway i hope you enjoyed! love y’all!

[flowers-creativity]

Fic: The One Bed Job

Fandom:  Leverage

Characters: Eliot Spencer, Parker, Alec Hardison

Warnings: None

Summary: A rainstorm forces Eliot, Parker and Hardison to take shelter in a cabin in the woods. There is only one problem ...

Notes: Written for Spud (@callipygianspud) for the @leverage-secret-santa-exchange with the prompts “Parker/Hardison/Eliot, oh no one bed?!?!, slice of life bickering”.

There are a lot of firsts in this story for me, most notably that it's my first Leverage fic ever! It was a lot of fun working on it - thanks to the mods of the Leverage Secret Santa Exchange for organising this 😊.

I’m late in posting it because I missed that the authors had been revealed but finally, here it is on my blog, too.

AO3 link

Eliot threw the truck into park and stared out the windshield at the desolate view: a cabin in the middle of the woods, looking small and forlorn in the wind that had been picking up speed over the last hour. Rain was driving diagonally across the picture, and he didn't want to make any bets on how long it would be until it was going fully horizontal. “Damn it, Hardison, that's the best you can do?”

“Hey man, you wanna try finding a place to stay in the middle of nowhere during a rainstorm, with no advance warning?” Hardison twisted in his seat and stabbed a finger at him. “I'm not freaking clairvoyant, couldn't have known it woulda hit so hard!”

“Yeah, well, always actin' like you are,” Eliot growled as he unbuckled his seat belt. There was no use arguing, they were out of other options. Not that it would stop him from doing it anyway. “C'mon, let's look at that rat's nest you found for us.”

“No appreciation, man,” Hardison mumbled. He took off his seat belt, then twisted around and nudged the lump that was Parker on the backbench, just a shock of blonde hair peeking out from under the blanket she'd wrapped herself in. “Hey mama, we're here. Time to wake up!”

The lump protested sleepily but finally uncurled to reveal the thief who stretched and yawned mightily. “Where's here?” she asked.

“Cabin in the woods,” Hardison said. “Storm's getting pretty bad, so Eliot wanted to stop driving. Never mind that we're in a Faraday cage,” he added, raising his voice so the hitter just about to close the driver's side door could hear him, “but apparently the only thing frightening big bad Spencer is some lightning. Can't hit that, eh?”

“Hardison,” Eliot said grumpily, pulling the door open again, “you wanna wrap the car around a tree 'cause you can't see with the rain comin' down so hard, be my guest.”

Parker snorted and leaned forward to give Hardison a quick peck on the nose. “He's got a point there,” she pointed out.

Eliot flashed her a quick look of thanks, fighting down the incongruous urge to have a corner of his mouth tick up. It wasn't a smile; it wasn't. And it wasn't a problem that his face constantly wanted to do that around those two lately. He finally slammed the door shut and switched on the heavy-duty flashlight he kept in the truck's cabin at all times. He more sensed than heard the passenger side's door opening and the other two hustling after him as he made his way towards the cabin, the rain soaking him down to the skin within moments.

The door was locked; he contemplated it for a moment, then stepped aside. “Parker, do your thing,” he commanded, directing the beam of light onto the lock. She gave a quick sound of delight and dove forwards with her lock picks appearing in her hands like magic. That lock wouldn't take her more than five seconds, he knew, but even that was probably a treat for her after an exhausting job that had her do most of the grifting. No matter how much she had grown and learned since they had become a team, coming into her own in both the grifter and the mastermind role, she would never love it as much as she did the jobs where she could be what she really was, a cat burglar and safecracker.

It was maybe eight seconds until the lock clicked and Parker stood back up. She frowned a bit at the door as she pocketed her lock picks. “Sorry, I'm off my game,” she said.

Hardison huffed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Don't be ridiculous, babe, you're fine. A bit tired, that's all.”

Eliot nodded and gave her a quick pat on the back before he pushed open the door and went ahead into the cabin. “Stay here,” he told them as he swept the flashlight's beam through the room.

Hardison rolled his eyes so hard Eliot could hear it even though he had his back turned. “No need to unpack the guard dog routine, El,” he said, and another flashlight beam joined his. “It's a cabin in the middle of the woods. If there's anything dangerous, it'll be a bunch of spiders or a raccoon at best. C'mon, I wanna get inside and get dry.”

Eliot flashed him a nasty grin over his shoulder. “You're the geek, tell me how many horror movies there are that look just like this,” he said. “And how the black guy usually does in them.”

“Damn, man, don't you use pop culture against me, that's just wrong,” Hardison complained.

Parker snorted a laugh, still leaning against Hardison's side. “We'll protect you, Eliot and I,” she told him earnestly, then slipped from his arm and had his flashlight in her hand a blink of an eye later. “I'll help him make the security sweep, and you find out if there's electricity.”

Hardison sighed in defeat and waved them off, shaking his head. “Then go do what you gotta do.”

“Nice to know we have your approval,” Eliot said with a smile that was all teeth and very little warmth (no matter that he wanted to put a lot more into it). Nevertheless, he didn't further protest Parker's joining him and sent her off to check one of the two doors leading from the main room while he finished sweeping its meager contents – a small table with two rickety chairs, a wood stove and an old cupboard that held a little bit of crockery, a battered pot and a few cans of soup. He left Hardison to poke around near the stove, mumbling to himself about barbaric conditions and using his phone as a flashlight, and headed for the second door.

It didn't take much time to determine that this was the bathroom, such as it was, and little more to check the shabby toilet and sink – they worked, which was probably the best they could hope for. When he emerged back into the main room, he found that Parker had just done so, too, and was now perched on the table. For once he could not fault her for her propensity never to sit on a chair like a normal person; the table looked like a much safer bet.

“That's the bedroom,” she reported immediately once she caught sight of him coming back, pointing at the room she had checked. “Nothing there but a lot of dust and spiderwebs.” She grinned brightly. “Only one bed, though. We'll have to snuggle close, it's not very big.”

“Wa---” Eliot was vaguely aware that he was standing there gaping like a moron but his mind was stuck on Parker talking about snuggling in one bed.

“Huh, what was that, Eliot?” Hardison had abandoned whatever he had been doing with the stove – couldn't have been lighting a fire, he severely doubted Hardison could do that – and came over, leaning against the wall next to the table with Parker on it, both of them weirdly illuminated by the display light of Hardison's phone.

Eliot finally marshaled his thoughts enough to grind out: “I'm sure you'll be fine for one night. I'll take the floor.” Parker must have been talking about herself and Hardison anyway, no reason to assume that she wanted to snuggle with him – even if his traitorous heart had done just that.

Parker frowned. “What? No, you won't,” she said with a shake of her head. “Not when there's a bed and no reason for you to be on watch. We'll fit in there the three of us.”

“Wha-- Dammit, Parker, you can't just get into bed with any man!” Eliot protested.

“Fine, then Hardison and you can take the floor.” She folded her arms over her chest and stared at him, the challenge more conveyed by her tone than by her expression he couldn't see too clearly in the gray light on her face. Next to her, Hardison made an outraged sound, just as Eliot sputtered:

“What? No, why should Hardison sleep on the floor?”

“Well, if I can't get in bed with any man, then I can't get in bed with you two, since you're both men,” she said with a shrug, in that tone that clearly said that she thought she was being perfectly reasonable.

“But he's not any man,” Eliot pointed out, “he's your boyfriend.”

“Okay,” she said, cocking her head to the side in one of those moves that made her look sort of like a bird, “but you're not any man, too. You're Eliot. My--” she broke off, gave a short sideways glance to Hardison and then continued: “Our-- You're Eliot. So you can come, too.”

Eliot sputtered again, and how did she always manage to have that effect on him? He was Eliot goddamn Spencer, he was always in control, but she stole it from him as easily as pick-pocketing a watch was for her, with nothing more than a few words and looks. He desperately looked to Hardison. “Back me up here, c'mon, man!”

Hardison, the son of a bitch, just shrugged, his teeth white in the dim light as he grinned. “You heard the lady,” he said, “you're not any man, so you can get in bed with her, I mean, with us, any time.”

“I-- But--!” Eliot raked his left hand through his hair, casting around for the right thing to say, to make sense of these words in a way that didn't make warmth spread through his chest and … somewhere else that had made a very specific sense of it and was sitting up and taking notice. In the back of his mind, another part was busy pointing out that in a way, any man was probably better to have in your bed than Eliot Spencer. It was surprisingly easy to disregard this voice, though, just as Parker and Hardison disregarded his words whenever he pointed it out to them. He had told them so a hundred, a thousand times, even had shown them glimpses of it a few times – the swimming pool, probably even the warehouse, despite Nate's promise not to tell anyone – and they had always sailed past it without the slightest worry despite what he had been, what he still was. And he knew it was true: whatever danger he presented, it never was a danger connected to his past. Only to a present that he held sacred in his heart like a talisman, like he had held preciously little since he had lost faith in God and the American flag and whatever else he had believed in once upon a time.

“Helloo-ho!” Hardison suddenly loomed up in front of him, his face just inches away from him. “Earth to Eliot!”

Eliot honest to God flinched and took a step back. “Dammit, Hardison!”

The hacker raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You back with us, man?” He looked him over seriously. “Honestly, I'm starting to think you're getting sick. You're usually more with it than that.”

Eliot took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. “I'm fine,” he gritted out. He let his shoulders slump down. Sleeping in one bed it was. “You had any luck with that stove?” he asked Hardison in a bid of hopefully redirecting the conversation.

Hardison shrugged. “Not really, there's some old ashes and half-burnt wood in it but I don't have a lighter. I'm sure you can get it going, right? Don't tell me you haven't been a Boy Scout, too.”

“Nope.” Eliot hoped the relief and eagerness with which he fell into their banter was not too obvious. “Army boot camp's better than that, anyway. Plus, y’know, spending lots of time in the actual wilderness, not some parent's backyard.” He dug into one of his pockets for a lighter and wandered over to the stove, angling the flashlight beam into the open compartment.

Parker had her chin in her hands as she watched him with her usual Parker intensity. “Backyards sound boring,” she agreed. “But you should take us camping some time! We can throw Hardison off a cliff instead of a building!”

This time it was Hardison who was sputtering, and Eliot couldn't resist, he laughed, a bark that reverberated deep in his chest. “That's a great idea, darlin',” he drawled, grinning at the hacker.

“Now that's just unfair! Two against one! And no one's throwing Hardison off any cliffs, are we clear? Are we clear?”

Parker pouted at him. “Aww. You went on that fishing trip with Eliot, didn't you? I want to do something like that with you, too, with both of you.”

Eliot scowled at the reminder of how their fishing trip hadn't happened after that stand-off with a white supremacist militia. “Not exactly like that, preferably,” he growled under his breath. Louder, he said, “I think Hardison had a problem with the cliff thing, not with going on a trip with you, Parker. We can keep that in mind, okay? For now, just let's get through the night.”

In the meantime, he had kept working on the stove, pushing the old ashes to the side and rearranging the partly burnt wood into a neat pile. He looked around for some old paper to start the fire, then reconsidered. The small fire would be pretty useless to heat or light the room.

“Any of you hungry? There's some soup in cans.”

Hardison and Parker exchanged a look, then shook their heads.

Eliot sighed and stood up, brushing off the knees of his jeans. “Then we don't need to bother with the fire. We'd need some candles or a torch for some real light. Don't think it would produce much heat to get the room warm, either.”

Parker shrugged. “I don't have any candles.”

Hardison grinned. “I guess if we're cold, we just need to snuggle close in our bed,” he said, and Eliot's belly did another backflip at the thought of the three of them in one bed together.

Parker laughed and dropped down from her perch on the table, grabbed Hardison's hand, then lunged and did the same with Eliot's. “Come on, I'll show you,” she said brightly and pulled them over to the door she'd discovered the bedroom behind earlier.

“Parker, that's --- Parker, I can walk on my own,” Eliot protested but it was halfhearted at best. He turned towards Hardison but found little sympathy there.

“Just go with the flow,” the hacker told him. “Relax.”

Eliot bit back a retort and instead just took a deep breath, his feet automatically following where Parker led. Relax. As if that was a thing he could do when he was about to get into the same bed as his two best friends. As the two people he-- He-- His thoughts kept stalling but he knew the word that should go there.

In the small bedroom, Parker let go of his hand, and he took in the room and the furniture occupying it, which was just one more of those rickety chairs, with Parker's flashlight on it casting a beam through the shadows, and the bed itself. It was small indeed, and short enough that Eliot guessed Hardison's feet would hang over the edge. Parker and he should be fine – for a certain measure of fine when he was intruding where he didn't belong. Never mind that they seemingly didn't see anything wrong with it, even though they were the couple…

Meanwhile, Parker had taken possession of the bed, pulling back the covers. She looked back at the two men contemplatively, then shrugged and quickly pulled off her shirt, sending it flying toward the chair. At Eliot's spluttered “Parker!”, she shot him an annoyed glare. “What? It's wet,” she explained as she unzipped her pants and shimmied out of them, then threw them after the shirt. Eliot averted his eyes and prayed for strength.

When he looked back, she had slipped under the covers, and Hardison was sitting at the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes and socks, his phone on the quilt next to him. Hardison looked up at him, and his dark eyes were soft in the beam of Eliot's flashlight. “Eliot, man,” he started, then stopped, then started again. “Look, man, you don't have to if you don't really feel comfortab-- Ouch, Parker!” The thief had straightened up and slugged him in the back of the shoulder. “C'mon, he should only do it if he really wants to!”

“But he does!” she hissed at him, then turned towards Eliot. “You want to, right? You want to be with us. Like, here with us.” She gestured between the two of them and then the bed as a whole, and Eliot's heart constricted in his chest. Yes, God, how he wanted to.

“Because we want you, too.” She looked at him hopefully, not bothered in the least that the blankets were pooling in her lap and she was only wearing a simple black sports bra in the cabin's cool air. He tried to look away but couldn't, not when her eyes were holding him captive like that. They wanted him? Just for snuggling in a small, unheated cabin in the middle of nowhere? Or… for something more?

Eliot pushed that thought way back in his mind. He needed to stay in the here and now. And maybe, just maybe, he could just be selfish tonight and take what they were offering. If that was all it was, he would deal with it. Would it be better or worse than never having had any of it? He didn't know.

Hardison was looking at him steadily. “Your decision, El,” he told him, “but we're here. Whenever you're ready, we'll be there.”

And that—that did actually sound like this was more than just a night of snuggling close for warmth. Eliot took a deep breath, closed his eyes and released it. When he opened them again, he nodded. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Yeah, I'm--” He stopped and decided to give up trying.

Instead, he put his flashlight on the chair next to Parker's, then bent down to untie his boots and quickly stripped off his jeans and his soggy outer layers, leaving him in a mostly dry T-shirt and boxers. A few more steps brought him to the bed where Hardison had joined Parker under the covers, his torso bare. Both of them were looking at him with so much hope that it was the easiest thing in the world to lift the edge of the covers and slip in after them. He smiled at them and said softly, “Hey.”

“Hey you,” Hardison said and as if it was nothing, he put his arm around Eliot's shoulders and pulled him close. From his other side, Parker put her arm across Hardison's body until her small, strong hand rested on Eliot's chest. “I'm glad you're here,” she told him. Then she gave him a short whack. “So now, snuggling and sleep,” she ordered. “The rest can wait until tomorrow.”

Eliot felt his smile grow into a grin and turned it into the crook of Hardison's neck. “Yes, ma'am,” he replied seriously.

And as he crowded closer to Hardison and reached for Parker with an arm across the other man's stomach, Eliot did as any good soldier would do and followed the order given by his leader. It was probably his favorite order of all time.

[shipmistress9]

The Chief And Her Bride

Fandom: HTTYD

Rating: E

Pairing: Hiccup/Astrid

Theme: fem!cup. femslash. fluff. smut

Summary: Astrid loves Hiccup dearly, but she never expected for their relationship to last. So it falls to Hiccup to convince her girlfriend that she won't let anyone separate them. Not even her own father.

AN: Finally! I've been working on this little story for ages, and now, finally, the first chapter is done. What do we have? Female Hiccup and Astrid, in a canon-like setting after HTTYD where Stoick lives, Valka didn't stay, and RTTE is semi-canon. I take what fits. This mostly was supposed to be a test for me whether I even can write femslash. I'm still practising, but I also like this story very much. Also, I thought a while about whether to change Hiccup's name or not, but in the end, I decided against it.

. o O o .

It didn’t take Astrid long to find Hiccup. There was only one place her girlfriend would go when she was stressed or upset, and so Astrid wasn’t surprised at all when she spotted Toothless’s black form lounging near the pond when she and Stormfly reached the cove. Hiccup sat to the side, her back against a rock, her good leg tugged under herself, and her eyes gazing unseeingly into the distance.

After landing, Astrid affectionately scratcher her dragon at her belly before sending her off to play. Then she sauntered over to where Hiccup sat, still lost in her thoughts.

“Hey,” Astrid greeted her as she got closer.

Hiccup blinked before turning her head, then gave her a warm if a little tense smile. “Hey.”

Astrid let herself slide to the ground next to Hiccup. “So… what happened?” she asked. There was no point in pretending nothing had happened; Hiccup had left the village without a word after talking to her father, and Astrid knew Hiccup too well to be fooled.

Hiccup gave a suppressed sigh. She reached for a fallen leaf and nervously picked it apart with her nimble fingers.

“This morning, my dad wanted to talk to me,” she eventually said, and Astrid nodded. She’d noticed that much. “It’s… After what happened with Drago, he wants me to be prepared to take over the village at any moment. Which makes sense, I guess, with how Dad almost got killed in that fight.” She looked up, her pretty green eyes meeting Astrid’s. “And I don’t really mind. I mean, I get it. I need to be prepared and all. It’s just–” She broke off, lips pressed into a thin line.

Astrid reached for Hiccup’s hand, entwining her fingers with her own. “What is it, babe?”

Oh, she had an idea of what Stoick had brought up for his daughter to be so upset. But, maybe, it was something else. Maybe they would have a last reprieve.

Hiccup swallowed. “Dad... He wants me… wants me to get married.” She scratched at her neck and gave Astrid a tense look. “He said that, for the good of the people, I should get a strong partner, someone who can help me carry the burden. Mum returning to live at her sanctuary must have hit him harder than he’s letting on.” Hiccup chuckled weakly, but quickly turned serious again, solemn even.

However, Astrid had barely listened anymore after Hiccup’s first words. Ever since they’d confessed their love to each other two years ago, she’d known it would come to this. Awkward as it had been at first, Astrid was never as happy as in the minutes she got to spend with Hiccup, feeling her touch, her kiss, her body against her own. She loved her, her wit, her intelligence, the way they constantly challenged each other in different ways. But right from the beginning, there had always been an end date for them. The village had accepted their relationship without much irritation, even Stoick. But that was probably because they’d all known it couldn’t last.

Slowly, Astrid withdrew her hand from Hiccup’s, hoping that she wouldn’t notice how much her fingers were shaking. This was going to be hard, for both of them. But she knew it would be even harder for Hiccup if she knew how much their inevitable breakup affected Astrid.

“So, it’s over then,” she whispered, nodding. Gods, why was her voice so brittle? “And I think Stoick is right, Berk will need strong leaders. We can’t only rely on the dragons to protect us. So, uh, did… did he already pick a husband for you? Which alliance would be the most beneficial? Dagur would certainly be interested. Or what about Throk? An alliance with the Defenders of the Wing could help boost your credibility as a female leader. I mean, nobody would ever doubt Mala’s ability to lead her people…”

She trailed off, a weird chuckle dropping off her lips even as she had to avert her face so Hiccup wouldn’t notice the shimmer of tears in her eyes. Gods, she couldn’t start crying now. She was strong and independent, a warrior, captain of the Berk Guard. A broken heart wouldn’t throw her off track, it was nothing.

Even though being with Hiccup was all she really wanted…

“Wait, what?” Hiccup’s words broke her out of her spiralling thoughts. She sounded… off. Confused. Lost. 

With a sigh, Astrid forced herself to meet Hiccup’s gaze again. “Well, we always knew it would end that way, right? Us, I mean. And… i-it’s okay. I won’t hold it against you. Berk comes first, and it’s your place to lead them. I just…” She let out a hiccupy sigh. “I don’t know, maybe I’ll ask Atali whether I can stay with them for a while, and—”

Astrid gasped when Hiccup reached for her hands again, a strange urgency in that gesture that made her look up again.

“What are you talking about?” Hiccup asked, confused. Her hands were shaking now, too, Astrid noticed. “I… I won’t marry either of them, no matter what Dad wants. I won’t give up on us! He didn’t choose anyone for me, wanted me to choose a partner for myself. And I already have. I—”

She broke off, biting her lip and her shoulders slumping as insecurity overtook her. Astrid had seen this expression so often on her… Out of reflex, her hands squeezed Hiccup; reassuringly. No matter how much her heart was hurting at the prospect of leaving Hiccup, she would always support her.

Hiccup looked up again, the expression in her eyes so pleading and vulnerable that it made Astrid choke. ”Astrid, I… I chose you.”

Astrid’s eyes grew wide. “What?”

Hiccup pulled up her shoulders, her gaze intensifying. “Everything we accomplished over the years, the Edge, the Dragon Hunters, Drago… I couldn’t have done any of that without you. And I thought… well… that it would always be like that. You and me, together. You’re the only person I can imagine spending my life with. So I choose you. If… if you want me?”

For a minute, Astrid could only stare, stunned. Then laughter broke out of her, and she nodded eagerly and stammered, “I… Yes! Yes, of course, I do.” 

But no matter how happy Hiccup’s words made her, the feeling only lasted for a brief moment , only until reality caught up with her again. Her shoulders slumped, her smile falling off her face. “But… it’s impossible,” she murmured.

“What?” Oh, Hiccup sounded so hurt.

It tore Astrid’s heart to pieces. Inwardly chastising herself, Astrid pushed her own pain aside, and said, “Oh, Hiccup… I’d love to tie the knot with you and stand by your side, you know that, right? But we can’t do that. Stoick won’t allow it. The traditions and rules are clear.” Her eyes were burning, and she looked away; she didn’t want Hiccup to see how sad she was. “Your father will insist on you marrying a man, someone to forge a political alliance, if possible. And you’d need an heir anyway. I won’t be in your way to fulfil your duty.”

Swallowing, Astrid tried not to think about it. Unlike herself, Hiccup had never been with anyone but her. Hiccup wasn’t even interested in men. The thought of her being forced into a marriage she didn’t want… it wasn’t fair!

“So-so you would reject me? You’d leave?” Hiccup’s voice sounded hollow, forlorn. So small and lost.

Weakly, Astrid nodded, shrugged. “I hope that you’ll be happy. As happy as you can be. But… I don’t think I have the strength to stand by and watch, at least not right away. And… maybe it’ll even help you settle in more easily, if I’m not around to remind you…” She paused, pulling away. “I hope you can forgive me one day, but–”

“No!”

Astrid looked up, scared of what she would see. She’d never wanted to cause Hiccup pain.

But to her relief, there was no pain in her eyes. All she saw there was the typical Haddock stubbornness, mixed with traces of excitement and joy. 

“No, ‘but’, Astrid. If this is what you want too, if you’ll accept me… then nothing will come between us.”

“But your father—”

Hiccup shook her head, her long auburn locks flying around, wild and untamed as always. “I won't let him come between us. He likes you, that much I already know. And he told me he’s happy to see me happy with you. So, if he still wants to separate us… then…” She took a deep breath. “Then he’ll have to train another heir.”

Astrid’s eyes widened. “You’d give up your birthright?”

“For you? Yes. I want to lead our people and I’m prepared for this duty. But only on my terms. I’ll do it with you, together. Or not at all.”

Astrid needed a second to let Hiccup’s words sink in. Then she let out a weak laugh and threw herself around her neck, knocking them both down into the grass. They kissed, an overwhelming sense of giddiness making them both giggle against each other’s lips.

When they came up to breathe again, Astrid’d mind was consumed by overwhelming happiness. Never had she even dared to hope for this outcome, but here now they were, and with this new assurance, she wouldn’t let anyone get between them, either. 

 She noticed that Hiccup’s hands were trembling, though, so Astrid took them in her own. She could sense how agitated she was, and breathed soft and calming kisses onto her knuckles. Sometimes, Hiccup needed a minute to get order into her thoughts.

“What’s up?” she eventually asked, looking up at Hiccup with a reassuring smile. 

Hiccup smiled back, though hesitantly, and her hands tightened around Astrid’s. “I was… pretty nervous, to be honest,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I wasn’t sure how you’D react, and… “ She shook her head, but then suddenly became serious. “Astrid… Why did you say that? Earlier, I mean. About how we always knew it would end that way? What was that about?”

Astrid bit her lip and averted her face. After Hiccup’s vehement confession just minutes ago, this felt silly now. With an embarrassed shrug, she said, “It’s… what I thought would happen, what I was prepared for. I love you, Hiccup, you know that, and these past two years with you have only deepened my feelings for you. But… well, I always expected we’d have to part one day, that this happiness I felt with you would only be temporary. That to become Chief, you'd enter a political marriage, or…” She trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

“Oh,” Hiccup said. 

She needed a minute to process, time Astrid used to battle down her own worries. She didn’t want for Hiccup to step down, knew how much the people of Berk meant to her. But that she was willing to risk her father’s anger for her meant a lot to Astrid. And maybe it wouldn’t even have to come this far. Maybe they’d be able to convince Stoick…

“So…” Hiccup eventually said. ”Throughout all this time, you thought we’d have to break up, eventually?”

Slowly, Astrid nodded. She looked up, searching for what to say, but never got the chance. From one second to the other, Hiccup was right in front of her, her hands cradling her face and her lips pressed to her own. Astrid gasped, happily surprised. Usually, Hiccup was much more timid, shy even, so her starting anything was rare. 

“So that’s why you sometimes acted so reserved,” Hiccup murmured against her lips. “And here I feared you wouldn’t want to stay with me.”

“What? You—”

But Hiccup interrupted her with another kiss. “Doesn’t matter. You spent two years thinking we couldn’t last. That I would leave you at my dad’s command. That I wouldn't do anything to stay with you.” She came closer, one hand caressing along Astrid’s face while the other landed on her waist, holding her in a light embrace. “Astrid, these past two years have been the happiest of my life. I can’t even put into words how much you mean to me, how empty my live would be without you. But while I was happy, you always worried, and I didn’t even notice.” 

Astrid wanted to object, to assure her that she’d been happy, too. But before she could get out even one word, Hiccup kissed her again, more energetic than usual, and it left Astrid breathless, happiness fluttering in her chest. Her hands came up to pull Hiccup closer, wandering along her soft curves, exploring her. Hiccup was always shy, hesitant about carrying things further, so it had become their routine that Astrid was the one to take the initiative. But when her hands reached Hiccups breasts, palming them through her tunic and playing with her covered nipples, she shook her head. 

“Today is my turn,” she breathed, joy and confidence dancing in her green eyes when they met Astrid’s. “Can I do this for you? Please?”

A little overwhelmed, Astrid nodded. She enjoyed taking the lead in their lovemaking, but seeing Hiccup like this, confident and eager to take over? It was something else. It meant that Hiccup trusted her enough to allow herself to make mistakes, and that was possibly a greater gift than anything else. 

They ended up lying in the soft gras, kissing, groping. Astrid revelled in feeling Hiccup’s soft curves beneath her hands and against her own body, the same as it had been yesterday, and yet, everything felt so new. More meaningful. Complete. 

Only slowly, they discarded one piece of clothing after the other. There was no hurry in Hiccup’s motions; she thoroughly appreciated every bit of revealed skin with kisses and caresses, leaving Astrid tingling all over. She tried to return the favour, at least a little, but Hiccup was too thorough, too distracting for her to do much but take her attention. Prior to being with Astrid, she didn’t have any experience with sex and intimacy. But she’d always been observant in everything, a quick learner, and this was no different. Hiccup knew which spots on Astrid’s body were sensitive and how to best stimulate them, had memorised her like a map, and it didn’t take much for her to turn her into a helpless and needy mess.

“Hiccup…” she mewled, hardly able to do more than cling to curvy hips or clutch at the grass beneath them.

But there was no reprieve. Hiccup was kneeling across her left leg, the right lifted and loosely wrapped around her waist. She was leaning down to distract Astrid with kisses, hot and open-mouthed, while her hand worked between Astrid’s thighs, slowly buy relentlessly. Long and nimble fingers caressed along her folds and brushed over her clit, making her body tremble with desire.

If Astrid had had the mind for it, she might have regretted teaching Hiccup about teasing and edging, about how to drive her lover insane with building pleasure. But as it was, Astrid’s mind was entirely empty safe for the wonderful, amazing, merciless things Hiccup made her feel. By now, her fingers were inside her, moving in and out in a pace just quick enough to keep her from calming down. She barely managed to open her eyes and look up into beautiful green eyes, Hiccup’s long auburn curls falling around them like a curtain. There was a flash of eager satisfaction in those eyes, a smirk tugging at full lips as she curled her fingers. Her aim was perfect, hitting Astrid’s g-spot and drawing a cry from her lips. Her back arched at the burst of pleasure, but it wasn’t enough to reach her climax, and it soon became clear that Hiccup wasn’t planning to let her soon, either. 

Astrid lost all sense of time, writhing and bucking beneath Hiccup’s confident ministrations for what felt like hours. It felt so good to give herself up and into Hiccup’s care. Astrid trusted her with no exceptions, and so she did the only thing she could, took it all until she felt like she would combust any moment now. 

“Oh, please,” she whimpered as Hiccup shifted the angle once again, just a tiny bit but it was enough to push her away from that edge once again. “P-please, Hiccup. I…” 

She couldn’t even form coherent words anymore, but it seemed to be enough nonetheless, Hiccup sensing that she couldn’t take much more and showing mercy. 

“Yes,” Hiccup breathed, her mouth at her ear, lips nipping at sensitive skin. Her movements sped up, fingers thrusting into her and always hitting the mark. Her thumb rubbed at her clit, over and over, until Astrid’s body became rigid, and the waves of pleasure broke above her. 

A cry tore itself from Astrid’s throat as she came, back arching and toes curling. Her hands clutched at whatever they could find, and her head rolled uncontrollably from one side to the other, the intensity of her climax almost too much for her to bear. It consumed her, head to toe, a sensation like lightning shooting through her body. It made her arms and legs shake, made colourful lights explode behind her eyes, and made her scream and yell without any filter. 

Once it was over, she only slowly found her way back into reality. Around her, the world was spinning and swimming out of focus, her body not fully reacting as it was supposed to. 

“That was… oh, wow. Amazing!” she gasped after a minute, still catching her breath. She finally managed to focus her gaze on Hiccup who was leaning over her, with a smug grin on her lips and her eyes beaming.

“Well, I had the best teacher.”

They both laughed, then Hiccup laid down next to her, both entangled in a tight embrace. 

“Just give me a few minutes, then I’ll get back to you,” Astrid murmured. She felt heavy, sleepy, but it wouldn’t be fair to leave Hiccup hanging like that. 

Hiccup chuckled, but it sounded strained. “No need for that now,” she said, her voice a little tense. 

Her arms tightened around Astrid, her finger digging into her arm as if to hold on to her. “First, he should talk to my dad.” 

. o O o .

AN: Sooo, that was that. :) Thoughts and comments highly appreciated.

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Eighteen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Happy holidays, everyone! A little something to occupy your time this fine evening. Tagging @anonymouscosmos​, @culturalrebel​, @mercy-and-malice​, @deepkittycollecto​, @nelba​, @mechanicalism​ and @commandershepardshtole. Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

Part Fourteen: Dichotomy

Part Fifteen: The Litany Trial

Part Sixteen: Nice Try

Part Seventeen: Preparations

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains depictions of violence, emotional distress and child endangerment. Stay safe!]

The map on the table was worn and tattered, held in place by a few books and one large glass disc commonly used for magnifying purposes. Backhand paced to and fro, mentally going over her list of resources. Flanking her were Danse and Preston, the latter having graciously accepted an in-person invitation to their final strategy meeting. Her lieutenant's ability to remain levelheaded was, as ever, a relief to Vega. Not that Danse wasn't levelheaded, but she felt guilty about how much she had grown to expect of him. It would be much simpler to divide their workload if the three of them worked together.

  Further over to the right stood Sturges, the man sandwiched in between Ingram and Li while he fidgeted with his goggles. This was no small task they were attempting and everyone was at least slightly nervous.

  Elder Brandis cleared his throat pointedly. "Alright General, let's hear it."

  Vega straightened up, coming to rest her palms on the ragged edge of the map on the desk in front of her. "We will be performing this op primarily with Minuteman troops. Brotherhood are enforcers and medical operations. We only engage hostiles as a last resort. We are sticking to the plan." She announced firmly. "Preston, Sturges and Nick will take Charlie squadron and work to recalibrate the mainframe. Delta squadron is with Danse, they'll secure the exit tunnel." Backhand gestured at the large paladin, who nodded. "Once Alpha squadron breaches their defenses, Delta squadron will be in charge of locating Liam and his group. He's promised to have the willing synths in a secured location, and he'll be awaiting further orders." 

  "Those are Delta squadron's official orders, General?" Danse asked, seeming to desire some sort of final confirmation. Deep down, Backhand hoped they weren't all making a terrible mistake sending him into the Institute.

  "You're our main line of defense when it comes to that tunnel. I want you on high alert, but only engage if there is no recourse." 

  "Understood, General." Danse saluted her.

  "Elder Brandis, you will be down at the staging area beneath the Prydwen with Pride squadron and Liberty Prime. You will be overseeing our operations on that end since I will be in the field with Alpha squadron." Backhand continued, chuckling when Brandis huffed.

  "Oh certainly, stuff me into the supervisory role." The former paladin complained good-naturedly, already well-aware that his place was with the Prydwen.

  "Beta will be staying over here by the teleporter platform," Backhand used her sheathed knife to indicate the area on their gridded map, just beneath the Prydwen. "We'll have the triage station there. This includes Curie, Scribe Haylen, Scribe Neriah and Knight Rhys for support." She then clicked her radio handset twice. "Echo, that is, MacCready, John D. and Lancer-Captain Kells, you're on long range and aerial securing Bunker Hill. I'm sure that if the Institute does decide to muster any sort of counter-attack, that and the Prydwen will be their main targets."

  " Man oh man, this is pretty legit ," Deacon's voice crackled over her radio. " Never thought we'd be takin' the fight to these bastards. Nobody pinch me. "

  "The Atom Cats crew will be at the Castle with Cait and a small cadre of Minutemen dubbed Foxtrot squadron, holding their position and shoring up any weaker areas. I'm counting on that being the Institute's third target. That's our radio tower and hub of operations. So Zeke , I'm depending on you to work together with the troops there. Keep my people safe." Vega said firmly into her handset.

  " Hey alley cat, your people are my people, and Zeke always takes care of his people ." The greaser stated, his words drawling lazily through the speaker. " You just take care of my man Sturges, you feel me? He's a vital part of the Atom Cats. If I hear that he died because of some Institute square , my jimmies will be severely rustled ."

  Sturges rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine , Zeke. Just keep up your end of the bargain."

  " Roger that, cool cat ."

  "Goodneighbor is still on standby for aid, and they will be observing Diamond City for any disturbances." Vega had barely gotten the chance to mention them before Hancock's rough voice was piping up out of the speaker.

  " No way the Institute would be dumb enough to fuck with Diamond City ," he growled, " and if they are...well, there's plenty of us in Goodneighbor that got a bone to pick, ya' feel me? The boys of Golf squadron are prepped for a brawl ."

  "There will be at least one of John's operatives staged with every squadron aside from Delta. Listen to them . I don't want any unnecessary loss of life here." The General of the Minutemen ordered. "Generation threes are indistinguishable from humans. Do not engage them unless there is no other choice. These are not soldiers. These are scientists and scared maintenance workers. With that being said, if you encounter coursers sing out with your position. I want to try and maintain eyes on them whenever we can." 

  "They are extremely effective and deadly combatants. You'll know them by their black gear. General Vega is the only one thus far who has survived any sort of tussle with them." Preston supplied, his words no-nonsense. "We do not want to engage them head on, but we only have a limited number of EMP grenades. So we gotta' be careful."

  "That's why I'm countin' on you an' the detective to watch my back, boss." Sturges grinned at Preston. "It'll be a hell of a struggle hackin' into their mainframe an' such if they're tryin' to slice and dice us."

  "Nick and I will do our best, but I believe it would be a smart choice for you to act real fast." Garvey said pragmatically. "After all, the Institute will have the advantage of numbers on their side."

  "You'll all be under a time crunch once that reactor begins to melt down. Emergency relays will fire off shortly after that, so that's when everyone will have to be on their toes." Doctor Li mused. "Hopefully they don't think we would be dumb enough to actually go through with this plan and we'll get the drop on them." 

  "Fingers crossed, at any rate." Ingram chimed in, cracking her knuckles in her gauntlets.

  "Last call to back out." Backhand announced across every frequency, "there's no shame in asking for a reassignment or to sit this operation out. We can always move things around."

  " Pretty sure I speak for everyone when I say, fuck that ." Hancock rasped. " We're with you, General Sunshine. To the bitter end, and some of us even after that. "

  " Yeah, gotta' say I'm throwin' my hat in with the freak show. " Deacon agreed, and Backhand could practically hear him winking behind those ridiculous sunglasses. " What's the fun of uninviting yourself to a party, after all? "

  God, this was really happening. Vega felt nerves tighten her hands into fists as more and more voices came over the secure channels, more and more confirmations that she had a legitimate army at her disposal. 

  A large gauntlet gently brushed her hand, mechanical fingers toying with the lucky bandanna wrapped around her wrist. "Awaiting your command, General." Danse murmured when she turned to look at him for reassurance, the paladin giving her a stern nod.

  Awaiting your command, General .

  Elder Brandis straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back. "Alright, everyone get to your positions. Proctor, I believe you have a giant to awaken." 

  "Let's get to it, people!" Danse boomed, a boyish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth for a moment. Soldier to the end .

  Everyone filed out of the room, Preston lingering awkwardly before he extended his hand to Elizabeth. "I need you to know that no matter what happens, I'm damn glad to have met you." He stated, laughing when Vega hauled him into a hug. "I'll see you on the other side, alright General?"

  "Thank you so much, Preston. For everything." Backhand mumbled into his shoulder. Preston hugged her back tightly, then pulled away.

  "It's the Commonwealth way, General. You'd know that better than anyone." The young man reminded her kindly, helping to straighten out her worn army helmet. "Now c'mon. Can't have you falling behind on your date with destiny. Still got that lucky bandanna?"

  "Always." Vega said, tapping the cloth on her wrist.

  "Good. We can use all the help we can get." Preston opened the door to the observation deck. Vega felt suddenly like her boots were made of cement, and she turned to look back at Danse one last time. The armored man appeared engrossed in whatever Brandis was saying to him, his helmet still tucked beneath his arm. 

  "Danse!" Vega called before she could think better of it, and the paladin jolted, looking up. "Take care, okay?" 

  "Ad Victoriam, General." Danse replied with a sharp salute, those brown eyes seeming too forlorn for someone who was merely wishing a contemporary good luck. 

  Backhand didn't dare dwell on it, instead turning on her heel and scrolling to the option to relay on her Pip Boy. The last thing she saw before relaying was the half-destroyed skyline of Boston, and her eyes narrowed in determination. So much had already been taken from her, what was denying herself one more thing?

  The now-familiar crackle of energy met her ears as she teleported into the Institute for the final time. Sure steps led her to the control panel across from the teleporter, and steady hands fed the holotape into the slot beneath the screen.

  'Institute relay targeting sequence' holotape accepted , the screen announced. Initiate remote relay sequence?

  Backhand took a deep breath, her index finger hovering over the 'enter' key. All her conversations with 'Father', with X6, with the scientists and doctors and maintenance synths…

  Was she really about to throw all of that away?

  The woman shook her head at herself after a second. She could justify it later. Right now, she needed to be the one who could make the hard choices. 

  She pressed the key.

  ...

  It was organized chaos at best. 

  Paladin Logan Danse, pride of the Brotherhood of Steel, continued to wave the shell-shocked synths on into the tunnel. He could dimly hear the sounds of booming musket artillery, which indicated that the main contingent of Delta squadron's Minutemen had encountered resistance. It was only a matter of time before their escape route was discovered, unless the Minutemen could hold them off. 

  Did they even need to, though? If the synths that wished to voluntarily escape had already done so…

  Danse shook his head at himself. No . Everyone deserved the opportunity to flee from this technological tomb. Whether they took it or not was their own choice, but it was a choice . 

  The ground was littered with the plasticine remains of the guards that had been stationed by the tunnel. Their programming was so thorough that they could not be reasoned with, and Delta squadron had made swift work of them. Danse's stomach churned with unease as he assisted his troops, but he had carried on doggedly to complete their objective.

  Liam indicated with a nod that the synth who had limped past them was the last of his little group. "I don't know how I can repay you-" he began to say tearfully, extending a hand. A laser ricocheted off the wall, tagging his shoulder and knocking him backwards.

  Danse whirled, spotting the distant forms of a cabal of coursers storming their location. It seemed that the Institute had broken through their line of defense. Their only saving grace at the moment was just how long the hallway was. "The blast doors, can you close them?" He frantically barked at Liam, who was staring at his bloodied shoulder in silent shock. The younger man shook himself after a moment, all but toppling against the terminal mounted on the wall. 

  Danse lumbered in front of him, functioning as a shield while the young man worked feverishly. Doors began closing behind the coursers and Liam cursed under his breath, maneuvering into a different menu. With an almighty groan, the blast doors guarding the tunnel entrance began to close sluggishly. Then, the security doors leading to the hall also creaked to life. 

  "Go, your friends will need a familiar face." Danse ordered as Liam turned to him. "I'll maintain our position here." Lasers scorched off the walls overhead, and another bolt skittered along the ground while Liam just... stared up at him. " Go , soldier!" Danse demanded. 

  "Rip the terminal out, okay? Otherwise they might reverse it." Liam requested shakily, cupping the graze on his shoulder and then fleeing into the tunnel.

  Rip the terminal out . Danse's massive gauntlet pulverized the machine, but he did tear it off the wall for good measure before returning to his bulwark position in front of the doors. 

  Some of the coursers had either peeled off from the group or cloaked themselves. That might prove troublesome. But the doorway was ever so slowly closing, and their chances of actually reaching him grew more and more slim. They seemed to realize this, as their fire came more frequently and aimed even more poorly than before.

  Suddenly, so suddenly that Danse wondered if he was seeing things for a split-second, a small child came barreling out of one of the intersecting tunnels, barely ahead of the mob. The little boy tripped and nearly fell, screaming at Danse, "wait, please! Don't leave me here!" 

  If the security doors would stop the coursers they would absolutely stop this child, and God only knew what the coursers would do to the child. Danse's arm shot out before he could think about it and the door hit the side of his pauldron with a teeth-rattling shriek of metal, slowing the already tepid advance. Bracing his thigh and upper arm against the door, Danse stepped into the hallway, closer to the coursers, his free hand outstretched to seize the boy the moment he was within reach. He didn't dare try to thin the herd at this proximity, God forbid a shot bounce off the wall and strike the child-

  His pauldron creaked audibly under the strain of holding the door open as the child flung himself into Danse's grip, and the paladin quickly withdrew into the small room behind him. The blast doors slammed shut and for a moment, everything was blissfully silent. Danse was vaguely reminded of he and Backhand's close call with the elevator, just resting most of his weight against the wall as he tried to process whatever the hell had just happened. 

  Then, "Th-Thanks!" the child panted, his entire body trembling from his close call. "Have you seen my mom, mister?" Danse cocked his head, bewildered. The child was maybe ten years old, his mop of dark brown curls matted to his forehead from the sweat of his wild sprint. Something about his eyes caught Danse's attention, though. They were startlingly blue, icy . Familiar. "She's got blue eyes n' freckles like me, and funny white marks on her face, right here!" The boy continued while indicating at his left temple. He drew a quick line from the top of his face to the bottom, ending at his chin.

  Danse's chest went tight.

  Elizabeth . This...was this Shaun? Had she been lied to? Or was this one last trick up the Institute's sleeve? She had mentioned getting duped by a child synth during her first visit. Was this the false child? Well, no more a false child than he was a false man, he corrected himself hurriedly.

  "You need to come with me." The paladin said finally, extending his gauntlet to the child and beckoning for him to follow. "It's not safe here."

  "Okay." The little boy actually took hold of his gauntlet, tiny hand wrapped around one large finger. "My name's Shaun. What's your name?" 

  Shaun . "Danse."

  "Father said my mom would be comin' for me, but I already knew that. My mom is super tough, and she's not scared of anythin'!" Shaun prattled cheerily at him as they made their way to the spiral ramp upwards. "He gave me a tape to give her, said it was real important. My mission is to get the tape to my mom! Do you have a mission, Mister Danse?"

  Danse was trying to decide how to answer when a muffled explosion echoed behind him. He stifled a swear, hoisting Shaun up with one arm. "Hold on to me," he instructed the child curtly, realizing that he had nearly backed himself into a proverbial corner. If the coursers caught him on the glorified staircase, he and this... boy , would be hung out to dry. "Hold on and tuck your head, alright?"

  The servos in his greaves and cuisses whined as the paladin made a mad dash for the nearest hallway instead, desperately trying to recall the map that Backhand had made them of the Institute floorplan. Which level was it that would lead him back to the relay room? Damn it .

  He took a gamble and darted off to the right, blundering through several doors, down numerous hallways that all looked the same until the paladin finally located an elevator, up a flight of stairs and--

  Elizabeth .

  Danse hurriedly cupped one large gauntlet over the synth child's head, effectively blocking his hearing and sight. 

  ...

  "Creation happened because of you, but you enslaved and hoarded that creation!" Backhand shouted hotly. "You didn't personally create a damn thing, Shaun , and you've been riding the coattails of people smarter than you your entire life! You self-righteous ass! " The young woman raged at the elderly, bedridden man in front of her. 

  "I don't expect someone like you to understand why I've done what I've done." Shaun wheezed, his tone bitter. "You've already thrown your lot in with those barbarians , Mother. The savages that dog the steps of my beautiful creations…"

  "Beautiful creations? You treat them like they're slaves or pieces of hardware!" Backhand retorted. "You call them hammers, wrenches, cogs and gears in your magnificent machine. You've never been a father, Shaun, and you know it." Memories rushed forward, still raw after all this time. Nate, their arguments, the paperwork--

  The dying man inclined his head, that sardonic smile that crossed his features so like the father he had never met. "Perhaps not. But then, you have also never been a mother, have you?"

  She hated that he could get under her skin so easily, pick at her insecurities like fresh scabs. "How dare you ," was all she could hiss in reply.

  Shaun chuckled, the noise dry. "Oh yes, you went through so much to get me back. Yet here you are, defiling the innards of the Institute's still-warm corpse while your son lies dying. How great and noble you are, General Vega." He sneered while she stood there, her knuckles white on the stock of her gun. "The compassionate leader, the prime example of virile, fertile pre-War stock."

  "Shut the fuck up." Backhand snarled, skin crawling uncomfortably at his crude terminology. "You shut the fuck up. I've had enough. You can die quietly on your own or I can speed up the process, but I'm not sitting here and listening to you ramble." With steady hands, the laser rifle's muzzle pressed to the side of his head. "Which is it, old man?" 

  On the inside she was cracking, crumbling, hysterical with guilt and grief and the loss that had nearly driven her to the brink. But on the outside, she was every inch General Vega. Unbreakable veteran, savior of the Commonwealth. The one who got things done, no matter the cost. 

  "I've liberated all your forces and rendered you toothless , old man. How would you like to die?" She reiterated when he was silent.

  "Leave me be. You brazen, detestable bitch , threatening to kill a dying man in his bed." Shaun snapped, his tone laced with venom, "I hope the coursers skin you alive!"

  Backhand knew her smile was sad. "Funny, that's probably what your father would have said too. Have it your way, old man." She went to turn on her heel, then promptly froze.

  Danse , standing awkwardly at the top of the stairs, one large arm wrapped around... something . "Vega?" He asked warily.

  Elizabeth rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Gimme a second, okay? One more thing I have to do here and then we're gone." She said with a calm she did not feel. Danse nodded slowly, shifting his weight back as she moved to the terminal. Backhand couldn't be bothered to ponder his strange body language, the woman too busy trying to remember the passcode Sturges had given her. "I'm issuing the evacuation orders." She stated. Whether it was aimed at Danse or Father , she couldn't decide.

  "Of course, General." Danse's voice was oddly soft even through the helmet's speakers. 

  Suppose that answers that question , Vega griped mentally, the keys clicking sluggishly underneath her fingertips. Other than that, the room was silent. She realized she was holding her breath and exhaled forcefully, pressing the 'enter' key for the confirmation prompt. 

  The overhead announcement system crackled to life, offering the succinct information that the reactor was in a meltdown state. The evacuation order had been successfully issued, just like she had promised Preston she would. 

  Everyone deserves the chance to live the way they want to . "I wish that there had been another way." Backhand blurted out. "I wish that...I wish things hadn't gotten so stupid."

  "You lying- " 

  Danse cut off Father's reedy voice, the paladin firmly stating, "you and I both know that the Institute would have continued to terrorize the populace ad nauseam, General Vega. This was the only solution. With time and effort, perhaps the Commonwealth will be able to work past their differences with synths." He sounded enviably hopeful and certain.

  Backhand stole a shuddering inhale, blinking away her tears. Without so much as a glance backwards, she led the way out onto the spiraling ramp.

  …

  The General was dead quiet. The sounds of combat echoed up from far, far below. Where was the rest of her team? Why had she come here alone?

  "Elizabeth." Danse finally said softly, drawing her attention to him. 

  Her lower lip trembled slightly as she made eye contact, but she bravely kept her composure. "Yes, Danse?" 

  The paladin wordlessly moved his hand and revealed the small boy tucked into the protective cradle of his elbow. Shaun blinked up at him, seeming a little dizzy. Vega's sob sounded painful, like it dragged through her ribcage and burst from her throat. At the noise, Shaun glanced over. "Mom!" He was obviously thrilled, struggling to get out of Danse's hold. "Mom it's really you! You did come for me, just like Father said you would!" 

  "Of...of course I did, baby." Backhand choked out, kneeling so she could hug the boy. "Let's get you out of here, okay?" 

  "I have a mission, just like Mister Danse. He's great!" The child prattled cheerily, taking her hand and pressing a holotape into her palm. "Father said you'd come back for me, and that I should give this to you! He said it was really important so I needed to keep it safe."

  Backhand glanced at Danse, but all the paladin could offer was a shrug. God only knew what was on the tape. Hell, God only knew why 'Father' had sent this defenseless child synth out in the middle of a full-scale assault. A nasty suspicion took root in Danse's chest, but he shoved it down. He wouldn't voice such a notion at this point; Elizabeth was clearly in an incredibly delicate state. One more thing might send her spiraling. No , he would keep it to himself, ignore the terrible thought that had come to him the second he realized who the boy was. Because if Father had sent this child out to die purposely--

  "I'll listen to it later, I promise." Backhand was saying to the child, her words thick with suppressed emotion. "I'm glad you're okay." 

  "I was pretty scared, but Father said I needed to find you on my own." Was Shaun's reply, his tiny hand safe in hers. 

  The sight caught Danse strangely in the chest, and he turned his head away before the lump in his throat could overcome him. It was just the domesticity of it all, he reassured himself. Elizabeth's own joy, fragile as it was, sent a current of longing through his body that struck his very core. Could he have made her happy, if things had been different? If he hadn't been a poor facsimile of a man, or maybe even if he had simply never learned the truth about what he was? Could they have enjoyed years of contentment, eking out a meager yet rich existence in the unforgiving Commonwealth soil?

  Maybe. But maybe wouldn't do them any good now.

  He felt a small hand grab hold of his huge gauntlet and he looked down at Shaun. "Thanks for helpin' me get to my mom, Mister Danse!" 

  With those familiar, familiar eyes trained on him, Danse couldn't formulate an appropriate response. The paladin settled for a thin smile beneath his helmet and a nod, cursing his own hangups and cowardice with every beat of his heart.

  He had no idea why he moved when he did.

  …

  Danse's free hand flew upwards suddenly as the group arrived at the next doorway. Backhand opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, then her eyes widened as a blue laser struck his gauntlet with a loud tzark! . 

  "Nice try!" Danse snarled, broadening his stance in front of Vega and Shaun. Backhand felt Shaun's hand tighten around her own, the child pressing himself against her side. 

  The voice that met her ears made her blood run cold. "Ma'am, not to be forward but what exactly do you plan to accomplish here?"

  X6-88 . The most fearsome courser the Institute had at its disposal. Vega closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to formulate her thoughts. He had given her a warning shot. Clearly . 

  "I would appreciate a response, ma'am." X6 said through gritted teeth.

  "Lower your weapon and she will attempt civility." Danse retorted, his own rifle trained on the courser. "We have you outgunned, synth."

  "Wait, Danse." Vega placed a hand on his elbow, sidling out from behind the bulk of the paladin's armor. "X6-88, I understand that you must be confused." She began, her tone carefully measured. "I'm sure that this course of action probably seems...wild, or erratic. Extreme. And I know you prefer order, so I don't blame you for being distraught."

  "I am not distraught." X6 seethed through clenched teeth. "I am disappointed." At some point during the assault, he appeared to have suffered a head wound. Blood was trickling down the side of his temple and he had lost his signature glasses. Unmasked gray eyes bored into her with a fury so intense it took her breath away. "You have betrayed the Institute, ma'am. Betrayed your own son -!"

  "Father may have been my son, but he clearly did not wish to continue as such. He wanted to subjugate and conquer , X6, placing the burden squarely on the back of every synth that he had." Vega interjected. "I'm not letting it continue. Everyone can make their own choices now. Even you."

  "Choice has led to nothing but suffering! " X6 shouted. "It was choice that killed--that decommissioned G5-19!" His grip on his rifle was trembling, those eyes wild with the emotion that he wasn't supposed to feel. "And then you , saying you could answer questions! Coming into the Institute like a snake! " He spat. "This is all your fault! You've destroyed Father's legacy, and now the Commonwealth will burn because of you!"

  Vega closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose. "So what are you gonna' do about it?" She asked abruptly. X6 was silent, the synth obviously stunned. " Well , X6? Do you want to die down here?"

  "Die?" X6 repeated, his brows furrowed.

  "The reactor is melting down. The whole place is compromised." Backhand's voice faltered a little as the gravity of the statement hit her. Years of research, advancements, technological wonders...Vega suddenly felt like she was holding a torch in front of the library of Alexandria. "We have to leave, X6." Taking an incredible chance, she extended a hand. "You don't have to leave with me, but I want you to leave. I want you to get out of here."

  " Why? " The courser snarled, jerking back from her hand. 

  "Because you were good to me while I was here! Shit, X6, you kept me sane in this sterile nightmare!" Backhand cried, "you're funny and you're terrifying and it was good to have someone around that wasn't going to sugarcoat all this bullshit!"

  "I--" X6 floundered, taking another step back. Vega heard Danse shift his weight behind her, his armor wheezing slightly at the motion. "Ma'am, the Institute…"

  "I know. It's been your home your entire life." Vega tried to maintain her level tone. "But you can't stay. If you come with me now, I can guarantee your safety. The teleporter is going to go down soon, X6. We're running out of time, and I don't know whether your emergency relay will cut it."

  "What will you do to me, should I comply?" X6 asked warily. 

  "I'm not gonna' do anything. You'd be free to go."

  "General Vega, I realize this is important, but we will lose our escape option if we linger here much longer." Danse spoke up stiffly. 

  "X6. I hope you'll come with us." Backhand surprised herself with her own level of bravery, calling Shaun forward so she could take his hand once more. X6-88 merely stepped aside when she cautiously advanced, the courser gone silent. 

  Danse was obviously slower to trek past X6. Vega could feel the tension between the two of them, drawing tighter and tighter. 

  "Danse, it's alright. He won't hurt us." It was halfway assurance, halfway order. The paladin obliged all the same, reluctantly turning his back on the black-garbed courser.

  No sooner had they rounded the next corner though than Vega heard the sound of running footsteps behind them. "Wait, ma'am!" X6's voice rang out over the noise of Danse's armor, and Vega paused as the courser breezed by the paladin back up to her.

  "Change your mind?" The general inquired dryly, raising an eyebrow. 

  "Ahead, you...you will encounter resistance." X6-88's teeth were gritted yet again, but he still forced the words out. "Coursers. Seven of them." 

  Seven . Vega's mouth went dry, one was bad enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Danse flick the safety off on his rifle. That he'd even had it on in the first place spoke volumes-!

  "I'll go." The paladin muttered after a second. "Take the child and backtrack."

  "They will kill you." X6 replied in his usual monotone. 

  "It doesn't matter. Our mission is too important to risk failure now. I'll buy you the time you need to escape. I'm a large target for a reason."

  Backhand tried to protest, "Danse, no , that's--"

  "General Vega," Danse interrupted her sharply, not actually looking at her. "The Minutemen cannot afford to lose you. You are instrumental in their operations." His salute was rigid.

  Elizabeth wanted to scream. "Take my EMP, then." She forced herself to say instead, tugging the grenade from her belt and holding it out. X6-88 flinched visibly at the sight of the item and Vega wished she could apologize. God , this had all gone so wrong!

  Was this going to be her existence? Constantly trading one life for another? Father for Shaun, Danse for her own, the Institute for the Commonwealth--

  Danse accepted the grenade with a solemn nod, his massive gauntlet closing down around her hand for a brief moment before he turned to face the other direction once more. "Go. Take your son and the courser and get out of here ." He ordered urgently. "If you backtrack and hurry , you ought to have enough time."

  Vega tore at the knot of her lucky bandanna and quickly tied the battered fabric around the top of Danse's arm just beneath his pauldron. "I expect to get this back, Paladin." She stated. Danse still didn't tilt his helmet to look at her, simply nodding his acquiescence. "Be...Be careful, okay?" Vega continued, her voice breaking.

  Danse nodded again, and then he left without a word.

  "We need to move quickly, ma'am." X6 sounded shaken, his hand on her shoulder unexpected. "Carry the small unit, and I will cover you."

  "Th-Thank you, X6." Backhand hiccupped, desperately blinking back her tears. Shaun clung to her hand, the child silently burying his face in her neck once she picked him up. Vega stared at the ceiling for the world's longest second, struggling valiantly to maintain her composure. "Okay. Alright. Let's go."

Part Nineteen

[western-writer]

New Beginnings

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Warnings: mentions of killing one's self, slight language, slight descriptions of death, and mentions of death itself

Summary: When the Resistance accidentally almost gets the Deputy killed, members take a step back to evaluate their actions. When Dep finally wakes, she's troubled about her health and is unsure how to move on with life.

A/n: this isn't edited but I've been working on this one for a really long time and I honestly love how it turned out so enjoy!

The stillness and lack of gun power in the air made some residents of Hope County question if yesterday's events actually happened.

Mary May stands behind the bar, leaned on the counter and being supported by a single arm. The other arm is occupied with the task of bringing her drink to her lips so she can nurse the strong beverage. Her eyes are glossy. Her mind is off in a distant place. She wishes nothing more than to leave.

The rising sun's light leaks into the bar as the door opens and disappears as the door shuts. Pastor Jerome Jefferies enters, sharing a forlorn look with Mary May. He strides toward her and takes a seat on a barstool.

"Penny for your thoughts," Jerome murmurs, pouring himself a glass of the dark liquid.

Mary May inhales sharply before breaking her gaze on a barstool scratch on the wooden floor.

"Was yesterday actually real or did I just have an incredibly vivid, terrible dream?" She pushes herself up on the counter, now leaning on the heel of her hand.

"Unfortunately, all too real," Jerome responds regretfully.

Mary May sighs. Blood on her hand catches her eye and she jumps, pained by the sight. Pastor Jerome catches this and follows her eyes.

"You should wash that off," he advises.

Nodding slowly, Mary May takes a wet wash rag from the counter and wipes her hands off and then tosses the rag into the trash. For that one, she thinks, it's best to just throw away.

She runs both hands over her face, muttering a question to Pastor Jerome. "Why'd we do it? Why the HELL did we do it?"

"People do some stupid things when they're scared," he answers. "That doesn't make it right, but it makes us human."

"I wish humans weren't so stupid," Mary May says angrily.

Laying in a bed in a coma is Rook. Beside her is a very, very angry Kim Rye. She told the Resistance it was a bad idea. She told them to trust the Deputy. They didn't listen and it almost cost Rook her life. It still might.

Her husband, Nick, enters the room and stands in the doorway meekly. He knows he's part of the reason Rook is where she is, and he doesn't know if Kim will ever forgive him for his part.

"How's she doin'?" he questions.

Kim responds without looking at him. "Still pretty fucking lifeless, Nick. She's being kept alive by machines."

He stares at Rook, at where he knows the bullets pierced her body. He wants to say something else. He should say something else, but he can't bring himself to. His chest aches, ridden with guilt.

"If she doesn't wake up..." Kim starts to say before taking a breath to calm herself. "If she doesn't wake up, Nick... I will NEVER forgive you. Do you understand that?"

Nick sighs. "I understand. I won't forgive myself either."

Sharky hadn't slept all night. The image of Rook's unmoving body in a pool of her own blood is burned into his brain. Everytime he shut his eyes he saw it, almost like it was tattooed on the inside of his eye lids. He was stupid and he knew it. Rook always made the right call when it came down to it. What made him think this time would be any different? He couldn't bring himself to trust the cult to keep their word, and in turn, that meant he didn't trust Rook.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he mutters to himself, pacing his trailer. The words rolled out of his mouth over and over until he couldn't bare to talk anymore.

"Goddammit, Shark," he cusses himself. "You really fucked it this time."

He couldn't pull himself out of his dread long enough to go see her. He isn't sure if he even wants to see her in the first place. Seeing her like that... he's not sure he'll be able to bounce back from it, especially if Rook doesn't make it.

An ear piercing scream rips through the air, giving the echoing sound of the gun shot that just fired a run for it's money. A collective gasp and stunned scream comes from bystanders as the unarmed follower drops to her knees, blood spurting from the bullet hole in her neck. Nick's plane flies over them, dropping bombs uncomfortably close to them, which sends everyone into a panic.

Rook dives into cover as the cult begins to return fire. She's weaponless which makes her helpless. Frantically, Rook looks around, hoping to find a discarded weapon. Her eyes land on one not far from her, dropped on the ground presumably by the now dead body next to it. She waits until an opening and makes a break for the weapon, but she falls short when a large boot comes into contact with her face. The force of the kick knocks her onto her back and she peers up at the culprit.

"Was this a set up!?" the Chosen member in front of Rook screams at her. This particular Chosen happened to have a gun, and was now pointing it right at Rook.

"No! No! Of course not!" Rook shouts back, trying desperately to be heard over the gunfire. She looks around, hoping to see Joseph somewhere, but, of course, Joseph is no where to be found. She cusses to herself, knowing he would believe her when she said this was not her idea.

"Awfully convenient," he remarks, rounding on her like a predator stalks it's prey. Her heart is pounding in her chest as she watches the barrel of the gun circle her.

Gunfire around them seemed to cease as the only thing Rook could hear was the sound of his boots hitting the ground. Then, three gun shots fire off and the world goes silent. Two bullet land themselves in Rook's chest and the third in the head of the cultist that just shot Rook.

The fight lasted no more than a few minutes before the cultist got his hands on Rook, yet claimed many lives, starting with the unarmed cultist and potentially ending with Rook.

Rook had laid in her own blood for almost thirty seconds before someone came to her aid. Mary May was quick to put press on the wounds. Eventually, under Joseph's order, his doctor's rushed her away for emergency surgery. The rest of them were left at the battle site, wondering if Rook would pull through.

"I knew it was a bad idea," Eli mumbled, unsure if anyone was listening. "You all were so angry when I said not to participate and look what happened!"

The Whitetails in front of Eli cringe at his loud voice. They're now thankful they didn't participate in the bloodbath that might take the Deputy away.

"You were right, Eli," Wheaty responds. "I'm sorry for ever doubting you."

"Eli, come on. You have to admit that we had absolutely no reason to believe that the cult would really back down if we did."

"You're right, Tammy. We had no reason to trust the cult, but we had every reason to trust Dep. Look at all she's done for us, at everything she's been through because of the cult. She just wanted peace and the rest of them couldn't let her have that."

Silence falls over the small crowd and Eli sighs, setting his bow down on the table.

"I'm going to see her. I advise that you all just stay here."

Standing outside the room, Eli hears multiple voices and comes to the conclusion that one of them belongs to Kim Rye. She hasn't left Rook's side since she came here.

"Thank you... for, you know, taking care of her."

"Of course," another female voice responds. It sounds familiar to Eli but he can't quite place it. After a pause and a heavy sigh, Eli enters the room. He finds Kim sitting in a chair beside the bed, Faith Seed administering medicine. Kim turns and sees Eli. She stands up and walks over to hug him quickly.

"Thank you for coming," Kim says to him. Eli nods to her and then Faith.

"Faith," he says, nodding his head as if he's tipping a hat. "How's she doin'?"

"She's making progress," Faith responds. "She was lucky that both bullets didn't kill her on impact. These bullets could've easily hit her heart. It would've been over before it started."

Eli sighs and pulls up a chair, sitting beside Kim.

"All we can do is keep her comfortable and keep infection from setting in. The machines will do the rest until her body can take over."

"When do you think that will be?"

"We can't be sure, if I'm being honest. Maybe she'll just wake up."

Kim smiles sadly. "I'll never forget her rolling up to the airstrip in Nick's plane like she owned the place. That's how I knew she was different than the rest. That's the moment I was sure she was our hope." Kim glances at Eli, then back at Rook. "Have you talked to any of the Resistance?"

"Not besides my Whitetails. Have you?"

"Just Nick."

"I wonder how the others are coping..."

"I imagine not well," Faith pipes up. "Everyone I talk to talks so highly of her, even some followers. She's a force to be reckoned with, I know that first hand." Faith smiles a bit before it falls. "Can I ask you both something?"

"Sure," Eli and Kim respond.

"Would both have been satisfied with a peace treaty? Like, actually satisfied or would you have rathered to eradicate us but settled for peace?"

It takes the two of them a minute to respond. Eventually Kim speaks up.

"If I'm being honest, I wasn't pleased with it at first. It was only after talking to Dep about a lot did I come around to being at peace with the idea."

"Same here. It definitely took a lot of contemplating, but at the end of the day, I came around thanks to Dep."

"Why? You both spoke so openly about wishing death on my family. What changed?"

Kim and Eli share a look before Kim answers for the both of them. "I think both Eli and I can agree that it was seeing what this fight was doing to Dep. She was constantly anxious and paranoid. She didn't sleep and when she did the nightmares made it pointless. The weight of the county was on her shoulders and it wasn't fair. If living peacefully with you all meant Dep would finally have peace, it was worth it."

A small smile makes it way onto Faith's lips. "I think in a different life her and I could've been friends..."

Footsteps behind them pull the three of them out of their conversation to look behind them. Walking up the hallway is Deputy Pratt followed closely by Jacob Seed. Pratt's eyes go wide when he sees her.

"W-w-what happened to her?" he questions, moving to stand beside her bed.

"Shot," Jacob answers gruffly.

"How?" Pratt responds.

"While trying to discuss a peace treaty with Eden's Gate," Faith answers before Jacob can, effectively silencing whatever insensitive answer Jacob had.

Jacob rolls his eyes at her, leaning against the doorframe.

"What happened to the person that did this?" Staci asks, looking around at everyone.

"I dealt with him personally," Jacob answers coldly.

Staci looks away from Jacob and back to Rook. He hoped she'd never have to be in this position.

Days went by and the worry through out the county intensified. Rook wasn't showing any signs of waking up anytime soon. Finally, after ten days and being in a coma she opened her eyes at 2:37 AM. Beside her still in a restless sleep was Kim Rye. Kim's eyes shot open the moment she sensed Rook being awake.

"Oh, my God, Deputy!" Kim exclaimed, jumping up and running to her. "I'm gonna take this tube out of your mouth, okay?" Rook nods back slightly and very carefully Kim pulls the tube out of her throat.

Rook groans, looking at her bandaged body and fighting the rasp in her throat to say something. She can't find the words but Kim knows exactly what she's trying to say.

"You-you were shot, Deputy. Point blank in the chest twice. While you were trying to negotiate peace." Kim chokes up a little bit, overwhelmed by happiness.

Rook's eyes dart around the ceiling as so many questions bounce in her head.

"I'll explain more later, but right now we need to get you checked out. We have to make sure you haven't sustained any serious damage besides the obvious." Kim puts her hand on Rook's shoulder before turning to walk out of the room. She stops before exiting and turns back to Rook. "It's good to see you awake, Deputy. We were -I was - starting to wonder if you'd ever wake up."

Two weeks after waking up Rook was ready to sit up. After two months she was standing, something they feared she may never do again, and only a month after that she was walking again with help.

Many people around the county came to her aid, offering to help her with whatever she needed. They did a great job at keeping her occupied and entertained. When she was well enough, many would take her for short car rides around the county, and Nick even took her up in his plane once.

Dep had almost no memory of that day. She remembers laying on the ground with a gun in her face and then waking up in the hospital bed. Kim, though, took the liberty of filling her in, explaining what the Resistance did. At first Rook was angry. She was so angry that they doubted her so much that they took such drastic measures. But she saw the guilt the carried when they'd visit her. She could hear it in their words and see it in their actions. They were trying so hard to make it up to her.

Eventually, Rook was able to let go of her anger towards them and be able to understand why they did it. While it doesn't excuse their actions, it certainly helped Rook understand. Her understanding was what led her to forgiving.

Talk of a peace agreement began to circle the county when Rook made an off hand comment about intending to follow through with that once she was fully recovered. Though true, Rook was worried about her health. While the bullets missed her heart, she sustained damage to her lungs and spinal cord. Rook doesn't vocalize these fears until a night where Jacob was tasked with watching her overnight.

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor when Jacob entered with dinner for them both. He sets the bag down next to her and takes a seat beside the bed. She reaches for it, opening it.

"Chicken tenders, fuck yeah," she says, pulling the food out of the bag.

Jacob props his feet up on the chair beside him and takes a bit of his burger. Rook slowly eats her food.

"So, you still wanna go through with a peace agreement, huh?"

Rook looks up at him cautiously, surprised that he's making conversation.

"I would like to, yes," Rook answers.

Jacob grunts a reply. He was never a fan of the idea of surrender. But Joseph said it's what God wants, and what Joseph says, goes.

"I wouldn't expect you to like the idea, Jacob. But the amount of relief I felt when Joseph agreed was astronomical. Like a huge weight off my shoulders."

Jacob looks up at her. She's staring at the floor again.

"I guess my relief wasn't long lived." She takes a long, ragged breath and takes another bite.

"You know," he starts. "When I first saw you in that church, my expectations for you were so low, but you proved me wrong."

"I don't think that counts of a compliment, Jake."

Jacob rolls his eyes. "It's not supposed to be one. I was just sayin'."

Rook sighs and carefully slides back, moving to lay on the bed. She tries to move her leg without using her hands. Jacob watches her for a second before she gives up and uses her hands to lift each leg onto the bed. She leans back, staring right at the ceiling. She glances at him and he can tell that something is on her mind. He recognizes the look.

"Spill it," he demands. "Something's bothering you. Spill it."

"Like you care," Rook responds.

"I don't," Jacob snaps back. "But if I have to deal with that fuckin' look on your face all night, I'll kill myself."

Rook sighs, looking down at her legs. "I'm worried about my health, Jacob. The bullets damaged a lung and my spinal cord."

Jacob stares at her.

"The fact that I have any feeling in my legs is a miracle... but I may never be able to walk without assistance ever again. And even if I can, my bad lung will make it nearly impossible to do anything ever again. I probably won't be able to work at all, let alone go back to being a cop."

"Why'd you wanna go back to your job after everything?"

Rook smiles a bit. "I've never felt like I belong more than when I'm in that uniform. And now I'm not even 30 and my career is over. I felt so... content being able to help people and now that chance is gone. Early retirement here I come."

"You're afraid that you'll never have a purpose again, right?"

Rook stops before slowly nodding.

Jacob sits there calmly and Rook continues to ramble on and he actually listens. He surprised at all the information she reveals to him. He never would've guessed that all that had been going on inside her head. Finally, she pauses and Jacob decides to interject.

"You've got something goin' for you, Deputy. More than I ever did when I was discharged from the army."

Rook stops, looking at him and wondering where this is going. "And what would that be, Jacob?"

Jacob sighs, leaning back in his chair. "You've got a whole county dedicated to you, Dep. That's more than I can say for myself. I was a mess before Joseph found me. But these people... they won't let that happen to you. I know they won't. They feel too guilty and care about you too much. You'll find your purpose, Dep. It'll just take a little time."

Rook is stunned by Jacob's words, and so is Jacob himself. But the words are burned into her brain whether she wants them to be or not.

Rook heals more and begins to become more mobile. As she promised, she follows through with the peace agreement and the whole county shows up to witness history. Only when she's standing there in front of all the people she had fought for and fought against does she finally understand the meaning of Jacob's words. She doesn't need to be a cop to help people. She's helping them right now. She's bringing peace to their home.

It takes some time after peace settled in the county for things to go back to normal. Rook, being tired of staying at home doing nothing began to search for jobs she could do with her limited mobility and damaged lung. It was difficult and after a while she began to lose hope. Then, out of no where she received a letter from Jacob explaining to her to per the peace agreement, he was converting the Vet's Center back to an actual sanctuary for lost and broken veterans that need help getting back on their feet. In the letter, Jacob offers her a management position, claiming her to be the best person for the job that he knows. He understands that the job might a little bit demanding for her given her health, but he's willing to work with her on it if she agrees.

Rook is floored by this surprisingly kind gesture and she takes the job on the spot.

Working along side Jacob like this, she learns so much more about him and his family that she never would've learned otherwise.

One day, while they're working, Jacob admits to her that he was the one that killed the person that shot her.

"I didn't even think about it. We arrived to the chaos and when I saw him shoot you I just... acted."

"You saved my life that day, Jacob. Who knows how many more times he would've shot me."

Jacob nods, almost dismissively, but now she just knows that's how he is. Somehow, in a round a bought sort of way, they became friends. They all did. Resistance members were now actively helping members of Eden's Gate with random projects and visa versa. None of the ever thought that this would come from a truce, but they all agree that it feels good to have a new beginning. It feels good to feel safe again. And that's all thanks to Rook.

[charbax]

KAW 2021 DAY 4 - Modern AU

Chapters: 4/7 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla Characters: Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Alexsandr Kallus, Kanan Jarrus, Hera Syndulla, Sabine Wren, Ezra Bridger, C1-10P | Chopper Additional Tags: more characters will be revealed as prompts come, more tags will be revealed as prompts come, Fluff, Biting, H - Freeform, Stardew Valley AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting 

A/N: I decided to instead incorporate a lil bit of a Stardew Valley I've been rolling around my head for a while. All you need to know is that Kallus is the Joja Mart manager and Zeb is a rancher ^.^ I'll see if I continue this train of thought later! 

AO3 link here uwu

Zeb found him on the way back to his ranch; it would have been hard to miss the Rolls Royce parked close to the bus stop, its engine stalling. As Zeb approached it he could hear swearing from inside. He knocked on the fogged window. "Kallus?"

The swearing stopped. A moment later, the window got rolled down, and Kallus' frown appeared, bringing a blast of heated air Zeb's way. "May I help you Mr. Orrelios?"

"Seems like you're havin' car troubles."

"Yes, well, thank you for noticing that." Kallus said, then went back to turning his engine on in vain. When Zeb didn't move from his spot, Kallus turned back to him and snapped, "Is there anything else?"

Now this was new - usually Kallus' face held thinly veiled contempt or placid customer service friendliness - but right now, he looked pissed off enough to try arguing with Zeb. So of course Zeb kept talking. "Do you usually drive home after work?"

"Yes." Kallus said through gritted teeth.

"So whereabouts do you live?"

"Zuzu city."

Zeb whistled. "That's pretty far. And you drive there and back everytime?"

"Yes." Kallus said, and didn't elaborate on that.

As if to remind him that it was the middle of winter, the wind picked up, sending shivers through Zeb, despite the warmth of Kallus' air conditioning. That was then the engine gave one last whine then stilled, no matter how many times Kallus cursed and turned the key. Zeb decided to throw him a bone.

"I got a spare room at my place. Why don't you stay the night, then we can take a look at your car in the morning."

Kallus made a face as if he was considering freezing himself rather than accept the offer, but then, he sighed, his frown turning more forlorn. "Fine." He turned off the car completely, halting the blast of hot air, then exited. At least he's wearing a parka, Zeb thought, even if it was a bright blue Joja Mart brand and looked ugly as anything. Kallus shivered as he started to follow Zeb, huffing into cupped palms.

"Be careful of the ice," Zeb said. "Especially at this part of the path-"

There was a skid, then a sharp gasp, then sound of someone eating shit on the ice-hard ground. Zeb whipped around and saw Kallus raising himself on his elbows, groaning. Zeb carefully stepped over to him. "Crikey, you ok?"

"I'm fine." Kallus bit out. He tried to get to his feet but cried out, clearly the opposite of fine.

"Here, let me help." Zeb said, offering out a hand. Kallus looked at it with disdain. "C,mon, I don't bite." Zeb continued. "Unless I really like you."

With great trepidation, Kallus took the hand and let his arm get slung around Zeb's shoulders, Zeb's hand secure on his waist. It was much slower going, but definitely safer. He could feel the long line of Kallus' body taut with pain and stiffness, trying to keep as much pressure off his bad foot as possible. The snow drifted around them, turning a short walk into a long trek into the dark unknown. All they had was the light of the lamposts and the cobblestone pathways that Zeb knew like that back of his hand. The air was silent with the hush of freshly falling snow.

Finally, the glow of the barn's lanterns came into view and Zeb breathed a sigh of relief. "Home sweet home." He guided Kallus through the front gate and up to the house.

“I’m surprised you didn’t live in a barn.” Kallus said. Zeb bristled, but chose not to rise to the bait.

“Y’might change your mind when you come in.”

"We'll see about that." Kallus muttered, and limped inside with Zeb.

[dewitty1]

Just a Matter Of Time

@gracerene09

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Additional Tags: Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Hogwarts, Time Travel, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Age Difference, Divorce, Travel, Italy, Roma | Rome, First Time, Loss of Virginity, First Time Bottoming, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Top Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Implied Switching, POV Draco Malfoy, Bisexual Harry Potter, Time Turner (Harry Potter), Cooking, Research, Drinking, Wine, Riding, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Secondary Theme: Travel Fair, Divorced Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Ministry of Magic Employee Harry Potter

Summary:

Draco's in a bit of a rut. He's nearing forty, divorced, and he still can't figure out how to make his Time Turner reconstruction work. He's bored, he can admit it, so he's not nearly as concerned as he should be when his pet project malfunctions and sends him twenty years into the past. That is, until he ends up relying on a nineteen-year-old Harry Potter for help and starts developing some very inconvenient—and possibly reciprocated—feelings.

Bookmarker's Notes:

Gorg💖😘👌

Excerpt:

"Not that I don't appreciate all of your help," Draco told Harry later that night as he cleared their plates from the table with an efficient flick of his wand. "But you've stayed in to help me research every evening for the past three weeks. Please don't feel you have to stay in on my account, especially as I believe we're in the final stages of the reconstruction. I've noticed the owl invitations out to the pub, and surely your mates will grow suspicious if you keep avoiding them." He gave Harry a self-deprecating smile. "I'm sure they're much better company than poring over musty tomes with an old man like me."

Truth be told, Draco very much enjoyed Harry's company and would keep him entirely to himself if given half a chance, which was precisely why he thought it best to encourage some time apart. He was becoming too attached, and nothing good could come of it. Reminding Harry of their age difference and pushing him to spend time with his friends, with people who still hated Draco Malfoy, was probably best for them both.

Harry's cheeks grew rosy, and he reached for his wand, cleaning off his plate before Draco could get to it. "Well maybe I like old men," Harry muttered, his flush darkening when Draco raised a single brow, doing his best not to show the sudden thrum of his pulse. "I just mean that staying in is a bit more my speed. Right now…" He shrugged, looking strangely self-conscious. "I don't know, everybody seems to be focused on reclaiming our lost youth or something. Lots of drinking, and clubbing, and making utter tits of themselves. I'm happy for them, and I definitely don't fault them for it, but I can't really relate. Everything's always so crowded and loud; it's too much. I'd rather…" He cleared his throat and looked boldly into Draco's eyes, his gaze determined. "If I have a choice, I'd rather stay in and spend time with somebody I care about."

Draco's already racing heart kicked into overdrive at the unguarded affection in Harry's eyes. This was so clearly a moment, and a momentously terrible idea, but fuck if Draco had ever wanted to kiss somebody so badly as he did just then. Harry swayed forward, barely even an inch, but it was enough to pull Draco into his orbit, and Draco leaned in to meet him, their lips brushing together in a feather-light caress. The kiss was tender and sweet, a gentle prelude to something more, and Draco desperately wanted to follow it through to the bitter end. And it would be a bitter end, how could it be anything else between the two of them?

Harry made a quiet noise of pleasure, and moved as if to press closer, to kiss Draco more deeply, and Draco's senses returned in an unwelcome rush. He placed his palms against Harry's chest and pushed, carefully easing him away and breaking their kiss.

"Harry…" Draco began, his chest squeezing as Harry's expression began to fall. "This isn't a good idea."

"Why not?"

Draco gave him a pointed look. Harry was smarter than that. "You know why not."

Harry sighed heavily, looking lovely in his petulence—Draco hadn't known Harry was even capable of petulence, and he found it all rather charming, much to his disgust. Salazar, he really was gone on the boy.

"Yeah," Harry said, his tone forlorn. "I suppose it's going to be pretty soon, then?

"I think, so, yes," Draco said, feeling similarly reluctant. "My old professor finally wrote me back and said I was welcome to visit as soon as I was ready. I was thinking I'd go this weekend."

Harry's eyes widened—he'd clearly not expected it would be quite that soon. "To Rome?"

Draco nodded. He'd planned to leave it at that, but instead found himself opening his mouth and offering, "Would you like to join me?"

The sadness that had been encroaching on Harry's expression was brushed away like dust off a bookshelf, and he grinned, excitement glimmering in his eyes.

"Really? I won't be in the way?"

"Not at all," Draco said, unable to bring himself to regret the offer. Some small part of him thrilled at the opportunity to show Harry the city where he'd begun to remake himself.

"I've never left Great Britain before."

"All the more reason for you to join me," Draco replied, officially warmed to the idea. "Though I should warn you, the journey is apt to be an exhausting one. I can't register for a Portkey, and I'd rather not risk creating an unauthorised one, which means we'll have to go either by broom or via Apparition. I'm thinking Apparating might be the best bet, though we'll need to do it in several stages."

Harry shrugged. "I don't mind." He slanted a sideways look at Draco, a sly smile on his face. "Though we should probably Side-Along instead of Apparating separately, since I won't be able to properly visualise somewhere I've never been before."

Certainly nobody had ever accused Harry of a lack of tenacity, Gryffindor that he was.

"Yes," Draco said dryly. "I suppose that would be best.”

[vannahfanfics]

A Place in this World

Category: General Fluff, Angst

Fandom: Naruto

Characters: Ino Yamanaka

Hello, everyone! I wanted to do something for Kunoichi Week (since we all love our ninja ladies)! So, here’s a story for the Day 6 prompt, “Sad Moments”! 

A faint mist drifted through the headstones of the graveyard. The grey-white clumps of condensed water molecules swam through the dark gray stones like wispy-finned fish trawling a kelp garden. They would flit between the mounds, ghosts of once corporeal forms, before they would dissolve into the air without so much as a sound. They fled the oncoming of the sun, which poked over the top of the full-branched oak trees ringing the cemetery; its warm rays would evaporate them into nothingness, which was a pretty depressing way to end, Ino supposed. With lidded periwinkle-blue eyes, she watched the ghostly school of fog-fish traverse the invisible currents between the headstones from the threshold of the iron-wrought gate. 

“I’d better get going. I don’t want to be late for the mission briefing,” Ino quietly encouraged herself. The plastic wrapping around the freshly-cut green stems of the lilies she held crinkled as she clenched her hands. So many times she had visited this place, yet it never grew any easier. It still felt like she was diving into dark black water to sink into a crushing abyss; her lungs spasmed in her chest, screaming for oxygen because she simply couldn’t will herself to breathe. Just as her cheeks would tinge with the faintest hint of blue, Ino would gasp, flooding her ailing tissue with the life-giving air. She stood there just like she had so many times before, panting as the fear and dread crept into her body. “I-I’d better get going,” she whispered again. 

This time, Ino willed her feet to move forward. 

Her mind was far, far away at this point, somewhere amongst the ghostly fish swimming in the mist around her. Yet, muscle memory navigated her to the desired headstone. Her eyelashes fluttered as she stared unseeing down at the rock, which had darkened slightly with the clinging condensation. ASUMA SARUTOBI was carved into the surface in neat characters. Ino pinched her bottom lip between her teeth as it threatened to wobble. No, it never got any easier, reconciling with the fact that her beloved sensei was dead. 

Ino sank to her knees before the gravestone. With quivering hands, she laid the bouquet of lilies at the base of the smooth rock structure. The tears beaded in her eyes like the dewdrops clinging to the grass. The water droplets splashed against her bare calves as she tucked her legs underneath herself. She rested her hands on her lap and just stared at the gravestone. Most of the time, she struggled with what to say. Most people just talking monotonously about their day or sobbed about how hard it was without them when they visited a loved one’s grave. Those sentiments held for Ino, yet somehow she felt like it was a disservice to Asuma. Would he sit there and listen to her blather mindlessly about the humdrum of her daily life? 

“Heh. Of course you would,” Ino chuckled softly under her breath. Asuma’d light a cigarette and listen in silence, with the faintest hint of a smile upon his lips. Ino shifted slightly as her legs began to prickle with numbness, then straightened her back. 

“Shikamaru, Choji and I went to see Mirai yesterday for her first birthday. She’s gotten so big! Her hair is just like Kurenai’s, dark and thick and wavy… Her eyes too, so bright and red. I see you in her smile, though,” Ino smiled wanly as she imagined the funny little girl running around. “Shikamaru and Temari are keeping on with that weird ‘we’re-into-each-other-but-totally-don’t-realize-it-thing,’” Ino laughed amiably. “I wish they would just get a move on and start dating already! It’s so obvious to everyone but them, apparently.” She felt a little silly at first, just talking to a rock, but once the words started coming, they came more naturally. She could almost feel the man sitting in front of her, with one knee kicked up with his elbow propped on it while he took a deep drag from his cigarette. The wispy currents of mist floated around her still, and she imagined that it was the smoke from the orange-and-white bud trailing down from his smiling face. 

“The flower shop is doing well! We just got a new shipment in,” she said with a gesture to the fresh cluster of lilies. “I haven’t decided yet if I want to take it over completely,” she frowned and puffed out her cheeks pensively. “I enjoy medical ninjutsu. I’ve also considered working in the hospital with Sakura, but… I’m just not sure.” With a forlorn sigh, she hung her head. “I’m not really sure of my future at all, Asuma-sensei… When I was younger, everything seemed so simple… I just had to keep pushing forward. The problem is, I’m just not sure what exactly I’m heading for anymore.” She fiddled her feet behind her, digging little trenches into the damp earth with her toes. “I wish you were here. I know you’d give me really good advice…” 

Ino’s eyes became lidded as she gazed sadly down at the stone. It remained silent, though she wished so desperately that she could hear Asuma’s voice drifting out of it. Ino knew that she would have to come to these decisions by herself, but sometimes it was just reassuring to have an older adult to ask for advice. It was something she sorely missed. 

The sun had bubbled over the canopy of the trees to spill its hot yellow rays over the village. The spears of light kissed Ino’s shoulders to spread a soothing warmth over her skin. The mist tendrils had vanished with the oncoming of the sun, not wishing to vanish so unceremoniously. Despite the heat gracing the world, Ino’s heart remained a cold, sad core within her body, making it feel like ice flooded through her nerves. The tears resting in the corners of her eyes finally slipped down her cheeks. 

“I miss you a lot, Asuma-sensei.” 

A breeze rolled in, making ripples across the smooth glass blades. It plucked at Ino’s long tresses of platinum-blonde hair to make it ruffle like the cascading waters of a waterfall. The droplets falling from her cheeks stained her plum-colored skirt a violet hue. Ino wasn’t sure why all the uncertainty of her life was mounting up on her just then, but regardless, it spilled over like boiling water over the edge of a pot. She wiped at her face with the heels of her palms, but the tears continued to stream down. “Nothing seems certain anymore… I know it’s not really that big of a decision, but I feel overwhelmed, just the same,” she lamented. “I love that our future is peaceful and bright, I just… I’m not really sure of my place in it anymore.” 

Ino’s words faltered in her throat, and her nose wrinkled when she smelled the sudden acrid aroma of cigarette smoke. She straightened up and looked around wildly, thinking that perhaps Shikamaru had come to visit the grave as well and had lit up one of the tobacco buds. However, aside from herself, the cemetery was empty. The scent was unmistakable, though; she could never forget that faint hint of smoke clinging to Asuma’s clothes. The familiar aroma wafted around her body not unlike the morning mist, as if it were embracing her. 

“Hehe, you’re right. Of course I have a place,” Ino laughed wanly. How silly of her to think such a thing. Regardless of what the future may hold, Ino always had a place in the Hidden Leaf. The scent of cigarette smoke continued to waft around her as if to agree. She smiled brightly and tossed her hair lightly over her shoulder. “You know, who’s to say I can’t do both?” she reasoned amusedly. “The beautiful medical-nin who moonlights as a florist. What do you say to that, Asuma-sensei?” 

The smoke scent intensified for a second, or at least, she imagined it did. Perhaps the smell was all in her head, but it comforted her nonetheless. “I think it sounds pretty great,” she laughed. She pretty much decided on her own. Still, she liked to think Asuma listened to her and showed her the way in some sense or another. Ino rose with a pleased sigh and brushed the dirt and grass bits from the fabric of her skirt. Based on the position of the sun, Ino still had a good fifteen minutes to report to her mission briefing. “Thanks, Asuma-sensei,” she smiled amiably at the stone. The smoke scent had faded, but she imagined that he was still listening to her. The breeze rustled the lilies sitting at her feet. 

Just like I have a place here, you’ll always have a place in my heart, Asuma-sensei, she thought gratefully. Now. Off to the future! With the sun on her back, Ino strode onward to an uncertain, but definitely bright, future.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork​ @searchfortheonepiece​ @kunoichiweek​

[themachiavellianpig]

Prodigal Son, Episode 7: Take Your Father To Work Day Was A Terrible Idea

Episode 7 of Prodigal Son, and we get father-daughter bonding, Jessica’s well-deserved ‘I told you so’ moment, and three, count them, three scenes with the stupendous Dr Edrisa. A good week for us, for Martin Whitley, for pretty much everyone except Malcolm and Jin the Cameraman. 

Full review and spoilers below. 

This week, Prodigal Son veered smartly away from it’s Crime of the Week format by giving us the first indications of a long term threat. Following his discovery of his father’s old car (aka the most concerning station wagon in the entirety of the Bronx), Malcolm is interrupted by a shadowy figure who shoots first, asks questions never. 

(Sidenote: Malcolm, I’m aware that your status as title character means you’re unlikely to be killed off, but please stay in cover the next time someone shoots at you, thank you very much). 

The idea of an active serial killer operating out of a junkyard which just-so-happens to house the Surgeon’s old car is brilliantly creepy, despite Gil’s forlorn pretence that maybe it’s all just a coincidence. The reveal that the new serial killer murders and disposes of his victims through the use of a car-compactor came with thankfully few flashbacks, and that’s all I’m going to say about that for the moment.

This new, densely packed crime scene gave us three glorious scenes with Dr Edrisa Tanaka, experienced coroner with an excellent habit for bizarra segues. I adore a woman who can run us through the proper nomenclature for pizza spatulas, although if she could refrain from ever mentioning puppies at crimes scenes again, that would be stellar. Her temporary-glee at having results for Malcolm is brilliantly undercut by her disappointment at the relative uselessness of such results; I could very happily keep watching these two be awkward at each other for another three seasons at least. 

(I also sincerely hope that the fandom will note that Malcolm, for possibly the first time this season, gave an honest answer to the question ‘Are you okay?’, and he gave it to Dr Edrisa Tanaka. Please, make good use of this information, I beg of you). 

Of course, the main feature of this week’s episode was Ainsley’s promised interview with the Surgeon. It gets off to a rocky start, with Martin pushing back against Ainsley’s list of his victims with his own list of medical accomplishments - shifting the interview from the discussion of a man whose heart her ripped out to a young boy who’s fatal heart defect he managed to repair is a hell of an interview strategy, but, while it is always a delight to watch Michael Sheen having such fun in a role, we’re used to seeing Martin manipulate people all over the place.

The interview gets derailed when Malcolm turns up to question Martin about the new serial killer, and then gets truly interesting when Ainsley convinces Malcolm to sit in with her; it is only when she throws Malcolm’s deeply unhappy life in Martin’s face that we get to see the great Martin Whitley lose control on camera. It was a bold line for Ainsley to take, but using your own brother’s trauma (and personal diagnoses, plural) to score points in an interview is profoundly upsetting. 

Almost as upsetting as the reveal that the knife found in the station wagon was actually Malcolm’s, not Martin’s, which raises some very awkward questions, particularly when paired with flashbacks of Martin apparently trying to teach Malcolm how to use the knife properly on something - or someone. 

Fortunately, we get a nice madman-loose-in-the-madhouse subplot to take our minds off things. The character of Tevin was introduced briefly last week, in just enough detail that we get a wonderful sense of foreboding when he reappears. His stabbing of poor Jin the Cameraman gave an additional element of tension to the whole scenario, particularly because it forced Malcolm’s issues front and centre with a far more definite time limit on the whole “processing your childhood trauma thing” than we’ve previously had to deal with; his inability to cut into a living person, even to save their life, was easy to see coming but still impactful if only because of his desperate need not to hand a knife over to his serial killer father.  

Even though I was entirely on Team No Don’t Give The Scalpel To The Murderous Surgeon, I am also rather pleased that Jin the Cameraman didn’t die - a guy who makes jokes about it being too early to meet the parents before interviewing a serial killer is a guy who I wouldn’t mind seeing again in future episodes. Additionally, I would really like to see someone processing the fact that their life was saved by a man like Martin Whitley while their girlfriend filmed it (seriously, Ainsley, what the hell is wrong with you?), because that has to be a little bit weird. 

I’m also a big fan of the show’s decision to cut straight from Gil reassuring Jessica that Malcolm wouldn’t do anything stupid to a scene in which Malcolm does something stupid. It’s the kind of simple humour that I need to break up all the big existential questions. 

The reveal that Martin had set up the drama by manipulating Tevin was delightful, although I am a little curious as to what the original plan was; being able to save your daughter’s boyfriend is certainly a good way to make an excellent second impression, but I do not believe that Martin could have set things up that perfectly, given the erratic nature of the tools at his disposal. Was he planning to save Ainsley from Tevin? Or just reassure her when things got scary? 

Just how far is Martin willing to go in order to prove himself a ‘good’ father? 

As the dust settles, and Ainsley dashes off to hospital with Jin, Jessica finally gets to find out exactly what her children have been doing all day. Her exasperated “Of course he did” when being told that Martin saved Jin’s life was almost as delightful as her sarcastic comments to Malcolm later: “So you’re saying that my children went to see their serial killer father in serial killer prison and it didn’t go well? I’m shocked. Truly.”

Like Malcolm said, enjoy that I-told-you-so, Jessica. Lord knows you’ve probably earned it by now.  

However, the final, big reveal of the episode was, of course, that the new serial killer was in regular contact with Martin at some point - regular enough to know the number to the private phone line in the murder basement - but this was totally overshadowed in my mind by the fact that Jessica is still living in the house which she shared with a serial killer! 

What the heck, Jessica. What the actual heck. 

Previous Prodigal Son reviews available here. 

[robbiekaysfavoritelostgirl]

Soulmate Au: Dean Winchester

Plot: Dean is terrified of the name on his wrist and what it means. His fear only gets worse when he meets a young women on a hunt and the name turns gold. Now he has to fight the demons inside or push away the only person that really ever truly got him. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader 

Requested: No 

Fandom: Supernatural 

    Dean sighed, looking at his wrist once more as he took another swig of beer. He hated that little name and what it meant. People like him, who live the life he does, shouldn’t have soulmates. It was setting them up for heartbreak. Love, as he learned the hard way, always ended in standing by a funeral fire watching them go up in flames. This girl y/n may not be as lucky as his mother, Cas and Sam and her death may be the one, the one she can’t come from back from and more chances than not he would be the reason she was dead. 

    He finished the beer, taking a deep breath before raising his hand for the bartender. The guy only nodded, clearly busy in getting some pretty girl a drink. Dean smiled, not blaming the guy at all and pulled out his phone, thinking that he may at least text Sam and see if they found another case. He had just hit send when a shadow fell in front of him and he looked up, his breathing catching in his throat when he noticed the beautiful girl standing before him. 

    “What can I get you?” She asked, her voice music to his ears. At once his gaze flickered to the girls name tag and instantly regretted it. “Hey handsome you going to order?”

   “Yeah, I’ll have another one of these.” He held up the beer, being careful to avoid the girls gaze. She nodded, smiling brightly before walking to where the beer was kept. He watched her, his heart pounding so hard against his chest that he felt it would jump through his chest. 

    “Dean.” A deep voice stated and he tore his gaze away from the girl to see Cas crossing the bar, the angels eyes locked on him. He nodded, eyes flickering once more to the girl only to find her staring wide eyed at her wrist. 

   “Hey on uh second thought I better go.” Dean muttered, putting a few bills on the counter as payment and began moving quickly towards Cas, grabbing the angel by the arm and dragged him back the way he came. 

   “Dean you should not leave that girl is your soulmate.” Cas said loudly, his voice and words causing him to flinch. Almost at once the girl began to scream after him, begging him to wait. He ignored her, breathing a sigh of relief when he entered the bar and caught sight of baby. 

   “Don’t say anything and get in.” He grunted to the angle, sliding easily into the front seat, growling when Cas stopped by the door, turning to watch as the girl ran from the car. At once Dean decided that the angel could get back to the bunker on his own and tore out of the parking lot, leaving them staring forlorn in the parking lot. It wasn’t until he got far enough away that he glanced at his wrist, curing loudly when he noticed the name had turned gold. 

     Y/n sighed, throwing her hands in the air as she watched car speed away. Scowling she turned to the trench coat wearing man beside her. He too was watching the man leave, seeming just as upset as she. 

   “Dean is only scared.” The man said softly, turning to smile kindly at the girl. “People he love tend to die.”

   “Funny, I’m the same boat. Glad to see my soulmate shares it.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair before letting it drop to her side. “You friends with Dean?” 

    “I am. Seeing as you are his soulmate I can take you the bunker if you wish.” She nodded at that, nodding towards her car. 

   “You drive?” When Cas nodded she tossed him the keys and headed towards it, glancing over her shoulder just long enough to ensure he was following. “Does he actually live in a bunker?”

   “Yes with his brother Sam.”

  “I see, well I guess we are heading to a bunker.” 

    As usual Sam was sitting at the table, trying to find a case. This time he didn’t stop to help but went straight to his room, closing the door behind him. At once he began pacing the room, trying to figure out what to do. He had no doubt that Cas was somehow bringing her here, not being able to keep out of what he called “divine intervention” That idea alone was enough to make him sick. 

   While he wanted to get to know the girl, the desire was almost overwhelming, the desire to keep her safe was just as strong. He couldn’t bring her into this life, the one where she would become a target to every monster in the world. Right now she was safe, just a name and a girl but the moment he let become more he may as well tape a target sign to her.  

   “Dean?” Sam asked, his voice startling him from his thoughts. At once he moved to the door, throwing it open and pulling Sam inside. 

   “I met her Sammy, I met my soulmate and she is no doubt on her way here. What the hell do I do?” He spoke quickly, stumbling over his words in a effort to get them out. At once Sam nodded in understanding, having dealt with the same problem a few years ago. Sam had ended up letting her and having her move in with them, only to have her die a year later. That only made Dean’s fear all the worse. 

   “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her. I do but I also wouldn’t have changed a thing. I say let her in. Whatever happens you may just find that she is worth it. Besides, I think Cas made the choice for you.” As if to prove this, a girls voice rang through the bunker, followed almost instantly by Cas’s. Moments later his door was pushed open and Y/n stood on the other side. 

   “Before you say a thing, just know that I get it. I mean everyone I love ends up dead, it’s a long list. It comes with the job though, which I guess you need to know. I’m a hunter. I hunt and kill all the monsters in the world, which is how I know who you are Dean Winchester. So why don’t we just stop trying to avoid fate and hope that neither of us end up dead.”

   “So I don’t get a say in this?” Dean asked with a chuckle, liking the girl all the more when she nodded. 

  “We’re a team Dean Winchester and if you have a problem with it I suggest you find God and take it up with him.”

  “Everything comes back to Chuck doesn’t” Dean laughed, cutting off anything the girl may say by pulling her into a kiss. At once it felt right, as if the world was finally falling into place. 

   “Who the bloody hell is Chuck?” She whispered as pulled back, breathless from the kiss. At once all three men laughed, Sam announcing he was going to get them both a beer if they were going to tackle that subject. Y/n simply smiled and leaned against Dean, happy to just be in his arms. Dean hugged her back, nodding his thanks to the angel that was still standing behind her. 

   While Dean was still scared, still terrified of what may happen, the fact that she was a hunter made it a little easier. 

[ddproductionsw77]

Four Kisses

Fandom: IT (2017)

Pairing(s): Stenbrough, Billverly (it happens but, like, just trust me on this guys, okay?), Hints of Reddie and hints of Benverly

Characters: Stan Uris, Bill Denbrough, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak, and Richie Tozier

Rating: T

Description: A story of four different kisses between four different people that ends with two boys being a little scared and a lot in love (Aged-Up to High School)

Author’s Note: Because Stenbrough deserves more love and I love my boys so much <3

The First Kiss (That started it all…)

It had begun, like so many things, in the summer of ’89.

Bill and Stanley had always been best friends.

Bill understood him better than most, listening to him and reasoning with him when he had to. There were times were Stan felt like a neon display board before Bill, like the other boy could read every thought in his frantic, nervous brain. There were times where they would look at each other and not have to utter a single word to know what the other was thinking.

Stan cherished those times.

And Bill would just do things… things he really didn’t need to just because he wanted to. Over time, Stan had come to understand it was just a fundamental part of Bill that he would do anything for a fellow Loser. Still, he found himself a little awestruck by it from time to time.

It was in the summer of ’89, though, that they met Beverly Anne Marsh.

Stan saw the way Bill watched her.

He saw how the other boy’s jaw would slacken and his mouth would fall open a bit like Beverly was a masterpiece to behold. He saw the way the pair would inch toward each other, would brush the backs of their hands together, would blush and smile at each other like they had some little secret. And for a long time, Stan didn’t understand why Bill and Bev’s interactions lingered in his brain. He couldn’t explain the way his gut twisted when Bill would glance at him only to slip his gaze back to Bev.

He didn’t really want to think about it too much. It felt... dangerous to dwell on.

Yeah, it started in the summer, just a week after Beverly had moved away from Derry and right before they’d start their last year of middle school. Bill was still moping around, as was Ben. Mike had to help his grandfather with the farm and Eddie had some appointment for an x-ray on his arm. So, Stan had wordlessly let Richie in when the bespectacled boy had shown up on his stoop, just like he had about a million times before.

Richie made his way noisily through the Uris household. Once he reached Stan’s bedroom, he threw himself down on the other boy’s neatly made bed. Stan remained standing, rigid in his posture by the door.

Richie sat up, groaning and resting a hand against his side, “Son of a bitch.”

Stanley rolled his eyes before wordlessly leaving the room.

He returned a moment later with a glass of water and two capsules of pain reliever. Kicking Richie’s dirty converse with his gleaming shoes, Stan held both out, “Drink up, Trashmouth. It’ll help.”

Richie swallowed the pills after a roll of his eyes, before narrowing his gaze on Stan, “What?”

“What?”

“The fuck you lookin’ at me like that for?”

“Oh, I don’t know because it’s not like you just got your ass handed to you by your mother.” Stan snapped, sarcastically.

Richie’s face broke into an impish grin and he winked, “There he is, Stan the Man, everybody!”

Stan wasn’t a moron, he’d seen the way Richie looked at Eddie — a bit like how Bill looked at Bev. He inspected his orderly fingernails, all the exact same length and filed smooth. His heart pounded in his chest and he began uttering the names of birds under his breath.

Richie’s grin faltered a bit, familiar with the nervous tick, but he managed to keep it in place as he stood up and raised his hands playfully, “No need to have a meltdown over little ole me, Stanley. Breathe.”

“It’s not that,” Stan shook his head, turning away from Richie to begin pacing, “Robin — Sparrow — Crane — it’s something — Swallow — else.”

“O…kay,” Richie hummed, watching his friend wear down the carpet. “Spit it out, Stanny Boy. Can’t be that bad; I already know about you killing Jesus and all that.”

“Beep, beep,” Stan muttered darkly before sighing loudly, “Richie, what- I know you- Can you—“

“Jesus fuck, Stanley!”

“How did you know you liked boys?” Stan finally got out, feeling like he might vomit the moment he managed it. Richie stared at him with a bewildered expression on his face and Stan cleared his throat that felt like it was closing up on him and stopped dead, “I mean, wh-what does it feel like?”

“What does it feel like?” Richie echoed, stunned. “To be into dudes?”

Stan nodded, not meeting the other boy's eyes through his glasses. “That’s what I fucking asked, isn’t it?”

Just like that, the Trashmouth seemed to snap himself out of his shock, his expression curling into his signature smirk of amusement. He rolled his eyes and Stanley contemplated punching him in the throat. Before he could act on this, though, Richie opened his mouth.

“I’m pretty damn sure you know exactly what it’s like, Stan the Man. Or have I just been imagining all the eye fucking you’ve been doing to our poor, innocent Billy Boy?”

Stan was mortified, staring at Richie with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

Holy fuck, was it that obvious?

Richie sighed at Stan’s horrified expression before taking a few slow steps toward the other boy. He raised his hands in mock surrender again and grinned, “Stan, it’s fine. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who notices. Nobody else really thinks about how a guy looks at another guy…”

“But, but I can’t like Bill,” Stan implored, “I don’t like him.”

Richie looked thoughtful for a moment, chewing his lip before suddenly grabbing Stanley. Before Stan could react, Richie kissed him.

His first kiss…

It was short and quick, nothing like in the movies with fireworks and slow motion. Nothing like how Stan had thought it would be to kiss another boy then again it was Richie and not Bill.

It was always Bill in his head…

When it was over a beat later, Stan began sputtering and Richie cut him off. “Stanley, just listen to me, okay?”

Stan mutely nodded.

Richie sighed and shrugged before continuing, “Did you feel anything?”

Mouth pressed into a tight, white line and fist clenched, Stan shook his head.

“Me neither,” Richie supplied. “All I could think about was E— um, someone else, wishing I was kissing them. You?”

Stan nodded once again.

“Bill?”

Nod.

“Stanny, you got it bad.” Richie stepped away from him, making his way back toward Stan’s bed.

Stan gulped, “I know about Eddie.”

Richie froze, back still to Stan. A second later, his shoulders slumped and he looked back at his friend, “Yeah, well, I got it pretty bad, too.”

So, Stanley was gay.

And he really liked Bill Denbrough.

And he didn’t have a fucking chance.

The Second Kiss (That complicated everything…)

Stanley managed to live with these inevitabilities throughout all eighth grade.

It’d been pretty easy with Bill still be very much missing Beverly Marsh. He’d spend hours telling Stan, Richie, Eddie, Ben, and Mike about what they talked about on the phone when she did manage to call. Stan knew Bev wrote Bill, too, having caught sight of letters tucked into Bill’s notebooks with her handwriting sprawled across them.

It was easy to remember Bill was a hopeless case when he had those constant reminders.

High school was different, though.

Bill hardly ever brought Bev up anymore and when someone — usually Ben — did, he’d just smile and say he missed her before moving along. No more long sighs or forlorn, lovesick looks. Anyone could sense a difference in the dynamic especially Stan, who knew Bill best.

Another change that came with Freshman year was that Stanley found getting his straight As was a bit more difficult. He abhorred English and art most of all because he wasn’t one for interpretation and that seemed to be all those subjects were. He liked the comfort of fact in numbers and equations, like in science and mathematics.

Luckily, Bill had stepped up to help him once his classic literature grade fell to a C-.

The boys would spend hours in the library or in one of their bedrooms, pouring over Shakespeare, Hawthorne, and Tolstoy. Bill loved Jules Verne, H.P. Lovecraft, and H.G. Wells, Stan discovered, and he’d read Frankenstein and Dracula three times each, annotating his own copies to hell.

What Stan loved most of all, though, was when he was really stuck, Bill would read aloud to him. The other boy never once stuttered when uttering the words of long-dead authors and just like that the passage would make sense to Stan. It was good for both of them.

Their almost daily after-school meetings had become the best part of Stan’s routine. Being with Bill and having his full attention for a few hours, that would be enough to pacify him. He’d never have to confront all the swirling confusion in his head over his best friend if he could just keep having those few hours.

The month before spring break, however, everything got fucked up.

It was dark in Bill’s bedroom, the only light coming from the dim lamp on his bedside table and the setting sun outside the windows. Stan laid back across the foot of his best friend’s bed, staring up at the ceiling without seeing it. His mind wandered as Bill sat up with his back to his headboard, reading aloud from a book of Edgar Allen Poe poetry.

“His pleasures always turn’d to pain—

His naivete to wild desire—

His wits to love—his wine to fire,”

Something had changed in Bill’s voice and he grew quiet.

Stan turned his head to look at the other boy, eyebrows drawing together.

His stomach dropped, finding Bill’s bright blue eyes focusing on him intensely as if he’d forgotten the book before him entirely. Electricity buzzed through Stan’s bloodstream and he slowly rose to a sitting position, eyes never leaving Bill’s as the other boy opened his mouth, continuing without even glancing at the words.

“And so, being young and dipt in folly,

I fell in love with melancholy…”

Stan’s eyes flickered to Bill’s lips as the other boy trailed off and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. The air seemed heavy with some raw emotion that Stan couldn’t name for the life of him. His heart pounded in his ears and he leaned forward as if a string was tugging him closer to Bill.

Stan wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss Bill Denbrough more in that moment than he’d ever wanted anything in his whole life.

Like he was reading Stan’s mind once again, Bill pushed the book aside and moved forward until his face was inches from Stan’s.

The curly haired boy took in the scent of him, wanting to commit it to memory so that he’d be able to take it out and revel in it later. Bill smelled how Stan imagined all writers must smell; like paper and ink, book and boy. Stanley fell into those piercing blue eyes with his own hooded irises, being pulled under the current of them without a fight.

When Bill spoke it was so quiet that even centimeters apart Stan barely heard him.

“I fell in love with melancholy.”

Then they were kissing.

Stan gripped Bill’s baseball tee like it was the only thing keeping him from floating far, far away and Bill settled in closer, his fingers tracing the bones of Stan’s rib cage as he felt the rise and fall of the other boy’s lungs.

They parted for a second, eyes fluttering open to stare at each other before Bill kissed him again.

Soon, Bill gently pulled Stan on top of him, sprawling them back on the bed. Stan let himself fall onto his elbows and hovered over the other boy. Bill gripped his hips and pulled him down, closer. Without paying any mind to his actions, Stanley slotted his fingers into Bill’s hair and was reminded of the down feathers of birds.

Bill smiled again his lips, moving his hands to his face and kissing him harder. A moment later, his best friend’s tongue was in his mouth and Stan felt lightheaded. Grape chapstick and spearmint toothpaste were what Bill Denbrough tasted like; Stan had always wondered.

Now he knew… Maybe he had died, or maybe he was dreaming because kissing Bill Denbrough could not be his reality.

Stanley Uris was not that lucky.

Bill pulled at Stan’s shirt, untucking it and slipping his hands under the hem. As his cool fingers made contact with Stan’s pale skin, a shock went through the boy’s whole body and brought him crashing back to reality.

He was kissing a boy.

He was kissing Bill.

—and Bill had untucked his shirt! It would get wrinkled! He would go home and his mother would ask why his shirt was wrinkled and he’d have to tell her! She’d see it on his face! That he’d kissed a—

Stan jumped up, shoving Bill back, “No! Stop! I—No!”

He tried to correct his shirt but his hands were shaking too badly and his vision was blurring.

Ohgodohgodohgod!

FuckFuckFuck!

Stan’s head was spinning and he thought he might throw up —what a shame that would be; it’d make all the Bill taste go away. What the hell had just happened? What— what the fuck was he supposed to do?

Bill was on his feet in seconds and striving toward him, “W-wait, Stan, p-p-please—!“

He reached out to gently rest a hand on Stanley’s arm, touching Stanley’s skin again. Yelping as if burned, Stan ran into Bill’s dresser and nearly fell to the ground trying to scramble away.

Bill liked girls—Stan was gay.

Bill could never like him—Stan didn’t have a chance.

Bill looked so hurt—Were those tears in his eyes?

It couldn’t be, this wasn’t happening.

“Stan, I’m s-s-sorry, okay? I juh-juh-juh—“ Bill seemed stuck on the word and Stan longed to stay put and wait patiently for him to get there eventually but he just couldn’t this time. Not when he would still feel Bill’s hands on his back and taste grapes and spearmint in his mouth.

“You shouldn’t have— You can’t— I can’t—“ Stan clawed up his bag from the ground and bit his cheek hard, looking back at Bill once more before he fled the bedroom.

Stan hated himself after that, even more than usual. He went gone to school the next day and expected to be confronted, yelled at, or even punched. He wanted to feel Bill’s anger, like a penance for what he’d done.

He was shit and he deserved to be treated like it.

But, of fucking course, Bill was who he was so none of that happened.

Instead, Bill had greeted him with all the other guys, a smile on his lips. If the smile didn’t reach his eyes, Stan didn’t let himself think about it and he most definitely didn’t comment on it. He didn’t comment either when Bill said he couldn’t tutor him after school that day, or the next, or the next.

Bill didn’t like him. Maybe Bill was curious or maybe he felt bad for Stan, maybe he’d found out how Stan felt. The kiss could have come from a million different things but Bill most definitely didn’t like him.

The Third Kiss (That clarified it all…)

Beverly was coming back to Derry.

Bill couldn’t believe it, honestly. The Losers Club was conditioned to take hits as they came and rarely stumbled into fortune. Beverly coming back, though, that was a fucking miracle.

He’d missed her like crazy. He missed her spirited presence, her easy humor, the way she was always brushing hair off her face and smirking at him like he was the biggest fucking nerd she’d ever met but she still found it endearing. He missed her floral perfume and her mixed wardrobe of dresses, leggings, and overalls always paired with untied work boots that never tripped her.

The first day of spring break, when she’d come strolling up the Denbough’s sidewalk, Bill had thought for a moment that no time had passed at all. Maybe it was still the summer of 1989. Maybe Bev had never left, maybe he’d had never kissed Stan, maybe Stan hadn’t shoved him away, maybe the ache in his chest wasn’t really there.

But, no, that wasn’t how the world worked. Bev coming home didn’t reset the clock.

Beverly ran and hugged Bill first, shrieking in joy as she ran into his waiting arms.

Bill lifted her right off her feet and spun her through the air. Setting her down gently, Bill ignored the feeling of eyes on his back. He didn’t have to look to know it was Stanley watching them; he could feel it in his chest.

Bev was just as excited to see Ben, Richie, Eddie, Mike, and Stan as she had been Bill. Still, the stuttering boy noticed how Ben’s arms lingered around Bev’s waist then they embraced. When the pair finally parted, Bill also noticed the faintest of pinks spread across Beverly’s freckles

Bill thought he should probably feel jealous.

Fuck, how long had he been hung up on Beverly after she moved away? Months? A year? Now she was back and he was so happy to be around her again but not like he’d been back then. His palms didn’t sweat when she stood close anymore and his heart didn’t skip a beat when her blue eyes glanced his way.

No, Bill’s heart raced for someone else these days… not that it mattered.

Stan had hardly spoken to him seen they’d kissed. He didn’t come over anymore and never invited Bill over. Ben or Eddie helped him with his homework nowadays and something in Bill’s chest burned with anger every time he thought about it.

What right did Stanley have to be angry at him? So what? Bill had kissed him, so fucking what? He’d obviously misread everything between him and Stan; he’d thought something was there that obviously wasn’t but did that really deserve the cold shoulder? The total and complete write off?

Fuck Stanley Uris.

Bill didn’t need him, could learn to not long for him, would force himself to move forward. He’d done it once already, after all, over his infatuation with Beverly and he’d do it again over Stan.

Bill could figure this out.

He could.

Things took a turn for the stupid on Bev’s last night in town, however.

Her aunt went a town over to visit a friend, giving her niece permission to stay with one of her friends. Of course, Beverly had asked Bill. The Denbrough house was like Losers Club headquarters; everyone stayed there.

And Bill had said yes because why wouldn’t he? His parents were even out of town for the weekend; he didn’t have to bother with asking their permission if it would be okay.

That night, Beverly grinned at him, swirling her finger over the rim of one of his father’s whiskey glasses.

“Thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, Billy?”

He snorted, resting a hand on her’s to still it, “N-no way, Bev. My Dad would notice, t-trust me.”

Bev pouted, looking downcast at the wooden floors. Bill narrowed his eyes before sighing and taking back the hand on her’s to pinch the bridge of his nose. “B-but, I think I might have su-su-something up i-in my ruh-ruh-room.”

“Your stutter still gets worse when you’re nervous, like when we were kids,” Beverly grinned, “It’s still cute.” She leaned forward to whisper before grasping his hand and leading the way upstairs.

Bill had the good stuff, tequila, one of Beverly’s personal favorites. The bottle started full and within a few hours, it was nearly finished off.

The pair sat on Bill’s floor, laughing at something that sober Bill and Bev would have known was not that funny but drunk Bill and Bev thought was fucking hilarious. The radio played loudly through the room so that both of them had to raise their voices to be heard by the other.

“So,” Bev started with a giggle after taking an impressive gulp of liquor, “You and Stan…?”

Bill grin fell and he suddenly felt the boards of his bed dig into his back as he sprawled his legs out in front of him, “No. Definitely nothing happening there.”

His stutter always faded away when he was drunk enough, he loved it.

Her eyebrows drew together, “Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Bill reaffirmed, taking the bottle back for another swig, “He—He’s not—It’s not bullshit. Nothing is going on.”

Beverly fell back, growing quiet with a look of confusion.

The tell-tale strings of ‘Come On, Eileen’ began playing and Bev gasped, jumping to her feet so quickly it was actually quite impressive to behold.

“Oh fuck, I love this song!” She cried, beginning to dance about. Bill watched with an amused curl of his lip, his back to his bed, still on the floor. A second later, Beverly was grabbing at him and dragging him to his feet. “Dance with me!”

Bill set the tequila aside and allowed her to pull him up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, coaxing him into a reluctant sway. He laughed at the ridiculousness of it all before resting his hands on her waist. Within seconds, the pair was dancing dizzily around Bill’s bedroom, stepping on each other’s feet and nearly tripping over his rug.

Spinning Beverly, Bill pulled her back into his chest and grinned down at her face, just inches from his own.

These people round here

Wear beaten-down eyes sunk in smoke-dried faces

They're so resigned to what their fate is

But not us (no, never)

“I don’t want to leave tomorrow,” Beverly mumbled, growing somber as her big blue eyes looked into Bill’s.

His heart sunk and he swallowed, “But you’re moving back in the summer. You’ll be back before you know it.”

“I don’t want to wait till summer. I miss you,” She said with a sigh, “I miss all of you.”

“We miss you, too,” He admitted, “Saying goodbye is gunna suck.”

Beverly nodded, glancing back with a slight blush before she looked up with a playful smiling, “Remember saying goodbye last time?”

Bill mind flashed to a summertime breeze, the scent of blood in the air, and Beverly’s lips on his. He’d been so swept up in her back then. Her heart, her mind, her everything was just so beautiful… still was.

“Yeah, I remember.”

Beverly slipped her hands from around his neck to his face, cradling his jaw and running her thumbs over his cheekbones. With a little huff of resignation, she leaned in, pulled him in, and kissed him hard.

Suddenly, Bill felt thirteen again, trying to tell his first crush everything he felt for her in one last goodbye kiss. He wrapped his arms around Beverly, pushing himself flush against her and deepening the searing, tequila flavored kiss.

No, not us (no, never)

We are far too young and clever (remember)

Too-ra-loo-ra, too-ra-loo-rye, aye

And you'll hum this tune forever

With a moan, Beverly pushed her tongue into his mouth and he greedily accepted the invitation. Something in the back of his mind screamed out in protest, reminding him of ironed shirts, pristine Adias, and curly brown hair, but he was too drunk on liquor, Beverly, and music to care.

Walking the girl backward, Bill picked her up when they reach his bed and sat her down on the mattress. Quickly tossing his shirt aside, he slotted himself between her legs and ducked his head to kiss down her neck from the ear to the base. Beverly gripped his hair and moaned when he pressed his lips to a certain spot.

“Bill—“ She breathed out, pulling at his hair until he was forced to pull away and meet her gaze. “Are you sure? Nothing has to happen. I’m gone tomorrow.”

“That’s the p-p-point, Bev,” Bill muttered, kissing her again and laying her back on his bed to hover over her, “We’re j-j-just suh-saying goodbye.”

She traced a thumb over his lower lip, “Even drunk, you stutter when you’re nervous,” Bev echoed herself from earlier before nodding, “Okay, Billy, tell me goodbye.”

So, he did.

Come on Eileen

Oh, I swear what he means

Aah, come on let's

Take off everything

That pretty red dress

Eileen (tell him yes)

The Fourth Kiss (The one that finally brought them together.)

“Get the fuck up and put some goddamn clothes on!” Someone yelled, shaking Bill awake.

He startled up and looked blearily on. He found he had a splitting headache and was indeed clothe-less; Richie Tozier of all people was standing in his room, too.

He squinted away from the sun and groaned, “Wh-what time is it?”

“Time for you to fucking explain some shit,” Richie snapped, throwing boxers and a t-shirt at his friend harder than necessary. “So put your dick away, please.”

After tugging the clothes on, Bill’s brain began to whirl at a sickening pace and he glanced around the bedroom once again.

“Looking for Bevvie?” Richie asked, quirking an eyebrow. “She already left. A fucking hour ago. That was why I was here, why all the Losers were here; to tell her goodbye until the summer.” Richie explained, sounding more and more angry with each word. “When fucking Stanley asked where the fuck you were, you know what Bevvie said?”

Bill looked away, ears flushing. He could guess…

“She said you two had already said your goodbyes… So, I thought, what the fuck does that mean? And then she got all weird and blush-y and wouldn’t look any of us in the goddamn eye. You know what I thought then, Billy Boy?”

Bill cringed, both at what he knew was next and at Richie’s rising voice.

“I thought, holy shit… Bill fucked Bev.”

“Sh-sh-shut up, Richie!” Bill snapped, looking back up at his friend to glare, “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn't like what, Bill? Hmm? You didn’t have sex with Beverly, then?” Richie accused.

Bill fell silent, his whole face now bright red. Richie snorted.

Anger now igniting in his chest as well, “Wh-what’s it to you anyway, Tozier? Wh-what happened has f-fuck all to do with you!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Richie looked at him incredulously, “No way you don’t see how fucked up what you did is. Normally, you’re a fucking moral compress, Denbrough, you know you screwed up!”

“Wh-what?” Bill asked, genuinely confused, “With Bev? It was just a goodbye, Richie! She k-knows that! It’s not like s-she’s in love with me!”

“BUT STAN IS!” Richie yelled at the top of his lung, slamming a fist down on Bill’s desk. His glasses were knocked askew.

Bill stood stock still, forgetting to breathe for a second. All the emotions, feelings, thoughts he’d been trying to repress ever since Stan’s rejection came crashing into him like a tidal wave. Shakily, his knees gave out.

Falling back onto his mattress, Bill swallowed hard and shook his head, “B-beep beep, Trashmouth. Y-you have no idea wh-what you’re t-talking about.”

“No, no, you don’t get to fucking ‘beep’ me right now, Billiam!” Richie snapped, putting a finger up. “I know exactly what I’m talking about! I’m talking about how Stanley told me he had feelings for you almost two fucking years ago! I’m talking about how you, not Stan, started up all the flirting and the alone time with him this year! I’m fucking talking about how much a total dick you have got to be to string Stan along, only to fuck Beverly!”

“I-I-I was-n’t st-stringing him alo-along!” Bill felt like he had no oxygen, making him gasp with each involuntary stutter. It was so fucking infuriating and made him itch to punch something.

A numbness slowly venturing up from his fingertips to spread across his body. He choked as he tried again to speak, “H-he— He—“

“Shit, this’ll kill him,” Richie grabbed a fist of his own curls and tugged with a groan, “Fuck you, Bill. Fuck you.”

With that Richie left him alone in his bedroom.

Even after the weekend ended and he’d had so much time to think, Bill had no clue what to do.

Stan couldn’t have feelings for him, no matter what bullshit Richie said. Bill had given Stan every hint and clue in the book — hell, read him fucking poetry and kissed him — and all he’d gotten was ignorance and rejection.

If Stan cared about him like he cared about him, why would he push him away at every turn?

But if Stan, somehow, someway, did feel the same as Bill… How the hell would he ever be able to tell him what he’d done?

Days later and sober, Bill could admit that having sex with Beverly hadn’t just been about saying goodbye to a friend and it wasn’t just about losing his virginity and it wasn’t just about being drunk. A part of him, a part he hated with a passion, had wanted…revenge.

He’d wanted to make Stan feel as shitty as he had watching the other boy tear away from him and get as far from him as possible. Having sex with Beverly, in some part, had been about getting back at Stan. It’d been out of spite.

Richie was right, Bill was a total dick. Fuck him.

Still, Bill didn’t completely regret it. He and Beverly had needed that closure, that certainty that nothing could ever happen between them anymore. They were meant for other people.

As he slowly walked to his locker, his locker just two down from Stan’s, he kept his eyes on his grey high-tops as they scuffed across the linoleum. His heart hammered in his chest and he had to make a conscious effort to not crush the paper in his hand.

Chancing a glance up, Bill came to a sudden halt that resulted in a body slamming into his shoulder from behind and nearly sent him sprawling. He barely noticed.

Stan was at his own locker with the door open, fiddling around with his textbooks until they were neatly ordered from tallest to shortest in size. Wearing a light blue polo and khaki slacks, Bill’s chest twisted at how the mere sight of the other boy could send him reeling.

Did Stan really have feelings for him, too? How would Bill ever tell him?

Taking a shaky breath, closing his eyes and counting to ten, Bill forced himself forward. Stan looked over as if he could feel Bill’s approaching presence. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he glanced back away, hands jumping back to rearrange his already perfect books.

Why does he have to be so damn cute?

Moving until he was only a few feet away, Bill cleared his throat, “I n-n-need t-t-to talk to yuh-you.”

“Yes!” Stan squawked, turning scarlet at the ears, “I mean, okay, sure… When?”

“Study h-hall?”

Stan nodded, expecting Bill to leave at that point. Only, he didn’t. He shifted from foot-to-foot before holding out his hand silently. There in his palm sat a piece of paper folded into the shape of a bird.

Stan stared at it for a long moment before glancing up into Bill’s eyes, “What’s that?”

Bill rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s an or-origami bird.”

“Oh,” Stan mumbled, cheeks flushing as he smiled just a little. Nodding, he carefully took the paper bird. Bill watched as Stan tucked the little thing into his locker, atop his history book. He turned back to Bill, “Thank you for...” He pointed.

Bill nodded, feeling even worse now about telling Stanley the truth. He sighed and started to walk backward, “I’ll suh-see you in study h-hall.”

Stan nodded, closing his locker and heading in the opposite direction. As he walked to class, his mind lingered on the little paper bird taking up residence on his history book. It was the first time Bill had asked to speak to him alone since... the incident. For a split second, Stan let himself hope that was significant and then immediately scolded himself.

He hated himself for hoping.

Study hall was both Bill and Stan’s second period and came more quickly than either of them was prepared for. Before things had gotten so messy and complicated between them, they had met almost every day in the Derry High Library, at the very same table in the far back corner where the librarian rarely bothered to check.

It was kind of Loser claimed, like the table in the cafeteria by the window where they all ate lunch together. By some miracle, all six boys had the same lunch period. Ben, Mike, and Stan always packed their lunches and Bill and Richie always waited through the line while everyone pretended not to notice how Eddie trailed alongside Richie despite packing his own lunch as well.

The table in the far back corner in the library was a bit like that. Their territory, neutral ground to any Loser... or two Losers who weren’t quite sure how to act around each other anymore.

Stan was waiting for Bill, straightening the pages of his notebook with an intense expression. So neat and orderly, Bill admired that about Stan since he just barely managed to keep his clutter organized enough for himself.

“H-hey,” He greeted, dropping his bag on to the table and slumping into the chair beside Stan.

“Hello,” Stan finally looked up from his notebook, still nervously fiddling with his nails. Meeting Bill’s eyes for a beat, he quickly went about inspecting his hands, “You wanted to talk?”

Bill nodded, trying to think of the right way to lay everything out.

He didn’t want Stan to run away again, didn’t think he could bear it again, but he was also so tired of keeping everything locked up in his head. He needed a release and to ease the weight on his chest before he exploded.

Half-panicked, he blurted out, “I had s-s-sex with Beverly.”

Stan’s fiddling fingers froze and his head shot up to look at Bill, mouth agape. He blinked and swallowed before slowly breathing out, “Oh,” Forcing in a lungful of air, Stan cleared his throat, “Congratulations, I guess?”

That was what one guy said to another when they scored, right? That was what Bill wanted him to say, right? Because they were friends and normal guys who aren’t in like — or maybe something more — with their best friends would be happy that their buddy had ‘gotten laid’.

Be normal, Stan. Just be normal. Ignore how much you want to throw up or cry or scream and just be fucking normal. He silently chanted, biting the inside of his cheek hard.

Bill sighed and dropped his head into his hand before looking back up at Stanley with a long sigh, “No, not c-con-congratulations! F-f-fuck, I juh-just—“

The boy was obviously flustered and nervous, with how much he was noticeably struggling with his stutter. Stan watched Bill rake a hand through his hair, hair he’d once touched too, with an air of confused. Well, what the fuck did Bill want from him, then? Why the fuck was he even telling him this?

“I m-m-messed up.”

The curly haired boy’s eyebrows drew together, “How? You like Beverly, so—“

“I don’t.” Bill cut off, his voice determined and sure. “Nuh-not like that, at least. The sex made that p-p-pretty clear. I m-messed up because I was with her wh-when I really like someone else.”

“Someone else?” Stan echoed, the pain in his chest growing sharper with each word. First, he’d had to hear about Bill fucking Beverly and now he was going to have to hear about some new girl that Bill liked even more? He didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to hear it... But he was Bill’s friend.

“I like you,” Bill admitted, his voice keeping that sure tone as he stared into Stan’s eyes.

The boy’s breath caught in his throat and he began jerkily shaking his head, “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do!”

“You like girls, Bill. You like Bev and you think Heather Listing is hot and you don’t like me!” Stan snapped, standing up from his chair. “It’s not funny, it’s not a joke, so just stop!”

Bill stood with him, “No! You don’t know how I f-f-feel! I’m not kidding! B-being with Beverly only m-made me realize once and for all th-that the only person I really want to be with is you, Stan! I k-know you p-probably don’t feel the same and th-that’s—“

That’s whatever, he’d been planning to say. It wasn’t whatever but he wouldn’t burden Stan with feelings he didn’t return. That had been his plan, at least.

But he couldn’t even finish the sentence, hands grasping his face and lips slamming against his.

Stanley Uris, the most controlled person Bill Denbrough had ever met, was kissing him like his life depended on it in the Derry High Library on what could only be impulse. Bill didn’t care, though, moving closer and gripping the fabric of Stan’s polo in his fists. The weight in his chest lifted and for a moment, being with Stan like he’d always wanted to be, Bill felt more at ease than he’d been in weeks.

Stan was calming, his presence always comforting to Bill like a steady support to fall back on. A best friend but more…

When they pulled apart, Bill waited a few seconds to open his eyes, afraid that once he looked at Stan all he’d see was that same panic from his bedroom. Lids fluttering open, he found only a look of pure anxiety.

“I do feel the same way,” Stan admitted quietly, his breath ghosting over Bill’s face as they were still so close. “I’m just...” He trailed off, looking to the side shamefully.

“S-scared?” Bill supplied.

Stan nodded, flickering his gaze back to Bill’s.

“That’s okay,” The other boy shrugged, “I am, too. We’ll juh-just take it slow.”

“Take our time,” Stan agreed, nodding. “I like that.”

“M-me too. I’ll take all the t-time for you,” Bill reached out, slipping his hand into Stan’s and squeezing.

Stan actually smiled a little, squeezing back before bashfully muttering, “I really like you, Bill Denbrough.”

“I really like you, too, Stan Uris.” Bill replied easily without a single stumble.

[bluephoenixdruidicprincess]

Happy Birthday Castiel! My Homage to Castiel -- Within Temptation Style!

So this weekend I was cleaning my apartment and I happened to have my Within Temptation playlist on Spotify playing. Within Temptation is basically my favorite band of all time. I know some of you might not know that about me as lately I’ve been on this Asia Pop kick. But for real, Within Temptation is absolutely wonderful, I’ve been listening to them since I was 18 and I highly recommend them if you’re into Evanescence or similar bands along that line. Although, personal opinion here, to me Within Temptation is in league completely of their own. I hate comparing them to Evanescence but for the purposes of this post, it’ll do in a pinch to quickly describe what kind of style this band is. “ 

But anyway, I was cleaning my bathroom whilst listening to my Within Temptation playlist and their song, Angels, comes on and as I’m listening, I’m realizing that this song is just screaming, “CAS!!!” This song is describin my wonderful, selfless angel and I was so here for it. And then I got to thinking, you know, it’s not just this particular song that is a huge homage to Cas, no, practically the entire Silent Force album is paying homage to Cas. Now obiviously, I in no way am saying that the author intent behind this album was to create an album specifically for Cas. After all, this album was dropped way back in 2004, well before Cas’s time, I doubt Eric Kripke had even come up with the idea of Cas yet when this album came out. But it does have a lot of themes in it that I feel kind of parallel well with Cas’s story. And I just felt like it would be cool to go through this soundtrack and use it as a way to pay homage to our wonderful, dorky, fierce angel. 

So welcome to the Silent Force tour of Castiel! And doesn’t the beautiful Sharon Den Adel give some serious Castiel vibes? So here we go. 

First track is technically the intro track, a lot of metal bands do this but I don’t really have anything to say on this particular track in regards to Cas. It’s a brief musical intro to give you an overall feeling of the album. 

Track 1: See Who I am

And wow, this is a really nice song to use to kind of introduce Cas’s entrance to the story. Someone who’s coming into the world as someone who wants to save it and in the process is learning more about himself but is also trying to get his comrades to understand him as well, to see him as who he really is. It’s no secret that when Cas first comes into the story, Sam and Dean aren’t particularly receptive to him once they see more of his somewhat cold-hearted approaches to getting missions done. But along the way he learns about himself and sees himself as who he really is and slowly throughout the season Sam and Dean begin to see who he really is. They’re “breaking through the surface, freeing their minds, to see who Cas is.” 

Track 2: Jillian (I’d Give My Heart)

Now this song has a lot of connotations to Cas. Particularly the things he feels guilty about Basically, the chorus of this song is, “I’d give my heart, give my soul, I’d turn it back, its my fault. Your destiny is forlorn, have to live ‘til it’s undone”. So obviously, we can take from this in regards to his guilt towards the angels. In his attempts to save them, he only makes things worse for them but he still keeps pushing on, still continues living to give them the lives he wants for them. 

Track 3 : Stand My Ground

This song, in a nutshell is learning that by staying low -- following orders in Cas’s case -- isn’t going to save the world. You have to take action, you have to fight, you have to Stand Your Ground, if you don’t make it, someone else will but at least you lived your life doing something. Following orders, being docile, is a safe thing to do but sometimes you have to break out of that to save what matters to you. And I feel like this is something that Cas grapples with a lot. As I mentioned before, a lot of time when he tries to do things meant to help, it sometimes comes out wrong and ends up hurting others more. And then Cas will fall into this deep depression about it but he eventually will crawl back out and realize that bad shit happened but you have to keep going because if you don’t at least try to do something, then nothing will happen. 

Track 4: Pale

Now I’ve always loved this song in particular because the intro gives me heavy Lord of the Rings-Shire music vibes, but that’s neither here nor there. In relation to Cas, this song parallels well with Cas’s struggles during his time in the Empty. As he fights with his own depression about to consume him, does he need to go back to the world or should he just stay here and ultimately he fights against his depression realizing that there are people out there who love him and still do need him and he’s going to fight for them “they’re the reason he needs to stay”. “Have to try to break free from these thoughts in my mind, use the time that I have, I can’t say goodbye, have to make it right” again, there’s that guilt “have to fight, cause I know in the end it’s worthwhile, that the pain that I feel slowly fades away, it will be alright”. Basically his time in the Empty filled him with this deep resolve that no matter what, he has to see this through to the end. 

Track 5: Forsaken

This is a very bleak song but it probably best conincides with their fight against Chuck. God himself has forsaken them, the fight maybe fruitless but they’re still going to keep on going, keep on seeing it to the end. 

Track 6: Angels

Ah, yes, we’re finally here. The song that started this all. As a reference, I would strongly recommend everyone watch the Within Temptation Angels music video as I feel like it gives a lot of symbolism that we can use to parallel to Cas’s story. Essentially, this song is about seeing someone as an “angel” believing this person is your savior and putting your faith and trust into that person only for you to be stabbed in the back by it. In the music video, its about Sharon being with this guy she really likes but ultimately finds out he’s a serial killer but her friends free her just before she’s about to be buried alive. I feel like this has a lot of parallels to Cas and his found family. Cas puts a great deal of trust into individuals he shouldn’t and his found family will always break through and get him to fight through it. There’s a moment in the music video where just as Sharon’s friends show up, Sharon opens her eyes (she had been chloroformed in the previous scene) and you see divine retribution in her eyes. And she gets up and joins the fight. Much in the same way I feel that Cas wakes up and realizes these individuals were not worthy of his faith or trust. He brings his own divine retribution and they ride off into the sunset looking for a different way to save the world. Now, an interesting thing that the music video does is at the end of the video, Sharon rides on the back of one of her friends’ motorcycles, she doesn’t have her own motorcycle. Similarly in the context with Cas in that he typically sits in the backseat of the impala. He’s not really in the driver’s seat of his destiny so to speak. He’s still trying to find his way. 

Track 7: Memories

This is a simple one. Reminiscing on previous memories, I like to think it’s Cas’s previous memories with his angel friends that have passed on. Even though they’re gone, those memories are still strong within him and it keeps them alive in his heart. 

Track 8: Aquarius

This song might have some negative connotations as it relates to Cas’s relationship with the Winchesters. This song is basically about an individual being so enthralled by someone but everyone else is warning this person that you need to stay away or that person won’t let you go. And I like to think this is how the angels were kind of reacting to Cas become more personally linked to the Winchesters even before he betrayed the angels. The angels were watching as Cas was kind of forsaking the mission to be with these people he’d become so enthralled with and I’m sure many of them were worried that Cas was losing himself through his time spent with the Winchesters. 

Track 9: It’s the Fear

This song is about giving in to fear, losing who you are and being unable to carry on. And this definitely falls into Cas’s previous depression angles where he’s failed so much and there definitely is a fear that he may continue to fail in the future and that can sometimes freeze him in place, unable to move forward. But breaking through this fear of failure is what’s really important so Cas can save the ones important to him. 

Track 10: Somehwere

I firmly believe this song is hardcore about Cas bringing the angels back, restoring them to what they once were. And he won’t give up no longer how it takes to give them a piece of the life he now has. 

Track 11: A Dangerous Mind

I’m pretty sure this song is a continuation to Aquarius. Essentially, we have Cas realizing there’s co-dependency issues going on with his relationships with the Winchesters (and I’m just going to put it our there, his co-dependency issues with Dean in particular). And in a sense, this song is about him realizing the flaws within these individuals now and wondering if he still has a place with them. 

Track 12: The Swan Song

What a coincidence right? We’ve seen this title before haven’t we? This is a nice song to really end the Empty arc on where Cas is asking himself if it’s only a dream that he has that the Winchesters actually still have a use for him? Do they need him or does he just selfishly want to go back? And when he returns will his desire to be useful be what he needs or is being selfish what he needs to truly live? Which will he choose? Well, I suppose we’ll have to wait for the finale on that. 

And that’s all I have for you all. This was pretty fun!

And Happy Birthday Cas! As the finale edges closer to us, I truly hope for a happy ending for you! The fandom is always fighting about if your happiness is contingent on being with Dean, being with Sam, being with Meg, saving the angels, whatever, you name it, the fandom has probably argued about it at one time or another. Me personally, I only hope that you find happiness that doesn’t rely so much on being useful, I just want you to be you and its okay if being selfish is what allows you to continue to be you. So Happy Birthday Cas! 

[hobo4lyfe11]

[ KBTBB Co-Writing Fic ] Hate At First Sight ❤ At Last Glance Part 2

Fandom: Kissed By The Baddest Bidder Rated: Drama, mystery, thriller, romance KBTBB OC: Ryoko Inui / Kyoko Nakama Main Interest: Soryu Oh Summary: A mysterious woman with impressive skills is hired under Soryu’s care, but is she all that she seems? A/N: Leave Ryosuke alone! He’s just a puppy. Also I’m so glad @hotcocosharing​ was willing to write another fic with me~ always a honour and pleasure. You can find PART 1 <-- here :) Warnings: Soryu is cute Word Count: 1354 words

✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎

Soryu Oh’s POV

"That's impossible."

Eisuke's going off about how the security system in the hotel casino has malfunctioned but I find it hard to believe that the impregnable program, we've carefully installed, just 'malfunctioned'.

"Fine, I'll be there in 10 minutes," I guess I can indulge in his little burst of frustration once in a while.

It's not everyday you see Eisuke getting worked up like this so I wont be missing this. Heh, seeing 'The Great Eisuke Ichinomiya' lose his composure is entertainment enough for me.

"Make it 5!" He spits with irritation. Impatient as ever.

I arrive 10 minutes later, to the command room in the security ward of the casino, to find a young woman typing away at the main computer naturally. Her slender fingers fly across the keyboard at incredible speed and accuracy before restoring the corrupted server with little, to no, effort at all. Impressive. I would never have predicted an ordinary woman like her to be so useful. All signals regain a secure status and seemed to have increased in strength.

"Not bad," Eisuke says with a smirk.

I can tell he didn't expect to be so impressed by a spontaneous offer from a complete stranger, so much so, he decided to appoint her to the hotel security team, under my supervision.

Tch, now I have to take care of this woman? Probably Eisuke's ways of getting back at me for not coming within 5 minutes. Impatient prick... 

At least she's not annoyingly trying to vie for my attention by baking a cake on her face and bathing in perfume. I cant stand that. She seems reliable enough that Eisuke would offer her a job on the spot however, I cant help but find her presence unsettling.

The most secure program in the world that contains several walls of protection for our security system is broken down, and she just happens to be there to restore it back in just seconds? The progression of that was so perfect, almost as if it was planned and staged. Was this all just a coincidence or is she more than what she appears to be? I know better than to jump to conclusions without any evidence to back my theories up, so for now, I will just have to keep my eye on her.

The days go on by and she continuously surprises me, in unpredictably positive ways. Her skills are no joke when it comes to her job and, her hard work and diligence, is admirable. Reminds me of another girl I used to know.

It was back in boarding school when I first met her - she was always striving to be the best in every field, competing for the number one spot in every field- academics, physical education and even art. The way her eyes narrowed in concentration and her aim to always best herself, sparked a new feeling in my chest. How was it, that she was so different from the rest, so accomplished... So perfect.

But soon before we were meant to graduate, she dropped out of our school. The teachers said it had something to do with her family but obviously wouldn’t go into detail. I just saw her the day before and now I wasn’t going to see her ever again? I didn’t even have a chance to talk to her. To say goodbye. To tell her how i felt about her.

"Sir. Sir. Sir!" A voice yaps at me with persistence and returns me from my trip down memory lane.

"What is it Inui?" I respond as I see the woman tense up at the sound of his voice.

Strange. I guess she doesnt take too well to strangers or is easily frightened by sudden noises.

"Looks like the Black Heart gang is trying to breach our contract. What should we do?"

"I'll deal with them," I say before I get up and turn to leave. The woman seems to have stopped in her tracks and that doesn't escape me.

It doesn't take long before I return from dealing with the annoying scumbags who dared to even think they could sever the alliance in such a disgusting manner. I make sure to stop by the security ward before I head up to the penthouse to make sure everything is in order and everyone is doing their jobs accordingly, especially the new recruit. Unexpectedly, I come back to see her overseeing everyone and directing them with perfect coordination, improving efficiency all throughout the sector.

She never seems to disappoint. Perhaps its just in my nature to doubt everyone I meet but maybe, just maybe, I can rely on a woman like her for once. The slight smile that plays on my lips disappears the moment she looks at me. Her big clear eyes, so kind-looking but impossible to read, locks onto mine. I quickly look away to throw off any suspicions of me analysing her and leave to meet with the other auction managers.

"So how are you liking the new pretty lady the boss placed under your care, Sor?"

"She's surprisingly not bad -- she can hold her own and she doesn’t reek of gold digger and hooker." I reply naturally and look up to see the astounded looks on the other bidder's faces.

"Are you saying that the little Koro doesn’t make you want to kill yourself even though she's a woman?? Boooorring, I wanted a better reaction~~"

"She must have sexy collarbones."

"I heard that she was just a kid..."

"Maybe I should see what's so good about her myself."

I ignore the teasing from the peanut gallery but, Eisuke's knowing smirk pisses me off to no bounds. He knows. Is it because we've known each other for so long, or is it because he's THAT perceptive? I'll never know. The bidders panic and scramble when I pull out my gun, but to be honest, I don't actually mind.

It's late and I'm making my last rounds, with Inui and Samejima, before I go back to the Ice Dragon's Headquarters to rest. Today was a real pain in the ass, having to deal with the dirty mafia world but I'm doing the best I can to change that. I wont rest until I can use this influence on the world, for good. I won’t follow in my Grandfather’s cruel footsteps.

The three of us separate on our patrol to cover more ground in less time and by the time I’ve finished with my section, I go to look for the other two. I hear a slight thud coming from the server room, where Inui was in charge of checking, and I cautiously crack open the door.

Through the pitch-black room, decorated with thin rays of light, emitting from the LED lights of the cells, two shadows can be made out with a bit of squinting. As my pupils enlarge to allow more light to register in my brain, I tighten my clench on my trusty gun. It would seem as though the smaller figure has pinned the slightly larger one against the wall.

I can barely make out Inui's rambunctious voice which queue's my entrance. The smaller body jumps at my sudden entry and bolts out of the second exit that very few people know about. By the time I pass by the shocked-frozen Inui to pursue the mysterious shadow, it had disappeared through one of four possible escapes. Damn. I was so close.

I return to Inui and his crumpling body, whimpering like a lost puppy with abandonment issues.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Why didn't you fight back and chase after him?" I question him in frustration.

I know he is capable when he puts his mind to the task, but his mind is fickle. At that moment, Samejima bursts into the room and is utterly confused at the sight. The both of us throw puzzled glances at each other, not expecting him to look so broken. He was less of his over-exaggerated character, and had more of a tame and seriously forlorn expression.

"It's her. She's actually here.”

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Seven

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Paladin Danse, pride of the Brotherhood of Steel, yawned loudly right before he took the shot. The radstag looked up, alerted to his presence, but it was already too late for the beast.

  Danse lumbered down to the water's edge, hauling the body up onto the withered grass and then drawing his combat knife. As messy as field dressing creatures could be, Danse found himself soothed by the memorized motions. He wondered idly whether he could have been happy doing something like this. Just hunting to support his own needs, staking a claim on some forlorn piece of land and slowly shaping it into a home, maybe even starting a family...

  He almost nicked his thumb due to his inattention and Danse grunted, a little irritated to have caught himself daydreaming about a more domestic existence. You're a member of the Brotherhood of Steel , he scolded, start acting like it! Imagining fake lifetimes was reserved for those who hadn't sworn the Creed, dedicating their lives to carrying out the will of their Elder and honoring the tenets of the Brotherhood.

  Theirs not to make reply, theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die.

  Danse's familiarity with the task made quick work of butchering the animal, the paladin rolling everything neatly into the bedraggled hide he had peeled off the beast. The inedible bits of the animal he buried, not wanting to draw any predatory attention to the site. 

  With the lumpy, makeshift sack slung over his shoulder, the paladin trekked back up the hill to the station. Preston waved at him from the fortified wall and the paladin saluted out of habit. 

  Danse found himself powerless to stop his smile when a freckled face popped out from the doorway of the station, Matthew staring down at him. The child's fear seemed to have evaporated overnight, replaced by the verbose curiosity that so many of his age group eagerly employed. It probably helped that Danse had left his power armor behind the station.

  "Whatd'ja get?" The boy asked, skittering down the stairs.

  "Radstag. Notoriously gamey, but ultimately acceptable for consumption." Danse replied as he rinsed off his hands and knife, surprised when Matt nodded solemnly.

  "My papa and older brothers get them sometimes. He says I can't see them shoot one yet though. When I'm older I can come along." Matthew squatted beside the paladin, watching intently as Danse unrolled the pelt and separated out the different cuts of meat. Some would benefit immensely from being aged, but out in the field there was little chance of a reliably-cooled environment. 

  Danse frowned. He had been hoping for smaller game, like some mole rats. He hadn't wanted to pass up the prolific meat the larger beast offered, but now he felt a bit foolish for impulsively going after a creature they may not be able to consume entirely before it spoiled. He couldn't spend all day cooking or preserving it either, he had promised Preston he would finish the wall--

  "Good news!" Garvey called, a spring in his step as he approached the two. "Matt's folks are coming 'round to collect him as soon as possible. I'd expect them by noon, if not earlier."

  "Does your family need food, Matthew?" Danse asked the boy bluntly, gesturing down at the meat. 

  "I got three brothers and four sisters, Mister Danse sir." Matt said by way of reply, his eyes a little wide. "We grow some stuff and my mama makes pretty things to sell, but food's kinda' tight." A flush rose on his face. "We're not poor though! Not poor. We have a place to live, and clean water." He continued defiantly.

  Danse was stunned silent for a moment, and Preston cleared his throat. "You need a hand with that, Paladin?" 

  "I...yes. Thank you, Lieutenant." Danse mumbled, struggling to gather his thoughts. "I may have bitten off more than I could chew as far as resources go. If you would...just...uh, wrap the…"

  "You want them to have the decent stuff, or the larger stuff?" Preston asked simply, crouching down.

  The paladin grimaced. "The whole damn thing, but I'm certain they wouldn't accept it." He muttered incredulously under his breath, " eight children." 

  "They're lucky. A lot of times, pregnancy doesn't really work out so well." Preston rumpled Matthew's hair. "How about you decide, big man. You want the whole deer, minus what we eat for breakfast?"

  "What, really? All of it?!" The boy asked excitedly, looking up at Danse like he was waiting for confirmation. Danse nodded jerkily, unsure of exactly which emotion was choking him at the moment. "This will make my mama wicked happy! I hear her cry sometimes about food. S'why I went to the water place, I was tryin' to scavenge for stuff like my big brothers do."

  It was hardly Danse's first time encountering a family that was low on resources. He had grown up a scavenger himself, alone and hungry. The Capital Wasteland had been rife with desperate people who were willing to try their luck against fully armored BoS troops. Danse couldn't even begin to count the amount of times hostile situations had erupted due to the Brotherhood sitting pretty atop a mountain of supplies. 

  "I'm glad it'll be put to good use, then." He managed to say, his fists balled up tightly. 

  At least right here, right now , he could help.

  …

  Danse trudged across the lot yet again, dragging a massive fallen tree behind him. Thanks to his power armor, the paladin was a machine of industry when it came to building the remaining two sides of barricades. Backhand was just grateful that he had waited until after eight o'clock to begin. Her sleep had been poor, filled with dreams of chasing after Shaun.

  Danse worked almost silently aside from noises of exertion, and it seemed as though his mind was elsewhere. If Backhand had learned anything during her brief stint of traveling with the paladin it was that when he pondered, he appeared to devote his whole body to the task.

  "He's really somethin', General." Preston commented. "I mean, just look at him go! If more folks in the Brotherhood were like him, I feel as if the tide would finally start to turn for the Commonwealth."

  "You're not wrong." Backhand agreed, wiping the sweat off her forehead. After Danse had assured her that he was more than up to the task of finishing the fence, she had decided to start planting the crops. So here she was, General of the Minutemen, up to her elbows in dirt, tato seeds and corn kernels while Matt 'supervised'. "I think he likes helping."

  "Kindred spirits?" Preston teased. 

  "Maybe so!" She laughed, flicking his knee with dirt-covered fingers. "I think the Commonwealth could always use more people willing to lend a hand, though."

  "The Minutemen certainly can, even if the rest of the Commonwealth wants to stick its head in the sand." The radio on Preston's lapel crackled to life and he dashed off, practically bounding up the steps to the station so he could get a little higher and clear the signal. " Lieutenant Preston Garvey here… "

  "I hope my parents come soon." Matt said quietly. He toed at a mound of dirt, his expression troubled. "D'ya think they'll be mad at me?"

  Backhand grimaced. "I doubt it. They'll be happy that you're okay. You're really lucky, y'know."

  "I know." Matt continued staring at his feet, "I just didn't want my mama to cry anymore. I wanted to fix it."

  Backhand raised her hand and placed it on his shoulder, giving him a little shake. "Hey, sometimes we're just not big enough to fix stuff by ourselves. Sometimes we're not strong enough, even when we think we are. But that's how you learn, right? So you gotta' pick yourself up and try to help where you can." The little boy still looked dejected. "I'll tell you what, Matt. As General of the Minutemen, I'm giving you a field promotion to Intel Lieutenant."

  "Intel Lieutenant?" Matthew echoed in confusion, his eyes wide. 

  "Yep. You're observant and resourceful, excellent qualities in an intelligence operative. I need you to keep your family safe, and that includes keeping you safe. A smart intelligence operative always ensures the safety of the people around them. Can I count on you, Lieutenant?" Backhand asked, wiping her hand off on her jeans and extending it to the boy.

  "Yeah. Yeah! Yeah, I can do that!" Matthew puffed his chest out a little, small fingers grappling her own when he shook her hand. "What's my first order, General ma'am?" 

  "Your first order will be to work in tandem with Preston and secure the perimeter. You walk the inside beat, he walks the outside." Backhand instructed, barely stifling her laugh at the child's stiff salute. 

  "Matthew?" An unfamiliar voice called, a thin woman slipping through the doorway Danse had left in the fence. "Matthew!"

  "Mama!" Matthew hollered, bolting across the settlement to fling himself into his mother's arms. The woman sank to her knees, holding her son close and crying into his hair as he clung to her.

  Backhand's throat ached and she looked away, blinking away the tears she wanted to shed at the reunion. She noticed that Danse had stopped mid-motion, the paladin appearing to silently watch the scene unfold.

  Preston trundled down the stairs, his smile kind as Mrs. O'Brian tried to thank him. "All part of the job, ma'am. We were happy to help." He assured her. "Really, you can thank that curmudgeon Rob. Without him telling the General about the super mutants, she never would have gone to Weston."

  Backhand rose from the dirt, brushing her knees off and meandering forward. Mrs. O'Brian launched into a new wave of thank-yous which Backhand attempted to graciously deflect, and in the midst of their conversation Mr. O'Brian arrived. He was wheezing a bit from the climb, freckled face red with exertion.

  "Matthew Amadeus O'Brian!" He thundered, and Matt lunged for him.

  "Papa!" The little boy cheered, hugging his father's leg. 

  "You had us out of our minds , young man!" Mr. O'Brian scolded, the relief in his eyes belying his sharp tone. "Don't you dare wander off like that again!"

  "I won't, I promise!"

  "We seriously can't thank you enough, we...we've been so worried ." Mrs. O'Brian daubed at her eyes with her sleeve. 

  Backhand caught her arm and carefully took her aside, speaking in undertones when she said, "Matt told us that he was trying to scavenge like his older siblings did. Apparently he overheard some discussions about food scarcity."

  Mrs. O'Brian froze guiltily, looking back at her son and husband. "I...well, the winter was so hard , General, and caps have been tight because the corn wouldn't pollinate properly. We'll get by, though. We always have." She said staunchly. 

  Backhand cocked her head towards the motionless Danse. "My friend Danse butchered a radstag earlier today. We ate our fill this morning, and Matt already promised us that you'd be willing to take the rest. It'll just go to waste, otherwise." She reasoned, watching the other woman's eyes glisten with tears all over again.

  "Oh General, we...I mean, if you're sure -?" 

  "Absolutely. Myself and the paladin will be going our separate ways from Lieutenant Garvey today, and that much meat will definitely spoil before we reach our next destination. Please, I insist."

  "I thought the Brotherhood of Steel wasn't willing to help civilians?" Mrs. O'Brian whispered cautiously, her eyes flitting to Danse.

  "I can't speak for anyone else, but my friend Danse is a cut above your average grunt." Backhand said proudly. "Once this settlement gets up and running I hope to establish a caravan between here and Starlight. If we can get the logistics squared away, hopefully that will make trade a little easier. I can't promise anything, but-"

  "I can already tell better days are coming." Mrs. O'Brian said softly, her hand clasping Backhand's own. "Now that the Minutemen are back...well, it gives folks hope again, and sometimes that's all you need." She then waved Danse over.

  His power armor grinding loudly, Danse obligingly approached the two women. "Citizen." He addressed Mrs. O'Brian with a polite nod once he was within earshot.

  "I wanted to personally thank you, Paladin Danse." The older woman announced, her voice wavering slightly. "For finding my son, a-and for the food."

  "Oh, you don't...er, thanks are not necessary, citizen." Danse floundered, rubbing the back of his neck. "A good Brotherhood of Steel soldier knows that their responsibilities lie with the people under their protection." His smile was slow, and a bit awkward. "I am simply glad that we discovered Matthew before any serious harm could be done, though I have to apologize for the cut above his eye."

  "Matt was hiding in a wall when we entered the facility, and we thought he was a hound. We may have gone through the wall." Backhand explained with a wince. 

  "The super mutants would have done much worse. Hopefully that little scrape helps him learn." Mrs. O'Brian brushed off their apology ruefully. "He's very fond of getting into trouble. I call him my little wanderer."

  "If you'll excuse me." Danse murmured, offering the older woman a salute and then turning to Backhand. "I should be done by fifteen hundred hours or thereabouts. At that point, I believe it would be prudent for us to return."

  "Are you sure? You're already burning your grease, Paladin." Backhand pointed out worriedly. 

  Danse shook his head. "Paladin Brandis will have reported in by now. I can get my armor serviced at the base."

  "Alright, I'll have everything locked and loaded." 

  The paladin nodded and headed back towards the framework of a wall that he had constructed. "God, he is tall ." Mrs. O'Brian muttered. "And stiff." She seemed to remember herself after a moment. "Uh, anyway! We really appreciate everything that you've done for us, General. Everything . If there's anything you need, or...even if you're just in the area, you're more than welcome to stop by. We'd love to have you visit!" She said, loudly enough so that Danse could hear her. 

  He simply nodded again and heaved a log up into his arms, then slammed it down over his armored knee to snap it in half. The bark essentially exploded off the trunk, bits and pieces landing on the ground as Danse shoved the crude beam into the dirt. Where the first half of the wall had been constructed with various scrap, the second half was much more reliant on raw lumber. It looked more like a stockade wall than anything.

  "Oh." Mrs. O'Brian said weakly. "Are they all...like him?"

  "I imagine some of them are way worse." Backhand chuckled. "We'll leave him to it. Let's get you that radstag."

  Mr. O'Brian was a touch more reserved than his wife, but he still expressed a wild amount of gratitude to Preston and Backhand. The entire time Matt was glued to his leg. "I'm just happy to know that there's still damn decent people out here." The older man remarked, looking a little misty as he secured the pelt over his shoulder. "We owe you a lot, General. You can count on us if the Minutemen ever need help."

  "I'll hold you to it, Mr. O'Brian. Lieutenant Matt." Backhand inclined her head to the little boy, who saluted her. "It's in your hands now, soldier. I'm depending on you. I know you're up to the task." 

  "Uh huh." Matthew replied, sounding a bit breathless. He scrambled away from his father right before they departed, fumbling with the knotted bandanna around his hand. "Here, General! I gotta' give you your luck back before I go." He said seriously, unwinding the cloth and returning it to Backhand. Without waiting for a reply, he then rushed at Danse. "Mister Danse! Hey, Mister Danse!" 

  Danse halted where he was. "Yes, Matthew?" He replied.

  "I wanted to say thank you. And I'm sorry I thought you were scary before. You're not that scary." Matthew said plainly. "You're nice even though you look scary."

  Danse arched a brow. "A charitable allowance, citizen. Maybe I'll bump into you again someday. In the meantime, try to stay out of mischief and listen to your parents. You are…" Danse paused, his expression sad. "You're very lucky to have them, Matthew."

  "I know!" The boy answered brightly, wrapping himself around Danse's greave in a makeshift hug before skipping back to his parents. "Bye, Mister Danse!"

  Danse raised one large gauntlet. "Goodbye, Matthew."

  …

  There was no easy way to say it. Danse was in a slump . It felt like the closer he got to the airport, the harder it was to force himself to keep moving forward. He doubted the amount of labor he had done earlier was helping matters, as the joints in his armor protested vigorously with every step. 

  When Knight Vega tentatively suggested that they find shelter for the night, Danse hated the relief that flooded his body. "The next suitable structure we come across." He promised, knowing that she must have spotted the radstorm he had been tracking on the horizon for several hours. 

  Steaming rain began to fall as Vega pointed out a ramshackle-looking lean-to, butted up alongside a collapsed house. "There, c'mon!" She said urgently, running through the tall grass alongside the road. 

  "Vega-!" Danse began to protest, lumbering along in her wake. Green lightning split the sky in the distance, the odd warbling thunder that accompanied radstorms rolling shortly thereafter. "Knight Vega, you don't know whether that's inhabited! "

  "I don't care!" Backhand retorted, shoving open the door with her shoulder and vanishing inside. 

  Danse tried to enter through the doorway, but it was too narrow. "Dammit Vega, you need to think your trajectory through. Don't just go running off whenever you get an idea in your head." He scolded, swapping his rifle to his right hand and flicking on the tact-light as he sidestepped gingerly through the door instead.

  The beam wavered in the darkness, playing over the battered walls and half-tarpaulin roof. It did appear that the tiny structure was deserted, and Danse wasn't sure if he should be even more cautious. What could have caused the previous inhabitants to depart? 

  Backhand stood in the middle of the room, her arms folded around herself as she shivered. "C'mon, get in here. The wind is picking up and I'm freezing ." She complained.

  Danse attempted to oblige, nearly cracking his head open on one of the ceiling trusses in his haste. The paladin grimaced, ducking and then carefully closing the door behind him. "Better?" He asked, a little irritated with her demanding attitude. 

  "Y-Yes." She replied, her voice sharp. She immediately began stripping her armor off, as well as the Vault suit beneath it. 

  Danse flinched, turning his head away. "Vega, will you-"

  "Please just...just give me a second." She begged. 

  Danse's brow furrowed, and the paladin shot her a look. Thunder rumbled in the distance and...was that a flinch? "Vega, are you-"

  "Just give me a second! " Backhand cried, probably louder than she had intended. Danse took a reflexive step back, his gauntlet clattering against the wall. "I'm sorry, I...I'm sorry, Danse. Paladin." She apologized after a second, floundering with her greaves. "It's the rain, I can't...it makes me feel sick to my stomach." 

  "You should have said something earlier, Vega." Danse chided gently. "We could have found a more defensible position."

  "I thought if we moved quick, we might make it back to the airport before it hit." Her motions were jerky as she yanked the Vault suit down, unlacing her boots as an afterthought. "But now we're stuck here for the night."

  "At least the roof appears to be sound." Danse tried to look on the bright side of their incarceration, and tried to not look at her as she stripped to her smallclothes. He was dry aside from his head, the gorget seal at his neck saw to that. But Backhand had no such luck. "I'll put my armor in front of the door to barricade it." Danse offered after a moment, taking the opportunity to turn his back to her. He didn't get a reply, and he honestly wasn't sure if he had even expected one in the first place. 

  Danse emerged from the armor, stepping down and back smoothly before he urged the hatch closed once more. He then popped the fusion core out and tucked it into his utility belt. He knew he was being overly cautious and performative when it came to giving Knight Vega her privacy, but at this point he was doing this for his own sanity as well.

  After a pregnant pause, he heard her shift her weight. "Okay, I'm decent." She mumbled.

  The scent of lantern oil wafted past his nose and a light flared up behind him, turning his shadow into a pitch black silhouette on the wall. Danse took a gamble and slowly turned around.

  Vega had thrown on a shirt that reached her mid-thigh. That was her idea of decent? She scuttled around bent nearly double, spreading her bedroll without even bothering to clear the floor beneath it. "Vega." Danse addressed her quietly, then a bit louder when she failed to respond, " Vega . You'll do serious damage to your back if you sleep so rough. Take a minute to prepare."

  "I-" Backhand's eyes were wild when they met his own. For a moment, Danse wasn't certain she knew who he was, or if she even saw him . 

  "Knight," He paused, clearing his throat and then mumbling, "Elizabeth." Saying her actual name, the name she had given Matthew, felt oddly inappropriate. "You're alright." He assured her calmly. "You're fine. We have shelter, light and food. You're alright."

  "I know ." Backhand retorted. "I-I know. And don't call me that." 

  "What?" Danse asked in confusion. "I apologize, I didn't mean to-"

  "Paladin, please ." Backhand's eyes had gone fierce, pale blue snapping in the light from the lantern. "I'm not his fucking Beth anymore." She practically snarled the words.

  "I didn't call you Beth. I called you Elizabeth." Danse replied, trying to gentle his tone.

  "Oh. I... God , Danse, I'm so sorry. I don't mean to be all…" she trailed off helplessly, making a vague gesture. "I didn't sleep well and getting sick from the rain wouldn't help. We used the last of the Rad-X for you."

  Ah . Danse should have known. This wasn't about her getting damp or being uncomfortable, it was the usual resource scarcity that had her on edge. "It'll be alright, Knight Vega. We're only a few hours out from the airport." He hesitated, unsure if he should continue. "I apologize for using your first name. I was unaware that it was a raw subject for you."

  "It's not , not really. I just...he used to call me Beth and I'm not that person anymore. It's been so long since I heard Elizabeth that I must have just assumed you said Beth. I'm sorry, Danse." She was wringing her hands nervously.

  "Logan." Danse murmured.

  "What?"

  "Fair's fair, right? My first name is Logan. I regret that I have no nickname to give you."

  …

  Backhand's eyes widened. Logan . It was a good name. It suited him. She mouthed it once to herself. "Don't encourage me to give you a nickname." She joked, aware that she probably sounded a little too reedy. "I can guarantee you'll regret it."

  Danse's eyes crinkled good-naturedly at the edges when he smiled down at her. "I don't doubt it," He allowed, repeating, "but fair is fair, Knight."

  "I don't like the radstorms at all." Vega blurted out, a blush staining her face. "The thunder, it's wrong and I hate it."

  "Understandable, Knight. The noise is highly unsettling." Danse had her gather her sleeping bag back up, the paladin using a spare piece of plywood that he found by the door like a makeshift plow to shove the debris off to the side. "There," He said finally after he was satisfied with the state of the floor, " now you can lay down. Without worrying about tetanus or a herniated disc." He teased.

  "The Brotherhood will not forget your sacrifice." Backhand ribbed in reply, smoothing the wrinkles out of her bedroll.  

  "And this is how I'm promoted to star paladin." Danse said dryly. "For my dedication to the art of proper slumber in the field." He shook his head ruefully, unrolling his own sleeping bag and spreading it lengthwise at the base of his armor. He was blocking the door, Backhand realized after a second. Like the immobile armor wasn't enough!

  "Hey, come over here." She requested boldly, patting the cement beside her. 

  Vega didn't expect him to obey, the larger man dragging his bedroll parallel with hers after a moment of thought. "I suppose the floor is more level here." He reasoned. "Good eye, Knight."

  "Oh yeah, it's not because you're probably warm or anything. I was definitely looking out for you."

  Danse's chuckle was soft. "Understood. I am a commodity." He lowered himself onto his sleeping bag, waiting patiently as she dug through her satchel. 

  "So for dinner, we have a wonderful assortment of Cram. After that, I'll brew us some tea." Backhand said finally, digging two cans out of the pack. " God I wish I'd had the stuff to bake bread, would have made us some back at Oberland." 

  Danse shook his head. "It spoils so fast out on the road. Though during the harsher months there is nothing quite like a fresh slice of hot bread with a little grease alongside the meat stew from the mess hall." He sounded wistful, despite the fact that Backhand knew he was talking about military food and therefore it probably wasn't anything to write home about.

  "Remind me to bake you some bread." Backhand tossed him a can of Cram, and then opened her own with less-than-steady hands. She did her best to ignore the storm that was raging closer and closer, steeling her spine from flinching at every rumble of thunder.

  Danse all but devoured the canned substance, the large man obviously starving from his day of labor and walking across the Commonwealth. He drowsily watched Backhand set up the small coffee pot she lugged with her, the lantern now doubling as a brazier of sorts. Backhand pried open her tea tin after a momentary struggle, grabbing one of the bags inside and dropping it into the pot of dubiously-clean water without much ceremony.

  The tea was a hubflower blend, lacking in caffeine and bearing a sweet, calming scent. Backhand often employed this beverage when she had difficulty sleeping, finding that the entire tea-brewing process tended to calm her racing mind.

  Danse dug out the cup from his mess kit for her to pour into, the thin metal thoroughly scoured clean and dented from use in the field. "Be careful, it's really hot." Backhand warned, gingerly scooting the cup across the floor to the large man.

  He nodded absently, cradling the cup close. He looked pensive, as though he wanted to ask something but couldn't quite think of how to phrase it. "Knight... how do you know of the way to get into the Institute?" Danse's tone was wearily quizzical. "That information is...it's unprecedented , but I assume you must know that already."

  Backhand exhaled, staring up at the ceiling as she tried to gather her thoughts. It was a relatively straightforward story, all things considered, though some portions would sound insane . So she started talking.

  She told Danse about going to Diamond City and employing the assistance of a well-known detective. Finding out that Kellogg had been there, with a ten year old child. The grueling endeavor of tracking him across the Commonwealth, culminating in a ferocious gunfight against the mercenary and his group of synths. The grisly discovery of the devices implanted in his body, and the slow unraveling of the truth from the escaped Institute scientist in the Glowing Sea. Teleportation .

  Backhand conveniently left out the fact that Detective Nick Valentine was a synth, and that Virgil the Institute scientist was once a man, who had in turn become a super mutant by force of necessity. 

  She sipped her tea, realizing that her throat was parched from talking. The look that Danse was giving her was one of extreme incredulity and she grimaced into her cup.

  "Christ, Vega." He said hoarsely. "What happens now?"

  "Well, if I have any luck left , I figure out how to convince someone to help me build a giant machine that I don't really understand." Backhand shrugged glibly. "Sturges has been working on a few things, but I think this project might be beyond his scope of expertise." 

  "Maybe Proctor Ingram should take a look at the plans you have? If there's anyone I know that can make sense of a mess, it's Ingram." Danse suggested tentatively. "Her and Haylen are...just outstanding ." The warmth in his tone whenever he spoke of Haylen never failed to make Backhand smile, but this was the first time he seemed to notice her doing it. "What? Did I say something funny?"

  "Not at all! You just talk about Haylen like she hung the stars." Backhand pushed down the brief flare of envy she felt. "It's sweet."

  " Sweet? " Danse sputtered, a flush rising on his cheeks. "I am not...she isn't--Knight, you misinterpret my admiration. She is a phenomenal soldier, an immensely talented field scribe. I sponsored her as an initiate. She and Rhys are...they're the only ones left of Gladius. I'm thrilled that they've decided to pursue a relationship." Danse's eyes were soft and haunted in the dim light of the guttering lantern, but his words were sincere when he said, "They deserve to be happy."

  "What about you, though?" Backhand asked gently before she could stop herself. Danse tilted his head, appearing confused. "Don't you deserve to be happy too?"

  His smile was sad. "I am a paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel, Knight Vega. I am sworn to uphold the tenets and be an example to the troops. My own happiness was doomed to irrelevancy the moment I accepted the promotion." He folded his hands in front of him, leaning forward a little and staring at the floor. "Truthfully, it was rendered obsolete long before then."

  …

  "Why?" Vega sounded curious and Danse cursed himself for even bringing up the topic.

  He could lie, or simply brush off her question. But that didn't sit right with him. Danse sighed heavily and began to speak.

  He talked about growing up alone in the Capital Wasteland, no parents or siblings that he could recall. Always alone, picking through the ruins for anything edible or salvage that he could trade. He talked about opening his own little stand in Rivet City once he was grown, and he was ashamed of how his voice broke when he mentioned Cutler. Joining the Brotherhood had been a no-brainer, like it was the only course of action possible. Everything had gone so well. He had felt like he was actually making a difference. Until the day Cutler disappeared on a scouting mission. Danse vaguely remembered arguing with Paladin Krieg, his sponsor attempting to shout down the then-knight. But Danse was fiercely stubborn.

  He tried to tell her what he had found when he had finally tracked the remains of Cutler's squadron down, tried to continue his explanation as to why his personal happiness held little to no ground in his life, but the lump in his throat left him incapable of speech. 

  Backhand's touch on his arm startled him and he jerked, looking up at her. Her eyes were sorrowful. "Hey, you don't have to say any more." She offered him a weak-looking smile. "I get it. I lost my C.O. during an assault on an enemy bunker. You feel like it's your fault and you stay up all night trying to figure out what you could have done to save them."

  "I know it's futile to think of such things. " Danse rasped.

  "And yet you do it anyway." Backhand rubbed his arm. "Empathy is some rotten stuff, Paladin Danse, but we need to be reminded that we're human sometimes." Her sigh followed the tail end of a rolling boom of thunder. "I was incapacitated by the same explosion that killed Sergeant Cathan. He bled out next to me. I was shipped home with him technically, although I wasn't in a pine box. I went to his funeral, got to listen to his widow try to keep her shit together when I knew all she wanted to do was bury every single uniformed asshole there that had sent her husband to die." Backhand scoffed. "I knew because I felt the same way."

  "I was furious with Arthur for sending Cutler's squadron out to that corner of the wastes." Danse admitted. "It was shortly after I had discovered what happened to Cutler that Ar-" He stopped short, horrified that he had nearly let the information slip.

  " Come on Danse! " Arthur had complained, rolling his eyes . " I know you did this stuff for Cutler. "

  Danse cleared his throat. "It doesn't matter." He breathed. He had always been a terrible liar and he knew Vega didn't buy it for a second . 

  Those pale blue eyes narrowed and she scooted even closer, her sleeping bag pooled around her knees as she studied his face. Danse just tried to avoid eye contact. "What did he do, Danse?" She asked softly.

  " Nothing ." Danse stressed the word, his tone sharp. "I said it didn't matter, and it doesn't."

  "Hey." Backhand murmured, "I'm on your side, okay? Don't lie to me. Whatever it is, it's eating you alive."

  Danse's breath hitched. How could she tell? How could she pierce through the stoic facade he had painstakingly crafted over the course of his military career? 

  The answer came to him suddenly and he felt a little foolish for not having seen it sooner. 

  She wanted to. 

  Ludicrously simple, almost child's play. It was because she dared to bother . In a world that was more than content to let appearances be, she did the unthinkable and probed past the first glance.

  She was like Cutler. Perhaps a bit too much like Cutler. Curious to a fault, whip-smart and witty. Danse's heart ached in his chest. The idea of opening himself up again like he had with Cutler was... terrifying , mind-numbing, it was like standing on the deck of the Prydwen knowing that one misstep could send him plummeting to his demise. He had barely survived the depression that had engulfed him after he was forced to end Cutler's life, knowing that it was what the other man would have done in his stead but also hating himself for being able to carry it out at all. What did that say about him as a person, that he could stare into the eyes of the only individual he had been truly intimate with and kill him without a word?

  Danse was a model soldier. He was relatively certain that he would be following orders until the day he died. No one had ordered him to go after Cutler. He could have left it alone, simply gone along with the " missing, presumed dead " verdict. But those damn emotions he struggled with so much had reared their ugly head, made him volatile to the point where he had gotten into a screaming match with Paladin Krieg . 

  The person he had really wanted to shout at had been Maxson, both for assigning Cutler such a far-flung post and for doing it without warning. Danse hadn't even been able to say goodbye , damn it.

  And then the hive, the empty suits of power armor covered in blood and gore and fragmentary human remains and Cutler , babbling nonsense in a voice that grated and shrieked. He hadn't recognized Danse when the other knight foolishly removed his helmet. Instead, Cutler had lunged at him, trying to tear him apart with his newfound mutant strength--

  "Danse?" 

  The paladin jolted at the sound of her voice. "It doesn't matter, Knight." He repeated dully. "We should get some sleep." Without waiting for a reply, he shifted down a bit in his bedroll and tugged the fabric up over his shoulders. 

  Backhand stayed up for a bit longer, probably finishing her tea. The rain continued to beat on the roof, the occasional flash of green lightning blazing through every crack and crevice in the dilapidated lean-to. 

  The Capital Wasteland hadn't gotten storms like these. Danse had to assume that they must blow in from the Glowing Sea to batter the surrounding landscape. 

  He heard her shuffling around, and her whisper of " good night, Danse ." He didn't reply, hoping she would believe he was asleep. 

  Vega sighed softly and Danse barely kept himself from jumping when he felt her back press against his own. He wasn't sure if the defensive sleeping position was really necessary what with his armor in front of the door and all, but he appreciated the strategic forethought. 

  It felt like he had only closed his eyes for a second, the rain pounding on the roof lulling him into a doze and then he was being blinded by a particularly vibrant beam of sunlight. Danse grunted, half-lidding his eyes to try and adjust to the light.

  He idly watched over the top of Vega's head as motes of dust wafted lazily through the beam, the paladin feeling weirdly peaceful and unhurried. As if he could take the time to simply observe the world. He noted that he had rolled over in his sleep, and so had Elizabeth. Backhand. Knight Vega . 

  His thighs were pressed against the jut of her knees, her elbows tucked into his stomach through the layers of their bedrolls. Backhand apparently slept with her hands folded beneath her chin, but her left arm was threaded up beneath the hem of her shirt to do so. It pulled the fabric to bunch just above the bottom of her breasts and only through extreme self control did Danse manage to exhale slowly through his gritted teeth, knowing that his face must be bright red. 

  He flicked his gaze back up to the sunbeam, feeling like a lech. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He could pretend like he was still asleep, but that may come at the cost of their progress. He'd rather not sleep rough yet again, although if it was beside Vega--

  No , Danse reprimanded himself sharply. Maxson had given him hell for his lack of self control the last time he had seen him. The last thing he wanted was to give Arthur the satisfaction of…

  Of what? Having something else in Danse's life that he could ruin or take away? 

  Danse reached out slowly, cautiously, taking hold of the fabric of Vega's sleeping bag and drawing it up and over her shoulder to preserve her modesty. Then, the paladin eased his body away from hers to rise, his back protesting a little when he stretched. 

  The sooner we get back to the Prydwen, the sooner I can get my armor serviced , he mused, still opting to let Backhand sleep a bit longer as he checked over their weapons and his gear.

Part Eight