#if you want it further distilled to a one-word answer? go ask someone else.

[aeide-thea]

the real thing for me about that 'is fish meat' poll is that, as ever, i want the terms of the question defined more precisely??

bc for me it's like, well: if we're talking lexicographically, it is in fact animal flesh eaten as food, so yes; if we're talking religiously, i'm not personally religious but judaism and catholicism both hold that fish doesn't count as meat,¹ while jainism holds that it does, so maybe; and if we're talking culinarily, it's a secret third thing, which plays a meat-like role in dishes but tends to sit more lightly in the belly.

and so while i know the poll was asking for people's knee-jerk instinct, my actual personal knee-jerk instinct is in fact to respond: 'in what sense?'

(you can see why i often have trouble filling in forms.)

⸻ ¹ fun (or at least hella wild) fact: the mcdonald's filet-o-fish was apparently introduced to accommodate catholics???? the more you know.

[imagine-lcorp]

We The Liars (One Shot)

Request

Okay I dont remember if I had requested it. My internet is bad. I just want angsty one where Lena finds out her girlfriend knew Kara is Supergirl and never told her. It becomes a bit of a mess between them. But it wasnt right for her to just tell Lena. (happy ending pls, I know you can wreck me on angst alone 😂)

A/N:I know I’m not very good at schedules but I’m still around!! Now, here’s another beautigul angsty request for u guys, I hope u enjoy it! and I hope this lives again to your expectations. Love y’all!!!!!

Lena Luthor x Fem!R//Word Count: 2,169 -------------------------------------------------------

They mocked you.

She could still hear her brother's voice.

Humiliated you.

His tongue distilling lies even in his final moments.

Betrayed you.

Every word punctuated in her mind like a blow from a sledgehammer.

Every.

It was bile.

Last.

It was poison.

One.

It was the truth Lena had been so blind to see.

Lena kept looking at the picture of you on her desk, trying to feel nothing as she drank the last of the scotch in her hand. She swallowed the hot woody liquid down and, in a sharp movement, smacked down the glass over the picture. She kept looking at the shattered frame, at your faces and smiles behind the broken glass. Lena had to let out a bitter chuckle as she thought how much that image resembled your relationship. Fake smiles, broken trust. A mirage now shattered by the truth you had been hiding.

Did you know? Of course, you did. Since when? Probably from the beginning. Was it all a scheme? A way to get closer to her? To keep an eye on her? Most certainly. The questions swirled around Lena's mind over and over and over since she had listened to her brother's last confession. They hadn't left her head, accompanying her while she tried to act as if everything was okay. As if she hadn't shot Lex, as if you hand't keep her in the dark about Kara and Supergirl, as if her so-called friends hadn't lied to her face all this time.

Did you even really love her?

That had been the question that bothered her the most. She hadn't been able to put it aside as she recalled every moment spent with you. Every look, every kiss and every touch, every tear and laugh, every word. All the things you had gone through couldn't just be a lie but, the more she though about it, the more she seemed to convince herself of the answer. Did you love her? No, she didn't think you did.

Your relationship had been nothing more than a means to protect Kara. Supergirl. The Girl of Steel and Great Champion of the Earth. From the hands of a Luthor.

Hold your friends close but your enemies closer.

What a fool she had been.

You entered her office as if summoned by her troubled thoughts, locking eyes on her and closing the door behind you, smiling sheepishly as you did. If that smile disarmed her every time before, now it was for her an undeniable sign of your deception. It made her heart shrink while she pushed her mind to go faster. You would not deceive her anymore.

"(Y/N), what are you doing here?" She asked. The tone of her voice never letting any of her internal turmoil show.

"I came to see if you weren't so busy." You approached her desk without losing your smile. "Jess let me in, so I could steal you for a moment or the rest of the evening if possible."

"Weren't you busy with your own home project? I didn't think you would finish it so fast." She leaned further in her chair, raising her chin towards you.

"I got some help." You reached the front of her desk. "Kara came by earlier and helped me with it. We finished it in no time."

"Kara uh? Of course. Always there to help, isn't she?" She saw you frown slightly.

If you hadn't noticed her somehow cold demeanor, now you did.

"Well, you know her."

She turned her chair towards the window at those words and looked at the city skyline, so she wouldn't have to look at you.

"Do I?" Lena couldn't hide the hurt in her words this time.

You were about to walk to her side when you finally noticed what was on her desk. The sight of the empty glass and broken picture made every muscle in your body tense.

It could have been nothing, a slip of the hand, an unfortunate accident. A broken frame meaning nothing but a broken frame. But you couldn't deny the strangeness of it all. Lena's attitude, her reluctance to look at you. You would have wanted to blame it on the alcohol, as it was obvious she had been drinking before you arrived. Even though Lena never drank more than a finger of her scotch and she knew how to hold her alcohol better than most.

Maybe it was the tension from the past days, as you knew they had been quite difficult for her. Having your older brother on the verge of death, only to find later that it was all a scam to give himself superpowers and then die anyway in a last attempt to destroy the Supers, was not something one could recover from so easily. Lena had told you the essentials about what had happened, but the Danvers sisters had filled you in about everything else, seeing as you had been worried to death about Lena and her lack of communication thereafter.

After Alex and Kara explained how things had gone down, it only reaffirmed your belief that a lot of trouble could have been avoided if they had just told Lena what was truly happening. You also didn't like having to keep things from Lena but after such incident, and considering that Kara felt herself responsible for Lex's death, none of you knew how she would react to the truth then. So you agreed to keep Kara's secret for a little longer, believing Kara would tell her everything soon enough.

So you made yourself believe to that maybe this was Lena still trying to come to terms with what she had to go through. That behind her pragmatic and stoic attitude, she wasn't taking things as good as she made it look. Maybe, this time, all she needed was a bit of comfort.

"Lena?" You rounded her desk with careful steps, trying to reach her, but then Lena spoke again and you knew it was none of it.

"All this time." You stopped as you heard her voice, low and harsh. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

"Find out what?" The question coming out slowly from your mouth.

"That Kara has been helping you with her super speed? That she has been indeed helping people by flying around town? That all this time I've been friends with the greatest heroine of National City?" She chuckled and shook her head. "No, not friends."

"You know." You stood motionless, swallowing hard, as Lena turned her chair towards you.

"Yes, I know, (Y/N)." She rose from her seat. Her eyes looking at you with a contained rage, so dangerous it made you flinch and want to look away but you simply couldn't allow yourself to move.

This was what Kara had always feared and you could see now why. Your mind was racing, trying to think of something to say, whatever word that could ease Lena's anger but you knew better. It was useless to try and dodge the conversation, to deny it all and lie again. No, you couldn't keep doing that. Not anymore. Not to Lena.

"Lena, I'm s-"

"Save it." She grabbed her glass from the table and rushed past you to the bar before you could even finish muttering your apology. "I have had enough of those already."

You watched as she lifted a bottle and poured herself another drink. "When did she tell you?"

"Oh, so she was planning on telling me someday?"

"W-wait." You walked towards her, more confused than before. "If Kara didn't tell you then..."

"Does it matter? It wasn't Kara, or Alex, or any of your friends. Or you, anyway." She put the bottle down with a loud thud and grabbed her glass again. "You just knew and lied to me."

"That was never my intention." You tried.

"Your intention? And what was it, (Y/N)?" She turned back to you, taking a generous sip of her scotch and leaving it again at the table bar.

"Wasn't it to keep me from finding the truth? So I didn't know who was behind Supergirl and she could have one less thing to worry about? So she could keep an eye on me and if I turned to be the same as Lex she could stop me right away? Isn't that why you even approached me in the first place?"

"No, no, that's not it." You fumbled over the words. "Please, let me explain."

"Explain what?" Lena could already feel the tears threatening to come from her eyes. "That no matter what I told you about how much it hurt to have someone you love lie and betray you, you were doing exactly that with me."

"I never wanted to do that to you." You took a few unsure steps forward. "I wanted to tell you, may times but it wasn't my secret to tell. I couldn't. I had no right."

"But I had!" She snapped. Her voice filled with an ache and outrage so strong it made you take a step back. "I had the right to know."

"Lena, I know you-"

"No! Whatever you think you know, you don't!" She closed the distance between you. Each step making you feel smaller. "You used me and manipulated me, time after time. I helped you, protected you, proved you over and over that I wasn't like the rest of my family, trying to do better for our friends! For you! Don't you understand what you have done? What I have done?"

All her anger watered down as a couple of tears started to fall down from her eyes.

"God, what I wish I hadn't done." She closed her eyes.

"What do you mean?" You forced the words out, feeling the dread rise in your chest. "Lena, what did you do?"

She opened her eyes again. Her next words loud enough so you could hear. "I killed Lex."

"That's not..." You shook your head, as if the meaning of her words had nor registered in your brain. "Kara said he died after he fell with the Lexosuit. You told me the same. The fall killed him."

"I lied." She said. Realization washed upon you like a bucket of cold water and you felt each word after that like a strike to your guts. "He escaped, and I knew where he would go. I was waiting for him with my gun ready and I...I knew when I saw him that if he lived, you would never be safe. So I forced myself to pull the trigger. I shot my own brother and watched him die believing I was doing the right thing. All while his last words were about you. About how you mocked me, and humiliated and betrayed me."

"No, no." You repeated while looking at Lena, searching frantically for anything that could tell you maybe this was Lena trying to blame herself. But her eyes gave away nothing but the truth. "Lena."

"You lied to me!" She took a step back as you tried to reach her.

"Lena, please." You closed the distance between you, grabbing Lena by the shoulders. "Listen to me."

"Why? Why?" Her voice started to lose its strength as she repeated the question. "Why did you have to lie to me?"

Heartbreaking was a small word to describe what was happening at that moment. You had never seen Lena this way, so broken, and you were to blame for this too.

"Everything I said, everything I didn't, I was a fool for thinking I was too doing the right thing. I know we should have told you. I should have told you. If I had known what would happen I-" You felt your throat tighten. In protecting your friend, you had hurt Lena, who had always proved herself worthy, who had always done the impossible for you and who had lost yet another person she loved. All because you had said nothing. "I should have told you."

"Why does everyone I love lie to me?" Lena couldn't contain the tears anymore.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You repeated as you pulled her towards you. "Please, please, believe me. Please."

Lena let you pull your arms around her, with your body embracing her in a tight hug that almost seemed to hold her together and let herself cry like never before. She would have wanted to scream, to lash out, at you for lying to her, at your friends for keeping it all a secret, at her brother for using the truth to hurt her.

There was so much she didn't know yet but she decided to find all the answers to all the questions she had. She would know the truth and then, she thought, she could think of what to do next. And then, one question pushed through her mind.

Did you love her?

As you keep holding her, so close she imagined you would merge, Lena wanted to believe you did.

Because how could that be a lie?

[greenjacketwhitehatdocmui]

The Worst Prison...

Or, the cruelest thing I could do to Lex Luthor.  This is based off an idea I had if the 10th Doctor was involved in the Crisis.

--Doc

    Lex had been in total control.  He'd eliminated more than a few versions of Superman while traveling through the multiverse.  Well, fine, there had been this one idiot who had given up his powers for a "normal" life.  That one hadn't been worth killing.  He would have died soon enough when the antimatter wave came.

    Out of a sense of drama, he turned the latest Superman against the one that he knew.  With the Book of Destiny, all the kindness and nobility of this older Superman had curdled to resentment and rage.  In just a few moments, the Superman he knew would have been burned to ashes, followed by Lois Lane and Iris West.  And then the multiverse would acknowledge him as the savior.  After all, he had his little ace in the hole.

    In retrospect, he probably should have seen Lois coming.  He probably read it in the Book somewhere, but it hadn't been important at the time. One blow to the head later had proved him wrong.

    He wasn't terribly worried when he woke up on the Waverider, surrounded by would-be "heroes."  They lacked the conviction to do what had to be done. Why else had he been born? Because the universe needed people like him, shameless manipulators that Got Things Done.

    He hadn't anticipated that the Monitor had recruited that skinny man in a blue suit and red shoes.  He recognized the brown-haired man from some viral videos, something about stone angels coming to life.

    "An entire universe wiped from existence, distilled to a computer graphic," he remarked as Kara had hunched over the console. Beside her, that man in the blue suit gently laid a hand on her shoulder.  "Gotta say, missing that wow factor."

    Kara straightened up and whirled to face Luthor. Her eyes glowed, ready to burn him down. Like that threat had ever really worked.

    "Kara, no," the Doctor said sternly.  The man in blue stepped between her and himself, hands still in his pockets.

    "Why not?!" she demanded.  "For everything he's done--"

    "He'll get what the universe decides," the Doctor said calmly.  "That symbol you wear?  Does that entitle you to be judge, jury and executioner?"

    Kara took a ragged breath.  The glow in her eyes dimmed, but the glare hadn't. "You're on his side?"

    "Everyone has their part to play," the Monitor said. "Even Luthor."

    He tilted his head slightly as he looked at the Doctor.  "I don't think I know you.  You weren't in the Book."

    The Doctor hadn't taken his hands out of his pocket as he turned to face him.  His face shifted to that of a manic grin--and not a nice one.

    "Alexander Joseph Luthor," the Doctor declared. "You could have been so much better.  The world would have been better for it."

    He tried not to scowl.  Nobody had the right to criticize him, the real Man of Tomorrow. "I don't recognize you," he admitted.  "You weren't in the Book."

    "The Book of Destiny?" the Doctor asked. "That has a bit of a blind spot when it comes to me.  I'm the Doctor."

    "Doctor who?" he asked.  "No, wait, I do remember an urban legend about a doctor with a blue box.  But of course, you can't be that...doctor..."  he trailed off as the Doctor pointed at the blue police box in the corner.

    The Doctor turned to face Kara, his expression now an amused smirk.  "You see, Kara?  Anything's possible.  I just got Lex Luthor to be quiet."

    He bristled at the implication.  The rumors were that the Doctor was an alien who helped humanity in times of need.  If the blue box was his transport, then the implications were obvious:  Travel through time and space.

    This was getting interesting.  It wasn't as if he hadn't worked with alien tech before. Part of him was itching to see what that box was running on.

    It was about then that Lois and Superman (it was impossible to think of him as wimpy Clark Kent) made their appearance. Lois had a vaguely smug look on her face.

    "I told you, honey," Lois said, "Lex isn't a pile of ash on the floor.

    "Well, Kara wouldn't--"

    "I almost did," she admitted. "But the Doctor stopped me."

    "And it's a good thing, too," he said. "After all, if I'm to be part of this merry little band, there must be a reason."  He clapped his hands together.  "So, where do we start on `saving the multiverse?'" he asked, adding air quotes.

    The Doctor stepped close to him and frowned. "And if you do help, then what? We let you go on your merry little way? This is your chance to put that brain to truly good use.  Make the world a better place.  I'm giving you one last chance to turn yourself around."

    "It won't work," Lois shook her head. "He's the classic definition of insanity.  He keeps doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results."

    "To be fair, Einstein never heard of a random number generator," he quipped.  "To answer your question, `Doctor,' I'll do as I see fit."  He scoffed.  "In many ways, you’re like Superman.  You look like a man, you talk like a man, you even think like a man.  But when it comes down to it, you’re just another arrogant alien lording his superiority over we poor humans.  You think that we’re lucky to bask in your glory.  You even have a blue suit and red footwear.”

    The Doctor frowned.  "Has anyone checked his pockets?”

    There was a round of negatives and shaken heads. The Doctor looked aghast.

    "What?  Really?!" the Doctor exclaimed. "The second most dangerous man in the room, someone who’s killed multiple versions of Superman, someone who’s a bona fide evil genius and nobody thought to search him?!  Three pairs of x-ray eyes and nobody thought to look?  Eh?  Eh?”

    He frowned.  He didn't like the way things were going.

    Lois crossed her arms.  "We took away the Book of Destiny.  He’s unarmed.”

    The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver, though Luthor didn't know what it was at the time.  “Lois, this isn’t a weapon.  But do you think for one moment that I can’t be dangerous with this?”

    With a quick motion, the device glowed blue and buzzed.  The Doctor's expression was intent as he scanned.

    “Cell phone, wallet--ooh!  Page from the Book of Destiny!” the Doctor exclaimed.

    “What?!” Kara shouted.

    He tried to back away, but Monitor had a firm grip on his shoulder.  There was no escape.  If they found his ace in the hole--

    “In his suit pocket, along with a Sharpie," the Doctor said.  "Might want to empty out all his pockets, just in case.  Never know if he might be hiding any kryptonite.”

    He tried to struggle, but his secret weapon had been deftly plucked from its hiding place. With a blur, Kara sped around him, turning out all his pockets.  Items both mundane and disguised clattered onto the deck floor, but the page was the most important.

    “Give me that--”  he said, shortly before Kara sped towards him and flicked her finger against his forehead.  The impact had sent him flying, as the Monitor had released him.

    His vision swam as he slumped to the ground.  His limbs wouldn't work.  The alien freak had probably given him a concussion, at the very least.

    Kara scrutinized the page.  "Looks like someone marked this up.  My question is, why didn’t we think to look?”

    “The Book of Destiny works on your subconscious, all the better to make sure that Destiny happens," the Doctor said.  "Not usually a big fan of predestination, though.  Always preferred a little wiggle room.”

    The Doctor's expression turned grim as he turned the sonic on the page.  In moments, the alterations had been undone, only for new words to form on the back of the page.

    “What did you just do?!” he yelled, flailing impotently on the floor.

    With a voice as cold as space, the Doctor spoke:  "I gave you your chance.  Now, I'm going to let the universe decide."

--------

    He awoke in a hospital bed.  The last thing he remembered was the agony as the antimatter had consumed him.  Had his plan worked, he would have changed places with that "paragon" Superman.  Then he would have rewritten things to be more in his favor.

    The first odd thing that he noticed was that there was no television.  Nor, upon further inspection, were there any mirrors. A notebook and pen had been provided on his nightstand, as well as a fruit basket and a glass of water.  The decor was neutral, comfortable and about as bland as tofu.

    He got up with some difficulty.  The aches had probably been from his hitting the floor back then.  He didn't know how he'd gotten here, though one of the "super people" probably dropped him off.  There weren't any cameras that he could see, which meant that they were very well hidden or his captors were overconfident.

    The door opened.  It was Lena.

    "You look pretty good for a dead man," she remarked as she came in. The door closed heavily behind her, probably reinforced.

    "I have friends in high places," he replied.  "So, what brings you here?  Don't tell me that it's a wellness check."

    Lena frowned.  "L-corp's been working on an advanced cancer cure.  The animal trials were promising, but human cell samples revealed abnormalities."  She took out a sheaf of papers.  "Oh, and I hope you like the fruit basket."

    "It's not laced with anything, is it?" he joked.

    "I've killed you once before," Lena remarked.  "I'm pretty sure that I could do it again."

    "So harsh," he remarked.  "It's so difficult being older and wiser."  He paged through the packet and raised an eyebrow.  "Oh, there's your problem."

    "What?"

    "Before I tell you, what do I get out of this?" he asked.

    Lena's mouth was a thin line.  "Better accommodations, starting tomorrow.  This isn't like Stryker's Island, Lex.  I can work with them."

    "And...?"

    "I can't promise anything else, Lex."

    He sighed heavily.  "Well, it's a start.  So, your problem is..."

--------

    Lena sighed heavily as the door sealed itself behind her.  With a faint whisper, the holographic disguise she wore faded. There were a few white hairs and some crows' feet, but nothing major.  Lex would have certainly noticed if she hadn't covered it up.

    "How is he?" the Doctor asked.  He never seemed to age much.

    "Same as ever," Lena said.  "He's always the same."

    Anterograde amnesia was an insidious beast.  One had near-perfect recall of events and skills before an injury.  Past a certain point, the afflicted person simply could not retain new memories.

    Lex's mind essentially rebooted itself once a day.  From his point of view, it hadn't been 10 years since the Crisis.  It was a fitting punishment from the universe; the man who never learned from his mistakes was now incapable of truly learning at all.  He just retreaded the past, though his intellect was a very useful resource.

    Lex Luthor did, in fact, make the world a better place.  Lena's weekly visits had been surprisingly productive.  The only cost was an emotional one.  The greatest irony was that his mind was the prison he could never escape.

    "I'm sorry," the Doctor said quietly.  "I didn't decide this."

    Lena nodded.  "I'll tell Kara that you said hello."

    He managed a faint smile and a cocky salute.  Then he was back in his blue box, off to who knew where.

    Lena left the facility.  Unlike Lex, she had a future.

The End

[aldahi-rp]

Saving Rumplestiltskin

Rumplestiltskin steals a cursed artifact. Now he must deal with the increasingly debilitating effects of the curse while he and Belle go on a quest to collect the ingredients to make a cure before it is too late.

(Set in Dark Castle Time)

[[MORE]]

Chapter 1: The Eye of Eternity

The Eye of Eternity was a an inky, midnight blue stone, with flecks of gold and white that resembled stars strewn across the night sky. If no one was observing it, it was said that the stars churned in galaxies eternally spinning, but whenever it was looked at they were always still.

But the trick wasn't to look AT the stone itself. The trick, was to look at your OWN reflection in the polished surface. THAT was when it showed you the FUTURE.

True, Rumplestiltskin already had a way to look into the future with his seer sight, but it was in bits and pieces, sometimes tangled, sometimes confusing, and always imperfect. And anyway, if there was one thing Rumplestiltskin knew, it was that one could never have too much magic. Even if The Eye didn't bring clearity to what he already saw, at least in taking it no one ELSE would have it, and so he would have no competition in his foreknowledge of the future.

Rumplestiltskin examined his prize with giddy excitement. All he had to do was reach out and take it. But first, a little test....

Clearing his mind he let his eyes rest on his reflection, slightly distorted in the shiney, domed surface... At first there was nothing. Perhaps he had come all this way on a false lead, or perhaps someone else had already taken the prize and this was a mere decoy.

But then his reflection began to shift. The Rumplestiltskin looking back at him was pale, shivering, with empty eyes, barely clinging to consciousness.

Wracked with sudden fear, Rumplestiltskin began to search the tangled web that was his own seer's sight for a corresponding image, and how to avoid it. Images, possible futures, likely and unlikely, branched, and looped, and twisted back on themselves in his mind's eye. If he could only find the thread that lead to this conclusion he could snip it off at the base and prevent this future from ever happening...

But even as he searched though the jumbled images in his mind, the image reflected on the stone changed again, and now it was Belle. Belle, his flicker of light in an ocean of darkness. Belle, who's sweet, heart shaped face was distorted by pain, curled into a tight ball admits broken glass, crying despretly on the floor. The only good thing in Rumplestiltskin's cold and dark world was in obvious pain!

And Rumplestiltskin's fear at his own fate temporarily dissolved into a boiling hot rage. Whoever had caused Belle to be in that pain had just forfeited their exsistence. He moved from searching his sight for the image of himself pale and empty-eyed, to the image of Belle, crying in desperation and pain. He was going to find out who or what it was that had caused Belle to be in such turmoil... And then he would gleefully destroy it!

With one quick motion Rumple snatches up the Eye of Eternity....

...And drew back his hand with a sudden sharp hiss!

Perhaps he should have checked it for enchantments or curses before touching it (he definitely should have) but he had been distracted, reaching into his future sight searching for answers to two very upsetting problems, rather then here, in the present, paying attention to what he was doing.

An icy cold was seeping into his hand from his palm where he had touched The Eye, into his fingers, and up his wrist. A deep, throbbing, bone chilling cold.

With a nasty snarl at the gem (as though to let it know how personally displeased with it he was), and a flick of his wrist, the gem vanished in a cloud of dark smoke, to re-appear in a locked safe, behind a locked vault, behind a locked door deep in the recesses of his dark castle (he wouldn't want his maid to accidentally FIND it while snooping rather then cleaning... Particularly not now that he knew what touching it could do).

The numbing cold was creeping up into his fore arm. Rumplestiltskin held his hand at the wrist and flexed it twice making a pained expression. He would have to take care of this. With a flamboyant gesture for the benefit of noone, and a plume of dark smoke, Rumplestiltskin was back in his lab, the cold creeping now up his elbow and towards his shoulder.

He started at once with a series of spells and enchantments to stop the progression of the curse, or at least to slow it down. He wasn't entirely sure what it did (other then that bone chilling cold) but he would definitely prefer it not go any further then it already had.

Even as he worked on the spells to nullify the creeping cold, he went through his cupboards, pulling out bottles, setting up a heat distiller, measuring this and that, and then slicing into his frozen hand, to drop curse darkened blood into a vile of shimmering clear liquid. He set the vile on the distiller to draw out and isolate the elements of the curse in order to discover their exact effect...

...and now nothing to do but wait....

Rumplestiltskin went back to his seer's sight, searching for those two disturbing images he had seen in The Eye. Shifting through the various possible futures was tricky. Bits and pieces branched off in different directions based on choices made by billions of individuals thousands of times a day. The future split and branched, split and branched, until the potential outcomes overlapped, twisting back on themselves into a tangled mass.

Even after all this time it still wasn't easy to straitened out the twisted threads of fate (hence The Eye). But with enough patient searching he found what he was looking for. The two images, it turned out, were actually quite close together and on the same time line, which made it easy: he could avoid them BOTH by preventing the same event... Now, all he had to do was follow that thread back to it's source so that he could see what he must avoid in order to...

...there was a gentle tap at the door.

Rumplestiltskin scowled, but with a wave of his hand the door opened on its own.

"What?" He demanded impatiently. (Despite his spellwork the cold had seeped passed his shoulder and was moving into his torso.)

"You're, uh, your tea is ready." Belle said, glancing around him curiously to get a glimpse of the contents of the lab (because she wasn't strictly allowed in there).

Rumplestiltskin glanced at the dark vile being concentrated on the distiller. There was time still to wait. He might as well have a cup of tea, it may help him think as he tried to mentally unwind the tangled threads of fate to find what must be avoided.

"Very well." he said, and he stepped out, with a flippant gesture the door swung shut and locked itself, while Belle craned her neck to see the forbidden mysteries disappear behind it.

She poured him his tea, and Rumplestiltskin wrapped his cold hand around the warm cup. He lifted the cup (his favorite, chipped cup) to his face to inhale the heat of the steam, and then sipped the warming liquid, trying to counter the bitter cold that was rapidly overtaking him.

The heat, if not the tea itsself, did help him to think, and since he had found the disturbing images once, he could relatively easily find them again. Now all he had to do was untangle the thread and follow it back to its source to see what he must avoid to prevent this particular future....

And suddenly he was so furious he wanted to hurl the fragile cup he was holding across the room into the adjacent wall!

Belle was at his side at once. "What is it?!" She asked in alarm. One moment he had been calmly sipping tea, the NEXT Belle felt like she might just have to try to prevent murder!

"Stay out of the room with the black door on the third floor!" He snapped at her.

"What?" She was shocked, confused. Where had THAT come from?

"Why? What's behind it?"' her bright eyes were burning with that same curiosity she had had when she had tried to peer into his lab.

"None of your concern!" He shot back, but then thought better of it. That would only make her MORE curious, and thus MORE likely to go into the forbidden room. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.

"I have recently acquired a very powerful magical item" he amendmended, "It's CURSED." He wrinkled his nose on the word "cursed" and pointed at her for emphasis. "If you touch it" he spread his hands in mock invitation, "I won't be able to cure you."

Belle blinked, then her eyes warmed and she smiled, leaning in a little TOO close.

"So, uh...." She said slowly, feeling out the taste of the words as she said them. "You're.... Just trying to... protect me."

She took one of his hands in both of her's and tried to calm him with her touch.

Her hands were warm..... They melted some of the aching, numbing curse induced cold... She looked into his eyes and smiled like the sun itself melting him on the inside as well.

Rumplestiltskin looked down at her delicate hands wrapped around his. He soaked up her thawing warmth, then looked up into her eyes....

...And then all of a sudden realized what was happening and jerked his hand away.

"Don't read too much into it, Dearie. I look after all my things, you're just another one of my pretty possessions I don't want damaged."

Belle froze... Her warm eyes turned hurt, then angry, then cold. Then she straitened up and smoothed her apron in a professional, detached manor. And then Belle: Rumplestiltskin's one and only friend, was gone, to be replaced by Belle: the Dark One's unpaid employee.

"I have dishes to wash" she said curtly. "I'll be back for the cups and saucers when your finished." And she turned on her heels and walked out of the room at a clipped, brisk pace.

Rumple watched her go. He wanted to stop her. He wanted to order her to stay. Her warmth had almost melted the ice that was now seeping through most of his torso and into his other arm...

But it was better this way. Safer for both of them.

The Dark One couldn't have "friends". "Friends" were a liability. They could be used against you (Belle already had been used against him once) and even if you kept them safe, they could betray you, and would certainly eventually die. No, friends were not a safe endeavor. Not for the Dark One.

It was better this way.

His tea had grown cold (or maybe he could just no longer feel it's heat?) Anyway, he had no further interest in it. He left his cup, still half full and returned to the lab where, by now, the consentration should be almost complete.

At the end of a long array of twisting tubes and candles was a little vile of black liquid. Rumplestiltskin picked it up and examined it. He extended his magical awareness and examined it that way too. It was done enough...

With a wave of his hand 3 different bottles of various colors appeared before him. Rumplestiltskin dripped exactly one drop of the concentrated curse into each bottle, then set the consentration aside for future use.

The first bottle was a vivid glowing purple, and this he tipped into a stone basin lined with ruins and sigils. The potion began to smoke and boil, and Rumplestiltskin waved a hand over it. With a delicate balance of magic, chemistry, and force of will he wafted through the smoke searching for answers....

It wasn't a curse of cold, or freezing, as he had thought. It was a curse of un-life. And the cold was just the first of 6 stages.... The last of which would be...

...well, it wasn't death, exactly...

It was something WORSE.

It was...

Not alive, but not dead. Not here, but not entirely gone either.... life without a mind, or will, or soul.... Unable to think or move or feel... Just cold.... Cold, and alive, but empty... forever.

Rumple wanted to smash something again... but he didn't. He was under something of a time constraint just now.

...and just how MUCH of a time constraint exactly?

With a wave of his hand the basin was empty and the smoke cleared. He took the second bottle, this one a grey and white swirl.... And tipped it in.

It turned gold and green.... Rumple leaned forward to read the swirling patterns in the liquid.

48 hours.

He had two days.

He MIGHT be able to slow it down some with all of his magic and careful spellwork, but that wouldn't hold it back by much. He had done what he could already and the cold had managed to spread throughout most of his body.

....So....

So, he had two days.

With a wave of his hand this too vanished and he reached for the third bottle. This one electric green. Rumple touched the bottle almost affectionately. This was the important one. This, hopefully, would tell him how to BREAK this curse... Or at least where to start.

He poured it carefully into the basin, his hands dancing just above the surface of the liquid, plucking at invisible cords of magic, playing a tune only the magically adept could hear, until the glowing green liquor turned to something like molten glass

Rumple grinned in manic anticipation, forgetting for the moment the icey cold that numbed his hands and enveloped most of his body

He pulled up all his dark power, filling his freezing hands with it, dropping in a gold thread, a flower petals, a bit of this and a touch of that, a drop from each of the other potions.... A snip of his own hair....

He took a deep breathe, pushed away the feeling of ice and numbing cold, pushed away unhelpful thoughts such as "I'm going to die", and with a combination of magic and will he reached into the basin and pulled out a glowing crystal....

He felt it with his mind, more then looking directly at it. It wasn't a complete answer... But it wasn't bad at all. Certainly something he could work with. The crystal showed a repeated list of ingredients that SHOULD make up a potion, and a cure (though, Rumple would have to experiment with the exact amounts).

Most of the ingredients he already had on hand, save for two. That would be alright tho, they could be tricky to come by, but not difficult for the Dark One.

....That only left....

With a wave of his hand the basin and the liquor inside it vanished (though he kept the crystal for future reference.) Then he sat down at his spinning wheel to think....

The event that lead to the two disturbing images, the event that had started the thread of fate he had been trying so hard to avoid, the image that had made him want to hurl his favorite tea cup across the room...

...had been TOUCHING The EYE OF ETERNITY.

Rumplestiltskin scowled. He should have known better! ...but it was too late for that now.

The problem, was that this particular thread of fate branched into two distinct outcomes. In one outcome Rumplestiltskin was ultimately reunited with his son, as it should be. In the other, his thread of fate darkened, and no longer crossed the threads of other people, or of the timeline itsself...

And what was the difference between these two drastically different outcomes? What must he do to ensure he got the one he wanted?

The cold in his hands had receded somewhat to be replaced with a stiff numbness. It was difficult to judge the tension in his spinning when he couldn't feel the thread between his fingers. Oh well, the purpose wasn't to make uniform strands of golden thread. The purpose, was to clear his mind, and shift through the competing time lines of fate to insure he got the one he wanted.

He carefully examined the branching strands of time in his minds eye, while before him the familiar wheel turned and turned.

...He didn't like what he was seeing.

Always in the futures where Rumplestiltskin recovered and ultimately found his son, Belle was to stay by his side until he completed the cure. That was bad enough in and of itself... but in absolutely all of the potential futures where he survived there was also that image of Belle, shattered and sobbing in pain admits the broken glass. And worse still, (he couldn't be sure, but it seemed to him) that HE was the cause of her pain...

Did this mean he would have to hurt her somehow? That he himself was going to be the source of her suffering that he had been so eager to destroy only hours ago? Would Rumplestiltskin end up having to sacrifice his one and only friend in order to save himself?

"Your supper's ready." Belle said, startling him out of his dark thoughts. Apparently she had gotten over her hurt feelings because she was once again sweet, friendly, and warm.

Rumplestiltskin eyed her in an almost predatory fashion, doing his best to shove aside unhelpful feelings such as 'she's too precious to endanger.' He stood from the spinning wheel and began to pace around her in slow, calculating circles, like a shark circling it's prey.

"Would you like to come with me" he asked very slowly, "On one of my little.... adventures?"

He pitched his voice higher then usual, secretive, entreating... threatening?

"Yes" Belle said, both excited and a little wary. She wanted to go, but why was he acting so strangely?

"Get your things then," He missed a step, as though he had tripped on nothing, bearly noticable, but it stopped his pacing "I'm in a bit of a hurry."

Chapter 2: Alone in the Dark

https://aldahi-rp.tumblr.com/post/623494238962958336/saving-rumplestiltskin

[prosenkhans]

Kobe

And they were going to a youth basketball tournament. 

Just think about that for a second. When we distill what actually happened yesterday to its essence, it was a group of parents and coaches bringing their young girls to an organized youth basketball game on a nondescript Sunday morning in January. There is nothing more vanilla than that. Then it ended. Just so suddenly.

I can online imagine the fear those 3 girls had in that chopper in its final moments, the bargaining that went on within the minds of those parents as that hillside emerged from the morning fog. I am not lucky, blessed, or even really deserving enough to know the joy of parenthood. However, even the least empathetic of individuals would be hard pressed to deny that Kobe was utterly in love with his family, and Gianna to her father. All the videos, the images, and interactions caught for celluloid and digital posterity, all of them showed a family deeply appreciative of one another. Beyond all things, that seems to drive this feeling of devastation further up my throat.

The level of tragedy is defined by the amount of potential lost within such an event. 

That fact that Gianna and her friends were 12 and 13 is more than enough to gut most people with a soul, however, the potential lost goes beyond even that. He seemed happy. Genuinely. Kobe seemed happy in what was in store for the rest of his life, his “second act”. The stone cold competitor with the icy scowl and bared teeth had transitioned into a statesman, an ever present and positive force within the game of basketball. Where once there were thorns, we now saw the pedals of the rose. Hugs and high fives. Congratulations and teachings. Puppets and children’s book. What we saw was a man secure in his legacy, and very much looking forward to the next chapter of his story.

But that story ended before the sequel could truly begin. As a group of people very much looking to see how the story would continue, we are left to wonder about what those potential chapters would have said. How would he have spoken during his Hall of Fame speech? Would he talk shit, or be humble? What number would be on his chest when his statue would be unveiled? Would he demand 2 to Shaq’s 1? Would we be lucky enough to be in the building when he and Gianna would sit courtside at a game? Would he still allow us to show him appreciation and stand an acknowledge the cheers? Would he be embarrassed by the continued adulation? Would we see him at UConn games, or maybe in an Oregon sweater? Would he be a leading voice in promotion of female athletics and the WNBA? Would he still allow us a peek in his mind, dissecting basketball games for public consumption? Would he write the stories that he wanted to tell? Would he make more art? Would he go on Kimmel and talk smack about the current stars of the game? Would he still smile and wave and take a selfie with us if we were oh so lucky to meet him? Would he continue to push us to be better? These are all questions in which we will never get an answer. 

The hero’s journey is not supposed to end like this. The hero fights the good fight, gives all he/she can give, and then ride off into the sunset. 

And I use the word here appropriately in this case. No, not a hero in the sense of how your parents and role models should hopefully provide the “hero” role in one’s life. No. Kobe Bryant was a hero in the sense that Superman is a hero to anyone that paid attention to his exploits. To my generation, a group of kids and adolescents that grew up watching him, Kobe is as much of a hero to us as Batman, Wolverine, and anyone else that wore a color coordinated uniform. He was an individual blessed with glorious purpose, a res on detra. And what made it better was that he was real. Real in the sense that we could actual see him be super, see him share his gifts, in real life, gallantry made flesh. What makes a superhero super anyway? Simple. Belief. We believe that when they dawn that cape, put on that cowl, they will be there to ensure everything is all-right. That everything gets the ending that we the masses so badly want. That they will come through when we need them the most. When Kobe put on that purple and gold tunic, he became our superhero. He gave us that belief, that sense of the universe being set right because he was our guy, and he would make it so. With him gone, it just doesn’t feel the same. 

I’ve been asked through the years on why Kobe holds such esteem in certain pockets of our culture. Every time someone asks me that question, I always think back to the quote from Norman Vincent Peale.

“Aim for the Moon, and you’ll still land among the stars.”

Within the fast majority of the collective consciousness of sports fan, there is one name that is always associated with Kobe Bryant. And that is Michael Jordan. Now I was lucky enough to have watched Jordan as a very young kid, fully appreciating the skill and special athlete I was observing. There is no denying of that. However, Kobe was different. Coming in during Jordan’s waning years, Jordan and Kobe never clashed at their individual apexes. A spry and almost cocky kid, you were drawn to him. He was just a few years older than I, and thus making him a huge part of those who would call themselves a millennial. While Jordan was seen as God upon high, the antecedent ruler of the NBA, Kobe quickly became the scrappy upstart. As the years went by, we were able to follow him on his hero’s journey, watching and developing into what he eventually became. A transcendent figure in basketball. And his game was so beautiful. The efficiency in his ability to score. The complete mastery of all phases of the game. His footwork was exquisite, it was art. His ability to hit the most impossible shots, and give you the faith he would make it. You had the sense watching him that no other human had ever played basketball as beautifully, skillfully,and as passionately as Kobe Bryant. You have to remember, Kobe played for 20 years. For most of my generation, that is more than half our lifetimes. We literally couldn’t imagine basketball without him in it. But why was his story so compelling? Simply put, Kobe was really the only one daring enough to challenge Jordan at his own game, the apprentice succeeding the master. He shot for the Moon, and had no qualms letting you know that’s what the hell he was doing. And I’ll say this. He touched down on those sands, stomped his feet, and pounded his chest, as to say “It’s mine now.”

The whole comparison debate and legacy really doesn’t hold much water. The game changes. Everything about the sport changes. The names change with each passing generation. However, Jordan and Kobe represent something quite different. While the pioneers and legends helped move the rocketship of basketball through the void of space, we can honestly say that Jordan was the first man to touch down on the Moon. He is the Neil Armstrong of basketball in a sense. All credit given. However, if he’s Neil, Kobe is Buzz Aldren. They are on that same rocket ship together. Jordan may have touched the sands of immortality first, but just like Aldren, Kobe followed him down that ladder and followed those footsteps to the same place. His legacy, his imprint, is right up there with the first. It is the sequence of history, with one’s value not diminishing the others’.  And just like Aldren’s actual footprints on the moon, Kobe’s legacy will be set eternally, looking down upon us from high.

But what will that legacy be? There is this silly debated, a national question of “who is the greatest Laker, Magic or Kobe?”. I always found the question silly. In short, the wrong adjective is being used. Magic, who is naturally gregarious, warm, and a welcoming personality became a leader and 5 time champion in his legendary career. Apparently you can’t be in Magic’s presence without wanting to hug him. He is the most beloved Laker. Beloved. Kobe, simply put, is the most revered. Revered. Kobe once said, “I always want to outwork my potential.” That was Kobe as a Laker. Sometimes cold, often surly, he was a driven kid that became a man obsessed with being the best. And it drove some people, competitors, and even teammates away at times. However, as a person who was privileged enough to watch his entire career, he did the one thing we can only ask for as fans. He lived up to his potential. As the world of athletics change into self branding, load management, and disconnected passion for the process of improving as a professional, Kobe stands as the shining example of someone who literally gave all he could to his craft. By blood, by sweat, and by tears.He dared to be great, unapologetically striving for perfection. He knew he was the best, and made sure that all his competitors and people watching were aware of that fact. He accepted the responsibility of the dawning the mantle, of being the standard bearer, the face of a sport. He certainly failed at times, but he never wavered in his journey. Often the most talented player in the room, his work ethic and drive was that of a player with a fraction of his gifts. And we loved him for that. You never felt cheated when you saw Kobe Bryant play. He squeezed every ounce of the potential within himself and left if on the hardwood floor for all of us to behold. He gave us championships, memories for the rest of our lives. He gave us that. He gave us himself, and we were so happy to see him walk off that court, thank him, and let him enjoy his next chapter. And now he wont.   

I can go on and on about this. I still don’t have the ability to eloquently describe all the thoughts and feelings about all this. I’ll just lastly state that we are lessened by the loss. Not just as Laker fans, or basketball enthusiasts. We are lessened as a generation when our hero’s depart with words left unwritten. We are lessened by all potential lost. But we go on. Jerry West, with tears in his eyes, said it best about his surrogate son.

“A singular word, Kobe, will resonate forever.” 

In a city that is defined by the brightness of its stars, the most brilliant of them all has dimmed from view, and future seems so much more caliginous than it did just a day before.

[yootaesowlwrites]

Beautiful Monster Chapter 5;

1982 -

Anlia runs through the forest to her next destination, it was time for a change of scenery and it was time to leave everything behind, she wasn't aging which made the human's suspicious about her.

Suddenly she was tackled to the ground by a body and then several different claws scratched her body, she screams out in pain and tries to fight off her attackers only to fail and end up being hurt more, a loud strong growl suddenly interrupts her attackers.

"What is going on here?!" A male voice yells, the werewolves back away from Anlia and looks at their Alpha.

"She's a trespasser." One of the werewolves answers. "Not to mention that she's our natural enemy." He adds on, Anlia pushes herself up against a tree feeling her wounds healing.

"It is no reason to attack her, I have a vision.. a vision of peace, Marco." The Alpha says. "This is very disappointing, I thought I made it clear that I want peace, not war." The Alpha says, he looks at his pack and shakes his head in disappointment. "Go home, I will deal with you lot later." The Alpha says, the pack slowly leaves while the Alpha slowly walks up to Anlia. "I apologize for my pack's behaviour.."

"A werewolf apologizing? since when?" Anlia asks.

"You've been attacked before." The Alpha states. "They have tried to kill you.. I can sense your distrust in me but I give you my word, I will not harm you." The Alpha says. "Not even if I wanted to.. my name's Deucalion." Deucalion says, Anlia looks at him as he crouches in front of her.

"Why should I believe you? you could be lying to me.. you're an Alpha." Anlia says.

"Because I have a vision of peace.. I only wish to live in peace with human's, hunters and even other supernatural creatures like yourself." Deucalion says, Anlia stares into his eyes.

"Anlia.. my name is Anlia." Anlia says.

"What a unique name.." Deucalion says. "Anlia, would you like to accompany me back to my home to freshen up?" Deucalion asks, Anlia glances down at her clothing.

"Yes.. I would appreciate that.." Anlia says, Deucalion smiles and helps Anlia up.

Present -

"When we arrived at his home, I was escorted to the bathroom and he helped clean, he was absolutely compassionate back then, he actually cared." Anlia says, she was telling the twin brother's the history of her and Deucalion. "He requests that I stay the night to rest and heal up completely before resuming to my journey to the next destination." Anlia says. "One night turned into a week and a week turned into a month and before we knew it.. years have passed.. and I was happy." Anlia says smiling a little. "But with happiness, there is always a price to pay.. his beta.. despised me, he wanted me gone."

1987 -

Anlia laid in Deucalion's bed, she had been attacked by Marco once again, he disliked her and convicted Deucalion's entire pack to do so also, they despised her but they knew they could not kill her, so they only harmed her knowing she would heal before Deucalion saw... but today was different.

"How long has this been going on? I specifically told you all not to harm her." Deucalion says loudly, Anlia could hear the pack meeting in the living room. "She is my mate! how dare you hurt her."

"She is a vampire, our enemy!" Marco yells.

"You choose who your enemy is, my vision of peace is with all creatures. Even vampires." Deucalion says. "I am very disappointed in all of you." Deucalion says, Anlia hears his footsteps walking towards the stairs. "Dismissed.." Deucalion says before walking up the stairs, he opens his bedroom door and closes it. "Oh.. Anlia.." Deucalion says as he looked at Anlia. "I am so sorry for my pack."

"It is their nature.. do not apologize." Anlia says, Deucalion walks up to the bed and sits down softly.

"I thought I taught them differently.." Deucalion says, he lets out a sigh before opening his bedside drawer. "I was afraid something like this would happen, but I wished and hoped it would not happen." Deucalion says, he takes out a medium-sized black box and opens it, Anlia looks inside the box and saw a bracelet. "I had this made, it will show me each time they have hurt you.." Deucalion says as he puts the bracelet on her wrist. "Sadly it has some negative side effects, You will heal slowly and you will not heal completely without me touching this." Deucalion says.

"Deucalion.. I'll be fine, this is not necessary." Anlia says.

"It is.. I do not want them to hurt you, one day when I can trust them I will remove this bracelet." Deucalion says and lifts her hand to his mouth. "I promise." Deucalion says and kisses her knuckles.

Present Day -

"He ensured that he would always know when any none-natural creature has harmed me.. only he could heal me, the bracelet only needed a touch of his hand to heal all of my wounds." Anlia says. "When I ran from him, I tried to find ways to get it off but I could not.. it was as if it were glued to my skin." Anlia says. "Then I realized when he said he will remove it one day.. that he is the only one that can remove it for me, nobody had answers for me.. but I guess this was a reminder of the happiness I had for a second."

"When was he blinded?" Ethan asks.

"I am getting to that part.." Anlia says. "Patience is virtue.." Anlia says, Aiden chuckles slightly pushing his brother. "For the next 16 years we lived happily and in peace.. well most of the time, Marco still tried to get rid of me, but with Deucalion by my side I didn't care." Anlia says. "We were happy, but as I said.. for every second of happiness you have, there is an eternity of hurt and pain somewhere in the future." Anlia says remembering the dark day Gerard blinded Deucalion. "2003 in November, Ennis stopped by and I met him for the first time a few days later I met Kali."

2003 -

Anlia walks into a distillery outside Beacon Hills, Deucalion was next to her while his pack was behind them, Kali had shown up with her pack also while Ennis and his pack lead them.

"There." Ennis said looking at a rope hanging from the roof, Anlia could smell the blood in the room, it was strong. "You see it?" Ennis asks. "They dragged him here, an arrow in his throat and they hung him and cut him in half, they killed one of ours!" Ennis says loudly.

"One of yours." Kali says. "Why should I care about one of your pack?" Kali asks.

"Cause the hunters don't discern packs." Laura Hale said. "Especially the Argents." She added on.

"But they do discern motive." Deucalion says. "Ennis, why did they kill him?" Deucalion asks.

"Because your young naive beta killed one of them." Marco says trying to be smart.

"Marco." Deucalion says.

"He killed a hunter, didn't he?" Marco asks.

"Accidentally." Ennis says, Ennis and Marco had a stare down when a wolf howls, everyone turns to the opening and a black wolf jogs out of the forest and into the distillery, Anlia had heard of her, Deucalion told her about Talia Hale and how every werewolf pack are trying to get in good with her, they all went to her for advice and guidance, the wolf slowly transforms into human and someone puts a coat over her.

"it's his right.. we're not the only people to adhere to rituals thousands of years old." Talia says.

"Which is no excuse for not evolving." Deucalion says.

"They ripped his claws right out of his finger, how is that evolving?" Ennis asks. "Useless debate." Ennis says and walks past everyone towards the wall. "I'm done with it." Ennis says and puts his hand on the wall breathing hard.

"Ennis, don't." Deucalion says. "Don't make us part of a historical cliche, with two such power it never ends at an eye for an eye, A skirmish becomes a war. Murder becomes a massacre and we end up no better than our enemies." Deucalion says, Ennis screams and begins cutting the wall with his claws, drawing the symbol of vendetta.

Present -

"Deucalion and Talia left to see Alan Deaton, Alan doesn't trust me much because I am a vampire, a creature of the damned, so I waited at the Hale residence, which is where I met the entire Hale pack since I already met Laura." Anlia says. "Derek was such a lovesick puppy, he only wanted to be with this girl he fell in love with, he wasn't always a cold person.. he only changed when he lost the girl, but that is someone else's story to tell." Anlia says. "Once Deucalion returned he told me about his plan, I despised that he wanted to go meet Gerard in person, I insisted that I go with him.

2003 -

Anlia stood next to Deucalion in the distillery, Gerard and his hunters were across from them.

"I think it's quite fitting that we are meeting in a distillery, you know the process of distillation is the separation of two substances by pushing them into their different volatile states." Gerard says.

"Volatile is exactly the state I was hoping to avoid." Deucalion says.

"Ooh." Gerard says as he walks to a valve wheel. "Then this is going to come as quite a big disappointment." Gerard says opening the valve wheel, gas fills the room making everyone cough, Anlia wraps her arms around Deucalion, she knew the smell all to well.

"What have you done?!" Deucalion asks, Gerard picks up a spike Mace he had hidden.

"One of the earliest weapons used by men was the spike mace." Gerard says. "I made one of my own, I'd love to get your opinion on it." Gerard says as he walks towards Deucalion and Anlia, Anlia growls at Gerard as he looks directly at Deucalion, Gerard looks at Anlia. "I see you have a vampire in your pack, don't you know they're your natural enemies?" Gerard asks, He turns and hits one of his own people with the Spike.

"Your own people." Deucalion says surprised.

"They wanted peace too." Gerard says turning to Deucalion. "Look what you two did to them." Gerard says,  Anlia picks Deucalion up and speeds him out of the building, once outside she puts him on the ground, she knew they needed to get away further but she needed to make sure Deucalion was all right.

"Deucalion.. breathe." Anlia says, she hears footsteps behind them and turns around only to be hit with the spice mace against the side of her head and face, she stumbles away from Deucalion while hissing in pain.

"Anlia!" Deucalion says, he then looks at Gerard. "Don't! don't do this." Deucalion says. "I had a vision, a vision of peace." Deucalion says.

"A little shortsighted." Gerard says as he takes out two flashing arrows. "Wouldn't you say?" Gerard says and plunges the two arrows into Deucalion's eyes making him scream out in pain.

"No!" Anlia screams, Gerard removes the arrows and begins walking away, Anlia rushes up to Gerard and slams him into the ground knocking him unconscious, she makes her way towards Deucalion as he was still screaming in pain. "Holy.. I am taking you to Alan." Anlia says, she picks him up and speeds through the forest towards Alan Deaton's building.

Present -

"His eyes healed with the help of Deaton.. but his sight never returned." Anlia says. "He was vulnerable, broken, enraged, demoralized... I absolutely hated seeing him like that.." Anlia says. "Marco, of course, saw this as an opportunity to take over leadership and to finally get rid of me, he thought his Alpha was weak... only for his Alpha to kill him and absorb his power." Anlia says, she takes in a deep breath. "I continue to blame both Marco and Gerard, if it were not for that two.. Deucalion would not be this power hungry Alpha he is now.. or what does he call himself now? The Alpha of Alpha's.. the Demon wolf.." Anlia says.

2003 -

Anlia steps into the home she shared with Deucalion and his pack, she immediately freezes when she saw his pack ripped apart and a strong smell of blood.

"Deucalion?" Anlia says softly, she slowly walks towards the stairs. "Deucalion?" Anlia says again, she got to the top of the stairs and stops once she spots Deucalion covered in blood.

"Anlia.." Deucalion says, his eyes were blazing red. "I am so glad you're home." Deucalion says, Anlia takes a step back only for Deucalion to take one towards her. "You're just in time." Deucalion says.

"This is not you.." Anlia says. "You are not the man I love.. you are not the one I once knew.." Anlia says.

"You're right... I'm stronger.. better." Deucalion says. "I killed all my pack members, I gained their power." Deucalion says, he takes another step towards Anlia.

"I am sorry.." Anlia says before vanishing from his sight and his life for 8 years.

[Beautiful Monster Masterlist]

[elenajohansenauthor]

Fictober18, Day 9: “You shouldn’t have come here.”

OCs: Shannon and Noah

Project: Untitled paranormal romance for Fictober18, now tagged #spookyromancenovel on my blog

Potential Triggers: none

Word Count: 1,932

About: Shannon gets Noah to help her with the interrupted ritual: progress ensues! [and now i’m only two days behind, I hadn’t written since Monday but I did 3K today, happy Elena is happy]

Noah settled cross-legged on top of my cot, while I sat at my desk. I blew out the candles.

“Hey, you're not going to—I didn't mean to interrupt,” he ended lamely. “Can you still, if I just sit here and be really quiet?”

I could try, but his presence would be distracting anyway. I'd never really been able to forget Noah was in the room with me, ever. Even when we were in class together, I'd known he was there. Even when we were sitting side by side at one of the long library tables, studying silently, I could hear the scratch of his pencil while he took notes, or see pages turning out of the corner of my eye, or simply feel the warmth of his presence. I hadn't known before that skinny guys could put out so much heat. I expected bulky guys to be radiators, but Noah always used to be warm.

I glanced at him, his magical gargoyle bulk further padded out by layers of clothing. He had his hands tucked under his crossed arms. Used to be.

“I have another idea now.” As I spoke, I put everything away except the altar cloth. “You shouldn't have come here, but since you did, you're going to help me.”

It didn't take long to perform the setup again. This time, I chose the first stone, the first candle; I knew their meanings. Noah looked into the box and chose whatever called to him, and I didn't ask him to explain why. I drew the third blind, as I had for the prayer I hadn't gotten to make.

The first stone was still carnelian. Noah chose a smooth, flat piece of snowflake obsidian: balance, inner and outer harmony, and protection of the heart. The final stone turned out to be tiger's eye, which made me smile. Truth-seeking.

Again, I still began with the black candle. Noah chose gold, which often symbolized the sun and male energy. I drew blue, for meditation, communication, and healing.

I left the center empty. I didn't need a picture to focus when I had Noah himself here. If I couldn't ignore him, which I knew I couldn't, then I would use him. “There,” I said as I lit the last candle and shook out the match. “Now stand behind me, put your hands on my shoulders.” The floor boards creaked under his weight, but he did as I asked without comment. He flinched a little when I raised my hands to his, resting them on top, but he didn't pull away.

“What do I do? You know I don't have any actual talent for this--”

“Hush,” I said gently. “You don't need to. And you don't need to do anything except be still and quiet. Try to think positive thoughts, if you can, but don't worry if negative ones show up. I don't imagine you've had a lot of practice meditating.”

“No.” His voice was deep and quiet. “Not my strength.”

It might be something he'd have to develop, a quieter mind, if he did end up a gargoyle. Anxiety and restlessness weren't traits associated with them.

I shoved the thought from my mind. We were going to figure this out, and I already had a plan to handle the worst. Noah was right—in a way, it was a comfort, knowing he could have a peaceful end if all else failed.

But I can't tolerate failure, not when my best friend's life was at stake. I'd already been failing him, slowly but steadily, for three years.

My mind was see-sawing already, good to bad, bad to good, bouncing around without finding the still spot in the middle. I gripped his hands tighter, focusing on their chill instead of pretending it wasn't there.

This close, I could hear his breathing. Perhaps he wouldn't find the inner stillness I aimed for, but he was relaxing, at least. That was something I could do for him, after triggering a surge of protectiveness strong enough to send him across the city to guard me, even inside my private fortress.

The fond tenderness I felt from that melted into a vague worry. Was that all he had left for me? Was that our relationship distilled down, or maybe whittled away, by the curse? He still had anger and fear, but was all our friendship gone under the drive to protect, especially as I was the person who could help him regain himself?

But in those questions came a sort of answer. I was the other thing that made him different, somehow. I was something the curse hadn't taken away from him. He held on to me because I was hope and sanity, his future and his salvation.

I only prayed I was worthy of that trust; there, I found the peace I sought.

After some time—I don't know how long—Noah's hands squeezed my shoulders. “Shannon?”

I came up from the trance slowly, dreamily. “Yeah?”

“Your breathing got so slow, I was worried.”

“I'm fine.” I rolled my head loosely a few times. “How about you?”

He moved away, leaving a cold spot in the air behind me. “Calmer, but...but no mystical revelations or anything.”

“I don't know yet how mystical mine was,” I said with a light laugh. Sometimes, after a ritual, I got giddy. “But I did come up with something. I don't have my notes here, but I suppose I can tape this in.” I searched my junk drawer for a scrap of paper and scribbled the time, date, and place at the top of the blank backside of a political flier someone had stuck on my window. I didn't run a community billboard or anything like that, so I'd taken it down, but I'd forgotten to throw it away.

“What did you see? Or figure out, I mean?”

“It's me. I'm keeping you human.”

“Uh, yeah? I don't remember it or anything, but you did replace my heart with a nifty bit of magic.”

“No, no, it's more than that. I don't know what, yet, but it's not just my Healing efforts, because those never did any lasting good. And that heart is your final defense, but it's not that either.” I swallowed hard and looked up from the paper. “I never told you, because I didn't want to discourage you. But I didn't think you'd make it this long, not three years, and certainly not long enough for me to run out of ideas. The heart was a stop-gap at best. It can't be the only thing preventing the transformation. Maybe it was at first, but something else is going on now.”

“Like what?”

“That's just it. This is a shot in the dark, but it's got something to do with me, even though it's not something I've done. I know that's vague, but can you think of anything on your part? Something you said or did, something to do with me, that could be strong enough to form a spell of its own?”

“Shannon, I'm not magic. I don't have any power, so I couldn't have done anything.” He sounded confused, but also faintly angry.

“You do, though. Now you do. You're almost completely made of magical stone now, and we shouldn't be ignoring that. Gargoyles' powers beyond everything obvious in their physical form aren't well known. Maybe they don't talk because they've got some kind of hive mind, or some telepathy, or something. Maybe they're so relatively inert because the stone gives them longer life spans—it's not like they're going to tell us how old they are! And no one has been able to compile any reasonable kind of census, not even of the population of a single city, because they look so alike and don't respond well to tagging.” More than one scientist had tried and gotten badly wounded for their efforts. “The list of things we don't know about gargoyles is probably long enough for a book or three or ten. So, yeah, maybe you did do something. You didn't grow up with magic, you don't know how to focus or utilize it because you never had to learn. But it's there. With enough intention, magic can do all sorts of things, like, I don't know, when people talk to their plants. It never worked for some people, the plants wouldn't grow, but for others it worked like magic. Because it was, only they didn't know it.”

My whole impassioned speech left me short of breath and more than a little high on my own intensity, but Noah sat there impassively, his brows drawn together to form that sharp little crease of worry. “I just don't know. I don't know what I could have done.”

He sounded so pained, it brought me right back down to earth. “Okay, Noah, okay. Just, think about it, okay? If you remember something--”

“I promise,” he said instantly. “I'll tell you.”

Our eyes met as we realized what he'd said. “I promise--” he repeated, at the same time I cried “Promise magic!”

“That's a thing, a real thing?”

I smiled at him fondly. “Have you ever broken a promise you made to me, all the way back to when we were kids?”

He shook his head with a dazed expression. “Not even when Jimmy Olvestad hassled me for three weeks  to find out if you had a crush on him and finally punched me when I swore I'd never tell.”

“Jimmy? I never had a crush on Jimmy. Wait, he punched you?” That would have been seventh grade—the Olvestads had moved away just after the school year ended. “I don't remember that at all, you never had a black eye or anything.” I felt faintly sick that I could have forgotten something so major, at least in the life of a kid.

“Um.” Noah cleared his throat. “That's not where he punched me.”

I went to him, hugging his head against my stomach. I couldn't not touch him, just then. “I know it's years too late, but I'm sorry for the pain you suffered defending my honor.” He chuckled into my sweater.

When I drew back, he was smiling. “So all those promises we made over the years—you think that's what's doing it? Because I didn't have any power for most of that time, so unless it's coming from you.”

I sat on the cot beside him, tired out from alternating between giddiness and anxiety. “I really don't know that much about promise magic. Truly unbreakable vows—I've heard stories, and they can backfire in spectacular and usually unpleasant ways. Honestly, the whole idea scares me a little.” Was it my imagination, or did Noah pull back at that, his arm jumping away from mine? “But good news, that's a new avenue to research, and one that won't take me to the Archives. I can do that at a regular, old-fashioned public library. And online,” I added as an afterthought.

“But you like having books in your hands.”

“Yeah, I like smelling them, too. You're a saint to put up with my book-nerd ways.”

Something soft touched my forehead, just near my temple. It was my turn to jump, but beside me, Noah looked happier than I'd seen him since...since the curse really started wearing on him, soon after it had happened. “Your book-nerd ways have been saving my life,” he said. “Thank you.”

Only then did I realize he'd kissed me.

[divagonzo]

Communication Silence

Ch. 16 of the Ron Weasley Chronicles

Ao3 // FF.net

A/N: In light of the last month’s worth of discussion and diatribes I figure an update is worthwhile. The first part might be confusing but I promise it’s important to the story. Rated T for the occasional harsh word and Ron’s temper but otherwise good. Ace Safe.

Knock Knock

“Come in,” a gravelly voice answered the quiet knock on the door. Hermione slipped in before closing it softly behind her.

“Jones,” her voice cracked and she didn’t look like she had slept much. “You’re awake.” Hermione looked over and saw Ron snoring in a pointedly uncomfortable chair between them. Harry, as she expected, was fast asleep in his bed.

“He crashed about two hours ago after I woke back up. I told him I’d stay awake and keep watch while he took a kip.” Hemera lifted her chin instead of lifting her arm. “You look like a dragon took a dump on you.”

“You’re crass, as always, but you are accurate. I’ve been at the Ministry most of the night. I took that sample by George and he affirmed it was originally his but when he tested it, he said it was not his formula. Someone had tampered with it further, by adding distilled ethanol into it. That additional ingredient made it stronger, more potent. So what you thought that went into your drink wasn’t in the drink. George said if you had the entire dosing of the potion, it would have poisoned you and killed you inside a minute. His theory and I agree is that a bare glossing on the lips would be enough for a dose, provided the poisoner was immune or protected.”

“You mean when she kissed me that first time, that was enough?”

“He reckons so. I took the sample to the Ministry Potioneer to test. But you know that will probably take weeks to make a determination.” Hermione glanced over at the two men, one in the bed and the other snoring even louder from his head thrown over the back of the chair. “When I write up the background for this case to present to my Director, I will have in it that you were dosed by a contaminated potion which caused you to be compromised by Carrington. I’m going to write up that, while compromised, it had no bearing on this case.”

“You know as well as I do that it’s no excuse. It means it’s already in your head and you’re acting on it, to hell with the consequences.”

Hermione stole a glance at Ron. “I know that one all too well,” Hermione said to herself. “We all make mistakes, Jones. I’ve made enough for a lifetime. All of us have.”

“Give it another twenty years or so, Granger, and get back with me about it.”

Hermione snorted. “Well, I’ll give you that.” She glanced back at the other two. “Since it’s half three, I’ll head home and have a kip. I have to be in at 8 am and speak with the director about the case involving junior Auror Carrington.”

“Granger?”

Hermione stopped at the door. “Yes?”

“You don’t like me. You never have. You were nothing but a pain in my arse the first year I knew you and you’re still a pain in the ass. Why?”

Hermione sighed. “Do you want the abridged answer or long one?”

“Both.” Stern witches looked at one another.

“Short answer, since you asked, is this: You’re condescending. You irritate me to no end. There’s something off about you that I can’t figure out.”

“It’s because I’m gay.”

“That’s not it. Who and how you engage in carnal relations is irrelevant to me. Anyway, the long answer is that you’re patronizing and I’m get upset when my researched suggestions on how to improve situations for your job are dismissed without given a second thought. So, you irritate me for being stupid. I don't trust anyone who won’t listen when someone provides an alternative, even if it’s rubbish. The only ones who can get away with it are asleep in this room. Furthermore, I don’t know you so I don’t trust you. Since we don’t work directly together, I won’t get to know you. But my husband and best friend swear that you’re on the up and up and they trust you with their lives. I trust them with mine. It could be that we’re knocking sparks.

“Every professional relationship we’ve had is where you are a supervisor or mentor, never a peer. You’ve never treated me as anywhere near your equal, much less those two who I love more than my own life. By Merlin, I’ve worked my ass off to earn your respect and they have too. At some point, I hope to hell that you will respect them. I can deal with you being rude towards me.”

The dark witch in the institutional white bed nodded. “It’s nothing I didn’t expect. Go on.”

“While your dedication and work ethic is incredible, it’s a façade and not who you really are. But I doubt at this point I’ll ever know.”

“Sorry Granger, but what you see is what you get.”

“Then you’re one hell of an actress because all I see is a rude crass witch. When I first met you, you were yet another face in line at Hogwarts, teaching things that I honestly didn’t think were important. Yes, you had authority as a Professor at Hogwarts. You were there at the personal invitation of Professor McGonagall. Yes, I knew that you were there on a Mission for the Minister, while also keeping watch. I admit that I didn’t handle your class well, especially giving cheek so often. But then I’d lived through probably the worst things in my entire life less than a year prior and I wasn’t going to listen to someone tell me that what I went through was bullshit.”

Hemera smirked.

“Yes, I cursed. I do that from time to time. Ron has rubbed off on me but sometimes the harshness of a particular word is necessary.”

“Go on. I’m listening. I figure that after the last couple of days, I should listen to my mistakes so I can learn from them. You’ll also not sugar coat anything for my benefit.”

Hermione leaned against the door. “I don’t know where you got the idea that we’d be friends from the first day. I don’t know why you presumed that I would be so open and trusting with someone I didn’t know. Not even Professor McGonagall can force that. But,” Hermione stopped and she saw Hemera nodding, “But when you were teaching us, you were so bloody mental. You didn’t listen to anything the survivors were telling you. Because you were an Auror, you taught the class like no one else had gone through anything worse than taking our OWLs. Everyone in your classroom of seventh-year students had been through hell, one way or another. Yet you treated us like first years that didn’t deserve to be out from our Mum’s apron strings.”

“I had a task, Granger. The Minister wanted you in the Auror Corps and we needed the help. He thought you would be an amazing asset. I was also there to see if anyone else had the aptitude for it. When you’re down to 12 Aurors from 100 because of the culling and the Coup, you take what might work.”

Hemera winced while shifting in her bed. “But there was something else, something personal. Ron let it slip that you attacked him one time, with magic. He explained what happened when he was first assigned to me as a trainee. He tried to say he was responsible for it, and I know that’s bullshit. But it caused a huge problem. Do you want to know what that was, and what happened as a result?” Hemera’s eyes flashed. “No matter how hard I worked him, insulted him, belittled him, or humiliated him, he wouldn’t raise his wand against me. An Auror who won’t defend himself is useless to me and will probably get a whole team killed. No matter what I did to him, he wouldn’t raise his wand against me. He’d have no problems with the other Seniors in training. But me, a woman? He said he couldn’t do it, ‘cause of what you did to him.

“Do you know how bloody long it took me to re-train Ron after that incident? It took a month of daily training; a month of wasted time, all because you got shirty he went and kissed another girl ‘cause you couldn’t pull your finger out and tell the bloke you fancied him.”

“I couldn’t afford to lose him as my best friend!” Hermione yelled. She looked and saw Harry roll over in his bed and Ron shift but went back to snoring. “I didn’t know and you never said.”

“I was too busy fixing your mistakes, mistakes you never bother to apologize for. Hell, even I can say I’m sorry and I’m as much of an asshole as anyone. But you? Ron casually mentions off-hand that he has to back down while rowing with you, and apologize any time that you think he’s wrong.”

“That’s impossible. Ron never backs down from a fight, especially with me.”

“Isn’t it? You weren’t there seeing him constantly being knocked on his arse because he wouldn’t raise his wand in self-defense. When someone you love attacks you with magic it is a hard betrayal to overcome. But somehow he did but the consequences held him back until he pulled his head out of his arse and raised his wand to me and fought back like you finally did. Sure it took me dropping my wand and beating him to a pulp with my fists before he got angry enough and slugged me back.”

“Good for him,” Hermione muttered. “I would have loved to slug you myself some of those days.”

“Things would have gone swimmingly for you had you tried, Granger. You might have gotten over your fear and made something of yourself, for the Auror corps.”

“I have, but not in the way you or the Minister envisioned.

“And I am, but not in the way he envisioned. No, you tried your damnedest to get me to fall into that, risking life and limb like Ron and Harry.” Hermione bit her lip and stared at her husband, sitting awkwardly in the chair, still snoring, while Harry had turned on his side, skewing his glasses, snoring softly in the dim light of the room. “We went through hell and saw too much. I still have nightmares, these years later.” Her voice cracked on the last words. She took a big breath. “I couldn’t cope with it as a job, not after seeing people I respected, murdered before my very eyes.” Hermione turned back and wiped her face with her hand, smearing the last of the minuscule make-up she deigned to wear. “You’ve seen people murdered in front of you, I presume, right?” Hemera nodded. “Have you ever been in the situation where you couldn’t do a damn thing to save them, not when you had a greater task to accomplish? I did and witnessing that traumatized me. Those nightmares, of seeing him be killed right in front of our eyes, and I had to sit there and watch him bleed out, struggling to keep the blood from seeping from between his fingers and failing. I had to watch his last minute of life and not lift a finger to save him. I can still hear that scream, of fear and agony, in my nightmare. Sometimes I’m screaming. Sometimes it’s Harry or Ron.

“And then there was the torture I went through. That was… I still live with the side-effects. Did Ron ever tell you of those? It’s never fun being constantly cold, yet living with the nerve pain in my hands and strange tingling in my legs and feet. There are some days that a pain potion barely takes the edge off, much less lets me function. It’s like a toxic neuropathy and there is no cure for it. It’s also a bloody wonder that particular bit of information hasn’t been sold to the highest bidder. But then you were pretty instrumental, I presume, in keeping that bit of information quiet while at school, too, right?

Hemera nodded, barely.

“And then there was that moment when I was faced with the person responsible for my torture and why I still have side-effects of it. There was no way in Hell I would let her hurt my friends. Even if I died, I wasn’t going to stand aside. There was only one outcome, and it didn’t include arresting her.” Hermione motioned her wand and a chair slid over to her. She collapsed into it. “And that scares me, Hemera, and why I realized that I could never take Kingsley’s offer to be an Auror. My fury overrode any good sense when I saw her blasting people left and right inside the Great Hall. I was so angry, watching her hurt kids. I promised that no one else would be hurt by her. When I went up against her, I had no intention of disarming her. No, when I faced her, I fully intended to kill her, if I could.”

“But you didn’t,” Hemera spoke softly.

Hermione seemed to shrink down in the chair. “It wasn’t for a lack of trying on all of our parts. I only realized later that Luna and Ginny were there with me dueling by my side. I didn’t know Harry was alive until that powerful shield charm went up in front of Mrs. Weasley. Only he could do that. I wasn’t in any condition to think beyond the next moment and it didn’t include protecting her.”

“How can you remember all of this, so many years later?”

“Oh, that? I have iconic and eidetic memory. I’ve been that way since I was a child. I can remember things easily but distilling information that is useful is hard.”

“But I’ve seen you work your ass off. If you are so powerfully minded, why are you such a workaholic?”

“You know why,” she replied quietly. “It’s pretty obvious.”

“You are paranoid, that you don’t belong, and that paranoia makes you a pain in the ass to those who know you. You have to be the best at everything, even if it hurts your friends. You’re also afraid to fail.”

Hermione nodded once. “I’ve been through hell, estrangement, and loss. I’ve suffered from insomnia that would drive most people around the twist after the nightmares were too much. I’ve survived things that drove some of the best Aurors to a complete mental breakdown. And after everything, including you riding my ass, I’m still afraid of failing, whatever that might be.” Hermione glanced over at the other two men in the room and saw them both snoring away. She turned back to regard the witch in the bed. “After the whole thing with Mrs. Weasley and the rows I had with Ron, I had to step back and actually trust them. They can’t always explain things to my satisfaction when the time is vital. But Ron’s never let me down when it comes to doing his job the right way.

“The only thing I worry about now is how this job hurts him so much.” Hermione rubbed her eyes again, smudging the eyeshadow just a bit more.

“Someone has to do the grotty work, Granger. It takes someone with integrity to do it without being corrupted quickly.”

“And what about you?” Her bloodshot eyes were as hard as diamonds. “I might wonder if a pretty set of eyes can make you turn your head.”

“You never pull a punch, do you?”

Hermione didn’t smile. “I’m told it’s one of my better qualities.”

“Is this a Ministry endorsed interrogation?”

“No. This is me asking you if you’ve been corrupted. I won’t have those two,” she glanced behind her and saw Harry with his eyes barely open. If Harry was awake, Ron would be too. She turned back to Auror Jones. “I won’t have them working with someone who can be bribed with sex to turn the other way or refuse to arrest someone they have had a dalliance with. I’ll report you myself, even at the cost of upsetting them. I will do everything in my power to keep another coup from happening. And it starts with corruption.”

“How dare you!” Hemera roared.

Hermione’s voice was ice. “I dare because I love them more than my own life. I’ve proven it to them. You haven’t. Answer me now or so help me – “ Hermione pulled her wand and stared down the older witch in the bed.

“Enough. I’ll answer.” Hemera took a deep breath. “I did as required, informing Kingsley of what happened immediately. I also wrote it up for the Director and it’s in my record, for when my fitness report comes up. It’s only now that my partner found out and might throw me over the side. It might be that those who work for me, like you two sodding idiots, quit respecting me, for what happened.” Hermione glanced over and saw both were wide awake. “But if the Director demands my credentials and I’m forced out for it, I’ll accept it. If Aurora throws me aside for my indiscretion, I’ll accept that too. Merlin knows I’ve cocked up my life enough these past few months to everyone’s ire. Satisfied?”

Hermione dropped her wand and stowed it in the concealed holster on her left arm. “For now,” she answered.

Ron erupted in laughter. “Merlin, you’re as bad as I am.” Ron chortled. He stood and stretched, showing off a small strip of skin and some ginger hairs along his navel. “Every time I cock up, I expect everyone to kick me out of the house,” Ron smiled at Hermione, “Fire me from my job and get kicked in the shin by this git.” Ron looked at Harry and smiled. “And you know what? It never happens, no matter how much the fuck up. You might get yelled at but that’ll probably be the end of it.”

Hermione pushed her chair aside and went to her husband. He bent down for a quick chaste kiss and stretched again. “Heading home or back to the Ministry?”

“I’m going home for a shower, a kip, something to eat. That order might be different. I’ll be in my office around 8. I have to talk with my Director over what happened.” Hermione tucked her purse under her elbow along with the sealed parcel of the contaminated potion and went for the door. “I’ll leave the office around noon so we can have a little time together.”

Ron and Hemera watched Hermione depart. Hemera shifted back into the bed, wincing. “I think I’m due for another dose of pain potion.”

“It’s only,” Ron looked at his watch, as battered as it was, “four am. I thought you weren’t due to get more ‘til six.”

“Nah. I got dosed at 10 pm. Though Merlin knows how little I’ve slept the last couple of days. I could use a few hours of being conked out on pain meds.”

“When was the last time you slept more than four hours?”

“I dunno, maybe a week ago?”

“When the nurse comes in, ask her if she’d get a Healer to sign off on a dose of Dreamless sleep. Merlin knows when I’m too keyed I take a half dose and I’m out for twelve hours.”

“A half dose?”

“Yeah, I’m sensitive to the ingredients. They work too well for me. Hermione, though, she takes a full dose, rarely but she will, and she might sleep for seven hours. Though if she sleeps that long, she’s sore and sluggish and anxious, like she’s afraid she missed something. But most nights she’ll sleep about five. Her insomnia won’t let her sleep any more.”

“I’m impressed, Weasley. She’s so protective of you, when she’s a world class pain in the ass. But I can also tell that you are so very good for her. You interact like you’ve been married for years, not 2 of them. It’s rare to have a partner willing to have a row with their supervisor.”

“You know her as well as I do, frankly. But after the war, she did change. I like to think that my sister and Luna had a lot to do with it, about how she finally learned to appreciate things and quit knocking sparks over everything. When she left for Hogwarts was completely different than when she came home. I dunno what happened or how it happened, but she changed and it was for the better. Merlin, I sound like a ponce for saying this, to you of all people.”

“I get it. I watched it slowly that year at Hogwarts. I’m not privy to what happened since I wasn’t the Gryffindor Head of House, but I do know that the three of them were thick as thieves that year, along with that nice lad Dean Thomas. Sure I learned that he was having relations with Luna Lovegood – “

“Yeah, that threw all of us for a huge loop. But then they have a particularly special bond, the way Luna talks about it. But they seemed to help one another heal, or at least cope with their experiences in the war.”

“Minerva never did tell me how Luna kept getting into the Gryffindor common room.”

“Luna? I doubt the Fat Lady would keep Luna out since she was part of the group protecting the younger students. Then again she’s pretty smart in her own ways, even if she seems a bit daft in others. She’s sweet in her own wonky ways. I’d not trade her for much of anything. I’m sure she was able to access it whenever she wanted.”

Ron pointed his wand at the door and quickly dropped it. A medi-witch came in with a tray of potions. “It’s time for Auror Jones to receive her medications. I also have some for Auror Potter if he’s awake.”

Ron turned to see Harry and he was back snoring away. “You might be able to get him at 6.”

Ron and Hemera watched the medi-witch document all of the potions she was taking and what doses. She inquired about having a dose of Dreamless sleep and received an approval for it, too. Eventually, everything was completed and Hemera was settled back into her bed after stepped gingerly to the Loo with the medi-witch and Ron’s help.

“I can’t believe you saw my arse. I’ve lived for forty years and today is the first time someone, not my Healer or lover or parent has seen my arse.”

“Well, it did look rather fit,” he cheeked.

Hemera yawned. “The potions seem to be working quickly.”

“I’m on duty ‘til six. If you wake after, I’m sure someone else will be here with you.”

“You know that it’s rubbish that we have an Auror on duty for anyone in the Hospital now. It seems like a waste of manpower, standing guard over sleeping patients.” Hemera drifted off to sleep, leaving Ron smirking.

“Maybe so but if the Director says so, then I do so. But maybe we can start having Apprentice Aurors assigned that task.” Ron went back to his chair and found a magazine to read while whittling away the hours of boredom remaining.

“Your wand is rattling, dear.”

Ron heard the voice in the distance but he couldn’t care.

“Ron, it’s the office. They need you to come in.”

“Sod’em,” He muttered from his pillow.

“Well, yes, that is a normal response but this came from Kingsley himself.”

“What time is it?”

“Noon.”

“Fuck,” He rolled over and found the bedroom entirely too bright, Hermione too awake, and the day way too early for his own good. “This better be bloody well important, waking me after 3 hours of sleep.” He found his black trousers tossed haphazardly on the floor along with a vest and shirt. Deprecations erupted periodically from him, all while Hermione was intentionally not paying attention.

He went to the loo and splashed some water on his face and ran his wet fingers through his hair. He looked like an Inferius left in the bog entirely too long. Sod’em since they woke him after one of the worst days of his professional life.

“I’m going in. I have no idea when I’ll be back.” He stepped to the fireplace and stopped when he saw Hermione come up to him wearing one of his shirts. She had the sleeves rolled up halfway to her elbows and the tail ends covered all of the exciting and important bits. “See if they can give you a few of days off. You look like you need a break.” She stretched up on her toes to give him a kiss and a squeeze of his bum. “That’s your incentive to get back home as soon as possible.”

“Bloody tease,” He growled and got a handful of Floo powder. He barked the destination and was off in a swirl of green flames. Mere moments later he was standing in the lift at the Ministry, giving everyone a shirty glance to anyone who dared look at him. Fortunately it was Saturday and the Ministry wasn’t crowded. The lift quickly dropped him at the proper floor and scurried off, like the lift was running from him. He stalked into the department and saw a few others at their desks, working on other assignments.

The Director’s door was open as he expected. “Better be bollocks and I can get back to sleep,” he said to himself.

Knock knock knock

“Enter,” a gravelly voice barked through the door.

Ron stepped in and saw that the Minister was present, along with the Director and the Chief Mugwump for the Wizengamot, Ewan Purifoy. “Gentlemen,” Ron affirmed everyone in the room before standing at the door.

“I apologize for calling you in but the Minister and the Head Warlock have some questions for you.”

“Do I need my Ministry supplied Solicitor present?”

The Chief Mugwump spoke up. “No, this isn’t a formal inquiry.”

“Sure seems like it,” Ron said under his breath. “How can I help?”

“Auror Weasley,” the elderly warlock motioned for Ron to move to the chair next to the director’s desk. Ron shuddered slightly, recalling how the chair of judgment was in chambers. “I asked because you’re too tall and I can’t keep my neck bent like that too long.”

Ron chuckled. “Yes, sir.” Ron sat down on the edge of the seat and fought his nerves, which tended to include bouncing on his toes and dry-washing his hands.

“Now, will you tell us about the events in the flat at Diagon Alley yesterday? Junior Auror Carrington was related to some other people on the Wizengamot and some are quite upset at what has been said about her in relation to the situation. I’m here to get clarification on this sordid situation.”

“What’s there to be upset about? She kidnapped two people to force her way into being an Auror. She heard a story from another Auror that in the older times, a Junior would have a Senior kidnapped and then mount a rescue. But when the Junior Auror realized that blackmail wouldn’t work, nor the kidnapping scheme, she got desperate to receive the promotion.

“Thing is, had she just kept her head for another fortnight, she would have gotten it. Her actions in blackmailing Pierre Cavendish wouldn’t have gotten out and she’d have gotten what she wanted.”

“Why do you say that, Auror Weasley? I had someone pull her personnel file and she was a model apprentice. There is no documentation of any impropriety on her part, ever.”

Ron sat up a little taller. “The department had some promotions recently and there were additional slots for promotion. She was in the top 4 already and while a bit aggressive in her ambition, she was capable of doing her job without cocking things up. But for some reason which we haven’t found out yet, she was blackmailing Pierre Cavendish to get the promotion and when that didn’t work, because of the change to require two senior Aurors to sign off on it, she tried to blackmail Senior Jones.”

“So it was Miss Carrington who did all of those dreadful things? It wasn’t someone who set her up, or committed these unspeakable crimes to frame her?”

Ron looked at the Chief Mugwump like he’d unscrewed the only bulb in his head. “Yes, sir. Senior Jones is in St. Mungo’s right now with significant injuries from the ordeal, including a broken shoulder from me falling on her to shield her from further injury. Junior Carrington murdered another junior Auror that she kidnapped and two more juniors perished trying to save him. To abscond with the victims, she had to stun more than one Auror and used an Unforgivable Curse to incapacitate me. I dunno sir but the number of witnesses can confirm everything that happened.”

“Was he dead, Auror Weasley, the other junior Auror you mentioned?”

“I can’t say for certain either way, sir. He wasn’t moving but he could have been breathing or seriously injured. No one was able to determine his situation.”

The elderly wizard turned to the Director and Minister Shacklebolt. “Gentlemen, this is most troubling, most troubling indeed. How will the others on the Wizengamot react to knowing that Angus McClaggen’s great-niece was involved in this problem? Secondly, they aren’t going to be happy that half of our upcoming Aurors were killed on a botched rescue mission.”

“She’s related to that idiot?” Ron exclaimed.

All three men turned to Ron and he turned aubergine. “Sorry, sir. My apologies.”

“Do you have something to say, Mr. Weasley?” The elderly wizard’s watery blue eyes bored into him.

Ron gulped. “No, sir. I was out of line. Please continue.” Ron kept his eyes focused over Kingsley’s shoulder to keep from shrinking down from all of the withering gazes.

The men turned back to Director Robards. “Gawain, let me ask this: Who came up with this bloody stupid idea? Everything I’ve read on the rescue mission seems like it’s completely against procedures and risky, proving so with so many fatalities. Was it this idiot?”

Ron gulped but saw Robards shake his head slightly.

“No, it wasn’t.” The Director’s gravelly voice betrayed no emotions. “Auror Jones and I discussed how to find the traitor in the department. If we had asked Weasley or Potter to be the bait, they would have done so. Neither of them has ever shirked their duty as Aurors from the first day as trainees. But Auror Jones mentioned that she thought Carrington was behind the unexplained deaths, because of the blackmail attempt in the fall. She offered to be the bait and trust Weasley and Potter to rescue her since the whole department knows that they are the best at rescues.”

Ron flushed at the enormous compliment the director gave him, but kept quiet and listened.

“Auror Jones knew the risks and once Potter and Weasley were briefed they were on the plan. What we didn’t anticipate was Carrington would kidnap Junior Auror Archer as well. He left a parcel in his desk containing information pertaining to Junior Carrington. He implicated her in various instances of lawbreaking, muggle and magical. There are additional instances of blackmail, going back from the first day she was an apprentice. All instances crossed the line from network to corruption.

“As for the rescue, like every single plan, it only lasts until the mission starts. Everything from there is adapt and overcome. While I did not approve of having two apprentice Aurors maintain a perimeter of the scene, it was what they had, given our limited manpower the last 3 days. The two in question are top of their class and followed procedure to the letter. Every other Auror was out on assignment or on Medical duty. The only ones immediately available were the junior Aurors present with Weasley and Potter.”

“Why is it, Gawain, that anytime there is a problem with this department, I always hear the names Potter and Weasley? I never have a complaint from any of the other Aurors except those two blithering idiots.”

Ron watched Director Robards face grow harder, somehow.

“Well, sir,” frost floated in the room from those two little words, “I trust them to follow procedure until things go sideways and then adapt and overcome, with the least amount of complications. You’ll also note that there was only one case up to now where the department Obliviators had to be called in to settle the situation and that was the case last year.”

“The only one? I didn’t know that.”

“Yes, sir. They are very sensitive to muggle sensibilities and their explanations are easily accepted by the civilian population. Yes, they cock things up from time to time but they are excellent Aurors and a tremendous asset to the department.”

“So you’re saying this incompetent idiot isn’t responsible for the death of four junior Aurors? I was told by a source that it was this stupid sod’s idea.”

“You’re an idiot, Ewan. Weasley knows better than to go above my head and has since I busted him two years ago. Right, Weasley?” Ron nodded emphatically. “So no, sir. If anyone is responsible, I am. I’m the Director and any mission requires my authorization. Potter and Weasley do not go off a mission without approval. Isn’t that right, Senior Auror Weasley?”

“Senior Auror? When the bloody hell did he receive a promotion? Why wasn’t I notified?”

“Sir,” Robards settled back into his chair. “While you are on the Wizengamot and Chief Mugwump, I have discretion on who earns promotions and who gets held back. Potter and Weasley earned their promotions, many times over. You, however, sir, were the one who demanded they be held back from it for the last 2 years, for some bloody reason I can’t fathom. Every single time I requested their promotion, you rejected it. Well, this time, the Minister saw that my request was legitimate and approved it, overriding your veto.”

The old wizard scowled. “Don’t take that tone with me, Gawain. I am still Chief Mugwump and the Wizengamot listens to my counsel.  Your voice is small by comparison.”

“They do, but you never explained to my satisfaction why you outright rejected their promotions when others before them received so for doing considerably less.”

The Chief Mugwump turned to stare at Ron. “I don’t trust a traitor, ever. There’s only one of the bunch worth his wand is that Percival. The rest? These Weasleys were at the heart of it. This idiot was part of the coup – “

Ron jumped out of the chair, now towering over the doddering old man. “You’re full of shit, sir. The coup was when Voldemort, using Pius Thicknesse as his puppet, ran the ministry, decimated the wizarding community using that completely mental fuckstrumpet Umbridge to do his dirty work, and had that criminal Yaxley destroy the Auror corps by preventing anyone who wasn’t a pureblood from working in the department. Those who were left committed assassinations on behalf of the Death Eaters – or turned the other way when the same ones did the murders.”

The elderly wizard waved his hand away, like brushing away an annoying biteme. “You still broke the laws, repeatedly, and caused the deaths of –“

“How the bloody fuck did you ever stay in the Ministry?” Ron could barely growl out his words. “Were you one of those cowards who stayed back, kept your head down but supported what the bastards were doing, killing Muggles and Muggleborns with impunity and demanding that all Half-bloods be subservient? You’re a disgrace. No wonder why shit can’t be fixed, not with a – “

“Get this bastard out of here,” The Chief reached for his sleeve to pull his wand. “This arrogant piece of shit – “

Ron had his wand out and pointed at the chief in a heartbeat, while the other two were slower to intervene. “Don’t raise your wand at me, sir.” Ron bit off every word. “I will not allow you to harm me or anyone else in this room, including yourself. I don’t understand why you are so hostile to me but I might ask the Director to -”

“Weasley, enough. Head home and get some sleep.” Director Robards gave a hard look and Ron nodded. “You’re off duty until Thursday when we will hold the debriefing.  You aren’t to discuss this case until the debriefing.”

“Yes, sir.” Ron stowed his wand and stalked to the door, slamming it behind him.

“The titmange wankstain,” he muttered to himself. “Bastard kept us back because he despises us for being Muggle supporters. Asshole needs to be kicked out.”

Ron picked up his ruck and made his way to the lifts. He was going to do as the Minister insist, taking off until Thursday.  He could use some sleep, a decent meal, and some time with his wife, and if he was lucky, it wouldn’t be in that order. He’s have to deal with the consequences of giving cheek to the Chief Mugwump but that will be for another day.

The lift doors opened and he stepped inside to find his brother Percy inside. “Another bloody Weasley and the only damn honest Weasley of the bunch.” Ron snorted. “Well aren’t you a sight for exhausted eyes.”

Percy looked up from his stack of parchment. “Oh, hi Ron. What brings you in on a Saturday morning?”

“Case problems. Say, do you know the Chief Mugwump Purifoy?”

“I actually do. He’s a remarkable man and a brilliant mind. Why?”

“The bastard accused me being part of the coup and – “

“Oh, yes, that.” Percy’s face fell. “He is addled minded when it comes to those who don’t follow the law, regardless of whether it’s morally right or not. Law and Order is his priority, regardless of who is administering the law or who is harmed.”

“So when Umbridge was running things,” Ron couldn’t finish his thought.

“Yes, well, he supported her then too, because it was codified by fiat upon installation of Thicknesse as the Minister. It didn’t matter that it was by fiat, only that it was codified. Don’t worry, though. He gets bent at anyone who wasn’t part of the law and order of the time. It’s not just you.”

“So he considers you a good ministry drone?”

Percy flushed.

“That’s what I thought. Look, see if you can put a good word in his ear since he holds you in high esteem.”

“Of course I will.” Percy adjusted his glasses. The door lifts opened and the shorter redhead wearing half-moon glasses stepped forward, holding the gate. “He’s wrong, you know, whatever he said. You did what the rest of us couldn’t – keep Harry alive so we could have our way of life. I might be a stupid blithering idiot and blind to my own ambition but I also know how much you helped save all of us.” Percy let the gate go and the interior doors closed. “See you tomorrow.”

Ron waited for a hairbreadth and exhaled the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Merlin! First the Director and then my brother? What’s going on? I must be going mental from insomnia.”

The lift doors opened again and he stepped out, heading for the Floo and a sandwich, his wife, and his bed – all of which he needed immediately.

“Of course you’re important. Putt your finger out, you twat.”

[wickedsingularity]

Couple’s Voodoo [one shot]

wickedsingularity’s Christmas Stories 2017 Masterlist

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Sam Wilson x Female Words: 2887 Warnings: Anxiety on someone else's behalf, possibly torture, injuries, cleaning of injuries, angst, smut, fingering, sex.

Summary: Sam and I had always known when the other was not right. Tony jokingly called it couple's voodoo. Steve found it sweet. Natasha said it was luck and intuition. Wanda knew it was real. I didn't care what it was, as long as it worked for us.

It was more a feeling than something I knew. In my heart, deep in my soul, I felt that he was going through something. If it was the mission that didn't go as planned, or he was just struggling, or if he was hurt mentally or physically, I couldn't tell. All I knew for sure, was that I felt like something was wrong, and Maria refused to tell me anything even if I had the clearance for it.

Sam and I had always known when the other was not right. Tony jokingly called it couple's voodoo. Steve found it sweet. Natasha said it was luck and intuition. Wanda knew it was real. I didn't care what it was, as long as it worked for us.

The mission hadn't gone on for longer than anticipated. He was supposed to be gone for three weeks, and it had now been two. The feeling came over me after the first week. I had woken up in the middle of the night, sat bolt upright in bed, sweating and heaving for breath, screaming Sam's name. Pretty sure it must have looked and heard like I had seen the devil himself. F.R.I.D.A.Y. had been on me at once, asking what was wrong. But I couldn't give her a straight answer.

I had called Maria minutes later and woken her up, but she threw the 'classified' card in my face and hung up. Naturally, I had been furious and had strode into her office first thing that morning. But there was nothing she could tell me.

On top of all this, it was now just over a week until Christmas, and Sam and I had never been apart during the holidays. Not even before we started dating. Safe to say I was getting anxious for him to come home already.

When the third week finally ended and Sam was scheduled to return, the knot of anxiety unravelled. It happened from one second to the other, and I knew he must be on the Quinjet, on his way back home. No matter what condition he was in, he was coming home to me, and that was all that mattered. If he was hurt in any way, we would deal with it together.

The relief that flooded me as my shoulders relaxed was absolute, and I felt my eyes flutter while I tried to focus on the noon news. A handful of minutes later, I had crawled down the couch and rested my head on a cushion. A few minutes after that, I was fast asleep, two weeks of tension had made me exhausted.

I had no idea for how long I had slept, but the next thing I remembered was the sound of the door closing followed by boots being kicked off. Heart beating wildly in my chest, I was suddenly wide awake and sitting up on the couch.

"Sam?"

I could hear the rush of air from him as if he had been holding his breath for a long time. Then the thud of what must be his bag, and then footsteps as he came rushing into the living room. I barely had time to notice the bruises on his face and the limp in his step before he had swept around the couch and pulled me up and into his arms, my arms wrapping around his shoulders, my legs around his waist.

He said my name, over and over again. It sounded like a prayer for help, the way he breathed it out. My heart ached for what he must have been through, and I tightened my hold on him. He did the same to me in return and buried his face where my shoulder met my neck, probably getting a face full of hair, and breathed me in. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Samuel Thomas Wilson." Every time he came home from a mission, I used his whole name like that. I felt like it confirmed his presence. He did the same if I had been away. "What happened?"

A shudder went through him and my heart ached even more. "I saw things. They... they made me see things. I saw you..." His breath hitched, and he seemed to almost lose his balance. Instinct had him turn around and sit down safely on the couch, still with me wrapped around him.

"I'm here, Sam. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." I let my hand softly stroke the hair on his neck, the other sliding down and under the top of his jacket, letting him feel my skin against his. "Tell me what you need, love."

"You. Need you."

I leaned back and looked into his chocolate eyes. They were haunted by whatever he had seen. "I'm all yours," I whispered, before leaning forward, pressing my lips to his. He leaned into it, and a bit of his tension went away. "Take me to the bedroom," I spoke against his lips, and I felt the faintest of smiles against my lips.

With the grace that came from years of flying and navigating in the air, he stood up, held me securely in his arms and moved us into the bedroom. Sam gently sat me down on the bed and was about to take off his protective jacket, but I stood up quickly and stopped him with my hands over his.

"Before we do anything, I'm going to clean those bruises on your face and any other bruise or injury you may have, okay?"

He only nodded and looked at my hands as I began undressing him. The black jacket came off, then the military green wool shirt, revealing a large dark bruise on his ribs, and a gash below his ribs that had started scabbing a bit.

"Can you take off the rest and sit down while I get the first aid kit?"

"Yeah," he mumbled and began unbuckling his belt as I hurried into the ensuite to get the kit. By the time I came back, he was pulling off his socks, only black wool boxer briefs left.

"Tell me, handsome, what on earth went through your mind while you took your pants off?" With an amused smile, my eyes lingered on his underwear and the growing bulge there.

His eyes snapped to mine and he looked a bit abashed, but his gaze held firm on mine. "How much I want you right now."

"Samuel..." I shook my head and set the first aid kit down, digging through it for the items I needed. I grabbed the gauze pads and the distilled water, and motioned for Sam to sit on the edge of the bed. The small cuts on his face looked clean enough and some were already scabbing slightly, but I moved to stand between his legs, and gently cleaned them anyway. All the while, Sam slowly ran his hands up and down my thighs, gazing up at me. The haunted look in his eyes was slowly receding, instead replaced with the warmth and adoration that made me feel all giddy inside.

The rest of his injuries were attended to quickly because, frankly, it was very distracting to have his hands running all over me like that. I put away the medical supplies and washed my hands.

"Come back here, babe," came Sam's tired and slightly gravelly voice.

"What?" I asked.

He motioned for the spot between his legs again, and I obeyed. "Just want to touch you." Warm hands slid up over my thighs again. "Need to feel you." They pushed up my tank top, and slid behind me, grabbing my ass to push me closer. His soft as sin lips landed on my stomach, and I closed my eyes. "Missed you," he mumbled against me, the soft vibrations sending sparks right down to my core.

"I missed you too." My hands wound into his hair, my fingers playing with the short curls. "I felt your distress. So glad you're home."

"Talk about it later." Sam was lifting my top even further, and I let him. His eyes didn't leave mine, even as it was revealed I wasn't wearing a bra. Hands explored, though. Grabbed each mound and almost weighed them in his hands, before lightly flicking each nipple with his thumb. I hummed in response, having his hands on me again felt too good.

I didn't have much on, but slowly, and so sensually, Sam undressed me. He took his time to kiss and touch every inch of skin he could reach. My tank fell in a heap on the floor, and my breasts and arms and stomach were tingling with his featherlight touches. Pyjama bottoms were pulled down, agonizingly slow. The room was warm, but his kisses felt warmer, and my skin prickled with cold when his lips moved on to another inch of me he hadn't yet kissed.

Finally, his fingers hooked into the waistband of my underwear and pulled them down. I stepped back to give him room, and then kicked the garment to who knows where. Sam grabbed my ass again and pulled me to him. He pressed his face into the space below my bellybutton and inhaled. The action had my heart racing and my face heating up.

Then one hand sneakily slid forwards and between my thighs, middle finger pressing up, making me gasp. "For me, sugar?"

"Always for you," I breathed.

He made me spread my legs a bit, and with a wobbly move, I did. Two fingers dipped in now, teasing my entrance, then sliding up and over my clit, causing me to lose my balance slightly. For the three weeks that he'd been gone, I hadn't touched myself once. The temptation had been there, on the cold and lonely nights I missed him the most, but the constant anxious tension I felt from him had kept me from doing anything. Seeing him, hearing him, touching him, smelling him, I was hypersensitive to his every touch.

Sam pulled his hand back and licked his fingers. He closed his eyes, leaned his forehead against me and moaned at the taste.

"Sam..." I whined.

He began crawling back on the bed and pulled me with him. The beautiful brown of his eyes was drowned by his pupils. As he settled back against the pillows, I straddled him and leaned my arms on his chest. His hard cock strained against the boxer briefs while I moved my hips over it.

It was his turn to whine. His hands grabbed my hips to still my moves and pushed me down onto his clothed cock.

"Are you sure, Sam?" I needed to know, needed to be certain this was that he needed and wanted before he told me about the mission.

"I need you, baby. Please."

Together, we removed his last piece of clothing, his cock finally free and bouncing against his stomach. I wrapped my hand around it, and gave a few gentle tugs, earning a groan from Sam.

"Babe..." he begged, and I couldn't deny him. Climbing into position, I held onto his cock and lowered myself down while staring into his eyes. That first thrust, that first connection, that first slide to the bottom, it always took my breath away. And there he was, as deep as he could. I sat still, clenching around him, feeling how well he fit me and how thoroughly he filled me.

Then I slowly began to move. Hands on his chest for support, grinding and rising and falling, pulling the most delicious groans from his lips. He slid his hands up my thighs and circled my hips, not guiding me, but just following my moves. It was slow and torturous, but exactly what we both needed.

Sam gazed up at me, his calloused and soft hands wandering to wherever they could reach. Kneading my thighs, skimming across my stomach, twisting my nipples. Having been celibate for three weeks, it was all making my orgasm approach fast. I ground myself down on him just so my clit was tickled by the hair around his cock, but it wasn't enough. The coil in my stomach was tight, so tight it was unbearable. Sam must have seen that I was right at the edge or felt my desperate hold on his cock, and helped guide me by taking a tight hold on my hip, the other hand finding my clit. Just one, two, three flicks, and I crashed, unintelligible sounds tumbling from my lips. My head dropped forward and my hair fell in front of my face.

"Dammit, you're squeezing me so hard, love," he said in a rush, followed by a groan. Both hands on my hips now, he made me ride it out.

"Three weeks, Sam," I explained breathlessly. "Three weeks."

He chuckled and pulled me down, claiming my lips. It was tongue against tongue from the first taste. His arms were wrapped tight around my back, and then he moved us around. For a few seconds, he looked down at me. Then he began thrusting. I was so sensitive it hurt slightly, but it still felt so good. His whole body was against mine, legs tangling with my thankfully freshly shaven ones, head dropping down to kiss my shoulder. I let my hands rake across his back, feeling the muscles flex and tracing the tiny rises of old battle scars.

Like an ocean wave, he rolled into me, again and again. My hips rose to meet every thrust, my back arching whenever he pressed his hip bone against my clit.

"So good, Sam. So good. So good," I chanted against his lips, fingers digging into his shoulders. I slid my hands up to his head, making him kiss me. His tongue dominated mine, adding to the tension that was building rapidly again.

Sam angled his hips in that way he knew would make me see stars, and our lips parted as I gasped for breath, a strangled sound in my throat.

"Are you gonna come for me again?"

I nodded, eyes rolling into my head.

"Gonna be a good girl and come for me again?"

"Yes. Please, Sam."

Sam reached for my hands and held them firmly above my head, his fingers lacing with mine. "Then come."

Closer and closer I came. My vision tunnelling until I had to close my eyes. Sam's cock hard and perfect, sliding easily in my slick, rubbing against that spot. I was seconds away.

"Look at me."

I knew the words, but not their meaning.

"Love, look at me."

Like moving through thick mud, my eyes opened. The lust and love in his eyes were what sent me over the edge. My hands clenched around his, body arching like a snake, a choked scream coming from me. Liquid fire erupted at my core and spread through my body, chaotic along with the butterflies in my stomach and the two racing heartbeats. Deep within the moaning euphoria, I knew it was wishful thinking that I could now feel Sam's heartbeat inside me, but in this moment, I wanted to believe it.

Straining to keep my eyes open, I saw Sam's face contort as he came too. His hips slammed once into mine and he began saying my name, but it morphed into a groan, his head falling into the crook of my neck. I shook with the aftermath of my orgasm, but I tried to kiss his shoulder while he twitched and emptied inside me.

When our breathing returned to normal, Sam let go of my hands and slipped out of me. He rolled us over and pulled me to him to snuggle. I reached for the comforter and pulled it up.

"I like what you've done to the place," he said playfully.

I frowned and looked around the bedroom. It was the same as it had always been. But then I saw the colourful lights of the Christmas tree in the living room shine past the slightly open door and smiled. "Yeah. I tried. It wasn't the same decorating without you though."

"We've always done that together. Even before we were us we helped each other decorate."

"Yeah..."

"Did you...?" He looked pointedly at me.

I chuckled and nodded, and reached for something on the bedside table. He took the remote from me and pointed it towards the window. Two seconds later, the outline of a slightly tilted bell shone golden in the window. Five seconds more, and it smoothly transitioned into a bell tilted in the other direction.

I let out a breath of relief. "I didn't want to turn it on until you came home. So happy it still works." It was the first thing we bought together. It was stupid, but that's why we loved it, and it had always been the first thing we put up, but we had both forgotten in the rush of his mission. It was a few years old now, a handful of the tiny, tiny bulbs didn't work anymore. It was a Christmas miracle that the thing even lit up.

Sam put the remote away and turned back to me. "No more work until next year."

We snuggled under the covers, whispered many 'I love you's, and in the golden light of the two bells, we fell asleep.

Permanent tags: @imamotherfuckingstar-lord @geeksareunique @iguess-theyre-mymess @neeadinghugs

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[bamby0304]

Victoria Grimes VII: Power

Summary: Negan. He was the monster everyone had warned them about. He was like nothing Victoria had ever seen before. Worse than Shane, the Governor, the Terminus cannibals, the people at Grady, and the Wolves. Now Negan’s Saviours are here, and they’re about to turn everyone’s lives upside down. Of course, the last thing Vickie expected was to be dragged further into it all than anyone else.

Chapter Four: And the Happily Ever After

Masterlist

Warnings: Language and violence.

Bamby

VPOV

"Boom!" Negan laughed. I could feel the RV bounce as he ran over and into walkers. "That remind you of anybody you know?" he chuckled.

After a while, we stopped.

Still staring at the table, I could only listen as Negan pulled the keys out of the ignition before he got up. He moved over to where dad sat on the couch across from the table and behind the passenger seat.

He took a seat next to dad and reached over, pulling the axe out of the table as he spoke to dad. "You are mine. The people back there, they are mine. This." He gestured to the axe. "This is mine. Her." He pointed to me. "She is mine."

I was too numb to say anything, or argue. But I knew the truth. My fingers began to fiddle with my wedding ring. The feel of the metal moving against my skin was a physical reminder, one I needed in my state of mind. I was Daryl's. I would always be Daryl's.

Negan stood and moved to the door, opening it. He killed a walker that was too close, before he reached out and tossed the axe on to the roof.

"Hey, Rick go get my axe. Let's be friends." He grinned. Another walker came to the door, this time he used Lucille to kill it. Dad didn't move, causing Negan to sigh. He clearly wasn't pleased. "If you don't do it, I'm sure your lovely daughter will. She's already said she'll do anything," he noted, still grinning.

Dad hesitated a moment before he took a deep breath and got to his feet, turning to Negan. Negan grabbed dad's shoulder and pushed him out of the door, slamming the door behind him and locking it, leaving the two of us alone, and my dad out with the walkers. I had a feeling dad had the better deal.

Sighing, Negan placed Lucille down on the chair where dad had been sitting, before he turned to the cupboards and began to look through them. I watched his every move as he went from cupboard to cupboard without a word until he found something.

"Ah! Goody." He smiled, pulling out a first aid kit and turning to me. "Let's get you cleaned up, Sweetheart." He nodded, moving to crouch by me.

I watched him, wanting to flinch away, but knowing better than to do that. If I upset this man, he'd already proven that he wouldn't think twice about putting me in my place... or killing me.

"I need you to turn and face me, Sweetheart." When I didn't move, he sighed. Placing the kit on the table, he then reached over and grabbed my knees, turning me so I now faced him. "There we go." He smiled again.

He opened and looked through the first aid kit. His smile widened a little as he pulled out some distilled water, placing the bottle on his knee as he grabbed a cloth from his pocket. He set the kit back on the table and opened the bottle. Placing the cloth on the lip, he poured some water on it, never saying a word as he worked away.

Nodding, he looked up at me, and grabbed my face. I flinched, but he simply clicked his tongue in disapproval. "If I was going to hurt you, I would have when you opened your mouth back with the others," he stated as he lifted the cloth to my face and began to clean my cut.

I gave a small, confused frown as I watched him. But his eyes were focused on the task at hand, wiping away the dirt and blood from my face, cleaning my wound. He didn't rush either, he was quite gentle and patient, making sure he did the job correctly.

"What happened here, anyway?"

I suddenly found my voice. It was small, and scared, but it was there nonetheless. "One of your men slapped me, and opened up my wound."

He paused. "Did they, now? And who would that be?"

"I don't know your people or their names. Can't exactly answer that question," I noted.

"Fair enough." He nodded, continuing with the cleaning. "Well, what about your name? Can you tell me that?"

"Victoria," I answered, seeing no point in lying or refusing to answer. He'd find out anyway.

"Victoria." He nodded. "Vickie." Finished with my cut, he then wiped at my cheeks, cleaning the tear streaks from them.

I watched him. I had no idea what was happening, but this was not the man that had been outside threatening and killing my friends. It was like he had a switch of his own, going from homicidal lunatic, to a soft gentleman.

We could hear dad on the roof now. Negan looked up as if he only just remembered he had other stuff to deal with.

Clearing his throat, he spoke aloud so dad could hear him. "Bet you thought you were all gonna grow old together, sittin' around the table at Sunday dinner and the happily ever after. No. Doesn't work like that, Rick. Not anymore," he called as he got to his feet. "Think about what happened."

I looked away from him, thinking about the rest of our group. He could still kill them. He could still hurt them. He could still do anything. He'd already killed two of us. He could easily kill more- if not all- of us.

"People died, Rick. It's what happened. Doesn't mean the rest of them have to." He paused, grabbing the gun. "Get me my axe." But dad didn't move. "Get me my axe!"

I looked up at the roof as well, wondering what dad was doing. Why wasn't he talking back? Why wasn't he moving? Was he hurt? Was he even still alive? Had he been bit?

"I thought you were the guy, Rick. Maybe you're not. We'll give it one more go. Now, I really want you to try this time. Last chance. Bring me, my axe!" he yelled before he lifted the gun and began to shoot at the roof.

I heard dad then, hearing his feet on the roof as he ran. Negan followed, moving to the back of the RV. He stood in front of the window, looking out, no doubt watching dad- where ever he was.

He opened the window and pointed the gun out at whatever was there. My heart raced and my eyes went wide as I thought the worst. But as he began to shoot, I caught sight of dad hanging from something. He appeared to be unharmed as Negan shot at the walkers and not at him.

"Clock is ticking, Rick!" Negan noted before he closed the window. "Think about what can still happen."

Turning on his heels, he came back to join me, sitting on the other side of the table, watching me with a slight grin on his lips.

"Who's the lucky man?" he asked. When I looked at him confused, he pointed to my wedding ring. "Your husband. Who is he?" I looked away and he just chuckled. "Okay, okay. You don't wanna say. So why don't we play a little guessing game then? It wasn't Red, because he was with the Mexican." He paused. "Although, you did say they were ex's."

"He's current girlfriend was the one to my dad's left." I glared at him.

"Oh, shit... he got around." He nodded before thinking about it again. "You're not Maggie, so it wasn't the Asian boy." He sighed, "I hope to God it isn't the wimp. The one with the mullet." When I said nothing he went on. "So, is it the back-pack guy?" he asked, talking about Aaron. When I didn't answer, he shook his head. "No not him. What about someone from back-" He stopped himself. "Wait. No. It's not the redneck, is it?"

I looked down at my ring, and that was answer enough.

He laughed. "Oh, man." He shook his head. "Would have never pegged you as the rough man type. What, isn't he like twice your age too? What's a pretty girl like you doing with a man like him? You're not holding hands and singing songs, that's for sure."

I snapped. "Age doesn't matter, and he's more than just a redneck! You have no idea what you're talking about!"

He just laughed harder. "You got some balls on you for a girl. Just like your man and your brother. Speaking of which... what's the kid's name?"

"Carl," I answered, though was more hesitant about giving him Carl's name then I was my own.

"Carl, Victoria and Rick." He nodded. "One big happy family, right?" His grin was still firmly in place as he got to his feet. "I tell you what, Sweetheart. I'll make a deal with you. You ready?" he asked, moving to the front of the vehicle. "I promise to never, ever, kill your brother, if you promise to do what I say. That might be fetching a coffee or killin' a man, but either way, little brother Carl stays alive. We got a deal?" he asked as he pressed on the horn of the RV.

"And if I say no?"

"You can always say no." He walked back to sit in front of me again. "But for your family's sake, I suggest you don't." The sound of dad trying to open the locked door had me glance in that direction quickly. "Times ticking, Sweetheart." Negan was enjoying this. "I'm not opening the door until I get an answer."

"Fine. Deal," I told him, through gritted teeth.

"Let's shake on that." Reluctantly I reached forward to shake his hand, hating the warmth radiating off his body that heated my cool skin. "All right!" He chuckled, letting go of my hand, "We have a deal." Nodding he got to his feet again and grabbed the gun, unlocking and opening the door.

I couldn't see outside. I couldn't see dad. There was smoke, and a few shadows of walkers, but that's all I could see as Negan aimed his gun and began to shoot at random it seemed. But I knew better than that. He always did things on purpose. He wasn't the kind of guy to throw the line in and hope for the best. He always had a plan. I'd only met him hours ago, and I already knew that.

When he stopped shooting he lowered the gun and walked back to stand next to me as he waited for my dad. Dad rushed inside, slamming the door behind him.

Breathing heavily, covered in sweat, he looked up at Negan, the axe in his hand. Negan reached out and dad gave a short nod before he put the axe in Negan's hand and then sat at the table across from me, keeping his eyes on the other man.

Negan grinned. "Atta boy!" He nodded before sticking the axe into the table again. He turned and walked to the wheel where he started the engine and drove off once more.

The RV rolled to a stop.

Negan got up and moved to stand next to dad, looking down at him. "We're here, prick." When dad looked up at him, I could see Negan wasn't too happy. "This must be hard for you, right? I mean, you have been King Shit for so long." He came to stand by my side before he tapped my shoulder.

He didn't have to speak. His body did all the talking for him. I knew what he wanted, and I knew I had no choice but to do it. So, I slid over towards the wall without a sound or second thought.

He sat next to me, looking to dad again. "Losin' two of your own like." He clicked his fingers twice. "Gettin' 'em clipped like that, one nut, then the other, and in front of your boy and Victoria here?" He shook his head as he grabbed the first aid kit. "That is some screwed-up shit!"

I watched his hands. I didn't like him sitting so close to me. I didn't like what he could do while being this close. So I kept my eye on his hands. I wanted to know exactly where they were. If I knew what they were doing, I'd know if I was in danger.

"You were in charge." He pulled the cloth out of the kit- the one he'd used on my face- and another bottle of distilled water. "Hell, you were probably addicted to it." He pulled the axe from the table. "And now, well, clip, clip, that's over." He poured some water on to the blade before he started to clean it, still talking. "But you can still lead a nice, productive life producing for me." He offered dad the axe. "I think you're gonna need it. I just got a feelin'." He grinned.

But dad didn't take it.

Negan's grin fell as he sighed. "So, take it."

As dad reached for the axe, his hand wrapping around the handle, Negan got to his feet. He grabbed dad's collar and pulled him up, dragging him to the door.

"Come on, Victoria," he called over his shoulder as he kicked the door open and threw dad out.

Negan stepped out of the vehicle and turned around, waiting for me. I moved to stand on the step, but couldn't get out as he was in my way. Which is what he wanted, I guess, because without hesitating, he reached up, placed each hand on my waist and lifted me, pressing me against him as he carried me out of the RV.

I'd wanted to push him away, but he'd shocked me. He was gentle and careful, setting me down and not letting go until he was sure I was stable.

Leaning back into the vehicle, he pulled Lucille out before looking to me. "Would you hold this for me, Sweetheart?" He grinned knowingly as I took it. "Good girl." He nodded before grabbing my arm and dad's collar.

As he walked us I realised we were back with our group. They were watching the three of us as Negan dragged dad along the floor, and walked beside me.

He let go of dad once he stood in front of our people. "Here we are." He smiled, looking to each face before turning to me. "Sweetheart?" He hadn't let go of my arm yet. Lifting his free hand, he gestured to Lucille and smiled as I handed her over. "Thank you."

His charming behaviour was confusing me. I was already finding it hard to keep a straight mind. Everything hurt and everything was still so wrong. He wasn't helping the situation.

My mind couldn't figure out who was good and who was bad. What was wrong and what was right. In fact, my head had moments where it was sure I was still kneeing in front of Glenn's body... I don't think I'd ever truly get away from that.

Negan turned to dad. "Let me ask you something, Rick. Do you even know what that little trip was about?" When dad didn't say anything, Negan spoke again. "Speak when you're spoken to."

"Okay," dad answered, breathing heavily. "Okay."

Pleased, Negan went on. "That trip was about the way that you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand." He shrugged. "But you're still looking at me the same damn way like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that's not gonna work." He knelt by dad with a sigh. "So do I give you another chance?"

It took a moment, but eventually, dad spoke. "Yeah. Yes. Yes."

I bit back tears as I looked up at the sky. Hearing my dad sound so weak... he was the strongest man I knew. If Negan could bring him down so easily, there was no hope for the rest of us.

"Okay." Negan patted him on the back before he got to his feet. "All right. And here it is, the grand-prize game." He grinned. "What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone's last crap day or just another crap day." He turned to his men. "Get some guns to the back of their heads."

I watched with wide eyes as some Saviours stepped out of the crowd, each moving to stand behind one of my loved ones who were still lined up. Lifting their guns, they aimed them at the back of their heads, cocking the weapons.

"Good." Negan nodded, grinning widely. "Now level with their noses, so if you have to fire." He imitated the sound of an explosion. "It'll be a real mess." He turned to Carl and I felt my already hard and fast beating heart, beat even more harder and faster. "Kid, right here." He gestured for Carl to come before he pointed to the ground by his feet.

I watched my brother as he just looked at the man without moving.

Negan sighed and turned to me. "Go get your brother," he told me before looking to Carl again.

My eyes went wider at the thought of me having to get my brother and bring him to whatever torturous things Negan had install for him.

"I'm coming," Carl told him before I even had the chance to move.

"Good." Negan nodded. "Vickie, Sweetheart, would you help me out here?" He turned to me again as Carl moved towards us. With a grin on his face, he stepped closer to me. "Could you help me take my belt off?"

I looked him in the eyes without moving. I didn't want to touch him, let alone his belt or anything around that area. But as he watched me with that cocky grin, and knowing eyes, I knew I had no choice.

I rested my hands on his belt and began to unbuckle it. Negan watched me, tilting his head as his eyes clouded over. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was thinking.

As I pulled the belt from his pants, he hummed. "Mm. Perfect." He took the belt from me. "Thank you, Sweetheart. Now, could you hold Lucille?" I took Lucille from his hands, keeping eye contact with him as I did so. He turned back to Carl, who now stood by dad. "You a southpaw?" he asked as he grabbed Carl's left hand.

"Am I a what?" Carl asked, not hiding the fact that he hated this man.

"You a lefty?"

"No."

Nodding, Negan grabbed Carl's left arm. "Good." He started wrapping the belt around the top of my brother's arm. "That hurt?"

Carl shook his head. "No."

I could see it did. But I could see he didn't want to show weakness. Negan played on weakness. All monsters did.

I couldn't see Negan's face but I could hear the smirk in his voice. "Should. It's supposed to." He finished wrapping the belt around Carl's arm. "All right. Get down on the ground, kid, next to daddy. Spread them wings." He took Carl's hat off his head and pointed to the ground, telling Carl where to lay. "Vickie." He gestured for me to take the hat and I did. Once Carl was on the dirt, Negan looked to Simon. "Simon... you got a pen?"

Simon nodded. "Yeah." He pulled a pen out of his pocket and threw it to Negan.

Negan caught the pen and pulled the lid off with his teeth as he crouched in between dad and Carl. "Sorry, kid." He pulled the sleeve of Carl's left arm up. "This is gonna be as cold as a warlock's ballsack, just like he was hanging his ballsack above you and dragging it right across the forearm." He drew a line along Carl's forearm. "There you go. Gives you a little leverage."

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. What was worse was the fact I couldn't even do anything. If I tried to stop Negan, he'd kill someone. I knew it. He knew it. Everyone did.

But dad, he wasn't just going to roll over and let Negan do it. He wasn't going to fight either. "Please. Please. Please don't," he begged. "Please don't."

Negan put the lid back on the pen and grinned as he turned to dad. "Me?" He shook his head. "I ain't doing shit." He stood again. "Rick, I want you to take your axe cut your son's left arm off, right on that line."

I couldn't watch this... "Please-"

But Negan just turned to me, cutting me off. "Shh, Sweetheart." He lifted his hand, lightly brushing his fingers against my cheek as he wiped a tear from my face. "Shh."

I felt sick. I felt numb. I knew I should want to pull back from him, to fight, but I was too weak and empty to do anything but let my head fall.

He turned back to dad, but still stayed close to me. "Now, I know- I know. You're gonna have to process that for a second. That makes sense." He shrugged. "Still, though, I'm gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die. Then Carl dies, then the people back home die." He gestured to me. "I'll keep her around. I like her. And I'll keep you breathing for a few years, too. Just so you can stew on it."

"You- You don't have to do this." Michonne shifted on the spot where she still knelt. "We understand. We understand."

"You understand. Yeah." Negan nodded, grinning again. "I'm not sure that Rick does." He looked down at dad. "I'm gonna need a clean cut right there on that line. Now, I know this is a screwed-up thing to ask, but it's gonna have to be like a salami slice. Nothing messy, clean, 45 degrees. Give us something to fold over. We got a great doctor. The kid'll be fine." He shrugged. "Probably."

I couldn't just stand there, I had to try. For Carl. For dad. For everyone.

I grabbed Negan's arm. "Choose me. Cut my arm off. He's just a boy."

Negan's eyes landed on my hand that rested on his arm, before they met mine. "I get it, I do, Sweetheart. You'll do anything for your people. But, you're not the one that needs to learn the lesson."

I would do anything for these people. I'd proven that before. Many times. I would even let Negan kill me if I had to. I'd let him take me away even if it meant I never got to see my family again, just so I'd know they were safe.

But Negan knew that. We'd only met hours ago and yet we could both read each other like an open book. He knew what I was like. I knew what he was like. Which is why he wasn't going to let me take my brother's place. That would be too easy.

Sighing, he turned back to dad again. "Rick, this needs to happen now. Chop, chop. Or I'll make Victoria chop it off and then I'll crush your skull myself and make everyone here watch."

"It can- It can- It can be me," dad offered. "It can be me. Y-You can do it to me. I c- I can go with- with you."

"No." Negan shook his head. "This is the only way." A sob left my lips, causing him to look to me again. "I know. I know. Shh." He brushed my hair behind my ear. Without looking at dad, he spoke. "Rick pick up the axe." Yet dad still didn't move. Negan sighed, dropping his hand from my cheek. "Not making a decision is a big decision, Rick. You really want to see all these people die? You will. You will see every-fucking-thing."

I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn't watch this. I wished I could just black out and never have to open my eyes again. I wish the world would open up and swallow me whole. I wish we could go back in time and change things. I wish I'd stayed home like dad had wanted. I wish it had been me Negan killed. I wish... I wish... I wish...

"Oh, my God." Negan groaned, turning away from me. "Are you gonna make me count? Okay, Rick. You win." He shook his head. "Vickie, Lucille." He reached his hand out. I handed Lucille over to him with shaking hands. "I am counting. Three!"

"Please," dad begged, now crying. "Please. It can be me. Please!"

Negan ignored him, kneeling between dad and Carl again. "Two!"

"Please, don't do-"

Negan slapped dad, cutting him off. He grabbed dad's face, looking into his eyes. "This is it." He made dad look at Carl. "One!"

Dad was a mess. I'd never seen him like this. Crying, weeping. He could hardly breath and I wondered if he could even see through his tearing eyes. It broke my heart all over again, having to stand there and watch this all unfold.

"Dad, just do it." Carl's voice caught my attention. He nodded at dad, a defeated look in his eyes. "Just do it."

Dad looked down at Carl, unsure. But he knew he had to. He knew he had no choice. Not if he wanted the rest of us to live.

Grabbing the axe, still a mess of tears and cries, dad lifted the weapon above his head as his free hand held on to Carl's arm, getting ready.

"Rick." Negan knelt by dad, stopping him. When dad looked him in the eye, he spoke. "You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?" When dad just nodded, he snapped. "Speak when you're spoken to!" He held dad's face in his hand again. "You answer to me! You provide for me!"

Dad nodded. "Provide for you."

"You belong to me, right?!"

"Right," dad agreed through sobs.

"Right." Negan calmed down, his grin returning. "That is the look I wanted to see." He stood, grabbing the axe and looking to everyone. "We did it. All of us, together. Even the dead guys on the ground. Hell, they get the spirit award, for sure," he sighed, nodding. "Today was a productive damn day! Now, I hope, for all your sake that you get it now. That you understand how things work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you, that is over now." He grinned. "Dwight load him up." He gestured to Daryl.

My eyes snapped towards Daryl just as Dwight grabbed him and pulled him towards the van. I cried as Daryl was thrown into the vehicle, the door slammed shut behind him.

No. Out of everything Negan could do... to take Daryl. He was the only one who could keep me going. He was my life line. He was the love of my life. Without him...

"No, please," I begged, shaking my head. "Please."

Negan looked to me. "Sweetheart, I know, but I gotta take someone. And he's got guts. Not a little bitch like someone I know." He gestured to dad, pausing before going on about Daryl again. "I like him." He grabbed my chin, but was gentle as he held my face. I sobbed as he spoke. "He's mine now. Just like you're all mine now."

I flinched but stayed where I stood. There was no point in fighting. There was no point in doing anything but staying where we were. Negan had shown us what he could do, and what he would do. I didn't want to make him angry again.

He turned to the rest of my group. "But you still want to try something? 'Not today, not tomorrow'." He grinned. "'Not today, not tomorrow'? I will cut pieces off of..." He paused for a moment, turning to Simon. "Hell's his name?"

"Daryl." Simon answered.

I whimpered at the sound of Daryl's name.

Negan ignored me. "Wow." he chuckled. "That actually sounds right." He looked down at dad then. "I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep. Or, better yet, I will bring him to you and have you do it for me." He grinned. "Welcome to a brand-new beginning, you sorry shits! I'm gonna leave you a truck. Keep it. Use it to cart all the crap you're gonna find me.

"We'll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then ta-ta." He turned to leave but stopped. Bending down, he lifted something and turned to me, offering me my bat. "I want you to keep it." He grinned. I knew it was him telling me not asking, and so I had no choice. I took it. "You better have it when we come visit." He told me, not hiding the fact his eyes were looking me up and down before he turned to leave.

Once he was gone I felt myself take in a deep breath. But it just opened the box of emotions I'd been keeping closed, and just like that I fell to my knees as I began to cry uncontrollably. I hugged myself as the tears kept coming, as my body shook.

Arms wrapped around me. I was only vaguely aware of Carl holding me to him as he whispered sweet nothings in my ear and stroked my hair comfortingly. I just let the tears keep coming. I felt like it would never stop. I felt like I could die just from crying so much. I felt like I would never heal from this night.

There was noise and movement coming from the others once all the Saviours were gone. I didn't look over, but I could hear them all talking even as I kept crying.

"Maggie," dad spoke, trying to stop me. "Maggie." But she didn't respond. "Maggie, you need to sit down." He got to his feet. "Maggie."

I could hear her now, sobbing and trying to breath as she walked. I couldn't look though. I could turn and face her after what I'd done. Glenn would still be alive if it wasn't for me... I should have just kept my mouth shut.

"No," she told him.

"We need to get you to the Hilltop." Dad was worried about her. I would be too if I wasn't already so upset.

"You need to go get ready," she argued.

Dad paused before asking, "For what?"

"To fight them," she managed to answer even though she was clearly unwell and struggling.

"They have Daryl. They have an army," dad noted and I whimpered again at the sound of Daryl's name. "We would die. All of us."

"Go home." Her voice broke. "Take everybody with you. I can get there by myself."

"You can barely stand up."

"I need to go. You need to go to Alexandria. You were out- out here for me." She felt guilty. I could hear it in her words and voice. She felt guilty, just like me. But it was my fault, not hers.

"We still are," dad insisted.

"I can make it now," she sobbed. "I need you to go back. I can't have you out here. I can't have you all out here anymore. I need you to go back."

"Maggie we're not letting you go," Michonne spoke up. "Okay?"

But Maggie wasn't listening. "You have to."

"It's not gonna happen." Dad wasn't giving up either.

"I'm taking her," Sasha offered. "I'm gonna get her there. I'm gonna keep her safe. I'm not giving you a choice," she told Maggie.

"I'm taking him with me." I knew Maggie was talking about Glenn.

I tore myself from Carl then and turned to see my best friend kneeling by her dead husband. My crying stopped just like that, as my eyes were once more glued to the scene before me. The red. In the light, it was so much worse. You could see it all...

I pushed at Carl, using the last of my energy. "Go." The word was barely above a whisper, but he heard me.

Carl got up and moved to Maggie as she spoke to Aaron. My brother stood behind her, grabbing her arm softly and carefully as he tried to pull her up. But she wouldn't move. She wouldn't leave Glenn.

Dad knelt in front of her. "Pl- Pl- Please let us. He- He's our family- He's our family, too."

Maggie looked up at him. I wasn't looking at dad, so I couldn't see what she saw, but it was enough to get her to nod and pull back, getting to her feet. Dad, Aaron and Carl lifted Glenn's body from the ground and started to move towards the van Negan had left for us as Michonne held on to Maggie. Sasha, Eugene and Rosita carried Abraham.

I stayed where I was as I looked at the blood and brains of my friend. Of Glenn. Glenn. It was my fault. My fault. He would still be alive if I hadn't... I shouldn't have... I could have... it's my fault. Never should have... why didn't I...?

An image formed in my mind.

In front of me sat a long table, set on the grass back at home. Years have gone by. We're all clean. The food set in front of us delicious.

Dad's sitting at the end of the table, with Michonne on his right and Gabriel on his left. Carol is sitting next to Gabriel, facing Tara. Judith- all grown up, now maybe four or five- stands in between Carl and Enid- who is next to Carol. Rosita and Tara are talking across from my brother and sister. Aaron and Eugene are joking around, each looking over the table at the other. Spencer and a pregnant Sasha laugh as Morgan tells a joke. Abraham smiles at and older Aly who sits across from him. Daryl, who's sitting next to a beaming Maggie, looks up at Glenn and myself.

I look over at Glenn as we stand by the end of the table. His son stands by his legs, looking up at my arms in wonder. A baby sleeps in my grasp as I rock it gently. My eyes look down to the table, to all my friends, to my family, and then to my baby, before they meet Glenn's.

He's happy. We're all happy. Things could never be better...

"Bet you thought you were all gonna grow old together, sittin' around the table at Sunday dinner and the happily ever after." Negan's voice echoed in my mind. "No. Doesn't work like that, Rick. Not anymore."

Staring at the red stained ground, I felt my skin buzz as my insides went numb, and my mind went blank and my heart no longer ache as everything inside me finally fell apart.

Bamby

If you would like to be tagged please send an ask, and tell me what tag list you want to be added to, it’s just easier to organise this way

Forever Tags:

@kellyn1604 @bunnymelodies @ask-kakashihatake​ @red-rose-flora

Victoria Grimes:

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[thesoftdumbass]

Of Drinks and Friends

Pavel Chekov X Reader Words: 1224

Characters: Female Reader, Pavel Chekov, Montgomery ‘Scotty’ Scott, Keenser, Spock (mentioned)

Warnings: talk of (small) injury, slight blackmail, parties, alcohol use, hangovers, fluff (I think I got everything)

“It’s not like I was trying to listen. You two just don’t know how to whisper.”

Summary: Pavel Chekov overhears you and Scotty talking about a party in engineering and wants to be invited.

Author’s Note: Hi guys! I want to wish Dani ( @starshiphufflebadger ) a happy early birthday! She is too nice and deserves all the love. Anyways, this is for her birthday challenge and it took a while but I finally wrote it haha. Anyways, this is my first time writing Chekov and I hope he is correct. (Please inform me if you think my Chekov is OOC) Anyways, I hope you like this oneshot! Sorry for any spelling or grammatical errors. Enjoy!

-Taylor

(All gif credit goes to owner)

“Alright Lass, you start getting snacks from the food synthesizer while I gather up all the alcohol I can find. Then we can both meet back here and search for decorations together,” your boss Montgomery Scott told you while you were walking the corridors of the Enterprise.

“What is this party for again, Scotty? I keep forgetting.”

“You may have had one too many shocks for your own good. If anybody asks, it’s to celebrate going two years in a row on this ship without dying. Between you and me though (Y/N), we need some lightening up down in engineering. We red shirts work hard and deserve some fun.” Scotty told you.

“But doesn’t it seem kind of, I don’t know, exclusive? Command and Science work hard too.” You were now on the recreation deck, making your way over to the synthesizer.

“Aye Lass, but they have their own parties.”

While you were talking with Scotty, you noticed someone walking closer to you. Both you and Scotty quieted when you noticed who it was.

“Chekov. What are you doing not on the bridge, Lad?” Scotty asked while you were trying too hard to appear nonchalant.

“I came to get something to eat, it is my lunch break.” Pavel looked at you both oddly.

“Right, well, I’m just gonna borrow my second in command for a moment. Excuse us.” Scotty led you a few feet away from the navigator and leaned in close, speaking lowly. “Okay. I’m going to visit the science department, I want to see if Lieutenant Wilson has any more of that illegal alcohol they distilled last month for the party. You stay here and do what I asked of ya.”

'Party food. Got it,“ you reply.

Both you and Scotty jumped when there was a voice close behind you. "Party? I hadn’t heard of a party.”

You turned around and came face to chest with Pavel Chekov. You sighed, closing your eyes in frustration and stepping back. “You know Pav, it’s rude to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations.”

“It’s not like I was trying to listen. You two just don’t know how to whisper.”

You floundered, trying to find a response to that. “I… You won’t tell anybody about the party will you? Especially not Spock?” You finally found your words

“I won’t tell anybody…” you sighed in relief. “As long as I’m invited.

"What? No! You cannae just blackmail us like that. Let engineering have our party.”

“Okay fine, I guess I will see you two later. I have to talk to Mr. Spock.”

“NO!” You almost yelled, then cleared your throat. “Maybe you can come.”

“What are ya talking about (Y/N)? Chekov is command.”

“Yeah Scotty, but remember that one time when he was Chief Engineer for like, two days? That has to count for something.”

“That’s right Lassie, I’d forgotten about that.” Scotty turned to Chekov. “I guess you can come to the party. It’s tonight at 2100 in main engineering. Tell anybody else about this and nothing of yours will ever be fixed again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scott.”

“I’ll be taking my leave now. I’ll see you two later.” Scotty then went in search of refreshments.

Standing in silence for a moment, you noticed you were still standing too close to Pavel and took another step back. “I guess I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Yeah, I should get back to the bridge. I’ll see you later, yes?” You agreed and went your separate ways.

Later at the party, you were bartending with Keenser by your side when Chekov walked up to you.

“(Y/N)!” he said excitedly.

“Hey Pav, enjoying the party,” you ask.

He nods enthusiastically, obviously already slightly inebriated. You laugh and shake your head at him. “Can I get another drink?”

“Sure, what’ll you have?”

“Is there any more of that stuff from Science Department?”

“Yeah but I don’t want you having too many of these, I don’t want to have to take care of you tonight.” You handed him a glass and started serving an ensign to his left, leaving Pavel to his own devices.

“Why are we friends, again,” you ask rhetorically as you half-carry Chekov to his quarters. After taking a moment to input the entry code, you finally drag Pavel to his bed and sit him down.

As he laid on his back on top of the comforter, the ensign who had been utterly silent the whole trip from engineering, started babbling.

“Y'know (Y/N), you make good drinks. You should be a bartender for a living.”

“Well unfortunately for you, I am an engineer. Sorry 'bout that,” you apologize insincerely to your drunken co-worker.

“S'alright, you’re a good engineer,” Pav slurred.

While Chekov entertained himself with a stray thread on his sleeve, you got a glass of water and two aspirin for when he wakes up and placed them on his bedside table. You were making to head back to your quarters when Pavel reached out and softly grasped your hand.

“Yeah, Pavel? Do you need anything?”

“Thank you for taking care of me (Y/N), you’re a good friend.”

“You’re welcome, though you’re a bit of a pain in the neck sometimes,” you laughed.

“I wish we weren’t friends though.” He muttered sleepily but you heard it.

“Pav, why do you wish we weren’t friends,” you ask, slightly offended.

Chekov suddenly became shy, looking away from you. “I kind of wish we were more than friends.”

Your eyes soften and you lay down next to him on the bed. “Why didn’t you say so? I kind of wish we were more than friends too.”

“Really?” Pavel’s eyes open from where they were previously closed and you smile at him. “Would you like to go on a date with me, (Y/N)?”

You smiled and nodded, beginning to run your fingers through Pavel’s blond curls. You hummed a soft melody as the man fell asleep beside you, drifting off yourself not long after.

Pavel woke the next morning feeling his head throbbing. His mouth was incredibly dry and when he moved he felt nauseous. “Lights at fifteen percent,” Pavel groaned out with his morning voice as he opened his eyes.

Looking around, Pavel noticed some water and medication on his bedside table, along with a note. Opening it, he noticed your handwriting.

Morning Pav! I left you something for your head, take it and drink all of the water. If you’re not feeling better in a few hours, go to sick-bay and someone will help you. At least you don’t have work so that’s good. I’ll check on you later and we can talk. -(Y/N) P.S. In case you don’t remember my answer from last night, yes I will go on a date with you.

Chekov sat up suddenly in bed. He had asked you out last night? He doesn’t remember that happening. Maybe he shouldn’t have had so much liquor last night, but then again, would he have had the courage to ask you on a date without it? Pavel had had a crush on you for the longest time, and hadn’t been able to take your relationship further. And even though he doesn’t remember last night, he is glad that it happened. And he is glad that he found such a good friend (and maybe more) in you.

[goldenscript]

wips tag.

i was tagged by @workofteaguk and @wonhopes to share my works in progress, since it’s really no surprise that i have ten million wips but enjoy these ones i’ve been working on so far i thought i’d share with everyone else what i have cooking up so far! also, thank you guys for tagging me (”: <333

title: i hate you, (but of course) i love you pairing: jeon jungkook | reader genre: exes au, fluff, humor, a dash of angst status: currently standing at 4.3k, probably about 80% done. i have two more section to write with lots more bickering between the two. (((: preview: —

“—What the fuck?” he says, finally getting a proper look at the silver on both of their wrists. His head still pounds at the sudden thought, but he suddenly recalls the pair of handcuffs that Jin was swinging around last night. They weren’t anything special, but the older man was flaunting them around with his own brand of drunken smugness. It was a rare first to see his older friend with a such a bold pair of items but an even rarer to see him so piss-drunk. How did he—

“Shut the fuck up,” he hears Y/N grumble. Without another second, you begin to turn away from him before the yank at both of their wrists stops further movement. “Ow! What the—”

“Take my wrist apart, why dontcha,” he grumbles back, attempting to yank you back to your back position. “I’d appreciate keeping it, thank you very much.”

He barely blinks his eye by the time you shoot right up in the bed, clutching your head as you turn to him in disbelief. “What the fuck?! Jeon, what did you do?”

“Me?!” he says, wincing at his own volume. “I’m innocent, I just woke up handcuffed to Chewbacca. Thanks for asking.”

“Chewbacca… this brat,” you scoff, giving his arm a shove while clutching the top of your head with the other.

“I didn’t do this,” he answers your unsaid question, feeling his heart pound. Like old times, only frustration seemed to come with you. “Maybe one of the guys did it or somethin’.”

“Fuck, I’m never drinking at the same party as you again,” you groan, shooting him another look before your head slammed back onto his pillow. “And I’m definitely going to kill Jin for bringing these stupid things, too.”

Then, it hit him and his own groaning and head-slamming ensued—god, why the fuck did he agree to a drinking competition with you?

(more wips under the cut~) 

title: chatroom confessions pairing: jeon jungkook | reader genre: childhood rivals au, fluff, some angst status: at about 4.1k, only 20% done. i have the outline finished, i just need to go on with the act of writing this thing. preview: —

The next time you log on, he’s on.

It’s not even the same time as before.Your clock reads 8:03 PM right now.

But there it is, the little green symbol besides his username. The sight is foreboding, practically beckoning you to click the user and say something, anything.

You find some bravery in tapping on the icon, your fingers already tapping away—

[8:06 PM] peachy-keen: I don’t know or care if this is Jungkook or not but come clean already

Unfortunately, you can’t even find the rest of your courage to press send. You want to say something at the least. But what?

Do I say? ‘Hey, Y/N here. Remember me from 6th grade? Yeah, you totally crushed my little grade school heart.’ Or ‘Hey, is this Jungkook or was this one of Lisa’s friends fucking with me?’ Or-

You don’t even have a moment to finish your thought when a ding! emits from your laptop’s speakers.

[8:07 PM] blue_seagull: long time, no see

You blink, letting out a shaky breath before typing up an immediate response. Here goes nothing.

[8:07 PM] peachy-keen: uh, yeah

[8:08 PM] blue_seagull: Still don’t think it’s me?

[8:08 PM] peachy-keen: No

[8:09 PM] blue_seagull: How can I prove it?

[8:09 PM] peachy-keen: I’d have to see your face.

[8:10 PM] blue_seagull: [photo.jpg sent]

The photo looks relatively like the Jungkook you remember from the vaguest parts of your mind. As begrudging as you are to admit to the fact, he’s actually quite handsome. His mop of dark hair sitting atop his forehead is no longer the same bowl cut like seven years ago. His features have definitely filled out too. Even his smile has become even nicer than you remember. And it isn’t completely foreign anyway.

You’ve seen a photo or two from mutual friends’ Instagram photos, but you’re still not completely sold in this case. In this day and age, this could be that same person catfishing as Jungkook. You’re about to type something along those lines in your response, but you erase it and laugh after reading his next message.

[8:11 PM] blue_seagull: I’m gonna take a guess and say you think the picture is a catfish

[8:11 PM] peachy-keen: duh.

[8:11 PM] blue_seagull: okay, skype me then

[8:12 PM] blue_seagull: guk_0901

Perhaps it’s dangerous to do something like this. Skyping some complete stranger and all. But then again, it was dangerous to chat with a complete stranger too. It isn’t like there’s much to lose at this point. You heave out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders and mutter something along the lines of “Fuck it” before you give him your response.  

[8:15 PM] peachy-keen: Sure, whatever.

Once you’re logged into your Skype account, you type in the username that “Jungkook” has provided you. The icon is a different photo than the one he sent you, but it’s still the same boy. Just that observation alone makes you realize just how nervous you are. Of course, this is expected. You’re actually not sure what’s going to come from this call. You don’t even know if you’ll actually be seeing Jungkook or someone else from your old elementary school.

A part of you prays it’s him, but another part doesn’t just for the sake of your own feelings. Way too many things happened back then.

At least I’ll be able to get some answers out of it… right?

You press the call icon, watching as the rings come to a halt after the first two chimes and Jeon Jungkook appears on the screen of your laptop.

Again, he’s the first one to speak. This time an almost all-knowing smile curves on his smiles as he says, “Believe me yet?”

You’re actually left a little baffled at this moment. Your lips parting slightly to say words, your mind’s racing a million miles per hour, before you say something, “Um… yeah…” You pause for a moment, calming yourself as you suddenly recollect the intent of why you logged on in the first place, “You have some explaining to do.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, his features softening as he nods, “I figured.”

title: where the lines overlap. pairing: jeon jungkook | reader, park jimin | reader genre: band au + romance, angst status: standing at 2.1k, 2% done. LOL. it’s a series i have in the works, so bear with me. i’m trying to get it done right. preview: —

a year and a half ago.

You wanted to get far, far away from everything so you ran.

At that point, you were sure you had run off a good five blocks from the cursed music building, allowing your lungs to collapse and expand in random intervals. It felt like everything had collapsed around you, and perhaps it did in many respects. What the fuck could you do? Go with it? Let yourself shed the weights of your own band mates after all the blood, sweat, and tears you all spent trying to get to where you were?

That thought alone had you shaking your head, running a shaky palm through your locks as you searched for solace somewhere. It had to be there right? Or did it even exist there at all?

You couldn’t even fathom where you were because this was nowhere close to the five blocks you spent sightseeing with everyone else. You didn’t see the other music buildings or the small corner convenience stores that proved their worth during strenuous practices leaving you and the others drained—was it that hard to be perfect, after all?

Bang’s face flashed across your mind, his disappointment at the lack of practice earlier that day. There’s a deep set frown etched into his weathered skin, eyes narrowed as Yoongi tried to reason your way through the mess and how it became slits when you dared defending your mint-haired companion. The older man grunted, “Fix this; whatever the hell it is. Just fix it.” So, you ran after another screaming match with Jungkook.

You just ran the moment you could because what else could you do?

Bang was mad, Jungkook was mad, Taehyung was confused, and Yoongi was watching it unfold like a spectator, and you? You were confused, scared, and you needed air.

Fuck—, you wheezed, plopping down by the end of the path. At this point, you didn’t even care for the dirt that stained your jeans or the funny looks you received from passersby. You didn’t really care for anything right then. You just wanted your heart to stop trying to escape your chest.

You felt your phone vibrate against your leg, but you didn’t even bother looking at it. Instead you tried to familiarize yourself with the view before you. There was a cluster of vendors offering goods, all sorts of kebabs, milk teas, and even sweet creams; all of them without a care in the world. You saw an arcade filling up with children shrieking for money and for a turn on the machines. Behind you, there was a food shop, wafting the distilled air with fresh soup and customers filling the air with chatter and inquiries. It was all busy, all moving forward, and there you were, suspended in time like a ghostly spectator because like many times before you were just a nameless face.

The sky was a bright blue hue, cerulean really, with wisps of clouds peeking between passing intervals as they seemed to move while everyone else remained still down below. You could feel the sun beat against your slick skin, clinging to you like a second layer as you found your erratic heart calming down.

What you see before you was normalcy, tranquility. Things you wish you had again.

You rose from your spot, giving the scene a final once over before you willed your legs to move up the incline toward the cliff that hung over the rest of the city. There was something therapeutic in all of this though you hardly believed you deserved any relief knowing the things you knew. By the time you felt yourself stop and rest against the burning metal beneath your elbows, you were still thinking.

Dammit. Closing your eyes, you tried to will the pressing thoughts away. I should tell him shouldn’t I?

But if you did, you’d risk more than just the sake of your relationship. You’d risk his dream. The only dream that Jungkook has ever had, and you’d be the one to rip it away from him. You hoped he’d find his own aspirations… out of everyone, you didn’t think you could do that. You pushed him to do this after all.

You said aloud, hearing the hoarse edges, “Fuck—” 

You swore you heard something off to your right but when you braved a look around you, it was just an unwelcome sight of visitors beneath the safety of a gazebo. It was just a family, celebrating amongst themselves. They thankfully paid you no attention, opting for the fascinations of their own food and devices than some random girl trying to figure out what her next move was.

I could just lea—

You heard your phone ring this time, vibrating against your back pocket and interrupting the daring thought—whether you actually appreciated it or feared it was still beyond you. Rather than thinking further, you decided to pull out the plastic device, hoping to God it wasn’t Jungkook.

It wasn’t, so you slid your fingertip across the screen to answer.

You released out a deep breath, “Yoongi—”

“—Lemme guess you ran off to clear your thoughts?” He wouldn’t sound worried to anyone, straight tone and all, but you heard the edge in his voice.

“I did.”

“He’s worried, y’know,” It made the reality of the situation wash over you, taking its hold on you as you tried to wrestle with the next set of words waiting to part your lips—

“I’m going to leave the city.”

“Y/N,” There was a deeper edge to his voice, a warning laced between the syllables of your own name, “where are you?”

“Enjoying the view.”

title: beneath the surface pairing: kim taehyung | reader genre: ??? status: outline is 75% done and i have barely less than 1k written so that’s maybe 1.5% done. preview: —

With the door shut tight behind you, you’re given a choice between two options: stay awake and talk about the kiss or pretend to sleep and deal with it tomorrow. Because out of all people, you know that Kim Taehyung would breach the topic no matter what as it was in his very nature go for what was uncomfortable even if he had a hard time doing this himself; and, as much as you’d like to do this, to debunk whatever happened in that split second where all you could taste was the cherry Coke on his lips, you can’t bring yourself to do it. Especially not when your mind is whirling about in discordant thoughts all seemingly screaming for more when you should be doing no such thing.

It happened. It was just the heat of the moment. You turn on your side and lean your head onto your arm. Now stop thinking about it.

But it’s like your brain wants to taunt you with a reminder of what just passed: all that plays is the close proximity of Taehyung’s visage a hair’s breadth from yours, his deep, chocolate brown eyes soft from the reminiscing over a distant past that the two of you once shared together, back when times were simpler—at least as simple as college could get—when all you two ever worried about was midterms and final examinations and the Final Reckoning enacted by your parents at the end of each school year, while the scent of mint and sugar fanned across your features. Just sitting beside him, knees brushing against one another and feeling the heat radiating from his lean body, you felt your heart thundering and your mind swimming with two simple words: Kiss him. Then you did and he did too. And it’s all that remains burned into your mind, because holy fuck we kissed.     

You find yourself recalling the day when you doodled the simple cloud to him, embellishing it with his username in hopes that it would give him strength to follow his dreams like you were following yours, and you see the way he lit up and pulled you in tight. The thick scent of eucalyptus shrouded you, and yet you enjoyed every moment of it, allowing it all to put you at ease despite the fire burning in your own heart. It’s the same feeling now, burning even brighter and hotter, because under these pretenses, you actually have no fucking clue what overcame you or him to do it. All you know is you felt something with the brunet, perhaps nostalgia or connection in ways that seemed to date back to high school all tightening around your own better judgement.

It’s wrong. I shouldn’t—

Hearing a knock at the door, your heart damn near jumps out of your chest but tension soon expels from your body. All you do is stay in place as the doorknob jiggles and footsteps make its way behind you.

“Y/N?” Taehyung whispers, leaning over the bed frame. When you don’t reply and all he can see are your shut eyes, he lets out a deep sigh. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow then.”

The certainty that he would leave the room is soon dispelled the moment you hear him shuffle onto your side of the bed albeit the arrival comes after a few moments—you’re almost certain he stopped by your desk—when he grabs onto the edge of your comforter and pulls it over your legs and onto your torso. He’s careful not to touch any parts, his warm touch only grazing your shoulders as he covers you. All the while, he’s humming a song—one you’re unfamiliar with—that soothes your mind.

“Good night, Y/N… sweet dreams.”

As he turns off the lights and shuts the door behind him, you feel yourself basking in the scent of eucalyptus and drifting to sleep with a smile curved on your lips, Good night Tae… sweet dreams.

i tag: @sugaspen @jamlessness @jungnoir (idc if other ppl tagged u, i’ma still tag u) @taechubs

{ of course, you don’t have to do this!! but if you do (this goes out to anyone reading this far), feel free to tag me!!! }

[jirnkirk]

so………. i wrote a rebelcaptain fic, about 7k, about favorite colors (it’s a weird topic but whatever) and before i post it on ao3 i’d love some feedback. i reworked the second scene literally five times and the whole thing is far far from perfect but it’s reached the point where i don’t think i’m getting anywhere with it tbh. but anyway pls comment tysm

i. Massassi Base; green

The celebrations are just gearing up as Jyn knocks on his door. She has guessed that they both share an aversion to the jubilation that left hundreds of bodies in its wake, bodies blown up by grenades or felled by blaster shots, disintegrated now, just flecks floating in space. She knows no one will miss them at the party; the attention has been taken from the Scarif survivors and placed on Han Solo, Leia Organa, and Luke Skywalker, all eager-eyed and fresh, reveling in their accomplishments.

Jyn just feels tired.

The door opens and, as she expected, she is greeted by Cassian, who wears loose gray pants and a thin white shirt, a marked difference from his typical beige uniform and large, fur-lined parka. He is assisted by a crutch under his arm, and Jyn can see the outline of bandages poking through his top. He received treatment in the bacta tanks for two days, and the doctors said he was lucky to be alive. That they were both lucky to be alive.

Jyn doesn’t feel that way.

She feels stranded. She had been prepared to die on that beach, listening to the waves crash, watching as the world exploded in a beautiful pink, simply holding Cassian. She had been ready to greet death with open arms and a smile before the opportunity had been snatched away. Dying, she has come to find out, is easy; living, on the other hand, is a much taller order. Especially when everyone you know has been ripped away.

Except Cassian.

“Jyn,” he says, and there’s only a little bit of surprise in his voice. He winces as he talks, his ribs still aching, no doubt. She’s surprised he can even stand, to be frank, but a little bit of stubbornness and pride can go a long way.

“Can I come in?” she asks, and he draws the door further back and steps aside to allow her into his room.

After she crosses the threshold, he shuts the door behind them. Jyn supposes she should feel embarrassed, sneaking into a man’s room in the middle of the night, but she thinks that she’s gone through too much with Cassian to allow such trivial shame to prick the back of her neck, so she holds her head up high as she studies the space around them. His quarters are bigger than hers, but still small; the walls, floor, and ceiling are all gray concrete, with the white sheets on the bed and the ivory table shoved against a wall providing the only breaks in the monotony. There are no personal effects. In that, they are alike.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Jyn says mechanically, though she knows Cassian has not been asleep. The bed sheets are rumpled, like their occupant has been tossing and turning, unable to rest.

Cassian knows she knows, but small talk is normal, and normal is sane. Normal is good. If Jyn squints, she can pretend they’re somewhere else, far away from this base, far away from this rebellion, tucked in a safe corner of the galaxy. But they aren’t.

“You didn’t,” he responds automatically, his voice hoarse and tired. Jyn walks further into the room and he follows her with a strange, loud, three-legged gait, breathing heavily. She stops when she gets to the edge of his bed, trailing her fingers along the thin comforter, feeling Cassian’s gaze on the back of her neck.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” she mumbles to the mattress.

Cassian shifts his weight. “Let’s go outside,” he suggests suddenly. Jyn turns to face him, confusion flitting across her face as her brows knit together. “It’s quiet,” he explains quickly, mumbling. “Quiet and peaceful.” She glances down at his leg, then his bandage, then back up at him, and sees his jaw has set and his eyes have hardened, so she nods. She opens the door for him and he shuffles out, each breath causing him to grimace, but she knows offering help would be more painful, so she shuts the door and keeps pace with him. Cheers filter down the hallway, muffled by the walls but clear enough, full of hope and joy. Jyn ignores them.

The walk to the entrance to the base takes fifteen minutes, when it usually takes little more than five. Jyn says nothing, and Cassian just looks angry. The guards nod at them and open the doors; though the base is usually locked down at night, they seem more than willing to let Jyn and Cassian go out. It seems that not everyone has forgotten Scarif so quickly. Or maybe they have relaxed tonight. Jyn wonders if the guards wish they were at the party.

The cool evening air hits their faces as they step outside, the doors sliding shut behind them. The guards posted outside the base glance at them only once, just long enough to discern their identities, and face front again, their limbs relaxed without the threat of the Death Star hanging above their heads. Jyn breathes in the scent of the forest, damp and mossy, and exhales slowly, feeling the tension leave her shoulders just a little. Cassian has begun to limp towards the treeline, so Jyn follows him silently until they reach the edge of the forest. Panting, he throws his crutch to the ground and lowers himself down, his face blanching as he does so. Jyn bites her lip and barely restrains herself from offering a hand, an arm, something. Once he settles himself on the leafy forest floor, Jyn follows suit, the foliage crunching under her weight. With the temple behind them, as they look out into the forests of Yavin IV, Jyn can almost imagine that the Rebellion is a distant memory, that there is no war, and it’s just her and Cassian, listening to the sounds of the trees rustling in the gentle breeze.

Jyn twirls a stray blade of grass between her fingers. “I always liked green,” she admits. Yavin IV might be the greenest place she’s ever been; the trees and shrubbery are practically untouched except for the Massassi temples dotting the landscape.

Cassian shifts his weight so he can rest his back against a mossy tree, his breathing slowly returning to normal. “Why?”

She shoots a sideways look at him, frowning. “I don’t think people normally ask why someone’s favorite color is what it is.”

“You can just say there’s no reason.” Cassian picks up a handful of leaves in his right hand and crushes them, letting their remnants float to the ground. “I don’t have a favorite color.”

Jyn raises her eyebrows. “You don’t?” she asks, somewhat incredulously.

Cassian shrugs and scoops up some more leaves. “I don’t have a reason to.”

Jyn falls silent, watching the battered leaves fall from Cassian’s hand. She feels a pang of pity for his childhood; while her own may have been twisted and  strange and cut short, she had a favorite color, a favorite toy, a favorite book. She could remember a life untouched by loss, or grief, or fear, quick as it may have been. Cassian glances sharply at her and Jyn looks away, hoping that the pity did not show on her face.

“It reminds me of home,” she finally answers.

“Where?” Cassian’s voice is gentle and inquisitive; they are two normal people, sharing normal things about each other, like where they grew up. If Jyn repeats that enough, she can almost believe it.

“Lah’mu,” she replies, the word sticking in her throat. “In the Raioballo sector. I wasn’t born there, but I remember it the most. It was…” She pauses, deliberating what to say. That it was misty and damp, but her parents always had a fire burning, so their simple house was never cold. That she would write words in the volcanic soil to practice, finding it more entertaining than a pen and paper, and her mother would scold her afterwards for bringing dirt into the house. That the water from the ground tasted so strongly of minerals that drinking water had to be distilled from the air. “It was beautiful,” she finishes softly, her voice barely audible.

Cassian has stopped ripping up leaves from the forest floor and has started staring at her. Before, he had just been looking. Now his gaze goes through her skin, to her very center, where she is most vulnerable and naked. But his eyes don’t wound. They’re kind. Jyn bows her head and sets her jaw against the tears that begin to gather in her eyes, clouding her vision but never spilling over.

Cassian reaches out a hand and puts it on her knee. Jyn doesn’t look at him, can’t look at him, but she feels warmth radiate from where his calloused hand rests on her leg, and she instinctively grasps his fingers with her own, feeling the rough callouses that mirror the ones on her own palm. She can’t remember the last time she held hands with someone, or the last time she touched someone for no reason at all. His skin is reassuring against her own. It reminds her that he’s still there, that he came back for her when no one else had.

“I’m sorry,” Cassian murmurs, and Jyn knows that he is expressing his sympathy and sorrow for much more than just the loss of her home.

“Me, too,” Jyn whispers. Sorry for her mother, sorry for Saw, sorry for her father, for K-2, Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, for Scarif and Alderaan. Though she doesn’t say any of those names, Cassian can hear them laced through her voice. Jyn looks back up, her eyes clear, and moves to sit next to Cassian by the tree, bark scraping her back as she positions herself beside him. She doesn’t let go of his hand.

They sit peacefully until true nighttime begins to settle over the forest, and the green is replaced by varying shades of black and gray. Wordlessly, they stand, Cassian hissing in pain as he hoists himself up with his crutch, and turn to go back to the base. The guards let them in and Jyn and Cassian wind their way back to their rooms, Cassian gritting his teeth as they walk. Jyn is surprised the doctors allowed him out of the med bay, but she supposes that he didn’t give them much choice in the matter. Compared to climbing the comm tower half-dead, this must be simple.

They reach Cassian’s room first. Jyn has noticed that the rooms of those higher up in the chain of command are closer to the entrances, no doubt to allow them to evacuate quicker. Sergeants are located further away. The new title still prickles Jyn; it fits her poorly, like an itchy shirt that’s too big, but she got tired of looking down and running. So the placard on her door reads Sergeant Erso. Captain Andor flashes in the light at her as she opens the door for Cassian and he drags himself to the bed, where he immediately collapses.

Jyn hovers by the doorway. He looks exhausted.

“Goodnight,” she says finally.

Something flashes in Cassian’s eyes. Disappointment, so brief that Jyn barely notices, and most likely would not have noticed if she were anyone but herself. She begins to pull the door shut before she can be drawn back in.

“Goodnight, Jyn,” Cassian says. Jyn looks back at him and sees him smiling, close-lipped, but his eyes have crinkled around the edges. She smiles back and closes the door.

ii. EF76 Nebulon-B frigate Redemption; red

They stand a hairsbreadth apart, pressed in on either side by the walls of the narrow hallway they have escaped to near the docking bay, so close that Jyn can count Cassian’s eyelashes. A great clamor swells from the hangar as mechanics give finishing touches to the ships and pilots shout goodbyes as they board, but Jyn pays the commotion no attention, trying to soak in Cassian for as long as she can.

He says, “Eight days only. Just gathering intel on Bothawui. First mission back, so it’ll be easy,” and flashes her a smile, a forced kind of lazy that makes her uneasy. The kind of smile her father gave her when she caught him late at night, huddled guiltily over plans, or the one her mother would carefully arrange when Jyn asked too many questions on Coruscant. Jyn has inherited that smile, and she recognizes it easily.

He was only cleared for duty two days ago—Jyn thinks it’s too soon—and it has only been seventeen days since Scarif. When she closes her eyes,  Jyn can still feel the heat of the Death Star’s laser against her skin, can still hear the waves roaring as they come crashing towards the beach, can still remember screaming until she was hoarse when Mon Mothma told her that the plans were lost, can still remember watching the last remnant of her father explode and be lost into space and the cheers that followed. Most of all, she can remember the feel of Cassian trembling underneath her as they waited for death, sand digging into her knees, the only time she had truly felt at peace even as death barreled towards them. But now that they are here, stuck in the vastness of space with a quarter of the Alliance fleet as they search for a new base, the thought of losing him almost makes her stagger.

“Don’t make any stupid decisions,” Jyn mutters, and she means it as half a joke, but the words carry more weight than she intends and hang heavily between them.

Luckily, Cassian plays along. “How can I if you won’t be with me?” he asks, a smile dancing on his lips.

Under different circumstances, she might have smiled too, but she finds her jaw has suddenly locked and her heart has leapt up into her throat. She screws her eyes shut and balls her hands into fists, and feels Cassian’s warm hand press her head against his chest. She can’t help but flash back to all the times she has been left: by her parents, by Saw, by K-2, by Bodhi and Chirrut and Baze and, unbidden, tears slide between her eyelids and drop onto Cassian’s shirt.

It’ll be easy, she tells herself, but even that simple lie rings hollow and false in her mind.

“Jyn—” Cassian begins, but his tone is too gentle and sounds like a goodbye, like he’s going to say something she can’t come back from, so Jyn cuts him off.

“Just make sure to come back, okay?” Her voice is quieter than intended, barely above a whisper, and it quavers.

His gaze softens as he nods, and wraps his arms around her, pulling her in tighter against her chest, and she can feel him rise and fall underneath her; the embrace is warm and unassuming and quietly fierce and as he releases her a heartbeat too late, Jyn fights the urge to tug him back and feel his arms around her again.

“I will,” Cassian murmurs, but Jyn doesn’t believe him. Promises are a dangerous thing, because they represent a future they can’t afford. “You be safe,” he adds softly, and then he reaches up to brush a lock of hair behind Jyn’s ear, and his fingers leave a trail of stardust where they brush against her skin. They linger like that, Cassian’s palm against Jyn’s cheek, warmth spreading from her stomach throughout her entire body, until they can no longer ignore the shouting from the hangar and Cassian sets his slim shoulders before he marches towards the cargo bay. He still has a limp; he’ll probably have it forever, that’s what the medics said, and his footprints echo unevenly as Jyn stares at his retreating back, which grows smaller and smaller until Cassian  turns a corner and disappears.

As the days pass, and five days turns into eight, eight to ten, and still Cassian doesn’t return, Shara Bey, her temporary partner, tells her not to worry.

“Captain Andor is a pro,” she tells Jyn confidently as they dodge blaster fire on Jelucan. “He’ll be fine.”

“Kes is gone for much longer than scheduled all the time,” she says through gritted teeth as she weaves their ship in and out of TIE fighters, maneuvering so two of them crash into each other and blow themselves up. “Kriffing idiots,” she grins. Even if she doesn’t share her sunny outlook, Jyn decides she likes Shara.

“The Alliance is really bad at time management,” Shara informs her cheerily back on the Redemption, a cup of caf clutched between her hands. “They probably just underestimated the time it took.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Jyn says, a little helplessly, her bowl of mushy, congealed oatmeal untouched. Her eyes are puffy from lack of sleep, and she doesn’t miss the way Shara looks at her with pity. Jyn suspects the happy act is partially a charade for her benefit, but she appreciates the effort nonetheless.

Two days after, they bring him back battered and bruised and bloody, limp as a rag doll as a stretcher wheels him to the med bay.

Jyn watches with hungry eyes that threaten tears behind the fiery rage burning in her pupils, and when she blinks, she sees red spots on the inside of her eyelids flashing in front of her as her heart slams against her ribcage, waiting for something, anything. The medics bar her from the room, so she paces, feeling as if she’s suffocating, choking, drowning in a sea of fear that presses down on her chest until she can’t breathe. He was red, so red—red spiraling out from his abdomen, on his forehead, caked beneath his fingernails, seeping out from his thigh. If she stops moving, she thinks she might collapse, sink to the floor with her head between her knees and collapse into the dark depths of sorrow and self-pity. But she’s stronger than that, so she doesn’t pause until he is wheeled back out—how long that was, Jyn doesn’t know; it was long enough for Draven to stop by and tell her to go to bed, but after Jyn gave him a terrible, bloodshot glare, he gave up—and then she follows him to the bed they set him down in, where he looks small and fragile, his chest rising and falling shallowly, his skin pale.

“He should wake in approximately three hours,” a med droid tells her, as miffed as a droid can possibly sound; no doubt it didn’t want her interfering with the patient, but Jyn simply settles into the chair by Cassian’s bedside and ignores the droid, so it moves out of the room and slams the door behind it.

She doesn’t know when she falls asleep, only that when she wakes up, her neck hurts from the chair and Cassian is staring at her.

Jyn sits up quickly, a little too quickly judging by the sharp pain in her neck, but she brushes the twinge aside as she takes him in, alive and breathing and looking like a miracle.

“Hi,” she whispers, afraid to say anything else.

His skin has regained some of its color, and his eyes are sharp and alert; she wonders how long he has been awake. “Hi,” he echoes, a bit raspy.

Jyn’s eyes are drawn to the bacta patch on his upper arm, where dried blood is still visible around the edges. Cassian follows her gaze and shifts his gown so that it covers the bandage. “I’ve had worse,” he reminds her, but Jyn can feel the fear creeping back up her throat, constricting her airway, and the possibility of having lost him hits her so suddenly that the words are tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them.

“I was so scared, Cassian,” she blurts tremulously, the pent-up fear and anger and loneliness she feels pouring out all at once, and Jyn finds herself half-sobbing as the words fall out of her mouth, her heart racing: “I was so scared you weren’t going to come back and-and-and I just—you were so red, I thought I could lose you, everything was so bloody—”

“Jyn,” Cassian cuts across her, firm but gentle, “it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

She meets his eyes, brown boring into green, and takes a deep gulp of air to steady herself.

I’m not going anywhere.

Promises are a dangerous thing, but Jyn allows herself to keep this one, at least until morning, because he has come back for her every time: on Jedha, on Eadu, on Scarif. Come back when everyone else has gone. So she takes Cassian’s words and places them next to her heart as she slows her racing pulse, letting deep breaths of air settle into her lungs. And then she reaches out to clutch his hand, their fingers tangled together, and she lets herself relax.

“Thank you,” she breathes. “For… for always coming back.” Her voice still quavers, her lips still tremble, and though the words seem woefully inadequate for the depth of gratitude she is trying to convey, he gives her a quiet smile; in that moment, an unspoken something passes between them, and Jyn knows he understands, and his words echo in her mind: welcome home.

Then Cassian’s smile widens turns into a grin, and with a mischievous glint in his eye, he asks, “So I take it you don’t like the color red?”

Jyn laughs, a sound she hasn’t heard since Cassian left, and gently slaps his arm. “I hate you,” she grumbles, and out of all the lies Jyn Erso has told, this may be the biggest one.

iii. Echo Base; white

Her mother is dying.

She’s had these dreams before; they’ve followed her since she was eight years old, so she knows what happens next.

Krennic stands over Lyra’s prone body, cape flapping in the wind, laughing as kicks her head with his boot. Her head lolls to one side and Jyn, hiding in the grass, can see the death in her mother’s glazed eyes. Jyn hurls herself at Krennic, howling, trying to gouge out his eyes, but he swats her aside effortlessly and continues to laugh as he points his blaster at Jyn, who falls down in the grass but doesn’t perish with her mother this time, not like she normally does. No, her brain has made a new scenario, and now Jyn finds herself on the comm tower, dragging her broken body towards the satellite, choking from sand and blood and fear. The tips of her fingers are bleeding from the effort of crawling along the path, and then a boot steps on her hand, and she feels her fingers break under the weight, and she screams, screams until her voice gives out and her throat bleeds raw. Krennic tsks at her and shakes his head from side to side. “Galen would be so disappointed in you,” he chuckles. A shot rings out and Jyn looks up to see Cassian, he’s come back for her, he’s shot Krennic—except, no, that’s not right, it’s the other way around; Krennic smiles as Cassian falls, and Cassian is Bodhi and Baze and Chirrut, and Jyn wants to tear Krennic’s face apart, but she can’t move as he throws her off the tower like a rag doll—

The lights switch on and Jyn sits bolt upright in bed, her heart racing. Her shirt clings to her back and hair is plastered to her neck with sweat even though the sheets have been kicked off the bed and there are goosebumps on her arms. A knot begins to grow in her stomach as she blinks to adjust to the sudden influx of light, and she can make out Cassian standing by the switch at the door, concern evident on his face. She hadn’t even noticed him getting out of bed.

“You were screaming,” he says gently, even though they both already know that.

Jyn swallows. “How loud?” she whispers. The walls between the rooms were thin; someone else could easily have heard her. Usually she wakes up on her own, shivering, and Cassian slings an arm around her and she can go back to a listless sleep, but the longer the Alliance has stayed in Hoth, the worse her dreams have become, egged on by the frosty air; the bags under Jyn’s eyes could swallow an ocean. She thinks Cassian can’t sleep, either, or at least not well; he just wears it better. He had pretended to be sleeping when she had first crawled into his bed during a mission to Bothawui, and they had quietly settled into the same room at Echo Base, though Jyn technically had quarters right next to Cassian’s, which she knows he requested specifically, though he has never said so.

“I think I’m the only one who heard,” Cassian responds, and silently moves back to the bed. She positions herself with her back to the wall, knees drawn up to her chest, and he joins her. The motions are completed with a practiced ease, a familiarity that only comes from many repetitions. Her mother used to say that repetition was the only way to become good at something. They are very good at this.

Whatever this is.

She wears only a thin shirt and shorts, and Cassian wears no shirt at all, revealing the patchwork of scars that lace his back and chest, but embarrassment over skin seems tedious, like a waste of energy. They are beyond that; their intimacy is something deeper and more profound that Jyn cannot quite put into words. She distantly wonders how many rebels think that they’re sleeping together. The whole base, probably. Technically, Jyn supposes, they’re not wrong.

“What was it?” Cassian asks.

Sometimes Jyn can’t answer, because the only thing she remembers are flashes of intense, scalding emotion: fear, anger, sorrow, powerlessness. She considers for a moment before replying simply, “White.”

Cassian doesn’t press. He waits for her to continue of her own accord, letting her mull over her next words so that they do not rip open a fresh wound, and she is grateful for it.

“I hate this planet.” Sometimes, she has to go in circles before arriving at the source. Cassian is all patience. She wants to trace the outlines of his scars, the blaster wound from Scarif, a jagged ridge that slices across his navel, two matching silvery lines down his back, smaller marks around his collarbone. “I hate how you could go to the other side of it and it would look the same. It’s blinding.” The next words get trapped on their way up and she swallows, unable to speak.

“It reminds me of Fest,” Cassian murmurs absentmindedly, filling the silence. “Fest had more citizens and cities, but it was cold and harsh. Like here. I can’t remember much, just snatches of memories.” He scratches at the mattress distractedly as he talks. “A cup of hot chocolate warming my hands, Stormtroopers crawling around the industrial cities, my father teaching me how to aim a gun… He always said that if you could shoot in a snow flurry, you could shoot anywhere.” Cassian smiles at the memory, his face momentarily taken over by an untainted happiness Jyn has never witnessed before, and she watches with fascination, wondering at the man he could have been. They have all lost in this war. They have lost family, friends, allies, but most of all, they have lost the people they could have been. They have lost possibilities; they have become bound on either sides by the walls of the Alliance and the Empire, only one long path stretching out before them. Sometimes, Jyn lets herself imagine the door at the end of that hallway, what it might lead to. Never for long, though. Too dangerous.

“I was born on Vallt,” Jyn admits slowly. “It was similar. Cold. Harsh.” She chews her bottom lip as she searches for what to say before she finally settles on, “This planet is too white.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath and tries to steel herself. “It reminds me of emptiness, the kind you feel when you have nothing left. I look outside and I see Stormtroopers, and I see Krennic and his white cape.” She locks her jaw. “White reminds me of fear.” Cassian’s smile has faded as he listens to the words unsaid. “And…” But she can’t continue. Jyn feels like a child, like when she would have a bad dream and sneak into her parents’ room and slither in between them, cocooned by their warmth and comforted by the rise and fall of their chests against hers, but they aren’t here anymore, just like Bodhi and K-2 and Chirrut and Baze—

No, she tells herself. Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

But the images keep coming, this time not dreams but memories: Lyra crumbling onto the ground, Galen choking on his own blood, K-2’s voice over the intercom, the green laser from the Death Star swallowing Jedha and Scarif, and somewhere very far away Cassian’s voice says, “Jyn,” but she cannot see in front of her because her eyes are swimming with tears that pool but never fall, and panic begins to rise in her chest, her breath coming in quick, short gasps as her throat constricts. “Jyn,” comes Cassian’s voice again, more urgent. She feels a pair of steady hands grab her arms, trying to pin them to her sides, but she throws him off, flinching at his touch, something primeval and feral awakening in her as she kicks out at him and her foot connects with his side.

“Get off of me!” she growls, heaving herself off of the bed and stumbling blindly across the room, great sobs heaving in her chest, she can’t breathe, her vision is crowded with the dead, with all those who left her, all those she killed, the world spins—

“Jyn.” Strong hands take ahold of her arms again and she is whirled around to face Cassian. She tries to slide out of his grip, but her limbs have gone limp, the tears have started to spill down her cheeks, she can taste salt, and they drip down her chin and fall into her shirt, and she can hear Cassian telling her to breathe but she can’t, her lungs are collapsing, her throat is closed, all she can see is the white walls, the white floors, the white bed, and he tells her, “Focus on me. Focus on my voice.” He sounds calm and collected, like he’s done this a thousand times before, like nothing is wrong. “Try to breathe. In through the nose, our through the mouth.”

Focus on my voice. Jyn claws herself towards the noise, steady and low, soothing, and Cassian slowly begins to come in focus. She feels herself shivering in his grip, her muscles shaking, but she manages to gulp in one breath and exhale shakily. “In through the nose, out through the mouth,” he repeats. Over and over and over and over until Jyn’s heart rate has slowed to a fast jog and the sobs have stopped coming, though she keeps crying, crying like an infant, her lower lip trembling. “Just breathe,” Cassian instructs, and Jyn follows shakily. “You’ll be fine.”

She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes to stem the flow of tears, feeling more exhausted than she has ever been in her life. Cassian pulls her in gently, and she lets her arms drop, her head resting on his chest; he strokes her hair, his breathing slow and stable, and quietly murmurs, “You’re okay, Jyn.”

She can’t speak, just buries her face deeper into his skin, breathing in the scent of him, feeling his heartbeat. They remain frozen like that until the warmth from his body has spread over Jyn, and she can breathe steadily again, and then Cassian pulls away, tilts her chin up at him and kisses her. A simple kiss, though they have been building up to it for years, dancing around each other, pulling close and pushing away, and as their lips meet, Jyn feels her skin tingle. When he pulls back, she wraps her hand around his head and bends him closer, their lips crashing into each other this time, and he tastes like home, and he takes like kept promises.

iv. Bright Tree Village; brown

The morning air is still cold, and its tendrils brush Jyn’s face, raising goosebumps as she steps onto the platform outside the hut they had been put in for the night. She feels like a phantom; the reality has not sunken in yet, although the charred branches from the bonfires last night and scattered remains of food on the ground informs her that yes, the Emperor is dead, Darth Vader’s body has burned. Yet this moment just feels like a short pause, a collective breath by the Alliance before they wade back into the fray.

But she will try to enjoy this respite while she can.

Below her, Luke and Leia sit on the forest floor, heads bowed. They are still wearing their clothes from last night—Leia in a simple beige and gray dress, Luke dressed in all black—and she can just make out their mouths moving rapidly. Trying to make up for lost time, she supposes; they must have a lot to catch up on. Shara Bey and Kes Dameron run after their son, Poe, who is sprinting around as fast as his tiny legs can take him, which is not very quick, allowing Shara and Kes to sneak kisses before they have to go grab him. Jyn has heard Shara describe him with such longing in her voice it made her heart ache, listened as she detailed his tuft of dark hair and wide eyes, and as Shara scoops Poe up into her arms, laughing despite the bruise on her collarbone and the dark bags under her eyes, Jyn allows herself to smile. Kes wraps his arms around Shara’s waist and kisses Poe on the cheek, laughing at something his wife says in his ear.

She hears Cassian before she sees him, the wooden boards groaning unevenly under his weight before he appears in her peripheral vision. He stands by her side, hair mussed up, with a shallow cut on his left cheek, and he reaches out to lace his fingers with Jyn’s, each ignoring the dirt caked into the palms of the other. He inhales the fresh air, drinking in the view from among the trees that stretch far below them and far above them, the green disappearing into the pink- and orange-streaked sky as the sun begins to filter in through the leaves. The lines seem to momentarily disappear from his face, and for once, he looks his thirty years. Beneath them, Han Solo has joined Luke and Leia, gently kissing the princess  after he sits down on the leafy ground. Others have begun to trickle down from their huts, bleary-eyed but cheerful as they greet their comrades with lingering hugs and wide smiles. Several Ewoks have joined and begin to clean up their village, darting in between the legs of the rebels to pick up the trash, and Poe squeals with delight as he sees one, causing Kes to shush him hurriedly.

Cassian and Jyn stand like that for a while, clutching each other’s hands, watching the peaceful scene unfurl below them. They have the luxury of leisure now, at least for the moment, and they want to relish in it; forks have appeared in their path, and each split brims with possibility. Their path. They always been a we, Jyn supposes, ever since he handed her a blaster before Jedha; their webs had been tangled together, even when they were at a distance. It used to frighten Jyn, but now she only squeezes his hand tighter.

“Where will we go?” Cassian asks eventually, his voice still sleepy and scratchy. This is probably the first decent night’s sleep he’s had in years, save for the times he lay unconscious in the med bay.

Jyn shrugs. “Probably Coruscant. I’m sure Draven wants us to do some cleanup—”

“No,” Cassian cuts across her. “I don’t mean tomorrow or whenever we’ll ship out.” He grips the bark railing in front of him with his free hand and looks out to the sliver of horizon he can make out between the trees. “I mean after.” He relishes the words, daring and bold and brimming with opportunity.

Jyn sucks in a breath. “We might not—,” she begins on instinct, trying to stop him before his words get too dangerous.

“Don’t,” he says softly, letting go of her hand and turning to face her, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ears. “Don’t say that. Not now.”

She understands. Not now when, for once, everything has gone their way, not now because they thought they would never make it this far and they deserve a future, or to at least imagine one, not now because they have earned a little bit of hope. So Jyn chews her lip and considers, trying to rack through all the planets she hadn’t been to, through the ones her parents had told her about, until she answers, with finality, “Naboo.”

Cassian nods, pensive. “My parents went there once, when they were first married,” he recalls, smiling briefly. “Whenever there was a particular cold day, my mother would always grumble and say she wished they had settled there, where green things could actually grow.”

“My father said it was the most beautiful planet he had ever laid eyes on,” Jyn recollects, recalling vivid descriptions of rolling hills, water so clear you could almost see the bottom, red roofs shining as the sun’s rays hit them, trade stalls with a variety of goods, each different from the last, and a happiness that seem to invade the air so that you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Lots of green,” Cassian remarks, a playful light dancing in his eyes.

Jyn gently shoves him with the palm of her hand and he rocks back on his heels but never loses his balance, smirking at her. “Maybe after we go there, you’ll learn to appreciate colors more. Might even get a favorite one,” she teases, grinning at him.

“I already have one,” Cassian says easily, smirking, but a hint of color creeps up the back of his neck and seeps into his ears.

Jyn raises her eyebrows. “What is it then, you lying bastard?”

Cassian throws his hands up in mock submission. “Easy there, I didn’t lie. I didn’t have one before, but I do now.” Jyn’s eyebrows move further up her forehead until he admits, “It’s brown.”

“Brown,” Jyn says flatly, more of a disappointed statement than a question.

Cassian nods. The smirk has disappeared from his face. “Brown,” he confirms.

“Like the Ewoks?”

Cassian laughs, and Jyn is startled at the sound; without other troubles lying in wait in his mind, his laugh is easy and light, like a gentle breeze playfully wheeling through the trees. “No. Not like the Ewoks.”

“Like what, then?” Jyn prompts.

He shrugs and casts his gaze downwards, at the now-busy ground below them. “Like home,” he murmurs.

Jyn frowns, bemused. “But Fest—”

“Not Fest,” Cassian interrupts, raking his gaze over her dark hair, her dark eyes, like he’s trying to memorize her, every line and scar and bump. “You.”

Jyn feels her breath catch in her throat. The sounds of morning below have vanished, and she can only hear the beating of her own heart hammering against her ribcage. She instinctively reaches out towards his face, tracing the outline of his jaw, and smiles a watery and trembling smile at him, and she feels safe. Like she’s home. Through everything, their one constant has been each other, and somewhere along the way they fell in love. He catches her hand and presses it to his skin, closing his eyes and leaning into her palm, and breathes in slowly. Jyn cups his other cheek and kisses him gently, just once, before she pulls back and they rest their foreheads against each other, simply there, reveling in the each other.

Someone clears their throat behind them.

Jyn releases Cassian and turns to stare at Draven, who looks like he hasn’t slept at all and is nursing a bad hangover. “Sorry to interrupt,” he begins drily, “but there’s work to be done.” He glances over them, and Jyn expects to see some sort of disgust and sourness in his expression, but he seems as if he’s about to smile at them, or maybe he’s just in a lot of pain from last night. “We need you to go to Coruscant,” he informs them, “to help stamp out loyalists hiding there. Report to me in two hours.” He looks at them once more then turns on his heels and leaves, crossing over a rickety bridge to another hut.

“You were right, then,” Cassian says mildly as he watches Draven’s retreating back. “Coruscant.”

Jyn rests her head on his shoulder. “Then, Naboo?”

“Naboo,” Cassian promises.

As the sun’s rays begin to shine down on them, Jyn wraps her fingers around her kyber crystal and smiles at their future.

[aiwannadrawit]

Blame It

Players: Alexis Lysher & Desmond Whittemore

Where: Some bar in the city

Time: Thursday Night 1/19/2017

Plot: Desmond and Alex get drunk and make out

Desmond: Desmond was seated off in the corner of some bar a classmate had somehow convinced him to head out to. He thought that, maybe (maybe) it would be nice to get out and do something different that what he usually did (which was go to his room and sketch) so he had agreed and almost immediately regretted it. There were quiet a lot of people in the bar and it was a bit loud. He had been offered a drink and took it, because it felt rude not to, but it sat on the table next to him untouched. The classmate he had came with had vanished off somewhere, leaving Desmond at the table all by himself. The young art student had occupied himself with doodling on a piece of napkin, not sure if leaving his classmate would be a terrible idea or not.

Alex: Alex walked into the already familiar place and made his way to his now usual stool by the bar. With a nod and a smile he greeted the bartender as the man place shot in front of him without even saying a word. He gulped It in one goo as he turned around only to find a familiar face in the further corner. He raised a brow and grabbed the refilled shot glass and moved across the room to stand next to the table where Desmond was doodling on a napkin “Hey Desy… this is the last place where I thought I’d find you. Having fun?”

Desmond: Desmond's head snapped up when he heard a familiar voice and a familiar nickname. "Professor," he smiled, before shaking his head a bit. "I-I mean, Alex." He gave the professor a small smile and combed his fingers through his hair, "Hi." He looked down at his mindless little doodle and shrugged. "A classmate offered to uh, take me out. I thought it would be good to change up my routine. What's up?"

Alex: Alex smiled at the boy and wiggled his brows playfully “Oh you’re on a date… I probably should get going then” he chuckled “I think it’s a good that you’re going out more” he grinned. “Not much, I wanted a drink so I stopped by… I’d say drink responsibly but I know you don’t drink so… have fun!” he said before turning around to leave the boy as he waited for his date.

Desmond: "What? Wait," he stood up a little bit from his seat. "I'm not on a date...it was just, y'know, a friendly thing. Trying to make friends and stuff." He sighed a bit. "But I don't know where they went and I've been by myself for a while now...so you could stay and sit with me."

Alex: Alex raised a brow “You sure? Doesn’t sound slike a great friend if he left you here” he looked at the table “with untouched drinks… do you think he would really leave you?” he asked seriously. “I could do that but not sure if your friend will like to find a professor here. How about this. I’m gonna be at the bar, if your friend doesn’t come back in 10 minutes, join me there ok?”

Desmond: Desmond pressed his lips together, his forehead creasing softly at the professor's offer. "I mean, it's not like they didn't try. But...uh, there are a lot of people here. So...it's just a lot." Desmond glanced over at the drink and nodded. "Um...well. Okay. Maybe I'll see you soon then."

Alex: Alex didn’t like that answer. He couldn’t phantom the idea of a said friend leaving someone like Desy abandoned at the bar. “I changed my mind… come on, let’s get a table” he offered with a smile. He walked to one of the empty tables in the back “Want me to order you a soda or something else?” he asked as he gulped the shot he had in hand before waving at the waitress.

Desmond: Desmond felt himself smile and moved from his seat. He was sure the classmate he had came with would be okay. He picked up his napkin and his drink, shaking his head. "No...at least, not right now. I mean, they said that this wasn't that bad and it's mostly soda anyways. So, I'm fine. I just, y'know, didn't want to drink it by myself."

Alex: Alex smiled back when Desy did, there was something about seeing that kid smile. It was kinda contagious. He frowned “what are you even drinking?” he asked slightly worried “did you order that or did your friend did?”

Desmond: Desmond "They ordered it for me," he said as he looked down at the drink in his hand. "It's a...uh, a rum and coke. Mostly coke though," he looked back at Alex. "So, I'll drink it and if I don't like it I'll get something else." He smiled a bit again. "So...are you ready for classes to start back up?"

Alex: Alex wasn’t really sure why but he didn’t trust that drink, especially since the ‘friend’ had suddenly left Desmond alone “Don’t drink that… we’ll order you a new one” he said seriously and grabbed the glass to place it on the waitress tray when she approached and ordered a fresh drink for Desmond and a few shots for himself “so what convince you of getting a drink? I recall you said you didn’t want to try it”

Desmond: Desmond "Uh...okay." He let go of the glass, not sure why Alex was suspicious of the thing. Though, he guessed it wasn't a bad thing to be cautious. The guy /had/ left him here by himself. Desmond hummed softly, one of his hands drifting up the back of his neck and twirling a finger around on of his strands of hair. "Um...well, it's not good to stay static. I should try new things and yadda yadda."

Alex: Alex smiled when the boy didn’t argue and accepted the new drink instead. “That’s a good way to see things. It’s a good time to experiment and try new things right?” he chuckled and flashed a grin to the girl when she brought their drinks. He took shot glass and nodded at Desmond “To new experiences?” he joked with the toast

Desmond: Desmond took his new drink and smiled at the waitress as well. He nodded and lifted his drink a bit as well. "Yeah, to new experiences," he brought the drink up to his lips and took a small sip. "Hm...this is," he said after setting it back on the table and licking his lips, "this is pretty good. Well, really good. Thanks."

Alex: Alex tried not to chuckle at how cute Desmond was, especially trying his very first drink. He was actually expecting a grimace but he was pleasantly surprised “Good then? I’m more of a tequila guy but I can see the appealing of a sweeter taste” he joked.

Desmond: Desmond "Yeay, I mean...I can only really taste the soda." Desmond took another sip of his drink. "What's the difference between tequila and rum?"

Alex: Alex chuckled this time “That’s dangerous… you’re not gonna notice when you have too much and get drunk” he teased. “Well to starts they come from different kinds of distillation. Rum comes from sugar cane so it probably will taste a bit better. Tequila comes from Agave so the taste is a bit planer but the alcoholic grade is higher. They both taste great with soda but I prefer tequila straight… the only think I like straight” he joked and winked before gulping another shot

Desmond: Desmond giggled a bit and shrugged, "Well...I'm sure you'll keep an eye out for me." He wasn't sure why but the professor's little joke made his cheeks flush a bit. "I don't think I would like anything straight..."

Alex: Alex shrugged “I’ll try. I wasn’t planning on staying too sober but guess I’ll be counting our drinks then so neither of us gets in troubles” he grinned. He actually laughed at the cute blushed expression on Desy’s face “That’s totally fine… you like what you like. Must admit I’ve had my run with straight ladies so I can’t actually deny I like some straight beside tequila”

Desmond: Desmond hummed, "Heh, I was kind of joking but I can keep an eye out on myself." Desmond nodded, regularly sipping from his own drink until it was quickly gone. "Well, lucky them, yeah?"

Alex: Alex shook his head “Nah it’s ok, I’ll keep an eye on both of us, no worries.” He laughed again and then shrugged ant how disinhibited that sounded from such a shy guy as Desmond “I guess… none of them complained so…” he took a smaller sip of his fifth shot of the night as he waved at the waitress again, tempted to order only soda for both of them now to keep them from getting too drunk too fast

Desmond: Desmond "Okay, but if you want help just let me know," he said and set his empty glass off to the side. "Well, I can't really imagine why they would complain in the first place."

Alex: Alex smiled “That’s alright, don’t worry about it.” He kept smiling and raised a brow “Are you flirting with me Desmond?” he asked half serious and half joking as he moved slightly to take off his jacket. -the alcohol making effect enough to make him feel slightly hot

Desmond: Desmond blushed a little more and shook his head slightly. "No...I'm just," he shrugged, "being honest." He smiled, his eyes dropping down towards the professor's arms. "What's gonna happen when you run out of skin?"

Alex: Alex grinned “Alright… just making sure.” He sat back and looked at his arms “I already did… I still have a few clean patches in my chest and stomach but not sure if I’ll fill those up. I don’t tattoo my hands or below the waist… as weid as it sounds, it doesn’t go with what I believe into” he explained as he waved the waitress again “Soda now?” he asked Desy

Desmond: Desmond kept his eyes on the tattoos on Alex's arms, "Hm...what do you believe in that makes you not have tattoos on your legs?" He could understand about the hands thing. There were very few people who he thought looked good with tattoos on his hands anyways. Desmond shrugged. "Sure, a soda is fine."

Alex: Alex smiled “I’m a spiritual person… and I learned through yoga and some buudism that below the waist and hands are sacred, you’re not supposed to mark them in anyway because they are the source for building either new generations or art…” he explained as he ordered their drinks, soda for Desy and 2 more shots for him

Desmond: Desmond couldn't help himself and giggled a little bit at that, he didn't even know why he thought it was funny. "I see, that's pretty interesting to be honest. I could never get a tattoo, I'd be too scared that I end up hating it."

Alex: Alex probably had too many drinks cause he found Desy’s giggle adorable… he wouldn’t have if he was sober. “It’s what they tell you… my yogi wasn’t so happy about all my tattoos but he gets the meaning behind them” he explained and smiled “The secret is to get something that has enough meaning for you to keep it for your whole life… plus nw you can erase them easily, it’s not like it was before”

Desmond: Desmond rested his elbow on the table they were sitting at and rested his chin in his hand. "Well as long as they understood why you got them." He nodded but shrugged, "Right, but I don't think there's anything like that for me."

Alex: Alex nodded “some people needs reminders of what’s important for them” he shrugged. “Maybe not yet” he grinned as he bend his arm to show his left forearm, pointing at the guitar tattoo there “This was my first guitar… she was my first love so there she is, under my skin” he joked

Desmond: Desmond hummed and leaned over a little, looking over the professor's tattoos. His other hand reached out and traced over the tattoo without really thinking about it. "It's nicely done," he said with a smile.

Alex: Alex grinned at the soft touch over his tattoo, way softer than he expected it to be “Thanks! I was lucky to find a really good tattoo artist and be able to afford it…That’s an important thing to keep in mind. Being cheap with these kinds of things can really fuck it up” he said with a snort as the drinks arrived

Desmond: Desmond looked back up at Alex, keeping his hand on the man's arm. "I can imagine. I mean...it's just something that's so easily erased." He smiled up at the waitress and thanked her, taking a sip of his soda.

Alex: Alex pulled his arm away slowly when Desmond’s touch lingered. The last thing he needed was go down the same road some other professors seemed to be heading with some students. “It was back then. Technology makes it way easier and that’s why some people get stupid tattoos now without remorse” he said with a shrug as he drank his next show slowly. “So what you’ve been up to?”

Desmond: Desmond pulled his hands towards himself, taking up his glass of soda. "It still sounds cumbersome to go through." He shrugged and sipped at his drink. "Nothing really. I don't do much."

Alex: Alex sighed and set his glass on the table, looking at Desmond curiously “Why is that? Not doing much. I mean you have the time, the looks, the talent, I’m guessing even the money… and you’re on winter break, no other things to do than anything you want! What stops you to go find some adventures?”

Desmond: Desmond blushed again at essentially being called handsome by the professor. "I'm uh...I don't know. I just don't. I mean, I'm here to get better with my art and everything so I should stay focused."

Alex: Alex nodded “I know… you said that but you’re not in classes right now and life is not just work esy… you need to get some fun too. Relax and enjoy. What’s the point of working hard if you don’t reward yourself with fun things too? I can bet this shot you are pushing yourself so much that you can’t even tell me something you want to do for fun that is not related to your art” he teased

Desmond: Desmond "I relax sometimes," he mumbled softly, mostly to himself. He looked back up at the man and raised an eyebrow at him. "You bet me your shot?" He sat up a bit straighter in his chair. "I bet I can." He thought a moment, immediately thinking about how he likes watching anime, but that was animation and related to art. At least he thought it was. He hummed, furrowing his brow. "Um...I mean. Uh..."

Alex: Alex raised a brow “Alright… prove me wrong” he teased and waited. Desmond’s expression was just too cute for his own good “So? Nothing? Ok, tell me something you wanna do and you have kept yourself from doing because you’re too focused on your art then” he said looking curiously at the boy

Desmond: Desmond "Well...I can't think of anything right now because you put me on the spot. But I do other things for fun." He looked back at Alex, "Something I've wanted to do..." He looked back down at his his half finished soda. "I kinda thought it would be cool to play an instrument."

Alex: Alex laughed and shook his head, raising his hands in surrender “I believe you… maybe you can tell me some other time” he teased again. “That sounds like an interesting hobby even if still art related” he said with a smirk “what instrument would you like to learn?

Desmond: Desmond "Maybe," he stuck his tongue out at the man. He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "Well...I kinda wanna learn how to play the guitar."

Alex: Alex rolled his eyes but kept smiling “Guitar is fun… I could help” he shrugged and gulped down the shot he had bet against Desmond. “Lemme know if you’re interested and I’d be glad to teach you a bit. I’m sensing you’re gonna use it as hobby and won’t try to become a rock start right?” he joked

Desmond: Desmond shrugged, "Who know? I never sleep anyways so I could probably pull off being a famous rock star and be a successful artist."

Alex: Alex frowned “It’s supposed to be a hobby, not something else to obsess over and work like crazy on it” he said seriously. “There must be something else you’d want to do… dunno… ziplining? Horse-riding… dunno… something else? Beer ping pong?” he joked “my point is that this is the time to do crazy stuff and enoy it Des… don’t let that go. It won’t make you less professional or talented”

Desmond: Desmond "I don't know...I never really thought about it, sorry." He traced a finger around the rim of his glass. "Beer pong sounds gross. Why would you drink something after sticking your fingers in it so many times."

Alex: Alex reached out to touch Desy’s wrist to make him look up “Hey no, don’t apologize ok? There’s nothing wrong with being the way you are You’re focus and driven to follow your dreams and be successful. It’s not bad… just don’t push yourself that much ok?” he ended with a smile. “It’s not that bad, plus it’s fun… sometimes stupid things are fun” he shrugged and pulled his hand away

Desmond: Desmond glanced up at him quickly before looking away from him. People kept telling him that-- that his drive wasn't a bad thing-- but every time this kind of conversation came up he felt like it was a bad thing. "Right...I'll keep that in mind.." Desmond wrinkled his nose. "I still wouldn't drink it."

Alex: Alex felt the mood going downhill so he tried to cheer the boy up “yu know what? I think you overthink a lot… I kinda want to dare you to do something silly just for you to lose up a little” he said playfully

Desmond: Desmond pressed his lips together, looking back over at his companion. "Oh? Silly like...what?"

Alex: Alex shrugged “Dunno… dare you to dance shirtless with the first hot guy we spot?” he teased as he finished his drink with a playful glint in his eyes. “But… it’d be too much and we’re definitively not playing dares here”

Desmond: Desmond 's face turned a bright shade of red at that, "I...hm, uh, I would probably need another drink...at least one more."

Alex: Alex laughed and rolled his eyes “I was joking. Not gonna dare you to do anything like that. You really want another drink tho?” he asked surprised since he wasn’t expecting him to try more alcohol.

Desmond:  Desmond "Oh, okay," he said a little relieved. "That's good then...I don't think I could have convinced you to dance with me." He paused a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I would."

Alex: Alex chuckled “Really? You think I’m hot?” he teased “I think you could’ve found someone better here Des. I would’ve dance with you but I don’t think I should. I’m a terrible dancer” he winked at he waved the waitress again “same drink?” he asked the boy

Desmond: Desmond nodded, "Yeah, I do," he said honestly. Desmond laughed a little and shook his head. "No, I'm sure you're a fine dancer. Better than me anyways." He nodded, "Yes please."

Alex: Alex ordered their drinks and smirked to Desmond “Thanks. Just for the record, -I think you’re hot too” he winked again and tried not to think how inappropriate that was. ”Oh no you have no idea, there’s a reason why I don’t go to clubs that much. I always make a fool of myself”

Desmond: Desmond grinned at that, a giddy feeling circling in his stomach. "Uh...thank you." Desmond felt himself giggle again. "If you say so Alex. But we won't know whose worse until we have a dance off."

Alex: Alex smiled “Anytime… is the truth.” He probably should have realized he probably was drunker than he thought since he kept finding the boy’s giggle cute. “No no no… no dance off. I’m not nearly as drunk as I would need to do something like that”

Desmond: Desmond licked his lips and grinned a bit, biting his lower lip. "Well...I didn't mean right now. But at some point we could." He didn't even know why he was pushing for that. He couldn't dance. But...well, he was trying to be more adventurous.

Alex: Alex rolled his eyes “Yeah no…. not happening kid” he smiled and was immensely thankful for the drinks that had just arrived. He grabbed his glass and clinked it to Desy’s “to the bad dancers” he joked

Desmond: Desmond "To bad dancers," he agreed and took a sip of his drink. "I...I don't know if I said this before, but you don't have to call me kid you know?"

Alex: Alex drank all his shot in one go and huffed “You did… sorry. It’s just an endearment term but I can stop if it really bothers you do much…”

Desmond: Desmond hummed and reached a hand up to comb through his hair. "No...it's just..." he shrugged. "I'm not a child so, it feels a little weird." He said after finishing half of his drink.

Alex: Alex nodded “Ok I won’t call you that again” he agreed and then frowned “hey… easy on that… you’re not sued to and it might get to your head too fast” he warned

Desmond: Desmond "Thanks...yo can still call me Desy though." He raised an eyebrow at him. "Really?" Desmond vaguely remembered reading somewhere that stuff like that would happen if a person drank on an empty stomach. So he was probably already in a bit of trouble on that front. "You know...I'm glad yo showed up."

Alex: Alex smirked “Desy will be then” he assured before finishing his last shot. “Yeah? I’m glad too… It’s been a while since I actually had a good time here. Guess it works with the right company” he said feeling the alcohol getting to his head already. That was the right indication for him to stop drinking to keep himself from doing something stupid, especially when he had promised to look out for Desmond

Desmond: Desmond grinned and drank his last half of his drink more slowly. He nodded in agreement; he hadn't been having too much fun when he had been here earlier with his classmate. "You're easy you, uh, be around. You know?" He combed his fingers through his hair. "Comfortable I mean."

Alex: Alex could tell by Desy’s reply that maybe both of them had more than enough drinks for the night so he called the waitress once more to order water for them both and to close his tab. He needed them to sober up a bit so they could go back to the institute “I’m glad to hear you’re comfortable around me” he smiled and thanked the girl for the water “I think we need this cause otherwise we’re gonna have some troubles to go back”

Desmond: Desmond nodding slowly because Alex did have a point. Stumbling around in the cold didn't sound like a fun time. "Yeah, you're nice," he said grinned and took the water sipping it. "Oh, and thank you for the drinks."

Alex: Alex chuckled “I’m glad you think so” he grinned “Anytime… hope this changed your vie won drink a Little… not to make you wanna drink often but to see it’s not that bad to let loose a little sometimes” he said as he took a sip of his water and leaned back a little

Desmond: Desmond shrugged, "Yeah...well, this drink I had is good. But I don't know about other stuff." He rested his arms on the table, finishing down the rest of his water.

Alex: Alex nodded “It wasn’t that bad so maybe sweet drinkd would be your thing. Just be careful next time? Don’t mix drinks tho… different kinds of alcohol together can make you drunker faster” he advised. “You’re ready to go back?” he asked as he moved to grab his discarded jacket

Desmond: Desmond "I will remember that going forward," he mused softly and nodded. "Yeah, let's go. We can walk."

Alex: Alex stood up slowly, checking his own balance before smiling at the boy “Good… you do that.” Once he was sure he could walk as straight as possible he offered his hand to help Desmond up “you ok? Not dizzy or anything?”

Desmond: Desmond "I'm great ," he said and stood up. Perhaps too quickly because the world did tilt a little bit and he hard to grab the table to steady himself. "Well...maybe a little dizzy."

Alex: Alex reached out to hold Desmon’s arm when he noticed him stumbling “Easy there… come on lemme help” he said as he moved closer to the boy to wrap an arm around his wait to guide him out of the bar. Once outside he reached for his phone to get an Uber

Desmond: Desmond leaned against Alex as the man wrapped an arm around him, smiling a bit. "Aw," he pouted when he saw Alex pulling out his phone. "I thought we were walking."

Alex: Alex smiled when the boy leaned against him, doing his best not to enjoy how good it felt to have him that close. “No pouting” he smiled “I don’t think we’re gonna make it to the institute walking, plus it’s cold” he said with a chuckle

Desmond: Desmond still kept his pout, "But the cold good for stuff like this I read." He leaned against him a bit more. "Pleeeeease?"

Alex: Alex laughed “Stop pouting… too cute to handle” he blurted out and shook his head. “What if we fall down? We both had a bit too much alcohol” he said as he leaned a little closer to the boy when they stopped

Desmond: Desmond's face flushed. "I'll stop if you promise we can walk a little bit." he said, one hand resting on the professor's uppper arm.

Alex: Alex sighed exagerately and smiled “Fine… we can walk a little then. You can walk on your own or need me to help?” he asked as he looked at Desy’s eyes carefully to make sure he was ok and not too drunk

Desmond: Desmond grinned, proud that he had won the little argument. He raised his eyebrows a little at the professor's question, his face drifting closer to the older man's own. "I'm doing great," he mumbled just their lips pressed together softly.

Alex: Alex froze the moment he felt Desy’s lips against his own. Something inside his head screaming that he should pull away. This wasn’t supposed to happen and he shouldn’t be enjoying it as much as he was so against his better judgment, he cupped Desmond’s cheek and deepened the kiss, moaning into it

Desmond: Desmond pressed closer to the professor, whatever rules advising against things like this were far from his mind. His hand drifted up Alex's arm and slipped to the back of the man's neck, encouraged by the sounds the other made.

Alex: Alex was sure this was a terrible idea… even if it felt so damn good. Desmond’s hand in the back of his neck didn’t make it better. That simple touch ignited something more dangerous inside of him and in only encouraged him to push the taller boy against the bar’s wall

Desmond: Desmond groaned softly as his back was pressed up against the wall, slipping his other arm around Alex, keeping the man close to him. He hummed, running his tongue against Alex's bottom lip.

Alex: Alex was supposed to be smarter and more mature tan this. He should stop, pull away, apologize and stop drinking to get himself in these kinds of situations. But instead, he parted his lips and sucked at Desy’s tongue when he felt the boy licking at his lip. Both of his hands moving on their own to the boy’s hips to keep him in place

Desmond: Desmond A shiver traveled up his spine and he took the time to explore Alex's mouth, moaning softly as his hand slipped up into Alex's hair.

Alex: Alex nearly growled at the fingers in his hair. It always had been such a sensitive spot. He finally broke the kiss and pulled away just enough to catch his breath, his lips still ghosting against Desmond’s “This is a really bad idea” he swallowed hard but didn’t make any other attempt to put more distance between them

Desmond: Desmond was breathing a bit hard (thanks to his smoking habit) when Alex pulled away from him. He kept his hand on the back of the man's head in his hair, not wanting to give him a chance to pull away. "It feels like a really good idea," he said, leaning back in towards the man, nudging their noses together.

Alex: Alex kept his eyes closed and took a deep breath “It’s not… this can’t happen” he murmured in a broken tone as he reached for Desmond’s lips once more, a chaste kiss this time. “You deserve better than this… I’m not taking advantage of the situation” he said as he finally opened his eyes and pulled away enough to look at the boy “I’m sorry Desmond”

Desmond: Desmond "Huh?" he frowned when Alex pulled back from him. "But you're not--" he shook his head "--not taking advantage of me." He gave him a small smile, his fingers still playing in Alex's hair. "I wanna kiss you."

Alex: Alex groaned and losed his eyes again. Desy’s touch sending shivers down his body “You’re not thinking clearly right now… neither am I” he whispered and leaned closer, way too tempted to kiss the boy again “I wanna kiss you too but I shouldn’t”

Desmond: Desmond shook his head, because he really didn't see anything wrong with this. He wanted to kiss Alex and Alex wanted to kiss him; it was a win-win as far as he was concerned. When Alex leaned in closer and Desmond met him half way with another soft kiss.

Alex: Alex was about to argue but Desmond’s lips felt so good… What could be the worst thing to happen? He asked to himself in his head, but instead of pulling away and cooling off he nipped at the boy’s lower lip as his hands slid from his hips to his ass to pull him closer

Desmond: Desmond let out a happy little moan, responding to the kiss in kind. His fingers curled in Alex's hair slightly, his other hand came up to rest on Alex's lower back.

Alex: Alex snapped out of it as if a bucket of cold water had fallen upon his head. It was Desmond’s little moan into the kiss what brought him back to reality and he could almost swear he had sobered up when he realized what he was doing. He pulled away and took his hands off the boy, taking a step back “I can’t Desmond… I really can’t” he swallowed hard feeling his heart dropping to his stomach

Desmond: Desmond's own eyes snapped open when Alex pulled away from him, a frown pulling on his lips. "Uh..." he was still breathing slightly hard. "What? I..." He glanced away for a moment, licking his kiss bruised lips. "I'm sorry-- did I do something? I didn't mean to..."

Alex: Alex sighed. This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. He reached to grab Desmond’s arm “No no… don’t apologize you didn’t do anything wrong. I did. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry Desmond, I just can’t do this” he groaned “You’re a student at the institute I work at… I shouldn’t let this happen. I’m not supposed to take advantage of a situation like this. I’m supposed to take care of you not…” ​to try to get in your pants​, his mind added

Desmond: Desmond frowned and chewed on he inside of his left cheek, hurt flashing across his face. "But, you're not taking advantage of me...you're not." He shook his head. "I...I like you. And..." Well, he didn't know if Alex liked him in a similar way but, "well, you wanna kiss me at the very least."

Alex: Alex could see the boy’s hurt and it made him feel worse “It might not look like it, but you’re in no condition to grant consent to anything right now. That’s why what I did was wrong.” He sighed “I like you too Desy, and because I like you I don’t want to hurt you” he said seriously

Desmond: Desmond shook his head; that didn't make any sense. If ​he​ was too drunk then so was Alex...which meant that no one was taking advantage of anyone, he was pretty sure. "But...I'm hurt right now..."

Alex: Alex sighed and rubbed his face “I know Desy and I’m sorry… but it could be worse…” he took Desmond’s hand “I don’t get involved Desy… this was great and I wanted to kiss you but it can’t be more than just something physical to me and you deserve so much better than that” he explained in a bitter tone

Desmond: Desmond blinked a couple of times, looking back at the professor, his frown still on his face. "But what if I...only want something...um, physical?" He looked down after that, not knowing if that were true or what he wanted from the older man. He gave his hand a squeeze.

Alex: Alex groaned “then we can talk about it when we’re both sober?” he said in a tentative tone “but even then… I don’t think it would be good for you and I don’t wanna take something from you… I’ve been doing this with people I don’t know cause it’s easy to walk away and pretend it never happened. I couldn’t do that to you”

Desmond: Desmond pressed his lips together, both happy and upset by that at the same time. He sighed, still holding Alex's hand. "Okay...fine." He looked back up at him. "Can we still walk a little bit?"

Alex: Alex nodded, hoping Desmond really had gotten what he tried to say, but doubting it since they both weren’t in the best condition “We can walk… isn’t it too cold?” he asked before letting go of the boy’s hand

Desmond: Desmond sighed when Alex let go of his hand and stuffed his own hands in his pockets. "I guess...but I, uh, like I said, the cold is supposed to be good for stuff like this."

Alex: Alex hummed “You’re right… but I would rather you not getting sick tho… let’s walk a little and then I’ll call a cab, deal?” he asked trying to smile cause he could see how upset the boy was after what happened

Desmond: Desmond "You're sweet." he said. He took a moment to pull his hat down a little bit more over his ears. "Okay...deal."

Alex: Alex rolled his eyes and tried not to smile “You’re the only person who would say that after what happened…” he huffed and started to walk next to the boy

Desmond: Desmond shook his head. "No...you're very caring...I mean. Not wanting me to get sick and...well, other stuff. It's nice."

Alex: Alex shrugged “Everyone deserves to be cared for… that’s why...” he trailed off “Never think you don’t deserved to be taken care of Desmond… you do” he assured and bumped his shoulder against Desy’s

Desmond: Desmond "See...sweet." He fell quiet after a moment, simply walking along next to the professor in a slightly comfortable silence.

Alex: Alex shook his head and kept on walking, unsure if there was something else to be said. He probably had fucked up enough for one night

Desmond: Desmond hummed softly to himself, one hand moved to rub at his stomach and leaned against Alex a bit. His stomach rumbled and he frowned. "Ugh...is anywhere open right now?"

Alex: Alex frowned “You haven’t eaten?” he asked worried “That would explain why the drinks affected you so much. Come on kid, lemme buy you dinner and then we’ll go back to the Institute” he offered with a smile as he guided the boy to the nearest restaurant

Desmond: Desmond shook his head. "It doesn't have to be a whole dinner...just, uh...something small."

Alex: Alex rolled his eyes "Shhhh I'm buying you dinner..." he smiled and bumped his shoulder with Desmond's, hoping it would help with the awkwardness and have a good end of the night.

Desmond: Desmond shook his head again, pressing his lips together. "No...I won't eat it. I don't want you to waste your money."

Alex: Alex crossed his arms and frowned "Really? you gonna be like that?" he asked slightly hurt

Desmond: Desmond "Uh--" he almost panicked and waved a hand in front of his face. "No, not...I didn't mean it like that. I just...hm...I'm weird with food so it's just most likely I won't eat it. I don't want you to buy me something that I'm just gonna throw away. Sorry."

Alex: Alex sighed “I don’t care if you don’t finish the food. So? Up to you… we can stop by the store and buy a sandwich or something or we can go for real food” he said with a sigh

Desmond: Desmond chewed on the inside of his cheek and thought it over. He rubbed at his arm and nodded. "A sandwich would be good."

Alex: Alex nodded and quitted arguing “Alright… a sandwich then. I’m sure we’ll find a convenience store nearby” he said simply as he hoped this didn’t completely fuck up the friendship he had with the boy

Desmond: Desmond nodded, "Okay...thank you." He fell silent again and kept a look out for an open store. He nudged him and motioned with his head. "There's one over there."

Alex: Alex smiled a little when Desmond didn0t shut him out completely, the little nudge seemed natural and not forced “Right… come on then, let’s see what we can find so we can go back to the institute. You feeling better? Less drunk I mean”

Desmond: Desmond shrugged and combed his fingers through his hair. "I feel...okay I guess," he said as they moved closer to the store. "How are you feeling?"

Alex: Alex nodded “That’s good… we’ll get some water. That’ll help too” he said as he opened the door for the boy to get in first. “I’m ok Desy, you were right, the cold air helped”

Desmond: Desmond smiled, though he still felt odd about this whole situation but he was trying to act normal. "Okay, water would be good right now anyways," he said as he stepped inside. He quickly made his way through the store to the cold section and grabbed himself some water. "Good...I'm glad."

Alex: Alex felt the need to apologize again but he knew it would only make everything more awkward so he just smiled a bit. “Water it is” he said and followed the boy through the store, grabbing a bottle of water for himself “Alright now food? What would you like?2 he asked as they walk around. “I am too… Des? Look I understand if you don’t wanna be friends anymore after all that” he said suddenly

Desmond: Desmond nodded and went to find some cold cut sandwiches. "Just something simple. Like...bologna or something." He basically stumbled when he heard what the professor blurted out. "What? Oh..." he shook his head and pressed his lips together. "No..no, it's fine...I shouldn't have...I mean. You're fine. I promise."

Alex: Alex nodded “That sounds good” he followed and then he reached to hold Desmond’s arm when he stumbled “Easy… hey no, please don’t take the blame, it wasn’t just you” he said honestly and looked at the boy in the eye “how about we both take the blame and try to still be Friends?” he asked awkwardly

Desmond: Desmond chewed on the inside of his mouth and nodded quickly. "Okay...I'd like that. Thanks..." he gave him a quick smile before turning away to look for his sandwich, still feeling weird. He found it quickly enough. "Okay...let's go."

Alex: Alex only nodded and followed the boy after grabbing the first sandwich he found as they made their way to the cash and then their way back to the institute in a slightly less awkward silence

[beingheldby-you]

won’t let it go down (’til we torch it ourselves)

He’s dreaming.

He has to be because there is no way she’s just casually sipping a martini at the one hotel bar he decides to go to, on a night where he specifically needed to get some serious alone brooding time.

“Who even hangs out at a hotel bar?” He thinks to himself.

But the answer is glaringly obvious; people who stay at hotels hang out at hotel bars. And Addison Fitzgerald is staying at the hotel because, well, because she bloody well can.

Niall Horan on the other hand, is there because, well, he’s not sure why exactly.

It’s almost as if his pulse knows when she’s in a room before his head does. It speeds up, jumps and delights towards her, racing out of his heart and veins and very being, al over her like an invisible bloody mess.

Catching a glimpse of her, just a glimpse, and his throat has apparently decided to walk out of its usual job scope of bodily function; his skin is cold and the world suddenly feels a stranger place. His shoes are too tight, his shirt it too big, and it feels like he’s in school all over again, walking into class a newcomer.

The uppity lounge is surprisingly crowded but she stands out from the other faces, as she always does, conspicuously discernable. Always always so bright that she could probably direct ships in the dark. She’s not quite aconite like before, but something more subtle, leaving a trail of violet in her movements.

And Niall could already feel every inch of her presence inexplicably imposing on him like moonlight grazing over exposed skin.

The memories creep over him like ghost fingertips; her hands on his, dancing in delight, her fingers on the back of his neck, and his heart constantly fluttering in its offbeat rhythm in his throat.

He contemplates pushing and shoving his way out of there, possibly making a small scene, before he realises that he had no reason to leave at all. Apart from cowardice, that is.

It’s a terrible thought, selfish even maybe, but he just wanted to invade the places that she paints and writes from. A place that was just hers and untouched by anyone else, alone.

Especially on this night.  

“Bardot?”

Her voice rings out, cutting through the clutter, and all blood rushes from his head to his fingertips and toes in an automatic fight or flight response.

Niall takes the moment of complete lack of brain-limb cooperation to remind himself that cowardice is always always the most viable option. But she’s making her way over with a dainty drink balanced in her hand and it becomes entirely too late for flight.

“So fight it is,” he thinks to himself.

Niall feels something twist in his stomach when she looks at him the way she is, but doesn’t quite know how to react to it. She stops short in front of him, about three feet worth of unsteady breathing, erratic heartbeats, and awkward wild eyes eating up the sight of one another, raising a quizzical brow.

“Thought I’d find you here, Red,” he says wry smile, without thought or any regard of its possible repercussions.

“Did you now, Dr. Horan?”

He lets out a delicate chuckle, the tension between the two of them palpable.

The moment sits between them uneasily.

And then, she smiles and he thinks that if she asked him to sacrifice his left lung right then, he would have gladly offered it.

“Come on, then,” she says, the silkiness of her voice and the unanswered question lingering like an expensive bottle of Vodka.

She grabs him by the wrist easily, maneuvering them both towards the bar with ease. She always did have that going for her; the slow deliberate manner of which she articulated and conducted herself was so smooth that you don’t quite taste the subtle quiet danger in its distilled notes. The type that lulls you into a sense of security that doesn’t quite exist.

Once seated, she signals to the bartender for two more martinis.

The barkeep complies and starts on the drinks right away. Because Addison Fitzgerald will get what Addison Fitzgerald wants. And as they launch into the pleasantries of old friends getting reaquainted, he decides that she’s exactly like Vodka. The kind where you don’t feel the burn until it’s too late and the fire is blooming through your chest and spreading to every inch of your body.

//

This is incredible reckless, he thinks to himself.

Evidently, the words slip out of his mouth too because she’s turning around and looking at his like she’s the cat who got the bowl of cream and it’s as though all his trepidation evaporates.

You can’t plan for everything, she smirks, sometimes it’s good to be reckless.

His entire life had seemed full of the things that are too big for him. He’s wearing all these shoes he can’t possibly fit and all these prospects are whizzing by him and he’s just there. Absentmindedly drowning.

A waiter slips by with a tray of champagnes and she lifts two glasses easily, one for her and one for him.

They chink their tall chutes of bubbly and he reluctantly takes a giddy sip, almost as it to toast their sneaking into a private party at the Metropolitan Museum of Arts. Although he’s not quite sure how unplanned the whole affair is; she had the forethought to buy a one way ticket to his dorm in Stanford and two tickets to New York with a fitted suit for him in tow, after all. It seems highly unlikely that she had not known that there would be a private function that they would not be allowed into without a bit of craftiness and a whole lot of on-the-fly lying.

But seeing her there in that dress, the whole ordeal is a red and gold mess in his mind. One minute she’s flailing alone in the intricate red dress she has on, hardly coalesced into the crowd of black gowns and black ties and barely making sense of her own lie, and the next he’s right there next to her selling the same story.

By some stroke of dumb luck, they’re let past the velvet ropes and she’s beaming so vibrantly that she’s everywhere. Seeping in through him and the layers of the suit she brought for him like rain covered clothes, sticking to his skin.

He expects for museums to be boring and hazy, but the colours are so bright that it looks like someone has just cut a glow stick in half and poured them everywhere. She is practically aglow as they weave between people and she points out certain works and talks and talks and talks about them for hours on end. But she’s kissing him between sips of champagne and shaking hands with people who introduce themselves and he feels like an overflowing sink.

She’s laughing and he’s laughing, and they are pretending to be descendants of some Dutch painter and married, and she’s kissing his laughter and it tastes better than anything in his twenty years of living.

//

In the entire scope of the universe, he is hardly important. That’s how he feels when she’s talking to him. The thing, whatever it is between them, hardly matters at all in the grand scale of things and he takes comfort in that. Because that makes the fact that so many of their firsts are intertwined, irrelevant.

The fact that he is hers completely and utterly, is only a peripheral matter.

Because she’s smart, and funny, and full of wit. Because he can see himself without her, just that it feels like something’s a little... off. Like his body is suddenly missing the important proteins that keep cells bonded together.

When he was thirteen and developed a crush for the first girl that he’s paired with for assignment and she barely bats an eyelid his way, he had yet to proper discover girls quite yet. He didn’t yet understand the softness of their touch and the harshness of their swelling hearts. But about just over a decade down the road, he’s like to think that he knows the one in front of him pretty well.

Even though about half of the decade was spent half a world from one another.

“So why haven’t you been painting?” Niall questions just as they are finishing up martini number five.

The crowd has dispersed somewhat, he can actually hear the soft tinkling of lounge music from somewhere, and he’s pretty sure he’s slurring. But he’s sick of the pretense. He’s sick of his heart and his head and his whole self and he really wants a little honesty. None of that pleasant small talk and exchanging little tidbits of their life.

“I have been painting,” she sits bolt upright, some kind of utter annoyance spelled across her features.

“No. You haven’t.”

“I send you those postcards.”

Often, he lays awake at night thinking about the said postcards. Handpainted on the front and handwritten on the back about everything and nothing.

The very postcards he never returns to sender but never responds to either.

He thinks about all the scenarios where that fateful day in the museum could have played out differently. If it had been raining and he didn’t get a chance to walk right out and leave so easily. If she had planned for their museum trip to be a Tuesday instead of  Thursday. If he was a blue whale and could not understand the concept of human speech.

Instead, he finds himself avoiding her eye and taking way too long to verbalise his responses even though she is right there in front of him.

He sighs, hazily considering changing the topic before the words slip out before he could catch them, “I meant for your show, Red, it’s been four years, what happened to going big? Your first big gallery show?”

She shrugs, eyes devoid of any real emotion or answers, “I got busy.”

“With martinis at Dukes and planning charity galas?”

He doesn’t mean it the way it comes out, but she’s stumped at his words.

He doesn’t say anything further because her fingers are now running around the rim of the martini glass and his heart is clogging his throat.

The conversations run drier than their martinis and when she speaks again, breaking the ice once more, it’s not some sort of a monumental thing.

“You know I used to love coming here.”

“Yeah?” He says, filling in the gaps unnecessarily.

“I think you might have just ruined it for me,” she raises the martini glass to her lips, downing the remnants of the liquid in one graceful gulp.

Before he could stop himself, he asks, “How?”

He braces himself for the comeuppance. He knows how wildly, ridiculously fun she finds it, being sarcastic. And he’s accustomed to the quick quips. The witty repartee and the threats of I-will-remove-your-tongue-with-a-butter-knife-and-leave-it-in-your-mother’s-letterbox.

But for a moment, for that moment, her guard is down and she’s being bridge-burningly, disarmingly honest.

“By being here,” she says pointedly.

She says nothing and everything, and he feels like he already knows what she means by the three simple words.

“I think we’ve had quite enough of this,” he says, sliding the martini glass away from her reach. The glint in her eyes is distracting him far too much. The wiring in his head, he’s sure at this point, is similar to blown fuses.

His brain is completely overrun and overwired.

He can never concentrate when he’s around her.

He never could, really.

//

Everything is sweet and heady and too much for his weak weak heart.

Niall cannot be in the same room as her anymore. He also can’t be away from her for more than ten minutes. It makes the nights she spends in his room, his and Harry’s, absolute hell.

He bends over his notes and tries to concentrate while she in on his bed, sprawled on what was meant to be his space, with his guitar laying flat on her stomach as she plucks at random notes and says almost anything and everything that comes into her head.

Her voice in his head is cracking fissures into his spine.

Something bothering you, Bardot? She asks.

It’s become somewhat of a thing, she sneaks into their shared room and the boys pretend to be annoyed by it. She takes up far too much space in the already small space where he does his homework on the tiny desk.

Often, she ends up hovering over him and correcting his work because he’s apparently a monumentally crap scholarship student. But it’s hardly weird as fuck like Zayn says it is.

It’s just how they are.

But this particular night, he feels like the walls are closing in on him and the words on his coursework are rearranging before his very eyes too fast for him to catch let alone focus on.

Her question still hangs in the air unanswered like a thick fog rolling in from the horror pictures. Her fingers hit a low and mellow note on his guitar, months of fiddling with the thing without instruction has taught her a thing or two about plucking the right strings, and all he wants is to feel is her hands on his stretched paper thin skin.

He wants to say yes. Yes, Red, you’re bothering me. I’m trying to finish this coursework and not get my scholarship retracted but all I can think about is the fact that I want to be alive in every room that you are alive in for the rest of my life.

But he doesn’t say anything. Just shakes his head and goes back to his coursework.

Harry snorts and offhanded says something about sexual tension and Niall thinks he might have to kill his roommate now.

It’s probably more of a Buridan’s Ass situation, she muses aloud, deflecting Harry’s comment.

Buridan’s Ass, she repeats again into the silence that covers them as though it would make more sense the second time around. You know, a starving donkey put between two stacks of hay at an equal distance would probably starve himself in indecision?

And at once he’s taken aback by just how amazing this specimen in his bed is.

He is in love with a fourteen year old who can’t play the guitar but throws in quips about 14th century French philosophers into daily conversation like it’s nothing.

This new bit of information, however, is met with confounding astonishment from Harry even though she’s technically his friend first and the only reason why she feels so comfortable coming over and invading their space almost on the daily; Seriously Dee, there is something wrong with you, you know that?

She laughs it off and Niall wants her to stop, because it feels like he’s about to implode.

His finger and toes grow cold and he’s afraid because she’s right there within reach. Her eyes are boring holes into his back and he knows that what he wants is something he cannot have.

And he’s terrified because his heart is one step beyond broken, it’s missing, and he’s pretty sure she has it.

You’re a fuckface, Styles, she says instead, still laughing.

Her voice tinkering into the dead of night between just them three, and he wants her stop. Because he would bathe in that sound forever, drown in it like a bee drowning in honey, if he could.

//

He helps her find the keys in her little tiny clutch which is weirder than it sounds because he would never have thought she'd be one to carry clutches. But then again, he never pictured her as one who stays at hotels because she can, sipping martinis alone by the car either.

As she dumps out the surprising amount of content in the bag to find her room key, her phone lights up as it hits the ground. Half a dozen messages take over the mass spectrum that is her phone screen, lying ignored, as she goes straight for the keycard and inserts it into the slot triumphantly, dashing into the room soon after to take her shoes off.

He doesn’t mean to, really, but he inadvertently sees messages from group chats he’s not in. And individual messages from Poppy and Harry and even Zayn.

Niall passes the phone and her lipstick and her wallet and a small bottle of Channel back to her and even half drunk she knows that he knows and it’s weird and awkward and uncomfortable that he’s in her room all of the sudden.

He misses being a part of that. And it’s not that he wants to be in the exact same circles and the exact same group chats, talking about the exact same things.

He just misses her.

He misses her and it’s awful because it’s his own doing and he has his own friends and his own life, but the worst part of it all is that he would give it all up.

He would give it all up to have her back.

Not the her now, but the her before he left her in the museum alone. Her when they were fifteen and unsure, when they were sixteen and wading into unchartered territory, when they were seventeen and it was all bright and light and lovely. Even when they were eighteen and she goes off to France and it got... difficult. More difficult than before anyway.

The door shuts behind him with a thud, some kind of finality weighing down on them and anchoring him to reality.

The silence that follows clings to the air, thick and suffocating.

Silence.

And then.

“I was clearing your shit out,” she says loudly. Too loudly.

He’s confused with the silent rage burning below the surface of her voice.

“I was clearing your shit out, pissed off my arse, tossing them into a box when Poppy came over and asked me what I was doing and I coughed blood into her face because I’d come to California to see you and flown us both out to New York and—”

He starts to say something but she’s still going on, pacing around the room with her heels in one hand, waving them them as she spoke unsteadily. “I turn around for one second in the Met. One. Second.”

She pauses, almost for the dramatic effect tossing her shoes aside and swiping a cigarette pack he han’t noticed off the tea table in one dramatic move, “And you were just gone.”

“I know,” he says, lump in his throat back again and catching himself looking at the champagne coloured drapes and the possibly antique lamps and how his shoebox of an apartment also has off white curtains for an entirely different reason. Opposite sides to the same coin.

Always always on opposite ends.

She slides the doors to the balcony open before her hands deftly light a cigarette.

“You didn’t even leave a note or a text or an email,” she prods on at the never ending hole chewing away at his gut.

“I know.”

“You just packed up your things and left.”

“I know!” Niall snaps, jolting out of his long-concealed guilty man stupor for the first time, “I had just moved my entire life to a new country and was knee deep into a med degree, I was too tired to figure out what you being there meant.”

“Well, it should have meant that you wanted to spend some time with me,” she snaps right back, going for the jugular.

Her eyes soften and she looks over, gently, like he’s delicate and breakable, easily startled, “You left. You put yourself first and you left, so you don’t get to come back and poke holes into the life that I built without you just because you feel like it.”

She is staring at him, and it’s only then it dawns how goddamn awful the whole thing must feel from her point of view.

“That wasn’t my intention.”

“Well, that’s what it feels like.”

“I’m sorry.”

She stares, like she is about to say something, and then she just takes a long drag of her cigarette and sits. So he sits too. And they talk, and they don’t, and then they talk some more, sitting there for hours.

He’s there, all there. And no one knows better than he does how good it feels to whispering a secret aloud to scorch the ground before you.

Even if it’s just for yourself to hear.

She’s talking about doubt. And how she doubts everything now, because she’s stuck in this moment of just before. The moment just before your brush hits the canvas where anything is possible. She doubts every stroke and every move and the canvas is more daunting than freeing, so she just stopped painting.

He feels as though his brain is melting through his teeth as she looks at him, because she’s looking at him the way she’s always looked at him and that is all that there is.

He wants to say something but Niall had never been good with words the way she is. They come tumbling right out of him, spilling carelessly from his mouth before it hits the ground running, far too late for take backs. And he knows for a fact that if he’s going to try to explain to her why he ran from the museum or how when she looks at him it feels like she’s the earth’s gravity and he is the moon, it’d probably all come out wrong.

He can’t explain how his life has been split into two parts, before her and after her.

Because how could she understand? How can he explain to her that there are no small moments in his head, only things that give him shots of joy that course through his veins. That everything since her has been metaphors and bits of poetry he can’t memorise and swirling technicolour he can’t catch.

How can he begin to explain to her that all he ever wanted is her? Just her. Only her. That he had known on some level that she wanted him, but he wanted her more. But he waited then until she saw it too and then it’s like the stars fell straight into his mouth and down his stomach. He is so filled with her light that he spends most nights lying awake thinking about all the ways it could work.

And how hard he wishes that it would be enough.

It wasn’t then, but maybe it can be now.

She’s looking at him with those damned eyes and if he is dead right now, he knows he would come back for her. He would swallow the dirt and walk across the ocean to where she is.  So when she leans in to catch his lips with hers, he drinks it in reverently as though he lived and breathed for it.

Despite knowing that in less than twelve hours, she’s set to marry someone else, he kisses her back, their bodies pressing impossibly closer and closer and closer together.

Because the feelings are there even if the courage isn’t.

//

He grabs her by the waist before she can fall.

They plan something stupid and reckless and childish and the boys are off celebrating. Poppy has disappeared halfway through the night and although the prank goes off without a hitch and without a single way of being traced back to them, Niall momentarily wonders how she can stand to be friends with them all.

Because it has to be more than just a shared childhood that bonds them.

But she is swaying in the dark in his room to some unseen music, and he catches her just as she is about to topple over.

It’s just the two of them. He can’t seem to remember a time where it’s just them both. Because the boys would always be there, crawling out and popping up from wherever they’ve been hiding like termites from woodwork at every opportunity.

But suddenly, they’re alone. They’ve been all drinking from the flask he has in his coat pocket all night but suddenly it’s just them and her hand is on his collar and he’s sure there isn’t much or any thought behind her movements, except the feeling of his heartbeat against his ribs and her hair curling across his throat spins the room on its axis.

Her hand sitting between them like some kind of a smoke screen from a really bad magic show.

Tension hung in the air like old curtains, all thick and heavy and swallowing. Their proximity far too intoxicating to be uncomfortable.

And then time came to a complete impenetrable halt.

Lips moving deftly over his, Niall’s head erupts into a series of volcanic reactions and an unrestrained hazy, burning heat.

He distantly feels himself kissing back, what with the alcohol running through his veins, but that was about the extent of his brain’s involvement. Conveniently shut off for the moment, he melts into the touch of the soft girl in his hands, every brush of skin eliciting some kind of other physical response.

Niall’s thoughts were swimming, the burning feeling of her touch, taste, scent of her. But common sense was teetering on the edge, waiting for the opportunity to jump in.

He pulls back, Red, how drunk are you on a scale of one to ten?

She blinks.

What’s a ten?

Of course, he thinks to himself.

He wraps her arm around his neck and carry her towards her room, lugging the surprisingly docile for a drunk girl across four hallways and a flight of stairs, wondering how she makes this journey almost every night without getting caught.

Propping her against her headboard, her roommate surprisingly still missing since she disappeared earlier in the night, her eyes trail him across the room as he moves things nearer to her bed like the bin for throwing up and water for hydration. He pulls her blanket up and ignore her steady gaze as she slurs, sounding all sloppy and tired.

Are you going to stay?

He freezes momentarily but she shifts on the single bed and he lies down next to her because... well, because.

And it’s like he’s ten years old again, poking inside three point power socket because he’s trying to stuff a two point plug in there, except he can’t feel the electric jolt. He’s holding onto the fork which he’s using as the third pin and he feels nothing.

Everything is muted the way the entire world seemed to have stopped when their lips touched.

He’s doing a stupid thing again, he knows on some level that it’s a stupid thing, like stabbing a three point power socket with metal cutlery. It feels odd that as a child he would do dangerous things without noticing. And odder yet that as an almost adult, he would dive head first into danger without a second thought.

If she is trapped in a painting she can never paint then he will lie, sneak and steal into art halls to be by her side, wandering around in empty hallways until he can find her.

Control is an illusion.

And he surrenders to it, an able bodied servant.

[dorothydelgadillo]

If You Want to Be a Rockstar Content Manager, You Must Have This Skill

Look, being a content manager is a lot of work. (I know this from personal experience.)

There are obvious day-to-day challenges of managing competing deadlines, balancing lots of different personalities, and having a job centered around the one thing a good number of people at your company would probably consider "homework" they don't want to do. 

Still, a conversation I had during a recent episode of MarketHer with Angela and Kate made me realize something. 

There actually is something more satisfying than hitting publish on something I've worked really, really hard on to produce -- empowering someone else to do the same with a piece of content or a project they're really, really proud of.

I want to make a lazy quip here about how surprising it is to feel that way because I'm a selfish only child, blah blah blah, but that kind of humor is a crutch I rely upon far too often and undermines the larger point I want to make here. 

We've said before that two of the top qualities you should seek out in a content manager is that they (a) are likable and (b) know what makes people tick. 

I don't disagree with that.

If you aren't likable, no one will want to work with you -- and they certainly won't give a damn about any deadlines you set for them. And if you don't understand what makes people tick, you won't be able to motivate or inspire anyone. 

If, however, we were to distill that down further to the single quality I've noticed the top content managers I know possess, it's that they genuinely want to see those around them have a positive impact through their stories, and will go out of their way to empower them to do so at every turn.

A bit hokey and naïve? Maybe. 

But if you were to ask me what gets me out of bed every morning, it's that. That moment when someone gets to the end of a big content project with me and says, "Wow, I really created this. And I am really proud of it." 

And then sometimes, if I'm lucky, "When do we get to do that again?"

Not only do those moments give me the warm and fuzzies, I know that person has put a piece of content into the universe that's really going to have a bottom-line impact... and they'll continue to work hard to do so from that moment on.

If you want to be a remarkable content manager, this is the mental posture you need to adopt when you wake up every day to do your job. (And if you're hiring for one, this is what you need to look for.)

But I'll be the first to admit that this ingrained "content manager altruism" still takes work. You can have that natural drive to see others be successful that can't be taught and still fail to deliver in the ways that count. 

That's because it's kind of like a muscle you need to work and strengthen over time with practice. Lots and lots of practice. 

Here's how and when you practice.

#1: Editing & Giving Feedback

If you are the single point of contact through which all content drafts flow, you cannot be viewed as a royal in a castle from whom faceless decrees, accolades, and (most importantly) expressions of dissatisfaction are issued. 

By no means am I suggesting you become an emotional hand-holder of the people whose work you edit, but rather taking the time to remember that to do your job well goes beyond your ability to wield your red pen -- literal or virtual.

For example, if someone impresses you with a draft, go out of your way to tell them that. And be specific.

"I really enjoyed this. You've got a great knack for structure."

Or...

"By the way, I just wanted to say I think this is really going to resonate with our audience. You did a great job of answering one of the most commonly asked questions we get."

Of course, you don't need to invite them out to lunch or make a big to-do out of these little exchanges. A simple email or Slack message can be quite powerful in these cases; especially since they can come back and revisit your kind words. The goal is that you want someone to feel valued -- as a contributor, generally, as well as for the quality of their work. 

On the flip side of that equation, if someone gives you a draft that.... well, needs a lot of work, you need to go the extra mile to deliver that news. Particularly if it's the first time you've handled work from that individual.

If you see you're about to absolutely demolish a draft with edits and comments, you need to have a face-to-face chat with someone to walk them through what needs to happen. I would even let them guide that discussion by asking them how they felt about the draft they gave.

(Often, they'll say, "Honestly, not that great. I really struggled because of X, Y, and Z," which makes your life a heck of a lot easier.)

The goal of the conversation in these scenarios is not to simply take someone through the edits, line by line, as you would have given them via suggested changes and comments, but rather to have a dialogue where you make it clear that you're invested in helping them become successful.

Still, be honest in your feedback, but you need to create space for them to learn, while also making sure you're not creating a scenario where they feel like you're making them publicly walk the plank with you, as a penance for creating a sub-par draft.

There is also a third scenario in which I would recommend making the face-to-face (or, at the very least video call) effort -- when the draft is solid, but you either need to take out a personal story that someone clearly put a lot of effort into or you plan to restructure a large part of it. 

Using the personal story angle as an example, I often coach folks who write for us to put themselves into an article by sharing experiences and going out of their way to use their conversational tone. Most of the time, it lands, but there are occasions where it doesn't.

That's true of anyone, though. There are times where I re-read drafts of my own, only to realize a great memory I was sure would work is the "odd man out" in my introduction, or wherever I happened to place it.)

So, when it doesn't work for someone else, I'll usually hop on a quick Zoom call to explain what isn't working about that section, but also to more broadly applaud how they put themselves out there and that they're moving in the right direction.

Because, were I to just strike that section or rework it to a point beyond recognition, they would see the final product and go, "Well, why did I even bother putting myself in there?"

That's the worst-case scenario that you never, ever want to create. 

#2: Have an "Open Door Policy"

What form this takes for you will depend on your preferences, but you should clearly communicate -- both explicitly with regular reminders and through your approachability -- that you are always there as a resource to help people with their content questions, large and small. 

Unlike the nuances of handling the certain cases in the editing process, this is a fairly straightforward recommendation of how to be that content manager rockstar.

Your people need to feel like they can access you, and that any questions they have will not be rejected or obviously considered silly or dumb. 

Using myself as an example, I've made it clear that I am always available for specific questions or to help folks walk through vague ideas they need help crystallizing.

In fact, I'd say the latter is much more common, because as some people simply need a sounding board to get that quick mental outline for a topic where it needs to be -- or they need someone to ask a few clarifying questions to make sure they're pointed in the right direction before they get down to work.

You can make that a broad rule, you can create office hours, or whatever you think works best for you and your team. The bottom line is you need to create a culture where people instinctively feel as if you are there to help and, most of all, that you genuinely want to do so.

#3: Recognize the Quality of Work Being Produced

It's no secret that one of the ways to keep your people engaged is to help people see how their content is contributing to the larger whole of what you're doing with inbound marketing -- specifically, in terms of helping close deals, generating lots of views, etc.

But I want to take that one step further. 

Yes, continue to do all those things -- recognizing deal-closing content, etc. -- but also occasionally weave in public recognition of someone who went above and beyond in the quality of their content.

Often I'll do this before someone even goes to publication. 

For example, we have a Slack channel called #happy-thoughts, where people across IMPACT are given free reign to recognize fellow IMPACTers for great work, a milestone, being a team player, and so on. 

I remember the first time I read Stephanie Baiocchi's draft for her guide to online community management, I was completely blown away -- were there still some edits that needed to be made? Surely. Did I have feedback on where she could take her work to the next level? Absolutely. 

But she had surpassed all of my expectations on the first draft of an extensive beast of a content project, and so I told everyone:

As you can see, I was very specific about the "why" of it being so good -- the quality was outstanding and she was going to help us reach our goals. 

Later on, I still made a big "to do" when her guide went live, but I wanted to make sure she felt her initial push was rewarded, because she worked hard and really delivered. 

This is what you need to do for your people.

Not every time, of course -- no one feels special in an "everybody gets a trophy" situation. But whenever you get those genuine moments of, "Wow, they really, really crushed it," you should share that with others on your team. 

#4: Don't Be a Pushover

This may sound contrary to the "Be their champion!" advice I've been giving you up to this point. But the reality is that someone will only consider you their champion if you push them to higher standards. 

Be fair. Be honest. Be consistent.

And, most of all, don't diminish your standards of quality for the sake of making someone feel "empowered." 

Your people will only feel like your affirmations matter when they feel like you thinking something is good is actually a big deal. That you're not just some fluffy-wuffy cheerleader who would be shaking your proverbial pom poms for just anyone. 

Moreover, I'll say that sometimes the best moments where I do get to recognize someone for amazing work have been the result of conversations where I have to tell them first on a different occasion:

"I'm going to challenge you. Sure, this is passable, but you can do better than this."

Sometimes those moments involve me calling out obviously lazy writing or staying the standard is beyond where they're at, at that point in time. But I make it clear that I believe they can get there.

Finally, You Can't Fake It, but You Can Overdo It

Here's the thing -- if you take all of this advice to heart, but you're faking it, ultimately, when it comes to genuinely wanting your people to be content rockstars themselves, they're going to know.

That's why, when we tell people what to look for when hiring for this role, we tell them to be on the look out for specific people-focused soft skills that someone either has or they don't. 

So, for those of you reading this, you either genuinely (as part of who you are as a human) have some part of you that wants to lift people up and see them just absolutely crush it on their own... or you don't.

There is no in-between.

On the flip side of that coin, I want to leave you with one important note of clarification. The ways in which you "practice" as I've outlined above are (a) based on my personal experience and observation, and (b) can quickly become an emotional drain if you think I'm recommending these practices for every single interaction you have. 

For instance, most of the editing "transactions" you'll engage in around a single piece of content for someone will likely be fairly unremarkable and won't require setting aside time to talk with someone face-to-face about their work.

(Seriously, just think about the calendar collapse you would experience if you were to have some deep heart-to-heart meeting about every single piece of content getting published on your company's website. Just thinking about that reality for myself gives me anxiety.)

You won't be perfect every day, and that's OK. You won't always have the limitless time to help people as you may want to at first, and that's OK.

What really matters is that, as a content manager, you understand you are the leader of the content culture at your company. And if you lead with a mental posture that communicates, "You guys have no idea what kind of amazing stuff you're capable of creating, and I'm your champion in helping you get there," you'll get results in more ways than you thought possible. 

And the people you work with will thank you for it. 

from Web Developers World https://www.impactbnd.com/blog/content-manager-top-skill