#ive descended to puddle

[dawnbreakersgaze]

HELLO?!??!!?

Im

Not okay

Please wait 1-2 business days to contact Kay about this Dawnbreaker looking mother fucker and his Hungry Like the Wolf kiss.

Because I NEED A MOMENT

Link for you guys

[spirk-trek]

i love reading about tarsus iv, maybe some tarsus iv angst?

read on ao3 here!

so here it is... i've always thought that the episode 'taste of armageddon' would bring up some dark memories for jim. this is the aftermath.

~*~*~*~

“What did you just say?”

A hush fell over the conference room. Jim pulled his eyes away from the wall and watched Spock’s brows descend, his mouth close. An unwarranted surge of impatience unfurled within him.

“What did you say, Mr. Spock?” he asked again.

“I said, Captain, therefore we have no alternative…”

Jim shut his eyes as the world lurched, drowning out the second half of Spock’s sentence.

“Excuse me, gentleman,” he was saying as he rose to his feet, heading immediately for the doors. He paused before his exit, hand curling into a fist against the wall. He spoke with his back turned. “Continue the briefing without me. I’ll… fill myself in later.”

And with that he found himself back in the brightly lit corridor, barely resisting the urge to raise an arm and shield his eyes.

* * * * *

“Ah- Damn.”

“Captain.”

The burning sensation had already begun to fade as spilled coffee rapidly cooled against Jim’s skin. He hardly felt the prickle of discomfort, staring detachedly down his body at the stain stretching from chest to thigh. He hadn’t even taken a sip yet. Damn.

The swinging corner of a towel edged into his vision. A hand clutched around it. Blue sleeve. Two gold stripes. Spock.

“Captain, are you-”

“Yes. Fine,” he muttered, sliding the towel from Spock’s grip and beginning to press it to his torso with a wince. He sighed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the coffee cup coming to rest against the leg of a table. His ministrations faltered, arm falling back to his side as he watched the dark, black puddle expand over the floor. It reflected nothing, eating away at the space beneath them. A vacuum. Death.

“Jim.”

He jumped, gaze spinning before it found Spock in the room with him again. He forced his shoulders to un-hunch, tried to swallow past dry humiliation climbing his throat, resuming his- He blinked down at the empty hand pressed against his wet uniform. The towel had dropped to the floor at his feet.

Spock seemed to decide against the step he started taking toward him, settling his weight back over his heels.

“Doctor McCoy-”

Jim shook his head. One singular, jerky motion. “No need,” he said curtly, still looking down at the curl of white overlapping the toe of his boot. Droplets of coffee spotted the leather. One, two, three, four…

He shifted into motion, not sure where he was going until he remembered the door. “I’ll stop by my quarters to change. Head straight to the bridge.” He met Spock’s eye for only an instant, and found himself longing for the unfamiliarity of when they’d first met. When a notch in his brow, the downturned corner of his lips, would have meant nothing to him. Perhaps he wouldn’t have noticed at all.

He cleared his throat and retreated again. “It’s you until I arrive, Mr. Spock. Won’t be long.”

He left his first officer there in the observation lounge, unsure of what had brought them both there in the first place. What he needed was sleep. Tonight. Tonight, he would sleep...

* * * * *

Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered, signed Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV.

Jim tried to call out, but the world was dark. It was nothing but that voice, nothing but the feeling in his chest. The gnawing hunger in his stomach. There was nothing below his feet but the blackness that splashed up over him. Starless. Humid. Burning.

Then, there was horizon.

It began as a deep purple, edging into orange; the orange of an oxygen starved flame, pulling thinner and thinner until it became a vision. A memory. Sunset. They lasted days here in the winter. Jim remembered his mother telling him how it often felt like living inside an old earth painting.

I can’t wait for you to see it, Jimmy.

The dark world from before continued to recede, bringing dusk colored shapes forward from shadow. Soon, he stood at the center of rubble as far as the eye could see. Fragmented structures loomed, skeletal and silent, like ribcages fossilized in sand. A broken road. Ruins of a once hopeful colony. 

Surely you can see that ours is a better way.

Jim abruptly spun toward the sound of a soft cry, cutting off the echoes of Mea's words. A wail- familiar and hollow. Desperate. Carried to him on wind stinking of fire and decay. The sound reverberated through the maze of empty alleys, but Jim didn’t have to search long. He already knew where he would find the pale hand extending toward him through ash. He had done this before.

He also knew that when he reached into his pocket, he would find the messily torn bread there. He knew his hand would be shaking when he brought it to eye level, turned it over in his fingers. It was about the size of an apple. Stale. Marked by dirt and red fibers from the inside of his jacket. He did not pick them off before placing it into the boy’s outstretched palm. He watched as the fingers remained still. Stiff. Without touching them, he knew they would be cold, too.

He continued to stare until, with his own shaking fingers, he reached. His stomach shivered with want, mouth watering, but he closed his eyes tight and instead curled his hand around the other’s. He closed his grip, pushing the arm away from him, back into the shadows.

“Go on, take it. Eat. Hurry.”

He was too late, though. He always was.

You will be responsible for an escalation that will destroy everything. Millions of people, horribly killed.

Jim shook his head as Mea's voice rattled into it again. When he pried his eyes open, angry tears distorted his view. He glared through the hot waves down at the bread, at the hand still cradling it, not looking away until they no longer swam through bitter salt. Only then did he sniff and press his eyes into the crook of his arm before leaning forward to take it back. This part was familiar again. He pulled it to his chest in one swift motion, stomach pitching dangerously, then shoved it back into his pocket and stood.

Turning back to the sprawling ruins, he let putrid air push uncut hair back from his face, drying the tracks his tears had left behind. The ghosts had been awakened, now. They stood in the shadows which grew rapidly thinner even as Jim watched, shrunken by a sun that did not appear in the sky but he knew was there by the way it cooked him in this graveyard. The way heat crawled inside him through his nostrils, forced itself down his throat.

One ghost, the same one as always, stepped forward. Jim had known him once, had shown him his chess pieces from Estrade Beta, drawn star maps with him in the dirt, but had since spent what felt like a lifetime trying to forget the protrusion of the boy’s cheekbones. The deep, brown eyes which reminded him of his brother’s. His father’s. Jim took a staggering step toward him through swirls of dust, over piles of rock, but stopped dead in his tracks when the boy’s mouth opened. When those familiar eyes from a lifetime ago contorted in anger and met his.

Are those five hundred people of yours more important than hundreds of millions of innocents?

Jim, wild eyed, took a step backward. This hadn’t happened before. Even when he had begged the ghosts to speak, to hear his apologies, they never did. They never looked at him.

“No. No, you don’t understand-”

What kind of monster are you?

Jim found himself speaking, the words tight as if extracted directly from his heart, ripped forcibly from him.

"I- I'm a barbarian. You said it yourself."

Without warning, he collided with something at his back and gasped violently, choking on the dead air that filled his lungs. He whipped around, finding nothing but bones collapsing into a meaningless pile, rolling away.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, falling to his knees, fingers shaking above a femur. A rib bone. A skull with two bottomless black eyes. A coffee cup against the leg of a table.

Disaster! Disease! Starvation!

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head as the bones began to tremble, vibrating over the ground. He fell backward over himself, scrambling to get away, but there was no end. This nightmare was a universe, stretching on infinitely for him to live inside. His hands shredded against sharp shards of brick, snapped sandstone walls, shattered existences. His neck cracked as he looked over his shoulder to find the ghosts circling him. Corpses. Shadows of people, gaunt and nameless, condemned to die while he was allowed to live.

Horrible, lingering death!

“I’m sorry! I can’t help you, I don’t know how, I-”

Pain and anguish!

He pulled the bread from his pocket again, curling onto his side and holding it high, shielding himself. An offering. All he had. Blood soaked into it like a sponge, pulling crimson from his bleeding palm. Blooming. Overtaking. Ruining.

It would frighten any sane man.

“Please, take it. I don’t want it. Please.”

Tears seared new paths down his cheeks as he waited for hands to find him. Survival.

Your life means slow death to the more valued members of the colony.

He waited for the fire, for the pit, for the funeral. He said goodbye to his parents, to his brother. He waited to be torn apart. Finally, to become a part of that mass grave on the world which stole his youth from him, which still found ways to crawl inside and remind him that the cruelest parts of the universe were often the ones where humans could be found.

There can be no peace. Don't you see? We're a killer species. It's instinctive. It's the same with you.

“No,” Jim choked, shivering. Shaking. Fighting off the dark, encroaching shame that always came for him in the end. 

Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society.

Your execution is so ordered, signed, James Tiberius Kirk.

Then, like a breach tearing through him, Spock’s voice surrounded him. Spock. He knew a different man, a different life. He shouldn't be here. He couldn’t be here.

I have no alternative but to sentence you to death, Captain.

"Spock?" But when he opened his eyes, Spock wasn't there. Instead he was clinging to the shoulders of Thomas Leighton with the high pitched drone of an antimatter chamber charging for release at his back, and panic spiraled through his core.

“Don’t look, Tommy,” he begged, and he spun them, faced the young boy away as bright light flashed behind closed lids. Silence followed like a whip over their heads. “Don’t look," he whispered again. He pulled the boy against his chest as he thrashed, tried to wrench himself free. "Don’t look, don’t-”

“Jim!”

Jim’s whole body jerked within itself, a gasp of air filling him as if he’d been underwater, as if he’d never breathed before. He heaved, shook, groaned as nausea threatened to take him in the darkness. The darkness.

“Don’t look, don’t- don’t…”

He watched as his own hands dragged blood down a swath of blue, palms stinging. His eyes widened.

“I didn’t,” he breathed, a dizziness coming over him. He shook his head. “Spock, please, I didn’t- I didn’t mean to, I-”

Cool hands latched firmly around his wrists. Despite himself, Jim felt the world go still in a way that didn’t make him want to destroy it like he usually did when purgatory eventually released him. He stared, rivulets of blood seeping between thin fingers. Holding him still. Tethering him to reality.

“You have hurt no one, Jim. I am here.”

Jim lifted his eyes, and there Spock was, just as he said. They were on the Enterprise. His ship. Home. On the floor, surrounded by broken glass, chess pieces fallen around them like-

The hands around his wrists flexed, and he was soaring away from the graveyard, soaring away from the half formed retch lodged in his throat. He leaned in, forward, until his forehead made contact with Spock’s shoulder, mind reeling back to that desire of hours ago. How he’d wished for Spock to unlearn all he knew of him, for them to be strangers to one another whose pasts did not matter and futures were free not to intertwine.

“I am here,” Spock spoke again softly, and Jim let him unclasp his tattered hands, hold them gingerly in the space between as the bleeding slowed. His breath evened. And all the while, Spock was there. He grounded himself in the simple fact that here would never be there again, and Spock would never be included in the list of people he failed all those years ago.

[quicksilverlightning]

i.

I am leaving home

to become a wayward sunflower,

holding an ink pen and faded travel

map to navigate the twisting street maze

of unfamiliar cities. The warm rain

embraces the grid in its comforting presence.

ii.

I have left with two presents;

a knit blanket from home

and a polka dot pair of rain

boots. I eat dried sunflower

seeds and think of you - a maze

of contradictions to chart through travel.

iii.

I cross many paths but travel

alone, the memory of your presence

fine company among a brain-fold maze

of old synapses pointing the way home.

The road twists through orchards and sunflower

fields, through drought, snow, rain.

iv.

Long forgotten kings reign

over crumbling ruins left to travel

the footnotes of history, rarely blooming like a sunflower

in an undergrad thesis. Their ghostly presence

follows me from the lush green of home

to the muffled cacophony descending into the subway maze.

v.

My map is a gnarled maze

of foreign streets made slick by rain;

I think of you in tandem with home

and distance, the arduous path of travel

a length of twine marking my presence

through roads of puddles and lakes of dead sunflowers.

vi.

I left home to be a wayward sunflower,

but am lost in an infinitely-dense maze

layered with the patina of memories, prescience

in reverse. The earthy scent of rain

lingers between the pages of my travel

journal, waiting to be released at home.

Vii.

You are a sunflower and I the rain;

the world is a maze I must travel,

but your presence guides me home.

[jinmukangwrites]

Dick and Dami Week 2021 Day 1

"Did you really mean that?"

-o-o-o-o-

After a bad run in with Two-Face, Damian asks Dick about things that were said.

-o-o-o-o-

The med-bay is silent, and all Dick can do is sit in an ancient plastic folding chair with his head in his hands. He hates this chair, it's uncomfortable and brings spikes up pain up through his tailbone into the entirety of his spine if he sits in it for too long... but for some reason it's a chair that no one in this makeshift patch-work of a family can throw away and replace quite yet. It's the chair you sit in when you're waiting for the person in the cot besides you to wake up. Dick's sure Alfred used to sit in this chair for Bruce before Robin was even a thought. Just like Bruce would sit in this chair for Dick, or Dick for Bruce, or Tim for Jason or Steph for Cass or Duke for Alfred or.…

Or Dick for Damian.

Damian's in the cot right now, an IV shoved into the crook of his arm and a bandage wrapped around the top of his skull. Little red speckles dot the white material; the bandages will have to be changed soon.

Damian's in the cot right now. Hurt. Beaten. Bruised.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29900148

And Dick's here in this uncomfortable as fuck chair, waiting for him to finally wake up.

This is his fault.

Well, maybe it isn't directly his fault, but he's... something less than a father to this kid, and he damn well considers him to be something like a son. It's been Dick's job and pleasure to watch over him. Being helpless and not strong enough… fast enough… to protect him is something he considers a failure.

He should have been stronger tonight. Faster. Better.

Instead he was held back, kicking his legs and begging, as Two-Face swung a bat against Damian's head.

Dick will never forget or forgive the smirk Dent gave him after Damian crumpled to the ground; his head already laying in a growing puddle of his own blood. Of course, that was the moment the mighty Batman had decided to descend into the abandoned courtroom with Orphan and Red Robin by his side. Dent didn't last too much longer, eventually ending up laying on the floor resembling something like a slab of meat under a butcher's hammer.

Dick's hands shook the entire way back to the manor. He wished he was able to make Dent hurt that badly with his own two fists, but well, getting Damian back to safety was the higher priority.

Maybe Jim will let Nightwing pay Two-Face a quick private visit before he gets sent back to Arkham.

A small, barely cut off whine brings Dick out of his tunneling thoughts. It's amazing how difficult and easy it is to bring a smile to his face as Damian lifts a fist to his face to rub one of his eyes.

All Dick has to do is sit and wait for Damian to fully come to awareness and realize that he's being watched.

"Richard?"

"That's me," Dick answers. He leans forward to help Damian sit up by placing a few pillows behind his back. Then he sits quietly as Damian composes himself, wanting nothing more than to bolt forward and wrap Damian in the tightest, most warmest hug to ever exist. However, Damian usually wants space after things like this, and if he wants a hug he'll find a way to hint at it.

If he even wants a hug from Dick, that is. This is Dick's fault after all.

After a few moments, Damian let's out his signature tt. "What happened to Dent?"

"Help came," Dick says. "Got us both out before major damage could be done. You'll have a headache for a while though, kiddo."

Damian frowns, which almost causes a laugh to bubble through Dick's throat. However, he keeps the fake/real smile on his face in silence as Damian looks down at his hands with a furrowed brow.

Eventually, Damian speaks again.

"As they were dragging me away... I heard you..." Dick's heart drops. "I heard you demand that you take my place. You yelled that you'll kill Dent if he hurt me. Did you really mean that?"

Dick feels his lips thin against his will. "I..." he starts, not really knowing how to explain in a way that works. He takes a deep breath and tells himself to just be honest with the kid. Damian responds well to honesty, even if the truth hurts more than lies. "Dami... I was scared... I thought that I was about to watch you be beaten and killed. If Bruce- if your dad didn't come when he did I don't know what would have happened. What I would have done. I... don't want to watch you die ever again. I would rather it be me."

Damian continues to look at his hands, picking at a scabbed scar on his ring finger. Dick doesn't know where he got that one but he does know he shouldn't pick at it. He doesn't say anything about it. He just waits for Damian to talk.

Damian takes a deep breath then looks Dick in the eyes. "I understand."

There it is. The hint Dick was oh-so-hoping for. Dick stands from the chair and settles down next to Damian in the cot, bringing his arm around Damian's shoulders and holding him close to his side.

"I was... scared too," Damian says after a moment of comfortable silence. Dick focuses on the breaths he can feel from the chest besides him. "But I'm happy it ended okay. I don't want to watch you die either."

Dick sighs and squeezes his kid a little closer. "Let's just both agree to be more careful from now on, then."

"Agreeing to be more careful won't stop bad things from happening," Damian mumbles through a yawn.

"No it won't," Dick replies softly, "but it will make us both feel better for now."

"Alright… I'll agree then."

Dick finally finds a genuine chuckle. He settles more into the cot and holds Damian as close as he dares. Which is very close.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, baby-wing," he whispers, unsure if Damian can even hear him as his breathing pattern has settled back into slumber. He says it anyway, closing his eyes. "And I definitely mean that with all my heart."

[starryknight09]

Friendly Fire

Febuwhump Day 4: impaling

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

Peter dodged the drone that tried to ram into him and kicked it as it passed by.  It fell to the ground in a clump of metal.  These things terrorizing Manhattan weren’t hard to destroy but there were so many of them the sky practically looked black.  It was the Avengers first mission since they’d defeated Thanos after Captain Marvel had snapped the gauntlet.  It was too bad she’d disappeared back into space a few weeks ago because they could really use her right about now.

Peter swung closer to the main battle where most of the drones seemed to be amassed.  He shot out a taser web along the way taking down another five drones that were crowded too close together.  

“Nice shot kid.” Tony said as he flew by.

“Thanks Mr. Stark.” He grinned under the mask and shot out another web at a drone that had ventured too close.  “Is it just me or does it seem like we’re not even making a dent in these guys?”

“According to FRIDAY we’ve taken out about ten percent of them.”

“Wonderful.” Clint complained over the comms.  “So at the rate we’re going, we’ll have these things cleaned up by tomorrow morning.”

He wasn’t wrong.  They’d been at it for almost an hour now and the sun was about to set.

“Anyone have any bright ideas?” Rhodey asked.

“We could really use Thor right about now.” Clint said.

“Yeah well point break’s off philandering with Quill and his merry men, so we’re going to have to make due.” Tony said.

“It’s too bad we can’t just EMP them.” Peter said, all his skills being tested as he dodged drones, webbing up as many as he could and striking any that got too close.

“We’d have to take out a significant portion of New York's power, and mine and Rhodey’s suits, for that to work, so let’s try to avoid that.” Tony sniped.

“Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way then.” Clint said.  Peter briefly caught sight of the archer on the top of nearby rooftop as he swung past.

To be fair, there was a lot going on, so what happened next wasn’t completely Clint’s fault.  Or Peter’s.  

A handful of drones attacked him simultaneously, and they were too close to use his webs.  He landed a hard hit on one, but when he did, he got too close to another one and his spidey sense flared as it shot its lasers at him.  He yanked hard on his web to dodge out of the way and narrowly avoided getting hit, but the moment he moved his spidey sense wailed at him.  Before he could figure out why, his leg jerked.  What?

“Oh shit.” Clint swore and a second later the pain hit him.  His leg felt like it was on fire.  He looked down at it and it took a moment for his brain to process what his eyes were seeing.  One of Clint’s arrows had speared through the fleshy part of his calf.

Oh.  Ow.  Ow ow ow.  The shock and the pain of it had distracted him enough that he’d forgotten to throw another web out to stay in the air, so now he was falling on top of bleeding.  He managed to focus and fire a web onto a building, just in time to slow his descent so he skimmed across the ground and landed on his good leg without hurting himself any further.  He slowly crumpled to the concrete, staring at his skewered leg stretched out in front of him.  Blood leaked out and stained the pavement.  The sight made him dizzy.  Luckily, none of the drones seemed to have followed him.

“Uh, anyone got eyes on the kid?” Clint asked over the comms.  Peter knew he’d fallen out of the archer’s line of sight.

“Why?” Tony asked immediately, and Peter could sense his tension.

“He might’ve, sort of, just a little bit, gotten in the way of one of my arrows.”

“What?  You shot him?” Tony yelled.

“It was an accident!”

“Where is he?  Peter!”

Oh right.  He could talk.  “I know how a shish kabob feels now.” He groaned.  “Can’t say I’d recommend it.”

“Where are you?” Tony asked, panicking.  “Never mind.  I see you.”

Ironman flew toward him and landed with a clang.  The helmet retracted and Peter could see the man’s eyes widen as he took him in.

“It’s not that bad.” Peter tried to reassure him.

“Not that bad.  We need to work on your definition of those words.  You’ve been impaled.” Tony said, crouching down to get a closer look at his leg.

“It’s just a flesh wound.” Peter said and let out a hysterical laugh.  He couldn’t help it.

“Not funny.” Tony had gotten touchy about him getting hurt ever since he’d come back from the snap.

“No but seriously, it’s just the fleshy part.  I think if you just pull it out it’ll be fine.”

“Pull it—” Tony stopped and took a deep breath.  “You never pull it out.  If you ever get stabbed or skewered or whatever you leave it in.  Capiche?”

Peter nodded.

“And you’re supposed to be a genius…” Tony muttered to himself and then the next moment the helmet of his armor formed back into place.  “Try to hold still kid.”

Peter frowned.  “I thought we weren’t taking it out.”

“I’m not.” Tony said and one of the fingers on his armor uncapped and Tony aimed it at the arrow.  A focused laser shot out of the finger and sliced off one side of the arrow, near enough to his skin that Peter felt the heat, but it didn’t burn.  Tony repeated the same process on the other side so now only about an inch of arrow shaft stuck out on each side of his calf.  For just hitting his leg it sure was bleeding pretty profusely.  The puddle of blood under his leg had been slowly expanding.  Looking at it made him feel a little ill.

Tony seemed to notice the same thing in the next moment.  “Let’s get you out of here kid.”  Before Peter could protest, Tony had lifted him up in his arms and taken off.

“What about the fight?” Peter asked, starting to feel lightheaded.  They’d barely been winning before and now they were losing Spiderman and Ironman.

“Don’t worry about it.  They’ll be fine.” Tony answered, sounding distracted.

Peter wasn’t sure he believed him, but he didn’t have the energy to argue.  He closed his eyes.

“Stay awake Pete.”

“I’m awake.” He responded, opening his eyes with a reluctant sigh.

The rest of the flight passed in a pain filled blur.  By the time they made it to the compound he wasn’t feeling the greatest, but he was still awake, and he wasn’t crying or screaming in pain even though he kind of wanted to.  Every jostle had sent sparks of agony up his leg.  Who knew how much an arrow wound hurt?  He had a new respect for Hawkeye and his primary weapon of choice.  He never wanted to end up on the wrong end of an arrow again.

“How are you doing?” Tony asked as he deposited him on the waiting gurney on the roof.  Peter gave him a weak thumbs up and the man gently pulled off his mask before they started wheeling him to the elevator.

“Don’t worry.  I’m going to kill birdbrain.” Tony growled.

“Don’t.” Peter said with a wave of his hand.  “It was an accident.”

“He should’ve known better than to be shooting those things so close to you.”

Peter knew it wasn’t worth arguing over.  Tony was acting like an angry dad, and when he got like that, nothing Peter said would change his mind.  They descended and as soon as the elevator doors opened, they pushed him into the medbay, Tony following alongside the bed.  Dr. Cho was already waiting at the exact spot where they stopped and locked the bed.

“I saw the scans from FRIDAY.” Dr. Cho said, more to Tony than him, as the medical personnel started helping him out of the suit.  “It should be an easy enough fix.  We’ll put him under to take the arrow out and stitch up the artery and everything else, but he should be back to normal in a day or two with his healing ability.

Tony let out a relieved sigh.

“You should go back and help.” Peter suggested once he knew the injury wasn’t too severe, even though he didn’t really want Tony to leave his side.  He winced as they finished carefully peeling the suit away from the arrow, guiding the ends through the holes in the suit, but unable to keep from jostling it slightly.

“I’m staying.” Tony said, adamant.

“But—”

“They’ll be fine.  Trust me.”

Peter acquiesced with a sigh, hoping Tony was right.  He tried to ignore the flutter of motion around him as the medical people worked, attaching an IV and all the necessary wires to him.

“Hey Mr. Stark?” Peter prompted and Tony purposely didn’t acknowledge him as he continued to stare at a monitor over Peter’s head.  Peter sighed.  Right.  He tried again.  “Hey Tony?”

“Yes?” The man looked down at him with a smirk.  Peter rolled his eyes.  Ever since the snap, Tony had been relentless about Peter calling him Tony instead of Mr. Stark, and Peter had been working on it, but it was a work in progress.

“When I wake up will you watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail with me?”

Tony shook his head in consternation.  “You’re a menace kid.”

Peter grinned.  “Is that a yes?”

“We’ll see.”

“It’s a yes.” Peter said confidently.  “Because you love me.”

Tony’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly but Peter noticed it.  “Sure do.” He confirmed, something Peter was pretty sure the pre-snap Tony never would’ve admitted, especially around other people, but this Tony was different.  He was softer, gentler, more willing to share his emotions and show affection.  Peter was still trying to adjust.

Tony ruffled his hair.  “But don’t tell anyone I said so.  I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Peter snorted.  Ok, maybe he hadn’t completely changed.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XXV

(A/N at the end, please read for an announcement, thank you)

Parts I-XXIV:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

Part XX

Part XXI

Part XXII

Part XXIII

Part XXIV

.XXV.

“Is he alive?” Lucie demanded before her mind could return to her after jumping from one realm to the other with Belial’s hand tight around her own. His grip burned into her skin like scolding water; she was sure when he released her there would be a mark, but to surprise there wasn’t.  

Once in the shadowrealm, Belial released her and straightened his jacket, brushing invisible dust off the front. “He’s alive.”

“How do I know you’re not lying,” demanded Lucie, “that you didn’t just leave him there in a puddle of his own blood after you got what you were after?”

“You don’t,” sneered Belial. “I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

Lucie unleashed a bitter laugh. “Never. I’d sooner trust a stranger off the streets than trust you. You’re a monster.”

The insult didn’t seem to phase Belial. “Don’t you forget, darling granddaughter, that we are kin.”

“No we are not,” said Lucie. “A Shadowhunter’s blood is too strong to be tainted by the filth of yours.”

The slight twitch at the corner of Belial’s mouth told Lucie that had struck him. Perhaps weakly, but it struck him all the same. 

“Come along.” He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and with a nod of his head, motioned for her to follow him. 

A violent, hot wind pushed against Lucie’s back as if urging her after him, but she held her ground. She hadn’t realized since arriving in this other realm, where exactly she was, until she looked around for any hope of an escape. It didn’t look promising. There was a steal black, rot iron fence that went on farther than Lucie could see and was far too tall for her to climb. It was twined with thick spikes that held empaled, dangling inhuman figures. Some fluttered in the wind like kite tails and others still moaned. The fence stood in front of a massive, black stone manor that looked like the lair of every evil villain that haunted her nightmares. The peaks of the roof pointed in the air like a dragon’s scales, dead ivy clung to the bricks and dripped a reddish liquid that smelt sickly sweet. Around her, Lucie could hear the moans of lost souls on the wind and felt a shudder run through her body.  

Looking up at it, all of her defiance and bravery evaporated and she quietly wished for her parents, a thing she hadn’t done since she was a little girl. She quietly wished that she weren’t alone. She’d even take one of her ghosts. 

Belial walked up the front steps to the grand arched doorway. They opened for him at the command of his mere presence, groaning with ancient age and ruin, and Belial entered without waiting for Lucie.

Her whole body trembled as she contemplated turning and running, when she felt something cool in all of the heat, brush against her left hand.

She looked down and found a nearly translucent hand gripping hers. When she looked up again, she met the pale eyes of a young woman’s face. The face was familiar, but Lucie couldn’t quiet place it, like a word dangling on the tip of her tongue. The ghost flickered in the wind and offered Lucie a shy smile. “You are not alone, Lucie Herondale. We are here to help you.”

“Help me what?”

The ghost turned forward again and disappeared in the wind as it rushed over Lucie as if conscious of the threat against this realm’s master. Lucie released a sigh as her name was called from inside the manor. 

When she didn’t immediately move, two black armored sentries that she’d thought were statues moved towards her. 

“Fine,” she kicked a cloud of dust at one and skirted past the other as she walked towards the door. 

The walls of the manor stood at least twenty feet tall and were the color of rich, fresh, never burnt coal that still had the diamond sheen to it. They rose and rose and rose into peaks that disappeared into complete darkness. The floor beneath her feet turned from darkened wood to a circular formation made of marble with a star upside down in the center. Realizing that she was standing in the center of it, Lucie took several hasty steps off until she nearly pressed herself against a wall. 

There was no warmth here. No light, no softness, no peace, like a place only murders, tyrants, and beast were buried. Lucie wanted to flea more than she’s ever wanted to run before, but she squared her shaking shoulders and fixed her eyes on Belial standing on the first landing of the staircase. A chandelier of onyx crystals hovered above him, tinkling whenever the house would shutter with the wind. 

“Follow me,” said Belial. “I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

“Staying?” Lucie’s voice echoed in the massive room, clanging off the walls like a trill bell. “What do you mean staying?”

Belial rubbed at the space between his eyes and exhaled. “Where you will remain until I say otherwise.”

“And here I was under the impression that world damnation was a rather pressing agenda,” balked Lucie. “If I’d known you needed a bit of nap first, I wouldn’t have put up such a fight.”

The house rumbled as Belial spun on Lucie. “I’m growing tired of your petulant little mouth. You can follow me to a room or you can stand there until I come for you. The choice is yours.”

“Now I get a choice?” Lucie hissed. “How kind of you.”

“You’ve always had a choice, Lucie. You could have chosen not to come with me and let your friend die.”

She bristled and crossed her arms across her chest. “A choice isn’t a choice when it’s forced upon you.”

“Well it’s yours now,” said Belial. “Choose wisely. All manner of questionable creatures lurk through these halls searching for lost souls to torment or devour.”

Is that what she was now, she wondered. Nothing more than a lost soul. She trembled to think of it.

As if on cue, a malicious laugh came from down the hallway and the sound crawled up her spine until the fine hairs rose on her neck. Belial was nearly to the top of the stairs; she was sure he wouldn’t descend after her if some unmentionable creature favored the taste of living flesh. If that was still indeed what she was. 

Lucie hurried to the steps but slowed as to not show her fear. 

Belial waited with his back to her staring at a grand portrait, bigger than any the queen had in the palace, of a scene that look quite biblical. If the Bible was written by a demon. Humans were at war with inhuman creatures: demons and monsters alike. The demons had massacred a fields worth of humans, the ground covered in blackness richer than the starless sky. The sky was painted purple, with thick clouds rolling towards the battle. Two peaks stood in the distance. On one stood a figure, the silhouette of a taloned beast raising his hands to the sky. Standing on the other mountain, a twin to the first, was a glowing figure the only bit of light in the darkness raising a sword over its head as if to throw it at the beast.

“The battle of good versus evil,” said Belial. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“Yes,” said Lucie and swallowed. “However the version I’ve heard goes quiet a bit differently and it does not favor your side.”

“My side?” Belial’s dark eyebrow arched. “And which side do you suppose that is?”

“Well, the evil side,” said Lucie. “Death, destruction, pain, darkness—“

“And the good side doesn’t have any of those things?” asked Belial. “Death, destruction, pain, darkness— none? It’s wholly and completely good?”

“Yes,” said Lucie simply.

“Really?” Belial’s mouth twitched. “What about the death of your friends? What of young Jesse Blackthorns untimely death? Or illnesses? What about the destruction good endures to ensure good wins? What about the pain caused before good is achieved or the good pain causes when something ceases to be good? What then?”

“Those things are just evil seeping into the good,” said Lucie.

“And good cannot seep into what is evil?”

“Sure if can,” said Lucie. “At least, that’s we all hope for.”

“So it’s not so black and white is it,” said Belial. “It’s all a bit grey?”

“No,” said Lucie quietly. “It’s a balance.”

Belial look at her then, but she didn’t return the attention. She started at the two sides of the picture. Darkness devouring the light. She always thought that good was suppose to prevail. That light would chase away the darkness, but perhaps they both needed one another. Too much good can be a bad thing just as much as too much bad. 

Belial nodded. “We’re going to restore that balance.”

Lucie huffed a laugh. “Is the delusion you’re running on? No, you are not.”

“Good cannot always win,” said Belial. “That’s not balance. You’ll see.”

And I’m the petulant one, thought Lucie, but thought better of saying as much. She followed Belial down the lightly lit hall where shadows flickered in the sconced candle light. He stopped at the third door down on the left and opened it. 

“You’re to stay here until I come for you,” said Belial. “The door is locked from the outside, so make yourself comfortable.”

Lucie stepped inside the dank room that smelled terribly of sulfur. A large bed stood pushed up against the wall with a four poster canopy hanging over it. The only other piece of furniture was a desk across from the bed where a candelabra flickered. 

“Enjoy your nap,” said Lucie as Belial slammed the door behind himself. 

After several moments, Lucie turned around away from the door to face the window when she came nose to nose with the ghost from earlier.

“By the angel!” She nearly scream. “What— How are you here?” She whispered in case he wasn’t far enough away to hear her.

“You summoned me,” said the ghost and walked over to the desk to examine the skull of what might have been a large rodent. 

“No, I didn’t,” said Lucie rather defensively. The ghost continued examining the room. “If I don’t know why you’re here then how can I be expected to trust you?”

The ghost straightened again, her white hair billowed out around her shoulders in an invisible wind. “Why I am here is up to you, Lucie. You summoned me.”

“I didn’t,” hissed Lucie, wanting to yell but knowing that she couldn’t. She backed up and plopped herself down on the end of the bed. “If I did, I didn’t mean to.”

“Why not?” asked the ghost as she came to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. Sit being the wrong word, she hovered over the mattress. “You’ve been our closest ally to the living world since you were a child. I used to sing to you when you were falling asleep. Do you remember?” She started humming a familiar song, one Lucie would often catch herself humming without knowing the words or where she’d learned it. 

“That was you?” 

The ghost nodded. “As you got older, your ability to send us away or call for us became stronger. We could no longer come and go as we pleased as you learned to keep us away. Soon, we could only visit you in your sleep.”

Lucie’s chest ached. “Is that what I am right now? Asleep?”

“No,” said the ghost. “No, you are very awake and still very much alive. And there’s work to be done, Lucie.”

“Work?” Lucie bristled. “Are you working for Belial? Are you here to make sure that I cooperate?”

The ghost chuckled. “No, I am here because you summoned me.”

“You keep saying that,” said Lucie. “But I have no idea who you are.”

“Of course you do,” said the ghost. “You just don’t remember.”

“Why would I summon you and not someone that I remember,” she challenged. “If you’re not working for Belial then prove it.”

“I will,” said the ghost. “When you defeat him. You will understand.”

“Defeat him? I don’t know how to defeat him,” whispered Lucie, her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I’m not the right person for this. I’m not as cunning as my brother, strong as my father, or brave as Cordelia. No, my strength lies in other things. They could find a way, I just know they could. My greatest weapon has always been my pen— my mind. I won’t be able to do this alone.”

“Then perhaps you don’t have to do this alone,” said the ghost. 

“What do you mean?” asked Lucie.

The ghost smirked. “Use your imagination, Lucie. What would one of your characters do if they were this situation with your abilities?”

Lucie thought for a moment if it were the beautiful Cordelia held prisoner. She’d probably manage to make a weapon with something around her or find a creative way to escape right underneath the villain’s nose. But she was not the beautiful Cordelia and this was not a story. 

“Sometimes our greatest strengths won’t arise until the moments we need them most.”

As if a light had been flipped by a switch, Lucie suddenly understood what was being asked of her and she was overcome with dread.

“What will everyone think of me?” asked Lucie. “They’ll think me a demon— a monster.”

“Nonsense.” The ghost patted Lucie’s hand or tried to, her hand slid through Lucie’s like softened butter. “They’ll think you a hero.”

“How could you know that?”

“They’d be stupid not to,” said the ghost. “And there was once a time when I was a bit different. At first I was afraid of who I was. I hid from it and that nearly cost me my own life and the life of the people I loved most. It wasn’t until I embraced my otherness that I was able to find true happiness. And my fear of what those around me would think, well it seems I was wrong about them all along. They supported me. Sure, there were some that didn’t, but our paths rarely crossed and I didn’t bother with them. You have a family that adores you exactly as you are. Loyal friends that will welcome you and defend you. Pride is often the weakness of our greatest strengths. It’s time to stop living in fear of what other will think of you, Lucie, and embrace who you are; the abilities that only you have to offer.”

A tear dripped from Lucie’s chin. “I’m frightened.”

“Do it anyway,” said the ghost. “Remember you’re not alone. As a Shadowhunter, you’re never fighting alone. You have centuries of strength coursing through your veins . You need only call on it.”

“Who did you say you were again?”

“A very old friend.” The ghost stood and headed towards the door. 

“Where are you going?”

“To prepare,” said the ghost. “Don’t worry. We’ll see each other again very soon.”

The ghost floated through the door and disappeared. Her haunting words echoed in Lucie’s mind. 

She let herself fall back on the bed and stared at the blood red canopy above her. Draw on her ability; stop being so prideful; trust herself; rely on her own strength. No one was coming to rescue her, but that didn’t mean she was alone. Lucie knew what she needed to do. She wasn’t sure that it was entirely possible, but it was the only option she had, and she had to try. For her family, friends, and the world she was born to protect, she had to try.

If Belial wanted an army, then an army he shall have.

(A/N: Happy New Year’s friends! I hope you kissed 2020 goodbye in a way that felt satisfying considering the monstrosity that was this crap bag of a year. While I like to rag on 2020 because of all it took from me and my family, there were some great things— like all of you for example. I am extremely grateful for your loyalty and passion for this project. Since it is coming to a close, I would like to ask something of all of you. I have been working on a project of my own this last year, and have been considering sharing it on Tumblr and Archive. It’s about a young nurse named Vienna, whose life is constantly at risk because of a secret born unto her— she’s part of a race of magic welders called the Magicki who are being hunted and destroyed by a paranoid tyrant king. Through her 20 years of life she’s managed to keep her secret well hidden from everyone, until one night she’s attacked by the king’s elite and brutal soldiers, and her own instincts rise to save her and also condemn her. The attack, along with rebellious acts against the king occurring in the city, starts a manhunt for those responsible. Vienna must learn to use her power or watch her people die. This story is told from the perspective of three different characters: Vienna the nurse, Kollins the daughter of a dangerous Lord, and Rhin a Captain in the king’s guard. While they may all come from different paths of life, their paths will inevitably cross, but can they set aside their prejudices enough to help one another or see an entire race be destroyed?

Sound any good? I’d love your opinions! I am thinking of posting the first couple of chapters for review. Please comment or message me if you are interested. As always stay safe, stay healthy, and stay kind. Next update is coming on January 10th.)

[i-am-out-of-my-vulcan-mind]

A Team Effort - Chapter 1

Well this has been a long time coming. My dear friend @lurkingwhump​ and myself have finally done a collab project. 

This is a promo tag to 5x05. I have written the first instalment and lurkingwhump has written the second. The second chapter will be up in a short while. 

I have take it upon myself to fill in my @badthingshappenbingo​ bingo square “internal bleeding”. 

Please let us know what you think 🥰

Tasha had gotten back to the bunker over an hour ago, but there was still no sign of Jane or Weller. 

“Maybe I should go and look for them.” she suggested yet again. 

“Not yet.” Patterson said, continuing to search on her computer, “We don’t know what’s happened and we can’t have you go missing too.”

“Exactly!” Tasha replied, fear evident in her voice. “We don’t know what’s happened to them… they could be injured… or someone might have found them…”

Rich tapped his nose. “Or… they’re making up from the fight they had earlier?” 

“Wait, they’re fighting?” Patterson asked, frowning. She looked up over her monitor at Rich, giving him a pointed look. 

He shrugged, before mimicking buttoning his lips closed. 

Patterson squinted at him. She was sick of him keeping secrets from her… wait? Why was everyone going to Rich in the first place? Rich?

There was a short, yet heavy silence, before Tasha spoke up. “I can’t just sit here and wait. I’m going to go find them.” she said jumping to her feet. 

Just as she finished speaking, the elevator started to descend. Patterson followed suit, standing beside her anxious friend. 

“There… see. Safe and sound.”

“Or not…” Tasha whispered when the elevator doors opened and it revealed Jane hunched over, her shirt covered in blood. 

“Jane!” Patterson cried, running forward to support her. “What happened?”

“I ah… I got shot… but it’s just a graze.” Jane said limping to the table, Patterson helping her sit down. 

“You got shot?” Rich asked incredulously. 

“I’m fine.” she ground out. 

“Really?” Rich replies in a disbelieving tone. “Because you don’t look fine, because you’ve been shot!” 

Jane gave him an exasperated look. She didn’t have time for his antics at the moment. 

“Where’s Weller?” Tasha asked, saving her from having to answer Rich.

“They took him.” she muttered. She looked over at Tasha. “After we went our separate ways, I was attacked. During the fight I heard Kurt calling my name. I managed to knock the guy out and I ran back to Kurt, but they already had him. He was unconscious… they put him into a black SUV.”

“Ok, ok, black SUV, black SUV.” Patterson mumbled, sitting back in front of her computer. “I’ll try and hack the cameras around the area…” she said looking at Jane, “For now though… go clean yourself up.” she said in a softer tone. 

Jane nodded her head in agreement. Her main priority was finding Kurt and if they knew how bad her wound truly was, the focus would turn onto her. No, she needed them to keep thinking it was just a graze for as long as possible. 

0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°

“I can’t believe this! So far this SUV has avoided every camera that we have managed to hack into! I am so sick of not having my actual lab!” Patterson cried, her voice laced with frustration. 

“Ok… so what’s next?” Jane asked, blinking heavily, black spots starting to dance across her vision. She had patched herself up quickly and returned to the others, though the wound seemed to be a lot worse than she had initially anticipated. She was bleeding heavily, and she was guessing she was also bleeding internally. She knew that she was fading fast, but she needed to ignore her own affliction in order to save Kurt. 

Rich and Patterson looked at her, at a loss for words. How do you tell your friend that you can’t find their husband… that there might not be any hope left?

Tasha spoke up softly. 

“There is no next…”

Jane’s eyes widened in disbelief. There was no way they were giving up now!

“We’ve lost him… at least for now.” Tasha continued. “All we can do is change where we are. I know that Weller is strong, but he is still human. If they manage to get anything out of him, we are sitting ducks down here. We need to abandon the bunker. Now.” 

Pain flared in her abdomen, causing Jane to clutch at her side, her eyes falling closed as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Her ears started ringing as the darkness rose to swallow her whole. 

“There’s gonna be a problem with that…” she slurred before her world went black and she collapsed onto the floor with a thud. 

“Jane!” Rich cried out as Patterson and Tasha rushed to her side. Tasha lifted her shirt quickly, inspecting her wound. 

“This is not a graze.” she said, glancing at the other’s in horror. She shared a look with Patterson. This was bad. 

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Jane breathed, though her voice cracked from the pain. “Look Kur- Kurt is the priority… we have to get him back before…”

“No no no no no.” Patterson cut her off. “You’re the priority. Ok?” she said before pressing down on the wound to try and slow the bleeding. 

“There’s no exit wound, but with this much blood, the bullet must be pressing up against something… an artery or an organ.” Tasha said, looking up at Rich. 

“We’ve gotta get her to a hospital or at least a very shady veterinarian!” Rich cried out, watching Jane gasping in pain. He had never seen someone who was still alive, look so dead. How had they not noticed how serious her injury truly was?

“No, no!” Jane ground out through clenched teeth. “We can’t risk me or anyone else getting caught right now.” she closed her eyes and took a sharp breath through her nose. “We’re doing the surgery here.” she finished, giving Patterson a pleading look. 

“I’m sorry... surgery?” Rich exclaimed in alarm. 

“Ok let’s prep!” Patterson said, not wasting a moment. “We don’t have much time.”

Tasha nodded in agreement. 

“Rich you stay with Jane while we get things ready.” she said, getting to her feet. 

“Hold pressure here.” Patterson ordered, signalling for Rich to quit hovering and actually do something useful. 

He dropped down to his knees, hesitantly replacing Patterson’s hands. He pressed down on Jane’s abdomen, almost jumping back a foot when she cried out in pain. 

“I’m sorry Jane.” he said softly, placing his hands back on her stomach. “You should have told us… why didn’t you tell us?”

Jane forced her eyes open, staring weakly up at Rich. 

“Kurt…” was all she managed to get out. 

Rich nodded in understanding, continuing to apply pressure to her wound. 

Her breathing had picked up and Rich could see her deteriorating before his eyes. 

“Guys!?” he called down the hallway, where he knew the others were prepping in the infirmary. 

Tasha ran to his aid, swallowing anxiously at the puddle of blood pooling on the floor. 

“Oh god…” She and Rich shared a look. Their time was running out. “Let’s get her off the floor.” She bent down and pulled Jane’s left arm around her neck, Rich doing the same on her right. Together they guided her to her feet. 

Jane couldn’t help the cry of pain that escaped through her clenched teeth from the change in position. Gravity did not agree with her. The moment she was vertical, her vision started to swim again, nausea bubbling up her throat. She leaned heavily on her friends. 

“Come on Jane.” Tasha urged. “It’s just up the hallway. It’s not far.”

Jane moaned in pain, though her expression was one of determination. 

“Should you be doing this much lifting in your condition?” Rich muttered at Tasha. 

“Rich. Shuttup.” Tasha warned, though their conversation was falling on deaf ears. Jane’s only focus was making it to the infirmary without passing out. 

They took it one painful step at a time, before rounding the corner into the small infirmary. Jane noted they had already put a fresh set of blue sheets on the medical table. 

They lay Jane gently on the table, Rich moving straight away to reapply pressure to her wound. 

Tasha got to work starting an IV, while Patterson continued to sterilise their surgical equipment. 

“Here.” Patterson said, passing a few packets of gauze to Rich. He opened them silently, placing them on top of the blood soaked bandage that Jane had slapped on there earlier. 

“It’s going to be ok…” he said softly, seeing the fear in her eyes. “Though I still think we should be getting her to a hospital.” he said, directing the second part to Patterson. 

Patterson gave him an incredulous glare. 

“No!” Jane shouted. “We can’t risk it. We do it here or not at all.”

“Ok… ok… I’m sorry. I’m just not overly comfortable about the fact that we are performing surgery in a dusty old bunker with no medical training whatsoever.” Rich replied, his voice rising an octave.

“And I’m not overly comfortable with her getting caught by Madeline and not getting any medical attention at all!”

“Guys stop it!” Tasha yelled. “We don’t have time for this.” She turned back to the freshly inserted IV line and connected it to a bag of saline. “I’m all set here.” she said, moving to help Patterson finish. 

“It’s a good thing we inventoried all of this.” Patterson said, looking at their basic set of surgical equipment. 

Tasha moved off to wash her hands as best as possible, before donning a pair of gloves. She opened some more gauze pads before relieving Rich of his position beside Jane. She started cleaning down the wound with saline, apologising softly at Jane’s groans of pain. 

Patterson finished sterilising everything and quickly scrubbed her hands, following Tasha’s example and putting on a pair of gloves. 

“Rich, can you go and get the ether and the mask out of the supply closet?” Patterson asked, coming over to inspect the wound more closely now that Tasha had cleaned it off. 

“Whatever happens, promise me you’ll find Kurt.” Jane said weakly. 

“We will.” Patterson replied sincerely. “I promise.”

Jane blinked heavily, her breathing becoming shallow. Her head lolled to the side, before her eyes rolled into the back of her head. 

“Jane!” Tasha gasped, shaking her shoulders, trying to rouse her. 

“What happened?” Rich exclaimed, coming back into the room with the ether and a mask. 

“She’s fainted again.” Patterson said urgently. 

“What can I do?” Rich asked. He needed to help. He couldn’t just sit there and do nothing while a member of his family was dying. 

“Get the ether ready.” Patterson ordered. They were running out of time. 

“Jane? Can you hear me?” Tasha called. Jane groaned in response, her face screwed up in pain. “That’s right. Come back.” Tasha sighed in relief. 

“I’m going to give you some morphine.” Patterson said, then we will start administering the ether. 

She injected the morphine into Jane’s IV line, before taking the ether bottle and mask off of Rich. 

“Everything’s going to be ok Jane.” Rich piped up. 

“Just find Kurt.” Jane grunted. 

“On it.” Rich replied. He knew he couldn’t help her here, so he left the room to search back through the camera feeds for her husband. 

“Right… are we ready?” Patterson asked, sharing a nervous look with Tasha. Were they really about to do this?

“Just do it… please.” Jane pleaded. She was running out of time and she knew it. 

“Ok, ok.” Patterson said, placing the mask over her face. It was made of wire, with a hinge that allowed them to put a piece of cloth in between and then clamp it shut. She dripped the ether onto the cloth. “Breathe it in.” Patterson instructed softly. “As deeply as you can.”

Jane grimaced, groaning at the sudden sick feeling in her belly. 

“Jane? You ok?”

She swallowed convulsively.  “Just a little nauseous.” she rasped out, breathing through her nose in short, sharp gasps. 

“You need to breathe it in Jane.” Patterson urged. “I know it’s making you feel sick, but I can’t have you awake for this.”

Jane complied, breathing past the sickness and the pain. 

‘Oh Kurt.’ she thought sadly. ‘What were they doing to him?’

She needed him here. She was just as scared for his health as she was for her own. She was about to have surgery… on her abdomen… in a bunker… by someone who was not a surgeon… or even a doctor for that matter. This was so incredibly dangerous.

She continued breathing in the ether, her consciousness slowly fading away, until everything was black. 

0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°

“I’ve found him!” Rich said, rushing into the infirmary. 

The surgery had been a success and Jane’s vitals were remaining strong. 

Tasha looked up from where she had been checking Jane’s blood pressure. 

“Give me the coordinates. I’ll go and get him.” she said, putting the digital monitor down. 

“Wha- by yourself?” he asked, his eyebrow rising in a pointed expression. 

Tasha stonewalled. 

“Why? Are you going to come?” 

“Well… no but…” he stuttered. 

“Exactly. You can’t come and Patterson needs to stay here and keep an eye on Jane. Give me the coordinates.” she said again. 

“You’re scary.” Was all Rich replied, handing over a piece of paper. 

“I’ll see you soon.” Tasha said, before leaving the infirmary. 

Patterson watched after her worriedly. She was right though. What choice did they have?

“How’s she doing?” Rich asked, moving closer into the room. Jane was still unconscious. Truth be told she looked awful. If it wasn’t for the soft rise and fall of her chest, he would have mistaken her for a corpse. 

“She’s holding strong.” Patterson replied. 

Rich sighed in relief. 

“How long until she wakes up?”

Patterson shrugged. 

“I’m not too sure to be honest. She’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t know how long the effects of the ether will last.”

Just as she finished speaking, she noticed Jane’s eyes squeeze shut, a pained groan escaping from the back of her throat. 

Patterson reached for the syringe of morphine and a sedative and injected them both into Jane’s IV. Within seconds, the creases in her face smoothed back out. 

“She should sleep for a few hours now.” Patterson said. “Hopefully Tasha and Kurt will be back by then…” she added trailing off. 

Rich could only respond by nodding. He took the empty seat on Jane’s other side, keeping vigil over his friend. He hesitantly reached out and took her hand.

Patterson gave him a surprised look at the action. 

Rich shrugged. “...until Kurt gets here…” he mumbled, keeping his eyes locked on Jane.

“They’re gonna be ok.” Patterson promised. “All of them.” she added for measure. She only hoped that she was right. They couldn’t survive losing another member of their team. ‘Please hurry.’ she urged Tasha. They all needed to be together again. 

[vannahfanfics]

Needed Part IV

Before you read, here’s Part I, Part II, and Part III! 

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: One Piece

Characters: Monkey D. Luffy, Baby 5

Requested By: Wannabekurt (Ao3)

Baby 5 kneeled before a wooden tub, her hands wrist-deep in sudsy water as she scrubbed a kimono against a washboard. The rhythmic scrapes of the fabric against the wooden ridges were soothing, in a way, bringing a content smile to her lips. She lifted the sodden clothes to inspect them, and decided that they were sufficiently washed. As she rose, water cascaded from the soaked fabric, puddling down into the grass. When she turned, a few small dewdrops splashed against the skirt of her own kimono, a simple red-purple color patterned with white flowers. She walked to the clothesline and draped the drenched kimono over the string, pinning it with a pair of clothespins. She then turned, looking at the pile of clothes she still had left to wash. All in a day’s work, but at least I’m being helpful!

While Luffy and half of the crew traveled to Whole Cake Island to rescue Sanji, Law had led another party of the Straw Hats to Wano, where they would infiltrate the population and gather information on their targets, Orochi and Kaido. They had been split apart for some time now. Baby 5 had settled in a small village, taking odd jobs for money. Today, she was helping a housewife do laundry; she couldn’t keep up with her gaggle of five children running around, and Baby 5 had been happy to volunteer her services. It was clear that the family was of eager means, so she was intending not to take any money at all. She'd rather just do a good deed for the sake of doing so. 

“Batama!” called a pleasant voice, and for a second, Baby 5 didn’t respond. Then, she recalled that she had assumed a different name while traveling in Wano: Batama. She whirled around with a shout to see her employer walking out of the house, a toddler in each arm. Baby 5 rushed forward to take one, causing the woman to smile pleasantly. “Ah, thank you. Are you done with the washing yet?” 

“Not yet,” she admitted shyly, not wanting to admit that she’d spent a good thirty minutes following a pretty butterfly around the garden. “But I’m getting there! I’ll get it done, I promise.” 

“Don’t worry,” the woman chuckled with a dismissive wave. “Anything you can do helps.” After setting the toddler down in the grass, Baby 5 walked back to the wash tub, kneeling back down and wrinkling her nose at the feeling of water soaking into the bottom of her kimono. Still, she had to work hard! She picked up a yukata from the pile and dunked it into the water, allowing it to soak up the liquid before she started scrubbing. The mother also set down her other daughter and watched her two children play in the grass. 

Baby 5 watched the two toddlers run in circles around the yard, chasing one another with excited squeals. She couldn’t help but smile; they really were cute. She had long dreamed of having a family, abandoning piracy so she could rear children alongside a loving husband. Things hadn’t turned out quite the way she intended, though. Traveling with Luffy, she’d spend a long time on the seas. But that’s okay, she smiled and picked up the yukata to begin scrubbing it against the washboard. I want to see Luffy become Pirate King. 

The thought of her lover made her heave a sigh. She hoped he was all right. She had faith in him just as much as the rest of the crew, but she couldn’t help but worry. Big Mom was an emperor, after all, far deadlier than any enemy that Luffy had ever faced— and he only had half his crew with him. She hoped that he would stick to the plan and escape with Sanji, but if Luffy was anything, it was hot-blooded and reckless. There really was no telling what he would do if he got fired up enough. 

“Ah, have you heard?” 

Baby 5 perked up as a neighbor came trotting up into her employer’s yard, holding an infant to her chest. She looked alarmed, but not in a bad way— more like excited? Baby 5 continued to scrub the yukata, not wishing to look like she was eavesdropping, though that was exactly what she was doing. She drowned out the giggles of the two children still tearing around the yard to catch the two women’s conversation, straining her ears. 

“Apparently pirates have infiltrated Wano!” the woman gasped, making her friend put her hand to her mouth in shock. “Yeah, yeah! They just landed a few days ago and are tearing around causing a ruckus. I wonder if they’re here for Orochi…” 

“Be careful what you say!” the other hissed, looking around with a frightened look. “His spies are always lurking around. It’s one thing to be hopeful, but you know what they do to people who so much as breathe a hint of rebellion. It’s best not to talk about this.” 

“Still,” the woman said, looking down at her infant with a smile. “I feel the winds of change blowing…” 

The winds of change were blowing indeed, and Baby 5 was determined to catch them. She returned to her task with gusto, eager to finish her work soon so that she could gather more information on this crew of pirates. Surely, this was news that the rest of the Straw Hats had landed on Wano and were searching for them! Baby 5 finished the laundry just as the sun met the horizon. She did end up refusing payment from the young mother, but was unable to escape without a package of rice balls. As she set off down the road, she munched on one, heading to the nearest tavern. Alcohol always made tongues wag, and if rumors were beginning to fly, then a bar was the best place to sieve them. 

It didn’t take her long to hone in on the gossip. Apparently these pirates were the talk of Wano, as most of the talk in the bar concerned them. Baby 5 sat at the bar nursing her sake, taking slow and careful sips while filtering out the useful information. Once she confirmed their last known location, she paid her tab and bid the bartender goodnight. The pirates apparently weren’t far, so she could make it on foot. Traveling at night was dangerous, especially with the enemy’s forces skulking about, but Baby 5 was more than capable. Besides, her desire to reunite with Luffy clouded all of her judgment; her heart skipped in her chest as she hurried down the road leading out of the village, a smile plastered on her face. 

The sun filtered through the trees of the bamboo forest, dying the skinny stems a bright golden-green. The only sound was the scuffing of her sandals in the dirt path and the wind whistling through the thin leaves of the bamboo. As time and Baby 5 marched on, the spears of light piercing the green gradually changed angles with the setting of the sun. Dusk began to descend as the light faded further, and Baby 5’s pace began to slow, nervousness setting in. Crickets chirped within the depths of the forest, falling silent whenever something rustled within the gloom. Baby 5 jumped each time, nervously looking around. Yet she could see nothing within the gloom clouding the fronds.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought while wringing her hands. Maybe she should have tried to rendezvous with one of the other members and then they together could search for the rumored pirates. There wasn’t even a guarantee that it was Luffy, if the rumors held credence at all. Baby 5 realized her folly as she slowly came to a stop within the forest, surrounded by darkness and all alone. 

Yet… She could not bring herself to turn back. What if it was Luffy? He could be in Wano all alone. He might need me, she thought, heart stirring. If he’s here, I have to find him! 

A particularly loud snap yanked Baby 5 out of her thoughts. She morphed her hand into a pistol and looked around wildly, the stars doing little to illuminate the dense bamboo forest. When she whirled around the check behind her, her stomach dropped into her stomach; two large silhouettes were outlined against the indigo sky. She gulped thickly as their shadowy forms encroached on her; she took an offensive stance and pointed her gun at them, narrowing her eyes. 

“Identify yourselves or I���ll shoot!” 

“Threatening two of Orochi’s officials? That’s not very smart of you,” came the low, threatening voice. Baby 5 swallowed thickly as they stepped out into the moonlight— two burly forms in yukatas with katanas strapped to their hips. Baby 5 morphed her other hand into a shotgun and pointed it at his companion, her eyes flicking back and forth between them rapidly. “A Devil Fruit user, eh? Orochi could have use for a woman like you…”

“I have no intentions of working for him!” Baby 5 snapped. As the two split apart to begin walking a semicircle around her, she stepped back, making sure to keep both the guns on them. 

“Oh, it wasn’t an offer, sweetheart,” the other chuckled darkly. His katana gleamed in the starlight as he drew it from the sheath. The scraping sound it made made Baby 5’s heart thump. Law had instructed them to lay low, and murdering two of Orochi’s underlings wasn’t exactly following those directions, but it was beginning to look like these two goons wouldn’t give her much of a choice. 

“I’m warning you. I will shoot you,” she threatened. 

“Do that, and Orochi will have your head on a pike within a week,” the other goon chuckled darkly, drawing his weapon as well. Fat chance of that! She thought and cocked both the guns. At the clicks, the two thugs snarled and leaped at her in unison, but before she could shoot, the bamboo fronds rustled wildly. She looked to her right just in time to see a sandaled leg— a very long leg— erupt from the bamboo and plow right into one of the goons’ heads. He flew sideways at the force, crashing into his friend. Both of them flew off to her left, disappearing into the bamboo. She looked at the broken-off stalks in shock, then slowly turned to the elongated leg in front of her. 

The rubbery leg slowly shortened, a torso and a head following. When she spotted an arm holding a straw hat down against messy black hair, Baby 5’s eyes alit with excitement. 

“Luffy!” she squealed, changing her arms back so she could jump forward and embrace him. Luffy cried out in shock when Baby 5 crashed into his chest, and he grabbed her hips on reflex. A big grin spread across his face in the next second, and he leaned down to nuzzle into Baby 5’s voluminous tresses. 

“Baby!” he cried in delight. “I’ve missed you…” 

“I’ve missed you, too!” she beamed, hugging him tighter. She breathed in deeply, admiring his scent of salt and sea spray and a hint of roasted meat. Her eyelashes fluttered as the aroma calmed her. “I’ve missed you so much…” 

“I know,” he hummed and rubbed soothing circles in her lower back. “It’s okay. I’m here now!” She looked up at him, chin perched on her chest and eyes dewy with joyful tears. He lifted his hands to cup her cheek, his thumbs rubbing over the smooth, rosy skin, before leaning down to peck her on the nose. “I’m here now, Baby.” 

She blinked, the tears beading up over her eyes and flowing down her cheeks. Luffy gently swept them away, continuing to smile down at her like she was all he needed. She hoped so, because he was all she needed in this crazy world. He pecked her on the lips this time, and then she buried her face into his chest, snuggling into him as close as she could. She knew that soon their trial would begin and they would go to war with the dragons of Wano, but for that moment, she just savored being in the arms of her beloved, the one who needed her.

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

[unholyhelbig]

Bellmare | Chapter One

Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Aubrey Posen 

Read on Ao3 here 

Summery:  Aubrey Posen is used to the brutal cold of the city- so after an attempt is made on her life and she has to forcibly relocate to a small southern town seemingly stuck in the 1950s, she's surprised to stumble upon a new case, and an annoying clingy FBI agent who she can't seem to shake.

Aubrey Posen hated the crown molding in her apartment. It clashed abrasively with the dull gray that slathered the walls and descended in four even steps. She thought it was ugly when she found the place but the hardwood floors made up for the inconsistency in eras. So she ignored it and signed the yearlong lease. She never tended to look up anyway, so what was the harm?

The crown molding was the only thing that she could focus her stare on now. She had read through the paperwork and she couldn’t take a sledgehammer to it even if she wanted to. It made her angry, and she thought she was frowning but couldn’t be sure, because that hideous crown molding wouldn’t be the last thing she saw before everything went dark.

She could smell the greasy odor of the sesame chicken she had ordered from the restaurant down the street as it wafted from the counter. It mixed nicely with a new metallic kind of scent- and Aubrey didn’t’ realize what it was at first.

Getting shot didn’t hurt.

Not the pure action of a lead bullet entering the soft area of her stomach, or the one that hit her knee. It felt like the time right before Christmas when her family took photos on the beach, before dusk. There were horseflies that had no mercy for them- and their bites stung, but they weren’t debilitating. Not in the slightest.

But now her stomach burned and her mouth filled with blood, and she was staring at that stupid crown molding. So it wasn’t an insect with a vengeance, not in the dead winter in New York City. It couldn’t be; so the logical connection was that she had been shot. Twice.

There was broken glass from her balcony and a draft. She felt cold and tired and the front door was left open to the hallway because that was the way that the man had exited. He had missed her the first time, but she was an easy target, standing still in nothing but shock.

She flexed her fingers and wiggled her toes and realized that she wasn’t paralyzed. She could feel every breath move through her lungs and the discomfort of her spine pressing against the wood floor. Aubrey was in and out of consciousness and she couldn’t’ tell for how long. Not initially.

Aubrey had memorized her neighbor’s habits; what times she came and went from classes at the local community college. It wouldn’t be long before she padded up the stairs, refusing to take the elevator, no matter how secure, and found her door open. But she wondered half-heartedly if she would make it that long.

Had she done everything she hoped for in life? She had gotten good grades, had gone backpacking around Europe a year after she graduated college with a bachelor's, traveling was always good. And she had powered through all three years of law school. She hadn’t gotten married, but that was fine. Not many people do, and nowadays something like that didn’t last.

Aubrey had graduated to a prosecuting attorney and had convicted so many people; including the Ripper of Manhattan- that was her golden case, the one that put her in the running to become a DA. One more case and she had it in the bag, one high profile case.

She supposed, as she lay on the hard wooden floor staring at the spotty architecture, that this was a possibility. Something that wasn’t quite a robbery, something that was intentional. Aubrey Posen wasn’t dense, she knew that she had made enemies, that this last court case was a rough one, the whole city was watching.  

Her consciousness wavered again and she felt a cold puddle of blood soak into her shirt. She had hung her blazer against the back of the chair. But she was oddly content- tired if anything. But she was sure that had to do with the 60 hour work weeks.

There was a jingle of keys and the muffled sound of music. Jessica was home and she had removed a headphone. The girl was probably staring tentatively at the open door and Aubrey hoped desperately in her solitude that her fingers were visible. That any part of her was.  

“Bree?” She called out, her words strung together. “I have mace!”

Mace. Aubrey would have scoffed if she could, but everything was becoming harder to do and that acid burn in her abdomen hissed with every breath. She listened as her neighbor walked cautiously into the apartment. It wasn’t long before she spotted her.

“Holy shit, Aubrey!” She felt Jessica drop to her knees, felt her hands, cold from the winter night, on the side of her face, and then on her neck as she pressed for a pulse. She didn’t mind the blood or the fluttering of Aubrey’s eyes “Help! We need help in here!”

She scrambled for her phone, dialing 911 fast. There were more footsteps and the scent of chicken still lingered like a bad hangover. Jessica stayed by her side, and a male voice countered her own. She swore she felt someone pushing down on her chest but latched onto the familiar voice instead.

“…719 East Ord Street- yes, we’re on the second floor. My neighbor has been shot I don’t know how long she’s been here I just found her. Yes, she has a pulse, it’s weak. Please- you have to hurry.” There was a hand on her shoulder, squeezing “You’ve got to keep your eyes open for me, okay? Someone will be here soon.”

When was this place built? The molding shouldn’t be this out of style. It doesn’t match the stainless steel of the appliances or the nice wooden floor. It clashed with her throw pillows, and she’s bought at least seven different ones just to make it acceptable. But nothing was.

           She doesn’t remember waking up. It’s not something Aubrey put too much thought into until it came into question whether she would or not. There was an uncomfortably bright light that buzzed like a trapped fly above her head and a television in the corner of the puke-colored room that played soap operas.

Aubrey could tell from the bad acting and the grainy quality of the scene in front of her. She knew she was in a hospital room; the beeping of the monitors and the IV that was taped roughly to the top of her hand gave that away. They could never find a vein in her arm because it was right on top of a nerve. She hated getting blood drawn, and hated ones lodged into her tendons even more.

She blinked a few times, focusing on the dotted ceiling tiles as she moaned. Not so much from the pain, which was ever-present, but from the stiffness of her body. The heart monitor picked up, and whoever had turned on the television in the first place flicked it off.

“Easy,” Jessica’s voice came from the side of the bed, and an instant wave of calm washed over her body. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Her bed was somewhat propped, facing the busy hallway. It must be evening, she assumed. From the lack of nurses at the station directly across from them. There was a guard sitting in a metal chair in front of the glass windows, skimming through a magazine that she couldn’t’ quite read.

A cynical part of Aubrey expected more people to be here. There was a vase of purple flowers on a side table that had begun to welt and a card that had her practices logo on the side of it. Jessica had her laptop open to a school assignment- and she didn’t’ know what else to expect. She didn’t’ have very many friends in the city unless the wardens at the prison counted. She became well acquainted with them each time she walked through the doors to speak to a client.  

“Where am I?” She asked, regardless.

“A Hospital in Baltimore, you had an accident.”

An accident? She supposed that was the simple way of putting it. It had been no accident, though. Someone was sitting on her couch when she walked through her front door. They knew where she lived when she would get home. Who she was, and they easily raised a 9mm and fired off three rounds.

“How long have I been here?”

“Three weeks.” Jessica frowned, trying to remember the exact time “You’ve had twelve surgeries. It’s a miracle that you’re even here right now.”

Aubrey didn’t’ think it was quite a miracle, but she still held her life in her hands. What a life it was, so focused on trial after trial. She lifted her chin weakly at the guard “Who’s that guy?”

Her neighbor hesitated and then let out a small breath “He’s here for your protection. They still don’t know who shot you.”

There was a thick form of tension in the room and Aubrey felt her fingers curl around the fabric of the bed. The needle in her hand tugged so she unwound them. “What are you not telling me, Jess?”

Her neighbor stepped away from the bed and flicked on the television again. This time she changed the channel to the news; a generic reporter stood in front of their apartment building. His eyes were dark and tired, a hat pulled down over his hair, and his nose red and raw. She struggled to focus her eyes on the moving text at the bottom of the screen. It used to be so easy to listen to the monotone words and the flashing subtitles.

MANHATTAN PROSECUTOR FOUND SLAIN. KILLER STILL AT LARGE.

She didn’t’ understand; the television continued to drone on but she wasn’t listening. Had this been a serial attack? Was she a lucky one out of all of the lawyers in the city? She wasn’t aware of anyone else in their building having a background in law.

Her heart monitor must have picked up its pace because Jessica’s hand was wrapped around hers, calming and warm and grounding. “Hey, hey, relax. You’re here, okay?”

“They’re talking about me?”

She nodded “Aubrey, you were the last on a long list of people. The case you’re working on, all of the witnesses… they weren’t as lucky as you.”

She swallowed the cotton taste in her mouth and made a small noise. There was always a danger to her job, angry people with access to firearms. She didn’t flinch at the profanities shouted at her as she walked down the halls of the state facility, or the horrible articles spread about the people she put away being innocent. But she never expected this, never wanted this.

“I don’t understand” She whispered, frowning.

“They needed to make it look like you died, Aubrey.” Jessica explained, her voice was soft and sad “for your protection, you can’t stay in Manhattan. Not anymore.”

[maviemesregles]

Once I was an Eagle

Part II has landed, my friends. I hope you enjoy it. :)

NSFW under the cut.

As always I’ll never get tired to say the words of appreciation to my beta @eclecticstarlightconnoisseur​ <3 

Thanks for sticking with this story, guys.  ♥

All the chapters can be found on AO3 as well.

Chapter I: The beginnings

Chapter II: Sassenach

Chapter III: Catharsis

Chapter IV: Lovestruck. Part I

                              CHAPTER V: Lovestruck. Part II

Jamie ran feeling his leg muscles burn with the effort. Endlessly long, his feet stumbling over the dry branches cracking under his feet startling forest’s inhabitants that seem not to care of his attempt to escape. They know there is no way out. He feels the slap of wet leaves on his face and scratches all over his skin. An aching hollow space inside his chest is growing bigger and bigger. Ultimately, Jamie knows his heart will be ripped out at the end. The sweat dripped down his face forming salty paths. Jamie wants to scream that it stops. He wants to fall down and beg for mercy. But something behind pushes him back further and further into the darkness. His own mother’s voice whispering “Ye didna try hard enough.” 

In the end, the darkness has won. Once again he succumbs to its cold clutches.

* * *

The crisp, fresh Highland air always brings him back on track. Jamie thinks it is one of the main reasons why he feels much better when he’s in the wilderness, especially since his Mam has passed away. He enjoys the freezing early morning air, giving his skin goosebumps and his mind to think straight once again.

He shivers at the swoosh of cold wind. His toes slowly developing a bluish tinge standing on a chilly stone patio. The skies are pink aquarelle with white fluffy marshmallow clouds passing by. Jamie can hear the birds taking charge of the morning chirping away in the garden in front of him. He thinks Claire would love the view. Claire.

Jamie tiptoes back inside closing the doors behind him back facing the wall. Even if he wanted to wake her to catch the beauty of early rising he could not do it. Jamie has learned by now that Claire was a relatively light sleeper. Not by her nature but rather her professional duties. She always slept with her iPhone kept near at hand always, heard each and every message and call. Sometimes Jamie wanted to throw that technical invention through the window and see it break into small pieces. It was his only chance to see her peaceful. Her face always seemed to be concentrating, as if she was not truly asleep. But now that little crease between her eyebrows seemed to be gone.

Claire usually slept like a child with her knees brought up close to her body and wrapped up into a blanket cocoon-like, now was sprawled on her back. The mass of curls exploded into the waves all over the pillow. Like a crown, he thought. One of her breasts peeked from under the quilt, her veins cast a bluish trail over her pale skin all the way down the soft hip pressed to the mattress in its relaxed shape. Jamie was sure he knew each and one of those blue paths under her skin and could trace the map of them on her body with his eyes closed. The morning sun travelled through the thin curtains running its warm rays over Claire’s skin. There was something that came to his mind so sudden that the realisation almost knocked him down. 

Sorcha. 

She was his remedy from that darkness he was running from. That light he longed for so badly but could never find.

When Jamie slid under the blankets next to her she stirred just a bit but did not wake.

He could try to speak to her in English, Gaelic, French; he would even learn any other language just trying to explain what he felt. But it still would not be enough. He was falling in love. Falling in love gave him the same tickling sensation inside his belly and made him breathless as when he rode the roller coaster for the first time at the age of ten.

* * *

Half awake and drowsy I thought that my cat decided to crawl under the quilt in an attempt to beg for his morning feeding. My eyes snapped open when reality kicked in. I viewed a glorious pink sky surrounding the high mountains I saw yesterday through the window of the cottage. The sun crept along the wall, drawing knitted lines of light there. I watched the sunny glimpse run away (creation of the curtains dancing in the wind). It climbed up on the bed all the way up burying itself inside Jamie’s red hair that shone like Amber. His head found its residence in the valley between the milky white of my legs. Jamie’s lips softly touched a spot on the inner side of my thigh where three birthmarks gathered together. 

“Ye ken ye have a witch mark here?” His thumb circled dark dots upon my skin.

Something that vaguely sounded like “mmmm” escaped my mouth. All of a sudden I forgot how to breathe. 

“Now I ken about them too.” 

The rest of the blanket was pushed aside falling to the floor with a soft whisper. It was the competing temperatures, the cool air of the room playing against my hot skin, that raised goosebumps all over me.

I tried to tell him that I am not a witch though (as if they really existed and he was going to execute me). But the words remained stuck inside my throat only letting out a moan when the velvet of Jamie’s tongue descended lower. In mere seconds, my legs began to tremble, hips instinctively rising up with want. But Jamie’s hand laid atop my stomach keeping me pinned on the mattress. A shuddering sigh left my seized lungs as Jamie flicked his tongue once, twice and then his lips closed over the sensitive flesh sucking.

The ceiling started to spin above and I closed my eyes, surrendering to the only existing thing in the world that moment - Jamie. His exploration up and down, from left to right, circling and suckling did not last long before the daylight has disappeared from the view and my cry echoed in the room.

As the real world returned and I regained my senses, I felt my breathing slowly return from short gasping breaths. Jamie's blue eyes settled on me excitedly remarking, "We have a great day ahead of us."

Jamie indeed had plans. It was hiking in fact (“it’s a must in Highlands, ye canna not do it”). Mentally I kicked myself for stopping jogging in the mornings. How big is the chance that I’m not going to be out of breath ten minutes into our nature exploration? The yoga classes where I went with Geillis was also abandoned after several weeks. “I stand enough on my feet in the surgery” I reasoned with myself (and Geillis who made a remark about having “trained arse”).

With perfectly ripe avocados on toast and cherry tomatoes for breakfast (with occasional kisses in between, Jamie tasting sweetly of orange juice and I of strong coffee) we made it outdoors.

The Highlands was dressed in autumn. The leaves were toned in shades of orange, red, and gold causing the scenery to look as if someone had spilled paint down them. Other sepia coloured leaves fell down, whispering their goodbyes to the last warm days. They rustled softly as they dropped from dry branches bidding their farewells. I remembered as a child I liked collecting star-shaped maple leaves, creating a bouquet of reddish-brown remnants of summer. I used to put them between the pages of my Dad’s books in his office. Usually, he would find them days later and smile at me. Together we would take them out and stick into the notebook I had. We did that each autumn until my blue notebook was left behind. As well as the life of my parents when uncle Lamb turned the keys to close the door of our London house. That way he locked away my childhood forever.

Jamie was a walking book of legends and stories. Since we left the cottage he was telling me all kinds of things I’ve never even heard about. He made a remark that I should be ashamed I live in Scotland and only heard about the Loch Ness Monster. 

“Have ye ever heard about Kelpies?”

“No, I haven’t,” I shook my head clinging to Jamie’s forearm for support when we passed a muddy puddle.

“Kelpies were said to take the form of a horse. They could also take a human form. They would use their beauty to lure people to climbing upon them before being taking them into the water, not to be seen again.”

“Charming.” I grimaced.

“Dinna fash, I willna let them take ye.” Jamie laughed grabbing me by the waist before I was trapped under his lips.

The cool mid-autumn air slightly burned inside of my throat when I inhaled too deeply. Not being used to such fresh, crisp sensation I coughed feeling my eyes water. Jamie who walked next to me, kicking the leaves with his shoes, squeezed my hand softly.

“Yer okay, mo nighean donn?”

I liked the sound of the Gaelic he spoke sometimes. His ability to fluidly incorporate it into his speech when he spoke to me made me long to hear it even more. Made me long for him. There was something about the way he sounded. The soft lilt of his voice, the deepness of his accent with a trace of huskiness that poisoned my blood with curiosity and mystery. I was dying to know what he was saying but also wished it to remain a secret. But I could not resist.

“Jamie, what you just said, what does it mean?”

Jamie stopped turning me to face him. His warm breath travelled upon my skin as his forehead leaned to meet mine. He smiled lips curling into a soft shape.

“It means my brown-haired lass.”

“Rather a dull colour I always thought,” I whispered, the pink blooming in my cheeks.

His lips brushed mine. Hands tangling around his neck, I kissed back, fingers running along with the soft curls on his nape.

“No,” Jamie’s finger gently touched a stray curl on my cheek. “No, not dull at all. It’s like the water in a burn, the way it ruffles down the rocks. Dark in the wavy spots with wee bits of auburn when the sun touches it.”

I knew this wasn’t just a crush on him. I was well and truly smitten. There was such a serenity when he was around that I could not imagine how should I carry on if he suddenly disappeared. My heart was swelling with my feelings growing with something that one day I could name as love. And I was unquestionably petrified but with him, there was nothing I could be afraid of.

Every time he looked at me like that, the world seemed to stop.When he kissed me, I felt breathless as if all the air from my lungs. His presence, his being was stretching throughout my whole body wrapping around my heart and cradling my soul between his hands. How could I not be falling in love with this man?

 Jamie softly kissed her temple when she closed her eyes. His heart leapt as he held her like that. They stood there in the middle of nowhere, with the mountain rising above them, golden leaves falling down. They were spiralling all the way to the ground as the signs of a bright future life holds for them. The way Claire’s body melted into his, her chin rested at the crook of his neck, Jamie’s hands holding her waist tightly. It was more intimate than anything else they’d done already.

“Claire, about what ye said yesterday,” He spoke quietly into her hair. “Do ye really feel that way?”

Her words echoed in his fevered mind. ‘I fancy you. Very much.’

She nodded.

A romantic inside Jamie wanted to tell her that he loved her from the first moment Claire’s solid head bumped into him but he nodded back tightening his grip on her.

The mountains rose high into the blue. We passed fields with yellowish grass, still wet with morning dew making our shoes damp; It was a glorious expanse of dried grass softly rustling in the wind bending over where we walked creating a pathway.

When my fingers became cold and numb from the freezing Highlands wind Jamie untangled our hands to share the pocket of his jacket with me. We ate a tuna sandwich and vinegar crisps on the wooden bench that stood in the valley near an abandoned cabin. Jamie spilled half of our coffee from the tumbler he prepared. I stifled a need to laugh at him, my thumb gently sweeping away sandwich crumbs from his lower lip. My lips chapped from the wind but Jamie’s touch soothed the burning sensation.

“Ye ken that Loch Lomond,” Jamie pointed to the left where in the distance a great lake stretched out. “Is the largest water lake in British Isles?”

“It surely looks like it,” I smiled looking at the dark water on the horizon. “How do you know so much?”

Jamie chuckled speeding up in front of me to let me pass in safety then, with the help of his steady hand.

“I grew up in the countryside, Sassenach. That’s where I belong. That’s what I love. A Scot must know his history.”

“You know, you would be one of those Highlander warriors in the past for sure.” Laughing, I pinched his biceps.

When we reached the blanket of trees at the base of the mountain, the sun started to go down in the horizon. The sky almost vanished in the forest leaving us with small glimpses of the blue coming through the thickness of pines above us. We took at least a hundred awful selfies during our four-hour hike. I spied a flower that bloomed in all possible shades of purple. Crouching down, I took a picture of it so I could look it up later.

I heard the leaves rustling under Jamie’s feet when he appeared next to me holding out his phone.

“I, er… I... I need to take a pish,” Jamie announced shyly. “Dinna want to drop it down the rocks”

“Smart.” I chuckled hiding his iPhone into the depths of my jeans pocket. 

The mist started to gather around covering the ground with a smoky quilt. I inhaled fresh air perfumed with the rich fragrances of the trees and plants. It was filled with a promise of coming rain clouds ready to burst any moment. I mentally estimated how long we have to get to the cottage before we got soaking wet.

The buzz of Jamie’s phone took me out of my thoughts. Not sure what to do, I fished it out my pocket. 

“Jamie, you got a text!” I shouted into the tall trees startling a lonely bird from the bush.

“Who’s it from?” His voice echoed back somewhere from the left. 

Hesitating for a few seconds I looked down at the screen to see the message. Involuntarily my eyes ran along two lines of letters.

“How are u, mo ghraidh? Dougal popped by, said he canna reach ye, it was urgent. I guessed ye didna have a connection there. Xx.”

The box From said Jen with two emojis -a heart and a house. It was Jenny.

“It’s your sister.” I handed him the phone when he came out brushing off the pine needles from his pants.

When we were going down I wondered what those words meant that Jenny had called him. It was something he’d said to me once before. While Jamie was telling me something about the castle that we could see from our path I googled the meaning of Gaelic that I could not understand. 

It said, “My love” and my heart sank down my chest and then almost broke free out of it ready to burst with happiness.

My love.

* * *

The countryside stretched itself around us in brown, golden and burgundy stains of colours. The hills rolled in soft waves of yellow grass meeting the ground in the valleys with hidden flora.

We walked back in companionable silence holding our hands, fingers securely tangled together, not breaking that needed contact between us.

When there was less than a kilometre until we get to the house the grey skies grumbled with anger. The heavy clouds no longer wanted to wait and cold drops started to fall down as gunfire. In no time it turned into a heavy storm soaking the ground beneath us until it was soft and slippery under our feet. The downpour of water felt icy cold and we had to run lest we get completely wet. The wind howled muting our laughs but for once in the longest time, I felt reckless and happy.

Jamie went to the bedroom peeling off his clothes that stuck to the skin. I followed in suit, not wishing to catch a cold and left a damp pile of clothes on the floor. While I had the time I filled the bathtub with steaming water. Turning off the main light the room went into the warm glow of the candles I’d managed to find in the cabinet in the living room. They were half used, the wax melted into peculiar figures. I had placed them in the corners near the windows and popped a couple on the bathtub sides. Sliding down the water, my eyes closed at the feeling of heat soaking into me. I physically could feel each muscle in my body relax and become numb, limp. 

Jamie stood in a doorway looking at me quietly. In this light, he reminded me of a Greek statue. He was beautifully made. With long, graceful bones and flat muscles that flowed smoothly from the curves of chest and shoulder to the slight concavities of belly and thigh. He was fair with bits of freckles but slightly touched by the sun, toned in a way that reminded me floral honey.

“Come here,” I spoke quietly lifting my hand up from the depths of the water.

He walked over slowly, stepping gracefully as a cat, not breaking our gaze. I felt a tight knot in the bottom of my belly starting to ache just by looking at him. Soon his boxers were left aside together with the puddle of my clothes. The water raised slightly when Jamie got in, sitting behind me, my back pressed to his chest. His hands roamed on the water slick sides of my thighs and my head dropped down his shoulder. I hummed an appreciative ‘hmmm’ at his touch. It felt soothing and much needed after our long hike.

“I must tell ye something, Sassenach.” His voice sounded husky. It was the tone that pulled at the deepest strings inside me. “I’m sure ye bewitched me. Cause for God’s sake I canna imagine how I managed to live without ye before.”

My head turned slightly to the left as my lips had found the column of his neck. I loved to touch him. But not just in a sexual way. Being with him, simply existing in the same space, in a distance of millimetres of each other. This became my everyday dose of oxygen. I craved him. All of him. Including his soul and heart and all of his body. He seeped deep into my being and would remain there forever I was sure of it. And I could not remember life before him anymore. As it simply could not be there without James Fraser. I ached for him every time we separated and I would be a damn fool to deny that.

“I think I can’t imagine that either,” I whispered kissing my way down his torso. When he was well-loved with my lips, my mouth and hands Jamie pulled me up cradling my face between his palms.

“I could love ye, Claire. I could love ye well.”

I exhaled feeling his moist full lips tracing my collarbone. When Jamie lifted me up from the water that became our shelter of warmth and my hands circled around his neck I remembered.

When Jamie kissed the tip of my nose I remembered twisting my ankle two years ago on the slippery grocery store tile after the rain.

When his hands held me tightly, the drops scattering off my body I remembered calling first Geillis asking to bring me to A&E. 

When Jamie’s lips softly touched my forehead I remembered that I called Frank but he did not pick up being busy at the meeting.

When Jamie passed the first stair I remembered I stayed home and felt lonely.

When Jamie’s lips dragged down my neck I remembered that Frank had left to the conference in London saying that he’d call me several times a day to check on me.

When Jamie gently laid me down the bed I remembered feeling awfully lonely despite Frank’s words of reassurance and support, calls and promise to come back soon.

When Jamie’s thumb brushed over my nipple I remembered feeling empty.

When Jamie held me I felt safe. And when he leaned in to kiss me I whispered into his lips.

“I could love you too. I could love you well.”

[batskulldrag]

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

Ok, last chapter was labled in text as chapter three, it is in fact chapter four. I only had one brain cell left when I was sorting that. anyway, chapter five. trigger warnings for abuse.

Chapter Five: Light ‘em Up By Fallout Boy

               This was it. It was time. D-day, final boss, no not final boss. This was just the beginning. Today was the day they brought Virgil home. This was absolute next level stuff.

               Patton frantically washed the dishes from breakfast. And having run out a long time ago was now just washing the same plate over and over.

               “Logan! What do we do?” Patton looked over to his husband in desperation. “What if he doesn’t like it here? What if he doesn’t like us? We only met him a couple of times! I want him to like us! What if I’m a bad parent?”

               “I’m sure you’re worrying over nothing.” Logan was installing outlet plugs. “You’ll be an excellent dad. And Virgil has already taken to you quite a bit.”

               “Are you sure?”

               “Of course.” Logan looked up at him. Patton could see the terror in his eyes.

               Duh! Patton cursed himself. How could he not see how scared Logan was of all this. Logan was the one who everyone accused of not being empathetic. And he was the one who everyone called a robot. Of course, he’d be afraid of parenting. And of course, he wouldn’t say that.                

               “Hon,” Patton knelt to eye level with Logan. “I know you’re gonna be a fantastic dad. You already have been. Every time I started freaking out you grounded me back to reality. And not just this past week with Virgil either. Always. And you listened to the doctor without going all out of sorts, you got Virgil to talk about himself and you knew when we were overwhelming him.”

               Logan sighed and stared at the outlet. All that energy now inaccessible just because of a piece of plastic. Stopped up. Ineffective. No good.

               “I-” Logan started and was instantly cut off.

               “You’re not bad at emotions.” Patton embraced him. “You’re better at them than anyone I know. The Logan right here is the best Logan there is. And I would know. I married him, on purpose.”

               “I love you.” Logan sighed, tensely hugging Patton back. “I want you to know that.”

               “I know. I’ve always known. And I love you too. With all my heart.”

               “I never had to wonder that.”

               “And I never once had to wonder if you loved me.”

               Logan pulled away and smiled.

               “Well, then.” He rubbed his neck nervously. “Let’s go get our son.”

               “That sounds nice.” Patton sighed. “Our son.”

                                                                               #             #             #

               “You ok now sweetie?” Patton asked dabbing Virgil’s mouth with a wetted down paper towel. “Do you need to throw up again?”

               Both of them were sitting on the floor of Virgil’s hospital room. Virgil was doubled over holding his stomach and breathing heavily. The transition was not helping his anxiety.

               “No, I think I’m empty now.” He said shakily, shooting Patton a suspicious glance. “Let’s just go.”

               Patton stood up and pulled Virgil off the floor. He guided him to the bed and sat him down carefully.

               “We brought you these.” Patton handed him a grocery bag. “One of our friends gave us some old clothes that might fit you. Since, well you know, the fire.”

               Virgil fell backwards onto the bed and groaned.

               “What is it? Are you gonna throw up again?” Patton darted over to him.

               “I’m not gonna be able to dress myself for another couple of days.” He hissed, completely red. “Not without help. I didn’t think of that.”

               “I guess this is a pretty bad week for you.” Patton said blankly, but the awkwardness wasn’t lost on him.

                                                                               #             #             #

               Virgil limped into the lobby with one crutch to support him and Patton hovering over him like a linebacker to stabilize him if anything happened. Patton isn’t exactly doctor supported medical equipment, but if you can get one it helps. Virgil’s free hand occasionally fluttered up to check on a bulge in his hoodie, where he had stashed the bear. He was more or less constantly making sure it was still zipped up in there.

               Logan and Roman stood anxiously in the lobby with Virgil’s medication in hand. The four met in silence and turned towards the door. Everything was working out without a hitch. But the hitch was waiting for them outside.

               A title wave of reporters came crashing down on them and they were consumed by camera flashes while being beaten with microphones, tape recorders and video cameras. Working like predators the press worked between the four of them and forced them apart. Patton looked frantically for Virgil, thinking that the reporters must have trampled him like Black Friday shoppers. He saw Logan, who was also on the brink of panic. He caught a glimpse of Roman, who was shoving people back like a bouncer. And lastly, he saw Virgil, looking panicked as one reported bounced around him like a birthday clown on crack.

               He started wading towards him to get rid of the goon when he saw said goon knock Virgil’s crutch out of his hand. Virgil stumbled back and fell to the ground, and the bear fell out of his jacket. The goon stepped back a bit while Virgil started having a panic attack. Most of the press backed off when they saw him, but some of them got even closer. Oh, hell no. They would not hurt his baby.

               “EVERYBODY BACK OFF!!!” Patton screamed in a voice that would defeat Goliath.

               They all looked to him, utterly stunned.

               “I AM GOING TO COUNT TO THREE AND THEN I AM CALLING THE POLICE! ANYONE STILL HERE WHEN I GET TO THREE IS GETTING ARRESTED! GOT THAT!? ONE!... TWO...”

               They all scattered as professionally as they could.

               “AND IF I SEE ANY OF THIS ON THE NEWS TONIGHT EVERY STATION IS GETTING SLAPPED WITH A LAWSUITE!” He shouted after them.

               He rushed over to Virgil, who was still on the concrete, Logan and Roman at his side.

               “It’s ok sweetie.” Patton soothed. “They’re gone now. It’s ok.”

               “Did that freak hurt you in any way?” Roman asked softly.

               “N-No.” Virgil wheezed. “I-I- I’m o-o-kay.”

               “Virgil,” Logan said gently, “This is going to sound strange, but I want you to list all the prime numbers you can.”

               “W-why?” Virgil gasped, face wet with tears and going very pale.

               “Just trust me.” Logan squeezed his shoulder. “Can you do that?”

               “O-k-k-ay.” He coughed. “T-two, three, f-ive, se-seven, eleven, thirt-thirteen.” His tone became steadier. “Seventeen… nineteen, twenty-three,” He took a deep breath. “twenty-nine.” He stopped abruptly. “That-that worked!” He smiled slightly. “What kind of black magic was that?”

               “It’s just left brain/right brain science.” Logan explained. “Fear and anxiety are controlled by the right brain, so those feelings can be reduced by doing left brain activities.”

               “Cool.” Virgil whispered. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

               Patton stood up and pulled Virgil to his feet, foot.

               “Logan knows all kinds of things.” He beamed. “He’s the smart one.”

               “Say padre,” Roman said picking Virgil’s crutch up off the ground. “I haven’t heard your Zeus voice since senior prom. Are you alright?”

               “I’m fine.” He gently stroked Virgil’s hair. “I just got upset when that guy knocked Virgil over.”

               “Well, we shouldn’t have to worry about any of them again.” Logan smiled, handing the stuffed animal back to Virgil, who immediately socked it away back into his hoodie.

               “Yeah, I about peed myself and you weren’t even mad at me.” Virgil added. “That was some intense stuff, Uncle Patton.”

               Patton felt the excitement tinglies ripple through him. He was Uncle Patton! And Virgil called him it! What a rollercoaster of a day.

               “You should have seen him at prom.” Roman added teasingly before lapsing into a tense voice. “Have any of you ever thought about how it feels to be treated like dirt just because you think differently?! Have you!? Have you ever considered that?! No, and why should you?! You don’t actually think at all! You want to talk about incapable of empathy? How about a room full of monsters who torture somebody and laugh while they are screaming for help!?! Have you ever considered how horrible it is to be the outlier who has the misfortune to cross your socio-paths? No! of course not! You only see things from your point of view! And everyone else must be broken! Well fuck every last one of you! And if you don’t all descend to hell when everything is over then I’m going to petition god to send you there himself!” Roman finished. “It was glorious.”

               “I didn’t say the “f-word” did I?” Patton slumped his shoulders.

               “You don’t remember?” Roman laughed. “I almost made that my yearbook quote. It was a soliloquy to rival ‘to be or not to be,’ someone put it on a poster in the library.”

               “I seriously considered making it my valedictorian speech.” Logan added. “And if I had been in a better state of mind during your speech, I would have gotten down on one knee and proposed to you then and there.”

               Patton blushed and looked at the ground.

               “We should go.” He whispered.

               “I call bullshit!” Virgil objected. “No way Uncle Patton said that.”

               “We’ll tell you all about it on the ride home.” Roman said gleefully.

               “No, we won’t.” Patton mumbled.  

               “Let’s be on our way.” Roman ignored him. “I’ll drive.”

               Roman did tell the story on the ride home. And no matter how many times Patton tried to change the subject, Roman went back to his story unfazed.

               “And so, we finally arrived, an hour late and very tired.” Roman continued his retelling. “En route I stepped in a puddle that was about knee deep and ruined my pants.”

               “Virgil, what’s your favorite color?” Patton interrupted.

               “Purple.” He answered, gazing into the front seat. “Then what happened?”

               “Well, we missed the photographer because we were late. Which worked out, because we weren’t exactly looking our best. During the slow dance my date was asked by a girl to dance, and he danced with her the entire night. He later told me it was because he wasn’t out yet. But he went as my date to prom, not my friend, my date. And everyone knew.”

               “What a bitch.” Virgil agreed. “Did you get back at him?”

               “Later.” Roman smiled. “Now Logan was actually not out yet, so he and Patton did just go as friends, as far as everyone else knew. Neither of them really danced, they just kind of hung out.”

               “And some idiots crept up behind us and emptied the entire punch bowl over our heads.” Logan added.

               “Why?”

               “They didn’t like me.” Logan shrugged. “And the feeling was mutual.”

               “Virge, do you have a girlfriend?” Patton tried again.

               “No. Then what happened?”

               This kid liked gossip.

               “Well the idiots harassed Logan for a longer while, then Patton had his glorious monologue. And the shame that filled the room was tangible. A few girls ran out crying. And one dude just left.”

               “How come the teachers didn’t step in for any of this?” Virgil asked.

               “Virgil, you’re in school, right?” Roman countered.

               “I mean, it’s summer but yeah.”

               “Do your teachers do much to stop harassment?”

               “That answers that question,” Virgil looked out the window. “Then what happened?”

               “Patton and Logan went outside. Leaving everyone to sit in their guilt.”

               “Our first kiss.” Patton mumbled dreamily. Something good came from all that.

               “And I was elected prom queen.” Roman finished.

               “Don’t you mean king?” Virgil asked, looking back at Roman. “I mean sounds like you’re a dude and that you were a dude then too.”

               “Yes, but they thought it would be a great joke to vote for me as queen. You know because gay. But since they all voted for me, I won.”

               “What did you do?” Virgil looked mortified at the idea.

               “I marched myself up to that stage, blowing kisses to everyone. And when I got up there, I kissed the prom king right on the lips. It was one of those romantic kisses where you dip the other one back. Then I hammed it up like it was the Oscars. I gave a speech about how proud I was of their acceptance and how humbled I was by their kindness. And how they were so beautiful that they all deserved crowns. Then, I danced out while singing ‘I’m still standing’ by Elton John.”

               “No!” Virgil objected eagerly.

               “I did.”

               “Did he?” Virgil beamed at Patton.

               “He did, everyone was talking about it when we got back to school.” Patton answered. “That and me yelling at everyone.”

               “I think you did the right thing.” Virgil said, turning back to the window. “I don’t get why you’re embarrassed; all you did was call them out for being dicks.”

               “There are a lot of feelings about that night.” Patton looked away. “It’s complicated.”

               “No, it’s not.” Logan looked back at him. “What’s complicated?”

               “I don’t wanna have this talk in front of Virgil, ok hon?”

               “Are you still upset about…”

               “Yes. Please. Not now.” Patton cut him off.

               “Ok. We will discuss it later.” Logan held up his hands in a peace-making gesture.

               Virgil looked back and forth between them then went back to the window.

               “Virgil,” Logan changed the subject. “I forgot to ask what grade you’re in now.”

               “I- eighth grade.” He said quickly. “Just like all the other kids my age.”

               “So, you’re starting high school in the fall?” Logan continued.

               “Yes?” Virgil squeaked, now turning red.

               “No one wants to talk about school in May.” Roman interrupted, sounding flustered. “He just got out a couple of weeks ago, don’t remind him he needs to go back.” Roman changed the subject. “Tell us more about the inferno, I may want to do a showing of it at the college. Or adapt a version of it. I think it would be nifty to set it during the civil war.”

               “It takes place in hell,” Virgil interrupted. “The time period doesn’t really matter.”

               “You, my dear who’s who of the damned, have a lot to learn about theater.”

               Logan gave them the footnotes of the inferno until they arrived home.

               “Right, first things first.” Patton said, helping Virgil out of the car. “It’s lunch time. I hope you’re hungry kiddo. People have been sending us food like we were planning on bringing home an entire orphanage.”

               “Ok.” Virgil responded blankly.

               “And once you’re settled in, we’ll introduce to the miracle that is the life work of Walt Disney.” Roman added with his usual flare.

               After both lunch and a tour of the house Virgil sat on the couch curled up in a little ball and holding his stomach. Oddly enough, he hadn’t even eaten that much. He kind of picked a bit at some solid food and ate a bowl of soup. Nothing that would normally upset someone’s stomach. Patton sat down next to him and rubbed his back gently. Virgil loosened up and tensed again.

               “Is your belly giving you trouble again kiddo?” Patton asked softly.

               “No, I’m ok.” Virgil was quick to answer. “I just ate too fast I guess.”

               “Ok then.” Patton continued to pet him.

               Logan walked over and sat down on Patton’s other side. They both shared a parental look.

               “As promised.” Roman strutted in holding a DVD case. “Glorious entertainment. And fair warning, I will sing along with every musical interlude.”

               “How do you manage to remember every Disney song in existence, yet still forget your keys at least twice a week?” Logan teased.

               “Some memories are more important than others.” Roman sat down dramatically.

               “Is that why you’re so good at breaking windows?” Virgil said suddenly. “Lots of practice?”

               They all looked at him stunned, and he mirrored their expressions exactly. Maybe even better. Virgil’s eyes darted back and forth, never settling on any one of them for too long. His breathing got visibly quicker and he tried to shrink into himself.

               Instinctively Patton pulled the boy closer and held him as if he were using his own body as a shield. Virgil sank into him, tense enough to turn into a diamond.

               “Well, then it’s a good thing I forgot my keys all those times.” Roman broke the tension and laughed. “Things work out!”

               “You’re not mad?” Virgil’s voice was muffled by Patton’s hoodie.

               “No, it was a brilliantly timed joke.”

               “And the implications that Roman would have to damage property to get into his own house were amusing.” Logan added, reaching over to pet Virgil as well.

               Virgil jerked back away from Patton and gagged a few times. He clamped his hands over his mouth and slowly took them away. He paused for a solid minute, and they could see him mouthing out numbers. He stopped and looked at the three of them. Then silently leaned back onto Patton’s shoulder.

               “OK.” He said still sounding stunned. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

               Roman did indeed sing along the entire time, and Virgil seemed to enjoy both the movie and Roman’s one man show. Virgil got all quiet during Sally’s song and Patton could have sworn that he heard him sniffle a few times. Naturally, he gently ran a hand through the younger man’s hair to console him.

               During Oogie Boogie’s song Roman jumped up to dance with it, and gingerly pulled Virgil up to join him. Patton and Logan stared in shock as the scene unfolded. There was their son, happily being spun and dipped as Roman did the motions along with the soundtrack. Roman did a great job making sure to keep weight off Virgil’s cast, and when the song ended, gently set him back in his place.

               “Remind me to teach you how to dance when your foot heals.” Roman said joyously.

               “But don’t feet heel all the time?” Patton added.

               Virgil smiled; Logan groaned. And they went back to the movie. Virgil became intensely interested when Sally came in to rescue Santa. He leaned forwards, almost off the couch and chewed his bandages eagerly. Patton saw him mouthing out the words ‘come on, come on’. Then it happened, Oogie Boogie caught on to the rouse.

               “No!” Virgil yelped, this time falling off the couch.

               Virgil sat on the floor looking more embarrassed than hurt. His face slowly shaded itself in a pink glow as he gaped up at them mortified. He cleared his throat and stared at the floor.

               “I…” He started but gave up.

               “She’s gonna be ok.” Patton ruffled his hair. “Jack’s gonna rescue them.”

               “He’d better, he started this whole mess.” Virgil sniped.  

               “See, it isn’t just me!” Logan suddenly shouted. “He sees it too!”

               “Two of them! Now there’s two!” Roman threw his hands in the air.

               “Santa wouldn’t be in this mess if Jack hadn’t kidnapped him and stole his holiday!” Logan protested.

               “They do this a lot.” Patton smiled down at Virgil.

               “He told those three not to involve the boogie man!”

               “Which wouldn’t have even been an option if he hadn’t kidnapped Santa in the first place.”

               “And he really shouldn’t have trusted those three morons.” Virgil added. “I think we can all agree to that.”

               “Yay, common ground!” Patton interrupted. “Let’s just finish the movie.”

               “Patton,” Roman stated. “You’re the tie breaker, what do you think?”

               “I don’t care who’s fault it is! I just want everyone to get along!”

               Virgil disinterestedly slid his upper body into Patton’s lap.

               “Well, you’re definitely a parent.” Roman sighed. “We’ll stop.”

               They finished the movie in silence. As the credits rolled Roman slid off the couch to retrieve another movie from the collection. That brought up a new crop of problems.

               Where to find a Disney movie without abusive parents? He analyzed the collection slowly and picked out all the contenders. Lilo and Stich, perfect. Aladdin? Can’t have abusive parents if you’re an orphan. Mulan, that works. He drummed his finger on Beauty and the Beast, no. better not.

               He pulled out his first three options and strolled back to the others. This was a good enough start.

               “Now for our viewing pleasure, we have options.” He declared. “First contender…”

               He was cut off by a knock on the door.

               “Shoot me.” He finished.

               “I’ll get it.” Patton offered. “It might be Thomas doing another inspection, or here to see Virgil.”

               Virgil slid his head off Patton’s lap and draped himself onto the couch instead.

               “Virgil, don’t sit on the floor.” Logan said stiffly.

               “Let’s see what news stations want to make us mad while he’s gone.” Roman said chipperly, grabbing the remote.

               “It’s just gonna be an artist rendering of me flat on my ass sobbing like a two-year-old.” Virgil hissed, pulling himself onto the couch.

                      Patton glared through the peephole. Barbra had brought them a pie as an excuse to see if this newcomer was weird. Wishing for a garage that they could park in so no one could tell if they were home or not, Patton opened the door.

               “Heyya,” He greeted cheerfully. “What brings you to our neck of the ‘hoods?”

               “Well, I saw you arrive this afternoon with a guest.” She laid it on thick. “So, I thought I’d bring over a pie. Sort of as a welcome to the neighborhood gift.”

               She was moving from side and standing on her toes trying to see past him. Patton sighed, he wanted to like her, but she was so insinuating. And one time he saw her in a restaurant, and she was rude to the waiter. If you want to be mean to minimum wage employees, then you shouldn’t get to benefit off them.

               “That’s so sweet.” Patton continued he didn’t have the heart to be mean to her. “It looks… unique!”

               “It’s a new recipe,” Oh no, now she was into it. “It’s sugar free, gluten free, vegan and non-GMO.”

               “Wow. What flavor?”

               “It’s Brussel sprout pie. You wouldn’t believe how many plants are made with those mutated poisons.”

Ok, well that makes it a casserole. And not a pie.

“Thank you so much.” Patton took the pie.

She didn’t go away. He looked from side to side. He looked at her, she looked at him. Was she really going to do this?

“Is it true about your brother?” She finally asked, she looked annoyed. Did she just expect him to tell her?

“Which part?”

“That he tried to murder his son! Is there any other part?”

“I don’t know about any murder.” Patton said slowly. “But my nephew is staying with us for a while, while everything gets sorted out.”

“Ok, but just be careful, we don’t know who started that fire, it might have been the boy. You know what teenagers are like.”

“Thanks for being on the lookout.” He smiled. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to be going.”

She was about to say something else, but he stepped back quickly and closed the door. He walked past the other three and straight into the kitchen. He then dumped the casserole into the garbage disposal and disintegrated it. Pleased, he strolled back into the living room.

“It was Barbra.” He explained, sitting back on the couch. “She brought us a thing.”

“I see, did you give it a merciful death?”

“Yep.”

“What did I miss?” Virgil looked up at them, hanging upside down on the couch.

“One of our neighbors is quite annoying and nosey. And opinionated.” Roman explained. “We put up with it at first, but then she told us she wished Logan was dead.”

“That’s a blatant lie.” Logan objected.

“It is not, it’s a different point of view.”

“She told you she wanted Uncle Logan dead?” Virgil squeaked, scrambling back to normal sitting position. “Why?”

“She didn’t say that.” Patton rolled his eyes. “She just adamantly believes that vaccines cause autism.”

“And can’t use google.” Virgil agreed. “What’s this got to do with Uncle Logan?”  

“I have Asperger’s syndrome, which puts me on the autistic spectrum.” Logan explained. “Barbra did not tell me she wanted me dead.”

“Let’s pretend that she’s right though,” Roman interrupted. “She’s not, but if she was that would mean that she hates autistic people so much that she would rather have people die of curable illnesses than be that way. In conclusion, she wishes Logan was dead.”

“She doesn’t like Logan though; she acts weird around him.” Patton wrapped himself around Logan like a blanket. “And if you have a problem with my soul mate then you have a problem with me.”

“I hate her already.” Virgil nodded. “Are all your neighbors like that?”

“No, everyone else is cool.” Patton sighed contentedly. “You’ll probably meet them later. But we’ll wait until you’re feeling better.”

“We also need to get you a new wardrobe.” Roman slapped him on the shoulder. “Joan’s donations, while generous, can only do so much for you.”

“And you need underwear, we’re not getting that used.” Patton added.

Virgil turned bright red in response and just gawked at him in utter shame.

“Don’t look like that.” Patton teased. “We all have undies on. It’d be embarrassing if you didn’t.”

Virgil silently cocooned himself into his hoodie.

“What?” Patton, genuinely confused, asked.

“Just stop.” Logan put a hand on his shoulder.

“Right,” Roman added. “We’re watching Lilo and Stich. Virgil needs to understand what we mean when we call Thomas Cobra Bubbles.”  

[penpatronuswhump]

This is What We Do PenPatronus

 Tony didn’t wake up so much as gradually claw and crawl his way to consciousness. He then literally clawed and crawled his way over to Steve, who felt cold and was knocked out cold, likely thanks to that swollen bruise above his eye. Tony shook his friend’s shoulders. Steve made a noise that sounded like a half-sneeze, half-hiccup, but didn’t wake up. Steve’s sky-blue t-shirt and khakis were as dirty as Tony’s navy shirt and jeans. The last thing Tony remembered was having a conversation with Steve about his art while they strolled around the block that circled Avengers Tower.

 They were in a candlelit cave. Stalactites hung above them like the blades of guillotines. As Tony’s dizziness rescinded and the spots before his eyes gradually disappeared until he could see clearly, the black-robed figures came into view. They stood in a circle around what looked like a pair of iron antlers and a small fire burning between them. Tony recognized their shape: exactly like that bizarre antler-like, tiara-like headpiece that Loki wore when he attacked New York. The snark rose in Tony. “Loki worshippers?” he hollered. “Are you kidding me?”

 Half of the black figures jumped, startled. Half of that half were short and wore dirty sneakers. Most of the figures were adults, though, judging by their shape and size. All of them were men, Tony deduced. All except for the one figure who broke from the group and approached, dropping her hood. The woman wore an emerald dress. Her feet were bare, and she wore her long blonde hair in a complicated braid. The smaller set of antlers on her head was worn like a crown.

 “I am Sigyn,” the woman said. “Wife of Loki.”

 Tony snorted. “You’re probably a real estate agent from Jersey,” he accused. “You probably have six cats and fetish for Norse mythology. You, lady, have never actually met Loki. And you’re no god.”

 “Goddess,” the woman corrected. “And I don’t need to meet Loki to love him.” She smiled at him, but it wasn’t strong. The lack of strength behind her smile betrayed her. She was anxious, unsure, not convinced that what she’d gotten herself into was the best decision she’d ever made. Tony observed how she shifted her weight back and forth and cracked her knuckles compulsively. The woman, whoever she was, was no threat.

 Tony rose to his feet and stood taller by half a foot. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to point my buddy and I to the exit. Then, you’ll surrender yourself to the authorities, plead guilty to kidnapping charges, and go to jail. If you choose not to let us go, I promise you that we will leave anyway. One way or another.”

 Something gripped Tony’s ankle and yanked him to the cave floor. A millisecond later a bullet, fired by the closest black-robed worshipper, embedded itself in the cave wall straight past where Tony had been standing. “Close one,” Steve Rogers muttered.

 The gunman lowered his hood and stood side-by-side with the woman. “Nobody speaks to our goddess like that,” he declared. This guy had a short, scrubby beard and greasy black hair.

 Tony got back up to his feet and brought Steve with him. “You good?” he asked his teammate.

 Steve shook his head quickly like he was trying to dislodge water from his ears. “Almost,” he admitted. “Give me a minute.”

 “I’ll buy you two. Then we’re getting out of here.” Tony turned his attention to the gunman. He made sure to keep his body between the weapon and the dizzy Steve. “You just brought us here to kill us, huh? Well, get if over with already.”

 “Good plan,” Steve approved, all sarcasm.

 The gunman tilted his head to the side. “We only need one sacrifice to summon our god.”

 “That’s your game plan? You think killing us will bring Loki back?”

 “The hole in the sky will open again,” said the woman, raising her hands towards the ceiling. “Our lord will descend, and he will reward us for our loyalty.”

 “He tried to take over the world. Hundreds of people died that day in New York—all because of him.”

 “He was trying to free us,” the woman argued.

 “This is a fallen world,” said the man. “He came to save us. We’re grateful.”

 “You’re idiots,” Tony spat. Steve put his hand on Tony’s shoulder. It was a silent order to “shut up.” Tony shrugged him off. “Loki is our enemy. He’s insane. He’s manipulative. He’s the trickster, for God’s sake! Now, why don’t you put your little gun away and let us walk out the door, huh?” He turned towards the woman. “Out of the way,” he growled. “I won’t ask again.”

 The man re-raised his gun and fired it at Tony’s unprotected chest. Before Tony could even blink, Steve ducked, pushed him aside, and the bullet nicked him in the side of his head, not far from the original injury. Steve stumbled, teetered for a moment, then collapsed backward, landing flat on his spine. “Cap!” Tony floundered back to his friend and grasped his shoulders. “Oh god, Steve…” Tony’s knee landed in a puddle of blood.

 Thunder suddenly reverberated through the cave. The candles flickered from sudden wind. The hairs on everyone’s arms stood on end. Something smelled hot, and it wasn’t the fire in the antlers. “You wanted an angry, alien Norse god?” Tony asked. “Well, you’re about to get one.”

 Lightning flashed down the hall. Thor came for his teammates.

 ----------

 24 Hours Later

 “I’m so sorry,” Tony said for the fourth time as he sat on the bed on Steve’s right. “I can’t believe my big mouth got you shot.”

 “It was bound to happen one of these days,” Steve half-chuckled, half-scolded. He lay back in the hospital bed with a bandage around his head and a saline IV in his arm. “It’ll probably be the death of me someday.”

 “That’s not funny,” Tony said, and he meant it. “I’m sor—”

 “Tony.” Steve summoned his Army voice. “Stop it. This is what we do, right? This is what we do for each other.”

 “I’m usually the one in the bed,” Tony whispered. “I’d rather be there than here, in this position—in the receiving spot. This is worse.”

 “I know. I know what you mean,” Steve assured him. “And you usually are the one in the bed,” he agreed. “I’ve seen you lay down on the wire dozens of times, Tony. And that, my friend, is why I did this.”

 The End

[atlaslain]

kicks down the door to ur ask box a day late FIVE TIMES KISSED FOR FAIRHART PLEASE

send ‘five times kissed’ for a drabble    /    @revolverized

i.

          he’ll hate himself for this later.

it’s 2am, rain’s begun to fall, and squall’s kissing him like he despises him. he tastes like the rich-smoky drinks he knocked back at the honey bee, and a little like the blood at the corner of his mouth where zack punched him. it’s all teeth and tongues, no artistry or sentiment to be found — just the roughness of brick wall against his spine and squall’s hands pushing him against it. 

are you happy now? zack asks himself. this is what he wanted, isn’t it? for squall to want him. for the attraction to not be one-sided and pathetic. for squall to touch him and kiss him and not regret it later. 

god, it’s going to hurt when he regrets it.

the last vestiges of tipsiness are fading now and what zack should do is call this whole thing off before he starts getting hopeful. he draws back, bangs his head against the wall in the process, barely registers the dull throb of pain. he’s too wired, feeling too much. heat rushes down his spine when he takes in the answering want in squall’s expression, and he knows he’s not going to stop this. 

“wanna… come back to my place? to get out of the rain.”

there’s a strange, sharp stab of hurt when squall nods his agreement. neither of them is trying to make this anything better than an angry one-night stand. zack should — he should, he should try, he should ask for more. he wants romance and trust and for squall to want him for longer than a night.

but he’s far too weak to turn down the scraps of attention he can have.

ii.

          the awkward thing is, zack can’t stay away from the church.

he wants to see aeris, to help with her flower-selling, to be here in case anything happens. he won’t surrender that simply because it’s difficult to meet squall’s eyes without remembering his shameful sneak from zack’s room. since he refuses to opt for avoidance and is far too proud to act like it never happened, zack goes down the defiant route instead and shows up at the church bearing the single sock squall left on the floor of zack’s bedroom. he shoves it into the other’s chest like a gift, flashes a sharp grin, and proceeds to ignore him for the rest of the day.

most of it, anyway. 

they usually spar, before zack leaves the church. it’s become a tentative thing between them, an unspoken plan. it’d be better to conveniently ‘forget’ and leave, but that’d be akin to admitting it’s awkward to stay. so zack approaches squall, sword drawn and angled in his direction, and raises an expectant brow.

it goes about as well as one might expect.

zack, for one, is not anticipating the volume of anger he’s feeling. he just about slips into SOLDIER mode, mako energy frothing in his veins and unused power sparking at his fingertips. right — high emotional states do this. he shouldn’t have fought. 

it goes beyond sparring; zack’s barely human as he finally knocks squall’s weapon from his hands and drives him down to the ground, buster sword at his throat. panic grips him the next instant and he flings the blade aside, dropping to his knees to assess for damage. 

“shit — shit. i didn’t mean…” he gets an arm around squall’s shoulders, eases him into a sitting position. he looks — well, like a guy who took the full brunt of a SOLDIER attack. and he’s meeting zack’s eyes like he doesn’t give a fuck, like he’s still not scared of the monster in human skin with the too-bright eyes. zack’s heart skitters, agitated, and he finds himself leaning in without ever meaning to. one second he’s enraged and the next, he’s startled as squall’s hands find his shoulders and they’re kissing. 

he can’t escape the feeling he’s messing this up horribly. 

this time, zack finds the strength to pull away. his chest aches. he licks his lips. “no,” he mumbles. “we can’t keep doin’ this every time we fight, y’know?”

he doesn’t want to know if squall’s disappointed — refuses to look. but the bitterness and the anger feel less like thorns in his chest now, and he doesn’t make a single nasty comment as he drags squall off for healing.

iii.

          “i — argh, i really gotta go! i’m sorry. i’m really sorry. i’ll be back real soon, and … then, can we talk? about us.

with typically awful timing, he’s off on a mission. nibelheim. some trouble with reactors and vanishing operatives. zack wishes they’d wait. he doesn’t want to leave now that things are finally working out. he took squall on a successful date, glowed with the happiness of it all the way back to the shinra building — and then discovered the mission, and its unknown timescale. he could be gone for weeks, realistically speaking. and it’s dumb that he’s immediately flooded with the fear that he’ll get back and squall will have decided all over again to regret him. 

zack fidgets, unwilling to leave. maybe they could talk now? he could squeeze in a ‘please-will-you-be-my-boyfriend’ talk, right? and maybe a ‘by-the-way-i-think-i-love-you’ talk. or is that too fast? definitely too fast. too fast like his heartbeat, thudding away in his chest as he tries to convince himself to walk away from this beautiful man who’s looking at him like he’s worth something. 

“kiss for luck?” he asks, flashing a winning smile. he’s rewarded with a look he thinks he’d describe as fond-exasperated. he wants to see that look all the time, because it seems to precede a hearty kiss. it’s so soft now, the way they kiss — still that old heat, that firm touch, but gentled and exactly what zack’s always wanted. he grips squall’s shirt, unwilling to let go. “two kisses for luck?”

but his PHS rings and he knows he’s out of time.

“damn it. to be continued when i get back.” he sneaks a kiss to the cheek anyway. “see you soon! don’t go slipping into the honey bee if you get lonely without me!”

and then he’s gone.

iv.

          he can’t decide if he’s in for a punch or a kiss.

squall’s been rather aggressively loving in the short time since they reunited. zack, for his part, has been confused mostly because he’s fairly certain he’s supposed to be dead. his brain keeps snagging on that part. he’s dead. died. riddled with bullets. bled out. never got to come back to squall. 

not to be a horrible pessimist, but zack’s stuck wondering if it’s even real. everything feels strange and distant, he’s incapable of beginning to understand this talk about gods and wars and worlds, and the only time reality tethers him down is when squall’s holding him. the man can’t seem to settle on an emotion and is alternating wildly between angry sobs and never-ending hugs. zack clings to him through it all, tears burning his eyes, and prays to whatever cosmic beings are listening to just — let him have this. 

just in case he disappears, though — he has so much to say.

“hey…” he tips squall’s chin up, strokes tears from his cheeks. “i love you.”

there. he knows now. whatever happens, squall knows he’s loved.

when they kiss, it tastes of salt and tears. they keep stopping to laugh disbelievingly against each others’ lips, barely capable of accepting that they’re here and they’re together. they have a second chance.

v.

          they’re going home.

their reward for their part in the cosmic war, for unwitting roles as gods’ puppets. even zack, armed with spiritus’ promise he’ll live again, is going home. they’ve won. 

“can you believe it?” he murmurs to squall, wrapping an arm around his waist and drawing him in for a kiss. he lingers there, humming contentedly, as the light begins to envelop them. “we’re goin’ home. i’ll see you soon.”

but ‘home’ is a different world for squall, and zack understands too late as he loses his grip and his fingers slip from squall’s. he catches a glint of panic in the eyes he knows so well, and then it’s gone. 

zack is alone, laying in a puddle of his own blood, atop a darkened clifftop. his clothes are ripped and bloodied with bullet-holes and he is barely breathing through the pain. 

above, a helicopter descends. deepground beckons.

[spidantic]

I enter the store

My life becomes an auroreal crochet of colors and sounds as I T Pose up and down each aisle. Objects appear in my basket yet I don't recall touching them.

My thoughts are occupied with a dog called Biscuit I've never encountered but whose probability of existing is so high it's practically certain.

I reach the back of the store. Text prompts emerge in three of my six thought slots, things that must also be bought which were not noticed on the first lap. They are retrieved in descending order of how easy to forget such a thing even exists.

I noclip through the checkout, money launching from my bank account in the process.

I exit the store. Twelve minutes have passed.

Power walkimg with an 8kg back in each hand, my momentum carries me all the way home where I collapse into a satisfied puddle of sweaty clothes and rest for a minute.

Three hours later I get up to put the shopping away. I forgot the olive oil. It may be days or even a week until I can fry an egg again. Ive been craving a fried egg since breakfast.

I barely muster up enough fucks to put the shopping away and order something with fried egg on it off uber eats, spending more than all my shopping combined. I muffle the spike of fiscal anxiety with a mental pillow and wait.

[psychicscavenger]

Shance Batman AU series: A Dark Knight is Born Part 1: Dark Corners

read on ao3 here or continue down below.

Part 1: Dark Corners. 

He gasped as he was pushed back against the brick building, his small shoulders and his upper back taking the brunt of the shove as his mother let out another pleading cry for help. He watched helplessly, completely frozen as the man, the same man who just killed his father, struck her. Sharp metal shined in the low light just before it dug into her throat, red splashing and staining the concrete below her just before her body, now limp, was disposed, as if common street trash.

Takashi stared wide eyed at his mother's lifeless body, the red that splashed out earlier now growing into a puddle underneath, staining the beautiful white satin dress she had donned for the banquet dinner they had to attend that evening. As he watched her eyes grow less wary of the world around her, he couldn't help but think back on his biting words to her earlier about not wanting to go to some fancy dinner for his father's company. He felt tears well up in his eyes as he sobbed out her name, mumbling over and over how sorry he was for being a brat, wishing he could wake up from this horrible dream when heavy footsteps approached him, booted feet stopping in front of the shaking boy.

Takashi paused, his heart beating franticly as he was absolutely sure this wicked man before him was going to kill him like he killed his father and mother, a quick glance at his father's corpse at the front entrance of the alley had him cowering against the building again. They were just going out for ice-cream of all things. It was a compromise his father had made earlier with Takashi in order to get him to stop whining about having to go to the banquet, knowing the promise of sweet cookies n' cream usually persuaded Takashi to listen to them, mostly when it came to attending events regarding Shirogane Industries.

Of course, neither of them would ever think some common street thief would be hiding out in an alley waiting to pounce on them, whipping out his knife when Takashi's father stepped in front to protect them just before the killer slashed his throat, blood pouring and flesh hanging down as he fell to the ground gasping for breath while his mother screamed pulling Takashi behind her before the thief advanced on them.

A high pitched whimpering sound had Takashi focusing once more on the looming man before him, wondering where that noise was coming from only to realize he was the one making it.

"I was expecting to take only them out tonight, but it looks like I got a small bonus as well." The man smiled wickedly as Takashi pathetically cried out for help, his weak cries lost to the sound of the usual nightlife. The man held out his stained knife, the jagged teeth scaring the small boy further as he retreated into his cocoon, wrapping his arms around his legs as he cowered away from the tall man. His hair was dark and flared out in the ends with sideburns and a beard short and thick. He only had one eye that Takashi could see, the other covered up by an eyepatch, enhancing his scary villainous appearance. His body was covered in a trench coat, hiding a very broad and tall figure underneath it.

Takashi gasped as the man suddenly gripped his left arm, yanking him closer as he stood over him. Takashi tried to back up, completely scrambling over his mother's corpse and ruining his own suit with the blood as the man stepped over him, placing a heavy boot on his chest, pinning him.

"Since I was ordered to bring a trophy with me for proof, might as well be you little one." He chuckled, the flash of the knife coming out had Takashi swallowing in fear as the man descended upon him in a hurry, one arm gripping the knife, the other pinning his left arm, to prevent him from moving. Takashi whimpered fearfully as the knife was flashed in the low light once more before a sudden sharp, burning pain flared through his right arm, just above his elbow. Takashi began screaming right away, doing anything to kick this man off him as the adult just continued sawing through flesh. He struggled in the man's grip, reaching out with his face to bite the man on his arm that had him howling. The man used his knife to try and aim for Takashi's neck, but he ducked just in time only for the edge of the knife to slice through the skin on the bridge of his nose, making Takashi cry out as blood dribbled down from the cut. The man continued his work, slicing through flesh and trying to saw through bone, his hands slippery from all the blood. Takashi began to lose consciousness, his vision flickering in and out when the man made some kind of disgruntled noise before standing up, leaving the faded kid on the cold ground.

He leaned over the boy once more, his actions quick and urgent, with a final swish of his  arm, Takashi  felt a few wet spatters fleck across his face before the figure stalked off leaving Takashi on the cold, wet ground.

He didn't know how many minutes or possibly hours he laid there in the dark before he heard hurried footsteps and muffled shouts. He watched blearily as figures crouched over him followed shortly by red and blue lights as well as more people. He felt weightless as he was eventually moved, unable to pay attention to what exactly was happening or what the paramedics were telling him. When he was finally strapped in the back, the people began attaching all kinds of wires and IV's, speaking rapidly. Even if he was completely conscious he wouldn't have understood them anyway. Takashi watched, his vision starting to fade away as an oxygen mask came into view, the paramedics wrapping it around his head gently. He felt his eyes close as the gentle rocking of the van lulled him to sleep.

He awoke a week later, confused and disoriented, feeling oddly lighter on his right half. The commotion he made awakening had several nurses and doctors rushing in, checking his vitals and charts, some speaking over each other how it was a miracle he had survived, how lucky he was. Once things were calm again, everyone having left including the police who came to ask him about what happened, and sadly informing him the death of his parents. Takashi wasn't too surprised, after all that blood he'd seen that night he would've been surprised if either of them had survived. He remained in the hospital another week with his parents bodies kept in the body freezer as requested by his grandfather. The news had reached them a few days after it happened with them living in Japan and they were making arrangements to move to America. So with his parents lying frozen in the freezer somewhere, his grandparents out of the country, Takashi was left alone in the world, staying in an orphanage temporarily until his grandparents were able to retrieve him. During that time, reporters and light paparazzi showed up constantly to snag pictures of the orphan billionaire but Takashi stayed indoors, preferring to barricade himself in his room until they gave up and left. Thankfully the police were able to keep them at bay during his parents funeral, his grandparents finally showing up after two weeks he spent trying to recover from the emotional and physical trauma. Afterwards, they headed back home, to the mansion Takashi grew up in, dreading returning to the big, empty home memories of his parents haunting him in every item inside. It wasn't easy and still wasn't trying to recover from something as terrifying as that night, but as time went on, Takashi almost became like his old self again.

His grandparents hired a caretaker named Mr. Coran to help care for Takashi who would bring along another charge of his, Allura Altea, heiress to her fathers fortune and daughter of the city's police commissioner. The two became good friends, and slowly but surely Takashi focused on rebuilding his life. Ultimately, his fathers company became his to inherit when he came of age, but the scars and his missing arm as well as the untimely death of his parents as well as the man who took their lives would haunt him forever.

                                                   *****

Altea City gleamed amongst the dark night, stray cars flying by too quickly on the city streets, people enjoying the late evening, most likely looking for the hottest nightclub to party at to forget their weekly troubles. Yet, there were others who preyed in dark corners, watching and waiting for their chance to strike on those to loosen their constraints, making them easy pliable targets for pick-pocketers, robbers, and worse, sexual predators.

It was all Shiro could think about as he stared down at the city beneath him, a feeling that would make most think themselves on top of the world, but Shiro felt only melancholy. A doomed sense of irrational responsibility to protect the city from the evils he knew lurked around every back-end alleyway, every upper-class street, and behind office doors of their elected government officials. Of course Altea City wasn't all bad, it was charming and deemed one of the best places to live. It had good schools, nationally ranked low prices for affordable living, and decent work wages for all classes. Still like any city, there were some Shiro turned as he felt another presence creep up behind him, steadily shiro turned without hesitation hand already glowing in warning.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, a low threat to his tone much to his regret as blue eyes he once regarded with fondness and trust dimmed as they gazed over his distrustful stance over to his powerful arm which hadn't lowered since the other's arrival.

“Same as you, just ‘taking a stroll’ or ‘getting some air’.” Blue eyes smirked as Shiro or as he was known in that moment, Black Paladin flinched at his words that he once used were now thrown back at him.

“Look Kashi, I’m-"

“Don't call me that. I have a role same as you when I’m on the job and know that others cannot know my real identity. I expect you to respect that as I respect your hidden identity on the job, Blue Claw.” He spoke bitterly as Blue Claw glanced down ashamed.

“You’re right. I apologize. I won’t do it again.” Silence fell between them once more. Neither willing to speak next for fear of saying something wrong. This was the first time Shiro had seen him, like this that is, in the two months after he had found out followed by their mutual breakup.

If only it were as mutual as Shiro declared it to be.

“It’s very clear tonight.” Shiro glanced up to the stars his companion was looking at, his mask not blocking his sight of the twinkling gems. A rather fond memory that reminded him of tonight drifted up, something wistful overcoming his silent brooding as he allowed himself to bask in that evening he spent with the man beside him, back when he was just known as Lance McClain, his then boyfriend, potential fiancé, now ex.

“Do you remember that night when it was just like this?” Shiro glanced over to see the same wistful gaze on Blue Claw’s face. He knew the night he was fondly remembering was the same one he was currently thinking of.

“Yes, I was just thinking about it.” Shiro admitted. Lance, or rather, Blue Claw gazed back at him, expression hopeful which stirred up an awfully familiar feeling in Shiro’s gut bordering on longing.

“I still think about it you know. It’s probably one of my favorites memories..of us.” He tacked on that last part hesitantly, inching closer just slightly until Shiro stepped out of reach, putting distance between them causing a disappointed pout to appear on Lance's hidden face.

“I would assume the other memories are lying to my face about who you really are, and all your little ‘heists’ you performed while I ran after you like some kind of messed up cat and mouse game.” Shiro coldly spoke, a small part of him berating himself for putting that sad defeated look back on Lance’s face. He remembered seeing a more worser version that night they had the fight, he never wanted to see that expression on Lance's face again but here he was unable to hold back his anger towards the man he loved.

“I can’t lie to you, I did enjoy my ‘heists’ as you call them but for the last time, lying to you was never something I enjoyed. Especially after I found out who you were-are. I’m sorry for not being honest but you were dishonest with me too!” Shiro sharply turned to him at that, failing to come up with any retort since he had also lied, technically.

“What do you want Lance? To bring up more painful memories of our time together?” Shiro demanded forgetting his earlier rule about keeping their identities secret. Lance sighed, something in his expression forlorn and stance drooping from exhaustion that had Shiro wanting to take the other man in his arms and hold him, he clenched his fist at that realization.

“No, I wanted to ask a favor from you, since you’re the only person I can think of who can help out.” Lance stated eye hardening as did his posture, gone were the flirty playful days that Shiro never thought he would miss when he was chasing this man multiple nights before finding out who he was underneath the mask.

“If its to steal something-"

“No! God no, its just... It’s Lotor.” Shiro's eyes flashed upon hearing that name. He watched as Lance drew more into himself, completely vulnerable and small-looking as he gazed back at Shiro pleadingly.

“I think he's got himself involved in something bad. I suspect it's his mother but he's been blackmailing me into helping him. He found out who I am and what I do. Shiro, if I don't do what he says he... ” Lance’s breath stumbled then which had Shiro stepping forward immediately arms raised but hovering unsure as Lance kept on speaking.

“He’ll find some way to take back Silvio’s life support. He won't be on the donor list anymore and no matter how much support your charity did for him and others, he I mean, Lotor, he’ll... He’ll find some way to stop it and I can't do that to my family, we've worked so hard to help him recover.” Lance’s breath catches then, an arm reaching up to wipe his cheeks under the mask before he took a measured breath and gazed back at Shiro.

“So I need your help. Catching these guys and stopping whatever plan Lotor has in mind. Because if we don't, alot of kids could wind up dying, not just Silvio. Call me whatever you want, I deserve it, but I'm not going to stand by while innocent little kids get hurt.” Lance finished looking surprised as Shiro stepped forward, reaching out a hand for a handshake to both their shock.

“I’ll help you. Meet me at the mansion tomorrow after work, we’ll see if we can find some information then.” Shiro stated as Lance shook his hand agreeing to their allyship.

“Okay. Thank you, I, I cant thank you enough for helping me out Shiro. Really.” Lance stated as Shiro turned to face the city once more.

“Well, as you know I'm fond of helping anyone in trouble. Plus, you kept my late night hobby a secret surprisingly when you had ample amount of blackmail on me to give to the press.” Lance turned towards him with a frown, eyes hardened as he spoke,

“I would never tell anyone about your identity. In fact, Lotor was going to tell you about my identity as part of the blackmail. I figured I'd play along just to keep yours safe and what he doesn't know is for the better.” Lance states which caused Shiro to glance at him shocked.

“Lance, I...” but his words fell short. He was taken back by how sincere and respectful Lance was right now. With a newfound respect he thought he didn't have any left for this man, he drew back to his full height side eying him as a slight curl of his mouth drew up as he spoke, “Well, I'm glad I never liked him then. Knew there was something wrong with him.” Shiro smirked as Lance giggled, playfully punching Shiro in his side as the two chuckled over a long-running joke between them, almost like old times.

"Oh stop, you didn't like him because we dated, duh." Lance teased as Shiro merely shrugged in response.

"Isn't that reason enough?" Lance simply rolled his eyes playfully before settling back on heels, gazing across the city scape, trying to ignore the flutter in his belly.

"Tomorrow then?" He prompted, meeting Shiro's determined nod and matching it with one of his own. "I'll see you soon. Don't stay up too late, you'll be cranky in the morning." Lance chastised earning a scoff and head shake from the other before racing off, leaping and parkouring off buildings that sent a racing spike of uncertainty through Shiro's heart each time his legs left the safety of a flat surface. He wasn't sure whether he was ready to face Lance again after all that happened between them and considering he was still processing that Lance was Blue Claw the infamous cat burglar of Altea City, he wasn't sure if he should be helping Lance to begin with but the idea that Lotor would do something so treacherous as to deny some sick little kids a chance to be on the donor list after all they worked so hard to get on after many years, Shiro knew he wouldn't resist lending a hand. A small fact he noted, Lance knew about and could possibly be exploiting for his own use, but as soon as the idea came to him it left with a forcible shake of his head. Even if Lance was trying to get back at him, he would never in a million years drag his family into his hair-brained scheme, especially given how nice his family is, so welcoming and so bright despite the dark shadow of death looming over them constantly. No, Shiro wouldn't add to their troubles and to do that, he would have to work with his ex, no matter how painful it might be even after these two months of silence on both their ends. With a final sigh, Shiro turned away from the cityscape, ready to head home while reminding himself it was not because Lance suggested he get some rest, he knew he had to be on his toes both mentally and physically if he was going to help figure out this case as well as juggle being around his ex whom he still held feelings for. As Shiro climbed into his vehicle The Black Lion, the memory he and Lance had discussed earlier floated back to his mind and this time, he allowed himself to reflect over it as he drove through the streets.

It had been a clear night just like tonight with Shiro having sat on his bed staring out the windows towards the city skyline much like he was just doing. He had that nightmare again, the same one thats haunted him since he was ten years old and would never forget even with all the drugs and alcohol in the world.

"Shiro?" a soft voice called to him causing Shiro to turn towards the newcomer, thoughts no longer reflecting on one of the darkest nights of his life and instead on the brunette sashaying his way towards the bed, his night robe swinging along with the movement as he moved, before crawling onto the bed, gently easing himself in Shiro's lap, arms winding themselves around the hero's neck and shoulders, nuzzling into his chest, bringing forth a soft chuckle from the man. His boyfriend's cat-like tendencies never failed to amuse him, and knowing what he did now, it made perfect sense regarding Lance's altar ego. There were definite signs and Shiro would forever kick himself for missing the most obvious of them.

"I come over here after a particularly stressful shift to cheer you up, and you're not even noticing the lengths I went through just to primp myself out for you." Lance pouted hilariously as Shiro chuckled apologetically.

"Sorry sweetheart, I've got alot on my mind tonight." Shiro gazed back out towards the windows again, eyeing the same familiar lights in he distance as Lance watched him with a worried expression on his face.

"Do you want to tell me about them? I'm here to listen and you know I love it when you share stories of your past." Lance prompted, rubbing a soothing hand over Shiro's chest that had the hero thinking it over before nodding along.

"Yea..that might help." Shiro smiled easily embracing and falling into the arms wrapped around his chest as a hand soothingly pet his head, reassuring strokes running through the strands of his forelock giving him waves of comfort as he began to ramble about his parents.

That night had been the night he shared what he remembered about the incident. Lance was supportive and patient throughout his rambling, interjecting with a hum or gasp when appropriate, and even when Shiro got frustrated with himself Lance was right there to pull him out of his head, keep him from drowning it felt like.

Reflecting over that memory usually felt soft and calm, like everything in his body was floating like some kind of high, now he felt only bitterness and sadness as he pondered whether all of that was also a ploy just to find out his identity. Shiro had to once again remind himself Lance wasn't that kind of person, he was too kind and thoughtful to pretend to care about someone emotionally and physically the way he cared about Shiro but ultimately, he still lied about himself and acted selfishly in regards to withholding certain information involving Shiro's 'night-time activities'. No, the issue wasn't Lance and whether or not Shiro could trust him, the person he still didn't trust was Blue Claw and if they would be working together, he would proceed with utmost caution because working with a thief like him proved you had to be careful around tricksters. They could weasel themselves into the darkest corners of your mind and no matter how charmingly goofy they acted, it was all just a game cause one-second they're flirting with you, and then the next thing you realize, they have a gun against your back, finger ready to pull the trigger.

[veilbetweendreamsandreality]

Out of Focus

[Part 1]

A/N: Jane discusses her dream with Borden in attempt to uncover what it means. Nightmares, daydreams and flashbacks are difficult to tell apart. With ghosts from her past, both recent and distant; Jane hopes to find answers before the world she knows collapses around her. Set between 1x03 and 1x04. Thank you to @indelibleevidence for keeping me going with this fan fiction. (Sources of mythology/folklore mentioned can be found here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 + Wikipedia. I have tried my best to be accurate when the above sources are mentioned and discussed in part 2. I hope to touch on them/explore them in later chapters.)

Jane placed her sketch book and pencil in her bag and grabbed an apple on the way out of the safehouse; the FBI detail opened the rear door of the car sat outside the house within two minutes of her packing her bag. She grimaced and buckled her belt, the caws from the ravens still rang in her ears, lost in thought she nibbled at the apple.

Borden's session was scheduled for 7:30 sharp in the morning, so her dreams and thoughts from the day before was as fresh as possible. In the SIOC lift, she closed her eyes head rested against the metal wall. Her feet and ankles were warm, stood the undergrowth of the forest; blood puddled around her feet. Ravens cawed, flying in a circle around the rotting corpse hooked up on a tree. Jane edged closer to make out the man's face hidden in shadow. The birds quietened, her fingers wrapped around the man's ankle - an attempt to take a pulse. Cold slime seemed to drip from the leg where she touched it. 'Why did you kill me?' A familiar voiced asked in a hoarse whisper. Jane looked up, 'I didn't. I'm sorry, I don't know who did.' She tapped the tree and climbed, with effort her body crawled amongst the branches, judicious the former SEAL unhooked the bearded man from the branch. The man landed on the ground, bones ground against each other as the leaves squelched.

Jane descended the tree and crouched by the man's side. 'How do I know you?' The man chuckled. 'Isn't it obvious? I trained you, on and off, from the moment you joined the SEALs.' He reached out and cupped Jane's cheek. Instinctive she held his hand, a sigh released the tightness in her chest.

'What your name? What does this place mean?' Jane probed.

'You will remember my name when it's time. As for the forest, have you walked through it yet?'

Jane shook her head. 'No I haven't. What does it mean?'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Look through the trees, reach the other side; then ask me again.' Shaky he rose to his feet, hands dropped to his sides, 'I can come with you; but only guide you part of the way, from there you will journey alone.'

The woman nodded. 'Come with me. Please.' The man smiled and led the way into the gloom.

The doors slid open, Jane focused on the reality of the New York Office in front of her. She nodded to people who greeted her with hello, making a beeline for Borden's office. The sooner the dreams were off her chest, the sooner they would start making sense. The weight heavy, her shoulders hunched as though a physical kettlebell was slung over her back.

Jane knocked on the office door. 'Come in', a voice called as she pushed open the door. 'Ah Jane, please come in. Please sit down.'

The fabric of the chair sank, bag on the floor Jane pulled out her sketch book. 'I want to discuss the dream last night. I think possible events or traumas from my past are trying to tell me ...something. There is this feeling of dread I cannot shift.' She placed the open sketch book on the table between them. Borden studied the images closely, the features of the tree, face and wings traced over with his fingertips.

'Extraordinary detail Jane. What happened in your dream?' Robert locked eyes with the amnesiac woman.

'What if the man in my dreams with the tree tattoo isn't Weller, I can never see his face clearly. What if it is a literal tattoo like mine are? Kurt- Weller he,' Jane chewed her lip, 'he would never have anything that elaborate.' She traced her index finger over the roots of the tree. 'Who this tree represents is - or at least, was - important to me before I lost my memories.' The brunette shifted her eyes away from Borden. 'Why did I leave him behind?'

'If that is what you believe. However, do not force the memories to come, they will come of their own accord.' The therapist narrowed his eyes at the bearded man's face.

She watched the therapist, curious. 'He was in my dream. He said he was one who trained whilst I was in the SEALs... he was in my first memory at the shooting range. He must have been important. He was the one there in my first memory and recurs quite often. But; I can't remember his name!' Jane's hands balled to fists. 'It's like a puzzle but have lost the final piece.' Her voice lowered to a whisper.

Robert nodded, 'The man in your previous safe house?' He turned the page, filled with ravens and targets hanging from branches.

Jane chewed her lip. 'I think I remember going hunting, I don't think I was hunting deer or birds; but someone - I don't know why, I don't know who. Yet I have this deep seated urge for answers; like a mission unfinished.'

After talking with the man; I was sat in the chair and the ravens circled. Then he hooked me up to an IV, I assume the bag contained the ZIP.

Jane chose not to voice those thoughts, something nagged at the back of her mind warned her not to. Instead she focused on her sketches once again, 'what do the ravens mean?'

The doctor smiled, 'Ravens can mean death or prophecy amongst other things, for example in Celtic mythology they refer to a number of goddesses including Nemain, whose name means depending on the source you research either "venomous" or "dose of poison". The goddess of fury and combat. She is one of three sisters who make up Morrigan. She is said to watch over warriors on the battlefield.' Borden lent back.

The woman nodded, a knot tightened in her stomach. 'The man with the tree tattoo, if - if he exists; will I be able to find him. Or would he be a ghost like me, and the man at the safe house?'

Borden smiled, 'You won't know unless you look.'

'He was covered in blood in my dream, as though I had shot him or hurt him in someway.' Jane traced the lines in her sketch, 'I hope he's alive.'

She groaned loudly, eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Already awake for the best part of five hours. A ragged breath drawn out to stop herself from shaking. Jane pressed her hands against her temples. 'Doctor Borden, what if I don't like what I find. Was I a bad person before all of this? Sometimes my tattoos feel like a second skin. A naga, waiting for it to be shed.'

Borden studied the woman in front of him, curious to see whether the memories will continue to trickle through in fragments or come thick and fast, forcing her brain to shutdown due to overload - unconsciousness.

'Whether you were good or bad, is down to your perspective of what's good and what's bad; regardless of words written in law.' He lent forward and looked at the sketches of ravens. Looking up at the uncertainty on her face. 'Perhaps one day it will be shed; when your case is closed.'

But am I a serpent?

‘Could the forest be more than just a metaphor from a fragmented memory?’ Jane asked, the question about serpents pushed to the back of her mind.

‘Dreaming of a forest could have many meanings - what did the forest look like?’ He took some notes of their session.

‘Decay, everything was either dead or dying; a thin layer of snow mixed in with the pools of blood.’ She held out her hands, trembled in front of her.

Robert nodded. The alarm on his wrist watch vibrated. ‘That’s time for now. Shall I pencil you in for same time tomorrow?’

Jane nodded, the feeling of numbness clung to her legs and spread throughout her body. A knock on the door, distracted both of them.

‘Come in.’ Borden called.

Patterson poked her head round the door, ‘Sorry to interrupt; Jane you’re needed in SIOC.’

The therapist pursed his lips, ‘We are done here.’

Jane gathered up her things and stuffed them into her bag, ‘Another hit on the database?’

The blonde grimaced, ‘You’ll have to see this one for yourself.’