#last fallen I got a bruise on my knee that was shaped perfectly like a lipstick mark

[so-sick-of-17]

I generally really think that taste is a personal thing and it shouldn’t have to please everyone. If someone likes something and it doesn’t impact my life, then why should I care? I love, tattoos, I follow a lot of tattoo pages on Instagram and posted a tattoo that is in the shape of a heart and looks like a really bad bruise. I guess it’s supposed to mean love hurts or some really stupid metaphor that borderline gives domestic violence, vibes. It is not my body and it does not matter that I dislike it. This tattoo and whoever likes it has no impact on my life. But I really think that people with such bad taste that they think that looks good , just shouldn’t exist. I might be a massive hypocrite but I don’t care. That might be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I’d be fine with one person getting a shitty tattoo, but having many comments thinking that it looks dope, nope!

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

The Glitch

I get the Broken Reality au is a haha funny joke but there’s been some legit great art for it and since Butterfly is over and I haven’t gotten into the groove of my other projects yet, I decided to try some flash fiction of my interpretations. Note that this is very small and informal; I used whatever idea came into my head over the course of an hour or so instead of the weeks of planning that go into my usual fics. This was an experiment for fun. But if people enjoy the concept, I may be tempted to expand on it.

Credit to @lollitree @moonpaw @gentrychild​ @owlf45​ and @cyber-phobia​ (I’m sorry if I missed someone I lost track of how many people were involved in this mess).

Content working for reference to infant death.

Please enjoy!

The city shut down for a typhoon warning.  Thunder rumbled in the distance.  Dark clouds blocked the sun so much that by mid-morning it still looked like it never bothered coming up.  And yet the humidity made it too hot for coffee.  Inko didn’t know how to feel.  Work would have been a good distraction.  But she didn’t want any coworkers or clients to see if today got to be too much.  And it was already shaping up to be.  She caught herself making two plates of food for breakfast.  

Inko sat alone in the kitchen.  She couldn’t bring herself to finish her own plate.  Sickness set in fast.  The food had been cold for a long time before she summoned the strength to get up and throw it away.  Then she stood over the open trash can a while, debating whether to try and hold it together, or just throw up and get it over with.  She eventually managed to keep her stomach steady enough to go back to her bedroom.  There was another trashcan in there anyway.

A sound stopped her.  From her office.  The distinct sound of something heavy falling onto the carpet.  Right as she walked past the door.

Please not this again…

She opened the door with her eyes closed.  Her mind conjured a familiar image.  A bedroom full of books and hero posters.  Bright colors and personal touches.  A child’s room.  Inko opened her eyes to her drab home office.  Some of the older case file binders slipped off the pile again.  She really needed to sort those into storage. Not today though.  She didn’t bother to pick it up.

Inko walked faster than normal the rest of the way to her room.  She doesn’t want to face the temptation to search for old toys she remembers storing in the empty closet.  Or search the walls for scuff marks from action figures tossed into them she could always see even after the walls were painted. She hid her planner on a tall shelf and put the ladder away to make it that much harder to go through it over and over looking for doctors’ appointments and school events she knew were coming up.  Finally reaching her bed brought no comfort.

Of course she knew today’s date by heart.  She hadn’t put it on a calendar in the fourteen years since she used to look at it every day.  Inko stuck her head under her pillows, as if they could block out the silent noise of her memories.  Memories of before, the time even when she was by herself, she was never alone.

Fifteen years now, today.  With a shuddering gasp, the tears finally came.  Thunder crashed outside.  It’s not fair!  Why is it still this hard after this long?  Phantom kicks in her belly joined the growing ice there.

The hardest part was she still felt like that sometimes.  Like she wasn’t really alone.  Inko didn’t believe in ghosts, but the lost of what could have been was more than haunting enough.  She felt it watching her.  Judging her. Waiting just long enough for her to settle down into a peaceful, content existence before it reared up to plague her heart all over again.  Cliché hauntings like spooky faces in the mirror or blood coming out of the drains would have been preferable.  Those would be generic enough not to remind her directly.

Rain started outside.  Her phone lit up with a notification she ignored in time with a thunderclap.  The storm was getting closer.

Maybe I should call Hisashi, the thought crossed her mind.  Maybe he’s going through this too.  She bit her lip bloody.  Her frustrated memories weren’t in question like the others.  Probably not though.  I don’t want to talk to him anyway.

Hisashi had been stuck in the denial stage of grief, which often came off as him acting like he didn’t take hers seriously.  Not a year, not even half a year looking back, after they came home from the hospital, he wanted to try again.  

“We can’t let mourning hold us up forever,” he said.  “And it’s not like we lost a once in a lifetime opportunity!  We’ve got at least another twenty years to keep trying!”

But we did lose him! she had wanted to scream.  Still did, years later.  Why didn’t he understand?  He was your loss too!  Inko wanted for the next roll of thunder, then shouted.  

“I don’t just want any baby!  I want Izuku!”

The lights went out.  The temperature rose five degrees instantly when the ceiling fan stopped going.  The rain stopped.

Power outage.  Inko sat up with a sniffle.  Turns out the notification was a warning about roving blackouts.  Of course.  Oh well. I wasn’t really in the mood to cook tonight any-

Thunder boomed even louder than before, making her jump.  Then another.  Lightning flashed outside at the same time.  It was right on top of her.

What?  I thought the typhoon wasn’t supposed to make landfall until later toni-

Another crash.  It vibrated through her bones.  Then another. The lightning lit up her whole room. Except for a shadow on the wall. Inko jolted to look, holding her breath, and found only her own shadow in the next flash.

“I’m such an idiot…”  She went for her phone again.  For peace of mind, she decided to use her data to check if an evacuation order went out. Or any updates at all really, since the weather came so much faster than the news said.  “Nothing,” she sighed annoyed.  “I hate being alone for weather like this…”

A new notification pinged.

[Mom]

Inko blinked rapidly.  The message remained.  All of her insides turned inside out in an instant, and she started crying again. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? No one ever got a chance to call her that.  She touched the note to open it, but nothing happened.  No app or source was displayed.  Nor did it go away after a few seconds like normal.  

“Wha- What’s going on?” she wept.  In a mix of sorrow and rage, she wound up to chunk the device across the room.  But she froze.

Outside her window, floating against the pitch-black sky, were two small orbs.  Perfectly circular and glowing.  Watching her. She didn’t dare move.  

Another ping.  She looked without moving.

[I’m sorry]

“…  What?”

For a moment, all the sounds in the world dropped out.  They all came back at ounce.

Lights flickered.  Both the ones inside and the lightning going outside.  Multiple strikes laid on top of one another.  No relief.  Thunder pounded over and over like a drum solo.  It shook the whole building.  Inko ran into the closet away from the window.  She slammed her hands over her eyes but it didn’t help.  Her terrified cried were whispers to the screams of the storm.

A child’s scream.  She heard it. Each flash of light came with a cry. The distinct sound of a little boy calling out in pain blended with unyielding nature.  It came from every direction.  Every hair on Inko’s arms stood up in fear.  She felt the charge in the air.  But she had to go out.  Her baby was crying for help.

She burst from the closet into the living room.  All the lights and appliances turned themselves on and off.  The TV showed only static between its flashes. Something drew her too it.  The storm was deafening.  It pounded through her head like a heartbeat.  The beats got faster.  The static flashes started to look like a face.  Her usual caution was abandoned as she fell to her knees and touched the screen.  The snow cleared for a single instant.  Just long enough to look like the blank eyes from the window.  She felt the heartbeat there too.

Then it stopped.  All of it. The noise and lights all went quiet and dark.  The TV went completely cold in an instant.  Inko, stunned, palmed over it looking for something.  Anything.  The pulse. Warmth.  A burnt fuse or faulty wire.  But nothing.  The rain started again.

She pulled her hands back to her lap.  Her heart was still racing and tears kept flowing down under her chin. She looked around.  Everything in the living room and kitchen looked the same. No sign of the earthquake-like convolutions the whole appartement experienced only minutes ago.  Inko combed the entire space for evidence.  An object knocked off the shelf.  A picture frame fallen from the wall.  The notifications.  Toys in the closet or scuffs in the wall.  Still not a sign.  She even stepped outside her door to check the sky.  Only light rain and shattered thunder, just like the news said the day before.

There was only one thing out of place.  Back in her bedroom, the bottom drawer of her nightstand hung open.  Inko had to steal herself before approaching it. There were only two things in there: a little green blanket, and a picture of the ultrasound.  The most recent one from her last appointment. The doctor said he was doing fine.

“Izuku…” she whispered to it in her hand.

She remembered the squealing little bundling being put in her arms for the first time.  The first time he smiled at her.  Teaching him to walk, then immediately launching into play.  Him coming home with bruises and scrapes after the kids at school were mean to him, and crying in her arms.  Then, him coming home with his first real friends in a long time. She made them all dinner. Katsudon.  That was Izuku’s favorite.

Only she didn’t remember.  The same way she didn’t really remember the toys and scuffs.  Those were fantasies.  Daydreams of what could have been.  She just thought about them so often they felt like memories. Especially today.  It was his birthday after all.  They’d fade back into vague dreams by tomorrow.  They always did.  

And she would be left with reality.  The silence.  The cold, still little hand between her fingers.  Soft cheeks without blush.  Eyes that never opened.  Clutching him too tight to her chest, knowing the second she let go he would be gone for real and it would all be over.  

But it was never over.  Inko went through this same torturous song and dance every year for fifteen now.  All the guilt and dread would subside slowly over the next one, until it all came back at once.  Just like this.

At least it’s done for now, she tried to reassure herself, climbing back into bed. It still wasn’t even noon yet.  Plenty of time for another breakdown.  Hopefully the next one won’t be, feel, as loud.  She sighed heavily into her sheets.  This sort of thing can’t be normal.  I should really try therapy again.

Against her better judgement, she kept the blanket out, and clutched it to her chest.  Static electricity pricked her fingers.  With her other hand, she reached across the bed, and tried to imagine someone else there. Not Hisashi, never him anymore.  Izuku.  He was fifteen and happy, but the storm was making him nervous so he came to lay beside her.  She remembered it like it was now.  If she closed her eyes, she could feel his warm, soft skin, with a healthy, if a little anxious heartbeat just underneath.  The mattress warped as he sighed.

“We’ll be okay.  It’s just a little rough weather,” she promised.

“Okay, Mom,” Izuku answered quietly.  “…  I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”  I’ll start trying to get myself together tomorrow.  For now, let me have this.

Izuku didn’t respond for a while.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.  Happy birthday.”

[rodeo-boots]

hello my dear! i was hoping if i could request some charthur! in many fics i see arthur constantly being comforted by charles, but never the other way around... so many, you could write charles returning back to camp injured/tired, and arthur has to care for him for the night? 🥺 i would love to see some trans!charles as well, but i won't ask for too much... nsfw is welcome, and as always, feel free to let your wonderful brain work its magic with any other ideas you have <3

Thank you so much for your request hny, I hope I did your idea justice <3

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 3122

Warnings: mild gore, angst

AO3

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Beaver Hollow was a shithole. The air was humid and dense, the mood at camp even lower than the temperatures could get during the nights. Arthur positively hated it, wished they had another choice but to take camp at such a spot. Breathing was getting harder for him by the day and some nights, he rode out only to take a deep breath of fresh air in the wide open meadows elsewhere.

He much preferred being anywhere but at camp, preferred to be far far away from Dutch and Micah, from those friends of his – whatever they might be called. These days, he couldn't even exchange a proper word with Javier or Bill anymore, met with stubborn phrases of loyalty whenever he dared to cross their paths.

The only reasonable people left were getting ready to pack up and leave, and Arthur wished they had done so earlier. He wished Molly had taken that chance while she still had it, wished that John and Abigail and Jack would be long gone by now. Not much longer, and he wouldn't be able to help them anymore, would succumb to the illness nesting within his chest and die the death that's always been destined for him.

He only saw one glimpse of hope and that was Charles, Charles who's loyalty had never solely belonged to Dutch but to a life of freedom. His only reason for being here was the younger man these days, the younger man who rightfully preferred to be anywhere but here himself. He had work on his hands, had assigned himself way too many tasks at once, trying to help out the Wapiti reservation while wanting to provide for the last folks at camp here.

Arthur wished he could help him, but just like Sadie, Charles treated him as though he was already standing in the grave.

Today, Arthur was solely here to catch up with Charles, like he was most of the time. He missed him, missed the times they had once spent together in a past that had been much better than what one might dream up now. All they could do was dream at this point, though Arthur's sleep was plagued by nightmares most of the time.

He had waited an entire day, had asked Sadie just before she could ride off to town. No one knew where Charles was, and by the time Micah saw him trail around camp like a lost puppy one time too many, he took it upon himself to finally give him an explanation.

"Your sweetheart's out huntin', got a little caught up it seems." The man grinned at him with his foul, yellow teeth, Arthur rewarding him with a grunt before he turned on his heel. If that was the case, and Charles had been out for days by now, something couldn't be right. The man was the best hunter they had, the best tracker left at camp. And no one seemed to care about the prospect of having lost him.

Arthur shook Micah off his tail, climbing into the saddle of his horse without missing a beat. Even though he wasn't as talented a tracker as Charles, the man had taught him a few tricks in the past, hopefully enough to come in handy now. He departed without looking back, spurring on his stallion with his heels firmly pressed into his flanks. Arthur snapped the reins, further on edge now than he had been all day. He had a bad feeling about all of this.

It took a while until he had picked up a trail of hooves, unsure if he even could identify them accordingly. His vision swam more regularly these days, his head feeling heavy as he peered down the side of his horse. He felt like he was getting sea-sick but he pushed on nonetheless, having only one goal in mind and that goal being Charles' safety.

All the time they had known each other, they had guarded one another's back better than their own. Arthur had no problem watching out for his friend, though Charles was way more than that to him.

They had ridden out together one too many times, had shared too many stories of the past and plans of the future to consider their relationship as professional and distant as it was meant to be. Often enough, they had kept each other warm at night, had shared their secrets and their doubts, and had listened to what the other had upon his heart.

Arthur's own now beat frantically in his chest. He hadn't noticed how tears had begun to cloud his vision the further he rode. It might be the wind stinging in his eyes, but the air was perfectly still. He brushed the back of his hand over his eyes, blinked, caught his breath and pushed onward. After all the time that had passed, he couldn't be sure how far Charles might've ridden, least of all with a fast horse like Taima beneath him.

He just hoped they were okay.

Day soon shifted into night, and without a trail to follow now that his eyes were no longer of use, Arthur decided to settle down. He didn't bother setting up his tent, didn't bother with much more than a small campfire to stay warm. His nose was running within the cold but he ignored that, too, staring down at his own two feet while his arms loosely hugged his knees to his chest.

A sound from aside tore him out of his thoughts, made his head snap up and his hand instinctively drop to his gun belt. "Who's there?" He asked, rasped more accurately, coughing against the scratchiness of his throat. Maybe he really shouldn't be out here, but it was much too late to turn back around.

He pushed himself up, his bicep quivering beneath his weight, the rustling within the bushes stopping, until a figure pushed through all the way. "Arthur?" He could identify Charles' voice well enough, would never be able to forget it, cursing under his breath as he stumbled to his legs to catch him. The man had to have found him with the last of his strength, had to have followed the smoke and the scent of the campfire until he'd eventually seen him.

Arthur couldn't tell what was wrong from one glance alone, pulling Charles closer to the campfire to examine him. It was dark by now, cold, the humidity making way for temperatures that were much too cruel for most humans to endure. But Arthur knew he was going to die anyways.

"Christ– what's happened t'you?" He muttered, not even daring to ask where Taima might be now. Charles' shirt was left in pieces, torn and bloodied, scratches and what appeared like bitemarks upon his skin. "A cougar?" Arthur asked, laying his friend's head down in his lap while peering down at him with concern in his eyes. The tears were back, but he didn't acknowledge them.

"Murfrees," Charles' voice came, little more than a gust of air, meeting Arthur's cheek as he spoke. The man tried to sit himself up, pushing at Arthur's upper arm to give him space. And while Arthur backed away enough to allow him to breathe, he didn't let him put any more strain on his wounds. He hadn't gotten much of a look at them until now. "What're you doing out here, Arthur? You shouldn't–"

Arthur softly shook his head, muffling a cough with the back of his hand. "Don't talk," he muttered, grabbing for the knife on his belt to help the other man out of his shirt. "S'this okay?" He asked quietly before bringing the blade to the hem of Charles' shirt, watching him swallow until he got a small nod in reply.

His lungs rattled when he exhaled, leaning further above his friend to cut through what was left of his shirt, his breath catching at the gruesome sight of his torso. "How bad's it hurt?" he murmured, catching onto the sweat upon Charles' forehead and the strain in his eyes. He knew he had to act fast if he wanted to help him, able to see that his wounds already had started to swell and shape bruises. When his friend only hummed, his eyelids fluttering in a way that made Arthur's chest constrict painfully, he reached for his satchel right away, pulling out the last bit of alcohol he carried.

Arthur didn't wish to do anything that might make his friend uncomfortable, but he couldn't exactly ignore the deep gashes on his chest, mumbling an apology while ripping fabric off his shirt and drenching it in alcohol. "Hold still," he advised, biting down on his lower lip as he started to clean up the wounds, applying minimal pressure and stopping every time Charles stirred beneath him.

He had never seen the other man in so much pain, had never seen him as vulnerable to begin with, cursing under his breath when he didn't find a set of bandages where he had thought they'd be. "Hang on–" Arthur got to his legs, cushioning Charles' head on his rolled-up bedroll before stumbling over to his horse, his vision clouded by black and white specks.

These days, he couldn't move as swiftly as he was used to anymore, grabbing the saddle for support and gritting his teeth, his free hand slipping into his saddlebag to blindly feel around for the bandages he hoped he carried. He returned to Charles' side right away, falling to his knees in front of him, not caring for the mud that smeared his shins and knees, hands shaking as he unraveled the bandages.

"You'll be alright– jus' hold on," he kept on muttering, even though Charles' eyes had long since fallen shut, his breaths much too shallow for him to see. "It's okay, please…" he wrapped the bandages around his torso, covering all the open gashes he could find, his muscles quivering when he lifted Charles' body ever so slightly. The man was deadweight in his arms, Arthur's lip trembling while his throat grew tighter, swallowing down a sob when he laid the other man down again.

Arthur took off his jacket, covering Charles as well as he could before taking his hands off of him entirely. "Charles? Charles… are you with me?" He couldn't stop himself from reaching out, cupping the man's cheek in his hand, his features peaceful, though that wouldn't calm Arthur just now. His skin looked much too pale, what he could see of it through the illumination of the campfire light at least, running his thumb over his chin as his eyes stayed on the other man.

"Don't you give up on me now," he whispered, his eyes glazing over further. "I– I need you, Charles." And while he knew that the other man was unable to hear him, Arthur couldn't stop talking, the panic within his chest spiking the longer he didn't get a response. "I promised you I'd get you out of here– that we'll run away, make a life for ourselves out West." His breath rattled, a sob leaving his chest after all. Arthur dropped his head to Charles' shoulder, his hands holding onto the man's upper arms.

He tried to calm his breathing, hot tears streaming down his cheeks to seep into the jacket he had covered the other man with. "You can do it– you have to," he mumbled, his voice barely audible through the tightness of his throat. "I still— I still haven't told you I love you." His shoulders shook, keeping his face buried within Charles' shoulder as he stayed hunched over, not caring for how hard it was to breathe like this.

*

The night had grown darker and colder around them, merely sounds of nature audible after Arthur had passed out from exhaustion. His hand held Charles' in a loose grasp, body curled up by the other man's side to offer him more warmth. The tears had left salty traces upon Arthur's cheeks, his lashes sticking together though he had no strength to open his eyes either way.

Maybe he'd die out here, with Charles by his side, wishing and praying the man hadn't passed away already. Arthur couldn't bear the thought that he might still be breathing while his friend wasn't, the worth of his own life much less than what Charles had amounted to by now. He had only ever wished for his friends and family to be safe, for his loved ones to escape this cruel and harsh life, but it seemed there was no escape. For even when Dutch wasn't involved, people got hurt.

Arthur didn't feel how the other man's fingers moved within his grasp, how Charles squeezed his hand tighter and stirred by his side. He was far gone by now, captured by a deep sleep he hasn't had any way to fight.

It only was with a tightening hold on his shoulder that he eventually woke, turning his head away as he rasped out one cough after another into the crook of his elbow. "Arthur." Charles' voice sounded faint, like it came from far away, even if the man laid right by his side. Arthur turned again, heaving his breaths as he rolled onto his back, his gaze meeting that of the man next to him.

He swallowed thickly, knowing that his eyes had to be reddened and puffy, not only from his illness but because of the crying he had done previously. "You look… horrible," Charles whispered, letting go of his shoulder to reach down and take his hand again. His fingers were clammy, but undeniably alive where they held onto Arthur's.

"I was always ugly," Arthur responded, wheezing out a laugh that turned into another cough before he knew it. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, relief encompassing his expression, though he knew that there was no reason to believe that the worst was overcome just now. "Let's get you home," he muttered, weakly whistling for his horse that had to be somewhere nearby. They had to leave this place, get Charles back to camp to try and stitch him up, hoping that they still had the supplies to do so.

Charles held onto him, not letting go even as Arthur tried to stand, softly shaking his head when he turned to look back down at him. "Leave me," he said. "I'll only be baggage to carry–"

But Arthur wouldn't hear that. "I ain't rode out here to abandon you," he grunted, gathering Charles in his arms as well as he could, his horse already waiting by their side. "We'll get you to camp, get you back on your feet and fix this." It was hard to maneuver Charles onto his horse, the man barely able to keep himself on his own two legs. He managed, anyhow, stubbornly bringing his own body into the saddle behind the man to make sure he wouldn't fall.

"We– we don't got supplies at camp. Don't make it hard on yourself, you can't… safe everyone." Charles' head lolled back against his chest, Arthur dearly trying not to listen to the words he had spoken in an attempt to stay composed.

"Then I'll bring you to the reservation, Rains Fall will—"

"I'm not gonna take anythin' away from them." Arthur snapped the reins, pushing his heels against the flanks of his horse to get the stallion going.

He stayed quiet, brows furrowed while he concentrated on the path ahead, leading his horse through the trees as fast as he could. "I'll get you to a doctor then… just hold on." Charles didn't raise his voice again, so Arthur focused on riding for now, unwilling to face the thought of leaving his friend anywhere to die.

*

They arrived in Annesburg before the sun had crept too high up in the sky, Arthur stopping a man on the streets to ask for directions to the nearest doctor's office. He had slung an arm around Charles' middle to try and keep him from falling off his horse, the man seemingly passed out once again.

Urgently, Arthur followed the directions he had been given, yelling for someone to come help him once he had found the building that had been pointed out to him. From there on out, everything happened much too fast. There were hands helping him off the horse, hands that pulled Charles from his grasp before he could do or say anything. He only saw how the other man was led away from him before he collapsed on the wooden porch to the building, waving people away that tried to pull him back to his feet.

*

Arthur woke in a bed with clean white sheets. The room was lit by sunlight, smelling of disinfectant and cleanliness. He stirred, his head pounding nastily when he tried to sit up upon the mattress. His first thoughts belonged to Charles, though he didn't need to search for long until he saw the other occupied bed within the room, grunting as he swung his legs over the edge to stand.

With uncertain steps, he made his way over to the other man, his clothes different from before, white and clean, feeling like nothing he had ever worn in his life. Arthur sat himself down on the chair by Charles' side, able to see that his clothes had been changed, too, the visible bandages around him clean.

He reached over, taking one of the hands the man had rested upon his stomach. His motion seemed enough to rouse him, Charles' eyes blinking open slowly, the dark orbs meeting Arthur's own soon enough.

"You okay?" Charles asked, his voice heavy from disuse.

Arthur stared down at him, shaking his head in disbelief before bringing the man's hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. "You's the one who nearly died, and you're askin' me if I'm fine." The corners of Charles' mouth lifted ever so slightly, Arthur releasing a light sigh. It was a relieved sound, fueled by his belief that now everything would turn out to be okay.

"What you said to me before, in the forest. Did you mean that?"

Arthur had to think for a moment, not having expected Charles to have heard any of his words at the time, nor for him to remember now. He nodded, kissing the back of Charles' hand once again. "Every word," he whispered, not embarrassed on behalf of what had left his mouth in a moment of desperation.

"Good." Another brief smile passed over Charles' features. "Because I do, too. And I want to keep living." He disentangled his fingers from Arthur's, reaching up to gently grasp his jaw. "With you."

[wilwywaylan]

Here’s to pretty boys who went to our beds

Fandom : Stand Still Stay Silent

Canon-compliant, post-Adventure 1, Emil x Lalli, 5104 words, gen / K+

Béta-ed by the amazing @paon-de-jour​ ♥♥

Emil just wanted a bed for himself and some peace, but Lalli has other plans...

Please pretend that they stayed one night in town before leaving for Reynir’s place.

Also on AO3 !

-

Emil looked around the room, appraising each and every minute detail. It was nothing more than a small, square space, with a single person bed, a small nightstand that had seen better days, and a giant dresser that dwarfed the whole room. Impression made even stronger by the wooden floor and panelling that tried to pass as dark and polished, but was certainly black due to old age. The only fanciness came from paper-thin drapes hanging in front of the tiny window, and a copper lamp set on the nightstand. Emil could maybe have tried to get something a little better, but the cost would certainly have climbed to high heavens, and he wasn't even sure there was anything better in that hotel. And after months spent in cramped spaces with no privacy, way too much noise, and sometimes no walls, it felt more welcoming that any house Emil had ever set foot in.

He set his bag at the foot of the bed - the room was so narrow that it ate almost all the space between the furniture and the wall - but right now, the only thing that mattered was the mattress, and a great question : would it be comfortable, or hard as a plank ? He sat down, carefully. And promptly let himself fall backwards. Oh, it was comfortable. It was better than comfortable. It was soft, it was sinful, it was heavenly. It sank under him, hugging his body in a warm embrace. What was in it, Emil didn't know. Feathers, straw... didn't matter. But it was nice. It was perfect.

He quickly undressed, setting his clothes at the end of the bed, and slid under the - soft, heavy, warm - blankets. The bedspread on top of them looked handknit - handknit ! Emil burried his face in the pillow that was maybe even softer than the mattress, breathed in the smell of soap and something that was certainly not that of a pillowcase that hadn't been washed for months. He didn't want to leave, ever. No way he could go back to a measly cot in a boat or a tank. He burrowed a little deeper under the covers, enjoying the warmth, and the quiet. After months locked in a metal can or being in the wild every night , the silence of the night was almost deafening. No motor noises to keep him awake, no cat stepping on every bed in the middle of the night, no crew mates to fill the air with random sighs (Tuuri), grunts (Mikkel), mumbles (Reynir and Sigrid) or all those mixed with tossing and turning (Lalli). Nothing but the cracks of the rafters over his head, and a gust of wind from time to time, gently whistling around the building, rattling the shutters against the wall. Any other time, he would have got up to secure them and stop that noise, but the effort needed was way too important right now. Already, his eyes were closing, his body was getting heavier and heavier. Before he could muster the energy to get up, he had fallen prey to sleep.

To shoot up only an hour later, heart knocking against his ribs. That last crack hadn't come from above like the others, but somewhere from his left. Something was out there, something that could catch him at any time, and he had fallen asleep like an idiot, without a vigil, and he had discarded his weapons, oh no where were they, he only had a few seconds before...

The shutter rattled again, managing to cut through the rising panic and bring him back to his senses. There was no troll, or giant, or any creature prowling in the dark. He was not outside in the Silent World, but in a small hotel in a secure town, in a regular bed, with a roof over his head and a hefty meal in his stomach. There was no weapon beside his bed, because there was no need. He was safe.

But that didn't explain the crack that had woke him up. And another, even closer. Troll or not, something was coming nearer. Emil patted the nightstand, trying to find the copper lamp and a way to light it, when something landed on the bed, sinking the mattress.

If someone had asked him under oath to tell the truth, Emil would still deny that he let out anything else than a small noise, and certainly not a piercing shriek. Something knocked him lightly on the side of the head.

- Stop, stupid.

Emil's heart jumped once more, but it was more surprise than fear. Now that he'd grown accustomed to the darkness, he could vaguely see a human-shaped shadow beside him. A human-shaped with silvery hair barely visible and large, blue eyes, faintly glowing in the darkness.

- Lalli ? What are you doing here ?

Emil realized then that he had spoken entirely in Swedish, and probably too fast for Lalli to grasp what he was saying. But his point seemed to reach him, because he said, with a gesture that could have been a shrug :

- Tired. Sleep.

The words took two seconds to make their way through the fog of sleep still wrapped around Emil's thoughts, and not just because of Lalli's accent. In fact, it had got a little better lately, better at least than Emil's Finnish. But good Swedish or not, there was no reasons he cound envision that would bring the mage on his bed in the middle of the night. Maybe it was another trick of his mind, like imagining Lalli in his dreams. If it had been a trick, which wasn't neither here nor there.

Lalli must have grown impatient, because he pushed him aside. Or tried to, but his arms weren't strong enough to do more than move Emil an inch to the right. At least it made his intentions crystal clear, which only served to confuse Emil even more. He couldn't remember when or if he'd ever seen Lalli sleep in a bed in a normal way, only under beds, in small spaces, or curled up in a seat in a way oddly reminiscent of a cat. But in a bed ? No, never. Which made even more puzzling the fact that not only he wanted a bed, but he seemed to have set his mind on Emil's bed. It... didn't make sense. Not at all.

- Lalli, Emil said cautiously, this is my bed, and...

- I know. Move.

- You don't have a room ? Didn't Onni...?

Lalli scoffed at the suggestion.

- Move, he repeated.

Emil could have thrown him out. He could have nicely suggested that he went back to his own room to enjoy his probably-as-comfortable bed or his probably-not-as-comfortable floor under said bed, or a tent shared with his cousin, or wherever he wanted to spend the night. He could have defended his right to his own bed after months of rooming with the noisiest roommates in the world. He deserved it, dammit ! He had earned it !

Instead, he laid down again and moved against the wall, leaving some space. Not much, it was still a single-person bed, and not a very large at that. He was expecting Lalli to lie down beside him, like they had done every time they had shared their sleeping quarters. At least the Finn didn't take too much space, built as he was, as long as he didn't flap around too much. He certainly didn't expect Lalli to just pull the covers and flop down. On him. His head hit Emil on the chest, knocking the wind out of him and effectively cutting down on all his protestations. In the several seconds it took for him to get his breath back, Lalli had settled on him, one leg thrown over Emil's and an arm around his waist. His head nestled on Emil's shoulder, moving a little to make himself more comfortable. And he stayed like this, perfectly happy with the situation.

Which wasn't Emil's case. Not that he was complaining, but... Okay, he should be complaining, a lot. Saying something, anything, because this certainly wasn't normal. There wasn't any way Lalli was right now lying on top of him like he was just another pillow, not flinching away from the contact. It was just a dream. That, or Lalli was very, very drunk. And, then, it was very, very bad of Emil to get any enjoyment from the situation. He needed to do the right thing, before Lalli came back to his senses and killed him very gruesomely.

Carefully, Emil extracted his hand from where it was stuck, between the mattress and the wall, and shook Lalli's shoulder. He was immediatly swatted at.

- Stop, Lalli growled.

- You're not... Emil started, but he couldn't get farther.

- Tired. I sleep. Talk in morning.

His voice seemed assured enough for him not to be drunk, and enough also for Emil to guess that he wasn't going to move anytime soon. Emil could have moved him himself, rolled him out of bed and in the hallway, leave him to find his way back to his room on his own. But he didn't.

Instead, he did his best to make himself as comfortable as possible. It was made a bit easier by Lalli lying on top of him instead of beside him, leaving him a bit more space. And a lot, a whole lot harder by everything else. First, because nothing, be it in the army or during their little expedition, could have help him get ready for someone sleeping on him. It was... weird. He knew how heavy Lalli was (which was, not a lot), he'd carried him or dragged him around enough to know it. But right now, he was heavy enough to pin him to the mattress, keeping him where he was with no chance of escape.

Second, because Lalli was, there was no other way to put it, pointy. His cheekbone was digging in Emil's collarbone, painfully pressing against it each time he moved. His shoulder was tightly squashed against Emil's, and his knee was poking him in the thigh. He'd probably have bruises in the morning, he thought a little bitterly.

And third, because it was starting to be uncomfortably hot under the blankets. Lalli's body was giving an impressive amouth of warmth, and wrapped as he was around Emil, he was acting like some kind of weirdly shaped comforter. Except for his feet, which were still ice cold, and pressed against Emil's legs to warm them. Leaving, of course, two freezing spots on his skin.

Still, Emil didn't even try to make their respective positions better, only pushed the blankets down a little, burrowed his head in the pillow that Lalli had left him, and closed his eyes. But even exhausted as he was, sleep evaded him. He could feel minutes pass, one by one, jumping lightly over him, his eyelids growing heavy... but still, he was wide awake, glaring in the darkness at the ceiling he couldn't see. Come on, he had managed to sleep through the noise of the tank, the snores of three-to-five people (depending on the night), being chased by monsters, and now, such a minor inconvenience would be too much for him to sleep through ? Nonsense !

But could he really put Lalli down as an annoyance ? Granted, he was annoyed, yes. That he couldn't get the privacy and full bed he had been yearning so much after. But as the minutes passed one by one, slowly becoming an hour, Emil realized that he cared less and less about it. Maybe he was finally falling asleep. Or maybe he just couldn't stay mad at Lalli for more than a few minutes. Even at his worse behavior (the breakfast incident was coming to mind), Emil kept coming back to him, trying to make himself understand, and to break the icy demeanor. Well, it seemed to have worked wonderfully, if their position was anything to go by.

The Finn didn't seem to have the same hang-ups as he did, and had fallen asleep. His breath was even, and the grasp around Emil had relaxed a little. He didn't seem disturbed by the situation. The situation he'd orchestrated and that was entirely his doing, okay. But still. For someone who was so skittish and only slept in closed spaces, he looked perfectly fine sleeping in the open, in such proximity of someone whom he could barely communicate with out of the dream realm. Very unaware or uncaring of the predicament he had just thrown Emil in. Was he even conscious of it ? Or did he just get so used to sharing sleeping quarters that he just didn't realize how someone would feel in this situation ?

Because he was feeling weird, and it had nothing (next-to-nothing) to do with the normal weirdness of the situation. Unless feeling one's cheeks burn and one's pulse running fast were usual symptoms of having one's private space invaded. His heart was beating wildly against his ribs, so hard that Lalli would surely hear it and wake up. And then call him stupid. Which seem to be more and more common, these days. Not the stupid-calling part, even if Lalli still used the word a great deal.

He hadn't thought that much, at the start. Since the first days of the expedition, he'd taken an interest in Lalli. Maybe because the mage was intriguing, with his weird manierisms, his distant attitude and his piercing eyes. Maybe because he was aloof, and being ignored didn't stand well with Emil. He had tried his best, trying to get to him, seeking his attention, talking to him despite the barrier language, getting only weird glances and muttered groans for his efforts. But they had grown closer, slightly. The pull had grown stronger, keeping Emil drawn to Lalli, more and more, and Lalli, in turn, became a little less cold, a little... friendlier, even ?

And when he was around him, when he managed to make him lose the glum expression, even for half a second, even just a slight quirk of the lips, when Lalli let his shields down around him and acted a little more comfortable, Emil's heart started beating a little faster, and he felt... strange. The first time, he had thought he had caught a fever, and actually started checking everywhere he could if he wasn't developping the first traces of the Rash, even knowing very well that he was immune. But there was nothing, and the feeling had receeded. At the time, he had felt relieved. Until Lalli almost-smiled at him, and it came back, the heart, the heat, and clammy hands at the same time. And again, and again, until Emil started to see a pattern. It was Lalli. A Lalli-induced fever. That was stupid, but he couldn't deny the link. And still, he kept seeking Lalli's presence, because being with Lalli made him feel weird, but there was also a feeling of elatement when he could reach him, a rush of energy that made him smile no matter what.

And then, of course, the whole dreamscape adventure happened. It had been weird, to be suddenly able to communicate with Lalli perfectly. To discover that the Finn was way less silent and drawn than Emil had first thought, quite sarcastic, even, and seemed very perfectly comfortable with sharing a space with him. It had been fun, in a way, enjoyable, even, to spend time together, to chat like that, and Emil did regret not being able to do it anymore.

(His mind carefully danced around the events that led to said dreamscape adventure, pushing aside the fear at being lost far away from the others, at seeing Lalli's lifeless body, the low-key despair of dragging said body across a snowy waistland without a hint of relief in sight, the pain in his arms, his legs, his head, burning and freezing, the hunger, and the loneliness, and above all, the terror, neverending, squeezing his heart, and him counting the steps as not to think about what would happen sooner or later, counting the steps at day and Lalli's breaths at night, scared of them stopping and not going again...)

Maybe that was the reason of Lalli's presence right now. A way of thanking him for not abandonning him to the dusklings or in the middle of the snow, of taking care of him even in the face of impending death. Had he caught on Emil's efforts, or maybe those feelings that even he couldn't put a name on, that made him seek the Finn through his worst moods and stay with him no matter what ? Did he see his presence tonight, the was he was holding on Emil, as some kind of... reward ? A way of getting even ?

Emil's chest suddenly felt tight, and a sharp pain on the side made him wince. No, that could be possible, he didn't want to even entertain the thought. Lalli didn't just decide to come and sleep in his bed just in exchange for saving his life, like he would have bought him dinner or a trinket or something. He would certainly have retorted that Emil did choose to help him and besides, he had already thanked him. And they had saved each other's lives enough by now not to think that one needed to find a way to thank the other. No, it wasn't just some kind of weird, emotionless transaction. It couldn't be ! He didn't want it to be ! He didn't want it to be just give and take. He wanted it to be as meaningful for Lalli as it was for him. He wanted Lalli to want to be with him, to seek his companionship as Emil seeked his. He wanted Lalli to appreciate him. To like him. And the weight of that realization was as crushing as the one on his chest.

Lalli suddenly stirred, his arm tightening around Emil. His foot shot up, hitting him in the shin and made him yelp. The noise didn't wake Lalli up, but he started trashing around, his hand reaching up to grab at his hair and pull. All idea of sleep left Emil's mind ; Lalli's nightmares usually meant troubles incoming, and incoming fast. He listened intently, trying to pick on anything that would mean troubles, a noise, a signal, anything. But the night was silent, beside the small rustling of the blanket and the strangled whines ripped out of Lalli's throat.

A pitpating outside the door drew Emil's attention. Cat paws. A cat was going down the hallway. And it didn't seem to hurry in any way. Which meant that there wasn't any danger around. Good. Then Lalli's nightmare was just that, a nightmare. This came as no surprise for Emil ; with everything he'd seen and been through, it was even a wonder that he had been able to fall asleep. He'd probably had nightmares every night since he'd managed to get out of the dream world, and even before. And he had had to deal with them alone, without anyone to help. Not that Emil knew how to help someone he could barely have a conversation with, especially when one was awake and couldn't get into the dreamscape. And Lalli hadn't shown a thing to anyone, dealing alone with hurt and fear. It hurt, it hurt a lot to think of his friend having to go through it alone.

Gently, Emil laid a hand on Lalli's forehead, slid it over his eyes. It had worked, that time, in the cat tank, and it worked again. Lalli emited a low noise, that "mrrp" that sounded so much like a cat purring, and relaxed. His hand opened slightly, the fingers still curling around Emil's collar. His breath evened out, stroking Emil's throat, making him shiver, but he didn't push him or turn away. It was a mark that Lalli's sleep had become peaceful again, at least for the time being. It made Emil smile, to see that he could still be of help for Lalli. Of course, he wouldn't be able to do that every night, unless they slept in close quarters on the regular again, like they did in the wild, or shared...

Emil shook his head to push the idea out of his mind. Not because it was in direct opposition with what he wanted (privacy, a bed just for him), but because it made him feel strangely... giddy. No, he didn't want that ! He wanted his comfort, he wanted to be left alone ! But even as he tried to focus on this, on a bed larger and larger each time, he didn't feel as elated as he was previously. He was trying to picture the numerous pillows and the heavy comforter, when Lalli moved a little against him, mrrping again, and Emil immediatly forgot about his plans.

Very gently, he unstuck his arm from where it was caught under Lalli, and brought him around the Finn's shoulders to pull him a little closer. He didn't dare turning on his side and holding him fully. Even now, he wasn't sure of how much exactly Lalli would accept from him, and he didn't want to start pushing him too far. Especially not now, when he was sleeping and could not agree or disagree. So he stayed as he was, enjoying the warmth of Lalli against him, the lull of his breath and the low sighs he gave here and there. The awkwardness had dissipated, leaving him with contentment, and horribly exhausted. But it didn't matter if he could stay like this, Lalli's head on his shoulder and his arm around his waist, safe against him.

That's how sleep claimed him, holding Lalli, the blankets tight around them like a cocoon, keeping them close.

--

Emil awoke with a start. He'd been sleeping so peacefully, perfectly settled in his bed, when the shutters had slammed together with a bang. He sat up, heart beating wildly. It took him a second to remember where he was and what he was doing here. Sleeping, right. Enjoying the real bed with a real mattress. Spending a real, restful night in a real room. He let himself fall down, relishing in the dip under him. He spread his arms, almost hitting the wall in the process, and let himself drift away again.

Wait.

There was something wrong with the picture. He hadn't laid like that last night, occupying all the space he could, because there was no space to speak of, courtesy of Lalli. He could still remember the Finn's weight on his shoulder and how his arm had grasped him around the waist. But there was no trace of Lalli in the room bathed by the early morning light. No warmth beside him, no footprints on the floorboards, nothing. Like he had vanished into thin air. Or rather, abandonned ship as soon as he could.

Emil tried not to feel too disappointed at the thought, but he could have guess it would end like this. Lalli may have looked for a place to sleep, but it was on his terms. Being held too close by Emil certainly didn't factor in his decision, and he probably had run as soon as he realized their closeness. He probably hated him for catching him in such a position, now, and he would certainly never talk to him again. Not that Emil minded, of course. His bed would be his and his alone.

... oh, who was he trying to kid ? Of course, he would mind ! He had made so many efforts to get closer to Lalli, and he had thrown everything out the window because he couldn't keep his hands to himself. Stupid. Lalli was right. Stupid, stupid Emil ! He would have slapped himself, hadn't he been afraid of leaving marks on his cheeks. Maybe he could fix it by going into the dreamspace and explain everything to Lalli ? But one needed to be asleep for that, and he certainly wasn't ready to go back to sleep. Not to mention Lalli was awake, and wouldn't be there. Solace wouldn't come from there. He needed to find a way to apologize, and to apologize well, or Lalli would surely hate him forever.

The door opened, and Lalli walked in, a large serving of cookies in hand. He sat on the bed, plate balanced on one pointy knee, and started eating. Emil stared at him, bewildered. Here he was, trying not to feel like his heart was ripped out of his chest, and Lalli was just munching on his cookies like he didn't have a care in the world, like nothing had happened ! How could he ! Damn bloody Finn !

Lalli must have sensed Emil's eyes on him, because he suddenly turned towards him.

- What ?

Emil scrambled to find something to say something that Lalli would get.

- Last night... he started.

And stopped, because what could you add to that ? "Why did you decide to sleep in my bed and also cuddle with me like some kind of very big cat, and also I liked that because I've just realized I like you and it felt very good" ? First, he didn't know how to say that in Finnish, he had barely reached "good night", and Lalli's Swedish was only a smidge better. Second, because he wasn't sure this wouldn't get him on the business end of Lalli's knife. Or worse, rifle. In fact, he didn't know which option he prefered, because Lalli was deadly with both.

- What ? Lalli repeated, in the same tone.

He was expecting an answer, and probably wouldn't let him until he got it.

- Last night, Emil tried again. You.... angry ?

Lalli stared at him for a few seconds.

- No, he finally answered with a frown. Tired. Not angry.

- No, no, I mean... You know... the...

The words were evading him, so Emil made a tentative gesture of hugging someone. Lalli kept staring, in the same way he did that first time on the train, the one that made Emil shiver, head tilted on the side like a curious cat.

- No, he suddenly said.

And he went back to eat his cookies, while Emil wondered if one could die of a mix of embarrasment, anger and frustration. He certainly felt like it. But still, he refrained from screaming, pushing Lalli on the floor or grab the pillow and deck him on the head. That would certainly get him punched or worse.

- You didn't ? I mean... you're not... angry ? with ?

- No.

It was a little louder, and Emil got the message. With a sigh, he moved against the headboard and leaned his head against it, closing his eyes. Good, Lalli wasn't angry against him. And still, he couldn't help but feel a little... disappointed ? Because Lalli hadn't mentionned anything about his reasons, or would he do it again, or... anything, really. And certainly nothing about doing it again sometimes. And it would have been a lie to say that it didn't hurt a little to see him so... aloof again, like it didn't hold any meaning for him.

The mattress moved, and he opened his eyes, expecting Lalli to have grown tired of his silence and apparent moodiness and left. Instead, the Finn had come to sit beside him, the now half-empty plate still on his lap. They were so close that their shoulders were touching, and their legs pressed together, lightning each and every nerve of Emil's on fire. He didn't dare looking in Lalli's direction, didn't even dare breathing, less the moment be broken. Twenty-four hours ago, he was considering being able to have a conversation with Lalli the biggest step in their friendship. But in the last eight hours, Lalli had come in close contact with him, willingly, not once, but twice, and had told him he wasn't angry at being held through the night. From him, that was a great leap, and Emil tried very hard not to dwell on it too much, lest his heart start running way too fast again. He tried to focus on something, anything, how many explosives he should buy later, and how Reynir's hair was still a mess, everything to forget their closeness, but every thought was shattered each time Lalli moved and his leg brushed against his, turning his brain into mush.

Emil suddenly realized that Lalli seemed to be inching towards him. While two minutes ago, their knees and shoulders were barely touching, Lalli's hip was now against his, pointy as ever, digging into his own luckily protected by the waistband of his pants. And he didn't seem bothered by it. Granted, he still had a plate of cookies to distract him from the issue, but still. Emil knew him enough to know that food wouldn't be enough if he was really upset or uncomfortable.

On a whim, he unstuck his arm from between them, and carefully slid it behind Lalli. The Finn glanced at him, but otherwise didn't move. Fine. So far. Now, the most difficult part. Slowly, Emil lowered his hand, put it around Lalli's shoulder. This time, the chewing stopped.

- Does it... can I ? Okay ? Emil quickly asked. I should have asked before but... I... okay ?

There was an uncomfortable silence, long enough for Emil to start regretting everything he ever did wrong in his life, which seemed like a lot. He wanted to take his hand away, but maybe it would have been worse. Lalli was now looking at him, and there was something in his eyes (weird, unreadable, beautiful) that made Emil want to run away, or maybe stay where he was forever. But finally, Lalli broke the spell.

- Okay, he simply said.

It was just a word, but one that set Emil's heart to fly. He could feel his face break into the widest grin. Lalli didn't comment on anything, but he held out the plate, offering him one of the remaining cookies. Emil took it and munched happily on it. He didn't know exactly why Lalli did agree to that, why he was now standing so close to him, and there was still the why of his presence this night. All those points were starting to trace a pattern pointing in a satisfying direction, but he didn't want to think too much about it. Just staying like this was enough for him, and for Lalli too, he hoped. Maybe he could ask him later, when they both shared the dreamscape again. But for now, this was enough. And maybe, the next night, Lalli would come and steal his bed again. Emil was certainly looking up to that.

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 9

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit/18+ warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark 

Bucky was honestly impressed by Penny’s pain tolerance. Or maybe her stubbornness. He wasn’t sure which had seen her half way through a very thorough spanking with minimal noises, but it was only at swat 27 out of 50 that small sounds of pain started escaping her. Nothing loud or obvious, just short whines that could’ve been easily mistaken for exhales if he didn’t have enhanced hearing. Her hands, held carefully in his metal grasp behind the small of her back to prevent thrashing, were tightened into fists, skin going whiter with tension after every smack.

At 40 she was audibly whimpering and he could smell the salt of her tears. Her ass was dark red, hot to the touch, and would be sore for several long days. It was only fair, she’d broken Steve’s nose and stabbed him with a fucking fork— not being able to sit right for a week was almost not enough. But it was also her first punishment, it wouldn’t do to go too hard right off the bat.

At 44 the door to the apartment opened and Steve walked in with two black eyes, nose and thigh already beginning to heal. At 45, a loud cry escaped and Penny started openly sobbing. If it weren’t for his legs trapping hers, she would have started kicking out of desperation.

“Almost there baby,” he cooed, laying another hard swat down.

She wailed in response, going boneless over his lap. The high-pitched cry turned Steve’s stomach and he started forward. Bucky hurriedly gave her the last four before the blond could intervene, seeing the intention on the man’s face. Steve swept her up immediately when he got close enough, tucking her into his chest tightly.

“Shhhh, baby, you’re okay, you did so good,” he murmured, rubbing carefully up and down her back while she clung to his torso, legs hooked over his hips, “it’s all over baby, you’re done.”

Bucky came up behind her, running a hand through Steve’s hair and down his cheek, gently sweeping his thumb over the bruise under his left eye. There had been multiple times when he and Steve got into physical fights and wailed on each other. He’d certainly given his boyfriend much worse injuries than what Penny had done.

“I’m gonna go grab some arnica cream and her shorts,” he told the blond quietly, motioning towards the couch.

Steve nodded, maneuvering to lounge on the couch with Penny lying on her front against his chest. She was still sobbing and he couldn’t blame her; Bucky had made sure the spanking would leave a remind of her behavior for days. He gently moved her to lay on his thighs, turned more on her side than flat on her front and pressed her cheek into his chest.

“I know baby, cry it out,” he kept his tone soft and gentle, pleased by how she clutched his tank top in her fists, pressing as close to his torso as she could.

He shifted her again when Bucky came back, rotating her enough that her reddened behind was easily accessible. The brunet was almost treated to a foot to the face as Penny tried to scramble away at the first brush of his fingers against her burning skin. Steve tightened his grip, hushing her quickly when she cried out.

“Bucky’s gonna make it feel better baby, hold still.”

“No please!” Penny was wailing, desperately trying to thrash away, “please, please, please—”

“Penny, baby, breathe,” Steve hefted her slightly higher against his chest, adjusting his grip and pressing his cheek against the top of her head, “he’s gonna put lotion on that’ll make it feel better.”

“Please don’t, it hurts please, please don’t!”

Bucky sighed quietly and got off his knees to sit on the edge of the couch by Steve’s hip, laying his hand on her back, “I’m gonna be as gentle as I can sweetheart.”

She cried through the whole process as he carefully applied the arnica cream to her bruising skin, begging him to stop whenever he hit a particularly sensitive spot. Both Steve and Bucky winced the whole time, her pain giving them almost physical aches.

“Shhhh, it’s done baby, I’m done,” Bucky cooed softly, “we’re gonna skip your panties, I brought some really soft shorts.”

“No, no, no, no, no…” it was sobbed and Steve had to hold her arms tighter as Bucky slipped her feet into the silk shorts, carefully pulling them up her legs.

She screeched, more in fear they assumed than pain as Bucky pulled them over the curve of her ass and adjusted the band around her waist. They were the softest pair of shorts they’d bought her, pale pink and purchased specifically with punishment aftercare in mind. Both were hoping spankings would be enough, they didn’t want to have to graduate to more painful punishments.

“See baby, they’re soft,” Bucky rubbed his hand over her exposed thigh gently, “and the fabric’s nice and cold.”

“Let’s move to the bed,” Steve nodded towards the door to the bedroom, shifting carefully on the couch before swinging his legs over the edge and standing with Penny clutched to his chest.

Bucky manipulated her legs to tuck around the blond’s hips, making sure there wasn’t unnecessary pressure on her ass before moving ahead to open the door. He watched his boyfriend carry her through and lay down on the bed with her still on his chest, never shifting her more than a few inches. He felt a slow smile crawl across his face as she clenched the fabric of his tank top in her hands, pressing her forehead to the bare skin above the neckline. Penny would inevitably pull away from him as the one who delivered the punishment, but Bucky didn’t mind too much if it meant he was privy to sights like the one in front of him.

Steve was taller than him by a few inches, but much slimmer. His shoulders were wide, his torso tapered sharply into his hips and his ass was to die for followed by tree trunk thighs. Penny’s shape and size allowed her to slot perfectly against the front of his body, head rested to the side between his pecs, her soft chest and stomach cushioned along the dip of his abs. Her hips were wide enough that her legs splayed comfortably over his thin waist, resting on the bed on either side of him and her feet tucked back over his knees. She’d tucked one arm up along her body, fist still wrapped around his shirt and rested under her chin with the other hidden under her hair on the other side of her head.

“Incoming,” Bucky directed the quiet statement at the blond, jerking his head back slightly towards the front door, “you good?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed softly, his eyes fluttering shut as he wrapped his arms around Penny’s back, hands tangling carefully in her hair, “keep me updated.”

“Shouldn’t be much,” he crossed the room and kissed Steve’s lips gently before kissing the back of Penny’s head.

Penny was half asleep, exhausted from the stress and crying. She could hear them talking but couldn’t really understand what they were saying. It didn’t really matter anyway, nothing they said meant anything.

Her head hurt and her throat hurt and her ass hurt and her stomach hurt too. Everything hurt in special and inconsistent ways; throbbing, aching, stabbing, shooting pains. Her arm hurt especially, where she’d fallen on it in the kitchen. She couldn’t believe she let herself get so worked up over a spanking. Had it hurt as much as she thought or had she just freaked out? Her ass was on fire, a deep throbbing that kept time with her heartbeat. It had just been such a repetitive pain, the same spots, the same tender skin, the same pressure with each hit. It had built to an overwhelming agony at the end.

She swallowed a sob, feeling her body shake with force of it. Steve was quick to start hushing her, making quiet noises and rubbing her back soothingly. His legs twitched and the next thing she knew he was pulling a heavy comforter up over them, tucking it carefully along her shoulders.

“Let’s take a nap baby, you’re so tired,” he cooed, nose brushing against the top of her head.

“Perhaps a movie will help, Captain? My records show that Ms. Parker regularly falls asleep while watching DVDs on her laptop.”

It really emphasized how tired she was, that Penny didn’t jump at the sudden sound of the AI’s voice. Honestly, she kind of appreciated the technology butting in; it was hard for her to fall asleep in a quiet room. Steve was quick to agree, asking the AI to project a movie onto the far wall. JARVIS must’ve been watching her closely for some time, to know that her favourite movie to sleep to was Toy Story.

Only a few minutes of the movie went on before Penny went slack in Steve’s arms and he felt himself start to finally relax. He’d been tense the entire time, just knowing she was in pain and so distraught had him tied up in knots. The punishment had been necessary, she’d acted in an unacceptable manner, but it had hurt his heart to listen to her cry while enduring the spanking.

If everything went according to plan, she would adapt before long. She’d acclimate to her situation, settle into her new life, and the fighting would stop. Penny would calm, accept them.

“We’ll make you happy,” he whispered to the sleeping woman, stroking his hands up and down her back under the blanket, “you just have to let us, babydoll.”

It took two hours for Bucky to come back, Penny was still sound asleep when the door opened and he walked in. Thankfully. His entire front was saturated with blood, it was literally dripping from his hair. Steve’s eyes passed over him carefully, looking for any injuries but saw none.

“You couldn’t have cleaned up before you came home?” He raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend, “what if Penny had been awake?”

“I checked with JARVIS,” Bucky rolled his eyes, stripping his shirt off as he crossed the room, “said she was sound asleep. From his tone, I’m assuming he’s mad at me.”

“JARVIS is mad at you? The computer that lives in the walls?”

Bucky shot the blond a scowl, “he has emotions, okay? Stark programmed him too well and he could take over the fuckin’ planet if he wanted to.”

“Drop your pants and shirt down the incinerator,” Steve ordered when his boyfriend started to drop his soiled shirt into the laundry basket, “I don’t want those where Penny could see them.”

“I like this shirt!”

“Then you shouldn’t have worn it for an interrogation, Buck!”

“Interrwhaht?”

They both froze at the sound of Penny’s voice, Bucky swiftly divulging himself of his bloody jeans and wrapping them and his shirt into a wad. Steve had one hand pressed gently to the top of her head, a small attempt at preventing her from trying to look around, and frantically gestured to Bucky’s hair with the other hand. The brunet practically dived for the bathroom when she batted his hand away and pressed herself up with one arm, looking around blearily.

“S’it Bucky?” She frowned, squinting around only for Steve to shush her and scoop her back into his chest.

“Buck’s in the shower baby, he went for a workout,” he lied easily, tilting her chin up to nuzzle her face, lips ghosting over her cheeks, “are you hungry? You’ve been asleep for a couple of hours.”

Penny hummed, turning her head this way and that to avoid him, “not hungry.”

“You sure doll? You don’t have to sit at the table, we can eat on the couch,” he implored, running a gentle hand over her backside under the comforter.

The reminder had Penny going stiff in his arms, having nearly forgotten about the pain. Coming out of sleep, she’d forgotten about everything almost. But only for a moment. Pain and anger and fear hit her with force and she wasn’t sure which feeling deserved the most attention.

“Don’t tense up on me, sweetheart,” Steve didn’t want to lose the little bit of sleepy intimacy she’d allowed for just a few moments after waking, clutching her against his chest, his hands running up and down her back, “shhh, come back to me, baby. You’re safe, right here, you’re warm and comfortable.”

“Let me go,” she grit her teeth and began to squirm, raising the arm that didn’t hurt to press against his shoulder, “let go!”

A firm pat against her ass made her yelp, tears welling in her eyes at the pain. Steve had barely used any pressure but it was enough to ignite the skin back to a stinging burn, his hand running over the spot softly moments later not going anything to ease the pain.

“You need to calm down, Penny,” his voice was stern and he used one hand to direct her face, forcing her to look him in the eye even as a few renegade tears dripped down her cheeks, “I know that you don’t like it when we tell you to calm down, but you’re working yourself up. You’re okay, you’re safe; there’s no reason to panic or get angry. Now take a deep breath and decide how you want this to play out.”

“Be sweet, babydoll,” Bucky’s voice came from the bathroom and she turned to see him leaning against the doorjamb, towel wrapped around his waist, “maybe that’ll be what we call rule number two: Be Sweet.”

Steve’s arms wrapped around her, a deliberate squeeze giving her the option of either pulling away or leaning against him. A tremble ran through her, bone deep as she considered her options. The first was, obviously, to follow the lead and let herself be tucked into his chest. The second was to continue to fight, but the shocking pain still burning through her ass gave her pause. It would hurt, so much, if she kept fighting. And it already hurt so much. Her bruises were bruised.

But giving in was hard. Where her body hurt in the literal sense, the idea of letting herself be cuddled and coddled hurt her soul. A searing sensation ran through her chest, a physical manifestation, and more tears began falling down her cheeks. There were just a few more seconds of hesitation before she leaned forward, letting her forehead press into his shoulder.

“Precious,” Steve’s voice was breathy and relieved and he leant back into the pillows against the headboard, bringing Penny with him, and relaxed with her reclined on his chest, “that’s such a good girl, Penny, thank you babydoll.”

A hand slid into the hair at the nape of her neck, fingers carefully massaging the tension. Bucky joined them on the open side of the bed, resting on his side, pressed up against Steve with his head also on the blond’s chest. A heavy, content sigh escaped the man, his unused arm wrapping around his lounging boyfriend.

“This is perfect,” he murmured, feeling his eyes growing heavy at the sheer level of contented bliss running through his veins, “JARVIS, will you project another movie onto the wall please?”

“Of course, Captain.”

Steve was quick to realize that the AI must’ve actually been mad at his boyfriend, because the movie that started was Coraline; a movie that Bucky found deeply disturbing, especially for a kid’s movie. His mouth opened to say something, but Penny let out a small noise before he could.

“I love this movie, thank you JARVIS,” she looked towards the ceiling endearingly and Bucky shut his mouth, teeth clicking audibly.

The AI sounded positively smug as he responded, “my pleasure, Ms. Parker. Enjoy your day in bed and please alert me if there is anything I may do to make you more comfortable.”

JARVIS was mad at Bucky but apparently adored Penny already. The two men exchanged glances at the realization; JARVIS was irritated because Bucky had punished Penny, she’d cried and was in pain and it was Bucky’s fault as far as the AI was concerned.

“This could be a problem,” Steve murmured quietly towards Bucky, ignoring Penny’s questioning glance.

“Oh, I’m sure it is a problem.”

[himbowelsh]

..125 and shifty/tab? Thank youu :’))

intimacy prompts  ( accepting! )

125.    talking about each other’s bodies

Shifty’s got a patch of freckles across his shoulders, and a tiny dimple where his spine meets his tailbone. When Floyd presses on it, the muscles in his back shift, and they look like what the tectonic plates must have, ages ago, when the world was still finding its shape.

None of this is critical information, but Floyd notes it anyways. Every little thing — every scar, every birth mark, every part of Shifty not visible to the casual eye. They are Easter eggs hidden so well that only the luckiest hunter can find them; each time Floyd uncovers a new detail, a rush of pride overtakes him. His first instinct is to press his lips to the discovery, claiming it as his own... which is fine, when it’s a gash on Shifty’s knuckle from a rogue tree climbing incident, and harder when it’s a star-shaped mark just begins his ear, where Shifty is horrifically ticklish.

“No! No, sir, you better not be — Tab! Come on!”

The bed springs creak under Shifty’s weight. He bounces once, anxious, then nearly falls over backwards when Floyd lunges forward again. There’s nowhere for him to run, and Floyd’s determined; he’ll set his lips on that star if it’s the last thing he does.

“You’re being — mighty foolish right now —” Shifty scrambles backwards, and now there’s an entire bed between them. It doesn’t deter Floyd a bit. He stalks around the end of the bed, like a tiger with its prey cornered in a cave. Unless he plans to melt into the corner or scramble up a wall, Shifty’s caught. From the look in his wide eyes, he knows it. “And kinda terrifying. Can’t we just —“

“I’ve got you!” Floyd springs, launching himself into the air. He catches around Shifty’s shoulders, pulling him down even as the other man yelps.

Shifty’s fast, but Floyd’s just stronger. Once he gets on top of him, it’s impossible for him to squirm free again. Planting his knees on both sides of Shifty’s waist, Floyd braces his weight against the other man’s shoulders, pressing him into the ground. Shifty makes one aborted effort to buck him off, but Floyd only bares down harder. From there, all he can do is squirm. His face scrunches as he turns his head, desperately trying to conceal Tab’s prize from view.

“Hmm. Pretty smart,” Tab concedes, casually leaning in closer to inspect the side of Shifty’s face. “But if you hide one ear, y’know, you’re leaving the other one wide open for me...”

Shifty manages to gasp out a protest, but it’s too late. Tab presses his face into the sweet spot where his ear meets his jaw, and Shifty immediately spirals into a squirming, squealing mess. It’s his one weak point. Touch him anywhere else, be it his belly or throat, and Shifty’s completely unfazed. But once you get to that sensitive place, where no one else would think to target... Floyd was only lucky enough to discover it during a particularly heated “body exploring” session, and its yet another one of those prizes he treasures so dearly from his lover.

“Stop, stopstopstohhgod, Floyd —“

“I love it when you say my name,” Floyd croons, letting up. Shifty heaves several ragged breaths, fighting to compose himself. When he looks back up at Tab, indignation has mingled with something almost fond.

“Was that enough fun for you?”

“Plenty fun,” Floyd admits, “but still not quite what I wanted.”

Shifty huffs, ruffling the uncombed hairs which have fallen across Floyd’s forehead. “For heaven’s sake,” he sighs. “If I let you kiss it, will you get off me already?”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“You’re giving me a hard time,” Shifty retorts — and finally turns his head. “Now take what you came for and get.”

It’s all the invitation Floyd needs. He kisses the birthmark with enthusiasm, drawing another gasp of laughter from Shifty. When he finally rolls off of his lover, he’s grinning so hard that it his entire face aches. Shifty pushes himself off the ground, ruffled and disgruntled... but Shifty’s never cross for long, and certainly not about this game. They both play it, after all, with varying degrees of competitiveness. Floyd isn’t the only one with a map of birthmarks in his head.

“Next time you try a thing like that,” declares Shifty, hoisting himself off the ground, “I’m gonna go straight for the birthmark on the inside of your thigh.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Floyd replies. Shifty ruffles his hair before he can say another word, and okay, Floyd deserved that.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Floyd Talbert.”

“I could say the same thing about you... and your incredible body.” What do the French call it? Something petit-mort? If Floyd has to die between Shifty Powers’ thighs, at least he’ll go out a happy man. 

A bright flush flames on Shifty’s face, dying his cheekbones bright red. There’s another place Tab would love to kiss, if given the opportunity… but he’s not about to press his luck, not when Shifty’s irritation is fading into tolerance once more.

They’ve both got their favorite places to kiss, too. Tab knows he’s perfectly justified dreaming about Shifty’s defined lips, just as Shifty’s mouth is so often glued to his collarbone when they find themselves twined together. It may as well be magnetism. They learn more about each other every day, and each detail Floyd observed about Shifty — inside and out — only leaves him starving for more. He’d know every inch of this man if he were allowed; every old broken bone and half-healed bruise, every smile line, every freckle. When he runs his fingers over Shifty’s jaw, he can never help but be amazed by its definition. When Shifty strokes a hand over Floyd’s arms in bed, unashamedly appreciating the tight ligament and muscle, what thoughts must be running through his head?

Somehow, Floyd has a good idea. They both know each other so well by now. No more wasting time on second guessing.

“I only do it because you’re beautiful,” he declares. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever known… and prettier than plenty of gals, too. If you let me… I'd kiss every inch of you. Wouldn’t leave a speck of skin bare, even the most sensitive parts. Then you’d know…” He trails off, hand finding Shifty’s own and squeezing firmly. Shifty’s bashful haze is drawn back to him; Tab locks onto it, and holds on. “... exactly how I feel about you.”

“I’ve got an idea of that now,” Shifty mumbles.

“But no idea how gorgeous you are.”

“Not like you, Tab.” Shifty’s hand pulls away, and for a split-second, it’s absence aches like an open wound. Then he finds purchase on Floyd’s head, tangling his fingers through his messy hair, and that feels even better. Floyd leans into the touch. A smile tugs at Shifty’s lips, almost like it's reluctant to be seen.

“You know,” he says softly, fingers carding along Floyd’s scalp. “You’ve got a scar on the back of your neck. It’s one of those ones you can’t possibly see, but… I see it every time I look. It’s shaped like a Christmas tree cut down the middle.

“Barber accident,” Floyd says, not having to think hard to remember the incident. “Got a free haircut that day. And I even felt kind of sorry about it, considering I got blood all over his floor.”

Shifty chuckles again, and Floyd can’t help the way his grin returns full-force. He pushes himself to his feet, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Shifty’s waist. The other man melts into him, like two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.

“I never felt at all handsome ‘til I met you,” Shifty admits, murmuring the words against Floyd’s lips.

The very idea is absurd. If Floyd has to work to remind Shifty how gorgeous he is, every day of every year for as long as they're together, he will.

“We can’t have that, now, can we?” He presses his mouth to Shifty’s jaw, hands traveling up the defined ridges of his torso — yet another place Tab’s long since mapped and explored down to the last muscle. Shifty’s head dips back as he smiles, and Floyd is left with a full view of his neck.

There, right beneath his chin — a dark freckle. Quick as a whip, he leans up and kisses it. Shifty huffs, conceding his victory in a fight that was over before it even begun.

“If I got to look at you every day for the rest of my life…” Floyd waits until Shifty’s gaze drifts back to meet his again, and smiles. “Sure sounds like heaven to me.”

[boarchasers]

The Best Offence

'Remember what I always say.'

'That you got a arrow in your knee?'

'Uh, no. The best--'

'--offence is a good defence.'

'That's right. Now try and hit my shield.'

Most fencing and fighting guilds recognised the move. They called it the novice spins around with a sword and falls flat on their backside, to the great amusement of their mentor manoeuvre, and Amelie Boar-Chaser executed it perfectly, down to the quiet oof as she landed on her bottom in a patch of heather. Winded and dazed, it took her a moment to register her father's snort, which Trond took full advantage of to pretend he didn't find it funny at all and hold out a hand to help her up instead.

'It's a start,' he said, as he hauled her on to her feet. 'Everybody's got to start somewhere. Even heroes like Talos and the Dragonborn fell over a few times before they got the hang of it.'

'Did you?'

'Oh, aye, definitely. More than a few times. Still fall over now, if I'm not paying attention. Happens to the best of us. Grab your sword and we'll try again.'

It took a bit of digging around in the undergrowth to locate Amelie's sword, which had cleverly disguised itself as stick. She inspected it while she walked back into the open grass of the plains. Uncle Hjolrin gave it to her last Saturalia and it wasn't bad, for a starter sword. The wooden pommel was shaped like a bear, there were knots and twists carved into the wooden grip, and a fuller had been chiselled out along the length of the wooden blade. It was ready for all the mighty enemies she would no doubt slay with the oversized toothpick, just as soon as she was older.

She picked a few petals and clumps of moss from her hair with a thoughtful expression. Trond, ready and waiting for her next attempt with his shield raised, gave it a minute before he coughed and added,

'Whenever you're ready, sweetroll.'

'Pa?'

One thing Trond had learned about parenting was that there were a hundred different ways a child could say Pa, and each of them had its own meaning. This one, slow and considered, was his least favourite. It meant he was about to face a difficult question which he would much rather deflect onto Joldi, and if, like now, she wasn't here, he would not be permitted to brush it off or make up an answer. Amelie could have the persistence of Haaki's hounds once she got an idea in her head.

'Aye?' he asked, with some trepidation.

'Why do I gots to use a wood sword?'

'Because it's yours. Got to use your own sword. That's... tradition, that is. Heroes always have their own special weapon. Like Ysgramor and his axe, Wuuthrad. Have you got a name for your sword yet?'

That was cunning, Trond thought. Answering a question with a question, usually enough to send Amelie off on a much easier line of thought. Today, however, she shook her head and gave the wooden sword a few feeble waves.

'Woofad wasn't wood. No hero's got a wood sword.'

'Then you can be the first.'

'Why can't I use your sword?'

At least the sombre look was gone from her eyes. Now they glinted as she eyed up Trond's iron sword, guard issue, not to be distributed among any except those wearing the colours of Whiterun. He lifted it and, instinctively, held it back, out of Amelie's reach.

'Takes a fair bit of strength to carry a sword like this. Can you lift it?'

'Dunno. I never tried. Can I try? Please?'

Aware that if he said no, he would have to drag a crying child back into Whiterun as well as two swords and his shield, Trond glanced around helplessly. The plains were empty apart from themselves and, in the distance, a goat chewing the cud, which he deemed unlikely to report back to Joldi. He sighed.

'Fine. Come here.'

The moment of delight was, as Trond expected, short-lived. Amelie's face fell as quickly as the sword did from her hands, landing with a thud on the soft earth. She jumped back as if afraid it might bite her toes.

'It's heavy! Are all swords heavy? Is your shield heavy too?'

'Aye. And I have to carry them both around all day.'

Nothing could match the joy of seeing Amelie happy, but Trond had to admit that basking in her awe and admiration came close. She heaved up the handle of his sword again, getting it to her own shoulder height before she dropped it again, and repeated the exercise with his shield to confirm his claim. After it had fallen beside the sword she sat down abruptly on the grass and stared upwards.

'You must be really, really, really, really strong.'

'They don't call your pa Trond the Mighty for nothing.'

'Uncle Frith said they call him Frith the Brave but I seed him running away from a mudcrab. Even I'm not scared of mudcrabs!'

'That's because you're even braver than Frithjofr the Brave.'

'Amelie the Braverer.' She leapt to her feet and snatched up the sword, her sword, with its bear in the pommel and the dulled blade. 'And I'm gonna beat Trond the Mighty acubs he's lost his shield!'

'Wait, that's not--'

'Ha!'

A swipe to the knees, hard enough to bruise, caught Trond off-guard. Faced with a choice between regaining his balance and stopping the swearword spilling out over his lips, he opted for the latter, preferring the immediate pain of crashing to the ground over a tongue-lashing from Joldi later if Amelie repeaed what she heard. When he opened his eyes, Amelie's tiny form standing over him blotted out the sun, apart from the brilliant golden light caught in her hair.

'A good offence is a good defence,' she announced. 'You told me that! Silly Pa! And Auntie Arlain told me, if they're bigger'n you, go for the knees.'

'Aye, well, I'm going to have a few words with Auntie Arlain when I next see her.'

[lady-divine-writes]

Re-writing Destiny (Rated T)

Summary:

Is love strong enough to take an angel back in time and let him change destiny? When Aziraphale finds himself standing in Heaven, watching Crowley fall, that's exactly what he believes he can do. But will Crowley feel the same way? (3032 words)

(AO3)

Aziraphale is more than a little confused when he finds himself back among the clouds, hovering effortlessly in the cornflower blue sky.

There’s an eeriness to being aloft in the Heavens.

The air is still here.

There is no breeze.

Nothing moves up here, nothing lives up here, and yet he can feel the weight of a multitude of souls lending their energy to the universe. It creates a sort of hum that’s ever-present, reminds you that no matter where you are, you are never truly alone.

Some might describe that as comforting. Aziraphale probably has, too.

But not anymore. Not now.

He feels anxious wrapped up in it, expectant.

Tense with anticipation.

When the Earth was new, Aziraphale spent much of his time here, and he was perfectly content. He didn’t know enough to care, hadn’t experienced the rich diversity of life to know that up here in the clouds, with celestial harmonies weaving through his ears, wasn’t even close to living. He was an angel. Overseeing the birth of the world from afar was his job.

But Earth has long since passed its infancy and is well on its way to a problematic adolescence.

So what was he doing here?

“Do I know this?” Aziraphale asks himself, searching the clouds around him. “I … I know where I am, but this can’t be ... No, it can’t possibly be …”

His heart, or what counts as a heart in the chest of an angel, lurches uncomfortably. He can’t be here. Definitely not. This happened 6000 years ago! As far as he’s concerned, it’s 2019. Just yesterday he had cheesecake and espresso at the diner down the street.

With Crowley.

But none of those things exist right now - not the cheesecake, not the espresso, not the diner.

But Crowley does. Crowley should.

Aziraphale looks at himself, examines his clothes – his simple robes as opposed to his usual favorite coat, his hands and wings white like they've never been to Earth, never been exposed to dirt or pollution. He rubs his fingers together. Nope, no trace of grime at all.

Earth pollution is a curious thing. It sticks to the flesh and never seems to disappear. No amount of washing of miracling can erase it completely away. It lasts regardless, staining the skin on a level completely unseen, but which adds a certain heaviness to the soul.

Angels unaccustomed to life on Earth often avoid it because it makes them sad.

Aziraphale should be coated in it, especially his wings, but he can’t find any evidence of it on him.

That clinches it.

He's gone back in time. He must have.

And Crowley should be here.

Not just during this period in time, but up here.

In Heaven.

Aziraphale wasn’t around when it happened. He wasn’t really anywhere. Or if he was, he has no recollection. But he’s here now, it seems, and he has to ask himself why?

But fate doesn’t give him time to ponder that question.

A crack of thunder drowns out the lilting music.

A blinding bolt lights up the sky.

The screaming of angels, their jeering – and in some cases, their laughing – floods his ears.

Aziraphale spins, tries to pinpoint where the commotion is coming from. It should be simple to find up here amidst all this blue, but once the flash of light dies down, he sees only white – a vast plane of it, stretching out on all sides like a blanket pulled tight across the Heavens. It covers everything except for a disturbance in the distance – a brief shift of color that pulls his attention to it. It takes shape as he watches it, becomes recognizable.

It’s human – or human formed - in a torn robe, singed at the hem, and fluttering behind him at odd, unnatural angles …

… a pair of broken wings.

But it’s the dark hair that turns fire-red that confirms his suspicions, and a cry of, “No!” lodges in his throat.

Aziraphale takes off in his direction, flying as fast as he can to catch the angel falling from the sky. Arms outstretched, he comes up beneath him, and Crowley lands heavily in his arms.

“I’ve got you,” Aziraphale mutters as he speeds off, trying to find a spot far enough away from this one to lay Crowley down. “Don’t worry. You’re safe now. I won’t let you go.”

Crowley fights to lift the head lolling back on his shoulders. He’s badly bruised - one eye starting to purple, the front of his robe torn down the front from his neck to his sternum, like he was grabbed and punched. He looks like he’s been in a bar fight, Aziraphale thinks. It’s an awkward analogy to make at this particular moment, but it breaks the tension enough to allow him a smile.

But there are burns, too – a spray of them emanating from a circular scorch mark on his abdomen, as if that flash of lightning Aziraphale saw earlier didn’t just hit him, it went through him.

And his wings.

Oh God, his wings!

They’re definitely snapped in more places than one, as if many hands had grabbed them and tried to tear them from his body.

For all the injuries Aziraphale can see, and the ones he can’t, his soul aches for him.

Crowley blinks, dazed and confused, an accurate visual of the way Aziraphale felt when he realized where he was.

“Aziraphale? What---?” Crowley looks around him at the clouds and sky, and then at the angel who stopped his momentum. “Why are you … why are you here?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Aziraphale says, lighting onto a nearby cloud and setting Crowley down there. He miracles the surface to ensure Crowley won’t fall through.

Crowley is fallen now. Aziraphale’s not certain the clouds will support him.

“But I’ve got you. Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you fall.”

“But I did fall,” Crowley slurs, coming to his senses. “You can’t stop that. You can’t … you can’t change it.”

“If I can’t, why am I here?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley admits. “But it’s a mistake. It has to be.”

“Why does it have to be? Maybe this is an opportunity!” Aziraphale decides, the idea coming to him on the fly, but making all the sense in the world. “And maybe it’s been given to us now because we’ve finally admitted that we love one another.”

Crowley gives his angel the benefit of thinking it over, even smiling for a beat, but too quickly, he shakes his head. “You don’t know that.”

“No, but you don’t know that it isn’t! I’m an angel of love! My entire existence is love – inspiring love, spreading love. And if there’s one thing I know, love can change things. Love has the power to change the entire world, doesn’t it?”

“I’d like to believe so,” Crowley says sadly. Because he doesn’t believe. Not as passionately as Aziraphale does.

“What if one act of love can re-write history?”

“That would be incredible,” Crowley agrees, thoughts he’d entertained previously, ones similar to those in Aziraphale’s mind, swirling through his brain. Aziraphale can see it in his eyes – beautiful, shattered eyes that change to the yellow slitted eyes of a serpent the longer they sit discussing this. Crowley stares at Aziraphale, wishing he could give him the hope he’s clinging so desperately to, but he can’t. He sighs. Breaking Aziraphale’s heart has never been easy. He wishes he didn’t have to. But what he wants is never going to happen. “But I … I don’t want it.”

“What? Why?” Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s shoulders and gives him a frustrated shake. “You have nothing to lose and everything to gain!”

“I could lose you, Aziraphale! We’ve spent an amazing 6000 years knowing one another! Do you remember me in Heaven at all? Remember one moment before I fell where you knew me?”

“I …” Aziraphale stammers. He would rather be confident in his answer, but he doesn’t have a confident answer to give. “I, uh … no, not exactly …”

“That’s right. You don’t. And neither do I. It doesn’t mean we didn’t, but it doesn’t mean we did. The chances of us never meeting if I start over again as an angel in heaven are too high. I … I can’t risk it. I don’t want to.”

“But there’s no reason you should remain a demon! You’ve done so much good on Earth! You’ve performed so many blessings! You’ve more than made up for what you’ve done!”

“For what I …?” Crowley’s lips twist in a heartbroken frown. It’s not Aziraphale’s fault. It’s a consequence of being an angel - a tendency to see things in only black and white. But Aziraphale is different. He sees the grey, too. From time to time, he comes across a shade so subtle, he does need it pointed out to him. Up here in the clouds, in such close proximity to Heavenly influences, he’s most likely overwhelmed by the moral binary. “Tell me I was wrong, Aziraphale.”

“What?”

“I was cast out of Heaven for asking questions. That’s all I did, angel. I wanted to know why. I questioned God’s plan. Tell me I was wrong. Tell me I deserved it, and I’ll go back. I will. I’ll get down on my hands and knees before God and I’ll beg for Her forgiveness. Just say the word.”

“You’re leaving this up to me?”

“There’s no one else in all of Heaven and Hell and everywhere in between that I trust more than you. You are the most clever person I have ever met. So if you tell me I did something wrong, I’ll go with you. I promise. Just tell me … was I wrong?”

Aziraphale swallows hard.

This isn’t a decision he feels qualified to make.

Before he was sent to Earth, he received many stern lectures from the Archangels over the nature of right and wrong, good and bad. Part of that lecturing included the subject of angels and demons. According to the Archangels, there are two sides and only two. Nothing in between. But those angels who preach segregation have never lived on Earth, not the way Aziraphale has. They’ve never watched firsthand the manner in which God’s creations grow and adapt to change. Many of them turn their noses up at him, call him native as if it’s a slur, but it’s not. What Aziraphale has become isn’t wholly bad … but it’s not wholly good either.

It’s evolved.

And that goes for Crowley, too. The only difference is he seemed to figure it out long before any of them, and because he did, he dared to question.

He wasn’t wrong. He was revolutionary.

Aziraphale smiles. There’s a bittersweet irony to that word.

It fits Crowley so well.

Aziraphale shakes his head. “No. You didn’t deserve it. Asking questions, being curious, even putting God’s plan to task … that’s no reason to lose God’s love. You were the son of dawn. You helped put the stars in the sky. You weren’t a demon, Crowley. She created one.”

Crowley nods, grateful that Aziraphale sees it that way. Crowley can endure the slings and arrows of angels and demons as long as his angel sees him for what he truly is. “Then I have to fall.”

“No!” Aziraphale gasps. “But, Crowley …!”

“No, angel. You can’t re-write this one. I have to fall, and this time … you can’t catch me.”

“But, Crowley …” Aziraphale wants to reason with him, wants to convince him to say.

Crowley snaps his fingers. Whether it’s one final angelic act or his first demonic one, Aziraphale doesn’t know, but the miracled cloud opens up beneath him and Crowley drops through the sky.

Aziraphale watches him go, plummeting through the air and into the blue.

“It’s what must be done,” he says to himself, fighting back tears, then repeats it over and over. “It’s what he wants. He knows what he’s doing. It must be done.”

But every tear that slips from his eyes convinces him different.

Crowley doesn’t deserve to go to Hell.

He doesn’t deserve to be used as an agent of Evil.

He’s being forced. He’s not being given a choice.

He’s being forced.

It’s that realization ringing through his ears that he follows, soaring straight down like a falling star in an effort to catch up, using a miracle to pick up speed until he’s falling so fast, he feels the feathers of his wings try to pull from his bones.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale calls out with his mind since his lips won’t move, his voice won’t carry. “I can’t do it! I can’t let you fall! I’m coming for you!”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley cries, his thoughts floating into Aziraphale’s mind. “What the Devil are you doing!?”

“I can’t let you do this! I know what you said, and you’re right, but you don’t deserve to fall!”

“Let me go, Aziraphale!”

“No!” Aziraphale folds his wings back against his body as close as he can. “I can’t … let … this … happen! You … don’t … deserve …!”

“Aziraphale! No!”

Aziraphale sees the Earth rushing toward them, coming faster and faster – faster than he can think. He can’t seem to miracle Crowley to a stop so he reacts on a mortal instinct and reaches out a hand to catch him before he hits the ground.

But seconds from impact, Aziraphale discovers that hitting the ground wasn’t what he needed to fear.

The air around them starts to heat as a portal to Hell opens up, fingers of flame reaching out to capture Crowley and devour him. They’ll probably take him, too, and at this point, he’d let them. He’d hold on to Crowley with both hands and fight the forces of Hell to get him back.

He’s confronted Hell before to save Crowley’s life. He’s prepared to do it again.

Aziraphale reaches harder, his arm nearly pulling from its socket as he strains to touch his demon. Their fingers brush, fingertips curling into one another, but not enough to grab hold.

“I can do this!” he says. “I can do this! I can do this! I have faith!”

Flame shoots higher and Hellfire surrounds them. It burns Aziraphale’s face, his eyes, his nose. It crawls beneath his skin, disintegrates him from the inside, but he keeps on. Closer and closer. He can almost make it. He’s almost there. He feels a hand close around his, one of heat and bone. And then …

Aziraphale flails before he opens his eyes.

He sits upright, breathing fast, the memory of blistering heat burning away his eyes and his nose overridden by sweet, fresh air flooding his sinuses and causing his eyes to water. He almost flies straight up, but the hand holding his tethers him to the here and now, makes him aware of his surroundings.

“Crowley!” he coughs, his throat dry, his mind frantic. “Crowley! Crowley!”

Aziraphale looks around him.

He’s sitting on a blanket of white, but he’s not up in the clouds.

He’s in Crowley’s room. He recognizes the dark walls and floor, the black-curtained windows not letting in an inch of light. The only thing white are the sheets on the bed which Crowley miracled special just for him. And the hand holding his, the one of heat and bone, is Crowley’s hand.

And he’s squeezing it to death.

“It was a dream! It was just a dream!” He laughs hollowly. “Oh merciful Heaven! It was just a dream!”

Crowley stirs. He rolls towards him and sits up. He lets Aziraphale keep the one hand and runs his free hand through his hair, blinking questioningly at the expression of relief on Aziraphale’s face.

“You al’right?” he asks, tired golden eyes shining in the dark.

“Yes. Yes, I am. I’m sorry if I woke you. I had a bad dream.”

“Looks like it. W’at was it about?”

“It was …” Aziraphale stops. He wants to tell Crowley. He wants to tell him everything, but even if it was just a dream, it’s one where his mind inserted himself into a sore subject. Aziraphale doesn’t feel right bringing it up. “I … I don’t know if I should tell you because it was … well, it was … it was about … you.”

“What about me?”

“I … I don’t think I should …”

“Aziraphale, it’s all right, love.” Crowley brings his angel’s hand to his lips and kisses it. “You can tell me anything.”

“All right,” Aziraphale says, straightening in bed. “If you say so. Just … please … don’t get mad.”

“I won’t.” Crowley clumsily crosses his heart with their joined hands. “I promise.”

“Well, uh … okay. You had … well, you had … fallen.” Aziraphale cringes at the word, and the way it makes Crowley’s eyes open wider. “And I managed to, somehow, catch you and I …”

Crowley interrupts his angel with a kiss.

He moves forward quickly, like a snake – Aziraphale likens it to. In the space of a single blink, he puts a hand to Aziraphale’s cheek and kisses him. It’s gentle but urgent, Crowley sliding further forward to wrap an arm around Aziraphale and hold him, both kiss and embrace translating a wealth of heartache and pain. Aziraphale puts his arms around his demon, holding on to him for support as Crowley lowers him back to his pillows on the bed.

Crowley doesn’t go farther than that, breaking the kiss with tears in his eyes as he rests his forehead against his angel’s.

“I couldn’t let you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t risk it ...”

“I don’t … I don’t understand,” Aziraphale says, flustered by Crowley’s sudden display of affection and emotion. And his confession that, in the dark enclosure of his room, doesn’t make sense. “What was that about? What … what was it for?”

“For you being you,” Crowley says against Aziraphale’s mouth, whispering to avoid Aziraphale hearing the cracks in his voice. “The wonderful, albeit misguided, creature you are … who tried to snatch a demon back from Hell and carry him to Heaven.”

[panda-noosh]

Omg I just thought!!!!! Angst with Sokka where him and reader are captured and about to be executed by fire Lord azula, and in order to protect her he pretends they're not together or that he doesn't love her. He forces the reader to deny she's with the avatar to ensure she escapes to tell the others what happened.... What happens to Sokka is up to you but my heart is already breaking panda 😭😭

    “Well, your plan is failing so far, isn’t it? I don’t even know who that is.”

   He was doing it. He had told you beforehand that this was the plan, but you had never truly believed he would genuinely follow through. Hearing him say those words with such emotion, such vigour had your stomach reeling, the urge to yell and kick and scream in your own defence suddenly bubbling to the surface.

    You shoved it down, continuing to pretend like you had absolutely no idea why you were here in the first place. Chains were wrapped tightly around your wrists, heating up with every movement you made to defy them. It got to the point where you just slumped down against the wall, looking up at Azula and Sokka through heavy-lidded eyes.

    Azula raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, her lips quirking at the corner as she turned to look at you. Sokka was still huddled in the opposite corner, and upon Azula looking away from him, his eyes shot to your own. You met them, quickly looked away when Azula stepped in your direction.

    “Is that right? Have my people made a little mistake?” she asked. “Tell me, stranger - are you not with the Avatar?”

    “The Avatar left us all,” you replied. The lie was easy. “Nobody has seen him in decades.”

    Azula pursed her lips, slowly straightening up. She kept her dark eyes trained on you, though, as if calculating your next move - you were far too weak to try anything at the minute. Anybody with common sense would be able to judge that from the sizzling skin of your wrists and the black eyes you were currently sporting.

    Azula sighed and clicked her fingers absently. Immediately multiple guards were rushing forward, snatching your arms and dragging you to your feet. You stumbled in their grip, quickly caught yourself because you would be damned if you were to be dragged out of here without getting a glimpse of Sokka first.

    This was how things were meant to go. Sokka had a plan, and you had to keep reminding yourself of that very fact; he knew what he was doing. He would come back to you eventually.

    “Take them away,” Azula ordered. “They’re useless anyway.”

    You wanted to scream out for Sokka as the guards dragged you out of the palace and into the cold. The doors slammed closed, blocking his face for good; the last sight you had managed to snatch of him was Azula teasing a fireball against the ends of his hair, him curling up in a ball in any attempt to get away from the torture that was no doubt about to befall him.

    +++

   You weren’t sure how long you ran for. By the time you came to a halt, you couldn’t feel anything. The cold had chased the feelings of pain away, leaving you trembling as your knees gave out beneath you and you fell into the brambles around you.

    But then Aang was there. Aang, Appa, Momo, Katara, even Toph. They were surrounding you, forming a tight circle around your shivering figure. Katara’s hands were on your face, tilting your head up and down in her attempts to see just what kind of damage she was dealing with.

    You flinched away from her fingers and looked away. “We have to get Sokka.”

    “He’s still out there?” It was Aang. He was still young, yet to learn how to hide the surprise in his voice.

   Katara sent him a glare and turned back to you. Despite her trying to remain calm, it was clear that the news of her brothers continued abduction was chilling her to the bone. “How did you escape?”

    “He pretended he didn’t know me,” you replied, choking back a sob at the memory. “He made me say I didn’t know where Aang was and they deemed me useless and let me go. But Sokka - he can’t pretend. They’ve seen him with the Avatar on multiple occasions. Unless he can find his own way out-”

    “He won’t need to,” Toph announced. “We’ll go and get him. Y/N, you stay here with Appa and Momo-”

    “If you lot are going, then so am I!”

   “If Azula sees you with Aang and realises you lied to her, she’ll kill you on the spot,” said Katara, already shouldering her travellers bag and tucking her hair back into it’s loops. “And besides, you’ll only slow us down with the state you’re in.”

   You bit your lip, trying to force down the protestations that were stemming purely from the feeling of love you held for Sokka. You knew they were right, of course. You could barely stand upright, let along trek through the Fire Nation in search of your boyfriend, fighting off guards on the way. You would be more useful at camp, getting things prepared for whenever Sokka did return home.

    Because he would, and as you watched the group flee through the forest, you told yourself that on a loop: he would return home. He would come back to you. He would be fine.

    +++

    Sokka couldn’t see through his left eye, which was the first sign that he was injured pretty bad.

    He wasn’t really sure what to do about it, though. How did Toph live like this, only with two eyes? Sokka was being driven insane just from being unable to see the left side of him. He half expected Momo to come soaring through the sky and kick him in the side of the head purely because he wouldn’t be able to see him coming.

    Sokka hollowed out his cheeks, letting his head fall back against the concrete wall of the cell he had been thrown into. Trying to keep himself entertained was a difficult job considering he felt nothing; it was easy enough telling jokes, but was it really worth it whenever your body was numb from both emotional and physical feeling? His wrists were charred to almost nothing, his head thumping, his left eye swollen closed. He was fairly certain his lip had been busted open, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint how that injury had appeared - he didn’t remember anyone hitting him in the mouth, but he was in no fit state to question it. And quite frankly, he didn’t have the temperament to ask.

    The only question he desperately wanted to ask was if you had gotten out.

   It was lodged in his throat, being forcefully pulled to the surface every single time a guard came to check on him; he needed to know. It was driving him mad. The last glimpse he had gotten of you was only seconds before the double doors of the throne room had closed, blocking you off from the world entirely. He didn’t know if they had killed you, if they had truly let you go, if you had somehow found your way back to Aang and the others - god he hoped you had. To sit and pretend that he didn’t love you would only be worth it if you somehow managed to get yourself to safety.

    It didn’t even need to be Aang and the others. It could have been a tiny village off the coast, could have been a nice set of travellers who were willing to take you in. Sokka would rot in this cell, Aang and his family unknowing to his whereabouts, and he would do it willingly if it meant you had gotten someplace safe.

   Although, he had to admit, he would prefer to have Aang and the others come to his rescue.

    He was snapped out of his daze by the rattling of the cell bars.

    His head snapped up, his single eye searching for the face in the dark. It was probably another one of the guards, maybe the freaky one who had done a backflip upon initially meeting Sokka. Or worse - the monotone one.

     But Sokka’s entire being was swept up in excitement when his eyes met the familiar pair of ice blue ones that mimicked his own almost perfectly; it was a family trait, though Sokka insisted that his were a little bit more appealing than his sisters.

    “Katara!” he exclaimed before he could think better of it; it probably wasn’t the best thing to start yelling when there were guards a few feet down the hallway.

     Katara shushed him in that way she always did. “Can you stand?”

    “I can try.”

   “Well be quick about it. I don’t know how long Toph and Aang are gonna be able to hold the guards off.”

   Sokka struggled to his feet. His knees were bruised from being tossed around like a ragdoll, and his head pounded. He had to lean against the wall for a few seconds until a wave of dizziness passed, but even as the pain engulfed his body, there was only one question on his mind and lips.

    “Did Y/N get back to you?”

    Katara froze, fingers curling around the bars. Her expression turned dark, and Sokka felt his dinner rising in his throat, because the expression was not a good one. You hadn’t gotten home. They hadn’t seen you and all of Sokka’s torture and method acting had been entirely for nothing.

    He shook his head before Katara had even replied. “No. Please tell me-”

   “They’re back at camp,” Katara replied.

    Sokka pursed his lips, closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “Don’t scare me like that. Ever.”

     Katara nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just - They weren’t in good shape. They could barely stand when we-”

    Sokka B-Lined towards the cell door. “Get me out of here. I need to get back to them.”

    +++

    Apparently you had fallen asleep.

    You hadn’t meant to, of course. For most of your life, you had been unable to sleep under the influence of stress, no matter how hard you tried. You would stay conscious, twisting and turning in the covers as you overthought every little detail about the day; that was just how things had always been.

    But it seemed that, under the influence of true pain, you were able to fall asleep as quick as a light switch being flicked off. Part of you was grateful for it, though when you woke up, the panic that gripped you was almost enough to chase that relief away.

    You shot bolt upright, gripping for the leaves around you. It was dark now, the only light coming from the dimming fire that Momo and Appa were huddled around, fast asleep. Neither of them shifted when you awoke, which you were grateful for - you didn’t want to explain your distress. Not right now.

    You looked around and very nearly let out a sob. Sokka wasn’t back yet. None of them were. The camp sight was desolate bar the single sleeping bag set up in the far corner and a few flasks that Katara had left out before fleeing to go and find her brother - but there was no sign of them.

    You curled your knees towards your chest and groaned. You should have went with them. Even with the throbbing headache still clawing at your system and the dizziness you were experiencing even upon being seated, you knew you should have gone with them. You had been in that temple, could tell them where to go and who specifically to look out for. Aang and Katara would have no idea, and Toph couldn’t even see to be able to direct them. You could imagine them now, wandering aimlessly through the Fire Nation temples whilst Sokka was being tortured and bruised and humiliated for-

    “Oh god, Y/N!”

   Your eyes snapped open. You hadn’t even fully processed the form of Sokka emerging through the tree line before you were throwing yourself forward and into his arms, as if you were drawn to him, a magnet to metal.

    His arms fit perfectly around your waist, bundling you against his scarred and sweat covered chest that was peeking a little bit more than usual through the top of his Water Tribe robes. The sweat was mingled with dried blood, but you couldn’t find it in you to care, because he was standing in front of you, alive and talking.

    “You’re okay,” you whispered into his neck, a mantra on repeat. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

    “I’m okay,” Sokka whispered back, running his trembling fingers through your knotted hair with a struggle. “They barely touched me.”

   “How can you say that?” you hissed, jerking away and gripping his chin. He gritted his teeth against your probing, but nonetheless, the feel of your fingertips against his skin seemed to relax him as he leaned into your touch, shoulders slumping forward. “Sokka, you need some rest.”

    “That’s what we’ve been telling him the entire way back,” Toph said casually. “The little shit thought it was better to give us an hour long speech about how terrified he was that you hadn’t it made it home. Yuck!” She swiftly kicked Sokka in the back of the knees with a precision that she really should not have had.

   Sokka buckled, grunted as he fell to the floor.

    “Now sleep!” Toph demanded. “Both of you. Give me some damn peace and quiet.”

    And even though you wanted nothing more than to sit and talk to Sokka about what had happened, what he had suffered through, Toph was right - you both needed rest. Though you had just woken up, it would take days to recover from the torment you had been forced to deal with back at the Fire Nation. 

    You gently tugged Sokka along to the sleeping bag, ignoring the hushed and concerned whispers of Aang and Katara in the background. You curled up next to him, resting your head on his chest, and said a silent thank you to whoever was listening that Sokka was okay, he was alive, and he had come home. 

[thewildwaffle]

Abduction - Chapter 12

Chapter 1     Previous Chapter      Next Chapter

***

The creature had the audacity to point its own blade threateningly at her. It would pay dearly for that. She would make it pay.

It became a deadly dance of sorts between the two. Strike. Miss. Swing. Duck. Shuffle. Repeat.  Neither seemed to gain or lose any ground. Neither showed any signs of letting up. It didn’t take long before both were breathing heavily. Ever so often, one of them would make contact with the other, purple blood started showing up across various cuts. Red blood oozed out of the creature’s nose and along its arms.

Her muscles ached and screamed, but to stop would be death. She had to continue until the alien tired, slipped up, gave an opening, something. It had to, eventually, right? Right? Something was happening to it. Beads of water or some clear liquid was starting to collect across its face. What the heck? What was that about?

It was hot. The day had started out hot and muggy and only had gotten hotter and muggier since. It was usually felt nice but under the circumstances… not so much. Limbs burned and felt heavy, but there was nothing to do but keep moving, keep swiping, keep dodging. How was this thing not overheating?

This went on for a while, each until another voice echoed out through the foliage. Both froze. Now was the chance to strike while her opponent was distracted. Or it should have been. She took advantage of the break to rest. Oh krag, it felt good to pause for a bit.

The voice came again, a little louder this time. The bipedal creature frowned, looked toward the source of the sound and back to her - its face changed shape to a very interesting expression. It muttered something in its weird language. She didn’t need a translator to know it was some sort of curse.

Before she knew it, the creature sprang away, disappearing into the foliage towards the clearing. It left a trail of broken branches and snapping twigs in its wake. At first, she felt relief. The monster was gone!

Oh, frewan.

It took my blade.

Not only that, it would, more than likely, go back and regroup and come back with reinforcements. She ran to her pack and reached to pick it up. No. She paused. No, she wouldn’t be able to make it back up out of this gorge in time. That alien and any companions would be on her trail before she’d get far, especially while carrying her precious cargo. But leaving the pack was out of the question.

If flight wasn’t an option, fight was all she had left.

The creature had seen her, even though she’d been standing perfectly still among the foliage. There were some creatures who had eyes that could see in what they called “colors” and normal methods of camouflage were rendered useless by an ability to differentiate certain light wavelengths. This alien might be able to do so as well. That would explain it. Or maybe it had a great sense of smell? Or maybe some other weird sense? Well, maybe. In any case, trying to ambush it when it came back was not looking like it’d be a great plan, or at least, not on such short notice.

No, she’d take the fight back to them, before they could regroup. Before they could expect anything. If she could just get that blade back, she could make quick work of the other one.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Wenona muttered under her breath before she yelled out again, “Miiiiiiiike!” Nothing.

“He’s probably ignoring me, off exploring or doing something stupid,” she said to herself as she leaned against the hull of the pod. Jebannuck may want him to come back, but she didn’t. Not right now. She was mad and was not interested in making nice. “If he wants to go off and pout like a child, then I say let him. Koko used to always do this too, it’s just a tantrum.”

She frowned. Koko, her little sister was about nine years younger than her. She hadn’t thrown a tantrum in years, she’d grown out of it long ago. But she still remembered the way her mom had dealt with them, let the anger burn out, give space, cool down.

Wenona’s nose prickled and she felt tears coming on. She hadn’t thought much about her family lately, being kind of busy with everything else going on, and it was kind of painful to think about when she did have a moment. Her family. What was the last thing she’d said to her parents? Either of them? How had they reacted when they found out she was gone? She’d been gone so long, had they given up looking for her yet?

She was torn away from her memories as she saw Mike across the clearing, tearing through the undergrowth and sprinting as fast as he could, a look of terror on his face.

“Mike?” she called out, confusion overtaking any feelings of anger from before.

“Montauk!” He gasped as he got closer, “Montauk in the woods!” Mike nearly lost his footing on some uneven ground but righted himself before he completely lost balance. He looked like a hot mess. His face was red and covered in sweat. He had bits of leaves, twigs and dirt patches everywhere. His nose was bleeding, as were several nasty gashes along his arm.

“What the…” was all she could get out before another shape appeared from where Mike had emerged. The sight of it made her stomach feel like she had just swallowed a boulder. She had hoped she’d never see that familiar shape again.

It charged at them at full speed, it’s dark exoskeleton took on a greenish iridescent shine to it as it burst into the full sunlight. With only a few strides, it started closing in on Mike, who had lost a lot of momentum from nearly falling on his face.

She started forward, the Montauk was closing in on Mike and was completely focused on him. It never saw Wenona charge and full-body tackle it to the ground. The both rolled into a bush, the montauk midsection crashed into a hard trunk base and let out a wheezing gasp. Wenona hit the ground hard, the breath completely knocked out of her. That would bruise. Probably. But there was no time to tend to that now - she got to her feet as soon as she could see straight again. Mike was back up too. They’d fought montauks before - heck, they’d fought off an entire ship of them. One should be a breeze between the two of them.

It really should have been, but the alien was certainly not backing down and was quick on its feet to deal with both the humans as they tried attacking on opposite sides. The montauk dealt a high blow to Mike and spun to quickly to sweep Wenona’s legs out from under her. Wenona fell hard onto her side, but Mike was able to remain standing, though he was now bleeding from his shoulder. He stumbled back, regaining composure when the montauk returned its attention to him and sprang at him.

“Mike, look out!” Wenona screamed.

Mike fumbled with the makeshift blade in his hands. By the time the attacker was on him, he only just had time to raise his blade in defense. They cut into each other before falling back in pain, neither wounded very deeply, but still nasty. Before the montauk could recover, Wenona had jumped up on its back and wrapped her arms around its neck in as tight of a headlock as she could manage.

The montauk struggled under her weight, stumbling backward toward the pod and crashing into its side, attempting to crush Wenona as it bashed desperately against the outer wall. It managed this twice before she was able to get a grip on the wall with her feet as the montauk pulled away to try to slam her again. She used her step to push herself up and over its head. She held onto its neck, forcing it to now bend down. It struggled to get back up, thrashing, trying to knock her off, but she held on, finally trying to get purchase on something to help not be thrown into the air, maybe even pin the monster down. Her grip was slipping - blast her dumb hand - she couldn’t grip with it, and all the exertion it’d been through was taking a toll. She tried shifting to help take the pressure off her hand, but by doing so, the montauk finally was successful in throwing her. She hit the ground and rolled. Ow, freak, no. She cradled her arm tightly, streaks of light flashed across her vision.

***

The second strange creature was down. Finally. Krag, it had a grip! Now, where was the first one? Oh, there it was, struggling to get back on its feet. Its arms were trembling as it tried to push itself up off the ground. That was a lot of red. Her knife was still being held in its grip.

Not for much longer.

Before she could coax her legs into moving towards her injured opponent, the door to the pod opened suddenly and a new, tall, familiar-shaped alien stepped out. He was clothed in a Confederation uniform as well, though with the colors and marks of an officer. What was the name of this species again? Sefra. Yeah, sefra. Tough. It looked badly wounded already. Good. She stood a good chance.

Frewan, it had a blaster.

She dove and rolled just in time to avoid being hit by a yellow blast. While still on the ground, she kicked out her backmost legs into the sefra’s knees. He tried dodging, but his movements were slowed. He’d obviously sustained some serious injuries. She could see that now. He stumbled to his knees with a pained groan.

Her chances were looking better and better.

This could be it. This was really happening. She’d beat a Confederation soldier. She’d beat the two deadly aliens. She’d take control of the pod and get away - find a place at some market in some out-of-the-way colony world, save up enough to get revenge on those heg-heads who left her to die here. She stepped toward the fallen sefra. First, things first. She lifted her remaining uninjured forearm, ready to cut through sefra flesh, her soon-to-be victim grunted as he struggled to look back and up. She caught the flash of fear in his eyes.

“Know this, sefra, you die by the work of Simmo Montauk of Karcheer.”

Before she could deliver the blow, she was hit hard in the side. The first alien?! How? It looked like it should have been on the verge of bleeding out from its wounds! Reeling from the blow, she felt more than saw - powerful alien hands wrap around two of her legs and spun her off the ground. She flew through the air briefly and rolled into a dusty pile of spores. Immediately, her skin began to crawl and itch.

Flarg. Gerchrung wood. No, no, no, no. Her mind raced in panic as she tried to shake loose as much of the spores and dust as she could. Before she could get far in doing so, she was hit again. The alien was relentless! Or wait, no, it was the second alien, the one with the long fur on its head. How were they both still on their feet?!? What did it take to kill these creatures?!

She struggled as long as she could, but her wounds were getting the best of her and her energy was draining fast - not only from extended exertion but also from the burning she now felt all across her body as the spores did their work. Her attackers, however, seemed to have found some new energy reserve, seemingly out of nowhere.

I never did stand a chance, then. I almost did, but I had no idea what I got myself into.

Then everything went dark.

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[atropaazraelle]

Link: On AO3 Title: I Remember Rating: Teen Pairings: Gladio/Ignis Warnings: Time travel, age gap Summary: The final battle is done and the sun hangs in the sky. Gladio is badly injured and just wants to get to Ignis, but Umbra finds him first.

Or: Don't pet the time-travelling dog when you're half out of it.

As the world fell silent there was nothing left but pain. Gladio's whole body felt like a bruise. Joints ached, muscles were pulled, torn, twisted. It took gargantuan effort just to lift his hand. Breathing hurt.

The silence was broken by whimpering. A cold wet nose pressed against Gladio's cheek, and he groaned. He brought his hand up to find the source. Gladio wanted the pain to go away. He wanted to get up, to find Iggy, to make sure he was all right.

He patted Umbra's head, and the world lurched.

Stone and rubble and the scent of blood and dust was replaced with something Gladio had almost forgotten. Oak polish and ink crowded his senses, and the floor rushed up to meet him as his legs gave way.

“Gladio!” Iggy's voice carried a note of panic, and then there was a sharp intake of breath.

Gladio forced his eyes open. Above him was the plain ceiling of Ignis's tiny office back home, back in the days when Gladio had first got to know him. A shock of sandy hair, combed but unstyled came into view, and wide green eyes looked at him in confusion through thick black framed spectacles.

He'd forgotten how green Iggy's eyes were.

“Gladio?” Ignis asked. Gladio felt a hand rest at his throat, finding his pulse.

He groaned, closing his eyes again. When he opened them once more, Ignis was still there, perfectly shaped brows knit and his mouth turned down at the corners. “Got a potion?” Gladio asked.

He watched Ignis's frown deepen before he answered, “Of course.” There was another question on its way, Gladio could see it coming to the tip of Iggy's tongue even as he got to his feet. “You're--”

“Yeah,” he answered, “it's me.”

“How?”

Gladio screwed his eyes shut again and tried to shift. The floor of Iggy's old office was more comfortable than the rubble of the Citadel, but he still wouldn't want to sleep on it. “Don't pet the time travelling dog when you're half out of it,” he answered.

“Umbra did this?”

Gladio cracked his eye open again, watching Ignis's progress as he pulled a potion out of his desk drawer because of course Iggy kept curatives in his desk, why wouldn't anyone? “You know Umbra can do that?” he asked. The information had come as a surprise to Gladio.

“Well,” Ignis said, and Gladio smiled to hear him slipping into lecture mode. Iggy still did that now. Some things never changed. “The messengers aren't bound by the same constraints as humans, and time isn't linear; they can move freely within it.” Ignis slid to his knees beside Gladio and offered a potion out to him. “How old are you?” he asked.

Gladio brought his hand up to close it around the potion, wishing it didn't hurt as much to do that as it currently did. “Thirty three,” he answered, with a groan. He cracked the potion, letting the magic contained in it swirl over and through him. It was instant relief, and he sighed. “You?” he asked.

“Seventeen,” Ignis answered softly.

Fifteen years, then. Gladio sighed, and then forced himself to sit up. The movement brought him right alongside Ignis. Gladio had thought Ignis hadn't changed any as he'd got older, he still looked youthful, and strong, and proud, but he saw the differences now. Ignis now stood with his shoulders prouder, and his chin held high. His cheekbones were sharper now, his lips softer. The acne scars on Ignis then were deeper, fresher, they hadn't been worn down with time.

And his eyes back then were so bright, and green.

“Have I even asked you out yet?” Gladio asked, and then realised he probably shouldn't ask that in case the answer was no.

From the way Ignis looked down and his cheeks flushed, it wasn't a no. “Last week,” he said, quietly.

Gladio grinned. He remembered that first date. If he'd only asked Ignis last week then he hadn't actually made good on it yet; he'd just spent a lot of time hanging out at Iggy's office, hoping Iggy could snatch a couple of hours free. He hadn't really known what to do with Iggy for their first date, so he'd taken him to a movie, and then they'd walked home together in the crisp night air. Ignis had spotted machines free in Noct's favourite arcade, and the two of them had spent a good hour and a small fortune knocking Noct and Prompto off the leaderboards before they'd finally gone home.

Gladio had kissed Ignis on his doorstep, and then they'd texted back and forth for the next two hours until Gladio had fallen asleep with his phone in his hand. He'd been a lovesick teenager, and he'd probably find himself unbearable now.

“Why are you in a Glaive uniform?” Ignis asked, “And what happened? Why are you so hurt?”

How to answer that one without clueing a way too smart seventeen year old in on all the bullshit coming for him in the future? “Hey, hey,” he said, delaying the inevitable, “one question at a time.”

“What happened?” Ignis asked, firmly. Gladio looked into those bright green eyes and saw the same dogged determination to get answers as he'd come to recognise all these years later.

“A Red Giant got me,” he said, and then screwed up his nose. “I think it was the Red Giant anyway.”

He saw Ignis's mouth curl into a tight frown. “You're being evasive,” he said.

Gladio nodded. “Yep,” he agreed. The look in Ignis's eyes told him he wasn't going to get away with that. “All you need to know is that the war's over, Noct's on the throne, and we're still together,” he said.

He watched a parade of emotions cross Iggy's face. There was confusion, and disbelief, and embarrassment, all lining up to show themselves in where Ignis chose to look, and the way his mouth opened. “Is he a good King?” Ignis asked in a whisper.

Gladio's chest went tight as he looked into earnest green eyes. Back home, Noct had gone to sacrifice his life for all of them on the throne of Lucis. Of course, Iggy, at this age, wasn't getting on with Noct. Noct's rebellious phase was hitting Iggy's buttoned down self discipline hard, and the two of them hadn't found a way to get through it yet. “He's had his moments,” he admitted, “and it's a hard road for all of us to get him there, but you're gonna be so proud of him, Iggy. We both are.”

He watched Ignis swallow, his Adam's apple bounced in his throat, so much more prominent than Gladio remembered. “Then you're right,” Ignis said, with a nod, “that's all I need to know.”

Gladio gave a sigh, and a groan as he heaved himself to his feet again. The room span slightly as he stood, and he reached out, finding Ignis's shoulder under his hands. “Don't get old,” he told him, and flashed him another grin.

“I rather hope I do,” Ignis replied, but Gladio saw the tick of amusement at the corner of his mouth, drawing it up towards Iggy's cheek. “You and I are really--?” he began, and trailed off, unsure of how to finish.

Gladio smiled at him. Ignis at seventeen was a touch shorter than he was now, and skinnier. The gentle curve of toned muscle was developing in his arms and across his shoulders and chest, but it'd take Ignis another few years to put the polish on them that they'd have. “Yeah,” he said. “After all this time.”

“Oh,” Ignis said. The genuine soft surprise made Gladio frown.

“What?” he asked, “You didn't think I meant it when I asked you out?”

Ignis shook his head. “I knew the request was serious,” he said, “I just--” he stopped to push his glasses up and meet Gladio's eyes, “thought you were bored, and that you'd lose interest in me.”

Gladio's heart broke to hear the confession from Ignis's own lips. He brought his hand up to meet Iggy's cheek, his dusty glove smearing dirt over Iggy's skin as he looked at him, really looked at him. “One thing I'm gonna learn real quick about you,” he said, looking Ignis in the eyes, “is that you never realise how amazing you are.” Ignis's eyes flickered as he looked from one of Gladio's pupils to the others, his cheeks turning pink. “You still don't,” he added, “even now.”

He let his hand drop away from Ignis's cheek and rolled his shoulders. “Speaking of your future self, I should get back, or you'll kick my ass for scaring you.”

Ignis gave a snort of laughter, and the sound was music to Gladio's ears. It had been too long since he'd heard Ignis laugh like that. He'd always been shy of the way he laughed, no matter how good it was to hear. “Excuse me,” he said, going a brighter shade of pink.

Gladio shook his head. “I like your laugh,” he replied.

Ignis bowed his head again, gathering his composure. When he looked up once more it was with the sharp, calculating eyes Gladio still expected every time he looked at Iggy's face. “Do you know how to get back?” he asked.

Gladio looked around, and realised he honestly had no idea. “No,” he admitted.

Ignis smiled at him. “There are a few ways,” he said. “If you do something that causes an inconsistency in the timeline you'll be returned,” he said, “or I can get his highness to call Umbra.”

Gladio thought about the option. He didn't really want to see Noct. It'd be too hard to see Noct at fifteen, being a brat, when he'd last seen him walk up the Citadel steps with his head held high. Gladio didn't think he could see Noct, unaware of how much he'd give for the sake of them all, right now. “Inconsistency in the timeline, huh?” he asked. “I can think of one I'd like to make.”

“I don't think setting out to create a paradox is the wisest course of action,” Ignis began.

Gladio laughed. “Don't worry,” he said, “it's not a big paradox.” Ignis frowned at him, and Gladio grinned at that sharp, judgemental look. He'd got so used to that over the years whenever he made decisions Ignis thought were unwise. Even when Ignis couldn't look him in the eyes to do it, he still got the message across. “Close your eyes.”

Ignis leaned back from him. “Why?” he challenged.

“I take your first kiss on the steps up to your apartment, not here,” Gladio answered. “That should be enough of an inconsistency, right?”

Ignis coloured, and glanced away. “I--” he protested, and didn't finish.

“Or you can get Umbra,” Gladio said, realising he might have gone a little too quickly. He and Ignis kissed so easily. Kisses goodnight, and farewell, and good morning were just daily routine for them. But he and Ignis had their first kiss still to come, and maybe it was too much.

Ignis bit his lip. That was a habit he'd long since shed, and Gladio thought that was a shame. It gave him a shy thoughtfulness that was a little bit cute, and a little bit sexy. “All right,” he said.

“Close your eyes,” Gladio said again. This time Ignis did, tilting his chin up. Gladio admired the sweeping curve of his jaw, the little bump in his nose, the perfect symmetry of his eyebrows and the fullness of the lashes that rested on unmarred cheeks. Ignis was beautiful. He'd always been beautiful.

He pressed his lips against Ignis's closing his own eyes as he felt the warmth against his own mouth. Ignis's lips parted as he gasped, and then he was gone.

“Gladio!”

Gladio opened his eyes again to a clear blue sky. The Citadel glittered with reflected sunlight above him. A concrete statue lay fallen across him, and he placed his hands against it, gritted his teeth, and pushed. It moved with the grinding of stone, and Gladio snarled with the effort as he pushed harder, pushing it away.

“Gladio!” Ignis's voice held a note of fear.

Gladio pushed himself to his feet. “Iggy!” he called, staggering out from the rubble.

Running footsteps came towards him. “Gladio!” Iggy's voice was filled with relief, the fear draining away. Gladio caught him in his arms, pulling Ignis in against his chest and holding him as tightly as he dared. “When you didn't answer--”

“I'm fine,” Gladio said, tucking his nose into Iggy's hair. He could smell the dust, and the sweat, and the dirt, but it was Iggy, his Iggy.

“Are you hurt?” Ignis asked.

“I was,” Gladio answered truthfully. “I'm fine now.”

Ignis pulled back from his arms. Gladio saw it, that little knot of confusion in the knitted brows, and the turned down corners of Iggy's mouth. “You're quite sure?” he asked. His head tilted slightly as he listened to the words Gladio wasn't saying. He always did that when he thought Gladio was hiding something.

“Just had to create a small paradox to get back,” Gladio answered, with a smile.

The confusion melted from Iggy's face, his lips parting as his jaw hung open. Then he pulled Gladio forward, into his arms, against his chest and held him tightly. “I remember,” he said.

[eirian-houpe]

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 11

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold<br />Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Spinster(s) (Once Upon a Time: Think Lovely Thoughts), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Black Fairy (Once Upon a Time), Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Colette (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Dove (Once Upon a Time), Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena

Additional Tags: Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Violence, Gun Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, UST, First Time, Drama & Romance, Kidnapping, Extortion

Summary: Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go.  Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into 'protective custody,' but is he all that he seems?  As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 11 - True Colors

Jefferson wasn’t really one to believe in a ‘sixth sense’ but he did have an uncanny knack of knowing when something really wasn’t quite right. Belle asking him to go and get soda was one of those things that should have been perfectly reasonable, but somehow felt wholly wrong.

While he didn’t want to deny Belle something she said she needed, his suspicion, at last, got the better of him when he was half way between the rest room facilities, and the shelter where the vending machines were housed. He turned back toward the building in time to see a small, dark shape slip around the side of it, and instinctively he cast his gaze toward the grounds behind the building, and the trees that marked the boundary of the rest stop area. Somewhere back there would be an access road, and he knew Belle wasn’t stupid - if it was Belle - and figured she would have worked that out.

Swearing under his breath, mostly at his own gullible nature that had made him empathize with Belle’s needs, and acquiesce to providing for her, he turned and began to take long strides in a direction that would intercept the woman. He hadn’t gone far when she began to pick up her pace.  She must have turned and seen him, because after a few more moments she began to run. He sighed, in lieu of another curse under his breath, and took off running after her.

It didn’t take long for him to gain ground, his longer strides bringing him nearer with every step, but it did present him with a bit of a conundrum. He didn’t want to simply launch himself at her and tackle her to the ground, the way he might have done for a criminal fleeing a scene of a crime. Belle wasn’t a criminal. She was the victim of kidnapping by a vicious and immoral organization, one that did terrible things to far too many innocents. At worst, Belle was fleeing his ‘protective custody.’ He also didn’t want to reach out and grab her, mindful of the injuries to her arms and hands… her shoulder too.

In the end, as he drew almost level with her, he did the only thing he could think of to do. He caught her around the waist and simply lifted her from the ground.

“Let me go!” she growled. “You can’t— I… let go of me!”

As she spat some rather colorful invectives at him like an enraged hell cat, she flailed with her arms and legs, landing a few painful kicks to his shins that were probably going to leave bruises. He just held her closer so that she couldn’t do likewise with her fists or elbows in his face. She continued to claw, and spit and fight for freedom.

He missed her hand as it flew up toward his shoulder, his neck, and tangled in the silk scarf he wore and pulled until it came away.  The cold air rushed against his neck, and it was a shock to him. He’d worn the scarf, or one like it for so many years he almost couldn’t remember; since he was a young and idealistic agent who thought he knew it all, thought he could save the world until—

“No!” he cried out against the train of thought and Belle both as something in him snapped. He dropped her like a stone, and followed her down, instinctively reaching behind him for cuffs that weren’t there. “Belle stop!” he called out instead, holding her in place as she continued to struggle. “Just stop…!” He didn’t want to, but to control her struggles he had to twist her arm behind her back, his heart squeezing painfully as she cried out; knowing he’d caused her pain. “For the love of God,” he appealed as she kept moving, though with less energy, less desperation, “Just. Stop!”

She did, finally, going limp beneath him and for a moment he still held her in place and then, confident she wouldn’t try to run any more he let go, and with the hand that rested on the ground pushed himself to his feet, snatching up his fallen scarf as he went. He didn’t go far, two… three steps further perhaps before he turned and sat heavily on the ground, pouting down at the torn silk and began to unpick the knot that had held it in place, and tying another to join the place where the silk had ripped. If he were lucky he would still be able to tie it around is neck, back into place, and he glanced up at Belle to see her sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest.

“Who are you?” she asked him, soft but insistent. “What do you want with me?”

“I told you,” he answered, still petulant after their struggle. He wound the scarf into place as he continued. “My name is Jefferson, and I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Oh, by kidnapping me from the kidnappers?” she shifted from despair to mockery in an instant. “Well doesn’t that sound like a great plan? Next, why not—”

“Have you any idea what those people were going to do to you!” his voice raised over the top hers. “What they intended?”

“Yes,” she snapped back. “That woman made it perfectly clear and there’s no way my father would accept that. He would never allow—”

“Oh, wake up, Belle.” He pushed himself to his feet again, and started toward the car, leaning down to spell it out to her. “Daddy’s not interested in coming to rescue you.”

He continued down the gently sloping grass toward where the car was parked, refusing to turn back even as he heard her scramble to her feet and begin to hurry in his direction; didn’t stop walking until she reached out and caught his arm.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked.

Jefferson put his head back, closed his eyes and let out a long, deep sigh, before straightening up and turning, slowly, to face Belle. He met her eyes, his expression pointed, watching as the frown began to roll over her face like gathering clouds.

“No,” she began, sounding vague, confused, but gathering an overly firm resolve as she continued, “No, you’re wrong. He would never…”

She trailed off, still staring into his eyes, a horrified kind of fear mingled with hope and colored with uncertainty streaming from every pore of her. He held that gaze for a moment longer before he shrugged, and began to turn again.

“Suit yourself,” he said, almost over his shoulder. Then when he didn’t hear her footsteps hurrying to keep up after a few strides, he called, “You coming, or would you rather stay here and take your chances with dear old papa?”

After only a moment he heard her footsteps brushing through the damp grass, and shook his head at himself. He hated that he had been so cruel as to force her into facing the truth, and it was facing it, because he was pretty sure from her reaction that she had already worked it out for herself and was simply in denial.

When they reached the car, he unlocked and opened the passenger door for her. He hadn’t missed the sticky wetness she’d left on his sleeve as she grasped him, and knew he’d opened up the wound on her wrist again when he tackled her to the ground. Once he had clipped the seatbelt into place he opened up the back door, and reached in to where he expected he would find a basic first aid kit, and was not disappointed.

“Let me see your hands,” he said as he unzipped the green bag.

“I’m fine,” she answered, almost tucking her hands out of the way instead of giving them to him.

“The hell you are,” he answered. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you, but being stubborn now isn’t going to help either of us.” He offered her a wan smiled then and added, “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

She sighed, and then slowly held out her hands to him. He tended them in silence, focusing on keeping his promise and making her as comfortable as he could with the supplies they had, and when he had finished, he tossed the first aid kit into the back of the car, and reached into the glove compartment. Reaching in, he felt around for a moment until he found what he hoped he would, under the papers that had been stuffed inside.  He made a mental note to look at the papers later, as he figured they might give him more insight into what was going on.

As he closed the glove compartment again, he let the handcuffs dangle from one hand, and raised and eyebrow at Belle. “Not going to make me use these, right?” he asked.

Belle shook her head, then with a sigh added, “I don’t have the energy to try and run away again.”

Jefferson nodded and slipped the handcuffs into his jacket pocket instead. Then he stood up from the crouch that was making his knees ache. “Sit tight,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, and he thought she sounded almost afraid.

“To get you that soda you asked for,” he answered. “I think you’re going to need it before too long.”

[artificialqueens]

The Lost Princess {Biadore} Chapter 3 -C*NT

A/N: Alright we finally have some Biadore interaction like I had promised in the last chapter. 😄 Thoughts, inner monologue, words I thought needed additional emphasis, and a song are all italicisized (i hope i spelled that right lol whoops). Like i said before, cis AU loosely based off of the disney movie Tangled. TW for mention of blood in the begining bit here, and alcohol consumption (!!!!) Enjoy!

“Oh god, please don’t wake up yet.” Adore murmured, wiping off all of the blood from the mysterious mans skin. His arms had gotten badly scraped against the brick wall of the tower when he fell, which lead to a ton of sticky blood all over her hands as she disinfected his wounds.

Adore had managed to drag him up the stairs, into the living room and even sat him into a chair all by herself. At first he kept slumping over, so she had found nearby rope and was about to tie him to the chair- until she found a satchel hanging from his shoulder.

Removing the bag gently from his shoulder, she noticed that it was very heavy. Curiously, she opened it up revealing a perfectly intact tiara. It had 3 pear shaped diamonds and a bunch of smaller gems encrusted into it. Rubies and smaller diamonds gleamed in the light as she stared at it fixated. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she had ever seen. How it didn’t break with his fall was beyond her, but she realized this could be her leverage. This could be her way out of the tower and to wherever the floating lights were coming from.

She concealed the crown in the satchel, and hid it under a loose floor board as she wondered if this man was going to attack her once he woke up. She needed something to defend herself in case he became as wild as her mother had described to her in the past.

An iron frying pan that was hanging against the wall caught her eye. That would have to do, she thought. She grabbed it and then looked over at the unconscious man slumped over in her chair.

He didn’t look so good, and was still bleeding through his clothes. Adore pressed a finger to her lips as she thought about what to do next.

He was handsome, he almost looked like how a character in a book she had read would look in real life.

He had dark hair the color of ebony that complimented his olive skin, hollow cheeks and thick eyebrows. He was slender, but not too muscular and was wearing long tan pants and a black long sleeved top with a tan vest over it to match.

Was he really a monster?

Inching closer, Adore grabbed his cheek softly and lifted up his upper lip. She jumped as he twitched instinctively, but raised an eyebrow in confusion at his teeth.

His teeth aren’t sharp and pointy,Adore thought puzzled. Why would her mother lie to her about that?

He shifted in his seat, groaning out in pain. Adore frowned, suddenly not wanting to see him suffer anymore. She pushed the hair out of his eyes and revealed smooth skin and very long eyelashes.

Adore stared. And stared. She stared until she couldn’t look at him anymore. She had always been under the impression that men were the personification of the monster underneath your bed, that they were frightening and ugly.

There was absolutely nothing ugly about him. At least aesthetically.

Realizing he resembled her mother after a long trip away from home with all of his cuts and bruises, she got an idea.

Wrapping her long hair around him, she grabbed a brush from a nearby side table and began to brush her hair. She hummed her mom’s favorite spell that she would sing to her twice a day.

Flower gleam and glow Let your power shine Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine

Her hair began to glow around him, enveloping him in a bright golden light. He sat there seemingly at peace as her hair made all of his cuts and bruises disappear. Once the light faded, she unwrapped her hair from him and stepped back.

Now she waited.

————————

Pain.

White hot pain.

That was all Roy could feel as he began to wake up. Groaning, he tried to reach his arms above his head to stretch. When they wouldn’t move, he opened his eyes and realized what was going on.

There was rope. Lots of it, wrapped tightly around his wrists which were pinned behind his back. That explains the burning, he thought grimly. He also realized he was sitting on a chair.

He remembered then, that he had fallen from the tower. How was he not in more pain? How did he not break any bones?

“Where the hell am i?” He asked himself.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

Roy whipped his head around the room, trying to find the source of the voice. He was about 95% sure it belonged to a woman.

“Look, I needed a place to crash and I saw that this place looked creepy and abandoned. I didn’t think anyone lived here.” Roy started.

“Didn’t you see that the window was open?”

Roy’s face fell in annoyance. She was sassy, whoever she was.

“Yeah, I just thought that it had been abandoned for a short amount of time.” Roy shrugged. “By the way, why don’t I feel like I just fell from halfway up a tall tower?”

Adore wasn’t about to tell a complete stranger about her magic hair. That would just make her more vulnerable to his attack, and he would most likely just cut her hair off making her magic disappear forever.

“You just had a couple of scrapes. I had magic ointment from a witch that I rubbed on you.” Adore lied.

Well as long as he didn’t feel any pain later, he really didn’t care how hurt he was before she healed him with the ointment.

“Wow, thanks.”

He still doesn’t seem like a monster though, Adore thought. She would’ve thought by now he would’ve at least tried to escape. But if men really were as deceiving as mother made them out to be, it wouldn’t take long to figure out whether or not he was a monster.

“Who are you?” Adore asked, emerging from behind one of the bookcases; her long blonde hair flowing softly behind her. Her light purple dress was hemmed just below the knee,and flowed around her as she walked.

For the first time in a very long time, Roy was speechless.

She was a woman alright,Roy thought. Her hair seemed to go on and on for miles, looking more like a golden river then blonde hair.Had she ever heard of scissors? He thought sarcastically. Her eyes were the color of fresh cut grass, mesmerizing in the afternoon light. Dark brown eyebrows framed her angular face, and her slim body was fitted with quite an expensive looking silk dress. Silk and satin were definitely present in the design, both temperamental fabrics to work with. It looked stunning on her. The girl couldn’t be more than 18 years old, if that.

Roy has always had a thing for blondes, and she was by far the most attractive blonde he had seen in a very long time. He raised an eyebrow at her as his eyes drifted to her arms.

“Are you holding a frying pan?” Roy asked bewildered.

The girl huffed in frustration and crossed her arms. She had tried to intimidate him, but it obviously was not working.

“Yes! Just in case you get any ideas. Now who are you?” She pointed the frying pan at him threateningly, glaring down at him.

If he wasn’t seriously afraid of her using it on his face, he would’ve been in tears laughing. Instead, he gulped, biting his tongue to stop the laughter from escaping, and continued. She was cute.

“My name is Roy. What about you blondie? Does a sexy thing like you have a name?” He smirked showing off his pearly whites. He got one good thing from his parents: his perfect teeth.

Sexy? Adore thought bewildered as she looked at Roy’s perfect teeth. They were blindingly white, she realized. He also had beautiful brown eyes, that were warm and filled with..compassion? She couldn’t read the emotion coming out of them.

But she was confused about what he had said: what on earth was sexy about her?

“I’m Adore.” She said hesitantly, gripping the pan tighter. She didn’t trust him, charm was one of the weapons her mom had warned her about with men.

“Adore. That’s an interesting name. You must have been named after the lost princess too.” Roy muttered. How original, he thought.

“An interesting name?! So you don’t like it?” Adore huffed, completely bypassing the lost princess statement.

“I never said that bitch. It’s just… so many girls were named after the princess after she went missing. That’s all.”

Ignoring the curse word, she looked curiously at him. “Tell me about this “lost princess.” If there really is such a thing.” Adore said, using air quotes. She had her guard up now, ready for whatever lie he was about to spew.

“Okay, you really must not be from around here if you don’t know about the lost princess.” Roy rolled his eyes.“Almost 18 years ago now, someone kidnapped the newborn princess from the king and queen in Corona; and she was never found. The kingdom had been so excited about her birth that they were devastated when she was never found. Soon almost all of the baby girls had Adore as their middle name or even their first name.” Roy shrugged. “I can’t believe you didn’t know the story. It’s world famous at this point. Guards are still out there looking for her.”

This must be her vacation home, Roy thought. Maybe she was royalty from a far off land.

Adore studied the man carefully. His story seemed sincere, and not in the least bit made up. It would be hard to fabricate a story like that especially on the spot. She decided she would give him the benefit of the doubt for now.

“A lost princess huh? Seems romantic. Do you think they’ll ever find her?” Adore asked.

“I doubt it, but I have her crown right-” Roy tried to reach down by his side, momentarily forgetting that he couldn’t move his arms. Looking down at his waist, he realized he no longer had his satchel.

“Where the fuck is my satchel?” Roy exclaimed, jerking about in the chair.

“I’ve hidden it.” Adore said proudly. She was happy she hadn’t show her fear at his outburst, but realized this could be the start of him showing his true colors.

“No no no, you see blondie-”

Here comes the manipulation mother warned me about,she thought.

“It’s Adore.” Adore snapped.

“A door, a window, whatever. I need that satchel. There are some scary guys after me and I need to go back to the city to sell that crown on the black market.” Roy huffed.

Adore had no idea what this Corona was that he kept mentioning, where it was, what a black market was, or why Roy had chosen to come hide in her tower out of all of the other places in the world. Nonetheless, she believed that this encounter was meant to be her way out and to the floating lights. It was a sign:

“Something brought you here, Roy. Fate, destiny-”

“A horse.” Roy muttered.

“Whatever. Everything happens for a reason, and I truly believe there’s a reason you’re here with me right now. I’m willing to give your satchel back and the crown; on one condition.”

“What’s the condition?” Roy asked.

“You will escort me to the floating lights, which are supposed to be happening in 2 days time.”

“Floating lights? You mean the stupid lantern send off they do every year for the lost princess?”

“They’re lanterns duh!” Adore exclaimed. “ I knew it! I knew they weren’t stars.”

“You don’t get out much do you?” Roy asked dryly.

“Anyway, yes I need you to take me to the lanterns so I can see them on my birthday. Then I’ll need you to escort me back, then and ONLY then will I give you your crown back.” Adore crossed her arms. “Your birthday is July 14th? How old will you be Adore?” Roy asked, ignoring Adore’s conditions.

“18. Why?” Adore tilted her head smiling, still gripping onto her frying pan.

The color suddenly drained out of Roy’s face as he began to do the math. Long blonde hair. Green eyes. 18 on the 14th. It all matched up perfectly…could this be her? She definitely wasn’t a princess visiting from a far away land.

If this girl was the lost princess, she literally had no idea who her parents really were. If she didn’t even realize that the lanterns weren’t stars, then that would indicate that she had never even left the tower before. Or whoever was keeping her from the city didn’t want her to know about them, for that very reason.

If he could bring her to the king and queen, he would be dubbed a hero for finding their daughter and most likely given a fat reward.

But he had to make sure this was really her. The real Adore would most likely have some sort of magical powers from being healed by the golden flower in the womb.

The golden flower… the one that his mother died over. How ironic, that 18 years later he would be trying to get the golden flower yet again. He could he face to face with the human version of it basically if this was the princess.

12 years in an orphanage, all for that flower. That one chance to save his dad’s life, but instead ended both of his parents life.

He had the chance now to make things better for himself. If this was the Adore, she would save his life in the way his parents couldn’t save their own. That in itself would make up for not being able to give his dad the golden flower all those years ago.

“No reason. I’ll help you out blondie. But I can’t do much tied to this chair.”

——————

Roy was standing outside underneath the shade of a nearby oak tree, arms crossed in front of his chest annoyed.

“You’re acting like you’ve never been outside before.” Roy huffed impatiently.

Adore stood at the bottom of the steps with the satchel, and a basket filled with food, clothes, and other necessities.

It was only one more step until she was completely out of the tower.

“I haven’t.” Adore confessed.

Roy’s eyes widened as he looked for any sign of a joke in Adore’s voice. When she didn’t say anything more, he cleared his throat.

“Wait, so you’ve really never been outside of that tower?” Roy asked gently now. He had no idea how locked up Adore had really been. This was pointing more and more to his theory that she was the lost princess.

“No, never.” Adore said softly. She looked timidly down at the ground, bending down to touch it with her fingers.

“Ew. That feels weird. I have to step on that? ” Adore said disgusted wiping the dirt off of her hands onto the sides of her dress.

“You don’t actually feel it! That’s why you wear shoes blondie!” Roy cackled

Ugh, that felt so grossAdore thought. She sighed, mentally preparing herself for what she was about to do. Was this going to be worth it? Sneaking out behind her mother’s back with a strange man that she’s never even met?

There was only one way to find out.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and stepped onto the soft grass for the first time.

“Congratulations. Now can we hit the road? I have a place we could go and stay for the night, but we need to leave now.” Roy urged.

Adore shut the front door and turned around slowly away from the tower for the first time ever.

The field the tower was in had a gold cast from the late afternoon sun. Purple and pink wildflowers were sprouted in various places along the path, and over to the west there was a dense forest surrounding the entire area. Birds sang above her as they flew high above them, and the clouds painted the immaculate blue sky. It was so warm and it felt so so good to breathe the outside air.

She had never realized how secluded she really was from the rest of the world until now. Her heart was racing as she realized she had done it! She had really left!

Just from this little taste of the outdoors, she knew that she wanted to experience every part of the world that she could.

Leaving the tower was definitely worth it.

“Let’s go!” Adore exclaimed, jumping as she began to run towards the forest.

“Jesus what the fuck got into you?” Roy asked as he jogged alongside her.

“This is my first time outside ever! Can’t you be more happy for me?” Adore asked as they slowed down right before the entrance to the woods.

“I don’t know if I should be happy or concerned.” Roy mumbled. He saw the excitement leave her eyes, and he instantly regretted what he said.

“My mom was just trying to protect me,” Adore said in defense, “I’m sure your mom is the same way.”

“My mom is dead, so try again.” Roy said abruptly.

Shit, filter Roy. Try using it every now and then, he thought. Adore was the last person he should be blunt with right now. He didn’t want to push her away.

Adore frowned and reached out to touch the young man’s arm softly.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

Roy shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.

“It’s fine. I got a dark sense of humor out of it at least.” Roy smirked.

“Dark as night.” Adore mumbled as she stopped at the sight of large curtains of ivy.

“Speaking of dark, it’s going to be almost pitch black in there. Are you afraid of the dark?” Roy teased.

“I’m not afraid of anything.” Adore said confidently.

“Then why did you hesitate?” Roy asked. “Kidding.”

Adore rolled her eyes at him, pushing aside the ivy to lead the way. She had no idea where she was going, but she was sure Roy would guide her if she was leading them in the wrong direction.

It was really dark in the forest. Adore could barely see in front of her, let alone any sort of pathway. She clutched onto her basket firmly, trying not to seem like a scared little girl. Her mother was strong and independent, and she needed to be the same way. She didn’t want to seem weak in front of Roy.

“This way.” Roy said, grabbing her hand softly as he lead them down a new path.

The forest was eerie, there was a sick feeling that Adore was staring to get in her stomach as they moved further and further into the woods. She gripped onto Roy’s hand tighter as they made their way through the winding pathways.

They continued to walk in silence for a little while, until Adore heard a faint rustle of leaves.

“Oh my god, what was that?!” Adore exclaimed, jumping onto Roy. Roy, startled, stepped back to support the both of them but ended up tripping and falling backwards. Landing on his back, shortly after Adore tumbled face first onto his chest he watched her basket of clothes and perishables go flying in the other direction.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t hit your head did I? I really tried not to.” Adore rushed, stroking his face soothingly.

Roy smiled as he felt the soft hand touch his face. No one had touched him so tenderly in years. He let his face relax against her hand as she hesitated studying his features.

This was the first time she had seen him really smile, she realized. He didn’t seem like a bad person, and he didn’t seem so deceiving either. Someone with eyes like melted caramel couldn’t have one bad intention in their heart. There was no way. Adore could just feel the kindness radiating out of Roy as she stroked his cheek, making sure to carefully remove the dirt from it. He smirked, revealing two indentations in his cheeks instantly making Adore’s face heat.

“You have really cute dimples, you should smile more often.” Adore murmured, smiling as she removed her hand from his face. She stood up, dusting herself off and making sure everything was back into the basket. She felt her stomach fill with some sort of uneasy feeling - was she nausous? Was it that weird gut feeling that her romance novels talked about whenever the women found a man attractive? She couldn’t exactly tell, but she felt like it was a good thing so she decided to ignore it. She ignored the foreign feeling in her stomach, and what her mom had always told her about romance novels, that they weren’t real interpretations of men and the way that they acted.

“Thanks,” Roy said, brushing off the dust from his shoulders “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just ready to be out of this stupid forest.” Adore admitted.

“Look over there.” Roy pointed. Why did it seem so long when he was running from the royal guard?

In the near distance, a literal light at the end of the forest could be seen. Adore sighed in relief.

“Thank god.” Adore breathed.

They exited the forest briskly, walking alongside a path for a little while in silence. It was a comfortable silence though, the two of them lost in their thoughts as they traveled.

For having just met, Adore was sure trustworthy of him. If he were any other man, she would most likely be in grave danger. In this day and age,a lot of men were pigs who would take advantage of such a beauty. Roy shuddered at the thought of the young girl being harmed, and in that moment was thankful that he was the one that had found her instead of well, literally anyone else.

Roy would be the first to admit it didn’t take much for him to fall for a girl - but there was something so refreshing about Adore that he was drawn to. He just couldn’t help himself. She was so positive despite being locked in a tower for her entire life- which reminded him he needed to really hear the rest of that backstory.

Then he remembered that would make her curious about his backstory. And Roy didn’t do backstories.

As he continued to ponder why he was so drawn to someone that he had just met, he noticed that they had arrived in front of the bar he had wanted to go to. Adore had stopped on the nearby riverbank for some water, and to gaze at the surroundings. The excitement was written all over her face, and he hated to ruin it; but Roy needed to get inside and talk to Courtney - who knows how long he had until the royal guard found him.

“This is where we’re staying tonight! Let’s go.” Roy called.

———————-

Once they were seated in the bar area, Roy grinned at all of the attention that they were getting from the other customers. Him and Adore sure looked like a motley cru. Adore was dressed in some of the richest fabrics Roy had ever seen, with hair that could wrap around the width of the restaurant two times over. Adore’s hair had leaves, broken tree branches, flower petals, and all sorts of things stuck to the ends.

And Roy was well, Roy.

“What can I get you- Oh my god pussyface!” The short blonde exclaimed. She quickly set down their waters on the table and bounced up and down in excitement, her perky breasts jiggling in her dress. She embraced Roy in a hug, smiling ear to ear.

“Calm down jiggly, jeez.” Roy laughed, squeezing her in for a close hug. When they moved apart the girl eyed Adore, raising an eyebrow at Roy.

“Are you going to introduce me to your beautiful girlfriend or what?” She teased, punching him in the arm playfully.

Roy, blushing and now appearing flustered, stumbled over his words before he uttered:

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Well she should be! What’s your name sweet thing? And where did you get all of that beautiful hair?” She eyed the long hair swept across her shoulder as it drooped onto the floor.

“My name is Adore, and I got it from my mom bitch!” Adore exclaimed.

Roy spit out his water in shock as his high pitched laugh echoed throughout the bar.

“My god you’re feisty. I like you, my name’s Courtney. Your drink is on the house!” Courtney exclaimed amused as she walked away.

“What was so funny?” Adore asked puzzled.

“You’re just this cute little thing, I didn’t think a dainty girl like you could ever utter such a dirty word.” Roy chuckled. He actually found it quite charming that Adore had been bold enough to introduce herself that way. No other girl would ever call another female a bitch to their face, at least not in this day and age.

“First of all, I’m not dainty.” Adore started. “And second of all, doesn’t everyone cuss?”

“Most women usually don’t.” Roy shrugged meekly.

“Well, I’m not like most girls.” Adore said.

It was a simple statement, but something about it made Roy look at her in a different way. Yes, clearly she was not like other girls with her miles of blonde hair but there was something so alluring about her that he just couldn’t put his finger on. There were so many faucets to her personality, she was just so fascinating. He just couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. He noticed that her eyes had deepened to more of an emerald color in the warm light of the bar - was it the bar lights or had they always been that dark of a green?

“Would you believe that Courtney’s a man?” Roy asked wiggling his eyebrows, changing the subject. Adore probably had absolutely no idea what a drag queen was, but she was definitely about to find out tonight.

“A man? What are you talking about? She’s clearly a woman. Stop messing with me.” Adore argued annoyed. Roy’s lips curled up in amusement and she scowled at him. She was a bit irritated with Roy now, he seemed to be enjoying her embarrassing herself.

“When she comes back, ask her.” Roy smiled.

As if on cue, Courtney came back smiling with two drinks. The one for Adore was dark blue, while the one Roy had was brown in a small square glass. Adore raised an eyebrow at him, not challenging his lie as she tried to figure out what kind of drink Courtney made. Was it a blueberry lemonade?

“Have you lost your mind?” Roy hissed, glaring at Adore’s blue drink. The “Adios” was famous for staying true to it’s name, and with the 7 different liquors decorating it - Adore would only need one.

“Whatever do you mean?” Courtney asked sweetly. She winked at Roy, who was now scowling. The last thing he wanted to do was be a babysitter.

Adore had taken a large gulp of the liquid, expecting something fruity and sweet. She coughed as she felt the burning alcohol hit her throat.

Why did people like alcohol? It’s disgusting! She thought. She frowned as she realized it was un lady-like not to finish a drink, especially a free one.

Roy looked at her sympathetically and took a sip of his scotch.

“Adore, you should just chug that and get it over with.” Roy suggested. If she got drunk now, she could go pass out quicker which would leave him more time to sweet talk Courtney into letting them stay the night.

“Yeah right, I’m not going to listen to you again.” Adore said annoyed. She pushed the drink aside, already feeling the alcohol settling in her stomach.

“Wise girl.” Courtney commented. Roy shot her a side eye and she winked in return.

“Thank you Courtney. He was trying to tell me earlier that you’re a man. What a jerk right?” Adore asked, twirling a piece of blonde hair around her finger.

Courtney’s face went from amused to shock and back to amused all within 30 seconds.

“He did now?” Courtney asked playfully, glaring at Roy.

“Yeah, I knew it was a lie because you’re so beautiful and there’s no way! Like look, she has boobies Roy.” Adore exclaimed, pointing to Courtney’s breasts.

Roy was cackling so hard now that he was bent over in his chair. Clearly, Adore was buzzed already, only after a literal sip. He was having way too much fun teasing her. She was a very gullible 18 year old, although he didn’t know how many young girls were really interested in the art of drag.

Adore rolled her eyes, taking the remainder of her drink and chugging it. Roy’s jaw dropped as he watched her successfully drain the remains of the cocktail.

She just knew how to surprise him over and over again.

“He acts like I’m so stupid. Does he do that with you Court? I’ve read more books than he probably ever will in his entire lifetime.” Adore continued, noting that the room was starting to have a foggy edge to it.

“False.” Roy retorted. He had been in an orphanage yes, but that didn’t mean he didn’t take advantage of the education.

“Listen Adore. I’ll tell you a big secret of mine.” Courtney paused for dramatic effect as she stared down at Adore. “I really am a man.”

“No fucking way! Prove it!” Adore shouted, standing up on her chair, teetering slightly. This must be what it’s like to be drunk, she thought. Everything around her was spinning, and she felt giddy. Maybe she was on a natural high from disobeying her mom for the first time.

“Jesus Roy, do you see what you’ve started? Fine, come backstage with me. But I’ll only prove it to you on one condition.” Courtney said.

“What’s the condition?” Adore asked eagerly.

“Roy has to dress up as Bianca del Rio.”

Roy groaned, slamming his drink down on the table.

“No, not worth it.” Roy shook his head.

“You can be a girl too?” Adore asked slurring. “You’re just a fuckin’ magician aren’t you?”

“Bianca is not a girl- trust me. She is a clown in a gown, there’s a big difference. “ Roy scoffed, before turning towards the waitress. “Damnit Courtney, I almost want to humor your stupid condition.”

“Humor her. I wanna meet Bianca.” Adore said.

“Fine, but only if Courtney agrees to fix your rat nest of a hairdo. It’s a fucking catastrophe frankly, and probably has 50 different species living in it as we speak.” Roy snapped.

“Deal, ” Courtney answered, much to Roy’s dismay as she shook his hand

[readbookywooks]

IN THE WITCH'S HOUSE

AND now of course you want to know what had happened to Edmund. He had eaten his share of the dinner, but he hadn't really enjoyed it because he was thinking all the time about Turkish Delight - and there's nothing that spoils the taste of good ordinary food half so much as the memory of bad magic food. And he had heard the conversation, and hadn't enjoyed it much either, because he kept on thinking that the others were taking no notice of him and trying to give him the cold shoulder. They weren't, but he imagined it. And then he had listened until Mr Beaver told them about Aslan and until he had heard the whole arrangement for meeting Aslan at the Stone Table. It was then that he began very quietly to edge himself under the curtain which hung over the door. For the mention of Aslan gave him a mysterious and horrible feeling just as it gave the others a mysterious and lovely feeling. Just as Mr Beaver had been repeating the rhyme about Adam's flesh and Adam's bone Edmund had been very quietly turning the doorhandle; and just before Mr Beaver had begun telling them that the White Witch wasn't really human at all but half a Jinn and half a giantess, Edmund had got outside into the snow and cautiously closed the door behind him. You mustn't think that even now Edmund was quite so bad that he actually wanted his brother and sisters to be turned into stone. He did want Turkish Delight and to be a Prince (and later a King) and to pay Peter out for calling him a beast. As for what the Witch would do with the others, he didn't want her to be particularly nice to them - certainly not to put them on the same level as himself; but he managed to believe, or to pretend he believed, that she wouldn't do anything very bad to them, "Because," he said to himself, "all these people who say nasty things about her are her enemies and probably half of it isn't true. She was jolly nice to me, anyway, much nicer than they are. I expect she is the rightful Queen really. Anyway, she'll be better than that awful Aslan!" At least, that was the excuse he made in his own mind for what he was doing. It wasn't a very good excuse, however, for deep down inside him he really knew that the White Witch was bad and cruel. The first thing he realized when he got outside and found the snow falling all round him, was that he had left his coat behind in the Beavers' house. And of course there was no chance of going back to get it now. The next thing he realized was that the daylight was almost gone, for it had been nearly three o'clock when they sat down to dinner and the winter days were short. He hadn't reckoned on this; but he had to make the best of it. So he turned up his collar and shuffled across the top of the dam (luckily it wasn't so slippery since the snow had fallen) to the far side of the river. It was pretty bad when he reached the far side. It was growing darker every minute and what with that and the snowflakes swirling all round him he could hardly see three feet ahead. And then too there was no road. He kept slipping into deep drifts of snow, and skidding on frozen puddles, and tripping over fallen tree-trunks, and sliding down steep banks, and barking his shins against rocks, till he was wet and cold and bruised all over. The silence and the loneliness were dreadful. In fact I really think he might have given up the whole plan and gone back and owned up and made friends with the others, if he hadn't happened to say to himself, "When I'm King of Narnia the first thing I shall do will be to make some decent roads." And of course that set him off thinking about being a King and all the other things he would do and this cheered him up a good deal. He had just settled in his mind what sort of palace he would have and how many cars and all about his private cinema and where the principal railways would run and what laws he would make against beavers and dams and was putting the finishing touches to some schemes for keeping Peter in his place, when the weather changed. First the snow stopped. Then a wind sprang up and it became freezing cold. Finally, the clouds rolled away and the moon came out. It was a full moon and, shining on all that snow, it made everything almost as bright as day - only the shadows were rather confusing. He would never have found his way if the moon hadn't come out by the time he got to the other river you remember he had seen (when they first arrived at the Beavers') a smaller river flowing into the great one lower down. He now reached this and turned to follow it up. But the little valley down which it came was much steeper and rockier than the one he had just left and much overgrown with bushes, so that he could not have managed it at all in the dark. Even as it was, he got wet through for he had to stoop under branches and great loads of snow came sliding off on to his back. And every time this happened he thought more and more how he hated Peter - just as if all this had been Peter's fault. But at last he came to a part where it was more level and the valley opened out. And there, on the other side of the river, quite close to him, in the middle of a little plain between two hills, he saw what must be the White Witch's House. And the moon was shining brighter than ever. The House was really a small castle. It seemed to be all towers; little towers with long pointed spires on them, sharp as needles. They looked like huge dunce's caps or sorcerer's caps. And they shone in the moonlight and their long shadows looked strange on the snow. Edmund began to be afraid of the House. But it was too late to think of turning back now. He crossed the river on the ice and walked up to the House. There was nothing stirring; not the slightest sound anywhere. Even his own feet made no noise on the deep newly fallen snow. He walked on and on, past corner after corner of the House, and past turret after turret to find the door. He had to go right round to the far side before he found it. It was a huge arch but the great iron gates stood wide open. Edmund crept up to the arch and looked inside into the courtyard, and there he saw a sight that nearly made his heart stop beating. Just inside the gate, with the moonlight shining on it, stood an enormous lion crouched as if it was ready to spring. And Edmund stood in the shadow of the arch, afraid to go on and afraid to go back, with his knees knocking together. He stood there so long that his teeth would have been chattering with cold even if they had not been chattering with fear. How long this really lasted I don't know, but it seemed to Edmund to last for hours. Then at last he began to wonder why the lion was standing so still - for it hadn't moved one inch since he first set eyes on it. Edmund now ventured a little nearer, still keeping in the shadow of the arch as much as he could. He now saw from the way the lion was standing that it couldn't have been looking at him at all. ("But supposing it turns its head?" thought Edmund.) In fact it was staring at something else namely a little: dwarf who stood with his back to it about four feet away. "Aha!" thought Edmund. "When it springs at the dwarf then will be my chance to escape." But still the lion never moved, nor did the dwarf. And now at last Edmund remembered what the others had said about the White Witch turning people into stone. Perhaps this was only a stone lion. And as soon as he had thought of that he noticed that the lion's back and the top of its head were covered with snow. Of course it must be only a statue! No living animal would have let itself get covered with snow. Then very slowly and with his heart beating as if it would burst, Edmund ventured to go up to the lion. Even now he hardly dared to touch it, but at last he put out his hand, very quickly, and did. It was cold stone. He had been frightened of a mere statue! The relief which Edmund felt was so great that in spite of the cold he suddenly got warm all over right down to his toes, and at the same time there came into his head what seemed a perfectly lovely idea. "Probably," he thought, "this is the great Lion Aslan that they were all talking about. She's caught him already and turned him into stone. So that's the end of all their fine ideas about him! Pooh! Who's afraid of Aslan?" And he stood there gloating over the stone lion, and presently he did something very silly and childish. He took a stump of lead pencil out of his pocket and scribbled a moustache on the lion's upper lip and then a pair of spectacles on its eyes. Then he said, "Yah! Silly old Aslan! How do you like being a stone? You thought yourself mighty fine, didn't you?" But in spite of the scribbles on it the face of the great stone beast still looked so terrible, and sad, and noble, staring up in the moonlight, that Edmund didn't really get any fun out of jeering at it. He turned away and began to cross the courtyard. As he got into the middle of it he saw that there were dozens of statues all about - standing here and there rather as the pieces stand on a chess-board when it is half-way through the game. There were stone satyrs, and stone wolves, and bears and foxes and cat-amountains of stone. There were lovely stone shapes that looked like women but who were really the spirits of trees. There was the great shape of a centaur and a winged horse and a long lithe creature that Edmund took to be a dragon. They all looked so strange standing there perfectly life-like and also perfectly still, in the bright cold moonlight, that it was eerie work crossing the courtyard. Right in the very middle stood a huge shape like a man, but as tall as a tree, with a fierce face and a shaggy beard and a great club in its right hand. Even though he knew that it was only a stone giant and not a live one, Edmund did not like going past it. He now saw that there was a dim light showing from a doorway on the far side of the courtyard. He went to it; there was a flight of stone steps going up to an open door. Edmund went up them. Across the threshold lay a great wolf. "It's all right, it's all right," he kept saying to himself; "it's only a stone wolf. It can't hurt me", and he raised his leg to step over it. Instantly the huge creature rose, with all the hair bristling along its back, opened a great, red mouth and said in a growling voice: "Who's there? Who's there? Stand still, stranger, and tell me who you are." "If you please, sir," said Edmund, trembling so that he could hardly speak, "my name is Edmund, and I'm the Son of Adam that Her Majesty met in the wood the other day and I've come to bring her the news that my brother and sisters are now in Narnia - quite close, in the Beavers' house. She - she wanted to see them." "I will tell Her Majesty," said the Wolf. "Meanwhile, stand still on the threshold, as you value your life." Then it vanished into the house. Edmund stood and waited, his fingers aching with cold and his heart pounding in his chest, and presently the grey wolf, Maugrim, the Chief of the Witch's Secret Police, came bounding back and said, "Come in! Come in! Fortunate favourite of the Queen - or else not so fortunate." And Edmund went in, taking great care not to tread on the Wolf's paws. He found himself in a long gloomy hall with many pillars, full, as the courtyard had been, of statues. The one nearest the door was a little faun with a very sad expression on its face, and Edmund couldn't help wondering if this might be Lucy's friend. The only light came from a single lamp and close beside this sat the White Witch. "I'm come, your Majesty," said Edmund, rushing eagerly forward. "How dare you come alone?" said the Witch in a terrible voice. "Did I not tell you to bring the others with you?" "Please, your Majesty," said Edmund, "I've done the best I can. I've brought them quite close. They're in the little house on top of the dam just up the riverwith Mr and Mrs Beaver." A slow cruel smile came over the Witch's face. "Is this all your news?" she asked. "No, your Majesty," said Edmund, and proceeded to tell her all he had heard before leaving the Beavers' house. "What! Aslan?" cried the Queen, "Aslan! Is this true? If I find you have lied to me - " "Please, I'm only repeating what they said," stammered Edmund. But the Queen, who was no longer attending to him, clapped her hands. Instantly the same dwarf whom Edmund had seen with her before appeared. "Make ready our sledge," ordered the Witch, "and use the harness without bells."

[panda-noosh]

omg i loved that prof shiro fic you wrote for that anon! could you do a part 2 where they're dating secretly and in the honeymoon 'I-cant-keep-my-hands-off-you' phase so they sneak about & make out in random places like the library, or the sci-labs, his car etc and this goes on for a few months but then one day they're careless and get caught kissing shirtless in his office?? the faculty threaten to fire him but he just quits - 'there's a million jobs but there's only one you', that kinda thing?

Damn it, I lovedwriting this. Enjoy!

   You knew what youwere doing with Shiro was a risk, but that made it all the more fun.

  Shiro had come tothe end of his student training a few months ago, and for a while,you believed that was the end of it. There was no way you two couldcontinue on what you had – not now that he was a professionalteacher. He had been permitted to keep the students out of hisromantic life, and having you around made that task extremelydifficult.

   The talk was a sadone. Long awaited. Much needed, but sad. Shiro had shed a few tearswhilst you sat in front of him bawling, wanting nothing more than todrop out of school in that instant. Shiro had that affect over you –your future was unseeable whenever he was involved. You lived in thepresent when you were with him, because that was all you wanted tosee. Now. With him.

   The talk had endedin a heated make out session in the staff room after the school hadclosed, and the topic wasn't brought up again. In fact, the staffroom had suddenly upgraded to your and Shiro's meeting place. Secretshad been locked within the walls of that room that you and Shirowouldn't be allowed to tell anybody.

    Today was nodifferent. Your final class had ended, and you were quick to makeyour way down the corridor to the staff room which was currentlydeserted bar the man you were there for – Shiro.

   He stood by thekettle, placing a tea bag in two cups though he knew full well it wasunlikely they would be drunk.

    You knocked on thedoor twice before entering, though as soon as you were walkinginside, Shiro span around and greeted you with a large smile thatshowed off his perfectly straight teeth. It always made butterflieserupt in your stomach, ones you were quick to push down as youscowled at him.

    He frowned uponseeing your reaction. “What did I do?”

   “What were youeven talking about in class today?” you asked, approaching himslowly. He watched your every move like a lion stalking it's prey,eyes trailing down your body. You noticed his hands gripping thegranite counter top a little tighter, knuckles glowing white with thepressure.

   “What do youmean?” he questioned.

   “I mean, Icouldn't even pay attention to you when you decided to unbutton yourtop button.” You said the final words through gritted teeth whilstat the same time looping your finger through his now closed topbutton.

   Shiro's breathhitched when you popped it, just like he had done earlier in class.He had only done it to mess with you, though he didn't expect for youto get pay back later on.

   “You're tooeasily distracted,” Shiro commented. He was trying so hard to hidethe waver in his voice, but you heard it. You heard it, and it madeyou grin.

   “I think you werejust teasing me,” you said. “But now that class is over and I'mback to being a society-approved adult, it's my turn.”

   “Y/N, I've had along day of-” Shiro's sentence was cut off as you unbuttoned thetop three buttons of your white dress shirt, revealing only collarbones. Collar bones which had been bruised by Shiro's lips from thedays prior.

     His eyes met theskin he had damaged and his mouth ran dry, words coming up short asnothing but lust filled his senses.

   “I-I thought youwere covering those with make up?” Shiro choked out.

   You smiled lightly,running your fingertip over the biggest one. “I liked how theylooked. A reminder that I would get to see you today. They kept megoing.”

    “You really aretoo much.”

   You shrugged. “It'sonly payback.”

    “I don't likepayback.” And then his lips were on yours at long last.

   They crashedtogether, moulding as one to make the perfect shape that you had beenlonging for all day. There was no greater feeling than the feeling ofhis lips on yours, tongues fighting for dominance, and it was alwaysso much better at the end of the day. After you had suffered throughseven classes, after he had dealt with students who didn't even takehim seriously due to his age – it was a release. A good one atthat.

   You squealedwhenever Shiro's hands came to the back of your thighs, lifting youup. He span around, cups clambering out of the way as he sets you onthe granite counter top, his hands finally coming to lean against thecupboard behind you so he can keep himself upright. Your hands takeposition on the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer toyou.

   Noses pressedtogether, tongues battling, lips moulding together – it was allperfect. It was all perfect because it was Shiro.

  Shiro's handtravelled down and gently pressed against the love bites he had lefton you before. You gasped at the sensation, arching your back,chasing his touch for as long as you could. He chuckled against yourlips, your eagerness extremely obvious, but you no longer cared.

   “We should go toyour office,” you panted as his lips trailed down your jawline, hisbreath ticking your sensitive skin. It was warm, the scent of coffeeand mint radiating off of him.

   “I like the soundof-”

   “Mr Shirogane?”

    Everything froze.For a minute, you were almost positive it had to be fake. There wasno way in hell you and himhad been caught – not after this long. Not after nearly five monthsof hiding it, showing no signs of you and him even associating witheach other. You barely raised your hand in his classes. You pretendednot to know his name whenever people asked.

   Thiswasn't fair. This wasn't what you planned. How could you just becaught all of a sudden, after so long of planning this all out?

   Shiropulled away all too fast, lips swollen and hair a mess. He was quickto shield your body with his, you working on buttoning up your shirtas Mr Burk stood in the doorway, eyes wide and hands trembling.

   “Fuck,”Shiro hissed, not bothering to hold back his shock. “M-Mr Burk!Hey! I thought you would have been long gone by now?”

   MrBurk's eye twitched, flicking back and forth between you and Shiro.You wanted to cry. There was a build up in your chest – one offear, one you couldn't explain – that was slowly rising to thepoint of popping and shattering your delicate body all together.

   “Pleasedon't yell at her,” Shiro said whenever Mr Burk stayed silent. Youlooked towards Shiro, shock overtaking you. “I-I'm the teacher. Iwas the one who should have known better.”

   “Shiro,what the hell are you doing?” you hissed.

   “Y/N,I think it's best that you leave and go home,” Mr Burk said.

   “I'mnot leaving.”

   “Theschool is closed,” Mr Burk reminded you. “If you refuse to leave,it is antisocial behaviour and trespassing, and I can call both thepolice and your parents. Let's not cause such trouble.”

   Youplaced your hands on Shiro's shoulders, tugging him between yourknees in an almost protective manner. His breathing was ragged fromthe kiss, his hands trembling in his coat pocket from the fear nodoubt coursing through him.

    “We'rethe same age, Mr Burk,” you commented. “He's no more mature thanI am. Let me explain my side of the-”

   “Y/N, go.” Shiro'svoice broke as he said the words, so simple yet they meant so much.Your grip tightened on his shoulders, wanting to pull him into youand comfort him and tell him it was going to be okay, that this wouldend up okay if he just let you explain, butthe firmness in his tone made your words fall short.

   Youfound yourself sliding off of the counter and exiting the room,turning back to give Shiro one last casual smile, as if all was okayin the world. Shiro gave you one right back, dimples popping and eyesglistening just that little bit. You vowed to never forget thatsmile.

    Dayspassed.

   Shirohadn't been back in school, and he hadn't called you or texted youand everything was a bit of a mess.

   Ofcourse, people had their suspicions now that Shiro had suddenlydisappeared off the face of the earth. Students started making uprumours that he had harassed a student in the hallway, that he hadbeen caught smoking weed around the back of the school, that he hadhit a student in anger – all of the usual rumours that wouldsurface about somebody so young.

   Youtried to ignore them, even though all you wanted to do was stand upfor him. Tell them it was your fault, because that's what it was,right?

   Ifword got out that Shiro had been romantically involved with you, hewould never be hired again. His dream of becoming a teacher would beshattered, all because you had stupidly fallen in love with him.

   Youdidn't expect a call from him, or a text, or any bit of communicationfor that matter. He was most likely dealing with getting fired, goingthrough all the paper work and everything else that banished him fromhis dreams. You had basically demolished them for him, and the guiltwas like a plague – it settled in your chest and nipped away atyour breathing, and sometimes you found yourself just zoning out forno reason.

   MrBurk barely looked at you. An award-winning student, A's all around.He no doubt was in a state of shock that you had even thoughtof stepping out of line. Notthat he knew. The man had divorced and remarried 4 times and hadthree sets of children with three different women.

   Thefifth day without Shiro ended. You gathered your books and stuffedthem in your bag after your last class, only this time you didn'thead for the staff room. You headed for the gates, ready to go homeand do your usual routine of crying and missing out on the homeworkyou should have been getting done.

    Thegates flooded with students eager to escape the confines of the hellthey had been caught in. Sixteen to twenty seven year olds, all ofthem in a rush to get home. You watch them as they leave for amoment, leaning against the bench just before the exit pillars,pressing your books to your chest as you got lost in thought.

   Thethoughts were always the same – Shiro. What he was doing. How hewas living without a job. What his parents must think – becausethat was the thing. Shiro was at an age where parents were still aworry. He could very well still live with them, despite beingeighteen years old. He was still at that age where he needed the helpwith life, getting on his feet.

    Maybethat was why Mr Burk hadn't completely yelled him out on the spot.

   Youducked your had down and let out a sigh, the cold air making yourbreath visible to you. You watch as it disappears into thefrost-struck air, eyes trailing up as it floats skyward -

   Butyour eyes never reach the sky. Instead, they tangle themselves inanother blue thing.

   Younearly drop your books.

    “Whatare you doing here?” you asked. The question slipped from yourmouth so quickly, so suddenly and harshly that it made Shiro frown.

   “Well,it's nice to see you too,” he grumbled. “You look freezing. Howabout we go and get some coffee to warm you up?”

   Youcould only stare blankly at him, unsure of what to say, unsure ofwhat he was doing. It made no sense. Why was he pretending nothinghad happened? Why was he acting like you two could just befine after what happened?

   Shirowaited for your answer, though all he got in response was the coldair whistling between you two.

   “Ifyou're busy I can always-”

   You cut him off before he couldcontinue. “I don't know what you're doing. But I missed you somuch.”

   Shiro's features softened, and instinctively hereached out to you. You noticed him hesitate, not being used toshowing affection in public, but he relaxed upon realising that hewas no longer bound to this schools rules. His fingers found yourwaist, and before you could think about the prying eyes of theexiting students, you had dropped your books on the floor and wastugging him closer to you.

    Thecold was chased away, replaced only by the warmth that sent reliefthrough shivering bones and made smiles appear on faces. Shiro's gripwas tight on your waist, his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck,his lips placing dotted kisses up and down the skin that you missedso much.

    “Iquit,” he whispered against your collar bone.

   Youfroze in his grip but was unable to pull away. Instead, you let himcontinue.

   “MrBurk said he wouldn't fire me if I didn't continue on my relationshipwith you. He – He said I could keep my job and he wouldn't speak aword about what he saw. Said he'd move you to a different class andthat be it. But I couldn't let him, Y/N. I couldn't let him just –just pull us apart like that, you know?”

   Youclosed your eyes, nuzzling your head further into the crook of hisneck.

   “Ican get a new job, but there's only one of you and I don't want tolose you. Not when you make me this happy. Not when you've affectedmy life in the way you have. We'll figure something out and it'll allbe okay. Won't it, babe?”

   Yousniffled, not realising you were crying until he finished talking.“Right. We'll be okay, Shiro. It'll always end up okay.”