#like i am sayin this based on observation

[lovefeasted]

hmmmmm thoughts in the tags, obviously not about anyone here just a gen observation

[sansaorgana]

Angst idea where readers brother is in the 100 and buck her lover has to break the news that her brother was killed and she’s screaming in agony, and he’s just trying to be their for her in anyway possible :)

hi, love! 😌 I see you have a thing for angsty pieces 🤣 here it is then!

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

Buck felt stupid for interrupting the nurses’ work with something as irrelevant as a headache when they were busy with much more important things but he couldn’t handle the stinging pain inside his head anymore. On his way to the sickbay he felt his temples pulsating and in a brief moment of a haze, he bumped into someone.

“For God’s sake!” He heard a female voice and then a sound of papers landing all over the floor. “Major Cleven!” She scolded him.

Buck’s senses came back to him and he spotted a woman crouching on the floor, gathering the scattered papers.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” he went on his knees as well to help her. “I’m sorry… I was on my way to the sickbay, I have an awful migraine,” he confessed.

“And you want to bother the nurses with it? When they’re patching up men with bullet holes?” She raised an eyebrow at him and he blushed, handing her the last paper off of the floor. She straightened herself and looked down at him with pity. “Come with me, I have aspirin in my office,” she offered him her hand and he took it to stand up as well.

He followed her to a small office next to the Colonel’s one and she gave him an aspirin from her desk’s drawer.

“Thank you, miss…” Buck stuttered out.

“(Y/L/N),” you introduced yourself.

“Are you perhaps family with Lieutenant (Y/L/N)?” Buck asked.

“Yes, he is my brother. We made sure to be assigned to the same place,” she nodded her head and he nodded his head.

“Thank you for the aspirin,” Buck said before walking out of her office.

This time he nearly bumped into Bucky.

“What is wrong with you today, man?” Bucky asked, worryingly.

“I have a migraine, doesn’t matter… I have aspirin already,” Buck showed him what he was holding in his hand. “(Y/L/N)’s sister gave it to me,” he explained.

“Stay away from her, you devil,” Bucky chuckled and Buck hissed at him. He was sure she could hear them. “I mean, for real, he’s a rough son of a bitch.”

“I know, I flew with him,” Buck chuckled. “He’s one of a kind.”

“Yeah, so if you don’t want to lose those pearly white teeth of yours, stay away from his sister,” Bucky teased.

However, it was not so easy to stay away from her. Perhaps the fact she was a sister of one of his friends was making it a bit more tempting as it felt forbidden.

But she really was a pretty girl – a bit rough like her brother sometimes – but also very helpful and kind when you got to know her.

“I see you’re staring at my sister, sir,” (Y/L/N) grinned at Buck one evening when they were eating supper by the same table. Buck blinked a few times and stopped looking at (Y/N) sitting with her female friends before laying his eyes on his friend.

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” he made up an excuse.

“It’s okay,” (Y/L/N) shrugged his arms and Buck’s eyes widened a little. “I mean, she’s my little sister, so you know… Not easy for me. But she has to start dating one day whether I like it or not. And you’re a good man, Buck. If there is one man around that base I’d accept her to be with, it would be you.”

“Surely you can’t be serious,” Buck was confused. He liked to look at her, yes. Sometimes he observed her. But he hadn’t actually been thinking of starting any relationship on the base. “I mean, we can die any day.”

“My sister’s a tough cookie, she can handle that,” (Y/L/N) shrugged his arms. “What I’m sayin’ is that if you find my sister pretty, then talk to her, goddamnit. You don’t hear such words often, am I right? That’s how much I trust you, Cleven.”

“Thank you…” Buck cleared his throat and looked at (Y/N) again. She was staring at him, too, with a teasing smile. Her brother waved at her and she rolled her eyes before turning around to giggle at something with her friends.

It was almost as if (Y/N)’s brother was a matchmaker between Buck and her. Soon enough they became a couple as everyone else on the base teased them about it. Buck was trying to always be a gentleman around (Y/N), though, fearing that (Y/L/N) would indeed punch him if he tried to get too touchy or too pushy with his sister. Back at home, he had won some boxing tournaments, so they said. Buck didn’t want to find out if it had been true.

On that day both Buck and (Y/N) were nervous as hell because Bucky and Lieutenant (Y/L/N) were up in the air together. Buck was sitting in his girlfriend’s office and helping her with filling the papers to keep their heads busy.

“Ow,” she hissed suddenly as he raised his eyes, worryingly.

“Is everything alright?” He asked at the sight of (Y/N) clutching her chest.

“Y-yes… Just some weird cramp around my heart, I don’t know…” She tried to sound as casual as always but her eyes wandered to her brother’s picture on a desk.

“You should tell a doctor about it. Heart matters are no joke,” Buck was not satisfied with her answer.

“No, it’s different, baby, it’s not… Nevermind,” she sighed and her lower lip trembled a little. She bit on it and went back to filing the papers to keep her head busy.

About an hour later, Buck heard familiar noises from the outside.

“They’re coming back,” he stood up rapidly. “I’ll go and check. Wanna go with me?” He offered her his hand but she shook her head.

“N-no, I’d rather stay here,” she admitted.

Buck nodded and hurried out of her office to go outside and watch the planes land. He was relieved to see Bucky’s one but he couldn’t find the one with (Y/N)’s brother on board.

Nervously, Buck approached Bucky as his friend was jumping out of the plane.

“That was fucking hell!” Bucky looked exhausted but he grinned. “You’re a lucky bastard that you weren’t there!”

“What about (Y/L/N)?” Buck asked seriously and Bucky’s face frowned in an instant.

He shook his head as Buck’s heart skipped a beat.

“What do you mean?”

“Listen, the plane, it went down…” Bucky explained nervously.

“Any parachutes?”

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Bucky shook his head. “I mean, it happened so fast. They just… They blew up in the air. I doubt they even had time to grab any parachutes.”

Buck only nodded and turned around to walk back inside the base. He wanted to be the one telling (Y/N) about her brother’s death but he had no idea how to do it. He grieved his friends but his heart was also breaking for his girl and for the pain she would feel now. He wished he could take that all on him but it was impossible.

When he carefully entered her office again, she was already sobbing. There was no way someone had told her before the interrogation, though. He looked at her questioningly.

“He’s not back, am I right?” She hid her face in her hands and Buck’s eyes widened before he approached her to put his arms around her.

“How did you know?” He only asked and she let out a cry. She wrapped her arms around him and took a deep breath in.

“I just knew… I felt it, back then… I tried to tell myself it was not true but I just knew,” she admitted and Buck caressed her back.

After a while of holding her close and letting her cry out all the tears as she trembled in his arms, (Y/N) moved away slightly to look at Buck’s face.

“Maybe he’s just MIA?”

Oh, how he wished to be able to feed her with such hope. But there was none and there was no point of lying. Although her eyes were practically begging him to.

“Do you want the truth?” He swallowed thickly. He hated seeing her like that.

“No need. I already know,” she sobbed again and hid her face in the crook of his neck. “God, Buck, how will I even tell it to my parents?”

Buck didn’t say anything. There were no words. He only held her close and kept caressing her back and arms to comfort her.

Time passed and they just stayed like that. At some point, Colonel Harding opened the door and froze at the sight.

“She already knows,” Buck whispered and the Colonel nodded before leaving quietly.

Buck was sitting on the bed and watching (Y/N) going through her brother’s things quietly. He was there for emotional support because there was nothing else he could do except for just being there and it was killing him that he couldn’t do more.

“This I’ll send back home, this I’ll keep here with me,” she was mumbling as she rummaged through her brother’s personal belongings. She suddenly turned around with a smile on her face wet from tears. Buck furrowed his brows. “No comment at that,” she chuckled sadly and threw a few condoms at her boyfriend. “You can give them to Bucky,” she sniffled and went back to looking at her brother’s things.

Buck chuckled sadly, too. He hid the condoms in his pocket. He would give them to Bucky later indeed. (Y/L/N) and Bucky had loved to brag to each other about their adventures with women.

“Weird,” (Y/N) turned around and handed Buck an envelope. “It’s for you,” she said.

Buck caressed the paper delicately as he read the message written on it.

Give to Buck Cleven if I go down

“Are you sure you want me to read it?” Buck looked at his girl.

“What do you mean? It’s addressed to you,” she answered, confused. “It’s weird but that’s how it is.”

“Perhaps you’d like to read it first?” Buck wanted to make sure. It felt odd to have a letter from her dead brother waiting for him like that.

They had become close these past few weeks but it was not like they had been best friends.

“Just open it. Or not, it’s your decision. The letter is addressed to you,” (Y/N) shrugged her arms and went back to looking through her brother’s things.

Buck’s hands shook a little as he tore the envelope open and took out a note from it.

Buck, if you’re reading this, it means I went down. A possibility I’ve always considered. If there's one pilot out of us all who will survive this whole thing, it’s gonna be you. We both know it, don’t deny that. I sincerely hope you’re gonna be lucky enough and my sister will want to marry you one day. But for now, no matter what happens next, please take care of her. I made sure to be assigned to the same place she was being sent to. I promised our mother to look after her and now that’s a promise I cannot keep anymore. Please, do it for me. I am no man of words. As you can probably see… Ha ha ha. So that’s it, old man. Tell my baby sister that I love her and that I’m going to look after her from the other side. Sincerely, (Y/L/N). PS When you two have a son one day, it would be nice if you named him after me. Just a suggestion…!!!

“And?” (Y/N) turned around to check on Buck. “Oh, baby, what is it?” She asked when she saw tears in his eyes. “What did he say?”

“You can read it,” Buck handed her the letter and she sat next to him, holding the paper in shaking hands.

He watched her reading it as her eyes also filled with the fresh tears.

“I’m going to miss him so much… What will I even do without him?” She asked after giving Buck the letter back. Her voice was oddly calm as if she finally started to realise what had truly happened.

“He’s still here. Watching over you. That’s what it says here,” Buck pointed at the letter. “I take very seriously what he wrote,” he assured her and put his arm around (Y/N) to bring her closer and kiss her forehead. “Every word,” he added.

“I just want you to promise me one thing, Gale,” (Y/N) hugged him tighter.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Don’t leave me in this world like he did.”

Buck took a deep breath in. It was a promise he wanted to give more than anything but he couldn’t. All he could say was that he would try his best. But that was not what she wanted to hear. Perhaps she needed a little lie.

“I will not,” he said. “I promise.”

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[always-is-always]

Post-June 2025...what will we see?

Hmmmm. Okay, so I'll just put this here, and we will either see just how wrong I can be 😁 , or just how spot-on I can be. 😇

With recent developments in the movement of furniture, from Jimin's place to his Dad's cafe', I'm just going to say what is in my mind. We are going to see Jimin moving into that big 5-level home, that Jungkook is building. Yeah.

Don't quote me. And, don't dog me either. lol... this is just my little ramble based on stuff that I sense (there's a ton of that), and simply observing what we have been shown (subtle as some of it is). Yeah.

After they finish this life-changing 18 months of literally living side-by-side, I think that they will not want to separate themselves from one another. Again, that is just my thought/sense, and that's that. lol... I'm not sayin' it is absolutely correct, but I am sayin' that it is absolutely a possibility. 😆 And, being free of their MS requirements actually takes the legalities of being a queer couple out of their future timeline. Meaning, they will no longer have to consider things quite the way they did in 2023, prior to their application to enlist as companions, and after it had been accepted.

After June 12 2025, they will be FREE. Sure, they have the constraints of their culture, the fandom and their industry. But they are also well enough established that they have far more wiggle-room, and they have more power in their personal choices. Honestly, they have enough money between the two of them that they don't have to work another day in their lives, if they chose not to. They are that wealthy. (I think we forget that they work by choice.)

It feels like this time that they have AWAY from the cameras, away from the fandom, away from Big Hit and HYBE, is the biggest gift that they could get. I'm reminded of 2020. I actually feel that the insanity of the 2020 lockdowns and cancellation of their public performances gave them the break they needed, and the time to be together that they needed. If I've really learned anything so far from all the original content I have been watching, it is that the members NEEDED to have their own space to live in, and privacy.

Right now, Jimin and Jungkook are in their military bubble, safe and sound, and exactly where they chose to be as companions. Afterwards, I think that they are planning to be housemates, once discharged.

So, there. I said it. We shall see what comes in 2025....

One more thing. I am not saying that they will come out, as a couple. That is a whole other can of worms. But as I have written before, if they can pull off applying to enlist as companions AND actually enlisting as companions, they CAN pull off being housemates (without putting any label on it publicly).

Another ramble that just kinda happened. Blame my fingers for just doing their thing, and that other thing called, "intuition". Yeah.

2025 is going to be an interesting year. For sure.

[nerdieforpedro]

Wash Day

Joel Miller x Layla (plus size OFC)

Fanfiction (all ages)

Masterlist / A03 link / Joel Miller Masterlist / Drops of Sugar Series

Summary: Layla has decided to wash her hair at home today since everyone is out, but she does end up receiving some excellent help.

Warnings: Just fluff and possible badly written southern accent

Notes: I do not look forward to washing my hair but I also don’t feel like paying salon prices. I was very self-indulgent with this. I want Joel Miller to do my hair while he talks to me. 🥰 Like that’s all. Not much. 🤣 I am also convinced that he knows how to care for hair. I saw Sarah's hair. That's all I'mma say. 😏

This is in the same vein as my two part Sugar stories with the same OFC. @legendary-pink-dot gave me a good idea for hair related stories 😝

Sugar part one (I’m your fool Sugar)

Sugar part two (Let me at them Nylons)

Today was a good day for it, Layla decided. It was a Saturday; Joel was working with Tommy on a contracting job that was running into overtime based on their client’s changing tastes. Sarah was out for a good portion for the day due to soccer and then she planned to study at a friend’s house afterward.

The woman stood in front of her mirror and combed out her hair. It wasn’t particularly long, past her shoulders when blown out, but it was extremely thick and sucked up moisture like a sponge, leaving it constantly dry. She removed her night gown and strode into the bathroom and looked to gather her hair products from the little caddy Joel had set up for her. Layla used to keep them under the sink but Joel said he they should be more accessible for her and bought the caddy while he had been out and attempted to organize her hair supplies. She chuckled, reminded of how he always rubs the back of his neck when he isn’t sure about something and she pulled him in for a kiss, reminded yet again at how observant he is.

The water from the shower felt good as she wet her hair and massaged her scalp, repeating the process while shampooing her hair and washing it out after. She let the water flow over her shoulders after applying the conditioner and washing her body. This was the main issue with doing her own hair sometimes, the strain on her shoulders from trying to care for all it, especially the back which she has difficulty reaching. After rising everything off, she stepped out of the shower and towel dried her hair, then wrapped it so the bathroom floor wouldn’t be completely drenched.

The front door closed downstairs; someone had just come home. Maybe Sarah had come early, was the soccer game canceled? She slipped on a simple sleeveless sundress; she didn’t have time for underwear. Heavy steps made their way up the stairs.

No not Sarah.

“Joel, what are you doing home honey?” Layla asked, sitting on the bed, going through her after wash hair supplies box she kept in the closet. Joel stood in the doorway, happy to see her in just a towel on her head. Layla chuckled, “Keep starting Joel. I’m not starting anything while this hair is wet though. I’ll be fit to be tied if it dries and knots up.” The contractor smiled and stood before her and kissed her forehead.

“Wouldn’t dream of it darlin’ looks like I’m rubbing off on ya. Me and my sayin’s.” He grinned. Really, they complemented each other well, Layla had become relaxed her speech some and even picked up a few of Joel’s phrases. Joel had in turn and relaxed slightly, not taking everything so seriously. He looked through her hair box. “Which order you use these in sugar? I can help. Did Sarah’s hair for a bit before Tommy married Maria and Sarah turned her back on her dad.” Layla giggled, Joel would view it that way, she nodded and handed him the detangling spray and a comb.

“I take it you know how to section it out. I have a lot of hair Miller as you well know. I’d like to keep most of it if you don’t mind.” She looked up at him smiling. This was a lot of faith she had in him, she trusted a select few with her hair outside of herself, her hairdresser and her mother, Joel was going to be the fourth if did well. Joel nodded and spayed her hair; he looked in her hair box and found some clips to help divide her hair as he separated it into eight sections. He pointed to the leather chair, and she moved as it was closer to the outlet. Plugging in the hair dryer, he then sprayed the heat protectant on it. Layla sat still she had been anxious but she hadn’t needed to tell him anything, Joel started drying, section by section. The heat and Joel’s large hands running her hair made her sigh. Her feet patted the floor, she was feeling chilled below her shoulders, but it was fine she could deal with a little cold as an exchange for someone else doing her hair.

The Texan smirked as he looked down, more than halfway done with drying, he was also spraying some leave in conditioner after he finished drying. Just on the ends, he knew he would need the grease for her scalp in a bit. After he finished the eight sections, he went over all her hair with the dryer one final time. “Well shit girl, I still got it.” Joel exclaimed, nodding to himself, admiring his work. Layla tipped her chin up to peer at Joel, she laughed.

“I guess you do Joel, but it’s not like you to leave a job unfinished love.” She reached up to grab his hand and pulled it to her lips, kissing the back of it. It smelled like the guava spray he had just used on her hair. “You’re almost done Miller.” Joel leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“S’alright sugar. I got ya.” Joel put down the dryer and reluctantly pulled his hand back. Lalya brought her chin back down and faced forward. The older Miller brother spooned out a handful of a green hair food, commonly called grease. It didn’t feel too dissimilar grease that Joel used on his tools, he rubbed it between his palms and start kneading her scalp, beginning at the back of her head, and working his way up. The sensation made Layla’s toes curl a bit, his strong fingers massaging the warm flesh beneath her hair, his thumbs worked toward the middle of her head while his other fingers spread outward to the fringes near her ears.

“God bless those hands of yours Joel Miller.” The woman moaned, taking hold of the arm rests of the hair and dug her fingers into the chair, her feet arched as she pressed the balls of her feet into the wooden floor. Joel watched as she was relishing the massage. A soft smile came upon his face. Of course, he loved watching as his love appeared to be getting aroused, but more than that, she was sharing more of herself with him. He knew that they came from very different backgrounds, it was moments like this where they bridged their gaps with their shared experiences. His hands worked his way to the top of her head, and he tied her hair in her usual updo as she preferred it off her neck. Joel wiped the excess spray and grease from her shoulders and neck and touched his lips to her neck. He then used the same town to get the grease off his hands.

“Yer all set Layla honey. Ya gonna recommend me?” He asked coyly, she stood and walked over to the mirror, appraising his work though her head felt ten times better than it usually did. Sugar whipped around, making her dress spin with her, and pointed at Joel, curling her finger to tell him to come hither. He put the supplies back in the box and did as she ruffled his curly brown locks, she leaned up to his nose, then his cheek and then his lips, lingering for a minute, Joel wrapped and arm around her wide waist, squeezing her as he did whenever she was near.

“No. Unless it’s Sarah, I don’t want you doing anyone else’s hair. I’m greedy when it comes to you Joel.” Her hand landed on the pocket of shirt, feeling his heartbeat as she laid her cheek on his chest. “Thank you, I’ve never had a man do my hair before. You have any openings in about two, three weeks tops?” She asked playfully looking up at him, her wide smile, made Joel’s frown at her initial no disappear. He tried not to smile as well, but he knew how infectious it was, the crinkles around his eyes gave him away already.

“I reckon I can make it work in two weeks. I’mma need a deposit from ya though Sugar.” His booming laugh filled the empty house with its echo, another ritual began at the Miller home.

Tag List: @fhatbhabie @morallyinept @pedritapascal @pascalsanctuary @nissaimmortal @grogusmum @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @goodwithcheese @iamasaddie @psychedelic-ink @modernperplexity @pamasaur @pedrodascal @marcus-is-my-muse @clawdee @mintypossum @trulybetty @perotovar @joelslegalwhre @josephquinnswhore @mandoisapunk @awilderi @deviinci @secretelephanttattoo @for-a-longlongtime @tessa-quayle @legendary-pink-dot @sin-djarin @maggiemayhemnj @rhoorl @magpiepillsjunior @intoanotherworld23

[apricusnights]

Stories from the past #5.

"Did you even request permission to go digging through the personal files of a now retired soldier? You've got special privileges Doctor but sometimes I think you're trying to press my buttons on purpose."

Finishing his coffee before shrugging. "Seems like a lot of people have done quite a bit around here without permission. Someone going through files that were left behind is the least of your problems."

"If we're done here, I have to get back to work." Giving the commander a half-assed salute before heading off.

Time: Several years after the "Viceroy" incident.

Location: Guardian District.

The following are excerpts from the personal log of a soldier who wished to remain anonymous. They take place over the course of several years.

"Observation duty can be boring as crap. You do have to watch yourself though. Sometimes you start noticing weird little details that may or may not actually lead to something. Sometimes you gotta let it go. If I wrote down every little thing I wondered about in my official reports, they'd probably think I was out of my mind. Off the record though.."

"There's a kid that's been showing up on base. I honestly don't know where she's originally from. She's apparently one of the scientist's foster daughter. Cybele I think? Though I've seen Windsor around her every now and again. Am I the only one who thinks there's somethin off about that guy? Anyway, not the point."

"That kid is nice enough. The higher-ups don't seem to mind her being around too much. Though the more times I see her, the more times I just..wonder about things. I saw her playing around on some of the training courses. By playing around I mean actually doing some of the courses, and at a reasonable time no less. Yeah I actually timed her, just to see if I was losing it or not."

"Most of base has just grown accustomed to having her around by now. Despite her young age she's pretty good at Hecaball. Heard a few rumors that they may consider recruiting her for the team in a few years once she completely qualifies. As good as she is now, she might be a prodigy or something."

"Had a buddy tell me there's been some glitches in inventory. Occasionally some stuff shows up that nobody officially ordered. It sits there for a bit but before the clerk can have it sent back it tends to go missing. Since it's not on record of being ordered it's sort of hard to track down."

"First time actually being in the same room as the kid. Bunch of us sat down to play Caverns & Chimeras and she wanted to play. Not sure where she learned how but the game is popular enough so that's not a big concern. We let her. She's a sweet kid, knows a lot more about a lot of things than someone her age should probably know."

"Sometimes I wonder if I've watched too many sci-fi movies or something. It's just..people like Cybele, and especially Windsor, those are not the kind of people I think of when I think of folks that want kids. Not sayin Cybele's kid is some guinea pig or anything but..yeah I don't know, I need a vacation.."

[thiswasinevitableid]

idk if i missed the boat on monster march but mer + indruck + nsfw? maybe something like that scene in from the depths where duck is rubbing off on indrid's tail but... not interrupted by abominations? with treasured human pet talk?

Nope, the boat is not missed. I’m pretty much taking these until the last few days of the month. Here you go!

There are rough days. There are bad days. There are terrible days. 

And then there’s whatever kind of godforsaken day Duck is having. 

It started with Winnie coughing up a hairball right on his pillow. Then he was out of coffee, trudged to the store to get some only to discover he left his wallet at home. Saying “fuck it” and spending the rest of his day at the beach seemed the best call when it came to turning things around.

Turns out his ex thought the same thing, and what started as an attempt to be pleasant while crossing paths ended with some thoroughly unkind comments about Ducks suitability as a partner, including his temperament, laugh, and appearance. 

His first spot for decompressing in the sun was overrun by seagulls, the second by a group playing New Wave hits at full volume, and on and on until late afternoon, where he trekked up the boardwalk to discover the Wolf Eel Bar and Grill was out of french onion soup. He went for a conciliatory sandwich at Amnesty Lodge instead. Barclay, saint that he is, gave him a two-scoop cone on the house when he went to pay the check. Duck retreated to the most secluded seaside spot he knows, the one where if anything happens to him, no one will see it, to enjoy his rocky road in peace. 

Then the cone toppled, the half eaten top scoop falling into the water and the bottom one hitting the rock. 

This is why Duck is now on his back, on the tidepool dotted rock, muffling a frustrated scream in his palms.  A tap on the shoulder interrupts him. 

“Don’t be sad. Look” two tan hands hold the now-gritty ice cream out to him, “I could not save the one in the water, but this one is only a little sandy. “

“Uhhh” Duck blinks at the merman bobbing in the waves, “no that;s, uh, that’s fine. Don’t feel like gettin sand in my mouth.”

The mer glances at his hands, back up at Duck, “May I eat it?”

“Knock yourself out.” He decides not to linger on whether this counts as feeding the wildlife. The merman is mid-bite before he even finishes his sentence. 

As the creature of the deep happily stuffs his face, Duck wonders why he chose this of all moments to talk to him. The merman first appeared a month ago, observing Duck while he was doing tide checks. A day later, he swam parallel to the shore as the ranger went for an evening walk. After that, Duck saw him whenever he was near the ocean. 

Duck prefers a life without too much weird, and thus ignores the strange and unusual unless it whacks him upside the head. Even then, he tries to shake it off and go about his day. So when the mer hauled himself onto the rock closest to the patch of beach Duck was reading and snoozing upon, the human gave him a cursory nod and went back to his novel. He only glanced up once, to see the merman sketching on a pad of paper; the mechanics of this happening in or near the water intrigued him, but not enough to make him talk to a fucking mermaid. 

“Mmmmm” the merman licks his fingers, “I like the little white bits in it best.”

“The marshmallows?”

“Yes! That’s the word.” He paddles his hands in the water to clean them, “you have very good taste in iced cream.”

“Uh, thanks.” Duck scrubs his face, not wanting to leave his oasis of solitude but not sure what’s going on here, “is there somethin I can do for you?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. You are clearly having a bad day, and I wanted to improve it.”

“Man you don’t know the half of it; shoulda seen what happened when I wasn’t near the water.”

“I did. Oh, oh dear, that sounded creepy. I’m a seer and enchanter by trade, which means I can see timelines as they unfold. And, ah, I kept an eye on your futures today in the hope they would improve. Especially after that conversation between you and your former partner. I did not like how they spoke to you.”

“Not like I was a model of dignity and calm.” Duck scratches the back of his neck. 

“True. Nevertheless, were you my human, I would say far kinder things.”

Duck lays back down with a snort; he appreciates the sympathy, but today it feels like the universe has made it clear how little kindness he deserves.

“It is the truth. I would tell you that you are patient and kind. That your laugh reminds me of the shorebirds when they are joyful. That I have seen sunken ships laden with jewels and pearls larger than my eyes, yet when I hear the word ‘treasure’ I think of your face.”

The human rolls slowly onto his side, facing the waves. Rock digs into his shoulder as he studies the merman. He’s staying close, but seems to be waiting for permission to be in Duck’s space. 

“Why are you sayin all this?”

“Because it is true, and I like you.”

“You barely know me. Hell, I don’t even know your-”

“-Name. Ah, apologies, I am always a bit ahead. I’m working on not interrupting as much. And my name is Indrid.” The mer rests his arms on the rock, sets his chin on the back of his hand, “You are right, we do not know much about each other. I do not know where you grew up, but I know you take great pride in showing groups of small humans the tide pools and teaching them about the sea. I do not know what you like to read, but I know that I can sit near you and draw without you fleeing in fear or trying to take a photo of me.” 

Duck reaches out, presses silver hair behind Indrid’s ear, the lilting voice seeping under his skin, suggesting that maybe he’s not as terrible as he thinks. Like maybe something better is waiting for him “now you gotta tell me somethin’ about you.”

Indrid purrs, rubbing his cheek into Duck’s hand, “I used to live in Atlantis, but I took on a role that let me travel and see more of the world, both my own and that of humans. I settled here recently because the nearby mers are not territorial and the fishing is good.”

Rock catches his clothes as he scoots the last inches to the edge of the stone, “How come your drawings don’t get ruined by the water?”

“Enchantments. Though I did get Dani’s human to bring me waterproof paints.” He mirrors Duck’s arm, reaching out to play with the humans’ hair, his tail keeping him easily afloat in the water. 

The ranger closes his eyes to focus on the cool fingers stroking his forehead, “you really wanna spend your evenin’ playin’ twenty questions with me?”

“Yes and no. I came to see what would make you happy. If talking with me is the answer, that is what we can do.”

Duck groans at the reminder of why he’s hiding among the hermit crabs, “Gotta be honest, not sure what’d cheer me up. Everything I tried today backfired.”

“Let me try something.” Indrid’s face goes worryingly blank, then he grins, “I foresee an option that might help, though you will think it self-serving. I have a vision of you joining me for a swim.”

“Water’s a little chilly for that.”

Indrid zig-zags his finger through the waves, “Try it now.”

It’s like sticking his hand into a warm bath, “that ain't gonna mess with the fish is it?”

“Not at all. The spell only applies to you.” Indrid swims backwards as Duck strips down to his trunks, “here, there’s a sandbar where you can stand as long as you need.”

“Plannin on keepin me in the water awhile?” Duck teases, paddling over to join him. 

“If you will let me.” The mer circles him, and for the first time Duck notices the gold-red fan-shaped fin on his lower back, “I have many other things to tell you. For instance, if you look at that kelp raft, you will see otters in the next twenty seconds.

Four well-camouflaged bodies surface to their left. As they splash about, Duck remembers the time he mistook one for a piece of driftwood in the dim light of morning, tells Indrid the story as the otters play.

Something smooth and strong brushes his leg. Indrid is floating close enough that his tail keeps bumping Duck as they talk. 

“Hey, uh, could I, uh, could I look take a look at, uh, um-”

There must be timelines where he asks, because Indrid turns onto his back and adjusts so the last third of his tail waves in front of Ducks’ torso. The mixture of yellow-green and burnt burnt umber reminds him of an Undulated Moray, though the tail ends in a V instead of a point. Stroking one side leads to a splash and a sigh as Indrid twitches in the water. Duck continues the motion, the skin like that of a ray, and relaxes more with each pass. It’s soothing him and, judging by the tension leaving the muscles under his hands, Indrid as well. In fact, the merman is now so limp, his head is under the water and looks to have been for some time.

“Fuck” Duck lets go, moves to fish him out only for Indrid to contort and swim so they’re chest to chest.

“Oh right, gills.”

“Indeed. That was lovely. May I, ah, examine you as well.” There’s a purr in his voice. Duck nods, and the mer slips beneath the surface. His fingers trace along Ducks legs, then drag up the back of his thighs, pressing more firmly when they reach his ass. Duck barks a laugh, so the Indrid does it again before gliding his hands up to his shoulders. 

“Mmm, all of this feels as supple and strong as I hoped. Such a sturdy treasure I’ve found.”

“Jesus.” Duck gasps as Indrid nuzzles the base of his neck.

“A perfect treasure, sitting on the shore with no one to look after him.”

“Indrid.” His dick twitches in his trunks as the mer curves around to meet his eyes. 

“Yes?”

“Will you keep talkin like that?” 

Indrid loops his arms around Duck’s neck, “So polite. Perhaps I shall take my treasure back with me, keep you as I would a spoiled pet. Caress this wonderful body, see the most handsome face above or beneath the water whenever my heart desires.”

“Nnngh.” Duck whimpers, wrapping his arms around Indrids waist and hiding his blush in the crook of his neck, “M’not worth that kinda talk.”

“On the contrary, you are worth more than all the wealth of Atlantis, my treasure.”

Duck makes weak sounds of protest, the cruel words of the morning and his own mind drowned by Indid’s whispers. The merman is smiling at him in a way no one ever does; like he’s seeing Duck with all his flaws, fears, and hopes laid bare and wants to keep looking instead of turning away.

“You deserve so much more than this day gave you. Will you let me offer something better?”

Duck nods, raises his head, “c-can I kiss you first?”

Indrid dips his head down. His saltwater kisses wash away the miserable day, replace it with curious lips mapping his own. A low, soft hum emanates from Indrid as cool scales stroke his legs. The tail starts low, petting his calves, but as the kiss intensifies it drags up to his thighs, flicking and teasing his crotch. 

“Fuck.” He’s groaning, bucking his hips in search of more as the mer smiles, indulgent and wicked. The next tailstroke is drawn-out, undulating across his folds and rubbing his dick. 

“Does that feel good, pet?” Indrid pecks his cheek.

“Don’t those visions show you the answer?” He tries for casual, even cocky, and it comes out as a gasp instead as the tail grinds side to side.

“Yes, but answers can change. I want to do as you wish, treasured one, not as my foresight tells me.”

“It feels so fuckin good, sugarAHfuck, ahnnnyeah, hell yeah.” He squirms as the tail thrusts, the tip bumping his ass when Indrid angles it for a better pressure. Then the mer stops.

“Remove these, sweet one.” He snaps his waistband, “I want to feel my perfect human slick and warm against me.”

Duck braces on a nearby rock to pull the trunks off, having only time to set them out of tide range before the mer slithers around him once more. The alien texture of the scales sets him moaning, his hips pumping erratically in hopes it might envelope his cock entirely. All he manages is a rhythm that brings him out of sync with Indrid. Panic circles his stomach at the possibility that this will be yet another part of the day that goes haywire. 

“You needn’t work so hard, my treasure.” Indrid coos, “plant your feet on the ground. I will take care of the rest.”

The ranger does as he’s told, Indrid wriggling so Duck is straddling him a few inches from the start of his tail. Satisfied with their positions, the mer cups his ass with an appreciative “ooh,” then uses it to force Duck up and down the colorful ripples of his tail. 

“Fuck, fuck, that’s so much better darlin, thank you, fuck, keep doin’ that and your human will do whatever the fuck you want ‘im to.”

“I want him to enjoy himself.”  Indrid kisses each of Ducks arms when they drape over his shoulders.

“Mission fuckin accomplishedfuck, god I wanna feel you on every fuckin inch of me, wanna kiss this fuckin stunnin face of yours until the sun comes back up, wanna--uh, Indrid, what the fuck is that?” A slit is opening in the upper part of his tail and something of considerable size is emerging from it. 

Indrid smirks, “Do you think you’re the only one getting off on this, pet?”

“Oh holy fuck” Duck goggles at the “was not expectin’ there to be two.”  He slides a hand between their bodies, runs his thumb from the head of one cock down to the base where it joins the second one in the world's most obscene “V.” Indrid trills, thrashes his tail when Duck treats the other side the same way. 

“ThaAAAaat’s wonderful but, but you needn’t do it on my account. I c-can attend to it once you are satisfied.”

Duck circles one shaft with his hand, gives it a firm, determined stroke, “Sugar, I won’t be satisfied until you’re as fucked out as I am.”

“Oh” the mer looks surprised, “in, in most futures you were too perplexed by them to want such a thing, goodNESSgracious oh, oh Duck, that’s exquisite.” He fucks the human up and down his tail in earnest, “I should have known it would be, you’re so talented my pet, so thoughtful AHgods below and above the next time I am going to spread you on the nearest patch of sand and take you in whichever way you choose, make my perfect pet go mad with pleasure.”

“Dunno, might make you use that sweet-talkin mouth on my dick instead of lettin you fuck me.”

“You say that as if it is a bad thing and not a delicious outcomeoohhh” the mer rolls his hips in time with Duck’s, “that’s it sweet one, right at the base between them yes, yesyesyes” cum spurts into the darkening water. Duck releases his hold, only to be dragged back and forth so roughly he grabs Indrid’s hips for dear life. 

“Fuck, right there sugar, lemme rub off on you like that, yeah, fuck, fuckme that’s so fucking good ohfuck, Indrid, ‘Drid!” He cums, heat shooting through him so intensely it’s amazing the water doesn’t boil. He clings to Indrid like an anemone to rock, pressing breathless kisses into his neck.

 When he looks up, his hiding spot is coming closer, Indrid swimming them there with ease. The merman retrieves his swim trunks from where they were cast away, presents them to him with a flourish.  Duck laughs, pulling them on before pulling a towel from his little reusable bag. 

“Don’t know about you, but I feel a hell of a lot better.” Duck lays down on the fabric, rock beneath it still warm from the sun. 

“I was alright to begin with, but I take your point. That was wonderful. And I am glad I could make you feel better.”

There it is again, that smile that makes Duck feel more seen than he has in months. 

“Don’t suppose you’d be up for makin me feel better tomorrow too? Not that I hope it’s as shitty as today, more that I get the sense seein’ you will make me feel better even if I already feel pretty damn good.”

Indrid raises up enough to kiss Duck once, tenderly, on the lips, “I would like nothing better, my treasure.”

[writefightandflightclub]

Kiss me warm (Poe x reader)

Author’s note: This is a songfic request for @wowjeena​. I listened to three songs and took excerpts from the lyrics which inspired me (see excerpts below). I then inputted that into the random fic generator which is my brain, and this is what it churned out! I hope you like it. I wanted it to be fluffy but turns out I don’t do romance all that well without a side dollop of angst, so here we are! The song references are subtle but I hope the inspiration comes across.

Something happened / To this heart of mine / When I saw you standing / In the sun. (Something Happened by Paul Anka)

The moon above is sayin' / It's love, it's love, I know, I know it's love / Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me warm / Make me feel like I've been born / Hold me, hold me, hold me right / Tonight, tonight my love, tonight. (Tonight, my love, Tonight by Paul Anka)

Give me your lips for just a moment / and my imagination will make that moment live / Give me what you alone can give / A kiss to build a dream on. (A Kiss to Build a Dream On by Louis Armstrong)

Summary: Poe loves you. He knows this to be true. He just never expected to let you know over the comms during a dogfight.

Warnings: mild angst, peril (dogfighting, crashing).

Poe loves you.  He knows this to be true.

His love for you is certain, even though it might be news to you. Even though he has no idea whether you feel - or ever could feel- the same. Even though he’s never even kissed you. Held you, like he wants to. His brows knit together as he thinks about going down with the weight of that particular regret. He decides he isn’t going down with the weight of his unspoken feelings as well.

So, this is why Poe first conveys his love to you over the comms. It’s not ideal, of course. It’s out of the blue. Ill-timed. It’s probably quite distracting considering you are in the middle of evasive manoevers and shooting down TIE fighters.

Even so, the sheer strength of feeling Poe has for you is so irrevocable that in that moment, when he is convinced his X-Wing is about to transport him towards a flaming end, he can’t dream of letting himself be snuffed out without saying it. Without letting you know about the spark you’ve kindled in him. He can’t possibly exit this plane of existence before you know, in no uncertain terms, that he is yours.

“It looks like this is it for me, Black five,” he rasps into the comms, the force of his descent and the force of his confession dragging his heart up into his mouth as his engine refuses to stutter back to life.

“Dameron?!” you respond, your voice patchy, wrapped in static. “That’s bullshit- I’ve got you.”

As his falling craft begins to gain velocity, he sees you expertly swing your ship around, shifting your trajectory and veering nobly into the thick of the dogfight, trying to draw the fire of the TIEs.

But it does no good. He keeps flipping the ignition switch but there’s nothing. He’s flying deadstick. He can fly almost anything, but there’s not a lot he can do about this. He closes his eyes against the rushing of... everything... as his X-Wing plummets further.

He braces himself against the violently rattling cockpit to utter his confession. “I need you to know something. I’m in love with you, Five. I’m so kriffing in love with you. You are the stars in my sky.”.

How he longs to hear your voice. Just one more time.

But there is radio silence. He’s just monologuing. And the ground seems to be quickly rising, growing more and more keen to greet his cockpit. 

***

As it turns out, it isn’t Poe’s turn to meet his end, after all, and he makes it to the ground only minutes after his confession. His engine had finally sparked back to life in time for him to pull up, flying barely above ground.

The landing is harsh and lucky. But he makes it. Alive. And then he sits in shock in for a moment, just breathing. Unable to move. That is, until a TIE fighter zips across the sky in front of him, tearing him from his stupour. It’s night here, but there’s enough light from the moon to illuminate the enemy; therefore, they can see him too. He startles in his seat, his X-Wing’s defenses clearly down, but then, with elation, he notices your familiar ship in pursuit.

“Black Leader, do you copy?” your frustrated voice crackles through the comms as you deliver a killing blow to the enemy craft, sending it barreling into the rocks he’d narrowly missed himself. He sees a column of smoke extend into the sky and knows you’ve got the job done. He smiles in relief as you hastily, messily settle your ship down atop a nearby dune, the ship creaking and half-skidding down the sandbank as you jump from the cockpit and beeline towards him. It’s not like you to be quite so careless with your descent.

You’re shouting before he’s even out of the cockpit. He can tell from the way your mouth is moving animatedly and from your wildly gesticulating arms. The way you tear off your helmet and throw it away from you. You’re shouting before he can even really hear you over the rush of blood in his ears. Before he can calm the adrenaline and mobilise his shaking legs sufficiently to climb down the ladder and on to the shifting desert floor.

When he finally touches his feet to the sand you’re already there. Practically in his face. Poe lifts his helmet off, unmuting the barrage of... you. Asking what the hell that stunt in the air was about. He defends his manoever adequately -his brain hasn’t quite kicked-in yet but Poe could argue in his sleep- however it becomes clear that’s not the stunt you’re angry about, somehow.

Oh. That’s right. He just told you that he’s in love with you. Over the comms. And then he didn’t die. There’s the small matter of consequences to deal with. He often neglects to think about those.

“What the hell are you playing at, Dameron?” you spit, your face streaked with tears, tendrils of hair clinging to your face.

And then he’s throwing up his hands defensively at you as you prod him in the chest with a shaking but insistent finger and this isn’t exactly how he would have wanted this declaration to go either, ok? But it’s not as if he had a second to think it through, is it?

“Wait...” he realises “You didn’t know?”

In fairness, he hadn’t intended to shock you. If you’d made him guess, Poe would have been fairly sure that his utterly stupefied, puppy-faced expression whenever you came near him had been adequately conveying his feelings for some time now, actually. Everyone else on base certainly seemed to have noticed. Many of them make a habit of teasing him about it, in fact. Routinely. Especially Leia, of all people.

Regardless, given that you don’t seem to have picked-up on it -despite your astute powers of observation in literally every other situation, so help him- he concedes that his outburst may have come as a little bit of a shock. 

“No!” you exclaim. You fold your arms, jutting your weight out over one hip.

He rolls his shoulders back, becoming irked. “You know, you don’t have to shout at me. You could just tell me you’re glad I’m alive, huh?”

You rub your palms over your face, through your hair, dragging the tendrils away from your tear tracks. “I am. I am. I’m sorry. Of course I am. I’m glad you’re alive.” The anger eeks away from your body. He guesses it wasn’t really anger at all. Dogfights can do that to a person.

“You too, Five.” he says in a weary voice.

He thinks about pulling you in for a hug but instead collapses his legs and parks his butt on the incline of the dune behind him. He takes a moment to prop his elbows on his knees and hang his head between them in relief, his hand winding around the back of his own neck. When he sits back up, his palms are presssed together, his chin resting on the point of his fingers.

He looks up at you, still just standing in front of him. His eyes glow kindly, now that you’ve stopped berating him. He clicks his tongue in approval “I gotta say. Bravo, ‘cause your manoevers were really something up there.. I’ll have to tell the General that-”

“Don’t change the subject, Poe.” you interject stiffly. Maybe you’re not quite finished berating him then.

He flutters his eyes and looks down at the ground, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “Were we talking about something else?” He offers a fleeting smile. 

His eyes follow you as you slowly move to sit beside him, adopting a matching position. “Poe” you say softly, and you don’t continue until he finally drags his head up to look you in the eyes. “How can you say you... love me?” you trip over the words as if they’re preposterous. “We’ve never even...” you trail off. Kissed, he thinks you were going to say, because you lick your lips, and is it too much to ask that you were considering the possibility? “How can you say that to me?”

He smiles easily, broadly. That’s the easiest question to answer. And so he just looks at you, not even caring anymore whether he looks like a lost puppy. Not caring that his eyes are full of adoration even as he feels it change and bend his face. “Because it’s true, Five. That’s all.” he responds, matter-of-factly. His eyebrows descend, his eyes narrow in concentration as he dwells on a very particular memory. “Something happened to me that day. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“What day?” you press, eyes wide and expectant.

Even though his body is still wracked by adrenaline he feels oddly calm, sure. It’s so easy for him to tell you this now. Makes perfect sense to him. A small, steady smile blooms on his face. “The first day I saw you, standing there. Standing in the sun. I just knew.”

He did just know. It had been instant. You’d lit a spark in him, and he’d diligently kindled that flame ever since. That spark was now a fire in his chest, roaring and well-tended. Like a warm hearth, Poe Dameron was waiting to warm you, waiting for you to come home and settle your arms around him. He was ready whenever you decided to stop by.

But, of course, you have to insist on disagreeing. “That’s ludicrous. You can’t just know something like that.”

He chuckles to himself. “That’s what I told myself too, first-off. But -and, get this- after that moment, the moment when I knew, we had our first conversation, out on the airfield.” The words are pouring out of him, and it feels relieving. “Do you remember what you said to me?” He examines your eyes for a flicker of recognition. “You told me that the first time you climbed into an X-wing, you just knew that’s where you were meant to be. That it just felt right.”

Your face is neutral, your expression pinched. “That’s... It’s different. We’re not a ship.”

“Maybe. But just know, that you’re it for me. No-one else has ever, or will ever come close. And whatever you think about that first moment, you’ve spent the past 8-months proving me more and more right every single day. Which, I know must be infuriating for you to hear because you hate it when I’m right, Five.”

He thinks you might smile, but instead, tears start brimming in your eyes. You stand suddenly, arms folded, turning away from him. Oh; wiping your eyes. “This is... not what I expected to deal with today.”

Poe stands too, placing a warm hand on your elbow in comfort, even though he isn’t sure why you’re crying. Even so, he doesn’t enjoy that you are. Especially not if it’s because of him.

“Well, this isn’t ideal for me either you know.” he says softly.

“Oh really?” you say sassily and without thinking, flicking your head back towards him. Unnecessarily cruel.

“Yeah, genius. Because it’s not as if you’re saying it back.”

His eyes meet yours. Wondering if you might. Firstly hopeful, then crestfallen. Your radio silence continues. He doesn’t take it as a positive sign. Especially when a tear slips down your cheek.

He drops his hand from your arm and looks down at his boots, trying to spare you having to bear the weight of his crushing disapointment. Suddenly the fire in his chest feels like it is burning him. Maybe he has let it grow out of control.

“Could you... Do you think you could ever?” his voice is small, barely audible.

“What, Poe?” you turn towards him, gripping his hands in yours. Perhaps sorry for the pain you see in his eyes.

“Love me back?”

“Poe...”

He breaks your grip, waves his hands defensively, shakes his head. “No, wait, don’t answer that. I...”

“Poe.” you grip his shoulders, forcing him to look at you again. “On the comms. I did reply to you. I think my exact words were: I love you too, Poe Dameron, you kriffing idiot.”

He looks at you in utter disbelief. “What in the hell?! Then why the kriff are you crying?!”

You take his hands again. “Because I’m happy.” your face splits into a smile, despite the tears still cascading down your cheeks. “Because I’m also kriffing terrified.”

He grips your hands more tightly, his rough thumbs rubbing circles over you. “What are you terrified of?”

Your eyes meet his, gentle and honest. “I’m terrified to take the next step, because once I do there’s no going back, Poe. Because I’ve tried so hard, for so long, to keep my heart cold. To keep it so cold, so frozen that it can’t be hurt. But inexplicably, flyboy, you’re it for me too. You’re melting me. And so I’m scared because the only thing worse than never having you at all would be having you and then losing you. And, I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re in the middle of a war. Today, you almost...” You can’t quite bring yourself to finish that sentiment.

His hand raises to your face and he gently brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He looks at you with the softest, warmest, most joyful eyes. He looks at you as if that’s the best thing you could have said. He’s kept this fire going long enough, waiting to thaw you. He’s so happy that it’s been working. Kriff to the war. That’s the only thing that matters to him in this moment.

“Just kiss me. Tonight, my love. Under the moons. On this blasted planet.” His eyes search yours. “I just almost died. So please -I’m asking you- show me I’m alive.”

“I... Poe, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“I understand that you’re scared. But I know you. You’ve got this, honey.” He winds his arms around your waist. He pulls you closer until your noses nuzzle together, leans his forehead against yours. He sighs contentedly, being able to hold you like this. “Give me your lips for just a moment and I promise, I’ll give you something to build a dream on.” His thumb gently tips your chin towards him. He feels your body almost lurch against him, in something like defeat, your hands finding a natural position on his chest. “Baby, please. Can I kiss you?”

“Ok, Poe. What the heck.” you say, your voice soft and breathy, your whole body agreeing. “Tonight. Under the moons. Kiss me. Kiss me warm.”

He closes the distance between you immediately, and he smiles into the kiss as his lips press softly to yours, his fingertips brushing the back of your neck as you melt into him. The kiss spreads a warmth through you both which carries all the way to the tip of your toes. It is everything he has been dreaming of, finally. It just feels right; he knows it’s where you’re meant to be. You wrap your arms around him and he feels like you’ve just come home. He’s eminently glad he kept the fire stoked and ready. 

He breaks away and he’s just... looking at you. Like he’ll never get tired of it. Still similing, goofy and adoring. And goddamn you are the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Poe wraps his arms around you again. Happier than he’s ever been to be alive.

That first day, in the sun, he knew he loved you. Tonight, under the moons, he knows he wants to spend his whole life with you. He just knows it.

...But he’ll definitely find a better way to announce that to you.

At least, he hopes.

[lu-undy]

A Sniper/Medic Short

I took part in a Secret Santa and my giftee wanted a Sniper/Medic short with cuddles in front of a fire or exchanging gifts. I did both :) Here it is!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28489524

"Gosh, it's freezing." 

Sniper woke up in his van on that cold morning of late December. He rubbed his eyes and pressed a switch to turn on the heating in his campervan. Engineer had been kind enough to fix him a button next to his bed that connected with the electric radiator. So the Aussie stayed in bed for an extra half an hour to wait for the van to warm up to an acceptable level. He could afford the wait as that day was off for both teams. 

In fact, the mercenaries enjoyed two weeks off at the end of the year's holidays.

Sniper looked at the time and took a deep breath. 

"Right, should probably get up now." 

And he followed his morning routine. He put some clothes on with warm socks and a season coat. It was thick and lined with synthetic yet warm fur around the hood. He put on a scarf and gloves. When the Aussie finished slipping in his boots, he opened the van's back door and the ice cold air bit his very skin. 

Everything was covered in a thick layer of white snow and as he jumped down to the ground, he landed in a muffled thud and sunk to the middle of his legs in snow. He hissed and winced. The kangaroo wasn't much of a fan of the feeling of cold wetness on his legs in the morning, or at any other time of the day either.

He locked up his van's backdoor and walked back to the base's main building. He entered and shut the door before feeling the drastic change of temperature. 

"Crikey, it's hot in here…" 

Sniper pulled back his hood, removed his coat and unrolled the scarf around his face. He placed all his clothing items on the coathanger there and proceeded to the kitchen for breakfast, where he found most of his colleagues, as usual. 

"Mornin' Sniper." Engie waved. 

"G'day." 

The rest of the team present in the kitchen nodded to the Aussie who went straight to get a warm mug of coffee. As he reached the coffee pot, he stuck his frozen hands on it and let it sizzle his skin nicely. 

"Here, your coffee." 

The white mug marked '#1 Sniper' slid on the counter to him and when he raised his head, he saw a lab coat float away, back to the table. He smiled. 

He took the mug and resumed his usual seat around the table to partake in the usual morning debates. Well, partake was a big word, maybe just listen in and nod from time to time. He liked his colleagues' banter. It had taken some time for his head to stop hurting at it, but now he was fully used to it and he even appreciated it. He listened to it like the radio and watched it like TV. He would sometimes add his grain of salt to the conversation but he much preferred to listen and watch. 

"Hey, fancypants! Not wearin' a suit today? What is it, Christmas?" 

Spy entered wearing a knitted jumper that went up his neck, to the color of the team and a dark, matching pair of trousers.

"Very observant." He answered and went to the coffee pot to help himself. 

"Funny, eh, my Ma' knitted me the same kind of sweater!"

"Funny indeed." The Frenchman answered and the rest of the team sighed gently. 

"Any plans for today, guys?" The Bostonian asked.

"Today is a great day. You will all respect and celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ!" Soldier exclaimed. "And if I catch one of you numbnuts not partaking in the festivities, it will be extra physical training and scrubbing duties!" He raised an authoritative index finger. 

"Calm down, laddie, what about a snowball fight? The snow's nice and fresh." Demoman suggested. 

"Yes, Sir!" 

"Right! Can me and Pyro join you guys?" Scout asked. 

"Of course, lads! The more, the merrier!"

"Heavy, you wanna join us?" Scout turned to his impressively built colleague. 

"Nyet."

"Come on, Stalingrad! Let me give you a Second Cold War!"

"Aye, c'mon, Heavy, what are you gonna do inside, eh? It's Christmas and there's snow!"

Heavy rolled his eyes and smiled behind his crossed arms. 

"Fine." He yielded and the mercenaries rejoiced. 

"What about the support club?" Scout turned to Medic, Spy and Sniper. 

The Frenchman was reading a newspaper while Medic and Sniper looked briefly at each other. 

"Spy, d'you wanna-"

"Non."

"C'mon, Spy-"

"Non."

"But-?"

"Non." 

"Why?" 

The old French man sighed. 

"I am busy."

"What will you be doin'?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"C'mon, what could be better than a snow fight? Join us!"

Spy sighed from his side of the newspaper. 

"A phone call with your mother would be incomparably better than a snowball fight."

The mercenaries tensed around the table and their eyes all shifted to Scout. 

"Yeah, well, you're not gonna get it anyway so c'mon!" 

They facepalmed and rolled their eyes. Scout was remarkably oblivious. 

Little by little, the mercenaries left the table. Sniper's eyes rose from his final bit of toast when the flapping of the white lab coat caught his attention. Medic was leaving the table. The Aussie finished his breakfast but stayed a bit longer in the kitchen. He helped for the dishes, as he owed it to Engie.

"Wanna help me prepare lunch, Sniper?" 

"Sure." 

"If you'd rather go with the others in the snow, that's fine by me, eh." 

"Nah, it's fine. I'll give you a hand."

At the other end of the building, Medic was filling some paperwork that he had been putting off for too long.

There was a knock at the door. 

"Ja?" 

"Uh, it's me, Doc'."

There was the noise of a chair moving and footsteps before the door opened. 

"Hey there."

"Hallo, Sniper."

"Mind if I join?" 

"Please." 

Medic shut the door after his guest. 

"What brings you here?" 

"Van's freezing." 

"Ah, so you're just here for the radiator?"

Sniper chuckled. 

"Yeah, nah…"

"I was about to stop and take a break. Shall we go to my living room? I will make some coffee."

"Sure." 

Both mercenaries went through a corridor and Medic opened the door in the end. Medic, like Spy, had his own suite, which consisted of a living-room, a kitchen, bathroom and his bedroom. They were all a few doors away from his workplace.

"After you."

"Thanks, mate." 

"Make yourself at home, I will set the coffee."

"Right." 

Sniper entered and removed his old boots right at the door. The floor was carpeted and he didn't want to give his friend some extra work cleaning it. He slipped his coat off and hung it on the coat-hanger before proceeding to the sofa. He sat down and made himself comfortable as he heard his German friend busy in the kitchen. 

"Hm." 

Sniper soon got off the couch and went to the kitchen door. He gave it a few short knocks. 

"Need some help with anythin'?" 

Medic turned to him, who was peeking from the door. Sniper's eyes fell on the tray that the medical expert was preparing. 

"No, I should be fine, danke, Sniper."

"You sure?"

"Ja, go get yourself warmed up in front of the fire. I will be just an extra minute." 

"Alright, gimme a shout if you need me, ok?"

Medic smiled.

"Will do." 

The Aussie turned and went back to the sofa. In front of it was a coffee table and a fireplace against the wall. It was lit up and Sniper could feel its heat diffuse to the sofa, slowly. 

"Here, coffee and some cookies." 

Medic brought the tray and sat down next to Sniper. 

"Cookies?" 

"Ja, Pyro baked them for me the other day after I fixed his arm."

Sniper stared at the star and heart-shaped cookies with multicolored sprinkles. 

"Guessed as much."

"Did you?" Medic asked, handing Sniper his mug. 

"You don't come across as the heart shaped cookie bakin' type…" Sniper leaned his arm on the back of the sofa.

"Very perceptive you are." Medic leaned his head on the Aussie's shoulder and they chuckled. 

"Should take a break like the others, y'know, ease out on the work."

"Experiments don't carry themselves out unfortunately." 

"Guess so. But what if I ask you to take a break?"

"Why?"

Sniper put his now empty mug away and looked down at Medic. He held his chin between his index and thumb. 

"Cause I wanna spend time with you, darl'." He tilted the German's face upwards and stared into his eyes, through the thin pair of glasses. Sniper smiled. "Please." 

Medic's eyebrows rose up and he grinned back. He removed his gloves and threw them away on the sofa before wrapping an arm around Sniper. 

"Hard for me to refuse when you plead me with such beautiful eyes." 

"You got some pretty eyes too, eh." 

"Flatterer." 

"Nah, just sayin' what I'm thinking."

"Mmh." Medic buried his head under Sniper's jaw, on his chest and he felt his arms wrap around him. 

"Missed you, luv'."

"So did I." 

They stared at the dancing flames of the fireplace and their breaths synced slowly, Medic's head was rising and falling to the rhythm of Sniper's calm breathing. 

"Oh…?" Medic's surprise escaped his lips as he felt Sniper's fingers slide between his. 

"I wanna spend a bit more time with you, y'know. Sometimes, I don't go to your office not because I care about what people would say or because I don't want to. It's cause I don't wanna bother you but…"

"But?" Medic asked. 

"But I miss you, I really do…" Sniper tightened his hug and clenched his fingers between the German's. "I wish we could spend a full day together and…"

"I thought you were wary of the others learning for us?"

"I'm sure Spy knows, the rest will, one day or another. Besides, I just wanna spend the winter break with you." 

Medic raised his head to his lover. 

"Me too, Sniper…" 

Their lips met in the quiet and dark room, the warmth from the fireplace hardly rivaling with the hot touch of their hands brushing past their clothes. 

"Please…" Sniper asked, sliding a hand behind Medic's head, through his hair. "Please stay with me tonight." 

Medic bit his lip. His hands slid on Sniper's collar and up to his rough, scruffy cheeks. 

"I will."

Sniper's delight came out of him in a silent gasp and a wide smile. He pulled Medic's face again to kiss him, for longer this time and they dived on the sofa, the German on top of the Aussie, ruffling his brown, short hair as their lips brushed, nipped and pulled. 

"Give me more than one night… Wake up next to me, please…"

Sniper curled a leg behind the white lab-coat and pulled the man below it flush against him. Their kisses went more heated and their lips were wet and slightly swollen from all the attention there. 

"I will." 

Medic removed his lab-coat and threw it away. Sniper pulled the blanket that was hanging on the back of the sofa and covered them both. The German just lied on top of the man that kept him safe after a long day of work. Sniper understood him, wordlessly. He knew when to ask for attention and when Medic didn't have the strength for it. 

That day, all the German wanted was affection. Affection and strong arms to hold him. He lay on Sniper, his head on the Aussie's chest and he felt long fingers play with his black, short hair. 

"Thanks, luv'. I know I might be askin' a lot from you but… You have no idea how good it feels to wake up with you instead of just, y'know, a big empty bed…"

"I do apologise, Sniper. I should spend more time with you."

"It's alright. I understand, you like your work, it's fine."

"Yes but…" Medic raised his head to look Sniper in the eyes. He smiled. "I love you and I would much rather spend my evening with you than with paperwork. You are right, my love."

"About what?" 

"Let's make this winter break all about us."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean that you can bring a bit more clothes here and stay with me for a couple of weeks…?"

"Seriously?" 

"Ja, I can spend my days and my nights with you."

Sniper's face radiated with a wide smile. 

"You'd do that? Really?" 

"Ja, we all deserve a break and I could do with a bit more affection from you." 

"Well I got loads of it for you, eh." Sniper's hands brushed Medic's back slowly under the blanket. 

"Perfect…"

"Uh… Would you…?"

"Would I what?" 

"Would you… have some… for me, maybe?" Sniper blushed and his eyes darted left and right in embarrassment. He wasn't so good when it came to words but had an incredible intuition when it came to moves...

"Of course." Medic pushed his lips on Sniper's and let his tongue brush past the hunter's chapped lips, which pulled a low growl from the wild man.

"Gosh… I'm so happy, I… Thanks, really." 

"You are welcome, Sniper." 

They snuggled up under the blanket and in front of the fireplace, they both warmed up nicely. 

"I got you somethin' for Christmas."

Medic's eyes snapped wide. 

"Did you?" 

"Yeah."

"Why? I mean… I didn't."

"Yeah, you did." 

"What?" Medic asked.

"You're spending a couple of weeks with me. That's… Better than Christmas…!"

"Saying things like that makes me realise even more how much I neglected you…"

Medic raised his head with his now ruffled hair and they exchanged a kiss.

"So please, show me what you got us…?" Medic asked.

"Want it now?"

"Ja, why not?"

"I guess I can… I've been carryin' them on me all the time for you not to find them by accident or anythin'."

"Oh…" 

Sniper slid a hand in his pocket and retrieved his secret gift. 

"Alright, you're ready?" He asked, putting his still clenched fist in front of Medic's face. 

"Ja." 

Sniper opened his hand and two bracelets lay in his palms. 

"Oh… They look lovely…" 

"I made them m'self." 

"The wooden pearls you carved yourself?"

"Yeah." 

"Oh, and what is this pendant?"

"Look at it. Carved it myself too. I had to go and get a book from the Teufort library to do it, cause I didn't really know what it looked like."

Medic held one of the bracelets. 

"It looks like an anatomically correct heart with an arrow piercing through it, but that's only the left half of it…" 

"Look at the other bracelet, luv'."

Medic took the other one and looked at the pendant. 

"Oh mein Gott… That's the right half…!"

"Yeah, I carved a little wooden heart, lookin' at an anatomy book, then carved the arrow, then cut it in halves. You get one and I get the other. Looks less ridiculous than a classic heart and it makes sense."

"Ja! And I guess the heart represents me and the arrow, you?"

"Yeah, you got it."

"I am… Speechless… It must have taken you hours to make them…"

"Who cares? It was fun and it made me think about you for hours. C'mon, wear it and show me!"

Medic slid one around his wrist and put one around Sniper's. 

"I feel like a little boy again…" The German doctor chuckled. 

"Yeah, bit childish maybe but uh…"

"Nein, please, I didn't mean it in a bad way, on the contrary. I guess this is the true spirit of Christmas." 

"Yeah, sort of." Sniper slid his fingers through Medic. 

"I love you, Sniper. Thank you so much for your gift."

"You're welcome. Love ya too, oh, mmh…" 

Medic slid up on Sniper to take his lips again. The flames of the fireplace danced as their bodies followed another choreography. The doctor and the hunter took their time that night. Maybe it was Christmas, maybe it was the gift, or maybe they had yearned for each other that much. 

That year, they did spend a Merry Christmas indeed.

[yourlocalmoron]

Questions and commments I have for Riverdale:

Are the characters ever going to seek counseling/therapy in their adulthood?

Will we ever get a specific mental diagnosis for Cheryl and Betty, or?? Because I feel like Betty might have DID or something else if not more, but I am no psychologist, so please - for the love of whomever you believe in - don’t take my word as gospel. With Cheryl, I’d best guess histrionic, but again, I am no expert...just speculations based off observations and the way they approach/respond/react to situations.

Are all of the students returning as teachers? I really thought they’d all have unique and different jobs (and I mean no offense by that, I just genuinely assumed) outside of teaching—way separate from teaching, actually, except maybe Jug when it comes to writing

Why did they make the Gargoyle King human? I know Roberto never got the green light to fully cross Riverdale over with Sabrina, but they still seemed to have more mentions and guest appearances from the former within CAOS than the other way around? I’m just sayin’... GK was kind of a weird villain, we all know that, but with all the genres that Riverdale plays around with, I think it would’ve been nice to have a supernatural/paranormal-themed season, no? Just me? Kk.. (s3 is my favorite so far, because it’s weird and wild - and I got high for most of its viewing lmao - so I’m biased)

⬆️ I forgot about the fact that Jonathan played as Kurtz in Riverdale and then later as Robin in Sabrina ... and Bret’s actor in CAOS’ last season (wasn’t Donna’s in there, too?) so I mildly stand corrected

I think it would’ve been cool to see Riverdale cover the Be More Chill musical. Idk, with all the peer pressure and casual bullying/taunting/judgement that goes on amongst them peers (examples: joining or leaving/getting kicked out of gangs, being blackmailed into lying in court with the threat of leaking a tape of your brother getting shot, being outed against your consent, getting guilted for still being in the closet, “manning” up after being abused or getting into a bear fight - typical high school stuff), I think it could’ve been an interesting spin. And the cyanide could’ve been replaced with the pill or sumn. But I am content with the musicals they’ve done so far, don’t get me wrong.

Toni’s parents...? ... We ever gonna meet ‘em, or...?

What happened to Hermosa and Charles? Chic, even, or Evelyn? I really don’t remember if they ever explicitly said where these characters went. But I definitely remembered what happened to Edgar 🚀👱🏻‍♂️🔫

Is Hiram gonna try to kill Archie again? I’m sorry but the thought of that kinda makes me laugh, like this dude has been an ongoing villain for three seasons straight. He gets under my skin, and I’d argue that is what can make for a good villain, beloved or not

Did Archie give up Vegas? ‘Cause I haven’t seen that good boy in a while...

Are we ever going to meet Heather?

I just still find it kinda interesting and unique from season 1 that we never once heard Jason speak a line of dialogue, and that everything we ever got to know about him was told through the Blossoms or other students.

The Midnight Club is still one of the best episodes thus far, IMO, and one of my favorites. Maybe I’m just a sucker for nostalgia I wasn’t even alive at the time it came out, but it’s still fun to rewatch.

Why aren’t LGBTQ+ and POC characters utilized more - rather than tossed aside or left to disappear without a trace of goodbye - when there’s actually been a good handful of them per season? (ex.: Cheryl, Kevin, Joaquin, Josie, Chuck, Valerie, Melody, Sierra, Toni, Reggie, Peaches N Cream [I saw her in the recent episode, just for a second, with her cute done-up braids and all], Fangs, Moose, please forgive me if I forgot anyone; it’s been a while) And why do the POC especially end up being villanized up against the white, cishet characters? Like the entire Lodge family, for example..

Toni said her and Jughead were still good friends (when they all - but the core four - still thought he was dead), but I feel like I haven’t seen them interact ‘til Jug denied her title to being the Serpent Queen?

Is Toni going to be pregnant this season, or did they hide Vanessa’s baby bump 🤰🏽 with any random object or article of baggy clothing found onset?

So Reggie and Jughead just never interact after season 3? Kinda sucks ‘cause that’s a duo I’ve been hoping to see more of, but I won’t hold my breath just yet since it sounded like the show’s ongoing til 2022, last time I saw. It would just be cool to see more guy friendships; heck, even Fangs and Reggie would be a sick duo. I just think Reggie getting along with the Serpents - after half a season or more of just not liking or trusting them at all - could be pretty dang cool.

Where did Mad Dog go? I’m sorry, they might’ve said in the last season, but I don’t remember. I miss him either way :(

I just find it funny how Jughead and Veronica never talk about the one kiss they had lmfao. I would’ve loved to see how that convo would’ve gone down, since it’s safe to assume that at least Jug remembered afterward —who never gave Betty a straight answer on whether or not he enjoyed it (/laughs in jeronica crumbs that I’m sure I’ll never get again/)

Who taught Cheryl to talk the way she does? I love her, but— 💀

S1 Alice was so wildly conservative, like...miss ma’am, you’re talking about witchcraft and demons over there like you’ve had your experiences (outside of G&G).. 👀 No but didn’t the Blossoms have a demon in their family bloodline, according to CAOS? ‘Cause that’d make this make much more sense to me..

How many *more* of the Riverdale girls’ fathers could possibly be serial killers or criminals to varying degrees?

Edit: I guess that’s it! I don’t want to ask too much more, just wanna see what this season will entail ~v~

[rocketzealot]

PERFORMANCE REVIEW Pt 1

July 8th -REVIEW OF POSITION-

SUBJECT ELLSWORTH, F. TO BE PLACED UNDER PERFORMANCE REVIEW. TO BE PLACED UNDER QUOTA AND OBSERVATION UNTIL FURTHER IMPROVEMENT OR UNTIL FURTHER MEASURES NEED TO BE TAKEN.

July 8th. His Birthday.

He remembered getting the note posted through his pidgey-hole, and his heart stopping briefly, remembered tucking it away to just just forget about it, until later that evening he started crying in bed. He couldn’t tell you why. It wasn’t as if he was looking to impress or anything, nor did he care for the perks that came with being an Agent (aside from perhaps a private bathroom— he even missed sharing quarters with other grunts). 

August 30th -DISCIPLINARY-

SUBJECT ELLSWORTH, F. INFORMALLY SANCTION BY EXECUTIVE ARIANA FOR ACTS OF INSUBORDINATION. FORMAL SANCTION TO FOLLOW. PERFORMANCE REVIEW UPDATED TO REFLECT.

Maybe it was because without Rocket’s stamp of approval, what was he worth? Nothing? Perhaps not that little, but close to. He wanted so much for Archer to turn to him and tell him how proud he is of him, for Petrel to ruffle his hair… If he wasn’t a good Agent, then he would surely be demoted… and he would be worth almost nothing again. He needed this. He had begged Petrel to let him prove himself, pleaded with his supervisors to let him have another chance, try something different.

A week ago, another note came through his pidgey-hole, this one calling him to a meeting with Petrel and his supervisors, the highest ranking Agents in his fields. Fred wasn’t mentally equipped to deal with a demotion and the inevitable torture that would follow. He wasn’t ready to be squeezed back into the identical black uniform and forced to do whatever petty task he was told to do. He didn’t want to be wasted— he wanted to help. But maybe… everyone was right. He really was useless. A moron.

He didn’t exactly know how to beg to keep his job. Was he supposed to get on his knees and kiss Petrel’s shoes? Was he supposed to swear that he would never pick fights with la famiglia again? That he’d do whatever he was told no matter what? That all sounded too childish, like he was fighting back punishment from his Mom. Yeesh. Thinking of her, sat at home, he wondered if this was all worth it. But there was no use wondering about that now. In the present moment, if he didn’t show up to this meeting, he’d be dragged to a different Executive for disciplinary action, and he didn’t want that.

Steeling himself, Fred got to his feet, smoothing his uniform straight and clipping his harness on tight. He looked in the mirror to fuss his hair, wanting to put on a good impression for the Agents above him. Are my eyes red an’ puffy? he wondered, choosing to ignore it for now. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it now. Glancing at his PokeGear, he began making his way down the corridors to the box room where he would no doubt be sitting and the rest standing. As if he needed to feel any smaller. Given the time it took to teleport to that side of the base, he should be there just on time, no earlier, no later. Just how he liked it.

Inevitably, the room was already covered in palls of smoke when he arrived. Petrel didn’t look especially pleased to see Fred as he obediently plonked himself opposite he and the Agents without being told. Fred knew how this went. 

Petrel was tall enough to loom without having to stand, but the Agents with the red and blue pips on their uniforms stood tall over Fred like a pair of Fearow over a wounded Rattata. He only hoped they thought he was red because of all the smoke in the room. He doubted that.

“You know why we’ve called you here today, right?” Petrel said, flicking Fred’s file open carelessly, eyes on what may as well as have been a grunt to him. 

Fred couldn’t meet his eyes, finding some insignificant mark on the table to stare at, where the white had been worn away to leave a grey smudge. But he dignified Petrel with a nod and a “uh-huh.” No use messing around, playing coy. He’d already played that game, already tried that on with Ariana. He wouldn’t be trying it for a while in a hurry. And yet…

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to keep your job, Fred,” the Executive replied, stubbing out the last inch of his cigarette on a particularly marked corner of the table. As if in reply to Fred’s apparent indifference, Petrel stared at the pile of ash on the table.

The fabric of Fred’s gloves filled his fingernails as he gripped the corner of the table. He didn’t know how to fight back against this. All the things he had considered seemed stupid in from of his superiors like this. He felt like a waste of time, even for sitting there in front of them.

“Mr Petrel, please, I’m tryin’ my hardest,” he croaked, moving his gaze to the ashes as well, watching Petrel push the butt so hard it collapsed in on itself. Fred swallowed. Don’t cry.

“And your hardest isn’t quite enough, though, is it?” Giving his subordinate a little more attention, he picked up the paperwork and tossed it over the table to Fred. Amongst several statistics and check marks, red circles riddled the top page. “I had your supervisors take the liberty of circling exactly where you’re coming up short. I won’t lie to you, since you were placed under review, you’ve improved. It’s obvious you’re trying, if with little lapses… a few large lapses in judgement.”

The Executive rose from his seat, pushing himself up from it with great fatigue, leaning forward ever so slightly. Fred shrunk away instinctively, lids flickering as he tried to look in whatever the right direction was. 

“You’re a good person, Fred,” he rasped, “but are you a good Rocket?”

A heavy hand sat on Fred’s shoulder, so heavy Fred thought he would collapse out of his chair. Don’t cry, he kept reminding himself, biting the corner of his lip. He closed his eyes, almost wincing for the blow that would end his time in the sun.

“This isn’t a fraternity, kid. We’re not here to make friends and work on our body image. It’s about time you realised this. If you would just focus on the task at hand, you could be a wonderful Agent.” 

Fred opened his eyes a crack, still wincing. Petrel didn’t look angry. He didn’t look sad, or frustrated, but somewhere between disappointed and… apprehensive. Fred began to feel the same… apprehensive. This was supposed to be a punishment. 

“I’ve seen your mission reports, I’ve seen your statistics. You’re… sloppy, but you’re hardworking, in your own way… earnest. You do as you’re told most of the time, and think of what’s best for the Team, even if it does sometimes mislead you a bit. You’re loyal. We need more Agents like you… like you. I’m sorry, Fred, I’ve tried being patient.”

The man pushed away from the table, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and deftly sliding one out from the top. With the cigarette between his lips, he sauntered behind Fred. Twisting in his seat, Fred gaped at him with desperation.

“What’re you sayin’? If you’re gonna demote me, just do it! Stop teasin’ me!”

Petrel frowned, then gestured at the Elite Agents, his free hand pulling the door open behind him. “Listen to your supervisors. They’ll take it from here. I’m done.”

Something about the way Petrel looked down on him was vaguely teacherly; the way his brows knitted together, but his lips didn’t register any scowl or grimace; how his eyes watched him placidly. With the door open, he paused. What am I going to do with you? his crossed arms asked. “Be careful, Fred.” With that, he left, no doubt for some more important appointment than the scolding of some minor Agent. 

Fred assumed he must have spoken out of turn. He shuffled back into position in his seat, looking down at his hands, only not shaking because they were wringing the fabric of his pants subconsciously. He heard Petrel continue talking to someone outside the room as the door shut, presumably some grunt who was acting as his aide that day, but chose to do as he was told, deep brown shimmering eyes managing to roll up to meet those of his superiors.

One of them, a woman with her hair in a high, neat ponytail, took Petrel’s seat, primly shuffling Fred’s paperwork straight. Fred knew that she was one of the best Agents in the field of intel, and that he had handed reports into her desk more than once, but had forgotten her name entirely. His gaze shifted as hers pierced him. The other he knew was in charge of recruitment, and was a little less prim… a little less friendly than Fred would have thought.

[impassiveesper]

[ On auras, and spirits, the ways in which espers see/interact with the world, and a much babier Shigeo ]

Shigeo awakened as an esper at an extremely young age and so he had an awareness of auras and spirits long before he was able to use his powers reliably.  It’s possible he could even see them before he had begun to manipulate the material world in ways his parents would notice. In other words he was sayin’ weird shit before anybody clocked him as a psychic.

As a very young child Shigeo had a habit of describing people using colors, emotions, or otherwise indicating the behavior of their aura instead of their physical features. It made sense to him, after all. A persons aura is probably the most obvious thing about them at first glance. As you might expect, young Shigeo had his fair share of frustration and tantrums regarding differences in perception—adults consistently asking him to use more correct words or to stop being silly while he petulantly stamped his feet insisted upon what to him was obvious.

[ On Auras ]

Auras are highly individual. Qualities like color, behavior, and intensity will vary from person to person and shift along with their mood. Every living thing has an aura, and so do spirits of the dead and the occasional haunted inanimate object. Broadly speaking, it is usually fairly easy to distinguish broad categories of things from one another based on aura, and seasoned espers will be able to identify types of spirits and people from long distances based solely on their aura.

The auras of espers are relatively easy to distinguish from non-espers due to an esper’s heightened power and control over their own aura. Non-espers and people with low psychic potential tend to have much smaller, vaguer auras and they have almost no conscious control over its behavior. Espers have varying levels of control over their own auras and most are able to spread / recede their own in order to gather information about what’s nearby or blend in with the crowd. An esper who is using a psychic ability sticks out like a sore thumb.

There is a certain etiquette surrounding auras as well.  Generally speaking it’s pretty impolite to have your aura all up in somebody else’s business, even between espers who are friendly with one another. If you clock what feels like your friend across town, you might send a shy little tendril of energy over there to politely announce that you’ve noticed them. You might even do this little poke more than once if you’re feeling persistent and want their attention, but for you to have your aura up that person’s ass in any meaningful quantity all day feels both annoying and vaguely threatening. Like, what are you being so nosy for? You’re invading my privacy. Am I in danger of attack from you? Mind your business.

The one exception to that rule might be moments of intimacy, opening up to somebody, or any other moment where privacy is explicitly going out the window. It’s pretty exclusive to people you’re right next to and people you have a lot of trust with.  If you’re already up in somebody’s business and you’re already friendly with them, your auras are gonna do a certain amount of touching and sliding around one another anyway, that’s completely natural among close friends and loved ones. If you’re with a stranger or new person you reel that shit in as close you possibly can and make contact only politely.

[ On Spirits and Spirituality ]

Leaving your body is a very depersonalizing experience that can cause you to lose your sense of self and forget what it was your goals were. For this reason, it’s a particularly dangerous thing for an esper to do and something many don’t bother learning/trying to do.  This same rule also applies to spirits who have died and who have no body to return to.  It takes a particular amount of power and hard work for spirits of the deceased to keep remembering who they were in life, and many don’t have the means or the will to keep that up for long. Typically spirits end up forgetting the details of their lives more and more over time until all that remains is whatever their core motivation keeping them on Earth is.  Many spirits don’t even know their own names and instead take on new names.

To an outside observer Shigeo appears to be religious at best and kind of weird at worst.  Having no other espers to teach him in his early childhood, Shigeo did not always know how to tell the difference between spirits and living things. Most of what Shigeo knows about spirits and the world he sees comes from having pieced it together himself.  He grew up treating spirits the same as he might treat a living person for most of his early life, often not realizing that he wasn’t dealing with a living person.  

Generally speaking Shigeo treats most spirits he runs into with respect, often bowing to them like people and talking with them even if they don’t answer him. Shigeo also tends to carry little things--food, flowers, trinkets, etc--so that he is always able to to leave an offering, especially for spirits he sees often or who seem bound to one place. At the risk of seeming a little rude or a little strange, Shigeo might forego traditions when he feels he knows what a spirit is like or what it wants. Some of his offerings may seem unusual to onlookers and he may temporarily ignore memorial tablets that are unoccupied to prioritize one that actually has a spirit attached.

Having seen spirits haunting homes, buildings, objects, etc since he was tiny, he doesn’t find it strange to see spirits in places that living people think of as safe or private, and he doesn’t feel particularly uncomfortable with their presence in those spaces even if the space is his own. As long as a spirit seems peaceful, he doesn’t really mind them watching him and doesn’t really concern himself too much with what they’re up to. Of course, Shigeo learned pretty early in life that if somebody is haunting a bedroom or something a relative picked up at the thrift store, it’s better to either exorcise the spirit or never mention it to family. Most spirits avoid espers, so things are pretty peaceful at home, but the Kageyama household had many sleepless nights over this sort of thing around a decade ago.

Finally, I tend to think that espers have a variety of opinions on spirits, and Shigeo is on the very radical end of accommodating for them.  Most espers insist upon more boundaries for spirits and will perform more exorcisms without any particular interest in what a spirit is like or what it wants. They don’t belong on earth, after all. That’s the opinion of most, and objectively speaking there is no clear right or wrong way of behaving when it comes to dealing with spirits. It tends to come down to personal opinion. I’ve honestly always hc’d that Shigeo has very good relationships with certain location-bound spirits who absolutely fucking hate Teruki, and Teruki is shocked to watch Shigeo bow and leave things for what he considered to be highly hostile spirits. After becoming friends with Shigeo, Teruki ended up watching and slowly adopting a lot of his manners surrounding spirits and ultimately saw better results with ones who weren’t hostile.

There’s probably other stuff but I can’t think of any more right now. If you have questions about headcanons pls ask I have headcanons for days.

Edit for related bonus addendum

[puttingfingerstokeys]

honor among thieves

Okay this one came from a conversation with @sxvethelastdance, as usual, about MK rarepairs and idk what the fuck else... I legitimately thought I invented this shit. Evidently I did not. 

If age difference squicks you, don’t read this ‘cause it’s Kung Jin and Erron Black--I’m calling the ship Honor Among Thieves. There’s no, like, actual sex happening in this right here right now, but since they’re both grown ass adult men, one might infer. 

Uh quick context, Jin is SF liaison in Outworld, works closely with Kotal’s Kourt. Erron still works for Kotal. This kind of connects with some other shit I’m doin’ so, idk... see if you can spot the common threads and I cannot believe I’m sayin’ this shit but (a la ff.net), don’t like, don’t read? Is that a thing anymore? 

Broken AND Prevented Timeline--this happens in both in some fashion

The soft, warm light of celebratory bonfires flickered outside the window and the sound of voices and merriment filtered up over the balcony railing, diaphanous curtains flowing inward in the gentle, Outworld breeze. Stars shone far above and the glow of a lunar body had begun to creep its way across the breadth of the bed, having already made a silvery path along piles of clothing, strewn almost violently here and there. 

Kung Jin stretched out on his side, rolling his shoulders and sighing audibly. His eyes, long having adjusted to the darkness, watched those curtains, saw the sky outside, wondered what it was like to be out there, up above it all, observing everything. It was a flight of fancy for a few precious moments before reality began to close in on him, squeezing tightly. The buzz of whatever he’d had to drink had begun to wear off and he was, in a word, terrified.

A sudden, multi-pointed pressure at his back brought gooseflesh to every inch of him, radiating outward. They were rough fingers, of course, drawing themselves up and down his back in various, gentle patterns. Jin sighed, surprised and oddly pleased that Erron Black, the mercenary cowboy, had not simply dropped off afterward. 

“Where’d you learn that?” 

“Which bit?” The fingers stopped. Jin wiggled and they continued. He laughed through his nose.

“This.”

“You’re never gunna believe it.”

“Try me.” Never one to back down from a challenge, Jin was certain nothing Erron could say would surprise him in any way. The chuckle from the man behind him, that lazy, whiskey smooth sound, brought still more gooseflesh to his skin and Jin began to wonder if he couldn’t go another round.

“Kano,” he grunted, “back in the Black Dragon. He says t’me, ‘Erron,’ he says, ‘blokes who drop off—blow an’ go’ his words, ‘are right cunts. They never see that tail again. You wanna keep a Sheila, tickle ‘er back. Gets ‘em ev’rytime.’ So I figured, hell, why not? S’worth a shot.”

The impression of Kano, what little Jin knew of him… recordings and the late General Blade’s descriptions, was spot on. He pulled a face at the curtains and grunted out a “hm” at the mention of “Sheilas”.

“Listen, I know he was a chauvinist fuck, bless his worthless, piece of crap soul,” Erron declared, “but… yer still here, right? An’ I’m still here, so… maybe there’s some’n to that.”

Jin considered Erron’s words. He had not gone into this with the thought that he could do this again. Truthfully, he had not even been certain Erron would be interested in him, or this, or anything. The man was inscrutable, even without the mask.

“Did you… want there to be something?” Jin turned over now, facing Erron, who had removed his mask and set it aside. For a man Cassie’s father’s age, he was beautiful. The years had been kind, even if his job had not. Maybe it was something in the Outworld air; it could not have been his work with the Black Dragon. “I mean… I get it… We’re busy. I’m liaising for SF and the emperor, and you’re like, what, on the council now?”

“Yeah...guess I am.” Erron seemed almost embarrassed to admit this. Kotal Kahn had bestowed the honor upon him at the ceremony the previous evening, which had also honored Edenia as a separate nation and began negotiations to carve out proper territory for Kitana and her people. Separating the realms was, regrettably, impossible at this point, but Kotal was ready, willing, and able to facilitate the best alternative. With an Edenian empress, he was doubly motivated. 

Jin pushed some hair, which had come free of his otherwise orderly ponytail, out of his face to better observe the other man’s eyes. The ponytail itself had made for an excellent handle, once he had shown Erron Black where to grab. He would not be forgetting that. 

“You earned it, you know...” Jin said, reaching out and grasping one of Erron’s hands in both of his own. “I’m not stupid. You care about this place… about what Kotal’s doing. You believe in it. He can see that… I can see it too.”

Erron grunted. He was not about to admit that, not even to Jin and certainly not to himself. His mind was a sharp, strategic one and Kotal Kahn had seen the value in it. That was all. Earthrealmer or not, Erron Black was an asset… a well-paid asset. 

“Turn over,” he said, gruffly, pulling his hand away. Jin’s eyes widened a moment before he complied, surprised at the tone. He had not been expecting round two so soon, but he would not protest. He had run Erron through the ringer this evening. The least he could do was comply with a little turnabout.

Rather than hands upon his body, however, he felt those strong fingers close about the base of his ponytail instead. With the other hand, Erron grabbed the band itself and began gently to extract it, taking care not to pull or strain any hair unnecessarily. The motion was fluid, slow, and deliberate, but before long, he had it free and was handing the elastic band over Jin’s shoulder. 

“Did ah… Kano teach you that, too?” Jin chuckled, laying the band on the carved wooden side table. 

“Nah,” said the cowboy, “that was all me. It… looked tight, is all.”

Jin was flabbergasted. He truly had not known what to expect when he had first made a move (or several) on Erron Black, but this was not it. At most, he had figured the guy would reject him, if gently because he didn’t seem like the type of person who favored violence for its own sake. Getting him all the way here, to a room he thought was most likely his, though in the drunken haze, it was hard to tell, had been miracle two for the evening.

The rest of it was fuzzy, but not unpleasant. He had a certain satisfied ache in his backside that told the tale of pleasures unremembered but which must have been exactly what he wanted. Groaning, he turned over again and this time, emboldened by Erron’s words along with his unexpected sweetness, Jin leaned in and, for the first time that night (now approaching morning), laid his lips upon the other man’s and kissed him, long and slow.

[homesweetsewer]

Consolation Prize: Part 2 (Donatello x Fem Reader)

Hello! Finally got around to posting Part 2 (yay!). I’m thinking this is going to have 2 more parts to it...my muse willing. I also wanted to say that I’m horrible about checking my inbox so if you’ve sent me a message, I promise I’m not ignoring you. I’m slowly sorting through what’s in there and you are not forgotten. Gonna go ahead and link the rest of this little series since quit a few people told me it helps them navigate and I’m all about being user friendly!

Harmless: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Radiant: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Consolation Prize: Part 1

“I think that should do it for tonight.” Donatello pushed away from the workbench and stood from his chair to stretch his long legs. “We’ll need to test the final compound and work on creating an efficient delivery system, of course, but it should neutralize both the acid and base properties rendering the chemicals useless.” 

“And prevent the contamination of the city’s water supply.” A smile stretched April’s lips as she beamed up at him. “Don, you’re a genius.” 

“That’s the rumor,” the ninja joked as he rolled his shoulders, relieving the kink in his neck from being bent over for so long.  

April laughed and stood as well, stretching her slender body in an attempt to relieve her own aches and pains. She looked up at the turtle from beneath long eyelashes. “Seriously, Donnie, I really appreciate you taking the time to help me with this. I know you probably have a million other things you could be doing instead.” 

“I’m happy to help. Besides,” Donatello shrugged, “that’s what friends are for, right?” 

“Right,” April’s smile took on a sad edge. “I’m glad we’re able to do this,” she softly stated. “You know...after everything.” 

“Yeah,” the bespectacled turtle quietly answered, a soft smile of his own gracing his lips. “Me, too.” 

April didn’t need to elaborate. They hadn’t really talked about it, but Don knew exactly what she was referring to. He wouldn’t lie. He’d been hurt badly when he’d learned months ago of the woman’s relationship with Casey. At the time, he’d believed himself to be in love with her, hanging on her every word and action as if her very presence gave him life. The crush he’d had on the woman felt so silly now...embarrassing, really. Looking back, he could see that what had transpired between them, despite being a painful lesson, had actually been a blessing in disguise. If it weren’t for his heartbreak, he would have never found the amazing gift that had been staring him right in the face the entire time. 

You. 

He had a girlfriend...an incredible, beautiful, funny, intelligent girlfriend that he loved more than anything else in the world. Sometimes he felt like kicking himself for not realizing what you meant to him sooner, but then you’d smile at him or take his hand in your own and his heart would feel like it would want to explode right out of his chest and he’d forget about everything else except for you in that moment. The two of you just seemed to click so perfectly together, moving from friends to something more with surprising ease. You were able to see beyond the green skin and shell, down deep to who he really was and you loved him regardless. Him! How on Earth had he ever gotten so fortunate? His smile grew at the thought. 

“You seem really happy,” the woman observed. “Things must be going well?” 

“Things are great. I am really happy,” Donnie quickly confirmed. He gushed, a giggle escaping from his throat, “She’s...she’s amazing. Sometimes it’s still hard for me to believe it. She could have literally anyone she wants, but she still chose me for some reason.” 

April made an amused sound. “She’s a smart girl. She knows a good man when she sees him.” 

“Heh...” Donnie shook his head and looked away, embarrassed. “Uh...what about you and Casey?” 

“You know.” April smirked and gave a half shrug. “Casey is Casey.” 

“Ah,” Donatello wasn’t sure exactly how to respond and so merely nodded. To be honest, it was still a bit of a sore spot where his pride was concerned and he was glad she hadn’t gone into detail.  

April sighed and stepped toward the turtle. Without warning, she wrapped her arms around him, ensconcing him in an embrace to the best of her ability with her cheek pressed against his plastron. “You’re a great guy, Donatello, I mean that. I’m happy for you...both of you. You deserve it. You all do.” 

“Um,” the ninja stiffened slightly and patted her on the back awkwardly. Now that his feelings towards her had changed, it felt weird being so close to her. “Thanks, April. That means a lot coming from you.” 

April lingered for a moment longer before pulling away and looking up at him with an almost melancholy expression. “Well...I guess I should probably get out of your way. Thanks again, Donnie. Enjoy the rest of your night.” 

“You’re welcome,” Donatello replied softly as he watched the woman turn and slowly make her way out of the lab. “You, too.” 

He stood there for a long moment after she left, a low hum emanating from deep in his chest as he turned the interaction over in his mind. He was glad that he and April were still able to work and spend time together as friends after all that had transpired. He’d been hurt and angry at her for a while, yes, but those feelings had faded once he’d had a real opportunity to sit down with himself and examine them. He still cared for her, but the giddy feeling of butterflies he’d once had whenever she was around had been replaced with a warm feeling of friendship, which he was thankful for. He could think clearly in her presence now and truly appreciate all she’d done to help his family. April was good people. She had a place in his heart, but it wasn’t exactly what he thought it would be. That space had been perfectly filled by another and he couldn’t have been more at peace with it. 

He was a logical turtle. He put more stock in science than he did fate or destiny, but he couldn’t help feeling that everything had worked out as it was meant to. He’d been entirely truthful when he’d said he was really happy. He couldn’t imagine anything more satisfying or fulfilling than being in a romantic relationship with his best friend. You’d both decided to take things slow and he was perfectly okay with that. He’d never been in a relationship before, he was a turtle after all, and he appreciated the time to feel things out and get them just right. This was previously uncharted territory for him, for the both or you, really, but he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather explore it with. He had plans, so many things that he wanted to do and experience, and he wanted to do those things with you, if you’d allow it. 

Speaking of which... 

Donnie’s eyes drifted toward the clock mounted on the wall and his eyes immediately widened behind his tortoise shell frames. An undignified squeak escaped from his throat as he bolted for the door. “Oh, no…no, no, no…”

The ninja burst out of his lab to find the lair more or less deserted. The lights were dim and the television silent. Muffled snores emanating from the couch reached his ears. He crept forward to peek over the back to see Mikey shell up, sleeping peacefully with his face buried in the cushions. Moving silently so as not to disturb his youngest brother, he crept toward the kitchen to find his older brother carefully rearranging the fridge in order to accommodate the evening’s leftovers.

Don cleared his throat, “Raph?” 

“He lives,” Raph responded gruffly as he rose to his full height and turned to look at his brother. He inclined his head to the cardboard box he still held in his hands. “We saved ya some pizza.”

“I’m not…” Donnie shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Suit yourself,” Raph shrugged and shoved the box into the space he’d cleared in the refrigerator. “Its there if ya change your mind.” 

“Where, uh,” Donnie stuttered. “Where is everyone?”

“Where do ya think they are?” Raphael scoffed and slammed the refrigerator door and moved to shoulder his way passed his brother and out of the kitchen. “Its after 2 AM, genius.”

Donnie hurried after him. “I know, but…”  

“If you’re askin’ about your girl,” Raph guessed, “she left over an hour ago. Leo was feelin’ all chivalrous and walked her home for ya. Ya know, since ya stood her up and all.”

“What?” Donatello squawked in indignation. “I didn’t stand her up!”

“Yeah?” Raph turned to look at his brother, one brow raised. “What do ya call it then? This ain’t the first time you’ve flaked out on her. You didn’t see her face after she sat here all night waitin’ on your sorry shell to remember she was here.”

“I-I was working,” the purple masked ninja defended. “I lost track of time!” Then, he added forlornly, “she didn’t even say goodbye…”

Raph looked pointedly at the other turtle. “Said she didn’t think you and April wanted to be bothered.”

“Bothered?” Donatello looked helplessly at his older brother. “Why would she even think that? She’s never a bother!”

“That’s not the impression she got. Look,” Raph shook his head and turned to continue his trek through the lair, “ya got a good thing goin’ here, Don. Ya don’t think any one of us would give our right arm to be in your shell? Ya got a great girl and she thinks the world of ya. I hate to see ya screw that up.” 

“Wait,” a look of alarm settled over Donnie’s features. “You think I’m screwing things up?”

Instead of answering his brother’s panicked question, he stopped at the couch and balled his fist, knocking on Michelangelo’s shell. “Get up, Mikey,” he ordered. “Go get in bed.”

“Mmmkay…” the youngest turtle roused slowly, allowing his much larger brother to practically lift him from his reclined position by the rim of  his shell and set him on his feet. Bleary eyed, he moved almost zombie like in the direction Raph propelled him in with a careful shove. “G’night, bros…”

“Raph!” Donatello demanded, “what do you mean I’m screwing things up?”

Raphael sighed and held his hands up in a defensive manner. “All I’m sayin’, is that it ain’t a good look.”

Exasperated, Donnie demanded, “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Raph started, “that all the movies and books I’ve ever seen have taught me that girls don’t like it when ya repeatedly blow ‘em off to go hang out with your ex.”

“My ex?” Donatello looked confused for a moment before what his brother was getting at dawned on him. “You mean April? April isn’t my ex anything,” the tall terrapin insisted. “We were never together! Nothing ever happened! She knows that!”

“Not for lack of tryin’,” Raph pointed out. “Do ya remember how twisted up ya got when ya thought she was ghostin’ ya?”

Donnie swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah…”

“Now imagine,” Raph painted the picture, “that instead of sittin’ at home alone, worrin’ about ya, she was holed up somewhere with some guy she never stopped talkin’ about and fawnin’ over to your face. How would that make ya feel?”

Donatello felt like someone had punched him in the gut as what his brother was getting at hit him full force. “But,” the purple banded ninja shook his head, “she knows April and I are just friends. I’d never do anything to betray her trust like that. She’s not just my girlfriend…she’s my best friend. I love her. She knows that.”

Raph eyed the other turtle skeptically. “Does she?”

“Yeah…” Donnie answered hesitantly, now feeling unsure under his brother’s heavy gaze. “I-I think so…”

“Ya think so?” Raphael shook his head. “Ya better make damn sure that ya know so. A girl like that…she’s got options and they ain’t limited to mutant freaks. She doesn’t have to be slummin’ it down here in the sewers with your scaly ass.”

“Seriously?” If Donatello wasn’t panicked before, he was now. He could feel the color drain from his face and his heart begin a furious gallop in his chest at the thought of losing you. “You think she’ll leave me?” 

Raph shrugged, obviously done with the entire conversation.

Fear gripping him, Donnie asked, “what do you think I should do?” 

“I’m a turtle, not an advice columnist,” Raphael deadpanned as he moved off toward the room he and Mikey shared. He called back over his shoulder, “you’re the brainiac, you figure it out. I’m goin’ to bed.”

Donatello was left standing alone in the middle of the darkened lair, his eyes glassy with unshed tears and his heart breaking over the thought of losing you. His brilliant mind whirred at a million thoughts a minute, all swirling around how foolish he’d been lately when it came to you. Now that he thought about it, all the signs were there. He’d done it again. He’d taken you for granted. He’d let himself get sucked into another project, with April of all people, and hadn’t really considered how you’d feel about it. Relationships were so new to him that, honestly, it hadn’t even crossed his mind that you’d be upset. 

He berated himself. How stupid was he? Of course you’d be upset! He knew he would be if the roles were reversed. He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t let that happen. You meant everything to him. You had to know how much he loved you. He’d make sure of it. 

He checked the time and sighed. It was late. Too late to call you now or slip out and go to your apartment. He didn’t want to disturb you should you be sleeping. He’d already done enough damage for one evening and didn’t want to make things worse. 

“I’ll call her first thing in the morning,” he promised himself. “I can fix this. I know I can. It’ll be fine.” 

At least, he hoped it would be.

[pinnithin-writes]

I Realized. Then I Couldn’t Stop Realizing.

Chapter 7: C-53

Depending on where he looked, it was still beginning.

“Wow, you really have a thing for organics.”

C-53 hummed innocently. “I can’t say I have any idea what you’re talking about, Bargie.”

After he and Pleck had cleaned up the medical mess in the kitchen, the tellurian had disappeared in search of his old Zima scrolls, leaving C-53 alone in the common area. Well, as alone as one could be on a sentient ship. The Bargarian Jade’s attention span was selective, so one could never be sure whether they were being actively observed at any time.

“I saw what just happened,” Bargie said. “The tension between you two is - well, let’s just say it’s high. It’s very high.”

“That was a private conversation,” C-53 responded, somewhat defensively.

“If you wanted to have a private conversation, you should’ve had it off the ship,” Bargie said matter-of-factly.

“We’re in space ,” C-53 argued. “And I don’t see how this means I have a thing for organics.”

“Aw, come on,” Bargie’s rough voice insisted on the loudspeaker. “I know what I saw when we accessed each other’s memories a few years ago. You definitely have a type.”

“So do you,” he shot back, deflecting.

“Oh, I have a type?” Bargie exclaimed, affronted. “Do you know who I’ve dated?”

C-53 tuned his audio sensitivity down as the ship launched into a monologue about her exes. Out of courtesy, he uploaded a subroutine to offer various hmm s and ah s as a placeholder for listening while his cube went elsewhere.

Whether he returned Pleck’s feelings was not the priority right now. His friend needed help, and C-53 was going to help him. It was as simple as that; there was no need to complicate things with whatever feelings he may or may not have for the tellurian. So what if he had a type? That didn’t apply to the current situation - Pleck was different. He was vulnerable, and it would be unfair of C-53 to take advantage of that.

He was becoming increasingly overwhelmed with tenderness every time he laid scanners on Pleck, and his loader programming urged him to stick a label on him that read FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE. That particular instinct was easier to bypass than the instinct to lift, and he was left wondering if picking Pleck up had been a good idea after all. His one-eyed stare, aching and exhausted, had stirred something in C-53.

At least it had gotten his message across. I, C-53, am going to care about you. On purpose. Whether you like it or not.

He had to set his romantic notions aside. There were more important things to worry about right now. He dimly registered Bargie still steamrolling overhead with her story, and he broke in respectfully.

“That’s all very interesting, Bargie, but I don’t see how it helps me.”

The ship sighed cantankerously. “I’m just sayin’ you’re gonna have to confront this sooner or later,” she said.

“Hm,” C-53 considered. “I think I’m going to choose later.”

---

“Okay, I brought all the scrolls we got copies of from the library and uh, all the originals I have that Nermut didn’t make into a nest,” Pleck said around the box of papers in his arms.

He carried them over to the dining table, pausing when he saw the pre-existing mess of administrative documents, campaign flyers, and junk mail that already cluttered its surface. Hardly anyone used the table for eating these days.

C-53 watched bemusedly as Pleck nudged the mess aside to make space for his new mess, dumping the contents of the box out. This was not going to be a very organized process. Things involving Pleck rarely were.

“Are these texts all about the Zima religion in general, or you specifically?” he asked.

“Ah, well,” Pleck paused to brush a lock of hair out of his eye, gazing down at his chaotic archive. “The thing is, I don’t really know how to interpret all of them? I mean,” He began to shuffle through the stack, “there’s… here, this one says my actual first and last name,” he extricated a page and held it out for C-53 to read.

“A ticking clock, in which Pleck Decksetter stands, to spin and draw nearer to the void, ” the droid echoed aloud.

Pleck nodded, grimacing. “But then, like, then there’s this one,” he unrolled a tight ream of parchment and recited,

“Whose stick is that? I think I know. Its owner is quite happy though. Full of joy like a rainbow, I watch him laugh. I cry hello.”

C-53 paused. “That sounds… dumb,” he said.

Pleck chuckled, rolling the parchment back up. “A lot of it is pretty dumb,” he admitted. “And I don’t know what all is relevant to, y’know, my whole thing, and what’s just some old Zima getting creative with their meditations on the Space.”

“Well, let’s see if we can’t sort them out,” C-53 said, lowering his frame enough so that he could read the texts from his vantage.

That was their afternoon, reviewing and puzzling over the pile of ancient scrolls. C-53 had never given the Zima religion itself that much thought, but the more they dug into their teachings, the more he was convinced it was mostly just nonsense. He did have to give them some credit, though. A few of the scrolls had predicted Pleck’s life almost exactly. It was… kind of eerie, if he was being honest.

The crew wandered in and out while they worked, checking in on their activities curiously but quickly losing interest once they realized they were essentially just studying. At one point, AJ asked if he could help, and they gave him a flowery poem to slog through until he gave up after about ten minutes.

“You did a good job, AJ,” Pleck smiled as the CLINT left the room to find something else that would hold his attention. “You’ll get it eventually.”

Pleck was looking significantly more relaxed since that morning, C-53 noticed. His shoulders had returned to their usual easy slope and his smile sprang readily to his face. The droid found himself distracted from his task on more than one occasion, choosing instead to fixate on Pleck’s careful hands as he leafed through papers, or his delicate neck as he bent low to decipher some stray scribble. By the time the evening rolled around, they had stopped trying to make sense of the scrolls altogether, and were instead pointing out ridiculous lines to one another.

“Wait wait wait, here, check out this one,” Pleck brandished a photocopy in C-53’s face, barely containing his laughter.

“To pass through the eye, one must first pass through the butt?” C-53 read aloud, incredulous. “Do they mean literally?”

Pleck was fighting to get the words out through his giggling. “Who wrote this? This was a Zima?”

“This is a sacred text .” C-53 insisted. “A sacred religious text. This is your religion, Pleck.”

The tellurian shook his head, still laughing, as he set the paper aside. “Good Rodd.”

“Oh, here’s a good one,” C-53 raised a careful claw to slide one of the documents in Pleck’s direction.

Seeing the grin spread across his friend’s face was like watching a sunflower bloom. “Oh my Rodd,” he exclaimed, “is this a love poem?”

“Heaven hath no elegance like you, my radiant swan,” C-53 recited the first line, his vocal modulator lilting with his own laughter. “I have no idea why this was preserved as an ancient text.”

“We’ll put that one in the ‘dumb’ pile,” Pleck said, cheeks still rosy with mirth. He was smiling wide enough to show off his dimples, and it was a pleasant sight to C-53’s scanners.

They continued to shuffle through papers in companionable silence. Pleck managed to assemble a fairly linear timeline of his own prophecy, and was attempting to piece it together with anything that seemed relevant. He had a better eye for patterns in the texts than C-53 did, something that the droid was surprised by. Perhaps deciphering the ancient words of the Zimas was something that was only inherent to other Zimas.

“C-53, look,” Pleck exclaimed suddenly. “I thought I had lost this one. It’s the scroll you’re mentioned in.” He excitedly uncurled the parchment and held it flat against the table.

C-53’s head tilted with interest. “ I’m in the Zima scrolls?”

“I mean, you’re not mentioned by name,” Pleck admitted. He scooted the scroll toward the droid so he could get a better scan on it. “But I’m pretty sure it’s talking about you. Based on, y’know, context.”

And the humidifier will rise from its slumber Newly untethered, a free soul in a rectangle And the Great One will feel a lump in his throat To wonder if this appliance would entrust his soul to him

“Wow, this is… very specific,” C-53 commented. His coding was already drawing connections for him about the implications this had on his and Peck’s relationship. He was inclined to dismiss it as mindlessness, like so many of the other texts, but a small, irrational part of him clung to the words. Was the tellurian meeting him destined? Better question: did C-53 want it to be?

“Yeah, I thought it was weird that they included that,” Pleck said, pulling the scroll back.

“You were worried I didn’t trust you?”

“Well, I mean-” Pleck’s ears reddened. “Up until that point you’d had your restraining bolt on, so I couldn’t be sure.”

C-53 nodded pensively. “True, I didn’t have a lot of allowance for personal expression back then.”

Pleck gave a small exhale of a laugh. “Yeah, it was like you became a totally different droid after that.”

“It was a punishing part of my life, to be sure.”

Pleck’s eye brightened. “Remember that time Nermut made you pick up that marble over and over again for like, an hour?” he asked, turning his sunny grin on C-53.

“Oh, Rodd, yeah,” the droid sighed, amused at the memory. “And you and Dar asked me to do it all sexy so I’d actually have some fun with it?”

“That was great, I really enjoyed that.”

“Oh, you did?” C-53 prompted, servos humming. “You enjoyed that?”

“No, I mean like-” Pleck went a darker shade of pink. “Not like, sexually, it was - I was just-” he stopped, gathered his thoughts, and restarted. “It was nice to see you having fun, is all,” he said. His smile softened as he reminisced.

C-53’s voice lost its teasing edge. “It was nice,” he agreed. “I’m glad we were able to become friends despite our initial differences.”

“Yeah…” Pleck trailed off, staring up at the droid earnestly. “Yeah, me too.”

Rodd, C-53 felt he was going to combust in that pure sunshine smile. He would fight wars and burn down cities to keep it safe.

Chapter 6 <-----> Chapter 8

[jackiesarch]

be alright

Rook’s lived a lot of places, but she thinks Hope County may be the strangest. It’s massive, geographically, spread out across the Henbane, the Whitetails, Holland Valley – she’s been here for months, and she still doesn’t think she’s seen half of it all. She’s not quite sure she ever will.

Despite its size, though, she’s learned that Hope County gives off just as many small town vibes as the tiny place she grew up. Everyone knows everyone, whether personally or in passing, and Rook can’t go anywhere without hearing what is, quintessentially, the latest town gossip.

Needless to say, word travels fast between members of the Resistance. It gives her an edge up on Eden’s Gate, most days, an internal surveillance system that tells her about the Seeds’ comings and goings.

You hear the commotion out at Seed Ranch? she hears one evening as she wanders past a group of Resistance members chatting just inside the outpost at Kellett Cattle Co. Looks like some of the Peggies are finally seein’ the light.

“What’s that?” Rook asks, before she can even stop herself.

“Oh, hey, Dep,” one of the men says. Rook has never been good with names, but she thinks his may be Eric. “I was just sayin’ it looks like there may be more defectors out there than we thought.

“What do you mean?”

“Word is John Seed’s got a bit of a mutiny on his hands. Couple Peggies went rogue this morning, shot the place up,” Eric says. He leans up against the wall of the building next to him and crosses his arms over his chest. “’Course, that didn’t last too long.”

Rook’s stomach twists unpleasantly at the thought of a gunfight inside John’s home. Her next words, her tone, they all need to be carefully regulated – Kim Rye is the only one who knows about her indiscretions with John Seed. She’d like to keep it that way as long as she possibly can.

“Any word on his status?” Rook asks. Her voice is cool, detached, clinical – none of it betraying the anxiety curling inside her.

“Nothing, really,” Eric shrugs. “Friend of mine in the area says he may have been hit. No one knows for sure. Be crazy if one of his own people ended up doing your job for you, huh, Dep?”

Rook smiles weakly, tries not to fidget as the panic rises.

“Wild.”

She says goodbye, grabs her rifle, and leaves the outpost with her jaw clenched so hard she might chip a tooth.

 -----

There’s a roadblock just outside of Nick Rye’s place, close enough to John’s ranch that it can’t be a coincidence that it wasn’t there before today. Rook pauses from a couple hundred feet away, hidden by foliage and the thick brush where she crouches.

Instinct tells her to take it quietly. She lingers there in the bushes, rifle clasped in her hands, watching the Peggies patrol their little setup. She should get her binoculars out, map each of them out, come up with a strategy.

Instead, she shoulders the rifle and moves quietly though the trees, keeping her eyes on the men. There are four of them, one heavily armoured, the others carrying machine guns. Rook gets the angle on the armoured one. He paces back and forth behind the truck parked in the middle of the road.

Her body is thrumming with adrenaline. Part of it, she thinks, is the anxiety, the fear, the not knowing about whether or not John is okay. The other part is a fervent anger that’s been building up inside her since she arrive in Hope County.

John is right – she is wrath incarnate, and she is about to prove it.

Rook darts out from the treeline, hardly making a sound as she heads toward him. Then she is on him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, the bulk of his bulletproof vest digging into her stomach. Rook squeezes, twists, and the man sputters, searching for air. Then—

Snap.

He goes limp in her arms and Rook drops him, his body thumping satisfyingly against the sidewalk. She has tried to be silent, but the commotion has alerted the dead man’s friends, and before she knows it Rook is crouching behind the truck to avoid a spray of bullets.

One of the men turns the corner, machine gun aimed at her face, and Rook lunges, fists flying and nails clawing at him. She tears at his skin, his hair, lands a solid right hook against the side of his face and feels his nose break beneath the blow. He reaches for her throat, his gun clattering to the asphalt, and when Rook looks in his eyes she sees complete and unfiltered fury.

She smashes her head into his. He crumples, and pain radiates through Rook’s temple. Not her best work, but it’s done the job.

The other two are easy to take out – they’re rookies, new recruits, and they put up a good fight, but Rook is faster, stronger, angrier. Blood dripping into her eyes, she grabs one of them by the hair and slams his face into the concrete beneath her feet. He doesn’t get up again.

The last one is scared as she rounds on him. He steps backwards, makes to run away, but Rook’s hand is on the grip of her 1911. There’s one shot, clean and quick and echoing loudly, and the guy drops. There’s a hole in his chest and his breaths gurgle in his chest as his lungs fill with blood, but Rook doesn’t hear him.

She stands in the middle of the roadblock, observing the carnage, and takes a deep breath. The world around her smells clean, crisp, metallic with the blood of the four dead men.

Her eyes flick toward the direction of the ranch. Rook wipes the blood from her forehead, shoves her handgun back into her thigh holster, and keeps moving.

------

By the time she sneaks past the guards stalking the outside perimeter and into the ranch through a laughably unattended open window, Rook feels like she’s been hit by several different vehicles. She tastes blood and dirt in her mouth, aches everywhere, and is pretty sure she might have a concussion.

Taking on four armed men on her own may have been a poor choice, in hindsight, but she’s never claimed to be the most brilliant woman alive.

Rook creeps up the stairs, familiar enough with them now that she knows what spots to avoid, knows which steps will creak under her weight. At the landing, she peers down the hallway. John’s bedroom door is open, which means he’s likely not there, but the bathroom door is shut, dim light peeking out from the crack at the bottom.

Only John uses John’s bathroom.

Heart in her throat, she takes quiet, hesitant steps down the hallway until she’s standing outside the bathroom door, wondering if this has been a terrible mistake. She shouldn’t be here. Her knees ache like she’s run twelve miles, and stiffness is starting to gnaw at the base of her spine. Her eyes feel gritty each time she blinks.

She is tired and afraid, but she needs to see him. She needs to see if he is okay. Besides –- being in the wrong place is a specialty of hers.

Her stomach twists as she reaches out to rap her knuckles gently against the door. Through the wood, she can hear John moving around in the bathroom. The muffled sounds of running water stop abruptly, and she imagines his slender fingers twisting at the knobs of the sink’s faucet. Rook sees the handle twist before she hears the door click open, and then John is standing in front of her.

He is shirtless but wearing sweat pants, his hair wet and his beard neatly trimmed. She is struck all at once by how normal he looks.

“You’re really starting to make me question my home security, my dear.”

He means it as a joke – the corner of his lip is tugging upwards – but Rook doesn’t laugh. Instead, she swallows thickly and follows the lines of his body, her eyes fixed on the spot a few inches from his belly button where a thin piece of gauze is taped. His ribs are a canvas full of purples and blues, mottled skin that proclaims he’s been hit by something.

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course, but is there a particular reason you’ve broken in tonight?”

“Are you all right?” Rook asks quietly. Her voice sounds a million miles away, even to her.

John stares at her like he doesn’t understand what she’s asking, eyes raking her up and down.

“Am I—Rook, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

The question isn’t one she was expecting. Rook wonders what she must look like for him to ask that, for him to use her name instead of one of his sickeningly sweet pet names. She knows that her hair is a disaster, stiff with dried blood and dirt - the rest of her can’t be much better. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing.

John reaches out, and his fingers brush against her elbow.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

Each step toward him feels like a light year away, but somehow Rook manages to get there. She crowds him up against the bathroom counter, places a hand gently on his side. His skin is smooth and warm. He smells clean.

John cups the side of her face in his hand, then lets his fingers spider upwards toward her scalp, where her hair is matted with blood.

“Is this your blood?”

Rook doesn’t actually know. Every part of her hurts, so it may very well be. She doesn’t speak but instead shrugs, reaching out to wrap her arms around him. One of his hands settles on her back, the other splayed across the back of her head. For a moment, she feels safe. Calm. She forgets that her head is pounding, that her lips are dry and cracked, that her stomach aches. She forgets the anxiety thrashing around inside her chest. John kisses her forehead.

“I should go,” Rook says abruptly. She pulls herself out of the embrace and stares up at him. “I need to shower. And you’re probably tired. You should go to bed.”

She doesn’t know why she’s trying to push him away. Every part of her screams to stay here, to stay wrapped in his arms, quiet under the sickly glow of the bathroom lights.

Staying, though, means she has to put a name to the feeling that drove her all the way here in the first place. Staying means she has to confront it. Rook doesn’t know if she can do it.

John makes the decision for her, his voice gentle and his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear.

“Let me help, darling.”

His hands go to the hem of her shirt and he tugs, up past her ribs, bunching under her shoulders until she lifts her arms and lets him pull it over her head. The shirt falls silently to the bathroom floor. Rook starts to wriggle out of the embrace to help him but John doesn’t let her get very far before he’s gripping her tighter.

Goosebumps prickle at her skin as he reaches behind her to unhook her bra. He slips the straps from her shoulders, presses feather-light kisses across the line of her collarbone, tosses the garment on the floor next to her shirt. The dirty jeans come next. There’s a new tear in the knee that Rook doesn’t notice until the denim pools around her ankles and her toes catch in the rip. How has she managed to do that?

John finally lets her go. He steps toward the shower and twists the water on, and Rook, watching, strips away her underwear. Her pile of clothes tell a story – a horror story, full of blood and fear and terror. The memory of the evening makes her grind her teeth together. She thinks she can feel tiny pieces of dirt between her molars, gritty and sour.

“Get in,” John encourages, once the water is hot and steam is billowing from the stream.

It looks inviting. Rook pads toward the shower and slips under the warm spray, and John joins her a moment later, slipping in behind her, a warm weight against her back. The water drills against her chest, her arms, her shoulders, and for a moment, Rook feels better than she has in months.

John’s hands come to her shoulders and squeeze, kneading the muscles, his thumbs pressing firmly into the back of her neck. She leans back against him and sighs. Water runs down her face, her chest and her belly in rivers, the blood and dirt melting from her skin like hot wax, spiraling down the drain. She feels John move, and then he is scrubbing shampoo into her hair with the tips of his fingers, gently, because he still doesn’t know if the blood in her hair is hers. It must be, because his fingers brush against a spot near her temple so tender that it makes her flinch. The shampoo stings.

“You should have gotten someone to stitch this up,” John murmurs. Rook can barely hear him over the rush of the water, but she feels him run a finger along what must be a cut about an inch long. “Does it hurt?”

“Stings,” she says, “but it’s fine.”

The gentle scrubbing is hypnotic. Rook feels as though she might fall asleep standing up and is grateful that John is behind her to keep her on her feet. He scratches at her scalp gently, then turns her so her back is facing the water. Rook tips her head back and lets the shampoo run down her back, splattering against the shower floor. Her eyes are closed, but she feels John lean forward to kiss the hollow of her throat, the side of her neck, the corner of her mouth.

She feels at home here, in this moment, soap dripping from the ends of her hair and John’s breath against her cheek. Rook noses in a little until their lips meet, and they kiss a few times, slow, lazy, peaceful. The panic that’s kept her on her toes all day has left her now, and her mouth starts to go slack halfway through because she is so tired, and John laughs, reaching up to scrub the last of the shampoo from her hair.

“You okay?” he asks. She opens her eyes and follows the lines of John’s face. His eyes are a bright blue, his expression soft as he watches her.

“Tired,” she admits.

They spend another ten, maybe fifteen minutes in the shower. Rook can’t be sure how much time goes by exactly, but the water starts to run cold just after John finishes cleaning her skin with nicely scented soap. She rinses and shuts the shower off.

Rook can’t map the journey from the shower to John’s bed. Things are starting to move in slow motion, like a movie montage of the mundane moments of her life. Somehow, she ends up cloaked in one of John’s shirts, curled under the blankets with him pressed up against her back.

She was calm in the shower, but now her mind is racing again, filling in all the blanks she’s desperately been trying to ignore.

“You—I thought you were dead,” she says warily, suddenly wide awake. Her eyes are burning. “They said—.”

John sighs. He pulls at her hip gently, his fingers pressing into a spot that hurts enough that Rook thinks it may be bruised. She rolls over, runs her fingers along the clean gauze patch that John must have applied during their transition from bathroom to bed. Rook wants to peel the tape back, wants to see exactly what was done to him, how bad it really looks.

“I’m fine, darling.”

“I know,” Rook says, “but for a minute, you weren’t. You were dead.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, staying uncharacteristically quiet as he reaches out to brush her wet hair from her face. John has always liked to touch, tactile like no one else she has ever met. His fingers linger next to the ear he tucks her hair behind, then skim down her cheek to the line of her collarbone. Eventually, he grabs her hand and slides it up to his chest. His pulse thuds under her palm.

“I’m here,” John murmurs. “Just a scratch, darling. You haven’t lost me yet.”

Rook chokes out a shaky laugh, splaying her fingers wider, feeling his heartbeat steady and constant beneath her skin.

“I’m sorry,” she says eventually, curling tighter against him. “This is embarrassing.”

If the Resistance could only see her now — at her least heroic, skin pale and hands shaking, wrapped up in the enemy’s arms. Rook’s tried to plan out all the ways that this holy war might end.

This was never one of them.

“Shh,” John quiets her, threading his arms tightly around her and pulling her close to him. “Everything is all right now. You need to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Rook is grateful that he hasn’t decided to press her. John is always seeking answers, always seeking the truth, always seeking confessions. For once, it is comforting to see him simply be.

Her hands slip around him, reveling in his warmth. John settles one hand on the small of her back, warm and steady, and runs the fingers of the other through her hair. Rook savours every touch, every brush of skin against skin. Eventually, she starts to drift off, her head tucked neatly under John’s chin.

It may be her imagination, but she thinks she hears John speak just before she falls over the precipice and into unconsciousness.

“I won’t leave you.”

[louu-7]

everything i don’t know

on wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/222647460-everything-i-don%27t-know-jj-maybank

CHAPTER 10:

My sight become distinct again and I throw myself on the ground to puke my guts out as my body shiver and get colder. I stay in this position for a while, in the dark, in front of a bush, and disgusted by all the remarks I received in less than a minute.

A hand is suddenly touching my shoulder, making me jump of surprise as I look up. The hand’s removing from my arm and my eyes are crossing his. What the…

“What do you want, spit in my face in person?”

“No, no I just wanted to see if, you were OK.” Kyle declares as he observes me, in this pathetic situation. “Yeah, look at me, I’m at my best, you can go back to the party I don’t need nobody, even less a kook who thinks I’m a bitch.”

“I don’t think you’re a bitch, I always saw you as a smart girl, kinda chill.”

He sits next to me, while I’m on my knees, as ridiculous as possible. My father’s maybe right, I’m kinda stupid right now. “Don’t stay with me, I’m good.”

“And if I don’t wanna go?”

“I’ll go by myself to be alone.”

“And I’ll follow you.”

I sigh a little and spin around to sit more properly, and look at him. His eyes are diving into mine and I frown and look away. Oh, shit. That’s him. He’s got a crush on me. And I forgot about it. It’s Kyle, and my brain didn’t do the comparison...

I purse my lips as he continues to let his eyes wander over me, with shamelessness and tirelessly. Oh God can someone save me right now…

“I think I’m gonna go.” I stand back up and my stomach starts to hurt again, even more than a bit earlier… I wince and my body makes me understand I can’t walk for now. But I can’t stay with him either. “Please go, we can talk later if you want but leave me alone.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, hurry, please, I needa be on my own.”

I fall on my knees again and he leaves, a sigh is coming out of my mouth and I can take things easy as long as I’m on my own. All the words are repeating on my mind without any break, and tears can’t stop running on my cheeks at this point, because it hurts me.

Maybe I’m looking like I’m strong in front of people but I’m not, I’m human, and I think everybody would be affected by all these remarks that I received from hundreds of people, without help, because the crew was certainly as disconcerted as me.

My stomach is hurting because of stress, and a sentence is in repeat in my head even more than the others. ‘Why aren’t you killing yourself’. At least I know how kooks can be nasty when they’re angry. Maybe that I already knew that about them before, but I’ve never been confronted with so much hate and senseless rumors.

It all started with the things I ‘said’ about the pogues, things I never said in my whole life. Now it’s about things I ‘said’ about kooks. The question I need an answer of is… who hates me that much to make everyone spitting at my face this way? I didn’t think I had enemies, but they should talk to me rather than spread rumors about what I say or no…

“Hey, I was looking for you babe, how are you…?” I look up at Sarah and manage to faint a smile at her, a little deformed, by the pain in my stomach, and the voices shouting out in my head. My eyes are burning so bad… “Good.”

“Thara don’t be too affected by all these fucking rich assholes, c’mere babe.”

“I’m not affected I just don’t understand why they…” My voice crack and I look away to hold back the tears in my eyes, and she sits next to me to hug me, with so much kindness, that my heart melts in my chest. “I’m fine, let’s go back with the others.”

“Girl you’re crying your heart out, we’re not coming back with them, they’re gonna come here, we’ll be better without all these-”

“No, that’s OK. Let’s go, I didn’t came here to stay out of the party.”

I stand and my body hurts, but it’ll pass. The pain is in my head, so if I stop thinking about these free insults that I gently received, everything will be alright. Sarah wraps her arm behind my back and we catch up with the boys.

“Good?”

“Yeah, they’re just jealous of me, nothing serious.” I laugh a little and sit next to Kie, who’s laughing with me. “I guess you never said that?” I shiver when I cross JJ’s blue eyes as his deep voice resonate in my head.

He made everyone shutting up, I owe him something, because even if we don’t like each other, he ‘came to my defense’ in a kind of way, and I appreciate that.

“No. I’m a kook myself, why would I say that on them? Bearing in mind that if I said all these shits, I would’ve spit in the girls faces. I’m not the bitch everyone’s seeing in me right now.”

“Of course you’re not. We may not know each other that much but I know you enough to see a chill girl who wanna have fun.” Pope’s raising his shoulders, looking at me, then at the crew.

I smile and look down, embarrassed to know what he really thinks about me. I’m not used to these kind of ‘compliments’. “Thara’s the better best friend, of course she’s a chill girl who wanna ave fun.” Sarah leans on me and laugh as I do the same, hugging her. “Let’s talk ‘bout something else,  I don’t like to talk ‘bout me.”

The discussion restarts on the same topic as before Nate’s intervention, and I share us my plan. It’s not really a plan, it’s more… something I can do to look deeper in that shit. While we’re here in circle, some kooks are enjoying to slight me or tell me off, but I manage to ignore them. They’re all sheep who are following Nate.

Anyway, I explain that I need to go downtown, to look into the old document of my family. I know that everyone of the richer kooks family are listed at the library, and it’s of course confidential. This is the first thing that came in my mind to start to find something.

“Go to hell!”

“Why were you born, fucking slut.

“Stay home if you don’t wanna have issue. You’ll finish dead if you don’t.”

I don’t even make the effort to look at their assholes faces and show them my middle finger as I break out in a cold sweat. A quiet sigh is coming out of my mouth discreetly and we continue to talk.

“Are they really gonna try to kill you?”

“No, they’re not brave enough to do anything. Now can we stop talking about ‘em and go on with our main topic?”

“These men are sayin’ they’re gonna kill you.”

“Nah, I’m OK with Thara, these kids are wasting their breath, they won’t have the balls to do anything.” John B agrees and JJ’s nodding his head to agree at his turn. “Be careful anyway, we never know.” Kie smiles gently at me and I do the same as I nod.

All these kooks are talking, because it’s easy to spit on somebody’s face, but when it comes to act, nobody’s here.

~

The kegger is done, it’s 4pm right now, we talked a lot on what could we do. After a long search, we decided that to begin our researches, we had to build some solid bases if we want something that’s holding up. So, tomorrow I will be going downtown, to the library, to make some serious research about my family, because if we start, it’s probably best to start with the beginning.

The thing is, they all insist that someone needs to come with me, because of all the threats I received tonight. I wasn’t against the idea, until John B and Sarah told me that they had lunch with the Cameron’s, and Pope and Kie apologized because they had to work with their parents.

What does that means? That JJ is supposed to come with me. We’re both not OK with this decision, and I don’t think he will be there tomorrow to take the ferry in the morning, around 10am. To be honest they make us agreed, but when we looked at each other it was obvious that we weren’t that fine with the idea.

It’s better for everyone if I go by myself anyway, at least if they don’t want to get one of us dead… I can’t even imagine passing the whole day with him. And they will never going to let us come into the library if he dresses up as usual… God it’s gonna be a mess, and passing around nine hours with him is not going to be an easy job.

It’s not my fault if he’s bad-tempered. Maybe he thinks the same about me. Maybe he thinks more something like ‘How am I gonna pass a whole day with this kook who’s getting emotional at every minute of her life.’ Yeah, maybe more that… But I don’t know, it might be the best day of my life, we will see tomorrow...

I get up out of my bed, in pajamas, for a change, and go downstairs to get some food. Why am I such a food lover… and after I’m complaining about gaining weight… Anyway I grab a cereal bar in the cupboard when I hear someone coming into the kitchen.

“Did I woke you up?”

“No, don’t worry darling.” My mother smiles a little at me and I do the same. “Was the party as good as you thought?”

“Yeah, yeah it was… intense. Nothing crazy, but I’m dead. Oh and, I was wondering if I could go downtown tomorrow?”

“It depends for what, do you need something? I maybe can get you what you want.” Her eyes stare at me, like she was trying to guess why by herself. Like she knew that I would lie to her...

“It’s to go to the library, I need new books to read, and I have some researches to do, about philosophy works, it’s so interesting I need to know more. I open my snack and she seems to think about my request. “I think you can go, only if you promise me you’re not going over there to see anyone. You go downtown to study, not to have fun with pogues.” A bit of disgust is present in her voice when she pronounces the pogue word. Ridiculous...

“Mom I only saw them once, and it was on a birthday. I can swear to you I never saw them since this day, and I won’t do it again. The thing is Sarah’s not one of them, she’s a kook, like us… and she’s my best friend...”

“I know, you understood that your image is important. I will talk about the Sarah case with your father tomorrow and we will tell you if you can see her. Now go to sleep sweetheart.”

“Yeah, thank you mommy, I love you. Sweet dreams.” She comes to me and kiss my forehead before I live the first floor for my room. I finish my cereal bar, happy that they are going to think about Sarah. Maybe they also understood I need interaction with people, not just them.

After brushing my teeth and washing my face I dive in my fresh sheets and fall asleep in less than a second because of the fatigue I got inside of me.

~

I’m in front of the ferry, everyone’s getting in but I’m waiting for my bodyguard of the day to show up. The boat’s going to leave in two minutes, and JJ didn’t even let me know if he was coming or no, and I’m here, waiting for someone that I don’t really hold close to my heart…

“Miss, the ferry’s gonna leave in a minute.” An inspector walks to me and I wince. “I’m waiting for someone, just a second please…” What is he doing…

I suddenly frown when I see a blond head running towards me as fast as possible. When I recognize JJ’s face, I’m surprised just as peeved. “There he is…” I whisper, kind of amused and embarrassed at the same time.

He arrives in front of me, out of breath, and looks at the inspector. “Mister, have a good day, I think we gotta go.” He walks vigorously to the ferry and I stop him by saying his name, already tired of him. “We maybe have to give our tickets…”

“Tickets, noo.” I don’t think he understood the man next to me is an inspector until he puts his eyes on him and see his outraged face. The blond comes back next to me and wince before whispering ‘i kinda forget this little detail’. “By good luck” I look in my bag. “I got two tickets.” I grab them and warmly smile to the inspector.

“Thank you, have a good trip lovebirds.”

“Ugh, we’re not, hum, yeah but thanks, have a great day…” We move away toward the ferry and I wince as JJ seems to be shocked. “How could you forgot about a ticket like, did you really thought we would be able to get in without anything?”

“I was late, ticket wasn’t my priority. What is wrong with this man, how could I be with you-” I raise my eyebrows and look at him, who’s also looking at me, as we get in the boat and walk through the corridor to take place on our seats. “Shut up. Let’s go outside.”

JJ follows me with a crooked smile on his face, and we arrive outside. The weather is perfect, the sun shines and reflects on the clear water of the sea. The waves are kind this morning and the wind is not to powerful. Perfect to have a trip in ferry. “Do you know that we’re not gonna be allowed to come in the library if we get inside like this.”

“Like how?” He looks at me, his arms leaning on the security barrier. “Your clothes… I mean, the problem isn’t your style, but the first impression is important and if you’re not dressed properly, the security isn’t gonna let us come in.”

“So what, I have to dress like a kook to come into a library?”

“Kinda…”

“What the… I don’t wanna look like a… twerp in a penguin suit.” He winces and a bittersweet smile’s drawing out on my face. “Do I look like a twerp in a penguin suit?” I laugh and he steps back to look at me, pulling a face in disgust.

I show him my beautiful middle finger and look back at the sea to ignore him. I feel like this day is going to be long, but, to be honest he seems to have got out of the right side of the bed. A pretty good thing if we have to stay together from now until tonight.

“Gonna be the worst day of my life…”

“Shut up, I paid your ticket.”

thank u for reading me, have a great day!! ^^