#me approximately half a month later: failed step one

[lesbianfreyja]

request: dennis sucking mac’s dick. that’s it. that’s the entire request

Dennis could joke all he wanted about Mac looking fat when he was fully clothed and they were surrounded by the rest of the gang at the bar, but it was a little harder to maintain that stance when sequestered in their own apartment.

The first time he saw Mac shirtless when they were alone was two days later. He was fresh back from the gym, dripping sweat, hair sticking limply to his forehead, and he pulled his shirt off as soon as he walked in the door - and it took everything Dennis had not to blurt out, “Can I lick your abs, bro?” and drop to his knees.

Instead he retreated to his room for the rest of the day and did not come out until well into the next morning.

The first time he got his wish (half-formed and most fully explored in dreams) was a week later. He only had to wait so long because he absolutely refused to be the one to break first, and it was a week before Mac seemed to catch on to what he wanted without being told.

He laughed against Mac’s mouth when he got pressed up against his bedroom door. (Technically their bedroom door, since Mac had never furnished his own room and they had been trading off on who slept on the couch since he’d gotten back.) His fingers curled and dug into Mac’s neck, scratching right below his hairline. Mac dug his knee in between Dennis’s legs and pressed up, and Dennis gasped against their connected mouths.

His hands slipped over the vast, firm planes of Mac’s back under his t-shirt. His shoulder muscles flexed, shifting pleasantly under his skin. In another second Dennis had the shirt ripped off completely, and Mac’s mouth was attached to the underside of his jaw.

“Fuck, Christ, dude,” he mumbled. His head tipped forward again so Mac’s lips slipped away from his skin, and Dennis looked down as his hands ran up and over his chest. His thumbs rubbed in little circles across Mac’s stomach, over his taut fucking abs, and he bent on impulse to lave his tongue across a high spot on one of his pecs. Mac just watched him look and touch and taste, breathing hard. “You’ve been working out.”

It wasn’t a question, but Mac still chuckled and breathed, “Yeah.”

Dennis watched his hands as they smoothed upward, his thumbs rubbing circles around his ribs, then the underside of his chest, and finally across both of his nipples. Mac arched forward with a little moan and pressed their mouths back together, fingers slipping on the buttons of his shirt before he got them undone and pulled it off his shoulders. Once they were free Dennis wound his arms around Mac’s neck and let Mac haul him backwards by the hips.

They stumbled to the bed. Dennis scratched sharp red lines across Mac’s tanned, smooth back with a sick little feeling of pleasure. That would last him days. That would chafe up against his rougher t-shirts and make him think about Dennis underneath him and around him, when he was just walking around the bar and the apartment and the street…

Dennis shoved Mac down by the shoulders - realistically, he knew that at some point in their lives he probably could have called it forcing, but definitely not anymore - and then slipped off his lap and climbed down onto the floor between his legs. Mac shivered and pushed himself up, staring down at him. From on his knees, Dennis stared back.

Then his hands were slipping over the buttons on Mac’s pants, pulled down the zip, and shoving all of it down his thighs. Mac kicked lightly in an apparent albeit fruitless attempt to be helpful; Dennis stripped them all the way off. He knew it wasn’t true, that nothing had actually changed, but his cock certainly looked bigger; maybe it had just been awhile, or maybe he had been falsely picturing it all those times he thought about it in the space since he had last seen Mac naked. There was all that time when he was fat that his dick looked – as Dee had laughed and accurately recounted to him once – like a button in a fur coat, and maybe that’s what he had been thinking about. But it wasn’t true.

Mac was – fuck it, Dennis thought, it’s not like it would unnecessarily fuel Mac’s ego as long as he only said it in his head. Mac was hung. Dennis let himself stare for several long seconds before he hefted himself back up as high as he could go on his knees and pulled Mac’s mouth back down to his.

He kissed him once, twice, and then his hands started to move where they had landed on Mac’s thighs. Mac shivered, legs spreading instinctively, and Dennis leaned down without thinking and pressed his lips to his inner thigh, high up near where his leg hit waist. Mac’s fingers smoothed through Dennis’s curls.

Mac asked, “Are you gonna –” And Dennis said, “Can I?”

When Mac didn’t immediately answer, Dennis’s breath caught in his throat and he hurried on. “I just mean, I want to – if you want me to because I’ve just been thinking about it the past couple days and I want you –”

Mac tugged – affectionately – on his hair and Dennis swallowed, then did it again, feeling his heart rate slow.

“Yeah,” he breathed, and his hands were moving again.

He rubbed the pad of his first two fingers over the stupid tattoo on his thigh, newly touched-up and darker than usual because of that. It looked small, smaller than Dennis remembered; or maybe that was just Mac’s thighs, bulked the fuck up until they were nearly the size of Dennis’s face. The shamrock was still stupid-looking and ugly, but that didn’t seem to matter to Dennis’s searching and petting fingers, running over and over it like they didn’t care at all about Dennis’s brain telling them to stop.

He realized his mouth was hanging slightly open and it was now dry. Clearing his throat, Dennis leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the tattoo, then leaned up when Mac laughed and bit down hard the soft part of his stomach – or tried to, except now that bit of him was completely gone.

It was a confusing moment, his teeth slipping off his abs and closing on clean air. There were certain parts of Mac that never changed, no matter how much his weight and muscle mass fluctuated: the three tattoos on his arms and one on his thigh, the soft bit at the bottom of his torso where the hard muscle gave way to fleshy stomach, the way he smiled right before Dennis kissed him.

But now the bicep tattoos were fading, and his abs were hard and flat. But he still grinned when Dennis leaned up to kiss him, and his complaints still sounded the same when Dennis finally found something to bite down on in retribution. The dip below Mac’s v-line was the depth of fucking Marianas Trench, and when Dennis closed his teeth around it he felt like he could rip it clean out of his skin like a goddamn chicken bone.

“Fuck,” Mac said, hissing. The fingers in Dennis’s hair closed into a fist and pulled him roughly away. Dennis laughed, smirking up at him. Mac’s hips jerked up towards his face like he couldn’t help himself, and he growled out, “Dennis.”

Dennis rolled his eyes, pinching his leg.

“Can you be patient for half a second?” Dennis said, easy, sitting back on his heels. “I’m just admiring the artwork, bro.”

A low groan worked its way from the back of Mac’s throat. Before he stumbled his way to a coherent sentence, Dennis ducked his head down, wrapped one hand around the base of his dick, and darted his tongue out to lick over the head of his cock.

Mac choked, groaned, jerked his dick a little further into his mouth. Dennis sucked what he gave him down eagerly too, opening his mouth a little wider to let him in.

He quickly found the rhythm that Mac liked, a slow jerking of his hand around his base and a faster slide of his mouth around most of his length and the head. This wasn’t the first time that this had happened but it had been a very long while – it only took a couple of minutes of trying different combinations of speed and suction until he settled into their old rhythm. It was a well-worn pattern, sliding over him like a warm sweater.

Mac was good – mostly – keeping his hips still while Dennis worked him over. When it got a little harder to breathe, Dennis would pull off completely and focus on the head, using his hand on most of his cock until he was ready to go back down.

His free hand was sliding everywhere it would reach – mostly running up and down his thigh, swiping his thumb over the crease where it met his hip when he felt like hearing him gasp, felt like making his breathing stutter. Sometimes it crept up his bare chest, smoothing over his abs – still hard and flat, even when he was sitting down, which felt criminally unfair – and up his collar. When he reached up and cupped his cheek (his head was tipped back, mouth ajar, cheeks bright red), his thumb rubbed over Mac’s bottom lip. Mac tipped his head forward and looked down at him, stare hot and hungry, and sucked on the digit. Dennis kept their gazes locked for a long series of seconds before he went back down.

He relaxed his throat. Both of his hands were back on Mac’s thighs, fingers digging in deep as he took Mac in deeper by degrees. Mac was panting hard now, the tendons on his throat standing out in his concentration not to move or thrust up hard into Dennis’s mouth like he knew he wanted to. His stomach was trembling lightly, tautening and relaxing in his concentration in staying still.

His cock hit the back of Dennis’s throat. Dennis paused, focused on staying relaxed, and then he began to move again. He swallowed a few times around Mac and then pulled back, sliding his mouth up and down his shaft again, lips tight, fingers loose where they worked over what he wasn’t holding in his mouth.

He pulled off, pressing his lips to Mac’s inner thigh. He was half-kissing him, half-just breathing against his skin with his ajar mouth. He flicked his tongue out almost reflexively, leaning afterwards to nibble a bit on the flushed, sensitive skin. Above him, Mac squirmed and let out a breathy little, strained sound. Dennis’s hips inched forward and forward in his jeans, twitched and rocked back, struggled to stay still. Mac thrust his hips up, desperate and jerky, into the loose circle of Dennis’s fist.

With his free hand, Dennis pulled down the zip on his jeans and freed his own cock, reaching to grab hold of himself and start to stroke as he fit his mouth back over Mac’s.

“God, Christ,” Mac gritted out through his clenched teeth. His hands tightened in Dennis’s hair, and Dennis gave him a little license to grind forward into Dennis’s mouth. That much he could remember – Mac could, and would, be good if he was bid, but he always liked taking a little bit of control.

He was sighing out Dennis’s name. Dennis’s hand worked faster over himself, and Mac was rocking forward into his mouth with unrestrained little moans falling from his tongue. Dennis dug the nails of his free hand harder into Mac’s thigh, little crescents appearing on him right below where the line of his boxers would fall – it would be visible, Dennis thought wildly, jerking his own cock faster. He’d be able to see it himself any time he wanted. At least for the next day or so.

Soon Mac was moaning louder. His hips were stuttering, already losing some rhythm. Dennis redoubled his focus, hand falling away from between his own legs as he concentrated on Mac. His mouth was a warm, wet suction and his tongue flicked out to trace over the slit at the head of his cock, the sensitive area right underneath his head – and Mac twisted his hands hard in Dennis’s hair. Dennis had a split second to decide that he was going to swallow before Mac forced him down and came hard, rocking against his face and whining lowly as he rode out his release.

Dennis swallowed what he could and then pulled back, panting, when Mac’s hips were still and he relaxed the death-grip on his hair. He wiped stray drops of cum off his chin and then sat back on his heels. Mac was still breathing hard, slumped on the edge of their bed.

“C’mere,” he mumbled after a minute, his fingers scrabbling on Dennis’s arm, trying and failing to finger a solid grip on him.

Dennis rocked up to his feet and Mac reeled him in by the waist, bringing him down to straddle his lap for a second before he twisted Dennis around, flattening him out on the bed. They pulled his jeans the rest of the way off and then Mac was over him again, hand already pressing between Dennis’s legs before he even got his own back on Mac’s shoulders.

Mac was much faster to regain his muscle memory of this. In under a minute he had Dennis moaning and pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against his throat, mind blank and white despite it just being a fucking handjob. But Mac’s hands were still big – sometimes it was fucking obscene, Dennis thought when he looked at them – and they were as swift and skilled as ever.

His own hands couldn’t stop roaming, pressing down on Mac’s hard stomach and waiting for it to give. It never did. It was like a completely foreign body under his touch, but then – he spread his palms out over Mac’s back, feeling the hard muscles there tense and shift and relax – and he found that he really couldn’t care any less. When he reached down to grab Mac’s ass hard, he found it just as tight and firm as the rest of his body.

Yeah, regardless of familiarity, this Mac was fucking nice to dig his nails into.

Dennis came with his teeth fitted around a visible tendon in Mac’s neck and his fingers digging into the considerable meat of his broad, freckle-dotted shoulders.

Some of it had to be sun damage, he thought dazedly as he came down, breathing hard and staring at the ceiling. Mac wiped his hand off on the sheets and disappeared to find something to clean them up, covered as they both were in Dennis’s cum. There was just no way that he had that many freckles spotting him, and he was so tan. It wasn’t natural to be that pretty. Mac returned a moment later, and Dennis took the towel after he was done with it and wiped down too.

Mac sat back down on the bed. His hand appeared on Dennis’s thigh, undemanding and with absolutely no underlying motive. He rubbed his thumb against a pressure point, and Dennis shivered.

The first thing Mac said was, “Does that mean you don’t hate the new body?”

He paused for a moment, his train of thought derailed. Then he started laughing, still caught off guard. Mac was so ridiculous. Fucking unbelievable that he’d still need reassurance that Dennis thought he was hot, after all that.

Dennis was still laughing when he pressed his smile against the confused set of Mac’s mouth. He tugged Mac back into a proper kiss and pulled him back down to the bed.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, wrapping one leg around Mac’s waist, feeling Mac’s hands slip over his ribs like he couldn’t help but touch. “Yeah, buddy, I like the new body.”

[mandoalorian]

Din djarin is a insecure man so what do you think about din being insecure and following reader when she is in the streets and she already knows it and try to play with his jealous and Fluff at the end. I love you and thanks 🥰

Are You An Angel? [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

Rating: 13+

Word count: 1.7k

Masterlist

Permanent taglist - let me know if you want to be added: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluff @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth

Din Djarin taglist: @alecdamndario0

When Din was younger, he'd lay in the lap of his mother and at night, and she'd sing sweet songs to lull him to sleep. His father always made an effort to spend time with Din during the later hours of the evening, sitting on the edge of Din's small bed and holding his son's hand. He couldn't sing like his wife could, and Din didn't really have the privilege of owning any books— but there was one bedtime story that only Din's father could tell, and Din had in fact become particularly fond of it.

"When I met your mother, I believed she was an angel from the moon of Iego. The angels were reputed for their beauty, and she was certainly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen." Din's father would tell, smiling as he reminisced.

Din became enamoured with the story and the concept of angels. But after the death of his parents the idea of love and beauty and peace became so foreign. When he was sworn to the Creed, his priority became to fight and defend, but the story his father told all those years ago still lived deep within Din's heart. It was something he always held onto.

Finding a long term lover was just never in the cards for Din, no matter how much he dreamed of it. It just wasn't plausible, considering his creed and career, and that gave him some kind of insecurity. He'd never had a serious relationship. He understood and came to accept that no one would really want a man who was part of a culture that forbade the removal of his helmet, or even a bounty hunter who was always constantly travelling and couldn't settle down.

But things had been changing. Din had a child now, and he hadn't claimed a bounty from the Guild in months. Din had never stayed in one place for too long— he couldn't without running the risk of getting into trouble with thugs or crime syndicates. But when he returned to Nevarro one sunny afternoon, he walked through the market and saw you.

You were hidden by a cloak, intriguing the attention from Din almost immediately. You picked up an apple and handed it to one of the children with a generous smile. The child snatched it from you promptly and ran off. You were unlike anyone or anything Din had seen before… you beamed and glowed and your beauty was incomparable. When he first saw you, he was reminded of his father's story about the angels on Iego.

Once upon a time, Din would've said that 'love at first sight' was nonsense. Ridiculous. But he hadn't met you. He learned that you attended the farmers market on Nevarro everyday at approximately the same time— and every day, without fail, you'd purchase an item of fruit; be it sourberries or sweetplums, and you'd give it to a child in need. Din would watch you from the hull of the Razor Crest, staring intently, baffled by your continued selfless acts of kindness and generosity.

He wanted to approach you. He wanted to say hello, maybe ask you for a drink— although that would be absurd considering he couldn't remove the beskar that contained his face. He just wished he'd have enough confidence to say something; anything to you. But whenever he got close to saying something, his mouth would get dry and his throat would close up.

He couldn't believe it, he'd never experienced anything like this before. Din was always able to talk himself out of tricky situations but this… was something else. It was your aura that stunned him. It was everything his father had described to him when he was younger, but now Din could finally understand what exactly he meant.

He was going to say something. Just a simple 'hello'. He had to. He spent some time in the fresher before, he planned out how exactly he was going to approach you. He'd talk it through with Grogu. "Listen kid," he told the green bean. "She seems to like to give kids fruit from the market stall so… maybe ask for some sourberries or something, yeah? And then I'll come up to you and uh…" Din trailed off, trying to make his elaborate plan clear to his son who almost definitely had no idea what Din was talking about.

Din was sure you hadn't seen him, but he was wrong. Only once in a blue moon would the Nevarro locals see a Mandalorian dressed head to toe in silver Beskar. Din was pretty memorable. You noticed him the first day he saw you. You were aware you were being watched, and quite frankly, you didn't care.

If it was any other man… any other dirty scoundrel watching you from his ship quarters, you'd feel violated and disgusted. But Din Djarin wasn't just any man. Having a Mandalorian warrior watch over you, knowing that he had an armoury full of weapons and the impeccable skillset of a true fighter made you feel protected. You hadn't spoken a word to him— what were you to say to a Mandalorian? But you wanted to. His presence initiated a primal urge within you. You needed him.

When the time came, he couldn't do it. He froze up, seeing a man caress your arm and lean into you. The man was strange. Din had been watching you for weeks now and he had never seen this man at all. Could it be a friend from another planet? A boyfriend? No… not a boyfriend. The pit of Din's stomach filled with envy. Had he waited too long to make his move? He cursed himself under his breath for letting himself get so attached to a woman he had never even met before.

Din watched closer, his eyes narrowing when he saw the strange man press his chest into yours, pushing you into the fruit & veg stall you stood beside everyday. You looked uncomfortable but your good heart stopped you from pushing him away. Din's fingers graced the blaster in his holster as he watched the man press a finger into your chest, drunkenly slurring his speech. Your fingers curled around the market stall table, defensively creating fists that were so tight your knuckles turned white.

Noticing the man had a dagger in his pocket, Din decided he had to act fast. It wasn't the way he intended meeting you, but no one else was watching over you. He couldn't bear to see you get hurt.

Din whipped out his vibroblade and held it to the man's neck, your eyes widening in horror as he approached the stranger from behind. "Step away from the lady," Din hissed, his voice laced with venom and the knife only inches away from the man's throat. "Make one wrong move and you're dead, you understand?" Din asked.

The man removed his hands from you, placing them above his head and surrendering. He slowly took a few steps away before quickly running off without saying a word. With a flick of a switch, Din shut down his vibroblade and slid it back into his holster.

"Th-thank you," you bit your lip nervously, looking up at the Mandalorian. "You're my hero."

"It's uh, it's nothing," Din replied, feeling the awkwardness consume him. "Are you new around here?"

"Fairly," you answered quickly with a nod.

"Because there's a lot of men like him, here on Nevarro. Bad men. So uh, you should really be careful." Din explained and you didn't reply, instead shyly looking down at the ground. Din felt like he had royally messed up. Grogu padded over towards the both of you, blinking his big black eyes innocently. You couldn't help but grin when you saw him.

"Is this your child?" you quizzed, eventually breaking the silence.

"Something like that." Din muttered as his gaze flicked between you and Grogu.

"Oh, I've never seen a child like him before. He's wonderful." you beamed merrily, pulling out a bunch of sourberries and handing them to Grogu.

"He's certainly special," Din grumbled through a genuine smile. "So, what brings you to Nevarro?"

"It's… complicated," you huffed out a sigh. "Actually, I may not be able to stay here much longer."

"On the run?" Din asked with a chuckle, but it was only a half joke. His heart shattered when he saw you nod sadly.

"Yeah. Like I said, complicated." You shrugged, folding your arms over your chest.

"I know how it feels," Din revealed and you looked up at him with curiousity. "My uh… my ship. It has room for you, if you wanted to come with me." He suggested, pointing aimlessly to the Razor Crest which was stationed a few yards back. Grogu gargled quizzically.

"Where are you going?" you asked the Mandalorian.

"I- anywhere? Nowhere? Everywhere? There's really no place off limits." Din responded.

"You'd really let me accompany you?" you asked again. For some reason, you weren't completely opposed to the idea. In fact, you trusted this man who you didn't even know the name of.

"Yeah," Din shrugged casually. "But I do have one question," you nodded, urging him to continue. "Are you an angel?" he asked, immediately hating the way the words left his lips.

"A what?" you scrunched up your nose in bewilderment, unsure if you had heard him right.

"An angel," he repeated. "From the moons of Iego."

You felt your cheeks heat up at his sentiment. "I could be asking you the same thing," you giggled, pursing your lips together into a thin line. "You've been watching me for weeks. Like my guardian angel." Din felt embarrassed that you had noticed him, but his feeling immediately softened when you placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "I would like to come with you." you said quietly, subconsciously fluttering your eyelashes.

"Where would you like to go?" Din questioned, his voice low through the modulator.

"Take me to the moons of Iego," you smiled, before interlocking your fingers with his and letting him direct you back to the ship. "I want to see these angels."

[wincore]

vixen | nakamoto yuta

pairing: kitsune!yuta x female!reader

words: 5.1k 

summary: every year, you visit the fox who claims to know everything about you. 

genre: fantasy/folklore, fluff, angst(?)

warnings: suggestive, mention of past bullying, one excessively flirty nakamoto yuta

song rec(s): clear and sunny - sou (cover)

a/n: this is for all you furries who aren’t quite furries yet muah (im joking) but aaaa love exploring folklore and also i should put in a disclaimer that not every aspect adheres to the original tales of the kitsune <3 i did not proofread btw and i am very sorry

Some things never change.

Examples: boys, shitty friends, death, and the scent of nostalgia. To you, that very scent happens to be the earthy smell of chrysanthemums and a faint waft of spices from the kitchen in your parents’ house. To you, October is not just another month. To you, there is one more thing that never changes and it is not your belief in old ghost stories. 

Around this time of the year, the autumn festival begins in a flurry of vibrant red smudges and a whiff of excitement, in streets suddenly brought alive. The skies are candied orange, and it’s the only time you aren’t tired of home. This time is also when you find yourself right in the clutches of the one demon you swore you’d avoid for the rest of your life. You swore. It’s not your fault that said demon is a little, let’s say, tempting. 

Tempting in the most vexing, infuriating way possible. Bewitching, cruel, seducing—all that foxes are and all that you’ve heard of them could not have prepared you for an encounter. Folklore runs deep through you. The memories of a certain fox-boy run deeper. 

It is not the festival you are here for. 

You yawn, leaning against the wooden door frame of the shop. It would be inappropriate to fall asleep on the job, especially since there are a bunch of children staring idly at you. You close your mouth quickly, resting the back of your hand against your lips. Late afternoon is an easy time to fall asleep. You have half the mind to snarl at the kids to scare them off, their gaze getting on your nerves and when you think you will, you turn the other way. Manners come first to you, no matter how temperamental you get. 

The procession has gathered a crowd. Some shouts and squeals from the children make you slump further. At least they’re having fun with whatever stupid game they’re playing. You breathe in the autumn air. A part of you wonders if you simply let your feet lead you down the stairs, you’d be free of this entire ordeal. You shake your head. Temptation has always been hard to resist—never meant to be resisted but you’re much older now. There is dignity to be answered.

October is mild—your grandmother’s shop is still on the verge of collapse, your mother still yells at you for misplacing kitchen utensils and your old friends from school still gossip about who you’re dating. It’s like the script never changes; people change the meaning, twist their words in the same old pattern. If you were a little less behaved, you would have poured your drink over their heads yesterday. 

You clench your jaw. It’s always an ‘Oh, you’re so attractive’ and an ‘I wish I could date as many men as you do but I’m loyal to my boyfriend’, or even a ‘Must be nice being surrounded by boys all the time’. You know what they mean. It’s not the first time you’ve been called a fox, and you don’t think it’ll be the last—at least until you decide to stop letting your hometown suffocate you. Maybe you’ll accept what they say. You have heard of what hatred left unchecked can do.

If you’re honest, you haven’t been with too many men. If you’re a little more honest, none of them have ever made your heart race.

You watch the children play with a keen eye, their painted masks ridiculously large for their faces and in brightly coloured clothes contrasting well with the town. You might not be allowed to fall asleep, but there’s nothing against closing your eyes for a second or two.

The image of glinting yellow eyes and a fanged smile pop up and you quickly open your eyes. You don’t know why your heart beats so loud at the mere thought of him, thoughts in which his lips are full and painted red, and his bright smile is stretched upon them. Sometimes, the thought of him is in gentle washes, his hand fixing your hair, or a flirty smile when you dare stumble upon him on a particularly sleepless night. You shake your head to get rid of the thought. That is not love. Some sort of embarrassing attraction, maybe. However, the friendship you have is worse.

“I see you’re a slacker as always.”

Your grandmother’s voice breaks you out of your cycle of thoughts and you’re almost grateful.

“I sold approximately zero sweets,” you snort. “Why can’t we just do away with the shop?”

“You’re starting to sound like your mother,” your grandma calls from behind one of the counters, distaste ringing clear in her voice. 

You sigh. “Fine, but… you work way too hard to make these for them to not sell.”

“Maybe they would sell if a certain little lady would stay and help.”

You groan, leaning your head back. “You know I have work in the city.”

Your grandmother waves her hand about, dismissing your reasoning. She fiddles around in the shadows for a bit before coming forward with more boxes than she should be able to hold.

“You don’t have to feel too guilty. Yuta’s been helping out,” your grandmother informs fondly. “You could learn a thing or two from him.”

You’re not the superstitious sort and yet still, your heart beats faster. For him, or for the bad omens foxes bring to a household—you don’t know.

You scoff instead. “He’s not as great a guy as you think, grandma. He can be really mean too!”

“Oh, I doubt that. Have you seen his smile? Impossible.” Your grandmother waves it off before drawing nearer, voice hushed without reason. “Have you thought about it then? He is handsome, isn’t he?”

“Grandma.”

You’re not sure what old women go through in their youth that makes them something of a matchmaker in their later years. You think the whole ordeal is messed up. There is no way you’re going to stick your nose into your grandchildren’s love life; it’s gross.

“These should be enough for the children, no?” Your grandmother asks and you look up.

“You’re giving them away for free?” you question, furrowing your eyebrows. “And you talk about bad business.”

She places her hand on her hip, pointing an accusatory finger. “You’re going to lecture your grandmother?”

You raise your hands up in defeat, standing up to help her with the red boxes of acorn candy and paper wraps of roasted chestnuts. You end up with the entire load in your arms, your grandmother happily shuffling about as she locks up the store.

You turn sharply at the surprised sound behind you. The evening has settled in and glowing lanterns bring forward the evidence, the darkening streets flooding with round droplets of light.

But it is not the festival you are looking at.

Yuta looks somewhat serene, your cheeks heating up despite yourself. You look at him with bated breath, hoping the boxes obscure your face enough to make the vaguely positive emotions less evident. The dark red jacket draped over his shoulder does not look out of place—in fact, he fits in so well you would’ve mistaken him for another face in the crowd if he weren’t stupidly gorgeous. He looks at you with no strong emotion in the eyes before breaking into a smile; and when his hand strokes the top of your head as a greeting, he seems fond. He always does.

“Grandma,” he calls with his best smile, turning to the old woman.

Your grandmother doesn’t need any more convincing of his character. 

“Oh, there you are! Did I tell you (name)’s back? I wanted to break the news to you earlier. Ah…I must have forgotten.”

You glance from Yuta to her. Is this another one of her tricks and tests?

“She’s always here this time of the year,” he responds, laughing politely.

“Ah, you remembered,” she says, eyes crescent as she smiles back. “Help her with the boxes. The city has made her so frail.”

“I’m good,” you choke on the words, hurriedly moving away and almost dropping one of the boxes.

You slip on your sandals and scurry off faster, wishing he’d just stay behind. He always has. The air makes you shiver but you’re adamant; and it’s not the only trait of yours to make relationships fail.

“You know, you should be nicer to old friends.”

You try not to react when Yuta takes the boxes from you, matching your pace almost effortlessly.

“I thought foxes ran away once they’re found out,” you snap, reluctantly letting him take the packages.

Yuta rolls his eyes. “I see you still aren’t very fond of me.”

“Not when you’re tricking my grandmother like this,” you hiss.

“You call helping trickery?” he retaliates.

“Foxes bring bad business,” you mutter.

“I’m the reason your grandmother’s business is somewhat above the water.”

You sigh, exasperated. There’s no point in wasting your breath. You look away, crossing your arms as you walk, the silence between the two of you suddenly awkward. Even so, you’re not going to open your mouth for him.

“Would you two slow down?” your grandmother calls, voice weary. “We’re already there.”

The two of you halt in your tracks immediately, taking mellow steps back to her. She looks over the two of you with furrowed eyebrows and you try to think of an explanation when she starts laughing.

“Oh, I don’t mind the two of you flirting,” she says, littered with slow laughter. “Just make sure the food is where it’s supposed to be.”

You’re about to refute when Yuta laughs, the sound still boyish and lively. “Of course. (name) missed me so much this year, she couldn’t help herself.”

You give him a pointed look which he ignores, deliberately or not. “We- I wasn’t—”

“Grandmother, if you’ll give us permission,” he interrupts, settling the packages on the table by the food stall and smiling wide. “We’ll go enjoy the festival now.”

She bobs her head in affirmation and Yuta grabs your hand to pull you into the bustling street, your silent plea for help ignored by your smug grandmother.

“What are you doing?” you ask, slipping your hand from his. “You aren’t- You aren’t trying to eat my liver, are you?”

“Why the liver? Can’t I have the rest of you too?”

It’s not like you were particularly alarmed but his response makes you feel a flush of embarrassment.

“It’s been a year since I last saw you,” he says before his voice turns a shade cooler. “Have you thought about my proposal?”

You fall silent. The overthinking started last year too. Your thoughts and dreams, so easily pervaded by him and all it took was one sentence. 

“We should get married.”

“Why did you even think I’d agree to that?” You try not to get too flustered. He knows all your petty weaknesses and you’d rather not have them on display for him to stare and pick at. “What the fuck would I get out of marrying you?”

Yuta whistles. “I like your tongue. But—yes, to answer your question, you’d get a very handsome and capable husband. Your bed will always be warm and oh, speaking of beds—”

You clamp your hand over his mouth at the suggestive look he sends, worried about being spotted by one of your school friends. Ah, right—friends, the very same people that smell of jealousy and won’t miss any opportunity to throw a jab your way. Friends. You can’t believe you’re still afraid of their judgement.

“And why do you want to get married to me?” you ask, looking into his eyes.

There’s a pause, filled with the chatter of the crowd.

“You look like you’re afraid of finding someone,” he speaks finally, ignoring your question. “Or is it the other way around?”

You roll your eyes, ready to walk off when he grabs your wrist to pull you closer to his chest. It draws some looks from nearby people, your eyes darting from face to face in fear. You take a deep breath and look at Yuta again, almond eyes distracting. 

“People will think we’re lovers,” you whisper, almost a hiss.

“What’s wrong with that?”

You breathe out in disbelief. “You’re really something.”

“What? Why did you always come to meet me then? Behind the keyaki tree?”

“It wasn’t for you,” you lie quickly. “I had nothing better to do.”

Pining after a fox? You could never have feelings for him. Even so, your answer comes off childish and silly, and somehow he’s the only one to be able to draw that side of you—the you that is messy and unprepared.

Yuta smiles in return. “You think people can’t fall in love with us the same way they fall in love with most everything.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

“How conservative of you,” he leaves with an airy remark, but not before urging you to follow him.

The sizzling sound of food being fried and the knocking, clicking sound of children playing games, all these forgotten sounds grow louder and for a second, if only you let yourself, you could close your eyes and it would be just like your first date. 

No. It’s different. You look up, eyes trailing over Yuta’s back, his golden hair, how his figure moves with ease and confidence.

It is different.

You raise an eyebrow at the box of takoyaki Yuta shoves towards you, an expecting look across his face.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asks, an uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice.

You hum in response, taking the box from him and saving yourself the trouble of asking whether he paid for it or simply charmed his way through. 

“Eh, no thank you?” he complains. “How polite.”

You scrunch your nose to accompany an exaggerated smile and he laughs, the two of wandering over the asphalt streets. Your hands are close enough to brush—and if a twenty-something year-old woman can feel jittery because of it, hands truly are meant to share warmth. The smell of candy and caramel fills the air, making you smile. You’ve saved enough for the taste of home, you think. 

The taste of home. 

Inevitably, the thought of kissing your companion crosses your mind and you stop in your tracks. Whatever. It must be natural when someone as attractive is beside you. Those aren’t feelings. You curse yourself for feeling like a teenager again.

The festival grounds aren’t as shabby as you expect them to be. The city,—if you could call this one—stops here and the earth spreads out to the forest behind. The crowd also thins, and you take a fresh breath. They’re selling old books in the corner, but no one seems to be there.

“The raccoon dogs,” Yuta whispers in your ear, with an arcane smile. “Want to visit those rascals?”

You roll your eyes. He knows you’ve heard one too many folktales for a lifetime, seen one too many. It’s time to go home, especially now that the thought of thanking him crosses your mind. You’re about to turn when your shoulder crashes into someone else’s. A surprised, syrupy smile greets you, which you cannot return for the first few moments. Yui’s smile wavers and you flash her a quick smile. A friend. Her arm is looped through her lover’s, the one she never shuts up about and suddenly the urge to pour water over her head returns.

Yuta glances from you to her before pressing his lips together, as if suppressing laughter. You’re almost offended when Yui laughs flippantly.

“You’re on a date too? I knew you couldn’t stand spending the festival alone,” she says, tugging her lover closer. 

People have always told you who you are and what you do. As if they know better.

You smile awkwardly. “It’s… actually not—”

“Oh, don’t be shy.” She gently pats your shoulder before leaning in. “He’s a real catch. As expected from you. You can never leave the boys alone.”

You know what she really means. You’ve heard the same words in high school when she was shoving you into a wall behind the school. The sickening smile is still on her face.

You gulp, feeling sixteen again. The lack of people around somehow makes it more awkward and you’re about to excuse yourself when suddenly, Yuta bumps into Yui and his warm drink spills over her left shoulder. Your eyes widen, more in confusion. When did he leave? You don’t doubt his ability to sneak past people, but surely you couldn’t have been so enraptured in your own feelings that you barely noticed.

“I’m so sorry,” Yuta says, voice honeyed with surprise.

Yui looks like she’s about to explode when she looks at him, her expression dropping to a calmer one almost immediately.

It’s an easy look to recognize. They always have it when they first meet Yuta, whether it’s the smile that’s too dazzling or the pretty round eyes. 

How persuasive, those eyes.

“Ah… I must have not seen you,” she says faintly, and Yuta’s smile widens.

Before he can stir up more trouble, you slip your arm into his and pull him away, not caring for another polite apology to an old, almost nameless face.

“I was having fun,” Yuta complains, voice still smug and calm.

You glare at him and it only seems to add fuel to the fire, to whatever cold fire dances at his fingertips. 

“You’re happy, right? Don’t look at me like that. You should reward me.”

You don’t respond, looking away and hoping to get at least a word in about how troublesome he is every single time you visit. Yuta has other plans, however. Leaning his head to look you in the eye, he maintains a distance which looks perfectly decent but feels less than so.

“How about a kiss? I deserve one, don’t I?” He moves his head closer to yours, making you shy away.

You grab him by the belt and pretend to not catch a glimpse of the pleased look on his face as you drag him into a secluded part by the forest.

It’s quieter here, so much that you can almost hear your own heart drumming in your chest, and the faint light of the distant festival grounds doesn’t help much at all. It’s dark as dusk, and you can only make out Yuta’s jawline and a faint smirk over his lips. You think that if a fox ever wanted to eat your liver, this would be the perfect spot.

“You did something,” you finally utter the words. “You did something to me.”

“Why do you think I did something? Do you mean love?” he responds with a cheeky smile. “This means you’ve been thinking about me? How cute—”

“Yuta, stop it,” you warn. 

“Or what? You should stop me yourself.”

You grab the lapels of his jacket, the cloth bunching as your knuckles turn white. The anger you feel isn’t the first of its kind—it’s just a little funny how it’s always Yuta every time, making you remember the burning feeling time and time again. You find yourself unable to respond. 

“Oh, don’t hold back,” he provokes, leaning in.

You push at his chest in exasperation, but he grabs your wrists before you can retract your hands.

“Scared?” he whispers.

You pull apart anyway, a scowl over your lips. “You’re as annoying as ever. Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”

“Ooh! Sharp claws. You’d be lovely as my fox-bride.” he teases. 

Your face flares with heat. “I’m not your… I’m not a fox.”

“I didn’t say a fox, I said—”

“I know what you said,” you snap, massaging your wrist so you don’t have to look at him.

Yuta falls quiet for a moment, voice lower when he speaks again.

“Is it so nasty to be called a fox? There are worse things, you know.”

You scoff, growing increasingly annoyed. “Of course you’d say that. I hate it. I hate this town. I hate foxes and I hate you.”

Yuta places a hand over his chest, gasping with no emotion. Your eyes linger over his long, painted nails a little longer before you meet his eyes. A part of you regrets saying the words but you couldn’t help it. The shroud choking your hometown makes you want to scream at the top of your lungs every time you’re here. You hate this place.

But you don’t hate him, after all. 

You try to clear yourself of the thought. A gentle gust of wind brings you back to the present, Yuta still glancing at you with no giveaway to what he’s feeling.

“You wouldn’t make a terrible fox though,” he says, eyes sharp. “Don’t they know you’re a vixen already? How many livers will you eat?”

You suck in a breath, tears stinging at your eyes. However, it’s not like you to get so easily affected by him. No. No, somehow that doesn’t make sense either. Those words do hurt from Yuta and you’re not sure if it’s just because he's the only one you didn’t expect them from.

“You…”

“What? Aren’t you going to lash at me again? You’re so predictable.”

His voice is calm despite your obvious annoyance and you feel flames lick at your heart. Your hand moves before you can think, about to meet his cheek when he grabs your wrist. You struggle, trying to pull free but to no avail and you use the other hand to hit him in the chest. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t bother him and that same feline smile curves up his lips.

You feel something you haven’t before, a warm growl at the pit of your stomach.

You push with all your strength, catching Yuta off guard and he stumbles backward but not before pulling you into him. Consequently, either of you lose footing and land on the grass with a sudden thud, Yuta’s side pressed against yours. His hands still clutch your wrist, and he shifts to hover over you.

“We used to wrestle like this as a litter,” he says, erupting into full laughter. “Ah, memories. I don’t even know if they’re alive or dead now.”

Yuta is much stronger than he looks, and he’s taken your tantrum as a source of amusement much to your infuriation. He has your hands pinned back, eyes unaffected as he scans over your face. You try to shift but there’s just too much weight on you. You breathe slowly, chest rising and falling in time with his. His earrings sway gently in the wind, dangling a few inches above you—he’s pretty, so pretty. Admitting defeat has never been your forte but now that your senses are gathering again, you feel a flush of embarrassment for losing your temper. 

Or perhaps, it is something else when you register the lack of distance between your noses.

“Playtime’s over,” Yuta coos. “You’re kinda cute when you’re losing.”

He tilts his head, an adoring smile over his lips. For a moment, they’re all you see.

Can a fox comfort you? Can a fox make you feel loved on the darkest of nights? Your mind races with questions your heart does not want to answer. 

Yuta leans in to close the distance and despite every nerve in your body, you turn your head away. You can hear him gulp, the following moments painfully quiet before he gets up. Your breath is soft and shallow, lying on the ground till you get enough courage to sit up. 

You almost gasp. His tails are clearer under the dim moonlight, all nine of them golden and luxurious. The light hitting his face isn’t any less flattering and once again you are reminded of how handsome he is, fairytale or not. 

Yuta looks uncomfortable, and that’s a first for you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, though you don’t know why.

He waves his hand dismissively, annoyed.

“Yuta,” you take a step forward.

“I see the way you look at me,” he says quietly, “Is it not want?”

You fall silent, biting your lip so you don’t retort violently. He doesn’t look particularly malicious when he says that but you do not want to give him the satisfaction of an answer yet.

He quietens for a moment before a look of curiosity flashes across his features.

“What is it then?” he asks. “Is it a secret? Foxes love secrets. Tell me.”

Despite every bone in your body burning up, you find it in yourself to laugh.

“I don’t think I could keep a secret from you if I tried,” you finally say, before bursting into soft laughter again.

Yuta looks at you puzzled, lips parted while he stands frozen as if he were a painting. A daunting, reckless, heavenly painting.

“It’s not want,” you answer quietly. “It’s more than that. Even if I hated it. I like you.”

Yuta’s ears perk up at your confession. “So- so you admit, then? You are interested?”

“I could blame you for this, you know?” You shrug, hugging yourself once the night starts to feel cold again. Yuta begins to take off his jacket when you stop him, gently pressing your palm against his chest. 

“You’re a fox, after all,” you whisper. “Like me. What they think of me.”

Yuta purses his lips. “Does it really hurt you? No, wait. Did they- did they—”

“Now, you tell me,” you cut him off. “Why do you insist on getting married—to me?”

There’s a pause. The crickets chirp a merry tune despite the leisurely darkness of the night.

“You’re not terrible,” he says, nonchalantly.

You glare at him and he raises his hands in defeat. He looks wearier the more you look at him.

“I want to grow old,” he mumbles after a long pause. “Properly.”

You hold your breath.

“And you want to do it with me?”

Another flower blooms in your chest, as if he hasn’t planted a garden in there already. The lights from the festival flicker down, the lanterns burning brighter in the distance. He glances at them for a moment, your eyes still fixated on him. 

The tails glow even brighter in the dark, as if gold in broad daylight. You’ve always been curious about him and his kind, all the stories; but he says he’s too old to remember if you ask.

You reach out to touch one of the tails, wondering if the fur is as warm as it looks. They’re pale and captivating, but they look so soft—they shouldn’t belong to an animal so vicious. Is he, though? Is he all that you think he is or have all these years failed you? If anything, he’s quite probably not as much a fox as you are, you think bitterly.

The fur is warm, but the realization is short-lived.

A short growl leaves the corner of his mouth. Yuta glares at you like he was stolen from and yet, you do not move your hand. Some part of you wants to aggravate him further.

“I’m not a pet,” he snaps. “Stop that.”

“You should stop me yourself,” you mimic his voice.

Yuta’s shoulders relax, and he looks down but you can still see the trembling smile on his face. It’s the way he looks at you, you think to yourself, maybe that's the reason after all.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, feeling warmer than the autumn night should allow.

“Like what?” he asks, still smiling.

You look away. 

“You’re not too fox-like, you know?” you mumble. “You’re just annoying. And flirty. And annoying.”

Yuta chuckles, before pressing his palm to the top of your head. 

“And you’re lovely.”

You give in to the gesture of affection, leaning your head to press against his shoulder.

“Why do you even do all this? What do you get out of it?” you say, voice muffled. He hears you clearly, however.

“Because I love you,” he responds, as if coming to terms with it himself. “More than you think.”

There is no joke, no flirtation to his tone, no decoration upon his words. It’s plain, and laid bare. And sometimes, simplicity is scariest. 

You pull back, lips pulled into a frown. The air is cold once more; the longing for warmth flowing into you. The silence is worse.

“You don't believe foxes can fall in love,” he states softly upon a wavering smile. “I knew that. Of course.”

A part of him believes it too.

“I…” you begin, and for the first time, you are afraid of promises in the name of love. You are the one making them now.

“I’ll believe you,” you whisper, “I’ll believe you so please… please take care of me.”

You place your palm against his cheek, his skin bewitchingly warm. 

“Only if you take care of me,” he whispers back, leaning in.

This time, you do not move.

The lovers’ kiss you’d been searching for—lovers’ warmth, lovers’ comfort—all of it comes crashing down once Yuta tightens his arm around your waist, the other hand resting gently at the base of your neck. He kisses with the right amount of pressure, the vague taste of sweet berries in his mouth.

You used to fear his touch, like he would eat you whole; even if they have been gentle, always. This time, you might as well let him. He presses his lips from your cheek to jaw to neck, lingering at each spot enough to make you clutch at his shirt tighter, taking in short gasps of breath. You kiss for a little longer, like time means nothing.

“We should go back,” you whisper, pulling apart.

Yuta kisses you again, the distance unacceptable. 

“Yuta—”

He kisses you once more, your calls falling on deaf ears.

Finally, after another long kiss, he pulls apart enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

“It must have been hard for you,” he mumbles.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you scoff.

“Foxes are faithful lovers, you know?” he insists.

You laugh. “What do you mean?”

“It means I’ll follow you everywhere.”

He stands up straight, his thumb stroking your cheek as he bites back a smile.

“I don’t think we should get back tonight,” he suggests all of a sudden. “We could book a hotel. That’s the place you use these days, right? I’m sure your grandmother will understand your absence—”

You groan, resting your forehead against his shoulder and he presents a delighted laugh in return. It is warm by his side; he is warm. You find it easy to forget the failures in love, the loneliness of a lover that isn’t meant to be yours. Folktales are just long tales, after all. You smile to yourself. 

You should’ve known—it was the fox all along. 

[spaceskam]

8 for Malex? Thanks!

*hiding because this took an embarrassing amount of time I'm sorry*

tags: high school au, slight mental health stuff goin’ on, bed sharing

8. bedtime stories [ao3]

Alex never claimed to be subtle.

He watched Michael openly, his thumb between his teeth as he eyed the way he pulled his shirt over his head. He knew this was probably inappropriate. However, Michael was hot and had yet to tell him to stop staring. Sometimes it seemed like he deliberately did things to make Alex stare. So Alex kept on and hoped that, if he was only doing this to make fun of Alex, at least he got something nice to look at.

“Hey, Alex,” Michael called, tossing his sweaty shirt into his bag and grabbing a dry one, “Do you think your brother would mind if I stayed over tonight? I don’t feel like going home.”

Alex swallowed and sat up straight. He looked around at the other guys in the locker room. He was sure one of them would say something. Magically, they didn’t. 

“Clay won’t care,” Alex said, trying to seem nonchalant. Michael closed his locker and looked at him with a massive grin as he pulled his shirt down. His hair was still damp with sweat and it stuck to his forehead. Both of those things together were too much for Alex’s sanity.

“Cool. Meet you after school at my truck?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

Michael leaned close into Alex’s face and gave a mocking, “Okay, yeah,” before he laughed and walked around Alex. He twisted on the bench and followed him with his eyes as he went to the other side of the locker room where his other friends were. They instantly started talking about the game next Friday and how they were playing Carlsbad and how their team’s cheerleaders were hot. Michael didn’t deny it and Alex tried not to feel weird about it.

Instead, he grabbed his back and quickly headed out of the locker room. He hated gym and had put it off until his senior year, but now he was stuck doing it with basically no one to talk to except sophomore loners who seemed content to fail the class. He felt that.

The only highlight of it was Michael Guerin who he got to watch work up a sweat for 45 minutes every single day of the week. He got to watch him play dodgeball with too much enthusiasm and run the mile at the fastest in the class and play put-out with his friends. Alex had, somehow, befriended him when they were freshmen and both the youngest in their math class, so they stuck together. Then sophomore year they had Spanish together, junior year they had chemistry, this year they had gym. It wasn’t much but it was enough to spark an unlikely class-only friendship that turned into a school-only friendship that turned into an actual one.

He was Alex’s favorite person in the world.

The next two classes passed by relatively quickly, solely relying on the fact that Alex wasn’t paying attention and instead doodling aimlessly in his notes. Science was boring, math was easy.

Alex let himself into Michael’s truck because he was a dumbass who never locked it and sat in the passenger seat. His notebook stayed in his lap and he kept shading in the boat he was working on as the parking lot filled with other people going to their cars and people going to their buses. Michael always talked to his fellow football players before he left considering they couldn’t leave until the buses did anyway, so Alex wasn’t in a rush.

When Michael did climb in, he raised his head to get a good look at him. Because he always wanted to get a good look at him. Today, just like most days, he looked gorgeous and lit up from the inside and he was already staring at Alex.

“What’cha drawing?” he asked, scooting to the middle to look at Alex’s book. He pressed up against his side and eyed it, nodding his head. “Nice. I’m gonna get one of those tattooed on me one day.”

“What? A boat?”

“No, one of your pieces,” Michael laughed, shaking his head as he moved back to the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition and Alex stared at the side of his face. “Whichever one you think I should. Think about it.”

And Alex would think about it. It wasn’t even the first time he thought about it. Michael had spoken of getting one of his drawings on him before and the thought was quite possibly the most erotic thing Alex could think of which was ridiculous. There was nothing sexy about that in reality. But… Michael shirtless and having something Alex created permanently on his skin was just so good.

He went back to the drawing before he could entertain putting his tongue on it.

Michael turned up the radio before backing out of his spot and then they were on their way to Alex’s house. He put his drawing down in favor of watching out the window as Michael badly sang along to Nirvana and Beck.

Junior year was the first time Michael had come over to his house and it had felt weird to acknowledge that the person he’d spoken to nearly every day for over two years knew approximately nothing about his home life. Alex had half-assed an explanation about how his mother left and his dad was in jail, so Alex only lived with his brothers. Michael hadn’t judged him, only loudly made it clear he thought Clay was badass for stepping up when he was freshly 18 to make sure the rest of them didn’t get too screwed.

It was a few more after school hangouts after that that Michael confided that he’d been in the foster care system since he was a baby and had been in a group home for the last few years. Teenage boys were a hard sell to foster parents, apparently.

Clay had no problem giving his number to the group home to call for check-ins whenever Michael started staying over. 

“Please tell me he got spicy Doritos because I‒hell yeah,” Michael said, letting himself roam freely around the kitchen. He pulled the bag of spicy nacho Doritos labeled Michael out of the pantry and ripped them open, a grin on his face. Alex could watch it all day.

“Can I steal the bar mix that you haven’t touched in, like, a month?” Flint asked, his gaze stuck on his computer where he was doing homework. His eyebrows were pulled into an angry glare at it.

“Yeah, sure, if it’s still good,” Michael answered, falling onto the couch right beside Alex and holding out the bag to him. Alex shook his head. Michael often got food obsessions and would go a month where that was all he wanted, but during bad days it was the only thing he could eat that didn’t make him lose his appetite. 

Despite the fact that he was all smiles, Alex had memorized the warning signs and knew he wouldn’t be eating dinner.

“Sweet,” Flint said, sliding to the pantry to grab the remnants of Michael’s last food obsession.

One of the warning signs that Michael wasn’t doing great, despite the fact that he’d asked to come over at all and hadn’t just invited himself, was the fact that he had taken any excuse all day to be tactile Alex. He’d spent all lunch and gym with him instead of with his football buddies, he’d wanted to sit closer in the truck, he immediately sat practically on top of him on the couch.

Later that night, he sat beside him at dinner and picked at it, only eating the crunchy asparagus and the edges of the tortilla part of his quesadilla. Alex ate what he didn’t.

Michael took a shower and wore Alex’s clothes and made himself at home in Alex’s bed, all cozy and on his phone with his thumb in his mouth when Alex got out of the shower. When they’d first started spending the night together, Michael slept on the couch or on the floor. One night they’d fallen asleep in Alex’s bed during a movie and now that’s where he went each night.

Alex didn’t mind.

He shut off the lights and jumped into bed, putting on Netflix on the TV and starting up where they’d left off in their third watch-through of The Good Place. Michael scooted closer until they were touching in some way, his eyes still partially on his phone and partially on the TV.

It should’ve bothered Alex. It should’ve felt like taunting. Occasionally he did feel the need to shake him and ask him if he really wasn’t seeing how much Alex was into him. Was the staring not enough? Was the way he got a bit dizzy whenever he realized Michael was beginning to smell like Alex’s shampoo not enough? Was Alex’s eyes tracing every bead of sweat that rolled across his face like he hadn’t had water in weeks not enough? Was every single one of Michael’s other friends mentioning that they acted “kinda gay” not enough?

But mostly Alex was fine with it. Michael was safe here and comfortable and Alex wasn’t going to ruin that by wanting something more. So he would keep his hands to himself. He wouldn’t be subtle, but he wouldn’t be overbearing. He would just be Alex and hope that was alright.

“Alex,” Michael whispered, moving until his head was on Alex’s shoulder. Alex hummed in response. “Can you tell me a bedtime story about your boat?”

Alex smiled and shifted, his fingers slipping into Michael’s hair. Michael tilted his head up until they locked eyes. They were so close, just like every time Michael requested a bedtime story, as if that was the only acceptable time to be less than an inch away from each other’s face. Alex very quietly thought that their entire friendship felt like one.

“Once upon a time, there was a very loud pirate captain,” Alex started, watching as Michael’s thumb slowly started gravitating towards his mouth again, “He was old and held very strict beliefs. If you disagreed, he’d throw you overboard.”

“What a dick.”

“Mm, yeah, very. Anyway, he was always angry and his crew were like ‘shit, what if he’s lonely’ and decided they needed to get him a friend.”

“Oh no, poor lonely pirate man,” Michael said around his thumb.

“Poor lonely pirate man indeed,” Alex agreed, nodding solemnly, “So they searched high and low for anyone to be his companion. Not someone on the crew, but someone who would be his equal and separate from his employees. It was a very complicated task. They would find people who seemed good, but then the pirate captain wouldn’t like them and kick them out. It happened so many times they almost gave up. But eventually, they found an astronaut who seemed like a good fit because he was very smart and very happy.”

Michael pulled his thumb from his mouth with a loud pop, “So they really searched high, huh?”

Alex huffed a laugh and nodded, combing back his hair. His heart thudded in his chest as he stared at him, at his interested and tired eyes. God, he was so into him. Every single bit of him. Even when he needed moments like these.

“Yeah, really high. And they brought him back to the boat to meet the captain and they really, really thought he would hate him. But you know what? He didn’t. They actually got on quite well. And the captain started becoming a lot less angry,” Alex said. Michael shifted, pressing closer.

“And did the astronaut change?”

“Mhm. He got to relax too. He didn’t feel like he had to be super smart and happy to make everyone else happy anymore, he could just be himself. He could even be sad sometimes and that was okay because he had someone who liked him no matter what,” Alex explained, “He even would stop at islands to get his favorite foods.”

“Were they just best friends or were they in love?” Michael asked. Alex swallowed carefully and scanned his eyes over his face, trying to gauge what would be a better answer.

“They started as just best friends,” Alex decided, “But they fell in love. They were both. Somewhere in between.”

“Somewhere in between?”

“Yeah, like, not quite just best friends and not quite together romantically. Something different. Something special,” Alex tried. Michael watched him closely. In the background, Eleanor watched herself fall in love with Chidi for one of the hundreds of times they fell in love and Alex tried not to be too poetic about it.

“Alex,” Michael said, his hand dropping between them, “Are we somewhere in between? It feels like we are”

The question was honestly innocent but Alex stopped breathing, not knowing how to answer. He had a football player cuddling up to him in his bed. He should say no. He should save his own ass. He should keep it to himself.

But Michael was comfortable enough to cuddle him, to be babied when he needed it, to be raw and open.

So why couldn’t Alex?

“Do you wanna be?” Alex asked. Michael blinked. “Or… like… do you wanna be somewhere… not in between?”

“Like, on the other side? The romantic side?” Michael clarified. Alex nodded slowly, unsure. “Does it mean I get goodnight kisses?”

Alex let out a slow breath and laughed cautiously, “If you want them.”

“I want them,” Michael said assuredly. Alex couldn’t fucking think straight and he was just smiling stupidly at him. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Goodnight kisses, right here,” Michael said, tapping his lips delicately.

“Right. Okay.”

Alex moved his head just a little to give him a soft kiss, barely lasting a few seconds. He didn’t want to be too presumptuous. And, still, it was probably the best kiss he’d ever had in his life. His heart was trying to escape his chest.

He was really doing this. This was really happening.

“Did they live happily ever after, Alex?” Michael asked against his lips. Alex breathed and nodded.

“Yeah. They did.”

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑀𝑦 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑃𝑡.2 (𝑆𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑤𝑎×𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟)

Part One/ Part Three / Part Four

Pairing: Badboy! Park Seonghwa (Ateez)/ Reader (Female)

Genre: Angst, Fluff, College Au.

Summary: Y/N has no idea what to make of the mysterious Park Seonghwa. Does he really like her or is he simply playing with her?

✿❯────「✿」───❮✿❯──「✿」────❮✿

Flipping the light switches off, Y/N typed in the security code into the pin pad before closing the door behind her, the faint beeping from inside letting her know that the alarm was functioning properly. She honestly wondered at times about if anyone would ever think about robbing a coffee shop. Granted it made a lot of money during certain seasons, but unless you actually work in one, you probably wouldn't think so. Yet it was surprising to know it could make as much money as any famous fast food restaurant. Well.....with those sky high prices, it made sense.

She stopped and checked to make sure she had everything in her bag, not wanting to risk having left her keys inside and find out until she reached her apartment. Satisfied by the confirmation, she began her walk home. If it had been fall or winter, she would have seriously considered taking a bus, even though it wasn't that far away. But it was summer and thankfully there was still an hour left before the sun finally set. She truly believed she was lucky to have found a place to live that was close not only to her workplace, but also her school, even if it was a tiny studio apartment. She felt proud to say it was hers.

Feeling something tug on her sneaker, she looked down and realized one of her shoes was untied. She bent down and began tying it up again, carelessly placing her bag right next to her on the street. She was so focused on her task in front of her, she failed to notice the looming figure in front of her.

"You know anybody could just whisk away your bag and run at this moment?"

She snapped her head back up and saw Seonghwa standing in front of her, an amused smile on his face. He bent down and picked up her bag, dusting off the dirt that had gotten on the bottom part of it in the process.

"Tsk. Tsk. And here I thought you were a more.... what's the word? Meticulous person."

Y/N gave him a questioning gaze before standing up, quickly grabbing her bag from him.

"Not even a thank you?" Seonghwa shook his head.

"What are you still doing here? I thought you went home." Y/N said, clearly confused as to why he'd be there still.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow at her.

"I thought I told you back in the shop that I'd see you later?"

Y/N recalled the moment, it did seem weird to her that he'd say that.

"Well doll, it's later......and I wanted to see you." He explained, a slight smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.

Y/N let out a tiny scoff.

"Why?"

Seonghwa blinked at her response.

"I thought I made myself clear the other day Y/N. I like you."

Y/N blushed slightly at the memory of him confronting her back in school. She was hoping the shadow from the building in front of her casted enough to hide it from him.

"And I said there would be plenty of time to get to know each other.....well I'm free right now and obviously so are you. So why don't we get something to eat? My treat."

He grinned at her, obviously not expecting her to turn down his offer. Any other girl wouldn't say no to Seonghwa. But Y/N wasn't any girl, and she wasn't about to say yes to someone she hardly knew. Especially not when he acted so strange for her liking.

"No thank you."

She quickly responded and took a step to walk away from him, but his hand reached out and stopped her from moving any further.

"Why not?" He asked.

Y/N tried to think of an excuse, any quick excuse to get out of this.

"I'm not hungry." Was the best thing she could think of.

The loud grumbling of her stomach was a dead giveaway of her fat lie. After working 8 hours straight with only a bowl of cereal for breakfast and a muffin on her only break, of course she was borderline starving and needed something in her stomach before it began eating itself. Her hands clutched her stomach, hoping to silence the obnoxious noise, but ultimately just making it more obvious.

Seonghwa looked down at her figure and snorted softly.

"Seriously, I know a really good place here that sells burgers and shakes. Are you really going to say no to free food?"

At this point she could either tell him to fuck off and stomp away home, but ultimately she'd leave even more hungry and would still have to whip up something on the stove that would take approximately half an hour or more. Or she could accept his offer, but it'd mean interacting with him, not that it was necessarily a bad thing, but she honestly didn't know what to make of him. He's been straightforward with her all this time, but how was she to know he was being serious? For all she knew, he could just be playing with her. After all, isn't that what all bad boys are known for?

Guess there was only one way to find out.

✿❯────「✿」───❮✿❯──「✿」────❮✿

Y/N looked around at the 50's themed diner she was in:

Black and white tiled floor that was so clean it almost looked slippery. Cherry red leather seats, either in the form of booths, tables or chairs on the front white counter that stretched at least 40 feet. An array of old records hanged on the wall, whether or not you could actually play them on a record player or if they were just flimsy decorations would forever be a secret. An old juke box was stationed in one of the corners of the counter currently playing The Beatles, its color combination of yellow and blue not quite appealing to the eyes. And of course, a pinball machine was placed near the entrance for kids to waste their quarters on. They even had a light blue 1955 convertible Chevrolet Bel Air for people to go take pictures of or with. At this point it wouldn't have surprised Y/N if waitresses came out of the kitchen in roller skates and started singing songs from Grease or Hairspray.

It became an even more ironic thought when she saw Seonghwa walk back to her with their food. Dressed in a white shirt, distressed jeans, black combat boots and black leather jacket with his hair slicked back, he could almost be a modern day Danny Zuko and for some reason, that thought made her bust a tiny giggle.

"What's so funny?" Seonghwa asked as he sat the tray down in front of her.

"Oh....nothing." She was not about to get caught.

Seonghwa looked at her funny, but ultimately decided not to pry.

"Here you go."

He slipped her food in front of her: a burger the size of her two hands and a 32 ounce chocolate shake with whipped chocolate and a cherry on the top. A well sized platter with regular fries and curly fries made it obvious that they were going to share them. She didn't mind though, the portions were so big she doubted she'd even finish half of it.

She dug into the food, her stomach thanking her for finally putting something in her body. She was so hungry that she didn't care if she was eating like how she usually ate when she was at home, messy and slobbish. She was halfway through her burger, when she caught Seonghwa just staring at her. That's when she started to feel self conscious. She quickly swallowed what was currently in her mouth and grabbed a napkin to wipe the corners of her mouth.

Seonghwa giggled at her.

"Don't worry about it. It's pretty refreshing to see a girl not care about how she looks like when she eats, and to actually eat. You have no idea how many girls I've brought here who only get salads and nothing else."

He cringed slightly at past memories of awful dates that make him wanna kick himself for even thinking they were attractive. He blamed himself though. He tended to only look at pretty faces and end up regretting it when he found out they were all self-centered, shallow, and prissy girls that just made his blood boil.

"Maybe that's why I like you. You're different."

He didn't even realize he said that out loud until she whipped her head up at him. He was stunned that he accidentally let that slip, but he was able to play it off coolly.

"How......how can you..... we've never even..?" Y/N couldn't even completely form her question but Seonghwa knew what she was referring to.

Sighing softly, he began:

"Well I'm going to sound like a total creep now but that's inevitable. It was a few months back, when you had changed majors and had to be transferred to our class..."

Seonghwa ignored the usual reprimand of the professor, telling him he was late again. As if he didn't do it on purpose. He just hated this class. It was undoubtedly one of the most boring subjects one could possibly take. He began to stare off into space, not even bothering to listen to what was being said.

He looked around at the familiar faces he saw in class, the same people from last year. Until a head of (insert hair color) hair caught his eye. She was definitely not there before. Seonghwa tried to think if he had ever seen her around before, but couldn't quite remember.

Unknowingly, he found himself staring at her more and more each time they had class together. He found out she had a habit of tapping her pen against her cheek when she was trying to concentrate, she kept everything in her bag organized and hardly socialized with anybody.

One time he followed her to her locker, just to briefly see what was inside of it. You can always tell a lot about a person based on how they decorate their locker. But Seonghwa only saw a few pictures of what he assumed was her family, few friends and a lot of sticky notes with motivational quotes written on them in various sharpie colors, with either stars or diamonds as decorations.

That just peeked his curiosity even more in trying to decipher who the mysterious girl was, and his curiosity turned to fondness for the girl, so he had no choice but to admit that he was attracted to her and wanted to get close to her.

"Wait. Is that why you were staring at me in class the other day?" Y/N asked after he told her all that.

"Took you long enough to notice too. You were so oblivious to it that it was kinda funny." He chuckled.

Y/N looked back at that moment and realized she still had so many questions left.

"But then why did you look angry after I looked away?"

Seonghwa shifted his position, sitting up straighter so he could look at her.

"Why? Cause you looked at me with such a bitch face and even rolled your eyes at me. I was kinda angry and hurt that you did that given how I feel about you." He explained.

Y/N looked at him confused.

"I did not roll my eyes at you."

"Uh....yeah. You did. You looked at me as if I was a bug or something." He corrected her.

"Well..... I was tired and hungry! I'm not in control of my actions or emotions when I'm in that state." She tried defending herself, feeling somewhat embarrassed that she had no control over her facial expressions.

"Yeah, I've noticed. You weren't all that happy 25 minutes ago when I asked you out on this date." Now it was Seonghwa's turn to roll his eyes at her previous behavior.

"This....this isn't a date!" Y/N exclaimed.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"Oh no? Do enlighten me then. What is this?"

Y/N thought about it for a moment.

"We are just 2 individuals, having a meal together and conversing." She stated.

"Why are we conversing though?" Seonghwa continued to pry.

Y/N hummed.

"Because you said you wanted to get to know me better?"

Seonghwa smiled at that.

"Sounds to me like a date then."

Y/N mentally face palmed. She practically walked into that one herself. She sighed as she picked up one of the fries and dipped it into her milkshake before eating it.

"And now I've learnt one more thing about you: we have similar tastes in eating."

Y/N watched as he mirrored her actions and dipped his fries in his strawberry milkshake. Y/N decided to just finish eating as soon as possible so she could go home early. The sun was starting to set and she didn't like walking home in the dark, even if rarely any crime happened in this neighborhood. She was planning on not saying anything else, but then something popped in her mind that made her ask:

"Wait a minute! The day after the.....incident." She began.

"You mean when you were a total bitch?" Seonghwa teased.

"Haha, funny." She threw a fry at him, causing Seonghwa to laugh even harder.

She had to admit though, he had a cute laugh.

"Anyways, the day afterwards, I heard 2 girls talking in the bathroom about you. They said that you were pissed off at me-"

"I kinda was." He interrupted her again.

"Let me finish!" She cried out rather annoyed.

Seonghwa bit his lip as he stifled another laugh. He found it adorable when Y/N got agitated.

"They made it sound like you were going to beat me up. Something about 'giving it to me'" She held up her fingers in quoting signals.

Seonghwa furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, trying to decipher what she meant. Then it hit him.

"Oh! No. Trust me, I wasn't going to beat you up. As for 'giving it to you' "

He mimicked her quotation signs, causing Y/N to glare at him for teasing her again.

"I was referring to the notepad you dropped. Remember? I gave it back to you?"

Now she face palmed literally as she realized she hadn't thought about that. And here she thought she was dead meat for sure.

"Was that why you were avoiding me the rest of the week? You actually believed I was going to fight you?"

Y/N swirled her milkshake with her straw, unable to look at Seonghwa in the eyes anymore.

"Y/N? I'm talking to you. You really believed that?"

The authority in his voice made her look up at him, his expression showing offense and indignation at the thought that she actually believed him capable of such a thing.

"Why would you think that?" He continued his interrogation.

"Well..... I don't know! Ok? Maybe cause I've heard so many rumors about you. You don't exactly have the best of reputations at school. Everyone says how you're...."

Her voice trailed off, afraid to finish her sentence, afraid to offend or hurt him in anyway .

"That I'm a delinquent? A criminal?"

Y/N blinked when he said that, as if he could read her mind.

"I know what people say about me, I'm not blind nor deaf to their gossip." He stated, not at all unfazed by what he often heard.

"So does that mean none of it is true?" She couldn't help but want the answer to her question.

"Well depends. Have I gotten into a lot of fights with other guys? Yes. Do I have a temper at times that gets me in trouble? Yes. Have I fucked a bunch of girls just for fun? Definitely. Do I smoke or drink often? I'm not denying it."

Seonghwa reached into his pocket and took out his lighter, twirling it around in his hand a few times so Y/N could get a glance at it before putting it back in his pants.

"But have I ever vandalized, stolen or done anything remotely illegal? No. Have I beaten someone up for no good reason? No."

Y/N listened to his words very carefully. She was amazed how he was calmly telling her all of this.

"And I most certainly have never even thought about lifting a finger against a woman. Especially not one I'm interested in." He confessed abruptly, causing Y/N to gulp her drink a little fast, nearly making her choke.

"I'm sorry." She apologized.

Seonghwa chuckled softly.

"Don't be. I get why you'd be scared. I just wish you'd get to know the real me......"

He reached his hand out and lightly brushed his finger on the top of her knuckles.

"Kinda like how I want to know you..."

The physical contact sent a weird feeling down her body. It was chilly, yet warm at the same time. She wanted to reach out and lace her fingers in his, and she would have, until a high pitched voice interrupted them.

"Seonghwa! Is that you?!"

They looked over to see a purple haired boy waving his hand in the air, as if his loud voice didn't make his presence already known. A pink haired boy was standing next to him, looking embarrassed as his friend jumped up and down. Having had enough of that, he pulled the boy by his arm and ran over to Seonghwa and Y/N's table.

"Hi! What a coincidence to see you here! Why didn't you tell us you would be here? You could have joined Yeosang and I. He promised to take me out to eat." He pulled whom Y/N assumed to be Yeosang closer to him.

The purple haired boy spoke so loud and fast Y/N had a hard time understand what he was saying.

"Promised? I was threatened." Yeosang replied, causing the other boy to let out a loud laugh, making Y/N think of a hyena.

"Hyung, where are your manners? Aren't you going to introduce us to your girlfriend?"

Seonghwa blushed and cleared his throat. It was the first time Y/N saw him get flustered and it was definitely funny.

"Y/N isn't my girlfriend-"

"Oh really? Great! Cause she's cute."

The boy wasted no time and held his hand out to her.

"My name is Wooyoung, I'm single, Bi, and I have a driver's license." He winked at her.

"For a moped." Yeosang corrected him.

Wooyoung sent a glare towards his friend.

"Y/N, these are my friends: Wooyoung and Yeosang. They go to our school, but you've probably never seen them cause they're a grade below us."

Y/N nodded and waved awkwardly at them.

"Yeosang, Wooyoung, this is Y/N. She's not my girlfriend, but she's off limits. Ok?" Seonghwa made sure to lock eyes with Wooyoung, silently warning him not to step any further into his territory.

"So if she's not your girlfriend, does that mean she's a fuck bud-"

Yeosang stepped on Wooyoung's foot, causing him to bend over in pain. Yeosang however smiled sweetly as if nothing happened.

"Anyways, it was nice seeing you Hyung. We wouldn't want to take up more of your time. Besides, we'll be seeing you tomorrow at Hongjoong's party. Right?"

Seonghwa nodded.

"You know I never pass up an opportunity to party."

"Will you bring Y/N with you?" Wooyoung asked, hoping she'd come.

Seonghwa looked over to Y/N, who tried to think of an answer.

"Uh... no thanks. I wasn't invited so-"

"Who cares? No one needs an invitation these days. It's a frat party anyways, a bunch of strangers end up coming in the end." Wooyoung insisted.

"I'll....think about it." Y/N knew she wouldn't.

"Ok! I'll take it as a yes. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Taking a hold of Yeosang's hand, Wooyoung made his way over to another table, the pink haired boy already looking exhausted at the thought of spending at least 2 more hours with his highly energetic friend.

Y/N smiled softly at them. They were definitely an odd pairing, but they seemed to compliment each other.

"It's getting late. Want me to take you home?" Seonghwa asked her.

"It's fine. I can walk. It's not that far." She refused.

"I insist. I want to make sure you get there safely." He insisted.

Y/N smirked at him.

"Are you really concerned for my safety or do you just wanna find out where I live?"

Seonghwa's mouth dropped at her insinuation.

"I don't..... ok you got me there."

She chuckled at his reaction, but ultimately got up.

"Ok. Fine. Take me home. The worst you can possibly do is murder me and throw my body in a lake."

Seonghwa shook his head and picked up his jacket. He made sure to hold the door open for her when they went out. Y/N didn't even notice he had stopped walking until she heard him whistle behind her. Turning around, she saw him standing next to a black Harley-Davidson motorcycle. She raised her hands and gestured him to explain.

"I told you I was taking you home."

He tapped the seat.

"So come on. Hop on doll."

He began taking out the spare helmet for her to put on. She walked back to him and placed her hands on her hips.

"You kept it parked here the entire time?" She asked him.

"Uh huh." He responded.

Her face was full of shock.

"Did you know that I would say yes to coming here with you?"

"Well not exactly 'knew'.......more like....hoped."

He winked at her before placing the helmet above her head, making sure to strap it tightly.

"Safety first."

After putting on his own helmet, he got on the motorcycle and waited for her to get on. She awkwardly threw her leg over the seat and hesitated to wrap her arms around him. Seonghwa huffed and simply grabbed her wrists to put them on his stomach.

As soon as he started revving up the motorcycle, Y/N tightened her grip around him. Even through his shirt, she could feel rock solid abs underneath it. It made her wonder what he looked like without a shirt. The thought temporarily distracted her from the worry of actually riding in a motorcycle for the first time.

Sensing her fear, Seonghwa grabbed one of her hands and gave it a light squeeze.

"Don't worry doll. I'll keep you safe."

✿❯────「✿」───❮✿❯──「✿」────❮✿

*part 3 coming soon*

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s R&S - NW Project (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains spoilers from an R&S (NW计划) which has not been released in EN 🍒

Heavy angst warning... T-T

To follow along with the narrator: here

[ Chapter One ]

The NW Project - “New Weapons Project” in full. This project was first put forward 20 years ago. 

Even though I’m the main person in charge of this project, the person who raised this project wasn’t me. Neither was it an outstanding scientist. Instead, it was this man in front of me.

Patiently, I finish reading the agreement in my hand, which spans dozens of pages. Before putting my pen to the page, I lift my head to look at him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

The man looks straight into my eyes. Without a hint of retreating or wavering, his tone is calm as he responds, “I’ll take complete responsibility for the consequences.”

“You aren’t afraid of permanent infamy?”

“This is our only chance. Exchanging the lowest cost for peace experienced by the most number of people. Black Swan doesn’t leave us any choice.”

I fall silent, but the man doesn’t give me an opportunity to probe further.

“This is the second time I’ve made this decision.” He continues speaking calmly. “Ever since the first step was taken, there has been no room for backing out in this matter.”

I pinch the pen with force, the weight in my hands a little difficult to bear for a moment. I take a deep breath, finally signing my own name on the paper, underneath the name already written on it.

I’m very clear that we have no room for retreating. We have to move forward!

After signing, the man hands me an archive envelope. “This is the first experimental subject this time round.”

I open the archive envelope directly. When I see the name written on the materials, I lift my head to look at him in shock. Before I can speak, he responds. “There’s nothing wrong with the materials.”

“Right now, he’s the most suitable candidate.”

“But-” I continue finding it difficult to believe.

“You can return to make preparations. He’ll be here soon, and the NW Project can officially begin.” There’s absolutely no change in his expression. He’s so calm that it’s as though he’s talking about someone who is insignificant. But the tenseness of his body faintly reveals his inner perturbation. 

I suppress the shock in my heart, not adding anything else.

Returning to the office, I open the file once again, reading it seriously--

Gavin, 24 years old, Evol ability is wind control. His Evol was awakened at 17 years old. During the tests two years ago, his ability levels were determined to be of the highest rank.

In the attached photograph, a young man wearing the white Special Task Force uniform is facing the camera. His eyes have a knife-life fierceness and a trace of unruliness. Even when separated by the photograph, they bring with them a certain sense of oppression.

This is a resolute person - that’s what I conclude. But when he undergoes the modification in this project, whether it’s successful or not, would he be able to remain as resolute?

I’m unable to make a determination, but I hope he does. After all, he’s their child...

-

[ Chapter Two ]

The restarting of this project, which had stopped for decades, was beset with difficulties. But no matter how difficult it was, this project had to be pushed forward.

A month later, as Black Swan’s activities grew increasingly frequent, the man, in the capacity of commanding officer, led the team himself, leaving the base. He kept his promise, bringing the first experimental subject back - the NW Project could officially restart.

-

Gavin stands in the middle of the laboratory quietly. His familiar appearance causes me to have a lapse in concentration. But very quickly, I retract my emotions and explain what the first phase of the experiment entails, and its possible effects.

When he hears the cruel wording I use, he has no reaction, no wavering, and no fear. His back is straight, and there are still speckles of dried blood on his body. I’ve only met his eyes once before averting them quickly. That pair of eyes shrouded in shadows suppress far too deep, and far too heavy emotions. Yet, they reveal a certain odd sense of calm, as though he has calmly and fearlessly accepted his fate.

“Gavin, are you ready?” The man, who has remained silent all this while, finally speaks. In an incredibly cold voice, Gavin responds. “Yes.”

The man turns his head towards me, nodding slightly in indication. “It can begin.”

We’ve been waiting a very long time for this experiment. Before the experiment officially begins, the man’s footsteps leave hurriedly.

All procedures proceed in a systematic and orderly way. Underneath the cold lights of the laboratory, Gavin, who has been injected with the drug, is submerged into transparent phosphate buffer. Dozens of metal patches are linked up to his body, monitoring the slightest change in data.

As the experiment carries on, something peculiar happens quickly. The fluctuating lines on the electrocardiogram gradually slow down. After a sudden jolt, it becomes a flat line. Just like the final glow of light in the darkness extinguishing suddenly, although we had already prepared ourselves for this, I still find my hands trembling when this moment arrives.

A researcher informs us that Gavin’s vitals are falling, and that his Evol fluctuations are barely able to be captured. All the data cruelly tells us that this experiment is about to fail, and the death of this young man will be announced soon.

I pound my hands onto the wall heavily to prevent my fingers from trembling, and direct everyone to carry out all possible rescue measures. But as time passes by - one minute, two minutes... his signs of life have completely vanished.

“Gavin...” Quietly, I watch that young man, whose eyes are shut tight, and recall when this departed person had said this name to me.

Suddenly, the lines on the electrocardiogram fluctuate for a moment, and someone exclaims in surprise. I frantically observe the screen, watching as the degree of fluctuations gradually increases. It’s as though a hand has forcefully pulled him back from the fringes of death, finally bringing him back to normal. Everyone heaves a long sigh of relief.

After the experiment, I assume the task of observing Gavin’s situation. On the sickbed, the young man who has experienced death has a face void of colour. Even in an unconscious state, his eyebrows remain deeply furrowed.

I tidy the items that were collected from him: A phone which is turned off, a set of keys, a Special Task Force ID... and a photograph which was originally in his breast pocket. This photograph seems to have been taken unawares. It has already turned slightly yellow, and has a pretty-looking girl on it.

After a while of thinking, I place the photograph next to Gavin’s pillow.

Perhaps this way, he can have a good dream.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

It has been a week since the experiment ended.

A few things surpassed our initial expectations: Within the first 30 hours of Gavin awakening, his state of mind temporarily went into chaos. At the same time, the strength of his modified Evol left us unable to control him, and he destroyed the entire laboratory. Fortunately, he recovered at a certain point. But he became deficient in terms of emotions, and turned extremely cold and distant. It’s as though he had become the strongest “weapon” as we conceptualised.

-

“Thud--” The sound of something heavy falling drifts from the tightly shut door. The hand I’ve placed on the door pauses. After waiting for a few minutes, I push the door open.

Gavin is standing in the middle of the spacious underground training room. A pair of cold and indifferent eyes look over. Even though I’ve experienced this several times, my heart still jumps, and my body tenses up involuntarily. All the cells in my body warn me - he’s extremely dangerous.

I maintain a set distance, and advise, “You should act according to our designated plan to undergo this adjustment process.”

Gavin doesn’t speak. Black wind encircles his surrounding, the swirling air slicing the walls and floor like knives. In an instant, it ripples through the entire room. I reach out to touch the blood oozing from the new wound on my face, quietly putting even more distance between us.

I watch silently as he exhausts his Evol, waits for it to be restored, and repeats it again. This is an incredibly painful process, no different from breaking all the bones in his body and forcing them to straighten. Such capacity for violence often results in harm to himself. Very quickly, his whole body is riddled with scars, and his entire person appears as though he has been pulled out from a sea of blood.

“Today’s training should be over.” I speak up once again, stopping him.

But what I get as a response is the sound of a ear-piercing report. Stunned, I look at the patch of white appearing before Gavin. Everything in that region has completely disappeared - there has been a change in his Evol. According to the plan of the experiment, he should only reach a breakthrough after half a month.

This time, Gavin finally speaks. “Someone’s waiting for me.”

This seems to be a thought he is clinging onto. Sometimes, one’s thoughts can destroy a person, but can also strengthen a person.

I don’t know who is the person waiting for him, nor do I know how he obtained such a belief. But it enables him to persevere in this cruel project.

--The NW Project can stimulate the experimental subject’s Evol gene to its highest degree, enabling one’s Evol ability to reach its strongest state in a short span of time. But its pitfall is just as obvious. There’s a large possibility that an experimental subject wouldn’t be able to withstand the weight of such strength, and face a decline after his Evol reaches its peak.

Right now, the strength Gavin has obtained after the modification has far surpassed approximations. None of us are able to predict what ending awaits him should his Evol start to decline.

Gavin finally stops, sitting on the steps in exhaustion. I can’t help but ask, “Why did you accept this project?”

“I need strength.” He says this without hesitation.

“Is obtaining strength necessarily a good thing?”

“Not to most people.”

I understand the meaning in his unfinished words, because he is even more certain than we are that he can control such strength.

At this moment, I suddenly look forward to his future, even though an experimental subject from the NW Project will only become a “weapon”. And the future of a weapon is only to destroy or be destroyed.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

It has been two weeks since the experiment ended.

The modification in the NW Project has reached its final phase. From Gavin’s body, we’ve collected large amounts of information, supporting the future development of this project.

At the same time, Black Swan’s sudden appearance on the surface leaves us with no choice but to speed up the process of the NW Project, and search for the next batch of experimental subjects. But this is an incredibly difficult matter. Every person who accepts the modification has to possess a sufficiently firm willpower. They have to persist through the agony of such destructive strength, and have to endure the temptation such strength brings.

During this special period, Gavin suddenly looks for me. Seeing the documents placed in front of me, I lapse into a long silence before speaking. “If you’re clear on the consequences this would bring, I’ll sign it.”

“I’m very clear.” Gavin stands up straight, the resoluteness in his eyes not wavering even once. Without further questions, I lift my pen, signing this agreement solemnly - to allow NW717 to be dispatched, and carry out missions.

“If you insist on choosing this path.” I take out a set of seemingly normal-looking gloves and place them on the table. “They can help you control such strength.”

Gavin freezes slightly, and it looks like he has been taken aback. But he doesn’t ask further questions either, putting on the black gloves, the leather material fitting every finger seamlessly. He looks at his hands, a hint of cloudiness flashing across his eyes, though it dissipates very quickly. 

This is a strength which shouldn’t exist on this earth, yet it has surfaced due to various incidents.

The next time I see Gavin who has returned from a mission, all the staff have already left the laboratory. The assistant had given me a warning beforehand, but I’m determined to be here.

What I see is a Gavin who is on the brink of collapse. His body is bowed, both fists balled tightly, veins evident, as though he has sustained a blow which is difficult to bear. I understand the cause of such a situation, and it’s exactly the consequence I had warned him about before he left on the mission--

The drugs used during the NW Project modification are especially fierce. Before they are completely assimilated, the backlash is also especially fierce. Right now, perhaps every blood vessel and every cell in his body are bringing him incredible pain. Such pain far exceeds the very first experiment by multiple folds.

“You need to stop the pain.” I take out the injection needle, prepared to give him a cortisone shot.

“No need.” Gavin doesn’t even lift his head. His tone is perhaps even calmer than mine, but his voice trembles almost imperceptibly. “I’ve seen your report. I need this chance.”

He’s betting on that one glimmer of hope. I respect his wishes, setting down the cortisone shot. Instead, I give him the final dose of drugs for the experiment. After all of this, I await the final outcome from afar.

Gavin remains silent from start to end. The sound of his breathing is so light and faint that it seems to disappear, only the data on the equipment displaying the radical changes in his body. Just like this, my eyes are wide open as I observe the entire night. At the first glimmer of dawn, Gavin stands up. Because he has been maintaining the same posture for a very long time, he staggers for a moment, almost losing his footing.

I do a complete examination for him, and discover that he has indeed grasped that one thousandth of a chance. In our plan, the degree of completion of the modification will hover at around 80%. But right now, Gavin has far surpassed this numerical value.

With a complicated expression, I look at the final verdict. Before Gavin leaves, I warn him once again. “It could engulf you in the end.”

The air surrounding Gavin permeates with danger, but his eyes are as calm as ice. “I can’t retreat.”

This project doesn’t leave him any room for retreating.

I know that the success of Gavin’s modification also represents drawing the curtains on an expansion of the NW Project. I’ve stored all the data and reports related to him in a file, ready to accept the next experiment.

-

[ Chapter Five ]

Along with the implementation of the NW Project, the effects of the modified individual increasingly got out of our control. This caused us to start pondering on how we should handle those people who accepted the experiments once everything was over.

Someone asked me about what I planned to do, and my answer was that I would perhaps find a place where nobody recognises me, and live the rest of my life with a guilty conscience and remorse.

As the very first successful experimental subject of the NW Project, Gavin’s choice came even earlier than I expected.

-

I reach the doors to the commanding officer’s office. Just before the door closes, I see an insignia on the desk at a glance, along with that pair of black gloves.

When we cross paths along the corridor, Gavin gives me a slight nod. I hand him something - the Special Task Force ID which was collected from him when he had first undergone the experiment. Gavin seems to find this unexpected. Very softly, he says a “thank you” before leaving without taking it.

From behind, I watch his retreating form - his back is very straight when he walks. At this moment, his footsteps gradually turn from heavy to relaxed. I watch as he takes out his phone to make a call, disappearing into a corner of the corridor.

I hope this will be the last time we meet.

With anticipation in my heart, I push the door to the office. The man stands at the window, as though waiting for something.

“Why did you choose to let Gavin leave?” I ask.

The man returns to the desk, the NW symbol on the wall behind him seeming to become the heaviest shadow, caging him. He says calmly, “Behind this position, I’m also a father. Even though I’m not qualified.”

He pulls open a hidden drawer, retrieving a yellowed photograph from inside - I know that what’s on it is the image of a beautiful woman who remains in the memories of everyone.

I recall the night on which he knew Wardia had passed on, and recall the child who had splinters all over his body, his face filled with resistance and despair. It was such an endless, heavy night. The next day, the man had already collected his wavering and crumbling self. It’s as though all the pain I saw was just an illusion.

That child from back then has already grown up. He has grown up to have an indomitable spirit, and to the point where nobody can overlook him.

Just like what his mother had anticipated, he has become a strong protector.

For an inexplicable reason, I suddenly speak. “Actually, the two of you are very similar.”

The man immediately shakes his head. “He’s more outstanding. Back then...”

At this point, he seems to sink into a short contemplation, and doesn't continue. 

I don’t harp on this topic. Taking out the file, I give him a report on the final verdict of all the experiments in the NW Project.

The original intention of this project was to utilise absolute abilities to get rid of rebellious Evolvers, and reduce the damage between civilians and Evolvers. During the project, we fulfilled this original intention, though it also brought about several inevitable problems. And right now, perhaps it’s time for it to leave the stage.

After waiting for a very long time, I finally hear the man’s announcement. “The NW Project will officially end one week later.”

Perhaps we have already been waiting for this moment for a very long time. I pack up the files, and give him a salute - as well as to everyone who has contributed to this project and to this world.

Very soon, this project will be covered in dust and enter the vast and long tide of history, and will never be spoken of by anyone.

Only those glistening stars continue to illuminate the boundless and long night.

-

A translated comic based on (but not entirely) on this R&S: here

[followthebluebell]

FIP: Feline Infectious Peritonitis

Sprinkles contemplates some birds.  We’re re-doing the catios right now, so they’re all closed off.  I think she’s looking forward to being outdoors again.

I’m putting a cut here because this is a LENGTHY READ and, in case of further developments, I’d like to be able to easily update this article. 

In October 2019, she was diagnosed with ocular FIP (Feline infectious peritonitis), which is a mutation of feline coronavirus (FCoV, which is very distinct from SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19).   FCoV is ubiquitous in the cat population: almost every cat has it or is exposed to various strains of it.  Most cats get over it just fine with only mild diarrhea.  In a small percentage of cats (we’re uncertain on the percentage, which I’ll get into later, but it’s theoretically somewhere between 5-10%), it goes fuckwhack apeshit and mutates into FIP.

We don’t know why it spontaneously mutates.  There seems to be a genetic component to it.  It’s believed to be more common in purebred cats, but we’re really not sure--- since FIP is a diagnosis by exclusion, there often is a hefty vet bill attached to the diagnosis and a person who can afford to buy a purebred cat from a cattery is more likely to be able to afford that bill.  It MAY be triggered by stress.  It’s much more common in younger cats, often appearing in kittens ranging from 4 months to 4 years.  This doesn’t mean older cats are safe; I know of at least one case in a 12 year old cat.

Sprinkles was diagnosed at 3 and a half months.  She didn’t have a particularly stressful event before developing symptoms.  She’s not a purebred.  I don’t know anything about her genetic history, so I can’t cross that off the list.

Mickey, my second FIP kitten, was diagnosed at 4 months.  I know slightly more about his health records but it’s still scant.  He arrived with an unusual skin ailment: sarcoptic mange.  Hypothetically, this could indicate an already delicate immune system that left him vulnerable to this sort of FCoV mutation.

FIP is deadly and remains, to this day, the most horrifying disease I’ve ever personally encountered.  Thankfully, FIP itself is NOT contagious.  FCoV is highly contagious but, as previously mentioned, it’s fairly common in the cat population.  There was a study done to see if separating kittens from their mother at 7 weeks (approximately the period when a mother’s antibodies begin to wear off and the kittens have to begin producing their own) would prevent cats from catching FCoV from her.  This was effective but the social drawbacks are too heavy a cost for it to be considered regularly.

There is a vaccine for FCoV but it’s largely ineffective and most vets don’t recommend it.

FIP comes in two primary forms: wet (effusive) and dry (non-effusive).  Usually, FCoV exists only in the gastrointestinal system.  It’s really the only place it can replicate itself with ease.  Once the virus mutates, it can’t replicate itself as well, but it CAN infect macrophages.  Macrophages are highly mobile white blood cells.  They go pretty much everywhere, and ones infected with FIPV (Feline Infectious Peritonitis Virus) will carry the virus along for the ride. 

The early symptoms are vague.  These cats are lethargic, listless, have low or no appetite, weight loss, and a fluctuating fever.  The first symptom I caught in Sprinkles was complete avoidance: she was actively avoiding other kittens and other kittens were avoiding her.   Mickey’s only symptoms were lethargy and diarrhea.  I only got suspicious about possible FIP because the other kittens in his playgroup didn’t have any diarrhea at all. 

And this is where we see a split in the forms of FIP.

Effusive FIP is characterized by the accumulation of fluid within the abdomen and is more common.  It happens very quickly.  Cats with effusive FIP develop breathing problems rapidly.  The fluid drawn from the abdomen is usually straw-yellow.  Effusive FIP is said to be more common, although only one of the 5 cases I’ve seen in the last few years was wet FIP. 

Thankfully, effusive FIP has a few distinct traits that makes it easier to diagnose.  It’s important to remember that FIP itself is generally a diagnosis by exclusion. 

Measuring the protein in the effusion is a good first step.  If it’s less than 35g/l, FIP is generally ruled out.

The albumin to globulin ratio is considered next, via a blood test. If it’s less than 0.4, FIP should be considered.

Finally, examining the cells in the effusion is valuable.  If they’re primarily lymphocytes, FIP is excluded.

Non-effusive FIP is more difficult to spot, because the symptoms are so varied.  Granulomas (inflammatory cells) form in various organs, which produces an extreme variety of symptoms.  The most commonly affected symptoms are the ocular and neurological symptoms.

Ocular FIP happens when the virus crosses the blood-ocular barrier and is characterized by slightly opaque white films on one or both eyes; these don’t cover the entire eye.  They’re often just a small section.  This was the first distinct symptom I saw in Sprinkles. It’s considered a distinct enough sign that her ophthalmologist was able to tell me that she was 99% certain it was FIP.

Neurological FIP is my own personal hell.  The virus crossed the blood-brain barrier and infects the brain.  The first symptom is usually a limp or a slight tremble in the head.  The paralysis often begins in the hind limbs and it travels upwards.  The cat eventually loses all mobility.  If the cat is lucky, they’ll begin to have seizures instead and die soon afterwards.  Like I said, it remains the single-most awful thing I’ve ever seen. 

Non-effusive FIP is harder to diagnose than effusive FIP, especially if the cat fails to develop ocular or neurological symptoms.  In these cases, the only symptoms the cat has are fevers, diarrhea, and other non-specific issues.

Once again, the best bet is to consider the albumin to globulin ratio.  The same rule of ‘if it’s under 0.4, FIP should be considered’ holds true.

Unfortunately, checking for antibodies is fairly useless.  A positive FCoV test just means the cat has been exposed to FCoV.

FIP is deadly.  While there are some isolated cases of cats seemingly recovering from it, I think it’s more likely that those were simply misdiagnosed cases.  As I’ve said before, FIP is a diagnosis by exclusion, so a misdiagnosis can happen fairly easily.  A cat with wet FIP is gone in days.  A cat who’s unlucky enough to develop neurological FIP may linger for weeks until they die of starvation, oxygen deprivation as the lungs themselves are paralyzed, or dehydration.  Ocular FIP generally spreads into the brain, causing seizures. 

Sprinkles is very, VERY lucky.  I had been following the study very closely and I had an acquaintance who recently started treating her foster cat for FIP.  I was able to get into contact with some folks and obtain experimental treatment for my kittens.

GS-441525

In February 2019, there was a very promising study on a specific drug called GS-441524.  Most of the cats involved with the study made a full recovery.  The company (Gilead-Sciences) behind the drug wasn’t interested in getting it FDA approved for cats out of concern that it would affect its approval for human use.  See, if it’s used officially for cats, Gilead-Sciences would be obligated to report any negative side-effects and that could impact getting it approved for human use down the line.  “One of the rules in drug development is ‘never perform a test you don’t have to, if the results could be problematic,” isn’t an uncommon saying.  It’s one of the reasons why I fell out of research and development myself.

I had some pull and was able to get experimental access to this drug for Sprinkles and, later, Mickey. 

Both kittens went through three months of daily injections and a further 3 months of observations before they were deemed FIP-free.  After seeing 3 other cats die from it, it’s been a blessing to see them recover.  They’re both especially lucky that they finished their treatment cycle JUST before COVID-19 hit American shores since I couldn’t, in good conscience, continue using a very promising antiviral in cats when it would likely be needed by humans.

It’s definitely not a perfect system.  Three months of daily injections (or pills) is not ideal for the average owner for several reasons.  In addition to the difficulty of injecting a cat with an EXTREMELY painful drug daily, it also requires a lot of math; the dosage has to be adjusted daily to take weight gain into consideration.  Even the concentration has to be adjusted at times.   I haven’t used the pills at all, but I know a lot of people have had problems with cats biting through the pills.  In addition, the pills seem less effective against neurological or ocular FIP.

Gilead-Sciences has refined GS-441524 into GS-5734 (named Remdesivir), which is supposed to be more efficient.  Hypothetically, the addition of the phosphate groups should make it easier for it to get across barriers and be absorbed more easily.  Hopefully this will result in a shorter treatment time, although I suspect it will be more expensive than GS-441524.  This is already a substantial cost attached to GS-441524, with the treatment of a single cat or kitten over 1,000 USD.

As of writing (April 20, 2020), neither Remdesivir nor GS-441524 are available to the average public legally.  Remdesivir has been approved for use in humans with COVID-19 in emergency cases.  

[astromechs]

keep whatever it is (that's compelling you on)

HERE IT IS, my matrix resurrections spec fic, completed and in under the wire before the trailer! i think i'm ready to quit fussing over this, and i'm really excited to get it out into the world!

also here on ao3!

01.

Every single morning, Thomas A. Anderson is jolted awake at approximately 8:15 AM by the shrill of the same alarm, shovels in the same shitty cereal before stumbling into one of the same five shitty suits that he has to remember to get dry-cleaned, takes the same seat on the subway on the way to work — where he sits in the same chair for eight hours straight with minimal breaks, staring at his computer screen (or, more often, out into nothing) until it’s time to take the same subway back to his shitty apartment, order from the same rotation of shitty takeout, and find some mindless, banal distraction while he ignores texts that don’t even matter anyway before he falls asleep to eventually wake up and do it all over again.

It’s nothing special — just the average life of an average mid-grade programmer at the average tech conglomerate. Comfortable, sure, and a dream many would kill to achieve; he knows this, knows this every time he passes the poor old woman who’s feeding pigeons in her ratty coat from the battered metal bench on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building. He slips her whatever spare change he has on him — a $20 bill, on the days he’s lucky, but often less than that — and, without fail, she always accepts, with a warm smile and kind eyes that seem to stare right into his soul, seeing the deepest parts of it.

Like she knows him. And that’s what’s weird.

He tries not to put too much thought into it, because, honestly, he tries not to put too much thought into anything at all; he’s found that to be the most effective way to navigate the machine that systematically runs his rhythmic, mundane life.

But even so, there are things that he knows he can’t shake.

One afternoon in late February, when the cut of the wind had not remotely suggested that spring would just be a month away, he’d passed the woman on the bench as always, but he could’ve sworn that the whole flock of pigeons scattered on the sidewalk at her feet had frozen for a split second. Like they’d been… glitching. In a blink, everything had returned to normal, and he’d spent about three days (and three sleepless nights) trying to convince himself he’d been seeing things, that he’d just been spending too much time actually working on his assigned program for once and that maybe he should take some of his accumulated vacation days? And the following week, he had, but….

No time off to try to clear his head would ever change the fact that this hadn’t been an isolated incident.

Because sometimes — he swears he sees pieces of code fall through his field of vision; a blink and then they’re gone, but it happens too often not to be a pattern, and no matter how much he might want to for the sake of his own sanity, he can’t just brush that aside. Sometimes, flashes come to his mind like barely-remembered dreams, in idle moments and just on the edge of the line that separates sleep from waking consciousness, so real that he knows they’re memories. Dark tunnels that haven’t seen the sun for centuries. Cold, so cold that no amount of warmth, human or otherwise, can really combat. Running, desperately bounding up the fire escape to the third floor of a rundown motel, three men in sunglasses and perfectly-tailored suits in close pursuit, his heart pounding in his ears so loudly he can barely hear the phone ring from Room 303, the place he has to get to, because everything depends on it. A barrage of bullets in his chest, one right after the other, back slumping against the wall as his heart gives out, vision fading to grey and then to black, but a voice, reaching through it all to call him, tether him….

Neo.

There are things that he knows he can’t shake, and sometimes, he thinks he had another life. Another name.

Another purpose.

He’s haunted by the ghost of it.

It’s the second of April — at least, that’s what the screen of his phone tells him, because otherwise he wouldn’t know, or care to know. A Friday, and all the faceless commuters are packed like sardines into this subway car, headed home for weekends that are sure to be as inconsequential as his own. Today, he has to stand holding the rail for the ride home; a woman trying to juggle both a baby and two bags of groceries had just barely managed to stumble onto the train before the doors had closed, and he’d sprung up, more than glad to give up his seat to someone in greater need.

She tries to thank him, profusely and repeatedly, but with where he’s standing, he would have to twist to keep facing her, so, with a nod and the barest hint of a smile, he turns away to spend the trip the way he always does: in solitude.

The route back to the station just down the block from his apartment building is never smooth, by any stretch of the imagination, but today, it’s bumpier than usual; the train car jerks and jostles, until, eventually, it sends him colliding into back of the passenger standing next to him.

He’s just about to stammer out some automatic, awkward apology, but then —

Blue eyes meet his, clear, crisp blue, and a jolt strikes him right to the core.

He thinks — no, he knows, he knows — he’s seen these eyes.

Neo. In the darkest corners of his mind, the voice whispers again.

Time freezes, glitches, around him, around him and this stranger with familiar blue eyes. He sees the light leave them, and then come right back. He sees warmth, what something is telling him had once been the only thing able to keep the cold of the real away; that warmth spreads through now, to the tips of him, and he has a sense, one he doesn’t entirely understand, that something has just clicked into place.

Behind sunglasses, another pair of eyes watches them from across the car.

“You all right?” Neo.

He sees brows knit in concern, and for the first time, he pays attention to the face that the eyes belong to. Probably the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in… more than one life, he’d have to guess, is now in front of him; he isn’t so detached and disconnected that he doesn’t notice that. Her short dark hair is cut into a severe bob, and she’s dressed in black from head to toe — from her coat and gloves, to her boots. It suits her, somehow.

After a beat, he finally remembers to speak. “Yeah. I — sorry.” The subway jerks to a halt; he glances up, and adds quickly, after clearing his throat, “This is… my stop. Excuse me. Sorry.”

Pushing past her, pushing past everyone in his way, he disembarks to the station, and when his feet touch solid pavement, he takes off at a sprint. Up the stairs (third floor… Room 303….), down the sidewalk (agents, just behind… he can beat them, if he just runs faster than he ever has…), not stopping until the mundane certainty of his shitty apartment building is within his sights.

Just before he makes it safely inside, he catches a glimpse of the old woman on the bench watching him, her smile wider than he’s ever seen it. Maybe, even, almost inhumanly wide.

10.

Her name is Natalie.

That’s what he learns about a week later, when he bumps into her again in front of the grocery store on the corner down from the subway station, the one he always chooses out of convenience. Quite literally; he’s distracted, disconnected, and before he even knows what’s happening, he’s collided with another body, contents of the two bags under his arms spilling out onto the sidewalk. His apologies are hurried and stammered, but her hands are gentle as she moves to help, brushing his more than once. Her smile is soft when their eyes meet.

Over the next several months, he learns a lot of other things, too.

He learns that she takes her coffee with cream and no sugar, and that she always leaves the barista a generous tip. He learns that she’s a genius with tech, better than him and his two computer science degrees and half-cushy corporate job could ever hope to be, and has his whole apartment practically rewired in an hour one day. He learns that if he’s quiet and still, her black cat has no qualms with being his friend. He learns that her lips curve up in just a certain way and her eyes crinkle when she’s just about to laugh.

And he learns that kissing her feels like coming home, as familiar and peaceful as it is new and strange. He learns that with her, coming together, becoming one with another person, is like nothing else.

For the first time in what he can remember, he knows what it feels like to be alive.

(Only it isn’t… is it? The first time. Somehow, just like he knows that he sees the same person walk past him twice, like he knows that those glitches start happening on a near-daily basis, like he knows that the old woman on the bench is smiling at him more broadly than ever….

Their lives have collided, and given each other meaning, purpose, before.)

11.

In his dreams, he sees a city entirely built from light. Spires touch the sky like fireworks, blindingly bright, and with every step, flames ripple out from his feet, making the next one all too clear.

Inevitable.

This is where his path had always led.

In his dreams, he can’t see her face. He can only hear struggling gasps for breath, and a voice that only grows shakier. He can only feel the metal that pierces her stomach, the blood that pools on her shirt. The faint heartbeat he can do nothing to restart.

Inevitable.

(You were right, Smith. You are always right.)

He wakes with a start, drenched in a cold sweat (as cold as their last kiss), gasping for breath. Next to him on the bed, Natalie stirs and shifts closer; when he reaches out a tentative hand, lets his fingers graze over her stomach, she’s warm.

His eyes scrunch tightly shut. Code falls behind his lids like the rain that patters against the windows outside.

100.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary on this day in early fall. A breeze rustles the trees as they walk hand in hand through the park, and provides the first hint that cooler weather is on the way. Children’s laughter from the nearby playground fills the air. Dogs chase each other on the grass. Natalie sips her coffee, cream with no sugar; they enjoy the contented silence that falls between them, only punctuated by her soft smile.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary — except for everything that is.

They meet each other’s eyes, her blue to his brown, and in an instant, everything changes.

It’s hard to tell who sees it first, but — the flash of recognition envelops both of them. Vague memories, the ones that have floated over him like a constant cloud, just out of reach, are in his hands, in his brain, in his heart. He’d had another life once, another name. And it’d been —

“Neo.”

She whispers it on an awed breath, tears forming in her eyes. The coffee cup slips from her grasp, long since forgotten; she lifts that hand to his face, fingers tracing the rise of his cheekbone.

Tears swim in his vision, too, tears and strands of code, falling. Falling. Nothing makes sense and yet everything makes sense, no more so than when the name falls out of his mouth, the last piece of a particularly jumbled puzzle: “Trinity.”

But a thousand words he doesn’t know how to say don’t even begin to get a chance to form. He feels the eyes watching them more than he sees them; both hands drop to his sides, and he tenses, ready to fight.

He’s barely aware that the old woman who’s usually on the bench near his apartment building approaches on the sidewalk. She looks between them, nods, and:

“They’re coming, kiddo,” she tells him, voice severe, with none of her usual warmth, as she grips his arm. “You need to run.”

101.

At sunset, a man in a white suit, tall and imposing, joins the old woman on a park bench near the playground, but says nothing; from all appearances, it looks as though he barely acknowledges her at all. They remain, just like this, as people filter out one by one under the steadily darkening sky, returning to their lives.

They always remain through every iteration, the Mother and Father of the Matrix.

Preoccupied with purpose and the inefficiency of wasting time, as is his programming, the Father is the first to break the silence.

"I informed you it was a dangerous game.”

The Oracle says nothing in response.

She merely smiles.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 28- Crossbones

Summary: The Avengers uncover the identity of the mysterious Crossbones and mount a mission to apprehend him in Lagos.

Warnings: Bad language, Smut! (NSFW, Under 18s) Bad Language words.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: NEW BANNER ALERT @angrybirdcr​ has made a DOOZY for the Civil War part of the Story.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 27

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

January 2016

“Are you sure this isn’t a team call?” Katie asked Steve, watching as he picked up his shield.

“No.” He shook his head firmly as they walked down the corridor.  “We don’t even know if he will be there.”

“But…”

“Katie, stop!” Steve chuckled, pushing the door open to enter the hangar. “We’ll be fine. This is intelligence gathering, I’ve no intention of heading straight off after this guy, not until we find out what his play is.”

“His play is arms trading.” Nat interjected dryly as she appeared at the side of the jet.

“Which we are going to gather intelligence on.” Steve looked at her sternly “Nothing more.”

Katie bit her lip, she wasn’t convinced.

“We’ll be fine.” Steve continued, putting both his hands on her shoulders before he deftly changed the subject. “Don’t you have an interview to be getting ready for?”

He watched as the gentle smile spread across her face, a surge of pride flooding his system. She’d recently found out that the author of one of the books SIP had published last year had worked their way onto the Pulitzer Nominee list for fiction. The book itself held a plot centred around a War Veteran and the letters he wrote to his girl back home, and she’d roped Steve into helping the author keep it as factually correct as possible, something he had found strangely nostalgic yet enjoyable. Upon publishing it had flown off the shelves, the original five hundred copies went within three hours causing a mad scramble for a second run and downloads had been off the scale. Other than the Thrombey book they had published, it was their biggest seller to date, shifting almost half a million copies in a month, and with a foreword from Steve Rogers, critics had raved about how poignant it was.

Whilst it hadn’t won the prize, simply being a nominee was an honour in itself according to Katie. The Publicists at SIP had arranged for the author to be interviewed in a few newspapers and magazines along with one of them also requesting Katie, to discuss the launch of her new charity The March Foundation, which would sit alongside Tony and Pepper’s latest initiative- The September Foundation, but instead of focusing on inventors and science, it would instead be centred around authors and the arts.

The name was a play on words, not only being another month to compliment Tony’s, but also to honour both the War Based fiction that had inspired it and the man who had saved her life as March was the month of Bucky’s birth. A decision that had really touched Steve.

She took a deep breath and sighed, as she eyed Natasha heading up the ramp into the jet.

“Just be careful…”

“I’m always careful.” Steve kissed her gently.

“Liar.” She mumbled against his lips. He grinned and pulled back, pecking her mouth once more before he started up the ramp. He paused at the top and turned to face her. “We’ll be back late tonight. Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t!” she teased.

He flashed her another smile and then he hit the button and the ramp started to close. A loud siren told Katie that the hangar door was opening and that was her cue to leave. She headed back over to the steps at the side, leading up to the mezzanine, and as she watched through the window she saw the jet fly out of the side and over the frosty compound grounds. It up through the clouds and gone from sight before she had reached the double doors at the top.

The base was a hive of activity already, despite it being little after seven am. Katie was heading for an hour or so in the gym before her day began properly. She stuck her Bluetooth headphones in, selected the usual work out play-list and began to run on the treadmill, slowly at first to ease herself in- she was a little bit stiff and sore from her sparring session with Natasha yesterday. Nat had really upped the ante on Katie over the last month or so, which was good as Katie was now pretty much on a par with her when it came hand to hand, something Steve had been completely astonished to see after walking in on the two women just as his wife floored Natasha with a well-placed leg swipe the red head didn’t see coming. 

Forty minutes later, Katie swapped to the rower to finish off, and was approximately half way through the three-kilometre distance when her music cut off and the screen to the right of the machine switched over from the play-list to a visual of Rhodey.

“Hey Kiddo,” He smiled as she stopped rowing to look at him. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve had a sensor trip on the outer perimeter of the facility.”

“You send someone out there?” She frowned, catching her breath as she picked up the bottle of water that was to her right.

“Yeah, Sam is currently out there looking for it, just thought, well seeing as Cap and Nat are out, you’re technically the one in charge so…”  

She let out a snort as she swallowed a mouth full of her drink.  Being third in command was something she didn’t really care for, knowing full well it was Steve’s way giving her some kind of authority over simply being the Captain’s Wife, but she’d accepted the gesture simply because he’d been so excited when he had asked her she couldn’t refuse.

“Okay, I’ll go and check it out. “

Standing up she left the gym and moved quickly to the armoury, grabbing a gun, a coms piece and a fleece jacket before quickly making her way outside.

“What’s going on up there, Sam?” Rhodey spoke in her ear as she walked into the cold air, spotting Sam circling above.

“I’m at the location of the sensor trip, but I’m not seeing anything.” He said. “Oh, hang on…”

“What is it?” Katie asked, watching him as he circled above her.

“Roof top…”

“Gimme a lift?” 

Sam swooped down from the clear, winter sky and she grabbed his arm as he effortlessly pulled her up, dropping them both onto the flat roof of one of the buildings.

“I can see you.” Sam called out loudly as they landed.

Katie frowned, as she didn’t know what Sam was talking about until out of nowhere a man in a red and silver suit, with an insect like helmet suddenly appeared. Katie cocked her gun and aimed it at him.

“Who the hell are you?” she questioned. As they watched the man started to awkwardly introduce himself to Sam, his mask lifted to reveal a shaky smile as he waved.

“Hi, I’m Scott. I know who you are, obviously, you’re Katie Stark, I mean Rogers…” Scott started trying to hold back his enthusiasm and motioning towards Sam and Katie with a chuckle. "I’m a big fan.”

"Appreciate it. But like the lady asked, who the hell are you?” Sam echoed Katie’s earlier sentiments.

“I’m Ant-Man.” Scott or Ant-Man answered confidently. Sam and Katie shared an incredulous look and Katie mouthed the name back to him and he shrugged. Katie lowered her gun slightly.

“Wanna tell me what you want?” She questioned Ant-Man as the man tried to explain why the two Avengers hadn’t heard of him.

Scott pointed towards a building to their left, maintaining eye contact with Katie as he spoke “I was hoping I could grab a piece of technology. Just for a few days, then I’d return it. I need it to, uh, save the world- you know how that is.”

“Yeah, we know exactly how that is,” Sam said to Scott and Katie felt her mouth twitching into a grin.

“What piece of technology, and what do you mean saving the world?” she asked.

“I’d love to tell you but Hank Pym said never to trust a Stark.” The man called Scott, or Ant-Man was almost apologetic. “Even though you’re technically a Rogers now.”

Katie frowned, she’d never heard of a Hank Pym before, but that was irrelevant now. Sam gave a sigh besides her and stepped forwards.

“We’ve located the breach.” he spoke “Bringing him in…”

“I’m really sorry about this.” Scott rushed out and as Sam reached out to him he vanished.

“What the…” Katie spun round and felt something hit her, hard in the back. She fell forward onto the gravelled surface of the roof before rolling onto her back, gun raised again just in time to see Sam flying backwards off the edge, tumbling through the air and grappling with something whilst flying over the lawns of the facility.

Katie could do nothing but stand and watch from her vantage point as Sam continued to wrestle with, then shoot at the man who could shrink and grow seemingly at will. And if she was completely honest, it was kind of entertaining to watch.

“This guy would actually be pretty useful.” Katie mused into the coms, trying but failing to hide the amusement in her voice “Are you recording this? For future, recruitment purposes obviously.”

“All over it.” Rhodey responded, a slight chuckle punctuating his confirmation.

It was when the two men crashed into the storage unit that Ant-Man had wanted to break into in the first place that she started to get concerned.

“Err do we have cameras in there?” she questioned Rhodey.

“Uh… negative.” Rhodey answered after a short pause.

“Shit.” Running to the side of the roof she scaled down the metal ladder at the side, dropping the last eight feet or so, landing gently before she ran towards the storage building. At that point Sam came crashing backwards through the metal door and Katie flung her arms up to shield her face from the debris before glancing up. Sam’s flight pattern was jerky and off and he was gripping at his pack on his back.

“He’s in my pack!” Sam shouted before he landed hard in the dirt and with a groan, pulled himself into a standing position, yanking off his goggles.

“You okay?” Katie asked as she ran over to him.

“Yeah, fine…” He sighed before he looked at her. “You know, it’s really important to me that Cap never finds out about this.”

Katie grinned and the pair of them scouted around but to no avail, there was no sign of Ant-Man, or Scott anywhere. Katie instructed Rhodey to get the door fixed and lock it down again and said she would speak to Tony to find out what was in there. Sam was luckily not hurt, just a slight bruising to his pride so Katie left him at the lab with Lawson to look at making the repairs to his pack before she headed off to get changed.

*****

Steve and Natasha landed in Sadove, Crimea and were instantly greeted by the man who was leading the investigation into the raid on the local police station. The last three out of six hits the guy had made had been on small, local outfits with less resistance than the other places he had hit but that was hardly surprising. The former SHIELD base he had hit in Mexico had been heavily guarded, which made Steve think that he had perhaps suffered losses to his team which was making him rethink his strategy. As Natasha chatted to the man in his local language, Steve hung back before the man nodded to Natasha and strode towards him.

“Captain Rogers.” he said, English thick with accent “Inspector Chernov.”

Steve shook the man’s hand “Pleasure to meet you in person Inspector.”

“So you are interested in the man who raided our local station?” “He’s been on our radar for a while.” Steve said, choosing his words carefully “But we don’t have much to go on.” “Well, I’m not sure we can help but I can take you down there and you can see for yourself.” Steve nodded. “That would be great, thanks.”

It wasn’t a long drive, and once they arrived Steve and Natasha were allowed to wander round the scene undisturbed, providing they didn’t interfere with the police and teams already swamping the area. Their search showed them nothing new and they moved to watching the CCTV which the Authorities had refused to send them. They could have hacked into it, but Steve was keen to keep the tentatively growing communication lines with Crimea and Russia as amicable as possible, especially in the light of Sokovia. The Avengers were not a political party, so by remaining respectful of their requests to meet only in person he hoped it went someway to proving they were here to help and had no ulterior motives.

As such they sat in the mobile control centre, scanning the CCTV. Steve watched the footage and sighed.

“This isn’t HYDRA.” Nat concluded and Steve agreed.

“I know, it’s not their MO. This guy is too haphazard.” Steve pondered. “Just wondering why, considering how well organised he is, he is leaving so much devastation behind.”

“Minimum effort leaving maximum casualties.” Natasha said, watching the footage “He simply doesn’t care who he takes out.” “Well he’s hardly gonna care about that if he’s dealing black market arms.” Steve sighed.

They watched the footage some more and Steve held his hand up to Natasha to play it at normal speed when they reached the bit where the key perps were on screen.

“What’s he doing?” He frowned, looking at Crossbones. The man was stood in the middle of the room, looking around.

“He’s scanning for Cameras.” Nat answered as they both watched. 

There was something familiar about the way the man walked and held himself, but Steve couldn’t quite place it. As they continued the footage, Crossbones located the camera they were watching through and looked directly up at it, pulling his mask up a little to reveal his mouth, clearly saying something.

“Can you enhance that?” Steve asked. Natasha tapped at it.

It zoomed in on the man and Natasha spoke “looks like something about it being personal…”

She held her phone up to the footage and then pressed something, and the phone spoke to her in a robotic voice.

“Big Guy…I just want you to know, this aint personal.” Steve’s gut clenched. The last time he had heard those words were in an elevator in the Triskelion.

“Rogers?” Natasha looked at him, noticing the nerve which was twitching in his jaw “What is it? Does that mean something to you?”

“In a fashion.” He turned to face her. “It’s Rumlow.”

****** The interviews went well and once the photos etc were done Katie and Tony retreated to the living area of the Tower for a well-earned drink as they put the final touches of their tour together. They were to start visiting various Universities across the US to roll out their foundation grants. To ease them both in gently, the first University they were going to was Columbia, so not far from home. Tony and Pepper would be presenting and discussing to students within the School of Engineering and Applied Sciences and Katie in the School of the Arts for Students on the Writing Programme.

Their chatter moved from work to Tony asking how the Compound was going, and Katie remembered the events of that morning.

“You ever heard of a bloke called Hank Pym?” she asked suddenly.

Tony paused for a moment, frowning at her sudden change of subject, but something stirred in his mind. “The name rings a bell, hang on…FRIDAY, search all files reference Hank Pym.” He instructed, tapping at something on his tablet.

After a few seconds something flashed up in the corner of the screen.

“Yeah, here you go.” He pressed another button causing the image to reflect in front of them as a hologram. “He worked with Dad and SHIELD on a programme called Project GOLIATH.”

“What the hell was that?” Katie asked, taking a pull from her bottle.

“A research programme into some kind of Nano particle.” Tony said as the pair of them simultaneously ran through the information on the screen.

“Ahhhh.” Katie nodded, “makes sense…” “What does?”

Katie explained about the encounter with Scott and Tony gave a hum of agreement. 

“That could actually be kinda useful.”

“I know.” she agreed “But he vanished after he got whatever he wanted. Any thoughts on what it could be?”

“That facility holds a load of crap that was Dad’s” Tony said simply “Could be anything.”

“Well, nothing we could see was missing, but it might be worth you taking a look.” she suggested.

He shrugged “I can do, but there was nothing remotely dangerous in there. Was just a load of old signal jammers and code breakers we don’t really need anymore.”

“Well, I did try and ask what him what it was he wanted, you know, on account of him saying he was saving the world, maybe we could have helped with that, being the Avengers and all, but he simply turned round and said ‘Hank Pym told me never to trust a Stark’.”

She drained her bottle of beer as Tony did the same and he stood up, taking the empties to retrieve 2 more from the fridge.

“Clearly one of many in the long line of people dad pissed off.” Tony rolled his eyes as he popped the lids, before he sighed “I’m actually surprised no one tried to kill him before, you know, he rammed their car into a tree.”

Katie looked at her brother and swallowed. Tony had no idea how close to the truth he was.

“Sorry.” he slid the beer across the bar, mistaking her guilty silence for one of upset “That was out of order.”

“For all his faults I don’t think Dad was a bad man.” Katie spoke quietly “And he did love us.”

“I know.” Tony nodded, squeezing her hand.

She stayed for another drink and then headed home. She had checked in with Sam before heading back to their apartment and she was settled on the couch with a glass of wine when Steve called.

“Hey Soldier.” she said, smiling at the screen as she flicked the phone to project the image in front of her, muting the TV.

“Hey Darlin’.” He smiled back

“So, how was it?” she asked

“Well we got the intel.” 

“Solid?”

“Pretty solid yeah.” Natasha spoke, appearing by his side. “We think we know who he is anyway.” “Who?”

Steve sighed. “It’s Rumlow.” “What?” Katie spluttered into her wine glass. “Are you sure?”

“Oh pretty sure.” Steve nodded. “He left me a clear message.”

“Steve recognised him on the Video so I ran a crosscheck.” Nat picked up. “Turns out he was listed as severely injured and was taken to the hospital. After that, our trail runs cold.” 

“Until now.” Katie sighed.

“We’ve also got a list of his associates, some known faces he’s been seen with.” Steve shrugged “So we’re putting out an alert.”

“Doesn’t give us much to go on though.” Katie rubbed at her temples.

“When have we ever had much to go on?” Natasha asked and Katie shrugged

“Fair point.” she conceded as Natasha moved off out of sight.

“So how has your day been?” Katie looked back at Steve as he spoke.

“Not bad actually.” she said, “Interviews went well, oh, and we had a bit of an incident at base before.” “Incident?” he frowned, “What kind of incident?”

“Attempted break in, nothing major.”

“Everyone ok?”

“Yeah, honestly it was no big deal, I’ll fill you in on when you get home. For the rest of the day once the interviews were done Tony and I drank beer.”

“Sounds pretty productive.” Steve raised an eyebrow, smile playing on his lips.

“Beer is always productive.” Katie informed him and he chuckled.

“We’ll be airborne in thirty minutes and then we should be home in about four hours.” He said, as Katie looked at her watch. It was almost 8:30 pm. 

“Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you.”

“And you.” She blew him a kiss and cut the call with a yawn. She was tired. Really tired, so she headed off for a bath. After soaking and listening to music for forty minutes she dried off and shoved on one of Steve’s T-shirts before climbing into bed and laying there for a moment, flicking through the TV channels. She settled on an episode of Family Guy and snuggled down into the large bed, wrapping herself in the soft covers. It always felt odd sleeping without Steve being there. Sometimes she quite enjoyed being able to starfish in the middle of the Emperor sized bed but tonight she wasn’t enjoying being alone.

****

Steve was whacked when they arrived home. Bidding good night to Natasha, instead of changing in the armoury he headed straight back and let himself into their quarters. Crossing the hallway he made his way into the bedroom he paused, a gentle smile spreading on his face. Illuminated in the light from the hallway he could see Katie was curled up in the middle of the bed, using his pillow as a hugging buddy. He quietly crossed the room and perched on the bed, stripping off his boots and uniform top. He paused slightly as Katie stirred and he turned to look at her, gently brushing her hair of her face. He glanced down at the freckles he knew by memory, long thick lashes, soft pink lips, that familiar Stark nose…she looked so peaceful asleep.

She stirred again, and that nose he adored wrinkled in the way it did when she was waking up and she cracked an eye open before her face split into a smile at the sight of her husband.

“Hey.”

“Hey, baby girl.” He smiled, his hand cupping her cheek. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you”

“It’s Okay.” She yawned, leaning into his touch.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are?” He asked, and through the tiny sliver of light coming from the hallway Katie could see his eyes were full of their usual warmth.

“I don’t think you did today, no.”

“Well in that case, you’re beautiful” He smiled and she chuckled slightly as he dropped a soft kiss on her head. “I’m gonna take a shower and then I’ll be right with you.”

She watched him appreciatively as he stood up and pulled his compression-shirt over his head, leaving him bare form the waist up as he headed into the en-suite. For a moment she was tempted to join him, but then decided against it, laying back onto her side, dozing.

It wasn’t long before the bed dipped and she felt him slide under the covers next to her. She turned over to snuggle up into the crook of his shoulder, her head laying on his chest.

“So, you wanna tell what the incident was today?” he asked, his right hand reaching up to play with the strands of her hair that fell over her shoulder.

“Oh yeah.” she grinned before she launched into an explanation about Scott-slash-Ant Man. He fell silent for a moment but in the end came to the same conclusion as Tony had, there was nothing in there that was dangerous so they just needed to remain vigilant.

“Yeah, well Sam seemed to be taking vigilant to the extreme as he’s already been on the phone to numerous contracts, trying to track him down.” she said “I think he’s a bit annoyed the guy basically kicked his ass. Rhodey caught it all on video but Sam told me never to tell you about it. He’s taken it quite personally.” “I’m not surprised, he had his ass kicked.” Steve sniggered. “Where do I get a copy of the CCTV?”

Katie grinned, “I have it on my phone, Rhodey sent it to me.”

“Play it.” he instructed.

“What now?” “Yes, right now.” he nodded, moving so he was sat up, jolting her off his chest.

“No Sam will kill me!” she laughed, propping herself up on her elbow

“Screw Sam!” he snorted “He plays those damned Phys Ed videos every chance he gets.”

“That’s true.” Katie pondered “Ok, hang on…”

She turned, reaching over for the phone and the TV remote. Blinking at the sudden light, once her eyes were accustomed to the change she pressed a few buttons on her phone and beamed the footage to the TV on the wall. She had to admit, it looked even funnier from the video play back than it had when she had been there.

Steve let out a huge, genuine laugh, his head thrown back, banging against the headboard, arm clutched across his chest as he laughed, and laughed.

“I’m so showing that at our next briefing.” he said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

“You can’t…” “Oh, I can!”

****

The next morning the pair of them made their way to the briefing room both munching on a piece of toast and each carrying a mug of coffee. It was early, before 8, but Steve wanted the team to be prepared. Everyone filed into the room along with some good humoured grumbling about the time before they dropped into their preferred seats and looked to the front of the room.

“I know it’s early and I’m sorry…” Steve held his hands up, looking round at the team assembled in front of him “But this is important.”

“More important than sleep?” Sam yawned.

Steve ignored him. “Alright, here’s what we already know.”  Steve began to explain how they believed Rumlow to be Crossbones, the masked man who had been causing a whole lot of chaos in the wake of what happened at the Triskelion. Katie knew he was annoyed at himself for not realising he had survived sooner, but even if they had, they’d so much going on, not to mention Ultron had been a much bigger threat in the immediate future

"He’s been targeting former SHIELD labs and police stations all over the country and selling products on the black market.” Natasha spoke.

“Police stations?” Katie asked.

“We think he suffered heavy losses at the raid prior to the last three, so he’s going for easier targets whilst he regroups.” Natasha answered.

“Still no intel on who his buyers are?” Wanda asked.

“No.” Steve shook his head, “He seems to have become an independent terrorist, and doesn’t appear to be working for anyone”

“Our recon yesterday told us that Rumlow seems to be operating with this guy.” Natasha explained as the photos flashed up “He’s known as the Black Mamba…” “Black Mamba?” Wanda deadpanned. “Cross Bones and Black Mamba?”

“NATO has every available pair of eyes out looking for them.”  Steve ignored Wanda and looked at Rhodey.

“Soon as they break cover, we’ll know.” Rhodey nodded

“So then what?” Sam frowned

“More recon?” Katie asked

Steve looked at his wife and nodded. “Possibly, but for now we need to let intelligence do their job. But be prepared, when we get a lead I want to be ready to go.”

There were mumbles around the room and Steve let the team lead the discussion. Sam commented on the crap code names again, causing Wanda to laugh. Katie suggested they should compile a detailed profile on Rumlow, see if they could find a pattern to his behaviour, nodding to Vision. the AI had a knack for it as did Katie, so Steve and Natasha nodded, both agreeing it was a good idea.

“We need to be vigilant.” Steve instructed. “Keep our eyes open for anything that’s out of the ordinary.” He caught Katie’s eye, a wicked smirk crossed his face and she shook her head smiling as he continued “Speaking of which…FRIDAY, play the video”

“Certainly Captain Rogers.” The pictures of Rumlow and Black Mamba disappeared from the screen and suddenly the footage of Sam spiralling through the air started to play. The room started to snigger as Sam looked at Katie who held her hands up in an “it wasn’t me!” gesture.

“Oh come on Man!” He groaned as the room gleefully watched the film, laughter ringing round the room.

******

The next four months ticked by with no further information on Rumlow. They pulled together a potted history which tracked the hospital he had been in, when he had escaped (the local authorities had been searching for him for ages since he threatened his nurse upon waking before violently breaking out) his movements since (ones they knew about and some they hadn’t) but it didn’t give them anything new.

Katie and Tony were buried deeply in their Foundation work, which was taking up a lot of Katie’s time so she wasn’t as close to the investigations as she could have been. Steve was fine with that though, the further away she was from Rumlow frankly the better, but he still made sure she was involved with what they had found and she attended the briefings as best she could when she wasn’t travelling the country. Steve’s chest burst with pride every time he saw his girl on the news, in papers, as the press seemed to be lavishing praise upon the siblings for what they were doing. 

Then, one day in the middle of May, they struck gold when one of the Facial Recognition Alerts they had set up pinged to Black Mamba being spotted in a Lagos, Nigeria. As a result Steve had scrambled them all to attention as soon as he could, which was four am. But there were no complaints about the time, not when they knew this could be their chance to bring him in. They all pitched round the screen as Steve and Natasha identified the local police station that they suspected of him hitting, given where the FR had pinged several times.

“We think they are scoping this area.” Nat said, drawing a red circle round a part of the town.

Katie moved the screen with her fingers, enlarging the aerial shots as she looked at them, her analytical brain going ten to the dozen.

“Layout looks pretty standard.” she said, scanning the map, frowning slightly. Something was nagging at her. And as she looked, she realised what it was.

“What is it?” Steve asked, recognising the tone of her voice and frown on her face.

“The Science Institute.” She nodded towards the screen. “Big white building at the end of the road.”

“Biological weapons are big on the black market.” Sam cottoned on, nodding slightly.

“Yeah but his recent previous hits and our pattern analysis don’t give us any reason to believe that’s what he’s going to be aiming for.” Nat suggested

“You said yourself that you suspected he was going for easier targets whilst he regrouped.” Katie bit her lip. “What if he has?”

“We have to assume Rumlow will go for the police station, it’s the best intel we have.” Steve looked at her and he noticed the expression on Katie’s face as she crossed her arms and opened her mouth to argue. “But we should be vigilant, keep alert.”

She exchanged a glance with Sam, who simply shrugged

“We do this with stealth.” Steve continued, “I want us on the ground and out of sight, we need to catch him with as little fuss or danger to civilians as possible”

"Yeah, and with that in mind Viz you may need to sit this one out.” Nat tossed out and Vision nodded deprecatingly

“We’re still working on him blending in.” Wanda added.

“Same for you too Rhodey.” Steve looked at him “We need someone back here, we could be gone a few days.”

Rhodey nodded. “No problem Cap.” “Get what you need. Wheels up in twenty.” Steve dismissed everyone who immediately went their separate ways to prepare for the upcoming mission leaving Katie, Natasha and Steve alone

“You think she’s ready?” Natasha looked at Steve, nodding to Wanda. He took a deep breath, staring at the door through which she had just left with Vision.

“You say she’s been training hard.” He spoke after a moments pause, looking at Nat.

“Yeah, she has but her powers are still largely impacted by her emotions.”

“Aren’t everyone’s?” Katie asked. “I mean I’m angry or upset I fight harder, as you know.” “Yeah but,” Nat sighed “It isn’t the same, she can do a lot of damage.”

“We have the bare bones of a team as it is.” Steve shook his head and Katie looked down, feeling slightly guilty. She had discussed this with Steve, she wasn’t going. The Stark Foundation Tour had another few visits to Universities this week. Steve spotted the look on her face and he gently nudged her arm “That’s not a criticism honey…” “I know…” she bit her lip. Maybe she should postpone…

“Throw in the fact that this is the first full team mission we’ve had since Ultron and I don’t see any choice but to take Wanda” Steve shrugged, ending the conversation.

Nat took a deep breath and nodded “You’re right. And maybe being in an actual mission environment might help her gain some control, I mean practice makes perfect.”

“You trying to convince me or yourself?” he asked, eyeing her

“Both.” she drawled, heading out of the door.

Katie took a deep breath as Steve turned to her. “You best go.” she smiled softly. Steve bit his lip before he pulled her into an embrace, kissing her softly.

“I’ll call as soon as I can.” He promised, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Stay safe, please.” She whispered as he kissed the tip of her nose and hurried out of the door.

Once he was gone, Katie sank onto a chair, her head in her hands. She was torn, really torn. For the last year or so, post Ultron, they’d had a pretty quiet time of it, mopping up any stray Hydra operatives that strolled into their patch. But this, this was big. Was the Foundation really more important than putting a halt to whatever shitty plan Rumlow was trying to pull off? She was still an Avenger after all, she’d never quit that, and would never quit that.

She’d always be Supernova, whether she wanted to be or not.

“I’m gonna regret this.” She groaned to herself as she jumped up, and headed after the rest of the team.

*****

Steve, at first, had tried to argue against her coming but when Natasha had pointed out they could do with the support he had relented and the team had been bolstered by Supernova’s return to active duty.

Their support staff had done a great job on such a short time, and rented the group a four bedroomed apartment overlooking the street the Police Station was on. It wasn’t fancy, but it was the last place anyone would think would house Avengers. They spent their first day setting up a command centre, with coms links back to base and the next morning they began their recon.

The first two days were completely uneventful. No sign of Rumlow or any of his associates. Nat was the expert at covert ops and so she took the lead, directing them to all the right places coaching Wanda along the way and Steve was pleasantly surprised to see how well the younger girl took to the task, blending in with the locals. Katie took to observing from up high with Sam, her attention on the Biological Institute, unable to shake the nagging feeling she had about the place. She hadn’t mentioned it since their brief a few days ago, but Steve knew when she had an idea in her head she wouldn’t rest so he left her to it. Between them they had the area covered, which was good enough.

On the evening of the fourth day Wanda, Sam and Natasha headed out for a little undercover work in the bars at night, “So you guys can have a little undercover activity of your own” Sam teasingly stated, patting Steve on the back as he left, drawing an exasperated sigh from the Soldier. Nevertheless, the door had hardly clicked shut before Steve had his wife pinned up against a wall, hands wandering all over her body, lips and teeth clashing, her hand fisting in the slightly longer strands of hair at the top of his head as they’d furiously taken advantage of their first time alone in days.

The next morning Katie woke at about five-forty-five am and rolled over only to find the bed empty besides her. Steve could never rest when they were in the middle of a case like this. The clothes they had shed and left scattered all over the floor the night before were now folded and placed on top of the dresser, and she had to smile. Even now he was a total neat freak. Knowing full well where he would be she climbed out of the bed, pulled on Steve’s T-shirt and a pair of shorts before making her way into the dark corridor. She stopped in the doorway of the small dining room which was functioning as a makeshift office and sure enough, there he was, the lamp softly illuminated his handsome face as he flicked through a file, crease evident between his brows.

“Soldier, you’re up so early.” She said gently. Steve had heard her coming of course. Smiling softly, as he was always pleased to see her, he turned to face her as she crossed the room.

“Yeah, sorry, I woke about half an hour ago and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“You know, I get that you’re fed up of just waiting but sitting here re-reading all this isn’t going to help you know.” Katie sighed, taking the file off him and dropping it onto the wooden table, before she perched on the edge.

“I know, it’s just so goddamned frustrating.” Steve ran his hand over his face. After pondering for a moment Katie stood up and walked behind the chair and placed her hands on his shoulders. He let out a groan of satisfaction and leaned back in his seat as she kneaded the muscles with her hands. She found a particularly bad spot just under his shoulder blade and began to push harder with her thumb. Steve, unable to decide if it was pleasurable or painful, made a little noise which was half way between the two.

“God your shoulders are so knotty.” Katie mused and he left out a breath through his nose moving his head to the side.

“Yeah well, I did a lot of exercise last night.” He quipped back as her hands continued to work at his shoulders.

“I’ll say.” She grinned. “You know that thing you did with your mouth is actually illegal in several countries.” “Good job we live in the land of the free.” His voice was low as he fully relaxed under her touch.  Katie carried on working at his muscles in silence for a moment, happy to let him bliss out. 

“So… answer me a question?” She spoke after a short while, rousing him a little, and he hummed, unable to bring himself to be bothered to talk.

“If you couldn’t sleep why didn’t you wake me to help you?” Her voice was loaded as she leaned forward to wind her arms around his neck, running her hands up and down his chest from behind. Steve loved it when she touched him like that which was why he pouted slightly when she pulled away, but the pout didn’t last long and a smirk crossed his face as Katie walked round to the front of his chair

“And how, exactly, would you have done that?” His hands moved to rest on her hips as she lowered herself so that she was straddling him. She slid one of her hands around the back of his head to tangle in his hair the other settling on his chest.

“Reckon I can think of a few ways.”  She smirked slyly before using her hand in his hair to pull him forward and connect their lips. Steve kissed her back immediately as one hand crept up the back of her top, the other on the side of her thigh, sliding up her shorts.

“Sleepy yet?” She murmured.

“Not exactly the word I would use.” Steve raised an eyebrow.

She grinned and then began to rock her hips on top of him grinding down on his growing hardness and he sighed slightly, kissing her harder as she pushed down again. With an automatic reaction he raised his hips, rocking up to meet her and this time she groaned as she could feel the friction of their clothes grinding against her clit. His hands were now firmly holding her hips underneath her, no, his top, and he sat forward so his mouth could cover the spot under her ear that drove her wild. With a soft sigh she titled her head to the side as he trailed kisses across her jaw until his mouth met her lips again. His hands reached down to grasp the hem of her top and he had just begun to slide it upwards when they were interrupted by a raspy voice.

“I thought all the making out fully clothed supposedly stopped when you reached the age of seventeen.” Natasha scoffed from the doorway. Katie looked up over Steve’s shoulder as he sighed, dropping his head onto her chest, letting out a groan of frustration.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Katie sighed.

“Don’t you know how to lock a door?” She retorted, dryly.

“I take it this isn’t a social call?” Steve’s voice was muffled as he spoke into his wife’s chest, not bothering to move his head. Katie chuckled a little, her hand running through his hair.

“Half and half.” Natasha arched an eyebrow, “Unsociable hour it maybe but Wanda’s already up and wants breakfast, she was going to head out to the local bakery but I thought it might be an idea to start the re-con early.”

Steve’s head looked up to Katie’s as she shifted off his lap and straightened out her clothing and hair. Steve glanced down at his crotch and Katie raised an eyebrow slightly as he stood up and adjusted his sweats in an attempt to hide his slowly ebbing arousal before he turned to face the red head.

“Well, you’re the expert in this covert stuff.” He raised his brow. “What have you got in mind?”

*****

“All right, what do you see?” Steve was coaxing Wanda, as ever, to observe her surroundings, see and hear everything, on the job training he supposed you could call it.

Meanwhile, Katie glanced down from the rooftop on which Sam and her were currently stood, her scanners doing their usual work. No weapons spotted yet.

“Standard beat cops. Small station. Quiet street. It’s a good target” Wanda’s voice came through the ear piece Steve was wearing.

“There’s an ATM in the South Corner.” he replied “which means….”

“Cameras” Wanda said instantly.

“Both cross streets are one way.” He carried on

“So, compromised escape routes.”

“Means our guy doesn’t care about being seen, he isn’t afraid to make a mess on the way out.” Steve concluded. “You see that Range Rover halfway up the block?”

“Yeah, the red one? It’s cute”

“It’s also bulletproof,” Katie cut in as FRIDAY completed a scan on the vehicle “Which means private security…”

“Which means more guns, which means more headaches for somebody. Probably us” Nat finished

“You guys know I can move things with my mind, right? “ Wanda replied

“Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature.” Natasha continued

“Anybody ever tell you you’re a little paranoid?” Sam asked and Katie turned to look at him, retracting her face plate to give him a grin.

“Not to my face. Why? Did you hear something?” the exchange continued.

“Eyes on target, folks” Steve spoke firmly with an air of authority, bringing them back to the job in hand. “This is the best lead we’ve had on Rumlow in six months. I don’t want to lose him.”

“If he sees us coming that won’t be a problem. He kind of hates us.” Sam replied

As Steve watched he noticed that a garbage truck was slowly pushing its way through traffic, with no regard to pedestrians or other vehicles. He frowned and kept his eyes on it as it continued to gather momentum as it went.  

“Sam, Katie…see that garbage truck? Tag it.”

Sam’s small drone launched, swooping down to scan the vehicle as Katie instructed FRIDAY to do the same.

“Give me X-ray.” Sam spoke. There was a pause before he gave a little moan. “That truck’s loaded for max weight.”

“And the driver’s armed.” Katie concluded.

And in that second it dawned on Steve that his wife had been right all along. The Institute was the target after all.

“It’s a battering ram.” Katie’s voice mumbled on the coms, clearly having realised the same thing he had, and with that Steve turned from the window, running for the door.

“Go, now!” He yelled into his coms as he sprinted down the stairs. “There not hitting the station…” “The institute…” Sam spoke as Steve burst onto the street looking up in time to see Falcon and Supernova spiralling into the air.

And once more the fight was on.

**** Chapter 29 Part 1

**Original Posting**

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 20//

Masterlist

tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia) *bold tags don’t work ;-;

Posting a little earlier because last week I posted a little later than I meant to 😅

XXX

"Eris is High Lord of the Autumn Court?" Mor asked carefully, her warm eyes widened in subtle horror.

In the weeks that followed the news of the civil unrest taking place in Autumn, all the courts of Prythian had been on a collective edge. As our spymaster indicated in his reports, Eris indeed sent letters to every court—asking for aid in the fight against his father, and almost every one had begrudgingly sent a small contingency of their armies; Kallias being the only one to outright refuse. After bearing witness firsthand to Beron's insolence at the summit, they all were hesitant to trust that Eris would be any better—especially Kallias, whose heavily pregnant mate had been targeted by the older male. They were surprised, however, to see the legion of Illyrians that Cassian sent; realizing later that we were retaliating directly against Beron for not only his assault against me at the summit, but for his attack on Velaris as well. They also knew of the tenuous alliance Rhys and I had with Eris for his help during the war, and one-by-one they offered their support for the male in a fortnight.

Azriel nodded in response to Mor, taking a subtle step closer as she loosed a shaky breath. After meeting with his brothers, Rhys had called for the rest of us to gather in the library in order to disclose the information they received earlier this morning—that Eris had beaten his father and was crowned as the new High Lord of Autumn, while his despicable father rotted in their prison, for now.

"What now?" I asked as Mor remained speechless, her eyes still darting from side to side as she processed the news.

The last decade of peace hadn't lessened the hatred she bore towards the Autumn male, and I understood how it must've felt to learn that the male who caused her unbearable pain—had left her for dead, was now elevated to a high position of power.

"Now that bastard keeps a leash on Keir, until we and the other courts can pull back our forces and recuperate before tackling our next issue." Rhysand answered, keeping a watchful eye on his cousin.

"How long will that take?" Amren asked from her seat next to Mor, subtly moving closer and offering the blonde her glass of wine.

"Two or three weeks, give or take." Cassian responded as Mor took that glass and gulped down the remainder of its contents.

"How exactly will he do that?" Elain asked timidly, she hadn't been very involved in the meetings where we developed our plan of action—the war with Hybern still too fresh in her memory for her to actively participate as she had back then. She was finally in a good place, nearly recovered mentally, and talks of going to war again only gave her painful reminders of what she had lost then.

I placed a hand over hers gently. "Rhys has been writing back and forth with Eris over the last two weeks. Once he started gaining an advantage over his father, Eris received a letter from Keir offering to create an alliance," I explained.

"You mean renew an alliance," Mor said bitterly as she stood and crossed over to the set of windows, hands on her hips.

I frowned, sharing a look with Rhysand. "But Eris is our ally in this coup. I have already instructed him to keep Keir sidetracked with false promises of a treaty while we work together with the other courts and replenish our armies," he reassured.

"You really think we can trust him?" Mor asked, turning back to face us. "He's been biding his time until he could win his father's throne, using us as leverage, how do we know he'll keep his word now that he has it?"

"He is ruthless, cousin, there's no doubt about that. He also knows that he would be at a severe disadvantage if he paired with Keir in the coup. His court just underwent a civil war, it is in shambles and he now has to navigate how to deal with his father's supporters and piece his court back together. Partnering with Keir would be disastrous and result in his court falling apart completely," Rhys explained calmly.

"If for some batshit crazy reason he does decide to side with Keir, we outnumber them now." Cassian added. "With the other courts on our side, they can't win."

Mor still looked unconvinced as she turned back to the window without another word. I saw Azriel watching her, a flicker of yearning in those hazel eyes, but he looked away as Elain spoke up again.

"Is there any news of Vassa…?" She asked quietly.

"She was recovered and returned to her home in the Mortal Lands, by Lucien." He answered her just as softly.

A pall of silence fell over us—Mor's rage continued to simmer as she stared out the window; while my sister and the shadowsinger exchanged a prolonged look before she finally looked down at her lap. Whether or not she acknowledged the fact that it was her mate that rescued the mortal queen, or whether or not she cared, I could only guess.

Rhys cleared his throat. "In the meantime, we keep waiting while Eris keeps Keir distracted. During that time, the other courts will be steadily sending their forces until those who fought in Autumn are recovered and can accompany the rest. If all goes according to plan, we have approximately two weeks until we're hosting the other courts and High Lords," he continued.

"Where are we going to host five High Lords, their entourages, and armies? We can't use the palace above the Court of Nightmares, Keir will know." I asked, bewildered.

"We'll host them here, in Velaris," Rhys answered with a rouge smirk.

"And their armies will camp out in the Northern Forests of the Illyrian Steppes," Cassian finished, crossing his arms over his broad chest with a crooked grin of his own. "We'll give them a little taste of what it's like in those mountains."

"What if Kallon gets reports of those gathered armies? He'll alert Keir," I challenged.

Rhys placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "They'll be stationed outside of Windhaven camp. Kallon is too busy rallying his rebels to bother checking in on his rival camp. We'll be setting up wards to shield them once they've become large enough; the other High Lords and I will take turns keeping them up."

I squeezed his hand back, leaning back against the cushion of my chair and running a free hand over my belly. Madja continued to assure Rhys and I that our son was growing at the expected rate and remained perfectly healthy. My recovery continued to improve, and the healer had alleviated some of the conditions for my confinement. I was now allowed out of bed for short walks around the estate; I could also paint and tend to some of my duties as High Lady, like writing letters and sorting through reports, but needed to maintain a light and easy schedule—nothing involving anything too strenuous. Since I was on the cusp of entering the last stage of pregnancy, only a few short months away from giving birth, she advised that I remain in the estate until my time came—when my period of nesting began, and Rhys would whisk me away to the Cabin in preparation for the birth of our son.

"Will there be fighting?" Nesta asked.

She stood beside Cassian; hands neatly folded in front of her as she turned a raised chin to the male. Though I couldn't see it, I knew the memories that flashed behind her fierce grey-blue eyes—of Cassian on the battlefield during the war; of the injuries he sustained.

"It's doubtful," Rhys replied for the commander. "We outnumber his Darkbringers and rogue Illyrians six-to-one. Once he and Kallon get word of the troops gathered in the Steppes, they'll come to meet us with their own. If they're smart, they'll realize sooner rather than later how ill-fated their cause has become and surrender."

Mor scoffed from her place at the window. "Like hell they will. You know that bastard won't go down without a fight."

"Then there will be a slaughter. Either way, they lose." Rhys said easily. "They'll be reminded of why previous coup attempts have been thwarted, and the Illyrians will be put in their place once again. As for Keir," he shared a meaningful look with his cousin as citrine and amethyst clashed. I pictured the paints I would use, emphasizing just the shape and fierceness of that shared look.

"So...we have nothing to worry about?" Elain asked hesitantly.

I took her hand again, "We're safe Elain. With our allies and this plan, the coup will fail. This confrontation is nothing like how it was with Hybern."

She nodded, her tense shoulders easing a bit. Amren crossed one leg over the other as a crooked grin lined her lips. "At least this time I won't be needing to sacrifice my life for you lot."

"We could always add you to the front lines. They don't know you don't have any powers; we could just use you to intimidate them to death," Cassian quipped.

"She's far too small for that," Azriel added.

Cassian roared in laughter as Amren glared at the spymaster. I half-heartedly laughed, noting the edge that lingered between my mate and his cousin; until Mor turned away and walked out of the library.

Is she okay? I asked through the bond.

As okay as she can be. She hates that Eris is High Lord, but I just informed her that I will be turning her wretched father over to her after this coup is over

Did that help?

Not as much as I would have hoped

Let me go talk to her. It's been a while since we've talked alone, maybe I can help her sort through her feelings.

Rhys only nodded in response before crossing over to stand in front of me and helped ease me to my feet. Despite my remarkable recovery, my growing belly still made my movements slower and slower. I was also beginning to notice that my balance was growing increasingly skewed but blamed it on the bed rest for now. The others hardly noticed as he escorted me to the door; their continued conversations and my departure a subtle indication that our meeting was over.

"How are you feeling?" Rhys asked once we were in the hallway, wrapping an arm around my waist as we walked.

"I'm fine. It's been nice to walk around again, even if I'm stuck indoors for now," I said.

A small frown came to his face and I quickly realized how my words sounded. The last time I had been confined inside an estate…

"It's not the same," I quickly amended. "I'm doing it for our little Bash," I said while rubbing my stomach for emphasis. "For both of our health. You're not locking me away and forbidding me from entering the city."

He took my hand in his free one, bringing it to his lips. "Never," he said. "Maybe in another couple of weeks Madga will deem it safe for us to resume our walks out along the Sidra. We'll get to enjoy the weather while it's still warm."

I smiled. "After this coup is over, and those responsible are taken care of, we'll get to enjoy it. We'll get to enjoy this," I said as I looked down at my middle.

Rhys's eyes softened as his gaze moved to my stomach, and I felt our son stretch in my belly. We stopped short of Mor's room and he pressed a kiss to my brow, his hands holding either side of my swollen abdomen. "Yes, we will."

I breathed in his scent and sighed lightly before pulling him in for a quick kiss. "You go take care of business. I'll talk to Mor and spend the day with her."

He nodded before taking a step back, "I'll be in my office if you need me."

"I'll be fine," I reminded him.

He smirked and kissed my belly goodbye before winnowing away. I took in another inhale before I stepped around the corner and approached Mor's door. Before I could knock, however, the door swung open with the blonde on the other side of it. She ushered me inside wordlessly and I followed suit, walking into her suite.

"You didn't need to come check on me," she said as she closed the door behind me.

"I figured you needed someone to talk to after hearing the news," I said as I worked to lower myself on the plush settee in the center of her room.

She sighed and plopped herself onto the seat beside me, helping me down and stared at her feet. "I knew it was bound to happen someday, especially after the deal Rhys made with him, but…" she trailed off.

"But it's different actually seeing it become a reality," I affirmed and touched her shoulder gently.

"I know, and you're completely entitled to your feelings. After everything that's happened, on top of this coup orchestrated by Keir," I shook my head and squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry Mor."

She continued to stare at the ground until her dark-honeyed eyes finally met mine. "I'm well over five-hundred centuries old, and yet any knowledge of the two of them working together—even under a guise for our sake just…" she shook her head, truly unable to voice the rage boiling underneath her skin, her elegant fingers curling into fists.

I touched one of those fists, levelling my gaze with hers. "Mor, I promise you, if Eris so much as looks at us the wrong way, we'll take care of him. The last thing we do is trust him, and I know Rhys wouldn't hesitate to rip him to shreds if he tries anything like his father did." I promised.

The corner of her mouth twitched upward slightly, and she sighed. "I know the alliance is necessary. I'm just not happy about it," she lamented.

"Neither am I," I assured, and she dipped her head in approval before uncurling her hands and bringing one to touch my stomach gently.

"How is he?" she asked.

Ever since revealing to my sisters that I was expecting a boy, the news hadn't remained a secret for long. Elain had been so delighted and shared the news with Mor and Amren during dinner that same night; Cassian then boasting that he had known for some time, which launched into a debate with the entire inner circle. I then sheepishly promised Rhysand that I wouldn't reveal our son's name until after his birth.

"He's good, moving a lot right now," I answered and smiled at feeling a kick. "Feel that?"

Mor's widened grin was answer enough as she continued to stroke my belly, encouraging my son to kick more and laughed as he responded to her movements and words.

"How does it feel for you?" She asked.

I shrugged. "It's hard to describe, the more he grows the different it feels. Viviane once told me that once I reach the end stages, I'll start to feel feet, fists, and elbows in there."

Mor cringed. "Does it hurt at all?"

I shook my head. "I think he's still too small. His movements are noticeable but not painful."

She nodded and studied my belly for a silent minute, caressing it lightly. "I can't wait for all of this to be over so we can turn all the attention on you, little one. Auntie Mor already has so many presents for you," she cooed.

I blinked, "Presents?"

She grinned mischievously, "Wanna see?"

I nodded with a laugh, but as she got up and crossed over to her enormous closet, a knock came at her door. Raising a brow, she walked over and opened it; a sentry waiting outside of it before she allowed him in.

"Pardon me, milady, but Lucien Vanserra is here to see you," the sentry informed me, albeit a bit hesitant.

I balked at him. "Here on the grounds?" I asked to confirm.

Lucien was about the only male welcomed in and out of Velaris; due to his connection with Elain, and his desire to be closer from time-to-time after the war, he had his own apartment in the city. However, since constructing the estate, he only visited on a few occasions.

The sentry nodded, "Yes. He arrived moments ago, insisting on an audience with you. Lord Rhysand greeted him, but he still maintains in meeting with you alone."

I paused to think. Knowing my mate, he was leaving the decision to me. "Is he alright?" I asked cautiously. "He isn't hurt, is he?"

The sentry shook his head. "He seems well, but unyielding."

"Maybe it has something to do with his swine of a brother," Mor offered. "I'll go with you. If he's angry, the last thing we want is for him to lash out at you in your condition."

"Lucien wouldn't hurt me Mor. If anything, he's probably hurting too. I have a feeling something else has happened," I said before motioning her to help me stand.

I grunted a bit with effort as she helped me get to my feet, a little wearier than I had previously been. Mor frowned, "We can send for him after dinner, once you've gotten some food and rest."

"I'll meet him in the sitting room attached to my suite. I can rest there and talk with him, and I know you all won't be far," I insisted and linked my arm with hers.

"Tell Lucien I will meet him in my sitting room in five minutes," I said to the sentry, who bowed in response and left the room.

"Are you sure about this Feyre? If he upsets you and puts too much strain on you and the baby…" Mor began.

"It's all right Mor," I assured her as she escorted me out of her room. "I think it's Lucien's turn to vent to a friend about the new High Lord of Autumn."

Mor cringed, recalling the cruel revelation Eris had unleashed on his youngest brother at the summit months ago. Still, as she led me back to the sitting room adjoined to my suite, she waited with me for Lucien's arrival. Moments later, my disheveled friend strode in, his russet eye wide while the mechanical one whirring as he took us in. He didn't so much as look at Mor as he cautiously approached me.

"Did you know?" He asked me by way of greeting. "About Helion and my mother? About-" he began but cut himself off as he finally realized Mor was standing beside the chaise lounge I perched on.

I turned a look at her and she understood my request. "I'll be down the hall," she said before leaving us alone.

"Did you know about their affair? That Helion is my-" he cut himself off again, unable to say the words as he paced the room.

I only offered a small nod, watching him empathetically. "Yes," I said softly.

"When?" He asked, still pacing back and forth across the carpet. "When did you figure it out? Or who told you? Was it my father? I mean, was it-"

"I figured it out after I first met Helion; before the war with Hybern started and we all gathered for the first time at Thesan's palace. He told me the story of what happened to your mother, her sisters, and how he rescued her during the first war." I answered, interrupting his rambling questions.

He stopped pacing and faced me. "Did Rhysand know?"

I shook my head. "Not until I figured it out myself. I made the connection; Rhys didn't realize it until I did."

His arms grew slack at his sides. "So, it's not some well-known secret that all of Prythian knows about and just hid from me?"

"No Lucien, it-" I began but then he interrupted.

"So why didn't you tell me, Feyre?" He asked, both of his eyes wide and bewildered. "You've known all this time and you didn't think to tell me? I thought we were friends!"

I frowned as he snapped at me, my hormones surging and causing tears to well in my eyes. It must have been evident, because he sighed and took a mild step towards me before turning away and running both hands through his bright auburn hair with an exasperated sigh. I quickly put my emotions in check, not wanting my irrational mood swing to interrupt Lucien's moment.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"No, Lucien, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Honestly, I didn't think it was my place, and after what happened at the summit, I thought it was the last thing you wanted to hear." I explained.

He sighed heavily and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the ground. "My father...I mean, Beron, told me. When he attacked the Mortal Lands and took Vassa. He...claimed I was 'no son of his' and said I was nothing more than a Day Court bastard. I was shocked, and then he started the attack. I tried to fight him off, to protect Vassa, but then…" his voice faded as his eye turned hazy, the other whirring out of focus as he recalled whatever details that occurred that day.

I slowly offered my hand, still seated, and it took a minute before he registered my movement and took it. I motioned for him to sit beside me and he did, his shoulders slumped over slightly as an invisible weight pressed on them.

"When Eris was crowned, my fa...Beron, imprisoned; my mother summoned me back to the palace. She broke down and explained everything, told me of her relationship with Helion and that he was my biological father. She never told him," he went on, voice barely above a whisper.

"She loved him, Feyre, and her husband kept her there. Imprisoned to serve as Lady of the Autumn Court, even while she carried another male's child," he pressed a palm onto his good eye, massaging the stress from it.

I placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, squeezing it softly. "How is she?"

He sighed. "Relieved. Eris is granting her a separation from Beron before he...finds a way to deal with him, but when she told me about Helion, she seemed...broken." He met my gaze again,

"You were almost her. All those years ago with Tamlin, when I didn't do anything to stop it. I almost let what happened to my mother happen to you," he said, a subtle horror laced in his voice.

"What happened to your mother wasn't your fault, Lucien." I said, moving my hand from his shoulder to his hand.

"I knew. A part of me knew she wasn't happy with my father," he cringed. "Beron. Yet I didn't try to take her away. I didn't do anything, and neither did Helion."

I sighed and moved a little closer to him. "Lucien, there was nothing you could have done. Beron had complete control over her. Even if you could, she probably wouldn't have left for fear of him and what he might do."

"But that's the point, I could have," he jumped back to his feet, pacing again. "I could have done something for her, for you, and I didn't. I couldn't protect her, or you, and I couldn't protect Vassa! I couldn't even protect your sister, my mate, from what Hybern did to her and Nesta. What kind of male am I that I can't protect the ones I care for, the ones I love?"

I frowned, "Lucien-"

"No, I...he took Vassa, Feyre. He managed to find that sorcerer that controls her and forced her into her firebird form. The way she screamed; it was...I couldn't bear it. Then learning what he did to my mother, and remembering what happened to you...to Elain, to even Jesminda, and how I allowed it all to happen. I...what…" he looked around frantically, his chest heaving a bit as he paced.

I did my best to rise as quickly and cautiously as I could before I approached him and threw my arms around him in an embrace. His arms were pinned at his sides as I held him, his body going rigid at first—until slowly he relaxed, his arms going limp before slowly wrapping his arms around me in return. Despite the complicated past with Tamlin, the one instance where he did have a say, he was my friend and had more than made up for it since. Beron had given him a life of turbulence; him and his brothers making Lucien's life hell until he found reprieve in the Spring Court. Then, once his closest friend had begun turning into a tyrant reminiscent of his father, those feelings of being trapped returned—unable to help me to the extent he wanted. After escaping that, after the war, he once again found solace with his human friends...until Beron's latest attack.

Lucien had felt so out of control in his own life, and every time little moments of freedom were offered—whether by finding a home in the Spring Court, then being welcomed to Velaris and the Mortal Realm, it seemed to crumble before him. Now with this latest truth revealed to him, it was no wonder that he was beginning to crumble next.

I wouldn't let that happen.

"Your mother is safe. I am safe. Elain is safe, and Vassa is safe," I said. "We are all safe now Lucien. Yes, we each endured some version of hell, but we survived. Just like you are doing now," I pulled back at arm's length to meet his gaze.

"You saved Vassa. As for me and Elain, who knows what would have happened if you hadn't done your part during the war; if you hadn't guided the Mortals, and Drakon and Miyram's army down the right path. As for your mother, you did what you could. Unfortunately, there was nothing you could do while she remained subservient under Beron, but now she is free of him. There is so much to look forward to Lucien," I took his hands again, squeezing them. "There will be good days and bad—don't let the hard days win."

Lucien blinked at me; his russet eye growing soft while the golden one whirred quietly. He continued to stare at me before he embraced me again, pulling me in a little too tightly and I cringed at the pressure on my stomach. He gasped and stepped back.

"Are you okay?" he asked

I nodded with a weary laugh, holding my stomach. "I'm fine, you just squished him a little."

He looked at my stomach, as if he just noticed it and helped me back to my seat carefully. "I almost forgot how far along you were. I haven't seen you since the summit."

"It's weird huh?" I motioned to my enlarged belly. "Sometimes I'm still a little surprised when I see myself in the mirror."

"Is he okay? I heard what you did...after what happened in Velaris," he asked with a frown.

"We're okay. We had a little scare, but my healer took care of us right away. I was on bedrest for a while, and technically still recovering, but I'm better now." I answered, resting my arms over my stomach.

He shook his head. "Rhysand must've lost his mind. I nearly did when Vassa was taken, and she isn't," he stopped himself with another shake of his head—as if trying to erase the memory of what happened to the mortal Queen.

I raised my brow at the tone in his voice, his worry for the fierce mortal woman. I paused as he loosed a long breath, finally cooled from his panic. "Do you want me to call Elain? I know she was worried about Vassa too, maybe you can assure her that she's alright?"

Lucien shook his head. "No, it's alright, I should get back to Vassa," he said, but paused when he met my questioning stare. "And Jurian; the mortal lands."

I laughed. "But…" he started. "Will you tell her I was here?"

"Yes. I'll let her know you're taking care of Vassa."

He dipped his head in a subtle nod and sighed again. "Thank you Feyre," he said softly.

"Anytime Lucien, just remember what I said okay?"

He offered a stiff smile before leaning down to give me a parting hug before escorting himself out. Rhys appeared in the doorway a second later.

"Well," he started. "That was intense."

I sighed, slumping back against the lounge and running my hands over my stomach. "He was upset. Beron told him about Helion and his mother."

Rhys released his own deep exhale and crossed over to the lounge, scooping me up easily and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, resting my head against his shoulder. He walked us into our adjoining bedroom, laying me across the bed carefully and spreading out beside me. I rubbed my stomach lightly, watching it before Rhys placed a hand at the apex of my belly.

"He'll recover. It'll take time, but he will come to terms with the news," he said quietly as he ran his hand over the expanse of my stomach.

"Do you think Helion knows?" I asked.

"He probably suspects after the comment Eris made at the summit," he responded, voice still low. "Though I'm not sure what he'll do about it."

"What would you have done, if it were us? If I had actually married Tamlin, and in my time spent here to fulfill the bargain, you and I fell in love regardless? If we had conceived our son and I was stuck in the Spring Court, forced to name him Tamlin's…" I flinched at just the mere thought of it, of how easily it could have been me.

Rhys took my chin gently, tilting my head back to meet his violet eyes, sparkling intensely. "I would have torn the world apart for you, Feyre," he reminded me.

I smiled half-heartedly before he pulled me closer. "We don't know exactly how hard Helion tried to get her back, perhaps now they'll get the end they deserved," he said.

"Maybe," I mused, playing with the collar of his black tunic. "Did Eris...say anything about what he plans to do with Beron?"

"He's keeping him imprisoned until further notice. Said he might turn him over to us once we have Keir and Kallon in our custody," he said as his fingertips traced my side lightly.

I shivered at his touch, a part of me resenting Madja for deeming any sexual activity still too strenuous during my recovery. I hummed in response, "He'd actually let us execute his father?"

Rhys shrugged. "Beron will die regardless, along with Keir and Kallon."

"Mmm, what a fitting end for the three of them." I murmured, my eyes beginning to feel heavy as my mate's warmth continued to envelop me.

He noticed the fatigue in my voice and pressed a kiss to my brow. "All this talk of war and its lasting effects is wearing you down my love," he teased.

I rolled my eyes, closing them as I laid my head on his shoulder. "It wouldn't be if I weren't so busy growing a powerful high fae," I muttered.

I felt his dark chuckle rattle in his chest. "Sleep Feyre," he whispered as a hand ran down my back gently.

Sebastian must've wanted the same, because despite his constant movements and kicks just a while earlier, he was now calm—perhaps slipping into his own nap. I felt myself fading, too tired to respond with a witty remark and only stirred slightly when I felt Rhys move from my side and press another kiss to my brow.

I dreamt of Sebastian running through a pile of bright red and orange leaves, laughing and giggling as they crunched under his feet, Lucien standing at a distance with a content smile on his face—Vassa at his side.

[therenlover]

Cakes for the Evans Part One: The Kai Cake Disaster

Today, dear followers, I began the first step of a long journey that I hope to share with you. Today, I baked a cake.

I had a whole lot of free time this afternoon with a whole lot of nothing to do, so I was hanging out with my sister. We were watching AHS when suddenly, out of nowhere, I had an idea. A “brilliant” idea. I was going to bake a cake.

The original plan was pretty simple. I’d find some ingredients in the cupboard, bake a little cake, and call it a day, but shortly after I gathered up a recipe and an idea for the flavor I though ‘huh, I could make a series out of this!’ So, I did.

From today, whenever I have the time and can gather the ingredients, I’m going to start baking a cake for each Evan (all the Evans in AHS, Warren Lipka, Peter Maximoff, and Ralph Bohner). Today I started with Kai Anderson.

It was, to be fully honest, a fucking disaster, so it being Kai’s cake is fitting. 

At first things went well. I had a whole bag of tangerines in the fridge, as well as a few cartons of berries that were going to go bad soon. Me and my sister modified a few family recipes, and soon enough we had our idea. 

Originally, the cake was supposed to be a two layer tangerine cake, with blackberry frosting in the middle and an orange blueberry glaze on top. As you can see, that didn’t happen.

We made the cakes themselves with little error. It was delightful to have something work out with no kinks. We took that for granted. With all our success, our egos had soared. There was no way this could go wrong after starting on such a bright note, right? Wrong.

First, the blackberry frosting just... didn’t turn into frosting. Like, we followed the instructions but the berries had a looot of water in them, so it sort of just turned into a sugary mess. We ended up just tossing it in a mason jar and plan to use it for crepes tomorrow.

Then, while I was zesting tangerines, my sister watched in horror as the cakes just... fell apart. Neither of them made it out of the pan fully formed despite the fact that we had greased them with a ridiculous amount of butter. One was salvageable... the other, not so much. We rolled with it, found a can of frosting in the pantry, and made some extra cake pops.

The cake pops.... well, we’ll get to that later.

The tangerine blueberry glaze ended up.... well, it was too thin, so we cooked it down and ended up with another weird sugary syrup slop, only this time it had chunks! Delightful! It ended up tasting pretty good, but took more steps and improv than initially intended. 

Once all was said and done, we fetched the cake pops from the freezer only to find they had cemented themselves to the wax paper, and refused to budge. At this point, I was close to tears. 

I would not, in all honesty, recommend this process to anyone. It was time consuming, took way too many bowls, and the ending product was kind of a mess. The only thing I can say is that it was, in the end, very delicious. 

So, here is a full recipe and guide on how to make Kai Anderson’s Disaster Cake (and bonus cake pops). Good luck, you’re going to need it. 

Ingredients*:

Tangerine Syrup

1 1/2 cups (about 4) tangerines, fully peeled

1/2 cup water

1 1/4 cups white sugar

The Cake

1/2 cup butter

1 cup white sugar

2 eggs

Tangerine syrup (measurements above)

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 3/4 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 cup of milk

Tangerine Berry Glaze

2 tangerines, zested and fully peeled

6 oz. (one carton) blackberries

6 oz. (one carton) blueberries

1 1/2 cups of sugar, food processed but not powdered

4 tablespoons of butter, softened

4 tablespoons of milk

1/3 cup agave syrup

Cake Pops

1 9″ round tangerine cake

1/2 cup Pillsbury cream cheese frosting

Cake Pop Frosting

Remaining Pillsbury cream cheese frosting

1/2 cup tangerine berry glaze

* - These are pretty good, but general approximations of the ingredients I actually used because this cake threw me for a loop and tested my imagination. Nothing worked like it was supposed to... literally.

Now, on to the disaster. 

Instructions: 

The Cake

First, peel 4 tangerines. Separate each of the sections of fruit and peel the skin off of the small sections.

Add the peeled pieces of tangerine to a medium saucepan with half a cup of water and 1 1/4 cups of white sugar.

Bring the mixture to a boil, stirring continuously to prevent burning. Once a boil has been reached, lower the temperature and bring the mixture down to a simmer.

Use a tool of your choice to mash the fruit as the syrup simmers. Once the fruit is mashed, continue stirring the mixture as it thickens and boils down. This process will take about ten minutes.

After ten minutes, pour the mixture into a food processor and blend until there are no large chunks of pulp left. Then, set the mixture aside to cool as you prepare the batter.

Before starting your batter, set the oven to 350 degrees fahrenheit and allow it to heat up as you work.

Add half a cup of butter, cold, to a bowl with one cup of white sugar. Use a mixer to cream the sugar and butter together.

Once it’s been creamed, add two eggs and mix again with the mixer until the ingredients have been evenly incorporated.

Next, add the flour, baking power, and now-cooled tangerine syrup to the bowl. Fold the ingredients together until there are no chunks of flour and the syrup is fully integrated. Then, fold in the milk.

Pour the batter evenly into two, nine inch round cake pans that have been greased thoroughly with butter or a baking grease of your choice. Crisco is a great alternative!

Bake the cakes at 350 degrees fahrenheit for 30 to 40 minutes. Ours were brown at the edges and cooked all the way through at 35 minutes, but based on your oven the time may vary.

Allow the cakes to cool in their pans, and then carefully turn one of them onto a plate for glazing. If it breaks, no problems! You can just use the other one.

If both cakes survive their trips out of the pan, you can use the tangerine berry glaze both between the layers and on top of the cake. If only one survives, simply put the glaze over top, and set the other, broken cake aside for cake pops.

The Glaze

Take one cup of white sugar and put it in a food processor. Blend it, but don’t do it enough for it to be fully powdered. Be impatient. Cut corners. In the end, you should have sugar with granules that are smaller than normal, but not quite small enough to be considered powdered sugar.

Zest two tangerines. Once you’ve collected all the zest you can, peel them, section them, and take the skin off of the small sections.

Put the tangerine zest and peeled tangerine sections in a food processor, and add your blueberries and blackberries. Next, add your slightly powdered sugar, your melted butter, and your milk. 

Use the food processor to combine the ingredients. The mixture, when fully processed, should be slightly chunky, kind of like a jam! Transfer the mixture from the food processor into a sauce pan.

Bring the mixture to a boil, stirring regularly to prevent burning. Once it is at a boil, add your agave syrup. From there, lower the heat and allow the mixture to simmer for 15 minutes as you continue to stir.

If you are only making the cake, pour the glaze over the first cake, put the second layer on top, finally topping the whole cake with the remaining glaze. If you are making cake pops, set aside half a cup of glaze and use the rest to top your single layer cake.

The Cake Pops

If your cake, like ours, came out of the pan in five separate pieces, not to worry! There’s still hope for you yet, unlike Kai.

Put the crumbled pieces of your ruined cake in a bowl with 1/4 of a cup of pillsbury canned cream cheese frosting, preferably one that has sat in your cupboard for a few months after another failed baking experiment. 

Get your hands dirty! Crush the cake with your hands to combine it with the frosting and turn it into a thick, doughy substance.

Once the frosting and cake are combined, add half a cup of your tangerine berry glaze to the dough and mix it in by hand again. The ending product will look kind of grey-ish???? and will have little bits of tangerine and blueberry skin throughout.

Roll the completed dough into balls. It should make about ten large pops, but more if you make them smaller. 

Set the rolled balls onto a plate covered with wax paper, and add a cake pop skewer to each ball. Toothpicks would work too, I’m not one to judge. Even chopsticks might work if you really have no other options. 

Put the newly skewered balls in the freezer until they harden enough to withstand being dipped in hot frosting. While they cool, prepare that.

Melt the remaining cream cheese icing in the microwave. I put it in for about 45 seconds after ripping the label off the plastic container and it worked well. 

Add half a cup of your glaze into the icing and mix until they are fully combined. 

Once your cake pops have hardened, take them out of the freezer and dip them into the liquid frosting, returning them to their plate to cool. Once they’re all frosted, return the plate to the freezer until the frosting forms a shell around the cake pop.

When it comes time to enjoy your cake pops, remove them from the freezer and then cry, as you find that they’ve become very stuck to the wax paper and refuse to come off. Use a knife and your fingers to try to pry them off, only to smash them a little in the process. Even better, do this while the icing is still slightly tacky! It will make it all the more frustrating.

Then, viola! You have a cake and some cake pops to share with your divine ruler!

In Conclusion

This cake was an experience.

It’s hard to rate this, because I haven’t made any of the others yet, but I’m extremely sure that it will be at the back of the pack. I can only hope none of the others are as terrible as this one was. I give it a 3/10.

On the bright side, it was tasty. 

I like to think that this entire process is very reminiscent of Kai himself. It looks like a mess on the outside, and it’s a mess on the inside too. The only redeeming factor to both of them is that they’re yummy...

If I had to assign benign meaning to the actual parts of the cake, the blueberry glaze represents Kai’s awful blue dye job, while the tangerine cake is orange like the president he loves so much. A big thank you to @oublierlegarcon​ for giving me the idea of making this Kai’s cake. It’s extremely fitting

I have no clue who will come next, only time will tell, but I hope you enjoyed this disaster as much as I did. Until next time, goodbye!

[violetwolfraven]

From the prompt ask any era #25 and #29 for javid, with a hint of sprace

Our mutual friends set us up.

and

I didn’t realize I was gay for you until someone else pointed it out and I’m a dumbass but can I be your dumbass?

Modern era it is! I don’t write enough of that.

...

“Y’know, this is on us,” Davey admitted, “We should’ve known Race wouldn’t want to show us an empty barn.”

Jack nodded in agreement, “We’re stupid. Yeah. So, how’re we gonna get out of here?”

Davey had no idea, honestly.

He didn’t really know why Race and Spot had decided to buy a farm out in the middle of nowhere, but it was useful for the yearly 4th of July party. There was enough space for everyone, and fresh eggs were definitely better than the store-bought kind.

And there was a big, empty barn that Spot and Race had supposedly been fixing up so they could get a horse, which conveniently already had doors that locked to keep coyotes out.

And no cell service, given that the barn was out of the WiFi’s range and the farm itself was in the middle of nowhere.

They really should’ve known that Race wouldn’t show them an empty barn as if it was exciting, even if he and Spot had been working pretty hard on it.

Long story short, Davey and Jack were locked in a very sturdy barn with no way out.

“So,” Davey said, looking around, “Why do ya think they locked us in here?”

“Does it matter?”

Davey shrugged, “Chances are, Spot and Race are listening somehow. They won’t let us out until whatever it is they’re hopin’ for happens. And I have no idea what they want, so you probably do.”

Jack looked like he was thinking, and then realization flashed across his face.

“Those little shits.”

“What is it?”

Jack laughed in a terrified kind of way, then shouted to the rafters, “You can just let us out, Race, cause it ain’t gonna happen!”

“What ain’t gonna happen?”

“Spot, I expect this shit from Race, but from you it’s just disappointin’!”

“What is it?” Davey asked again, “What do they want?”

Jack sighed, “It’s nothin’, Davey.”

Davey punched his best friend in the shoulder lightly, “It’s clearly not nothing, so what is it?”

He didn’t answer.

“Jack.”

“Look, it’s none of your business.”

“They ain’t gonna let us out unless we talk about whatever this is,” Davey pointed out, “So just tell me what the problem is.”

“I can’t.”

Jack wasn’t meeting his eyes, which was... weird, to say the least.

Whatever this was, he was nervous about it. He thought Davey would disapprove of... whatever it was?

Of course, that made a million scenarios pop up in Davey’s brain, and he had to push away ideas of drugs, gang activity, and a bunch of other horrible things Jack might think wouldn’t end well if he tried to come to Davey for help about them. He had to have more faith in his best friend than that.

“Jackie, look at me.”

Slowly, clearly reluctantly, Jack did.

“There’s nothing you could say that would make me leave ya,” Davey said firmly, “You’re my best friend. Whatever it is Spot and Race think it’s so important for me to know, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Jack snorted, “Oh, I don’t need help on anythin’. My secret ain’t the dangerous kind—it’d just make things weird.”

“What things?”

“You and me. We live together, Dave. We work not a mile apart from each other. Hell, we ain’t been apart for more than a couple weeks at most since middle school. We got a good thing goin’, and I don’t wanna mess that up.”

“Well, being locked in a barn messes it up a bit, don’t ya think?”

Jack snorted, but he was still staying quiet.

Honestly... it kind of hurt, that he’d kept some secret for what sounded like a long time. They told each other everything. Or, at least, Davey had thought they did.

But that had taken years, hadn’t it?

Jack’s childhood had been pretty messed up. He’d been failed by a lot of people, one way or another, and even being type where pain made him want to make sure nobody else ever got hurt, it had given him intense issues to work through.

Davey had met him in 7th grade and it had taken until their freshman year of high school to get him to drop his guard even a little. And after that, it had taken the rest of high school—months of proving he wouldn’t break his trust, hours spent holding Jack while he cried but still couldn’t bring himself to tell Davey a thing—and only after all that came a night not a month after they moved into their college dorm.

It had been a bad night for Jack, around the anniversary of his biological mother’s death, and he’d told Davey he trusted him more than anyone, with everything he had.

That was almost two years ago. Davey didn’t see how he could have missed that Jack was holding back one more secret. One bad enough that he was worried about it ruining their friendship.

“Jack, whatever it is, it’ll be fine,” Davey promised, “If you want, after you tell me, I’ll just pretend you never said anything. Just... tell me so we can get out of here?”

Jack was still hesitating, and while it was frustrating, how Davey didn’t know what more he could possibly do to prove he wouldn’t hurt him, he didn’t blame Jack. He’d been hurt enough times that being overly cautious made sense.

“Well... I can’t promise I’d stand by you if you killed someone,” he reasoned, trying to lighten the mood, “Unless they really deserved it.”

Jack laughed, “Okay, Davey.”

“Or if you play holiday music before Thanksgiving behind my back,” Davey teased, “Or if you secretly pull the wings off grasshoppers for fun. Or if you—“

“Stop,” Jack laughed.

“I’d leave you if you mowed the lawn at 3:41 in the morning every Tuesday while blasting Metallica from an old boom box on the porch.”

“That is oddly specific.”

“My family used to have an old man neighbor who did that,” Davey explained, “We moved to Manhattan for a reason. Anyway...”

“I’m in love with you.”

Jack looked almost as surprised as Davey as he blurted that out.

“I have been,” he added, after a good ten seconds of silence, “Since like, 8th grade. I just never said it cause... I dunno. I knew ya weren’t homophobic or nothin’, but it was just easier if nothin’ changed either way ‘tween us. I liked what we were doin’—I still do.”

Davey was still kind of frozen.

Jack was in love with him? This was a pretty big thing.

It made him feel kind of stupid, a little bit like a bad friend, for never having noticed.

Looking back, it wasn’t especially obvious, but it wasn’t not obvious, either.

“Race has been pressurin’ me to make a move since 10th grade,” Jack said awkwardly, “Crutchie, too. And Romeo. And Spot, and... well, basically everyone. Race actually used to say he was gonna lock us in a room until I confessed, but I thought he was joking. They all insisted you felt the same, but I always told ‘em, ‘I thinks I know my own best friend best.’ I know you...”

Jack was still talking, but Davey wasn’t listening. Instead, his mind was zeroing in on the last sentance he heard.

They all insisted you felt the same.

Davey had... never thought about it. About loving Jack like that. He’d never even considered the possibility.

He was probably stupid for that, but he just... hadn’t. Davey had known he loved Jack as a friend for years—how could he not?—but he’d never even thought about the possibility of being in love with him.

Was he in love with Jack?

They pretty much did everything couples did, already, besides the kissing and things like that. Davey would die for Jack. He would dedicate his life to making Jack happy. He trusted him with his life.

Did that mean he was in love with him?

...holy shit.

Jack was still rambling.

“Jack,” Davey said quietly, hoping he’d stop.

He did, wearing a frown that was meant to hide his fear.

Davey could see right through him, but he pretended he couldn’t.

“Have you really been in love with me since 8th grade?”

Jack shrugged, looking at the floor, “At least. That’s when I realized it. In hindsight, it mighta started even sooner, but...”

He trailed off as Davey took a couple steps closer.

“Jackie,” Davey said quietly, “It’s been... damn, it’s been 7 years, and I didn’t see it. I’m a dumbass.”

“Says the ‘double major, plays 3 instruments, 3.8 GPA’ student,” Jack pointed out.

He... was not wrong about that, but that wasn’t valid.

“Book smart and life smart are two different things.”

Jack snorted, “Is ‘street smarts’ another one?”

“Jack.”

“Sorry.”

Davey sighed, “What I’m trying to say is that... I’m oblivious for not noticin’ your feelings, but...”

He took a deep breath. He’d realized this approximately a minute and a half ago, had no time to process it, but telling him was right in a nauseating, terrifying kind of way.

“I’m a dumbass because I didn’t notice mine.”

Jack’s mouth dropped open in shock.

Davey smiled, then shouted to the rafters.

“Race, you can let us out now!”

To both of their surprise, it was Spot who opened the barn door, less than 5 minutes later.

“You idiots have issues,” he declared.

“Who convinced ya to make a move with my little brother again?” Jack asked.

Davey laughed. Maybe it was several years late, but better to get a late start than not to start anything at all.

[ownworldresident]

We Are Our Own Heroes. Chapter Two: Bayside

Book: The Royal Romance, seven years post-TRR

Premise: Six years after a tragic loss, Liam and his adopted daughter meet Cassandra, an artist with her own troubled past, and the three find in each other the friend they never knew they needed.

Disclaimer: Setting and some characters belong to Pixelberry. I am just borrowing them and will return them when they feel better.

Themes: found family, (power of) friendship, healing

The Master Masterlist (link) ---  Our Own Heroes Masterlist (link)

Liam

Saturday rolled around again. Nothing could lift the heavy circles under Liam’s eyes or take away his yawns, and the coffee could only do so much. He took solace in the fact that he could crash hard later that day. Emily had a harder time against this team. He kept score in his head, crossing his fingers and sending encouraging smiles whenever she glanced his way. The final whistle blew as they started from the centre of the court. Emily looked around to find her coach, then converged with her teammates. A moment later they cheered at the score. The crowd filed out and Liam waited for Emily to take her time with her friends. He nodded to the few spectators who looked his way. Today’s game was a late one, and the court was almost bare except for a few chatting kids and waiting parents. He yawned again, and when he opened his eyes, Cassie stood beside him. He blinked, too tired to conceal his surprise. “Sorry,” she chuckled, “didn’t mean to startle you.” “No, that’s alright,” he replied, “long week.” “Here I thought being king would be easy.” Cassie folded her arms across her chest. Liam breathed a laugh, but that was all he could manage. Something had happened, in the last few weeks, to throw him off balance.

“Challenging. But rewarding.” “A standard answer.” She smiled, then sighed. Liam watched her torn expression morph into resolve. “She’s lucky to have you,” she continued, turning to Emily a moment. Liam did not follow her gaze, but watched Cassie instead. “Thank you,” he answered, wary of the direction of the conversation. "My sister was really ill years back, and I moved in to take care of her boys for a while. I was only 24 at the time. I knew nothing about children, and they were so small.” Cassie smiled, and Liam waited to see if she would continue. He was glad the courts were emptying, and there was no one within earshot. “She was living out in the country, and I’d come straight from university in Amsterdam. No one really thought I should be the one to look after them, it was hard, but it… was the right thing to do, I think. They are such dear boys.” She looked down, a little heat in her cheeks, and Liam frowned. “You knew what they needed.” He found himself saying. “Where they’d come from.” She nodded, lifting her head again. “Maybe someone knew better. But I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I’d failed my sister when she needed me most.” Liam took in her words, feeling the memory come to him again. He blinked, and remembered where he was. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked gently. Cassie turned to him, then away again, cheeks a little redder. “I’m not sure.” She sighed. “I suppose I wanted you to know. It’s hard when no one believes in you. When no one understands.” Her voice trailed as she finished, but a moment later strengthened again. “I haven’t coached Emily before, but I have seen you around. I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, but if you ever need someone to talk to.” She lifted her shoulders, trying not to fold in on herself. “I’m here.” Liam pulled away from her, realising how unguarded he had been during the conversation. “Thank you,” was his final reply. What else could he say? Something more articulate if he was awake enough. Cassie nodded, then pulled something from her jacket pocket. As he suspected, the paper she handed him had her name and mobile number. “I’m not asking you to call me or anything,” she said with a more familiar cadence. “But if you need…” she smiled, “I’m here.” And with a nod, she walked away. Liam pocketed the note, and tried and failed to decipher whatever subtext he had missed. He didn't get much time to do so. A rush of colour preceded an impact against his side and he nearly stumbled. Emily wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him, grinning, eyes shining with exertion. “Movie?” she said, leaning her chin against his stomach. Liam could hardly watch her insistence without laughing. “That depends.” He raised his eyebrows, and Emily frowned. “On what?” Leaning down, Liam gently detached her from him, kissed the top of her head, and stepped back. “On whether you can beat me to the car!” He ran, but not to win. Odd looks followed from those around them, but Liam’s focus was on the small shape darting ahead.

Cassandra

The last of the kids departed, and Cassie continued to pack up. The work took her hands to complete but not her mind, and she whisked herself away to some place colourful. Somewhere she could go to create. With everything packed away, she hoisted the ball bag over her shoulder and carried it to her car. She reflected on her interactions with Liam and Emily. Had she been too abrupt with her offer? She’d only known him a few weeks and spoken to him twice, and he had seemed concerned. That was the reason she had offered it, she reminded herself. All she could do was hope that her manner wasn’t off-putting, if a friend was what he needed. And if he didn’t act on her offer, like her mother had always said, at least she had tried. Back in her studio apartment, Cassie tossed her keys in a bowl by the door and the sports bag on the ground. “Back to work,” she informed no one in particular. Peeling off her clothes, she threw them in the direction of her bed. Then she changed into old stained things, and twirled a charcoal pencil between her fingers. With soft music as a backdrop, several hours and a glass of wine passed before she admitted defeat. The line work on her canvas was approximately complete but nothing in her usual colour palette captured the feel of it. The much larger canvas nearby was as blank as the day she bought it. It taunted her lack of inspiration. There was plenty of time, she told it, and pointedly avoided the calendar on her wall ‘with exhibition’ circled two months from now. Around dusk, a miasma of sunset shades began to leak in through the window and touch her other pieces. Her stomach growled on cue as she registered the time. It occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday. As good a reason as any, she reasoned, to take a break. She grabbed her jacket and keys and headed out again.

---

After dark on a Saturday, the boardwalk came to life. Cassie reclined in the corner of her favourite establishment, drink in one hand, pencil in the other. Always carry a sketchbook. And when she wasn’t in front of a canvas her hand flowed freely. The din of the bar was chatty and friendly. Two and a half walls were open to a balcony over the bay. People meandered in and out or stood or sat in groups, waving their hands in animated recounts of their life events. Warm lighting like this was perfect for sketching. Her knees were nearly against her chest at a booth in the corner and hid most of her work from prying eyes. An easy sketch sat nearby. Rolling her shoulders back, Cassie drew his outline. He hunched over the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey, denim jacket concealing muscled arms and a t-shirt. He came most weekends, she noticed -detailing the perfect frown- but never seemed to be fully here. When she looked up again he was gone. “Having fun?” The low voice resonated from the same booth she sat at. Cassie hadn’t noticed his approach. She pulled her sketchbook against her chest as she turned to him. Too late, the regular had noticed his likeness. “What gave it away?” she asked, reaching for her cocktail. He shrugged. “You’ve hardly touched your drink.” He gestured to the almost full glass in her hand, ice almost melted. She grinned and took a sip. “Likewise.” She indicated his glass. He rarely took more than a shot at a time. “This isn’t meant to be rushed.” He gazed at his drink with reverence and she tried not to laugh. “Uhuh.” Cassie took another sip and looked back at her sketch as she put the glass down. “What do you think?” “Of your sketch?” He reclined. “You’re very talented.” “Not what I was going for, but thanks.” Cassie smirked, then turned her book so he could see the drawing better. “Did I get you right?” He shrugged, took another sip, then shook his head. “I don’t frown that much.” Cassie spilled her drink on the table as she laughed, which only made her laugh more. When finally she regained control, he was waiting. “Yes, you do.” The man turned away. His attempt at a severe frown fell short as the tiniest curve of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. She picked up her pencil again and started adding the new expression. “I’m Cassie,” she said into the silence, no longer able to leave his sketches unnamed. Leaning toward her book to focus on the detail of his lips, she waited for his response. Instead, when she looked up, he had turned to her fully, and intensely. “What?” “So you’re Cassie,” he said. She frowned this time. “What do you mean?” He blinked, glanced at his drink for a long moment, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, sticking out his hand, “I’m Drake.”

What Happened Six Years Ago

Drake

Drake found Liam in the hall of the children’s hospital. The day was more than over, and the quiet was eerie. He lowered himself to the seat beside Liam, and they sat in silence for some indeterminate time, receiving awkward glances from the few hospital staff that passed. “Li—” Drake started, realising with a cough that he hadn’t spoken in several hours. He cleared his throat. “Liam, I think…” But there weren’t any adequate words to come after that. “We should figure out what to do next.” Liam didn’t respond. He stared wide-eyed at the ground, fingers laced around the back of his head and elbows braced on his knees. How far into his mind had he retreated? “We should think about—” “It doesn’t matter.” Drake's chest tightened at the heaviness in Liam’s voice. Like he couldn’t intonate. He paused, and searched for what to say next.   “You can’t sit in a hospital corridor all night. You need to decide what to do. There’s the… her…” Drake turned from his friend, trying not to imagine the view of the night before in that old, musty room. He wasn’t successful. “I can organise our trip back to Cordonia, and you can send people back to investigate, but you need to make the call about her…” he swallowed painfully past the lump in his throat. “Anna’s body.” The words came out hoarse. “Coming with us. Bastien is organising it.” New information to Drake, but he nodded. “And the kid.” “Emily.” Liam croaked, then sighed. The door closest to Liam’s other side was the girl’s room door. “She won’t be here much longer. We need to organise where to leave her.” “Leave her?” Liam looked up, finally, and Drake struggled to keep focus when confronted with the red, grief stricken eyes of his friend. “Once she leaves the hospital, we need to find a home for her.” Liam balked, leaning away from him, and the sudden movement was jarring. “Drake she’s coming with me. How could you even suggest …” Liam stood and looked down to him. “I made a promise.” “You said you’d take care of her.” “At my home, yes.” “Liam you can’t be…” Drake stood as well to be on a level. “She’s barely three years old. You don’t know anything about children.” Liam stared at him. “You still don’t get it.” Drake made a sweeping gesture but continued in an even voice. “Then help me get it. What do you owe her, after what she put you through?” “I promised—” Liam halted as his volume rose, then sighed again and lowered his voice. “I promised I would protect her. Handing her over to social care or their equivalent here, however fortunate she might be in finding a family who treats her as she deserves, is not enough.” Drake grit his teeth, struggling to find a way to bring reason to Liam’s emotional argument. He was no more prepared to raise a child than Drake was. “Three years old,” Drake repeated, hesitant. “She won’t remember what happened. Taking her away from here isn’t fair to her.” “And what if she does remember? Do you think you will ever for… forget…” Liam slumped back against the wall and down to his seat again. He raked his fingers through his hair and groaned, and when he looked up again he looked paler and more tired than Drake had ever seen him. “As I said,” Liam drew in a long breath. “I made a promise. I won’t leave her fate to chance.” No matter his grievance, Drake couldn’t force Liam to consider something he was set against. Maybe in a few days, when his thoughts cleared, he could convince Liam that finding Emily a family was better than taking her in himself. After all, there was no way he would be able to move on from Anna while raising a child who looked just like her.

------

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[caiminnent]

please, be golden [kylux, rated T]

PROMPT: worked themselves to exhaustion (@badthingshappenbingo​​​, 12/25) & @kyluxzineproject​

SUMMARY: After Snoke's death, Supreme Leader Ren and General Hux try to keep the First Order from falling apart—each in their own way.

FANDOM: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

TAGS: Bad Things Happen Bingo, First Order Politics (Star Wars), Diplomacy, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Established Relationship, Courting, Idiots in Love, Overworked Armitage Hux, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Stimulants

NOTES: Here is my Kylux Standard Zine work to pair with @mi-caw-ber​‘s amazing art! Find the art here on Tumblr and weep with me.

Below is only a 1.4k of snippet of the fic; because posting 11k on Tumblr in one go is just... no.

11K || ALSO ON AO3

Ren barges in at 0225.

Rather, Ren bangs his massive paw on the door and waits just long enough to make it technically not barging in before the access panel beeps. He storms past the office space without a stray glance in. The refresher door slams closed a moment later.

Well. That answers how it went.

Hux sighs, slumping in his chair. Figures that Ren would choose now to leave his lair. He couldn’t have shown himself when Hux could use his intimidating presence yesterday, of course not. Couldn’t have defended the Order he’s supposed to be leading against that boar Kratkitki at the holo-conference earlier. No, Hux had to face all that, alone—like he always does.

He ought to cite reports to write and turn Ren away—better yet, let him stay. Would serve Ren well to toss and turn alone while Hux sits in the next room, nearby but unreachable. No help at all.

If only.

Double-checking that the documents are synched, he disconnects his datapad and switches off the monitor, leaving the empty cups lying on his desk. It’s going to be a seven-minute shower, if Ren’s eerie silence is any indication; tidying up can wait.

He’s wrong, for once. It’s full ten minutes before Ren steps out of the refresher in a cloud of humidity and honey soap—long enough for Hux to change and leave a clean set out for Ren, for hygiene’s sake. Ren might be fine with wearing the same clothes for a standard week straight; but he’s not coming anywhere near Hux’s bed in them.

At least Ren stopped taking offence at the gesture.

Ren undresses swiftly, not a care for modesty—his or Hux’s. Keeping his eyes on the clothes he’s folding and putting away, “Your quarters come with a ‘fresher attached as well, surely,” Hux says. A nice one, too, what with having been Snoke’s star pupil back in the day. Ren has no reason to keep coming to Hux’s quarters for a shower. “Unless you destroyed yours.”

The bundle of black fabric floating past halts above the hamper.

Hux’s stomach sinks.

A muscle in his cheek twitching, “Ren,” he sighs, the word sour in his mouth. He was jesting, for stars’ sake. They are—he thought they were beyond meaningless destruction by now, that it had become one of those things: things from their shared past that they could gingerly jest about now, to be openly laughed at one day. Isn’t that why they’re doing this? What’s the point of this if it’s not helping Ren keep his head?

Nothing, obviously.

Hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, “I didn’t destroy my refresher,” Ren says, his voice only slightly raspy with disuse instead of the regular post-tantrum hoarseness.

Then again, if Ren had had a tantrum and gone through his quarters, someone would have heard and reported it to Hux, too. His datapad has been mercifully—mercilessly—quiet the entire delta shift.

A twinge of guilt passes through his chest.

“All right,” he says, because sorry doesn’t belong between the two of them. If they started to apologise for every hurtful word and assumption they have ever thrown at each other’s face, they would be here all month.

Not that the word is likely to exist in Ren’s vocabulary.

“I didn’t!” Ren snaps, the corners of his lips turning down at the perceived insult, body growing stiffer in indignation—on the verge of that tantrum, now. The hovering bundle starts quivering violently.

Stars, it is far too late into the delta shift to deal with Ren’s moods.

Resisting the urge to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes until white sparks in his vision—satisfying as it would have been—Hux forces the lines of his body to relax instead, an invitation for Ren to mirror him. The simplest way to defuse Ren is to give him a lead to follow.

Meeting his gaze, “I believe you, Ren,” he says, mild but clear, honest—at least, honest-sounding enough to give Ren’s building agitation a pause. He doesn’t give Ren time to size up his sincerity before heading to the refresher himself, unlatching Ren’s dirty bundle from empty air along the way.

He doesn’t linger long, still not comfortable going about his full routine while not alone in his quarters. A hot shower to wash away the cycle’s—hells, week’s—troubles would be blissful; but the cubicle is still wet from Ren’s turn and anyway, the idea of undressing again and standing under the spray doesn’t hold much appeal at this hour, even if he already won’t be able to fall asleep soon with the amount of caf in his system.

Besides, the Supreme Leader is waiting.

He half-expects to find Ren still standing there and fidgeting when he walks in; but Ren has already settled in the middle of the bed, a dark lump against the white bedding, the plush duvet pushed to his waist. Ren has done him the courtesy of letting him choose his side, although it matters little when he pulls Hux close as soon as Hux slides under the covers. Hux puts up only the token fight before getting comfortable between Ren’s arms, kicking the rest of the duvet out of the way. Ren runs hot enough to make any extra coverage unbearable within minutes.

They lie in… not peace, but an acceptable approximation of it. His head is buzzing with everything he’ll need to take care of after his first cup of caf later in the cycle; Ren distracts him by nosing at his neck, his ear, his hair before it can latch onto anything specific. For his own sake. When they are—when Ren is being this way, affectionate and indulgent, Hux is foolishly, dangerously willing to dismiss that Ren is the reason his task list is so long. That he wouldn’t even be in Hux’s bed right now had Ren not failed again.

He is too tired to muster up the disappointment.

“Tell me something,” Ren whispers.

“Yes?”

Ren shifts behind him. “No, I mean—talk to me. Tell me about your week.”

He snorts. “You don’t want to hear about my week.” Nor does Hux want to talk about his week, giant waste of time that it has been. Following-up on holo-mails that go nowhere, trying to prioritise the plethora of critical issues they must allocate for in their budget, status reports that show nothing but how the High Command is sitting with their thumbs up their arses while the First Order’s funds dwindle and glory slips further out of their reach. If he were the Supreme Leader—

—but of course, he isn’t the Supreme Leader. Is that not the root of their predicament? Nothing he can offer to potential allies and benefactors will ever be enough to sway them to their cause while the Supreme Leader of the First Order hides away and seeks guidance from ghosts.

A breeze brushes against his mind; mild, warm wind over chilled skin, caked scent of suns over damp ground, raw dough and—

His jaw locks with a click, a lungful of recycled air and faux-honey shattering the deception easily enough. That storm is developing across his forehead again, the spot above his brow pulsing in time with his heart hammering in his throat. “Ren.”

“I’m not in your head,” Ren amends. “I just sensed your… grievances.”

“You are the biggest,” Hux grits out, shifting away—Ren’s arm snaked across his entire middle holds him in place. When did that happen? “Ren. Let go of me.”

“Talk to me,” Ren repeats, chapped lips catching on Hux’s hair. “I can’t ease your mind if you don’t.”

It will take more than half-remembered pillow talk to ease Hux’s mind. It will take more than talking, if they are to solve anything. However, Ren has got a point. Division of work is a key principle in a functional organisation so long as all parties are aware of the big picture—which Ren might not be, having operated outside of the Order for the longest time. Perhaps it’s time for an alternate approach.

When Hux isn’t hurting to sink his teeth at Ren’s bared throat and Ren can be reasonably expected not to fling himself into that temper tantrum they’ve narrowly missed at the slightest provocation.

“Tomorrow,” he promises. Tomorrow, they talk.

[noona-clock]

I Never Knew - Part 8, Final Chapter

Genre: WWII!AU

Pairing: Brian (Day6) x You (Female!Reader)

Warning: Mentions of war and death, Slight angst

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, Epilogue | Words: 4,527

*gif courtesy of @cramelot​

You honestly had no idea how long it was until you were standing back up, facing Cat as she gripped your upper arms and tried to force you to look at her.

It could have been seconds, but it also could have been hours. As soon as you’d seen Brian lying in the hospital bed, time had basically stopped existing in your world.

(In reality, Cat had let you cry for approximately 72 seconds before stepping in.)

“Y/N,” she said firmly -- but somehow still gently. “Pull yourself together.”

You swallowed down the huge lump of emotion in your throat, blinking away the blurriness in your vision so you could see Cat clearly.

“Pull yourself together,” she repeated, her voice quieter yet more urgent. “It won’t help anything if you break down. Brian won’t wake up if you just sit here crying.”

Unsurprisingly, it took a few moments for her words to sink in... but when they did, you let out a deep exhale. You straightened your posture, and you shifted your gaze to lock eyes with her.

Looking at Cat now, everything seemed to fall back into place. Your world un-shifted and un-tilted, and your mind became clearer.

She was right, of course. Cat usually was.

“Okay,” you choked out, tipping your head into a small nod. “What -- tell me what to do. What can I do?”

“Take his vitals. Blood pressure, temperature, oxygen level -- the usual. You’ve done it before, you can do it in your sleep.”

You nodded again, more vigorously this time.

“You’re a volunteer so you can technically do whatever you want... but I’m going to assign you to him. Don’t worry about the other patients, we have enough staff to deal with it.”

You knew that wasn’t entirely true, but you weren’t going to refute her. Not right now.

“Stay with him. Do whatever the doctors tell you, and when you don’t feel like working anymore, pull up a chair and sit. Talk to him. Hold his hand, touch him. I don’t know this for sure -- from a medical standpoint, at least -- but I have a feeling coma patients know when someone is with them. They can feel it.”

Your heart clenched a little just thinking about Brian knowing you were with him. Would he even want you with him, though? He hadn’t written to you. How did you know what his feelings were toward you?

But, again, you weren’t going to refute Cat. Not right now.

“All right,” you whispered.

Cat let go of your arms but only so she could reach up and cradle your cheeks in her palms. “It’s going to be fine,” she assured you softly. “Just stay focused on helping him. And you can help him.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep more tears from forming, and you murmured a “Thank you.”

Before you had a chance to pull away and get started on taking Brian’s vitals, Cat pulled you in for a hug, squeezing you tightly.

“I’m here for you,” she whispered. “Just like you said you would be here for me if anything happened to Wonpil, I’m here for you now. You’ll get through this, I promise.”

Your throat was too tight to answer her, so you simply squeezed her back to let her know just how much you appreciated her.

When Cat left you to go about her day, you immediately sprung into action. You grabbed the nearest blood pressure cuff, pulled back the corner of Brian’s bedsheet, and lifted his arm.

You did everything automatically from then on. You took his blood pressure (normal), his temperature (normal), his blood/oxygen level (normal)... Everything about him seemed normal -- except for the bandage around his head. You attempted to peek underneath, using two fingers to lift the gauze as gingerly as you could, but it was no use.

Finally, about an hour after you jotted down all his vital signs on his chart, one of the hospital doctors approached his bed.

“Dr. Lee,” you greeted, standing up from the chair Cat had brought you twenty minutes ago. “Do you know anything about what happened? What his condition is?”

Dr. Lee had taken Brian’s chart and was now studying it, flipping through the papers.

“From what I understand,” he mumbled, his brow furrowed as his eyes moved across the page. “There was some sort of explosion. He was far enough away not to suffer any external damage, but he was knocked down and landed on some sort of rock. Hit his head and has not regained consciousness since.”

Hearing that knocked all the breath out of your lungs.

“Wh -- when did this happen?” you asked weakly.

“A couple of days ago, I believe. Nice work on the vitals.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“We’re going to take him back for a brain scan, so not at the moment.” Dr. Lee put Brian’s record back on the small basket hanging at the end of the hospital bed and shifted his gaze to look at you. “A nurse is bringing his stuff in, though, so I’ll tell her to give it to you.”

Oh, god.

His stuff?

What stuff?

You simply nodded though, unable to respond verbally because now your heart was racing with anxiety. Your stomach was doing somersaults and leaping up into your throat.

You stepped out of the way when two of the other doctors came to transfer Brian onto a rolling stretcher, watching as they wheeled him back toward the examination rooms. Not even a minute later, Cat arrived carrying a box.

Your heart rate increased even more, and you took the box carefully when she held it out to you.

“How are things?” she asked as you set the box down on Brian’s now empty bed.

“He hit his head on a rock,” you mumbled. You were staring at the box, not knowing if you had the strength to lift the lid. “He’s been unconscious for probably a few days.”

You felt Cat’s hand come to rest on your back. “You’ve done all you can, dollface. Now you just have to be there for him. Remember what I told you -- talk to him, hold his hand. He’ll know you’re here.”

You nodded, and then you heard the clicking of Cat’s heels as she walked away.

After gazing at the lid of the box with unbroken concentration for at least an entire minute, you finally curled your fingers underneath the edges... and opened it.

You carefully set the lid down on the bed, avoiding looking into the box just yet. But your eyes caught a glimpse of green fabric, so you knew it was safe to look. It was just his uniform.

Reaching inside carefully, you lifted Brian’s jacket and pants out of the box. Just because it was instinct from doing your father’s laundry for so many years, you checked the pockets, slipping your fingers inside and sweeping them around in each small pouch.

When you felt the soft, somewhat jagged edge of a piece of paper, your brow furrowed slightly. Sliding it out from the pocket, your heart stopped as you realized...

It was his half of the pictures from the arcade photo booth.

You still had your half, as well, tucked in the frame of a picture of your father on your nightstand. Yours was still pristine since you left it there, but Brian’s half was wrinkled and worn. It was obvious he kept it with him, and you could just imagine him taking it out of his pocket to look at.

Tears filled your eyes at the thought. Did he look at the pictures and smile? Or did his heart fill with anger every time he saw your face?

You couldn’t think about that, so you quickly set his jacket and the pictures down on the bed, going back into the box to continue your inventory.

But the next thing you saw was... a rather large stack of envelopes tied up with string.

You forced yourself not to assume who the letters were for, or that they were even letters at all. Maybe they were just envelopes. Empty envelopes with nothing inside --

A sob almost escaped from your lips when you lifted the stack and saw your name written on the first envelope.

All right, it was time to stop holding yourself back.

Without hesitating, you wriggled the envelope out from under the string, setting the rest of the stack into the box and sitting down on the edge of the mattress. You turned the envelope over and opened it, though your fingers were trembling with anxiety. You knew you may not like what he’d written, but you had to read it. Even if he was expressing his hatred or his confusion or his bitterness... you had to know.

As soon as you slid the piece of paper from the envelope and unfolded it, your eyes scanned the page hungrily.

Dear Y/N,

I was wrong. It hasn’t gotten easier. None of it has. Not the war, not sleeping at night, and certainly not missing you. I think I miss you more today than I did five months ago. There’s nothing you can do about it now, of course, so please don’t feel bad. And I know you will feel bad when you read this because... I know you. You have the kindest heart of anyone. I don’t know -when- you’ll read this, but no matter when it is, it’ll be too late to stop me from missing you.

Speaking of reading letters: Wonpil read to me his latest letter from Cat, and you’ve got to stop working so hard, my love. I’m worried about you; I need you in good health when I get back so I can take you out to dinner as soon as possible.

And, yes, I’m worried about you. I know the whole reason you ended it between us was so I could focus on doing my job and not be worried about coming home to you. But I’ve tried that, and I’ve failed. Every day I fail at not worrying about you, and it might sound dumb, but... I feel like I’ve let you down. I promise I will apologize in person one day. Soon.

You had to put the letter down after reading that because the tears in your eyes were now blurring your vision too much to see the words.

Brian felt like he had to apologize to you?!

Oh, this was a mess. This was a huge, giant, probably unsolvable mess, and it was all your fault.

And while the guilt was now settling heavily in your heart... you also couldn’t help but be incredibly relieved that Brian had thought about you and missed you and worried about you as much as you’d thought about him and missed him and worried about him.

He didn’t hate you.

Thank god.

You folded the letter back up, knowing you wouldn’t be able to emotionally handle reading any further. But you were still curious enough to pick out another one, an envelope from the middle of the stack.

Dearest Y/N,

I’ve spent time with your father in close quarters for three months now, and I can now clearly see where you get a lot of your habits. Like the way you tilt your head when you’re listening. That expression you make when you don’t like something -- you know, the frown and the wrinkled nose. It’s adorable when you do it (not so much when your father does it). Even the way he laughs sounds just like you. On one hand, it’s killing me -- okay, sorry. Not the best phrase to use. On one hand, it’s breaking my heart to see and hear all these reminders of you because I don’t want reminders. I want you. But on the other hand, I spend more time with him because he reminds me of you. I feel a little more empty inside if I go a day without seeing his head tilt because it’s harder to think about seeing your head tilt. 

This all sounds crazy, so maybe I’ll just throw this letter out so you never read it.

And, Good Lord, I hope your father never learns of this. I think I would quit on the spot.

Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I hope you’re not making your ‘I don’t like that’ face. I hope you’re laughing or smiling or tilting your head or sleeping. I -really- hope you’re sleeping, a lot more than I am.

Boy, do I miss sleep.

Okay, this letter has taken a turn. You’ll probably never read this so... I’ll just write down the things I want to say to you so badly but need to be said in person:

I love you. More than any person has a right to love someone. It might be because I haven’t seen you in three months, and absence makes the heart grow fonder, but... it’s not. I loved you before we left, and I’ll love you long after we come back. I want it all with you. I want to marry you and buy a house with a picket fence and come home from work to you every day and wake up to you in the morning and have a dog and kids and anything and everything you ask for. I just don’t think my life could ever feel complete if you’re not in it, and I just... I love you. The moment I get to feel you in my arms again will be the best moment of my life. Until the moment I get to kiss you again. Then -that- will be the best moment of my life. Until the moment I can ask you to marry me. And then the moment you say ‘I do.’ And then every moment after that.

All right, I’ll stop being so corny.

I love you.

Yours forever,

Brian

P.S. My favorite constellation is Cassiopeia. I don’t know why I never told you. I was just being annoying, I guess. I used to love it just because I liked the shape, but now I love it because it reminds me of you. Cassiopeia is a Queen known for her beauty, and that describes you, as well. Known for your beauty, inside and out.

Obviously, tears were now streaming down your face. You had to cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your sobs. But, also, your heart was singing. The life he imagined with you -- you wanted it, too. You hadn’t let yourself think about having it with him, and maybe you still shouldn’t because you had no idea what the results of his scan would be.

But you wanted that life more than you wanted anything else.

...And do you know what? You were going to tell him that.

You stood from his hospital bed, swiftly making your way to the nurse’s breakroom. Once there, you nicked a pad of paper and a pen, and when you arrived back at Brian’s bed, you plopped down in the chair Cat had brought over for you. And you began writing.

You started writing the letter in your head currently, the one telling him how you felt and how you wanted the life he’d laid out, too.

The doctors wheeled him back in just as you were finishing up, and when he was settled back in the bed, you leaned over to use the mattress as your writing desk. Cat had told you more than once to talk to him and make your presence known, so that’s what you were going to do.

You spent the next couple of hours writing letters to Brian, pulling every letter you’d written to him mentally out of your brain and putting it on paper. You knew there was a chance he would never get to read them, but you knew you still had to write them. Just in case.

And, almost every day for the next month, you did the same thing. You wrote a letter to Brian, narrating whatever thoughts popped into your head and including details from the doctors (they surmised he would wake up any day now, though they had no way of knowing when), news from the headlines, and messages from the front line your father had sent along in his own letters.

You kept following Cat’s instructions, too. You sat with him every possible second, holding his hand and talking to him. You still helped around the hospital because it was still busy, and they still needed your help. But whenever you could spare time, you were with Brian.

For probably the first week, it had been easy to stay optimistic that he would wake up soon. Now, over four weeks later, it was difficult to stay optimistic that he would wake up at all.

It was even more difficult because he looked fine! There were no wounds to heal or bruises to fade anywhere on his body. He was just... sleeping.

You felt like crying more and more each day, and you did when you returned home at night. But you did your darndest not to cry in front of him. You still believed Cat when she said he knew you were there; if you didn’t believe her, you would probably start to lose your sanity.

The letters your father sent helped keep your morale up, and as you arrived at your mailbox after another long day at the hospital, a giddy smile curved your lips when you saw an envelope with his familiar handwriting scrawled in the center. Quickly, you reached in and slid the envelope out before closing the lid of the mailbox and starting down the walkway.

As you followed the path to the front door, you nervously tapped a corner of the envelope against your palm, wondering what news he would bring you this time. Was it too late to go back to the hospital and read it out loud to Brian?

You kept a letter opener in the entryway for just this purpose; you’d learned easily that you just couldn’t wait a second longer than the length of time it took to walk from the mailbox to the front door to open your father’s letters. So, as soon as you stepped through the doorway, you grabbed the ornate, bronze handle from the small side table and wiggled the blade underneath the flap.

No sooner had you sliced through the envelope than the paper was unfolded, your eyes scanning the words.

You barely got through the first sentence before your breath caught in your throat.

I finally have good news for you, Cupcake: we’re coming home.

The envelope floated down to the floor by your feet. One shaky hand lifted to cover your mouth. Tears filled your wide, startled eyes.

Your father was coming home.

And Wonpil was coming home.

You had to tell Cat.

You hastily re-folded the letter, clutching it in your fingers as you threw open the front door and launched yourself out onto the porch and down the walkway. You ran as fast as your heels would take you, your body instinctively guiding you through the route you’d taken too many times to count.

Before you could even reach the halfway point, though, you saw...

Your brow furrowed, and as you panted to try and catch your breath, you began to slow your steps.

“Cat?” you gasped, though she was still too far from you to actually hear you.

But then you heard her voice calling out to you through the darkness. “Y/N!” she cried, and you could tell she’d been running just as you had.

You picked up the pace again, wanting to get to her as soon as you could. What was going on? Why was Cat running to see you this late at night?

When the two of you finally reached each other, Cat grabbed onto your forearms. As she was trying desperately to catch her breath, you looked her square in the eye with a very wrinkled forehead.

“What?” you asked in-between pants. “What is it?”

Even though Cat was breathing quite a bit harder than you, she didn’t waste any time in answering your question. “Brian,” she gasped. “He’s awake.”

Your eyes widened and your heart dropped down to your feet.

Hastily, you shoved the letter into Cat’s hand, instructing her to read it before leaning down and taking off your shoes. Once you held both of them by the heels, you dashed off, running yet again toward the hospital.

Brian was awake.

Brian was awake.

Tears filled your eyes yet again as you ran, tears of joyful anticipation because Brian was finally awake. And even if he couldn’t remember a thing or if he had to learn to walk and talk all over again, you knew this was it. The moment which would change everything. The moment which would start the rest of your life -- with Brian.

As soon as you reached the hospital, you didn’t hesitate in pushing through the doors and, quite frankly, almost sprinting down the hallway. You weaved your way through the nightshift nurses and the hospital beds, your gaze laser-focused on the end of the bed you knew so well by now.

And when you finally reached it, you slid to a stop, panting and gasping for air.

But it didn’t matter that you could hardly breathe. Nothing mattered. Because Brian’s eyes were open. He was sitting up.

And those open eyes of his shifted, landing on you and blinking a few times.

For a few moments, there was silence. Only the sound of your heavy breathing filled the space in-between you.

You didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything. And you worried maybe he had forgotten everything.

But then a smile broke out onto his lips, and he murmured your name.

You had to hold onto the railing of the bed so you wouldn’t collapse onto the floor right there. And, for the third time in just a matter of minutes, you brought your hand up to your mouth, covering half of your face as tears began to stream down your cheeks.

“Y/N, hey,” Brian said with a bit more strength in his voice. “Com’ere.”

You let your heels drop to the floor before obeying him, shuffling around to the side of the bed. He held his arms out for you, and you did your best not to fall onto him.

But when you did perch on the edge of his mattress, and when he did envelope you in his embrace... it felt so good you practically melted right there on the spot.

And then the word vomit began.

“Oh, Brian, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled into his shoulder, through your tears. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have ended it, and I thought about you every single day, and I missed you so much, and you don’t know how scared I was when you came back, and I read the letters you wrote me, and I wrote you some this past month, and I don’t know how I could have been so stupid because I love you so much and I shouldn’t have --”

“Hey, hey,” Brian interrupted before shushing you. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not, I --”

“I’m not mad at you,” he assured you. “I know why you did it, and I -- well, there’s nothing to forgive. I don’t think. ...You’re talking about you breaking up with me, right?”

You nodded.

“Okay, just checking. Some things are still a little fuzzy right now,” he chuckled.

You pulled away then, wiping your eyes as your brow wrinkled deeply. “I’m sorry, I’m completely bombarding you --”

Brian cut you off by placing a hand on your cheek, his eyes searching yours quite intensely. “No,” he whispered after a few moments, unable to keep a smile from curving his lips. “You’re not fuzzy. You never have been.”

You covered his hand with yours, feeling even more tears pressing against the back of your eyes. You didn’t say it out loud, but the expression on your face said it for you: really?

“You were the first thing I thought of when I woke up,” he told you. “You’ve... been here the whole time, haven’t you?”

You nodded again, a happy sob escaping through your lips. “Yes,” you answered him with a watery chuckle. “Yes, I have.”

And then you heard the clamoring of someone running -- someone in heels running -- toward you.

“Wonpil’s coming home?!” Cat cried, and you scrambled hastily to get off the bed to meet her. You rushed around the side of the bed, holding out your arms as Cat nearly crashed into you.

“Wonpil’s coming home,” you confirmed with a giddy, but still tearful, smile.

Cat threw her arms around your neck, squeezing you as she let out her sobs of joy.

“I didn’t read the whole letter,” you admitted. “What does it say?”

“They’re already on their way,” Cat answered in a muffled voice. “They might be here tomorrow or the day after, I don’t know. But soon.”

When you glanced at Brian, the smile on his lips made your heart skip five beats.

And then it skipped five more because... 

Brian was awake. He remembered you, and he loved you.

Your father was coming home. Alive.

Wonpil was coming home. Alive.

The war still wasn't over, so you had no idea how long this would last -- Brian, your father, and Wonpil all home and alive and well -- but right now you would take what you could get.

You squeezed Cat as she sobbed into your shoulder, but then she seemed to remember what she’d told you before reading the letter. She jerked away from you, chuckling at herself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt -- go, go back,” she murmured as she pushed you toward Brian’s bed. “We’ll celebrate when they actually get home.”

Oh, yes, you would.

There would probably be another party, and you would get to dance the night away with Brian -- Cat would get to dance the night away with Wonpil -- while your father played poker. Just like old times.

As you slid back onto the mattress, fitting yourself back into Brian’s embrace, you wondered if you could get Brian to ask his friend Jae to sing that song again at this inevitable party. The one the two of you danced to at the end of the night.

I never knew what love could do until I met you.

Looking back on it now... you’d known that song was important even while you were dancing to it. But you hadn’t known just how important.

You hadn’t known just how strong and true your love for Brian would become. You hadn’t known just how lucky you were to have your father. You hadn’t known just how much you would come to treasure and cherish Cat as a best friend.

You now felt a bit silly thinking that the love in the song only meant romantic love, but now you knew.

Now you knew the lyrics had foretold all kinds of love for you: romantic love, family love, and friendship love.

You weren’t sure what you’d done to deserve any of it, but by golly, you wouldn’t take any of it for granted. Not for the rest of your life.

Epilogue

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

More Than Sufficient: Part 2

Grand Admiral Thrawn x Reader, Gender Neutral

AO3 Link/ Support Me on Ko-fi

Part 1

Summary: Your relationship with Grand Admiral Thrawn leaves many things left unsaid.  But, when a mission goes awry, certain truths are bound to come out.

A/N: Hey, remember when I said I finished this six months ago? Well, I lied.  But it’s finished now.  Enjoy.

Word Count: 2.9K

           You woke up stiff and in considerable pain.  Not intolerable, but enough to leave you incapable of moving your shoulders more than an inch off the mattress before tumbling back down again.

            “Welcome back Captain,” a mechanical voice chimed.

            You turned to see the medical droid beside you, taking notes of your vitals.

            “How long have I been away?” you asked, dryly.

            “Approximately three days, one hour, and 37 minutes,” it answered efficiently.  “The Grand Admiral insisted I keep track.”

            You blinked in surprise.  Perhaps you had underestimated just how much blood you lost during the fight.  Suddenly the pain in your shoulders didn’t seem so bad.

            “I was also told in inform Grand Admiral Thrawn the moment you were conscious.  He is on his way here now.”

            Your stomach tightened. The image of Thrawn hovering over you with softened red eyes as he called your name flooded your mind. A part of you wanted to savor the moment, to hold it close to your heart and never let it go. But, you couldn’t.  It was wrong. You weren’t supposed to remember.  It was too vulnerable, too intimate.  The Thrawn you had come to know would never wish you to see that side of him.  You only hoped he didn’t know you had.

            With a great effort, you pushed yourself fully upright.

            “Captain,” the droid protested.  “I must insist you lay back down.”

            You ignored it, pulling your feet over the side.  You needed to get to your quarters.  You needed to change and face Thrawn standing on your own two feet. You were too vulnerable here to properly lie to him.

            Taking a breath, you stood.  Your vision swam for a moment, but to your relief you stayed upright.  Keeping your head up, you started walking.

            “If you could tell me where my uniform is.”

            The droid bristled, replying with more insistent, “Captain, I really must…”

            You stopped listening and pulled back one of the curtains.  On a chair was a uniform, clean and pressed, with a pair of boots beside it.  Without another word, you started to dress.

            It was slow work.  The pants were the easiest.  Your legs were covered in light bruises, but the steady throbbing in your shoulders made it easy to ignore.  Your boots were next, bringing on the same manageable ache.  It was your shirt which was the real problem.

           You couldn’t raise your arms without a searing pain shooting down from your shoulders.  It took every ounce of effort not to vocalize the discomfort. The moment you did, you knew the medical droid would go running to Thrawn themselves. Slowly, painfully, and through sheer force of will you shimmed and strained to get your undershirt over your head and your arms through the sleeves.  The effort left you sore with sweat dripping on your brow.  Looking down at the button up shirt and uniform jacket still on the chair took all the life out of you.  There was no way you could finish, but you could hardly leave the med bay half dressed.  You started calculating the likelihood of making it to your quarters in this state without being spotted when you heard the doors swish open and shut followed by a pair of precise footsteps.

            “Grand Admiral Thrawn,” the droid greeted.

            “Where is Captain Y/N?” His tone was decidedly measured.  To any who did not know him, he would have sounded perfectly collected, but to your ears, he might as well had shouted the words. 

            “Here, sir,” you said, keeping your voice in a neutral calm despite your racing heart. This confrontation was inevitable, but you could at least gain a few more minutes before looking into those eyes again.  “I understood you were coming to meet me.  I wanted to make myself presentable.”

            There was a pause.  You could practically hear the gears turning in his mind.

            “And are you?”

            “Not quite sir,” you said. “It will take me a few more minutes to be properly dressed.  If you would like to delay this meeting until later--”

            “If you are capable of getting out of the hospital bed and speaking, then I see no reason no reason for delay.  Please, don’t let my presence stop you.”

            This was a trap.  It had to be, but there was nothing for you to do.  Slowly you grabbed your shirt off the chair.

            “Why did you wish to see me, sir?”

            “I wanted to make sure you were well,” he answered, smoothly. “I’m sure the medical droid has told you how long you’ve been unconscious as well as the injuries you sustained.”

           “They have.”

           “Then you would understand my…concern.”

            You stopped. Despite knowing better, your heart sunk heavy in your chest. Yes, concern was the appropriate word to use; professional, polite, impersonal.  The exact opposite of the gentle tone in which he had called your name.

            You shook your head in a vain attempt to clear your mind.  You needed to get out of the medical bay.  You needed to think.

            “You needn’t, sir,” you said. “I—Ah!”

            A sharp pain shot straight through your shoulders as you moved your arm too quickly through your sleeve.  Before you knew what was happening, the curtain was drawn back and Thrawn was by your side.

            “Easy, Captain.”

            You didn’t respond and allowed him to guide you towards the bed without protest.

            You could only imagine what you looked like in that moment.  Half-dressed with one arm through your sleeve, sweat on your brow and most likely pale from blood loss.  You inwardly cursed yourself for not just staying down.  At least then you would have some dignity.

            Thrawn for his part didn’t say a word.  

            With practiced care, he placed his hand under your bare arm and lifted it before guiding it through your other sleeve. 

            You hissed in pain, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as trying to do it yourself.

            He then stepped away, allowing you to button the rest of your shirt.  You couldn’t quite get the last few buttons, but it hardly mattered anymore.

            You waited for an order, a reprimand, anything, but there was only silence.

            Just as the tension was growing to be too much, Thrawn finally spoke.

            “Is there a reason you decided to unnecessarily strain yourself?”

            You took a breath, still unable to meet his eyes. “As I told you sir, I wanted to make myself presentable.  It seems I overestimated my abilities.”

            “Don’t lie to me Captain, it doesn’t suit you.”

            The words were said in his usual cool demeanor, but they held a hidden bite which made you wince.

            “My apologizes. I only meant that…”  Your mind raced trying to find a lie with just enough truth to make it easier to swallow.

            “I did not wish you to see me in such a state,” you answered. “Laid out half dead in medbay is hardly an image befitting a Captain of the Chimera.”

            You met his gaze then.  His eyes were just an intense as you expected them to be and even more unreadable. You might as well had been staring into an open flame.

            “It was a foolish notion,” he said.  The bite was still there, but not nearly as potent.

            “I understand that now,” you admitted. “But I needed to at least attempt to spare my pride.”

            “And did you succeed?”

            “I suppose that’s up to you, sir.”

            Thrawn paused. His lips pressed into a line. “It was merely bruised, not permanently damaged.”

            You couldn’t stop your own lip from quirking upward at the words.  “Thank you, sir.” 

            There was a flash then.  A glimmer of a smile in his red eyes.  It only lasted a moment, hardly a blink.  But you saw it. One more moment to tuck away in your heart.

            You straightened up as best you could, squaring your shoulders and holding your chin high. “Now, if I may ask for the final mission report.”

            Thrawn inclined his head in acknowledgement. Whatever tension remained in the air disappeared. The status quo was back in place.

            “We were able to bring back two of the rebels alive,” he said. “After some interrogation, they confirmed what the ringleader told us.  Fulcrum was in fact on the planet with the ultimate goal to disrupt the mining operation posted there.  We were able to stop their plan, but Fulcrum escaped along with the rest of the rebels.”

            You nodded.  “What was being mined?”

            “I’m afraid it’s classified,” Thrawn answered. “Apparently its contents are highly sensitive.  Even I was unauthorize to examine them.”

            You frowned. What could they possibly be carrying if even a Grand Admiral could not be privy to such information?

            “I have some ideas on the matter,” he said, as if reading your thoughts.  “But, I do not wish to delve into further speculation without more data.”

            You wanted to ask him what his initial thoughts were, but there was nothing for it.  The subject was now closed until further notice.

            “Understood, sir.” 

            There was another pause.  You waited patiently for another bought of information or a dismissal, but neither came.  Thrawn stood perfectly still, incomprehensible and more than a little distant.  Whatever he saw in those red orbs were truly for his eyes only.

            “Is there something else, sir,” you prompted.

            “Yes,” he said, coming back to reality so smoothly you questioned if he ever left. “I wanted to apologize.”

            You blinked. “Sir?”

            “For jeopardizing the mission and for your injuries,” he clarified. “It was my presence on the planet which prompted the attack.  You instructed me to stay behind and I disregarded your warning. The end result was the escape of Fulcrum and the rest of the rebel forces along with the near death of one of my best officers.  It was my decision alone, and I apologize.”

            “Admiral, I…” You floundered.  Thrawn? Grand Admiral Thrawn, apologize? To you? Every sentence required a response. He thought of you as one of his best officers? You wanted to say so many things, but everything scrambled together until all you could say was, “It wasn’t your fault.”

            He inclined his head all while giving you a subtly doubtful look. “Thank you for your words, Captain, but I fail to see how.”

            “The rebels already knew I was coming,” you countered, easily. “Best case scenario I would have been captured and interrogated. Just as likely, the ringleader would have shot me for annoying him. Neither scenario ends with me safely back aboard the Chimera.  And both end with the rebels achieving their goal and walking free.”

            “You could have escaped,” Thrawn offered.  “Given your capabilities, it is just as likely you would have discovered the rebel’s plan and found a way to contact the ship without falling into their hands.”

            “I appreciate your faith in my abilities. But it doesn’t stop the notion from being pure speculation.”

            “It is hardly speculation or faith, for that matter.  It is a statement of observable fact. Your abilities would not allow for anything less.”

He held you gaze as if to make certain you understood the sincerity of his words.

            Your breath caught in your throat. If Thrawn noticed, he made no mention of it.

            “All the more reason I should have trusted you with my true purpose in accompanying you,” he said.

            You shook your head.  “No.  How could you tell me about something you weren’t even certain was real? My mission was to collect information on the rebels.  If you had told me your suspicions, it would have obstructed my view of the facts presented to me. I will not deny I was a little displeased when I realized you knew more than you initially let on, but I understand why.  Truly.”

            He didn’t say anything for a long moment, taking the time to scan your features. 

            Your mind brought you back to your first meeting. You kept still and allowed him to conduct his examination without hinderance. 

            “Yes, I suppose you do.”

            His tone was soft, reflecting the moments you were trying so desperately to keep buried your mind and out of your heart.  Heat rose in your cheeks and in your ears. You couldn’t explain how you managed to hold his gaze.

            “May I make an inquiry, Captain?” he asked.

            “Of course, sir.”

            “What do you remember of the moments before you became unconscious?”

            Your breath caught in your throat, but you managed to keep it off your face. “Nothing, sir.”

            His eyes narrowed then, and his head tilted to one side. “Nothing at all?”

            Blood was now rushing to your ears.  You gripped the bed to keep your hands from shaking, but you shouldn’t have bothered.  He could see it all; every involuntary twitch, every sharp breath there was no hiding from him now.

            “Sir—"

            “Captain.” Clean, precise, and a reminder of the uselessness of lying.

           “I saw nothing of importance to the mission,” you said, carefully.

            “Meaning you observed something else?”

            “I hardly know.”

            “Do you doubt your senses?” he pressed.

            “No, I…”  You took a breath.  No half lies.  There was no longer a point.  He was determined for a straight answer, and frankly, you were just too tired.

            “I do not wish to cause you embarrassment by my own…interpretations.”

            You met his eye allowing him to look upon and examine every unspoken feeling your words could convey. 

            He took his time, as you knew he would.  You waited for the realization, a sign of embarrassment or even disgust.  But like every time before, there was nothing save for mild fascination.

            “I see,” he said. “And these interpretations, do you wish to be true?”

            “Yes.”

            He nodded. “Your worry then is that your hopes have somehow skewed the facts.”

            “Yes.”

            Again, he nodded and with careful thought, took a step closer. 

            He stood tall before you.  Your eyes met his chest due to the height of the bed.  This was becoming too much.  He knew how this affected you. He had to.

            It was then you felt it; a simple touch.  His fingers gently traced he outline of your jaw almost a whisper against your skin until coming to your chin.  With a simple ounce of pressure, he tilted your face up to his.

            “Then allow me to clarity,” he said. 

            And with that, he kissed you. 

            His lips were softer than you anticipated, his touch careful and deliberate as everything else he did.  It was easy to give in, as you closed you eyes to the sensation. There was no hesitation, or a question being asked, but a tenderness you didn’t think Thrawn was capable of.

            Slowly he pulled away, leaving you content and just a little dizzy.  You blinked your eyes back open to find his glowing red one staring back at you.

            “Was that a sufficient explanation, Captain,” he asked.

            A small smile twitched at the corner of your mouth. “More than sufficient sir,” you said.  “However, I may require you to go into slightly more detail.”

            There was no denying the humor in his eyes now, as an almost relieved smile came to his features.

            “Gladly,” he said before kissing you one more.

            There was something different about his kiss.  The precise calculation was gone replaced with something warm and spontaneous.  You met him with enthusiasm as your hands wandered between his chest and neck. You thrilled as he took a sharp take of breath when you fingers curled around the hair at the base of his neck.  He wanted you.  Thrawn wanted you.

            He kissed you deeper then, parting your lips with a groan of satisfaction. His hands fell securely at your waist, pulling you close as he found a natural spot in between your legs.

            You weren’t sure even if he knew where this was going, but you eager to find out.

           “Grand Admiral, you’re needed--oh! Sorry sir.”

            You broke away to see Commander Vanto standing in the doorway keeping his eyes on a very interesting part of the ceiling.

            Your stomach turned with embarrassment.  Unable to think of anything else to do, you hid your face in Thrawn’s chest.

            Thrawn, for his part, kept perfectly still not even bothering to release his hold of you.

            “Did you need something Commander?” he said, the irritation evident in his voice.

           “You’re needed on the bridge,” Vanto said, still not having it in him to look at either of you.  “Message from command.”

            Thrawn nodded, before turning his attention to you.  

            You looked up to him.  His face was calm, if not a little irritated, but his gaze was gentle.  It felt odd to see on such a sever face, but not unwelcome. You wondered idly if it was a look you would have to get used to; it was a lovely thought.

            He then took your hand, and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss into the palm.

            “Rest well Captain,” he said. “I have a feeling we’ll need you back on the bridge sooner rather than later.”

            “Understood sir.”

            He gave a small smile of approval and with some reluctance, stepped away.

            You watched him go, briefly meeting the Commander’s eyes as you did.

            Vanto said nothing to you, but his expression made his feelings clear; mild embarrassment, but no ill will.  He gave you a small nod, which you returned.

            “Commander Vanto,” Thrawn said, as the pair of them walked out the door. “I would appreciate…”

            “Nobody will hear it from me,” Eli assured.

            They left then leaving the remainder of their conversation to themselves.

            You sat alone with only the mild hum of the ships engine to break the silence. You weren’t sure what to do, what to think.  Involuntarily, you cupped the hand Thrawn had kissed with the other, still tingling from the touch.  You brought it to your lips and a smile spread across your face until you let out a surprised bought of laughter.

            More than sufficient indeed