#might try to get a vaguely reasonable amount of sleep after sending this out

[transgenderfivepebbles]

the experience of feeling several years older and younger than you are at the same time in the worst way possible

[freedomfireflies]

iFall for Harry pt. 5

Summary: Harry's got a proposition.

And you're not sure you're ready for it.

Word Count: 1.3k (SHE'S A BABY, I KNOW, BUT I GOTTA SET UP THE BIG STUFF)

(Previous parts to this series are down below at the end!)

So…what’s the appropriate, normal, non-creepy amount of time to wait after fucking your fist to the sound of somebody’s voice over the phone before texting them?

You grin to yourself when you see the text message slide down on your screen, your lip between your teeth as you click on his name.

Well, considering you could have a heart attack and keel over at any moment, I’d say the sooner the better.

How did I know you’d say that?

Cause I’m just so gosh darn charming.

Oh, is that what you are?

You seemed to think so when you were begging me to let you come.

…I wasn’t begging, I was just asking…really…nicely.

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

I sleep a lot better after that phone call.

Yeah?

Yeah. Except for the fact that I wake up hard as a fucking rock and leaking into my boxers, but…whatever.

Yum. I mean…yikes. Sounds painful. 

 Careful, Cheese Girl. Or I might just call you again.

And what would be so bad about that?

Well, for one, I quite literally don’t think there’s any fucking come left in my body.

…I don’t know if I needed to hear that.

Why? Have you fallen in love?

Oh, is that what this strange feeling in my chest is? Love? Huh, I thought it was heartburn.

Aww, are you saying your heart burns for me?

I’m saying you’re lucky your number isn’t blocked.

You’d never block me. You think about me too much.

Who says I think about you?

Do you?

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes glued to the screen as you contemplate a response.

You could lie to him. After all, he wouldn’t know the difference.

But…it would be a lie.

You do think about him. Far more than you care to admit.

The only problem…is that you don’t want to think about him.

After all, what would telling him even do? It’s not like anything could ever happen outside of the occasional phone sex.

You don’t even know the man.

But…what if you want to?

Yeah, I do. When it’s late at night and I can’t sleep.

A solid minute passes before he finally sends his response.

What did I just say? Are you trying to fucking kill me?

If you can survive a heart attack, you can survive this.

I would never survive you.

You’re not sure if this is meant to be a compliment or an insult…but your heart flutters, nonetheless.

Oops, sorry. Bad time? Are you in another meeting?

Nah. Out by the pool. 

That sounds nice. It’s fucking freezing here.

And where is here...exactly? If you don’t mind my asking.

Again, you hesitate. He could be a catfish…or a stalker…or just a fucking creep.

Or maybe he’s just curious. Maybe he wants to get to know you. And it’s not like you’d be telling him your exact address. Just…maybe a vague description of where you are in the country.

I’m guessing Los Angeles from your area code. 

And I only know that because I also have a Los Angeles area code. 

Which you can probably tell, so I don’t know why I said it.

And now I’m rambling, and you aren’t responding, and I think I freaked you out.

As the texts continue to roll in, you have to smirk, slightly relieved by how adorably flustered he is.

You can almost hear each response in his voice.

That sexy fucking voice.

Easy, Gramps. I lived in Los Angeles for a few years, but I’m in New York now.

Ah, the Big Apple. Nice. I like New York, but you’re right, it’s fucking freezing.

Do you come a lot? To New York I mean.

Uh huh. Sure, you did. And yes. To both.

Very nice. Any particular reason?

Well, sometimes it’s because I'm remembering that phone call. But other times it’s because I’m dreaming about that phone call. Either way, I’m just always thinking about you.

Your stomach flips.

I meant any particular reason you come to New York so often, you twat.

Oh, right. Yeah, I do a lot of business there. Or business-related things.

I see.

Suddenly, the chat goes quiet. Far too quiet, and as the minutes begin to tick by…you feel a strange tingle begin to crawl its way up the back of your throat.

And then—

“…hello?”

“Hi.” Harry. His voice. Breathless and seemingly rattled. “Sorry. I just…I figured if I didn’t call, I’d never say it? And I wanted to hear your reaction instead of just staring at those goddamn bubbles until I shit myself.”

A little surprised, you stand up from your desk and begin to pace toward the kitchen. “No, it’s fine. Are you…okay?”

“I’m…no. Yes, no. I’m fine.”

“…yes, no?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he repeats. “Sorry. I’m…shit. This isn’t going how I wanted it to.”

Your eyebrows raise. 

“I…so, here’s the thing,” he tries again. “There’s a thing. And I know we…don’t know each other, so we don’t really do things…but there’s a thing. That maybe…could be a thing. Like, an us thing.”

“…Harry?”

“…yeah?”

“You’re rambling again.”

You hear him exhale a laugh before there’s a bit of noise and he clears his throat. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m…I do that. When I’m nervous.”

“I see. And why are you nervous?”

“’Cause of…the thing.”

“Ah.” You nod, despite the fact that he can’t see you. “Well…why don’t you tell me what this thing is.”

“Right.” More noise. “So…the thing. I’m…gonna be in New York this week.”

He goes quiet then, as if giving you time to process what he’s saying.

What he’s implying.

“Oh,” you breathe, the realization weighing heavy on your chest. 

“Yeah.” Another beat. “Look, I don’t…I’m not expecting us to meet. I don’t…that’s weird, I know. But…fuck, honestly? All I keep thinking about…is asking you. And I know it’s fucking weird. I know that but I had to ask you. ’Cause it would drive me nuts if I didn’t.”

A long stretch of silence passes between you as your mind begins to work overtime to create any sort of response.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” he adds after a moment, almost sounding embarrassed. “Or at all. I don’t…I really don’t expect anything, but…I’ll be in the city on Friday. And…if you do want to meet…I’ll be at Ellen’s Stardust Diner. At twelve. You could…I don’t know, peek in? See if I look…worth your time? I don’t know. I’m…shit, sorry. I thought this would go better.”

“No, I—” Your eyes squeeze shut. “I’ll…I’ll think about it.”

“Really?” He clears his throat again. “Fuck, sorry. I’m cool. Uh…really. Interesting. Okay, got it. Good to know.”

You smile to yourself as you lean against your kitchen island. “Oh yeah, you are so cool.”

“The coolest—hey, look, I’ve…I’ve gotta go,” he sighs, and for some reason, you feel your heart sink. “I know I keep doing that, and I swear I didn’t mean to drop this on you and then disappear, I’ve just…I’ve…”

“More meetings?” you guess, and you hear him take another breath.

“Yeah. S’always more fucking meetings, and more fucking shit I’m apparently doing wrong.” 

Your expression softens. “I see. Well…good luck.”

“Thanks.” A beat. “So…you’ll think about it?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“’Cause you can tell me if I’m just too attractive for you to actually meet. I’ll believe you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would.”

“Good,” he chuckles. “Okay, I really do have to go now.”

“Hey, I’m just waiting for you to hang up.”

“Honestly, it might be easier if you hang up first. I don’t really think I have the strength to hang up on you.”

There he fucking goes again. 

You tug your lip between your teeth. “Bye, Harry.”

“Yeah…bye, Cheese Girl. Maybe see you Friday.”

You grin.

“Yeah. Maybe see you Friday.”

Next part! ~ iFall for Harry pt. 6

Previous parts:

~ iFall for Harry pt. 4*

~ Full iFall for Harry Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

[luimagines]

First Kiss! Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Part three will include Four, Hyrule and Wind!

Content under the cut!

Four

The night was crisp and young as you walked with Four around the forest before Wild had to eventually send out the Wolf to come and find you two if you wanted to eat anything at all.

He walked a little ways ahead of you and grinned when he came across a little tree stump with a small crack down the middle. “I found one!”

“Found what?” You tilt your head. “When you said you were going to show me something, I didn’t think it would be this? Unless it’s still something I’m not seeing yet.”

“We’re not there yet!” Four bounces on the balls of his feet like an excited kid and gestures you to come next to him frantically.

You try to hide your laughter and go do what he’s asking of you.

He’s quick to grab your hand and he takes a breath.

You raise your eyebrow and copy him.

Four looks over to you, knowing that you’re messing with him before he grins and says, “Ready?”

“Ready for what?”

Four starts chanting a spell before you can even think to stop him and your whole vision shifts and everything grows and it’s warm and sweet and there, before you is suddenly a small hut with mouse people that you’ve never seen before. With feathered tails and little hats and ponchos with acorn cups and pots and you take a minute to take it all in.

Four laughs at your struck dumb expression and ushers you forward.

“What is this place?” You ask on a breath.

Four grabs your hand and gestures with his free to the space around you. “This is a safe haven for the Minish or the Picori as they’ve been known to call themselves.”

“Wow...” You feel a bright smile on your face as you head deeper into the little village inside the tree stump.

But alas, it’s only a few seconds before Link is swarmed by the mouse peop- the Minish as they asll seem to recognize him.

“Hello Mr. Hero!”

“You’re back Link!”

“How have you been?”

“Come sit with us! Have a drink!”

“Link, it’s been awhile. Do you have any new stories to tell us?” A group of the mice- minish- you have to remind yourself again- walk up to Link and one dares to loop their around his, leaning her head on his shoulder as she says this.

Four grins and pulls himself away much to your relief. “You know it! But not right now.” Four says your name, introducing you to the people who must be his friend before saying he was going to show you around.

One minish girl pouts and goes to reach for his arm again. “But Mr. Hero~!”

“Later.” Four smiles in your direction and takes your hand for everyone to see, lacing your fingers together.

You smile a little more easily and gladly follow him through the town.

And it’s really quite lovely.

But... You would enjoy yourself more if Four didn’t have one of them come up to flirt with him every ten minutes.

You can see him begin to get uncomfortable and he’s already apologized more than once about not being able to give you his full attention and show you around like he wanted. Your heart breaks for him.

One girl though, really pushes your buttons.

It’s the same one from earlier- the one that didn’t hesitate to latch onto his arm. “Link! You’ve been here long enough already! Tell us your stories!”

“Sorry but he’s with me today.” You growled and pulled him away from her.

He lets you.

You glare at the girl who doesn’t seem all that impressed by your attitude and claim. She scoffs a little and crosses her arms. “And you are you supposed to be?”

“His lover.”

Four coughs a little next to you but doesn’t deny anything.

The picori around you all still as if you popped a balloon in a silent room. All activity stops and there’s a nervous air around everyone as they all turn their heads to look at you, Four and the small group of minish girls that backup the original.

The original blinks for a minute before smirking a little. “No you’re not.”

You feel like you’ve been slapped.

You take a step back before a calm washes over you.

She doesn’t believe you?

That’s fine.

You shrug and turn to Four who’s watching everything with intense interest.

You don’t hesitate to pick him up and pin to the wall beside you, kissing him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Like you’ve been dying of thirst and he’s the glass of water you’ve been waiting for. Like you’re about to get heat stroke and he’s the shade to protect you. 

Four kisses you back with a smile on his lips.

Four wraps his legs around your waist and buries his hands into your hair, bringing you closer to him.

He tastes like apples and you vaguely remember the apple pie Four had managed to snag for breakfast earlier. There’s the hint of cinnamon and sweet sugar topping.

“I think they’re together.” Someone says in the background but you’re not paying attention to them any more.

You pull away from Four and rest your forehead against his. “Hey there Lover Boy, sorry about the lack of warning.”

“I am not complaining. That was hot.” He smirks and pulls you back in for another kiss.

Those who were interested in Four back away somewhat and everyone returns, with great difficulty on their part, back to what they were doing before.

Minish are terrible gossips.

But you think you can accept that the news is going to be that Four is with you now.

All those fangirls can back off, he’s yours.

Hyrule

You were in trouble for real this time.

You don’t know what it’s going to take but you think it might just be the end of the road for you.

You’re out of potions, you have no fairies, you can’t move your dominant arm and you’re ninety eight percent sure that you’re leg is broken.

To make matters worse, there’s a whole bunch of monsters nearby that you think you’re going to be unable to avoid when they find you.

Eventually.

You take a breath and try to calm down.

There’s no amount of adrenaline in the world that can help out of this one.

And you know you’re not getting any backup either.

This is it.

You can at least leave this plane of existence with a good conscious and a clear head. You can go down with dignity and you can at least you didn’t go down easy.

You just know that the next fight will be your last.

You try to sit up, ignoring how everything in your body seems to hurt, all for different reasons.

It beginning to hurt more now that the adrenaline is leaving your system and you’re getting tired.

A nap wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe the monsters will find you in your sleep and end you then. they say that’s the best to go. In your sleep.

Or (and you know this is unlikely) they’ll think you’re already dead and just leave you alone. Then you can wake up and try to go find help after you’ve rested a little while. 

It’ll be tough, but it’s possible.

Who’re you kidding?

You’re going to die.

You’re never going to see your family again.

You’re never going to tell your friends how much you appreciate them.

You’re never going to be able to tell that Traveler that you’ve fallen uselessly in love with him. 

You’re never going to see the sun again and sing and laugh and see a future family for you....

You don’t want to die.

A single tear runs down your face and you lean back against a stone wall. the corner you were in is secluded enough but not at all hidden.

You can hear the monsters come closer- they’re fighting something. The chaos is loud and thundering in the otherwise empty and quiet cave. They’re coming in your direction and you start counting the seconds.

They get closer and you see the fringes of one huge moblin take a step back to be in front of you. He’s not facing you- too busy fighting something on the other side but you’re out in the open.

You’re tired.

You take another breath and close your eyes. You hear the moblin go down and die but from what, you don’t know. You can’t even open your eyes anymore, that was how tired you were.

But then there’s a scream.

A familiar scream.

Link.

No, Hyrule. It’s Hyrule. It’s your Traveler.

He sounds horrified, pained and it’s enough to try to get you to move again.

You need to see what caused it, you need to see if he’s ok, you need to see what made him scream like that.

But you can’t.

The most you can do it flop an arm and move your head to the side.

Something lands on your side, you can feel it and if you can’t move you can speak. “Mmm...”

Ok, you guess not.

“Oh my god...” Hyrule voice breaks. He sounds like he’s crying.

Please don’t cry, you think. I’m not worth your tears. Save them for someone who matters.

“No...” He gulps and you can feel him move your head, being as gentle as he can with you. You take the biggest breath you can and try to move your head to the other side.

“You can’t die here.” He says. “I won’t let you.”

You can feel the spell he’s used so often on your friend’s fingertips, flow through you and it lessens the pain somewhat, but you know you’re too far gone. You’re too weak. You want to try to stop him from using all his magic but you can’t but at least you can die happy, knowing that he cared about you. It may not be as deep as you would have liked to take your relationship with him, but this is enough. More than enough even.

You feel him turn your head more and begin to lose consciousness.

This is ok.

You think you can go now.

Hyrule kisses you.

It’s desperate.

It’s longing- painful.

Magic flows through your whole body at an alarming rate and you think you can see a golden glow behind your eye lids that forces you to keep your eyes shut tight from the brightness of it all.

But you can move again.

You bring a hand up to your face, feeling Hyrule’s more clearly and let it rest on his jaw.

Slowly, you kiss back- half sure that this is a dream your dying brain has cooked up to make the process easier for yourself.

It’s not sweet, it’s not gentle anymore and the magic wakes you up again enough where you can feel how tight Hyrule is holding onto you.

You push him away with what little strength you managed to get back and blinked your eyes open.

The golden light fades and there’s sits in front of you, your Traveler.

He’s crying.

You blink and begin to feel more of your body again, confusion drowning you in its wake. “Link?”

Your voice is rough and you feel like you need to cough but Hyrule cuts you off and hugs you close. 

“You can’t die.” He says, gulping down the sob that threatens to break through. “I won’t let you... I promise. You’re going to be ok if it’s the last thing I do.”

Wind

“Wind!” You whisper yell and frantically wave your hand to convince to come over to you.

The boy in question grins and looks around momentarily before jogging over to where you were hidden in the bushes. “What is it?”

“Come with me.” You beam and take his hand, wasting no time in dragging him behind you. “There’s something I want to show you but only you. Wild might destroy it and I’ll never be able to get him to leave.”

“Leave where?” Wind asks in his normal volume.

You spin around and place your finger to his lips before glancing for the others again. When nothing appears to have heard the little outburst you pull away and lace your fingers together. “You’ll see!”

Wind doesn’t know what you’re talking about but the secrecy is fun for him, so he’ll place along.

You take him off the trail and take two lefts, a right then a left and Wind considers you two to be lost the second you make the last turn.

He takes a breath and looks around, each tree looking more imposing than the last but he would have no idea where to start if he were to try and go back. “I think we’re lost.”

“No way!” You snort. “This is my home. We’re almost there.”

“Your home?” Wind stands straighter.

You nod and pull away from him.

Wind goes to reach for your hand again.

You don’t notice.

You instead skip over to one of the trees and knock on it three times with your ear pressed up against the truck. You wait two seconds before nodding and take three large steps to the tree on the right and hit it with a branch Wind didn’t see next to it.

The tree shakes and a rope falls down.

You seem encouraged by this and take the rope, pulling on it with all your might which then drops a small ladder, that Wind sees is held together by ropes and connected to something at the top of the tree.

You don’t hesitate to start climbing , getting half way up before looking down and gesturing Wind to follow you.

Wind grins maniacally and follows you up the ladder faster than you would have thought he’d be capable of climbing.

You get to the top which is blocked off by a bunch of wood, but you know this place and you lift the trap door with ease and climb inside.

You get on your knees and turn around reaching your hand out to help Wind into the tree house.

He climbs in slower than you, glancing around with wide eyes, taking in everything.

There’s a small unmade bed in the corner with two stuffed animals from what he can. One is a dog and another is a bird but he doesn’t know what kind.

There’s a small bookshelf under a window that’s propped open with a small wooden board. There’s not a lot of books there, maybe seven at most but that’s more books than Wind is accustomed to seeing in one place and the rest of the space is filled is nick nacks and trinket that Wind assumes are from your adventure. And small chest next to it that must be where your clothes are if the cloth hanging out is any indication. 

There’s also a small- (toy sized) wood stove with matching metal pots and pans and a small sink on the other side of the tree house. Out of curiosity, he walks over and turns on the faucet.

It has running water.

“This is my home.” You whisper when Wind comes to stand up. “It’s little... and a little broken, if I’m being honest. I don’t have the tools to fix it but it’s mine.”

“Broken?” Wind blinks and looks around even more. There’s some rotting wood by the bed, now that he sees it and it doesn’t look like it’ll be able to hold much more weight if it continues without being replaced. It’s holding up the ceiling above your head- Wind instantly feels concerned for your safety should it collapse while you’re there, or what you’d do if it happened while you weren’t there. He’s almost sure now that there’s more that he just can’t see right now, if that was glaringly obvious off the get go.

“Some parts need fixing and replacing.” You admit. “But I didn’t build this place, I just found it and moved in, so I don’t know where I would even start. It’s not safe on the ground at night so I’m better off up here. There’s also some pipes on the roof are beginning to rust and get nasty. It collects the water from the tree leaves when it rains and keeps it in a container buried in the ground, that’s how I have running water. But it’s cracking.”

You sigh and sit on the floor, crossing your legs under you. “I’ll figure it out. Worse case scenario I’d have to leave and find a cave or something to live in but-”

“We can help you!” Wind turns to you and falls to knees in front of you. “Wild’s good at collecting materials. Twilight and Time can help build. Warrior can plan it out. Legend and Four can help with the pipes. You don’t have to lose your home.”

“The others might make fun of me for having this place.” You mutter with a small pout on your face. “But I knew you wouldn’t! That’s why I brought you up here! I may have nothing, but it’s a lot of nothing so I have enough to share.”

Wind leans into your space suddenly and places his lips on yours.

You gasp and touch them with the tips of your fingers, staring at him wide eyed and shocked.

It was just a peck, a butterflies touch, but the look on Wind’s face says something else. It’s heavy with emotion, with concern and care, and there’s a little part of you that finds it more attractive than you thought it would be.

“You won’t lose your home and I won’t let them make fun of you, I promise.” He gulps and bite his lip. “Let us help. Please.”

You blink at him and let the furious blush encompass your face entirely. You shrink a little bit away but smile. “Ok.”

Wind takes a breath and releases it a nervous but joyful laugh. “We’ll go get the others, ok? And we’ll make sure that you’re ok and safe and this whole place will be as good as new.”

You nod with a smile and Wind looks overjoyed that you agreed.

You hum and shift your weight onto your knees as well, leaning into Wind’s space, steadying yourself with a hand on his shoulder and place a delicate kiss on his lips as well. “Thank you Link.”

Wind also blushes something fierce and he begins to play with his hands in front of him, giggling and bashful. “Oh- Um- Well- I- Uh...You- You’re welcome.”

[rheawritessometimes]

Not Part of the Deal

{ Childe x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Living with Childe is starting to feel a little too comfortable. Series Masterlist

{ Warnings } Swearing, Physical Intimacy, Alcohol, Intoxication, Undefined Relationship.

{ Notes } This took a long time, I'm having a hard time writing. I can't decide what I want to write but I didn't want to leave this unwritten for too long. Hopefully, I'll be able to wrap this series up nicely soon. Masterlist

{ Word Count } 1,846

The bed was empty when you woke up to the sound of laughter, which was reasonable considering it was Childe’s laughter coming from the kitchen. You sat up, noting that this was the second time your sleep was disturbed by the Harbinger being loud in the kitchen. Groggily, you rolled out of his bed to figure out the source of his amusement.

When you entered the kitchen, bright blue eyes shining with laughter met your gaze. They were so beautiful, framed by long lashes and accompanied by a goofy smile that could probably light up all of Teyvat for weeks. Were those dimples?

“I thought you didn’t want me ‘cooking enough to feed a small army’, why so much food?” Childe asked through his laughter, seeming much more amused by this than he reasonably should be. Not that this stopped you from laughing along with him.

“Well, I didn’t know what you might like to make, so I decided to err on the side of caution,” you replied somewhat bashfully. It was the truth, minus the fact that most of it was fueled by panic.

“I guess that means I should make a lot of dishes for dinner!”

This turned into quite the ordeal, with several different things being prepared simultaneously, Childe needed to split his focus and time things correctly. You couldn’t even help with much of the preparation, too focused on clearing counter space of his used cookware and cleaning dishes so you wouldn’t be left with a mountain of them afterward, it was especially useful that you cleaned dishes he would later need to reuse for a different component of the meal he had planned.

“Childe, this all looks really good but I think this is enough food to feed all of Liyue.”

“I don’t mind sharing.”

Scoffing at his reply, you could only shake your head. You assumed Childe would pass the leftovers off to his subordinates in Liyue so you didn’t mind too much, so long as the food didn’t go to waste and you didn’t have to do the distribution. Not many of the Fatui in Liyue were very fond of you, considering your history of fights with them. Maybe that’s why the guard didn’t like you.

Redirecting your attention to the food laid out on the table, you were impressed by the array of dishes. There was a cold, primarily vegetable soup that had caught your interest when Childe began preparing it. There was also some sort of potato salad with plenty of mayo, something similar to dumplings with meat filling, and fruit cooked in a syrup. Several other dishes filled the table and you felt bad not sampling at least a little bit of everything, so you kept your portions small.

Throughout dinner, you listened to the Harbinger tell you about the times he made these dishes with his family or sometimes a little bit about the history of a dish. While you didn’t say much, it was pleasant to have his chatter fill the air. He continued to talk about his family back in Snezhnaya and the long days spent fishing even after the both of you had finished eating and were clearing the table.

“I need to start exercising again, I don’t want to get out of shape,” Childe lamented once you had finished with the cleaning. You had both settled on the couch, sitting on opposite ends facing each other.

“Have you forgotten about your broken ribs already?” you ask, a bit of incredulity dripping into your tone.

“No, but it won’t hurt that bad. I can handle it.”

You really couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not with that statement, his tone was serious but he couldn’t be that careless. Surely he understood the strain would impede recovery, perhaps even make things worse.

“No, you can’t. You’d just mess up your recovery trying. Not to mention we have a deal,” you try to reason, wondering briefly if that kind of thing even worked on him. You knew Childe wasn’t one to break his promises but he also cared greatly about his strength.

“I will exercise restfully,” he said decisively, though his playful undertone made it apparent he was joking.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet you adore me.”

Scoffing at his response, you meet his gaze. He wore a cheeky grin, eagerly awaiting your response in hopes of being able to further tease you. You know if you hesitate for too long he will also tease you about that, so your options were limited.

“You sound awfully confident in that,” you reply coolly. It was not an ideal response, but it was the best you could think of in the moment.

“Because it’s true, you didn’t even deny it,” the Harbinger gloats, seeming very satisfied with himself.

“Maybe,” you reply vaguely, rolling the thought around in your head. What were your feelings for him, exactly? It was clear you weren’t just friends, but it seemed like a lot to say you were in love with him and it didn’t seem to be enough to say you just liked him. You felt confused about him.

For the rest of the night, you thought about the same question, but even by the time you were falling asleep, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a solid answer. It left you feeling restless for the next few days, though things remained the same with Childe. To pass the time you took the dog Harbinger on regular walks through Liyue. Sometimes the two of you would stop at the various vendor’s stalls in the markets and others you would walk closer to the harbor.

Even with your uncertainty about him, Childe was as easy to get along with as ever. He joked and made you laugh, cooked most of your shared meals thankfully not making quite as much food, and explored Liyue with you. Sometimes you visited the restaurants and Zhongli would join the two of you, making a habit of keeping the two of you for hours with his stories before dumping the bill on the Snezhnayan.

Though fewer than normal, you still took up commissions around Liyue, leaving Childe unattended for some time. You couldn’t be certain, but you were pretty sure he still behaved in the time you were gone. It seemed he most often did some work for the Fatui in the time you were gone, you often came back to him reading over a report or writing something he would later handoff to the guard outside his door.

All in all, living with him was becoming fairly comfortable.

“Oh fuck we’ve been eating all this Snezhnayan food and stuff and I forgot to show you our most famous commodity,” Childe exclaimed one night as he was cleaning up in the kitchen after dinner. You looked over from drying a plate to see him pull two small glasses and a bottle of clear liquid from the cupboards. You knew enough to recognize it.

“Fire-Water?”

“Yeah, have you had it before? This is a bottle of the fancy stuff,” he hummed, already pouring some into the glasses, one with a noticeably smaller amount.

“I haven’t, I don’t drink much,” you admitted, taking the glass from him when he offered it to you.

“Oh, perfect,” he said with a grin that made you think it would not be perfect for you. That didn’t stop you from drinking the small amount in your glass after watching him knock back his.

The taste was awful, but the burn down your throat and how warm it made you feel was rather pleasant. Childe had been watching you, eager to gauge your reaction. He would be disappointed by the fact you didn’t cringe at the taste but also pleased you didn’t seem to dislike it.

“It’s not bad,” you said after a moment, which Childe responded to by pouring a more generous amount into your glass. They were small glasses, so it still didn’t amount to very much.

“I think you’re fully prepared for a visit to Snezhnaya now,” he laughed, also pouring more of the Fire-Water into his glass. Being awfully classy not drinking straight from the bottle.

“Is that your way of telling me you want me to visit you when you’re back in Snezhnaya?” you cooed teasingly, emptying your glass before setting it on the counter. It was already starting to feel a little hazy. That did not stop your companion from continuing to drink.

“Maybe. Maybe I would like to take you back with me,” he returned with a cheeky grin, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you into his side, not letting you go once you were there. Not that you particularly minded being held snugly against his side. “What do you say? You might even like the cold.”

Heart fluttering at his words, you wondered if he meant them. Of course, he had said it in response to your teasing, but maybe he did want you around. Did you want to stay with him, by his side when he returns to Snezhnaya? Perhaps even going with him when the Fatui send him to different nations?

“I don’t know, I think you’d need to convince me it’s worth going with you,” you mused, giving him a playful smirk.

“Is being with me not enough for you?” he pouts, setting his glass down before using his grip on your waist to turn you around so your back bumps against the counter. His hands rested against the surface on either side of you caging you in as he gazed down at you with an expression that made your heart stutter.

The Harbinger observed your expression for a few beats before leaning down to press his lips to yours. He was much rougher than he’d been in the past, more eager, but you mimicked his pace and intensity nonetheless. Perhaps it was the alcohol you could still taste on his tongue that caused the change.

When you wrapped your arms around his neck, he lifted you up and seated you on the counter. He pulled away from the kiss to brush his lips against your cheek before moving to your neck. The kisses he left there started out delicate but when his teeth grazed against your skin you couldn’t help but close your eyes and sigh pleasantly.

When his hands hooked under your thighs to lift you up, your eyes flew open and a surprised squeak left you. On instinct your legs wrapped around him to prevent you from falling.

“Childe?” you asked when he began walking with you in his hold. It became apparent that the Harbinger was carrying you in the direction of his bedroom, causing your heart to speed up. It seemed like things were moving too fast.

“Alcohol makes me sleepy sometimes.” Oh.

You were promptly dropped on the bed, still feeling a little shocked. He leaned down to press another kiss to your lips, smiling at your expression. That night was the second time you found yourself falling asleep in Childe’s arms.

[dwollsadventures]

The second part of a request from TheLOAD from... a while back. The initial one was the Nix/Nokk/Knucker piece. This one took me a little longer for a few reasons. Mostly school reasons. And writer's block reasons,  which is why this is taking the place of the monthly preview. And because, for research, I had to re-read the entirety of Drakon by Daniel Ogden for information. For those not used to my pedantry, this is not an "in-canon" family tree of the Greek dragons, such as you might see in those huge Greek mythology family tree pictures that are on the internet (I've got a few in my favorites from waaaaayyyy back as well). Rather, this is a way of showing how the concept of the dragon came about throughout time and how other beings are related through those branching lines. Of course this is presented as a lot more neat than it probably should be. If it were truly accurate it would have interconnected lines all over the place and obscure the little lizards. Before we talk about what's on the tree let's talk about what's not on it. Though Odgen talks about every (and I mean every) slightly Draconic being in Greek and Roman mythology, I've opted to include a trimmed down version. Because some, like Medusa and Lamia, I personally do not consider dragons proper, and others like the goddess Keto are relatively obscure and probably only exist to explain the existence of a related being (like the ketea). Creatures like Chimera and Typhoeus are included because, while not usually serpentine or draconic, they are in effect dragons; horrible, vaguely reptilian monsters slain by a hero. Not every individual dragon is depicted, only the ones I thought pertinent to include. (warning: LONG)

To start with, a drakon is a snake. The Greeks used the word to refer to both huge monsters and mundane snakes. Drakon itself is derived from the word dérkomai and is believed to literally mean, "the one who sees". The hypnotizing power attributed to snakes is present in drakons, traditionally given the job of the sleepless guardian of treasure. Going back even further, we see that the drakon comes from two disparate cultural perceptions of snake, each of which is still present in its classical form.

Snake Goddess - One of the native precursors of the Greeks were the Minoans. They had more in common with their Egyptian and Near Eastern neighbors than the Italians and Balkans. From what little we can gather of their culture, it appears the snake was a symbol of the goddess. Whether or not it was any goddess in particular is unknown. This theme survives into ancient Greece, however. Athena often uses snakes as agents when acting with mortals, Hera uses them as well (the twin serpents who attempted to strangle Heracles and the Hydra), and Medea had a chariot pulled by snakes. Earth goddesses in particular are heavily associated with them. Python was a direct product of Gaia, and the snake was a divine symbol of Demeter, who also had a rad snake chariot. Even in mortal women, their dynamic with snakes and dragons is nurturing. Several heroines sing to snakes as their masculine counterparts steal the treasure they guard, fulfilling a nurturing role in comparison to the destructive masculine one. Here the snake is a guardian, a creature of the earth and everything beneath it, including gold and the dead. These dragons are usually not slain, but pacified by the presence of a woman. In addition, the beard is an originally Greek symbol associated with snakes, particularly those connected to the gods. This was quite possibly a signifier of their supernatural status above mundane serpents. The goddess depicted above isn't any one in particular, though her dress does pull from a statue of Athena holding a curled python.

Drakaina - One way in which the snake goddess has survived is in the drakaina. This word is simply the feminine form of drakon, but also encompasses the numerous beings characterized by having the upper body of a woman and the lower body of a drakon. Numerous beings in Greek mythology fit this theme, but the one I've focused on is the Scythian drakaina, a woman who intercepts Heracles during one of his labors and kidnaps some cows. She offers to return the cattle in exchange for a night of intercourse. And then Herc is off and we're told the three sons of that union go on to become kings of great renown in Scythia. Some authors interpret this as a Greek adaptation of a Scythian myth, with one of the key pieces of evidence being that the drakaina's name is Hora, meaning "Seasons". Regardless of whether or not this is a goddess, it is a story where the snake-woman is neither killed nor stolen from, instead given the prestige of being the founder of a line of kings.

PIE Chaos Serpent - From the Proto-Indo-Europeans up North, we get the dragon we're all more familiar with. Serpents of this breed, such as Apep, Tiamat, and Jormungand, are all enormous, destructive creatures allied with darkness and the unforgiving seas. They represent the primordial chaos from what order sprang out of, and often have a hand in trying to return the world to that way. One of the primary themes associated with them is the dragon slayer: a god or hero who fights a dragon to save something, be it a land or treasure or an Ethiopian princess.

Typhoeus - This guy, though significantly more humanoid and giant-like than any others, is the clearest example of a PIE chaos serpent in Greece. It does not get more typical than a giant snake (like) monster fighting a storm god. Typhoeus probably sprung from traditions where he was more serpentine, but gradually added other aspects. Such as his own storm god qualities. In Greece, gods associated with the winds are always given wings, save for Zeus. The two's battle is reflective of a battle between the terrible whirlwinds and lightning strikes and the calmer, helpful rain showers that enable humanity to survive. 

And then we get to the drakon proper. Taking elements from both sides of the tree, the archetypal Greek drakon is an enormous, often monstrous serpent associated with both the underground and the waters in some way. They are agents of gods, most often goddesses, sent to battle heroes or guard priceless treasures. Sometimes they're killed, sometimes they're merely lulled to sleep by a helpful maiden. Rather than breathing fire (which everything from mechanical bulls to horses to giants do), they possess venoms and rows of sharp teeth. Mention of their terrible gazes is often made. This drakon has both a beard and a casque-like crown, common elements in drakon descriptions from Greece. Its face is much less serpentine, being modeled after a clay illustration of the Colchian dragon. This gives is a suitably monstrous look, as if it were being pealed from layers of mud.

Chimera - Despite its odd appearance, the chimera fits the pattern of a dragon terrorizing a countryside and being slain by a plucky hero. The chimera may in fact be the originator of the classical Saint George imagery, where the saint is depicted as towering over a crawling, pitiful dragon. A 3rd century mosaic from Imperial Rome may have started this trend. What makes her (because despite her mane the Chimera is a female) stand apart from all the rest is the sheer strangeness of her form compared to others. Especially the little goat that comes out of her back, like a rider. Which I had to cut for spacing reasons :(

Hydra - Another classical Greek dragon is the multi-headed hydra, who has given its name to a whole genre of creatures with more heads than they ought to have. In addition to having the attributes of a typical Greek drakon, the Hydra has two traits seen in Mesopotamian monsters as well. The first is the amount of heads. Having many heads is not as common in Greece as it is in the Near East, where the idea of an eleven-headed sea serpent pops up numerous times across several different cultures. The second is that the hydra, in its earliest mentioning by Hesiod, is said to have been raised by Hera specifically to combat Heracles. This same tactic is done by a few Mesopotamian gods. In their realm of influence, monsters are pawns of the gods, who send them out to do their bidding on Earth while they lounge in Heaven. Our Hydra may have been a later influence from Greece's neighbors to the East. Also, had to add in the crab that Hera also sends in to help the hydra. If this were a spec bio piece, I would make it a species of crab that evolved to clean the hydra of parasites.

Cetus - Sea monsters such as these are perhaps the furthest from the traditional Greek drakon, while still remaining core parts of the mythology. In form cetoi range from exaggerations of real whales and sharks to dog-headed serpents with frilly fins and ears. Or even animal-headed fish. Because they live underwater, they almost always function as tools of divine vengeance. Kinda hard to steal treasure underwater. Heavy metal tends to sink. While cetus was originally a word for any sea monster, it would eventually become the root of the scientific term cetacean: whales and dolphins.

But the tree doesn't end there. See, even after the culture we recognize as the Ancient Greeks and Romans faded, their dragons still lived on. Medieval Europe, with its glorification of Greco-Roman texts, derived many of their folk beliefs from their predecessors. Or, the people who they liked to imagine were there predecessors.

Draco - The Romans adopted the Greek drakon whole-clothe, like a lot of stuff. The only noteworthy original dragon to come out of the pre-Fall Roman era was the Dacian Draco. The Dacians used the image of a dragon as a standard during war-time, represented as a serpent with the head of a dog. When conquered, the Romans adopted this, possibly beginning the Western tradition of associating dragons with military power and identity. The dog-headed serpent would also survive to the modern period, showing up in descriptions of Balkan lamya. 

Indian Drakon - Here begins a tradition in Greek and Roman literature that claimed that foreign parts were full of large, dangerous, and more interesting fauna than the mundane peninsula they were all stuck on. This is a common theme of humanity in general, where everyone you're not familiar with is teeming with exciting and ancient life. Just look at cryptozoology. India in particular was a favorite of Greek tall tales, being far away for journeys to be rare, but also rich and full of exotic animals. Philostratus populated India with three types of drakons: the lowly marsh, the silver hill, and the dazzling golden mountain drakons. They were typical in every respect, having enormous sizes, red crowns, beards, and guarding treasure beneath the earth. An interesting addition was that they were the mortal enemies of elephants. Being the largest land-animal (in real life), they made perfect prey for these humongous serpents. Feeding on them was fraught with peril, however, as the struggle between reptile and mammal could result in the death of either party, or both. To symbolize the foreignness of the drakon, I drew it as a sort of hybrid between the drakon and the Hindu naga. 

Pliny's Drakon - This drakon is otherwise the same as the Indian, but is the start of another theme. As time went on, philosophers began taking more grounded looks at fantastical animals. While also perpetuating even more outrageous falsehoods. None was more popular than Pliny the Elder, hence the name. He believed that, while foreign drakons might be real, they were much more similar to the snakes of Greece than the monsters of legend. He scoffed at the crowns and hair they were adorned with. His Natural History was the first of many instances where the fantastical elements of the dragon were toned down to seem more palatable to a scientifically minded audience. It also introduced an interest into the life history of the dragons, treating them as real animals with lives beyond the myths. Our dragon up top evolved to resemble pythons, rather than the other way around to what probably happened in real life, where pythons were exaggerated to become dragons.

Then, we get two foreign influences, which would come to shape the modern definition of the European dragon. Christianity's influence cannot be understated here. As Jonathan Evans states in Medieval Folklore, the dragon came to be confused with several other desert animals. In Jewish and early Christian belief, desert animals were themselves demonic, living in inhospitable regions devoid of human life. Later, texts like Revelations would specifically denote dragons as heralds of evil, and even harbingers of Armageddon itself. This is in contrast to the morally neutral Leviathan. In the medieval era, dragons were beings of evil, without a doubt. Bestiaries were full of on the nose fables about how the natural lives of dragons. Like how they could not stand the breath of a panther (a symbol of Jesus Christ). Or how they could not catch birds that nested in the Peridexion tree (the tree being the church and the birds being Christians, who are safe from the devil so long as they do not stray from the arms of God). This is represented by a typical medieval devil, being brightly colorful and made in mockery of God's creations, aka a weird hybrid with a snake coming out of his butt. Then, the Germanic dragon. This is seen especially in Northern and Western Europe. The Germanic dragon is otherwise similar to the Greek, except that it began as a character of evil. Lindworms and other serpents are almost always antagonists, and there is no heroine who saves them from their fate of death. They also had a stronger connection to treasure. Greek dragons guarded treasure as a job, but the very existence of Germanic dragons is tied with their golden hoards. In addition, in Greek myths, getting transformed into an animal is usually the end of one's story. With the Germanic dragon, it's merely the beginning. Transformed dragons act as antagonists and moral lessons wrapped in one; a lesson to all to not be greedy. Germanic dragons, represented by the lindworm, reinforced their role as antagonists and agents of selfish evil.

Which finally brings us to the medieval dragon. In a way, this creature is a mix of everything above. The dragon is an animal and demon in one, simultaneously a figure of evil who spoils the land around them and a living being with its own life and needs. The medieval era also introduces the origin of dragons, showing them as having nests and young, not simply coming into existence out of the earth or sea like before. They also developed some less reptilian traits, like wings and hair. This was probably because of artistic traditions among the monks who wrote bestiaries rather than popular legend, which continued to conflate them with snakes and lizards and even crocodiles. This particular line of the tree would develop a life of its own, spreading far and wide across Europe and eventually reaching beyond the seas. Our modern conceptions of dragons are a whole 'nother story.

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia Ch.3

WARNING DECEPTIONS OF A PANIC ATTACK

I understand seeing others go through this can sometimes cause panic or anxiety attacks in some and with the use of some imagery I've used I'd feel better if I gave a fair warning that there is a detailed panic attack early on.

,,,,,,,,,,

Whoever said eight hours of sleep was the right amount for humans has never met an insomniac who just spent the last six days and five nights awake. You hoped that fucker is in hell burning for his sins, he probably has more of them that you don't know of. But with bleary eyes looking at your phone you can barely make out that it's just a little past six in the morning. This is backed up by the slimmers of light shinning through the blanket you put over the window last night. Briefly the thought of keeping it up today passes through your mind as you try to curl into an even tighter blanket cocoon.

Stretching out your legs and toes you let your muscles melt into mush in the warmth and comfort of your bed. Closing your eyes and burying your head back into the pillow, you might not be able to go to sleep but resting is nice too. You're so relaxed it almost feels as if all your limbs are floating and you feel the buzz of energy come surging back through you, you hum along with it nuzzling into the pillows.

'Your car was broken into.' the thought flashes through your mind and has you jolting up right.

Chest heaving slightly as frantic eyes dance along the room that hasn't changed since the night before. The buzzing energy from just a few moments before turns into an icy feeling flowing in your veins. It chills you to your core and you've noticed the tremors in your arms causing you to tremble. There's a sick feeling that bubbles up your throat, as you feel the phantoms of tens of hands grabbing at your arms and torso. They move erratically all over and their grips are suffocating, there's a lump in your throat that you have trouble swallowing down.

Bringing a hand up to your throat you jab your thumb right above or right at where your larynx would be. The slight pain from the pressure helps ease the lump away and you're able to get out a few frantic breaths. You hardly notice the wetness on your face from the few tears slipping free from your eyes.

'Gross, gross, gross, gross.' is the only message that rings clear in your mind as you're assaulted by these phantom hands.

You're aware this is a panic attack, but it does little to calm you down. Putting more pressure on your throat and using your feet to propel you back into the mattress. Vaguely you're aware that tiring your body out should calm you or maybe it's the release of an emotional fit that calms you, you aren't sure which and you don't really care at the moment. So flailing your legs you let your feet forcefully slip off of their purchase as you push your muscles to their full extent with force. It doesn't take long before you can't feel your limbs and are gasping for breath.

The phantoms are gone, no longer touching you as they please, and while the lump still sits at the bottom of your throat making it hurt to swallow and breathe around you can begin to feel calm. Actually it's the numbness that takes over you, not a sense of calm. The sense of an empty shell broken from its exertion. One thing's for sure you can't take your car today. If you had a panic attack just by thinking of your car you don't want to risk actually getting behind the wheel.

Everything feels tense, the muscles in your legs are starting to ache and you're pretty sure you'll have a bruise at the base of your throat.  You check your phone with shaky hands to see it's now seven twelve. If you get up now and leave you think you can probably make it into town by eight forty giving you time to grab something from the Dunkin' on the corner across from the shop. Or you could call out, Nate would totally understand. But just the thought of being alone today sends a chill down your spine and the feeling of those phantom hands start creeping their way back into your personal space.

“I'm going to work!” jumping up and out of the bed, away from the grubby grabby specters.

Running around the room you throw on a pair of black shorts, unusual for you to wear at work but if you're walking you'll have to deal, sweaty jeans are uncomfortable and joggers aren't very cohesive to a work environment. Deciding on a binder made from a breathable swimsuit material for the same reason, sweaty bra is too uncomfortable and bra-less isn't really something you're comfortable with. Grabbing the first shirt you find, it's a black tee with the words “The only man for me is Mothman” printed on it surrounded by little white stars and a chibi lil mothamn.

Looking at your outfit altogether cheers you up. It's casual but cute, not to mention these shorts do a lot for your thighs and butt. But, there's no time to dwell on how handsome you are, you need to grab food and get out the door like ten minutes ago! Grabbing a mask printed with the word 'No' dead center and your headphones you leave your room. With the thought of grabbing Dunkin' before work you settle on a Pedialyte Pop to hold you over during your walk, nausea shouldn't hit you right away anyway. Checking your door was locked, thrice, you started your trek to town.

Most people would complain about having to walk or hike while wearing a mask, often times saying it was hard to breathe under the fabric. But you'd say they just didn't have the right size mask for their face shape. You'd run into a few masks that hadn't been the right shape or size throughout the years but you're thankful that your first three had been perfect. Had they been too big or small you probably wouldn't have fallen in love with wearing masks, they were so comfy and let you interact with people without your voice getting stuck in your throat.

You'd taken to wearing them after high school when you'd taken a job of watching an elderly hospice patient's corgi while her family worked on moving to Virginia and closer to her. Anytime you and little Russel went to visit her you'd had to wear a mask, so instead of wearing the disposables you'd bought a set of three reusable ones.

After noting the change in behavior she mentioned your Autism, she'd been a retired social worker and saw the signs when she met you and after spending nearly 40 hours a week together for half a year she was certain you somehow fell through the cracks. It was a shock to you when she threw out the off handed comment but after stating who your pediatrician was, she was sent into a fit of laughter.

“Anya is a dear and a great surgeon, but I think the cultural barrier has stopped her from diagnosing children for years.” she had said all the while wheezing through the oxygen mask, eyes crinkling in amusement.

She'd sat you down with a list of books to look into and written out all your symptoms, she said if you ever wanted to get tested having the list of symptoms would be more helpful than straight up asking for a diagnosis. Some doctors were too by the book back in the 40s so Autism has rarely been studied in depth. Only in the last decade or so has a movement gained momentum to spread not only a wider awareness of the disorder but also acceptance for it. But to a doctor it would seem like you were grasping for attention at least to anyone who spent less time with you than she had. But without at least six thousand dollars to spend on a piece of paper that confirms what you already know you'll just have to stick to coping by using methods you read about from forums and blogs made by people with Autism rather than their parents or someone who's “very close” to them. And like Mary Anne said before she died, “just because you don't have a diagnosis doesn't mean your symptoms aren't there.”. A statment that reassures you from time to time, when you think you must be faking it for attention. And that somehow you managed to fake tics your whole life.

Snapping out of your memories because you could hardly tell your mask was on, and has been for the past forty minutes or so since you'd finished your pop. It wasn't too hot at the moment and like the previous day Kepler's climate has no humidity whatsoever, a huge change from the coast. Checking the time again on your phone you see the clear white numbers stating boldly that it is eight o' nine. You don't feel any closer to town but figure that's normal when all you've seen is the old over grown road. You feel you should have seen the road leading to town by now,  you hope you see it soon or else you'd really over estimated how long it would take to get to town, then you'd be hella late and sweaty. With the way you still had signal to the spotify you doubt you've even made it far enough to reach the dead zone.

Sighing you look down as you walk hoping to maybe find a rock to kick, walking's really boring when there's nothing to explore and you're on a time crunch. A loud honk takes you out of your head and you startle looking up. Doesn't take more than a second before you see a car stopped in the middle of the road in front of you. It's well taken care of for sure but not necessarily new or anything, you don't know too much about cars other than it looks like a black Camry no wait that's the Hyundai symbol. Some type of sedan then.

The back window on your side of the car rolls down and a man leans out and calls to you, you don't hear him at first. Slipping your headphones down to hang around your neck he repeats himself, “Do ya need a ride?” He has a southern accent on the thicker side, not abnormal for West Virginia but you can tell it's not the same dialect, probably from further down. The man has blonde hair styled in that fluffy swooped faux hawk that a lot of gamers had back in 2017/2018. He's got slight thin stubble along his jaw, not quiet five o'clock shadow so he probably has trouble growing facial hair. His eyes are that hazel color everyone wishes they could have, the kinda that had the orangish yellow glow about them. He looks like a fuck boy.

You're nearly ready to point at your mask in an indication of 'no I don't know you creep' when you catch sight of the driver. A boy around your age maybe who looks apathetic, that's not what catches your eye everyone looses the will to live at some point. What draws your attention is the mask he's wearing on his face. He could potentially be like you, or maybe he's just sick and being considerate, or he could have allergies. Whatever the case may be you can't honestly be considering getting into a car with two random men just because one wears a face mask. Hell for all you know they've orchestrated this situation, they could've been watching you analyzing your every move to know that breaking into your car would send you into a state of panic where you wouldn't use your car the next day or two, then you'd be out in the open to kidnap on your walk to town where you couldn't call for help due to being in the dead zone. Why else would they be this far along the old dirt road?

“Ah...miss?” the southern drawl brings you out of your inner ramblings, and the words cause you to bristle.

“I'm not a woman.” you say calmly but firmly.

“Oh, ah sorry sir.” you can't help but huff a laugh at the quick apology, your eyes catch movement through the window. Oh they have a dog with them, a rottweiler at that. Cool kidnappers with a dog, who's wearing a vest how...wait dog in vest oh he must be a service dog. Cool not kidnappers then, just strangers, nice. Seemingly trans allys, slight common ground with the driver, and a service dog it might be safe to engage...or at least humor these men.

“It's fine, I'm They/Them for the record.” You say approaching the car, you make your way to the man leaning out of the window, somehow the presence of a service dog puts you more at ease, especially when the dog only spares you a single glance before his attention's back on the driver, who's not even pretending to pay attention to the two of you. His leg is bouncing up and down, it's not rhythmic and no one's paying attention even as it shakes the car. Probably has ADHD, your dad does that all the time when he's at a stop light, it's a subconscious movement he even does it in waiting rooms or anywhere where he has to sit still really.

“Oh, well sorry 'bout that Mx.” the man in the window stresses the “Mx” but not in the typical fuck boy way, more like he was reinforcing it to himself. “We just saw you walkin' and wanted to see if ya' needed a ride anywhere.” he says.

“If you're going to town, I'd appreciate one, but I wouldn't want to be a bother.” his smile brightens at this but you notice it doesn't reach his eyes, probably just being polite.

“Sure thing, hop on in.” He moves to slide back but you've already opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. Effectively snapping the driver out of whatever haze he was in to look at you, he looks back at his friend with confusion.

“Hi” you say to the driver who gives his own wary 'hey' in response as you buckle yourself in. The driver looked even more apathetic up close, dark eye bags under his eyes that were such a deep brown you couldn't see his pupil he also had that fluffy brown e-boy hair. Not the frizzy hair marketing itself as fluffy but the type that's genuinely fluffy looking forming soft waves in his hair.

If they are kidnappers they're really bad at it, especially if all you have to do to stun them is sit up front in a seat that has the second most control in the car and can escape quicker if the need arises. However, glancing back at the dog you notice his attention's still on the driver, it would be really dumb if a kidnapper brought their service dog with them to do a kidnapping so you're reassured that it's just two southern boys driving through Kepler. And they happened to spot a “damsel” in distress, so they came to the rescue.

“Oh, don't mind Connor he won't bother you. He's here for Toby right now.” The man in the back says and you see the man beside you grip the steering wheel tighter. You nod in response and feel a tickle at the base of your skull, you'll try holding back the tic to not freak the two out.

Just as “Toby” is about to put the car in drive, a bark is heard from the back seat. A frustrated sigh leaves Toby as his hand leaves the gear shift, scowl clear even on his masked face. You guess Toby needs Connor to let him know when he's safe to drive, it's rude to ask about these things but you can't help but guess why that'd be the case.

Another bark leaves Connor right as your head snaps to the right moving back to place, then right, right, up, and right before cracking violently.

“There we go.” you verbalize.

Toby's looking at you in what you can only guess is shock, not the worst reaction you've had to your tics, meanwhile you notice Brian's looking to Connor who's looking directly at you now. Then his head whips around to Toby and he barks, like clockwork Toby's shoulders jerk forwards and his hands jolt up. Connor looks back at you and gives a bark, your head jerks three times cracking your neck two of those times. Connor's gaze is still on you and you know he'll be in an ongoing ping pong game between you and Toby if you keep triggering each other's tics the entire drive, if you'd even be able to get to that point.

“I'm fine, thank you.” you said looking at Connor while holding the sides of your head, trying to as your friend Emonie once said 'keep the bobble head away'.

Thankfully Connor must have had a training course similar to ones you've helped with because he looks away from you and focuses on Toby, who he gives several barks to. Following those barks Toby pops his knuckles and makes a 'mrrwo' sound, sort of imitating a cat, before his head jerks sharply into his knee that jerked up at the same time. You cringe at the sight knowing that must have hurt, hands still firmly pushing your head you see Connor settle down in the back, still on alert but laying down as if to say the muscle spasms have passed. You won't risk removing your hands, you still need a ride into town and this whole situation's put you behind to where you won't make it if you walk now.

“pfft...” you look back to the blonde and he looks ready to burst with laughter from what he just watched. Heat creeping up your face you turn and look away, sure the situation's funny but you don't know these two men and honestly you just feel so embarrassed right now. Especially with last night's incident at the mini mart still fresh in your memory.

“Will you fucking shut up!” Toby barks out, and the blonde tries harder to suppress his laughing fit. Toby glares at his friend before turning his attention back to the road, hand on the gear shift he waits for an alert before putting the car in drive and doing a U-turn back to town.

It's been a while since you've been a passenger in a car, you actually get to take the time to relax and enjoy the passing scenery as Toby drives. He's a surprisingly good driver, most guys his age are speed demons and always want to see how fast they can get away with driving. Toby on the other hand is abiding by the limit even on this open stretch of road with no other cars. But you guess it comes with the territory of needing a service dog to be able to drive, have to abide by the rules. The drive's quiet, you take it as a good thing that the men aren't trying to question or get to know you. If they were kidnappers or up to something nefarious surely they'd be trying to distract you right now with endless chatter to let your guard down. Especially if they'd been watching you and knew what a total chattering encyclopedia you could be when given the right topic. You're gazing out into the window seeing the sign of the town get closer finally when the thought hits you.

“So, your name's Toby, is it short for Tobias?” turning to look at the man, he spares a single side glance with his furrowed brows before responding with an uneasy 'Yea'.

“Cool, sorry if that was a weird question. Tobias is like the best name I've ever heard but I've only met three Tobiases, including you. Could I call you Tobias or do you prefer Toby?”

“I don't really care.” gotta love apathy.

“Cool, cool. Thanks for the ride Tobias!” you chirp out.

“Hey, forgetin' that I'm the one who offered the ride?” The man in the backseat speaks up.

“No, you just never gave me your name. You said Connor's” and ear twitch is all you get such a good boy, “and you said Tobias'. Never mentioned your own.”

“It's Brian, sugar.” you were correct, this man is a fuck boy.

“Yikes, that's gross.”that was a reflex and it was now Toby's turn to laugh at his friend. The man didn't even hide his snickers even had his shoulders bouncing up and down, you think you even caught a mumbled “I won't hesitate bitch”. Meanwhile Brian sat stunned, guess he was used to people finding his nicknames more endearing, meaning he probably meant nothing by it and it was probably the southern accent but it just made you think of the senior men who'd hit on you back before you moved out here.

“Yea don't call me 'sugar', anyway, I'm YN, it's nice to meet you three.”  Toby just nods as his laughter dies down a clucking sound resonates from his throat, Brian however goes right back to his friendly persona with a 'good to meet ya.' Again it's slightly off, it doesn't feel like he's trying to be polite...it feels like...you can't put your finger on it but it's familiar. Like when you fake a conversation with Nate or your mother on the days where exhaustion is nearly killing you, but Brian doesn't seem tired or sluggish.

The rest of the drive is relatively quiet as you direct Toby how to maneuver the streets and he parks in the parking lot of Dunkin'. While you were getting out you'd asked the men if you could get them anything from Dunkin' as a thank you for driving you. Brian tried to decline but Toby spoke over him with what “they” wanted.

“Ok cool, can Connor have a pup cup?” unsure if service dogs could have treats while working.

Sparing a glance to the good boy in question Toby shrugged “Yea, he's due for a break any-anyway.” he ends with popping his knuckles. You assume Connor only alerts motor tics when Toby is driving or about to start driving, since that tic didn't get clocked.

You repeat the order to the cashier once inside. You also get a frozen caramel coffee and an iced caramel coffee for you and Nate along with a box of donuts to pick from for the day. When she hands you everything you're able to balance Toby's order on top of your box and your drinks in the other hand. Walking out with the help of the next man coming in, nodding thanks as you pass him, you see Toby leaning against his car with Connor sitting next to him, no vest on.

It's terrifying how well trained Connor is, because the dog you left in the car barely paid you any mind. While this hyper pup's tail is wagging at just the sight of you, his paws lifting slightly in a tiny dance as you get closer. But he doesn't dare move from his sit, looking up at Toby for cues and looking at you who holds his treat.  Had you not worn a mask for so long you may have missed the smile Toby gave Connor as he pat the dog's head. The slight crinkles around the edges were a dead give away though. With a quick snap Connor is released from whatever command he'd been held by and runs up to you once you're five feet from them.

Drooling mouth opening and closing in an odd mute bark for a dog this size. You take note of the fact that while he's jumping excitedly and pawing the air he hasn't laid a single paw on you. Whoever trained him knew what they were doing that's for sure. Looking up to Toby you hold the one hand outstretched for him to take his items, a tray with Connor's pup cup and his iced coffee, and a white baggie with three donuts, strawberry glazed, maple glazed, and an apple fritter.

Once he's taken his items you balance your drinks on top of the box. Connor's attention hasn't moved from you even through the exchange. You're a little confused by the pup's antics but he probably thinks he can get a donut off you.

“Sorry bubbie, your dad's got your treat not me.” that dopey little face tilts to the left not understanding you aren't the treat giver at this time. You laugh letting him smell the hand that had the coffee in it so maybe he'd understand you didn't have his treat. He excitedly sniffs you, and gives you a few licks before sitting back right in front of you with a blur of a tail behind him. Such a silly boy, he deserves some chin scritches.

“He's smart, told him you'd give 'im this.” Toby says holding out the pup cup to you, as you bend at an awkward angle balancing food in one hand while scratching his dog with the other.

Connor's a little disappointed when his pets stop but jumps to all fours when he sees the pup cup. His tail is wagging so fast you'd be afraid his butt will fall off, if that was a thing that could happen. You go to put the cup in front of him but Toby stops you.

“Hold on, Connor sit.” As soon as his name was called his bottom was on the ground. “You already know his release word so when you want him to take it just say the release.” He says offhandedly while placing the bag in the passengers seat and his drink in the cup holder. You can hear murmured arguing from inside the car, but choose to ignore it. These guys clearly aren't kidnappers, and if they were it's so stupid to kidnap you in broad day light after you just made a purchase and with literally a street in between you and your work, where your boss is waiting for you.

Placing the cup in front of Connor you didn't think it was possible for him to get any more excited but his tail is now undetectable by the human eye. He looks from his treat to you, back, and back to you. Toby said you already knew the release, and there's only one thing you've said to Connor throughout the trip.

“Thank you.” it's immediate, for such a well mannered service dog on and off duty this pup has no table manners. There is whip cream everywhere it's on the ground, his paws, even behind his head. How on earth did he manage that? This must be Connor's only character flaw because Toby is back with what you can only assume are all the napkins he had received in the donut bag, and service vest under his arm.

Once the pup cup was utterly decimated Connor sat happily, butt wiggling, as his dad wiped the rest of the whip cream off of him. Showing the pup the huge glob he had behind his ear only had him licking it off the napkin before licking his dad's face.

“Wrong.” Toby called, a little bummed the pup calmed down a bit but his tail was still going. Toby paused before he slipped the vest back on Connor. Head jerking back twice he looked over to you.

“You wanna say 'bye'?” you perked at the question, if you had a tail of your own it'd probably be wagging just as fast as Connor's.

Do you want to pet a dog, what kind of question was that? Of course you fucking do. Yea you might be late to work but petting a dog is always worth it. Setting your breakfast and coffee on the hood of the car you bent down with Toby to Connor's level.

If that dog could talk he'd tell everyone you gave the best ear scratches, sure you may have smooshed his wrinkly face a ton. But you were so nice and was that baby coos, ah he loves you new best friend. Connor jumped up when you started cooing and gave you a ton of kisses to the face. You couldn't stop laughing and the repetitive motion triggered a tic. Thankfully your mask was on so Toby couldn't see you tongue poke out repeatedly as you said “bleh” in between giggles.

“Wrong.” he says gently pushing the drooling pup away. Shaking the spit off his hand before scratching the pup under the chin, right where the bottom of his ear met his jaw. The pup instantly melted calming into his handlers touch. With his dog now calm he whistles and Connor is standing up straight, Toby slips the vest over his head and secures it. Connor the puppy has turned back into Connor the good boy working pup.

Grabbing your stuff from the hood of the car you turn to Toby and Connor, “Thanks again for the ride, and for letting me pet your dog.”

You're met with a simple shrug, not much phases Toby you've noticed. Aside from his tics that is.

“See ya later Tobias!” with that you're on your way to cross the street legally, and by that you totally jay walked out into traffic in front of the sheriff. You may have jay walked in front of the sheriff, but he didn't do anything so you're fine.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Correspondence, Chapter 02

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary:  An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Vague mentions of PTSD, spoilers for the Foyet storyline/mentioned character death. Little angsty, maybe a little OOC since Reid and Hotch don’t actually have a boss/subordinate work relationship in this story and I’m adapting that whole-heartedly. But other than that, it’s just grown men acting like dorks and Reid attempting to give parenting advice. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 4535

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link 

--

Chapter 02

--

May 2010

-

Hotch does, indeed, take Dr. Reid up on his offer.

They work on a few more cases together, over the course of six to eight weeks, and each time Dr. Reid proves to be an invaluable asset. His knowledge is unsurpassed, extensive, and astounds Hotch every time he opens a correspondence email from the esteemed professor. 

Have you ever thought about being an FBI agent? He teases one night, when they’d been sending theories back and forth in emails that had become less and less formal. Dr. Reid still sent dissertation-length assessments of the cases when they landed in his niche (which was often), but their replies had turned to a messaging template instead of the business-like format Hotch is used to writing all day every day. Quick, rapid-fire messages replacing the professional grade layout that felt so impersonal, with titles and headers and enough filler to give him chronic headaches.

This was much better. Informal as it was.

I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t pass the physical exams, but thanks for the compliment. Another life, maybe. Dr. Reid answers, and Hotch finds himself smiling and huffing a laugh behind closed lips, the kind that stays caught up in his chest. He’s not sure how much older the professor is, for all he knew he could be bordering on retirement, but it was an amusing thought nonetheless.

 I would get them waved, or curve the scores. I have that kind of pull around here. Never would he speak with his agents or anyone at the Quantico office like this, and it had taken weeks and dozens of emails to get to this point. But the freedom of it was nice, enchanting, like a little taste of his life outside of the office. Just confined to the response box of his email. Despite what everyone (ie: Morgan, Prentiss, Garcia) said about him, he did have a sense of humor. He just also had a sense of propriety, and he was their boss. He wasn’t going to make light with them in the place where they catch murderers.

Don’t tempt me. I have tenure. But Virginia gets so cold, I’d freeze to death half the year. 

Didn’t you attend MIT? What did you do during winter?

Froze to death. Pay attention.

Hotch outright laughs, and then snaps his mouth shut and looks out the open blinds of his office. Everyone has gone home, for the most part, but he doesn’t need JJ or someone else hearing him and coming to check on him. He hasn’t been getting much work done since Dr. Reid started replying to his emails that evening, and the little half smirk on his face is something he doesn’t think he can school as he rereads their conversation over and over. 

Apologies. Next I’m sure you’ll tell me how you had to walk to class uphill both ways in the snow.

No, I took the bus. And Froze. To. Death. I live in sweaters, and I’m from Las Vegas, I’m not meant for the cold. 

Las Vegas? Really?

Born and raised. My mother still lives there. 

Hotch’s eyebrows raise at that, apparently he’s not so old that his mother is still around. His own parents are gone, have been for years, but that’s under different circumstances and really not a situation he likes to reflect on.

Must be nice, only being a few hours from home. Do you go back often?

As little as possible. I should really visit my mother more, but that’s hard for reasons I won’t get into. I do write her, though. A letter every day, although not much happens around here for her to get invested in.

As in a real letter? Not an email, or a phone call?

She doesn’t do well with phone calls, or computers. Letters are more personal, anyway, and she likes being able to have the paper in her hands in my own handwriting. It’s the least I can do, not going home unless I absolutely have to. 

This is the most the man has ever spoken about himself, in a personal manner instead of an academic one, and Hotch isn’t quite sure how to take the evolution. It feels like a shift in their dynamic, an opening that could lead to a deeper level of friendship and -- it’s been a while since he’s had that. Allowed himself to have that. After Foyet, and even before when Haley started pushing for divorce and Hotch responded by isolating himself as much as he could to keep his work unaffected, he’d had trust issues. Hotch is man enough to admit that. 

But speaking with an old professor on the other side of the country might just be the stepping stone he needs. Who knows, maybe they’d even get the chance to meet one day.

I just grimaced at my own triteness. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you such a maudlin review of my life story.

No, that’s okay. I don’t talk much about myself, so I wasn’t sure how to respond. Work and home are kept very separate for me. It’s an unhealthy coping mechanism, I know, but it works as best as it can.

In your line of work, I can only imagine. You do what you have to. 

Hotch pauses in their conversation, looks at the clock and the stack of paperwork he still hasn’t finished -- too busy lost in his talk with Dr. Reid -- and feels an itching in the back of his mind he wants so desperately to scratch at. To give into. Lists of things he knows he should talk about, but doesn’t trust anyone enough to do so. Hotch really isn’t sure he can even trust Dr. Reid with them.

At least, not yet.

Thank you. And thank you for entertaining me, as well. 

Anytime.

--

It’s not a month later that Hotch is sitting at his desk, after hours, once again. Head in his hands and his phone still warm, overworked from the hour-long phone call he’d just endured with his ex-sister-in-law, Jessica. 

Jack was being bullied in school. She’d had to attend the parent-teacher conference about it instead of him, because he’d been on a case in Florida for over two weeks. Which really just highlighted to Jack’s teacher what his home life is like and she expressed her worry. Adamantly. Jessica was in agreement, and she once again wanted to have the conversation on if Hotch returning to work at the BAU had been the right choice after Haley was killed. He’d taken his sabbatical for 30 days, passed his psych evals -- which didn’t mean much, he helped write the qualification questions -- and Jack was doing well with his therapist and in school.

Or so he’d thought. Until today. 

That ‘conversation’ turned into an argument, because Hotch gets defensive when someone questions his choices in regards to his family, and as much as he knows that she is right -- he feels awful about how it devolved. Jessica has gone above and beyond in taking care of Jack, to allow Hotch to return to work, and she is the last person that deserves the brunt of his frustration. He only has himself to blame, and he doesn’t know what to do. Who to turn to. Who might have answers for him, if there even was a correct answer for his situation. 

The Foyet case is classified. His assigned therapist is so easily played he hasn’t returned to her in months. 

Hotch just wants someone who won’t see through him, even when he pushes back.

He wants to talk to someone who he doesn’t want to push back against.

Who he trusts.

Dr. Reid, I need help with something no one seems to have an answer for, but it’s of a personal matter and not a professional one. Would you mind lending me your services?

Hotch sends the email before he can take it back. It’s late in Virginia, but Dr. Reid is four hours behind him in California and there’s a high chance he might still be in his office. He seems to keep longer hours, for an old professor. 

He won’t admit it to himself, but he feels a tightness in his chest as he awaits an answer. All the paperwork from the Florida case is completed, there’s nothing keeping him there at the office any longer. But it’s too late to go pick up Jack from Jessica’s, and he doesn’t think he would be welcome to come sleep on her couch like he often does on nights like this. When he wants to be there when Jack wakes up, and tonight he longs to do just that. But he isn’t sure he can even look Jessica in the eye right now.

So he sits there, and watches his computer screen, and feels himself distance from the ache in his bones. Knowing if Dr. Reid doesn’t answer him, he would have to spend however long it would take to compartmentalize his apprehension, once again, and go home to his empty house and not think about how he is failing in raising his son. In being a good father. 

The soft ping of his inbox is his single solace in the storm of his thoughts.

Agent Hotchner, You know I’m always happy to help, in any way -- personal or professional -- if I can. What is it you need an answer to?

That tightness releases, but it also gives way to the worry building up in his chest. An overwhelming, crushing amount of it that he didn’t realize was climbing higher and higher the longer he’d been left alone with his thoughts. Drowning in trepidation. Everything he doesn’t want to have pressing on his mind when they are hunting down serial killers, working with criminals that would see it as a weakness and exploit it without batting an eye. 

But this time, Hotch knows this is becoming something he shouldn’t try to hide away. 

Child psychology. Trauma, in particular, and the effects on children after the fact. 

It’s enough to describe what he needs answered, without telling too much of what happened. It’s still hard for Hotch to think about what happened, to fully realize what they had gone through. What had happened to Haley, what had happened to him. What Jack will have to grow up knowing nearly happened to him. What he almost witnessed.

(626)-595-0387 I have unlimited texting, and tend to stay up very late at night. Also, I have a feeling that you might want to keep this off government regulated emails. I’m not a practicing psychiatrist, mind you, but anything I can do to help you I will be more than happy to offer. 

Hotch is stunned. Whatever he expected, that wasn’t it. He’s near speechless, staring at the phone number with a Pasadena area code, and hesitates in moving their correspondence off of the email platform. A drastic change in dynamic and expectations, but… it would be nice, to be able to message the professor whenever he wanted. The ease of access an alluring thought. 

Another soft ping in his inbox has him looking up from where he’d been glancing at his cell phone in contemplation.

Also, it goes without saying, but everything we talk about in our conversations would still be confidential. I have no one to tell them to, anyway. 

Hotch huffs out a sound that could have been a laugh, and he’s surprised he even can manage that. But he’s barely thinking about it before he’s picking up his cell phone and typing in the number Dr. Reid had given him. []6/3, 22:46[] This is Agent Hotchner.

He sends it, pauses in thought, then keeps typing.

[]6/3, 22:47[] You can call me Hotch, since this is outside work. Agent Hotchner just reminds me I’m abusing bureau resources for personal gain.

The whole interaction is causing this clawing, hot feeling in his chest that might be nervousness in risking the change in their work relationship, or residual guilt from the fight with Jessica about Jack, or just… the fear that Dr. Reid will tell him he is fucking this up and he should never have returned to the FBI at all. Because there are days, like today, where Hotch really starts to think that might be the case.

[]6/3, 22:49[] I figured as much. No one else actually messages me after 6pm except you and some of my more zealous students. 

[]6/3, 22:51[] And although I don’t think you’re abusing anything; in that same vein, you can call me Spencer. This is just two friends having a chat, nothing more. 

Hotch appreciates the gesture, finds himself almost smiling about it -- but then he remembers what he has to relay to ask what he wants to ask the other man. And he isn’t sure where to begin. 

So he just -- begins at the start. The case where Foyet fooled his whole team, posing as a victim, and managing to get away. Slipped through their fingers. Gotten away with murder and insider FBI information and more than he should have ever been able to access. Dr. Reid -- Spencer, please -- doesn’t say anything as he relates all of this, and Hotch commends his patience. Because from the start, this isn’t about child psychology at all. But it is certainly about trauma, and that becomes apparent when Hotch throws caution to the wind and describes what happened to him in his own apartment. Paraphrasing and dropping out intimate details, but explaining what happened is still brutal even stripped to its bare minimum. When Foyet had broken in, and blitzed him, and tortured him as he stabbed him nine times in the chest. Precise, practiced, indicative of letting him live with the knowledge of what that monster masquerading as a man could do. 

The details begin to bleed through the more he types. The more he remembers.

How he’d had to put his ex-wife and son into protective custody. How it hadn’t been enough. His late night obsessions all for naught. And finally, a brief -- or as brief as it can possibly be, for as brutal an event as it was -- summary of what happened when Foyet had found his family. How he had killed Haley, how they had stopped Foyet and Jack had been spared witnessing anything. Even the fight inside Hotch’s own house. He doesn’t… well, Hotch doesn’t plan on describing that and keeps it at bay. He barely remembers it. Blurs of fists and broken furniture and rooms he has memorized from years of memories flying by as they tore through his home like a hurricane. 

But he gives enough of a picture. Enough that, though he doesn’t say as much, Spencer probably knows Foyet didn’t make it out alive. Can guess it was by Hotch’s own hands. 

Which leads them to now -- to the part Hotch needed help with more than anything. His past and his trauma Hotch has a lot of practice dealing with, knows how to handle it alone. As he always has. But the part he doesn’t know how to handle?

He is raising his son on his own. His ex-sister-in-law, Jessica, has been a godsend and is helping with Jack so Hotch can be at work. His lifeblood. His identity. Everything he’s ever worked for. He almost left; Strauss had offered him an early retirement package that was too good to pass up, but he had in the end. Because being an FBI agent, catching the monsters that plague their world, that is what he does. And that’s what Jack knows him to do. 

It helps Jack, Hotch found, to know that his dad is out there catching men like the one that took away his mom. He probably would have taken the loss a lot worse, if Aaron had left the bureau. 

But he’s messing up. Hotch feels that in his bones. He’s gone so much, Jessica is taking on the role of parent instead of Aunt more and more, and Hotch does not want to turn into that father that shows up once in a blue moon and pretends he never left. He’s worried that what Jack’s teacher, and Jessica, had said is true and Jack’s home life isn’t going to be healthy for him. It’s going to make him suffer.

That what Jack has gone through, Hotch doesn’t know how to address correctly. 

It’s near a half hour later that he’s gotten the entire story out, and Hotch realizes that even though text is probably going to be easier to have a conversation like this… he probably could have written it in an email and saved them both some time. He apologizes at the error, because it’s late and his head isn’t quite screwed on straight whenever it comes to matters with his son, and he just… he’s at a loss. Doesn’t know what the right course of action is, or if there even is one outside of a professional’s opinion. 

Then Hotch waits for a reply.

It feels like hours, but in reality is only a couple of minutes. 

[]6/3, 23:22[] Hotch, the fact you are so worried about your son and how your actions have affected him through all of this, is all I really need to know about you being a good father. The consideration you are showing him is not something every parent can do, in the face of what happened to you and your family. You do not need to worry about that. You love your son, and that is the most important factor right now.

[]6/3, 23:25[] Secondly, I’m so sorry that this happened to you at all. You and your son sound like you have such a strong bond, and I know that’s what must have helped you through such a difficult time. It’s apparent that you love him very, very much. 

[]6/3, 23:29[] I don’t have a lot of friends that ask me the hard questions like this. Not that I don’t want them to, I just understand why, because I can recite statistics all day and give you textbook answers easily. Which I know you were hoping would give you a black and white response to your question. But in this there isn’t one, sadly. I know you are worried and I feel like you don’t need to be. And I don’t know how to express that in a way that won’t make you detest me. 

[]6/3, 23:32[] Your son just lost his mom, and you just lost your ex-wife, and there’s not going to be a straightforward path to healing. Everything you say you have done for him? It’s perfect, it’s exactly what you should be doing, and don’t stop. That’s all you can do and all you should focus on, in truth. Listen to what he tells you and watch for what he doesn’t, and hug him, because you are a great dad -- and this is coming from someone who did not have such an example. 

[]6/3, 23:33[] And I am very sorry about Haley, Hotch. I truly am. 

Hotch doesn’t even answer him for a good few minutes. It is a lot to process, to read through, and he does read through it more than once. But every single time he reads that final text, his eyes sting hotly and he has to blink back emotions he thought he had waded through plenty on his 30 days of leave. Apparently, not enough.

It’s so much, and yet he wants more. It’s not enough in the sense that he wishes Dr. Reid -- Spencer -- would keep talking to him. Keep telling him he’s doing a good job. That he hasn’t failed his son. 

That for once, he’s handling something right.

With a breath that feels like it shudders through his chest a little more roughly than it should, Hotch slowly types out a response that doesn’t even begin to feel anything close to adequate.

[]6/3, 23:41[] Thank you, Spencer. I could never detest you, in the slightest. Everyone keeps telling me I’m not screwing this up, but 

He pauses, not sure if he even believes what he’s about to type. 

At the last second, he switches tactics entirely. Feels a flood gate open. Just one, solitary floodgate in the vast Hoover Dam size wall he keeps up from the moment he shrugs into his suit jacket at home until he sheds it all away at the end of the night. In the confines of his home, with six physical locks on the door and two different digital security systems. With a weapon carefully concealed and childproofed in every room. With steel reinforced windows and no exit save for the front and back doors. A fire hazard, but a good precaution against anyone who would try to break in -- like Foyet had. 

[]6/3, 23:41[] ...I find it so hard to believe them. In some ways it’s hard to believe you, too, but that’s not personal. Your words have resonated more than anyone else’s, if that’s any consolation. Even more than the therapist they assigned after everything. 

[]6/3, 23:45[] My sister-in-law flat out told me I was failing my son, being away like I am, and his teacher believes his home environment isn’t healthy. He’s being bullied in school. I don’t know what to do.

Hotch types it all out and sends it. 

The reply is instantaneous.

[]6/3, 23:46[] Yes, you do. You know exactly what to do. 

And then there isn’t any further elaboration.

At first, Hotch is confused. He feels himself being pulled from that precipice of self-loathing and despair. Tugged by a string. The confusion forces him to look at Spencer’s response, nine words long, and decipher what they mean. 

Trusting his first instinct, once more.

[]6/3, 23:49[] I have to talk to Jack. 

[]6/3, 23:54[] You have heard all of this from everyone other than your son. He may be young, but he is going to know the answer better than his teacher or his aunt. Talk to him, before you start nailing yourself to a cross. You may find the answer to the situation a much easier fix than you are anticipating.

Hotch considers this, thinking about his son. Six-years-old now, first grade, smart as a tack, curious and kind. But so strong, a foundation that even he found himself clinging to sometimes, in the face of the storm of everything that had happened to them. Which is not healthy, and Hotch learned to not do that to him. To instead find solidarity in their relationship, withstanding the storm together. As they always have. 

[]6/3, 23:57[] He’s not one to let a bully have his way. He knows that’s not right. Maybe he has another strategy.

[]6/4, 00:01[] He’s young enough that trying to befriend his abuser would be a good tactic to counter the situation, does that seem like something he would do?

[]6/4, 00:02[] That sounds exactly like Jack. Hotch replies, with a smile finally easing on to his face -- and it feels lighter now. Easier to hold.

[]6/4, 00:04[] He sounds like a sweet kid.

[]6/4, 00:05[] He is. I’m very proud of him.

[]6/4, 00:07[] You really are a great dad, Hotch. I’m not just saying it to say it. 

That crushing, overwhelming feeling has ebbed to nearly nothing -- and with a sudden rush of vertigo it is replaced with gratitude for the old professor lending him his evening hours. It flashes warm and sudden and Hotch isn’t used to that, either. 

[]6/4, 00:08[] I would never expect you to, but thank you.

Even he feels lame for thanking the man for saying such a thing.

[]6/4, 00:10[] You don’t need to thank me, I barely did anything.

[]6/4, 00:11[] But if you ever need to talk, about anything really, I’d be more than happy to do so. 

[]6/4, 00:13[] I promise I can be good at that. The listening part. Day or night, it really doesn’t matter. I’ll always be around.

Hotch pauses at the offer, and then types slow and hesitant.

[]6/4, 00:16[] What if I just want to check in on a friend?

[]6/4, 00:16[] I am also around for that. 

The answer is sudden, without hesitation, and Hotch feels a smile start to ease the muscles in his face. Soften the edges once more.

[]6/4, 00:18[] I wouldn’t mind someone to talk to after a long day. It’s been a while since I’ve had a…

He pauses again, not quite sure if he remembers how to do this without pressing in too fast. Committing to too much, not sure what he is able to give of himself. But he’s already shared more with Dr. Reid in two months than he has with David in the past two years. 

Hotch makes a decision, for himself, for the first time in a long time.

[]6/4, 00:18[] ...It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend outside of the bureau. 

[]6/4, 00:19[] Do I still count if I’m a consultant?

[]6/4, 00:19[] You absolutely count. 

His own message makes him smile, and there’s a beat between messages where he hopes he made the older man smile as well. 

[]6/4, 00:22[] I’m never short on topics of conversation, I warn you. So unless you want a lecture on quantum physics -- how do you feel about chess?

[]6/4, 00:24[] I’m getting the feeling you’ll wipe the floor with me.

[]6/4, 00:25[] Oh, without a doubt. But the desktop app also has a chat feature.

[]6/4, 00:26[] Look at you, all modern and with the times.

[]6/4, 00:28[] My home phone may be a rotary, but even I can’t scoff at the vast reach of online chess. 

[]6/4, 00:28[] So what say you?

Hotch pauses, one final time, and considers the night; the conversation, Spencer’s advice, the way talking about what had happened helped ease the weight of it more than he’d ever anticipated. Then he thinks of the source, of what started it all, and how -- once again -- Dr. Reid was right about a number of things. But one thing in particular. 

[]6/4, 00:32[] I’m going to take your advice and go to my son. But tomorrow night, after he’s in bed, I have many hours to myself.

[]6/4, 00:35[] By no coincidence whatsoever, my evenings are always free. Care to show off those FBI honed deduction skills? My best chess opponents have ironically been FBI agents.

[]6/4, 00:36[] Oh, I’m terrible. Trust me.

[]6/4, 00:37[] I promise I don’t care. Your company is worth however many short games we can endure. 

Hotch smiles, despite himself, and this time doesn’t try to hold it back.

[]6/4, 00:39[] Then, it’s a date.

-

(tbc...)

-

Tagged list: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom​ @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat​​​ @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Thirty Five: The Gods and I Make Good on Our Promises

Campers swarmed Luz and her friends the second the chariot touched ground right along the beach.

Luz spotted her half-siblings right away. Viney and Jerbo pushed their way through to the front and immediately got the crowd to back up, giving Eda and Lilith some space to step out of the chariot first. Lilith went first, and as Eda slipped past her she stopped for a moment in front of Luz, extended her hand, and dropping a small bronze item in her palm. Luz looked down, her eyes widening in shock.

“The hand buzzer!” She thought for sure she’d lost it when Belos knocked it out of her hand and the mountain collapsed.

Eda shot her a wink. “I found it on the floor of Mount Pelion while you were in the Underworld. You seem to be making good use of it, so it’s yours to keep.”

“Eda…” Luz wasn’t sure what to say, the lump in her throat stopping her from trying anything else.

“You did good, kid,” Eda said, reaching down to ruffle her hair. “Don’t lose it again.”

“I won’t,” Luz promised, as Eda stepped out from the chariot and onto the beach.

The chatter was loud; Luz had never seen the camp buzz with the amount of tension and excitement that seemed to be vibrating through the crowd. They were peering up on their toes to try and get a look inside the chariot despite Lilith and Eda doing their best to get a grip on the crowd, and suddenly, Luz felt very nervous.

She’d fought a white eagle and the Minotaur, gone to the Underworld and back, and large crowds still made her anxious. Go figure.

Luz let her gaze flicker back to Amity, who still had her eyes closed on the stretcher, her chest rising and falling gently. She hadn’t woken up at all the entire ride back, and they’d left mid-morning. It was likely almost dinnertime now, and she’d only stirred once the whole ride, just opening her mouth slightly when they’d hit a bit of turbulence flying around Chicago.

Luz felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Willow and Gus shooting her knowing smiles. Willow squeezed her once, and despite their own battered clothes and travel-worn appearances, Luz imagined she looked a thousand times worse.

Not exactly the most heroic-looking way she could have returned.

“She’s going to be okay, Luz,” Willow encouraged. “She just needs to rest.”

“Yeah, and I saw Aphrodite do some of her sleeping charms on her before we left,” Gus added with a shrug. “While the effects are really relaxing, they don’t encourage you to rise quickly. She might sleep the whole night.”

“I’m not worried about her,” Luz started, only to cut herself off when she realized that wasn’t true in the slightest. “Well, I mean I am, especially with everything that happened with…” Luz gestured vaguely, and thankfully Willow and Gus got the message because they just nodded seriously.

“It’s that she’s not awake for this,” Luz continued with a bite of her lip, upset Amity wasn’t awake to feel the excitement around their return. She was, after all, one of the main reasons Luz was still alive to tell the tale. It’s the chance for glory she’d been looking for, the whole reason her parents were so hard on her and their image. She’d succeeded, and here she was passed out in the back of Luz’s dad’s chariot.

The hand on her shoulder tightened, but the smile on Willow’s face softened. “I know you’re worried, but it’s out of our hands now. We should just focus on making sure the camp knows everything is okay, and that Hestia has returned to Olympus.”

“Yeah!” Gus grinned. “You saved the world, Luz!”

“We saved the world,” Luz corrected, finally letting herself feel something for the first time in days that wasn’t fear, exhaustion, or grief. Her friends were right. Amity might not be awake to see their return to camp, but at least they had returned. And she couldn’t have done it without Willow and Gus. “You two totally saved my butt back there after I fell through the portal, and in the armory, and like, a hundred other times. Thank you. I couldn’t have asked for better quest companions or better friends.”

She pulled her friends in for a tight group hug, all three of them grinning despite the tears in their clothes and the dirt on their faces.

“Kid?”

Luz looked up from the top of Gus’s head and say Eda leaning back into the chariot with an expectant look. Her gold eyes were flashing with that same mirth they had when Hermes had claimed her during capture the flag, and while it had almost been a month, it felt like no time had passed at all. She gestured out to the open beach with one hand.

“You’re glorious arrival awaits,” she said, her mouth curving into her signature toothy grin.

With one last look of encouragement from her friends, Luz stepped out onto the beach.

The excitement of it all was a total blur. From the initial time she stepped out to the campers cheering to later that night at the dining pavilion, she was getting pats on the back and playful punches on the arm, and comments from campers of all cabins for the rest of the day. Led by Viney, her siblings from the Hermes cabin and Gus and Willow’s from Athena and Demeter’s cabins lifted them onto their shoulders and paraded them from the beach to the dining hall, leaving Luz and her friends more than a little red in the cheeks.

Viney and Jerbo assured her that she hadn’t missed much in terms of activities, but that they were excited to have her back for capture the flag again. The talking head of Hooty zoomed over from the Big House to chatter nonstop into her ear about the chimera that the campers had killed after it set his house on fire.

Skara and the Apollo campers checked her over for any injuries, giving her a small glass of nectar to keep her strength up. Skara’s leg had completely healed from the last break Luz remembered her having, and while the white-haired camper that had originally gone of the quest with Amity had never really taken a shine to Luz before, she now seemed much more open to being friendly. After a delicious but exhausting dinner in the pavilion where Luz, Willow, and primarily Gus, gave exciting recounts of their adventures and the monsters they slew, she escorted Luz to the infirmary and patched up her knees, and changed the bandages around her stomach, chatting quietly to her about her own adventures on the original quest.

Amity was in the infirmary too, where every once in a while Skara would lean over and check on her. The anxiety must have shown on Luz’s face because while she dipped some nectar against the wounds along the sides of Amity’s neck, she shot Luz a comforting smile.

“A lot of the bigger wounds Lilith told me to watch out for have almost disappeared entirely while she’s been sleeping. It’s like the gods themselves have been watching over her healing.”

Luz resisted a smile by biting the inside of her cheek. If only she knew.

They hadn’t exactly told the entire camp that Amity had… well, died. Just that Amity and Luz had gone together to the Underworld to close the portal from the other side. There was a sort of unspoken rule that some things were better kept under wraps, for everyone’s sake.

Edric and Emira had also been dutifully watching over Amity since she’d been carried to the infirmary. They’d had to be assured multiple times she was okay, and only after Luz promised them that Aphrodite had insisted she’d be fine did they seem to relax. Since they’d missed the original retelling of their quest in the pavilion, Luz gave them a shortened version of what had happened, being careful not to give away too much information about their other mother Odalia or how Amity had fallen down the cliffs.

When she got to the part about crashing the prom, something on her face must have given her away, because Emira leaned in, her eyes sparkling with something that immediately made Luz nervous.

“So you and mittens went to prom… together?”

“I mean…” Luz sputtered, her cheeks heating up. “It was for the cover story and all, but yeah I guess she was my date…”

“Was it romantic?” Emira cooed, bringing her hands up to cup her own cheeks with a smile. “Did you dance? Did you kiss?”

“I…” Luz was sure the blush was spreading right to the tips of her ears as Skara chuckled next to her, patting nectar over a gash on her upper arm. “Not at prom, no…”

Edric’s grin turned almost maniacal. “So you did kiss though?”

Still stuttering and blushing profusely, Luz rushed the rest of her quest story, going over what had happened with the sow and then later in the chamber with Belos. When she finished, Emira and Edric were both grinning from ear to ear, and thank the gods' Willow took that moment to come in and ask Skara for some wraps for her own injuries, effectively ending whatever torture the twins were going to put Luz through.

With a hasty goodbye, she went to get up and head back to her cabin for what was hopefully the chance to sleep for three whole days, before she spared one more glance back at Amity.

“Skara? If she wakes up tonight, do you think somebody could come let me know?”

There was a gleeful series of chuckles from Edric and Emira, but thankfully Skara just smiled. “Sure. I’ll make sure one of my siblings wakes you up.”

Luz went back to her bunk and slept well through the night and into the next afternoon, but still, Amity didn’t wake up. After being assured by the Apollo campers she just needed rest, she spent the next day relaxing on Eda and Lilith’s orders, hanging out with Willow and Gus on the beach, and making sure she took the time to call her Mami on the camp phone and let her know all about her quest.

What started as plans for a twenty-minute conversation turned into one that lasted a few hours. The second she picked up the phone, she could hear her Mami’s hysterical voice over the other end.

“Luz? Is that you? Are you okay!?”

She was quick to calm her down, reassuring her she was in fact okay and that she was safe back at camp. Once the initial panic subsided, she exploded, shouting furiously in a mix of Spanish and English so fast Luz could barely catch it all.

“Luz, how could you scare me like that?! Do you have any idea how worried I was after you sent that text? ¡Casi me diste un infarto! And then I find out that you’ve been gone for almost two weeks? ¡No te puedo creer!”

Eventually, she was able to calm her down by apologizing profusely, assuring her again she was okay and telling her a slightly adjusted story about the quest and what happened. Her Mami still wasn’t very happy with her, but she had stopped shouting and seemed to feel better after knowing why the quest was so important, and that Luz had friends to protect her along the way.

When she mentioned meeting Hermes, for just a moment her Mami was silent. Luz was afraid she’d lost her and she’d hung up, and after calling her name multiple times her Mami finally seemed to snap out of whatever trance she’d been in.

“You saw your father?”

Luz recounted the story and how Hermes had helped her defeat Belos, hesitantly going over how he helped her travel to the Underworld to make it happen. Her Mami hummed in annoyance at that, now having figured out Luz was sugar-coating the whole event, but by the time she’d finished, she seemed to have completely calmed down.

“Well, I’m not happy you lied to me, but I’m glad you’re okay. What about those friends you told me about? Are they okay too?”

Luz quickly assured her that they were fine, more than happy to gush about them. Her Mami quickly commented how helpful and kind Willow seemed to be, and how smart and charismatic Gus was.

“I can’t wait for you to meet them, Mami,” Luz said. “Do you think they can visit us in New York sometime this year?”

“I’d love to have your friends over some time,” she replied. “Especially that Amity, though I think we’re going to have to establish some house rules before she comes to visit.”

Though she was clearly teasing, Luz couldn’t help the blush that erupted across her cheeks as she stuttered out a quick protest. She heard her Mami laugh on the other end of the phone.

“Relax, Luz. I’m just joking.”

Luz did her best to quickly wrap up the conversation after that, promising to send her pictures and text her more often now that she was back at camp. After promising one more time to be careful and not go on any more quests, Luz hung up the phone and went to meet Willow and Gus by the volleyball courts.

When she got there, she saw them standing near one of the nets, face to face with Boscha.

The Ares camper was looking surprisingly bashful, her arm rubbing the back of her neck nervously. Gus looked completely confused, his eyes widening in surprise when Willow leaned in and placed a comforting arm on her shoulder, muttering something Luz couldn’t hear.

As she approached, she turned to Luz, the same uncharacteristically tight grimace on her face directed towards her as it had been to Willow and Gus.

“Hey…” Luz started, feeling just as bewildered as Gus looked.

“Hey.” Boscha cleared her throat. “Look, I just wanted to… apologize for the way I treated you guys. It wasn’t cool, and my dad said you guys did good on your quest. So, you know. Good job. You have my respect.”

“Uh,” Luz looked to Willow and Gus nervously before shrugging her shoulders. “Thanks, Boscha.”

The daughter of Ares cleared her throat one more time before sticking her hands in her pockets. “It’s whatever. See you later.”

As she walked away, Luz spun around to look at Willow and Gus with wide eyes. “What was that all about?”

“I think after Ares showed up, Boscha and her siblings might have had a bit of a change of heart towards us,” Willow said with a thoughtful hum. Luz’s eyebrows nearly shot into her hairline.

“Ares was here?”

“Yeah!” Gus said, his shocked expression now faded as a massive smile split across his face. “He appeared right on the beach not long after you left and took all his kids on a hunting trip out in the forest.”

“Hestia must be making good on her promise to you, Luz,” Willow added, her own excitement splitting across her face.

Willow was right because over the next two days Luz saw more gods than she ever thought she’d see in her entire lifetime. After Ares, Apollo appeared on the beach and played a few rounds of basketball with his sons and daughters before showing them a few tricks on his lyre. She didn’t see him personally, but Hephaestus apparently popped into the forge after dinner and helped his kids make some new swords for the armory. The next morning, she saw Nike playing volleyball with her eight daughters, and Dionysus growing strawberries with his five kids up in the fields.

One by one, all the gods started showing up and officially introducing themselves. The energy in the camp was unlike one that Luz had ever seen. For the first time in a long time, it felt like the campers actually felt connected to their godly parents.

When Demeter and Athena showed up together, Luz was sitting with Willow and Gus under a shady tree near the pavilion. They were chatting about the upcoming game of capture the flag when two women suddenly appeared with a flash twenty feet from them.

The campers around them jumped with shock, and Willow and Gus looked spellbound, getting to their feet and looking younger than Luz had ever seen them.

The one on the right was almost six feet tall, dressed in full armor, brandishing a massive spear. The one on the right was in a white dress with gold trim and had a twist of what looked like solid gold leaves wrapped into a crown on her head.  

“Hello, my boy,” Athena said to Gus, her voice smooth and silky. The resemblance between them was almost uncanny. They had the same dark curls and skin, the same sloped nose, the same stance when they held their spear. The only difference Luz could really see was their eye color. Gus’ eyes were a soft brown, and Athena’s were a startling grey.

Luz had never seen Gus so speechless.

“Willow, I am so proud of you,” Demeter said, her dark brown hair cascading over her shoulders as she extended her arms in greeting. Unlike the difference between Athena and Gus, Willow’s eyes matched Demeter’s exactly.

Willow swallowed hard, looking like she was going to cry, so Luz took that moment to excuse herself, bowing respectfully to the two goddesses. She headed back to the Hermes cabin, where she grabbed her sketchbook and walked over to the infirmary to check on Amity.

When she entered, Bo was leaning over her, examining the wound on her shoulder. When she saw Luz walk in, she nodded in greeting.

“She seems okay. Her wounds have recovered, it’s just a matter of waiting for her to wake up.”

“It’s been almost three whole days,” Luz said, worrying her lower lip. “Shouldn’t she have woken up by now?”

“Not necessarily,” Bo said with a shrug. “With the state she was in when she fell, it’s no wonder she might need some time to recover.”

Luz wanted to tell her that she didn’t know exactly what had happened and that Amity had been through much worse than what she’d been told, but she figured that wouldn’t do any good. If Amity needed more time then Luz would wait until she was ready.

“Can you sit with her for a little? I’m going to go restock supplies.”

Luz nodded quickly, and Bo exited, giving her instructions on what to do if Amity woke while she was gone. When they were alone, Luz plopped into a chair next to her, gently combing some of the hair out of Amity’s face before opening up her sketchbook.

“I promised you that we’d draw together when we got back to camp,” she started, picking up her pencil and sketching a few lines. “This isn’t exactly how I’d imagined our first date to go, but sometimes you have to improvise.”

She started drawing a few of the adventures she, Willow, and Gus had had early on in their quest, describing some of the events to Amity since she hadn’t been there to see them. She described the flower crowns that Antheia had given them and their first encounter with Theseus on the bus to Kansas. Then, when she was done that sketch, she drew their encounter with the Minotaur, and then all of them in their clothes that they’d worn to crash the Hexside prom.

They weren’t the best sketches she’d ever done, but she wasn’t exactly trying too hard. It was just something to keep her hands busy and do her best not to think about Amity lying next to her asleep.

She’d heard Bo come back and restock a couple of supplies but left again soon after since Luz was keeping watch. Luz continued to draw and talk, burning through sketch after sketch until the sun was low in the sky. She was probably missing dinner, but she wasn’t feeling all that hungry anyway, so she kept at it despite the burn in her wrist. She drew Demophon and his farmhouse, and then the Crommyonian Sow. When she finished the sketch of her super awesome signature move, she found herself distracted by the sun filtering in through the window on the bottom of Amity’s face. She stopped talking, just sketching absently as she worried. Amity really had been through a lot. Would she be the same person Luz remembered her to be? Or would her experience in the Underworld away from her body chance her? If she was okay, would the way Luz had behaved in her parents’ house permanently mess up her home life? Would her parents even accept her back into their house once the summer was over?

As she worried about this, she looked down and realized that while she’d been thinking, she’d been drawing. It was Amity when they were together in the mountain right before Luz had gone to free Hestia. She had been staring back at Luz, her gold eyes that bronze color from the effect of Peleus’ weapons. It was right before she’d kissed her, and right before she’d fallen from the mountain.

Amity had kissed her. After everything they’d been through, she’d sacrificed herself so that Luz would be able to go on, finish their mission, and save Olympus. But it was more than that, and sitting here with Amity and reflecting on the quest they’d completed together, Luz felt like she finally understood.

Amity had sacrificed herself not just for Olympus, but for her.

Luz put her sketchbook down in her lap and reached across the cot to gently take Amity’s hand. It was warm, a much better sign than it had been the last time she touched it. Back in the mountain, it had been ice cold.

Luz was used to being alone. She’d been alone for a long time, an outcast, the weird kid, who had weird things happen to her. Then, she’d found Eda and Lilith and been able to embrace who she was. She was a half-blood, a part of something much bigger than her. She’d made friends, and met her father, and destroyed a very terrible person who wanted to do terrible things to her new home.

Amity had always known she was a demigod. She’d always known what she was supposed to do, and the person she was supposed to be. And she gave that up, to protect Luz.

It was a very surreal feeling, the warmth that spread across her chest at that thought. Luz was very lucky to have someone like Amity in her life.

When she woke up, she was going to make sure Amity knew just how lucky she was to have her.

Luz didn’t remember falling asleep sometime during dinner, resting her head against the edge of Amity’s cot and slumping over in the chair. But when she woke up suddenly just as the sun was setting, she still felt Amity’s warm hand in hers. But there was something else, too. A tiny squeeze, just around her fingers.

Luz’s head shot up quickly. “Amity?”

Slowly, but surely, she heard Amity take a deep breath, before blinking her eyes open. Her gold eyes scanned the infirmary in confusion, before they settled onto Luz’s face, her mouth slightly ajar. “Luz?”

“You’re awake!” Luz stood up, and the chair behind her skidded backward. “Are you in any pain?”

“I… I’m fine, I think,” she said, swallowing as she tried to sit up. Luz helped her, resting her hand on her lower back as she lifted into a more upright position. “No pain. Are we… back at camp? How did we get here?”

Luz nodded quickly, her heart hammering with relief as she realized that Amity was in fact okay, and seemed to remember everything. She filled her in as quickly as she could about what had happened, and when she was done she stood up, unsure what to do with all the relief and joy she was feeling at once.

“I have to go get Bo, I told her I would when you woke up. And oh my gods, your siblings. They’ve been so worried, everyone has been, they’ll be so happy you’re okay-”

“Luz, wait.”

Luz froze right in her tracks, looking back at her. Amity was staring at her with an unsure expression, gripping her wrist tightly.

“Just… can you wait a moment? I think I need a minute.”

“Sure! What do you need? Bo said you should drink some nectar, and I have a blanket here if you’re cold. You’re supposed to be taking it easy too-”

She was rambling and she knew it. She couldn’t really help it, she was in this weird middle ground between not knowing how to behave around her and wanting to hug her for hours. She went to go grab something from the medical cabinet before Amity started laughing, holding up her hand.

“Luz, relax, please. I’m fine right now, I promise.”

Luz pulled the chair up and sat back down, intertwining her hands nervously. “I didn’t mean to be like… too much. It’s just like… you were dead and… I’m just so happy to see that you’re okay.”

Amity’s cheeks tinted, and Luz watched a small smile pull at her lips. “You’re not too much, Luz. I’m happy that you’re okay too.”

There was a moment of silence between them, where Luz and amity just stared at one another before Luz broke the silence by clearing her throat nervously.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You were asleep for like, three days.”

“Three days?” Amity gasped, and Luz nodded.

“Yeah. I was starting to get really worried.”

Amity was silent for a moment, her brain whirling the way Luz knew it did when she was conflicted about what she wanted to say.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m okay. I remember everything that happened in the Underworld and jumping through the portal. Then, there was this cold hand that grabbed me, and a few moments where… I don’t know. It was like everything just turned off and all I could hear was silence. It wasn’t scary though."

Luz nodded, relieved Amity hadn't had a horrible experience while being stuck as a flame in Hades' glass jar. She'd been expecting the worst.

"I started dreaming after that. It was nice,” she paused, her cheeks going slightly pink before she continued. “As a demigod, I’m used to bad dreams, but all of those dreams were nice. And now I’m awake, and I’m not in any pain so… I guess I am okay. It doesn’t erase everything bad that’s happened to us over the last few weeks, but now everything just feels a bit more manageable.”

Luz couldn’t help but smile. She was so worried that Amity was going to have changed after what happened in the mountain, but now taking a good look at her Luz knew she was telling the truth. She looked younger now than Luz had ever seen her. Refreshed in a way that Amity never really had shown before. It was such a relief.

Amity reached over and tapped the back of Luz’s hand with her finger. “What about you? You didn’t look too good before we went through the portal. Are you okay?”

“Ah, well,” Luz shrugged. The slash was healed over nicely now, and knowing that Amity had literally died didn’t make it seem like any comparison. “It was just a cut.”

“Just a cut,” Amity echoed. “Only you would get sliced with a sword and call it a cut.”

“You literally fell off a mountain!” Luz protested, and Amity laughed.

“Okay, fair enough. But at least when we were down in the Underworld I was dead. You had to do all that alive. That’s not a small thing, Luz.”

Luz shrugged again and opened her mouth, more than happy to never concede about who had it worst when Amity’s fingers wrapped around her hand and squeezed, effectively stopping whatever she was going to say next.

“I’m being serious,” she said, her mouth twisting into a soft smile. “The way you took on Belos down there? I’m honestly kind of amazed at how fearless you are.”

Luz’s own cheeks started to heat up and she laughed. “Yeah right, are you going soft on me Blight?”

Amity giggled again, her eyes not leaving Luz’s. “In your dreams.”

There was another short silence where Luz’s heart was beating wildly in her chest. She wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but then their lips connected and Amity’s hands rested around the back of her neck, and for the first time since Luz left for their quest, she felt this overwhelming pressure in her chest and the content feeling of finally being home.

And it was pretty much the best demigod kiss of all time.

[solalunar-eclipse]

Scars You Can’t See -  Chapter 9

Chapter title: Final Blow

Word count: about 4000 words

Author’s Note: This was originally just going to be an apology for posting this chapter a week late, but now. Now @khinesthetic has made this wonderful, amazing piece of fanart for SYCS, so. This chapter is going to be their appreciation chapter. (Also, please check out the rest of their blog for more cool art!)

Warning for another panic attack on Shadow’s part. If I’ve written something badly in that section, please let me know.

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...

Rouge paced back and forth in the old, tacky motel room that served as the current residence of Team Dark, the worn carpet muffling the clicking of her boots as she moved.

Shadow watched her through vaguely glazed-over eyes, thinking over the basic rudiments of a plan that the bat had laid out for them for the tenth time. The fortress they had in their sights was less than half an hour away- an easy drive compared to some of their extensive cross-country trips. Omega was given the job of getaway driver, despite his protests...unfortunately, a giant five-foot-tall robot was not exactly equipped for this level of stealth.

The two Mobians, then, would have to sneak into one of the most secure facilities on the planet, hack into some of their most secure files without tripping any alarms or otherwise having anybody notice, download all of those files onto their tablet, also without anyone realizing, and get out of said building alive.

This would have been an easy task, usually- the team would have taken it without reservations had it been an assignment from G.U.N. But now, Shadow and Rouge were both heavily underprepared and undersupplied, to say the absolute least. No briefings, no special equipment, and no backup besides Omega. Just them, their wits, and their powers.

And even assuming they survived and escaped capture on the spot...none of them dared to think about what their lives would be like afterwards, if everything went exactly as planned.

As it was, they had tried to get a full nights’ sleep, but they probably wouldn’t be able to get much more rest time than that if they hoped to stay ahead of G.U.N. and successfully complete the mission. So today was the only day to do it.

Right now, the team was just killing time until late afternoon. They thought (or rather hoped) that the guards would be a little more tired by that point, and if the mission took the right amount of time, they might even be able to escape into the night with relative ease. Rouge had planned it all out on the drive over, and sometimes Shadow was truly impressed by her level of tactical skill- especially since she had never had any sort of formal training throughout her line of work. 

Rouge really knew what she was doing.

As time passed, the team tried their best to remain sharp, but it seemed that even resting could become tiring after a while. Eventually, Omega stood up and looked down at both of them. “I have run some calculations. Your mental faculties will continue to deteriorate at a rapid pace if we remain in this room for much longer. This will in turn lower our possible chances of success. We must leave immediately so that our success rate does not fall further, considering it is already dismally low compared to most of our usual missions.”

Shadow frowned, rubbing his brow. Ordinarily, he would have responded to Omega by now, but at the moment, half of the robot’s words had barely even registered. Yet he shouldn’t even be able to get this tired, let alone suffer such consequences from a week or two on high alert.

“Ugh…” Rouge groaned, hauling herself upright. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m too worn out to worry about this anymore. We just do it, and what happens is what happens.”

“Agreed.” Shadow said simply, still trying to ignore the effects of his weariness.

Omega’s eyes turned into their ‘angry’ shapes, but it didn’t seem to be directed at them. “Your cortisol levels have been far above normal for over a week. This level of exposure is highly unhealthy. We must remedy this as soon as the mission is over.”

“Yeah.” Rouge muttered quietly. “If it’s ever over.”

“Studies show that negative thinking precludes negative results. The reverse is also true, for strange reasons unknown to me, as I am not organic. Cease your pessimistic comments, and we will drive to the G.U.N. Fortress immediately.” Omega said firmly, walking out the door. Shadow vaguely realized that the E-series robot had been taking charge more and more over these past few days, and that he’d also become a lot less...enthusiastic around the same time. 

While the hybrid didn’t know if Omega could be worried, the idea that he might be was just a little bit flattering.

…

The drive there was short, barely enough time for Shadow and Rouge to work themselves up into ‘mission mode’. All of the adrenaline that the former had felt last time was barely present now, replaced by a sort of frazzled sensation that made it feel as though every nerve in his body had been overused until it was barely even functional. 

They parked a long ways away to avoid the notice of its various high-tech security measures and just sat there for a second.

The team had been here so many times for various reasons: meetings, briefings, work parties...but this was going to be the first time they entered it illegally. (Or at least, it would be for Shadow. They both suspected that there wasn’t a well-known building in the country that Rouge hadn’t broken into, for kicks if nothing else.)

The robot left the engine running in case of an emergency, switching on his communicator. “Alert me if there are any problems and I will come help you. I will happily destroy this building for a distraction. Or to find you. Or even just for fun.” 

It seemed that Omega had still retained all of his violent tendencies, at least. 

The two rushed over to the entrance, making sure that the guards wouldn’t see them- a practiced maneuver at this point. Rouge carefully turned the two security cameras so that they faced the sky, all without setting off any alarms.

Shadow tucked himself into the niche that held the metal sliding door while Rouge tapped away on the holographic screen near the doorway. His suspicions about the bat having infiltrated this building in the past were confirmed when she whispered to herself, “Let’s see if the backdoor I left is still there...a-ha!” 

She typed in a code on the keypad: 4-8-6-7-8-9. At this point, the entire system automatically let her in- she even had the highest clearance to go with her fake account. Within moments, the door was unlocked with a quiet ‘whoosh’. (Ordinarily, there would have been at least five different checks to pass after this point to get inside, including fingerprint and retina scans.)

Rouge smirked at him before entering the building. “The code is ‘GUN SUX’, in case you’re wondering.”

Shadow could almost have laughed.

They didn’t need to sneak through the halls as much this time, since Shadow decided that it would be better to utilize a few Chaos Controls to get them past some particularly crowded sections. They couldn’t have made it past the ridiculous amounts of security measures- including automated gun turrets- otherwise. This fortress was one of the most protected places on the planet. There was a reason the President had been held there during the Black Arms invasion.

The twisted tangle of halls was specifically designed to confuse intruders, there were cameras to cover nearly all the blind spots, and guards passed every area by in two minute intervals. The hybrid thanked his lucky stars that he was with Rouge, since she seemed to be aware of every tiny flaw in the system, from a glitchy camera that hadn’t been replaced to which guards tended to slack off. He became more and more impressed with his friend’s skills each time she offered him a set of directions that worked without a hitch.

Once, they were nearly discovered, though. A pair of loud footsteps echoed around the metal corridors, sending both Rouge and Shadow into high alert. Quickly, the bat tugged him into an empty room, tucking them both behind a plain desk and out of sight.

“I guess G.U.N. actually switched up the guards for once, ‘cause this guy always used to be paired with another slacker,” she whispered as they walked by, completely oblivious to the two Mobians less than fifteen feet away. They were completely silent, unlike the guards at the old information warehouse- the fortress was much more important to G.U.N. and required a higher level of training and sophistication to maintain its security.

As soon as their steps had faded, the hybrid teleported them both to Rouge’s next location, which was even deeper in the complex. By now, they were several levels below the ground, but they still needed to travel farther to reach the secure servers that comprised G.U.N.’s major database.

Ordinarily, they would have used the elevator, but those didn’t have keypads, just card scanners. If any of the three had attempted to use their cards (which they wouldn’t have anyway, since the system kept track of who scanned their cards at what time) the entire complex would likely have gone into complete lockdown and they would have failed their mission.

Unfortunately, the excessive teleporting left Shadow’s Chaos stores running low, to say the absolute least. He dropped to his knees the second that they entered the main computer room, panting slightly as he leaned his head against the wall while staying out of sight. “You still gonna be good to take care of the rest, honey?” Rouge asked gently, brushing her fingers through the fur on his head. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to pass out on the floor and remain like this forever, but then he paused, bewildered.

“Why am I so tired? I was literally just resting half an hour ago, and now look at me.” he groaned, looking down at his power inhibitors. He hadn’t had access to a Chaos Emerald in ages, so maybe that was the problem? His fingers brushed over one of the golden rings as he considered taking them off- that would provide him with a boost of power…

“No.” Rouge said decisively, holding his wrist so that he couldn’t release the inhibitor. “I’m not having you passing out on me in the middle of our escape, alright? It’s too risky to do that right now.”

“Either way, I’m going to run out of energy soon- wouldn’t it be better to get some more strength?” Shadow asked, his eyes narrowing. 

She tightened her grip on his wrist briefly to make her point before releasing him. “As much as Omega wants to come in and blow this place up...no. There’s so much more that could go wrong, Shadow, and I’m not willing to risk that.” The bat folded her arms, asserting herself as the one in charge...which she always was.

Shadow glowered, frustrated both with himself and the general circumstances. However, he forced himself to listen to her orders, since she usually knew what she was doing- an impressive sign of respect for him. “In that case, I’ll barely be able to do more than a couple of Chaos Spears. You’ll have to move quickly, Rouge.”

They walked among the stacks of black plastic and tiny flickering lights, searching for one specific computer to link into. Within a minute, the bat had discovered exactly what she was looking for and plugged in a cheap second hand tablet that she’d bought with some more of their spare money.

This tall black piece of hardware was part of a stack all the way at the back of the room, shoved into a corner and covered in dust. It looked completely useless and outdated.

At least, if the viewer wasn’t one who could recognize that these models were actually newer than the rest. The dust, the placement, it was all designed to let the computers pass underneath the average person’s radar and keep G.U.N.’s most secret files under high security, multiple firewalls, and the latest in antivirus technology. 

Rouge, however, was by no means an average person.

Meanwhile, Shadow thanked any member of the pantheon that might be listening that they were getting the job done now. Their resources were running low, so he hoped that after this they could go hide somewhere and get a job to survive. Hiding wasn’t ordinarily his preferred reaction (it had never been his preferred reaction, honestly) but it was starting to sound an awful lot better than the current ball of stress that was his life.

“Alright, we’re in.” Rouge whispered quietly, having used her ‘all-access’ password to enter the system yet again. 

The hybrid peered over her shoulder, curious to see what kind of documents she would discover...only to find that most of it was very confusing, to say the least. There seemed to be no sense of organization, to the point where he could barely tell if it was on purpose or just done badly. As a relatively organized person himself, he quickly grew frustrated by the complete lack of any sort of pattern among the various files.

There was at least one part done purposefully, though, because the folder Rouge wanted to access (labeled ‘requisition forms’ in the middle of a video section...suspicious) was blocked by a passcode. The first two tries- TOWERS and CMNDR- didn’t work. 

The bat closed her eyes and bowed her head. To the untrained eye, she might have seemed like someone in defeat, giving up at the first sign of a struggle.

Shadow knew that she was just trying to focus and tap into her skills.

Eventually, she sighed resolutely. “Let’s give this one a go.” She typed in five familiar letters.

M-A-R-I-A.

It seemed that his sister had touched many lives forever, since it worked. Rouge clicked through a few of the files, her eyes widening with each one. Shadow was certain that his own were equal in size, watching as G.U.N. detained people for weeks without trials, arrested innocents doing perfectly legal things, and pulled many others over on the street and forced them to submit to searches without reason.

In short, hurting ordinary people who they were supposed to protect.

It truly felt as though something sick and twisted had taken root inside of the organization, indeed, that it had been allowed (even encouraged) to spread and grow until it choked the life out of every positive reason that had ever been part of G.U.N.’s founding. All that seemed to be left now was a paranoia-ridden, overly-violent military force with little to no conscience or accountability for its actions.

Eventually, the bat closed the folder, downloading the entire thing onto her device. “Let’s go already!” Shadow hissed, hating the idea of staying a moment longer than was absolutely necessary.

“No.” Rouge whispered. “We end this here. Now. Today.”

Then, she maneuvered the folders into a different part of the server, and smiled bitterly. “They can’t claim it’s faked very well if it comes from them.”

And then the master thief uploaded that entire section of their database onto the Internet, through G.U.N.’s website and every single one of their social media accounts, with one short sentence to accompany it: Doesn’t seem like you’re very good at your job, ‘Guardian Units of Nations’.

Shadow grabbed her by the arm as soon as she finished. “Alright, now come on! We have to go, they’ll figure it out soon enough!”

Rouge logged out and unplugged the tablet, and the two of them rushed to the door and peered out of the glass, waiting until the guards had passed. As they rushed outside, the bat remembered to close the door in absolute silence. Then they hurried down the hall, moving as quickly as they could. Rouge flew and Shadow skated to keep the noise level as low as possible, the faint hiss of Chaos energy and the occasional flap of wings the only sound they made as they ran.

They took basically the same route as before, only using a slightly longer path due to the hybrid’s low energy. It still went well at first, as they kept hidden whenever any guards came near. At any rate, there were no shouts of “intruders!” going off as they rushed upwards, through the halls, and towards the exit.

About halfway up a stairwell, though, several things happened in quick succession.

Alarms began to blare throughout the entire building, and red warning lights began to flash all over. The complex began to go into high alert, although the doors remained open to allow the soldiers to get from one place to another quickly. Although the two former agents couldn’t see it, they knew that all important rooms (including the main server area) would have a set of steel guards placed over them by now, so it was good that they had already completed most of their mission. “How did they figure it out that fast?” Rouge gasped, startled. 

That was when they heard the stomping of guards entering the stairwell, heading downwards towards the computer rooms- and their position.

Shadow stumbled on the stairs, the alarms and lights and those sounds triggering his most horrible memory of all. The raid on the ARK had already been brought forcibly to the surface recently, so it was still a particularly raw spot for him. He faintly felt his friend clasp his arm and begin to drag him forward and up, trying to keep him safe despite the walls of his own mind closing in around him. Remembering that he had to flee, the thought across both past and present situations of get out get out get out RIGHT NOW powered him enough to hold on back and even begin to pull her along.

A pair of guards heard him stumbling on the stairwell and began to fire at them as they ran, forcing the two to dodge bullets as they rushed up the stairs. Rouge flew the hedgehog directly up a level of steps before letting him drop and hit the stairwell running, since they didn’t have enough time for her to properly set him down. The gunfire only added to Shadow’s confusion- that and the dark metal walls of the next hall left him blinking and dazed, struggling to recall where he was...or when he was.

This...this is the Fortress, right? No...but that wiring on the walls…

He grabbed someone’s hand- Maria? Rouge? didn’t matter, he had to keep her safe either way- and rushed faster, faster, through the halls and up more stairs, dodged the gunfire, kept running- look there are some doors, why are there doors on the ARK? It looks like Mobius outside- doesn’t matter- we have to get out so let’s go-

They burst through the double doors, Shadow breaking the sound barrier as he did so while Rouge tried to ride the air currents he created as well as she could. It took all of her strength just to cling to his hand so that she wouldn’t be completely blown away by the force of his movement. 

Shadow vaguely heard the screech of car tires and heard Omega shout “I AM ON MY WAY. RUN.” as they blew past him.

His heart was pounding in his chest and his ears and he felt too hot and he could barely breathe, but he had to keep going. His legs were shaking but he pushed onwards through the difficulties, barely even thinking. 

He couldn’t even see the mountains or the sea. His entire world was just the ground ahead of him and the hand in his own.

He had to run.

Eventually, Shadow heard a whirring noise, turning his head to see a helicopter bearing down on them in the sky. The sight of something even more obviously impossible on the ARK than the doors or the grass shook him out of his confused memories slightly, only to leave him out of focus and disoriented. 

Figure it out later, right now you have to move!

Bullets began to spatter across the grass, blasting from double machine guns mounted on the helicopter, and he heard Rouge- yes, it was Rouge, not Maria- yell something along the lines of “What the actual hell?!”.

Shadow didn’t want to know how anyone had ever decided that chasing down two rogue agents, one of whom could break the speed of sound, with a helicopter spraying the entire area with deadly, aerodynamic pieces of steel was the right way to get them back. Or the smart way, honestly. Already, the helicopter’s fuel was running low, considering that their engine had to be supercharged to keep up even for this long.

He rushed into the nearby woods as it fell back, not stopping until they reached the base of the mountains nearby. They crouched underneath a rocky overhang, and Shadow slowly worked to come back to himself fully.

He had escaped with his companion this time…

His unfocused eyes slowly blinked and he shook his head slowly, trying to drive the lingering images from his head. “I’m here, hon, I’m here.” Rouge said softly, and his ears twitched, trying to shake the nagging feeling that this entire situation should be completely different.

“I gotcha, Shadow, but we’re going to have to move eventually...I can hear them starting a search party.” She scoffed. “Stupid of them to be so loud when they’re hunting a bat.”

The hybrid took one deep breath, and then another. “I’ll be alright.” he said quietly, his unwanted thoughts finally receding into the background enough to allow him to focus. He saw Rouge smile at him faintly, squeezing his shoulder once before giving him some space.

A minute or two later, a stick snapped to their left, and both of the highly skilled, rigorously trained Mobians shrieked (in an impressively high register for Shadow especially) and whirled around, ready to fight. Both relaxed, though, upon seeing that it was only Omega, who in turn gave them a quick once-over. “You are both a mess and G.U.N. will be here at any moment. They will begin to sweep this area soon and we must be far away when they do so.”

“Where do we go now?” Shadow asked quietly, his mental capacity strained nearly to its limit.

“Somewhere. Anywhere out of the way, where we can hide out until things quiet down.” Rouge sighed, her eyes downcast.

None of them were looking forward to what came next- a long wait until G.U.N. gave up searching for them, cut off from all of their friends, where they couldn’t go by their real names or enjoy their usual pastimes….

….and that was if they were lucky.

They got back into their car, again, and set off down the highway, again, looking for a place to hide.

Again.

(Shadow was tired of hiding. Sometimes he found himself wondering, as Rouge kept an eye out for nothing more than a sheltered area to pull their car into for the night, if it wouldn’t be better to just give up entirely...but the sheer idea of G.U.N. winning, especially of being put back into stasis, was too horrifying for him to bear.)

He’d rather suffer a lifetime of fear and of looking over shoulders if it meant he could spend it with Rouge and Omega than return to the endless frozen quiet of a stasis pod.

And as they pulled into the woods and began to cover their car with a decent amount of brush and leaves many hours and two states later, he almost felt a sort of resigned peace. Knowing that they had done what was right and that he would get to be with his two closest friends for a while longer was...not bad, all things considered. Sighing, he lay back in his chair, one hand linked with Rouge’s and Omega’s hand resting next to his ears.

They could hide together, at least.

…

In the morning, he woke up to shouting.

“This is the Guardian Units of Nations! Surrender peacefully or we fire!”

Rouge stared at him, her eyes wide.

Shadow was frozen in place- he didn’t think he could have moved had he tried.

Oh, chaos.

[personasintro]

My Tiny Secret | 10; Weirdness

𝑴𝒚 𝑻𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆 | 10; Weirdness

⏤𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; Pretty face doesn’t make it up for an ugly personality. And Kim Seokjin is the perfect proof of that.

⏤𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: seokjin x reader

⏤𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: angst, smut

⏤𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: toxic relationship, mistress au, strong language

⏤> 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒙

It's six in the evening, sharp, as Seokjin calls it a night. The black suit that's thrown over his chair ever since this morning is another reminder that he's been stuck in his office for the whole day. He can't even feel hunger from how his stomach shrank from the lack of food.

He shuts down his laptop with a loud click before he slides his long arms into the holes of his fancy suit. There's a soft knock on the door and without waiting for his response, it's already pushed open.

“Hey, you already going?”

The sound of his friend's, but most recently a new partner, resounds in the empty office and it's like a bomb to Seokjin's ears. He's been accompanied with silence for the whole day, going over some papers that his assistant has pilled on his desk. It's his fault that he wants to be included in everything. He's the CEO after all.

Except occasional calls, he barely talked to anyone today. His head was buried in stack of papers and the bright screen of his laptop so much, that his eyes sting with occasional headache coming and leaving every few minutes. Maybe that's why he feels so irritated by everything.

It's supposed to sound as a joke, Namjoon teasing his friend once he sees it's only six in the evening. Seokjin usually leaves around nine or ten. But Seokjin doesn't crack a smile, not that his friend ever expected him to.

“Yeah,” he blinks, feeling how dry his eyes has become. “I need to run some errands.” he says, mentally cringing how it sounded coming from his mouth and ignores Namjoon's taken back gaze.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Seokjin asks with a mutter in his voice, not even paying a proper attention to him while he grabs his phone from the desk.

He doesn't know what comes over him, but he checks for any notification from you. You surely didn't forget, did you?

“I was having a meeting.” Namjoon answers, watching his friend grabbing his belongings in an awful rush.

“What?” Seokjin scoffs with chuckle, giving his friend a doubting look. “Your meeting ended three hours ago.”

Of course, he knows. It's no surprise for Namjoon that Seokjin knows about it, despite of him being hidden in the office since this morning.

“We were discussing important things about our contract with your assistant.”

For a second, Seokjin feels as if he made a mistake for sending his assistant to have a meeting with his friend.

“Please, refrain from flirting with my assistant while you're in the company.” Seokjin tells him, sending a glare at his friend's flushed face at the oblivious. Well, it's not like he tried to hide it that much.

“What's with the rush?”

Seokjin stops in his tracks, a cold sweat dripping down his neck for some reason.

“Is your wife waiting for you?”

Namjoon wiggles his brows in teasing manner, completely ignored by Seokjin who scratches his chin.

“Yeah, now get out of here. Go home.” he tells his friend, who is completely used to his attitude and only grins at him in response.

He got her phone number, he's pleased and ready to go home.

And so is Seokjin, but the difference is that he's only ready to go however, he's not going home.

The hallway and the same set of doors in it is very familiar to him, despite of him not being here for a week. He chose this apartment building and the apartment itself by himself. The key to it is well hidden in the pocket of his slacks, and it almost burn against his skin as he thinks about it. It's not right and he contemplated what to do, until he knocks on the front door and all his thoughts disappear.

He almost thinks you're not going to answer, and he pathetically stands in front of the door growing embarrassed that someone might see him. Even his fingers twitch alongside his body and he complements of using that key, invading your privacy. But then you open the door with slightly widened eyes, your hair slightly disheveled as you hug the material of your robe closer to yourself.

“Seokjin?” you ask quietly, suddenly awake of the sight of a tall man standing in front of you. “I thought you wouldn't come.” you tell him as you open the door wider for him, turning around with flushed cheeks.

He barely pays you any attention as he takes off his shoes, putting it nicely to your almost empty cupboard.

It's weird not seeing the huge amount of Hoseok's sneakers there. But rather than dwell on that thought, you nervously hug yourself even more considering your appearance right now.

“I texted you.” he points out and you vaguely remember his text he sent you this morning.

It was something along the lines “I want to visit Yoojin tonight”, no please as usual.

“I know, I just thought you wouldn't come.” you mutter quietly under your breath, walking to the living room with Seokjin trailing behind you.

“You look like shit.” he comments out loud and you can't even muster a glare at him from the tiredness that makes your muscles ache.

You sit onto the soft spot on your couch, closing your eyes for a brief moment. “Yeah, thanks,” you say ironically, rolling your eyes. “I haven't slept the whole night. Yoojin was being cranky, I think his tummy hurt.”

Seokjin spares you a glance, seeing you rub your eyes and yawn right after. He notices how swollen your whole face is and even catches a look at the bags under your eyes.

“Where is he?” he asks looking around.

You don't seem to be offended by his ignorance towards you, you've learnt not to expect some empathy from him long time ago.

“He's sleeping.” you swallow that small 'finally' that threatened to escape.

You'd feel as a bad mother if you even said it out loud, but it's true. He's never been this cranky ever before, you barely slept and managed to take a nap just an half an hour ago. If it wasn't for Seokjin's knocks, you'd still be sound asleep.

“Has he never cried before?” he asks dumbfounded, confusion crossing over his features.

It annoys you, because he'll never understand the struggles you had to overcome as a mother. From your birth to sleepless nights while your body was, still is, recovering from Yoojin's birth. You'd never admit it out loud, especially to Hoseok, but it's way harder to live alone with a baby.

“He did,” you breathe out. “But we always took turns with Hobi.”

The nickname freely leaves your mouth, and you don't give it that much thought because you sure miss him too much. Despite of him calling and face-timing you every night, it still gets lonely without him by your side. You always knew how much he has helped you, way before Yoojin was born, but this only reminds you of it even more.

“I can watch over him,” he speaks out, jaw locked in place as you look at him with stunned look. “You should take some rest.”

It sure is a hell of a surprise, hearing that suggestion to even come out of his mouth. He never even was all alone with Yoojin, you were always there to make sure he holds him right and it's not like Seokjin wanted it otherwise. He always asked if he's holding him right. On the other hand, are you really confident about leaving him alone? You can't help yourself but doubt him and it looks like he can see right through you, speaking out.

“I'm not going to kidnap him, if that's what you're worried about.” he raises his brow at you, letting you know that yes, he knows what you were thinking about.

“T-that's not- what- I wasn't--” you stutter over your words, covering your face with your face as you exhale with a tired sigh.

“It's okay,” he cuts you off, waving his hand as he takes off his suit off revealing the dress shirt underneath it.

It's almost weird seeing him wearing his usual attire. Seeing him with hoodie and jeans seemed much cleaner these days.

“Go take some rest.” he tells you, feeling annoyed that you still have doubts clearly written all over your face.

“Okay,” you whisper. “He's in his prim since I couldn't make him to fall sleep, that was the only thing that helped. I'll take him to a guest room and leave the room open, so you can hear him if he starts to cry.” you tell him and he nods along, fishing his phone out as he stares at the screen.

That's your cue to go to your bedroom, taking the pram and glancing at Yoojin who peacefully sleeps. As you walk out of the bedroom, Seokjin is standing in the living room and once he hears you coming, he walks to you. You stop, trying to hide the surprise on your face. Something feels weird.

“I just want to see him.” he whispers under his breath, glancing at Yoojin whose soft breaths can be heard.

He lightly coughs, walking back to the couch and you slowly place the prim into the guest room. When you come back, Seokjin turned on tv, volume so low that you can barely hear it and you wonder if he did it on purpose. Overthinking is a huge part of you whenever you stress over something, and that something is the father of your child right now. He seems almost comfortable, too comfortable, on the couch as he looks at the screen. He glances at you, or more like glares at you when he sees you standing there silently watching him.

The weirdness in the room is more than unfamiliar, and you don't know whether you welcome it or not. It's obviously something new and you wonder when it ever stops. Every time he comes to visit, there are new feelings around the both of you.

“I made some fried rice, there's not much in the fridge, didn't have enough time to buy something but uh, there are some leftovers. So feel free to eat, if you're hungry, of course.”

He silently watches you as you ramble, fiddling with the hem of your thin robe that feels so small underneath his dark eyes he stares at you with.

“Thanks.”

Did he just say thanks?

Turning around, you silently shut the door and quickly scurry to the comfort of your bed. It only takes a few relaxed breaths and you're out, finally getting some rest. Behind the doors, there is Seokjin standing up and aiming straight to the kitchen finding the leftovers on the stove. There is a lot of it and he doesn't bother to take out plate, eating it right of the pan and he moans at the home cooked meal on his tongue.

It's been a long fucking time since he tasted home cooked meal.

taglist: @kpopyandere​ @btsxarii​ @nostalgicstudyblr​ @rkivemagic​ @0minabean0​ @ughtear​ @queensavage1245​ @choppe96​ @mtgforall​ @jalexa83​ @euphoriugh​ @baekimseokjin​ @quirkyanya​ @ladyartemesia​ @seoulazzyy​ @sinstae​ (comment on the most recent chapter to be added)

[gallavictorious]

GW 2020: Meet-cute

Ian is relieved to find the supermarket near empty when he steps inside. He's in no mood to push through a crowd or having to jump out of the way to avoid being mowed down by old ladies brandishing coupons and hellbent on scouring the place for every last special deal.

He glances down at the list Debbie had forced on him this morning, in spite of his protests. ”I can't pick this shit up, I'm going on a date,” she'd told him. ”Oh, and can you take Franny tonight? Liam is taking Carl to Troy's game, and Tami just laughed at me when I asked her if she and Lip could do it.”

He'd managed to weasel his way out of that one, at least, and Franny will now be spending the evening and night over at Kev and Vee's. A real relief, that, if truth be told. It's not that Ian doesn't love his niece dearly and doesn't like taking care of her, but after an insanely hectic day at work it's not what he has in mind for his first evening off in a week.

Moving more or less on auto-pilot, Ian methodically works his way through Debbie's list, picking up milk, eggs, orange juice, and Pop-Tarts. He double-checks every item before crossing it off, wanting to make sure he doesn't forget anything. Groceries may be the last thing he wants to think about right now, but he plans on sleeping in tomorrow and isn't particularly feeling like having Debbie banging on his bedroom door at 6.30 am and demanding to know why there's no apples for Franny. (Since when do the Gallagher's eat fresh fruit anyway? Must be Tami's bad influence.)

Coming up on the candy section, eyes still peeled to the list, Ian manages to walk straigh into another customer. In fairness, the guy has planted himself right in the middle of the narrow aisle, making bumping into him more or less an inevitability for anynody trying to pass by. Ian still offers a hasty apology, bending down to pick up the chocolates the guy's dropped.

Well, would you look at that. It's Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Which just so happens to be Ian's favourite.

”Thanks,” the guy says, when Ian hands them over. He sounds more than a little suspicious, or maybe just cautious, like he's expecting Ian to pull a gun on him. It makes Ian want to roll his eyes, but he reins the impulse in and smiles instead.

He's got a good smile, he knows. Disarming, when he wants it to be.

Seems to be working pretty great right now, because the guy is smiling back like he can't help himself, suddenly looking a lot less threatening. He's shorter than Ian, and his black hair and eyebrows are almost shockingly dark against his pale skin. It looks good though, Ian thinks. It looks real good. Something about the way he carries himself suggests that maybe he isn't a person you want to mess with, and yeah, Ian can't deny being intrigued by that.

His eyes are also ridiculously blue. Maybe it's because of that, or maybe it's because Ian's just too damned tired to think of anything reasonable to say, but he blurts: ”You know those taste better when they're half-melted? You let them rest on your palm for a couple of minutes, then you eat them. I mean, you have to lick them off, but it's worth it.”

The smile disappears and the guy is once more eyeing him skeptically. For a moment Ian thinks he'll just turn around and walk away, but after a silence that is just slightly too long the guy replies: ”Is that so?”

There's something in his voice, a husky note of suggestion, and it sends a shiver down Ian's spine. Feeling encouraged, feeling reckless, he nods vigourosuly. ”Absolutely. And, uh, are your legs made out of Nutella, by the way? Because I'd like to spread them.”

A beat, while the other man stares and stares at Ian, as if trying to figure out if he is for real. Then his face crumples into a look of weary disgust. ”Jesus Christ, Ian,” Mickey says. ”The fuck?”

So much for that...

Somewhat embarrased, somewhat annoyed, Ian shrugs. ”It's role play,” he says pointedly. ”You're supposed to play a role.”

”Yeah, and of course your corny ass decides to play the role of a fucking pick-up punster.” Throwing the Reese's into Ian's shopping cart, Mickey then crosses his arms over his chest. ”Why the fuck are we doing this again?”

Yeah, Ian is starting to seriously question that, too. It had seemed like a bit of fun, maybe, when his colleagues talked about it over drinks a few weeks ago, and while he and Mickey has always had great sex, they haven't really experimented all that much, and isn't that something you're supposed to do when you've been together for almost ten years (on and off, but still)? So no harm in giving it a shot, right, and make their first evening together in a while something special.

He tells Mickey as much, just as he had last night.

Neither Mickey nor his eyebrows seem the least bit convinced. ”Still sounds like the sort of shit people who suck at sex come up with,” he says. ”My husband is a pretty fucking great in the sack, so I'm not sure why I'd wanna pick up strangers at the goddamned grocery store when I could be home getting screwed six ways to Sunday.”

There's a startled little snort, and fuck, where did that little old lady over by the hard candy come from? Ian feels his cheeks redden slightly; Mickey, predictably, just glares at the woman, but – small wonders – doesn't say anything. Forcing a polite smile, or an attempt at one, Ian puts a hand on Mickey's arm to guide him away, from the stupid hard candy and any nosy shoppers.

In the relative safety of the canned food aisle, Ian stops and turns to his husband. Embarrassment and annoyance is already fading: he has the evening off, he has Mickey, and once they get home they have the house to themselves. Failed attempt to role play or not, this is a good evening. ”Pretty fucking great in the sack, huh?” he asks, feeling his lips curl into a small smile.

”Yeah, well,” Mickey is still maintaining a scowl, but his eyes are bright, warm. ”Has the worst fucking ideas, though.”

”Mhm. Sounds like maybe he should stop thinking so much and just take his husband home then. Have some takeout and watch a movie and then, you know, maybe screw six ways to Sunday?”

A grin on Mickey's face now, wide and pleased and growing. ”Yeah. Yeah, he should fucking do that.”

”Okay then.”

”Okay.”

They pick up the last few items on Debbie's list, pay, and head home. Ian can feel Mickey's eyes on him as they walk side by side down the street in the October twilight; hears the little smirk in his voice when he eventually asks: ”You really wanna lick melted Reese's off my body, man?”

Yeah. He'd have known this would come back to bite him in the ass. Whatever. He slings an arm around Mickey's shoulders. ”What if I did?”

Mickey snorts, but doesn't shrug them arm off. ”I'd let you,” he allows.

---

A/N: I hope this sort of fast and loose interpretation of the theme is okay. :o I'd also like to state that I'm really not convinced that Ian would ever be interested in trying something like this, but for the sake of silly nonsense we'll pretend that he might. Oh, and the amount of research I had to do to find an even vaguely useful food-related pick-up line was insane, and made me very, very angry. You are damned right to glare at him, Mickey!

[triangularjuice]

Remember? -A Pokémon Story-

Chapter 11: Panic

You stare out a small window, a few raindrops from last night's storm lingering on the glass. You watch the city grow smaller and smaller as you ride further from the island. After your 'incident' some hours ago, Professor Kukui and Professor Burnet came to the hospital to find out what happened after a frantic phone call was made to their home. You told them your side of the story: that Xurkitree attacked you in the hallway. They had given each other a worried glance, and carefully explained what really happened.

"(Y/N)... we saw the footage from the hall cameras. Xurkitree was never there," Kukui had said.

To put it simply, you freaked out a bit. You thought you were going crazy, but Burnet had told you there might be an explanation. She hypothesized that since you had direct contact with Xurkitree when it abducted you, it was able to enter your subconscious when you almost died, but since you were resuscitated, the encounter was interrupted and left you and Xurkitree with an unnatural connection.

So basically, Xurkitree has a direct line to your brain, making you see it when it isn't really there. Then they had to address the other elephant in the room: the weird electricity that shot out of your body.

So that brings you here, on a boat headed for Aether Paradise. Burnet has some lab equipment here that she wants to use to run some tests. You're sitting below deck with Ash, Pikachu, and Cato, while Kukui and Burnet are up top. You aren't a fan of the water, so you're upsettingly watching the land shrink farther and farther away.

"How are you feeling?" Ash pipes up, trying to break the heavy silence. You turn from the window and look over at him.

"Okay, I guess. I don't know why they're making me wear these, it doesn't really hurt," you say, gesturing to your wrist and ankle braces. Ash smiles slightly.

"Maybe because you almost died," he says in a teasing way. You give a small laugh and shrug.

"That's true," you admit. You look down and see Pikachu playing with Cato, a smile tugging at your lips. You haven't seen Cato play in a while. Then again, with everything going on, how could anyone want to play? Your smile falters as you start thinking about your Dad. Ash notices and speaks up again.

"So.. have you ever been to Aether Paradise?" he questions, trying to distract you.

"I don't know, but I doubt it," you say, flatly. Ash nods slightly and turns to look at Pikachu and Cato, giving up on his efforts to take your mind off everything happening. You turn back to the window, watching the fast-approaching Aether Paradise.

~~~~~

You follow Professor Burnet down to a lab full of different scientific equipment. You look around nervously, wondering what these machines are meant for.

She asks you to take a seat on a large chair, and you obey. Burnet walks over with a syringe and you clam up. Not wanting to admit another fear, you just look away as she draws some of your blood. You let out the breath you were holding when she walks away, though you feel a little lightheaded. She takes it over to yet another machine you have never seen before, and inserts the vial.

Burnet goes on to take some scans of your body, getting all the information she can on your biology. You wonder if this is all really worth it.

After a while of being poked and prodded, she finally seems satisfied. As she studies her findings, you and the others find something to distract yourselves with. Ash and Pikachu are busy messing with machines they probably shouldn't be touching, and Kukui is sitting in a corner reading a book. You're sitting on the floor, leaning against Cato. You yawn as you stare off into space. Sleep hasn't been something you've gotten much of, lately.

You close your eyes as you lay your head on Cato's back, his soft fur becoming a substitute pillow.

~~~~~

You hear someone calling your name, gently shaking you awake. You open your eyes and see Ash's worried face above you.

"Burnet found something," he says. You get up, quickly making your way over to her at a computer. As you approach she gives you a small smile, and turns back to the monitor.

"After looking at all the data I collected, I think I figured some things out," she starts. "The human body has naturally occurring electrical currents that run parts of our body, like the nervous system. Our cells conduct this electricity to send signals throughout our bodies and to the brain so we can feel and move. Well, something's different about (Y/N). Looking at her cells, it seems like there's an excess amount of electrical currents present in her body. And when I say 'excess', I mean a lot. Enough to send out a surge like she did in the hospital," she explains. You stare at the images, unsure of what you're hearing.

"It seems like (Y/N) can manipulate this extra electricity inside her cells," Burnet states, glancing over at you. You just stand there, mouth slightly open, trying to wrap your head around this.

"H-how did this happen?" you stutter, looking down at your hands. Burnet turns back to the computer and pulls some other images up, including one of Xurkitree.

"You said that you have been gone for almost two years, and Ash found you in Ultra Space not too long ago. This means you were in Ultra Space that whole time, in some sort of cryogenic sleep. So, my theory is that Xurkitree was the one who put you to sleep there, and it was trying to fuse with you like Nihilego did with Lusamine," she explains.

You look at her, confused, not sure where she's going with this. You vaguely remember overhearing something about Ash's friend's mom in Ultra Space.

"But, it couldn't fuse with you for some reason. So, being in Ultra Space, the amount of electricity it used on you was absorbed by your body instead of coming and going, like it would have in our normal dimension," she finishes. You stand there, speechless, staring off to the side.

"(Y/N)?" you hear someone say, though it sounds far away. You feel a hand on your shoulder, but you quickly flinch away, taking several steps backwards. Your heart starts racing, and you begin to take rapid breaths. You look up at the others, their worried faces staring back at you. You can't stand the way they look at you anymore. The looks of sympathy and helplessness.

You turn on your heels and run out of the lab, needing to be anywhere but there. The ankle brace makes it a little difficult, but the adrenaline numbs any pain. You can hear them yelling your name, but it only makes you run faster.

'Why did this have to happen to me?'

***

Chapter 12: Memories

[notgonnarememberthis]

find your way (back to me) - chapter ten

God, I have been SO EXCITED for this chapter. BIG praise to Em who helped me get through little hooks and finding Martin’s voice. Honestly they are crazy talented and have such a grasp for his tone and movements they’re such a big help to me and I love my best friend so damn much ok. 

Anyways!! I wanted to send this out after tonight’s ep but I have yet to watch it. I was out with my sister helping her get over a sad spell so I unfortunately missed it live and won’t be able to watch until tomorrow so I would love to avoid spoilers. Thank y’all so much!! Hope y’all enjoy the update!

Gil opens the door to the morgue, Edrisa looks up from the body with a small nod but her normal smile isn’t quite there. Malcolm stands beside her shifting from side to side. He raises an eyebrow but says nothing. JT lingers in the corner of the room, jaw set. “Ready?”

This presentation feels heavier than most. It doesn’t help either he or Malcolm that they both had to reluctantly leave the apartment so early in the morning. Ainsley remained behind, having called in a few favors to work from his place at least until the case was solved. Still, he worries. They both do.

“Yes,” Edrisa breathes, settling into the motions. “Cause of death was the slit throat. There were traces of tranquilizer in the victim, that might be how he was transferred from place to place. The state of the body suggests he’s been dead for a day.”

“He was alive an entire week. Our killer waited. He waited until mother was out of the hospital.” He’s already agitated, it’s not good.

“He wasn’t killed in Mrs. Whitly’s home. He was transported post mortem.”

“We can assume our killer has completely unraveled. This kill goes completely off M.O.”

“He’s desperate.” Gil agrees. 

“Has she remembered anything yet?” Gil turns to where JT is standing.

“No.” Malcolm sighs, “She’s going through dissociative amnesia. Ainsley did after…” He gestures, it’s enough for them to understand. “Honestly, I hope she doesn’t.”

“You do?” The question isn’t meant as a harm but he sees Malcolm flinch. There’s a flash of guilt on JT’s face but Malcolm waves him off before he can apologize.

“From an investigative standing? I would. It would certainly help narrow it down.” He shakes his head, like trying to rid of a thought that was too much even for him. “But after Ainsley remembered? She completely shut down. She looked right past us and it tore my mother up.” Gil remembers that. The blank stare lasted for hours before she finally broke down. It was Jessica who finally got her out of it, playing with her hair and singing her a lullaby. “I don’t want that for her.”

Edrisa places a gentle hand on his shoulder, and to Malcolm’s credit rather than flinching away he subtly leans into the touch.

“Did we find out any more about Freddy?” The question seems to bring a new heaviness to the room. Edrisa and Malcolm share a look, one that tells they know something that hasn’t been spoken quite yet.

“We found an ID card on the inside of his jacket.” Edrisa grabs a baggie with the ID badge inside passing it to Gil. “He was a student volunteer at Claremont Psychiatric.”

“Claremont? You think-”

“We don’t know if he has any connection to the surgeon.” Malcolm’s eyes fall to the body. “But I’ve seen him around. It was only in passing but he was nice. Always smiled when I passed.”

“Does Jess know?”

“No. But it gets worse.”

“Worse?” Malcolm bobs his head before straightening, trying to summon every ounce of professionalism he has to ignore the warring feelings.

“Freddy’s full name is Francisco Garcia. When mom was delivering her statement to the police she said Freddy helped tie the tourniquet on her leg. That his mom is a trauma surgeon.” Gil’s face sinks, coming to the same conclusion. Jessica’s doctor that had been helping in the investigation, Dr. Garcia. “Agent Swanson is on her way to the hospital to confirm our findings. But we’re almost certain it’s Dr. Garcia’s son.”

“Did she know he was missing?”

“My guess? No. He was a med student and a volunteer. He probably went weeks at a time without checking in.” Gil runs a hand through his beard. Even thinking about telling Jessica was ripping him apart. She’d connected well with her doctor, it helped that she was a friendly woman. But Jessica will want to help with funeral expenses, help the family financially for whatever they need. There’s no way he can get past telling her.

A ringtone startles them out of the somber silence. Malcolm reaches into his pocket, eyebrows furrowing when he reads the caller ID. “Ains?” His anxious movements stop as his eyes meet Gil’s “What’s wrong?” He can barely make out the sound of crying coming from the phone “What do you mean she’s gone?” Gil sucks in a breath. Gone could mean too many things. “It’s ok. Is her phone still there?” He waits with a fearful beat. “That’s good. She might have left on her own. I’m going to go see if I can track her phone. Have Dani drive you here and we’ll find her ok?”

Malcolm hangs up and he looks ready to throw something. It’s Edrisa who slips the phone out of his hand before he decides to do just that. He clenches his hand taking a deep breath before speaking.

“My mother is gone.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jessica’s eyes open to the sound of her phone chiming followed shortly by the sound of the front door shutting. From the light pouring into the bedroom she would guess its at least the afternoon. Sleeping in Gil’s bed made it easier to chase away the nightmares and if she did wake up his presence was enough to soothe her. Listening to his slow breathing lulled her back to sleep eventually, too exhausted for another nightmare.

She picks up her phone, squinting as the light hits her face.

Work emergency. Will be back soon, order takeout and have them give it to George.

So it was Ainsley she heard leaving. She sits up carefully pulling her hair up out of her face. Her phone chimes again

And don’t leave!!

She bites her tongue staring at her bags in the corner of the room. Gil and Malcolm carried all that she’d need for the stay for at least a week. The memories of last night hang over her head precariously, like a rope ready to snap.

She takes her medicine with the glass of water on the nightstand.

Her eyes fall on the shirt from last night. Gil had her change when they arrived and, truthfully, it helped her feel lighter. Yet the note in the pocket still weighs on the back of her mind. There was only one possible way he’d know how she took her tea. It was such a small detail even Malcolm, at his age, wouldn’t remember much less Ainsley. She’d stopped drinking tea for a while after his arrest. It took her years before she found a blend she liked again.

Nobody should know that.

And yet.

Jessica rubs her eyes, dread threatening to push her down into the covers where it was safe and warm again. The thoughts taste foul as she files through. She needs to go see Martin, he’s the only one with the answers. If Gil knew there would be no chance he’d let her go anywhere near Claremont, for perfectly good reasons. Hell, if Malcolm and Ainsley knew they wouldn’t let her out of her sight. Ainsley will only be gone for a short bit, if her texts are accurate.

Now is her only chance.

Getting dressed takes slower than she’s happy with. The pull makes her breath catch in her throat more than a few times. She eyes the wheelchair next to the bed for a moment. She knows the doctor’s order, but around Martin showing weakness at all is a loss. It gives him control of the conversation.

Giving him any sort of control is the last thing she wanted.

She gathers herself, dressed as she normally would. She uses makeup to cover what she can. However some of the scrapes are still so sore that she doesn’t bother. She grabs the note, giving herself a few beats to change her mind and stay. Finally, when she deems herself ready she sweeps out into the living room, opening the front door doing her best annoyed mother tone.

Her eyes settle on the officer patrolling, ready to put on the performance of her life. “Will you drive me to Claremont? My son insists that I shouldn’t be left alone and he’s visiting his father.”

“Sure thing Mrs. Whitly.” The officer, George, grins at her.

“Wonderful.”

The ride there is silent. She practices what she will say in her head over and over. Not that any amount of practice will prepare her to speak to Martin again. It only gets worse as she’s escorted through the halls. She can feel his presence long before she reaches his cell; it’s choking, a cavern that threatens to swallow her and her entire family whole.

“Jessica!” He gasps as she steps in, like he hadn’t known she’d be coming. The shock doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Mr. David didn’t mention you’d be visiting today. I’ve got to say, you’ve looked better.” He gestures vaguely, talking about the scratches on her that she couldn’t cover with makeup. She’s just thankful that she could cover the bruises. “I thought for sure that our children, Malcolm especially, would have you on lockdown. Though, I suppose that never stopped you before.”

She bites the remark that’s on the tip of her tongue. If she wants answers she’ll have to appeal to him. “Malcolm is on the case, Ainsley had some kind work emergency and had to leave.”

He tuts, tilting his head. “Sneaking out? Giving them a taste of their own medicine, huh?” He straightens, narrowing his eyes oh so slightly. “Now don’t tell me you visited just to chat. Not that I’m complaining but come on, I would have put on my good cardigan.”

“No.” He purses his lips at her rejection, but doesn’t interrupt. “Last night there was a body in the kitchen-”

“Someone broke into our home?” My home. She aches for the rebuttal but the answers are too important and she doesn’t have enough time before Ainsley realizes she isn’t there. She will text Malcolm and he’ll no doubt pull every resource he has to find her here, of all places. So she sets her jaw.

“There was a note on my nightstand when I woke up next to a cup of tea that said, just how you like it.” His brows furrow before an understanding washes over him. She thinks, just for a moment.

“Classic stalker behavior.” He shrugs. “Who knows how long he’s been watching you.” She swallows, the thought making her heart freeze. His aloof behavior is betrayed by the years of visits between him and their son. He knows. “And where was the Lieutenant?”

The question scratches her world to a deadly halt. All of the anger at what had happened; the days she was trapped, the injustice of Freddy’s death, her family being threatened. All of it topples over with the words he meant as a knife to her most cherished relationship other than her children.

“Wouldn’t he be there to protect you?”

“Malcolm was.” Darkness washes over him and she watches all the fake humanity drain from his eyes. Barely contained rage makes the room feel colder. She doesn’t allow herself the step backwards that would make her feel more comfortable. “Malcolm was asleep in the chair in the corner of the room.”

“Malcolm was there?”

“Of course he was there! You know Malcolm! He wouldn’t fucking leave let alone sleep in a different room!” She lets out a shuddering breath. “He wouldn’t- he can’t-” Her words jumble and anger is making her shake painfully. Her core aches and she is almost certain if she doesn’t calm down she’ll accidentally pull stitches. “He was in my home. He was in the goddamn kitchen. He was in my room where we were sleeping!” Martin tilts his head, it’s the disapproving tilt. One that she’s seen hundreds of times when a curse slipped out in front of Malcolm or Ainsley when they were so young. He always hated when she cussed. “Malcolm, god he was so tired he didn’t even stir when I woke up.” She can feel the tears coming down but she’s hopeless to stop them now. She’s in an absolute spiral. “God knows how long he was there. How many times he walked past Malcolm. It could’ve been Malcolm.”

The last words are an almost incoherent sob. She had come here, every intention of holding her ground. And here she is having a fucking panic attack in front of her serial killer ex husband. A bitter laugh escapes her.

“It could’ve been Malcolm.” She repeats. “And every time I remember I don’t see that poor boy’s face. I see Malcolm’s. Our son.”

A hand reaches out stroking the tears from her cheek. It takes her far too long to connect the touch to Martin. “Jessie-”

She rips herself away the second her mind connects the dots. The sudden movement causes a new wave of pain. She curses again leaning against the furthest wall to regain her self control. “Stop!” She shouts, getting the attention of Mr. David. “Stop acting like you fucking care.” It hurts too much. She feels like she’s going to stop breathing at any second. When he looks at her with that much sympathy it’s too much. It reminds her of being hunched in the bathroom, morning sickness taking a toll on her. He stayed with her, holding her hair. That sympathy is not only fake, it’s toxic. Another way to gain control.

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” She snaps. “You know. You know who it is and you let us be hurt by him. What did you do Martin? What the fuck did you do?” The room holds impossibly still for what feels like an eternity. He heaves a sigh, defeated.

“Lieutenant Arroyo wasn’t the first to catch me.” The words stop her in her tracks. She watches him warily, not trusting a single word he says. “I never met him, but I received a call, a year or two before.” Her stomach sinks, the year or two before was when she’d noticed his growing absence. “He had connected me to a missing woman, able to pin me at her last seen location.” She swallows, realizing he isn’t moving. No shifting head, wild gesturing movements. It’s the truth. “He wanted money.”

“Oh god.”

“I told you I was funding a project at the hospital. Every month I would send him money for his silence.” She holds her breath. “When I got arrested the money stopped, but the calls didn’t.”

“What.”

“He would threaten Malcolm and Ainsley. He was a belligerent drunk. From what I could gather after he lost that money he lost everything, wife divorced him and took the kids. He drank to forget.” He twists his shoulders back, fixing his posture. “I helped him again. Got him into rehab. From what I could tell, he got his life back together.”

“And became a serial killer.”

“Well not all of us can be perfect, Jessie.” He continues with a shrug, “Never got the wife back but found his faith in religion. Not to keen on it myself but to each their own.”

“Where is he now?”

“From last I heard? He got his job back.”

Just like that the world stops spinning. Her pain makes way for horrific clarity. The black clothes with the covered badges. Malcolm and Gil’s frustration over his ability to get in and out of the park despite there being patrols all over the city. How he got into her home without alerting anyone. “He’s a cop.”

“Yes.”

Anxiety clamps down on her stomach. The man has been right there all along. None of them had even suspected. Hell, it could’ve been the man that drove her here. She suddenly, ironically feels herself not wanting to leave. She can’t seem to move. Her feet feel too heavy. Her mind and body aching from overexertion. 

“Jessica?” She hears Martin call to her but she feels too far away to respond. Only the wall behind her is holding her up. “Jessie.” The annoyance laced in his tone exacerbated as she hears the door to the hallway slide open. “Jess!” Panic.

The door opens beside her and Malcolm and Ainsley step in, looking equally alarmed and agitated. Their eyes fall on her, and she sees the color strip from their faces. Malcolm is on her in a second, hands holding her up by her elbows. She must look too pale because he looks like he’s ready for her to faint.

Ainsley, on the other hand, whips around to Martin, eyes accusatory. “What the fuck did you do to her?” She should stop her, a part of her thinks. Yet she still doesn’t move. It’s Mr. David who grabs Ainsley by the middle pulling her back over the red line towards safety. Whether it’s her own or Martin’s she’s not entirely sure.

“Mom. Hey, mom. Look at me.” She does. “We gotta go. Ok?” No, they can’t. It’s not safe. How did they get here? “Gil’s waiting outside. They wouldn’t let him in, but he’s going to take us back.” She relaxes a little. She needs to warn them about the cop. She needs to. But she feels lightheaded and her heels are far too unstable. “I got you, it’s ok.” And he smiles, that gentle smile when he swears that everything will be alright. “Ains, come on.”

She’s braced on both sides by her kids as she walks out with Martin shouting behind them.

[infini-tree]

FANFIC: against all odds - part 4

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Summary: Moments of relative ease while they were on the run.

A/N: alternate title - haha! i tricked you all into reading my personal headcanons on the pmd universe!

I feel like there’s a vague theme, but for the life of me I can’t put words to it. This has also been sitting in my drafts for a while. How much can I write for just the fugitive arc plot point? According to the word count, over 5,000 words.

_________________________

I can’t fight. You don’t know how to manage resources on the road. If I suddenly wake up in a dungeon or we’re in peril, then I’ll do everything to switch back to you, but you have to agree to switching back when we’re just traveling. Our survival may depend on it.

Guildmaster of the Jerome Horwitz Guild,

Krupp leaned back, inspecting the writing with a frown. Was it stupid to sign a note he scrawled in the dirt in his own pine needles? Perhaps. 

He signed it anyway. Listen, if he had to rank the absurdity of the events so far, this would be dead last.

The abomasnow shuffled to his feet. It was late night and this was the only time he would have to himself. He gaze shifted to the dying fire, to the two boys sleeping soundly. He lumbered his way over to the campfire to feed it a few more sticks and some fallen pine needles.

(Morbid as it was, they made excellent firestarters.)

Satisfied with the size of the flame, he made his hasty retreat from the heat. Back to the message he scrawled to the dirt. Well, it was now or later, and later happened to have the boys being awake and nosy.

How had those miscreants made him switch over? Harold managed it by making the static around him crackle in a specific way, but George--

He brought a thumb and finger together. Here goes... everything.

Snap.

_________________________

He didn’t like thinking about the day he evolved. 

Under most circumstances, it should have been a happy time; certain families would make a big show of it, or at least gave congratulations. The ability to do so was in constant flux along with the waxing and waning of major disasters, so everyone treated it as something unlikely and miraculous every time.

It had been cold, but then again it was always cold at the family orchard. All he could remember was being so angry, and if his heart hadn’t froze then, then the look his mother gave him completely iced it over to protect it. To salve the pain.

(But it was still in there, thawing the ice from the inside.)

The moments after that were a blur; the ice that made a vice grip around his heart made his way into his veins, to each needle, made him glow so bright that it could’ve caused snow-blindness.

And then he had the power to protect himself.

It was a strange comparison to make, but switching over to the other guy-- it felt like that rush of emotion and power. Instead of the cold and anger, it was... the only thing he could describe it was alive, the joy of it. The fierce determination to protect that. It was foreign and terrifying to him.

He came back to his blunt claws caked in dirt and strange markings. It took too long to realize that it was writing.

It looked so minimalist, what with its lines looking all the same. Even between the curves and the straight lines, there was no rhyme or reason to the shapes of the letters.

It took even longer to realize that he could read it.

Not to worry, Guildmaster!

_________________________

Sometimes, a part of him wondered if the other guy felt like turning to him was a disappointment-- if he felt this way when he switched over, then the reverse must be true.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but he didn’t have much time to think about it as George and Harold were running headfirst into a mystery dungeon that was starting to form, he just looked away for five minutes--

(True to their agreement, he snapped his fingers. He jolted up in an unfamiliar clearing, in strange clothes, with the boys giving him concerned looks that it made something in his heart twinge.

And then, recalling that he left most of the supplies back at the previous camp when he ran in to catch them, and the something was doused.)

_________________________

Sometimes luck was on their side. Sometimes the dungeons were short, and sometimes there was swaths of apple trees at the end.

Despite all that, Krupp couldn’t help but be the pessimistic one-- someone had to be. Short dungeons meant they couldn’t stay for long; those hunting for them would bulldoze through the floors, no matter how tricky the dungeon was. 

Plus, he didn’t like the look of the trees here. Each and every one of them were identical-- it was a weird byproduct of taking root at the epicenter of a dungeon.

Still, food was food. He made his way over to the one the boys were trying to coax fruit out of. At first they tried to climb it, but the strangeness of the dungeon left the bark slightly less textured and with no footholds.

Now, they were trying to cut it down, taking turns tackling-- and in George’s case-- hitting it with iron tail.

The abomasnow rolled his eyes. “Get out of the way,” he grumbled. The needles on his back raised, and suddenly there were a quartet of ice shards.

George stared at him, crossing his arms. “If our attacks couldn’t do anything, what makes you think those little thing--”

The shards shot up the tree and wove through the branches. After a few moments, several apples with frostbitten stems fell down. One even managed to hit him in the head. The force was strong enough to impale itself against the pine needles.

Harold snickered before another apple hit him on the head. Considering the amount of wool, it was less of a hit, and more of a...

Well, it was lodged deep in the wool.

Krupp barked out a short laugh before realizing where he was and who he was. He clapped a hand to his mouth, attempting to play it off as a cough or-- or something else. Anything else.

His plan to scarf down one of the apples and feign choking quickly fizzled as the boys at each other in quiet disbelief, and then to him. They noticed. Of course, the miscreants who thrived off pranks, and by extension the laughter that came from it, noticed. It was stupid to think otherwise.

“Just,” he ran a hand down his face, hand outstretched towards the mareep. “Just hand the apples over so I can bag everything up and we can move on.”

From this place, from his stupid, stupid fumble.

Harold’s mouth quirked mischievously before he shook, sending the apple-- and everything else that was lodged in his wool-- flying.

(So that’s where they kept their comic supplies, he remembered thinking, before frustration took precedence over sated curiosity.)

_________________________

“How’d you do the thing?” George asked. 

The noonday sun was high and sweltering. This meant that the boys started their routine of what he liked to call We’re Not Technically Touching You So You Can’t Complain, where they would walk as close to him as they could get away with, before backing away before he noticed.

“What thing?” he grumbled, flicking away the meltwater.

“You know, the thing with the ice shards,” Harold offered. “The-- you know, whoosh, whoosh!” To emphasize his point, he jumped from side to side, pantomiming how it wove through the branches.

The words come out much easier than he expected, or wanted to. “You don’t grow up on an orchard without learning how to get the season’s stock off as quickly as possible.” He shrugged, sending some melting snow careening to the ground.

The boys thought about it. George looked off to the mountains in the distance, but Harold was looking right at him. For a moment he could have sworn that there was something he could only describe as recognition in his eyes, but he nodded and it was gone. 

“You know that’s not what we meant.” The snivy kicked a rock. It was sent careening off into the grass, and his shoulders dropped in slight disappointment.

“What, you want demonstrations now?” the abomasnow raised a brow. “You barely listened to anything at school!”

“Yeah, because no one’s teaching us stuff like that!” George shot back, raising his arms up to emphasize his point. “The most complicated thing Meaner’s ever taught us is don’t get hit!”

Krupp couldn’t help but wince. That might explain... a lot, actually. “I don’t know what to tell you, but that was just-- I don’t know, a thing.”

“How were you a Guildmaster for this long,” Harold shook his head, and he knew he was baiting him. They’ve been on the road long enough that the abomasnow could figure out their tells, how to tell the difference between staged theatrics and genuine emotion.

And here he was, falling for it hook, line, and sinker. 

The soil beneath his feet freeze-dried at every step. “Fine, you want a lesson?” He shrugged, and this time the snow and frost tumbled down with purpose before forming a few shards. 

“You either are naturally strong and can bulldoze through anything--”

“Like Captain Underpants!” Harold chimed in.

“Yeah, him.” He rolled his eyes. “Or you get creative with weak moves.”

He let the shards weave around the boys as they walked-- not too close, or else they would get frostbite, and not too fast, or they might get hurt if they moved suddenly. 

Just enough so they would stay cool.

“Maneuverability’s just a matter of endurance and concentration.”

He didn’t need to look back to see the boys make a face.

(In any case, Krupp considered this a victory. They wouldn’t need to huddle so close to him now, and hopefully that was enough to stop their prying questions regarding it.)

[spookyold-saintjm]

Confession

[gif: @h0rr0rpancake] 

Mandalorian x female reader

Part of the Pilot series [Masterlist]

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol consumption/intoxication, canon-typical violence, it’s steamy but it’s not smut (yet) so chill.

Word Count: 3,808

Surprise! I was able to finish this one (number SIX?!) sooner than I thought, so here you go!

If you’re seeing my work for the first time: hi! You don't necessarily have to read the other parts of this series for this one to make sense; I write each new installment as something that can be enjoyed as a stand-alone or as part of the whole. Reading the others will give you bits and pieces of context that (hopefully) make each new part more impactful, but there’s no need to do so if you don’t want.

This is my longest work yet so...phew. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! A lil ol’ reblog would mean the world to me, if you want. x

—

You had never thought it was something you’d see again. At least, not if it were done by your own hands. 

Fragments of a one-man ship crumbled and burned and drifted down and out through infinite space. Your hands trembled like leaves against the Crest’s controls, and a cold sweat trickled down the side of your head as you stared numbly at the destruction you had just created. The life you had taken.

You heard the familiar footsteps of the Mandalorian approaching from behind you, and snapped back into survival mode. This wasn’t just about you.

You shakily turned toward the panel on your left, typing in codes to redirect your flight path to the nearest safe planet you could think of. The ship needed repairs; you needed to land as soon as possible. Mando was behind you just as you swerved the ship to a hard right and away from the sight of the debris. Away from choice you’d had to make to ensure your safety. And theirs. 

You vaguely remembered him going to get the child immediately after you’d fired the fatal shot; somehow, despite the rocking and frantic turning of the ship, that sound had been what had awoken and startled the tiny being that had been resting in his carrier in another part of the ship. He was now tucked into Mando’s arm, ears perked in curiosity.

The amount of time that had passed up to that point was unclear to you; you’d kept a clear mind, focused, each move intentional and calculated as you attempted to get the attacking ship off your tail. It was when you realized that they weren’t going to give up on their pursuit, that they were intent to take you down, that you knew what you had to do. And you’d done it, but not without the dull, numbing feeling of acknowledging death quickly beginning to set in, despite the countless hours of training you’d once been through to teach your mind otherwise.

You had told yourself you weren’t going to do it again. And yet, here you were.

“I’ve changed our course.” You spoke quietly, quickly, before Mando could ask if you were okay. It was a question you didn’t want to answer. “We need to land soon. Damage.”

Mando said nothing, only watched your still-trembling hands attempt to restore the ship to full operation so that you could more quickly reach your new destination.

“S-sorry,” you added, immediately wishing you could take back the words that were already spilling from your lips. “I—I wasn’t—it’s been a long time."

He listened, letting you speak the words that were making your stomach turn the longer you held them inside. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to tell you to calm down. Only listened. It was something that you found yourself to silently appreciate as you started to steady yourself, your breaths regulating, your hands still. 

He had seated himself in the co-pilot chair behind you, the child quiet in his lap. “Thank you.” he finally spoke. It was the only thing he could think to say, but it was enough. 

Without turning away from the viewport, you nodded slowly in grateful acknowledgment.

“They were after him, weren’t they?” you asked, your voice low. You already knew the answer, but to assure yourself that what you’d done was worth it…

“I think so. Yes.” Mando replied simply.

“Not Guild. Not now.” You added.

“No. Someone else.”

You had a feeling you both had the same suspicions, that word had spread about the Mandalorian taking down Moff Gideon and escaping with a bounty he’d very intensely sought after. A very valuable one.

Neither one of you said it aloud, but you knew. The running wasn’t over.

—

Hot. Why did this planet have to be so kriffing hot?

You reached to wipe sweat from your forehead as you meticulously worked away on the wiring you pulled from out of a panel near the bottom of the ship. The repairs weren’t necessarily difficult, but time-consuming. And costly. Maybe it was the heat on this planet getting to you, but you’d snapped at Mando at his slightest hesitation of the full repairs. 

“This ship is a ticking bomb. I don’t fix her, I don’t fly her. She’s all yours."

You could have sworn you’d heard his teeth grinding beneath this helmet when he’d handed over the credits for the necessary parts. 

You were still coming down from your mood when the Mandalorian returned to the hangar where you’d been permitted to leave the ship a couple hours later. The child was following, happily toddling along behind him, but nearly thudded straight into his boot when Mando abruptly halted in his tracks.

He saw as you stood from your crouched position by the ship, muttering light curses under your breath as you stepped over to search through the crate of tools provided in the hangar for the repairs you were currently addressing. A stray hair drifted down into your eyes from where you had tied it atop your head, desperate for any means to cool down, and you blew it away as you continued to dig through the crate. Your long-sleeved shirt was tied at your waist, leaving you in your sleeveless undershirt that, thanks to the heat causing everything to stick to your skin, wasn’t leaving much to anyone’s imagination...

Not that…not that he would imagine anything. No, the heat was just getting to him, too. 

Probably.

You finally noticed his presence and looked up, shielding your eyes with a hand to look at him through the light of the setting suns glinting off his armor. 

“Hey, shiny. Step out of the light. I’m going blind here.”

Once he remembered how to walk, Mando was standing by the open hatch of the Crest, telling the child to head inside out of the heat. He obeyed, but not before letting a long stare glide between the two of you. 

You were faced the opposite direction from him, but you didn’t hesitate to whip your head around your shoulder to send him a hard glare of warning before he quickened his pace inside with a small giggle.

“What does he say to you?” Mando asked as he approached you. You shook your head as you pulled the tool you’d been looking for from the crate with a low hum. He knew well enough by now how you communicated with the child, although maybe he didn’t quite understand the process of it. Some things were better to just silently accept. And this seemed to be one of them.

“You know…kid stuff,” you shrugged, though the fluttering in your stomach when Mando reached your side easily betrayed that. You walked over to the panel you’d been working on, and used the tool you’d retrieved to finish connecting and securing the last couple wires before locking and screwing the panel back into place. 

“Well, we’re getting there.” You announced as you came from underneath the ship again. You dusted off your hands onto your thighs, and looked to Mando with a sigh. “Stabilizer still needs some work, and I have to re-align the left thruster. Need to double check the fuel driver. Might as well knock out the cosmetic work too if we’re going to be here for a few days.” You leaned to rub at a deep scratch in the thick metal of the Crest as you spoke. “Any luck on your end?”

“We found lodging. Doesn’t seem like we’ll be bothered.” Mando replied, already giving up on trying to make sense of the information you’d just given him. You knew that the mechanical side of things wasn’t really his area, so you weren’t at all surprised at his lack of questioning. Laughable as it may have been to you.

“Good,” you replied. “I hate being bothered.”

Mando folded his arms over his chest as he watched you type some final information regarding the repairs into the datapad before looking to him with a faint grin.

“Alright, then. If everything’s settled…I need a drink.”

—

With one arm propped against the bar, you knocked back the next shot of glowing orange liquid passed your way.

You weren’t quite sure what it was, but Maker, did it burn in the best way.

You swiped a slightly larger glass of dark brown liquid you’d requested off of the counter and turned to look for your companion for maybe the twentieth time that night. 

You finally saw him, the rough silhouette of the Mandalorian making his way toward you. 

Taking deliberate steps, you wandered over to meet him, the music in the room so gods-damned fantastic that you nearly forgot what you were doing until you nearly bumped into him.

You grinned up at him and shoved the glass in his direction. “Got you something!”

“I’m alright.” He knew you were beyond the point of him trying to explain to you that even if he did want a drink, he couldn’t drink it. For obvious reasons.

“Fine. Suit yourself.” Mando stared blankly at you as you pressed the glass to your lips and tipped back your head, finishing the entire thing in one go. You let out a heavy sigh of contentment as you placed the glass, now empty, down onto the nearest table. 

He had agreed to stay back with the child as you’d gone to have a couple drinks at a nearby to unwind. When an hour and a half had passed and you hadn’t returned, he put the kid down to sleep and came to check in on you, a dull surge of worry rushing through him. It wasn’t entirely impossible that you’d all been followed onto this planet...

But instead he found you perfectly content, clearly more than a “couple” drinks in.

A tall, dark haired human female had wandered over, wrapping her arm low around your waist as they gazed eagerly at Mando.

“Oh! This your boyfriend or something?” The woman winked at him with a wide grin before she turned back to curiously tilt her head at you with her blue-painted, pursed lips. “Didn’t see you as the...boyfriend type, too.” 

She turned back to Mando and reached a hand upward, a thin finger lazily reaching to trace the visor of his helmet. “What’s he look like under—"

Before she got the chance, you had her pressed face-first onto a table, that same hand pinned behind her back.

“Don’t. Touch. The helmet.” You spat down at her, before sending her off back in the direction she’d come from when you’d decided to let her go.

The Mandalorian wasn’t sure he was breathing. 

“Handsy-ass bitch,” you muttered, turning back towards Mando with a shrug. “Sorry.”

He was still internally reeling from everything he’d just had to process in that matter of seconds, but shook himself out of it once he saw you faintly sway on your feet.

“We need to get back.” He said, his tone bordering that of an order. “I left the kid."

Your head snapped back upward toward him. “You left the—what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you gasped, and frantically tapped on the beskar covering his shoulders, urging him to turn around to the door. “We have to go.” 

You both made it roughly five steps when he had to catch you from nearly stumbling to the floor. You walked the remainder of the way with hands clasped onto Mando’s arm to keep you steady. 

You didn’t really need to, though. At least, that’s what you’d muttered under your breath on the walk back to where you were staying for the night. You were just being nice and accepting his help.

Mando let out a long sigh as you followed him inside.

Fortunately for the three of you, there were small rooms available for travelers to stay near the hangar, whether it be for time to make repairs to ships or to find temporary work until one could get off-world again. Mando, with the child tucked in his arm, had to quickly clarify that he would need two beds—in fact, two separate bedrooms—when he’d explained the requirements for a place to stay. Much to the owner’s amusement.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, guy. She’ll get over whatever you did to piss her off. They always do,” he had stated when he’d handed over the access card for the door.

Mando was silently thankful you hadn’t been there to hear the exchange, because even with you nowhere around he felt the distinct urge to throw himself into a sarlacc pit.

Your first instinct once you were inside, despite the haziness in your mind, was to check on the kid. He wore a peaceful contentment on his face as his slept in the carrier. Perhaps he, too, was relieved to be staying the night somewhere other than in an old bucket of a ship. Mando followed behind, a dull relief washing over him when he too saw that the child had been undisturbed during his short absence.

You spun around and glared up at him. “Do not leave him alone again.” You said, keeping your voice low. "For two hours or five minutes, I don’t care.” 

He could have easily argued that maybe you were the reason he’d left him alone to begin with…but he was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be the best idea.

You had closed the door to the room you’d designated as yours seemingly before he could blink, coming out a while later, freshly showered in a new set of clothes. You still had that vague floating feeling as the effects alcohol continue to pulse steadily through your body, but you were at least coherent enough to walk on your own now. 

The lighting in the room was dim, so as not to disturb the sleeping child, when you walked over to where Mando was tweaking the blaster he always carried with him at the small table in the room. 

You plopped down in the seat across from him, hands rested under your chin, dark circles already formed under your eyes.

“Can I tell you something?” You asked, after watching him in silence for a while.

If it hadn’t been for all the other ways you’d surprised him that evening, the question might have given him pause.  “Go ahead."

You tilted your head. “I want to kiss you, Din Djarin.”

And his entire world froze.

“I know, I can’t.” You waved a hand dismissively toward him, your words still slightly slurring. “It’s the Way, or whatever. I get it. But stars, if I don’t just want to kiss you sometimes.” 

“Stop.” His voice came out far quieter than he’d meant as he began to earnestly wipe away a spot on his blaster that didn’t exist. “You’re drunk.”

You shrugged. “It's when I’m the most honest.”

He practically dropped the blaster onto the table, much louder than he’d meant. Both of you immediately jerked your heads toward the sleeping child, who thankfully hadn’t stirred.

Mando lifted his head, finally looking back at you. It almost felt like some strange stand-off, this long, silent exchange between the two of you. What was he supposed to say to that? His thoughts weren’t lining up right in his head, not only because of your confession, but the fact that you’d used his name when he said it. You hadn’t dared to speak it again since the night you’d left Navarro. Not until now. And then, there was the matter of what exactly you had said...

You were torture. Absolute torture. 

“Um,” You slowly rose from your seat, muttering curses to yourself in your head when you realized he wasn’t going to give you a reply. You pressed your palms flat against the table until the shadows of the room and Mando’s silhouette stopped wavering around you. “I’m gonna go."

You had turned to walk back to your private space for the night when the single light in the room switched off.

You nearly tripped over your feet as you halted, slowly turning back to what you guessed was Mando’s general direction. 

“Hey, wait I can’t see anythi—"

You felt his presence in front of you just as your mind fully processed the thought.

You couldn’t see.

Your breathing suddenly felt heavy, dizziness threatening to overtake you again the longer you were stripped of your sight. The quiet in the room was nearly deafening.

Mando was moving, a familiar sound of shifting beskar finally breaking the silence. Your feet were heavy weights, holding you in place while you heard him set something onto the table behind him.

Another silence passed, and breathing became nearly impossible as the walls closed in around you. “Mando, I—“

“Okay.”

Every nerve in your body threatened to short-circuit at the sound of his voice. His voice.

He’d taken off his helmet. He was standing in front of you and he’d taken off his helmet.

“Is that really what you want?” he asked.

Oh, Maker, if he kept speaking you were going to pass out. 

Little did you know, he wasn’t feeling all that different. It took his every last ounce of pure willpower to keep himself from wavering, from putting back on the helmet and turning around and hoping he could convince you that you’d been dreaming if you asked in the morning.

But you wouldn’t, couldn't forget this if you tried.

He took a step forward, a step closer to you, awaiting an answer. “Well?"

“T—to kiss you?" you nodded once, slowly, despite knowing he couldn’t see you. “I…yes.” You swallowed thickly, an attempt to raise your voice above a whisper. “Do…do you? Want to, I mean.” Stop talking stop talking stop talking...

Another rustling, and you felt his touch, his fingers rested beneath your chin. “Yes.”

You stood unmoving, other than the heavy rise and fall of your chest. His forehead rested against your own, the first contact of his bare skin to yours enough to send you through the roof. You could hear his own uneven breathing now as he leaned in, his pace achingly slow. The tip of his nose brushed against yours, and your reflexively parted your lips in your wound-up anticipation…

And he kissed you.

His lips were feather-light and hesitant against yours, testing your acceptance to what was happening. You leaned into it, fully capturing his mouth with yours. 

He tasted every bit the warrior, like blood and dirt mixed with something sweet and uniquely him, something that you could get drunk on, if you hadn’t been already.

The kiss was long, heavy. What had started out as something so light and timid quickly deepened into something else entirely, the instinctual need for contact that you’d both been deprived of for far too long rapidly taking over. What was once slow and steady soon turned messy, desperate, his teeth grazing against your bottom lip as you opened for him. 

You’d snapped out of your shock and your hands were quick to press into his back to urge him closer to you before they wandered immediately up to his head.

Curls. The tiniest curls of hair sat atop his head and you wrapped one set of fingers in them while your other hand rubbed against the rough stubble on his face and slid along his neck and back up again. You wanted to remember every last inch of his face, how it felt. The sight of it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

At some point, you noticed your back was now pressed against a wall, the realization that he’d moved you there causing you to impulsively tug at his hair. 

Some faint, low noise erupted from him and his fingers curled deeper into your waist in direct response and it set a fire deep within you that threatened to erupt at any moment.

More. You wanted more.

But he…was he trying to pull away from you? 

You chased him, your lips reconnecting once he’d hardly leaned back. He indulged it a moment longer.

He, too, wanted more. Wanted it more than he knew he could possibly want anything.

But still he pulled back again, his hands moving to instead wrap around your arms to blindly pin you against the wall.

“Din—” you slurred, almost a plea. You reached up to move your hair away from your half-open eyes in a way that would have sent him to the floor if he’d been able to see it.

“I know,” he answered, his breath coming out in short bursts as he again rested his forehead against yours. “But not...like this. You’re still…"

He felt you nod against him before he could finish, despite the frustrated hum that crept from your lips. 

“Okay,” you breathed. Your rested your palms against his chest, fingers curling against the armor there in a silent wish.

Mando leaned to press a soft, final kiss to your swollen lips before releasing his hold on you, both of you attempting to catch your breath as the room grew silent.

He was across the room again before you fully had the chance to miss his touch.

“You should sleep.” he stated, his voice again altered by the modulators of his helmet. There was now enough light for you to see rough shapes in the room, and despite how badly you wanted to turn away, you were looking back at him, standing, watching you.

You couldn’t help but sigh. Just like that, it was over. As if it had never happened at all.

“Yeah,” you muttered, the only answer you could pull from your throat as you turned back toward the room you had claimed as your own.You wandered inside, shut the door behind you with the blind press of a button, and immediately collapsed onto the bed. A real bed, but in that moment it felt as hard and unforgiving as if you were lying on the ground outside. 

The knot in your chest and the fire set low in your stomach had yet to cease. Your eyes were wide open, but you were seeing nothing. You laid there, for several minutes or maybe hours, before eventually your exhausted body and the alcohol still drifting through your veins lulled you into a deep sleep.

And in the room beside you, Mando laid on his back, the beskar long stripped away. His hands rested at his sides, his eyes stuck to the low ceiling with no other thought than that of the choice he had just decided upon, the unspoken promise he made to himself, to you, as he, too, waited for sleep to overtake him.

—

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[starlightsearches]

A New Life Pt. 4

Whoops, I said that there would be no more of the Kylo Ren soulmate AU but apparently I lied! This came to me earlier today and I had to write it. Hope you like it! 

(Here’s the first part, second part, and third part if you missed them)

Requests are closed for now ✨

Kylo Ren X female reader soulmate! AU Pt. 4

AN: Some language, and it’s vaguely NSFW towards the end! 

Ren never touched you first. Not in private, and certainly not in public. It was a compromise of some kind, you assumed, that he had made with himself. You knew he worried about it, even now—the ridiculous notion that he would somehow scare you off, that he would hurt you. So you initiated all contact, and you were gentle, and you let him be gentle. You weren’t too bothered by it. After all, there were exceptions to every rule.

When the general was around, Ren was always touching you. Holding you by the waist, resting a hand on your shoulder, at the back of your neck: if General Hux was in the room, you were never out of Ren’s reach. This was true now, too, his hand solidly on your back at your waist as you board the transport, headed to Ryyn with Phasma and the general.

It’s exciting, to finally go somewhere, to have the opportunity to be somewhere besides the Finalizer. Ren left the ship fairly often and the time you spent by yourself—sometimes for weeks on end—was . . . boring. Lonely. When he had mentioned that he would be going off base again after only returning a few days ago, you had been crushed, a feeling that had been immediately replaced with joy when he had asked if you would like to join him.

The general had grumbled, of course, when he saw that you would also be coming but you paid him no mind. He was always complaining about something, making snide remarks when you were there, and even though it drove Ren crazy, you could see through the act; the man was very obviously lonely. He tried to hide it, and did hide it successfully, from Ren and the captain. But not from you.

Against your better judgement, you liked the general, or at least, you found him interesting. He may have been rude and judgemental, but it was hard for you to take him seriously. He reminded you sometimes of the zeefas your family had kept for milk and meat back home—grumpy old animals, but harmless enough. You had a knack for working with livestock like that; it never took long before even the most stubborn of them were eating out of the palm of your hand. Apparently your charms were limited to farm life; despite the concerted effort you had put into being as inoffensive as possible, the general showed no signs of warming up to you in the slightest. Which was too bad, because part of you believed that—if he gave you a chance—you might be friends. And you’d really like to have a friend.

You take your seat on the transport, strapping in, and Ren sits beside you, only letting go of you for a moment to secure his own restraints before replacing his hand on your knee. Hux rolls his eyes, finding a seat on the other side and Phasma joins him. The anticipation in your chest only grows more potent as the pilot prepares for launch, and you can hardly wait for what was in store. You were going to Ryyn—a place you had only heard about in wild stories—to the capital city Cearrau; you would be staying in the palace there. You would meet the queen and attend the ball she would hold in honor of the First Order guests. You would wear the dress you had picked out especially for the event, blood-red and beautiful, and you would be on Ren’s arm the entire night. It was sure to be incredible.

“I still don’t see why you’re coming,” Hux says, leveling a glare in your direction, and Ren’s grip tightens on your knee. He’s ready to spit out some retort, you can tell, but you stop him with a hand gently rested on his arm.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, and he relaxes minutely before you address the general, “I’m actually very excited for the trip, General. I think it will be interesting.” Hux scoffs in response and opens up his data pad, choosing to ignore you.

Everyone settles into their seats as the ship launches and you decide to distract yourself, pulling out your sketchpad and a stylus, tapping the end of it against your mouth, deep in thought. You could draw Ren, of course, but you had plenty of drawings of him, stacks and stacks of them—enough to cover the walls of your quarters if you wanted. You didn’t even need a reference anymore, the exact shape of his nose and the planes of his cheeks appearing easily to you from memory. You need something new, some kind of a challenge.

The general was obviously out of the question, for a number of reasons. For one, he isn’t sitting still enough for you to complete a proper sketch, shifting from one position to the next every few minutes, engrossed in something on his data pad. Plus, you’re afraid of what would happen if he caught you, what insult he would come up with that would send Ren into a rage. Not worth the risk. The captain, on the other hand, might work. 

She is lounging, her helmet resting on the wall behind her, maybe sleeping—it’s difficult to tell with the mask on, but her pose is dynamic and the reflection of the lights in her chromium armor adds depth and shadows where there are none. Your hand begins to move across the flimsi without your direction, working to capture the cool authority she always seems to emanate.

Ren dozes next to you, occasionally rolling his head to the side to check your progress, drumming his fingers lightly against your thigh in approval. The likeness is pretty good, although it’s lacking something in your opinion. You wish that you had brought your paints with you; maybe you’d have better luck communicating the shine of her armor in a different medium.

“What are you doing?” General Hux says, and you can feel the pressure of his gaze on you, although you don’t return it, still focused on the captain.

“Sketching,” you respond, adding a little depth in the background, “but I can stop if it’s bothering you.” 

“Sketching?” he asks, and for the first time since you’d met him, there is no trace of disdain in his voice. In fact, he sounds intrigued. You place the stylus behind your ear, passing him the sketchbook, and he reaches for it skeptically. You watch him closely as he studies the drawing, waiting anxiously to see how he’d react. 

“Hmm,” Hux says after a long moment, returning the book to you and studying you with his eyes narrowed, like he’s trying to read something from a distance, “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Home,” you say, trying your hardest not to seem too eager now that he had initiated a conversation, “my father was an artist.”

“I thought both of your parents were farmers,” the disdain is back, but cracking a little, a glimmer of genuine interest showing through, and you laugh gently to show that you’re not offended.

“We’re all farmers where I’m from, but he spends his free time drawing. Painting, too. I usually prefer paints, but they’re difficult to transport.” You stop yourself, looking at your drawing again, afraid that you’re rambling, and the general sits in silence for a moment, his eyes still on your sketchbook.

“I could paint you,” you venture, not wanting to lose the tenuous connection you had created,” if you want, when we get back to the Finalizer? You have such striking features; I think they’d translate well to the page.” You’re laying on the praise very thick, you know, and you’re worried it will come off as too much, but the general flushes pink, and you smile, the thrill of victory sharp in your veins. Was this all it would take to endear the general to you? To make him stop hating you? You wish you had known that weeks ago.

“That would be fine,” Hux responds, with a small cough, guarding his expression against your obvious cheer, but your spirits cannot be dampened by his apparent indifference. Pleased, you go back to sketching, another one of Ren this time, happy with the progress you’ve made with Hux. Happy, that is, until you notice that Ren had pulled away from you, releasing his grip on your leg.

The ship drops out of light speed and begins to make its approach, but you take no notice, a coldness settling beneath your skin. You nudge him gently with your knee, but there’s no response. He’s motionless, quiet, staring forward with an obstinate amount of determination, and he stays this way, avoiding you as the four of you make your way out of the transport. You can’t help but notice that Ryyn is beautiful, the warmth and the wind greeting you as you step out onto the palace grounds, but the heat the sun offers refuses to clear away any the chill you feel.

After parting with Hux and Phasma, you and Ren are led by a servant to your guest quarters, and you prattle nonsensically as you walk hoping to put the man at ease—and hoping to release some of your own nerves as well. Ren says nothing, silent as a shadow, and you watch as the palace’s other inhabitants steal glances from around corners as you pass, eager to get a glimpse of the infamous Jedi Killer.

The room is lovely—and enormous—with large, open windows and an even larger balcony, overlooking the valley below. You move tentatively towards the view, but Ren doesn’t join you, choosing instead to stand ominously in the center of the room.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, sitting on the bed and running your hand over the covers. There’s distance between you, not only physical, and you want to address it now before it grows. Was he really so mad that you had spoken to Hux?

“It’s nothing,” he says, but he’s still wearing the mask, and you assume it’s to keep you out. This is the first time you’ve seen him like this, and it’s beginning to scare you. This was how he acted with other people, not with you.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” you say, standing from the bed but moving no closer, “please? I know you’re angry with me. I want to make it right.” He faces away from you, his powerful shoulders rolling as he moves to lift the helmet from his head, discarding it on the floor with a thud. The sound makes you jump, and you watch him perceptively, hoping to read the answer to your question in his expression, but he still guards his face from you. “Why don’t you go find the general?” he says harshly, and you catch the barest glimpse of his profile as he looks over his shoulder, “since you find him so interesting.” Your jaw drops in shock.

“Are you jealous?” you ask, and he doesn’t respond, but you can tell that you’re right. Despite the tension, a smile threatens its way onto your face and you smother it with your hand.

“It’s not funny,” he says, picking up thoughts but still avoiding your eyes.

“I know it’s not,” you respond, back in control of your mind and your expression, “I’m just surprised.” He laughs, but there’s no joy in it, a short, angry sound that bounces back at you off of the polished walls. 

“I just don’t want him to hate me, that’s all,” you say, quietly. You’ve seen Ren angry before, but never like this. Never at you. But there’s something else besides anger, and that’s what scares you more. You can feel it roll off of him, see it clearly in his posture; he’s doubting your love for him.

“You know you have nothing to worry about, right? I could never want someone else the way I want you.” His shoulders relax slightly, and you’re able to breathe again, now that he’s listening to you. It’s difficult to see him this way, catching brief glimpses of his fears. He thinks you’ll leave him, but that would never happen. You repeat yourself once again, hoping that this time he’ll finally believe what you’re saying. “I only want you.”

Those words work like magic, or maybe it’s the feeling behind them, but either way the doubt is gone, and he’s facing you with a look in his eyes like pure sin, his anger transformed into something else. You hold his gaze and the intensity of it goes straight to the space between your legs, weakening you at the knees.

“How?” he asks, stalking towards you, impossibly large and your heart beats loudly in your chest. You feel for a moment in some wild part of you that you should run, but you're frozen in place, and you like it. A lot. Now this is a side of him you’ve never seen before.

“How what?” you ask; your voice shakes when you speak. He laughs, low and deep and through his teeth as he bites one glove off and then the other, a warm hand finding its way to your waist and gripping the fabric of your dress tightly, pulling you closer. The first point of contact.

“Tell me how you want me,” he whispers, staring you down with his unfathomable eyes, his tongue darting out over full, pink lips. There are no thoughts in your head now, your mind is completely empty and for a moment you try to remember how you landed yourself in this particular situation. Maybe, if you remember, you’ll be able to work him up like this again.

He steps closer, his body like a brick wall against yours and you stumble backwards, falling onto the bed with a light bounce, propped up on your elbows, still in shock that he’s acting this way, and that you don’t want him to stop. He smirks, gripping both of your knees with burning fingers, sliding his hands under the hem of your dress and climbing up your thighs, leaning in close over you to whisper in your ear.

“Tell me what you want,” he says again, and the feeling of his mouth on your ear sends vibrations through your whole body; your eyes roll back with anticipation.

“Fuck,” it’s the only word that you can think of right now, your mind wholy preoccupied by the feeling of his thumb as it traces small circles over the skin your inner thigh, inching ever higher.

“That’s what I thought,” he kisses you hard, hard enough to bruise and you moan, open-mouthed, a deep, desperate sound you had never made before.

“Shit,” you mumble, and he doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath before he’s moving, his mouth working down your jaw and to your chest with hot, harsh kisses. You try to relax into it, into the work of his hands, still below your skirt, but he draws a yelp from you when you least expect it, biting at the skin just above your breast. He looks up at you, anger from before gone and replaced with a strident need, daring you to beg for more.

“Someone might hear,” you say quietly, your voice hitching slightly with the movement of his fingers. The windows are open after all, and with the way he’s acting, you know you won’t be able to stay quiet.

“I hope they do,” he says, nudging a space between your knees with his shoulders, finding a place between your legs. “I hope they all hear you begging for me, and I hope that by the end of it everyone on this damn planet knows that you’re mine.”