#okay but the riser for it is fucking gold

[werewolf-cuddles]

me: *downloads a shitload of custom songs for FUSER*

also me, for some ungodly reason: *keeps dropping Welcome to the Cum Zone into every mix*

[hunterbunter3000]

Idk if it’s been brought up yet, but I was getting ready for bed and putting my bonnet on and it dawned on me: what would the boys think when they see Sweetheart in a bonnet!?!? And you know she has like 20 different ones lmao. Soap/König would totally help her wrap her hair teehee 🤭

IM ANSWERING THIS AS QUICK AS I CAN 🏃‍♀️💨💨💨(and the fact that you thought of Sweetheart while getting ready for bed honestly makes me want to cry fr fr)

BUT YEW ARE CORRECT ABOUT SWEETS HAVING 20 BONNETS

She would call Soap in her room to help her wrap her hair and omg he would be in heaven. Her hair is so soft and smells so GOOD UGH

She would hand him the Bobby pins and tell him where to put them

Sweetheart: And put this one-- here

Sweetheart: OW-- I SAID HERE NOT MY EYEBROW

Soap: QUIT MOVIN' THEN

Then she would kick him out before putting on the bonnet cause she wanted to see how he would react to it (since he's never seen her wear one- none of them have actually 🤔🤔 she's an early riser, so when everyone gets up in the morning her hair is already done LOL)

I feel like she would have more than 20-- like about 40 but the other 20 is at her house 💀💀 OMG she came out her dorm in a bonnet they went CRAZYYYY

they would love it so much cause if feels so domesticated to them-- like their actually getting ready for bed with the girl of their dreams Sweetheart

And Soap would just have stars in his eyes, feeling the bonnet between his fingers

Soap, gasping: BITCH is this SATIN??

Sweetheart, being a smug Lil shit: BITCH YES IT IISSSS

Gaz would be reminiscing about wearing one when he was younger

Gaz: My mum used to have me wear one when I was a kid

Sweetheart, smiling: Really?!? Oh that's so cute!

Gaz, flustered: ehheheh, yeah. When I used to have hair, she put one on me so it could be perfect for picture days.

And Sweetheart started laughing cause that's ADORABLE

And then she leaves to go to her room and comes back with like-- ten different colored bonnets 💀

Sweetheart, with a devilish smile: Everyone put one on right now. I need to make fun of you real quick

Alex: MEAN

They all put one on except for Ghost (for now) Soap had a blue one cause SCOTLAND FOREVEEEERRRRRRR (he screamed that for 12 minutes.) Gaz got a red one, Price got a gold one cause he's a PIMP, Alex got a light purple one, Horangi had a yellow one with tiger stripes, König got a green one and Roach got an orange one.

Now it was just Ghost--

Sweetheart: Wear it.

Ghost: No.

Sweetheart: JUST FOR A BIT PLEASE

Ghost: NO-- WHY THE FUCK DO I GET THAT COLOR

Sweetheart: BECAUSE JUST-- FUCKIN PUT IT ON

Ghost: STOP IT

She fights him for a bit until she got it on him.

It was silent for so damn long.

Sweetheart started to snort, and then it was just LOUD LAUGHTER

Ghost: I'M TAKING THIS OFF

Sweetheart, crying: NO WAIT LEMME TAKE A PICTURE

The picture:

(I sketched this so damn quick bro)

LMAOOO I CANT WTF DID I JUST CREATE

Everyone started laughing harder and Ghost threw the bonnet on the floor and stomped to his room

Sweetheart: EY DONT THROW MY SHIT THAT COSTED ME TWENTY DOLLARS

Alex: TWENTY DOLLARS??? This economy is in shambles

Sweetheart: Okay now give them back

Sweetheart: 'cept you Gaz, you can keep yours

Gaz: 0:)

[apollo-finch]

"Well you know, whenever you're ready to bring your talents over to late riser..." he glanced at her with a smirk, meaning it with every fiber of his being. He had felt terribly when her sister's place hadn't been able to keep open and from that very moment he had been trying to convince Fiona to come work with him. Key word being with and not for. When Zora had gone he had to run the business on his own and if he was going to have any sort of business partner again, there was no doubt in his mind that it should be Fiona. He trusted her with his life. Ans she was probably the one person he'd trust with the Diner. "But i'll leave my campaigning to the side for today, just for now though. I'll start strong again next week."

Maybe it was selfish to want her there since he knew that part of it was for his own piece of mind. To have her close meant they could look out for each other even more and that brought him a lot of peace. The last time she had gotten hurt had almost done him in and he really didn't know what he would do without her. There had been...so much loss in Apollo's life, most of which he hadn't processed in the slightest. He didn't think he could keep going if either Eilonwy or Fiona were taken from him. In fact if they were he would probably turn into the worst, most forgotten version of himself. But that wasn't really something he was about to say out loud, instead of focusing on the meal in front of him and the fact that both Fiona and Eilonwy were still very much on this earth with him.

"Uh well it's a couple of things but one of them," he paused to walk over to the living room and came back with a black velvet box. "I had this made," he signed and then handed Fiona the box which held a gold locket. Inside the locket was a picture of baby Eilonwy with her parents and Apollo, a photo that had been taken at Eilonwy's first birthday party. "Her first birthday party. I uh...I never really showed her that photo, it's hard for me," he explained, knowing that she knew that already but it was worth saying. "I think...I think the biggest gift I can give her right now is the gift of our family's history, you know? And that when she came into the world...we were...so fucking happy," he admitted before putting the box back once Fiona took it from him. "I don't think I showed her that enough." He nodded when Fiona spoke about Georgette, understanding how hard the adjustment could be. "Yeah I get that, she wants to be close to someone she trusts, it make sense. Like I said, if you come to the diner, I'll find a good place for her there too," he added, despite saying he was going to let go of his campaign. "Okay, okay that was the last one. Maybe."

“I think I prefer the more slow paced days too.” At least these days when peaceful and fairly uneventful days were a blessing. “Except for the rare occasions when it makes the shifts drag on at a snail’s pace. Though there are few of those at Julio’s. There’s usually someone in there drinking to help pass the time.” It was safe to say that she still hadn’t completely grown accustom to the lack of hustle and bustle that had come with running the diner. And while she could find plenty of things to occupy her time with, there was always going to be that part of her that missed it. “All that lifting will definitely do it. Which reminds me, I don’t envy whoever’s stocking and doing inventory tomorrow at the bar.”

Fiona took a small pause from her chopping duties to focus on Apollo and what he had to say. She smiled at the story about the waitress, knowing like she had, that he cared a lot about his staff. She could’ve easily felt jealous that he had been able to maintain his diner through relocation while she wasn’t, but the truth was she couldn’t be anything but happy for her friend. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.” The conversation could’ve easily slipped into one about how it was nice that someone was going to get out of Shrikes before it was too late, but she was determined to stay away from anything overly negative. Everyone needed at least a slight break from the heaviness surrounding the town.

Fiona nodded, knowing that Apollo and Eilonwy’s relationship was a bit more complicated than Georgette and hers. “What did you end up getting her?” She asked, hoping whatever it was would help mend things a bit or at least be a start. “I think she’s as good as she can be. I know all these changes on top of everything else hasn’t been the easiest on her. I wish more places outside the mall were hiring, but I get the feeling she wouldn’t get a job elsewhere unless I did too.”

[nothing-at-the-moment]

Rewrite The Stars IV

“Thank you for helping me with Alchemy last night.”

It was a Saturday morning. A much needed break from all the mounting homework the students of Hogwarts had been put through.

Y/N, Remus, Sirius and Peter were sitting in the great hall eating breakfast when Remus was left speechless at the claim made at him.

He raised a suspicious brow to his soulmate and thought back to the events of last night.

He had talked to her till midnight before retiring to his bed while James and Sirius had been awake till early hours of the morning. Sirius had slept at two but James was awake till around three in the morning. Nobody knows how Sirius is still chipper after getting barely four hours of sleep while James was still in the Gryffindor dormitory sleeping off his tiredness after his late night adventures.

“I really appreciate you staying awake just to help me with the fucking  gold spell.”, Y/N said with an exhausted strain in her voice which she tried to drown out by tilting her head back to finish the last bits of her morning coffee.

Sirius watched the interaction with great curiosity while Peter slept with his head on the table. There’s no concept like enough sleep for that boy.

“…I don’t take Alchemy. I opted out of it at the start of the year.”, Remus said cautiously as he could suspect something was wrong.

Sirius’s eyes widened.

“That can’t be possible. You helped me last night with the gold spell. You helped me. We were talking through our thoughts. You helped me complete the Alchemy homework.” Y/N’s voice grew more confused and loud with every word.

This can’t be happening. Her soulmate had stayed up with late at night till three in the morning helping her with Alchemy. And he seemed quite brilliant at the subject.

“Holy Shit…”, Sirius exclaimed with widened eyes and an even wider open mouth.

Remus looked over at Sirius with horror. Sirius’s head whipped frantically from side to side looking at both their expressions. Y/N looked like she hadn’t quite comprehended what this means and was still trying to process. Remus looked absolutely devastated. He looked like he was on the verge of crying with tears pooling at the corner of his eyes.

It’s like the whole Great Hall grew silent while the chatters and the occasional laugh still drifted through the room. Remus and Y/N were completely silent while all the noises; thud of footsteps, the constantly growing chatter around them, clanking of spoons and forks on plates, slurping of tea and coffee, even the mere sound of gulping, the sound of everyone happy became too overbearing as they came to terms with their sudden realization.

They were not soulmates.

Remus started sweating as he couldn’t sit between the continuous commotion and felt claustrophobic with the crowds around him. His breaths came out quick and heavy as he processed the thought in his mind and his throat closed up. Everything was becoming too hot around him and he couldn’t breathe.

Y/N, in complete contrast, had lost all sense of warmth from the happy and bright sunshine and lazy hue that entered the Great Hall through the big windows on either sides of the room. She felt goose bumps run up her arms and couldn’t help but shiver at the sudden emptiness. It was like she had been hollowed out in a few mere seconds. Her throat too closed up but she didn’t care right now to breathe. If you don’t watch closely at her every slight movement, you could see she was barely breathing.

Her eyes refused to blink while Remus’s blinked rapidly trying to make sense of the abrupt halt in his life.

Both their wrist’s tingled.

Remus’s jerked his head to look at the thoughts of his soulmate hoping against hope that it wasn’t true, hoping that his wrist hadn’t displayed in thick black cursive, just the words ‘Good Morning.’

Y/N still couldn’t muster up the courage to look at her wrist, afraid of what she might find.

Sirius quickly glanced at her wrist to find a stick figure of a tall boy high in the clouds on his latest model of broomstick.

Figures only appeared to show what the soulmate was dreaming of while asleep.

“I need to go.” Y/N simply said with her voice barely above a whisper. She quickly scrambled awkwardly to get up and swiftly made her way out of the room.

Tear pooled at the corner of her eyes as she took a quick glance at Remus and left without another word.  She had just started to calm down when her wrist tingled again. She couldn’t bear to look at it now. All those thoughts, all those late night talks which she treasured like an unspoken secret, all the love and warmth she felt from Remus and all the smiles his absurd but intelligent thoughts brought to her lips, had all been someone else’s.

She should’ve known. Remus wasn’t ever interested in Quidditch the least bit. He wasn’t always thinking of crazy pranks to pull up on Professor Flitwick. He wasn’t ever the cheesiest person to exist, showing her dreams of running away together and thinking way far into the future.

Remus’s love was more warm and calm and soothing. Her soulmate’s was anything but.

Her soulmate’s love was probably the most chaotic, cheesiest, dramatic, arrogant and obnoxious. Her soulmate’s love was crazy and she reveled in the insanity.

She ran all the way to the courtyard where it had started raining. Of course it would start raining. Her life hasn’t been anything but cliché ever since she came back to school this year.

She wanted her soulmate. She wanted all of him. All the crazy thoughts brewing in his mastermind, all his quirks which she were sure he has, all the cheesy pick-up lines he used on her, all the promises he made her, all the flaws she had noticed he has, all the arrogance which reflected on her wrist when he thought about how good he looked in the mirror at early morning, all the early morning thoughts because she knew her soulmate was an early riser, all the late nights because she knew he was also a night owl.

She wanted to be there with him when he ate potato crisps that he had snuck from the kitchen under his blanket from one of his late night ventures. She wanted to be there with him and for him when he was constantly worried about his friends like he was mother. She wanted to be there with him when he got all excited from getting all O’s in his exams. She wanted to be there with him when he got all pouty and sad because he had no cuddle buddy and his friends refused to cuddle with him.

She wanted to be there with him.

But now she was back to square one.

She laid down on the grass completely drenched from the rain and closed her eyes as she let herself feel the rain drops calm her down and mix with her tears. She lay completely still, in the middle of the courtyard and thought of all she could’ve had with Remus but fate had pulled her golden strings.

James Potter was walking groggily to the Great Hall before he missed breakfast. He had slept in after helping his soulmate with Alchemy till three in the morning.

A smile came on to his face as he thought of how awkward she had been with him the whole night but immediately turned into a complete ray of sunshine when at exactly two minutes past three, she had finally mastered the gold spell.

He was walking past the courtyard but then he saw a figure lying unmoving in the middle of the grass. He pushed his crooked glasses up his nose and focused on the figure trying to figure out why a person would be lying outside on grass unmoving while it was raining and they could get sick.

Are they hurt? Are they dead?!

With not a second thought about him getting drenched, he rushed towards the figure and immediately sank to his knees besides them. It was Y/N. He looked around reluctantly as if the air around him would tell him why Y/N L/N was lying unmoving in the rain.

Gulping down his animosity, he erratically rattled her shoulders and pulled her head on to his lap while trying to wake her up.

Y/N immediately sat up and looked around frantically before her eyes landed on James.

“What the fuck?! What did you do that for?” She shrugged his hands of her shoulders and stared wide eyed at him.

“Don’t ‘What the fuck’ me. What the fuck were you doing lying in the rain? i thought you were hurt. I thought you were dead!” He shouted at her still trying to wrap his mind around what just happened.

He was completely drenched by now and the thin white shirt he was wearing didn’t help much in hiding his well-built physique. Years of Quidditch had done him good and puberty had been very kind on him.

Then it registered to her that she was talking to James Potter and a whole new wave of emotions came over her because she remembered that he was Remus’s best friend.

A fresh set of tears rolled down her cheeks at the mere thought of Remus and James could see that the sudden redness that took over eyes and the water running down her cheeks was not because of the rain.

His eyes met hers reluctantly because James doesn’t know how to deal with his emotions much rather anyone else’s. Certainly not someone’s who despised him and he despised back.

“A-Are you okay…? Do you need me to get Remus?” That certainly didn’t help the girl in front of him in anyway as a sob escaped her lips.

“No…,” she whimpered and cried harder.

James panicked.

“Okay! Okay…no Moony. No Remus. We don’t want Remus. That’s completely alright! Just please stop crying.” He rambled on to try to make her calm down as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders hesitantly to keep both of them warm but also a little because he wanted to comfort her in any way he can.

Both of them were completely drenched but none of them cared.

One was a sobbing mess as she just wanted the rain to wash away all her sorrows and pain. Such excruciating pain.

The other had nothing in his mind other than the need to comfort her. He didn’t know why he was there basically drowning in the rain and quite probably catching a cold for a girl he had hated for so long. He just couldn’t bear to see her cry. It hurt him to see this strong, always happy, always challenging, complete ray of sunshine girl look so broken, so small. So he didn’t care if he was completely drenched, he didn’t care if he was going to be sick for a week after this, he didn’t care that the breakfast he was rushing to had already ended, and he didn’t care she hated him and he hated her. Because she was crying and broken in his arms and she needs him and damn it all if he wasn’t going to be there for her.

James was still awkwardly holding her when the rain had slowed to a quite drizzle as the tears on her cheeks dried and the sobs turned into whimpers.  He hesitantly looked into her swollen bloodshot eyes and carefully asked her, “How’re we feeling now?” She replied with a broken and twisted forced smile. “I’m alright now. I’m sorry for being so dramatic. I was just really stressed.” She gave him a half smile while his face turned into a comforting wide grin.

“You call this stressed? You call this dramatic? Here’s a fun fact; Octopuses eat themselves when they’re stressed. They just go complete cannibal on themselves. Now that’s dramatic. Sirius not letting us touch his hair because and I quote, ‘Your filthy hands don’t deserve me and my hair’. That’s dramatic. This? This is just a good ole cry. Letting out frustrations. Don’t worry about it. Happens to all of us.” James was trying to make her laugh because that’s all he wanted to see in her eyes and on her lips right now. But she just stared at him with a blank face.

“Who told you that?” she whispered.

“Well, Sirius reminds us on a daily basis. Never stops really. We once touched his hair while he was asleep and he-“

“No, the octopus fact. Who told you that?”

“Oh. Um, my soulmate. She’s always telling me these random animal and magical creature facts. Like how lobsters can live forever. How crazy and easy it is to breed a basilisk even though it’s illegal. She even dreams of them. She once had a dream she was riding through a forest on a unicorn while being chased by a giant. She told me once that she wants to be a magizoologist. I just know she’s going to be wonderful, whenever I meet her.” A smile adorned his lips as he talked lovingly about his soulmate.

He talked about her like she was the most precious thing in the whole universe. And to him, she was.

While on the other hand, Y/N’s world was crashing down around her and she stared at him talk about his soulmate perplexed.

The thing was that she already knew that octopuses eat themselves when they get stressed.  It was not that long ago she had found that out and had excitedly told her soulmate. She had told her soulmate about how lobsters can live forever. She had told her soulmate how to breed a basilisk. She had dreamed just a few days ago of riding a unicorn while being chased by a giant. She had told her soulmate she wanted to be a magizoologist.

It was just a coincidence, right?

She suddenly became really aware of how she was still sitting between James’s arms. How his fingers were unconsciously drawing doodles on her back. How close her face was to his.

She abruptly pushed herself out of his arms. He gave her a confused look before realizing the compromising position they had been in just mere second ago. His whole face lit up red like a lantern.

All of it was too much for Y/N to handle. And she could certainly not wrap her head around her thoughts of the sudden realization when James was looking so adorable with his flaming cheeks, ears and neck.

So, she did the only thing she could possibly do right now.

She ran.

She ran out of the courtyard and out of his sight without another word or even a glance, leaving him sitting by himself on the grass in the middle of the courtyard.

His gaze followed her until she was out of sight.

“A thank you would’ve been nice,” James grumbled to himself as he stood up.

“Thank you James for being there for me and sorry for making you completely wet and missing your breakfast.” He said to himself in a high pitched girly voice before realizing his words and blushing again.

“Merlin help Moony.”

[oikawaplssteponme]

PART 9 | previously: part 8 | masterlist

pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem! reader

ratings/warnings: swearing

synopsis: When UA’s hot heads, Katsuki Bakugou and you, are forced to put your hatred for each other aside and plan the third year Prom, things end up getting a little heated...

a/n: hi hi!! 💙so there isn’t too much Bakugou in this part BUT i promise the part after this will make up for it *wink wink*. and i just think this part is really cute anyway ☺️ enjoy xx

•

nine: girls day

“Y/N! Y/N! GET UP SLEEPY HEAD!!”

You woke up to the sound of someone banging and giggling outside your dorm.

“Fucking hell… GIVE ME A SECOND!” You groaned and got up from your bed. You opened the door to see a smiling Mina, Momo, Uraraka, Jirou, Hagakure, and Tsu.

“What the hell…”

“I knew she’d forget,” laughed Jirou.

“Forget what?”

“Girls day today!” squealed Mina. You perked up, remembering well what Mina had mentioned to you a couple days ago.

“I didn’t forget...my alarm just didn’t go off,” you lied.

“Well we are all leaving in about 15 minutes so get dressed and let’s get going!” Mina and the other girls ran off. You were still waking yourself up as you rubbed your eyes.

“You look like hell,” said Bakugou, standing outside your room. You immediately crossed your arms.

“Fuck off Katsuki. It’s too early for your shit.”

“It’s almost noon.”

You huffed.

“Whatever.” You closed your door and began scrambling around for something to wear. You quickly put together an outfit and slipped your shoes on. You grabbed your wallet and phone, shoving it all into a small bag, then rushed out the door.

“There she is! You look great!” smiled Mina.

“God I love it when they wear casual clothes…” mumbled Mineta. You scoffed and kicked the purple boy over.

“SHIT-”

“Can you ever not be creepy?” You muttered.

“Alright ladies, a day filled with fun is just ahead! Let’s go!” cheered Mina. You sighed and began to follow your friends out the door.

“Hey dumbass!” called Bakugou. You turned around to look at him.

“Yes?”

“Have fun,” he smiled. Your eyes widened.

“Fine maybe I will!” You replied. Bakugou raised a brow but laughed off your comment. You gave him a shy smile and rejoined your friends.

“Fine maybe I will”? What the fuck Y/N.

~

You and the rest of the girls in your class took the train to the city. It was a beautiful day, a cool breeze passing by you as you walked along the city streets. The seven of you stopped for some boba before being led into a store by Mina.

“Guys, what is this?” You asked as sipped on your drink. You looked around the girly boutique.

“PROM DRESS SHOPPING!!” cheered Mina raising her arms in the air.

“My parents set us up with an appointment and we have the whole shop to ourselves!” explained Momo.

“Momo what is your life…” mumbled Uraraka.

“Oh gosh I don’t even know where to start!” squealed Hagakure.

“Hi ladies! How can I help?” asked the store manager.

“We have our Prom this week and we need some show stopping dresses!” said Mina.

“Well you’ve come to the right place! Here I’ll show you around.”

You followed the manager around the store as she showed you the endless amounts of dazzling dresses. It was an understatement to say you felt a bit overwhelmed.

“Feel free to pick out a few dresses and try them on. Don’t be afraid to ask any of our attendants for some help,” smiled the manager.

“Thank you very much!”

Your friends immediately dispersed along the aisles of clothing. Piling up whatever outfits caught their eyes. You walked slowly as you looked around, feeling a bit intimidated by the glitz and glamour.

“Would you like some help?” said a voice. You turned around to see one of the attendants.

“Uh yeah that would be great actually,” you said nervously.

“Perfect. What’s your name hun?”

“It’s Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you Y/N, I’m Zella. Do you know what style of dress you are looking for?” She asked. You shrugged.

“All I know is that I need a long dress. I have no idea what I actually want,” you admitted. Zella smiled.

“Well that’s why I’m here. How about I pick a few styles out and you let me know what you think of them?”

“That sounds good.”

You followed Zella as she picked out a couple dresses. She would show you them, asking for your approval before keeping it for you to try on.

“Probably not something pink,” you laughed as you looked at the princess dress before you. Zella chuckled.

“Noted.”

“How is it going Y/N?” asked Mina, or what you presumed to be Mina. You could barely tell through the skyscraper of dresses she was carrying.

“Uh good thanks. I think you’re holding half of the store there,” you joked.

“Gonna go try them on! I have to find the perfect one!” She cheered.

“I think we have enough for you to try on too,” chimed in Zella. You nodded and went over to the dressing room.

“We should do this bridal style and each one of us goes one at a time!” Suggested Uraraka. You laughed.

“As long as I can sit on the couch the longest, I’m good.”

“Me first!” Mina rushed into the dressing room to change. You crammed onto the couch with your friends in front of the mirrors and riser.

“So Y/N, what did you tell Deku?” asked Jirou. You flinched.

“Well uh, I told him that I’d rather go without a date. He understood so we’re cool,” you explained.

“Yeah well dates are overrated anyway,” said Jirou.

“Did you want someone else to ask you?” asked Uraraka. Your face went warm.

“Well uh I wouldn’t put it like that it’s just that-”

“Okay dress number one!” said Mina.

Thank god.

Mina twirled around in a white and gold flowy dress.

“It’s cute Mina but it’s not you, you know?” said Momo.

“I agree. You need something bolder!” You smiled.

“Yeah I'm not the biggest fan of this one either. Onto the next!”

~

The seven of you took turns trying on and showing off your dresses. After about 30 dresses, Mina settled on a light purple dress, definitely more of her vibe. Momo went next, trying on about 10 dresses. She picked a vibrant red one. Jirou only tried on one outfit, a two-piece black jumpsuit. She was set on it from the start. Hagakure tried on every pink dress possible. She actually chose the pink dress that you had rejected. Uraraka also went for pink, but more of a lighter tone. Lastly, Tsu picked out an emerald green dress. All of your friends looked stunning.

“Alright Y/N, you’re up,” smiled Tsu as she exited the dressing room. You sighed.

“Bare with me ladies,” you joked. You walked over to the dressing room and stepped inside. Zella had already hung up the dresses you had picked. You looked at them, unsure where to start. You decided to put on your least favorite first, just to get it out of the way. You slipped the light blue dress on and looked in the mirror.

I look like a fucking cupcake.

Just to amuse your friends, you stepped out of the dressing room. Their hands flew to their mouths.

“I never thought I’d see the day where Y/N wears a bright color,” joked Mina.

“Yeah well don’t get used to it because this is definitely a no,” you laughed as you stood on the riser.

“This is priceless...”

“Y/N, this dress just came in today so it wasn’t on the floor yet. I think you’d like it.” Zella rushed over to you holding a zipped up dress bag. You smiled.

“Anything to get me out of this.”

You took the bag and went back into the dressing room. You hung up the bag and unzipped it. You gasped. Inside was a beautiful black dress with thin straps and a slit for one of your legs. You eagerly changed out of the dress you were wearing and put the new one on.

“Zella? Could you zip me up?” You asked, opening the door. Zella smiled.

“That’s definitely the one.” You turned around and Zella zipped you up. You walked out to your friends. This time their hands flew to their mouths, but in a good way. You stepped onto the riser, letting the skirt of the dress fall around you. You looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to hide your smile.

“Oh Y/N, you look beautiful,” Mina gushed. Your face grew warm.

“It’s just the dress that’s all…”

“No it’s you. You’re glowing,” said Momo. You continued to look at yourself. You felt beautiful. You were beautiful.

“Fine I guess I’ll get this one,” you joked.

“Perfect! Let’s get you changed and get going!” smiled Mina. You nodded, heading back to the dressing room.

You changed back into your clothes and zipped the dress back into its bag. You took the dress and went to meet your friends.

“Alright, who is paying first?” You asked.

“Oh no no. All your dresses have been paid for by the Yaoyorozu’s. You’re all good to go,” explained the manager. All your jaws dropped as you looked at Momo.

“Surprise…?”

“MOMO!” The six of you rushed over to your friend, joining in a large group hug.

“Tell your parents the biggest thank you!” said Uraraka.

“I will,” smiled Momo.

~

After your wonderful day filled with fun just as Mina had promised, you were back at UA. The seven of you walked into the dorms and watched as the boys' faces lit up from your return.

“THEY'RE BACK!” cheered Denki and Mineta as they rushed towards you all.

“Mineta if you lay one hand on me I’ll blow your ass up right here right now,” you warned him. He nodded, stepping back.

“How was your ‘Girls Day’?” asked Iida.

“It was amazing!” gushed Uraraka.

“Well I see you all found your dresses for Prom. That’s excellent!”

“Yeah only after trying on half of the store,” you joked. You went over to your room and set your dress bag down.

“Hey dumbass,” said Bakugou, standing outside your door.

“Hi Katsuki,” you smiled. He raised a brow.

“Why are you in such a good mood?”

“What? I can’t smile at you?”

Bakugou smirked. “No no, go right ahead.”

“Find your dress?” He asked, pointing to the dress bag laying on your bed. You smiled.

“Yeah I did. Wanna see?” You said eagerly.

“Woah is that like allowed?”

“Katsuki it’s a prom dress not a wedding gown,” you chuckled. Bakugou stepped inside of your room and stood beside you as you unzipped the bag. You showed just the top of the dress. Bakugou’s eyes widened.

“That’s uh-that’s a pretty dress,” stuttered Bakugou.

“Thanks,” you smiled. You looked up at Bakugou, who was already looking at you. Your face got hot.

“Well uh, I’m exhausted so I think I’m gonna take a nap,” you said. Bakugou nodded.

“Alright. Sleep well.”

“Thanks Katsuki.” Bakugou left your room and you slowly shut the door behind him. You pressed your back against the door, placing your cold hands on your hot face.

Only 7 more days until Prom. Just 7 more days. I can do this.

•

a/n: so i actually have pictures of all the dresses i mentioned in this part but im not sure if you all would care to see them so just please lmk so that i can post the dress/outfit hc’s that go with this part :)))

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[whereisstevethestove]

Sight Chapter Two

Link to Chapter One here

AO3

Summary: In which we meet the Wicca, the Phantom, the Sighted, and the Boyfriend.

There is a wicca who has lived in the forest for far longer than any creature.  They watch over the forest and they wait, wait for someone to come asking for help.  There is a wicca that took a boy’s face in his hands and cursed him with Sight, at the cost of his vision.

This wicca has a simple name and October is not one to remember them.  

…

Logan is carrying Virgil through the forest, steps heavy as he holds his unconscious friends close, Roman and Remus helping guide him in their own way.  The two of them alone are loud enough to help the teen navigate to where he knows the wicca still lives.

Remus stops abruptly, chittering and Logan almost trips over him.

“My apologies Remus.  Is the wicca there?” Footsteps.

“Well, I am now.  What are you doing here darlin?”

Logan stiffens.  The wicca’s voice is sugar sweet but there’s an undertone that makes  him want to step back, leave Virgil and run, because it’s not safe, the wicca isn’t safe.

“My friend needs help.”

“Oh, you’re that blind kid.  I forgot about you.”  The wicca muses and Logan flinches as the steps start again, until he can feel the wicca’s breath crossing his face.

“Phantom touched, strange.  He should be dead.”

“I know.”  Logan’s breath hitched with an aborted sob.  “I don’t want him to die.”

There’s a hand caressing his forehead and Logan’s mind feels like it’s splintering, fragmented memories belonging to the wicca making him dizzy.

“Huh.  You love him.”  The voice is softer now.  Logan nods.

“Very well, come on, give me him and the sprites will guide you.”  The wicca moves his hand from Logan’s head and they carefully transfer to holding Virgil.

Remus is almost immediately wrapped around Logan’s neck, Roman slithering up to settle across his hips and they begin to all walk again, blindly following, trusting that the wicca will figure something out.

…

October looks down at the body in his arms as they near the home.  This...Virgil is smaller, looks like he’s not from the country and his fingers are greying, and October is almost worried that if he can’t revive the child, he’ll fade and become a Haunt.

They get to the door and October waves their hand to open it, the sighted child and his familiars close behind as the five of them make it to the brewing table and October gently places Virgil down.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Six months?”  Logan’s voice is shaky and October spares a glance to see that the sighted child is crying without bothering to wipe at his tears.  “He survived a Kelpie as a child and I saw it when he touched me.  He gets me.”

October sighed.  “Fickle mortals.  God, why did I decide to help?”  He turned back to Virgil and didn’t see the tightening of Logan’s jaw.  October pressed a finger to Virgil’s pinky and the limb dissolved.

“Oh, that’s not good.”

“What?”  Logan demanded and the sprites began to nervously trill.

“Get the fire sprite to wrap around his core, the poison one around his hand where I point, okay?”  October looked to Logan.  “He needs warmth and we might have to use the poison to counteract the phantom touch.”

Logan nodded and he gestured in the wrong direction, but the sprites got the memo, unraveling and going to follow the wicca’s instructions.

“I’m going to give you a stool to sit on.”  October waved a hand and the stool scooted across the room, gently bumping into Logan’s side.  “Now keep quiet.”

Logan, bless his soul, didn’t respond.  October reached for his pestle and then grabbed a quartz rock, dropping it in with a few Eurydice petals.  

“So, sighted child, I assume that life has been fine, considering you’ve found a few familiars for you and your friend.”

Logan, to his credit, shrugged.  October grabbed a hollyhock root and started to slice it before dumping it in the pestle.

“I need one of your hairs and some spit.”  

Logan grimaced, but he pulled out a chunk of his hair and held it out, which October took and put in.  He then waited for the pestle to be placed under his chin before spitting.  October grinned when the mixture flashed a royal blue.  He added a generous amount of beeswax, some of Virgil’s rapidly greying hair and added it, using a swab to get a minuscule amount of spit.

The mixture flashed violet, then grey, before settling on a beautiful gold color, now a paste that could easily mimic chapstick.  October spread a liberal amount over Virgil’s lips, then on his arms where the grey was creeping up.

They turned to Logan. 

“So, how far would you go to save your ‘friend’?  Would you do anything?”

“If it was within my power, then yes.”  Logan said.

October smiled.  “Excellent!!  You get to kiss him!” The look on Logan’s face was priceless and October cackled as he slid the pestle to Logan, so that it was touching the teen’s hands.

“Rub that on your lips and give him a smooch.  It’ll probably fix it.  True love and soulmates or whatever you want to call it.”

Logan dipped his hand into the pestle and drew out a bit of the paste, smearing it on his lips carefully, before standing and shuffling forward, hands guiding him.  He felt the sprites, up Virgil’s neck until he was gently cupping his friend’s face.  Logan took a breath and…

October wouldn’t say that it was magic, but the gentleness that Logan used when he kissed Virgil definitely seemed to be that way, even as the phantom touch receded, color returning to Virgil’s lips as he breathed in deeply.  The grey half of his hair did not return to color, nor did the missing finger, but October called that a win.

“Wicca?”  Logan sounded fragile and October looked at him.

“It’s October child.”

“I’m pretty sure that it’s February.”  Logan shot him a glare- three feet in the wrong direction.  “Did it work?” 

“I know it’s Feb-- fuck it, yeah, he’ll wake in a few minutes, I’m going to transfer him to my bed, you’re both welcome to sleep there for the night, it’s a pretty big bed, I’m going to crash on the couch.”  October brushed a hand to Logan’s and forced enough memories through so the sighted would be able to navigate to the nondescript bedroom in the back of the home.   He then scooped up the still sleeping Virgil, sprites and all before making his way to the back and dumping Virgil on the bed.

“He needs to be constantly warm, as to not trigger any residue phantom soul.  Phantoms feed off of the lonely and unloved- hence why the kiss cleared the majority.”  October turned to Logan.  “Cuddle him or something.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you wicca.”  Logan murmured and October found himself holding an armful of sighted.  “Thank you.”

“Sure, whatever.  Oh, my boyfriend might be by in the morning, he’ll make sure that you and Virgil will get an actual breakfast.”

Logan let go and crawled into the bed, arms going up to wrap around Virgil, the sprites tangling themselves into the pile.  All four were out within seconds and October smiled softly before shutting the door to leave them to rest.

…

Virgil woke up to see Logan's glassy eyes were open, gaze not quite staring at him, but he had a nice smile on his face.

“Hey Lo.”  He croaked out and Logan closed his eyes before squeezing him softly.

“Idiot.  Running off and getting phantom touched.”

“Sorry.”  Virgil murmured as a cooing reached his ears.  His chest heated up and he looked down to see that Roman was heating up slowly, his acid green eyes half lidded.  “Hey Ro.”

The sprite coo’d again and Virgil grinned.

“They were very helpful in finding you.”  Logan smiled.  “And the wicca of course, we’re resting in their house.”

“Ah.  That explains why this bed smells like sage and teakwood.”  Virgil sniffed and wrinkled his nose.  “I’m hungry.”

“The wicca’s boyfriend said he’d make us something.”

“Cool.”  Virgil’s head lolled a bit and he had to force himself to stay awake.  “Cool, cool.”

“You can go back to sleep Vee.”  Logan whispered.  “I’ll keep us safe.”

Virgil didn’t have time to respond before grey was clawing at the edge of his vision and sleep called him back, warm and safe.

…

Remy wouldn’t call himself October’s boyfriend, but hey, after three centuries of exclusively dating him, he had to guess that fine, they were dating.

Which is why he found it odd that the wicca was up early.  October was a lot of things, but an early riser was not one of them.

“Babes?  Please don’t tell me you pulled an all nighter.”  Remy plopped a grocery bag on the kitchen counter as October rolled his eyes.

“Nah, the sighted child came around last night with a phantom touched.  He’s fine now, oh, they’re soulmates btw, but they spent last night in my bed, and you know how lumpy the couch is.  I didn’t get much sleep.”

Remy shook his head.  “You never fail to surprise me.”  He pulled out a pan and bacon, slapping it on before throwing October a look.  “Can you light the stove?”

“What you can’t?”

“Please?”  Remy begged and after a moment, the stove lit up.  “Thank you!!”

The bacon was happily frying when he heard a sound, and as Remy looked up, he saw a limping phantom touched, the sighted one next to him, both leaning on each other, familiars winding around them like cats.

Oh, Remy really wanted to adopt these two- look at them, they were so cute with each other and the phantom touched carefully pulled out a stool, guiding the sighted one’s hand to it before finding a seat himself.

Remy pulled the bacon off and added the next slices.

“Hey boys.  Sleep well?”  

The sighted one shrugged.  “It was adequate.  I can’t speak for Virgil though.”

Ah, so the phantom touched one was Virgil.  Remy nodded and filled up two water glasses from the pitcher in the fridge before sliding it to the pair.  “I’m Remy.  I’m sure that October told you about me Sighted, but Virgil, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Who’s October?”

“The wicca.”  Remy said cheerfully.  “I picked it for him after they told me about how obsessed they were with pumpkin spice.”

The Sighted snorted and Virgil let out a snicker as well.

“Our conversation makes more sense from last night.”  The Sighted mused as he reached and delicately picked up his water.

“What happened Lo?”  Virgil asked.  “I really only remember this morning before the sun was up.”

“We kissed.  Well, I kissed you, and it was only to seal the spell, so I’m sorry for not asking your consent.”

“Eh, it’s…”  Virgil stopped talking.

Remy looked back to see that the teen was staring at his hand in horror.  

“Logan, where’s my pinky?”

Logan looked confused.  “I was unaware that you were missing a finger.  Is anything else wrong?”

Virgil pulled out his phone before Remy could stop him and he dropped it once he saw his hair.

“I.. Logan--”  

Virgil collapsed and Logan lunged towards the sound, but Remy was throwing out a hand and freezing the teen’s body with a minor spell.

“Sighted, don’t touch him.  He’s been phantom touched and the residue shows up with strong emotions.  Let me and October deal with this.”

He turned off the stove the same time that October was entering the room and the both of them carefully moved Virgil back to the brew table, where they could see that Virgil’s veins were turning grey, heart pounding loud enough that it could be heard in the quiet of the room.

“Remy, go free Logan.”  October murmured as he began to mash up another concoction.  “Virgil will wake in a panic, and he needs a familiar face.”

…

Pain, pain, pain

Hunger

Feed me

LONELY.

Virgil could feel the other mind in his and the more he pushed against it, the worse it hurt, the louder it got….

Patton.

My name’s Patton.

“NO!”  Virgil pushed against it and he felt an ink cold sweep over him.

YES.

[imnotwolverine]

The marriage pact - A Bird’s Life

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 18 | Part 19 A Bird’s Life | Part 20 >

Disclaimer: Some strong language

Author’s note: I hope you can survive my attempt at writing poetry.🤓

Word count: 1.475

(Link to my Masterlist)

Dear readers,

When I was young my school reports always had one and the same comment; “Alice should try to get a bit more out of her shell”. I was simply said the shy kid, the nerdy girl, the one who always got the good grades and didn’t want to upset anyone. For the longest time I always put everyone before me. I was the giver, not the receiver, of attention and whenever someone wished to give me that attention, be it as a friend or lover, I pushed them away. I just didn’t know how to cope.

And even now after all these years it still, at times, makes me feel a little weirded out. I do not like to be the centre of attention. Not even when it’s the attention of just one person. Why I exactly feel like that, I don’t know. Is it a form of self protection? Building up walls? Perhaps. In any way, I will have to deal with it. Because me and chocolate cake are getting pretty serious about a lot of things. Adult things.

It happens to just be so that part of these adult things is caring for each other in equal measure. Being there for one another. Letting lust and demand grow into love and care. Or, as U.A. Fanthorpe lovingly described it in her poem Atlas; “There is a kind of love, called maintenance.”

And I, dear readers, want that maintenance kind of love, I do.

Ali

‘I didn’t know you read poetry.’ Henry said, your bodies huddled close together in the mid December wind. It was a small but unfortunate side effect of living near the sea; it seemed to always be windy. And in winter, that gave you a whole new sense of “fuck it’s cold”. I shivered into his chest, watching Kal zoom through the bushes like it was just another fine summers day.

‘Every now and then. It’s a bit of a left over habit from college.’

’Twas a nice poem. The whole collection of poems on that website actually.’ He smiled. ‘You read them all?’ I raised an eyebrow and looked up at his now outgrowing beard. Henry was growing a beard and I did not mind it one bit - it made me feel all kinds of literal and figurative tingles. He snickered. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Henry the poetry man! Makes me wonder actually. You are good with words, but do you ever write yourself?’ I looked back at the stone cobbled path ahead of us, our booted feet tapping in joined rhythm on the cold rock. I really, really enjoyed our walks together and from the fact Henry always near forced me to join him for his walks no matter how bad the weather, I derived he did so too.

‘Perhaps.’ He finally said, earning a inquisitive eyebrow raise from me. ‘Perhaps? Mr. Cavill, please do not dare and keep secrets from me!’ I prodded him in his side and he chuckled, shaking his head. ‘I wouldn’t dare. I just hadn’t ..come around to sharing it with you yet.’

‘Sounds like a secret to me.’ I laughed, seeing Kal had found himself a nice stick. ‘Oh Kal bear! At least you keep no secrets huh?’ I ruffled my fingers through his fur when he came to present his new found treasure to us, Henry’s hand near automatically taking it from the friendly Akita to throw it a bit further down the road, for the dog to fetch.

‘Okay. Something I wrote a while ago..don’t judge me though. It’s..-‘ ‘A secret.’ I squeezed my lips tight as if promising to keep my lips shut from here on. He sniffled. ‘Something like that.’

Clearing his throat and gazing out over the wintery landscape, he started:

‘A bird’s life

Before their singing rings I wake, an early riser Come morning do I take On the day, again a little whiter

Striding feet I follow Black and white, his beard too grey I hear my mothers voice speak again Do your duty come what may

But as I follow my winged friends Around the world I sink Dragging feet that stall and linger Not always can this be so, I think

My nests though many Are fewer my home My coffins are filled With gold silver and woe

As days then end I reach Yet another homeless nest Its branches prickle and when I look Hours more not to rest

Sun rises burning and Sore feet hit cold levels Long distances I go more Until sweet dreams too unravel

This journey’s not mine Too lonesome to stay I flicker my wings And yet again for love, do I pray.’

Silence fell as the last of his words filtered through the morning air, my ears still peeked as I now listened to his slow, calm breath, my hand wrapped around his arm. He had spoken as if his poem was directed at the birds in the trees themselves, his eyes reaching up to the empty branches in the near distance, no birds to be seen. It was just us two. Or three actually, as Kal, though blissfully aware of this magical moment, was there too, roaming around freely in the thicket.

‘When did you write that?’ I finally asked, looking up at him, his face calm. ‘The day after you left London. I actually hadn’t slept a wink that night before you had to fly back. I…gosh I’m such a foo-‘ - ‘Stop that.’ I halted my feet and gave him a fiery gaze. ‘Don’t apologise for your feelings.’ I admonished, then gently rubbed his arm. ‘And that was a terribly beautiful poem Hen.’

‘Hmm.’ He smiled, slightly unsure. ‘Thank you Ali.’

‘No thank you. And to answer your bird’s heart.’ I cupped his cheek in both hands. ‘I love you and I want to make that journey with you, I do.’

‘Even after all the surrogate mother shit and..’ - ‘Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill. Did you just haphazardly skip the first half of my blog this morning?’ I raised a teasing, yet authoritative eyebrow at him. He bit his lip to hide a chuckle. ‘I’m doing it too, huh?’

‘Yep. Take my love you fool! Take it! TAKE IT!’ I used both my hands to shake him like a salt shaker - though little did I actually get him to move as this man was about as built as the empire state building. His smile grew and grew and before long he was laughing aloud, his head nodding in amusement. ‘Okay Ali. Ali. You can stop now. I surrender.’

‘Then kiss me like you mea-‘ I wasn’t even allowed to finish that sentence, his lips crashing down onto mine. Soft and plushy, the after taste of his morning coffee still lingering, he was not going to let the moment go to waste.

We probably stood there for a few minutes. Just kissing, our cheeks burning like hot coals despite the icy wind around us, his hands carefully wrapped around my head, keeping me where he wanted me to be. His fellow bird, ready to fly out together.

Or well, almost; first I had to take my employer up on that hiatus proposal.  

—

‘I got the okay! She’s going to check for a temp writer and once that person’s all settled in, I could..go with you.’ I cheered, flying around Henry’s neck, not minding the fact that his parents were also near - his mom just peeking her head around the corner of the kitchen and his dad probably reading his newspaper in the living room.

‘What?! Really?!’ Henry’s smile grew from ear to ear as he wrapped me, winter coat and all, in his arms. ‘Baby that’s..’ He leaned back again. ‘Wow.’ He near giggled.

‘Are you staying for dinner, Ali?’ His mom inquired, infiltrating on our little moment. We quickly awoke from our little bubble and Henry muttered some quiet apology, pushing the still opened front door closed behind us.

‘Eh…’ I blinked at Henry. He smiled and nodded, bidding me to accept her offer. ‘Yes please. Thank you Marianne.’ I looked over at her and she gave me a most adoring wink. ‘You are practically family Ali.’ She mused, disappearing back into the kitchen where dinner was already well on the way.

I watched her waddle off, feeling Henry’s strong arms pull me in for a full-circled swoop through the air, making me fly like the birds in his poem. ‘I love you so much!’ He exclaimed, making me laugh with pure giddiness. ‘Hen! Carefu— OHH — HEN- put me down, put me down hahahah. Oh gosh.’ I squirmed until finally he put me back on my feet, his wide teethed grin causing sweet dimples to crease his cheeks.

‘I love you too, silly.’

‘Then I better start calling my agent, hmm?’

‘Mhm. You better.’

--

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[yourdeepestfathoms]

Disarming Voice

[Tour!verse]

One of, like, three gifts for @the10amongstthese3s because I love them so much and they mean a lot to me and I just 💚💘💙💖💚💖💚💘💙💘💚 I was supposed to wait for their birthday in June but they were sad earlier today and so I gathered the remains of the Adderall in my system and wrote this bad boy

I love you, Duckie!!!!!

also: i couldnt think of a title so i frantically searched up Pokemon moves and now this will be the second fanfic with a title that is a move from Pokemon (the first is Quiver Dance)

Word count: 3175

TW: Blood

———————

Haus of Holbein concluded with kaleidoscope of strobe lights and cacophony of giggles from the eager audience. They watched as the queens pranced over the risers and staircase for the next bit, unbeknownst to a small pop in the back that was deaf to even the Tudor ladies themselves. They just went on with their performance like they always did.

“It’s time for you to choose your bride, your highness!” Aragon declared in her high pitched, Welsh-tinged voice, and that was enough to pop a metaphorical balloon that cut Howard off from saying her next line.

Okay, well, it wasn’t really the metaphorical balloon popping that halted the show, but the sharp cry of pain that came from the upper right.

Joan was hunched over her keyboard, rocking back and forth slight and clutching at one side of her head. The sound of her soft whimpers and keens resonated in the earpieces each of the queen’s wore.

“Joan, what are you doing?” Anne hissed softly. She can hear the audience starting to murmur in confusion behind her.

“Stop the show,” Joan croaked weakly.

“What? We can’t-”

“Please!” Joan cried, her voice cracking. Her head snapped up and the spotlights caught on some kind of fluid running down the side of her face. Anne makes a sickened look and backed away, thinking that it may be blood. Aragon gave her an exasperated expression—how could a woman be afraid of the sight of blood? Or did Anne just pass out every time she had her period?

The golden queen’s internal nitpicking came to an abrupt halt when the director suddenly came on the speakers and announced a momentary intermission. A few people in the audience grumble in annoyance, while others groan, and the majority whispered even louder. A couple of stagehands are leering at Joan from the wings.

“What is going on?” The director suddenly stormed onstage, looking frazzled and aloof at the interruption. He was probably already imagining all the negative reviews and the money they’ll lose from people not wanting to come anymore, which definitely would not happen with how popular the show was. “Why did we stop? Joan, what did you do?”

“My-my ear—” Joan choked out. She’s rocking herself more prominently, as if she thought the movement would comfort her, but it clearly wasn’t working the magic she thought it would.

“You made us stop the show for an EARACHE?” The director barked.

“Hey, get off her ass.” Aragon growled, puffing out her chest to the obnoxious man and gathering herself up to her full size—which was easier taller than the director. And if she didn’t beat him in height, then her muscles and abs surely did, and she made sure to make that known to him.

“N-no, it’s—” Joan winced. “I-it’s—” She was stuttering too much for anyone to understand what she was saying, although nobody was really surprised. It was a habit of hers.

“Woah,” Maggie suddenly piped up. “What’s that on your face?”

Someone called for the main lights to be turned on, and the white-yellow fluid coating one side of Joan’s head is revealed. It was mixing with trails of red—blood. Anne stepped back dizzily and Aragon shot her a ‘get over it’ look over her shoulder before returning her full attention to the injured music director.

She could see that the fluids seemed to be coming from her ear and were dripping all the way down her jawline and onto her chest and shoulders. The droplets disappear against the dark material of her band uniform.

“Ew,” Jane wrinkled her nose and Joan looked dismayed at her reaction, then embarrassment. Pink did not go well with whatever color that liquid was supposed to be.

“What happened?” Cleves asked, incredibly curious. She was looking at the residue as if it were liquid gemstones.

“I-I had an—ear infection.” Joan explained, and each of her words are punctuated with a wince or whimper. “I took—pain killers, but—” She made a miserable, pained sound and clenched tighter.

“Your eardrum might have burst.” Cathy said bluntly.

Joan went very pale, and the fluids suddenly look a lot darker. Or maybe that was just because of the increased sputtering of blood that’s coming out.

Slowly, so slowly, she pulled her hand back, and they all saw the drooling maw that was her left ear. The interior was completely coated in a thick amalgam of water, blood, and something that looked like pus, and the hole seemed to be clogged by the same concoction, although that looked a lot more /red/. It was weeping the foul-smelling liquid; Anne gagged loudly, but Aragon didn’t know if it was because of the sight, the smell, or both.

“Yikes,” Maggie winced. “That looks painful.” At her side, Howard tentatively touched her ear, as if she thought that her eardrum may randomly burst and put her through the same pain the music director was very obviously feeling.

“What do we do?” Aragon asked, waving her head around to everyone.

“Well, if I remember correctly,” Cathy said in her infamous know-it-all voice, “burst eardrums usually heal on their own.”

There was a collective sigh of relief—and then Cathy started talking again.

“However, sometimes surgery is needed. I’ve heard of cauterizing being used as a form of treatment, too.”

Miraculously, Joan’s face managed to get even whiter. If Cathy noticed, she doesn’t relent with her fact-stating.

“And hearing loss is sometimes possible. Which, when working in show biz, doesn’t seem to be a very good th-”

“Thank you, Cathy!” Aragon said loudly, batting her goddaughter away. She set a hand on Joan’s shoulder and her heart broke a little when she felt the girl trembling. Ice blue eyes stare up at her in fear.

“I-I don’t want t-to get my ear cauterized.” Joan stammered. “O-or go deaf!”

“You won’t, honey,” Aragon assured her. I hope. “I’ll take you to the doctor’s.”

“What?” The director squawked. “You can’t leave!” He wheeled around to Joan, bug-eyed and desperate. “You can still perform, can’t you?”

“My EAR is LEAKING!” Joan cried, holding out her pus-soaked hand to the man, who reared away in disgust. Anne gagged again from somewhere further away and Howard begrudgingly leaves the commotion to go comfort her soon-to-be-ill cousin.

Aragon raised her eyebrows with a pleased smile. She didn’t often hear Joan snap at people, but she was always very impressed when she was around for it. It just proved there were thorns under that shell she’s always hiding in.

“Can you walk?” Aragon said softly, then wanted to slap her. She was on the side with the injured ear—Joan probably could barely hear from that side.

“Yeah.” Joan still said, making out the queen’s words. She wobbled to her feet, and although it was her ear that was the part that hurt, her legs were still hindered by the waves of pain and discomfort washing over her.

“Ow,” She whispered, wincing.

“Come on, darling.” Aragon said to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I won’t let you fall.”

“What about the show?” The director warbled woefully.

“The swings are here, aren’t they?” Aragon said dismissively. “Get one of them to do it!”

There’s a reply, but Aragon was already leading Joan off of the stage, through the wings, and out the back door to the staff parking lot.

“What did it feel like?” Aragon asked as she was driving to the hospital. She glanced at the shuddering form of Joan in the passenger seat. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Um,” Joan looked a little uncomfortable. “Sorta like a water balloon popping? I kinda heard, like, umm—this pop, I guess? And then splitting pain and, ahh—there was stuff—coming out of my ear.”

At least, Aragon thinks that’s what she said. She liked to think she was good at discerning Joan Stutters, but the girl was just stammering so badly that even she was having a hard time understanding what exactly she was saying. She reached one hand off the steering wheel and touched Joan’s shoulder, hoping it may help comfort her.

“It’ll be okay, darling.” She told her.

“P-please focus on the road,” Joan said, glancing anxiously at the hand on her shoulder.

“Right.” Aragon pulled her hand away. She should have known—Joan hated when she didn’t drive with both hands on the wheel.

How was it possible to hold so much anxiety in such a scrawny little body?

They soon arrived at the hospital in a whirl of rhinestones and sparkles, seeing as they were both still in their show costumes. The people in the waiting room were dazzled at the shimmering gold outfit Aragon was stuck in, and one person even recognized her and got up to possibly ask for a picture, but then immediately sat back down when they noticed her determined, ‘do not fuck with me’ expression. If her leotard was breaking some kind of hospital dress code, nobody decided to say something.

Aragon explained to the woman at the reception desk about what they were there for, gesturing vaguely to the coagulated mess on the side of Joan’s head in the process a few times. After getting checked in, they took a seat in the waiting room, much to Aragon’s displeasure. Sure, Joan’s injury was no broken bone or heart attack, but the girl was clearly in a severe amount of pain. If the way she wouldn’t stop shaking didn’t give that away.

“Snowflake?” Aragon gently touched her hand. “Are you alright, baby?”

Joan merely replied with a soft “mmm” and kept her eyes shut. Aragon frowned. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a boy with his parents staring at the mess on Joan’s head and shot him a look that nearly made him keel over dead.

“You’re going to be okay.” Aragon told her girl, keeping her voice warm and soothing. “I promise.”

Joan just nodded this time.

It took almost twenty minutes and an extra squirting of ear water and pus, but Joan was eventually called for examination. Aragon followed her, sliding past the several gazes she got as she went along.

As Cathy predicted, there wasn’t much the doctors could do for something inside of Joan’s head, and they were sure she didn’t want a sudden surgery to repair some pieces of frayed tissue. However, they did clean up her head and ear (which was a painful process when a q-tip was used), and prescribed her some stronger antibiotics since it was clear she was in some discomfort.

On the drive to her apartment, Joan looked terribly guilty.

“What’s wrong, snowball?” Aragon asked, glancing at the sulking girl.

Joan mumbled something. Aragon leaked over slightly.

“A little louder, baby. I can’t hear you.”

“I made you miss the show for nothing.” Joan said. “And then you paid for a pointless doctor visit.” She hunched over in the passenger seat and put her head in her hands. “You wasted so much for me.”

It took all of Aragon’s willpower to not veer the car off the road and start laying into Joan about how she’d give up everything for her, but she kept her cool and continued driving so she wouldn’t freak the girl out even more. Her added car anxiety wouldn’t make anything better.

“Honey, I chose to take you to the doctor’s.” Aragon said. “It was my idea. You didn’t force me. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Joan pulled her head back and nodded slowly. Aragon wished she would smile, or at least stop frowning guiltily like she was. The girl was always too hard on herself, always blaming herself for things she didn’t cause and always losing her mind over the most minor inconveniences. She thought she was to prove herself or live up to the queen’s greatness, Aragon realized awhile ago.

They parked in Joan’s apartment complex and Joan didn’t even try to convince Aragon that she didn’t have to stay like she usually did. She just trudged up the two flights of stairs to her flat- Argaon always wondered how she got all her furniture up there, as she was sure the girl was too shy to ask a moving company for help. The image of her darling snow fox trying to haul an entire wardrobe up the steps was quite funny, albeit a bit pitiful.

Stepping into Joan’s apartment, however, was even more pitiful.

Aragon never got over how barren Joan’s home was. She stumbled through a dark corridor, kicking off her shoes as she does so. She saw Joan turn on a lamp instead of the main lights (they hurt her eyes, she had said before), and the glow it gave off was dim, as though the bulb was about to go out. It was enough to illuminate the bare and cold living room, dining room, and kitchen, which were all empty of decorations. Joan was terrible with money, fearing that buying a simple potted plant would leave her bankrupt. She did have a small cactus in her kitchen, though—its name was Prickle.

Joan grabbed a light blue cup from the sink, the only dish in the basin, and filled it up with some water before swallowing one of the painkillers, despite already having taken one while at the hospital.

“Joan, baby?” Aragon called out gently. “Does it hurt that much?”

She worried about the pain being that severe and the chance that Joan was just taking more pills because she liked how they made her numb. She once said she liked not feeling—it made her forget about her worthlessness and stress.

Joan sorta just shrugged in response, staring ruefully down into the cup. Aragon came over to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“How about we watch a movie?” She suggested. “Or do you want to rest?”

“It’s only lunchtime.” Joan pointed out. “I can’t rest already.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of catnaps?” Aragon poked her in the stomach, which made her giggle and squirm away. It was music to her ears. “Let’s make lunch, then. And THEN watch a movie.”

She detangled herself from Joan and walked over to the fridge. Her eyes widened when she saw what was inside.

“You went grocery shopping!” She spun around to Joan, clasping her hands in her own. “I’m so proud of you!”

She had been so worried to see the fridge empty like so many times before, but this time there was /food/! Sure, it wasn’t much, but it was something! Joan had bought fruit and milk and cheese and eggs and that weird LaCroix drinks she insists are really good but Aragon just thinks they taste like static and a single cherry skittle that’s been dissolved in water for three hours. There was food in the pantry, too—bread and crackers, biscuits and cereal, canned soup and packets of macaroni. Joan had even bought herself ice cream!

Joan blushed shyly, looking away.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” She murmured.

“It is to me!” Aragon whisked her up in her arms, causing Joan to squeak and cling to the ruffs on her shoulders.

“That’s itchy,” Joan said after she was set down, wrinkling her nose at Aragon’s costume.

“Tell me about it,” Aragon laughed. “Do you think any of your clothes will fit me? I’d watch the movie naked like I usually do, but I feel like that wouldn’t be proper guest etiquette.”

“Oh, I actually have—”

Aragon burst into laughter at the double take Joan does.

“Wait. What?!” Joan blinked at her, probably picturing that image in her head and then immediately being horrified when it actually materializes in her brain. “Don’t you— Doesn’t Anna share a room with you?”

“Then I guess I’m the award-winning film she’s watching.” Aragon smirked.

“Ahhh!!” Joan slapped Aragon's arms frantically. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”

“What? You don’t like hearing about my-“

“LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!!!” Joan covered her ears, although softly with her injured one. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!! MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB, LITTLE LAMB, LITTLE LAMB!!!”

Aragon laughed until her chest hurt. She wiped one of her eyes and set a hand on Joan’s head.

“Okay, snowfall, I’m done.”

Joan carefully removed her hands, peering up at Aragon suspiciously.

“You’re gross.” She poked her.

“Not gross. H-”

Joan slapped her hands back over her ears.

Which was a big mistake.

“You dummy.” Aragon said when Joan keened sharply in pain. “Shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s your fault!” Joan said miserably. She carefully rubbed the space next to her injured ear, but stopped when Aragon started to do it for her, leaning blissfully into her touch. “You’re the reason Maggie likes to tease me about having mommy issues.”

Aragon snorted. “I’m not surprised.” She said. “Now. What were you saying before?”

A blush dusts Joan’s cheeks. “Oh. Right.” She fidgets with a rhinestone on her costume. “I, umm— Well, seeing as you come over a lot— I— I got you some spare clothes.”

Aragon perked up, smiling. “Aww. That’s so sweet of you to do, Joan!”

Joan blushed harder and then scurried off to go change while Aragon started to make their lunch. She changed soon after, and then they sat down on the couch with their grilled cheeses.

“How’s your ear feeling?” Aragon asked as Joan was flipping through Netflix (technically, it was Aragon’s account. Of course Joan wouldn’t by her own—financial anxiety and all. And of course Aragon had to share with the girl!)

“Better,” Joan said, then touched it tentatively. “But it’s kinda, like...ringing.” She curled into Aragon’s side. “I don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry, baby girl,” Aragon wrapped her arms around Joan and she marveled at how perfectly she fit, as if that spot had been shaped by the universe just for the girl. She didn’t think even Mary had fit that well.

It was a sign, she realized: This is where this girl should stay. In your arms. Forever.

Aragon smiled. She liked the sound of that, even if she knew it would definitely be questioned by other people. They wouldn’t be able to wrap their heads around her loving some anxious mess of a music director more than her birth daughter she had fought tooth and nail to be with all those centuries ago. But it was hard to feel a sliver of love towards Mary after hearing about the horrors she’s done—she was just ashamed. Ashamed to be her mother, so she disconnected herself from the bloody ties of her child and went searching for someone who needed her more.

And that’s how she found Joan. Her perfect, weird little moon. Every inch nervous and shy, with so much room to be loved, and everything Mary would never ever be.

Sorry, Mary, Aragon thought with a chuckle, imagining her daughter throwing a fit in her place in hell.

She snuggled Joan closer and set her chin on her head. She felt Joan lean in closer and she smiled lovingly.

“So, what are we watching?”

[crashingmeteorz]

me and the ash can’t settle down ch. 2

lu ten goes on his first hunt, and his past comes back to haunt him.

read ch.1 here. word count: 5.8k. read on ao3.

trigger warnings for: death, violence, ptsd

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"Tell me, Bǎi. What do you know about bounty hunting?"

The short answer is, not much.

Kōji is pleased with Lu Ten’s physical ability - Lu Ten has no intention of revealing his firebending, of course. Kōji may be unusually accepting, but theoretically housing an enemy is much easier when you don’t have the physical proof of their past in front of you.

So Lu Ten sticks to hand-to-hand combat and sword fighting. Of course, trying to beat Kōji in a fistfight is like trying to knock down a rock wall with your bare hands. Lu Ten tries to use his agility to his advantage, but it becomes clear very quickly that Kōji fights dirty. He bests Lu Ten at every turn, and what’s worse, it’s obvious the older man is holding back.

“These people we’re dealing with,” says Kōji in his rough voice, “they’re not gonna show you mercy so don’t you show them any, got it?”

Lu Ten listens to his new teacher and tries to forget the rigid rules he’d spent his whole life abiding by. It’s surprisingly easy to let go of the concept of fairness, and when Kōji stumbles for just a moment, Lu Ten punches him square in the face.

“Shit,” Lu Ten says panicking as blood pours out of Kōji’s nose. “Shit, shit, shit.” Kōji tries to stem the flow with one hand, which is growing redder by the second, and waves at Lu Ten nonchalantly with the other.

“You did what I asked,” says Kōji, the blood-flow making him sound congested. “Think you might’ve broke my nose though...”

Lu Ten procures a rag and hands it to Kōji, but the floor is already a blood-splattered mess. He can’t help but think that if he had been firebending and slipped up like that, Kōji would be dead.

Kōji pulls up a chair and sits with his newly crooked nose, courtesy of Lu Ten’s fist, and tells Lu Ten to show him what weapons he’s familiar with, to Lu Ten’s extreme relief. None of Kōji’s small arsenal of weapons is state of the art, every single one accompanied by scratches and dents, but there’s at least one katana in the mix. He inspects the blade carefully - it’s nowhere near the quality of the one he made with Piandao, but that was left at home in the palace. A thought arises unbidden: will his father include the katana in his memorial? Lu Ten closes his eyes tightly, so that it hurts, and then holds the blade steady.

He practices his forms blindly, never once opening his eyes as he dances around the room with the battered old katana. Suddenly he’s eight, practicing with some weapons he stole off the palace guards, his father laughing merrily as he lunges with the clumsiness of a child. Now he’s 14, and Piandao is patiently correcting his forms, demanding more but never implying Lu Ten is not enough. Now he’s 16 and his cousins are begging him to firebend at them, but they’re far too little, so he says conspiratorially, “what about a sword fight?” Now he’s 18 and killing one of his fellowmen-

“At least you can use that thing,” Kōji chuckles, and Lu Ten is grateful for the interruption from his thoughts. “You’re a piss-poor street fighter.”

“And you’re a fucking mountain,” Lu Ten retorts, setting the blade down gently. “How the hell am I supposed to get the jump on you?”

“There’s no weight classes in bounty hunting,” says Kōji, wagging his finger like a school teacher, upper lip still stained a bright red. Lu Ten finds a new rag and pours some water over it this time, tossing it to Kōji.

“I thought we’re not supposed to kill these guys?” Lu Ten asks curiously. Kōji had tried to explain his profession, but it had mostly resulted in a series of tangents and old stories about the job. Any important details Lu Ten had gleaned came exclusively from context clues.

“We’re not,” was Kōji’s reply, giving Lu Ten a look that seems to imply he’s said the stupidest thing Kōji’s ever heard. “But you need to be able to defend yourself. You know how to disarm, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Lu Ten replies tersely, looking for a sheath that might fit the sword. Piandao had taught him to disarm, obviously, but he had also said that the katana was a weapon of death. At the time, Lu Ten had hardly listened, too appreciative of the thin, curved design of the blade to really care for its purpose. Now it seemed Lu Ten had always been destined for violence.

“Good,” Kōji says gruffly, but his eyes are alight with excitement, “because I have a tip for us to follow, and we don’t have time for you to sit around all day figuring it out.”

The rules of the hunt are both straightforward and murky, if Lu Ten has understood anything from Kōji’s reminiscences. You track the target, capture them alive, and hand them over to the paying party, but you can work out a deal if things got messy. You don’t encroach on someone else’s territory, unless the bounty’s extraordinarily high. You always follow through and refuse to be bought, unless the offer is good. You never kill a target, unless it’s the only option. When he asks Kōji how to make the call on these flip-flopping rules Kōji brushes him off.

“Comes with practice,” he says, unconcerned. “Eventually you’ll learn to trust your gut.”

The man they’re after is, according to Kōji, your average lowlife. He started off small-time, scamming elderly couples and widows with too many children and not enough food.

“Now he’s gone to flat-out stealing, but he hit up the wrong guy,” Kōji tells him through a mouthful of rice that evening. “Rich kid like you. Influential family. The spoiled brat tried to fight, and he barely survived.”

Kōji suddenly and meaningfully points his chopsticks at Lu Ten.

“Don’t let the same thing happen to you, ‘cause I’m not hauling your sorry ass all the way back here again.”

“Again?” Lu Ten asks suspiciously. “I thought you said I showed up practically on your doorstep?”

Kōji grumbles something practically unintelligible about a couple of bodies in the valley below and practically shoves his face in his dinner. Kōji may put on a callous front, but Lu Ten doesn’t believe it for a second.

“Point is,” Kōji says after finishing his meal, “the rich kid comes from a rich family. Minor nobles, or something. We bring them this guy, they reward us with gold.”

“How much?” Lu Ten asks, not necessarily out of greed as much as curiosity. How much is a son’s life worth around here? How much is his attacker’s?

“That’s usually negotiable upon delivery,” is the only answer Kōji seems willing to give. “We leave at dawn, so get some rest.”

“What, that quick?” Lu Ten asks in surprise, rising from his seat. “We’re just going to leave without a plan? Do we even know where he is?”

In response, Kōji tosses a rolled-up sheet of parchment at him. Lu Ten unfurls it to reveal a wanted poster, and a note scrawled at the bottom that reads “Lower Mùchéng - Frogman”.

“Who the hell is Frogman?” Lu Ten asks.

“My informant, for this job anyway,” Kōji explains as he gets ready for bed. “You find something to keep that sword in? It’s not exactly a stroll in the park to Mùchéng, so we gotta leave early.”

Since that is apparently all the information he’s getting, Lu Ten sighs and mimics Kōji, climbing into the warm bed.

“You always have this laid out for unexpected guests?” Lu Ten asks after a while. On the rare occasion he’d had to intrude on someone’s home, they’d usually just roll out a mat or futon. Kōji, while comfortable, didn’t seem to live the most luxurious life, to provide such a thing for strange guests.

“Go to sleep,” Kōji grunts, turning over in his own bed. Just as well. Every man deserves his share of secrets.

-

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He wakes up before the sun rises. Kōji is still snoring (and hell if Kōji isn’t a loud snorer), so Lu Ten splashes his face with water and dresses. It feels like a strangely serious moment, dusk making everything outside seem muted and foreign. Lu Ten was always an early riser, preferring the warmth of the sun to the cool of the night, but then, most firebenders are like him. As he slips the sheath he found, just a touch too big, beneath his belt, he feels for a moment the same as he did the morning he shipped out for the Earth Kingdom. He was still just shy of 18, then, and his father’s most recent letter had been clutched in his hand, creased from the way his fingers pressed into it.

“My dear son,” the general had written, “I challenge you to find a father who has ever been prouder than I am of you. Let me meet this man, and show him my son, and see if he still feels so certain.”

Kōji snorts loudly, and when Lu Ten looks over the older man is rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Someone’s eager to get going,” he grumbles, and Lu Ten wonders if Kōji’s ever happy. He tells the older man he'll be waiting, and when he steps outside the sun is just beginning to rise. Lu Ten hasn’t ventured beyond the garden since he arrived, and his heart sounds loudly against his ribcage as inhales the smell of the world around them. Something childish inside him whispers “adventure”, tickling his ears and pulling at his lips to form a smile. It’s terrifying. It’s invigorating.

Kōji joins him a few minutes later, a large weapon in hand.

"Is that a mace?" Lu Ten asks in disbelief.

“Mùchéng is that way,” is Kōji's reply, pointing towards the northern mountains, and he sounds more alive now than Lu Ten’s ever heard him. “The city is built practically on stilts. Lots of good hiding places, but I have an idea of where to look. Don’t be too obvious about it now.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lu Ten says easily, the contagious energy zipping through him like electricity. “You’re the one who sticks out like a sore thumb, colossus.”

Kōji laughs, loud and long and hearty, and Lu Ten has to fight the urge to suggest they race to a nearby yew tree, his giddy excitement is that strong.

“Okay, shrimpy,” Kōji rumbles, knocking his boots against each other to rid them of mud. “If you’re so slick, think you can beat me to that tree there?”

Lu Ten grins.

“You’re on, old man,” he retorts, but when Lu Ten steps out to run Kōji sticks his foot out, tripping him so that he falls face-first in the dirt. Kōji laughs uproariously the entire (slow, in Lu Ten’s opinion) run to the yew tree, yelling something about payback for a broken nose. Lu Ten can’t even be upset, as he hauls himself to his feet and jogs to catch up with Kōji. It feels good to have fun again.

-

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They reach the mountain town by mid-afternoon, or Kōji says they do, anyway. All Lu Ten can see is a rocky path and a drop-off point. Kōji smirks at his confusion, raps a quick rhythm on the mountain, and then there is a loud creak followed by a descending platform. Kōji and Lu Ten step on and are slowly lifted into the air by a series of pulleys and ropes. When they reach the top, they are surrounded by a city made entirely of wood. Wooden planks and paths lead the way inward, wooden beams support the platforms and building, wooden stores and homes sit up and down on the mountainside.

“It’s all wood,” Lu Ten says, trying not to let his nerves show. He suddenly feels like a gemsbok bull in a pottery shop. This whole place is a fire hazard.

“Weren’t you listening?” asks Kōji, leading the way into town. “Mùchéng is a refugee city, or it used to be anyway. People came here and built this town to hide from the Fire Nation. When their villages were raided, most of their benders were taken, so this is what they had to work with.”

“You never said any of that, Kōji,” Lu Ten says irritably, unable to stop himself from tiptoeing. “Besides, of all the materials to build your secret city out of -“

“I know, I know, one big cookout,” Kōji agrees. “But it’s well-hidden.”

“So were the airbenders,” mutters Lu Ten, but Kōji either doesn’t hear the comment or just ignores it.

Lu Ten finds himself sticking close to Kōji as they make their way along the planks, like a small child afraid to stray from their parent's side the first time away from home. In any city there are varieties of people, but Mùchéng has a distinctly disjointed feel to it. In this corner, there are children playing under the watchful eye of their parents. Under a nearby archway, a young woman cries as she writes a letter to a loved one far away. The very next ramp drops down to reveal a group of shady characters discussing something fervently. Every single person seems like they don't belong here, but it's clear from the suspicious glances that Kōji and Lu Ten belong here the least.

To match the sinking feeling in Lu Ten's chest, Kōji leads them down the ramp near the probable-criminals. The narrow path is so tight they have to mumble excuse me's as they pass, and the politeness only seems to lower their credibility. They travel deeper, edging along what can only be a crevasse located within the mountain. Lu Ten practically falls into the black abyss but Kōji's arm shoots out to keep him firmly on the ground. The older man points down to a rope ladder, which seems to be the only way in or out of the hole.

"Popular hideout down there," says Kōji, gazing downwards. Lu Ten's never had a fear of heights, but something about the situation makes his stomach turn.

"We'd be pretty screwed if we ran into trouble down there," Lu Ten says, swallowing a knot that's been building in his throat. What is wrong with him?

"Yep," is all Kōji has to say. "You ready?"

Lu Ten lays a hand, lightly, over his katana, and nods sharply. It's clear now that any ideas about this being a straightforward job have gone out the window - and Kōji trusts him anyway. He's not about to back out now. In a moment of courage, Lu Ten descends the ladder first. When a strong breeze causes the old rope to swing this way and that, however, he regrets his decision.

Whatever Kōji's reward negotiation skills are, they better make this trip worth it.

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It turns out to be an average bar, once you ignore the fact that it's buried so deep within a mountain wolfbats hang sleeping from its rafters. Kōji sits at the bar with practiced confidence, and Lu Ten wonders if it's just from frequenting places like this, or if  Kōji's been to this bar in particular a few times. When Lu Ten sits beside him, however, Kōji rolls his head, twisting his neck left and right a few times, and the tension in his muscles seems to indicate he's not comfortable here.

"We're looking for a skinny guy, probably pretty arrogant. He's got a two-headed rat viper tattoo on his right shoulder," Kōji murmurs. "He may be a small fry, but he's lethal. I'm practically a stranger here, and he's not, so he's got the home-field advantage, too."

"Knowing this stuff upfront might have helped," Lu Ten hisses before taking a swig of whatever Kōji had ordered for them. His stomach is still nauseous, and his throat feels dry for some reason. The burning liquid doesn’t seem to help.

"You're shaking like a leaf as it is, didn't need any more stress," Kōji whispers back.

"I'm not-" Lu Ten begins to reply indignantly, but he's interrupted by a fight breaking out in a back corner. A pair of young men, a little older than Lu Ten, are arguing loudly about money. Everyone in the bar pays attention, and fast, the familiar sounds of drawn weapons ringing out around them. One man gives the other a shove, and that's all the patrons need to start an all-out brawl.

"Shit," says Lu Ten, ducking to avoid an errant swing from his neighbor at the bar. The bartender hit the floor the moment his customers started swinging, and now he, Lu Ten, and Kōji are the only ones not actively fighting. "What do we do now?"

"We stay right here and find our guy," Kōji says gruffly, before promptly smashing a bottle over the head of a man who had tried to engage him in a scuffle. "The fight started right after we showed up. Someone must have recognized me and needed to create a diversion. Come on."

Kōji pushes away from his seat and heads towards the back of the bar, navigating his way through the flying fists and falling bodies. Lu Ten has to cough a couple of times as he follows, his throat feeling tighter than before, probably because of all the dust the crowd is kicking up.

"Won't he leave through the front?" Lu Ten whisper-shouts in the chaos.

"I've been here once before, years ago," Kōji replies. "There's an exit out back. I'm willing to bet we can cut him off from there."

Lu Ten coughs again and follows, relieved to be getting away from the mess of the bar. They get to a wooden door where someone is beating the crap out of someone else, and Kōji effortlessly pushes him out of the way. He yanks open the door to reveal a dim hallway leading to a back room.

"In there," says Kōji as Lu Ten slams the door behind them. "You ready to fight?"

"Sure," Lu Ten says, more confidently than he feels. He lets out a breath that comes out like a wheeze, and he fights the oncoming cough so severely it feels like he's choking on it.

Kōji enters the room.

"Duck!" roars the older man, tackling Lu Ten to the ground as a large arrow whizzes past them into the dark hallway. At the end of the room, one man has a crossbow, and there have to be at least six or seven men besides that. They move at once, attempting to surround Kōji and Lu Ten, so Lu Ten rolls out from under the older man, withdrawing his katana as he does and leaping to a stand. He immediately goes to defend Kōji, but when Lu Ten glances over, Kōji’s already bludgeoned someone and is swinging his mace around furiously.

Lu Ten takes the shooter, leaping forward to slice in half the arrow that had been knocked and jabbing their attacker with his sword. The man yells out in pain, but when Lu Ten gets a good look it's not their target, so he withdraws the katana kicks high, hitting the man in the head and knocking him out.

They're down five versus two, now, and it would feel like fair odds if Lu Ten didn't think he was having an asthma attack. The thrill of the fight is familiar enough that his body responds practically on instinct, but he coughs and coughs the whole time, sounding as though he'll hack up a lung. The coughs wrack him so violently that when he takes down another opponent, two more manage to subdue him, grabbing him by his hair and pressing a blade to his throat.

I survived the war, Lu Ten thinks almost hysterically, and I'm going to die at the hands of thieves.

"Bǎi!" Kōji practically screeches, and the hand at his throat is knocked away by a mound of earth. Lu Ten processes in slow motion this turn of events - he looks out the window, which has shattered, and back to his assailants, who are fighting Kōji from across the room. Kōji is yelling and snarling and practically foaming at the mouth.

He is also earthbending, Lu Ten realizes too slowly, as more rocks go sailing past his head and into the attackers.

He's earthbending. There's earthbending here. Kōji, his friend, is an earthbender.

Lu Ten knows he's still kneeling on the ground, and that four very violent men are attacking Kōji, but it's just so hard to breathe, and earthbending is so loud, why is it always so loud?

There's a shout, somewhere, and another rock rushes past Lu Ten, but this time it nicks his ear. Lu Ten inhales, sharp and violent, and the noisy earth falls away to the crackle of flames and smoke. Someone is shrieking. Lu Ten inhales again, and everything around him is a reddish-orange color. It's good and bad all at once, but even though his lungs are working again, his chest still hurts so bad.

"Bǎi!" someone yells, and Lu Ten wonders who they're talking to. There are lots of Bǎis, in both the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom. He hopes it's not a fallen soldier - the man sounds worried. Lu Ten would hate for him to be disappointed.

"Bǎi!" comes the voice again, and Lu Ten's vision clears just long enough to see a round, worried face.

"Dad?" he asks, and the red-orange fades ever-so-slowly to black.

-

-

-

When Lu Ten comes to, he's surrounded by the bodies of his friends. Last he remembered the earthbenders had crossed no man's land in a desperate move, doubtlessly hoping to keep the firebenders from making way on yet another of their walls. Lu Ten had felt for the Earth Kingdom soldiers, of course, but he never thought for a minute they'd succeed. His father was the general, after all, and his father was very good at war.

But it would seem they had been successful, in the end, and the corpses that surrounded him proved it. They're piled on man-made mountains, crushed between enormous boulders, disfigured beyond all possible recognition. Lu Ten moves to stand, a dull ache in his core, and is shocked to find that his legs still work. A voice in his head insists they don't, but then how could he possibly be standing?

He limps around the massacre numbly, unsure what is up and what is down in the aftermath of what seems to have been an explosion, or maybe a very powerful earthquake. He checks every body he passes, even the ones without faces, but every single one is dead. Lu Ten realizes with a start he is the only surviving member of his regiment. That he, the captain, did not go down with his ship. What a miracle. What a shame.

The idea that strikes him is vile and cowardly, but he's removing his decorations and insignia before he can stop himself. The body at his feet is mangled and torn asunder, as though it has been held down and stretched. Its face is nothing but exposed bone and meat, and when Lu Ten switches out his identifiers for the dead body's, it almost feels like he really did die today.

Lu Ten climbs one of the hills created by the earthbenders and looks to the sky. He can see mountains beyond, the Northern Mountains, he's sure. Maybe he can get there. Steal some Earth Kingdom clothes. Pretend his life is not his own. Suddenly there is a low groan from the ground below, and Lu Ten practically tumbles off the hill in search of it. A man, no, a boy is lying at the base of the rocky hill, his leg trapped beneath it. He's pale, paler than Lu Ten has ever seen him -

"Zhen," Lu Ten whispers, cradling the boy's head. He's known Zhen since childhood, the younger brother of one of Lu Ten's closest schoolmates. Lu Ten had insisted he was too young to go to war, but Zhen had fought bitterly for the great honor of serving his nation.

"Lu Ten?" Zhen says, and when he coughs blood stains his lips. In a moment of weakness, Lu Ten wonders if it would have been easier if Zhen had just died with the rest. Lu Ten removes his coat one-armed, taking care to still hold Zhen's head.

"What are you doing, Captain?" the boy asks, barely keeping his eyes open.

"This is going to hurt," Lu Ten says bracingly, shoving the coat in Zhen's mouth and instructing him to bite down. Finally allowing Zhen's head to drop softly to the ground, he moves over to the spot where the boy's leg is stuck. Lu Ten unsheaths the katana he won in a gambling match from his belt and takes a breath, then slices clean through at the juncture between rock and flesh. Zhen barely has time to react before Lu Ten is creating flame against the skin to cauterize the wound, and even with the makeshift gag, Zhen’s screams of pain echo throughout the battlefield. They are going to have to move the minute the skin has closed.

After what feels like forever, Zhen's leg finally stops bleeding. Zhen has stopped screaming as well, and when Lu Ten stands he sees that the boy has passed out. He bends down, hauling Zhen up by the middle and tossing him over his shoulder. Lu Ten almost keels over with the weight, so he stops a moment, shedding his armor and sword and pack, hoping that they'll find a generous healer on their journey north. Lu Ten doesn't want to try their luck with the Earth Kingdom army. They've already shown their cards.

He heads towards the mountains in a daze, Zhen a dead weight on his back as he navigates the smoke and the rubble. Just getting out of the battlefield feels impossible, but the futility of his task does not slow him down.

Lu Ten needs to help Zhen. He needs to leave the war behind. He needs to be anywhere else right now.

Exhausted, delirious, and unaware of his own broken leg, Lu Ten marches on.

-

-

-

Lu Ten sits straight up in bed when he wakes, gasping for air. It takes him a few minutes to remember where he is, especially since he wakes up in the cool summer evening, and the room is illuminated by a bizarre twilight he can't remember noticing before. He lets his breathing slow as he realizes he's safe in Kōji's house, a bowl of water and a neatly-folded washcloth sitting on the table beside him. His lungs, blessedly, accept the air he brings in, without burning or hacking away.

The job, he assumes, did not go well.

Kōji is nowhere to be seen. Lu Ten wonders for a moment if maybe the older man gave up, packed his things and left, before realizing how stupid he's being. This is Kōji's house. Lu Ten splashes his face with the water and rises to a stand, wincing in pain as he does so. His head feels like someone hit it with a club.

Or a mace.

Pushing forward, Lu Ten walks out back to the garden, where Kōji is watering his plants. He barely even looks up, just makes a small nod of acknowledgment and continues his work. Lu Ten had intended to have this conversation standing, to retain some dignity, but his pounding head protests, and he all but collapses into the nearby chair.

Lu Ten rubs hard at the back of his head, knowing more pain is counterintuitive but digging in with the base of his palm anyway. After a few moments, Kōji joins him in the adjacent chair, his bones cracking as he leans back.

"You could've mentioned you were a firebender," the older man says at last. The wind chimes tinkle gently around them, and the scent of fresh berries carry over to where they sit. There is no anger, or even surprise in Kōji's voice. Just a gentle reprimand, like a father would give to their adventurous child.

"You could've mentioned it was a wooden city," Lu Ten says. Kōji smiles, a small, soft thing. He does not laugh like he usually might, and for some reason Lu Ten feels 15 again, sneaking his secret girlfriend into the palace at night, like his father is saying Lu Ten could've just told him.

"You were right," Kōji says, which definitely throws Lu Ten for a loop. "I should've mentioned some things upfront. I didn't want to spook you away from the job, and I didn't want to spook you away by earthbending, either."

Lu Ten doesn't say anything. Just the sound of the word makes him want to get up and run, which is pathetic of him, considering he probably burnt a building down and Kōji is talking like he took a few silver pieces without permission.

"Guess we gotta start being straight with each other, here on out," Kōji continues. "Either that, or maybe we shouldn't be working together."

Lu Ten's stomach somersaults at the very suggestion. He knows, logically, that this is only his first attempt at a new life, that things don't always work on the first try, and if this life with Kōji isn't what he's meant for, well, he'll find something else. The thing is, though, Lu Ten's always gotten stuff on the first try. It's kind of his thing. And Kōji...Kōji is everything and nothing like his father, just the right middle-ground that makes him feel safe at home and far from the Fire Nation all at once.

"There are some things I can't tell you," Lu Ten says plainly, trying not to let his nerves show. Kōji just sighs.

"Yeah, I don't know what I expected," he says, still smiling. "Is there anything you can tell me?"

Lu Ten hesitates, trying to parse through the pieces of his life and figure out what bits are need-to-know.

"Earthbenders killed my men. My friend," Lu Ten says slowly. "I grew up with him. I've known him since he was nine. They crushed his leg and left him there to die."

Kōji hums appreciatively.

"I was taking the low road to the west for a job, and that's when I spotted you and your friend to the south," Kōji says. "You weren't too far from here, but no, you didn't get all the way to my house on that leg. Also, I have a kid, but they're not around much. About your age."

The last admission is hardly a surprise. Kōji may be loathe to admit it, but he’s a natural caretaker, and there’s a terrible loneliness about him Lu Ten had never understood until now. Lu Ten and Kōji look at one another in a sort of mutual understanding. Neither man has said all that probably needs to be said, but still, the air is lighter and things feel easier between them. Cleaner, somehow.

“How’d I hurt my head?” asks Lu Ten after a while.

“Passed out,”  Kōji chuckles. “Hit the floor hard.”

"What happened to the target?" Lu Ten asks, an afterthought he hadn't considered until just now.

"Dead. Fortunately, they still paid up. Showed them the tattoo as proof."

"And the others?" Lu Ten says cautiously.

"Burnt to a crisp," Kōji says simply. Then, upon seeing Lu Ten's nervous reaction, he adds, "Don't worry. I made sure they were dead before we left. As far as anyone in Mùchéng's concerned, some fool kicked over a candle."

Lu Ten nods in silent thanks, even as he feels a pang of guilt for the unecessary death. He trusts Kōji, likes him a lot, but he's not really sure why the older man keeps covering for him. Maybe it's for the same reason Lu Ten's so eager to stick around - they're both missing something they lost, and looking for something new.

"We'll have to get used to each other's, you know. Skills," Kōji says awkwardly. Lu Ten agrees, despite the fear in his chest. "I say we start small. Candles and clay and things like that."

Lu Ten nods again, snapping his fingers and producing a tiny flicker of light. Kōji follows suit, reaching down to pick up a rock and crushing it between his fingers. Lu Ten watches, making sure to keep his flame controlled, as Kōji shapes and reshapes the earth. It's not so bad, here, in this context, when Kōji's earthbending resembles pottery more than anything else.

"What do you say?" Kōji asks, finally bending the rock to sand and letting it float away on the summer wind. Lu Ten similarly closes his hand, putting out his fire. "You wanna give hunting another go?"

"Why not?" Lu Ten says grinning. Kōji smiles back at him, and Lu Ten feels with absolute certainty that their next expedition will go better. "Can I just ask one more thing?"

"Shoot, kid," Kōji says as he rises from his seat.

"Show me where you buried my friend?"

Kōji stops in place, eyes widening in surprise. Then he nods solemnly, leading Lu Ten out of the garden and down a winding valley path, which intersects with the road they traveled to Mùchéng. Lu Ten’s head is still pouding, but he fights it off in order to show some respect to Zhen. Kōji points Lu Ten to a small hill, a lump of freshly-turned earth marked by a large stone. At first, the sight makes Lu Ten's throat well up all over again, until he moves closer and finds that Kōji has shaped the stone into a crude rendering of the Fire Nation symbol. His chest loosens again as he reaches out to smooth his fingers over the stone. It's not so bad, really, to be buried beneath the earth, but it's not what Zhen would have wanted.

"Is it...is it possible we could dig him out?" Lu Ten asks in as steady a voice as he can muster. Kōji says nothing, just raises his eyebrows in confusion.

"I want to give him his funeral rites," Lu Ten clarifies.

Kōji moves forward and moves into a careful stance, his face furrowed in concentration. Slowly, gently, the mound rumbles and falls away to reveal an almost fully deteriorated body wrapped in a blanket. Lu Ten takes a deep breath, mumbles a few words of farewell and thanks, and bends a wall of fire befitting of such a soldier.

He moves to stand beside Kōji as Zhen's ashes scatter around them. Kōji stands with his hands clasped, head bowed solemnly. Lu Ten is in a similar stance, but refuses to look away from the pyre he has created, focusing all of his thoughts on his friend, a tribute that has come much too late. When it is done, only Zhen's bones remain. Kōji buries the bones, just as before, and Lu Ten resets the grave marker.

"Thank you," he tells Kōji. It doesn't feel like nearly enough, but it's all he can say, for now. Kōji just grunts in reply. As they walk back to the house, Lu Ten's stomach settles for the first time in days. He knows it's only temporary, but he thinks he feels at ease.

[fic-for-fic-sake]

Watch Your Words

A/N: I have a few oneshots waiting in the wings and while normally I would wait a while between posts I figured with the state of the world right now (and me being off work for two weeks) fuck it, let’s just post em. 

Pairing: Steve x reader

Warnings: none really

Winter was probably Steve’s least favorite season for many reasons, chief among them being that it reminded him of being in the ice for all those years. Ever since waking up from the ice he understandably hated the cold and did his best to avoid it at all costs. In the winter he did his workout inside, preferring to run on the treadmill rather than risk hypothermia in the New York atmosphere. So today was no different, he had gone down to the gym first thing in the morning to get his run in, just to get his blood pumping, before he went to the kitchen to pour himself some much needed coffee. 

To his surprise you were also in the kitchen, which was odd given the hour. You were a late riser so to say he was puzzled was a bit of an understatement. 

“You’re up early.” He noticed, walking into the kitchen and sitting on the opposite side of the island from where you were currently positioned, scrolling through your phone with an unreadable expression. 

“My friend woke me up about an hour ago and I couldn’t go back to bed, so here I am.” You said, waving your arms around you in a sweeping gesture. Steve noticed that your oversized sleep shirt was falling off of one of your shoulders and he wondered if that was purposeful or not. He went with the latter, you didn’t seem to notice, too busy lost in your thoughts. 

“Why was your friend awake so early?” He questioned, remembering the detail you revealed just moments before. 

“Technically it’s not early for her. She’s working in Barcelona so she’s six hours ahead of me. Right now it’s one o’clock in the afternoon for her.” 

“You think she would’ve remembered the time difference.” Steve noted, running his hand through his sandy blond locks. 

“She’s normally better about that kind of thing but she had good news to tell me that she said couldn’t wait. She got offered a job here in New York and she thinks she’s gonna take it so she will no longer have to wake me up at the crack of dawn.” You said, face splitting in a full face smile, and it was infectious. Steve found himself smiling as well, your happiness making him happy for you. 

“When was the last time you saw her?” 

“About seven months ago, right before she left.” 

“I bet you’re excited she’s coming back.” Steve commented, seeing that your smile hadn’t left your face since you mentioned this friend of yours. 

“That I am Rogers. Oh! I’m about to make some coffee, you want any?” You questioned, moving towards the machine in the corner. 

“Yeah sure, that’d be great.” Steve responded, he was about to tell you how he took his coffee but you cut in. 

“Black with two sugars.” You said, sly smile creeping across your face and Steve thinks this is the most lively he’s seen you in the morning probably ever. 

“How’d you know?” 

“You drink the same thing every day, it’s not hard to remember.” You chuckled more to yourself than to him, “Maybe try switching it up sometimes. Variety is good for you.” 

“What’s that saying about old dogs and new tricks?” He teased back, pulling his own phone out of his pocket to check the news apps, see if there was anything worth his time today. He was in his own world of thought as you were looking through the pantry for sugar and cream. He heard you grab two mugs, two spoons, and the telltale sound of you pouring (way too much) milk in your coffee. Why bother, at that point it isn’t coffee anymore, Steve thought to himself with an amused expression on his face. 

He saw you place the steaming mug of black gold before him and he gave a hum of thanks as you sat down across from him, each of you absorbed in your own world. That’s what he liked the most about you, that you didn’t need to constantly talk to each other, you could just exist in the same space and that was enough for you. Steve talked so much during press conferences and events that he appreciated that he didn’t really need to say all that much with you, but you still considered it quality time. 

Steve took a generous swig of his coffee, appreciating the bitter taste on his tongue and how he could feel it work its way down the back of his throat when he heard you begin to hum to yourself. He didn’t think much of it until you said a certain phrase out loud. 

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?” You sang softly and Steve found himself choking on his coffee. 

“Oh my God Steve, are you okay?” You questioned, walking around to his side of the island and patting him on his back as he tried to calm himself down from his choking fit. 

“What did you just say?” He questioned, trying hard to force a much needed breath into his lungs. 

“I asked if you were okay.” You stated, dumbfounded. 

“No, no, before that, you were singing.” 

“Oh, you mean ‘Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?’ it’s just part of a song.” You explained, confused as to why that brought on his sudden fit. 

“You do know what that phrase means, right?” He questioned. You shook your head ‘no’ in response and Steve felt his face turn a deep shade of red. 

“Steve, what does it mean?” You prodded, poking him in the ribs with your pointer finger. 

“It means, ‘will you sleep with me tonight’ in French.” He translated. 

“Oh” Was all you could manage as a response, surprise clearly etched on your face at the suggestion of the phrase, but your shock was only for a moment, before a cheshire cat like smile dragged its way across your face. “Well...will you?” 

For the second time that morning Steve choked on his coffee, “I’m sorry, what?” was all he could manage. 

You turned him so he was completely facing you and placed both of your hands on his large shoulders. You lowered yourself so you were eye level with him and Steve swore his heartbeat intensified ten fold as he stared into your earnest gaze. 

“Did I stutter?”

[darth-el]

Escapism

Pairing: Billy x Reader Warnings: Fluff, angst, underage drinking, drink driving (don’t do it kids), gambling, it also gets a bit steamy at the end A/N: This is a direct sequel to “You’re So Damn Hypnotised” which you can find here this was so much fun to write. I hope you all enjoy and feedback is always welcomed

Masterlist

Part 1

You spent the first few hours of Christmas Day in Las Vegas which involved going to a casino, trying your hand at Blackjack and on the drive to LA you hanging out the car window in the desert yelling happily and sharing a bottle of expensive champagne as Billy drove to your destination. “$600!” Billy laughed happily hitting the steering wheel as you fed him some champagne messily and getting it over him.

“I'm lucky,” You laughed taking a drink from the bottle yourself.

“You're fucking magic Y/L/N,” He cackled loudly, this was the happiest he had been in a long time.

“Yes I am darling.” You winked as you handed him the bottle. You grabbed your camera from the back seat and took a photo of him as he drank. “Magic – 25/12/84”.  

You pulled up to the hotel and the valet opened the door to Billy's car. Billy was in awe at the hotel because he knew this was of the most expensive hotels in Los Angeles and looked at you who smiled at him innocently as you helped the bellhop with the bags. You took his hand and led him into the reception desk. The lobby was filled with mahogany, deep reds, and gilt with a beautiful gold and crystal chandelier hanging above, that was the centrepiece of the room. It screamed old Hollywood glamour. You both suddenly felt insecure like you didn't belong there. Billy leaned on the desk waiting for the receptionist to come out from the back. The moment she walked out Billy adjusted his position so he was facing her fully and ran his fingers through his hair and gave her his cocky smile which made you roll your eyes and exhale with irritation. “We have a reservation under Y/L/N.” Billy's voice was low and husky which annoyed you even more.

“Yes, I've got you here,” The receptionist said looking shy as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “Your father booked the Gable & Lombard suite for you.” She smiled handing Billy two sets of keys and Billy winked at her as he thanked her.

“Do you really have to flirt with anything that's got a pulse?” Your voice was venomous as you stormed off, the bellhop laughed at your comment. Your reaction slightly shocked Billy, but he quickly regained his smile as he caught up and draped his arm over your shoulder.

“You scared you're not going to be my number one girl?” This was the most cocky you'd ever seen him as you threw his arm of your shoulder.

“I'm not your girl sweetheart.” You glance at him feeling slightly cocky yourself.

The room was beautiful. It was airy and had large windows which looked over the swimming pool below. You realised the suite was two floors and a private rooftop garden. Your mouths were open in admiration. “Dad actually came through,” You whispered to yourself softly walking in slowly. You realised you hadn't blinked where you were in shock. You looked at Billy who was standing in the doorway himself unsure of what to say. He started stuttering and fumbling over his words and you moved gracefully through your surroundings and making your way upstairs to claim your room. Your room had a giant mahogany four post bed with red silk draped over the top and red and white blankets. The walls decorated with photos of Carol Lombard and Clark Gable. The bathroom was bigger than your bedroom at home. You made your way to Billy's room which was on the other side of the suite. You lean on the door frame watching him unpack as you stroked the wood you were leaning on mindlessly. “I'm going to go upstairs and watch the sunset if you want to join.” You said with a warmth in your voice and slightly making him jump because he didn't realise you were there, he just nodded in response smiling. He unpacked a couple more things before joining you up on the rooftop. You were leaning over the painted brick wall smoking a cigarette. Your hair was messy and curly, Billy thought you looked a bit like Stevie Nick's and Nancy Spungen's love child. The camera was perched on the wall next to you. He picked it up and took a photo of you staring at the fiery sky. The sunset made you look golden, in the background was the Hollywood sign. “Did you know that when the Hollywood sign was first constructed in 1923 it said Hollywoodland?” You let the smoke escape from between your lips. You turned around putting cigarette between your lips and tilted your head back enjoying the last of the sun while propping yourself up on the wall using your elbows. Billy took another photo of you, he couldn't describe what he saw in you at that moment but you were glowing. You walked over to him and looked up at him taking the cigarettes out from between your lips and he held out his hand for the pen which you happily gave him. The first one was titled “Gable & Lombard – 25/12/84” with his signature “B” next to it and titled the one of you basking in the sun light “Hollywoodland – 25/12/84 B”. You smiled up at him and walked over to the bar which is very well stocked and poured yourself and him a vodka. There was a small conversation pit with comfortable seats and a fire pit in the middle. He started to light the fire as you handed him his vodka and sat opposite him. The light from both the sun and the fire made it feel like a dream. “Happy Christmas.” You giggled as you raised your glass to Billy who was stretched out on the seat opposite you.

“I am never leaving here,” Billy laughed taking a sip of his vodka, you could tell he was content. You had both escaped from the confides of Hawkins and became unlikely partners in crime. “I can't believe this is your life.” Billy peered at you over his sunglasses as he took another sip of his vodka.

“It's not,” You said biting your lip laughing and he furrowed his brows like he didn't believe you. “This is my dad's life.” You flicked your cigarette into the fire and chuckled. “My life is the sleazy motels.” You shaked your head still chuckling.

“There's photos of you with Motley Crue and Joan Jett.” Billy smiled at you like he was saying “do you expect to me to believe that?”

“My dad is the sleazy yuppie,” It clicked suddenly why you hated yuppies but also slept with them and Billy could see you had reached epiphany on your face. “Oh for fuck sake,” You said laughing and rolling your eyes. “Anyway, I am the daughter who was raised both amongst that, but also away from the money.” You downed vodka in one hoping it would erase what you just figured out.

“Want to talk about it?” Billy looked at you as you got up to get another vodka.

“I'm textbook,” You threw up your hands clutching onto the glass still laughing like it was so obvious and you couldn't believe you didn't realise this before.

“You're expecting me to know what that means?” Billy was visibly confused by this and lit up a cigarette using the fire in front of him.

“No,” You retorted snatching the bottle from the bar and bringing it over to the firepit. “And you're not going to know.” You smiled as you sat down and poured another glass.

“I have an idea,” Billy tilted his head at you watching your features soften out of curiosity. “It's a surprise though.” Billy's cocky smile had returned and you rolled your eyes and threw a small ice cube at him from your glass missing him which made him laugh because of how bad your aim was.

The next day Billy woke you up early by banging on the door loudly. He was never an early riser on this trip, unless he had a hangover, which was not the case today. You opened the door still half asleep rubbing your eyes and in your t-shirt and panties. “I'm busy.” You yawned sounding slightly annoyed that he interrupted your sleep. He was dressed in patterned shirt buttoned lazily and a pair of swimming trunks with a small duffel bag in hand. “Get dressed, and bring a swimsuit.” He rested his arm on the door above his head as he watched grab things out of your suitcase and reminding yourself to unpack that night. You grabbed a towel to go for shower. “We're leaving in 10,” Billy stated and you threw your towel on the bed as you needed a shower before you did anything. “You're going to need that as well.” He couldn't take his eyes off you until you went into the bathroom to get changed.

“Close your eyes,” He ordered and obeyed as he got out the car. You didn't know how long he was gone for as you could feel yourself drifting into a sleep but it made you jump when the door opened again.

“Can I open them?” You asked expecting Billy's voice to be next to you in the driver's seat.

“Not yet,” Billy made you jump as he was next to you on the passenger side and he took your hand to helped you out the car. “Keep your eyes closed, but jump on my back,” You jumped on Billy's back and wrapped yourself around him as he held you up with ease. You could hear the ground was rocky and you would have probably injured yourself walking along it with your eyes closed. You could really smell Billy's cologne lingering. It was a smell that you were beginning to appreciate. You could hear waves hitting the ground getting closer before he set you down on sand. “You can open them,” Billy stood in front of you on a deserted beach with a couple of surfboards waiting for you.

“I'm going to teach you how to surf.” He laughed and your stomach filled with dread as you know this was not going to end well.

The sun was overhead and it was hot. Billy was a really good teacher, but you quickly learnt surfing was not for you. You did however feel your confidence growing which was swiftly removed when you wiped out in a dramatic way. Billy rushed over to you as you returned to the surface. He carefully held your face and gently checked you for any head injuries. “Are you okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned.

“The wind was knocked out of me, but I'm fine.” You smiled up at him as he removed your wet hair out of your face. You never realised how blue his eyes actually were, you felt like you were getting lost in them.

“Do you want a break?” He said softly still holding your face and you nodded gently not breaking eye contact.

Back on shore you watched Billy practice doing what he loved and it really showed he loved it. Your camera was next you and you decided to take a couple of photos. Your favourite one was when he was walking out of the ocean with the board under his arm. The sun bounced off his wet skin making him look like he was glowing. As he sat down next to you lit a cigarette and passed it to him.“This is the right way to be spending Boxing Day,” You chuckled to yourself as you lit up your own cigarette. He looked at you confused by this statement. “The day after Christmas, in my family we take it literally.” You explained badly as you had no idea why it was called Boxing Day. All you knew was that you had front row seats to the family boxing match. Sometimes you were even thrown into the ring yourself.

“You Brits have really strange traditions.” He said slowly as he tried to wrap his head around the concept of Boxing Day and thought you meant it was a day where families fought out their grievances using their fists.

“Tradition is just peer pressure from dead people.” You put your sunglasses on and laid down and started working on your tan. Billy found himself admiring how you looked in your white bikini. He thought you kind of looked like a Bond girl but better. You heard the whir of the camera which meant Billy had taken another photo of you. It started to feel like you were each others personal photographer where you had taken so many of each other. You had taken some of your best photos on this journey and he had taken some of the best photos of you you had ever seen.

The days between Boxing Day and New Years eve were filled with Billy taking you to some of his favourite places, or taking you hiking up to the Hollywood sign. You also learnt the harsh truth that you had no appropriate shoes for hiking which resulted in Billy carrying over his shoulder up to the sign and back down again. You also had your photos taken with Marlon Brando, Clara Bow, Ava Gardner, and James Dean's stars among others. Billy didn't realise you had a love of film. You ended up talking about your love film with him which turned into you talking about your love of art, in particular pop and abstract art. You also spoke to him about literature and how you regretted not getting more drugs for the trip and doing it like Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas. He was hanging on your every word, he was starting to think about how he was so wrong about you. You were well educated, you were creative, and you definitely weren't a stuck up bitch like he first thought, but he knew he wasn't right for you and he had to accept that.

New Years Eve came and you went to the gig. You were dressed up in a leather dress that you made yourself and fishnets. Accepting that you deserved someone more like you was difficult for Billy, so he kept his distance from you and started flirting with the barmaid. This was getting tiresome for you to watch. You weren't sure why it upset you so much. The band came on and they exploded on the stage and pulled Billy to the front to dance. You were captivated by their energy. The lead singer was beautiful. You were starstruck. He noticed you dancing in the crowd and you could feel the sparks between you two. It became clear when he pulled you up on stage to dance, along with two other girls. After the show you went to find Billy who was at the bar chatting up some woman, so you left him to it. While you were waiting to order your drink you felt a hand snake up your back. “You've got some moves.” A voice whispered. You looked around and it was the lead singer. You bit your lip and as you got your drink you found yourself being led over to where the band were sitting. You were getting drunk, and Billy was watching you, not taking much notice of the girl who was flirting with him. He left the moment you straddled the lead singer's lap and started making out with him. You felt his hands explore your body. The kiss was messy and it looked like it was passionate, but that's exactly what it was lacking. You felt his hands on your hips starting guide you so you would be grinding against him. You broke away from the kiss. “I've got to make you life changing phone call.” You smiled at him trying to look seductive. You climbed off him and made your way to a pay phone with him in tow. You phoned your dad and the lead singer's hands were still all over you. He started bite and kiss your neck making you giggle. “Hi daddy,” You said in a drunk, sweet voice pushing the lead singer away playfully only for him to hold you tighter and be more rough at your neck. “The band were great, you need to get in touch with their manager and sign them.” You giggled and your dad was pleased with you liking the band and promised he would do so. “Don't sleep with them. Please.” He implored down the phone before saying goodbye and hanging up.

“We're going to a party soon, with some really good shit if you want to come.” The lead singer's hands were groping your ass as whispered in your ear. You looked at him and you felt nothing.

“I can't, I'm in recovery,” You pushed him away and lied through your teeth. “My dad is going to contact your manager for a record deal.” You shouted as you walked away.

The downstairs of the hotel suite was empty when you got back, but the lights were on meaning Billy was there. You went up to his room and there was silence. You knocked on the door and there was nothing. You decided to go upstairs and Billy was leaning over the wall with a cigarette in hand and a glass of vodka watching the fireworks. He heard you drunkenly stumble slightly in your heels as you made his way over to him. “Where's that pretty boy lead singer?” He asked flatly not looking at you.

“Didn't want him.” You shrugged leaning on the wall next to him taking the cigarette out of his hand and taking a drag on it watching the fireworks. He looked at you perplexed by this. You looked up at him, behind the drunkenness there was something behind your eyes. You flicked the cigarette over the edge and kissed him which took him by surprise before easing into the kiss himself. You instantly felt the passion that lacked in your first kiss of the night. Not breaking the kiss he picked you up and lifted you onto the wall. His arms wrapped around you and your legs wrapped around him. You could feel his hands take the time to appreciate every inch of your body, it was simultaneously gentle and passionate. It was like he had been waiting for this for a long time. You ran your fingers through his hair and lightly tugged at it when he started making his way down your neck nipping at it. It wasn't until he started sucking on what turned out to be your sweet spot that you let out breathy moan. He broke away from your neck and you moaned from the lack of contact. You were pouting slightly because of this. Your eyes looked innocent as gazed up him, but he felt like they could turn into something else at any minute. “Do you want to take this to bedroom?” He whispered cupping your chin and stroking your pouting bottom lip with his thumb. You couldn't take your eyes off him, you couldn't speak any words. You just nodded as he pulled you off the wall and down the stairs to his bedroom.

[spookyblackwidow]

Fanfic request: Natasha's having nightmares and is getting super sleep deprived and it's kind of making her sick, and Clint notices and confronts her about it?

Author’s note: Nightmares are literally one of my favorite things to write about?? BLESS YOU. This is way longer than anticipated, but I hope you enjoy!

Weakness

2552 words

Natasha jolted awake, sweat beading on her forehead, a gun clutched in her hand, trained on an imaginary threat. The fear faded, slowly, as she became aware of her familiar surroundings, the antique furniture of the bedroom in her primary safe house just outside New York City. She shook off the dream and forced her ragged breathing to slow, an attempt to counteract her racing heart. It was just past 2 a.m., and, although she hadn’t been asleep long, she had enough experience to know she’d be awake for quite a while.

The glow of streetlights seeped through the blinds, softly illuminating strips of laminate beneath her feet. She made her way to the kitchen, resisting the innate urge to flip on lights and ensure her safety, certain enough of her movements and the reality that the danger she’d just emerged from would remain firmly in her mind, unable to creep out into existence. Realism and denial were programmed into her, a staunch refusal to take things at face value ingrained over years of reprogramming, the aliases and brainwashing that never seemed to end, no light at the end of a labyrinth. Tunnels were too linear, too neat, too easy to navigate. Her life had been a messy nightmare she couldn’t quite shake, no matter how much time had passed since she’d defected, since she’d last been unmade.

The kettle whistled, an agonizingly sharp whine burrowing its way into her exhausted brain. She swore under her breath and turned off the burner, annoyed she’d gotten so wrapped up inside her thoughts she’d lost awareness of her surroundings. Something wound through her legs, further startling her, the black shadow begging for attention, acknowledgement, anything.

“Fucking hell, Liho,” Natasha grumbled into her steaming mug of tea, her perpetually icy fingers clutching the ceramic, greedily absorbing its warmth. Carefully stepping around the way-too-fucking-alert cat, she settled into an oversized chair and clicked on a lamp, the pale light fighting against the encroaching darkness an all too familiar sight.

She picked up a book, its spine cracked, the edges worn and faded, a relic from a previous life, from back when she could dissociate enough to get lost in a story. It was one of the few things she’d carried with her into the Red Room, always safely stashed away under a mattress, stuffed in a threadbare pillowcase, buried within a carefully carved hole in the wall. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to hold onto it through all the identities she’d been given, and whatever original meaning it had held was gone, but she liked the idea of having a tangible reminder of the innocent girl she’d once been. She’d tried night after night for years, but she couldn’t bring herself to read it, opting instead to study the dog-eared corners, the inked drawings scattered throughout, mostly doodles scribbled by unknown hands, each an everlasting mark of the book’s history.

Natasha paged through it, seeing but not comprehending the Cyrillic characters of her native tongue. This had become her nightly ritual, a way to detach from whatever horrible vision had awoken her, actions that would hopefully calm her enough to be able to sleep again, although it was never for long. How many years had she been sleeping so fitfully? Her whole life? Or maybe just the last several identities? She’d lost too much time, too much trust in reality to ever be sure. She closed her eyes, but she knew there’d be no more rest before sunrise.

Morning crept in, sunlight inching its way in through the windows, a warm hue that she might’ve derived pleasure from if this hadn’t been the eighteenth morning in a row she’d sat in the same chair, agonizingly awake, witnessing the same dreadful reminder that she’d soon be expected to do things. As it was nearing six, she figured she had just enough time to shower, get dressed, and wash her mug before the first message from Nick would arrive; after so many years working together, he was aware that she was typically an early riser, a fact he took full advantage of. Sure enough, she was placing the mug back in the cupboard when she got the call to come in.

She considered making breakfast, but her stomach turned, the mere idea of eating seemed revolting. The dull ache behind her eyes reminded her that skipping another meal was definitely not what she should be doing, but the food aversion won out, a side effect she’d mentally catalogued and shoved aside long ago.

Her debriefing was short—a routine tracking job, a potential hit, more busy work than anything. Nick handed her a new identity to become familiar with in the event she was cornered, along with one for Clint; it was officially a Strike Team: Delta mission, not that she needed the help, although she would be grateful for the company. As always, they’d improvise, no overly complex maneuvers, no extraction plan. All she needed now was her dumbass best friend to show up on time.

Nick left her to wait in his office, which, under normal circumstances wouldn’t bother her, but the leather chair and wide windows felt too much like home in the most literal sense, and she was getting restless. She stood—too quickly, she soon realized—and paced, her empty stomach complaining, small bursts of light dancing in her peripherals. She blinked away the spots, certain they’d been gold, although they’d simply been white earlier, as they should be. No, they shouldn’t be there at all.

Clint entered as she returned to her seat, physically drained, her head fuzzy and aching. His smile was exuberant, but his eyes flickered with concern, a quick once-over confirming that something was very much not okay with Nat. He shot her a knowing look before pasting the smile back on for Nick’s benefit; Clint acted like an idiot most of the time, but he knew better than to let anyone else worry about his best friend.

Natasha let her eyes track the birds flitting past the windows, slightly iridescent rock pigeons swooping about, bouncing across various ledges and sills, their feathers ruffling in the breeze. She was only faintly aware of Nick droning on in the background, her mind miles away, drifting somewhere among the birds. Clouds of smoke billowed up outside, the thick grey choking out parts of the city, flooding her vision until she could see nothing else. Her muscles tensed, heart rate steadily increasing, the flood of cortisol effectively convincing her this was how it all ended. She closed her eyes, anticipating a flash of heat, pain, and then nothing.

“Nat?” Clint placed a hand on hers, the rough pad of his thumb gently rubbing circles across her white knuckles, a familiar and instinctive action they rarely let others witness. She could hear the strain in his voice, thinly disguised as annoyance, nearly every part of their lives some sort of act, a far cry from who they were together, who they wanted to be. Having felt no other change, her body still intact, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking away the previous fogginess, restoring her sight to normal.

“Sorry, I got a little lost in thought there.” She smiled weakly, just enough to shake off concern, but not too much to raise suspicion. “Where were we?”

“Reviewing your identities. I shouldn’t have to remind you that being well-versed in your backstory could make the difference between life and death,” Nick said.

She struggled to focus through the rest of the meeting, her mind straying to the horrors that had been keeping her up at night, the visions that she knew would never truly leave her, rather mutating into increasingly unsettling versions of themselves, morphing with other memories and fears. The red in her ledge had merged with her vivid imagination, creating monstrosities she didn’t care to reveal to anyone, as letting them out of her mind, giving voice to the atrocities, would only spread the nightmare, infecting her most trusted friends with the concepts, irreparably contaminating their thoughts and dreams. She knew he would ask, as he always had in times like these, but she wouldn’t share, couldn’t willingly harm him. The secrecy would hurt him enough, he didn’t need to allow her worst fears to become his own.

He waited for the elevator doors to close before confronting her, one hand wrapped firmly around her bicep, the other pivoting her shoulder so she’d face him. Normally she’d fight back, at the very least pry his fingers off her arm, but fighting this seemed pointless. Instead, she fought the resurfacing image from the night before, the pain of Clint following through on Loki’s promise. They stood in silence a few moments as he studied her.

“You’re not sleeping, are you.” It was not a question but a final conclusion, spot-on, as always.

“Not for lack of trying.” She shrugged as much as she was able to in his grasp, which had let up only slightly.

“Nightmares again?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. My bad dreams aren’t really your concern.”

“Of course they are! Do you think I like seeing you like this? My best friend, sick, practically a zombie!” He finally released her arm to run his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not a zombie, I’m just tired,” she scowled.

“Jesus Christ, Nat.” He watched her thin fingers tap restlessly against her thigh, a telling tic she was too weak to suppress. “Have you even eaten today?”

“Not hungry.”

“Bullshit. We’re getting food in you.” Clint pushed the button for the main floor, and they descended in tense silence. She closed her eyes again, ignoring the spots in her vision, focusing solely on keeping her breathing steady as another nightmare returned to rear its head. Memories of who she used to be, the torment she suffered at the hands of her superiors, the unspeakable crimes she’d committed. Mangled screams, her hands red and bloodied, endless lists of her victims, the names half-remembered at best.

He shoved her through the lobby, down the street, and in the closest door advertising food. It was a cheap pizza joint, one he frequented after missions, usually while intoxicated, but it was the quickest option at the moment. She opened her mouth to protest, to argue that her standard of living was above eating at dollar by-the-slice pizza places that were a far cry from anything resembling a restaurant, but was immediately met with a stern glare.

“Eat.” Clint shoved a paper plate into her hands, a greasy slice of pizza covering most of it. She grimaced and took a small bite, fully aware he wouldn’t let her leave until he’d decided she’d eaten enough. It had been a few months since they’d last gone through this routine, but his food choices had not improved.

“You couldn’t have taken me some place a little nicer? I though you knew how to show a girl a good time.”

“I’ll buy you a proper meal when you learn how to feed yourself. You know, most people gorge on junk food when they’re sleep deprived.”

“I’m much more familiar with fasting.” She set her crust down on the plate, unable to force herself to finish it. “Besides, caffeine is a wonderful appetite suppressant.”

“It’s also a stimulant that can prevent you from sleeping.”

“That’s not about the caffeine, and you know it,” she snapped.

“Then tell me about it! And don’t give me some bullshit about protecting me, I’m not falling for it. You need to work through what’s keeping you awake before it kills you.”

“What part of my hellish life isn’t coming back to haunt me?” she scoffed. “My past, present, potential future. It’s all fucked, Clint, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“You wanna bet?” He smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Clinton Francis Barton, what the hell are you planning now?”

…

Later that night, Natasha sat staring at her book, gently stroking a very happy Liho who was curled up in her lap, anxiously waiting for Clint to arrive. He’d refused to tell her anything—claimed it was better if she didn’t know—and now he was late, despite the fact that he had set the time. The clock in her kitchen seemed louder than usual, the incessant ticking of the second hand stabbing at her aching head. She was moments away from breaking it when the doorbell rang. Clint was smiling, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Clint.”

“My stuff. I’m spending the night.”

“Like hell you are!” She started to close the door, but he braced himself against the doorframe and caught the edge.

“Hear me out, Nat. Please. You owe it to yourself to try.”

“Why on earth would you think this is a good idea?” Natasha crossed her arms, but she stepped back, allowing him into her safe house.

“You trust me—don’t even try to argue with me on that. Your unconscious mind is playing off your deepest fears, and you have no method of self-assurance that you’re not who you used to be. But if we trust each other enough to be openly vulnerable, how could you still be that girl? There’s also the added bonus of having an actual Avenger to protect you.”

“I hate you,” she laughed softly and smacked his arm, “but you have a point. One night, that’s it. And you’re sleeping on the floor.”

…

“Nat, please, I know you’re in there somewhere.” Clint was lying at her feet, bloodied, bruised, a blade pressed to the soft flesh beneath his jaw, the knife clutched in her hand. She scanned the room, taking in the lifeless forms of Steve, Sam, Nick. This was her body, but it was full of someone else’s idea of who she should be, the brainwashed identity pulled from the depths of her mind.

“Fallaces sunt rerum species,” she hissed. With an expert flick of her wrist, she severed his jugular and watched him bleed out.

“Nat? Nat!”

She woke in a cold sweat to find Clint, alive and well, shaking her shoulders. It was dark, but the panic was clear in the shadowed lines of his face, and, after a moment, she realized she’d been crying.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s over.” He laid down next to her and gently wiped her tears, his voice low and soothing.

“I—I killed you,” she whispered.

“Then I guess I’m the zombie now.” He grinned and instinctively flinched, expecting her to hit him.

“You’re an idiot.” Despite her best efforts, she smiled back and hoped he wouldn’t see. She cared far too much for this particular idiot, but letting that show was dangerous, a weakness she’d been trained not to let slip. But moments like these, when they were alone, allowed to be themselves, were treasured memories, the things she longed to dream about instead.

Natasha would never admit it, but Clint’s presence was comforting, so she let him stay in her bed. Curled up in his arms, her head resting on his chest, she let the steady rhythm of his heart lull her into the best sleep she’d had in weeks.

[cownoseray]

Prayer | Umbrella Academy

Several years in the past, Klaus and his company arrive in a bustling Vietnamese city after a long journey. Klaus has his first semi-religious experience.

You can also read it on my Archive down below.

—

'Bạn đã mất một ai đó?

You lost someone?

Băn khoăn hay lạc lối?

Disturbed or astray?

Kitô hữu vào bên trong.

Christians come in.'

Well, it was better than nothing.

Klaus approached the dilapidated church on the corner, less than excited to enter this "holy" building. Whether it was something to behold before or just as mediocre, the Ho Minha congregational church had seen better days. There was no bell hung in the bell tower; The roof had a few cracked or wholly absent shingles; the stained glass windows were dirty, dusty, turning Jesus' family portrait into a caricature of life in the Dust Bowl. Door hinges squealed age-old protests as he stepped through the door.

The inside was a little neater: pews in careful arrays and a podium up front, with risers just behind that might have been for the choir. Reginald was a stickler about church for a while, forced the siblings to go, so the whole thing wasn't entirely foreign. The familiarity was just too distant to touch. Bad memories had pushed it from Klaus's mind, like a kite with it's string spooled all the way out.

Klaus felt the briefest chill skitter along his spine.

He felt a little uncomfortable just standing. His sleeveless jacket showed his many tattoos to, for all he knew, some Buddhist God or Monk that curated the church. He was doing a shit job if there was, and the scruffy little man got the feeling it still wasn't the case.

Klaus ran a callused finger along the back of a pew. His pad came back dusty. Was it a Vietnamese rule to not clean anything more than twice a year? Klaus rubbed his finger and thumb to dispell the muck and walked on to the very first pew. Somewhere in the surrounding halls, music echoed, muted, like the sound of solemn chimes playing in tandem.

"Ya'aseh shalom...ya'aseh shalom..."

Gee.

What had Klaus come here for? He almost forgot. With the whole lack of sanctity and the almost complete lack of people (excluding the Vietnamese woman who very clearly avoided being in the same room with him).

"Oseh shalom bim' romav....aleinu, v'al kol yisrael..."

It sounded something like Hindu or Hebrew, whatever that language was called. Jewish folk occupied one-half of the Christian Church, apparently. Fuck it. It was Vietnam. The fact that this temple had been converted to a Christian hideaway meant it was an act found by coercion. Any and all churches they found along the war path would probably have the same origins. Klaus might've questioned the morality of the whole thing, but he only recognized that prayer because he had spent more than a few nights in the shelter of church arches and stoops, listening to the sermons or prayers or hymns while trying to sleep. They typically went in one ear, out the other, disappearing in the air like curls of smoke from his nose.

Klaus found it soothing despite himself. He took a seat in one dusty pew, hunched over. A sigh rattled around the confines of his ribcage. Why had he even come here? What was this supposed to achieve?

Need something?

Probably, Klaus thought. Mentally, he replaced the wall between him and the ghosts hovering in the back of his mind. Then a shadow fell over his shoulders, his legs, and the dark man twitched his head up to see what had caused it.

"Need something?" A short woman with fire red hair repeated in a gentle tone, reaching tentatively for Klaus's shoulder. Concern lit up the brown of her eyes into something like brushed gold.

"No, no, just uh...thiiiinking." Klaus let the last syllable drawl out as his train of thought briefly derailed. The nurse just smiled, placating, smoothing her scrub skirt with dried stains on it; she sat a foot away from the stranger on the pew. Klaus never flinched at blood, but something about the skirt made his throat close up. The gore she must've just saw to end up with such marks. There were splatters, and splotches like someone with bloodied hands had grabbed her, or--

"I'm a nurse."

Klaus jumped. "Pa-pardon?"

"The blood. I'm a nurse. MASH unit one-oh-nine." Her smile fell. Klaus waited for further explanation. She didn't give it.

"I'm just a soldier," Klaus hummed. "I think..33rd. Y'know, the whole war would be a lot more tolerable without all the 5-mile marches."

The nurse giggled at that, giving Klaus room to relax as much as he physically could. She had no reason to believe he didn't belong here. Or that a briefcase mistakenly brought him from New York, 2017 to Saigon, 1964. "I'm Klaus."

"Bonnie."

The silence went on for a while after that. The Jewish hymns petered out, started up again; the praying Buddhists spoke in hushed whispers with their foreheads pressed to points at the foot of a bronze statue. Bonnie fidgeted, sniffled, then suddenly plucked a hymn book from the back of the pew. She moved closer. "Sing with me, Klaus?"

Klaus hissed through clenched teeth. Should've known. God damned southern Jesus freaks.

"I don't, um, remember many hymns." Seeing her face fall, he rushed to finish with, "But it would help me if you sang it. Y'know, so I can, um, pray."

Bonnie nodded, and Klaus didn't miss the change in demeanor. Suddenly a determined, motherly woman replaced the trembling girl who just didn't want to be here, trying to save lives that were already gone. Gone before they hit the operating table.

"You go 'head and think about someone--someone you want to keep safe. Could be here or back stateside."

Dave.

Klaus mumbled assent and ducked his head. Bonnie quirked a brow, noting the fleeting look of love in his eye, but said nothing. She eased into a gentle song as Klaus studied his feet, feeling rather useless, dumb, childish, all the colors of the rainbow of shame.

"Make me a channel of your peace...When there's despair in life let me bring hope..."

Very steadily, Klaus could feel the presence of the intangible, forming ranks around the two of them. Furtively, he glanced through his lashes at the air. Blue smoke, the shapes of bodies slowly shaping themselves. Klaus swallowed back a lump, quiet horror filling his chest like tar.

A Vietnamese boy with his leg missing at the hip, nothing but a strange blue wisp where his stump was. A middle-aged soldier, forehead split, some exposed skull in fragments just beneath, with the hardest eyes he'd ever seen. An Asian woman in elegant wear stood right beside him, caked in dried red paste, gripping the dainty hand of a child in her own. All of them, he noticed, stared straight at Bonnie. Unwavering. Intense.

Some of their auras were bright, some fading, evidence they had been dead for some time. The "fresh" auras had similarly fresh wounds, some still dropping coagulated clumps of blood around them; Some of them had clothes a size too small, namely the little ones, all of whom were not fresh and bore little to no outward wounds on clear, wood brown skin, standing with mothers and fathers who most certainly died violently. The implications of that were almost too much for Klaus to handle.

"...Where there is darkness, holy light...and where there's sadness, ever joy..."

Bonnie ran through two more verses. The song faded, as did the echo, but the ghosts remained, though their light flickered perilously. Tears threatening to fall finally dried on his cheeks. Klaus hid a sniffle with the creaking of the seat when he sat up.

"Do you think we're doing okay?" Bonnie broke the painful silence with a whisper, a quaver in her voice. "Here, I mean. Are we doing good for the people here? Should we even be here?"

Standing right behind Bonnie, hands on her shoulders, a young man, smiling so softly Klaus thought it wasn't there at all. He couldn't have been more than 19 or 20. The beginnings of gory lacerations peeked from over the pew, disappeared beneath it, much to his relief. He was making noise, unintentionally, like water dropping on the ground below. Strangely, his blue aura was strong, not wavery or faint like the other's. Fresh. Recent?

Bonnie couldn't feel the touch, couldn't see the ring of people around them, but Klaus met the eyes of the apparition. It nodded. Slowly, sadly, he nodded back.

"Yes." Bonnie turned her head, taken aback, as though she hadn't expected him to answer.

"Yes," Klaus rasped, his breath taken from him because he honestly hadn't expected an answer himself. "Yes, I think we are doing good here. One of us is."

[creator-zee]

45

     I pulled the hood of my cloak up as I walked through the camp. Shame filled me. I couldn’t believe that I had lost controlled and almost killed Jasper. The angry shouts of his soulmate, Kyra, bounced through my head, playing on repeat. 

      “Fix him, you monster!”

      “Couldn’t you see he was defeated?”

      “What the hell is wrong with you?”

      “Get the fuck away!”

      I had mostly healed him by the time she had arrived, using most of my magic in the process, but he hadn’t woken up yet despite me using my last reserves to finish healing him. After Kyra had eaten me out and taken Jasper to the medic I had stayed in the forest, and fixed myself up as I beat I could with bandages, before donning my armor cloak and weapons and making my way back to camp.

       As I walked past groups of friends laughing and talking around campfires it felt so surreal. None of them knew anything was wrong. None of them knew I had almost killed Jasper in a duel. They probably hadn’t even recognized the sounds of two dragons dueling. And even if they had, they probably didn’t care. Laughter, joy, even the cheery light of the fires contrasted the raging turmoil of self-hate that filled me. 

        I opened the flap to the tent I was sharing with my roommate, who also happened to be my soulmate, expecting silence and solitude, or at least a refuge from the joy of the rest of the camp. Instead, I found a guy on top of my mate in the middle of a very intense make out session. 

       Something inside me broke as I turned away. And immense wave of sadness, hopelessness, and dread rose inside of me. Tears fell freely down my cheeks as I ran past the laughter, the light, and the joy to plunge into the dark forest. Shaking breathes, filled with tears, accompanied the thudding of my boots and the snapping of branches as I crashed through the forest. I paused only to strip myself of my clothes, armor, and weapons. Once free of my human restraints, I let my inner beast out. Soft skin turned to hardened scales as fingers turned to claws. I pushed off the ground spreading my dark wings as I sped through the night a mournful howl of pain ripping itself from my chest and escaping through a row of deadly sharp teeth. 

45.1

       I landed in the cleaning as the early morning rays of the rising sun illuminated the dark blue of my scales. I was exhausted. I had flown all night in a fit of sadness and rage. My mate’s betrayal had cut my very core. The blade she had driven through my heart didn’t compare to my numerous injuries that had yet to heal from the duel. It was much worse. As I pulled on my clothes drearily, I had to fight off tears that threatened to spill again. I had shredded all my bandages in my shift last night, and I couldn’t go back to my tent to get more, so I found myself trudging through the trees to the medical tent. I skirted the outskirts of the still sleeping camp. A few early risers were lounging outside their tents, but most were still fast asleep. I finally entered the camp as I approached the white tent with a red cross. I slipped inside the tent, hoping to just sneak in grab some bandages and leave. I wasn’t sure if I could face anyone. 

        “Ray!” My hopes were dashed at the cheery tone of Jasper.

       I turned slowly to face him. He was the last person I wanted to see since the last time I saw him I was fixing bloody wounds that I had caused. 

        “Are you okay?” His voice had dropped to a more somber tone as he saw my face, and my miserable expression.

       I just shook my head. My throat tightening and preventing words from forming.

       The medic on duty, a skimpy guy who’s clothes hung from his lean figure stood from his chair. “How can I help you?”

       “I need some bandages.” I managed to choke out, my voice breaking as tears threatened to spill again. 

       Concern filled his voice, as he asked. “Is that all?” I nodded and he sighed. “Alright. How did you get hurt?”

        I wasn’t sure I would be able to form words, but luckily Jasper answered for me. “In a duel with me.”

         The doctor tilted his head in confusion. “But you were completely healed, except for being unconscious, when Kyra brought you in. I doubt the fight was completely one-sided.”

         Jasper shrugged, looking to me.

        I sighed as I accepted the bandages from the doctor. “I healed Jasper, but didn’t have enough magic left to heal myself.” My voice managed only to shake slightly.

       “You shouldn’t have done that Ray.” Jasper protested.

        I turned away from him, shame building again to join the hurt. “Goodbye Jasper. See you later.” My voice broke at the end as tears slid down my cheeks. 

        I left the tent retreating to the forest to bandage my injuries, having no safe place left at the camp. I had about one hour to collect myself before the teachers expected us to attend a training session. This trip was mostly a vacation away from school and the academy, an excuse to give the students a much needed break, but they could only justify it as a “school trip” if they did some teaching. Thus, the obligatory daily training session that was an hour after sunrise.

45.2

       I stood amongst the crowd of chattering bodies with my hood pulled up to hide my tear stained face and red puffy eyes. The chattering fell silent as two of our teachers, skilled warriors donned in iron armor climbed wooden stairs to a small raised platform. 

       “For today’s training session you will be learning to fight against different types of opponents. Shifters will be pairing up with non-shifter, and elves with humans or orcs, and so on to accomplish this. Whether shifters choose to shift or not is there choice. Each fighter is different and adaptation is key, so after each round you will find a new partner. A round is ten minutes. There will be ten minutes. Find a partner.” The head combat teacher’s voice boomed across the crowd of students. I turned scanning the faces of strangers. I hated training exercises like these since I knew a total of two people in this entire school. Although, I wasn’t ready to face either. 

      Someone tapped my shoulder and I turned to face a tall, pretty, elf girl who was wearing traditional elven armor that resembled gold armor but was much lighter and stronger. “You’re not an elf right?” She asked.

       I nodded. “Shifter.” My voice was flat lacking an emotion, not great, but preferable to the shaking mess of earlier.

      She tried to peer under my hood but I self-consciously tugged it forwards. She gave up, moving into a ready stance, preparing to fight. “What type of shifter?”

        I lowered myself into a similar stance a cross from her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I answered cynically, although my voice was still flat. 

       She raised an eyebrow. “That’s why I asked?” She seemed genuinely confused.

       I relented feeling slightly bad. “Dragon.” I reached for a dagger that was strapped to my leg. “Though a real opponent wouldn’t tell you.”

        She pulled out double short sword from where they were strapped to her back. “You can turn into a massive fire-breathing dragon converted in nearly impenetrable scales that can fly and your choosing to fight with, what, a dagger?” She asked incredulously.

        I only tightened my grip on my dagger, a sharp breath escaping through my mouth as the whistle blew, signaling the start of the round. 

       The elf girl lunged at me and I mainly stepped back dodging her blades. She swung her sword back around stepping towards me again. I danced to the sides avoiding the flashing points. I was grateful for the elf’s ferocity. It meant I had to be completely focused on avoiding the deadly blades she wielded. It meant no stay thoughts of Jasper, his mate, or my mate entered my mind. I continued to only doge the elf’s strikes, using minimal energy as her breaths were reduced to pants mine remained leveled. After a particularly sloppy slash, instead of stepping back I stepped forwards. Right up against the elf’s chest. Too close for her swords to be of much use. My hand holding my dagger was at her throat, barely digging into the flesh, drawing no blood.

        I watched as defeat filled her frame and she stepped back. “Well done, dragon.” She congratulated, sourly. 

      “Don’t put so much energy into each attack.” I advised. “Force your enemy to use as much energy as you, otherwise you end up on uneven ground.”

      She smiled, sorrowfully. “Thanks. Uh, what’s your name?”

      “Ray.” I said, shortly, a trace of fear present. Most people who knew it were my bullies, I wasn’t ready to have another.

      “Phaedra.” She returned in kind. She sheathed her swords extending a sweaty hand. “Nice meeting you.”

      I shook her hand. “Likewise.”

       She laughed as the whistle blew. “I’ll remember to never underestimate a dagger.”

       I nodded as I found another stranger to duel. An orc boy this time. Despite his tall stature, large axe, and brutish form, he was a terrible fighter. He admitted as much when only two minutes into the fight my dagger was at his throat. Eight more fights of varying difficulty found me with several more bruises, a lot of sweat, and a few cuts. I had lost a couple of my fights and some had no victor. 

      Exhaustion clung to every fiber of my being as I picked myself off the ground from my last fight, one with a human. I longed to return to my tent and collapse on my bed roll, but fear kept me away. Instead I trudged to one of the tents where they wear serving food. I sat down at a rough wooden table by myself, munching on bread while steaming hot stew cooled in front of me. 

       The bench squeaked in protest as it was forced to support someone else’s weight. I glanced over in surprise, who the hell would willingly sit next to me in the almost empty mess hall tent. 

       “Hi Ray.” The light voice of the elf, Pheadra, surprised me.

       “Hi?” Why did she come sit with me? Surely someone like her had a lot of friends. 

        She laughed, lightly. “Why do you sound so confused? Have you never had anyone say hi to you before?”

        I shook my head. “No. Just not anyone like you.”

       “Like me?”

       “Someone who isn’t my roommate or sparring partner.”

        “Sounds lonely.” She said.

       “Why come sit with me?” I asked, curiosity to great and too tired to filter my words. 

        “Because I’m not blind.” She answered, kindly. “I saw the tears staining your face.” She paused. “I thought you might want a friend.”

       I took a bite, chewing in silence. “It’s nothing anyone can help with.” I told her after I finished. 

        “I doubt that.” She said, but didn’t push it. She turned to her own food and ate in silence. The minutes passed in comfortable silence as we both ate. 

       As I finished the last of my stew, I finally broke the silence. “My mate cheated on me.” I admitted quietly. 

       I heard her gasp next to me. “Did she know?” Phaedra asked quietly.

       “She must have, she was a shifter.” Irritation and desperation disguising the hurt that I wasn’t sure would ever leave me. 

       “I’m sorry.”

       “Don’t be you didn’t do anything.” I sighed. “We never even talked about being mates although we both must’ve known.” My hands clenched into fists. “I’m so stupid.” I growled.

         “How are you stupid?” Her calm tone contrasted mind that was a shifting wave of emotions.

        “To believe anyone would ever choose me.” I sighed. “Even my own damn mate chose someone else.”

        She didn’t respond just wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me in. I leaned into her grateful just for the comfort of someone else. 

       “I choose to be your friend.” She whispered, but the words carried to my ears. 

      “Thank you.” I muttered.

[snowyfrostshadows]

Easier Said

“I wouldn’t call your bet stupid…”

“Oh yeah?” Matthews shot him a look that was half glare, half resignation. “What would you call getting Captain Grif to give me an honest to god compliment within the next twenty four hours?”

Bitters couldn’t help wincing slightly at his friend’s phrasing.

“….hopeless.”

“-And when I win, you have to not only admit how lazy your Captain is, but you have to tell my Captain how awesome and cool he is to his face.”

Matthews’ face darkened as he actually stood up to lean over the still sitting Palamo. “Fine.” He practically snarled, ‘But when I win, you have to tell your Captain that you’ll be taking relationship advice from mine since he gets more action in a week than yours has in his entire life.“

Palomo stared slack-jawed up at Matthews, reply clearly lost at the normally reserved and polite private’s ruthless terms. To be fair, the only one not staring at Matthews was Bitters, who was taking advantage of his friend’s glare fest at the other lieutenant to swipe his drink and downing it. If Matthews was at the point of picking fights, then any more alcohol in his system would probably kill him.

“I-you-Fine!” Palomo sputtered out. “Not that it matters, cuz the chances of you winning are slim to none!”

Matthews’ expression somehow managed to darken even more. “We’ll see about that.”

And with that, Matthews spun on his heel and left the mess hall, not even bothering to wait for a response from Palamo.

Bitters sighed. He should have known better than letting Palamo sit anywhere near them. Green Team’s lieutenant had a habit of annoying just about everyone around him. It really had been too much to hope that Matthews would somehow be immune to him.

“We win, I get your dessert rations for a month.”

“Wha-?”

Not bothering to wait for a full reply, Bitters also got up and left. Like a true maverick.

By the time he caught up to Matthews in their shared room, his friend was already passed out in his bed.

The responsible thing would be to wake him up and make sure that Matthews was actually aware of what exactly he’d gotten himself entangled in this time and figure out some way of fixing or undoing it. But, Bitters was not in a responsible mood tonight nor did he want to hear Palomo bragging over a ‘easy win’ so soon.

Deciding to just let Matthews wake him up for training in the morning and dealing with it then, Bitters headed for his own bed.

With as early a riser Matthews was, he figured they’d have enough time to figure something out.

                                                          …

Matthews did not wake him up.

In fact, for the first time that he could remember, Bitters got up first.

At least, that’s what he thought until he took a closer look at Matthews and realized the blonde was awake and just staring at the ceiling.

“…Kyle?”

“Mm?”

“…You doing okay?”

“Depends. Did I really get into a shouting match with Palamo that ended in a stupid bet or was that just a nightmare from too much alcohol?”

“No, that bout sums it up.”

Matthews groaned as he covered his face.

“…you could take it back?”

Matthews shot him a dirty look. “And listen to Palamo go on about how great his Captain is and that he feels sooooo bad mine can never measure up?” He snorted. “I’d rather go one on one with Locus than that.”

Bitters gave a small grunt of agreement. Compared to sitting through a three hour spiel from Palamo, anything seemed like a cakewalk.

“So. Any idea on what you’re going to do next?”

“Maybe stay here. Never leave the room. Can’t lose a bet if the other party never sees you again.”

Bitters gave his friend a long look.

“That’s it? That’s your plan?”

Matthews shrugged. 

“Christ Kyle! You can’t be hung-over enough to think that’d actually work?”

“What else am I supposed to do?!” Matthews wailed “I made a stupid bet because Palamo wouldn’t shut the fuck up and drunk me forgot that Captain Grif would rather run laps than give me an actual compliment! I’m not you!”

“He doesn’t exactly compliment me either Kyle.”

“But he made you his lieutenant! That might as well be a compliment!”

Bitters snorted. “He’s also kind of nuts. I can walk right out of training and he’d give me a thumbs up or something.”

“Exactly! He likes you and nothing I do is right! Palamo is never going to let me live this stupid bet down.”

“I wouldn’t call your bet stupid…”

“Oh yeah? And what would you call getting Captain Grif to give me an honest to god compliment within twenty four hours?”

“…hopeless.”

Matthews made a strangled angry sound before turning to face the wall.

Normally that would be the end of the conversation as Bitters waited for his friend to get over himself and bounce back to being his usual annoying, optimistic self but something Matthews had said wouldn’t leave him alone.

'I’m not you’

Which, yeah. Was obvious. Matthews was bit of a kissass to Grif. Bitters couldn’t care less what their Captain thought of him. Matthews was physically incapable of not following an order while Bitters had yet to follow one without dragging his feet first.

But, they weren’t complete opposites.

They both enjoyed the less than strenuous training Gold Team offered. Matthews could be amazingly (and even terrifyingly) protective of his food and even Bitters had some small fraction of respect towards Grif.

The longer Bitters mulled over these facts, the less The Idea seemed absurd. Heck, if they could pull this off, the amount of obnoxious rubbing in Palamo’s face it’d provide was almost (almost) worth more than the other lieutenant’s desserts and hurt pride.

“Hey Kyle.”

“Mrrgh.”

“I know how you can win that bet.”

A small squeak on Matthews’ bed was the only indication Bitters had his friend was listening.

“You can be me.”

Silence, then “The fuck is that supposed to mean Antoine?!”

Bitters released a long suffering sigh. “And to think, everyone thinks you’re the smart one. Simple. We trade armor for the day.”

“……that couldn’t possibly work…could it?”

Bitters shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It’s not like Grif’s ever seen us out of armor before and I think we know one another well enough to impersonate each other for at least a day.”

Matthews frowned. “…what about talking? I’m pretty sure this whole thing would be over once one of us opens our mouths.”

“Easy. You don’t talk, I’ll tell everyone you’ve got a cold or something and I” Bitters shot Matthews a smug grin as he lowered his voice into a rough approximation of his friend’s voice. “Imitate you.”

While not perfect, it was a good enough imitation to pass if you’d only heard Matthews once or twice in passing or if you didn’t care enough to investigate further. Instead of being impressed by this rather amazing secret ability of Bitters’, Matthews looked furious.

“You told me that wasn’t you!”

Oh. Right. He had used that skill before to 'volunteer’ Matthews for extra watches and other boring tasks. Whoops.

“Eh. You would have done that stuff anyway.”

“Well yeah, but only if was actually me volunteering in the first place and not my so called friend setting me up for MORE work!”

Bitters held his hands up in a placating gesture.

“And that was wrong of me and I feel just horrible about that.” Aside from a disbelieving snort, Matthews didn’t interrupt him. Bitters chose to take that as a good sign. “Now, we could either spend the next week arguing over it or put my impressive impersonation skills to good use and go with the plan most likely to end with you rubbing in Palamo’s face how much better our Captain is than his.”

Matthews’ pissed off expression shifted towards a more thoughtful one. Good. He was wavering. Time to pull in the ultimate trump card.

“Think about it Kyle. Compliments from Captain Grif. All. Day.”

And with that, the last of his friend’s resolve crumbled.

“Fine. But if we’re going to pull this off, we have to be at the top of our game. No slacking, Bitters.” Matthews couldn’t help the smug glee that crept into his voice “As everyone knows, I don’t slack off.”

Maybe. Just maybe, they could win this.

                                                          ….

Grif raised an eyebrow as he watched the last two members of his squad come into training nearly an hour late. Which, wasn’t much of a surprise in Bitters’ case. The lieutenant was a maverick after all. Matthews being late on the other hand was much more shocking. Usually the kissass in training was the first one here, setting things up so Grif wouldn’t have to.

Until today apparently.

“About time you two showed up. I’m actually a little disappointed in you Matthews. Expected more from you.”

Instead of blubbering apologies right then and there like normal, the kid just stared. To be fair, both kids were staring at him, but coming from Bitters, that wasn’t much of a surprise. His lieutenant wasn’t exactly the chatty type in the mornings. But Matthews…

Suddenly, Bitters elbowed Matthews in the side causing him to cough a little.

“Sorry Sir. We uh had a late night drinking. Well I did, Bitters wasn’t feeling well so he retired early and I uuuuh…overslept? But once I realized how late it was, I rushed both of us out here because I’d hate to ever disappoint you Sir!”

Grif glanced over at Bitters for confirmation only to find his lieutenant staring up at the sky, clearly wishing to be anywhere but next to Matthews. Which, Grif could absolutely agree with.

“Aside from the fact that you apparently drink, fine. I’ll forgive your lateness this one time if you promise to never repeat this grave transgression again.”

“Oh of course Sir! Consider this an important lesson learned!”

Cripes. The kid actually saluted at that. Even Bitters thought it was overkill judging by the embarrassed flinch of his shoulders. Normally Bitters had his reactions hidden to a T.

“Whatever Matthews. Bitters, I want you to direct drills while I observe from ov-”

“Aaactually Sir.” Matthews interrupted. Actually interrupted. The hell???? “Bitters can’t talk today. His throat’s super sore from coughing all night.”

Grif stared at the two of them. Between Bitters looking as if he was wishing the ground would open up and swallow him (a fair feeling considering how closely he was standing next to Matthews to be honest) and Matthews rocking on the balls of his feet, something seemed…off.

It was probably nothing, but it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye out for whatever they (most likely just Bitters) were planning.

“…fine. Let everyone know they’ll be doing laps in ten minutes or so.”

Matthews gave him another salute. “Ab-so-lutely Sir! You can count on me!”

As the two of them walked off, Grif could have sworn he heard a groan from Bitters. And while it was good to see some things never changed, Grif couldn’t help wonder if it was proof of Matthews’ claims of the lieutenant being sick. The maybe groan he heard was a tad deeper than he normally heard from Bitters.

                                                           …..

“What the fuck was that Bitters!?” Matthews hissed at him over their private com.

“Uh, me being you? Duh.”

“I do not sound like that!”

“Overly peppy? Practically falling over yourself to please Captain Grif? Saying 'Sir’ every other word? That’s you dude.”

“Is not! I am not that obnoxious sounding!”

“HEY REEDS!”

“What are you doing?!”

“Proving my point.” Bitters muttered before raising his voice to the other solider who looked way too confused at being addressed by 'Matthews’ for Bitters’ liking. For God’s sake, Matthews wasn’t that much of a recluse.

“…yeah?”

“Bitters and I are having a little debate and need help resolving it. Impersonate me.”

Reeds just stared at them. “You want me to…what?”

“Impersonate. Me. God’s sake Reeds, pretend you’re me, it’s not that hard. A fucking Fed could probably do it.”

Beside him, Matthews shook slightly as he held back a laugh. How the nerd wasn’t more popular in their little squad boggled Bitters’ mind sometimes as he actually had a pretty good sense of humor. Ah well, it was their squadron’s loss.

“…I uh. Okay. Um….'Oh wow Captain Grif! You’re sooooooo amazing! I wish I was half as cool as you! Do you want me to draw you up some battle plans? Steal, I mean fetch food for you? I can do both!’ …..do you erm, want me to keep going?”

Bitters snuck a look at Matthews. If they weren’t currently wearing helmets, Bitters was ninety percent positive there’d be an extremely pissed off look on his friend’s face. Making sure he was on their private channel first, he couldn’t resist the urge to rub salt in the wound.  

“What do you think Kyle? Should he keep going?”

“Fuck. Off. Antonine.”

“Hey, be happy I didn’t throw actual money into this thing. You’d be so broke right now.”

Switching his external mic back on, Bitters couldn’t keep a smug tone from leaking into his voice. “Nope, that’ll do it. Thanks a lot Reeds. You were a big help.”

“Uh huh….I’m just….going to finish warming up for training. Over there.” And without another word, Reeds ran off as far as he could from Matthews and Bitters short of actually leaving the training area.  Weirdo.

“…that actually reminds me.”

Bitters did not like how suddenly light Matthews’ voice just got. Considering how pissed he’d sounded ten seconds ago, the easy going-ness he heard now did not promise anything good.

“You should do some warm ups too. The more the better.”

“.. the fuck I am.”

“Oh yes you are~!” God fucking dammit. Matthews was practically singing with glee now. He only did that when he knew he’d just about won an argument.

“Warming up before training is very important so you don’t sprain anything. And well, I just wouldn’t be 'me’ if I didn’t do more than the required amount to make up for being late.”

“…”

“Chop Chop Bitters. Time’s a-wasting.”

“….God I fucking hate you.”

Matthews shrugged. “Your idea man.”

“I should have just left you to mope to death in our room.”

Matthews only reply to that was giving him the finger and walking away.

“Where do you think you’re going?! Matthews? Get the fuck back here!”

“I’m just doing what you do during warm ups. Ditching 'me’ and moving suuuuuper slow. Better pick up the pace Bitters. I think Captain Grif’s heading over.”

                                                        …..

Nearly a half an hour later, Bitters was certain he’d made a huge mistake.

Palamo’s wounded pride and desserts were sooooo not worth giving a 110% percent towards training.

It wasn’t as if Bitters was out of shape or anything. Being in a war and training for it your entire life tended to keep a person relatively fit.

The only exception to that rule being one Captain Grif apparently.

No. What was quickly wearing him out was doing the regular training while ALSO keeping Matthews from being well, Matthews.

To be fair, Matthews was doing a pretty good job at not being his usual kissass self. Mostly.

There had been a few close calls that had required Bitters to 'accidentally’ tackle him. Like now for example.

“OW! I wasn’t even jogging Bitters what the fuck?!”

“My bad. Toootally thought you were there. Would hate it if the whole thing fell apart because Grif accused you, I mean me of suddenly giving a shit about running drills.”

“And you running into me every five seconds won’t!? I do not pay that much attention to you during training!”

“Mmhm. So you do admit you pay attention when I do follow the day’s regime huh?”

Matthews shoved him. Actually shoved him.

“That is not what I meant and you know it!” Matthews shrieked.

“Hey!”

“Shit.” Both teens said at nearly the same time as they watched their commanding officer march towards them.

“I don’t know what you two think you’re doing today, but knock it off or so help me, I will actually expend the effort it takes to separate you!”

For whatever reason, Matthews chose that moment to act like himself. The nerd actually had the audacity to flinch and stiffen his posture at Grif’s threat.

Bitters was going to murder him.

“Matthews.” Bitters said slowly over their private com. “What. The fuck. Was that?”

“Shit.”

“No kidding Sherlock! What were you thinking?! Don’t tell me you honestly can’t bear the thought of us being separated!”

“Oh for God’s sake-Being on opposite sides of the training field would be a god damn blessing! Get over yourself Antoine!” Matthews hissed over the line.

Blitters blinked at that and tried not to acknowledge whatever…feelings…that stirred up. He could do that later, when he didn’t have an image to maintain.

“…okay. What was up with you freezing just now?”

“Palamo’s heading this way.”

“Fuck.”

                                                       ….

Grif was no stranger to being ignored. In fact, being ignored had worked out fairly well for him for the bulk of his military career.

This, however was pushing it.

Aside from a weirdass reaction from Bitters earlier, both kids were ignoring him in favor of a private conversation between the two of them. And he only knew that because Matthews was visibly reacting (albight slightly) to whatever Bitters had said.

Suddenly, Matthews turned to face him.

“Looks like Palamo’s joining us today, Sir.” There was a couple second delay before the 'Sir’. Almost as if Matthews had just tacked on the word last minute. Unsure whether to be concerned or suspicious over that, Grif turned to watch Palamo join his squad for (presumably) the day

Ever since the entirety of Green Team save Palamo died during a mission, Tucker had been shoving the kid off on the other Captains under the guise of 'it’s not fair to just train one kid, how can the poor guy learn the value of teamwork if he doesn’t have a team?’.  

On one hand, Grif was impressed at Tucker’s dedication to skipping out on his one job at the rebel base. On the other hand, however, he was getting real tired of being stuck with the kid whenever Tucker wanted to bother Kimball and Felix for the thousandth time.

Simmons may have set up a very strict 'No-Palamo-Is-Not-Allowed-On-My-Team-Ever-Again-Or-I-Swear-To-God-Tucker-I-Will-Run-You-Over-With-A-Fucking-Tank’ policy, but Caboose was still an option. Amazingly, unlike Tucker, no one had died on his team. And Caboose liked literally everyone. Grif should not have to watch more kids than he already had to.

Grif sighed; heavily regretting putting on his helmet this morning. Visors had a horrible habit of blocking his fingers from rubbing his face in exasperation over the stupid nonsense that was his life.

“Matthews, go greet Palamo and I dunno, run laps with him.”

“Do I have to? Palamo fucking su-”

A hard smack interrupted the rest of the sentence but it was already too late. Grif was staring at them again, suddenly very glad for his helmet. He was 90% sure he’d just lost his usual blank poker face.

Matthews was rubbing the side of his helmet where Bitters had smacked it while (presumably) glaring daggers at the lieutenant. As soon as he realized Grif was staring at him, Matthews’ posture instantly straightened.

“I mean…of course Sir! I would love to…do what you just said! Hanging out with Palamo is just…the…greatest…thing ever…”

“….Are you feeling alright Matthews?”

“Never better Sir!”

“…Uh huh. Just. Go greet Palamo already.”

Matthews gave him the absolute quickest salute he’d ever seen before booking it towards Green Team’s sole member. Grif waited a couple minutes for Matthews to be out of earshot before glancing at Bitters.

“If Matthews shows any more signs of snapping, throw him at Palamo. Maybe then Tucker will quit dumping the kid on me.”

Bitters gave him a stiff nod before following after Matthews.

Grif watched him go. Either something most definitely was going on and both kids were in on it or Matthews was a whole lot more capable of a Simmons level breakdown than first thought.

Either way, today was turning out to be more headache inducing than first thought.

                                                           …..

“ 'I’d mess this up? I’d mess this up?!’ Bitters, what the hell was that just now?!”

Bitters flinched slightly at Matthews’ near hysterical voice over their private com.

"I uh. Forgot to turn my external mic off.”

“…Okaaaay. Why. The fuck. Did you say that in your impersonation of my voice if you thought no one would be able to hear you?!”

“…Force of habit?”

“Bitters!”

“You try yo-yoing between voices and not get mixed up!”

Matthews groaned as he ran a hand over his helmet’s visor. “Fiiiiiine. Thanks to you, Captain Grif thinks I’m like, three seconds away from 'snapping’ and I dunno, murdering Palamo.”

Bitters’ pace slowed as he mulled that comment over in his head. “That…could be considered a compliment if he thinks you could beat Palamo in a fight.”

Matthews snorted. “A well placed rock could take Palamo out.”

Bitters gave a small hum of agreement at that. Palamo was utterly useless in a fight; well, anywhere out in the field to be honest. How he’d lasted this long truly had to be one of life’s great mysteries.

“…-do about Palamo?”

“….What?”

Matthews sighed. “I said, what are we going to do about Palamo? I mean, don’t you think he’s going to notice something’s up?”

“Nah. Palamo’s an idiot. I bet I could speak normally to him and he wouldn’t question it in the slightest.”

“…You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I say we continue as planned and not stress over Palamo being here. Heck, if he’s tagging in on today’s training, we won’t have to track him down later to prove you winning the bet since he’ll be able to witness it first-hand. Win-Win.”

“Mhm. You’re being suspiciously optimistic about this.”

Bitters shrugged. “As much as it pains me, I know Palamo more than I’d ever willingly want to. Which means, I know for a fact we’re fine.”

“If you say so.”

Bitters decided against responding to that as they were within speaking distance with Palamo. Before he could call out to the other lieutenant, Palamo spotted them and quickly closed what little distance had remained between them.

“Heeeey Matthews! I’ve been thinking about our bet and-”

“You’re ready to throw in the towel? Smart.” Bitters quickly interrupted. Granted, that wasn’t something Matthews would ever do, but the sooner he shut down whatever 'idea’ Palamo had about their bet, the better.

Unfortunately, Palamo didn’t seem thrown off by 'Matthews’ being rude. “Haha no. I was thinking since Bitters threw in another demand if you won, I should add another thing too! To keep it fair, you know? So, after a lot of thought, I decided. I win, in addition to telling Captain Tucker how great he is, you’d join Green Team!”

Matthews and Bitters both stared in silent disbelief at Palomo’s, quite frankly, stupid idea.

”…that seems a bit much in exchange for some desserts Palamo.“

Green Team’s sole member shifted slightly. "Not really….I heard from Jenson who heard from Captain Simmons that some ice cream was recently found and it’s supposed to be allotted into our upcoming dessert rations and I’d really like to have some without getting a brain freeze a minute into eating it. Like erm, y'know, last time?”

Bitters blinked behind his visor. Well fuck, how was he supposed to talk them out of that if the New Republic really was getting ice cream again?

“Oh. Is that all?”

Bitters snapped his head to stare at Matthews who was actually speaking through his external mic in the absolute worst impression Bitters had ever heard in his life of his own voice what the fuck?!

“If we get ice cream, you can keep it.”

“Really?”

Matthews shrugged. “Sure. I mean, this’ll be what, the second time in years the New Republic gets that treat?”

Palamo was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Aww thanks Bitters! I knew you were ni-” he froze, suddenly suspicious, probably finally picking up on Matthews’ god awful impersonation of Bitters. “…What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Matthews stays on Gold Team and you keep your ice cream ration. Aaaaand, as a show of good faith that I’m not tricking you, you can have Matthews’ share, regardless of the outcome of the bet.”

Bitters stared at his friend, certain that Matthews maybe had just actually lost his mind. “Are you uh sure about that Bitters? That seems a bit much.”

“I"m sure. Palamo really missed out last time with as big of a brain freeze he had then. I figure, this time should be better.”

“Yeah Matthews. Bitters knows what he’s talking about.”

Matthews gave a small nod. “I do. Sides, everyone knows it’s impossible to get a second brain freeze in your lifetime. Especially if you double the ice cream intake and eat it faster than the first time you had it. Matthews can back me up on this fact right Matthews?”

Bitters smirked as realization at what Matthews was doing finally hit him. The guy could be downright diabolical when the mood struck him to be. “Oh absolutely Bitters! It’s a well documented fact proven by numerous studies!”

'Matthews’ confirming his friend’s claims seemed to be enough to convince Palamo. Bitters couldn’t help thanking whatever God existed that the other lieutenant was such an idiot. It made him annoying as fuck, but it did have its’ perks.

Now that their pre-emptive petty revenge had been taken care, Bitters eyed Palamo curiously.

“Why would you even want Ma-me on Green Team anyway?”

Palamo anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh. No reason.”

Bitters gave him the flattest, most pointed look he could while wearing a helmet. Palamo, for once in his life, got the hint.

“Fine. I was just trying to rebuild Green Team.”

“…Starting with Matthews.”

Matthews’ impersonation skills were utter garbage but the way he deadpaned that statement so flawlessly gave Bitters some hope that his friend might one day stop giving a shit about every little thing.

Palamo shrugged. “Sorta. I figured he’d be the easiest to convince to join Green Team.”

“….You do realize that’s never going to happen right?”

“Well, not with Matthews obviously but-”

“No one is going to join a team where ninety percent of its members died during their first and only mission.”

Bitters quickly stifled a snort under some fake coughs. “Sorry,” he threw in another fake cough at Palamo’s suspicious look. “Helmet’s been acting up today.”

Instead of dropping it and moving on to say a different topic like any normal, rational person would, Palamo, the weirdo, perked up.

“Oh! I can probably fix it! I used to help Rodgers with his helmet all the time!”

Bitters took a step back. “No it’s uh fine. I can do it later.”

“Don’t be stupid. It’ll only take me like a minute to figure out.”

To Matthews’ credit, he didn’t just stand around to watch their whole plan fall apart. He put in a valiant effort in trying to hold Palamo back from getting anywhere close to Bitters or at the very least focusing his attention elsewhere.

Unfortunately for both of them, Green Team’s lieutenant could be fairly single-minded on things. One minute Matthews had a decent grasp on Palamo’s shoulder and was pulling him away and the next, he got a rather painful jab in the gut from one of his captive’s elbows.

Taking full advantage of the sudden momentum no longer being held provided, Palamo basically tackled Bitters and took off his helmet.

“God Matthews, was that so ha…” Palamo trailed off as the realization of Bitters being in Matthews’ armor and not Matthews settled over him.

Slowly, as if in a daze, Palamo looked between the two Gold Team members.

“…You dirty fucking cheaters.”

Bitters gave him a small shrug. “We were just stacking our odds to better our chances.”

“That is the literal definition of cheating!”

“It absolutely is not! Matthews, back me up here.”

Matthews hesitated just long enough for Palamo to take full advantage of and turn things back in his favor. “Ha! Told you!”

Bitters rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What are you going to do? Consider the bet forfeit?”

"When I’m basically winning? Hahahahaha No. I’m thinking letting your Captain know you two switched places for the day. Can’t imagine he’d be too happy with that fact you know? He might even have you guys removed from his team!”

Bitters snorted at that. He highly doubted Grif would even be slightly annoyed at his and Matthews’ failed gambit let alone mad enough to kick them off Gold Team. That shit required paperwork, and Grif did not do paperwork.

Unfortunately, Matthews, the idiot, fell for Palamo’s bluff hook, line, and sinker and panicked. And, as Matthews often did when panicked, he did something stupid. Which, in this case, was 'tackle Palamo with no follow-up plan or thought to possible future consequences’.

Bitters sighed as he moved to pull his dumbass friend out of what was quickly turning into an actual fight. Well, he would have if Palamo didn’t punch his still unhelmeted face because SOMEONE thought it’d be a fantastic idea to just toss the thing after stealing it.

Bitters stumbled back rubbing his sore jaw, thankful nothing seemed broken.

The responsible and Matthews-esque thing to do would be to suck it up and go right back in there and break up the fight. But metal on flesh really fucking hurt and honestly, fuck Palamo,

Just as Bitters was really about to get into the fight himself, somebody grabbed him by the back of his armor and pulled him back with enough force that he nearly landed flat on his ass. Bitters just barely managed to get his bearings back in order in time to witness Captain Grif of all people pull Matthews and Palamo apart.

“What. The fuck. Is going on here?”

Silence met him. If Bitters had to guess why, it’d be because all three of them were having trouble processing the fact of Grif doing anything remotely solider-y.

Grif sighed as he turned to face Bitters. “Matthews. Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing Sir. Just a uh, small disagreement but nothing major. We were actually on our way back to training.”

“Training’s over.”

Whatever retort Bitters thought he could use died on his lips at Grif’s nonchalant tone. Surprisingly, Palamo was the first to pull himself together enough to continue the conversation.

“I just got here! Training can’t be over already!”

Grif shrugged. “Funny thing. When two lieutenants and Matthews of all people start ducking it out in the middle of the training field, it turns out no one wants to run laps and would rather watch the fight.” Grif’s voice hardened. “So again. What happened?”

Again, none of them answered him. Grif sighed. “Alright. We’ll take this elsewhere then. I am not standing around in the sun in full body armor while you three play the quiet game. Follow me.”

Grif led them to the main building on base and the first room with chairs.

“Sit down; helmets off.”

Bitters took the seat between Matthews and Palamo. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Grif wanted their helmets off so they couldn’t talk privately with each other to figure out a plausible story and to make them crack faster.

Honestly though, Bitters wasn’t too worried about Matthews. As long as he didn’t look at or make direct eye contact with anyone, the guy actually had a pretty decent poker face. Add in the fact of Grif thinking he was Bitters, who wasn’t known for sharing anything if he didn’t want to share; chances were good he’d be ignored.

Which just left Palamo. Who was probably two minutes away from ruining everything unless Bitters could somehow discreetly knock him out without Grif noticing.

“Uuuuuh Captain Grif Sir?”

Or Palamo could just ruin everything now.

“Yes, Palamo?”

Green Team’s lieutenant eyed the members of Gold Team curiously.  

“Aren’t you going to say anything about Matthews and Bitters wearing each other’s armor?”

“….They’re what?”

For one glorious moment, there was pure, utter silence. And then, unsurprisingly, Palamo broke it. Laughing so hard Bitters was surprised he didn’t fall out of his chair.

“Seriously?” Palamo leaned forward to get a better look at Matthews. “Captain Grif doesn’t know what you look like? My Captain does.”

Bitters shot a look at Matthews. He was just barely holding his poker face together, but judging by the tenseness of his jaw, he was about one word away from doing something stupid. Again.

Bitters jabbed Palamo in the side hard enough to turn the other teen’s snickers into wheezes for air. “Excuse us for not wanting a stray bullet to catch us unaware or did you forget what happened to General Stone?”

“…huh.”

Belatedly, Bitters realized he’d just used his regular voice, effectively outing himself and Matthews. He might have been more upset over that if not for the fact of the current rate on how badly things were going, it was going to come out eventually. Better now than Palamo somehow twisting everything later.

Grif’s gaze bounced between his two soldiers.  "….mind telling my why you two switched armor?“

Before Bitters could even attempt a bullshit excuse, Matthews surprisingly spoke up first.

"It was a bet Sir.”

“…a bet.”

Matthews nodded. “Yes Sir. Bitters bet I couldn’t be lazy and I bet he couldn’t keep up with training.”

“Uh huh. And that made you trade armor why?”

Matthews paused for a second at that. “We…decided that you’d be the best impartial judge and thought if we wore our regular armor, you’d…end our bet before it could even begin?”

Grif nodded like that made sense. “And Palamo?”

Matthews’ voice hardened slightly “He was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.”

Palamo made to object to that, but Bitters quickly stomped on his foot, amazingly without Grif noticing.

“Huh. Alright. Nice job Matthews. Didn’t think you had it in you to be lazy, so color me impressed. Try to apply that to training more. Bitters, I’m disappointed in you man. Thought you’d be better at faking effort. Palamo. Mind your own fucking business next time. I think that covers everything. You’re all dismissed or whatever. Do not bother me for the rest of the day.”

As soon as Grif was out of the room, Bitters threw a smug look at Palamo, who short of being sick, couldn’t possibly look any paler than he did now.

“Did you hear that Palamo? Captain Grif just complimented Matthews twice.”

Palamo gave him a shaky nod. “I did.”

Bitters’ voice turned smug. “Which means Matthews won the bet. Hey Matthews! When do you want-shit.”

While Palamo looked sick from nerves, Matthews was slumped in his chair like he’d just been shot.

Bitters shot the other lieutenant another look. “I’ll contact you later over the helmet radio to let you know when you can fulfill your end of the bet.” He couldn’t resist a smirk. “Enjoy the rest of your day Pal.”

Palamo groaned, something Bitters elected to ignore in favor of helping his friend to his feet.

“C'mon Kyle. This is just sad.” He muttered low enough that Palamo wouldn’t be able to overhear.

“Captain Grif complimented me. Me!”

“Mmhm. He sure did. Good going there buddy.”

Matthews’ awestruck smile was contagious, it wasn’t long before Bitters was wearing a small, genuine smile as well

“….You wanna know what could have made this better? If I could I have recorded him saying that.”

“Maybe. But not having a recording makes it more…I dunno, special?”

Matthews’ expression softened a little. “Yeah…”

“You know, we could probably record Palamo making a idiot of himself tomorrow in front of Captain Tucker.”

Matthews snorted. “We could.” An excited look crossed his face. “Hey Antoine. When we get back to our room, want to crack into my Victory Food Stash with me?”

Bitters’ grin widened. “Fuck yeah! Don’t even have to ask.”

                                                 ……

The next morning, Grif took his usual seat by Simmons at the Captain’s Table in the mess hall.

He listens juuust long enough to register that Simmons and Tucker are arguing about training stuff before tuning them right the fuck out. It was way too early to be thinking about being a real actual solider in a real actual war and all that entailed in his humble opinion.

Instead. he spent his time scanning the mess hall. Unsurprisingly, it’s still fairly empty as most of the rebels are either getting some much needed rest or out doing more soldierly things like patrols or some crap.

He just barely registers Bitters and Matthews leaning against a nearby wall talking to each other before he notices Palamo making his way towards their table.

Grif can’t help internally groan. The kid might not be on his team or even be looking to talk to him but usually, just the sight of the his lieutenant tends to put Tucker in a bad mood. If Palamo’s starting his kiss-up-ery shtick this early, it’s going to be a looooong day of listening to Tucker’s bitching.

“Uh. Captain Tucker Sir? Can I, uh, talk to you?”

Tucker heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “You already are.”

Palamo squirmed slightly, looking (in Grif’s slightly confused opinion) as if he was as eager to talk to his Captain as Tucker normally was to him. “…right.” The kid took a deep breath, almost as if he was bracing himself. “I. I can no l-longer take relationship advice from you Sir.”

“Fucking finally” Simmons muttered beside him as Tucker stared at his lieutenant as if Palamo had suddenly grown a second head. “Not going to-? Who the hell else around here are you going to get dating advice from!?”

Palamo looked ill. “From C-Captain Grif sin-since he gets more a-action in a-a week than you have i-in your entire life.”

Simmons choked on his coffee while Tucker gave Grif the biggest look of surly betrayal as if he’d been the one to insult him and not a dumbass kid.

Before Grif could even attempt to deny or defect any more accusations, Palamo was talking again.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it! I still want your advice!”

“Then why the fuck did you say that!?”

“I lost a beeeet!” Palamo wailed.

“To who?”

“…Matthews…”

Tucker stared at Palamo. “You lost. A bet. To Matthews.” Palamo nodded miserably. “How? Matthews should be like, the easiest person to win anything against!”

Grif frowned at that, oddly insulted on the kid’s behalf. Sure, Matthews was an annoying suck up but he wasn’t the worst person on base.

“He uh. He said he could get Captain Grif to compliment him.”

Correction. Matthews was the absolute worst person on base because apparently, the kid had perfected the fine art of bullshitting his way past every single one of his emotional defenses.

Resolutely not meeting Tucker or Simmons’ twin looks of shock, Grif grabbed his glass of orange juice and started downing it in an attempt to buy himself some time.

Thankfully, he didn’t need much time to figure a decent enough-ish comment to get the others to leave him alone. Heck, it might even be good enough to make Tucker actually do his job for at least a day if he was lucky.

With far more nonchalance than he had when he first grabbed it, Grif placed the glass back on the table and gave Tucker his best 'I-couldn’t-care-less’ look.

“Nothing wrong with a little positive reinforcement here and there. You should try it sometime.”

With more ease than he currently felt, Grif got up from the table, grabbed his (mostly) empty tray and disposed of the contents as he left the room; noting that Bitters and Matthews who, no doubt had known exactly what was going to happen earlier were no where to be found. Likely booking it the second Palamo starting crying and taking his (probably) dared comments back.

He was honestly torn.

On one hand, he should probably punish the two of them for making him part of the butt of a joke, even if, Tucker by far had gotten the bigger hit from it. On the other hand though, he couldn’t help being mildly impressed.

Matthews had taken a pretty big gamble and somehow managed to come up on top, Via a lot of overcomplicated work no doubt, but still. It was fairly impressive for the little kissup.

Eh.

He could take his time on this. He was a Captain after all and hell. It might be hilarious to watch the two of them worry over a punishment that might never come.

The day was looking to be off to a good start.

[grimmseye]

Kill Your Heroes (Chapter 1)

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf & Yasha, Mollymauk, Mollymauk Tealeaf & The Mighty Nein 

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Teafleaf, Caleb Widogast, Yasha, Beauregard

Other Tags: Superhero AU, Reporter!Mollymauk, Vigilante!Caleb, 

(Read on Ao3)

Mollymauk knows all the best places to duck and cover once the city comes under siege.

It’s just another Monday, really, when the streets start to rattle and the people start to scream and Mollymauk Tealeaf rolls into an alley to take cover and dig out the equipment he’s taken to toting around. The early bird gets the worm, and some bullshit like that. He’s not much of an early-riser but he is the first on the scene.

His phone buzzes the moment he gets his camera out of its bag, a stern ‘Do not’ from Yasha (It’s actually Yasha [heart][lightningbolt][heart][sparkle]). He taps back a string of hearts and sparkles before silencing his phone and shoving it into his pocket. Camera on, microphone ready, showtime.

It’s easy to find the scene, at least — just run against the crowd. By the flash of blue that’s darting over the rooftops, he knows one of the Cobalt Soul has taken the villain of the week. Lionheart, if he had to take a guess. There’s her staff, flinging her across a gap that would kill her if she missed, landing sure-footed as ever and charging after her prey. Mollymauk grins as he turns his camera on her and gives chase.

“Hello, people of Zadash,” he beams into his mic as he runs, “today we’ve got cloudy with a chance of villainy, Lionheart’s quick on the draw as always. Personally I’ve got bets that we’re gonna see Sugar Bomb joining the party but Hexblade’s been more and more active as of late. Haven’t got eyes on the villain just yet but as usual stay indoors, seek the nearest shelter if you’re out on the streets. Stay safe everybody!”

A beam of light streams out of the sky. Lionheart tosses herself off the rooftop and away from it, plummeting at a breakneck speed like a bird in a dive. Her feet skim the side of the skyscraper, push off, and she leaps the rest of her momentum down to the ground, in time to roll out of the path of another dark ray.

The concrete crumbles like dust where the beam hits. Mollymauk’s eyes go wide, a grimace on his face. “Steer clear of the Tri-Spires, we’ve got a nasty one today. Some kind of disintegration ray —” His voice hushes as he hunkers down behind the corner of a building, aiming his camera around to get a view of who must be the villain, floating down.

They’ve got an ugly helmet covering their entire head, one enormous eyeball mounted on its front. “Got a regular cyclops here,” Mollymauk hisses, daring to edge just a bit more out of hiding. “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder but yeesh.” Lionheart gets to her feet, using her staff to balance herself as she snarls up at the villain. She’s dressed in the blues of her faction, a mask over her eyes and well-fitted clothes, the typical monk garb of heroes who come out of the Cobalt Soul.

She charges. A ferocity that Mollymauk both admires and reprehends drives her dead towards the villain, who rears back with an animal snarl as a light blooms in the center of the pupil, black flooding to a bright green. Lionheart drops to a skid at the last moment, sliding right past them as the ray fires out, the intended effect invisible against asphalt and concrete. She springs up, cracks them across the back of the helmet with her staff, plants it in the ground to throw herself into a kick in their back that lands them prone. They slam onto the pavement, head bouncing —

“And that’s why you wear a helmet, kids,” Mollymauk chirps, grinning as he steps out of hiding. “Hey, good work there, Lionheart! Do you have a —”

Her head snaps up. “You —! Get out of here —”

And so does the villain’s. The pupil has drained to a soft blue, and it’s directed at Mollymauk.

“Oh, fuck,” he cusses into the mic, and then makes to flee.

Whatever it is hits him in the back. He feels himself lock up, held in place as a shimmer of blue slams down over his vision. And then the ground leaves his feet as he’s launched up into the air. Windows fly past him, a dozen, two dozen, the light falls and Molly spins towards the faraway ground and feels his heart in his throat as he shuts his eyes and he plummets.

His last thought, appropriately enough, is ‘Yasha was right.’

And then someone catches him. The whoof of his breath out of his lungs is met with another, they fly another several meters from the impact of their bodies. They slow, though, and they steady, and Mollymauk dares to open his eyes.

He absolutely does not recognize this man. That’s unsurprising, Mollymauk doesn’t recognize most people. The popular heroes and villains fly right over his head, he only knows what he sees here in Zadash.

This guy is wearing a full mask. Red-toned hair fans out over it, but the face is covered by a mask in the shape of a cat, striking black material that only lets him see the eyes staring back at him. He’s carrying Mollymauk rather haphazardly, in a way that quickly becomes uncomfortable until Molly goes, “Well, this isn’t working. One arm under the legs, that’s the ticket. Now I’m a proper damsel in distress.”

They’re flying, Mollymauk notices, a little idly, thanks to a swirl of fire that just seems to be surrounding this guy’s likes like a ghostly tail. “So that’s why it’s so hot up here,” Molly grins. The hero blinks at him.

He remembers his equipment in a flash, heart jumping in his throat before realizing that by some miracle he’d sustained a proper death grip on them this whole time. The hand with the microphone is slung around the hero’s shoulders, and Molly quickly pulls himself up closer to be heard through it, “This is Mollymauk Teafleaf. I am alive and I have just been rescued by an unknown hero. Tell me, friend, are you new on the scene or am I just a bit dazed? What’s your name?”

Another bat of the eyes. “I…” Soft voice. “Don’t… have one just yet. I am new, yes.” Zemnian accent.

“Lovely to meet you. Now, as much as I hate to cut this short, Lionheart does appear to be needing a hand.” They crane their heads down. She’s holding her own nicely, but can’t get close between the beams flying around, a deadly lightshow in the middle of Zadash. “Could you drop me off somewhere? Or, set me down somewhere, actually, that would be much nicer.”

“Oh — yes, yes.” It’s an absentminded mutter, and Molly’s stomach swoops as they descend. He clings a little tighter, tail finding the arm supporting his legs and holding fast. The heat wafting up from the fire is a bit less than pleasant, but at the moment he’s in no position to complain. Wait until both feet are safely on the ground before offering constructive criticism.

They touch down safely, a few blocks away from the commotion. Mollymauk is set on his feet, the hero stepping back in a manner that’s — shy, maybe? Reserved . He’s not wearing what Mollymauk would really call hero garb, either, the mask is the nicest part of the outfit. The rest is approximately a long-sleeved black shirt on top of black pants and some sturdy boots. Thick gloves on the hands, a flash of something white between them and the sleeves.

“You’re okay from here?” He asks.

Mollymauk blinks, and then grins. “I’m perfect! Not a scratch on me, thanks to you. But before you go — Mollymauk Tealeaf.” He extends a hand. “If you ever want an interview from someone who’s seen your work up close and personal, I’m your guy.”

He doesn’t take the hand. Molly doesn’t lower it.

“Okay,” the hero nods. “I will… keep that in mind.” A flash of light and a loud shout from Lionheart — angry rather than pained, thankfully — makes him wince. “I’d better go, though.” He steps back, almost hesitant.

Molly gives him a pleasant wave with the hand he hadn’t shaken. “You do that!”

And after another lingering moment, the hero turns and trots off towards the fight, flames licking around his legs and building into a cyclone that propels him off the ground and out of sight.

Mollymauk turns to his own camera. “Well! That’s enough drama for me, I think. Luckily that Firebird swooped in to save me — what do you say, folks, take to the polls, let’s give this new guy a good name — and look who’s arriving! Sugar Bomb, just in the nick of time!”

He turns the camera over as another tiefling runs by, giving a smile and a wave and a bright, “Hello, Molly!” As she rushes by.

He gives a chuckle as he goes through his farewells and clicks off the camera, ending the recording. That will earn him a pretty handful of gold. He scrolls his camera settings, humming to himself. A few action shots would be excellent, magazines are raving for those. He steps back towards the scene, and then gags as a grip on the back of his collar yanks him back.

Yasha lifts him up like a kitten, turning Molly to face her. Even under her mask, he knows there’s disapproval in her eyes. “That’s enough,” she says, soft. She turns him around and puts him back on his feet, giving a kick to his butt. “Go home, Mollymauk. Please.”

And Molly ducks his head with a growl in the back of his throat. He can never say no to the please. “Oh, alright. I’ve got plenty here, I guess.” He rolls his eyes. “Just be careful, this guy is bad news.”

“You never listen to me when I say that, but you expect me to listen to you?” She cocks her head.

And he grimaces, a flicker of guilt in his throat. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, go save the day.” He shoos her away. “I’ll be cooking dinner tonight.”

She just gives a sigh, shaking her head as she takes off at a run. Her feet don’t truly touch the ground, the wind swirling underneath her to push her along.

Were it anyone else, and Molly would be flitting right back where he’d started, camera at the ready. Yasha, though, he owes Yasha too much, respects her too much, loves her too much to go back on his word. So he pushes himself onwards, planning out his shopping list. Something for dinner and the next couple of meals, they’re out of Yasha’s favorite tea.

Stores won’t be open until the all-clear goes through the city, though, even if it is across town. So for now it’s back to the apartment. Sooner he gets the footage up the better, anyway.

He’s scrolling through the clips as he heads up the steps of their apartment complex, tail curling with excitement. The toss was what was really going to be the money-maker this time around. Caught in the arms of a new-debut? That was a stroke of good fortune if he’d ever seen one. A dreamy little sigh puffs out of his mouth. He’s not sure if his old self was a money-mongerer, but Molly? Molly loves having money. Money means nice things — means good food and warm baths with scents and colors he doesn’t need, means buying flowers that make Yasha smile when she sees the new vase he’s set on the table.

He’s so lost in thought that he nearly trips over the cat that’s just sitting in the middle of the hallway. He notices it just in time, eyes going wide as he staggers around it and slams his back against the wall, clutching his camera to his chest like a mother clutches a baby. Then he turns his glare on the one who’d nearly cost him this small fortune.

The cat gazes back, unfazed, tail curling.

“No pets allowed in here, mongrel,” he says, but there’s no malice in his voice. “Who’s your owner? Tell them to keep you out of sight, and out from under my feet.”

The cat stretches out and then starts to wash its ass. Mollymauk snorts as he turns, shifts his camera to his other arm to unlock his door. He’s never seen a cat up here. Could be a new neighbor. Could be it’s been here all along. He knows better than to rely on his memory.